#so i may as well do some audio tests and maybe a final recording

[ialpiriel]

Always surprised at how little I mind hearing my own voice on recording. Something something depersonalization probably.

[kaiowut99]

Duel Links Re-Translation Mod Project (Announcement post I guess?) - Dark Yugi In-Duel Line Re-Translation Test (WIP)

(Alternate project tagline: #LetYubelSayLove)

(Forgive some video stuttering, my Nvidia game recording thing was a bit buggy 😩)

~~~~~~~~

So. For the longest, I've been hella curious to figure out where the text for Duel Links is in the file assets, the in-duel lines in particular--as I'm sure most folks know, the English dubtitle text applied for the English dialogue is, nine times out of ten, inaccurate or decently simplified vs the Japanese audio played on the same line, and it's a bit wild that we still don't have a second English option for a more faithful take this long after Konami gave us the Japanese voices natively on Steam and made modding the game to get them a thing of the past. But for all my occasional searching through the files, I had little luck due to encryption and junk; at some point in September, I got curious and did more digging and was able to find some card text, at least, but nowhere near as much as is in the game now, and still no dialogue lines.

And then, 2-3 weeks ago, I saw that Aura (Octomaidly over on Twitter, part of @entamesubs handling Studio Bridge-era YGO fansubs for SEVENS+) had been working with a couple of folks to decrypt and re-translate the in-duel lines for SEVENS characters and came across her video on Twitter sharing her progress; I immediately reached out to find out how they're doing it and mentioned how I'd like to try and re-translate pre-SEVENS stuff, lol. (You can watch her latest video demoing her re-translation for GO RUSH world here; find her work as it develops on the NexusMods page for it.)

After connecting with Aura and the folks helping her and getting set up to work on things, I set up a quick re-translation for Dark Yugi's lines, had it all imported for a test-run, and recorded this demo test vs Kaiba to see 'em in action; I did fix a few things since recording this, like some line breaks here/there, but also fixed the one mention of "Dark Magician" in the cut-in shot since this was a test of my OCG-name translation (more on that below) and thus "Black Magician" should've been there--but all told, it looks pretty good overall!

All that to say that this is now another lil' project on my list 😅 It's very cool that this is finally doable and I'm looking forward to working with Aura and co to make it happen--though do note that it'll be at a bit of a slower pace since work on my finalized GX subs (currently revision work on 117-119 is underway) and Tag Force Special is a bit higher priority. That said, the nice thing is that working on in-duel lines in TFSP kinda does half my work for me here, lol; maybe half of Dark Yugi's lines, for example, are recycled verbatim from TFSP--the only difference being that Shunsuke Kazama is actually voicing him--with the rest being lines newly added for him in DL, from lines for dueling other characters to cards he didn't have lines for in TFSP, and this should be the case across the board for anyone who showed up in TF[SP].

My intention is also to work on two translations: one with OCG card names and one with the TCG names, as we're doing with TFSP, and I'll be starting this off by working on the first five characters from each series that appeared in TFSP, since that's how I'm working on the story events there (so for DM, working on Dark Yugi, Kaiba, Jounouchi, Ishizu, and Mai first), and then once done through VRAINS, that might probably be the first version of the mod I'd release. Or maybe I'll release a version as I get each set of five done; we'll see lol. I do plan to contribute my translations to Aura's project, as well. (Also we just recently dug up event dialogue text so those will be re-translatable, too; doing this for the older series' events that likely won't get reruns will at least be worth it since you can spend Gems to get those event scenes)

But overall, it's pretty encouraging--stay tuned!

[phozphor]

Okay, whilst I'm getting back into recording audio for the side order video I'm working on, I need. NEED TO INFO DUMP ABOUT THE CODE WEVE BEEN FINDING IN THE UPDATES.

If you don't Wana be spoiled on even minor mechanics, I gotcha, so their be spoilers and dragons beyond this read more.

OKAY. BEFORE WE START LETS CLEAR SOME STUFF UP.

Side order's campaign is nick named 2 things in the files. "Sdordr" and "tower".

NOW LETS START WITH THIS BLOCK

This isn't anything special. My guess from the file naming "talkstagerandom" and "worldrandom" this is probably copy paste of Maria's code from splatoon 2 and how you could talk to her on different valleys and she would say random things. Nothing shocking, just that we know theirs gunna be a hub world.

These strings really don't have anything interesting. Mainly test scenes and unreadable strings.

Yet again, nothing interesting BUT WE GOT ENEMY STRINGS!!!!! CANON SIDE ORDER HAS ENEMIES!!!

On a real note maybe "shell" is a way of deflecting ink? Like those enemies from mega man.

Okay HERES the meat.

"Person_sdodr" refers to the credit scene, so it's come for enough into development to have its credits developed. But what's these strings about a ball? And a goal? Wait.

No.

NO.

YOU MOTHER FUCKER!!!

8 BALL STAGES ARE RETURNING.

On returning mechanics, snake block prolly refers to the same snake blocks found in splatoon 3's single player, it's nice to see them come back.

Grind and ink rails need to intro, and paint target area defenetly refers to ink buttons, so they're gonna return too.

"Explode spawner" probably refers to the inkable balloons, so yet again not a big surprise.

Victory life is DEFENTLY GUNNA BE THAT FUCKING ELEVATOR FROM OCTO EXPANTION. I CAN FEEL IT IN MY FISH BONES.

"Concrete spawner" interests me though. Maybe they spawn concrete blocks that we can ink? Can we ride them like boats? Anyway, let's get onto the enemies.

Ballking could be this Fucker from splatoon 1.

It's ball shaped. Yeah. But there's also another king that's ball shaped. That I'm worried may show up. For. A. 4th. Fucking. Time.

Please. Let it be the octowhirl.

Towerking interests me though. Some people think that it's going to be the final boss, but I don't think so.

The nils statue was never called by any boss names in its files, but was still the final boss. Hm.

Speculation:

1. This handles ALL tower bosses. Like a default string telling the game its boss time.

Or

2. With how we have code implying different worlds, maybe the towerking appears more than once?

Or my personal favorite:

3. THE TOWER IS THE FINAL BOSS.

Let's get onto the next strings.

We get some more person strings, Yada Yada.

But wait no stop. Creator. Why is creator in there. If this code was being run FROM an editor, a creator string wouldn't be required.

Unless there planning on making a single player level editor. But that can't be the case right..... r-right.

(NINTENDO DONT DO THIS TO ME PLEASE)

Anyway anyway, the next strings about "tower layer" DEFINITELY are talking about the hub worlds. Seems well be getting 4 in this dlc, a beginning, low, middle, and high, as well as a "query" [loading zone?] For both.

And yeah that's it! Here's a summary

What we think we know:

-8 ball stages will return

-Ink snake blocks, ink rails, ink grind rails, and the balloon pufferfish bomb things will return as mechanics.

-2 bosses as of posting (a ballking and towerking)

-a "victory lift"

- and possibly 4 "layers"

What I speculate will be added

-a single player mission editor. [Very unlikely]

- the return of octowhirl.

[cru5h-cascades]

Okay, music update time.

So I should be getting my guitar by tomorrow (should be arriving by 10 PM but with some of my packages tending to come in super early like my inkling plush and obviously Hot Fuss it could be earlier who knows). I was planning on releasing one last track before going on hiatus but idk. It's nearly finished but I don't think it's my best work (this track is supposed to be another Sirenide track btw).

Anyways, I'm already looking at tutorials online to figure out how I'm gonna learn. I found some that can supposedly teach me how to play in 10 to 21 days. As to how effective these vids are going to be is unknown, but hey if I figured out how to use photoshop and sort of figured out animation (ain't no way I can animate shit on my home chromebook so I haven't attempted anything on it yet), maybe I can figure this out. Also, I need to figure out how to tune guitars. Thankfully, guitar tuning websites and apps exist so they can do the heavy work for me 'cause it's been FOREVER since I've been in a music class and I've never tuned a guitar before (My music teacher before going to high school was A CHAD. Bro is what got me to start making music to begin with! He let us dabble in playing guitars for a little bit but just towards the end of a unit we were doing. After that we started our electronic music unit and the rest is history...).

I dunno how long I'll be on a break from music for (depends on how long it takes me to become confident enough to make some stuff using my newly aquirred guitar skills). When I do come back to music, I'm probably gonna post something showing off my guitar skills. I may not have a mic to record this stuff on, but I got a plan. Finally, soundtrap actually has an upside! Basically, I can plug in my guitar into my computer (obviously my school one) and use that as an amp to record my stuff on. Of course, I'm going to have to test this out first to see how effective this all is (might post some test audio for that), but at least I sort of have a plan for all this guitar buisness. Will I start out with covers or try making my own stuff? I dunno. But at least expect some stuff featuring actual instruments. Might go back to my OG soundtrap junk now and then why not. One of my friends and I are working on something behind the scenes and if all goes well I'll properly reveal this huge project of whatever (I guess this is your first clue to what that project might be).

And what about my other stuff? Calamity Circus, my art, and the planned Murder Trilogy essay (yep that's right I'm still gonna do that! I might start writing it after finishing Calamity Circus or towards the end of summer. I think it depends on weither or not S3's judgement day aka final fest is happening this summer or not 'cause I have a story planned for that event.)? Well, don't worry I still plan on working on all of that, especially Calamity Cicus since I've been working on that ever since I finalized Your Side of Order's basic story beats and I really wanna get this story out there. Art's still coming out, maybe at it's usual rate.

So yeah that's what to expect for the next I don't know how long. I'm still working on getting a job since I still haven't gotten word back about my application that I sent out a while back, so things should be pretty normal until I do ultimately get a job (hopefully I'll be able to get enough cash to get a functional computer with a touchscreen). In the meanwhile I'm just gonna take it easy, recover from the hell known as the previous school year, make my art, and try to beat the summer heat. This has been your local paranormal pest, cru5h. Stay fresh, y'all :D

[calciumcryptid]

I Have Elected to Ignore Midnight's Death

Polarmare's First Day

It was the first year Kenta would be teaching at U.A. A longtime friend of hers requested to take up the open teaching position, and who was Polarmare going to deny a change of scenery?

Besides, her sister lived in Japan and was elated to know that the Fuyuhito sisters were getting back together so that was the housing situation solved in under five minutes.

U.A. paid good as well which was good for a single mother like Kenta. She adored Seko with all her heart from the first time they met in Japan two years ago when she saved him from prison. Sure the paperwork was a bitch, but Seko loved the opportunity to meet so many different heroes.

So they packed their bags, and headed off to Japan where she was reunited with her sister.

The day after they arrived she made sure her paperwork was sorted by the Hero Safety Commission, then made sure to pick up Seko for her tour at UA.

There she met Nezu, who seemed just as crazy has he had been over the phone and her fellow coworkers.

She took an instant liking to Powerloader and Snipe as they bonded over creating weapons. Vlad King and Ectoplasm seemed chill too, and it was nice to see other dedicated teachers.

Midnight was cheering about another woman on the staff, though seemed to deflate when Kenta snipped her sexual flirting at the bud.

Present Mic was loud, but reminded Kenta of a friend in America so the familiarity was nice.

It was interesting meeting All Might after seeing his last stand on the news, but Kenta hoped they would be able to get along even if he seemed like a bumbling mess half of the time.

Recovery Girl was alright, a bit jaded but it was hard to find a hero so old who wasn't.

Aizawa seemed like someone she needed to keep her eye on, his knee jerk reaction upon learning she was an international hero was hostility while he worked under the impression she was a spotlight hero.

With a swing of her axe, and a clarification of the fact she was a Neighborhood Hero who worked mostly under Rescue and Underground terms, he simmered down real quick.

The General Ed teachers seemed chill, and Kenta hoped she would be able to grab some drinks with them after a long day of work.

Seko loved every one of the them, and was excited by the prospect of their quirks though Kenta made sure to cover his eyes and ears whenever Midnight was in the room.

After final arrangements with Nezu, she was given the dates of the entrance exams. The Fuyuhito family left in good spirits.

The day of the Management Entrance Exam came around, and Kenta came in her formal hero uniform. She took a seat beside Snipe and Powerloader, and was introduced as Polarmare.

Polarmare watched as potential students came in to present one by one, and she made notes. At the end of the day after helping the potential support students present Polarmare was happy with her picks.

It wasn't over though as she spent a while in her new office she looked at each students history, made a few calls, and at the end picked out a good sixty for the first years.

Sixty may seem extreme, but there were many parts of management and business so they wouldn't all be in one class.

She went home to tend to her son, and went to see the sights with her family.

The day of the hero entrance exams arrived, and Polarmare took a seat in the viewing room. She studied the motions of the potential students, their interactions, and was pleasantly surprised to see Nezu took her suggestion of making Rescue Points public and hiding a new type of points known as Cooperation Points.

The big scale robot had been toned down a bit, and at the end Polarmare had a few qualms but didn't have any outward complaints.

Eventually, the first day of the school year came around and Polarmare did her introductory presentation. She explained each branch of management and business, the schedules, and sent them on a tour with Snipe of the business building.

While that occured, she had a meeting with the votes on representatives and outlined what she expected of each of them. She was pleasantly surprised to find them ready to meet the challenge, and was off once again.

She let the students spend the first week exploring the changes she made, and getting used the renovated building. She didn't see the need to challenge them too much considering they were in a new environment.

At the end of the day, Polarmare made her way to the Conference Room and took her place. The first thing she noticed was a lack of Gen Ed teachers present, which concerned her.

Snipe and Powerloader seemed surprised to see her there, and it was Snipe who leaned over.

"The Management teacher usually doesn't come to these meetings as they center primarily around the hero course."

Polarmare took in the words before responding, "Business and Management is a huge part of heroics so I believe I should be present for any meetings regarding the Hero Course."

Snipe nodded, and straightened back up.

After a couple more looks, the rest of the teachers settled down to prepare the meeting.

Nezu got up on his little podium, and smiled. "Welcome to the first hero course meeting of the year. Since we have a new teacher with us this year, I would love to hear her thoughts on how she plans on interacting with the hero course."

"First, may I record the meeting?" Polarmare asked. "I work better if I have audio to listen to afterwards."

A few of the teachers gave each other looks, but Nezu nodded.

Polarmare tapped her recorder before she stood up. "I plan on calling the second year students to the business building to discuss their media presence. With permission from you and their gaurdians, I want to make sure they have profiles set up on Hero Watch. It would be good for them to interact with other heroes, and it will open internship and work study opportunities for them."

Nezu hummed, "Permission granted, you may start as soon as you can."

"Once I get their gaurdains approval," Polarmare resaid with a firm stare. "I shall send out the email tonight, and set up conferences if needed."

Polarmare noticed some of the teachers looking at her in confusion, but she made her notes.

The rest of the teachers went around, and Polarmare made her notes. Admittedly more on their body language then what they have to say.

The last person to talk was Aizawa. He stood up and gathered a couple of papers.

"All of the expulsion forms have been filled out." Aizawa passed them around towards Nezu.

Polarmare slammed down her hand before they could be passed the final length. She turned them over to look through them.

"Polarmare, may I ask what you are doing?" Aizawa asked through gritted teeth.

"You know Eraserhead, this seems quite light for expulsion papers. I see a distinct lack of reference to any evidence or record of you meeting with the student to discuss the expulsion."

"What are you talking about?" Aizawa asked.

"According to the Student Rights, the student should be made aware of their expulsion with any evidence before they are expelled." Polarmare looked over to Aizawa, "I assume this is the first time Nezu has seen these, so I also assume he has been expelling students based on your word without a meeting or evidence."

Aizawa stared Polarmare down, "U.A. does not work on the regular rules schools are legally allowed to abide by."

Polarmare shifted the papers in her hand, "Actually, Student Rights apply to all schools. If this is the case, and you have been expelling like this, it is a miracle you haven't been sued."

"Nezu handles the lawsuits," Snipe said.

"Ah, that explains that. Let me clarify, it is a miracle that someone who outranks you hasn't caught on and sued you." Polarmare adjusted her posture, "Now what is your reasoning?"

"The students show a lack of potential," Aizawa stated matter of factly.

Polarmare raised an eyebrow, and waved her hand. "And?"

"What more is there to say?"

Polarmare sighed deeply. "Tell me Eraserhead, how do you measure a concept as abstract as 'Potential'."

"A series of trials," Aizawa stated.

"Yeah, I saw those trials being performed. I noticed that they are all physical. Are you saying you are measuring potential on how physically experienced your students are?"

Midnight giggled.

Polarmare shot a glare before turning back to Aizawa, "I am going to look through these students and read out loud their quirks."

"This is uneccesary-"

"Marinette, this quirk allows the user to control those with human intelligence or faux human intelligence like robots as though they are simply puppets. Hmm, I don't see how this could apply to something like a grip test or ball throw. Though this could be a way to give heroes confidence or maybe even to control villains. This student sounds like a great Underground or Neighborhood Hero if they so desired.

"That is only-"

"Oh! Gnaw. This one is interesting. This quirk gives the user sharp appendages as long as they are made out of keratin on some level. Can't think of how this would help a sit-up, but imagine there was a super strong net that could be useful. This student sounds like an amazing Rescue Hero if they so desired."

"Two-"

"Slowdown, a quirk that allows the user to slow down anything that is moving. That is amazing on its own, and if they know how to dismantle robots in the time allowed they have to be some sort of mechanical genius! They could go down any hero path they wanted and he so successful. A shame I can't think of how this would help on any trials unless they were sabotaging others. Were they sabotaging others?"

"No," Aizawa said.

"This is a bad trend Eraserhead," Polarmare warned. "Of course if you insist on wanting to expell them, then why don't you allow me work out some private study transfers. I know what, like five? Ten? Twenty? Probably like something hundred pros who are on the waiting list that would love to work with some of these quirks."

Aizawa glared at her.

"Then again why is there such a focus on their quirks? Oh! I know, it is because you don't care how they act if Mineta and Bakugou is anything to go by." Polarmare said. "Don't think I've noticed the large amount of tapes and complaints filled out regarding them."

Polarmare looked up at Aizawa, "I'm just saying there is some good evidence here to create a good quirk discrimination and abuse of power case. Unfortunately for you, I happen to be friends with a lot of lawyers and reporters who don't exactly love UA and would love to get their hands on this information."

"Nezu!" Aizawa shouted.

Nezu who was blankly smiling throughout the whole exchange looked at Aizawa. "What? She has a point, and we can not take another hit like this to our reputation. Polarmare you have permission to disband the expulsions."

"Thank you."

"Oh shit," Present Mic muttered but it was audible due to the complete silence of the room."

"With that, I believe this meeting shall be adjourned. I employ you all to spend some times to reevaluate your students."

Polarmare collected her notes, and looked over the expulsion sheets. She wasn't lying before, she was sure she could find some good mentors for these students depending on what they want to do. She'll have to add those meetings to her calendar. Maybe Seko had some ideas, and her sister would probably snatch up one of th-

Something ling and grey wrapped around her mid section, and she didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

"Eraserhead, what do I owe the pleasure?" She turned her head to see his eyes aflame with red.

"I have been managing my class like this for years, and I do not appreciate you coming in here and dictating what I can and can not do."

"I do not dictate it, the law does." Polarmare sighed as she looked at his eyes. "Cancelling my quirk is useless considering it isn't and offensive quirk," She pointed out.

Aizawa let his capture scarf wrap back around his neck as he blinked. He stared at her with narrowed eyes.

"Bakugou is a perfectly fine student, and I do not see why you brought him up-"

"The boy has a record of telling people to die, I don't care if it is his thing it fucks with your head. Not to mention the physical assault and berating he does, because unlike you I read the complaints."

"The complaints are useless, I judge my students without any prior knowledge."

Polarmare raised an eyebrow, "Does that include background checks because I thought UA prided themselves on those."

Aizawa gritted his teeth.

"If that is all, I need to get home to my family."

[huihuiheart]

Kinktober D9: Listen Closely - Felix

Pairing: Felix x f!Reader

Warnings: Sensory play/deprivation, dom! Felix, like I’d say he gets a bit feral in this....., overstimulation, brat taming, bondage, Felix is just straight up a little shit in this, teasing, sex toys, sir kink (just to mix things up), angry sex? (kinda he’s a little pissed at the brattiness, but he also loves it so...take that however you want), Felix calls the reader kitten, dirty talk, light degradation, masturbation, spanking,mentions of squirting, implied sex (once again I gotta be a little shit and stop before we get to the good part, I’m just in a mood rn I guess).

Word Count:2,042

Tag List: @hyunsungcore​ 

You’d been caught red handed too many times at this point and you knew there would be consequences for it. If Felix wasn’t intending to intervene yet though, then it didn’t really matter to you. You planned on wholly misbehaving until Felix actually took action. Though there was an eerie amount of patience being displayed by Felix, not usually one to show restraint for so long, especially when you were misbehaving. Yet after two weeks of finding you touching yourself while listening to his voice through your phone, he hadn’t touched you at all. At least not other than chase kisses and some cuddling, and you’d fucking had it. You were ready to resort to begging if necessary, prepared for any punishment of his. You just couldn’t do without him any longer. Which is how you ended up in this position, with a vibrator between your legs and a playlist you made of Felix’s deep voice filling the room....again, just like every night this week. When you finally tore your eyes open again they met Felix’s figure leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed with a smirk.

“How did I guess that this would be what I found when I came home?” Felix’s tone is teasing as he moves to walk over to the foot of the bed for a closer look now that he knows you caught him staring.

“Hm...I have no idea.” You retort coyly before getting your own smirk as you decide to taunt back, “I’m gonna guess that you’re going to run off to the studio for some made up work now though, just like you did every other night. Let me guess...you’re afraid you can’t satisfy me as well as some little toy can sir?”

The way Felix’s face scrunched and eyes closed as he tried to control himself brought you more satisfaction than you expected. It was good to know the amount of control you still had over him though, especially when you decided to push his limits by condescendingly using the honorific he liked so much. When Felix finally meets your gaze again his eyes have darkened with lust and just enough anger that you knew there was no way he was going to leave you to get away with that tonight, which was exactly what you were hoping for.

Felix chuckles, “You know I’ve noticed how you seem to love getting off to my voice kitten. So every time that I left for the studio because of your little stunts it was to work on a special part of your punishment. Lucky for you I just finished it and brought it home though.”

You brows furrowed in confusion as you looked at him, “You worked on something there alone?” 

Felix nods with another deep laugh, “I did, didn’t think you’d want other people hearing what I made just for you.....told the guys I wanted to play around with some things for experience.” 

“Think they bought it?” You raise a brow knowing how hard it was to get away with stuff around the guys.

“For the most part, there was a little slip and someone may have found one of the clips I recorded..” Felix admits with a soft shrug, not too bothered by it.

“Let me guess....Chris?” You laughs a little as he nods in answer, “Well show me what you did then.”

Felix licks his lips, “Oh I intend to kitten, but first...what was that you said about me thinking I couldn’t satisfy you as good as some toy?...Maybe we should put that to the test tonight too? Only I’m in control now.” 

Felix snatches the vibrator out of your hands before you can argue and turns it off laying it aside, before going to the bedside table to get out some black ties. Your hands tied to the bed above your head first before moving down to your feet and tapping your ankles, urging you to spread your legs for him next. Tying each to one side of the bed, keeping you spread open for him. You can only watch as he settles the vibrator between your legs again, someplace he knows it will sit no matter what, before he’s pulling out headphones to place near the one remaining tie. 

“I think we should give the vibrator the best chance possible, don’t you?” Felix mocks slightly, “Make it so you imagine it’s me making you feel that good. Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

“Sir, I just want you.” You counter whimpering softly only for Felix to tsk you softly.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have misbehaved so much kitten, you wanna be a little brat? Then I’ll treat you like a little fucking brat.” Felix growls out at you before he’s tying the remaining fabric around your eyes, the headphones next. Felix pressing play the same time he click the vibrator on low. 

“My little kitten thinks she’s so smart huh? Touching herself to the sound of my voice like it’s gonna get you something, well every time I find you like that this is what you’re gonna get kitten....you get to hear me touching myself to the thought of you instead of getting what you actually want.” 

Felix’s deep voice was already fucking with you through the speakers and then he had to go and add this to it. His deep moans and the way he’d grunt out little desires that filled his head as he got himself off through the headphones, about how sore he’d be sure to make your ass, how he’d manhandle you so easily due to how desperate you’d be just to cum around his cock, the way he’d feel stretching you out again. All of it almost unbearable at this point, having your vision cut off and the audio he recorded playing for you letting your mind run wild. Imagining him recording it while touching himself, then thinking about each of the things his smoky voice reminded you of or gave you thoughts about suddenly, until you had a small realization. You’d never seen Felix leave you like this....and you knew it he was at least within earshot in case a safe word was used. He heard each sound that left your mouth, even if you barely could in your current state and more likely than not he was watching and getting off to you right now too. You came once to the sound of him cumming, a low growly moan filling your senses. You weren’t done yet though as Felix moves to turn the vibrator up to the next level, as the audio kept going.

“Really kitten? Two days in a row? You’re gonna be that much of a little brat? And here I thought I’d trained you better than that. Oh well....I guess I’ll just be cumming in my hand instead of your tight little cunt again, and you won’t even be able to have a taste.”

Felix drank in your whines, not caring if it was from his taunting in the audio or from the overstimulation that the vibrator was putting you through. You’d challenged him and now you’d have to pay the price for it. You barely made it through the second recording, not without cumming twice more though. Felix turning the toy down again and gently rubbing over your quaking thighs, showing a small bit of mercy knowing you still had three more recordings to get through.

“Well day three hmm? Maybe I should have stuck around longer, could have counted up all your pretty little moans. Given you a spanking for each one. I’m sure you find this a lot more fun though, don’t you kitten? Unless....you’re ready to admit how much you love when I spank your pretty ass?” 

You feel the way your slick spreads making even more of a mess out of you and the sheets, knowing Felix knew just how much you loved spankings even if you wouldn’t fess up to that. That’s also how you recognized the fact that he mentioned the spankings on purpose. If he wanted to play though, you’d play.

“Are you counting my moans now sir? Is it gonna earn my a good spanking?” You mock, earning you a swift slap to your thigh in warning. Nothing too painful, just a little tingling sting to remind you who was in control right now. Felix rewarding the moan you make in reaction to it by turning the vibrator up a few settings. The toy drawing two more orgasms from you before the third day was done, there were two days left before you’d actually get what you wanted all week and yet Felix had already brought you to your climax five times, making you more and more sensitive. 

“Have you really not caught on to the fact that I have something big planned or are you just trying to rile me up more and more kitten?....you’ll learn after this experience pretty kitty, you’ll come crawling to me every time that desperate little pussy gets wet. At the very least you’ll know not to break this rule again....unless you want me to break you kitten.”

The growl building in Felix’s raspy voice only grows with each recording as he get more and more pissed off by your bratty disobedience and refusal to ask for what you want. Well that coupled with the fact that each day his hand was less and less satisfying compared to what he knew he’s left back at home. Your soaked cunt and bratty attitude, the one that makes him want to fuck you through the mattress every time it decides to make an appearance. Felix’s patience only winning out due to the fact that he knew how rewarding it would be punish you like he was right now. A perfect build up to what both of you had been anticipating all week long, coming down from your sixth high as the fifth recording finally begins.

“You’re about to be a very lucky kitty. I have a feeling I get the same welcome home tomorrow as I got all week, but I’m still going to give you what you want kitten. Only if you take you punishment like a good girl though, if not....well than maybe we’ll have to play this game a little longer....when you finally decide to behave for me though. Remember to thank sir for everything he so generously gave you kitten.”

Your relieve at finally being onto the final day is short lived though as Felix turns the vibrator all the way up now, wanting to push you over the edge as many times as he could before that final recording was over. Achieving three, before the day was over and he’s turning the vibrator off. Easing you back to reality one thing at a time; the vibrator first, then removing the headphones to whisper a few soft praises to you as he unties the blindfold. Next comes the blindfold, followed by him carefully untying you from the bed. His hands gently soothing over your form.

“You did so well kitten, made such a pretty little mess of yourself all for me.” Felix’s voice is still deep with lust, but its a little softer for the moment, “Still want the reward I promised you kitten?” 

“Don’t tell me you actually think I’m going to call it a night before we even get started.” You lick your lips smirking softly as your eyes rake over his form. While watching you he’d stripped to stroke himself, the tip of his cock an angry red and leaking precum, the rest slicked with a mix of his arousal and spit.

“I see there’s still some of that bratty mouth left kitten.” Felix chuckles eyes darkening again as his hands grips your hips.

“There certainly is sir. Why don’t you show my what you’re gonna do about it.” You taunt only for him to flip you over onto your hands and knees before you realize what’s even happening. Felix leaning forward, lips brushing your ear and cock flush against your ass, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“I guess it’s a good thing that I really did count all your moans tonight kitten, your ass will have a lot to be grateful for and besides that....I wanna see you squirt before I'm through with you.”

[darling-i-read-it]

Takiawase

2x04

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, mental health problems, jail, dead bodies, cancer, nightmares 

Author’s Note: This one is particularly depressing but it’s my favorite of the season so far. I think it’s really letting some dynamics fall into place and I really hope y’all like it!

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary : When a body is discovered in a meadow, the cranial cavity appears to have been turned into a beehive; Beverly secretly consults with Will on the mural killer case.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List: @llperfectsymmetryll​  @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​

(not my gif) 

You stood in Hannibal’s kitchen. The front door opened but you didn’t look up. You were eating some leftovers, nothing too big because you could still barely keep food down knowing what you did. It had only been a couple of days but you were still scared to go back home. You had been living at Hannibal’s despite your best wishes.

“How are the dogs?” you asked as Hannibal walked in.

“Fed well. Missing their parents.” You nodded.

“I think I’ll go back tonight,” you admitted. You looked up and ate the last piece of the leftovers off your fork. 

“You’re dressed,” he observed. 

“I’m going to see Will.” Hannibal gave you a look but you ignored it, putting the plate and fork into the dishwasher. You walked around the counter and grabbed your keys.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea. He heard about the judge, clearly,” Hannibal argued.

“I haven’t been to see him in a few days. I miss him,” you said simply. You were trying to stay in a neutral voice so as to not alarm Hannibal. You wanted desperately to see Will and you were going to do all you could to get there even if it meant fighting the only person who has been keeping you grounded the past few days. 

“Come over for dinner then.” You gave him a narrow look.

“I shouldn't.” 

“You’re just going to eat microwave noodles. I insist.” You walked to the door. 

“I’ll think about it.”

“And Y/N?” You turned around, holding the door open.

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t tell him.” 

You didn’t show him your face as you shut the door behind you. 

-

Chilton stopped you before you came up the stairs. You gave him a look but he gave you an even more alarming one. Your heart lurched. Did he know? He couldn’t know. But did he?

“Yeah?” you said, voice barely audible. 

“Will is doing therapy with me,” he started. Your worry for yourself was quickly diminished by the worry you often had for Will. 

“He’s what?” 

“I’m only telling you because he’s probably going to tell you. And so you know that I’m doing what I think is right and Will signed waivers.” You scoffed. 

“May I see my boyfriend now?” 

Chilton let you pass and you walked down the hallway. The worry seeped right back into your heart. The worry that your hands had murdered somebody. That the past few nights you had woken up screaming and had to sleep next to Hannibal so that you could get a good night's sleep. 

You walked up to the cell and Will stood up immediately. 

“You’ve been gone a couple days.” You nodded and swallowed hard.

“And you are letting Chilton run tests now are you?” Your voice easily slipped into ‘protect Will’ mode. Perhaps it was the only mode you knew at this point. He gestured for you to sit on the white line and you did so. He sat on the ground just behind the bars. 

“I remembered more things,” he said. “Hannibal was causing me to have seizures. I got Beverly to look for details in the murders. I’m now mostly convinced that Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper.” 

You took a deep breath. 

“That all?” you asked, laughing darkly. You felt a stab of guilt. “Hannibal was inducing seizures on you while I was in the next room?” 

“Don’t think about it like that,” he muttered. “It was what you thought was best.” You shook your head.

“So what do you want me to do about this whole thing?” 

Your voice was piercing and Will was surprised. That was the first time that he really noticed you in a while. Of course he noticed you, he had talked to you but he felt like at that moment he hadn’t considered how hard this had to be on you. The jail thing, the finding out your boyfriend could be a murderer thing. 

And for that one moment Will knew you well again. And he saw right through you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. You shook your head but you really desperately wanted to run over to him and hug him and fall asleep beside him. Your heart was aching. 

“Nothing,” you said but you both knew it wasn’t convincing even to people who didn’t know you as well as Will did. You shook your head. “I can’t tell you,” you whispered. Tears pricked at your eyes and you regretted coming. 

“Yes you can.” 

You pointed above your head.

“Chilton would know.”

He looked up at the hidden audio recorders and Will had never hated jail more than in that moment. 

“I’m sorry.” You shrugged.

“I’ll be okay.”

You both knew that was a lie.

-

You stared down at the body of the judge. His eyes were open but his body was dead. It was dead dead. You were trying to scream but nothing was coming out. You backed up, staring at the blackness around the body that became more disfigured as you stared at it. 

When you looked above it you gasped and scattered back into the darkness. Hannibal turned around and moved aside, revealing Will hanging on antlers, impaled by them. You let out a loud sob and moved forward to grab him, help him down but his body was already limp. Your attempts to scream only got more desperate. 

You woke up with a start. Tears were streaming down your face and you were finally able to let out a long scream that woke up all of the dogs. You looked around, feeling the bed for someone you knew wasn’t there. You were alone in the house. 

The noodles you had eaten for dinner sat on Will’s side of the bed, half eaten. Your shirt was sweaty, sticking to your body desperately. You kept crying. You cried for the fact that you missed Will, that you were in this bed alone. For a minute you let yourself wallow in the sadness that had engulfed your life. 

The dogs came to you but they really just wanted to eat your noodles. You got up and, still crying, got into the car.

-

You knocked on Hannibal’s door at 2 in the morning. He answered quickly. 

Your eyes were still puffy and you looked exhausted. Hannibal wrapped the robe around him tighter when he saw you, clearly worried.

“Nightmare?” he questioned. You nodded and just like that the tears came again. It didn’t matter that this man had mutilated a body you killed. It didn’t matter that Will was so sure that Hannibal was the man framing him. It didn’t matter that you were pretty sure Hannibal was the man framing Will for murder. It didn’t even matter that by default he would have killed so many people in the past. 

You hugged him and he hugged you and you felt safe to cry. 

“Come, there’s still plenty of hours in the night to sleep,” he whispered. You nodded and followed him into his bedroom where you both laid down. Hannibal Lecter held you in his arms as you cried yourself to sleep for another night.

-

You walked into the morgue. Bags under your eyes were deep and it was hard to ignore them with the makeup but you were hoping that no one would notice. Beverly stood in the morgue where you figured she would be and you walked up to her swiftly. 

She looked up, taking off her goggles and surprised to see you.

“Can I help you?” she asked. You shrugged. 

“Not sure.” 

“Let me give it a go. I’m surprised Jack let you in by the way.”

“He didn’t but my connection to Hannibal let me through security,” you admitted. She nodded and crossed her arms.

“Will told you to look for some things in the body in the color palette. Did you find anything?” She nodded.

“Actually, yes I did. But I’m not sure I should tell you, you’re not exactly authorized.” 

“Neither is Will.” She nodded, shrugging.

“You do have a point there. The stitches holding the killer to his masterpiece were hiding stitches. The killer took his kidney.” You raised an eyebrow and nodded. 

“Like the Ripper.” 

“You’re sounding like your boyfriend there Y/N.” You nodded slowly.

“I guess we’re always otherwise aligned.” 

-

You walked into the hospital. The air was stale and you felt gross but you had to see someone you trusted and you at least trusted Hannibal to be Hannibal. You saw Jack Crawford step outside of Bellas hospital room and you walked up to him. 

At the sight of you he closed his eyes.

“I can’t handle you right now,” he muttered. You shook your head.

“I’m not here to fight you,” you promised. You looked in the hotel room where his wife lay dying. Hannibal was talking to her quietly. “In fact, I’m sorry,” you muttered weakly. He nodded.

“Truce?” 

“Only for today Crawford.” 

He nodded and you nodded back at him and you both felt for each other. Two people who’s other half was meeting a demise that didn’t look good. Granted, Jack clearly had it worse. At least Will would live in prison. 

Hannibal walked outside and you grabbed his arm. Jack went inside the room.

“Are you alright?” Hannibal asked.

“No,” you admitted.

“You’re sounding more and more like Will every day.” You hit his arm and both of you glanced in the room where Jack sat by Bella’s bed.

“Makes you appreciate what you have doesn’t it?” you whispered. “That and the dreams.”

“Where did you go today?” Hannibal asked.

“I went to see Bev. Will told me some stuff I wanted to get backed up.” He nodded. 

“Chilton is no longer letting me treat Will. But you knew that already,” he said quietly. 

“I didn’t know exactly that. Maybe it’s for the best. Especially if he still thinks that you killed all those people,” you muttered.

“Do you think I killed all those people?” You shrugged.

“I don’t know what I think anymore.” 

-

Will was having a hard time knowing there was something you couldn’t tell him but still talking to you. It was clearly weighing on you as much as it was weighing on him. 

“Hannibal ate the liver,” he whispered. You didn’t even have the heart to raise an eyebrow. All you could do was think about how tired you were.

“Yeah?” 

“Do you remember that day that Hannibal came to the house with the breakfast food?” he questioned. You shrugged and nodded a little bit. You picked at the white paint you were sitting on top of.

“Yeah sure. Wasn’t that the day you-”

“Yeah.” 

“What about it?” Will took a deep breath.

“The breakfast he gave us…” he started and then it dawned on you. Your face showed some actual reaction this time. 

“Oh my God.” He nodded. Your mind flashed with every dinner you had at Hannibal’s. Every time he had brought you lunch from his place. “Oh my God,” you said again and felt your stomach convulse. 

Not only were you a murderer but you were also a cannibal? 

You put your head in your hands and felt the sleep deprived tears rise up. 

“Come here,” Will whispered. You looked up and gestured to the white line. “When has that ever stopped you?” he asked. You nodded and wiped your eyes and scooted over to the bars. You put your hands on the bars and pressed your head against it. 

He pressed his forehead against yours and you closed your eyes.

“I killed the judge,” you whispered, only loud enough for him to hear. He pulled back and looked at you, surprised. But as Will looked at you he didn’t see a murderer all he could see was his girlfriend. His girlfriend looked more broken than he had ever seen her. 

He moved forward again.

“Did you put him up like that?” Will asked. You shook your head.

“No.” 

And it went without saying that Hannibal had. Will grabbed your hand tightly and he had never been so happy to touch your skin. 

And you cried. 

You just cried.

2x05

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 92

92

   Lance lived up to his warnings over having nightmares. His boyfriend waking up screaming four times during the night, the last time the worst as he’d barely fallen back to sleep in Keith’s arms before he was shaking and moaning for help. Keith wanted to go back in time and kill Nyma and Rolo himself.. not for the first time and probably not for the last time. With how much of the night Keith spent awake, Shiro let him “sleep in”, creeping into his bedroom a little after 8 as Keith dozed. Cuddled into him, Lance was drenched in sweat, despite his body being as cool as ever. Blearily, Keith blinked at his brother over Lance’s head

“Ugh?”

“How’s he doing?”

Stroking Lance’s hair, Keith hated how useless he’d been at calming Lance back down. His boyfriend would wake up, start crying, cling to him, then cry himself back to sleep

“Sleeping...”

  Shiro nodded in sympathy. All-nighters with nightmares fucking sucked. Lance hadn’t been violent towards him, but he’d tossed and turned plenty

“Coran’s called. He asked if you both could come in... I told him about Lance, he said it was best to let him rest”

“Mhmm... do I...?”

He hadn’t slept enough to be rested, but he wasn’t awake enough to string a sentence together

“Yeah. He said he wanted to talk to you about something he’d discovered. He was very apologetic about it all”

“When?”

“He thought it best you head in now to get it out the way. I can keep an eye on Lance”

Why couldn’t Coran come to them? Moving seemed like effort... and Lance really needed him right now. But it wasn’t as if he could say no

“I’ll... up”

“Okay. I’ve got your coffee waiting”

   Lance didn’t wake up as Keith extracted himself from his boyfriend. The fever had him concerned, as did whatever Lance was currently dreaming about. Showering and dressing in the first things he found out his closest, Keith carried his coffee mug to work with him, making it clear he’d been disturbed. Meeting him at the elevator, Coran seemed to have had a sleepless night too. Neither of them particularly talkative as they headed to Coran’s office.

  Finishing the last of his coffee, Keith stared into the cup hoping it’d magically refill. Coran letting out a long breath as he sat himself down in his chair

“I know you’re eager to get back to Lance, so I’ll keep this as brief as possible”

“He didn’t sleep well... he kept waking up thanks to Nyma and Rolo”

“He seemed very shaken last night”

“We talked for a bit... Sendak scared the fuck out of him”

“He scares me, if I’m honest. Now. I thought I’d let you know that your night wasn’t spent in vain. The Blades managed to extract some audio from your recordings that they’re following up”

“You called me down for that?”

Caffeine deprived Keith was a snappy Keith

“That and I thought you’d like to know the initial results on those samples”

  That got his attention, Coran noticing

“Now, that first sample. The blue one, we couldn’t make heads or tails of, though it did give us some clues on the bag itself. The handler had trace amounts of grease and diesel on their hands. The Blades are running their own analysis on it, and believe the bag it was in may provide some leads. The second sample has me concerned”

“How so?”

“I was hoping Lance would be here for this... we did have a conversation the other night...”

“He told me freaked out over his smell”

“Ah. That makes things easier. I wasn’t sure if he’d confided in you as to wanting to stop his heat or at least find a contraceptive that’d help. In the sample you obtained, we found an unusual mix. For the most part it was dried blood, however, upon running more tests, I’ve determined that it’s... I suppose you’d call it a werewolf viagra. Designed for werewolves predominantly, the formula has been slightly tweaked and traces were lifted off your clothes. I wanted to see if Lance was displaying symptoms”

The last thing they needed was werewolf Viagra. Matt and Rieva were horny enough as it was

“He had a fever when I left...”

  Coran frowned as his fingers went to smooth the edge of his moustache. Keith knew that fever wasn’t a good sign. He should have made Coran come to them

“That’s not a good sign. It may be emotionally related, though it may also be related to what you all breathed in last night. Is it possible for you to bring him in?”

If Lance was up for it, he would have been right here beside Keith. Coran should really know that

“He’s not up for it. Those nightmares were really bad... he barely slept at all”

“Then I want you to monitor him. I told him the other night we were still trying to figure out how to help him, and how to keep his hormone levels stable. It’s all been a muddle with Lotor. I may be overreacting...”

Overreacting was better than under reacting

“I’d rather know so I know if something does happen...”

“I thought you would. As I said, I did wish to talk to both of you, and I’m sorry I couldn’t leave here. I’m in a smidge of trouble for withholding evidence”

  The Blades could go jump. Lotor had sent them there for a reason, not the Blade members. Lotor wanted them to have whatever information was to be found... or maybe he just wanted to show them Sendak and remind them of their mortality.

  “That’s not your fault”

Coran hummed, tilting his head slightly

“That’s very kind of you to say. I’ll let you head back to Lance. If his symptoms don’t worsen by evening, he’ll be fine to return home. I do have some medication I would like him to try, just to counteract what’s in his system at the moment. It’s a bit like ingesting bad blood, and his body needs a bit of a boost to remove the last of it. Normally he burns through things quite quickly when he’s stable, making finding a way to keep a sustained dose in his system hard”

“He was really upset. He wants to do more things together. I didn’t know how freaked out shopping had made him”

“He has a soft heart, and he’s most smitten with you. I’m ashamed I’m still working on it. Though I did tell him I wanted to leave his hormones to settle for three months...”

  Keith vaguely remembered that... and Lance’s six month probationary period. Surely now Kolivan and Krolia knew Lance, Lance’s life was secured. He wouldn’t be above emotional manipulation should Krolia decide otherwise. That and he really would never forgive his mother if he lost Lance

“You know what he’s like. He’s convinced himself we can’t do anything together because I’m in danger”

Coran sighed deeply. The kind of soul deep sigh that Keith felt

“You both are, I’m afraid. His scent is quite noticeable. I have had a few vampires, and werewolves, comment on it. I’m afraid that I might not be able to give him what he wants as fast as he wants it. I may be onto something contraceptive wise. The scent... I truly believed would settle in time”

Maybe if Lance hadn’t been pulled into his world, it would have? His boyfriend had had such a quite life before he’d come along

“Basically we’re being too impatient, aren’t we?”

Coran smiled as he nodded

“You are. Young love can be that way. I remember that feeling all too well. Now, I’m going to give you an injection for him. You may call it the hopes of an old man, as well as a slight experiment, as it’s far better for him to go into heat naturally. I’ll need you to draw some of your own blood before injecting him”

  That reminded him. Lance would be proud if he could see him operating on one cup of coffee. Not only was he talking, he was remembering like a functional human

“Coran, you said before that fresh blood would help him...”

“It would, but he can’t have things both ways”

“What makes fresh blood so different?”

“Think of it like your cup of coffee. When it’s warm, it leaves you feeling much more satisfied... though, perhaps that’s not the right way to word it. Say you were starving, your choice between a fresh crisp apple and an apple with the onset of rot. Both will cure your hunger, though the crisp apple tasted better, it’s better for you, and you feel better for eating it. I’m not explaining this right... There’s more life in fresh blood. Magic if you will”

Keith nodded... Vampire welfare was on the BOM official study guide. Keith had to continually remember that they were full of shit

“Like remote control batteries. Fresh blood is like fresh batteries and last longer. Blood bags are like half used batteries that keep you going until you replace them with other half used batteries”

Coran’s eyes widened, his smile broadening to being too big for the hour of the morning

“Number two, that’s the best description I’ve heard to date. I might have to use it myself. Now, you really best be home. Allura will be meeting with Lotor later, she’s assured me he’s fine with meeting with her alone”

“I think Lance dented his ego”

“More like he smacked across the face repeatedly with a newspaper”

  They both smiled at the thought. Keith didn’t see whatever Allura saw in Lotor. All he saw was an unnecessary complication. Standing up, he stretched, muscles protesting thanks to how he’d spent the night holding Lance. If Allura wanted to meet with Lotor it really wasn’t his business, all he wanted was to get home to his boyfriend.

   *

Lance slept on, Keith feeling guilty about injecting his boyfriend while he was sleeping but didn’t want to wake him now he was finally resting peacefully. Thanks to that it turned into a lazy day, Keith pulling on his pyjamas and conking out next to his boyfriend. Leaving his phone unguarded, it wasn’t until nearly 4pm that he woke, roused by Lance waking up. Peppering kisses to Keith’s cheek, Keith smiled as he hugged his boyfriend close, determined that Lance wouldn’t feel judged over his nightmares

“Good morning, sleepy head”

  Nuzzling into Keith’s cheek, Lance was relaxed against him

“Hey, hot stuff”

“What brings you to a bed like this?”

“My boyfriend... My amazing boyfriend”

Keith’s smile widened, playing along

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. He has no idea how much he helped last night”

“He sounds like a keeper”

“He is...”

  Falling into a comfortable silence, it was broken by Kosmo who’d heard them. His paws scratching on Keith’s door, whining pathetically to be let in. Shiro collecting him up before letting himself into Keith’s room. Carrying the excited puppy over, he dropped Kosmo lightly on the pair of them

“You’re lucky I don’t charge babysitting fees”

“Don’t be like that... what’s the time?”

“Nearly 4. Pidge says you’re disgusting”

Keith groaned in confusion. One minute he was having cuddles, the next Kosmo was climbing over him and Pidge’s name was being brought up

“What did you do?”

“I may have sent a photo or ten of you two sleeping to your chat”

“Shiro!”

He was going to kill his brother

“It’s your fault for not locking your phone and I wanted to let them know you guys were both alright”

  That word “alright” seemed to linger in the air. Lance going tense as if he expected Shiro to yell

“I’m sorry for last night”

“Nah. It’s alright. As long as you’re feeling better”

That desire to murder faded when Keith realised his brother was trying to reassure Lance that he was still welcome here and that having nightmares wasn’t about to wind up up with him evicted

“A lot... I’m sorry they were so severe”

“It’s okay. Nothing compared to some of the nightmares we’ve been through, and it’s not something you can help or control. Curtis is out in the living room if you two feel up to being human”

“I guess I’m staying here...”

  Keith took a moment to process before groaning, Lance kissing his cheek. His boyfriend wasn’t funny

“You’re a shit”

“I’m dead... and I probably look like shit, but I’m not sure you’re using the right descriptive words”

“You’re an idiot crumpet”

“And you’re a cranky caffeine needing anger loaf”

Keith couldn’t disagree. Shiro laughing at the pair of them

“I’ll let Curtis know you’re coming out”

“He already knows”

That smooth fucker. All Keith could do was groan again at Lance.

  Skipping showering, Keith lent Lance some of his clothes to wear. His boyfriend pulling off the cliche “stolen boyfriend hoodie” happily. Heading out to the living room, Curtis smiled at the pair of them

“Good to see you awake. Sorry I couldn’t come back last night. Coran got in trouble for bringing us along”

Lance stalled mid-step, head jerking up, looking like a deer in headlights

“Fuck. Lotor...”

“I’d rather not”

Now he had Curtis doing it too. Why were all their friends so weird?

“Noooo. Shit. We should have met with him by now”

Placing his hands on Lance’s shoulders, Keith pushed him towards the sofa

“Allura’s got it handled”

“She does? How do you know she does?”

“Because I saw Coran this morning. Now sit down already, I’m feeling exhausted already trying to guess what’s going on in your head”

  Lance obediently sat, Keith flopping down next to him

“What do you mean you saw Coran?”

“I mean I saw him. He called earlier”

“What did he say? Is Allura okay?”

“Allura’s fine. He wanted to talk but you were sleeping so I went in to find out what was going on”

Lance frowned hard. Hard enough for it be adorable

“You should have woken me”

“It’s fine. We had a chat. Blades got some leads to work on and we all got slightly drugged. No biggie”

  Shiro fumbled the mug he was holding as the smoke alarm started beeping. Lance hissing and covering his ears. In the kitchen the toaster had gone up in flames, Curtis moving to open the windows, Shiro moving to deal with the toaster. Unplugging it, he dropped the device in the sink, turning the water on to douse it in a way that couldn’t be safe. Flying up the sofa, Kosmo shook as he panted, trying to climb up Keith’s chest

“Turn the alarm off!”

“On it!”

  The whole sequence of events took place in the space of a few minutes. Lance and Keith both wide awake now. It’d been a while since anything had gone up in flames in the kitchen... as if they’d been lulled into a false sense of security. Turning alarm off, they all breathed a sigh of relief as the noise died

“Sorry ‘bout that”

Keith was confused by Curtis apologising

“What are you saying sorry for? Shiro’s the one in the kitchen”

“I should have hit the alarm before doing the windows”

“Don’t blame this on me. There’s nothing in the toaster”

Rubbing at his ears, Lance sighed

“Why does it have to be toasters? Why can’t it be something less flammable?”

Keith didn’t have an answer. Shiro was in the kitchen meaning it was his fault

“It’s the first time Shiro’s killed one here”

Shiro quick to deny

“Again, not my fault!”

“None of you should be allowed in a kitchen. I’ll clean up, and as I do, I want the three of you to sit on the sofa and have a good hard think about your actions”

  When Lance was determined, it was impossible to talk him out of something. Curtis and Shiro both looked sheepish sitting on the sofa next to Keith with their hands in their laps, Keith’s resting on a traumatised Kosmo. The three of them too scared to talk properly

“He’s your boyfriend...”

“I’m not getting invoked”

“We weren’t anywhere near the toaster”

“Doesn’t matter. Shut up. You’ll get us in trouble”

From the kitchen Lance called out

“I’d like to say I know you know I can hear you. You’ve all lost your rights to touch a toaster”

Keith kicked Shiro in the side of the leg with a glare. He’d worked hard to have toaster privileges again

“Now look what you’ve done”

Shiro gaped at him. His brother had brought this on himself

“Me? I didn’t touch it”

“Doesn’t matter. You got me in trouble”

“But I didn’t do anything. Curtis, back me up”

  Curtis decided now was the time to check under his nails for imaginary dirt

“Did you say something?”

“Traitor. You’re supposed to be on my side”

“As an experienced toaster killer, it’s best you accept your punishment”

“I’ll punish you”

Ugh. Gross. He didn’t need to think about that

“Bring it. What are you doing to do? Grind my horn down?”

“No, but I might paint your tail while you sleep”

“Oh good. I was thinking it needed a fresh coat of fuck off”

Delivered deliberately, Keith felt Shiro’s soul take damage. His brother had no smart reply for that. Instead Shiro crossed his arms, leaned back into the sofa, and looked away from the both.

   Seeing they’d been banned from the kitchen, Lance made sandwiches for the four of them. Keith wanted to help, but all it took was a look for the words to die unasked. Lance wanted to feel normal, so was doing something as mundane as making sandwiches. Presenting them nicely, with coffee for three of them, his boyfriend then sat on the arm of the sofa

“Okay. You can eat now. I’m probably going to head back to Garrison tonight”

Lance wasn’t going to ask about being drugged?

“Coran said you should stay... to make sure you’re okay. I had to give you an injection of blood and stuff to help get everything out your system”

“I did wonder why my arm hurt. Did he say what it was?”

Keith blushed, mumbling

“Werewolf viagra”

“What?!”

 Screeching, Lance nearly fell off the sofa arm backwards. Hands flaying before grabbing the arm of the sofa and saving himself

“Werewolf what?”

“Viagra. Traces were on our clothes. It’d been like adjusted or something. Coran wanted to make sure you didn’t go into heat or anything”

Angrily, Lance huffed

“Oh, so now he can do something about it...”

Whelp. Fuck

“He said it would be burned through in your system and you needed a bit of jump start with that”

“I feel shitty enough without this viagra. Why the fuck would they be using it in a vampire club?”

Keith shrugged

“I don’t know... You’ll have to ask Coran”

“Because that won’t be an awkward conversation. Can you imagine Matt if he sniffs it in me? He’s horny enough as it is”

  Shiro choked on his sandwich, hitting his chest with his fist

“I don’t need to think about that”

“Neither did I. Did he tell you what I’m supposed to feel?”

“You had a fever and he was worried it’d turn into a heat”

“Great. So a guy can’t have a fever these days without being secretly horny... Thanks, life”

Curtis braved the cranky Lance

“He does have a point. A fever is a prime indicator that you’ve gone into heat”

“Not that kind of fever...”

“You also had an incredulous stressful night. Personally I believed you would turned into a bat”

“Your confidence in me is startling”

“You are swayed easily by your emotions”

  Keith winced in sympathy for Curtis. It was nice knowing him

“And your feet smell like parmesan cheese. Sometimes facts fucking suck”

It seemed Curtis would live to see another day. Keith, no longer as blind as he’d been, could see right through all of this. This was Lance doing that mood thing when things got too much and he tried too hard to make them all feel better. Yeah. He was onto his boyfriend. That irritating fake perk... that he found not as irritating when it wasn’t directed in his direction... Lance loved everyone in their friend circle so much that Keith couldn’t blame him for wanting things to feel normal between them

“That’s not my fault”

“And my emotions are what keeps me sane, though hanging out with you lot makes me question why I bother”

“Because we’re interesting?”

Lance sighed, Curtis calming him down with those three words

“I can’t deny that. And who the hell sprinkles werewolf viagra over a crowd of vampires? It’s like asking for us to be chased by horny mutts. I feel exhausted thinking about the way we all acted and now I find out that some wanker thought it was okay to drug my boyfriend. Being a vampire sucks. I want to punch someone in the dick for this”

  Keith snorted. The infamous dick punch threat was bound to come out

“You’re not alone there. I think Coran would punch them too”

“How did he even find out what it was so fast?”

“By the look of it he worked all night”

“He’s an idiot. He’s going to burn himself out if he doesn’t rest. You said we got leads?”

“Yeah. Someone slipped some stuff into Allura’s pocket. They’re still working on it, but the second lot was definitely viagra and blood”

“I’ll bet you a hundred bucks Sendak was experimenting last night and came to check the results”

  Keith shook his head. Now Lance suggested it, it seemed very likely that was the case

“I’m not taking that bet. You’re probably right. You’ve got a good instinct for these things”

“It comes with being old and tired of people... and vampires. I’m tired of vampires. I’m a tired old vampire tired of vampires”

Keith forced down his laughter. Lance wasn’t that old for a vampire. Plus, they were both old and tired of people

“You poor thing. Come sit in my lap and tell me all about it”

His boyfriend hissed at him

“I feel personally attacked now. You could have denied it”

“In the words of Pidge, “Merp””

“You can’t quote the gremlin against me. She’s magical. She’ll hear”

Pidge was magical in her own way. She was unbeaten with a laptop in her lap. The world should really fear her and her tenacious spirit

“She should write a book”

“How to “Merp” according to Pidge?”

“Pretty much”

“Maybe if she did, they’d give up this stupid fucking hunt. Did Coran say how long I have to stay I town?”

“He said you can go home if you’re still okay this evening”

  Keith would have preferred Lance stayed so they could be sure the vampire was truly okay

“I don’t want to drive back, but I have to make sure they’re still all okay. Especially after last night”

“I know”

Not that it made it easier to say goodbye. Lance reminded him of when he had to see Shiro at every chance he got to make sure Shiro hadn’t been killed like Adam

“I think I deserve cuddles for this...”

“I did offer my lap”

“I know. I’m coming in...”

Curtis’s sharp wit struck again, commenting as Lance climbed off the sofa arm

“Really? I do believe Shiro said you were coming out”

  Closing his eyes, Keith sighed to himself in the moment it took Lance to club into his lap. Why did their friends have to be so weird?

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Dragon Egg (Parts 14-18)

If she knew that that night would be her last good night, she might have savored it more. Oh, Agni, she would have smiled wider and laughed more freely. But how could she have known that she would be smiling again.

.oOo.

Azula holds her hand against the swell of her belly. It has grown more prominent, seemingly overnight. Pregnancy test or none, morning sickness or peaceful awakenings, mood swings and unstable hormones; until the bump she had still been able to pretend like it wasn’t real, that she still had a chance.

She can’t see her father anymore, not unless she buries herself under bulky layers of sweaters and jackets. Even then her father will know that something is amiss. She used to never wear baggy clothing, of the opinion that it looks sloppy and lazy. He’d surely question why she has traded her crop tops and--formerly--form fitting dresses for loose fitting t’s and sweatpants.

She is some five months along now and certain that it is far too late to terminate the pregnancy. Her window for making that decision has come to a close. As have the window to keep it a secret. Trying to pass it off as a few extra pounds no longer cuts it and even if it did, it wouldn’t earn her a much better reaction than the truth would.

Spirits, what was she thinking, keeping this baby. She should have just ripped the bandaid and told her father. Should have dealt with the screaming and scolding, perhaps a good slap. Those things would have come to pass. The guilt over terminating the pregnancy would have come to pass. She would have given such a stellar performance at Audio of Agni that he’d be forced to forgive her, to love her, and to recognize that she is still his perfect, talented, gleaming star.

This, she runs her hand along the bump, won’t come to pass. It will be with her forever, should the delivery go smoothly. Spirits, she doesn’t want to think about the delivery. And, Spirits, what if she finds herself in the hospital during Agni of Audio? She is certain that her due date will fall around the same date as the performance.

She rakes her fingers through her hairline. Fuck, she doesn’t even know her fucking due date. She is a mess and it is her fault. She can’t even be sure that she and this baby are healthy. She isn’t sure that her diet has been good for the baby, isn’t sure that her lifestyle is safe for it. She knows that the stress can’t possibly be doing it any favors.

She feels her phone vibrate and unlocks it to confirm that they are still on for practice. It won’t be a practice so much as a meeting and, by, Agni she isn’t ready. Not even slightly, but she has to tell someone. She has to tell Chan specifically. Maybe she should talk to Seicho first. Maybe she should speak with Chan alone.

She closes her eyes and taps her phone against her lips. She will assemble all of them and speak with Chan first. It is time to stop delaying. Time to stop stalling. Time to grow up faster than she already has been.

.oOo.

Mai still refuses to speak to him outside of practice. Other than a curt reminder that he is lucky that she was generous enough to snatch her mother’s money and pay his bail, thus incurring the woman’s wrath.

Zuko is certain that Michi’s wrath is nothing like that of the magazines and morning shows. The ones that won’t let his arrest become old news even months later. Somehow they always find some fresh new angle to talk about it from. Some brand new perspective. Seldom are do any of these perspective’s paint him in a good light.

The boy, Kei-Lo, has been getting more attention than he. What started off as a ridiculous clickbait video titled ‘Almost Killed By My Idol!!’ grew into an entire platform. He has been on talk show after talk show, retelling the story of how he almost got ‘murdered’ by the lead singer of From Ashes To Phoenix. He recounts have gotten more and more absurd--“for humor’s sake, I promise!”--to the point where Zuko had allegedly picked up a chair after splintering his guitar. And when that hadn’t worked, he’d allegedly begun trying to stab Kei-Lo with the splintered end of his guitar.

And somehow the media has latched onto that image, churning out t-shirts of him wielding his guitar like some sort of stone age brute and foils stickers of his enraged expression. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so horrible if he were receiving a cut of the cash. Or, at the very least, if the publicity were doing him any good.

No, it is only kickstarting Kei-Lo’s career as a comedian and talk show host. And in the wake of his goals, From Ashes To Phoenix is taking the fall. Even Azula hasn’t so directly kicked him down to lift herself up. At least Azula could say that she was bringing him down on talent alone; that she is simply better without having to make him worse.

Zuko’s brows furrow, when he comes to dwell on it, Azula has been rather quiet lately. Quiet, even after being the subject of talk shows herself. Raava and Vaatu of the Tui La’s and Wan Shi Tong have only been raving about she and the rest of Blue Talon. It has only been fantastic press for her. And she hasn’t even sent him a link to remind him of that.

Maybe she is simply too busy to do so; too important to bother with even mocking him anymore. He balls his fists, if he grips his pencil any tighter, he might break it. And he hates her with more fury than ever. He picks up his phone to tell her off. Why not? He needs an outlet for the anger brewing within him. And she is perfect for it, she could do with someone telling her that she isn’t so great.

He pulls her number upon his phone. He cringes all over again when he sees that he has already messaged her. At least several times and with variations of the same few messages; ‘You think that you’re so great don’t you? You’re so perfect. That’s fine, it’ll make it better when everyone else realizes that you aren’t’, ‘dad start beating you you yet?’, ‘oh so you’re too famous to insult me now’, and one final comment about her one failure, ‘how’s it feel to be in the tabloids, fatass?’  It is a wonder that she hasn’t blocked his numbers. Likely she sees that as a weakness. Likely, she finds his insults laughable, a sign that he’s doing worse than ever. Likely, it entertains her. He rakes his hands through his hair. He doesn’t even remember sending those.

A lot of things are fuzzy these days. He writes songs, he even records them, but he forgets to include Mai and TyLee in them. And on the days that he doesn’t wake up there, he forgets that he has gone to the recording studio at all.

He rubs his hands over his face. His heart is beating so fast and, no matter what he tries, he can’t stop shaking. He can hardly breath, the room feels so small and the more he thinks about those texts and the other things he has forgotten, the smaller the room seems.

He raps the heel of his hand against his forehead.

He should try to sleep, that might do him some good. He hasn’t slept in a while. He is damn certain that, even if the coke wasn’t making him restless, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Every time his head hits the pillow it seems to whisper to him, telling him that he is a waste. His life is a waste. That he is no better than his father.

And the pillow--his own inner voice is right. Just because it isn’t alcohol, doesn’t mean that he isn’t the exact person he hates. He wonders how he’d let this happen, all he needed was a small boost of energy, a shot of confidence, and euphoria when he couldn’t produce it on his own. He supposes that, that is the problem exactly. He never can produce it on his own.  

He was just going to use it until he had his first singles out. He wishes that the plan hadn’t worked so well. He wishes that he would have had a trip so horrible that he’d never want to do it again. But he had pumped out singles at a rate that Azula would envy--that she did envy when she saw that he had released his new singles before she did.

And just like that, ‘only until I finish my single’ became, ‘I will only use it until I finish the album.’ By the time he finished the album he found that he couldn’t stop. That he needed the extra kick. He can’t produce anything worthwhile without it.

And now he can’t function without it. Oh, Agni, he wants to function without it.

He slaps at his forehead again. He is more useless than ever and the press is finally catching onto his horrid habits. He wishes that uncle were here to offer him advice, and yet he can’t bring himself to tell the man just how much trouble he is in. He wonders if an hour long video chat a day is enough for him to be able to tell.

He wishes that he were home and not sleeping on a tour bus or in some sketchy motel, where dealers make exchanges in the alley over. He wishes that he hadn’t dragged Mai and TyLee into this one with him.

He has let Mai down; he thinks that she is falling out of love with him and in love with TyLee. Has let TyLee down; she is scared to be alone with him. Has let uncle down; he just doesn’t know it yet. He has let himself down; if he had the opportunity to walk out on himself, he probably would.

He always lets everyone down

He sits in his room, pencil in hand. He can’t seem to write songs when his head is so turbulent. When his hand is so twitchy. When his arms are so soar and bruised. And yet he can’t stop himself from putting down the pencil and taking up a needle.

He has let everyone down and he is doing it again. He can’t stop doing it. His band is a lost cause.

He can hear in his head, his father sneering about how he’d told him so; he told him that he would never make it big. He can hear Azula’s dainty little laugh, “oh, Zuzu, you’re pathetic, Tom-Tom can upstage you by banging on pots and pans.”

He cups his hands over his head. He just wants to succeed. He just wants a chance. He just wants to be happy.

.oOo.

For a moment she allows herself to hope. Perhaps everything will just be okay. Maybe father will handle it better than she anticipates. Even if he doesn’t, she has made a name for herself. She is revered by the metal masters. She has a strong voice, a sharp mind, and the tools to make something of it. Even if he doesn’t, she has her bandmates. She won’t lose everything. Perhaps her father will take well to knowing that there will be someone to inherent the family legacy, another little prodigy to teach.

Perhaps, Chan will make a good father. Perhaps the Blue Talon fandom will find a baby dragon to be precious. She should know better than to get idealistic. It never does her any good.  

She swallows hard before pushing the door to the recording studio open. As things are, she is the first to arrive, it is just as well, she can use a few moments to prepare herself. She inhales and exhales several times, until at least some of her nerves settle.

Azula is more than relieved when Chan arrives first, it makes speaking to him in private that much easier. She waits for him to prop his guitar against the wall before greeting him. He looks her up and down. It is the first time in a long while that she has worn something that isn’t baggy. He keeps his thoughts tactfully to himself. “Yes, this is what I want to talk to you about.” She clasps her hands over her bump and clears her throat. “We will proceed with practice, but first I have to tell you something.”

“Are you…? You’re not…” He sputters, his eyes are fixed on her belly. She finds herself growing heavily uncomfortable under his stare. She swallows, the look on his face tells her that she is in for a difficult time. That he isn’t going to take this well at all.

“I am.” She confirms. “I have been for the past five months.” She looks up from her hands. “It’s your baby, Chan.”

He shanks his head. “No. No way.”

She nods. “I’ve only ever…” she trails off. “You’re the only person I got that close to.”

He rubs his hand over his face. “I can’t be a father!” When he pulls his hands away from his face it looks as though he has aged several years. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I wanted to make sure that there were no distractions along the way to battle of the bands. Now that we have a stable standing…”

He shakes his head, “you’re only telling me this because you can’t keep it a secret anymore. Why did you keep it!?” He is pacing rather frantically now. “I don’t want a baby! I don’t want to be tethered to you for the rest of my life!”

Poor word choice or not, it comes like a forceful kick to the teeth. She furrows her brows, “we’re in a band together. And if we make it big we’re going to be spending plenty of time with one another anyhow. If anything, Lo and Li can watch the baby. They took care of me after my mother died.”

The laugh Chan gives is unsettling. “I’m not going to be a father. I have a career to focus on.”

“So do I.” Azula hisses. “You don’t get to just walk away from this.” But that’s just the thing, he very well can. He can walk away in a way that she can’t. “You...we don’t have to keep it. But you’re not going to pretend like it isn’t your baby.”

“Do you know what my dad will say if he finds out?”

“Do you know what my father will do when he finds out?” She isn’t even certain of this and, spirits, does she dread it. She needs someone to be there even if that someone is the asshole who put her in this position in the first place.

“It’s not my fault that you got pregnant!”

“I don’t know if things have changed since I last looked at a biology textbook, but from what I remember, this is a two person job.”

“What’s with all of the shouting?” Zirin grumbles.

“We have a band whore, that’s what.” Chan declares.

Azula’s face colors, a cross between outrage and mortification. “It’s your baby.” She insists through gritted teeth. “Who else’s would it be?”

He turns from her and appeals to Ruon and Zirin instead. “Who knows how many people she’s had backstage.”

“That’s not exactly characteristic of Azula.” Ruon mumbles.

“Neither is party sex.” Zirin shrugs.

“Chan is the father.”

“Just own up, dude.” Ruon frowns.

“Let’s say that it is mine. What the hell am I supposed to do about it? Her dad’s wallet can cover everything, she doesn’t need my help.”

Her eyes narrow, he has missed the point entirely; it isn’t money that she is seeking. She is yearning for something that her father will most certainly deprive her of--something that he has never been that good for in the first place. She craves comfort. She needs reassurance. And yet she is hesitant to ask for either. “Do you really think that my father is going to take this news very well?”

“I can’t do anything about that!” Chan throws his hands up.

“No, I suppose you can’t.” In the silence to follow, she thinks to just walk away. What more is there to say? And, really, what had she been expecting? That Chan, immature Chan, who draws phallic imagery on restaurant menus and attempts keg stands, would readily embrace the responsibilities of having knocked someone up. “Forget it. I’ll deal with it on my own.” She mumbles. “Let’s just get on with practice.”

Ruon seems to cringe.

“Really, I can deal with it on my own.”

His expression doesn’t change. If anything he is flinching harder still. “Azula, should there even be a practice?”

She furrows her brows, “What? What are you talking about, of course there should be a practice.” She thinks that her voice has raised a pitch or two.

“You’re pregnant.” He says gently, carefully. “Should you really be focusing on music right now?”

She swallows, feeling almost nauseous with nerves. “I can do both. I’ve been doing both. I can think about two things at once.”

“Realistically,” Ruon begins, “are you really going to have time to tour?”

She nods almost frantically, “I’ve been managing.”

“You haven’t been going to the doctor.” Ruon points out. “That takes up time.”

“If Zuzu was able to manage school and being in a band, then I can manage being in a band and one appointment every now and again.” She rolls her eyes, “are you really underestimating me now?”

“Am I? Or are you overestimating yourself?” Ruon asks. “Being in a band is a lot of stress and pressure without a baby…”

But he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how essential being in the band is. Doesn’t understand how every aspect of her life hinges on it. On how well she performs at Audio of Agni. The competition will be the make or break moment of her life. Things have fallen into place so well and so neatly, she can’t imagine that she will have another chance at it. “Ruon, I can handle it.” She punctuates every word.

“Well maybe we don’t want to.” Zirin throws in. “Every fucking time it’s all about you. What you want. How being in this band effects you. I need this band too, and I can’t afford a wild card.” Her eyes wander to Azula’s bump.

“It’s not a wild card, I can plan…”

“Even if it’s not a wild card, it’s a risk. Zirin can’t afford risks right now.” Ruon replies. “She needs to be able to get out of that home and this band is her way out.”

And Azula is reminded of each time that Zirin has wandered into the recording booth with a collection of fresh bruises on her arms and legs, on her ribcage and back. “Which is why I need to be here. I can get where we need to be and Zirin will be able to…”

Zirin shakes her head. “You don’t get it do you? You’re still making this about you.”

“You’re not the only person in this band who has talent!” Chan speaks up again. “Zirin can sing too. I can sing. You aren’t creative and you need to be creative to be an artist.”

“I am creative.”

“No, you’re good at planning and organizing. You’re good at taking our ideas and fine-tuning them. Anyone can do that. Ruon and I write the lyrics and concepts for our videos.” He pauses for a breath. “You shoot down any ideas that aren’t copies of what we’ve already done. You refuse to try new sounds and styles.”

“I wrote the last few songs.”

“And they sound like everything else that we’ve ever done! Fine. Maybe surf rock isn’t it, but we need to change our sound somehow. We need to try something new. And you’re holding us back.”

“Holding you back, I--”

“And you’re going to hold us back more and more the further along you are.”

She clutches her belly, unsure of which emotion has the strongest grip on her--anger, distress, hurt, or anxiety. She can feel the baby kick, adding another layer of pulsing to the unsavory emotions already throbbing and throbbing within.

“Chan, that’s enough.” Ruon puts a hand on his shoulder.

He shakes it off. “Is it? She’s been giving us demands, talking down to us, and blaming us for setbacks this whole time! And this whole time she’s been carrying a bigger setback than any of us.”

“Because of you!” She hisses. She is nearing her compousre’s very end and she isn’t sure what is going to tear out when the last of it is worn away.

“We’ve been pushing along and pretending like nothing is wrong. Something needs to change.”

Her stomach sinks even further and the queasiness in her tummy grows, twice so with the shifting of the baby. “And what needs to change, Chan?” Her voice has dropped so dangerously low. Not that it can vocalize anything more than an empty threat. She is outnumbered and out of cards in a hand that wasn’t even winning to begin with.

“The lineup of this band.” Zirin puts in. Chan nods in agreement.

She waits for Ruon to tell them that that is ridiculous. She looks to him, letting her mask slip long enough for the plea to reflect in her eyes. He only turns his head. “Ruon?”

He sighs heavily. “I’m not saying that I agree with everything  Chan said just now. But I do think that it might be a good idea if you...took a break from Blue Talon.”

“Ruon!?” Her composure splinters further and her voice cracks.

He takes her hand, she knows that he means it as a comforting gesture but she doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want to be touched right now. She snatches her hand away.

“I guess I can’t tell you what’s best for you but I don’t think that being in the band is good for you right now. How are you going to handle the headlines and the bad press? It’s going to be a lot. I don’t think that I’d be able to deal with it very well.”

“I’m not you, I can handle it just fine.”

“You can’t even adjust to changing the band’s style, how are you going to adjust to…”

Ruon cuts him off.

“How far along are you right now, Azula.”

‘Five months.” She answers, her voice so small and quiet now.

“From the looks of it, by the time Audio of Agni comes around, you’ll be expecting to have your baby at any time.”

She swallows hard, tears are finally starting to well up behind her eyes. Because he is right. Even if they don’t kick her out of her own band, she is almost certain that she won’t be in any shape to perform, especially not to the degree she would like. It was a lost cause from the start. A losing battle that she tried to fight single handedly anyways. What is the point in wasting her energy on a battle that can’t be won; perhaps it is time for a while flag. Perhaps the time to wave one is well overdue.

She takes a deep breath, regaining as much composure as she can and mustering all of the poise as she can manage. “Good luck with Audio of Agni.” She picks up her microphone stand and hastily strides away.

The slamming of the recording studio door is the closing of the door to her aspirations, her future.

__________

She wonders how long it will take for the tabloids to tear her self-esteem to thinner ribbons than it is already in. How long it will take for them to churn out headlines officiating her departure from the band. She supposes that she could save herself some dignity and post an open letter of sorts on her social media before the other three can. 

If only she had the drive. 

If only it mattered. 

She is already simmering in shame, what’s one more layer?

Anyways, she has to conserve her planning and word play for when her father comes home. And her time is running thin, his vacation expires two days from now. She has a feeling that there is no adequate dialogue; that even the most seasoned authors, poets, and intellectuals wouldn’t be able to scrape up a speech that would satisfy Ozai. 

She longs to pull her knees up to her chest and bury her face in them. This is just one more thing that her baby gets in the way of. She settles for leaning her head against the wall and rubbing her hands over her face. 

Her phone vibrates again. 

She ought to put it on silent. 

Once or twice the doorbell had rung.

She wouldn’t have answered even if she had the willpower to do so. 

The phone vibrates. This time it is only a text. She has a growing list of missed call notifications. A steady steam of names; mostly Ruon and Seicho but Chan and Zirin are in the mix. There is one or two from her father and a voicemail message from Zhao. 

She doesn’t answer any of their calls or texts. She doesn’t want to. They are just like Mai and TyLee. Perhaps worse. She’ll leave it to them to explain her departure to Zhao. Chan has left her with a mess to clean so she will leave him one. 

Her phone lights up with an incoming call, Seicho’s name appears on the screen. 

She should answer it.

It would have been better if she did. But her life has been reduced to one mistake after another, just what is one more anyways?

.oOo.

The empty pouch lies several feet from her. She hadn’t meant to. But she is at her wits end, her sanity’s very edge. And she hates to admit it, but she loved it. She loved it so much. She hadn’t felt that energetic and inspired in a very long time. For a time, her appetite hadn’t been so horribly ravenous. And by Agni, conversation had come much easier when she finally got around to responding to that stream of missed calls. It was a sublime half an hour. She finds that she can no longer blame Zuko at all for craving the drug so furiously. 

She can’t quite remember what she said to everyone. She doesn’t think that it matters anyways.  She is so thoroughly drained, so much so that she can’t fathom leaving her bed. Can’t fathom anything at all. And this is a mercy to what comes next. To the slap of awareness that comes the next day.

Azula hasn’t felt so dreadful about herself since seeing her pregnancy test marked positive. She thinks that she might feel worse now than she had then. Her mind is a whirlwind of shame and guilt. She wishes she could pretend that she hadn’t done cocaine but she had been too lethargic in the crash to have even discarded the pouch. 

It sits upon her dresser amid a light dusting of the powder, reminding that she is a failure just as miserable as her brother. That she is more so. At least Zuko never had a chance. She had all of the cards in line for her, all of the game pieces set in place and she still has managed to lose. 

The noise that tears from her throat is hideous, tortured. The product of a failed attempt to conceal a sob. She used cocaine. 

There is a baby in her belly and she used cocaine. 

Spirits, she has probably killed it. She digs her nails into her hairline. She didn’t want to kill it. Whether she wanted it or not the baby is still hers. It is still a part of her. It might be the only thing that she will have left. And she might have just killed it or poisoned it. 

She can’t stop the tremors and shakes that run through her body and she isn’t sure if it is an effect of the drug or if she is simply an anxious mess. Can cocaine give someone the shakes after one use? She trembles harder still.

She needs help. 

She should call someone.

She is scared.

She has no one to call.

She wipes it her nose, she can still feel tingles and tickles. A faint static dancing on her nostrils and it won’t go away. No matter what she does or tries to think about, it doesn’t go away. The feeling builds in her sinuses until she is overtaken by an urge to claw at her nose. 

It is ludicrous, the power is not there anymore--she has been to the mirror five times over to check. 

She rubs her hands over her face. 

She hears her phone vibrate. 

She covers her ears. 

She still hears it vibrate and it vibrates in unison with the static. 

She slides onto the floor and bunches herself up as much as her bigger belly would allow. She finds that she is no longer even allowed to take comfort in bunching herself up. And so she lays there, strewn haphazardly, on the kitchen floor, tangled locks of hair fanning out around her. 

Maybe she should lay there and die. Maybe she should go fetch the rest of her father’s stash and hit it all in one go.  Maybe it is a mercy that she has probably gotten her baby killed. It doesn’t need to be born into a world that will emotionally rip it to tatters. It doesn’t need to be born to an inept mother...an inept person like her. 

She should get off of the floor. 

She can’t.

She is terrified.

She still has no one to call.

________________

Azula doesn’t remember opening the door. She doesn’t think that she had. But Seicho is there all the same. There and cradling her tightly, running her hand over her hair. Azula feels so, so weak. Weak and somehow more drained than she had even before.

“What happened, Azula?” She mumbles into her hair.

“They kicked me out of my own band.” She says softly, her voice straining as she tries to choke back a fresh batch of tears. “Chan got me pregnant and they kicked me out. It’s my band. My father is the one who…” she loses it at ‘father’, her words falling into the sob that she tried to suppress. “He’s going to...Agni, he’s going to disown me. Just like he did to Zuzu.” 

Seicho’s brows furrow. “He’s your father, he wouldn’t…”

Azula shakes her head. “He’s a drunk, Seicho! I found the drugs in his desk.”

“You took drugs!?”

Azula grits her teeth. “I…” she what? There is no excuse. “I fucked up.” 

Seicho squeezes her tighter and mutters, “let’s get you to the doctor.” She helps Azula to her shaky feet. “You should have seen one months ago, anyways.” 

“What’s wrong with me, Seicho?”

“You’re stressed and pregnant and stressed because you’re pregnant.” 

“I can’t afford to see a doctor. My father isn’t going to pay for that. I only have so much money saved up from the band…” 

“Let’s just get you to this first appointment.”

Azula sucks in a deep breath. Seicho is right. She needs to regain rationality and start figuring out what to do. Really figuring it out as she should have done in the first place. Seicho helps her into the car.

.oOo. 

Watching a dragon lose its wings is worse than finding out that her idol is the sort of asshole who would abandon his daughter for drugs and then abandon her twice over when she makes a mistake of her own. 

Azula had been such a proud woman, head held high and vibrant. She is pale now, her eyes baggy and bloodshot, hair in a state of disarray and her clothes unkempt. She is softer, her face rounder. But there is no warmth in it; there is no glow of pregnancy. There is no glow at all. It is hollow and grey. 

She squeezes Azula’s hand as she lingers in front of the door. It is as though walking in will put the final nail in a coffin that has been sealed for quite some time now. “Come on,” she implores softly, “I think that you’ll feel a lot better once the doctor tells you your options.”  

Azula nods. 

“How far along are you?” Seicho hears the receptionist ask. 

“Five months.” She sounds so small. 

“And you haven’t seen a doctor yet?”

She shakes her head.

“Why have you waited so long?”

“I didn’t want to tell my father…”

The receptionist sighs. “I’m sorry, we can’t take you as a patient.”

Azula’s dreary eyes grow that much more dismal. “What do you mean?” Her voice is caught somewhere between distress and anger. Seicho thinks that it is pure shock. “Why not?”

The receptionist has the decency to cringe. “You’ve already missed several important screenings, tests, and milestones. You’re also very young…”

“So?”

She flinches back further. “You’re a liability. There are a lot of risk factors and most physicians don’t want that liability.” 

Azula grows paler still. “I-I don’t know what to do. I need to see someone.” 

“I’m sorry, Ms. We can’t accept new patients that are this far along.” 

Azula doesn’t speak another word. Stiff and tense is her walk back to the car and all Seicho can do is rub her hand in small circles on her back as they walk. Azula lays back against the headrest, almost limp in defeat. “Is there anywhere else we can go?”

“We can try the next place over.” Seicho suggests. And she suggests it again and again until she has to look up clinics she has never heard of. Azula finds one, a small practitioner. And they drive there. 

.oOo.

Azula is under the impression that they have only taken her as a patient as a good will gesture. That the receptionist had taken one look at her dejected state and called for the doctor herself. Azula shifts uncomfortably in the chair as the woman looks her down with a smile that is much too big. 

“Geez, that Joo Dee woman is creepy.” Seicho whispers. 

Azula shrugs. “At least she’s giving me a chance.” She will stomach the creepiness as she stomachs everything else that is thrown at her. At last a woman appears, she is terribly old with bright white hair and fierce blue eyes. 

“Azula, is it?” She greets. 

Azula nods. 

“My name is Hama.”

“You’re going to take me as a patient.” 

“You’ve come unorthodoxly late.” She clicks her tongue. “But I’ve been doing this for a very long time so I’ll see what I can do for you.” 

Azula exchanges a glance with Seicho. One that is not missed by Hama. “You’re nervous.” 

“I am not.” 

The old woman chuckles. “I suppose it’s strange to be in a place like this instead of some facility that smells like ammonia. But I think that better births happen in a relaxed environment. Hospitals are not relaxing. Nothing comforting about giving birth when someone is dying just down the hall.”

“No, that’s not comfortable at all.” Azula agrees but it is no less comforting to be in what looks like someone’s house. “Do you even have…” “The medical equipment necessary to deliver a baby?” She quirks a brow. “I get asked that all the time, girl. I certainly do and if you will follow me I can show you. Forgive me, I know that I just criticized the scent but it does smell like disinfectants back here.”

Azula doesn’t think that there is anything to forgive. It is a comfort to know that the woman is properly sanitizing everything. She supposes that, that is a good sign. The room Hama leads her to is much like a standard doctor’s office, save for the wallpaper, a helping of potted plants everywhere, and a faint odor of incense that cuts through the disinfectants. 

“Please sit. We have quite a lot of things to go over. Namely your situation with your father, Joo Dee informed me that he is not aware.”

“He isn’t, no.” 

“This first visit will be free of charge, dear.” 

For the first time all day, perhaps in months, she feels a refreshing current of relief. She could very well cry. 

“Thank you.” 

“Because you are coming in so late, I need you to sign a waiver. There could be complications that are...difficult for me to work with, things that haven’t been detected because���”

And she hasn’t even told the woman about her cocaine use. She isn’t sure that she should, Agni forbid she loses her last chance. She reads the forms over and signs them. Hama hands her more of them. “I need you to fill out your medical history. Allergies, past illnesses, the usual. After you do that I will give you a general check up and we can schedule your first real appointment.” 

“What if I can’t pay?” 

Hama considers for a moment. “I will work with you, dear. My daughter is a fan of your music. Perhaps you can sing for her some time.” 

.oOo. 

Azula looks better, if only a little, now that she is sitting in the car with a rather clean bill of health; a healthy heart rate and body temperature, no fever nor infection, and a body weight that is rather typical for someone at five months. 

She looks better still to see that Ozai’s car is still not in the driveway. 

“Spend the night with me?”

“I can do that. Just let me text my parents.” Seicho smiles.  

_________

It is a mercy that her father is so late to return home, she thinks to call and ask him why he hasn’t come home. She is beginning to wonder if the man has overdosed in his hotel room. Drank himself to death and yet to be discovered. More likely, he has heard word of her departure from the band and is leaving her to fester in her dread for a while.

Still, it is better this way; she had needed the extra time with Hama unable to get her in for another three days. It is just as well, the cocaine should be out of her system. It has been decided that she will pay for the treatments using her band savings, it isn’t as though she has any use for them anymore, anyhow. She still feels awkward sitting in Hama’s chair. Though the woman has been more than friendly.

Seicho lounges in the corner while Hama lifts Azula’s shirt above the bump. The ultrasound gel that she applies is cool on her belly, uncomfortably so.

“We will call you with the results of your blood work as soon as we receive them.” Hama says as she carefully sweeps the transducer over Azula’s bump.

“Alright.”

“So far, it looks like your baby’s development is on the right track.”

She wouldn’t say that if she knew about the drugs.

“It’s a girl.”

“A girl.” She repeats distantly. At least she can stop calling the baby an ‘it’ now.

Hama cleans the gel away and pulls Azula’s shirt back down. “Based on what we’ve discussed I’ve given you a care plan going forward. I also have a list of foods and drinks to avoid. I’d like to see you again in two weeks.”

.oOo.

Ozai’s car is in the lot when Seicho pulls into the driveway. Her throat constricts.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Azula shakes her head. It is better if she faces him alone. It is better if she is alone when she is shamed. She takes a deep breath and steps into the foyer. She looks to the recliner that he usually occupies when he is seeking to yell at her. It is vacant.

She finds him at the dinner table, with a bottle that is already half empty. She feels nauseous but she forces herself into the room. She tries to be quiet about it when she pulls out her chair but it still squeak and scrapes upon the floor. Not that she isn’t in plain sight of her father anyhow. Even still she feels as though she should take her seat with a stealthy silence. As though sound will break whatever peace there is left. She shifts uncomfortably in her chair.

Her father looks her over, taking her in. And she realizes that it has been several weeks since he has seen her. She wonders how she looks to him with her belly swollen and her sad eyes. She braces herself for a good scolding but he doesn’t say anything at all. Somehow this is so much worse. She clears her throat, “father.”

“Don’t call me that.”

The lump in her throat grows, swelling until she can barely breathe. “I can fix this.”

His expression says it all. She has made a perfect fool of she and him both. He wants nothing to do with she and her baby. He simply lifts his arms and slides the sheets of paper that were underneath them over to her. She picks them up and looks them over, they are printouts from various online newspapers.

Now that she has seen the headlines she is grateful that she had been too busy fretting over appointments to seek them out and pay them any mind at all. Surely there are article that lament her departure, sympathize with her, or wish her a safe pregnancy. But the ones that Ozai has selected for her to read are brutal and merciless; ‘Blue Talon to Enter a New, More Creative Era Following Departure of Lead Vocalist’, Blue Talon Vocalist Lets Down Fans’. ‘Disappointing News: What Losing Their Vocalist Means for Blue Talon and Audio of Agni.’ The ones addressing her pregnancy are worse still; ‘Tour Bus Sex: Blue Talon Vocalist Pregnant’. They quite bluntly imply that she is slut, that she is easy all the while they try to speculate who the father is.

There is an interview with her former bandmates. She only needs to read Chan’s denial of being the father to decide that the article isn’t worth reading.It is teeming with lies and stirs the rumors. And she has missed her window of merit; to tell her side with some scrap of believability. Chan has ruined her and she thinks that he probably knows it. She supposes that it is better her than him in his mind. She can’t say that she wouldn’t do him the same if the roles could be somehow swapped.

She looks up from the printouts. She opens her mouth but she doesn’t trust herself to speak without choking up or sobbing. She waits for Ozai to begin yelling. She practically yearns for it as the silence drags on.

“I finished reading them.” She manages finally. Maybe now he will begin his tirade, now that she has a full understanding of how disgraceful she is, he will elaborate. He still holds his tongue. She shifts in her chair, absently and nervously rubbing circles on her belly. He reaches for his bottle and takes a swig, he refuses to look up from his phone. But he finally speaks, “get out.”  He noisily clatters the bottle against the table top.

She swallows. She must have misheard him. He wouldn’t just kick her out without a discussion. “What?”

“Get out of my sight.” He says it with such finality that she can only rise shakily to her feet and hope that Seicho will answer her phone. Her mouth is dry and her fingers shake as she punches Seicho’s number into her phone. She can barely see the numbers with her eyes as misty as they are.

She makes her way to her room and tosses her favorite clothes into a suitcase alongside her microphones and critical recording equipment. She takes her comb, her toothbrush, a bar of soap. Her fingers hover over her first musical award and her invite to Audio of Agni. She retracts her hand, they will only take up necessary space in her suitcase.

Upon gathering everything that she needs, she drops onto Ozai’s recliner  and sits there, shaking, until she sees the headlights through her window.

“What’s going on?”

Azula shakes her head. She isn’t sure where Seicho is taking her, she isn’t sure that Seicho knows where she is driving to. Right now she is just driving. Right now Azula wants to just drive. Right now Azula wants her to drive into a lake.

“Are you alright?”

She is anything but.

“Please tell me what happened.”

“He...he told me to leave.”

“Like, just for tonight, or…”

“He doesn’t want me back.”

And Seicho’s parents want nothing to do with her. They want their daughter to have nothing to do with an influence so negative; with the sort of tramp who would find herself knocked up at sixteen.

Despite scathing protest from Seicho, they evict her from their daughter’s car. She finds herself wandering down the streets, suitcase in hand. She finds herself a park bench, the metal is too cold for sleep but she can’t imagine herself getting any anyhow.

She opens her phone; Seicho is already apologizing profusely, making promises to find a way to see her. Right now she doesn’t have the optimism to believe that she will be able. She scrolls through the names on her phone; Chan, Father, Mai, Mother, Ruon, Seicho, Tylee, Uncle… She scrolls all the way to the bottom, her finger hovered over Zuko’s number. She can’t bring herself to enter it.

She can’t think of anything else to do so she decides to return Zhao’s call. Maybe he can help her work out how to salvage her musical career and her reputation. She finds that he can do no such thing; he is no miracle worker. She needs a miracle worker but she will settle for a samaritan.

It isn’t ideal by any means, but she doesn’t see any other options so when his car pulls up she gets in. Her head is dizzy with many scenarios, many unsavory possibilities. She braces herself to just deal with them, take whatever ugly things life throws at her.

Of all of the dark stories she has written in her head, she could have never anticipated what did happen; she is greeted by three children and a rather plump woman with gentle eyes and a warm smile to match.  She kisses Zhao’s cheek and welcomes him back home as his children fuss about at his feet. “Misaki, this is Azula. She is going to stay with us.”

She is so inexplicably relieved that the worst discomfort that Zhao gives her is informing her that her options are the floor or the sofa.

__________

While they get better, she gets worse. Blue Talon rises and Azula falls. They rise on her material, on her story, on her hardwork and soul.

She doesn’t know why she has taken to keeping such close tabs on Blue Talon. There is nothing to be gained from watching each new live performance. Nothing to be gained from stalking about their social media and viewing their announcements about introducing a brand new sound.

Nothing to be gained but more self loathing, a heavier heart, and a renewed hatred of her former friends. She can’t even be sure if she can call them that; were they ever her friends, they would have the decency to stop performing songs about her abuse. Bad split or not, they can afford her the respect of not letting Ruon sing her story, her pains.

It is a mockery, a hollow rendering of the person wrapped in those lyrics. Really there is nothing she can do; though it is fully hers, Blue Talon has the right to those lyrics, to that story. She doesn’t have the legal backing or the funds to take them back.

Azula supposes that she shouldn’t be surprised, she doesn’t have the ability to reclaim the story she has yet to tell either. And so she clicks the next link.

She does this for hours, an endless stream of mindless scrolling. Her only comfort comes in the form of radio silence from From Ashes To Phoenix. An arrest and then total silence is never a good sign. At least she is not alone in her failure. At least it, like most sufferings, is a family activity but without the bonding that could make it worthwhile.

Late in the night, she shuts the computer down. She drags herself to her suitcase and finds herself a pair of pajamas. She curses herself for--in her moment of distress--forgetting to make sure that she grabbed pajamas that would fit. It is an extra kick when she needs it the least to find that she has packed only one set of pajamas designed for pregnancy and only a few accommodating day clothes. She sinks to her knees and grips the sides of her head, nails digging into her hairline--it is just one impulse disaster after another, ranging from minor to major.

She’ll deal with the awkwardness of asking Zhao’s wife to take her shopping or borrow clothes in the morning. She slips out of her day clothing and into the pajamas, they are just snug enough to let her know that these pajamas she had brought during month four.

She lays herself down on the couch. Agni, she wishes that they didn’t have a mirror hanging across the room from it. Now that her eyes are locked on her reflection, she thinks that it would have been infinitely healthier to have kept her eyes fixed on the computer screen. It is so much better to hate her old bandmates than it is to hate herself.

Her life is a mess and her entire being reflects it. In her life she has never looked so dreadful. Her hair is such a mess--she hasn’t bothered with it in several days--it frames a face that seems swollen and puffy to her. Her entire person seems swollen, no doubt, the result of eating for two. She wraps her hands around her middle only to be dismayed by the way her shirt stretches over her chest. It doesn’t feel right and her only comfort comes from the knowing that the occasional tenderness in that area has already reached a peak and subsided. She should tear her eyes away from the glass but they have already locked on patches of discolored skin. She furrows her brows, unsure if this is normal. She supposes that, that is just one more uncomfortable question that she will have to ask Zhao’s wife. Each and every one of her birthmarks and freckles seem to have darkened as well.

To some degree, she has trouble recognizing the haggard person who stares back at her as herself. She could reach out her hand but she doesn’t want the extra confirmation.

But worse than her bump, her softened face, her swollen chest, and those unsightly discolorations is the inky blue dragon curling around her bicep. Its blue talon stretches out to remind her of what she no longer has. She brushes her fingers over it, with a sudden impulse to claw it away. To rake her nails across her skin until scar tissue engulfs the whole of the inkwork.

She resists the impulse and swaps it for another. She punches Seicho’s number into the phone and screams at her until her voice goes raw and her mind numb to the point where she can’t even remember what she had said. She knows that at least part of it had to do with yelling at the girl for tattooing her with no questions asked.

Lucidity only comes back in with a slap when Seicho, tearfully from the sound of it, shouts, “my parents were right about you!” The line goes dead before she can even begin to explain why she’d called in the first place. Before she could even try to articulate some sort of apology.

In that one end call tone, she knows that she has no one left. No one and nothing.

[ct7567329]

Always There: Echo x Reader

"What do you mean I can't go to the Citadel?" you gasped, throwing your hands up.

"We already have enough people, (Y/N). We can't carry anymore people," Master Kenobi explained, his answer dissatisfying you, "And no is the final answer."

You grunted and crossed your arms as he walked away with most of the Citadel crew. Echo, your boyfriend in secret decided to stay behind. Shaking your head at him, he pulled you into a hug once the coast was clear.

"Please stay safe," you begged, looking at up him, cupping his cheek.

"I promise, I promise," he reassured you. His promise didn't seem right though, yet you trusted him. Just some how, the force was telling you other wise. He pulled you in for another hug and whispered in your ear, "And when I come back, we can have another night just like last night."

His mention of the previous night make you smile and hug him tighter. You loved him and this would be the first mission in which you weren't by his side.

The warm embrace didn't last forever. "Echo!" Fives called. He put his hand on his hip and sassily leaned to the side, "Save it for when you come back!". You rolled your eyes at Fives and softly kisses Echo's cheek.

"See you soon," you smiled, "I love you."

"I love you too," he whispered, kissing your forehead, then leaving with Fives. You smiled as he shoved Fives as they walked off to the ship. Fives and Echo were best friends. They've known each other their whole lives and it made you so happy that they were able to be assigned to the same legion.

As the ship too off, you gave a gentle wave, even though you knew Echo didn't see it. But as soon as the ship was out of sight, your heart began to ache for Echo, beginning the mental countdown until he got back.

(......)

You awoke from you sleep gasping, then reaching out to Echo's side of the bed. He wasn't there, and you knew that, but you were no longer sensing his presence. It's the second night without having Echo here, but each night, the force kept him right beside you. You quickly grabbed your comlink and tried to contact him, but the transmission didn't even go through. Fearing the worst, you tried to contact Fives. It went through, but to your surprise, he denied the transmission.

The next morning, you tried both Echo and Fives again, but you still couldn't get in contact with them. With nothing else to do but wait, you went to the mess hall to see if any 501st members, who didn't get to go to the Citadel, heard anything. You got your food and walked towards Hardcase and Tup, the only two you could find.

"Hey General what's up!" Hardcase asked, patting the seat next to him.

You took the seat and sighed, "I can't get in contact with anyone on that mission. And the force is telling me something isn't right."

"Have you tried asking the bridge if they heard anything? General Skywalker or Kenobi would probably contact them first of something went wrong," Tup smiled, trying to reassure you that you had nothing to worry about.

"Thanks Tup! That's a great idea!" You got up and began to leave the mess.

"Hey!" Hardcase called to you.

"Yeah?"

"You going to eat that?"

You laughed, "Have the cookie! I'll be back!"

(.........)

Once you were in the bridge, you rushed to the first commander officer you could find.

"Commander, how is the group on the Citadel doing?" you asked, your nervousness clearly exposed in your voice.

He took a deep breath before answering, "Their transport was destroyed. We are sending a rescue mission to go retrieve them. They were going to ask you to be a part of that, but they feared if something were to go terribly wrong, at least of the leaders of the 501st would still be alive."

The commander's words made you even more anxious; Was the situation that bad?

(......)

You eventually returned to the mess hall with Hardcase and Tup to finish eating. It didn't take a Jedi to tell you were worried, so they tried to lighten the mood with their jokes and kindness, which helped a lot. But once you got word the Citadel squad was back, you rushed to the hangar.

You got to the hangar before they even began to exit the gunships. Oddly, a deck officer came up to you before the gunship doors opened.

"General. You have been requested to meet the men over by the supply boxes," he informed you.

"May I ask why?" you asked, very confused.

"You can ask, but I wouldn't have an answer for you, sir," he replied, reporting back to his other duties.

You did as he said and waited for the guys by the supply boxes. It felt like forever until someone came.

A hand grabbed your shoulder, "(Y/N)?"

You turned around to find Fives, not Echo, "Fives?" you asked, slightly perplexed. He didn't answer you, but his eyes were full of sorrow.

"Fives?" you asked again, but then it hit you, "no." You shook your head, "No, no, no, Fives, no," your eyes began to well with tears.

He took his hand from behind his back, revealing he was holding Echo's helmet. You took it from his hands and stared at his as tears slowly began to slide down your cheek. His helmet was burnt, beaten, and almost destroyed. Turning it over, you could still see your initials, faintly painted on. You pressed your forehead against it and fell to your knees, sobbing. Not knowing what to do, Fives kneeled next to you and rubbed your shoulders. He knew his efforts to help could not change the emotions you were feeling. After a while, Fives decided it was time to go. As he got up, you did the same and hugged him, crying into his armor.

(............)

It's been about a month since Echo's passing. The tears may have stopped, but the emotions still hit hard. Luckily, you had Fives, who was always by your side. Not only did you lose your love, but he lost his best friend, making him the last standing member of is training squad on Kamino. Sometimes, he would like to tell you stories of the Domino Squad. Some of them, very funny.

You've felt sick for two weeks now, but just assumed it had something to do with Echo. Fives, on the other hand, suggested you actually had something wrong, especially since you haven't been eating much lately. Taking his suggesting, you decided to run some tests and the last test you decided to take changed everything.

(.........)

After not seeing you for three days, Fives decided to go into your barracks without permission, fearing the worst. He entered your room to find you lying on your bed, crying.

"(Y/N)! I haven't seen you in days! What's wrong?!" he asked, rushing to your side.

You tried to pull yourself together, but all you could do is point to your stomach.

He tried to read your gestures, "You're hungry? I'll go get you some food!"

You shook your head, "Fives. I-I'I'm pregnant."

Fives' expression went blank, knowing Echo was the father.

"Fives, our-my child won't have a father. I can't do this alone. He didn't even know!" you sobbed.

"I know this must be rough, (Y/N)," Fives began to say, "and if you don't want this, please let me know, but I will do anything I can to help you with this baby. I promise, for Echo."

(................)

You've been pregnant for almost seven months now, making the pregnancy obvious. But based on the circumstances, no one gave you any crap for it. For how nice he's been treating you, many of the clones in the 501st assumed Fives was the father, but you quickly confirmed the truth, which much of the 501st instantly felt sympathetic towards you.

Yet every day was a struggle. Fives' support meant so much, but you wanted Echo and not a day has gone by without you thinking of him. To make things worse, none of the 501st  was on the Jedi Cruiser today. They were off on a mission with a group of defect clones with special abilities. You'd love to be a part of that mission, but this far into the pregnancy, you weren't good for anything.

When the 501st got back a few days later, you didn't even bother going to greet them as they returned. You figured you'd just catch up with them later on. Typically, when you didn't greet them upon arrival, they would tell you what you missed at the mess, but this time was different. There was a knock on your barracks door. You used the force to open it, expecting Fives, but getting Rex instead.

"Hey Cap, what's up?" you asked, his expression almost ghostly.

"(Y/N), I have something you may want to see," he said with a mysterious tone, handing you a small audio recording device. You turned it on.

"1409...1409...1409..." it kept going and going. You shook your head and turned it off.

"Rex!" you yelled, throwing it back at him, "Why would you do that to me?!"

"General, that was a real recording. A transmission from Skako Minor. (Y/N), I believe Echo is still alive," he shook. You were speechless as Rex kept talking, "I talked to General Skywalker about it. He may have survived the explosion at the Citadel, being rescued by the Separatists. General Skywalker believes Echo may have turned, and be on the Seppy's side now. I refuse to believe that. I want to go rescue him."

Rex still had you speechless. The thought of Echo being alive gave you an indescribable feeling inside. A complete feeling that you haven't felt since he's been gone. It was almost like being able to breathe again.

"Rex, I'll go with you," you decided, standing up next to him.

"No!" he insisted, sitting you back down, "We don't know his state. It may be too much for you, and the baby," he sighed. You nodded in agreement.

"Thank you Rex. Good Luck," you softly smile as he left your barracks. The news was exciting, but almost too hard to believe. For seven months now, you've believed Echo was dead. You didn't even know how to react to him maybe being alive.

Throughout the rescue mission, you tried to contact Rex to see if there was any update on Echo's status, and he he was even alive. But you didn't get a status until three days after the start of the mission. The status that the rescue mission was coming home. No status on whether Echo was with them though. You anxiously awaited in your barracks, as you were instructed to do so. But just as they were about to land, you felt the force pull your heart in all different directions. Echo.

All you wanted to do was run to the hangar to be reunited with your love. He is alive. But you stayed in your room out of fear. What if he wasn't the same?  Your heart still ached for Echo as time passed. You knew he was here. The excitement was almost incapable of being contained. How would he react to being a father?  While you were lost in your thoughts, there was a knock on your door. You quickly opened it, it was Fives.

Fives greeted you with a hug, "(Y/N), he's here."

Tears began to pour down your face upon the news.

"But," he continued to say, "he's not what he used to be, uh physically that is. He still remembers you. He's been asking for you ever since we rescued him," he laughed.

You smiled when Fives said Echo was asking for you, but then you remembered what he said about him not being what he used to be. "What do you mean he's not what he used to be?"

He sighed, "I think it's best for you to figure out yourself."

Your excitement went to fear upon those words. Fives led you to the medical bay, where Echo was. As you entered the room, Echo was facing away from the door, unaware you where there. You sat on a chair, next to him as Fives left you two alone. A blanket was covering his body but you could see his head. His hair, the hair you loved to run your hands through was almost gone. It looked like there was some hair trying to grow back, but his full hair was gone.

"Echo?"

He rolled over and tears suddenly began to form in his eyes, his hand caressed your cheek, "My love, I missed you."

"Echo, I thought you were dead," you choked upon the last word, beginning to cry and tried to hug him, but he pushed your arm away.

"(Y/N), I'm not what I used to be," he whispered, pulling the sheets off him, revealing his mostly cybernetic body, "I can't even cuddle with you anymore," he began to cry harder.

"Echo, I love you no differently, you're perfect Echo. And if it bothers you that much, Kix is thinking of performing some transplants soon. Echo, I want you to be happy," you smiled, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

"I love you so much (Y/N)", eh smiled, kissing you softly on the lips. The first kiss in seven months.

You pulled back and looked down at your stomach, that he couldn't see because you were sitting down. "Echo, I have some news."

"Yes?" He asked, trying to sit up. You helped him sit up as you told him the news.

"I found this out just a few weeks after the Citadel, and not having you here for this really hurt and Fives has been helping me out but-"

"Tell me my love," he interrupted you.

You sighed and smiled, "Remember our last night together?" You waited for him to smile, "Echo, I'm pregnant," you said, standing up, revealing your stomach.

"I'm going to be a father?!" he gasped, putting his hand on your stomach.

"Yes Echo, yes you are."

He began to cry tears of joy as he swung his cybernetic legs over the bed, getting up to hug you. He quickly realized it wasn't totally easily to hug someone with a seven-month fetus in their stomach. "I'm going to be a father!" he cried, kissing your stomach, "I am so sorry I wasn't here for so long. I shouldn't have run into that shuttle. If I didn't I would-"

You cut him off with a kiss, "Shhhh, we can't change the past, but the future is now. And we have each other," you smiled, gazing into his eyes.

"I love you so much," he mumbled as he kissed you.

(.......)

Two months later, Echo was done with all of his transplants. His arms had full strength, but his legs were still a challenge for him; he used a crutch for support most of the time. But the time for the delivery of your baby was finally here. Due to the circumstances, you only allowed Kix to deliver the baby, as he was helping both you and the baby medically the whole time. Fives also was in the room, as he was a huge part of this journey as well. And of course, Echo was there, holding your hand the whole time. A few minutes, painful minutes, later, Kix presented you two with a beautiful, healthy baby girl.

"So what are you going to name her?" Fives asked as you and Echo cried tears of joy.

You and Echo nodded at each other in agreement of the name you chose the night before. You both wanted the name to pay tribute to Echo's fallen idol, 99.

"Nina," you smiled, kissing her forehead to stop her crying. She pleasantly smiled upon your kiss. Echo took Nina from your arms and rocked her back and forth, whispering how he promises to be the best father ever.

Over the course of the next few hours, the entire 501st  came to see Nina, who they all considered their niece. At the end of the day, not only were you with the love of your life, but you were sure Nina had the best uncle protection in the entire galaxy.

Taglist: @obiorbenkenobi, @smellssharpies, @jedi-dreea, @hannahhessica113, @ganondorf-has-greasy-balls, @lightning-wolffe

[fallout-fucker]

Commonwealth Unsolved: Part One, The Museum of Witchcraft

"Today on Commonwealth Unsolved, we're going to be taking a look at the strange and unsettling Museum of Witchcraft as part of our ongoing investigation into the question: Are ghosts real?" The first ghoul starts boldly, his voice crisp and distinct, yet strangely soothing, a voice used to narration. The second ghoul rolls his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief, making the first grin. "You don't seem very open to the idea, Shane."

"We've been asking this for over 200 years. Ghosts don't exist, Ryan." Shane drags, making a point to say Ryan's name back to him sarcastically, in retaliation to his own being used. The smaller man laughs, messing with the microphone he'd fixed to his Pib-Boy.

"And after all we've seen, you still don't believe in ghosts? Not even a little?"

"What? What have we seen? We live in the apocolypse, there's nothing to see but dead people and junk." Ryan wheezes, grinning from ear to ear as he looks at his partner.

"What if some of those dead people are ghosts now? Waiting for us to go to the museum to find them?"

"What? Every single ghost? There's just a hoarde of dead people who have nothing better to do for the rest of eternity than wait for us to visit them? What are they waiting for? A 'come back to life soon' card?"

Ryan breaks into a fit of laughter, shaking his head, "That's not what I-" He cuts himself off, wheezing and choking slightly. Shane joins him a little, cracking his own smile and hint of a chuckle. Once Ryan calms down a little, however, he clears his throat. "Let's just get into it," He begins. "Built in 1972, Salem's Museum of Witchcraft was built in remembrance to victims killed during the Salem witch trials which began in 1692. Over 300 years later, the museum is now a breeding ground for rumours and a hot spot for what people claim as 'strange activity'. A reliable source from the Commonwealth's Great Green Jewel itself states that 'something bad went down there' recently, despite it being 'abandoned'."

"How'd you get into Diamond City?"

"Well I couldn't go in, I was chatting to one of the-" Ryan stops himself abruptly, "I mean, my source- Just outside the city walls, you know near all the turrets and arrows?" He says, gesturing with his hand slightly in a circular motion.

Shane laughs. "Way to almost get your 'source' in trouble there, Ryan. It wasn't Piper, was it?"

Ryan shakes his head. "No, it wasn't Piper." He smiles. "Even if it was, I wouldn't tell you," He shifts, changing the subject, "But I am talking to her about that- That other thing, you know for the other episode later? Well, I guess it's two other things-"

The taller ghoul nods his head. "Ah, yes, the mysterious two other things."

Ryan snorts, "Fuck off."

Shane snickers. "Okay, okay, other than ghosts, what do you think could be in the museum? And don't say aliens." He says, pointing his finger at Ryan and eyeing him accusingly.

"I don't know- An animal maybe? Some raiders? That's what some people have been theorizing. Maybe it's a Deathclaw?"

"It's not a Deathclaw-"

"What if it is-"

"Well then, we're as- We're as good as dead- Look, if it's a Deathclaw, I will eat my own boot, how's that?"

"Deal." Ryan smirks, shaking Shane's hand. The other man couldn't look more done with him. Ryan presses the stop button on the device attached to his arm, pausing the holotape's recording of them.

The air is cold and bitter, Ryan can see his breath turn to mist in front of him as he hugs himself tighter. One of the worst things about being a ghoul is the increased chance of illness and also increased chance of fatality from said illness, so he's not exactly grateful for the cold Autumn air. It worries him that he might catch a cold.

The orange and brown leaves on the ground crunch beneath his feet as him and Shane walk closer to the side of the Museum, stopping when they see the mutilated corpse of what looks like a Gunner.

"Well it's a good job we're in a graveyard." Shane quips. Two hundred years ago he may have been a little more sensitive and considerate, and more likely to throw up at having seen a dead body. Fortunately for them, though, living through two centuries of irradiated wastelands gets you used to seeing dead bodies enough to gain a morbid sense of humour rather than going numb upon every corpse you come across or create. "Holy moly, there's a stash!" Shane reaches around one of the graves and fiddles with a hollow rock, pulling out some ammo, a rifle, and a note. Another thing that surviving the apocolypse teaches you is how to be good at spotting hidden stashes, something Shane and his beady eyes have always been good at since day one. Ryan sums it up to his height, being tall's gotta help you spot things.

"What's the note say?"

Shane shrugs. "Just someone named 'S' saying they missed their friend, 'E', at Megaton and left them some gifts."

"Megaton? That's all the way back in DC, right? Yeah, we lived there for a few years about- What? About ten years ago?"

Shane nods. "And I swear we found a rock outside Megaton with the exact same kinda note."

"Maybe the real mystery isn't the Museum, maybe it's who the Hell S and E are."

Shane laughs, pocketing the note and moving towards the Gunner. "Maybe." He bends down, searching carefully through their pockets and rucksack, pulling out more ammo, some caps, a pair of holotags, and a holotape. He holds the holotape up to Ryan, an eyebrow raised. Ryan shrugs and watches as Shane inserts it into his own Pib-Boy, listening carefully as the audio cackles to life. He winces slightly, audio recordings not being what they used to be, worn down and damaged now. You think he'd be used to it, but there's only so much you wouldn't miss from before the war. Sadly, clean audio was one of the many things he did find himself missing.

It starts with a woman's voice as she talks boredly about the job she and her crew had been assigned, teasing another Gunner about the job. Quickly though, the audio shifts, growing tense as the crew seem to spot something. The woman screams about her friend, Connor. "Where's the rest of him-?!" She cries, sending shivers down both of the ghouls' spines. Something roars in the background, sounding similar to that of a lion. The crew rush inside the museum, but the audio cuts off before they can find out what was chasing them. Shane and Ryan stare at each other. "Well, at least it's not a ghost."

They gave themselves a few minutes to clear their heads and look around a bit more in case there was something they missed. Shane had tried the front door but it had been locked and chained up, so they made their way into the basement from an entrance at the side of the museum instead which, thankfully, hadn't been locked.

They slowly stalk down the steps into the building as quietly as they can. The floorboards above them creak, making them freeze as small bits of debris crumple and fall from the ceiling. "Hey there, demons," Shane says quietly, trying to lighten the mood. "It's your favourite ghoul boys," He pauses to shine his light around the room. "Well I'm glad I don't have a nose because this place looks like it stinks." Ryan smacks his arm, shushing him. His heart pounds in his ears, Shane seems to get the message and shuts up a little.

They make their way through the first room reluctantly, looting whatever they need along the way. The building seems to shake every few minutes, like whatever is upstairs is large enough to make the earth shudder every time it moves.

The two men enter a small use-to-be-closet, and Ryan almost screams as a body that was poking through the boards of the ceiling gets dragged away by something. Shane's hand is over Ryan's mouth, the only reason he hadn't managed to scream, making sure not to alert whatever it is of their presence. He could feel Shane shaking slightly behind him. The taller man pulls his hand away, carefully stepping over a pool of blood and through a hole in the wall, he holds his hand out for Ryan, who takes it, still shaking as he too crosses over the blood. "Holy shit," He whispers, hand clutching the fabric of his shirt over where his heart is. "I can't breathe."

"You're okay." Shane pats his back gently, one of the few times he's ever actually this comforting is when something genuinely terrifying is happening and when they're most likely in danger. "We should go." Ryan nods, but before they can step back towards the hole in the wall, the beast moves again, this time its weight makes the ground below it collapse, and a mountain of bricks, wood, and other debris piles into the room, separating them from the exit. They both look up, staring at the ceiling. A quiet, unsaid realisation dawns on the both of them that the only other exit is upstairs. "Fuck."

The reluctantly make their way through the maze of rooms left in the basement, before reaching the final one. A body falls through a hole in the ceiling and Ryan yelps, quickly cut off by Shane's hand covering his mouth yet again. He feels the other drag him backwards then pause, listening silently. Nothing but quiet fills the museum.

A chill runs up Ryan's spine as he spots some mannequins in the corner, their eyes black and cold, matching black smiles painted on their faces. It feels like they're watching him and he prays the conspiracies surrounding the figures are nothing more than ghost stories. Above them is an old, broken staircase made from rotting wood. Something in him hopes they stay intact, unlike the upper floor that caved in a few rooms ago. He pushes Shane gently off of him, moving towards the staircase. He sucks in a breath as he tests the first few then signals for the taller man to follow.

As they ascend the creaking steps, a growl cuts through the silence, low and soft; the murmur of a beast. Shane and Ryan stare at one another, Ryan's eyes wide in fear whilst Shane's remain unreadable. The older ghoul moves in front of Ryan and places his hand on a door at the top of the stairs. Another sound comes from whatever's out there, this time a whimper. Almost sad. Almost... Broken? They have no time to consider it as Shane carefully opens the wooden barrier, shotgun in hand. It's now or never.

They stalk through the opening, eyes darting around. The first thing their eyes land on are more mannequins, just as creepy and unsettling at the previous ones. This time, however, they're set up in a way that depicts on old witch hanging, making it even worse. They make their way reluctantly through the exhibits, stopping when they hear a soft panting. From the cracks of a few walls, Ryan sees it. He grabs Shane frantically and points in its direction. It is, indeed, a beast. A reptile with large horns and large teeth to match, its signature deadly claws on display, blood dripping from them as it tears apart the body of a gunner. A Deathclaw, the thing of nightmares itself. Standing there, ripping apart its prey. Then, it stops. It moves slightly, snout tilting towards the ceiling as it sniffs. Ryan feels every inch of his body grow tense as the monster slowly turns towards him and his partner, beady eyes settling on them. Time slows, it feels like the Deathclaw stares at Ryan for forever, looking directly into his soul. Finally, time moves again, but Ryan wishes it hadn't as the Deathclaw roars, charging towards him. He runs left as Shane goes right.

The Deathclaw follows Ryan through a series of holes and exhibits as Ryan helplessly shoots at it. His heart pounds in his ears, Shane is nowhere in sight. Half of him feels thankful, knowing his friend is safe, but the other half wants to scream to him for help. He stumbles through another broken wall, grabbing a nearby mannequin and pushing it in front of the entrance before he continues sprinting. Behind him, he hears as the beast trips up on the statue, mid way through a roar that ends up as a pained whimper. The ghoul almost feels bad, but considering the Deathclaw has probably already laid out 50 ways it wants to rip apart, cook, chew him, and spit him back out again, he realises he doesn't feel too bad about it. He turns around to shoot it during its moment of weakness. The bullet hits it right in the torso, but it isn't enough, even as he realises some of his earlier bullets had also hit it. The Deathclaw is littered with wounds, both from his and, what he assumes is, the gunners' attempts to kill the beast. Ryan regrets his decision as the it bellows angrily. It's too fast for him to outrun and it quickly grabs Ryan by the leg. He screams as he falls onto his back, shooting rapidly at its face. His life flashes before him and tears well in his eyes as he resorts to kicking the Deathclaw with his free foot. His gun's out of ammo and he can't reach into his backpack for a backup whilst in this position. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. This is the end. It can't be the end. Not like this. Not after everything- Everything he's survived, a whole ass nuclear war and a 200 year old apocalypse and he's gonna die at the hands of a Jurassic Park actor. At least it'll be a cool death, right? Oh, God, Shane better make it out. But what will he do without Ryan? They've been a team for so long, what now? Is Ryan even okay dying without his best friend by his side? Where is he? Where's-

Shane's voice rings out loudly as he hollers, climbing atop of the reptile and grabbing it by the horns. He pulls at them, making its head turn, dropping Ryan in its shock. Ryan scrambles away, watching in a mix of horror and awe as Shane practically plays mechanical bull with the monster. The taller male kicks the Deathclaw in its jaw a few times before it goes to bite him. His eyes widen and he quickly retrieves his foot but not before the Deathclaw can claim his boot, leaving it clenched between its yellow and crimson dyed teeth.

After nearly an astonishing 30 seconds of clinging on, Shane manages to press the barrel of his gun right against the demon's skull before pulling the trigger, immediately killing it.

As it falls, so does Shane. He comes topping forward, collapsing onto the ground next to Ryan with a loud thud, a groan falling from his lips soon after. Ryan stares at him momentarily but then pulls himself up, stumbling towards the Deathclaw's corpse. He pulls Shane's boot from its open jaws, tossing it to him, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Get eatin'."

---

A little thing I’ve been working on! This is what the cryptic ‘Soon’ comment was about. I’ve had this idea for a while but just started writing it. Future fics in this series will include:

Investigation into the Institute, including an interviews with Piper Wright and Nick Valentine, and various theories about the crows and mannequins across the Commonwealth, as well as some political figures

Interview with the Man/Woman Out of Time

Investigation into Pickman Gallery

Investigating Alien Crash Landing

Haunted Insane Asylum Investigation and Rumours of a Mysterious Serum?

Investigation into the Railroad

Early days Appalachia Unsolved and The Hunt for The Infamous Mothman

Stories from DC Unsolved and New Vegas Unsolved

Investigation into the Strange Occurrences Surrounding Far Harbour

A discussion about meats in the Commonwealth that exist despite animals said meats are supposedly made from not doing.

An Interview with Mamma Murphy and Her Sight

Who Are the Children of Atom?

Investigating MedTek

A Discussion about Vault-Tec and Their Inhumane Experiments

And many more, if you have any ideas, leave a suggestion!

[hobeymakar]

Unapologetically | C. Makar Part 2

Previous parts: Part 1

Chapter word count: 3,673 words

A/N: This chapter was so much fun to write! I will be working on the next one ASAP, but it may take me a little longer to write it! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed it as it lets me know that you enjoyed it. Any and all feedback is always greatly appreciated

Shoutouts: @pizzasloot​ @hockey-and-wine​ and @grenawitka​ for being my cheerleaders in the gc! I love you girls with all my heart

Warnings: explicit language

-

Taty wakes up on the morning of February 5th and feels the nerves start to hit her. Today, she'll be meeting Cale in person and interviewing him for the podcast. A part of her is afraid things will go wrong once they meet and he won't be interested in her anymore. While the other part of her knows that Cale is too nice of a person to ever break her heart like that. If things don't work out, he'll be nice and respectful about it. 

In preparation of meeting Cale, she self-isolated from her family for a couple days and got tested for COVID-19. She tested negative thankfully so she can go meet Cale without putting him in danger. 

She brushes her teeth and has breakfast as she prepares herself mentally for the podcast. She writes down her questions and her intro, so that she doesn't forget anything that she wants to say and ask. After breakfast she showers and changes into a comfy, warm outfit to withstand the cold of New England winter. She knows the high is only gonna be 37 and with the wind in the city of Boston, it's gonna be way worse.

She loads her car up with all her equipment and starts making the trip towards Boston. She decides to make a trip to her Aunt's apartment in Roxbury, which is on the outskirts of the city. She parks her car inside the community and makes her way into the apartment, since her Aunt always leaves her door open.

"'Cion Tia! (Blessings, Auntie)" she smiles, greeting her Aunt Leo who's in the kitchen making food.

"Dios te bendiga, mi'ja! Que haces aqui? (May God bless you, honey! What are you doing here?) " her aunt asks, as she stands in front of the stove.

"Voy hacer una entrevista con un jugador de hockey (I'm interviewing a hockey player)" she explains, not wanting to mention that she's sort of seeing that player.

"Que bueno mi'ja! ¡Me alegro! Yo se que todo va salir bien porque tu eres una mujer seria y muy inteligente! (That's amazing honey! I'm glad! I know that everything is gonna go great because you're a serious and intelligent woman!" her aunt cries out.

"Gracias Tia! Y Cola y Nine? Thank you Auntie! Where's Cola and Nine?" she asks, referring to another aunt and uncle.

"Nine está trabajando y Cola salió con Frank y Bernardo a ayudar alguien con un trabajito. (Nine's working and Cola went out with Frank and Bernardo to help someone out with a small job," her aunt explains.

"Bueno, yo vine aquí solamente para verte y saludarte. Me voy a quedar en un hotel esta noche y voy a regresar a casa mañana. (Well, I came here only to see you and greet you. I'm staying at a hotel tonight and I'm going back home tomorrow)" she explains.

"Quédate aquí por un rato más. Ya la comida está lista como en 15 minutos. (Stay here for a little longer. The food will be ready in like 15 minutes)" her aunt explains.

"Tengo planes con el jugador pero no diga nada a Mami por favor (I have plans with the player but don't say anything to Mami please)" she pleads.

"Oh ya veo. No le digo nada, mi'ja (Oh, now I see. I won't tell her anything, honey)" her aunt replies, nodding her head.

"Gracias Tia! Dale saludos a Cola, Nine, Frank y Bernardo. Ojala los veo mañana (Thank you, Auntie! Say hi to Cola, Nine, Frank and Bernardo. Hopefully I'll see them tomorrow)" she smiles, hugging her Aunt.

"Con dios, mi'ja. Tengas cuidado, pero lo disfrutas (Take care, honey. Be careful, but have fun)" her Aunt smiles back, kissing her cheek.

Taty leaves the apartment and gets back into her car to make the trip to a hotel right across the street from the TD Garden. During the drive, she hits some traffic because the city of Boston has awful traffic, but arrives at the hotel in 20 minutes. Workers help her get her stuff out of the car and she gets her car parked by the valet. She makes her way inside the hotel and checks in. The workers help her bring her stuff to her room on the 7th floor. She makes her way inside and unpacks her things, putting them out. She puts her recording equipment out on the table and then heads to the windows to take a picture of her view of the Bunker Hill Bridge and TD Garden. She sends the picture to Cale

To: Cale 🥰

Nice choice for the room. You remembered how I like my city view and bath tubs to take baths in

From: Cale 🥰

Of course I remembered! I remember every single thing you've told me

To: Cale 🥰

How quickly can you get your butt up to my room?

From: Cale 🥰

I'm in Mikko's room rn with the guys but I can make up an excuse and disappear

To: Cale 🥰

I want to order room service and then interview you

From: Cale 🥰

Alright I'll be there in a few

She looks at herself in the mirror, making sure she looks good. She realizes how dumb it is for her to stress over her looks when Cale has literally seen her looking gross with no makeup on and her hair looking a whole ass mess.

She goes on her phone and tries to calm down her nerves. After a few minutes, she hears a knock on her door. She goes up to the door and opens it, meeting Cale who's dressed in an Avs sweatshirt and sweatpants. She pulls him in and closes the door shut right away, so that no one can see.

He lifts her up for a hug and she wraps her legs around him, her tiny frame wrapping around him tightly. They embrace each other for a few moments before putting her back down.

"So you like the room I picked out for you?" he asks, as she leads him further inside the room.

"Yes! It's perfect! It's honestly way too big for just me," she smiles.

She gives him a quick tour of the room and bathroom and he sits down on the bed while she opens the room service menu.

"Do you want anything?" she asks him.

"No, I already had lunch with the team," he informs her. 

"Alright," she nods, looking back at the menu.

"Order anything you want regardless of price. It's on me," he informs her.

"Cale, I can't make you spend all this money on me. You're paying for my room and the valet parking, the least I can do is pay you back for the food," she protests.

"I appreciate your concern, but this is nothing to me. Let me treat you," he replies, trying to convince her to let him spoil her.

"You're lucky you're cute," she sighs, giving in.

She calls room service and places her order. As she waits for her order, she turns on the TV and gets on the bed, snuggling into Cale's side. She puts on NHL Network and they watch highlights from the night before, while talking about certain plays and players.

"You know I've never met a girl that I could talk about hockey with like this. Like you actually understand the sport and everything," he comments.

"Well I've been a fan for so long and I've always been obsessed with sports since I was a little kid. It's the reason why I was always one of the guys growing up," she explains.

"And I think it's the coolest thing about you! You're so passionate about sports and sports stats! You're passionate about diversity and inclusion in sports too!" he smiles, running his fingers through her hair.

She feels the heat rise in her cheeks and she wishes he would just kiss her already, but she's too shy to do it herself.

"Well thank you. For a long time, I was embarrassed about how nerdy it is. It's probably why guys never saw me as anything more than a tomboy," she explains sheepishly.

"Yeah well it's their loss. They never got to see how incredible you really are," he smiles, kissing her forehead.

If she could die in his arms right now, she wouldn't mind honestly. She's never felt this sort of warmth and such intense butterflies in her stomach. Her heart feels so full and she finally realizes that this is what falling in love feels like. She had never felt it before but she loves the feeling so much that she doesn't want it to end.

The room service arrives and she brings the tray full of food inside. She sits down on the bed and starts eating as they watch TV and make small talk.

"What did you and the boys do today?" she asks.

"Well we got here late last night, so none of us woke up til like 10am. We all got ready and had lunch in the restaurant. Then we went to Mikko's room to play video games. It's been pretty boring so far, but we're not doing much because of COVID. We can't be going out like we used to," he explains.

"Yeah this virus has really fucked things up here. The governor of Massachusetts still hasn't allowed any fans to attend Celtics or Bruins games at the Garden and I don't know if he will for the rest of the season. Maybe he will for playoffs but I don't expect him to," she explains.

"I get that though. We have to keep people safe as much as possible until we eliminate this virus," he adds.

They switch the subject after that and keep the light conversation flowing until she finishes eating. She then sets her empty tray outside the room and starts setting everything up for the podcast, handing Cale a mic. She grabs her mic and sets it up, hooking everything up to her laptop. She checks the audio, making sure it's all good before starting the recording on her laptop.

"Our next guest is the biggest we've had so far. He was born and raised in Calgary, Alberta and was named after a Flames player. He grew up a Flames fan and made a name for himself in the AJHL playing for the Brooks Bandits, where he was named AJHL player of the year. He quickly became a top prospect and was selected 4th overall by the Colorado Avalanche in 2017. He played two seasons at UMass Amherst with the Minutemen, setting school records. He won the 2019 Hobey Baker Award and led the Minutemen to the Frozen Four, where they lost to the Minnesota Duluth Bulldogs in the championship game. He signed with the Avalanche immediately after the loss, ending his collegiate career and made his debut in Game 4 of the 1st round of the Stanley Cup playoffs with Colorado in his hometown of Calgary. With family and friends in attendance, he scored his first ever goal in the game. He recently won the 2020 Calder Trophy given to the league's top rookie. Welcome to the Ace of Hockey podcast, Cale Makar," she introduces, absolutely nailing the intro.

"Wow, that has to be the longest intro I've ever gotten for an interview, so thank you," he smiles.

"Well you're a young superstar now, so I gotta have the intro reflect that," she replies.

"I don't know if I'm worthy of such an intro, but I appreciate it though," he smiles.

She starts asking him questions about his childhood and what it was like growing up in Alberta, how he ended up playing Junior A instead of Major Junior, what made him go to the college hockey route, as well as what his draft day experience was like. She also asks him what his experience was like at UMass Amherst, and what it was like playing in the National Championship game and winning the Hobey Baker. She then asks him about signing his ELC and what it was like making his debut in the playoffs in his hometown and scoring a goal in his debut. She then asks him about his rookie year and what it was like in his first full season in Colorado.

He also explains how Nate took him under his wing this season and really helped show him the ropes on how to be a pro. He also talks about how great of a captain Gabe is and who are the funniest guys on the team, as well as the pranksters. He also explains how it was like for him personally in the bubble. He also mentions everything players have said and done about social justice change and how important it is to listen and be an ally for minority groups.

They finish up the interview and he helps her clean everything up.

"So, I have a team dinner in like half an hour that I need to get ready for. I promise I will come back afterwards so we can hang out," he explains.

"That's fine, Cale. I'll probably just take a nice bath and relax, maybe listen to our interview. I'll send you the audio and if you want anything edited out, just let me know," she explains.

"Of course, love. I'm not concerned about that honestly," he assures her.

"Go get ready before you're late. Afterwards, you know where to find me," she smiles, pushing him lightly to the door.

"Alright fine. No need to kick me out," he teases, walking towards the door.

As soon as he gets to the door, he turns around and brings her in for a hug, lifting her from the ground. He sets her back down after a few moments.

"Bye Cale. Have fun at dinner," she smiles, kissing his cheek.

"Bye love," he smiles, walking out.

She shuts the door immediately and heads to the bathroom to take a nice relaxing bath in the tub. She turns on the water and gets undressed. Once the tub is filled, she stops the water and throws in a bath bomb. She gets in and immediately soaks in the warmth of the water. She sends a selfie of her in the bath and sends it to her sisters in their Ventura Rodriguez sisters group chat. 

From: Katie

Damn how tf did you get a sugar daddy?

From: Kiana

I thought you were interviewing a player today? Is the player your sugar daddy?

To: The Ventura Rodriguez sisters

I don't have a sugar daddy and yes I interviewed the player today. He was nice enough to book me a room at the hotel he's staying at

From: Katie

No way he booked you a hotel if it's just a  professional relationship. He definitely likes you

From: Kiana

So who's the player you're talking to

To: The Ventura Rodriguez Sisters

Nope not telling y'all. He's not my boyfriend so y'all don't got to know

She puts on some soft R&B and lets the music relax her. Before she knows it, she's been in there for an hour and gets out. She wraps her body in a towel and unplugs the drain. She dries herself off and changes into a faded URI basketball t-shirt and boyshorts. She dries her hair with a blowdryer and gets into bed, opening her laptop. 

She listens to the 40 minute long audio clip of the interview and loves the interview. The conversation just flows between them and she thinks that her listeners are going to really love it, even though they didn't talk so much about social activism, like she has with other guests on the podcast. Her stomach starts to grumble and she realizes she hasn't had dinner yet. She grabs the room service menu and starts looking, as she's about to call to place her order, she hears a knock on the door.

She gets up and goes to the door. Unfortunately because of her lack of height, she can't see through the peephole who it is. She opens the door and internally sighs in relief when she sees it's Cale dressed in a UMass sweatshirt and shorts. He walks in and hugs her, lifting her up again.

"Do you have a thing for lifting me up?" she asks, as she wraps her legs around him.

"You're just so tiny that it's hard for me not to do it," he teases, referring to her 4'9 height.

“No, I think you have a thing for lifting me up, bud,” she teases back, moving her hands up to his hair.

“Just for that I’m putting you back down,” he replies playfully, setting her back down.

“Well you’re just in time to watch me order dinner,” she informs him, leading him towards the bed.

“I wish I could take you out to a nice dinner for a date,” he sighs, wishing he didn’t have to deal with the league’s COVID restrictions that prevent him from leaving the hotel except for practice and the game.

“It’s okay. You’ll just make it up to me some other time. We can just watch TV while I eat. That sounds like a pretty nice date to me,” she explains, grabbing the phone to call room service.

She calls room service and places her order. She decides to get comfortable and get under the sheets.

“Are you gonna join me?” she asks, referring to the spot right beside her under the sheets.

He quickly gets under the sheets with her and she rests her head on his shoulder. He turns on the TV and puts on NBCSN to watch the Flames play the Sabres in Buffalo.

“Is it cool if we watch the game?” he asks.

“Of course! I love watching hockey even if it doesn’t involve teams I cheer for,” she smiles, resting her head on his chest.

He strokes her back up and down with his fingers, causing sparks of heat to roll up her spine from his touch.

“Who are you rooting for?” she asks him. 

“Calgary. I’m always gonna have a soft spot for my hometown team, even though they’re a conference rival,” he explains.

“I like Calgary. They have really sick players, like Monahan, Gaudreau, Lindholm and don’t even get me started on Tkachuk!: she gushes, causing him to stiffen up.

“I didn’t know you liked Tkachuk,” he replies, his voice getting deeper than it already is.

“I mean what’s there not to like? He’s a strong power forward with great hands! I mean that between-the-legs goal last year proved how skilled he is!” she gushes.

“Yeah he’s a great player but I didn’t think you liked him that much,” he replies, sounding bitter.

“No need to be jealous, babes! Tkachuk’s cool and all but he doesn’t compare to you,” she assures him, kissing his cheek.

The food arrives and she goes outside to pick it up. She brings the tray inside and starts eating, while watching the game.

“You want some?” she asks, referring to her pasta.

“No, I can’t eat that. The trainers will kill me,” he replies.

“Who cares! It’s just one bite,” she replies, bringing the forkful of pasta closer to his mouth

“Babe, I’m serious! I can’t eat that,” he groans, moving his face away further.

“Fine, more for me,” she scoffs, shrugging her shoulders. 

She finishes eating her pasta and Cale stares at her for a moment.

“You got a little something,” he trails off, pointing to her face.

Her eyes go wide and she takes a napkin, wiping her mouth. She removes the bit of sauce from her lip and puts the napkin down on the tray. He lowers down the volume on the TV and takes her hands in his.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks.

“You can tell me anything,” she replies, feeling her heartbeat start to accelerate.

“I really like you. For the past 5 months I’ve been getting to know you and I believe you’re the most intelligent, beautiful, and caring girl I’ve ever met. I know things aren’t easy with the season going on and you living in Rhode Island, but I wanna try and make things work between us. Will you officially be my girlfriend?” he asks, looking directly into her eyes.

“Yes!” she nods, feeling like her heart might just explode.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“I’ve been wanting you to kiss me all day!” she replies, getting a little chuckle out of him in response.

He cups her face and presses his lips gently onto hers and Taty swears she feels those cliché sparks everyone always talks about. She kisses back almost immediately, not holding back. The kiss quickly becomes more passionate and she’s reciprocating each kiss enthusiastically. After a couple minutes, they break apart.

“You know how I told you I’ve never done this before? Well, I want us to take it slow and I hope that’s okay with you,” she says sheepishly, afraid of rejection.

“We can take it as slow as you want. You control how this goes. I will never push you to do anything you don’t want to do. I like you for you,” he assures her, kissing her knuckles.

She had never known what falling in love is like, but now she does because she’s definitely falling in love with Cale Douglas Makar. She never wants this feeling and she prays to God she never finds a way to fuck this up.

They spend a few more hours wrapped in each other’s arms before Cale announces he has to leave because it’s getting late and he has practice in the morning.

“Bye babe,” she smiles, leading him towards the door.

“Bye princess. Sweet dreams,” he kisses her.

He walks out the door and she shuts the door behind him. She pinches herself, thinking it might be a dream. She’s relieved to find out it isn’t a dream and she finally has a boyfriend for the first time in her life.

[silvokrent]

Slings and Arrows

Some wrongs cannot be righted. It’s a lesson Pietro learns a lifetime too late.

[The rise and fall of Dr. Arthur Watts, M.D., PhD.]

“Phase-II trial of Auratic synthesis, test number—” The rustle of papers was followed by a sigh. “—test number sixty-four. Initiating.”

The monitor on his desk whirred to life. Pietro watched the numbers on the holographic screen climb as the program ran the simulation. Thirty seconds without anomalies. A minute. He knew better than to get his hopes up, but the longer the systems operated without rejection, the harder it was to suppress the mutinous optimism at the back of his head. Maybe, this time, he’d finally found the right—

The monitor let out a dejected-sounding beep, and the screen flashed.

Insufficient variables. Analysis results too unstable for implantation.

Only when he slumped back in his seat did Pietro realize how tightly he’d been gripping the arms of the chair. He tapped at his scroll and activated the audio function.

“Test number sixty-four was unsuccessful. The simulated Aura was deemed too structurally unstable to survive grafting to a biotechnic lattice. Recommend recalibrating the values for ω, λ, and ρ to increase viability. Describe what mistakes were made.” Pietro contemplated the scroll in his hand, before lifting it to his face and smacking it into his forehead. Repeatedly. “My mistake was deciding to pursue a degree in bioengineering, followed by the even bigger mistake of my alma mater handing me a diploma. All other setbacks are incidental. End recording.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Pietro called up the diagram from earlier. The hologram cast his office in various shades of blue light that, while it had a calming effect on him, unveiled the minefield of loose papers, folders, and post-it notes that had become his workspace.

For a moment, he considered setting aside a day in his schedule to reorganize his desk. Only when he couldn’t find his calendar did he remember why it had gotten so bad in the first place.

His calendar was buried somewhere underneath.

Brokenly, Pietro stared at the untamed bed of chaos before him. On one hand, he needed to clean his desk. On the other hand, incineration was faster, and the chemistry lab had a blowtorch.

“You look desperately in need of this,” said a voice from behind.

The unexpected drawl startled Pietro out of his thoughts. He swiveled around in his chair to the sight of Arthur Watts leaning against the doorframe, a steaming mug in each hand. Judging by the amused smirk, he’d been there for some time.

“Arthur!” Pietro minimized the program with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

His friend stepped inside and carefully kicked the door shut with his heel. He strode across the room and reclined into the vacant chair opposite of him, ankle propped on his knee. He held out the second mug. “Kuo Kuana roast. Extra cream, and enough sugar to give you every cardiovascular disease known to man.”

Pietro accepted the offered drink, and for a moment simply held it to his face. The aromatic scent was blue water and white sand, and it never failed to make him nostalgic for the coast. He let out a long, quiet exhale that took some of the tension from his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he said, “but how did you—?”

“I saw the lights on under the door and took an educated guess,” Watts said. He took a draught from his own mug before continuing: “The janitors left at the end of the day, and no one else is unhinged enough to stay after hours.”

Pietro arched a brow. “Apart from you?”

Watts snorted. “I had a meeting that I couldn’t reschedule.”

“At ten o’clock at night?”

“I made the mistake of postponing one too many times. They couldn’t be dissuaded.”

They lapsed into companionable silence. Pietro indulged in his coffee while Watts picked up a folder and flipped through it at random.

The company was a welcome respite, and not just because it came bearing gifts.

Their office arrangement had started off rather unextraordinarily, all things considered. Handing off paperwork, returning a piece of equipment, passing along department memos—the sort of banal normalcy one would expect between colleagues. Pietro hadn’t begrudged the unexpected interruptions from Watts (quite the opposite, in fact), and Watts never protested when Pietro ventured into his space long enough to drop something off.

Only a few months after becoming acquainted did Pietro notice the shift in their interactions. It had been subtle at first: an animated conversation during a faculty meeting that led to Pietro following Watts back to his office to continue the topic. A request from Watts for a second opinion on a patient chart, which led to Watts loitering in Pietro’s office long after he’d humored him. A day where Watts had cleared his schedule to allow Pietro to vent about his latest experiment following an incident in the labs.

It hadn’t taken long for the intrusions to devolve from legitimate reasons to half-contrived pretenses. The reed that broke the Dromedon’s back had been a memorable afternoon where Pietro’s office door swung open, and Watts—bag strap slung around one arm, a stack of documents tucked under the other—announced that he needed somewhere to hide from his interns, and no one would think to look for him here.

There were, admittedly, more unconventional ways to start a friendship, though Pietro hardly minded. Especially not after Watts had treated him to dinner as an apology for the inconvenience.

It was an aspect of their relationship Pietro was both fond of and deeply appreciated, though he was tactful enough to not comment on it aloud. Watts wasn’t exactly the sentimental type. (Though the steaming mug in his hand begged to differ.)

He watched as the other man returned the folder to its original spot in exchange for a file.

“No luck, I take it?” The question was as much rhetorical as it was a tacit invitation to brainstorm. Pietro gladly accepted.

“I had a thought after yesterday’s meeting: ‘What if it’s quantitative rather than permutational? Maybe we only need to adjust the inputs rather than the sequence.’” He shot a rueful glance at the monitor. “You can imagine how that went. It feels like the answer’s staring right at me and I’m too stupid to see it.”

“If you were stupid”—Watts turned the page, not bothering to look up—“we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation.” He took another sip from his mug. “Sleep-deprived, on the other hand…”

“Can you blame me?” Pietro asked.

This time, Watts did look up.

“We’ve been at this for six months and have nothing to show for it. We’re running out of time.”

Watts set the file down. “James never stipulated a deadline,” he murmured.

“No,” Pietro agreed, “but he’s not the only person we have to justify ourselves to.”

“If this is about the lien, I wouldn’t fret. As long as our funding comes from the military, they’re not going to pull the plug.”

Pietro frowned at the drink in his hands, at the contemplative reflection that mirrored his own. “James may have greenlit the project, but that doesn’t change the fact that the military budget comes from tax revenue. The other councilors get a say in how that money is allocated. And if they think our research is a waste of public resources…”

An uneasy quiet fell between them, and it was telling that Watts didn’t immediately refute him or attempt to assuage his concerns.

For lack of anything constructive to say, Pietro sighed. “For thousands of years we consumed willow bark as an analgesic. When people learned that salicin was the culprit, a chemist learned how to make it from scratch. Pharmacies around the world now manufacture and distribute that medication to millions of people.” He leaned back into his seat. “How is it that we figured out how to make an artificial compound, but we can’t figure out how to make an artificial Aura?”

“Well—” Watts motioned with his drink in a vague sort of gesture. “That might have something to do with acetylsalicylic acid being a synthetic chemical, and Aura being the manifestation of the soul. They’re not exactly analogous.” He stroked his chin. “It would also be remiss of me not to point out that up until a few centuries ago, pneumatophysicists were regularly executed for heresy. It’s not as if we have the breakthroughs of our predecessors to build upon.”

A weak, self-deprecating laugh escaped him. Reflexively, Pietro combed through his hair.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” Frustrating might have been putting it charitably. Pietro still had half a mind to fetch that blowtorch.

A knowing look crept across his handsome features, though Watts deigned only to shrug in response. Obstacles and setbacks were held in a similar estimation to success; they seldom bothered him. Nonetheless, he offered, perhaps by way of consolation, “Nothing worth doing is ever easy.”

“I’m not looking for easy. I’m looking for possible,” said Pietro, “and right now, we’ve hit a dead end.”

The holographic diagram from earlier rematerialized over his desk—a simulated Aura field superimposed atop the three-dimensional render of an android. He parsed through the accompanying schematics with a wave of his hand, calling forth and highlighting relevant segments of data.

“We know that Aura is related to the sum product of a person’s neurological pathways, because it’s the same system responsible for generating consciousness.” Pietro activated the synaptic filter. A branching web of neurons lit up the hologram in tandem with the Aura field. “Here’s the problem. Functionally and behaviorally they’re similar, so you’d think replicating one system would mean the simultaneous generation of the other, right? But it doesn’t work like that.” His brow furrowed. “Not only is Aura’s reliance on this system facultative, but it verges on metaphysical. It means that we’re missing something. You can break down the physiology of the CNS and PNS into all the various electrochemical signals, but the second you try to do the same thing with Aura—”

He dismissed the hologram with a flick of his wrist, and slumped in his chair.

“I’m starting to think James picked the wrong proposal,” he quietly admitted. “At least yours didn’t hinge on reconciling a decades-long conflict between pneumatophysical models and—”

“Self-pity doesn’t become you.”

The brusque statement startled Pietro out of his rambling. It only took a second of being subjected to Watts’ flat, unimpressed stare before Pietro ducked his head.

Watts snorted under his breath. “For better or worse, the general picked your proposal. You have an obligation to not fail, so I suggest you pull yourself together.”

Embarrassment quickly faded to mild annoyance. “You’re as sobering as a cold shower. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Watts’ expression softened. “Sometimes a little cold helps to clear the head.” There was thoughtful pause before he unhooked his ankle and leaned forward, elbows braced against his legs. “You know,” he began, “success isn’t always contingent on understanding.”

Coming from the man who actively condemned ignorance, that surprised him. Pietro stilled with the mug halfway to his lips. “True,” he conceded, lowering the coffee back to his lap. “But I don’t think we’re in a position to trip over the answer like it’s a sleeping cat.”

Another pause followed, longer than the one that preceded it.

“What if we had a way to circumvent it?”

“What do you mean?”

With a soft thunk Watts set his mug on the desk. “Your proposal requires grafting an Aura onto a mechanical vessel. It never specified where that Aura came from,” he said. “Whether it was artificially created…or acquired from somewhere else.”

He laced his fingers together.

“Someone else, perhaps.”

He’d been told more than once that he had a terrible poker face. Clearly that hadn’t changed, if the way Watts pursed his lips was anything to go by.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m not suggesting we go abduct people and harvest their organs in a back alley.” He rolled his eyes. “I would hope you’d have a somewhat higher opinion of me.”

“You have a way with words, Arthur. A questionable and slightly terrifying way with them.” Pietro fidgeted with his tie. “Let’s, for the moment, ignore all of the potential obstacles involved. Like receiving an extension on our funding to cover any unanticipated costs. Or getting approval from the Atlesian Ethics Committee to perform an unregulated and untested surgery on a patient. Or even finding a candidate who would willingly consent to such a procedure. Even if we hypothetically resolved all of those issues, we’d still be left with a problem.”

“Only the one?” asked Watts. He arched a slender brow. “Very well, I’ll bite. Enlighten me.”

Another frown tugged at his lips. “Even if we found a way to perform such a surgery, removing even a fraction could be fatal. You can’t survive without Aura.”

“That’s not, strictly speaking, true.” The mug had made its way back into his hand. Watts idly traced the rim with a finger. “I’ve treated patients with Chronic Aura Degradation before. It’s not uncommon to see cases where up to 45% of the Aura was eroded. And in every one of those cases, the patient survived with weekly EMF-DS therapy.”

Pietro shook his head. “You, better than anyone, know that ‘survived’ isn’t the same thing as ‘cured.’”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “Forgive me if I insinuated otherwise. I only meant that regular treatments resulted in a negligible impact on their quality of life.”

“I’m not denying that.” Only when Watts stilled his hand, and began circling the rim in the opposite direction, did Pietro realize he was staring. He snapped his head up and cleared his throat. “But that’s an archotheronotic disease. You’re talking about using Auratic intercision to create a manmade version of CAD. There’s no telling what that would do to the donor, or if the amount of Aura donated would even be enough to sustain an entirely new person.”

Watts conceded with a sigh. “It’s just a thought.”

It wasn’t the most outlandish thing Pietro had heard—the staff breakroom regularly churned out weirder ideas on a weekly basis, and gods knew he’d contributed to quite a few of those himself.

Still…

“I’m not opposed to alternatives,” he replied at last, “but I can’t imagine anyone condoning a surgery that mimics a Grimm-based illness. The controversy alone would be a nightmare.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted.”

Watts made a noncommittal noise as he stood.

“Scientific progress has always been controversial. What matters is how we deal with it.” He lightly clapped a hand on Pietro’s shoulder. The residual warmth from the mug lingered; it was oddly soothing. “Do me a favor, and try to get some rest?” He smirked, and the hand retreated. “Sleep on my suggestion. See if you’re not better disposed to it in the morning.”

Pietro sipped at his coffee, eyes crinkled in amusement. “I’ll pass on the sleep for now.” He motioned with the cup. “Keep these coming though and you might just persuade me.”

Watts let out a low chuckle. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned on his heel for the door, tossing a parting glance over his shoulder. “Good night, Pietro.”

Pietro smiled into his drink. “Good night, Arthur.”

“—has to be something we haven’t thought of yet.”

“We could give the pneumatograph another go. Run the Dust vortex generator with different configurations.”

“And waste more Dust in the process. Repeating the same tests isn’t going to get us any closer to generating an Aura.”

“Okay. Well, what about Grimm exposure trials? We could map out field fluctuations and look for any biopenumatic discrepancies.”

“After what happened last time? We’d be lucky if the Grimmoire loaned us a bloody paperclip, let alone a Boarbatusk. Try again.”

Will pulled a face as he crossed out a line on the clipboard, before tossing the pen back to Watts. He cast the cages lining the wall a glum look. “I guess we could go back to rodent models,” he said.

The mice Pietro was feeding began to squeakily protest. He lapsed into momentary silence before agreeing, though not without some reluctance. “It couldn’t hurt.” Not in the technical sense, anyway. But if the thought of their work regressing back to animal trials didn’t sting a little. Given the dwindling list of alternatives, however, he wasn’t about to object.

One of the mice nosed at his hand, and Pietro obligingly scratched it between the ears. “I’ll fill out the requisition forms. It shouldn’t take more than a day to get the approval.”

“As long as the technicians remember to give us an Aura-active batch,” Will added. “Last time they forgot.”

Their conversation petered out, replaced by the high-pitched din of the mice and the clink of the pellets in their food bowls. Pietro sealed the latch on the enclosure and placed the dispenser on the nearby counter, thinking.

“Even in a worst-case scenario, if the rodent models end up not working out, we could always repurpose our findings for later studies. Once the Penny Project is over”—though whether or not they succeeded, he chose not to theorize on—“if we can get the grant money for it, well, who knows? Apothymetics is relatively uncharted territory, and it’d be a shame to see all those mice go to waste…”

Watts slowly lowered the chart in his hands, and pinned him with the full intensity of his stare. “You want to run tests…on the mice…to see if you can unlock their Semblances,” he said. He broke apart his sentence as if he were running it through a translator.

Pietro shrugged. “It’s theoretically possible. If an animal can unlock an Aura, by extension it should be able to acquire a Semblance. Haven’t you ever wondered what that would look like?”

Sometimes, he liked asking questions because it was fun to speculate on the possibilities of the hypothetical. Sometimes, he liked asking questions because it was fun to see what sort of face his friend would make. Watts had yet to disappoint.

He watched with delight as Watts squinted his eyes, as if the mere idea were an affront to common decency. “No,” he said, “I haven’t wondered what that would look like. Perhaps my imagination isn’t as vivid as yours, but I’d rather not contemplate the horror of a 700-kilogram polar bear learning how to run at Mach 1, let alone a lab rat.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Arthur,” Will chimed in, in a voice far too casual to be anything but. “Think of all the possibilities. Telekinetic service dogs. Self-cloning chickens.”

“We could solve world hunger,” Pietro said. This time he was unable to suppress a grin.

It took a second for Watts to register the look on his face; his expression evened out, and he let out a loud sigh. “Stop enabling him, Will. He doesn’t need a co-conspirator.”

“I thought you were my co-conspirator,” said Pietro, feigning a look of wounded betrayal.

“No. I’m your impulse control. And I seem to doing a rather poor job as of late.” Watts jotted something on the chart in his hands, his brow momentarily furrowed in concentration. “Those mice are supposed to be euthanized anyway. I doubt they’d let you repurpose them for another project, even if you pitched it as a financial incentive.”

Pietro considered. “I can be persuasive.”

“That’s what concerns me.”

Will set the clipboard next to the dispenser and leaned back, his amusement tempered with intrigue. “I know you were kidding—mostly—but eventually, someone else is going to ask the same question, and they won’t be. Sooner or later, it’s going to be proven or disproven.”

“With any luck, they’ll disprove it,” Watts replied. “It’s already bad enough when people unlock their Semblances.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure Huntsmen need those.”

“Huntsmen, certainly. Their line of work requires it.” Watts glanced up from the chart. “The average person, on the other hand, would frankly be better off without.”

“Come off it, Arthur. I know we’re supposed be scientists and demystifying this stuff, but…” Will shrugged. “You can’t deny that it’s a little exciting for someone to try and imagine what their Semblance might be.”

“Oh, no, you’re absolutely right. It’s very exciting when someone with no training accidentally unlocks their Semblance, only to discover they now wield the power of fire, and proceed to give themselves a second-degree burn.” He clicked the pen, and pocketed it in the folds of his lab coat. “That was last Tuesday, by the way.”

Will crossed his arms. “I take it you wouldn’t want to find out what yours is?”

“If I was going to do something that permanent and that irrationally stupid, I’d get a tattoo on my left—”

A scroll dinged. Will jumped like a tasered cat, and fished through his pockets until he found it. “It’s Meg.” The sudden tension eased from his shoulders as his eyes darted over the screen. “She just wanted to let me know how the appointment went.”

Pietro’s eyes lit up. “How is she?”

“Good. She’s due in another nine weeks.” Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from his scroll. “Since I need to call her, now seems like as good a time as any to take a lunch break.” He started for the door. “I’m heading to the cafeteria. Do either of you want anything?”

“Pastrami on rye. Toasted,” Watts called after him.

“If they have any tuna salad left, I wouldn’t say no,” Pietro added.

Will gave a parting wave as he slipped out the door, the scroll already held to his face.

There was a brief silence, filled by the squeaks of tiny mice.

“So.” Pietro side-eyed the other man. “Where did you say you were putting that tattoo?”

Watts swatted him with the chart.

With nothing else to distract them for the time being, Pietro dug out his scroll and consulted his schedule.

“Busy this afternoon?” Watts prompted.

“Nothing too exciting. The hospital wants me to review some patient files and see if I’d be willing to consult on them. And around three I’ve got an appointment with a new client needing cybernetic optimal implants. The insurance company approved her for a fully-integrated interface, similar to the model James has.”

“Which reminds me…” Watts turned his attention to his own scroll. “I need to notify him about his follow-up. His prostheses are due for inspection.”

“Good luck getting him out of his office.” At his inquiring look, Pietro elaborated: “The Vytal Festival’s next month. He’s been busy overseeing the travel arrangements for his students.”

“Damn it. I forgot that was coming up.” Watts pinched the bridge of his nose, before skimming back over his calendar. “Well, at least I’ll have one appointment today that won’t be akin to pulling teeth.”

“Oh?”

“A new client by the name of Rainart. It seems he needs treatment for acute Dust poisoning.”

“Collier?”

“He didn’t say.”

Pietro tagged a file on his scroll and dismissed it from the queue. “We’ll need to meet with the rest of the team and make sure our schedules are coordinated,” he stated. “I think tomorrow would—”

“Hold on.” He hadn’t realized Watts was reading over his shoulder, and didn’t register the proximity until he felt a puff of air on the side of his neck. The sudden presence startled him. “Go back to the last tab.”

He shot him a puzzled look, but obliged him all the same. “This one?” He tapped the screen and enlarged it.

“Why did you pass on this case?” asked Watts.

Pietro peered at the text. “‘Name: Mia Atelier. Age: 19. Patient is in a hypothermia-induced coma and has been unresponsive to all attempts to resuscitate.’” He frowned. “There’s nothing I can do that the hospital staff haven’t already tried, I’m afraid.”

Watts took a step back, his eyes narrowed. After a moment he returned to his scroll. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Phase-II trial of Auratic synthesis, test number seventy-one. Initiating.”

The monitor gave a powerful thrum as the simulation booted up. Other than the pneumatic hiss of the internal fans, their silence was uninterrupted. A hand reassuringly squeezed his shoulder, though Pietro didn’t bother to find out whose it was. He didn’t dare look away.

As quickly as it began, the program aborted. An all-too familiar error message flashed counterpoint to the readouts on the screen.

The team let out a collective sigh.

Pietro willed himself through the motion of activating the audio function on his scroll.

“Test number seventy-one was unsuccessful. The recalibrations based on the gravid murine analysis didn’t provide the missing variable for the Aura simulation. It’s possible that the in-utero pneumatographic scans failed to identify the unknown factors necessary for generating and implanting an Aura. Recommendations for subsequent tests are…” It dawned on him midway through that he didn’t know where to go next. “…The team will reconvene to discuss further options. End recording,” he finished.

For lack of anything better to do, Pietro buried his face in his hand. Around him the voices of his colleagues stirred, their chatter sounding strangely far away.

“I really thought we had it that time.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. We modeled it after a gestating animal. What the hell could we have possibly missed?”

“Maybe the issue is what we’re modeling. What if we replicated the scans on a more complex organism?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure the guys in obstetrics would love that. ‘Can we borrow one of your patients for nine months? We just want to run some non-invasive tests.’”

“Hey, Will, how do you feel about offering up your firstborn child in the name of science?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Well, what do you suggest we do?”

“I suggest we go down to the pub on Baker Street and put our funding to good use.”

“Pretty sure you’re supposed to do that after you succeed, not before.”

“What about you, Arthur? You’re being unusually quiet.”

Pietro peered up from between his fingers to where Watts stood, inspecting the hologram of the simulated Aura field. Light from the projection struck the side of his face, carving out the angles in shadows.

“I think,” he said, “we should consider alternatives.”

It wasn’t an opinion shared by the majority of the faculty, but Pietro liked the distance between the buildings.

Admittedly, there were drawbacks to the layout. For example, when back-to-back classes were scheduled on opposite sides of the campus, it was fairly common to see students and professors alike sprinting between lecture halls.

Personally, Pietro enjoyed the sweeping courtyards. The altitude of the city meant a steady supply of brisk air, along with an unobstructed view of the stars that no amount of light pollution could diminish. If nothing else, the long walk between buildings gave him a chance to declutter his thoughts after hours spent cooped up in his office. Given the excuse, he gladly jumped at any opportunity to walk the grounds.

Not that he really needed the excuse, he mused, as he approached Watts’ office.

Pietro went to knock, only to be stilled by a snippet of conversation that filtered through the door.

“—understand your concerns. Rest assured, the surgical theater is still reserved for then. I spoke with the administrator at the medical center this morning, and received confirmation for the private transport. Everything else has been taken care of.”

Pietro was careful not to cause too much of a disturbance as he slipped into the chair across from him. Watts greeted him with a nod, before turning his attention back to the call.

“Certainly. We can discuss your daughter’s treatment plan afterward. I’d rather not burden you with undue stress in the meanwhile. If you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

He set aside the scroll on his desk. “You’re here earlier than usual,” he noted. “Either something went extremely well, or horribly wrong. Which was it?”

“Depends on how you look at it.” The joints in his shoulder popped as Pietro stretched. “Remember those parts I ordered? The shipment was delayed another week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I presume there’s a silver lining?”

“Well,” he said, “the original plan was to spend the next three days working on the rotary cannon for the Colossus prototype. But seeing as that’s no longer possible…” He leaned forward, hands clapped on his knees. “I know you’re not usually a fan of ‘that hideous blood sport,’ but the doubles rounds start tonight and the matches have been pretty good so far. Everyone’s getting together later in the staff breakroom to watch. The betting pool this year is pretty sizable, too.” He offered a sheepish grin. “Not that I would know anything about that.”

Watts smirked. “Of course not.”

“But—if you’re still opposed to watching the Tournament—” Pietro shrugged. “My weekend’s free. We could make plans to do something. If you’re interested.”

Watts inclined his head, green eyes half-lidded in thought. After a pause he averted his gaze to his hands, neatly folding them atop one another. “As much as I would love to take you up on that offer, I have a flight this evening. I’ll be out of the capital for a day or two.”

That caught him off-guard. “You didn’t tell me you were heading down to Mantle.”

“That’s because I’m not. I’m heading to Argus.”

“You’re leaving the country?”

“Hardly. With how much the city relies on trade with Atlas, it might as well be part of the kingdom.” He dismissively waved his hand. “But, yes. I’m overseeing a procedure there.”

It took Pietro a moment to conceal his disappointment behind a consolatory smile. “Well, what can you do.” He scoured his brain for any recent mention of traveling during the last few conversations, and surprisingly drew a blank. “I’m guessing this was last-second on your part. A new patient, I take it?”

“Something to that effect.”

“Well”—Pietro hopped to his feet—“if you’ve got an airship to catch then I won’t hold you up. I’m sure you want to get out of here and pack.” He quirked a brow. “Just so you know, I’ll be very upset if you don’t bring me back a souvenir.”

Watts rolled his eyes. “I’ll stop at the hospital gift shop on my way out,” he drawled, without a hint of sincerity.

Pietro laughed. “I’ll hold you to it.”

He made it as far as the threshold when a voice called him back: “Pietro.”

Watts was shuffling a stack of papers on his desk—a pointless gesture, with how meticulous his workspace already was. He spoke without meeting his gaze: “When I return, I’d like to discuss some ideas I had for your project. I might have found a solution.”

His pulse quickened. “Are you—are you sure?” Pietro asked.

The rearranged stack was pushed off to the side. “I will be after tomorrow.”

When he got the news a week later, Pietro stared out his office window, and didn’t move for a long time.

“That girl’s blood is on your hands.”

“Don’t you dare say I took a choice away from her.”

Pietro hesitated outside the imposing metal doors. Announcing his presence would have been the right thing to do—something he should have done ten minutes ago—but a sense of dread, morbid curiosity, and some other nameless instinct stayed the impulse. Instead he leaned closer, only just able to discern the pair of muffled voices on the other side.

“She was dying. What was I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for the hospital board to convene and debate the ethics? They would have wasted precious seconds wringing their hands and fretting over indemnification, while I had a chance to save her life.”

James’ voice was taut with the tension of a fraying rope. “And you failed.”

“People die from surgical complications every day,” Watts snapped. “We can’t save everyone. But we can try, and I did. She may be dead, but the contributions her death made have advanced our understanding of—”

“‘Contributions’? Do you hear yourself?”

Pietro nearly forgot to breathe in the deafening silence.

“You didn’t do this out of some misguided altruism,” James said. “You did it to satisfy your own curiosity.”

“I did it because she was running out of time and options. A transfer of consciousness by incising her Aura and siphoning it into a receptive vessel was the only way to ensure her survival. What other options were there?”

“Hospice.” The word was ground out through clenched teeth.

“If you’re waiting for me to grovel to you for clemency,” said Watts, “then you’ll be waiting for some time. I did nothing wrong.”

“Oh, really? Is that you why you had your patient shipped to a hospital in another kingdom so you could perform an illegal surgery?”

Pietro flinched.

“As I’ve explained to you numerous times, the procedure is illegal under Atlesian law. Mistral, on the other hand, has no such qualms when it comes to the implementation of pioneering medical research.”

“Hiding behind a loophole doesn’t change the fact that you manipulated her emotionally-compromised parents!” A fist slammed against the desk. “You knew they were desperate, and you knew they would say yes if there was even the slightest chance they could get their daughter back. Their consent was based solely on the premise that your theoretical procedure might work.”

“It’s not theoretical anymore.” The words saturated the air, like the ozone that preceded lightning. “I proved that it can be done. My efforts, while unsuccessful, weren’t a failure. We can take what I learned from her death and repurpose it—”

“That’s enough.”

Pietro recoiled from the shout. Then he realized what he’d done, and quickly repositioned himself next to the door.

“Did you know…” Shoes scuffed over the tiled floor, across the sunken dais. “During the height of the Great War, Mantle oversaw the detainment of captured soldiers. In time, their wardens saw little benefit in expending resources on them if there wasn’t some use for all of those people.” The pacing stopped. “Eventually, Mantle did find a use for them. They were experimented on. When the war came to a close, hundreds of people had perished. The textbooks never fail to recount that.”

Watts took a steadying breath. “What they often conveniently omit is that many of the technologies we have today were born from those experiments. Analgesics, psychotropic drugs, new surgical tools…and neuroprostheses.”

A pause.

“The metal grafted to your body exists because prisoners of war bled for it. You can’t ridicule my work and absolve yourself of hypocrisy.”

When James’ reply came, it was dangerously soft: “For better or worse, we have that technology.”

“For better or worse, we could have had one more,” Watts retorted. “How does condemning my choices justify yours?”

James exhaled through his nose, and his tone evened out into something approximating his regular speech. “Because I don’t condone the loss of lives, or the dehumanization of people. I didn’t participate in the atrocities that brought us those advancements.”

“No. You only benefited from them. Tell me, James. How many more people do you think will suffer needlessly in the future because you stymied my research? Inaction will deprive future generations.”

“Whereas action will slaughter the current one,” James shot back. “The ends don’t justify the means. You know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gambled on asking for forgiveness over permission, had the girl actually lived.”

Neither man spoke into the yawning chasm that filled the space between them.

“…I didn’t want her to die, James.” An unfamiliar emotion crept into his voice.

James sighed. “I didn’t call you here to debate your motives. What’s done is done.”

When Watts spoke again, the question was accompanied by unease: “Then why did you arrange this meeting?”

“To discuss the consequences with you.”

“Am I being arrested?”

“Not presently, no,” James said. “The Council hasn’t formally issued any charges, and they won’t until they meet to discuss the matter in-depth.”

“If I’m not being arrested,” Watts ventured, “then what consequences are you talking about?”

The general’s reply was delayed. “I spoke with the Medical Board. Your license has been suspended.”

Pietro’s blood ran cold.

“On what grounds?” His voice was nearly inaudible.

“Malpractice.”

“You can’t place me on probation for a law I didn’t break—”

“Arthur.”

The interruption killed whatever momentum he’d gathered. When no more protests were forthcoming, James continued: “It wasn’t my call.”

Another gap in the conversation followed, shorter than the ones before it.

“If the Board’s intention was to simply strip me of my license, they could have easily done so without involving you. If the Council plans to do nothing yet, then this meeting is a waste of our time.” His confusion faded, replaced with wariness. “Why am I really here, James?”

“…I want you to understand,” James began, “that I arranged this meeting as a courtesy. I didn’t want you to be in the dark about events going forward—”

“Why am I here?”

Pietro could picture James steepling his hands, tightening his jaw.

“As you’re aware, the Penny Project is a classified military project. Your surgery appropriated that research, and you performed it on a civilian.”

“My research”—Watts bristled—“was based on an archotheronotic disease. Where I drew my inspiration is irrelevant.”

“The other councilors might not have letters after their names, but they’re not idiots. They saw the parallels. It’s not a coincidence that your procedure and the project both focus on Aura.”

“The difference,” Watts spat, “is in the intent. The project’s goal is to create an Aura from scratch. Mine was to separate and transfer an already-existing one. If we can separate a host’s Aura and place it within a new receptacle, then that proves we can also remove a portion of it and do the same.”

“Even if you’re right, that doesn’t change the fact that the girl’s parents went to the media and took their story public,” James said. “Soul-based research is already controversial. How long do you think it will take for people to start asking questions? That’s a scrutiny we can’t afford right now.”

The chair legs scraped over the ground as James stood.

“The reason why I called you here is because the Council believes that your actions jeopardized that secrecy. The unauthorized disclosure of classified military intelligence is a potential security breach. Which is why, until they conclude their investigation, your passport is being revoked and you will be confined to the Kingdom of Atlas.”

James sounded tired.

“The charge they intend to level against you is treason.”

Nervously, Pietro rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame.

“Arthur? May I come in?”

Watts stood with his back to the room, an outstretched hand removing several books from their shelves. At the sound of his name, he stiffened. “If you must,” he answered flatly.

“Thank you.” He was careful to avoid tripping over the boxes stacked by the entryway as he closed the door behind him.

The other man had never been particularly materialistic, but even so, his decorating was far from sparse. Awards and accreditations had hung from the walls, while shelves with medical tomes lined the perimeter of the office. Occasionally, projects from the lab migrated into the room, and had taken up tablespace by the windowsill where a lone bromeliad sat.

It was jarring to see those possessions packed away.

Watts didn’t immediately turn to face him. Instead, his head sunk between his shoulders. “…Are you here to yell at me as well?”

“Yes. No.” He ran a hand through his hair. A thousand different thoughts colored his mind like a fractured kaleidoscope. There were plenty of things he wanted to say, each worse than the last. Pietro ruthlessly shoved those thoughts aside. “Look, I’m upset, but right now you need a friend, not another detractor.”

“How considerate of you.” His words were devoid of inflection.

“I’m not going to pretend I know how you’re feeling right now, but I still think you should—” Pietro glanced at one of the cardboard boxes on his desk, only to do a double-take. “What are you doing?”

“Vacating the premises.” Watts resumed packing. “Seeing as I’m no longer tenured, the institute felt this room could be put to better use.”

“I already know that. That’s not what I meant.” Pietro gestured to the lacy scrawl on the side of the box—Free to whoever wants it. “Why are you getting rid of your things?”

“I have no reason to keep them. It’s not as if I’ll be able to use them again for another employer.”

“You don’t know that—” Pietro began to protest.

“No one in their right mind would hire me. And that’s assuming I won’t be spending the rest of my life behind bars.” He folded the box flaps with slightly more force than necessary. “Seeing as you’re already here, help yourself to whatever you like. I’ll be taking the rest of these downstairs to the breakroom, once I’m done. I know Will was always partial to my microscope.”

“I’m not taking your things!” Pietro let out a long, deep exhale, forcing himself to calm down. “I want to talk to you.”

“Very well.” Watts finally turned to face him, and Pietro was struck by how ill he looked. A gauntness clung to his features, though whether from a lack of food or a lack of sleep, he couldn’t say. Stubble had begun to creep in below his jaw, and his clothes were far more disheveled than he could ever recall them being. “Talk.”

It took him a moment to collect his thoughts. “You need to get a lawyer.”

“And what good will that do me?” His eyes were dull. “Even if the odds weren’t overwhelmingly stacked against me, what lawyer would touch my case?”

“I’m sure someone would, if you asked around.” Pietro hated the idea, but he willed himself to say it: “What about Jacques Schnee? You’re acquaintances, right? The SDC settles lawsuits all the time, so they’ve got to have legal experts on retainer. Maybe you could arrange something with him—”

“If you think I’ll let myself be indebted to that myopic narcissist—” As quickly as it flared, the fire in his eyes faded. Watts’ posture folded in on itself as the anger drained from him, leaving only fretful cinders behind. “I’m sorry,” he said, with a hard blink. “I was out of line.”

Pietro worried his lower lip. “What can I do to help?” he asked. “Do you want to go out? Get something to drink?”

“I—” Watts cut himself off with a sigh, and shook his head. “No. Thank you. I have plans to meet with one of my former patients later. He wants to discuss alternatives for his Dust poisoning, seeing as his treatments have been…discontinued.”

Pietro cast his gaze helplessly about the room, trying to think of something. With an unpleasant lurch in his chest, he realized that he couldn’t. “I’ll leave you to it, then?” he said.

“That would be for the best.”

Despite the overwhelming urge to protest, Pietro turned to leave. He stopped with his fingers on the door handle, and glanced back. “You’ll come and get me if you need anything, right?”

Watts opened another box, and began writing on the side. “Of course.”

Save for the occasional fleeting glimpse, Pietro saw little of his friend over the next two weeks.

While his presence on the campus was a necessity, Watts seemed to be doing what he could to minimize it. Only the administrators—who refused to speak about it—and his former clients—who spoke too much about it—spent any length of time with him. His public avoidance did little to deter the gossip, which varied in accuracy and failed to account for all the details, given the clandestine nature of his termination. It didn’t help that Pietro staunchly refused to contribute to it, and told off anyone bold enough to press the subject.

When their paths did cross, Watts didn’t linger long enough to chat. He had a faraway look on his face, and his appearance was unkempt.

It worried Pietro that he no longer seemed to care about himself.

It was early into the evening when Watts visited his office.

“Forgive me for the intrusion.” Pietro glanced up from his paperwork to see Watts hovering in the doorway. Strangely, he was carrying the bromeliad. “Might I steal a moment of your time?”

“Certainly!” Pietro pushed aside the document stack and gestured warmly to the chair. To his dismay, Watts remained standing. “What can I do for you?”

Watts adjusted the potted plant in his arms. “I was wondering,” he began, “if I could ask for a small favor.”

“Go ahead.”

Pietro didn’t know what to make of the unexpectedly calm expression on his face, so at odds with his recent emotional state.

“I need someone to look after this for me.” Watts took a step forward, and set the plant on the edge of the desk. “If it’s left unattended for a day or two it’s not an issue. Any longer, though, and it begins to dry out. The care required for it isn’t overly involved; the soil simply needs to be misted with distilled water every so—”

“Wait a second,” Pietro said. “Why does it sound like you’re going somewhere?”

Watts hesitated. “I’m travelling to Evadne for a few days.”

Pietro started to rise. “Arthur—”

He held up a hand. “I’m forbidden from international flights, not domestic. The southern coast of Solitas is under Atlesian jurisdiction, is it not?”

Slowly, Pietro sank back into his chair. “It is,” he agreed. “But why are you travelling now?”

Watts closed his eyes. “I want to see the coast one last time.”

He frowned. “You shouldn’t talk like that. You don’t know what’s going to happen.”

His friend didn’t comment. He merely stared at him.

“Fine,” Pietro relented, “I’ll watch it for you. But just so you know, I’ve killed plants before.”

His lips twitched in a faint smile. “That’s quite all right.”

Pietro reached forward to move the pot, only to be taken aback when his hand was intercepted by Watts’. The contact startled him, so much so that he didn’t react when Watts lightly squeezed.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Pietro forced his jaws to move. “For what?”

“For more than I care to admit.”

The hand retreated.

“Enjoy your trip, Arthur.” Pietro tried to sound cheerful. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

Watts opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. He dipped his head in a polite nod, before turning on his heel.

He wasn’t sure why he was here.

It was the second day after Watts’ departure for Evadne. The office was unrecognizable without any of its usual décor—walls now stripped bare of his possessions, floorspace empty save for the generic chairs and desk pushed off to the corner. The open space was dissonant with Pietro’s memories of the many times he’d spent in this room, either with other members of the team, or by himself. Almost as soon as the thoughts formed, they were accompanied by a pang of nostalgia. His fingernails dug into his palm.

Adjusting to the new normal was a prospect he dreaded, not just for the uncertainties at play, but simply because he didn’t want things to change. In truth, Pietro didn’t know what the Council’s verdict would be.

And he would have been lying if he said the thought didn’t keep him up at night.

It was as he was looking around the room that he noticed something glint in the waste bin. Intrigued, he bent down and pushed aside the crumpled papers partially obscuring it. When he lifted it from the bin, Pietro was surprised to see his reflection staring back at him from the plaque’s glassy surface.

The Atlesian Institute of Technology is honored to present the Rigel Award to Arthur Watts in recognition of his contributions to the fields of archotherology and pneumatophysics.

“I know things are bad right now, Arthur, but you shouldn’t just throw things like this away…” He’d been at the reception where the award had been presented; it had been a milestone in Watts’ career.

Carefully, Pietro wiped away a smudge with the hem of his shirt. A stubborn resolve seized him.

“It’s not breaking and entering if you have the spare key,” Pietro told himself, as the lock clicked.

The first thing he noticed, as the apartment door shut behind him, was the immediate onset of cold. Ice cold. The sort of chill that settled in a person’s lungs, and caused their breath to fog as they gasped for air.

“Gods above.” Pietro wrapped his arms around himself. “I know you like it cold, but this is ridiculous. What’s the temperature in here?”

Not intending to trip his way through the room, Pietro reached for the light switch.

Nothing.

“The bulb must have blown out.” He resorted to the flashlight on his scroll. Mindful of where he stepped, Pietro moved into the hall where the thermostat was. The last thing his friend needed was to return to a drafty apartment.

Understandably, he was confused when he tapped the screen, only for the thermostat to not respond.

“Surely this isn’t broken too…?”

A nagging suspicion prompted him to reach for the next light switch in his path. The hall remained dark, even after Pietro flipped it several times.

Something wasn’t right.

The next three lights he tried remained unresponsive to his attempts. Pietro stopped in the kitchen, his scroll in one hand, the glass plaque grasped loosely in the other. What else wasn’t working?

His gaze fell to the sink. With a slither of incredulity, Pietro turned the handle on the faucet.

It was cold, granted, but not cold enough to freeze the pipes. And he refused to believe that all of the utilities simultaneously stopped working. Even if they did, Watts would never have knowingly allowed them to remain in disrepair.

His mind discarded one possibility after the next, trying to identify a pattern, an explanation.

Pietro lifted the plaque to eye level.

For the life of him, he couldn’t fathom why he’d want to get rid of something so important. It was a question he’d have to ask him when he came back—

His eyes widened.

Glass skated over the tiles as the plaque shattered against the floor. Pietro fumbled with his scroll, cursing, as he bolted back down the hall.

James answered on the second ring. “Pietro? What—”

“Where are you?” he gasped.

“The Academy,” he said. “Is something—”

“Meet me in your office!” The door slammed shut behind him. “We need to stop him!”

“And you’re sure about this?” James gravely looked on as Pietro paced.

“Why else would he have gotten rid of his things?” He gestured wildly. “He already believes his life is over. He had no reason to keep them.”

Those words had taken on an entirely new meaning, one that made Pietro feel sick.

“I understand, given the circumstances, how you would've arrived at that conclusion. But is it possible you’re wrong?” He spoke with the calm, patient authority of his rank, with a pragmatism meant to ease. All it did was agitate Pietro even more. “Arthur is a lot of things, but suicidal? It doesn’t seem—”

“You haven’t seen him the last few weeks!” His voice shot up an octave. “He’s hardly eating, barely sleeping, he isolated himself from nearly everyone. I knew he was depressed, but I didn’t think…” He trailed off, at a loss for words. “James, please. We need to do something.”

James leaned back into his desk, hands braced against the edge. “We should consider every possibility before we act.”

Pietro halted in his tracks. “What other possibilities?”

“Consider what you’ve just told me. He disposed of his personal belongings—things that would have encumbered him. He distanced himself from other people—social contacts that would have tied him to the kingdom. He canceled his utilities—lien he no longer has to waste.”

Pietro turned to face him. “What are you suggesting?”

“Given the pending criminal charges, it’s possible that he’s trying to flee the kingdom.”

Pietro tensed.

“Think carefully about your last conversation.” James watched him closely. “Did he indicate that he planned on coming back?”

Mutely, Pietro shook his head.

“If he wanted to leave without drawing attention to himself, Evadne would be the logical choice,” he said. “It’s a small town on the water frequently used as a stopover between the interior cities and Anima’s northern coast. It has a comparably smaller military presence, and most of its visitors are tourists. He won’t look out of place. And if he’s brought lien with him, it wouldn’t take much persuasion to stow away on an airship or a boat. Dust smugglers regularly make use of those tactics.”

Pietro started to shake.

“Both possibilities are upsetting in their own right, and I’d prefer for neither to be true. But the evidence isn’t something we can just ignore. Right now, the latter seems more likely. I didn’t notice—”

“Of course you didn’t notice!” Pietro shouted. “You were so busy trying to end his career that you didn’t realize you were ending his life!”

His words echoed around the room. In the stunned silence that followed, Pietro continued to yell.

“‘I want to see the coast one last time.’ That’s what he said to me when he left! He didn’t mean before he was arrested; he meant before he died. And why wouldn’t he? What did he have left? Either he was going to waste away in a cell, or he was going to spend the rest of his life unable to rebuild it. No one in the medical community will speak to him, no one on the team will look at him—” He doubled over with a strangled cough. “I know what he did was wrong. I think it’s wrong. But I don’t want him to die because of it! I don’t want to be right, but with everything I’ve seen we can’t wait around to find out if I’m wrong. James, please, we have to—”

A hand fell on his shoulder. Pietro wheezed.

“We’ll find him.” James’ grip tightened. “I can have an airship ready in ten minutes.”

The night was alive with the weaving bands of the auroras.

A distant part of his mind tried to find comfort in the emerald and indigo light, as it rippled through the sky amidst a backdrop of stars.

“We should be there in a few hours.” From the seat across from him, James consulted his scroll. “Our ETA will be about 6:00 AM.”

Pietro turned away from the window. “What are we going to do when we get there?”

“I have a special operative who’s currently stationed in the area. Her name’s Caroline. I radioed her as we were boarding. Her team’s going to meet us when we land and help with the search.”

He nodded.

“Before Arthur left”—James glanced up from the screen—“did he tell you where he was staying?”

“No, I’m sorry,” he replied. “He didn’t.”

“That’s all right.” James returned to his scroll. “If he checked into a hotel, the transaction will be on his bank statement. I should have access to his account history in a minute.”

“James.” Pietro steeled himself. “If I’m right…about…” He drew in a shuddering breath. “How are we going to handle this?”

“It depends on what we find, and what—condition he’s in.” James’ face was pinched. “The plan is to make sure he’s not a danger to himself or anyone else.”

“‘Anyone else’?”

James’ expression darkened. “I’ve seen situations like this before, with soldiers and Huntsmen. Sometimes they lash out.”

Suddenly, Pietro was grateful for his friend’s long military career, and the experience that came with it.

That went doubly so a second later when his scroll chimed, granting him clearance.

James read over the information as it poured in. “Well, this confirms what we already suspected—he canceled his utilities a few days ago.”

“Did you find out where he’s staying?”

“Let me see—got it. I have the name and address. It’s…” He scrolled through something on the screen. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Pietro leaned forward, trying to get a better look. “What is it?”

“Right before he left, he emptied his account.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Hang on. I might be able to trace where it went—” James trailed off.

“What is it?”

“He—” James peered at the records. “A large percentage of it was made out as a check. To the Ateliers.”

Pietro didn’t speak. If he opened his mouth now, he’d vomit.

“The remainder appears to have been withdrawn, though I’m not sure why.”

The cabin was mercifully silent as James immersed himself in parsing through the records. With nothing to do and only his thoughts to preoccupy him, Pietro returned to the window. It was several minutes before James spoke again:

“It’s going to be a while before we land. Try to get some sleep.”

When he trusted himself to not be sick, Pietro answered. “I’m okay, James.”

It was a lie. And judging by James’ expression, he didn’t believe it either.

“General Ironwood.” A woman of remarkably short stature saluted them. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

“Likewise, Caroline.”

She fell in step beside him while her two subordinates took up positions at the rear. For every one step James took, Caroline had to take three.

“Anything to report?” he asked.

“We’ve been monitoring the building from afar for the last half hour. We haven’t seen Dr. Watts enter or leave.”

James didn’t comment. Rather, he quickened his pace.

“Do you have any orders for us?”

“The manager will be expecting us, although she wasn’t fully informed as to why. I want you and your team to start in his room, then sweep the premises while we interview the staff.” He stopped with his hand on the glass doors, and gave her a hard stare. “Do not, under any circumstances, harm him. If the situation becomes dangerous, you are to either deescalate it or wait for me to join you. Do I make myself clear?”

She grimaced. “Yes, sir.”

A woman with a sheet of long, violet hair stood waiting for them in the lobby. “Welcome, General Ironwood. Dr. Polendina.” She offered a shallow bow. As she rose, she registered the accompanying operatives, and her eyes flickered with unspoken questions. “How may I assist you?”

“We’d like to speak with you, along with any staff that may have interacted with one of your guests.”

The manager glanced at Caroline. “Are we in danger?”

“No. Not likely,” said James.

The manager didn’t look reassured, but she didn’t protest. “Very well. Please follow me.”

She guided the small group to the front desk where the receptionist sat, their eyes wide in bewilderment. “May I have the guest’s name?” she asked.

“Arthur Watts,” James said.

Without prompting, the receptionist keyed in the name. “Uh. He’s in room 3A.”

James turned to the manager. “May I have your permission to send my team upstairs?”

“Go ahead.”

He nodded. At once Coraline and her subordinates dispersed.

The manager waited until they’d filed into the elevator before she spoke: “You said you had questions for me?”

“Along with any staff that interacted with him,” James clarified.

“I’ve interacted with him.”

The receptionist seemed to regret that decision the moment three pairs of eyes turned on them. Nevertheless, they continued: “The guy with the mustache, right?”

Pietro’s pulse stuttered sharply. “When did you last see him?”

“This morning. He left over an hour ago. Said he was going for a walk.”

It took every shred of willpower Pietro had to not run out those doors.

“Did he leave with any belongings on his person? A bag, perhaps?” James asked.

The receptionist shook their head. “No, sir. Just his wallet and his room key, like he usually does.”

Pietro swapped a look with James, before turning back to the receptionist. “What do you mean by ‘usually’?”

“This is the time when he usually goes out. He stops to talk to the receptionist—well, me, I guess—and then heads out for a few hours. Comes back around noon, grabs lunch in the dining hall, heads back upstairs. Goes out again around five o’clock, and comes back some time after seven.” They gave a helpless shrug. “I—I guess he has a routine.”

Some of the tension left James’ shoulders. “It’s possible Arthur did in fact come here just to destress,” he said.

What should have been a reassuring thought made Pietro want to sink into the ground in mortification. He could only imagine what Watts’ face would look like when he returned to the hotel, to find that Pietro had brought along the entire cavalry. All because he assumed his friend had a death wish.

Pietro was dragged out of his pity party by James’ next question: “Do you remember anything specific about his behavior? Anything that might have looked or sounded strange?”

To his surprise, the receptionist looked guilty. “Well…” They glanced at the manager.

“Whatever it is, you’re not in trouble,” she said.

The receptionist hesitated a second longer, before heaving a reluctant sigh. “You get a lot of guests in a place like this, right? So you don’t always remember all of them. Not unless they stand out in some way. He…” They paused. “He’s been nothing but polite and friendly to all the staff.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly noteworthy,” James observed.

The receptionist fidgeted. “No, it’s not that. It’s not just that. He tipped us well.” They swallowed. “Like, really well.”

The lingering dread from earlier resurfaced. “How much did he tip you?” Pietro asked.

They averted their gaze. “Ten thousand lien. Each.”

The dread beat savage wings against his ribs.

Out of his periphery, James stepped off to the side with a finger pressed to his earpiece. A second later his face went unsettlingly blank. “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to speak with my team.”

Pietro dimly registered his departure. He looked between the two hotel staff, his mind frantically scrambling for an explanation other than the one he didn’t want to hear. “Did he say anything?” he asked. Begged. “Anything that you might remember could help."

They considered his words with renewed thoughtfulness. “When he’d come back from his walks, I’d ask him how he was—the regular sort of small talk you’d make with guests. He told me that he went down to the beach. When I asked him, ‘Did you do anything while you were there?’ he said, ‘Not today. Perhaps I will tomorrow.’”

“Pietro.”

James had returned.

Coraline and her team hurried through the lobby; he could just make out “mobilize search-and-rescue” being barked into her earpiece as they rushed past.

He regarded Pietro with pale, haunted eyes, before slowly holding out his hand. “I’m sorry.”

A note hung from his fingertips.

After four days of searching, Arthur Watts was declared dead.

James scrubbed at his face. “I already told you, Camilla,” he sighed, as the doors slid open, “I’ll have it resolved once I—oh, Pietro. I didn’t realize it was you.”

Pietro managed a weak smile. “Disappointed to see me?” he asked, as he strode into the room.

“Relieved, actually.” James set aside some manner of document he’d been working on. “I was half-expecting another lecture.” Pietro accepted the tacit invitation to join him, and eased into the chair. “What can I do for you?”

Pietro tapped his fingers against the armrest. “I need a favor. A big one.”

“Why do I get the impression I won’t like what you’re about to ask me?”

“Because you won’t.”

Predictably, James wasn’t amused, but he didn’t try to bodily throw him out of the room, so that was a good start. “All right,” he said. “I’m listening.”

This conversation had sounded so much easier in his head. Pietro contemplated which option to take, before deciding on the direct approach: “Did you ever look over the report Arthur wrote after the surgery?”

It was brief, but Pietro didn’t miss the flash of regret James very neatly concealed behind unwavering calm. He steepled his hands. “I did,” he answered.

“Did you see the post-op notes?”

“I did.”

“But did you read them?” he pressed.

There was a hint of humor in his reply: “I read them to the extent I could understand them.”

Pietro braced himself. “I took another look at his work on Auratic intercision. He did it, James.”

When the other man said nothing, he hurriedly launched into his speech. “Even though the initial attempt failed, he managed to deduce what went wrong during the procedure. I won’t waste your time with all the technical mumbo jumbo, but I did the math. Split-Aura transfer is possible.”

He held James’ gaze. “We can finally build Penny.”

For a moment that stretched into eternity, James remained silent. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and opened them again. “You want my permission, to use the same research that nearly got him arrested, to complete your project.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Pietro said.

“I can certainly appreciate the irony, if nothing else.” He narrowed his eyes—thoughtfully, not in anger. “This wasn’t an idea you came up with overnight. It’s been nearly two months. Why did you wait this long to bring it up?”

“It’s as you said: it’s been two months. The last of the journalists have retired the story. People are no longer fixated on the proceedings. No more controversy, no more public backlash. The scandal died with him.” It hurt to say, but Pietro pushed onward: “Synthesizing an Aura has proven impossible, but now, we have a viable alternative. We can’t bring Mia Atelier back. But perhaps we can give someone else a chance at life.”

He waited.

At last, James nodded. A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding left him. “You have my permission.”

“Thank you,” Pietro said.

“There’s just one problem.”

James regarded him intently. “The procedure requires a donor, does it not? You need a volunteer.”

Pietro straightened. “You’re looking at him.”

It had been a while since he last had the chance to sit and diagram.

A combination of blueprints, tablets, and holographic projectors were scattered about the desk. Other than the sleepy hum of the generator, and the scratching of pen against paper, his office was silent. The ambiance gave Pietro a pleasant rhythm to work to as he alternated between mediums.

He was in the middle of diagramming the thrusters when a voice spoke up from behind: “Burning the midnight oil?”

Pietro gladly accepted the mug James offered him, as he occupied the empty seat. “Just getting a little more work done before I call it quits.” He grinned. “I just finished the template for her skeleton. It’s on the tablet to your right if you want to see it.”

“This one?” James picked up the tablet in question.

“Swipe left, it’s the first file.”

The device lit up in his hands. James made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat as his eyes darted across the screen.

“What do you think?” Pietro asked.

“I think”—he continued to skim through the files—“I picked the right proposal.”

He didn’t realize how much he needed to hear those words until he felt a hot, stinging sensation in the corner of his eyes. He tried to discreetly dab it away.

Not discreetly enough, it seemed. James shot him an inquiring look.

“Oh, don’t mind. I’m just a little sensitive right now.” Pietro ducked his head. “It’s not every day you get to become a father.”

James wore a knowing, if somewhat bemused smile, but he was considerate enough to not say anything. He turned his attention back to the files in his hand.

“A lot of those are aesthetic mock-ups. I haven’t finalized anything, so if you want to throw in your two cents on the design input, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Did he know?”

Pietro’s hand stilled over the parchment. When no elaboration was forthcoming, he lifted his head to deduce one for himself.

His pulse beat painfully beneath his skin.

The file on the screen was one of the earliest drafts for Penny’s design. It was also one of the only files to have received a color palette. Red hair hung in thick curls about her pale face. Her cheeks were flecked with freckles that contrasted just enough to be visible, just below her eyes.

Eyes that were a very familiar shade of green.

He didn’t say anything for several moments. He debated saying anything at all.

But there was no judgment on James’ face, no hint of contempt in his voice. Only sympathy.

“No,” Pietro answered. He let out a tired sigh, and set the pen down. “And he never suspected. I made sure of that.”

“You didn’t want to tell him?”

“I wanted to tell him for a long time." He closed his eyes. "I’ve spent the last four months regretting every day that I didn’t. And on every one of those days, I wondered if telling him would have made a difference.”

“It’s not your fault,” said James.

“I know.” Pietro reached for the photo on the edge of his desk, and gently lifted the frame into his hands. It was the last picture the team had taken together. “It doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone.”

He lifted his eyes to the file in James’ hands, to the image of the young girl staring back at him.

“But maybe, through someone else—someone new—he can still be here.”

“Dr. Watts?”

Watts lifted his head from the chart he'd been reviewing.

At the entrance of his lab stood Hazel, his expression as impassive as ever.

“We have a meeting to attend.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Watts smoothed down the front of his coat. “Tell Salem I’ll be right there.”

Guess I've got some explaining to do. For anyone curious about my RWBY worldbuilding and headcanons:

Pietro not being disabled prior to the start of the series - We have no confirmation of this in canon, but I think that donating a percentage of his Aura to Penny has slowly chipped away at his health. I based this partly on the fact that in the show, the areas on his body where his Aura has been excised most prominently are over his legs and lower torso. If donating too much of his Aura is fatal, then it stands to reason that there are intermediary complications between points A and D - loss of mobility in his legs, chronic respiratory illness, worsening vision, and so on.

Archotherology (Gr. archo-, ruler, + -thero-, beast, + -logy, study of) - The study of Grimm.

Pneumatophysics (Gr. pneûma, soul, + -physics) - The study of the soul and its physical manifestation, Aura.

Apothymetics (Gr. apo-, derived from, + -thym-, soul, + E. -ics, from [?] Gr. -ikós, pertaining to) - The study of Semblances; a subdiscipline of pneumatophysics.

Auratic disease - An adverse condition that typically affects a person’s Aura, and by extension, their Semblance. Auratic diseases are generated by plague-type Grimm, and then transmitted to people through proximity. Watts' research simulated an Auratic disease, which is why Pietro later acquires a manmade version of CAD. You can click here to read more about them.

Evadne - A coastal city in southern Solitas. Named after the Greek figure Evadne, the wife of King Argus.

[strangenewfriends]

During a pivotal year of his solo career, Harry Styles has notched another monumental achievement: his first No. 1 single on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

As “Watermelon Sugar,” the standout track from Styles’ sophomore solo LP Fine Line, lifts 7-1 on this week’s Hot 100 tally, Styles tops the chart for the first time, after previously reaching a No. 2 peak as a member of One Direction. After starting his solo career with his classic rock influences on his sleeve, Styles has become a fixture at pop radio in 2020, with both “Watermelon Sugar” and “Adore You” becoming ubiquitous top 10 hits this year.

How shocking is the ascent of “Watermelon Sugar”? And what could the song mean for Styles’ future at the Grammy Awards? Billboard staffers answer these questions and more below.

1. On a scale of 1-10, how surprised are you that “Watermelon Sugar” is the song to finally give Harry Styles his first Hot 100 chart-topper?

Andrew Unterberger: Three months ago, it would've been a 10 for sure. Types of songs that don't usually go to No. 1 in 2020: fourth official singles, songs that have already dropped off the Hot 100 for multiple months after debuting, rock (or at least rock-based pop) songs. "Watermelon Sugar" was each of 'em, and even as recently as last week, I'd have been, like, an 8 about it going all the way to No. 1 -- even with a viral video, good audio-only streaming numbers and huge radio support, it seemed to have hit a ceiling outside the top 5. But a concentrated fan campaign and some good chart timing have put it over the top, and maybe I shouldn't be so surprised by that in 2020 after all.

Jason Lipshutz: I’d give it a 7 -- not because of any deficiency or quirk with the song, but because of its circuitous route to the top of the Hot 100 chart. Styles performed “Watermelon Sugar” for the first time on Saturday Night Live on Nov. 16, 2019, and released music videos for three other Fine Line songs before finally returning to it in May. That’s an incredibly slow burn -- to provide some context, “Watermelon Sugar” was released the same weekend as the ill-fated Charlie’s Angels reboot! -- and an unlikely path to pop ubiquity, to say the least.

Joe Lynch: I guess 9? It's super catchy and easy to get into, but it's just not the vibe of most 2019-2020 Hot 100 toppers – although given that Taylor Swift's "Cardigan" cozied up to the top slot last week, perhaps we're at a point in the pandemic where people are specifically turning to something that's a far cry from the top 40 norm for a break in monotony.

Lyndsey Havens: I'd say a 6. Three years ago (and still today) I thought that "Sign of the Times" could have and should have topped the chart, and then I thought that "Adore You" might finally do the trick. But people do say "third time's the charm" for a reason, and it makes sense that, after two strong top 10 singles, the continual growth of Fine Line well into 2020 and the strong promotional push, that this summer-ready, breezy pop-rock track has claimed the chart's top spot.

Stephen Daw: I'm clocking in at a solid 5 — it's surprising (to me, at least) that it took Harry Styles this long to log his first No. 1, but as soon as I heard "Watermelon Sugar," I was confident that, if a song off of Fine Line was going to reach the top of the Hot 100, it would be this one.

2. The success of Styles’ second album, Fine Line, has been one of the biggest stories in mainstream pop this year -- the album is still in the top 10 of the Billboard 200 chart eight months after its release. Why do you think Styles’ sophomore solo LP has resonated so well this year?

Andrew Unterberger: I wish I knew -- as do record company folks around the world, I imagine. It's a very good album and Harry is an extremely likeable star, but nothing about an album that feels largely like a tribute to '70s pop-rock and post-peak Paul McCartney would've struck me as an album to take him to that next level of stardom. He's just a star -- one with a big-enough gravitational pull to bend the mainstream to him -- and I won't underestimate him so easily again.

Jason Lipshutz: In 2020, artists like Dua Lipa, Lady Gaga, Selena Gomez and 5 Seconds of Summer have all released top-notch pop full-lengths... but I have returned to Fine Line more than any of them. Part of that has to do with its sense of uplift and enthusiasm during a particularly trying year -- shout-out to “Treat People With Kindness” for snapping me out of some grade-A funks -- but Fine Line’s songs are stronger than those of Styles’ self-titled debut, the pacing is immaculate, the hits are far more effective and Styles is more comfortable in his own, ‘70s-pop-channeling skin. Fine Line is part throwback, part comfort food, part magnetic artistic presence, and remains an excellent front-to-back listen.

Joe Lynch: I think he's in a great spot in his career: not only has his 1D fan base embraced his maturing sound (which, to be fair, isn't a tough sell – this is very accessible pop-rock), but his gender-bending, classic rock-worshiping fashionista persona has expanded his listenership beyond the realm of card-carrying Directioners. Plus, it's an album that's crafted to last: this is meticulous studio pop that mostly eschews the tiresome trends and tricks most producers feel obligated to slap on a recording to make it feel “contemporary.” Fine Line occupies its own lane instead of competing against two-or-three new sound-alike albums a month.

Lyndsey Havens: Harry is the "perfect" pop star: his One Direction past earned him a built-in (and very dedicated) fan base, he’s mysterious enough but generous with his content, queen Stevie Nicks has become his number one fan, and, of course, he delivered an album filled with fantastic pop-rock hits and ballads. When Harry Styles arrived, fans had to adjust to Styles' sonic pivot. But by the time he delivered Fine Line, both Styles and his fans had matured -- and those pop-rock roots he planted years prior were in bloom. There was no adjustment period, and in my opinion, that allowed Fine Line to be immediately and repeatedly consumed.

Stephen Daw: There's a lot to be said for Harry's massive, mobilized fan base, and for his status as a burgeoning pop auteur in the modern era. But I think both of those facts only help uplift the fact that Fine Line is simply a great album. The songs aren't pigeonholed into one specific sound, yet they retain this classic, pop-rock finish to them that passes the minivan test; there's something for parents and kids in all of these songs.

3. Styles’ other Fine Line hit, “Adore You,” peaked at No. 6 earlier this year, and comes in at No. 12 this week. Are you a “Watermelon Sugar” person or an “Adore You” person?

Andrew Unterberger: I think "Adore You" is the better song, but I'm glad that "Watermelon Sugar" was the song to get him to No. 1. "Adore You" was the dead-center top 40 single -- and even "Falling" could've caught some post-"Someone You Loved" radio spillover -- but "Watermelon Sugar" is just pure Harry. He couldn't have asked for a better, more validating single to affirm his superstardom.

Jason Lipshutz: Hard to pick one, but give me “Watermelon Sugar” for the higher sing-along quality. Watching Styles perform Fine Line in its entirety at the Forum in Los Angeles last December included an arena of fans shouting “Watermelon sugar, HIGH!” -- and this was before the song was a chart-conquering hit. I suspect “Watermelon Sugar” is going to be a euphoric live staple in the coming years, which gives it the edge for me.

Joe Lynch: Definitely "Watermelon Sugar,“ a perfect, laid-back summer jam that gently uplifts without ever demanding attention. "Adore You" is solid but tailored for a specific topic, whereas "Watermelon Sugar" is the kind of softly buoyant treat that floats well in a variety of contexts.

Lyndsey Havens: I find it interesting that the two songs off Fine Line to stick around the chart's upper echelon are a bit similar-sounding. One of my favorite things about Styles is the risks he'll take, best evidenced by his debut solo single "Sign of the Times,” but also by Fine Line tracks like "Lights Up," "Falling" and "To Be So Lonely." But that's exactly what makes me a Harry Styles fan -- he's no one trick pony (insert joke about him heading in more than one direction), and while "Adore You" and "Watermelon Sugar" may not showcase his range, they've both become Styles standards for me. But to finally answer the question, I have to go with "Adore You" for the lyrics alone. I mean.... how can you compete, or argue, when he pleads like that?

Stephen Daw: They're both excellent songs, but if I had to pick, I'm partial to "Adore You." Sonically, the groovy bass line and stylized guitar riffs hit me right where I live. Lyrically, I respond a lot more to the "strawberry lipstick state of mind" than I do to something that "tastes like strawberries on a summer evening." But they both have strawberries in there, so it's a win either way!

4. Styles is now the second member of One Direction to score a solo No. 1, following Zayn with “Pillowtalk.” If you had to choose one of the other members -- Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson -- to someday score a No. 1 single, who would you put your money on?

Andrew Unterberger: Can't say the prospects for any of them reaching the Hot 100's peak are looking particularly robust right now, but if I had to choose one, I guess I'd say Liam. He has connections throughout the pop world that could result in him finding his way onto the right collab -- with buddy Post Malone, perhaps -- to find his way back to the top. Rooting for Louis, though! Go Louis!

Jason Lipshutz: I’m going to zag a little and go with Liam Payne, who scored an unexpected top 10 hit with the Quavo team-up “Strip That Down” and has been trying to recapture that magic in the years since. Payne’s solo debut didn’t offer any other standout singles, but he’s proven capable of headlining a rhythmic pop single that sticks around at radio, and I wouldn’t be shocked if he does so again over the next few years.

Joe Lynch: That's a tough question, because I could see Liam or Louis hopping on a track as a featured artist that goes all the way to the top. But if we're talking primary credited artist, it's gotta be Niall Horan, who has demonstrated probably the most solid catalog and sonic cohesion thus far of those three. Not saying it seems likely, but then again, when Fine Line dropped, who thought "Watermelon Sugar" would sweeten up the top spot on the Hot 100?

Lyndsey Havens: Justice for Niall's "No Judgement"! I played that song a lot when it first came out. But I actually think it's a smarter financial move to bet on Liam Payne, considering his strategy of collaboration. He's worked with Zedd, Quavo and Alesso, among others, and I wouldn't be all that surprised if in another year or so he lands on a track -- or a remix -- that shoots to No. 1 for the star power alone.

Stephen Daw: While Liam is the only other member to get one of his songs into the Top 10 of the Hot 100, I'm putting my chips down on Niall. Heartbreak Weather turned out to be a pretty fun record, and I remain convinced that "Black and White" is going to have a second life (much like "Watermelon Sugar”)!

5. Finish this sentence: at next year’s Grammy Awards, Harry Styles’ “Watermelon Sugar” will __________.

Andrew Unterberger: ...be shut out. It may score Harry his first nomination or two -- either solo or with 1D -- but considering how the Recording Academy has given him the cold shoulder so far, and seeing how overlooked he was even among this year's VMAs nods, I don’t know if I see him taking home his first Gramophone for it. (Uh-oh, looks like I'm easily underestimating him again -- never mind, I say the song sweeps.)

Jason Lipshutz: ...be nominated for record of the year, and Fine Line will be nominated for album of the year, and justice will have finally been served to Styles, who has yet to garner a single nomination over the course of his career. Will either win? It’s too early to say, but I like Fine Line’s chances at this point.

Joe Lynch: ...sow seeds of discontent; the Grammys will continue to ignore Harry Styles, and the fans will unleash their exasperation on Twitter with the machine gun-rapidity of a cartoon character spitting out watermelon seeds.

Stephen Daw: ...probably get nominated for record of the year. It would be worthy of a spot in the song of the year and best pop solo performance categories as well, but something tells me that if one of his songs were to be nominated for those categories, "Adore You" stands a better chance. While it would be great to see Harry win, if he were nominated in this category, he'd likely be going up against the likes of Dua Lipa, Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga, The Weeknd and/or Megan Thee Stallion, and I just don't think he'd be able to clinch the ROTY win with that kind of competition.

Lyndsey Havens: ...still taste like strawberries on a summer evenin’.

[coyotesongwriting]

Free Falling - Chapter 3

Avengers - Clint Barton/Reader

Chapter 3 - Baby Birds

Chapter Summary: Time stops for no one, and you face a pregnancy scare that leads you with no choice but to contact the team.

Author’s Note: I wrote Chapter 2 last night before bed, and now this chapter as soon as I woke up LOL. [Y/F/N] means your fake name, I didn’t want to pick one in case it turns out to be a reader’s actual name haha. A lot of time passes in this chapter!

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters so don’t sue me please. I just really like them haha

Tag List (if you want to be added or removed let me know!):   @rorynne @proudhufflepuff77 @rhymesmenagerie @redfoxwritesstuff @darthhayber @alwaysadreamingoptimist @samsgoddess @kaelyn-lobrutto24

Previous Chapter

The team sat in silence for a moment, no one knew what to say. There’d been no signs this was coming, no hints that they saw. Everyone was scouring their memories, searching the last months for any sign that you were unhappy here enough to leave. 

The silence was broken by Thor, grabbing Clint by the shirt and pinning him against the wall, “WHAT DID YOU DO?” he roared, fury rolling across his face.

Clint’s mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out. He had no answers for the god of thunder. He had no idea, everything had been going great, hadn’t it? Hell, you two had just had a date night two days before and everything had been great! 

“Let him go, Thor.” Steve ordered, moving forward and placing his hand on the man’s shoulder, “We need to figure this out.”

Thor didn’t move, glaring at Clint pinned against the wall, “Not until he tells us what he did to Miss [Y/N}.”

“Thor, we won’t get any answers if you kill him,” Bucky said, stepping between Clint and Thor.

With a growl of frustration, Thor dropped Clint’s shirt as if it burned him. He stalked to the other side of the room and glared at him. If looks could kill, Clint would be dead one hundred times over.

Tony let out a deep breath, “Friday, use facial recognition and figure out where she went. We need to find out what the hell is going on”

“I’m sorry sir, I can’t do that. I have no records of Miss [Y/N]. I have no pictures to use facial recognition on” Friday’s voice seemed to echo around the now silent room.

“What about the video? Use that.” 

“The video has now been corrupted. It seems that it was intended to be viewed only once as it was” 

The video began to play again, only this time your face had been erased. It was just audio over a black screen. You’d been careful to hide everything you could.

“Use our security footage. Get it there.” Tony ordered, cursing you silently.

“Sir, that is not possible. It seems that Miss [Y/N] uploaded a virus. There is one unidentified person on the security footage who I believe to be her, but the footage has been corrupted and the person’s face has been blurred out.”

“Show me. Now.” Tony ordered, turning back to the screen.

Sure enough, though there you were as you took your bags of belongings to the incinerator, your face was blacked out, erased like you were merely another face in the crowd. Natasha had yet to move, or say a word. Silently, she sat there plotting your murder for hurting the team, and Clint.

“What about her Fingerprints? DNA? There has to be something.” Tony’s voice was almost a plea, hoping you’d left something behind, some way to find you.

“Her sister has to have a picture of her” Clint spoke for the first time since the video had played, his voice rough.

“Clint, Tony, let’s go. Thor, Natasha, see if you can find anything she may have left behind. Banner, see if you can find any trace of her in our records hidden, maybe she forgot something. Bucky, contact Peter and the others. See if anyone else has heard from her. Loki, see if anyone in the tower knows anything.” Steve ordered, not waiting for anyone’s response before leaving the room.

~~~~~~

Your fraternal twin sister, Nadia, glared at Clint as she opened the door, “What do you want?” her voice was venomous.

Clint stared at her, confused. They’d always gotten along well, there was no reason he could think of that would make her hate him so. Something was going on, and he had no clue what. This all made no sense to him.

Tony stepped forward, “Hey Nadia. We need a picture of [Y/N] if you wouldn’t mind.” he kept his voice even, not trying to let on anything was seriously wrong.

“If I wouldn’t mind?” she spat, “You lot need to stay the fuck away from my family. [Y/N]’s gone thanks to you.”

Steve stepped forward puzzled, “Nadia, what’s going on? We got back from a mission and she was gone, she just left us a video and no explanation. Is she okay?”

Nadia let out a humorless laugh, “Is she okay? I wouldn’t know any more thanks to you lot. If you want what’s best for her, you’ll let her go.”

“Nadia please - “ Clint started, cut off by Nadia as she slapped him hard across the face.

“Don’t come around here anymore. You’ve done enough” she growled, stepping back inside and locking the door. 

Tony and Steve turned to Clint who stood there, stunned. His hand rested on his cheek as he stared at the now shut door. Steve rested his hand on Clint’s shoulder, and Tony merely stood there watching. 

~~~~~~

Later that evening, you arrived in your new home town. Cataldo, Idaho, a small town with a population of 893 people. Big enough for you to hide in the crowds during events, but small enough that you had the chance to meet all of your neighbors, and run background checks on everyone in town. An hour outside of Spokane, Washington, you were close enough to an international airport that if you needed to, you’d have time to get out of dodge quickly but far enough away that no one would stumble across you accidentally.

It had been a long journey to this place. You’d taken four flights, five trains, three taxis, changing identities between every switch. Finally, you purchased an old beat-up truck under your new name, [Y/F/N]. You drove through the silent town, pulling to a stop outside the little three-bedroom home you’d bought in an online auction a few days ago. It was a little run down, but it was home now. Nothing you couldn’t tackle before the baby came. It was midnight by the time you arrived, and you quickly fell asleep on the floor in your new home.

The next morning, you awoke to gentle sunlight spreading across you. You had to get a move on, you had a new life to create. First things first, you had to hack SHIELD’s database again. What better place to hide from the team than under their noses? It didn’t take you long to build an employee file under your new name. You made sure to make no mention of your medical knowledge or hacking skills, knowing those would be a dead giveaway. Instead, you noted your skills in other departments, undercover work, interviewing, tracking. Your new employee file made you completely and totally average, someone who would blend in without a second thought.

It was easy to then put through the transfer paperwork to transfer you from the Dallas field office to the Spokane office, with your start date as next Monday. That would give you plenty of time to get everything in order. 

Over the next week, you dyed your hair [Y/F/C] and bought colored contacts to hide your identity, making sure that it matched your new file for SHIELD. You fixed up your new home, and furnished it completely, turning one of the rooms into a guest room - you needed to keep up appearances of course - and the basement became a gym and home office. 

On Friday you had your first appointment with an OBGYN. Thankfully, the doctor said that everything was going well. As the appointment progressed though, a small smile crept over your new doctor’s face as she pointed to one spot on the ultrasound.

“[Y/F/N], looks to me like you need to be buying everything in doubles. You’re carrying twins.” 

~~~~~~

Months had passed since you had left the team and found out you were carrying twins. Things were going honestly pretty good. You’d settled in at work, and no one suspected that you were hiding anything. You’d had to tell your boss you were pregnant, and even though they’d only met you recently everyone seemed to be genuinely happy for you. At six months pregnant, the doctor had ordered you put on desk duty and although you were quickly growing bored, it was nice to not have to worry about running into any of the team on the field.

Of course, you couldn’t help but wonder how the team would have reacted, and at night, you mourned for those lost chances and moments. You’d never get to see Tony making the babies gifts that made your life a living nightmare. You’d never get to see Natasha spoiling them or teaching them to fight. However, you’d also never have to see Clint reject you or your little birds as you’d taken to calling them.

A month ago, you’d stumbled across a one-eyed Golden Retriever pup in the dumpster behind the offices, and you’d taken him home. Lucky had been your saving grace in the moments when depression had taken over. Friday nights were the hardest on you still, remembering your date nights with Clint. On those nights, you and Lucky curled up on the couch and shared a pizza. 

Unfortunately, life seemed to enjoy kicking you whenever it had the chance. When your doctor finally got the results back of your prenatal testing, you found out you were a carrier for Leber’s Congenital Amaurosis. Meaning, there was a chance one or both of your babies could be born blind if Clint was also a carrier. 

~~~~~~

Banner was working in the lab when his phone rang, an unidentified number flashing on the screen, although he answered it without paying much attention, “Banner”

“Hey Bruce” your voice was soft, nervous. You hadn’t spoken to any of them in months. Four months, three weeks, two days to be specific. 

You heard the clatter of something dropped and a sharp inhale before he spoke, “[Y/N]? Is that really you? Are you okay? What’s wrong? What happened?” the questions flew out of him before you could even hope to answer the first.

“Yeah… yeah, it’s me. I’m fine, Bruce. I’m sorry to call you out of the blue like this but… I need a favor. Two really” 

“Anything. Tell me what you need, [Y/N]” he leaned against the table, catching Tony’s gaze and motioning for him to be quiet as he put it on speakerphone. They’d been working together in the lab when you called.

“First, I need you to keep this call a secret. You can’t tell anyone I called or about my other favor, Please. I’m begging you, Bruce”

“[Y/N] come on, you know everyone wants to know if you’re okay”

“Bruce. No. No one can know about this, okay? Please”

A sigh came across the line before he answered, “Alright. Alright, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“I need a blood sample from Clint sent to Integrated Genetics under the name Matthew Adams.”

“What? Why would you need that? What’s going on [Y/N]”

Tony stared at the phone, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion as his thoughts raced. Why the hell did you need that? While Bruce answered, Tony was searching the lab on his phone. Apparently, it was a lab that did genetic testing.

“Please, Bruce. I am begging you. Please just do it” your voice broke, and the line clicked dead as you hung up.

Bruce immediately tried to call you back, but the only response was the phone company telling you the line had been disconnected. He turned to Tony, curiosity on his face.

“What's going on? Why would she need a blood sample from Clint?” Banner asked.

“According to their website, Integrated Genetics does pre-pregnancy, pregnancy, pediatric and hereditary cancer testing” Tony’s voice was quiet as he looked up from the phone.

“Fuck.” 

Tony and Banner quickly gathered the rest of the team except Natasha and Clint who were off on a mission in the living room. It had been a rough few months for the team. Thor refused to be in the same room as Clint, figuring he had done something to you to make you leave. Loki was… Well, no one really wanted to talk to Loki anymore after he went so far as to question if you were actually a Hydra spy all along. Clint had almost killed him when he let slip that theory. Tensions were high with everyone.

“I think we know why [Y/N] left.” Tony started when everyone had taken a seat. He raised his hand to silence them as they all began to talk. “Banner just got a call from her. She’s okay as far as we could tell, but we think we figured out what’s going on. We think she’s pregnant.”

The room was so silent you could have heard a pin drop as everyone processed what he’d said.

Steve was the first to speak, “That’s good news? Why would she leave over that?”

“Remember the mission in Boston? The last one we all went on?” Banner asked, waiting for them to nod before continuing, “That night during our movie, Clint told her repeatedly that he never wanted kids, and they had to be careful they never made that mistake.”

“Do you know where she is?” Steve asked, at the exact same time that Thor growled that he was going to kill Clint.

“She didn’t say where she was, Friday couldn’t track the call and the number’s already disconnected. She asked us to get a blood sample from Clint and have it sent to a lab that does genetic screenings for pregnancies.” Banner explained.

“We can’t tell him.” Tony’s voice was steady, “Or Natasha. It’s only going to kill him, and we can’t be 100% certain that’s what’s going on.”

The team agreed.

~~~~~~

Your doctor called you two weeks later, she’d gotten the test results back from the lab for ‘Matthew Adams’. Clint wasn’t a carrier, and there was nothing else to be concerned about with that. With the way the pregnancy was coming along, you were going to give birth to two beautiful twins, a baby boy, and a baby girl. 

With the help of your neighbors, you managed to finish setting up the nursery for your little birds. 

 Back at the tower, the rest of the team had stepped up their attempts to find you, sparing no expense. Clint and Natasha had no idea that you had called or that you were pregnant, and Steve had asked Thor to go search Europe for you, mainly to keep him away from Clint. 

~~~~~~

On May 15, at 37 weeks, you went into labor at your desk. Your co-worker and friend raced you to the hospital and stayed with you as you gave birth to two beautiful, healthy babies. They were the spitting image of their father with his dark hair and light eyes. You named your baby girl Raven, and your baby boy, Griffin and you wondered what Clint would think of you giving them bird names for him.

You cried the day they were born, feeling guilty for everything they’d miss out on because of you. They’d never know their grandparents, their aunts, uncles, cousins, no one. For the first time in months, you felt utterly alone.

When the nurse handed you your babies for the first time, you realized none of that mattered anymore. You’d never be alone again, and while they may miss out on a lot due to your mistakes, you vowed you’d make sure they never felt like they were missing out.

Two days later, the doctor finally discharged you and the three of you headed home, where you were greeted by your beloved Lucky who the neighbor’s kids had been caring for while you were gone. 

Yeah, you were sad but for the first time in months, things seemed to be looking up. You got this.

Next Chapter ->

Find this story on AO3

[aftermathdb]

DEATH BATTLE Review: Obi-Wan vs. Kakashi

This episode is released to Youtube on May 4th. So, may the Fourth be with you.

Obi-Wan′s Preview.

So, before going into this, just be warned: Boomstick has a bunch of Obi-Wan Liners. Let’s get started.

We open up on Tatooine, and our first Obi-Wan Liner, because old Ben was actually Obi-Wan Kenobi. Now that’s a name I’ve not heard in a long time.

And of course, the classic “Hello there.”

They go over his brief story of training under Liam Neeson, and his rise through the rankings of Jedi Knights. And for the record, yes. I’ll be referring to them as “knights” as opposed to Boomstick’s “Samurai Space Wizards.”

Anyways, they also go over Kenobi’s relation to The Force. The energy that’s all around the universe and allows Obi-Wan to do incredible things.

It also leads us into our first Wiz/Boomstick segment!

Aside from the Force, they also go over some of Obi-Wan’s techniques and other parts of his arsenal.

And they also go over several novels that help give Obi-Wan an edge up as well.

And the Force is no joke. There’s a reason why I’m capitalizing it all the time.

And it wouldn’t be a true Obi-Wan rundown if they didn’t mention his ultimate weapon:

The High Ground.

A powerful technique that he copied from Darth Maul. It gives him all sorts of advantages.

Kenobi also scales to other Force-Users, like Anakin. Which is brought up when pre-Vader did a Force feat that puts the ability to move massive dreadnaughts at massively relativistic speeds.

And to pull that off, it would need over 21 Megatons of TNT. And that was when Anakin was a newbie.

Of course, they do go over some of Obi-Wan’s weaknesses, like his dedication to the Jedi Order, trying to trick Luke into killing his father, and that time when he uh… Dropped the ball when it came to Anakin.

But even at his worst, Obi-Wan is a protector of the innocent, the universe, and the next generation. Sacrificing himself in service of a New Hope…

And then Boomstick ruins the moment by then declaring that Old Ben then became a ghost!

Yeah, let’s be real… This was the only way they could have ended it.

Kakashi′s Preview.

So, apparently it’s not just the kids who had dead parents, it’s the adults too!

The hosts go over the accomplishments that Kakashi had over the years, and how his dad was disgraced for saving his friends rather than prioritizing a mission… And how his dad committed Seppuku. Dick move Ninja Village.

Regardless, the hosts go over his accomplishments. Becoming a Genin at age five, a Chunin at age six, and a Jonin at age twelve. And yes, I copy-pasted that from the wiki because screw actually writing that out.

To be honest, the most “memey” thing about Kakashi’s preview is the “One Thousand Years of Death” technique he has. And while I can understand that Kakashi’s preview isn’t supposed to be “memey”, It’s a tad jarring when Obi-Wan’s was full of memes.

Anyways, the hosts note that Kakashi is most familiar with Lightning. And specifically, that he made a jutsu called the Chidori that got its nickname when it was used to cut a bolt of lightning.

Now, when Kakashi invented it, he ran into a problem… Literally.

He can’t really see that well when using it. So, once he starts moving, he can’t stop.

Until a friend of his gave him a Sharingan.

With this, the hosts note that Kakashi has stolen over a thousand techniques. But, they also note that since he’s not an Uchiha… he can’t really turn it off.

And then his friends all died! Which leads us to our next animated segment.

(I can never spell “Mangekyo” right… This is what I get for being a Transformers fan as opposed to a Naruto fan).

We get a list of feats, and a quick scaling test by way of Jiraiya. Remember him?- He’s the old pervert who carved up a mountain.

Anyways, this comes out to about 18 Megatons of TNT.

And after all the trauma that Kakashi endured, he finally found out that the ways of old were not the way that should be taught. And he lives on, knowing that he trained the next generation to do better than his could.

… Like I said: not a Naruto fan, so I have no idea what significance that this has.

The Battle Itself.

Doovan Hohdan, Daitomodachi, and Devil Artemis are back for an SFM animation. Obi-Wan will be voiced by Steven Kelly and Kakashi will be voiced by Nicholas Andrew Louie. Force and Lightning by Therewolf, and audio led by Chris Kokkinos.

So, after crashing into Konohagakure, Obi-Wan “celebrates” his landing, and opens up the only way Obi-Wan could:

Now, credit where it’s due: Obi-Wan tries to resolve this without violence. Looks like we know where Luke got it from. If all Star Wars DEATH BATTLE combatants start by them trying to diffuse the situation, I’d say that these guys know what they’re doing when it comes to portraying them as normal… Y’know, minus the removed morals.

Obviously, Obi-Wan not going to let Kakashi just outright kill him, so he starts defending.

Now, it takes a while for Kakashi to take the fight seriously. He keeps readinng his book while fighting and it takes some heavy blows to get him to put it down.

Obi-Wan declares that he has the high ground, and unfortunately, that’s too much power to be contained in one screenshot. But, Kakashi manages to counter Obi-Wan’s almighty High Ground technique.

But, Obi-Wan has the force on his side, so being buried isn’t going to stop him.

Now, the fight rages on, and it’s pretty clear that any physical blows are kinda-sorta leaning in Obi-Wan’s favor a bit. Kakashi puts in more effort when countering than Obi-Wan does. Maybe that’s just Kenobi’s calm demeanor, or Kakashi’s hotheadedness though.

Regardless, Kakashi opts to put Obi-Wan into an illusion for a  striking blow.

So, with the illusion dispelled (Seriously. First Hiei, now Kenobi. Will any illusion-character be able to land that move?), Obi-Wan counters.

And he counters HARD.

Kakashi doesn’t break easily though, so he starts using lightning.

The two get ready for a charging blow, so finishing move in

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

Another Sasuke vs. Hiei parallel: it takes a moment for Kakashi to actually die.

Also, has anyone noticed that all the Naruto mentors die at the end of their respective battles? (Yeah, I’m kinda cheating with Might-Might, but still.)

Verdict + Explanation.

So, right off the bat, Kakashi has the edge in versatility. Hands down.

For starters, Obi-Wan isn’t going to be running out of fuel anytime soon. Chakra is internal, and the Force is external. And since it’s not a Chakra technique, Kakashi couldn’t copy it.

And the mountain feat is about on par with the dreadnaught feat, so they looked to be pretty even on power… At first glance.

Remember, Anakin gained power over the course of the series. By the time that the two fought, Anakin was much more powerful. So it stands to reason that Obi-Wan, who matched him, would also be on a similar level of power.

Obi-Wan could also tear apart General Grevious’ armor, which could tank blasts from star destroyers. And while it’s a little unreasonable to say that he could do this with his bare hands, the Force definitely can.

In terms of speed, Obi-Wan could react many times faster than Kakashi, meaning that Kakashi wouldn’t have a whole lot of opportunities to actually land a blow. Combined with the precognitive powers that the Force gives Kenobi, this means that it would be hard for Kakashi to get in close at all.

The elephant in the room is dismissed, as when Kakashi had the Perfect Susanoo, he was being possessed by the spirit of his friend.

But, even if he did, Obi-Wan is still stronger.

Kyp could move a black hole. And Obi-Wan was directly compared to him. Taking this literally, this comes out to just short of 14 Petatons of TNT.

And as we all know, a Petaton is a whole lot bigger than a Gigaton, that’s for sure.

And this isn’t even counting the fact that Obi-Wan could just crush his organs using the Force.

Damn! Thank god for the Jedi Code. These guys could literally conquer the entire universe if they wanted. Good thing they adopted the Spider-Man ways of taking great responsibility with that power and using it for good. Screw the Sith for going the Green Goblin route.

Overall impression.

So, has anyone noticed that we’ve been getting lessons in these past few battles lately? Cable vs. Booster Gold came with the moral of “the level of seriousness between characters only really matters for their own universes, not in a DEATH BATTLE”, the one before that had the (somewhat humorous) “We’re all beautiful just the way you are, no matter how many arms or whose wife you stole”, and now we have “With Great Power, comes Great Responsibility” delivered through the fact that we have now seen that power, and we’re thankful for the Jedi for holding back.

Aside from that, the fight is really well-choreographed. While it’s hard to discern that Obi-Wann had the speed advantage, it’s pretty clear that he had everything else. It was clear that he was the more level-headed of the two, and that gave him an immediate edge as it showed that he was more or less, holding back. And the ones who hold back the most tend to be the one who has the most power.

And the Obi-One liners are a delight. If there was anything really awesome that came out of the Prequels, it was the Obi-One liners. Ad to think! This airs on May 4 on Youtube… Yeah, cue angry Naruto fans claiming that “Obi only won because May 4.” Ugh… Freaking DEATH BATTLE Curse, amirite?

8.8/10

Next Time…

Oh. Speaking of Spider-Man…

If this isn’t hand-drawn, there will be riots.

Is there a fight that you want me to review? - Send an ask/request, and I’ll look into it!

Do you want to read my fanfic based around DEATH BATTLE itself? click here!

Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you next time for…

Spider-Copycat Combat.