#the expendables chapter IV

[lu-is-not-ok]

While we're psychoanalyzing the EGOs, what are your opinions on Dimensional Shredder? Deffo something on freedom there, but I'm having trouble putting it to words myself.

Alright, another shared E.G.O. Cracks knuckles.

You know the drill, under cut we go.

So let's talk about Wayward Passenger as an abnormality first. It's a representation of the horrible things W Corp puts people through on their WARP trains given form. In a way, that makes it similar to abnormalities like Mountain of Smiling Bodies or CENSORED (if you subscribe to the smoke war monster theory).

The dungeon event in which we meet Wayward Passenger is especially telling in what themes it wants to carry. The narration mentions that the corporation responsible for disappearance will simply pretend that this person never existed. The reveal that the Passenger was actually a W Corp employee further adds to this.

(Also, random tangent, but am I the only one that got reminded of Bongcheon-Dong Ghost by this abno's event? Something about having to point a terrifying monster in a direction away from you and hope it doesn't come back just brought back memories. At least the Passenger has enough manners to not jumpscare you.)

When it comes to the abnormality itself, Wayward Passenger carries themes of corporate exploitation and negligence, specifically in the way W Corp might find its employees expendable and doesn't care about inflicting suffering upon its clients as long as they profit from it.

There are also some themes of abandonment and being lost, but also tenacity in spite of it. Despite not being able to escape, Wayward Passanger still searches for a way out and never stops moving forward.

So. With all that being said. How does it all tie back to Hong Lu and Yi Sang, as they are the ones with Dimension Shredder?

Thanks to Canto IV we now know that Yi Sang absolutely fits under the exploited by corporate greed umbrella. It's a major theme of his whole chapter in fact! The themes of being lost are also reflected in Yi Sang's aimlessness after the League collapsed. He was completely lost and effectively abandoned by everyone except Gubo, only to be further exploited by even more corporate greed.

Hell, you could even say his character arc in his Canto represents that tenacity in spite of being lost I mentioned. Though his goal might not be all that clear, he still wants to keep going and keep moving forward, no matter what.

When it comes to Hong Lu, we don't have nearly as much information... But we can speculate! I think in this case the "corporate exploitation" is less literally corporate, but still applicable. I'm talking about Hong Lu's family, of course. Though we don't know much, we do get quite a few hints about his family exploiting him for their own gain, especially now that we're getting a Hong Lu ID that is quite literally based on the idea of paralleling that part of him with Actual Corporate Exploitation!

With how cagey Hong Lu is about the deeper parts of his past, and how hard it is to tell when he's being genuine, it's honestly hard to pinpoint any of the other themes onto him.

However, we could work a little bit backwards here and see how Wayward Passenger might apply to Hong Lu's recurring themes of freedom.

In that way, we could be onto something here. Wayward Passenger is no longer under W Corp's protection, if it ever was. It's lost and abandoned by the thing that was supposed to be protecting it... But on the other hand, it is free now. W Corp can't reach it anymore. It can go wherever it wants and nothing will stop it.

If you want to translate that to how that might apply to Hong Lu, then you could interpret that as a sign that Hong Lu can only attain "true" freedom by severing ties with the thing exploiting him, aka his family... At the cost of losing the comfort and protection they offered him, as little as it may have been.

You could say that idea is reflected in Tingtang Hong Lu. Yes, he is probably the most free when it comes to authority bearing down on him compared to all his other IDs. ...But he's also a gambler living in the Backstreets leading a gang so incompetent he has to threaten them with death to keep them in line. He may be free, but his life is far from comfortable.

...I think it's funny that I already wrote that much and I haven't even touched the actual E.G.Os themselves, whoops! Let's go do that.

First thing to note about Dimension Shredder is that its damage type is Pride, especially since Yi Sang's version doesn't even *require* Pride resources. In fact, Dimension Shredder is the only non-base E.G.O that deals Pride damage.

To go a little bit deeper into that, all of the base E.G.O that deal Pride damage seem to imply taking an action while ignoring the consequences that might follow them. Rodion's What Is Cast is the most obvious example here, representing her murder of the pawnbroker without considering how the Middle would react to one of their family being killed. Likewise, Outis, Meursault, and Faust seem to carry similar ideas. Outis reminding herself of the Odyssey's purpose, as if trying to cope with the unforseen consequences of her actions. Meursault acting out despite noting how doing so only tightens the chains of those judging him. Faust opening herself to knowledge and possibilities regardless of what it may do.

In a way, that is what Pride is at its core. Performing actions purely because of what benefit they bring to oneself, without considering the drawbacks and consequences.

There's a couple of ways we could interpret that with Dimension Shredder.

For one, we could zoom back out to what Wayward Passenger represents. Dimension Shredder being a Pride E.G.O could be signifying the Pride inherent in corporate exploitation. By its very nature, it's an action done purely for the corporation's benefit, without considering the consequences on other people.

The other is a bit more directly applicable to Yi Sang and Hong Lu themselves. It could represent how they, and the abnormality included, continue moving forward regardless of what may stand in their way. Regardless what the consequences may be for doing so.

During the attack animations for both Dimension Shredder Awakenings, we see Yi Sang and Hong Lu enter a dimensional rift they make, with both of them notably hesitating before doing so. Judging by Hong Lu's expression when he exits the rift, it's not exactly a pleasant experience. And yet, they both do it anyway. The benefit of continuing to move outweighs the damage it may inflict on them, so they ignore the consequences. I think it kinda points to my second interpretation above.

When it comes to Sin Resources, both Yi Sang and Hong Lu require Gluttony, but while Hong Lu requires Pride, Yi Sang requires Sloth. Let's dissect it one at a time.

Gluttony in Limbus Company has two meanings, in my opinion. On one hand, there's the Greed-adjacent aspect, where it represents the want for more and more. This neverending need for growth, for consumption, for progress. On the other hand, when it's seen in a more sympathetic light, it can represent the actions one commits for the sake of one's own Survival.

When it comes to Dimension Shredder, I think it's a little bit of both for both Hong Lu and Yi Sang. They both need Gluttony to survive in an environment where they're actively being exploited, but at the same time they need Gluttony to keep moving further and further forward, to keep making progress endlessly.

For the other Resources that each of them uses, I think it specifically represents what part of them is what allows them to be easily exploited by those above them.

Sloth for Yi Sang represents his apathy and passiveness. He gets exploited because he doesn't care enough about himself to fight back against it. Why bother? It doesn't matter, everything and everyone else was exploited, so why stand up to being exploited yourself? While this is something that Yi Sang starts to come out of by the end of Canto IV, I doubt it's a habit that will be easy for him to break just like that.

The fact that Pride is a resource here for Hong Lu paints his passiveness when being exploited under a different light. He doesn't buckle because he's apathetic like Yi Sang, it's because he believes that the benefits of letting himself be exploited outweigh the drawbacks enough to ignore them. If we apply this to his family exploiting him, it paints a pretty vivid picture. Sure, he is being used and hurt by his family, but just accepting that it happens means he still gets to enjoy the comfort and "love" they give him. Because what happens if he stands up to them? He likely gets punished. He loses that comfort he relies on. So he'd rather just bear the pain and pretend everything is okay, because the alternative is far worse.

Now, let's examine the dialogue lines, because I think they are very interesting with all of that analysis behind us.

For starters, I think for both Dimension Shredder users, their Awakening lines are a reflection of their coping mechanism in the face of being exploited being pushed to its absolute limits.

Yi Sang's Awakening line is a reflection of how he tries to throw himself into research and scholarly pursuits as a form of escapism from his reality. Whether it's his activities with the League, or his dependency on the Mirror, we see in Canto IV that he turns to acting the part of a researcher when faced with corporate exploitation.

Likewise, while using Dimension Shredder he makes notes of his surroundings like a researcher traversing the space. Noting the enchanting colors and how he can't memorize the path he's on. However, his tone of voice is a lot more... manic? It's emotional, seemingly entranced by what he's seeing. I think it signifies how, when pushed to his limits, Yi Sang would completely throw himself into his research, to a perhaps almost obsessive degree.

Hong Lu's Awakening line on the other hand reflects how he tries to keep a happy tone regardless of the circumstances. His defense mechanism is hiding what he's truly feeling behind a mask of smiles and jokes.

Tingtang and Kurokumo Hong Lu are probably the best examples of this. While having a constant jovial tone, Tingtang Hong Lu is an utter piece of shit only using kindness as a thin veil to hide his actual intentions. Kurokumo Hong Lu on the other hand uses a somewhat polite tone despite the fact he clearly does not respect anyone. It's even more obvious with the latter when you examine his post-uptie illustration more closely. While he wears a smile on his face, the veins shown on the hand clutching his sword say that he's not as calm as he seems.

While using Dimension Shredder, Hong Lu tries to keep up his smiling facade... Except this time, he fails. At his very limit, he's too worn down and tired of the abuse to pretend he's fine. The words do come out, but he can't make them sound the way he wants to anymore. The mask finally cracks under the pressure.

Matching with how the Awakening lines share a specific theme, the Corrosion lines do as well. Dimension Shredder Corroded dialogue lines all seem to express some form of realization that they are finally free.

Yi Sang's Corrosion line describes how the alley he's going down does in fact have an exit. It's an open one. Not only is it a reference to Poem No. 1 from Crow's Eye View, but the way Yi Sang speaks it is very interesting here. His tone is fully confident, and even seems to lack the usual tired breathiness that Yi Sang usually has.

Good thing I'm writing this after Canto IV has come out, because... All of that is reflected in Yi Sang's character arc. He does realize that the alley is open. He does realize he can keep moving forward. And, most importantly, he does gain the confidence to not let himself be stopped.

With all of that context, let's look at Hong Lu's Corrosion line. His dialogue line expresses how nobody (or nothing) is forcing him to "be located there", causing him to fall into a fit of gasping laughter. There is something. Incredibly disturbing about this line to me. It's this dichotomy between Hong Lu hesitantly realizing that he's no longer stuck, that nobody is ordering him around anymore, and his downright histerical sounding delivery.

Since we don't have Hong Lu's Canto just yet, I can't do the same comparison as I did with Yi Sang... But I could try to predict what Hong Lu's Canto could end on if we assume this line is foreshadowing it the same way Yi Sang's was.

I think Canto 8 will show us Hong Lu finally break. There will be no more mask to hide behind, just a flood of emotions that had been held back for all of his life. Most importantly though, it won't be pretty. If there's any Sinner who will be in need of emotional catharsis through a mental breakdown boss battle, Hong Lu seems like the perfect candidate for that. Either that or Hong Lu just straight up fucking murders someone on screen. Ideally both.

There's probably more I can analyze based on the visual designs of the E.G.O... But honestly this already got way fucking longer than the Roseate Desire analysis so I'll just leave you with the mental image of me chanting Hong Lu Commit Fratricide.

[malewife-overlord]

Six Cycles Later -- Part IV Puncture

hi i promised an update soon and here it is. everyone meet the woman the myth the legend the awful bully who will absolutely rip your head off and eat it, Puncture! fun little fact, Puncture was my first TF OC :) anyways, she's here at long last! which is, frankly, awful news for everyone else. this is another "transition" chapter, but dw, we're getting right back into it in the next one >:)

and once again thank you to @callsign-relic for starburst :)

previous chapter can be found here, start can be found here

word count: 4409

chapter below the cut!

triggers for this chapter: robogore. puncture's a bruiser and she doesn't take prisoners, rip.

She needed to get up, but she couldn’t even fragging move. Face down in the filthy water, Helmbreaker fought against her own systems for control, cursing both them and the Seeker who’d done this to her as pain wracked her circuits and wires. Error messages for every system she had stacked upon one another, fighting for the endless dominance of alerting her to just how fragged up she was.

Just one blast from the Seeker had done this. The damn mech had bite, she had to admit. The prior shock in her stasis pod had barely felt like a tickle–at the time, she’d been too enraged to even think about why she’d felt anything, locked within it. Now? She possibly owed the damnable thing a small apology, at least for keeping her from initially frying. 

For 2.3 million years trapped in a half stasis, though, she thought it more than deserved the painful death she’d given it. 

The little Autobot who’d inspired her current predicament was lying on his back in the water nearby, wings and servos twitching. She could see his mouth moving, but no sound was coming out. Just as her voxbox was currently glitching, proudly displaying its panic in the form of a bright red textbox, his was as well –which meant he couldn’t ask for help.

Good. It gave her time to permanently silence him. Given their prior interaction she knew he’d phoned for reinforcements, but as with all SOS calls, said reinforcements likely weren’t arriving for at least fifteen kliks. Which meant she had about five to get up, one to completely snuff his spark out, and nine to figure out whether she was in proper form to slaughter them all. 

Oh, and she needed to do something about the Seeker. That needed addressing, too.

‘Come…on…’ she thought to herself, twitching her claws. They sent ripples through the water as feeling began creeping back in. Her frame felt cold despite the heat around her, like she was being defrosted after an expedition on a dead planet. 

What in the Pit did that Seeker do? She found its ability interesting–something that completely disabled other technological forms, including other Cybertronians. Judging from how it had made her malfunction, it seemed to be rooted in causing glitches; none of the error messages she was observing were critical, notably. It was as if her systems had all been forced to grind to a halt, and the resulting build-up of inputs with nowhere to go was what actually caused her to become stuck.

Very, very interesting. Such an ability would make sense on a ‘con who specialized in weaponry, she’d think, like a tank or perhaps a drone. Why a Seeker? Seekers were by nature weak, lightweight soldiers designed to be flung at the enemy in droves so that the real hitters like herself could come in and clean up. They were expendable. Why put something so devastating on one?

They’re all dead. The words played in her processor again. She’d been in the dark for 2.3 million years about the status of the Autobot/Decepticon conflict, but she wasn’t fool enough to believe those lies. The Autobot lying nearby was proof enough that the conflict still raged. And the Seeker lying nearby, with such a devastating ability…

She wondered if, perhaps, the thing was in some way related to them all being ‘dead’. 

Which was what she would be if she didn’t pry herself off the ground. 

“GET…UP…” She ordered herself, arms shaking as they struggled to lift her heavy body out of the water. Her voxbox displayed one more warning, then blinked back online. Still, static distorted her words as they were spoken. “You’re…better…than…this…!”

If she had been down for as long as she was now in The Pit, she’d be dead. Period. Once one hit the dirt they had all of four seconds to recover, usually less. The higher level matches she’d participated in, the ones which had given her a name, were the ones where only one mech walked out functioning. And she was not about to be taken away in a body bag. 

“Hey…’Con…can ya pipe down?” The little Autobot squeaked out, his arm raising slightly as he spoke. “I’m…a’ready…tired…of ya voice.”

Oh, joy. He was back online too. 

She cast him a glare more venomous than the concoctions swirling beneath her mask. “How’s about I rip your audials out? Then you don’t have to listen anymore.” 

“If it means…never hearin’ you again…” And he chuckled, which sent a flare through her system so powerful her legs finally responded properly. 

The errors in her HUD swirled as Helmbreaker rose to shaky pedes. Her claws flexed over and over, forcing feeling back into them. She cracked her neck both ways, rolling it a few times before pushing her chassis out and parting her shell. 

Shell. Ugh. She didn’t even want to think about how horrible she looked right now. Did she even still resemble Helmbreaker? The claws were a drastic downgrade to her fists, and the shell on her back could never make up for the two halves of the battering ram she’d previously sported. Even if she couldn’t see her helmet, she knew it was missing her characteristic horns. And the mask she now wore, with its undesirable probosces? 

In all truths she understood why the Seeker purged on her when they’d touched it, but that hadn’t made the fact that it purged on her any better. 

The little Autobot was surprisingly unafraid as she took a step forward, then another one. It was hard going–her systems continued flashing errors, though they were gradually dissipating as time ticked on. When she loomed over the tiny Autobot like the Necrobot itself, he smirked despite his situation, wings flitting with agitation. 

“Well lookit…you! Comin’ ta…kick me…while I’m down? Typical ‘Con…can’t beat me…when I’m up…could ya?”

Her optics narrowed. “You misunderstand me, Autobot. I’m not going to kick you.” Looming over him, she raised a pede. “I’m going to crush your helm and hang your body from the trees.” 

And that’s when the reality of the situation finally seemed to hit him. The little Autobot’s wings suddenly stopped, his entire body stiffening. Beneath his visor she could see how his optics went wide. 

Primus, she loved that. The fear in their optics when they realized they were going to die was just as thrilling as the portent of a strong opponent. She grinned beneath her mask, probosces twitching excitedly without her even thinking of them. 

“Any last words?” She said. “Beg.” 

And beg he did. 

“My buds–my buds are coming!” He yelled. “If-If ya don’t hurt me, they’ll–they’ll be nice with ya! I can put in a good–a good word! I’m, hey, I’m just a little guy, ya know? A little guy! What was I gonna do to you and the seeky?”

Seeky. Oh, she was absolutely using that against the next one she found, considering the other one was probably dead. Probably.

“I recall you saying you would put in a ‘good word’ if I surrendered. You seem to be offering me the same thing if I spare you.” She tapped a claw against her mask. “Seems like you don’t have much to offer beyond that, hm?” She lowered her pede, letting the claws on it grip the edges of his helm, but applying no pressure beyond that. “Your allies, they’re on their way now, right?”

“Ye-yeup! And they’re more’n capable of takin’ you down, so you better keep me ‘round, so they won’t–”

“How many of them?”

“Wha? Uh…at least seven!”

Seven Autobots. She looked her claws over, opening and closing them. They were no fist, and with the last of her errors closing in her HUD, she decided some practice wouldn’t hurt. Seven was plenty. 

“Then it seems you’ve nothing substantial to offer me, Autobot.” She spoke it without even looking at him. “Bye.” 

He screamed out a “WAIT–” right as she began to apply pressure. The impact forced him below the water, pink bubbles rising as he screamed in pain. She smiled sadistically at the sound of his helm cracking, splitting open to reveal his delicate inner circuitry and processor. That was her favorite part. Pink rose up in streams. Applying a bit more pressure, she counted on her claws. Three, two, o–

An energon bolt shot into her chassis, the impact knocking her back. Planting her pedes, her gaze shot in the direction the bolt had come from as her body hunched, probosces flexing as an enraged buzz roared out from within her. Was that seriously her battle cry now? 

“Back off, ‘Con!” Through the trees, an Autobot only about half her size emerged–he looked like some kind of water vehicle. She raised an optical ridged and quickly scanned the area, where was his–

Another bolt zapped into her helm, this one from the left. The surprise left her staggering back, almost losing her stance as she struggled to adopt a wider one to face them both. Her HUD flashed red for just a moment before the damage scan automatically began, confidently informing her that her armor was at 85%. 

The blow had been more of a surprise than anything else. 

The second Autobot swooped down, doing a flip to transform back into his robot mode. A kind of aircraft, though nothing like the Seeker jets that her fellow ‘Cons utilized. Even the aerial forms of Autobots were inferior to them, just like their fighting styles. 

Two of them. She could take them. But where were the other five? 

“Starburst!” With the aerial one defending him, the terrestrial Autobot quickly moved to Starburst’s side, pulling him away from her. She scoffed at the motion, staring down the barrel of the rifle aimed for her helm. 

“That’s it? This is all you Autobots thought to send!?” She scoffed, splaying her claws. “Don’t make me laugh!”

“Back down,” the aerial one warned, servo snuggly fit on the trigger of his rifle. “There’s no need for anymore fighting.”

“Damage is bad–he needs urgent repairs,” the terrestrial one said, hoisting Starburst out of the water. Oh, yes. Her handiwork was on full display with his shattered visor and bent faceplate. His helmet was crinkled like pathetic aluminum, and Energon was leaking from dozens of cracks. “Can you handle him?”

“I’ve got this,” the other assured, not once taking his eyes off Helmbreaker, who was now rather annoyed. 

“I’m a femme, you inconsiderate slag,” she snapped. “And if you had even half the broken processor he does–” she gestured at Starburst, “--you’d both be running for your sparks by now.”

“You wish, ‘Con. Radio for help and get him back, I’ll–”

And before he could even finish his sentence, she lunged. The aerial one discharged his weapon immediately, a painful bolt firing clean into the right side of her chassis. Her armor smoked, an irritating heat building just beneath it, but held. She was on him before he could even comprehend the lack of damage, claws swiping straight for his helm. 

It didn’t knock it off, like her proper fists would have. Instead, she claws pierced clean through the metal, ripping it open like paper. She felt cables snap and heard metal shriek as the impact knocked him to the ground, rifle abandoned to grip at his face. Energon splattered into the water and painted her claws in a thick layer. 

She flicked the stuff away and she turned her gaze on the terrestrial one. His optics were wide with terror, caught between defending himself or trying to make a break for it with his injured ally. She took immediate advantage, charging for him. 

He dropped his ally just in time for her to tackle him to the ground, crushing him with her full  weight. Judging from just the creaking of metal alone, he’d need a trip to the mechanic after the action. She’d change that to the morgue. 

Rearing up, she clicked her claws together into their scythe mode and punctured clean through his helm, ripping it free from its cables with a twist. Pink rained out of the wires that hung from her trophy, which she raised overhead as if displaying to an invisible audience. Rivulets of the stuff ran down her helm and chassis, leaving trails over her new black paint. 

A burning pain suddenly lit up in the center of her back, the impact causing her to stumble forward ever so slightly. Glaring over her shoulder, she spotted the aerial one on one knee, pointing his rifle at her again. Several gouges had completely torn his faceplate and helm, displaying his delicate inner workings to the world. One optic was threatening to fall from its socket. He didn’t care.

Bolt after bolt shot into her as she turned, tossing the helm of her trophy aside, and calmly walked to finish off her prey. As death closed in on him, manifesting as a wickedly sharp sickle, she didn’t once see fear in his optics. 

SLUTCH

And his limp frame hit the ground, now devoid of its vital helm. She met its gaze on her scythe as his lights went out, ensuring that the last thing he saw was her victorious expression. He was a fighter, that one. How unfortunate he picked the wrong side. Then, like she’d done so many times before, she raised his helm over her head and roared. 

There was no audience besides the organics, but they would suffice. And hey, perhaps there were a few Autobots in waiting, hiding after what they’d seen her do to their friends. 

“REMEMBER MY NAME!” She screamed. “KNOW WHOM YOU FACE! I AM–”

A ripple in the water caught her attention and drew her gaze to her own reflection. There, looking back at her from the murky depths, was a black Insecticon. Long hooked claws made up her servos. A shell in the shape of wings hung on her back. Segmented plating covered up her chassis and bent antennae twitched on her helm. 

She was Helmbreaker. But the mech looking back at her was not. She’d felt it when she first woke up, all those millions of years ago, this sense of wrongness, that all of a sudden, the plating she had been forged into had changed, and it wasn’t hers anymore. And the thing in the water, the thing she was currently inhabiting, was not named Helmbreaker. 

She was not Helmbreaker, if she was this. Then who was she? 

The sound of water splashing broke her out of her thoughts. She looked to the sound only to see Starburst back on his feet despite his injuries. Their optics met for only a second. 

And he immediately transformed, blasting off into the sky before she could swipe at him. 

A dozen thoughts ran through her processor. He’d bring back reinforcements. He’d announce her presence to everyone. With his escape this planet’s hostility towards her was sealed. The entirety of the Autobot army could very well come for her now–her and the Seeker. The clock was ticking on them both–the very last of the Decepticons. 

And she laughed.

“TELL THEM! TELL ALL OF THEM WHAT HAPPENED HERE!” She roared after him. “AND REMEMBER MY NAME!”

She had about one second to pick a name, and decided to follow the tradition of her finishing move. 

“I AM PUNCTURE!”

—---------

The organics were weak, but they did their job well enough. Puncture pulled the vines taut and wrapped them around the roots of the trees, suspending the Autobot’s heads just below where the branches sprouted. Beneath the trees she’d dragged both the bodies, slumping them against the trunks. Stepping back, she admired her work only for a moment–it was a pitiful display of her capabilities, but it would serve well enough as a warning to any who wanted to approach this place. 

She’d have to bet on it intimidating her future opponents in some way. Autobots attacked in swarms. There were few lone fighters who knew the true glory of combat and who dedicated themselves, body and mind, to the thrill of taking down an equally skilled opponent in a rapturous death match. No, the majority tended to pair up and gun down whoever they saw running across the field. And they called it victory. 

She spat, additional pink Energon mingling with the stained water. Then she headed back for the Insecticon ship. 

The Seeker was slumped against a chair on the bridge, optics dark. It had entered stasis before she’d even found it, and no amount of banging its helm with her claws had woken the damn thing up. This was inconvenient to her for a multitude of reasons, with the least being that she didn’t have someone she could boss around, and the most being that her connection to the rest of the Decepticon force, be they alive or dead, was now cut off. 

She perhaps had herself to blame for it a little, but she was too proud to admit such a thing, and instead blamed it on the faulty wiring of mass producer shlock. It wasn’t like Seekers were particularly useful on the best of the days. The Elite Trine earned their name (and place) from the fact that, unlike the rest of their ill-fated brethren, they’d had the fortune to be blessed with abilities that made them slightly more than sitting cyberducks on a pond. 

Didn’t mean any of them were particularly good at combat, though, and didn’t mean that the Seeker she had, despite boasting such an ability, was any good. 

She stepped into the ship and did her best to at least partially pull its stuck door closed. She’d done a number on it while enraged, and the metal cried with an agony often reserved for gamblers regretting their life choices. Leaving it, she gave the damn thing a powerful kick that left it dented, just as she’d done for all those gamblers who’d been thrown into The Pit. The door, unlike them, survived. 

Her best bet was the stasis pods, she thought, or perhaps reactivating the bridge in some way. All ships had self-repair mechanisms, and all of them had at least some way of repairing their crew. It had been millions of years, and she didn’t doubt that her Insecticon brethren had possibly ruined their ship beyond repair, but she had to have some hope. 

Because if she didn’t, and what the Seeker had said was true…

But it wasn’t, because Seekers were weak and lied to get what they wanted. Ask Starscream. 

She snickered and ducked into the stasis pods room, her danger sensor already going off. She tried to mute the damn thing as she approached the last of the pods, still as dark as the day she’d stepped into her own. It was fully intact and completely unused; surely, it had to be functional. 

She tacked her claw onto the screen and encountered her first problem: it wasn’t picked up by the sensor. Puncture tacked it a few more times, tried pressing all of her claws against it, and even bopped it a few times with her palm. Nothing.

Without proper servos, she was dead in the water. Well, nothing the Autobots couldn’t fix. One torn off servo later, she was back with a proper appendage. The screen responded this time, lighting up with a cheerful blue…and immediately corrupting.

She growled and gave the pod a kick, which made a dozen error messages pop up. When she tried to close them, more took their places. Her danger sensor was beeping wildly in her HUD, filling her processor with reminders of being trapped in a small, circular space, crammed in on herself, plating melting and reshaping, code being pushed straight into her mind and replacing everything she was, rewriting her from gladiator to Insecticon–

She yelled and punched, not even thinking about what she hit. Despite claws having replaced her fists, they still broke through the glass from force alone. The entire upper half of the pod shattered and fell away, clacking onto the floor in a glittering mess. 

She screamed in frustration and threw the severed servo away, turning and unleashing her frustration on the pod. Metal tore and sparks flew. Wires poked forth and were promptly chopped. Throughout it all she screamed, over and over, as if berating the mindless thing would somehow make its death all the more humiliating. 

When it was done she gave the mess of mangled metal one final kick before returning to the bridge. The damn thing was probably fried from the stupid Seeker anyways. That meant she only had the bridge to work with. 

She approached the computer that had once powered their small shuttle and tapped on its keyboard, commanding it to wake up. When the screen failed to respond to the buttons, she yelled at it, demanding it function. That didn’t work either. 

Exasperated, she ran her claws over the keyboard, scattering keys everywhere. They made quiet ploosh sounds as they disappeared into the water submerging half the ship. That irritated her even more, and she considered turning her rage on the walls before her optics landed back on the Seeker. 

Perhaps she could just pick its processor instead. It ran the risk of killing it, but hey, can’t make a clock without breaking a few gears. Stepping forward, she grabbed the Seeker’s helmet and attempted to wrench it from the Con’s head. 

Cables and wiring strained as she pulled. It seemed Seeker helmets were directly attached to their heads, which made the entire process more difficult for her. Scowling, Puncture let go and considered just what parts she could rip off nonlethally. Audials, optics, finials…

But the more she thought it over, the more it seemed that she wouldn’t be able to access the Seeker’s processor without ripping half of its helm open and killing it. Huffing, she backhanded the thing and crossed her arms, glaring down at its unconscious form. Part of its faceplate was now ruined, stricken with three marks. 

“You sure left me in one hell of a situation,” she muttered, tapping a claw on her arm as she began to pace. “Where the hell even am I?”

Earth, she knew that. But where on Earth? How close was she to the nearest Autobot and Decepticon outposts? What was the approximate amount of soldiers each side had? 

How hadn’t her side won yet?

She needed answers. Before taking on any great opponent, it was important to study them–their habits, their flaws, their strengths, and most importantly of all, their morals. How depraved her foe could become when desperate was key to preventing herself from being caught off guard. 

They always grew desperate when they realized they were going to die. She’d seen it happen thousands of times before, whether it was her hand causing it or one of her brethren’s–her real brethren. The mechs she’d been forged alongside in the Pit.

They were dead now. They’d been stupid. Strength was the most important trait to have in the Decepticon ranks, but intelligence could not be understated–and that was what she’d had over them. Even if her fighting spirit had also once demanded to take on Megatron, despite seeing what he’d done to Strutsnapper and Sparkripper. 

Strength wasn’t cutting it here. She’d killed the two Autobots with ease, but what of when fifty of them came raining down? A glorious death in the field was her fate, but so early? And as this…thing? Her claw tapped faster. No. There had to be something else more she could do. 

Passing by the open door, Puncture looked at the display she’d made. The two Autobots had been weak, and all they were now was evidence of such. They were weak, and their brethren would come to take them home and bury them in coffins, as opposed to leaving their bodies out in the middle of the field…

Her gaze drifted back to the Seeker. Trapped in stasis and on the brink of death, if she left its body outside by the Autobots, then they would certainly find it, and being soft-hearted, take it in. Repair it. Claim it was to be “brought to justice”.

And wherever they went, she could follow. Wait till they were finished, then take her freshly repaired ally back. 

It would be a lot of fighting though…and she had no way of repairing herself. She looked at her newfound claws and frowned. They were nowhere near as effective at instant incapacitation as her fists had been. Her body had been drastically changed from its original state as a tank, surely it had to have come with some kind of benefit to make up for such a loss of power. 

She supposed, then, it wasn’t an awful time for a self-examination. Even if it was something she had been putting off. Acknowledging how much she had truly changed made it harder to convince herself that reverting completely was possible. 

She didn’t know if she wanted to live in a world where this was what she was stuck as forever. 

Running a self scan and checking her joints and features over, Puncture learned a few things about her frame she already knew–and didn’t. 

What she already knew? Her new frame was modeled after an Earth organism. This modification came with new features such as claws, a shell to defend her back, antennae to detect changes in the air, and venom in her proboscis to incapacitate prey. 

What she didn’t know? It was something called an “ambush bug”. Ambush bugs were, true to their names, ambush predators. They used their scythe-like claws to grip onto their prey, and jammed their proboscis in to paralyze it. From there, all the prey could do was watch, trapped in its own frame, as its innards were liquified and consumed. 

As a predatory creature whose primary food source was Energon, her prey choice was apparent. The probosces on her faceplate were designed for piercing plating, and the venom boiling behind her mask was more than sufficient for melting it. And as an ambush predator…

Well, it wasn’t her style. But it would do fine enough for infiltrating an Autobot base. They’d come back for their dead. They always did. They’d find the Seeker and take it in. She’d follow right behind. 

And if what else she read on her scan was true…they wouldn’t once see her coming. 

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter IV. Second Period. — Machinery.

“I HAVE witnessed with profound regret the CONTINUANCE OF DISTRESS in the manufacturing districts of the country.”

Words of Queen Victoria on the reassembling of parliament.

If there is anything of a nature to cause sovereigns to reflect, it is that, more or less impassible spectators of human calamities, they are, by the very constitution of society and the nature of their power, absolutely powerless to cure the sufferings of their subjects; they are even prohibited from paying any attention to them. Every question of labor and wages, say with one accord the economic and representative theorists, must remain outside of the attributes of power. From the height of the glorious sphere where religion has placed them, thrones, dominations, principalities, powers, and all the heavenly host view the torment of society, beyond the reach of its stress; but their power does not extend over the winds and floods. Kings can do nothing for the salvation of mortals. And, in truth, these theorists are right: the prince is established to maintain, not to revolutionize; to protect reality, not to bring about utopia. He represents one of the antagonistic principles: hence, if he were to establish harmony, he would eliminate himself, which on his part would be sovereignly unconstitutional and absurd.

But as, in spite of theories, the progress of ideas is incessantly changing the external form of institutions in such a way as to render continually necessary exactly that which the legislator neither desires nor foresees, — so that, for instance, questions of taxation become questions of distribution; those of public utility, questions of national labor and industrial organization; those of finance, operations of credit; and those of international law, questions of customs duties and markets, — it stands as demonstrated that the prince, who, according to theory, should never interfere with things which nevertheless, without theory’s foreknowledge, are daily and irresistibly becoming matters of government, is and can be henceforth, like Divinity from which he emanates, whatever may be said, only an hypothesis, a fiction.

And finally, as it is impossible that the prince and the interests which it is his mission to defend should consent to diminish and disappear before emergent principles and new rights posited, it follows that progress, after being accomplished in the mind insensibly, is realized in society by leaps, and that force, in spite of the calumny of which it is the object, is the necessary condition of reforms. Every society in which the power of insurrection is suppressed is a society dead to progress: there is no truth of history better proven.

And what I say of constitutional monarchies is equally true of representative democracies: everywhere the social compact has united power and conspired against life, it being impossible for the legislator either to see that he was working against his own ends or to proceed otherwise.

Monarchs and representatives, pitiable actors in parliamentary comedies, this in the last analysis is what you are: talismans against the future! Every year brings you the grievances of the people; and when you are asked for the remedy, your wisdom covers its face! Is it necessary to support privilege, — that is, that consecration of the right of the strongest which created you and which is changing every day? Promptly, at the slightest nod of your head, a numerous army starts up, runs to arms, and forms in line of battle. And when the people complain that, in spite of their labor and precisely because of their labor, misery devours them, when society asks you for life, you recite acts of mercy! All your energy is expended for conservatism, all your virtue vanishes in aspirations! Like the Pharisee, instead of feeding your father, you pray for him! Ah! I tell you, we possess the secret of your mission: you exist only to prevent us from living. Nolite ergo imperare, get you gone!

As for us, who view the mission of power from quite another standpoint, and who wish the special work of government to be precisely that of exploring the future, searching for progress, and securing for all liberty, equality, health, and wealth, we continue our task of criticism courageously, entirely sure that, when we have laid bare the cause of the evils of society, the principle of its fevers, the motive of its disturbances, we shall not lack the power to apply the remedy.

[olet-lucernam]

A Hollow Promise [23] chapter v, part iv

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture

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summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

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chapter summary : despite his chains, loki begins gathering his pieces on the board. astrid works on escaping her own confines, and mitigating the damage of disasters to come.

recommended listening : nearly witches (ever since we met), panic! at the disco

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The Quinjet touched down with a gentle jolt.

Snapping her jump harness loose with a twist of the buckle, unlooping herself from the straps, Astrid stretched out lavishly, bending forward, arms extended in front of her and twisting back into flexibility and feeling.

It was going to be a good day.

The journey had been far shorter than that of a commercial flight, clocking in a just little under an hour, but the context made it feel longer, her body stiff with waiting, trapped like a nerve. Flicking her head up with a contented sigh, Astrid cast a look up through the streamlined, plate-glass windshield that extended across the roof of the jet, like a skylight.

The swatch of robin-egg blue above, softened by a haze of rainless cloud vapour, foretold that the clear flight conditions had carried over on this side of the Atlantic, promising a bracing, frost-edged afternoon. The colour complemented the anticipation welling up in her like a drawn breath, the bright music pumping through the cords of her headphones, and the breathable white linen of her summer dress and canvas plimsoles- in welcome antithesis to the dark-clad, military-sleek interior of the lightweight, manoeuvrable plane.

Flipping the iPod Nano out of her pocket- a gift from Natasha, post-paring knife incident, along with the books and the majority of her wardrobe- Astrid switched off the bubblegum-pop vocals of Hoku, plucking her earbuds out and winding the silicone wires around the slim device, the roar and rumble of the turbines flooding back in.

Shifting forward onto the edge of her seat, she glanced into the cockpit. As the co-pilot liaised with the ground crew through the headset, Romanoff was completing the landing procedure, flicking a few dials and easing the craft into standby. She had insisted on flying her out, citing it as her final duty as Astrid’s handler. Whether it was a lingering sense of responsibility, or an artificially fostered sentiment that she had pretended herself into for a mission- as talented a liar as she was, Romanoff’s greatest skill was the ability to forget that she was lying in the first place- Astrid didn’t know.

Truthfully, she hadn’t cared enough to look deeper. Not this time. The past sixteen months had been exhausting, and frustrating, and dispiriting, and she had expended an excess of her limited time and energy trying to salvage whatever she could of SHIELD’s useful spare parts, while keeping her warnings subtle enough to avoid HYDRA misplacing a bullet in her skull- with dangerously limited success, she suspected.

Astrid had no regrets, nothing that she would change even if she could. But she still resented it- in the same way that she resented her time in SHIELD’s custody, or being parted from Loki, or the deaths in New York.

In retrospect, she acknowledged as she kicked her legs uncrossed, swinging to her feet with a drag of broderie skirts, attempting to cast suspicion in HYDRA’s general direction was probably too ambitious.

Even with the metaphorical ace in her hand, differentiating HYDRA from SHIELD had been more complicated than she anticipated. Defining agents by their loyalties was a limited metric, Astrid had discovered; unearthing allegiances was easy enough, as long as she could tolerate the headaches from scrutinising so many individuals- which she could, out of sheer will if nothing else- but SHIELD and HYDRA were barely different enough for them to matter after a certain point, beyond the labels. It was annoyingly plausible that even someone as perpetually cynical as Fury would notice little of concern- and infuriatingly likely that HYDRA would remain unseen and unnamed, until it was too late.

Not that the observation mollified her sentiments towards Fury, or any of his predecessors. On the contrary, it made it increasingly difficult for Astrid to remain civil enough to spoon-feed Fury any advice that there was half a chance of him swallowing. The only consolation had been Loki’s sympathy, and unfiltered glee at her inner thoughts during the conversation.

Even still, Astrid had no regrets. She had to try.

Still, that powerlessness and their restrictions and the internal, flesh-devouring guilt of leaving Loki in Sanctuary had cumulated into enough for her to take a knife to her neck in a fit of pique, almost out of curiosity to see if she was even still alive, or mortal enough to die.

In retrospect, if she had died that day, then-

Ah. Alright. One potential regret, then.

The engine powered down with a hiss of dispersing heat and air, and the cargo ramp descended with a smooth deployment of hydraulics, opening the interior of the jet to the elements.

A blast of cold air rushed to greet her, and Astrid dragged in a delighted breath, already shivering, her skirts ruffling. She tugged down the rolled-up sleeves of her black hoodie, the fleece lining velvety against her bare arms, tugging the zip up over her décolletage.

“England in November,” Romanoff quipped as she exited the cockpit, pulling a black duffel bag down from overhead storage, hauling it over the bars. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“It’s been a while. I need stable ground if I’m going to hit it running.”

Astrid had intended to sound glib, but the joy seeped out of her like honey, her mood too buoyant to hide.

Hopefully, Romanoff would think that she was just glad to be home, on British soil, assuming her way into believing the useful lie. England may be a place that Astrid was fond of, a place that she could have made her home if she had tried, but she hadn’t, and it wasn’t- that was split, fragmented and hidden within a cell on Asgard and a brownstone in Manhattan.

And she wouldn’t be staying for very long.

“It’s not too late, you know,” Romanoff said with a warmth that sounded designed to be partly teasing, partly earnest, as though shielding herself from being truly vulnerable. She stepped into the back of the Quinjet, offering to Astrid with a faltering smile, the corner of her full lips quirked. “To stay. Or if you change your mind. Even after a few weeks, or months- or a year or two. You can always come back. Help us save the world.”

Astrid raised her eyebrow at the offered luggage. She had bought nothing with her to SHIELD but the clothes on her back, and those had long been swallowed into their custody.

Without comment, she took the strap, shouldering the duffel bag. She could feel the faint press of the corners of books against her hip, padded and wrapped in clothing.

“Natalia,” Astrid replied, fine and brisk as the day outside, “I think I would rather swallow glass.”

To her slight surprise, Romanoff cracked a wry, defeated smile.

“Did I ever stand a chance?”

Astrid tilted her head at her.

Yes, was the honest, but unkind answer.

“You made the experience slightly less miserable,” she said instead, leaning to one side to accommodate the weight of the bag, letting her head tip with it, “so despite the obvious ulterior motives- thank you. For the matcha lattes, and the books, and breakfast on the roof.”

Romanoff’s expression flickered for a moment, like a glitch, and Astrid wondered if she had unwittingly touched upon a vein of something real.

Without warning, Romanoff stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Astrid’s shoulders, and hugged her.

Astrid’s brain short-circuited for a moment, engulfed in a set of balletic limbs and glossy cinnabar hair. Her free hand hovered hesitantly against the back of Romanoff’s bicep.

“Thirteen weeks,” Romanoff murmured in her ear, with the quiet efficiency of a mission briefing. “Stay in the country, look like you’re settling. Let them get comfortable. After that, you can slip out from under SHIELD’s radar, if you run and lay low.”

She withdrew smoothly, her mask re-perfected, fingertips lingering at Astrid’s shoulders like fresh snowfall.

“Good luck out there.”

Astrid looked directly into the muted green of Romanoff’s eyes, and couldn’t find a lie.

Oh.

Carefully, she nodded.

“And you, Natasha,” she replied, before sinking into one last parting portent. “The same goes for you, by the way. It’s never too late to run, no matter what you’ve sunken into it.”

Natasha’s brow creased slightly, uncomprehending.

Astrid offered an easy smile.

“The rot of the apple is still apple.”

Stepping aside, Astrid stepped aside, and headed down the ramp to meet the agents waiting on the asphalt.

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“You have debriefing in fifteen. We need to cover the details of you being transferred under the oversight of the UK branch, and how your transition out of our custody is going to proceed.”

Astrid dropped the duffel bag onto the military-crisp single bed, turning on the balls of her feet to glance around the modest suite. It reminded her of a unit within a student accommodation block; the space was long and narrow, basic without being overly spartan, the solid-based storage bed built snug against the wall, directly next to a wraparound desk that transitioned into a wardrobe and the door of the wet-room. The neutral pine veneer added a touch of corporate-approved warmth to the white paint-clad walls.

Agent Adil Rajaswaran remained at the threshold, rather than crowding inside, his hand resting at the heavy, brushed silver door handle. Given their introduction at the airfield, and his faintly judgemental stare at her weather-inappropriate attire, Astrid had the impression that he didn’t think very much of her.

The feeling was by no means mutual. Astrid actually appreciated his bleach-clean demeanour towards her, efficient and perfunctory, as though she were an inconveniently redirected piece of luggage that he was being forced to handle. The comparison wasn’t that far beyond reality; Astrid’s request to be turned loose on British soil had foisted the current, onerous assignment upon Rajaswaran, demanding that he play the delicate role of handler in the guise of a liaison, who would herd her in circles until she willingly wandered back into SHIELD’s holding pen of useful individuals.

Fortunately for them both, she wouldn’t be on his hands as long as he expected.

“I have time to shower, right?” Astrid asked carelessly, glancing up at a light fixture installed in the wall.

“Fifteen minutes,” Rajaswaran repeated dryly, “I’ll send Agent Colemore to collect you, so don’t be naked when she opens the door. And don’t use up all the hot water, the boiler’s a pain in the arse.”

“Mm-hm.” Astrid’s acknowledgement was directed at the back of his head- Rajaswaran was already pulling the door shut behind him.

Unzipping her hoodie, Astrid stripped it and threw it aside on the bed, and headed for the door of the bathroom.

Snapping on the external light, she stepped inside. The flooring was a slip-proof sheet of grey linoleum, textured with raised circular pads to provide extra grip underfoot when wet, sloping slightly towards a shower drain in one corner. Above its grate, installed into the tiled walls, was a simple showerhead and tap, nothing but a thin shower curtain on a quarter-circle rail to separate the spray from the sink, mirror, and toilet at the opposite wall.

Astrid had seen, and used, far worse facilities than this.

It was almost a pity.

Standing aside from the shower, Astrid turned it down to its coldest setting- she wasn’t completely inconsiderate- cranking the waterflow and dodging out of the way just in time as it sputtered to life.

Stepping lightly, she backed out of the wetroom, soft and swift, and paused before the front door.

Opening her awareness like a hinged window, she listening intently, for the slightest disturbance and changes in currents.

Nothing.

Standing alone, with nothing to accompany her but the white noise of rushing water against tile, Astrid gave a sigh of pure relief.

“Fucking finally,” she gritted out, and threw out an elbow.

It struck, the air shattering under the impact like glass, fracturing outwards from its origin point with a brittle creak.

The weight of reality collapsed into the crack, the pressure bearing down upon the chink until it began to split into kaleidoscopic shards. For a moment, it refracted the world back with an eerie, broken clarity, like the facets of a jewel, not quite reflections and yet not quite real- but with a smooth flare and turn of her fingers, it spun gently, like a wheel, forming a mandala of colour and light on an ever-shifting, geometrically-cut plane.

Astrid stepped into the breach. The splinters rippled apart against the contours of her, fractals washing over and across her like seawater.

She felt the shattered edge of corporeal reality reseal at her back, resolving into nothingness.

The mirror dimension had an unreal echo to it- less like the reverberation of footsteps and resonance of voices inside a great, hollow space, ricocheting back from the prism-edge refractions that split across the plane, and more as though the space was speaking back, mimicking the foreign sounds that had trespassed upon it as its only language of communication.

In every other aspect, however, it was identical to the space that she had just left. The room around her was seemingly unchanged, aside from the slight refractions of light, and she could still hear the tinny hiss of the shower behind the bathroom door.

Astrid laced her fingers, stretched them above her head, and let her arms drop.

Then she dragged in a lungful of air and screamed.

The mirror dimension seemed to scream with her, harmonising, like a symphonic sympathy.

After almost ten solid seconds, catharsis flooding her blood like oxygen and her throat pleasantly raw and warm, Astrid caught her breath, her chest heaving.

“Oh-kay,” she rasped quietly, raising a hand slightly. Her fingers extended, before snatching into her palm with a twist of her wrist, evocative of the turn of a key, “get your ass in gear, North.”

The almost careless motion unlocked her pocket dimension, summoning forth an object with a tug of her will. She unfurled her fingers, revealing the golden brass of her sling-ring- resembling a set of knuckle-dusters, designed to slot over her index and middle fingers, flattened on the topmost side with neat, intricate etchings of sacred geometry.

The metal was cold in her hand.

It was funny- that the escape that she had wanted had been at the beck of her fingertips every moment since she had been captured.

For a weak, fleeting moment, Astrid thought of how easy it would be.

She thought of dust motes turned to gold in shafts of sunlight, a grand piano that reverberated through the halls, curios in cabinets, the gloss of medical journals and cool cotton sheets and modern vinyl on a vintage turntable, rainfall on a skylight’s glass and herbal teas steeping during meditation and the low thrum of a familiar voice in another room.

She swallowed, closing her eyes and globing her shoulders in against the void of want in her chest.

It was bad enough to constantly deny the omnipresent impulse to move, to reach into Asgard and pull Loki out and tear away across the stars. The knowledge that it would upset the delicate balance that Loki was maintaining, toppling his plans and only placing him at greater risk, had helped her chain the reckless desire back, but it still ached at her like hunger pangs- and if she couldn’t give into it, all she wanted in its place was go home and talk to her father.

And she knew that she could.

On the day that she had left, to look for answers, he had dipped his head to look directly into her eyes, and told her with an uncharacteristic earnestness that she could always come home.

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

Astrid shoved the sling ring onto her left hand, extended her arm, and opened a gateway with a two quick loops of her opposite hand.

The gateway pulled loose with a trail of sparks, haloing its edges, and Astrid stepped through.

The humidity on the other side hit her like a physical blow, bricking her into a wall of tropical heat that left her gasping at the thick air.

The luxury apartment was vast, and dark. On this side of the world, the sun had long since set beyond the curve of the earth, the only source of light emanating from the sharp, illuminated edges of the city skyline looming through the panoramic balcony windows, skyscrapers limned with the vitrified colours of galaxies- and the golden burn of the eldritch energy crackling along the edges of the gateway.

With a backwards swipe of her hand, the portal swirled into nothingness like a closed slipknot.

The reflection of its light, and the day-glow of the dorm, evaporated from the sheen of the hardwood floors like a shallow spill of water.

Astrid opened her senses, performing a sweep.

Within a heartbeat, she could tell that the apartment had remained sealed since her departure. It was no less than she had expected, but still a relief. Long before she had left to walk into the jaws of SHIELD, it had been protected by more than manual deadbolts, the magnetic smart lock on the front door, its vertiginous height above street level, the typical security of a luxury high-rise building, and the false identity on the lease. Stepping forwards, away from the narrow foyer at her back, she traced over the convoluted lace of enchantments that remained in place over the apartment, like a sheet of burnished, snugly fitted gears; the work, intricately solid and audaciously inventive in reflection of its’ architect’s tastes and mentality, was buttressed by Astrid’s own mana, wound through and between like swathes of binding silk.

The magic sheened quietly, contrasting the mostly-empty penthouse.

Even after inhabiting it for the greater part of eight years, it remained more of an office than a living space, a base of operations with the impermanence of a long-term stay hotel suite, the domain of Alethia’s labour rather than Astrid’s love. She had consciously prevented too much of herself from leaching into it, retaining the modern, minimalist showroom furniture that had been included for a discount upon moving in, the surfaces and walls devoid of personalising touches or trinkets; anything meaningful enough to contain sentiment was safely stashed away in her pocket dimension, and anything that softened the sterility to preserve her sanity was generic and mass produced.

The state in which she had left the apartment only magnified that expensive impersonality. The furniture was draped in dropcloths, untouched from where she had tugged the heavy fabric into place, the canvas still holding the marks of her fingerprints; at the far left, the muffled shape of her piano loomed within a corner of windows- a luxury that her father had insisted upon, to help keep her sane in her mad quest- set against the black of the night and its piercing glitter. Before her, the sunken lounge was an ivory caldera, the sofas and tables and standing flat-screen swathed and eerie in the ambient light. Only the sleek kitchen was left uncovered, an open frame of granite worktops and adjoining breakfast bar, gleaming with chrome fittings.

The hour and lighting drained all colour from the space, the tableau preserved until her return.

The air tasted stale.

Astrid turned to the end table set against the wall, opening its shallow drawer. Atop a small stack of notebooks, coiled phone chargers, fake IDs and emergency suturing kits, there was a disassembled phone- the back gutted, the battery and SIM card pulled out and lying next to the shell of its handset.

Astrid snapped the components back into place, replaced the back, and held down the power button until the long-dormant screen gleamed back to life.

Hand dropping to her side, drifting in a broad circle past the covered lounge, she numbly opened a set of frameless French windows before her.

The doors swung open more by a press of her weight than a purposeful motion, wings unfolding onto the narrow balcony. The rush of the city broke through the stagnant air, gentled by the distance, along with the rich smell of rain and the distinctive acidic air of the island.

Oh.

Of course. It was monsoon season.

Astrid wasn’t aware of her knees buckling until they hit the floor, with a muted bang and a shock of pain. She could feel the damp slate of the balcony’s floor beneath her palms, lukewarm wood under her shins, sweat gathering against her skin and wicked away by her linen dress, her gaze unseeing.

She was out. She was back. And she was no closer than she was before, not truly, it was worse as now she knew for a certainty that she was reaching up towards the stars and coveting something that wasn’t hers-

Astra?

She heard a sob wrench out of her like something snagged upon a barbed hook.

His reaction was alarmed but tender, threading through her, seeking the source of her distress.

What happened, what is it-

“I miss you,” she confessed in a long, pained keen, “I miss you so much, it hurts so much.”

She felt his emotions throb against hers.

Astrid hated herself for it the moment that the words were out of her mouth.

She bit her lip, hard, pressing into the pain and curling into herself against the floorboards, dragging the loosened pieces of herself back together and under governance.

“Sorry-” She tasted the swelling of her lower lip, and the damp tang of rain in the air, pushing herself up and raking her fingers through her undone hair. “I’m sorry, that was- I don’t- I’m out, finally, and it’s just a little- overwhelming. I can talk to you, now. I think I’m ju-”

Whatever diversion she was about to force was choked by a cool rush of mana that coalesced into sensation on her skin.

She felt Loki’s arms wrap around her, his lean chest pressing flush against the long line of her back, the softness of his mouth nestling against the uppermost shell of her ear. One hand snaked around her torso to grip at her shoulder, while the other wrapped low and moulded against the curve and jut of her hip, pulling her against him firmly.

He was using her as a conduit for the spell, threading his magic through her like heat into metal, projecting the artificed embrace with a verisimilitude so sharp that it would have fooled anyone but Astrid.

And even then, it was almost, almost possible for her to pretend.

Tears sprang into her eyes, brimming against her lashes, yanked out of her.

Do not apologise to me, Loki intoned lowly in her mind, and Astrid felt the drag of his mouth against her hair, the stir of his breathing in her hair, phantom and false, not for this.

Astrid felt her breath stutter in her chest, rising against the corded muscles of Loki’s arms caging her.

“And- exactly how long," she managed, haltingly, "were you intending to keep this trick up your sleeve?”

Loki chuckled, velvet with promise and a dash of well-placed mischief.

Quite some time. Although, I’d had a rather different scenario in mind, for its reveal.

Astrid blinked- tears slipping down her face, shed and discarded, emptied of use- and wondered if he was insinuating-

Oh, I absolutely was, sweet thing, he purred into her ear, the hand on her hip slipping slightly lower.

Unsteady laughter burbled out of her, swiping at her face with the back of her hand.

“This is hardly fair, you know,” Astrid accused, curving herself into his hold and tugging against it experimentally. The invisible pressure had the feel of flesh and bone and living interconnected tissue, with the precise amount of give and resistance that she knew should have been there, down to the flickers of tendons as he shifted.

She gave herself a moment to marvel at Loki’s uncompromising attention to detail, before realising with a startled flutter that she could even feel the echo of his heartbeat, just between her shoulder blades.

“You know I’m incapable of returning the favour," she added pointedly, sour-edged as crystallised lemon rind.

She felt his lips curve into a vulpine smirk, his arms flexing tighter around her until it wrung a blunted whimper from the back of her throat, her head tipping back with her shortened breaths. Amidst the tang of summer rain, she could smell leather, and ink, and boreal forests laced with something deliciously cold, and wanted to soak her lungs in it.

But of course. I intend to drown you in debt and interest, pretty girl, Loki murmured, shifting his grip and dragging her body up to nose down her throat, settling his mouth against her carotid artery, cool as marble. Bracing against the white-hot rush and twist of anticipation in her gut, Astrid bowed into the gesture, the silken curl of his hair grazing the hollow of her collarbone teasingly. And then, I can ask for what I really want.

Astrid breathed a laugh, the balmy night breeze passing over her face, ruffling her tresses.

Lifting a weapon from the enemy’s belt, and using it against them- it was clever, and shameless, and she adored him just a little for it.

“And what is it that you desire from me, Prince Loki?”

His arms constricted around her, slotting into her contours as though he belonged there.

Everything, he snarled in the back of her mind, against the juncture of her neck. So don’t you dare apologise for missing me. I will take it as my due, beloved, and will not tolerate you withholding it from me again.

Astrid gave a muffled noise of assent, closing her eyes briefly, folding her lower lip between her teeth.

“Okay,” she breathed, fighting the selfish joy rising through her like an incoming tide.

Good. Now- tell me where you are, dove. You said that you were out.

Humming in acknowledgement, she slowly blinked her eyes open and cast them upwards, facing into the black of the skies and sparse shimmer of the brightest stars breaking through the smoke-shroud of rainclouds.

He was out there, somewhere, talking to her.

That was real, as real as the intent behind the sensory illusion he had pressed into and through her, and it was enough to steel her again and remember why she remained here, her feet on the ground and her eyes on the horizon.

“Madripoor,” she explained succinctly. “City state and island nation in the Strait of Malacca, just off the coast of the Malay Peninsula. In an apartment in Hightown that should have been one of the most expensive pieces of real estate in the world.”

Should have?

“Ah, long story. Another time.”

Hm. And why here?

"It's been my base of operations since I started this.” Astrid smirked slightly. “No extradition treaties.”

Aha, Loki murmured his comprehension into her hair. A diplomatic haven.

“Not that it's relevant to me, personally,” she admitted with a slight shrug, relaxing back into him. Improbably, she felt the spelled mimicry of his torso supporting her weight, suspending her at a comfortable angle as she reclined against nothing but his magic thickening the air. “Sovereignty isn't relevant to SHIELD's actions, even if they did know about my connections to this place. And the law isn't relevant to mine. But- Madripoor being a literal safe harbour for criminals does create some ideal conditions."

Oh? Such as?

Astrid giggled softly, like a smudge of lamplight in a dense mist, skimming her fingers across where she could feel the should-be bones of his wrist. “Please, kjære prins. It wouldn’t be any fun for either of us if I told you everything all at once, would it?”

She felt the breadth of his chest expand gently against her back, gusting a sigh into her crown.

Mm, if you insist, Loki replied without rancour, a shade more content than Astrid would have liked, but with the faintest edge of smugness that made her think that it was a deliberate choice to turn the tease back upon her, I shall simply sit back and watch you work, darling. Although I have to wonder what you have planned, that you think it is worth witholding.

With a short, low laugh, Astrid turned her face into the strong column of his throat- or where it could have been. The sensation was strange, adjacent to the feeling of having a conversation through a thin apartment wall.

“I had thought that much was obvi-”

They both startled as, belatedly, the phone that she had let clatter to the floor burst into a violent storm of notifications, stumbling over each other as they rolled in like thunder on the horizon.

Astrid grinned.

“-ous.” She finished glibly, pulling against Loki for him to give her enough slack and plucking the phone off the hardwood, before falling back into him. The device was still vibrating with incoming messages, as though shuddering under the deluge.

She could feel Loki’s quiet intrigue, moving beyond the teasing levity.

You won't even give me a hint? He asked, sincerely curious and peach-sweet, his thumb smoothing absently across the lines of her lower ribs.

Closing her eyes, Astrid turned herself into the solidity of him, folding herself against his sculpted lines, her free hand lifting to curl underneath her chin.

“Mm. It’s simple, really,” she said lightly, lips moving against his heart in a caress. “I’m going to take over the world.”

-

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[ivpapaemeritusiv]

Chapter 4: Wanna Bewitch You In The Moonlight

Summary: In this chapter the former Cardinal finally meets someone he thinks he can spend the rest of his days with. Of course, she doesn't know the entirety of his intentions with her, but she is all too happy to accompany him on the rest of his tour.

Word Count 7k

There is smut in this chapter between Papa Emeritus IV and the female character. There are light sub/dom undertones in the scene.

Translations:

Il tuo corpo si sente così bene contro di me = Your body feels so good against me

With just seven shows left, Papa IV hadn’t yet found anyone that he could have a child with much less spend the rest of his days and after life with. He was growing frustrated. He would be letting down the Clergy and Sister Imperator if he returned with nobody, not to mention he’d be expendable. And even if he did find somebody, in the back of his mind he would ask himself questions like, “What if they don’t want to enter into this agreement?” It was a huge sacrifice after all, to leave behind a life to create a new one with somebody one didn’t know—somebody with a very unconventional lifestyle at that. It wasn’t ideal to have one’s sole purpose in a relationship be to have a child. “What if they only wanted to sleep with him?” He was, as sister had said, a famous rock star. Finding even one person was proving to be complicated but if he found somebody that didn’t want to share his responsibilities and only wanted cheap thrills, he would have to do it all over again.

The band was to play in Tampa Florida at the Credit Union Amphitheatre for this particular show. He kept telling himself this had to be the night; that he could not continue on like this. He had to find somebody even if he did not like them. He could not go home empty handed.

*

Addeline set her mic down on the stool in front of her and took a graceful bow as the audience erupted into applause. She quickly dashed off the stage towards the bar, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. Reaching the bar, she banged her hand down twice to grab the bartender's attention.

"What will it be, Addy?"

"I think I need a shot of Jose Cuervo for this night, John. Thanks!" she replied, her voice tinged with excitement.

As she waited for her drink, Addy felt a hand gently grab her from behind. She spun around to see who it was, her heart racing.

"That was beautiful, Addy."

"Thanks, Ellie," she murmured, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

"I wish I had some hidden talent. I think your singing is going to take you somewhere someday."

Addeline covered her face to hide her bashful smile. Her friend Ellenore had always been her biggest fan. For years, Addeline had been making ends meet singing at special occasions: weddings, bah mitzvahs, parties and bars. It was enough to survive on, but she was tired of the monotony.

A small glass landed on the bar with a soft clink, a few drops of the amber liquid spilling over as John pushed the shot glass her way.

"Here you go, Darlin'. One Jose Cuervo!"

"What are you doing? Drinking? Before the show?" Ellenore asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

Addeline breathed in the sharp tang of the tequila before gulping it down, her face souring at its strong taste. She placed the shot glass upside down onto the bar and yelled out, "John, we're out! We've got that concert to catch!"

Addeline was a 28-year-old woman who lived in the bustling heart of the city. With a bachelor's degree in Theatre Arts, she split her time between working part-time at a lively bar and immersing herself in her true passions: acting and singing. The city lights once mirrored her dreams of making it big, but over time, those dreams had dimmed. Now, she found solace in the simple satisfaction of paying her bills each month.

Yet, a yearning for more simmered beneath the surface. Ellenore, her ever-enthusiastic friend, constantly urged her to step out of her comfort zone, to try something new, to seize the spotlight she so deserved. Ellenore saw the brilliance in Addy's talent and couldn't bear to see her settle for anything less than extraordinary.

"You have the tickets, right?"

"Calm down, Ellie, they're in my..."

"They're in your what? In your what, Addy?"

"Ellenore, Jesus, they're in my phone. I'm just trying to..."

Addeline struggled to get the pages on her phone to load due to poor signal. Her fingers danced over the screen, frustration evident in her furrowed brow. After what felt like an eternity, the tickets finally appeared on the screen. "There! There they are!" she exclaimed, thrusting the phone towards Ellenore. Ellenore's tense shoulders relaxed, and she breathed a sigh of relief, her anxiety attack beginning to subside.

"I can't believe we're going to see Ghost!" Ellie exclaimed in a shrill voice, practically bouncing in her seat.

"No," Addy corrected with a mischievous grin, "We're going to meet Ghost. I've got us VIP meet and greet tickets."

"SHIT! You didn't tell me that, Adds! Please don't be kidding me right now! You're kidding, right?" Ellie’s eyes widened in disbelief as she gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Addeline laughed at her spastic friend, the sound light and teasing. "Keep your eyes on the road, Ellie. No, I'm not kidding. We're going to meet Papa Emeritus after the show."

Ellenore continued driving, her excitement bubbling over as she ranted on about how thrilled she was for the tour. The car was filled with her animated chatter, and Addy couldn't help but join in. Both girls were die-hard Ghost fans, and this would be their first ritual, making the anticipation even sweeter.

"You've got the other tickets too, right?" Ellie asked, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"Ellie, have some faith in me. Of course I have them," Addy replied, her tone reassuring. "They aren't all VIP, but I had to go all out for this first show. Our bags are packed, the car is gassed up, and the hotels are booked. We're all set for this road trip!"

Ellie glanced over at Addy, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "This is going to be the best trip ever. I can't believe we're finally doing this."

Addy smiled, feeling the same rush of excitement. "I know, right? It's going to be unforgettable."

The girls pulled up at the Credit Union Amphitheatre, the parking lot teeming with cars and buzzing with excitement. "God, I hope we get a good spot in the pit," Ellie breathed, her voice laced with anticipation and a hint of worry. She wished they had arrived earlier to secure a prime spot.

"I mean... what did you want from me? I had to work. I got off as soon as I could.”

"I know, I know," Ellie said, her anxiousness giving way to urgency. "Let's just hurry up and get in there!"

With adrenaline fueling their steps, the girls sprinted toward the venue, their faces lit up with eager smiles. They navigated through the throngs of concert-goers and finally entered the amphitheater, making a beeline for the pit.

"This isn't so bad," Addy stated, surveying the area with relief. "This is like, literally the third row. You panicked for nothing."

Ellie let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. They were over the moon as they waited for Impera to play, the anticipation electrifying the air and signaling the start of an unforgettable show.

*

The show kicked off just like any other night. He dashed out onto the stage, belted out three songs, and then delved into his heartfelt Papa speech. And that's when it happened. In the midst of the crowd, three rows deep, stood a young woman in her late twenties. The way she looked was truly captivating. Her long, black hair paired with the dark mesh dress she wore, all seemed to complement her deep, cavernous eyes. Those eyes were so dark that he could barely make out her pupils. He found her mesmerizing, with a unique and ethereal beauty, delicate features, fair skin, and eyes that held him spellbound. He couldn't help but think that she would give him beautiful babies.

He saw her fully immerse herself in the music, singing, dancing, and truly feeling the essence of his songs. Witnessing her emotional response, reaching out to him, shedding tears of excitement as the music touched her deeply, he couldn't help but be drawn to her. Their connection seemed to transcend the stage, as he locked eyes with her, communicating through the power of his songs. She ciriced him.

As the show came to a close with the customary three encores and the final exit, he couldn't shake off the sadness at the thought of never seeing the woman again. His ghoul, Swiss, picked up on his emotions and inquired, "What's wrong with you, Cardinal?"

Dismissing the concern, he replied, "It's nothing," choosing not to delve into his inner thoughts with anyone.

“Well, shake it off, pops!” Swiss addressed his leader informally, “We’ve got to do this meet and greet and your smile sucks right now.”

Papa Emeritus was ushered to a place at the venue specifically set up to meet and greet his fans. It was a chance for them to meet their favorite artist up close and personal or as sister would say, “A chance to win over minions for their ultimate domination.”

Everybody stood in line for a brief one-on-one interaction with Papa, all excited to chat, take photos, get autographs, and share a quick hug or handshake.

He found himself unable to concentrate. The young lady he had spotted in the audience occupied his thoughts entirely. Maybe she is still here, he pondered, perhaps I can find her.

The anticipation grew quickly as he hurried to get through his autographs and pictures. He always enjoyed meeting his fans and he did not want to rush things but tonight he didn’t want to let fate slip through his fingers. Then, as fate would have it, out of the corner of his eye he saw the familiar face in line. He couldn't help but feel a jolt of excitement as he noticed her, the girl who had been on his mind, appearing unexpectedly in his line of sight.

As she drew nearer to him, his nerves intensified, unsure of what words to say to her. After bidding farewell to a fan, it was finally her turn. Standing face to face with her, all he could manage was a timid, "Hello."

She blushed a deep shade of red, exclaiming, "Oh my God," as if she were choking on invisible words. With one hand covering her mouth and the other extended for a handshake, she stammered, "Hello! I'm so sorry, I'm just—I can't believe I'm actually here, meeting you."

“No need to apologize,” Papa Emeritus said. “Thank you for coming out tonight. Did you enjoy the show?”

“Are you kidding me?” she chuckled, “It was the best night of my life. I have tickets to the next two shows in Texas too.”

If it weren’t for Papa’s white painted face, he too would be showing an unnatural shade of red, “Three shows?” He repeated, elated at the revelation, “Well, I’ll be very happy to see you return.”

“Can I hug you?” she asked.

In that moment, he almost felt like he should be seeking her permission before making any move to touch her. He was so taken aback by her presence that he momentarily forgot his status as a rock star.

“Absolutely, my dear,” he responded, giving the young lady a tight embrace. She felt so good, so warm and soft. He could feel her breasts on his chest, and he had to calm himself before it became noticeable to the rest of the crowd how excited he’d become.

"Look at the camera, my dear," he gently directed her gaze towards the photographer. She moved closer to him, putting her arm around him. Following suit, he mimicked her actions, and with a flash, the moment was captured in a photograph. “What is your name young lady?”

“I’m Addeline.”

Addeline. Beautiful he thought.

“Addy, actually. People call me Addy. I guess Addeline is too hard to say.”

Papa stared into her eyes awkwardly, “I love Addeline,” he said stoically.

“Really?” the woman asked, “I didn’t pick it, you know? It wouldn’t have been my first choice.”

He laughed at her attempted joke.

“Listen, Addeline, I need to meet the other fans.”

“Of course,” she stated, embarrassed that perhaps she had overstayed her welcome, “This has been amazing, and it has been the greatest pleasure of my life to meet you.”

“Well, now don’t rush off,” he picked up on her anxiety and quickly tried to put her at ease once more, “Who did you come here with?”

The question caught the woman by surprise, “I came here with my friend. She’s behind me in line,” Addeline pointed to a companion.

“I see,” the Cardinal was amused, “How do you feel about staying after the meet and greet?”

“Stay?” she repeated, “Yes, I can stay…” she trailed off in her thoughts, “Stay for what?”

Copia laughed, “For me, of course,” he chuckled.

She had to pinch herself to believe it. Did Papa Emeritus really just invite her to hang out?

“Yes,” she quickly said, still very unsure of what just happened.

“Very well,” Papa continued, “You can mingle with my ghouls until I’m ready for you then.”

He signaled for Swiss to approach, and he whispered something in the musician’s ear, “Escort her to the tour bus once everyone is gone,” he instructed.

This received a nod from the multi-ghoul. With those words Addy was swept away by the man in costume and Papa was left to finish meeting his other fans.

*

Papa was waiting inside of the tour bus. The meet and greet had ended nearly 20 minutes ago. He became worried, thinking that Addeline might have changed her mind. No, he thought, remember what Sister said. You’re a rock star. You have charisma. A knock on the door interrupted his pep talk.

“Come in,” he announced with confidence but also excitement.

Swiss’s hand pushed Addy through the bus’s door. She seemed very nervous—a bit more timid than when he met her the first time.

“Come in, come in,” said Papa.

She smiled and slowly walked further inside. He walked up to her, extending out his hand. She went in for a hug, but when the Cardinal tried to reciprocate, she switched to a handshake. He ended up awkwardly patting her on the head instead.

“I’m glad you came,” he disclosed.

“I’m just… really a big fan,” she said, “I’m so happy to be here. Honored really. There’s no way in hell I wouldn’t have come.”

“Honored?” Copia repeated, “Yes, well… well thank you. It’s always nice to see our work well received,” he wanted to get to the point, but he didn’t want to scare her away. He gazed up, searching for a conservative way to present the Clergy’s idea, “Addeline?”

“Yes?” she responded.

“The reason I wanted to see you tonight is because I’m hoping you’ll do something for me—a sacrifice if you will?” The dominance he projected on stage quickly began to dissipate and the awkwardness of his everyday personality began to surface.

“Sacrifice?” she repeated, “Are you going to kill me or something,” She laughed.

The hysterical way in which she laughed at her own jokes reminded him so much of Papa Nihil. But it was endearing coming from the girl, much more so than when Nihil did it.

He adjusted his wording to better suit the mood, “I have a task for you?”

“Ok…” the girl responded, unsure of what the man was speaking of.

“It’s a ‘big’ task,” he emphasized the word, hoping she would catch on.

Still quite confused, Addeline asked, “What kind of task?” Maintaining unbroken eye contact, he unfastened his belt, leaving it slightly loose so that the strap gracefully draped over his pant leg.

Addy’s eyes widened in astonishment as she found herself taken aback by how forward he had suddenly become. It was a surprising turn of events that caught her off guard.

Copia waited for another response, but the girl just stood there staring at his undone belt buckle. He began to wonder if he had made the right decision.

After some time had passed, she asked, “How big is the task?”

Understanding what she was asking, Papa pulled his pants down over his thighs to present a very sizable appendage. Addy couldn’t help but cover her gaping mouth with her hand, trying to contain her surprise.

Seeing the girl startle so easily, he asked with some hesitation, “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

"I… I was in a relationship a couple of years ago,” she revealed. “He was the only one I've ever...” she shook her head, becoming quite embarrassed at her own lack of experience. "I'm afraid I'm out of practice."

He took a step towards her, “Don’t be ashamed, dear. There is nothing wrong with needing to be taught.”

He continued his steady strides towards her, embracing her loosely, "Is this, okay?” he asked, holding her tightly against his body.

She continued to nod nervously, understanding that he must have been collecting a woman from each city he toured. She just happened to be the one for tonight and she was fine with that. She stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Just try not to hurt me.”

Papa found the request odd, “Hurt you?” he repeated. He then noticed that Addy was 5’1 and no more than 100 pounds, while he stood at 6 feet tall, towering over the petite woman.

“Ah,” he thought out loud, “I see. Are you familiar with the traffic light system?”

“Traffic light system?” She shook her head, having never heard of such a thing.

“They’re safe words. Green is go, yellow means to slow down a bit and then red is a full stop.”

She pursed her lips, “Are you going to do some fifty shades of gray type of shit to me?”

It was the Cardinal’s turn to laugh although he had a feeling that she was being quite serious, “Don’t fret. If you say red, I will stop whatever I’m doing,” he promised, “What are your limits, my dear? What don’t you like?”

Addy couldn’t believe the situation she found herself in. As a fangirl she had always fantasized about sleeping with Papa Emeritus, but she never dreamed it would ever be a reality. Now, he was standing in front of her, telling her that she needed special words to stay safe during sex. She found herself a bit frightened at the thought. "I… I don’t know,” She admitted.

She began to think so hard that the Cardinal finally had to intervene, “Why don’t we just get started and then if you don’t like something, you tell me.”

She stared at him, unable to answer his question. Papa began to kiss the young woman which she reciprocated, feeling a heat rising inside of her that was almost too hot to control. She couldn’t believe that she was about ready to sleep with the frontman of Ghost.

“You might get face paint on that pretty face,” he joked.

She laughed awkwardly, not knowing how to respond.

She held her arms up over her head and allowed him to slip her dress off. She felt the soft fabric glide over her skin before she heard it make a soft thump on the floor. He slid her underwear down her legs, causing her to shiver from the drafty air of the tour bus.

A bit embarrassed at being naked in front of a stranger, she covered her bare breasts. He found her bashfulness so endearing.

“If you need to yell out my name, you will call me, ‘Papa’,” he said to her, “to you, I will always be Papa.”

He wanted to establish this immediately. He thought about how Sister refused to call him ‘Papa’ because it was the name that she called her former lover. But to Addy, he would forever be Papa.

"Why would I need to yell your name?" she naively asked.

"Trust me," he growled with arrogance, "You will be screaming my name, dear."

The Cardinal took a firm grip on Addeline’s waist and walked forward with the woman until the back of her legs hit the edge of a small bed at the far end of the bus. Not having anywhere else to go, she fell backwards onto the mattress. Copia crawled onto the bed forcing her to use her elbows to scoot back—like an inverted army crawl. Her legs fell open as he settled between them. She winced as he slid two fingers inside of her, “You’re very sensitive,” he said. “Let’s see if you’re ready for me.”

He began to twirl his fingers around, dragging out quiet moans from her throat, “I…” she tried to speak.

“You’re already sopping wet,” he purred, “You’re definitely ready for me.”

She jumped as she felt the tip of him touching her and he could sense her nervousness, “Wait!” She whispered.

“I’ll go in halfway at first,” he knew that she was worried about him being too big so he wanted to reassure her that he would not hurt her—much.

She agreed, biting her bottom lip in anticipation. He slid into her, causing her to moan a bit louder, “Not so bad, eh?” he whispered in her ear. She writhed beneath him. One of her hands rested on his back and the other on her own ribcage. She innocently dug into both simultaneously.

The Cardinal felt her tunnel into his spinal cord, and he noticed a small amount of blood under her fingernails when he looked at her chest. Wanting to prevent her from hurting herself further, he took her hand—the one she was using to unknowingly mutilate her body—and he placed it upon his back.

“Color?” he asked.

“Green,” she responded.

Copia smiled as he began to rock back and forth, slowly at first. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. He placed his hands underneath her neck and harshly grabbed a handful of her hair to pin her head down on the bed, “You don’t get to cum until I say so, understand?”

She nodded the best she could, “Yes, Papa.”

His words alone were enough to bring her to a climax. It was going to be difficult to obey this request.

As he moved, his lips brushed against the delicate skin around her neck, leaving a tantalizing trail of black and white paint in their wake. Each kiss ignited a tingling sensation that danced along her spine, the contrast of the face paint against her pale skin creating a mesmerizing pattern. She felt the warmth of his breath, the gentle pressure of his painted lips, and the coolness of the air where his kisses had been. Her heartbeat quickened with each touch; her senses heightened by the intimate connection.

He observed the girl closely, fearing she might finish too soon, “You’re enjoying this too much.”

Ignoring his words, she closed her eyes and let herself drift off. She felt as though she was in a fog. She must have been in it for a long time because she could faintly hear the man calling her name. Even though he was right there, he sounded so far away—his voice seemed to transcend the physical space.

“Addy? Darling? Look at me.” His hands were gentle on her face making it easy for her to pry her eyes open and sweetly gaze back at him.

Copia stopped his movements and pulled out of her.

“NO!” Addy yelled, leaping up from the bed.

She was quickly met with the oppressive force of the Cardinal’s grasp around her neck. He hurled her back down, holding her there in his grip like a prisoner in chains. It would have scared her had she not been so turned on. He brought his face close to hers and sinisterly repeated her own words back to her, “No?”

Unable to move, she cried out, “Please don’t stop! Please! Keep going, Papa!”

“Who knew you could beg so sweetly,” he breathed down the nape of her neck. “No, it’s too soon. You haven’t even had all of me yet.”

In her bliss she forgot that Papa had only gone halfway into her. She shuddered at the thought.

“Addy?”

“Yes?” she answered.

“I’m going to push myself deep inside of you now. What’s your color?”

“Green,” she did not hesitate, “Definitely green.”

He gave her a wicked grin before plunging himself into her until no more of him could be seen. He gave her a moment to adapt before he started rocking his hips again. Slow and lazy at first and then gradually faster and harder. She began to feel a sharp pain as he swiftly and continuously hit against her insides, “Yellow!” she screamed, curling her toes inward, digging deeply into the Cardinal’s back again.

Immediately, Copia slowed his pace. Had she not said anything, the stings he felt on his back would have told him her colors were changing.

“Good girl,” he said, “Using your words so well.”

With his free hand he reached down to tickle her sensitive spots. She relaxed once more and began to tumble towards the edge at the touch of his fingertips. She felt herself about to explode and she couldn’t hold it in anymore, “Papa!” she shouted.

“Sì, Tesoro?”

“I need to cum. Can I please cum?”

He didn’t say anything at first. He wanted to see her beg some more.

“Papa, please!” She pleaded so fervently, her desperation reaching such a height that tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

He looked down upon her. He could see she was trying her best to hold off. The way she obeyed him was a real turn on and almost sent him to his pinnacle as well, “What are you about to do?”

“I’m gonna cum,” she whined.

“Then cum, darling,” he granted her permission that brought her immense relief.

Copia sped up his pace once again, tipping her over that edge into a powerful orgasm. "Il tuo corpo si sente così bene contro di me," he yelled, as he fucked her through it, sending her back into that fog she had found herself out of once already. Her body tensed up and she yelled out his name.

Over and over again she yelled for him, riding the wave of pleasure until it settled. Feeling the effects of her walls constricting around his member, Copia too followed shortly after, spilling every last drop of himself into her. When it was over he let himself fall on the mattress next to her. They laid there in silence trying their best to catch their breath.

He looked upon the girl, now adorned with the paint that once graced his own face, "Così bella."

After a few minutes, once they both had time to compose themselves, the Cardinal stood up and began to get dressed.

“How do you feel?” he asked, as he put his pants on.

Addy sighed, “Tired.”

“Tired, eh? Did I bore you?”

She laughed, “I think what I’m trying to say is you wore me out.”

This revelation left him with a smile. A passing idea ran through his mind, and he wanted to share it with the young lady before she left for the night, “Listen… Addeline. I uh, I would like to see you again.”

“Really?” she said, jumping from the bed.

“Mm hm,” Papa responded, very sure of himself.

She was confused. In her mind this was a one-night thing. She knew he would be leaving for another show, and she assumed that the next night he would be whispering into somebody else’s ear, holding somebody else down, fucking somebody else the way that he had just fucked her.

“Well, aren’t you still in the middle of a tour?”

“I am, yes. Don’t you have tickets to the next few shows?”

Addy turned red and let out a playful giggle, “Yea, my girlfriend and I are going to make a road trip out of it.”

She had no objections of course to seeing him again. She was already head over heels for him, even before they met—or at least infatuated.

“Come find me at the next show,” he said with a smug grin, “You can tell my crew you’re with the band.”

She laughed, “But, why?” her laughs dissipated into a more sincere chuckle, “Why do you want to see me again?”

“Because it’s lonely on the road.”

“But you can just find a woman at the next stop.”

“I could, yes. That is true. But what fun is that? Do you know how many people I meet every time I go on tour?”

Addy listened carefully. It almost felt as though Papa was venting now instead of answering her question.

“I meet thousands. I can’t connect with somebody new every time. It’s exhausting.”

She nodded, letting him know that she was not only listening but also understood completely.

“Besides,” he joked, “I already know how to get you off.”

She laughed hysterically, feeling a mix of amusement and slight embarrassment.

“Maybe after your road trip you could accompany me for the rest of the tour?”

Addy was speechless. The Cardinal went from asking if he could see her again to now asking her to join him for the remainder of his tour.

“You really want me to come with you?”

“I do. I would very much like that, yes. Do you have any responsibilities you need to tend to? Any arrangements you need to make?”

The woman thought, but not for too long, “I have a one-bedroom apartment in the city and a dead-end job that I would be happy to get fired from if it meant going to more Ghost concerts!”

He laughed quietly, “It is settled then. So, why don’t you go home and pack your things.”

“How will I find you in The Woodlands?” She couldn’t believe her luck and wanted to ensure his sincerity. Before leaving the bus, she needed a clear and solid plan in place.

“That ghoul that brought you to me,” he referenced Swiss, “the multi-ghoul” everyone called him, known for his ability to play the guitar, sing backing vocals and play the tambourine—like a Swiss army knife he could do it all. “Go find him outside. He will give you a crew badge which will get you on our tour bus no questions asked.”

The Cardinal spoke as though he were from another time—the Renaissance perhaps? Addy almost wondered if he was the reincarnation of an older Papa.

“Wow,” she exclaimed, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say, okay,” Copia urged her.

“Okay! Great!” She quickly dressed and stumbled backwards out of the bus still talking, “I’ll see you in Texas!” She was as giddy as a balloon filled with helium, floating and bobbing with pure delight.

The Cardinal steered her to the door, ensuring she didn’t trip over herself and playfully nudged her outside.

Addeline tiptoed off the bus, her steps light and purposeful as she made her way to Swiss. His eyes lit up with amusement the moment he saw her, and he couldn't help but laugh softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"What?" she asked, her own laughter bubbling up in response to his.

"Nothing," Swiss replied, his voice tinged with humor. They walked side by side, the night air cool around them. "You uh... doing some cosplay tonight or...?" he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Addeline felt her cheeks flush, realizing he was referring to the face paint that Papa had transferred onto her.

"Tell me," The ghoul continued, his tone playful, "Is the old man any good?"

Addeline turned sharply to look at him, her initial embarrassment melting away as she saw his wide grin. She couldn't help but smile back. "None of your business," she retorted, grabbing his hand with a playful defiance. She flipped his large hand over and began to write her number into his palm, the ink standing out starkly against his skin. "Make sure Papa Emeritus gets this, please."

Swiss nodded, a smirk playing on his lips as he recoiled his hand into his abdomen. "Will do, Miss Addy. Stay safe now." His voice was warm, a hint of affection beneath the teasing.

"Oh, I'm supposed to get a crew badge from you."

"Take mine," he said, pulling a small card out of his pocket and handing it to her. "Be careful with it."

She accepted the badge from the man and began to walk away, a smile spreading across her face as she reflected on how the night's events had unfolded.

Swiss turned to walk back toward the bus, his footsteps echoing softly in the night. He glanced back once, just in time to see Addeline disappearing from his sight, her figure blending into the shadows. A small smile lingered on his lips as he thought about their playful exchange.

He entered the tour bus and sat down at a small table where Papa Emeritus was sitting. The table was cluttered with papers and empty soda bottles. Copia looked up, his eyes curious, "Did you get it?"

Swiss nodded, a smirk on his face as he opened his palm to reveal the number. "Mission accomplished," he said with a wink. "Maybe I'll call her."

Papa grabbed the ghoul's hand so forcefully that it faltered. "Give me that," he bit out, his tone sharp as he began to copy the number onto a piece of paper.

The ghoul winced slightly but couldn't help the grin spreading across his face. "Easy there, Papa. It's just a number," he teased, watching as Papa meticulously wrote down each digit.

Copia pinched the bridge of his nose as though he had a headache. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, and he let out a deep sigh, “She’ll be meeting us at the Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion. Be on the look out for her when we arrive there.”

He was hopeful about the future but apprehensive at the same time. Is she the one? He wondered to himself. Only time would reveal the answer.

*

Addy stumbled out of view to find her friend Ellie waiting for her inside the venue, sipping on a drink. "Well, there you are," she said with some annoyance. "So, are you going to tell me what happened or am I going to have to guess?"

Like a drunken bar goer, Addy sloppily sat down next to her friend, giggling so hard that she couldn't breathe.

"Addy, what is it?" Ellie began to chuckle at her friend's silly behavior. "Oh my God. I know that look. You got laid, didn't you? He fucked you!"

Addy sucked in both of her lips and let a contorted smile creep up her face as her eyes looked to the ceiling.

Ellie pushed her friend, sending her out of the chair and onto the floor. "You did! You fucked him! Oh my God!"

Addy was laughing hysterically, trying to pick herself up from off the ground. "Ellie, you won't believe this."

"Tell me!"

"We, you and me, are going to meet them at the next concert."

Ellie spit out her drink and slammed it onto the table. "Addeline, don't fuck with me. It's not nice. Are you fucking with me?"

Addy continued to laugh as Ellie struggled to process the information. "WE'RE MEETING THEM AT THE NEXT SHOW?" She was yelling now.

"Yes, Ellie! Stop yelling, my God."

Ellie collected herself and her belongings and placed a hand around her friend. "You might be getting that big break, Adds."

"I think he just wants to play around. He said touring made him lonely."

"So you're his temporary fuck buddy."

"Ellie, you are so crude."

"That's why you love me, Adds. Admit it."

"I do love you," the woman admitted, helping her tipsy friend back to their car. The show was over for the night, but the adventure was only beginning.

*

Papa could hardly wait to call sister that night, his fingers fumbling over the numbers on his phone, "Good evening, Sister,” he greeted her, “I hope it isn’t too late.”

"Hello, my little Cardi. How is everything? Just a few more shows now!"

"Yes, yes and it will be time to come home,” the man responded, relieved to hear the words.

“Will you be coming home alone?"

He was excited to tell Sister he finally found somebody he thought he could bring back home with him, “Ah, yes, I did meet a young lady.”

"Oh? Do tell me more."

"Yes, well... I haven't told her everything. But she's willing to accompany me for the rest of the tour."

"Cardi," there was some hesitation in Sister’s voice, "Cardi you must give her all the details. How do you know you haven't found some groupie that just wants to tag along? We need prime mover material."

"She does not seem like a groupie, Sister," Copia reassured, "She seems very genuine, and I just don't want to scare her off. I'm going to tell her at the end of the tour."

"That just won't do!" the woman disapproved, "Listen. What if you wait until the end of the tour and you tell her, and she says no? You have six more shows. You need to use that time wisely to find somebody else if she won't agree to our stipulations—I mean, if she doesn’t agree to give you children."

The Cardinal had not thought about it that way. He was so tired of searching for someone he figured if she said no, he would just give up the hunt.

“Do I need to remind you of what’s at stake here?” Sister hissed.

"Yes, alright. Of course you are right, Sister. I will tell her.”

Even though the Cardinal agreed to explain the whole ordeal to his new companion he wasn’t quite sure if it was the best approach. He couldn't shake the feeling that asking her to be his prime mover would come off as anything but romantic. The notion felt almost cult-like, with an intensity that was sure to send her running. The thought alone made him shudder, imagining her wide-eyed fear and the inevitable retreat. “No,” he thought. Sister might be angry should things fall apart but he needed more time with the woman. He needed to know her longer than one night before asking her to sacrifice her life, her children, and her body for his livelihood. He would do this his way.

[the-traveling-poet]

hello!

not a request, but i just came here to tell u i hope everything gets easier for u. during your hiatus i was so tempted to send in an ask to check up on u (i really love ur content and u seem like such a genuinely nice and kind person), but i guessed its a hiatus for a reason, so i didnt want to bother. i hope uk ure really appreciated, and i really did miss seeing u on my dash! and never stop doing what u do. im sure things will look up for u soon. i understand its hard, but it wont be like this forever. goodluck with everything🫂❤️

and, and...i cant wait enough for the rose honestly, ive read each chapter enough times to recite them.

anon i cant describe with words in the english language how much this means to me, especially after waking up on 2hrs of sleep last night and currently feeling like death from sinus infection/bronchitis. i cant- thank you so so much, you literally made my whole week cause imma be thinking abt this constantly 😭

never be afraid to reach out at any time! i love interacting with y’all sm, it makes me feel appreciated lol.

and tbh you’re so right abt that. things have been shitty for a loooong ass time now but through it all i’ve found that; that’s life man. everything’s shitty. and that made me realize back in 2022 i should appreciate all the small things i’ve got going on so so much more. thank you for making me remember that today🤎 and i sincerely hope you’re doing well on your end of the screen ml!!

and omf i’m so glad you’re enjoying The Rose??? literally it’s my baby at this point even if i haven’t expended on it as fast as i first planned to. ahh that makes me so happy someone other than myself is enjoying it!!! i have chapter 5 almost ready to publish on wattpad, but really need to update my tumblr chapters lol.

sorry for ranting on and on lol but pls you made my day thank you sm 🥺🤎🤎

[steamberrystudio]

ive only had quill for a chapter and half but im already in love with him????

🤣🤣

It is very hard to be suspicious of someone who expends emotional energy being annoyed at adverbs.

[goldrushzukka]

How do you come up with titles for your fics and chapters?

15. How do you come up with titles for fics/chapters?

for fic titles i almost always use song lyrics. it's just easier than coming up with something snappy on my own, id prefer to expend that energy on the actual writing. plus it lets me sing a little song in my head every time i think about the fic. half the reason i started shortening to aidays was bc that line in treacherous is so long.

as for chapter titles, ive only ever done that twice, both within aidays. chapter 4 (bonus zuko pov chapter) got the title of "weekend at momo's" as a reference to the weekend at bobby's episode of supernatural where we see an alternate pov, which itself is a reference to the movie weekend at bernie's. chapter 8 is titled "in a car with a beautiful boy" in reference to the richard siken poem you are jeff, where that line continues "you're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you" which is the thesis of the chapter.

[lostandfoundbook]

Chapter 25

Read it on AO3

Read it on Wattpad

When Alexandria woke up, she noticed she was alone. The light casting through the windows was minimal as the sun hadn't reached it's peak yet, and most of the buildings blocked it's view from entering the massive hotel. She ran her hand through her hand and attempted to detangle it as best she could before standing up and taking her IV all the way across the room.

She made her way into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. She had made it a habit of doing this, and the vanity in her bedroom wouldn't do her justice. She needed a full body view of what was happening. She had been getting better meals since she got transferred, and she noticed her curves were slowly being withered away at.

She needed to work out once she got out of this hospital bed. She found the hairbrush on the counter next to the sink and ran it through whatever knots were leftover in her hair from her finger-brushing earlier. It 'clunked' and ripped as she tugged away at her hair, disregarding any notion that she was supposed to be delicate in this situation. 

A couple thoughts ran through her head as she did this. One, was she going to be able to get back into performing soon? That was always where her brain went after a long haul of resting. She had all this energy brimming at her finger tips and nothing to do with it, and it just wanted to be free. She needed to release it into the world somehow, however it's possible. 

She let the air in her lungs rush past her lips as a sigh escaped. She looked tired still, but the bruising around her face was doing much better today. The previous color of amber and Arabian gold bruising had slowly turned into the light colors of brown and squash orange with the tiniest hints of yellow spanning across the bridge of her nose and under her eyes. 

She rubbed her hand across her bandage on her chest and wondered when she would get her stitches removed. In a week? A couple months? How long was she to be confined to one locations? Restricted to specific movements? How long would she be a prisoner in her own body with her mind bursting full of potential? She didn't have an answer to any of these, and it stressed her out.

She cranked her neck side to side in an attempt to crack her neck. Her entire body felt stiff, and she could really use a massage. It sounded like somebody placed rocks in her shoulders as she stretched them out and wriggled underneath herself to get the pressure to release. She eventually stopped and made her way back into the bedroom. 

Not much happened in her day to day life. She woke up; got dressed; brushed her teeth and hair; washed her face; do make up depending on the day; took her medicine; did PT; got back in bed; watched TV all day; wrote in her journal; wrote poetry; and so many other things to pass the time. There was nothing to do all day, but at least she was free from the re-runs from the hospital channels. 

A knock was placed on her door and her head tilted up as Avery made her way into the room. "Hey, girl! How have you been doing since we last talked?" her voice was smooth and welcoming, like it beckoned Alex to come closer and listen. She thought about the last conversation they had, and how emotionally charged it was. 

Alex let a smile draw across her face. "I'm doing better, now. Thank you for talking with me. I really appreciate you being there." Avery shut the door behind her as she stepped inside and made her way across the distance to sit at the stool at the end of Alex's bed. "Of course! I'll always be there for you. I want you to know that people are always looking out for you. Literally. We've had security upped massively since the attack."

Alex's lips formed a line. She didn't like the idea of Oliver expending anymore resources on her than necessary, and upping security sounded... unnecessary. Everette was in custody. He couldn't hurt her anymore. Who else was Oliver worried about? "Well, I don't know if I really need that, you know what I mean?" 

Avery paused. "There was no one downstairs, Alex. They were all busy. I don't even know what they were doing. I don't know why they weren't at the front door. A lot of people got fired, and we're training a lot of new people. I do think its needed." She had a look of seriousness washed over her face. Alex nodded as she spoke. "I know. I was there."

The ginger girl stiffened at Alex's reply. "I'm sorry.. I didn't mean it like that.." a look of regret was pasted onto her face, and it made Alex cringe. "I know, I'm sorry. I just mean... I get it. I just think it's going to restrict me a lot." Alex tore away at her cuticles as she talked. She really needed a mani-pedi, pronto. "I don't like the idea of being controlled all the time." she finished and looked at her bedsheets. 

They were a tan-ish white color, and for some reason, she was really interested in them. It was all she could do to not focus on the conversation at hand. It felt too heavy, too serious, and something like she really had to commit her words towards. She wasn't ready for that. 

"I get that, love. But it's for everyone's safety, not just yours. It also helps the patrons here, as well as the guests showing up to the event next week." Avery spoke. She was wearing a white button up shirt with two of the top buttons undone. Comfortable, but still classy. On her legs she dawned a black pencil skirt with a pair of black square heel shoes. She looked pretty.

Her pair was pulled into a bun, and she had two strands of hair falling out, framing her face. She also wore a pair of glasses, likely for reading, because she didn't wear them often. She must have been busy working before this. 

Alex get excited at the words spoken to her, however. "What kind of event if Oliver putting on? Am I allowed to go?" Her barrage of questions was met with a smile across the ginger girls face. "Of course you can go. You'll probably be off your IV by then." Her voice was still filled with sugar and sweets, and it made Alex feel like she could really connect with her. "I will?" The blonde questioned out.

"Yes. They're talking about getting it out this week, so you should be fine to go a red carpet next week if you want. You can stay in the background and avoid questions, or you could use it as your time to take control of the narrative like you've been talking about. Whichever is easiest for you." 

Alex let the thought settle in her stomach. She would be off of the morphine in a week, and will likely be placed on ibuprofen after that. She knew it would be a big adjustment with her injury and with her process of getting sober, but it's something she had to do if she wanted to get back to normal. 

And, dear god, did she want to get back to normal. It was like a fire was lit within her lungs and she couldn't breath properly. She felt constrained in shackles and every time she tried to run or scream out, nothing happened. Her legs were made of jelly and her voice was stolen away. She was stuck, and she knew she was. She was a rabid animal pacing her cage back and forth daily, plotting her inevitable escape, and her escape would be this event.

"I'm definitely going, there's no question about that. The real question would be how long I stay for. It's going to be my first time getting out of this room and I want it to be a big deal!" Alex felt the words fall out of her mouth as if they weren't her own. She hadn't meant to be that honest about feeling trapped, but she didn't care. Maybe if other people picked up on it, they'd save her from this mess she was in.

Avery didn't even address her statement. "Listen, Al, It's going to be great. It's promoting 'Big Feelings' and Oliver has taken a bunch of submissions and ideas for this play that were submitted by the actors. It's really special and I think it's going to be a hit. Oliver doesn't necessarily agree, but..."

She was excited at the thought. Alex hadn't gotten the chance to just sit down and watch a good musical in a long time. She had been so busy with her album, theatre, and with Everette-- she never had the time to stop and smell the roses. She felt her muscles relax as she melted into the bed. "Yeah. I'm really glad I get to see this one live. Oliver is going to Benji's musical tomorrow and he's gonna FaceTime me, so I wont be missing everything."

Avery seemed to perk up at her comment, placing both on her hands on the bed. "That's really nice of him! You know, he doesn't like it when record performances, so this is a really big deal for him! I think it's really cute."

Cute? Had other people caught on to the little fling happening between them? "Yeah! I thought so, as well." Alex replied. She felt like she could trust Avery with her thoughts, like if she divulged them, they'd stay here in this room. It felt safe between the two. "I really like him, you know?" Alex added on and looked up towards the ceiling. 

It was still early in the morning, and the sun was making its way into her bedroom by this point. It's golden hues bathed over the room and left a yellow glow over everything. It felt magical, like the moment was picked out of her childhood and replayed over again. Something about the way Avery's face twisted into a grin made her own stomach flip into butterflies.

"He talks a lot about you.. like, a lot. I think he likes you, too."

The rest of the day seemed to fly past quickly as 8am slowly turned into 9am, and then 10am. The golden glow of the room seemed to even out into the regular daily lighting of the sun, and Alex could see as it twinkles through her windows. Avery made her way out of the room around 9:30, and Alex was left to her lonesome again. Currently she was doing PT.

She had gotten better at it. She'd gotten into a groove of her reps, the pace-walk-pace-squat method she had figured out to get herself back into working order. It was basically everything she had been taught during PT, she just combined it all together, but she was getting bored. There was only so many reps you can do before you get worn out.

She made her way back over to her bed and sat her IV bag next to it before flopping face first into the bedsheets and pillows. It was an attack of velvet and fleece, and she could feel the comfort envelope her as she relaxed into it. She turned over to face the ceiling, and stared out, lost in thought. What was she supposed to be doing? Just sitting here all day? For weeks?

It was torture. It made her want to claw her skin away from her body to try to find release. It was like something was trapped inside of her, and the only way to get it out was by kicking, screaming, and biting her way through. It felt desperate and needy, and the only thing she could think to do to subside it was weed.

But currently, she was on a break, she told herself. It wasn't good for her lungs. It made her paranoid, and she dissociated when she smoked. These were all the reasons she told herself she didn't need it. She'd never admit to herself that the real reason was because of Everette. Mentally, she tied it to him, and it grasped onto her body like a clingy child. 

She fought hard to suppress the memories of all the times he had gotten her hook on something new. Something foreign to her, but she trusted him. She shouldn't have trusted him. She knew it was all one big mistake, and she wanted to do anything she could to correct it. She fought internally with herself about it.

Weed, good. Weed, bad. Weed, good? Weed, Bad? What's happening in her brain. It fluttered back and forth as she argued, eventually stopping the turmoil by slapping her hands against the bed and sitting up straight. She wanted to do something. Anything. She sought purchase across the bedsheets as she scrambled her hands across the bed and found the laptops plastic cover beneath her fingertips. 

She slid the screen open and scrolled around through her social media before getting back on track and pulling up her voice notes. She wanted to practice something, and get it out of her head before it disappeared. She hit record on the voice notes and started doing a couple scales before finally moving onto the verse in her head.

'Calling them incompetent 'cause I might need control, Recovering perfectionist, I'm learning to let go'

She could imagine the growl in the background behind her voice as she said it. It's how she felt. Releasing control to the universe and letting it to whatever it does. It felt extremely restless, and a real hair pulling process. Every piece of her screamed that it was wrong, she was supposed to be the one who was supreme control over her life.

But currently, she had to let that go. She couldn't control a stab wound and she couldn't control Everette. The only person she can control is herself, and it was one of the hardest things she had to do. To try to accept what happened to her, and move on from it. It felt impossible. It was a constant living nightmare that she couldn't wake up from no matter how hard she tried. 

She recorded a few more words that popped into her head before she stopped recording and pulled the laptop closer to her lap. She pulled up her notes on her iCloud and started to write out some of what she was thinking. She wanted to make some sort of a post on social media, and add a vague reference to the song. 

She knew she would write it. She'd jot it down slowly over the course of a week before she'll have people haul the musical equipment into her room so she can perfect it. She could imagine this song sung over a guitar, with a nice alt beat to her. Something in her had changed recently, and maybe it was just the life altering event she went through, but she felt like she was truly in a new era.

That was why it felt so crushing that she couldn't do anything with it. She couldn't record any visualizers or music videos, and she couldn't do any big red carpet events for it. All the things she had planned previous were taken away, and left before her was nothing, and copious amounts of time to think. 

Thinking about her life, thinking about her past, and thinking about her future. It was her future that scared her the most. She didn't normally stop to think about what was happening next, but after what happened, she found that she couldn't live in the moment anymore. Another thing stolen from her. 

She was stuck thinking about what will be, not what could have been. She didn't care what could have been. Alex almost died. She did die, she told herself. She didn't have time to sit there wondering about all the missed opportunities anymore, and she couldn't focus on the mistakes she made. It felt like they were all so small in comparison to everything else that could one day happen. 

The media events, and press releases. The red carpets, and gala's. The parties, and the people she'd go with. The music she would one day release, and the art that would one day follow it. The relationships she will form with people, and the distances she will go. That's where her mind laid. It rested in the future, in what could one day be a reality if she just tried hard enough. 

She'd have many appointments in the future, and she knew that limited her to the hotel in some sense. She'd always have to stay home for a certain period of time, likely a few months. It'd be two more week of stitches until they get removed, and then Alex wouldn't be limited in her range of motion. She'd still have to be careful, but nothing was stopping her. In one week, she'd be off of the drugs. She could well and truly get clean.

As she was thinking about this, she saw the lights under her doors get darker as if someone were standing here, and then a knock was placed at the door. It's something she never really thought about before, somebody knocking at her door, but currently it filled her with copious amounts of joy. There was nothing stopping her from interacting with people the way she craved. 

Oliver slowly made his way into the room holding a couple of books in one arm, and a plate of food in his other hand. "I brought you stuff" he said out as he meandered over to the couch, sitting down. "Wow, thanks." Alex replied, standing up from her position in the bed. She swung her legs over the soft plush blankets and pushed herself to stand. 

She grabbed ahold of her IV cart and dragged it along with her. "You got me books? I've got a lot of books upstairs." She said out as she approached the man and sat down. He shook his head in amusement before handing her the plate of food. "Eat" 

His eyes had more of a spark to them today. They looked more lively, and less depressed. He seemed happy. The bags under his eyes had worn away from sleep and he was dawned in his usual white button up shirt and tie, with a pair of black pants. Alex took the plate from him and eyed it up. "It's a sandwich. You like sandwiches. Eat it."

She raised an eyebrow at him before taking a bite. It was turkey and swiss with lettuce, and the crust had been removed. It was a simple act of kindness that Alex appreciated. It tasted good and she could feel the leafy greens turning to energy as she swallowed. "There. Happy?"

He nodded in return. "Yes. Now look at these books. They're by a writer I really enjoy and I figured you haven't read any of the ones up there, so they must really suck." He had a sense of joy in his voice as he spoke out, displaying the different book covers as he did so. "That aren't bad, they're just autobiographies and that isn't really my style. I like something with substance." 

Oliver lifted a blue book with yellow wording across it. It said 'When The Days Meet The Night' and it had an author on the title that she didn't recognize. "This one has substance. I mean, they all do, but this ones really lore heavy. You would probably like it." He handed it over to the girl before picking up a different book. "This one is a romance genre which isn't really my taste, but Waverly used to love them"

This was the first time Oliver had mentioned his fiancée to Alex since they had been out to dinner that one night. She grabbed the book and analyzed the cover of it. It was a cartoon art style with two people on the front. There were lines dotted all around them, reminiscent of string theory. She held the book between her hands firmly.

"I'll read them" Alex said out, meeting Oliver's eyes as she did so. It was a passionate moment between the two, and she could feel it in the air. It felt sweet and sugary, but different from the way it is with Avery. It was more carefree and effortless, like there was no question about it. It was beautiful to Alex, and she savored every moment. "Good" Oliver replied. "They're good books."

Alex let the silence fall between the two for a moment. She loved whenever this happened. It was a space for her and Oliver to just exist with each other in peace, with no interruptions coming their way. Nobody broke the silence this time, just a soft gaze between the two. It lasted for minutes before one of them looked away, but Alex couldn't tell who because she was busy lost in her thought.

Oliver was so willing to share a piece of his love life with her, so openly. It made her heart swell and she could feel a tingling in her stomach. The way he's willing to be open about Waverly was sweet, and he didn't have to do that. He could've shut Alex down that night, but he didn't. He also could've shut her down in the hospital, but she didn't. Alex thought it meant something.

There was a small piece of herself that told her that she couldn't allow herself to get close to him, but all the other pieces of her screamed for him. To hold him close, and inhale his scent. Be near him as much as possible. Alex wanted to be in his life, and she didn't know if he felt the same way.

[syrupspinner]

i defeated Fae Tactics

i love how many tactics games need to put "tactics" in their title. imagine that with any other genre.

so theres a genre of indie game i like to call "that ratatouille gif". i have attached it for your convenience

you know what i mean. Bloodstained, Yooka-Laylee, Bomb Rush Cyberfunk, Palworld, its a whole thing. this is a dangerous genre to classify things into, because theres a very thin line between "taking heavy inspiration" and "being a sequel". like, its easy to say that Paradise Killer is a Kill The Past game with that got sent to the wrong address in the morphogenetic field. theres the moon symbolism, the assassins, theres literally a silver case for gods sake. but i cant call it a ripoff because it brings so much unique to the table with the worldbuilding, presentation, and gameplay.

thats how i feel about Fae Tactics. when it first lit that spark, inspiring me to play it for as many hours as i could as many days as i could until i finished it, i felt my childhood. i remember one of the first video games i ever owned: final fantasy tactics a2 grimoire of the rift. i played the ass off of that game, expiring everthing you could do multiple times over. it inspired a lifelong respect for the tactical rpg in my bones, and Fae Tactics scratched an itch ive been feeling for a while

i dont want to give the impression that im nostalgia blind, thats not the case at all. comparing a trpg to final fantasy tactics (even what i consider the worst game in retrospect - man the law mechanic was a pain) is like comparing a fighing game to street fighter. remember that time capcom tried to sue someone who made a fighting game that stole too many mechanics and design elements from street fighter 2. the court said, paraphrased, "sf2 was so influential on the genre that MOST games have street fighter mechanics now. like, platformers with powerups arent ripping off mario, that just how platformers work now." yeah thats what fft did too.

what im saying is, the game takes the fundamentals of the genre as estalished by its best examples, and builds on them in unique and engaging ways. monsters have a random chance of dropping cards, which lets you equip them as summons for the next battle. its great to have more experimental low-stakes party members. instead of focusing all your valuable main character slots on healers if youre going into a heavy damage fight, you can just bring a bunch of water summons to power through it and support your glass cannons until they end the fight pronto. or, you can have a lot of ranged summons that suppliment your tankier party members; or expendable summons to distract enemies while you buff your party. this is a huge strength of any tactical game - letting you stratagize in a way that is functional to your playstyle.

something id like to note is that there are tons of mechanics, but i only felt overwhelmed at the very beginning. by fight, like, three? i was totally in sync with the games tools and how to use em. this is tough. i remember by playthrough of zanki zero, where i got so overwhelmed by shikabane and character relationship gene splicing and the crafting mechanic and the cloning and the aging and the attack windup and those stupid tentacle attacks that i just fizzled out and gave up trying to comprehend stuff (until chapter six, but im getting distracted). i never saw a new mechanic in Fae Tactics that made me think "whats the point? im not doing this". instead, i was always interested in how i can use this new element to enhance my gameplay. its that classic theory of Get To vs. Have to. i never had to do the cooking minigame every time i slept - i got to play a game where i boosted my partys stats.

so how about the story? i think it was pretty good! each continent that you can explore has its own little isolated plot, and while it all connects in the end, i was worried it would fall into the same trap that i felt saints row 2 did. it didnt feel like you had a gang, it felt like you had 3 friends who all did their own thing and you helped. i think this is managed in the most effective yet realistic way - have peony as the center of the communication because its just her personality. shes doing the talking because shes just a friendly person with leadership skills. also like 1/3 of her party cant talk. the only hurdle then is making everyone feel too isolated - i wont lie, there are shades of that, but i think letting the characters relax in the background if they arent immediately relevant to a scene is a good compromise of this. like, your dog chico doesnt always show up in cutscenes unless they have a weapon upgrade or something. thats fine, cuz like, theyre a dog. itd waste everyones time if everyone chimed in every time anything happened. so its not like gat is inexplicably uninterested in the non-ronin gangs, its just that characters are allowed to be offstage if they dont have any lines. it really helps the group feel more cohesive and friendly, and in general it feels less like oure going on mission sidequests waiting for the area to clean and instead youre going on a real ass adventure

also, if i can be candid, matilda is one of the most badass characters ive ever seen. i love how her intro quest brings so much validity to the scrap youve been collecting so far as more than just "upgrade points". it really builds up peonys compassion and heroism when she puts in that much work to save the life of a stranger, and the time limit adds so much urgency while still being very generous, at least to my collectathon playstyle. finally i just love her character conceptually. shes a fairy that esentially rides her own iron lung like a mecha. the fact that shes lowkey the best ranged fighter in the game doesnt hurt.

closing thoughts. i was insane about this game when i first played it. like, i cannot bring myself to play anything else because im so enraptured about this game. im talking "oh yeah i guess i havent had a meal today" at midnight. thats how you know that youve got a very special game. also that i am very autistic.

[otherworldsjt]

Death's Fury Chapter IV: PRP (Pt.2)

"Trik, no. I am 100% organic. If I weren't, I'm sure you'd know by now." I couldn't allow him to ask me something that stupid. How can he be so informative about most things yet gullible to his own foolish ideas?

"Right. Right," he replied.

"Still, do you by chance possess one of these?" A small space on Trik's chest began to open, revealing three crystals – each the size of a pen – floating, emitting a green light. They were beautiful and looked familiar somehow. They kind of looked like...

"Oh, wait!" I reached inside my spatial bag, "Just a sec...I think...I might..."

After scrambling in my bag, I finally pulled it out. It was a necklace with a crystal pendant my mom had given me before we left—the same kind of crystal inside Trik, except smaller and transparent.

"Like this right," I said, showing the necklace to him.

"Yeah...where'd you get this?" Trik asked, taking the necklace.

"My mom, she gave it to me before I left. She said it'll protect me. It's the same as the ones inside you, isn't it?"

"Somewhat," Trik replied, scanning the crystal. "You're familiar with rupture prisms, right?"

"Yeah, they were lined within the walls of the DIM room back home; they prevented me from using spirit manipulation during certain portions of my training. I never actually saw one before receiving the necklace, though. Just knew a little about their purpose during my training."

Trik shook his head in disbelief.

"Negating others' spirit energy is what it's commonly used for now, but what makes them truly special is when gathered in large quantities, they can absorb the most immense energy around it and disrupt all other energy. So, for example, in the room you mentioned, your spirit energy was disrupted, meaning–"

"Meaning there was a larger energy source inside the room beside mine or anyone else who entered the room," I finished. "...The lights. They were, at first, way too bright – blindingly so – but quickly dimmed to normal brightness. The crystals absorbed the light."

"Right, and in small quantities, and with the right preparations, it'll steadily absorb a little of the user's spirit energy, creating a space around that person that greatly weakens other forms of energy that enter it. Energy such as a Primordial's spirit energy, for example. This, however," Trik held out the crystal for me to take back, "is a pure, authentic rupture prism and is very rare, unlike the ones embedded in me, which were manufactured. It also doesn't have the flaw of just taking whatever energy's around it and causing undiscriminating negations. Pure rupture prisms must be activated by flooding it with the user's spirit energy; the more you flood it, the larger the disruption field becomes. Once the crystal has your spirit energy, it'll take 12 hours before it's depleted. It's this process scientists tried to recreate with the manufactured crystals but failed. Instead, the crystals they created continuously absorb and disrupt the energies around it, so organic creatures can't utilize them as effectively as technological beings – such as myself – who have near-infinite power sources."

"So, it won't just absorb all of my strength if I keep it around my neck?" I asked warily.

"No, you have to focus and charge it with your spirit energy to activate it. Once it's activated, you're good for 12 hours or until you decide to reabsorb the energy you expended. Oh, and don't worry, once it's activated, it'll recognize your energy signature so you can still use your spirit energy freely without it being negated." Trik closed the patch on his chest, concealing the crystals.

"Oh, okay... But wait, if your crystals are constantly absorbing the most immense energy and negating anything weaker, how were you going to break the hold of Death's spirit energy just now? If I understand this correctly, you'd have to have a larger energy source for the crystals to disrupt it. You have an infinite energy source but not necessarily a large one."

Trik smiled.

"I'm glad you were following along, Lisa. You're correct; my energy source is nearly infinite but not large. You see, my body is made from a special metallic alloy that, when completely encased, is capable of trapping energy that's already inside me. There's also a removable cover made of the same alloy, protecting the crystals. Once the cover's removed, the crystals continuously absorb the most immense energy inside my body. Even with the Primordial's invading spirit energy present, my energy core is the most immense within my body. All other energy around me is then severely weakened. I would have to open my chest panel, directly exposing the crystals to the Primordial's spirit energy, for the crystals to absorb his instead."

"Wow, I see why you're so expensive," I said, amazed. "Okay, so all I have to do is charge it with some of my energy. Sounds easy enough."

After placing the necklace around my neck, I clutched the crystal in my fists and concentrated on making my spirit energy active. Once it was, I willed a good proportion of it towards the crystal in hopes of "flooding" it, but nothing happened.

Feeling a little disappointed, I was about to ask Trik if I'd done anything wrong when the crystal abruptly lit and began sucking in a lot of my spirit energy. I could feel my energy pooling into the crystal – leaving me weaker but giving the crystal energy it needed to operate. Then it stopped just as suddenly as it began.

"Note to self," I said, bending over to catch my breath, "don't flood."

Trik hovered over while trying his best not to laugh.

"I didn't say throw half your energy at it," he chuckled. "But here, take a look. Fully charged and ready to go."

The crystal now had an aqua glow as it hung from my neck, the same aqua as my spirit energy. Makes sense, I mused. The crystals take on the color of the energy it absorbs.

"Now that we have protection, you ready to try entering again?" Trik asked.

"Yeah," I said, gathering myself, "let's give it another go."

We walked three-fourths of the field before approaching the edge of Death's spirit energy again, staying just out of reach. I'm pretty sure it could sense our presence since it was practically reaching out toward us like it wanted nothing more than to reclaim its escaped victims.

Some of the tendrils entered the dampening field my crystal emitted, and I could actually see the tendrils weaken. They didn't entirely disappear, but I could tell that touching them would have little to no effect on me now.

I sighed heavily.

"Here goes."

[orcelito]

Maybe part of what's wrong is that I'm holding myself to a higher standard than I did when I first started discacc. I have to be in the Right Brain Mode or else what I create isn't great & thus is not worth making

Absolutely due to the increased attention. Putting chapters out was much less intimidating when I had 20 subscribers as opposed to 400

[saltyladynightmare]

Jiliu AU Part 2

Beginning, Next, Masterlist

A/N

Warnings:

Blood, blood transfusions, allergic reactions, fake medical practice (I did my research, but google hates me. Also, I need science to Not Work for plot, so...), competent medic who is Not Panicking, bad personal care, implied nudity (?), the clones’ situation, mention of decommissioning (How would a normal person phrase that?), Kaminoans (who really are their own warning), ruthless misuse of the em-dash

The usual host of bad spelling and grammar errors.

Don’t do any of this at home folks. Kix is a professional. I very much am not.

I can finally close the blood loss tab on my browser. It will be another chapter before I can get rid of the Transfusion tab, though...

~~~~

The medbay was quiet. The loudest noises were the Vod’e who wheezed with every breath, or when someone twisted in their bed. The lights were dim to allow the patients to sleep while letting the medics on shift move around freely. Everything was calm, and clean, and not even close to mirroring Kix’s mental state.

He stared sightlessly at the durasteel floor between his blood and dirt smeared boots, elbows to knees, head in hands. If he had enough hair to grab he’d probably be pulling on it. As it was, he settled for digging the pads of his fingers into his scalp. Something hot and heavy was draped over his hunched shoulders, prickly against his neck and the gaps in his armor. Somehow, that weight made it both easier and harder to breathe.

Kix wondered if this was what resignation felt like.

It wasn’t defeat. Kix was well and truly familiar with what defeat felt like. He was a clone medic in a suicide company made of expendable clones, in an army of other clones owned by a Republic that didn’t care if they lived or died, only if they completed their missions. Defeat was a weight Kix kicked off with his blanket every morning before he rolled out of his berth.

This was...heavier. Draining.

He kept replaying the last seven hours in his head, trying to see where he went wrong, could’ve made a different choice.

It had been Kix, his unconscious General, his Captain, and two injured shinies on top of a sheer sided Pilar of Rock with no foreseeable back up. His General was bleeding out right in front of him, because of course the self sacrificing di’kut had run on a leg with a cut artery then proceeded to tear it further open when he landed wrong after an impossibly high jump carrying two entire troopers all by himself.

Kix had needed to preform field surgery to close up the artery with his depleted supplies. There was no way around it, the injury was too severe to simply slap a bacta patch on even if Kix had had a patch big enough to work. Even if he wasn’t half certain bacta didn’t work half as well for General Skywalker as it should.

By the time he had stitched the site shut, the General had lost too much blood. He was laying in a puddle of the stuff, not to mention however much was caked in his clothes and what he’d left behind when they were running.

His skin was as pale as anything Kix had ever seen, though perhaps that shouldn’t have been so surprising since the General did have a lighter skin tone then any of Kix’s vod’e. A quick check marked the General’s heart rate as weak, and way too fast. Slower then it had before he had passed out, but still not good. His skin was clammy.

Kix’s skin was clammy too, but that was fear-sweat, not blood loss. Why hadn’t he noticed that the General was injured? He was going to die—the thought was crushed before it can do more then trace claws of fear down his spine.

He needed an IV. Kix’s medpack didn’t have an IV bag of anything, much less ringer solution.

“Kix.” The Captain’s voice sliced through the buzz of Kix’s thoughts.

Kix’s eyes snapped up and collided with determined brown eyes. His update comes tumbling out of his mouth by route. “I’ve repaired the cut artery, treated the blaster burn with bacta, along with the scratches on his side. He’s lost too much blood, and is going into hypovolemic shock. He needs fluids.” Kix snatched up his scanner from where he’d dropped it to treat the General’s leg, and tapped the screen sharply with a semi-clean knuckle. “I don’t have any to give him.” The device beeped, and the screen showed it was till set to the default natborn setting. Kix ran the wand over the General’s body again, hoping against all sense of logic that this time, this time the thing would find some injury, internal bleeding, stab wound, something for him to treat.

Kix made himself stop. Breathe. Reassess.

General Skywalker had three injuries that the scanner and Ki’s hands had been able to find. All of them have been treated to the best of his ability. The General was dangerously low on blood. He needed fluids. Kix did not have fluids.

Where can Kix get fluids?

“Check in with me, vod.” The Captain ordered.

Kix’s eyes darted back to his eyes. Something clicked together deep down in Kix’s mind. A very very tiny part of his mind noted that something broke to make that possible. This was easily swept aside in favor of the crash of realization rattling through his body.

He shied away from the idea.

He didn’t know enough about blood transfusions. This could go horribly wrong. He only knew this was a thing because of one class, from the single mention made by the sole Mandalorian medic trainer he had, and the resulting eight minutes of research Kix done after.

Even as he thought this, his traitor brain pulled up everything he’d found in those measly eight minutes. Variables, risks, everything blared out at him in warning—there was a reason why blood transfusions are considered a primitive practice.

There was testing. Kix didn’t have any sort of lab with him; he didn’t even have a ph tester kit.

The General’s red blood cell markers match the Vod’e’s.

But the consequences of a bad blood transfusion—

Kix cut his thoughts off there. That way lead panic, and death.

But Rex is right there.

“I will do what I must to save who I can.”

Kix forced the words through his teeth, because he had a vow to keep, and he would follow through. “The General needs fluids.” Or he will die, he didn’t say. “The only fluids we have to give him—” just say it“—is our own.”

Rex had blood. He could spare some for their general, if he was so inclined. If he wasn’t, or if he was, and the General needed more, Kix could spare some.

Kix dismissed the possibility of ‘68 and ‘57 giving blood, because ‘68 was at risk of an infection with how his knee had been skinned then buried in mud, and ‘57 with how his forearm had been filleted with a dirty vibroblade wasn’t any better. Who knew what kind of contaminants they were carrying? Certainly not Kix.

He pushed that from his mind, and reached back into his pack to remove the coil of clear tubing meant for— not this. He will do what he must. Next came the needles. Rex watched silently.

Kix arranged the tube in his lap, and hammered the words that needed to be said together ruthlessly.

“Do you want to go first, or shall I?”

Rex was very still for a very long moment. Then he sighed, and started removing his left vambrace. “I’ll go. If he goes critical, it’d better if you have a clear head.”

Kix nodded sharply, and got to work. He cut the sleeve on the General’s left arm, then cut Rex’s blacks away. A quick bacta wipe, then the first needle went into the crook of Rex’s elbow. Kix moved the tubes until there aren’t any bubbles he can see, and cleaned the crease of General Skywalker’s elbow. He slid the needle in and taped it down.

Just until pick up came.

Within six minutes of Rex’s blood reaching the General’s, hives had formed around all three of his injuries. The three injuries Kix had treated with bacta. Bacta, Kix was eighty-four percent certain the General had a biological resistance to. The hives even showed where traces of the bacterial gel had clung to his gloved fingertips before being smeared onto the skin surrounding the injury he was treating.

General Skywalker is allergic to bacta. This fact was not in his medical file. It is not mentioned anywhere in the rather extensive list of injuries he had raked up over the last decade, or in any of the many, many doctor’s (Healers, Jedi called them healers) notes.

Kix wasn’t entirely certain why he expected anything else.

He makes short work of removing the allergen with a fresh wad of gauze and reached back into his nearly empty medpack. Thankfully, Kix had had the foresight to pack four hypo cartridges of antihistamine when he was putting his medpack together for this mission since the debriefing package on the local plant life included a fern he could name no less then eighteen Vod’e to be allergic to off the top of his head. Kix had, miraculously, not had the need to use any of them since his boots hit the ground. Partly because he had only been in range of a a squad of shinies, Rex, and the General, and possibly because the filters in their buckets had decided to do their job this mission. Which was good, because he would end up needing all four cartridges to keep his General from asphyxiating before pick up.

Kix gave the General the first dose of medication with a hypo to the neck, then checked his heart rate again. Slower then before, likely because the General had actually allowed himself to sleep when Kix had told him to, but still weak. His breathing was still shallow, if more regular.

There was... nothing else Kix could do.

He shared a look with Rex, before settling down at his general’s side. They had time.

Pick up had been a long time coming. Kix gave the General another hypo when the hives started spreading again. Rex had given enough blood that he had started to show symptoms of blood loss, so Kix was forced to transfer the needle to his own arm. He gave General Skywalker another dose of antihistamine.

Time passed, marked only by the changing clock on his HUD, the beat of his own heart in his ears, and when ‘57 went to drag ‘68 closer. The shinies settled on the other side of Rex, who was actually following orders and laying down to allow his blood loss weak body time to rest.

It wasn’t long before Kix started to feel the blood loss himself.

It took ‘57 jumping to his feet, waving his one uninjured arm wildly for Kix to notice that the gunship converging on their position. Rex, he notes with concern, had only sat up instead of getting to his feet. Too much blood. Kix added fluids for him to his ever growing list of things to do.

The gunship landed, the disruption from the stabilizers kicking up clumps of grass and long dead leaves from the sole tree clinging to the top of their Pillar. The door slides open and four Vod’e jump out. One of them, Kix saw, was bright enough to bring out a medpack and a stretcher. The red medic symbol on his spaulder said why.

Kix was on his feet before he could think. A tiny part of him took a sliver of energy to be very glad that the tube connecting his circulatory system to the General’s was long enough for him to do that without ripping anything out. The rest of him just called up the list he’d been making since the mission began, and started rattling off demands.

“You with the medpack, help me get the General on that stretcher. You,” he pointed at the Vod in the lead—who is thankfully not a shiny, small mercies— with his free arm, “help the Captain to the ship, then get a bag of ringer solution ready for him.” Kix pointed at ‘68, who ‘57 was helping to his feet. “He needs to stay off his leg. I need a bag of ringer solution for the General, asap.”

“Sir!” All four of them break to do as they were told.

The medic trotted up, and dropped to his knees. He situated the stretcher in front of him and started prepping the General for transfer. Kix paused for a moment, watching, to just take a moment to gather himself. Then he applied himself to getting the General packed up for pick up.

They are airborne within three minutes.

The moment General Skywalker was settled on the medical rack, Kix set about replacing the tube connecting their arms together with an IV of ringer solution. To the medic he said “Run a scan on him. He’s bleeding from somewhere and my scanner couldn’t find where it is.” He smacked a plaster onto his own elbow, and clamped his forearm to his bicep in hopes of staunching the blood flow.

The moment he had one of his hands free he turned to looking over the other three Vod’e he’s had with him. He checks the needle one of the others had stuck into Rex’s arm, the fluids he was attached to to check it was actually ringer solution. Rex endured his check over stoically.

Satisfied, Kix moved on to the shinies. He only paused long enough to check that the plaster had adhered to his needle puncture, before checking them over. ‘68’s knee was showing early signs of infection, so Kix gave him a hypo of antibacterial to hold him off, and handed him off to the Vod who had carried him onto the gunship. Kix rattled off instructions on how to change the bandages and which antibacterial gel to apply while he did a quick check on his work with ‘57’s hastily relocated elbow.

Kix was back at his general’s side just as the Vod’s scanner beeped.

The other medic didn’t even look up from his scanner as he read off the findings. “A blaster burn, cut and sutured artery that is no longer bleeding, some shallow cuts on his right flank. All of them had been treated with bacta, and all of them are showing signs of a bad allergic reaction. He has some minor bruising as well, and he may have strained his right elbow at some point. He’s running a fever of a hundred and one degrees, and has all of the symptoms of heavy blood loss, sir.” He tapped at the scanner’s screen, and continued. “The fluids will solve the blood loss, but he needs more antihistamines, and we need to bring his temperature down.”

Kix scowled. “Yes, except I’ve spent the last hour and fifteen minutes pouring over a liter of blood into him, and he still needs more blood.” That managed to drag the medic’s visor up to Kix’s. Kix made sure the Vod didn’t look away. “Something is wrong, trooper. Eventually fluids will be all the General has left if we don’t find out where it’s all going.”

The Vod stared at Kix, dumbfounded. His bucket jerked back and forth between him and the comatose General laid out between them. The next second the Vod yanked his vibroknife from his hip, and started cutting off all of the general’s clothing. Kix pulled out his own knife and set about helping.

They find nothing Kix wasn’t already aware of.

Even before they had arrived to the hanger of the Resolute, he and the still unnamed medic had restarted General Skywalker’s heart twice. Immediately after, on both occasions, he had dropped into shock. They managed to stabilize him each time, but only just.

The tingle of passing through the hanger shields washed over Kix as the pilot maneuvered the gunship to a landing. He ignored this in favor of checking his patient’s vitals again.

The General had been doing okay before, so why—

Kix glared at the man’s sleep slack face. Then his eyes slid to one of the Vod’e who had picked them up.

No. This won’t work.

Does Kix want to risk the General on something as mundane as logic? Something asked.

Kix ground his teeth together, eyes narrowing. It was probably a good thing he still had his bucket on; his vod’e didn’t need to see him like this. He looked back at his General. His eyes lingered on the sweat streaking through the dust that had gathered on his skin from their dash through the catacombs, planting the bombs that would hopefully— and had— end the battle. Stop the death, of only for today.

Kix made his call.

Kix gestured for the trooper who had helped the shinies onto the ship to get closer. “Come here, vod. What’s your CT number?” His other hand reached for a new IV line.

~~~~~

Kix had been replaying everything again and again in his head. One of the benefits of an eidetic memory. The replays would follow him to his dreams now, but he couldn’t do anything else. There was no one else to treat, and even if there were, every time Kix tried to focus his eyes back on the real world, he was seeing double. For that same reason, he also couldn’t do the small mountain of datawork that was doubtlessly piling at his desk.

Kix needed to sleep, eat, to take care of himself, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to push against the hot, prickly weight draped over his shoulders. Every time he tried to do more then think about it, it almost got heavier, near dragging him back to his hard, uncomfortable chair. Kix didn’t need much encouragement to stay put.

He was going to have to explain, in words, why he chose to give his General a blood transfusion. Why he kept giving him blood, even after he had access to all of the ringer solution one human man could hold in his body. The blood was obviously harming him, what with the one hundred and three point eight degree fever, and his resulting delirium. IV solutions don’t do that to patients. IV solutions are as neutral as anything possibly can be in the medical field.

They hadn’t been working.

So Kix went back to the thing that had been ‘sort of’ working. The blood that had been half killing him, half sustaining him, instead of the fluids that were letting him die.

Rex had given too much blood. If Kix’s calculations, done after they had gotten back on the Resolute, were correct, Rex had let Kix drain almost a liter of his blood into their dying General. It was too much. Kix himself had given about half a liter. That had been pushing it, and he wasn’t too sure how much of his current exhaustion was from the missing blood.

While the General hadn’t shown signs of improvement from all that blood, he had gotten worse when Kix had switched him over to the fluids. Almost as if he was still loosing blood, for all that the only other injuries they had been able to find was a slightly twisted knee that really only needed rest and an ice pack.

In the end, General Skywalker was given just over nine point three liters of blood from no less then nineteen Vod’e before he stabilized. Besides Rex, all gave a little under half a liter.

He had a high grade fever of one hundred and three point eight, delirium, excessive sweating, shallow breathing, and pale, clammy skin. High iron content in the blood to the point of being almost dangerous, an extremely high white blood cell count though they had no way to know if they were his cells or one of his donors’, more then a few inflamed organs, and hives. Hives anywhere bacta touched him, including the spot some bright soul had decided to test Kix’s ‘theory’. On top of it all, he was officially unconscious. The only reason none of them gave him painkillers to ease his rest is due to the promise he had extracted from Kix on his first pre-battle examination. The only reason.

By the time the small team of medics working on him had gotten him stable, Kix was numb to everything except the yawning void of fear pulling on his bones. A silence settled on them as they stood around their patient’s bed, staring.

Coric was the one to shatter it. “Well.” He peeled off the sanitary glove, and balled them up in a fist. Kix felt him turn to look at him. “There isn’t anything else we can do for him. The rest is up to him.”

Kix washed his hands on habit, then found himself sinking into a waiting chair at General Skywalker’s bedside. He’d had to feel around for the soap dispenser, and he wasn’t entirely certain how he’d found the chair after, but...it was nice, to be off his feet.

It had been...a few hours since then.

Kix had been reduced to trying to think of how he could have done more, done better. Absolutely nothing comes to mind. Considering the options he had at the time, a tiny corner of Kix’s mind was actually kind of amazed the General had survived to this point. All that meant, however, was that he would die a long, slow death from bad blood, instead of a relatively painless one from blood loss.

Kix couldn’t do more for him. It was up to Anakin Skywalker and his rather impressive will power to decide if he could overcome this. If he didn’t—well.

The 501st would be without a General once more, and Kix would be decommissioned for his failure. The Kiminoans would make sure of that. On the bright side, Kix wouldn’t have to worry about much of anything anymore, so there’s that. Another nice thing is that lethal injection is a very quick way to die. On the other hand, it meant he would be leaving his di’kut vod’e behind to look after themselves, and the most experienced medic after himself is Coric, who is only a first aid specialist.

Kix rubbed his face tiredly. The weight curled more around his shoulders, like a really half-hearted prickly hug.

The only thing Kix could do right then was wait, hope, and—maybe—pray in hopes that something greater then one exhausted medic would save his general when he cannot.

The door of the medbay opened, then closed. Quiet steps, with a deliberate toe smack with each impact, moved toward Kix’s position.

Kix could recognize those steps in any state of mind.

Jesse’s boots scuffed the durasteel flooring right in Kix’s line of sight. Kix noted with a mildly concerning level of apathy that his boots are much cleaner than Kix’s. Freshly cleaned, if his unreliable vision can be trusted on even this small thing. Kix was going to need to clean his own armor soon.

“Kix?”

Kix focused back on the world around him, unclear on when he’d zoned out. He found Jesse crouched in front of him. If Kix knew anything in that moment it was that Jesse had a worried expression on his face, even if his bucket hid it from view. Gloves hands hovered near Jesse’s chest plate, palms toward Kix like they wanted to grab hold of him.

Kix blinked at him. He should move, acknowledge that he had heard Jesse at the very least, but it didn’t seem like the message was leaving his skull much less reaching his muscles.

Jesse moved closer, but still made no move to actually touch him. Kix dropped his eyes to those hands, and waited.

“What do you need, Kix?”

Kix counted each breath in and out of his lungs. He held that question in his mind, and waited for an answer. He did not know what he needed but something in him probably did. It came.

He needed the war to end, brothers to stop dying. He needed a life long vacation someplace safe and comfortable. He needed his datawork to be done, preferably by someone else. He needed food, a shower, and a really long nap. He needed the General to be okay.

Jesse couldn’t help with most of that.

So Kix rolled his jaw until he felt it reconnect to his brain, and said what Jesse could help him with.

“Shower.” It was almost slurred beyond recognition, but it left his mouth, and that was as good as it was going to be right now. Kix let it pass. “Food.” That was clearer. He hesitated on the next bit, because he knows what he will find in his dreams, and it wasn’t going to be him saving General Skywalker’s life. Kix also knew that he would have to face the firing squad eventually. The question was whether or not he wanted to do it on his own terms with company, or when he inevitably collapsed.

Let it never be said Kix was a coward.

He sighed, and let his eyes slide closed. “Sleep.”

Jesse shuffled forward until his poleyns knocked into Kix’s greaves. “Will you accept my help with those things?” He asked softly.

Kix knew he wasn’t going to be talking for a while, so he did the easier thing and tilted his body to the side until he could free a hand to hold out in reply instead. Jesse gripped his bare hand in his own gloved one, and dragged Kix’s arm over his armored shoulders. This threw off the careful balance Kix had been keeping to avoid crashing to the floor, but Jesse was prepared for that. He shouldered Kix’s slightly bulkier mass, and hulled him up to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist. Jesse’s spaulder dug unpleasantly into Kix’s armpit, but it was keeping him from face planting, and Kix moved the discomfort so far down his priority list it fell off the end. He let himself sag against his side. Jesse swayed to absorb his weight.

He felt Jesse’s helmet move. “Where’s your bucket?”

Kix waited for the memory of where he’d put it come to him. It did not. He conveyed this to Jesse.

Jesse just squeezed his side. “Well, you can get it in the morning, or I can. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Jesse took a step and waited patiently for Kix to remember that he was supposed to move with him before taking the next. Sometime between one step and the hallway, the hot, prickly weight around Kix’s shoulder pulled away with a squeeze.

In what felt like half a lifetime and what was probably much less then that, Jesse half directed, half carried Kix’s dead weight through the medbay doors, away from his duties, and their dying General whom he could do nothing more for.

[cienie-isengardu]

The Development of Law and Zoro relationship: Wano, ...and Law Is Not Happy About That

<Part I: Before Meeting>> <<Part II: Sabaody Archipelago, The First Meeting>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard: The Alliance (A)__(B)>>  <<Part IV: Dressrosa, The Breaking Point (The Plan Failed)__ (Saving Law)__(Protecting Law)__ (Birdcage, Pica and Doflamingo)__ (Aftermath)>> <<Part V: Zou, The Kindred Spirits (Traveling Together)__(Searching for Nakama)__ (Reunion)__ (Ninja-Pirate-Mink-Samurai Alliance)__(The Last Moments before War)>>  Part VI: Wano, Against Emperors (The Untold Journey)__(Luffy & Zoro Means Troubles…)__(…and Law Is Not Happy About That)

The fight between Law and Hawkins was stopped; Law didn’t manage to eliminate the enemy nor prevent information leakage about alliance presence in Wano. He almost was run over by a speeding cart with stolen food (another “crime” against Orochi & Kaido, which Straw Hats committed in his absence). No wonder why Law was so pissed of at Zoro (chapter 918):

➽ Up to this point, Law never have been so openly angry at Roronoa, nor aggressive toward the other man. Now, Law vented all frustration and anger while Zoro kept silent… and maybe felt some embarrassment(?) about Trafalgar’s unusual outburst, considering bubble speech with three dots and “sweat drop” expressing Zoro’s reaction in a more visible way.

➽ Another interesting detail is how calmly Zoro endured Law’s angry rant. He simply let the other man scream at him, and even tolerated grabbing his kimono and invading his personal space. When it comes to scolding, Zoro reacts differently, depending on the seriousness of the situation and who is scolding him. He either fights back in such situations or doesn’t respond to angry rants and taunts. For example, if Sanji started screaming and pointing his faults, Zoro most likely wouldn’t be so tolerable because those two like to antagonize each other. Seems like Roronoa opted for the calm approach with Law. Maybe Zoro knew that Law was right and his anger was justified. Maybe he simply figured it will be better if Law got all the anger and stress out of him. Or maybe he was just taken by surprise by the sudden outburst? 

↪ In all fairness, I think he perfectly knew what Law’s reaction will be, especially considering this ambiguous frame:

At first it seems like Zoro talked about Kinemon, what honestly would make perfect sense. He already mentioned Kinemon when repeated samurai’s warning to Luffy but couldn’t really say his name in front of just met Kiku. At the same time, he could also talk about Law, because at this point he was familiar enough with the man to predict his angry reaction. Law seems to be prone to stress and he likes planning everything ahead and Zoro not sticking to plan (letting Luffy smash enemy) would definitely earn Law’s ire. Righteous so. Then what was the point of arguing with Trafalgar? Even more, when the man, despite stress and rage, doesn't hold on such emotions for too long. Which really seems like the best way to deal with a pissed off Heart Captain was just let him scream until he cooled down and adapted to the new situation.

➽ Because Zoro did not stop Luffy as he should - as Law hoped he would - Trafalgar was blaming Zoro for the whole situation, even though Luffy was as much guilty, charging into unknown without care for consequences. Zoro not once tried to excuse himself or Luffy, did nothing to stop Law’s outburst nor remind Law he wasn’t his captain (superior) thus he wasn’t obligated to listen. He simply let Law scream and blame him for the mess.

Anime expended this moment by actually giving Zoro a chance to explain to Law why he screwed so badly. Which literally was “I met Luffy” what immediately refocused Trafalgar’s anger from Zoro to solely Luffy:

This extended scene fits well with already existing Law’s personal experience from Dressrosa - the usually stoic and reliable Zoro will throw away rational thinking in the favor of Luffy’s whim and craziness. Monkey D. Luffy has that kind of effect on Roronoa.

Also, another funny thing anime did with that scene is when Law was scolding his fellow Supernova, Zoro was maintaining eye contact.

But when he was saying “sorry”, he was clearly looking to his left, instead at Law. Which makes the apology feeling insincere. Zoro wasn’t really that sorry about the mess but he said it, most likely to placate angry (stressed??) Law. Seems like Roronoa is bad at lying; not on Luffy’s level of bad, but still not really into telling lies.

Law most likely could tell Pirate Hunter wasn’t sorry at all, which explains grabbing Zoro’s kimono and screaming more at the other man’s face.

➽ Zoro’s patience and lack of response makes an interesting contrast to Law’s unusual aggressiveness. We may only wonder if Roronoa already had some experiences with such an outburst from the other Supernova. Once again, there is little to no information how their relationship was affected by the journey and situation in Wano, nor why Zoro was so indifferent while Law’s level of stress so high.

➽ Manga and anime versions of the scene give us valuable informations. One: Law was aware that Zoro promised to not cause trouble, like not fighting with samurais and Kaido’s men. That of course was a rational thing to ask of Zoro, because the man is too bloodthirsty for his own good and is always up for a good fight. The manga translation makes it look like Law personally witnessed Pirate Hunter swearing to not cause any trouble. Yet Law’s screaming sounds a bit confusing. On one hand, he knew Zoro A) became a wanted man and B) was supposed to be in Flower Capital. So it seems Law was informed about Zoro’s mission of pretending to be ronin. Whatever Kinemon initiated him from the start or after the wanted poster was made public, Law understood the danger of drawing the enemy's attention to the alliance. Which may be the reason why he was so mad at Zoro and referred to him by surname or called in his mind an idiot. On another, asking Zoro - a wanted man - why didn’t he stay in capital sounds, well, kinda stupid (and interestingly, the additional symbol of irritation was added to this specific question / bubble). Roronoa killed in broad daylight an important person (magistrate), and either killed or injured the magistrate's samurais, so it is not like Zoro could wander through the capital or any city without causing more problems. Of course, wandering directless did not help the alliance at all but it was still the best outcome. As a wanted man, Zoro could either stay in capitol and draw enemy’s attention to himself - and in result, endanger Franky, Robin and Usopp’s missions and even alliance’s presence in the Wano or wander through the wasteland in which was easier avoid unnecessary troubles and, in case of fight, hide dead bodies without increasing the vigilance of Beast Pirates or Orochi’s samurais. As a wanted man, Roronoa wasn’t really in position to come back to Kinemon because of possible pursuit - though he managed to wander into Kuri region, but that is more lack of direction sense than anything intentional, I guess. Unless this is why Law was the most angry? That Zoro came too close to their main secret base of operation? Anyway, Trafalgar for sure did not hold back and vented all his anger and frustration at still passive Zoro.

Soon, the group made it into Okobore Town and gave the stolen food to starving locals while Luffy brought the fresh water with himself. Straw Hat told the happy people “I’m Luffytaro! If anyone asks, you tell ‘em my name!” (chapter 918). For the first time Luffy also noticed Law - now much calmer than a moment ago. Law made clear, that what Luffy and Zoro did was ultimately an act of rebellion against Wano (Orochi and Kaido) to which Luffy responded he was “repaying the favor” to Tama, who fed him, once again getting into additional trouble just because someone gave him free food. The serious note disappeared right away, when Luffy started screaming at the starving people to not eat all meat without him:

➽ The meeting between Luffy and Law is drastically different from meeting of Law and Zoro. Like was mentioned, Trafalgar didn’t show any anger or frustration, so either screaming at Zoro calmed him down or he already gave up trying to reason with Monkey D. Luffy. Taking into account all previous adventures from Punk Hazard to Zou, what in universe happened through what? One or two months at best? Law’s resignation makes sense. Luffy wouldn’t care nor bother to apologize for the pulled stunt, while Zoro, well, didn’t care much either, but at least didn’t try to argue back.

➽ Once the serious talk was done and Luffy literally jumped after the meat, Zoro and Law shared the same reaction (visualed by bubble speech with three dots, though the “sweat drop” symbolising embarrassment(?) is only on Zoro’s part). Despite the previous intense moment, both men were again on good terms and even in agreement toward Luffy’s idiotic/childish behaviour.

The next time we see Zoro, Law and Luffy, Trafalgar kept his distance from everyone else. He stood the closest to Luffy yet with back turned to him. Was that sort of ostentatious expression of dissatisfaction or did he keep watch in case of an enemy's attack, hard to tell.

Luffy loudly declared his intention about Wano to Tama (“By the time we leave this country, it’ll be a place where you can eat as much as you want, every single day!!!”). With a sigh, Zoro noted how because of Luffy’s action, the enemy will come after them for real. Law did not take such a comment from Zoro kindly, because the man ignored(?) his own part in the mess.

➽ Surprisingly, Law still was angry more at Zoro than Luffy, who was the main culprit. But it may be just Zoro’s uncaring attitude that provokes Law so much.

➽ Despite the still fresh feeling of irritation, Law decided to focus at the best course of action - moving on to safest place. In this case, to the ruins of Oden’s Castle, in which Kinemon and the rest of the alliance stayed in hiding. 

The group said goodbye to Tama who was taken to home by Horselina (a former enemy-turned-into-her-loyal-servant thanks to Tama’s devil fruit powers). Like always, Law kept his distance from others (in manga on one frame, he kept close to Zoro, on another, to Luffy). In anime, between sharing food and saying goodbye to Tama, Trafalgar was shown usually close to Zoro, similar like he did on Zou:

At this point, there is something to ponder a bit about Law and his (lack of) interaction with people. Like in the scene above, does Law keep close to Zoro (or Luffy) because of their bond (trust?) alone or is that partially due to his minimal social skills? As in, he keeps close to people he at least knows and doesn’t make contact with strangers unless it’s necessary. Zoro and Law both have some asocial traits (seen especially in their tendency to isolating themselves from too large group), but in contrast, Zoro and Luffy were shown through the Wano arc to interact and even befriend the local people while Trafalgar was interacting only with his crew, Straw Hats, samurai group (extended of Shinobu person) - the people he already knew for some time. Law isn’t going out his way to meet new people (like Luffy) nor bonds with accidentally met people (like Zoro with Tonoyasu). It seems in Law’s nature to avoid interaction with strangers as much as possible. Which makes me wonder if that comes simply from his introverted nature, general distrust for people or maybe even some social awkwardness created by childhood trauma and growing up in criminal organisation (Donquixote Pirates)? Because Law’s way to interact with people he just met is either ignore them (seen above) or act in cool manners around them, like in Punk Hazard with Straw Hats…  but frankly, Straw Hats freaked him there on so many levels it really makes Law looks like social interaction is not his thing. 

This reflection actually comes close to another detail. Namely, Law’s general feeling about Straw Hats helping starved people. Because the locals were truly happy and expresses that just before the departure of Three Supernovas (chapter 919):

Law has strong opinions about pirates, it seems. And it comes from a man that admitted he doesn't like to kill but yeah, doing nice things for (poor) people makes him sick. Was he so annoyed by the cheering people, or did he simply didn’t know how to react to such situation so he went with a grumpy approach?

Law expressed a lot emotions; the outbursts of anger departs from the image of stoic captain but at the same it makes me think that Law must feel okay around Zoro to be so open about his frustration (and lack of control over situation?). At the same time, Zoro let him take out all anger on him without a word. But the most important thing, no matter how much Zoro’s screwed up, no matter how much Law’s screamed and accused and was unhappy about, it didn’t change their already estabilished relationship. Once the situation calmed down, Law again kept close to Zoro and shared the same opinion about Luffy’s antics and in general they were okay in each company. 

Next part: Separated Again

[fremedon]

Brickclub 3.3.7, “A Bit of Skirt,” and 3.3.8, “Marble Versus Granite”

I feel like I don’t have much to say here that @everyonewasabird hasn’t said in his writeups of these two chapters, so I’m just going to stick a pin in Marius’s internalization of the word ‘ingrate’ and the recurring image of a character turned to stone and write up what else I’ve got, since tomorrow we hit Almost Historic. (And we’re spending the rest of the week, and the next two, on the six chapters of 3.4, “The Friends of the ABC.”

Observations, in no particular order:

--We’re revisiting the notion of destructive curiosity--rapacious curiosity, even, in the way Gillenormand and Aunt Gillenormand pry into Marius’s affairs here. And I’m struck by how well Théodule comes off despite also getting drawn personally into discovering Marius’s secrets: “And no longer acting for someone else but out of personal curiosity, like dogs that hunt on their own account, he started to follow Marius.”

He even gets a dog metaphor! Those are never good! He literally stalks Marius on tip-toe, which is a hilarious image. But, like Fauchelevent, he satisfies his curiosity and doesn’t use what he’s learned--he doesn’t inform on Marius, for money and favor or for scandal-mongering.

--Théodule deals much better than any other member of the Gillenormand family with being proved wrong. He jumps to the same conclusion Gillenormand does--Aunt G feels “her conviction grow irresistably from that word ‘sweetheart’ delivered in almost exactly the same way by great-uncle and great-nephew”--but when he actually sees that Marius’s rendezvous has been with a grave...it weirds him out, a lot, but he does actually take this new information on board and modify his behavior accordingly. Good job, Théodule.

--The narrator is lying, or misdirecting more than he usually he does here: “[Théodule] came to Paris rarely, so rarely that Marius had never seen him. The cousins knew each other only by name.” Marius has never seen Théodule, at least not to put a name to him and remember him, but Théodule recognizes Marius perfectly well.

(I assume that Marius met Théodule years ago, when he was a child and Théodule was a teenager, and remembers Théodule as being a foot taller than him with bad skin and mismatched features. He has never made the connection to the handsome man of middling height who sometimes visits his aunt. And no one’s thought to introduce them, because of course Marius has met Théodule!)

--Marius speaks “stiffly, with eyes downcast.” Like Fantine, he noticeably avoids eye contact when under stress.

--Just before that:

Marius reddened slightly and replied, “It means I’m my father’s son.” Monsieur Gillenormand stopped laughing and said harshly, “I'm your father.”

The contrast between Gillenormand’s insistence on paternity and Valjean’s attempts to disavow his is sure...something.

--Priest imagery alert: “[Marius] was the priest who sees all his holy wafers thrown to the wind, the fakir who sees a passer-by spit on his idol.”

--Fatalité alert: “There are always these little accidents of fate that complicate domestic dramas. As a result, resentments increase although no additional wrongs may have been done.” In this case, Nicolette drops Marius’s locket on the dark staircase, and Marius assumes it’s been destroyed.

--T/V variation alert: Gillenormand, “[l]eft with a vast reserve of fury to expend and not knowing how to vent it,” addresses his daughter as vous for more than three months.

--I am fascinated by the convoluted entry we get into Volume III, the Paris half of the book, and its characters. We’ve taken our time getting into Volumes I and II, but our introduction to the characters was mostly packaged up into pretty discrete chunks: We had one book on the bishop, one on Valjean, a digression of one short chapter, and then followed Fantine as as our viewpoint character for the next three books. In Volume II, we had one book of Waterloo, ending with a glimpse of Thénardier and Pontmercy; then a brief, outside-POV look at Valjean; and then book III sketches Cosette’s world in two quick chapters on Montfermeil and the Thénardiers and stays in her POV until Valjean arrives, whereupon we rejoin him.

In Book III, I’ve been trying to follow what you would actually know of the characters when, on a first reading with no knowledge of the plot, and it’s wild. 

We get most of a book on gamins in general; one chapter of Gavroche’s intro, which is completely at odds with the character we’ll eventually get to know; a mention that the family that kicked him out (of their room in the Gorbeau House) is named Jondrette and that his mother loves his sisters, which is the first and so far the only clue we have to the Jondrettes’ identity; and, as the last two lines of book 1, “The cell next door was occupied by a very poor young man called Monsieur Marius. Let us explain who this Monsieur Marius was.”

...and then we jump into a whole book of eight chapters on Gillenormand. The last few lines of chapter 8 establishes that he has a grandson, still unnamed, and says “We shall return to this child”--which we do only after meeting the Ultra salons, then Georges, and then only toward the end of Georges’s chapter do we learn that his son is the aforementioned Marius. (And it takes all of Book IV, and the introductions of all of the Amis, to get Marius into the Gorbeau House.)

We talked a lot in Book I about the time it took us to properly meet Valjean, and all the outside viewpoints we get before we really get into his head, but compared to Marius’s introduction the book is *really direct* about Valjean. The narrative sneaks up on him as if he’s a cat we’re trying to pill, and I’m not sure why.

[estherruth-jonsatrash]

There are really still people who think Dany won’t do anything awful and will have a happy ending or at least a heroic death in the books?

Them: Dany would never hurt innocents!

The Meereenese Blot Essays:

Since the first book, Dany has been tormented by the innocent lives lost when she unleashes violence and war. Now, she has apparently resolved to stop letting all this bother her. Her new “fire and blood” approach just seems likely to lead to many more Astapors and thousands more Hazzeas. But in this chapter Dany seems prepared to write them off, as sad but necessary collateral damage of her embracing her true “dragon” self and who she was “made to be.” The dragons, and Dany’s own violent impulses, will no longer be chained. She has given into her greatest fear — herself.

[...]

But when you look past the unreliable narrator and POV-character bias, Martin’s aim becomes clear. The whole plotline is designed to maneuver Dany into a mental place where she’ll decide to sideline her concerns for innocent life, and take what she wants with fire and blood. Martin’s triumph is in handling this character development in such a natural and organic way. He gives Dany as much agency as he can — her hand is never truly forced by the Harpy or slavers. He presents her with incredibly difficult situations, places her core values into conflict, and makes her choose. Her choices first go one way — then another.

Now, the transformation is complete. The Dany we knew at the end of ASOS is gone. The one who reaches Westeros will be a very different person. The dragons are now unchained, and the gloves are off.

https://meereeneseblot.wordpress.com/2013/10/05/untangling-the-meereenese-knot-part-iv-a-darker-daenerys/

GRRM discussing the Meereenese Blot Essays:

I read those when someone pointed them out to me, and I was really pleased with them, because at least one guy got it. He got it completely, he knew exactly what I was trying to do there, and evidently I did it well enough for people who were paying attention.

https://www.westeros.org/Citadel/SSM/Entry/Stockholm_and_Archipelacon_Report

I’m sure it will be better done in the books, but I really wish people would stop acting like Dany isn’t going to “go dark” (of course ignores her already existing darkness + profiting from slavery) in the books and that she’ll always protect innocents and would never hurt them. GRRM has made it clear she’ll sideline concerns for innocent life. It doesn’t necessarily mean she wants innocent people to die, but she considers them expendable (which fits her show actions btw: she tells Jon that Cersei ‘used their innocence’ against her--i.e. she’ll show everyone such tactics won’t work on her) in her quest for power, and that is bad enough for a person with the fantasy-equivalent of nukes to do some serious damage. It’s bad enough that such a person can’t be the hero of the story.

Dark Dany was not a show invention.