#this is what i'm doing instead of going back for my phd apparently

[sammaggs]

3x02 Eclipse | Nightmare

Stay with me on this one: I don’t think Marcus Ellory ever shows up to his mother's grave in Eclipse.

As truepenny points out in her typically-brilliant meta, Eclipse is written in the style of the Greek theatre's katabasis, a journey to the Underworld (followed by anabasis, the return to the world of the living). You've seen Hadestown? You've seen a katabasis.

This is another playwright John Krisanc joint, and as other people smarter than me have meta’d, Ray’s katabasis sees our hero venturing to the Underworld (a literal graveyard/crypt/grave); solving the riddle presented by the Underworld's guardian ("There. Now it's broken and it's working." "Good man."); learning a fundamental truth about the cyclical nature of life or undergoing a symbolic death of the past self; and then returning to the land of the living as a new or newly-knowledgeable person.

Ray Kowalski is tormented by Marcus Ellory as a symbol of his life up until this point. The two defining features of Ray Kowalski's life up until he meets Fraser are 1) Stella, and B) being a cop. "The point is, I mean, my whole life, it all starts and ends with this one guy."

But that part of Ray's life is over.

To make this a metaphor for queerness (as someone who personally married a man before coming out as a lesbian around Ray's age), in our mid-30s we're often forced to deconstruct the narratives of our lives that we've been so devoted to until this point. Have we been living for ourselves, or for other people? Has doing what society expects of us made us happy?

If you're closeted, the answer is usually going to be no. And that means you have to burn down your entire life to start fresh (the house, if you will). It means you have to grieve your past self—the one who had a heterosexual spouse and a house in the suburbs and did what society expected of you—in order to make room to rebirth your authentic self.

In the Underworld, and in the graveyard, Ray buries the man who wanted a wife; the man who wanted revenge on Ellory; the man who was a con job.

He's revived a man with a new partner, no longer motivated by vengeance, and who knows he's a damn good cop because he is.

So now that we've established all of that, let's get back to Ellory.

Ellory doesn't show up for his mother's funeral; by the time the mourners are leaving, he's still not there. "You know, Ray, I'm pretty sure he'll come," says Fraser, at 4:30PM. "We have time." But after Fraser gives Ray his own history back to him, Ellory still hasn't showed. They decide to leave, and Ray throws his dream catcher to the wind... where it's caught by Marcus Ellory.

"It's a dream catcher," says Fraser. "It tangles up bad dreams."

It tangles up bad dreams.

Ray puts on his glasses; he can't really see Ellory clearly. Then, once they end up together in the grave, no one else ever sees them. Fraser never sees Ellory. By the time Ray is reborn anew after the eclipse (literal darkness into light!), Ellory is nowhere to be seen. Suspicious!

I think the casting choice here, too, is deliberately made to make Ellory an allegorical figure as opposed to a literal one. Peter Bray, the actor, is 6'7". He's huge, and lying in the grave next to him, Ray looks even smaller than usual.

That's because we are seeing Marcus Ellory the way twelve-year-old Stan Kowalski would have. Huge, imposing, feet taller than him; essentially a cartoon villain. Ellory is exactly the same here as he is in Ray's memory, unchanged but for a little grey, even though twenty-three years have passed.

And then he disappears.

Ellory is the final boss of Ray's katabasis, his eclipse-fueled nightmare, tangled up in and cleansed by the dreamcatcher Fraser made him—just like Fraser's recitation of Ray's citations tangles up and cleanses Ray's own poor consideration of himself.

But it’s not about Ellory, y’know?? It has nothing to do with Ellory, not really, and everything to do with Ray’s own perception of himself and the story he tells himself about his own life. In this way, I think it’s more powerful a read if Ellory is not there; it’s all Ray. Just Ray, letting go of the man he thought he was and choosing to become the man he wants to be.

For me, Ellory’s just a bad dream. He’s a larger-than-life demon of Ray’s own making. He’s probably in hiding or dead, but Ray doesn’t actually need the real Ellory to exorcise that demon. He just needs the right angel.

Ray Kowalski dies and is reborn (like due South!), at the end of what I consider to be the two-part opener of Season 3.

Happy 27th birthday, Eclipse (Sept. X, 1997)! You're one of the all-timer episodes of TV.

[captainsophiestark]

Epiphany

Javi Rivera x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: Twisters

Day Two Prompt: "It's been a long time."

Summary: Javi's job bring him back into the same town as a sort-of-ex, but if he wants a chance at rekindling anything, he's going to have to answer for his decision to work for Riggs.

Word Count: 3,189

Category: Angst, Fluff

A/N: Happy spooky season everyone!

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I grinned as I lined up my shot on the dartboard ahead of me, ignoring the heckling of my friends and a few new competitors we'd met at the bar. I was the undefeated champ at darts, both tonight and in general, and I hadn't gotten here by letting people get in my head.

I let out a breath, completely focused on the center ring, and sent the dart flying in one smooth motion.

Bullseye. As planned.

I turned to my friends with a grin, enjoying their chorus of groans. While I wasn't completely undefeated for all time, I was undefeated tonight, and I was frankly having the time of my life.

"Okay, there's got to be somebody in this bar who can beat you," teased one of my friends, throwing an arm over my shoulder and turning to scan the rest of the patrons who hadn't been roped into our competition yet.

"I bet I could give it a shot."

I turned at the sound of the voice to see a man I hadn't seen in years.

Javi Rivera and I had met while we were both studying at Muskogee State College almost six years ago. We'd hit it off, going quickly from friends to dating, and after only a couple months, I'd started to be able to see a future with him. And then, three of his friends died in a tornado while they were trying to test their PhD project and secure grant funding.

I'd done my best to be there for Javi, but we'd pretty quickly realized he needed some space--from chasing, from school, from Oklahoma. From everything. Including me.

It sucked to say goodbye to someone I loved, but at the same time, I got it. We'd parted on pretty good terms, deciding for both our hearts it would be best for the break to be clean. I'd thought about him a thousand times since then, clean break or no, but I hadn't seen him once. Now, he was standing before me in the dive bar just outside my hometown, apparently challenging me to darts.

"...Javi?" I managed, a smile tugging at my face despite the shock and disbelief. He grinned back at me, holding his arms out but not making any move to close the distance.

"Hey. It's good to see you."

I grinned, quickly closing the rest of the space between us to wrap Javi in a hug.

"It's good to see you too! What are you doing here? ...How are you doing?"

He stepped back with a smaller smile on his own face, running a hand through his hair before he met my eyes again.

"Better. A lot better than the last time you saw me, actually. I'm working with a team that's researching tornados, trying to get better data to better understand them and hopefully make everybody safer as a result. My team's just passing through the area on our way to chase a some big cells developing further West, and we're staying in town for the night. I was really hoping I'd find you here."

"You know, I do have a phone. And I haven't changed my number."

He grinned. "That was going to be Plan C, if Plan A of finding you here and Plan B of finding you at another bar didn't work out."

I just shook my head and laughed.

"You know, there's a lot I could say about that, but I think instead I'm gonna settle for kicking your ass in darts."

"Oh, bring it on. I was watching you, I think you've lost your edge since the last time I saw you. And I can tell you right now, I haven't. I've only gotten better."

"Sure you have, Rivera. Come on, put your money where your mouth is. You start us off."

"If you insist."

Javi leaned in close, hitting me with a charming smile as he took his half of the darts out of my hand, taking his time and letting his fingers linger over mine. For a split second, it was like I was back in grad school again, spending weekends blowing off steam and occasionally working on our project from the back table of a bar. Then, he pulled back, turning his attention to the dartboard again.

"Loser buys drinks," he called as he drew his arm back, then let the dart fly. He hit an 18, but not on any of the score-multiplying rings. I grinned.

"You're on."

****************

Javi and I spent most of the rest of the night together, trading blows in darts and just catching up with each other again. To my delight, it had been like no time had passed since we'd last seen each other. We immediately fell back into the same happy, comfortable routine we'd had for years, and my heart did a happy little flip in my chest every time Javi leaned into me with the smile I loved so much.

We stayed out at the bar together long after my friends had left, hovering at a back table together until they kicked us out. Javi had walked to the bar from his hotel, so I gave him a ride back, the two of us lingering as clearly neither of us wanted to leave. When Javi finally hopped out of the car, it was only after we'd made plans to get together the next day, depending on the tornado situation.

Luckily for Javi and I, the forecast the following morning looked very calm. Javi texted me early, and we made plans to get together for lunch. I was practically walking on air as I drove into town, parking and hopping out to wait for Javi before heading inside. I didn't want to get too far ahead of myself, but having Javi back in my life even for these twelve hours or so had been amazing. I couldn't stop thinking about him, and frankly, I didn't want to.

Unfortunately, my happy little bubble got momentarily popped by a Storm Par truck pulling into the lot. I frowned and narrowed my eyes. They'd shown up in the area recently, swooping in like vultures and taking advantage of tragedy in the community to make a profit. If they were heading into the restaurant for lunch, Javi and I might need to find somewhere more peaceful to hang out.

I glowered at the truck, trying to project as much malice and disapproval as possible. Then the door popped open, and my heart stopped in my chest.

Javi climbed out of the driver's seat. He had on a Storm Par button down. He grinned and waved at me as soon as he saw me, but I couldn't do more than stare back. What the fuck was he doing?

"Hey! Sorry I'm a little late, I had a meeting this morning-"

"With Riggs?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. Javi stuttered a step, the smile on his face dimming a little as I crossed my arms. He came to a stop in front of me.

"I... what?"

"I think that's my line, Javi. What the hell are you doing? Why are you showing up here in Storm Par shit?"

"I told you I was chasing again-"

"You told me you were here researching tornados! Not conning grieving people out of their family homes!"

Javi took a step back, blinking like I'd physically slapped him across the face. I huffed, trying to get a hold of myself. I'd been almost shouting by the end of my speech, and I really didn't want to throw a scene in front of the restaurant.

"Listen, I get why you're mad," Javi started, holding up his hands like a peace offering. "But Riggs is funding research that's going to allow us to better understand how, why, and when tornados form, which will save lives. We're on our way to the most complete understanding of a tornado ever, and we never would've gotten here without Riggs investing and getting us this tech."

I'd started shaking my head after the second sentence, getting faster and faster until Javi finished speaking. I huffed a disbelieving laugh and took a half-step back towards my car.

"There are other ways to get grant money, Javi. Ways that don't include Riggs."

"Yeah, just ways that include risking everything going into an EF5 that got almost all of my best friends killed."

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. It had been a dream come true when Javi walked into the bar last night, but this was quickly turning into a nightmare. Hurt, anger, saddness, and disappointment formed their own little tornado in my chest, and I barely managed to keep my voice level as I met Javi's eyes again.

"I know what you went through when you lost your friends. I understand why you're making the choices you're making. But you know as well as I do that Riggs is taking advantage of people, actively hurting people in this community, and that all the data you bring him with your research is just going to make it easier for him to swoop in looking to make a profit after disasters, not bringing help before them."

"That's not what we're doing-"

"You might be able to convince yourself of that while you're riding around in your stupid trucks, but unlike you, I was born and raised here, and I never left. I know what's happening, I know the reputation your sponsor has earned for you, and frankly Javi? I want nothing to do with it. Any of it."

Javi huffed in surprise, then scowled.

"I take it to mean that includes me?"

I nodded, slowly at first, then faster and more confidently as I took a few more steps back.

"As long as you're going to keep enabling the vultures? Yeah, that does include you."

He huffed again, a humorless laugh, as he shook his head and shuffled around like he couldn't figure out how to react. It felt like a knife to my heart, but I didn't let myself hesitate before turning around and heading back to my car. I'd sat and cried with neighbors in the wake of tornados, trying to salvage anything we could in the wreckage, before polished looking guys in suits came in and way underpaid for properties, then left without lifting a finger to help a single living thing in the devastated area. If Javi was willing to be a part of that, then he was nothing like the man I'd known and loved before.

****************

I sighed, dropping an armful of books on the kitchen table. I still had a few things to bring up from the storm shelter, but I couldn't stop myself from sinking into the nearest chair. It had been a long few days.

Less than 48 hours after Javi and I had our fight, one of the worst tornados of the year had touched down much too close for comfort. It had done some significant damage to the next town over, although not nearly as bad as it could've been. Exactly what had happened was still a little unclear, but it had been a long time since one had come that close to me. I hadn't been expecting it to affect me, but my knees were actually feeling a little weak.

I took a few moment to focus on breathing deeply, then rallied myself to move the last of my supplies out of the storm shelter. I'd just made it to my feet again when a knock came at the door.

I sighed and honestly debated pretending I wasn't home. But, most likely, it was a neighbor coming to check in or share news from the tornado. I didn't want them to worry, and I probably wouldn't get away with pretending not to be here.

I made it to the door just after another knock came, slightly louder this time. I swung open the door without looking outside first, then froze halfway through the motion when I found Javi staring at me, standing on my doorstep with a six pack of beer held loosely in one hand.

"Thank god you answered. Listen, I'm sorry. You were right. Kate was right. Storm Par... Riggs..." he shook his head, apparently at a loss for words. His hair and clothes were a mess, back to the Javi I'd known in grad school instead of the perfectly-pressed Storm Par rep I'd seen a few days ago. More than just that, though, he looked frazzled. Offbalance, in a way I'd never seen before.

"Javi... are you okay?"

He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.

"Did you hear about the big one?"

"...The tornado that just hit?" He nodded. "Yeah. I've only heard bits and pieces outside of the siren, but yeah. What happened? Is everybody... you said Kate's name earlier."

He quickly reassured me, getting halfway through reaching for my hand before pulling himself back.

"Kate's fine. I convinced her to come out here and help with research, but she almost-" Javi stopped short, closing his eyes for a long, long moment. I frowned, briefly considering what to do next, but it didn't take me long to reach a decision. Javi seemed to be implying he'd ditched Storm Par, but even if he hadn't, I still cared about him. And he clearly needed somebody right now.

"Javi. Why don't you come inside and sit down? Take a breath for a minute?"

He nodded, opening his eyes again and taking a slow, deep breath.

"Thanks."

"Sure thing."

I held the door open, and Javi didn't need me to show him where to go. We'd spent a good part of our relationship hanging out in this house, and it hadn't changed much since then. I followed Javi, letting him decide where he wanted to settle. Eventually, we ended up on the back porch, Javi settling into the bench swing where we'd watched more sunsets than I could count. He set the six pack down by his feet, and after a moment's consideration, I sat down next to him.

Javi didn't look at me as I joined him, his stare still a thousand yards out on the sun that had just started to approach the horizon. I gave him a few moments, then gently reached out to take his hand. His attention immediately snapped to me, his eyes wide with surprise. I gave him a soft smile.

"How long as it been since we spent an evening sitting out here?"

He huffed a laugh. "It's been a long time."

We shared a little smile, then after a moment, I sighed. Javi seemed calmer, at least slightly, and now I needed some answers.

"So... you wanna tell me what brought you here?"

"I came to apologize. You were right about Riggs, and about what's important. I want to be helping people, and it's a long story, but it became clear in the last few hours that I can't do that as long as I'm working with Riggs. I just wish I'd been able to figure it out earlier."

Javi shifted, taking my hand in his and shuffling a little closer to me. The apology was sweet, and I'd missed having moments like this with Javi, but his answer still had a lot of holes.

"I'm glad to hear you're done with Riggs- I mean, I'm assuming that's what you're saying?"

"Yes. Very much yes."

I smiled. "Okay. But maybe you should start a little further back on explaining what happened between now and the last time I saw you. Starting with why you failed to tell me Kate was in town."

"...In my defense, I was planning to tell you at lunch."

I couldn't hold back a snort.

"Fine. Depending on how good the rest of your explanation is, you get a pass on that."

Javi laughed. "Good. Alright, let me think about this..."

It took a while, but eventually Javi managed to walk me through his whole story. It was the serious catchup we'd been planning to have over lunch, but with the added beneift of a private moment together in one of our old favorite places. A lot had happened since Kate had come to town, and she'd had the same kind of fight with Javi as I had, but he'd come around and stepped up when it mattered.

"So, now we're done with Riggs. We're working on a pitch for investors back East right now, actually. Kate's going to present what we've got so far, and hopefully we'll have ethical funding for helping people and nothing else by the end of next month."

I smiled, leaning into Javi. The sky was red from the sunset now, and we'd been holding hands the whole time. Even though we'd gone years without really talking, right now, it felt like nothing had changed.

"I'm glad to hear it, Javi. And I'm so, so glad you're okay."

"Yeah, me too. It was dicey there for a minute, but we're on the other side now."

I leaned a little further into Javi, and after a moment, he raised one arm and stretched it around my shoulders. I sighed.

"You know..." Javi started. He paused and cleared his throat, then shifted a little on the bench before continuing. "Kate and I could actually use some help working on those grant proposals, and maybe some of our future presentations. I know you've always been happy to do your own thing, but... we'd love to have your help if you want to come back to spending more time with us. I would love that."

I leaned back to look Javi in the eye, and I couldn't keep a gigantic smile off my face for even a second.

"Honestly Javi? I would love that. Both to be part of helping you guys finish what you started, helping our community, and... for you. I missed you a lot."

"I missed you too. So much. And I know I'm the one who left, but if you'd be willing to give us another shot... I'll be around for the long haul."

 My heart did a backflip in my chest, and the beaming smile on my face mirrored the feeling.

"I would really love that Javi."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, good." He smiled back at me, then started leaning in before stopping short. "Can I kiss you?"

"Absolutely you can."

He grinned, then the two of us closed the distance as one, Javi's hand going to my waist as I tangled one in his hair. It felt right, and we both smiled into the kiss.

"No pressure if this is a little fast," I said, pulling back from Javi just enough to speak, "but... would you like to stay the night tonight?"

"You know I've stayed the night before, right? Regularly. I don't know if it can count as too fast if we've already done it a million times."

"Fair point. So what do you say?"

"I'd love to." He leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on my neck and then moving slowly up towards my ear. One of his hands moved to my thigh as he whispered: "I've got a lot to catch you up on if you're going to start writing grant proposals for us. I think we've got an all-nighter coming on."

I laughed, pulling back and swatting at Javi's arm. He just grinned.

"Okay, I'm officially banning work talk until tomorrow morning."

"Honestly, you don't have to tell me twice."

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

Twisters Taglist: @turtlee-says-rawr

[reiderwriter]

Thoughts on unsub spencer reid fics?

Hi! I'm not sure if you wanted more of a general answer or meant this as a headcanon or gen request, so I'm just going to go purely on vibes and answer this as a question.

Spencer as an Unsub - Thoughts

Disclaimer: Anything negative said here is absolutely not an insult towards any specific writer or fic. I don't really read unsub Reid fics, due to facts I'm about to get into, so I'm really not knowledgeable enough to be throwing shade 💀 This is personal opinion!

I personally would need a lot of convincing to believe in an "unsub" Spencer Reid.

In Criminal Minds, it's clear from very early into the show that Spencer is very empathetic with certain unsubs. The entire team have their own types of cases that they get more personally involved in (Morgan and cases involving child victims, JJ and apparent suicides, Emily and quote unquote battered women cases) but Spencer is the only one whose personal attachment to cases leaves him empathising with the unsub instead of the victim.

He's the only member of the team who could have seen himself committing violent acts the way unsubs do had his life veered down a different path. And, based on Spencer's background and the psychology of the show, he's probably right to be concerned.

He's a white male, at the peak of the show in his mid to late thirties, with a background of abuse and a family history of mental illness. By season four, we know he's highly skilled with a gun, and by season 12/13, we see that he can be pushed to violence when he is at the very edge of his limitations.

And then they make his character so intrinsically moral that you never question him ever again.

To a certain extent, Criminal Minds is about the perpetual cycles of abuse that human kind can inflict upon itself. Many of the unsubs were once victims, some of them perhaps still are. The heroes of the story are characters who have been able to break the cycle.

Spencer is neglected as a child. He has an absent father abandon him, a mother with schizophrenia who does physically beat him when she is having an episode. He is bullied heavily in school for his high IQ and his lack of social skills. But he is shown to deeply care for him mother and empathise with her deeply instead of coming to resent her like many of the unsubs in that situation. He resents his father, for sure, but instead turns that resentment into drive, leading him to "just keep getting more PhDs." And his personal experiences with bullying allow him to empathise with the unsubs that have gone through similar circumstances.

So I don't think canonically, Spencer is ever in danger of becoming an unsub. He deeply cares about the world and the people around him, and whilst he does have a kill count on the show, he either expresses deep remorse at having to oull the trigger, or it is in the best interest for everyone involved.

Basically, all that to say: I think Unsub Spencer Reid in fanfiction has to be written incredibly carefully, or it runs the risk of being very out of character. To be clear, I'm not too bothered about characters being slightly out of character in fics because it happens. I've probably written a lot of stuff where Spencer is OOC, too. And that's fine.

I do kind of draw the line at grabbing random unsub traits from the show and giving them to Spencer for a fic. For example, Spencer would never end up as a sexual sadist. He probably wouldn't be a spree killer, either. Not that anyone wants my writing advice, but if you're writing an unsub Spencer fic, think about his background and the profiles they generally give for the kind of signature/ crimes you're about to give him.

If this was a request, I apologise for the misunderstanding. But here's a little hint at what I might do with a general "unsub Reid" request.

☆ It would most likely take place after the events of Season 12/13.

☆ It's angst or nothing.

☆ The basic plot: Reid's headaches come back after taking a blow in the field. He tries seeking help for it but can't find any relief. On his next case, because of his chronic pain, he makes a mistake that gets his teammate, the reader, shot. The unsub escapes, but the reader falls into a coma. When it looks like reader is not going to pull through, he tracks down the unsub and beats his to death after a brawl. Massive overkill. The reader pulls through that night, and he feels no guilt for getting that monster off the street. But each time the readers health takes a turn, or they require a new surgery, he is compelled to go back out there and track down and kill another serial killer until the reader finally wakes up.

☆ I don't think it'd be very well received because there would be no morally grey smut. This is some tragic angst shit only, lmao.

☆ please don't put a request for this in my inbox. If I feel like writing it later, I might, I don't have the brain power right now, though 💀

That's all I've got right now, but I'd love to hear other people's thoughts on unsub Reid :)

[sio-writes]

Botanist's Guide - Chapter 15

< Chapter 14

<< Chapter 1

Summary: Cassandra Rowland, PhD, finally has the chance to work on an experiment that really matters: growing Earth crops on another planet. But too many overdue reports and marked failures have put her in hot water with the board, and this is her last chance at redemption. So when she finds herself railroaded by a seven foot tall, glowing alien named Kri, it won’t be as easy as sticking some seeds in the soil and running them under the tap. Tack on the looming repossession of her lab contingent on her success in Kri’s reports, and Cassie realizes she may have her work cut out for her.

Tags: No new tags today, but Cassie really gets down on herself

Cassie Shower sex did not go as planned. In fact, Kri had simply wanted to forego anything physical and talk instead. I tried to use what little feminine wiles I still had to seduce him, but it was no use. Kri is playing some version of doctor/nurse/mother hen which leaves no room for "unhealthy coping mechanisms." 

I knew scowling at him would do no good, so I sighed out my frustration and tried to appreciate the fact that he's only trying to help. I'd groaned to the ceiling and pushed Kri out of the shower, and then waited until he had dried off and left to see if I could work up the gumption to masturbate. The motivation, though, wasn't there and I stepped out of the shower unsatisfied and grumpy.

Bathing was nice though, I needed it. Hot water, nice-smelling soap. Kri had apparently texted Ari for Jillie to get me some new clothes and had them ready for me as I stepped out of the shower. I'm surprised at Kri's networking skills, and also a little intimidated. 

I feel like I'm floating as I get dressed. Jillie brought me my favorite jeans and an old band t-shirt, my ultimate comfort outfit, but as I look at myself in the mirror I realize that I'll need more than just clothes. There's dark circles and bags under my eyes, I look pale, and I've chewed my nails down to the quick. I can feel my temper angrily pacing in the back of my mind, mumbling about things that need to get done.

I need to clean the greenhouse today, and find places for all the plants that aren't going to be mulched. My little planters are unfortunately in the later category, but the bigger ones I could try to sneak away with on their own. They'd fit right in with the plants at home, and I could continue the spirit of the experiment indefinitely. God, there's still so much to do, and I have so little time to do it. The lab comes after the greenhouse, and there's even more shit in there that's going in the garbage, too. I'll need boxes for the office and containers for the lab, and I have to clear space in my apartment now for the extra plants. 

Thinking about everything makes my head spin, and the frustration of it all has fresh tears of blooming behind my eyes. No, I can't do this, I can't break down. Not today, not ever. 

I take an unsteady inhale to push every ugly emotion wanting to surface, and jab my finger against my reflection. "You. Get your shit together."

There's a soft knock at the door, and Jillie's soft voice carries through. "Cass, you okay in there?" 

My voice cracks as I respond, "Yeah, I'm good." 

I push off the countertop and pass over to the door while wiping my face free of tears, opening it and letting the steam out into Kri's apartment. Jillie's still there, eyes wide and locked on me. She steps forward and wraps me in her arms, hugging me tight to her and burying her face in my shoulder. "I'm so sorry, hon."

Another deep breath from me, and I hug her back to let her know I'm functioning. "Yeah, it sucks."

She pats my arms reassuringly, and squeezes my shoulders, and I think the move is more for herself than me.

On the couch sit Kri and Ari, their heads bowed down so their antennae touch. Ari has on arm wrapped around Kri's shoulder, and another holding two of his hands as they both quietly speak in Universal. When I step out of the bathroom, though, they both stop immediately, watching me with wary eyes. Kri stands up, and I'm struck by a pang of irritation at that-- they were talking about me, or something else they didn't want the humans to hear, and it sets my teeth on edge.

I step around Julie and towards the exit. "We have to clean the lab today."

Jillie stops me halfway to the door, grabbing my wrist. "We have a few days to do that. How about some lunch first?"

I sigh through my nose. I need to get everything cleaned out, then I'll feel better, or at least I can go home and cry in the solitude of my own apartment. I turn on my heel and I'm met with three concerned faces. "Guys, I really want to just get everything cleaned out."

Kri chirps an anxious note as he rests a hand on my shoulder. "There's no hurry, why not eat first?"

His hand is meant to comfort, but instead another shock of annoyance courses through my system. I have to resist shrugging him off. "I really just want--"

"Cassie, please," Jillie says. "Humor us? Let us take care of you."

Et tu, Jillie? The thought of eating makes my stomach twist. I could barely get down the bread and fruit Kri shoved in my face, now I'm expected to eat again? I'm not in the mood to entertain a group of hovering nannies while I force down a sandwich. That shock of annoyance comes back, and I have to focus on my expression so I don't scowl. They won't let me do what I want to do, I'm going have to play their game until they're satisfied and leave me alone. After another moment to weigh my options, I roll my eyes and give in. "Fine."

At that, Jillie lights up, she even gives me a smile instead of a drawn in half-frown of concern. "You feelin' anywhere specific?"

I shrug. I'm really unfamiliar with the restaurants here, even the shops. I spend most days at the food court eating whatever is offered, and everything I need to live is supplied by the Outpost. Jillie, though, is socially active enough for the both of us, and has likely been to every restaurant and store twice over. She goes out here on Summanus more than she did on Earth.

Jillie gives me a strange look. Usually I'm all for finding somewhere to eat, but right now I just want to crawl back into Kri's super comfortable hammock and sleep for five days. I don't want to make any decisions.

Snap out of it, Cass. Be a better friend.

Back on Earth, I'd been given bad marks on assignments, failed tests, the usual. Rejection happens to even the best of us, not that I'm even close to the best, but I'm not new to the sting of it. Stephen was there to give me pep talks-- although, thinking back on it, he only did it to get me over the emotional slump and move on as fast as possible so we could focus on him. I can give myself a pep talk just fine, thank you very much, I just have to ignore the big part of my brain convinced that I do nothing but fall on my face.

To distract myself while they find somewhere to eat, I step over to Kri's bookshelf. Most of the books are in Universal, but I spy one in English and pick it up. It's an artbook; more specifically, a book on the Museum of Modern Art in New York. It's well-worn, with indentations in the thick spine and several bookmarked pages. Kri must have revisited this book a dozen times or more, if he marked out his favorites.

It's a side of Kri I'm unfamiliar with, and one I find infinitely fascinating. What else does he enjoy, besides art? Clearly he enjoys reading, too, but what kind of books? Does he like romance novels like I do? Our back-and-forth in Igrien was surface level, and thinking of the trip makes a foggy memory come to surface: his favorite color. He'd told me it was blue, like my eyes. I truly hadn't made the connection at the time, but now I want to smack myself for being so stupid. At the same time, though, I feel warm. It could be a coincidence, it could've been his favorite since he was born, or if it has anything to do with me, but I don't care.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open to the first bookmarked page. It's pop art, like I've read about from the 1970's, with bright screened half-tones on canvases as large as I am tall. There's an image of a white woman with curls of blonde hair and bright red lipstick, holding a matching red soda can with the label facing out. The image of the can is repeated as a border around the image in different colors. There's a passage that I skim, explaining the artist's process, their feelings on the creation of the art, and plans for future installations, and something about anti-capitalism.

The second bookmark makes me smile. It's a photo of a young black woman with vitiligo, wearing bright yellow underclothes that barely cover her breasts and groin. Her pose is simple, one leg propped up on a low block, the opposite hand planted on her hip. It looks like an advertisement for alcohol, if the setting was an art gallery. She's dark-skinned, and the vitiligo is a pasty white that goes all the way down to her feet, and Kri's fascination suddenly makes sense. The pattern almost looks like his.

A cleared throat to my right makes me jump, and I slam the book closed. It's only Kri; he hooks an arm around my waist and rests his head against my temple. "Is there a word for one who goes through another's things?"

A hot flash of shame locks me up. "Sorry."

"I'm only joking." He presses a kiss to my hair, and the tension in my muscles unwinds. "What did you find?"

"Your human obsession." I open back to that bookmark, and Kri makes a choked noise in the back of his throat.

"That is--uh, well--hmm," he says, rubbing the back of his neck before aborting an explanation. "It is not an obsession, I simply appreciate the aesthetics."

"Uh-huh," I say with a smile, my first smile since this morning. "Shall we go through the rest of your marked pages?"

"No no--" he grabs the book from my hands, closing it and stepping around me to place it back on the shelf. "How about…" He searches the shelf for a moment, so I glance behind me at the others. Ari and Jillie are bent over Ari's phone, scrolling through restaurants. One of Ari's hands is resting on Jillie's shoulder, and they're leaned in close together as they search. I wonder at what their relationship is, and I want to ask, be nosy. They must feel me staring, and both look up at me at the same time.

Jillie raises her eyebrows. "How about Indian food?"

The hoverbus that takes us is crowded and hot, and the person behind me keeps kicking my seat to whatever music they're listening to. I grind my teeth the whole way there and try not to think too much about what I need to do, but I do anyway. Why did The Board fail me? There was progress. It was small, but very present, and they saw that. Why wasn't I good enough? Who do these people think they are, cutting an experiment so new it's not even off the ground?

The good mood from Kri's apartment has all but disappeared once we walked out the door. It felt like the balloon holding up my mood suddenly had a brick tied to the end, and then plunged into the ocean. Kri seemed to have backed off once we left, and I understand he's giving me space, but I wish he wouldn't. His presence isn't as abrasive as the others, not that I dislike them, but Jillie can be…a lot sometimes. I love her, but I'm someone who needs quiet once in a while.

We end up at a small restaurant in the Chem Building run by the Outpost. It looks like it seats maybe fifty people max, with a small but well-stocked bar at the far end.

"Oh thank god, I need a drink," I say, pushing past the others to make a beeline for the bar, but a small hand around my wrist stops me mid-step. It's Jillie, her face pinched in concern.

"Maybe that's not the best idea?"

I roll my eyes, jerking my hand out of her grip as my anger spikes. "Seriously, Jill? I can't have a fucking drink with lunch?" She flinches back, and I immediately feel bad. I've yelled at Jillie once, and only once, and swore to never do it again. I collect myselfwith a deep breath and correct my words, "No, no, you're right. Probably not a good idea."

We're told we can sit wherever we like, and Ari grabs us a half booth with two chairs on one side. The cushions are soft and it's relatively secluded, but I find it hard to appreciate. How many more fuck ups can I make in one day, I wonder? Maybe I should just stop talking.

I take the first of the booth seats, assuming Kri and Ari will take the chairs because of their wings. But Kri sits next to me, and Ari slides in next to Jillie, who then sits opposite me. I feel trapped, boxed in and under pressure to do…something. I'm not sure what, yet. In very human fashion, Kri stretches his upper arm over my shoulder, resting it on the back of the booth. I feel his wings poke at my back, slightly extended to accommodate the booth, but he doesn't look uncomfortable or stiff. I try to move forward to give his wings more room.

A young woman introduces herself as our waiter and takes our drink orders, and I float through it like I floated through dressing earlier. Menus are handed out, and I notice that Kri and Ari's are in Universal, the squiggly lines of the language stand stark against the several English words that couldn't be translated. I sneak a peak at Kri's menu, curious, and he tilts the large sheet of laminated paper towards me so I can see. I feel his other right hand move to rest over my thigh, from the inside of my knee upwards, and before I can pretend to be scandalized he turns his wrist and opens his palm for me to take. I slip my hand into his, his fingers slotting between mine, and I feel stabilized for the first time in days.

"I've never eaten here before, what is good?" Ari asks, scanning their own menu before turning it facedown at the end of the table.

Jillie repeats Ari's action, then props her elbows on the table and folds her hands under her chin. "Indian food can get spicy, do ya'll like spice or not?"

Ari shakes their head while Kri nods, and Jillie nods in understanding. She turns to Ari, "You'll like butter chicken or tikka masala. Kri," she turns to him, "Get whatever speaks to you."

Kri chuckles as he flips the menu over, and then tilts it for me to see. It isn't a requirement to learn Universal to come to Summanus, human vocals have a hard time with some the tonal sounds. But the fun part of being discovered by an alien species, as the ento did us, is that they already decided to learn a handful of Earth languages before landing. It scared the hell out of the first contact scientists. In my early days of training at NASA, I took the course on the language hoping to get a leg up in applications, but nothing stuck. Very similar to my lessons on Korean, I've forgotten most of it outside of a few key words, like "hello," or "fuck off."

"Drink," I say, pointing at the word on the menu. It's something a toddler would do, yet I feel too numb to worry about embarrassing myself. I want to impress Kri with my knowledge of his language.

Kri smiles down at me, "Yes, that's right," and I blame the sudden heat in my face on the close quarters. "Do you have any recommendations?"

I know he's trying to distract me, pretend everything is normal, and it's a little overbearing but I think I can handle it. I look down at our linked hands. "I like tandoori chicken, and biryani is always tasty. If you're feeling veggie options I've heard aloo gobi is good, and you can adjust the spice level."

Kri hums in thought and flips the menu over to study it. I feel bad that he's down to half his hands and try to unlace our fingers, but Kri softly locks his down, making escape impossible. It's soft, like he's afraid of hurting me. He squeezes my hand reassuringly without taking his eyes off the menu and suddenly, our hands feel like a secret between us. It's pretty obvious by the way we're sitting, but the small movements of his against mine are our own, something only we'll know. I return with a squeeze of my fingers.

When the waitress brings us our drinks, the conversation dies down. I think Jillie was expecting Kri or me to talk, but I'm not feeling very chatty. It leaves a hole in the interaction, like a tear in a stocking. I stay safe and order tikka masala, but that's the extent of my attention span, and I wind up staring down at the table.

I'm exhausted, but I'm also wired. Everything to do is still on my mind, everything that still needs to be done, and we're just sitting here. Sitting around like nothing matters, and I'm growing more anxious by the minute. Kri squeezes my hand again, but I don't squeeze back. When our meals come I don't feel like eating anymore. I pick at it, rolling the chicken in the sauce as Jillie talks to Ari through a mouthful of food.

"This tastes like the creckt from home." Ari says. "'Asxu, taste." They push their bowl towards Kri, who takes it in one hand and grabs a bite with the other. His eyes light up and he hums in exclamation.

"Indeed it does! Here, try mine," he says, pushing his bowl forward.

"No, thank you, it's searing my eyes from over here."

Kri shrugs and says something in Universal that makes Ari scoff and smile. Kri reaches over and easily steals another piece of chicken from their plate. It's strange, watching Kri pick off Ari's plate, like how girls in high school would flirt with the boys. It sets me on edge, watching a tradition I know very little about. It could be cultural or just between them, I'm not sure which, but that fact of it doesn't make me feel any better.

Julie breaks the silence, "Ya'll come from the same town, right? What's home like for you guys?"

Shame twists my stomach before I can sort it away. The last time I asked Kri about his life was in Igrien, and I made him sad thinking about V'les. Since then it's been about nothing but me and my issues, and I hate to think I've been such a bad girlfriend after so little time has passed.

Kri speaks up, "We are from Lethien, about 300 kilometers, ah, Northwest?" he looks to Ari for confirmation, who only shrugs in response. "It's a small mining village built into a mountain and surrounded by forests."

"That sounds gorgeous," Jillie says.

Ari nods again. "In the summer, yes. Spring too. But the winters I do not like."

That piques my interest, and I want to say something, ask about their home, but Jillie beats me to it. "Ooh, Cassie you grew up in Maine, aren't the winters there bad too?"

"Um, yeah."

Jillie waves her hand dismissively. "She's downplaying it. Maine is up north so it sees harsh winter. Northwest of here…Ya'll farm, like, staple crops, right?"

Ari nods. "The Athena Grain that's in most breads. We also have three kinds of berry bushes that grow naturally in the area. 'Asxu is fond of the grengish berry." They turn to briefly acknowledge Kri, whose hand falters against my own as Jillie chuckles.

They keep pretending like everything is normal, like my life hasn't been uprooted. Part of me wants to scream, part of me wants to cry, but mostly I just stare at the table and say nothing. The same touch of annoyance comes back to nibble at my conscious as they continue to talk around me. I don't feel in touch with any of them, not even Jillie. I feel isolated and far away.

We finish lunch without issue, and I digest my half-eaten chicken on the walk to the lab. It only takes about ten minutes, but it's ten minutes of conversation, pointless talking, and things I'm not part of. Julie asks more questions about Lethien, and each one is a stab in my chest with a knife that says, You're a subpar friend and girlfriend.

We step into the lab and a heavy weight settles over my shoulders. My lab isn't mine anymore, it belongs to the Outpost. Well, it always belonged to the Outpost, but there's white tape criss-crossed over the counter like police tape. There's no text on it, just a shiny finish that reflects my face back at me at weird angles. "I feel like I'm being evicted."

Beside me, Kri frowns in confusion. "It is not. You will continue to live at your apartment."

I sigh. "I know, I was just being dramatic." No jokes allowed, I guess. "Let's get started." I grabbed a box of garbage bags from the apartment's convenience store on the way over, and tears begin to well in my eyes as I pull out the first one. I push my tears down. I can cry tomorrow, where I can properly process it.

"Lets grab what we want to keep, first." Jillie says, delegating the other two. "Electronics, hardware, anything not owned by the Outpost-- Cass, not that!" She stops me before I grab a single planter, my hand hovering over it. It's just a cup of dirt that I assumed would be composted.

"This is garbage, it didn't even germinate," I reply, following through to pick it up and put it in the bag.

Jillie pouts, her lower lip pushed out. "I had a system…" I look to Kri and Ari, who don't respond, so I guess I'm outnumbered. I sigh again, and pull my hand back.

"Fine." I let the trash bag fall from my hand. "My laptop's already been returned to the Archive."

"Yeah yeah, I turned mine in too," she waves me off as she scans the desktop for electronics. She picks up a microscope and sets it back down. That's not ours.

It soon becomes clear that Jillie intended to take the lead from the beginning, organizing every item into huge, unmanaged piles of "Keep," "Outpost," and "Trash." It works, I suppose, but the piles are so close together they're starting to fall into one another and we're going to have to sort through them all over again. Her system left us with too many cooks, so I wound up leaning against what was once my desk and watching her and Ari sort through the past half year of my life.

On my side, though, is Kri again. Normally, I'd be annoyed, but he's not hovering over my shoulder, he's not trying to talk to me, he's just standing half a step away. It's hands-off, not really like his style, but I can appreciate it. It doesn't do much against the visuals in front of me, though, so I resign myself to grinding my teeth and fighting back tears. There's no point in resisting anymore, there's no point in trying to salvage things, there's no point in trying anymore. I don't even have my music to cut the silence.

"Cass, what do you want us to do with this?" Jillie asks, holding up the stack of paper that contains my report. It's at least an inch thick, full of mistakes.

"I don't care," I say with a shrug. She'd just thrown away all my pictures of the planters that hadn't made it to the slideshow presentation. All my hard work, right in the trash. I grind my teeth and push back another wave of tears. Without ceremony, Jillie dumps it all into the garbage pile, where a few flutter to the ground.

She continues piling up piece after piece until the lab returns to its original appearance, sparkly clean, just like the day it was assigned to me. Just like I predicted, we had to sort through things again as the piles had started to blend together, taking twice as long as it should've.

I volunteer to carry the first bags to the trash compacter, where I had to throw out Emmie the MP3 player. I drop the bags into the chute, and turn away before I can consider throwing myself in behind them, and stand there, in the hallway. The 'Keep' pile in the lab is so small, just enough to carry in my arms and back to…I'm not sure. I can't keep the equipment in my apartment, there's barely enough room for me. We'll probably donate it to the Outpost, and then what?

I look down at my hands. Going back to the lab isn't an option anymore. The door is going to close in my face for the last time, and it's going to break something in me. Instead, I turn to the right, take the stairs down, and leave the building. I need to talk to someone else.

At my apartment, I toss my keycard on the kitchen table and I pull out my laptop and sign into StarNet, the network that allows communication to Earth. It's used primarily to send scientific data back to NASA, but we recently got an update to allow video, at least for a few minutes. I last used it months ago to talk to my folks. I'd told them about Project EVA being approved, the audit, how excited I was to get started. They don't know about anything else, not because I kept it from them, but because I ever took the time to call them about it, and I admit that I was apprehensive telling them about my relationship with Kri. Technically, he was in a position of power over me, and it's not ethical to start a relationship with a power imbalance, that's what NASA told us, at least.

I check the time and mentally calculate that would mean for my parents-- and it's just after dinner there. I dial their address, and dad picks up after the second ring. "Cass! It's been a minute!"

Hearing his voice hits me with a wave of emotion and my chest heaves. I can't break down yet. Still, it makes me miss them. "Hi, Dad."

"Oh no, sweetheart, what happened?"

I'm A Daddy's Girl through and through, he's always been able to read me like a book, especially my moods.

He leans back to reveal Mom puttering around in the background, and I recognize that the laptop is set up the kitchen. "Is that Cassie? Cassie, hi! I love you, baby!" She waves at me with a long spoon, splattering red sauce everywhere. Behind them, out the window, I see the crescent Earth peeking around the corner of the window.

I miss Earth, a little more than usual. There's no fast food on Summanus, nothing from Earth at least, NASA wanted to keep commercialism to a minimum when setting up the Outposts, so all the restaurants are privately owned. But damn, I miss gobbling down french fries from the deep fryer, covered in salt.

I can only muster a half-smile. "Hi, Mom."

Dad asks again, his face coming back into frame, "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

My chest feels like it's going to cave in as another wave of emotion washes over me. "The experiment failed, Dad. I've lost my lab, and my greenhouse."

There's no point in hiding things anymore, and I recount the events of the experiment. I carefully leave out Kri to save myself more heartache, but I know it's going to come up later. They'll ask, and I'll have to answer, but I'm going to put it off for as long as possible. When I reach the presentation, the letter of determination, and the notice of failure, both Mom and Dad are crowded around the camera, faces drawn down in concern.

"Sounds like it was a success, though," Mom says after I finish recounting cleaning up the lab.

I sigh. "Technically, it was, it just wasn't fast enough."

"That auditor they sent probably didn't help, I bet he was an ass."

That makes me chuckle. "Yeah, at first, but it turned out to be a misunderstanding. His name is Kri, and he's actually very kind."

"Oh, are you two friends?" She says the word friends like she means something else. It's a distraction from the talk of the experiment, but I don't mind.

I fiddle with my hands shyly. "We're actually…seeing each other."

"After the experiment, right?" Dad asks, drawing it out suspiciously.

I chuckle again, but awkwardly. "Well…"

Mom gasps, scandalized. "Cassie! That's incredibly unprofessional."

"I know, I know."

They both give me a look of mock-disapproval, but Mom's fades almost instantly. Dad's though, only becomes stern. Mom lightly smacks him on the shoulder. "Give her a break, Daniel, she's had a hard few months."

Dad scoffs, but doesn't say anything else. Mom pushes past him, "So, what's he like?"

I smile at her eager face on screen. She's always been supportive of my relationships. "He's an ento--"

"Ooh what color? Wait-- Is that rude to ask?"

"I don't think so. He's blue and black, about seven feet tall, big wings. He's actually a botanist like me, except I think he did field work, and then got promoted to auditor. He likes art, and he's really smart." For a brief moment, I feel like a teenager again, telling my parents about my crush. Then, like being hit by a truck, that feeling of inadequacy comes back full force, and I go quiet. I'm not good enough for him, I shouldn't be here. Before I can stop it, tears are falling down my face

"Cassie, honey, don't cry. Crying won't solve anything," Mom says firmly. She in Psychiatrist-Mode, and that means no big emotions. I sniff back the next set of tears, pushing my emotions down as she guides me through a breathing exercise. I wipe my eyes, sit up straight, and try to calm myself down. At the end of it, Mom says, "You need to start looking for a job."

"I know, Mom."

Dad leans in. "Do you need someone to look at your resume?"

I shake my head. "There's a database that keeps all our work data. Cuts down on paper."

They both nod in understanding. "Well, now you know what you need to do, you've got your orders," Mom says, half-joking. By the time we hang up, another half-hour has passed where they update me on their life on the moon. They show me their new kitten, Tyson, a gray Maine Coon that hasn't realized he's on the moon and keeps yowling to be let outside. Macy, their three-year-old German Shepherd, has tried to make friends with Tyson, but Tyson isn't big enough to romp with a forty-pound dog yet. I push down more emotions, and by the time we're waving goodbye, I'm exhausted. Still, I remind myself, I need to find Jillie and apologize for disappearing. They took the rest of the garbage out by themselves, cleaned the lab, and returned everything to the Outpost that needed returning.

The door closes behind me, and I instantly realize my mistake. My fucking keycard for the door is on the table.

Fuck. Fuck!

I kick my door, forgetting for a moment that it's steel, so when my toe makes contact I scream. The pain lances up my leg and I reel back and hold my foot. "Ow, ow, bad idea, son of a bitch--" Of course. Of course this happened to me. Was I supposed to expect differently?

God damn it.

Down the hall is a call station, a cutout in the wall with buttons for Emergency Services, the Fire Department, and Maintenance. I hit Maintenance and hold the phone to my ear as it rings. A sleepy-voiced man answers. "Hello, Sagan Building Maintenance."

"Hi, I'm in 407-C, I need my door unlocked. My name is Cassandra Rowland, Code 6702."

The man sighs, not annoyed but like he's standing after not having moved for very long. I hear him shuffling through papers and typing something into a keyboard. "Alright Ms. Rowland, my buddy Scott will be there in a few minutes."

"Thank you." I rest the phone on the receiver to hang up. I can't go find Jillie now, even though she's probably back at her apartment. Out of things to do, I look up and down the hallway, empty. I pat my pockets one more time, just to make sure I didn't stupidly just leave my keys in there. They're also empty, and I'm oddly comforted by it. At least I didn't rope someone else into my existential crisis.

For lack of anything to do, I walk back to my door and sit on the floor, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs. My boobs get in the way of resting my chin on my knees, so I let my head fall back against the door and stare at the ceiling.

God, I feel so stupid. After everything that's happened today, I had to lock myself out. I've never done this before, not in the three years I've been here. I lose my keys, I can't write reports, I can't even grow plants, which is my whole job. I'm not good at much of anything, am I?

I groan against the door of my apartment and thunk my head against it. Fuck.

After another few minutes of stewing in silence, I feel a presence at the end of the hallway, an ento if my ears are to be trusted. I don't look at them, I don't care who it is, I don't care how I look, I don't care if I get any weird glances.

They stop in front of me-- It's Kri. I'm almost relieved. His head blocks the harsh fluorescent of the hallway, casting his face in a soft halo of light. He says softly, "I hope I'm not intruding."

"As long as I can just sit here on the floor," I grumble into my arm. I'm not in the mood to be carried to three different places again. "How'd you know where I went?"

"I didn't," Kri says, still soft. "This was the third stop." He moves to sit next to me, wings extending to accommodate the floor. He wraps an easy arm over my shoulder, and I allow myself to scoot into his embrace. "I think…avoiding the problem is not advised."

I snap my head to face him. "I'm not avoiding--!" I stop myself with a sigh, cognizant of the space we're in. There's other people living here, probably sleeping. "I just wanted to clean the lab." I sniff and rest my head against the door again, and I think of the beach before a tidal wave. The water has receded from the shoreline, which means something ugly is coming. I've been pushing things down so much today, I don't have in it me to resist anymore. Kri rests his head on mine, his cheek on my hairline, and reaches for my hand like he did at the restaurant. I take it and interlace our fingers, the points of contact helping ground me.

Kri doesn't answer right away, and I feel him shift to look at me. He's examining my face in my periphery, until he lets out a sigh and returns to resting his head on mine. "I'm sorry. I thought having direction would help your mood."

I sigh heavily through my nose. "I appreciate everyone trying to help, but my mood wasn't going to change in a different setting. I wasn't suddenly going to be happy."

"I understand that now. Similar tactics were of use on me, and they worked well."

"When?"

He pauses, and I feel his jaw working against my temple. "After V'les died, I was inconsolable. Ari kept me distracted, which kept me from falling into despair. I'd hoped for the same results for you."

I sigh again. "I'm sorry. I know you were all trying to help, I just didn't want it."

"Can I offer you anything now?"

After a moment of indecision, I realize what Kri is doing. He's giving me the option, which is really all I wanted in the first place. An opposite hand comes up and brushes a curl of hair from my eyes, and he looks at me with an expression of deep concern. It's for me, he's worried about me. This level of gentleness is too much, and I feel my walls crumbling. I'd been holding them up all day, but now the day is over, and I'm tired. I sniff, feeling a tsunami on the horizon, and when tears start falling, I can't stop them. I'm hit full force by everything that's happened today, and I start to sob in earnest. Kri doesn't say anything, only holds me tighter.

"I lost my greenhouse," I gasp between breaths. "I lost my lab, my job."

His voice is low, sympathetic. "I know. I'm sorry." He wipes away my tears with the opposite hand, turning his torso into mine to reach, forming kind of a protective cocoon against the outside world. It's a futile effort, one he realizes after a few moments of my tears spilling over his hands and onto the floor. I'm being wrung out like a wet washcloth, my shuddering breaths only serving to egg me on more. Kri rubs my back, offering hums of appreciation, active listening noises, but doesn't force anything.

I find a break in to storm to apologize, "I'm sorry, Kri."

He brushes another curl from my face. "Why?"

"For being," I gesture vaguely to all of me. "This."

His expression turns confused. "What, human? You should be proud to be human, you're one of the hardiest species on Earth. The universe throws so much at you, and yet you keep standing up again."

"I'm so tired of being knocked down." First Stephen, now this. I'm pretty pathetic. "I don't want to get back up."

"But you must."

"I know," I whine in earnest, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand. "But it's so hard."

"That is what makes it amazing."

We sit there for a moment in silence that's occasionally punctuated by my disgusting sniffling. I disagree with Kri, I'm nothing amazing, just a botanist with rotten luck.

"May I offer a word of encouragement?"

I sniff again, feeling the tears beginning to lessen. I must be running out. "Go for it." His thumb rubs comfortably over my shoulder, providing encouragement.

He kisses my temple, and squeezes encouragingly. "It's going to be alright."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

A strange sensation-- I should be crying, but I'm tapped out. My nose burns and my eyelids twitch, but nothing comes after, except maybe a wayward sniffle. The sensation I feel is much like how I felt at the restaurant after Kri had grabbed my hand. The eye of the storm. The deeper waters underneath are finally still. "Thank you."

"Of course." He kisses my temple again, and I'm filled with warm affection.

We sit in the hallway like that, Kri comforting me with those small circles on my shoulder, not talking. We don't say anything, not when maintenance comes to unlock my door, or when we step inside and close the door behind me. I walk into the kitchen and pull two glasses from the cabinet, and I fill them with water from the sink.

I empty the glass, then I set it down. "Do you wanna stay here?" Kri looks apprehensive, standing in the space between living room and kitchen like he doesn't know what to do. If there's some ento or cultural protocol that goes with inviting someone else into your home, I'm too tired to remember it. "You're welcome to sleep over, but I'll warn you, I'm a blanket hog."

At that, Kri seems to relax a bit. His shoulders slump and he takes a long sip of his water before clearing his throat. "My body temperature is hotter than yours, so that shouldn't be an issue." His straightforward tone reminds me of his early days with us, and it makes me smile.

After I quickly change into pajamas and crawl into bed, I feel the last of my energy evaporate. My mattress is comfortable, my pillow feels like a cloud. I leave space enough for Kri to crawl in next to me, and he does so and faces me on his side. I move closer and tuck my head into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of rain. I feel myself relaxing as both arms curl around me and pull me in, and as I fall asleep, I feel safe and cared for.

Chapter 16 >>

[mirtola87]

"Tale as old as time", or how Good Omens planted a seed in my soul that's growing more and more (bettah) [1/2]

Hi everyone, I'm new here, and I just wanted to share my totally-personal-maybe-relatable experience with Good Omens, trying to figure out why it became sort of an obsession for me. This is a 9-years story so far, and - spoiler alert! - the passage of time played a major role in the evolution of my perception. (English is not my native language, so please forgive my faults!) I first read the book about nine years ago. I was in a public library in Bologna doing research for my PhD in literature, when I stumbled upon the Italian edition. I was driven by the funny title, which was translated as "Buona Apocalisse a tutti!" (we could back-translate it to English as something like "Merry Apocalypse!" or "Happy Armageddon Everyone!"). I was Christian raised, and among all the books of the Bible, St. John's Apocalypse had always fascinated me, I guess because it was the one that most resembled a fantasy book. So I took the book from the shelf and started reading it. Soon I realized that I didn't need it for my thesis because it didn't fit the topic (I did use Coraline, Mirror Mask and Sandman, instead!), but it bewitched me right from the first lines, so I decided to put the library copy back on the shelf, purchase a copy in English and read it for pure pleasure. I enjoyed it so much that it became one of my favourite books ever. I was young and bold and had no idea that almost ten years later that story was going to mean so much to me and tear me apart. Time passed by, and my life went on. In 2019, when the show came out, I was eager to watch it. The book was a masterpiece, and the show proved to live up to it. David Tennant and Michael Sheen were absolutely perfect in their interpretations and made me love the characters even more. While reading the book, I had found the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley fascinating and irresistibly funny, but I didn't sense any love vibrations between them (and apparently they weren't supposed to be there yet, as we know from Neil that the love story is canon for the series but not for the book). I didn't read anything about the show before watching it, so I was quite surprised when I realized that there was something between the angel and the demon that I hadn't noticed 5 years before. I didn't see it coming at all, and I was all like, "Wait a sec... are they FLIRTING? I didn't remember that..." It was as in one of my all-time favourite songs: "Barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly". This unexpected twist left me somewhat bewildered: it was like I had suddenly realized that two long-time friends of mine were having a crush on each other. It was a bit odd as I was totally clueless about it before that moment, but then the season ended more or less like the book did, the way I already knew. That was cozy and reassuring, and all those longing glances between Crowley and Aziraphale were just an extra icing on the cake. At the end of the story, their love hadn't been named (yet), just suggested. That happy ending was nice, gentle and romantic, leaving their relationship open to interpretation and imagination. I turned off my TV with a deep sense of amusement and satisfaction, and kept on with my life. Four more years passed, then a friend of mine told me that S2 was out (I'm not very good at keeping up with news myself, I admit). I knew that there wasn't any sequel of the book, so I was surprised and really didn't know what to expect, but I knew Neil Gaiman himself wrote the script, so I was confident it had to be good. And of course it was. Since my partner hadn't watched S1, I decided to rewatch it with him before starting S2. This time I KNEW that there was something going on between Aziraphale and Crowley, and the bewilderment of the first watch gave way to something different, a sort of complicity. I found myself shipping them fondly and smiling at every little clue of their untold love. "Ever just the same / Ever a surprise / Ever as before / Ever just as sure / As the sun will rise." Life was good. [Continues in Part 2]

[eimearkuopio]

I love it! Thank you for sharing this story, you've made my day.

💚💜🩷

Love from Auntie Kindness Bones, PhD

I've been a warrior all along, but patriarchal BS meant they thought I was the Grace of Our Lady, but I only bend the knee to Our Lady of Tooth and Claw, and I won't look back. There's a fire under the shiny altar I keep lying to.

Sorry about the word salad. Apparently this is my life now, but at least I know I'm Neutral Good. If I was either Lawful or Chaotic, that would kind of suck for everyone else; but it's probably for the best that I'm not going for true neutral either, because life requires change and that means imbalance. I'm not above putting a little finger with a backwards knuckle bone on humanity's side of the scales. After all, I'm only human. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

See you soon, love{s}. I think my eyes are still green, which means I still have work to do, but I'm done being a solo act. (Hi Britney! Thanks for reminding me about The Ring{s}.)

Couldn't have done it without the extras and the ensemble, but I want to call out Paloma Faith, R_NB, and Lisa L in particular. They kept me from falling to pi[s/e]ces while I was in the eye of the hurricane. They taught me the Way, either without knowing any more of the Story or the Context than I did, or without spoiling me so that I could be River Song instead of Melody Pond or River Tam. I'll let S_M handle the rest of the credits, because I think it might be my day off. I'm not Jewish, but Shabbat Shalom to me. Tell M_M that tomorrow will be Thursday 24.10.2024 and I just had my first re-birthday. I've already told people what I want, but just in case:

Nobody deliberately hurts my loved ones ever again. We get our lives. Institutions get what scraps we can spare. Individuals get whatever surplus we have, but it will take time to reach a new equilibrium safely, so we all need to be patient at least a little longer. I think by 5th November things should be unquangled fully, but I keep telling people I might be wrong.

My notes. From DNH, from home, from my office. Moved somewhere I can continue the work instead of abandoning it, but where it won't stress Ad out.

Green eyes. My own secret name that someone should tell me, because this only worked in the first place because I gave all my names away. ...ah, okay, yeah, thank you, I got that. Thanks, T.

A seat at my own table (currently in Kuopio afaik, but I'm very patient; and while you're getting it from Anne P's parents maybe grab the books etc. that are being stored with it.

For people to listen to my concerns genuinely, because by the time I speak up, it's already almost too late anyway.

Peace in the Middle East for me, and in Ukraine for my husband. I don't know how to make it happen, but maybe ask M_Fa. She's married to D_m if you don't know who I mean, but also, you can ask me stuff. If I'm not completely bananas by now, just asking questions won't do any harm.

-Swan not Cleon or Ajax (ask LMM, if I'm Chesed he's one of the adjacent Sefirot even though I've never met him; and if I'm not Chesed, I don't mind just being a worker instead of a warrior, but I'm allergic to Royal Jelly so you're going to have to find a new Queen if you want me to stop droning on and get down to buzz-ness at UMH)

Left eye worse than right eye but I think I should see an optician when I get out of here. I probably won't go to Mr Manuel, I know my whole family does because he's great but I don't want to have to wait until Dublin to get my eyes checked.

-Rembrandt the Warrior (remember the d and the t are both necessary; and I'm not Atlas, but I just shrugged and did a trick, so I guess I'm a loose seal too, rather than a mermaid or a siren or a huge manatee)

Yes, I did put Warriors on shuffle. That's how it works here. I'm the Tabernacle. Be not afraid. I'm still here, I'm finally me, and that means you are too. 144009-Love, Dennis Moon Moon God of the Zeroth House XO xo ox OX -Luisa

[boldlyoptimisticobservation]

Brain dump sorry

This is my first post here, it's more for me. To empty my thoughts, I've heard it's good for your mind.

Less than an hour into my 29th birthday, I have never felt more lonely and lost. In some ways I feel lonelier than ever when I'm far from that physically. I feel that I'm constantly suffocated, lying to myself that I'm happy but it's not so simple. I feel massively privileged and lucky compared to how others are living in the world amongst all that's going on. Yet, I felt I had a greater purpose here. I grew into this young, confident, strong man who feared nothing. Nowadays, I'm far from that version of myself.

I think of my old version of myself a lot, the fun party goer, part of a football team, popular, lots of friends for that moment and I was constantly chasing my dreams. Finish my undergraduate, finish my masters it's the right thing to do. It's going to give me a fulfilling career, it will help me land a well earning job. Though I can't help but feel angry at my younger self for choosing such a stupid degree not once twice.

I chose Sport Science thinking I'd be working with athletes which would be so cool, while on my undergraduate course I quickly noticed how I wasn't actually that good at any of it, I felt at a disadvantage as I came from abroad and my knowledge was so behind compared to my peers, then I thought okay let's do a masters and specialise in something. So I study Nutrition, thinking it had a placement for work experience which would help me even further. I find myself now 5 years since graduating and I'm back to an entry level job.

I think this is where a lot of my unhappiness stems from, I was destined for more. I started off with a good role to begin with, with very good pay much more than my current salary. Then Covid-19 hit, so I lost that job after performing so so well. I found a remote role where I performed exceptionally apparently, it was a good entry role but with no progression clearly laid out at the time. I got offered a job at a university thinking this is it, this is my career path. I'm gonna become an academic, I will have all these publications and I will be a prestige name in my field (LOL), I can become a lecturer a very credible role. Few months into this research post I started to realise, just how much of an isolated job it was working on a review study. I went to the office so I can be around people but I just could not focus, my head was scrambled. I somehow managed survive for a while, people initially thinking I was doing well but this started to fade away. More or less for 3 or 4 months, I just could not perform my job. Initially my manager was supportive in terms of my inabilities but her attitude did change, understandably so. I was kind of hoping she'd be able to guide me past this barrier in my job but she couldn't. I ended up spending my time gambling, trading crypto and stupid shit like that. I'd head to campus but instead of going to the office I'd go to the library thinking it would help me focus, instead I felt no accountability so I did what I wanted, anything but my duties at work. It was such an isolated role, my manager would rarely check in and she was a super busy woman managing many research assistants and more. So I easily just went under the radar getting past with minimum progress in my role.

I was absolutely failing, I've never failed at something to this degree before. I'm clearly an academic person, I managed two degrees yet what the hell was going on? I needed help but I didn't know what in and so it became impossible to be helped. At the time my partner was pregnant and so this was weighing on me naturally, but I felt I had to change my circumstances and find a new role elsewhere. I applied optimistically for a PhD style role at a different university in a different topic. This time my manager was not as chill as my last one, I was hoping this would help me get my shit together. I lasted 3-4 months, my newborn child had just been born, many sleepless nights and I brought the same lack of ability from my last role to this one. So I ended up handing in my resignation just before my full enrollment in the PhD programme as I was quickly noticing my failure once again.

Now I'm back at that remote job before the academic roles, back at level 0 after 5 years from graduating. I'm now contemplating a career change entirely, I've gotten myself into stupid amount of debt from being reckless..

What happened to my old version of my self? I used to be so driven , a go getter and chase my dreams. Now I struggle to get out of bed, hardly exercise and see no prospects for my career going forward.

I have a son which brings me so much light, I will continue this later. I think writing some of this shit down helps.

#mentalhealth

[kafkaoftherubble]

呀哈哈！正式离婚了！！！离婚了！！！！

再见，你这个lanjiao project! 他妈的不要再有续集了！滚出去！你娘都不要你，为啥我会要你呢？！

Now that it's gone and I have only one project currently to occupy my time, I can finally gain purchase on the things I actually wanna do. Gotta plan again!

Still haven't finalized my New Year resolutions. Bit tardy, sure, but it ain't the Lunar New Year yet! Ha! Time to use THAT as an excuse!

------

I gotta proofread Lyishere's grant proposal! Gotta make sure it sounds persuasive to the Singaporean government! I really hope things will work out in her favor. She's been questioned enough about her "employment status" last year since she finished her PhD, and of course, the good old "so you spent all your time studying to this level only to not have a job?!" and "Are you lazy? Can you please be productive?" tracts from good old Older Generation Asians. Ugh. I get that parents are eager to make returns on their investment, but let her take a break, man.

It's actually related to neuroscience, you guys! This is why she needed our help to proofread her grant, inter alia, because I'm more familiar with the field than she is, whose expertise is in operating biotech machines.

She did mention that if it went through and her fellowship is a go, and she gets to hire her own research assistant... guess who might get to do that? Haha! It's such a nice prospect, innit? Did we get in, Future Lyns? Who was the lucky one who got to witness that moment? It's alright if it didn't happen—my help comes with no strings attached, like always—but it's also really swell if it does. We've always dreamed of being a part of academia. Maybe this could be the path back in? Maybe?

-------

Crow dropped me a legal report on a case one Davinder Singh had worked on before. Who's that? Well, apparently, he's the HIM in the Singaporean law circle! We got to this point because I asked Crow about this corruption case, which somehow made it to my attention. So I'm gonna read that report too! Or as best as I can as a complete noob shit, hahaha! Only then she can talk about why Singh is HIM and I'll at least get it.

I actually also wanna read other stuff she dropped on my lap the last time. The legal debates and all; those concern ethics. Ugh. If only I'm not slow...

-------

Speaking of reading, I have my own books I gotta read! I haven't been studying my own materials for two weeks! Urgh, I must slot the time for them. My memory might wane if I wait any longer. Stupid limitation of adult brains! Why can't I be like a child, with neurons just branching out without pruning? Hmm. I'm sure there's a biological advantage to this.

And I have put a pause on my podcast listening for more than a week! We've been busy. New episodes had come out and I haven't vetted them before placing interested episodes in Listen While Doing Chores (Not Songs). That shit is more-than-a-week late for new arrivals and updates.

Let's restart the podcast listening with science. I have decided to re-listen—because my memories have faded—to episode 34, "Paul Bloom on Empathy, Rationality, Morality, and Cruelty" from Sean Carroll's Mindscape. I picked this for its pertinence. Specifically, it complements what I'm currently reading from the fiction side...

Paul Bloom is one of the most well-known psychologists in the camp opposing the lionization of empathy. If I recall correctly, he believes that empathy is actually what enables humans' propensity for cruelty. He champions "reasoned compassion" instead.

A lot of the people in his camp wave the flag of compassion, huh? Makes sense; the two are not the same. But those who disagree with Bloom think that compassion is very much dependent on empathy, or at least, it's driven by it most of all.

I don't know where I stand as of now. Both camps—and everyone in between—are intriguing. His ideas are seductive, but it's way too easy to see why I would say that. I lack affective empathy, and yet I fancy myself a pretty stand-up person. That is itself grounds for bias. Of course I'd want someone to validate me. Which is why I shouldn't so easily nod to it.

When we wanna learn about someone who isn't within our actual social vicinity, like a famous thinker, we always look at their critics first. Detractors, skeptics, dissenters. That way, I'll get to formulate a Roadmap of Curiosity, with points of intrigue and objections and questions and skepticism. It makes me a more lucid recipient of information, methinks. Open-minded enough to listen, but not so much that my brain falls out. Less possibility of being dragged by the arbitrary constraints of a narrative, innit?

So I've read some of the criticisms against Bloom's ideas, and I think they hold water too. I will do it again before engaging in that podcast, though Sean already adequately posed as a challenger the last time I listened. Sean is really one of my favorites! A theoretical physicist who's nonetheless a generalist drawing different ideas together, and not afraid to hold his guests' feet to the fire. I really like seeing such a high-profile and intellectually honest generalist. It's someone to look up to.

----

Speaking of reading!

One of our resolutions this year is to "finish five books." Well, here's something Lyndises of the weeks before did not account for:

We did not specify the qualification of fiction in this situation.

I mean, well—it's not like we predicted ourselves reading fiction this much this year. We've always just read nonfiction, and would always choose this by default. And nonfiction is either a huge ass tome, or it's so packed with information that we take a crawling speed to complete it. That's why it's only 5 books.

But I got a feeling that the first "book" I'm gonna finish this year is gonna be a piece of fiction. There's no way a nonfiction will be first. No way. I read this one almost every single day (except today, because After God happened. OOPS!).

Should we qualify a manga like Ajin to be a "book?"

I mean, it's not a bad fiction by any stretch. Hell, I honestly love it! So much! It's not like I turn my brain off when I read it; quite the contrary!

How is 睿芒 so consistently good at recommending stuff? 果然操千曲而后晓声，观千剑而后识器。佩服嘛！不过也没很意外，毕竟我也觉得他真的挺多令人欣赏的地方。

So to exclude it on the account that it's a manga is just a weak argument. It's as if being fiction makes it less worthy, which I disagree with. And yet, to compare easy reading—like a manga—to books like Behave and The Lies that Bind: Rethinking Identity is also unreasonable. One side is clearly a knowledge juggernaut. The other... is a thrilling romp.

I propose we reduce the value of fiction! Instead of making it a whole number (1), let's make it ⅛. Complete 8, and we get 1 count!

If there's any objection, let the next Lyn decide!

-----

Well, there is more fiction stuff to be slotted in.

I should find ways to squeeze in that Totally-Not-Romantic-Trust Manga. I really hope there isn't any eldritch kissing anymore. And it's not that stuffed with romance. I get so bored of those things so easily. I still can't believe I got sucked into engaging with romance in general. Fucking Apothecary Diaries, I swear.

I am hella interested in that Bibliomania thing. I don't know what it's about at all and I don't wanna look it up. It sounds like something to read blind!

I should also! Find ways to stream videos on Discord!

And then I'll ask Crow for her scheduling! So we can watch Mononoke together! Ahhhhh, so excited!!!

I hope I can watch it in the living room. But Mom is always nearby, in the dining room, watching her shows in OLD PEOPLE VOLUME. She complained about me talking to Fionn (I'm glad she's grown so accustomed to this, because this has been happening since childhood, that she never seemed to wonder what was wrong with me enough to make me stop. She just thinks I'm talking to myself), and nowadays complains about my game being too loud, or the sound of me pouring tea, or the sound of my controller. Bruh, yours is in OLD PEOPLE VOLUME! I can hear every fucking scene, fucking ambient sounds, and fucking!

Anyway, even if I watch this with 二韵 The Headphones, I'm still gonna talk and talk and talk to Crow. And based on our textual conversations alone I'm confident to predict that our interaction is gonna be Lyishere Style. That means, like when I'm with Lyi, we become more and more excited and louder and louder and noisier and noisier and cackle more and more and become more and more unhinged aaaaaand Mom will beat me up.

Nah. She can't pull that sort of thing off. She's grown old. She's grown tired. Her knees are weak. Her knees are weak points. But I don't think I'll resort to that, so maybe stop glaring at me, Fionn.

I think I'll inform her about it. I'll tell her it's the same Singaporean friend who sent me a cool-ass New Year card and one day might go to Kuantan. The same one she said would be "fine" to lodge in our house before I even asked. Well, that was what I kinda wanted to happen in the future, so good to know. Crow got so much tea I cannot wait to hear her going full-blown tai-tai!

Uh. Where was I? Oh yea. Livestreaming stuff on Discord. Mononoke isn't gonna be the only one this year. There's also Higurashi, which is slated to happen after we finish Ajin. Once I know how shit works because of Mononoke, Future Lyn wouldn't have to worry about the basics of live-streaming anymore.

Instead, she has to worry about something else! I should ask 睿芒 if it's safe to be shown in the living room. Just in case Mom decides to walk past to see what I'm looking at.

Remember the last time when that Lyn watched Devilman Crybaby in the living room? Shortly after Dad died? With his altar and picture aligned enough to look at the TV showing people in the club doing drugged-out violent sex and sexy violence? I don't think we should make a repeat of that. She traumatized our sisters accidentally with that back then, ha! And now Bugsy is always so worried about our "Horror Horror..."

Alternatively, I could just watch it in my room. It's not as big as the TV screen, but it's my room. My favorite place in the entire universe. Second place is Ayutthaya, obviously.

Anyway, it's not gonna happen yet. Let future Lyns worry. Mononoke first!

Shit! I have a birthday gift to compile! It's for the Ricecooker. Damn, I have to do it before February hits! I gotta remember to do that soon!

-------

Hey, guys?

Ya know. There's a reason one of the first Lyns who started this Tumblr thing decided not to private posts like these. It's because we are leaving this for Future Lyns who might not know the password to this account or just wanna ghost-read it.

We also know that this means non-Lyndis can also read posts like these. But we kinda always hope that the sheer length and banality will turn most people away. I mean, we assume that no one would be interested enough to wade through all of this. We are seriously not that interesting.

But what if there are people who stay to read it all?

I don't think the probability is high, but it's not zero.

If I'm being frank? I don't mind it that much. The possibility is always at the back of my head, so all of us had only written stuff after vetting our thoughts and decided that they were okay to be here.

And yet, I kinda wish it's not everyone. As in, not everyone reads it, and certainly not everyone finishes it. If they finish it, I'll start to wonder why. What's so gripping about our stupid log entries?

Some posts are way more fun to read! Like reports on events! I really liked reading about our Coldplay experience and our CF stuff. I would love it if my friends read those! It's so fun!

But entries like these are kinda... huh. I don't know. Again, I am not gonna stop any curious cat from reading these at all, but I really assume no one would. Honestly, what's remotely interesting anyway?

Oh, why this sudden tangent? Nothing. I just thought of the possibility that this could be happening and wonder how I think about it.

Well, I guess this is my thoughts on the matter.

Should I ask whoever reads this myopia-inducing banal-ass ramble to let me know they have been reading it? Of COURSE I'm curious if such a person exists. I think it's a very low chance, but it will be so funny if they exist anyway. I will be so excited to know why they even read them, or if it's fun, or what they think of me now.

At the same time, do I really wanna know? That knowledge would stifle my illusionary, but useful, freedom to babble things for our future versions. I will probably suddenly feel so self-conscious I don't wanna write certain degrees of thoughts anymore. Wouldn't that bereft Future Lyns posts of meaning and worth?

Or... this could all just be nothing. Again, do I even have evidence, beyond circumstantial ones, that there have been people reading these things? Even if I do, it's evidence for that specific post and not all posts of this nature. And what am I gonna do? Prosecute them? Hahaha!

Nah. I think I'll thank them. I mean, imagine being interesting to one person. It feels unreal. It's like when you're a ghost and yet somehow, someone saw you.

[umichenginabroad]

Dublin Week 16: Classes Going Crazy

Hi there, it's me, Sam, again. I can't think of a good intro, so I'm just gonna get into it.

I started this week in something of a panic because while I was in Copenhagen, I neglected to do a number of things I should've been doing for the week ahead. He is the complete list of things I should have been doing:

Studying for an applied dynamics quiz on Tuesday

Finishing up research and making a poster due on Wednesday

Studying for a lab exam for statistics on Wednesday

When I got back on Monday night from Copenhagen, I frantically studied for my quiz the next morning, and apparently this was good enough to do reasonably well. Yay me! Then I had to get to doing my research!

This past semester I've been taking a class that gave me the opportunity to conduct research. I'd been working with a PhD student who's studying titanium alloys, and until this point I had worked in the lab a bit and taken some measurements, but we hadn't actually decided what I was going to write my final report and presentation on. After my quiz on Tuesday, we met up, decided what my topic was going to be, and then I the rest of my waking hours finishing my poster. At around 1am, I was done, and frankly I'm pretty proud of my work. Moral of the story: be proactive and figure out what you're researching sooner rather than later. Posters can be made in a day though (not recommended).

Me and my poster

Wednesday was considerably more chill. I went to my classes and spent my free time preparing for my lab exam. Later that evening I took the exam, and I think it went alright. I should've prepared a bit more, but at the end of the day it was a very small part of my grade, and I'm not too worried. Now that I was done with my work, I got some well deserved rest.

On Thursday, my research class had a big poster presentation in the lobby of the engineering building. I got to show my research to interested passersby, and it felt really great being able to share my experience with them. Afterwards, I didn't have any classes for the day, so I just hung around, made some food, and then went to climbing later that evening.

Friday I once again didn't have any classes, so I spent the day cleaning my apartment, relaxing, and getting ready for the Mountaineering Ball. Most clubs and societies at UCD host a ball at the end of the semester where the club rents a ballroom at a hotel and everyone dresses up nicely and dances and drinks and whatnot. You know, typical ball activities.

Around 5, I met up with some other club members on campus and we made our way to a club members house for some pre-drinks (referred to as prinks here). After spending some time there, everyone made their way to the hotel ballroom the club booked.

At the ball we were served some (surprisingly good) dinner, handed out awards, took photos, and danced. It was a great time. After the ball, a bunch of us headed into town to a pub called Doyle's. It was super crowded and loud, but we all had fun, and I ended up leaving around 3 am (yikes).

Some photos from the ball

The next morning, I wasn't up until about noon. After this slow start, I met up with my friends Colin and Cormac in town, where we grabbed some lunch and tried to walk off our hangovers, which actually kind of worked a little. When we got bored of this and hungry for dinner, we headed back to UCD. Once we refueled and bored ourselves once again in our respective apartments, we decided to meet up again and head down to Dun Laoghaire to enjoy the lovely evening and watch the sunset, which was a lovely way to end the day.

A picture from the water of the pier at Dun Laoghaire

On Sunday, the mountaineering club had its final Sunday hike of the term. We were supposed to hike Lugnaquilla, which is the highest peak in the Wicklow mountains, but our bus forgot to pick us up, and we ended up getting to the trail about an hour late. Instead we did a much shorter hike, which actually ended up being a great time since the weather was awesome and we were actually able to enjoy it. We ended our hike at a cute little pub where I got my cheapest pint of Guinness of the semester (it was still €4.80). Overall, it was a lovely way to end the Sunday hikes.

Some photos from the hike

That's all for this week! This was the last week of classes, so the next three weeks, I'll just be studying and taking my exams. I'm gonna try to do some exploring of Dublin during this time, so stay tuned for that.

Sam Adler

Materials Science and Engineering

University College Dublin

[theonewhocounts]

when I was on testosterone, my vision started to get REALLY BAD, REALLY FAST. I needed 3 new prescriptions in as many months because things just kept getting blurry, and then one day even with a new prescription I was seeing double of everything, especially text. Everything just got a horrible little duplicate lurking just below and to the left. I was diagnosed with severe keratoconus - my corneas were changing shape to become cylindrical, and it was not fixable, just "stoppable".

keratoconus generally affects folks during periods of great hormonal fluctuation... and, well, that's what was happening. My endocrinologist appointments were too expensive so my hormones weren't being closely monitored and I had developed terrible anxiety and needle phobia around my injections so I wasn't doing them as regularly as I should have (GO DO YOUR INJECTIONS NOW). My opthamologist didn't know a damn thing about testosterone, and when I finally did talk to my endocrinologist they'd never of keratoconus. there's no established link between HRT and keratoconus except for a single case study on a transgender woman (see Deitel, etc al, 2023)... but there's also been extraordinarily little research regarding trans folks' medical problems at all, unless they're medicalizing our transitions themselves.

I made the decision to come off testosterone because I read everything I could find about kerotoconus and there was enough there to tell me that I was going to go blind soon if something didn't give. I've since had surgery to stop the progression of my awful degenerative eye disease and when discussing it with my surgeon, she said (this was the first time anyone knew anything about any kind of link between it and HRT at all) "OH SHIT, please don't ever get back on testosterone, it will completely undo what this surgery is meant to do and well just have to do it over again".

Do you know how hard it is to make the decision to either be able to see or to be seen as yourself? To keep ones vision somewhat intact or to be gendered correctly?

I chose to see, and I am now frozen permanently in a state of gender chaos - always read as butch, but never as male. I've come to terms with it now but... there was lots of therapy about it.

Someday soon, you'll be able to read about ME in the opthamological case study journals- since I'm a PhD in neuroscience myself and apparently qualified for this somehow, I'm co-authoring my own damn case study with my opthamologist, who to his credit has been doing a lot of educating himself on HRT since learning that he didn't know anything about it. We're including a section on trans broken arm syndrome - we want to be VERY sure that eye doctors and endocrinologists don't use my experience as an excuse to keep people off of testosterone or estrogen. Instead, we just want people to know that this could be a thing and to keep an eye out on their vision (pun intended) when they start HRT.

Most of the time, your doctor is uneducated about trans people and what HRT does to a body. But sometimes, SOMETIMES, there IS a link between your HRT and the weird seemingly unrelated medical thing happening to you.

Take your damn hormones consistently though, okay? For me.

“When Cameron Whitley was diagnosed with kidney failure seven years ago, the news came as a shock. But the situation was about to get worse. His doctor decided the diagnosis meant Whitley’s hormone therapy had to stop. As a transgender man, now 42, who had taken testosterone for 10 years, the impact was brutal. “Not only was I struggling with this new diagnosis that I’m in stage four kidney failure, now I’m being told that I can no longer have hormones,” said Whitley, an associate professor in the department of sociology at Western Washington University. “I cannot describe how horrible that moment was.” Crucially, he says, the decision was completely unnecessary. “We call this within the medical community ‘trans broken arm syndrome’,” he said. The term refers to medical situations – such as having a broken arm – that are unconnected to gender identity, yet healthcare providers act on the basis there is a connection. “We didn’t have any established sense that being on hormones would be problematic. The hormones are not processed through the kidneys. So there was nothing that made it [necessary to stop them], but that was the first thing that was done,” he said. Whitely has since transferred his care over to the University of Pennsylvania, which he described as “awesome [with] wonderful trans-competent care””

— ‘We actually don’t know much’: the scientists trying to close the knowledge gap in trans healthcare | Transgender | The Guardian (via sarkos)

[anxious-burrito-babe]

an incredibly unnecessary linguistic analysis of like twenty seconds of dialogue in prey (2022)

I was really surprised to see this movie explore themes of gender, siblinghood, and power. there's a scene where Naru and Taabe are really grappling with this as she tries to convince him to help her hunt the predator:

NARU: We need to go back out. Far, beyond the ridgeline. TAABE: No. NARU: Kay well I’ll hunt alone if I have to TAABE: You can’t. NARU: Do I need your permission, war chief? TAABE: It’s not about permission. You can’t. I had to carry you back.

here, Naru is clearly mocking Taabe and the authority he apparently assumes over her. Taabe doesn't deny the "chief" comment, but instead attempts to explain that, based on the previous scene, she lacks the ability to follow through on her goals. in his eyes, she is putting herself in harm's way.

what really struck me here (because I'm a huge nerd) is the word "can't" here. for a native English speaker, permission and ability are tangled up in this word. through the economy of this exchange, the audience easily understands that Naru is not simply struggling against traditional gender roles, but a similarly frustrating underestimation of her ability. this scene is a brilliant set-up for later moments in the movie where Naru ultimately takes advantage of how she is continuously underestimated.

but my question (again, being a massive nerd) is: what happens to this scene in the Comanchee dub? how does that version engage with the question of permission and ability?

it's difficult to tell from the subs alone, which are a (in my opinion) messy gloss toward the English dialogue. to my eternal outrage, there are no subtitles in Comanche. if I wanted to find out exactly what the actors were saying, well, I'd have to transcribe as best I could as a non-native speaker and make do with online Comanche language resources. for the curious, I'm including an incredibly shitty and lazy transcript of the dialogue that I used to work out what was going on. if by any chance any Comanche see this post, I would love to hear any corrections (otherwise do not at me bc as a linguist about to start my phd kI’m already ashamed of the transcript LMAO). anyway, here's what I managed to cobble together after listening to ten second segments of dialogue fifty billion times, with the subtitles written in parentheses:

NARU: u:k pitsaku. u:nitu mirak (We need to return there, going that way) TAABE: oi (No) NARU: megu nana patakh mia (Well I’ll hunt alone) TAABE: ke aan (You can’t) NARU: na se para eala xaya kui? (Do I need your permission, Chief?) this line of dialogue was rough for me rip TAABE: ke ama kuit. ke aan. na se ama kutsahajt (It’s not about permission. You can’t. I saved you)

and here are some relevant words I pulled from an online Comanche Dictionary :

• pitsa miʔarʉ (return, go back, move away from)

• miarʉ / miarʉ̠ (go, walk)

• kee (no)

• nanihtʉbinitʉask (ask permission)

• tsahkwitsoʔai (save someone's life)

I haven't yet been able to find information about modals in Comanche to figure out how "ke aan" relates to "can." but besides making it painfully apparent that my transcript is fucked up beyond belief, comparing the vocabulary to the dialogue revealed a few things. one, Naru is talking about going by herself, and talk of hunting seems not to enter the picture. two, while the English dialogue has Taabe discussing permission, in the Comanche he apparently rejects the label of Chief. to me, this is a more humble treatment of Taabe's character. he doesn't believe he has earned that title and makes clear that he just wants to protect his little sister.

is the difference as striking as I thought? no, but that doesn't make it any less interesting (remember, huge nerd here). i wish we had true Comanche subtitles so it was eaiser to appreciate the subtext more. even better, I'm mourning the missed opportunity for full Comanche dialogue as the original script intended, with both Comanche and English subs. there are even jucier scenes I'm planning to look into more to catch other subtleties. either way, I'm delighted we got to see a powerful Comanche woman kick predator ass and hear her talk about it in Comanche too

[spideyspeaches]

Roller-coaster ↬ p.p

gif’s not mine

A/N: My take on What if Peter was in Wandavision? But with a twist ;) Beta read by my wifey @stars-aligning​ 🥰🥰

Warnings: canon typical voilence? mentions of death. Also the timeline doesn’t really make sense, just pretend everyone is of the same age. OH and Wandavision spoilers :)

WC: 9k (longest one shot I’ve ever written 😭)

Pairing: Peter Parker x ex!Reader 

Masterlist || Taglist

"Ben? What's wrong? Why are you looking at her like that?" 

"I- I don't. I don't know. She seems familiar." 

"Familiar? Familiar how?" 

"Like her and I don't belong here. Like we're from another world." 

Working with Tony Stark as his intern, then head of the R&D and now working in the labs as the head of the department felt surreal, a fresh breath of air every time he looked at his desk, with his name written on it. It had been Peter’s dream to meet Tony Stark, maybe work with him too.

And then he got bit by a radioactive spider, giving him super strength, super eyesight and apparently super luck too, because though he liked to think that he was working in SI due to his intelligence, the spider bite did play a role in becoming his mentor’s favourite intern, without which he might have not had a chance to meet him hands on.  

Tony kept reminding him that even if Peter had not been bit by the spider, he would have still secured a high position in Stark Industries, with his disarming intelligence that rivaled Tony’s own and charmingly trippy personality. 

Peter begged to differ. But then again, he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in it’s mouth. Ever since he was a bushy haired, rosy cheeked jittery teenager, he had always worshiped the ground Tony walked on. 

Peter remembers the day he got an anonymous letter, which turned out to be SHIELD's handiwork, asking him to join them in their base in New York, even if he insisted that he wasn't interested in being a superspy wannabe. He was skeptical at first, why would the most paranoid of paranoid agents send him a letter in mail? Him, twenty three years old Peter Parker, who lives in a shitty one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn with termite issues and smokes weed like the government is going to ban tobacco and is barely able to take care of himself with the overload of work. 

Maybe it was just his Parker luck, or the fact that he was a freelance vigilante who looked after New York in a skintight spandex suit, because the safety of the people was apparently second in priority to the government. They'd rather have people die than have an illegal protector. 

Yeah so Peter was salty, and what about It?

Slinging his satchel higher, he saw the sleek black car in confusion, trying to get a look at the number plate before the lift binged on arrival, walking into the open door. He swore he was either hallucinating or in midst of an intense flashback of the events that lead to what people dubbed as the 'Civil War', back to when he had been shaken out of his mind watching Tony Stark eat his aunt’s homemade walnut date loaf that had more salt than sugar.

His thoughts were put to a halt when he entered his and his aunt's old apartment in Queen’s after a long week of Spidey on mission and nearly getting (illegally) fired, footsteps coming to a pit stop. It's not like it's everyday you come face to face with Agent Coulson, Nick Fury and your ex not- really- girlfriend, somehow all in one day all together. 

"So… um. What are you- What are you guys doing here again?" he asked, folding his hands on his chest defensively, leaning into his aunt's side as he whispered, "how long have they been sitting here?" from the corner of his mouth.

Fury raised a non-existent eyebrow, looking at him with a dagger for eye, making Peter shift nervously. Agent Coulson looked uncomfortable and You, You looked strangely in your element, sitting on the couch with one leg over the other, a neutral expression on your face. 

Back when he was still in high school, when he'd first met you, he used to be in awe of how outgoing you were, seemingly adjusting in whichever situation you were thrown in. You had always accommodated to your surroundings, but with a start he realised that he had never seen you so… You in a while. 

Not during your visit to the Avengers tower, not during the first time you came into his bedroom, all alone. Not when he had seen you take down a mugger on your way home from your first date without even as much as batting an eye.

"They were here ten minutes or so before you came home. It's creepy, as if they knew you were visiting," May answered with a whisper, wearily eyeballing them before moving towards the kitchen, leaving Peter unattended to Your and Fury's piercing gazes. 

"I'm sure they know my monthly schedule before I do," Peter said, turning to look at the aforementioned agents. "So... you like, work for SHIELD, too?" He asked, wringing his hands to abate the tension in them. 

"Yes, she does, but that's not what we're here for, Mister Parker," Fury said in his gruff voice, sitting back with a sauve expression. Peter gulped as Agent Coulson looked him in the eye, finally noticing the thin file he held in his hands. 

"Well what are you here for?" Peter asked, mustering up some confidence as he tried not to look at You or the eye that Fury had that wasn’t covered by the patch.

"We need you to come to Westview, New Jersey with us," You said, a final no nonsense undertone in your voice. He shuddered when he heard you, remembering how soft and sweet you used to be. But that was before you disappeared out of nowhere, and apparently that nowhere was with SHIELD. 

"Me as in Peter Parker or Spider-Man?" he asked, looking behind his shoulder to make sure May wasn't listening. It's not like she didn't know about his… nightly whereabouts, he just wasn't comfortable with making her worry. She already had too much to deal with, with the nephew by day and vigilante by night thing he had going on.

It was also a little concerning that the three in front of him knew that he was visiting her today. He wondered if his apartment was bugged (well, more than the daily roaches and ants) or if SHIELD had been keeping an eye on him after he had denied their offer, instead opting to stay in SI.

It was probably the second one, although the first one was entirely a possibility. He was going to need to talk with Mister Stark about debugging his shitty one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. 

"We need Peter Parker and his tech skills for this one," Fury said, before shoving the file in Peter's hands and crossing his own, “and my offer still stands.”

"For the last time, I'm not joining your little murderous boy band," Peter grumbled, scrunching his eyebrows as he looked at your twitching lips, as if holding in laughter. "I'm perfectly content with working with Dr. Connors in his little laboratory in SI." 

Fury didn’t look convinced and opened his mouth to probably threaten Peter, when Aunt May came in with a tray of cookies. They smelled amazing, too good to be made by her, she probably brought them from Delmer’s.

“Oh- Were you…? I just thought you guys might want to eat something,” She said awkwardly, looking at Peter with pleading eyes.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, May! I would love to eat some of those, I’m famished,” You butt in, taking the tray from her with a smile.

“Um, May, you can um- you know?” Peter gestured, shifting on his legs, hoping that May would get the message before she stood for a minute too long. He didn’t like the way Nick Fury’s eye was looking at him, his tranquilizer gun suddenly visible from his leather jacket.

“Don’t be rude Pete, here May, I’ll help you get that.” You smiled, winking at him and dragging May by her arm, who was mouthing “she’s such a sweetheart” behind her shoulders. 

"What if I told you that his man accidently got evicted due to some legal issues? And that now you're legally unemployed with severe financial issues that need to be looked after because the government suspects something illegal brewing?" Fury continued, looking him dead in the eye.

"Are you seriously blackmailing me? Threatening to unemploy me after all that shit you put me through with Mysterio?" Peter defended, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, watching you strutt back into the room, distracted by the sway of your hips in your mom jeans. He tried to shake the image, rolling his head to crack some tension that had built at the base of his skull.

"Mysterio was a mistake, Parker. This one is not; and we really need you for this one. Besides, remember that you're still a vigilante that hasn't signed the Accords of Sokovia." 

Peter stiffened that the mention of the Accords. He thought the government was over it after the second amendment after the arrest of Thaddeus Ross, but apparently not.

"You said that last time and I almost died! My ex-girlfriend almost died, my best friend nearly died, heck half of Europe almost died because you Director Fury, apparently trust some superhero wannabe in a green and purple costume and overlook facts that could potentially harm someone. So the answer is clearly no!" he retorted, flopping the file on the table as he resisted the urge to sit on the floor flat on his back. 

The three agents were looking at him with an unreadable expression, making him uncomfortable in his skin. 

"Well, it's all up to you then." His voice had a finality to it, one that irked him to no end.

"Do I have a choice?" He sighed after a beat, looking at the three of you with a forlorn expression. 

"Get your equipment ready, Mr. Parker. We'll be leaving for the camp tonight. You can read the details in this file." He heard Agent Coulson say (he was pretty sure his name was Phil), trying to make sense of how fast everything was going past the chronic tinnitus in his ears.

"It's Dr. Peter Parker," he muttered fruitlessly, blushing under your raised eyebrow. 

***

"So, I didn't know you got a PhD. I knew you were smart, still are, considering that you're a PhD at twenty two," You said, sipping on your virgin mojito, and placing the mug in front of you. 

Peter had taken you to a cafe after the confrontation, wanting to know more about your whereabouts and how he had not noticed that you were a superspy all of his high school years. You had retorted with a simple "I'm a spy, that's why,” which he found pretty badass.

"Well, yeah, I did my undergraduate and PhD together." He shrugged casually, looking out of the window to avoid looking at you. 

You had always been beautiful, but somehow, you had become even more beautiful than the last time Peter saw you. 

"That sounds brutal. Only you can manage that," You joked. You weren't going to admit it, but you had missed being with Peter, joking with him and watching his beautiful side profile as he blushed under your scrutinizing gaze.

"So, um. This thing, what is it about?" Peter asked, snapping you out of your daze. 

"Huh? Oh it's a long story. Like really long, if this was a TV show it would take five episodes for me to explain." You gestured, dismissing his scowl. "Okay, so you remember that time when that super high security facility was broken in back in december 2019?" 

"Which super high facility? There are a lot of break ins happening in high security facilities in America, and it's more than concerning, considering they're supposed to be super high security." He said, fiddling with his own drink. 

"Okay, Yeah that's true. It was a S.W.O.R.D facility, and long story short, Wanda Maximoff kidnapped her corpse husband to reenact the dad-knows-best suburban lifestyle with an entire town held as her hostage." You said, looking over your shoulders to make sure no one was listening. 

"Wanda stole Vision's corpse? Wait, is this about Westview? 'The Town that ceased to exist'? Is that what happened? Is this some sort of mind control thing? Cause I know she can make people believe what she wants them to..." Peter whispered, leaning in to show that he was interested. You took a moment to admire his front profile, his broken nose and dimpled chin, rosy lips and sharp cheekbones, accidently zoning out on his theories.

Leaning forward, you brought a hand up his face, pushing a stray curl behind his ears, cutting him short of his rambling. 

"W-what?" He stuttered, his breath hitching, making the table shake with a wince. 

"You have nice hair." You commented with a smirk, caressing his hair one more time. 

"You said that in the senior's party too, and well, there's no sex happening anytime soon." He said, rolling his eyes, sitting back in his hair with his hands folded on his chest.

"I like being optimistic." You rolled your own eyes, heart beating a mile a minute at the reminder of your relationship- ex relationship with Peter, "so what were you saying about Westview? I kind of zoned out." 

You watched him roll his eyes again, trying not to let your eyes wander around his biceps and the little bit of his collarbones peeking from his shirt, unbuttoned from the top, also exposing the thin chain that he always seems to be wearing. With a start you realised that it was the one you had gifted him on his eighteenth birthday.

"So this town, Westview, it just disappeared right? Behind a barrier of sorts? Is it like, coming from an energy source? Was it created by Wanda?  " he asked, ever his inquisitive self.

"Yeah, apparently she's created an alternate reality, sitcom style, with the people of Westview trapped in it." 

"So she's basically starring in a fanfiction alternate reality of sorts but a sitcom format? Wouldn't blame her, poor woman's been through a lot." He nodded, shifting in his seat. He could feel your eyes burning a hole in his skull, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Are you staying in a hotel? Or a shield facility?" 

"Nope," You answered, leaning back on your chair. "Am I still allowed to stay in your room? With the doors open?"

He watched you with narrowed eyes, tilting his head with a smirk, replying to you with a nod, "alright." 

*** 

"Did you pack your mittens? The extra warm ones with a built in heater? You know you're susceptible to frost bites-" 

"May! I packed my mittens." Peter murmured, ducking his head in embarrassment as he raised an eyebrow at your amused smile. 

"Okay, okay, that's great. Socks? Painkillers? Extra pair of glasses?" she asked, fumbling around the room like she did whenever he went on field trips. 

"Yes, May!" 

"Great. Stay safe, okay?" Her eyes softened, holding his cheeks in his hand like he was a seven year old, living with them with a knowledge of death no seven year old should have. Sighing, he leant into her palm, holding his own hand encompassing her small one. Giving her a smile, he kissed her cheek. “Ti amo, May. I’ll call you once I get there, okay?” 

She nodded, pulling him into her embrace, though she knew full well that he’s going to forget to call her, too excited to be in the vicinity of multiple certified geniuses and other figures of authority. 

***

"Is there anything I should know about? Like anything unexpected?" Peter asked, looking at the camp in awe as the jeep pulled over makeshift gates, a bunch of soldiers surrounding them. 

Peter was used to seeing the hustle and bustle of camps, considering all the missions he had gone through with the Avengers, back when Steve wasn’t retired and the newer generation of avengers hadn’t entered. 

“Your blood’s radioactive, right?” You asked, turning to face him with a smile. 

“Yeah. Why? Is that relevant?” he replied, raising an eyebrow as he saw someone carrying his bags before he could protest. 

“Well, Dr. Lewis found out about this hexagonal anomaly, no one really knows what it is, but the source seems to be emitting huge amounts of radiations,” You said, getting off the jeep, pulling Peter out with you. Walking towards the crowded camp, you came face to face with the tent where everything was set up.

“Doctor Darcy Lewis?” Peter said, looking at the place in awe. It wasn’t extravagant, but the technology surrounding the tent, the vans and what seemed to be a broadcasting antenna were all way beyond the regular one used in tech companies, which is funny, considering he’s been working with Mr. Stark his whole teenage life. 

“Yup, that’s her, nerd.”

“So, what exactly is this Hexagon? Is it, like, a barrier of sorts? Can everyone go in?” He asked, looking around with glinting eyes, lips twitching in a smirk as he saw the barrier in question. His super hearing caught the static sound it emitted, wincing at the sharp noises. His boots crunched under the snow as he felt the thing pull him towards it, your voice muffled by the noises of the hex. 

It was something he had never seen before, like the static of a TV with a lost signal, glowing red in places as if reaching out to him. His senses seemed dull, the world greying around the way it had before he was bit by the radioactive spider. The spider bite had enhanced his vision in a way that he saw colours not visible to the human eye, a technicolour wonder that even Bruce couldn’t solve. 

He felt a tug, looking down at his shoes, wondering if he had just imagined it. 

“Mom and dad have been, not fighting, just like different.”

He swore he felt a white light flash in front of him, his spidey sense buzzing at the base of his skull, tingling all the way to his spine as he straightened up to dissipate the feeling, shifting awkwardly.

“Only Captain Rambeau has gone in and come back intact so far. It’s emitting a colossal amount of cosmic microwave background radiation, also known as CMBR, and once you get into it, your mind doesn’t really stay your own, so no one has volunteered other than her. Everyone knows the risk,” You said, startling him, a sharp contrast to the voices that seemed to have suddenly accumulated in his brain. 

“If you’re going to break the sound barrier, please just take your brother with you!”  

‘Sound barrier?’ he thought, looking back at the hex as it flashed red, the tug strong enough to make him stumble in his place. You looked at him weirdly, asking if he was okay, but he wasn’t listening, turning to ask you what the red flash meant, distortion evident in the barrier.

“Captain Rambeau? The daughter of the director of SWORD?” he asked instead. 

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“Damn.” He sighed, running a gloved hand through his hair, and dragging it down his face. 

Walking inside the tent, Peter was hit with a face full of cold air, and the hundreds of monitors nearly gave him a sensory overload. The people running around didn’t help, either. “Where do I keep this?” He asked, pointing to his bag full of equipment that Fury had asked for. 

“You can set up over here, newbie,” A new voice said chirpily. Turning around, he came face to face with the Darcy Lewis, eyes widening as he took in her smiley presence, another human who he didn't recognise standing behind her. “Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Doctor D-”

“Darcy Lewis, I know- I’m a fan!” 

“Aw look at you, you have a fanboy at your hand,” Captain Monica Rambeau said, strutting in and keeping a hand on her shoulder, confidence radiating off of her every pore. 

"And… You are?" he asked awkwardly, looking pointedly at the FBI agent. He saw Darcy hide a snicker behind her hand, patting his shoulder and shoving him forward. 

The man fell forward, steadying himself on the table before he flicked a card seemingly out of nowhere. "Agent Jimmy Woo, FBI,” he said proudly, a smile on his cute little baby face. Peter was left staring in awe, wondering how he had done that.

"Wait, can you do that again? How did you do that?!" 

"It's cool, isn't it? I could teach you if you want." 

"Yes, of course, but how did you do it? It appeared out of nowhere and if you take in consideration the law of conservation of mass, it can neither be created nor be destroyed and it just seemed to have accumulated-" 

"It's a trick of illusion. You see, when I opened my palms, I-" 

"Peter, let's set things up shall we?" You interrupted their session, a smirk on yours and the other women's faces, shaking your head.

Ditching the bag on the counter, he nodded, willing his heart to stop beating out of his chest. This was the coolest thing that had ever happened to him next to Tony Stark sitting on his aunt’s old futon. And the magic trick.

“This is the coolest day of my life,” he whispered, shrugging when you chuckled at his excitement. “Ned’s going to freak out.” 

“Wait until you see the schematics and control panels.” You smirked, making him raise an eyebrow as he blushed, the flush apparent from his neck to his ear. The others scattered just as he finished setting his station up, fidgeting with the radio, when the voice of Hayward boomed across the cubicle. 

“Ah, Mister Parker!” he says, a faux smile on his face as he looks at the station, making Peter shift uncomfortably. The weird tingling of his spidey-sense came up again, his hand automatically reaching there to scratch at the itch.

“Here we go again,” Darcy muttered, patting Peter’s back, her eye roll loud enough for him to glance at her. 

“It- It’s doctor,” he muttered, hearing a “he gets me” from Darcy.

“Very well, Doctor Parker it is, then. I’m Hayward, welcome to SWORD.”

“SWORD? I thought this was a SHIELD thing?” 

“...Fury didn’t brief you?”

“He did! He was just very vague, hence why I’m asking. What exactly have I been called here for?”

The silence that took over was palpable, with you shifting awkwardly as Hayward eyeballed them all, looking at the five of them morosely before saying, “Brief him Monica,” and leaving.

“God, is every higher official such a dick here?” Peter grumbled, watching him retreat, shaking his head as he threw the ball of paper he hadn’t noticed he had been fidgeting with.

“See? He agrees, I like him.” Darcy nodded, pulling him with her towards the briefing table. 

“This all started when the town of Westview disappeared after the second blip,” Monica said, pulling up holographs that showed the image of people reappearing from the snap, his breathing increasing in pace as he remembered vaguely of his own reappearance. 

The whole situation was fucked up. After stealing Vision’s corpse, Wanda had basically resurrected him, holding and controlling thousands of people, an entire fucking town. Looking at the list of all the missing people, his eyes zeroed on to one particular face. He racked his memory to remember who exactly it was, mouth hanging open when he realised who exactly she was.

“Is that… is that Agatha Harkness?” Peter said, pointing at the woman who had no name written under her photograph.

“You know her real name?” Darcy asked, looking at him with raised eyebrows as he nodded, wringing his hands around.

“Yeah, Wanda told me about her, she’s the witch from the Salem trials!”

“How is she significant to the plot, though?”

“She... she mentored Wanda, before she went to the dark side." 

In the time he knew Wanda, she had been the sweetest person ever. She was like an older sister he didn’t know he needed, empathising with him on a cosmic level. They had come close before the events of Thanos happened. She was his person, and they shared a lot of secrets, this one being one of them.

“That’s one connection to her. What about the others? She keeps telling Vision that she doesn’t know what’s happening, but when the drone strike happened, she looked straight at the camera, like she knew,” Monica intervened.

“He tried to deploy a drone strike? In front of her children, after knowing very well that she saw her parents die in the Sokovian attack when she was ten? Is he fucking insane?!” Peter seethed, nearly crashing his fist on the table hard enough for cracks to appear on it. 

“Peter, hey, calm down! You breaking things is not going to make the situation any better, okay? He already tried to chuck us out of this, you don’t go around breaking things now!” You said, holding him still as his body shook. You had never seen him this angry, and frankly, you would never want to see it again. 

Peter was a sweet person, respecting people’s boundaries and always so understanding. He was the embodiment of good, even after living a fucked up life, he never projected his trauma on the other. He wore his emotions on his sleeves, and your heart clenched every single time, seeing him in pain. 

"Listen, that's my sister in there, and she has no idea what she's doing. She needs our help and I'll do anything to help that woman and if you guys even think of hurting her I will make sure each of you regret it," Peter hissed, staring daggers at the silent team members of the room. 

“Is there any way to reach there?” he asked, more softly than before. Darcy exchanged a look with Agent Woo and Monica, opening her mouth before knowing better and shutting it. “What?! Is there a way to communicate with her?”

“Follow us,” the brown woman said, breathing deeply as she looked at the other two silently. 

"Where are we going?" Peter asked, fidgeting with your fingers. He hadn't noticed himself holding your hands, your lips twitching when you realised he had done that unconsciously.

“Trust me, I don’t know half the things these ladies do,” Woo whispered, and Peter nodded along seriously. 

“Whoa, I feel like there’s a secret underground base here! Is there a secret underground base?” 

“Well, it’s not underground, and not really a secret anymore,” Captain Rambeau said, unravelling a curtain, revealing a small space with a million monitors and a wooden desk littered with laptops and too many empty coffee cups. 

“This is so cool,” You whispered, watching in awe as Dracy lit up the screens, revealing various codes and stuff you didn’t really understand. Peter was already invested, babbling about codes and addresses and hidden files within hidden files, things that flew over your head at the speed of Darcy’s fingers on the keypad.

Leaning on the table with one hand, Your eye caught a flat round metal looking thing on the ground, picking it up and tracing it with your fingers. “Is this… a bullet?!” 

“Yeah, it was hit on that suit, which turns out to be 87% kevlar. That happened when Captain shot at it,” Jimmy answered, giving you a smile as you dropped your jaw. 

“She went in wearing a bulletproof vest right? Wanda just… manifested a dress made of kevlar?” You wondered, your words interrupted by Peter’s yelp.

“So, remember how Director Douchebag ordered a drone strike on Wanda?” she said, contemplating her words next as everyone turned towards her. “Turns out he’s been planning something else.” 

“What’s that?” Jimmy asked, pointing at the screen, which displayed two boxes full of what seemed like cells.

“That’s Monica’s blood work, he’s been tracking it the whole time. The first time you travelled to the hex? It changed your cellular structure on a molecular level, twice.” She said. 

A sombre expression took over the older woman’s face, pursing her lips. “He thinks I’m gaining powers.” Monica nodded.

“I may not be a genetic engineer, but from what I’m seeing here, he’s most likely right,” Peter interrupted, a silence taking over everyone. “He’s keeping track of the enhanced, if I’m not wrong.” 

Shaking his head, he clenched his eyes when he heard another voice. You watched him weirdly, reaching to ask him if he was okay, before retracting your hand.

“Chill out sis, it’s not like you can kill your dead husband twice.” 

“You’re right. He’s been tracking everyone who’s enhanced, including Vision.” Dracy said, typing something on the screen to show you the map of Westview, pulsing red and blue dots appearing in your sight.

“Do you know what his endgame is?”

“Yeah. Rebooting Vision.” 

Peter inhaled sharply, trying not to let his face show the anger inside him as he looked at Monica with wide eyes, both of them looking at each other dangerously, both of them realising same thing.

“Then, I’m going in. Someone needs to tell her,” he said, looking at the others for affirmation.

You took a step back, gulping in anticipation of his words. Reaching out with a hand, you stared at him, hoping he wouldn't lash out. "Peter, you have to know, the hex is a dangerous place. You won't even remember who you are so there’s no point in you going in. You won’t be able to convince her to magically leave her hostages, she’ll just see you as an outsider and throw you out-" 

"Captain Rambeau went in and she was able to get out!" he argued.

"Peter, I was tossed out because she saw me as a threat. She might not do that to you but going in that thing is dangerous, especially with your mutations-" 

"I don't give a fuck about my mutation! You of all people should know how it feels like to lose family, Monica," Peter said, looking at her. The fire in his eyes spoke volumes. No one dared to intervene. 

"Peter, your mutation could potentially kill you. You know the risks of going past the barrier due to your enhancements. The radiations are altering DNA to a molecular level, your cells-”

"-are already metastasizing! My spider DNA is going to get me killed some day because my body won’t be able to handle it anymore, so I don't care, I'm going and that's final." He nodded, puffing his chest to show that he wasn't going to step down. 

"Fine, I'll come with you then," You said, looking at him as you said that. A lump formed in your throat as you realised that he was so willing to sacrifice himself, and blood pumped in your veins as determination set in along with a rush of adrenaline. 

"Do as you please." He shrugged, pursing his lips, but his eyes were a different story. You felt sick, insides tearing themselves up as you took a good look at him and his pallor, the artificial lights illuminating the scar tissues on his face. Ones that you knew were inflicted by his years of being the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. 

***

“Maximoff is never gonna negotiate with us,” Hayward said, circling the table as Monica looked at him with disbelief in her expression. “We’ll need all the guns we have here to stop her.”

“We can’t outgun her, but what we can do is try and talk her out of this. Antagonising her is only making things worse. If Wanda is the problem, she has to be our solution!” Monica argued, looking forward.  

“She’s already killed thousands during the Sokovian attack. How do you guarantee that she won’t kill another person she finds threatening?!”

“She was guilty about it. It wasn’t her fault, do not bring that into this.” 

“Yeah? Well, the guilt isn’t going to bring back the dead children is it?” 

"The dead children aren't coming back, but those people trapped in Westview? They can, if you fucking let us!" 

"Fine. But someone will be monitoring you."

Negotiations with your boss and commanding team of SWORD concerning the ship was a tough feat. you had finally convinced them to let you and Peter go across the border, but Darcy and Monica were to be on the radio in case everything went amiss.

Sitting in the (illegally acquired) van, you watched Jimmy, who was trying to teach Peter the card trick, invested in the trick yourself. Leaning forward to get a better view, you tried not to let the rush of blood in your cheeks get to you at the close proximity with Peter, heart pounding with every step you took closer to the hex. 

“I did it! I finally did it, Y/N, look!” Peter said, showing you the trick, smiling at his childlike enthusiasm. 

“That’s great! You should show it to Morgan, she’ll like it.” 

“How do you know about Morgan?”

“I know everything.”

You may have been bluffing, but he seemed to have caught on your cue, the awkward tension reappearing as he shifted in his seat, twisting and turning and going back to the magic trick. You tried not to smile, but your mouth never did coordinate with your brain. 

“We’re here,” the driver said, parking the van. 

“Okay let’s go through this again: Captain Rambeau and Dr. Lewis will be on the radio while you try and get in, stay near a radio as much as you can so we can try and communicate, and do not try to meddle with Wanda,” Jimmy said, going over your checklist. 

You were skeptical of the plan, thinking about how successful your mission was going to be, considering how powerful she had become in her own little sitcom. You had heard of her expanding the borders just after you had started driving near it. 

“You ready?” Peter asked, taking your hand as you nodded, and wrapped your fingers around his knuckles, before taking a deep breath.

“I’m ready.” You nodded, looking over your shoulders to see the FBI agent giving you a thumbs up, muttering something into the comms. Looking back at Peter, you felt dizzy with the buzzing anxiety, the pull of the barrier strong. 

Stepping close to it, you felt electricity buzz in your veins, shuddering at the chilling sensation and sudden exposure to stimuli, your gut twisting the more your hand went in the hexagonal anomaly. You swore you felt your physical being tear apart, your life flashing in front of you in a white hot light, your brain was practically mush with how much force you needed just to get in. 

"I thought we would be able to get in easily!" Peter shouts, his screams echoing in your eardrums, mixed with your own screams. 

"She's becoming more powerful the longer she stays inside, and so is the hex," You replied, gasping for a breath as you tried to move forward.

With a final scream, you closed your eyes at the static sound bombarded your ears, you couldn't fathom how loud it must be for Peter, sending a look towards him. His eyes were scrunched, hands curled around his head and ears to stop the sound. Before you could comment on his state, your own vision doubled, bright green and magenta lights appearing out of nowhere, the coiling of your gut intensifying, and before you knew it, the strong force pulled you inside, throwing you off on the hard concrete of the road, and everything went dark.

***

“I’m okay. I’m okay. Everything is alright,”  Wanda said, repeating the phrase like a mantra as she sat on the couch. 

She repeated the phrase like clockwork, just like being a mom to two half synthezoid pre-teens and the gatekeeper of Westview. Snapping out of her daze, she felt something in her brain stir, realising with a start that something had been messing with the barrier-- or, rather, someone.

Closing her eyes, she willed her powers, similar to the ones Tommy had, to look past the barrier, opening her eyes with a flash when she saw a familiar face.

“Peter,” she muttered, the brown eyed boy who she had come to think of as a brother materialising in front of her, dropping on the carpet with a thud as his unconscious form fell on top of Yours. Wanda remembered you from all the stories Peter had told her about. 

Crouching down, she reached out to touch you both. Her eyes glowing red as she held a finger to your and his forehead, scrunching her eyelids as she navigated both of your heads.

A lonely young girl was seen sitting on a rock, the wind blowing wisps of her dark hair along with her dress. Suddenly, the noise of clucking of horseshoes could be heard, a woman coming into view as she got off her horse. 

“Feeling lonely and afraid at the middle of the night when you’re a young and beautiful teenage girl?” the woman in the cowgirl shoes said, holding her hip as the girl nodded. “Well, don’t worry, every young girl must have a sword at her disposal!” 

“A sword?” the young girl asked, tilting her head as she took the object in her hand.

“Yes, a s.w.o.r.d, my dear. Fear not, for the sword will protect you from all the hexes around you.”

The girl smiled, looking at the camera with the cowgirl’s hands on her shoulder. “A sword to protect the young!” 

Buy now at your nearest convenience store, terms and conditions apply.

“What are you two doing here and not at school?” Wanda chortled, startling the two who were now very much conscious. The boy moved, fisting his eyes, and he curled his hands to stretch the kinks that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, the varsity jacket scrunching underneath his fists. 

“Babe?” the boy groaned, messing up his hair, looking at the general direction of the girl. 

Putting on a smile, Wanda folded her arms, biting her lips at how adorable the two of you were.

“Ben? Is that you?” the girl asked, looking at her disheveled frock with a confused expression, finally noticed the woman standing in front of her. “Oh my god, babe, I swear we were at the bleachers not long ago. Did you manifest teleportation powers now?” 

“Miss Maximoff! You’re Billy and Tommy’s mom! Babe, we’re in Billy and Tommy’s house!” The guy, Ben said, his voice rising up an octave as he looked at his surroundings. 

He couldn't remember much about the Maximoffs, except that his neighbours talk about the weird mom and dad almost everyday in the gossip sessions. Whatever, he wasn't interested in them.

"She turned them into teenagers." 

"Well there goes our plan. Do we still have back up ready?" 

“That’s right, kids. Now, what were you two naughty children doing out of school?” Wanda asked, helping the two kids get up as the boy blushed, stuttering an apology.

“We- we weren’t ditching, I swear, Miss Maximoff! We were just-”

"-Doing homework! Because… because Ben's a nerd and he doesn't like that he gets behind because of the baseball team!" the girl said, stuttering as Ben nodded along with her.

“Yeah! We weren't making out or anything! Even if we're totally dating." 

Their relationship wasn't exactly your normal relationship. It was more of a… mutually beneficial relationship. 

Well, so far they had the entire town fooled, having them all think that a guy such as Benjamin Fitzpatrick would ever date a girl like her, who liked her books more than her siblings. 

"Hmm, well, thankfully, I'm a cool mom and I will not tell your parents about this… thing. Whatever it was. Anyone want cheesecake?" Wanda smiled, clapping her hands once as she looked at the two teenagers. 

Ben's stomach growled at the thought of food. "You don't have to do it, Miss Maximoff, but I would love some," he said, sheepishly looking at the ground, and wincing at another growl. 

Wanda chuckled, patting the boys back kindly. "Oh honey, it's alright. Come on, don't be shy, the both of you!" she said, looking over her shoulder and saying, "and it's just Wanda! Miss Maximoff makes me feel old, you know." 

They followed her to the kitchen, taking in the interior of the house. Ben's eyes caught something from the corner, it was almost as if it was… flickering? Shaking his head, he dug his fingers in his eyes, wondering if he was still feeling the effects of the time he had hit his head during the baseball practice. 

"You okay?" the girl asked, keeping a hand on his shoulder to steady him. 

"Yeah, probably the aftereffects of a concussion." He nodded, burrowing his brows in confusion. 

"Hmm, should probably get that thick little noggin of yours checked by the nurse." She snickered, hitting his shoulders playfully. Her heart was beating fast, he noted, wondering how he could hear it so clearly. The thought that he would have to leave her after she gets a date for prom made him sad. 

They may be faking their relationship, but he had caught on very fast and realised that he wanted it to be real. As real as the town of Westview.

Wait, what?

"You know we don't have to pretend anymore, right?" Ben said, looking at the girl as she came to a halt. Miss Maximoff was nowhere in sight, the house eerily silent with her heartbeat echoing in his ears. 

"This is the best ship SWORD could ever make." 

The awkward silence was interrupted by the opening of the front door, a loud jingle as Agnes came strutting in, a big smile on her face. It made Ben's neck sting weirdly, slapping his hand at the base to nullify the feeling. 

"Hello, children! What are you doing, skipping school like the little troublemakers you are?" She grinned, pinching each of their cheeks as her voice took a baby-like tone to it. Ben took a step back, grimacing as she continued pinching his cheeks. 

"Um, we weren't- we have no idea actually-" 

"Agnes! Oh, what great timing! Were you here for Billy and Tommy?" Wanda came in, a plate full of cheesecake and crackers in her hand. 

"Oh, Wanda, Wanda, Wanda! Your little troublemakers are already in my house, or did you forget?" She chuckled, the sound of her laughter taking a higher pitch. 

Wanda furrowed her brows, opening her mouth to say something, before closing it, a grin taking over. "Right. Yeah, of course! They really love it there with you, huh?" 

"That's right, everybody loves Auntie Agnes!" 

Ben looked at his girlfriend again, feeling strangely out of place between the two women. 

"Um, Miss Ma- Wanda? C-Can we go now? I feel like-" 

"Oh, Ben, don't be ridiculous! Why don't you sit down and take a breather? You look pale, hon." Wanda smiled, setting down the plate and ushering the two kids on the table, both of whom looked at the table with hunger in their eyes. Well, it had been long since lunch break. 

"Thank you for the cheesecake Mi- uh, Wanda, we appreciate it," the girl said, promptly digging in after the affirmation. 

***

Vision knew something was wrong the moment Agnes showed signs of knowing what was going on. The first time it happened, he was sure his paranoid wife would do something, but she had continued to act as if nothing was wrong with Agnes' behaviour. 

Walking down the road in his ridiculous costume, he nearly sighed in resignation, before he realised that he wasn't capable of such human actions. 

One more thing that perplexed him to no end was his strangely human behaviour. It was as if someone was forcing him to act more human, some weird force that was so unlike Wanda's warm presence, something more foreign and way out of his realm (like the gum incident. He sure did remember Wanda chastising him for doing this atrocity, surely she couldn't have been the one controlling him? Right?).

His mechanical heart ached for his wife. She had gone through a lot, from what he had read from her thoughts; losing a brother (twice, if the absence of Pietro was anything but a confirmation), and then him (it didn't bother him much. He was a synthezoid, there was entirely a possibility that he could be revived). 

He just really missed her, he realised. Their relationship had been strained ever since the boys were born. He didn't blame the drift on his boys, of course. He loved them to no end, would sacrifice himself for them, but he couldn't help but notice the change it brought in Wanda. 

The arrival of Pietro 2.0 didn't help either. 

His thoughts were interrupted as his feet halted their movements, and with a snap he realised that he had somehow made it to Ellis avenue, the border's static buzzing through his entire being. 

"You look lost, buddy," a strange man said. 

Looking at the man, Vision tilted his head, looking through the database of Westview to see that the man seemed to be nowhere in the records. How had he made it here? 

"I- I'm sorry, who are you?" He asked, leaning against the car door to peer inside, the man sitting rigid. It was only then did he realise that the man's eyes seemed… glazed, almost like he wasn't aware. Looking back at the barrier, Vision gaped at the view in front of him. 

The man's car was half inside and half outside the barrier, the slow moving particles seemed to be disintegrating the vehicle, watching in awe as sparks flew the closer the barrier came to the man. 

"Listen, you have to get out of here before that thing destroys you." Vision tried shaking the man, but to no avail. His attempts were in vain as the man simply grunted. "Listen! Can you hear me? What's happening? Why is the barrier moving?" 

He tried opening the door, but it was shut firmly. Groaning, he punched the door, nearly falling to catch the falling man, who was mumbling some incoherent mumbo jumbo. 

"Wanda, what are you up to...?" Vision muttered to himself, realising with a start that the barrier was expanding and the man had come from outside the barrier. 

Looking at the muttering man, he quickly moved them both away from the barrier, propping him up against the grass.

"I'm sorry," Vision said, his hands gliding yellow as he touched the man's forehead, his own circuits being bombarded with incoherent noises. 

"Oh god! I'm sorry, please save me! Please, this hurts, this- you- you're the Vision!" the man screamed. 

"Yes, I'm the Vision! Now, can you stay still? I'm trying to help you!" 

"-Please! She's in my head!" 

His hands lit up again, the yellow light smothering the man's forehead as he went still again, as Vision retracted his hands regretfully. Opting to leave the man there, he stood up again, startling once again that day when he heard a shrill cry, the body of… Geraldine? Appearing out of the barrier. Shaking his head, he was convinced that he was hallucinating, if that was even possible for a droid, and turned around to walk back home. 

(Agatha gave a satisfied chuckle, purple sparks erupting from her fingers as she turned back to Wanda, pretending that that didn't just happen.) 

***

"Do you think our school is a little… solitary?" Ben asked, inhaling a puff of smoke from the blunt in his hands. His girlfriend and him were sitting on the rooftop of Westview high, their feet swinging against the edge as she clutched at Pe- Ben for dear life. 

Peter? Who was that?

"Did you see that?? Peter was right, that was Agatha Harkness and she's been the one manipulating the people, it never was Wanda! It was meant to be a plot twist, but I totally predicted it."

"Um…"

"What? I'm invested." 

Peter? 

Y/n? Can you hear me? Please say yes if you can hear me.

She noticed the static sound of the radio speaking to someone. The static noise increased, and Ben didn't seem to have noticed the small portable radio malfunctioning. Shrugging it off, she went back to passing the blunt from her boyfriend. 

Boyfriend. The word ignited a flame in her chest. Ben, who she faked her dates with once upon a time, now was her actual, real boyfriend, who she was ditching homework to smoke a blunt with, uncaring of her nearing curfew. Her parents would have her head if she found out.

"Do you hear that?" She asked, exhaling the stale air from her lungs. She knew it was more of the deep breathing than the weed, but it made her feel serene. 

"I've been hearing a lot of things lately." He croaked, clearing his throat, sniffing the air as he leaned back, his Adam's apple bobbing with every gulp. His glasses were sliding off his face. She reached to push them back up, smiling at the flush of his face.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, slipping her fingers through his, rubbing a hand on his back. His life had been difficult, she knew about him being an orphan, but she didn't know he was having a hard time with life at the very moment, her heart aching for the poor boy.

"I don't know, I keep hearing these voices in my head. Children screaming, people crying, and this… this buzz at my neck, I can't ignore it anymore! I feel like I'm going insane and I can't keep them quiet! I've tried, but it's like they're trying to communicate with me." 

Her eyes softened, hands running through his thick, straight hair as he leaned his head on her shoulder. Suddenly, the height at which they were sitting on didn't matter, she had him in her arms. 

"He broke the fourth wall. He's been hearing things, just like Billy." 

Wiping away his tears, she kissed his forehead, rubbing her hands gently on his back. 

"It's gonna be okay. You're okay, they'll go away soon." She reassured, folding her legs to get up, and pulling him up with her. "It's getting late, and mom will have my head if I'm later than curfew." 

"You've broken curfew before." He chuckled, stepping closer to Her, his hands on her hips.

Moving forward, she enclosed her hands around his shoulders, intertwining her fingers at the nape of his neck. Standing on her highest tip toes, she crashed her lips into his, their bodies swaying with the cold wind. 

"Awww, they're so cute! Exes to lovers, I like it."

"I agree. Didn't see the fake dating coming though." 

"Right?! Wanda should start a production company." 

"If Agnes lets these people go." 

***

Meanwhile, Monica had managed to find an abandoned shack in the backyard of Wanda's neighbour's house, her body buzzing with a familiar tension. 

Opening the shack, she saw the trails of purple, vein like thing running their tracks until they reached somewhere she couldn't see. She didn't notice another person creeping up on her, too busy looking at the trails. 

"Snoopers gonna snoop," the voice said, making her jump out of her skin, and keeping a hand on her heaving chest to stop her from hyperventilating. 

"Pietro?!" She startled, looking around to see if anyone had heard her. The neighbourhood was eerily silent, leaning against the wall, before deciding against it and squared her shoulders, looking at the man in front of her. 

"Yeah, that's me. But who are you? And what are you doing in Margie's backyard?" he asked defensively. She would have found the expression comical if it wasn't for her racing heart and adrenaline filled brain. 

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, folding her arms to show a defensive stance. 

"I'm here because… I live here?" he muttered, borrowing his brows as his eyes glazed over again, "Yeah, wait, no... I live with my sister! Who lives two houses from here! What am I doing here?"

"I don't know, you tell me." 

"God, this is so weird. First Wanda was being weird, now I am." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Nothing." 

***

Billy was afraid. He knew that he should be stronger and braver, if not for himself, then for Tommy. His momma always told him that the only thing to fear was fear itself, and he didn't know what that meant, but he knew that he had to be braver to get back to his mom and dad. 

"Billy, I'm scared," Tommy whimpered. "I'm hearing voices again." 

"It's gonna be okay, Mom and Dad will be here soon," he reassured, just as scared as his brother. They were only twelve minutes apart, but he still felt a responsibility for him.

Mom said that they both reminded of her own brother- Uncle Pietro. 

Hearing the door open, he felt a chill crawl up his spine. 

"She's here! Billy, she's here!" 

"I know! I know! Shh!" 

Her footsteps came closer, the cackling of her laughter making his heart pound. His brother buried himself in his shoulders, both of them huddled next to each other, as if the inevitable could be avoided. 

"How are my best boys doing?" Agnes' shrill voice rang, making Billy breathe faster.

"We want Mommy," Tommy whimpered, sounding as small as Billy felt. 

"Oh, I'm sorry honey, that's not happening anytime soon." She tsked, sounding as apologetic as the villains in the action movies his mom forbade him from watching.

"Why's that?" Billy asked, squaring his shoulders as much as he could. 

"You didn't hear? Mommy's dead." 

And his world crashed, his brain crowding with darkness.

A/N: Lemme know what you think! 😁😁

[cherryonigiri]

nanami kento [evenings with you]

nanami kento x reader || cw: descriptions of blood/injuries, light angst

a/n: this is just self-indulgent writing for me but i'm v stressed about school rn and this is the result. just imagine that y/n is a bio/medical phd candidate lol.

Nanami can tell that you're stressed. Usually you savor the nights he's not on overtime, asking him about work and refusing to leave his side for most of the evening. He's used to you being attentive, so the fact that you've asked him the same question twice within the last ten minutes is already setting alarm bells ringing in his head. You're constantly fiddling with something, or flashing furtive glances towards the bedroom when you think he's not paying attention.

It only gets worse after dinner. You insist on washing up, something about how you want him to 'enjoy his night off.' Nanami compromises, silently grabbing a towel and drying the dishes. It's clear that your mind is elsewhere. Your hands scrub the porcelain on autopilot, and he can hear you muttering under your breath.

Every now and then you'll mutter a list of tasks under your breath. Nanami remembers you mentioning that things were hectic in lab. You're almost always still working when gets home from work, even when it's well past when you eat your dinner. It's clear that you've had a busy day-- the apartment is far more cluttered than it usually is. There are post-it and pieces of scrap paper stuck to every single surface, and a forgotten pile of folded laundry rests on the couch.

An intense burning sensation across your palm causes you cry out. "Shit!" You drop the knife you were washing in favor of cradling your already bleeding hand. Nanami is instantly by your side, firmly pressing the dishcloth against your cut. There is a worrying amount of red seeping into the fabric, so he silently ushers you to the bathroom.

It's a strange reversal of roles. He's used to being the one leaning leaning against the counter while you bandage his wounds. Instead, it's you who is perched on the marble surface, wincing as he dabs an antiseptic soaked cotton ball against your injury. "Sorry, I'm almost done," he says when you let out a loud hiss.

"It's fine," you reply, sheepishly looking away. "I should have been paying more attention."

Nanami chooses to only respond with a nonchalant hum, focusing on cleaning your palm. The two of you sit there in comfortable silence while he applies ointment to the cut, adding gauze once he's finished. It's only when he reaches for the bandages that he decides to ask. "What's stressing you out?"

Your eyes widen as you realize you've been caught. Nanami is rarely home early these days, especially since he's been mentoring Itadori on behalf of Gojo. (Not that you mind - in the few times you've met Itadori through video call with Nanami, the pink-haired student's sunny disposition has never failed to cheer you up.) When he'd texted you saying he'd be home by dinner, you'd jumped at the opportunity to spend some much needed time with him. You'd pulled out the stops, cooking something a little fancier, and intent on spending the earlier part of the evening cuddling with him. Secretly, you had planned to sneak out of bed after he'd fallen asleep (he always goes to bed early on days like these) and finish preparing for the gauntlet of meetings and presentations you had tomorrow. It was your fault for putting off the tasks, and you didn't want to let your own bad habits get in the way of some quality time with your boyfriend.

"It's nothing, I just have a lot on my plate tomorrow." You do your best to laugh it off, but quickly trail off once when you catch Nanami's deadpan expression. He's always been too good at seeing through your white lies. "I put off some work..." A raised eyebrow from him prompts you to continue, "And I was planning on doing it after you went to bed..." You can't help it when your face scrunches into a pout. After all, now your carefully-laid deception has been revealed.

When Nanami bursts into amused chuckles, you're momentarily surprised, but quickly go back to sulking. "Stop laughing at me Ken!" you whine, "I'm a--"

"Self-aware procrastinator," he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. "I know love, I know. I've seen you write far too many papers within 24-hours of a deadline to be surprised." He presses an affectionate kiss against your wrist.

You scowl at your boyfriend, snatching your bandaged hand away from his grasp. "I'm glad that my suffering is entertaining for at least one person." You stomp back to the bedroom in faux-anger, smiling when you hear Nanami's footsteps not far behind you.

When he steps into the bedroom Nanami drapes his frame over your shoulders, his warm torso nestled against your back. "It is one of your more...endearing traits," he murmurs into your ear before pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck. You can feel your cheeks and ears tingle at his words of affection.

"Sometimes you can be such a sweet talker," you mumble to yourself while you change into your pajamas. This week it's been an old Jujutsu tech hoodie and a pair of well-worn athletic shorts.

"Only for you," Nanami replies while he undoes the buttons of his outfit, chucking his tan pants and blue button up into the laundry basket in the corner. He dons a pair of sweatpants before returning your side to recapture you in another affectionate hug. It's a well kept secret of the Kento-Y/N household that Nanami Kento likes to lounge around shirtless in the privacy of his apartment. (You've been sworn to secrecy, but only because your boyfriend claims that Gojo and the students would have a field day teasing him if this information were to be made public amongst the jujutsu sorcerer community.)

Turning around, you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your nose against his torso and taking in his comforting scent. It's been so long since the two of you have had a moment to yourselves, and for once your hectic thoughts are silenced in favor of sharing a moment of calm bliss with Nanami. He hums in appreciation, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your hips.

"Do you want to watch anything tonight?" you ask after a few seconds of silence.

"No," he replies. "I was actually planning on reading the briefing Ichiji just sent me. Gojo apparently has another scheme up his sleeve." You giggle when your boyfriend lets out a pained sigh. On more than one occasion, your boyfriend has ranted to you about Gojo's unorthodox approach to exorcism. "I swear that idiot shaves a year off my lifespan every time I go on a mission with him," Nanami complains. "He's taking away the years I could spend in Malaysia."

You hum thoughtfully before responding, "Then do you mind--"

Once again, Nanami already knows what you're going to say. "Just remember to bring your laptop charger, I know you have a thousand tabs open on your computer right now," he says while exiting to the living room. After a few moments you join him, overburdened laptop and charger in hand. You both take your usual spots in the living room, him resting comfortably in the center of the loveseat and you sitting on a floor cushion, nestled between his legs. Soon you've fallen into a groove, fingers steadily typing on the keyboard. The warmth of Nanami's presence next to you brings a sense of calm, giving you the grounding focus you need to finish off the last of your tasks.

As he thumbs through the printouts Ichiji gave him, Nanami can't help but let his eyes drift towards you every now and then. You look so adorable when you work. From the way your brow furrows whenever you reread a line, to the way you unconsciously chew on your lip when you scrutinize your draft for any errors. Every now and then he'll gently run his fingers through your hair, relishing the content sighs you let out in response.

It only takes about another hour before you're (finally) closing all your tabs (he still doesn't know why your laptop hasn't crashed yet). As you scroll through social media, your head begins to droop. Soon enough you've fallen asleep, breaths coming in soft and even puffs as you rest against his thigh. Smiling to himself, he puts down his papers and gently lifts your body from the floor. He's careful not to wake you as he slowly makes his way back to the bedroom.

Setting you on the bed, he tucks you under the blankets before lying beside you. The moonlight coming through your window softly illuminates your relaxed features, and he softly traces the outline of your face with his thumb. As he continues to caress your cheek, his eyes are drawn to the dark circles under your eyes. He rarely falls asleep after you these days - between his physically demanding occupation and the ever growing number of things you are responsible for at work- he's often the first to fall asleep from sheer exhaustion while you work well into the night. Not to mention that he's had to spend an increasing number of nights away from you, either on challenging missions or accompanying Gojo's students. And while he knows most of your stress comes from being a student, he can't help but feel guilty about all the additional distress his status as a jujutsu sorcerer has caused you.

When you started dating him, you insisted that Shoko teach you how to suture. He hates how much your stitches have improved since then. The neatness of your stitches is a constant reminder of how much you've endured because of him. When he hears you trying to muffle your sobs into a pillow, he swears he can feel his heart crack in his chest, hurting more than any kind of physical wound from battle. Those nights end with him holding you tightly to his bandaged chest, murmuring reassurances and affection into the crown of your head until you've calmed down enough to fall into a fitful sleep. Even when you're unconscious he'll still continue, words morphing into apologies for the sadness he's inflicted upon your shoulders.

Feeling his eyelids being to droop, Nanami presses one last kiss against your forehead before laying down. He wraps his arms around your waist, surrounding you with warmth, hoping that his presence will be enough to keep your nightmares away, at least for tonight. I love you, y/n is the last thought he has before he drifts away, ready to dream of a tropical sunset and a peaceful future with you by his side.

[liskantope]

Now it's May 2024, so ten years to the month after I properly discovered SSC and the online rationalist community -- having read my first SSC post in January 2014, assuming it was written by some minor contributor on some kind of community blog, and setting it aside as something to follow up on once my current new semester of grad school was over didn't count as such. So, ten years to the month since my world was cracked open in a way that I can't describe except to say that I can't recall any other intellectual discovery that impacted my life this profoundly (intellectual discovery not in the sense of learning some new intellectual truth, but as in the discovery of a type of world out there I had wished for since around college but hadn't known existed). I place a lot of sentimental value on recalling calendar dates, and so I spent a little while yesterday evening trying to pin down the calendar date of the day in 2014 I decided to find that blog post again and check out the blog it came from (which led to me discovering Less Wrong as well as launching on a binge reading of Scott's LiveJournal entries).

I still can't figure out what day of May it would have been or even be 100% sure that it wasn't at the start of June 2014 instead. I even went as far as grabbing my old, long-retired laptop which was still a spring chicken and the only computer I used in early 2014 and trying to search for things in the browsing history in hopes that somehow that would give me a clue (old LiveJournal posts did get turned up but I didn't know how to get it to show me the dates I first visited them). Here's what I have for clues:

I recall choosing to do this early in the academic summer, having waited for the spring semester to be over.

The Spring 2014 semester at my then-institution ended (for all means and purposes) on May 9th.

Not only was I not taking classes that semester (as this was later in my PhD program), apparently I wasn't teaching classes that semester either, so I'm not sure what the fuss was about regarding my feeling the need to wait until it ended to go research something. Maybe it was my social life (that was back when I had a really active one! and didn't spend many hours a week hanging around corners of the internet!) keeping me engaged until people started leaving town for summer trips?

Before going on the archive page last night, asking myself "What's the first new SSC post I was ever aware of from deliberately looking up the SSC page?", I immediately remembered it as "Don't Be an Asche-Hole", but that was from June 5th.

When looking on the SSC archive page at what posts came out around May 2014 and trying to discern which title (or bit of content) triggers my memory of "Ah here's another article by this Scott Alexander guy, the most recent one currently out but the second one I'm reading ever!", I feel like perhaps "Nerds Can Be Bees, Too" or "You Kant Dismiss Universalizability" (from May 19th and 16th) may have been the ones, but I'm honestly not sure?

My memory was that the second SSC post I ever opened seemed like it dealt with subject matter completely different from that of the "Apophemi" post, and that doesn't feel entirely true of "Nerds Can Be Bees, Too" or "You Kant Dismiss Universalizability". New hypothesis that occurred to me tonight: it was back that January immediately after first reading "Apophemi" that I clicked open one or two of the other then-new posts which happened to include "Marijuana: Much More Than You Wanted To Know", then dismissed it as I didn't feel like I had much free internet time and that post actually doesn't feel like it's about similar topics. Maybe that's the vibe I'm remembering from glancing at my second SSC post.

So I guess I'm left with, most likely hypothesis, roughly May 16-19, 2014 as my breaking-through-into-this-different-world moment; by the end of this week then it will be a full decade. Sorry for putting anyone through such useless rambling on the offchance that they're still reading this.

Drat, I just realized that I let the 10-year anniversary of my first seeing Scott Alexander's writing pass unrecognized by me. It must have been, most likely, January 13th, 2014 that a distant Facebook friend (likely friended from certain philosophical-discourse-ish Facebook groups years earlier but I already couldn't remember; we've certainly never met) posted Scott's Slate Star Codex essay "A Response to Apophemi on Triggers".

Mind you, this isn't the most important 10-year anniversary for me this year, as I didn't follow up on learning who Scott Alexander was or familiarizing myself with Less Wrong or the rationalist community until my spring semester was over several months later, sometime in May 2014, and I didn't (re)adopt the handle Liskantope and start participating in any way until a couple of months later still. When I first read "a response to Apophemi" ten years ago, I'm not sure I registered the name of the author, and I distinctly remember assuming that Slate Star Codex was some sort of community blog or forum, perhaps through glancing at the archives and seeing an implausible number of posts for only one author, and more likely because most of my exposure to "the blogosphere" had been through community blogs / online magazines / something of that sort (e.g. Feministing, Jezebel, Freethought Blogs). But reading a blog post like that was an absolute revelation to me, and I still have fairly vivid memories of some of my thought processes as I went through it section by section. I recall forcefully filing it away in my mind as "I need to follow up on the source of this to see if there's more, but not until this new semester is over and I have more time."

The revelation for me came from not only the (honestly rather earthshaking) event of this being the first article I ever read (as opposed to the occasional poorly-calibrated Facebook comment from that one friend) arguing against the general SJ mentality of the time (I was introduced to the term "Social Justice" through this essay and had internally been referring to it by several other terms up until that time; "woke" wouldn't show up until several years later), and eloquently at that, and not seeming to come from a conservative or otherwise obnoxious viewpoint. It was also that I had just never encountered anyone who wrote quite like this, with so much genuine politeness and compassion for the other party whose views they were arguing against and yet so rhetorically forceful against them at the same time, with a particular combination of intellectual meticulousness, and easy-to-read, semi-informal, lightness to the writing style, through which the general good character of the writer palpably comes through.

(Well, the brief paragraph about "hoisting the black flag" is pretty sinister actually, and I prefer to think that Scott was being carelessly hyperbolic. I don't think I took any notice of it on the first or second reading during 2014, though. At the time I had no idea who the "Heartiste" was that Scott was referring to.)

It's always interesting to reread something from a full decade ago and think about how long that is in "internet years" and how ways of talking about certain things has changed. Scott used the ze/zir pronouns which were (unfortunately) still very popular at the time but, as I recall, not for much longer, and he switched to they/them within a few months of this. He seems to use transsexual interchangeably with transgender (as I remember I kind of did at the time as well) and even used cissexual, which I didn't recall was ever a word. And, of course, although he discussed racism as a name-calling word quite a bit, he basically used "SJ" and "feminism" quite interchangeably, reflecting a perception I shared throughout the first half of the 2010's of SJ being essentially equivalent to (the popular internet form of) feminism.

It's still kind of a mystery to me exactly who Apophemi was. Okay, looking back at their post that Scott was responding to, it seems they were also going by Cyrus Alexander, and were an Oberlin student at the time. But, given that once I got into rationalist community stuff a few months later, I basically never heard anything about them again, and their Wordpress blog's most recent update is from only half a year later, I have to wonder what it is about their blog or this particular essay demanded so much of Scott's attention. Apophemi's post isn't even particularly substantial or hard-hitting or well-written; why did it carry so much weight? Was it just that Apophemi was directly attacking the rationalist community and got a critical number of shares and reblogs? Was Apophemi just a temporarily famous figure in that corner of the online world, rather like the Tumblr-user Hotel Concierge was for a brief period around a year later before becoming almost forgotten? It is interesting that only two (arguably three, counting Ozy, mentioned multiple times not by name in Scott's piece) characters were involved in the first big controversial rat-community-related essay I was exposed to, and then one of them immediately and permanently disappeared from my view.

EDITED TO ADD: I also forgot to mention that Scott's "response to Apophemi" explicitly describes the cancellation attempt against him when he was editor of his college newspaper, and as far as I know, this is the earliest time Scott explicitly talked about this traumatic life event (except that he probably talked about it in his LiveJournal at the time it happened, but as he had locked the pre-college-graduation period of his LJ right before I came across it -- likely primarily because of this incident! -- I and most others have never seen it). He (understandably!) pretty much never mentioned it so explicitly again in the next decade, so my very first introduction to Scott included knowing this about him while I don't think that many among his bulk of later fans did. But it's an interesting (probable) coincidence that, as of several days ago, he first described the event again in his January 24th post on trauma/politics, ten years later to the month.

[sio-writes]

Botanist's Guide - Chapter 12

<<Chapter 11 (NSFW)

<<< Chapter 1

Summary: Cassandra Rowland, PhD, finally has the chance to work on an experiment that really matters: growing Earth crops on another planet. Too many overdue reports and marked failures have put her in hot water with the board, and this is her last chance at redemption. So when she finds herself railroaded by a seven foot tall, glowing alien named Kri, it won’t be as easy as sticking some seeds in the soil and running them under the tap. Tack on the looming repossession of her lab contingent on her success in Kri’s reports, and Cassie realizes she may have her work cut out for her.

Looking into the microscope I see exactly what I should be seeing: The box-like cell structure of a plant, no different than one I'd see on Earth. It's sage, so crushing it between the slides released it's earthy aroma, and now my whole station smells like the greenhouse, but that's not a complaint. 

Mutations are non-existent, cell walls look good, chlorophyll is bright green. I check off the Salvia officinalis box on my laptop as well as transfer any notes from my head to the computer, and then I pick up the next slide. 

Lactuca Satvia, iceberg lettuce, also looks like every slide I've made. No mutations, it's bright green that fades into a white at the stalk, and if it weren't currently doing a job for science, I'd definitely add it to a salad. I note it down right next to the sage, humming something off-key as I do. Maybe I'll grab a salad for lunch. 

There's only a few more slides to go through, I'm making great time today. My mp3 player crapped out on me, a victim of getting slammed against the wall the other day. I have a little funeral planned, which just consists of putting her into the garbage cube-maker thing. If I had funeral music to play I would, but…well.

It's absence has left the lab deathly silent, but I think my coworkers are thankful for it. At least, no one's said otherwise. The change in pace has kept me focused, a good thing for today with so much technical work to get done. Staying on task is my number one priority.

And Jillie won't stop staring at me.

All day now, she's been throwing me glances, flat out staring me down, she even sent a paper note over. I've been pointedly ignoring her in favor of digging into my work, with huge success on my end. I'm apparently very good at my job when I'm avoiding something else.

I'd tried the silent treatment when the door first opened-- two hours later!-- but once she started crying I felt too bad to keep up the charade. Then she'd shoved these nasty granola bars and an ice-cold water in my face, and I ate only to appease her and not because I'd skipped dinner to head back to the lab in the first place. Besides, a few minutes of pretending to be mad told her what I needed it to, and it was about all I could handle anyway. She's my friend, I can't be mad at her for trying to hook me up. But I can pretend to withhold the information to torture her for a few days. Just a little. 

The first day back had been the worst of her prying. Kri had decided to keep up his schedule of only showing up once a week, giving her permission to blabber away.

"So. Is it big?"

"Hand me the pipettes, please."

"Aw come on! At least tell me if he was good!"

"Pipettes. Please."

But Kri is here today, thank god, so her barrage of questions has stopped for now.

Eventually I will share, because I want to, but Kri and I didn't actually talk about anything. He didn't wake me up after ten minutes like I'd asked him to, instead the shrill metal of the door sliding open is what woke me up. And then Jillie rushed in with her terrible food, and we all went home. It felt particularly anti-climactic compared to the heated confession and fucking. 

Part of me is hopeful, but it's nearly drowned out by the cynic in me. Until we parted ways, Kri kept constant contact with me-- a steadying hand on my back, an arm around my waist, and once, for a glorious moment as Jillie walked out ahead of us, he interlaced our hands together and squeezed my fingers. I think my heart actually leapt into my throat, and then he was walking away without a goodbye.

It's left this…whatever we have going, undefined and hazy. We exchanged pleasantries this morning, but that was all, and it's been nothing but work since. I'm not picking up any anger or malice, but it's also awkward as hell, especially with an extra set of blue eyes watching my every move. "Ignore us Jill, but hey Kri, remember when we fucked? That was great, wanna do it again? On a regular basis?" 

It's not like I can call or text him, I don't have a phone that connects to Summanus' sat-system. Just the chunky brick they gave at landing that connects to the handful of satellites we ground out of the military's original plan. I don't know where Kri lives, either, and they don't have any kind of directory in English. But it's not like Kri's made any moves either, and he actually knows where I live.

I sigh through my nose as I prep the next set of slides. Maybe I'm making excuses, flimsy reasons to keep this going as a casual thing instead of what I'd hoped it would be, what I want it to be. But we need to talk, hands down. Because not knowing is driving me crazy. 

Stealing a glance at Kri is easy, just pretend to hold the slide to the light. I simultaneously want to catch his attention as well as have him keep ignoring me so I can keep staring like a creep. There's things I hadn't picked up on before, small details. The line of his shoulders, the angles of his wings. He's still so pretty under the lights with the flecks of opalescent color in his plating, but it feels like I'm seeing him in an entirely new light. Has something in my brain switched?

The cosmos grants me a favor when Jillie walks to the bathroom. Immediately, I step away from my desk and towards Kri.

"Hey," I say. 

I probably should've thought of something to say.

"Hello," he says, resting his hands on his lap and giving me his full attention. "Is everything alright?"

I fidget with my coat, trying not to remember how it felt to take off for him. "Can we--Can we talk?"

He glances sideways at the bathroom door, then back to me. "Right now?"

I've come to realize that Kri isn't cagey like I once thought, he's just intensely private. He doesn't broadcast things, doesn't offer information like I do, isn't loud or boisterous. He flies under the radar a lot, and I think it's on purpose. 

"Later," I assure him. "Later-- um, do you wanna-- I mean, would you mind, maybe--"

As I talk and fidget, Kri stands from his chair and steps up to me. He grabs my face gently between two hands, and tilts my head up to his, both thumbs tracing lines over my cheeks.

"Would you like to talk over dinner?"

"That's a--" I clear my throat, and Kri's eyes crinkle as he smiles. "Sounds great."

His fingers are soft and warm, thumbs tracing over my cheek again, and his gaze falls to my lips. 

Nothing's been set in stone, but this, and the reminder of everything else, makes me want something solid. Something real, tangible.

I've tried to think about what I want to say, but I've never been good at stringing words together. I'm more a woman of action than speaking, I'd rather just push Kri against the desk and kiss him until my lips bleed.

We lean closer together, almost kissing, until the sound of a soft 'ahem' makes us jump apart, and we both turn to the source of the noise. In the doorway, Jillie has the biggest, shit-eating grin on her face.

My jaw works on several starting noises, but none make their way out. I wind up looking like a fish.

She holds up her hands, placating. "Hey don't let me interrupt." And sits back at the countertop as if nothing happened.

Heat rises to my cheeks, even more so when I hear Kri softly chuckle behind me as he steps back to sit down. I grumble back to my desk, and Jillie's pointed looks burns a hole through my spine. But we work through the next thirty minutes without issue. It's boring as shit, and the tension in the air makes my leg bounce up and down.

After a few more minutes of tense silence, I'm ready to burst. I'm going to explode.

"I'm holding a funeral for Emmie."

The two of them look to me, but their expressions couldn't be further apart. Kri looks shocked, genuinely concerned that I have a deceased friend, and Jillie's look is flat, very much done with my shit. 

"Your mp3 player, really Cass?"

Kri's expression resolves into understanding, and then falls to match Jillie's. "Hardly grounds for a funeral."

I chew on my bottom lip and stare at the floor. "Yeah the, uh, the screen cracked." I pull Emmie out of my back pocket, where she usually lives, and display her in my cupped palms like a baby bird. Behind Jillie, Kri sucks in a breath, but says nothing. Jillie either doesn't notice or doesn't care, because she scoffs, smiling.

"You're so dramatic."

I pocket Emmie again, my brows pinching in mock-offense. "She was a member of this family!"

"It was outdated before your grandparents were born!"

"She was reliable," I hold my hand to my heart, and wipe away a tear. "Three thousand songs, no internet required. Now I have to find something else."

"God forbid you talk to us instead."

I hold my sordid expression. "No one here understands me."

"You listen to your sad music too much, hun."

"It is rather whiny," Kri chimes in, and I shoot him a dirty look over Jillie's shoulder. He shrugs.

"You're both bullies, I'm putting in for a transfer," I say very mildly as I grab the next slides.

"Good," Jillie sniffs. "You can smooch it up in someone else's lab."

As slowly and dramatically as possible, I turn to her. "I'm sorry, who stuck us in a room for three hours?"

"Two, you drama queen."

"At least Kri likes me," I say and Jillie shoves my shoulder.

"One of us has to."

Our shoulders shake as we hold back laughter, and for the first time all day, I feel light. Like a seal has been broken and released all the pressure in the room.

Jillie doesn't stare at me anymore, instead she focuses her efforts on the experiment, and even hums a few songs to break up the silence. We hit a flow again, something that's been sorely lacking the past few weeks, and zoom through the required tests. Despite the crushing quiet, it's been nice to sink into a routine that we both know, stepping around each other like a dance.

I keep my eye-contact down to a minimum, because my thoughts will scatter to the wind again. And it's hard enough reigning them in even when I'm  focusing on my work. Looking at Kri only makes me think of the other day, and then what may happen later. It opens up a question that I desperately need an answer to, but won't get until later. But I need it now, and the anxiety of not knowing is ramping up my anxiety to a twelve.

We all break for lunch, the three of us walking to the cafeteria. Jillie and I snag a booth with our food, and Kri splits off. I look around to see if I can find him in the mess that is the food prep stations, but I don't see him. He chose to eat by himself those first few days, a habit that carried over even when Jillie was out sick, but I wish he'd sit with us now. 

Turning back to the booth, I accidentally make eye-contact with Jillie. The flame of curiosity is back in her eyes, and I shrink down in my seat. I suppose it's time to end her suffering.

"This is killing me," she says. "Are you guys a thing now?"

She looks so excited, so hungry to hear about everything. I push out a sigh. "I have no idea. We didn't talk about it."

Leaning back, Jillie's face falls into an impressed expression, and I fail to suppress a responding smile. Jillie slaps her palms on the table and barks out a laugh. "I knew it!"

"Shush!" I hiss, reaching over as if the motion would quiet her. "Not so loud."

Jillie's eyes are glittering as she reaches for my hands across the table. "You have to tell me everything."

In as many words, I try to surmise the evening, from the fight to falling asleep, with Jillie interjecting with questions every now and then. Some details I keep to myself, I'm allowed some secrets, but Jillie's my best friend. We try to eat in between, but eventually wind up setting down our food to focus on conversation.

I finish with her opening the door, and she squeezes my hands. "So where should I disinfect? The countertop? The floor? The shower in the bathroom?"

"He held me against the wall," I say, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

"Ooh, standing?"

I shake my head, and her look of realization is priceless.

"You have to tell me how big he is."

I groan to the ceiling. "I wish I knew. I couldn't see it."

"Then you gotta look again, hun!"

Leaning back, I grab my water bottle and take a swig. "He did invite me to dinner."

Jillie nods sagely. "You're definitely gonna get some tonight, then."

I open the wrapper for my salad and mull it over as I pour the dressing on. "I don't know if I want to. At least not tonight. I was hoping we'd talk instead."

"Talk?"

I nod. "We didn't do much talking-- shut up-- so now I don't know what this is. Friends-with-benefits? Something serious? And what do I even want? What does he want from me? What is he--"

"Cass, calm down. Nothing's happened yet."

"That's the problem! I don't know what's going on."

Jillie scrunches her face, her head falling to one side. "Then ask him?"

I plop my cheek into my palm, squishing my face on one side. "Not like we've had time."

Jillie offers me a sympathetic look. "Maybe you need to be more upfront. Instead of making out while I'm in the bathroom, you have a little chit-chat. I can disappear for a while."

"We already agreed on dinner," I say, smiling.

"You sure?" She raises her eyebrows. "You just say the word, and I'm gone for fifteen to twenty minutes."

I shake my head again, filled with warmth that she's so insistent. I am anxious about it, but things can wait. It's not worth putting the experiment on hold for. Besides, the lab is hardly a romantic setting to have a serious conversation.

With a deciding nod, Jillie starts to clean her space, and I'm short to follow behind. The rest of the day runs as planned, no interruptions. Jillie stays in her seat, and I'm not thrown into a panic.

I'm actually looking forward to dinner with Kri. The restaurants here are okay, and there's even a few with that warm, low, romantic lighting that's perfect for dates. And honestly, I'm more excited to spend time with Kri. A small, girlish part of me wants to go home to freshen up, make myself look nice instead of the lab rat I must resemble.

All three of us head out of the building, Jillie heading west, Kri and I heading south. The restaurants are all in the northern quadrant by the Capitalism District, there's none in this direction. The only thing this way is housing.

I fake nonchalance as we walk. "So, where're we headed?"

"The…" he trails off, frowning and speaking slowly like he's testing out the words. "Food storage facility."

I raise an eyebrow. "The grocery store?"

He looks down at me, concerned. "Is that okay?"

The grocery store is closer to a MiniMart or a gas station. A handful of isles of instant meals, comfort foods, and frozen produce shipped from Earth. But there's also the ento-run store to the east with more selection. It's open to the public, but everything is labeled in Universal, and I have no idea what's good or not, so I've been too intimidated to go on my own. "Which store?" I ask.

"The eastern building, I just need to pick up a few items."

I feel my stomach grumble. "And food after?"

"I was hoping to cook for you," he says, wings fluttering. "If that's alright."

I haven't had anyone cook for me since I visited my parents. Warmth settles in me, not quite arousal, but something else, something heavier. Kri wants to cook for me.

"That'd be awesome."

The walk to the grocery store runs through another block of buildings, all of them painted in subdued, warm tones. They're all short, maybe three stories at the tallest, and the terrain reminds me of a seaside strip mall-- laid brick and cobblestone. I've only ever been to this side once on a tour, this is where it turns into culture and arts. 

The store is nestled at the bottom floor of a deep red building, a carved out space that may have once been a multi-vehicle garage. Inside are several rows of foodstuffs, some packaged, some open. There's an assortment of fruits that I have no idea the names of as well as what look like a few rows of packaged instant ramen. Some things are universal, I suppose. 

The store is empty, so it's just the two of us looking through the isles. I wander the isles while Kri picks up several fruits. He grabs a plum-sized blue seed, a handful of bean pods the size of my finger, and two green vegetables that look like potatoes. I'm examining the isle of drinks, wondering what tastes like what, when Kri grabs my attention.

"Would you prefer sweet, or savory?" He holds up two nearly identical looking spheres that look like dark red coconuts. I walk up and pretend to inspect them, humming as I think. I have no idea what he's doing, but I appreciate that he's including me. 

"What do you like?" I ask. 

"It's your decision."

I blink at him. "But I don't know what you're cooking. What's easier for you?"

Kri regards me, head tilted, and puts the coconut in his left hand back on the pile. He doesn't say anything, remaining silent as he grabs several other things, all the while catching glimpses of me as he does. I sidle up to him as the cashier bags his stuff.

"What'd ya go with?"

The cashier extends one long arm and hands Kri his things, and Kri quickly closes the bag so I can't see inside. "You'll have to find out."

I balk. "No fair!"

He smirks at me sidelong. "You insisted it was my decision."

"But I need to know the results."

"You will."

***

Kri’s apartment isn’t far from the store. I have to wrestle one of the grocery bags out of his grubby hands so I can I carry it and feel useful as we wind around buildings and cross a few streets. We walk quietly, not quite awkward enough for my reflexive talking to kick in, but I feel the need to fill the space simmering under my skin.

I want to say something. I should probably say something. It's only fair, and would help my anxiety so much more than waiting. 

We wait in the elevator to his floor and I need to say something. We're approaching his place and I need to speak up, but I say silent.

It's too much, it would break this easy flow. The timing isn't right and god damn it, we're already at his door. 

Stepping through the doorway feels simultaneously like jumping off a cliff and nothing at all. I'm aware of how huge this feels, my stomach lurches and my hands go clammy, but I'm also aware of the world continuing to turn around me. This doesn't feel real, but I want to grab at it with both hands and take it before it disappears.

Kri flicks the lights on, and I don't know what I expected, but a mirror of my own place wasn't it. This building is supposed to have the nicer layouts, with actual bedrooms instead of a studio layout. It's not surprising though, us Earth scientists are about as creative as socks for Christmas when it comes to designing buildings. I hope Kri isn't paying extra.

Everything is scaled up for someone of Kri's size, and there's a massive cloth hammock where the bed should be that's piled high with pillows. Along the living room wall on the right are shelves of books, interspersed with plants of various sizes that hang down almost to the floor. To the left of the sliding glass door to the balcony is another bookshelf, with a screen and speakers, and the light reflects off several picture frames that flick through a few photos.

Giving in to my base urge to be nosy, I set my bag on the kitchen counter and wander over to the television set. Under the coffee table is an ornate looking rug that's definitely too expensive for my apartment, and I try to tip-toe around it to avoid leaving any dirt, when something catches my eye.

In the corner, on a bottom shelf, is a taxidermied rat on a tiny skateboard. It's in the middle of popping an ollie, sitting in the center of some kind of ceramic crown of Summanian flowers. The frame above it swipes to a new photo, and in my peripheral I see Kri

My anxiety flares, and I turn away from the shelf of picture frames and other memories. Focusing my attention on something else is all I can do not to feel like a trespasser here, and I wander to the kitchen where Kri is grabbing several items from the fridge. The feeling of inadequacy swells, gelatinous and without form, and I try to push it down. It squishes between the bars of my mind, an imprint reflected back at me that tells me I’m not welcome here.

Instead, I step up to Kri and wrap my arms over his waist. The chitinous plating covering his body draws lines over his form that lead my fingers to his front, and I lean into his frame. Even bent over, my arms are level with his waist, and when he straightens, it pushes my face into his wings. Their whole structure is split into two sets, the bottom that folds open like a fan, and the top shaped like a dragonfly’s wing. They’re cool under my cheek, catching the light and shimmering.

“Yes?” He asks, two hands coming to pat mine.

I sigh heavily against his back, trying to sort my thoughts and coming up short. Taking my silence for an answer, Kri turns in my arms and cups my face in his lower hands.

“Am I not paying you enough attention?” He teases gently, running a free hand over my head. “Because I’m trying to provide you with a meal.”

Shame wells up behind my anxiety, hot and present, and I puff my cheeks and stare at a spot on his shoulder. I know talking is the right choice here, but my head is too much of a mess to talk about anything. 

Ignoring the swirling feelings in my gut, I push up on the balls of my feet and press our lips together. He hums, a surprised note deep in his throat, as the hands gently cupping my cheeks firmly hold me and he pushes back. It’s a different kiss than the first one, softer, sweeter, holding promise. He’s slow to lick in my mouth, but it adds heat that reminds me of the passion of last week. He can pick me up and set me against the wall, can hold me with two arms and work me over with the other two.

I push my tongue into his mouth, wanting to make up for the interrupted kiss earlier today. My lips slot against his and he hums another satisfied note as he skims his tongue against mine and starts exploring my mouth.

I want more of this, I want this all the time. I can’t imagine giving up the way he slots so perfectly against me, like a puzzle piece I didn’t realize I was missing.

Kri pulls away from my mouth with a pained sound, but I can hear the smile in his voice. "I thought you wanted to talk first."

I lean into him and push my lip out in a pout. "Changed my mind." 

And then he smiles against my lips and pushes forward again. It's so easy to give in, like falling into a soft bed. I'm surrounded by comfort and warmth. 

Taking the lead, Kri steps me over to the counter and, without breaking the kiss, picks me up by the waist and lifts me onto the countertop. The ease that he picks me up makes me feel hot, and I moan softly against his lips before Kri pulls away. 

"What would you like to--" 

"Anything you want," I breathe. "What do you want?" 

Kri laughs, low and dangerous. "From you? Everything."

He leans forward to kiss me again, but the silence of the room makes my growling stomach practically echo against the walls, and Kri's hands stop halfway to my chest.

"You need to eat," he says, smiling. 

With that, he straightens, hands smoothing down my hair, and turns away from me and back into the kitchen.

"What would you like to drink? I have water, and I'm quite fond of Earth's orange juice."

I snicker. "Orange juice is actually more of a breakfast drink."

Kri presses his lips together and looks away, wings fluttering. "I also have lifrit juice, and wegol soda."

I hop down from the countertop and walk around the island to a stool. It's tall enough that when I sit, my legs swing freely. It's been a long while since my feet haven't hit the floor, it makes me feel like a kid again. 

Humming, I tap my fingertips over my lips. I'm not sure what those last two were, and I'm up for trying something new, but I also want tonight to mean something. It feels important that everything go right. "What would go with tonight's meal?"

He perks up at that. "I may have something," And starts rooting around in his lower cabinets. I hear him knocking about lots of metal objects-- pots and pans maybe, before he straightens, holding a bottle of wine.

"Is this acceptable?"

I drag the bottle closer and spin it around to get a look at the label. It's a Sauvignon blanc from a few years back, unopened. What a random thing to have in his cabinet. "Why do you have this?"

"I bought it to sample the taste, but never got the chance," he says as he roots around in the drawers. He opens a few before finding the little corkscrew opener and hands it to me. The bottle pops open easily, and I pour it into the two glasses Kri sets out for me. I bring the glass to my lips and sip at it while Kri watches and mimics me. I'm not super into wine-tasting but this one is good, it would pair well with a fancy meal. 

The face Kri makes after he sips is the same face I make when Jillie orders tequila shots, and I have to be careful not to inhale my drink. Kri immediately sets his glass down and shakes his head.

I hide my smile behind my glass. "Not a fan?"

"That is quite awful," he says with a shudder.

I take another sip of mine and then swirl the glass because I feel fancy. "It's pretty dry, you may be a fan of the sweeter stuff like Moscato. That one tastes like ginger ale."

Kri eyes my glass and purses his lips, skeptical, "I'll take your word for it."

As he turns back to the stove, I tip the remnants of his drink into my own, nearly filling the glass to the brim. Drinking on an empty stomach is a bad idea, especially if I'm going to need to find my way home later, but if I take little sips instead of trying to gulp it down like I usually do, I think I'll manage.

I watch Kri as he cooks, sitting on the opposite end of the countertop island to stay out of his way. As always, he's graceful in what he does, even with his back to me. All four hands doing something different, always switching focus and lasering in on it, not a single mistake is allowed, and absolutely hypnotizing to watch. 

"You're an alien of many talents," I say, and he glances at me over his shoulder.

"How do you mean?"

"I didn't know you could cook."

"Oh, I quite enjoy it. I can make you all manner of things."

I ignore the flutter in my stomach at the idea of him making me food regularly, and try to peer around him as he works. "What's your favorite thing to make?"

"Lepsc'it, it's a fried Trokk root stuffed with vegetables and spices. It's very easy, only a few ingredients, and there's many varieties all over the globe."

"Are you making that now?"

His wings flutter. "I thought I'd attempt something a bit more complicated."

"Are you trying to impress me?" I ask with a smirk.

He's too slow to cover his smile, "Only if it's working."

The smell of spices and vegetables fills the small space, like thyme or rosemary, with a hint of heat behind all of it, mixed with whatever main dish he's prepping. There's large puffs of pink something resting on a pan in the corner, a thick brown sauce that he scraped cubed veggies into, and something else that's blocked by his frame. It all smells heavenly.

My mouth is watering by the time he sets a large plate in front of me with one of those pink bread rolls on one side, the sauce and cubed veggies on the other. I smell more spices and heat, and it's agony to wait for him to sit next to me at the countertop. 

"Is it rude to just dig in?"

"Absolutely it is," he says, smiling. "But we're not at a paid dining establishment." He motions to my plate. "Eat."

This dish reminds me of curry but with bread instead of rice, and smells the same. Kri hasn't laid out any utensils as most ento eat with their hands, so I tear a piece of the pink bread off, dip it in the sauce, and pop it in my mouth. 

Spices and flavor dance over my tongue, things I can't name but are still delicious. It pairs with the bread so well, I'm barely through the first mouthful before I'm shoving a second bite in my face.

Kri eats opposite me, slow and careful, trying to casually glimpse up at me like he's checking in on me, and I cover my smile around another bite of food. He's worried, I can tell, and it's kind of cute.

I wolf down my food and say nothing, and normally I would feel bad about the silence, but Kri doesn't say anything either. 

"It was acceptable?"

"Don't kid yourself, it was delicious. I'm so full," I say, patting my stomach for emphasis.

It's not just the food that keeps me quiet. I also don't want to talk about how I feel. Being emotionally honest makes me anxious, makes me think of all the ways it could be used against me. I don't want to scare off Kri with all the issues I have. He listened to me in Igrien, but how many more times will he listen to me say, "Oh, Stephen made me this way," before he walks out?

But as we both set our plates aside and sit awkwardly in the kitchen, I realize that this is it. That if I want something to happen with Kri, I have to grab it with both hands myself. Even so, I still fiddle with my hands as I speak up.

"So uh, is this the part where we talk about feelings?"

Kri tilts his head, probably picking up on my mood, and quietly says, "If you'd like."

"Not really," I laugh, nerves making the sound shaky. "But I just want to know that we're on the same page-- that we're at a complete understanding," I correct when Kri narrows his eyes in confusion.

I focus my attention to a spot on the table. "I'm not good at words but I want…this. Us-- something…Something."

Even to my own ears it sounds horrible, and I grimace. God damn it, I should've thought about it before we got here. But all I have is feelings, emotions that push at my heart and flood my senses. I don't know how to describe my anxiety any better than describing the color red. Sometimes it feels like too much, like if I acknowledge anything it'll turn into too much to handle.

Kri only stares at me, giving me more space to talk, and my teeth creak as I grind them together anxiously. "Okay, it's your turn."

And then he looks away, down at the table, at his hands. His expression shutters off, a blank face, then darkens into something profoundly sad, and it's like I can hear his thoughts across the table. I appreciate the romp in the lab, Cass, but this just isn't for me. You're too fucked up, and I'm not about to deal with all of that. Except he'd say it nicer, with bigger words. Taking a shaking inhale, I hold my breath as the tightness of anxiety starts to coil around my chest and wraps fingers over my brain.

Then Kri sighs, a heavy movement of his shoulders, and he looks back up at me. "I admit that my thoughts are scattered. Between wanting to breathe you in like oxygen, and questioning whether I've earned the right to inhale. You've already bared your feelings for me, and I did not tell you mine at the time as I was--" he pauses to think, then huffs a laugh, "distracted. But I believe I have words for you now."

He reaches across the small table, taking my hands in his. He's warm as always, and his thumb rubs the back of my hand comfortingly. The tightness in my chest eases, ever so slightly.

"Cassie," he says. "I have a great many feelings for you, some of which I'm prepared for, and others that frighten me deeply. I am well aware that I come with a history, and the weight that it implies. But if you'll allow me your patience and understanding, I'd very much like to explore what a relationship with you would look like."

It's so earnest, so bare, that I'm hit with a wave of emotion that completely drowns out any other thoughts I have in my head. I want to lean forward and kiss his hands. I want to vault over the table and climb into his lap. "Jesus, did you prepare that?"

His eyes widen a fraction, like he didn't expect me to respond like that, and then he nods. "When confronted with interpersonal problems, I know that I tend to recede into myself and minimize the words leaving my mouth, and I'm trying not to do that so we're, what did you say, on the same page? You deserve my transparency in this, especially considering how I've been acting. I was trying to push you away when you wanted to be close, and you deserve so much better than that."

There's so much he's saying without saying it, and I can analyze why he thinks I deserve better, or inspect why all I want to do is jump over the table and give him the ride of his life, but my brain only latches onto my own insecurity. "You prepared a speech for me and all I had was, like, five words."

With a free hand, Kri rustles around in his bag and produces a small square of paper, folded very neatly. "I also wrote down several non-starters in case you realized that you're too good for me, so I also had a handful of words prepared."

It's said so casually, so matter-of-fact, that I can't help but snort. It breaks the tension in the room and my smile feels easier than before, keeping eye contact isn't as difficult.

"And to be fair," he continues. "You said more than enough the other day. I was worried that you'd take it all back."

Something clicks into place in my head, a small, flighty piece of Kri's psyche that I've been seeing without noticing. That despite his attitude, or ego, or anything else, he still craves a form of validation, still vies for approval. And I desperately, so desperately want to know what he's afraid of. But that's a whole other conversation, a heavy and upsetting one. One that I don't think either of us are up for right now.

So I squeeze his hands in mine. "I…really like you," I say. "I think we just need to get better at showing it. I guess we could…figure it out together?"

"That sounds lovely."

Kri tries to clean up on his own, but I butt my way in when he starts to wash the dishes. I'm off to his left, drying and setting them aside, and we fall into a good rhythm that reminds me of his time helping in the lab. We don't need to speak to fill space, I'm guided by his movements, and he's guided by me.

This is nice. Domestic, even. My heart stutters at the idea of doing this again, of sharing a space, of being welcomed into his home.

As I'm drying my hands on a towel, Kri steps around and in front of me, close enough that I can smell fresh water, and I look up at him and offer a warm smile. Taking my chin in one hand, he presses a kiss to my lips, chaste and simple and wholly perfect. This is our first kiss as a couple, I realize as his other hands carefully take the towel from me and rest it on the counter. 

The first of many, hopefully. 

Is that sappy? I don't care, as long as they keep happening. I press up to continue the kiss, a deep-seated need shocking through me at the soft noise he makes against my lips. 

Then Kri searches my face, and I hear the chitter of his wings as they flutter against his back. "You're more than welcome to stay," he says, voice low, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

It physically pains me to be responsible and say, "I have to clock in tomorrow."

He nods once, decisive, and quickly pecks my cheek again before straightening. "I will fly you home, then."

"Sounds goo-- wait what?"

Kri doesn't answer me, only walks past me and into the living room.

Surely, surely he can't mean literally, I continue to think as I grab my stuff and we head out the door.

But sure enough, we walk outside and he picks me up like I'm a princess, something that still shocks me that he can do, and off we go.

I've never seen the Outpost from above, and it's kind of beautiful. I can trace the lights of the walking paths and the hovercar roads, I see single rooms lit from the buildings, other residents up late like me. And outside the border of the Outpost is the pure, unfiltered landscape of Summanus, with its primordial trees and glowing underbrush, like the ground itself is framing us with light. I've seen Kri fly faster, he must be slowing himself for my benefit. And Kri is glowing too, not nearly as bright as the electronics around us, but more subtle, softer. It's still that pale blue, rivers of light lining his chitinous plating. I want to trace them with my fingers, before I remember what it does to him.

We land in front of my building, so gently that Kri's feet don't make a sound, and he sets me down just as carefully.

"Thanks," I mutter, suddenly shy and awkward. I feel like he's bringing me home from prom and it's past curfew. I clear my throat. "Thank you for dinner. Not bad for a first date."

With his two lower arms, he grabs my hands and brings them together. "You will have to decide the next one, then."

I huff an exhale, smiling up at him. "Okay."

He smiles back, soft, relaxed, totally content. Dark eyes search my face, and even in the low light I can make out my reflection in the inky blackness. Two hands come up to cup my cheeks, fingers wrapping around to the base of my skull, as Kri leans down and gently kisses me.

I tilt my head and sigh into it as my eyes fall shut, wishing I were taller so he wouldn't have to bend down as far and I could press up against him. This is still good, though, he can still rest his other hands over my hips, and I can wind my arms over his shoulders. 

This is all going to hit me later, a hurricane of repressed feelings. It's going to be a lot of good emotions though, I can feel them boiling behind my chest. Giddyness and arousal alongside anxiety and dread. I'm both excited and terrified of what could happen.

I can still feel the warmth coming off of him even when he leans back. His hands stay on my face, steady and comforting, and he leans forward and quickly kisses me again. 

"I should go before I follow you inside," he says around a laugh, and I nod sadly. 

"Or before I drag you in." 

He chuckles, low and sexy, and squeezes my hands. 

"Goodnight Cassie." 

"Goodnight Kri," I mumble, and he steps back, dropping my hands from his.

I watch him take off before going inside, and I couldn't wipe the smile from my face if I tried.

Chapter 13 >>

[jadedselfconclusion]

Normies, Horrible movies and The Joker.

Okay first I want to state the obvious, I am a comic book fan. Some have gone as far to say I'm a purist. That being said here are my PERSONAL thoughts and OPINIONS.

So apparently people are uppset about the new Joker movie. Saying its too dark/ graphic/ will make white men murder...yada yada yada. Now some these SJW cunts and cucks are hypocrites. Why? Because they were perefectly fine with the Dark Knight Joker...

Portrayed by the late great Heath Ledger, this joker had no back story or Origin story and was pure chaos and fire. Killed multiple people, started fires...Joker shit. Yet he was praised for his "Realistic and Dark" portrayal of the infamous Joker.

Confused? Lets jump back to 1989, 30 years ago when Tim Burton directed the cult classic Batman.

This is Jack Nicholson, who played Joker in the film mentioned aboved. The late 80's portrayal of joker was just as "Dark" but more comic book ( Not a bad thing in this case). Nicholson dig deep and gave a award-winning performance. With wit, style and murder. Many who claim to be SJW's loved this Joker.

Yet here they are trying to ban the ingenious and well crafted film that is the Joker, a one off stand alone Origin story.

There is no definitive Joker Origin story with in DC nor should there be. I personally love the Killing Joke Joker ( the graphic novel not the trash woke animation) but this movie deserves its place. It was like watching a DC graphic novel of the Joker.

This is Joaquin Phoenix, who played this "problematic" ( God I fucking hate that word) Joker. This origin story went deep into mental illness and the dark path Arthur ( the joker's name in this version) is pushed down and his transformation into the Joker. With an unsettling but wonderful gritty realism. It's rated R ( which honestly anything that includes a proper Joker should be rated)

Now the SJW's have their panties in a bunch but yet no out cry of the senseless violence shown in the upcoming Harley Quinn movie. It's titled Birds of prey but ...let's be honest its HQ show. Not even a true portrayal of The red and black PhD wise craking, fun loving harley from the days of the Batman the Animated Series or even from Gotham City Sirens ( which Birds of prey was suppose to be named, but due to the fact Catwoman and Ivy might over shadow thier cash cow and the fact DC has a bunch of eggs in other baskets it was changed.)

https://youtu.be/XDlZ1eJOUKc

We can all agree suicide squad was TRASH. Not only did it not pull enough from its graphic novel counterpart or multiple sources and storylines with in the comic book world. It's casting, writing and production left everyone wondering ( everyone except the Normies) what the fuck is this shit?

Well to capitalize on wokeness and forced female leads they pull out birds of prey. Race bending black canary and other issues. Like the fact that harley isn't in Birds of prey and it focus is mainly on Huntress, Black canary and sometimes batgirl/ batwoman ( not the lesbian one but Barbra Gordon as shown below)

Normies are those who do not read the comics, or just know the mainstream characters. ( nothing wrong with being a Normie) unless you are dictating what should and should not be in a live action film based off the comics. Then we have a problem. Because of this awful woke culture some of my favorite characters have ruined, race bent, gender-bent or just emasculated for the sole purpose of pleasing SJW normies.

https://youtu.be/Yg1uqV2E4aE

This is a problem because not only is it disrespectful to the character, the source material and those who've bought/ related to these characters and storylines but to those who created these characters and stories.

My point is this, stop compromising great writing and storytelling to please people who do not really give two shits about it. These people are hypocrites and have never understood the source material. The dumb bitch who wants to change the name of the Xmen because she thinks its sexist? Does she even know why Xavier named them this? No, she doesn't if she did she wouldn't have opened her goddamn mouth.

Xavier sought out Summers and enlisted him as the first of his X-Men, Cyclops. Xavier called the team "X-Men" because each one had an "extra" power that normal people lacked. (Not so coincidentally, of course, "X" was also the first letter of Xavier's last name, and he himself took the code name "Professor X.")-

furthermore to prove my point -

From a social policy and philosophical perspective, Xavier deeply resents the violent methods of those like his former close friend and occasional enemy, the supervillain Magneto. Instead, he has presented his platform of uncompromising pacifism to see his dream to fruition – one that seeks to live harmoniously alongside humanity, just the same as it desires full-fledged civil rights and equality for all mutants. Xavier's actions and goals in life have therefore often been compared to those of Martin Luther King Jr. for his involvement with the American civil rights struggle, whereas Magneto is often compared with the more militant civil rights activist Malcolm X.

The character's creation and development occurred simultaneously with the civil rights struggle, taking place in the 1960s, while Xavier's first appearance dates to 1963. The fictionalized plight in the comics of mutantkind faced with exceptional intolerance and prejudice was done in large part to better illustrate to audiences of the day what was transpiring across the United States, just the same as it also served to further promote ideals of tolerance and equality for all.

Did you catch that? Equality for All! Well I'll be damned X-men isn't sexiest after all. This is the glaring problem for me at least.

So lets go back the Joker and his source material shall we?

In his comic book appearances, the Joker is portrayed as a criminal mastermind. Introduced as a psychopath with a warped, sadistic sense of humor, the character became a goofy prankster in the late 1950s in response to regulation by the Comics Code Authority, before returning to his darker roots during the early 1970s. As Batman's nemesis, the Joker has been part of the superhero's defining stories, including the murder of Jason Todd—the second Robin and Batman's ward—and the paralysis of one of Batman's allies, Barbara Gordon. The Joker has had various possible origin stories during his decades of appearances. The most common story involves him falling into a tank of chemical waste that bleaches his skin white and turns his hair green and lips bright red; the resulting disfigurement drives him insane.

Now just sit with that a bit.