#trust I busted one hundred and two times

[jabesa0]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62451610

Hi I'm the guy who was talking about a fic, I finally did it! You'll need to be signed in to read, sorry about that. Also please mind the tags because it's a bit of a mess 😅 other than that tho I hope you like it!!

WAAAIIIT U WROTE THIS??! I check the mammon/reader tag on ao3 like every other day so I know when new stuff pops up and I read this like the other day!!! It was sooo good, flustered subby mammon is soooo 🤤🤤🤤 it’s sooo yummerssss thank you sooo much anon this is good good food 😋🫶🫶🙏

[nanaslutt]

GOJO W THE MAKING OUT COVERTLY DURING A MISSION TROPE PLSSSPLSPLS

contains: fem reader, third-year Gojo(19), accidental recording, inexperienced reader & Gojo, getting caught, exhibitionism, thigh riding, clothed hand job, Gojo cums in his pants, making out, dirty talk, sexual tension

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Your chest was pressed to Gojo's, the air in the room stuffy and hot as you tried to shuffle your bodies around, trying to give each other some room to breathe. The recorder clipped to Gojo's chest was probably suffocating with the loud rubbing of your clothes against him. "Just- fuck- scoot that way- ouch no- the other way-" You whispered into the small space, thanking the universe for the darkness of the stuffy closet, saving you the embarrassment of Gojo's teasing if he saw how red your face was.

--

Yaga had sent the two of you on a mission together, the objective--get recorded proof of a certain suspected jujutsu high assistant leaking crucial information to curse users. Gojo was a third year now, just having had his nineteenth birthday, and he was more than capable of handling missions on his own. However, Yaga absolutely did not trust Gojo with such a mission on his own, the young man always returned to the school with hundreds of thousands of property damage under his belt for the school to deal with.

This wasn't exactly the type of mission one could just bust in the room and take everybody down, it was a stealth mission, which Gojo was absolutely not equipped for. You weren't at the stage where you could take on a mission by yourself, but Yaga knew how great you were at calming a young and cocky Satoru down, which is how you ended up coming on this assignment with the white-haired man.

The two of you had made your way without a hitch to the meeting point, Gojo quick on your tail as he practically bounced with joy behind you, strolling with you through the dimly lit building. "Ahh~ This is sooo much fun, when's the last time we got sent on a mission together?" he asked, poking his head out in your peripheral vision. "This isn't supposed to be fun, Satoru. Do you know how much I liked Ms. Yae? I cant believe shes a traitor." You whispered.

Gojo pulled his head back, pursing his lips together as his long legs easily kept up with your fast pace. "Hmm.. I don't know if I ever knew her, but I guess it does suck, yeah.. but try to see the good in this~ You get to spend an entire mission with me~" He giggled behind you, too loudly for your liking. You stopped in your tracks, turning to look at him, "Satoru, she was our driver for the entirety of our first AND second year, and be quiet, you're talking too loud."

Gojo pouted, tilting his head at you, "Rude, I am not-" A door squeaking open around the corner followed by two people talking interrupted Gojo, as did your hand that you quickly pressed agaisnt his lips, shutting him up. You held your breath, waiting to see what was going to happen next. You felt Gojo smile behind your hand at how panicky you were at such a thing.

Your heart sped up in your chest when their footsteps started to echo in the hall, coming closer to where the two of you stood. "Fuck." You whispered under your breath, your hand leaving Gojo's mouth as you whipped your body around, trying to think of somewhere to hide. Gojo didn't fully understand how to teleport to long distances yet, but he could've easily moved the two of you to another floor. Of course, he would do no such thing though, he was having a great time watching you scurry around like a mouse in a maze.

"That's not good~" He whispered, giggling under his breath. You set your eyes on a door only a few feet away, from the outside it looked like an entrance to a fairly spacious room too; perfect for eavesdropping on their conversation. "Cmere," You whispered to Gojo, taking his large hand in yours you dragged him towards the door, trying to move as quickly as possible as it sounded like the footsteps were getting closer and closer.

You swung the door open, the old hinges making a loud squeak that made you cringe as you threw Gojo's body into the space and closed the door on yourself as quick as you could. You didn't expect your back to come into contact with a hard surface, covering the entirety of your back. "Hu-?" You felt a pair of warm hands grab your waist, gripping you softly. "Woah~ If you wanted a little more privacy you shoulda just said so~" Gojo cooed, tipping his head at you, even though you couldn't see him in the pitch blackness.

Upon further inspection as you pushed his hands off of your waist, ignoring the heat of your face, you found there were dry mop heads and brooms around you, something that felt like a jacket was hanging behind Gojo, and something; presumably a mop bucket; was sat at the back of the small space, limiting the already small surface area the two of you had to share.

"Fuck, we're in a closet." You whispered out loud, more to yourself than to the man you were pressed agaisnt. "Ooh really? How did you figure that out~?" Gojo teased. A quiet 'oww' spilled from the man's lips when you swung your arm in his general direction. God you did not need this right now, Gojo might be cocky, rude, overall obnoxious, and loud, but you have been harboring the biggest crush on him for a year. The last thing you needed was to be stuck in a closer with him, your ass pressed against his crotch, in a high-risk situation.

You tried not to think about how good he smelled; expensive was the first word that came to mind. It was already obnoxiously hot in the closet, and all the blood rushing to your face didn't help the feeling of suffocation one bit.

You spun your body around, pressing your hands to his chest so you no longer had to feel his crotch against you, figuring this way would be less embarrassing. "Ooh is this like seven minutes in heaven? Shoko told me about this game once, you got a timer on you?" Gojo joked. You could feel his fingers fiddling with the drawstrings on the bottom of your jacket, the simple action you were barely able to feel was enough to send shivers down your spine.

"What was that?" A familiar voice spoke when the pair you were supposed to be stalking rounded the corner. "Shhh-" You hushed Gojo, hitting his chest gently with your hand so as to not cause any more sound as you tried to ignore his attempts at riling you up and instead focused on the task at hand. "It's okay, they're not gonna find us," Gojo assured, completely ignoring your instruction of him to stay quiet.

"If you keep running your mouth they might." You poked, gripping his shirt unconsciously as you held your breath, praying he was right. "Oh, so it's okay for you to talk?" Gojo whisper yelled, resulting in you kicking his shin- or what you thought was his shin. A wooden broomstick fell against the bucket, creating a loud bang inside the small closet. You scrunched your face up, cringing at your stupic mistake.

"Who's there?" The man's voice yelled, making your heart beat out of your chest. "You did it now, huh?" Gojo teased, giggling. How he was still able to laugh in this situation was beyond you, if you didn't think of something fast, you were going to ruin the mission and get smacked on the back of the head by Yaga himself. Your mind was spinning a mine a minute, you frantically tried to think of something, anything.

Worst case you could knock them out if you had to, fuck, was there someone at Jujutsu High who could erase memories? Fat chance. One thing did come to mind though, and it was almost sure to work, as long as it was the curse user who opened the door, If Ms. Yae was the one to open the door you would have to think fast, you always were quick on your feet, you would figure it out surely. After about three seconds of pondering, you decided to hedge your bets.

"Satoru, go with it." You whispered. Reaching through the darkness you found his face with little effort, grabbing his cheeks in your hands he could barely mutter a 'huh?' before he felt your lips on his. His eyes went wide, a shocked hum leaving his lips as you slotted your lips against his, starting a makeout. His hands found yours once more, he slipped his knee between your legs, making you moan softly as he stepped forward and pressed your back into the wall, chasing your lips with his hungrily.

Soft moans and hums were released into the air as he kissed you with passion, his soft tongue licking against your lips, trying to test the waters catching you off guard. You reciprocated, poking your tongue out to meet his. "mmmm" He moaned into the kiss when he felt your tongue meet his, the two tangling with each other sloppily.

You tangled your hands in his hair, ruffling the soft strands and messing up his fluffy hair as you held onto it for dear life. He pressed his knee against your cunt harder, making you moan against his lips. You weren't sure if he knew what he was doing, but you were sure if he kept this up there was going to be a decently sized wet patch on his knee from your arousal seeping through your panties.

The two of you kissed like you were both injected with poison and the antidote was in the other's throat. Like neither of you have had a drop of water in decades, like-

The door swung open, both of your heads snapping to the wrinkled old man's face as the light illuminated the both of you. He took in your states with a brief one-over, Ssatoru's knee was pressed against your panty-clad cunt, your skirt riding up in the process. His hair was standing in every direction, both of your lips were blushed a dark pink, and your faces had a color to match, the two of you breathing heavily as you stared at the man like you were waiting for him to close the door so you could continue.

"What is it?" The Jujutsu assistant said, standing behind the man at an angle where she couldn't see the two of you. "Ugh, just some kids hooking up." He replied with a disgusted look on his face, slamming the door on the two of you and leaving you in the darkness and heat of the room once more.

The volume of your breaths was accentuated by the silence in the closet. You fully expected Gojo to say something snarky now that you had been caught and it was over, but he stayed quiet, heavily breathing, you could feel his hot breaths hit your face. The adrenaline pumping through your veins from kissing him and getting caught was making you feel dizzy. "So.." you whispered, breaking the silence.

The faint tickle of his lips against yours made your body jerk at the unexpected feeling. He had brought his lips close again, what was he doing? It was over.. right? Gojo licked his lips, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. "You're a good kisser." He said, his breath teasing your skin when he spoke. "Y-yeah?" You had no idea what to do, you weren't used to seeing him like this. "Yeah..I guess we should go now huh?" He replied, licking his lips again as he kept them hovering in front of your own.

The warmth of his mouth radiating so close to yours was driving you crazy. The heartbeat you felt in your cunt was vibrating your whole body from how aroused you were at his situation. "Yeah, guess so." You responded, making no effort to pull your lips away. "Okay." He said, pressing his lips against yours but not closing the small distance in slotting them together. "Okay.." You said back, taking the initiative as you kissed him softly.

He kissed you back slowly, your lips separating in a lewd smack before the connected once more, the kiss speeding up, starting slowly.. slowly.. before Gojo decided he had enough and pressed his head into yours, deepening the kiss. "Mph-" You moaned against him when he slid his hands down to your ass and pulled your hips closer to him, rubbing your cunt along his thigh in the process.

You don't think you've ever been so aroused in your life, something deep within you was coiling around itself, making a need ache through your entire body. "Tell me to stop," Gojo whispered between kisses, digging his nails deeper into the fat of your ass. You wined at his words, pulling your lips back you let one of your hands in his hair slide down to the side of his face, caressing the skin there. You used your thumb to blindly find his lip in the dark, pulling it down before you let it bounce back into place. You pressed your lips to his once more, the two of you breathing heavily into the other's mouth, "I can't." You replied.

He groaned at your words before he smashed your lips together once more. The way you were whining and grinding on his thigh so needily made him feel like he was going to pass out. He needed this so bad, he's wanted this for so long and it was finally happening, all because you had kicked a broom instead of him. He smirked when your hips stuttered, your mouth opening in a slightly louder moan.

"Fuck, you wet?" He whispered needily against your lips, kissing you with fevor. "Mhm," you replied with a whine, humping your cunt along his thigh. The young man groaned at your response, it was then that you felt his hard-on digging into your thigh through his pants. He continues to massage your ass, helping you grind your needy pussy along his thigh as he panted into your mouth. "You feel me?" he asked, pressing his hips into your thigh, letting you feel the imprint of his cock along your leg.

It must've been the sensory deprivation because you were feeling everything tenfold, just the drag of his clothed cock on your thigh alone send a gush of arousal into your panties, your face heating up as you wined into the kiss. "You're so hard.." You whispered back, starting to slide your hand down his chest. "Yeah, all cos of you.. keep going." He encouraged impatiently, nodding against you as he waited to feel your hand on him.

He wanted to see you so bad, wanted to see what kind of expression you were making while you got off on his thigh, what your reaction would be to feeling his cock, how flushed your face was, but this would have to suffice for now. You continued your pursuit for his cock, dragging your hand teasingly over the ridges of his abs, his hip bones, thigh, and finally--his cock. Gojo let you know with a loud groan and affirmation of, "Right there." That you had grabbed his cock in your hand.

"I- I don't know what to do." You admitted, pausing your grinding on his hips as you were suddenly hit with a wave of unsureness. You had never touched someone else before, the only person you've ever kissed was Shoko in a game of spin the bottle once in your second year, you had no idea what you were doing. "I don't either." Gojo laughed, easing the tension you felt in your body and mind at the prospect that he would be disappointed because you had no idea how to please him.

"But humping my leg feels good for you, right?" He asked, to which you nodded briefly, a verbal response coming a little delayed when you forgot he could't see you. "And I know when you touch me like you're doing right now, it feels really good." The man pressed his forehead to yours, massaging your ass in his hands. "So just keep doing that." He whispered, before you felt his lips on yours once more.

"M-mmm" You moaned against him when you felt his hands push you harder along his thigh, trying to help you maintain a pace that would feel good for you. He let shaky breaths escape through his nose as he felt your hand rub and squeeze his cock through his pants. You were going at it with no rhyme or rhythm, but the sloppy technique felt surprisingly good, any form of pressure on his throbbing cock surely would've, he's never been this worked up before.

"I-it's so big." You whimpered against his lips, the praise making him release a shameless groan. "Yeah? wish you could see it." He replied with a short giggle, being cut off by a moan when you unconsciously squeezed around his tip just right. You whined when his leg shifted just right against your clit, giving you the perfect amount of friction at just the right angle. "F-fuck Toru right there-" You gasped, tipping your head back into the wall, the hard surface colliding with your skull, creating a small bump sound.

"Here?" He asked genuinely, using the leverage he had on your ass to pull you down hard against his thigh, making you jolt forward at the intense stimulation. "O-ohmy- yesyes-" You whined, shutting your eyes. Satoru chased for your lips in the dark, thankful you couldn't see him floundering around. It didn't take him long to realize your head was tipped back against the wall. Bending his slender neck down he found yours with his lips, pressing sloppy kisses into the skin there.

"Do you think you can cum from this?" He asked, trailing the kisses up your ear until he found the shell of it, biting and sucking the skin there. "Mhm I- I think so, f-feels like it." His brain almost short-circuited, his cock throbbed against your hand that was jerking him off weakly, pausing every so often when you felt a particularly good sensation. He couldn't believe his ears, you were going to cum, on his thigh, he was going to make you cum.

He swore just thinking about you unraveling on his thigh made his orgasm feel like it could wash over him at any moment, his whole body set on fire with sensitivity and arousal. "Feels like 'ur gonna cum?" He clarified, noticing how your hips started losing their pace against him. "Fuck- yes- nghhhh-" You moaned, clenching your teeth together a you felt the coil tie itself tighter it knots.

"Cum on my thigh pretty, I- I need to hear it," Gojo begged, making out with any inch of skin he could find with his lips. You were sure your neck was going to be a mess when you were finished here, but it felt too good to care. "Satoru- shit, I think I'm- gonna~" You blushed at your own words, the blush only deepening when he released a deep groan, pulling you back and forth along his thigh rapidly as he tried to bring you to your orgasm as your hips proved to be useless now.

"Shit-" Gojo was breathing heavily against your neck through his nose, the breathing coming out stuttered when he felt you come undone on his thigh, feeling his own orgasm begin to crash over him. "Oh fuuuuck-" The young man groaned, listening to your every wonton moan that spilled from your lips as your hips stuttered along his thigh, your whines and breaths coming out choppy as you came.

Gojo abandoned one of his hands on your ass, bringing it on top of yours that was weakly caressing his coc. He wrapped his hand over yours, messily interlacing your fingers as he jerked himself off using your hand, feeling the warm spurts of his cum spill into his boxers. "Just like that- j-just like that baby-" Gojo whined when you had just finished coming down from your high, some semblance of rationality seeping into your body as you picked up the motions of your hand, working him through his own orgasm with his help.

When the last of Gojo's seed had been released into his pants, you squeezed over his softening bulge one last time, his breath hitches as his hand curled his fingers over yours and pulled you off of his sensitive softening cock. "D-did you.." You asked vaguely into the dark space, to which Gojo smiled his signature smile you wished you could've seen, "A whole fucking lot." He answered, bringing his hands back to your hips as he slid his knee out from between your thighs.

You were about to speak when you heard the voices return faintly in the distance, heels clicking to follow. That's right, you were on a mission right now, Yaga had not, in fact, sent you to this old building to get yourself off of your classmate's thigh. The echoing got louder as they passed the room, muffled words could be heard through the door of the closet. "I'll send the information of the students over next, see you next time." Before goodbyes were exchanged, and the sound of a heavy entrance door opened and closed behind the Jujutsu high traitor.

"Oh shit, how lucky is that." Gojo laughed, realizing the two of you had got the information you needed just in time. "You think Yaga will mind the first ten minutes of this tape is a porno?" Gojo laughed. Oh my god, the tape recorder. Maybe you weren't so lucky after all.

[steveslevis]

i love you, it’s ruining my life

azriel x cassian's sister!reader - part 2 of 3

summary: Rhysand sends you on the mission to Windhaven alone, and things do not go as planned.

warnings: mentions of violence/blood, poison, mentions of previous assault and past trauma, Azriel being oblivious and upset again

word count: 5.5k

Windhaven, the place you once called home.

Now the place you avoided at all costs, the place where you lived through your worst nightmares and recollected them every single night while trying to sleep in the hell hole of a cabin you were going to be staying in for the night. 

You tried your hardest to forget about the night that would haunt you for the rest of eternity, tried to will it from your memory, tried to put up an obsidian wall around it to lock it in. 

But there was no forgetting what happened to you, not now, not ever. There was no trusting a male fully ever again, all thanks to the Illyrian customs.

Cillian was the first and last male you ever trusted. He gained your trust, made you fall in love with him, then ripped you to shreds, mentally and physically. The only male you ever trusted was the same one who lured you into that wretched cabin alone and held you down with a knife. 

I love you, he had whispered in your ear all those years ago while pinning you to the floor, your wings spread as the knife pressed against one of the central tendons, I just have to do this so everyone knows you’re mine. So you can be a normal Illyrian female. 

He was mere centimeters from clipping your wings when Rhysand heard your silent cries, busting into the cabin, making the wicked male scramble away in fear of what might happen to him. 

You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep at all during your stay in the camp, but it was probably better that way. That way you could stay on guard all night, that way you could watch your own back. You had to prove to Rhysand and the rest of the Inner Circle that you could be treated like a grown female, that you were willing to do anything for the Night court. 

There wasn’t much time when you arrived at the cabin, you had to set your bag inside and leave almost immediately, heading towards Lord Devlon’s hall for dinner. 

As much as Devlon hated your brother, he had nothing but respect for you. That might be partially due to the threats you’d set into his mind a few hundred years ago, or the fact that you’d beat him during training multiple times, but the reason didn’t matter. It was more beneficial for you to be the one to show your face in Windhaven this time around and you knew that, regardless of how much it made your stomach turn. It was important that someone from the Inner Circle came to Windhaven every once in a while under the guise of making sure the camp was still in order, so this was the perfect opportunity to gain important insight as well. 

So you sat at the long table for dinner, chatting with those around you in the most civil tone that you could. You couldn’t bear to eat in all honesty, just the thought of having to stay in the cursed cabin for even eight hours for sleep was enough to make you lose all appetite. So, you opted for pushing around some potatoes and meat on your plate all while chugging down four glasses of faerie wine throughout the two hours you were there.

You coincidentally sat to the right of Cormac during the meal, who had Balvard sitting on the left of him, making it almost too easy for you to infiltrate their minds and figure out their foolish plan. The two of them were under the impression that they would be able to take out Devlon with a faebane dagger and control the camps with ease. It made you scoff to yourself when you discovered that neither of them had a backup plan, as if that was going to work out so smoothly for them. 

The remainder of dinner after finding out the information you needed consisted of you bantering with some of the Illyrians you had grown up next to, ones who had turned into great warriors through training at Windhaven. The sun had been set for hours by the time you made your way back to the cabin, setting up some wards as you stepped over the threshold. 

Exhaustion hit you almost immediately upon changing into your sleep clothes, eyelids heavy as you relaxed onto your side in the large bed next to the fire you’d just lit. You’d assumed you would be wired at this point, you’d planned on not sleeping at all due to the fear instilled deep in your bones. 

You cuddled into the blankets, the familiar scent of your old home giving you an eerily comforted feeling passing through your gut. Solace filled you once you threw up a final shield around the small cabin, setting you at ease to know nobody could come in unless you let them in.

Before you knew it, you were fast asleep on the bed.

You awoke a few hours later, disturbed by the noise of the front door swinging open. Your body felt paralyzed in the moment, lethargy taking you over as you slowly turned your head towards the noise. It felt like everything was moving in slow motion as you watched the two males stalk through the door, unable to react in any way as your eyes trailed up to see Cormac and Balvard stepping over the threshold. The smirks on their faces told you everything you needed to know about what was about to happen. 

You wracked your brain for how this could’ve happened, how you were immobilized by these two lowly, evil men in front of you, how you fell into their trap so easily, and how the hell you were completely unable to use any power or energy in this moment. 

Faebane.

How could you be so foolish? You should’ve known better than to drink the wine so freely at a table of men you barely knew, especially after infiltrating Cormac and Balvard’s minds and discovering they wanted to use the same fucking poison on Devlon.

“Stupid female.” Balvard spat at you as Cormac inched closer to you, hand reaching out for your ankle. “You really thought you could come here, infiltrate our fucking minds to find out our plans, and just get away with it?”

You couldn’t speak, it was like someone was pressing down on your throat as you tried to breathe, there had been some gloriella in your wine, too, you were sure of it. Your body was pulled from the bed and flipped over in one swift tug, you were thrown onto the floor in an instant.

Images of Cillian flashed through your mind as your helpless form was pushed onto the floor, images of his wicked grin that matched the ones both of the males in front of you were wearing currently. 

A silent tear slid down your cheek as Balvard spoke, but you couldn’t hear his words. He was still rambling on about how stupid of a female you were, and how you deserved nothing but pain after what you were planning to do to them, but you tried your hardest to drown them out. 

There was nothing you could do at this point, as Balvard held your legs down, as Cormac pinned your wings with one large hand while the other pulled a sizable knife from its sheath. There was nothing you could do but close your eyes and hope that it would be over soon. 

You had never felt this helpless before, not even when Cillian had pinned you down. At least then you were able to fight back, at least then you had a shred of dignity and pride left, at least then you hadn’t been so foolish as to let someone fucking poison you. 

You cursed yourself internally as you squeezed your eyes shut, pain rippling through your body at the first slash of the knife against your wing. The first cut was against the base of your right wing, a long slash that would take months to heal, if it ever did. 

A prayer to the Gods repeated itself in your mind as you felt the blood trickle from your wing and onto your back. Your heart ached as the silent tears flowed, wandering to the furthest corners of your mind as you tried to think of anything aside from the pain that was being inflicted upon you. It took everything in you to realize that you had a sliver of power still running through your veins, just enough to call out to your daemati brother, Rhys.

As you shot a quick thought down the bridge of Rhysand’s mind, you were met with a welcoming talon of power. You could feel his concern as you pushed one-worded thoughts to him to get his attention.

Everything alright, sister? He questioned through your mind, urging you to let him see what you’d experienced in the last twelve hours with a kind caress of his power in your mind. 

You only had enough power to cry out silently to him, Send help, please. Your mind was closed to him as quickly as it had opened, everything went dark on your end as your energy ran out and you were blinded with even more pain, throwing you quickly into unconsciousness. 

The next thing you remembered was waking up to the sound of wailing and begging from behind you, the two men who had you pinned down minutes before were thrown against the wall as their High Lord took pleasure in tearing them to shreds in a slow and painful death. The cries came to a sudden halt moments later, Rhys growing tired of their begging as he decided to shatter their minds and put you out of your misery as quickly as possible. 

“R–Rhys–” you sob once their cries stopped, unable to do anything aside from lift a weak finger to point towards the man in the doorframe. 

The High Lord’s gaze turns from one of pure rage to one of a worried friend once his violet eyes flick toward where you lay in the middle of the cabin. He takes in the sight in front of him slowly, your pained expression and tear-stained cheeks There’s blood pooled around your midsection, drenching your sleep shirt as you pant in pain on the dusty wooden floor. One of your wings looks fractured in multiple spots, while the other one is mangled from the beginnings of a mutilation.

The sight made Rhysand shudder with anger, fists tight at his sides as he slipped into your mind in order to understand the extent of the situation you found yourself in. You let him in without resistance, unable to hold any kind of mental shield up anymore. 

They were going to clip your wings, take away the one thing you had to remind you of your mother, take away the one thing you held so dearly, take away your ability to fly. They were going to make you into the ideal complicit Illyrian female before wiping your memory of the entire night, which he assumed from the extremely prohibited memory tonic rolling on the floor next to you. 

Rhys was glad he’d shattered the two traitors inside and out once your memories were collected, realizing how ruthless they had been with you moments before he stormed in. 

“D–Don’t tell Cassian.” you plead, eyes focused on Rhys as he took another step into the cabin. 

Your pleas took Rhys back to that fateful night all those years ago, the night he found you in this same room, sobbing in the middle of the room after being defiled by another Illyrian male who he nearly ripped to ribbons in the same exact spot where Cormac and Balvard laid in the corner, the male who fled from Windhaven the next morning, likely from threats from Rhysand himself.  

Four hundred and fifty years ago was when he vowed to protect you like his own sister. You had begged him that night not to tell Cassian about what he’d seen, the vulnerable state the situation had left you in. The two of you had even made a bargain that night, that he would never be able to reveal the truth about what happened, so long as you remained loyal to him and his family, which he knew you would do regardless.

Four hundred and fifty years ago he promised to be the one to look out for you and make sure you were protected in situations you knew your brother’s unadulterated rage couldn’t handle.

And now, four hundred and fifty years after that fateful day, he’d failed you. 

Rhys gave you a sympathetic look, opening his mouth to speak in response to your request, but was interrupted by your brother pushing through the doorway past him. Cassian nearly tripped over his own two feet at the sight of you, stomach churning when he saw your mangled wings slumped on the wood over your limp body. 

“Don’t look, Cass.” you beg your brother as he stares at you with wide eyes, knowing the sight will spin him into a fit of rage. In your dazed state, you could see him beginning to seethe at the possibilities of what could’ve happened to you, his breaths quickening at the thought. 

Before Cassian can reply, Rhys slips into his mind. She needs her brother right now, not the Lord of Bloodshed ready to avenge her. Let’s get her back to the house before you make any rash decisions, we can come back and rip whoever else deserves it to shreds once she’s safe. 

Cassian chokes on a breath as Rhysand tries to reassure him that you’ll be alright. It takes everything in him to compose himself, but he does it for you, his twin, his fiery sister who he’d take an ash arrow to the heart for. 

“I can’t—can’t feel—“ you choke out, squirming and groaning in pain as Cassian picks you up from the floor. “My w—wings. I can’t feel them. Did they—they take them away?”

Your pained words strike Cassian like a dagger to the heart, tears welling up as he thinks about how much pain you had to be in. 

“No, I promise. They didn’t take them away. They’re–they’re still there, Y/N. It—It’ll be okay,” your brother says in a stern tone as he chokes back his own tears, eyes wide as he watches you struggle in his arms while walking through the cabin’s front door. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

It sounded almost like he was trying to convince himself that it would all be okay as he shot into the sky with you curled up in his arms. 

You were in and out of consciousness the entirety of the flight back to the House of Wind, babbling nonsense as Cassian tried to keep you stable in his arms. 

The entire Inner Circle was already at the house when Cassian landed, an air of worry carrying through the group as they saw the state of you, more specifically the state of your wings. 

Rhysand immediately called for Madja upon seeing the extent of your injuries, and ordered Cassian to take you to your room and to keep you awake until she arrived. 

Cassian was up the stairs in a flash, Feyre and Mor on his heels as he rushed to your room, with Azriel quietly following behind them. He laid you on your side, your bloodied wings spread across the bed as you curled up near the edge of the large bed. Your eyes landed on Feyre as he stepped away, a dazed smile spreading across your lips as you reached out a hand for her. 

The High Lady gives you a small smile in return, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, which were filled with worry. She grabs your hand, squeezing it gently as she begins to tell you something that you really can’t comprehend over the ringing in your ears.

After a while of her speaking to you and you babbling nonsense in return, you try to sit up abruptly. Both Cassian and Feyre are on you in an instant, pushing you gently back onto your side, quickly telling you that you need to lay down and stay there. 

“What is it?” Feyre asks quickly, gripping your hand as you easily give up and fall onto the bed, “Is something wrong, do you need something?”

“Az…” you whimper, fighting the urge to fall asleep right then and there, “W—Where’s Azriel?”

The shadowsinger had been outside the door keeping watch, but his shadows had been listening in on the conversation within as well. The shadows curled around his ear, whispering your name to him, telling him that you requested him, so he silently strode in when he heard. Your tired eyes lit up at the sight of him in the doorway, hand slipping from Feyre’s to weakly beckon him over to you. 

Something about seeing you in this state tugged on his heart, tugged on it so much it felt like it was going to rip from his chest. He couldn’t deny your request for him to come closer, not when you looked so desperate and in so much pain, not when his absence in Windhaven was part of the reason you were in this situation in the first place. 

He made a mental note to ask Rhys who did this to you as he made his way over to the chair Feyre left for him to sit in, wanting nothing more than to show them what Truth Teller could do. 

Azriel’s hand fell next to you on the bed and you immediately rested your own atop his, grinning widely as what felt like delusion set into your bones. Shadows twined around your fingers while the others skittered across your wings as if to soothe them.

“They may—may not be able to save my wings, Az.” you choked out, a bitter giggle coming out as you spoke.

“I’m sure Madja will be able to heal you right up, Y/N. You’ll be better in no time.” Azriel assured you, but he wasn’t sure that was entirely true. “She’ll be here any minute.”

“I—I don’t even care. I just—just need my mate.” you say abruptly while shaking your head, voice barely above a whisper now as you stare at the male, glassy eyes meeting his sharp yet confused gaze.

“Mate?” he replies with a furrowed brow, lips drawing into a frown at your words. He was wondering if you even knew what you were saying at this point, if you were just saying whatever came to your disoriented mind.

“Mate.” you say a little louder this time and the whole room is silent as you reach out for Azriel, your shaky and blood-crusted hand coming up to stroke his cheek. “My mate.”

Your eyes fluttered close with those words, a smile on your lips as you’re overtaken by sleep in the moment. Your hand falls from Azriel’s cheek and onto his lap, and that’s when he feels it. That’s when he feels the shadows of his mind clearing, bringing that band of golden thread to the forefront. A band of golden thread that was tying his soul to yours. 

Before Azriel could process the situation unfolding in front of him, Cassian was pulling him from the chair so Feyre could tend to you once more. The High Lady tried to wake you, but nothing worked. Thankfully, Rhysand and Madja rushed into the room mere minutes after you became unconscious, immediately going to work on getting you back to consciousness and ready to be healed.

Cassian tugged at Azriel’s shoulders as the whirlwind began, trying to drag him into the hallway. The shadowsinger resisted, standing behind Feyre as he watched you closely. You awoke immediately when Madja began to tend to your bloodied wings, the sensitive membrane torn to shreds. A cry escaped your lips as she gently worked on them, as Feyre tried her best to keep you in one spot while Madja worked her magic. 

Azriel watched with wide eyes, rage rippling through his body as he watched you writhe in pain. He wanted nothing more than to take away your pain, to make sure nobody ever hurt you again, to keep you safe with him forever. 

Your brother continued to try to move Azriel from the room, knowing it wouldn’t end well if he continued to watch you writhe in pain as Madja made quick work of healing you. He continued to resist, shoving Cassian multiple times before Rhysand breached his mind, stopping him in his tracks.

I’ll make sure she’s okay. He spoke to Azriel in his mind, staring him down as he squeezed your hand, beginning to take away your pain. She’s safe with me and I’ll take away whatever pain I can, but we need you to leave before you do anything stupid. The bond is too new and who knows what you’ll do if you continue to see her like this.  

Azriel straightened against Cassian’s grip, nodding at Rhys as he silently assured him that you would be okay. Eventually, he let your brother guide him into the hallway, noting the glamour Rhysand had added to the bedroom to drown out your cries as Cassian closed the door. 

It isn’t until he steps into the hallway that he’s finally able to fully comprehend what just happened. That’s when guilt and fear and pain wash over his body, stinging his chest all at once, right down the bond. 

“This–It’s my fault.” he says, falling back against the wall opposite to your bedroom in the hall, his legs unable to hold him up anymore. “I–I could’ve fucking stopped this, I should’ve been there, I should’ve known that this would happen–”

“Woah, Az.” Cassian interjects, reaching for Azriel’s shoulders once again. “You and I both know how stubborn she is. She would’ve refused to go if you were going, and you know it. She thought she had to prove herself to Rhys, just like she always does.” 

“I should’ve just–Fuck!” Azriel yelled, shoving his hands into his hair to tug on it roughly out of frustration, “I should’ve fucking sent my shadows, I could’ve seen their plan, I–”

“Azriel.” Cassian interrupted once again, grabbing the shadowsinger to get his attention. “Would you shut up for one second? She would’ve torn those shadows–and you–to shreds if you did that. She’s still under the impression that you fucking hate her, Az.”

Azriel let out a shuddering breath at the thought, a whirlwind of emotions taking over. His mind was racing as he thought of you in the next room, how his shadows couldn’t even infiltrate Rhysand’s glamour to see if you were alright. None of it made sense, you deserved more than him, you should be with someone who actually could keep you safe.

“How long have you known?” Azriel pressed, stern gaze on Cassian as he finally let go of his shoulders.

“Az–”

“How. Fucking. Long.” he insisted, blue siphons flaring with power at his wrists as he reached for your brother. 

Cassian sighs, shoulders sagging in defeat as he looks to the helpless man in front of him. “Two–Two years.” he’s quiet as he speaks, voice wavering in fear of what anger the fresh mating bond could bring out of his brother. 

“You’ve known for two fucking years?” Azriel seethes, gripping Cassian’s leathers tighter as he growls, “how fucking dare you–”

“I couldn’t tell you and you know it, Az.” Cassian says, releasing himself from Azriel’s grip. 

“You’re my brother–”

“And she’s my twin, my real fucking blood sister. I couldn’t betray her like that.” he interjected, shaking his head at the shadowsinger. “She would’ve torn me to shreds, then came for you next. You should know that nobody should interfere with a mating bond, you had to find out from her.”

Azriel took a deep and shaky breath at his words, knowing that Cassian was right in every sense of the word to not tell him for all this time. Eventually he nods at Cassian, deciding that words probably aren’t his strong suit at this moment, he didn’t want to say or do anything he’d regret later. 

“C’mon, we should go somewhere else to get your mind–”

“No.” Azriel snarled, shaking his head firmly as his shadows swirled at his shoulders, siphons flaring with that ultramarine power once again. “I need to stay here, to see that she’s safe.” 

There was something damn near animalistic in Azriel’s eyes as Cassian gazed at him. In that moment, he knew there would be no getting through to the shadowsinger, not when his mate was on the brink of death on the other side of the door. 

Cassian nodded slowly at him, watching carefully as Azriel finally let go of his shoulders. The shadowsinger’s own shoulders sagged and he leaned to rest on the wall behind him, while trying to calm himself. He needed to be in that room, needed to see you, needed to hold you, but he knew there was no use in trying. Not even his shadows could slip under the door to check on you, Rhysand had glamoured the whole room to high hell in order to keep him out and to keep your healing as uninterrupted as possible. 

He knew it would take hours, maybe even days before that door opened again, but he didn’t care. He’d stay right there waiting for that lock to click and that glamour to fall just so he could see you again. 

And so wait he did. 

He waited one hour, which turned into two, which turned into four, which turned into eight. 

The wait was so long that Cassian eventually pulled two chairs out of his bedroom so they could sit, and the House nearly forced them to eat some stew that was placed upon the empty chair Azriel refused to occupy. 

He only paced, mind racing with thoughts of you, of how he couldn’t feel you any time he tried to tug on the bond. He wasn’t sure how the mating bond worked, how much a glamour could mask it or how your unconsciousness would affect it. Every time he tugged on that golden strand in his chest, he felt nothing on the other end, just resistance that he could only assume was from the inability to fully reach you.

Each unsuccessful tug only drove him closer to insanity, closer to clawing down the door between the two of you to see if Rhysand was truly the reason he wasn’t able to reach you or not. 

Just as Azriel was on the verge of another outrage, after waiting for nearly ten godsdamned hours, your bedroom door’s lock clicked. Both Cassian and Azriel’s attention whirled to the door, only to see Feyre standing at the door frame. The door was barely cracked, just enough to see her face, hiding the commotion behind her, hiding the sight of you behind her. 

The moment the door opened, a wave of nausea flowed through Azriel’s stomach, the smell of you, the smell of your blood reaching his nose immediately. 

The High Lady held out a hand as Azriel took a step towards the door, ready to push her over to finally see his mate. 

“She’s waking up now,” Feyre interjects, giving the shadowsinger a stern look that tells him to behave, “she might be really confused right now, she’s been in and out of consciousness for a while so who knows what she really remembers. Be gentle with her, she may not remember what she said before you left.”

Azriel stands up straighter at the High Lady’s words, nodding sternly at her command as Cassian stands at his side finally. Both take a moment to compose themselves while she pulls the door open, revealing the room behind her at last. 

The room is in much less of a disarray than they’d expected, likely thanks to a simple snap of Rhysand’s fingers. The only blood to be seen in the room is on your wings, which is currently being wiped away by Madja as you stir slowly. 

It takes everything in Azriel not to run up to your side right then, to push Mor from the chair next to you, to take your head into his hands and kiss you and never let you go. But he holds back, waiting for you to finally wake from your sleep. 

Your eyes flutter open a few moments later, a wave of confusion washing over you as you do. The last thing you really remember is being picked up by Cassian, off the floor of that Gods forsaken cabin. You really don’t remember how or when you made it back to the House of Wind, or what actually happened to you. At this point, judging by the shooting pain in your back, you weren’t sure if you wanted to remember what happened to you. 

Your brother’s name was the first thing to fall from your lips, your weak hand reaching out for him with a watery smile. Tears filled your eyes as he took a step toward you.

“You’re a stubborn little shit, you know that?” Cassian said with a bittersweet smile, eyes flickering between your bruised face and your tattered wings. 

“Gotta keep you on your toes all the time,” you rasp out, a small laugh from you finally filling the tense air. 

Cassian sat next to you, talking to you lowly as he tried to keep things light, tried to keep your spirits up after he caught a glance of how mangled your wings were, how ruined they might be. 

You barely noticed the shadowsinger standing behind him until a shadow skittered across your stomach, trailing to your bandaged wings to survey the damage. It wasn’t until then that you stopped to look at him, to see how stoic he looked while staring at you. His face paled, his jaw clenched as he stood silently at the foot of the bed.

“Are you here to mock me, shadowsinger?” your voice interrupted his thoughts, finally making him look up to meet your eyes.

Azriel’s brow furrowed at your words and Cassian tensed at your side. He only shook his head, an apologetic look crossing his face as he opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by you. 

“If you’re here to tell me how I should’ve just sucked it up and gone with you, how I’m only a weak female and I can’t handle missions like this, I don’t want to hear it.”

Oh. Oh, no. 

Realization struck Azriel in an instant, you didn’t remember anything about what you’d said to him. He tried to tug on the bond, a sympathetic look in his eyes as his heart lurched for you, but felt nothing. 

The pain tonics, they mess with the bond. She cannot feel you, brother, Rhysand said to him wordlessly, watching quietly from the other side of the room, she does not know that you’re reaching out to her, she doesn’t know that you know.

Azriel felt like he was going to vomit, he couldn’t handle it anymore. He couldn’t go another minute without you knowing that he knew. But he knew better, he knew better than to throw this on you while healing from something so severe. So he looked at you once more with a calm and stoic expression, into your fiery eyes, knowing you were putting on a show of hatred just for him. 

“I wasn’t going to mock you, Y/N.” Azriel said matter-of-factly, shaking his head at the thought, “I was only going to tell you that I hope you feel better soon, and that I am sorry, for everything.”

Your stern gaze wavers for a moment, confusion crossing your once stern face at his last words. Before you could retort, he was rushing out the door, leaving one shadow behind to keep watch over you.

He thought you needed space, that you needed this time away from him to heal fully before he threw his heart at you, before he confessed how in love he’d been with you for so damn long. 

So he left. Left the House of Wind immediately, deciding that you were better off without him for now. 

But he missed the tear that slipped from your eye once he fled the room. He missed the way you were tugging against the bond as well, the golden strand too clouded by the tonics and poisons running through your veins to reach either side.

He missed the way you let out a small sob at his absence, fully recoiling into yourself as you thought that the only male you wanted couldn’t stand to be with you for more than two seconds. 

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[ellaa-writes]

The Beast Within

author note: part 8, masterlist here. This is more of a filler chapter, ending coming soon. A lot kind of things happening for a filler lol. barely edited, also think im losing the plot of this series. Next 2 chapters are going to be longer just to tie everything together. Might redo/rewrite this at a later time.

summary: Omegas are rare, in a world full of Alphas and Betas. Being a Omega was not only dangerous but they were highly sought after. After living your life has a Beta in disguise, you meet a scary Alpha, but not any normal alpha. But a gaint Apex Alpha who won't stop at anything to make you his.

tags: Mentions of lots blood, violence and dead bodies. A/b/o dynamics. Vauge and probably incorrect medical terms. No smut and barely any fluff. Lots of Angst.

The door to the elevator opened, revealing a mess. König's head tilting to the side as the smell of crimson infiltrated his senses.

The Beast perked up, nipping at his skin. Stepping out the elevator he was greeted with an unholy site. Broken pieces of furniture and dry wall laid strewn about, bodies and parts mixed in with the chaos, the once pristine carpets now stained with blood. Stepping over the rubble he made his way into what use to be the front door of his home, busted off the hinges and thrown to the side.

He knew you weren't here, he could smell it in the air. The home was cold and empty, remnants of what use to be, shattered and scattered around. Broken glass crunched under his feet as he walked around taking it all in.

His head snapped down the darken hallway, the heavy oak door barely attached to the frame, cracked and broken, almost like someone clawed their way in. His desk was littered with files, papers and photos. The gun he kept in the top drawer missing, it looks like it was pried off the hinges.

Digging his cellphone out, there was only one person on his mind has he dialed them up. Sitting down in the worn leather chair, laying his laptop across the mess on the desk. He brought up the security footage, watching every second before the line finally picked up. A deep rumble answered from the other end.

"I'm going to need your help, level red." König didn't know where you were but he had an idea. The man on the other line told him not to trust the women. In all hell's fury he wish he would have listened. "On 'm way." it sounded like he just woken up. "It's time sensitive, high priority. I forwarded the details. I want a list of who all will be on your team. Will meet up at 21 hundred." König ended the call abruptly.

Simon sat up from his bed, just having laid down before his Boss called. It wasn't long before he was dressed and watching the security footage over. Roze... He never trusted her, could smell the rot in her lies but the big guy trusted her and he trusted him. Holding his phone to his ear the line eventually picked up.

"Gots' a job fa' you" all he could hear was heavy breathing. "да" and the line disconnected.

You awoke to bright lights and white walls. Your head was pounding and it felt like you were going to throw up. The surface you were laying on was hard and cold, the sanitary paper crinkled under you as you shifted, sticking to your dewy skin. You could barely raise your arms to block out the intruding fluorescent light. Heavy like a stack of bricks, you could feel the medical tape holding down the IV tubes, itchy against your skin.

You didn't know where you were or how you got here. It looked like a surgeons room, the floors were white tile and the cabinets off the side, also white. You could hear voices coming from behind the double doors.

Sitting up you realized you were nude, not even the necklace you always wore, completely naked and cold. Your body sore and stiff, trying to shift off of the exam table, your legs straining to hold you up right. The IV's tugged against you has you managed to stand on two legs, wobbly. You yanked the tubes free, blood dripping down your arms.

Grabbing at the now torn sanitary paper that covered the table, you haphazardly wrapped it around yourself. Using pieces of it to dab at the blood. A shiver racked your body, you didn't know what was happening. Trying to recall the last moments, your mind was foggy but you remember standing in that office but after that everything was fuzzy. You couldn't help but think he had something to do with this. Whatever this was?

The voices abruptly stopped, the double doors to your room swinging open revealing a familiar face. But not a face you expected to see, not here.

Dr. Roze

That's when it all came rushing back to you. The walk you both had, her words about you being pregnant. The images you found in the filing cabinets, all the blood or death spread across those pages. The sound of the front door being broken of its hinges, the shouting and yelling. Glass shattering and gun fire being exchanged. You hid under the desk, König gun in your hand, the one you took from the drawer. Then you heard her voice, telling you it was safe and she was here to rescue you. And that's where it all went black.

You stared at her, eyes wide and lips parted. Clutching the thin paper to your exposed body. "Oh, you’re up?" Dr Roze said in surprise. Taking small steps towards your shaking frame. "Everything is ok, your safe here." she tried to explain and to calm you down. Eyeing your bleeding wounds and discarded IV. "Nothing to worry about dear. Why don't you sir down and we can talk." pointing at the steel chair to your left. You eyed in before slowly sitting down.

"You must have a lot of questions and I'll do my best to answer them all." she explained. She sat in a similar chair but on the opposite side of the room, giving you enough space.

"We've been working on a cure, well not really a cure but a solution to a very serious problem." Dr. Roze paused before taking a deep breath. "When I met you, I knew you could be the key. The key to helping us unlock a gene code we have been stuck on for year’s now." she waved her hands around.

"Why me?" your voice was so quiet and coarse, startling you as you spoke.

"Well when König, your former Alpha mentioned that he had himself an Omega but he was unsure...-" she cut herself off before continuing. "He was unsure about your origins, you smelt like an Omega but didn't act like one. He requested that I observe you, to figure out him your Omega origin was natural or manmade." Dr. Roze had her hands clasped in her lap. Her eyes boring into yours, she had a tight smile on her face, forced and unnatural.

You shook your head, confused. Former? Origins?  None of it was making sense.

"I know this is a lot of information that may seem helpless to you. But I want you to know that without your DNA the surviving Omega population would have come to an complete extinction. You are a true hero, really." the doctor tried to comfort you.

"Where's König?" you shifted uncomfortable in the cold steel chair. Dr. Roze's smile faltered a little but she held it tight.

"You don't have to worry about him anymore." your mind was racing with questions. "Why?" did he just hand you over? Was that all part of the plan. Was that why he was ignoring you? Does this have anything to do with the photographs you found?

"I know it's going to be a hard transition but we have plenty of surrogate Alphas here. You can even choose one if you would like." Choose a new Alpha? What the hell is going on.

"I-I don't want a new Alpha." you whispered.

"Well, we can discuss that later. Nothing has to be done now. How are you feeling?" she brushed off your question.

"I don't know." and it was true. You didn't know how to feel about anything.

"That's fine, I know you’re confused and scared. Why don't I show you to your room and you can have a shower and some fresh clothes? How does that sound?" Dr. Roze stood from the chair, her hand stretched out in front of her. Beckoning you to her, and you went, slowly.

Dr. Roze took your hand and led you out of the room, the hallways were much the same. White and sanitary. She took turn after turn before stopping in front of a locked door. Raising her key card to unlock the door and dragging you through.

She brought you to a room, your new home, she called it. Watching as you walked around the confined space. It had a bed in the corner, a bookshelf, a small table with one chair, a sink and counter, a small open closet and another door leading to your private bathroom.

You sat on the bed, still only in the thin paper sheet. "If you need anything you can push this button right here" she motioned to a red button by the door. "I'll have some proper clothes dropped off for you. Why don't you get cleaned and rest." and with that she left. The door sliding into place with a click.

You felt trapped and doomed. The events replaying over in your head. You didn't believe a word she said, still not trusting her.

Trying to believed that your Alpha wouldn't abandon you. He couldn't, he can't.

The words bouncing around you head. You've heard stories about Omegas being experimented on. Locked up like cattle, their only purpose to behave and breed.

You missed your home, the one you created with König. The smell of the sheets, König's heavy scent filling your nose. The warm feeling in your tummy every time you looked at him.

It's been at least 3 weeks since you saw him last, maybe even longer at this point. You have no idea what day of the week is or how long you've been out.

You took the doctors suggestion and say yourself under the hot water, steaming bellowing around you. Your silent tears mixing in with the water as they danced down your face.

The meeting was brisk, the task easy. He was treating it as a hostage situation. Retrieve the prize and leave unharmed. But the only difference is that it was you. König knee bounced restlessly, up and down. He never had the discipline to stay still, ever since he was a child. The ticking of someone's watch matching his heart beat. He tried to rid his mind of the horrible things, the images of you diced up like meat. Nothing left of you, the only thing he could identify being your sweet smell.

The ride to the warehouse was brief, but it stretched on for what felt like hours. A perfect line of black alarmed vehicles, surrounding the building that housed this "cure". König barked out orders before charging forward, using his whole body weight to slam into the metal door. The weak screws and hinged snapping under his weight. The Beast clawing at his throat to be released, König's eyes turned black and his blood began to boil.

It didn't take them long to find your scent, a trail of destruction behind him like petals behind a bride. He tuned out the call outs coming from his headset, the only thing one his mind was finding his precious Omega.

The Ghost and the Russian stood off to his side, eyeing the giant, their own Alphas trying to hide itself in the darkest corners of the mind. Anywhere to get away from the intense energy of The Beast.

The lights were flashing red, a lockdown initiated. Most doors sealed themselves closed but nothing could stop The Beast. Ripping the reinforced door right off its hinges without breaking a sweat. Your smell stronger now, he was close he could almost taste you.

After a few minutes under the hot pelt of the showers water, your tears long dried up but your eyes still red and sore. You pulled yourself out of the glass enclosure, finding a pair of grey scrubs one size too big resting on your bed. The bed itself was made of steel, loosely wrapped in a sheet that felt like sandpaper against your skin. The thin black like cardboard as you tried wrapping it around yourself.

You don't know how you managed to fall asleep, or how long you were asleep. But the sound of an alarm awoke you. The lights were out, the only thing illuminating your cell was the red light from the button beside the door. Unsure of what was going on and unable to sleep any longer, you pressed your ear against the cold metal of the door. Trying to listen for anything, but all you could hear is the whines and whimpers of the other Omegas locked up here with you.

It wasn't long after when you started to hear the shouting and gunfire. Whatever was happening beyond your door sounded serious and it put you on edge. Not knowing what to expect you tried moving the furniture towards the door but found everything was bolted down. So you grabbing the sheet and blanket off of the steel bed and found yourself cowering in the bathroom. Waiting out the war zone happening outside.

You would think this was your end, but the smell of burning oak engulfed you. Your Omega whining, begging you to go after it, so you did. You didn't know how you ended up outside of the safety of your room. Stumbling over bodies, slipping on their blood. The only thing on your mind was finding the source to whoever that insatiable smell belonged to.

Corner after corner you passed through what use to be a door, it's counter parts laid flattened on the ground. The smell was so close, your nose sniffing the air trying to get just a little taste.

"Стоп! (Stop!)" the voice came from behind you, making you freeze in your tracks. Turning slowly to face a man, an Alpha, in all black wearing what looks like a dog mask. His gun pointed at you, he spoke something to quiet into the mic strapped to his shoulder. His black sunken eyes watching you. His smell was strangely fresh, like ripe lemon begging to be plucked. His stance was wide like the rest of him. It didn't take long for whoever he called for to enter behind him.

It was the skull face man, Simon, you think is his name. Soon as he saw your terrified face he forcefully lowered the other man's gun until he holstered it completely. Both men stepped to the side at the sound of thundering footsteps. The Beast was in charge has he nearly crashed through what was left of the passage. The surrounding walls cracking and buckling under his force. His eyes were red, like blood sap. His aura a bright orange like he tree set ablaze. The smell of burning amber knocking you off balance, causing you to fall on your ass. He was on you, quick and hard. Shoving his nose into your neck, his hot tongue lapping at the skin.

You were trembling, gripping onto his biceps has he manhandled you. This was your König but at the same time it was not. You've never seen him like this, geared up and strapped with weapons.

He was leaving blood smears all over you, his chest heaving like a bull after a fight. His nostrils flaring.

"We ought get goin'" the skull face said from somewhere behind your Alpha. König's grip on you tightened has he curled himself around you, lifting you up and wrapping your legging around his middle as he pushed forward with the two men close behind.

"Have you located her?" he all up growled out, his voice animalistic. It made the hairs on your body stand at full attention. A low ripple of fear washed over you, you don't know what was going on, what was wrong with him.

"да, she been located." the dog faced man moved ahead, gun raised. "Good" you hated it, hated the sound of his voice, the way it vibrated his whole body and ripped from his throat.

"Ooooomegaaa" it didn't come from his mouth, no it came from within your mind. You looked up into his blown out red eyes, he was looking right into your soul. You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying yourself into his chest. Closing your eyes tight, allowing this man carry you to safety.

Tag list: @plumdreadful @traumaramacenter @kaylp-godly @napalmfairy7 @hisa-plush @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @winters-doll @joyfulfxckery @purebeskar @collete25 @fandomsinthegalaxies @xo-konigs-little-princess-xo @jamieelol @luc1ddreamersatnight @cringeycookies

(sorry if I forgot to tag you, i haven't looked at my tag list in a while and probably needs to be updated)

[brisquad-unit-4402]

when that wilson enemies to lovers fic is posted, TRUST that i’ll get out my snacks and drinks while lounging on the couch to read it like i’m watching a movie in theaters 🤞

omg hi celeste. here take this except (body horror + insect warning)

[Wilson] had met you by circumstance. High-value jobs tend to target the same people, since their influence was seconded only by their value. One moment he had busted through the vents only to find that his target already died, a space on their neck turning pale blue from a poison bite. Then the next he felt the wind get knocked out of him as he was slammed against a wall with his feet in the air. The person that pinned him had a cloth face mask on their chin, and above it, insectoid mandibles writhed at the jaw, frothing with the cause of his target's death.

Wilson screamed, of course. Who wouldn't? Especially when he realized that only one arm held him in place even though he was paralyzed. It wasn't even an arm; hundreds of segmented legs held him down as a gigantic centipede body took place of the limb.

"I was instructed to kill a politician, not a bodyguard." The clicking mandibles melted into flesh, but you raised your mask before he could make out any of your features. The only thing he could see was your hair and eyes, thankfully human, though they shone with facets of compound eyes and the iridescence of an insect magnified. "I must offer a discount to my client for not following their criteria, but selling your organs will make up for the loss."

"Nope!" Wilson blustered, suddenly feeling very protective over his liver. "I-I-I also was supposed to kill them, but lucky me, it's already been done! Guess I'll…" he trailed off as the centipede legs inched up his neck and onto his face.

"...I'll go home?" He pleaded. He blinked owlishly, mustering up the best puppy eyes he could, and silently thanked his lucky stars his goggles were on properly. If those legs got any closer to his eyes he'd really start freaking out. "Please?"

You stared back at him unamused. Not that he could tell, considering the mask obscuring your face. "You got a name? One or two kidneys?"

"Yu Q. Wilson! I'm a hitman, and I think my client wanted them gone because they're political rivals, and it's really rare to work in this industry without selling a kidney along the way so please don't take mine, I like having them both—uff!"

You flicked your centipede arm away. Wilson crumpled to the ground, having lost his breath a second time. He held a hand to his chest to still his beating heart, especially since he was only a few feet away from the politician and the poison dripping from their bite.

"Our employer is an idiot," you say curtly. "They pay two separate assassins an upfront fee, and one of them doesn't even value their privacy."

"Hey, I do too value their privacy."

"Then you made a mistake telling me a single detail about them. Get up."

Wilson remembered how to walk at your command. He stood up, resting a hand on the wall, still affected by the shock of a centipede-person nearly biting his head off. "Wait, none of the alarms have gone off. There's supposed to be security checking this area soon, especially since I screamed."

"Then leave."

He opened his mouth to respond but failed to speak as you fell straight backward. The hitman reached out to grab you, but you've disappeared right before his very eyes.

Wilson stood there, the room turning acrid with the dead body and its poison, and no trace of the insectoid assassin. On cue, he bristled. Footsteps approached the door.

He scrambled back up the vents, shutting the grate behind him with a slam, not even noticing the spider that perched on the sheath of his sword as he rose, waiting for its opportunity to breach the surface in the dead of night as a killer is wont to do…

[atticus-no-uta]

I Was Catfished and Scammed By My Mother in Law

Chapter 1

So, before I begin..I know I should have NEVER entertained this as long as I should have. I know I was in the wrong, and that I'm a liar, a cheater, a prick, whatever. Whatever name you want to call me, just get it out of your system now because I am going to need you to gather whatever little bit of sympathy you have and put it towards me for now.

I was recently catfished by my mother in law.

My name is Danny, but you may know me as AlphaGoneFree on TikTok where I participate in live streaming asking my supporters to send me money, since I’m now broke because my MIL drained pretty much everything I own. You may also be wondering how I even got into this mess. This is embarrassing to admit, but I used to run a secret Instagram account where I would post reels of me eating pounds of Thai food, shitting in a cardboard box, and hotboxing myself with the smell until I would cry. I did it because the comments would be so shocking that it would give me engagement, thus giving me money. Little did I know, it was connected to my PERSONAL FaceBook account…so pretty much everyone I know saw it. Including my parents, people I went to highschool with, Ash, my ex, and Santina, my mother in law.

Shortly after my video leaks, I tried to delete all of whatever was uploaded, but it was too late. I couldn't even play it off like I was hacked because my face was in all the videos. My parents had seen them and kicked me out of the house! I couldn't live with Ash because her mother hates me and Ash needs to take care of her full time. This is humiliating to admit but…my NFT startup isn't necessarily the most successful. You see, I had invested 100,000 dollars (Count it, one-hundred-thousand..) into Trumpcoin. About 20 minutes later, that sweet, sweet trust fund from daddy was down the drain like a mentally ill 17 year olds busted hot pink-box-dye-damaged bangs on a summer night in 2020. That was my second strike, and the poop hotbox was the straw that broke the camel's back.

In a matter of weeks, I went from shitting in boxes to sleeping in them. I was BROKE and DESPERATE. At least I still had my cellular device…however my notifications were dryer than Joe Biden's ballsack. That was until one day I got a text from Discord user sticky_tofu_japanophile…the love of my life. Or so I thought.

Here’s how our little online meet-cute went.

@sticky_tofu_japanophile: Hey >_< !!!!

@AlphaGoneFree: What's a beautiful princess like you texting a lonely knight like myself?

As I patiently awaited a response from this new bombshell who had recently entered my murky swamp water of a life, a huge OBESE shadow seemed to block all sunlight from my view, like some sort of twisted blackout curtain. I'm not even joking, the shadow was so huge I thought we were going through a surprise solar eclipse or maybe the sun had exploded 8 minutes ago. But alas, it was just my girlfriend Ash.

“What the hell are you doing here, fairy?”

Her voice violated my ears like how an unruly priest in the 1960’s would violate a lone altar boy. I begrudgingly looked up and managed to escape only two words.

“Fuck off…”

All of a sudden, I was being kicked so hard in the stomach I couldn't breathe. She kicked me so strongly, I almost wondered if Ash was secretly a man. That’s when I started to look past the giant ogre blocking 97 percent of my view and I saw Santina sitting in her car typing away at her cell phone. As she typed, I heard my notifications go off.

That's when things started to get REALLY strange.

[rpmemegraveyard]

❦ Mixed Things ❦

“Oh, that sounds like a marvelous idea. Absolutely fantastic. One hundred percent foolproof.”

“I was gonna say that I don’t need you, but I actually do.”

“At least I’m able to admit what I did was wrong - unlike you.”

“My pride is just fine, thank you. Why shouldn’t it be? I mean, I totally let that happen.”

“Hear me out. Say ‘heck’ was the lovechild of hell and fuck, wouldn’t that make heck a swear word?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“…What is that even supposed to mean?”

“Just stop talking.”

“Should we talk about this?”

“Say [insert whatever here] one more time - I dare you.”

“I’m dead go away.”

“Oh God not another one.”

“Why would anyone drink liquefied bees?!”

“I… I love you. I really do. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

“It’s been nice knowing ya.”

“We… we shouldn’t have done that.”

“It was broken when I got here.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do for them.”

“You better run!”

“That’s right, asshole, I’m still alive.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”

“Oh, yeah? Why should I believe you?”

“Please tell me that’s your hand.”

“I don’t believe in fate or destiny.”

“I’ve trusted the wrong person one too many times.”

“Everything’s written in the stars.”

“That is utter bullshit! Don’t you dare tell me that I need to love myself before I can love [insert name here]!”

“Wake up!”

“I shouldn’t be trusted with hot or sharp objects.”

“I know that.”

“Then why did you give me one?”

“Oh yeah? Make me.”

“I thought you cared!”

“Apologize at once!”

“I really don’t feel good.”

“I’m alive!”

“You don’t have the right to keep my here.”

“You could have died!”

“And what did that prove, huh?! That you’re - you’re some kind of hero?!”

“Alakazam, jackass.”

“It’s the end of the world, [name]. Are you ready?”

“I had everything under control!”

“Hey, whoa! Don’t kill the messenger!”

“Ooh, I’m terrified.”

“I’m not a soldier! Don’t expect me to behave like one!”

“I’m calling bullshit!”

“Go ahead, shoot me. I dare you.”

“I’ve seen too many people come and go. What makes you think you’re any different?”

“You’re no hero. Not now and not ever.”

“I’ll see you again. I promise.”

“Of course the United States is in the lead when it comes to teenage pregnancy; their sex education classes are complete shit.”

“And I should care because…?”

“Did I tell you how amazing you look today? Because you look absolutely stunning.”

“Okay, either you want something from me or you’re trying to hide something.”

“I may or may not have broken that thing you told me to avoid.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re venturing into dangerous territory, my friend. I’d stop where you are now and leave before you regret this.”

“Didn’t you hear? Someone was murdered here.”

“No, no, no. That’s supposed to go on the left.”

“You’re other left!”

“That’s it! Next time, I’m driving!”

“Can’t you forgive me?”

“Why are there always two teams in fiction? Why not… five or something?”

“I’m gonna bust you outta here.”

“That’s great, but how the fuck are you going to do that?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“In all honesty, I didn’t even think I would be able to get here.”

“Don’t you dare die on me!”

“Seagull noises make it all better.”

“Uh… parkour?”

“You run slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter.”

“Nothing is impossible to wrap!”

“Have you ever tried slamming a revolving door?”

“Uh… no. I’m not an idiot.”

“What do you think you’re doing?! Put that back!”

“I thought that… maybe… maybe it would work.”

“That one is definitely on me.”

“Y’know, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t supposed to explode.”

“I’m honestly scared that I will always be alone. That no one will love me.”

“I know it’s stupid, but it still doesn’t hurt any less.”

“What did you expect was going to happen?!”

“Did you ever think of me?”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“I don’t even remember when adults started to freely swear around me.”

“I feel my time is running out.”

“I tried to save them. Don’t you dare say that I didn’t try.”

“Poppycock!”

“Just drop it; it’s not worth it.”

“Took you long enough to get here!”

“Look at me. Look at me! Ignore everything else, just look at me. Please.”

[ollieoliveoboelo22]

Music of TURN

Round 13

Don't forget round 14

The Turtle Dove

4.03: Blood for Blood

Time for a bit more history! The text of the song dates back to 1710 and tells the story of two lovers that vow to remain faithful as one travels far from home.

Around 1770, leaflets bearing the words of this song were being hawked about the fairgrounds of England and Scotland. Which, I just love that such a beloved song in the community had the same love hundreds of years ago.

Furthermore, doves carry a biblical meaning that wouldn't have been lost upon singers and listeners of the era. There are many associations with it depending on the context, but the most often are hope and renewal, which work expertly with the theme of the song.

Soldier Soldier Will You Marry Me?

1.08: Challenge

Likely of English origin, this was a popular song in the 18th century. It possibly dates back earlier, but whenever I researched all I got was 1903 when it was first printed. Which doesn't seem right to me and this is why we don't trust generalized sources.

The song, typically sung as a duet, is about a man tricking a woman admirer into procuring him clothing. In some versions she purchases them, in others she gets them from her grandfather's chest. In the end it's revealed that he's been married and cannot marry her.

When I first listened to this when it came up on my spotify daylist, I busted out laughing at the final line. It is terrible to trick someone like this? Absolutely and I do not condone it. But I can't say it's not just the least bit funny.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Bezzle excerpt (Part III)

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in SALT LAKE CITY (Feb 21, Weller Book Works) and then SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA, Seattle, Portland, Phoenix and more!

This week, I'm serializing part of chapter 14 from my new novel The Bezzle, which is out in stores TODAY (!!!):

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

The Bezzle is a Martin Hench novel, the followup to last year's Red Team Blues – though each book in the series is designed to be read in any order, and to stand alone (RTB just came out in paperback):

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865854/redteamblues

Hench is a two-fisted, high-tech forensic accountant whose career spans 40 years of busting high-tech scams, from the earliest days of the PC to the white-hot center of the cryptocurrency bubble. Each book revolves around a single, central scam (in The Bezzle, it's the unbelievably slimy prison-tech industry):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

But each book also features lots of subplots that unpick different kinds of fraud. In this serialized excerpt, we get to watch Marty unwind a music royalty theft scheme, the kind of thing that Rebecca Giblin and I pulled apart in our 2022 book, Chokepoint Capitalism (also now in paperback!):

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

Today's installment gets into one of the major tactics of any semi-respectable scam – simply ignoring the victim in the hope that they'll get tired and go away. Any of us who've been ripped off by a big company can surely relate.

I'm leaving on my tour for this one tomorrow, starting with a gig in Salt Lake City at Weller Bookworks (Feb 21) at 630PM:

https://www.wellerbookworks.com/event/store-cory-doctorow-feb-21-630-pm

From there, it's on to LA (with Adam Conover), Seattle (with Neal Stephenson) and many, many more cities – maybe one near you!

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/16/narrative-capitalism/#bezzle-tour

Here's part one of the serial:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/17/the-steve-soul-caper/#lead-singer-disease

And part two:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#copyright-termination

And now, onto part three!

Stefon cooked Jamal another dinner and Jamal wrote another letter, this one more forceful, and addressed to Gounder by name. Two weeks later, Jamal wrote another letter without needing dinner because “that motherfucker went to Harvard fucking law”—­Jamal had looked him up in the ALA directory—­“and he knows you can’t make legal problems go away just by ignoring them. Time for that piece of shit to put on his big-­boy pants and be a goddamned lawyer.”

The one thing Jamal wouldn’t do was file a lawsuit. “You need a lawyer for that,” he said. “I mean, I can help you with the paperwork, but a paralegal can’t file the suit. And you shouldn’t file your own suit, either. Those guys’ll just hire some blow-dried asshole from a big law firm and they’ll crush you like a cockroach.”

“Well, shit,” Stefon said. But it all made sense. Anyone doing business with Chuy Flores would do business like Chuy Flores—­that is, crooked as hell.

“What you need is a contingency lawyer,” Jamal said. “Someone who’ll take the job for a piece of the action.” Which is how Stefon ended up being represented by Benny Caetani II, son of Benedetto Caetani, who graduated at the top of his Yale class, won a string of spectacular class-­action suits, then got disbarred after someone leaked calls where he admitted moving money from one client trust account into another to cover a shortfall. No one seriously thought that Benedetto was stealing anyone’s money—­he’d had receivables due within a week that let him make the trust account whole—­but he was also clearly guilty.

Equally, no one seriously believed that the high-­powered surveillance that led to Benedetto’s downfall was random. Benedetto had transferred more than a hundred million dollars from the balance sheets of America’s largest, dirtiest corporations—­ poison-­peddling pharma giants, toxic-­waste-­dumping chemical companies, a global chain of botox parlors with some very loose syringes indeed—­and they were gunning for him.

Officially, Benedetto was out of the lawyer game. Unofficially, he was the brains behind Benny, and the two of them ran a squeaky-­clean shop, making sure that everything that an actual lawyer had to do, Benny did—­while Benedetto did ­everything else. Father and son got along well and they were a hell of a team. When Benedetto called me in to audit Inglewood Jams’ books, I jumped at the opportunity. They were a delight to work for.

“They played tough,” Benedetto said, as his minions arranged the bankers’ boxes on the steel kitchen shelves he’d had installed on the long walls of the storefront he’d rented for me to work out of for the month. “At first. Told me they didn’t owe Stefon a dime, and that they’d rather bankrupt themselves in court than pay some broken-­down, washed-­up disco king anything. Told me his problem was with Chuy, not Inglewood Jams.”

“Well, to be fair, that Chuy guy sounds like a class-­A piece of shit.”

“A broke piece of shit. Guy’s got a million-­dollar nose and an empty bank account.”

“So you had to go after Inglewood Jams.”

Benedetto twirled around in his Aeron chair. He’d sent over a pair of them, asking if I needed more, because he had a storage locker full of them that he’d gotten as part of a settlement with a broke Santa Monica crowdsourcing company that stiffed its workers when it folded.

“I did. I went after them. That Gounder lawyer tried to bluff, then when that didn’t work, he tried to dodge service. Which was such a kindergarten move. Plus he was no good at it. Caught him outside the rub-­and-­tug parlor he went to every Friday after work. Handed him the papers. Wore a bodycam. Didn’t mention his wife. Didn’t have to.”

“You think he settled because he didn’t want his wife to find out he was getting hand jobs at a massage parlor?”

“No, he held out awhile after that. But I could see it preying on him, every time I was face-­to-­face with him. Eventually, he musta told his bosses that they were gonna lose, and so they offered a settlement. It was trash. I laughed in his face. He tossed out some better offers, but none of them even in the ballpark of what we would get in court. Finally, I told him to get serious or send his court suit out to the dry cleaner’s. That’s when he offered to make Stefon whole and pay me a little for my trouble on top of things.”

I suppressed a snort. I was sure that a little on top amounted to some real folding money.

“Even then he tried to pull a fast one, told me he’d calculate Stefon’s royalties and send a check the next week. I was like, ‘Hold up, there is no way you’re going to be able to make an honest accounting for Stefon’s royalties in a week. The dude’s samples are in hundreds of songs. The mere fact that you claimed that you could come up with a fair amount in a week tells me you were planning to pull a lowball number out of your ass and pass it off as the audited total, so tell you what, I’m gonna get the best forensic accountant in the state of California to come down here to LA and crawl all over your papers, and you are going to send him everything he needs to do it, or we’re going to court, motherfucker.”

“And he agreed?”

“Hell no. He refused. We went to a preliminary hearing. Judge turned out to be a classic soul fan. It didn’t go well for Gounder or Inglewood. The next day, he was back in my office, and now, well, here we are.”

ETA: Here's part four!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#lawyer-up

[leathr-blr]

somebody who’s more up to date on what’s stated to be retconned or whatever help me out, because i’ve been rewatching phineas and ferb (again) and just finished rewatching the finale (last day of summer) and it got me thinking about all the timeline implications and what’ll happen in the next two seasons. because i’ve also seen all of milo murphy’s law and this is breaking my brain

i much would PREFER if the pnf finale stayed canon because i really love it (destroying a time loop for the end of a formulaic sitcom also including a lot of status quo changes is pretty genius) and also i hate what mml does to doofenshmirtz’s story for a lot of reasons

but it kind of donned on me once doof vowed not to be evil in last day of summer how much this confuses everything. like milo murphy’s law happened after the phineas and ferb summer (right?) and he was still evil then until the season one finale. not mention doof mentions he invented a time machine to put in the bathroom in the finale, which messes up the whole him not knowing how to invent time travel yet thing in milo murphy’s law

i also get confused about how candace against the universe fits into the timeline, because that came out way after the finale, and then candace has the development about not wanting to bust her brothers anymore, i’m assuming that happens in the middle of that summer pnf takes place in since doof is still evil. but i guess i can kind of wrap my head around that being some alternate universe “what if” scenario deal, and it is a kickass movie (or maybe she just relapsed… which… fine)

i also couldnt see them changing the status quo so much in the next two seasons that candace isn’t compelled to bust her brothers plus doofenshmirtz not being evil, even though i’d hope they would

even then, if they did do that or went with the mml timeline, wouldn’t that be confusing for pnf exclusive watchers (who would probably be watching on disney+ like me when the new seasons drop and would have almost definitely seen the s4 finale) be confused on why everything doesn’t line up??? is the mml timeline non-existent now since it’s cancelled / a different show???? has this ever been addressed. i don’t know. somebody help me my autistic brain can’t stop game-theorying about this cartoon sitcom for babies.

i probably messed something up since there’s hundreds of episodes of this show but i trust myself to be somewhat accurate in my assessment as that guy who’s seen all of pnf 3 times and watches it everyday

[kcuf-ad]

Okay I saw the post where you were raging how people say Sasuke commited genocide, right? I'm gonna trust you saying he didn't actually commit actual genocide, but consider:

Literally no one considers Sasuke as someone who did genocide, EXCEPT for the people who are fully aware he didnt and are just making fun of him (because how else to cope with the trauma than make fun of it)

Sasuke be getting mad about something and Naruto just casually goes "Whoa there, I think the genocides you've already done is enough for ya" and immediately Sasuke's trying to kill him with a "IT WAS ONE TIME! AND IT WASNT EVEN A GENOCIDE! I JUST KILLED LIKE TWO PEOPLE!" and then Sakura goes "What, you think that makes it any better?" and Sasuke is just losing his shit trying to explain that they're damn SHINOBI, they're SUPPOSED to kill people.

Alternatively, in Boruto era Naruto sometimes gets done with his son and is like LISTEN UP IF YOU DONT STOP MESSING ABOUT ILL SEND YOU TO UNCLE SASUKE, HES A MURDERER YA KNOW

Boruto side eyes the thirty year old who looks like he's having his emo phase again and is like SUUUUURE

And then Sasuke goes in a very calm voice while glowing red Would you like to find out?

Or the kids just hear the jokes aimed at Sasuke and don't realise that they're literally 75% made up and take them mostly seriously.

As far as the kids know Sasuke's killed about seven hundred people and no one wants to correct them because it's too funny. (They did have to make it very clear that the kids can not keep asking Sasuke to kill people just because they don't like them- not because the kids are serious but because Sasuke might actually do it-)

Damn it this is god damn hilarious.

Bro, Sasuke could be mad at what Kakashi did at during his shift and the anger is clearly visible, so what does Kakashi do? Like any reasonable adult, he stands up and yells, "SASUKE NOT AGAIN! WE JUST GOT YOU OUT PRISON FOR THE LAST GENOCIDE!" which Sasuke never wanted to commit it until now.

He was rumoured that he killed an entire village for fun, and not because he accidently knocked someone while walking. The rumours spread so wide that people actively make sure that they don't make him mad. If he is ever alone in a different village and is seen with his neutral face (aka angry face) and people are sweating bullets and try their absolute hardest to cheer him up, sometimes, they even bribe him so he doesn't be upset.

Everytime he talks about this, the three bust out laughing at this.

Boruto looks at Sasuke who looks like he is listening to every emo song ever known for the 14th time in his life and thinks "This is the guy that caused all of those genocides? I don't think he could kill a bird, let alone a guy." Not knowing his criminal history.

Sarada looks at his dad and doesn't believe any rumour because this man barely knows how to talk to his own daughter, do you really think he could cause a genocide?

Knowing Sasuke, yeah, no one should give him suggestions. Sakura once said that the owner of the nearby kebab shop was bit of a jerk and Naruto had the bright idea of joking that Sasuke should kill him.

2 days later, he was never heard from again.

[that-gay-jedi]

My queued wet beast Wednesday post being a horse this week took me fuckin down memory lane to two separate and very different times in my life that were both defined by socializing with horses lemme tell ya. Because in one I was a physically abled, mentally busted teenage dyke freshly ish out of the closet and newly relearning how to be platonic friends with straight women and girls now that everyone knew I could be attracted to girls and also redefining my connection to the shitty small town in which I was born and using the beautiful remote natural areas that I could only get to on horseback and the relative solitude to kind of form a safe bridge between me and the world whereon I could learn to assert myself and make freer choices on the path to adulthood, and on the other I was a total physical and mental wreck with the most visible and noticeable PTSD in the world and surrounded by otherwise very wise but gender clueless elder straight women who didn't like or trust my proximity to masculinity and it took less than 3 hours for a trained therapy horse to call me out on just how much I'd been shrinking myself for others and nonverbally roast me in the exact way I didn't know I needed at the time.

True as it may be that horses love suicide and homicide in equal measure, a horse is also probably the closest in real life that you're ever going to get to being in a room with a Force sensitive sentient bc those motherfuckers can hear your heartbeat from 6 feet away and you can fool every human around looking confident in where you're going but a horse will NOT follow you down even the safest paths unless you actually ARE confident. The social structure of horses among themselves means that most are absolute experts in followship (the counterskill to leadership) and that makes them more qualified to teach about life than a hundred million bajillion leaders could ever hope to be.

[weekend-conspiracy-theorist]

an entry in the tim&steph role swap au

Dick's burner phone buzzed, continuously and insistently, in the secret pocket of his Nightwing suit. He forwarded his personal calls to it (trusting Oracle and Proxy's good work to keep that data hidden) even on patrol because (contrary to Bruce's opinion on the matter), sometimes emergencies happened, even in his private life. But whoever was trying to get hold of him right now had picked the worst time.

Busting up this arms deal was just another Tuesday, but still--there were bullets involved. Dick couldn't afford to be distracted.

At least the pattern of the buzzing indicated it was someone In The Know--probably one of the Titans, and he was going to strangle Roy if Mia and Emiko had stolen his phone to make crank calls again.

His escrima snapped out at a man's neck, the taser at the end crackling to life, and he set a boot against another man's shoulder, tossing himself away as the retort of gunfire followed him. It bought him the split second necessary to flip his comm to his personal channel and answer the fucking phone. He grit out, "Look, I'm a little busy right now--"

"I am frustratingly aware," Junior Private Investigator Tim Drake hissed back at him, "considering I'm stuck in the rafters of this warehouse while you get busy."

Dick had been doing this for too long to actually snap his head around in surprise, but it was a near thing. The next spray of gunfire was close enough to raise his heartrate--something the vigorous acrobatics had failed to do--as he cut off one of the gun runners before she could make a break for it. One, two--crackle of the taser. He caught her with one foot before she could hit the ground, lightly redirecting her so she didn't slam her head on a metal pipe, and gracefully ducked beneath a wild punch. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Marcus Akron's wife is convinced he's cheating on her with a Blüdhaven barbie doll. He's not, but apparently he is funding this little venture. I was tailing him. You crashed the party." Gunfire echoed across the line, a moment behind reality, and Tim made a distasteful noise. "Look, every escape route I've got here is going to leave me disturbingly exposed, but I've got some quality photographic evidence I'd be delighted to exchange for a long enough distraction to excise myself from this situation." As an afterthought, he added, "Just don't make me talk to the cops; I hate dealing with the Blüdhaven PD. They make even Gotham's cops look competent."

Alright: so this just turned into a slightly bigger challenge than your average Tuesday.

Dick grinned, sharp and terrifying, and put another one of the gun runners onto the ground. "Where are you?"

"Three rafters east and about twenty feet south from the northwest corner of the building, tucked behind a column. There's a skylight about a hundred feet away; I need about twenty seconds and I can be out of here."

Dick threw himself into the air. The moment stretched; bullets whizzed past his outstretched fingertips; his feet hit the ground. He had a plan.

"In ten," he told Tim. "Be ready."

"Aye aye, Captain," Tim agreed, faintly sardonic, and Dick was laughing as he spun on his heel and sprinted directly for the man with the biggest gun.

"Overcompensating, huh?" he asked, sympathetic. "It's okay. I'm sure your wife loves you just the way you--" He yanked the guy's hand out to the side, sucking air through his teeth as he inspected the pale, empty divot on the guy's ring finger. "Mm. Maybe not."

There was the punch he was waiting for.

***

Dick found Tim sitting on the edge of the roof, back pressed against an HVAC vent with one leg dangling and the other stretched out next to him, when he was finally able to extricate himself. The night sky danced with flashing red and blue lights.

Tim looked up, though Dick was certain his footsteps had been silent on the metal roofing, and wiggled the camera. "There's good stuff here," he said, a little satisfied and a little defensive. "I do need to make copies for Mrs. Akron before I hand over the SD card, but it won't take long once I get back to my hotel."

"She gonna be the type to be relieved or furious that it was grandiose dreams of a criminal empire keeping her husband away at night, rather than a buxom blonde?" Dick eyed Tim's extended leg, frowning at the neat white bandage sticking out from underneath rolled up jeans, but he kept his tone light.

"Could go either way." Tim tucked the camera away into the messenger bag that sat next to him, following Dick's eyeline to his leg, and then huffed. "Inconvenient ricochet," he assured Dick. "Doesn't even need stitches. Did however inspire me to spam call your personal cell after my attempts to text Batgirl to tell her to hit up your comms failed."

Dick considered this. "You live a weird life," he decided, dropping down to sit next to him on the edge of the roof, and Tim snorted.

"Says the superhero to the PI. One of us has Superman on speed dial, and it sure isn't me."

Dick kept his eyes straight ahead, gazing out across the city he'd claimed as his own, but he could feel Tim looking at him. A little nervous, a little starstruck and pretending not to be, just like he always was around Dick. Jason had told Dick that Stephanie had told him that Jason used to be Tim's favorite Robin.

Dick was pretty certain Stephanie had been lying.

Probably for the sake of endearing Tim even slightly to Jason, in knowing anticipation of the ongoing and deeply entertaining animosity that they held for each other. The gambit had worked long enough to get the two blindingly competent morons to collaborate on that serial killer case, so it was hard to fault her for it. And Dick certainly wasn't going to tell Jason.

It's not like Dick wanted to be Tim's Favorite Robin (Other Than Stephanie); he'd already had that title--sans caveat--awarded to him by Superman. No offense to Tim, but that held a much higher cachet.

(Which--Bruce knew that Dick would absolutely pick Clark in the Justice League Divorce, right? He had to, at this point.)

Having Tim make those big doe eyes at him all the time was a little flattering, but it was also a little weird, and actually even a little annoying--if just because Dick liked Tim, and the hero worship thing made it hard to actually have a relaxed conversation with the guy. (So did the fact that Stephanie and Tim both retained six or seven years' worth of habitual avoidance techniques and a disdain for authority that Dick had been horrified to learn included himself, but it was mostly the hero worship thing.)

So Dick handled it the only way he could handle it: he ignored it.

"I don't have Superman on speed dial," he countered, turning to flash Tim a conspiratorial grin. "We have a secret whistle."

"Of course you do," Tim said.

Dick was pleased to hear the sarcasm outweigh the sincerity. He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows, and Tim huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

"I, uh--" He broke off as his phone began to buzz, shifting his weight to pull it out of his pocket, and sighed. He flashed the screen at Dick, showing a contact picture of himself and Stephanie. "Guess she finally saw the texts," he said dryly.

Time slowed down, the way it usually did when Dick was formulating a game plan in the middle of a fight, as Tim went to swipe up to answer the call.

Dick had been Stephanie's self-appointed surrogate big brother (whether she liked it or not) for years now, and it suddenly struck him that by the transitive property of lonely children and platonic soulmates, his obnoxious big brother duties absolutely extended to Tim, too.

Nightwing struck, faster than Tim could react; an open handed blow to the elbow that sent the phone flying even as Dick surged upwards to catch it and threw himself into a back handspring to recover. He answered the call himself, other hand extended to fend Tim off (squawking, "What the fuck?" as he scrambled after Dick), and held the phone to his ear.

"Tim, oh, thank god--"

Stephanie's voice was frantic enough to make him almost feel bad for what he was about to do. But only almost.

"Stephanie Brown?" Dick asked, in a grave tone. "It's Nightwing. I'm afraid I've got some rather serious news for you."

"What the fuck, Dick!" Tim repeated, more vehemently, and he made a grab for his phone.

Dick twisted away from him easily, biting back a cackle, and continued, "I didn't have time to answer my phone in the middle of the fight, so I wasn't aware of any civilian presence until everything was said and done. Your friend got shot--"

"WHAT?"

"--but it was just a graze. He did faint into my arms though."

Credit where it was due: Tim Drake had been going through the Batman Mandated Black Bat & Batgirl Mixed Martial Arts Boot Camp for months now, on top of the more traditional lessons he'd had as a teenager. He wasn't an untalented kid. By Dick's estimation, in strict hand-to-hand conditions Tim outclassed 99% of the general population and even some of the heroes Dick knew who were over-reliant on tech or superpowers.

That still put him a class below the bats and the birds of Gotham.

Dick cheerfully adjusted his weight, pinning Tim's arm to the ground beneath his knee as he controlled his head (read: shoved it into the ground) with his free arm, and continued blithely, "Yeah, he saw the blood and just keeled right over. The bullet wound is inconsequential; it's the blow to his ego that I don't think he'll recover from. He's going to need long term therapy and some self-help books--"

"You're the fucking worst," Stephanie told him. "You gave me a heart attack. So he's fine?"

"Except for the fainting and the--" Dick wheezed as one of Tim's pointy elbows managed to find its way into his diaphragm.

"Considering I have watched Boyfriend perform stitches on himself before, I'm going to go ahead and assume you're just trying--and failing--to be funny," Stephanie told him dryly.

"Why would he do his own stitches." Dick gave Tim a knuckle noogie, repeating, "Why would you do your own stitches? Kid. You're not an illegal vigilante with a secret identity to maintain. Just go to the hospital."

"I usually do--"

"He usually does--"

"--but there were extenuating circumstances."

The responses were in near unison, ruined only by the slight delay across the phone line, and Dick couldn't help but laugh, sitting back on his heels and letting Tim squirm out from under him. "You two are something else."

"Shut the fuck up and give Boyfriend back his phone," Stephanie ordered, and Dick politely held the phone out to Tim, who accepted it with a disgruntled glare.

So much better than the doe eyes, Dick thought with smug satisfaction.

"I'm fine," Tim said. He was sitting cross-legged on the rooftop carefully out of arms reach of Dick, eyeing him suspiciously. "Nightwing's an asshole. What else is new?" He was silent for a moment and then he rolled his eyes. "Because it seemed like a straightforward adultery case. How was I supposed to--No, come on. You know Red Bird makes most of its money on rich people's marital problems. I'd have to actually charge market rates on the more important cases if--I did not go into this business just because--Stop calling me a professional stalker, Stephanie. No, I won't agree to that trade. It's not the--Because he is. Look deep into your heart and admit it to yourself. He bought you an entire car and multiple motorcycles and a personal Batcave." Tim snickered. "Yeah, but even when we were dating I never bought you anything other than pizza and that thirty dollar tennis bracelet that turned your wrist green."

Dick remembered that, he realized. Stephanie had showed the bracelet off to him, bashful in a way he'd never seen her before about a boy treating her like she was special. She'd still been in braces at the time (and rightfully suspicious, despite Bruce's steadfast insistence that he'd had nothing to do with her selection for the program that helped Crystal afford them). It seemed to strike Dick, over and over, that Tim had been in the background, present but unseen, for nearly as long as Dick had known Stephanie.

Tim's voice softened. "Yeah, Stephie. Of course. You, too. Oh--tell Wendy I said hi, and to stop breaking into my system to steal my spreadsheets. I don't care if she can't get her own Vengeful Mad Scientist Predictive Algorithm to ignore Mr. Terrific; she needs to leave mine alone."

One last pause. Here, Tim's eyes flicked over to Nightwing, a light in his gray-blue eyes that had Dick raising his eyebrows in concern. "Well," Tim said, in a perfectly even tone. "That goes without saying."

He hung up.

"Do I wanna know?" Dick asked.

"Steph's revenge will be swift and unavoidable," Tim promised him, as he rose to his feet and dusted off his jeans.

"Sure," Dick agreed, though he silently suspected that Stephanie would be more pleased than upset once she recognized that Dick had successfully smashed through Tim's defenses and actually managed to become his friend.

Tim looked at him, hands on his hips, and then dropped his chin to his chest as he laughed, a little helplessly. "Oy. You know this...?" Tim gestured to indicate the rooftop, himself, the costumed vigilante he was speaking with. "Downright nostalgic. Sitting on top of an abandoned warehouse, waiting semi-patiently for a Robin to finish beating up ne'er-do-wells while I fiddle with the ISO on my camera, ending up with my face smushed into a rooftop while said Robin gloats from on top of me. You just need to give me a fond but rude nickname and threaten to throw me off the top of Wayne Tower, and I might as well be fourteen again."

Dick laughed himself, hopping up to his feet. "Wayne Tower's too far from here," he joked. "But don't worry, I know all the good skyscrapers in Blüdhaven."

"Think that means I do need to worry, actually."

"Oh, yeah. Absolutely." Dick snorted. "Stephanie would murder me with her bare hands, even if I whistled up Superman to come catch you."

"She worries," Tim said, with exasperated fondness, "as if she isn't also a regular ass human being with no superpowers."

"In full body armor, well-armed, and with years of training and experience," Dick countered dryly. "You get where the difference is here, right?"

Tim rolled his eyes, like the barely-not-a-teenager he was. "Well, thanks again for giving me an escape window. I--"

"You never thanked me the first time, actually," Dick said, steam rolling over whatever semi-graceful exit from the conversation Tim had been about to fashion for himself. "Not that I needed it. Thank you for the photos; I'm just going to assume they'll be helpful and win me brownie points with the BPD once I send them over. What does the traded favors thing mean for our relative standing, vis-a-vis the taco tax?"

Dick had never had it completely explained to him, but he'd heard Tim and Stephanie and even Cassandra reference "the taco tax" often enough to get the gist. Favors could be bought and apologies made via the gift of tacos from the recipient's restaurant or street cart of choice. The exchange rate seemed to be complex and dependent on a potentially sentient spreadsheet, but Dick figured they could simplify, just this once.

Tim blinked. "The taco tax," he repeated.

"It's only that I figure saving your life kind of outweighs the evidence thing," Dick said. "So I'm pretty sure you owe me, millionaire."

The kid scowled. "Saving my life is exaggerating a bit, don't you think? Not to mention the stunt you pulled with my phone, billionaire, so--"

Bingo. Dick wouldn't even bother to point out that Bruce was the rich one, not him. He knew Tim knew.

"So I owe you, then?" Dick clapped Tim on the shoulder, grinning. "Great. Let me show you the best taco place in Blüdhaven. They're even open 24/7."

***

Dick squeezed a lime over his seventh taco. Alfred was going to be horrified when he checked his diet log for the day.

He was in his civvies now, jeans and a tshirt and his favorite leather jacket (the one Jason had repeatedly tried and failed to steal, back when he was a small enough Robin to actually fit into his big brother's clothes) draped over the back of the seat. The flourescent bulbs over their heads flickered, filling the room with that quiet electric buzz, and the formica tabletop was chipped and peeling.

"Stupidest thing Stephanie's ever said to you," he suggested.

Tim snorted. "How am I supposed to pick."

"Alright, stupidest thing you've ever said to Steph."

To Dick's surprise--and delight--Tim laughed so sharply he nearly choked on a piece of radish.

"Oh, that one's easy," he wheezed, swiping at his face with a napkin. "We were fifteen. We'd been dating for like--a month. We'd kissed four times. One night, Stephanie turned to me on the swingset at the park we liked to hang out at when we weren't--" he waved a hand to indicate the vigilante activities that he wouldn't mention aloud in public--"You know. And she said, 'So, you should know I just found out I'm pregnant.'" Tim laid a hand on his chest. "And I said, 'My dad's going to kill me.'"

Dick threw his head back with the force of his laughter, and Tim joined in, shaking his head as he reached for his water glass. "She likes to trot that one out whenever she thinks I'm getting too uppity about my own intelligence."

"I can see why."

"In my defense, sex ed at a conservative boarding school is uniquely focused on trying to prevent teenage boys from having crises of sexuality that might scandalize their parents," Tim said dryly. "Less so on the actual mechanics of parenthood."

Dick snorted. "How'd that work out for them?"

His lips twitched. "Dunno. I'll have to ask my boyfriend when I get home." He sat back in his chair, grinning, and said, "My turn, right?"

With an inviting wave of his taco, Dick declared, "Hit me with your best shot."

"Weirdest reason you've ever been kidnapped."

"Hm." Dick turned the question over in his mind thoughtfully, as Tim picked his way through his third taco. He'd insisted Dick owed him eight of them, then gone outside and handed most of them--and a twenty--to the homeless guy they'd passed a block back. The guy had tried to kick him in the crotch in response. Ah, Blüdhaven. "One time there was a guy who was certain Bruce was secretly a lizard person--"

"Antisemitic. Continue."

Dick held a hand up as if to say, "Thank you." "That's exactly what I said, when he pulled the canvas bag off of my head and started telling me about it. It's exactly what Commissioner Gordon said, too, when he was interrogating the guy." He winked. "It was even what Batman said when he rescued me."

Straight-faced, Tim said, "The folks at my synagogue think Batman's Jewish, but I'm not convinced. I mean, what are the odds that Bruce Wayne and Batman, the two most famous Gothamites, are both Jewish?"

Dick struggled not to laugh. "Gee, Tim. That's a great point," he managed to choke out.

Tim ducked his head to hide the grin that he couldn't bite back any longer. "Now, that Superman, though--"

Dick kicked him under the table, wheezing.

"What a mensch."

"Shut up, I'm begging you."

Tim sat back, laughing, and rubbed a hand over his face. "These are really good tacos," he said. And, "Thanks." Sincerely, and with eye contact. Confident, sustained, non-doe-eyed eye contact.

He wasn't talking about the tacos. Dick smiled, setting his arm along the back of his chair. "You're welcome."

[etirabys]

retrospective on a recent mild brain crash

here's how much fiction I've been writing this year. About mid-month I hit a good clip – between then and now I averaged 1400 words a day

Most of that was on one project. Most of my projects are speculative, "I have one cool idea, let's see where it goes" – they go nowhere, I'm mostly okay with that. This one I had a clear idea of the overall shape. I named the file "sufyan short.md" like one of those people in high infant mortality cultures who give babies placeholder names because they don't want death to notice that there's something to cut down

anyway it's a novella

The only two novellas I've ever completed, I got out in like, a week or two, putting everything else on my life on hold. So I had a vague background belief that if I didn't complete this project this month it was doomed. I don't think I explicitly said to myself, "It's this month or bust," because that would be an Unhelpful Self Pressuring Thought / Irrational Catastrophizing. But it turns out I believe that anyway & have been acting like I believe it. Taking stock of all the hours and energy I have and allocating it precisely between software job, novella, partners

I crashed (spent a few days feeling simultaneously fine & on the verge of some implosion, then rapid onset depressive episode yesterday), and have felt kind of mystified by this whole thing. It's been long enough since I pushed myself this hard this long that I don't quite know what to take away. Imagine if much of your life was dedicated to building the tower of babel, and each time god demolished it around ten stories. Then, somehow, things really came together and you got a hundred stories up. Then god came around to demolishing it. The landing, of course, was harder than usual. And you blink and try to take some lesson away from it – did you go too fast? was god mad about the workers not having enough breaks? was the foundation unsound? – but it all sounds like nonsense when you're still trying to process "we got to a hundred stories this time? we only do that about once every five years! should we just try the same thing over again?"

The crash leadup felt like... just... being obsessed with my project. There's a sliding scale from "manic about project, words gushing out of me" to "not making any progress but anxiously thinking about it all the time, turning it over and over in my mind to find the next entry point from which I can grow it further". When I slid from the former to somewhere in the middle, I didn't notice that this was bad

When I got consciously anxious about the project I was like "oh that's silly, let's shut down that anxious thought" but I didn't take the time to look at the… non-explicit/verbal ways I was anxious about it? Like, my attention was constantly rapid-flickering back to the novella even when I wasn't working on it

Scheduling explicit blocks of time for writing hasn't worked for me in the past, so my writing strategy is "when my brain spits out the next bit that it wants to write, immediately sit down and get going". So I'm frequently in a state of "not doing anything in particular but open to the urge". So each individual instance of rapid-flickering didn't seem bad, because it could be the prelude to gathering enough momentum that I sit down and pound out another 2000. It only looks bad when I step back and notice the ratio of thinking to writing is quite high. I've been quite productive the past two weeks, but my efficiency was a lot lower than Carnot efficiency.

And because I was mostly paying attention to output and not efficiency, I went "things are going really great! keep cranking!" and then, splat.

Anyway, takeaway thoughts/ideas from the latest wreckage of Babel.

This may not be possible, but the best way to reduce "it's now or never" anxiety is to trust myself to come back to the project. If I had to spit out a reasonable timeframe for someone else to complete this novella, I'd say 3 months. But because I don't think I can trek that long, I gave myself like 10 days. The better I am at sticking to long term projects, the easier I can drive myself

It's fine to be obsessive, but maybe set aside 4 hours in a day when I'm absolutely not allowed to think about it?

This has never worked for me, but maybe I should try just blocking out time every day to work on the fic. I'm in the unusual-for-me position of having a lot of scenes left but few unknowns – where you'd expect mechanical plodding to be most effective.

One issue I have is that I have a lot of "work" activities and "zombie" activities but few "relaxing" activities, so when I have some energy but don't want to push myself, I end up either being a zombie (which I then regret) or working (which burns me out). I suspect the intermediate level is consuming fiction.

My 1-2 nights of insomnia a week are a big deal. It is time to hold my nose and grovel at psychiatrists until one gives me Ambien. I'm guessing this is one of the highest impact things I can do for health and productivity.

Similarly 'low hanging' fruit is dramatically improving my cardiovascular fitness. I've been plateaued on the c25k schedule for a few months. More on this in a separate post.

[187days]

Day One Hundred Eighty-One

Okay, so I clearly jinxed us yesterday, because there was a medical situation in the building today. It didn’t happen in my classroom, and my students had been dismissed for lunch when it happened, so I didn’t have to do anything when the announcement was made to clear the halls, but some of my colleagues had a stressful time. Note: everything is okay now.

As for my day? It was pretty excellent until that happened. I went around the room during both sections of World and quickly checked my students’ multigenre projects. I just wanted to see if they were on the right track, and offer some guidance if they weren’t. Afterwards, I did more in-depth conferencing with anyone who asked, so I stayed busy throughout both blocks, and got to read some really excellent work. 

One of the girls in my Block 2 class has been polishing a short story, and I’ve been giving her suggestions to make it more descriptive, and increase the realism, and it’s turned out really well. I love that she’s stuck with the revision process and really maximized her potential. And two of the boys- two of the boys who were so slow to trust me, and so reluctant to make an effort, at first, then did a 180- turned in their projects early, fully revised, worthy of As. We were all grinning ear to ear over that. I’m so proud of them, and I’m happy they’re proud of themselves. It’s so good. 

This afternoon, there was a little party for retiring staff members. The Principal made a quick speech, and gave a gift to each of them, bust, mostly, we were just hanging out, enjoying a nice day (after all the rain!) and each other’s company, eating some snacks. At one point, a few of us went in to grab drinks, as well. One of my coworkers was gonna buy mine, but The Principal walked in and bought them all. That was a very smooth boss move, I must say. 

We’ve already hired new folks for all of the retiree’s positions but one, but more and more people are opting to leave- headed to other districts, or out of the teaching profession- so there are probably going to be interviews happening throughout the summer. 

[suprnovascripts]

Our Bedroom, 10/23/2287

10/23/87 --at least that is what the PipBoy says. I imagine it must be right. That matches what Codsworth said and at this point, I trust these machines far more than I can trust myself.

I found this journal still in the dresser of our bedroom. Can I even call it ours? Looking around at the destroyed walls, worn floors, and busted furniture, I can't help but wonder how many people's room this has been in the last two hundred years, how many people lived here... Died here?.. Well, tonight, it's mine again.

I don't really know where to begin, but I feel as though I must record what's happening to me - if not to tell my story, then to convince myself that all of this is real, that I'm not just dreaming. The pain in my fingers feels real. I feel as though the cryostasis is leaking out of my muscles like a slow sludge. I am thawing. I can't get to Concord like this, but maybe in a day or two.

I cannot say that I am eager for the trip. By the looks of things, anyone I could meet would be worse for wear, and that just can't bode well for me. Luckily, our Overseer saw fit for a 10mm. I don't have to be strong if I can be quick, smart, and most importantly - accurate.

When I got into Sanctuary, I didn't know who or what I would find. I snuck up through our backyard and could see Codsworth through the holes in the wall. At first, the way he spoke to me, it made me feel doubt and dread - one of few familiar "faces" I may ever see again, and it was like talking to a brick wall. But it seems that two hundred years here tending the garden has afforded the bot a heavy sense of emotion. I can't imagine that it's been easy for him. But I would be lying if I said I wasn't relieved to hear his distress, his confusion, once it finally gave way. Frankly, it meant I wasn't alone. Best $120k we ever spent.

I could stay here. Forget about Concord and set things up the best I can with my robot. Maybe wait for people to come through, as I'm sure they will. If we set things up right, then we can welcome them right -- whether they be friend or foe.

There are things I don't want to think about that I cannot seem to tear my mind's gaze from. In this moment, my thoughts return to Nate. "Eleanor, avoiding your feelings isn't the same thing as protecting them." I'm glad we sprung for the private therapist. He held a lot of peace in the last years of our life together, well... Before the vault. I'm not sure he would have gotten the help he needed with an army appointed shrink.

Would it be so much to hope that he thought it was just a bad dream? To hope that he never knew he woke up? To hope that it was dark before the dream, then dark after, and there wasn't any time for him to convince himself he was awake? Would it be so much to hope the same for myself?

I'm scared to visit the other homes around the neighborhood. Codsworth assured me that there may be some bugs, but that I shouldn't worry -- there's no other signs of life. That's exactly what scares me.

In the second house we searched this afternoon, I saw a skeleton in the corner. Not a body, not decay, but a bare-boned skeleton. There's something about the anonymity that reaches deep down in my gut and twists it all about. Part of me wishes I knew who it was, and yet, another part of me is glad I don't. I'm scared to learn things that I don't know if my heart can take.

There's no telling how long ago they took my son. That is my son MY SON he is my son. I have to find out what happened. There's nothing else for me to do. Am I a coward? That this is the only thing I have to live for? I fear that I am to act out of desperation, and not honor. But still... I have to act.

I'll find Nate's murderers, the same people who stole my baby. I'll learn what happened to him. I pray there is peace in knowing.

The sun is setting. I'll need to think about taking Codsworth up on that offer for dinner. Who knows what he'll come up with. Despite sleeping for two centuries, I sure am tired.