#unless i place the red charging wire under it

[schasekk]

behold! Load-bearing wire

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

""Fool-Proof Prison" is Dot in the Pacific," Toronto Star Weekly. May 29, 1937. Page 14. ---- 'COURT INIQUITIES' ROUSE THE MAN WHO CAME BACK ---- Dr. O. C. J. Withrow Demands by What Right "Little Tin Gods Sitting on Bench" Sentence Prisoners Holds They Should Settle Guilt and Leave Punishment to Board ---- Canada needs a Canadian-type Alcatraz ... an island somewhat like that in foggy San Francisco Bay, a concentration camp for the "big shot" criminals ... an island without rocky Alcatraz dungeons, cold stone walls, or barbed wire ..... a "hospital for sick souls, wherein incurable incurable criminals like the late Red Ryan and Edward McMullen could be segregated for life. as lepers are, and for the very same reasons ... an escape-proof sanatorium for super-criminals ... not a prison. but a game preserve for human animals, guarded by trained warders, under the direction of a tough warden who would stand for no nonsense. "I know what I'm talking about," cried Dr. Oswald C. J. Withrow, the progenitor of these opinions, as with agitated step he paced the floor of his Toronto office to-day. two . "I lived for two and one-half years in the hell that is Kingston Penitentiary. This is not a question of sob sister stuff It's plain common sense."

But Dr. Withrow does not hold with one of Alcatraz' first laws, the "whittling down", under iron discipline, of the inflated egos of 370 gangsters like Al Capone, Machine gun Kelly. Harmon Waley and Albert Bates, kidnappers.

Determine Punishment More important than all this he holds is that power to sentence accuse people to penitentiary be taken from the magistrates and judges; prison management be unified under Dominion control, through a five-man board; determination by psychiatrists and psychologists of punishment to suit the criminal; abolition of all political influence anywhere in the system of crime and punishment.

"No magistrate." he burst out "or judge thumping his desk in emphasis, "should ever be allowed to sentence any man. He should merely be allowed to find him guilty, and turn him over to a trained medical man who can find out what is wrong with him leave my own case out of it. m m innocent, but that's all over and done with. If I can help some of the other poor devils, that's all the comfort I want.

How Can They Tell? "After an individual study has been made of each man and his case," said Dr. Withrow, "he should be given an indeterminate sentence. How can I, a doctor, tell you, if you have tuberculosis, how long it will be before you're cured? How can any man say how long a criminal should stay in prison Or, if a man is mentally sick, how long he should stay in an insane asylum. It may be for life. It may be for six months. I see some judge has said indeterminate sentences are no good. He doesn't know what he's talking about. Has he ever been in jail?

"Later, it these experts find, after sufficient diagnosis, that the people in their care are incurable criminals Red Ryan was, and so was McMullen, both of whom I knew.. they should be sent to some central place in Canada, men and women both, and never, never be let out again unless the Lord changes them, as he may well do, even then."

"Only two or three thousand prisoners in all Canada are incurable criminals now," added the doctor. "Only 50 of the men I knew in Kingston were incurable riminals. Many a man there told me there was no use letting him out, that he could not live in society, that he would be back again. They are back again, too.

"No Nonsense" "Such men could be given small huts, with a little ground around them, on some island. They would know they would never be let out. The man in charge of this institution should be a tough guy who would stand no nonsense, with a staff of trained, educated, men, more like orderlies than guards, working under him, and making periodic reports on the prisoners. To-day the guards, as a class, are lower then the men they guard ... and I'll say that wherever I am ... uncouth, foul-mouthed, bestial men.

"Some island in Lake Winnipeg, or in the Queen Charlotte group, even Piers island, where the BC. government imprisoned some of the Doukhobors some time ago would be ideal,' suggested Dr. Withrow. "The men and women sent there would be given some measure of freedom. Let them buy rugs for their huts, if they can afford or do what they like in the lines of decorating the places in which they live. In Kingston we were punished if we had a needle in our cells. Or if we hung a tiny picture on the bleak wall.

Warden Like Lawes "This sanatorium should be run by a man like Warden Lawes of Sing Sing, the best man for such position that I know. We have colonies for the lepers with sick bodies; why not colonies for men with sick - souls isn't the word, but it will do.

"A five-man board, one member of which must have lived behind prison walls, should be made responsible for all prisons, Dr. Withrow continued.

"Cops" or "Bobbies"? "I wish you could be arrested see for yourself the brutality and the vindictiveness which you will be met from police and courts," he added. "That's the only way to open your eyes to what's happening. Then you'll understand why Canada we call our policemen 'cops' as the Americans do, and hate and fear them, and why we do not call the policemen Bobbies as the English do, and look upon them as friends.

"Go into the police courts and see some of those little tin gods sitting on the beach, men who and do rule that that a sneeze or chewing gum is in contempt of court. It means that the man on the the bench is irritated, that's all. Ask any lawyer to define contempt of court ... it has never been done. Yet men like that are supposed to weigh impartially." With a shrug, he left the thought.

Top image: Rock-bound Alcatraz where the toughest of Uncle Sam's "public enemies" are having their egos "whittled down to normal.

Left image: Al Capone - his ego is being treated at Alcatraz.

[More about the attempt to open this facility in Canada...]

[ficforce]

Red Flower of Edo Part 2

Benimaru x Reader SFW

Asakusa was known to be a rough town, proto-nationalists who had no respect or regard for the empire. They were loud and rude and dangerous.

At least in the opinion of everyone outside of Asakusa.

They could be a rough bunch,

But they were people who banded together when needed. They were probably kinder than most, when homes were destroyed they opened their doors to each other, they shared food, they helped rebuild both homes and lives. With news of Y/N spreading through the town people were quick to band together and take the pressure off of Benimaru - they regarded him as their leader but in this circumstance, he needed their support. Konro had taken charge, for now, taking care of the 7th and making sure that Benimaru took at least the minimum amount of care for himself.

Benimaru sat by Y/N’s bedside without a word, day in and day out, minute by minute.

He only left when Konro promised to sit by her and even then it was never near to a full hour away. When Konro entered Benimaru and Y/N’s room in the Guardhouse he paused, Benimaru’s head had drooped down and he was asleep sitting up, the man was exhausted but he wouldn’t quit until she woke up. The doctor was being put up in the room next door and Y/N was connected to a blood drip and fluids - moving her there was ill-advised but Benimaru hadn’t wanted her in a place that stank of disinfectant, he wanted to bring her home and Konro had wanted Benimaru to have some sort of comfort too. The older man was silent on his feet as he approached Y/N’s other side, checking that none of the wires had been disturbed and brushing a stray piece of hair out of the way. It was unusual for her skin to be so cold.

He reached to adjust her blanket and a hand shot out to grab his wrist, the pressure painful until realisation passed through Benimaru and he let go. “Beni, you need to rest. We’ll lay another futon beside her if you’re worried about sleeping too close.”

“If I sleep now I won’t know if she… if she’s okay.” He was terrified of closing his eyes and opening them again to find she was gone. For days she hadn’t so much as twitched her fingers, her eyelids were still and if it wasn’t for the shallow rise and fall of her chest, she could be mistaken as dead.

“And what use will you be to her when she wakes up?”

The Captain hadn’t been thinking of when she woke up, it seemed like too much to hope for. “…I already screwed up, Konro. I should have been more aware, I shouldn’t have been so weak that she had to protect me like that… she… she should have stayed out of it!” He could do nothing but be angry at the situation, blaming himself over and over because he let his guard down. Y/N had his back and he had relied on that too much. “I wish I could find the bastard that did this, I’d pay him back a hundred times over.”

“Don’t you remember?” Konro asked and his expression became a little more concerned, “You killed him before you caught Y/N.”

“I… I couldn’t have. I turned around and caught her… I remember every detail, it was like time was all messed up, it was too fast and too slow all at the same time!”

The other man shook his head, “That’s not what I saw. Y/N was closer to you, she saw the guy before I could even call out to you. You must have sensed the attack because you turned at the exact moment she was slashed…” It had been so quick, there wasn’t a thing anyone could have done. “You turned the guy to ash, Beni… boiled him from the inside out - nothing was left.” He’d never seen him do that before, it was pure rage, not the usual kind that rarely occurred with him but Benimaru hadn’t looked like himself in those seconds before he caught her. “Don’t think about it. I’ll stay here whilst you sleep, if anything happens I’ll wake you up.”

Benimaru put up a fight, argued it and then in his exhausted state and Konro’s knowledge of his friend, he gave in and slept.

A further three days passed before anything changed. Benimaru sat beside her, her hand in his as he drifted in and out of sleep - Konro would watch over them whilst they slept but it was never long enough for Benimaru to properly rest. Her fingers moved against his palm and Benimaru inhaled sharply, watching her face intently as tears built up under her lashes and slipped down her temples, “Y/N… It’s okay, shh,” he brushed the tears aside and called for the doctor. It must have been hurting, “Can you hear me?”

“B-B…ni…” It was a relief to hear her, to know that she could hear him and that she knew he was there. The doctor came in and started checking her over, trying to ask questions that Y/N was simply too injured to answer. Despite finally having her awake, Benimaru had to resign himself to the fact that she had to sleep again, the painkillers sedating her in moments.

She had been aware though and that was enough for now.

— -

“Does it hurt?”

“Do you want some candy?”

“We made your tea!”

“I have good candy!”

The twins crowded around Y/N, their yellow eyes bright and excited, happy to see her awake and wanting her back up to play as soon as possible. For a week since Y/N first regained consciousness, they were kept away, now that they could visit they kept enough space between them so that they wouldn’t knock into her, “How will she drink it laying down, Hika?”

“Um…” Hinata blinked at her sister and then nodded, “Konro!” She got up and slid open the door, “Konro! It’s an emergency!!”

The sound of feet running was heard and in an instance Konro was at the door, his eyes zeroing on Y/N and looking her over, “What’s happened?!”

“We made Y/N tea and we want her to drink it,” Hikage explained as Y/N held in her laughter, she could hardly breathe without it hurting and this wasn’t helping her any.

“Don’t shout out that it’s an emergency unless it is!” Konro scolded them and gave a relieved huff as he approached Y/N, “Can you handle sitting up a little? Don’t force yourself, Y/N.”

She shook her head a little, “It’s a little easier with that wedge… besides, it’s awkward lying down here and holding a conversation.” The woman was heavily bandaged from her hip to just under her breasts, her wound was stitched and where the sword had cut through the skin on her chest was covered up - it had been deep enough to damage muscle but not pierce her organs. Konro helped her rise, keeping her weight in his arms and moving her slowly whilst the girls slid the cushioned wedge beneath her. It was just enough for her to eat and drink without putting pressure on anything. Hinata held the cup to her lips so that she could try it and Hikage was quick to force a sweet in her mouth.

“Try not to choke her…”

“It’s okay, Konro.” Y/N was pleased to see her girls again, “You head back to your work, these two will look after me until Beni gets back.” It had taken three days after she had first woken up to get Benimaru to leave her side. She had convinced him to head out into town and pick up a few bits for her - Personally. He wasn’t to send anyone else and then she had told him to go and take a long bath because he stank. He had tried to argue, he had been downright stubborn about it until she had become too tired to talk about it anymore. “Hey, Konro,” Y/N called to him and the man turned to her as he reached the door, “Can you let someone know that I need a bandage change a little later?” She was sure part of the stitching needed some attention, it felt hot and itched badly.

Konro gave a nod and headed out, not surprised to see Benimaru heading his way, “Let the girls have some time together,” he said and blocked the hallway, “There’s a report I want you to look at - no arguments.”

Benimaru scowled angrily as he was all but dragged away.

— -

Y/N ran her fingers through Benimaru’s hair as he slept beside her, a month had passed and he had finally seemed to relax a little, he was determined to keep a little space between them so that he didn’t hurt her by accident. He was on his side, one arm under his head as a pillow and the other was close enough to her that the tips of his fingers had curled into the material of her clothing. Benimaru always looked so young when he was asleep…

His bad attitude and the responsibilities he had always gave him the air of an older man but twenty-two was barely an adult. They had fought a little before falling asleep, he hadn’t walked off but he had fallen asleep with his back to her, she had fallen asleep too but when she had opened her eyes in the early hours, he was facing her. The smallest glint of light was showing through the papered windows and soon the guardhouse would be filled with the sounds of Hikeshi waking up or coming to bed from their night shift. Carefully, and very slowly, Y/N got herself to her feet to head for the bathroom. Standing still made her feel woozy and her legs trembled from not being used, it was a small piece of independence though and she intended to keep it.

She unwrapped her bandages, it hurt to move so much and it would have been easier to wait for someone but she just wanted things to be normal again, she wanted Benimaru to treat her like before too. He was so careful with her, he was almost submissive and would let her have her way without too much of a fight… it was like his fire had gone out. He felt guilty, she knew that much. He felt like he had failed and he didn’t seem to know how to overcome that - all she wanted was for him to forgive himself. He would have done the same for her, he would have thrown himself into the blade a hundred times over for her…

“Does it hurt?”

Y/N turned her head to look at him, his voice was a little gruff and his sleeping yukata was barely being held on by the belt, he never usually moved around in his sleep so his dishevelled state showed just how much he was bothered. Benimaru stepped toward her, wiping away the tears she didn’t know she had shed and then began helping with the dressings covering the long, angry wound. He had wanted to learn how to take care of her as soon as he was allowed, he wanted to change her dressings, wrap her bandages and see to her every need but she hated it. She hated that he was doing it out of his own feelings of not being good enough instead of love. They always patched each other up before, sometimes they were too rough and were the reason the other got hurt in the first place. “I’m not weak, Benimaru.”

Benimaru secured the new dressing before looking up at her with a blank expression, “I know that.”

He sure as hell wasn’t acting like it, Y/N pushed his hand away from her, “Then stop treating me like glass, stop acting like I’m going to break if you so much as raise your voice to me - I didn’t save your life so that you could spend it being miserable!”

“Then you shouldn’t have saved it!” The Captain snapped back angrily.

She hoped his cheek hurt as much as it hurt her to smack him. The sound of her palm connecting with his face seemed oddly loud in the small room and Y/N could see the glow from his eyes, “Say that again, you coward!” How dare he say that, how dare he throw her sacrifice back in her face when she had only wanted to protect him - the blow would have killed him outright. “How can you be so selfish? How can you think that being dead is better than this? I’m still here, Benimaru, we’re still able to be together but you’re just punishing us both!”

“How am I punishing you?” He didn’t want to fight with her, he didn’t want to get into an argument with her, “I should have been more aware, I should have protected myself, I should h-”

She hit him again, “You should have more faith in me, Beni…” Y/N didn’t bother to bandage herself up again, she would have someone else do it for her later, she redid her clothing and headed back for their room. If she had been in better health then maybe she would have stormed there rather than have to use the wall for support, maybe she would have punched Benimaru in his stupid face to knock some sense into him.

A hand wrapped itself around her wrist to stop her in the hallway, she didn’t need to look to know it was him but then he spoke her name, the voice trembling and quiet, broken almost as he asked her not to go. She heard the thud of his knees as they hit the floor and then felt both his hands around hers as he pressed his forehead against her fingers. Looking down, Y/N felt her heart clench painfully at the sight of him. His shoulders were shaking, his head bowed and she could hear his breathing coming in short gasps as he didn’t even bother to stop his tears from rolling down his cheeks and splashing onto her feet. “Beni…” She whispered and ignored how much it hurt to lower herself to his level, she had to use her free hand to hold onto him for support but once she was kneeling she forced her hand out of his and hugged him close, “Beni.”

His head tucked in under her chin and his hands fisted into her clothes as he cried quietly. Y/N glared at a couple of Hikeshi who had come to investigate and they scurried off quickly, she could tell that Benimaru was exhausted, since she had woken up she could sense how tired he was but he was too damn proud and stubborn. He had never broken down like this, not since Konro got hurt and even then it wasn’t so openly. “I-I could - couldn’t do a thing!” His fists tightened, “You just… you just - so much blood. I just sat there like a useless sack! I didn’t even have the sense to get you help, Y/N! There was so much red…”

She figured it must have been traumatic for him.

Y/N hadn’t thought anything at the time, she just knew she had to save him, she knew that she wouldn’t have been able to live without him ad that she would have a chance to survive - to be here for when he needed her most. When she had been awake enough to take in her surroundings she had noticed the lack of reds in their room. Artwork, trinkets, even the red flowers she liked were missing, the only thing she had seen were his eyes and even they had lost their hue. She must have bled all over him, enough to give him an aversion to the colour on or near her - it would explain why he didn’t want her to wear the colour. “Red is the colour of fire and blood, yes, it can be thought of as the colour that represents danger but that’s not what I want you to remember.” Y/N raised his face to her, cupping his cheeks to force his gaze on her, “I didn’t have much feeling for the colour red until the first time our eyes met, Beni. Red inspires strength, power, determination. It’s the colour of passion and when I look at you - it’s love.”

Benimaru’s teeth clenched together as he tried to stop his lips from trembling, he squeezed his eyes shut to keep the fresh flood of tears from falling. She wrapped her arms around him once more, his arms carefully circling her, mindful of her injuries, and then rested his head on her shoulder. The sun had risen higher now, yellow illuminated the papered windows and he couldn’t help his gaze being captured by the red flowers on the sill, Tsubaki. They were her favourites and when he looked at them he always thought of Y/N.

For Shinmon Benimaru, red represented many things too.

Warmth and Love,

Life.

[ninzied]

a kiss pressed to the top of the head.

Karen gets the call in the middle of their lunch hour.

She’s playfully tossing a fry in Foggy’s face, laughing at something he’s just said as she picks up her phone and looks down at her screen.

“It’s a Metro-General number,” she says, bemused. She looks up at Foggy and Matt. Both of them shrug. Anyone the hospital’s likely to be calling her about is already sitting right here in front of her.

“Hello?” she says into the phone. Confusion registers on her face first. And then she goes very, very quiet.

Foggy’s not able to make out what’s being said on the other line, but judging from Karen’s expression—Matt’s expression, too—it can’t be anything good.

“He what?” Karen puts a hand up to her mouth, and Foggy notices that her fingers are trembling a little. “Is he okay? Is—yes. Thank you. Yes, I’m going to head there now.” She hangs up, looking like she’s already a hundred miles away—or at least the three it will take to get to the hospital.

Matt puts a hand on Karen’s shoulder. “Foggy will drive you there,” he says.

“I will?” says Foggy. “I mean, yeah, of course I will, but what’s going on?”

Karen grabs her things, and Foggy rushes to follow suit, saying a hurried, “Thanks for lunch, I guess” to Matt, who waves them off and helps himself to one of Karen’s fries.

She’s silent in the passenger seat, gazing distractedly out the window as Foggy drives. He looks at her with growing worry, but every time he starts to speak, he’s less and less sure what to say. He’s never seen her so pale. He’s never seen her so determined to hold herself together.

There’s only one person he can think of that could get this kind of reaction from her.

The local station is on at low volume, and Foggy strains to hear anything newsworthy. But there’s nothing about shoot-outs, or robberies, or any other sort of public disturbance that could give him the information he’s looking for.

At one point, Karen reaches over and squeezes his hand. He squeezes back, and doesn’t let go until they’ve pulled into the emergency department entrance.

He ends up valet parking his car, wondering briefly to himself if he can charge it to the company card that they’d opened up last year. Considering what—or who—is waiting for them inside.

It wouldn’t be the first time, which is all he has to say about that.

A woman in scrubs looks up from her computer as they approach the front desk. “Can I help you?”

“Yes.” Karen clears her throat. “I’m here to see Pete Castiglione.”

“What’s your relation?” says the woman, searching his name on her computer screen.

Karen draws in a breath. “He, um—listed me as his emergency contact.”

The woman hands her a visitor’s badge, and then looks expectantly over at Foggy.

“I’m—his lawyer,” Foggy blurts out. He doesn’t know what’s landed Frank in here this time, but it doesn’t hurt to cover his bases. The woman raises an eyebrow, but thankfully doesn’t press him for any more details than that.

She gives them a room number and then points them through a set of double doors. They give an audible click before swinging wide open. The walk is short but tense, Karen visibly steeling herself once they’re just outside the room. It’s a sliding glass door, but the inside has been curtained shut.

“Do you want me to wait out here?” Foggy asks.

“No, it’s okay.” She gives him a wan smile. “Thank you. For coming.”

“Sure, of course,” says Foggy, attempting a small but comforting smile back.

Karen slides the door open and steps inside, drawing the curtain back behind her. Foggy follows her in, unable to keep from thinking about all the other times they’d walked into the Punisher’s hospital room together.

There are a few notable differences, this time around.

The first is that Frank Castle is not in handcuffs, nor is he strapped down to the bed. The only things attached to him are a few colored wires, snaking out from under his gown and winding up to plug into a monitor that’s beeping steadily above him.

The second is that there are no bruises on his face, when he turns toward the door and sees them there. He looks like he hasn’t gotten much sleep, but other than that, his face is clear—cleanly shaved, even. In fact, Foggy can discern no obvious injuries on him at all.

The only thing that hasn’t changed is Karen.

She walks straight up to his bed, past where the red tape would have been. Foggy sees her hand start to reach out for Frank’s, but then she’s pulling up a chair instead, taking a seat next to him.

“Hey.” Frank’s voice sounds a little rough around the edges, but that could also have something to do with the fact that he can’t seem to take his eyes off of Karen. “I didn’t—wasn’t sure I’d see you here.”

“Of course I’m here.” Karen has been making a similar assessment of his state, because the next thing she says is, “Where are you hurt? They wouldn’t give me anything specific over the phone.”

“’M fine,” he says, gesturing down at his leg. “Waiting on some x-ray reads. Didn’t even see the guy till it was too late. Wouldn’t’ve come in for this, but EMTs showed up fast, and I didn’t want to—you know. Make a scene by refusing.”

Foggy blinks, not sure if he’s just heard him right. Frank Castle. The Punisher. Didn’t want…to make a scene?

Karen is evidently thinking along the same lines as him. Her voice is carefully light as she asks, “Turning over a new leaf, Frank?”

“Something like that,” he says.

Frank’s watching her as she bites her lip and glances down at her hands for a moment.

“It’s, uh. It’s good to see you,” Frank says quietly.

Foggy can’t help but notice it’s the only thing Frank has to look away from her for. LIke he wouldn’t have been able to find the words if she’d been looking back.

“You clearly had my number,” Karen chides him, but gently. “You didn’t need to get hit by a car for an excuse to finally use it.”

The corner of Frank’s mouth turns up. “Figured you were more likely to pick up this way.”

She gives him a fondly exasperated look. “Seriously?”

“Nah.” Frank smiles sideways at her. “But this was as good a place as any to make the call. You know, for old times’ sake.”

She shakes her head at him, but her voice has gone soft when she speaks again. “And here I was about to say that we have to stop meeting like this.”

“Well, there were…” Frank swallows, looking back down at his hands. “There were some things I wanted to get right, this time.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but then his gaze shifts over to Foggy, still lingering awkwardly by the door.

“Are you, um.” Foggy holds out his hands, palms up. He finishes lamely, “In any trouble? Legally speaking?”

“Not that I know of,” says Frank. “Unless there’s something illegal about crossing the street when the light tells me to.” He squints up at Foggy, who laughs, and then immediately wonders if that was how he was supposed to react.

“Foggy was with me when they called,” Karen tells Frank. “He offered to give me a ride.”

Frank regards him a moment longer, then nods at him in a grave kind of way, which Foggy takes to mean thank you.

“It was nothing,” he says. It was Matt, actually, but Foggy doesn’t mention that part out loud. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He goes on standing there, watching the way Frank and Karen keep not-quite making eye contact in the small glances they steal at each other. “Right,” says Foggy. “Coffee, anyone?”

As it turns out, coffee is not really a thing that the emergency department has on hand. After several uncomfortable inquiries, he winds up with a cup the size of his palm that’s filled with lukewarm water, which he sips on in the waiting room.

Matt calls when he’s halfway through a crossword puzzle, much to Foggy’s surprise.

“How is he?” asks Matt, before adding, unnecessarily, “Castle.”

“Alive and kicking,” Foggy reports. “Well—to be determined on the kicking part, he might have a broken leg. So not a lot of kicking in the foreseeable future.”

“That’s good,” comes Matt’s voice after a moment. “I mean, that he’s—you know what I mean.”

“I do,” says Foggy. “And I’ll send him your best.”

“I’m sure that would go over well.” Matt lets out an audible breath. “Send them to Karen, too, okay?”

“Of course,” says Foggy. He pauses, wondering how long Matt has known. After seeing them together today, Foggy realizes just how obvious it must have always been, and marvels that he hadn’t picked up on it sooner. “I’ll keep you posted. See you tomorrow?”

“You owe me lunch,” says Matt, and hangs up.

Foggy’s on his third crossword when the double doors open, and Karen walks out—then stops, turning around before taking another cautious step forward.

Frank comes limping out behind her, dressed in his street clothes. There’s no cast that Foggy can see, but Frank has a pair of crutches in one hand, face set in grim lines as he sinks his weight back onto his injured leg.

Karen frowns and says something to him, gesturing at the unused crutches. He starts to argue with her, but she holds out a hand, a command in every line of her body. Frank finally relinquishes one of the crutches to her, and she helps to steady him as he positions one underneath each arm.

He pulls a face, but she only smiles at him as she touches her hand to his chest.

“Better?” Foggy catches her asking.

Frank says something that makes her laugh, and the sound of it seems to catch them both by surprise. Karen lets her hands drop, folding them carefully together, and she glances down for a moment, looking almost uncertain.

Frank is gazing at her with such quiet intensity that Foggy almost slides down in his seat and raises his newspaper up to eye-level. He feels like he’s intruding. But he also feels like he can’t look away.

Frank leans in, until his cheek is resting just over Karen’s temple, on the side that Foggy can’t see. But then his mouth brushes against the top of her head as he’s ducking back, and better does not even begin to describe how they’re both looking right now.

Foggy grabs his valet ticket, and goes to have the car brought back around for them.

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Stolen Moments (Love Letters)

Word Count: 5,848 CW: Mentions of violence, cursing, hospital

Gavin opened his messages, desperate to hear some news from Nines. Instead of getting a message from Nines telling him he was fine and ready to return home, he got an automated message from the repair hospital telling him he needed to pick up his personal effects, more information in an email to follow. Gavin switched over to his email and found a large file.

He sat down at his terminal, ignoring that it was his work device and he was on the clock, and opened it to find over two hundred messages from Nines, all addressed to himself. The email itself said that Nines, as his professional partner, was mostly his responsibility and property and that Gavin was responsible for his bills and the choice to repair or replace him. He needed to come to the hospital by end of day and make the decision.

Gavin scoffed. “I guess some things still haven’t changed no matter how progressive people pretend to be.”

He reread the last line until it set in that Nines’ life was in his hands. He jolted out of his chair, the seat rolling back until it hit the side of someone else’s desk, and rushed to Fowler’s office. He threw the door open, not caring that the captain was in the middle of a meeting.

Gavin didn’t bother with preamble, getting straight to his point. “Sir, I need the day off.”

Fowler sighed, moving things around on his terminal for a bit. “You’ve got days off saved up. Go ahead.”

Gavin thanked him, rushing out the door and to the repair hospital. He just about crashed through the doors and made a beeline for the receptionist. “I’m looking for an RK900 unit who goes by the name ‘Nines’. What room is he in?”

She looked up at him, expression bored. “Serial number?”

Gavin frustratedly gave it, having memorized it long ago, and waited impatiently to be told where he was. When told, Gavin didn’t bother thanking the receptionist before he was off to see Nines. It was agonizing having to wait for the elevator, even worse having to stand in it as it went up, his fingers tapping on his leg the entire ride. His eyes scanned the room numbers, getting frantic with the thought of not getting to him in time. When he found the room he’d been told was Nines’, he went directly inside.

Nines was alone in the room. He was lying on a white bed, his chassis exposed from his toes to his neck. His head and neck were the only things that still had his skin on it, looking for all the world as if he were peacefully sleeping despite the LED that kept a steady yellow light. Gavin sighed in relief at him being there, despite the numerous injuries he still sported, and pulled a chair over to sit next to him. He held his hand and grabbed his tablet from his bag.

“Alright, tin can. What’d you send me?” He opened the large folder, looking at the abundance of files that were inside it. Turning his head to Nines, he joked, “Any idea where to start?” Sadly, Nines stayed as silent and still as before, not a word to be spoken.

Gavin kissed the back of his hand, running his thumb over a crack in the plating. He turned his attention back to the tablet and scrolled down through the file names. Each one had a series of numbers as a name, something Gavin quickly figured out was a date. Scrolling through them, they were in chronological order. He only found it fitting to open the first one and go from there, wondering what they could be.

Detective,

The other day, we were talking on a stake out. I mentioned there being more to admire about you than to detest and have just now realized the error of not continuing that thought. I admire your work ethic, the way you have a single-minded drive to complete the case assigned to us. I appreciate how gentle you are with victims and those you like. You may not notice it but care is in every word you speak and every action you make for those you genuinely consider to be loved ones and the few victims we’ve spoken to. I’ve noticed your actions softening toward me, even as your words stay as harsh as they’ve ever been. I might be wrong, but it seems you’ve come to care for me yet wish to continue our ribbing as something more friendly. If this is your way of extending an olive branch, I am more than willing to accept it and will continue to banter with you.

Gavin smiled as he looked back at Nines. “Thank you so much for understanding me, you barely held together stack of rust and bolts.”

A voice laughed but it wasn’t Nines’. Instead, Gavin’s attention was drawn to the doorway where someone in a white lab coat, a small pin on the lapel reading ‘they/them’, stood. “I see you arrived.”

Gavin stood, laying the tablet on the bed but not letting go of Nines’ hand. “Who do I have to tell that this man is a person who deserves every right to live and fight as anyone else?”

They laughed again, coming inside the room to lean against a wall. “That would be me. I’m Ash Windlock, head of Simon Repair Hospital. I apologize if the message made it seem more urgent than it truly is.”

Gavin clenched his jaw, having to force himself to take even breaths. “What’s Nines’ condition?”

“I’m not going to lie. He’s in some pretty bad shape. We can only repair the body, not the coding and neural pathways he developed by being deviant. Right now, our best team is gathering to do a surgery, as repairs have taken to being called, as soon as we can. I’ll update you when that happens.”

Gavin’s hand held Nines’ just a bit tighter. “How well do you expect that to go? What do you mean, you can’t repair his code?”

“The surgery is expected to be a full success. When an android becomes deviant, their code changes in ways the programmers weren’t equipped to handle. It would take too long for them to learn the new coding that is specific to every android just to be able to repair them without fear of damaging the new coding and, thus, the deviant. Even if that were possible, RK900s are extremely rare in this part of the world, not many having been found and awoken. So, it’d take even longer to figure out his specific neural paths. That’s time we don’t have. So, while we can do everything in our power to repair his chassis and wiring, we can’t do anything about his mind palace unless he does something about it himself. He went into low power mode when he was damaged and we don’t know if he’ll come out of it after the surgery.”

Gavin nodded, struggling to process the amount of information that was just pushed onto him. “Okay, yeah, I’ll sign whatever permission waver you need me to when it comes to the surgery as I’m closest to next of kin while Connor is out of town. Just, charge the bill to the DPD, he’s under their employ.” Connor should be back by that afternoon but they didn’t need to know that.

They nodded. “I’ll be back in a moment with the paperwork for next of kin.”

Gavin sat back down, fidgeting with Nines’ fingers as he usually did when nervous. “While we wait,” he spoke to Nines, hoping it was like a coma where he could still hear him, “how about I look at another one of your files?”

This one was a video, a few days after the writing. It didn’t seem like much, just a video of Gavin flipping through some files while he worked. There were captions on it, little things being picked out. Gavin's bouncing leg, how his dominant hand was tapping a tablet pen against his fingertips and knuckles, the half full cup of coffee that Gavin had sitting on his desk, the mess of a desk that he knew like the back of his hand. Other things were noticed too, the way Gavin’s brow was furrowed as he concentrated, the clump of hair that’d fallen over his forehead, his nose wrinkling, the slight redness on his fingers from the repeated tapping of the pen, even the creases of his jacket were picked out as important. The video couldn’t have been more than two minutes of Gavin working but it said a lot about what Nines thought about him at that time.

Gavin looked back up at Nines, lying so still on the bed he would have looked dead to anyone else. “Did you really have a crush on me back then, toaster?” His voice was light and teasing. He wanted Nines to be awake, to tell him to stop with the android jokes, to tell him Gavin had been crushing long since Nines had, to tell him all sorts of things.

A video. Gavin walked down the stairs, Nines staring up at him. Suddenly the scene paused and became monochromatic, as a white outline of Gavin reached the bottom of the stairs, a grey outline of Nines leaned forward to kiss his cheek. The outlines reversed until the white outline matched with Gavin again and the scene unfroze, the world filling with color. Gavin passed Nines and the android turned to follow.

Another one, edited to follow that. Gavin sat at his desk. The world paused and faded again as a grey outline of Nines approached with a coffee cup, kissing the top of Gavin’s head and placing the cup on the desk before leaning into him and running his fingers through his hair. The images reversed and instead Nines simply handed him the cup, Gavin giving a brief, “Thanks.”

Three more scenes similar to those followed in sequence, where the grey outline tried to interact in a romantic way with the white outline before Nines inevitably didn’t act on those thoughts.

Gavin sat and stared at Nines, his grip on Nines hand tightening just the slightest bit. “You should have told me sooner, dumbass.” His voice was soft, softer than he ever spoke to anyone besides Nines.

Windlock came back in with a tablet that Gavin had to fill out. Other repairs Nines had previously had, if he knew who did those, if he knew who originally built him, signing a bunch of things that came with medical power of attorney. When he handed the tablet back, he was told they’d operate in a half hour.

Another video. This one was different, footage of a garden. Gravel crunched under footsteps and animals were heard but not seen, water. Nines stopped by a pond and glanced down, brushing a stray strand of hair back into place. His shirt had a simpler collar than normal and was a lighter shade of black. He leaned back, continuing on the path. Images of Gavin appeared along it, some sitting on benches doing random actions, others walking beside Nines for short periods of time. One of them came up to Nines and started talking about the case at the time, Nines participating in the conversation.

Gavin looked from the tablet to stare at Nines. “Were you dreaming about me?” His voice was quiet, bewildered yet flattered.

The next ten files were similar things, Nines’ dreams about Gavin and videos of Gavin doing mundane tasks that wouldn’t be considered special in any way. At least, none that Gavin could tell. As far as he was concerned, the videos of himself that had been overanalyzed were sweet but he didn’t understand why Nines kept them.

Soon enough, a group of people came in and took Nines away to the operating room. Gavin was allowed to stay in the hospital room but was warned the operation would last several hours. He reluctantly put down the files Nines had addressed to him, files he was quickly realizing were simply labeled with his name and may have been misinterpreted as for him when they were just about him, and pulled out a book instead. He tried to lose himself in a plot line but was too anxious to do so.

Calling Tina got him nowhere, her phone off while she was on patrol. He’d taken the day off to be with Nines so wasn’t technically allowed to work on case files. Besides, nothing felt the same without Nines being there to help him. So, he reluctantly pulled up the files again and selected the next one, a video. There seemed to be a lot of those.

Gavin smiled as Nines approached, coming to stand next to him on his balcony. They were quiet for a moment, both looking out at the city. Nines looked at Gavin, his sensors again cataloguing small things about his appearance. “I need to tell you something.”

Gavin looked at him, eyes trusting. “Shoot.”

Nines’ eyes shut briefly before he looked at Gavin again. “I’ve developed feelings for you.”

Gavin blinked, his posture changing from relaxed to attentive. “Okay, that’s something.” He took a deep breath, letting it out with a laugh. “I guess it’s ironic, you telling me that just as I realize something about myself.”

Nines head tilted to the side. “What would that be, Detective?”

“I’ve, somehow, also developed feelings for you.” He shook his head. “I dunno how I’ve done it, but I’ve come to really care for you.”

Nines took a step forward, towards Gavin. “What does this mean for us?”

Gavin shrugged, looking up at him. “What do you want it to mean?”

Nines leaned down. “I would enthusiastically pursue a romantic relationship with you if you say you would like that.”

Gavin smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek before heading inside. “I wouldn’t say no,” was tossed over his shoulder.

In the top right corner of the screen, Gavin’s name came up highlighted in blue. Under it, highlighted in white, the word ‘companion’ changed to ‘lover’. Nines followed Gavin inside.

Gavin didn’t realize he was crying until a tear dripped onto the screen and he frantically pulled his sleeve over his hand to wipe it away. “Damn android,” he muttered, not truly angry with him. 

They were slow dancing. Gavin’s head rested on Nines’ shoulder, one hand placed on his other shoulder while Nines had a hand on his waist, their other hands clasped together. A small pop up in the corner of the video identified the song as Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis. They were turning in a slow circle as the notes played. It was a peaceful moment until Princess walked into the room, screaming for food, and the charm was broken with laughter. Nines pulled Gavin into a kiss briefly before Gavin went to feed the cat.

Gavin took a deep breath. He remembered that night, remembered the hard day before it and the cuddles on the couch afterwards. He’d never been able to remember what song they’d been dancing to, it blurring into just another generic love song at the time. He wondered if they’d ever get the opportunity to dance to it again.

Gavin,

Every day, my soul rejoices in being able to see you, to wake up to you being there with me. I want it all. I want the quiet domesticity that comes with waking near you, that comes with you making breakfast while I feed Princess. I love being able to get ready for work with you, even if that means we end up discussing the cases in the shower and while you shave. I love being able to work with you, to have you as both my work and personal partner. I enjoy getting you coffee as you look over the case files, to make sure the desk is still in the organized chaos you left it in, your files and trinkets spilling over onto my pristine desk. I probably enjoy that more than most would think I do. However, I love watching you from afar as I wait for the coffee, watching the way you sit and interact with your environment, how you hold yourself while you read.

There’s a hidden beauty in the way people do things when they don’t think others are watching, the little mannerisms they pick up that are just for themselves and are all their own. I’m so glad you’ve let me into your life enough to feel comfortable showing me those and I hope that I never betray that trust.

I love being able to drive home with you, to relax after a long day and curl up with you. I relish the fact that you will fall asleep in my arms, that you trust me enough to keep you safe while you’re unaware of the world around you. I love being able to have you fall asleep on the couch and trust me to carry you to the bed, the ability to fall asleep beside you.

Gavin, darling, I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life. You’ve been a driving force for me, a guiding light. Whether you realize it or not, you’ve influenced so many of my choices. Thank you, dear, for helping me find life in deviancy, for helping me find love in turmoil.

Gavin wiped a tear from his eye, vision turning blurry. Nines didn’t usually use pet names for him, sticking to ‘Gavin’ and ‘Detective’ to the point that the latter felt like an endearment. It felt nice to see the endearments from him. He really hoped Nines would pull through and be okay. He couldn’t imagine living life without him at this point, he relied on him so much. He shifted in his seat, trying to get a bit more comfortable, before clicking on the next file.

A video. This was a memory that Gavin could fill in the smaller details for.

Nines was on his back on the couch. Gavin was laying on top of him, arms curled around Nines’ sides. His head rested on Nines chest, their legs entangled, while Nines’ hands carded through Gavin’s hair and over his back. They were watching an old rerun of some cop show that not even Nines bothered remembering. Nines’ shifted, kissing the top of Gavin’s head. He hummed, holding a constant note for longer than a human could.

Gavin looked up at him, chin resting on Nines’ chest. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what? Kiss you?” He chuckled. “Because I like to.”

Gavin smiled but pressed his hand to Nines’ side. “No. The humming thing. It sounds like a cross between a cat purring and the whirring of a fan. Are you okay?”

Nines nodded, smiling. “It’s kind of like a cat’s purr too in that I only do it when I’m content and safe. It’s also a way of doing a self-diagnostic of my systems as it tests both vocal modulator and fans.”

Gavin leaned forward to peck Nines on the lips before laying his head back on his chest.

Gavin sniffled, wiping a tear from his cheek. He hoped to get the opportunity to lay with him like that again soon. He believed Nines was going to pull through this, that he was going to get through the surgery fine and that he was going to come back to him. He had to.

“Detective.”

That sounded so much like Nines that his name was halfway out of Gavin’s mouth before he realized it was Connor, not Nines, that was standing in the hallway with his hands behind his back. “Oh. It’s just you. What do you want?” His voice was flat, none of his usual bite left.

Connor smiled, taking a step into the room, closing the door behind him. “Officer Chen overheard some of your conversation with Fowler and logged into your computer to gather information. She sent that information to me and I just now arrived to do anything with it. Scans indicate that you haven’t eaten in the past twelve hours. I suggest we deal with that first. What do you wanna eat?” His LED swirled yellow as he probably pulled up a list of nearby restaurants.

Gavin sighed, feeling the exhaustion of the day kick in. “At this point, you can pick. Give me whatever you think is best. Just! No fish, and no zucchini.”

Connor tilted his head. “That’s not in any medical files you have available. Am I correct in assuming that’s personal preference?”

Gavin nodded. “Can’t stand the texture of either of ‘em.” As he fully tuned into the real world, he pulled his shoulders back and grimaced at the sounds of all the machines and the buzzing of the lights.

“Okay, there’s a Chinese restaurant nearby that has some meals that look good. What do you want from there?”

“Uhh, sweet and sour chicken with noodles.”

Connor nodded. “I’ll go get that for you. In the meantime, how is my brother?”

Gavin filled him in on the details before Connor went to grab the take out for him. While he waited for his food, he opened the next file, another letter. This one was small, as if it were hastily written. From the date and what Gavin remembered, it was from a time where they’d been covering a case with a lot of violence and they’d been split. The letter reflected Nines’ frazzled emotions during that time as it wished Gavin good health and it was a small goodbye if Nines didn’t make it. Gavin was glad he had.

Another round of videos detailing Gavin doing mundane things followed the letter, many of the scenes now domestic as well as professional.

Connor came back and put the bag near Gavin. “Did you need me to stay? Tina only told me to check on you, not stay with you. If you want me to go, I will.”

Gavin thought about it. A year ago, he would have snapped for Connor to leave instantly, not seeing him as anything but a machine with nothing to offer. Now, he knew Connor was alive and actually trying to reach out. Gavin let a reluctant smile drag a corner of his mouth up. “You can stay, if you want. I’m not sure if you’ve got the time for it but you’re more than welcome.”

Connor smiled, gracefully sinking to sit on the floor. “I cleared my schedule to be at your disposal.”

Gavin groaned, letting his head roll back. “Am I that bad?”

Connor shrugged. “Hank was taking the rest of the day off already so it’s only natural for me to as well. Besides, Nines is kind of like my little brother. I want to be here.”

Gavin took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Gavin picked up the tablet again and looked at the next file.

Gavin,

Happy first anniversary. I don’t know if you expected us to last this long but I’m grateful we have. I’m grateful for every second I get to spend with you. I don’t know where I would be right now if I hadn’t met you, if we hadn’t been partnered. I’m so glad I have you as both the best detective partner I could ask for and a most amazing lover. It warms my soul every time you forget I’m not human, especially when it’s tacked on to an android joke. Those instances make me know you care so deeply for me and love every part of me.

You taught me to take life slowly, to savor what I have. That sentiment has been applied to every part of my life. I savor stakeouts, holding you in my arms, feeding Princess, even doing paperwork and being on the hunt. They are all good to me simply because they are part of my life and because you are there.

I don’t know what life would be like without you. I’m so used to you being with me every step of the way.

Gavin looked up as footsteps approached the room, hoping it was Windlock with news on Nines. The feet passed the room, the person casting a shadow across the frosted glass of the door, and kept on their way.

A video. Nines was sitting on the couch, reading, when Gavin’s voice called from the bedroom. Nines’ HUD measured the level of distress in his voice as high and he went to investigate.

Gavin had torn the bedroom apart, a pile of things on the bed. Nines scanned him, noting the disheveled appearance and lack of caffeine along with his elevated stress signals. “What’s wrong, Gavin?”

Gavin turned to him, tears in his eyes. “I can’t find something I need and today’s been bad enough.”

Nines nodded. Gavin’s unmedicated ADHD could be a lot to deal with after a long day. He stepped forward, pulling Gavin into a hug, his hands rubbing soothing circles along his back. “What do you need me to do?”

Gavin sighed, melting into the contact and stability that came with the hug. “Could you scan the room for my tablet pen?”

“Of course.” Nines moved his head and time froze, going down to grey and white. He located the pen easily enough, it’s black shape standing out starkly. He chuckled and released Gavin to pick it up. “It was right beside your tumbler.”

Gavin took it, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “Sorry for making such a fuss over something so small.”

Nines reached out, his hand cradling Gavin’s cheek and thumbing at his tears. “Nothing is too big nor too small for me to help you. I understand your stress and I know the way you get. I’m perfectly content to help you find something right in front of your nose.” To punctuate the statement, he leaned forward to kiss Gavin’s scar.

Gavin wiped a tear from his eye. “Come back to me soon, tin can.”

Connor looked at him. “Did you say something, Detective?”

Gavin shook his head. “No, nothing.”

The door opened and Windlock came in. “Detective Reed, the surgery is complete.”

Gavin sat forward in his chair, resisting the urge to pace. “How did it go? Is he online yet?”

They shook their head. “Unfortunately, his neural network is still non-functioning. However, the surgery was a success. His chassis is intact and functioning again, every bicomponent in its place. His skin isn’t on as he’s not online to do that. Would you like to see him?”

Gavin stood, gathering his things. “Yes, please.”

Connor stood and approached Windlock. “Is there anything more you can tell us about his status? Have you at least figured out why he isn’t online yet?”

They shrugged. “I’m as in the dark as you are, RK800. Any insight you can spare would be helpful.”

“Okay, I’m ready.” Gavin slung his bag over his shoulder. “Lead us to him, please.”

Nines was almost the same way as how he’d left Gavin three hours ago. His skin was retracted below the neck, letting the white plating show, and he was lying so peacefully that for a moment Gavin almost thought he was just sleeping. Gavin walked over to the chair closest to the bed and sat down hard, leaning forward to take Nines’ hand. “I’m here, toaster. I’m right here.”

Connor placed a hand on his shoulder and Gavin was distantly aware of him asking for Windlock to leave them be. Gavin’s entire focus was on Nines even as he knew there were only a few more files in the folder to get through.

He held onto Nines’ hand with one of his own, letting his partner know that he was there and wasn’t going anywhere, and pulled the tablet from the bag by his feet.

The next file was a series of pictures. It seemed Nines was sentimental in that regard. All the way from first meeting up until just a night ago, they were pictures of Gavin doing various things. It started as just Gavin doing work at his desk, moving to crime scenes and the break room. Photos of him doing mundane tasks and midchase. The time stamps moved past their getting together and the pictures became more domestic. Gavin waking in Nines’ arms, sleeping on the couch, Princess coming home for the first time. He’d documented her entire growth process from stray kitten to spoiled adult.

Gavin smiled at Nines. “You really do have a soft spot for that cat, don’t you? Maybe it’s about time we get her a playmate.”

“I’ll leave you two be for a moment. I need to speak with someone.” Connor slipped out of the room.

Gavin opened the next file, shifting to sit beside Nines on the bed now that Connor was gone.

A video. Gavin was cooking breakfast as Nines fed Princess, their usual routine. Nines came up beside Gavin, kissing him on the cheek. “How’s the bacon coming along?”

“Pretty much done.”

“Good.” Nines turned the burner off and took the spatula from Gavin’s hand. Somewhere, music started to play and Gavin chuckled as Nines pulled him into a dance. It was sweet and short before Gavin was released to finish making his breakfast.

Gavin smiled, recognizing that morning from only a few days before the incident. He gripped Nines hand just a bit tighter as he clicked on the last file.

The last video. Nines was standing on a roof. Gavin was down on the ground, watching out for their suspect. “Hello down there.” He muttered to himself, not loud enough to carry.

He stepped away from the edge, pacing the length of the roof. “Is it weird to think that I’m bored? I’m an android with the internet at my fingertips, I should be able to wait for a few minutes.” He sighed. “I guess that’s the trouble with living and working so closely to you, time is meaningless and a minute is too long for you.” He chuckled. “You’re so used to moving so fast that slowing down is a difficult task for you. That’s okay, though. I like it that way.”

The door to the roof burst open and Nines sprang into action, launching himself into a fight with their suspect. They grappled for a moment, both trying to pin the other and get a better grip. In the end, Nines backed them toward the edge.

“I now know,” he was still muttering. “No matter how much time has passed, no matter how much time will pass, you truly are the love of my life. This is why . . . I’m doing this.” He took a final step backward, diving off the roof and taking their suspect with him.

Gavin sat in shock as the video ended, almost waiting for it to finish or replay or do anything but leave him there with that information and the knowledge of why Nines had been damaged almost to the point of no repair.

He looked to Nines, laying so still on the bed. “Why? Why’d you feel the need to do that?!” He released Nines’ hand to stand. “There could have been some other way! You could have called me! You could have used lethal methods!” He hit Nines’ chest with a fist too weak to do any damage to a human. “You don’t need to sacrifice your-damn-self just because you feel like it!” He knew he was shouting but he didn’t care.

A hand touched his arm and Gavin jolted to look at Nines. His eyes were open and his hand was hovering in the air. “I knew you would catch me.” His voice was weak and full of static but Gavin was so happy to hear him he cried, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Laying down, Gavin threw his arms around Nines. They lay there for what felt like an eternity and an instant, simply holding each other and comforting themselves that the other was alive and safe. Nines ran a hand up Gavin���s back, cupped the back of his neck, then began to softly card through his hair. His free arm curled around Gavin and pulled him close, holding him and feeling him and making sure he was real. Gavin pulled one arm down, curling it by his side and grounding himself by grabbing a fistful of the bedsheets, and let the other rest over Nines’ torso and had the hand sit on the white chassis of Nines’ shoulder.

“Did you look through the folder?” Nines’ voice broke the silence, not filled with as much static as before.

Gavin nodded, turning his head to look at the tablet resting innocently on a nearby table. “I watched, read, and looked at every single file in that folder while wondering if it would ever be added to again.”

Nines pressed a kiss to his neck. “I’m sorry, Gavin. I should have warned you or tried a different path.”

Gavin shrugged and turned back to rest his head on Nines’ shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” He paused for a moment. “The engineers said they could repair your body but your mind was too damaged for them to do anything with.”

Nines’ head rested against Gavin’s, his hand never slowing in Gavin’s hair. “I know. I heard bits and pieces of it, especially toward the end of the surgery and just now in the room. While they were spending all that time fixing my chassis and biocomponents, I was working on my coding.”

Gavin laughed, his jubilance at Nines being okay bubbling up. “An AI that fixes its own code, would you fucking look at that!”

Nines chuckled. “The irony isn’t lost on me, Detective. However, it’s simply the world we are living in where an android is capable of modifying their own code. Still, it was hard and taxing work to rebuild my own functions line by line. I shall be back to myself in no time at all, I assure you.”

A knock at the door caused them to abandon their conversation. Gavin turned onto his back to better see who came in before calling for them to enter. Connor stuck his head in, eyes lighting up at the sight of Nines. “You’re awake! I’ll go get Windlock, you two stay put!” He shut the door and left them with the sound of his fading footsteps.

Nines let his head fall back against Gavin’s and his hand hold Gavin’s, interlacing their fingers. “Who did he go get?”

Gavin did his best to explain as he sat up, cradling Nines against him. Connor came back with Windlock, who gave Nines a clean bill of health and said he was free to be discharged. Gavin ran home and got him some clothes as Connor dealt with the paperwork.

That night, Nines recorded another instance of Gavin falling asleep and marveled at just how lucky he was.

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[the-lady-writes-what]

Gilded Cage, Part One

Summary:

Keigo Takami, AKA Hawks, has turned villain and you don't know why. After a run-in with the League of Villains, you give chase after the former hero. When you end up taking a bullet to the knee, you're surprised that Keigo not only left you alive, but has taken you to his secret lair. He's built a special cage for you. He says it's to keep the League from coming after you, but you can't help but wonder if it's true or if he just wants you for himself.

Content: Kidnapping Sorry. No smut this time, but it'll be in the next one. Stay tuned

Villain!Hawks x Hero!Reader

(You're a pro-hero whose quirk is basically bending metal. Think Toph Beifong from Avatar: The Last Airbender)

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

This part does not contain smut (See above mentioned note). For smut, please follow the links for Parts 2 and 3

                                                       ---080---

It was hard to walk down the halls of Endeavor’s agency these days. The news of Keigo Takami’s, also known as Hawks, betrayal hit Japan’s hero world like a tsunami. It turned into a question of who the next hero will be to go against their moral code and become a villain. Your workload had increased in the drama and paranoia that followed after Keigo’s sudden villainous change. Endeavor worked you down to the bone, but that was because he must have seen you as useful. Your hero name? Iron Maiden on account of your ability to bend metal, such as iron, steel, and copper. Netting bad guys was a whole lot easier when you could wrap them in a fence or trap them with a lamppost.

You finished the afternoon’s paperwork before heading to the breakroom for some lukewarm coffee. You half-expected Keigo to be sitting on the counter where you used to find him. He used to be a fan of Endeavor’s, so he frequented the agency whenever he felt like it. Of all the time you got to see him, it became evident that he wasn’t there to goof around Endeavor’s office. You should have known better than to encourage his casual flirting, but you couldn’t help yourself. Keigo was the first guy who turned your way after a dry spell in the romance department. It had been months since you last had a date, and even if Keigo was joking, it was nice to have a conversation with someone that didn’t involve hero work.

If only you knew back then that his over-confident smile belied an insidious plan to turn to the other side.

Keigo didn’t hurt people. Much. It wasn’t a great comfort to know that he at least didn’t go around murdering people as soon as he became a villain. That didn’t change the fact that he had become one of them. He robbed banks, caused collateral damage to the cityscape, and set the hero society into panic mode. Nobody knew who would switch sides. Heroes and civilians were starting to look at each other with suspicious eyes ever since.

You fixed yourself a cup of coffee when the cellphone on your hip went off. You immediately stopped what you were doing to pick it up. Shocked, you found your boss’s name and number on the screen. You didn’t hesitate to hit ‘receive.’

Endeavor’s voice came loud and clear, even over the sounds of fighting.

“We need you over by Central Park. Takami’s new crew showed up, and we need your quirk to help round them up!”

“On my way, sir.”

Central Park was at least ten miles from your location. Even if you speed, you won’t make it there on time by car. Not this close to rush hour. Of course, you had other methods of getting to where you needed to go. You pried open the nearest window and lept threw it. Part of your hero costume involved strips of steel wire you could sling around with like that American comic book character. Sailing over the city and swinging in between buildings was much faster than any car. You arrived at the scene with the villains terrorizing civilians trying to enjoy their day at the park. You spotted three of them charging at you as soon as you hit the ground. They were nothing but mooks. Clustered together, it was quick work wrapping them in a bundle of wire. You spotted others and repeated the process. Keigo was nowhere in sight. You heard the sound of flames engulfing the trees. Pillars of red and blue flames shot up in the distance. You found heroes to take care of the villains you’d already captured before heading towards what should have been the epicenter of the fighting. Endeavor was busy with Dabi, and there seemed to be no other villains in sight. Still no sign of Keigo anywhere.

“Endeavor!”

You dodged a blue fireball just in time. You hoped that Endeavor would order you to go elsewhere. Five more minutes, and you’d be cooking in your costume.

“Takami headed west. I leave it to you to apprehend him!” Endeavor was so focused on his opponent that he didn’t turn towards you when he gave the order.

You had to dodge more flames, both Dabi’s and Endeavor’s, to head towards Keigo’s last known whereabouts. Away from the smoke and flames, you found a trail of red feathers. There was a moment where you stopped to wonder if Keigo had been injured and left behind some feathers by mistake or if he was deliberately mocking you. However, you didn’t have a moment to linger on that. You followed the trail of feathers regardless if it was a plot.

Keigo made it easy for you to follow. That should have been your first red flag. You were so focused on getting him in handcuffs that the apparent beeline to him was so fucking clear as day. You picked up the feathers as you went. You had a fistful in each hand by the time you reached the end of the park. Your trail went ice cold.

That is until you spotted the shadow of bird wings graze above you. Your head whipped to the sky. Hawks swooped down, nearly knocking you down to the ground. His wings grazed you. He perched himself on a branch far above you.

His appearance was vastly different from the last time you saw him. He wore an all-black suit with a red and gold tie. Pewter rings were on his fingers. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but his smile was the most unnerving thing about him. You lashed outwards with your arms, the metal from your gauntlets catching him by the ankles.

“Keigo Takami, you’re under arrest. You have the right to—”

Keigo didn’t let the mild impairment weigh him down. His wings couldn’t be easily held down by you. He flew straight towards you. His height never hid the fact that he was powerful. He plowed you into the ground. The wires unwhirled around his feet and let him soar above you.

“Get back down here, bird brain!” You lashed out your wires again in hopes of pulling him back down to earth.

Each time Keigo moves just a little bit out of reach. You already spent so much on capturing those D-level cronies that you didn’t stop to think of conserving your limited amount of iron wire. Keigo’s wings took him high above to where your weapon couldn’t reach him. He smirked down at you before taking off.

You ran after him, going so far as to hopping over the chain-link fence and following on foot. Your wires came in handy twice today as you soared from lamppost to lamppost, tracking Keigo’s aerial movements. Citizens yelled words of encouragement as you chased after Japan’s new most wanted criminal. The air stung your cheeks, and you could feel your eyes watering as you sped faster between rooftops.

Keigo made the mistake of flying to close to the building whose roof you just scaled. There was a split-second decision. You could stop and let him get away, or you could take the chance. You lunged for him, limbs scrambling through the air to find purchase. Your hands grabbed his suit jacket. Hauling yourself upon his back, you managed to secure your legs around him and put his neck in a headlock.

“As I said before, you’re under arrest!” You screamed as the wind busted your eardrums.

Keigo merely looked over his shoulder at you. His smile was cheeky as ever.

“Really, Princess? The way I see it…you’re the one at my mercy. Unless you got a plan to get us both safely on the ground without bashing our brains on the concrete.”

You growled as Keigo caught you. You didn’t think this far ahead.

You screamed as Keigo flew up towards the sun at lightning speed. Light burning your eyes, you had no choice but to shield them. Keigo used your distraction as the opportunity to shift your weight off his back. All too late, you felt your legs and arms loosen around him. Soon you were plummeting back to the ground. With any luck, your wires would find purchase on something and save you from falling to your death at the last minute. At the rate you were falling, good luck.

You were ten feet from meeting a concrete rooftop when Keigo reappeared. He wrapped you in his arms almost in a possessive manner.

“You’re way too pretty to let splatter. Come on. I’ve got a much better place to finish this!”

His clever hands worked your phone from your belt. Keigo dropped it on the ground, where it shattered several feet below you. Your only chance of survival was to let him take you where he wanted and not get your brains to plaster the sidewalk. His wings soared over the city. You once imagined being in his arms like this. It only made your stomach churn with the thought of what he was going to do to you once you were where he wanted you.

Keigo dropped down in the industrial district. Factories surrounded you. The smell of iron and diesel filled your lungs. But of all the places he picked, why did Keigo go where you had the most advantage? Didn’t he realize that with all of this metal, you were the one with the home-field edge? You didn’t have the time to ask or react when he pulled out the gun from his jacket.

In a flash, your life flashed in your mind. You didn’t stand there waiting to die. At least, you were going to make sure they say you died fighting to your last breath. You charged for Keigo, metal whips whirring to life.

BANG!

It was over. Except instead of sweet oblivion that came with death, you found yourself bleeding on the ground. Your blood pooled around your knee, where he shot you. The pain was exquisite as the bullet lodged itself in your knee cap. You weren’t going to be standing on that leg for a very long time; you could forget about fighting. Keigo’s black shoes came into your line of vision. From shock, you got onto your elbows to look at the bastard.

“What…the hell?” You ground your teeth. “I didn’t picture…you to be the sadist. Going to kill…me…slowly? Is that how you roll now?”

Keigo put his gun away. Then, he reached into the other side of his jacket. When his hand came away this time, he held a syringe.

“That was just to keep you from fighting me. I’m going to get you patched up real quick. Just as soon as I give you your medicine.”

Keigo was faster than you. Your hand shot up to grab him, but the needle was already in your neck. He squeezed the trigger and pumped you full of the drug. It took a few minutes for it to kick in. By the time he had you in his arms again, your head was spinning. A moment later, you finally found that oblivion you were looking for earlier. This time, you were reasonably sure you’d wake up this time, and you weren’t going to know where he was taking you. And that was the scariest thought you had before passing out in the former hero’s arms.

When you woke up, you noticed the stiffness in your leg. Your favorite color draped the bed you laid in. Your hero’s costume was gone and replaced with a negligee you wouldn’t own even if you had a boyfriend. It, too, was in your favorite color. The lace hem barely touched your upper thigh.

Further down, your right leg was held in a cast. Your foot rested on a pillow. As your vision cleared, you got a better picture of where you were.

It could have been described as a room if only it had more than one wall. Where plaster walls should have been, stood solid gold bars. The floors were marble tiles. There was a dresser, a desk, a lavish set up on a vanity, and a familiar coffee table on which sat a widescreen T.V. Every item in your cell was made of either wood, fiber, plastic, or metal you couldn’t bend, including the bars. Squeezed between the actual wall and the cell bars stood a small room. With its door closed, so you couldn’t discern its purpose yet. Footsteps came down the hallway. They rounded the corner. Keigo smiled at you like you were a pretty bird in his cage.

“You’ve been asleep for a while now. Doc had to give you an extra shot so you wouldn’t wake up in the middle of your surgery. Sorry I had to bust your knee cap. You can be so stubborn sometimes.”

“Why am I in a cage? Why am I dressed like this? Just what the hell are you on?” You started to get up from the bed, but it was difficult to swing your leg over the bed when it was in a cast.

“In reverse order,” said Keigo, “I’m not on any drugs. I thought you would look cute in that negligee, and it’s in your favorite color. I put you here for your protection, and honestly, you look damn good in it.”

“Why? Why the hell did you do any of this?” You still struggled to move your damn leg.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’d hate to come in there and show you why.”

His eyes held a glimmer of that charm you once fell for, but there was a predatory light that eclipsed it. Keigo leaned against the bars, stroking the beams.

“Solid gold. It took me a long time to find enough money and resources to build this thing. A pretty little cage for my pretty little bird.”

“Just how long have you been saving?” You wanted to know how long he had wanted to put you in here, yet you still dreaded his answer.

“A couple of years. My original idea was to take us on a cruise. It probably would have been much more romantic, but things come up. You change your plans. Ideals become tainted, and you have to find new ones.”

“What happened to you? You were the number two hero! Some so many people looked up to you. There are still people who believe that this is just a rouse to capture the League of Villains. How could you do that? How could you betray everyone’s trust?”

Keigo didn’t say anything. He held his head down as if lost in the thought. He braced his forearm against the bars as he leaned his head against his arm. Inhaling a long breath,

Keigo let out an aggravated sigh. When he looked up at you, you saw a different man. “Let me ask you this, Princess. How could somebody’s parents sell their kid to the government? How could anyone take a small kid and turn them into a child soldier? For what? So they can pat themselves on the back and say that they’re morally superior to the villains. They take kids from their parents and steal their childhood. And when those kids grow into adults and realize what a shitty system they were raised in, they stare up at you surprised that you had enough of their bullshit.”

“T-Takami…”

“I realized too late that everything that was supposed to be mine was taken from me. My family. My name. My childhood. For what? So I can be number two behind a man like Endeavor. Have you spent time with the bastard? I never noticed it before, but all of a sudden, it becomes clear that society cares less about a hero’s moral code and more about their ability to beat down the nail that sticks out. Ever wonder how his youngest got that scar?”

You nodded. You vaguely remember hearing Endeavor talk about his youngest son.

“It turns out Endeavor pushed his wife around so much that she went mental. She burned the side of Shoto’s face because it reminded her of the man who knocked her around and forced to have his four kids. Does that sound like hero material to you?”

Blood drained from your face. It made sense…in a way. You never met Endeavor’s youngest, so you couldn’t verify the truth or not. For all you knew, Keigo was pulling it out of his ass to make you sympathize with him.

“Why didn’t you go to the authorities? There must have been someone who would have investigated it.”

“By the time I found out, nobody would have believed me at any rate. Endeavor might be a bastard, but he’s still the number one hero. I’m just the rejected garbage the Safety Commission doesn’t want to clean up.” Keigo unlocked the door to your cage.

“Why are you telling me this then?”

Keigo crossed the “room” and picked you up from the bed. You couldn’t move your leg without feeling a jolt of pain go up to your thigh. There was no way for you to struggle. “Because I made a deal with the League. As long as I keep you by my side and you don’t go anywhere, they won’t touch you or your family. I’m afraid you won’t be seeing much of the outside world for a while. At least until Shigaraki accomplishes his goals.”

“You know he’s crazy, right?” You sneered.

“Yeah. Little bit. He’s also the first person who made any damn sense when I realized how badly they screwed me over,” said Keigo as he carried you down the hall.

There were a few rooms that he walked past, but he stopped at the end of the hall. He kicked it open. Your heart fluttered like you were his bride; he carried over the threshold. Your stomach churned with guilt rotting inside it. You shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts for the man who turned into a villain and kidnapped you. He confessed to planning to keep you as a prisoner for however long it took for that maniac Shigaraki to complete his mission.

Keigo brought you to an actual bedroom. It was a little more sparse than the cage he planned to keep you in. He must have spent more on you than himself. Looking around, the bedroom contained a giant bed and little else. He had you sit on the bed for a moment. Keigo pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillows before gently grabbing you and laying you out. There was a contraption hanging from the ceiling that he pulled down using a thick cord. He slipped your leg into a sling and adjusted it to your comfort before Keigo left you to pull clothes from the dresser. He disappeared into the adjacent bathroom didn’t return until he was half-dressed in a pair of black sweatpants.

Small scars littered his chest and shoulders. From what, you dared not ask. You remembered his words about a stolen childhood to be raised as a soldier. You wondered if they were true. Your mind was plunged headfirst back into the present when Keigo crawled under the sheets with you. Your face went red.

“Relax, Princess. I’m not going to do anything,” he mumbled. He turned off the lights.

“Then why am I dressed like this?” You asked in the dark.

You felt Keigo’s weight make the bed dip. He settled on his side so he could snake his arm around your waist. He snuggled uncomfortably close, but he kept his hands mostly to himself or above the blanket.

“Because you look damn cute in (fave color). I like looking at you.”

His breath against your skin created goosebumps in its wake. Your eyes eventually closed to sleep. As you drifted off, you asked yourself: How long could you live like this?

                                                       ---080---

[hinatas-sunshine]

Synopsis: You’re apart of the support department and help build equipment for the hero students - specifically for your hero crush!

A/N: Ik I should probably start writing abt Haikyuu too but I have had so many ideas I’m just letting them out! Thank you guys though for continuing to support me and for those who followed me! I love you guys KITHES 🥺❤️✨

Bakugo:

• It started when his suit backfired during practice.

• blasty boy marched to the Department of Support asking who was in charge of his making his suit

• You lift your tired head from a replica of his suit in front of you

• Of course he didn’t care at the time mostly just mad he lost to deku during training - and started throwing a fit in front of you

“Sorry what was that?” You said taking your AirPod out.

• Yeah he didn’t care if you made his suit - he was gonna blast you ❤️

“Blast me if you want sparky boom boom but I’m the only one who knows your measurements and how to make your equipment better.”

“Then don’t mess it up nerd!”

“I never mess up! My calculations and eyes work together perfectly and there are never any screw ups!”

• you yank his hand and take off his arm gear taking a look at it, your quirk taking effect in scanning the equipment in a few seconds before coming to a conclusion

“Were you being aggressive - what kind of question is that? Of course you were you snapped a tiny wire!”

“Tch... just fix it.”

“Not unless you apologize to me.”

• He crossed his arms and you took that as a no so you continued working on his upcoming suit with new gadgets.

“What’s that?” He leaned over your shoulder being nosey

• you turn your head before bumping noses with him, you stood up abruptly

“J-Just so you can have uhm.. some more precise attacks and so you can uh... produce more without pushing yourself too much.”

• The pink dust on your cheeks were caught by the usually loud boy, but he was still red too.

• This was the start of you and a certain angry boys relationship ✨

• Months pass and you two are an item, and while he’s very protective of you, you know how to keep him under control with one look

• Until He saw you talking to Karashima about his own suit-

“Oi! Shittyhair stop talking to my girl!”

“B-but my suit!”

• Bakugo thinks you only work on his suit but he’s wrong and he becomes a little jealous

“Stop whining I made you something too!”

• a little ring was placed on his hand

“Y/N I can’t marry you dumbass!”

“Huh?! Who said anything about marriage you stupid Pomeranian?! It’s for you to signal that you need my help with any tech while you’re in the 1-A Dorms!”

“Tch... wait WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?!”

• He won’t admit it but he loved the banter between you two, you were strong and aggressive like him.

• It was a plus that you helped make his equipment and constantly built things to help better his training

“Stop being so mean to poor Izu!”

“Damn it woman! Can’t I do one thing!”

“No ❤️”

• He loves you regardless and would tear anyone apart for looking at you funny though, and you support him endlessly.

“What’s wrong with your suit?!” You yell barging into his room.

• Dummy was lying there on his bed looking at you with all the equipment you could carry in your arms

• You threw your notes at him before realizing he, in fact, had no problems and just wanted to use his ring

“All you worry about is my suit!”

“It’s my best project I don’t wanna hear it!”

• He holds you close leaning onto you as you lay down next to him having set your stuff down, and he won’t tell you soon, but he loves how much effort you put into making his dreams come true.

“Thank you y/n, I’ll never be able to pay you back for everything.”

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

Instant Karma

Another fic. A female Yuu, the same as my previous ones, cannot keep her hands to herself, and pays dearly. Told in the second person. Please let me know if you liked it, I thrive with compliments.

Content warnings: sexual harassment, neck trauma, misunderstandings, and getting wildly, wildly horny at the end.

~*~*~*~

"Sorry this is taking so long."

"Take all the time you need, babe."

Idia only paused a moment before going back to work. Something or other had blown a wire under his desk, and he'd been under there fiddling with the electronics for about as long as you'd been there. You hadn't blinked in five minutes, and weren't planning to any time soon. Today, fate had been kind to you, and presented an arresting visual tableau.

"Why'd this have to happen when the new chapter came out? I wanted to show you-" He yelped at something falling, and continued, grumbling too low to make out.

"Hey, I can wait. Keep on keeping on." You'd pulled up a chair just behind him, your head balanced on one hand, keeping your jaw up.

At least Grimm wasn't here. He wouldn't be able to shut up about how long you'd been staring at Idia's ass.

It certainly wasn't perfect. It was as bony as the rest of him, and you'd probably go snowblind at the sight of it uncovered. But, it was attached to the rest of the boy you, if not loved, at least profoundly lusted over, so of course you'd keep a close eye as he shifted around and occasionally hitched up his waistband. Hell, it was close enough to touch.

And that's when the devil in you got the worst idea of your life.

You looked to you hand, and to the prize, and back again as the smile split your face. Truly, a dreadful idea. He might simply break in half, and what would you do with him then? But you'd already drawn your hand back - and slapped him clean across his rear.

He yelped, and jumped up so hard he cracked his head on the bottom of his desk. Your own hand stung, but you couldn't stop laughing; joyful, wheezy laughter that got a hell of a lot wheezier when you got bodied clean across the room.

Oh yeah. Ortho.

"Hey buddy..." He had you pinned against the wall with one of his little hands around your throat, the other telescoping out into some sort of beam weapon. You couldn't really focus properly, the grip on your neck painfully tight and cutting off your air. "S'up?"

"Why did you hit my brother?" Oh, shit. "You shouldn't hit anyone! But especially not him!" You couldn't get any purchase with your feet as they scrabbled beneath you, and even with both hands trying to remove his own from around your neck, it just kept pressing, pressing, pressing as his arm cannon whirred and glowed into a full charge. "You hurt him."

You really would have liked to make an excuse, but you were getting awfully grey around the edges, and the only sound you could make was a gck-gck-gck as it occured to you that you were about to die at the hands of an overprotective little boy robot because you didn't have the good sense to keep your hands to yourself. Do they have Darwin Awards here? You're about to earn the top prize.

A long-fingered hand with discoloured nails set itself on Ortho's shoulder. "Ortho, stop."

Without a word, he dropped you, and stepped back as you coughed and struggled to your feet. He was still glaring at you as you stumbled towards the door, Idia behind him as he looked between you both.

You only made it partway down the hallway before you collapsed to the floor, shuddering with fear and adrenaline.

~*~*~*~

"Yuu?"

You rolled towards the voice, seeing a familiar tablet hovering over you.

"You okay?"

"Yes. Instant karma's a right bitch, in'it?" You still managed to laugh, even if it hurt like a bitch and sounded like you'd gargled whiskey and cigarettes. "You alright? Wanna come get some revenge?"

"Ortho won't let me out."

"She hit you!"

"I did. I'm sorry."

"If you were sorry you wouldn't have done it in the first place!"

"I shouldn't have done it." You sat up, taking deep, even breaths to slow the shudders racing though you. "Shitty thing to do, especially with no warning."

"Don't come back!"

"Ortho, she forgot her shoes, she has to come back."

In response, a door down the hall opened, and your shoes were pitched so far past you down the hall that they hit the far end and dropped to the floor, before the door closed with a loud bang and the clanging of locks.

"I'm sorry, guys. Both of you. See you later, maybe?" And with that, you left the tablet behind and slouched towards your shoes.

~*~*~*~

There was a knock upon your door, and a familiar person beyond it.

"Th'fuck're you doing here?" you stepped to one side to let him over the threshold, stifling a cough. "Skipping class today?"

"I wanted to check on you before Board Game Club, and Ortho's too busy right now to stop me." Idia peered down at you, wringing his hands. "Why are you skipping class?"

"Had a few with Mal today." Idia blanched, an impressive feat when his skin was so pale as to read almost blue. "Yeah, I don't want him after him either. But I'm good." And you were, really. Your neck was bruised all to shit, and it hurt when you breathed, but honestly, it had hurt to breathe at times ever since Eliza nearly macked you to death, and it was very easy to ignore. "You don't have to stay, especially when I scared you half to death just because I thought it was funny at the time."

He made a sound you couldn't identify, and closed the door. You shrugged. "Suit yourself, but you'll need to replace any windows he breaks coming in to check on you." Which was pointless considering the general state of Ramshackle Dorm, but the nights were growing cold, and even with your ghostly roommates agreeing to keep the fires on through the night, you'd need all the help you could get. You settled on one of the wounded couches to resume your novel, and he settled in beside you, leaning in. 

"Uh." 

He tugged down your collar, laying two fingers across the bruise that clearly outlined a mechanical thumb. "Does it hurt here?"

"Some. Not badly."

He pressed down. "Now?"

"More than before."

He repeated this at several places before he was satisfied that his overzealous brother hadn't caused you lasting damage.

"I'm so sorry, Yuu."

"No, I am. You have nothing to be sorry for." You turned to face him, his face still close. "That was fucked up of me to do, you don't touch anyone like that unless you get permission... Earth to Shroud?" You snapped you fingers by his ear, but he was staring at your neck, deep in thought.

That was when he lunged, and put his mouth on you.

You didn't have anywhere to go, and really, once he started, you didn't want to go anywhere. The ache of your throat turned to a sweet fire from the touch of his lips, his tongue, his teeth - at the first nip at your pulse that dragged down to your collar, you wound your hand through his hair and told him, in between wheezing gasps, "don't you stop, don't you dare fucking stop."

(And there was hair, too. You could feel it under the fire that crept and wound between your fingers, thick and with a soft curl to it, surprisingly robust considering the wan, turbuculitic quality of the rest of him.)

Unfortunately, he pressed you away into the couch as you wound around him, extracting himself from your grasp as he wiped your blood - at the sight, you made a sound that made you both blush - from his mouth.

"Oh no you don't, get back here -" He was already heading for the door, and your knees were too weak to hold you. "Get back here and finish what you fucking started! You prick! You asshole!"

He looked at you from the door. His lips swollen and purple, his face covered with a sweet red flush, and it physically ached to see him like that and not within distance of hand or mouth. But Idia smiled at you with a grin that twisted his face into something grotesque and malicious, and she shook his head and left without a word.

"Oh, wow." You whipped your head around, and Grimm was looking at you. God knows how much of that he'd seen, you certainly hadn't been giving him any thought. "You can't even see the handprint anymore."

You screamed in pure, blue-balled fury and threw your novel at him.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Fucktoy

Commission long overdue for the lovely @ago-fucks featuring Revenant/Reader and a certain sex toy that’s a craze with all the cool kids out there.

Fleshlights, I’m talking fleshlights.

Summary: Revenant is best when he's tied up and begging, at least that's what you think. Or. In which you buy a new toy for your murder robot boyfriend and you get to test it out in the best ways involving bondage, begging, and getting to hear him say things no one else would get to hear.

Reblogs > Likes. It costs zero dollars to reblog the fics you like :D

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked on sight!!!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Revenant/Reader

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, bondage, praise, mild degradation, reader is gender neutral and has a vulva and is specifically written as short and chubby, lots of Rev/Robot headcanons happening in here, wireplay, lingerie (on reader), Revenant has a cock attachment

Words: 3.2k

__________________

A little surprise was needed every now and again, you thought.  

Revenant had been doing so well lately getting adjusted to this period in his life. In the arena, he was a menace to be seen, snarling and growling, shedding blood and laughing about it like it was his favorite thing. But, at home, sure he still snarled and growled- it was in his voice box to do so after all, but it was more of a grumble as he accepted your eager hands to drag him down to your much shorter height to press a kiss to his face plate and welcome him home.  

Like a feral cat, he’d had to warm up to you. You were one of the Apex Games medical experts when they arrived injured. Specializing in mechanics and secondly in human flesh, you were hired to work mostly on Pathfinder, and then of course when he joined, Revenant. Special repairs were to be had for each model, and oh did Revenant not like anyone touching him. You had made it clear that consent was strict.  

You would not touch him, unless he was comfortable with you doing so.  

~Rest under the cut~

Perhaps that had made him warm up to you quicker, with giving him the choice so he could have control on the situation. He’d grumbled the first time, but he’d let you patch him up at least, and then the second time had snarled he didn’t need your help before begrudgingly leaning to the side to show where a cord might have torn.  

And to present relationship? Now he cuddled up to you like an affection starved feline. Perhaps feline wasn’t a good word for him, maybe an arachnid with how his long, spidery limbs wound around you. Revenant had grumbled the first time that he hadn’t powered down in centuries, quite literally. Because he didn’t really know he could. But after some research on simulacrum, you found he had the ability to and now one of his favorite things was joining you in bed.  

So now? Now you were both looking on your laptop for new toys. You’d wanted to find something to accommodate his preferred attachment lately of a cock, since dildos and strap  ons  wouldn’t work with said attachment. Vibrators did pretty well, but you wanted something more...hands on.  

“What about one of these?” You had asked, offering the fleshlight section of the site. You’d been able to watch him hum curiously, his optics spinning as he admired the choices. Before he’d asked to see them in use. Which required looking up videos to give examples and being able to see him eagerly ask you to go back so he could pick one.  

With that out of the way, you placed one in the cart and waited for him to power down for the night before you’d snuck your phone and placed another thing in for yourself and ordered it express. Carefully maneuvering yourself back into his eager arms.  

Then it had been the desperate waiting game.  

The box arrives at your apartment’s doorstep discreetly packaged. You know Revenant is getting ready for a match so you text him eagerly from your holopad to let him know that his gift is here, and asking if he of course wants to try it out tonight. You bite your lip after you hit send, eagerness through your chest as you take to picking up around your home to ignore your own giddy feelings. You had today off, and probably good you did anyhow considering how excited your face must have been.  

It would be hours before he replied, but once you finally get that notification for his text, the sun has already started to set. You’d been tuned into the games, watching the cameras pick up on his victory with Bloodhound and Caustic at his side. Curled up on the corner of the couch and able to watch him nail Octane between his goggle’s lenses with a peacekeeper. Gory, perhaps, but you were a medical and mechanical professional, you’d seen worse.  

A solid, three burst knock makes you perk up. You’d been comfortable at home in some shorts and a hoodie, nothing special nor nothing you couldn’t answer the door in. You swing off the couch, padding across the floor and open it wide open to smile up at the bot at the door.  

“Hi, baby, saw your win! Congratulations on being champion!” You practically coo your praise to him, stepping by to let him in as you shut and lock the door behind you. Revenant lets his optics wander the apartment, cleaned and picked up, before finally looking downwards at you. He was already tall enough, but you were short by nature, meaning your head met about his chest plate. He’d always thought it was cute.  

Eagerly, you reach up for him, making a ‘gimme’ motion until he relents and leans down, letting you cup his face plate and peck a kiss on his silicone lower lip. “No scratches on you? I know I wasn’t there today; Theodore should have had you covered.” You murmur the last bit, releasing him so you could circle him like the worried partner you were.  

Revenant huffs in return, optics rolling, “Is that his name? I didn’t ask. You know very well no one can fix me as well as you can.” His voice growls in a low grumble, but you definitely take that last part as a compliment. It’s definitely worth it when you beam up at him from his side, lifting his arm briefly to check for the damages done to inner circuiting. The smallest brush of your fingers against the thick wirings of his right hip makes him make a soft noise, causing you to immediately retract and for him to be disappointed. Not that he’d show it.  

“You can’t be picky if you’re damaged,” You remind him, moving to in front of him with your arms crossed, watching him mimic your stance as he goes to sass you again but you’re quick on him, “And don’t you say it’s because I know better, he has just as many qualifications as me. You just like me.” Your voice is a tease, a smile on your face he can’t be mad at.  

It’s a slow walk to you room as you talk idly amongst yourselves. But as you make it to the bed, you pipe up quietly. “You still want to try, right? You know I’ve never minded if you don’t want to, I’d love you no less.” With a gentle hand to the curve of the metal at his hip and your eyes flicking up to search his optics for tension. Revenant had been...skittish when it came to sex, his biggest fear had been that he’d hurt you. Nowadays it was a way to be intimate, but you still felt the need to triple check just in case he wasn’t feeling up to it.  

He lets out a snort, a sort of choked growl in his voice box to mimic the sound. A hand over yours settles your nerves with his voice rumbling, “Yes. I picked the damned thing after all. Besides I,” He pauses there for a moment, seeming to struggle before he lets out in a softer tone, bringing your hand up to his face plate so he could mimic a kiss to your knuckles. “I enjoy our intimate time together. Or whatever frilly way you want me to say ‘fuck’.”  

It eases the tension in your body, a laugh choking from you as you move the hand brought to his face to cup his face plate, running your thumb on his silicone lower lip. Revenant’s optics flicker to the bed, clearly curious as to where you HAD said toy. But, your grin must answer his question, “Get comfortable on the bed and I’ll go get ready. Remember your safe words and signals?”  

It’s with a soft huff Revenant does as told. Red, yellow, and green were always easy to remember. The hand signals were simple enough, depending on what was hindered. Two slaps to any nearby object or two slams of his foot were silent ways to say stop.   

You wait for him patiently, reminding him of what a good boy he is and leaving the room to let him undoubtedly get his attachment on. As well as to sneak into the bathroom to find the freshly cleaned toy, rope you’d had lain out, and your outfit of choice.  

Your body was always on the plumper side, but you didn’t have an issue with it- neither did Revenant at that. Your lovely body is dressed in a dark blue, lace baby doll night gown. The night gown part was split right beneath your chest with a lovely little bow, splaying across your sides and ending at the swells of your thighs. Scalloped straps pulled up over your shoulders, letting your plentiful cleavage be shown. The panties were a matching thong, with thigh highs to boot.  

Perfect.  

When you walk back out into the bedroom, Revenant’s reaction is almost feral. The way the static in his voice box goes lower with the low growl he lets out, his optics seeming to spin in almost a bird-like fashion with how darker orange fills the space and then  thins  out. It makes you feel...wanted.  

“Down boy,” You playfully coo, letting your thumb slide across the rope in one hand to ground yourself and remind yourself who was in charge tonight. Especially when he growls again, his attachment clearly hard with the nodes on the sides lit up a bright red. “Remember who you belong to tonight.” You remind him.  

But, God, does his cock look delicious. A black thick silicone with red textured mini spikes lining the sides as well as lit up nodes curling up to the head. Five inches long with a  three-inch  girth, it was plenty to take, Revenant always liked to watch your face contort trying to take him, but tonight you weren’t going to be taking him. No, no, you were going to make him cry with a toy and make him beg to have you.  

The next steps are simple. Tying him up. The rope goes easily across metal, tying carefully between joints and pressing kisses where they meet. You tie him on his back, wrists to ankles and forcing his long legs up and apart with his wrists. Bound and exposed, his legs stay open and high, bent at the knee comfortably without it being too complicated. You praise him all during it, soft kisses on his ankles and wrists as you duck to the side to grab the toy and settle back in front of him.  

The wiring on his inner thighs is always a go to so you start there. Caressing the thin wires that connect the joints to a thick metal core. He immediately tenses, mouth falling open to reveal sharp metal teeth and the way his throat echoes like a long hallway when he groans. You smirk a bit, tracing your fingers up closer to his hip where a thicker bundle of wires rest, letting him shake briefly as your nails trace up the inner silicone lining to form a hip bone.  

His cock jerks with a gentle grunt in his throat. His cum reserves must have been full, considering a small bead of translucent red cum drips down his cock.  

“What a good boy. Already filled without even being asked?” You begin small, letting your hands wander down his hips to the center of your attention. His hips attempt to come up to no avail in his exposed position, allowing you to trace one nail up his cock and watching it jerk again weakly. “You must have been thinking about this all day.”  

The response to you is a weakened growl, a reverberating sound as if he was in a cave that trails off into a breathy, high sound. It doesn’t sound human, no surprise there, but it does make you grin.  

A few pumps and he’s set on throwing his head back to huff to himself in pleasure. Revenant was always sensitive, had always been, you imagined centuries of no touch would do that to you. But, even now, it seems he’d be flushed all over if he could. He’d probably be fucking your fist at this rate if he could even move them, poor thing.  

It’s not much more teasing before you glide the lubed fleshlight up the underside of his cock. Letting the faux lower lips frame him and sliding it up to the head. His hips twitch, his head jerking to the side and exposing the sensitive wirings of his throat with the shift of his cowl.  

The wet slide of it on his cock is a tight, tight fit. Something that you can only imagine as your greedy eyes take in the crimson toy swallowing his thick shaft with a wet ‘shlick’ as it tightly envelops him. You can feel the way he jerks in it, watching the tips of his fingers curl against his ankles and his optics flickering a few times before seeming to buzz back to existence.  

“Fuck-” He whines out, a shaky sound in his chest that sounds distant with the way his head rolls to the side and causes his wiring to shift for his voice box. “Fuck-- ” He croaks out again with a creak to his throat as you begin to shift the toy upwards to the head and slide it back down.  

“That’s a good boy, that’s what I like to hear,” You praise him, feeling yourself affected as well as your breathing as you begin fucking the toy on him. Each wet slide is met with a wet, soft slap of the toy hitting his pelvis. The creak of the metal of his joints and how he whines and growls in soft, panted, breathless little noises. You about take him out when you twist the toy and slam it back down onto him, hearing him yowl much like an animal in heat.  

“So pretty for me,” You continue with your own voice breathless, “So easy to make you feel good, my little toy.” You use the name carefully, eyes flickering to his face to gauge his reaction.  

It’s positive, to say the least, where his head flings back and you know he’d be fucking into your grip if he could. Instead, he’s made to squirm and jerk in his bonds, panting heavily as you stroke him with the tight, wet little toy again and again.  

“You sound beautiful, baby.” You murmur.  

Just to watch him cry out and give the telltale signs he’s close. With low whines in his throat fading off to low, breathed out growls. Huffing and huffing until-  

You stop.  

And Revenant cries out like a wounded beast. Optics flickering until they land on you and he snarls like you’ve deprived him of his treat. You imagine he doesn’t like it when you smile, holding the fleshlight juuuust  about the tip of his cock where he’s leaking the translucent fluid, shiny and wet from the toy and oh so wanting.  

“Give. It. To. Me.” He snarls out each word like a threat. But kind of hard to be threatening with your dick so hard and you’re an exposed simulacrum tied up in pretty ropes.  

“I want to hear you beg,” You grin in turn, tilting your head coyly when he snarls again. “I want to hear you say you’re my cutest fuck toy.”  

“No.”  

“I wasn’t asking.”  

Revenant scoffs before he pauses at your tone, tempting and low. His optics shift away briefly. Embarrassment would be hard to see in someone like him, but you can tell from the silence and the way he’s breathing despite not needing to. He had his safe words, he had his signals, but you have the feeling he’s not even thinking about those. Instead, you can see him trying not to be humiliated. So, you give him a little encouragement with a rub of the toy just to watch him shudder.  

That sparks his brattiness. He tries to buck up to no avail, tries to roll and shake and hump, for not.   

When that doesn’t work, he tries again, but adds in, “Please let me cum! Let me cum, goddamnit! Goddamn you- let me- let me cum!” He sounds so cute when he does it, desperate and wanting. You give him some slack, one pump of the toy just to get his hopes up and to hear him moan with static tracing the edges only to hold it just above the head again.  

“Fuck!” He snarls, desperation dripping in his tone in an almost sob. Almost.  

Your hand comes up, gripping his throat and pressing your thumb into the junction of his two thickest wires. A small amount of pressure on the thinner one makes him feel like he’s going to get light headed, a well pressed pressure point as you growl at him and begin jerking him with the toy in a nice, but not enough pace.  

“You’re my favorite, cutest fuck toy. Say. It.” You punctuate each word with a harsh slam of the toy twice before holding it at the head. No matter how much he cries out and swears, you don’t move, letting his voice creak and crack until you release the wiring.  

“I’m your cute-cutest fuck toy! I’m y-your- AH!” Revenant near about wails it out, only to choke when you begin fucking him with the toy earnestly. Letting his breaths come out in repeated, short snarls until he’s cumming with a long sound fading off into nothing.  

The cum drips from the end of the toy into your hand. You give it a few more jerks for good measure, just to watch him jerk and huff in overstimulation before you slowly drag it off with a wet noise. You set it on the nightstand, telling yourself to deal with it later as you work the ropes off of him and set them to the side.  

You lie down on your back, letting him come to you like a clingy little spider. One arm  wraps  around your middle, his head coming to rest on your chest as you cup the back of his neck and stroke the metal forming his spine. You  caress  him gently, gently nudging him for him to look up at you so you can kiss the flatness of his skeletal nose and smile at him.  

“You did a good job, baby.” You murmur adoringly, kissing the corner of his mouth to match. “Thank you for indulging me. You feeling alright?”  

“Just peachy.” His voice comes out as a hoarse growl, no doubt overusing his poor voice box. But even then, it makes you laugh, kissing his forehead once again.  

“What about you?” He murmurs after a moment, his finger hooking into the thin waistband of your panties and making your cheeks flush. “Would be a damn shame to not put any of this to use...”  

“Bold for someone who just said he was my fuck toy.” You cheekily toy back, watching his head snap up and his optics widening and thinning out in a quiet threat.  

You’d pay for it later, but for now? For now he just grumbles, shoving his head back onto your chest.  

Good boy.  

[slutforben]

au! ben’s your dad now lol

Okay so when I used to have a wattpad account I wrote some parent scenario things, here’s one that I wrote for BEN. Will I be continuing this? no lmao anyways enjoy

word count: 1708

KEY:

(Y/N) = Your Name

Him/Her = Your pronouns

Line of ~~~ = Time Skip

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As I gazed at the teenage girl through the screen, I couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

A teen mother? She only looked to be 15 or 16, but she held a child in her arms that looked like a mini copy of her. I only made a quick connection.

The mother, a blonde with hazel eyes and light freckles and wet cheeks, looked like any other girl. The child in her arms cried loudly as crashes came from downstairs. Loud footsteps and banging of cupboard doors were heard, and the mother was sobbing quietly.

From where I watched, safely within her small computer screen, I watched her bundle up her young child and hide them inside her closet. She locked the doors quickly, then went to her dresser. Her room was in pristine condition, and the dresser had a small pocket knife on it.

I could hear footsteps barging up the stairs now. Though, they weren't just one pair. There had to be at least two or three people charging like bulls. The girl sobbed and her child cried through the closet door. Terror echoed through their cries, and to be honest, I'd be terrified if my home was barged into as well.

The clock below me ticked, and wires buzzed. It being 4 am, I didn't expect my victim to be awake, or even to be home alone and in the process of being robbed like a homeless man.

But that's exactly what was happening in front of my eyes.

I shivered as three large men broke down the bedroom door. The mother was huddled in the corner, tears of fear dripping down her cheeks and a small pocket knife held in her hand. Her young child cried and screamed, but the mother was unable to do anything.

I started to back away as the men advanced on her. Ski masks covered their faces, and they held large rifles. Those could do massage damage to a human, and even a ghost like myself.

But as the men advanced and the underage mother cried, I backed away from the screen, and back into the portal leading to the Mansion.

Her screams quieted down as I pulled myself away from the computer screen. I fell back in my small frenzy and landed back inside the living room of the Mansion. I looked around quickly, my blond hair flipping around and ruffling itself up. Looking around, I realized the living room was empty and smelled like something had burnt itself to a crisp.

I sat, the upper half of my body hanging out of the television, with actual fear plaguing me.

Why the hell was I afraid? It was just a simple robbery.

I thought about the girl and her child. It pained me, actually, to think about them. What would happen to them?  I debated on going back for a little while, until giving up and pulling myself out of the small television, then dragged myself up to my room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can't believe that I'm back in this house.

I kept telling myself that as I walked around the now trashed house. Some things from before were gone or broken, or thrown around. The living room was thrashed and missing some furniture. The house was quiet, which gave me the chills along with an eerie feeling. The television was left on in static, and what was left was thrown across the room. As I continued to explore the house, I noticed that I could no longer hear the child's cries from earlier.

As I finally reached the staircase, I stopped.

What would I find up there?

Sure, I was a murderous virus that slowly ate away at my victims, and who had no sense of fear other than water, but this actually scared me a bit.

I took a deep breath and slowly crept up the stairs. They creaked under my lightweight, but they were relatively quiet. As I slowly climbed them, my breath started to quicken.

" What the fuck, " I whispered to myself. Why was my breath quickening? And why was I fucking whispering? I have no reason to.

I shrugged and continued to climb the stairs, reaching the second floor.

The second story of the house was just as disastrous as the first. Broken furniture littered the floor, vases were smashed, ripped paintings hung from the walls by a single tack, and the doors were all thrown open. Looking closer, I realized that small bullet shells were thrown across the floor.

" Oh my God, " I sucked in a breath at the sight of them.

I immediately looked back up and ran to a random room, looking for the mother and her young child. I tucked inside random rooms until eventually finding her closed bedroom door.

I wiggled the knob, but it didn't budge. I tried again, but the door seemed to be locked.

Had the girl somehow locked herself safely into her room?

That's what I hoped had happened.

I wiggled the knob again until backing up. I backed up against the wall opposite of the door, then ran at full speed and threw myself into the door. It worked in the Mansion, hopefully, it would work here.

The door stayed locked. I fell backward onto my ass, with a now sore shoulder.

" Fuck! " I yelled loudly as my shoulder ached. I looked up at the door, still in the same condition as before.

" Alright, door. Let's try this again, " I hissed and stood up with the help of a cabinet near me. I stood up again and faced the door again with grim determination. Hell, I haven't felt this way since first entering Majora.

With a yell, I ran at the door again, throwing all my weight against it loudly.

The door crashed down loudly as I somehow managed to knock it down. The door broke and crashed to the floor, closely followed by myself. I fell with a loud thud and layed for a second on the now broken door, clutching the shoulder I landed on.

"Ahh, shit, " I said, sucking in a breath. I sat up slowly and looked around. I was back in the room I was in before, only this time it was thrashed, being in the same condition as the house. Furniture was knocked over and items were thrown, and the room was strangely quiet. Looking around again, I realized that the teenage girl was no longer in the room and that her window was smashed.

I sighed sadly at that sight, but I didn't let myself dwell on it. I wanted to see if her child was still here, and hopefully not abducted.

I stood up, remembering that in a hurry she hid her kid in the closet. That was the first place I wanted to check.

I made my way over to the closet door. It was cracked open and had small items in front of it, and sent shivers up my spine for an unknown reason. I got on my knees and cleared the debris in front of the door, then opened it slowly.

The young boy/girl sat all alone in the closet. They were somehow asleep, and was bundled up in a small green blanket. His/Her cheeks were red and stained from crying, and they clutched at the blanket they were wrapped in as if they were having a nightmare.

I gazed at the small child as they slept and picked him/her up carefully. They snored softly and seemed so innocent in my arms that had killed hundreds of people.

I couldn't just leave him/her here. He/Her would starve, or the robbers would come back, or a fellow Pastas might find this house and end their miserable life. A bunch of different scenarios played in my head of what could happen if I left this child here, in this house.

I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I've was holding and looked at the puny child.

" Ya know kid, you don't deserve this at such a young age, " I whispered to them. " I really want to help you, but I can't unless I took you back. " I spoke quietly to the sleeping child. " Slender will kill you, then me. " I said with a frown. " I mean, maybe I could, but even if Slender allowed it, Jeff would get his hands on you and... do things... " I shuddered at that thought.

" But I can't just leave you here. Heh, Slender has been wanting me to get more responsible, but maybe this is a little too much... " I trailed off at that thought.

But, as I gazed down at the small child asleep in my arms, an idea formed in my head.

Maybe I could take the child.

Maybe they'd survive, and become a psychopathic killer like me and the rest of us.

Maybe I could be a parent to this child.

I looked back down at the child and let out another breath. I stood up and turned back to the girl's room and walked back to her queen-sized bed. The television that stood here before was now gone, along with her laptop and cellphone. My options were either walk or get a lift.

I frowned at the thought of walking back to the Mansion and pulled out my phone. I searched for Toby's contact and called him. I put it on speaker as the phone rang loudly. I was surprised it didn't wake up the kid, who I put in my lap and slowly rocked back and forth.

After a few more seconds, Toby answered my call.

" Hey BEN! What's-what's up? " He asked. In the background, I could hear the scream of a girl, so I guessed that he was busy.

" Is this a bad time, Rogers? I can call someone else. " I told him.

He chuckled. " I'm kinda-kinda bus-busy right now, but it-it's fine that you cal-called. What's up-up? "

" Well, Toby, it's kind of a long story... "

[coldkryptonitecupcake]

“Abomination”, Ch. 17

  Narvuk ran his hand over the crystalline monolith, watching as soulfire danced under its surface. "Zivath, can you scan these? Perhaps there's something about them that makes them... special." She nodded her shell and a blue cone of light shone out, encompassing the statues one after the other.

  "Looks like standard molecular structure, only real difference is a small amount of... wait, that can't be right." Zivath shook her shell and re-scanned one of the statues as Narvuk cocked his head at her. "I'm getting trace amounts of sterile neutrinos in these!" She flitted over to her Guardian, who looked puzzled. "Right, sorry. Sterile neutrinos are normally found near sites of Taken activity."

  The implications dawned on Narvuk, and he stepped closer to the statue, laying his hand against the cold idol. "I feel nnothing. But these" - he gestured to the faces carved into the top of each statue - "look familiar. There mmust be something that gives names to themm."

  "The soulfire inside, it sounds like words. Eir, Ur--"

  "-- Xol, Yul." Zivath looked over inquisitively as Narvuk finished with her. "How do you know those?"

  "Thosse are the names of the four Worms. They gave our king the Logic, and it is the pact with them that compels us to fight and kill. If our own worms are not fed, they consume us from inside. We kill to survive, not simply to kill," Narvuk explained without looking away from the statue. "None of us asked to be thrust into a life of wwar, as no Guardian asked for a second life. But my people have chosen their path. Now, can we return to the task at hhand?"

  Zivath's shell drooped for a few moments as she turned away to a different statue. "Um, well, there's runes carved in the base of this one. They read 'Visage... of the... Disliked'? No, hold on... Unfavored! 'Visage of the Unfavored'. Aaaaaand this one" - she flew to the third statue - "has runes as well! It says 'Visage of the Scheme-Mother'. Those titles aren't in the database, which is odd. We accessed the World's Grave years ago, so we shouldn't be missing anything."

  She glided back to Narvuk, maneuvering under his arm to get a closer look. "The titles are not familiar to mme. Little Light, I amm sorry for being... terse. My people... they are lost, and none can see it." Zivath half-turned to him, then returned her gaze to the stone. "Zivath, please. I did not mean to dismiss you. I--"

  "Look, I'm trying to translate what may very well be a viral language here, so maybe hold on a minute," she snapped. After a moment of tense silence, the Ghost spoke up. "Final runes translated. 'Visage of the Warpriest', it says."

  "That one, I know. The Warpriest was one of Oryx's champions, and fed the king's worm through conquest and slaughter. He conquered five hundred and eighty-five worlds, salting them with ash and painting the void with fire. According to the Vanguard's own rrecords, he died shortly before the king."

  "If you don't wanna join them, bug, I'd recommend you drop the sword," a familiar voice called form behind the two. They turned as one, and before stood DeMarcus. On either side of him were the six Guardians Narvuk had seen in the hangar. The Knight noted the Warlock on the left as the same one who had questioned DeMarcus' plan. "I gotta thank you, bug. An accident in the patrol zones, that's one thing. But here on the Shore, ain't no rules but Spider's. And he doesn't much care for meddling in Lightbearer business, unless it messes with his," DeMarcus mocked, drawing a hand cannon from the back of his waist and aiming not at Narvuk, but at Zivath. His companions unholstered their weapons as well, though they pointed at Narvuk.

  "Let's be honest, bug. You were never gonna be one of us. Just 'cause you got a Ghost, doesn't make you a Guardian, just makes you lucky. Deep down, you're just another Knight in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, drop. The sword," he finished. Narvuk extended his arm to the side and let go, the Cleaver thudding to the ground.

  "DeMarcus, just get it over with already. We're not here for you to monologue," the Warlock scolded, glaring at his friend from the corner of his eye. "We've been here too long already."

  "I'll do it when I'm ready, Edal, got it? Just keep your gun on him," DeMarcus barked, turning his attention back to Narvuk. "Now, bug. Sienna and Poppy" - he spit at the ground, and Narvuk clenched his jaw - "may think you're alright, but me and the boys here? Well, general opinion is you're a walking time bomb. Probably a trap from your great-aunt, in fact." DeMarcus' face lifted in a smug grin. "Bet you thought no one would find out, huh?"

  Narvuk was puzzled for a moment, then the meaning became clear. "Hhow did you... Sienna." The Titan nodded. "Hrnn... well, you sseem to be holding all the... corpses?"

  "I think you mean cards. 'Hold all the cards'," Edal interjected. DeMarcus shot a glare at him as Narvuk nodded thanks.

  "Cards, then. Hhow are you going to pplay them, is the question," Narvuk half-mocked, gesturing invitingly to the group. "Yyou clearly aren't scared to face me wwith allies, but can you stand on your own?"

  DeMarcus stormed forward, stowing his cannon. "Titan's need only the strength of the Light! You're nothing without the girls behind you!" He balled his fists and shifted into a fighting stance. "Bet they didn't teach you how to fight without your fancy magic sword in those tunnels you bugs love so much, huh? C'mon, you ugly son of a--"

  DeMarcus' inevitable stream of insults was over before it began as Narvuk's rock-hard fist crashed into his chest, caving it in instantly and sending the Titan flying back. One of the Hunters ran to where he landed and crouched. After a moment or two, he looked back to Edal and shook his head. A Ghost materialized above the body and pulsed with Light, and DeMarcus shot up with a gasp. The Hunter offered him a helping hand, but he batted it away and stood shakily. "Cheap shot, bug," he spat, advancing once more. "This time, I'll--"

  "Do nothing, Lightmonger," a raspy voice finished form above the Guardians. Their gazes snapped to the cliffs in unison and were met by at least four bright eyes for every Guardian. Narvuk hid a small grin as he recognized the speaker: the Vandal that had spoken to him earlier. As he looked around, he noticed that the rest of the Fallen from before had returned as well, all armed with shock pistols or wire rifles. "Drop weapons, or we shoot-fire." The demand was followed by the sound of charging wire rifles.

  Edal and the others hesitated for a moment, glancing at DeMarcus before slowly placing their guns on the rocks. DeMarcus stood, fuming with clenched fists, in front of Narvuk. The Knight simply stared down at him, neither willing to back down. Edal came up behind his friend and laid a hand on his shoulder. "DeMarcus, let's go. We can't start a fight with the House of Spider, and you're not in a good state of mind right now anyway. Let's go home." The Titan glowered at Narvuk for a moment before turning, marching past his companions, and transmatting away.

  The rest followed one by one until only Edal was left. "Narvuk? I- look, DeMarcus doesn't speak for anything close to a majority of Guardians. If he tries something else, shoot me a feed, alright? I've got practice reining him in," the Awoken said, more than a hint of apology in his melodic voice. Narvuk merely nodded, and Edal vanished.

  A Vandal wearing the red and gold of the House of Light dropped down next to Narvuk and said something in Eliksni. It stared at Narvuk for a few seconds, awaiting a response, then realized its mistake. "You save-rescue us. Much thanks-gratitude, Hive," it rasped in broken English. "Mithrax Light-Kell will hear-learn of this, that we may help-aid you."

"Think nothing of it, ffriend. I did what hhad to be done."

  "I am called Vytkos. I am in your life-debt. You will always-breathe have an ally in House Light. For now, we must return-go to our Kell." With that, Vytkos and her fellow Fallen disappeared, along with those from the House of Dusk. Spider's Vandals simply began walking away, leaving Narvuk and Zivath alone once more.

A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry this chapter took so dang long! School has been a bit hectic, and I've been slacking! But here we are, at the end of chapter 17! Only a few (relatively) more to go, and then it's on to the sequel (yes, there's gonna be a sequel)!

[creepingsharia]

Georgia: U.S. Army Soldier Arrested for Attempting to Assist ISIS Conduct Deadly Ambush on U.S. Troops, Attack 9/11 Memorial Site

US soldier hoped to team up with ISIS to attack 9/11 Memorial: feds

A US soldier hoped to team up with ISIS to launch a terror attack on the 9/11 Memorial in Manhattan, calling the sacred site “a key target,’’ according to explosive court papers Tuesday.

Army Pfc. Cole James Bridges — a 20-year-old cavalry scout from Ohio — allegedly thought he was plotting with a member of the terrorist group while discussing attacking the Sept. 11 memorial.

His supposed ISIS cohorts were actually an undercover FBI worker and confidential informant, the feds said.

Bridges described how an assault on the memorial at Ground Zero “could honestly be a sniper kill and then getting out quietly for a second attack,’’ according to Manhattan federal-court papers.

The documents included a profile photo of the Stow, Ohio, suspect on one of his social-media accounts in August wearing traditional Muslim head garb.

The filing also contained a posting on the same account that month featuring a quote by a jihadist leader whose followers included one of the hijackers of the plane that crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001.

“Everyone has to see which side he is on,” the quote reads in part.

While becoming radicalized online, Bridges researched such terms as “badass jihadi,’’ “green beret ambush’’ and “us soldier shooting’’ in late 2019 and through 2020, the papers said.

At one point, he allegedly admitted to the undercover, “I hate displaying the US flag on my shoulder,’’ apparently referring to his military uniform.

Bridges, who was with the Third Infantry Division out of Fort Stewart in Georgia, sought to even help ISIS attack his US comrades in the Mideast, authorities said.

His sick efforts included providing part of an Army training manual and combat-instruction video in a bid to help the terror group kill as many US soldiers as possible, officials said.

“Fortunately, the person with whom he communicated was an FBI employee, and we were able to prevent his evil desires from coming to fruition,’’ FBI Assistant Director William Sweeney Jr. said in a statement.

There were “diagrams that Bridges created demonstrating specific tactical maneuvers and strategy that ISIS should employ against U.S. forces, including rigging a compound with explosives for detonating when U.S. soldiers entered,” court papers alleged.

The documents included drawings that Bridges allegedly sent to the undercover agent showing a “ ‘bottleneck’ tactic” his unit would use “to create a ‘kill zone.’ “

The homegrown terror suspect even starred in a video he made for ISIS, authorities said.

Bridges “created a video for use by ISIS as propaganda, in which [he]  appears in front of a jihadist flag, wearing body armor and speaking through a voice changer, and makes statements celebrating the anticipated ISIS attack on U.S. soldiers that [he] attempted to facilitate,” the feds said.

The turncoat private, who joined the Army in September 2019, “expressed his allegiance to ISIS and its radical jihadist ideology’’ including while he was with his unit at a US base in Germany in the fall, officials said.

The clueless Bridges boasted in the fall how his terrorist leanings were escaping detection by US authorities  — despite the fact that he “used to have connections with people in Hamas and Isis,’’ the documents said.

“The government could have arrested me,’’ Bridges allegedly wrote. “So I needed to prove to them I wasn’t what they thought I was, and I needed the government to get off my back.

“It was never confirmed. They were suspicious,” he said of his allegiance to ISIS and US officials. “Even still because I had homeland security show up to my work before the army.”

Bridges, aka Cole Conzales,  was arrested Tuesday and set to be hauled into federal court Thursday in that state, the feds said.

The suspect faces charges including providing material support to a foreign terror organization and the attempted murder of US servicemen.

---------------------------------------

More via the DOJ press release

https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/us-army-soldier-arrested-attempting-assist-isis-conduct-deadly-ambush-us-troops

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE       

Tuesday, January 19, 2021           

U.S. Army Soldier Arrested for Attempting to Assist ISIS to Conduct Deadly Ambush on U.S. Troops              

Provided Tactical Guidance in Attempt to Help ISIS to Attack U.S. Forces in the Middle East

Cole James Bridges, aka Cole Gonzales, 20, of Stowe, Ohio, was charged by complaint with attempting to provide material support to a designated foreign terrorist organization and attempting to murder U.S. military service members.  The FBI and U.S. Army Counterintelligence arrested Bridges today, and he will be presented later today in the U.S. District Court for the Southern District of Georgia.

Bridges joined the U.S. Army in approximately September 2019 and was assigned as a cavalry scout in the 3rd Infantry Division based in Fort Stewart, Georgia.  Beginning in at least 2019, Bridges began researching and consuming online propaganda promoting jihadists and their violent ideology.  Bridges also expressed his support for the Islamic State of Iraq and al-Sham (ISIS) and jihad on social media.  In or about October 2020, Bridges began communicating with an FBI online covert employee (the “OCE”), who was posing as an ISIS supporter in contact with ISIS fighters in the Middle East.  During these communications, Bridges expressed his frustration with the U.S. military and his desire to aid ISIS.  Bridges then provided training and guidance to purported ISIS fighters who were planning attacks, including advice about potential targets in New York City, such as the 9/11 Memorial.  Bridges also provided the OCE with portions of a U.S. Army training manual and guidance about military combat tactics, for use by ISIS.

In or about December 2020, Bridges began to supply the OCE with instructions for the purported ISIS fighters on how to attack U.S. forces in the Middle East.  Among other things, Bridges diagrammed specific military maneuvers intended to help ISIS fighters maximize the lethality of attacks on U.S. troops.  Bridges further provided advice about the best way to fortify an ISIS encampment to repel an attack by U.S. Special Forces, including by wiring certain buildings with explosives to kill the U.S. troops.  Then, in January 2021, Bridges provided the OCE with a video of himself in body armor standing before a flag often used by ISIS fighters and making a gesture symbolic of support for ISIS.  Approximately a week later, Bridges sent a second video in which Bridges, using a voice manipulator, narrated a propaganda speech in support of the anticipated ambush by ISIS on U.S. troops.

Bridges is charged in the complaint with (1) attempting to provide material support to ISIS, in violation of 18 U.S.C. § 2339B, which carries a maximum sentence of 20 years in prison; and (2) attempting to murder U.S. military service members, in violation of 18 U.S.C. § 1114, which carries a maximum sentence of 20 years in prison.  The statutory penalties are prescribed by Congress and are provided here for informational purposes only, as any sentencing of the defendant would be determined by the judge.

Attachment(s):  Download Bridges Complaint.pdf

---------------------------------------------------------------

More on the Islamic doctrine that guides people like Bridges/Gonzales via: Another Muslim-American Soldier Turns Terrorist Traitor

All of this goes back to one pivotal Islamic doctrine, known in Arabic as al-wala’ w’al bar’a.  Perhaps best translated as “loyalty and enmity,” this inherently tribalistic doctrine calls on Muslims to maintain absolute loyalty to one another, while hating and seeking to undermine all non-Muslims—“even if they be their fathers, sons, brothers, or kin” (Koran 60:4; 58:22).

In the words of Koran 3:28, “Let believers not take for friends and allies infidels rather than believers: and whoever does this shall have no relationship left with Allah—unless you but guard yourselves against them, taking precautions.”

The words translated here as “guard” and “precaution” are derived from the Arabic word taqu, from the trilateral root w-q-y—the same root that gives us the word taqiyya, the Islamic doctrine that permits Muslims to deceive non-Muslims whenever under their authority.

Ibn Kathir (d. 1373), author of one of the most authoritative commentaries on the Koran, explains taqiyya in the context of verse 3:28 as follows: “Whoever at any time or place fears … evil [from non-Muslims] may protect himself through outward show.”  As proof of this, he quotes Muhammad’s close companion Abu Darda, who once said, “Let us grin in the face of some people while our hearts curse them.”

Muhammad ibn Jarir at-Tabari (d. 923), author of another standard commentary on the Koran, interprets verse 3:28 as follows:

If you [Muslims] are under their [non-Muslims’] authority, fearing for yourselves, behave loyally to them with your tongue while harboring inner animosity for them … [know that] Allah has forbidden believers from being friendly or on intimate terms with the infidels rather than other believers—except when infidels are above them [in authority]. Should that be the case, let them act friendly towards them while preserving their religion.

The significance of Islam’s doctrine of Loyalty and Enmity—which is as ironclad in Islam as the so-called Five Pillars—concerning questions of national allegiance and security can hardly be clearer.

---------------------------------------------------------------

American patriots - the MAGA / America First types - should be well aware after 15+ years of FBI stings that this is coming to the MAGA movement.

The entire War on Terror playbook has now been flipped to target red-blooded patriotic Americans.

As terror-linked and sharia-supremacist Muslims are prominently placed throughout the Biden administration, the MAGAphobia will reach levels well beyond 9/11 and many citizens will be jailed.

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness: 5.2 Sector 7

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“Alright kid, just follow my lead and stay quiet unless someone asks you something.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t screw this up for us.”

“Are you done?”

Dust crystals, weapons, and all other kinds of malicious paraphernalia were sold in the lower levels of Mistral. Beneath wired poles and under shady market stalls you could evidently buy pretty much whatever you wanted. In broad daylight. Probably pretty hard to enforce law when everyone was breaking it. The entire place was pretty openly criminal with people who were wearing masks purchasing put together bombs in full view of the sun. Or what counted for sunlight down here.

We followed a spider’s web marking on a wall into a dimly lit bar in which the only barrier between the inside and the elements was a flap with a Mistrali Flag on it. As though that was fooling anybody. It didn’t fool me and I colored myself as someone who was pretty easily fooled.

I took a look around the inside and noted several dozen people in similar purple drab. As if that weren’t enough, many people inside had that same spider web symbol tattooed to their forearms, bicep, or even their neck. I knew enough about gangs to know one when I saw one being so open.

I wheeled Qrow in.

“That's far enough now sweetheart.”

A woman sat alone at a table with two of what were clearly bodyguards on either side of her. I stopped pushing Qrow’s chair and held up my hands in surrender. I wasn’t about to start anything, even if some of the people we had passed were clearly on something and had glints in their eyes that made me want to draw my weapon.

Ether, I hoped, but perhaps even Hyper was on the table. Literally on the table as a dude did a line of white powder nearby.

I made no move towards my weapon anyways because it wasn’t like I could defend Qrow or myself in a tight space like this. We were very outnumbered and probably outgunned and entirely at the mercy of our hosts. I like to believe that I was alright in a fight, which was to say maybe I could take the lady’s two body guards if it was just the three of us and I managed something clever. This was something different. We were surrounded and they were in front of us, behind us, to either side, and, just to make things worse, above us. The place had two floors that I could see.

“Well if it isn’t Qrow Branwen. It's been a long time and you have gotten much shorter.”

“You know, you loose one fucking fight.”

“And who’s this? Some new protege or apprentice?”

The bodyguards came up to search me and I cooperatively handed over my sword and shield to the girl who staggered under its weight for a second before reclaiming her balance. “Jaune Arc.” I introduced myself as the dude patted me down. He came away with some fire crystals and an Atlas army knife. Nothing crazy for a place like this; I mean probably. I didn’t frequently search people who went to bars like this one.

“Didn’t answer my question, hun.” She probed. Jabbing at me with the spoon she held in a pudgy hand.

“He’s teaching me, yes ma’am,” I erred on polite caution.

“Good boy. You can put those arms down.” I did as she directed. “Now I’m sure you’re not here just to catch up with me, now are you?”

“I’m not no.” Qrow wiggled his stumps. I almost laughed. “I need a set of prosthetics, Atlesian or Valean or good enough for hunters.”

Would his prosthetics transform with him or-

“It’ll cost you.”

I’m sure it’ll be fine. Its magic so why not? I couldn’t think of a good reason why his new legs wouldn’t transform with him and Ozpin hadn’t said anything. Not that that meant anything.

“We don’t have much Lien.”

“Oh Mr. Branwen. Lien is how I run my business,” the spider said from her seat. She managed to glare down at Qrow still with a soft smile.

“You also run it with favors and errands.”

“A favor from the great Qrow Branwen.” She took a long drag of either tobacco or perhaps even some greens. It smelled most like tobacco, I think, though. “It would mean a lot more if he was capable of walking,” she jabbed easily. Which I think was perfectly fair.

“You provide the legs and I’ll do the walking. And if you don’t like that then the kid isn’t half bad in a fight either.”

“Hmm.” She pondered. “Okay.” She said with a sly smile. The dude handed me back my switchblade and crystals and the girl handed back my harness with my bigger blades sheathed as though that was some well rehearsed signal.

"I'll need real surgery." Qrow admitted begrudgingly. "Not those ones you just attach and pull off. I'll need them grafted on."

"Well that'll just cost you extra. Two favors.”

“Lets talk it over. Hey kid?”

“Hm?” I wondered.

“Why don’t you wait at the bar while we talk. You’re making me nervous just standing behind me.”

“Alright. Sure.” Why not?

I mosied up to the bar. The bartender in purple had a kukuri and some light armor. He didn’t card me or anything, just looked across the rosy counter towards me. “Whisky on the rocks.” Keep it familiar, keep it simple, keep it dumb, or else you’ll end up under some ganglord’s thumb.

My drink was slid towards me in a crystal patterned glass that I examined. It seemed clean enough. I had a sip. It was smooth. I had another sip.

“Who’s this Melanie?” A voice purred from behind me. A girl’s voice. I ignored it because ignoring women was my MO.

“I don’t know Miltiades, some new huntsman.”

“He’s decent looking.”

“Tall, too.”

I looked around. There were two girls looking at me. They had dark hair and pale green eyes. I looked them up and down. “Are you talking to me?” I wondered. It went against my MO. Explicitly, even. One had a pair of silver blades attached to white boots to match the overall assemble of a white dress. The other had red claws strapped to her back. The red claws matched a tighter red dress than the girl in white who could only be a sister. Maybe a cousin if I was stretching.

They looked damn near identical, though, so I was really stretching.

“Who else would we even be talking to?” I looked around, the girl in white made a fair point. There was nobody even close to me. They were to either side of me out in the open.

“So what brings a huntsman like you down here?” The girl in red asked.

“I’m with him.” I pointed to Qrow, not seeing any point to lying. I pushed him into this place afterall. Out in the open. “Need to get him back on his feet but we’re a little short on cash.”

“And what is he to you?” The girl in red asked.

“He’s not much to be completely and totally honest. Family of a friend,” I answered vaguely. “I didn’t catch your names.”

“I’m Melanie Malachite.” The girl in white introduced herself. “And this is-”

“Miltia.” The other finished. Malachite, like the woman in charge. Well I'd better be polite and not fuck things up. That was all the advice I’d been given.

“Well, can I buy the two of you a drink? Or drinks, rather?” I doubted they would be sharing.

Instead they just giggled a little at me. Cute girls laughing at me was nothing new though and after a few years it meant surprisingly little. Girls like this tended to laugh like that. It would be better for my sanity if I didn’t take it personally.

“I thought you were short on cash.” Miltia returned, hiding her smile behind a hand and failing. Probably intentionally.

“Short on cash for a pair of legs. Not for three drinks.” I lifted my glass to my lips. It was already empty and the glass clinked around in no liquid. “Make that four drinks. What’ll you two have?”

“A white russian,” Miltia said.

“A hurricane.”

I ordered for them and another whiskey for me. Then I slid the red drink to the girl in white and the white drink to the girl in red. I was sixty percent sure they were fucking with me. Somehow. And it was totally working. They were messing with my head completely and totally and probably for kicks.

But they took drinks from their cocktails with a familiarity that threw me off. Maybe they did drink these exact drinks a bit. I nursed my own, making sure to take it slower on my second glass of something straight.

The last thing Qrow and I needed was for me to be wasted.

"So where are you from?" Melanie pulled back from her red drink and bounced out the words. I hope she wasn't clumsy because that drink would stain like a nightmare on her white clothes.

"Vale. I, uh, I used to go to Beacon." I took my weapons off my back and set them on the stool to my left. The stool on my right was occupied by Miltia.

"We're from Vale too." Miltia said.

"Not really the biggest fans of Beacon students but we can make an exception."

"Lucky me." I slipped. "Well the 'ex-Beacon student' is kinda important anyways. I left that place behind after the attack."

"We left with the collapse as well." Melanie added.

"Decided it just wasn't safe enough." Miltia clarified.

"Makes sense. I was out of there in a hurry myself. How did you two get here then?"

"Airship." Miltia informed me.

"Our parents own several so we just flew." They were sisters, then.

"Must have been nice," I let myself grumble. The thought of my feet aching from walking ached.

"Sounds like there's a story to how you got here." Miltia pressed.

"I walked, rode horses, and took a train. Just extra steps comparatively. More monsters, you know?"

Melanie blinked. “You ride horses?”

“Well aren’t you a regular old fashioned knight.” She eyed me in my thick armor. She may be reading into my look and figuring some other things. They were all wrong but she was figuring some things.

"I had to learn on the way. It's not like that."

"Did Qrow Branwen teach you?"

"You two know Qrow?"

"We know about Qrow." Miltia corrected.

"Some hunters are famous like that."

"Him and his sister are both well known but there are others too."

"Winter Schnee, Glynda Goodwitch, General Ironwood." Melanie counted.

"Well Qrow didn't teach me that but I suppose he is mentoring me in other things."

"Like what?" Miltia asked.

"Like being a better fighter, I guess. He knows a lot about how to kill things, and not much else to be on the level with you." I reached the bottom of my drink and debated with myself before ordering another one. I was on the heavy side anyways, so it should be fine? "I really try not to take his advice on other things."

“You’re a heavy drinker.” Melanie watched me order more whiskey.

"Yeah. That's one of those things I really don't want to pick up from Qrow but it might be too late. I might have the sort of addictive personality that leans that way."

"You're not sure?"

"I'm really not the kind of guy that goes to bars much."

"You seem like a regular to bar or club life."

"Yeah. With the right haircut you could be a plain old ladykiller."

I blushed. "I don't think so..."

"Come on."

“I know, let us give you a makeover.”

"Nobody likes a good-looking guy with no confidence."

"Nobody likes a guy with the wrong kind of confidence either. Trust me on that one." I thought of Weiss. She really hadn’t been all that into me. Like at all. But hot girls not liking me was nothing new to my life. It was the rule and there were two redheaded exceptions. Weiss was… probably a friend? Now? I wasn’t really sure. I learned to dislike her a little as a self defense mechanism. And to be fair, while that was probably an unhealthy coping mechanism, it kept me slitting my wrists the short ways rather than the long ways. I sucked on my third drink. My vision was getting a little shaky and my lips and face a little looser. "Where did you girls train?"

"Train?"

"Get your huntswomen training, I mean."

"Huntswomen," Miltia giggled.

"I know he's so careful." Melanie laughed back.

"Listen, I have gotten my ass beat by so many women that it pays to jump through that kind of hoop. It just does."

"We don't have any formal training." Miltia returned to the previous question.

"We're from the mean streets of Vale."

"We're with the gang so…" Miltia finished.

"I see." I nodded along.

"You think it doesn't count?" Melanie prompted.

"It's probably more real than any training someone gets at like, Signal." I disagreed with her implication. "My real training came from after Beacon fell, in the wild. Hunting criminals and real Grimm instead of practice dummies or training partners."

"Plus whatever Branwen is teaching you."

"Eh." I managed. "The chair happened around the same time that I met him. Most of the training he has given me has been verbal rather than hands on. All-l, really-y." I slurred slightly.

"You seem perfectly capable anyways."

"Maybe gang life would suit you."

I watched Miltia trade drinks with Melanie. They took a pull from the others' drink in perfect synchronization. At my look she leaned over. "We don't mind sharing things." She winked.

"Uh huh." I managed stupidly. “So what kind of haircut should I get? Asking for a friend.”

“I don’t know.... What do you think Melanie?”

“Well he looks alright now but he could tame it even more. Slick it back and nice and short. Nothing to grab onto but it would be smooth.”

“Yeah, he’s sort of in between right now. Like go scruffy or comb it over. Pick one and commit.”

“Pick one and commit…?” I trailed.

‘Yeah. You’re scruffy-”

“But not full on scruffy. And you have the comb over-”

“But you didn’t commit to it. If you’d pick one and go with that one who knows what could follow.”

“No one likes a guy who’s indecisive.”

“Seems to me like you girls don’t like a lot of guys,” I cut in. “Indecisive, no confidence, wrong confidence. Boy, is there anything about me girls actually like. I’m honestly asking.”

“What should your angle be? You mean?” Miltia asked.

“Yeah? What cards do I play? I’m too nice for edgy and too honest for mysterious.”

“Well you’re tall and broad so you’ve got that going for you,” Melannie pointed out. “Everyone likes a huntsman. Who doesn’t like a huntsman?”

“Nobody.”

“Okay, I hear that. Let me ask you something. I met the most beautiful girl in the world when I was at Beacon. A smart, gorgeous huntress. Let’s say I was really trying to impress this girl and I tried everything I could think of. I tried singing. I tried asking her to the dance. I tried asking her alone and in groups and in and out of classes. I tried it all. Okay? I tried literally everything and the kitchen sink.”

“And nothing worked?” Melannie asked.

“Nothin’,” I said. “Nothin’ worked. Not a damn thing. I think she hated me.”

“Well it sounds like you were trying too hard. Nobody likes that.”

“And if you’re going to go honest you have to commit.”

“C-o-m-m-i-t,” Melanie hit the back of her hand into her palm with each letter. She spelled it out for me which was good because I’m fuckin’ stupid. “Honest is fine.”

“Honest is good, even. But if you’re dishonest in any way a smart girl will smell that from a mile away. You said she was smart right?”

“The smartest.”

“So what did you really do?”

“We can’t tell you unless you’re completely honest with us,” Melannie ordered.

“Real talk?” I asked. “I… I tried to fake my confidence… and most of my personality...”

“Yeah that’s not gonna work.”

“That’s not gonna work at all,” Miltia agreed. “You can't play the nice guy card and then try and fake it like that. A girl just knows.”

“A girl totally just knows. We would notice if you were faking it right now. It’s like a guy faking their orgasm. It’s not a thing.”

“It’s not like girls can really fake it either…” I pointed out. “It’s pretty obvious and world shaking when a girl finishes for real. And when you do it right she isn’t sure if she wants more or less. Can’t fake that. Come on.”

“He knows…” Melannie trailed.

“He’s onto our entire gender.”

“Who would have thought?”

“Scraggly, tall, and blonde has moves in the bedroom.”

“Please,” I waved off. “It’s so stupid easy to make girls come. It’s literally brain dead. If I can do it anybody can. The clitoris and G-spot are not hard to find. You can make a girl finish even when she is begging you not to.”

“Can you not with guys?” Miltia asked.

“Not a chance. It’s easy to get a guy into it but if he’s not completely into it you cannot get him off. Bet.”

“Is that a challenge?” Melannie wondered. “Are you challenging us?”

“Bet,” I repeated. I finished my drink.

"Are you done flirting." Qrow had rolled up on me without me noticing. No mean feat from the chair.

"I really wouldn't know flirting if it walked up and stabbed me in the front," I leveled against him.

"Well stop it. Come on. I worked out our favors from Lil' Miss Malachite." I said my valedictions, grabbed my tools, and wheeled him back over to the woman in charge.

"So what's the first favor?" I wondered.

"I need someone killed." She splayed her hands across the table. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"Well it depends on who it is, doesn't it."

"Does it?" She pressed me.

"Of course. It matters who it is to you too."

"Smart boy. It's a dust witch in a rival gang named Eminence Kramer. She’s been a thorn in my side for far too long and she has made it clear that she has to go."

"And the second favor?" I continued.

"I need information out of one Don Corneo." She took a long drag. "You decide the order. I don't particularly care. After that we'll get Qrow here a new set of legs and the surgery to boot."

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-WG

[overheardatthecontinental]

Part of the Endlessly collection that describes the endless possible meetings of Helen and John Wick. Can be read as a standalone.

When Helen realizes she'll have to drop out of med school after spending all her life's savings on her sick mother, she reaches a new level of desperate. With the help of her roommate, Helen creates an online account to get set up with a sugar daddy. Enter John Wick.

AKA the sugar baby! Helen / sugar daddy! John au that absolutely nobody asked for

Helen Kingston stared into the mirror. She was wearing enough makeup to hide the fact she hadn’t slept the night before and a little black dress she hadn’t touched since college. She had to admit, she didn’t look terrible. Even fifteen years later, the dress still clung to her curves and made her feel attractive.

But there were laugh lines around her eyes when she smiled and her skin didn’t look as tight as it had once been.

“Don’t men want younger women? Clear-skinned undergraduates or twenty-somethings with huge tits?”

“You’d be surprised .” Mac, her best friend had said after suggesting it. “It’s not about sex.”

Helen had snorted at that. It was always about sex.

“I’m serious! Some of these guys are just lonely. Some of them are gay and looking for a beard. And some just want to make it look like they have their lives together without actually having to have a relationship. ”

Helen wondered, not for the first time if this was not still a form of prostitution. Selling herself, her time and, for appearances' sake, her body.

But she was going to lose her apartment if she couldn’t pay rent. She would have to drop out of med school and go back to working full-time in a pharmacy. It had taken her years to save enough money to go to graduate school and all of it had been lost in the space of six months.

MacKenzie had interfered, as she so often did, insisting that she couldn’t handle three more years of med school without her friend.

Then Mac had said, “I know about this service. It pairs women with rich men and it pays ridiculously well. It’s how I managed to pay for undergrad.”

“I’m not going to fuck someone to stay in school. It isn’t worth it to me.”

Mac had rolled her eyes, “The fucking is optional. Most of the time, it’s not even on the table.”

She had continued to insist that she wasn’t interested until Mac pulled up the site and showed Helen the listings. “You get a grand for a single date, Hel.”

“Fuck me.” Helen had sat down at the computer, “ You’re kidding me?”

“Nope. And that’s just the initial meeting. Technically, you only get $900. The site gets a 10% commission off of whatever you make. And there’s no contract at the first meeting. If you don’t like the guy, you still get 9-hundos for two hours of your time.”

And for a woman who hadn’t had a full meal in weeks… that was ridiculously appealing.

So she let Mac set her up a profile and was shocked at the requests for meetings that came in.

“If I just took five initial meetings, I could make $4,500.”

“Possibly more, depending on the guy. I’m telling you, I had this regular guy in college who paid me extra for exclusive rights. I got two grand a week on top of money for individual dates.”

Helen exhales in the mirror. She looks as good as she is going to, she thinks, before grabbing her purse and slipping on her high heels shoes. Grabbing the keys to her POS car, she heads out.

It’s an hour drive into the city and to the restaurant he had picked.

His name was John.

There was no picture posted but his age was listed as early-forties.

If his description were honest, which she doubted, he had black medium length hair, brown eyes, and a beard. He selected ‘average’ for build and his height was listed at 6’1. His employment is listed as ‘contractor’, whatever the hell that meant.

He had sent her a polite request for a meeting.

Unlike so many of the other requests she had received, he did not wax poetic about her looks nor did he include any torrid ideas about what he wanted to do to her.

It was simple, respectful, and to the point. He proposed a time and a place and offered to send a car, which she declined. She still wasn’t sure that she trusted the service and, despite the cost of gas, she had just enough to get her there. And, once at the restaurant, $900 would be wired to her account.

She arrived early enough to park in a lot that stopped charging after six pm and Helen walked the rest of the way to the restaurant.

Maybe, she thinks as her anxiety builds with every step, that this was a bad idea.

Mac knew where she was so, hopefully, she wouldn't be murdered but...

Oh god… she could get murdered.

Well, at least that would take care of her debt.

She took her phone as she walked and shot off a text to Mac. "If I die, I'm haunting you."

She started to slip it back in her purse but it began ringing.

It's Mac.

"What?"

"You're not going to die."

"It's a possibility." The restaurant was in sight. "I'm strangely not that concerned. Either I die or I don't."

"That's the spirit."

"That said, if I end the night in someone's trunk, I blame you for getting me into this."

"Are you alive when you're put in this dude's trunk?"

"That's an interesting game you pose. Schroedinger's' Helen. Dead and alive in the trunk."

She heard a snort and glanced up. A man stood by the front of the restaurant with a smirk on his face.

He was tall and handsome and that smirk should be illegal. In a three-piece black suit, he looked like he just stepped off the cover of GQ.

"I don't get it."

"Well, I'm sorry it went over your head, but I assure you, I'm very funny."

The man's smirk transformed into a full grin and… fuck.

Helen looked away so as not to flush under his gaze. She reminded herself that she is there to meet someone who is paying very well for her time.

"You're really not." Mac told her but she barely listening.

Mister Tall-dark-and-handsome was making his way over.

"Helen Kingston?" He asked.

And...fuck.

"John?" She replied, hoping she was wrong. Hoping that the attractive man she just talked about being murdered and thrown into someone's trunk in front of is not the man she is going on a date with.

But he nodded and Helen decided she is, indeed, fucked.

"Ohmigod is that him?"

"If it would bring you and your friend comfort, I can assure you that you won't end up in my trunk."

Her goal to not flush in front of the attractive man was lost. Her face was red as she murmured a quick goodbye to Mac and stuffed her phone away.

"Hi," She said, lost and unsure of how to proceed.

He looked younger than his forties but it appeared as though he was mostly honest.

He had shoulder-length black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were brown and soft. In fact, the only argument she could think of was that he was anything but average. Even under layers, she could make out a trim and toned body.

This wasn't an ugly rich man who struggled to meet women.

Her first thought goes to beard. Is he hiding the fact he's gay and looking to keep his secret covered?

She can't think of another reason that he couldn't get a date. Unless he was a tremendous ass but her gut said that wasn't the case.

"Hello." He greeted back.

“Any chance you’d be willing to start over?” Helen asked hopefully.

“We could, but I think it would be a shame to not speak about Shrodinger’s Helen.”

Helen ran a hand through her hair. It was a fair blow but she still finds herself turning pink yet again.

John offered his arm, “Let me get you a drink.”

Helen takes it, “Yes. Please.”

They walk inside and John gives his name. Immediately, they are brought to a private corner of the dining room, far away from prying ears.

John held out the chair for her and Helen wondered if she wasn't in over her head with the kind of lifestyle that includes candlelit dinners and wine lists.

The waiter recited the specials and John ordered a bottle of wine which could not come fast enough.

Helen could still feel the burn in her cheeks as she glanced through the menu. She had never been to a restaurant before that didn’t include their prices next to the item in question. That, along with thorough descriptions of each item, made her think that the restaurant was far bougie-r than she had initially thought.

It was a good thing John was paying.

The waiter came back and poured them each a glass and she itched to down in a single gulp. But she didn’t, allowing the waiter to take their orders and leave before reaching for the glass.

Helen took a large sip and was aware that she was under the scrutiny of her date. He gazed at her with something akin to wonder or curiosity. It was far more intimidating than she had imagined, sitting at her computer.

“Relax.” John said, picking up his own wine glass, “You have the control here.”

Helen exhaled. Damn right.

“I think it’s obvious I haven’t done this before.”

“It’s okay. Neither have I.”

That surprised her. “Really?”

He nodded his head, once. “This is a first for me.”

“Can I ask… why now?”

“You can ask whatever you like. And to be honest, I don’t date. It’s never been a priority for me, but my work often requires attending social and formal events. I usually don’t mind attending alone but I’m getting tired of colleagues trying to set me up.”

And… it’s excessive to be sure, but practical. Helen knew she wasn’t in any place to judge but she had still been expecting someone… older, unattractive, and unpleasant.  

“So you’re looking for someone to attend events with?”

“More or less. Were you interested, I would want to spend some time and get to know you beforehand.”  

Again, practical.

What she did not understand was why he had reached out to her . There were plenty of other women on the site, Mac for instance, who had experience in that world. Mac knew how to waltz and curtsy and be proper. A practiced set of niceties that came from growing up with money.

Helen did not have those skills. Or any skills that seemed applicable to the world of wealthy men.

“I admit that I don’t have much experience with formalities.”

“I saw on your profile.” He said, appearing largely unaffected.

“Then why me? There are plenty of other women who specialize in that kind of world.”

“Anyone can figure out which fork to use. But not everyone has read Camus and Kierkegaard and Sartre. Not everyone can make jokes about being locked in a trunk and compare it to Shrodinger.”

Helen blinked, her lips twitching in a small grin, “You picked me because I like existentialism?”

“Because I thought that anyone who lists Camus as their favorite author would be able to hold a decent conversation.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s a guarantee.” Helen fired back. “Perhaps I’m just a narcissist. I am in med school, after all.”

John grinned widely, “Well, then, at least this will be interesting. What year are you in?”

“My second. Two and a half more to go before residency.”

“And what did you do before?”

“I was, and am, a pharmacy tech. It paid well and it gave me some medical experience while I saved for med school. Unfortunately, I ran into some financial issues and I really don’t have another ten years to save before I start over.”

John nodded, “May I ask about what happened?”

There was no reason, she decided, to not put everything out on the table. “My mother got sick just after I started med school. Cancer. I supported her the best I could but after paying for treatments out of pocket, I had blown through my savings within a couple months. Between that and school payments, I quickly ended up in over my head.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. It must have been very frightening to have your life altered so drastically, so quickly.”

“It was.” Helen agreed, “I’ve always known that anything can happen at any time but it was the first time I really felt my entire life slip from my control.”

“Is that how you ended up here?”

On the site. At the restaurant. Not a judgment, just an assessment.

“Yes. I’m a bit short on school payments and Mac, my roommate, suggested this as a solution.”

He nodded and Helen reached for her wine again.

Thankfully, John turned the subject to simpler things and she exhaled in relief. “Have you always wanted to be a doctor?”

“Yes. Ever since I was a kid, I knew I wanted to be a doctor.”

“Area of specialty?”

“Honestly, I’d like to work in a trauma ward or an emergency room.”

And for whatever reason, that made him smile. “Fast-paced.”

“I’ve waited a long time to make it to med school. I don’t want to waste any more time.” She offered a small smile in return, “What do you do?”

“I’m an independent contractor,” John told her.

“Doing what?”

“Whatever needs to be done.”

Helen inclined her head, “Are you always so elusive or is this just a first meeting kind of thing?”

“My work is… complicated,” John said, thoughtfully.

“Is that a polite way of saying illegal?”

His lips twitched and his eyes seemed to shine.

Helen flushed, "I'm sorry. That was inappropriate. Sometimes, when I'm sleep deprived, I don't think before I speak."

"That was delightful," John argued, "please don't feel like you need to hold back, however, you said you're sleep deprived?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "usually. Work, school, and homework tend to take more hours than there is time in the day. But don't think I haven't noticed that you still have not answered my question."

John continued to stare at her, assessing. And then, just when she thought he would elude her again, he answered with a simple, "Yes."

Helen gave him a nod but remained silent as the waiter returned with their salads.

"How do you feel about that?" John asked as the waiter left them in their private corner again.

"It requires less effort to condemn than to think.

And John grinned a full, true smile that made her heart skip a beat.

"Emma Goldman."

"I think I butchered her words, but I believe it just the same."

"Tell me, sweet Helen, are you an anarchist?"

It was unfair, she decided, the way he could make her cheeks burn.

"I am not sure I fully align with any political thought. I'll admit that anarchy has its merits, but laws have their place."

"Laws can be confining."

"They can but, since we have yet to find a system that works, majority rule is the best we have."

"Unless you take into account the collective stupidity of mankind, in which case, majority rule can be just as harmful as anything."

"But what would you have to replace it? Rules are necessary, a contract is required."

"Rules or consequences?" He seemed genuinely interested in her opinion and it completely threw her from the small talk she had anticipated.

By the time their dinner had arrived, Helen had forgotten that it wasn't a real date. That their meeting was not chance but an arrangement.

She was more than full after her meal, feeling as though she would burst. She ordered dessert only for the sake of lengthening their conversation, which stemmed from politics to philosophy to art.

John was… brilliant. Utterly brilliant and completely captivating and… not what she had planned for.

He walked her to her car, even though she warned him it was blocks away. He carried her leftovers in one hand while the other rested at her lower back.

Anyone who saw them might think they were an actual couple.

It made her heartstrings ache because… they weren't a couple. This wasn't a real date.

As if she had time for such luxuries.

All too soon, they reached her car and Helen put the leftovers in the front seat before turning back to John.

"I had a wonderful time with you tonight."

Helen swallowed, noting his proximity. "I had a great time too."

"And I would like to see you again. My only concern," John said after a moment, "is timing. You already have work, school, and obligations that come from your studies. I worry that time spent with me would be subtracted from your sleep."

Helen flushed and tried to not let the disappointment show on her face.

He was wonderful. Smart and funny and a perfect gentleman. Perhaps the most handsome man she had ever gone out with.

But she understood.

She came with too much baggage.

He needed someone with fewer commitments, someone better suited to his needs.

"I understand." She said, looking down. "Thank you for a lovely evening."

"I think you misunderstand," and John stepped closer and caught her chin in his hand and angled her face upward, his dark eyes staring into hers. "I have a proposal for you and I hope, in offering such, that I do not come across as if I'm trying to manipulate you or your life. You still hold all the cards and still have the opportunity to walk away if you desire."

It was hard to breathe with him so close. He smelled like whiskey and cologne and it made her salivate.

"What's your proposal?"

God, he stood so close to her now.

“I know that my situation is less than ideal. What I do,” which he still had not told her, “is highly illegal. Many of my associates are criminals, even if they are widely respected. Between the time constraints and the subpar company, I know I ask a lot. In return, I would like you to consider allowing me to play for the rest of your schooling.”

Her lips parted in shock.

“And expenses. So you don’t have to work instead of sleep.”

Her head felt light because… this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

She feels his cool hand touch jaw before cupping her cheek.

“I know it’s a lot to consider.” John says softly, “And I don’t want you to answer now. I want you to think about it. If possible, sleep on it.”

Her lips twitch in a smile.

“I would like to kiss you.”

Fuck. Me. She thinks and then nods, “Then you should kiss me.”

John bends down, obliging her, and presses his lips to hers.

And she can’t describe it. It’s not fireworks because that would be too distracting. Music doesn’t start playing somewhere in the background but it doesn’t need to.

His mouth is warm and soft and… claiming. God, it feels like she is being branded by his lips.

And her heart is racing as if it suddenly understands why kissing other people had never felt right. Because this was right. Kissing John was right.

All too soon, it’s over. And when her eyes open, they are staring into his.

She thinks although she isn’t sure, that he doesn’t want to leave it at this either. But he moves back slightly.

“You know how to reach me,” John says, pressing a final kiss to her forehead. “Drive safe, sweet Helen.”

And he walks away, heading back down the street towards the restaurant.

Her hand rises and she brushes her lips with her fingers.

She is in far over her head.

[esonetwork]

No One Wants to Read Your Crappy Book

New Post has been published on https://esonetwork.com/no-one-wants-to-read-your-crappy-book/

No One Wants to Read Your Crappy Book

Hey, M. D. Jackson here. I’ll be back next month with more art related content. This month I’m giving over my post to my good friend Jack Mackenzie. Jack’s an author and he’s going to talk to you about writing.

Hey. Get in. We’re going for a ride.

No, don’t worry. We’re not going far. I’ll have you back before dinner.

So, I hear you’re writing a book? What’s it about? No, wait… don’t tell me… No. Really. Don’t tell me. Don’t care. I got my own books to write.

What I want to do is give you some straight talk about writing a book in this day and age. You’re probably not going to like it but you need to know it.

The first thing that you have to know is that no one wants to read your crappy book.

Mean? You think I’m being mean? I’m trying to help you. Sit back and listen for a minute, will you?

First off, here are the cold hard facts. It’s estimated that fewer than 1000 fiction writers in North America make a living from their writing. And I’m being generous at 1000. I’ve read some estimates that put that number at only 300. That’s out of around 45,000 writers and authors working in the United States alone. That’s .6 percent… not six percent but POINT six percent… less than 1 percent… of all writers.

Ahh, what the heck! I’m feeling generous. If the number actually is 1000 writers making a living at writing, that’s 2%.

Well, Okay, you have a better chance of making a living as a writer than winning the lottery or getting struck by lightning, true, but, those are still some slim odds.

Yes, I know, there was a time when writers who churned out short novels on a regular basis could make a living Not a great living, to be sure, and, yes, they would occasionally have to churn out some cheap porn novels under a pseudonym to make ends meet.

You think I’m joking? Have you ever heard of Loren Beauchamp? She was the author of such sleazy paperbacks as Campus Sex Club, Unwilling Sinner, and Strange Delights. She was also the pseudonym of science fiction author Robert Silverberg. I kid you not! Look it up.

My point is that it has never been easy making a living as a writer. Few authors could do it, even in the so called “Golden Age” of the paperbacks after the death of the pulp magazines. They needed day jobs or, like Mr. Silverberg, they needed to wear a mask and turn to the dark side.

How did this situation come about? Let me digress for a bit.

Back in the 1960’s the typical science fiction novel ran to about 60,000 words. These were slim volumes of about 130 to 150 pages. Mass market paperbacks in the US were sold mostly at grocery stores or neighbourhood pharmacies. They were displayed in wire racks that rotated. That’s where the thinner books were more desirable. The thinner the book, the more you could stack. You used to be able to fit about six paperbacks in a three inch rack.

So what happened? Why did these compact volumes grow to such monstrous size?

There are a few reasons, but chiefly it comes down to inflation. In the 70’s and 80’s the price of just about everything rose. That included paper and printing costs. Publishers found that they needed to increase the prices of their books to compensate.

But according to grocery store logic if you want to charge more for a product then it has to weigh more. You can’t just start using bigger typeface or thicker paper to do that so you start looking for longer novels.

And there was also this massively big book that came out in paperback, a little story about elves and stuff, called The Lord of the Rings. At 473,000 words it was a massive book that had to be broken down into three parts. But, oddly enough, that little book sold an amazing number of copies.

So, given that consumers would buy longer books and pay more for them if they were thicker, well, the writing was on the wall and there was a whole lot of it.

At the same time distribution channels dried up. The wire racks were gone. Publishers were charging more and more for thicker books, but the places that were left to sell these books couldn’t sell massive hardbacks unless they were bestsellers. Those pesky midlist volumes weren’t moving off the shelves fast enough. Stop sending us midlist books, the big bookstores told the publishers. Only send us bestsellers.

What’s that? Oh… you plan to self publish? Ahh, well, that’s different, then.

You see, according to a survey by Guardian in 2015, the average self-published author makes less than $1,000 per year. In fact, a third of them make less than $500 per year. And there’s over a million self published authors with more joining the ranks all the time.

I know, I know, I read those stories all the time too, about how a self published author sold a million copies of his book and got rich. I also see lots of stories on the news about the guys who won big on the lottery, or got struck by lightning. The fact is that most people, the vast majority of the population… don’t.

Think of it like this: You’re at a concert… an open-air, rock festival-type concert… You’re on the ground several meters distant from the stage. The stage is 100 feet high and the approach to it slopes up. 1000 people are standing on the slope. The headliners… say, Stephen King, J. K. Rowling, James Patterson and Neil Gaiman… are 100 feet in the air.

You’re on the flat ground. You’re trying to get closer to the stage. But you just can’t seem to push past all the others surrounding you… and there are a lot! They’re all waving their books in the air. Occasionally some author with a toothy grin and the right connections blows past you. Or one of the concert promoters escorts a cute red-head to the front simply because she’s a cute red-head.

You’ve been on the ground, pounding away at the ground for years on end and these fortunate few keep slipping by you and the grounds just keep getting more and more crowded.

That’s what the publishing industry is today for most authors.

So what does that mean for you and your book? Well, like I said, no one wants to read your crappy book. But… you can change that. Or at least make it more likely that someone will want to read it.

Here’s the thing: don’t focus on the stage 100 feet in the air. Focus on those around you. Be interested in their work. Talk to them. Make friends. Don’t moan and whine that you haven’t sold any of your books. Talk about your books if others are interested. If they’re not (and believe me, most people aren’t) talk about something else. What do you like? Comic books? Movies? Stamp collecting? Cookie recipes. Talk about that. Be genuine. Be present.

Have a website. Have a Twitter feed. Have a Facebook page. Talk about things you are interested in. People will find you. If this seems like a waste of time, just remember that those 1000 writers up there near the stage? They’re doing it too. So is Steve, J.K, James and Neil. They’re always out there, always talking. People like them. They like them and they read their books.

No one cares about your book. But if you are out there online or (post Covid, of course) in person at conventions or other gatherings… heck, even house parties… just be yourself. Be the best version of yourself. Be friendly. Be interested in others. If people like you they might read your book.

Look… maybe your book will resonate with a lot of people. Maybe some weird confluence of events will thrust you into the spotlight. Strange things happen. But you can’t control that. The only thing you can control is yourself. Be yourself. Be the best version of yourself. Don’t brood. Don’t moan. Don’t whine.

That’s all I got for you. I’m sorry it’s not more encouraging, but that’s life, right? And, hey! Look. This is where we started. I told you I’d have you back in time for dinner.

Take care now. Good luck with your book. Honestly. You seem like a nice person. I’m rooting for you.

jackmackenziewriter.wordpress.com

[pulpwriterx]

THE ONCE AND FUTURE PRINCE (Part 1)

For Reylo Week 2020. Day 6, Past, Present and Future. 

Kylo Ren is dead. But Ben Solo is in solitary confinement in a bunker built just to hold him, about to go on trial for Lord Ren’s crimes. Half the Galaxy thinks it’s an injustice to try Ben for a dead man’s crimes, but the other half wants to see Kylo Ren hang from the highest gallows. Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa have both returned with Ben from the World Between Worlds. Luke and Rey are on one side, Leia is on the other. As Ben’s trial approaches, he ponders the past, tries to endure the present and hopes there will be a future for him in spite of Kylo Ren.’

This takes place in the same AU as “The Most Dangerous Game” and is a continuation of that story. 

Ben Solo finished his push-ups, and his sit-ups, and he drank some water before doing his chin ups.’

He stretched, and did isometric exercises against the walls and then he sat on his cot.

It wasn’t that bad, really.

There were no chains, just the stun collar. And his cell, made of concrete and steel stood alone in an open concrete desert bordered by a vast green forest, in a perimeter of barbed wire and electric fences.

There was a little slot in the top that he could look through, if he stood on his cot, and a locked slot in the metal door, to shove his food through.

He liked to stand on his cot, and look through the slot, at the jailer's cottage, beyond the concrete desert, at the edge of the wood.

He also was allowed an hour of exercise outside, and every other day, the jailer would march him to the refresher stall at the other end of the perimeter, so he could keep clean.

He was not permitted a razor, so he kept his beard braided, in a long, thin braid that now reached just past his collarbone.

It wasn’t that bad, really.

When he was kept in a cell during his Sith training, he was always naked, there was no cot or pillow or sleeping bag or blankets, and the lights were always on.

There was only a toilet.

Also his wrists and ankles were manacled together and there was only thin soup and bread once a day.

In this cell, he got to wear shorts.

He had a berth to sleep on, and a desk, and he got three meals a day and books to read.

The jailer put the lights on at 9, and turned them off at midnight.

When he was in Sith training, Ben lived in a malnourished, fluorescent-lit, oatmeal-colored naked Hell of fear.

This was a whole different kind of Hell.

One that might last the rest of his life.

He hoped to either be set free, or sentenced to death.

Then again?

It wasn’t that bad, really.

Ben screamed, he roared and rushed the wall.

The collar stunned him, and he fell, unconscious, on the floor.

***

In the jailer’s cottage, a red light went off.

The jailer was not afraid of his prisoner, he felt bad for the man, for the conditions he was held under.

The red light nominally meant escape, but all it meant under current conditions was that Captain Solo had made a run at the wall so the collar would stun him, and he could have a little slice of oblivion.

He unlocked the cell and found his prisoner on the floor, unconscious and twitching, and he revived him.

“Ben? Ben, can you hear me?”

His heels were still drumming on the floor, so Commander Antilles administered the hypo.

Captain Solo returned to consciousness with a groan.

The Republic Air Command, which supported him, had promoted him from Lieutenant after the Battle of Exegol.

“Ben, you shouldn’t do that to yourself.”

“Oh, shit! The collar made me piss myself, again. I’m sorry about the mess, Commander Antilles. I’ll  clean it up.”

“You probably can’t even stand, yet I brought the mop. It’s just pee. It wipes up. But you have to stop activating the stun collar. It’s not good for your body. It might kill you.”

“When, Wedge? When?”

***

“What happened? Did he try to escape, again?”

“Leia, I can’t do this. I remember when me and Luke used to take him to the park to fly his model X-Wing! You should come here, and shove his meals in a slot in a Beskar steel and concrete door! Talk to him through a tiny slot in the wall of the bunker you put him in, while he stands on a chair! You should have to run in and revive him after he runs, screaming at the wall so the collar stuns him! Find Ben lying there, twitching, in a puddle of pee!”

“Wedge, do you think I want to keep Ben confined like this? He broke out of four jails and put 15 men in the hospital! One of our Generals told me, regretfully, that we should just have him put down! Put down! Like a sick old tooka cat! He did this to himself! This is the very best I can do for Ben, right now!”

“I know. But it’s not easy.”

“Sometimes, Wedge? I’d like to just land at night in the Falcon, and say goodbye to him and tell him to listen to Chewie and be good to Rey and talk to me once in awhile and let him go.”

“He just got a letter from Rey. And one from Luke. I’ll take it to him, and slip it under the door with his dinner. See if you can get him some visits with her. Or maybe just get the regulations relaxed so that I can bring him his meals in person.”

“We’ll see.”

*** Dear Ben,

I’m back on Tattoine again. I’m in Anchorhead, to give another rousing speech for the Justice For Ben Solo movement. I’d say public opinion is about 60-40 at this point. The good news is, 60 in your favor. The bad news is, the other 40 percent still want to see you hang from the highest tree. I just about have the Tribunal ready to let you wear clothes, so I’ve sent you a box of coveralls. Republic regulation overalls that say “Captain Solo” on them, just to remind people of who you really are. And you hated it when I made you finish at the Republic Academy; even if I did try and cut your head off, Crazy Old Uncle Luke was right, sometimes. I’m still behind you a hundred percent, Ben, and so is your Uncle Chewie. He sent you a tin of Wookiee cookies. Also in the package is a rug for your floor that Rey made from the rags of old Resistance uniforms that Leia wanted to throw out. Wedge told me that you’re beginning to despair. There’s no reason for despair, Ben. I’m sure I was sent back from the World Between Worlds for your sake, and you were not sent back to rot in a cell for the rest of your life. Even if you are sentenced to life, or a long term, I will never stop fighting for you, and against the injustice that you should be punished for a dead man’s crimes. I have convinced the Tribunal to let you appear at your hearing from your cell, but I’m hoping it won’t be the prison that you are in.

Stay strong, Ben. May the Force Be With You Crazy Uncle Luke.

***

Dear Ben, Chewie and I just got your new pilot’s pants with the red Corellian bloodstripe down the leg, and a certificate from Han’s home planet that they were awarded to you by the Corellian Parliament. Hopefully, you can wear them at your trial. Commander Antillies said he didn’t care if it was against regulations, he’s letting you have the rug that I made you. I used my old arm wraps to make the pattern so that you would have something of me in your cell. I’m on D’Qar, still, and I’d say it’s about 70-30 for you, here, and the 30 percent who think you should go to prison aren’t for a life sentence. The Resistance understands what you sacrificed, and what you did for us. By all your savage gods, Ben, I miss you so much. I used to be ashamed of what we almost did in Snoke’s Throne Room, and I always felt guilty that you and I would meet at the Skywalker Farm, but now I’m glad we did. Do you remember , during my training, when you told me that in a totalitarian state, sex is an act of rebellion and love is revolution? I never knew what you were talking about until they carried you out of the Infirmary on a stretcher to throw you in jail. I’m proud that we were lovers. I wish we could be, again, and not for political reasons. I’m so lonely for you, Ben. I’m still sleeping in your tunic from the Battle of Exegol; I’ve had to wash it, but it still smells faintly like you, and I snuggle it close to my body at night, wishing I could snuggle up close to you. I even miss the fights that we used to have through our bond; I keep trying to find a way to reach you through the Force-disrupting field they have around you. I suppose I should write something really dirty to you, like the things I get embarrassed about that I yell while you make love to me, but I can’t think of things like that unless I’m in the moment with you. Chewie and I have decided, if you get life, or anything more than 5 to ten years with a chance for parole? We’re breaking you out of jail and going on the run. Nobody on Tattoine or Arkanis will ever give you up; and like you always tell me? You’re a Skywalker, the stars belong to you. Don’t forget that, Ben. Or that I love you so much. 

All my love, Little Rebel Girl.

On-board the Finalizer; Supreme Leader Kylo Ren’s Flagship

It was a short walk to Lord Ren’s private exercise room, but they ran into General Pryde along the way.

He and Ben had a brief exchange and then they were on their way.

Rey waited until Ben had activated all the security locks.

“Is this private?”

“Yes. Ask your question.”

“Why does General Pryde make my skin crawl.”

“Because he’s an evil man. The only reason I have let him live is because I want him to live just long enough to see me destroy his life’s work.”

“That’s cruel, Ben. And you let him think that he’s, well, like a mentor to you. And you’re not a cruel man. Why?”

“Because he’s the most evil man I have ever known. General Pryde was the Chief Officer in charge of Snoke’s Detention block on his ship. He also organized the training for Force-sensitive First Order officers. Better known as Sith Training. It was more like torture. He had the trainees locked up in worse conditions than the prisoners. He made us fight to the death. His trainers were all former Imperial officers who were entirely depraved men. These are men who were in the detention blocks of Star Destroyers scheduled for execution by my grandfather when they were rescued by the end of the war. Pryde was one of them. They enjoyed subjecting us to beatings. Torture. Humiliation. Some of my fellow trainees, men and women, were systematically raped, to break their spirits.”

Rey was shocked.

She remembered General Organa-Solo telling her that even the people who were confederatesof the Sith and the Dark Side were drawn to its evil, because they were themselves evil.

But she hadn’t thought in terms of rapists.

Or sadists.

Or killers.

“That policy ended with me. Now that I am Supreme Leader, there is no torture. No corporal punishment. Rape, by anyone, in any form, on anyone else? On this ship, or off? It’s a capital crime. Off with your head. Execution by lightsaber.” Ben stood up, and ignited his weapon.

“This lightsaber. Alright, Rey.  Enough talk. Let’s pick up where we left off the last time.”

“You mean, in the woods?”

“I do. I owe you a dueling scar. But I won’t put it on your face. Maybe on your shoulder.”

Rey jumped back.

“Wait! Don’t we wear blast vests, or something?”

“No. What’s that going to teach you? No more talk. Defend yourself.”

Ben swung at her and Rey blocked him.

He saw the fear in her face change to anger and resolve.

Too much anger.

“Do you know why you beat me, in the woods, and gave me this scar, Rebel Girl?”

“Because I’m good.” Rey snarled.

Rey battled him back, as easily as she had before.

“Yes. You have balls, and some skill. And you are strong in the Force.”

They were at crossed sabers, but when Rey raised a fist to knock Kylo away, he blocked her punch, made some fast move to get away from her, swung around, kicked the lightsaber out of her hand and stopped his swing less than an inch away from her throat.

Fear returned to her eyes, but also a stubborn defiance.

“But you won because I didn’t expect you to have any skill. And because I was tired, angry, and emotionally desolate over what Snoke made me do. But I’ve won fights in worse shape, and with better opponents. You won because I didn’t want to hurt you. No one else you cross sabers with will have any such compunctions.”

Rey’s breath was short.

She could feel the heat of his lightsaber on her throat, but she refused to ask him to move away, or retract his blade.

Ben sensed mortal terror instinctively rising in Rey, and her struggle to keep it at bay.

That was too much.

He shut his lightsaber down.

She was trying not to shake with relief.

“Breathe, Rey. Breathe deeply. Listen to the sound of your teacher’s voice, and understand that I mean you no harm. Search your feelings. You know that what I am saying is true. This was a lesson. To teach you about just how much you do not know. And to show you that you’ll pay a high price for anger and arrogance, in combat. But you were never in danger. During some of our lessons, you may feel like you are in danger. But you’re not. And it’s not just because you are precious to me and I would never hurt you. I have absolute control over my lightsaber. It’s like an extension of my body. My lightsaber is my arm, my shield, my flesh made fire. I use it to create what I wish and destroy what I will. I want you to sit in this room, in the dark, with your lightsaber ignited in front of you. Do this until I return, and meditate on that concept. Remember my words.”

Rey meditated on Ben’s words, the concept he was teaching her, and on her own actions.

She eventually called to mind the image of Ben striking down General Pryde, amid fire and explosions ten times what she had seen on Snoke’s ship.

And she called to mind him at crossed sabers with her, telling her that she needed a teacher, when he could have effortlessly stuffed out her life.

She thought about him lying in the snow, wounded and bleeding.

He could have called his lightsaber to his hand and struck her down.

But he stayed his hand.

One man.

One lightsaber.

Two sets of actions.

One Light, and one Dark.

And the struggle, in the dark, with her lightsaber in front of her, to find the balance of the two within herself.

She was beginning to understand.

***

In that first week, Ben taught her the basics of swordsmanship, and after their practice, she did her lightsaber meditation for an hour.

She was surprised at the subject matter for the second week.

Fighting, and target shooting with a blaster.

Rey had thought herself pretty good with both, and she was better than at the lightsaber, but Ben, of course, beat her, effortlessly.

Then he explained to her why she had lost, how he had beaten her, and taught her a targeting meditation and an anger meditation.

You never win a fight, he explained, when you lash out in anger, and even in a fire-fight, you always have time to carefully draw, take aim, and fire.

“If I taught the troopers to shoot, instead of instructors like Mad Dog Hux? They’d be a lot better at it.”

The rest of the week he showed her how to fight and how to shoot.

Rey thought she saw a pattern in Ben’s training until he had them both dropped off in the wastes of Tattoine, with him dressed only in a pair of short exercise shorts, and her in a pair of those and an exercise breastband.

That, and desert boots.

They had no sun protection, no hats, and one canteen between them.

The midday suns blazed overhead, already roasting them.

“This is crazy! We’ll die out here.”

“No, we won’t. You’re a desert rat, and this is my Uncle’s home planet. My father’s business was based on this planet. We’ve both used to the desert. And there’s a moisture farm about ten miles from here. All we have to do is get there alive.”

“And we have no sun protection.”

“No.”

Rey took the shorts off, and squatted on the ground to make some mud.

She put her shorts back on and started slathering the mud on her exposed skin.

“This is really going to be a nasty, stinky day.”

Her teacher actually laughed as he pissed in the sand.

“Could be worse. We could be so dry that we had to look for a pool of Bantha pee. That really stinks.”

*** This test, of course, was about endurance, Rey thought.

But, when they finally made it to the moisture farm, Rey wanted to scream.

The place was clearly abandoned, and it looked like it had been for at least ten years.

Rey hardly noticed that other than windblown sand, the courtyard was clean.

Ben pressed his thumb against where there should have been a lock on the doorknob of the blighted main door, and then he turned it.

“We’re home.” He told her.

Rey walked into a beautiful place, all in browns and greens and cream.

It was cool, and smelled fresh, and as she walked from room to room, lights came on.

You couldn’t even hear the cooling unit working.

And it was very comfortable in the rooms; Ben must have started it from the ship, before they got off.

Unlike Ben’s rooms on the Star Destroyer, this place looked like somebody lived here.

“Rey?”

Ben was still in the doorway.

“This place is beautiful? Is this your home?”

“Yes. The old family homestead. You’re getting pee mud, everywhere.”

“Oh gods, Ben, I’m sorry!”

“It’s OK. I’ll have BB-9E clean it up. He must be around here, somewhere, because the cooling unit is on. There’s a hose behind the shed out back. We’ll get hosed down, and come back and take a long bath. Then you can look around.”

Ben looked around the door.

“Niner? Where are you?”

Rey heard an angry bleep.

“I’m sorry for him, in advance. I built him from junk when I was a teenager, and Artoo helped me repurpose a partly fried personality chip. Niner’s like me. He has moods.”

“Is this the same droid that ratted BB-8 out?”

“Niner didn’t know you, then. He’s my droid, Rey. Why wouldn’t he be loyal to me. Well, mostly. NINER!”

The black and silver astromech droid rolled over to Rey, bleeped, rolled away, and she heard rummaging from the kitchen.

He rolled back, and his head twirled around, and he opened one of his ports and a little hose came out.

He started squirting water all over Rey, and the floor.

“Niner! Stop! Don’t you squirt water on me, I’ll take out your cleaning circuit. I meant to clean the floor.”

Niner chirped, excitedly.

“Yes, I know we are both also a mess. Just clean the floor. Come on, Rey. He’s like a big, stupid dog. He pissed on you because he was excited to meet you.”

It sounded like Niner was bleeping an obscene retort at Ben as they went back outside.

***

It was, of course, the old Lars-Skywalker Farm, and it was Ben’s home.

The neighbors knew him as Ben Skywalker, a starpilot, and the grandson of Ani Skywalker, local lad made good, who was also a starpilot.

In the tunnels beneath the house, in the tanks where the Lars family had stored water, only one tank had Ben’s water supply.

The rest were filled with money, supplies, and a smuggler’s bounty.

He even had one tank that was a walk-in freezer, full of meat and frozen food.

One of the other locked tanks was a locked vault.

“That’s where I keep my money. I could hide out here for five years, if I needed to. Maybe more. The door is also coded for your fingerprint. This is your home now, too, Rey. I’m sorry I didn’t carry you over the threshold, but you smelled like piss.”

Rey laughed.

“Ben, you can’t. I’ve done nothing to deserve this?”

“You gave me a month to show you that I am not a monster. To begin your training. You know. Among other things.”

Rey felt herself blushing.

“You’re so cute when you pretend to be a prude. But I know better, don’t I? We’ll get to the tour of the bedroom, don’t you worry. And before you ask? All the plates and cups and utensils and so on are made of wood or stone because I’m a wild man. When I get angry, or when I brood and I feel said and that makes me angry? I love to throw things. And there’s only a mirror in the bedroom and the bathroom because I’m also a mirror puncher. They’re made of unbreakable glass. So are the windows. Because I also like to punch windows, and throw things through them. And this is the bedroom. Just like on the ship, this door leads to your bedroom. Only your fingerprint locks and unlocks it. If I’m having an episode, just lock yourself in this room and wait.”

“Is that why you have extra furniture in your stash.”

“Yes. But if you hear me in here, breaking things? Or in my office?  Set your blaster to stun and shoot me. I’m not kidding. I never trash my office or my bedroom, but I can’t afford to destroy things, in here. And when I go into Wild Man mode? I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Ben also explained to her that if he was in Brooding Mystic Spoiled Brat mode, she should let him alone to brood in his office.

Or outside.

Unless she wanted to participate.

That was usually the mood accompanied by a whole jug of Huttese whiskey.

“Do you have other moods?”

“Yeah. My usual normal. Weird Cocky Goofy Idiot. And your favorite. Sexual Death Star.”

“I wouldn’t say you were normally a weird cocky goofy idiot. You’re so mean to yourself.”

“No. Just honest. It’s been a long day. I think I’d like to lie down and take a long nap? You can retire to your room, or you can try out my bed.”

“I’m tired, Ben. I’ve been walking in the desert all day. And if you think that all you have to do to get me interested, after the day you’ve put me through is lie there, naked, on your bed and look at me like that? You’re absolutely right. I am going to make you pay, you Sith bastard, for that desert march!”

“Talk is cheap, Rebel Girl.”

*** They stayed at the Skywalker Farm for the next two weeks, and then Ben returned Rey to Ahch-To.

Master Luke was waiting for them.

Ben was lugging a large crate with him.

“What’s that, Benjamin?”

Ben pointed his finger in his Uncle’s face.

“Don’t call me Benjamin! You’re a crazy old man, and I feel sorry for you, that’s what! So there’s a Wilderness Survival Pod in here for you along with the Wilderness Survival Tent for Rey. And also?”

He made another trip back to Darth Vader’s TIE Fighter, and returned with a small black canvas bag, with mesh panels on the end.

“My tooka had kittens. You shouldn’t be alone out here.”

Ben carefully handed his shocked Uncle the canvas bag.

“Bye Bye, little Ani. I want you to look after Crazy Old Skywalker. He needs a friend.”

“If he can’t take care of that kitten, Rey, you take Ani back to the base with you.”

“I will, Ben. Try not to get killed before I see you, again.”

“Hey, I killed Snoke, right? How hard can killing all his minions and toadies be? It’s not like I don’t know how the Sith operate.”

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren got into his TIE Fighter and flew away.

Rey turned to Master Luke, who had taken the little kitten out of the little carrier.

“He has a tiny little collar with his name on it. And his claws have been clipped.”

“Ben’s cat just had ten kittens. His and Hux’s quarters are full of tookas. I don’t think he has time to take care of them all, or room for them, so he has to give some of them away. It’s very sad.”

That was not what Luke meant.

He cradled the little cat, and Rey finally saw him smile.

“You know what this little fuzzball is, Rey? Hope. Let’s open these crates and put these tents together, and get this little guy back in his carrier, until we figure this out.”