#which has hot wired her flight or fight response

[mercutiotakethewheel]

Kendra, inwardly: Omg I am so scared right now. I’m going to die here. This freakyass magical creatures about to do me in. And could do so easily, which I am imagining very vividly right now. Those are huge teeth. I am fighting god to hold it together right now. I don’t want to die. Why am I here? Just to suffer, every night I close my eyes and—

Kendra, outwardly: I cast vicious mockery.

[living-for-fiction]

Had to forcibly take myself off Twitter for the night because I keep seeing the most rancid takes about this woman who posted about being bisexual and heteroromantic. Just all the war flashbacks to ace discourse (you know, just the exact same bullshit ppl would throw at aces and aros, reskinned to apply more specifically to this woman's personal split attraction). Like JFC. If "I'm sexually attracted to and have sex with women, but I am only romantically interested in men" reads as "I view women as sex objects and treat them as sex toys" well, that's a you problem. I've said it a billion fucking times, but if the only thing keeping you from treating people you're sexually attracted to as sex objects is your romantic interest in them, that's a you problem. This woman said NOTHING about treating women as sex objects. Nothing to indicate that she doesn't value women as people, have friendships with other women, etc. So many fucking flashbacks to the neverending accusations that aros are sexual predators, aros just use people for sex, aros lead people on to get sex, etc. etc. etc. it's the exact same rhetoric reskinned to attack other users of the split attraction model. Oh sure there were a few cutesy little "this isn't about aromantics" comments thrown in on a few of those takes, but it's the same rhetoric, y'all accused us of the same horrendous attitudes you're ascribing to this women based on no information other than her sexual and romantic orientations, and there is absolutely no functional difference when your problem with her is that she's sexually, but not romantically, interested in women.

Ace/aro discourse has died down enough that it's been a hot minute since I've seen that rhetoric. I forgot how hard it hits and hor badly it affects me. I'm still in fight or flight mode hours later. I called L to talk about it and tried to calm down; but she never actually saw the ace discourse shit when it was happening (she runs in different online spaces) so she really only knows about it through me, so I had to give kind of a rundown about what exactly I saw that was triggering and why it was triggering. Not that I had to explain why the rhetoric itself was triggering - she thinks it's the stupidest fucking thing to try to kick aces, aros, and other people who use the SAM out of the community and it doesn't make any sense to her why we WOULDN'T be considered queer - but having to explain the specific shit people have been saying about this women, and how the rhetoric lines up exactly with the shit I used to see people saying about aros literally every day... Talking to her still helped, but it was also rough to have to explain. Because for people who weren't exposed to bullshit exclusionist rhetoric, it's the STUPIDEST fucking thing in the world, how could anyone possibly think that? So I also kind of had to explain how people came to exclusionist conclusions, which was its own kind of twist of the knife. (Not her fault, of course.)

So yeah, that's been... fun. I was winding down to sleep when I ran across this, and that was a few hours ago. Now I'm still wired, heart is racing, feel sick, can't concentrate... fuck, how did I live like this for a solid 4 years? This wasn't even directed at ME. But the rhetoric is the same. The arguments use the same framework, reskinned. I know absolutely nothing about this woman other than the one thread she posted. Hell,, she personally actually COULD be someone who uses women for sex and views them as sex objects because she's not romantically attracted to them! I wouldn't know! Somehow I doubt it, but I suppose it's technically possible! But that sort of broad-brush rhetoric catches every single person who uses the split attraction model, and fuck, it's been a while since I've been triggered this badly. Scaring the shit out of my dog, who's picking up on my emotions and tried to turn herself into a weighted blanket in response, because she is a very good girl and she can tell how rattled I am. Girlfriend is very worried about me because she knows how much this shit destroyed my mental health the first time, even though she didn't know me back then.

So yeah. What a fucking night.

[volturialice]

whumptober continues

ok so I missed a few days but we’re back bitches

no 5. where do you think you’re going?

On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

1,197 words

warnings: none. oops

rating: K

notes: had to live up to my url sometime. disclaimers: very unedited and I don’t speak italian

no. 5: fuori dalla città

There’s a flight out of Florence at 16:10, and she has to be on it, no matter what. Firenze to JFK, JFK to Philadelphia, and then it will be a simple matter to finally, finally find him.

For the first time in her life (that she can remember), Alice packs light. Nothing too flashy; she needs to blend in with the humans when she can. She allows herself the slightest indulgence with the Carolina Herrera dress—she has to look good when she actually meets him, after all.

Her jet-black cloak she leaves behind. Strange, how naked she feels without its familiar weight on her shoulders. (Or perhaps not strange at all. She silences the paranoid corner of her mind that insists it’s Chelsea’s influence at work.)

Bag packed, she waits in the corridor. There’ll be a three-minute window when Felix leaves to check the aboveground post office box—plenty of time to make it to the lobby and feed Gianna some excuse. Alice runs through a few decisions, testing to see which choice will raise the least suspicion. Master wants me out of the way today. Oh, something about keeping Jane happy, you know how she gets. I’ll meet Felix up topside for patrol.

None of her options are exactly solid, but she’s running out of time. Of necessity, Alice’s flight from Volterra could never have been premeditated—not when her thoughts are not her own. Today may be the only chance she’ll ever get.

She seizes it. The second Felix leaves, she’s off like a bat out of hell—which, as metaphors go, is a bit too literal for comfort.

Her heels make barely a click on the marble floor—that won’t do. Too suspicious. She wills herself to walk normally, like she would on any other day. To make pleasant, unhurried small talk with Gianna, like she goes on patrol with the ungifted gray-cloaks all the time. Gianna, who has never once seen her apart from her master’s side (when was the last time he allowed Alice to go anywhere? The rogue newborn incident of ’92, probably.)

If she had a pulse, it would be roaring in her ears as she steps into the elevator. Such a maddeningly slow, human contraption! Get used to it, Alice orders herself. If this works, you’ll have to play human all the time.

She holds her breath until she reaches the city wall, like a child walking past a graveyard. Another uncomfortable metaphor, considering the mass grave somewhere far beneath her feet. She adjusts her sunglasses, flipping through her visions to confirm that yes, the contacts she’s stolen from Heidi will last long enough to get her dark maroon eyes through passport control. And then—America, Philadelphia, Jasper. The words echo in her head, a mantra pulling her onward. Just a few hours more and her life can finally begin.

Demetri will have to be dealt with, of course, but Alice has every expectation of success. Between her supernatural ability and Jasper’s skill in combat, they’ll be able to cross that bridge when they come to it. And in the United States, there’ll be no shortage of vampires willing to come to her aid, too, Alice is certain—Peter and Charlotte, the Cullens. Just thinking their names sends a frisson of excitement down her spine.

She’s never actually had to drive before, but of course she knows how. Even Master’s cosseted dearest ones can jimmy a window and hot wire a vehicle. Alice is pleased at how smoothly it all goes, at the pop of the lock and the purr of the engine. Who knew cars were so much fun?

Intent on the shifting future, she hardly notices the countryside flashing by, and she barely manages to slow down in time to avoid the polizia—wait; make that doesn’t manage. She lets out a string of curses in six different languages as the blue Fiat merges into the lane behind her, but its lights don’t flash—can it be a coincidence? Just her luck, that the officer inside would pick this moment to head back to Florence. No self-respecting vampire drives the speed limit, scoffs an imaginary Demetri in her mind. But there’s no other choice. Alice can’t afford to be pulled over in a stolen car today.

Her hands are practically shaking as she takes the exit for the airport. To her dismay, the Fiat follows—infuriating! It occurs to her that she’s far enough outside Volterra to be allowed to kill whoever’s inside with impunity, and her throat burns distractingly at the though. If only she had the time. It would be best to find some sort of snack before boarding a plane full of humans.

Alice has no memory of what it felt like when her heart pounded—but it must have been something like this, she imagines, turning into the parking garage. Jasper’s gift would be going haywire, if he were only here to feel her!

She parks the car in a shadowy corner, slings her bag over her shoulder, and heads for the elevator. In less than an hour, she’ll be on a plane above the sea. What will it look like? She reaches for a vision and sees…stones? Stone walls—no—wait, that can’t be right—

Ding. The elevator door slides open.

“Hello, dear one,�� says Aro.

“Going somewhere, Gorgeous?” quips Demetri. His arm is draped in black fabric—her cloak.

Alice says nothing. A quick series of visions confirm that no, if she bolts to the left she won’t outrun him—and definitely won’t outrun Jane, who smirks from their master’s other side.

Aro heaves a crestfallen sigh. “I did think you might be ready for some more wide-ranging responsibility, after all these years,” he tells her, “but Caius advised me to test your loyalty first. I do so loathe being proven wrong.” He holds out a hand.

Alice sets her jaw, her instincts still raring to fight or flee even as her rational mind recognizes the futility of either plan. She hates the Alice who lifts her hand to slide her fingers into Aro’s. For the first time in nearly sixty years, she feels the urge to flinch away from the familiar chalky, papery feel of his skin.

“Ingenious,” he murmurs without emotion, and Alice almost wishes he would rage at her, be the cruel master she could make herself rebel against.

He does no such thing, of course.

“My poor Alice,” he croons, stroking the side of her face. “So little acquainted with the outside world.”

And whose fault is that? Alice wants to spit. If Aro hears the thought, he doesn’t react.

“If I had known you were suffering so, I would have had the Guard retrieve your mate long ago,” he assures, releasing her hand.

Dread settles in the pit of Alice’s stomach. “That’s not necessary, Master,” she pleads. “You’re…much too kind to me.” (Jane scoffs.) “Truly, I don’t need anything.” Please, please, please leave him be.

“On the contrary, dear one. Clearly I have neglected you for far too long.”

He crooks a finger, and Alice steps into the elevator. Demetri settles the cloak around her shoulders.

.

.

ok it’s very late and I’m slightly buzzed and you can’t even begin to understand how tempting it was to make demetri say “are you lost, babygirl”

[iwillbeinmynest]

Hold On Loosely - Biker!Steve x Reader (f)   Chapter 2

Authors Notes: I’m so happy with the positive response this fic has gotten! Thank y’all so much!! If you’d like to be tagged please send me an ask. I keep better track of tags that way.

Word Count: 1.3k +

Special Thanks: Here’s to @itsanerdlife for fueling my Biker obsession and being my Beta for this whole thing. To my girl over at @girl-next-door-writes who also beta’ed for me. And an extra shout out to @bettercallsabs for this beautiful graphic. She is amazing and y’all need to check her out!!

Notes/Warnings: (My notes and warnings are for the story as a whole. Some notes and Warnings will not apply to every chapter.) smoking (I do not support smoking. keep your lungs clean y’all.) drinking, (be of age, don’t be stupid) minor violence, backstabbing, attempted murder, anxiety, stress, mentions of death, car accident, trauma, …I think that’s it. let me know if I’ve missed something.

Chapter 2

 Steve was up early, like he normally was, and had a prospect watch Y/N’s door while he went for a quick run around the property. When he got back she was up and sitting at the bar working on some scrambled eggs.

 Clint peaked from the kitchen window and nodded to Steve as he dried some dishes.

 Steve nodded back and Y/N looked his way. “I’ll be ready to take you home in a few.” 

 “Don’t rush on my account.” She said softly and turned back to her breakfast.

 The last thing Steve heard, as he headed down the hallway to take a shower, was Clint asking her if she wanted anything else. His mind raced with thoughts of her. She was in last night’s clothes and she still looked beautiful. He wondered if she always looked this good in the morning and if she’d look even better in his shirt. He cursed under his breath as he let the hot water run over him. He shouldn’t be thinking like that. He didn’t even know her, what with her secrets and all. Her mystery husband or whatever the heck was going on with that.  All he had to do was get through the ride home and then he’d be done with her. Right?

 Her purse was already on her shoulder and she was standing by the door when he stepped out from the back hallway. He didn’t say anything to her, just traded her purse for a helmet and opened the door for her. They walked across the gravel to his cherry red Harley. After he put her purse in his saddle bag, he turned the key and let the engine roar to life.  She tried to hide it but Steve saw her swallow hard and noticed her breathing quickened as she swung her leg over behind him. She grabbed his Kutte at the arms and gripped so tight he almost laughed. 

 “Gotta loosen up or I can’t use my arms right.” He smirked, knowing she couldn’t see him. It was always obvious when someone was taking their first ride.

 “Sorry,” Was muttered from her helmet as she moved her hands to grip around his chest. Her hold wasn’t any lighter and Steve grinned knowing she was so desperate to hold on to him.

 No. She was married. He just needed to drop her off and move on. 

 Steve shook his head and heeled the kickstand, knocking it off the gravel driveway and into its spot under the bike. He revved the engine and she grabbed even tighter. 

 The ride went by quicker than he wanted but if he had to choose a highlight it would be when he’d tap her hands at every stoplight asking her to relax her grip only for it to be like a Boa again when the light turned green.

 He pulled up to the sidewalk in front of her building and relaxed in his seat. There was something about just sitting on his bike that put him at ease, which he needed since she was driving him crazy.

 “You’re boyfriend home or do I need to walk you up?” He asked when she handed him his helmet back. She chewed on her lip as he handed her her purse back. 

 Y/N swayed and ran her finger over her rings. “I can make it from here.”

 “That’s not what I asked.” Steve couldn’t help the sharp tone in his voice but he felt bad 

about it.

 She tensed and scowled. “That’s really none of your business. Thanks for taking me home. Drive safe.” She turned on her heal and headed up the short flight of stairs to her door. She opened it and shut it quickly.

 Steve shook his head and scoffed. He secured the extra helmet and was just about to turn the key when he heard her scream. He jumped off his bike and ran up the steps, kicking the door open as he went. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and prepared himself for a fight. 

 “Y/N!” Steve’s heart was pounding in his chest but he kept a level head. Her whole house was trashed. There were wires sticking out from the walls where a TV would have been, the kitchen was a mess with broken plates and silverware on the floor and down a short hall all the pictures on the wall had either been disturbed or busted. 

 “In here,” Y/N’s voice sounded more defeated than alarmed.

 Steve rounded the corner and found Y/N sitting on her knees in her wrecked bedroom. She cradled an empty box in her hand.

 Knowing she was safe, he left her to make sure the house was empty. When he came back, she was sitting on her bed sobbing. 

 “Are you okay?” He asked.

 “Do I look okay?!” She snapped. “It’s all gone! Everything I had left is gone.”

 Steve didn’t understand. “It’s just stuff. It could have been worse, you could have been home and whoever did this could have hurt you. TV’s can be replaced, you-”

 “I don’t care about the TV’s!” She looked genuinely offended. “All I had left of Danny was in this box. All the most important things are gone now. I have nothing left of him, now.” A sob ripped through her and she burst into tears again.

 Steve finally had some more pieces to her puzzle. She did have a husband but, he was gone. Dead, Steve assumed by her grief. 

 Silently, he backed out of her room and stepped out the front door to make a call.  The phone only rang twice. 

 “You good?” Bucky answered.

 “We’re fine but her house got broken into. She’s a mess.” He filled in quickly. 

 He heard Nat in the background shout, “What?”

 “Yeah, textbook robbery. Electronics and small appliances are gone, including most of her jewelry. But she’s real upset about this one box. I think it used to keep her old man’s stuff.”

 “Did you clear the house?” Bucky sounded alert but relaxed.

 “Yeah, it's clear.”

 “I'm sending Clint and Sam to you.” Bucky said and Steve could hear him throw a set of keys. “They're bringing the truck.”

 Steve nodded. “Okay.”

 “Nat wants her here.” Steve could tell Bucky was looking at his wife and relaying the order.

 “I'll do my best.” Steve didn’t think he could convince her to come back to the compound.

 A  clatter on the phone and Nat's voice came through. “Let me talk to her.” She said and her concern was audible.

 “Yes ma'am,” Steve walked back inside and found Y/N sweeping up the glass from her shattered coffee table that littered the entire living room. “It's for you.” He held the phone out to her. 

 She sighed and put her broom down. She took the phone and bit her lip before she put it to her ear. “Hello?”

 Steve could hear the faint tone of Nat's voice, although he couldn't make out what she was saying.

 “Yeah, I'm fine…no, I don't...I don’t want to-...I should really stay and clean up…” 

 Whatever Nat said next caused tears to prick at Y/N's eyes. She wiped them before they could fall and sniffed. Steve felt like he was invading and looked at the floor, kicking around a few shards of glass.

 “Yeah, okay, but just a few nights.” Y/N tried to compose herself. “Okay...Sure. Thank you.” She extended the phone back to him and wiped her eyes again.

 “Hey,” Steve said, nodding to Y/N as she tried to muster a smile. 

 “She’s going to pack up.” Nat spoke softly. Steve watched Y/N head back down the hall to her room. “I'm sending a few prospects with Clint and Sam. They're gonna clean her house up and stay there over the next few nights to make sure no one messes with it again.”

 Bucky came back on. “How fast can you get her out of there? She might not take to kindly to a bunch of strange men coming over after this.”

 “We can be out in thirty. I’ll make Sam bring her bag back..”

 “Good call,” Bucky said. “Ride safe.” 

 “Always do.” And Steve hung up.

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

Forever Tags:

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[sergeantbarnesimagines]

By Any Other Name: Part Three

Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader

Summary: [Y/n] Stark is an acclaimed journalist (and infamous anonymous hacker) who has dedicated her career to uprooting corruption. She has worked hard to separate herself from her brother’s reputation and his world. Now, however, she finds herself right back in the fray as Sergeant Barnes resurfaces. For some reason, Bucky is drawn to [y/n], and she finds herself betraying not only her convictions, but her family as she joins him on his path to redemption.

a/n: If you want to be tagged let me know! Thank you for all of the wonderful feedback! Next chapters will have a lot more romance in them, so stay tuned!

Part two

From the center of the hangar roof, [y/n] couldn’t explicitly see the fight, but the explosions were enough to give an impression of the war below. She had promised Steve she would remain hidden as she hacked into the quinjets system. Her job was to start the engines, enter Bucky’s coordinates, and then act as their defense to prevent Tony from hacking into the autopilot mid-flight. Her assistance would be invaluable, her presence unnoticed, and her consequences minimal. Simple orders, easy instructions, no sweat. However, things went awry- as they do when the future of humanity is at stake.

The hangar shook beneath her as someone collided with the wall. The familiar sound of a repulsor ripped through the air. [y/n] jumped as Sam blasted into view, flailing as he attempted to regain control of his wings. More eruptions followed.

“What is going on down there?” She inquired through her comm. A series of shots rang through the other end as Steve answered with ‘a slight miscalculation.’

This was unlike any battle she had witnessed before. In New York, despite the chaos, everyone knew who the enemy was and there was no hesitation to pull the trigger. Here, however, their adversaries were the people they had on speed-dial, the friends they fought side-by-side with, and -in [y/n]’s case- the brother that raised her. The objective wasn’t to kill the enemy. It was to save their family. She loved the people down there and she had to fight for all of them- even if it meant fighting against half of them.

“Ok, I’m coming down.” [y/n] transferred the controls on her computer to the screen on her arm.

“Negative, Stark. You aren’t cleared for combat. We need you up there.” Steve ordered. “Do not leave your station.”

[y/n] chuckled, jumping off of the black trunk she perched upon. “No offense, Cap, but I’m not a recruit, and I’m not helpless. You need me down there more.”

She ran her finger along a crevice in the crate, and the line began to glow. Taking a step back, she watched as the box unfolded and then morphed into a familiar shape. Her bike is sleek and black with gold trim. A TRON motorcycle, equipped with her very own AI. [y/n] didn’t allow herself to remember that this was her favorite christmas present from her favorite engineer as she mounted the bike.

“Hello OSCAR.”

The bike ignited beneath her, “Hello, mistress Stark.”

“Wanda, I could use a lift.”

“I’m a little preoccupied at the moment,” the witch grunted in response. A red blast of energy encompassed a plane as it hurled toward Vision.

With the only members of the team capable of flight previously engaged, a daunting realization settled in [y/n]’s stomach. She had to get down on her own.

“OSCAR, you know that scene from Fast and Furious 7?”

“I feel compelled to remind you, miss, in the words of the esteemed Brian O’Connor, ‘Cars don’t fly.’”

“Good thing this isn’t a car then, buddy.” She shuddered and took a deep breath, assessing the roof before her. 200 feet stood between her and the edge. She hoped it was enough. Physics was always her brother’s specialty.

[y/n] tightened her helmet and the visor lit up, showing the calculations OSCAR was running through. As she checked the battery, he explained the speed and stability she needed to survive the leap.

“Probability of stable landing: 39.4%. Probability of landing without injury: 12.6%. Probability of death: 78.9%.”

“Thank you, OSCAR, for that encouraging assessment.”

“You did not program me to be encouraging. I have been wired to be cynical, calculating, and caustic. While I may not be able to act as your ‘hype man,’ I can offer you a sardonic comment.”

“Choose wisely Oz. These might be the last words I ever hear.”

He cleared his nonexistent throat. There was a moment of silence as he considered his words. With a deep breath, [y/n] settled forward on the bike, bringing her feet up, and gripping the handlebars.

“Do it.” His monotonous voice whispered, “You won’t.”

“Bet.” She smirked and pulled the clutch. “OSCAR start the ‘Bad Decision’ playlist.”

~

Bucky dodged an iron pipe swung by Rhodey. Just as they moved to initiate another attack, the opening drums of Black Betty sounded from above, followed by the rev of an engine.

They shared a look of confusion, glancing around the airport to search for the source. Suddenly, a shadow passed over them. They looked up.

Time seemed slow as her tires left the roof and [y/n] realized why Tony enjoyed flying so much. In that single moment of suspension, she was unbound to the earth, soaring.

Then the ground was rushing toward her. Her tires collided with asphalt. Her body came down hard on the seat, and her first thought was if someone could break their tailbone.

Turning the bike abruptly, she skid to a halt between Bucky and Rhodey, both of whom had dived out of her way. They stared at her perplexed, horrified, and in awe.

She slipped up her visor to reveal the grin of a child who had finally hit a home run, turning back to check if his mom was paying attention.“ Did anyone else see that?”

“[y/n]? What the hell are you doing-” Whatever Rhodey began to say turned into a series of stutters as his body seized up. He fell to the ground and spasmed in beat with the pulse of the repulsor.

She stared at War Machine for a moment, concerned, but quickly turned toward Bucky with an expectant look. “Need a ride?”

Stunned, Bucky glanced from Rhodeys convulsing body to the cane in [y/n]’s grip, finally landing on her eyes. Her whole visage lit up with innocent exhilaration.

He took a shuddering breath, realizing his heart beat had sped up. There was something oddly endearing about her excited grin, astonished by her own badassery. Bucky was entranced.

The bike lurched forward just as he saddled on. His arm slipped around her waist instinctively in an effort to hang on, the odd shape and speed of the bike being far different to what he was used to. In his other hand, he gripped her cane.

~

“Hey, Nat!” [y/n] exclaimed, a grin forming on her face. Natasha smiled back sweetly, delivering a swift kick to Clint’s chest, knocking him away. She was holding back.

“[y/n]! I love your suit.” She complimented. “Leather looks great on you.”

“You have to tell me how you keep your hair so flawless,” [y/n] inquired, leaning forward on the bike. Natasha laughed, but it caught in her throat at the man who peered over [y/n]’s shoulder.

The smile fell from Nat’s face as she realized they were on opposing teams. Bucky's arm tightened around [y/n]’s waist, almost protectively. His breath was hot against her ear and she could only imagine his confusion. Cautiously, [y/n] brushed her hand over the one clutching her side. As gently as she could, she grasped it, signaling for him not to attack. “So I’m guessing our trip to the mall is gonna be postponed.”

Natasha shrugged, not moving to initiate a fight. “It’s probably better for us to go dress shopping without bruises anyway.”

In that brief exchange, more things were said than Bucky could pick up on. In all those years since she had entered [y/n]’s life, Natasha had developed an incredible friendship with the journalist. [y/n] had given Nat a taste of normality. The assassin had grown to cherish their movie marathons, late night gossip and days spent dressing up and scoping cute guys out at the mall. [y/n] had given her a life she never thought she could have. She was indebted to her in more ways than one.

Nats eyes flicked to the cane in Barnes grip. It looked like a twig in his hands. A pang of guilt struck her as she recalled the role she played in permanently crippling her friend. She was the one to call [y/n] for help in taking down SHIELD, and it was her fault [y/n] was on the highway when the crash occurred.

Natasha made her decision. In truth, she had already decided that she would never harm her friend again after DC. She wouldn’t fight [y/n], which meant she wasn’t getting to Barnes, because if she knew her best friend she knew she was stubborn.

“We have plenty of other friends to fight, I’d say we can postpone this duel too.”

The smile that graced [y/n]’s lips was sad, but her eyes were grateful. Barnes looked between them, utterly lost, but Nat just waved to her friend before dashing away.

A smirk made its way to her lips. She had noticed the way [y/n]’s cheeks flushed as the soldier pulled her into him, and she couldn’t wait to tease her about it later.

~

“Something just flew in me!” Scott panicked, grasping his chest. [y/n] looked over to see Vision phase through the giant and project a beam of light across the tarmac. The beam cut through the tower directly in front of the hangar. Her eyes widened as she realized Bucky and Steve were too far away to make it on foot. Before the tower began to crumble, she was already pushing her bike to the top setting, racing toward the super soldiers.

[y/n] shot across the tarmac. Red energy encompassed the falling debris, and she thanked the gods they had Wanda on their team. The boys startled as she pulled up beside them, Bucky nearly knocking her off the bike before he recognized her.

“Get on!” She ordered, jumping off the bike. Steve followed the command, but Bucky hesitated. He stared at her.

There was a cut across her forehead, and she had lost her cane in the chaos.This bike was her only means of escape. They were leaving her utterly defenseless. He could only hope her brother would show her more mercy than he had received. Softly, he grasped her hand with his human one. She didn’t flinch.

“Thank you,” he whispered, mounting the bike. She nodded, her eyes wide with fright. Bucky held her gaze as Steve sped away, a strange ache is his chest as they left her behind.

Tagged: @chipilerendi @dottirose @gambitsqueen

[dearophelia]

gonna set your flag on fire - chapter 05

Thirty years after the war, things are as close to normal as they’ll get. Garrus is the turian councilor and Olivia runs Galactic Affairs, helping the galaxy rebuild. They’ve happily settled into the life they’ve built. Their kids are grown, and out living their own lives.But something goes wrong on Nora’s latest mission. Very wrong.

chapter 05: are we the hunters, or are we the prey?

In which the team lands on Zorya and, you know, everything goes exactly according to plan. (read on AO3)

continued thanks to @nightingaleseeking and @tarysande for all their wonderful help and cheerleading of this project!

(hi folks, we’re back! sorry for the delay; a lot of nonsense happened, but it’s over now and all is well)

The Oralla wasn’t designed as a transport ship, and its guest quarters are nonexistent – the turians shoved three sets of human bunkbeds into what could charitably be called a closet. They’re all long accustomed to making do with whatever’s available and, though Nora has to climb in and out of her bed very carefully so as to not knock her head on the metal legs of the other two sets, it’s far from the worst place she’s had to sleep since joining the Alliance.

They’re due to depart in their shuttle for Zorya in eight hours, and they’re meant to be getting some sleep. But she’s too wired – always is the night before a mission, Cerberus or no – so she rolls onto her stomach, turns her omnitool’s light almost all the way down, and pulls up the Cerberus databurst Jonah intercepted this morning. The message glows bright in the dark room, but her teammates are long asleep. She could probably host a concert in the middle of the room and none of them would wake up.

Jonah passed the burst on to Alliance Intelligence, but they won’t get it for a couple of days and won’t be able to completely break it for probably a month. A very-illegal program of Alle’s managed to break through the first layer of encryption, at least giving them access to a weather report and some low-security emails.

The meteor shower started two days ago, and they’ll land in the height of it, just as they planned. And if it isn’t raining, it’ll be so humid it might as well be, just as they thought.

The six of them scoured the emails over dinner and didn’t find anything particularly interesting. Nora scrolls past the weather report, figuring a second look at even low-security correspondence can’t hurt.

She makes it through all of them in half an hour, and finally starts to feel sleep tugging her away. She closes her omnitool without learning anything new, but she wishes they’d been able to break through even another level. Maybe then they’d have an actual project name.

***

Quentus pulls her into a tight hug while the rest of her squad runs final equipment checks. “I still think you’re an idiot,” he murmurs quietly.

Nodding, Nora returns the hug. “Yeah, me too.”

“Last chance to bail,” he says.

She knows he means it as a joke, but Nora also knows him well enough to hear the truth in his subharmonics: if he had any authority to do so, he’d order her off the mission. She appreciates the sentiment. “No such luck,” she says, bumping her forehead against his.

“Not to interrupt the sibling moment,” Jonah says, “but we need to get going.”

Nora nods and steps away from her brother. “Rendezvous point, seven days,” she confirms. It’ll be a boring few days waiting for pickup, but the shuttle’s FTL drive isn’t strong enough to get them back to the Aquila system and the relay in anything less than two years.

“See you then. Good hunting,” Quentus claps her on the shoulder.

Smiling, Nora returns the gesture. “Good hunting.”

***

Olivia stops on her way to bed, seeing her daughter’s light still on. She knocks lightly and, upon hearing a quiet “yeah,” pokes her head in. “Everything okay?”

Nora looks up from her tablet and blinks. She’s three weeks into her new school, has made a few friends, and seems to be settling in well. But Olivia knows what she’s looking for now, and Nora’s hesitation at the door every morning – the pause, deep breath, and squared shoulders – is like a flashing neon sign.

“In the war,” Nora starts quietly, “how did you do it?”

Olivia raises an eyebrow and steps inside, letting the door close behind her. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs and tosses her tablet beside her on the bed. “You fought banshees and brutes and everything. How’d you not freak out every time you saw one?”

Pursing her lips, Olivia takes a moment to pull her answer together. Her mother asked the same question during the war, and her answer was an unsatisfactory “panic for five seconds while running very fast for cover, then get your ass in gear.” She has a suspicion that, as unhelpful as that was for her mother, it’s even less helpful for her daughter. She moves Nora’s backpack off her desk chair and sits down, tucking her feet up underneath her. “It helped a lot that I’d probably get myself and my squad killed if I let myself freak out,” she says honestly. She’s always been grateful for the quality of her fight-or-flight response.

Nora huffs. “That’s not going to work for school.”

“I certainly hope not,” Olivia smiles, then goes serious again. “You still having trouble?” she asks, though she knows the answer.

“A little,” Nora admits. “I’m usually okay once I’m there, but sometimes I still get a little…panicky. It’s so dumb,” she sighs, “there’s no reason for it, and I just. I’m annoyed,” she concludes.

Nodding, Olivia understands completely. Years passed before she didn’t find herself tensing up whenever she heard an electronic scream, or saw a red laser beam, or looked out a viewport the wrong way. She spent most of those years annoyed at her reaction and was never sure whether she was more upset at the reaction itself, or that she was still reacting at all. “It takes time,” she says.

Nora frowns at that. “Got any tips for making it through in the meantime? That don’t involve imminent bodily harm?”

“One thing at a time,” Olivia says gently; her father’s advice from forty years ago is just as sound now as it was then. “Focus on one thing, and one thing only. And when that’s done, move on to the next.”

“That seems too simple.”

She shrugs. “It works. And,” she smiles softly, “when all else fails, breathe. Good air in, bad air out.”

***

Nora wrinkles up her nose as soon as they step off the shuttle. Zorya is not only hot and humid and in the middle of its rainy season, it’s not only in the middle of nowhere, and not only does it have several kinds of venomous snakes and poisonous plant life – it also smells like the tropical bird exhibit at the Citadel Zoo. Her boots squelch in the mud.

“Lovely,” Carlos says, his voice tinny over comms.

Rachel’s omnitool casts an eerie glow around them. “I’m not seeing anything on their comms,” she says. “Looks like the meteor plan worked.” She closes her tool, leaving them in the silvery starlit darkness.

“Good,” Jonah says. “Move out.”

Silently, they settle their weapons in their grip and fall into formation: Alle taking point, Carlos and Rachel spread out behind her, Jonah and Micah staggered behind them, and Nora bringing up the rear.

The base is three miles away through dense jungle, and though they’re all in full helmets and on comms, they make the hike in silence except to point out hazards. Exposed roots threaten to trip them, branches catch at their arms and chests, and more than once they barely skirt the edge of a mud pit or sinkhole.

Nora brings up her combat playlist – a combination of bass-driven club tracks and fight music from various video games – and sets it to play quietly in her private channel. If she has to listen to just the silence of the jungle, which isn’t that silent at all, she’s going to go crazy before they even get to the perimeter.

One step at a time, she focuses on moving forward – left, right, left, right, step over the root, avoid the rock, left, right – and keeping her eyes on the jungle around her. Though they landed in a small clearing, the rest of the jungle isn’t so forgiving. Trees and plants are so thick even the moonlight has trouble breaking through. Flashlights are too risky in the dark, so they’re relying on nightvision.

Her eyes flick from one movement to the next, hypervigilant. A pyjak, fearlessly hopping from one branch to the next. A snake, slithering on its branch, poised to attack the pyjak. Three birds, circling through the maze of branches above the snake. A wolf-like creature, standing perfectly still behind a bush, looking up at the birds, its eyes glowing green and eerie in the nightvision camera. The wolf looks away from the birds and levels its calm, fierce stare directly at Nora. She shivers.

Abruptly, Alle holds up a fist. Nora’s HUD, designed to recognize hand signals from teammate gloves, flashes a red light in the lower left corner. She stops moving and takes cover behind a thick tree.

“Two o’clock,” Alle says. “Vakarian, check it out.”

She scopes in where Alle indicated. Nothing but trees. “I don’t see anything,” she says. But then movement catches her eye. “Wait,” she flips on her scope’s infrared sensors. “That’s…large,” she says, flatly. “It looks kind of like a bear.”

“Grizzly bear or black bear?” Carlos asks.

“It’s a bear,” Micah says, “what does it…?”

“They act differently,” Carlos says. “A grizzly would –”

“Neither,” Nora says, cutting off the incoming discussion on Earth-based bear behavior. “It’s got a long tail, for one thing.”

“Then it’s not a bear,” Carlos says.

“You have binoculars, you look at it.”

There’s a quiet shuffle as Carlos pulls out his binoculars. “That’s…Nora, what the hell, that doesn’t even look remotely like a bear.”

She glares in Carlos’ general direction. “Oh, you know what.”

Jonah coughs pointedly. “Let’s table the classification discussion and focus on whether it’s going to eat us.”

A few moments pass in silence, and then the shuffling noise repeats as Carlos puts his binoculars back. “There wasn’t anything about this in the planetary file, so it’s probably not an issue.”

“Because that’s not logic that hasn’t bitten us in the ass before,” Alle scoffs.

“I’m just saying, if the vorcha knew about the mutated pyjaks, the venomous snakes, and the extremophile bacteria that causes both, they would probably know if an eight-foot-tall predator was making its home in the jungle. They’re dumb, but they’re not that dumb.”

Nora practically hears Jonah rolling his eyes.

“Well, let’s hope that they’re dumb, but they’re not that dumb is an accurate analysis, but let’s go a little out of our way to avoid the bear anyway,” Jonah says. “Move out.”

“It’s not a bear,” Carlos starts. “Ow!” he says.

Nora flicks her safety on and zooms in on Carlos. Her grin widens. He’s rubbing the back of his head, while Rachel stands with her arms crossed, staring at him.

“I will turn this mission around,” Jonah grumbles, and Nora turns her comms off with barely enough time before she starts laughing.

“Move out,” Jonah repeats. “And radio silence until we get to Checkpoint One.”

They all fall into formation again, following Alle’s circuitous lead to give the not-bear a wide berth.

The rest of the hike is uneventful, but without the banter of her squad to distract her, Nora finds panic tugging at her edges. Up until now, even when they were on Haliat-Gemini, even when they were traveling on the Oralla, even when she said goodbye to her brother a few hours ago, even when they were landing the shuttle, this mission was just a concept, something vague and intangible. She could approach it academically, outside of herself, and not have to actually acknowledge the very real fact that she’s walking into a Cerberus base. A Cerberus base with Cerberus security, Cerberus technology, Cerberus forces, Cerberus everything.  

She thought she was worried before. She had no idea.

Good air in, bad air out, Nora repeats to herself. Good air in, bad air out. She switches her music to a soothing instrumental playlist, one she’s used since high school to center herself and calm down. Good air in, bad air out, she repeats, concentrating only on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping watch on her team’s six. Slowly, the panic retreats, and the emptiness it leaves in its wake fills with clear, laser-sharp focus.

By the time they reach the edge of the forest, her shoulders are square and loose, and the steady battlefield calm she’s trained herself to find and love has settled in.

***

“How do you do that?” Quentus asks, dusting himself off as he stands up at the end of the wave.

Nora shrugs, and grabs a new set of grenades out of the ammo box. She’d taken down the two possessed praetorians in the end, but Armax’s new AIs need a lot of work before they’re ready for public use. At least they’re getting paid for spending their leave still geared up and fighting. “It’s fake,” she reminds him.

Even though he’s in a full helmet and his visor’s dark, she can tell he’s giving her a Look. An annoyed look, a brotherly look, a yes-thank-you-I-knew-that look. “You didn’t even flinch.”

Again she shrugs, and ducks into cover beside him as the drone announces the next wave. He was taken out by a scion sync kill and he’s holding himself stiffly – he must’ve hit the arena floor at just the wrong angle. She bets he’ll be playing it safe for the rest of the match, maybe try to stay out of the middle of chaos this time. “I don’t know,” she says, lobbing a series of arc grenades into the spawn point.

Quentus pops out of cover and follows her grenades with a clip full of inferno ammo. “That’s not helpful.”

“You’re seven years older than me,” she says, triggering the auto-destruct on her supply pylon on the other side of the base. It explodes, and a notification pops up in the kill feed: Nora Vakarian – Collector Captain [Supply Pylon]. She fishes out another pylon token and activates it beside them. It immediately refills their shields and spits out two grenade tokens. She offers one to her brother to replenish his stim packs and programs the other for an inferno grenade before clicking it onto her belt. “And have ten years more combat experience. You’re telling me you need your kid sister to tell you how not to freak out in a fight?”

Another Look, this one – she’s sure – with an accompanying eyeroll. She smirks at him, then scopes in and nails a captain dead in the eye. Collectors are easy for headshots, and she has a bet going with Micah.

“I’m just curious,” he says, cloaking before he starts shooting this time. “You looked pretty calm for being the only one standing in front of two fully-loaded possessed praetorians, even if they were fake.”

“My fight-or-flight response is heavily weighted toward fight,” she says, reloading.

Quentus is about 50/50, and Nico tends to go for a third option – freeze. It’s part of why he left service as soon as he was able. “Uhm,” she says, catching sight of what’s spawning behind them, “yeah, we should move.”

Quentus looks over his shoulder. “Yep.” While they’re running down the ramp, putting a decent distance between them and the possessed abomination, he pushes the matter. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“It’s as good as I’ve got,” Nora says. She abruptly stops at the end of the ramp, turns while scoping in with her Valiant, and unloads a three-shot clip into the abomination. The nuclear explosion takes out a handful of troopers and captains, and triggers a chain reaction with two other abominations, but she and her brother are safe and out of range. “It just kind of happens, couldn’t tell you how.”

***

They hang back a hundred feet in the trees so to not draw the attention of the guards. At least their intel is correct: three troopers guarding the shield access point, a single spotlight pointed toward the forest, the base glowing faintly in the distance beyond the shield. The shield shimmers a dim orange.

Jonah nods at her, and she holsters her Valiant before starting to climb a tree close to the edge. She needs to clear the treeline before she’ll have a decent shot at all three troopers, but she’s likely to draw their attention if she climbs one at the edge. The rough bark makes for easy traction, and the branches are solid, steady in her grip and underneath her feet. She easily makes it halfway up the tree, where she pauses to survey the branches in front of her. Confirming her path twice, she starts to move out along a branch, carefully traversing two trees until she has her back pressed against the trunk of one at the very edge. She expands her gun again and checks the security of its silencer.

Carefully, she lowers herself to lie on her stomach on the thickest branch and then slowly inches herself out. She isn’t quite hanging directly over the guards – far back enough that she’s covered in shadow, she’s far enough out that her shot isn’t obstructed. She looks through her scope and gets a solid bead on all three; she cycles through her shots, making sure she knows exactly how much to move her gun for each shot.

“Ready,” she whispers in her comms, her crosshairs hovering over the head of the first guard.

“Go,” Jonah confirms.

Nora takes a slow breath in and holds it for a moment. Halfway through her exhale, she fires. The guard’s head explodes, but she doesn’t see it – she’s already onto the second, and then the third. A quick reload, and she scopes back in, confirming all three kills. “Done,” she whispers, collapsing her gun and reconnecting it with her armor seals. Without quite as much care to mask her movements this time, she scoots backward toward the tree trunk.

“Roger,” Jonah says. “Carter, you’re up. Vakarian, get down here.”

Nora grips the branch with both hands and carefully slides off it, dangling down. She finds purchase with her boots on a branch below and releases the top one, reversing her way down the tree. At the final branch, she bends over, grasps the branch between her feet and lets herself fall to the ground. She swings a little bit from the branch and then lets go, smiling when her feet hit solid ground again.

Alle runs back into the trees, stolen access cards in hand. “Fire in the hole!”

The drill grenade explodes quietly but impressively, sending dirt, body parts, and electronics flying everywhere. The floodlight blows out, and a small wedge of the shield sparks and flickers. Then everything goes dark.

Alle grins at her teammates.

Jonah gestures for her to take point again. “Let’s go.”

***

“Radio silence,” Jonah orders as Alle swipes the security card at the access panel.

The little light turns from red to green, and the door slides open with a hiss. Cool, dry, climate-controlled air rolls out, a welcome relief from the hot, muggy jungle.

“Good hunting, Hydra,” Nora says to Jonah, Carlos, and Rachel as the three group up. It’s strange not to refer to Jonah’s team as Manticore, but this isn’t his regular team.

“Good hunting, Eidolon,” Jonah returns, and then leads Carlos and Rachel down the hall and around the corner.

It’s even stranger not to hear her own team called Chimera, and perhaps strangest of all not to have Carlos with her. When the other three are out of sight, Nora takes a deep breath, systematically shutting out everything that isn’t the mission. No control chip, no anxiety, no team name, nothing. Just the mission.

One thing at a time. Good air in, bad air out.

Nora turns to Alle and Micah. If all goes well, they’ll meet up with Hydra on the opposite side of the base in a couple of hours, intel and maybe a few Cerberus people in hand, set explosive charges, and then hike back to their shuttle and fly back to the edge of the system and play cards for three days while they wait for extraction. “Carter, you’re on point,” she orders, settling her gun in her hands.

Alle nods, turns off her armor’s lights, and activates her annihilation field with a wave of her right hand. The low growl sounds almost deafening in the silent hallway, but it soon blends into the base’s background – the electrical hum, a subtle rumble of machinery, and the erratic thud as meteorites hit the shield outside. Without her lights on, Alle almost blends into the shadows, and she slinks around the first corner.

Micah follows, assault rifle primed and ready, visor glowing red with his hardsuit’s devastator mode. Nora brings up the rear, triggering her own visor to keep a reverse camera image in the bottom corner so she can see behind them.

The first fifteen minutes are silent. They didn’t expect to run into anyone this far at the edge of the base, but it makes all of them a little jumpy. The schematics Liara sent are nearly accurate – there’s a hallway where there was meant to be a wall, and a door they needed was fifty feet farther down than expected – and they easily make their way into the heart of the base.

Alle holds up a fist, deactivates her annihilation field, and gestures for them to gather up. They all duck into a nook, mindful of the equipment stacked up beside them.

“Anyone else got a weird feeling about this?” she whispers.

Nora looks hard at her. “What do you mean?” She’s long learned to trust Alle’s instincts.

“I don’t know,” she says, “something just feels off.”

Micah taps the temple of his helmet, and his visor fades to clear. He squints around the corner, down the darkened hall. “She’s right. We’re about halfway in – we should’ve run into someone by now.”

Nora frowns. Now that her teammates have mentioned it, she notices the unsettled knot in the base of her spine. She’d been so focused on forcing herself to think that nothing was wrong that she hadn’t picked up on her actual unease creeping steadily forward. She thinks for a moment, and then clicks their group comm channel in a pattern: short short long, their signal for I know we said radio silence, but I need to know if you’re still conscious.

The response comes back almost immediately. One click: potential shit ahead, hold for confirmation.

All three of them hold their breath.

Two clicks.

FUBAR, please assist.

“Well,” Nora says flatly. “We’re in it now.”

Nora has five seconds to mentally plot Hydra’s position on the other side of the base before she hears the high-pitched electronic whine of an illegal shock stick.

And then there’s a sharp pain in the base of her skull, and everything goes black.

[moosey-scribbles]

Title: A Perfect Balance Ship: WidowGenji Rated: E Words: 3549 Completed: 1/1

Summary: Amélie Lacroix has always felt varying degrees of Nothingness; Genji Shimada has been in an unending cycle of rage. All it takes is a little effort to find their perfect balance.

The most common misconception about Amélie Lacriox is that she cannot feel. This is true in many cases -- wounds do not bring the same agony, harsh words do not trouble her in a traditional sense, and her pity is not swayed one way or another even in the most demanding of times. That being said, it’s less of a sensation of a lack of feeling altogether, and more of a sensation of varying degrees of nothingness.

It stands true that a punch merits a grunt, and that a child in the street will find its way to a piece of bread. It’s less of an awareness of pain, of empathy, and more of a shared understanding. Hits are supposed to cause discomfort, and though she eats only for necessity, she knows that once her stomach would twist and contort in pain when it was empty.

When she meets Genji Shimada, it’s the same thing. Where once she was a vibrant young woman -- a dancer, married to the love of her life -- so once was he a young man; a warrior with a bright soul and dreams to be lived. She doesn’t necessarily feel in the sense as she should, but there’s something familiar about him. There’s a little less nothing.

She doesn’t acknowledge him for a week or two. He’s new, after all, and has many things to learn about the ranks of Talon that she has no hand in. The other recruits teach him up from down, how to act in front of superiors, how to get the most out of his training. Moira and Gabriel stay near his sides, working in close contact with one of their own even as their goals seem to differentiate from that of his original intent.

Moira and Gabriel are broad -- terror, destruction -- bringing down a corrupt society to raise something new and functional from the ashes. Genji is simple. Genji wants something or someone to burn. The ache in him is real and visceral; almost inspiring.

She learns more about him through proxy, conversations had by other members that talk when they think there is no one to listen. As far as Talon members go, Amélie is different. Amélie doesn’t take offense, doesn’t get fired up or angry -- some suspect she has no ability to so much as think for herself let alone go squealing to the big bosses when someone talks treason.

Through them, she learns Shimada is bent for blood from his brother, the one who struck him down. He wants his family to lay wasted in their own blood, flames lapping the temple of luxury and grandeur from which he came. He wants his brother’s head on a pike because now instead of blood and bone he runs thick with plastic parts and wires. He can’t feel, he can’t eat -- he doesn’t find reason to carry on when he is neither flesh nor metal and he rages for it.

She doesn’t feel pity or empathy for him. She doesn’t find it in herself to feel much at all. But she knows he does -- he feels impossibly deep -- and that little bit of less than nothing that has been nestled inside her since his arrival shivers in her chest. That less than nothing in her drives her to the recruit’s quarters, empty while he trains away in the facility, toils for the day he can face his family again.

She looks over his belongings; small things from a faraway land, a few books in uniform Japanese characters that she cannot distinguish, a journal in the same font. She thumbs through it, watching as the handwriting begins neatly but almost always ends scratched a little too deep, erratic. She touches the divots and tries to imagine the rage, the anger. She cannot; the divots feel cold. The emotion has since left it.

The sniper sits on his bed made uniform and tight, tight enough to bounce a quarter off of, and waits for him. She is ever patient; there is no rush. Left to her own devices she combs over her actions lead by a desire she doesn’t understand. There is nothing to gain from it; after everything she will still be just as empty as she was before, But when everything is a wasteland, even a grain of sand can drastically alter the horizon

When Genji returns from training, his posture stiffens. Amélie can nearly feel the change in the atmosphere as the recruit prickles with her placement in his room -- in his space . Not one to forget herself, she stands, smooth and elegant as she has always been even before her procedure and approaches him. He radiates tangible energy and her nothingness recedes a little more, making way to house some of his fury if only it would linger inside her.

Neither of them speak, rather she reaches past his shoulder, poisonous eyes sinking into the red lit behind his irises as she presses the button to shut his door behind him. In their proximity, she can hear the agitated breath whisking in and out of his nose, seconds away from losing his temper behind the miserable dam that holds it back.

Before it crumbles Amélie lifts her hands to his face, warm from his training and almost stinging her icey skin. He goes still, eyes narrowing and shoulders squaring in warning. It’s clear he wants to snarl, snap and bite at her. Don’t touch me. But he withholds; that same deadly and precise patience that he learned in his homeland.

“Are you angry?” She tests gently, the sweet accent of Annecy licking at her tongue as she speaks.

In lieu of response, she can feel a light growl bubbling in his throat, rippling at her fingertips where they lay gently. She parts her lips, nothingness quivering again, falling short of somethingness and driving her onward. She licks across her teeth, bares them slightly so that he can see the sharp glinting canine and tip of her pink tongue.

“To be here in shreds, while your brother runs the strongest empire in the east?” Her hand trails down his jaw, over the expanse of his neck, scarred and jutting with thick tissue. His jaw sets hard enough that she can hear the sharp click of molars locking together. His lip draws back, baring his own teeth in warning.

“Trapped within these walls, a contract signed in what little blood still courses through you, enclosed with the woman who gave you this second chance, but in doing so made you into this monster, neither man nor machine but rather built for a war you are not dependent upon.” She speaks low, fluid and cruel as every visible muscle in him seems to tense. Shame washes over him in waves, not quite overpowered by the fury that pulsates under the armored plates holding him all together.

“You would do well not to speak of things you do not understand.” His response is weighted, thick with the energy it takes him to hold back the words he truly wants to use. He’s becoming warm, his ears tinting red with his emotion and Amélie leans in, invades his space to tuck her lips near his ear.

‘Do not swallow it down,” she begins slowly, crowding her body close and letting her lips tease along the shell of cartilage near his jaw plate, “you can bring to me no harm, Genji Shimada, son of Hanamura, but I invite you to try.”

For a moment, everything is entirely still. The Shimada seems to be thinking through what she’s said, though his energy never wavers. They are at two ends of the spectrum, one writhing with emptiness and the other teeming with overflowing emotion. She can feel the puffs of breath at her ear, tickling the soft hair tied up tight at the back of her head, and then a hand sits at her side, hot and heavy.

The next few seconds move so fast Amélie can barely keep track, which is a feat in and of itself. It triggers her flight or fight response and she only manages to keep herself malleable with the desire to finally know if this is all she is, now.

The Shimada is fast and rough with her, her words still stinging behind metal wires and reminding him of who, or rather, what he is. She doesn’t stop once she gets what she wants, instead she continues probing; little things that leave Genji bristling and conscious of his every design flaw. His scars, his plates, the organs inside pumping unnaturally with the help of the machinery built within him --.

His hand twines once, twice, three times in her length of hair, drags her head back to bare her throat and then he’s digging his teeth in. A soft flick of pain resonates in the back of her mind, but somewhere else something lights in her. It’s mild and nestled somewhere in her belly, warm and stoked by the way his hand gropes at her chest and pulls at her clothes.

It may be just a spark of something, but for a woman who deals in varying degrees of nothingness, Amélie is overwhelmed. That one twinge that seems to coincide with the marks scratched into her neck and the way thick fingers pluck at her nipple under her catsuit leaves her reeling. Sensation. Exhilaration. Something that to you, or I would be only a moments’ interest leaves her transfixed and spiraling.

“You have gone quiet.” Genji observes, though it does not slow him. His hand stays bound tightly in her hair, the other nearly tearing that second skin from her shoulders. She is just as discolored below the neckline as she is above it -- a small fact she assumes he would guess on his own account. He doesn’t take the time to look or to notice, instead using those seconds to feel her. He cups at her breast, thumbs across dark nipples and growls against her collarbone when she moves to rest her hands in his hair.

While her mind seems a few steps behind, her body responds well to the stimulus. That spark that has her feeling more intensely than she has in years spreads down between her thighs, leaves a slick she’s become unfamiliar with and a quivering that she can’t quite place. Genji marks her breast with his teeth, one at a time, unforgiving. He rudely worships the gift given with sharp edges and harsh bruises but Amélie knows the alternative would have given her no purchase.

Her catsuit is mangled and stretched. She will need to repair the stitching and detail if she intends to continue using it with how Genji has mistreated it. He has forced it past her hips, wide and soft, to expose the glistening slit between her thighs.

Now he looks. He uses the grip on her hair to keep her body contorted taut and away from him, instead running a finger through the soft, slippery mess she’s gathered there without ever glancing away from it.

Another wisp of excitement is fanned into her fire at the gaze and soft touch. She remembers a time when she was the center of hundreds of eyes; elegant and envied above all else. She watches him in abject silence, expression still as neutral as ever even as she carefully shifts her legs apart within the leggings of her suit to prop the shine of her cunt open for him.

His eyes are trained on her, from the curly patch of groomed hair above her hairless snatch to the soft jut of her clit and tender lips below, he is fixated. There is a feeling of pride she normally only gets after a clean headshot when the Shimada lets his tongue pass over his teeth, but it’s short lived.

Just as soon as it begins, it’s over. There’s a sharp twist at her scalp and a wet hand at her hip tossing her over onto her front. Her face meets his pillows, legs tangled up in the unforgiving embrace of that catsuit that finds itself locked around her thighs and that hand forces her hips up to meet him.

The fire in her belly sparks, not shame but awareness coursing through her. Genji hovers over her for a long moment before he brings down slick fingers to crack across the swell of her ass. Amélie gives little response, but the noise of shock that escapes seems to be enough to drive the other on. If she could get a good look at him, she would notice the way his lip curls over his teeth, the anger in red tinted eyes and the way he grounds himself just before he yanks her head back with the grip on her hair.

“It is cruel to play with your prey, Lacroix.” For the life of her, she can’t decide who he is referencing, be it her or himself, but she finds the idea of either to her liking. Regardless, she doesn’t say a word, rather lets him bask in the silence he broke and delight in the frustration that bubbles up in him when she doesn’t return his commentary.

The Shimada lets out a sound of frustration, bringing his hand back down across the other cheek and lingering there to grip it tight and pull her open, exposing every nook and cranny she owns. Amélie still stays quiet, though now that dull roll has found an outlet in her heartbeat, increasing the beats per minute even slightly. She shifts her spine, letting it dip low to better and more comfortably accommodate the pressure against her scalp and the angle at which Genji has positioned her. She shifts her hips, waving the supple flesh left, then right shamelessly. This is more excitement than she’s been allowed in so long, it would be a shame for the new recruit to shy off now.

It was a foolish assumption. Genji brings his hand down again and again -- he’s cruel and wastes no time to let her grow accustomed to his pace. After a couple hits he withdraws, pressing two fingers past the clenching rim of her cunt to dive into impossibly soft walls before he’s using that slick make sure his hits sting. Finally the sniper breaks, giving a soft grunt when the hits amp up, bring an intensity to tender skin that she hasn’t felt in quite some time.

This is a woman who has survived torture -- a metamorphosis into an entirely different human being -- and yet still finds herself reaching a peak of overstimulation with the Shimada’s hands on her. There is another uptick in her heartbeat, and Genji withdraws his hand, soothes it across where red meets purple and takes a moment to pull her open on his thumb, using it to glide from clit to the tight sinch of her asshole.

“Do not speak unless you will it.” It’s an order for her, don’t force this interaction -- he wants to earn each lapse in her exterior. She can only shift from knee to knee in acknowledgement, her throat bowed too tightly to respond verbally and he accepts it for what it is.

The Shimada plays with her for a while, circling over her clit, dipping gently into her cunt and then circling sweetly around the other. Amélie can only imagine he’s deciding where to push in; what to breech and spread around him. She doesn’t even notice that he’s somehow undone his codpiece until the impossibly hot blunt tip of his cock is nudging dumbly against the spread of her now sopping folds.

She braces, shifting upright on her elbows to prepare for the plunge when suddenly and all at once he’s buried to the hilt. Amélie lets out a sharp sound -- more of surprise than anything with how well he’s teased and stretched her -- but still the gall of him to --.

Her stomach is warm now, fire taking hold as the Shimada begins to claim what he perceives as his, rutting rapidly back and forth and pressing the head of him flush against the barrier between cunt and womb. There is no time for her to adjust to him, no time for her to prepare herself -- only the sensation of her usually empty core being speared and used below him. It is their agreement -- you can bring me no harm; but I beg you to try .

The Shimada is apt to accept her bargain, finally loosing his hand in his hair and pressing down firmly between her shoulders to settle her face in the pillows. The hair tie has come loose, letting a few of the shorter strands frame across her face, tickling her brow. They are visceral and annoying, but she finds herself restrained, Genji choosing instead now to grip tightly at one of her wrists to achieve the taut bow of her spine.

He continues to splay her open with his free hand, testing the resistance of her second opening with a slick thumb. He presses it past the tight pucker once, twice, three times before he dredges the pad once more through the slick that gathers at the hilt of his rutting cock. Each time he presses deeper, fills her core a little more each time until she whines below him, only the second noise she’s allowed him that evening.

Amélie hasn’t focused on the fire or her heart for many moments now, each having climbed past a point that she was comfortable acknowledging. She can feel the slick dripping from where the Shimada splits her; relishes in the hot burn when he breeches her ass. She’s so overwhelmed with feeling that she’s managed to forget her initial play to even come to him. It’s effective.

Genji has managed to push two hooked fingers into the clutch of her ass, pumps them readily and scissors them apart. He’s fixated, withdrawing to eye his handiwork; the soft gape and flutter of her muscles underneath him. There’s a long moment where his thrusts stutter shallow inside her, and he only makes motion to shift when she releases an annoyed huff and shifts herself.

With that, he lets her go, drawing out of her and wetting his fingers more thoroughly with her slick. Then he’s pumping fingers back inside, this time higher, spreading a part of her she hasn’t ever allowed a human inside. Two fingers become three, three becomes the knuckle of a forth, and then he’s lining himself up, sinking in with more consideration inside her.

The game doesn’t last long from there. She’s tight around his girth, twitching and contorting around him in initial discomfort. He adjusts to his feet, releases her wrist and lets his own hands descend onto her hips to drag her body back onto him.

You can bring me no harm.

And he cannot.

She lets out another sound, not so much a grunt or a sigh, but a moan. His hips jackrabbit, all six inches of cock disappearing and reappearing with every thrust as he angles her just the way he needs to come off.

Amélie’s fingers find their way to her cunt, ring and middle digging in to soothe the emptiness he has left, and ensuring that she drags the broad blunt of her palm against her throbbing clit with each pump inside herself. She has forgotten her nothingness stretched around Genji Shimada whose rage had reduced to a passion where he fucks against her.

He has a few obvious tells when he’s close -- he growls, his fingers tighten against her skin, and he becomes careless and aggressive with his thrusts until he’s dragging her back hard and deep, rearranging her from the inside out.

He’s coming in her, painting her soft walls white when she tips over. She soaks her hand and fingers, buries her face against his linens so that he cannot hear her. Her voice is not for him, and she will not allow him to have more than what she has already allotted.

She has left a smattering of her own come on his bedsheets. There are drips from not only her orgasm but their general play as well. The beads of wet gather on her knuckles until they grow heavy enough to drip on the military grade sheets below them.

Genji finally withdraws once she has finished shivering. He holds her open again, breathless where he hovers over her and watches with rapt fascination as rivulets of milky load trails from the wide gape of her ass into the quivering folds of her pussy. He draws his fingers through the mess of both of them, collecting as much of himself as he can and pushing it into the pliant folds of her womanhood.

Amélie lets him play, catches her breath and clenches around his finger as he shoves his useless spend into her body. Nothing will come of it, but she allows his fascination all the same.

//

She cleans up in his room -- does not allow him to look at her after their session is over. She is filled with less than nothing once again, and his anger spikes as she leaves his quarters, a tattered mess. But for a time, there was a balance, and they should like to seek it again.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

#5yrsago Lich-House by Warren Ellis

Warren Ellis:

The white room is bleeding to death.

A white vestibule, with white floors and white walls and a lit white ceiling. The only other color is red. A crack in one wall, exposing a raw fistula in the bioelectric packeting. Blood leaks from the hole, down three inches of slick white wall, to pool on the floor. A broken heart in the interstitial net of veins and wires that makes our houses live and breathe.

Somebody has murdered the house.

* * *

Whoever it is, they are disguised in different blood. human blood is net- worked. The intruder is wearing nine pints of a“dumb” perfluorocarbon emulsion, highly oxygenated. The intruder’s clothing is similarly stupid. Scavenged materials, hand sewn. Its security measures are dead, stabbed by the intruder, and it is bleeding out, but it can still see.

The house is not intelligent in any human sense. It has attempted to report its wound to the network. It does not understand that some form of help will be on the way. It simply reports, and logs the digital result of that report. In this instance, it has written that the local grid appears unavailable. This is not because of the hole in its wall but due to an environmental denial-of-service attack. The street, and much of its flora and fauna, are flickering on and offline. The house has begun to dump the record of its dying gaze into the storage vault in its foundations.

The house will die slowly. It will hold on for as long as it can and record as much as it can.

The house didn’t recognize anyone at the door until it was too late. Even now, with the intruder moving through the vestibule into the hallway corridor, the house is having difficulty gathering data on the figure. The intruder’s head and hands are covered in metamaterial sheathing, studded with ultraviolet LEDs.

The house, with its throat cut, cannot shout an alarm. Outside, it is causing the flowers in the yard to change their colors, petals turning fluorescent orange. This is the most it can do to signal a home invasion at this time. Inside, it grows more limited by the moment. The hallway is already colder. As the temperature drops, the house studies the intruder for hot spots, while pinging the outside world for a connection eighteen times a second. The house, in its chilly algorithmic way, will fight until it can no longer.

* * *

The walls of the vestibule began to pit. Its flooring had gone gray and was taking on the texture of river mud.

The hallway carpeting almost imperceptibly rotted away, revealing complex systems of runnels incised into the flooring.

The intruder was in the living room now. The television wall was showing nothing but a swirl of RGB, its screen spasming in the corners, surface rippling and twisting. The sofa and armchairs were forgetting their shapes and were unable to log in to the cloud for a reset.

The large Klimt curtains over the windows were an unnecessary affectation in the days of responsive glass. They functioned as simple still cameras, polymer lenses and plastic batteries in the weave, with a simple telephony aerial that’d get an image file out over the cellular air. Within a few minutes, the occupant’s security service would receive a JPG of a figure apparently without face or hands, even these basic lenses entirely defeated by the intruder’s imaging countermeasures.

The hot spots on the figure were now showing the house how the intruder dressed. This led the house to discover two epithelial cells on the cuff of the left glove. As the intruder stepped back into the hallway, the house was able to ping them, to no end. However, a third, longer epithelial was located in the back seam of the intruder’s hood. This scrap of skin, caught in the seal and no more than three millimeters across, was networked. The hood had at the very least been handled by someone whose employment contractually required total tracking. When the house stroked it with a gentle wave of radio energy, it gave up its name and number. The house stored that in the hard vault. If the eDoS attack hadn’t been in effect, the house may well have been able to track that cell’s digital spoor across the network and into a human operating system. In serious circumstances, law enforcement decisioning systems could select cerebromedullospinal disconnection for that human to prevent flight previous to questioning.

Decisioning systems were not artificial intelligence. They were calculations of the network.

Not a concern for the human intruder in the house, of course, even if the street had been on the grid. The human in the house was aggressively non-networked.

The human occupant slept on. The house was unable to warn her. It was possible that the maintenance-related empathetic simulators in the occupant’s body, which provided a general alert to failures in the house system, might eventually wake the occupant, but their effect was extremely low level so as not to impair the occupant’s own ability to function. After a long day, a digitally generated sense of unease usually wasn’t enough to rouse anyone from a night’s sleep.

Power circuits were starting to give up now. The dining table had responded to a connectivity interruption of more than a moment by compacting itself. The dining room itself, noticing that its lighting was strobing, shut its light fittings off entirely so as not to disturb any occupants.

That room was empty. The intruder was in the kitchen. The electricity was already dead here. The fridge had gone to its power-cut setting, busy battery-run hands working inside it to strip and crush the foodstuffs within by animal and vegetable and order of expiration date. The packages were trying to signal their suppliers, with no luck.

The intruder walked back and began to ascend the stairwell. Her steps were just a little louder now because all the downstairs flooring was hard and resonant, its claddings wished away by the house. The vestibule walls were rotting heavily now, sliding from their frames and collapsing into thick, knobby cones before falling to the floor and deliquescing into the runnels that the mud had evanesced to uncover.

The intruder stepped onto the edges of each stair, as the strip of decorative carpet pinned down the middle of the staircase unwove itself, its soft strands of neutrally toned programmable matter breaking down into wisps of biodegradable anti-bacterial mist. The stairwell walls were dripping and pattering gently, and the trickle of liquid along the runnels and down into the containment bins under the house was getting louder. At this point in the process, the slow death of the house sounded not unlike some ambient relaxation soundfile.

At the top of the stairs, the intruder drew a weapon. The house, still with eyes to see through, zeroed in on it. It was a handgun. An offline handgun, and therefore illegal in this particular geographical location. The house was unable to consult a library about the weapon. Not that this would have mattered or made any difference. The weapon was actually a Colt M1911A1, a semi- automatic pistol designed in 1924 and used deep into the twenty- first century by the FBI and various special operations forces. There was nothing clever or beautiful about it in a modern sense. It had none of the immensely useful and impressive innovations of the contemporary world. It just killed people.

The handgun was in fact so simple that the house, in an ordinary moment, had more than a dozen ways to counter it. In the case of semi-automatic fire, the house could even have caused air molecules to clump into socks of matter dense enough to net the bullets before they reached a target. None of this could happen.

Up here, there were only three rooms. At the back of the house, there was the bathroom, darkened. Next, a second bedroom used as a storeroom, dark and its door wide open. At the front of the house was the master bedroom, wide and spacious, elegantly designed. The occupant preferred to go to bed with the door open just a little. In the first couple of weeks of the occupancy, the house had studied the fractions of that partly opened door and calculated an average. Since then, the house had taken care of that door. The house watched, and managed, the smallest parts of its anthropic usage. It made the occupant feel like her house liked her: that her house could feel and think.

The intruder entered the room, damp shoes on a hardwood floor. This was not a pistol that needed to be cocked. The safety, oiled and well cared for, slid silently under the intruder’s thumb.

The wall between the dining room and the kitchen let go in a rush, a sudden river of wet matter hitting the flooring like a mudslide.

The occupant woke just as the intruder took another step into the room. The combination of sound and motion detection gave the occupant a jolt.

Read the rest:

https://boingboing.net/2013/07/29/warren-ellis-lich-house.html

[floggingink]

Riverdale, “Chapter Twenty: Tales from the Darkside”

THIS ISN’T DOWN TO THE WIRE, KEVIN

I think most of the references this ep went over my head, as I am not a classic horror connoisseur, but I’m giving it the old college try

CHUCK AND HIS 18-INCH WAIST IS BACK!

Sixth period is Intro to Film: for starters, the opening text crawl is from the beginning of the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and they did this to placate Jughead, who has an amazing episode this week in that he fucking survives to the end of it

oh yeah, Betty got Mr. Phillips killed!

I like that in response to the circumstances Betty and Jughead have started sinning MORE

Jug’s snake tattoo has a little crown on it, because history will not be denied/he’s a dweeb

Jughead’s being very dutifully “You didn’t do anything wrong, etc.,” and Betty absolutely cuts him off like, “BUT HOW THE FUCK?”

he calls her “Poirot,” which is like Betty calling him a rebel without a cause

ah, the poster of which is by his bed! Jughead has a bedroom!!!! you’ve earned it, champ!

Sexy, aesthetic Southside: I don’t remember if Penny Peabody had crimped hair the last time she and Jughead met, but it’s straight outta 00’s Avril Lavigne and I love it

the Kentucky Derby blinders Jughead has for his father are Riverdale’s truest tragedy. FP is doing him so wrong

Jughead is going to be Penny’s “transportation advisor,” because he’s such a good driver

LOVED the Kill Bill typewriter “Archie & Jughead” titles

What damn high school in America: you know Jughead just totally skipped class and sauntered into Riverdale High in his fucking jacket. now that his English teacher is gone, what’s the fucking point? can he still run his paper?

Gay?!: Cheryl calls them Bert and Ernie as she shoves them aside like they were made of papier-mâché (Bert and Ernie are life partners)

I like Jughead’s sort of layered expression when he’s asking Archie for help/telling Archie he’s going to help him, like he’s slightly smiling when he talks about the Ghoulies “stunt”

Archie COMMENDABLY says NOTHING about the huge crate full of drugs (it’s not POSSIBLY full of drugs, or even pancake mix) he’s about to get his prints all over. Riverdale would never have them pick up a like a metal Law & Order box, it’s got to be like a fucking pirate chest

Archie & Jug in the truck was presh. Archie had a lot of Fred-esque lines, but I think he’s filtering his true fears about Jughead ENDING UP IN PRISON, WHICH IS WHERE HE IS HEADED, into father-speak, and Jughead, whose father blows, is like I DON’T KNOW, DAD, I’M LIVING MINUTE TO MINUTE HERE

—which is very traumatized, you know? like when you’re growing up, if you’re too hassled and anxious you get holes in your developing brain because it’s too focused on constantly being in fight-or-flight survival mode to the detriment of learning how to be a person? Jughead doesn’t have time for anything that isn’t literally getting to the end of today, possibly sleeping with Betty

I like how Archie’s fantasy does NOT include college, which he doesn’t care about

Jughead doubts it: GQ tells me the East Village is still around, Jughead

not even in his dreams does Archie imagine Veronica would NOT be living on Park Avenue

I like the possibility-thread of “Even worse than jail” being cut off by the flat

Jughead wants to call Betty, his fixer, but then they’re like, How about the sheriff’s son?

would Kevin even have helped them out? he’s not into the shady anymore! he’s post-Joaquin!

Jughead has grand movie-thoughts about his own persona but has not “played it cool” once in his life

OH GREAT, IT’S TONY TODD. IT’S THE FUCKING CANDYMAN. GREAT. GREAT. HOW THE FUCK. WHAT. THE FUCKING—WHAT????????

Jughead only has $18 and he carries it with him wherever he goes

Jughead RELEASES Archie from his friendship debt before getting into McGinty’s truck, because HE’S ABOUT TO DIE

“DON’T LOOK UNDER THAT TARP”

JUGHEAD TAKING HIS LAST LOOK AT ARCHIE IN THE REARVIEW

The Blossom spawn: when Tony Todd fucking invoked Jason fucking Blossom, on top of everything else, ON TOP OF EVERYTHING ELSE, I had a fucking myocardial infarction

McGinty throwing out the time warp phrase “for just a hot minute”

okay the lighting in the truck makes his eyes reflect these tiny pinpoints of white out of the beyond-the-grave voids of his eyes and that Judgement Day shit is on the radio and Jughead is like, this is too much atmosphere even for me

“IN THE BLACK OF THE HOOD IS THE LIGHT OF GOD, AND WHEN YOU SEE IT, YOU WILL DIE.” WHAT? WHAT???? WHAAAAATTTTT???????

and then Archie sees a zombie deer. he sees like a fawn with its fucking skin blistered off. he sees a fucking Chernobyl deer. walking precisely the line between Riverdale and Greendale. great. Greendale is full of ghosts. Jughead is in a death truck driven by the Riverdale Reaper’s sixth victim or something. GREAT. GREENDALE IS FULL OF GHOSTS! GREAT!

Jughead wears his watch face very rakishly on the inside of his wrist

for a hot second, I thought the flies were bees. I did think they were bees. I did think they were doing Candyman

BECAUSE IT’S FUCKING TONY TODD!!!!!!!

you know Jughead was going to look under the tarp. you fucking knew it. he’s in act two of a horror movie. he’s going to relay this story later and say he didn’t look under the tarp? what’s under the tarp? WHAT’S IN THE BOX

deer too dead even to still walk around

I’ve seen this like three times and I can’t tell you what the fuck he’s eating in that shitty cafe. steak? Jell-O? kitten flesh?

the way he says “I’m no thrill-seeking sicko,” sucking on the S’s

the single fly buzzing around McGinty’s shoulder as he tells the Reaper story was like a single further death omen and if it turned out Jughead was already a zombie like in that comic you know, I would’ve fucking bought it, fuck it, what the fuck

some people THINK a lynch mob got him? there was a RUMOR lynch mob? or there was DEFINITELY a lynch mob that only MIGHT HAVE lynched the right person??? I’M GONNA NEED SOME CLARIFICATION, POP TATE

California in my experience is exactly where you should be to pray to the devil

I loved how fast things went incredibly south in the diner. the thud of the check, McGinty saying Jughead would pay, Jughead beings like, Pardon me? Jughead about to be LEFT BEHIND

“YOU’RE SINNERS, BOTH OF YOU. CAREFUL OR YOU’LL TASTE THE REAPER’S BLADE NEXT.”

Archie > Dawson: Archie is, simultaneously, the worst and best person to have along with you inside a horror movie, because he’s sort of dense but also will never give you up, never let you down, desert you (if it’s a Good Archie episode, which this unmistakably is). Archie is the only character I would buy forgetting he was there and miraculously he shows back up in the nick of time

next we have Archie and Jughead driving around some more with the Friday the 13th echoing exhale sound effect in the background, just for funsies

Fifth period is AP English: Penny’s fucking Arctic exploration crate has all this HP Lovecraft motif lore on the side of it, so, cool, I guess it contains screaming desiccated souls or something (Lovecraftian Ghouls eat flesh, by the way)

“Damn good coffee”: aaaaaaaaand coming out to meet them is a Soviet spy wearing a beret, wheeled out by Karla, with an AK on his hip. Greendale contains the trapped spirits of everyone who died there in the 70’s

These students are legally children: Jughead is screwed. Jughead is so screwed. Jughead is one part vodka, two parts orange juice

Archie’s coloring lends itself well to being bathed in that pink Pop’s lighting I love

Jughead has recovered enough to call McGinty (who isn’t named aloud) “Mr. American Gothic”

JUGHEAD WANTS TO GO TO THE LIBRARY WITH ARCHIE. he doesn’t want to do drug runs. he wants to snoop around with his best friend, because despite having a gang in his bloodline, Jughead is REALLY not a gang member. when he gets to choose what he wants to do, he just wants to do research. he wants to be Giles, okay

endless tragedy with Archie’s “Next day, for sure.”

I would absolutely believe that Riverdale’s jail’s visiting hours are actually “sunup to sundown” as opposed to like “eight to four”

how precious is he, steeling himself to see his father’s slashed face

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

apparently Penny’s surveillance video has some sort of infrared lighting quality

I like how Penny specifies that Jughead is not to raise his voice to her, a classic scarier-than-violence threat

is this why FP was so freaked that Jughead would owe her? not because she’s naturally treacherous to everyone, but because he knows she wants recompense for his betrayal? FP, you’re awesome start to finish

Jughead has not done like a SINGLE THING WRONG this entire time that hasn’t been at the behest of him trying to FIX everything single thing that his father set him up for, dog

I do not deserve a whole segment dedicated to Josie and her white manicure, yet here I am!

Josie and the janitor have an understanding, because people who stick around school after hours are usually slightly strange and have to stick together

“I don’t need a bodyguard! I’m not Whitney. Yet.”

Certified pedigree: Mayor McCoy is another Scary Riverdale Mom, but I’d say she’s the least scary of them WRT her daughter (not the southsiders, although jury’s still out on how much of that is Alice’s fault)

Josie’s vocal polyps swell when she’s stressed

her denim one-piece? only you, Josie

Cheryl’s hair: Classic Disney princess hair this episode. Classic Cheryl. a Classic

Cheryl sums up Josie’s guilt as being about “sinning” which means therefore the Black Hood may notice, as opposed to something like “You feel like you’re betraying your friends,” which would be the human response

Chuck Clayton is thoroughly charming throughout. if you just watched him this episode, you’d be like, How bad could he really have been?

he came prepared with the knowledge that Josie “loves her cheese fries”

Chuck’s leather jacket is very nice. all the boys should just be wearing leather jackets

Josie is partaking of a “eucalyptus steam”

“Nick St. Creature”

Cheryl’s measured response to Josie calling her controlling was perfect. she says she’ll never be able to “repay” her “debt,” because Cheryl is ALL ABOUT tit-for-tat, emotional burdens handled via business deals, paying off favors, clearing her side of the column

I also like her Blossom pun

The 2001 Josie and the Pussycats movie was a masterpiece: VALERIE! MELODY! VALERIE’S SWEATER! MELODY’S SKIRT! VALERIE’S CURLS! MELODY’S AFRO! “WOMEN ARE SUPPOSED TO TREAT EACH OTHER BETTER THAN THIS.” “PRIDE COMETH BEFORE THE FALL.”

Fwoopy hair is the best hair: Melody is not happy but she is the goddess of my life and I hope she can sense that from this distance

why IS Josie doing the solo thing? she did claw them in the back!

ooh, he’s smooth. he’s smooth with the Pop’s thing. Chuck did that

Josie’s “YEAH MHM” nod when Chuck says he “doesn’t have the greatest track record” and rolls her eyes at him “going to church”

“Why? To objectify models?”

he wants to draw comics, because he is a creative? Chuck and Jughead and their leather jackets would have a great time at the library together, after they make up (with hugs)

did I say Archie looked good in the pink light? fucking Chuck and Josie look phenomenal

Pulp Fiction diner dancing!

I’ve seen Brick like thirty times: the two of them synchronized jitterbugging together, I did not have the patience to Google the name of the dance, like fully won me over. is Chuck good now? I’m fucking on Chuck’s list now. like is that all it took for me? I am a weak bitch

“YOU’RE A DAMNED FOOL.”

stay strong, Chuck! don’t fuck this up!

is Mayor McCoy lying on the spot about her hate mail mentioning Josie? just to scare her into compliance?

“Taking a few art classes does not a saint make.”

Cheryl’s sheaths: Cheryl’s wearing huge thick ankle-strap platforms again with a VERY leggy romper

okay shut up because Cheryl actually says “What’s in the box?” and Brad Pitt felt a little bit of his life force drain from his body

Gay.: What up with Cheryl’s game here? was she preemptively putting things in Josie’s locker on the off-chance she would need to get a rival presence out of Josie’s life? I would like a reason, but I don’t need one, because Cheryl is so beyond my mind to comprehend I take solace simply in basking in her wake. like, she found a pig’s heart? of course she did. of course you did, Cheryl

Cheryl’s a chaos angel from hell: “For all we know, he’s the one sending your mom those letters, too” is SUCH an overreach if Josie had had time to think about it for two seconds, but she does not have such two seconds, thus it is a master move by Cheryl Blossom

Chuck’s puppy eyes

Josie knows what she diiiiiiiiid!

THEY GOT ME FOR THE SECOND TIME! GODDAMMIT!

nicely specific throat-slashing, right in the polyps

I’m writing a scene where it’s gay.: Cheryl is listening to Josie sing as she draws, in the greatest reveal in television history (at least since “You’ve done a bad thing, Daddy,” which feels like it happened fifty-eight years ago) (is this actually gay? am I being #blessed with Gothic lesbian villainy?)

Every triangle has three corners, every triangle has three sides: Betty and Jughead literally sleeping together I WOULD ASSUME means they’re having sex except I’m like 0-4 on this stuff, I’m not taking anything as a given

Best costume bit: Betty’s flower decal sweater

VERONICA: How’s he been dealing with it? BETTY: WHAT’S HE BEEN DOING?

Veronica’s tiny poofy magenta skirt and EXTREMELY high heels

“Poor Kevin. He’s like a character in a lost Tennessee Williams play.” (Archie does not know Tennessee Williams)

Sheriff Keller is REMARKABLY forthcoming, in that I think he assumes Betty is going to dig around until she’s found this stuff out anyway, so he may as well show her the ACTUAL EVIDENCE PHOTOS now

Kevin is a cashmere-besweatered angel who plays RPG’s and drinks milk

dare I spy a Tarantino split-screen?

The female gaze: Tom Keller is jacked and this just complicates everything

the extent to which Veronica can be read as absolutely hitting on him while actually prying him for information while ostensibly offering comfort is a tribute to Camilla Mendes, James DeWille, 60,000 years of human speech

the animal targets on the wall as like, art?

aw, Kev took the floor. honestly thought he might have a bunk bed for like, his bears

God bless jingle-jangle: can you imagine having it in your obituary that you were “a jingle-jangle addict”? can someone finagle this for mine? is this blog a legal document?

50 Shades of Betty: I love how off the rails, if you will, Betty is this episode. she’s lost the forest for the trees a bit and it’s GREAT. she’s such a fucking oddball. Lili Reinhart’s massive eyes are like laserbeams of manic certainty

Summer + Blair = Veronica: Veronica is the only person with sense this entire episode. like what would it have been like if it was Veronica and Jughead in the first part? and Archie seeing Josie get a pig’s heart! AND CHERYL IN SHERIFF KELLER’S MAN-SWEAT BASEMENT

it appears the singing bass salesman made a stop at the Kellers’ after he hit up FP Jones

Please protect Betty: Betty’s expression of defiant stoicism throughout her father’s apology on her behalf and Keller explaining himself even further

“Where-oh-where do you think you’re going, Sheriff?” TO LIVE HIS LIFE, BETTY?

he is wearing a very Black Hood outfit of the leather jacket (!) over a flannel with jeans

love the split-second shot of the camera flash

Veronica was rich: of course Veronica’s in like thigh-high boots or whatever

OOOOOOOOHHH HE’S DOING THAAAAAAAT WITH HEEEERRRRRRR!

Veronica was 1) correct and 2) says “broment”

Pop keeps delicate teacups around for “fancy” orders

Cheryl’s structured red coat!

can you believe Jughead left BEFORE Pop got that phone call?

THE RECKONING, Y’ALL, IT’S HERE! MAYBE ONE SINGLE MORE PERSON WILL DIE!

NEXT WEEK TWENTY HOURS FROM NOW: Cheryl makes FP clean up a milkshake, and I enjoy this very special purchase

[billyggruff]

Steven Quartz Universe: More powerful than he knows

When Steven was first introduced to the show, he appeared to be adorable kid with some really finicky and unreliable powers. His caretakers, the crystal gems, bore the bulk of the responsibility when it came to fighting gem monsters and other gems like Jasper. However, as Steven is coming into his own, and his powers become more controllable, it’s slowly but steadily being hinted at that he is far more powerful than the crystal gems, homeworld, or even himself realizes. 

I’m not just talking about things like physical strength or even his shield, although they are both quite valuable assets, but rather I’m talking about powers he hasn’t even been able to fully explore yet. Still, lets talk about his more obvious abilities before delving into his potentials later.  First and probably most underestimated power of his is his super strength. Steven started out being only stronger than the average human, but as time has gone on there has been a slew of evidence to suggest that he can exert several tons of force quite effortlessly. Evidence for this includes him kicking metal doors in and tossing huge slabs of stone from a temple with a punch of his fist (AFTER he was bodied into the stone hard enough to create a crater). While he is probably still on the weaker end when it comes to Quartz, his strength is noticeable to other gems now as evidenced by the Wanted Special. I would not be surprised if his physical prowess finds itself having an upgrade sooner rather than later. 

His floating powers also have a lot of potential to it. One only needs to watch a few kung fu flicks with high flying wire fu to know that characters who can fight AND float can be quite the badasses in combat. 

However awesome as those movies are however, Steven’s version of floating is actually more effective. While your usual high flying fantasy kung fu movie has its characters only getting lighter when they hop around, Steven’s ability to float is far sturdier than that. 

While other floating powers make you lighter, Steven’s is more akin to flight that only pushes upwards like a hot air balloon. the crystal gems could not force him down because the force he was exerting to keep himself aloft was stronger than the downward forces they were putting on him. A boat about that size is usually 2400 pounds from what I could find online, add onto that whatever weight the gems bring to the table and the fact that he’s holding that boat by his arms, and its fair to say that his floating and strength abilities are quite strong. He’s also been learning to use momentum before activating his ability to travel over distances. The greater control he has over his emotional state, the more nuanced his control of this ability is going to get. 

His shield and bubble powers are pretty self explanatory. They are quite durable, especially his shield, and they seem to be able to counter a wide variety of Gem weaponry of all shapes and sizes, including on freaking spaceships. In terms of defenses, you can’t get much better than Steven’s shield. 

Another defensive ability even his mother didn’t have was a resistance to Destabilizers 

While his form appears to be at least partially Hard Light in composition, the majority of himself is organic, which destabilizers do not account for. As such that type of weaponry, while it would hurt, does not really affect him the way it would a pure gem. 

However, all of this is only talking about Steven’s personal capabilities in a fight. It does not address his most powerful abilities of all. The power to create and maintain an entire army. This is encompassed into his “healing ability,” however the applications for this power are quite staggering.  

His first foray into army making was unintentionally creating an entire species of sapient watermelons. Doesn’t sound all that impressive at first, until you realize he was able to create this army from ONE WATERMELON. Each and everyone of them inclined to be loyal to him and fight for him to their end. Rose also established that this ability can extend to any and all flora. Moss to Trees can be made into an army of loyal soldiers which can in turn breed MORE of their kind. If he spent a single day just spitting out a variety of seeds he’d have an entire militia over night. Anyone who has seen the march of the Ents from Lord of the Rings would know that this power is quite formidable indeed. 

Yeah, Steven could create THAT if he wanted to, and it wouldn’t even be that hard. While they individually wouldn’t be as strong as a quartz gem, they would be a formidable force in numbers. 

However, he’s had another power that has been revealed that is even more formidable than his flora soldiers. 

Pink Fauna: While Steven can create flora soldiers, his ability to raise creatures back from the dead and bestow on them tactically advantageous powers through his tears is quite possibly one of his strongest powers. These beings are given powers like enhanced strength, longevity, lack of a need to eat, the ability to walk on water, portals made through intense yelling (as far as we know), and most vital of all, the ability to create a pathway into a pocket dimension that can connect planets over billions of light years. It appears this can be done with any type of fauna on the planet, including humans as shown with Lars. Rose also displayed an ability to placate and tame creatures like Lions, so if Steven were interested, he could easily go about acquiring other creatures in this manner, such as Gorillas, Bears, Tigers, and more. Having intensely loyal, super strong beings with interconnected portals to each other is a tactical advantage that would be quite silly to pass up. 

Steven would need to be sad enough about their death to cry about it however, so it would require creating a relationship with said creatures, but its completely doable. This also means anyone in Beach City whom he is close enough with could become a potential Pink Soldier for him. Sadie in particular is already strong as a human, so making her into one would be pretty advantageous should she meet an untimely end (plus she’d be with Lars, so that’s a thing).  Beyond that, there is one more power he’ll be needing to develop over the course of the next season or so. 

Healing corrupted Gems: 

Not only could Steven turn the plants and animals on earth into an intensely loyal army for him, he’s on the precipice of gaining the ability to heal corrupted gem monsters. Being able to do this would create brand new crystal gems who would be very thankful for Steven and VERY miffed against homeworld for condemning them to thousands of years of being monsters to be hunted and rounded up by Garnet Amethyst and Pearl.  

They have a lot, and I do mean a LOT of potential recruits once Steven acquires this power. 

Once again, all of what I am stating here is things that Steven can do VERY quickly provided he is in the right emotional state to do so. If he put his mind to it, Steven could fundamentally change the ecosystem of the entire planet Easily within a week to a month. All he’d have to do is use the warp pads and seed all the different kinds of plants in the area and develop relationships with candidates for being Pink Soldiers and the whole world would be his very easily. Not that Steven is the world conquering type, but if it means him developing a strong enough force to fight off a gem invasion maybe he’d do it. 

So in conclusion, Steven is a ton more powerful than he or others give him credit for. If he weren’t such a nice kid, he’d have probably taken over the planet by now. 

[volleycatnika-blog]

“THE STARS BETWEEN US” TEASER

“The Stars Between Us” is a sheith fic I wrote as part of the Sheith Big Bang. Below are the first two chapters that serve as a teaser/trailer. You will be able to read the full fic on AO3 on AUGUST 30th!

summary:

One minute he is in his lion, and the next...He is floating in darkness. It’s cold, much like the mindscape where he fought Zarkon for the Black Lion’s connection, but that’s all they have in common. The rest of it is different. Very different.

IN OTHER WORDS:

A Reverse Voltron AU where the Alteans (and Voltron) are evil and the Galra are good. The fic starts at the end of season two.

reviews from friends:

“WHAT a great fic. The story was so much fun with all its twists and the backstory was deep and colourful.“ - armedarchaeologist on tumblr

“I absolutely love how you write, okay. It’s so beautiful and addicting.” - meteorysh on tumblr

(teaser under cut)

THE STARS BETWEEN US

Nika Ravenscraft

1

Shiro hadn’t planned on leaving, but he’d sensed something would happen.

He hadn’t sensed this.

One minute he is in his lion, and the next - he is floating in darkness. It’s cold, much like the mindscape where he fought Zarkon for the Black Lion’s connection, but that’s all they have in common. The rest of it is different. Very different. This space feels far more realistic, not like a dream or a nightmare.

This space feels like real space. After a few agonizing moments of blinking and squinting, Shiro realizes it is. He’s floating amongst the stars. The only signs of life, friendly or otherwise, are battlecruisers blown to bits.

How did he end up outside Black? How did he end up here, away from Voltron? How did he end up floating in space, God knows how far from his friends?

With a heavy sigh, Shiro focuses on clearing his mind. He should save his questions for later. He needs solid ground and a means of contacting his fellow paladins. The radio is no use— it has been emitting annoying static in his ears for the past ten minutes.  

Using his jetpack, he manages to land on a large chunk of battlecruiser. It’s more intact than most. It also looks quite familiar… The overall setup is quite similar to that of the Voltron lions. There are two levers that are placed about a shoulder width apart and two large windows which are shaped like the eyes of a cat. A vast array of purple lights illuminate the cockpit, which seem to do more harm than good. Even though the lights illuminate the cockpit, they make it feel darker. Most importantly, there is the bayard socket. The similarities surprise Shiro, especially since the battlecruisers are various shades of Galra purple. Why would a Galra ship have a bayard socket?

Taking a seat in the cockpit, Shiro lets his gaze wander. The battlecruiser seems to be in fairly good shape, ignoring the fact that it is no longer fight-worthy. With the lights still glowing, indicating that the ship still has power, Shiro pushes a few buttons and pulls a few levers. The ship refuses to budge.

It isn’t until Shiro has the ship's systems running that he realizes something. There was no body in this battlecruiser, and no blood. He could just shrug it off—perhaps the battlecruiser was controlled by an AI—but there is a pilot seat. There is a pilot seat for a reason.

Before Shiro can decide whether or not to leave the battlecruiser, he hears the sound of a blaster charging. Slowly turning around, Shiro is relieved to find that the Galra before him is a member of the Blade of Marmora. And it is not just any member… Taking in the unique details of the suit, Shiro softly asks, “Ulaz? Is that you? How are you here? I thought you were dead.”

Ulaz, who lowers his blaster ever so slightly, seems as surprised as Shiro. “Champion? I thought you were…” Quickly closing the distance between them, he pokes Shiro a few times with his blaster. Emitting a sigh of relief, Ulaz says, “You’re really here. You’re really you. I can’t believe it! How did you...?” Ulaz lets his voice trail off once more before he sets his blaster down to make repairs to the battlecruiser. “I suppose I should save my questions for later. We need to get out of here. It isn’t safe. They could come back. They will return, for sure, if they find out you are here.”

“They? Who are you talking about?” Shiro asks. Ulaz suddenly drops the two wires he had been connecting.

“You should know who they are,” Ulaz responds, sounding surprisingly sad. “That is, you should, unless they erased your memories. Or perhaps they altered them...” Ulaz, who has been studying his face, reluctantly returns his gaze to the wires. “Don’t worry, once we get to headquarters we’ll find out what happened to you. We’ll find out what happened and fix it.”

His words only add to Shiro’s confusion and unease. “Do you really think my memories have been altered? I hate to admit it, but it would make sense. I don’t know how I ended up out here. One minute I was in my lion, and the next I was floating in space.”

Ulaz fiddles with more wires and pulls a couple of levers before responding. “Your lion? Oh they must have altered your memories quite a bit. You might have thought it was your lion, but it is really hers. She was just using you as a puppet because she is incapable of forming a bond with the lions herself.”

Shiro feels like a broken record. “She? Who are you talking about?”

At this, Ulaz emits a heavy sigh. “I don’t think I should say. If I were to tell you while your memories are still altered, you won’t believe me. If anything, you’d get mad at me.” Letting his voice lower an octave, he adds, “You may even kill me.”

“Me, kill you?” Shiro asks, now more confused than he has ever felt in his entire life. “Why would I kill you? You saved my life. You saved me from the Galra. You know, the evil ones. Not the ones like you.”

“That’s the problem,” Ulaz says, all the while reaching for his blaster. Once he grabs hold of it, he doesn’t point it at Shiro. However, he charges it so he can fire a shot at a moment’s notice. “I didn’t save you from the Galra. Don’t misinterpret my words, I did save you from a most certain death. However, those who held you captive were not Galra. They may have looked Galra, but they weren’t. Take it from someone who is actually Galra.”

“Then what were they? They looked like Galra to me,” Shiro hisses in response, confusion turning into annoyance.

“I’m in no place to tell you who they are. However, I know someone who is. Actually, I know two.” Unlike Shiro, Ulaz’s voice only carries a hint of sharpness. “Please save your questions for them.”

“Okay,” Shiro says reluctantly.

Just seconds later, the two of them take off in a repaired, but barely flight-worthy ship. Then, they are flying through an area of space Shiro finds familiar. Upon spotting two black holes situated near a blue star, Shiro realizes the area isn’t just familiar. It is identical to an area he’s seen before… It’s where the base of the Blade of Marmora is located.

2

“You know, flying along the path to the Blade of Marmora headquarters isn’t a very pleasant experience. Especially since I’ve flown through here before,” Shiro remarks.

“You’ve been here before? Who led you here? This base is a secret…” Ulaz responds. Shiro can hear bewilderment in his shaking voice.

“You gave me the coordinates, remember? The coordinates were in my arm. I used them after you died. Or rather, after I thought you died.”

“I think you should stop talking. Or, at the very least, save your words for the two people I mentioned. They are likely the only ones that will be able to understand what you are trying to say. One of the two is the only creature alive capable of fixing the alterations that have been made to your memories.”

Unsure of how to respond to that, Shiro stays silent. He remains silent as they exit the ship and enter the base. The base is a lot like what he remembers… Lights frame each room, making the base seem larger than it actually is. This, paired with an odd lack of furniture, makes the base feel cold and unfriendly. Finding himself too unnerved to make smalltalk, Shiro continues to remain silent until they are able to gain an audience with the two people Ulaz mentioned earlier.

The two figures Ulaz has him stand before share similarities in the way they dress, with them wearing nearly identical suits. The suits consists of what seems to be the Galra’s favorite colors- shades of black accented by purple and gray. However, the way they dress is the only similarity they share, with one being significantly taller than the other.

“You brought the traitor here. You better have an explanation for this, Ulaz,” the taller of the two hisses, voice warped through the mask.

“I found him floating in space,” Ulaz responds, seemingly unfazed by the taller figure’s hiss. “Upon speaking to him, it became evident that his memories were altered. Additionally, he has been mentioning things that make no sense.”

“I suppose I’ll have to have a look, then,” the shorter figure says.

Even though the shorter figure is disguised, Shiro recognizes her hunched figure. He recognizes the searing hot feeling of Haggar’s magic that slithers in his direction. It only stops when someone shouts.

“You will not do anything until he has proven himself!” The taller figure shouts. They curl their hands into tight fists as they speak. “He will go through the trials. If he does not go through the trials, he will be killed.”

“He is in no state to participate in those,” Ulaz exclaims. “In his current state, the trials could kill him!”

“Possible death or certain death. Knowledge or death. What will it be, traitor?” The taller figure snarls, their left hand now touching the handle of their weapon.

“I will participate,” Shiro responds immediately, surprising everyone, including himself, with his lack of hesitation. “I want knowledge. Why do you call me a traitor? The only traitor I see here is you, allowing this evil Druid,” Shiro motions to Haggar, “to enter this base.”

“How dare you call me a traitor, you murderer.” The taller figure’s dog-like growling makes it difficult for Shiro to understand what they are saying. “Have Ulaz prepare you for the trials and get out of my sight.”

Before Shiro can respond, Ulaz utters a “thank you” before grabbing hold of Shiro’s human arm and dragging him out of the room. It is only after they are halfway down the main hallway that Ulaz lets go of his arm. “What are you doing, aggravating Ignis? You of all people should know that he gets easily irritated.”

“Ignis?” Shiro responds, having to mentally count to ten in order to stop himself from taking out his anger on Ulaz. “I don't know anyone named Ignis. What kind of alien names their child Ignis? Ignis is a Latin word root.... How would an alien know a Latin root word? Most importantly, why is Haggar here?”

Much to Shiro’s surprise, Ulaz merely gives him a sad look. “I will try my best to get Ignis to change his mind. You are clearly not fit to participate in the trials. In case I am unable to convince him, good luck.”

Ulaz leaves him alone in a large, barren room. To call it a room is a bit of a stretch. The “room” is more like an arena… It reminds Shiro of his time spent as prisoner of the Galra. Shiro shivers as he struggles to remain calm. This place is different, Shiro tells himself. Here, they gave me a choice. Or did they? They didn’t seem too fond of letting me go if I wanted to decided to leave...

“Shiro!” A voice shouts, interrupting Shiro’s train of thought. It isn’t just any voice. It’s Keith’s voice. “Where are you, Shiro?”

Shiro hastily stands up. Slowly spinning where he stands, he looks for a sign of his friend in the empty room. Luckily, he doesn’t have to look for long—popping up through a hole in a floor is a body.

Keith doesn’t try to move. Shiro can understand why Keith doesn’t dare to, or rather, why he is unable to. His paladin armor, which is normally white and red, is now mostly red. Blood seeps from multiple cuts on Keith’s body. However, one stands out the most: one that matches Shiro’s scar across his nose.

“Help me, Shiro.”

Shiro runs to him and he falls to his knees. Immediately attempting to rip his own suit to use it to stop Keith’s bleeding. Shiro emits a snarl of frustration when his suit refuses to rip. Settling for using his hands to stop the bleeding of the largest cut, Shiro struggles to maintain his composure. “Everything is going to be okay, Keith. I’ll get you out of here. We’ll be back on the ship with the rest of Voltron in no time.”

“You have to save yourself first,” Keith whispers in response. As he whispers, Keith presses his hands over a cut that is oozing blood at an alarming rate. Despite his pressing, blood seeps from between his fingers.

Before Shiro can respond, the floor opens up and swallows Keith, replacing him with another Shiro.

Clad in tattered clothes, the other Shiro snarls at him, flashing sharp teeth. “You’re dead, weakling.” With a bright flash of yellow, he lunges. Shiro dodges to no avail -a hand grabbing his ankle. Before Shiro can free himself, he’s flying across the room. Hitting a wall with a loud thud, Shiro falls to the ground. Ignoring his body’s aching protests, Shiro scrambles to his feet.

“Look at you squirm,” his copy sneers, meanwhile giving him a predatory look. “You’re a shell of who you use to be.”

As feelings of resentment build up inside him, Shiro activates his Galra arm. He lunges at his other self. When his lunge earns him a laugh, Shiro realizes he made a mistake.

His mistake has painful consequences. Metal finger-tips drag across his side, digging into his skin like the claws of a feral animal. Shiro is unable to suppress a scream.

Once the scream is out of his system, he tries to calm himself down. Such a thing is hard to do while he is bleeding - while he knows that Keith’s life depends on him defeating his copy. Although tempted to go on the defensive, Shiro plows ahead - trapping him against a wall. Once trapped, Shiro pounds his face in.

His copy bends, but doesn’t break. It isn’t until his copy twitches and emits sparks before falling to the ground that Shiro realizes his copy isn’t human, but a robot.

Relieved to know that an evil version of him doesn’t exist, Shiro breathes a sigh of relief. That is, he feels relieved until he remembers Keith. “Where’s Keith?” He shouts, his voice echoing within the room. “Let me see Keith!”

The entranceway opens and Ignis steps through. His mere presence pisses Shiro off.

“I can’t believe you called me a traitor! You hurt Keith and befriended Haggar. You’re the only traitor here.” Shiro presses one of his hands to his wound before continuing. “Let me see him, now!”

“I can’t let you see him. Not like this,” Ignis says.

Before Shiro can respond, Ignis knocks him out with a hard blow to the head.

[allyinthekeyofx]

GENESIS - Chapters 3 & 4

CHAPTER THREE

San Diego International Airport. 5:15 a.m.

Despite the early morning hour, the airport was packed with people intent on reaching their respective destinations as quickly and easily as possible.

Mulder and Scully had arrived at the airport at the worst time, a time when early morning commuters joined the throngs of tourists either on their way to, or departing the famous city, and Mulder knew that it would be some time before they escaped the stuffy confines of the building.

Their FBI status would hurry things up somewhat, but he suspected as he gazed around the bustling concourse, that they would be here for some considerable time.

They headed for the security check point, nodded at the two heavy set security guards, and briefly displayed their badges. In doing so they bypassed the metal detector, knowing that should they pass through it, the weapons they carried would provoke the kind of high pitched scream from the machine of which Mulder was acutely conscious would cause his headache to swell to mammoth proportions, swiftly rendering him unable to think straight.

He was not usually prone to headaches, in fact he was rarely sick at all, but a combination of a lack of sleep and the concern he felt for his partner had taken their toll on him.

Scully had been silent and uncommunicative during the six hour flight, responding to his questions and comments with a monosyllabic terseness that was quite unlike her, and Mulder had eventually admitted defeat, turning away from her and staring out of the window at the black nothingness which surrounded the plane.

He had remained painfully aware of her though, as she unsuccessfully feigned sleep next to him, and now as he regarded her before him, it was clear that she was still having a tough time handling the news he had brought her, that whatever resources she had draw on to get her through the last few hours were now stretched to the point of breaking.

Wearily, Mulder brought his hand up to his face briefly, and rubbed his temple, trying to dispel the pounding in his skull as he glanced around the concourse, attempting to get his bearings.

He felt a hand touch his arm.

“Are you OK, Mulder?”

He nodded slowly, careful to limit the movement.

“I’m fine. Just a headache that’s all.” He slung his overnight bag over his shoulder and smiled reassuringly down at her.

They began to walk through the concourse corridor which led to the arrivals lounge, fighting their way through the crowds, and when Mulder was elbowed sharply by a small unassuming looking man with wire rimmed glasses who was obviously not looking where he was going, he thought nothing of it, just nodded slightly at the man’s mumbled apology and carried on his way.

The man though, didn’t proceed, he simply remained standing, staring at the departing Agents, a small smile playing around his face. When he was sure they were out of sight he raised his hand to his mouth, a gesture which from a distance resembled a simple covering of a cough or a sneeze. On closer inspection however, it would become obvious that his reasons were of a much more sinister nature, for hidden inside the opening of his shirt cuff, a tiny radio transmitter was pinned.

State of the art in its design, it could be neither monitored nor detected with any of the current systems in use amongst the security or law enforcement agencies. The man spoke in to the receiver, his voice barely above a whisper.

“They’re here, and the cargo has been delivered.”

He did not wait for a response, he didn’t need to. His job was done, at least for now, and with an ease that made him so adept at what he did, he walked back in to the crowds, immediately becoming just another face amongst the many. No different from any other small time businessman in a suit on his way to work, the kind of man people looked through rather than directly at, forgotten in an instant. It was exactly that kind of ordinariness which served him more completely than any disguise could ever hope to.

The man kept his smile as his thoughts settled on to the assignment in hand, his most intriguing to date, and one which could secure his future within the consortium.

Oh yeah, this was going to some fun he decided.

XXXX

It was past seven when the two Agents finally checked in to their respective motel rooms, and as Mulder had feared, his headache had swelled in magnitude with every passing second, so much so that he had insisted Scully drive the rental car the short distance from the Airport, provoking a worried glance from his partner, but she had not questioned him, recognising that in his current state driving would be both dangerous and foolhardy.

Mulder had spent the journey with his eyes closed, head resting back as he fought the feeling of nausea brought on by the car’s movement and when they had reached the motel Scully had suggested he rest for a while. He had checked his watch, and almost argued with her, wanting to proceed with the investigation, not wanting to waste any more time.

He had eventually concluded though that to proceed to the FBI field office would be pointless. At such an early hour it was doubtful whether there would be anyone there who was qualified to answer their questions, and despite himself he had had to admit that he needed some sleep if only to clear the headache.

He had eyed the bed in his room, considering and rejecting thoughts of unpacking, and after drawing the curtains to block out the early morning sun, had fallen on to it fully clothed, sleep coming mercifully rapidly, dispelling the incessant hammering inside his head.

Scully on the other hand, had not slept at all. She had intended to, but a hot shower had put paid to that, driving away her exhaustion and causing her to come fully awake once more.

Despite the feelings of urgency she had toward getting to the bottom of this case she also appreciated that her partner needed to rest, that she needed him on this to temper her own emotions which would surely come to the fore. She had eyed the laptop computer which accompanied her on every case, like an extension of herself, and briefly considered attempting some work.

She had shelved the idea though, when she found herself staring blankly at it’s muted grey screen, re-reading the same sentence for the fourth time as she struggled to take in the words in front of her. Eventually she gave up in disgust, and crossed to the bed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, but somehow she needed to empty her mind, so she lay, staring at the white ceiling of the motel room, waiting for the images of her daughter to stop haunting her, attempting to relax her mind so that instead, she thought of nothing at all, and in doing so she felt the tension leave her body. At least for the moment.

XXXX

The sound of a fist knocking on wood drove through Mulders consciousness like a blade, and initially he squeezed his eyes shut tighter in an attempt to block it out. The familiar voice that accompanied it though caused him to sit up, dropping his head down quickly, as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him. His throat felt gritty and raw, and he suddenly realised how cold he felt in the air conditioned room.

“Mulder? It’s me.”

The sound of Scully’s voice prompted Mulder to rise from his position on the bed, and he groggily made his way to the door, knowing that he probably looked every bit as bad as he felt. His partner’s expression as he swung the door open to face her affirmed his fears.

She took in his flushed, sweating face, and immediately propelled him back inside the room, gesturing to a chair. Mulder didn’t need asking twice and he sat down heavily.

“I’m OK,” he said weakly. “It’s just a headache.”

He flinched as Scully rested the back of her hand on his forehead.

“Mulder, you’re burning up,” she exclaimed, “You should be in bed.”

Mulder held up a hand.

“I’ll be fine. Just give me time to get a shower and change my clothes OK?”

“Mulder ���”

Mulder recognised the concerned ‘I’m a Doctor’ tone that Scully had adopted, but this was no time to get sick, or worse to succumb to it. He suspected that a lack of sleep was making the symptoms worse, and that once he actually got himself moving, they would abate sufficiently to allow him to function enough to do his job. Shakily, he got to his feet, stepping carefully around Scully lest he betray just how badly he was feeling.

“Give me twenty minutes. I’ll meet you in the car.”

In actuality, Mulder slid in to the passenger seat next to Scully in just under fifteen. She scrutinised him carefully and was relieved to see, that on the surface at least he appeared to look much better. His dark hair was still slightly damp from the recent shower and Scully resisted the urge to point out that walking around with wet hair wasn’t exactly going to serve his cause health- wise. He was freshly shaven and dressed in a clean shirt and jacket, his impeccable professional facade firmly in place once more, and she relaxed slightly.

Mulder, aware of his partner’s swift medical evaluation with regard to him grinned crookedly at her.

“Are you planning on pondering my state of health for the remainder of the day or do I pass muster?”

He was cut off as Scully abruptly gunned the motor, shifting the car in to gear and pulling smoothly away from the motel. At the end of the drive she turned left on to the highway, heading for the city and the San Diego field office, where hopefully John Wickham would be waiting for them with some answers.

Scully had put in the call to him as she waited for Mulder to emerge from his room, feeling gratified by the easy warmth which had crept in to his voice when she had identified herself, and he had assured her that all the current information regarding the case would be made available to her on their arrival.

Finally, it was time to get to work.

XXXXX

CHAPTER FOUR

FBI Field office, San Diego. 9:41a.m.

Special Agent in Charge John Wickham turned out to be every bit as helpful as Scully had hoped he would be. An imposing figure he stood a couple of inches taller than Mulders six feet, and absolutely towered over her small frame.

The stern expression he habitually wore had transformed in to a wide grin the minute they had stepped through the door to his office though, and Scully immediately recognised the obvious respect he had for Mulder as he shook his old friends hand warmly.

“Hey Fox, it’s good to see you, even if I had to entice you with the promise of a case.”

Mulder smiled noncommittally and shrugged by way of apology.

“You know how it is, work gets in the way.”

“Save it, man. Things can get kinda crazy around here too.”

His eyes flittered across to where Scully stood off to one side and Mulder gestured toward her.

“John Wickham. My partner, Dana Scully.”

Wickham smiled appreciatively across at her and extended his hand which she shook briefly.

“Pleased to meet you, Dana. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, have you indeed.”

She quirked an eyebrow at Mulder who reddened slightly.

“Relax, Scully. I only enlightened him as to the more praetorian aspects of your personality.”

Before she could respond, Wickham punched her partner lightly on the shoulder.

“If she’s corrupt, Buddy, it only stems from working alongside you for so long. This man . . ,” he informed Scully, “could corrupt anybody. Even back at the Academy I can remember him being…”

He got no further as Mulder, who didn’t like the conversational turn, jumped in abruptly.

“About this case,” he ventured.

Wickham nodded, but refused to let Mulder off so easily. He winked at Scully.

“We’ll talk later,” he promised.

Despite herself, Scully couldn’t help a grin. She had warmed immediately to his easy nature and the way he had welcomed them effortlessly in to his domain. She got the sense that she was going to like him, that he would become a welcome ally to them both, and it was evident that Mulder held him in a high regard.

It was something she rarely saw in him, mostly due to his in built suspicion of those he didn’t know well, respect from Mulder took a long time to earn. She herself had discovered that the hard way.

Her thoughts turned to the job in hand as Wickham handed them each a folder, very similar in content to the one she had seen back in Washington. She forced herself to remain professionally detached as she turned the pages.

“Basically, what you see there is what you get,” explained Wickham. “As far as we can tell, there’s no motive for a kidnapping, no estranged husbands or partners, no disgruntled neighbours or delivery men. The Mother had no enemies as far as we can tell, and we’ve got no witnesses except her and she hasn’t been much use to us. It’s obvious though that the kid didn’t just wander off because aside from the Mother’s injuries at the scene, she would have turned up by now. We’ve checked with family services and they don’t have the family listed on the at-risk register so it’s unlikely that there was any abuse involved. All reports suggest that this kid was well loved and well cared for. It’s like she just disappeared off the face of the earth, and the Attorney General has got my butt in a sling.”

Mulder raised his eyes from the file.

“News coverage?” he queried.

“Yep. Regional and national. Papers too. No response. Aside from your usual variety of cranks who insist they’ve seen the kid playing with fairies at the bottom of their gardens or being carried away by little green men. No offence, Fox.”

Mulder waved his hand casually, none taken.

“You said you’d interviewed the mother?”

“Extensively. I’m not sure whether it was the bump on the head she received or whether losing the kid has tipped her over the edge, but she talks as if she’s a walking testament to the corruption in our fair land. Raving about conspiracies and how she’s known that they would find her. How she should have left town before it happened.”

He paused and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I tell you, Buddy, it’s got me chasing my tail. Normally I would’ve chalked it down to experience, but I got kids of my own, y'know?. I can’t just give up on it. Someone knows where this child is and I’m afraid that if we don’t find her soon they’ll be nothing to find … except maybe a body, and I seen enough of those to last me a lifetime.”

“They won’t kill her,” mumbled Mulder, almost to himself. “They need her.”

“What do you mean?”

Wickham’s keen hearing had picked up the words and Scully silently sent her partner a warning not to divulge too much to this man, because friend or no friend, if they voiced their suspicions they would find themselves on the next plane back to Washington. She needn’t have worried though. Realising his mistake, her partner covered himself adeptly.

“C'mon John. How many profiles have you written on kidnappers, huh? There’s no such thing as a motiveless kidnapping, the crime occurs to serve some sort of agenda in the perpetrators mind, monetary gain, revenge, whatever, and until that need is filled he must keep his victim alive, because if he were to kill them, then the bargaining tool is lost, as is the reason for the crime. What we need to do is to get in to the mind of the kidnapper, because only by understanding him can we begin to understand his motives, and by comprehending them we can begin to look for a suspect.”

Wickham shook his head.

“OK, consider me put firmly back in my place. Once a profiler always a profiler huh, Fox?”

“Yeah, well,” Mulder countered easily, “when I’m not chasing after little green men toting ray guns, it’s what I do best.”

“So you’re gonna draw up a profile on this guy?”

Mulder shook his head.

“Not yet. I think Scully and I need to take a little side trip to see the girl’s Mother. She’s still in the hospital, I take it?”

Wickham scratched his head.

“Yeah, and I can’t see her leaving any time soon. She’s pretty drugged up, you’ll be lucky to get anything coherent out of her, I know I didn’t have much success.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Mulder declared with a small smile. “you never know what effect my boyish charm will have on her.”

Wickham grimaced in disgust.

“Yeah well, I wouldn’t hold out much hope of that. I’ll get you some directions to the place, but I’ll warn you, this woman didn’t exactly keep up her medical insurance premiums. It ain’t exactly what you could call The Ritz.”

XXXX

Little Sisters of Mercy State Sanatorium. San Diego. 10:45a.m.

“My God, Mulder, just look at this place.”

Scully wrinkled her nose in disgust at the dank depressing surroundings she found herself in, turning in a slow circle as she took in the crumbling walls and the peeling wallpaper.

Everything was painted a dirty institutional grey, and it was painfully obvious by the bubbled texture from the damp underneath that it had been years since it had seen a paintbrush. The building was old and decrepit and the air held an unpleasant smell of stale urine that no amount of disinfectant could mask.

Some attempts had been made to brighten the place up and small pots of flowers rested on every available surface, but even they seemed to be wilting under the oppressive atmosphere and they appeared drab and forlorn.

The inadequate strip lighting cast flickering yellowish shadows over everything and when Scully raised her head to look above her, she observed that out of the five lights, only three were actually working.

Government cut-backs were one thing, but squalor was something else entirely. It offended Scully, as a doctor, that such places existed. She questioned the level of medical care which was transferred on to the patients who resided here, and was smart enough to realise that such care did not really exist.

This was the kind of place where society sent its misfits. To remain forever locked in a cycle of neglect and drug induced haze. It was a place to be forgotten in.

She turned questioningly to Mulder.

“Why would they put Mrs. Stevens here?” she queried, “I understood that she was mentally unsound, not dangerous.”

Mulder’s mouth had set in a grim line as he surveyed the bars on the windows and the panic buttons on the wall, noting sourly that they appeared to be the token gesture with regards to the present day.

He was feeling pretty ropy still despite regular intakes of Tylenol and what he saw only served to worsen his already disagreeable mood.

“I don’t know, Scully,” he admitted and then gestured to where the receiving desk stood, seemingly unmanned. “Let’s find out, huh?”

It took almost twenty minutes for anyone to respond to Mulder and Scully’s presence, despite the repeated ringing of the service bell which was located to the left of the desk. They could hear its sound echoing around the deserted corridors, bouncing off the bare concrete floors and Mulders patience was rapidly running short.

Eventually though, faint footsteps could be heard hurrying toward them and suddenly a door behind the desk opened and they found themselves facing a short middle aged woman in a white nurse’s outfit. She appeared flustered and harried, her dark hair escaping the confines of its French knot and hanging messily around her face.

She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of apology.

“Sorry. Staff cutbacks, y'know.”

Mulder however was in no mood to exchange pleasantries. He pulled out his badge and displayed it unceremoniously to the woman.

“Special Agents Mulder and Scully. We’re here to interview a patient of yours.”

The nurse scrutinised their FBI credentials and hurriedly tucked the errant hair back up under her white cap.

“I see. And the name would be?” she inquired.

“Mrs. Christine Stevens.”

Scully observed a subtle difference in the nurse’s demeanour as Mulder informed her of who they had come to see and she swore that just for a second something akin to blind panic crossed her face.

“Is there a problem with that?” she ventured.

Instantly the nurse smoothed out her expression, smiling apologetically at the two Agents.

“I’m sorry, but that would be quite impossible at the present time. The patient is heavily sedated and is not able to see anyone. Her mental state is extremely tenuous and any outside contact would be quite damaging to her. I have orders from her Doctor that she be kept absolutely quiet and undisturbed. I’m sorry. Maybe you could come back tomorrow.”

Mulder glanced uneasily at Scully.

Something was wrong here, he was sure of it, and judging by his partners obvious scepticism, she was experiencing similar suspicions.

“We work for the Federal Government,” he pointed out, “and it is imperative we be granted access to Mrs. Stevens. We believe she can furnish us with information which is critical to the ongoing investigation regarding the disappearance of her daughter.”

The nurse however was not moved by his plea. Again she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I have my orders. The patient is not to be disturbed.”

Seeing her partner suddenly become rigid with tension, Scully laid a warning hand on his arm.

“Look,” she cajoled, “I’m a medical doctor. Fully trained, and I can assure you we will do nothing which will compromise the health of your patient. I understand your need to shield her, but you also have to understand that the life of a four year old child is at stake here and every minute we waste is compromising her well being. We only need five minutes. Don’t make us get a court order. It just wastes everyone’s time, including yours, because we will be back.”

The nurse shifted her eyes around guiltily, as if she were afraid of being seen, and then swiftly unlocked the door which led through to the receiving area.

“You can have five minutes with her and that’s it, but I’m warning you she’s not in very good shape.”

Mulder pushed past the nurse quite unable to disguise his dislike of the woman.

He inclined his head, bestowing a smile on the woman that was anything but friendly.

“After you.”

Continued chapter five

[stillness-in-green]

Human Debris Masterpost (8/?)

So in the wake of the series ending, I have several other meta posts I want to write eventually (another one on Gaelio, one for my sparkly new ship, one on spirituality in the setting...), and I am still working on some fic stuff, though the second half of that Gaelio+Rustal fic is on temporary hold pending verification of some information circulating on Japanese Twitter about Gaelio in the epilogue. 

But in and around that, there’s still no shortage of red-stripe watch to document.  I actually went over the word limit on Tumblr for this post (at least, that’s what I’m assuming by the fact that Tumblr won’t let me post the damn thing), so I’m going to do a two posts back to back.   Sorry for any inconvenience, but the first two episodes’ worth of material are too short to post on their own, and I worked too long on Episode Thirty’s post to let it sit another two weeks.  Lets get on to it, with...

EPISODE TWENTY-EIGHT — Battle Before Dawn

We go a little while with no sightings, but Shino’s unit is on the advance patrol in the hunt for the Dawn Horizon, meaning we get their reaction to the bad intel.  

The complaining Dante we only see from the back (you can spot his red hair), but they show Derma’s face as he reacts to the rather more ships then they had been expecting.

As the battle gets properly underway, Akihiro gets launched in the newly remodeled Gusion (Full City, a coffee roasting term?), proving much more capable of speaking up and giving his men orders out on the battlefield than he is in the cafeteria.  He tells his boys to go dance with death (or so the subtitles claim; I am a tad skeptical of this), providing a marvelous example for Ride in going all out.    

Shino, being Shino, gets distracted admiring Akihiro’s sweet ride and gets caught by surprise by an opponent who wasn’t as K.O.ed as he thought, but gets rescued by his underlings.  Derma lays down some covering fire to fend off a new enemy trying to close in, and Dante swoops in to finish off the opponent Shino was engaged with.  He tells Shino not to go charging in alone, to which Shino replies that he trusts them to have his back.  

I‘ve talked a bit before about how I’d like to see more interaction between these two, but I wonder how much time they really have clocked together?  If Dante is a habitual back-up for Shino (as seen here, but also in the Brewers arc, and even as far back as the very first episode), it’d suggest they’ve been paired at work for quite some time.  Perhaps that influence helps explain Dante’s unusually chipper attitude compared to Akihiro and Chad in season one?  

Akihiro being a little unnervingly excited about The Clamps that Seisei mechanic (who has a grisly imagination for weapons and a quirky difficulty with naming themes, it would seem) has equipped Gusion with.  He’s actually a little annoyed by the surrender signal he gets in response to this, the latest in a long string of them, which definitely draws some attention to all the hot-bloodedness boiling beneath that straight-faced surface of his.  I suppose he’s not actually used to surrender signals—the Brewers never went in for them, nor Gjallarhorn.  It’s probably the first time he’s had to take personal surrenders since the CGS days, and I suspect he wasn’t in a position to be doing much of that back then anyway. 

He wants to stay out on the field, not considering being completely out of ammo reason enough to go back and resupply when he still has The Clamps, but Lafter points out that Ride is not fine (Ride has, in fact, been getting kind of nervy and desperate as his first true space battle wore on), and Akihiro is his captain.  He accepts the rebuke without further debate, painting as true what he will be awkwardly telling Lafter considerably later—that he trusts her wholly on the battlefield. 

Sandoval’s ship, we find, is largely defended by Human Debris—like Akihiro back in season one, they don’t seem to wear the stripe on their flight suits—who won’t surrender because they don’t have that option.  Sandoval finds them convenient in this regard, but unlike Kudal Kudan, does not seem to take a tremendous amount of pleasure in it.  Mikazuki goes through them like wet paper.  

Shino’s group comes in to relieve Mika just in time for Sandoval’s personal goons to come out, and Dante shoves Derma away in favor of drawing attention to himself, leading him to get tangled up by the first proper showing of the nonsense the Hexa frames can get up to—not just the wires, which we see Gjallarhorn using periodically, but the grappling hooks.  He takes Shino’s order to jettison the arm they’ve caught, and the trio retreat.  

This could all start to get a little bad, as Tekkadan is getting worn down, falling behind in repairs, save that Arianrhod takes this opportunity to show up and start attacking just everybody, starting with Derma, who has no idea why this is happening to him.  

The show is not entirely clear on this itself—I assume Arianrhod’s claim is that they’re here to break up the squabbling, and that means putting down both sides, which means some attacks dished out to Tekkadan while there’s still plausible deniability about their alliance with Gjallarhorn-via-Isurugi.  

In any case, Orga and Isurugi both know who the big prize is here, that being Sandoval himself, and command their pilots to focus on capturing him.  And here comes a bit I mentioned way back during the introduction of the Turbines—the reason you would ever even consider putting your one hacker in a mobile suit.

And it’s so he can hack into the systems of defeated mobile suits and get you data from the enemy side!  It’s seriously gutsy, too—you’ll notice he’s just floating there in his flight suit, hatches open, easy victim to any stray shots fired his way—though I assume Shino and Derma were covering for him here.  In any case, good job, Dante!  Seriously, this is really cool—the long engagements, the pit stops for repairs and snacks, the electronic warfare, just the whole nine yards.  I’m hardly a connoisseur of robot anime, but it’s the first time I’ve ever seen anything with this particular touch of realism, and I very much enjoyed it.  

And that brings us to the end of this episode, as Iok and Juliette enter the field.  

EPISODE TWENTY-NINE — The Trigger of Success

There is a lone snippet of Akihiro at the beginning of the episode as the fight wraps up, with Akihiro suggesting they need to go fight Arianrhod as well to claim their prize, being told by Lafter and Azee (much as they did when the boys were ready to take Carta up on her 3v3 challenge) that doing that would be the stupidest possible decision and they should definitely not do that.  

Later on, though, we get a bit more material, as Hush corners Mikazuki in the cafeteria hoping for some personal mentoring.  Akihiro bails out the door immediately, saying that he’s going on ahead.  

It would seem to suggest that they were eating together, though we weren’t shown that directly.  It wouldn’t be much of a surprise, though; they’ve been exercise buddies for goodness knows how long.  Akihiro was not the only red-stripe in the cafeteria, though!

As Eugene and Shino do some mild heckling from the sidelines about Hush asking Mika to intervene with Orga re: him being able to pilot a mobile suit, the conversation is getting some very close attention in the background courtesy of Dante and Derma.  

This was, I think, the second I fell in love with Derma on my first watch-through; I adore him and Dante hanging out and watching this conversation with the intensity of people who know they aren’t at the top of the pecking order around here and have a particular interest in how newbies trying to jump the chain on seniority is going to affect them personally.  It’s also the first confirmation we have that they’re actually hanging out together outside of deployments and man, I’m so curious as to how that relationship looks.  

I generally get the feeling most of the Human Debris cast don’t really hold grudges (other than poor Vito, anyway), focused mostly on just trying to stay alive, and expecting much the same from everyone else.  Also, it’s easy to imagine the Human Debris kids with the Brewers were largely sorted by squad and didn’t socialize much with other kids outside of that unit.  You wouldn’t want too much communication going on; after all, all indications are that they actually outnumbered the non-slave Brewers pretty considerably.  Not a situation in which you want dissension bubbling under the surface.  

That is to say, I doubt Derma holds all those dead kids against Dante in particular, but I wonder how they first started bonding.  Under Shino?  Some kind of common interests?  Dante making a particular effort to extend a wing after Aston (the only surviving member of Derma’s group) went with Chad to Earth?

Anyway, Dante and Derma’s stink-eye here delights me to no end.  

We move onward to Allium Gyojan’s office, where Orga is having the single most Mafia Shakedown style scene he will ever get, a task for which he has, hilariously, brought along Akihiro’s team to assist, giving us this great bit of Akihiro getting to menace Allium over the phone line.

(Ride.  Ride, please.)

I checked, but Shino and company to not appear to be in with the crowd on the street.  On the other hand, I can imagine Dante’s computer abilities being put to good use as they were moving in, so perhaps they’re elsewhere.

And that’s it for this one!  Not a huge amount of activity here, but we’ll be getting loads of it as we move forward into the next arc, so lets get at least a start on it, with the next post.

[nezzfiction]

ENMY Chapter 52 - Romance of the Three Kingdoms

Chapter Synopsis: With Atlas descending from the north and Mistral invading from the east, the Kingdom of Vale stands only a breath away from certain defeat. When it comes down to it, the fate of the War may fall on the shoulders a few choice individuals--to shoulder the burden of victory and sacrifice.

Team RWBY is disbanded, and Yang must find herself new allies. For her, that might very well be yesterday’s enemies. Joining up with the likes of Emerald, Mercury, and Neo, the four will comprise Team Enemy.

Links to read the series: Ao3 or FF.net

Or hit the jump below

Romance of the Three Kingdoms

.

Ours is a cycle of hatred.

Alliances forged and broken.

We have paid the price for sharing this world.

And we have forgotten what makes us strong.

.

.

On the northern edges of Vale’s continent, a fleet of Atlas airships made their sky trek southward. Mountain peaks dotted the land and the snowy treetops of forest coated the grounds below.

Ever since departing from their home Kingdom, Atlas’s army met with little difficulty on their journey. Unlike the natural barriers or ones created by Grimm, that laid between continents such as the Dracul Isles, Vale had no such protection from the Atlesian Air Fleet. Only these string of mountains, which did little to hinder transports of flight.

Positioned at the rear, was the flagship in control. A newly engineered dreadnought that made the one used by Ironwood look like a dinghy in comparison. Armed with rows of cannons on each side, multilayered reinforced plating, and a triple Dust Reactor engine—the aircraft was a literal fortress in the sky. Due to its great weight, it even had steel wire connectors to several other ships to support it during travel.

On its bridge, the commander in charge sipped his nice hot coco.

“Still, no sign of Vale forces?” he asked with a bored tone.

“No, sir,” his helmsman replied.

“Hmph. How pathetic. Does the army of Vale even intend to put up a fight at all? Hearing the public drone on and on about the talented Huntsmen and warriors this Kingdom has to offer, but here I see not a sight of them. I guess it really was all talk, after all. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Uh… Yes, sir.”

The commander in question wore a pristine, white military suit. The medals and decorations attached, shined with an almost blinding polish. He carried himself with high esteem, as he frequently whipped his luscious white hair back out of his face. His name was Vanille Schnee.

“Have our scouts check again!” he commanded.

“Sir, we just sent them out the fifth rotation. May I suggest letting our pilots rest, or sending a different sortie?”

“Are you questioning my orders?”

“…No, sir.”

“Make sure they check behind every cloud and every potential landing zone. And if they still find nothing, tell them to expand their search to include Vale’s airforce base.”

“Sir?!” The helmsman caught himself and transitioned to a more docile tone. “Sir, I would highly advise against sending our pilots into known hostile airspace.”

“We can stand to lose a few men. We’ve suffered zero losses after all. Make sure they provide as much intel on the enemy before they go down.”

“Please, sir. May I suggest a more conservative—”

“Enough of your suggestions, helmsman! Give the order, or I’ll replace you with someone who will!”

“……Yes, sir,” he saluted.

The man opened comms to their scouting division and began relaying orders. From the responses he got, he knew the pilots were bordering on mutiny. Luckily, he used an earpiece so the commander wouldn’t overhear.

In a low voice, the helmsman spoke.

“Have you finished refueling?”

“No! Of course, we haven’t!” the other line answered. “We just got back!”

“Pilot, your orders are to mobilize as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, I know! But if we don’t finish refueling, we won’t even make it to the target location before… we have to turn back…”

“Do you understand? You are to sortie immediately.”

“…Yes, helmsman. I understand.”

There was a moment of radio silence.

“Thank you,” a voice of relief came over the comms.

The helmsman would no doubt receive some flak for what he had just done. Even copping to the reason he was following exact orders would not be enough. But he felt better knowing he would not be sending soldiers needlessly to their death.

He watched several smaller aircrafts fly ahead of the fleet. He tracked their path until they disappeared into the distance. Without the scouts, any layman could tell there wasn’t a Vale aircraft for miles. Their radar systems also picked up nothing.

The helmsman couldn’t figure what the Kingdom of Vale was thinking. Their intel indicated that, in terms of the aerial arms race, Vale council made almost no effort to improve their own. At the rate the war was proceeding, Atlas and Mistral would overwhelm the Kingdom with its relatively uncontested air superiority.

Was the Kingdom of Vale truly so inept?

The helmsman’s instincts told him no.

Then, what is happening?

…

…

*BEEP BEEP BEEP!*

Alarms blared and red indicators flashed on multiple monitors.

“What is happening?!” Vanille shouted.

“I don’t know, sir. Radar systems show multiple objects inbound.”

“Where are they, helmsman?! I see no airships!”

“They aren’t airships, sir. They’re too small… We can’t avoid collision—!”

At that moment, several giant axes embedded themselves in the flagship and a few of the other commanding vessels nearby.

“What, what is happening?!” Vanille panicked. “How is this possible?!”

Suddenly, from the cover of the forest below, countless projectiles rose like fireworks. The roar of guns and the flight of weapons filled the air. It was a perfect ambush.

“Helmsman?! Initiate immediate retreat!!!”

The helmsman only continued to assess the situation as more axes were chucked in their direction.

“HELMSMAN!!! ORDER IMMEDIATE RETREAT!!!”

Still, he did not listen. His eyes were glued to the monitors, which, despite them being aimed at by so many hostiles, registered nothing of their attackers.

“TRAFALGAR!!!!” Vanille roared.

The bridge shook with another great hit, this time, causing some debris to fly on the bridge.

“TRA.FAL.GAR!!!”

The helmsman knew if they retreated now, they would only receive unfathomable losses. The fleet was deep into the enemy’s enclosure. Attempting to flee would only be followed by a swift pursuit. The result would be a complete route. It was the worst-case scenario.

But holding their ground provided different options. Contrary to the disastrous start, there was still a chance to recover. At least, it was a much better choice than the alternative. Ultimately, the only way to survive the battle—was through it.

“My apologies, commander. It appears I’ve lost hearing in my left ear from the last attack,” he lied, while turning a deaf ear.

“WHAT?!”

“Therefore, I cannot receive further orders, and shall carry on with my duty to the best of my ability.”

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE—”

“Artillery units! Calculate the trajectory of those axes and open fire on the source! Commanding vessels, release tethers and disperse! Carriers, deploy Atlesian Knights and Paladins!”

The helmsman used the touchscreen on his console to direct routes and distributions. A second later, the air vessels coordinated to his commands, like a delicate choreography.

The dreadnought turned ninety degrees and unleashed a literal wall of explosive ordinance in the direction the axes catapulted from.

…

…

…

“Oh, crap!”

An abnormally large man in flannel pattern armor smiled awkwardly at the incoming onslaught of artillery. The pair of great axes in his hands crossed in front of him, as he braced for impact. Just as the attack came, he felt an abrupt change in his constitution.

Hellfire rained down on the mountainside. Enough damage to warp the landscape around them.

But when the smoke cleared, the axe-wielder was still standing relatively unharmed. The reason for his safety came from the shining figure, who stood as his shield.

Jaune’s Semblance luminated himself and his ally in divine light. It guarded them, and healed any injuries they may have accrued.

“Are you okay, Jack?!” he checked.

“HAHAHA! Thanks, sonny! You really saved my hide! HAHAHA!” the bearded man guffawed loud enough to almost cause an avalanche.

“Is this really the time to be laughing?!”

“Of course! I feel invincible with you here! Keep doing what you’re doing until we hit phase two! BWAHAHAHAHA!”

The man’s laugh grew heartier, as he sent more axes swinging through the air. They cleaved through the smaller airships and cut deep into the larger ones. They crashed through a wave of robots and a few Paladin mechs, like they were cheap toys.

Meanwhile, deep in the forest, where the second ambushing party hid, Lie Ren discontinued his Semblance.

Upon doing so, he collapsed with exhaustion. Nora stopped firing her grenade-launcher and dropped to his side. Ruby also ceased her sniper fire for the moment and joined them.

“How is he?” Taiyang asked, as he rushed over.

“He’s fine… breathing,” Ruby answered. “We need to take him to Jaune when we can.”

“Him and Jack should be here soon for phase two. It’s a miracle he held out as long as he did.”

Ruby and Taiyang eyed the device near Ren.

Previously, it looked like a wand or scepter blooming in place, but after its deactivation, it reverted into its flower bud form.

To counter the obvious air military Atlas and Mistral developed for the war, Vale had chosen to devote their resources into anti-air. One of the keys they hoped would turn the tide was this device. It was known as a Semblance Amplifier, or its codename: Godmother.

By using it, they were able to increase the effect radius of Ren’s Semblance to include a whole ambushing battalion. Though, it put considerable amounts of stress on the recipient, they could not argue with the results.

As a number of androids enclosed on their position, the warriors of Vale snapped to action. Ruby and Taiyang paired to meet an approaching squadron. The father-daughter combo made scraps out of the androids within seconds. Any Atlesian Knights left behind, they left to Nora, who mauled them with ease. While protecting Ren, they also had to make sure Godmother’s technology did not fall into enemy hands.

When a new batch of reinforcements came to replace the droids they decimated, Jaune and Jack appeared from behind. Sword and axe sliced through their quarry with a single swing, and the two joined the rest of their comrades. Jaune went to restoring Ren’s stamina and Aura on contact.

“Fight’s going well,” Jack observed.

“Only ‘cause we got the jump on them. Next part’s where things get iffy,” Taiyang replied.

“Bah! Nothing to worry about!”

“Yeah, well. Not everyone’s the size of a tank, Jack.”

“No, but we do have the best warriors in all of Remnant.” He shielded his eyes, and looked up at the airships. “Feels like we’re the ones that got the easier fight. Phase Two, then?”

“Phase Two.”

“HAHAHA!”

The two turned to a nervously shifting Ruby.

“Ready, kiddo?”

“Y-yeah. I think.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve got this,” Taiyang encouraged.

“Okay.”

Ruby took a few deep breaths.

She thought back to the lessons she received from Glynda Goodwitch up until a few days ago.

Those with silver eyes have always possessed an uncanny connection with the Never Realm. The reason for this has been lost to time, and the population of such special individuals has dwindled with its passage.

However, the line remains unbroken, and their power—your power, will always be needed.

Magic wielded by a pure and honest soul.

The scrolls you recovered from the Tower of Tamonten have done much to further your training in utilizing the full spectrum of your abilities.

But there is still much to learn.

And, much like with anything, it begins with a single wish.

And it is up to you—

To give that wish form.

…

Ruby pictured a grand, ornate gate in her mind. Intricate sculptures of people and landscapes were carved into its threshold. They told the stories of hunters and prey, struggles of people and Grimm—The tale of Four Maidens; the tragic story of a guilty immortal; a Witch who had fallen from grace. Among so many others.

Vines slithered from the open doorway and twined around its crest. They grew around Ruby’s form. Thorns sprouted and roses budded.

In an instant, the girl was surrounded by the sleeping woods of briarwood and bramble.

On the outside, Taiyang watched as rose petals fell from Ruby’s cloak. His daughter’s eyes wide open, glinting with a silver sheen he was all too familiar with. And for the first time in a long while, he remembered the most awe-inspiring memories of Summer Rose, one of his closest loved ones now gone.

He choked a little, but fought down the urge to lose himself to the past.

“I wish you could see her, Summer.”

He whispered with a low somberness.

The blades in Ruby’s scythe trailed with a ghostly moonlight. Her weapon swayed side to side, slicing near the ground, almost like a ritual of reaping crops. A melody hummed from the gust it created. It gradually turned sharp, like a violin’s sonata composed, as thorns and red roses grew from Ruby’s cape.

With an explosive growth, the spiked tendrils shot forth and twisted into the sky. Their limbs latched to Atlas airships, ensnaring them in its grasp. Thrusters from the flying vessels ignited, like a bird trying to escape from a trap. But in the end, it was futile.

The vines of thorn and rose brought the pride of the Atlas Military low. Pulled close within ground level, they resembled beasts bound and subdued. As if put under some form of mystical spell,

They were welcomed into the sweet embrace of the Sleeping Forest.

.

* * * * *

.

Glynda reminisced about when she saw Summer Rose’s promise for the first time. She remembered so much of her “junior”, while training Ruby. And she would be lying if there wasn’t an old tinge of jealousy in it.

Back in school, she wasn’t aware, but Professor Ozpin and the Headmaster of then were grooming her to be the next potential candidate for a Maiden’s inheritance. An inheritance that would eventually be granted to Summer Rose instead.

Glynda remembered the peculiar training sessions and replicated them with Ruby. Private teachings that sounded more philosophical than practical. Lectures of another plane than the one they currently resided. And in time, she learned to harness her own form of Magic.

It paled in comparison to certain individuals, and though they were never employed to their fullest potential by being complimented with a Maiden’s inheritance, Glynda became an outstanding Huntress and warrior in her own right.

And the world knew to be wary of the “Witch” of Vale.

On the eastern beaches of Vale’s continent, Glynda thrust her riding crop in the direction of the approaching Mistral ships. Storm clouds brewed, swirled and thundered. Icicles rained down and cut into the hull at her whim. She then, conjured mist to obscure the pilots’ visions.

The battle in the eastern theatre was lasting for half a day now.

It started with an adequate ambush. Glynda’s spells provided Mistral with a particularly hellish welcome. Hurricanes and turbulence severe enough to give the flying behemoths pause. The Grimm Kotengu they had as escort were battered around in the deathly environment.

Though, the forces of Mistral would not be dissuaded so easily. Their numbers were too many for a lone spellcaster to deal with—as some of the Kingdom’s military troops made landfall, more than enthused to engage with the enemy. Their morale was overwhelming, despite the lackluster beginning.

Glynda could only guess what imbued these soldiers with such zeal.

To clear the way for the rest of their ships to land, squadrons of Mistral’s Huntsmen and Huntresses fought their way towards her. If they could take down the acting Headmaster of Beacon, or simply break her concentration enough, they knew victory would tip in their favor. An action that was entirely predicted and accounted for.

Along with concentrating most of their troops around their key pillar, a final defense line rostering Straw and a number of Vale’s finest, stood in Glynda’s protection.

From the General’s long sleeves, a number of golden lances and muskets flourished, almost like overgrown fingers. He swung his extended limbs in the manner of a crazed dancer. Enemies were slashed, shot, and skewered in visceral fashion. Standing with him, were two of the most reliable comrades any could wish for.

One, a youthful looking child with dual daggers that could change into snub-nose revolvers with a flick of his wrist. His attire was a flexible dark-green, sleeveless hoodie. A delinquent’s grin cut across his lips and a prankster’s twinkle in his eye. This was the Headmaster of Signal Academy, Pan Darling.

Beside him, was an older looking gentleman, armed with a long foil and a gnarled hook for a hand as big as his torso. He donned a pirate’s attire, with a great feather in his hat. A needle-like mustache traced above his mouth. His arm prosthetic shot out and sunk itself into many foes. A number of melee weapons were caught in its claw, and snapped in the same motion. This was the Vice Headmaster of Signal Academy, Hook Teach.

Despite the massive differences in appearance, the two were actually the same age. Both of them grew as archrivals throughout their childhood years, school, and eventually—their careers as Huntsmen and educators. Pan, ever being the slightly more accomplished and talented one.

Together with Straw, the three defenders fended off a stream of attackers with dramatic finish, and stepped with their backs to each other.

“Is this really it?!” Headmaster Pan sniffled at Straw and Hook. “This might be the first time I fall asleep on a battlefield!”

“Don’t get cocky, Pan!” Hook growled. “If you have the energy to flap your mouth, save it for making sure the ranks hold!”

“Hook is quite right,” Straw joined. “Mistral’s key players have yet to make an appearance. We would do well to keep it that way. In the meantime, stave the attacks of the pawns. Ever the chance exists a lowly foot soldier could bring down our queen.”

“I know that! I was only trying to lighten the mood!” the youth exclaimed. “But there’s a reason I never liked chess. It’s been thirteen hours and not enough action!”

“Tick tock tick tock!” Hook mocked. “The more time we burn, the better. Now, stick to your guns, fool!”

“You know, I am technically your boss. You should be referring to me as ‘Headmaster’.”

“Tick tock tick tock, Pan!”

“Always a sour puss, Hook.”

The top Professors of Signal Academy once again delved into the fray, leaving Straw to contemplate the situation.

The General stared into the distant clouds, where Mistral’s backline waited patiently for the battle’s further development. He could almost imagine his group of adversaries, staring at him from across the chessboard.

…

…

From the bridge of Mistral’s largest Galleon, General Saru and Raven observed the battle’s status on a holographic map. With the mists blocking their physical vision and cameras, they had to rely on intel relayed from engaging forces.

“What are your thoughts, General?” Raven posed.

“Odd,” the monkey Faunus replied, stroking his chin. “Very odd.”

“What is?”

“Their tactic is too simple. If we stay back and keep our main units in reserve, we can save their energy and numbers for the next critical fight.”

“So, where lies the problem?”

“…They must be aware of this. Still, no attempt has been made to change the status quo. There is meaning behind their inaction.”

As it stood, the armies of Vale and Mistral were squared evenly. Though, an additional battalion made up Vale’s center formation to give more protection to Glynda. Going by the actual battle, it could be said they were on level footing. But Mistral only committed its vanguard forces so far. In terms of logistics, they were favored.

“Something is amiss. They are stalling? If so, for what? Reinforcements? No. Our spies have informed us any forces elsewhere are combatting Atlas in the north.”

“Could the intel be wrong?”

“Possible, but unlikely. Too many of our spies from all ranks and different departments have reported the same. A stratagem privy only to a few? That is much more likely.”

“If there was a scheme hatched between only their highest leaders, our spies wouldn’t have caught it.”

“Indeed,” the hairy man scratched his chin more vigorously with agitation.

…

He suddenly stopped.

“Provide live feeds from several of our frontline soldiers!” Saru ordered.

On the big screen, six camera feeds taken from the scrolls of their vanguard units appeared. They showed images of their troops combatting the enemy in close proximity. Haphazard blades clashing, guns firing. Rather than cohesive tactics, the warriors of Vale focused on the strength of the individual. As a result, many of them fought enemies two or three at a time. This also stemmed from a habit of fighting only Grimm and not actual people.

Though, the camera feed was a bit jarring to watch, it was apparent that Vale’s army was tiring. Fatigue showed from the sweat on their faces. Their Auras fluctuated on the verge of dispelling. But somehow, one way or another, every time Mistral forces pushed, Vale pushed back. It also didn’t help that their troops were herded close, making maneuvering difficult.

There, General Saru caught on to something.

One of their squadrons made a desperate attempt to carve a pathway into the enemy, and was brutally shut down. Normally, such a thing wouldn’t garner any notice—allowing a break in an army line was fatal after all. But the manner in which it happened tripped one of the monkey Faunus’s notice. Including the fact that it was Hook, who did it. One of their best fighters dedicated himself solely to seeing their defenses held.

Saru made his career from lowly shoe shiner to top general of Mistral’s armada. It was a journey that afforded him a deeper perspective than most. To understand the whole picture, he knew he needed to see the canvas, but also its subtlest brushstrokes. War was no different. “A loss of a nail, a horseshoe, a messenger, and then a battle”. The grandest victories were made of infinitesimally minor tasks that needed to be completed as prerequisite.

And General Saru caught on to one of those prerequisites on the camera feed. A clue into what Vale needed to do in order to emerge victorious.

“They’re clogging our movements! If they wanted to draw out time, they could easily perform a slow retreat or kiting maneuver. But they’re holding their ground like their lives depend on it. More than anything, they do not want the rest of our ships to land.”

“Your orders, General?” Raven inquired.

“Landfall is now our highest priority! I don’t know what they’re planning, but I do know pushing our position will be completely contrary to it… D-Does that make sense?”

“…Sounds valid to me,” the Commander shrugged. “I’ll make sure to clear the weather, while I’m at it.”

Raven cut open a portal and strode through.

With her departure, General Saru could only scan the maps and feeds with worry. He wondered if he made the right choice, then shook his head.

He knew his battle forecast was correct and would stand by it.

Now, the rest was up to Raven, Adam, and Blake.

.

* * * * *

.

At the core of Vale’s army, a dense, teardrop of smoke descended. The black mist seemed to land almost elegantly to the ground before dispersing its billowing fog to the surrounding warriors. Like it had a life of its own, the haze absorbed itself into the skin and lungs of others. And in the host body, the soldiers saw a pair of hauntingly yellow eyes.

As a natural response, they activated their respective Semblances and Auras to counter the unknown being.

…

But strangely, nothing happened. The warriors of Vale were left flabbergasted by their sudden impotence.

“Must be bad luck,” Blake’s voice echoed from the ether. “Push forward!”

The Mistral forces rallied under her order and pressed the line.

Meanwhile, as Hook and Pan were getting ready to assist, two figures drew their attention from Blake. A pair of blades descended from a portal. Their swords, poised like guillotines falling on an unmoving Glynda Goodwitch.

Orange sparks flew as Straw and Pan made it in time to meet their blows.

“Raven,” Glynda uttered in a terse tone.

“Glynda, and Straw as well. Old greetings and etcetera.”

“It seems fate’s sleight dictate we meet once more,” Straw mused as he held Raven’s katana in a pair of lances.

“Do you know what they’re talking about? I don’t know what they’re talking about,” Pan asked Adam, whose sword he caught between his daggers.

“You’re the Headmaster of Signal? A child?”

“Up pup pup! The proper term is: Man-child.”

“‘Child’ is very much accurate,” Hook joined in, while firing his hook at Adam.

The swordsman broke off and dodged the prosthetic. Following him, the Vice Headmaster brandished his foil trying to create further space between the attacker and Glynda.

“Hey! That was my fight!” Pan complained.

“Leave these two to Straw and I! You’re better served helping the army. Without us to reinforce, it will be up to your Semblance to support them!”

“Again, I’d like to register my disapproval with your lack of respect for my title, also my boredom with being given—”

“GO, HEADMASTER!!!”

“Alright, alright. Tick tock! I know!”

Pan went to reinforce Vale’s faltering lines, activating his Semblance along the way.

His strides seemed to grow lighter and lighter with every step. A golden trail of sparks rose in his wake, like fireflies. The allies he passed felt their weariness ease. Their arms and legs no longer as heavy as they once were. And a resurgence in their morale accompanied their newfound agility.

Upon meeting the enemy, the edges of Pan’s lips pulled into a mischievous grin. Acting opposite to the glowing lights floating around Vale’s army, dark dots fell onto the Mistral forces like black snow. And with it, they felt a new weightiness to their bodies. It took a tantamount effort to simply move or even lift their weapons.

The Semblance of Signal’s Headmaster was Gravity. Depending on what degree applied, he could make others float, or even fly. But it was proportionate to the amount of Aura used. For now, it was enough to adjust the weights of his allies and enemies accordingly.

Between Pan’s manipulation of Gravity and Blake’s manipulation of “Luck”, their battle turned into something of a duel between supports, with the soldiers as mediums.

Meanwhile, Raven faced off against Straw.

Every shot and stab from one of the General’s multipronged limbs was met with a burst of blinding slashes from the Commander’s sword. The battle was at an even standpoint, but from the way Raven pushed the pace, it was apparent the samurai possessed a confident certainty in her victory. Perhaps, falling back on an old tried and true routine. On the other hand, Straw was starting to make due with just parrying and blocking.

“Your skills are rusty. Playing aristocrat’s done nothing to improve your battle sense.”

“So, it would seem,” he smiled, sweating profusely. “Fortunately, even someone as foolish as I, am plainly aware of his own shortcomings—as well as the overwhelming rationale to rely on the strength of others.”

Straw caged his weapons around Raven’s katana and held it there.

The swordswoman’s intuition warned her of danger. She immediately ejected the blade from its hilt, and leapt back.

A stream of violet, gleaming crags stabbed the spot she had just retreated from. Looking over Straw’s shoulder, Raven could see Glynda casting multiple spells at once. The conclusion of their battle would not come as easily as she thought.

At the other end of the battlefield, Hook and Adam carried on with their own duel.

The bull Faunus met frustration after frustration with Signal Academy’s Vice Headmaster. Whenever the swordsman tried to close the gap between them, Hook would repeatedly stab his foil at the most inconvenient placements. And when he managed to deflect the blade, his opponent’s close-range hook never failed to make him stagger with a short blow. Standing at a distance and gauging his enemy was out of the question as well. Since, whenever he tried to make room, Hook would fire his prosthetic, and whip it around with an expert handling.

Without the requirements to activate his Semblance, or the opportunity to initiate a straight encounter, Adam was finding himself quickly out of his depth. The Huntsman he faced was indeed a veteran. Even without knowing his abilities, the Vice Headmaster discerned exactly how to counter them.

Give in, Adam.

Salem’s words echoed in the back of his mind.

Let emotion drive you.

Your ire be your blade.

From the small breathing room Adam was able to gain, he drew a special shard of Bane Salem had given. It possessed a rooted, dark-red hue, oddly shaped like a wilted rose petal.

He popped the crystal into his mouth and crushed it between his teeth.

Become the Beast.

Strong.

Proud.

…And Feared.

Adam’s crimson hair furrowed and grew down the length of his back. His muscles bulged and black veins traced his skin. The young man’s feral instincts honed to a fine point. His vision could only see red. Enraged, he saw the point on Hook’s body he thirst to strike. Effects of the Bane shortened the time delay of his Semblance to practically nothing.

He lunged and drew his sword from its scabbard. Hook had no time to react, or understand what had happened. Just that Adam’s blade sunk into his abdomen, up to the hilt.

“HOOK!” Pan yelled, and dashed his way towards him.

Glynda, Straw, and Raven also took notice.

“Adam…” the young man’s former mentor threw him a narrowed glare.

Best to make use of him while he’s like that.

She broke away from her opponent and slashed a wave of dark matter at Adam. The bull Faunus took his right hand off his sword and smacked the attack away. Blind rage made him aim at Raven next.

In the same breadth, Adam closed the distance and an earthshattering clash between two katanas sent dirt and wind flying everywhere. Unable to differentiate friend from foe, or form a coherent thought, the bull Faunus immersed himself in a state of pure feralness.

“I’m not your enemy, pup. But I’ll gladly give you one,” Raven scoffed, as a vicious kick sent him towards Straw and Glynda.

In the condition they were in, with Straw’s stamina sapped and Glynda still half-concentrated on her Magic, there was scarce anything they could do against Adam’s enhanced Semblance.

When the young man landed on his feet, his mouth frothed with the foam of a rabid beast. His Semblance activated once more, this time, targeting everyone around him—Glynda being the closest.

His calf muscles burst, as they kicked off the ground, towards the spellcaster.

…

A hook pulled the direction of the blade meant for Glynda to the owner’s body.

“PAN!!!” Hook shouted, blood spurting from his speech. “TAKE THE OTHERS AND RETREAT!!! TICK TOCK! TIME’S UP!!!”

“No, I won’t leave you!” Pan argued back.

“Time to grow up, idiot. The Kingdom will still need you by the time this war’s over. I’ll see my part to the end… Hehehe…”

Adam tried to pull his blade from Hook, but the Huntsman only held him tighter in place.

“Oh no. You’ll be staying here with me, lad… Tick Tock.”

…

“I’m sorry, Hook. It was never supposed to end this way,” Straw lamented.

“Your conscience is clean. Leave the rest to me.”

“Hook. I won’t say goodbye. But I will say thank you.”

“Aye. You’re welcome, Glynda. We both know what it’s like to have irresponsible Headmasters to look after, don’t we?”

“Yes. Yes, we do.”

“Hook.”

“I told you, time to grow up, Pan. Truth be told, I prefer things end this way. A captain should go down with his ship.”

“Hook… I…! I can’t—”

“Live with pride, Headmaster. And make sure to look after the students. That’s all I can say.”

…

“All forces retreat,” Straw communicated over the radio.

Pan activated his Semblance to assist in the evacuation. Enemies and allies flew past the figure of Hook still grasping Adam’s arm and sword into his body.

“That power isn’t normal,” Hook said to the snarling young man. “I can see it. Time is ticking for you too, I suppose. Heh.”

His tired eyes turned to see Raven and Blake approach.

“HRAHRAHRAHRA! Enjoy the fireworks, brats! Tick tock! TICK TOCK!” he sneered, before using his Semblance to issue one final command—before the last bit of light faded from his eyes.

Just then, a great shadow grew to size beneath the sea. Its silhouette only visible now, due to Glynda and her mist’s retreat. The time it took to maneuver it below, without notice, spanned the length of the battle.

The enormous, pirate vessel emerged from the waters, carrying with it Hook’s last will. Its cannons fired relentlessly on its ascension, before detonating among the Galleons of Mistrals armada.

They fell like sunken comets into the sea.

.

* * * * *

.

In the northern theatre, Vale forces were in full withdraw from the ruins of multiple crashed Atlas ships. There were still many more in the skies, trying to target them with their artillery guns, but the battle was considered a victory. The opposition’s forces were more than crippled, which was all they could ask for.

As the group retreated to safety, Taiyang received a call on his scroll.

Glynda informed him how their end of things went. Though, not as successful as his front, they did succeed in crippling the Mistral forces as well.

An awkward pause came at the end of the report, followed by what he could only guess was a wince.

“Glynda?”

“…We lost Hook,” she answered, unable to keep the sorrow from her voice.

“…”

“He died with his ship, and covering our escape.”

“…Oh.”

The call ended, and Taiyang chose that time to reflect on his time at Signal Academy. The Vice Headmaster was as tough on his teachers as he was on his students. Experiencing both, he knew how much the man named, Hook cared for others and looked after them.

He spoke a silent prayer and went to tell the rest of his group the news of their victory and Hook’s passing.

Later that night, many would raise glasses or pay some form of respects,

To the Great Captain Hook.

.

* * * * *

.

Glynda ended the call with a dejectedness. She wallowed in her tent, taking the time to sort her thoughts, for the war would continue the next day. But tonight—tonight, she would mourn.

At least, that was what she thought.

“Glynda.”

Straw’s voice and silhouette came from outside her tent.

“…What is it?”

“I know my interruption could not be more untimely, but I have something that I believe must be brought to your attention.”

“Does it concern any pursuing Mistral forces?”

“No.”

“Is it an emergency, Straw? Because to be honest, I’d rather not deal with anything more after today.”

“I am of the same mind, which is why I would not bother you otherwise.”

“………Come in.”

The man entered at her permission, and wordlessly handed her his scroll.

“What’s this?”

After reading the article’s title and viewing the images below, Glynda’s eyes went wide with disbelief.

Likewise, Taiyang and Team JNPR couldn’t believe what they were reading either. And in the distant Kingdoms, amongst their various armies; Blake, Weiss, Raven, Qrow, and any other connected to a certain group of misfits and Beacon Academy—had their breath stolen away by the breaking news, yet to be outweighed by the results of recent battles.

.

* * * * *

.

(A few hours ago)

.

“You and I have a lot to talk about,” Yang glared.

“Yes… I’m quite aware,” Cinder replied.

The two Maidens locked gazes atop the ruins of Beacon Tower.

“Although, I do believe we have more pressing matters to attend to,” Cinder gave a side-glance to the Grimm dragon awakening next to them.

“…After.”

“After.”

As they both turned to face a common enemy, their Auras materialized as solid images from their visage. Burning ash and maple leaves shed from Cinder’s figure, while fiery feathers rose from Yang. The rest of their group followed the two’s lead.

When the deed was done, a few of Vale’s citizens would capture images of Team ENMY and Cinder, standing atop the Grimm dragon, Bisterne’s degrading corpse.

The title above the media read:

“Beacon Liberated.”

[jerrytackettca]

How Could Routine Nasal Surgery Increase Risk for Anxiety and Suicide?

Imagine feeling like you're suffocating every minute of the day. No matter how big a breath you take, you still feel like you can't get enough air. This is the reality for people suffering from empty nose syndrome (ENS), a complication of nose or sinus surgery.

Despite the condition being a horrifying reality for an untold number of people, it remains controversial, with some otolaryngologists (ear, nose and throat physicians) brushing it off as purely psychological.

However, ENS is becoming an increasingly recognized complication of sinus surgery, one that may occur in up to 20 percent of cases following a procedure known as turbinate resection.1 With no known cure, and the condition so severe that sufferers cannot even gain respite while they sleep, some describe it as a "life worse than death"2 — and many have committed suicide as a result.

What Type of Sinus Surgery May Lead to Empty Nose Syndrome?

People with a deviated (or bent) septum may suffer from nasal congestion and chronic sinus infections, leading their physician to recommend septoplasty and turbinate reductions to aid in opening the nasal passage. A septoplasty aims to straighten a bent or deviated nasal septum, which is the divider separating the two sides of the nose.

A turbinate reduction, or turbinectomy, (which is also sometimes recommended for sleep apnea) seeks to reduce or remove the curved structures sticking out from the side of the nose. These can be enlarged for various reasons, such as allergies or sinus inflammation. It is this loss of tissue that may cause some people to feel as though they can't breathe, despite having clear nasal passages.

Each side of your nose contains three sets of turbiantes (a low, middle and high). The low, or inferior, turbinate is most often the one that's reduced or removed, and physicians may use a variety of procedures, ranging from cauterization to radio frequency, to do so. The amount of turbinate that's removed also varies by case and physician, with some removing the bottom third and other removing a bit off the top.

It's a common procedure. In the U.S., an estimated 600,000 people undergo sinonasal procedures every year, which includes septoplasty, turbinate surgery and others.3 By some measures, turbinate reduction is said to be "the most common procedure in rhinology."4 In many cases, the procedure works, leaving patients to breathe easier. But in some people ENS is the agonizing result.

9 Symptoms of Empty Nose Syndrome You Should Be Aware Of

The primary symptom is a feeling of nasal obstruction, or the sensation of suffocating, difficulty breathing or breathlessness. Some people feel they have an "empty nose" while others may report the following, which may develop immediately after surgery or not until months or years later:5

Sensation of excessive airflow

Lack of sensation of nasal airflow

Hypersensitivity to cold air

Hyperventilation

Headache

Nasal pain

Nasal dryness

Difficulty falling asleep

Fatigue

The physical symptoms give way to a debilitating condition that often makes daily living difficult, and carries with it significant psychological symptoms as well. Anxiety is common, as is depression, with one study finding ENS sufferers experienced a 62 percent reduction in productivity at work and a 65 percent reduction in productivity in all other activities.6

Writing in the Huffington Post, Barbara Schmidt, who developed ENS in her 20s after a routine sinus procedure for chronic sinusitis, lives in a constant state of anxiety and described the condition this way:7

"Immediately after my procedure, I experienced a lack of air resistance when breathing and speaking, making these activities that ordinarily came naturally and effortlessly entirely exhausting. I needed to exert great effort simply to project my voice, and for decades I had to catch my breath after speaking just five or six words.

… Although I was in fact breathing and getting oxygen, my brain was no longer made aware of it, so it communicated to my body that it was suffocating, triggering an unremitting fight/flight response … my brain, perceiving suffocation, woke me up every night by generating nightmares when I drifted off.

… The suffering didn't end there: dehydration, dry eyes, ear and facial pain, and the jarring sensation of cold air piercing my lungs whenever I was in an unheated area were miserable, yet mere nuisances compared to the agony of never being allowed to enter into the deeper, restorative levels of sleep ― a torment that's been used as a torture tactic in war."

Still, there was more: Restlessness and simultaneously feeling exhausted yet wired. Unable to focus or articulate. Not sensing air all day, hyperventilating. The brain shocking the body day and night in a desperate attempt to escape the misperception of suffocation. The continuous coursing of stress hormones catabolizing the body, breaking down precious tissues. Constant, agonizing fear."

What Causes ENS?

Turbinates are involved in a number of processes that regulate your breathing. This includes making cold air feel warmer when it's inhaled, swelling and shrinking in size to regulate airflow through your nose, and controlling the amount of heat or liquid lost when exhaling.8

"Physiopathology remains unclear," researchers wrote in the European Annals of Otorhinolaryngology, Head and Neck Diseases, "but probably involves disorder caused by excessive nasal permeability affecting neurosensitive receptors and inhaled air humidification and conditioning functions. Neuropsychological involvement is suspected."9

Likewise, in the journal Current Allergy and Asthma Reports, it's explained, "Little is known about the pathogenesis of ENS, though it is speculated that anatomical changes leading to alterations in local environment, disruption of mucosal cooling, and disruption of neurosensory mechanisms are strongly implicated."10

It's a paradox of sorts, because while expanding the nasal pathways by reducing turbinates would theoretically seem to make breathing easier, one study that compared nasal aerodynamics before and after nasal surgery revealed a 53 percent reduction in flow resistance along with "radical redistribution of nasal airflow, as well as dryer and colder nasal microclimate for the postoperative case."11

As for why ENS develops in some patients but not others, only hypotheses exist. One suggests climate may be a factor, with turbinectomy in warmer, humid clients not resulting in as many reported instances of ENS. Other hypotheses suggest ENS may be the result of sensory nerves in the surgical area not regenerating properly or perhaps due to surgical methods that damage nerves more so than others.12

It's also likely that the way air flows through an individual's nose also plays a role, so much so that researchers at Ohio State University's Wexner Medical Center are using 3D technology to design models to test surgery outcomes prior to the procedure. Using a computer model, they can simulate the removal of tissue to determine how it affects air flow, which could help surgeons be better prepared prior to surgery.

"Because the sinuses are surrounded by the brain and the eyes, you have be very precise, within millimeters," otolaryngologist Dr. Alex Farag said in a news release.13 In addition to ENS, other risks of sinus surgery include losing sense of smell or taste, for instance.

Are There Treatments for ENS?

Prevention is by far the most important strategy for avoiding ENS, which is why, if you're considering nasal surgery you should carefully weigh the benefits versus the risks before making a decision. At the very least, if you do undergo surgery, be sure the most conservative surgical techniques are used.14

"Ultimately, prevention of this feared complication through turbinate-sparing techniques is essential," the Current Allergy and Asthma Reports researchers wrote.15 That being said, if you or someone you love has had nasal surgery and is struggling with ENS, there may be some helpful treatments, including "mucosal humidification, irrigations and emollients" as well as surgery to reconstruct the turbinates using implants.

At least one study found that surgical treatment of ENS improved depression and anxiety,16 along with other symptoms. However, there's still much to be learned about which types of implants and placements work best.

"Recent studies have revealed that surgery may result in clinical improvement in patients with ENS but that it does not guarantee improvement in all patients, and insufficient evidence is available to favor any particular implant material," according to a study published in the Journal of International Medical Research.17

In some cases, people with ENS may also benefit from treatment to address individual symptoms, such as hyperventilation, which may be improved via respiratory rehabilitation.18 In Schmidt's case, she sought holistic treatment using Ayurveda, dietary changes, yoga, meditation and conscious breathing, as well as stress mitigation and careful attention to temperature and humidity in her environment.

In addition, she received injections of platelet-rich plasma and stem cells through Dr. Subinoy Das, CEO and medical director for the U.S. Institute for Advanced Sinus Care and Research, which is intended to stimulate new nerve and blood vessel growth and tissue remodeling of the turbinates. According to the U.S. Institute for Advanced Sinus Care and Research, they've had a greater than 75 percent improvement rate with these therapies.19

Alternatives to Surgery for Sinusitis and Sleep Apnea

ENS is iatrogenic, i.e., caused by a medical treatment, diagnostic procedure or physician. This means it's entirely preventable by avoiding nasal surgery. If you're struggling with the symptoms of a deviated septum, including chronic sinusitis, the following natural remedies may help:20

Drink hot liquids — Sipping on hot tea, bone broth or soup may help relieve congested nasal passages.

Breathe in steam — Inhaling steam helps reduce the inflammation of your nasal tissues, allowing your breathing to return to normal.

Stay hydrated — Drinking plenty of water may help reduce the pressure in your sinuses, which decreases the inflammation in your nose.

Use a warm compress — The warmth from a hot compress may help relieve the pain and inflammation in your nasal passages.

If you're considering turbinate surgery due to sleep apnea, there are also nonsurgical options to consider including continuous positive airway pressure (CPAP), a special type of sleeping mask that mechanically restores your breathing by using air pressure to open your airway. Other potential treatment options include:

Buteyko Breathing Method — Named after the Russian doctor who developed it, the Buteyko technique can be used to reverse health problems caused by improper breathing, including sleep apnea.

Orofacial Myofunctional Therapy — Myofunctional therapy involves the neuromuscular re-education or repatterning of your oral and facial muscles. It includes facial and tongue exercises and behavior modification techniques to promote proper tongue position, improved breathing, chewing and swallowing. Proper head and neck postures are also addressed.

Oral appliance — If your mild to moderate sleep apnea is related to jaw or tongue issues, specially trained dentists can design a custom oral appliance, similar to a mouth guard, that you can wear while sleeping to facilitate proper breathing.

from http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2018/12/20/empty-nose-syndrome.aspx

source http://niapurenaturecom.weebly.com/blog/how-could-routine-nasal-surgery-increase-risk-for-anxiety-and-suicide

[jakehglover]

How Could Routine Nasal Surgery Increase Risk for Anxiety and Suicide?

Imagine feeling like you're suffocating every minute of the day. No matter how big a breath you take, you still feel like you can't get enough air. This is the reality for people suffering from empty nose syndrome (ENS), a complication of nose or sinus surgery.

Despite the condition being a horrifying reality for an untold number of people, it remains controversial, with some otolaryngologists (ear, nose and throat physicians) brushing it off as purely psychological.

However, ENS is becoming an increasingly recognized complication of sinus surgery, one that may occur in up to 20 percent of cases following a procedure known as turbinate resection.1 With no known cure, and the condition so severe that sufferers cannot even gain respite while they sleep, some describe it as a "life worse than death"2 — and many have committed suicide as a result.

What Type of Sinus Surgery May Lead to Empty Nose Syndrome?

People with a deviated (or bent) septum may suffer from nasal congestion and chronic sinus infections, leading their physician to recommend septoplasty and turbinate reductions to aid in opening the nasal passage. A septoplasty aims to straighten a bent or deviated nasal septum, which is the divider separating the two sides of the nose.

A turbinate reduction, or turbinectomy, (which is also sometimes recommended for sleep apnea) seeks to reduce or remove the curved structures sticking out from the side of the nose. These can be enlarged for various reasons, such as allergies or sinus inflammation. It is this loss of tissue that may cause some people to feel as though they can't breathe, despite having clear nasal passages.

Each side of your nose contains three sets of turbiantes (a low, middle and high). The low, or inferior, turbinate is most often the one that's reduced or removed, and physicians may use a variety of procedures, ranging from cauterization to radio frequency, to do so. The amount of turbinate that's removed also varies by case and physician, with some removing the bottom third and other removing a bit off the top.

It's a common procedure. In the U.S., an estimated 600,000 people undergo sinonasal procedures every year, which includes septoplasty, turbinate surgery and others.3 By some measures, turbinate reduction is said to be "the most common procedure in rhinology."4 In many cases, the procedure works, leaving patients to breathe easier. But in some people ENS is the agonizing result.

9 Symptoms of Empty Nose Syndrome You Should Be Aware Of

The primary symptom is a feeling of nasal obstruction, or the sensation of suffocating, difficulty breathing or breathlessness. Some people feel they have an "empty nose" while others may report the following, which may develop immediately after surgery or not until months or years later:5

Sensation of excessive airflow

Lack of sensation of nasal airflow

Hypersensitivity to cold air

Hyperventilation

Headache

Nasal pain

Nasal dryness

Difficulty falling asleep

Fatigue

The physical symptoms give way to a debilitating condition that often makes daily living difficult, and carries with it significant psychological symptoms as well. Anxiety is common, as is depression, with one study finding ENS sufferers experienced a 62 percent reduction in productivity at work and a 65 percent reduction in productivity in all other activities.6

Writing in the Huffington Post, Barbara Schmidt, who developed ENS in her 20s after a routine sinus procedure for chronic sinusitis, lives in a constant state of anxiety and described the condition this way:7

"Immediately after my procedure, I experienced a lack of air resistance when breathing and speaking, making these activities that ordinarily came naturally and effortlessly entirely exhausting. I needed to exert great effort simply to project my voice, and for decades I had to catch my breath after speaking just five or six words.

… Although I was in fact breathing and getting oxygen, my brain was no longer made aware of it, so it communicated to my body that it was suffocating, triggering an unremitting fight/flight response … my brain, perceiving suffocation, woke me up every night by generating nightmares when I drifted off.

… The suffering didn't end there: dehydration, dry eyes, ear and facial pain, and the jarring sensation of cold air piercing my lungs whenever I was in an unheated area were miserable, yet mere nuisances compared to the agony of never being allowed to enter into the deeper, restorative levels of sleep ― a torment that's been used as a torture tactic in war."

Still, there was more: Restlessness and simultaneously feeling exhausted yet wired. Unable to focus or articulate. Not sensing air all day, hyperventilating. The brain shocking the body day and night in a desperate attempt to escape the misperception of suffocation. The continuous coursing of stress hormones catabolizing the body, breaking down precious tissues. Constant, agonizing fear."

What Causes ENS?

Turbinates are involved in a number of processes that regulate your breathing. This includes making cold air feel warmer when it's inhaled, swelling and shrinking in size to regulate airflow through your nose, and controlling the amount of heat or liquid lost when exhaling.8

"Physiopathology remains unclear," researchers wrote in the European Annals of Otorhinolaryngology, Head and Neck Diseases, "but probably involves disorder caused by excessive nasal permeability affecting neurosensitive receptors and inhaled air humidification and conditioning functions. Neuropsychological involvement is suspected."9

Likewise, in the journal Current Allergy and Asthma Reports, it's explained, "Little is known about the pathogenesis of ENS, though it is speculated that anatomical changes leading to alterations in local environment, disruption of mucosal cooling, and disruption of neurosensory mechanisms are strongly implicated."10

It's a paradox of sorts, because while expanding the nasal pathways by reducing turbinates would theoretically seem to make breathing easier, one study that compared nasal aerodynamics before and after nasal surgery revealed a 53 percent reduction in flow resistance along with "radical redistribution of nasal airflow, as well as dryer and colder nasal microclimate for the postoperative case."11

As for why ENS develops in some patients but not others, only hypotheses exist. One suggests climate may be a factor, with turbinectomy in warmer, humid clients not resulting in as many reported instances of ENS. Other hypotheses suggest ENS may be the result of sensory nerves in the surgical area not regenerating properly or perhaps due to surgical methods that damage nerves more so than others.12

It's also likely that the way air flows through an individual's nose also plays a role, so much so that researchers at Ohio State University's Wexner Medical Center are using 3D technology to design models to test surgery outcomes prior to the procedure. Using a computer model, they can simulate the removal of tissue to determine how it affects air flow, which could help surgeons be better prepared prior to surgery.

"Because the sinuses are surrounded by the brain and the eyes, you have be very precise, within millimeters," otolaryngologist Dr. Alex Farag said in a news release.13 In addition to ENS, other risks of sinus surgery include losing sense of smell or taste, for instance.

Are There Treatments for ENS?

Prevention is by far the most important strategy for avoiding ENS, which is why, if you're considering nasal surgery you should carefully weigh the benefits versus the risks before making a decision. At the very least, if you do undergo surgery, be sure the most conservative surgical techniques are used.14

"Ultimately, prevention of this feared complication through turbinate-sparing techniques is essential," the Current Allergy and Asthma Reports researchers wrote.15 That being said, if you or someone you love has had nasal surgery and is struggling with ENS, there may be some helpful treatments, including "mucosal humidification, irrigations and emollients" as well as surgery to reconstruct the turbinates using implants.

At least one study found that surgical treatment of ENS improved depression and anxiety,16 along with other symptoms. However, there's still much to be learned about which types of implants and placements work best.

"Recent studies have revealed that surgery may result in clinical improvement in patients with ENS but that it does not guarantee improvement in all patients, and insufficient evidence is available to favor any particular implant material," according to a study published in the Journal of International Medical Research.17

In some cases, people with ENS may also benefit from treatment to address individual symptoms, such as hyperventilation, which may be improved via respiratory rehabilitation.18 In Schmidt's case, she sought holistic treatment using Ayurveda, dietary changes, yoga, meditation and conscious breathing, as well as stress mitigation and careful attention to temperature and humidity in her environment.

In addition, she received injections of platelet-rich plasma and stem cells through Dr. Subinoy Das, CEO and medical director for the U.S. Institute for Advanced Sinus Care and Research, which is intended to stimulate new nerve and blood vessel growth and tissue remodeling of the turbinates. According to the U.S. Institute for Advanced Sinus Care and Research, they've had a greater than 75 percent improvement rate with these therapies.19

Alternatives to Surgery for Sinusitis and Sleep Apnea

ENS is iatrogenic, i.e., caused by a medical treatment, diagnostic procedure or physician. This means it's entirely preventable by avoiding nasal surgery. If you're struggling with the symptoms of a deviated septum, including chronic sinusitis, the following natural remedies may help:20

Drink hot liquids — Sipping on hot tea, bone broth or soup may help relieve congested nasal passages.

Breathe in steam — Inhaling steam helps reduce the inflammation of your nasal tissues, allowing your breathing to return to normal.

Stay hydrated — Drinking plenty of water may help reduce the pressure in your sinuses, which decreases the inflammation in your nose.

Use a warm compress — The warmth from a hot compress may help relieve the pain and inflammation in your nasal passages.

If you're considering turbinate surgery due to sleep apnea, there are also nonsurgical options to consider including continuous positive airway pressure (CPAP), a special type of sleeping mask that mechanically restores your breathing by using air pressure to open your airway. Other potential treatment options include:

Buteyko Breathing Method — Named after the Russian doctor who developed it, the Buteyko technique can be used to reverse health problems caused by improper breathing, including sleep apnea.

Orofacial Myofunctional Therapy — Myofunctional therapy involves the neuromuscular re-education or repatterning of your oral and facial muscles. It includes facial and tongue exercises and behavior modification techniques to promote proper tongue position, improved breathing, chewing and swallowing. Proper head and neck postures are also addressed.

Oral appliance — If your mild to moderate sleep apnea is related to jaw or tongue issues, specially trained dentists can design a custom oral appliance, similar to a mouth guard, that you can wear while sleeping to facilitate proper breathing.

from HealthyLife via Jake Glover on Inoreader http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2018/12/20/empty-nose-syndrome.aspx