just a quick chapter wip for resistance is futile. not sure of I'm going to keep. let me know what you guys think.
----
He was Ingo, he was a Subway Boss. One of two. He conducted the single lines in gear station, where he would stand and await trainers who completed 20 battles.
He had silver eyes, and silver hair.
He had a brother, Emmet, they were twins, Identical. Emmet loved winning more than anything and always had a smile on his face. His best friend was Elesa, a supermodel and gym leader.
He lived in Nimbasa city with his brother and two children.
Not long ago, he had been taken by an alien group known as the Borg, along with several others. They had operated on him, changed him from the outside, and tried to make him one of them.
His body was no longer his own, but his mind was still intact.
But, He was Ingo, He was a Subway Boss, and he wasn't beaten so easily.
—
He was Ingo, He was a Subway Boss, the 10th one to be Assimilated out of 83.
He had one silver eye and his ocular implant was red. And his hair had long since fallen out.
He had a brother who loved winning more than anything, and was always smiling. They weren’t identical anymore.
Would Emmet even recognize him anymore?
He'd been taken from Nimbasa City three months ago.
Yesterday, he watched as the cube he was on tried to Assimilate a cargo ship they came upon. The crew hit the self-destruction.
There were suddenly ten less voices in Ingo’s head.
But he still wasn't about to give up. He was still a Subway Boss.
—
They were- no, He was Ingo. He was a…a…Drone…no, it was something to do with trains…he was sure of it. And he was The 10th one to be Assimilated out of 83.
He had a brother…he wore white…was he still smiling?
Today they had been attacked by Klingons. They managed to kill three of them, but now their voices were added to the Collective. Their violent nature tamed by metal and wires.
It was getting harder to fight back, but Ingo was never one to back down from a challenge.
___
He was Ingo, he was a Engineering drone, his designation was 10 of 83.
He didn't remember much from before that, no matter how much he tried.
His mind was starting to uncouple.
Every so often he would recall a man, a human, that used to look like him. But he couldn't get any more than that. But he felt like he was someone who smiled a lot.
He'd been sent to repair the shield emitters during a fight with the Romulans. He had almost finished when they had been struck with disrupters. As luck would have it, he was fine, but his arm was attachment had been severely damaged.
Medical drone 5 of 30 was sent to repair damaged and upgrade hydraulic clamp attached to 10 of 83.
But what interested him was the drone sent to repair him.
They were young, too young to be a proper drone.
But they were like him.
They were fighting as well.
A name came to mind when they looked at him. Akari, her name was Akari. And she was fighting this tooth and nail.
And she believed she could get both of them out of this.
She was called away to repair another drone, and Ingo wanted to reach out and stop her. They should stick together. But he couldn't, he didn’t have control over his body.
But if Akari could continue to fight for this long.
Then Ingo could continue to fight as well.
—
They were 10 of 83. They were an engineering drone.
And they had not seen Akari in days.
They didn’t know what happened to her, they could no longer hear her voice in the collective. She had gone completely silent. And they were worried for her safety.
Had she been taken out in one of the raids?
Had the collective deactivated her?
Or had she fallen and fully joined the collective like so many others?
Maybe she was still out there, and they were simply being blocked from communicating, so she could no longer corrupt them with her sense of independence.
Whatever the case maybe, they just hoped she was safe and managed to get out alive.
SPOILERS FOR MY FIC GOOD BAD HABITS RUN IN THE FAMILY!!
Heres the link for the fic, as this is just part of what I have written so far for the new chapter :)
"The stories were true, weren't they? You died before, haven't you?" Danny asked Jason, with an air so nonchalant that it made Jason both curious and uncomfortable.
Jason didn't want to answer that, to be forced to remember and face a reality he wanted to keep buried with the rest of his past whenever he dug himself out, so he ignored it. Danny already knew what his answer would be anyways. Jason had a feeling that Danny knew all too well, and it only made those green specks in his eyes be that more concerning. "Is that 'death aura' how you knew it was Tim earlier, since apparently everybody's is different?"
Danny let the fact that Jason danced around his question go, understanding the way he didn't want to go into more details. Danny didn't like his past being explored either, so it was only fair. The teen took a bite of his fry, surprised that the green seasoned food was actually decent, before speaking. "Yeah, sorta. Usually most people have little to no hint of death on them. Though you bunch seem to all be affected one way or another. Red- Tim's is quite powerful and a lot different than yours. It seems he's killed quite a few people, even more so than the crime lord himself."
Jason was beginning to get used to how relaxed Danny talked about these things, as if being revived from the dead or killing people were something that came to no surprise. Though the thought of Tim having killed more people than him did take him back a little. He knew that Tim was a bit unhinged at times, but surely the replacement followed Bruce's strict "no killing" rule.
these snippets of the scenes are in order, and theyre really only the slice of life aspects and first part of the first chapter. if you'd like to see more, either from chapter 1 or the 4 that i've got/am working on!
i’ve fallen ill (i’m nauseous from vertigo spells) and am bed ridden (i’m still healing from the at home ingrown surgery), have a sliver of the newest installment of my 80k worded manifesto (trs, my longest lucemond fic)
"Master, Master!" the tension between them is broken by the boisterous cry of the loudest monk Ritsuka has ever known. Kiara's hand surreptitiously drops from the small of her back, and she feels a disconcerting mix of relief and loss at the retreating touch.
Her thoughts are scattered as Caster bounds down the hallway, her strides eating up the ground between them until she comes to her feet before them, grinning at Kiara.
"Ah, a dancer!" The Third Beast of Humanity claps her hands together and tilts her head like an excited young lady at a festival. "My, Chaldea truly is open to all kinds. Master, you truly have put together a special collection of people."
Sanzang's boundless energy halts, and with heartfelt, almost passionate solemnity, she bows with her hands clasped together. "Namo Buddhaya," she intones, and her eyes hold a weight of wisdom and uncreated joy, like bubbles of light trailing up from a stone cast into deep water. The moment melts away as her puppy-like cheer surfaces once more, and she turns to Ritsuka, clasping her hands in her own. "Why didn't you tell me, Master! A nun, another nun is here!" They both stare at her, Sanzang up in her face, giddy and gleeful, while Kiara waits at a more appropriate distance, one eyebrow arched in inquiry.
Fujimaru Ritsuka, once the Last Master of Humanity, has spent more than two years here, in Antarctica where the wind always whistling and howling on the windows is drowned out by the even more constant chatter of humanity's greatest heroes (and some villains) in constant discussion, camaraderie, and, often enough, argument. She has mediated disputes between Darius III of Persia and Alexander the Great, between Nero of Rome and Boudica of the Celtic Iceni, between Minamoto-no-Raikou and Shuten Douji, Atalante and Fergus--she has personally reached the heart of a god of Central America through words and actions, and negotiated peace with a vengeful spirit (she is kind of proud of it, too). Her ability to connect with other people, to read the room, is… really her only skill. It’s something she has faith in.
Her palms begin to sweat.
"...Right. Yeah, I guess I should... introduce you?" Sanzang nods at her. Kiara continues smiling.
"So, uh, this is Alter Ego, Sessyoin Kiara," Sanzang gives her a small wave, and Kiara tilts her head, smiling radiantly with closed eyes. "...And this is Caster, Xuanzang Sanzang."
"...Oh?" Kiara's expression does not change. She continues to smile, gentle and relaxed. But Rituska feels a chill down her spine, feels her heartbeat pick up its pace, and a strange pressure fill the room. "What a pleasure it is, to meet another woman who has taken the Bodhisattva Vow for the sake of all living beings.”
She makes eye contact with a passing staff member—Marcus—before he puts his head down and hustles quickly down the hall. Ritsuka’s not the only one who has had to develop a keen sense for tension.
You might think Sanzang would have that kind of intuition as well—or at least have learned to be a better judge of character, after being kidnapped by so many disguised demons. But, well, the Journey to the West wouldn’t have been quite as memorable a story that way.
She thinks of tendrils and eyes, splitting flesh and tangling outward from head, from chest, in a small room far below the ocean. Her skin crawls.
“And especially one so accomplished. I believe it is thanks to your efforts in your time that I was able to receive the Dharma in mind. She is motionless, just for a hair too long, looking Sanzang in the eyes. “Yes, I owe you a particular debt.”
“Kiara, uh. I think we have to keep going to make our appointment with the acting Director.”
“… A shame,” she says. “Truly.” She doesn’t shift her posture in the slightest.
"Awww, are you busy? Sorry for taking up your time! But we should totally have tea later! I think I would learn a lot from talking with a like-minded follower of the Buddha!"
Sanzang, please stop being so friendly, she thinks, just this once.
“If you want,” Kiara says, “perhaps it will happen. I think you will find my understanding of the Dharma to be quite unique.”
And Ritsuka takes that as her cue to grab her hand and pull her down the hallway, waving at Sanzang with a tight smile as they go.
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Just a little excerpt from the in-progress chapter 7 of Karuṇā.
I'm probably just being impatient again, but I feel soooo bored of Toneri, like I can't be bothered to flesh him out anymore and there's so much smut I want to get to!! 😆 I think maybe anyone who has mixed or neg feelings about Hinata and her cheating situation are in the minority? Maybe? But I'm still trying to be conscious of pacing and whatnot, and I kinda want Con-Crit on this: Is Hinata's development here too sudden???? I am basically Deux ex Machina-ing her situation with Toneri since it won't make much sense for Hinata to cheat again, because next time won't just be a 'moment of weakness' and that'll probably knock down even more sympathy points if I have her proceed down that course. I guess she still gets to be married this way, since divorce takes a long-ass time. 🤔
🎉 Anyhow, here it is! ✨
Chapter 14 WIP:
They stumbled out of the club, inebriated and ears ringing, her slight frame supporting Sasuke, keeping him upright.
She doesn't believe he's as drunk as he's behaving, but she sees no reason not to prevent him from falling on his face.
The world outside was deafeningly quiet and startingly vast. It was going to take her some time to find her fit in it all.
"Why are you so interested in what becomes of me?" she asks. "I figured you would be more concerned for your friend."
"Don't read too much into it. I'm just making sure you both don't disappoint me. You two have been a riot so far. I’d hate for things to get boring.”
“Is that so?” She peered up at him, scrutinizing his claim. She knows why he's been nice to her for this long, so she highly doubts he has no stake, not unless he's suddenly changed his mind.
He adds another point, perhaps her staring had gotten to him.
"And maybe what you're doing to Naruto is good for him. A normal woman would've slapped a restraining order on him by now,"
Hinata winces at the irony. Her husband's first instinct hadn't been her own, and she isn't sure what that says about her.
"Even if I became a free woman and chose to reciprocate Naruto's feelings, one of us will surely get bored of the other and break it off. That's something he can recover from, but not me."
"Hn. Yeah."
The first thing she does when she gets home is preparing a shower.
She strips off in the second master bathroom, belatedly taking notice of Sasuke's dog tag necklace around her neck. The chain has fallen between her breasts, the metal tags dangling beneath their swell and her reflection catches her gaze.
Somehow, she looks rather lewd.
Like a pinup model.
Not that she could pass for one.
She's doughy in all the wrong places and her face is as mousy and plain as ever.
But that's just her opinion, isn't it?
She knows someone that would ravage her even if she were wearing a thick, dowdy sweater and sweatpants.
She shouldn't be thinking about this.
It was irresponsible and unproductive.
She should be clean and cuddling up with her husband.
She slips off the necklace and hops in the shower, the hot waterfall relaxing her muscles and cleansing her mind.
She slicks her hair back, then reaches for the soap. She runs the bar across her arms, over her breasts, and down her stomach. She lathers her skin, palming every curve of her body, cupping her breasts, smoothing her hands down from her collarbone to her ribs.
Her hands grow more idle and indulgent, her fingers passing over her nipples with increasing frequency.
Her heart rate quickens as a blush suffused her face, her right hand finding her aching lips like a compass finds north, and her face contorted in pain.
In her mind is her husband's name repeated over and over again, but not his face, not his hands.
She bites her bottom lip as she rubs her clit, her back muscles lurching as her chest hummed with a restrained moan.
She refuses to think about blond hair and mischievous blue eyes. Of his guileless, cheeky grin. Of his inexhaustible enthusiasm and his overflowing masculinity in the bedroom.
No, no, no, no..!
She's being torn in two as overwhelming desire obliterates every good sense she's been trying to hold onto; but if it comes to this, then she's already lost.
She wants him.
She wants him so bad.
Tweaking and tugging her nipple, her fingers go to town on her aching pussy, and she knows it's not enough. She wants something hard and thick to slide inside of her, to make a mess of her.
A sob caught between anguish and pleasure cut through the shower, echoing off the tiles, and she doesn't understand why this is happening to her. She needs romance. She needs promises of forever. She has forever right now. With her husband. What the hell has gotten into her?!
Her orgasm is short and sharp as her body jerks beneath the water. The air is too humid to breathe in as her chest heaves with deep gasps.
What's gotten into her?
Just hours ago she saw him outside of her work. She didn't feel like this around him then. Why now?
She ends her shower and steps out, feeling like she's left a part of herself to drain away and she wraps herself up in a towel.
She lays across her bedding, dully contemplating.
She can feel some of the alcohol's influence on her, but it's not enough. She knows she was spurred on at the thought of teasing him, how much she wanted to turn his jealousy into foreplay.
She bit her lip as her pussy ached for him again, and her hands flew to shield her bitterly burning face.
She can’t hide this. She can’t keep this to herself. She needs to establish open communication with her husband, and she needs to maintain it.
She rolls out of her towel and off the bed. She leaves the spare master and traipses across the hallway, secretly relishing in her nakedness as she seeks out her sleeping husband.
She hasn’t slept beside him in months. It’s been sporadic at best. The nights she falls asleep inside her sanctuary are the nights that she doesn’t wish to be anywhere else. Those nights she loves her own company. This isn’t going to be one of those nights.
She crawls across their bedding like a prowling cat, nervousness in her cautious movements. She doesn’t want to be detected just yet. She must look silly to approach her husband this way.
She settles down beside him and slides her hand across his bony shoulder and across his thin shield of a chest. She watches his face; the face that she couldn’t conjure in her mind’s eyes. And she squints as if she still can’t see him, perhaps not even recognize him.
The air becomes acrid in her chest and her ribs heave with short, hurried breaths. But she feels no reprieve. Her quiet breathing labors, punctuated suddenly by suppressed sobs that turn into strained whines.
“Toneri,” she calls out, thin tears escaping her eyes as this confusion clutches her, causing her fingers to turn cold. “Toneri. Darling. Darling.”
His mouth twitches, then his eyes slowly blink. “Hmm?”
“Darling.”
His head turns towards her. He’s still blinking away the sleep. He sees her, their eyes meeting in the darkness. “Hinata?”
“I’m no good.”
He squints at her. Then he shifts himself upright, and the purpose of his reply is short-lived. “Why?” His eyes travel down to take in her naked body. He’s seen her in a chemise, in her underwear, or a swimsuit when she takes a dip in the backyard, but he hasn’t seen her naked in several years.
She’s sure the changes are startling.
She watches his eyes, his mouth.
He looks away. His mouth twists.
She’s used to it, somehow. Perhaps her mind has practiced this moment so many times.
“Why are you ‘no good’ you say?”
“Because..." Her face blushes with shame, as if what she's awoken to is merely the petty desires of a shallow teenage girl. But there's no other way to word this. It's finally clear as day. "Because I need a man to love me. Because I thought about him… loving me.”
His gaze darts about, his demeanor hunches up and she knows he’s uncomfortable.
Hinata continues, the tears falling down faster. “And because I let our marriage turn empty and stale, and I’m not sure if I have it in me to work on us. At least not now, or while I feel this way. It doesn't feel right to be together now that I'm sure.”
He steadies himself on the nightstand as he slides his legs over the edge of the bed. There’s an alarm clock, lamp, and two photos of themselves from their twenties. She had so much time to fix them and she didn’t even try. ‘So fucking hopeful’, just like Sasuke said. So fucking hopeful that everything was fine, as fine as it ever was, and it would never be better (or even need to be). Because she’s not with a wife-beater or a serial cheater or a pervert. Somehow she thought those were her only deal-breakers and anything else was what you put up with.
But she feels like she may be awakening to twenty years of suppression and her marriage won’t withstand it. She knows it won’t. She wouldn’t ask him for an open marriage, anyway. It would make her feel dirty. Dirtier.
“You don’t have it in you? Are you serious?”
“Do you have it in you? What would you change about us if you could? What would make you attracted to me again? I know sex… you don’t like it, but we used to kiss and touch and cuddle. It’s been three years maybe since we did anything together? Since I felt close to you?”
“You couldn’t stay seventeen forever,” he mumbled beneath his breath, and she squinted at him, eyebrows creasing in scrutiny. “It’s unreasonable of me, but I would’ve preferred if you could. I can’t help that.”
“We’re just roommates, Toneri. We’ve forgotten how to be in love–” she’s quoting Sasuke when Toneri cuts her off.
“I’m still in love. I would do anything for you.”
“Will you see a Sex Therapist about your Aversion? Would you be willing to correct it for me?”
Toneri swipes across the nightstand, knocking picture frames and the lamp to the ground, piercing the air with its sudden crash and Hinata flinches at the rare display of rage.
“Is that what you need?! Is that all that you need to love me again?! Go be with your shithead boy-toy, damned whore! I gave you everything! Everything but this one thing! You ingrate!”
His voice shredded her ears and her psyche as she fled the room in panicked haste.
Everything he said is right. She knows. But she can’t help it, either.
They both have misaligned needs that the other cannot meet.
They’re like puzzle pieces with nowhere to go. They look like they match the same set, but they’ve been cut out incorrectly, and no matter what, they can’t smash themselves enough to fit.
This is going to get out. Somehow her family is going to catch word, and her friends are going to catch word, and with the best intentions, they’re all going to shove her failure in her face.
All she wanted was to ask for a break, for time to figure herself out, and for him to work on himself in the meantime.
But maybe this isn’t her home anymore.
Maybe she’s going to see what it’s like to start all over so late in life.
She dresses in the second master with what few clothes she’s moved over to this side, and she prepares to find a place to stay for the night. Or the week.
She packs up a bag of running clothes and leaves their home in her running shoes, because running is what she does best.
But this time, maybe there's no need to be ashamed of that.
