Guide: Every time there's a (TBD), it means there was supposed to be added writing within a section because I often write dialogue out of order and then connect them later. I also put some character pairings in parentheses where there were supposed to be character interactions because there's lots of missing time/developments that would've been resolved had there been a pairing there that might've explained later events.

I also put the fics in order of when they were written.

January 2019 Fic

I had a strange idea of wanting to have some of the characters at a historical night market, but then I was like where would they all even be? Would they really just all be chilling in 14th century Korea at a night market? 17th century Persia? Anyway, here's an ambiguously historical chapter that gives vague world building details so I don't have to build a whole fictional land just for one chapter.

cerulean summer solstice

The sun had already started to sink lazily behind the hills by the time Naya had finished readying herself. She'd insisted on curling her hair the night before and Devi, blessed with far more patience than her, had sat cross-legged behind her for an hour and a half, his fingers working her damp hair around thick ribbons. With caution that bordered on fear, he'd pinned each dark, thick piece of hair so it pressed against her skull. It dug in and made for an uncomfortable night of sleeping, but she'd justified that it was a day of celebration, and that meant good food, plentiful socialization, and dressy attire. When she removed the ribbons from her hair at the last moment, they'd sprung out in satisfying ringlets, which she carefully combed her fingers through so she had loose curls that covered her shoulders. She used that coverage to justify her clothes, which sloped down her chest under her collarbones and cinched at her waist, a silk belt holding the fabric closed, along with a few hidden buttons. It reached her ankles and hung heavy with careful embroidery. Her parents had paid for it when she'd asked long enough, and the vendor she'd found it at was amiable enough to let her bargain for it.

Selecting a pair of golden sandals, she worked at the ties so they were secured behind her ankles before grabbing a few bangles to slip over her hands. She liked how expensive they looked, more for her own pleasure than the viewing pleasure of others, but she didn't mind that either. If she managed to catch the attention of any available passerbys, then she would consider that a plus.

When she'd finally made it outside where Devi was waiting for her, he seemed slightly impatient as if nervous about missing some imaginary deadline. He'd dressed up slightly too, inspired by the traditional dress of the village he came from - the closest village to hers - and his hair was somewhat styled for once with a clay pomade instead of flopping haphazardly over his forehead. It was made of simple linens and dark colours, but it suited him anyway. She was sure his parents had forced him to wear something nicer than his usual attire, as he looked uncomfortable to be dressed up.

"You look nice," she teased as she walked over to join him, her fingers catching on his sleeve to tug him down the dirt path away from her place. "Don't tell me you have any girls to impress."

"What? Of course not," he stressed earnestly, immediately seeming embarrassed at the prospect. "It's just...you know...a big event. It's customary for people to dress...nicer."

"Oh, I know." She was amused at his flustered answer, but he was easy to elicit a reaction from. They'd spent enough of their days together to be familiar with each other, and that meant knowing what embarrassed him. To be fair, that wasn't a difficult thing to find out. "You didn't compliment me, though. I'm a little offended. I put a lot of work into looking nice."

He stammered, as if he had slipped up on some important detail before he caught himself and frowned slightly. "But-...I mean, I put in more effort on you. Technically, I did your hair."

"That's true. And I'm grateful for that," she conceded with a smile, finding his indignation was enough to make her laugh. If they hadn't grown up attending the same classes at the shrine their communities shared, she wasn't sure if they would have been friends. But they'd been forced in each others companies enough that they slowly grew on each other, or rather, she grew on him. It wasn't long before they started to attend each yearly festival together, enjoying the company and what the stalls had to offer.

That summer had not been kind, though, and she could still feel the heat warming her hair, even with the waning of the sun. It had cleared the clouds at least, as her parents had speculated earlier that a hot storm would pass through the festival, but it seemed the gods had been looking upon them and granted some pity. The sky held colours that painters salivated for, with honey yellows and soft pinks blurring into the disappearing blue. Cerulean had always been the most expensive dye, requiring the pigments from lapis and carefully soaked wood with flowers to imitate endless skies and deep oceans. Perhaps it was elusive because the gods dwelled in the deepest expanses of rich air and they wanted to keep such things to themselves. They always seemed possessive like that, but they inspired such wonderful festivals, so she couldn't be entirely upset.

"What are you thinking about?" Devi asked, curious as to what had drawn her to silence, his fingers fidgeting with his sleeves.

"Honestly," she started, and wished she'd brought a fan, "I'm just a little hot."

... ... ...

Business was simply a means for getting money and Aspen had trouble losing himself in it. While Kellan had arrived earlier than him to set up their stall, carefully laying out scrolls of paper on their wooden tables and preparing their inkwells, Aspen had given some pointers on how to design the outside. He had a better eye for such things, even if Kellan excelled in practicality, and he was more experienced on how to craft an alluring display to ensure people didn't look over what they had to offer.

The night festival generally took place in a small wooden village he lived in that was surrounded by clearings of tall trees and hills, which were entrenched in mysticism to someone like him, who scarcely made time to leave the settlement. People coming to visit and set up their tents, stalls, and tables were the most exciting things to happen each year and it made foreign a place he had explored and devoured for the entirety of his life. New flavours on his tongue excited him and his eyes were entertained with the mix of cultures that he had only ever heard about in tales. It was not yet night, which was when the festival found its peak, but already he could smell the cooking of spices and hear the clamor of vendors negotiating with each other. Dancers in exotic makeup and long tulle skirts passed by briefly, waiting for their time to entertain while a few bards with dulcimers and shawms tested their instruments, ensuring the wood hadn't betrayed them in the humidity.

"I need you to not run off on me tonight," Kellan said as he wet his brush, taking a seat next to Aspen as he tuned his supplies. His hands were already stained with ink, bleeding into his skin in dispersed shades of grey. "We'll be busy tonight."

"And am I not dedicated?" Aspen countered with a slow smile, uncorking his own ink to test his brush. "I am a hard worker."

"Yes, but a little unreliable."

His brush dragged across the paper in fine scrolls, his fingers delicate and precise. "My dear Kellan. I only think it is a waste to not experience everything this world has to offer. Sometimes the people call to me, and what am I to do except answer?"

Such words merely earned him a shake of Kellan's head and a slight sigh. Unbothered, Aspen continued his practice. He had always had a thing for artistry and aesthetics, though he found more beauty in the lines of limbs and parted mouths than ink. He could watch people and unravel their proportions, instantly recognizing if they pleased his eyes or bored him. Such festivals were good for inspiration, and while not many attendees had yet shown up, it held the promise of endless company and a fine array of people to choose from.

A few early customers paid for cheap prayer scrolls, dropping coins onto their tables in exchange for luck in the upcoming moons. Eventually, his collar dampened with the oppressive heat, even as the sun dipped behind the rolling hills and trees. But he had tabled in worse climate. The livelihood of getting by was enough to force one into discomfort, and customers would at times coo their sympathies and then indulge, which was almost more undesirable than their silence. His hand reached for a hairpin, curling his hair up atop his head to relieve the back of his neck from its warmth, using the pin to secure it.

"Your best." The voice that interrupted his rumination came from a tall woman, setting a small bag of coins onto the table. "Whatever this can afford."

Aspen moved to reach for the bag, but Kellan had already plucked it off the table as if not trusting his intentions or ability. "Of course. Any preference in ink colour?"

"Black, preferably," the woman answered, adjusting the mink stole that covered the shoulders of her dress.

"A steady and bold colour. Commendable," Aspen interjected, watching as Kellan started on the task, his brush drawing in the language of the Old dialects of the land to conjure forth good luck. "Our most popular choice, but certainly the best."

She smiled, her teeth glittering. "I wouldn't settle for anything less."

... ... ...

Night markets were not a thing Blake was accustomed to. The city he came from was a military fort that he'd been born into, built as an agent of protection to neighboring villages. They had no time for worship, art, or festivities, so the sight of colours and lights cornered him into defensiveness.

Stalls were pressed up against each other between and in front of the normal village buildings, lined with bright lanterns and occasional sconces on the carved stone structures that served as points of worship throughout the village. Foreign foods filled the air, easy meals eaten on the go advertised in friendly bargaining. A boyish vendor worked on decorating fluffy pastries with thick cream, his hair oddly coloured in certain sections with some sort of indigo infusion. He chatted with a few customers, eager to sell his goods, and Blake eyed such behaviour with curiosity. Others had large iron grills with burning fires underneath, heating up spicy pieces of meat that he couldn't easily identify, though the scent carried through the air with smoky persistence, lingering far after he'd passed them.

When he passed the areas with food, the stalls slowly transitioned into ones selling fine rugs and jewelry, some fit for those that could likely afford to rent the protection of his entire fort for a night, he thought. A stall of fine weapons distracted him, for they were stocked with decorative blades fitted with fine jewels and hilts edged in gold filigree. Many of the blades were no longer than his hand, but they still seemed sharp and functional nonetheless. It struck him as strange that such weapons were being sold at a market like that, but his judgement was backed with little experience of the land. No one had guided him on what to expect, nor had they given him reason to expect such cultural differences.

"I forget you've never been to one of these." A familiar voice purred from a stall nearby and Blake looked over to confront it, eyes catching on another man in similar garb. He was leaning against the support of a stall selling various expensive herbs, his mouth working at a bit of khat that dilated his pupils to swallow the amber of his eyes. They'd never worked together before, but similar responsibilities had set them on the same path.

"It was on the way," Blake remarked with little space in his tone for amusement, having some reservations about working with such a guard. "It was Caspian's timing and decision that put us on this route."

"No need to justify it to me," the guard said and gave a dismissive wag of his fingers before procuring another khat leaf to chew on. Gold bracelets adorned his wrists, no doubt passed down his family as a sign of their wealth. "I only wonder why Caspian insisted this was a good stopping point."

The reasons for why they'd stopped hadn't really passed through Blake's mind, mostly because he didn't care. It was good pay for fulfilling his responsibilities and it gave him time away from the fort he'd been sequestered to his entire life. An entire world sat beyond the stone walls and rigid training, and yet he had never particularly been allowed to indulge.

(TBD)

... ... ...

"What do you think of this one?" Naya pulled small rice cakes from a skewer with some effort, letting the flavour settle on her tongue as she chewed.

"It's good. It reminds me of something we make at home, but we use a different kind of rice and it's spicier." It was easier for Devi to relax if he was talking about things that were familiar. The loud presence of people around him had never been his natural setting and she led him by hand to all the stalls she wanted to see, knowing he would protest less if they didn't carelessly wander in the haphazard crowds. They were as eager as any guest, though, to indulge in the delicacies the place had to offer. Many ingredients were not often found in the land they lived on, some herbs unable to grow in such warm and humid environments, and they were too expensive to import.

"Right. I think your mom brought some over once," she said, taking his empty skewer from him to toss into a rubbish bin along with her own. "Back when I got sick that one time and had to miss lessons."

His mouth twitched with a smile, as if remembering how poorly she felt and how much she'd complained. "I remember. I'm still convinced you did that just to stay home."

"Like I would pass up any opportunity to bother you," she accused, taking his arm to pull him back into the aisle of stalls. "I'm vying for dessert. What about you?"

"Ah-..." Devi rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, trailing behind her when she pulled him. "I didn't bring much money..."

"Then I'll pay. You know my parents have more than enough to spend, and I'm always looking for an excuse to treat you, since you insist on bringing over so many snacks," she said to silence any impending protests. She had to use her other hand to hold up the bottom of her dress, knowing her parents would be upset if she arrived back home with it dirty from dragging on the floor. Devi made a noise of disagreement, but she glared at him good-naturedly. Sometimes she felt badly about what she couldn't offer him, whether it was familial hospitality and things she'd made, but she was glad that there were still ways to subtly pay him back.

(TBD)

... ... ...

Aspen had been working hard. greeting customers and writing down whatever prayers they wanted as homage to the gods. He was good at being friendly and encouraging tips from generous patrons, motivated by the need for food and supplies. What he hadn't expected, though, was the face of someone he'd grown close to against his will, almost startling his hand to drop his brush. He licked his lips and willed himself into calm flirtation. Still, such familiar silver eyes inspired some want in his words, letting them linger and stare.

"Caspian." His greeting was sparse, his gaze expectant enough to say more than he'd voiced aloud. "Are you interested in a scroll?"

The blond man seemed unimpressed, disapproving even, and distant in his posture. Eyes keen. Careful. "You're still working in this trade?"

"Oh, not even an 'I miss you' or anything? I am not as privileged as you, who has enough coin to not need to sell one's services to live, eat, and drink." Aspen's words dissolved into teasing, crossing his arms over the table and watching him. It had been months since he'd last seen him, and each passing week had been longer than the last. They'd parted on a cold day in winter during the night, sipping bland tea until it was time for Caspian to ride back to his family and answer to their call. His responsibilities had always been important, intimidating, and oppressive, but he managed to fulfill them all the same. Aspen didn't know how one could simultaneously be so dutiful and rebellious.

"You don't seem very busy," Caspian observed critically, but that comment only elicited a smile from Aspen.

"So, I'm free enough for a private prayer."

The suggestion weighed in the air and it was met with silence. Aspen didn't need encouragement, though, and he lifted himself from his chair, leaving his brush abandoned on a piece of paper where it leaked black ink on the fibrous paper. His clothes stuck to him, a little tacky from the heat, and he ran a sleeve across the sweat on his brow as he pulled himself from his work. Money would forever be a constant, undying need of his, but he had never been entirely dictated by such realities. The delicious prospect of company was far more compelling and he would not give up such a rare opportunity.

"Aspen. You can't just leave me here," Kellan stated with a disappointed look, indignation in his stare. "We get busy before the closing ceremony. You know that. I can't do all the requests by myself."

"I'll be back in no time." His words were filled with an empty promise as he stepped out from behind the stall to retrieve Caspian, urging him to walk alongside him with careful touches to his arm and shoulder. Public settings had always been their downfall and he wondered if he was a subject of embarrassment to someone so high in status and prestige, but the idea of affection and private words given to only him were things he could not pass up. It was not likely that Caspian would initiate with so many eyes on him.

"Your calligraphy has improved."

"That was a good compliment. I'm proud of you," Aspen said, pleased at his admission, though his thoughts had already gone elsewhere into less dignified territory. "I'm glad you came."

Caspian pushed some hair behind his ear. It was badly in need of a cut. "I had some leeway in my schedule."

His eyebrows shot up and he allowed a tease in his voice. "Oh? Is that so? Or rather, is that all?"

Those words were met with a soundless glance, containing within it a silent reciprocation. Aspen would never understand the restraints of titles and expectations, nor would he ever pretend to like them, but a night was enough to quell his complaints. He was presumptuous enough in his assumptions to start to his home, tucked on the outskirts of the village where the festival did not reach entirely. It was humble, but entirely his own. Spare change was to be used on clothing and drinks, not on grand living spaces that would make him feel more alone than he was. Besides, the company he shared was worth more than anything he would ever buy.

They made their way to a row of silent, sullen buildings, carefully built in stripped wood and fine stone. The structures had stood proud for at least a century and they would stand for at least another. It was a small village, certainly, but it was one proud of their craftsmanship, artistry, and ability. But Aspen had no interest in architecture, his hand having reached to grasp at Caspian's arm to pull him quicker down the alley. Impatience made his steps hasty and when he looked over at Caspian, he could see a concealed blush in his aloofness, as if already imagining their intentions. And how Aspen would seek to fulfill each of them, even if Caspian never voiced them or made them public. That was how he was, and begrudgingly, it was something to get used to.

Letting them both into his house, Aspen slid the door open, leaving his sandals by the door and beckoning Caspian to follow. He was smug in his enticement, but not maliciously so, and it was not easy for him to conceal his excitement. Too long had it been since he'd shared space with someone that truly interested him.

"Your place looks a little different," Caspian stated, his words giving nothing away, though his posture was on edge.

"Don't act like you care about the decór," was all that Aspen said as he reached for him, fingers sliding nimbly against Caspian's robe to tug him closer, finally kissing him now that they had secured their privacy. He was met with hesitation, and then greed, a sigh of relief leaving his lips that his assumptions had not been wrong and that things were not suddenly one-sided.

His hands were agile in their wants, quickly undoing ties and buttons to free Caspian from the confines of such weighty fabric. They were expensive to the touch and pretty, but his fingers were indelicate in their undressing, pulling recklessly at the layers of clothing with a hint of frustration. Caspian wasn't so quick, even if he was slightly clumsy in his touch. He had run a hand through Aspen's hair and the pin that had been holding some of the dark waves out of his face had clattered to the ground, lost in the clothing that had already fallen. Aspen either didn't notice or didn't yet care, clutching him until they were kissing again, less frantically that time. His fingers splayed against his skin, tugging at his hips so they were fitted against each other, still standing, but only just.

"That hairpin was expensive," Aspen murmured finally, moving his mouth to his throat, emphasizing his point with a quick nip. "You had better look for it after."

"Don't think you can order me around." The stubbornness in Caspian's words was endearing, but that was the only protest he gave. There was a redness to his cheeks that belied his stoicism and Aspen wasted no time in stoking that timidness, laying adoring kissing across his skin. Tentatively and softly, Caspian gave some words of encouragement, which left his lips in breathy exhales, but those too were lost in the night.

... ... ...

(Saxon, Blake, and Savannah)

(TBD)

"It is said that burning these scrolls lets the ash carry our hopes to the gods so they will be answered

"And do you believe in such gods?" he asked doubtfully, looking over discreetly at her.

"If I must, then I will."

(TBD)

... ... ...

(Naya and Devi)

... ... ...

The air had cooled down as midnight approached and the temperature was reasonable enough for Aspen to throw the sheet over himself and Caspian, the both of them haphazardly dressed in their crushed linens and wrinkled cotton. Some of the stitching had split in his haste, but it was nothing that he couldn't fix with careful mending before the morning. He curled into Caspian's side, coaxing a reluctant arm around him so he was better fitted against his chest with his legs tucked under the sheets. Affection was foreign to Caspian and it had taken them a few years of careful urges to better domesticate him into gentleness. Aspen was not content without words of sentiment and tender gestures, neither of which came naturally to Caspian.

"You're neglecting your duties at the market," Caspian said finally, breaking the steady silence with his criticism.

"I'm doing much more important things." Letting his fingers brush against skin that was not entirely covered, Aspen was not so scarce in his delight. "You've made my night coming here. I was starting to miss you."

A long exhale left Caspian's lips, an apparent tiredness in his expression. "I've been busy with my responsibilities. My parents are demanding."

"Apparently. After all, I do not think I am that easy to resist for so long."

"Again, with your arrogance." There was no genuine annoyance in his words, only an instinctive remark at his way of speech. Still, he looked as content as he ever allowed himself to be, staring up at the ceiling with small, stolen glances in Aspen's direction. They shifted with ease to get more comfortable, hair sticking to their skin with cold perspiration. With his ear pressed against Caspian's chest, he could hear the steady beat of his heart. It had been quick earlier and his skin had been flushed. It delighted him to think he had control over such things.

"Well, in any case, I do not think you are that easy to resist," he said before giving a devious smile. "Although I've certainly shaped you up in multiple facets. I think you've gotten quite adept."

He was met with silence, save for a slightly nervous quickening in his heartbeat that belied his stoicism. Satisfied, Aspen shut his eyes.

"How much do I have to beg to get you to stay longer than a day?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"I have to leave in the morning. My horse is stabled and my parents expect me to get to the coast within a few days," Caspian responded, reluctance weighing heavy in his tone. "I'll be set back on my schedule if I spend too much time here."

(TBD)

... ... ...

(Naya and Devi)

The festivities had waned with the temperatures of post-midnight, vendors rolling their goods into blankets and neat knapsacks to carry back to their homes or wagons.

(TBD)

February 2021 Fic

Not gonna lie, I've been super into exploring the cyberpunk genre as of late (too much Blade Runner) so I decided to write up a quick AU to indulge myself. I used the names of real Cyberpunk 2077/2020/Red corporations and locations as well as some terms just so I didn't have to come up with a whole new world, but there's really no need to have real knowledge of the games. There might be some strange cyberpunk lingo but I think it's all -fairly- intuitive and searchable online.

chromatic

16:00

When Savannah lets her hand unfurl, she's surprised at how effortless it feels. The endoskeleton of Militech's latest cybernetics feel as native as the bones she was born with, but that's no surprise, given how indebted her life and status is to the corporation that has sculpted her entirely. She's long since replaced the weaker parts of her form with the metal and circuitry that her parents have helped make. At times, she is aware at the growing claim her mother and father have to her being and the pervasiveness of Militech programming in her system, but the idea of being outdated, obsolete, or lesser has always been a darker, more fearsome prospect.

The desk she sits at is another gift from her parents. It's not her taste, not that her parents have ever really known her, but it fits in well with the rest of her office, shackling her to her duties within the Militech office she works in. While the occupation leaves something to be desired, she can't argue with the view. It's nearly 100 stories to get to her office - a modest choice - and overlooks a good portion of Night City, the streaks of neon lighting and skyscrapers rising from the urban expanse. On the streets, she's bombarded with reminders of the sorry state of their existence, so the physical distance that the Militech office gives her from the city ground is one of the only welcome things it provides.

Her gaze flickers from the window to the door as it opens with the authourization of one of her inferiors, letting another man into the room with a metal datashard in his fingers. He often forgets to knock, and while she knows it's a problem that has resulted out of familiarity and not of disregard for her privacy, she turns a judgmental gaze to him anyway.

"I hope you're coming in here so abruptly because you have something important, Kellan," she says, finding sharp words and quick observations more suitable for dealing with him than the other forms of authourity she uses. "Is that the file?"

"Sorry, and yeah, it is." Kellan steps forward to put the datashard on her desk, his eyes seeking a glance at the view. Those eyes are Militech property; she remembers him resisting cyberware, even the ones that came free with his job, and it wasn't until the subtle optical decline of his fragile genetics that he was forced him to get chipped in. It's the only augmentation she knows him to have and it's difficult to know what he gains out of denying himself the fruits of development.

She turns away to gaze out the expansive window again, her eyes following the streets like traces on a motherboard. "How's your sister, Kellan? Do you still send her money?"

(TBD)

17:30

"I got laid off today." Rose's hands fiddle with her clutch as she walks, her dainty heeled boots clicking against the rugged footpath. All of the corporate taxes have funneled back into Militech's state security, leaving little in terms of city restoration. It's a pretty view from a distance, but the grime and unkempt nature is explicit up-close. She has always looked out of place in such an urban setting, and she has always felt out of place in return.

"That's just fucking preem, isn't it?" Piper mutters under her breath, earning a disapproving look from Rose. "What? I'm serious. There's just no respect for art nowadays."

Rose bites her lip, leaving a small indent in her lipstick, and she quickly gives a tiny shake of her head. "Well, it's just-...It was a silly job anyway. We couldn't get shipments in anyway to get enough stock and, well, real flowers aren't really in demand anymore..."

"Not in NUSA, maybe, but isn't India or whatever, like, super into them? Could always ship out," Piper suggests, though she knows little of the world outside of the New United States, having never gotten the opportunity to travel. "Guess Saf's place is too small, though. Lots of competition."

"Yeah..." The way Rose acts is easy to read, and Piper knows she'd rather be consoled than confronted with far-fetched solutions. "

(TBD)

23:00

It isn't until Savannah keys into her flat that she realizes someone has tampered with her security.

She's not stupid; her image is visible enough and villainized enough to the point where she remembers her home exactly as she leaves it, knowing even when her things have been shifted and when the air feels different as she enters it. She can call for help in an instant, with Militech offering the best security that corporations have to offer, but she just stays quiet as she makes her way through the hallway, leaving her heels at the door. While she isn't afraid, she's careful, and the metal in her frame will only do so much in aiding her in defending herself from anyone who would seek to bring her low.

But her caution is stifled by a quick wave of annoyance and relief at the sight of someone familiar sitting at her home computer, a live video of her walking into the living room streaming on one of the monitors. The other screens are filled with open files and visible text, hundreds of datashards being actively scanned and assessed for malware or breaches.

"You're lucky I didn't call my entire security team on you," she says finally, her voice cool and collected. Her cover has already been blown, with the footage of her security cameras clearly being broadcasted to the intruder, though the figure doesn't turn to acknowledge her. "Not a very smart move, Blake."

(TBD)

"Sneaky. So you avoid me and then break into my home. That's not fair, Blake," she chastises, reaching to still his hand against the keyboard. "How did you bypass the security? That, I would like to know."

"What? Annoyed that all the money in the world can't stop a rat?" He brushes her hand away on instinct before he reaches out to close his hand around it. She can't help the feeling that it's an odd gesture from him as he holds her hand, and she only realizes his intentions when he presses a thumb into her palm, dragging it across her skin.

"It's-"

"New. Cobalt ferrite core and a titanium frame. I'm one of their greatest sentient assets, so of course they'll fund the best. Militech's not stupid. "

"But you are, apparently. Of course you wouldn't think of the ramifications."

"Now, don't insult me like that." She pulls her hand swiftly from his, catching his chin and forcing him to look up at her from where he sits. "I know the risks, but you know how life is. You wouldn't understand the weight on my shoulders. What expectations are on a person of my standing."

"And it'll all be null when you get sick like the rest of them," he says, tugging his chin from her grasp. There's a hint of frustration in his words that she can hear, but he avoids any direct contact with her gaze. "Whatever. Your kind have always been naïve."

"My kind? Corporate, you mean." She brushes some hair back from his face instead, though her eyes remain calculated and watchful. "Not all of us are content with sneaking around at the fringes of society."

(TBD)

"I am still entirely myself. Perhaps you'd like to affirm that with your own observations," she offers, watching the certainty in his expression desert him just slightly.

"Dirty habit."

(TBD)

1:00

When Kellan works late, it's an unspoken tradition that he heads to the data management sector to give Ethos a bit of company as he works.

(TBD)

"I don't know. Sometimes I think she has expectations that I can never meet," Kellan sighs and slides down in his chair to slump, though he doesn't stop watching as Ethos meticulously goes through each datashard and organizes their digital files. "I don't mind doing my work and I'm relieved to be able to support Grace but-" a loud sigh leaves him, "-I do wonder when I'll get to live my life. I'm not rich enough to buy time."

"If you don't mind me saying..." Ethos runs his thumb against the corner of the datashard he's currently holding, "Sometimes I think you will end up living the entirety of your life for others. It is a noble pursuit, but I would be happy to see you take something for your own."

Is he giving a sort of signal? The room has a sudden oppressive heat that Kellan seems to just notice, undoing the stealth hooks in the front of his blazer that keep it closed over his shirt. It's an uncomfortable and antiquated kind of uniform, but companies like Militech often like to reference back to the golden era of past successes, and they find old dress codes to be an indication of traditional values. Such clothes don't suit him, but he's learned to change to whatever they want from him even at the expense of his own comfort.

A hand catches his and Kellan blinks over at Ethos, who has a sort of gentle worry in his expression. "Are you feeling alright? The late nights must be getting to you." The gesture is made innocent when Kellan realizes that Ethos' fingers have closed deftly over his wrist in a gesture that is more physician-like than anything. "Your pulse is racing, you realize."

The provocation of the heat makes it difficult to focus

(TBD)

They are too close to make drawing away not feel like a retreat, and Kellan doesn't know how to read him. Doesn't know what he's supposed to do or what type of friendship they have, but it doesn't matter because he's kissing him anyway, drinking in the taste of him - sweet mint and metal - as he tries to remember the last time he felt so vulnerable, needy, and human. Ethos doesn't move for an embarrassingly long moment, barely reacting and not reaching for him before he finally kisses him back with clear uncertainty. It strikes Kellan that he's likely never been kissed before, having expressed on occasion his tendency to lose himself in work rather than people, and while Kellan is no aficionado himself, he cannot imagine a life so devoid of affection.

He could've invited him to dinner at his place then and there. Voiced his desire to see him outside of work. Maybe lunch in Westbrook where they could've escaped corporate talk, even just for a moment. But he feels himself pulling away, knowing that the only thing worse than never knowing how deep their friendship runs is forcing it into a drought.

"I'm-...I'm sorry. I should have asked," Kellan stammers, searching his face for any sign that he might've done something wrong or right, but the only reaction he gets is Ethos finally releasing the datashard from his hand onto the desk, a deep indent on his palm from where he'd been clutching it.

"Go home and rest," Ethos says with a steady expression, the shine of a spit smudge on his lower lip the only indication of their kiss a moment before. "It is good to take care of yourself, Kellan."

(TBD)

3:00

(Steff, Piper, and Rose)

6:00

(Savannah, alone)

10:30

Steff remembers when the hedonistic, dark alleys had all been sequestered to that side of the city. Now, they've bled into every seam of the streets and she finds that

(TBD)

"You have a writing position open. I'm looking to apply."

The boy at the front seems to be in his 20s, though she can never be sure of age nowadays, and she can already tell that she's not what he expected to see. His green eyes narrow in on her, stylish chrome wiring under his skin that continues down his neck and his shoulders. She knows she must look plain in comparison, with her own cyberware undetectable from an outside perspective, though she can't help but prefer it that way. The boy tugs at the wire that's plugged in at the base of his skull and blinks at her as if finally getting a good look, giving a raise of his eyebrows.

"Writing position? You do know what kind of business we are, right sweetheart?" he says, biting at his lip as he gives a sort of sly smile. "You look a little too green to cater to the audience we attract here."

(TBD)

"Maybe you're interested in seeing the XBDs?"

Steff exhales quickly. "The what?"

"Extreme braindances. Some people aren't satisfied with the usual day in the life of a celebrity or a wild night in someone else's bed," he says with ease, and she can sense his amusement even through the stoic smugness in his expression. "Some get off at the idea of putting their hands at someone's throat until they expire. To torture them relentlessly."

"Aren't you concerned that people might...act on such impulses if they indulge?"

"On the contrary, isn't it better that they get it out of their system instead of acting on their desires?"

She's not sure of the answer, just pulling past the doors of closed rooms with glass windows, seeing dozens of people with their eyes rolled back and jacked into whatever story is playing onto the backs of their eyelids. It's not her first choice of employment - as a child, it wouldn't have even made the list - but no one's interested in reading anymore and certainly no one's interested in print.

"I have a kind of different angle I'm wanting to approach," she says tentatively, fully expecting the odd boy to tilt his head back and laugh when she explains her ideas. "Maybe some will call it mundane...but I'm not exactly the type of person people go to for these types of...stories."

"Now, no need to state the obvious," he responds, but he doesn't laugh. Worse, he just brushes off her words entirely as if they mean nothing to him. "People don't want to injure. They want to mutilate. They don't want to make love. They want to fuck. They have no interest in tripping. They want to experience the entirety of the universe as they have an ego death that would put every drug to shame, Steff. I doubt you write those kinds of braindances."

She blushes at his words, but he's not wrong, and it's difficult to voice the hundreds of ideas she has. "No...Those aren't the kinds of things I write," she admits, her gaze catching on every spaced-out person they pass in those little rooms. "But those are...Unoriginal. It's easy to write that type of material because it's not...real."

"Nothing's real anymore. It's visceral, though," he replied, staring over at her as they walk, judgement in his gaze. "We cater to what people desire."

Stopping at a room, she looks through the window, watching as a young woman gasps at air in her chair. There's something off-putting about the way she looks - sad and ecstatic all at once - and Steff imagines up what braindance she might have picked.

"All the old world books never tell stories like this," she says finally, noticing that the boy is observing her from the side. "Well, some do, but most are about finding family or falling in love. Small, slow, quiet moments. It's silly, perhaps, but those have always been my favourite scenes because they're so rare nowadays. People often...yearn to experience what is scarce."

12:00

(Kellan and Savannah)

September 2022 Fic (I know it's recent but I just don't play the game anymore and I lost interest in finishing the fic. It's still a WONDERFUL game - just too emotionally taxing for me to think about getting back into and I started this fic at like 2am one night and haven't touched it since)

Since it came out, I've been absolutely head over heels for a game called I was a Teenage Exocolonist (which is part visual novel and part a deck-builder card game) because of the environments and relationship building aspect. I've poured hours into it but I wanted to scratch the itch of indulging my fixation on it with some writing. You don't have to know the game, although I highly recommend it! It's a very casual game meant to be replayed and it's so wonderfully tragic and fun.

Basic premise is group of Earth space travelers have settled on a planet called Vertumna that is teeming with alien life and have to learn to survive. Many people within the group were born in space, however, and have no recollection of Earth. It's basically just a game trying to see how well you cope, aid the colony, and negotiate with the new surroundings. Terrible summary but there you have it hahaha

green vertumna

Vertumna: Stratos Colony
Colony Defenses: 75%
Rations Trajectory: -65%

... ... ...

Quiet

Geoponics is the first to recover after the attack.

Training the animals isn't actually Kellan's job - he's been designated to working in Command under administration - and the unisaur knows it. Though strangely beautiful with its pearlescent scales and single ivory horn, each flare of its nostrils and whip of its tail is a clear sign that Kellan is sorely under-qualified to calm it.

The unisaur opens its maw to screech at the newcomer, revealing a set of sharp teeth in its pharyngeal jaw. It claws at the stall door with its upper set of arms, splintering the wood until Kellan moves over to calm it, pressing a hand against the scaly bridge of its nose and whispering soothing things to it. It's what he's seen Ethos do, and while Kellan doesn't see himself as any animal expert, he's more than happy to look after them when taking a break from his usual work.

"Sorry about that. She's not trained yet," Kellan apologizes with an embarrassed smile, looking back as Steff continues to approach tentatively, a wrapped container in his hands. "She's still a juvenile, but she's already taller than I am. Younger creatures tend to be more aggressive."

"All things considering, I'd say you're doing a fine job with her." Though she's dwarfed by the massive reptile, her expression is more curious than afraid

(TBD)

... ... ...

It's ironic that the first blood spilled in the new year happens because of a quarrel instead of some normal run-in with an upset xeno outside of the Colony, but Naya's not entirely surprised when she finds out both involved parties. Carrying over a newly nano-printed bowie knife to where the Expeditions members usually are, all she has to do is follow the dots of blood in the dust to find the recipient. Though he's a little obscured behind the transport vehicle nearby, she spies where Blake is sitting on one of the crates, wiping the blood from his face,

"Ouch. I wouldn't have let him get away with something like that, but that's just me," she says to announce her presence, which he dutifully pretends to ignore, just folding a cloth to scrub at where blood had dribbled from his nose down his chin. "He's so flimsy-looking, but I guess he packs a mean punch."

Blake doesn't respond, just managing to smear around the blood more, scarcely managing to clean it with how messy the cloth he's using already is. He's great at what he does, but one of the least liked people in the Colony with his tendency to go against rules and prioritize admittedly unhelpful affairs, so Naya isn't really surprised that he's gotten himself into a mix-up like that. Even she's fantasized about throwing punches at a few more annoying people at the Colony, not that she ever would considering her parents are part of the Colony administration. Sometimes hunger makes people on-edge like that.

"If someone went after Dev like that, I'd probably destroy them," she continues, holding the knife by the blade and tapping the handle against her palm before extending the knife to him, handle first. "Don't break this one. Nano-printing's expensive and the Garrison only has so many weapons to spare."

Now, of course, is when he pays attention, wiping off a bloody hand on his uniform before reaching out to take the knife. She clicks her tongue and pulls the knife back, giving him a hard look. She's used to dealing with people that don't like to answer her questions, and she's found that pestering them is surprisingly effective.

"You're a decent fighter. You almost joined the Garrison," she starts, fiddling with the knife again. "Aspen's a good fighter too, but you could've totally taken him on. 'Stead you piss him off and take all of his punches. See how that doesn't make sense?"

Blake glares at her, but still gives her that look to indicate he still thinks she's one of the decent ones, despite her job at the Garrison. "He throws a punch and everyone looks away. I do the same and I lose Expedition privileges for a week," he says finally with an annoyed sigh, holding his hand out for the knife. "See how it adds up?"

"Well, sure. It's not my fault he's incapable of being disciplined. He always does what he wants, anyway." Complaining about him with Blake seems like the next best thing to do, and she just hands over the knife without any more trouble. "Plus Savannah protects him because he agrees with whatever she wants him to agree with and he's good with a plasma rifle. Sometimes I wonder if they're...you know." She raises her eyebrows suggestively, expecting him to fill in the blanks. With Aspen's reputation, it's not a difficult riddle to figure out.

Blake's expression muddies a little more and he tucks the knife away where his previous one had gone. "They're not," he responds, standing up and picking up the crate he had been sitting on to load it into the transport vehicle.

(TBD)

Pollen

Steff has always been one of the busier members of the Colony, going in between the kitchens to assess meal plans and food reserves, the creche to advise others how to care for the children, and Engineering to tutor younger students on humanities. The Shimmer hits hard that year, though, and she's one of many that feels the affect of the unfamiliar pollen in her lungs. Though she argues that the people in Geoponics need more attention than she does, she's convinced into dropping by the medbay in the Engineering wing. If her sickness is getting in the way of her usual duties, then she supposes it's only right that she prioritizes her own health.

(TBD)

... ... ...

Savannah is meant for Command, with the way she drips with authourity and always has a reasonable solution to inter-Colony matters, but she's dedicated a life to being security chief instead. The Garrison is better in her hands anyway, and though some find issue with her approach to the xenofauna outside of the Colony walls, she has undoubtedly improved the fighting skills of the soldiers under her wing.

(TBD)

Dust

(TBD)

Blake's holopalm blinks and he gives a quick noise to interrupt the conversation. "It's a pic from Savannah," he says sourly, the notification projecting up from his palm, wired so only he can see what images the holograms are forming. "Probably to give another order or something."

Waiting, Rye just stares for when Blake will tell him what Savannah wants, but the silence just stretches on. The light of Blake's holopalm illuminates his face, showing a slow and steady blush start to settle across his features. It's at times like these that Rye wishes their holopalms weren't genetically private, though that isn't saying too much considering he never has anything to hide on his own holopalm anyway.

"Well, what does she want?" he asks finally, starting to get a little impatient.

"Don't worry about it," Blake mutters finally, grabbing his gear and throwing it over his shoulder. "Let's go."

... ... ...

Vertumnalia comes quietly that season. The successes made in Geoponics have been vast, but the previous destruction of the fields sets the Colony back further than they expect. Still, it's the only real time the Colony comes together as one, and most find it impossible to speak poorly of the festival - they have all felt the hardship of the past seasons, and any celebration is sacred. Calling it a feast is a kind way of putting it, and everyone quietly thanks the workers at Geoponics and in the kitchens as they take their share of soy sweets and steamed crops, pouring gravy made of floatcow cream and foraged mushrooms over their food. A few plates have cubes of braised Bristleslug meat on them, but few people outside of the Garrison workers are brave enough to take some. It's been years since anyone has needed to consume meat, but Vertumna continues to drive them to new lengths.

The mayor gives a few words of gratitude before the real part of the festival commences. The people of Stratos never get the chance outside of Vertumnalia to do much that isn't directly correlated with survival

(TBD)

Under the table, Kellan takes Ethos' hand in his own. He stiffens in Kellan's grasp before acquiescing, lacing their fingers together so their palms are pressed together, though neither of them look over or acknowledge the gesture. The angry screeching of the unisaur is muffled by the cheers of the Garrison workers, whose chosen members spin their spears and taunt the animal. Kellan notices as Blake finally vanishes from where he's been creeping around, likely moving to brood by himself as he often does. A few members look uncertain, but they clap politely nevertheless as the Garrison candidates display their skill. Ethos just sits quietly and doesn't watch.

Wet

(Steff and Naya)

... ... ...

Though Blake doesn't work at the Garrison, it's almost guaranteed that he's sitting on the walls when he's back in the Colony. That day is no exception.

Even though it's drizzling, he still sits by the edge, his hair starting to grow damp and cling to his face, the drops sliding off the attire that Engineering made specifically for traveling outside of the walls. Savannah has her own gear like that as well, sans the pollen mask and radiation detectors, but she's in her Garrison gear more often than not. She's learned in the past that it's always a safe choice to be dressed for a fight.

Walking up silently isn't an option. Even through the soft rain, Blake can spot any xenofauna a click away, and she prefers to make her presence known anyway. She slings her plasma rifle onto her back as she starts towards him, only giving a few glances down the other side of the towering wall. Engineering has only just finished repairs on it from the previous Glow season, and she doesn't doubt that they'll be busy with repairs after the next attack as well.

"You never reply to my pictures. It's not nice to leave a girl hanging like that," she says as she sits on the edge of the wall as well, dangling her legs over the edge. It's like she always has to push herself further than everyone there. Be braver, smarter, and quicker than the rest, but Blake doesn't seem to notice or care, more intent on brushing off her words.

"Maybe you should post it on the community forum," he replies dryly, giving her a brief side-glance that does, in fact, contain a shred of embarrassment. "Maybe you'll get more replies that way."

"Maybe," she says

(TBD)

He kisses her so casually and briefly that she almost misses it, and by the time she registers the gesture, he's already standing up. "Not very satisfying," she says, a smile playing on her lips. "You owe me when you come back."

He gives a noncommittal shrug. "Maybe."

"Word of the day, huh?"

"I'll return in a week," Blake says, but never does.

Glow

Savannah orders Expeditions to make an extensive search for a body. She has no real authourity to do so, but they listen anyway, combing through the valley, the hunting swamps, and the ridge by the cliffs, and they find no sign of him. It's almost as if he just walked off out of his own volition, which she realizes is a very real possibility. She can't imagine herself satisfied with never knowing, ordering them to go out further for longer, analyzing any sign of blood, tracks, and human interference. His holopalm stays online for weeks, but he doesn't answer any of her messages until she wakes up one morning and he's wiped from the network entirely. The search continues until Glow season settles in and she's forced to come to terms with not knowing the truth.

It's eternal night for the month of Glow, and also the most dangerous of the seasons. Though the night is illuminated by the bioluminescence in the xenofauna, the shadows stretch long and dark across the edges of the Colony. Their walls have been rebuilt and the surviving soldiers have been outfitted with new weapons from Engineering, but the monsters outside of the Colony

(TBD)

... ... ...

Naya's on watch when the Faceless return. Stories of eldritch horrors have become Earth relics for the Stratos residents born in space, but nothing quite prepares them for the abyssal maw that splits open where the creature's head should be, writhing tongues and eyes slopping over the edges of the jaw as it towers before the wall. It's a reminder of the lives they lost the previous Glow; it's a reminder of the lives they will lose this Glow as well.

Those who don't fight go to the creche. The Faceless casts a long shadow across the Stratos colony, visible even by those that have stayed

(TBD)

Quiet

Rye always looks a little sickly now, having been hit hard with the Shimmer the previous year and never recovered, but Kellan tries to not point it out as he helps with the animals. He's taken a liking to the hopeyes, sprinkling food on the ground for them and attempting to pet them when Kellan turns his back. A muffled ow alerts Kellan for a second, but when he sees Rye just rubbing his arm where the hopeye had kicked him in protest of pets, he decides to not chastise him. He's babied enough by others, and he doesn't want to add to the nagging he faces.

"I thought you worked in Command," Rye remarks finally, sitting down on the ground and just watching as the animals eat, leaving them be for the time being. "That's where I usually see you, anyway."

"I do." Digging out a dead animal from a bucket, Kellan tries to not wrinkle his nose as he throws it into a pen of an adolescent unisaur, knowing it hasn't been tamed enough to accept food safely from his hand. "But Geoponics is hard work, and it's more efficient if the work is shared. Especially after Glow."

They both fall silent for a bit, thinking of the people they lost to the faceless. No one close to them, thankfully, but the Colony isn't large enough to sustain more losses. Quiet season is a welcome arrival, but with it comes the knowledge that they must pick up the pieces of a world that wants nothing more than to see them exterminated.

"Ethos does a lot here, anyway," Kellan continues, observing as the unisaur gulps the animal down in one swallow, seemingly satisfied for the time being. "He'd rather work as a Command secretary, actually, but he's good with the animals. It's a little ironic, when you think about our situation."

"At least you guys trade off. I don't know where I'm going to be assigned. I feel so useless, sometimes." With a sigh, Rye stifles a cough, wheezing into the crook of his elbow while Kellan just pretends to not notice. "I was shadowing Expeditions but, well..."

He doesn't need to elaborate. Blake's disappearance and Rye's sickness have made that future impossible.

"Engineering always needs bright minds," Kellan suggests, cleaning off his hands in a separate bucket of water before drying them on a dusty cloth. "I've heard you're good with books, and we always need people to log what Expeditions finds and brings back. It helps Geoponics too. It's not like we came here with a whole encyclopedia of knowledge on Vertumna."

"That's what everyone always tells me," Rye replies miserably.

(TBD)

... ... ...

(Savannah on the Garrison walls)