#I essentially just get paid for doing lots of paperwork

[canichangemyblogname]

I truly, genuinely, hate my job. I can’t stand working here.

[rainba]

Luka gets in heat you say 👀 what is he like when he is in it and how long does it takes? :3 (And also when is it in the year?)

Yesyes,, his heats start in late December/January, and usually they last about 3 weeks! ^^;; ((Sometimes he has to use up all his vacation days during those weeks… Or paid time off, if it’s considered a ‘condition’ of sorts. Either that or he just works from home and files lots of paperwork for job projects and stuff!)) 

And, man,, during his heats he gets clingy. Like, to an insane degree. He completely forgets the concept of "personal space".

When he goes to bed? He’ll cuddle up close and wrap his tail around you, preventing you from escaping him. If you need to get up in the middle of the night for any reason, he’ll be following you around like a lost puppy while always keeping his hands on you.

When he works from home and does paperwork? You’ll be forced onto his lap, warming his cock and giving him all the attention he needs. He’ll occasionally just mindlessly grind against you and might grope your thighs while he works, sometimes leaving love bites on your neck and shoulders… (*/▽＼*)

Showers? You’ll be taking them with him! Watching TV or scrolling through your phone? He’ll be cuddling you the entire time. Etc. etc. Oh, and on top of that– you won’t be allowed to leave the house. Ever. Groceries will be delivered to his front door, essentials will be ordered online, etc! Hope you enjoy being inside 24/7!! (⌒_⌒;)

Also, if you even think about moving more than six feet away from him, he’ll instinctually start growling at you. And if you ignore him? Expect him to sink his sharp fangs into you!! (He is a little obsessed with seeing his bite marks on your body....)

Plus,, really-fun-fact!!: it doesn’t matter if his beloved is a guy, or if his beloved just can’t get pregnant in general, Luka will insist on breeding you. Whenever he gets particularly horny during his heats, his brain will turn into absolute mush and all he wants to do is just. Cum inside you, over and over again… Multiple times a day. All while telling you that he’s gonna make you bear his children. It’s just in his instincts to breed his partner, poor Luka really can’t think straight when he’s in heat!!

However, if his darling can get pregnant, you’ll definitely have to sneak birth control around him… Even though it’d be really difficult, considering how he’s around you 24/7. If he catches you taking it, he'll punish you for it. Gets really hurt by it and becomes all sensitive. Like... 'what do you mean you don't want to have my kids? Am I not good enough for you? Is that it?' (´-ω-`) .... Then he proceeds to fuck you four times in a row. ☆⌒(> _ <)

When Luka's heat is over, he’ll often act reclusive and ashamed of himself for a while. He can’t believe he has such little control over himself during those 3 weeks… All those embarrassing things he said and did… Shudder…

Soooooo he might avoid you for a few days. But he gets over it eventually (´ ω `♡)

[wowwforever]

POKEMON EVIL TEAMS RANKED BY HOW LIKELY I WOULD BE TO JOIN THEM

Team Flare

I'm not wearing that suit and I'm not changing my hair. Lysandre is easily the fucking dumbest antagonist and if their plan is successful either they're immortal and I have to live with these losers forever or the whole world dies and I have to live with these losers until I die.

Team Yell

This entire team is centered around having a parasocial relationship with a teenage girl. Also British.

Team Galactic

Similar horrible haircut, bad outfit, and death cult scenario to Team Flare. At least they're like a semi-actual company. I could maybe just go bald and get a regular job after the Poke-government liquidates Team Galactic LLC. But I legitimately think this would be the least fun evil company to work at. Imagine stealing some kids Pokemon but you get chewed out by fucking Galactic Admin Uranus because you forgot to fill out the Paperwork.

The Lame Part of Team Plasma

Okay so to clarify these are the people that actually believe in the Team Plasma shit, which means I'd probably be spit on in the streets while wearing chainmail in New York. Why the fuck would I wear Chain Mail on the East Coast? Do you know how much rust there is? Also I have to become a ginger and worship some green manchild as a monarch. At least they're not a death cult.

Team Rocket

This one is just being a criminal. Like, yeah, you get to steal Pokemon but there's no real advantages except the free gray boots. Probably does not pay well and Giovanni leaving kind of sent them spiraling. Plus they have a lot of Koffings in an underground base so you know there's like lung damage galore. The R stands for Respiratory Distress.

Team Aqua

I don't like the idea of being surrounded by the ocean and I do not like boats and submarines. I would actively join this to sabotage their plan. Also every other evil team has an actual place to put their Pokeballs but this one it seems like the plan is to just shove it in my underwear? ???

Team Star

I haven't actually played Scarlet and Violet because I recently learned I can legally drink. I think this one is the equivalent of a school club? So I'm not actually getting paid to do evil shit. I'd probably just join, like, DnD club or something.

Team Rainbow Rocket

I'd join this one just because I know it's going to fail. I mean, it's got like four people who explicitly just want to end the world in different ways. I'm just gonna join and steal pens and shit until it eventually crashes in on itself for infighting. I'd wear my gay-ass R shirt every june in line with a P, I, D, and E.

The Cool Part of Team Plasma

Fuck yeah. This is the Team Plasma that knows the shit Ghetsis is up to. I'd love to be in on the scheme, plus I don't have to wear chainmail. Downside is I'd probably get murdered or have to murder to stay in, and they have the biggest shot of accomplishing their goal. But Ghetsis is hot so that's a plus.

Team Magma

This one is because there's 0.0% chance this plan will work but I get to just hang out in these cute-ass hoodies and pet camerupts all day. Look at that outfit, I'd wear that all the time. That being said, would probably have to be a field guy. Their location is in a volcano. I'm gonna get a call that says 'Hey all of Team Magma's leadership died' and I'd have to get a job at like Poke7-11 with a major gap in my resume.

Macro Cosmos

This hardly counts as a villain team because they're just, like, security guards for a company whose CEO goes a lil nuts. This is like if you worked for Virgin Atlantic and Richard Branson decided to summon Satan. No one can really put that on you. You'd probably get paid ridiculous amounts of money for essentially doing nothing. Con is you'd have to live in Galar.

Aether Foundation

Working for the Aether Foundation is like doing an internship at Bell Labs or whatever. The evil shit is probably fixed by the end of the game and I could just go back to researching Rotom electromagnetic applications and have that 'week where we tried to fuck up reality' be a weird company thing we brush under the rug. The con is they have all white outfits so I can't eat spaghetti at work. But even if I left I could probably just use Aether Foundation as a decent enough jumping off point for any career.

Team Skull

Genuinely this is just goofing off with a bunch of scummy weirdos. I can respect that and their outfits are thankfully not skin-tight jumpsuits, but main I'd join because they all kind of suck. With the most moderate competency I could run Team Skull. Also Guzma. He's pretty hot.

[vashtijoy]

I was wondering if it is possible that the surname "Akechi" is actually a pseudonym/alias . . . like, his celebrity name, and not the surname of his mother. I don't think the game ever hints at it but it came to me because Dietman and the Silent Requester uses the alias concept and my brain kinda automatically assumes everything in that mission has some kind of parallel to Akechi himself, and because it would make sense to use a different name (that he chose for himself) from his mother for his Detective Prince image, honestly. Do you think that's possible?

This is a fun one, but for myself, I think it probably isn't that likely. Ditto the idea that Akechi is mukoseki (essentially, unregistered at birth, which would have put him at a very significant disadvantage).

Akechi obviously has a life beside what we see. He's registered in high school and is participating in university entrance, all of which he might struggle to access if he was unregistered; he's presumably registered as "Akechi Goro" and not a second name unknown to us. He's remarkably high-achieving, which tells us that he hasn't just been parachuted into a (probably private, as he makes a big deal of earning his school fees) high school post-Shido; he was likely in a good middle school before that, through his own efforts. He tells us he obsessed about his grades so someone would want him. School will have been a big deal for him—up to a point.

He must have been registered with a doctor at some point, and so on. He will have taken standardised tests in elementary and middle school, and those tests will have needed a name, and have gone on file. By the point of canon, he's taken the national mock exams. By the time he's in high school, people do not know that he's an orphan, that he was an unwanted child, that he never had a father—he's successfully hidden it all. Which is a story in itself, if you ask me; a story which might suggest a successful change of identity—or simply that he got into private school, perhaps on a scholarship, and never told anyone his history. Yusuke mentions that his Kosei scholarship entitles him to a free place in a dorm; I like to think that Akechi, in middle school, may have benefited from something like this.

He also works in multiple fields—he must get paid by someone, even if Shido isn't paying him a yen. So he must have a bank account; he must pay tax on that income—two things Shido might certainly be able to help him with, if he saw fit. But even if Shido gave him the apartment he lives in and a credit card for his day-to-day expenses, there's still a lot going on, that that alias would have to take into account.

Shido is capable of a lot, but Akechi can't ask Shido for help establishing his anti-Shido alias; that would ruin the plot. He could, perhaps, strongarm people's shadows into doing things for him, changing things, forgetting him; we know he interrogates them. We never see him do any of that, but you could easily hypothesise it, and I wouldn't put it past him at all.

But in the days before the Metaverse, Akechi already has a lot of paperwork pointing to him; he's not a ghost, he hasn't fallen between the cracks; he's a boy with a life and a history. He's not somebody who can just start going by a different name—not without it raising questions, and drawing attention. Not without people looking up years later, when he's on TV, and saying "hey, that's <name>".

but mom

It seems to me that Akechi is just going by the same name he's had all along, perhaps because some part of him wants Shido to know who he is, perhaps because it's his mother's name, it's his name, and he doesn't want to cast it aside. But then why doesn't Shido recognise his name, like he recognises his face?

It's often said that Shido just doesn't remember people, but in fact he remembers Joker's name—he remarks on it when he sees the death certificate, though he doesn't know where he's heard it. He is doing the same thing Joker is, when he knows Shido's face, his voice, but can't place them.

My suspicion is that Shido just never knew Akechi's mother's name, and that Akechi knows that was the case, and why it would be the case. I think she was a sex worker all along, and that Shido was one of her clients; that, perhaps with the charm and cleverness her son would later show, she wormed her way into his good graces, as much of a mixed blessing as that would have been.

Akechi does not really say, for instance, that his mother and Shido "had a relationship"; he uses the word aijin, which is much more like a mistress, or plaything. Some boys at Shujin talk about how Shiho is going to be Kamoshida's next aijin after Ann. Shadow Okumura suggests to Cognitive Sugimura that he make Haru his aijin—"just take her as your lover". A couple of women on Harmony Alley laugh about becoming the aijins of politicians so they can be spoiled rotten. And Akechi says that his mother and Shido had an aijin kankei—an aijin relationship; she was his mistress, and when she became pregnant, she was dropped like a hot potato.

Akechi's mother might well have used a name that wasn't her own, for her work. She might well have gone only by a given name. That seems more likely to me than Akechi setting one up for himself.

is it a stagename?

One thing makes it very clear that "Akechi Goro" is not a stagename, even if it is an alias: Akechi is not famous at the start of canon, and so he has no need for a stagename. We watch the Detective Prince develop in realtime. And Sae, who's clearly known him awhile, knows him as Akechi; he hasn't adopted a different name for the screen.

could you do it anyway :|a

Absolutely. Go wild. You don't even have to think about this shit if you don't want to. That said, if I was writing this, I would probably face tweeny Goro with at least a few of these issues.

[firstagent]

What It's Like To Get Elected

Has it been another month since my last story update again? Uh… it’s still going.

Anyway, switching to another subject since I promised to talk more politics. As I mentioned before, I’ve been active with my local Democratic party. As far as getting into the room, getting access to important people, and giving them reality checks (and boy, do they need reality checks sometimes), I can’t recommend joining enough. Assuming you’ve got the spoons for it, and your local party don’t turn out to be assholes. That’s another conversation.

I also mentioned I was running for local school board. And guess what? I won!

In a small miracle for this town, we only had three candidates for three positions. Well, a small miracle and some excellent coordination from the local lefties. Because we were essentially unopposed, a lot of the steps of normal campaigning didn’t apply this time. Which is a shame, because I had a design for yard signs all set to go.

I did, however, interview for unions! That looks like a big Zoom call with a bunch of local reps where they ask you questions to make sure you support unions. The teachers union asked me about supporting LGBTQ+ students. Anyway, if you stalk me and find my Ballotpedia page (I only discovered a couple weeks ago that I had a Ballotpedia page) you’ll find two union endorsements. So that’s fun.

So is defending those endorsements and my Dems activity on community Facebook groups when people were under the impression they don’t get involved in local races. Maybe they should ask the county board candidate who swore up and down he didn’t take outside money, while taking $700 from the county Republicans. We have receipts.

Because of that nonsense I was more focused on his race than mine on Election Day. Hearing results when you’re running sometimes works a little differently, as you probably know someone working the polls that will share the results before the internet and news networks find them. So I heard about the local results well before they were published. And yes, I won! And that Republican guy lost. Bonus.

What happens next? For starters, training sessions. The state’s school board association emailed me the next morning with a login for their site. Three meetings in the next month will help get me up to speed: an orientation with the actual board, a gathering for new members in the region, and then an all-day affair about the specific governing model we have. It’s a lot, but it shows how much they prepare you going in, if you’re committed to actually doing the job right.

The biggest reality check came when I went to the next school board meeting, the lame duck session, if you will. For one, when I got there I got handed payroll paperwork. It hadn’t really sunk in that I was getting paid for this. Another is a discussion that frequently mentioned waiting on a vote until the new members could chime in. Or even the kudos from the other board members for crossing the finish line.

Yesterday I took my oath of office. Reading the email I was expecting a small private thing where I do an LBJ-style swearing in in a secretary’s office, maybe a picture. I just had to sign a thing, in the office because it had to be notarized. I was in and out in five minutes.

We’re going from roughly a 6-1 progressive majority to 7-0. That’s great news for our school, even if my first meeting I get to vote on whether elementary school registration fees are tripled, or doubled with the district subsidizing the balance. Thanks state legislature!

If you go in intending to do the job right, it’s a lot of work. That’s why it’s so important to elect people who intend to do the job right. Because so much of this is optional. It’s entirely possible to skip most of the trainings, to take your seat and either do nothing productive with it, or try to push policy whether or not it’s relevant, appropriate, or even legal. That’s how we get bad leadership, and why participation in this process is the only way anything’s going to get better.

(Feel free to use my Ask box for any political questions, including what the hell Democrats actually do at the local level and why I encourage joining them even with all the baggage attached.)

[timetravellingpaperbag]

I don't know where else to put this so I'm putting it here because no one here knows me IRL. So I was raised in an abusive home. Neglect was part of that abuse and part of that neglect was dental care. I didn't go to the dentist; there wasn't a bedtime routine beyond getting the hell out of sight and staying that way. You weren't called for dinner, and if you didn't show up, you didn't eat and it was your fault. So I had a real thing for snacks, usually the cheap sugary crap, wherever and whenever I could get it. A bag of Cheetos could be lunch. I could have popcorn for dinner if I didn't get to the table in time. It was super easy to scrounge change from around the house and hit up a convenience store. Sometimes, my mom would give me money to go get her a coffee, and I'd get a bagel. Anyway, a bunch of my childhood teeth rotted out. Parent's didn't care because I would just get my adult teeth in most of their places. But by the time I was 12, I had this horrible toothache. My parents are divorced. I told my mom about my toothache, and she told me I had to ask my dad for insurance paperwork. I only saw my dad every other two weeks, for the weekend, so two weeks later, I'd go ask my dad. Nope, your mom has the paperwork. Essentially, they were using me to try to make one another look bad. Meanwhile, the toothache got worse. I was in so much pain I was in tears all the time.

I can't remember how many times they sent me back and forth, only that my step mom started getting involved and getting really upset. I think my children's lawyer appointed by the courts got involved. Honestly, I can't really remember after the pain and crying and begging for someone to do something. Finally, mom was court ordered to take me to the dentist. They filled in a lot of my teeth. One of them they could just barely save. I didn't have much of a concept of what was happening at the time, only that I was in pain.

When I looked in my mouth for the first time and saw all the silver-black fillings I sobbed. I asked my mom, how could you let this happen? Why didn't you just take me to the dentist? She said, "I told you to brush your teeth." After that I had extreme dental anxiety. I mean, again, not that we fucking went. The next time I went to the dentist, I was in college having my impacted wisdom teeth taken out. My sister worked as a dental hygienist and I got the work for free because her boss loved her. The dentist told me I would lose my teeth if I didn't start taking care of them. It was the first time in my life I was starting to have control.

So I started flossing. I started putting money aside to go to the dentist, even if it meant not eating. I'd be the one college kid in the shroom trip excusing themselves to brush their teeth at 4AM.

I'm 30 now but the trauma is not gone.

This year I realized I had pain when biting down. I went for a check-up. Apparently, these fillings expand and contract and over time, because they were so big, caused a fracture on one of my teeth. I needed a root canal. At first, I was horrified. I'm self employed, don't have insurance, and just had a fucking root canal a couple years ago.

The financial aspect had me asking, how long am I going to suffer from their abuse? How long is the trauma going to take from me?

I booked my surgery. I paid out of my credit card. I cried as I was sitting in the seat before they put the needle in and could barely make myself talk when the nurse pinned it on the head, asking if I had anxiety, then gave me a shoulder hug that I honestly really appreciated. I calmed myself down and we did the surgery.

When I opened my mouth after paying the 1.2k just for the root canal (Which may not actually help, the fracture was quite deep and if the pain continues they may suggest just pulling it) I looked and saw that white composite filling, right next to my other new white composite filling.

Two of my old fillings are now white. I have two white teeth. And I hate to say it, but I did cry again. I cried because I was happy.

It feels like I'm rebuilding what they tore down. I'm taking back what they took away. I'm the adult now and I can take myself to the dentist and I can make sure I eat and I can look in my mouth and see that I am doing all of the things that they were supposed to. I wasn't my fault; because if I had have been in control, and been the adult, this wouldn't have happened. I know, because I won't let it happen to myself now - no matter how dire the straits, the circumstances. I needed the surgery, I got it. And now I have my tooth back. Literally, this dentist changed my whole tooth. It looks so normal.

Yes I will struggle to pay it off - but I will pay it off. Yes it hurts that something so simple has made my life so difficult and painful and expensive when it didn't have to be. And it hurts that to this day, I can't bring up my teeth without my parents simply blaming the other, blaming me, and putting it to bed.

It hurts that I will always have bad anxiety when it comes to dental work.

But the feeling of taking back my life is indescribable. I feel like I'm taking 12 year old me by the hand, rolling my eyes, and saying, "Come on, kid. These people are fucking nuts. Call them once at Christmas, and let's go have a good time while we can."

[captainimprobable]

nothing quite as humbling as having to work your ass off just to get a job that pays minimum wage. especially when retail jobs are at least ten times harder than most 9-5 office jobs. I've worked both. My first day at the 9-5 the day ended and I was like "thats it???? my body doesn't even hurt? i didnt get yelled at by a stranger today? i dont wanna die quite as much???" im not saying 9-5s arent hard but i fully genuinely believe that retail is more difficult than a 9-5. Without a doubt. it's INSANE that I'm going to be paid a lot less for doing A LOT more. You're telling me people work retail all day, break their backs and their spirits, and they still can't afford rent or food???????? I was mad about it before, but now that I've worked a 9-5 too I'm even angrier!!!!!!!! That 20 year old who works at Walmart for 15 an hour is doing harder AND much more important work than 50 year old Ira who does paperwork about nothing all day and gets paid 120k a year. Pls I beg make every single person in the world work retail for at least a year. then see if anything changes. bc i guarantee those old rich fucks wouldn't last a DAY at Trader Joe's. ("Oh oh but what they do in their offices is SO important"- funny. I didn't see them being considered "essential workers" and forced to work in person during 2020 and 2021. shut down all grocery stores and coffee shops for a day and see how many people lose their minds.)

[eponymous-rose]

I'm gonna do this again because it turned out last week kinda went off the rails without it and the little bit of accountability is super super helpful.

Monday!

It's a busy week! It's also my birthday week! Let's do this!

E-mail with coffee: sent a prospective grad student a congratulations on her admission to our program. I'm really hoping to hire her, but I do need to consider whether I might want to admit two students for this position and just get the extra funding for the second one elsewhere if both decide to come. Hmm. Confirmed coffee on Friday with the wonderful admin I've been wanting to befriend for a while - finally we'll interact outside of paperwork! Sadly Wednesday's seminar speaker is ill and won't be able to present - I'm leading the seminar so that does add up to a little less work for me, which is the silver lining there. One of my student groups is struggling to grab data from the weather station they built on the roof because the dang software doesn't work on Macs - managed to coordinate getting them a loaner PC laptop from the department, whew. Completed two letters of reference for an undergrad student applying to internships. Somehow managed to double-book a meeting and gave one a heads up to cancel. Showed my availability for scheduling a PhD defense for a student whose committee I'm on. One of the speakers for my seminar series sent a somewhat passive-aggressive e-mail to the department chair to let him know his info's not up on the website yet. Department chair forwarded it to me, I replied with, essentially "hold your dang horses, your talk isn't until mid-March". He replied back with a sheepish apology. All good.

Formulated my list of essential stuff for this week:

finish Wednesday's (and next week's?) lecture(s?)

prepare next week's homework & key

work on grant proposal

work on commissioned review article

So excited that we're finally to the part of the class that I have taught before in past years! Great lecture today about statistical data analysis. Hurt everyone's brains with the Monty Hall problem. Showed a lot of XKCD comics, got some laughs. Good times. Answered some student questions on the homework assignments, looks like everyone's on track to ace this one as well. This is a really strong class and I'm very proud of them!

On to a virtual meeting with my peer mentoring group! We talk about how utterly wild it is that different departments manage research funding in completely different ways. I vent a bit for the umpteenth time about having to rely 100% on grants to pay my grad students (bigger departments often have student funding provided if they TA, but we just don't have enough classes to sustain that). Easily the biggest source of stress in my life right now is running out of funding for my students: "in order to pay your graduate students, you have to receive a major grant" "cool! how likely am I to get one?" "success rates are about 1 in 15" "uhhhh" "also the applications (if you manage to find a perfect match for your research) take about 40-60 hours to plan and write and it's not work that's looked at formally as part of your tenure review so you're actively taking time away from research" "uhhhhhhh" "and you won't find out if you have been awarded the grant or not before you have to make the decision to hire a student so you just gotta gamble on it" "UHHHHHHH" "you don't get paid in the summer either unless you pull in 2-3 grants that can each cover one month max of salary so I hope you're not putting well over 50% of your take-home toward rent in one of the worst markets in the US or anything haha." It's A Lot. But it's very helpful to talk to people about it!

Realized I left my half-finished Wednesday lecture on my computer at home so I can't work on it during my break between meetings. Shoot, guess that's a tomorrow problem. At least I can work on the homework assignment! This one was an absolute nightmare last year but I think I've come up with a way to simplify it while still hitting all of the learning goals. It's complicated but hopefully very satisfying and builds on everything they've learned thus far. Even with the simplification, I'm definitely expecting some traffic in office hours next week. Opted not to include the more tedious section of the homework because I've tested that particular skill amply in the earlier assignments this quarter. Ran through it once on my own, sent myself the key, then posted the homework and the submission portal for their online module for next week, so all I'm missing now is the lectures.

E-mail break! A professor at a small university nearby wants to bring in a grad student from my group to talk to her class about tornadoes! I have someone in mind (who is both a great presenter and also could use a little confidence boost to get back on track with his research), but of course he's working remotely on the other side of the country, so it's time for a quick check to see if a remote presentation is possible. Checking in on my seminar speaker for next week - project title and abstract up on the website, phew. She's a grad student, so I should find out if her advisor can introduce her or if they want me to do so (and if so, I gotta do some digging for fun facts to share!). Got an invite to a lunch with the faculty & chair where we're going to be brainstorming our next faculty hire, so I gotta be there for that (also because free food)! Surreal to think that we might be hiring my colleague for the next 30 years. It's... kind of intimidating and I definitely want to be in the room for that discussion. Aha! A reply already: virtual talk is fine, so I put the professor and my grad student in touch.

Nice virtual meeting with my former postdoc advisor - we commiserate for a while over his recent illness, but he's feeling better now so we quickly jump back to talking research. The small grant I was awarded recently actually dovetails with some of the broader research ideas he and I had been talking about, so I'm gonna keep him in the loop on that!

Up next: a meeting with my two undergraduate research interns. They're coadvised by my colleague who is flying research aircraft on the other side of the country right now so it's just the three of us. Due to holidays and conferences, this is actually the first time in 2023 we all managed to meet! We go over some paperwork to make sure they get college credit for this research. They're spinning their wheels a little bit but I had them shoot off a couple emails while I was there to start them getting their data ASAP. We then chatted about severe weather we'd all witnessed. One of the students mentioned she's been saving the candy from my office candy bowl for whenever she forgets to bring lunch to campus and now I'm realizing I should maybe get some protein bars or something for some variety.

All good stuff. There's a seminar in 15 minutes but it's a chemistry seminar so... I may just sneak home a bit early.

Tomorrow: no meetings (maaaybe one remote meeting), so work-from home! Should be able to get the last bit of coursework done for the week so I can start on my research to-do list.

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed's TRON 2.0 AU

Also known as Ed's misadventures in the Grid

so... This idea came up in an RP, and I kinda like it? Idk. Some day I will give Ed something to be happy about in his backstory, but that day is not today.

Any way a big part of Ed's background is that his father threatened to kidnap him if he refused to work for Sr. But what if SR didn't threaten?

The thing is, he paid for Ed's college education expecting Ed to work for fCon when he graduated. Instead, Ed essentially cut ties and went to go work for fCons largest competitor. At first, he gave Ed the option to be a corporate spy, but when it becomes clear Ed has no interest in that, he figured if Ed won't be useful, he might as well make him useful... by letting him be the first (second after Thorne???) test subject for fCon's attempt at the digitization technology.

Regardless, if Dillinger Sr. kidnapped him, at this point in Ed's life, he's been at Encom a short enough time and holds a position low enough that nobody would really bat an eye at his disappearance beyond the necessary paperwork to hire someone to replace him.

There are SO MANY ways this could go.

If he's the first, before they realized they needed Ma3a (YORI??? WHAT HAPPENED TO YORI? FUCK IT IN THIS VERSION IT'S YORI IF NOT BOTH), Ed likely gets corrupted and is trapped as such in the computer. Unless someone (Lora?) with experience with the laser finds him and recruits probably a whole hospital's worth of doctors to help restore him, he's likely to just... haunt the system as a user-program eldritch horror. There's a lot of fun themes about what it is to be human that could be explored here.

If fCon got a hold of Yori, he could either be kidnapped and digitized in addition to, or instead of Alan.

If it's instead of Alan, there's very little chance of anyone realizing what happened. Dillinger Sr. would very likely try to contain Ed, and maybe for a while he would succeed, but eventually Ed, determined not to end up in the situation he'd grown up in again, would manage to escape containment. Even then, the chances of returning to the other side of the screen are uncertain. More likely, he just wanders around the system, maybe he ends up staying to cause chaos on fCon's server, maybe he tries to get back to Encom to just live out the rest of his life as a digital being. Maybe Yori finds him and helps him get out once they both get back to Encom's server.

If Alan is also kidnapped and the events of 2.0 play out, then it's possible Jet may find him and they could escape together. This could be either the beginning of a very strong friendship or bitter rivalry. Either way, this scenario is the one where he's most likely to escape back to the other side of the screen.

There are several end scenarios in the event that Ed does make it back, regardless of the path it took to get there.

The fist is the status quo remains (mostly) unchanged. Ed goes back to working for Encom, he files for a restraining order on his father, maybe he's friends with Alan and Jet, maybe he's not. He knows what fCon is up to, and is quietly trying to foil the rest of their plans with Alan and Jet.

OR...

Dillinger Sr. catches wind that they're about to escape and arrives just after they've made it back to the other side. That mishap that happened to Lora in the 2.0 timeline? It doesn't happen to Lora. Maybe it's a mishap, maybe it's not, but the laser fires, and Dillinger Sr. is caught in it. Maybe Dillinger Sr. is corrupted, maybe he's not. regardless, he's put on a portable storage device. There's a chance that fCon crumbles once Dillinger Sr. is gone, but if it doesn't, it's no longer the Evil Corperation of Evil any more. Just another competitor. Ed keeps the portable drive locked in a desk drawer or firebox, labeled clearly DO NOT OPEN. Ed sleeps a little easier, though he still fears someone getting ahold of the drive and unwittingly freeing Dillinger Sr.

OR...

The laser misfires. When the local authorities arrive and Ed, Alan, and Jet give their statements, there are no charges. It was an accident, or it was self defense, though it may take a while to convince everyone when Dillinger Sr.'s death hits the news.

Ed is finally safe and his father will never be able to control him again, but it will be a while before Ed can sleep without dreaming of his father's charred remains.

[rpbtgirl]

When he was dusting me off and moving me around I think I totally got the whole Daddy thing, I felt like a little girl and this big strong man was looking after and taking care of me, might have to explore that at a later time. 😉

As we’re heading the last few stairs he says to be careful not flash anyone, Only you, I say back with a little giggle, he laughs and we walk back into the office, I go to my desk him to his office. I cannot concentrate at all, I am completely obsessed by the fact that he essentially saw what I look like naked from behind because my dress pulled up so high in the parking lot….but that was at a distance and that he saw my butt pretty up close. I want him to, no no no, at this point I NEED him to see me, more of me, all of me, close enough to touch….. Oh GAWD, imagine if he did!!!! I feel like a drug addict trying to get a fix. But I can’t just offer myself to him like that, that’s not how this whole journey works, not yet anyway 😂

He come out of his office, we talk about some work thing and he comments that I have a lot of “stuff” on my desk. OMG, I have filing to do!! In our office for each project there are binders that have all the info and paperwork in them and I have a bunch of filing in those books to do. His are all neatly organized on a shelf above a table that he look at construction drawings, because I’m so short I can’t reach them so when I started there they got me a step stool because I would have to us the shelves built in lower like a ladder. This is all crammed into a fairly good sized office but where I climb, either stool or shelves, is right beside his desk, as in just enough room to walk between….he’s right there. Ok first trip in, I grab the little step stool move it to where I need and climb, he’s on the phone leaning back in his chair facing me. I climb to the top, it’s only 2 steps, grab a binder, step back down bran the stool to put it back and as I head out of his office I can hear him chuckling. Now it seemed to be a pretty serious conversation so I don’t think that’s what caused the chuckle, I’m hoping it was me. I do my thing with the book, at this point I don’t even know if I’m doing it right, I’m just throwing paper in this book, I am so distracted by the thought of him seeing me and it is having its affect on be both mentally and physically 🤪💦

The rest of the day is spent with me going in and out of his office, climbing, grabbing binders, rinse and repeat. There are various noises coming out of him indicating he is seeing me each time. One last time for the day I make sure it’s a big stretch, get up in my tiptoes on one foot and kick the other out to get a good reach, I’ve basically exposed everything, it gets a good reaction. Day finally over, we’re walking out, I thanked him for his help and he says It’s ok, you paid me back more than you can imagine, made the day a good one. I played innocent, Huh? How? 🥹

I am told that I brightened his day, so I said Anything I can do to make your day better I am more than happy to do it, he says Careful there, you never know…..big grin on his face. I told him just to let me know what I can do to help, little innocent grin from me. Today was good he says. As I hop into my truck my head is just flooding with ideas, possibilities, scenes that might be. Oh GOD I’m aching!!! Home time.

[bioethicists]

if it’s not too nosy to ask (pls ignore if so) how did you arrive at doing case management and how do you like it? i have similar values in terms of like interest in health and med anthro in an anti-psych/institutions way nd am trying to figure out in what capacities i can work in health related fields while honoring those values lol,,, thank u i love ur blog

haha so i kind of hate it rn + am leaving in may so take that was u will! i wouldn't necessarily say case management is an easy place to have these values but i am in a unique position where i'm not licensed so therefore am actually banned from (thus not instructed to) doing most of the heinous shit- i am never involved in the process of diagnosing, treating, or incarcerating a client. an msw or similar clinical degree would demand that i be more involved with that process

i live in MA which has a unique program called the BHCP program (through our Medicaid, MassHealth)+ my technical title is "care coordinator" but this is largely a smokescreen for (even more) underpaid case management. my primary job is to obtain + maintain services for my clients, such as SSI, specialists, housing, food stamps, etc. i also spend a lot of time doing stuff i'm not technically supposed to do- help clients read their mail, help with court cases, help dealing with child support etc. i am about 90% of the time able to help ppl in a way that i don't feel icky about.

the cost- i make 39k a year to case manage up to 65 clients who i have to contact at least once a month. many of them have issues far beyond my scope but i am the only person willing or able to work with them. social services in MA, arguably one of the best states for social services in the country, are an absolute shitshow- i spend about 33% of my job trying to force other ppl to do theirs. get me a client that speaks only spanish and the services become essentially unnavigable. masshealth randomly decides we need to improve quantitative performance measures that have 0 bearing on the actual quality of our clients' lives so we are routinely chastised for not meeting stupid paperwork requirements (what percentage of clients have their race and ethnicity recorded in their file? did you check the right boxes on their yearly assessment?) which seems to matter way more to the state (which, through its other departments, is causing most of the problems i'm being paid by them to solve???) than actually helping them. also, the emotional impact is rough + most of my coworkers cope by hardening themselves, othering our clients/getting angry with them, or giving up altogether.

it's just not feasible or HUMAN to expect someone to be able to go to someone's home, hear a story of their brutal assault by the same man you're helping them demand child support from, lock eyes with the child you know in your heart is never going to see a dollar of his dad's money because the child support case is almost definitely a dead end, then go home and do 6 more hours of paperwork. they tell us we're supposed to compartmentalize + shut off empathy in order to function at our job (real thing they tell us in training!) and like... fuck that. i'm not smothering my humanity in order to meet performance requirements- except the alternative is working yourself to the brink of suicide lmao.

that being said, i didn't always feel like this (first two years were easier) and i have some pretty intense personal circumstances complicating it (dead brother, raging eating disorder, etc). i do feel like i have been able to make real + tangible impacts in others' lives, learned how to navigate the system well enough to use that knowledge in more radical spaces, build human connections with people who have never had that with providers before. having a radical perspective on the system will save you from a lot of burnout because you won't be one of the naive ones who think that social services + "educating" your clients will fix all their problems. most of the problems i am describing above are going to be present in almost all health/social services fields. if the state funds it, this is what they will do to it.

i'm going back to school in september + my goal is to pursue full time ethnographic research while utilizing my skills at navigating social services to assist ppl on a person to person level. in terms of how i got here- graduated dec 18, worked in residential mental health for like 2 months before fully cementing that there was no ethical way to do so (and getting horrifyingly triggered by it) -> americorps position at a local hospital doing community outreach during the day + nursing home/private duty elder care at night -> current job

[sillyplasm]

TurboTax is a company that basically has spent a bunch of money claiming that they make filing American taxes super duper easy and approachable and it only costs you (a very amount of money to use their services) - the IRS is the tax collection agency for the USA Federal government, and there's sort of a fear mongering about them chasing people down if they're off by a tiny amount in paying their taxes. (Idk if you know much about income tax, but basically you tell your employer how much you want to not get on your paycheck, that will be contributed to various programs/the fed govt for its budget. If you're self employed, you have to pay/set aside Some Amount Every 3 Months in lieu of not working at a company that handles this for you.)

Every January-ish, workers have to file their taxes, which consists of reporting how much you made, how much you already "paid" the government for the last calendar year (via income tax or self employment taxes) and whatever deductions you have (called such because you deduct An Amount from the amount you will be actually paying) which is based on things like having kids, university loans, charity donations, etc. (There's also a Standard Deduction, which is some amount that you can choose to essentially go "just take off this chunk amount of money, I don't want to list out all that info ") If your deductions are lower than what you should have been paying, you have to pay the government the extra money you should have been paying the past year, all at once, which, have you see the economy? But if your deductions are higher, then the government has been taking more from you than they should have, and they will send you money. But you have to collect all the information and fill out the paperwork.

So, to recap, you have to tell the IRS: what you made (which they know, because your employer tells them), what you paid in taxes (again, they already know this), and what deductions you have (they already know this because of paperwork you do when setting up how much you will be paying) - AND in order for them to chase people down for being wrong (called auditing), they need to know this information anyway. But you need to fill out the forms to tell it to them just to be sure. (Many other countries, the government sends people the information and they either pay it or wait for a check)

So, the forms to file all of this information are a little dense with instructions and legalese, and TurboTax has spent an inordinate amount of money to keep them complex, and also market their services as making things easy for people so they can continue to make a shit load more money.

But! Now! There is the Free File services offered by the IRS if you make under a certain amount (I looked earlier and as of 2024 (the 2023 tax year) there are various options if you make under $79,000/yr) which means that there is a free software (as in beer, meaning it does not cost you anything but you still can't know how it's made or do whatever you want with the software) way for people to file their taxes easily as if they had used turbo tax, but not paying their nonsense fees

Thank you for letting me infodump in your inbox I hope it was a helpful explanation lol. I go eat dinner now. :p

That was... a lot. But I seriously appreciate it because this information should absolutely come in handy. I have the reading comprehension of a toaster so I'll need to study this very heavily to actually understand it in full, but really, thank you. PS, I enjoyed my dinner somewhat, even though I can't quite remember what it was.

[skiitter]

A prompt, my dear. Hermione and Draco + “who hurt you?”

Draco Malfoy was a lot of things, the majority of which were less than desirable to any sensible person, but one thing he was not was late. His punctuality was a point of pride, in a sea of arrogance no doubt, but Hermione had come to appreciate it over the course of their working relationship. It was something she could rely on, something immovable in an otherwise dangerously murky situation. He may needle her ceaselessly and leave her to do the lions share of the paperwork, but he was always there when he was expected, an effortless air of smugness clinging to him like bad cologne.

This Sunday, however; this unremarkable, overcast Sunday in late September he was late. It was the day after her 24th birthday as well as their final meeting. The report had been ostensibly completed, the field work essentially finished, and the conclusion inevitably drawn. After the better part of a year dedicating 1/3rd of every weekend to spending most of the day with Malfoy, Hermione's Sundays were about to become her own once more; a prospect she was not all that excited about.

Everytime the chirp of the bell above the door announced a new arrival, she would glance over, expecting to see a shock of platinum hair above a signature sneer and everytime, she was disappointed.

"Another tea, miss?" The waitress asked, her expression a perfect blend of professionalism and pity.

"No, no thank you." Hermione spared another look out the window, searching for him among the crowd. "Actually, I think I'm done here. Could I get the check?"

Bundled up against the autumn chill, Hermione paid and left the Cafe' and it's memories behind. It wasn't quite noon yet, and the streets were slowly filling with the townspeople emerging to go about their days. She smiled at a few passersby but was otherwise lost in her own thoughts as she made her way to the Apparition point.

Maybe Malfoy had just decided their final meeting wasn't all that important. To be fair it was more of a formality than anything else. His decision to not show would have no negative consequence on anything other than her feelings. Feelings, of course, that she was deliberately not thinking about.

As she rounded the corner, absorbed in her denial, she didn't see him until it was too late. With an audible "oof" she ran straight into Malfoy, colliding chest to chest. She immediately bounced off but he caught her arm before she could hit the sidewalk.

"What--Malfoy?"

"Graceful as always, Granger." He let her go and she stared, wide eyed and confused, at the state of his face.

"Merlin! Your face it's--"

"Your manners leave so very much to be desired." He looked cross but it was hard to tell beneath the bruising. An ugly, mottled patch of purple marred the left side of his face, stark and violent against his pale skin. It was fresh, the edges red with the recent impact, and it appeared to have just narrowly missed his eye.

"Malfoy," she reached her hand out, ghosting her fingertips over the bruise. "What happened?"

He sneered at her and jerked away. "Keep your obligatory Gryffindor concern to yourself, Granger."

"It's not an obligation!"

"Says the war hero."

"Will you--ugh!" She huffed and dragged him back around the corner, off of the sidewalk and into an alley. "What happened?" She repeated.

"Nothing."

"Malfoy."

He looked around, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with her. "I made a wrong turn at Diagon Alley, is all."

"A wrong turn?" The incredulity in her voice was palpable. "To where? A boxing ring?"

"Just drop it, Granger."

"I will not just drop it. Look--look at your face!" She closed the space between them. "Malfoy, please. What happened?"

He sighed and the rigidity of his shoulders softened. "I forgot, okay? I went to Flourish and Blotts to get you your bloody birthday gift and when I left, I ran into some adoring fans."

"What--"

"Our former school chums don't take kindly to my presence in Diagon Alley and, after our last little spat, I'd forgotten the warning they'd left me with." Malfoy's jaw tensed and he squinted up into the clouded sunlight. "They took it upon themselves to remind me."

Hermione balled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "Who?"

"It doesn't matter, Granger."

"Who?" She took a steadying breath. "Who hurt you?"

"I don't know. I vaguely recognized them from Hogwarts. It's fine."

It wasn't fine. It was categorically not fine. Malfoy was hardly the first of their class that had been on the wrong side of the war to be attacked. Harry had spent a significant amount of time trying to dispel such violent grudges and, to the best of her knowledge, it had been handled. Clearly, she was mistaken.

"We need to report this to the Ministry. Harry needs--"

"Absolutely fucking not." Malfoy gave her an indignant look. "The last person that needs to hear about this is Saint Potter."

"Malfoy, Harry's job is dealing with--"

"No, Granger. I said no."

"So what? Those nasty little insects just get to get away with it? No. I refuse. We didn't go to bloody war--"

"I was on the wrong side of that war, remember? So, yeah, we did go to war for this exact scenario to exist." He could see the lack of effect his words were having written across her face. "Granger. Please. I don't want this to become another of your crusades."

She reeled as if she'd been slapped. "Crusades?! Malfoy, it's about the injustice of it! You don't deserve to be attacked in the streets for something you did nearly ten years ago!"

"The court of public opinion begs to differ."

"Oh they'll beg alright," she snapped. At her genuine anger, his features softened and Malfoy gave her an unreadable look before looking away.

"You're such a fucking Gryffindor." He said it with an air of affection, though, and it helped to ground her back in the now.

"Thank you." Once more she placed her hand upon his bruised cheek and, to her surprise, he leaned into the touch. Her breathe caught in her lungs and she swallowed. "We--we should take care of that."

"It's just a simple spell. I'll handle it."

"No," she insisted and stepped away from him. "I will. It's the least I can do."

"This is hardly your fault."

"You went to Diagon Alley for me, remember?" She looked him up and down. "Speaking of..."

"I've been attacked and you're worrying over your stupid gift?" His tone was lighter than it had been since she'd ran into him.

"Of course I am. It's not everyday the evil Draco Malfoy buys you a gift." Hermione nodded to the Apparition point behind them. "Let's go."

"What about the Cafe? You can't honestly expect me to deny our Waitress her weekly opportunity to oogle at me." He gestured to his outfit: an expensive and perfectly tailored muggle suit that Hermione had forced him to buy after he showed up to their first meeting in robes.

"I've already been. It'd been weird to go back now. Besides, I think the bruise will overshadow your fancy slacks."

"Women like a man with scars."

She snorted. "It's hardly a battle scar, you git." when he gave her a pleading look, she rolled her eyes and looked around, to make sure they were alone. Satisfied with the lack of muggles, Hermione drew her wand and tapped it gently to his cheek. The static heat of magic bloomed between them and the ugly purple faded away, leaving his pale cheek unblemished once more. "There."

In the process of her healing, Malfoy had stepped completely into her personal space and the look he was giving her was heavy, deliberate.

"This isn't over, Malfoy. I'll find out who did this, with or without your help. They don't get to just attack you and get away with it."

"I'm hardly a weakling, Granger. I fought back."

"Good. It'll make them easier to identify."

"You're not going to let this go." It was not a question.

"No. I'm not."

"Why?"

"Because." She gave him a defiant look and he tipped her chin up with his hand. "You're my--"

"What? I'm your what?"

"Friend?"

"Is that all?" He was dangerous, but in a completely different way to the bully he'd been in their youth.

"That depends."

"On?"

"On what you got me for my birthday." She grinned and he laughed, pressing his forehead to hers a moment before pulling away and offering her his arm. She looped hers around it and let him steer them back in the direction of the Cafe.

After a lunch of finger sandwiches and tea, Malfoy finally handed her a perfectly wrapped gift that she immediately tore into. It was the latest book in a series on beasts that Rolf Scamander had been releasing, and it wasn't supposed to be out for another week.

"How did you get this?"

Malfoy shrugged, as if it was the least important thing in the world. "Money is an exceptionally good incentive."

"I love it. Thank you." She beamed at him and he cleared his throat as if it would distract her from the flush creeping up his neck.

"It's no big deal, Granger."

"To you maybe. It is to me. You know how I feel about birthday gifts." They both thought back to the spectacle she'd made of his back in June.

"I did fight for my life while I was out getting it." He grinned but the smile faded at the sharp look she gave him. "I'm joking, of course. Just a little fisticuffs, nothing serious."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I really am. You didn't have to go all the way to Diagon Alley for this."

"Sure I did."

"Just submitting your half of the report would be gift enough."

"Lucky for you I've done both. Besides, I'm sick of using that bloody report as an excuse to be around you." Hermione blinked, unable to process the weight of what he'd said. At the shock on her face, he shrugged again. "Come on, Granger. You can't possibly think I care about work this much."

"I--you--what?"

He leaned forward and captured her chin in his hand. "My fierce, naive little lion. You're horribly dense." Malfoy gave her a soft kiss on the forehead and pulled away. "Let's go before the Waitress gets jealous."

"But. What."

"I've rendered the great Hermione Granger speechless. I am truly magnificent." His laugh brought her to her senses and she launched herself across the table to kiss him.

"Sod the waitress."

She did, in the end, figure out who hurt him and in true Hermione Granger fashion, made them rue the day they laid hands upon someone she loves.

[defractum]

A thing I've been sitting on for a while so thought I might as well pour it out as a headcanon for post-CQL. (If anyone wants to write this as an actual fic, please do)

 -

So the entire Mo family is dead right? And that kind of gets forgotten, because ~plot happens~ but what if after canon, when WWX has finished travelling the world and come back to Lan Wangji, a very disgruntled messenger arrives at Cloud Recesses looking for Mo Xuanyu

And WWX is like I mean. I guess that's me.

And he gets handed a whole bunch of paperwork, some contracts, a seal, and he's like ?? what is all this?

And the messenger is from the local administrative office and he's been travelling ALL OVER trying to track down Mo Xuanyu because he's the only surviving member of the Mo family, which means that the entire estate and the land and the village is now his

And WWX's like Haha, well I'm not… technically Mo Xuanyu, except the administrative office doesn't care what fucking name he's going by now. So what if he's decided to tell everyone to call him by some dead evil guy's name (they're like '...weird flex, but okay'), he was born Mo Xuanyu and in the eyes of the law, the estate is his

(They just really want to get rid of it: lots of disputes are coming up, the staff have questions about getting paid, someone has to pay for the funerals of all the family members lying around embalmed in the funeral home, and it sure ain't gonna be the administrative office, nope.)

And WWX is like Okay, well, it's kind of not really my responsibility, but also I do feel bad for all the people just trying to do their jobs and survive, and also those dead bodies probably really need taking care of, it's been a year, oops, so he heads down there to take a look at things

LWJ is busy being His Excellency and can't go with him and is super put out because he just got WWX back! They have just about managed to admit some Feelings! WWX was going to stay in Gusu with him! Was the 16 years of misery not enough?? Must he suffer? again?? Woe is him. Giant sulking baby Lan Wangji, essentially

WWX heads to Mo Estate with the intention of sorting everything out ASAP because he is also desperate to get back to LWJ and get dicked, you know? Except legal administration is a bitch. There's taxes, and salaries, and tithes, aka things he knows nothing about because he was never gonna be a Sect Leader

Plus, the villagers hear that they have a new lord and come to pay their respects and also bring all of their problems. He gets through most of it with common sense and an air of sounding like he knows what he's talking about.

He does not know what he's talking about.

(He does, actually, know more than he thinks, because heading up a small village of Wen gave him more practical experience in helping people than being Jiang Head Disciple ever did)

(He also finds out Mo Xuanyu's birth name for the first time because it's on some forgotten, crumpled paperwork and is slightly stunned with the realisation that literally no one alive even knows it, because wow, did you not want to be punched by Mo Xuanyu feelings in this post? Too bad.)

LWJ eventually comes looking for him after a month or so, having finally managed to rearrange all his meetings and clear out a week or two, and finds him holding audiences. LWJ waits, very patiently he thinks, for him to sort out property disputes over pigs and donkeys, and then drags him into one of the bedrooms for some private time

(Sex. It's sex. It's loud, passionate kinky sex, followed by equally loud but slightly less kinky sex, followed by slightly quieter cuddly sex.)

LWJ can see what a great job WWX is doing running the estate, and also has come to the realisation that WWX is now stonking rich! A titled and landed Lord! No longer has he the need to rely on LWJ and his Gusu coffers! He can pamper himself now! LWJ is possessed by a completely irrational fear that WWX no longer has any need for him and, like the uncommunicative gremlin he is, just tells WWX that he is doing a very good job of running the estate

WWX is like Aw, LWJ said I'm doing a good job!! Also, hey, Lan Wangji, you're a competent, competent man, would you like to stick around for the interviews? I'm trying to find someone who is a good match for me and you can give your opinion

LWJ, silently: ME. IT'S ME. I AM A GOOD MATCH FOR YOU. D:

LWJ, outwardly: Mn.

So he follows WWX to these interviews and WWX has all these criteria like Listens carefully to people and Good with numbers and strategy and Level-headed and Fair and Communicative and LWJ is sitting grumpily next to him internally pouting like 'I match all of these criteria, hmph'

(After some self-examination, he maybe concedes on the 'communicative' point.)

Anyway, WWX listens to all his opinions on all of them, and he seems pretty keen on his one woman who, well, under normal circumstances LWJ would also quite like her, she seemed a very practical and intelligent person, but given current circumstances, he's just going to go back to Gusu and maybe cry for a few days

WWX cheerily waves him goodbye, LWJ wishes him all the best and goes home and drowns himself in Chief Cultivator work

When WWX turns up at Cloud Recesses two weeks later, he is super confused. WWX starts telling him off, saying that the juniors told him how hard he's been working and not sleeping and honestly, it's only been two weeks of WWX not looking over his shoulder, but it's okay because he's here now and doesn't intend on leaving ever again, and also he brings treats because he's not poor and he can afford to spoil his Lan-er-gege now!

LWJ: ??

After the nth round of misunderstandings, LWJ finally, finally realises that the interviews were for someone to manage the estate for Wei Wuxian so that he doesn't have to stay there. Understanding dawns. LWJ's crops are thriving, his skin is clear.

There is some shouting, there are tears, there's a fair bit of wailing. There's a cracked teacup and the dramatic thwump of WWX throwing himself across the room onto LWJ's lap. There's some more loud, enthusiastic kinky sex. The end.

(Buy me a ko-fi)

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N  Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise.   Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote.  That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”.   Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May.  Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability.  Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized.  Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns.  He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath.  He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought.  Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker.  Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up.  From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?” 

“No’ really.  Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.”   Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond.  “I ignored her.  Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed.  Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture.  Massive coronary.  I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie’s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable.  The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah.  I dinna think I’m tae blame.  I ken it.  I was the only surviving son, ye see?  In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations.  I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da.  Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.  

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it.  I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer.  It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra.  She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile.  “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file.  The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months.  The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards.  They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms.  Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.   

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny.  She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping.  Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp!  Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks.   Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on.   She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room.  Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach.  The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust.  With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store.  The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp.  She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork.  Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response.  Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly.  “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like.  Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses.  He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window.  With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.  

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask.  Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday.  Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge.  Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.  

Not Fraser, then.  But that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather.  Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile.  That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages.   A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie.  What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood.  “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets.  A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean.  Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess.   Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie.  It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp.  We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie.  You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either.  An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier?  Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach.  My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?”  She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland.  Seemed tae suit ye, is all.”  He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is.  When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way.  A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last.  “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye.  Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy.  Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed.  Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth.  “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach.  Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken?  I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly.  Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough.   Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts.  A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment.  Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no.  Not exactly.  I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.”  It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’.  I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile.  What a precious child.    “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued.  Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living.  Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried.   She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie.  I’m certainly going to try.”

[revengeoftheantichrist]

Red Flags

Warnings: Serial killers, breaking and entering, torture, manipulation and broken bones AN: Huge thank you to @9layerdevilfoodcake and the lovely Carissa for bouncing some ideas and beta reading this while I was struggling!

AO3

Michael had enough. He was tired and hungry, getting nothing more than delirious in this forest. He stood on shaky legs, not caring about the blood of the goat he just killed. He didn’t know where he was going, just letting his feet carry him to wherever they pleased. He no longer cared about the destination. His surroundings faded into nothingness, until a familiar white-picket fence came into view. He finally focused on his surroundings, immediately starting to sob when he recognised where he was. His childhood home, his grandmother’s house. His body must have craved the familiarity and the warm embrace that only she could provide. But like every other mother figure in his life, she was dead, and he blamed himself. With bleary eyes he pushed open the squeaky gate. The smell of roses made the memories rapidly flash through his mind. With a deep breath, he opened the door.

The house had been untouched for years. Dust and cobwebs everywhere. He thought of his grandmother watching the house fall into this state of decay. Watching.

He felt the eyes of the house next door on him. He refused to look out the window. He didn’t want to see the looks of disgust and pity. He wiped his eyes and stood a little straighter. This was his house now. He could do whatever he wanted here. No one to answer to, no more deadlines and most of all, no more older blonde woman dictating his life. ////

He stared at himself in the mirror. The stubble and lack of sleep seemed to age him. His hair was no longer perfectly styled, it was wild and uneven. The more he looked at himself the more his face began to morph into the women in his life. He hated it. He didn’t want to look like the woman that threw him out at his lowest. Or the woman who, even in her death, could not accept him as hers. He carried the ghosts of next door with him, and he’d do anything to alleviate himself of that burden. He could only change his appearance for so long. Hair dye would eventually fade; contacts would need to be removed and he wasn’t willing to put himself under the knife.

The smell of blood on his clothes pulled him out of his thoughts. The mirror reflected the decrepit house he was in, turning his nose in disgust. With the last of his strength, he mustered a tiny bit of magic, using a spell to clean the house. He walked through the house as it returned to it’s former glory, remembering his own attempts at interior design when he was younger, looking up the beams and archways where he would nail his ‘gifts’ to his grandmother. Times were simpler then. He shook his head of the nostalgia, hoping the plumbing was still working; he needed a nice hot shower.

//// None of the clothes in the closet fit him anymore, he didn’t realise how much he had grown. For now, a towel was the best he could do until his other clothes were out the dryer. He spent his time scouring the house for legal documents, anything that entitled him to some money and the deeds of the house. He needed to get this all under his name, just in case his grandmother used that stupid medium to undermine him. He tugged open the last drawer. Bingo. Everything he needed conveniently placed in one place. Money, a will and the deeds of the house. He would need to go to whatever legal office to get it sorted. The dryer still had time to go. With a big sigh, he sat on the couch. The one that faced the ‘other’ house. He gave a smile to those still watching him. He must have looked demented by the reactions he got from them. The exhaustion and hunger were catching up to him, succumbing to sleep on the couch.

////

It was morning when he woke up. He let his towel fall with a big stretch. Thus was his house; he could do anything. Even walking around naked. He kept the blinds and curtains that faced that house open. Let them watch. He pulled his warm clothes on. The detergent brought back memories, he’d buy a new scent when the time came. He grabbed some cash and whatever documents he needed for the day, venturing out into the big bad world.

////

Humanity deserved to perish simply for the time it took at the bank. The manger was an old lady, greying blonde hair and a pair of ill-fitting glasses. Michael thought she was extremely rude and didn’t hide his distaste when he spoke to her. She asked far too many questions for such a simple procedure. “Young man, aren’t you far too young to be accessing these funds?” she asked, looking over her glasses. “I can’t control when my entire family dies now can I,” he spat back, sick of her already. She continued to look him up and down as she typed away. Printing something off, she slipped a booklet of paperwork to him. “Everything has been approved, your card should arrive in the next few days. Can I do anything else for you?” “I’d like to take out some cash.” “How much?” “$500.” She paused, “what are you planning on doing with that?” Michael was getting beyond irritated, his jaw clenched, and he rubbed his temples. “There’s no need to be so rude young man,” she huffed. Michael gave her a sarcastic smile before snatching the money and walking out of the bank. The world would be better off without her. He’d deal with her soon. ////

Michael returned home with numerous bags of clothing and food. He would learn how to cook for himself, takeout was not sustainable. The pantry was stocked with basic essentials, but most of it was stocked with candy and other snacks. No one could stop him from indulging in his gluttony now.

His wardrobe was full of blacks and reds, the perfect colours for him. He was most looking forward to the black jumpsuit. It stood out to him in the store, a style he had never tried before. His fingers drifted over the seams when he tried it on, turning and admiring the various angles in the mirror. He looked up to the clock through the mirror, it was almost 5pm, if he didn’t leave now, he would miss her leaving. ////

Michael waited for the old bank manager to leave. Biding his time in the shadows. He watched her as she said her goodbyes in her shrill voice, then as she walked to her car. Michael stalked behind her, waiting for her to get in. As she got comfortable, she dropped something by her foot pedals. When she reached down to grab it, Michael took the opportunity to get in the car and lock the doors. He smiled at her when she screamed. The parking lot was empty, no one would hear her. “Shhh,” Michael put a finger to his lips, the other hand held up a gun. It was one of Constance’s that she had hidden in the house. The woman suddenly stopped, her shaking hands on the wheel. “You’re going to drive, and I’m going to give you directions,” he said, his tone left no space to argue. She nodded, tears in her eyes, hoping he would let her go eventually.

////

They pulled up outside the murder house. Michael got out first, taking the keys from the ignition. The woman stayed in the car, still shaking. She wasn’t given much time to think, Michael dragged her out of the car and up the steps, his hand over her mouth. Her legs flailed around, heels falling off and feet dragging on the ground. Sill, Michael paid her no mind, not even as she thumped down the stairs when he threw her into the basement.

He felt eyes on him again as he went into the kitchen, looking for something sharp. When he got to the basement door, it was blocked by none other than Dr. Harmon himself. “You don’t have to do this kind, you know you’re better than this,” he tried to convince Michael. “You didn’t have to cheat on your wife, now here we all are, miserable in the same fucking house,” Michael spat back. “He didn’t give Harmon a chance to respond, teleporting into the basement where the woman cowered in the corner.

“Please, I’m sorry if I did something, there’s other ways to solve this,” she cried. “I need to get home to my grandkids,” she tried to appeal to his softer side. He continued to stalk towards her, ignoring her and inspecting the sharp knife. “You’re far too old to still be this rude. I think that it’s a habit that can’t be solved anymore,” Michael replied, sounding disappointed. The woman couldn’t back away any further, stuck to the wall. Michael got down to her level, wiping away her tears. “You have grandkids?” She rapidly nodded, hoping he changed his mind. “I had a grandma too. Looked just like you,” he took a blonde hair and sniffed it, it didn’t smell like her. “At least she had basic manners. And, she wouldn’t be caught dead in this hideous number,” he pointed out. He had to give Constance credit where it was due. “Do you want to know what happened to my grandma?” he whispered in her ear. She was too shaky to respond. “I killed her too,” he whispered again, this time his voice cracked a little; remembering the day he found her dead in this very house. Even if she was a ghost, she could have at least spared him a hug. His eyes began to well up. The woman took this as an opportunity to reach out, placing her hand on her face. He snapped back to her, taking her hand in his. “But no one can ever replace her,” his voice still shaking. He felt like a little boy again. He could feel the pity from the woman. She wasn’t scared of him anymore and he didn’t like that. He was no longer a child. He had a greater purpose. Without hesitation, Michael sliced her throat, letting himself be covered in her blood. He looked at his reflection in the knife. Maybe this was the look for him, covered in blood. He licked his fingers, tasting the liquid. “I’ll save the heart for later,” he thought to himself, before ripping it out and making use of one of the fridges. This was one way to pass the time and maybe, it would finally get his father’s attention. //// A car was found on a random highway. In it was the mangled corpse of the owner, and a simple letter signed by ‘the Alpha’. This marked the beginning of a new wave of violence in southern California. A serial killer was on the prowl. The victim profile was quite strange. Typically, killers would choose young women. However, this killer liked older blonde women, usually grandmothers or mothers. It scared you regardless, worried that one day the preference might change. You worried for your co-workers too, many of them fitting the description. The thought that you might have even interacted with the culprit made your skin crawl. ////

Things would inevitably go wrong if one were fuelled by bloodlust alone. Michael had broken into the wrong house. The woman that pissed him off at the supermarket lived a few doors down. Regardless, he was curious as to who lived here. The home was so different to what he was used to. The interior design choices were not the standard ‘live, laugh, love’ and farmhouse kitchen with seashell bathrooms. This house was nice, it had a younger feel to it, the heels by the door further proof of his theory. He quietly made his way up the stairs, looking into every room and taking it all in. He finally found the occupied room. The dark-haired woman was fast asleep in her bed. Comfortably sank into her pillows. He adjusted the blinds a little so he could see better. The way the moonlight reflected off her face took his breath away. His fingers twitched, he wanted to take her home this instant. He could take care of her, he knew he could. He liked a challenge however, he wanted her to come to him. He didn’t know how long he stood and stared at her, only leaving once she stared to stir. He’d be back. ////

Michael’s heart was jumping out of his chest when he arrived back to the murder house. The residents were surprised he didn’t come home with another victim or even a drop of blood on him. His face was flush and he was in deep thought. Luckily for the residents, souls were not congesting the house, as Michael would make sure to burn the new souls as soon as he could. He whispered nonsense to himself as he made his way up to the attic. His trance was interrupted by his foot hitting a box. Had it always been there? He slowly took the lid off, finding an old camcorder and lots of tape. Was he living in the movie ‘sinister’? He was the scariest thing in this house, no ghoul could ever top him.

The box gave him something to do for the rest of the night. Returning with some snacks and in his pyjamas. The entertainment didn’t last long. It was just shitty home movies from former residents. It got worse when they’d come forward and explain them. He turned his face in disgust at the last one; a homemade sex tape. He gagged before turning it off. The sun was rising, telling him to go to bed. As he put the camcorder way, he had a genius idea.

////

You felt weird when you woke up. It was as if someone had been watching you. Your blinds were slightly open, and your bedroom door ajar. Had someone been in? As you walked through the house, something just seemed a little off. Things were ever so slightly out of place. There even seemed to be less fruit juice this morning than you were sure you had last night. Maybe it was the paranoia of the current situation getting to you. You sighed and shook your head before going to get ready for the day.

////

You hated working in the family and wills sector of the legal profession. You were hoping to make the move to fashion law soon, just waiting for the right opportunity. You really weren’t made for the requests of dead people and their bickering relatives.

You greeted one of the partners. Ms Grace everyone called her. She was your mento and a mother figure to you out here in the big bad legal world. Hopefully, she’d give you a good reference when you left. “New client for you today, just… entire dead family,” she whispered the last bit, making a cutting gesture with her hand. “That sounds horrible.” She nodded, before letting you set up for the day. ////

It was afternoon before said client showed up. Your office phone rang informing you of his arrival. A tall, blond man sat in the waiting room; his eyes widened in recognition when he saw you. You decided to ignore it. “Hello, are you Mr. Langdon?” “I am.” “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, in Y/N and I’ll be taking your case,” you held your hand out for him to shake. It was comfortably warm. “Please, call me Michael.” You nodded and smiled, before leading him to your office. “Any refreshments before we get started?” He shook his head. From the outside, his case looked simple However, the deaths in his family left a convoluted mess, but you were sure Mr Langdon would get what he wanted. He was the only legal and living heir after all. You chatted away as you printed off and filled out the relevant forms. The conversation came easy. It had been a while since someone had caused butterflies in your stomach.   You weren’t unprofessional however, keeping it professional with clients. When all was done for the session, you saw him out and waved him off. The interaction with him had left you a little flush. The receptionist giving you a knowing look.

////

This was totally unplanned. Michael wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. He thought that maybe his father had a hand in this, a reward for his hard work. He made his way back home, keeping the packet you gave him close, it still faintly smelled of you. He sat on the couch facing the other house. Images of you occupying his mind. It all got too much, lazily stroking himself to the thought of you that afternoon. ////

He left the house again, camcorder in hand. He pressed record as soon as he got inside your house. Filming every little detail leading up to your room. Even filming himself waving in the hallway mirror, as if he were recording and innocent home video.

He slowly opened your door. You accidently left the lamp on that night, giving him the perfect lighting. He zoomed in on your face before getting closer. Your duvet was blocking the view, reaching forward to carefully move it a little. Running his thumb over your lips and getting it on camera. He groaned at the softness. His fingers skimmed over your face, neck and collarbones. He watched as your nose crinkled a little at the touch. Cute. His evening plans were abruptly cut short when your phone began to ring. At this hour? Who was it? You began to stir at the invasive sound. Michael didn’t have time to run, transmuting out the house as fast as he could.

////

In his free time, Michael indulged in all that his family would disapprove of. And nothing could vex Constance Langdon more than her shitty grandson doing all types of drugs. He liked the feeling weed gave him. It helped him relax after the adrenaline rush of a kill. Sometimes, the murder house had a horrible stench of weed and rotting flesh, prompting the residents to keep the windows open. He even tried other things, like Acid and MD. He didn’t like the restlessness they gave him. He especially hated when his face would morph in the mirror, turning him into the people he hated the most. He wondered what it would be like to get high with you. He wanted to melt into you just like he did the floor when the THC finally got him. If he couldn’t get to you that night, he would replay the tapes on the big screen and jack off, wishing you were there. The residents of the house watched in disgust and horror. They may have done terrible things but surely, they weren’t this bad.

////

Mr Langdon’s case had successfully ended, he had gotten what he wanted. You bumped into him a week later, on your lunch break. “Oh? Y/N? so nice to see you,” he stood in the line at your favourite coffee shop. “Like wise,” you smiled up at him. “Would you like anything? I insist. It’s the least I can do.” You tried to reject his kindness but didn’t want to hold up the line, giving him your order. You both sat at a quiet table, waiting for your drinks and pastry. “I don’t usually see my clients on lunch breaks.” “Former client,” he pointed out, taking a sip of his coffee. You watched him add five packets of sugar and wondered why he didn’t just get a sweeter drink. Your conversation continued, with your shoes constantly touching under the table. It felt very childish, but maybe you were missing the playfulness in life. Your phone alarm went off, indicating you had to get back to work. As your phone was unlocked, Michael took it and tapped his number in, leaving you at the table with a wink.

////

These interactions led to casual dates. The murders began to slow down, making you feel a little safer. With this in mind, you accepted Michael’s invitation when he invited you over. You were nervous as you waited for him to open the door. The evening breeze did little to distract you from the feeling of being watched. Michael opened the door and you sighed in relief. “You look… beautiful,” he stuttered. “Not too bad yourself,” you smiled back.

He moved aside to let you in, leading you to where he had set up. “I didn’t know you could cook.” “I’m a man of many talents.” He looked out the window, making sure the other house was watching. They looked nervous, hoping you would leave in one piece. They watched you laugh and talk. This could not have been the same boy that had terrorised so many. He was confident, suave, and personable. Worlds away from the awkward, nervous cry baby of a serial killer that they had become used to. He cleaned up well, even tidying up his wild hair. They wondered how long it would last. How long would it take for you to see the real him? They hoped you got out before it got to that state. The time flew by, and you both seemed to get closer by the second. You didn’t notice until your noses were touching, conversation halting. He seemed to be waiting for something, almost hesitant. You took the initiative and captured his lips. All of his hesitation melted away, his hand reaching around you and pulling you closer. The kiss got more heated, indicating that it would lead to something else. However, luck was not on your side. You phone ringing and interrupting you. Michael wanted to smash that phone; this was the second time it had stopped him. You apologised before picking up. Michael watched your expression change and brows knit in annoyance. You put the phone down, apologising. “I’m so sorry Michael, but I’m going to have to go, I’ve been called into work tomorrow and this is an important client, I hope you can understand.” “Of course, I’m sure you’re busy and I won’t keep you. Do you want me to drop you off?” He didn’t know why he asked that question, he didn’t have a car. “Oh thank you so much for understanding, and the offer. I drove here myself so there’s no need to worry about that,” you smiled at him. Michael helped you with your belongings, leading you out the door. You turned to thank him again, before he leaned down to give you another kiss, causing you to blush. He walked you to your car, taking in the interior. He waved you off with a smile. He knew you’d be back soon. ////

Michael shut the door behind him. He thought the night was a success. He opened the cupboard and pulled out your jacket. He hid it away, so you’d forget about it. The designer logo stood out to him. He buried his face in the fur, taking in all of it. Your scent, your warmth, everything. He had been so close to you. He wanted to watch the tapes with this in hand, for that he would have to venture next door. He wasn’t prepared to finally come face to face with his grandmother, looking down on him, cigarette in hand. “Michael fucking Langdon,” her southern drawl was harsh. He hadn’t been spoken to like that in years. He gulped as he watched her slowly walk down the stairs. “Why haven’t you grown out of that terrible habit of yours. You just have to destroy pretty things.” She stopped at the step just above him, still looking down. She gently stroked his face like she used to when he was a child, and he leaned into the touch. The peace was disturbed by a loud slap echoing through the house. Michael’s face turned to the side. He held his cheek, slowly turning to the woman with bleary eyes. “You have some nerve coming back to this house with that attitude of yours, clearly the ‘Church’ didn’t teach you any manners” Michael was trying to find his voice, to finally face the woman that he blamed for half of his problems. “And now look at you, that poor girl doesn’t even know the half of it.” She snatched the coat away from him. “Look at this Michael, this is Prada. And did you see the car she drove? What makes you think you deserve her? Look at yourself,” she gestured towards him. “Hair unkempt, Jobless, all you eat is candy and human flesh. What are you going to when she finds out the truth?” Michael hadn’t actually thought about that. He had neglected himself and his appearance for a while now. Did it really matter that much?

////

“Look, Y/N, all I’m saying is that you can do better. Look at you, you’re beautiful and well dressed and have such a good job. And him, well… he’s a little scruffy and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even have a car,” Ms Grace did not approve of your relationship with Michael. She thought you could do better. “I see where you’re coming from but he’s charming. Although I do agree he could clean up a little better. I’ve seen him all dressed up and he looks so good. I just don’t understand why he chooses to look like… that most of the time,” the last bit was more meant for yourself. Your conversation was interrupted by Kevin, a colleague from another office. “He should take a page out of Kevin’s book,” Ms Grace pointed out. Kevin raised a brow at the conversation he had just become a part of. He too was on a lawyer salary, a well-dressed man that anyone would swoon for. “Who’s ‘he’?” “Y/Ns …. Boyfriend?” Ms Grace replied. “Nothing to concern yourself too much with Kevin, you know what Ms Grace is like,” you interjected. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. He must be something to reach those high standards of yours,” he pointed out. “Oh he’s something alright,” Ms Grace muttered. You huffed at the conversation. You didn’t think you were a superficial person, but your colleagues thought otherwise. //// Michael had heard enough. Sometimes he would scry into your workplace, just to check on you, to see if you thought of him as much as he did. The conversation reinforced Constance’s criticisms from the other day. He hadn’t felt this self-conscious in a while. He was not one to idle, immediately finding a hair stylist with an availability. He wanted a transformation that would floor you. With that in mind, he headed to ‘Gallants’. //// The hairstylist was truly annoying, yet he seemed to have magic in his hands. The final reveal shocked Michael also. The confidence he had at Hawthorne seemed to return. He held his head just a little higher as he walked out. He felt everyone’s eyes on him, people stopping to stare at the angelic looking man that strutted down the street. On his way to his next destination, he stopped at the sight of a certain symbol. An inverted cross. His feet had a mind of their own, leading him inside. His scar began to tingle. The congregation turned to stare at the man that had just walked in. They knew. It had to be. The high priestess getting on her knees before him. He could get used to this. //// He reached his final destination for the day. He didn’t usually kill men, but if they got in his way, he didn’t care who he killed. He waited for Kevin to come home. He was going to kill him here. He wasn’t worth the effort of taking him all the way to the murder house. Michael didn’t even give the man a chance to scream. Getting rid of him with a snap of his fingers. //// The murder house watched Michael carefully curate his image the next few months. An entire new wardrobe, his old clothes dumped in the murder house. They watched the elaborate skincare ritual every morning. Carefully peeling away masks and applying serums. How very American Psycho of him. You loved the new look. You made sure everyone in the office new you’d made the right choice. Michael loved the new attention, but he made sure you knew he only had eyes for you. He even planned on offering you a better job in Kineros’ legal team, just so he could keep you close and get you out of the sector you complained about so often. //// A strange thing happened one night. Michael took the camcorder down into the basement with him, setting the lens to record his newest victim. After he was done, he burned the footage onto a disk. What was he up to? //// You were on autopilot as you opened your door. You felt numb. Ms Grace had become another victim to ‘the Alpha’ along with one of your neighbours. You spent the entire day in police interviews, trying to make sense on the situation. As you walked into the house, you stepped on something. A thick envelope, labelled only with your name. You picked it up with shaky hands and opened it. In it was just an unlabelled disc and a sticky note saying ‘love from the Alpha’. It made your blood run cold. This had to be a joke. Some was messing with you; it could be the only explanation. You ran to your DVD player, you had to see what was on the disc, you hoped it was some shitty quality movie ripped from the internet. The video came on, starting in a dark room. The camera turned to a woman tied up, it zoomed in on her face and you immediately recognised her as Ms Grace. Your eyes widened and you felt ill, running to the bathroom to be sick. It was still playing when you came back, changing to a different video. It was dark again but it all seemed so familiar. The camera panned up and you gasped, your hands covering your face. It was a video of you, sleeping in your own home. You no longer felt safe here. You quickly took the disc out and grabbed your essentials, running to your car. As you pulled out your street, you had no idea what turn to take. Turning right would lead to the police station, you could submit the disc and ask for protection. However, they rarely did anything about stalking cases, and the disc had your finger prints all-over it. A left turn would lead to Michael. You felt safe around him and you were sure he could offer you comfort at this time. The beeping behind you made you make your decision. //// You pulled up outside Michael’s house. You rapidly knocked on the door, there was no answer. No light was on in the house. You prayed to whoever that would listen that he didn’t have any other plans for the night. As you lost hope and looked around, your eyes fell to the imposing structure next door. You remembered a conversation where he had said he was restoring the home. A light was on. With a deep breath, you ran up the steps, repeating your previous actions and hoping for a response. A shocked Michael opened the door. You immediately wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest and sobbing. You didn’t notice the feral look he had going on. Hair dishevelled and blood-stained clothes. He gently put the knife down and wrapped his arms around you, cooing and shushing you. Telling you to calm down and it would all be okay. He was glad you were wearing a dark colour; you hadn’t noticed the stickiness of his hands and the stain they left. He gently moved you into the house, shutting the door. He used his magic to shut the basement door too. Your face was still buried in his arm as he walked you up the stairs. You should have paid attention to your strange surroundings. The ghosts of the house looked at you with the greatest of pity, wishing they could do something.

He sat you down on the bed, kneeling before you and taking your hands in his. “Hey, look at me. What’s going on?” he asked gently, wiping your eyes. You sniffled and calmed your breathing, trying not to freak out again as you explained the situation to him. “I… I think he’s after me,” you whispered. “Who’s ‘he?” “The Alpha, he’s after me, I know it.” Michael paused, you must have seen the DVD. He had to stop himself from laughing. “Why do you think that hmm?” his thumb stroked your cheek. “Three people I know have died and then I got this DVD in the mail,” you paused, “It… it’s a video of Ms Grace tied up and then one of me sleeping,” you began to cry again. Michael sat on the bed next to you, pulling you in for a hug, you buried your face into him again, taking in his scent and trying to calm down. “You’re the only person I feel safe around,” you mumbled. Michael smiled into your hair. He had you exactly where he wanted. ////

You decided to wash your face after you had calmed down. Wetting a towel with cold water, you placed it on your eyes in an attempt to de-puff them. The ghosts thought this was the perfect opportunity to warn you about your possible doom. Vivienne pulled open the shower curtain behind you. Revealing a bathtub full of ice and another victim placed in it. However, their plan didn’t seem to work. You didn’t even look back at the sound, having walked out the bathroom just in-time. Michael was sitting on the bad, waiting for you. He had changed into more casual clothing and was rolling a joint. “It might help you calm down,” he smiled up at you, twisting the end off. You sat back on the bed and joined him, relaxing into the headboard. The conversation was casual and mundane, something you really needed right now. Between the sound of his voice and the passing of the joint, you had no idea how much time had passed. All you knew at this moment was that you wanted to be as close to him as possible. Hands began to wander, and your lips met for a heated kiss, you ended up straddling him. You let yourself be lost in the haze, not knowing exactly when your clothes came off, just that you enjoyed the feel of his skin on yours. You lifted your hips, moving to finally having him inside you, to be as close as you could be. You waited a little, resting your forehead on his shoulder as you got used to his size and took it all in. The feeling of his hands rubbing up and down your spine was blissful. His hands finally rested on your hips, gripping them and encouraging you to finally move. You complied, taking your time. You moved away from his shoulder. He took the opportunity to leave marks all over your breasts. It just felt so good. You could feel that you wouldn’t last much longer, your movements becoming sloppier. Michael rested his hand on your throat, his face morphed into something a lot more vicious than you were used to. It must have rang some alarm bells, but you weren’t listening. His grip on your neck tightened, and his hips began to thrust up, meeting your movements. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as his grip tightened once more, causing the coil in your belly to snap. Your legs shook, walls pulsing around him as he followed not long after. He pulled you into a deep kiss by your neck, slowly moving you off him and onto the bed. You lay there catching your breath, staring into his eyes. Just for that brief moment, nothing else mattered, forgetting about the serial killer that was on the hunt somewhere. You got closer to him and got comfortable, your head resting on his chest, being lulled by his heartbeat. “I was thinking,” he started. “Hmm?” you mumbled back, enjoying the vibration of his speech. “Maybe you should take a break from work for a while and stay with me for a bit, just until things calm down,” he suggested. At that moment in time, the combined high of weed and sex made it seem like a genius idea. Surely it was the most obvious solution? “Yeah it’s a good idea,” you yawned. The exhaustion caught up to you, your heavy eyes falling shut. Michael squeezed you just a little tighter and smirked up at the residents that had surrounded you. Their looks of pity towards you were something else. Michael buried his face into your hair, turning off the lights around him. It was the most blissful sleep he had had in years.

////

You woke up sometime the next afternoon. Michael was nowhere to be seen. After using (the now empty) bathroom, you ventured through the house. It looked different. It looked complete in a way. The tarp, random cans of paint and building materials that you were sure where there last night, were gone. It was as if it had been transformed overnight. The strangest thing was how familiar the décor and interior looked. It looked like a bigger version of your own home. It felt familiar yet uncomfortably so. Quite frankly, it looked like your dream home, styled as if it was going to featured in Architectural Digest. You knew it didn’t look like this last night, nothing close to it. Then you thought back to the wardrobe upstairs, the one you had sleepily pulled your current clothing out of. It was full of your own clothing. Clothing that you didn’t bring with you. Did Michael do this while you were asleep? When did he get the time? You scoured the house for your car keys and purse. Only finding pieces of familiar décor instead. Your stomach got the better of you, heading to the kitchen and hopefully finding something to eat. The pantry was stocked full of your favourites, pulling out a box of your favourite cereal. It was at this moment you were sure that all the pieces were taken from your home. One of the cereal bowls had the same chip that yours had. The nervousness and paranoia of last night began to seep back into you, your face visibly twisted in those emotions. As you mindlessly ate your cereal, the basement door creaked open. You stopped mid chew to look. You quickly swallowed and slowly walked towards it. Telling yourself that there was nothing to fear, and that you were just going to shut it. You heard a thud as you reached the door. Maybe Michael was down there and needed some help or something. You slowly walked down the steps, being careful not to make any noise. Your hand covered your mouth to stop your scream and prevent you from vomiting from the smell. The image forever burned into your memory. There was blood everywhere. Michael had his back turned to you, you were sure he hadn’t sensed your presence yet. You slowly backed away, trying to be quiet and not alert him. You let out a shaky breath when you were back in the hallway. You didn’t care about finding your things now, you had to get out of here. The front door wouldn’t budge open, the backdoor was no different. None of the window’s downstairs would open either. You then remember one of the windows was cracked open in the room you were sleeping in. You may injure yourself, but it looked like your only way out. You pushed the window up even further, making enough room for you to jump out. You hoisted one leg over the ledge, looking out for your landing spot. You prepared yourself to move the other leg, but it wouldn’t budge. You tugged at it a few times before looking back. Those blue, rage filled eyes were staring back at you, holding your leg, and preventing you from getting out. “Get. Back. In.,” he said, through clenched teeth. You shook your head, looking away from him. You didn’t want to think about who’s blood he was covered in. “Please let me go,” you whispered, hoping he’d take mercy on you somehow. His grip just got tighter. You mustered up all your strength, kicking him off you. He let go of your leg, it gave you enough time to jump. You felt the wind rush around you as you fell. You hit the ground a lot harder than you thought. Your head ricocheted off the ground painfully. You ignored the crunch your legs made. Everything hurt so bad, the pain wouldn’t even let you scream. You knew you had calculated your fall right. The ghosts thought you did too, all watching with various shocked expressions. You tried to move and look around you and stay awake. You could only look up. Through your darkening vision, the last thing you saw was Michael leaning out the window, smiling down at you. The cat had caught the canary.

////

You groaned in pain as you opened your eyes.

The light was blinding, difficult to adjust to.

Where were you? Why were you here? How long had it been?

As you looked around, the room looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Oh? You’re finally awake, It’s been a few days, I missed seeing your eyes” a male voice spoke from beside you.

You slowly turned your head to the voice.

The man looked familiar; you raked your brain to figure out who it was.

He placed his hand on your cheek, you hissed and flinched as he stroked scabby and bruised skin. “Look at you. If you had stayed inside, we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”

His eyes finally met yours and everything came rushing back.

A feeling of dread overtook you. You tried to shuffle away from him, but something was preventing you from moving.

You tried to figure out what it was. Looking yourself over, noticing the blanket was bulky.

You momentarily forgot about the predator in the room, pulling the blanket away and revealing your legs, both in casts.

One of the casts had been signed, ‘get well soon, Love, your Alpha’.

You wanted to sob, but you knew any sudden movements would be painful.

Michael rolled his eyes and pulled the blanket back over you, tucking you in.

“If you’re good, you’ll get your painkillers. If you’re bad…,” he leaned over you, putting his weight on your legs, “I’ll cut them off next time,” he grinned.

He got onto the other side of the bed, holding you close to him, squeezing you just a little too tight, and giving your forehead a kiss.

Not even the apocalypse could get you out of his grasp now, he’d kill you both before anything tried to take you from him. Wherever you were, that was his sanctuary. Even if it meant eternal torment in the pits of hell, it didn’t matter, as long as it was with you.