#I have environmental samples to drop off

[thelastspeecher]

I had a brief med check appointment with my doctor this morning and wound up telling her the Bad Time I was/have been going through to explain why I was crying so much my throat hurt and I wanted her to take a look at it to make sure I didn't do something to it. From crying. Which, given how hard and painfully I cry, was a concern. My abs were sore like I'd gone to the gym that first week.

And she immediately checked in on how I was coping (increased therapy sessions, strong support system) and then told me that I'm going to be grieving for a while. That there's going to be random things, esp around the holidays, that trigger strong emotions bc I'm reminded of my dog and grandmother.

And a) I'm glad she's so on top of things, in particular that she flat-out told me if I experience strong negative emotions without triggers, just feeling really bad in general, to call the office for help. And b) BOY HOWDY was she right bc I saw a damn Costco truck while I was driving back to the lab and that made me cry bc my grandmother offered to get me a Costco membership for my birthday last year. And I told her I didn't want one right now but maybe later.

And uhhhhhh that later will never come now

[planetaryupscaled]

Disenchanted 3: Public Indecency

Male Reader x Karina

Tags: 3k, blackmail, cheating, creampie

The story is not ours, we alternate the original story to match our desired settings.

Ever since the day at the carnival I sensed a change in Karina. It was almost as if her last few emotional links to Jaewook had finally fractured and torn. The consequence to this was our relationship, if you could call it that became stronger.

Karina was less concerned about being married, her go to line anytime we were about to part take in anything remotely physical. It got to the point that she removed her wedding ring every time we indulged ourselves in satisfying our desires for one another. Jaewook on the other hand began falling deeper and deeper into a downward spiral, we met at least once a week to talk through his issues with Karina. Every time his solutions for fixing his marriage became more and more desperate.

“I don’t know how long we can go on like this.” Jaewook said, as we sat at a random bar off the side of the highway.

“It feels like our marriage has turned into a set of a show, like it’s all smiles and waves for the public, but in private, we go our separate ways.” Jaewook followed up.

I sat back, knocking down a shot of whisky, placing my hands on his shoulders.

“Give her more time, it must be tough for both of you.” I replied.

Jaewook shrugged his shoulders, a solitary tear falling down his cheeks.

“We haven’t had sex in weeks, her answers are cold, I dunno how I can fix this...what do I do?” He asked, eyes pleading for an answer.

Hearing this, jabbed sharply at my conscience as it was only a few hours ago that Karina and I had fucked in her car after she dropped the kids off to school. I still had her peach-colored lipstick marks smeared along the length of my cock after sucked me to completion, taking my pent up load down her married throat. It was becoming her thing, swallowing was once a taboo, a no no, but ever since we got together, having me finish in her mouth had always hit the right spot. It gave me a sense of pride, knowing she only swallowed me, only my load satiated her hunger. Jaewook and I polished off another few rounds before I called him a cab to take him home. The situation was getting untenable in the Lee household, only pushing Karina further into my arms, it was the perfect situation form me yet little did I know, things were going to get much more complicated.

—

“Hey, so I had a chat with corporate, and they have green us the green light to roll some sample products out at the local businesses.” Nayoung said, handing me the paperwork granting us more budget for the final push marketing our new lines.

“Hmmm that is a great news...I was thinking, maybe we could do something along the lines of nature, maybe draw upon the ecological and environmentally friendly products we have.” I replied.

“I will run it past the team and get back to you.” Nayoung said with a smile before we heard a knock at the door.

It was Karina, her hair wrapped neatly in a bun, wearing a striking pink number, accentuating her flawless toned legs.

“Morning team.” She said smiling.

“Just spoke to Yeonjun outside, good work on securing more funds for our new lines. I was thinking perhaps, marketing some at the local aquarium, drawing upon our environmental packaging and natural ingredients. They have a save the ocean exhibit on at the moment.” Karina said.

Nayoung looked at me with a smile.

“Looks like you have got your answer Boss.” Nayoung said.

Karina looked at me a little perplexed.

“I was just saying we should link our products up with our local businesses, hammering down on our eco-friendly appeal.” I said smiling.

“Great minds.” Replied Karina, laughing.

“Great...team day it is.” I said.

“Gather the troops, maybe we can all go down there, perhaps get some contacts, throw some ideas around.” I replied.

“You free Karina? You can be our secret weapon in getting them to potentially work with us.” I said.

“Are you planning in using me to further your professional career.” She replied smirking.

“You hit the nail right on the head.” I replied, grabbing my coat and walking towards her.

Nayoung was outside with Sohye and Yeonjun getting ready to go. I took the opportunity to peck Karina on the lips quickly, getting another hit of her womanly scent.

“Minho! People...” She startled.

“Might see...” I finished, kissing her again causing Karina to break out in a smile.

“Cmon, let’s go.” I said, opening the door and leading us out.

The local aquarium was only ten minutes away. The entire walk, Sohye and Nayoung updated Karina on various ideas they had on ways to spread our new lines on social media. I caught Yeonjun checking Karina out on a number of occasions, his eyes flickering towards her long slender legs as we reached our destination. I couldn’t blame him she was a very attractive woman. Nevertheless, I felt myself grow ever more protective over her, as I slowly began to realize, what we had was more than just the physical, I was actually falling for her completely.

My musings of how deep my relationship with Karina was, were quickly interrupted by the murmuring of the public around us. She had been recognized and approached by a number of fans asking for her autograph and picture. Karina dealt with it like a pro, smiling and stopping for photos while I flagged the manager. We spoke for a few moments regarding our impromptu visit and plans we had. The brief chat actually going better than I expected as he invited Karina and I to discuss our ideas in more detail. Flagging down Nayoung, I gave her the company card and told her to take the team out for lunch while Karina and I talked to the manager of the aquarium for a bit longer. He seemed, not surprisingly infatuated with Karina’s beauty, nodding and agreeing with everything she said. It took around fifteen minutes flat to organize a small event in the early part of next week to coincide with the finale of their save the Oceans exhibit.

“And that is why I brought you...” I said, whispering in Karina’s ear.

She smiled, slapping me on the arm as we finished up the meeting.

“Do you guys want me to show you around, we have special piece we are doing on Sea Turtles at the moment, not available for the public yet.” The manager asked hopefully.

Karina paused, looking at me.

“Sure.” I said, seeing Karina glare her eyes at me.

“Was this not meant to be a team day?” Karina said, whispering in my ear.

“Nayoung can look after them, besides, I told them to go around and get some lunch, we can all meet up after.” I replied, as we followed the manager around to the back of the complex.

The rumble of the public gradually dissipated to a low murmur as we made our way into a large open space, surrounded my glass screens, behind which was an endless volume of blue. Giant sea turtles floated gently by, as if waving to us as they circled upwards to the surface flanked by numerous colorful fish zipping effortlessly in and out of the artificial coral reefs.

“This is it!” The manager said proudly.

His eyes still glued to Karina as she stared at the beautiful creatures swimming in the deep.

“So when is this exhibit open?” Karina asked in wonder.

“About two weeks, you guys are the first to see it.” He said smiling.

I could see his eyes travel the length of her body the moment she turned around before his visual perversions were disrupted by a loud bang. It came from the main area down the hallway, with some load shouts. It sounded like there was a bit of a scuffle going down from the sounds of the screaming.

“Shit...what now?” The manager said, in frustration.

“Guys...have a look around and come back the way we came...my team will be in contact with you later this week to tidy up the details.” He said.

“It was nice to meet you...both of you.” He followed up, his face showing disappointment at having to leave the company of the once famous Idol.

We watched him leave before sighing in relief.

“He had such the hots for you Karina!” I said chuckling.

“I could feel his eyes on me every time I turned around...it felt- ughh a little creepy.” She said with a frown.

“Why...does it make you jealous when other guys check me out?” Karina asked closing the gap, gently smiling.

“A little...” I replied, kissing her lips.

“That is kinda cute.” She said kissing me back.

“I know right, it’s a problem the jealousy that is, it causes this really bad pent up tension you know.” I replied sarcastically.

“Oh...really.” She said raising her eyebrows.

“Don’t- don’t even say it mister.” Karina said, placing her fingers on my lips.

I looked at her suggestively, wrapping my hands around her waist as I eased her gently onto the glass of the aquarium.

“Minho...seriously...people...might...uhm...see...ughh...us.” She replied, her voice fading into light moans as my hands caressed her tight body.

“Let’s not pretend you don’t secretly like it...” I replied, kissing her down her body as my hands drifted up her dress.

“I do...ughh but- ohh god...that feels- good.” She replied, her pussy creaming in my palm.

“Just a quick...pump and dump.” I said with a smirk.

“A what...? who do you think you are talking to?” Karina said going bright red.

I kissed her full lips, biting down on her lower lip as I continued feeling her up under her dress.

“Shit...seriously- we...ughhh...might...unhh...get...caught...” Karina moaned.

My hand continuing to squeeze and massage her rapidly dampening pussy, causing her to adjust her stance to allow me better access to her burning sex.

“Maybe- ughh…maybe- a quick...pump.” She whispered breathlessly smacking my arm smirking, as she eased her legs open for me, the pleasure emanating from her slit causing a long groan to leave her lips.

Her purring was getting louder as I pierced her wet folds with my fingers, stroking her deep inside her womanly cavern. She ran her fingers through my hair, gripping my head tightly as I slung one of her legs over my shoulders, pushing her standing leg onto her tip toes. My tongue buried into the far reach depths of her married cunt as she flexed her walls around my face, creaming profusely over my mouth.

“Minho- quick…I need you…inside me...” Karina moaned impatiently, her need to be filled spilling out at the surface, rocking her head back and shutting her eyes.

I gave her folds one long lick, the drool from her pussy now forming thick strands on my lips as I hoovered up her sex for the final time.

“I thought...you were afraid of getting caught?” I said, raising my eyebrows as I slipped my drenched fingers from her glistening slit.

“Ughhh- fuck...I still…am, ohh…i can’t believe I’m letting you do this to me...” Karina replied, her eyes now filling with lust.

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked, petting her throbbing clit with my lips.

“Don’t you dare!” Karina, replied gritting her teeth and pulling me up to my feet.

“You want it?” I asked, taking her slippery tongue into my mouth and sucking down hard.

I could feel the vibrations of Karina groaning into my mouth, spreading her legs for me as I hiked up her dress.

“I love it...” She replied, kissing me back and wrapping her left leg around my waist.

Her hands were searching down my torso, fumbling for my zipper as we kissed deeply, our tongues clashing, exchanging spit as she finally set me free. My cock springing out from my trousers, the top of my shaft rubbing tantalizingly along the bottom of her sex. I could feel the warmth of her slit through her now soaked underwear, a mixture of her sensual cream and my spit coating my length as I rubbed up against her.

“Put it in...” Karina whispered, rolling her head into my hands as I supported her upper back in my right arm.

It was a moment of raw passion as we locked eyes, her mouth agape as I thrust my hips forward, piercing her wet folds with my cock. There was no time to take her underwear off I just wanted to be in her, as deep and as hard as I could, fucking my length up to the hilt till I bottomed out inside her precious pussy. Karina was slick, her hands clawing at my back as we found our rhythm, each pump of my dick bringing her further off the ground as her standing leg struggled to reach the floor.

“Karina...you feel so fucking good...” I moaned into her hear.

“Ughhh- keep going...just...like- that.” She replied, eyes shut tight as I nailed her against the glass.

All you could hear each time I penetrated her married cunt were the slaps of our flesh and a deep thud of her rear slamming hard against the aquarium wall. The coolness of the glass rubbing on her back side as I continuously stuffed her with my meat, stretching her tight pussy with my girth as my tip smashed up on her cervix, deep within her womb.

Karina scratched at my back, her breath now ragged as she was losing control, I could feel the walls of her cunt gradually intensify its grip on my straining cock as I pierced her slick folds. The cream from her cunt now dripping down my thighs as I fucked her full of my cock in the dimly lit aquarium.

“Fuckk...deeper- fuck...me...deeper...” Karina whispered hurriedly in my ear.

She was close, her body was tensing as I cradled both arms around her upper back, protecting the back of her head from what was about to happen.

“You want it deep baby?” I asked, my eyes burning with desire.

She nodded, biting her lip as her orgasm began to build.

“Hold on...” I said, kissing her deeply one more time as the brunette braced her core.

Karina knew what was coming, opening her thighs wider for me to allow for my deeper strokes. Gripping the back of her head I mercilessly pumped my dick deep inside her cunt, assaulting her married pussy with my invading cock as I stuffed her wanting womb with my meat.

“ughh...anhh...fuckk...” Karina screamed, her wails reverberating off the glass as I pummeled her cunt for all I was worth.

“Karina...I can’t hold on much...much longer...” I said, my breath now haggard as I continued to pump her.

“Fuck...unghh- inside...cum…inside me.” Karina moaned, now finding it hard to catch her breath as I began to creampied her inside.

It was like breaking a dam, as a river of warm sticky spunk flowed from my tip, seeding Karina’s married pussy. Spurt after spurt coated her pink womb as her cunt walls sucked on my shaft like a hoover, her thighs shaking as we climaxed simultaneously. Holding me close in her grasp, she swayed her hips forward, fucking more of my spasming cock into her tight cavern, milking my meat to completion as I pumped her full of my pent up sperm. Our sweaty bodies slowed in tempo, my twitching dick still buried inside her as I lowered her legs back onto the floor, my warm sperm leaking from her slit and trickling down her toned thighs as we kissed deeply, my hips thrusting one last time to make sure she took all my load inside her womb.

In the thralls of passion, I thought I spotted another person’s reflection in the glass, turning around in a shock but to no avail.

“What...what’s the matter?” Karina asked breathlessly.

She continued to rock her hips, not letting me disengage as the she reveled in the feeling of my seed swimming around inside her.

“Nothing...thought I saw something that’s all.” I replied, still gathering my thoughts.

“I feel so full...you came a lot” she said smirking as I slipped my member from her depths.

A stream of my cum came pouring out, mixed with her womanly grool and cream. The milky substance leaving a trail of destruction down her legs as the rest splashed on the concrete floor.

“You are so bad...” She smiled seductively, hitting my arm.

She was right, we were a very risky pair indeed, seeking out dangerous situations to satisfy our darkest desires.

“Hey, are you guys still here?” The manager’s voice called out from behind us.

Startled, I quickly buttoned my cock back into my trousers, handing Karina a tissue to wipe up the mess I made down her inner legs. Slightly red faced I turned around waving to him as I approached.

“Lovely turtles.” I said, motioning to the deep blue.

Karina joining me by my side, like nothing happened smiled and thanked the man for showing us around. It seemed to work as he flushed red showing us back to the entrance. She still had a smudge of my spunk on her inner leg which she quickly dispatched before the manager noticed, taking it between her pink lips and swallowing it down discretely.

“Your friends have been waiting a while, they are just outside.” He said pointing to the door.

We shook hands once more and departed, meeting the team outside.

“Where were you guys?” Nayoung asked.

“Eh the manager was a bit of a fan, he insisted in showing us around the new exhibit, we figured it was the least we could do for allowing us to market some of our products here.” Karina replied smiling.

Nayoung smiled giving me a small post it.

“Hajoon our director was here, he left with Yeonjun and went back to the office, he says he wants to discuss something with you guys.” Nayoung said slightly concerned.

“Is everything ok?” She asked.

“I assume its to update him on our progress, but why did Yeonjun go?” I asked.

“Dunno Boss, they were talking about a proposal of some sort.” Nayoung said shrugging her shoulders.

Karina looked at me slightly confused as we made our way back to work. Back inside, Karina went ahead to Hajoon’s office while I fixed my sweaty appearance, washing my face with cold water to gather my thoughts. When I knocked on the director’s door and entered, Karina was already sitting down, her expression looked worried for some reason.

“Please, sit Minho.” Hajoon said, pointing at the chair next to Karina.

Yeonjun was sitting on the side his face slightly piqued at my entrance, taking a seat on the cool leather chair.

Hajoon sighed, pushing out a phone on the table.

“It has come to my attention, that a senior manager and an important member of the board have been...partaking in less than professional activities.” He said.

I gulped hard, sweat now forming on my brow as he continued to speak ushering Yeonjun over to us. Yeonjun air played the phone to the tv monitor on the wall, pressing play. It was hard to make out at first, but when the video came into focus there was no denying what we were watching. It was Karina and I, fucking in the aquarium, you could clearly see her face resting on my shoulder, moaning into my neck as I was thrusting my cock deep inside her.

Hajoon’s face was oddly stoic, like we were in a business deal as he wrapped his fingers.

“You both know what this means, if this was to get out.” He said.

“That sounds like a threat...” I replied, my anger building as I turned my attention to Yeonjun.

“Seriously, leverage?” I said to Yeonjun, who remained looking at the floor.

“Don’t blame him, he was in the right to come to me.” Hajoon said.

Karina was sitting quietly next to me, her hands pressed together as we both listened to how our fates would unravel.

“So, what now?” I asked curtly.

“I can make this go away, delete this video and we can all go about our lives.” Hajoon replied, his voice taking on a sinister tone.

“What’s the catch...?” I asked.

“The catch is… a night with me.” Karina replied, her face flushed in embarrassment.

“What? No, absolutely not.” I replied.

Hajoon smiled, silently surveying us both, he had us dead to rights as he wrote something on a piece of paper.

“As you both may know, I am stepping down soon, the rumors are true.” Hajoon said.

“Now, I like you, I really do Karina, you are hardworking and great for the company... you are also very beautiful.” He followed up.

“I was actually going to offer this in exchange for...your body, but Yeonjun with his evidence had made it too good not to accelerate.” Hajoon said calmly.

“When I retire, I will transfer my shares to you Karina, giving you 30% of the company...in return for a night with you.” He said.

“As part of this deal, Yeonjun will also want a night with you, in return, he will delete the video once we finish… our transaction.” Hajoon said coldly.

I nearly punched both of them right there, before Karina grasped my hand.

“Don’t...” She said exasperated.

“I’ll do it... I’ll do it as long as you are there with me.” She said, a tear tricking down her face.

There was a deft silence in the room, I had no idea how to react to that before Hajoon spoke up.

“See, an amicable solution.” Hajoon said.

“After this Yeonjun, I am firing your ass.” I said, my voice laced in venom.

He shrugged his shoulders smirking.

“It’s totally worth it.” He said, pointing at the television as Karina and I fucked on screen.

“See you both soon...” Hajoon said, showing us the door, a wry smile spread on his wrinkly old face...

[fractured-legacies]

Imprudent, Chapter 4: Collisions

Prologue | Chapter 3

Chapter 4: Collisions

Based on our observations, it appears that the human population on Nephaas is dominated by a locally adapted Hibernaramus variant, although isolated populations of extreme-cold and extreme-heat adapted ramuses have been identified in the equatorial and polar regions respectively. All three ramus types were attested to in our records, but other ramus types that should also exist on the planet seem to have been reduced or eliminated due to the extreme local environmental pressures.

At present, due to our limited resources, we have decided against attempting to make contact or gain small tissue samples for analysis. Most of our efforts continue to be directed towards determining the cause of our failed transit.

~o0O0o~

Raavi ava Laargan

Waking up, I clamped my mouth shut and rolled out of bed. Over by my desk was the small project I had worked on for the last week—a clockwork tower that fit over my sand tray. Grabbing the quartz die from where it sat, I Breathed out into it. Then, as it glowed with the usual green-yellow, I smoothed out the sand and drew a line down the middle.

Taking a deep breath, I set the clockwork contraption on top of the tray and started it spinning. Then, bracing myself, I asked my question, and dropped the glowing die into the chute at the top.

Down it went, bouncing off of gears and paddles; the designs I had found at the library had insisted that this mechanism would help improve the prediction accuracy significantly. I could only hope that they were right.

Finally, the die bounced down the final chute and landed in the sand bowl, sending up a small wave of sand grains.

Looking down at the die sitting in the sand-filled tray, I tried to keep my frown from growing too much. It was so much better to find out this way, so I rose from where I was kneeling and put it away. Of course, I was disappointed, but, well…

It was better this way.

I kept repeating that to myself as I bathed, taking a brisk shower—the water was cooler than normal, and I made a note to check the water heater—and then went downstairs. There I found a few of my housemates awake and off-shift. It was the usual collection that I’d grown used to over the last few weeks of winter. Stylio was sitting in my father’s armchair, reading a book from my mother’s library of medical books, apparently absorbed. Zoy wasn’t present, thankfully. There was no way I could have kept my expression steady if she’d been there.

Over by the kitchen table, a bunch of other overwinterers were clustered around a board game I didn't recognize. They all had hands of cards that they were examining, and in the middle of the table there was an intricate board laden with small wooden and metal pieces, and more cards spread out between them. Judging by the mugs of beer and bowls of snacks, most of them half-empty, they’d been at it for a while.

Janiina grinned from behind her hand, slapped down a card, and said, “I charge five quartz and three pyrite with Breath!”

I had no idea what that meant, but by the way the others groaned and cursed, I guessed it was good for her. I just went into the kitchen and quietly put some breakfast together. The leftovers from the Sundown Feast were long since gone, and we were now working through the stocks of preserved foods and staples from the pantry, as well as a ration of milk from the small dairy.

Making myself some toast and tea—I was definitely going to have to get my mother some more—I settled in a chair and ate, my mind on other things. I still had my project, plus my shifts at the ironworks. And besides, hadn’t Stylio said that she was a wandering penitent? Given how the mayor treated them, there was no way that they’d want to stay for longer than the winter, so it was better this way.

I kept telling myself that as I took the empty plate and cup over to the sink and gave them a rinse before putting them in the drying rack; nearby, the game was still progressing, and judging by the pile of tokens in front of Janiina and the enormous grin on her face, she was probably going to win.

As much as they looked like they were having fun, I wanted to be alone at the moment, so I gave some polite comments and made my way down to the basement, where my workshop was.

Lighting the oilsap lamp with my new lighter, I looked at my project, walking around it and testing the parts and connections. It looked like it was just about ready. I had a few parts left to make at the ironworks, and I’d probably be able to finish it up before I went back to sleep. And then I could take it out for a try; it was definitely cold and windy enough to use at this point in the season.

Which meant that it was time for me to get over to the ironworks and put in some time.

Heading back upstairs, I went into the antechamber and started suiting up for the bone-chilling cold outside. Thick wool socks. Boots with steel cleats. Two layers of pants. Three layers of shirts, the innermost made of fabric that would wick away my sweat. Scarf. A fur-lined coat that I had inherited from my father, with a thick hood. A fur-lined hat with flaps that would cover my ears. Gloves. A pair of goggles that would keep my eyes covered from the wind; I’d heard that it was possible to have your eyelids freeze shut from your own tears freezing on the eyelashes, and was in no hurry to experience that. It was already cold and windy enough that frostbite was a serious risk, and while I could heal it with some Breath, as my mother would say, a whistle of prevention was worth a cantata of cure.

As I finished suiting up, I looked in the mirror. I was still new enough at this that I wasn’t certain that I’d gotten it right without checking. While it could get cold in the autumn and spring, it was nothing like the blasting cold winds coming from the south now, and during the summer, the usual clothing was more designed around linens that would cool the skin and protect against the unending sun. Lots of billowing shirts, skirts, and pants, sandals, and wide hats. The winter outfit was still novel, if not new, and I wasn’t taking any chances.

After checking myself over in the mirror, I nodded, closed the inner door, and opened the outer.

It was cold.

I knew to expect that, but still.

The sky overhead was speckled with stars and clouds, even as the Night-Light glowed in the dark; snow piled in drifts alongside the buildings, even though they were built to channel the winds as they went north to south. I shifted my shoulders uncomfortably; my braid was lying between my shirts and the coat, and it felt caught and tangled between the fabrics, which were already binding in ways I wasn’t yet used to.

Sighing, I started off down the street, making little shifts of my head and shoulders as I tried to dislodge my hair and let it lie naturally. I probably looked pretty silly, what with my shoulders hunched up and jerking my head and shoulders in weird ways, but there was no one around that I could see.

Thankfully.

I got to the ironworks just as the braid cleared whatever obstruction was keeping it from hanging right, of course.

Sighing again, I pulled off my coat and other cold weather gear, hung them, and started on my shift. It was time to focus on my job and my own projects, and put distractions out of mind.

#

Lady Fiaswith of House Rechneesse

With a deep, invigorating sigh, the kind of sigh that came from relief at an unexpected rescue, Fia stretched herself out, feeling and hearing her joints crackle and pop in sequence. It was the first time she’d been able to stretch in far, far too long, but even with her newfound freedom, she couldn’t resist giving a shuddering look back at the trunk she’d been in for all that time. Refusing to let that nightmare color her thoughts too much—she knew that it would make an appearance in her nightmares later, and she’d attend to it then—she looked up at the cloaked figure who was busy stripping the dead man in the lee of the wagon.

“Thank you,” she said, infusing her voice with every bit of heartfelt gratitude that she could.

The figure nodded and rose, holding up the man’s cloak for Fia. “Here. You’ll need this.” The voice coming out from behind the scarf was feminine, with a Dormelion accent. From Kasmenarta itself, if she didn’t miss her guess. Interesting.

Taking the offered garment, Fia examined it. It had just a few bloodstains discoloring it, the blood rapidly freezing in the chill. “Thanks.” She threw the cloak over her bare shoulders. “I’ve survived worse, but still not fun. How did you know that I’d be in there?”

“You wouldn’t believe me. But I had to help.”

Nodding, Fia took in the figure; she had a bow and quiver slung over a heavy winter cloak, with a rucksack dangling underneath the cloak, and was working at unlacing the body’s boots. “Well, I appreciate it, more than I can say.”

The figure nodded as the laces came undone. “Here. You’ll need these too. Be stupid if I rescued you from that trunk and you got frostbite.”

Fia shook her head, feeling her joints ache despite her earlier stretches. In the back of her mind, she could hear the murmuring growing softer and softer, but she ignored it. It was hardly new, and it had been her constant companion while she’d been in the trunk. “Indeed. I appreciate that too. So, was the rescue entirely out of the goodness of your heart?”

“No. But you knew that, didn’t you?” One boot, and then the other, was tossed to Fia by the other woman. “Here. I’ll work on those coats next, but they got a bit messed up.”

“I also doubt that they’d fit me properly,” Fia said, roughly shoving her feet into the boots before holding her arms out as if for presentation; she was taller than both of the dead men, and with broader biceps and a much bigger chest. Aside from the cloak and boots, the only things she had on were the bloodstained sleeveless shirt and lounging pants she’d been ambushed in. “Better not waste time on them. It won’t be fun, but I’ll deal until I… we?, get to a town and I can buy or steal something that fits. I don’t want to be slowed down by something that’ll bind me up.”

The figure nodded. “All right then.” Whoever she was, she didn’t question the fact that Fia had no serious problems with the extreme cold and wind… but given what she’d already done, Fia knew that this woman knew some of her secrets.

Well, if this woman was her enemy, she damn well would have left her in that trunk. So for now, she was going to treat the other woman as an ally, even if her motivations were unknown. Which meant that pragmatic questions came next.

“Any weapons?” she asked after she got the laces tied.

“Yes, a sword and this one had a crossbow. About thirty bolts.”

“I’ll take both, if that’s all right with you.”

“It is. I have enough with me.”

Fia nodded and took the weapons, belting them on, and examining the carriage as she did so. It had two shaggy horses hitched to it, both of them standing in their harnesses, snow building up around their manes. The carriage itself was a practical affair for traveling in winter. It had ski runners, its wheels stowed in brackets on the side, and was loaded with fodder for the horses and supplies for the men.

And the trunk.

She looked away.

“Pragmatically,” she said, forcing her voice to be even, “we should take the carriage to the nearest town and see what we can get there.”

“I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

“But. I think you’ll understand if I really don’t want to.”

“Oh, believe me, I understand. Fortunately, the town of Rhaanbach is right nearby, maybe a mile or two down that way,” the other woman said, pointing down the snow-covered road.

“Not familiar with the place,” Fia said, checking the crossbow’s action; it was well-oiled, but the cold had made it gum up a bit. She worked it a few times just to make sure that would release the bolt when she pulled the trigger, and then hung it across her back from the strap.

“Medium industrial town, specializes in glass and ironworks. We’re in the duchy of Hoochlicht, if that helps.”

Fia frowned and nodded. She was a bit far from…

From home.

That thought gave her pause. Home really was where the heart was, wasn’t it?

She pushed the thought away, and turned to the figure. “Got a name? Thinking ‘you’ all the time isn’t terribly helpful.”

With a crinkle of a smile behind her scarf, the other woman said, “Yufemya.”

“Ah, so I can go by ‘You’ for short?”

“Ha! If you want.”

Fia went around to the horses, and started unbuckling their harnesses. “Well, it’ll make calling out in a fight easier. ‘Hey, Yu!’”

Yufemya scoffed. “I’m going to remember that one.”

“I hope so! Mind you, I’m choosing to try to laugh right now.”

Yufemya glanced at the trunk and then back to Fia. “Understandable.”

With the harnesses unbuckled, Fia considered the supplies in the cart. Travel in winter was harsh and hard; while there were waystations where a traveler with deep pockets or the correct writ of passage could resupply and get a warm place to rest, they were primarily for the routes between the major cities. This area was definitely off the beaten path in winter, both literally and metaphorically. In summer, the area would undoubtedly be a hub of activity, with canal boats laden with cargo coming in and out of the town, and travelers on the move.

But with the sun having set and the Night-Light high in the sky, the only things moving were the trees as the wind whipped through their needles or bare branches.

She shivered from the cold; she could feel her body trying to warm itself, and numbness at her extremities went in and out like waves at the beach. The whispering swelled and receded in time, almost like the surf.

“What should we do with the cart?” she asked. Those supplies would come in handy…

“I’m not sure,” Yufemya said. “Unless you’ve changed your mind on driving it into town?”

Fia sighed. “We’d look like bandits.”

“Probably.”

“Well, not a first time for me.” She eyed the two horses and sighed. “Can you buckle them back in while I deal with these two?” she asked as she indicated the two bodies with her thumb.

“Certainly.”

“But first…” Fia went over to the cart, and with a shudder, pulled the trunk off of the back. Holding the heavy wood and leather with just her fingertips, she heaved, throwing it into the ditch next to the road.

Grabbing some tinder from the cart’s supplies, she then made her way down to the trunk, trying not to grimace at the snow brushing against her legs. Throwing the tinder into it, she eyed the trunk for a long moment, fighting down nausea and bile from her empty stomach.

Then, gathering her Will, she hummed a pitch, preparing to cast a spell from her limited repertoire, one she knew exquisitely well from her time at sea.

But… bigger this time.

Shifting into a sharp whistle, she grimaced as she pursed her lips. This was going to hurt—but it would be worth it.

The bolt of lightning formed from her Breath burst from her mouth, massively larger than the usual small spark someone would use to light a lamp or a black-powder charge. It seared her lips, which healed almost instantly, and ignited the tinder and the trunk with brutal efficiency.

As her place of imprisonment burned in the ditch, Fia turned back to Yufemya. “Now let me deal with those two. I’ll be nicer to them than what they planned on doing with me.”

Yufemya nodded and continued checking over the horses and their tack.

#

Raavi ava Laargan

Having finished my shift hours, I went through the main supply warehouse, looking for some odd bits that I could use. I’d have them deducted from my pay, of course, but the cost wasn’t too onerous. And once I had them, I’d be able to finish my project!

Passing the oilsap barrels, stacked high up to the ceiling, I hummed a little tune that my mother liked to sing as she made her way around the house; nothing magical or anything, but just a pleasant tune. It was about a young man and a girl he fancied, and the two of them trading riddles and answers back and forth as they flirted.

“Girl, I want to ask your mind,

The more you take and make,

the more you leave behind.

What am I?”

I went a bit falsetto for the next verse, as the girl answered.

“Ah, foolish boy, you think me naive?

Walk along we make,

With a path we take,

Footsteps behind we leave.”

I continued to sing as I filled my satchel with bits and pieces that I needed; some more rope, a large block of wax, some large nails…

I was finished by the third chorus, and continued to hum the tune as I made my way back down to the main floor of the ironworks. As a little boy, I’d always loved the cleverness of the riddles, and now the whole thing was etched in my head. And I was glad I had the space to sing it alone. I’d been thinking about singing it… earlier, but now I didn’t dare.

Reaching the ironworks, I made a note in the log about what I had taken and their costs, and then got that approved by the shift forewoman, all of which took only a few minutes. She knew what I was up to, and by now she was just giving my bag a quick glance over.

Then it was time to suit back up for the walk back to my house. By the next time I slept, I’d be ready.

#

Lady Fiaswith of House Rechneesse

Fia took a deep breath as the town came into view. About a tenth of the buildings glittered with light in the winter darkness, and even with the snow obscuring some of the lines and curves, the Kalltii fondness for natural-looking curves in their architecture was apparent. From here, the town looked like waves breaking against the shore, and she knew that inside it would be decorated to within an inch of its collective life.

But for now, the town represented a place where she could get supplies and recover. She had a lot of work ahead of her, she knew it. But she wasn’t dead, nor destined any longer for an anonymous grave, and for now, that was enough.

Then her eyes narrowed as she saw motion against the snow.

Lots of motion.

“Do you see that?” she asked Yufemya, pointing.

Yufemya peered into the distance and nodded curtly. “I do.”

Wishing she had a spyglass, Fia squinted… and then drew in a short, sharp breath before swearing. She hopped out of the cart, carrying her ‘new’ sword with her, and started to run through the snow. “Come on!”

“Coming! Hya!”

As Yufemya urged the horses on behind her, Fia focused on running as quickly as she could towards the sleeping town.

The cart behind her, the two horses reluctantly picking up speed, Fia focused on what she’d seen, as details became more and more apparent.

A mass of figures moving through the darkness, carrying weapons.

#

Raavi ava Laargan

Making my way back through the empty streets, I tried to focus on my project, and how amazing and awesome it would be once I completed it. I’d first seen the design in a travelogue over a year before, talking about the Slaekkaruune tribes to the south. I’d taken the idea and run with it, and I hoped that it would work. It should! All of my experiments had shown that it should, and while I hadn’t been able to resist adding my own refinements to the idea, the basic concept was sound.

And soon I would be able to test it.

Of course, I also wanted to show it off, but to who? Zoy?

That thought brought back what the dice had told me when I’d woken, and I grimaced behind my scarf.

Maybe? She seemed like the kind of person who would enjoy it… but did I want to?

Well, first I had to finish it, and then I’d be able to consider that question.

A gust of wind blew a wave of snow into my face, and I grimaced, brushing the snow grains out of the way as best I could. My bag clattered as I did so, a few of my supplies bumping against each other, and the sound echoed weirdly. But sound had been weird all winter, with snow and ice absorbing or reflecting sound in strange ways.

Something about it nagged me, though, and I looked around. I could have sworn that I was hearing footsteps crunching through the snow—but it was audible enough that it had to be snow falling from one of the roofs. There just weren’t that many people awake to be making that much sound—

I turned enough to look down one of the side-streets, and screamed.

<<<<>>>>

Prologue | Chapter 3

Dun dun duuuun! Hope you're all enjoying the story so far! As always, please share the links around, and if you're liking it, consider contributing to my Patreon. I'm hoping to be able to do this full time in the future.

[hylianengineer]

*asks about job*

Anon you are my favorite.

Okay, so, I'm a laboratory and field technician in a soil and water science lab.

I love my job so goddamn much. I get to work with fancy machines like the gas chromatograph and spectrometer! (The spectrometer is actually really boring but shhh.) I get to go outside and watch birds while I collect water samples! I am getting paid for this! I get to learn data processing and engineering and wilderness safety precautions and how to explain complex science to people whose careers are Not This.

Also, research labs are chaos and I delight in it. Okay maybe not ALL research labs, I'm informed the chemistry department does not look like this. BUT this is an environmental science lab. It is full is bizarre, deeply nerdy, deeply passionate people. Who do things like eat baked potatoes like apples, improvise experimental setups with mason jars and duct tape, and nickname every instrument either a human name or a Pixar reference. I love them so much I have no words.

Crazy and fun things I've done for this job:

Freezer jenga followed by freezer tetris (had to take all the things out of a the freezer, put them in coolers to keep them cold, defrost the freezer, and put them back in except organized this time. I was delighted by this for no logical reason, my boss thought I was nuts).

Okay you know in scifi movies where they have some weird mystery substance and they put it in a box with gloves attatched so they can work with it without actually touching it? I've done that! Not because of hazardous substances, we just needed to put stuff in jars without exposing it to oxygen. But still! It was cool!

Shopping trip to get food for like half a dozen people for three days (I had weird dreams about being overwhelmed with tortilla chips afterwards, this doesn't sound that crazy but I promise you it felt like it).

Taped plastic tubing to 200+ funels until the boxes we were storing them in overflowed and there was no longer floorspace to walk (AFTER cutting the plastic tubing into 200+ equally sized pieces and stuffing it with ion exchange resin, which is like evil microplastic sand. Between all those things, this took WEEKS. It got really boring).

Dissolved like 10kg of KCl (KCl my behated, its very harmless but hell to get off glassware) in water to make 80 LITERS OF KCL SOLUTION (that's over 20 pounds of solid KCl and over 20 gallons of solution! My coworker and I were sort of laughing hysterically over this entire process because come on! 80 liters! For reference most lab protocols need like, a liter or less of whatever solution.) Fun fact about solid KCl, it tends to stick together into a giant brick. We were chiseling at it with scoops, spoons, whatever was on hand (i really wanted to attack it with a screwdriver but it would introduce dirt into the chemicals so i couldn't) and eventually we got so frustrated we went outside and dropped the thing off a second floor balcony. After wrapping it in like 3 layers of plastic bags because we knew at least one bag was gonna break. This did not actually help much but it was very cathartic.

There was a project once where we had to take sealed mason jars and replace all the air in them with nitrogen gas. Repeatedly. For over a hundred jars. My PI (principle invesitgator, means the scientist in charge of a project and usually a lab) is good at building things, so of course he assembled this manifold thing so we could pump nitrogen through a dozen jars at once. Which was great, except it involved two dozen needles, half of them attatched to flexible plastic tubing so they'd kinda bounce around when you pulled them out of the jars. It looked like a very stabby centipede-slash-octopus monster. Impressively, we only stabbed ourselves a couple times each with this thing (and changed the needles of course, we are aware of the risks of transmitting blood diseases).

Actually one of the craziest things about this job in my opinion is how many fucking needles we work with. You see, we study atmospheric gases. And to do that, we need to transfer gases between sealed containers, which means needles and septa (the rubber things they put on vials so you can poke needles through them). So. Many. Needles. Did you know you can only use a needle four times before it gets too dull? It's extremely noticeable as you're using them - not as they get dull, but when you discard an old needle and get out a new one it is a huge difference. I don't know why I find this so fascinating, but working with needles is honestly so fun. I feel like a mad scientist or something. Also, for the first couple months I kept poking myself on accident so I was just walking around with these pinpricks and papercut looking wounds. It felt a bit like a badge of honor, somehow, like a rite of passage for working in the gas lab. Another thing about needles, if you get scratched with one horizontally instead of stabbed, they look like papercuts. It's weird. Also weird is how good you get after a while at not stabbing yourself.

I think I like working with needles because they're something that used to make me nervous. Not horribly, but I have more than typical anxiety and I get nervous about everything. And yet I am now totally chill about needles, because I work with them all the time. It's... freeing I guess. Maybe empowering, even. I am scared of so many things, but I am not scared of this. Ditto large quantities of acid, once you've had to work with dozens of liters of the stuff you stop being scared of it - this was for the same project as the KCl and yes it was equally ridiculous. Dilute acid, thankfully, but to make dilute acid you have to mix the really concentrated stuff with water. It does not come as dilute acid, that would be too easy. So we spent multiple days in a row diluting acid and soaking things in it, there were plastic boxes full of the stuff on every available counter space with handmade warning labels, it was A Thing™️.

Anyways, I'm a person who's scared of everything, except weird stuff like hydrochloric acid, needles, and wasps. I can blame all three of those things on this job, which I love dearly. I love to learn new things, pretend I'm in a scifi movie, be surrounded by crazy people (affectionate), and apparently overcome my numerous fears. You absolutely did not sign up for this big puddle of feelings, anon, but thank you for inspiring it nevertheless.

[prophetkristy]

20 YEAR DIVE-A-VERSARY

(I'm not old, YOU'RE old!)

copypasta from LiveJournal Dreamwidth:

Like Finding Nemo, Only Less Cartoony Part III: 3955

On December 14, 2003, I went to the bottom of the ocean.

It is getting late in the Extreme 2003 cruise, and the handful of us on board who have not yet gotten the opportunity to dive on Alvin are starting to get worried. The electrochemists' instrument is giving so much trouble that the chief scientist is minded to send a member of their lab down on every dive in order to troubleshoot. This despite the fact that the instrument's daddy, D, has given a group of other scientists a course in running the instrument, and common fixes, so that we will be able to take in situ electrochemical readings on our dives despite not being well-versed in the field. Despite the fact that most of the electrochem failures have been due to hardware problems and instrument hard grounds which were unfixable from within the submarine and shut the instrument down for the dive after the point of no return. A few of the other PIs on the ship are looking out for those of us who haven't yet dove, however, keeping track of who had yet to dive and how many dives were left, dropping suggestions to the chief scientist whenever they feel they have a chance.

In all matters scientific on Atlantis, the chief scientist has final say. This includes selection of each and every scientific observer for each and every dive made on the expedition. S/He has, therefore, a very difficult job, coordinating the wants and needs of 20+ scientists (and their co-workers back home) with limited ship and sub time. There are naturally a lot of tensions. Our group has the added fun of a chief scientist who always waits until the last minute for things. The observers for a dive have generally not been chosen until the night before that dive; sometimes very soon before the night's dive briefing.

When you're a newbie scientist on Atlantis (and a huge Alvin fangurl to boot), you try so hard not to get your hopes up, and usually you fail. Even though I felt blessed merely to have the opportunity to be on the ship and do research at sea, and I knew there was no guarantee I would be able to dive on Alvin, I really, really wanted to be chosen. I couldn't help keeping track of how many newbies were aboard vs. how many total scientists got to dive vs. how many dives we had left [1]. All I could do was try to be helpful on board in any way I could (so I didn't seem like a waste of valuable ship-time expense), and hope.

After yet another yummy dinner [2] on Dec. 13, I am at the bank of computers in the Main Lab going over dive tapes for footage of Pompeii worm sampling. It is cold, frustrating work. iMovie keeps crashing, and the vagaries of the ship's environmental controls have made the main lab excessively air conditioned on this trip. (The annoyances are partially mitigated by being near the electrochemists' lab space. They were fun people and I enjoyed being with them.) At some point, the chief scientist, C, appears behind me, leans over my shoulder, and says quietly, "How would you like to dive tomorrow?"

…!!!

I think I squeak out a "really??!?!" whisper. C is suddenly the most awesome person in the world. (If I were chief scientist I'd get a huge kick out of making people's days/weeks/months/lifetimes by picking them to dive!) He reminds me when the briefing is (in a few hours!) and goes off about his stuff.

My attention span, naturally, is shot all to hell. I save my workspace and fly to the computer lab to send a squealy email (or what would have been squealy, if emails had sound) to advisor, mom, and boyfriend. I fly to my cabin and pull out the wool stuff I've brought for the occasion (socks, sweater borrowed from mother). I riffle through my file o' accumulated paperwork for stuff from the briefings I'd had earlier in the cruise. (Actually, I'm not really sure what I did before the briefing (besides the emailing and flying).) I am v. bouncy.

Apparently there is some shuffling about who's going to be diving with me. I get the feeling that P, who's finally chosen, is called to the briefing pretty much as it's starting and told just then. (did I mention C did things at the last minute?) C becomes even cooler: P is a newbie, too. C is trusting *two*newbies* with a full dive.

P and I are two newbies all ready to become Deep Sea Explorers.

What happens at a dive briefing? The chief scientist, observers, and pilot (minimally) meet and discuss the dive plan. Others may attend: the expedition leader (from the Alvin group), any scientists who have special equipment aboard or sampling requests. The dive plan is a list of objectives to be met for a dive, along with pertinent instructions, dive coordinates, sampling requests, etc. It's one of those things the chief scientist must rack his/her brain about every day. We also go over any instruments or equipment to be used, and the pilot or expedition leader will bring up any safety concerns or technical issues and make sure the dive plan is realistic given their capabilities. I learn how to operate the Sipper, the water sampling instrument that will be on Alvin's basket, which is controlled with a palmtop computer by one of the observers in the sub. We also get tips and reminders on note taking, video operation, what to pack for the dive, and much more.

After the briefing you pack up your warm clothes, notebook, dive plan, spare batteries for the palmtop, any goodies you feel like bringing (I'd brought a stash of Riesen for the cruise--chocolate can be like gold at sea) into a pillowcase which is stowed in a box in the Alvin hangar. The pilots will make sure your stuff gets in the sub when they prep in the morning. Then you try to get some sleep, as you're due on deck by 7am. I am afraid I won't sleep, but the darkness of my cabin and calm rocking of the ship work pretty well [3].

Regardless, I don't have difficulty getting up the morning of Dive 3955. ;-) The sun is not quite up when I get on deck. I snap a photo of one of the first sights to greet me, the expedition leader getting the sub ready for my dive. *g*

Expedition leader P prepares Alvin for my dive. Obviously he's a good leader, as he's managed to delegate well here.

The pilots and techs are working over Alvin, still in the hangar. I wander the deck and try not to explode with excitement. (B, the morning's launch coordinator, makes a comment to me about trying not to be nervous and going to get some coffee or something. I look nervous? I'm not; I'm thrilled! I'm about to ride the world's first deep-diving submarine to the bottom of the ocean! And there's no way I'm eating or drinking anything before being shut into a titanium sphere for 8 hours [4]!)

The dive plan, naturally, changes at the last minute, and we huddle to confer. Yes, I'm really short. From left, B (launch coordinator), C, T, P, and me. Behind B you can see the aft of Alvin; above our heads are some A-frame hydraulics. Also on the deck behind us are several float packs for elevators.

Preparations for the dive go mostly as usual. After what seems like the longest prep ever to get the sub attached to the A-frame, P and I are called up. We climb the stairs, remove our shoes, wave to the crowd.

P and I are ready to dive!

As the starboard observer, I enter first. There are designated places you're allowed to put your hands and feet, and you have to be careful on the way down not to trip switches (there are control panels everywhere in the ball, including just behind the ladder you climb down). The hatch opening is greased (to assure a tight seal, I assume) and you have to be careful not to hit that on your way in (I think I did, what with my gimpy knee--but we didn't leak or anything, so it's all good). The pilot is already inside. You fold yourself down into your space as quickly as you can so that the port observer can follow you down and get into his space. Once all three are situated, the launch coordinator removes the ladder and seals the hatch. There's no going back! (According to my research, no one's ever fainted inside the ball. You do go inside beforehand, during your dive safety briefing near the beginning of the cruise, and I reckon any claustrophobes are weeded out then--long before they're ever sealed inside.)

Inside the ball, it isn't as crowded as I expect it to be. (I think all three of us were on the small side.) I sit behind and to the right of the pilot, who sits on a padded box (the first aid kit, IIRC) behind his window, surrounded by controls. I have my own window, looking starboard and forward and a little down (it was actually a little low for comfort--when glued to my window, which was fairly often until we really started working, I was rather contorted). The windows are v. small; just wide enough for two eyes. If you have hands my size, and make a circle with your forefingers and thumbs together, it's about that big around. They are tapered with the wide end outside, so not only do you get a good range of vision, but I imagine it also helps the pressure issues. They're about 3.5 inches thick.

Above that is my little video monitor and the controls for it and for my pan-and-tilt camera on the top starboard of the sub. Each observer has a monitor that can toggle through every camera mounted on the sub (and there are a handful), and also a pan-and-tilt outside that's a camera + light that can be controlled by remote. You can also turn on or off overlays on your monitor, which give you real-time information from the sub's computer about temperature, depth, position, and much more. Two digital video recorders run throughout the sub's time on the bottom. One is slaved to the starboard pan-and-tilt (which also has two lasers on it that are fixed at 10cm apart so you can get a sense of scale), and the other is slaved to whatever the port observer has on his screen. So you have video responsibilities on top of everything else. There is also a tape recorder and mini-maglite in my little corner. Many things like this remind you that this ship has been in service (though constantly upgraded; there probably isn't a single original part left) since the early 60s, and things have evolved for utility through long experience.

To my left, in the back of the sphere, is the science rack, a big rack of equipment and stowage. (The observers also have racks above their heads holding computers and such--space inside the ball is at a premium.) A shelf there holds a few handheld digital cameras--video and still--for when the mood strikes us, as well as the Sipper's palmtop. There is also the all-important lunch, always packed [5]. In the corners between science rack and observers are oxygen tanks, CO2 scrubbers, your pillowcase full of stuff, oxygen masks, and other necessities.

You can, of course, see outside through your window even when the sub is still on deck; I admit to appropriating the digital camera (since I couldn't take my own) and taking lots of curiosity photos.

C aboard the Avon, as seen through my window as we dangle above the ocean waiting for the divers' signal.

Having watched a number of launches by this point, I know the drill, and it is interesting to actually be launched. I see a number of jellies outside my window as soon as we hit the water. I don't notice much about the final preparations; before I know it T is radioing Atlantis for permission to dive, and we are sinking silently beneath the waves.

I'm in that little sub!!

It takes about an hour and a half to drift 2500 meters to the ocean floor. After learning how early I was expected on deck, I had toyed with the idea of napping on the way down, but of course I'm way too excited for that. We use the time to go over the dive plan and make sure we're absolutely familiar with what needs to be done. The pilot spends the first few hundred meters checking for grounds in any of the electrical equipment. We also listen to music; yes, the pilots have installed a stereo system in the ball. And we get steadily colder. The ball isn't insulated, nor does it have internal heat. Ambient seawater is about 2° C (halfway between refrigerator temp and the freezing point of water). Hence the warm clothes. You're encouraged to wear natural fibers (think fire). They also supply a couple of wool blankets, neatly folded underneath the lunches below the science rack. My mom's sweater keeps me pretty cozy; my feet are a little chilly, as usual, so I am thankful for the blanket.

The hatch and its tiny one-eyeball window (T tells me it's to make sure we don't surface directly underneath a ship). You can just barely make out the seam. Note condensation on the ball, and audio speaker at bottom left.

With the cold comes condensation on the inside of the ball. You've sealed in air from the surface, which (because we were at 9° N) is warm and humid. So the inside of the ball gets quite wet. As the dive progresses, water starts to drip over your window, giving you a split-second moment of worry that it's leaking. (At the pressures of the deep sea--over 250 times atmospheric pressure--if there was a leak, you'd probably never notice it before the sphere was crushed, I reckon.) Water also collects in the bottom of the compartment (there is a flat floor inside the sphere over a little compartment beneath), so you're sitting in a puddle. I don't even notice my wet rear until we're ascending again; we are v. v. busy once we reach the bottom.

The seafloor, off-axis. This photo was taken by the Dancam, a high-res digital camera mounted on top of the sub that automatically takes a photo every 30 seconds during bottom time. The front edge of Alvin's sample basket is at bottom. At right, the starboard manipulator has taken hold of the elevator we will later attach to the InSECT. Look closely to see a sea cucumber.

Dive time is limited by the sub's battery power, so no external lights are switched on until we're just above the bottom. We're working on the East Pacific Rise, a crack in the ocean floor west of the Americas where hot water and sometimes magma oozes out of Terra's crust. The sub comes down off-axis, which means that it's a small distance away from the vent area. You don't want to come down right on top of one of those black smokers!

Before we discovered vents (off the Galapagos in 1977), we thought the deep sea was a pretty barren place, biologically speaking. If you consider the common method of deep-sea biological sampling--tow a net behind your ship--it's no wonder. (One oceanographer remarked that sampling the deep sea was like running blindfolded through a field with a butterfly net above your head.) Hydrothermal vents are probably the primary focus of deep sea life, and they are *packed*. Some figures place the biomass per unit volume at a vent as much higher than the "photic zone" where light penetrates the top of the ocean. That's saying quite a lot, especially considering that we were under the impression that all life on Terra somehow traces its energy back to the sun; there is no sunlight on the bottom of the ocean.

So we reach the bottom, 2502 meters below the surface, off-axis where there isn't a lot to see. Mostly flat rocks (pillow basalt) and a few sparse pink sea cucumbers and sea stars. T gets his bearings (based on the baseline established by Atlantis once arriving on station), and drives us toward the vents. The best indicator that you are approaching the vent area is the crabs. There are little white crabs everywhere down there, and they increase in density as you move closer to the hot water, where everything else thrives. Regardless, the bottom of the ocean is an entirely different world, with plenty of strange alien life.

Another thing that increases in density near the vents (but mostly off-axis) are "Alvin droppings": scores of dive weights left where they're dropped to rust and return to the ecosystem. ;-)

Most of our work is at a place called Tica. This isn't actually a black smoker, but an area of diffuse flow--great habitat for Riftia, the giant tube worm. We retrieve the electrochemists' InSECT (In Situ ElectroChemical Tool, named on this cruise by one of the pilots and looking a little like a mantis), sending it to the surface on an elevator. We sample the Riftia around which the InSECT has been taking measurements for the past four days. We pick up numerous sampling devices that have been set down there at the beginning of the expedition. We take a water sample with a niskin bottle that had been rigged atop the sub; the rope to trigger it is flippantly labeled "Pull to Flush." (hee!) My window isn't well situated to observe the action in front of the sub, so I mostly watch my monitor (at one point my pan-and-tilt is right on the action, because the pilot wants to use its lasers to mark the area he's working in) and work the Sipper. Tica is an incredible place; giant tube worms growing in clumps almost like flowers, their red lipstick-shaped gills poking out of their tubes. Older clumps of Riftia are tangled masses. Swarms of amphipods above the worms like insects. Crabs crawling over and under and around--the worms go down in their tubes when poked, a likely crab-defense-mechanism. The occasional ghostly white eel-like fish.

Taking a sample of a giant tube worm. The pilot honestly just grabs the tube in a manip and pulls it up like a weed. It will go in the open biobox on the basket. The InSECT is at bottom left.

After finishing our sampling at Tica and moving slightly off-axis to send the InSECT up, we drive to an actual black smoker called Q Vent. Driving is one of the biggest drains of battery power for Alvin, and our driving around to find the elevator for the InSECT, find various samples, and find Q Vent, coupled with a less-than-optimal battery charge [6], cuts our dive time short. After a cursory survey of a portion of the Q Vent chimney where my organism of interest, Alvinella pompejana, is growing, T informs us that we have only 40 minutes remaining on the bottom due to power concerns.

Taking Sipper samples of an alvinella colony at the Q Vent. The Pompeii worms grow in papery tubes of metal sulfide directly on the sides of the chimney. The instrument being held in a tube here has a temperature probe and electrodes for electrochemistry (when it's working), as well as the inlet for the Sipper. Note the red dots of the starboard pan-and-tilt's lasers, which are 10cm apart for scale.

One the things about which I'm most proud, being on a double-newbie dive, was the decision we made at that point. With 40 minutes, I felt there was no way we'd get any appreciably good Alvinella samples--both my group and the bacterial group are interested in well-documented measurements before sampling, especially of temperature and electrochem. Rather than doing a quick snatch of random worms, we decide to abandon the colony and get a frying pan set up in the time we have remaining. A frying pan is an apparatus our geochemists have built to put over the top of a vent chimney to grow a "protochimney." A day or so after placement, the frying pan is collected and brought to the surface, where it can be dissected to find out what's in a growing chimney [7]. We have just enough time to take Sipper samples of the black smoker on top of Q vent (which is a very tall chimney) and place the frying pan before we run too close to our power reserves.

The frying pan placed atop Q vent. The "smoke" isn't actually smoke, but metal sulfides precipitating out as they hit the cold seawater. These precipitates are what build the chimney at a hydrothermal vent. The water at the vent opening is 350° C (3.5 times the boiling point of water). It doesn't boil because of the extreme pressure. Note the "snow" in the water all around; these are clumps of bacteria.

Having accomplished all that we could for the day, we drive slightly off-axis and drop weights, beginning our slow float to the surface. All the exterior lights are again extinguished and the only thing to be seen outside our thick Plexiglas is occasional little specks of bioluminescence.

What the bottom of the ocean *really* looks like.

On the way up, there are still tasks remaining. The pilot has things to take care of with the sub and its computer.

T, our pilot, types data into Alvin's computer.

We scientists collate our notes and prepare a science report, which is called up to the surface once those up top are ready for it. The science report is a quick summary of what was accomplished on the dive, generally received and/or circulated during the afternoon science meeting. It's useful for the rest of the team on the surface to know what samples and how many are on their way, so that preparations to receive them can be made. The obligatory "this is me in the sub!" photos are taken. And we finally have time to eat lunch!!

P in the port observer's position, readying the science report. Yes, they've put in some cushions between us and the titanium, thank goodness. His window is just behind T's knee; you can see the blue pad around it.

Me, sitting in the pilot's seat. Behind me on the control panel you can read the temperature (in green), 1.8° C, and the depth (in red), 1559.4 meters.

I have yet to write in detail here about recovery, but one thing that happens is that Alvin sits on the surface for about half an hour which Atlantis slowly and carefully drives up to it and gets into position for recovery. Alvin is a fairly small boat--about the size of a UPS delivery truck--and so even calm seas will move it around quite a bit, in various directions. Waiting for recovery was one of the few times during the expedition that I felt seasick. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, telling myself in firm tones that I Would Not Be Sick.

I'm sure the scientists aboard had a great time planning for not one, but two initiations once P and I returned from the ocean floor. (another planned entry--initiations!) Actually, I know they did. After we climb out of the ball and stretch, we look for our shoes; they aren't in the bag on the side of the A-frame where they've been left. G, the recovery coordinator, points them out: sitting on the yellow line delineating the "safe" zone, mine frozen in a block of ice! (P's are merely frosty from being in a freezer.) I nearly fall off the stairs on my way down from laughing so hard! We're duly initiated, and I set my icy shoes out of the way to thaw and dry in the warm equatorial afternoon sun.

Some cold shoes. Compared to the stories I've heard, this was a pretty mild prank!

I'm very amused. :o)

Since we haven't gotten any Alvinella samples (disappointingly), I don't actually need to be present for the daily basket-swarming. I hang around in the sunshine drying off until P chases me off the deck because I'm not wearing shoes. (Um, obviously.) That's my cue to squelch my way inside and downstairs to change clothes.

The evening of that memorable day is also notable. I wander a good deal, winding down from my incredible experience. Out on the deck, seaman E is shining a light overboard and is fishing for squid amidst swarms of silvery flying fish [8]. If you discount most of 'em being underwater, they look quite a bit like a flock of little birds. I watch E help B bring in one of the biggest catches of the cruise.

B and his mondo squid. [9]

Finally I go looking for a flashlight so I can go up to the bow and look at the stars. D, one of the SSSGs, offers to go with me. We plant ourselves on the deck in the bow and cast our eyes to a glorious night sky spread above us. I've only seen that many stars before on camping trips in the mountains of Idaho. And it was somehow fitting to end a day spent at the bottom of the ocean by exploring the vast heavens.

Note: if I haven't done so before, I heartily recommend the book Water Baby by Victoria Kaharl for any and all fans of Alvin. It's out of print, so look for it at your library or used. It's a fascinating history of science and discovery.

[1]: Then there are the additional considerations: every eighth dive is a PiT dive, where the sub carries a pilot-in-training in place of one of the two scientific observers aboard. Also, it was general practice (at least on our cruise) that at least one of the two scientific observers on a dive was "experienced" (has been down at least once before). [2]: The food aboard Atlantis is v. good. Our steward/cook, L, was amazing. At our very first briefing on the ship, the captain told us we *would* put on weight during the cruise. [3]: I slept really well on the ship. The only time I didn't was when we had weather. My cabin was a level below water level, up in the bow. Waves of any appreciable size would SLAM into the hull with resounding booms. When we were cruising or there was weather, it was a little like being inside a cannon. [4]: Indeed, Alvin has no restroom. They do carry bottles for necessity. You have to empty your own up top if you used it. You can well imagine the apparatus is much easier for males to use. I managed to not need it. [5]: The one time Alvin was wrecked (it fell off its cradle during a launch in 1968 and sank--no one was inside), it stayed on the bottom of the ocean for nearly a year with its hatch open. After the salvage, they found the lunches inside incredibly preserved by the cold of the deep sea. [6]: You know how your Walkman's rechargeable batteries will charge better if they're completely drained beforehand? The principle is the same for large batteries, too. The night after 3955, the Alvin group deep-cycled the batteries. There was no power shortage on the next dive. I'd be bitter, but really I'd have been happy and fulfilled with a scant five minutes on the bottom. [7]: The downside here is that 3955 ended up being our last dive in that area, so that frying pan we put there was never recovered and is probably now a part of Q Vent. I still think we made a good decision. I imagine a lot of sampling devices get left and are overgrown (biologically or geologically) down there. Vent ecosystems are extremely dynamic. [8]: I only saw the flying fish at night, usually when E was fishing or when we had a light out there for a CTD cast (ack, another entry: CTD hooking!). [9]: We grilled it (and others) at the end-of-cruise barbecue!

[spfl-sound-territories]

Pierre Dutour: Top Fiction. Be With Records (bewith147lp)

"Pierre Dutour's infamous Top Fiction is the epitome of a 5-tracker. Coming to light in 1979 on Tele Music, its collection of environmental themes are all astounding. We're talking all-time heavy hitters, here. They come recommended as tracks you'd choose to elegantly elevate deep selector sets or mixes.

Skip the irritating whistle-laced marching-band funk of "Captain Parade" and head straight to the glistening synths and proud horns of beatless ambient wonder "Mountain Echoes". Arguably worth the price of admission alone. It's that good. The sci-fi atmospherics of "Space Fiction" are definitely sampleable whilst the proud horns of "Mountain Trumpet" definitely contain blasts that could be of creative use. "Tambours Parade" is more marching-band funk, only this time the drums go hard and there's a lot to like about this one.

Truly, it's all about the B-Side. A real B-Side for the ages, in fairness. It opens with the gorgeous "Deer Forest". It's one of the most beautiful songs you'll ever hear. Like something off Brian Bennett's Voyage, it rides dreamily melodic synths, and comes on, as one fan claimed "like something Angelo Badalamenti would have co-written with Final Fantasy composer, ???? [Nobuo Uematsu]". It's jaw-dropping. Be instantly beguiled by the deep eerie nostalgia and pretty delicate piano of "Magic Lake I" and the whistling-synth-augmented "Magic Lake II". The almost-title-track "Pop Fiction" is another hidden gem, containing dreamy, glistening arpeggios that are just begging to be sampled with a heavy knocking beat behind it. The set closes with "Damnation Space", 2 minutes of spooky Musique concrète.

So, 5 absolutely incredible tracks and 2-3 good ones. An excellent ratio for a library album, I think we can all agree. Trust us when we say that the heavy hitters are just absolute gold, rendering this one an essential, buy-on-sight purchase. Go listen and discover for yourselves…

The audio for Top Fiction has been remastered by Be With regular Simon Francis, ensuring this divisive release sounds better than ever. Cicely Balston's expert skills have made sure nothing is lost in the cut whilst the original space-age sleeve has been restored here at Be With HQ as the finishing touch to this long overdue re-issue."

(Source: https://kompakt.fm)

[godzexperiment]

sampling of radio station nix chaos/just modern verse thoughts

"I am not an car enthusiast- not an car hater like they serve purposes. I hate them though, like there is no reason I should know how to jump on the hood and scramble back off the car so well." Nix studied the tally marks of the days encounters on his hand. Wasn't even that many listeners at the moment. So he really was kind of just talking to himself while delaying an ad read. "Which sounds so weird like oh this guy is so used to motorized vehicles seeming to personally magnetize towards him; he's like the frog in frogger embodied." Eyes glancing at the time; setting up his next set of songs and trying to locate his energy drink can. ----------- He was perched on the back of the chair; wings stretched out before tucking close. Deciding to fall backwards, hooking his legs so just dangled upside down. It was almost time to pack up and head home. Took him an second to realize what song he'd accidentally added into the program. Entirely falling off, fumbling to shut it off- turning the mic on as he cursed himself out in multiple languages. Had accidentally added one of his songs into the program by accident. Not the worst thing in the world. But it wasn't like meant to be shared with whoever was listening to the radio at this hour. Playing something else as scoured, deleted any others that might have accidentally made it in. Realizing the mic was on and sighing. "So uh, tired mistakes only human mistakes here folks. That song was far too slow paced and not meant to be in the list."

-----------

"So most people ignore me; that's how I like it and even some of the most up in your face buy what I'm selling avoid me." Spinning his knife around on his pointer finger while talking. "Anyways that means it takes like really determined souls with extra irritability to bother me generally." Nix had gone prompted into the topic by somebody that reminded him of it. Calling in with what had been quite some nonsense. "I'm just trying to get where I am headed, on time as this guy spots me and I guess decided I needed the speech right? I'm just like okay what speech is this guy seeking to give me." Eyes rolling as he recounted the situation. "Started with the ole are you religious- into that I should really think about seeking Heaven out." Another twirl of the knife on his finger before tossing it up with his finger; catching it. "I'm like ah okay it's this flavor of encounter; guess I was extra tired and I just was like you're sort of in the way of that endeavor." ---------- All he had wanted to do- was stay home; yet managed to drag himself out anyways. Empty building, only the noises of the electricity and other environmental noise. Normally so welcome but he just brought the can out of the backpack- he hated them but he'd needed an way to carry shit. Sipping at it as settled into the room; immediately collapsing into the chair. "Allfuckingrighty." Scowling at his reflection in an monitor. Bag dropped to mostly under the desk. He could do this, had to do it and it might also slightly help curb the whirlwind eating at him. Turning the mic on, off the idle tunes and automatic ad reads. "So I just got in and how do we feel about 15 minute multi parted folk punk songs?" Joking, though he so was sorely tempted to put the idea in his mind on. Be an little kind to any souls that might be bothering to listen however. "We're actually starting off with some rock; to counter balance the music that was playing before I got here but just saying if anybody is down I can oblige." Clicking play on the music so far sorted out after muting. Down went some of the energy drink. Trying to ignore the annoying tastes that were only part of the product thanks to stupid angelic taste buds. ---------- Music was blaring; echoing in every room both second floor and not. Every little project abandoned for the moment. As Nix's fingers brushed along tops of bottles- hovering over the whole space in general thoughtfully. Didn't take long to pluck one that seemed tempting. Open, long testing sip- was the moments pick of fitting the energy. Swaying as moved away from the spot. Beginning to move along with the music, let it fill up the space inside as well. Not long before was drinking and bouncing along in only the way he could. Twirling around with precise, stupid would have dizzied anybody else type of speed. And when the bottle was empty- it got tossed gently into the nearby bin for cleaning to recycle later. While he let his wings out, spread then tucked close as he spun. Eventually the songs playing stopped and so did he. Moving to turn some more on- while he did something more constructive like read about history. ---------- It was so incredibly stupid and bit of an waste of supplies. Yet that person, only one he'd really known for ages was put onto the paper. And then once finished- he took one of his lighters to it. Watching it being eaten up. Not in fear of the heat or being burnt; watching before dropping it into the nearby metal bin. Petulant middle fingers skyward at the ceiling, floor above his head and full awareness the action was to empty nothingness. Flicking the lighter an few times before pocketing it. Okay, okay maybe he needed to get away from the building. Before got eaten up by his insides. And he found his phone- hit one of his few contacts. Sending an text inquiring if they would be interested in late night ice cream. The yes had him quickly grabbing the nearest jacket. Rushing out into the night as texted where to meet him. Felt an bit cruel using their sunshine personality to warm up his abyss.

He was going to pay for the ice cream though. Be very present and attentive. Didn't light up- he chewed some gum instead while walking along. Ruffling up his hair as gave an little glance into an window he passed. Checking the time and his phone to respond to he of course didn't mind how they were dressed. After had been an I'll be coming from an party text.

[symeraid-s]

2022 Retrospective: Most Underwhelming Song/Comeback

Dreamcatcher – MAISON

I don’t even think this song is bad. It’s just fine, but it has little to no structure. I really can’t tell where the verse ends, and the chorus begins. It all sounds very similar. I am really happy though, that they finally got a win with something. Another reason why this is underwhelming is the marketing. This is a song about climate chance. It has lines like: “Save my home in the jungle, Save my home in the polar.” It’s a very environmental song. And the label saw this song and thought: Yes, this is the best song to promote NFTs with. Like, what the fuck, Happyface?

ONEUS – Same Scent

The controversy about RAVN that happened at the same time aside, this was just not that good a comeback. It’s just A Song Written Easily, but worse. Not bad, just worse. And it also falls into the category of presenting a cool concept with its teasers and then using zero of it. And even the Scent thing, this song is named after doesn’t come up that much. This is also the Comeback, where I got really tired with all the people comparing this group to VIXX. They are nothing like VIXX, because then they would have executed the concept they had in their teasers, which alluded to some kind of Seven Deadly Sins thing, and not drop that.

(G)I-DLE – TOMBOY

I’m sorry people, but this is just here, because of their fumbled concept execution. Like, sure, they have their own definition of what a tomboy is. And they do tell us: It’s neither man nor woman. But if they want to look androgynous, then maybe they shouldn’t wear skirts and dresses in the music video. I do believe that this song has the best beatdrop of the year.

BLACKPINK – Shut Down

Pink Venom is bad. This one is not as bad, but also not good. It does kinda waste it’s classical sample with a standard chorus. Though I think the reason why I think this is underwhelming, is because it sounds like a justification of their usual music style. It tries to be like: “Oh, you’re expecting some expensive cars? Well, we’re not doing that, shut it down”, while having expensive cars and still the same structure as all their other songs. Instead it ends up sounding like: “There is no other choice, we have to do that and it doesn’t matter, because when we pull up you know it’s a shut down.”

BTS – Yet to Come (The Most Beautiful Moment)

I liked the song at the beginning, but it quickly wears off, when you see what Run BTS could have been as a title track. It also in hindsight sounds a lot like foreshadowing to their hiatus, which is just a weird way to do a swan song.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IX

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 14.3k

Warnings: timeskip, mutual pining, author doesn’t know shit about science subject matter, explicit sexual content, ass play, snowballing, tooth rotting fluff A/N: This is it, y’all. This last part was so much fun to write, I can’t even put it into words. The feedback on this has been incredible, so a big thank you for that, and before anyone asks, I have a handful of spinoff oneshots planned for this series. Enjoy~

- NINE YEARS -

“Hey, don’t forget about the meeting at three.”

 Mike glances up from his computer to find Henning leaning through his office doorway. It’s the first time Mike has looked away from the screen in at least an hour, and he blinks at his colleague several times in an attempt to get rid of the gritty feeling in his eyes.

 “Yeah, thanks,” he nods, rubbing a hand down his face. “Definitely would’ve forgotten about that one.”

 Henning leaves with one rap of his knuckles against the doorframe, and Mike checks his phone to see how much time he has before he has to make his way to the conference room. It’s twenty after two, so he spends a little while longer reading over the journal that had been sent to him, only tearing himself away when his alarm goes off at 2:55. 

 He waves at a few people as he passes, shows the reserved smile he’d mastered upon entering the corporate world, then walks into the large meeting space and sets his little notepad on the mahogany table as he sits down in a plush rolling chair. 

 This meeting has been planned for a few weeks now, a team of researchers contracted by the government to study Lake Sina and everything wrong with it. Its water quality is at an all time low, and it's up to Mike and his team to figure out a way to change that so it can be purified enough to distribute to the public. There are a few large cities close to the lake, all of lower income and all struggling with their water systems. If Sina can get clean enough, it would solve a huge crisis that most people don't even know is taking place. 

 Tomas, Henning, Lynne, and Nanaba are already in the room, and after a few minutes, another group of four walks in, all unfamiliar except…

 Mike’s eyebrows knit together as he stares. He can only see a profile from where he’s sitting, but it’s one he recognizes. The time he spent admiring it, mentally sketching every feature—of course he’d recognize it. Recognize you.

 There is a pounding in his chest that Mike hasn’t felt in years, and his palms are suddenly damp. The collar of his shirt is too tight around his throat, and he reaches up to undo the top two buttons so that he can fucking breathe, but Jesus Christ, he can’t believe it. It feels like a lifetime has passed since he last saw you. 

 He wonders if you’ll have the same reaction when you finally notice him, if you’ll gawk at him or grin or run away. He wouldn’t blame you if you tucked tail. That last conversation—if it could even be called that—is not one of Mike’s fondest memories, and he can’t imagine the toll it took on you, what you must have felt going into your final year of undergrad. 

 “Is there a remote for the projector?” You call out to the table, and your voice sounds exactly the fucking same. It makes Mike want to slam his head into the wood, but before he can, you zero in on him. 

 He watches as your eyes grow, jaw setting, shoulders rising with a deep breath, and oh, you’re panicking. You’re panicking just like he is.

 “Um,” you cough and shake your head, then lean over to speak to one of your people before basically jogging from the room.

 No one seems to think anything of it. Mike has to white-knuckle the arms of his chair to keep himself from getting up and following. There's no reason he should follow, though. The two of you haven’t spoken in almost a decade. He has nothing to share with you, no reason to talk to you on a non-professional level. You don’t know each other anymore, and that’s fine. It’ll be fine. 

 A mousy looking man starts passing out little binders to everyone at the table, then introduces himself as Moblit and the other two in the room as Hange and Abel. 

 "And, the other girl you saw is—"

 "I'm back, I'm here," you announce as you step into the room, closing the door behind you and introducing yourself with a wave. "Did we get the projector working?" 

 "Yes," Abel answers, passing you the remote that Nanaba had procured a few minutes ago. 

 Hange plugs a cable into a laptop and the white screen is lit up with the image of the well known lake, once beautiful, deep blue but now a murky brown. 

 Mike has been preparing for this project for a few months now, going to an off-site lab to look over the samples being sent in or dropped off. He knew there was a research team studying the lake, but… what are the odds that you would be part of that team? 

 He supposes your jobs could overlap just like your classes used to, but you had told him you wanted to go into natural hazards ("You're a natural hazard," he had replied with a snort). Of course, that had been a long time ago, but how had that dream morphed into hydrology? 

 Before the presentation starts, Mike's boss, Keith Shadis slips through the door and takes his seat at the end of the table. You're quick to grab one of the binders and walk it over to him, flashing a smile and never letting your gaze flit to Mike. 

 Hange does most of the talking, going over all of your findings while all of you "braved the wilderness". Moblit and Abel insert a few things here and there, and then Hange clicks to a slide with a graph on it and hands the remote to you. 

 "If you turn to page seventeen in the binders, you can probably get a better look, but this shows how much the level of pollution in Lake Sina has risen in the last year alone. We took samples over…"

 You keep talking, but Mike loses his focus, watching your hands move as you speak, the way you're rocking back on your heels, and how you look anywhere but at him. 

 Even though there's a tiny tremble in your voice, you sound passionate, and why wouldn't you be? Mike is passionate too. About the same god damn thing. 

 With a PhD in environmental science, his specialty is pollutants. It's something he's been interested in since grad school because the earth is beautiful but in an awful state, and Mike wants to fucking change that. He's written journals and articles, worked with leading experts, and it's what he's decided to dedicate himself to, so why is it that this life that he's built for himself is suddenly intermingling with yours? How—

 A hand comes to rest on Mike's and he startles at the touch, jerking his head upward to see Lynne with raised eyebrows. 

 "Mike, I get why you're lost in the pollution sauce, but if you click that pen one more time, I will throw you out of this high-rise."

 He stares at her for a second before chuckling and tossing his pen onto his blank notebook. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it. It's a little embarrassing, actually. How many people noticed? Did you? 

 The presentation ends with Hange telling everyone that they're happy to be teaming up with the Corporation to work toward a solution and a plan to clean Lake Sina and possibly implement it into larger bodies of water.

 The planning stage of the project will more than likely last for a few months, meaning you'll all be regulars in the office which Mike isn't especially thrilled about, even if you will be sequestered in a little annex and spending a lot of your time in the lab. Mike will still have to see you and work with your team, god, probably have to talk to you. 

 The floor opens up for any questions, but Shadis is the only one who speaks, wanting clarification on some statistic that Mike is going to have to read over later. Once the boss is happy, he stands, then walks behind Mike's chair to slap him on the back and say the last thing Mike wants to hear.

 "This is Dr. Mike Zacharias. All of you should get familiar with him since he'll be heading this project."

 Mike sits up a little straighter and forces a tight-lipped smile that all of his colleagues know is fake. 

 "Happy to be working with you." 

 It isn't a lie. He's been excited about this project for a long time now. He just wasn't expecting such a massive wrench to get thrown right into the middle of it. 

 The four of you start packing up your materials. When Henning tries to hand you his binder, you tell him, "No, those are for you to keep. Just to get a real grasp on what we found out there."

 Mike knows he's staring, swiveling back and forth in his chair, twirling the pen he's picked up again, and he wonders if it would just be easier to rip the bandaid off. Exchange hellos, go over the bare minimum—how long he's been with the company, how long you've been researching. Just enough to appear casual, like you didn't break Mike's fucking heart in college. 

 And, then he thinks about just avoiding you altogether. There's always the chance your issues could come up in conversation, and it's so far in the past now, there's nothing either of you can say to make the other feel better. This can't be about closure. It's just a job. That's all. 

 "Wow, everyone really… cleared outta here."

 Mike's vision unfogs, and he glances around to find that yes, you're the only two left in the conference room. Fantastic. 

 You're wrapping a cord around your elbow then shoving it in a laptop bag, and he can tell you're moving as fast as you can, ready to get the fuck out of there. 

 "Uh, yeah," Mike agrees, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his notebook to curl in his hands. "Everyone's just ready to get back to work, I guess."

 "Yeah. You can only hold someone's attention with a PowerPoint for so long."

 Mike's mouth is too dry, and it feels like he needs to cough, but he doesn't want to startle you, so he just quietly clears his throat in an entirely ineffective way and tells you, "Good PowerPoint, though."

 You snicker, not loud enough to hear your real laugh, and Mike doesn't know if he's grateful for that or not. 

 "Thanks. Mobs made it."

 Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you finally look up at Mike—really look at him for the first time—and he sees your expression go soft, mouth twitching like you’re caught between smiling and frowning, and Mike is taken back to the first night he met you when he wanted you to shotgun that disgusting beer. 

 You blink at him, open and close your mouth, and Mike is waiting with baited breath for you to say something else, but all you do is hold your hand out for him to take the projector remote from you. 

 "Here."

 He grabs it with two fingers, careful not to brush your hand. Fuck, he wishes his heart would stop beating so hard, it's incredibly uncomfortable. 

 "I feel like I should say something," you murmur, "But I have no idea what, so I'm just gonna tell you I look forward to working with you, Dr. Zacharias."

 He grins. Widely. He doesn't mean to, but he does. It's been so damn long since anyone has said his last name like that. 

 "Do you, though?" He asks. 

 "Do I what?"

 "Look forward to working here."

 "Oh, uh…" You bite your lip, start rocking on your feet again, then shrug. "I guess? I mean… Big project."

 "Very big."

 "It's important to me. I can't say that I was expecting—"

 "Me?" Mike offers with a tilt of his head. 

 He's standing too close. It feels like he is, anyway, so he moves back to lean against the conference table. 

 "Yeah, pretty much," you laugh. "It's been a while."

 Mike wonders if you remember that night as well as he does. No matter how much he's tried to forget it, that image of you with fat years rolling down your face just will not leave him. Do you remember how it felt? Can you remember everything he said to you? 

 Before Mike can respond, you wave a hand. "Anyway, I need to go help set up our little area, so…"

 "Yeah, for sure. I'll be around."

 After powering through the last hour of his day, Mike bolts from the building. He needs to get home. He needs to get a drink in his hand. He needs to unwind and not think of you. 

 He needs to fucking call Erwin. 

 "Hey, bro, what's up?" 

 "Dude," is all Mike says at first. 

 "What?" 

 "You will never fucking guess who's on the team we’re working with on the Sina water project."

 Erwin hums in a sing-song sort of way, then chuckles. "Funny, I got a similar call about an hour ago."

 "You guys still talk?" Mike asks a little too loudly. 

 "Yeah, man. Not every day or anything, but—"

 Mike rolls his eyes. "You're unbelievable." He isn't mad, and Erwin knows this. He's just a little surprised. His friend hasn’t as much as uttered your name in the last ten years. 

 "Yeah, whatever. How'd it go from your perspective?" 

 "It—Wait, what did she say?" 

 "Oh, no no no," Erwin laughs. Mike here's a distant, "Hold that, please!" and figures he's making his way to the elevator to leave work as well. "I am not getting caught up in your bullshit again."

 Pouting, Mike finally turns on his car and pulls out of the parking lot. "Fine. It went… Well? I think? I mean, super awkward, but that isn't surprising."

 "No name-calling or confessions of undying love?" 

 "No, I'm not twenty-two anymore."

 "Could have fooled me," Erwin snorts. 

 "Fuck off. It was a good presentation, but she was nervous, and I couldn't tell if it was from having to speak in front of people or if it was 'cause I was there, and then we talked afterward—nothing important or anything, just, like, an acknowledgement. You know, you're here, I'm here, we have to find a way to co-exist, except neither of us actually said that," Mike has to take a deep breath. He's rambling, he knows, and Erwin is just listening, probably storing it all away to make fun of him about it later. "It was okay. It could've been worse."

 "Could have been better too."

 "What? How—"

 "Could have bent her over the desk and—"

 "Dude!"

 Erwin breaks into that deep laugh Mike is so used to, tells him, "I'm just saying! I know she's still cute. We have each other on Facebook."

 He's right. Too right. You are absolutely still cute, all dressed up in business casual attire, so different from the leggings and hoodies you used to wear. Your face has matured slightly—naturally—and your hair is different but still suits you. Mike has no idea how he's supposed to work with you for the next few months. 

 "I can't deal with you," Mike grumbles. "Why did I even call you?" 

 "Probably because I'm the only one who has an inkling about what you're going through right now," Erwin replies. "Aside from her anyway."

 "Yeah, yeah."

 They chat for a little while longer until Erwin gets to the bar he's apparently meeting some coworkers at, and Mike spends the rest of his drive listening to music too loud as he tries and fails to clear his mind of you. 

 *

 You're pacing. You have been for the last hour. The food you made for yourself went cold some time ago, but you're too busy whining into your phone to notice. 

 "Just—like—what the fuck am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to work with him like this? He's overseeing the whole fucking project! I can't just avoid him!" 

 "Okay, first thing's first," Hitch stops you. "I need you to take a deep breath for me."

 "Hitch—"

 "Breathe!"

 You inhale through your nose then blow out through your mouth, but that's obviously not good enough for Hitch because she demands, "And, again."

 "What are you, my therapist?" 

 "I mean, I usually act like one, so… anyway, while you're calming the fuck down, I'm gonna call for backup. Hold please."

 Dropping yourself onto the hotel couch, you try to relax even though you know it'll be impossible because—

 "You're working with Mike?" Rhi's shrill voice meets your ear, and you have to pull the phone away. 

 "Rhi, you're supposed to help me calm her down, not add to her panic," Hitch reminds her. 

 "Yeah, no, that's not gonna happen," Rhi tells her, and you laugh to yourself. 

 "Agreed."

 "Okay, so tell me what happened. Oh my god, did you cry? Did he cry? What'd Erwin say when you told him? You told him, right?" 

 You've gotten used to Rhi's rapid fire inquiries a long time ago, so you have no problem answering, "We walked in for the big Sina presentation today, and he was just there, and I was freaking out, so Hange had to do most of the work but still made me go over my findings 'cause I understand them better than they do, but anyway. I don't think he was paying attention at fucking all which is cool 'cause I wouldn't have been either, and then we talked for a second afterward, but there were no tears. There was almost vomit 'cause I felt like I needed to throw up, but I kept it together. I think."

 "Okay, and Erwin? What'd he say?" 

 You snicker to yourself. "He made fun of me for a little while and then he told me to talk to Mike once I calmed down just to catch up and then to—this is verbatim, by the way—to possibly have dirty sex in Mike's office."

 Both of your friends howl, Hitch being the first to gather herself enough to giggle, "He fucking would say that, oh my god, I hate him."

 "Same," Rhi drawls. "Okay, but is there the possibility of dirty office sex?"

 "Wha—That's what you're taking away from all that?" You splutter. 

 "Uh, yeah."

 "I'm kinda curious too," Hitch pipes up. 

 You wave your free hand around in confusion and tell them, "I—we—no! We don't even know each other anymore. We said, like, four words to each other today, and it was fucking weird, so no. Pervs."

 "Do you want to, though? Has he aged well?" Hitch asks in a low, sultry voice. 

 You click your tongue and pause, not wanting the first thought that pops into your head to be what comes out of your mouth because yes, holy shit, yes, Mike looks so fucking good. It was one of many reasons you were so tongue-tied in front of him. 

 He's still impossibly tall and broad, but in slacks and a button up. The beard he’s always had is short and rugged and a tad darker than the hair on top of his head that he's let grow out long enough to tie in a bun, and it fits him too well. You thought you were gonna start drooling on his fancy shoes. 

 "He's alright," you play. They see right through you, falling into another long fit of laughter until you admit, "Okay, okay, he's still stupid hot, alright?" 

 "God bless. I'm so happy to hear that. I'm so happy for you."

 "Why would you—"

 "Just promise you'll invite us to the wedding."

 "I think you guys are getting a little ahead of yourselves."

 "Oh my god, we have to call Marie."

 "And, Maddie."

 You shake your head as the other two start going back and forth, talking about you like you're not even there, bringing up college memories, old parties you'd all gone to. 

 "Hey, remember when you hated me?" Rhi questions, and both of you snort. 

 "And, you hated me right back. Stole your man or whatever."

 Hitch mutters a quiet, "Ew, fuck that guy."

 And, Rhi picks up, "Yeah, fuck that all-American, record-breaking pitcher."

 The three of you talk well into the evening, eventually switching to Zoom so that you can all see each other and add Maddie and Marie into the call. You and Hitch break open bottles of wine, but Rhi and Maddie don't drink, "Solidarity with this pregnant bitch," Maddie says, and Marie lifts her glass of water to cheers via internet. 

 Sophomore and junior year of college, you never would have expected to get close to anyone other than Hitch, but through a few shared classes and petty curiosity, all of you ended up seeking solace in one another and came out on the other side as best friends. Hitch was even Maid of Honor in Marie and Nile's wedding. Against all odds, everything turned out pretty wholesome. 

 "I genuinely hope it works out," Hitch says now, words long, lazy, and starting to slur together "Like, even if it's just you and Mike making up and being, like, cool with each other again."

 "Hitch, you're drunk, please go to bed."

 "I am drunk. But, I still mean what I said. I miss when you guys were just best friends."

 "Why?" You question with a head shake. 

 Hitch sighs, "'Cause you were so happy."

 "No, I—"

 "I mean, you were still all… weird and guarded, but that dude made you laugh and smile so much."

 "I daresay I even saw you giddy on a couple of occasions," Marie hums. 

 "Whatever. I just want it to be… not awkward."

 "Then, talk."

 "Mm, pass."

 *

 A light knock on the wall of the impressively large cubicle gets your whole team's attention, all of you glancing up to find Mike standing in the little entryway, hands in his pockets.

 "Hey, just checkin' in. Have you all gotten settled?" 

 "Yes!" Hange is up on their feet. "Great accommodations, and that lab you guys use?" They moan, and you can tell Mike is trying not to laugh because his mouth is twisting to one side like it always does when he tries to appear unaffected by something. However, you know well that it is very hard to remain unaffected by Hange Zoe. 

 "Yeah, we haven't had a lab that shiny in a long time," Moblit chuckles. 

 "Don't you work in government buildings?" Mike frowns. 

 "You ever seen the inside of a post office?" You question, immediately regretting it when those light green eyes land on you. 

 "Uh, yeah?" 

 Smirking through the butterflies, you tell him, "Those are government buildings too."

 "Don't mind her. She's just being a smartass," Abel says.

 Mike is really fighting that smile now. Even pinched to one side, you can see the way his lips are trying to curve upward, and you have to bite yours and look at the floor before you start acting like a god damn school girl. 

 It's nearing the end of the first week at your new location. It hasn't been terrible, and some of the strangeness is beginning to wear off, but it's still jarring to see Mike walk around or hear his voice carrying through his office door. 

 Neither of you have gone out of your way to talk to one another. Anything project related, Hange handles for the most part, and if anything is delegated to you, you try to pass it off to Abel because you're just not ready to be alone in a room with Mike. Your brain and your heart can't take it yet. 

 You can't deny that you're curious, though. You wonder what his life is like now, what his job is like outside of what you've seen (which, admittedly, is not much), what he does in his free time now, who he spends his time with. You couldn't help but notice (you made a point of looking) that there isn't any type of ring on his finger which is pretty fucking surprising since, well, Mike has always been a catch. How has someone not come around and swiped him off the market? Or, does he just not wear a wedding band at work? Or, does he just have a girlfriend and is waiting to take the next step? So many questions you have no business asking.

 Mike hums, rubs at something probably nonexistent on the carpet with the toe of his shoe, and mumbles a little, "Nothin’ I haven't dealt with before," that makes everyone look at him curiously. "With co-workers, you know. Lotta sass in the office."

 You stifle a laugh and stand up. There are a lot of sassy things you could say, but you figure none of them are actually appropriate, especially since Mike is technically your boss now—why is that so hot?—so you just slip out of the cubicle, doing your best to not brush up against Mike. He apparently doesn't care, though, because while he moves to the side, he does the thing that all men do, placing a hand on the small of your back as if to guide you past him, and it makes you burn. 

 "'scuse me," you squeak, relieved to be able to run to the restroom where you can sit in a stall and scream to Hitch through texts. 

 You are dying—mostly because you don't know what you want. Do you want to be friends? Do you want to seduce him? Do you want another nine years away from him? You have no idea. 

 You were sad for a long time after that holiday break. You trudged through your spring courses, took more classes in the Summer, then started all over. Hitch had to physically drag you out of your tiny apartment a few times but never to any parties, thank god. Just to lunch or the library, and eventually, Rhi, Marie, and Maddie came into the picture. Further into the picture, anyway. 

 While they got you laughing again, though, that ache didn't ever fade. Mike's words replayed in your head in a constant loop, day and night for months. I can’t do this anymore. Start fresh. Shouldn’t be hard for you. You were mad at yourself for a long time, for ruining everything and hurting him. If you could have gone back to the start of it all and done things differently, you would have, but you just had to sit with all your mistakes instead. 

 Then, your anger shifted toward him. Because you weren't the only one who messed up. You may have been the first one to, but he did some shitty things too. He's the one who didn't care even after finding out it was Zeke who blocked his number. He's the one who refused to believe that you and Erwin weren't actually a couple. He's the one who brought Rhi to the ranch house with the specific intention of hurting your feelings (and to wet his dick). 

 And, he's the one who didn't want to work things out. 

 You understand his frustration. You broke his heart, after all. But then, he turned around and broke yours too. 

 It was nine years ago, and you've moved on. You've dated people since then. You've fallen in and out of love. Mike wasn't even on your radar until Monday, but now… Now, there's no forgetting him. Old wounds get jabbed every time he peeks around the corner, any time you hear him laugh or see him smile, and when he actually looks at you, fuck, it's like someone is ripping stitches out of your skin.

 It is not a productive work environment. 

 Your team hasn't noticed much other than Moblit asking what has you so tense these days, but no one has made any connections, and you'd like to keep it that way. Hange would have a fucking field day if they found out. 

 There are many meetings to toss around ideas, plans and blueprints that get scrapped. You stumble through presentations, trying not to look directly at anyone as your cheeks heat up and your hands shake. 

 "You've never been nervous about stuff like this," Abel tells you in the conference room one day as everyone else files out. "What's up with you?" 

 "Nothing," you shake your head. "Don't worry about it."

 "Nothing my ass," he grumbles, walking out without you. 

 "You really should try to relax," Mike tells you from where he's still sitting at the table. "No idea why you're so nervous."

 Everyone else is gone which means you're free to squint at him, scathing retort on the tip of your tongue, but when you see that he's smirking at you, the words dry up. 

 "Don't play dumb, Zacharias."

 "I'm not playing anything," he tells you. "But, I do need to know how long we're gonna keep up this I don't know you-you don't know me thing."

 "You literally just said—..." Taking a deep breath, you look over your shoulder to, one, form a coherent sentence in your brain, and two, make sure no one is close enough to hear it when you say, "What would you prefer we do? Not like we can just pick up where we left off. Unless, you know, you wanna go back to being incredibly fucking pissed at me for months on end."

 "Man, you really are tense about this," Mike chuckles, and you're torn between slapping him and jumping his bones, so you do neither. Fuck, why'd he have to wear the purple tie today? It looks so good with his complexion and complements his eyes. A few strands of hair have come loose from the bun at the back of his head, and he shakes them out of his face like he used to shake his shaggy bangs, and all you can do is stare and squirm and tell him, "I have to go."

 "Go where?" He asks, standing from his chair. It feels like he towers over you even from across the table. 

 You hold your hands out and gesticulate a little frantically, "I don't know—work? Maybe?"

 He's extremely amused, even laughs as you make your way out the door, then calls, "Whenever you're ready to talk, just let me know! You know where my office is."

 "I don't wanna talk!"

 You really don't. But, you also really do. 

 *

 Mike starts having fun with his new department (you specifically) around the third week. 

 He's never seen you like this before, having to mentally prepare yourself before you walk into any room, like you have to be ready for him. You nibble on your lip and rock on your heels. Your hands shake in meetings when you have to point to pictures or graphs. 

 It’s just so unlike you. He got so used to the surly, uncaring girl in college, never happy to see Mike until you gave him a fair chance (and decided you enjoyed his cock). He expects everything to come out of your mouth to be sarcastic or suggestive, and when it's not, it takes him off guard.  

 Mike is nervous around you too. He can easily admit that. But, his neverending panic really just manifests in the form of nausea and heart palpitations which he thinks is better than trembling and stuttering, but it's still mildly distracting. 

 Every once in a while, he catches a glimpse of that old side of you, though, a mumbled smartass remark or an unimpressed expression, and he has to make a conscious effort to not grin like an idiot because he's still trying to decipher his actual feelings. 

 Is he supposed to act like nothing ever happened, or should he hold a grudge? What seems more natural? What feels more natural? 

 Mike knows the answer to that last question, but he hasn't fully accepted it. 

 "It's kinda cute, actually. Like, I walk into the room and she gets this little doe-eyed expression. Looks like she's about to run away."

 "You're kind of a sadist, you know that?" Erwin says. 

 "I mean, is it so wrong to get a little satisfaction outta this?" 

 "I think so, yeah. You're driving her crazy, dude."

 Mike smacks his lips and rolls his eyes. "Man, how would you know—"

 "'Cause she told me!" Erwin basically shouts like it's obvious. "The words came out of her mouth. Mike is driving me crazy. Just like that."

 Pouting, Mike takes another sip of his beer and lets his eyes travel to the bottom of the TV screen to check the score of the game he isn't watching. 

 "Well, it's not like I can really do anything about it. She'll only be here for a few months."

 "Do you happen to know how long it takes for a stomach ulcer to form?" Erwin asks. 

 Mike frowns. "Uh, no?" 

 "Well, neither do I, but I'm pretty sure it's not very long."

 Both of them laugh. Mike mutters something about Erwin being fucking stupid, and then Erwin sighs and speaks, "I am begging you, dude. Please just get a fucking drink with her or something."

 "We don't mix well with alcohol," Mike snarks. 

 "What's the worst that could happen—you end up in bed again?"

 "Well—"

 "Honestly, both of you could probably benefit from a good fuck, but what do I know? I'm just the guy both of you call for this shit."

 "Alright, I get it. I'll… see if she's up for something," Mike mumbles. 

 "I mean, I wouldn't open with sex, maybe start off with lunch or…"

 "I'm hanging up now."

 Mike doesn't actually know how to ask you, though. You're so fucking skittish around him, and you're obviously worried about people finding out you have a history, so he's gonna have to be strategic about it, maybe plant the seed a few days before or—

 "Hey, listen…" You appear in Mike's office doorway, long cardigan falling to your knees and swishing behind you even after you've stopped moving. "I know it's almost five, but I'm, like, right in the middle of mapping out a new plan, and I don't wanna lose steam, so is it cool if I stay late?" 

 "Yeah, I don't care," Mike answers, tacking on, "S'long as you're okay with being here late with me."

 "Oh, th-that's—" you splutter for a little while, and Mike raises his eyebrows. "That's n-not necessary. You don't have to, like, supervise me or anything."

 "I'm not supervising you," Mike snorts. "I'm trying to finish my piece for a journal."

 "Ah, right, that's… yes." You shoot off a half-hearted finger gun, and Mike wants to hop his desk to get to you. There you are. There are your dumb fucking mannerisms, please, just act like yourself, for the love of god. 

 "Okay, well if you need me, uh, I will probably be on the floor in the annex, so…"

 "We do have chairs, ya' know," Mike smirks. 

 "Yeah, but it's easier to just spread everything out so I can see it."

 "Want a corkboard? You can make it look like you're doing a murder investigation."

 "Hmm, might make it look more official," you muse, making a face of contemplation. 

 Before you can actually say yes, Mike pipes up again. "I don't actually have a corkboard. It was a joke."

 "Yeah, I know," you snicker. "Wouldn't be big enough anyway."

 Too many responses flood Mike's brain at once, causing him to bite his tongue because every last one of them is gross, but you must be able to read it on his face because you point and tell him, "Stop."

 "I didn't say anything!" He laughs. 

 "You don't have to. I know."

 Mike rolls his eyes, "Okay," and looks back to his computer, hoping the screen is high enough to hide his grin as you turn and walk away. 

 The next hour is spent editing the same paragraph over and over with no real motivation because everyone has vacated the floor except for you and Mike, and this could be a good time to talk to you, but he also doesn't want to disrupt your work. Just because he can't focus doesn't mean you can't. You'd only get upset if he distracted you from your work anyway—it's happened before—redirecting your attention from a textbook or study guide to… other things. 

 He goes down a rabbit hole, reminiscing on those occasions, then tweaking them just a little to fit into the current setting, and it's the absolute last thing Mike should be thinking about, but it's Friday, and you're slightly more casual in your flowy cardigan and tight jeans, and all he wants is to get one teeny tiny look at your ass in them because he knows your it’s perfect. He's seen it in leggings and cheeky little boy shorts and lacy thongs, and there is absolutely no way he can go out to talk to you now. 

 Also, he really needs to write at least one paragraph before leaving tonight. It's all about water and waste and pollutants which is the shit Mike knows like the back of his hand. He'd just rather have said hands on something else. 

 "Yeah, this isn't gonna happen," he mutters to himself, taking his hair down to scratch at his scalp. He's better off just going home. 

 Mike packs a few things up before stepping out of his office, closing and locking the door behind him. Half the lights are off, but the portion over the annex is shining brightly. Mike stares in that direction as he debates telling you he's leaving or bolting without saying anything. 

 It's the thought of you walking out to your car alone that makes his mind up, and Mike saunters to the annex and finds you on hands knees surrounded by several sketches, crumpled notes, and the set of blueprints that Mike is pretty sure got thrown in the recycling on Tuesday. 

 "Where'd you even find those?" 

 You don't look up when you answer, "Recycling comes every Monday."

 "So, you went… dumpster diving?" 

 Lifting your head, you squint up at Mike, tracking him as he squats on the other side of your organized chaos. 

 "Is it dumpster diving if it's all paper?" 

 Mike shrugs. "Dunno. How's it comin'?"

 "I'm comi—It!" You correct a little too loudly. "It's coming! It's coming along just fine."

 "Yeah?" Mike chuckles. "Cute Freudian slip there."

 "It was not—" You grit your teeth, fingers curling on the papers they're resting on, then question, "Did you need something?"

 "Just came by to say I was leaving," Mike tells you. Something catches his eye, though, some of your notes scribbled just big enough for him to read a few of the words from where he is, and he grabs the sheet to look it over more carefully. 

 Irrigation plans, specialized pumps, introducing new life into the lake, specifically filter fish…

 "I was just vomiting ideas out on paper, it's nothing important."

 Mike hums and reads further. Some of it is familiar because Mike has considered some of these himself, but while your engineering thoughts are a little vague, the ideas that lean more toward the biological side of things are pretty interesting, even if they're just sloppy bullet points and arrows. 

 "You wanna vomit on a person instead?" He asks, chuckling at the look you give him. 

 "Ew."

 "Just spitball. Throw it at me."

 "Oh, I'm gonna throw somethin' at you all right."

 Mike slips his bag from his shoulder and sets it down before sitting on the ground, picking up the papers closest to him. 

 "Tell me about the xylem tissue method," he prompts. 

 You don't speak right away, just chew on your lip while staring at the sketches on the ground, but then you nod and sit back on your heels. 

 "So, we know that white pine trees are a natural means of filtering, but there aren't any around here. I know it's more of a long-term plan, but we can't just go with a temporary fix, so I was thinking—"

 Mike listens. To everything. Everything you can think of. He watches too. You rub your hands over your jeans and flick hair from your eyes. You change positions, sitting on one foot while resting your chin on your knee as you think out loud, then move to sit cross-legged only to get up to pace the length of the cubicle, barefoot since your heels were kicked off long ago. 

 He asks questions or makes suggestions here and there, and soon it isn't just you who's brainstorming.

 It's easy. It's what Mike knows, and it's obviously what you know too, and a couple of hours pass before either of you realize it. 

 "Shit, it's almost ten," you state, looking at your phone. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you here so late."

 "It's fine. Wouldn't have stayed if I didn't want to."

 Mike stretches as he stands, twisting to crack his back and rolling his neck. You gather up all the papers, straightening them into a neat pile then putting them in a drawer at the bottom of your desk. 

 You walk out together, still chatting in the elevator and out to the parking lot, and Mike feels good. He feels like… He feels like he did in college. 

 "Please tell me that is not your car," you say, eyeing the boxy, white Mercedes that is, in fact, Mike's. 

 "What of it?" 

 "These fucking Jeeps are so ugly, I cannot believe—"

 "Uh, it's not a Jeep. It's a g-wagon, thank you."

 You roll your eyes. "I liked your Wrangler better."

 "I bet you fuckin' did," he mumbles, too lost in the memory of you riding him in said Wrangler to think about how you might take the comment. 

 "It was easier on the eyes," you explain. 

 "It was a frat boy car."

 "You were a frat boy!" 

 "And, now I'm a professional."

 "Are you, though?" You tease, expression skeptical save for your tiny smirk. 

 "Most of the time."

 The only other vehicle in the lot is a Land Rover, considerably larger than the little hatchback you used to drive but very fitting for someone in your line of work. Mike thinks about mentioning that it's basically the same as his Mercedes, just not as expensive and with rounder edges, but he knows you'll just get indignant and defensive. 

 He walks you over to your car, and you don't question it, just open the passenger side and throw your bag inside. 

 This is your chance, Mike realizes. Just ask. Ask her to go somewhere else and talk about something other than work.

 "Hey, uh, do you wanna grab a drink or something?" He tries, heartbeat picking up once again. His eyes are a little too wide as you regard him carefully, studying him like one of your samples.

 Then, you shake your head. 

 "No, Mike. I don't wanna grab a drink." His stomach opens up, the heat that comes with embarrassment creeping up his neck. 

 "Oh, sorry, I just—"

 "But, there's a breakfast place close to the extended stay they put us up in. I've been wanting to check it out."

 And, like that, his hope is restored. Hope for what, Mike doesn't know, but it's certainly there, blooming in his chest like unkempt wildflowers. 

 "Yeah?" 

 You nod. "Yeah. I'm still not really a morning person, but d'you wanna meet there at, like, ten or so?" 

 "Tomorrow?" 

 "I mean, if that works for you."

 "Yeah!" Mike clears his throat, lowers his voice so that he sounds a little less excited. "I'm usually up and moving by eight."

 "God, why do you hate yourself?" You cringe. 

 "I've always been an early riser."

 "Not from what I remember."

 Mike leans against your rover, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, maybe not when I was kept up into the early morning hours, but usually I was up before everyone else."

 You post up across from him, one hand on your hip, and Mike realizes this is gonna go on for some time. 

 "Kept up? Like you didn't wanna be?"

 He's fine with that. He'll stand out here talking with you until the sun comes up if you'll let him. And, maybe after that too. 

 *

 Breakfast is good. Breakfast is safe. Breakfast is the start of the day and free of alcohol. There is nothing suggestive about breakfast. 

 Except breakfast has become a habit. For the last three Saturdays you’ve sat at the little cafe next to your hotel talking with Mike for at least an hour. You’re kind of getting to know him again, but most of the conversation consists of stupid jokes or blatant deflections. 

 His parents are still doing well, both in their sixties now, but Scout, unfortunately passed away a few years ago. Hearing it makes your eyes burn, and watching Mike’s face fall actually makes you wipe at your own rapidly forming tears. 

 He still keeps in touch with several of his frat brothers—Erwin (obviously), Nile, Gelgar, and some of the younger kids, Jean, Marco, and Connie.

 “Yeah, I’m actually pretty close to Marie now,” you tell him. “And, Maddie, and Rhi.”

 “Rhi?” He looks incredibly surprised.

 “Yeah,” you laugh. “Bonded over the woes of college boys.”

 “Didn’t see that coming.”

 “Neither did I, honestly.”

 Working with him is easier now. The ice has been broken. The boundaries have been set even if they are unspoken. You still do your best not to touch him at all, never stand too close or brush against him in any way, but you’ve loosened up a lot, and your team seems to appreciate it. Unfortunately, they also start to notice the way you light up a little too much whenever you’re around Mike, and naturally, Hange just had to comment on it a few days ago. 

 “You have a crush on the bossman or somethin’?”

 “What? No. We just work well together, I guess.”

 You do not tell Mike about this exchange, in fear of him prying. Well, do you have a crush on the bossman? You’re not ready for that, probably never will be. 

 There are a few breakthroughs in the Sina project. The research team gets extra funding to run more trials, and you start to stay late more often, sometimes in the tower with everyone else and sometimes in the lab. Things are progressing nicely. 

 Eventually, breakfast turns to lunch, lunch turns to dinner, and then you find yourself in Mike’s apartment, sitting at his kitchen table while he cooks.

 “So, we talk every once in a while now, but it’s usually really awkward. Like, I still don’t ever know what to say to him.”

 “Do you find it weird that he reached out in the first place?”

 “Kind of? When I was younger, I always hoped he would, but now that he has, I almost wish he hadn’t. Does that make sense?”

 Mike shrugs as he pours noodles into a strainer over the sink. “I mean, he’s your dad, so yeah, it makes sense. What he did was super shitty, but I figure it’s hard to forget the good times and just abandon all hope.”

 “Yeah. On the bright side, he sends my brother money for commissary, like, every week, so that’s nice.”

 It took a little while, but you’ve let yourself open up to Mike much easier this time around. Whether it’s because you already know you can trust him or because you’ve gotten the closure you needed for so long, you’re not sure. You just know it’s been easy. 

 Unfortunately, with vulnerability comes feelings, and you are having a lot of those. Too many. You’re glad that it’s not debilitating dread and nervousness now, but the overwhelming affection isn’t any less distracting.

 Watching Mike move around his kitchen, though—clad in a t-shirt, faded jeans, and the dish towel thrown over his shoulder, you are painfully reminded of why you got so attached all those years ago. 

 It isn’t fair. You really didn’t want to fall back into this hole. You knew it was a possibility as soon as you saw him at that first meeting, but you were trying to put it off until you had to leave. 

 Because that’s the plan. You come in. You complete the project, get them started on a long-term plan for the lake, then head back to your home facility and wait for another job to be assigned. You can’t just stay here, even if the idea gets a little more tempting every day. 

 You’re just friends, though, just spending time together because it’s familiar. It’s nice being back on the same page, just letting the past stay there.

 “So, it’s been about two months,” Mike starts, and something about his tone makes your stomach drop. “I feel like that’s an appropriate amount of time to wait before finally addressing the elephant in the room.”

 So much for letting the past stay there. 

 Groaning, you rub your hands down your face. “Do we really have to?” Of course he would want to talk about it now that you’re comfortable.

 “I really think we do.”

 “Mike, that was so long ago. I was a dumb fucking kid. What do you need to know other than that?”

 He braces himself on his counter, face serious. “Nothin’ really. I just want you to know that I was a dumb kid too.”

 “Yeah, and we’ve grown since then and gotten over it, right?”

 He lets out a long sigh. “I had gotten over it, but working with you every day has kinda... brought some things back to the surface.”

 Staring at him, you swallow and try to stay calm. You know where he’s coming from, and it’s a little comforting to know that he’s been experiencing at least some of the emotions that you have been, but you don’t know whether or not it’s a good thing. 

 “I get it. I’ve been struggling too, but there’s nothing we can really do about it.”

 You’ve thought about just taking the plunge and sleeping with him again. It would be nice—really fucking nice—but it would only make things worse. 

 “I guess. It’s been cool to hang out again, but…” Mike chews on his lip for a moment before finishing, “We’ve never been good at just hanging out.” 

 The reminder makes your skin prickle with heat, and you shift in your chair, reeling in your thoughts before they run wild. 

 “Yeah. If it would be easier to just not hang out, I’d understand.”

 He turns back to the stove to stir something and turn on the vent then twists back around. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

 “Then, what are you saying?”

 Mike makes a little disgruntled noise, hanging his head like he’s getting frustrated. “I’m saying some days are hard. I tried to keep some distance, but that lasted for about a week, and now you’re here, and even though you’ve changed some, you’re still you, and I’m still me, and… Some days are just hard.”

 Some minutes are hard, you think to yourself. You can be going about your day like someone who isn’t completely fucking smitten, and then you see Mike, and he nods or grins and suddenly all you want is to be alone with him and trace over his lips with yours, feel his hands on you, run your fingers through his long hair. 

 “If I could take those feelings away from you, I would,” you tell him, and it’s apparently the wrong thing to say because he frowns.

 “Do you not feel the same way then?”

 Your reply is almost instantaneous. “Christ, Mike, of course I feel the same! I was in love with you! I didn’t know how to show it back then, but that’s what it was, so yeah, I feel it too, but there’s no point in—in analyzing it or turning it into something—”

 “You were in love?”

 “Dude. Yes. It took me a while to realize it—like, way too long—but yeah. Definitely love. Junior and senior year wouldn’t have sucked so much if it was just lust or infatuation or something.”

 “Sorry.”

 “Don’t be,” you wave him off. “I fucked up. You had every right to be pissed.”

 “I could’ve handled it better,” he mutters.

 You shake your head. “Dumb kids, remember?”

 Mike looks genuinely upset, and you don’t know what to say anymore, so you get up from the kitchen table and walk over to him. You have to physically urge him to turn and face you, but once he does, you wrap your arms around his torso and sigh. He immediately locks his wrists behind your back, resting his chin on your head, and it feels familiar and right and a little bit like home. You can smell the fabric softener that clings to his shirt and the fresh scent of his deodorant, different from what he used to wear, but that doesn’t make it bad.

 “Can we wait for a while longer before we decide to act like dumb kids again?” You ask.

 Mike chuckles above you. “You say that like you’re positive we will.”

 You’re just being realistic, and you tell him as much. The chances of you leaving the city without having sex at least once are slim to none. You figure the two of you will break and indulge in one of those ‘just for old time’s sake’ fucks, but if Mike keeps talking to you like this, admitting feelings and what not, you’re gonna lose it much faster than you’d originally planned. 

 “Yeah.” You feel him nod. “Yeah, we can wait.”

 When he kisses the top of your head, you almost give up then and there. 

 *

 This fucking sucks. Everything sucks. Mike was never one of those people who looked back on college as his glory days, never really had the desire to go back to it, but now he feels like he’s reliving them because he’s back to being twenty-one and obsessed with a girl—being obsessed with you. 

 It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t know that you felt it too, but you admitted it, so now the only thing that’s stopping the two of you from exploring that avenue is, what, fear? Again?

 He gets it. He does. You don’t want to fall into something serious only to leave, but it’s possible to navigate relationships like that. Long distance-works. There’s technology for that like phones and video chats and sex toys. Then, there’s always the option of just relocating. It would be drastic, but Mike isn’t against the idea. Arrangements would have to be made, but he could swing it. It’s a little crazy so early on, but...

 He’s not gonna push it, not in a blatant way, but he’s gonna try his damndest to make it harder for you to go. He grows bold enough to start touching you more. A hand on the small of your back as you leave a room together, an arm around your shoulders when you watch TV over dinner, tucking hair behind your ear (“God, that used to be Erwin’s, like, go-to move.”). It’s fucked up because he knows your colleagues are asking about it, that he’s subjecting you to their interrogations, but he can’t help himself. He can’t stop.

 It definitely has an effect on you. You get flustered every time, can’t look at Mike for a while, and he hopes it’s because you’re thinking about other ways he could touch you—has touched you—f you’d just give him the chance.

 He thinks he has the patience to keep it up, wind you up more and more every day until you spin out of control and into his bed. You’re still spending time with him outside of work, still sharing pieces of yourself, and you’re not stopping him from putting his hands on you. so it’s only a matter of time.

 It comes to a head in his apartment after dinner. It’s so simple, something Mike didn’t even do on purpose, but as you’re washing your hands, he comes up behind you and reaches past you for a paper towel. He puts a hand on your hip without thinking, and his chest presses against your back, and then you’re exhaling in one quick huff and squirming to turn around.

 “Okay.”

 “Okay, what?” Mike asks, confused as he takes a step back. 

 “Okay, I’m ready to act like a dumb kid.”

 You don’t even dry your hands, just curl your fingers into his shirt and gaze up at him with dilated pupils, and Mike is elated.

 “Oh, thank god, fuck, thank god.”

 He leans down, and you stand on your tiptoes, and when you meet in the middle and he feels your lips on his for the first time in almost a decade, he groans. 

 You pull him closer, tilt your head further back to give him better access, and Mike cradles it in his hands. He tries not to breathe too heavily, pant like a fucking dog, but he’s been waiting for this since he saw you again. Maybe before that. He thinks on some level he’s been waiting for this since he left you alone in the ranch house, a little voice nagging at him to go back, to fix things, and he just never did. 

 “This is stupid, this is so stupid,” you murmur against him. “Only gonna make things harder.”

 “Just stop thinking about it,” Mike replies, nipping at your bottom lip. He doesn’t want you to think about it because he doesn’t want to think about it otherwise he’ll blurt out everything he’s been stewing on for the last couple weeks, the possibility of a real relationship, of you staying or him going, and that's too much. 

 You both shed clothes on your way to the bedroom, a trail of shirts and pants until you’re naked and laid out for him, and Mike swears he just might cry because you’re so beautiful, just as he remembered with a little more meat on your hips and thighs, a new scar on your calf that he asks about before brushing his lips over it. That leg is already resting on his shoulder, and once he gets situated on his stomach, he throws the other one over himself.

 His mouth starts to water as he gazes at your pussy, so fucking pretty, hole fluttering when he spreads you open. You can’t answer his question about the injury as he lowers his face, pressing the flat of his tongue to the sensitive skin then dipping it inside of you. 

 “Oh, fuck.”

 You taste and smell and feel perfect, and the only thought in his mind is to devour you. He won’t stop until you’re crying, drool leaking from your mouth and your cunt. And, he knows exactly how to get you to that point. 

 Mike flicks over your clit until it grows firm against his tongue then sucks it into his mouth. The noise you make goes straight to his cock, and he starts to rut into the mattress to get some kind of friction. He can already feel precum dripping from his tip, knows you won’t be the only one getting messy tonight, but he doesn’t care. He’s never cared. 

 Mike only pulls away when your thighs start to tremble around his head, and it’s only to mark them with bruises. It reminds him of the last time, when you’d let him fuck you in a fit of desperation. It had been his undoing. He thought of that night for years, and now that he’s able to do it all again, he can’t help but confess, “Fuck, I’ve missed your pussy,” just before he spits on it. 

 Your chest is rising with every little whimper you release as your nails dig into your palms. He’s never been happier to have long arms, able to reach up and massage your tits, stretching his fingers out to span across your chest, thumb on one nipple, pinky on the other, and as he teases both of them, he moans at the fresh slick that coats his tongue. 

 “A finger,” you pant, “Give me a finger, fuck, at least one, please please please—”

 You’ve always been so cute when you babble. Mike can never say no when you talk to him like that, but after assessing and deeming you fit, he slides two fingers into you at once, still sucking your clit.

 You swear loudly, almost in surprise, but that doesn’t stop you from moving your hips, fucking yourself on every digit as your jaw drops open. 

 Mike wants to see your face—has to see it, so he licks up your body, stopping to tongue over your nipples as he goes. He never falters in his thrusting, still knows the exact angle he has to crook his fingers to hit your g-spot. Your back arches, and you plant your feet flat on the mattress to give yourself more leverage, more control. Mike smirks down at you, enjoying your euphoric expression as he grinds his palm against the bundle of nerves that is the key to making you fall apart. 

 “Oh my god—oh, god—fuck, Miche.”

 His breath catches in his throat. God, he hasn’t heard that in too long. He never told you, not that he ever had to, but hearing you call him that drove him crazy, made him fall further in love and lust at the same time, and hearing it now has the same effect.

 “Please,” you whine, then repeat it, spreading your legs to coax him deeper. “Fuck, I need you so bad, s-so bad.”

He’s in the perfect position to rub his cock over your stomach, smearing pre everywhere it touches. From the beginning, Mike has loved leaving traces of himself on you, always felt like he could almost smell it on your skin, like a sigil to ward off others.

 He places a soft kiss at the corner of one closed eye, then on the other, and when you open them to look at him, he sees that they’re filled with tears. 

 It makes him pause, but you keep riding his fingers and beg, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop, m’fine, just—”

 “Why're you crying then?" he grins, leaning down to lick your bottom lip. "Feel good?" 

 You nod, raising to your elbows to force your mouth against his, sliding your tongue inside then whining when Mike pulls away, but it's only to gather the spit in his mouth. When he kisses you again, he makes sure you take it all, pushing saliva past his teeth and onto your palette, and when you swallow, Mike makes a noise of satisfaction. 

 "That's my fuckin' girl."

 That wide, fuck-drunk smile he loves so much spreads across your face as you accept the praise you never would have when you were younger.

 Mike noses just under your ear then asks, "You ready for my cock?" 

 "Always,” you breathe. “Always ready for it."

 "Yeah?" You nod, face scrunching up, and Mike thinks there's a chance that you're—"Gonna come for me first?" 

 Your muscles are starting to tense, hips stuttering, and he can actually feel your pussy spasming around his fingers. 

 "Come on, baby, you can do it. Just—'

 Your eyes roll back as your body pulses. Mike's hand is coated with slick that he can't wait to lick off, and he fucks you with his fingers until you go limp. 

 He cleans his hand then slithers back between your legs to catch everything that's leaking from you. You release a pitiful moan when he traces a circle around your entrance then squeal when he rubs his beard over it. 

 "Jesus fuck!"

 "Sensitive?" He teases before crawling back up to kiss you. 

 Holding himself up with one arm, Mike takes hold of his cock, painfully hard at this point, and parts your wet folds with his tip. He slides it up and down, teasing both you and himself and gasping every time it just barely dips inside of you. 

 "Miche, please."

 "You sound good when you beg," he tells you. You've been doing an awful lot of that tonight. 

 "Good enough to fuck me?" 

 "Mm, maybe," he plays, but he's cut off when you lift yourself just enough to take his cockhead inside of you, squeezing it so that he swears. 

 It completely dismantles any self-control Mike thought he had, and he gives you everything he has in a single thrust that makes you scream his name. 

 "You asked for it," he tells you, starting to pull out. 

 You grip his biceps, shaking your head. "J-just stay still for a—oh god, oh god…"

 Mike doesn't move, lets you adjust while he enjoys the way your cunt clenches around his cock. You're panting, eyebrows knit together, and apologize, "Sorry, give me… a minute. Been a while since I've taken anything this s-size."

 It's juvenile, but Mike's chest still puffs a little when you tell him that, and that feeling only grows when you give him the go ahead to move and he pulls out to see that his cock is already covered in white cream.

 Breathing out a quiet, "Fuck," he slowly pushes back in, mesmerized by the way it creates a thick ring at the base. "So pretty," he mutters, rubbing a thumb over the skin that's stretched around him. "Such a pretty pussy."

 He lets a string of spit drip from his mouth and onto your clit then strokes the swollen bud in circles, the pad of his fingers brushing over the tiny hole that makes you twitch every time. 

 Mike falls into a very slow, deep rhythm, torturing you as he drags his cock over every inch of your satin walls. Tiny gasps are pushed from your throat with every thrust, growing louder when Mike sits back on his heels and pulls your hips up to meet his. It leaves you helpless, only able to claw at the blankets, but your efforts are half-hearted, the press of Mike's cockhead against your g-spot obviously making it hard to do just about anything. 

 "I—I—I—..."

 "You what, baby?" He coos while admiring how big his hands look where they wrap around your waist, holding you mostly still as he drives his cock in and out of you. 

 Your cunt is pulsing again, so tight around him as it drips with slick and cream. The sounds it's making, an obscene balance of suction and squelching, has Mike shaking over you because it's so lewd but so familiar, and god, he has missed this. 

 And, you're right. It's stupid because he's just putting himself in the same place he was in ten years ago, but now he's a grown fucking adult, able to handle himself better, communicate better, fuck you better. 

 Tears leak from the corners of your eyes when he picks up his pace, and he groans when he presses in just a little too far, cockhead nudging against the wall deep inside of you. Your eyelids flutter, toes curling where your feet dangle and shake on either side of Mike. 

 His hips start to snap against yours, his balls swinging every time, and Mike remembers how nice it felt when they'd slap against your clit, the way you'd sing for him, and well…

 "Turn over," he breathes, pulling out and helping as you get to your hands and knees. 

 He takes the time to appreciate the view, letting the weight of his cock settle on your back just to get a visual of how much you take of it, what it might look like deep in your ass and what it would be like to see your stomach bulge from it. 

 Another day.

 Not wasting any more time, Mike sheathes himself inside you once again, spreading your cheeks and spitting on your puckering hole so that he can press against it with a thumb. 

 Your pussy opens up for him, like your body is begging him for more, so Mike fucks you harder, faster, slipping the tip of his finger into your asshole so that you tense up and say his name drunkenly. 

 His heavy balls hit your clit over and over, making you squirm and swear, head hanging back in an invitation, so Mike uses his free hand to grab you by the hair, pulling and glancing at what he can see of your face to make sure he isn't hurting you too much. 

 That grin is back, crooked and shiny with drool you keep having to suck back from your teeth. Mike hasn't felt this good having sex in god knows how long (he knows exactly how long it's been), and he thinks out loud, "Always take my cock so well. Always been able to…"

 "Feels so good, Miche," you cry, "You feel so fucking good, oh my god."

 He takes you like this until you can't hold yourself up anymore, elbows buckling underneath you, and all he does then is fall onto his back and pull you with him, letting you ride him like this and dragging his nails down your spine. It curves under his touch, arching and bowing as you lean forward to plant your hands between his legs and bounce on him. 

 Mike has a perfect view from this angle, huffing at the way your puffy lips open for him, clinging to his cock and dripping gossamer strands. Pressure slowly starts to build in both his gut and his balls, a hot sensation that grows, making him feel full and swollen and fuck, he can't wait to fill you up, can't wait to see you sloppy with his cum again. 

 But, not yet. Not yet. 

 Pushing you until you move off of him, Mike grabs his pillows and shoves you down on them, kissing you again before burying his face between your legs. Your hands are immediately in his hair, and he smiles when you tug at it a little harshly, using the strands as a means to guide Mike right where you want him. Even though he's taking this little break to let himself calm down, he can't help but press his hips to the mattress. He's hot and throbbing and dripping pre, ready but not ready to unload everything inside of you. He doesn't want it to end too soon, wants to savor every second because you're here crying and pleading for him, pushing yourself against his face only to pull back when he sucks on your clit. 

 He's able to fit three fingers inside of you now, keeps licking and fucking you until you whisper a slew of curses and start to warn him, "You're gonna make me—" breaking into a high-pitched moan as you squirt into his mouth and all over his hand. 

 "Fuck yes, again, come on, baby, do that again."

 Mike coaxes another out of you, groaning at the feeling of you dripping down his face and chuckling at the way you shiver and sit up. Your eyes are barely open, head swaying back and forth, but you plant a hand on his chest with the confidence of someone who doesn't look like they're about to pass out, shoving him back until he lays down. 

Straddling him, you sink down on his cock and bite your lip as you rock back and forth for a few seconds. Mike can feel fluid dripping over his pelvis, murmurs, "So messy," while pulling you down for a lazy kiss. 

 He lets you ride him, lets you think you're in control for a while until your legs start to get tired, rhythm becoming slower, and then Mike takes over. He lifts and drops you to his content, hips meeting yours as he fucks up into you. Your own hands cup your tits, pinching your nipples and putting on a show as you bounce up and down. 

 "You're so good," you breathe. "So fucking good to me, god, Miche, right there."

 He's on the brink, so close to his climax, but he holds back, giving it to you just the way you want it until it starts to hurt, and then he grunts, "'m gonna come, baby, I have to. Fuck, please, please, let me—"

 "Yes, yes, wanna feel you…"

 Mike's head sinks further into the pillow as his hips move without any thought on his part. He spills inside of you, hot ropes of cum filling your cunt so that it starts to leak out around him, then shooting even more inside of you. 

 "Jesus fucking—"

 Your muscles clench, squeezing and milking him until Mike starts groaning and twitching from overstimulation. 

 He could die right here and now and be totally fine with it. He really could. But before he can let that happen... 

 Mike urges you back, letting you get situated on your pillows again as he gazes at your stretched pussy and everything dripping out of it. 

 As soon as you stop moving, Mike is working his tongue inside of you. He can taste both himself and you, feel it coat his tongue as he drinks in as much as he can before sliding up to your face and taking your chin so you'll open your mouth. 

 The first drop makes you open wider, sticking your tongue out so that Mike can fill your mouth with his cum and spit, and the fact that you let him is so incredibly arousing, he just might fuck you until he's coming dry. 

 The little pattern is repeated a few times, Mike licking your pussy then spitting everything into your mouth, but he leaves some for lubrication, shoving the last of his cum back inside you when he starts fucking you on his fingers. He keeps you pliant, sucking on your clit so that he can slowly ease his pinky into your ass, and it isn't long before you're letting out breathy little sounds and tensing underneath him. 

 He takes care of you through your orgasm, looking at your face from where he lays. You're so pretty when you come, mouth open, eyebrows high, the picture of ecstasy, and Mike wants to remember it forever. He wants to keep you like this forever. 

 You shudder when he pulls his fingers from you, whine when he slowly laves over your sensitive pussy with his tongue, but after several long licks, Mike crawls back up to lay next to you. 

 "God damn," you laugh. "I had almost forgotten how good you are."

 Mike smirks, kissing your temple and nipping the shell of your ear. "Almost?"

 You nod, a spent smile making your lips curl. "I don't think I could ever fully forget even if I wanted to."

 Humming, he traces fingers over your stomach, now sticky from the mess of precum he had basically slathered you with. 

 "Yeah, we were pretty good for each other when we weren't being stupid," he muses. 

 He should probably step away for a few minutes, hop in the shower and wait for the flood of chemicals in his brain to fall away. 

 "We were, weren't we?" 

 "Mhm."

 Mike dips to press his face into your neck. He just can't stop touching you, can't stop breathing you in. He needs to memorize everything about this—how soft you are underneath him, how you smell like sex and sweat and your perfume, how quiet your voice is when you speak to him. 

 He feels your body rise and fall with a heavy sigh, and he's about to ask if you want to rinse off, but you open your mouth first, thoughtful when you tell him, "I loved you so much, Miche."

 "I know," he replies. Even if he couldn't see it then, he can now. You may not have told him to his face, but if Mike had been just a little smarter back then, he would have realized you were telling him in different ways. "I loved you too."

 He feels you pet his hair, probably a tangled wreck from being pulled. "I, uh…" You swallow hard, and Mike rests his chin on the hand on your chest, your heart beating against his palm a little too fast. 

 "You wanna shower before you say whatever you're about to?" 

 He knows what you're about to tell him. He just wants to make sure you don't regret it when you come back to yourself. "Yeah, probably."

 Both of you leave the bed on unsteady legs, Mike leading you to the shower and setting it to your favored temperature. He stands under the spray with you, taking the brunt of the water while kissing you. You move slowly, tangling your tongue with his, mapping out his body with exploratory hands. 

Mike is the one to break away after several minutes, insisting on soaping you up and dragging his loofah over your skin. He even sinks to his knees, gentle as he cleans your thighs and between them, careful not to get suds anywhere they're not supposed to be. When he’s finished, Mike presses a kiss to your pelvic bone before standing again, grinning when you pull him back to your face. 

 He doesn't have the same, short refractory period he used to otherwise he'd fuck you against the tiled wall, but he's content to stay like this, sucking on your lip and pressing against you. 

 Even after you've been given the chance to get your thoughts in order, you still blink up at Mike, water droplets dotting and falling from your eyelashes as you tell him, "I love you. I still love you. I don't think I can stop."

 He holds your head in his hands, brushes his nose against yours as his chest swells with more emotion than he thinks he can actually handle, and his own confession is easy: "I love you, too." Another soft peck to your lips before he adds, "I think you already knew that, though."

 "Wasn't positive."

 Mike knows there are logistics to consider, but the two of you can work on that later. For now he just wants to finish rinsing off and crawl into bed with you. 

 He should probably change the sheets, though, and find you pajamas, so Mike does exactly that as you traipse back out to the kitchen for some water, wearing absolutely nothing and making him bite his lip. 

 He puts new bedding on the mattress, then digs through his dresser for a t-shirt and boxers. Something catches his eye, printed material that almost makes him laugh out loud. He doesn't know why he still has the shorts, especially since he ruined the shirt a long, long time ago, but he's so glad he does. 

 Pink and covered in palm trees, he can't even fit into them any more, but it's fine. He thinks he knows how he can repurpose them. 

 But first, he needs to call his mom. 

 *

 It's an easy fix, really. Before the Sina project even comes close to wrapping up, Mike finds a place for you in his department, something you hadn't thought possible, but apparently he's kind of a big deal in the field. 

 When he makes you the job offer in the conference room, he's able to keep it professional for a whole three minutes before you agree to the terms, and then he's out of his chair and picking you up to swing around. Just like that, the whole fucking office knows about the two of you. 

 "Ha! You owe me fifty bucks, Moblit!" Hange shouts for everyone to hear, and you shake your head as the quiet man asks if he can Venmo them. 

 "I fucking knew it! I knew there was something going on! God, that's so satisfying. I'm not even mad that you're leaving us."

 "It's been going on for a long time now," you snort. 

 Hange leans against the wall and wriggles their eyebrows, "Yeah, what, like, the whole three months we’ve been here?" 

 "Try ten years," Mike mutters, and the eyes behind Hange's glasses nearly roll out of their head. 

 You and Mike have to sign a few things, contracts and couples disclosures and what not, but you don't mind. 

 The first thing you do is ask for a few days off in order to move, and Mike naturally does the same to help. You live just over three hours away, but are able to recruit some help in the form of your old friends. 

 You let out a shrill scream when you see Erwin step out of his car outside of your apartment complex, all but throw yourself into his arms so that he laughs and squeezes you tight against him. It's been a couple years since you've actually seen him, the distance between you just a little too far, but it's so nice to stare at his stupid face again. 

 Nile is also there with a very pregnant Marie on his arm, and Hitch and Rhi arrive as all the guys are carrying down the first load of packed boxes. 

 "Damn, it has been a long time since we've all been together," you say, looking around at everyone and grinning after you tape up another set of cardboard flaps. 

 "Yeah, kinda weird how we all just get along now," Hitch giggles. 

 "It's almost like we're adults or something," Rhi adds. 

 You pass her the box, but she just groans and passes it to Erwin. 

 Everyone takes turns making trips to Mike's apartment, and the moving effort takes three days in total. You really need to find a way to repay all of them, maybe suggest a nice dinner. 

 "God, why do you own so much shit, babe?" Mike asks after loading the last shelves of a bookcase into his car (that you still hate). 

 "Because everything has sentimental value. Don't judge me."

 "Oh, I'm judging. When'd you get so soft?"

 You roll your eyes and reach past him to close the trunk door. 

 The others are all standing in the parking lot with you, antsy and excited for the two of you, or so you assume. 

 "I really can't thank you guys enough. You've made this so much easier," you tell them. 

 Erwin grins widely and pulls you into a hug, and to your surprise, Hitch slides around you to hold you from behind. It makes you laugh and call them dumb, but when they step back, you're hit with the realization that they weren't just being goofy; they were strategizing, keeping you shielded from Mike who is now kneeling on the asphalt and chewing on his bottom lip. 

 Your eyes grow wide, and you step back only to run straight into Erwin's chest. He puts two, grounding hands on your shoulders, and you can almost feel his smile as Mike reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. 

 A small pink box. 

 A small pink box with pieces of fucking palm trees wrapping around it. 

 "Did you get that fucking upholstered?" You shout, and Mike lets out a giddy laugh, his eyes so narrow from grinning that you can barely see the green. "I don't even wanna open it. I cannot believe—"

 "Good thing you don't have to open it then," he chuckles. “I do.”

 "You are fucking impossible, you know that?" 

 "Yeah," he agrees before prying the ridiculous box apart and revealing a ring that makes you tear up. 

 It isn't huge, but it's far from plain, sparkling stones wrapping around it with a larger, round cut in the middle. It's extremely pretty and very you, and oh, you wanna put it on, you wanna put it on right now. 

 "Don't look too impressed. Mom helped me pick it out, and it’s all ethically sourced, of course," Mike says, and you wipe your eyes while giggling. 

 "Oh my god, she's crying!" Rhi yells. 

 "Shut up, it's because of that atrocious box."

 Mike looks behind you at Erwin. "I knew she'd love it."

 "Yeah, good call, bro."

 "I hate both of you."

 "Still gonna marry me, though, right?" Mike is still grinning, but you can see the barest hint of worry in his eyes, and you can't blame him because this is big. This is commitment. Marriage. He wants you to marry him. 

 And, some will say it’s too quick, that you’ve only been actually dating for a couple of months, but it makes sense because if you’re being honest, you never really fell out of love with Mike. He’s always been nestled deep in your heart.

 "Against my better judgement," you smirk. 

 He stands up quick enough to make himself dizzy, has to brace a hand on his car as he kisses you. 

 "Finally!" Erwin shouts, clapping his hands and being joined by the others. 

 Mike slides the ring from the terrible box, pushes it onto your finger with shaky hands, and when you admire it in the sun, you look at him and nod. "Very nice, Zacharias. Even in the parking lot setting."

 "I just wanted everyone to be here! If we went somewhere fancy, you would've figured it out."

 That's true. Going to some nice restaurant or quaint little park would have definitely tipped you off. 

 "Also, you know once we're married, you will also be Zacharias."

 "Yeah," you nod thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess I will be. Hey," you look at him with raised eyebrows. "Wanna shotgun beers at the wedding?" 

 Mike laughs loudly. "That is how it all started, isn't it?" 

 "Yeah, this stupid frat boy in a Hawaiian shirt came up to me and demanded I shotgun a room temp beer."

 "Sounds like an asshole," Mike chuckles. 

 You shrug as he pulls you into his chest and sigh into his shirt, "He turned out alright, I guess."

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (3/5)

The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 

words: 3.4k 

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, body horror, general trauma. Please, please heed the warnings on this chapter, guys. It gets pretty intense.

a/n: Unbeta’d. I know I said this was going to be three chapters, but I lied. Sorry, my dudes - this one got away from me. Inspo credit goes to @tiffdawg​, as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Well, fuck. You bite back a massive sigh.

You really, really don’t want to walk through that door.

It’s been a month, and you life has changed profoundly.

For one, you’re not at the office as much anymore - Stechner had made good on his promise to consider you for more flyovers, and boy, has Centra Spike been busy. Some new vigilante group is terrorizing Medellín, and while it’s not Search Bloc’s priority to go after them, they’ve undeniably kept Pablo and his sicarios busy. The radio frequencies are hot right now, and you’ve been doing eight, sometimes ten flights a week. 

You absolutely love it. The hours are less predictable and definitely more shitty, but listening to a radio from the cockpit of a plane is much more fun that listening to a radio in a stuffy basement office, so you consider it a fair trade.

It keeps your brain busy, too.

Your social life has taken a massive kick to the nuts. Ana is back at university, and you miss her more than you thought you would. You’ve reverted to communicating with Emilio with gestures and smiles more than words. It’s nice because he’s nice, but you miss actual conversation, stilted as it was. Ana wasn’t all that bad, either.

And then there’s Javi.

You haven’t spoken to him since That Morning, not even a polite 'how are you?' in the hallway. Granted, you’re not seeing him as often anymore, given your new position and hours, but then again, you haven’t exactly sought him out, either.

The memory claws at you every time you relive it - and you relive it often. That anger, that wounded expression. The slammed door, his retreating footsteps. Each time you’re in that building, the walls seem to close in on you, and you have to stop yourself from looking for him, actively keep your gaze from roaming straight to his desk.

God, as if you could make it more awkward.

You’d had one nasty conversation with Murphy about a week after the incident - you’d told him in no uncertain terms that he could either mind his own business or fuck right off, you didn’t care which. He’d left you be, throwing his hands in the air and muttering something about how “you two deserve each other.”

Asshole.

Still, that aborted conversation haunts you - so many aborted conversations haunt you - and you wonder what would have happened if you’d just taken the bull by the horns and addressed the issue with Javi head on.

I’m sorry you caught me rubbing one off on the morning after you almost died, Peña. I can assure you, it won’t happen again. Your friendship means the world to me.

Yeah, right.

God, though, but you miss him.

You miss him so much it aches, a gaping hole that reaches right down to the core of you, but there’s nothing to be done about it. You’d fucked this one completely and thoroughly - any chance of restoring your friendship had drained away with the shower-water, and the more time you spend fretting over it, the more awkward - and pathetic - it would be to say anything.

So, you’d cut your losses, held your head high, and tried not to waste too much time wishing you’d have just kept your fucking fantasies to yourself.

Now, though, you’ve got no choice.

You’d been on Centra Spike’s early morning flight, just another routine scan over Medellín. The shift wasn’t intended to be more than a training run for you, but as luck would have it, the Medellín cartel’d had a busy night, and you’d been caught in the crossfire.

Your plane had just touched down half an hour ago, and now you’re standing on the front steps of the embassy building, fingering a shoebox cassette player loaded with a freshly taped recording full of juicy intel destined for the desk of DEA Agent Javier Peña - an entire, private conversation featuring none other than Verdugo himself.

You’d know that voice anywhere. You’ve studied it for hours, what few snatches you’d been able to glean from the embassy archives. It’s almost as if Verdugo is smart enough to steer clear of the city, or to just avoid phone conversations all together, the absolute fuckwad.

Until early this morning.

On the plane, you’d intercepted a new signal and tapped in on a whim, intending to practice your Spanish more than anything, but what you’d overheard was a fucking gold mine of information.

Verdugo is in Medellín. The sicarios are getting ready to move Escobar. He didn’t say where - fucking bastard knows not to spill all of the beans in one conversation - but apparently the plan requires a rendezvous in El Centro first. Verdugo is en route, and will be there until the next morning.

You’d worked frantically all night, tracing and retracing the signal, triangulating potential addresses, then back-tracking to account for environmental distortion. Each calculation had led you to the same place - an unassuming little house right smack in the middle of Medellín.

Bingo.

“You take it in, Aarons.” Torres had declined your offer to do the honors. “It’s your intel.”

So here you are, bleary-eyed and running on less than two hours of sleep, cassette player clenched tightly to your chest, summoning up all of your courage just to go speak with your ex... well, ex whatever-the-fuck Peña is.

‘This is your job,’ you remind yourself fiercely. ‘You can do this.’

As pep-talks go, it isn’t very effective.

Fuck it. You toss your head back, wishing you’d had time to at least grab a cup of coffee on the way in, and breeze around the corner.

“Agent Peña.”

He glances up lazily, thoroughly uninterested in whatever you have to say. When he realizes it’s you, he blinks once, dropping his cigarette in the ashtray and sitting up to eyeball you with a wary expression.

"What can I do for you?” he asks cooly.

You remember him saying that once before, but the context was totally different.

You shake it off. “Centra Spike has new intel that you’ll want to see right away.”

He purses his lips, tilting his head to indicate the growing pile of bullshit on his desk. “You can leave it here.”

Oh, so that’s how it is, then?

“I can’t.” You pin him with a stare, and he meets your gaze evenly, raising his eyebrows in silent challenge. You clear your throat and clarify. “I won’t.”

He scoffs as you carefully rest cassette tape on his desk, along with a map of El Centro. “We intercepted a four minute conversation with Verdugo this morning. He’s here.” You point to the safe house on the map, which you’ve already circled in red ink. “Feo and Limón are with him. They’re leaving early tomorrow.”

Peña frowns down at the spot where your finger rests. “And can you corroborate that information?”

Oh, the motherfucker. “I verified his voice personally, Peña,” you say carefully, doing your damndest to keep the annoyance from your tone. It’s well within his right to ask questions, after all. “It’s a direct match for the audio samples we have.” You tap the tape for emphasis. “You’re welcome to listen for yourself.”

He doesn’t make a move for a long time. Something hot and painful burns in your gut as you wait.

God, he knows you, knows you better than anybody else in on this goddamned continent.  He knows that you know your shit, that you want to catch Escobar as desperately as he does. And this evidence that you have spread across his desk, recorded on tape and marked plainly in red ink, is irrefutable, undeniable - it’s a huge break. He knows that, too.

His apathy is palpable, and it’s driving you up the fucking wall.

When he finally glances up at you, it’s with a doubtful little smirk on his face. “Hmm.”

And oh, wow, you’re shocked by just how much that hurts.

All your life, from the moment you were born into a family of brothers, you’ve had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously. It was a fact of life as early as you can remember - ‘look after your sister,’ or, ’she’s just a girl,’ or ‘wow, you’re really great at math, for a woman!’ You’d settled on your career as an analyst because you’d wanted it, not because you’d had something to prove, but still, the military is a male-dominated field, and from the start, the odds had been stacked against you.  Landing this CIA gig had been the achievement of a fucking lifetime. Still, the bar is set high in the Colombia, and it’s set that much higher for a woman. You’re well aware of this; you’re reminded every single day.

Point being, you’re used to defending yourself and your abilities; it comes as natural as breathing.  

But until now, you’ve never had to fight this battle with Peña. He’d taken you at face value from the moment he'd laid eyes on you, treating you like just another operative. Sure, he might take a crack at you every now and again, but that's all in good fun, and you’ve never been one to shy away from a laugh.

Christ, you never realized just how much that respect meant to you until suddenly, it’s gone.

“If you have something to say about my skills and qualifications, Agent Peña, then I suggest you say it.” You lean over his desk, speaking quietly, enunciating each syllable with deadly precision. “Otherwise, I think we both know that it’s in the best interest of Search Bloc and the Colombian people that we collaborate quickly, so we can put boots on the ground and land this motherfucker behind bars where he belongs.”

Peña’s eyes narrow, and he cocks his head, studying you. You meet his gaze, biting back a snarl. You won’t back down. You won’t allow him to intimidate you.

When he nods sharply and reaches for his phone, you know you’ve won.

♠

Ten minutes later, you’re situated in a conference room with Peña, Steve Murphy, Martinez, and a couple of the other higher ups of Search Bloc whose names you haven’t memorized. Your maps are spread over the table, your tape displayed for all to see, and every eye is on you.

“Verdugo is here,” you say, leaning over the map to indicate the marked house. “He and his entourage arrived late last night, and they’re planning to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Plenty of time to get a team together.” Murphy interjects, glancing between you and Peña with open curiosity.

You narrow your gaze at him. Drama-mongering bastard.

Peña’s not moving. He’s standing with his hip cocked toward the desk, frowning down at the map with his fingers curled to his chin like he’s totally oblivious to everything happening around him.

You know he’s not, though. That’s Javi’s thinking face, the one he makes when he wants people to shut the fuck up and forget about him until he can work something out. You’re pretty familiar with that one.

The others are babbling in Spanish, discussing logistics and the likelihood of this being another trap.

It’s not. You know this deep in your bones. You’d heard that conversation in real time, had translated, triangulated it.

This is legit.

You’ve just decided to leave them to it when Javi snaps his eyes open.

“I agree with Aarons,” he announces out of nowhere. You’re startled by the confidence in his tone. Curious, you glance up, but it’s difficult to get a read on him. He’s pinning every person in the room except you with a hard stare. “We need to move out now.”

Several of the others make noises of protest, but Peña shuts them all down, one by one. Finally, his eyes flicker up to meet yours, just for a brief second, but there’s something different in his gaze, something new and heavily guarded.

You think it might be an apology.

“Let’s end this.”

♠

He’s on a plane to Medellín within an hour, wearing that stupid bullet proof vest. For just a split second, you wish that you were going, too. You don’t have enough experience, though - you’re not an agent; you haven’t handled a gun since basic. You’d be useless in a real fight, a liability, even.

Still, you feel some ownership in this operation, today more than ever. You don’t even try to kid yourself about Javi anymore, either. Those fucking feelings haven’t faded in a month, not a bit, not even after the awkward conversation you’d had in his office.

‘But he stood up for you, too, afterward,’ something whispers in the back of your mind. You replay that little glance in the conference room over and over as you watch Search Bloc board the plane.

He’s looking for you this time, standing on the ramp with his eyes shaded like he knows you’ll be waiting. He doesn’t nod and you don’t wave, but you make eye contact for a lingering moment, and again, there’s something in his expression that you don’t recognize.

Then the plane takes off down the runway, and you feel as if your heart is swooping away with it.

♠

You volunteer for the late shift at work, monitoring the radio lines in case something comes up. It’s an unusually quiet night, as if all of Bogotá collectively holds its breath, and you mostly spend it watching the clock, calculating the hours in your head.

One to land in Medellín. Two more to mobilize the men. Another half to get in location.

From there, your speculation gets fuzzy. There’s no way to predict the outcome once Verdugo is engaged. Javi’s told you a million stories, each more unbelievable than the last - car chases and rooftop shootouts, standoffs in the street, a fistfight in a church sanctuary, bodies of children littering dark alleyways… you cut off the recollections. They aren’t doing you any favors.

Verdugo is a dangerous man. Anything could happen.

By seven am, your brain is mush and your eyes are hyper-focused in that bleary way that happens when you’ve gone too long without sleep. Your third cup of coffee has gone cold, and people are starting to trickle in. You wave half-heartedly to Torres as you slip out of your headset, rubbing your fingers over your scalp to ease the tension that comes from wearing heavy earphones all night. A shower sounds nice, you decide, and maybe a quick nap afterward.

Somebody will page you with news.

Getting out of the building does a lot to wake you up. There’s something oppressive about the CNP headquarters that seems to abate when you step into the streets of Bogotá. The city buzzes with life even in the early morning, and air is warm in a way that seems to energize rather than sedate. Optimism is easier to invoke as you walk down the street in broad daylight.

Javi had looked at you, at least. He’d listened. He’ll call in to the office as soon as he can. Your intel was good, and they’ve flushed out the rat, he’d promised you that.

Everything will be okay.

You round the corner of CRA 70 and Circular, waving to Emilio, who is working the register of the pharmacy today.

“Orejas!” He shouts, reaching below the counter to hold aloft another bottle of aguardiente. “¡Mira! Solo para ti!”

You grin back at him, raising your voice to shout a greeting, and then, with absolutely no warning, the store explodes.

A loud boom.

A whoosh of impossible heat.

A massive orange fireball billowing from the windows.

Your body flying, flying through the air.

Bright blue sky, and then darkness.

♠

You find yourself lying flat on your back in the middle of the street. Your ears are ringing. There’s a pat-pattering in the air, soft like falling rain.

You blink hard.

It’s not rain, you realize dizzily.

It’s fucking ash.

The air is dark with it, hot and heavy. It coats your tongue and stings your eyes. It’s hard to catch a breath. Your throat hurts, your chest aches. You cough weakly. The smell is terrible, acrid and bitter like burned metal. You can taste it on your tongue.

Slowly, you tense your muscles. Your chest is still burning, but there’s nothing sharp to suggest a serious injury. Your back is sore, your head fuzzy.

You sit up, wincing a little, relieved to realize that you’ve just had the wind knocked from you. You’ll have some bruises tomorrow, but that’s all.

Sound slowly filters in. The hiss and crackle of flame. A shout in the distance. Further away, a wailing siren.

Reality slams into you all at once.

Emilio!

You stand, wobbling more than you think you should, but you push past it. Reality seems to pitch and roil, as if the ground is hitching its breath beneath you. Rubble coats the street, dust clouds the air.

Oh god.

A gaping, smoking crater is all that’s left of Emilio’s pharmacy. The windows are blown out of the businesses on either side, their outer walls bowing under the pressure. Your apartment on the top floor is demolished, the roof caving in, flames licking at the the collapsed floors.

You gasp one long, shuddering breath, taking it all in, and then you’re running, sort of, picking your way through hunks of concrete and twisted metal.

“Emilio! Emilio!”

Your voice is hoarse, the world hushed. Nothing sounds quite right. Your legs are shaking and you can’t catch your breath. Some of the rubble is hot to the touch, and you feel like you’re moving underwater, slow and awkward and stupid.

You approach what’s left of the store, and the smell hits you first. Like cooked meat - charred, greasy, heavy.

You press your hand to your mouth to stifle a scream.

You found Emilio. He’s pinned beneath part of the collapsed roof. You look away quickly, but not before you catch a glimpse of blackened flesh, of bone, blood, and pink frothy tissue.

Acid rises in your throat, and you stumble to your knees, stomach clenching painfully into your ribs as you vomit onto the street. It goes on and on, over and over for an eternity, tears and snot and bile and ash leaking mingled down your face until there is nothing left in you to expel.

The encroaching wail of a siren draws you to your senses. You glance up, suddenly painfully aware of your situation. The ceiling is arching above you, just to your right, and it’s creaking ominously. The fires are still burning, and your shirt is clinging painfully hot against your back. You stagger to your feet once again, dizzy, almost drunkenly. A small crowd has gathered, pointing and gawking, calling out to you in Spanish that you are far, far too overwhelmed to translate.

Gasping, you raise your hands and side-step away, careful of the debris that litters the street around you.

A firetruck arrives on the scene, squalling to a stop between you and the onlookers, and you leap at the opportunity, ducking down the nearest alleyway before anybody can follow.

♠

You aren’t sure how much time you waste in the alleyways of Bogotá.

Seconds?

Minutes?

The time after the explosion is all a blur, and you run until you literally can’t anymore, until you’re doubled over and wheezing, coughing, hacking, panting.

Some primal survival instinct clicks in your brain then, and suddenly, your mind is clear. You glance around, swiping at your cheeks and brushing the ash from your shirt.

Now what?

You take a shaking breath and think.

Okay, first order of business, you’re absolutely disgusting. You need a shower before you can even think about doing anything productive.

Your bathroom just went up in flames, along with all of your clothes. Your heart clenches as you think of Ana - she’s at university, so that’s out. The embassy has a nice bathroom, but no showers that you’re aware of.

There’s only one place you know to go, and that’s Javi’s apartment.

You glance up at the sky. The sun is still pretty low - it can’t have been more than an hour since you’d left work, and that was around seven am. Javi obviously isn’t home, and you don’t have a key, but if you hurry, there’s still a chance that you could catch Murphy before he leaves his flat.

It’s a long shot, but you decide there’s nothing to lose for trying.

[goonlalagoon]

A house, a home || Young Wizards

I saw the ask response around the current canon ages of the YW kids while in the midst of camp NaNo, and wrote 1,800 words of spontaneous domestic fluff

Also on AO3

Nita flopped down onto the couch, letting out a sigh of relief. She enjoyed her job - mostly - but she still treasured her weekends, and Friday evening had finally come. Kit dropped down next to her, handing over a glass of water and only just avoiding spilling his own. She waved a hand in vague gratitude, knowing he’d understand it to mean thanks! Great to be home and good to see you, hi! without her saying a word, whether verbally or mentally. After over a decade of being each other’s closest friend and wizardry partner, they could have whole implied conversations through a few gestures or the twitch of an eyebrow.

 After a few minutes, she twisted to curl up against him, head on his shoulder. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her hair.

“Long day?”

“Yeah. Good! We got the agreement through, but it’s such a - ugh. You know.” Kit nodded, though she couldn’t see it. Even without listening to her talk about the ins and outs of environmental policy campaigning, he had a pretty good background understanding of his own. It was hard not to, as a wizard who could speak to the trees and understand what they said about the changing seasons and patterns, had friends who happened to be whales or dolphins (and sometimes wizards) who were as sensitive to the changes to the ocean as it was possible to be, or flip open your manual and see detailed readings of any atmospheric variation or pattern you cared to look at for as long as it had been possible to get measurements - in some cases longer, though those were less reliable. Some days Nita found the work invigorating, a way of following her Oath of wizardry in her day to day life. Other days it was just depressing.

 Kit nudged her gently in the ribs.

“Okay, let me up. I’m gonna make mama’s chicken for dinner - it’s already marinading, we finished up a bit early ‘cause we had a super early call.” Nita let herself slump sideways into his vacated seat.

“See, this is why you’re the best.” He laughed, patted her ankle on the way by, and headed back into the kitchen. Nita wriggled until she was on her back, feet propped on the arm of the couch and staring up at the ceiling. She wrinkled her nose at the cracks in the paintwork. They’d fixed anything structural, mostly through subtle wizardry, though one or two things they’d had to get someone in to help with just to make it not too obvious that there was something odd going on.

 They hadn’t gotten through much of the decorating yet, still getting used to the idea that they could decorate the place however they wanted. Splotches of paint samples dotted the walls, though Ronan had laughed his head off when they told him and then reminded them that you could buy pretty much anything you wanted at the Crossings. Including time in a nifty device that threw incredibly detailed holograms up, accounting for objects in 3D space, so that you could make a lifelike mock up of any room you chose and walk around it, seeing how different colours worked and what furniture you wanted to use. It wasn’t cheap, but Nita still had a lot of credit worked up with the staff of the Crossings from various dramatic exploits, and a solid in with the stationmaster. Also a very healthy alien bank account that was built largely on investments and returns from Carmela and Ronan’s ongoing side business of ethical chocolate exports. Writing them a custom wizardry for filtering through the business practices of every step of their pipeline to help quantify as much as possible the ethics of each partner had earned her several shares, and they were paying dividends.

 It was largely how she and Kit had been able to afford the apartment.

Nita had been torn on the option. On the one hand, being able to play around in a SIMs style mock up was appealing. On the other, there was something nostalgic about putting up swatches, trying to imagine how the room would look. Eventually they’d decided it would be fun, and spent a day up at the Crossings getting increasingly distracted by different options - particularly after taking off the filter to limit them to what could be reasonably implemented on Earth, and could goof around with anything that the Crossings system could find labeled for sale anywhere related to ‘interior design’. Even if most of it had been for fun rather than useful, it had helped narrow down their colours and had given them ideas for things they might not have dreamed up otherwise, and for a few pieces of alien technology that they could pass off as slightly weird decorating choices or furniture, or even that just wouldn’t be visible.

 (Alien temperature regulating systems, for example, ranged massively as you would expect, but there were several very discreet options that you could get that blended in perfectly to the join between wall and ceiling. While they could use Wizardry to achieve the same effect - and regularly did if they went anywhere out of atmosphere - it was also the kind of frivolous use of Power that they tried to avoid, particularly when there was a perfectly reasonable solution available.)

 - Kit, do we have any plans this weekend? - There was a thoughtful hum from the kitchen, just about audible under the clatter of pans.

- Uh, think we’re seeing your dad for dinner on Sunday. There wasn’t anything urgent on my Manual when I looked earlier, not sure if anyone’s clamoring for more of your time more urgently - His mental tone was teasing, and Nita snickered. There was always someone asking for time from one or both of them; they’d taken on deputy-Advisory responsibilities for the region some years ago and taken on increasing responsibility since then. They’d talked it over a few times, and Kit thought he was likely to phase out of the pipeline for full Advisory soon. He liked working with other Wizards, but he dealt better going in depth with one or two as a mentor or support on a specific project, rather than trying to keep on top of what was going on with several people. In his own words, this is why I don’t want to be a manager at work, Neets. Better play to my strengths, yeah? Nothing concrete had been said, but Nita suspected that once they were more settled into their new home there would be more official movement coming through to back it up; the Powers and their on-planet network tried where they could to not pile new responsibilities on when you were dealing with something major outside of Wizardry, whether positive or negative.

 Nita pulled her manual out of her otherspace pocket, skimming through messages.

- Nah, unless something comes up think it should be fine for my usual hours, a few consults and a request to look at a spell calculation, but no fires to put out -

- Nice! Why d’you ask? -

- Figure maybe we should actually take the plunge and do some of the decorating. If we hate it, we can always change it, right? -

- I was gonna say, actually, Chel and I were chatting, and he said - Kit broke off mid thought, the oven beeping. Nita tucked her manual away and rolled to her feet with a groan, going to set the table. Once they were sat down, plates piled high, Kit continued -

“Like I was saying, Cheleb was really interested in what we were doing, and told me that they do a kind of paint in one of the - ugh, I can’t remember where - anyway, someone, somewhere, does a kind of paint that changes colour really easily. Like, you don’t need Wizardry, just ask it nicely in the Speech with a passcode, and it can change to loads of different colours. Chameleon particles, it translated at, but not sure if that’s literal or a cultural translation.” Nita grinned, raising her glass in salute.

“That sounds perfect. Painting party this weekend?” Kit clinked his glass against hers solemnly.

“Sounds like a plan.”

They clattered into Nita’s old family home on Sunday evening, shaking rain off of their umbrella before propping it in the bucket left by the door. Her father called a greeting from the kitchen, echoed by Dairine, Roshaun and Filif. Nita lit up, sticking her head into the kitchen.

“Filif! I didn’t know you were gonna be here, how’s my favourite Christmas tree!” He waved back, and the house filled with chatter about what everyone had been up to.

“Nita and I are officially adults now,” Kit declared when it was their turn, helping carry plates over to the table. Dairine snickered, and her dad raised an eyebrow as he sat down.

“And you weren’t for the past decade? Well, almost decade for Kit, give or take a few weeks.” Nita giggled.

“We’ve discovered we have strong opinions about curtains.” Kit nodded solemnly, trying and failing not to grin. “Seriously, we spent forty-seven minutes discussing options and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much like I’m an actual grown up.” Dairine spluttered with laughter.

“So, you didn’t feel like an adult when we did that errantry right after your birthday - you know the one,” she grimaced and there was a collective shudder. It hadn’t been terrible work, not the most stressful situation they’d worked on by a long shot, but it had been a spectacularly uncomfortable location. “Or when you both finished college -“

“- or, Nita, when new wizards started popping up in your manual first, rather than in your senior advisory’s to triage support -“ Roshaun added with a smirk, Dairine nudging him in the ribs with false irritation for interrupting.

“Or when the pair of you got jobs, or bought a flat together.” Harry added with a grin. Filif rustled his leaves, obviously cataloging this list of markers of human adult life. Nita and Kit both shook their heads, grinning.

“Nope. Turns out you’re actually an adult when you spend your spare time thinking about colour swatches, curtains, and whether it really matters if all the place-mats match or not.” Harry chuckled.

“Ah yes, true responsibility - the first time you understand why your parents were always so adamant that you be careful of the paintwork and not eat on the couch. Even if you do have the benefit of that little mini alien roomba…thing. Thanks for that, by the way, it does making keeping everything clean so much easier, even if I do have to remember to hide it whenever the neighbours pop by so I don’t cause an extremely international incident.”

 Nita grinned, nudging Kit’s ankle under the table. He nudged her back, smiling, and hooked his ankle around hers companionably.

- I still think the green will look best -

- Ugh, I don’t know! I like it, but I’m worried it will be too dark -

- Well, maybe whichever planet it was that does chameleon paint also does a chameleon curtain… -

- The perks of being a Wizard, huh? -

- Carmela will be so proud of us. Let’s not tell her and see if she notices anything -

- Agreed -

“Hey, Dair, pass the potatoes? Filif, how’s that spell circle you were working on going, I haven’t had a chance to take a look at progress…”

[thefloatingstone]

An small sampling of fucked up shit in PatB

Incomplete because these are just the moments I remembered off the top of my head without actively LOOKING for things in each episode.

I have also not seen many episodes in the last season despite being a big fan. It be like that sometimes.

Also including moments that are not actually fucked up but I wanted to mention them for other reasons.

0: The entire plot of the show is Brain wanting to take over the world. He’s portrayed as a megalomaniac who wants power but the show reinforces time and time again that his motivations are Brain is super angry at humanity fucking up the Earth but politically as well as environmentally and thinks he can do a better job if he just ran the damn thing himself. (And yet often his plans include extreme environmental damage like melting the ice caps and stuff. Go figure.)

1: Brain recounts his childhood days as a lab mouse, his water bottles filled with copyright dodging Snapple (a cooldrink), Chanel No. 5 (a perfume), DDT (a pesticide which has been outlawed since the broadcast of this episode due to its intensely harmful effects on the environment) and ALAR (a plant growth regulator used on apple trees which was outlawd in the 80s due to it being an incredibly high cancer risk in people who eat the apples afterward)

jfc

2: That time Brain lured some of the fieldmice around the lab into the lab specifically so he could test a nightvision serum on them before taking it himself.

(I actually like this episode because it turns out the mice are Brain’s parents (because cartoons) and it turns into a story about having parents who expect you to live up to impossible expectations and if your parents fail to live up to your expectations for how parents to be you need to accept that about them and stop trying to force a relationship with them in a way it cannot exist. It’s weirdly touching seeing Brain listening to Pinky give advice but if I list every moment I like in the show which is like this we’ll be here all day)

3: That time PETA broke into the lab and “freed” Pinky and Brain by dropping them in a jungle where they had no hope of survival and the episode turned into a parody of Heart of Darkness.

Also Pinky kills and eats a whole ass wild boar.

4: The episode where Pinky and Brain find and for a short period raise a baby Clark Kent (Because WB owns the rights to Superman so they could just do shit like this) It ends with the mice agreeing to make a scrapbook

5: That time Pinky and Brain had a son together. Just... this whole episode. From Pinky calling La Leche League International [ La Leche League International is a non-governmental, nonprofit organization that organizes advocacy, educational, and training related to breastfeeding. ] to the rather liberal use of “Oh my Lord” and “For God’s sake” which is pretty far up there in “PG things you’re not allowed to say in kids’ cartoons) to Romy referring to Brain and Pinky as “My two dads” to Pinky ending the episode after the ‘tomorrow we try to take over the world’ line with “Not tonight Brain, I have a headache”

fsdfkjdshfk how did this episode get approved???

6: The neighbour who lives in the dilapidated house next door to Acme labs (because of cartoon reasons) thinks Pinky is”the Missus” of the lab and has a crush on him (and tries to have an affair with Pinky because he thinks Pinky and Brain are married WHICH I MEAN....). Something Pinky finds immensely uncomfortable. For some reason this is a continuity detail they kept throughout the show, with the neighbour coming across as a bit of a stalker and it’s weirdly not played for laughs. It’s just strangely threatening and uncomfortable.

7: the anti smoking episode where the lab got Brain addicted to Nicotine. This episode was made directly to criticise the ‘Joe Camel’ character used by Camel brand cigarettes which was targeted at children trying to get them addicted to cigarettes at an early age. This was a real thing that happened and we don’t talk about it enough.

8: I mentioned the extremely messed up episode where they travel into the future to meet their future selves a whole TWO YEARS INTO THE FUTURE) but I didn’t mention this in the previous post because I wanted the screenshot. But please enjoy Pinky’s surgical scar. You’re welcome I guess.

Oh for fuck’s sake while getting the screenshot I got a line from Pinky making fun of Brain’s floppy left ear and how he “Can’t get it up any more” AAHJSAGJHGFJFGDSJHFPLEASE

9: That time Brain yelled at Pinky that he was completely worthless so Pinky sold his soul to Satan so Brain could take over the world and Brain had to go to hell to get him back. (in case you were curious, Hell is located underneath the DMV)

10: This screenshot which I once posted to facebook and a friend of my replied with “We all see who the big spoon really is” and that’s a phrase burned right into my fucking cortex.

Anyway so that’s just the ones I can remember.

This show is a fucking trip. Try rewatching it sometime. Season 1 is probably what you think the show is like but get past that and HOO BOY.

This was just the “things you probably forgot” post. I could make a whole different post about “they really did that” episodes but honestly... idk I’m not sure anyone really cares about a cartoon from 1995 and it makes me weirdly self conscious. Like I’m one of those internet people whose tastes and interests stagnated in the mid 90s and I really don’t want to come across like that or fall into that trap. As I feel it’s very unhealthy to not explore and look into newer media and content and stagnating in cartoons ONLY from your own early childhood dooms you to irrelevance.

So idk if I’ll really talk about this more. But I wanted to make this post at least.

[elitegymnastics]

Q: What is this?

A: It’s a flyer for a virtual fundraiser on June 4th that Elite Gymnastics is playing. You can access the show at quietyear.com

Q: Hasn’t Elite Gymnastics been inactive for like, ten years?

A: Yes. This is the first Elite Gymnastics performance of any kind since November 30th 2012, at the Horn Gallery at Kenyon College in Gambier, Ohio. 

Q: Why did Elite Gymnastics stop playing shows?

A: Elite Gymnastics started out as me (Jaime) and a bunch of my friends agreeing to help me play my songs live back in 2009. I made a lot of weird demos in GarageBand and my friend Dominique Davis from the band Dearling Physique got tired of watching me sit on them. So, he booked me to play at a show he was curating as part of a small local music and arts festival called Clapperclaw. For several months that’s mainly what EG was. At some point the focus shifted to making recordings rather than playing shows, to participate in the emergent culture of new music distributed via MP3 file-sharing. The lineup winnowed to just me and Josh Clancy, who began creating digital EPs that we posted on this Tumblr page as ZIP files full of MP3s accompanied by a PDF of artwork. This is the incarnation of the group that most people are familiar with.

This was before Patreon existed. If Bandcamp was around, we’d never heard of it. Though MP3 file-sharing culture and file transfer sites like MediaFire and MegaUpload allowed anyone to distribute music freely across the world via the internet, it was still pretty difficult to get people to pay you for it. I think it was for this reason that a lot of internet music back then featured a lot of sampling. A lot of artists’ first forays into the world of DAWs and production took the form of mash-ups, bootleg remixes, and DJ mixes. Artists like Animal Collective, MIA, Kanye West, and Daft Punk for whom sampling was a pillar of their creative process were extremely influential. Elite Gymnastics was no exception - the first song of ours to gain traction online was “Is This On Me?” which made no attempt to hide the fact that it heavily sampled Faye Wong’s “Eyes On Me.” The fact that it was so difficult to make money off MP3s pushed people to make different creative decisions than they would have otherwise. It was sort of a free-for-all.

Eventually, all of this started to change. The major labels started getting a lot more aggressive about trying to destroy MP3 file-sharing culture. Platforms like MegaUpload were raided and taken offline. The replacements that sprung up to replace them were increasingly infested with ads and malware. Corporate platforms like YouTube and SoundCloud adopted Content ID filters to prevent the proliferation of copyrighted music there. Blogs and private torrent trackers being taken down meant thousands of hours of labor were wiped out in an instant. Some of the best archives of the history of recorded music ever created were destroyed without hesitation. Even the most devoted participants lost the will to keep repairing and re-making the stuff that cops and record companies kept obliterating.

Josh and I both dreamed of being able to make a living as musicians. We still do. Back then, we were willing to accept a lot of changes in order to make that possible, which seemed necessary. A lot of the stuff that we were great at just didn’t make any money. Once, we were asked to do a remix of a song called “Sa Sa Samoa” by the band Korallreven. I did the remix by myself, which was normal for us, and Josh was so inspired by it that he spent a week working non-stop to create a video for it. People loved it - the day the video dropped, Pitchfork designated the song as a “Best New Track” and New York Magazine wrote about it in their “Approval Matrix.” The video led to a ton of exposure, but from a financial perspective, it just did not make sense to put that much effort into promoting a remix of someone else’s song. The stuff we were personally excited by just seemed to have less and less to do with what actually makes money.

A lot of internet bands during this era began to palpably shapeshift in an effort to succeed in music as a career. Artists who’d first attracted notice for sample-based bangers they made on a laptop started posing with vintage hardware in their press photos and trading in their laptops for live bands and recording studios. It became harder to distribute DJ mixes or mash-ups that contained copyrighted music in them. Influential bloggers either closed up shop or were absorbed into the traditional music industry in some way. Feeds that once touted bizarre songs by laptop-toting weirdos with no industry connections started to become populated mostly by artists with labels and publicists. The bottom rungs of festival lineups started to consist mostly of new major label signings who have lots of money to spend on stage production but not much in the way of grassroots fan enthusiasm or media buzz. 

Internet music and what people tend to refer to as “indie music” split off into two separate streams. Today, there’s a pretty intense firewall between internet culture and whatever you want to call the culture of vinyl records, mid-sized indie labels with publicists, and positive reviews from the few remaining websites that still pay people to write about music. I call it “publicist indie,” “lifestyle techno,” or “prestige electronica” depending on whether or not the music features guitars and/or vocals. The recent online kerfuffle about NFTs really emphasized this split. The worlds of digital illustration and game development campaigned aggressively against mass adoption of cryptocurrency - if you saw any Medium posts explaining crypto’s environmental issues, chances are they were written by someone from those fields. Every new announcement by an artist that they had minted an NFT was met with a swift and vocal backlash from fans. Though I’ve never really been much of an Aphex Twin fan, it was still pretty startling to look at the replies under his NFT announcement tweet and see hundreds of furious people announcing that he was now dead to them. That’s an artist who has seemed more or less unimpeachable for most of my life up until this point! All of that seemed to change in an instant.

There is a massive disconnect between the insular world of the industry establishment and the cutting edge of online counterculture. We saw this again a couple of weeks ago with the online response to the crisis in Gaza. We saw passionate advocacy for Palestinians from games journalists and developers much more often than we saw it from musicians. This is a very serious problem for music! I do not believe it is possible to please both sides - that is to say, I do not believe it is possible to be part of internet counterculture and the industry establishment simultaneously. The music industry is too conservative, too compromised, too corrupt. If it weren’t for the ocean of valuable copyrights that labels are sitting on, most of them would be bankrupt within a year. If the industry was forced to live or die based on how they handle what’s happening right now in the present, it would most assuredly die. The only people who don’t realize this are those who are being paid to stay ignorant. 

Josh and I did not know this back then. From where we were standing, it looked like internet culture and established media industries were on track to converge. A career in the arts seemed genuinely, tantalizingly possible, right up until the moment that it no longer did. 

In my case, I had really been struggling up until that point. My life had been this ongoing sequence of evictions and hospitalizations, and it seemed to be getting worse, not better. I donated plasma twice a week to pay for groceries and while I was sitting there with a giant needle stuck in my left arm for an hour I would see my picture in The Fader or my songs being recommended by one of the Kings of Leon on Twitter or whatever. Music seemed like the only thing the world thought I was any good at. It felt like my only chance at a peaceful, happy life was somewhere out there in a world I could only perceive through a laptop screen. 

Gender, for me, was a big factor in all of this. The more invested in the craft of songwriting I became, the harder it was to repress or ignore my gender stuff. At that time I’m not sure I even knew what the word “transgender” meant - I just knew that when I showed up at a venue wearing a skirt, no one would talk to me or look me in the eye, and that reading about people like Anohni or Terre Thaemlitz or on the internet made me feel like if I could get out of Minneapolis maybe I could find a place where people would accept me. The internet was like, a pretty toxic place for someone in my position. When I tried to find people to talk to about what I was feeling, nobody tried to tell me to read Judith Butler or ask me what pronouns I preferred. The internet was just like, overrun with predators who just wanted to fetishize me and exploit me. Music seemed like the only way I’d ever have an actual life as myself. I was desperate for that. I was well and truly desperate.

Between all the big changes that were happening to us individually and the music industry moving farther and farther away of the anarchic free-for-all of MP3 file-sharing culture, the strain on us just got to be too much. We stopped trusting each other. We became the unstoppable force and the immovable object, crashing haphazardly against one another’s resolve in a dazzling display of youthful futility. Our partnership ended, and after finishing out the remaining live shows on the calendar by myself, I retired the name “Elite Gymnastics” and started making music on my own under other names. That was that.

Q: Why is Elite Gymnastics coming back now, then?

A: Over the years, Josh and I eventually started talking again. Though there was a lot we did agree on, and potential future projects were discussed, nothing truly felt right. We haven’t been in the same room since Summer 2012, and we’ve both changed a lot since then. We both have other projects and we’ve both developed other ways of working since we stopped working together. It’s a pretty big commitment to put all of that aside in order to join your fortunes together with someone you haven’t seen in a decade.

Recently, Josh decided to leave Elite Gymnastics. His reasons are his own, and I was very surprised by his decision, but after having had time to adjust, I’m really grateful to him. I had kept these songs at a distance for many years, because it seemed foolish to allow myself to get too attached to songs I didn’t feel like I was allowed to think of as mine, if that makes any sense. The songs felt like casualties of a conflict that I had to bury in the ground and try to forget about. Being able to embrace them again felt like re-growing a severed limb or having a loved one come back to life, almost. Feeling like it was safe to love these songs again made me feel whole in a way I didn’t expect to. I became really excited by the prospect of revisiting them, so that’s what I decided to do.

Q: Does this mean you’re going to put RUIN back on Spotify?

A: No. Taking the record off Spotify was the right thing to do. That record was only ever intended to exist during the era of MP3 piracy. I never envisioned a world where the music industry would be so aggressive about policing the way that copyrighted music is allowed to exist online. If we hadn’t opted to take the record down when we did, someone would inevitably have forced us to. If you want to hear those specific recordings again, you’re going to have to do it the way we originally intended: by downloading MP3 files from the internet. Try SoulSeek.

Q: What’s next for Elite Gymnastics, then?

A: Here’s the situation currently. There is no Elite Gymnastics music available to stream or purchase in an official capacity anywhere on the internet. It wouldn’t really be possible for me to put the old stuff on Spotify or Bandcamp now because of all the samples. Like I said before, it was a different time. Those records were created to thrive on a past version of the internet that no longer exists. They weren’t designed to be compatible with the 2021 internet.

Technically, Elite Gymnastics didn’t ever release a debut album. We had EPs, a compilation, and a remix collection. We didn’t make an album, a record that existed as the distillation of all that experimentation that contained all of the songs that fans of the EPs would want to hear, all in one place. It’s like we did Good Fridays but stopped before we made My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy.

So, I am currently working on the first Elite Gymnastics album. If you were following my stuff as Default Genders, you may have noticed me posting demos on my SoundCloud page from 2015-2018 that were all eventually reworked into the album Main Pop Girl 2019. The album I am making is taking that approach to all the old EG songs, including some unreleased stuff. I’m collaborating with others on some songs and I honestly feel like it has resulted in some of the best and most exciting music I have ever been involved with. It is a drastic reinvention, but iteration and reinvention have always been a big part of what I do. I want to make something that feels like the culmination of everything that came before, and so far, I think I’m succeeding.

Q: When will I be able to hear this new music?

At a virtual fundraiser on June 4th, 2021, where there is a suggested donation of $10. You can access it at quietyear.com

[system76]

Behind the Scenes of System76: Industrial Design

Since moving into a factory space in 2018, System76 has delved deeper and deeper into manufacturing hardware in-house. Three years later, we’ve introduced five Thelio desktops, fine-tuned the hardware, developed our fully configurable Launch keyboard, and optimized our production processes. Helming the design process is Mechanical Engineer John Grano, who wears a number of different hats here. We sat down with John this week to discuss industrial design and the team behind our beautiful open source hardware.

How would you describe industrial design for people unfamiliar with the term?

To me, industrial design is basically the art of making something into a usable product. In industrial design, you have to balance looks and function, and that drives your form. It’s kind of like hardware UX in that it’s really important to have the right feel. If you can make the system connect better with people, they’ll like it more. Adding that softness we do with Thelio, like slightly rounded edges and darker wood, it makes it a little more approachable to have a semi-natural looking system and not something that’s blinking at you with red lights all the time.

System76 itself is a group of hardcore programmers and people that are really into Linux, but I think the idea of trying to democratize Linux is extremely important. If you can create something that doesn’t have that robotic aesthetic, it will provide people with something that feels more familiar and usable. No one really wants to go sit in a car that looks like a square with wheels on it. They want something that makes them feel something, maybe openness or comfort, when they’re in it.

What inspired you to get into mechanical engineering, and how did you end up at System76?

The way my brain works lends itself well to engineering, for better or for worse. There’s a lot of really solid engineers who don’t have much creativity, and then there are a lot of people who have great creative ability, but can’t do math. I kind of fluctuate in the middle; I wouldn’t say I’m the best at math or the most creative person in the entire world, but I have enough of each that the combination pushed me towards mechanical engineering. I like working with my hands, and it’s more of a study of how things work in the real world versus computer science, which is a purely digital and nontangible practice.

During school I worked mainly as a bike mechanic, and that helped me to think about how to build things better. That led me to my first internship at a bike company working in a wind tunnel, which was really fun. Realizing that I could probably never get a job there—or at least one that would pay me enough to live—I started working at an environmental engineering company, where I prototyped scientific sampling systems for R&D that would process materials with all these gasses at really high heat and tried not to die. It was kind of fun making these large-scale systems that were basically just gigantic science experiments, but I didn’t really have the creative outlet I wanted in terms of making something that looks good.

One of the main things that drew me to System76 was being able to have a solid influence on what tools we were able to use and how we were going to push the design. In the past three years, it’s pretty wild to see what we’ve been able to accomplish coming from a completely empty warehouse to being able to crank out parts.

I had also previously, while working at these scientific instrument companies, been working with a local company to design and develop a cargo bicycle, so I had that experience as well in terms of consumer product development with overseas manufacturing. I think that helped get me in the door here.

Let’s talk a bit about your team. Who do you collaborate with on a typical day?

It’s a very small team and everyone does a lot. I pretty much lead the mechanical engineering team slash design team...slash manufacturing team. Being a small company, we are all wearing a bunch of different hats. Aside from doing the initial design work on all of our Thelio desktops and the Launch keyboard, I also program our laser-punch machine and our brake press and run through all of the design for manufacturing hang ups that show up. Those changes tend to be a result of our current tools, and internal capabilities.

Crystal came on last August as our first CNC Machinist. She heads up all of the machining, trains our operators, makes sure our parts are coming out in a nice clean fashion, and has done a lot of work on minimizing machine time and maximizing the parts we can get out. She also provides really great feedback on what's possible and what kind of special fixtures or tools we'll need to make for a specific part. Around the same time we picked up our first Haas 3-axis CNC mill to start working on the Launch project. That led to some other opportunities to make parts for Thelio and improve the feel of some of the parts that we were pumping out.

We just hired Cary, who came from a similar background as me in consumer product development, as well as low-scale scientific machine development. He’s going to help build manufacturing tools for us, and he’s only been here now for two or three weeks. Going forward, Cary will be heading up the Thelio line long-term, and I’ll be moving to some interesting R&D work.

And Zooey?

Zooey doesn’t really do much. She just kind of sits there and waits for people to feed her their lunch. I take her out for walks during the day so she can get away from everyone petting her. She doesn’t like when they do that.

What was the R&D process like for Launch?

Launch is a less complicated product in that we don’t have to deal with things like cooling. Even dropping a PCB into aluminum housing deals with multiple processes, like using the laser and CNC machine. This was a start to looking at those processes to see how much time it takes to produce parts, the costs going into making them, and monitoring the cutting quality. You have to be familiar with the machines and know what you’re looking for when you see a tool going dull.

We first let the software experts do their thing and optimize a layout they wanted for their programming life. Then I was given that template, built a couple of sheet metal chassis that we wired up to test that layout, and made a bunch of little changes to that to get that right secret sauce for our keyboard-centric workflow in Pop!_OS. Once we got a sheet metal product that we were sure was going to be usable, we decided officially that we were going to pursue making a keyboard. That came with a whole new set of manufacturing requirements that we would have to look into.

We spent a ton of time working on pocket profile. When you look at a Launch, you’ll see that it’s not a perfect rectangle. That’s because when you’re using a mill, you have a round tool, so you can go through and get close to a pretty small radius on the corner, but you can never make it exact. If we wanted to get a very small, tight pocket, we’d have to use a very small cutter that takes an extremely long period of time.

We’re taking raw billet, which are these huge 12-foot-long sticks of aluminum that we cut down to get our final product. We went with a rounded rectangle so that we could use our cutter and decrease the overall time to machine that part. There was a lot of work in that and making sure the pockets were all 13.95mm versus 13.9mm versus 14.1mm.

We also did a lot of R&D on how we go about putting the angle bar on. Magnetic assembly seemed to be a good idea. We went from trying to glue magnets in to doing what's called press fitting. The bars come right out of powder coating while they’re nice and warm, when the aluminum is slightly larger than when it cools down. Those magnets aren’t actually adhered to anything in the bars; they’re squeezed in nice and tight from the aluminum cooling and contracting around them. That’s called a press fit, and doing that makes the process faster and less expensive.

It’s similar with the bottoms of Launch; we have steel plates that we press fit into that part as opposed to gluing or screwing, but that we do before powder coating; steel rusts, and we don’t want someone opening up their keyboard in a year and finding a little bit of rust floating underneath their super high-end PCB. So we do that, sand it down, use our media blaster to clean off the surface from the tool paths you see from the mill, and then we powder coat it through and through.

Word on the Denver streets is that Thelio Major is getting a redesign soon. What does that entail?

We’re bringing Thelio Major a lot more in line with Thelio Mega in terms of a different PCI mount for graphics cards, because we know that’s been a pain point for a lot of our users. We want to provide a little bit more robust installation for these graphics cards, which continue to increase in size and weight. The NVIDIA 3000-series cards are almost a pound heavier in some instances, and that’s a lot of weight to be shipping across the country.

We also want to continue to make Thelio Major cooler and quieter when it’s running with these new GPUs. Our new brake press allows us to make radius bends on parts, so we’re starting to run through R&D of a laser-welded external. It’s a wholesale departure from us using custom brackets and 3M VHB tape. That will provide a nicer finished product to our end user, and it’ll allow us to make our product faster with less material and less steps.

What qualities do you look for when adding someone to the team?

Creativity is extremely important. As a small manufacturing company, our priorities can shift on a day or in an afternoon where we don’t have the full line of product anymore. There are all sorts of examples in the past few years of times where you have to react pretty quickly. The motherboard’s been EOL’d, or we have to change our sheet metal design, build a new part, things like that. Making sure that someone can adapt to those changes on a moment’s notice is one of the key parts of the job.

We also want people who get excited about a new challenge and have the desire to keep improving something. I look for people who like to make things and go back in and refine it and not hold it up on this pillar. It’s good to not look at something like it’s perfect.

You have a lot of love for your Audi. What do you love about it over other options?

I like German cars. We have a family of them. They’re high-performance and not too expensive if you do all the work on it yourself. There’s a huge after-market community that tunes and changes these cars, which is pretty fun. Plus I prefer the metric system. Having a standard system drives me nuts, because what the [REDACTED] are fractions?

My real love, though, is bikes. I love tuning and riding bikes, and I love that more than I like to work on cars. It comes out of tinkering. I work with carbon fiber, I’ve done a lot of repairs on bikes over the years—there’s a certain sense of freedom you get from riding a bike that you can’t get from anything else. Not motorcycles, not cars.

[15-dogs]

arrangements |n.l.|

pairing: neville longbottom x fem!reader

summary: you run into a rather handsome man who seems to share your interest in plants...although, he has odd taste

warnings: light swearing

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name

word count: 1884

You were late. So late. You had an interview with prospective clients which you were supposed to be at 5 minutes ago. The couple was getting married and they wanted to see what flowers you had arranged for their centerpieces. So there you were, running down the busy streets of London, carrying vase upon vase of flowers.

Because you were in such a rush, you didn’t see the tall man step into your view, crashing straight into him and dropping a vase. Your jaw dropped at the sight of your arrangement all over the pavement before your eyes snapped up towards the clearly embarrassed man.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled.

“I told them I would bring four options. Not three, four!”

You tugged the bag of flowers closer to your chest, making sure they were all okay. The man in front of you cleared his throat to gain your attention. When you looked up, he pushed a strange but beautiful plant into your arms.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“Your fourth option. If possible, could you return the vase to me?” The man patted down his tweed coat, finally pulling a card out and handing it to you. “There you go, that’s my number and address.”

“Neville?” you read. He nodded. “I can do that. Thank you so much, Neville.”

You began to dart off towards your destination when he called after you, “I didn’t catch your name!”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)! Pleasure!”

You arrived at the doorstep of a small cottage a few minutes later, panting from your run. You knocked on the door once but no one came. You tried it again and it happened once more. Then you became suspicious. You circled the house, seeing that all the lights were off. You pulled your phone out to check your calendar and, lo and behold, you screwed up the dates. The consultation was tomorrow.

Perfect.

You arrived on time to the consultation the next day and that time with all of your own arrangements. It went surprisingly well. The brides-to-be agreed to come to your shop in a month to collect the arrangements as their wedding was fast approaching.

You sat in the back room after you had closed and the sun began to set, ordering the materials you needed for the centerpieces when you came across Neville’s business card. Your eyes drifted up towards the odd plant he had left and you decided it would be best to give it back to him, seeing as how he wanted the vase regardless.

So that’s exactly why you stood outside of Neville’s apartment, knocking at the door with a little plant in hand.

“Just a minute!” Neville’s voice was muffled from inside the apartment but you could hear his footsteps fast approaching. For some reason, your heart began to beat a little faster in your chest.

Neville opened the door, faltering at the sight of you. You didn’t notice this in your hurry yesterday, but Neville was actually quite handsome. He had a strong jaw and lean body which was accentuated by his professional workwear. He wore a white button down and rolled up his sleeves, doing wonders to his toned arms.

“(Y/N)?” he questioned as if it weren’t painfully obvious.

“Yeah. Reckon this a bad time…”

“No, no! Not at all! Please, er, come in.” Neville stepped away from the door to let you by. Your stomach erupted into butterflies at his musky scent while you passed by.

“Your place is lovely.”

And it was. It was on the smaller side, but it was certainly well used. Everything had a place, that was evident. He had gorgeous plants decorating the room― the likes of which you had never seen before.

“Glad you think so. What brings you here?”

“Oh, right. I wanted to return your plant. I didn’t need it after all.” You chuckled nervously as you handed it over to Neville, hoping that he didn’t notice the way your eyes lingered on his body.

“I appreciate the efficiency,” he teased, evoking a smirk from you. “Would you like a drink? I was just about to settle down, actually.”

“I’m so sorry, did I interrupt you?”

“I’m alone,” he blurted out. You furrowed your brow at his implication. “I mean, um, there was nothing really to interrupt.”

“Ah, I see.” 

You weighed your options: have a drink with an incredibly handsome man or sit in your shop waiting to get a call back from some asshole named Steve who was your new distributor? That wasn’t too hard of a choice.

You and Neville spent the night chatting, telling each other about your lives. He told you all about his job as a professor at a boarding school in Scotland. He explained how he went there as a kid and dreamt of becoming a teacher there.

“So, professor,” you began, “what do you teach?”

Neville’s smooth facade dropped for a moment before he said, “Environmental science.”

“Impressive.”

“And you? I’m assuming you’re a florist?”

“Right you are, professor. When you ran into me yesterday I was actually going to a consultation for a wedding.”

Neville moved a little closer to you, his arm wrapping around the back of the couch. Your breath caught in your throat at the way he stared down at you.

“Is that so?”

“That is so.”

“You must be quite busy with weddings as it is the season for it, Mrs. (Y/L/N).”

Neville was incredibly close now. His arm had moved from the couch to your back, pulling you towards him and you didn’t mind at all. His eyes flickered down to your lips, drawing an inaudible squeak from you.

“It’s Miss, actually.”

“Perfect.”

Neville leaned in, placing gentle yet sloppy kisses against you. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck as he pulled you onto his lap. As he peppered kisses down your neck, you knew where you would end up that night. 

That was, until, your phone began to ring. Groaning, you pulled your cell out of your back pocket, Neville chuckling against you.

“Yes?...Steve, yes, hello...I can’t get it next weekend, Steve!...What form?...For Christ’s sake, Steve, email me the damn form! I can do it tonight!”

You angrily hung up on Steve the distributor and rolled off of Neville, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. A smirk tugged at his lips as you stood up, clearly finding the situation terribly humorous.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Neville. I have to fill out this paperwork and whatnot to get my flowers in time― my damn distributor doesn’t know how to do his job.”

Neville shook his head with laughter while walking you to the door. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe we can finish this up another night, quite possibly over dinner?”

“That sounds lovely.” You popped up on your toes to press a kiss to Neville’s cheek. “Goodnight!”

“Night, love.”

Somewhere along the way, you and Neville became a couple. After a few dates, he had admitted that he needed a wedding date next month and that’s when you decided to make it official.

It was hard to find you two apart because both of you had fallen for each other― hard. Neville would write you letters when he was away and ship strange floral arrangements which you would put in your store because it reminded you of him.

You were tending to one of the plants Neville had sent when your two brides came in to pick up their flowers.

“Hello Lavender! Oh, and Parvati is here too! I’ll go get the flowers in just a moment.” You finished spritzing water onto the tall white flower and made your way to the back room.

“Brilliant,” Lavender said.

“Say, (Y/N)?” Parvati walked over to the plant you were just tending to as you stepped out from the back room, a sample vase in hand. “Where did you get this?”

“That?” You walked up to the plant, tilting your head. “My boyfriend gave it to me. He’s really sweet, adores plants quite a bit. Sometimes I think he might like them more than I do!”

“Lavender, come take a look at this. This is Moly, isn’t it?”

“Pardon?” you asked, joining the two women.

Lavender turned to face you, a wide grin on her face as she said, “You never told us you were a witch!”

“I’m sorry?” Your eyes were wide with horror.

“Oh, no need to pretend. We’re witches too! Although, I don’t quite remember seeing you at Hogwarts. Did you go to a different school? Beauxbatons, perhaps?”

You clenched your eyes shut and rubbed your temples; those girls had truly lost it. Parvati seemed to sense your confusion and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Your boyfriend,” she started, “what’s his name?”

“Neville. Neville Longbottom. Why does that matter?”

The brides shared a knowing glance that had your stomach sinking. Lavender nodded at Parvati and then both drew their wands. It took hours of explanation just to wrap your head around the fact that magic was real and that your boyfriend was one of them, delivering you magical plants from his Herbology greenhouse every now and then.

Once you had finally comprehended the situation, it was dark. Lavender and Parvati were long gone, having left you to your own devices to process. At some point you had carried yourself to Neville’s apartment, knocking on the door.

“Darling, what are you doing here?” he questioned as he opened the door.

“You’re a wizard,” you deadpanned.

“I…”

You pushed past him to enter his place, taking a seat on his couch. “I don’t mind, I just wish you would’ve told me.”

Neville blinked in shock. “You don’t mind?”

“No.”

“And it all makes sense?”

“Enough.”

“I couldn’t...I’m not allowed…” Neville floundered as he paced in front of you, finally kneeling to look you in the eyes. “How did you find out?”

“My clients, the ones I’m arranging the centerpieces for their weddings, they...recognized the plants you sent me. Moly, I believe it was?”

“Yeah, Moly. How did they recognize it? Were they magic?”

“Yes. They claimed to know you, too.” You shifted in your seat. “Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.”

Neville froze. Then he dipped his head with laughter. Your brows knit together as Neville joined you on the couch.

“What’s so funny?” Irritation seeped through your tone as much as you tried to hide it.

“We’re going to their wedding next week. Well, they just spared me from a terribly awkward conversation about the party guests’ peculiar habits.”

You huffed, crossing your arms at his explanation. Neville tugged you closer so that you snuggled into his side but you pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” The concern was evident in his voice.

“Nothing,” you lied.

“Darling, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Why couldn’t you just tell me the truth about studying Herbology?”

“That’s seriously what you’re upset about?” he chuckled, pulling you close. Neville placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head and the tension feld from your body. “Fine, you know what? I’ll tell you all about my teachings― even show you a few of my findings― if you promise to stay the night.”

Was that even a question?

[starkeristheendgame]

Tony hadn't been the same since pepper died in a car accident and leaving him with their daughter, morgan. Then everything changed when he and morgan goes to a flower shop and meets florist peter.

I loved this one! Gosh, there were so many ways I wanted to take this. Thank you so much for the prompt, Non! I hope that this satisfies you. I was so tempted to make this a two parter 😅 If you enjoyed this, please consider giving it a reblog! 

TW: Mentions of grief | Grief processing | Allude to depression  SFW

This time of the year always rolls around quicker than he can prepare for it. Her birthday is hard. Their wedding anniversary is harder. But this...The death date...It hits like a freight train, an unstoppable force of grief and nostalgia that if not for Morgan would render him useless. 

As it is, dates outside of Halloween, Christmas and her own birthday don’t really mean much to her at this age, so where he wakes up immediately wanting to go back to sleep for the next week, she wakes up and begins bouncing on his head, shrieking about cereal and flowers. 

“Wh’was ‘ah ‘bout flowers?” he grumbled, rolling away out of the danger zone of her spindly little legs. This was a day of shit-pot luck, though, and no sooner had he settled on his side away from her did a flailing elbow strike him across the temple. 

“Flowers! You left a note on the fridge that said we needed flowers today,” she chirped, planting her tiny hands on his bare shoulder and shaking him with strength no six year old should possess. When his brain had stopped rattling around like a marble in a bean can he grumped and groused his way into sitting upright, rubbing at his temples. 

After Morgan had gone to bed he’d stayed up, drinking the whiskey he’d promised himself he wouldn’t buy and looking at the photographs he’d promised he’d never unbox. It was the same every October 11th, a habit harder to break than being addicted to crack. It left him worse for wear each time, doubling his misery. 

“Alright, bug. Go make yourself cereal. Daddy’s gonna shower and get dressed.” Her bony little heel caught him in the kidney as she scrambled off the bed and he wheezed as he pulled himself upright, staggering into the bathroom. 

Not for the first time, he considered enrolling her in a martial arts class. She could be a champion by the time she was ten, if not just for the fact that all her opponents would be in the accident and emergency room.

He ran the shower too hot and stayed until his skin felt over-hot and numb, and forced himself to dress in a semi-nice shirt and the cleanest pair of jeans he owned. When Pepper was alive he’d always dressed to impress, loving the way she’d tease him or grab him by the shirt to drag him back into the bedroom, but these days the outside world was lucky to see him at all. 

Morgan was on her second bowl of Lucky Charms when he dragged himself downstairs, and she looked at him intensely for a moment. “It’s Mommy’s death birthday, isn’t it?” she asked after a moment and he forced himself to contain the flinch, wandering over to her and soothing a hand over her hair, before he tugged her against his stomach in a hug. 

“It is,” he confirmed roughly. It’d been five years but it was still like rubbing citrus over a fresh wound. He hugged her tighter for a moment, then let her go. “That’s why we have to get flowers today. We have to take them to Mommy’s grave.”

He reached for the lopsided note on the fridge and crumpled it, then threw it in the waste bin. 

Pepper had wanted an ‘environmentally friendly’ burial and had been one of the first people in Manhattan to be buried in a ‘grave pod’, a hemp pod filled with seeds and fertiliser and her body. Over the past five years her burial had birthed a small silver birch tree with a sprinkling of wildflowers at its base. 

The stupid tree made him smile each time he saw it, no matter how much his heart hurt. It was just the type of person she’d been, to do something so out-there and environmentally conscious, even in death. He was smiling now just at the thought of it, a quirk of his lips chased by bitterness as he let Morgan pull him down the street. 

He always let her choose the flower store they went in it, and today she steamrolled other pedestrians out of the way on her mission to reach a gold and blue fronted store that proudly proclaimed itself as The Natural Gallery.

The store front was covered in various bushels and bunches, and even had a small stand full of singular flowers that were clearly left overs or on their way to wilting with a sign say ‘take one and spread some happiness!’

The scent of flora and soil was rich when Morgan yanked him through the doorway, and Tony breathed it in deeply as he looked around. The store’s arrangements inside had been organised like a rainbow, a solid curve of shelves that ran in a horseshoe shape from one wall to the other and behind the service desk. 

Morgan immediately abandoned him to peruse the selection and Tony wandered up to the desk, peering with vague boredom at the unorganised mess that covered the desk as he waited for them to be served. There was a rustle from an open doorway just off to the side, a dull thump, and then what looked to be a teenager came staggering through the open space in a cloud of glitter. 

Tony took a wary step backwards and was prepared to make his excuses to leave when the teenager turned around, and he suddenly found himself utterly disinterested in speaking at all. The young man was a touch on the shorter side but leanly built, with a chiselled face clinging to the last of its baby fat and the most doe-ish set of brown eyes he’d ever seen, shade matching the glitter-dusted mop of curls that sprawled over his temples. 

Pretty. That was the word for it. 

“I knew I heard you guys! Hey, I’m Peter. Sorry about the carnage, it’s a birthday thing,” the young man gasped, shaking off his shirt and bounding up to the desk with energy that could rival Morgan’s. 

“What can I do for you today?” the florist asked, leaning against the counter in a casual pose. Tony noticed for the first time then that he was wearing a women’s style wifebeater, a shirt that proclaimed in glittery pastel letters Nazis deserve to be punched. 

“I uh, I need flowers. For a grave.”

The florist’s cheery face immediately morphed into something softer. Tony hated that so he looked away. Hated the stupid expressions of pity and sympathy that people cast him every time he mentioned Pepper or her death. But when he forced himself to meet Peter’s eye again, it wasn’t exactly pity that he was met with. It was just something...Gentle. 

“Of course. Are there any flowers in particular you know they liked, or any arrangements you had in mind?” the florist was already reaching for a notebook and the sample book as he spoke. Tony glanced over his shoulder to reassure himself that Morgan was still mooning over the pretty flowers, then turned back. 

“Colourful. None of that... Sad, plain crap,” he breathed after a moment, keeping his gaze off to the side. Morgan had found an abandoned flowerhead on the floor and was cradling it carefully in both hands as she waddled towards them. 

“Alright, I think I have an idea for an arrangement. And when are you looking to pick up?” Peter continued, flipping to a blank page in his notebook and immediately beginning to scrawl in slightly messy cursive. 

“Today. Any time.”

The florist seemed surprised, pausing and chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip, but then he nodded and jotted down another note. “I can get something done in half an hour? I’ll just need a $10 deposit, and-- Oh, okay.”

Tony held out his bank card, gaze dropping down to Morgan as she approached the counter. “Take the full cost now,” he instructed blandly as she set the flower down on top of the counter. 

“Mister! This one lost his friends. And his body,” she greeted, pushing the flower across the counter towards the florist, who cast her a warm smile and picked up the flower head with the same careful cradle of his palms. 

“Oh dear, so he has,” he agreed, inspecting the flower carefully. “But that’s okay, because I know of a special job he can do even without a body.”

Morgan appraised him for a long moment before speaking. “Flowers don’t have jobs. They don’t need money,” she informed him seriously, before he turned to look up at her Father with pleading eyes. “Can we get cheeseburgers?”

Weak as he was, he couldn’t deny her anything even when he felt like this, and once the florist had rung up his card and handed him the receipt they left the store and headed to the nearest burger van. 

Morgan chose her customary single cheeseburger with so much ketchup it dripped out of the sides, and they sat down on a nearby bench to people watch as they ate. 

“I think his shirt is right,” she piped up after several bites, and he cast her a weary, wary gaze, reaching out to rub ketchup off her mouth with a napkin. 

“Who’s shirt, bug?”

“The pretty flower man. His shirt said we should punch Nazis. I think it’s right.”

Tony blinked at her and wondered where she’d even learned about Nazis (perhaps he should have paid more attention to the curriculum sheet her elementary had mailed him) before he bit into his own burger, watching passively as a particularly bold pigeon chased after a small, fluffy dog. 

They’d passed almost twenty minutes by the time they threw their wrappers in the bin, and Tony let Morgan tow him along back to The Natural Gallery. 

Peter was ready for them when they stepped inside, despite the fact that they were five minutes early. The young florist was half-hidden behind a large arrangement of colourful flowers that made Tony’s chest constrict when he saw them, and he weakly let go of Morgan’s hand so she could power on ahead to the counter. 

Peter looked over to greet them and seemed to realise that Tony needed a moment, because he immediately began to talk to Morgan about the flowers. 

“The tiny blue ones are called forget-me-nots. Your Daddy didn’t want anything plain, so I used these instead of a flower called baby’s breath, which are tiny white flowers. These big ones are sunflowers, these are roses, and look, here’s the flower you found on the floor!”

Tony forced himself to wander closer. The arrangement was an artful splash of primary colours tied together with what looked like coloured rope, and the slightly rumpled flowerhead had been sewn into the front of the front of the rope, almost like a brooch. 

It was the exact kind of simplistic yet artistic thing that Pepper would have loved, and Tony could feel his throat start to close up the longer he stared at it. 

Peter didn’t do him the indignity of offering any pandering sympathies or well wishes, the energetic florist simply explained the meaning behind the flowers used, explained the rope was hemp dyed with red wine so it was all 100% biodegradable, and gave Morgan a pretty, yellow flower to tuck behind her ear.

Tony left him with a $10 tip for being a ray of sunshine despite the fact that he’d undoubtedly been a prickly, unapproachable customer, and that was the end of it. 

Until a few months later, when Morgan hauled his ass straight back to The Natural Gallery like a greyhound after a rabbit for Pepper’s birthday. 

Her birthdays were probably the ‘easiest’ of all the dreaded dates. It was more nostalgic than painful, and he often passed the day away looking through old memories and thinking of all the birthday plans they never got to do together.

This year, however, Morgan insisted on getting Pepper flowers as a present, and hadn’t even hesitated between the car and her single-minded charge to the florist. Tony was beginning to suspect this was premeditated. 

The store hadn’t changed much since they’d last been here, and the florist was already at the counter with another customer when Morgan barged through the door. 

“Hello again, little Miss. Stark,” he waved at her as she hauled Tony towards a display of pink flowers, and he frowned before remembering his name had been on his bank card and he’d told the florist to hold the arrangement under ‘Tony Stark’. It was painfully obvious Morgan was his daughter, so it was also easy to denote that her name would be Morgan Stark.

Still. The kid had remembered, out of all the names and people he’d seen in the months since.

It didn’t take long for the young man to finish up with the customer, and then the florist stepped around the counter, coming towards them with a broad smile. Tony desperately tried to remember the guy’s name, even as he found himself distracted by the lazy-casual outfit the teen wore. 

His nails were painted purple. 

“Peter! Mommy needs flowers for her birthday!” Morgan shrilled in greeting, and Tony could feel his expression twist. She said it so simply, as if ‘Mommy’ was just at work or home and it made that familiar sinking weight in his chest grow. In front of them Peter’s nose scrunched when he smiled, and he set his hands on his hips in mock thought. 

“Hm, that’s a good present for a birthday! Do you know what flowers Mommy likes best? Or her favourite colours?” The florist - Peter - was just as cheerful as Tony vaguely remembered him being the last time. Tony piped up before Morgan could talk again. 

“Same as last time. Please. Colourful.”

Peter seemed to get it instantly. His cheerful smile took on the softest warmth for a moment, before it became vibrant and lively again as he looked down at Morgan. “I think we can manage that, hm? If your Daddy doesn’t mind you being my assistant for a few minutes?”

“Daddy doesn’t mind,” Morgan answered on his behalf, and Tony found he didn’t have the motivation to argue, standing back and watching and Peter let Morgan pull him all around the store, pointing out every bright and pretty flower she came across. 

Against his own will, something fragile and new began to bloom in his chest. It felt horrifyingly like warmth, like something...Verging on fond.

And it wasn’t entirely for Morgan. 

The florist was a natural with her. He didn’t talk to her like most people talked to young children, infantizing and almost condescending. He listened intently to every word she said and taught her little snippets about each flower she pointed out, letting her touch the petals and letting her tow him around without ever reaching for her first, mindful of the fact that she was not only her own person, but the young child of a stranger.

He allowed himself to briefly imagine what it would have been like if Pepper had lived. If they’d had a son before Morgan, so she could grow up with a doting older brother that would smile at her the same way and indulge her every whim. Another doting family member to wrap around her little her finger. 

“And one for Daddy too!” brought him out of his twisted musings and he looked across the room. Peter stood with a little wicker basket full of orange and red flowers, and Morgan had what looked to be a tulip tucked behind one ear. 

Peter was holding another in his hand, and when he looked up the teen tipped his head a little, arching a brow with a smile that said may I?

He grunted, and while Morgan busied herself with preening in a tiny mirror, Peter crossed the room towards him.

“She’s wonderful. I hope if I ever have children, they turn out like her,” the teen murmured as he reached out and carefully tucked the flower into the breast pocket of Tony’s jacket. This close he smelt like flowers and a refreshing undertone, like clean water. 

There was flower pollen in his hair and his lips were bitten a rosy pink. Freckles dusted the bridge of his nose in the barest hint of colour. 

“She takes after her Mother,” he said it before he could even think about the words, but Peter’s smile remained steady and warm, with none of the usual overly sweet pity he was often met with. 

“She takes after you, too. The perfect mix, I imagine.” And was that... A touch of teasing, maybe? The slightest sparkle in those eyes? Tony shifted under the scrutiny and looked over Peter’s shoulder, back to his daughter. 

He supposed it was true. Morgan had every bit her Mother’s personality, but looks wise she’d taken after him the most. Her dark hair, fair skin and shapely jaw were all his features. 

“She’s better than I am,” he breathed after a moment. She had none of his bitterness, none of his cynical bones. Perhaps it was her youth, but not even losing her Mother had soured her outlook on life. When he looked back Peter was still staring at him, and Tony realised just how close they were still standing. 

Evidently, he wasn’t the only one. 

“Are you gonna kiss ‘im?” Morgan asked from a little way across the shop, and Tony jerked, looking at her in alarm, but Peter simply gave a light chuckle, turning away and moving back towards the counter. 

“Your Daddy is very handsome, but I’ve got to organise these flowers for your Mommy! If I get started, do you think you’ll remember to come back in twenty minutes when they’re ready?” 

Morgan solemnly promised to be back here in exactly, precisely twenty minutes, and immediately demanded that Tony took her to find some juice. Tony held her hand as they walked out of the store, and he frowned down at her. 

“Don’t say things like that again, sweetheart. I’m not going to kiss random people. Especially not on Mommy’s birthday.” It came out perhaps a little sharper than he’d intended, and he bought her an extra juice to make up for the almost hurt way she’d looked up at him afterwards. 

The flowers were just as beautiful as last time. He left Peter with another tip, and tried to ignore how Morgan spent ages telling Pepper’s tree all about the ‘pretty flower boy’ that was ‘her and Daddy’s new best friend’. 

He didn’t have the heart to correct her, and he had the sneaking suspicion that the next time she came with him to get flowers for something, she’d drag him straight back to The Natural Gallery. 

He was half right, as it turned out. Morgan’s apparent adoration for the florist had transferred into a love for flowers, which became a blatant excuse to visit Peter again when it became clear Tony didn’t know anything about plants beyond shoving seeds into the soil of their backyard and hoping for the best. 

“Peter will know!” she announced, after five minutes of the two of them standing helplessly in the plant food aisle of their local gardening store, staring at no less than forty different brands and bottles of plant feed. 

“Honey, he’s just a store florist, he might not know everything about actual horticulture,” Tony tried valiantly, but she would hear none of it, and first thing the next morning she woke him up by kicking him squarely in the middle of the spine and shouting PeterPeterPeter!

Thus, he found himself hobbling gingerly into The Natural Gallery barely an hour after its opening time, grimacing at the early morning sunshine and cradling his coffee, which he’d had to pour into a travel mug because the longer he’d taken to drink it, the darker Morgan’s stare had gotten. 

“Hi! Welcome to-- Tony?” Peter came up short where he’d popped around the corner, looking surprised to see them. It had been less than three weeks since their last visit, and the teen looked the most put-together Tony had ever seen him, far too chipper for this hour. 

Morgan greeted him with a wave that bordered on violent, and she promptly ditched Tony in the doorway to bound up to the counter. 

“We want a pretty garden but Daddy is useless and doesn’t know anything about flowers, so you have to come to our house and help us!”

Tony shot upright then cringed and reached for his back like an old man. 

“Now, hang on. We never said anything about him coming over,” he warned Morgan, casting Peter an apologetic glance as he forced himself to catch up to his runaway child, giving her a stern look when he finally leaned against the counter. Morgan, unperturbed, looked at him like he was a simpleton. 

“How else is he gonna help us plant flowers? Duh, Daddy,” she huffed at him, before she looked back across at Peter. 

“I want pretty flowers like the ones you have. Daddy bought all the seeds and everything but it still looks plain and boring.”

He was almost offended on behalf of his garden. He had a very nice lawn, thank you very much, and the few flowers that had somehow survived with Pepper being there to care for them still came doggedly back every year. 

“Morgan. You know the rules about going to strange people’s houses and inviting strangers home,” he reminded her pointedly, mock flicking her between the eyes. 

“But Peter is our friend, and you said friends are allowed home as long as I ask and you make sure its safe!” Morgan protested, and Peter cooed. 

“Aw, I think you’d be a wonderful friend, Morgan, but your Daddy is right. But! How about I give you and your Daddy some tips to write down for getting a really nice garden, and maybe you can take pictures when it all blooms and come show me?” Peter’s looked up at Tony when he said it, and Tony found he couldn’t do anything except - somehow - smile. 

God, Pepper would have loved this kid. 

It took Peter offering Morgan a freshly bloomed pink lily for her to fully accept the fact that she couldn’t bring her new ‘friend’ home, but eventually she came around to the idea, and Tony found himself in a surprisingly spacious back area of the store, surrounded by various floristry supplies and flower off-cuts and Peter tapped around on a slightly beaten up laptop, showing them different plants that were generally ‘safe bets’ to have in a garden, fertiliser types and the most common downfalls many a hopeful gardener faced when starting out. 

As Morgan leafed intently through one of the many flower-based magazines laying around, Tony forced himself to speak. 

“Sorry. She gets ahead of herself.” He didn’t need to elaborate on what he was referring to, but Peter just cast him a broad, warm smile, and nudged their shoulders together lightly. 

“Don’t apologise. She’s a delight. I almost wish I was her age again. I don’t mind when you guys come here. It makes the day a little bit brighter. Who knows, maybe one day I might even get to see you smile.”

And Peter more or less embodied the smiley face emoticon at the end of the sentence, grinning sunnily at Tony before Morgan thrust a magazine page in his face and demanded to know what flower was being shown in the picture. 

They left with a stack of print-outs and magazines, and as Morgan sat in the car on the way home she looked across at him thoughtfully. 

“Peter is very pretty.” She probably meant it as a question, but it came out so firmly it sounded like a statement. He let the car roll to a stop and side-eyed her warily. 

Was this her first crush? No, it couldn’t be. She was six. Tony hadn’t had his first crush until... Okay, yeah, no. It could very well be her first crush. 

“Do you think so?” he asked after a moment, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. She looked at him like he’d just asked her what 1+1 was, and rolled her eyes before she looked forwards again, apparently not dignifying him with a response. 

The next morning she woke him up right at the strike of six, and not even an hour later he found himself on his knees in the dirt of the garden, diligently rooting around in the dirt to pluck out weeds, rocks and to replace no less than half of the dirt with fertiliser from a big, stinky bag while Morgan dutifully moved each and every critter they came across to safety. 

It took him four hours, but eventually every border of the garden had been re-dug, replanted and soaked through with the garden hose. Tony schlepped off to the shower with a groan, almost regretting the outcome of raw dogging his wife, no matter how good it had felt at the time. 

He lathered himself up thoroughly and felt somewhat more alive by the time he made his way downstairs for another well earned cup of coffee. 

To his both his joy and his dismay, gardening with Morgan became A Thing. Twice a week if it didn’t rain they dragged the hose out of the garage and watered all the grass and tiny little green shoots and once every two weeks they both found themselves kneeling in the dirt to painstakingly weed the soil and make sure their little ‘baby flowers’ as Morgan called them were growing unhindered and healthy. 

Perhaps worst of all, he found himself thinking about Peter each time he tended to the garden or watched Morgan chat excitedly to her teachers and friends about all her new flowers and the pretty flower boy who taught her and her Daddy how to have a nice garden. 

He thought of that sunny smile and those bright eyes, the curls that permanently looked like the kid had just woken up and the random assortment of clothing he seemed to just roll out of bed and throw on. 

He’d had one or two hook ups since Pepper had died. Had briefly tried dating before he’d found he hated the differences too much, hated the lingering cloud of Pepper over each potential relationship, hated the way other kisses tasted like betrayal. Yet here he was, thinking about the lips on a kid he’d met three times. 

Almost three months had passed, and Morgan had dragged him back to the gardening store to see if they had any pretty ornaments they could put in the garden. He turned to ask her if she wanted to bunny or the fox when he realised with a jolt of cold panic that she was no longer at his side. He tried to calm himself and glanced up and down the aisle, but she wasn’t in sight either. 

Alright. Calm. She was probably the next aisle over. She knew not to wander off without telling him, but maybe she’d been distracted or he just hadn’t heard her. He set the ornaments down and jogged to the end of the aisle, stepping around the other one. No Morgan. No Morgan in the one on the opposite end, either. 

“Fuck!” he huffed, spinning on his heel. The checkout desks? Maybe she’d tried to find a toilet-

“Tony!”

He spun on his heels and stared as he spotted Peter trotting towards him, hand in hand with one Morgan Stark, who looked happy but a little meek, especially once she met his eye. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark. I’m so sorry, I was here buying seeds and I turned around and she was right there. She said she was here with you and she saw me walking and wanted to say hello. We came straight back to you, didn’t we, Miss. Stark?” Peter asked, looking down at where Morgan hung off his arm like a guilty koala. 

“Uh huh. Because walking off from Daddy without saying isn’t good and makes him sad.” She evidently repeated from something Peter had said, looking up at the florist before she let go of his hand and bounded across to Tony, clinging to him when he lifted her up. 

“Sorry Daddy. I didn’t want to make you said. I just wanted to see Pretty Peter,” she mumbled into his shoulder. 

Peter’s cheeks were pink when Tony looked across at him again, and there was soil under his pink fingernails and dusted on his shoulders. 

He took in a breath. 

“Well... Maybe I can give Pretty Peter my number. Just so next time you run off because he’s better looking than me, he can call me so I don’t get sad, huh, bug?” he ran a soothing hand down her back when she pulled away to grin and him, and Peter’s cheeks looked like hot coals by the time Tony hesitantly glanced up at him. 

“I’d like that,” the florist beamed at him, shuffling sweetly on the spot. “And, for the record... I think you’re plenty good looking.”