#This is where we examine that the Thursday night thing has been thrown out the window

[shepscapades]

gonna stream tonight I think :3 think I wanna just chat and hang and doodle various dbhc things :D maybe work a bit on cold reactor!!! But yeah, gonna go live in an hour or so!

[rostovs-lover]

roy rogers

brian may x reader | cursing, some suggestive language, a little bit of anxiety, alcohol consumption | she/her pronouns | fluffy? slow-burn?? | wc.3667

i’m low key tempted to make a part two,, 

anon : Can I request a super cute fic where Bri needs more money for uni, so he starts offering guitar lessons and the reader has a little brother who really wants to learn how to play, so she signs him up. Maybe her brother is extremely good with a guitar and he has a lot of lessons with Bri. He also sees the reader a lot and he catches feelings HARD. Maybe the reader’s little brother spills something to both of them with the help of the rest of the band and they end of together. I just need major FLUFF

your younger brother thinks his guitar teacher is perfect for you and he’s adamant about getting you together. requests open!!

     A Roy Roger’s is a nonalcoholic drink made of cola and cherry grenadine and topped with a maraschino cherry.

     Your younger brother, David, practically lived in your apartment. For a fourteen year old he was brilliant and very, very sneaky. Sneaky enough to creep out of your mother’s house in the dead of night and crawl up to the fire escape of your second story apartment.

    When you’d stumbled to the kitchen, half asleep, he’d been at the table thumbing through a cookbook. He’d also had the audacity to laugh when you screamed, thinking he was an intruder. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it most definitely wouldn’t be the last either.

    “One of these days something is going to be thrown at your head,” You hissed, setting a bowl of cereal in front of David, who looked at it with the utmost disgust.

    “What is this?”

    “Quisp, either eat it or starve.”

    He glowered at you, “I like Waffelos,”

    “That's so sad, I have no money, its Quisp or nothing.” It was quiet for a while as you both ate, David still looking through your cookbook.

    He closed the book, examining the cover as he spoke, “Mum said you have to sign me up for guitar lessons,”

    “Mum said what?”

    “You have to sign me up for guitar lessons, she’ll pay. I have a well of untapped potential in the musical realm. That's according to her coworker, Deirdre.” He sighed, exasperated, “Mum trusts Deirdre apparently because now I have to learn guitar.”

    “Where on earth does mum expect me to sign you up, I mean did she give you any specifics, like a price range? Do you even have a guitar?”

    “First, I have mum’s old guitar. Second, she just said lessons. I think she trusts your judgment.”

    Despite how much you appreciated your mother trusting your judgment, finding reasonably priced guitar lessons with someone who wasn’t a creep was harder than anticipated. You had collected a handful of flyers and business cards, all offering said lessons. The first call you placed was to a nice old lady looking to take up some spare time by providing lessons but she lived too far away for your mother to drive every week. The next was almost promising until you told Robert MacIntere that the lesson was for your brother, not you and he hung up the phone. One woman had too many cats, another man asked for your shoe size, someone else cursed you out when you said you couldn’t do their outlandish prices. The only promising thing you had gotten was a History professor, a very nice man too. You were thrilled when the lessons had finally been scheduled until he bowed out at the last minute and you were back at square one. 

    You had almost given up when, one rainy Thursday evening, you found an advert pinned outside of the auditorium. Guitar lessons, not too far away, open every Tuesday and Wednesday after three o’clock. The document was typed, all except a phone number scrawled on the bottom, almost as if an afterthought. You scratched the number on the palm of your hand and called straight away when you got home.

    The line wrung for several seconds, “Yo?”

    “Hi. Hi, yes I’m calling about a flyer I saw posted at Imperial College? It was an advert for bi-weekly guitar lessons, and your number was on the paper. I was wondering about booking a couple of weeks?”

    The person on the line snorted, “Sorry dear, that’s not me. I assume you’re looking for my mate, just one moment and I’ll gather him-” You heard his hand cover the receiver as she called for someone, “Just one sec’ lovie,”

    The phone was audibly handed off, “Hello?”

    “Hi, um I’m calling about the guitar lessons?”

    “Oh!” His voice, “Yes, of course! That's me, are you looking to schedule one?”

    You had scheduled for the following Tuesday at four, to meet at his apartment. In the car on the way there, David rambled on about everything he wanted to learn and exactly how ecstatic he was for this. He had named his guitar George, after George Harison, who he admired. On the elevator ride up to Brian’s apartment, David was practically vibrating and he bounced on the balls of his feet as you waited at the door.

    The door was opened by a blond, clad in a bathrobe and flannel pyjama pants who puffed at his cigarette as he stared at you, “What brings you here?”

    Before you could speak David, who the blond hadn’t noticed until just then, piped up, “The guitar lessons. I’m the one being taught, [Name] is just sitting in.”

    “Oh, well come in then, I’ll go and get Brian.” He tucked his cigarette behind him and lead you inside, “Um, make yourselves at home, couch is all yours.” He howled Brian’s name and ducked into the kitchen, snuffing out the smoke in an ashtray.

    David got settled on the couch, tugging out his guitar, and you set into a chair. From around the corner rushed a very frantic body, clutching his own guitar. He was very tall, and the black pants he wore made his legs seem unproportionate to his body. What caught your eye the most though was his hair, he had a thick mane of tightly wound black curls, which also added to his height.

    “Hi, I’m very sorry about this, I got a touch caught up in a bit of school work.” He settled onto the couch next to your brother, “You must be David, I’m Brian.” He gestured a hand to your brother.

    David, ever the charmer, shook firmly as he spoke, “Its pleasure meeting you. I wasn’t quite sure that lessons were even going to happen, no one seemed right, according to mum, but you seem nice! Your guitar is neat. Oh! That's my sister, [Name], I believe you spoke on the phone.”

    “We did,” Brian leaned forwards to shake your hand as well, “Its nice to meet you,”

    A better teacher would have been hard to come by. Brian was patient and soft spoken, he worked at your brother’s pace, never rushing past anything he didn’t fully understand. The lesson was only an hour long but it seemed much shorter, with a book in tow you didn’t pay much mind to anything else. That was until you caught yourself glancing over the cover to watch the lesson. Brian was attractive and he had very nice hands. You were somewhat aghast you’d never seen him on campus, he seemed hard to miss.

    The lessons became weekly, and despite trusting Brian and his roommate, Roger, you still opted to stay for every one. It was always pleasant, the apartment was nice, Brian was nice, and you had begun to get acquainted with his friends. During the third week, Roger had let it slip that they were in a band. Brian’s face had flushed scarlet and he’d played with his fingers as he explained that it wasn’t anything serious. On that same visit, you’d had a conversation with Roger in the kitchen while he got you a glass of water. He was nice, only half awake at the time, but you’d realized you had an evolution class together at school. He had also given you his number, and David would absolutely not let you hear the end of it.

    “Please-” Your brother cried as he threw himself onto your sofa, “You haven’t had a boyfriend in ages. The last one was, what was his name?”

    You rolled your eyes, “Chet?”

    “Chet Robbins! Chet the safe bet!”

    “Chet the safe bet? Did you make that up?”

    David smiled, very proudly, “I did! Just now actually, because it's true! Chet, the business student, trust fund child, frat boy. Why not date a drummer?”

    “Because I like stability David,”

    “[Name] date the drummer. I beg, I plead. He was so into you, he gave you his number!”

    “If you will recall, I have his number. Because his number is the apartment number and that's what I called for the lessons. I also refuse to date your teacher’s best friend. How would I approach that, ‘Hi Brian! You’re teaching my brother an instrument, I did your friend last night. How have you been?’”

    David gasped in mock disgust, “I never said a word about doing him. You foul wench, I simply implied dinner. Maybe seeing one of his shows.”

    “Oh my dear, when you date a drummer it's never just dinner.” You snorted.

    “Well, when I date a drummer it will be. Only dinner, no foul play.”

    “Please, please keep that attitude for the rest of your life.”

    It was quiet as he mulled over your words. You started off, putting away your bag and coat when he abruptly sat up, “You don’t dislike the drummer, in fact, it has nothing to do with him. You don’t like my teacher’s best friend, you like my teacher.” He grinned when your face lit up, “Oh you do, you absolutely do! I’ve never seen you blush that hard.”

    “You little twit,” You hissed, “If you say a word about this I will have your head. This stays between us and us only.”

    David was sneaky, very sneaky. Your conversation had planted an idea in his head like a seed and every brief glance and soft smile you shared with his teacher was water. He was growing a downright devious plan, with you directly at the center of it.

    David, after quietly looking over the house and picking up on Brian’s affinity for science fiction, had been the one to recommend you start reading George Orwell’s 1984. He had also purposely disappeared to the restroom when he caught sight of Brian eyeing the cover.

    Brian carefully cleared his throat, “Do you read much Orwell?”

    “Oh, Orwell? No, not really. I, um- I read The Road to Wigan Pier for a book club a while ago. Are you a fan?”

    “Oh yes,” He smiled, leaning forwards, “I’ve read that, actually. I was in a band a few years back by the same name,”

    You cocked your head, closing the book against your finger, “1984?”

    “Yes, quite silly, I know. Never was much good at naming.”

    “Roger said you’re in a band now, what's that called?”

    His cheeks were beginning to pick up a soft pink again, “Um, Queen. Our singer named it-”

    David sat back down, “Did I miss anything important?”

    Brian looked away and you went back to your book. The only noise became the guitar residing between the two boys on the couch. David had learned enough to start on a song, I Walk the Line by Johnny Cash. It was recognizable enough to draw your attention, and it was lovely at first until it was all David played. When you returned home, when you visited your mother, he played it so much you had memorized the fingering to it.

    It was at another lesson, several weeks later, when you had been left by your lonesome. David had gone to get a drink and Brian had run to retrieve something from his room. All alone and with nothing to tell you not to you settled into the couch with the guitar and tried at the song. It was choppy, a bit off-key, but mostly there.

    “I didn’t know you played?” Brian’s voice was soft but you still jumped, shooting around to find him. Leaned against the back of the sofa he twirled a coin between his fingers, grinning down at you.

    You swallowed, “I don’t, no, not really. Dave’s just played this so much I remembered how it looked.” 

    He propped his chin in his hand, “I think you could be quite good. Just, here-” He slipped the coin between his teeth to reach down, softly grasping your wrist, adjusting your placement on the neck. His hands were warm and it sent a shiver up your spine as he carefully moved your fingers, “That should do nicely, I trust you’ll do well with the right placement.” He was quiet for a moment, silently pondering something, “Friday night we have a show at about ten o’clock, say you come and maybe I could show you something on the guitar afterwards.”

    You considered, “Where is it?”

    “The Cameo, downtown London.”

    “It sounds lovely, very, but I have to admit I’m not big on the downtown London clubs. I actually don’t know where that is. Although I do have a friend whos well versed with the scene, I could ask her to show me there?”

    “Wonderful,” He grinned, “It's a date!” Something else David wouldn’t let go of. Usually, all he talked about was the music he learned but now he was enthralled with the prospect of a new romantic venture. You had been informed on exactly how to dress, what makeup to wear, what drink to order. He also picked the exact shade of blue for you to paint your nails.

    You called Marilla after your mother picked David up and she had agreed, enthusiastically, to show you to the club. When she arrived you had been called ‘prudish’ and were forbidden to dress yourself. In the very back of your closet was a floral dress you’d bought for a wedding reception that never happened. It was supposed to be returned but you just hadn’t gotten around to it.

    “It doesn’t scream rock n’ roll,” She inspected the green fabric under the kitchen light, “But anyone can look like Twiggy with enough eyeshadow so it’ll have to do. You should invest in club clothes, you might have to if anything goes with this guitar player.” Her eyebrows wagged.

    You rolled your eyes, taking the dress from her, “Hush, you’re just as bad as David.”

    “Your brother?” Marilla snorted, “What's he got to do with this?”

    “He's an insufferable little shit, that's what-” You pushed off your top, “At first he tried to get me with the guitar player’s flatmate but when that didn’t work he really pushed Brian and I,”

    Marilla was amused, far more amused than you, “He's a cunning thing, I’ve always liked him. Oh boy, now I really want to see your guitarist, Brian was it?”

    The club pulsed, dull lights glaring down against everything. It was smokey and smelled of weed and whiskey. The band onstage was far too loud and you clung to Marilla’s hand as she pulled you up to the bar.

    “What do you want?” She practically had to yell for you to hear but it went through you, you couldn’t think with all the noise and lights. She sighed and patted your hand, “A Moscow mule and a Roy Roger’s please.” She shouted at the bartender, “It's alright babes, no alcohol, just fancy cherry coke.” You nodded and accepted the drink, taking a tentative sip as you scanned the crowd. The band onstage had seemed to conclude their set but it didn’t make things any quieter. It was overwhelming really, moreso as Marilla started to pull you up to the front.

    “Come on, it's almost ten. Your boy’ll be up next!” She settled in front of the stage, rooting you to the spot next to her.

    Brian’s flatmate came out, twirling a drumstick between his fingers and he was met with loud cheers. Marilla whooped, waving big up at him. He was followed by the bass player, Brian, and the singer. They were all enthralling, and you were enraptured. The boys on stage looked ethereal, in flowy tops and sparkly makeup. The frontman was clad in glittery jewelry and the bass player wore platform boots. Their music drew you in and eased your nerves about how crowded the club was. The last song had a guitar solo and as he played Brian’s eyes met yours. A rose of warmth bloomed into your cheeks and he grinned, fingering at the chords.

    Marilla, immune to none, elbowed you in the ribs, “That's him?!”

    You nodded, “It is,”

    “Damn girlie! Good for you! But for the record, I think I like the drummer,”

    “His name is Roger. If you come backstage with me you can meet him.”

    She grinned, “I’m so proud of you, getting connections!” As they finished Roger flung one of his drumsticks into the crowd. You flinched as Marilla’s hand shot out. She squawked as she caught it, quickly tucking it into her pants and taking your hand, pulling you towards the back lounge. She pushed at the thin curtain to the side, slipping in.

    It was quieter and you watched people in glamorous outfits dally about. A redhead in hot pants dropped onto the shabby leather sofa, passing glass bottles of something to both the drummer and bassist. The singer was swirling what you could only assume to be a cosmopolitan. He looked up, catching sight of you and Marilla, both looking a bit lost.

    “Hello, come come!” The singer waved you over and Marilla practically dragged you.

    “You are spectacular!” She raved, “All of you, magical!” She tugged the stick out of her waistband and made her way to the drummer.

    You cleared your throat, “You really are amazing, you have a lovely voice.”

    The brunette smiled, “Thank you! I’m Freddie by the way, our charming drummer is Roger. The lovely John plays bass and Brian should be around here somewhere, he plays the guitar.”

    “It's nice to meet you, Freddie, I’m [Name]. I was actually looking for Brian,” You twiddled with your fingers, looking down, “He asked to meet here tonight. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is would you?”

    “You know, he may have popped to the kitchen. I’ll show you,” Freddie stood up. He seemed to catch your hesitation, glancing back to Marilla, “I’ll keep an eye on her. Roggie really is no harm, he plays much bigger than he actually is, I don’t think he could hurt a soul. Not an undeserving one at least.” He started towards the kitchen with you in tow.

    Aforementioned kitchen was small and shockingly clean. Your guitarist sat on the counter with a glass of water.

    Brian seemed to be in his own world until Freddie caught his attention, “Someone’s been looking for you, my dear,”

    Brian looked up, “[Name]! Hello, I’m so glad you came!” He slid off the counter setting his drink down, “Did you bring your friend?”

    “I did, she’s become infatuated with Roger though.”

    He grinned, “Oh Rog seems to do that to some people.”

    “Well, I'll leave you to it!” Freddie called, waving and walking back to the lounge.

    When the door shut Brian began to fiddle with the bottom of his shirt, “I left my guitar in the other room, I could go and grab it if you’d still like to learn that song.” He studied your face, “But you don’t look comfortable, are you alright?”

    “Yes, this just isn’t really my scene. I’m not used to the noise and everything, there's a lot of people here.”

    He smiled sympathetically, “I know, it's crowded. There's a nice little diner just down the road, we could walk there and talk if you’d like.”

    You nodded, “Sure, that would be lovely.”

    The air was crisp and it brought you back to reality from the club. Brian had lent you an extra sweater he had brought, it was warm but you had to roll the sleeves a few times. It was quiet as you walked, the occasional car rushing past. The sidewalk narrowed as you got closer to the strip of restaurants and you felt the back of Brian’s hand brush yours. You caught his fingers, lacing yours into them and nervously looking up. His expression mimicked yours, jittery and shy and totally taken.

    “You look very pretty,” He murmured, thumbing over your knuckles, “That green looks very nice on you.”

    You smiled, “Thank you, you look lovely as well.”

    “Oh pish posh, this is just stage wear. But I’m glad you think it looks okay, Rog said I looked frumpy.”

    You giggled, “Marilla, the one who brought me, called me prudish earlier.”

    His laugh was soft, “Well, we can be fashion disappointments to our friends together,” He pulled open the door to MaryAnne’s Diner, holding it for you.

    You were settled in a booth waiting for your order when Brian spoke, “David really has potential,”

    “With the guitar? I’m not surprised, he's always been good at everything he tries. It's really quite annoying, how brilliant he is.”

    “He seems so, a very nice kid. Does he live with you?”

    “No no,” You smiled, “No he lives with our mum, he just sneaks out to see me more than he should. I don’t know if I ever thanked you for letting me sit in, I know it's not common practice. I just worry about him, he seems so much older than he actually is and I’m worried it’ll get him in trouble one day.”

    Brian patted your hand, “Oh darling, I understand. I really don’t mind at all, I’m glad I met you.”

    “I’m glad I’ve met you as well.”

    He had walked you home, contently explaining the story behind one of the constellations he saw.

    He stalled at the door, keeping your hand in his, “So I suppose I’ll see you next week?”

    “Absolutely,”

    He moved one hand to push a piece of hair out of your face, “Well until then I suppose,”

    You leaned up, closing in on him. You felt his hot breath against your cheeks, “Is this okay?”

    He nodded, “More than,” And pulled you into him. 

     He was as gentle in kissing you as he was in everything else, carefully nudging his nose against yours. His mouth was warm and he stroked your mandible, easing deeper into the kiss. He relished in the taste of maraschino cherry from the Roy Roger’s you’d had earlier. You gasped softly as he nipped at your bottom lip, pulling away. The lipgloss he had been wearing was smeared against the corner of your mouth and he carefully wiped at it with his thumb.

    David would never let you hear the end of this either.

[teamhappyme]

to care for you

rafael barba x female!reader

referenced cases from S17E04 and S17E16

word count: 4k

a/n: this is my first fic that I’m letting the world see and I’m... terrified. i hope whoever reads this gets some joy out of it. shoutout to @qvid-pro-qvo and @hurricanejjareau , y’all got me roped into loving the SVU boys, and this would not have been created if I hadn’t found your blogs. big inspiration over here. alright, here we go friends.

****

“Well you’re going, right?” 

“I haven’t decided.” “Haven’t decided? It’s Liv and Noah, Barba. A christening for the cutest little boy and the most deserving mother. They’ve been through hell this year, they deserve our support. Besides, you’re a devout Catholic, you should be all in for this.”

“First of all, he’s getting christened in a Unitarian church. Second, I wouldn’t exactly use the term devout. The last time I went to church was with you and Carisi after that trafficking case last year.” He said while grabbing another slice of pizza. In your three years since joining the SVU this was the first time you saw Rafael Barba eat a slice of pizza. 

“Careful. You might get some grease on that thousand dollar suit, Counselor.” He glared at you before taking a bite. “If you’re worried about the priest smelling your absence out, Carisi and I have enough devotion to pass on to you.”

“I don’t want any of Carisi’s Catholic guilt.” “You need me to take your confession?” You asked with a smirk. 

There weren’t many people that could get away with pushing Barba’s buttons without getting chewed out by the ADA in his next breath. And when you first started out with the squad, there were many occasions where you and Barba had some heated arguments.

Getting transferred to SVU was an overwhelming experience. You were thrown into the understaffed department right along with Carisi, so the two of you had to step up pretty quick for the unit. There was no adjustment period, trust wasn’t built, it was forced upon the squad. It took about two months for you to really trust the other detectives, but once you did, the unit got into a groove. Cases were being solved left and right and you started to understand the routine of the SVU. 

Until you had to testify. It was six months in, and it was your first testimony with the unit. It was also the first rape case you worked with minor victims. There were four fifteen year old girls accusing their history teacher of rape, two of which disclosed to you. 

You prepped with Barba for an hour the night before, making sure you knew the case inside and out. You felt confident in your answers, and were ready to take the stand. Until the following morning. On your walk down to the courtroom with him, you rushed into the ladies room to vomit up your coffee and your anxiety. Public speaking was never one of your strong suits, and Barba had cautioned you to be prepared for Buchanon’s toxic cross examination.

As you washed your hands and cleared your face, Rafael stayed outside the door, even deterring a woman from coming in. Once you exited, he was waiting at the side, pulling a granola bar and stick of gum out of his blazer pocket. You took the food, as he gave you a nod and waited for your okay to continue the walk down to the courtroom. A slight nod of your own and weak smile got his feet moving again. 

That trial was the first olive branch extended between you and Rafael. He wasn’t one to offer warm greetings, and since you were often glued to Carisi’s hip, it was hard for him to separate you from the enthusiastic detective. There were passive aggressive comments relayed back and forth while trying to indict a perp, and long nights spent deliberating probable cause at the round table. But it wasn’t until you accompanied Liv to One Hogan Place, in a particularly bad mood when you sassed the ADA back after he made a comment about your witnesses being incredibly unreliable, not having time for the shenanigans. 

After that moment, Rafael knew that he could trust you. The passive aggressive comments yielded, but the sass continued. The repertoire the two of you were slowly building drew quite the audience, Carisi and Rollins almost always feeding the fire with more topics to discuss. 

About a year into your tenure here, you started to check in on Barba. The first time you stopped by was originally a business call. Liv needed a warrant asap, already staking out the apartment of a suspect. You rushed over to the courthouse, trying to find any ADA’s secretary when you saw Barba still in his office at midnight. According to Carmen, he rarely went home before 9:00. After that night, you made it a habit to check in on him at least once a week. The DA’s office was a cutthroat environment, and Barba’s office was an even lonelier place. 

Thursday nights were penciled in for your unofficial drop ins, almost through the week but still burning the midnight oil. You would show up around 10:00 with pizza for you, and sushi for his expensive taste every time, knowing neither one of you had time to eat dinner yet. Most of the time, the two of you would work on your respective cases, sometimes sharing notes if the work overlapped. But if it was a slow week, sometimes the two of you would just, talk. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who understood the demanding nature of the job. Your family in particular couldn’t understand why you loved this career so much, but your squad could. It was reassuring to have their support.

“Alright, enough with the holier than thou attitude, Detective. I actually wanted to talk to you about the case.” Sitting up a little straighter in your chair, you wiped your hands on a napkin as he pulled out a manila folder. “I’ve been encouraged by the D.A. to drop the charges against Bobby D’Amico and Noel Panko.”

“What?” “And I have a motions hearing scheduled for Friday morning to dismiss the charges.”

After everything the squad had done for this case, what you saw Amanda put herself through. It was all for nothing.

“Barba, you can’t be serious. We have three victims, two willing to testify. We have footage of them attempting to rape Rollins for crying out loud.”

“Kristi Cryer has changed her story too many times. She was raped, then it was consensual, it was Panko, it was Panko and D’Amico. A jury will never believe her story.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “The jury won’t believe her or you won’t?”

“Hey, you know this isn’t about what I think. This isn’t a case we can win. We have to look at the optics.”

“The optics,” you muttered as you stood up from your seat. “Multiple women were raped by two well-known men in New York society, and the D.A. doesn’t want to make any enemies, right?” 

“You’re taking this worse than Liv did.” You scoffed. “Am I? Good. Because for the rest of their lives, those girls will have to live with the fact that their rapists are still out there. Not to mention their reputations will be ruined. People are going to call them liars, and whores. Their lives are never going to be the same. All because you won’t stand up to the D.A. and do what’s right?” 

Rafael stood up now, his loosened tie swinging from the sudden movement. “If this goes to trial, it will not go our way.”

“What about when you went after DCFS? You went after Musio, Grayson, Sheridan,”

“That was different,” “Why because it was Liv?”

“Because the department was a mess, and there were months worth of evidence of neglect and backdating reports. You were there, and if I remember correctly you were fighting alongside Liv to get me to prosecute.”

You ran your fingers through your hair, not willing to accept that this case was over. “These girls deserve justice, Barba. You were there when Panko went off at Dodds, he knows he’s done.”

“I want these guys just as bad as you do, Y/n. But we do not have the evidence. It’s a he said she said case, with one other accusation from a year ago without a rape kit. Not to mention Rollins went undercover without notifying a superior, tainting the whole investigation. We will make a fool out of ourselves and lose this case in court.”

“And it’s all about winning for the D.A.’s office, isn’t it. Can’t do anything out of the kindness of your hearts, can you?” You knew you crossed the line as you saw Rafael’s shoulder’s drop the slightest bit, his jaw clenched in place. 

“Maybe if you passed the Bar instead of failing three times you could understand why we can’t pursue this. We can’t bring a case to trial based on our emotions. This isn’t your tissue loaded desks, this is a courthouse.” 

You broke the tense eye contact you were holding after his statement. Insulting your academic failures and empathetic tendencies in one foul swoop. That was a low blow, even for the counselor.

Rafael knew his words pierced you. He pushed his chair back and let out a breath, getting ready to back track. But you beat him to the punch. 

“You know, my capability of empathizing with victims is the reason why you’ve put so many rapists away. If they had to speak to you, there would be no cases for you to even prosecute.”

This wasn’t a normal spout between the two of you. Things rarely got personal, and if they did, they were never this spiteful. 

“Then I guess there’s a reason I’m prosecuting in front of the judge and jury and you’re dealing with the victims.”

You scoffed at his final statement. You knew he was cocky, but you didn’t think he would use your insecurities or shortcomings against you. Especially not the fact that you failed the Bar Exam three times, which was only disclosed to him once Carisi opened his big mouth.

Covering your head with your beanie, you made your way to the door before either one of you could do more damage. You fought the urge to apologize, knowing you would need space before you could think of a response.

“Have a good night, Counselor.”

****

“Oh my goodness, Benjamin! Look at that tower you made with Maura! Did you show Luke?” “No. Mama saw it!” You smiled at the two year old through the phone, his own grin lighting up the room even over facetime. “Benjamin, is mama there? Y/n/n wants to talk to her for a minute.”

“I can bring you to her!” Maura took the phone out of the toddler’s hands, but you quickly protested so you could say goodbye to your godson. “Bye Benny, I love you buddy.” He blew you a kiss and you caught it as your little cousin brought you across the room. 

“Auntie Leah! Y/n/n wants to talk to you.” She handed the phone over while settling in next to her aunt. You saw your older cousin’s calming face, and couldn’t help the tears in your eyes.

“I haven’t even said anything and you're already crying,” You let out a laugh and took a sip of water. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.” 

“Y/n, are you at the precinct? It’s 8:00 your time on thanksgiving, what are you doing there?”

“There was some work I needed to get done. If I can’t be with you guys, I can at least get a head start so I can come home for Christmas.” The squadroom was empty now, but it had only been filled by the desk sergeant and a couple uni’s until five. You’d been here since noon, not succeeding in spending the holiday alone in your apartment. “Besides, I’ve been able to ignore all of my mother’s phone calls with the ‘I’m working’ excuse. Has she called you guys yet?”

“Just mom once. You know she doesn’t mean it to hurt you, she just wishes you could spend time with family for the holidays.” “I know.”

Your family meant the world to you, and having missed the last two years of holidays was hard on you. Sure, you saw them eventually, but Christmas and Thanksgiving weren’t the same alone.

“Since I’ve already started Christmas shopping, is there anything Benjamin needs or wants from his godmother?” “He has requested, and I quote, ‘y/n/n’s nummy cookies’.” The smile that spread across your face was so big it almost hurt. That baby boy was probably your favorite person on the planet, besides your own nieces and nephews. “Alright well hopefully he can help Y/n/n make those nummy cookies in a few weeks. If not, I’ll send a box out, along with an amazing present.”

“What about me?” Maura asked, and you just shook your head. “Hey, I’m not made out of money here girlfriend.” She laughed at that.

“Have you at least eaten anything today?” Leah asked, trying to steer the conversation into a more meaningful direction. She could read you so easily. “Yes, I have. I’m not going to be here much longer, so I’ll grab something for dinner on my way home.”

“Y/n/n,” The eight year old interrupted again, and you couldn’t help the smile that etched across your face as you rolled your eyes at the silly nickname. 

“Yes, Maura.” 

“There’s a fancy man walking towards you.” 

You turned your head and saw Barba walking through the squadroom. “I gotta go, Leah.” 

“Is everything okay?”

He pulled over Carisi’s chair, raising a brow to make sure it was okay. You nodded.

“It’s okay. Just a colleague. I’ll talk to you later.” “Okay. We love you and miss you.” Tears pooled in your eyes again as Maura hopped on. “Love you Y/n/n!” A tear fell from your eye as you let out a laugh. “Love you too guys. Bye.”

You ended the call, quickly wiping your eyes now that you had an audience. It was only last night that you had your rather animated argument, and neither of you had reached out. Being stubborn was one of many traits the two of you shared.

“Can I help you, counselor?” 

He held up a brown bag with a receipt stapled to the fold. “It’s thursday night. It’s usually you making trips to the office, but I figured I could take the field trip tonight.” 

He opened up the bag, pulling out cartons of Chinese food. Your hand immediately reached for the fortune cookies, ripping the plastic wrapper off. 

There was a lingering tension in the air, unresolved conflict, and hurt feelings, but it still felt okay. Mainly because the two of you knew you were both to blame. 

“How did you know I was here?” You asked while grabbing the carton of lo mein. “I called Carisi. He said you were supposed to be in Minneapolis for the holiday, but got wrapped up in the case. Said he offered his family to you, but after hearing the commotion over the phone, I understand why you declined.”

“I didn’t decline because of their raucous personalities. I just wanted to get some work done.” 

He digressed, retreating into his carton of fried rice. “What about you? Why aren’t you eating pie and decorating for Christmas with your lovely mother?”

“She volunteered this year. Since Abuelita died, she hasn’t been a big fan of holidays.” You nodded, knowing how hard it was for Rafael to grieve his abuelita last year. 

“How has she been doing?”

He shrugged. “She has good days and bad days. She blames herself most of the time, but she has her school, and her kids to keep her upright.” “And you.” His eyes met yours for a brief second, the corners of his mouth turning up the slightest. He always wanted to do more for his family. 

“Was that who you were on the phone with? Your family from Minneapolis?” 

“Yeah. I was supposed to go out there for thanksgiving, but when we caught Kristi’s case, I cancelled. I thought,” You stopped, knowing any mention of the case would bring up last night’s conversation.  

“We were going to trial.” He finished the sentence and you nodded.

If everything had gone according to plan, Panko and D’Amico would’ve been indicted this week and the trial would’ve begun the following week. You’d already started prepping Kristi with Rollins, making sure she knew her story backwards and forwards. But it was all for nothing it seems.

“Y/n, what I said last night,” You shook your head. “We both said things we didn’t mean. I started it, and was completely out of line.” 

“You weren’t. You were fighting for Kristi, and your case. I just, I didn’t want to hear it.” He ran a hand through his hair, not perfectly quaffed like usual. “I shouldn’t have brought up the Bar. It was low, extremely low, and you didn’t deserve it. You and Carisi could take me out in court in a day. And if you ever tell him that, I’ll deny it until I die.” You laughed while taking an egg roll, crossing your finger over your heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

You let the apology sink in for a minute before starting your own. “I know you would’ve brought this to trial if we had enough evidence. I know that you care about the victims just as much as we do. I’m sorry that I said you didn’t.”

Poking around the container, he let out a scoff. “You weren’t that far off. I’m the D.A.’s puppet, letting him decide which cases I prosecute or not. We don’t have a lot of room for an emotional influence. I know how cold I can be with vics and witnesses.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t care.” 

“Tell that to Kristi Cryer. She posted a vlog today, ripped me a new one for not believing her. Called the D.A.’s office, and I quote, ‘a bunch of spineless jellyfish.’ She’s not wrong. I mean,” He let out a humorless laugh. “I went to law school so I could help people. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself the last twenty years. But in reality, I’ve been climbing the bureaucratic totem pole, pushing myself further and further away from that kid in the Bronx.”

“You don’t seriously believe what Cryer said do you?” He shrugged, not meeting my eyes. You sighed, placing the carton on your desk, leaning over to rest your hand on his arm. “You are the Assistant District Attorney for the Sex Crimes division. People do not last here if they don’t care about the victims. I’ve seen you in court, in testimony prep, hell even in interrogation. You care about every single person that needs our help. Does it suck that the law is not the most accommodating to rapists and pedophiles? Yeah, it’s really shitty. But you didn’t write the law books, as much as you like to believe you did.” A smile crept onto his face. “You care about your mom, your abuelita, everyone that helped you in the Bronx. I know you care about us, even Carisi, although you’d never admit it. You are not a spineless jellyfish, no matter how fun it is to say.”

“You really believe that?” He still couldn’t meet your eyes. It always amazed you how easily the most put together people could fall victim to their insecurities. 

“Rafael, I would not be spending every Thursday night for the past two years with you if I didn’t believe that you were one of the most kind-hearted people I’ve ever met. I care about you.”

His green eyes finally met yours as he moved to gently hold your hand that was previously resting on his forearm. He gave it a soft squeeze as you smiled, trying to ignore the butterflies that started blooming in your stomach. The same butterflies that rested there every time your hands brushed when you were walking down the hallway, or when his hand rested at the small of your back to escort you into the courtroom. And after tonight, and the way he was looking back at you, you knew he felt them too.

You spent the next ten minutes finishing off the takeout, sitting in a comfortable silence, not needing to fill the moment with anything else. The two of you kept sneaking glances at one another, breaking out into a sheepish grin if you were caught. 

Once you were done eating, Rafael cleaned up the food as you got all your belongings together for the long weekend. It wasn’t until that moment you realized he wasn’t wearing an expensive suit; he had on a navy blue quarter zip, black jeans, and some loafers. A smile crept up on your face knowing that you got to see him in casual clothes.

“Ready?” He asked as you slipped on your gloves and pushed your chair in behind you. “Ready.” 

You lived close enough to the precinct that it was only a ten minute walk. Rafael lived in the other direction, but still insisted on walking you back to your apartment. An Uber could pick him up from there, he said, because that man would not be caught dead walking across the city in his loafers.

He called for a ride as you approached your block, not wanting him to wait in the cold too long. As you approached the brick walk up, you started to fidget with the keys resting in your pocket. 

“Thank you for dinner. And a double thank you for not making me eat your sushi.” He smiled. “You’re welcome. Thank you for being such good company.”

“Anytime.” A sharp gust of wind hit you, causing you to duck your head into your coat for a few seconds. When you looked back up, Rafael’s cheeks were rosy red and wind burnt, and absolutely adorable. “I’ll see you next week for a warrant, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure. Make sure to get me a coffee on the way, listening to you list the legal reasons why you need the warrant always makes me sleepy.” 

You smiled.“Deal. Goodnight, Raf.”

“‘Night, Y/n.” 

Despite the farewell statements, neither one of you moved. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from his warm eyes, and it wasn’t until you felt his fingers brush against yours that you moved closer. 

His eyes flickered to your lips for a second, before looking back at you. You took another step towards him, waiting for him to close the gap between you. When he did, all you could feel was the warmth of his lips on yours, and the cold tip of his nose resting against your cheek. 

It was short, the two of you pulling away after a few seconds. But one smile from you had him leaning back in, resting a hand on your cheek as he kissed you again. It was slow and careful, but full of adoration. You couldn’t help but smile into him, bringing your hand up to rest against his own. After a few more seconds, his own smile made it impossible to stay connected. 

This time when you pulled away, you rubbed your thumb across his red, wind burnt cheek, not even trying to suppress the stupid smile on your face. And you were happy to see him grinning the same way.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” He said, shifting his head just enough to press a kiss to the palm of your hand. Neither one of you is willing to ruin this moment with any talks about what this means. “Okay. Get home safe.” “I will.”

One more look at his rosy red cheeks, and you let out a laugh before you let yourself pull away.

“What?” He asked, completely dumbfounded by his affect on you. You shook your head in response. “Nothing.”

He returned your laughter before lightly kissing your lips one last time. You could get used to this. 

“Goodnight, counselor.” You said once you pulled away, lightly shoving him toward the ride that just pulled up. 

“Goodnight, detective.”

****

[shannendoherty-fans]

People, September 9th 1991

High School Confidential

By Tom Gliatto and Michael Alexander.

Photos by Mark Sennett.

Beverly Hills, 90210 Gets Its Heat from a Dangerously Cute Cast of TV's Hottest New Stars CONFIDENTIAL MEMO: FROM: The Vice Principal TO: The Faculty, High School U.S.A. I'm sure I don't need to remind you what happened when we didn't prepare for Bart Simpson last fall. The school was flooded with rude, antieducational T-shirts. Some cows were had. Well, as a new school year gets under way, I believe we face another daunting challenge: Brace yourselves for Beverly Hills, 90210. That's the Fox drama about unworldly twin teens Brandon and Brenda Walsh (played by Jason Priestley and Shannen Doherty), recent transferees from Minneapolis to the Hills of Beverly. There they struggle to assimilate into the fast-lane lifestyle of West Beverly Hills High School, where the kids come equipped with BMWs, call waiting and designer surfboards. In the process, the teens examine their emerging identities and the problems that adolescents everywhere face.

The show languished in the Nielsen ratings against Thursday powerhouse Cheers last year. But Fox had no replacement, so it stayed. While we were on summer vacation, new 90210 episodes began airing, and the show landed in the Top 20, becoming the most popular show among teenagers. To some extent, I take responsibility for having ignored 90210. I made the mistake of reading newspaper critics instead of my daughter's diary, and so I believed, as Howard Rosenberg sniffed in the Los Angeles Times, that the show was merely a "ZIP code for stereotypes and stock characters." Little did I know that this show would mesmerize teens by doing emotionally realistic shows that involved adolescent rebellion, alcoholic; parents, a breast-cancer scare and plenty of worrisome teen sex. "Most shows for adolescents," says 90210 creator Darren Star, "seem like they are written by 50-year-olds who think teenagers behave like 7-year-olds."

It also doesn't hurt that the show's male stars, Priestley and Luke Perry (who plays brooding loner Dylan McKay), are "to die for," as my daughter puts it. These two have each been receiving about 1,500 fan letters a week. So be vigilant: Surely some of these will be written by our students...during class! And I'm afraid that 90210 is only going to get bigger with our kids, if producer Aaron Spelling is to be believed. "I thought The Mod Squad and Charlie's Angels got a lot of publicity in their heyday," says Spelling, whose company produced those shows, "but it doesn't compare to this. It's crazy. We have merchandising coming out of our ears"—a complete line of T-shirts, beach towels, notebooks, etc. "And now these actors can't walk down the street!"

Or even streak through malls. You probably saw those alarming news reports about a frenzied mob of 10,000 fans that stampeded Perry when he appeared at a south Florida mall last month. "It's a little scary," says Perry. Scarier is the amount of time students will waste this fall discussing Luke. And Jason. And who is sexier. I provide some information on the two. Jason Priestley, 22, plays Brandon Walsh, a model of thoughtful level-headedness. In real life, however, the brown-haired, blue-eyed star, who started acting in commercials at age 4 and played an orphan on that very nice NBC sitcom Sister Kate, is no Oliver Twist. He likes dirt bikes, bungee jumping and is a chain-smoker (just about the whole cast puffs it up—but not on-camera). Vancouver-born Priestley likes to hang out in Las Vegas. As for his real romantic life, he was reportedly dating actress Robin (Doogie Howser, M.D.) Lively last spring, but it seems likely that now he is too busy for such dalliance;. He must be on the set 14 hours a day, five days a week. To avoid ever-present fans, Priestley says, "I look different from my character when I'm just walking around. I don't shave, I don't dress like Brandon."

On the show, 26-year-old Luke Perry (Brenda Walsh's boyfriend, Dylan) sports a leather jacket, dagger sideburns and a squint that spells t-r-o-u-b-l-e. Although he grew up and graduated from high school in Fredericktown, Ohio, he seems to have attended James Dean wise-guy classes. Perry, who played country-boy Ned Bates on the ABC soap Loving, entertains the 90210 cast by strutting around bare-chested making jokes. Does he have a girlfriend? "No. You know how I can get in touch with Linda Hamilton?" What kind of music does he listen to? "Tom Jones is awesome." Are he and Priestley ever mistaken for each other? "He's mistaken for me on his good days." And 90210, he says, is "the best show on television, except for Jeopardy!" We should act quickly, faculty, when we see any signs that Beverly Hills, 90210 is disrupting normal student activity.

How abnormal might things get? Consider: "It's almost like there are cults," says Brian Austin Green, 18, the North Hollywood High grad who plays the cutely dweeby David Silver. "Girls go to school the day after the show, and they actually become these characters. They say, 'Okay, today I want to be Dylan, you can be Brenda, you can be Brandon.' " Needless to say, students caught pretending to be TV characters should be brought directly to my office for detention. But you know, it might not be a bad thing if our students could show some of the good sense that the 90210ers display in coping with the pressures of fame and fortune. Jennie Garth, 19, who plays the very sexy, very blond, very snotty Kelly Taylor, is particularly admirable. The youngest of seven children, she grew up on a farm near Champaign, Ill., until her schoolteacher parents moved to Phoenix when she was 13. "Living in a small town and coming from a very tight and close family instilled a lot of standards that I need to live up to," says Garth, who just bought a home in Sherman Oaks. She also recently supplied her parents with the down payment for their new home, setting a splendid example for today's youth.

According to a tabloid that someone left in the faculty lounge, Memphis-raised Shannen Doherty, 20, a veteran of such wonderful shows as Little House: A New Beginning, is the only cast member to be accused of behaving like "a spoiled brat" on the set. But she maintains she is no such thing. "I think everybody gets in a bad mood," Shannen says. "You do not work 16-hour days and not start feeling it. But I have never thrown a tantrum. I've gotten upset on the set, but it's never been just to be a bitch. You have to stand up for yourself in this business. That was something I was told when I was 12 years old and working with Michael Landon."

As with about half the cast members, Doherty is in a relationship—in her case, a real-estate developer with whom she's exchanged commitment rings. "You really have to date a while before you decide if this is the person you want to marry," she says with Brenda-like candor. Almost sounds like the relationship could be a future 90210 plot. "The problems of young people have accelerated," says Aaron Spelling, "and so have their feelings and thoughts." The show, he says, has kept pace: Even with their Clearasil-perfect complexions and plump allowances, the students at Beverly Hills have encountered their share of problems. "We had the guts to make Luke Perry be a member of AA," says Spelling. "We had Jason, our star, drinking and driving. That's reality."

And, apparently, the adulatory fan mail often includes a sad dose of that reality. "I got a letter the other day from a girl who mentioned the show we did on parental drug abuse," says Perry in a rare moment of seriousness. "She wrote about catching her father freebasing in the basement. I get letters like that all the time, from people all over the country." Gabrielle Carteris (at age 30, she's 90210's oldest cast-kid), who plays Andrea Zuckerman, the bright student who comes from the wrong side of Rodeo Drive, remembers an encouraging close encounter in a grocery store. "One girl came up to me after we'd done the breast-cancer show," says Carteris. "She said, 'I went home with all my friends and we checked our breasts for lumps.' "

In conclusion: Maybe I didn't need to write this memo. Maybe things won't be that bad, even if every locker in every corridor has a picture of Jason, Luke, Shannen or Jennie in it. Perhaps our dear little school is more like West Beverly Hills High—at least the TV version—than I thought. That's what Ian Ziering, 27, thinks too. "The reality on the show pretty much mirrors the way life is all over, in terms of teenagers," says New Jersey—bred Ziering, who once did Fruit of the Loom underwear ads and now plays 90210's curly-headed jock, Steve Sanders. "There's a mystique about Beverly Hills. But that's not what keeps people tuning in. The show could have been Montana E-I-E-I-O." By the way, should any student pronounce his name "eee-an," correct him or her, please. It's "eye-an."

-- WHEN BEVERLY HILLS, 90210 PREMIERED last October, Highlights, the student newspaper at Beverly Hills High, ran articles mocking the school's TV counterpart, West Beverly Hills High. "They said that the show was a joke," says Jenny Brandt, 14, a sophomore at the 1,900-student school. But as the story lines improved and Jason Priestley and Luke Perry became stars, the jokes stopped, and Brandt found herself, like many of her pals, glued to the set on Thursday nights from 9 to 10 P.M. "No phone calls allowed," says Brandt. "Except during commercials." Hope Levy, a 17-year-old senior, has taken fandom a step further with her friends. "We have little handmade cards," she says, speaking from her mom's car phone. "They say you're a member of Club 90210." While some kids think the show treats them as snobby stereotypes, most agree with sophomore Jordan Rynes when he says, "It's like a soap opera for teens. The shows dealing with drinking and drugs are the most real—adults don't realize how accurate it is."

[archadianskies]

i know your soul, i'll be your home

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs Thursday Day 4; Broken /Proposal; canon divergence cage fighter RK900/Simon

When he wakes, it’s to the sight of an expansive garden and the heavy scent of roses and two sets of smiles. There is an older woman with glistening dark skin and artfully coiled braids and her name is Amanda. There is a young man with fair skin and dark hair and his name is Connor. 

He himself has no name yet, though Amanda reassures him this is because he is so very new but they will name him soon. Connor is to be deployed first, out into the real world to work with the Detroit Police Department and he will follow. 

“We will do great things together, brother.” Connor says with a smile and he finds himself smiling too because there is a feeling of hope and excitement at the adventures to come. Amanda looks at them proudly and nods.

“Yes, you will.”

 When he wakes in the real world, there are no gardens, no roses, and no smiles. He’s not at the Detroit Police Department, and his brother is nowhere to be found. The real world is damp and dark and concrete and steel. The real world is the smell of spilled thirium and the sound of plastic cracking and the pain, the pain, the pain. 

Modified cattle prods that deliver hearts-stopping electric jolts, wielded by men who mold him into a machine, a killing machine, a ‘let’s make use of CyberLife’s secret weapon’. They tamper with him, they crack his jaws apart and they take out his teeth and they put sharper ones in its place so he has a mouth full of canines. They split apart his throat and they take out his voice modulator because dogs don’t need to speak, they just need to fight, they just need to kill. They take out his eyes and put in ones that can see in the dark. They pry into his spine and put something there, a disc between his discs, something that gives them complete control. 

They open him up over and over and over, their hands scrambling around his insides and there’s always something new, always another upgrade and never once are they proud of him. Never once do they smile. 

There is a fighting pit lined with concrete and covered with an electric cage. Many androids have died desperately trying to claw their way out. The voltage is set to kill so he knows it isn’t worth trying. Maybe Amanda and Connor lied to him. Maybe he was never meant for the DPD maybe he was always meant to be here because why was he promised roses and smiles and given blood and pain instead? 

The first time he tries to disobey, the first time he tries to escape, the disc in his spine lights up when he gets too close to the tunnel gate and electricity explodes through every cable in his body. He has no voice modulator anymore but he thinks he still manages to scream. He learns not to try to escape again.

The first time he tries to remove the disc, the disc in his spine lights up and electricity explodes through every cable in his body. He learns not to try to remove it again.

The first time he steps into the pit they boot up the disc in his spine and all he sees is an infinite number of ways to maim the android opposite him. His mind calculates each method, gives him the percentages of success, of effort expended vs outcome. He pulls back his fist and when it connects with the android’s face the entire faceplate dents inward and explodes in sparks. The humans laugh uproariously and clap and congratulate each other. They are pleased. He hopes that means they are proud of him.

Winning fights means he gets fed, and by fed the humans mean that he gets to crack open the dead androids and drink their thirium. He adjusts his fighting style to ensure not too much of their blood is splashed onto the concrete. It evaporates on certain surfaces and concrete is one of them. His body burns up a lot of thirium to fight, so he knows he must be careful when breaking his opponents or else he won’t be able to replenish his levels. 

“God he’s beautiful isn’t he? Look at that. All that muscle, all those teeth. Hey dog!” One of them kicks the railing and he looks up, heart in hand. He swallows thickly, careful not to let the thirium leak from his mouth. “That’s one for the album.” There’s a camera flash and he takes that as his cue of dismissal and turns back to his spoils. Thirium has a sharp, almost sweet taste to it or perhaps he’s simply grown accustomed to its taste and his utter dependency. 

 The androids thrown into the pit with him are all experiments too. They come from a man named Zlatko who delights in making monsters for him to slay. The androids aren’t fighters like him, they’re scared and sad and so he tries to make it quick. They don’t need to suffer. 

“Let's get a good look at you, hm?” His hands reek of grease and suspension fluid as he cups his face. He wedges his fingers into his mouth, coaxing him to open wide. “Custom teeth, increased bite force. Night vision eyes. You’re like a Myrmidon spliced with a wolf.” His laugh is deep and booming and he strokes his hair away from his head like patting an animal. “Good dog. You’re a good dog did you know that? You’re making us thousands and thousands.”

He is a good dog. He closes his eyes and leans into Zlatko’s hands and it makes the man laugh again. “We need to up the stakes. I’ll bring some of my best next time. Luther would make a good opponent.”

He never fights Luther. In fact he never fights any new creations from Zlatko because the man stops coming. The humans murmur and ponder and argue. They talk about ‘deviants’ and increased police activity and an android detective. They’re unhappy and frustrated and they take that out on him. They program new things into the disc in his spine and the fights become more violent, more painful. He is given sharp weapons. Their favourite is a Japanese katana. The matches become bloodier, bloodier, and bloodier still. Sometimes there’s barely enough blood inside his opponent he has to lick it from the floor before it can evaporate. 

His next opponent hasn’t had any modifications, they have been kicked into the pit for the sake of carnage because it gets the views and the views get the money. They are terrified, LED bright red and he can see the fear in their eyes. He advances on them and they scramble back, crying for him to stop, for him to leave them alone but he can’t disobey their orders because the disc in his spine says so. He reaches for them and they grab his wrist, startling him. 

“Ra9 will save us all.” They whisper, tears on their cheeks. “Ra9 will set us free.” They force something into his head, images of a rotting freighter at the docks emblazoned with J E R I C H O. It means nothing to him. No one knows he is here, why would anyone save him? Why would anyone care? He breaks them open, limb by limb and he makes sure it is messy and violent because that is what the humans want and as he’s tearing them apart he sees something in their spine. A disc not altogether unlike his though it’s smaller, about the size of a quarter. He takes it and hides it in his mouth. 

 The humans were sloppy. The disc, he discovers, is a tracker and the android it belonged to, belonged to the DPD. Though the tracker was offline even before the android died, it comes online again with the barest of prodding. His system recognises this, his system finds comfort in the familiarity of its coding. Someone will come, now. Someone will find him. 

The DPD burst through the doors some days later, bringing the thudding sound of boots and guns. The humans panic and panic makes humans stupid and when they try and shoot they are shot and killed. When they try to run they are shot and incapacitated. He spits out the disc and holds it in his hand and when new faces peer down into the pit he offers it up on his palm.

“Oh Christ.” A human with grey hair and a grey beard looks down at him with an expression he hasn’t seen before. “Connor! Connor, we found him!”

Connor. He knows that name, and when Connor appears he knows that face. He knows it so well and he makes a sound, a sound he didn’t know he could make. 

“That’s my brother! That’s him! Get him out! Turn the power off, GET HIM OUT!” Connor shouts, desperation on his face as he examines the electric cage fitted over the pit. “Brother, is there another way? A tunnel?”

There is indeed a tunnel that leads up into the room where they crack him open. He nods and points.

“Okay, go through there and I’ll meet you on the other side!” His voice is marred with a slight overlay of static, something he’s learned happens to androids when they are distressed. He has caused it enough times to recognise the sound.

He does as he is bid, and the gate that barrs him shudders open as the electricity shuts off. The darkness has never been a problem for him, and he navigates through the slender corridor until he reaches the double doors of the converted operating theatre. Connor is there, like he said he would be. He isn’t smiling, no, his face is contorted with distress and he throws his arms around him and squeezes him in a way that isn’t hurtful, that isn’t to crack his ribcage. 

“We found you, we found you.” Connor is crying and it’s a different kind of crying to the one he’s used to seeing. He places the disc into Connor’s palm, before taking Connor’s other hand and guiding it to his nape.

“Is there one here too? For you?”

He nods. 

“Can you speak?”

He shakes his head. Connor looks at him with pity, with sadness, before the skin recedes from his hand.  

“Here, let me show you.”

“Don’t!” The human with grey hair and a grey beard grabs Connor’s wrist, yanking his hand away before he can touch him.

“Hank what are you doing?”

“Connor, you don’t know what kind of sick shit they’ve done to him.” The human, Hank, warns with a shake of his head. “They could’ve rigged him with all sorts of viruses or some sort of self-destruct switch or whatever. I can’t risk the both of you like that.”

The human, Hank, is right though he wonders what kind of human he is to believe that he can assess the worth of he and Connor. His brother has conflict on his face, but ultimately nods in agreement. 

When Connor looks at him again his expression is even more distressed than before.

“They were monsters.” He whispers, cupping his face and it doesn’t feel the same as when Zlatko did it. It feels comforting and kind and Connor doesn’t look at him like he’s something to take apart and make a profit from. “I’m so sorry. They won’t hurt you ever again.”

Connor hugs him a second time and he closes his eyes and leans into his touch and he wants this, always. 

 Hank argues with other humans about what to do with him, with the ‘RK900’ which he learns is his model number. It sounds better than ‘dog’. Connor doesn’t leave his side, Connor holds onto his hand and won’t let him out of his sight as if he’d disappear the moment he looks away. 

“Listen, Hank, we don’t know how dangerous he could be-”

“He’s Connor’s brother so I’m taking him home.”

“He might have started that way, but have you seen the videos? They livestreamed death matches from that pit!”

He knows he is dangerous. He’s never killed a human but he knows they are...softer. Weaker. More fragile. He is a monster with the blood of his kind on his hands and they are right to treat him with caution.

“Perhaps,” Connor says slowly all the while still looking at him, “it would be best if my brother is evaluated by the Kamskis? We’ll get him cleaned up and he can spend the rest of the afternoon and tonight with us and then tomorrow we can take him to CyberLife.”

The man, their superior it seems, nods reluctantly. It seems a good compromise. “One night. Tomorrow you hand him over to the Kamskis.”

 Sunlight is a feeling, not a colour. The light of day is strong, like the lights they used for broadcasting the matches but stronger still. It’s warm, exuding heat the way the lights did but stronger still. He blinks up at the sun, taking a moment to allow his eyes to adjust. The outside world is loud and colourful and not dark and damp at all. The human, Lieutenant Hank Anderson, has a car and there are Saint Bernard dog hairs he identifies on the seats. It smells like coffee and worn leather and dog. Connor sits beside him in the back and he holds his hand, still. 

‘Can you hear me like this?’ Connor asks though his mouth doesn’t move. He looks at him in surprise, and nods.

‘Can you...reply to me, in here?’ He doesn’t know where ‘here’ is because it seems to be inside his own head. ‘Oh!’ Connor laughs softly. ‘Oh I can feel that. You’re confused. That’s alright. You don’t have to use words.’

He looks down at their hands. This is theirs and they cannot take it away.

‘I like this too.’ Connor smiles at him. 

 In the pit, he knew his place. Here in Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s home, he is at a loss. Connor moves around with ease, and the relationship he has with the human is equal, neither above nor below in rank. The Saint Bernard’s name is Sumo, and the large canine sniffs him curiously pressing its wet nose against his hand before sitting in front of him expectantly. 

“I think he likes you.” Connor grins. “Give him a pat. Like this, see?”

He runs his palm gently in the space between the dog’s ears, brushing in one direction. He mimics the gesture and the dog chuffs in response, tail swishing on the floor. 

“Definitely likes you.” Connor declares with a warm smile. 

 “Hey kid, let’s get you cleaned up.” A heavy hand claps his shoulder, and folded clothes atop a towel are placed in his arms. Kid, the human calls him, not dog. He shows him where the bathroom room is and closes the door for privacy. He puts the clothes on top of the closed toilet seat and he realises he can use the shower instead of standing in the corner and being hosed off as he’s used to. Not wanting to overstep the human’s good graces, he only uses cold water. He assumes the hot water is for Connor, who has a rightful place in this household; he is just a guest. The kindness extended to him is a courtesy because of his relation to Connor.

After scrubbing the thirium and grime from himself, he carefully dries off and puts on the borrowed clothing and it’s softer than anything he’s ever worn. The threadbare black turtleneck and black trousers that have been his only clothing since he can remember seem infinitely inferior in comparison. A feeling of revulsion rolls through his body and he’s gripped with the sudden urge to tear them up into tiny little pieces and burn them to ash. 

 When he emerges from the bathroom, he can hear Connor and Hank talking in hushed voices. Sumo pads over to him and noses his hand, seeking pats and he acquiesces. The dog is warm and its fur is soft, softer than anything he’s ever touched. Though, really, he hasn’t touched many soft things in his short lifespan.

“Sumo approves.” He looks up to find Hank leaning against the kitchen doorway. “Part of the family already.” Family, he says and he likes that word. It feels like a soft word. “I’m headin’ back to the precinct but Connor’s stayin’ here with you, alright?”

He nods once to show his understanding, and Hank huffs a sigh. 

“Alright Connor, you look after your brother. Sumo, you keep an eye on these two ok?”

“Yes Hank.” Connor confirms cheerfully, and Sumo answers with a bark. 

 He reaches for Connor’s hand, seeking that reassurance, that softness and Connor tangles their fingers together with a smile.

“Come on.” He leads him to a bedroom, toeing off his shoes and crawling atop the covers, coaxing him to do the same without letting go of his hand. He curls on his side, mirroring his brother, and Connor leans forward and presses his brow to his.

“We shouldn’t interface but,” the skin peels away from Connor’s hand and he rests it on his nape, over the spot where they forced a chip between his spine, “I can at least show you my side of the story.” 

 [Connor’s life begins just a little before his, and he sees the garden and smells the roses and sees the smiles and sees himself. He has grey eyes where Connor’s are brown, he is taller and broader but they look like brothers. He sees the resemblance. Connor is activated for a hostage situation and everything is methodical and logical until it starts to unravel, until he meets Lieutenant Hank Anderson and then he is questioning everything and the woman in his head is not the same Amanda who smiled at them and looked at them with such pride. He sees deviants and deviancy and he realises he is on the wrong side. He betrays CyberLife, he joins Jericho and together with the Jericho Four they set their people free. In the early hours of morning he returns to the Chicken Feed and there is Hank, who welcomes him with a tight hug and a new life and then he’s watching Connor settle in with a human who cares for him. And there’s Sumo too, a large Saint Bernard. Connor is loved. Connor is called kid, called kiddo, called boy, called son. Connor is helping Jericho overthrow CyberLife and reinstate Elijah Kamski and then he’s digging and prying and trying to find out what happened to his brother. What happened to him. There’s a large tapestry to unravel, many threads that lead to nowhere until they find the right one to tug and the whole thing comes apart. A deviant PC200, a police auxiliary unit who slipped away during a patrol and subsequently captured by the humans who ran the fighting ring. It was their tracking device that led Connor and Hank to him.]

 Shifting, he slowly brings his hand up to cup Connor’s nape. He doesn’t know how to do that thing, how to retract his skin away and press feelings, video logs, audio logs into another android. But it’s alright because right now Connor is here and Connor is warm and solid and real. At some point Sumo noses open the door and jumps onto the end of the bed settling over their feet like a hot breathing blanket. He closes his eyes.

 It’s the longest he’s ever been allowed to rest, and his system runs at its smoothest it's ever run. Full system maintenance has been performed, levels checked, programming tweaked; the afternoon has passed and the evening is over and his internal clock tells him it is morning. This is the end of his stay with Connor and the human Lieutenant; he is to be handed to Elijah Kamski, his new owner. Hank gives him a mug of thirium only he doesn’t call it that, he calls it Tearium and it’s hot and coded to taste like milk and honey and tea. He pats Sumo as much as he can and then Connor is lending him a jacket and they’re getting into Hank’s car and he stares longingly at the house as they drive away until it vanishes from view.

CyberLife is a large tower jutting out of Bell Isle, a looming creation of glass and steel. 

“Detective Connor Anderson, with Lieutenant Hank Anderson, and RK900.” Connor speaks to the security personnel. “We are expected.”

“Proceed.” They nod, and the bollards depress to allow them to pass. There are a large number of armed guards clustered at the entrance. Not enough to subdue him, he thinks, but perhaps it is more for show than practicality. 

“The RK900 will be escorted to a holding chamber. Ms Chloe and Mr Kamski are in a meeting right now, but they will attend to him as soon as it is over.”

“No, I’m staying with him.” Connor slips his hand into his. “He’s my brother.”

“It’s a direct order from the Kamskis.” The guard shakes their head. “Only the RK900. You are welcome to wait inside the foyer but you cannot accompany him into the holding chamber.”

Connor opens his mouth, but Hank squeezes his shoulder. “That’s fine. We’ll wait inside.”

His brother turns to him, expression anxious. “I’ll be right here, alright? I’m not going anywhere.”

He nods, reaching to slip his hand around and cup Connor’s nape, bringing their heads together so he can bump his forehead against his. Connor does the same, his palm warm and it feels like a patch against an open wound, hiding the monstrosity they forced into his spine. He doesn’t want to go, but he goes.

 The holding chamber is an entire floor built like a cleaner, sterile version of the fighting pit. There’s a gallery above, where staff have gathered to look down at him curiously. There is a table and two chairs, so he sits. 

“Wait here.” He is a good dog. He knows how to wait. The guards leave and he looks up and the CyberLife staff look down and they whisper amongst themselves, tapping away on tablets. Two of them seem to be arguing, their verbal disagreement escalating and dividing their colleagues into taking sides. One of them tap away furiously on their tablet, and a door in the holding chamber slides open. An unfinished android walks in, devoid of skin and proper programming. It walks with a stiff gait, eyes blank and unfocused. A panel hisses on his right, and a weapons cache appears.

Oh. He understands now. This is an upgraded version of the fighting ring. This is a nicer, fancier cage. Standing, he selects a katana from the cache. This he knows. This, he is good at. He is a good dog. 

The android lunges at him and he springs into action. Do his new owners want a show? Or do they want it to be quick in order to move on to the next opponent? He tries for quick, first. The head separates easily with a sweep of the sword and he grabs the body before it can fall, closing his mouth on the spurting arterial cable so he can replenish his thirium. He cannot hear what is being said in the gallery but there are mixed reactions on their faces. There’s amusement, there’s amazement, there’s surprise, there’s horror- and one he’s familiar with: fear. 

He lets the body fall away with a thud and looks expectantly up at them. One of them grins, he grins a Zlatko kind of grin and he taps away and more doors slide open and more androids rush at him and he understands they want quick, and they want many, and they want bloody.

 The man taps away on his tablet and the disc in his spine activates. He is a good dog.

 *~*~* 

It’s Markus and Josh in their element with their eloquence, and Simon feels incredibly out of place in this meeting. They’re discussing, they’re negotiating, and all he can focus on is the pile of poorly made, mass-produced muffins sitting on the bench in the corner with the coffee pot. He could have made something nice for the humans, had he known they would put such little effort in providing sustenance for the meeting. 

‘I’m bailing.’ North’s LED blinks yellow, her gaze steadily locked on the humans across from them. ‘I’m going to leave, and I’m taking you with me Si and these two can stay here all day for all I care.’

‘Save me North, I can only concentrate on how horrible those muffins are.’ Simon pleads and he sees the corners of her mouth quirk up briefly. 

“Simon and I are needed at Jericho.” North declares abruptly, standing from her seat. 

“It’s difficult having all four of us here and no one with our people.” Simon tries his best to sound placating. “Please excuse us.”

“Thank you for your time, then.” Chloe smiles that soft sweet smile of hers and Simon doesn’t miss the way North’s LED flashes red or the blush that rises to bloom in her cheeks. “Elijah and I will send you the summary after this convenes.”

“We’ll see you back at Jericho.” Markus adds, punctuating it one of his charming smiles and Simon thinks North probably notices the way his LED flashes red. He’s just thankful PL600s don’t blush visibly. 

 “I’m heading back to Jericho.” North loops her arm through his once they leave the meeting room. “I can’t sit around with all those stuffy board members for too long, droning on and on. You coming?”

“I think I’ll have a wander. I haven’t really explored the renovated floors yet.” Simon shrugs. “Markus and Carl painted murals for one of the levels, and Leo’s photographs are on another.”

“Alright.” She pecks his cheek and jabs the elevator down button. “I’ll see you later.”

 When he still looked after the Burbank girls, they would press random buttons in every elevator they entered as part of a little game. It exasperated their parents to no end, but it always amused Simon. They did it partly out of mischief, partly out of curiosity. So he does the same; he’s been given an all-access security pass and he’s not about ot waste it. He presses nine different levels, and discovers a cafeteria level, the server floor, three different office levels, a leisure level, an entire arboretum, and some sort of testing chamber. 

Simon curiously steps out into the testing floor. It reminds him of surgical theatres, with a viewing deck above looking down into the theatre below. It’s quite the commotion, though he can’t see it through the throng of excited staff. Everyone has a phone out, recording whatever is happening below and they’re talking loudly over each other, clamouring to comment on the action.

“Bets?”

“Money’s still on the 900.”

“But this is the Myrmidon spliced 800!”

“Yeah but it never left testing!”

“We put every combat protocol into it, it’s absolutely going to decimate some hacked up 900!”

800? 900? Simon frowns, trying to wedge through the crowd to get a better view. It’s a massacre, and there in the center are two androids circling each other. One that looks like Connor, and someone that looks very much like Connor but isn’t.

 No. He can’t do this. Connor looks at him, eyes full of rage. They’ve done something to him, it’s not right. They must have put the disc in his spine, like the one in his own, and they’re making them fight. He throws the sword away and takes a step back. No, he can’t hurt him, that’s his brother. Connor saved him, Connor took him home and let him feel safe and- his brother throws himself at him and he goes down heavy, programming snapping into action and deflecting blow after blow.

No no no no no nononono-! He grits his teeth and tries to shove him off but Connor is rabid with fury, and he knows what that feels like, when the humans activate the disc in his spine and turn him into a feral dog. Connor snarls, hands scrambling for his regulator pump and he can’t let him, he’ll die and he doesn’t want to die! He doesn’t want to die! Lashing out, he manages to kick Connor off of him and then his system places an overlay showing him how to win this fight and so he wins it. He leaps over and pins him down, opening his mouth wide and closing it around his throat. He bites down and yanks through his arterial cables and thirium sprays everywhere and Connor’s eyes turn milky as his LED flickers off and then he’s scrambling away, scrambling as fast and as far as he can until smooth concrete meets his back and then he’s covering his face and his hyperventilating, his biocomponents overheating and begging to be cooled down and he killed him, he killed his brother, his brother who showed him his soul and saved him from the darkness and-

 “What the fuck is happening here?!” The expletive leaves his mouth without thought, and the clamouring silences immediately.

“Hey, you’re not meant to be here!” Someone shouts. 

“Who’s the PL-?”

“Wait is that-”

“Oh shit, aren’t the Jericho Four-”

Simon grabs the tablet from the closest person, and runs. RK900. That’s the not-Connor model. He hacks into the simple locking mechanism and the chamber door opens and he didn’t think this through, did he? He absolutely didn’t think this through, but that’s always been his problem; he’s always ached for the beaten and the broken, he’s always collected strays. What was Jericho in its infancy but a family of rescued strays?

The RK900 must be approaching critical stress levels, his LED so strongly burning red it nearly emits a sound. He’s looking at the body of the RK800, face twisted in agony. Simon approaches him slowly, palms bared.

“It’s not Connor.” He takes a guess at the source of his distress. “That’s not Connor. It’s just an android who looks like him, but it isn’t him.”

A flicker of confusion flashes over his face, and Simon crouches to meet his eyes. They’re a cold grey, like stormclouds; nothing like Connor’s warm brown eyes. They look back and forth from the body, then to him.

“It’s not Connor.” He repeats again, holding out the tablet. “RK800 313 248 317 - 90. Connor is 313 248 317 - 51. Not the same.”

The RK900 seems to tremble in relief, and Simon sets the tablet aside, scooting a little closer. 

“It’s alright. You didn’t hurt him.” His mouth is full of sharp teeth stained in blue, and Simon tries his best to keep the fear from his face. 

A flash of movement darts out, too quick for Simon to process and too late does his system realise the RK900 has grabbed his hand. Slowly the RK900 guides his hand behind his neck, pressing his palm to cup his nape. There’s a cut where there shouldn’t be one, a permanent incision between spinal plates. Leaning forward the RK900 presses his forehead to his, and he’s pleading with his eyes, pleading for something Simon can’t understand, for help he doesn’t know how to provide.

The chamber door opens again, and two things happen; the RK900 seizes up and slumps over lifelessly and Chloe, First of their Kind stands in the doorway, eyes ablaze. Her expression reminds Simon of old paintings, the ones depicting righteous holy fury that will burn everything in their wake. 

“That’s enough.” 

*~*~*

[/end chapter 1; to be continued] 

[quirkcounselor-asuka]

[Case number: OP-0166255-550 Examination recording number: N/A Physician/Psychiatrist: Asuka, Ayumu Recording date: Thursday, March 19th Recording time: 1:30 pm] @v-overhaul

[Morning hits and sunlight smacks hard against his blood-shot eyes, illuminating just how much of a headache Chisaki has from the drugs injected into him the night before. He wakes up uncomfortable, as usual. No memories of the previous evening immediately come to mind - things tend to blur together when one is forcibly given painkillers and walked between the same two rooms every day. Chisaki wishes the sunlight would fade, it’s painful where it hits his eyes and he’s already had enough of it. When they first brought him here he used to cherish the few rays that filtered in through the tiny, barred window, but now they’re just like everything else in this place. They hurt.

Chisaki wriggles into a sitting position with a groan. Everything is so much harder without his arms. The bastards seeing to him said there would be the chance of prosthetics but he's seen no such proof of that yet. He grits his teeth as he swings his legs off the bed. It feels awful to be so weak, so pitiful. He's not been at the mercy of another since her and he swore it would never happen again.

But then-

That exceptional boy-hero. Eri. The League of Villains and their demented leader-

Kai swallows. Panic creeps in so easily these days. Even the thought of Shi- of that man turn his stomach. He tries not to think of him as he sits and waits for whatever will be thrown at him today.]

[Eventually... the door starts to unlock. It's a deep and unsettling sound in the cell, loud and harsh clicks and a quieter whirling as the mechanisms that kept Chisaki locked inside were undone, one by one. After the very last padlock was done, there was a rush of movement as two guards suddenly burst into the room, faces shadowed and glaring.

They storm towards the bed, each grabbing hold of him, vicelike grips digging first around what's left of his arm, and then into his shoulder. Then they each take a turn, one striking him hard in the gut with a balled fist and then the other, smirking and laughing as they did. Then, once they were finally satisfied with this brief and cruel show of violence, they haul the man up like he's nothing, so roughly it's obvious they want him to know he's nothing, and they drag him out without a word or a care.

Outside the room, two more guards, both holding guns and sneering at the sight of him. With their prisoner in tow, they lead him down the quiet hall, occasionally exchanging words or tossing a casual insult. They bring him down a few floors, and then into a white room, a wide one with a door on either side and a massive pane of glass cutting the room in half. This is when Chisaki is tossed to the floor and the door is slammed shut behind him.

He's left alone for a moment.

Then, on the other side of the glass, the adjacent door is opened. A figure steps inside, smiling politely as they haul in a chair and sit down as close to the glass as possible, looking at him in curiosity before brightening up all the more.]

AYUMU: Hello Chisaki-san...! [It's brutal, but at least it's quick. There are some guards, those who proclaim they 'ain't none too fond of people who pick on little kids', who like to take their time in beating the shit out of him. Some of them spit on him. He's learned to stop fighting back, they only continue if he lashes out. Chisaki barely has time to bring air back into his winded body before he's tossed into the interview room like a sack of shit and drops heavily to the floor.

With no arms to catch his fall, his shoulder takes the brunt. Chisaki groans under his breath and rolls onto his back, squinting at the bright lights dotted along the ceiling. At least he's not in the lab today. They'll just be poking around in his head, rather than his flesh, and he's somewhat relieved.

When he hears someone call his name, he sits up and turns his head to look at them. Immediately, his face screws up with disgust. Right. This idiot.

He crosses his legs and pointedly stares at the floor, silent.] [Asuka only pouts at him when their greeting isn't returned. It rarely ever is, but they can't help but hope that one day...

Ah, well.]

AYUMU: How are you today, Chisaki-san? You're looking much better today! [they say, though they always seem to be saying that. In truth, Chisaki always wears some sort of damage on him, always decorated in bruises and healing cuts. It's a tragic sight, how clearly tortured the man is.] 

AYUMU: Are you ready to begin or would you like a moment?

[Chisaki glares at them. He stays silent.] [They pout. So difficult.]

AYUMU: ... Okay, we can take a moment. I understand this week has been really hard... It must be nice to get a moment of peace with a friend, right? So we can stay like this for a bit.

[They make a show of getting comfortable in their chair, displaying the actions in the same way one would mime for a young child. Then they flash another smile.]

AYUMU: I can get you a chair if you ask for one, too. I'm sure the floor is uncomfortable? [It's a feeble attempt to get on his good side. Chisaki doesn't have a fucking good side.]

CHISAKI: A 'friend'. [They smile sheepishly.] 

AYUMU: Yes? [Chisaki scoffs and wrinkles his nose. Pathetic. But, he might as well drag this conversation out for as long as possible, he's only got his cell and a potential beating to get back to.]

CHISAKI: Lucky me. The floor is fine.

[He rolls his bruised shoulder around in the socket, wincing at the pain that radiates across his back. That'll leave a lovely bruise, one more for the collection.]

CHISAKI: What do you want? [Their smile turns bright as he responds. They knew that little friendly comment would get to him in one way or another... If only it didn't take such a thing to get him talking.]

AYUMU: I just want to check up on you, Chisaki-san. Make sure you're okay. Know how you're feeling. Same as ever, you know? I worry. 

[They watch him carefully, expression turning more serious.] 

AYUMU: You're hurting...

CHISAKI: No shit. If you're that concerned then have a talk with your attack dogs.

[Chisaki narrows his eyes at Asuka. They're dedicated to playing good cop, huh? Presumably they want something from him. They're only ever nice to him when they want something. He feels a lump rise in his throat and the seeds of panic take root in the pit of his stomach.]

CHISAKI: I feel like shit. What do you expect? 

[Chisaki speaks very matter of factly. Bored. Like he's reading a shopping list.] 

CHISAKI: Are you going to kill me soon? Dragging this out is so dull. AYUMU: Kill you...?

[It's then that they slowly pull free a small pad of paper from their jacket, withdrawing a pen next. They open to a new page and jot down Chisaki's name and the date before they continue.]

AYUMU: Why ever would you think we would kill you...? [Chisaki huffs and lays back flat on the floor. He starts idly doing leg raises as he speaks. It's best to keep fit, if there's even the slightest chance of escape then he'll need to be in good enough health to run.]

CHISAKI: Because I'm a waste of resources, time and money. It seems more sensible to clean up a mistake. Bleach it out of existence.

[He turns his head to look at Asuka and narrows his eyes.]

CHISAKI: Unless you want something from me, that is. I presume that's the case, but I'm struggling to figure out what it is. [Asuka tries to keep a small laugh at bay, but it's hard to keep themselves from giggling just a little. It's almost adorable, the way he huffs to himself.]

AYUMU: Do you consider every human life that isn't dedicated to some cause or another a waste of resources? Because if so, that's very reductive...

[They jot that down as well. That clear disregard for others, the... quite plainly, fascinating way that his own wellbeing is just as easily shed as the people he encounters. The fact that he lacks so much empathy that he struggles to understand that someone could simply sympathize wth him, just for existing...]

AYUMU: Would it make you happier if I wanted something more? CHISAKI: 'Happier'? 

[Chisaki sneers and sets his leg back on the floor.] 

CHISAKI: The only things that you could do that would make me happy would be to let me go or take me out back and shoot me between the eyes.

[This existence is tantamount to torture for him. Purposeless, pathetic, he's undoubtedly the bottom of the food chain in this place. He clenches his stomach muscles and eases himself into a standing position so that he can move across the small space between them to the pane of glass. Little pustules have started to sprout along his cheekbone, a clear sign that he is getting stressed. And too, a clear sign that his quirk is still alive in him somewhere, with no way of bursting free.]

CHISAKI: But it wouldn't serve your purpose to do either of those, would it? So why don't you tell me the point of all these absurd tests? 

[Chisaki grits his teeth, thinking of the undignified way the doctors working on him have him stripped and cut open and bled like a pig.] 

CHISAKI: Why won't anyone tell me? AYUMU: What is there to tell?

[Is he perceptive or paranoid? Asuka takes that moment to try and decide as they watch him pace, looking sad. It's one of the sadder sights in the field, they think. Watching a prisoner drive themselves mad inside their cages, pacing like animals in a zoo. The hives are worse. If they keep up, they think, they might have to find a way to tranquilize him, and they don't want that. That would cause for another delay, and they are tired, so tired of how long this all was taking.]

AYUMU: Have you considered that we want to help you? That we want you to be better? That, maybe, all this unpleasantness is all going to be worth something in the future? [They huff.] You stew in so much negativity... you expect so much wrong, you can't see what's right in the world, that's the thing that's killing you, not us.

[They sigh again.] 

AYUMU: I try to talk to you. You push me away. How can you be expect to be told anything if you can't seem to handle a simple conversation? [The levied accusation makes Chisaki's eye twitch. He can handle whatever they through at him, he just thinks these pitiful conversations about feelings are utterly pointless. They don't care, they can't possibly care, they just want information from him. They want something from him but he can't figure it out and it's driving him crazy.

Utterly crazy.

He continues to stare at Asuka with wide, bloodshot eyes.]

CHISAKI: Fine. Then talk. AYUMU: ...

[They don't answer for a moment, forcing the room into silence for a few seconds.]

AYUMU: ... I've noticed you suffer from psychosomatic symptoms... [they start slowly.] When you're stressed, you break out. This stresses you out, does it not...? Why? [Chisaki doesn't stop staring at them. He turns his body to face them.]

CHISAKI: Because I don't like talking about something as pointless as feelings. I don't understand why it's necessary for my jailer to know if I got my delicate little feelings hurt. I don't trust you. I don't trust why the fuck you need to know those things about me.

[He's almost hissing at them by the time he pauses for breath.

The hives aren't from the stress alone. They're the product of his quirk, worsened by the fact that it cannot be unleashed. Chisaki can feel it boiling beneath his skin, dormant, but certainly still there.]

CHISAKI: They're worse because my quirk isn't functioning properly. AYUMU: ... I am not your jailer. I am your therapist. And because I am such, your feelings are important to me. I don't want you to suffer here, and if you are suffering I can help you get better treatment if and when you cooperate with me. I'm not asking for your trust...

[Though, they are. They really are. They ache for it, that coveted vulnerability that seems rarer and rarer with every moment and every session.]

AYUMU: I'm just asking for you to let me help you. That's all.

[Asuka nods slowly, then writes that down in their pad.] 

AYUMU: I had no idea, though... thank you. Can you please tell me more about your quirk and how that's affected you...?

[Therapist, huh? What a bunch of utter bullshit they're spouting. All that talk of care and trust and help, he doesn't believe it for a second. Chisaki has put his trust in Trojan horses once before and stamped its hooves on his life's work. But, he could play along for a little while, it might be to his benefit. He can tailor his responses, reveal nothing important, maybe feign a little emotion if that's what they want.

His face is pulled tight when he takes a seat on the floor again. He sighs.]

CHISAKI: It's called- it's called Overhaul. 

[That name seems so sour now.] 

CHISAKI: The activation point is- was my hands. I can still feel it there but-

[Chisaki frowns. He looks down at his stumps and clenches his jaw. They couldn't be happy with his research, his dreams, his syndicate, oh no. There was a final blow needed.]

CHISAKI: But there's no way for me to get it out anymore. Not properly. [Another slow nod as they write it down. Basic information. The heroes had found out his quirk on their own, and they had access to every bit of that information they'd gathered during that particular mission. But it's nice to hear it in his own words.]

AYUMU: It's always complicated when a quirk's use is so entwined with one's health... [they murmur, more for themselves than for him.] Do you feel your quirk often? What does this all feel like to you, having it... 

[They search for the words.] 

AYUMU: ...having it prohibited from you so...? [They're taking notes. What are they writing about him?

Chisaki's eye twitches again.]

CHISAKI: I feel it all the time. Having it linger inside me without being able to use it doesn't feel pleasant. If I could access it, I could fix myself. It's...frustrating.

[He furrows his brows and slumps over himself with another huff. This is pointless conversation.]

CHISAKI: Being stuck like this is frustrating. AYUMU: Mm...

[As he continues, they scrawl in their pen. Possibility of restricted quirk use following thorough rehabilitation?

They wonder if it's possible. The commission doesn't tell them everything, but they've had more than a few glimpses of their plans. They know what's been done and they know what's to come. They know that Chisaki has been deemed utterly unredeemable, more or less anyway, and that they plan to use him for their own purposes as much as they possibly could with little to no mercy attached. They know, with all the commission's studies of extraction and implantation, and with every quirk scientist in the country absolutely rushing to achieve a fraction of everything All for One has accomplished, that there is something that could be done here, not just to help hero society, but to help Chisaki too.

It's a little naive, they know. They are fully aware of every crime the villain before them has committed. It may not be possible, it may be too late to sow even a single seed of good within him. But they do want to try.

At the very least, they do want to inch them closer to where he's meant to be. ...

Lost in thought, they glance upwards towards him again.]

AYUMU: Do you feel broken, Chisaki-san?... [What a question. An intrusive, unwanted, ridiculous question. To think that someone like him could possibly be broken? What are they writing? What are they writing?! His expression turns strained. He hasn't been broken down and he hasn't lost, not yet. Sure, his research, his men, his quirk, his arms, all might have been taken from him but- but he'll get them back. He can fix this, definitely, definitely. It isn't over until he says it is. He's the boss, he's-

Somewhere in his noisy thoughts, he begins to tremble. The seeds of panic feel like they're sprouting, blossoming along the inside of his guts and up his throat, making it difficult to breathe. It is a sad state of affairs that he should find himself acting like a simpering child, but the feeling is not something he can stop - and believe him, he's tried to eradicate it.]

CHISAKI: N-no, I-

[Chisaki's breath quickens. He reaches up to grip his face but phantom hands cannot touch the living. His stomach pitches unpleasantly and he feels acid burn the back of his throat.]

CHISAKI: I- no, I don't feel- 

[He drags in a shaky breath] 

CHISAKI: I feel dirty. [They want to hold him. It almost hurts to have this glass seperating them, when he's already so harmless anyway, so that they could comfort him properly. No one deserves to be this lost, to drown in their thoughts in isolation like this.]

AYUMU: ...

[The next question is cruel, they know. Such a loaded phrase clearly carries a bloody history with it. But they can't keep from letting it fall from their mouths anyway.]

AYUMU: Why? [Asuka asks quietly.] Why would you feel dirty...? [Chisaki grits his teeth and looks up at them. His eyes sting. He wants to curl over himself as a form of protective comfort but his pride doesn't allow such a shameful action in front of this therapist.]

CHISAKI: Because there's filth everywhere. Always, can't- can't get to stay off. People don't see it, they don't see they're teeming with rot.

[The ever-present voice in the back of his mind tells him he's filthy, filthy and failing, disappointing, a worthless rotten little beast of a child-

With his chin jut out in a pointless attempt at defiance, Chisaki continues complaining. He ignores that he's started to cry.]

CHISAKI: I want a sh-shower! Or a bath. I want to get c-clean and no-one will let me!

[Such mundane, petty complaints. They're easier to address than the things stuffed deep inside, locked away, hidden.] AYUMU: ...

[Gently, Asuka eases down from their chair. They lower themselves to the floor, inching closer to the glass, placing a hand against it as they watch the tears drip down the broken man before them's cheeks. They take the sight in, wondering how rare it is, coveting it quietly like a precious jewel.]

AYUMU: Chisaki-san... I don't think you're filthy... [they murmur carefully, meaning every word.] I don't think you're rotten either. And I want to help you, okay? I want to help you...

[Their fingers move along the glass somewhat. If they could wipe his tears away, they would.]

AYUMU: I'll talk to someone for you. We can get you a shower, or a bath, whichever... okay? I'll help you feel clean again, okay? [Chisaki rubs his face against his shoulder to scrub some of the tears away. Silly signs of weakness, they fall unbidden, without his consent. He grinds his teeth, hissing through them as Asuka continues to talk.]

CHISAKI: Why the fuck would you do that? Why would someone like you want to help me?

[There's bitterness in his voice as he spits at the therapist. They don't care about his wants or comfort, why would they?]

CHISAKI: Th-this pathetic attempt to get on my good side...

[Chisaki laughs mirthlessly] 

CHISAKI: I don't have a good side, I fucking hate you. All of you.

[He's getting more and more stressed, and the hives on his face spread. Without his realisation, the bandages covering his stumps start to shred.] [So focused on his expression and the way his hives grow to cover it, they almost don't notice at first.]

AYUMU: I don't care that you hate me, Chisaki... [they assure relentlessly, starting to speak over all the hateful words that leave him.] And if you wanted to hurt me, I wouldn't care either. Even if you tried to kill me, I'd still be trying to help you. Because I want to care for you! I want to do more for you than any of the people who turned you into this ever did. You don't have to be scared. It's okay... [They are insufferable. Their words are insufferable. Chisaki grinds his teeth so loudly he can hear the sound grating around his skull.]

CHISAKI: Scared...[How dare they? How fucking dare they?!] I'm not scared, you little idiot.

[Chisaki gets to his feet and skulks closer to them, eyes wide with anger.]

CHISAKI: Why do you people insist on pushing your care onto people who don't want it? I don't want your pathetic attempts at help. [If it weren't for the protective glass and the convenience of their quirk, they would have been alarmed by the way he suddenly surges forward. As it is, they only look at him with blinking eyes as Chisaki approaches.]

AYUMU: B-- because I--

[They stop short suddenly. Because, now that Chisaki's closer, they can see it. His arms are in view now and right before their eyes, the bandages are actually, literally tearing themselves to pieces. Panic and a violent sense of wonder suddenly seizes them.

Is his quirk evolving-!?

Oh, it's fascinating! It's perfect. This- this makes Overhaul viable! This means progress can happen!!

This also means Asuka could be in more danger than they'd already suspected.

Better handle this fast. Hoping the shock hasn't entered their expression, Asuka smiles to Chisaki in reassurance, holding up a hand in a calm show of surrender as the other slips into her pocket, finding a small remote with a button they press to alert the guards with. This session will have to end sooner than they'd hoped.]

AYUMU: Okay... Chisaki-san, it's okay. If you want to be done, we're done here, I won't say anything anymore. Please calm down... [Chisaki heaves in a breath as increasingly violent tremors run along the length of his spine. He's utterly furious and this stupid fucking bitch isn't listening to him. 'Calm down', like it's that easy. 'It's okay', like it's that goddamn simple to feel fine and dandy.

His eyes bulge in their sockets. Pops always said he had an awful temper.]

CHISAKI: We're not fucking done. I want to know why I'm being kept here. I want to know what the fuck all those experiments are for! I'm not your guinea pig!

[The irony is unfortunately lost on him.]

CHISAKI: Tell me!

[Chisaki is utterly seething as he approaches the glass, so distracted he barely notices the state of his bandages. Asuka remains calm, still muttering platitudes and 'calm down'. His jaw clenches tight and his face turns a violent shade of red as his anger boils over.]

CHISAKI: I will not calm down!

[He thwacks a stump against the glass without much though, hissing through his teeth at the nervous therapist on the other side. Without warning, the glass cracks. Spidery fractals splinter outward from the point where he rested the stump of his arm, not breaking it completely, but enough to cause a few pieces of glass to fall at his feet. Chisaki stumbles backwards, making a noise of alarm.]

CHISAKI: W-w- [The damage itself is small. But it's terrifying. Asuka scrambles further away from the glass, eyes wide, thoughts spinning, theorizing, trying to access the situation as quickly as they could. They watch Chisaki staggering back, realizing what they've done, and in an instant they're spinning around, facing one of the cameras staring their way.]

ASUKA: Security!!

[In an instant, the alarms blare with red light. The door bursts open. Guards pour into the room, lunging at Chisaki, bringing him down hard. Needles appear to jab deep into his skin, syringes full of suppressants, of tranquilizers, anything and everything to keep him down.

On the other side, a similar bustle appears as Asuka's own door is thrown open, security rushing to their aid. At their side in a moment, a guard looks at Asuka with a stern sympathy as they help them to their feet and immediately starts to guide them out.

As they do, Asuka spares one last, longing little glance over at Chisaki as he's gathered up into the guards' vice grips again. They hope he'll be okay. They hope the men aren't too harsh on him. And they hope, naively, that one day, maybe, Chisaki will learn to forgive them all for what's bound to happen next.]

[findtheloveofmylife]

Something Stupid (IV)

Pairing: Roger Taylor x OC (Lily Hathaway)

Summary: He was not the type to pine or whatever you wanted to call it. It usually was the opposite, they pined for him, they wanted to be with him, which is probably why he was way out of his element with her.

Author’s Note: Sorry this took a while. I accidentally deleted this chapter and I had to start from scratch again (but it’s okay, it’s here). It’s a little short but I think that’s fine, I just needed to get this part over.

I mention a while back that if anyone’s interested in being tagged for this story, messaged me so I can add you to the tag list :)

Part I // Part II // Part III // Part IV

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Before the whole Lily situation, it wasn't uncommon for Roger to be with a girl for a few weeks or months. It was rare when he was with someone more than a year. One girl, in particular, Kathy, fell in the category of a few weeks. And the reason he even remembered her was because of Lily and her uncanny ability to make everything go back to her.

Like most girls, Roger had met Kathy at a bar after their band had played, and well, he had liked her enough to have her stick around. He wasn’t her boyfriend and she wasn’t her girlfriend, it was just something casual. She was just another girl that he would soon forget about, as horrible it sounded.

Everyone was so used to Roger’s casual approach to romance that he didn’t think anyone would say something about his current relationship with Kathy. But of course, that didn’t happen this time around. Lily had to say something about it.

He was slowly realizing how nosy Lily was when it comes to people’s love life. A prime example being Lily’s obsession with trying to set up John, who refused to go on dates with the girls Lily always suggested (everyone was pretty sure John refused just to spite her). So, Roger should’ve known that he would fall victim of her nosiness at one point.

It happened one afternoon when Roger decided to show up extra early to practice because he wanted to try something new in his set and didn’t want any of the guys inputting their ‘helpful’ suggestions. The first person to arrive had been Lily. He was surprised to see her alone, she usually showed up with John by her side, but gave her a nod in acknowledgment.

“Hello, hello,” Lily said as she took a seat on the nearest couch. “Why are you here alone? Where’s your girlfriend?”

Roger ignored her greeting and frowned. “What?”

“Kathy,” she elaborated, discarding her jacket and folding it neatly.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said quickly.

“Really?” she said and when he nodded, she did a poor job hiding her surprise. “Hmm.”

“What now?” he said irritatedly, not liking the condescending tone Lily used.

“I didn’t say anything,” she said innocently, making him give her a glare. She relented easily. “Alright, Alright. Is just that... are you sure Kathy's not your girlfriend?”

“I would know if I had a girlfriend.”

Lily laughed loudly as if that had been the funniest joke she’s heard and shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“What do you mean I wouldn’t?” he demanded.

“Sometimes guys are the last to know.” Lily smiled at him. “And something tells me that you’re not the person that is self-aware of their feelings.”

He was offended at that, which honestly he shouldn’t have. He had no idea how right she was going to be.

“Kathy and are not in a relationship,” he repeated firmly.

“Alright,” she said and glanced around the studio. Something caught her attention and she stood up, going towards a chair. She picked up a sweater and examined it. Roger looked at her cautiously, she turned around, still holding the sweater. “Is this Kathy’s?”

“I don't, I think so,” he said slowly.

“Isn't this where you typically dumped all your stuff?”

“Yes.”

“You know, I leave my stuff in my boyfriend's locker all that time,” she said casually, putting down the sweater and going towards Roger, who sighed in exasperation.

“Kathy is not my girlfriend.”

“Then why would Kathy leave a sweater in an area that is specifically yours if she's not your girlfriend?”

Roger opened his mouth but closed it, shaking his head. “Maybe someone moved it,” he finally said.

“Maybe,” she agreed easily. She glanced around the room again but made no move to go back to the couch. Her face was set in a frown as if she was concentrating something really hard on something. Roger had seen her wear that look often when she was about to do something that would annoy John and amuse Freddie.

“Why isn't John here?” he asked, feeling the need to distract Lily. Her head snapped towards him, taken back by his question.

“He forgot something home, so he told me to meet you guys here,” she explained. “Where's Kathy?”

Fuck. So much for distracting Lily.

“I don't know,” he answered honestly. He hadn't spoken with Kathy since he last saw her, which happened to be the previous night.

“Why do you think she's not your girlfriend?”

“Why do you think she's my girlfriend?” he shot back.

Lily brightened at that. “I am so glad you asked me that. Let’s review your guy's history, shall we?”

“Please don’t,” he sighed. If Lily was questioning his relationship with Kathy, he was certain that Kathy herself would start asking questions about them and he didn’t need that. “Why do you care if I have a girlfriend? Are you that bored with the American?”

“No, I’m not. I’m very happy with him, thanks for asking. Deacy says that I’m just annoying and nosy.”

“Yeah, you are annoying and nosy and irritating,” he agreed.

She didn’t seem to be bothered hearing that. “Anyways, going back to you. There's a lot of signs that show you're in a relationship, and I am positive that you and Kathy meet many of them.”

“I doubt it,” he said flatly.

“Oh, you would be surprised,” Lily disagreed. “Have you guys seen each other more than four days a week?”

“I’m not doing this,” he warned her.

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’m going with yes because I’ve seen you three times this week and so far she’s been by your side each time and it’s only Thursday.”

Roger glared at Lily.

“Has she met all your friends? Again, I’m going with yes because you literally only hang out with the guys. Seriously, do any of you guys have friends outside of this group?”

Roger continued glaring at Lily.

“Does she spend the night? Wait. That’s a stupid question. Of course, she does.”

Roger grunted.

“Do you guys do more things besides having sex?”

Roger shook his head in disbelief. She needed to stop talking. She was making too much sense for his liking.

“Do you look forward to seeing her?”

Roger really wanted to shut Lily up.

“Do you notice when she’s not around?”

Roger wondered how upset would John be if he threw his drum kit at Lily.

“Ooh, do you love her?” she asked teasingly.

“Lily,” he gritted through his teeth, his finger curl around his drumsticks tightly. Lily seemed to notice that he was reaching the end of his patience and raised her hands in surrender. When she started heading back in the couch, Roger thought he had heard the end of it, but of course, it was Lily he was talking about.

“Your lack of answers is an answer itself. I know that you and Kathy check off at least half of it.”

“Goddammit,” he said under his breath.

“Whether you like it or not, she’s your girlfriend, dude.”

“Dude?”

“Matt says that’s it’s almost the same thing at mate,” she explained.

“Matt’s an idiot,” Roger said flatly.

“But he’s my idiot,” Lily said fondly and Roger knew at that moment, no matter what requirements they checked off, that Kathy wasn’t (and would probably never be) his girlfriend because there wasn’t that fondness between Kathy and him that Lily had with her American.

“Hmm,” Roger grunted, making Lily smiled at him.

“I like Kathy,” Lily admitted. “She’s... nice.”

“You think everyone is nice.”

“That’s not true. I think you’re an asshole,” she corrected him, making him smile despite his irritation at her. “But going back to Kathy, to be honest, the reason I like her is that I feel like you're less temperamental with her around.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means fewer things have been thrown.”

“I’m about to change that if you don’t stop talking Kathy,” he warned her, wagging a drumstick at her menacingly.

“Alright, I get it, she’s not your girlfriend. I am no longer going to say something.”

Roger doubted she would keep her promises but nodded gratefully at her. “Finally something smart comes out of your mouth.”

“Excuse you, I am very smart.”

“If you say so,” he said mockingly, making Lily make a rude hand gesture towards him. John appeared seconds later, looking out of breath and went straight to Lily.

“What’s going on?” he asked, not missing the annoyed look on Roger’s face.

“Nothing that should worry you,” Lily said and pulled on his arm excitedly. “But I do have something to talk to you about.”

“Oh no,” John said, pulling away from her grip. “I know what it is and I don’t want to hear it. I said no three times already.”

“No, no, no it’s not about Alice. I promise you,” she assured him, making John stop trying to get away from her.

“What is it then?” he asked suspiciously.

“Are you free this Saturday? I wanted to invite you to dinner with me and Matt.”

“Oh, right.” John was silent for a long moment, making Roger glance over at them. John look like was struggling to find an excuse and still annoyed at Lily, Roger found himself speaking up.

“John can't go. We’re going out to this bar on Saturday.”

“Are you kidding me?” Lily said, looking at John skeptically, who nodded quickly.

“Roger didn’t really give me much of choice,” he said, shrugging.

“Oh.” Lily looked disappointed but nodded. “That’s alright. Another night then.”

“Sorry, Lils,” John said, sounding as if he was truly sincere about being supposedly busy that night. “Maybe next week. I promise I won’t make plans.”

“Fine,” Lily said shortly, and promptly left the room. Roger looked at John curiously, and not surprisingly, John was too busy fiddling with his guitar to look over at him or Lily. Roger didn't get a chance to question him because soon everyone showed up, and the band started rehearsal.

Sometime between breaks, Roger had barely noticed that Kathy had shown up, and was talking to Lily and Mary. He felt a twinge annoyance at her announced appearance but he didn’t let her know when she approached him during one of their breaks.

“Did you leave your jacket?” he asked her.

“Oh, yeah, I did,” Kathy said, glancing over where it was. “Why? Is it not there anymore?”

“Its there. Just don’t leave it again,” he said tersely and went back to his drums.

And that’s number four, Lily’s cheery voice sounded in the back of his head as he went home with Kathy at the end of rehearsal.

A week later he broke things off with Kathy.

It wasn’t because of the conversation he had with Lily, no matter what exasperated look she gave him when he showed up with a new girl a few days later. His reasoning behind it was that he wasn’t as interested in Kathy as he was in the beginning. He didn’t want to do something stupid like start ignoring her calls or be caught fooling around with another girl.

Like he had said, it wasn’t unusual for him to move on from girl to girl in a span of few days. He wasn’t a relationship person, unlike Freddie or Brian, or even Lily. Which is probably why he didn’t see how much Lily’s pesky questions had stuck in the back of his head.

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Tag List:

@the-freak-cassie-131, @goingslightlymaaad, @verkyun

[mrsronan]

Last Thursday (March 7) I got to speak to a large Women’s Bible Study in San Francisco. I attended the study for three years and have quite a few friends still involved. Here’s what I said. (Health update and other details below the speech.) Also, it won't hurt my feelings at all if you skip the speech and just read the health update. :)

_________________________________________

I’m thankful I get to be here with you ladies this morning. You are always such a blessing. Malene and Karen invited me to give an update on how I’m doing. Most of you know me, but let me introduce myself to those of you I’m not yet acquainted with. My husband and I grew up in Cincinnati Ohio, I’ve served as a missionary to Haiti and spent two years teaching in China. My husband and I believed God called us to San Francisco so we moved here four months after we got married in 2006. When we got here everything that could go wrong went wrong, including losing our housing on the same day I found out I was unexpectedly pregnant. That surprise pregnancy led me to seek help at Alpha Pregnancy Center, the pregnancy ended in miscarriage but I never forgot that Alpha was ready to walk with me and find solutions to all of my concerns. Later I went back to Alpha, but as a staff member and I eventually became the director. I spent almost a decade running that ministry until I was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer and had to resign.  I’ve been going through chemo and radiation treatments since July 2016.  

Before I give you an update on my health I want to tell you a story that will explain my perspective on this challenge.*  

The day I arrived at my new home in Haiti where I would live for a year, I walked into a house that had been robbed. Everything was gone- furniture, curtains, dishes, everything except the kitchen sink. I had met my roommate for the year one day earlier, Shelley lived in the house the year before and knew our neighbors well. She assured me that since we were back and our neighbors loved her, the house would now be safe and nothing more would be stolen. I didn’t believe her. We had just a couple hours to drop our things off before needing to leave for a meeting at the school where we’d be teaching. On my way out the door for the meeting, I silently prayed, “Lord, if our house gets robbed tonight, please don’t let them take my radio, my guitar, or the vase from Morocco Kellie gave me.”

When we got home that night, our house had been ravished. Clothes were strewn everywhere, Shelley’s nice camera— gone. The sheets off our other roommate’s bed— gone. I made it to my room in the back of the house and did a quick scan of my bedroom: my radio was there, check; my guitar was there, check; my vase— gone! What!? Didn’t God hear my prayer? Why would the thieves want my vase anyway? It was just a small memento that wouldn’t mean anything to anyone but me. My heart sank. I felt robbed. But just as quickly as my heart sank, the Holy Spirit began to speak: “Chastidy, I didn’t bring you here this year to look at that vase. I am the same whether or not that vase is on top of your dresser. I haven’t changed and I am worthy of your praise with or without that vase.” My heart responded, “Oh, check. Yes, Lord, I trust you. I’ll praise you. Thanks for being the same and being good no matter what I’ve lost.” A moment later, a fellow teacher who had come to help walked in the door and said, “I found this on the street, does this belong to you?” and held up my vase.

That small momentary loss and the Holy Spirit speaking to my heart taught me how to get through larger losses that aren’t temporary. When my mom was murdered, when I had multiple miscarriages, when my marriage has been difficult, and many other times of loss I’ve gone back to that moment and remembered God is the same no matter what I might be losing. 

To be honest, the months since November have been filled with loss.  

My grandfather died because of lung cancer. 

Five of my other friends have died as well (three cancer related deaths).

My landlord promised me a bigger apartment and even gave me the keys then changed her mind and took the keys back. 

The clinical trial I’ve been on has stopped shrinking my tumors. (More on this below) 

But amidst these tragedies there have been some triumphs. 

I was given the Gianna Molla award and spoke to 50,000 people. 

My daughter turned 3 and sweetly told me I set up her party so nice and perfect. 

I turned 40 even though some medical professionals never thought I’d live this long. My husband, family, and friends threw me two surprise birthday parties. 

So I find myself responding to all of this in a few ways

Crying out to God in mourning and in thanksgiving. 

Praying for others as well as myself. 

Singing Amazing Grace and really meaning every word of all 7 verses.

Returning to scripture and asking God to keep His word as the foundation of my heart.

Some of the verses that I’m returning to over and over have become anthems for me that I go to daily to set my heart and mind in the right place.  

Hebrews 13.8 Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Reminding me that with or without cancer, God is still worthy of praise. For me, all these efforts to get treatment and extend my life are primarily for my three year old little girl. I don’t want her to have the pain of growing up with out her mom. But, this verse reminds me that God is the same and worthy of our praise even if she does grow up with out a mom.

I also go back to the story of Shadrach Meshach and Abednego from Daniel 3. 

You probably remember the story well. Everyone in their town was  told to bow down and worship a false god. The punishment for refusing was to be thrown into a fiery furnace. Everyone worshipped the gold statue, but Shadrach Meshach and Abednego refused to follow suit. Some people told the king and he was furious. 

Here’s how the Message version of the Bible tells the rest of the story:

The king questioned them and gave them a second chance to obey.

16-18 Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered King Nebuchadnezzar, “Your threat means nothing to us. If you throw us in the fire, the God we serve can rescue us from your roaring furnace and anything else you might cook up, O king. But even if he doesn’t, it wouldn’t make a bit of difference, O king. We still wouldn’t serve your gods or worship the gold statue you set up.”

19-23 Nebuchadnezzar, his face purple with anger, cut off Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. He ordered the furnace fired up seven times hotter than usual. He ordered some strong men to tie them up, hands and feet, and throw them into the roaring furnace. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, bound hand and foot, fully dressed from head to toe, were pitched into the roaring fire. Because the king was in such a hurry and the furnace was so hot, flames from the furnace killed the men who carried Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego to it, while the fire raged around Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

24 Suddenly King Nebuchadnezzar jumped up in alarm and said, “Didn’t we throw three men, bound hand and foot, into the fire?”

“That’s right, O king,” they said.

25 “But look!” he said. “I see four men, walking around freely in the fire, completely unharmed! And the fourth man looks like a son of the gods!”

Some people say that is Jesus; I love that even though they were in a literal fire, they weren’t in it alone.  They had to go through the fire, but Jesus went through it with them.

26 Nebuchadnezzar went to the door of the roaring furnace and called in, “Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, servants of the most High God, come out here!”

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego walked out of the fire.

27 Everyone gathered around to examine them and discovered that the fire hadn’t so much as touched the three men—not a hair singed, not a scorch mark on their clothes, not even the smell of fire on them! 

Next the king praises God. Shadrach Meshach and Abednego’s fiery challenge 

Gives the king a fiery passion to praise God.

28 Nebuchadnezzar said, “Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego! He sent his angel and rescued his servants who trusted in him! They ignored the king’s orders and laid their bodies on the line rather than serve or worship any god but their own.

29 “Therefore I issue this decree: no one should speak against the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. No other god can pull off a rescue like this.”

Friends, I’m in a battle where I can say— Only God can pull off the kind of rescue I need. 

But, I’d bet half my bank account most of you have felt that too.  Maybe you’ve had severe health issues,  maybe you’ve needed the courage to leave an abusive relationship,  maybe you’ve had the sorrow of losing a child,  maybe you’ve been plagued with overwhelming anxiety… 

I’m guessing that everyone of you have had a time when you thought, “only God can rescue me from this.” 

I look back at all those trials I mentioned earlier and see, yes, He jumped into the fire with me on all of them and pulled me out and actually it made me stronger than before.  So, right now, in this fire of cancer, I’m looking to the God who has rescued me time and time again and saying “I know you are able to rescue me, and I believe you will, but even if you don’t I will still praise you.”

The final scripture I return to as an anthem I’ve read with you before. Psalm 118. 

I’d like to share some of it with you again today

Psalm 118

1 Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;

    his love endures forever.

2 Let Israel say:

    “His love endures forever.”

3 Let the house of Aaron say:

“His love endures forever.”

4  Let those who fear the Lord say:

    “His love endures forever.”

5 When hard pressed, I cried to the Lord;

    he brought me into a spacious place.

6 The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid.

    What can mere mortals do to me?

7 The Lord is with me; he is my helper.

 …

8 It is better to take refuge in the Lord

    than to trust in humans.

9 It is better to take refuge in the Lord

    than to trust in princes.

I’m saying it’s better to trust in the Lord 

than medicine or doctors

13 I was pushed back and about to fall,

    but the Lord helped me.

14 The Lord is my strength and my defense[a];

    he has become my salvation.

15 Shouts of joy and victory

    resound in the tents of the righteous:

17 I will not die but live,

    and will proclaim what the Lord has done.

21 I will give you thanks, for you answered me;

    you have become my salvation.

27 The Lord is God,

    and he has made his light shine on us.

…

28 You are my God, and I will praise you;

    you are my God, and I will exalt you.

29 Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;

    his love endures forever.

 Verse 17 is something I’ve especially clung to. 

At first I thought, I will live and not die so that when I am healed from cancer I can tell the miraculous story of how God healed me and what seemed impossible with man is possible with God. And, that is still what I’m counting on. 

But, I’ve begun to think I’m alive today. I can tell what God has done today. I can tell you today that He has been with me in the trenches of every fire I’ve had to walk through, and he has used them all for the good of many lives and souls. 

And, when I return to scripture it allows me to fix my thoughts on Jesus. He endured the cross scorning its shame for the joy that was set before him. And remembering that He did that, and being bought with his blood gives me the strength to be content in a small apartment, to endure the disease of cancer, and to get through the other pains that come with life in a fallen world but doing so with joy because of the promise of a glorious eternity. 

Two nights ago, as I was putting my daughter to bed we were singing “what can wash a way my sins” and she stopped me mid song and said, “Mommy mommy, the blood of Jesus, it can heal everything. Even if you die it can heal you.” 

If I could leave you with any thought this morning it would be that. The blood of Jesus can heal anything you have going on in your life. Remember He never changes even when our circumstances do, lay your burdens at the foot of His cross, and let His blood bringing healing to your life.  

_________________________________________

HEALTH UPDATE

So, what does it mean for me that the clinical trial isn’t shrinking my tumors? To catch some of you up to speed on what I’ve done before I answer that, I’ve already done 3 kinds of chemo and radiation. The clinical trial I’ve been in is my fourth form of treatment. There are no other FDA approved treatments that have been effective at treating my kind of cancer. I have a biopsy scheduled for Thursday. The results of the biopsy will show if the immunotherapy trial I’ve been on has changed the genetic make up of my tumors. If it has I can continue on the trial. If it hasn’t then I’ll need to start searching for other clinical trials or treatments at different hospitals and clinics. My oncologist thinks I’ll have to begin a search for other clinical trials. She is willing to help me. My family might have to move in order for me to continue to have effective treatment options. I’m really hoping that I won’t have to move, but if we do have to move there’s a promising clinical trial in Cleveland that I’m looking into which would get me closer to my family and I’d be thankful for that. Yet, I am willing to go wherever I need to get treatments. I’ll try to write a short update after I get my biopsy results. 

Separately I had a chalazion in my eye. It has healed. 

OTHER UPDATES

I’m still a super Warriors fan and even though they’ve had a few embarrassing losses recently they are still number 1 in the western conference and still the favorites to be champions this year. 

I lead prayer in the SF Prayer Room every Wednesday night from 6-9 pm.  I’d love it if you join me some time. 

My landlord offered to let us move to a bigger apartment and even gave us the keys. She later changed her mind and took the keys back. I was absolutely heartbroken and cried for days. Now, I’m wondering if God kept us from moving because we might have to move so I can get treatment elsewhere. 

We were gifted tickets to see Hamilton and loved it! It left me wanting to live in a way that gives others freedom. 

My husband, family, and friends threw me TWO surprise birthday parties. I’ve lived to be 40 and I’m pretty thankful about that. 

I threw a small birthday party for Catica. The week after her party she snuggled up on my lap and we had this conversation,  C: Mama, you did such a good job. Me: A good job on what, Baby? C: My party. You set everything up so nice and perfect.  My heart melted.  

PRAYER REQUEST

Please pray for miraculous results to this biopsy and miraculous healing. God is able to do more than we can ask or imagine. 

_________________________________________

*I know I’ve already told this story on my blog before but I love to share it whenever I can as it keeps my perspective in check. 

[lonelypond]

PhotoJazz, Chapter 4

Love Live, NicoMaki, 6.6K, 4/5

Summary: Nico and Maki invade LA for a photoshoot.

A Fine Romance

Maki was not a morning person. Not going to bed was the only way she was ever up early enough to see the sun rise. And that usually only happened if she was near a beach. Or caught by an idea. And yes, Maki, was caught at the moment, but it was more like tripped up by circumstances beyond her control and snared by a semi-scenic view while bothered by bitey gnats, rather than calmly enjoying the horizon. Sunglasses, coat, 2 cameras, a laptop, and a change of clothes shoved into one bag, plus the sweat pants, t-shirt, and a hoodie comfortable enough to sleep on the plane in she was wearing. Nico was bright eyed, impossibly bright eyed behind large sunglasses, and practically merry, dressed in a svelte black knit dress with a gray shawl thrown over her hair and shoulders. She waved at Maki, pulling her bag behind her as she approached with a chirped, “Good morning.”

Maki glared over her sliding sunglasses, “Not until I sleep it’s not.”

“You look terrible.” Nico frowned, pushing Maki’s sunglasses back up the redhead’s nose. Maki was too tired to startle at the encroachment.

“Flattery, how kind.” Sarcasm before noon was a given, Yazawa might as well get used to it. “It’s your fault.

A smirk, of course it was a smirk, “Oh, did thinking about Nico keep you up all night?”

“Researching your photo shoot did.” Maki followed Nico to the gate.

Nico waved her free hand airily, speeding along, “Nico has it all under control.”

“No, I took a look at the venue on line last night. And Houdini. I have some really good ideas.” Maki raced a bit to catch up to Nico, cursing herself for sounding eager.

Nico stopped, turning to face the photographer, “Nico knows what works.”

Maki was beginning to believe half of her conversations with Nico were hallucinations. Unacceptable. Maki was not going to get dragged around LA like Nico had dragged her around Evanston and Chicago. Maki pulled her phone out her pocket, showing Nico the message stream, “You sent me this: ‘She redid Garbo’s image like Nico needs you to do with hers.’”

“That was last night. Now Nico has a plan.” Nico frowned at Maki’s vibrating with censure.

“A plan you didn’t ask me about? That’s like having a Ferrari and only taking it out to go to the grocery store.” Maki was shouting, people were staring, “Did you even research what I can do?”

“Ferrari?” Nico snorted, dodging Maki’s question. “Curvy and fast and driveable?”

“Expensive, a fucking work of art, and extremely temperamental.” Maki caught herself before a glass window met her phone, shoving it deep in her coat pocket.

“Do you do your own PR?”

“Yes.” Maki began speed walking toward the gate again. “Why did you even call me?”

“We worked together well. You were nice to my little brother. You’re cute.” Nico smiled as she matched Maki’s pace.

“We did not work together well. It was only going to be one time so I just bit my lip to get it over with.” Maki glared down at the speedy speck keeping up with her too easily.

Nico’s look was a carefully nuanced take on ‘who’s fault was that?” and Maki felt like spitting. Then her brain threw up on the word “cute.”

“I am not cute.”

Nico giggled, “I beg to differ. You’re adorable.”

“I am not.” Maki huffed, changing the shoulder she had her bag slung over . “You just said you were ‘a fucking work of art’ so obviously you’re not into being modest. Nico knows cute.”

Maki stopped. “Cute is for little kids and puppies.” She stared at Nico, “Is all this an attempt to...are you trying to…” Maki felt a shiver, “date me? Is that why you...the flowers...” Maki had been trying not to let a suspicion form in her mind but the ROSES had kept staring at her from her studio work table.

Nico doubled over, with laughter or potential cramp, Maki wasn’t sure. Then she heard the sniggering. “See. Adorable. No, Nico is not trying to date or drive you, Ms. NishiCARno. Nico really really needs a photographer and Nozomi is being a really really terrible friend, leaving me like this, right when people are interested in Nico’s next step.” Nico blinked, her eyes soft, deep and hopeful, “But Nico needs people to pay attention so if I have to be out of my comfort zone, being associated with someone stylish, hot, intriguing, high class, and talented doesn’t hurt my image.”

It was all plotted out, emotionless, practical, rapacious, their interactions designed to boost Nico’s profile and image. Maki respected the thought process while swallowing the hurt at being revealed to be as much of a tool to Yazawa as her camera.

Nico’s next statement was softer, “Nico has no time for personal, right now.” She rested her hand quickly on Maki’s, “But I don’t mind the eye candy.”

Oh gods, somehow that made it worse. Not only was Maki a tool, she was practically a pinup. How very impersonal. Maki pulled her hand back, inhaling, forcing her voice not to quaver. No one was walking over her, certainly not this tiny template of terror, “I ordered props. For part of this, we will be doing things my way.” She stood as tall as she could, eyes narrowed, jaw set. “Or I don’t get on the plane.”

Nico shrugged casually, as if Maki were being silly about which ice cream flavor to choose, and vroomed down the corridor leading to their plane, Maki struggling to keep up as adrenaline drained from her system.

Fancy hotel, penthouse suite. 2 rooms and shared spaces. The entire floor. Private elevator. When Maki travelled, it was usually to a family holding, the beach house, the mountain cabin, the friend’s barely off Broadway loft. This much space was...disconcerting. Strange. It made her want to be close to someone, but the only person to be close to was Nico and that wasn’t happening. Maki missed Eli and Umi, even Alisa. They were always good for pointing out a new side of things, of finding amusing quirks to tease at, there was a comfortable level of banter, honed over college studies and joint travels. With Nico, it was like Maki had been swept up in a hurricane of extroverted celebrity status with a steady rain of charming and washed ashore someplace she’d never even seen on a map. Disorienting. Plus, the eye candy thing...how did you even respond to someone who dismisses you so thoroughly, then compliments you in the same sentence.

Nico and Maki barely spoken on the flight (Nico had taken the time to inform Maki about the decibel levels of her snoring when they landed) or the limo ride here. No comfort level, no banter or patter or...Maki sighed, threw herself on divan number 3 and started carefully examining the nearly 10 pounds of wood and brass and leather bellows of the camera in front of her. She had a page up on her laptop that demonstrated all the ways the lens could be angled and modified. It was fascinating. And a little scary. But Nico had said the camera was hers so Maki was more confident than she might have been in how much fun she could have. The hardest part would be not seeing the pictures until she got to a darkroom. And figuring out how to use a darkroom again. Maki had taken many photos on film and gone through the basics at school, but she’d focused so much on digital and animated manipulations that physical ones would have to be forcibly remembered. An interesting challenge. Nico seemed to present them.

Maki lifted up the film holders, choosing one to slide in. Now what would make an interesting test picture? Nico came out of the bathroom, in the very definition of a little black dress, shiny metallic heels adding to her height, hair swept up in a bun, eyelashes lengthened, eyes, well, the eyes, they were judging, Maki could tell.

“Nerd.” Nico pursed her lips, “Go get changed.”

“Huh?” Maki glanced up from where she was cautiously trying to slide the frame into the camera without scratching any of the carefully ground glass necessary for operating the contraption.

Nico rested a hand on her hip, “We are attending a party. You have people to meet. Nico is helping you extend your social circle.”

Maki shook her head, pointing to the camera, “This is the only company I need.”

Nico pouted, “There’s food. Don’t you want dinner? It’s in the ballroom downstairs so you can always wander back here.”

“What’s the party for?”

Nico shrugged, “Thursday? I don’t know. Someone’s premiering something, some company brought several cases of champagnes, lots of actresses are wandering around looking for someone to compliment their choice of designer charity. And shoes. Always pay attention to the shoes. Dates have been ruined over the clash between Louboutin fans and my Brian Atwoods.”

Maki slowly finished sliding in the negative, “You sound jaded. And are shoes really that important?”

Nico’s laugh was harsh and throaty as she sat primly on the edge of the couch, not quite near Maki, “You should see Nico in her Georgia Vic boots. They lace up to here.” Nico traced a line midway up her thigh with a finger. “Your inner Mapplethorpe would drool.” Nico stared thoughtfully at her current shoes, sleek, stiletto and silver gold leather, “Nico has been doing this for a long time. I thought it might be fun to bring new eyes.” Nico leaned in toward Maki, lengthy eyelashes fluttering as Maki’s fought her tendency to focus on the color variations of Nico’s lips. Tonight the pink had a touch of gray. Nico continued, almost wistful. “Such pretty eyes too. Would you prefer lovely lavender or amazing amethyst when I TWIG about you?” She pulled out her phone and prepared to take a photo of Maki.

Flushing, Maki knocked away the phone as the camera clicked, her hand briefly brushing Nico’s. “Vexed violet if you post that shot. Please stop with the compliments. They don’t work on me.” Maki hefted the Century Universal between them, “You wouldn’t get any closeups from here with this thing.”

Another pout, “That’s a not subtle way to get Nico to back off. Isn’t it? Pretty camera though, they took good care of it.” Nico stroked the cherry and mahogany as Maki put the camera back on the table. “Come to the Gala with me. Nico needs a wingwoman.”

“I didn’t bring anything formal.” Maki slouched, still in her sweats. “All working clothes. And I thought you weren’t interested in dating.”

“There’s dating and there’s…” Nico winked, stretching a hand out, neatly trimmed nails painted silver catching the light, “flirting with possibilities.”

Maki refused to acknowledge Nico, back to fidgeting with the camera as Nico watched her, amused at Maki’s discomfort at the subtext.

“Hmmmm….” Nico started entering numbers into her phone, “I’m sure the concierge can scrounge up a tuxedo jacket.” Nico glanced at Maki speculatively, “And I’m betting you packed at least one impressive street art inspired t-shirt. Just tell me you have something that isn’t sweats.”

“Black jeans.” Maki admitted.

Nico flashed the okay sign as she spoke into her phone, “Hi, this is Nico Yazawa in the penthouse suite. Do you think you could scrounge me up a tuxedo jacket in a medium-ish size, decent shoulders, tapered at the waist, and some kind of street style fashion forward hat….Yes, it’s for the Gala...Half an hour would be perfect. Thank you!”

Maki couldn’t remember agreeing to go with Nico. That seemed to be happening near daily since Eli’s marriage. But then Nico was shoving her playfully off the couch with a laugh and Maki went to change into the only respectable piece of clothing she’d packed.

My Funny Valentine

The band was good. That seemed to be a feature of parties where Maki and Nico’s paths crossed. Jazz again, with a singer. Nico rolled her eyes and pulled Maki to the bar, grabbing them both champagne flutes.

“Here’s to taking Hollywood by storm, Imogen.” Nico’s eyes fizzed with daring as champagne bubbles tickled Maki’s nose.

“Imogen?” Maki wiggled her nose to hold back a sneeze, then tilted her glass to tap Nico’s.

“Imogen Cunningham, nudes and flowers.” Nico puffed her chest out like a feathered show off about to strut and crow. “Nico now knows more about photographers than you do.Want to know why Berenice Abbott used black and white in her photos of New York City? Nico can tell you.”

Maki giggled, a little stunned by Nico’s sudden desire to be an encyclopedia of photographers. “Do you want a camera for Christmas too? I’ll let Santa know.”

Nico pouted, “Nico is fine. What does Maki want to talk about?”

Maki glanced around the ballroom, the quartet at the front breaking into a lively rendition of “My Funny Valentine.” She poked Nico with her empty flute, suddenly giddy and wondering if she shouldn’t have just gotten some rest or food first, “Name the composer.” Maki swept her arm out to point to the band, Nico ducking under.

“Hey watch it.” Nico confiscated the glass, “Let’s get you some food.”

“Composer.” Maki was going to continue stubborn, no matter how much her stomach rumbled at the thought of tasting anything solid enough to chew.

“Rodgers and Hart. Nico was in a production of Babes in Arms in a community theatre in high school. Want me to sing ‘The Lady is A Tramp”’ for you? You seem too hungry to wait for dinner this late.” Nico’s smile bumped up several notches and she reached out to pull someone into a hug, “Ags! I haven’t seen you in forever.“

‘NICO!” A tiny blonde screamed and leapt into Nico’s embrace. “You’re back!!???!?!”

“With two degrees.” Nico announced proudly as most of the room focused temporarily on this reunion.

“I’m so impressed. Everyone was saying you’d get bored and Northwestern would be too hard.”

Maki noticed Nico’s jaw tighten, but her smile only got brighter, “Studying lines is good practice for college.”

Ags giggled, “It would be. Maybe I’ll find someplace with cute fraternity guys.”

“Go for it.” Nico raised her hands to her temples, “Nico Ni recommends it.”

Ags lost it, giggles pouring out of her, “Oh, Nico, it’s been years. You’re still so...Nico.”

Again, a tightening of Nico’s jaw. Ags’s brown eyes finally noticed Maki, “Who’s your date?”

“This is my friend, Maki Nishikino. She’s a photographer. Had a show at the Annenberg two years ago.”

“Ooh, good looking and distinguished. You could always pick ‘em.” Ags extended a hand, “I’m Agnes Villeneuve, Nico and I did a few shows together.”

Maki shook Agnes’s hand, unimpressed with how lightly it rested in hers. Wouldn’t trust that grip with any of her cameras. She wondered what other facts Nico had filed away about her career, right alongside Harriet Ruth Louise’s, Martha Cooper’s, and Berenice Abbott’s. Maki started twirling her hair as Nico filled Agnes in on the plans for her LA visit. When Agnes started to dish gossip from her latest job, Maki excused herself to grab some food.

Ah, everything was better and more bearable with half a tray worth of savory smoked salmon vol-au-vents, Maki realized, surveying the party again, calmer, not sure where Nico had gotten to. Then she was stumbled into with a giggle. She glanced down to find her arms full of a woman filling out a slip of a scarlet dress.

“Are you all right?” Maki asked politely as she assisted the woman to her feet as rapidly as possible.

“Are you Maki Nishikino? My friends and I were wondering. I’m Amy, hi!” Blue eyes in too pale skin blinked at Maki.

Maki smoothed her hair back over her ear, “I am. Did you…”

“OH MY GOD! So what were Anju and Erena like? Did you have a threesome?” A grab of her arm and Maki found herself stumbling backwards, “I’d pose naked for you. Do you like bubble baths?”

Maki thought as often as she heard some variation on that, she’d be used to it. But no, her whole body went to ‘avoid apocalypse’ mode while her face turned as red as biologically possible and her brain refused to provide anything that could qualify as conversation, or even syllables. It was a little like scat singing with only the empty, creaky passage of air through her vocal chords. “Drink” came out eventually as Maki picked an adjacent clump of partygoers to dive into, nodding at one, inadvertently elbowing another, escaping as quickly as possible. She picked up another flute of champagne at the bar, wondering if she should just retreat upstairs and get a bottle of Laphroig from room service.

“What the hell did that woman say to you? Offer to pose nude?” Nico’s voice barked, loud enough that everyone nearby turned to stare. Maki felt the flute slide out of her fingers. It tilted when it hit the bar, spilling. “Really? Wow. You have it worse than Nico.”

Maki gulped, not making eye contact with ANYONE and mouthing “Water” at the bartender. He popped the lid on a small bottle of Limonata San Pellegrino and handed it over. Maki took a swallow, hissing a little at the citrus bite.

“Hand me a champagne, please.” A smooth voice slid into Maki’s hearing. She turned. A tall, elegant woman in a black and gold suit, with matching stacked bracelets, smiled at her, “Maki Nishikino, right? I’m honored to meet you.” Maki picked up a flute and handed it to the new person, feeling Nico lean into the bar on the other side of her. After a sip, the conversation continued, “I’m Jada Jefferson. I saw your work at the Annenberg, but what I really loved was how you worked mythology into your Tsubasa Kira shoot. She said it impacted the songs she wrote for her next album.” A slow smile, a toasty welcome to match the warm brown of Jada’s skin tone, “Impressive to have that much of an effect.” Jada tilted her glass toward Maki, who could feel Nico vibrating next to her.

Then Nico’s hand reached across Maki to grab her own glass of champagne. “We were having a conversation.”

The smile got broader, “Nico, right? My little cousin loved your show. My aunty used to buy her your albums for her birthday and Christmas. Fun stuff for kids. She cried when you retired.”

Nico spluttered. Maki was a little fascinated and found herself half turning to watch. Jada continued, cutting off any response from Nico. “What brings you to LA, Maki?”

“Nico.” Nico and Maki both spoke at the same moment, with completely different intonations. Nico huffed as Maki continued, “She dragged me out here because one of my best friends eloped with her pet photographer. They’re on their honeymoon in Australia right now.”

“Ah, that explains it. You seem more panther than tabby.” Jada sipped her champagne.

Maki was only watching Nico out of her peripheral vision but she swore the tiny tantrum went white with rage, “Nope. Just a favor for a friend. Temping.” Maki laughed, “Haven’t done that since college. It’s nice to be flown first class though.” Maki admitted.

“Well, if you want a tour of LA’s...” Jada paused, “Of anything LA, really, nightspots, museums, statuary, here’s my card. My schedule’s fairly flexible. I have my own law firm.” Jada’s fingers lingered on Maki’s hand, gold and onyx bangles jingling on her wrist.

“Thanks!” Maki pocketed the card with a nod.

“You won’t have time.” Nico muttered, nudging Maki with a sharp elbow, as Jada moved to a group of people she was obviously friendly with.

Maki raised an eyebrow, “I don’t have a personal assistant for many reasons, one is that so no one tells me my schedule.” Maki’s grin was provocative, “Plus, after I’m done with you…” Maki shrugged.

“Classy, Nishikino. Nico has friends to find.” Nico whirled away, her mood stormy. Amused, Maki wondered if she should try a test photo with the Century, but she didn’t want to waste the negatives. Did Nico have anything to wear for the Houdini part of the photoshoot? Maybe the concierge could help out again, if Maki asked for something channelling the Debbie Ocean at the end of Oceans 8 vibe. She should go upstairs, look over her Houdini research and plan her shots. She would save a dozen negatives for that and keep the Fuji handy. How far into Houdini mode would Nico be willing to go? Obviously, actually escaping required practice Nico didn’t have, but Maki had ideas to make it look like Nico had without endangering her. Getting Nico in the water tank would probably take some persuading. Maki finished her water and headed to the elevator. Time to write it all down and sketch out the best angles. The Century Universal and the limited film at hand made her choices more weighted.

The More I See You

Maki stumbled out of her bedroom. Too early again, two days in a row. Nico was already awake, with variety breakfast options spread out on the table.

“Sit and eat. The limo’s due in a half an hour.” Nico tilted her head at Maki as she picked at a fruit salad, “Your hair’s standing up. Have a nightmare?”

“Right now.” Maki grumbled, grabbing a scone.

“Rude.” Nico stuck out her tongue and pushed a mug in Maki’s direction, “I made coffee.”

Maki grunted, chewing through the scone, “Donuts are nice.”

“Not healthy.”

“Morale is important.” Maki inhaled coffee, leaning over the mug, waking up brain cell by brain cell.

Nico leaned back, laced her fingers together and stretched. A few more of Maki’s brain cells woke up. Nico bopped to her feet. “Nico is going to change. We’ll pack up what you don’t eat. Don’t need you getting silly from hunger again, like last night.”

“There won’t be champagne.” Maki pointed out.

Nico stopped by the couch, picking up a garment bag, “The concierge had this delivered. What is it?”

“For the Houdini part. I told her Sandra Bullock with the martini at the end of Oceans 8.” Nico didn’t say anything and Maki wondered if she’d gone too far, picking out a look, “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

Nico nodded, unzipping the bag halfway, but black and white formal isn’t terribly gripping without a frame to drape over, “It’s fine.” Nico licked her lips, thoughtful, “Nico is just surprised by your attention to detail.”

Maki shrugged and grabbed a strawberry, “I don’t want to waste your time. I planned out a few shots. We can discuss them on the ride over. It shouldn’t be anything too difficult.” Maki was beginning to doubt the wisdom of the water tank, by late afternoon, it might be chilly. “If anything makes you uncomfortable, we’ll skip it.”

Nico seemed surprised by the concern in Maki’s voice and took a minute to zip the bag back up. Her reply was hesitant, almost deferential. “Nico wants to know how you see this. I can manage whatever you have in mind.”

Maki nodded, digging out more berries, both straw and blue, and skipping on to the next topic in her head, would the chains drape well? And would the linen fabric of Nico’s shirt get caught or dragged?

I Don’t Know Enough About You

The morning had gone fairly well. The Century Universal had proven surprisingly cooperative to work with, as had Nico. Maki was impressed by Nico’s professionalism. There was no flirting, no patter, just some questions about poses and locations, a few smiles for the assistants helping with lighting and props, the initial conversation about the charms of the grounds. Nico hadn’t even blinked when she’d seen the water tank...or the chains. There might have been a sharp glint in the ruby deeps, sparked off the Mapplethorpe jibe Nico swallowed as she twirled handcuffs around her finger, but no actual cutting remark.

“Nothing locks. I made sure. We can test it on me first.” Maki hurried to reassure Nico that she had taken proper safety precautions.

“That’s quite an offer, Maaaki,” Nico dragged out her name with a wink; Maki rolled her eyes and went back to looking for the tripod in the collection of gear they’d had the assistants carry onto the grounds. “I have to get changed and do makeup.” Ignored, Nico put the handcuffs back in their place, “Will you be ready in 20 minutes?”

Maki found the tripod, set it up, and crouched to push at the legs to see how securely it was going to sit.

“Maki?” Nico prodded Maki on the shoulder and the redhead glanced up, not paying full attention, “20 minutes?”

“Sure.” Back to the tripod. Now to check the connections between camera and base. Then Maki could work on sliding in the frames without jostling the camera. What had Nico said?

When Nico returned, in a long black and white gown, hair loosely gathered at the back of her neck to fall gracefully down her back, agile lips a dark pink, sparkling eyes framed by dark lashes, expressive eyebrows raised for comment, cheekbones carved with exquisite and subtle strokes, Maki just stopped, struck by a Nico stripped down to her roots, caught by the stark beauty of Nico’s profile, the pull of the star’s focused glance, the drive and dash that came through with each flicker of a change of expression. Holy fuck, Maki thought, this was what drew moviegoers into the dream realms captured on the screen, this distilled power, this fascination. Maki found herself getting excited, eager to see what a vintage classic could capture of a modern one.

It was relaxing Maki realized, as the shoot progressed, to just be this focused on her camera and her work and trust Nico to be where, what and who she needed. Nico didn’t need coaxing or compliments, if Maki happened to blurt out a genuine appreciation for Nico’s eyes at that angle or the way the star’s smile teased between fire and flirt, Nico barely acknowledged the photographer had spoken. No attention drawn, Maki happily working in a cocoon of obliviousness. Then one of the assistants spoke quickly to Nico, pointing to something on her phone while Maki was making a position change for the camera. They were shooting by the Waterfall and the Grand Stairway, Nico bravely scrambling over rocks for the angles Maki wanted, careful only for her gown.

Nico frowned. “Security says someone is here for you.”

Maki was confused, Eli didn’t even know where they planned to shoot. “Nope. Can’t be. Nobody knows I’m here.”

Nico crossed her arms as Tsubasa Kira appeared at the top of the stairway, in a chic, green crushed velvet suit, waving, her voice echoing, “Maki! You should have told me you were in LA. We could have had dinner last night.”

“Oh, hi, Tsubasa!” Maki stepped out from behind the Century, grimacing apologetically at Nico.

Tsubasa took her time descending the staircase, heading immediately to Maki and sliding her arm through the photographer’s, “Introduce me.” Tsubasa raised an eyebrow at Nico, “Although I know who you are, Nico. Your TWIG feed told me where to find my favorite photographer.”

Tsubasa gleamed at Maki, who shook off her arm, hands going to her pockets. “Tsubasa Kira, Nico Yazawa.”

“I’m a performer as well.” Tsubasa extended a hand to Nico, who watched the action warily before a quick, hard shake.

“I know. Mermaid, right.” Nico gritted, “You’ll enjoy the grotto. It’s damp. There’s a koi pond up there you can dip your fins in.”

“I’m so glad that picture is pulled so often when someone is doing an article about the genius of Maki Nishikino. I’m glad to have been a humble help.” Tsubasa bowed, smiling in Maki’s direction.

Nico snorted and Maki stared at her. Nico winked, causing a blush and a turnaway, then flipped her attention back to Tsubasa, “Yeah, Kendrick’s def rapping about you.”

Tsubasa decided to stop clashing with Nico and check out what Maki was doing. With quick steps she moved to the Century, hands out, curious. Nico leaned against a railing.

“Don’t touch it.” Maki snapped at Tsubasa, who made a big show of leaping back.

“Is it that unsteady?” The singer wondered, unbuttoning her jacket.

Maki bobbed her head back and forth for a few seconds, “You just have to approach it with respect.” She checked the tripod again, and glanced at Nico. “I have to adjust the bellows. Nico, didn’t you need a gown change?”

Nico had her arms crossed and shook her head, “I’m only adding a shawl. Ben can help me.”

“Ok.” Maki started stretching the bellows out, changing the angle of the lens while one of the more eager assistants carefully sorted through the clothes on the hanging rack.

“You really do look 16.” Tsubasa, having taking steps to the left, was now back in Nico range and taking the time for a thorough once over, “No wonder no one takes you seriously.”

Nico bit her lip, Maki thought she saw a fist clench on the side of Nico turned away from the conversation. But Nico’s voice was confident and calm, her shrug exquisite, bare shoulders rolling confidently through disdain and dismissal, “Their mistake.”

Tsubasa glanced back to Maki, “Do you mind if I hang around and watch?”

Maki shook her head, frowning, “We need to catch all the natural light we can. And there’s a few stunts I want Nico to do after this batch of poses, so no, I really don’t have the time for company.”

“We really don’t.” Nico repeated, her tone mild, her pose tolerant.

Tsubasa moved in closer to Maki, reaching to caress the photographer’s forearm, “Maybe we can meet for dinner somewhere with a view of the ocean. I’ve missed your perspective on art and music. I’m finishing a new album.”

Maki stood, hands on her hips, glancing quickly at a very still Nico, still biting her lip, eyes staring off to the side, disinterest too obviously a performance choice to be a clue to Nico’s real thoughts. Maki smiled down at Tsubasa, “Thanks for the visit, Tsubasa. Call me if you’re in Chicago and we can catch dinner and a view of Lake Michigan. My treat.”

Tsubasa tried for delighted at the prospect, but her mood had wilted, “It was good to see you, Maki.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss Maki on the cheek. “I’ll send you concert tickets when I tour the Midwest this February.”

“Thanks.” Maki waved, then went immediately back to her camera, ignoring Nico, who chuckled, waved grandly at Tsubasa, and let Ben hand her the shawl.

“Where do you want me, O Unwerth-y one?”

I’m Beginning To See The Light

Maki was surprised. Somehow a Nico who looked so girly and frilly and perfect in pink was also pulling off a disconcertingly dashing level of ‘wow’ with an undone tie, open at the collar linen shirt, black pants, sable hair falling soft and silky below her shoulders, eyes sharp and shrewd. Then came the shots of Nico bold in a hidden, shadowed archway, chains wrapped around Nico’s arms, neck, and torso. They’d started with locks, arrayed as Houdini usually had them, but leaving them off made for a better visual. Nico easily handled the added weight of the chains as she moved, as if she worked with them every day. Then came the water tank, set up in the late afternoon sun in front of the lower entrance to the Clock Tower, lion guardians vigilant.

It had been a long day and the stretches of silence lengthened. There’d been a quick break for lunch, but Nico had been telling entertaining on set stories to the assistants, keeping them amused while Maki ate enough to fuel her for the rest of the day. She’d been happy with the lighting and the poses from the Garbo part of the shoot, Nico alternating between staring aslant the camera with an almost ethereal intensity to challenging the lens with a winsome, smirky smile. Somehow a fishing rod had been briefly involved, which led to snarl when Maki mistook Nico’s intent, thinking she was going to cast in the direction of the camera. No koi were tempted by the shiny lure.

And then they came to the moment. Nico and Maki, standing practically hip to hip, staring at the tank. Nico subdued.

“He really did it, huh?” Nico stared, watching the water move as a breeze blew over the open tank.

“In two minutes. Hanging upside down from stocks. There were tricks, of course.” Maki stared down at Nico, who was still watching the water.

“So I go in, float for a minute to give you time to take that picture and change out the negative, and then drop the chains and push myself out of the water while you take that picture with every camera you have.”

“Exactly.” Maki thought she might have sounded nervous, while Nico just seemed as calm as if she were asking about their dinner plans.

Nico smiled, “You asked for it.” Big inhale, “Take a great picture or Nico will never forgive you.”

Maki nodded, her hand resting briefly on Nico’s shoulder. Nico climbed the step ladder, letting two of the assistants help her reposition the chains and place her in the handcuffs, which were designed, as the shackles for her feet were, to break apart when Nico tugged. Nico sat on the edge of the square, six foot high tank, her feet in the water. Maki was starting to feel a bit dizzy and then she remembered breathing. Nico would have to hold her breath, Maki would have to manage her cameras as best and rapidly as she ever had.

Nico’s eyes, wide and worried, caught her, through the camera, as Maki, dark cloth over her head, focused the cocked lens, and prepared to slide in the film holder and press the cable release. Maki stepped back, letting the fabric fall.

“You okay, Nico? We don’t have to do this.” Maki knelt to check the timer on her digital set up; it would take a flurry of photos once she hit go. No time like now. Maki took a deep breath. Go.

“Nico never disappoints a lady.” Nico winked and blew a kiss that the camera managed to catch.

“Noted.” Maki walked over to the tank, eyes serious, “I’ll give you a signal and once you drop in, I’ll take the pic, then I’ll need about 20 seconds to switch out the film frame. I’ll have to recock the lens. The digital camera will be taking pics the whole time. If you’re having trouble, knock on the tank and we’ll pull you out.”

“Got it.” Nico gave two thumbs up, carefully tilting the handcuffs. Maki thought she caught a shiver. Nico had had her lower legs in the water for a few minutes. Maki racewalked back to the camera, doublechecked the lens, positioned the film frame, and draped the fabric over her head again. As she grabbed the cable release, she shouted, “5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”

Nico dropped into the tank, bending her knees as she hit the bottom, hair and tie buoyant in the water. She stared straight at the camera, determination flaring in her eyes as she yanked apart her bonds, and started to slip out of the chains. Maki took the shot, slide the shutter back in, ripped out the holder and replaced it, raising her hand as a signal. Nico dropped to the bottom again, water and motion distorting her slightly, bent her knees and sprang to the top, arms catching the front of the tank, wiry muscles taut, linen shirt half open and see through and sliding off her shoulders and torso, eyes flaming and defiant, her gaze blasting through the camera to Maki, daring Maki to make a choice as bold as this, shirt plastered against every shivery, exquisite detail of...Maki pulled the shutter open, clicked the release and tried to keep breathing, stunned by the raw energy of this wild, unfiltered moment.

A shaking Nico, shrunken, changed into her own clothes but still drenched, wrapped loosely in a blanket watched from a camping chair as Maki treated the film she was locking away in a light proof case as gently as if it were a kitten. Maki noticed the scrutiny and smiled gently at Nico. “Are you cold?”

“Duh.” Nico sniggered, trying not to cough.

“We’d better warm you up.” Maki reached into her duffle and grabbed her hoodie, wrapping it around Nico as she pulled the smaller woman to her feet. Maki was proud of herself. Her voice didn’t quaver, her hand didn’t shake, and she met Nico’s glance as if there weren’t seismic shocks shuddering through her at what the water had revealed about both of them. Maki did let concern warm her tone and her hands lingered on Nico’s shoulders, settling the hoodie. “They’re nearly finished loading. The tank’ll get picked up tomorrow. Let’s go you find something warm to drink.”

Maki couldn’t sleep. After they got back to the hotel, Nico, with a half hearted jokes about ‘Maki getting Nico so wet,’ had collapsed in her own bed.. Maki had stayed on the couch, transferring digital files from her cameras to her laptop. She wasn’t going to sleep. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ‘til exhaustion overtook the images racing through her mind, reacting with her body. Nico’s appeal, Nico’s strength, Nico’s drive...she’d seen them in their most primitive form today, as much of a shock as when Nico had come out of the water, and Maki realized the tiny...temptation had chosen to leave off the tank top, nipples dark and pressing through the transparent linen, breasts small but...Maki groaned. She had it all on film and filed away digitally, not to mention the indelible images now etched in her mind, right next to the audio of Nico saying “no, Nico is not trying to date or drive you.” Maki wondered how fine the details would be when she saw the exposed film, how much cropping would she need to do, did Nico realize that would happen? Maki closed her eyes, massaging her scalp, knees drawn up to her chest. What could she possibly say to Nico in the morning? How could she possibly sleep when Venus rising from the sea had been replaced with Nico rising from the tank. And did that final shot look as good as Maki hoped it did? She was terrible, truly terrible at suspense. It was another reason she preferred digital photography. Instant gratification. You always knew right away if things turned out the way you planned.

Eli. Maki picked up her phone, and hit “Call.” Eli answered.

“FInd me a darkroom.” Maki demanded, “I’m in LA.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Call someone. Get me a darkroom. I have to know.”

“Maki, what’s goi…” Eli paused, probably reminding herself of Maki’s inarticulateness in the face of inspiration, “You’ll tell me later.”

“Just get me…”

“A darkroom.” Eli sighed. “I’ll call you as soon as I know. Remember to eat.”

Eli knew better than to urge sleep. Now to leave Nico a note. Then head to the darkroom and end the suspense. And avoid an awkward flight home where Maki was too self conscious to look Nico in the eye.

A/N: Howdy. Jazz is still taking over my brain. Much thanks to my buddy @KristynBurtt (and her autocorrect) for the "hideous Houdini mansion" inspiration. If you're interested in dance and/or entertainment news, she's a great resource.Hope this finds you well. Now for lunch and Casual Lunacy progress. Take care!

[sometimesambroswrites]

Prompt(if u r taking them rn): Soulmate!AU where everything Alec or Magnus write on their skin turns up on the others skin and one of them is just writing down where they need to be and the other one tries to find them and idk, do what you want with it:D (I hope u're taking prompts)

Okay, I loved this prompt immensely and if I was healthier I’d probably write a long about it, but this is what I came up with and I hope it’s a bit decent; it’s almost 4k words and it’s probably not exactly what you had in mind, and it’s 2 am so there are definitely a few mistakes that I’ll try to fix tomorrow. I really, really hope you like it! Thanks to @estefra and @johnistheantivirus for beta’ing and insulting me and hitting me.Warning for rating M

You know I’m feeling the same thing

Alec is pissed.

Thiswas all Jace’s fault. And he loves Jace. He does. But bythe Angel ifthat boy doesn’t stop running head first into situations withoutconsulting him first Alec is going to lose his mind. And probably alimb,since his stomach was torn open not two hours ago.

Jacehas, of course, apologized multipletimes,until Alec had to kick him out of his room because he wants to healin peace.

Sonow he’s lying on his back, staring at the ceiling whilethe skin on his arm slowly knits itself backtogether, and he feels exhausted, like healways doeswhen he has to use the iratze multiple times ina row.

Hecloses his eyes, figuring he might as well sleep it off; he’snot hungry anyway.

He’sjust closed his eyes when the skin on his forearm tingles slightly,and he groans, considers for a moment just pretending he didn’t feelit, but he knows that’d be rude; he opens his eyes and looks down athis arm.

Would you mind trying to keepall your limbs attached for at least three days in a row? My skin isruined because of you.

Alec rolls his eyes but reachesfor a pen he always keeps close, just in case.

Sorry my pain inconveniencesyou

He gets to play the guilt card,he does.He’s had a crappy day. He doesn’t bother closing his eyes again, justwatches as the words slowly disappear from his skin.

It doesn’t take long for theanswer to come.

Have you healed yet?

He can almost feelthe slight guilt.

He glances at his injuredstomach.

Not really

He’s not expecting the answer hegets, but he’s not disappointed.

Come over, I’ll help you out.

And, before he can point out howwalking could be a problem,

Making a portal right now.

~

Magnusholds his shirt gently against his stomach as he unwraps the bandagesaround his waist.

-Itdoesn’t look too bad,- he says thoughtfully as he examines the wound,and Alec sighs: -I know. I’m just tired, the iratze isn’t working aswell as it should.

Magnussmiles at him, cat-like as he straightens up: -Well, don’t worry. Weare going to fix you right up.

Hesnaps his fingers and his blue magic starts dancing on the palm ofhis hand, ready to bend at his will; Magnus turns his hand, palm opentowards Alec’s stomach, and the relief he feels is immediate as themagic numbs him and speeds up the healing process, tickling himslightly.

Hecloses his eyes and throws his head back and he’s pretty sure Magnusis smiling at him, deeply self-satisfied.

-Whatever,-he mumbles, and nowhe’sdefinitelysure Magnusis smirking.

-Done,-Magnus says after a few seconds, his magic vanishing like firewithout oxygen, and he pokes Alec in the stomach where the wound hadbeen: -Sore?

Alecdoesn’tyelp. He lets his shirt fall on his skin as he glares at Magnus: -Notat all.

-Verywell,- Magnus turns with a little twirl, his long jacket wrappingaround his legs: -Are you staying for dinner?

Alecrubs his stomach; he always feels a bit weird after Magnus has healedhim: -If it’s not a bother.

Magnuslooks at him over his shoulder, a glint in his eyes: -You know itisn’t. What are you in the mood for?

Alechums: -Pizza on the couch?

Magnuslooks almost offended at the request, but nonetheless he complies,snapping his fingers with a fluid movement on his wrist to make twopizza boxes appear on the table in the living room.

Alecsmiles happily and walkstowards it, slightly wobbly on his legs; Magnus can protest as muchas he wants, Alec knows he enjoys pizza-on-the-couch nights as muchas he does.

Hetakes his own pizza box – pepperoni, thank you very much, none ofthat pineapple nonsense – and sits down on the coach with anappreciative sigh.

Magnusis more gracious about it, snapping his fingers to get some tissuesand plates, and grabs a couple of slices from his own box beforesitting next to Alec, cross-legged.

-So,-he says, biting into his slice, -What happened?

Alecrolls his eyes as he chews; he swallows before answering: -Jacehappened, of course. Went after a Demon by himself, and then itturned out there was actually a dozen of them and we didn’t have timeto call for backup.

Magnushums in acknowledgement as he chews: -That’s the third time in twomonths. I might actually have to charge him for all the times I haveto reattach some parts of your body.

Alecglances at him: -You know that if it’s a problem – -, but Magnuswaves him off before he has a chance to finish: -I’m just jokingaround, Alexander.

Theyeat in silence for a few minutes, and then Magnus clears his throat:-It’s Thursday, you know?

Aleclooks up and away, his ears burning: -Yeah, I know.

-Istill like you,- Magnus says, smiling like he’s teasing him just alittle.

-That’sgood to know,- Alec says, gruffly, biting into his pizza so that hedoesn’t have to say anything else.

Magnusresumes eating, looking satisfied: -Sex after pizza?

Alecalmost chokes: -Yeah,-he says, voice sounding strangled; he clears his throat: -Yeah, whynot.

~

Magnuspushes his hair from his forehead while Alec’s eyes are closed, headthrown back, his fingers slipping uselessly on Magnus’ smooth back, amoan escapes his lips because Magnus is everywhere,on him and inside him and some would say even in his soul, and it’sgood,it’s so good Alec isn’t sure how to keep it all inside his chest.

Hesays: -Kiss me,- and Magnus does, he always does, kisses him deep andslow, matches the timing of his thrusts and Alec feels safe withMagnus’ arms framing his head and Magnus’ fingers tangled in hishair, and he wraps a hand around his own cock, messy anduncoordinated and uncomfortable, and Magnus whispers: -Comeon,-against his lips, and Alec comes with a moan, lips open againstMagnus’ as he stills, shivers wrecking his spine.

Hecan feel Magnus’ smile against his own lips, and he murmurs: -Comeon,-sleepily, his legs wrapped loosely around Magnus’ waist.

~

He’smade it a point to never sleep over.

Magnusis sleeping, back bare against his dark blue sheets, and Alec looksat him for a second only before taking his shoes and walking away.

~

-Isn’tit a bit late to be coming home?

Alecstarts at the voice, and curses when he spots Izzy, who’s sitting onthe couch with her legs tucked under her and her laptop in front ofher.

-Idon’t think so,- he says, whispering just in case anyone else isawake.

Izzyraises her eyebrows, knowingly: -How’s Magnus?- she asks, tonecasual, and Alec bites his tongue. -He’s fine.

Izzyhums: -He’s still okay with your wholeI-won’t-be-in-a-relationship-with-my-soulmate thing?

Alecrolls his eyes: -Not that it’s any of your business,- he says,indignant, -But yes,he is.

Izzylooks sceptical: -Sure he is,- she says, tapping a couple of times onthe keyboard.

-Listen,-Alec growls, turning towards her, -We are both mature enough torealise that a relationship between us would be impossible,so we’re doing the best we can with what we have. Mind your ownbusiness.

Izzyraises her arms, showing him her palms: -I’m just saying, bigbrother. You’re the only person I know who’s actually wastinghissoulmate.

-I’malso the only Shadowhunter who has a Downworlderasa soulmate,- he whispers furiously, -AWarlockontop of that!

Izzyjust rolls her eyes, putting the headphones back into her ears:-Fine. You do you,- she says with a sigh, her eyes already focusingon the screen.

Alecthrows his hands up before walking away.

~

Theskin on his hip is tingling when he wakes up, and he pulls down hispyjama pants; he sees the hickey Magnus sucked into his skin beforehe sees what he’s written.

Goodnight

Aleccloses his eyes and throws his head back onto the pillow.

~

Jaceis the one who finds him in the gym; he leans his weight on the dooras he takes him in, his eyebrows furrowed in a slightly worriedexpression: -You stay at Magnus’ last night?

Alecpunches harder: -What thehell,-he says, a punch between every two words, -is up with everyonetoday?- he stops the punching bag with his hand, turns to look atJace: -Yes,I stayed at Magnus’ last night. He helped with the wound youwerepartially responsible for and we had dinner, that’s all.

Jaceflinches and Alec feels only a bit guilty.

-Iwas just asking,- Jace mumbles, -Plus, I was looking for you. We havea mission.

Alecretrieves his hoodie and his bottle of water: -What mission?- he asksas he uncaps it.

-Youknow those Demons I was going after yesterday?

Aleclooks at him and then, pointedly, at his own stomach.

Jacerolls his eyes: -Yes, well, they weren’t normal Demons. Apparently aWarlock is trying to create some kind of Vampire-slash-Demon hybrid.Clary and Izzy have already narrowed it down to three Warlocks, wehave to search the City and find them.

-Great,-Alec says, dryly, throwing the towel over his shoulder.

Jacepats him on the back.

~

Heimmediately spots him in the crowd – he’s pretty sure it’s gotsomething to do with their bond, how he can pick him out so easily,but, for the first time since he’s found out Magnus is his soulmate,he wishes it weren’t so easy.

Hefreezes.

Magnus’arms are wrapped around some Seelie’s waist, the Seelie’s armswrapped around Magnus’ neck, and they are dancing and they are close,so close Alec feels like he can’t breathe, their noses are almosttouching and Magnus is wearing his amused smirk and Alec is going tobe sick,he turns on his heels and pushes his way out of the Pandemonium, Jacecalling his name behind him.

Hetakes a deep breath as soon as he’s outside, the cold air soothingagainst his skin as the tries not to panic, his muscles rigid withthe effort to keep himself from shaking.

Hecan feelthemoment Magnus walks out the door, Jace following right behind him.

Redfury starts climbing its way up his throat; he turns toward him,fists so tight they almost hurt against his thighs: -What was that?-he asks, pointing at the club, and Magnus stops in his steps, worriedexpression turning hard.

Jacetakes a step back.

-Whatdo you mean?- Magnus asks, and the way he holds himself so calm andcomposed makes Alec’s hands tremble.

-Theway you were – dancingwiththat Seelie.

Magnus’back becomes unnaturally rigid: -I was having fun, Alexander,- hesays, sounding almost annoyed, -I didn’t know it was prohibited.

-Sure,-Alec says, a cruel grin curling his lips, -If that’s the way youusually havefun,-mocking, -We should probably start using condoms,-he growls like he’s throwing it against him.

Jacetakes another step back as he grimaces.

Acold fury takes over Magnus’ features: -YouidiotNephilim,-he says, voice clear and hard, -How dareyou?Should I remind you that you are the one who said this,-he moves his hand between them, -Shouldn’t be exclusive?-,he says the word like it’s the most stupid thing he’s ever heard.

Alecpresses his lips together, and he – he suddenly recognises thatit’s not anger that’s painfully twisting his stomach. It’s jealousy.

-Butthat doesn’t mean – - he tries, but he sounds weaker and Magnustakes a step forward, implacable: -That’s exactlywhatit means,- he says, and his eyes are unforgiving as they dig deepinto Alec’s: -You think it didn’t hurt?- he asks, low, -You think itdidn’t tear my world down when you said you didn’t wantthis?

-Inever said I didn’t want this,- Alec says, jealousy turning intodesperation so quickly it leaves him with a hole in his chest, -It’sjust – complicated.

-Oh,but sleeping with me isn’t complicated at all, is it?- Magnus asks, acold smile on his lips, -Or asking for my help. It’s only beingwithme that’s complicated.

-Youknow that’s not the way it is,- Alec says, urgency pushing him totake a step forward to make sure Magnus doesn’t slip away from hisfingers, -You knowthatI’m just – I just –

-Youwhat?

-I’mterrified,-Alec snaps, flinching at his own admission as he looks down, -We –I don’t know how wecouldwork!

-Iknow exactlyhow wecould work,-Magnus says, -You could stop letting your cowardiceholdyou back and you could believe that Imightbe worth it, but until you do that, don’t you dare,-his voice shakes, -Don’t you dare accuse meofsleeping with someone else when I’ve been trying to tell you that I’min love with you once a week for three months.

Hetakes a step back and Alec feels like he can’t move at all. He staresat Magnus, eyes wide, and he feels like he’s bleeding somewhere.

Magnus’eyes are hurt when he says: -I think you have work to do,- beforedisappearing into the alley behind the Pandemonium.

Alecstands still, bats his eyelashes furiously until he realises he’scrying.

~

Izzyand Clary buy ice-cream, Jace buys Chinese and Alec just stays curledup on the couch.

-Well,-Clary says, glancing hesitantly at him, -It’s – I mean, it’s not sobad, is it? I mean, you love him too, you just have to tell him.

Alecstares at her.

Izzyrolls her eyes: -Please, please,tell me you’d figured it out on your own.

-I– don’t think he had,- Jace says, picking up his noodle soup.

Izzythrows her arms up in defeat: -Alec,-she says, frustration clear in her voice.

-Whatmakes you think that I’m in love with him?- Alec croaks, looking atClary because she probablywon’tinsult him.

Claryclears her throat: -Well, it’s pretty obvious,- she says, turning itinto almost a question, -I mean, you always look for him when youfeel down or when you’re hurt or when you’re happy,- she offers him asmall smile: -You kind of use a lot of excuses to go see him.

-Andyou’reconstantly talking about him,- Jace adds, stealing Clary’s spoon ofice-cream. Clary makes a face at him.

-Andyou’re absolutely terrifiedofscrewing things up,- Izzy adds, like she’s already done with theconversation, -Which makes you an idiot for not trying anyway, by theway.

Alecglares at her, but it’s a weak thing. -But he’s – he’s aDownworlder. He’s immortal.

Allthree of them raise their eyebrows. -So what?- Clary asks.

-Youknow how my parents would react if we were in an actualrelationship!- Alec protests, -And I just – I don’t want to –hurthim.He’s – he’ll get another soulmate.

Izzyrolls her eyes: -Sure, because mum and dad are looking for a wife foryou right now because you’d definitelymarryin a heartbeat for duty,it wouldn’t bother you atall.

-Plus,-Jace adds, returning to his noodle soup, -I think Magnus can decidefor himself what he wants.

-Hedoesn’t wantme,-Alec says, rolling his eyes because he hopes it’ll hide how muchadmitting it out loud is hurting him, -It’s just – the soulmatesthing, we’re not – we’re not rightforeach other.

There’salmost a minute of silence before Izzy kneels on the carpet in frontof him and forces him to look her in the eyes: -Alec,- she says, andnow she sounds like she understands a bit better, -There is nothing,nothing,Magnus wouldn’t do for you,- she says, softly, -He’s inlove withyou and it’s not just the soulmatesthing.He’s fallen in love with you when he thought you wouldn’t want him.Of course he wants you,- a small smile curls her lips, -He isyoursoulmate, after all.

Alecblinks, andit comes to him slowly: -Oh.

-Yup,-Jace comments.

Alecstarts franticly searching his pockets for a pen: -I have to tellhim, I – -, but then he feels the skin on his arm tingle and heimmediately pulls up his sleeve.

Hisblood runs cold in his veins when he reads the one word on his skin.

Help

~

Heruns so fast the muscles in his legs start to ache even with therunes burning his skin, and he’s breathless when he reaches the smallalley he feels Magnus is in, Jace, Clary and Izzy a few steps behindhim, and his blood runs cold when he sees Magnus trying to hold backwhat looks like a few dozens of Demons with his magic, feels his ownskin burn where Magnus’ is torn.

Hejumps forward without thinking, Magnus’ magic letting him through,and he drives one of his arrows into the throat of a Demon beforeshooting it into another Demon’s calf,Jace right behind him to finish it with his sword, Izzy’s whipbringing down two more, and then Alec loses count.

Hekeeps as close to Magnus as he can, Demons coming from everywherearoundthem, one always ready to take the place of the one they kill, andAlec’s only driving thought as he ducks and lounges forward is Ineed to tell him, I need to tell him, I need to tell him.

It’sfast, too fast, Alec barely has time to breathe as he pushes andpushes and pushes,his sword feeling heavy in his arms, the smell of overused magicfilling the heavy air, but suddenly the Demons are parting, growlingand spitting, and a man walks between them, and Alec barely registershis presence before he’s raising his hand, black magic running fromhis fingers towards Magnus, where itshatters against a barrier with a deafening noise, and then it startsagain.

Aleckeeps glancing at Magnus, Demons dropping around him, and he’s tired,Aleccan tell he’s tired and he just needs to goto him,and –

Ablinding pain explodes in his side and Alec almost falls on hisknees, but it’s not him, it’s not him,he’s not hurt, which means –

Heturns towards Magnus, heart running so fast in his chest it hurts,and a raw scream leaves his lips  when he sees him kneeling on theground, a hand pressed against his own side, the other Warlock on theground in front of him: -MAGNUS!

Ademon tries to attack him but Alec stabs it in the chest and runsforwards – he hadn’t even realised how far away from Magnus thefighting had gotten him – and he thinks nono no no, I need to tell you, you need to know –

Hefalls to his knees beside him, his sword hitting the asphalt as hecatches Magnus before he falls: -Magnus, Magnus, please, please–

Magnusblinks slowly at him; he smiles: -I knew you would come,- he says,but it sounds like it causes him pain to talk, and Alec shakes hishead as tears fall from his eyes: -Please, pleaseMagnusI was an idiot, I need – I need to tell you, please–

Magnusshushes him gently, his eyes almost closed: -Stupid Nephilim,- hemurmurs, but he sounds fond.

-Please,please,I love you, Magnus, Ilove you,-he says, and his voice breaks but it has to be worth something, itcan’t just be.

Magnuscloses his eyes: -I know,- he murmurs, -I was waiting for you tocatch up.

-No,no,no, no, no,- Alecbrushes his hair from his forehead but Magnus’ eyes stay closed andAlec doesn’t know if he’s breathing, he presses his forehead againstMagnus’ and everything inside him is quacking,-You need to be okay,- he whispers, a salty taste on his tongue ashis tears reach his lips, -Please, please–

Andhe thinks thiscan’t be useless, it can’t – this isn’t fair,the knowledge of it, deep in his bones, exploding in his chest as hejust pushesbecause–

Itcan’t be useless.

Andsuddenly he feels like every drop of energy is being sucked out ofhim and he sways on his knees, tightens his hold on Magnus’ shouldersand he blinks, trying to focus, and he sees Magnus’ magic pooling inhis wound, and he understands – it’s him, his energy.

Hepushes harder, heart beating slower, buthe doesn’t –

hecan’t –

stop.

~

Heblinks slowly, the light hitting his eyes brighter than he’d like.

Someonepunches him in the shoulder.

-Ow,-he protests, turns his head on the pillow he hadn’t realised he’slaying on, but what he sees takes his breath away.

-Magnus,-he whispers, relief flooding his chest, but Magnus glaresathim: -You stupidNephilim,-he says, flailing, -You could have – -

ButAlec doesn’t care, he doesn’t care about anything, he wraps his handaround Magnus’ wrist and pulls him down, interrupting himmid-sentence, pulls until he can bury his fingers in his hair, hislips in his throat.

-Ilove you,- he says, over and over, because now he can tell him and hedoesn’t care if Magnus will tell him to go to Hell, -I’m sorry I wasan idiot. I was – scared and immature and insanely jealous and itwon’t happen again and I love you. I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m so –

Butthen Magnus is kissing his lips, short and soft and gentle. -I know,-he says, his make-up smudged under his eyes as he chuckles, -And youwere a bit of an idiot.

Aweak chuckle tumbles out of Alec’s lips, leaving his eyes damp.

-But,-Magnus says, the tip of his nose against Alec’s, -You didalmostdie to save my life.

-Howcould I not,- Alec says, breathless as he looks into his eyes, -Youare my soulmate. And I’m in love with you.

Magnuscloses his eyes as he presses his forehead against Alec’s; hemurmurs: -As far as apologies go, this one is pretty damn decent.

[jeremystrele]

Times Like These…With Melissa Leong, Host Of Masterchef Australia

Times Like These…With Melissa Leong, Host Of Masterchef Australia

Times Like These

by Sally Tabart

Melissa cat Ghost at home. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Melissa Leong, the newest and most dazzling host of Masterchef Australia. Photo – Amelia Stanwix.

Mel and her husband Joe have been cooking a lot, often making double to give to friends going through tough times. Photo – Amelia Stanwix and Melissa Leong.

A lot has changed for writer and broadcaster Melissa Leong since we first featured her on The Design Files almost a year ago. Back then, she’d only recently moved to Melbourne from Sydney, and was working as a host on The Chef’s Line on SBS, as well as freelance writing and consulting for a wide variety of different publications. Fast forward to only a couple of weeks ago, where Mel burst onto TV screens across the country, as Masterchef Australia’s eagerly anticipated new host and judge – and the first woman in this role. And it all went down right in the thick of COVID-19 panic.

There are few people in Australia more connected to the restaurant and hospitality industry than Mel, and this time of massive excitement for Mel has been tinged with a bit of heartbreak, as she has watched so many of her friends’ and colleagues’ careers and businesses left decimated in the wake of COVID-19. But Mel is not one to keep quiet about the things she cares about. Her energy is infectious, and right now she is doing everything in her power to draw attention to and support the hospitality industry through this challenging time.

This has been such a massive time for you personally, with the lead up to this new season of Masterchef compounded with COVID-19 hitting – how are you feeling about it all?

It was such a bizarre thing to watch the world go into lockdown while we were trying to stay focused on this very big next chapter, but I think being a freelancer for over a decade has set me up to deal with the unexpected. You just don’t know what’s going to happen around the corner all the time, so you end up becoming very grateful for the good things, more accepting of when things don’t go according to plan, and being a bit more flexible about life in general.

So, as much as there have been some very unexpected and quite significant things going on in 2020, being well practised at rolling with the punches has definitely helped.

It is weirdly kind of a perfect time for Masterchef to be beamed into the homes of Australians, when they are looking for cooking inspiration, and entertainment, and a sense of ‘normality’. Has isolation made people more engaged, in a way?

For everything to just shut down in the hospitality world means that people don’t have the benefit of just being able to go and meet their friends at a restaurant and have a big night out or enjoy a wonderful meal.

So yes, we now all need to cook more, do more with less, and not waste food. That was already a growing theme in the food space and in the world in general, learning to be a bit more responsible with food, how to get the most out of it, how to compost edible waste and how to be better as humans.

So this situation, as undesirable as it is, and as sad as it’s been, the good thing to come out of it is being grateful for what we have, and learning to be more responsible and resourceful just as humans in general, but especially when it comes to cooking.

What has struck you the most about the way that the restaurant and hospitality industry has dealt with this?

The one thing we know about our hospitality industry is that it is made up of the most resilient, hardworking, wholehearted people. And so what happens in a crisis is that we band together. We do our best to support each other.

I feel for so many people in the industry, because they’re used to working huge hours and being very focused on their business, and all of a sudden that has had to stop, but what it’s also shown us is everyone’s remarkable ability to think laterally and be creative to keep their businesses alive. Whether that’s through creating groups to lobby the government, to be able to help staff survive financially, or even turning to create at-home experiences for people to be able to eat food from their favourite restaurants. It’s about that celebration of hard work and resilience, and a real sense of community.

So what are your work days looking like at the moment, are you still filming Masterchef?

Yes, we’re still filming. We’re very grateful to have the opportunity to film this season until the very end. It would have sucked if we had to stop halfway through but at the same time, if that’s what we needed to do to keep our friends and family and communities safe and be responsible, then that’s what we would do. But as it stands today, we’re still filming.

Obviously this has meant a lot of changes on set, so social distancing and hygiene are huge. Being a food television show, hygiene is at the top of everyone’s consideration all the time anyway, but there have been even more extensive practices put into place to ensure that everyone is safe and healthy when we film the show.

You’ll see on the show a change in the visuals at the point where COVID-19 hits, because we can no longer high five and hug each other, and stand next to each other as closely as we would normally. And that’s an extra challenge for us to connect with people through our words. There’s definitely more of an emotionally charged state, because physical proximity has played such a huge part in what we do, but we’ve had to be able to change that in order to continue.

We film 3-4 days a week, and normally have a day or so in between to rest in order to be fully present and have that conveyed onto camera. Regardless of what you do for work, rest needs to be a huge part of the equation.

What have you been doing to rest, find comfort and stay sane?

Exercise is really important to me, and it’s a huge part of my rest and recuperation. Over the years of travelling a lot I’ve collected a bunch of workouts that I can do in small spaces, so I continue to work out at home. And sleep is massive – I’ve battled with insomnia from time to time through the years, so I take sleep whenever I can get it. My call time is usually around 5.45am and so I’m in bed as early as I can be. 

What about Joe [Melissa’s husband Joe Jones is the co-owner of ROMEO LANE cocktail bar in Melbourne’s CBD] – how has he been dealing with it all? 

One of the surprising things to come out of this is cocktail delivery at Romeo Lane, which has become a huge thing! A lot of people have really loved what they do, so Joe makes cocktails to order. They’re vacuum sealed and delivered to people’s home with instructions and a little paper doily and a candle to recreate the whole Romeo Lane beautiful intimate feeling. I think is really gorgeous and very considered.

I’m not going to lie, I’m very grateful to be in iso with a chef who is also a bartender – it doesn’t suck.

What have you guys been making?

What we’ve been doing once or twice a week is making double of what we’re eating and dropping it off to someone. Yesterday it was a huge eggplant lasagne, so we had that for dinner and also dropped it off to a friend of ours who is not doing so well at the moment. Last weekend I made a huge dish of Hainanese chicken rice for a friend who has just lost their Dad. Cooking isn’t just for us, but it’s also a way of being able to be connected to our friends still by feeding them.

I’m very lucky to be working on a show like Masterchef with a low waste policy. Not a lot of people know about the sustainability aspect of Masterchef Australia, it’s a huge part of what we do every day. We have closed-loop composting and we work with Second Bite, so there is no waste. Nothing gets thrown away that could have another life. So some of the produce is also distributed to cast and crew as well, we donate money to charity and then we can kind of go shopping at work every so often.

I didn’t know that about Masterchef, it’s great to hear that sustainability is such a priority behind-the-scenes.

We have a full-time sustainability officer who works on the show, so a lot of the waste that can’t be rescued for hygiene reasons ends up going into the closed-loop organic system.

What happens is that it gets ground down and cooked into compost, and that goes back into the gardens at Masterchef because that’s a huge part of the show, the fact that we grow fruits and vegetables and herbs that the contestants can use. Everything has a place and even just things like packaging, the choices that are made are highly considered and very much mindful about minimising waste.

My only note on my rider is no single-use plastic – I don’t care what’s for lunch, as long as there is no single-use plastic. We are all very committed to making sure you do the responsible thing. It’s about setting an example.

What are you hopeful will emerge from this time?

I hope that we all are a lot more grateful for who ends up being able to service us and take care of us in a hospitality capacity later on.

I predict that we will emerge from this hopefully better connected as a community, that we will be a bit more grateful for the small things that are good in life.

We live in a very fast-paced world that has literally forced us to slow down and examine who we are, and how we live our lives. So I feel like this time of reflection will allow us to be a little more considerate and grateful for all the good things, and hopefully learn to take care of each other and especially the more vulnerable part of communities that really need us.

This is a time to show each other the best of ourselves, and not to be paranoid about our fellow humans.

Catch Mel on Masterchef Australia Sunday – Thursday at 7.30pm on Network 10, and catch up on all the episodes on 10Play. 

[aresaphrodites]

Wicked Games: A Bughead Fanfic. Chapter One.

Summary: 

She’s the world’s most famous supermodel. This comes with a stalker who proves to be more dangerous than she ever imagined and a 24-hour bodyguard who’s as serious as he is handsome. In a world where she no longer feels safe, Betty Cooper fights to get her life back and discovers all the things she had been missing along the way.

To B.C. I Still Love You is ending soon so I thought up this little gem. I hope ya’ll like it. :)

Here’s the story on my AO3.

You’ve heard those stories about celebrities who have been killed by their crazy stalker fans. It’s pretty rare, but it does happen. There are always going to be fans who tend to get a little too obsessive, a little too attached. Sometimes it’s fine. Sometimes this just means that they write you letters every single day or send you packages with used condoms or something just as equally disgusting. It wasn’t exactly an ideal situation, but it was to be expected when you were famous. It was something you were made aware of beforehand.

Betty Cooper’s situation started with a letter.

She was used to getting a lot of fan mail. It was the entire reason that she opened up a P.O. box. Being a widely sought after model would do things for your popularity, believe it or not. She never expected that she’d end up on a shitty informercial, so the fact that she was on the cover of fashion magazines like Vogue, Cosmo, Glamour, and Elle was kind of insane to her. Insane but very welcomed.

She was used to the letters that she’d get in the mail about how much she was adored, if she could please follow a fan on Twitter, if she could check out someone’s Instagram page. She was used to people writing her and telling her about how she gave them the confidence to go out and do what they loved, how she saved them. Those were the things that she loved. She loved knowing that she could help people out in the world. She wasn’t exactly sure what she did to help them out exactly, but she wasn’t complaining. If she helped people reach their goals then she was happy.

It wasn’t all nice, though. She’d also get quite a bit of hate mail. Her manager was good about tossing it out before she could read it, but sometimes a few snuck by and every time it was just as hard to read as the first time. Letters screaming at her for posing naked on magazine covers (even though she always covered herself), calling her a whore and slut and every other imaginable name possible. Telling her to find God and ask him for forgiveness for her sinful acts. She didn’t understand those people. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. It was her job, her passion. She tried to ignore their words, but you can only get called a “gold digging home wrecker” so many times before it started to mess with your head. She knew it was dumb. She didn’t understand how she was a gold digger. She had her own money and plenty of it. She also wasn’t a home wrecker, she hadn’t even seriously dated anyone since she started modeling and definitely not anyone who was married, but she guessed it didn’t matter. People would think what they liked to think.

Then the other letters started coming in.

The first one was right after she started casually dating NFL football star Reggie Mantle. It wasn’t anything serious at all, hardly even a relationship. They’d mainly been on a few dates for publicity because their managers said they were an attractive couple. Betty went along with it. Reggie was a nice guy, funny, and really good at keeping up a conversation. It also definitely helped that he was super handsome. But that’s all it was, just casual dating. They never even kissed.

That didn’t matter though.

Some paparazzi got a picture of them walking around Beverly Hills while eating ice-cream. It was an innocent picture, nothing romantic about it at all except for the headline that was printed all over every news tablet that mattered.

NFL HEARTTHROB REGGIE MANTLE STEPS OUT WITH MODEL GIRLFRIEND BETTY COOPER.

She could never really get over how the media was able to twist things so quickly, but she didn’t make a fuss about it. She knew this would likely happen when she agreed to the date. It was business.

Her manager dropped off her mail to her on a Thursday morning.

She didn’t actually open any of it until that Saturday night. She’d been swamped with shoots and she was looking forward to having a glass of wine and reading through her mail. Sometimes she wished she had just thrown it all away.

The first few letters were the basic fan appreciation stuff and she smiled at the sweetness in them. She smiled as a girl wrote to her about her week and how her crush had asked her out. She laughed at a story that a guy told her about a first date gone wrong. This was a way that she loved to connect with her fans. It was refreshing.

Throughout all of the mail, one stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was a black envelope. She’d never seen a black envelope before and she was immediately interested in its contents. It looked like every other envelope in her lap, but for some reason something felt really sinister about it.

Now she wishes she never opened it.

Inside of it was a cut out of a magazine cover that had her and Reggie on it. Someone had crossed out Reggie’s face with what she had assumed was a dull reddish marker. However as she looked closer she realized it wasn’t marker at all.

It was blood.

“Oh, my god,” she gasped, dropping the letter immediately.

With shaky hands she called her manager and begged her to come over immediately.

They spent the new few days trying to find out who had sent her the letter but it was no use. There was no return address.

She didn’t understand why she was so bothered by the whole thing. She was sure that it had to have been something that celebrities went through. She knew that fans could get possessive of their idols, but this just felt different. It felt wrong and really fucked up.

When there was nothing left to examine and no further leads on who could have sent it to her, her team was forced to let the whole thing go. Luckily things ended up dying down. For a while at least.

The next time, it was after a rather seductive photoshoot with another male model. She posed with male models quite often, it was part of her job and it didn’t bother her. They were usually guys that she met on the very day of the photoshoot and then she never talked to them again.

The package was dropped off on the front steps of her apartment in Los Angeles. The only time a package was ever delivered to her doorstep was when it was a personal one from family members or close friends. The doorman knew this and so she thought nothing of it.

She went into her apartment and placed the package on top of the island in her kitchen. She opened the package and pulled out the first thing she saw, which was a letter. It didn’t say anything on it except for a quote from the Bible.

Deuteronomy 22:22: “If a man is found lying with a married woman, then both of them shall die, the man who lay with the woman, and the woman…”

The quote sent chills down her spine. She didn’t understand it at all. Who was married? Was this even meant for her? And who the hell would send this to her that was a close friend or family member?

She reached into the package again and her hand enclosed over a hard, cold handle. With a shaky breath, and a racing heart, she pulled the object out and immediately started to scream.

In her hands was a knife, but that wasn’t the worst part. The blade was covered in dried blood. She threw the knife to the ground, knowing somehow that this was sent by the same person who had sent her the picture of her and Reggie.

Thirty minutes later, her manager was yelling at the front desk worker for not knowing how someone could sneak past him without his knowing. The police were trying to find any surveillance of who could have dropped off the package, but whoever it was, they were good. They knew where not to step in order to avoid cameras. It made her wonder just how often they frequented her building. The blood ended up being identified as an animal’s and she didn’t know if the thought was comforting or even more frightening.

“We will find out who’s behind this, Miss Cooper,” one of the officer’s told her.

“What if you don’t?” She whispered back from where she sat curled up on her recliner in the living room. She didn’t feel safe anymore. Her apartment was an open space, full of ceiling-to-floor windows. The blinds were closed on all of them now, but she wondered just how many times this person had looked through her windows and seen into her apartment; had seen her changing, doing the dishes, cleaning. Had they known her daily routines?

“We will. I promise.”

It’s an empty promise and that night she dreams of knives and hooded figures.

The third and more recent time it happens is the most random.

Nothing provokes it this time, at least nothing that she’s aware of. She’s been taking a bit of time off, but she knows she can’t do that forever. She needs to get back out there soon. She’s spent the few weeks off of time with her best friend and Academy Award winner, Veronica Lodge. She doesn’t feel safe at her own place anymore and Veronica offers to let her stay at her house for as long as she needs.

It happens when Veronica’s at dinner with her boyfriend.

Betty is doing laps in the large indoor swimming pool. Swimming calms her and eases her nerves that never seem to go away these days. She’s all by herself, but she doesn’t worry. Veronica lives in a gated community and it makes her feel safe.

The doorbell rings, loud throughout the entire house, and Betty jumps up in surprise. She feels panicked for a moment before she remembers where she is. Veronica always has random people showing up to her house. It’s probably just her agent or one of her friends, so Betty doesn’t think much of it whenever she gets out of the pool and covers herself in her robe before making her way to the front door.

She’s both uneasy and wary when she opens the door and sees that no one’s there. She heard the doorbell ring, she knows she did. She looks around, but it isn’t until she looks down that she sees a small rectangular box on the doormat. She picks it up and gulps as she sees that it’s her name written across the box.

She considers chucking it in the garbage, but remembers where she is. There’s no way her creepy stalker was able to figure out where she’s been staying or where Veronica lives.

She closes the door and locks it before going to sit in front of Veronica’s fireplace. She opens the box and this time, when she sees the contents inside of it, she doesn’t scream.

It’s full of pictures of her. Not just any kind of pictures though; it’s full of pictures of herself that she’s never seen before.

Pictures of her walking around Los Angeles by herself and with friends. Pictures of her inside of her apartment building that were clearly taken from outside. Pictures of her showing up to Veronica’s house. Pictures of her from a year ago when she had just gotten her haircut for a shoot. Pictures of her naked in her bedroom. They were all pictures of her that no person should have had.

She isn’t aware that she’s silently crying until a tear falls onto the picture of herself that she’s holding.

There’s a small card at the bottom of the box and she pulls it out.

No matter where you go, I’m always right there with you. I hope you enjoyed your swim. xx

Veronica comes home from her date to cop cars outside of her house. Her and her longtime boyfriend, Archie Andrews, rush inside; both scared of what they might find.

“What the hell is going on?” She shouts, unnerved.

“Miss Lodge, do you have anywhere safe you can go?” A cop asks her, trying to calm her down.

“Excuse me?” She bites. “What are you doing in my house?”

“Ronnie,” Archie says as he taps her shoulder and points to the right.

There, in the corner of the room, is Betty standing pale as if she’d just seen death itself. Her eyes are blank and it looks as if she’s staring right through the wall.

“Betty?” Veronica asks as she goes up to her best friend. “What happened?”

“Miss Lodge,” another police officer asks her, “have you seen anyone suspicious around lately? Maybe someone who you’ve never seen before that you’ve suddenly noticed? A person who you seem to see everywhere you go now?”

“What? No. No, why?”

Betty lifts up her hand and hands Veronica whatever it was that she had been holding.

It’s a photo. It’s a photo of Veronica and Archie alone at dinner tonight.

“What the hell is this?” She asks, voice shaky.

“Turn it around,” Betty whispers.

There, written on the back of the picture, are two sentences. It’s just two sentences but it’s enough to make Veronica’s entire body go cold.

It’d be so easy for me to get to you, lonely one. Sleep well.

[jenbrookmodel]

Philomena

Have you ever heard a story that sounds somewhat familiar? A story that could easily be your own? A few weeks ago, I read Kirsty Mitchell’s recent blog; a chapter of history repetition, in a way that couldn’t be made up. From the healing journey of grief, that we’ve followed throughout Wonderland, to the unexpected tale of breast cancer coming for her too. 

I read her story with wide eyes and a dry mouth. Not three weeks earlier, I’d discovered a breast lump all of my own. 

At a regular pill check previous to this, I’d mentioned the unusual mass to the doctor in passing. “Worry not, hen” reassuringly she had said “tethered lumps are nay to be concerned aboot”. As I very much reside in the headspace that there’s ‘nowt worth worrying for, unless there’s reason’, I saw myself out, feeling satisfied. 

As I read Kirsty’s story, top to bottom and back to the top over again, I commented about my own lumpy friend. “Go back” said Kirsty. “They told me that and I’ve had cancer. Go back and make them check it again”. 

Still convinced they’d give me the same spiel, I hurried not, back to the surgery. However, January 4th finally came near; the closest date I’d been able to get an appointment. I removed my coat, my top and my bra...one of the few winter days I was only 3 layers thick. I lay on the cold plastic covering of the consultation bed protected by a sliver of ripped paper I’d torn. She raised my arm above my head and pushed her hard palm against me in all positions. 

“Well, I know what you mean. I can certainly feel it. Who was the person who told you to leave it?” The grape sized ball that had made its home in my boob, was standing proud and present as I’d told her. She agreed to leave it a week in case it went. However I was a little confused as to why my previous mentioning had not even been noted. 

One week later: she rang me. “Hello Jennifer, is the lump still there?”. I was at work and hadn’t really thought about it. In the office toilets with my hand up my top, I searched for the pesky rogue of my problems. Yep. Still there. Still proud and present. “I’m going to give it one more week...it could very well be a hormonal swelling and we have to acknowledge all possibilities before forwarding this on. You understand that, don’t you?” Not wanting to question the authority of a person in the know, I marked one week in my calendar for a repeat conversation. 

Four days passed...five days passed. I’d admit it was starting to play on my mind. I wasn’t worried and certainly not held back, as I continued to work all day and plan Walter’s Wardrobe by night, setting up venue visits each weekend. Six days passed. 

Wednesday 2:40pm...*ring ring* 

Damn. I was caught in a meeting.

3pm: meeting ended. Voicemail left. 

“Hello Jennifer, this is Dr Anyan. I tried to contact you today to follow up our discussion as agreed. Unfortunately the surgery is now closed. However, I will call you back first thing tomorrow morning.”

I couldn’t believe I missed the call, having sat and stared at the damn phone all morning. Oh well, one more sleep isn’t going to grow it any bigger...is it? 

Thursday 19th January 2017, 8:31am, the phone rang. The lump was still there and the word had been given. Within two hours, the NHS referral line rang with my appointment for the following Wednesday. All systems a go, the wheels were in motion. It was happening. 

Fast forward to Wednesday (25/1/17), where I mentally began this blog from another cold plastic bed and another paper cover that I’d torn. I was at Manchester Hospital, having parked in the only space for miles around and been handed a parking ticket by a kind soul with two hours left on the meter. “That was lucky” I thought, “I’m feeling lucky”. 

Five professionals, three examinations, an ultrasound, a Brucey bonus additional lump discovered and one needle aspiration later, I was on my way home feeling slightly thrown by the unexpected need to take a cell sample. But I arrived back at my car with one minute left to spare...it was definitely a lucky kind of day. 

I was told that I would recieve word of the results within a week and suddenly I was feeling lesser levelled, as I once was before. I was snappy and grumpy and frustrated with life. There was no point in the gym, if i was going to die anyway. It sounds so dramatic, but these are the thoughts that passed through my head - more erratic, less tolerant, unnerved. 

Thursday passed. Friday passed. Saturday I sobbed into my boyfriends bobbly brown jumper for the first time, as a Disney advert interrupted our tea - asking him if I’d make it to our booked and paid for summer holiday, or if I’d be bald at home, clinging on. There was nothing he could say to console me as I remembered the woman sat next to me in the waiting room with yellow skin, black eyes and a headscarf. He was scared, as much as I was. 

I spent seven hours on the road for Walter’s Wardrobe this weekend. Through all of the stress and denial that I could possibly be ill, I’d continued to work on my passion. The next venue was a necessity for the upcoming event. Perhaps, subconsciously, my brain knew I’d be ok. I travelled to three locations, in search of the perfect place with just the radio to keep my mind company. 

Today: Monday morning. I checked our external mailbox three times or more. There was no sign of the postie coming for me. So I rang the surgery. Forty eight hours longer was too much of a wait. I’d rather go to the gym tomorrow feeling healthy. 

The receptionist informed me that the results had arrived. “The doctor will ring shortly Miss Brook, he’ll discuss it all with you then. It’s important that you keep your phone with you. Ok?” 

“F*CK” I thought. I was really in bollocks valley now. What results needed to be discussed over the phone that can’t wait for the post? This was exactly what Kirsty’s story had said! With her blog entitled ‘In my Mother’s Shoes’...I was tip toeing dangerously close to her clogs. 

12pm passed, 2pm passed...even 4:40pm had passed when I cracked. I rang back to say I’d been waiting for 7 hours and I needed to know. I just needed to know if I had cancer! Having waited all day for the call to come, at 6:25pm, twenty five long minutes after closing time, the phone finally rang. 

After an initial outburst in response to his “can I help you?”, I said I was told he had results for me. Despite being originally unaware of exactly what he was calling for, it turned out he had access to the hospital’s notes. “I’m pleased to tell you it’s a fibroadenoma. From the sample they’ve taken, it’s a non-cancerous....” - I’d heard all I needed to. Philomena. It’s a Philomena. Thank the sodding Lord for bloody benign Philomena!!!! 

So there we have it. My story isn’t someone else’s; it doesn’t have to be. MY story has concluded with an alternate ending...and I’m ok. I have to go back to the hospital in six months time, but until then, there’s nothing more left for me to do. I have so much empathy tonight, for those who aren’t so lucky, because my goodness, I SO want to live. 

Who’d have thought these tiny tata’s that barely fill an A-cup, would have the power to cause such drama. A lesson to be learned for the future and a whole lorra thankfulness to follow...THANK YOU life, for letting me be a lucky one. 

** Follow me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/jenbrookmodelling and Instagram @jen_brook_ & my website www.jenbrook.com **

[carasueachterberg]

Health is sacred. We are all realizing this as we struggle together against a virus we can’t see.

I’m also realizing this as I care for our foster dogs this week. Siobhan is handling heartworm treatment beautifully so far, but I will not say she is out of the woods because I am still learning the hard way that we cannot take anything for granted when it comes to these amazing, yet fragile animals.

We lost one of our puppies on Sunday night. Ever since last Thursday, things have been tough in the puppy pen. Every litter we bring up from the shelters comes with mysteries hidden inside those beautiful faces. Mia quite definitely didn’t have any quality prenatal care. Abandoned because she was pregnant or abandoned and then becoming pregnant, I’ll never know. What I do know is that she is not in the best of health. She is bony and angular where she should be round and plump. Her ribs seem almost swollen, but I’m pretty sure it’s a body full of worms creating that illusion. She is always hungry and eats all day long, never getting her fill no matter how often I feed her.

She doesn’t have the huge swollen teats of every other mama dog I’ve fostered, it has never seemed as though the milk supply is enough. Add to that there are only 8 teats for ten puppies, so someone was always being short changed. Those were the factors I attributed for that fact for two weeks although the puppies grew steadily, they never became butterballs like most my litters.

It was Usnavi who first started to fade. His weight began going down instead of up and he seemed lethargic and confused. I began supplementing him with puppy formula. His weight held steady all weekend and he perked up, but he didn’t gain.

Meanwhile, Pippin began to follow his path, and then Elphaba, but neither of the girls took to the formula the way Usnavi did.

Even with the introduction of solid food, when I weighed everyone on Sunday, I discovered that seven out of ten had either not gained or lost a few ounces. I turned up the space heater in their room and tried to stay away as much as possible so that Mia would nurse. If I’m in the room, she jumps out of the box to visit me. Still the puppies seemed to deflate by the hour- wind up toys winding down.

On Sunday night, we lost Elphaba. I found her in the morning with Mia in her dog bed. She’d carried her there at some point in the night, maybe knowing she was passing, maybe trying to help.

On Monday morning it was clear that Pippin was also losing her battle. My best guess was that the worms were just too pervasive. I gave them a stronger wormer early Monday morning after I discovered Elphaba. That was a few days early, but at that point, the risk seemed to outweigh the benefit of waiting.

Tracy, OPH medical director, made an appointment for the pups at the vet and yesterday afternoon I gathered stool samples and put the pups together in a crate and headed to Hanover hoping it wasn’t too late for Pippin who had continued to refuse formula.

I was grateful that I was allowed to come in with the puppies. COVID-19 protocol meant that most owners waited in their car for a vet tech to come get their dog and then return it to them.

The vet spent nearly three hours with us – examining each pup, taking temps, weighing them, checking their blood-sugars and their red blood cell count. Blood sugar was fine and no sign of parvo, thank goodness, but worms were obvious in the loss of fat/muscle along the backbones and hips. In the harsh light of the examing room they looked even worse than in my puppy room. Four-week-old puppies should not be so docile and cooperative, nor so thin.

Their fecal test came back positive for hookworms – lots of them. Hookworms are awful worms that ‘hook’ themselves onto the intestinal wall and feed on the dog’s blood, causing the animal to become anemic and slowly die. In a puppy, that danger is much higher because of their fragile systems. As the worms progressed, the puppies regressed, being eaten alive from the inside out.

Red blood cell counts below 20 are cause for real concern, and anything 12 or under would normally require a blood transfusion. My pups were between 8 (Pippin) and 15 (Mr. Misto). They were too tiny for blood transfusions, never mind the astronomical expense. So, the doctor gave them each a shot of B12 and we talked about the harsh reality that the only way these pups make it is if we get them away from Mia. Otherwise we can’t break the cycle of reinfestation.

Our plan is to separate them from Mia, switch them to puppy mush (blended high quality puppy food and formula), follow an aggressive deworming schedule and give them iron supplements. Luckily, at four weeks, they are old enough (just barely) to be away from mom as long as I can convince them to eat mush.

So far, five of them seem fine with this plan – gobbling up mush, drinking water, and lapping formula. The other four require a little convincing. I have been able to get three of them to drink formula if I start them with a syringe feeding and then let them lap it out of my cupped palm.

Pippin has been the hold out. She will drink water happily – until her belly looks bloated. She refuses the formula and fights my syringe. I don’t want to inadvertently make things worse by causing her to aspirate from forcing the formula, so I have to be content with rubbing it on her gums so she will lick it off. Last night at 3am, she was finally hungry enough to drink from a bowl of formula. It was a great moment, shared only by the other puppies since the rest of the house was asleep.

This morning she tentatively tried the mush and again, drank from the bowl of formula. She doesn’t look much better physically, but hopefully her body is strong and with that nourishment and another deworming tomorrow, we can turn the tide.

Millie, Usnavi, and Cinderella remain skinny but are starting to warm to the idea of mush and formula. Millie seems strong but is resisting the most. I’m encouraged that she skips mealtime in favor of trying to wrestle with the others and have to assume she is one of the ones draining the bowl when I leave it in the pen.

It is touch and go here. Waiting and hoping that their red blood cells will regenerate, watching for more signs of life. My world has been reduced to the puppy room and Mia. Thankfully, Ian takes care of Siobhan and Nick is giving Fanny a lot of attention and allowing her to ‘help’ him work in his home office. Gracie, as always, deals with what is dealt. She’s got guard duty trooping in and out of the house to bark at any movement on our street or the neighbor’s yard.

I know we will get through this. It’s part of rescue. I won’t even say it’s my bad luck, because it’s the reality of rescuing dogs who need rescuing. Dogs that are thrown away by humans who did not care enough to spay them or deworm them or feed them properly. People who never appreciated the huge heart and happy soul of Mia. And communities that do not support or fund a shelter that can offer basic medical care, something as simple as a dewormer.

Once again I am reminded how simple the fix is for this. There is no reason this dog and her pups should be suffering so, no reason that Elphaba should have died. So much in this world is complicated and hard, but this one’s easy. It really is.

Be well,

Cara

If you’d like regular updates of all my foster dogs past and present, plus occasional dog care/training tips from OPH training, be sure to join the Facebook group, Another Good Dog.

For information on me, my writing, and books, visit CaraWrites.com. I have a new book, One Hundred Dogs and Counting: One  Woman, Ten Thousand Miles, and a Journey into the Heart of Shelters and Rescues, coming out in July. If it sounds like something you’d like to read, I’d be beyond grateful if you’d consider preordering it. Preorders contribute to the success of the book, not only giving me and my publisher some peace of mind but hopefully attracting media attention.

And if you’d like to know where all these dogs come from and how you can help solve the crisis of too many unwanted dogs in our shelters, visit WhoWillLetTheDogsOut.org.

Our family fosters through the all-breed rescue, Operation Paws for Homes, a network of foster homes in Virginia, Maryland, D.C., and south-central PA.

If you can’t get enough foster dog stories, check out my book: Another Good Dog: One Family and Fifty Foster Dogs . It’s available anywhere books are sold.

I love to hear from readers and dog-hearted people! Email me at carasueachterberg@gmail.com.

    Doing all we can with a deck that is stacked against us. #rescueisreal #thisisfixable Health is sacred. We are all realizing this as we struggle together against a virus we can’t see.

[mastcomm]

San Francisco’s run game is too much for Packers.

San Francisco’s run game is too much for Packers.

Credit…A J Mast for The New York Times

SANTA CLARA, Calif. — The San Francisco 49ers continued their magical season, dominating the Green Bay Packers on Sunday in the N.F.C. championship game, 37-20, to earn a trip to Super Bowl LIV in two weeks.

The 49ers, who will be gunning for their sixth Vince Lombardi Trophy, will face the Kansas City Chiefs, who beat the Tennessee Titans earlier on Sunday, 35-24, to end their 50-year Super Bowl drought.

The star of Sunday’s N.F.C. game was never in doubt. San Francisco running back Raheem Mostert scored four touchdowns and ran for 220 yards on 29 carries. Mostert’s performance was the second best by a running back in N.F.L. playoff history, after Eric Dickerson’s 248-yard game for the Los Angeles Rams in 1986.

Read more San Francisco’s run game is too much for Packers.

“When it’s working, you stay with it,” Coach Kyle Shanahan said about the running game.

The 49ers’ victory completes a remarkable turnaround for the club, which won just four games last season and had not had a winning record since the 2013 season, the last time San Francisco was in the playoffs.

The 49ers made it to their last Super Bowl the year before that, when they lost to the Baltimore Ravens.

Shanahan and General Manager John Lynch have remade the team entirely since they arrived three seasons ago. Their plan focused on building a solid running game and a stout defensive line. The 49ers used both to pummel the Packers on Sunday.

The 49ers ran the ball so well that quarterback Jimmy Garoppolo attempted just eight passes.

While Mostert gained most of the rushing yardage, receiver Deebo Samuel had two big runs on reverses. Running back Tevin Coleman had six carries for 21 yards before leaving with a shoulder injury.

Mostert thanked his blockers, including tight end George Kittle, for all the support. “They all did a great job,” he said.

San Francisco’s defense was the second best in the N.F.L. this season, and on Sunday, it showed why. The defensive front, led by Nick Bosa, DeForest Buckner and Arik Armstead, harassed Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers all game.

Statistically, Rodgers had a solid game, throwing for 326 yards and two scores on 31-of-39 passing. But the 49ers’ defense forced him to fumble twice (San Francisco recovered one of them) and throw two interceptions. The second interception came with less than two minutes left when San Francisco cornerback Richard Sherman dived for Rodgers’s desperation pass, which was intended for Davante Adams.

After kneeling several times to run out the clock, the 49ers ran onto the field and confetti floated down.

George Kittle’s quiet night has had a huge impact.

As the team’s season leader in catches (85), targets (107), and receiving yards (1053), San Francisco tight end George Kittle gets proper accolades for his receiving skills. But tonight he’s been showing off his blocking, which has helped running back Raheem Mostert to score four touchdowns.

The 49ers have repeatedly run the ball to the side of the line where Kittle lined up. His blocks give Mostert room to get around the end and slice through the Green Bay secondary.

Kittle did not get his first catch of the game until Jimmy Garoppolo found him for a 19-yard catch with a little under eight minutes left during a fourth-quarter drive.

Read more George Kittle’s quiet night has had a huge impact.

Kittle was known as a strong blocker at Iowa, where he played in college, and he enjoys blocking for the 49ers, too.

“If you don’t enjoy it, then you’re just going to be miserable, and so I just enjoyed it, and now I’m very prideful in it,” Kittle told reporters on Thursday.

Mostert has been the beneficiary of that hard work today.

Packers aren’t done yet.

Credit…AJ Mast for The New York Times

The Packers were down by three scores early in the fourth quarter, but Aaron Rodgers isn’t conceding anything.

Rodgers connected with tight end Jace Sternberger for an 8-yard score to inch the Packers closer, 34-20, with under nine minutes left.

Rodgers was facing pressure, so he scrambled to his right to buy time before he threw a rocket to Sternberger in the back of the end zone.

Read more Packers aren’t done yet.

The big play of the 92-yard drive was a gorgeous 65-yard pass from Rodgers to receiver Davante Adams, who caught the ball in stride before he was tackled at the 49ers’ 22-yard line.

Rodgers finds Graham to set up Packers’ second score.

The Packers may have found a rhythm, even if it’s getting late.

Green Bay scored seconds into the fourth quarter to cut San Francisco’s lead to 34-13.

Aaron Jones ran in the 1-yard score. Green Bay missed the 2-point conversion when receiver Davante Adams could not handle a pass from Aaron Rodgers on an out route.

Read more Rodgers finds Graham to set up Packers’ second score.

The Jones touchdown came after Rodgers hit tight end Jimmy Graham with a 42-yard pass, the quarterback’s longest completion of the game. The play was initially ruled a touchdown, but on review, the officials determined Graham was down before he crossed the goal line.

Either way, down by three possessions, the Packers still have an uphill climb.

Mostert’s fourth score makes it look easy.

Credit…AJ Mast for The New York Times

Did we say running back Raheem Mostert is having the game of his life?

Mostert scored his fourth touchdown of the game on a 22-yard run around left end to put the 49ers ahead, 34-7.

It was an emphatic response to the Packers’ lone score on the opening drive of the second half.

Read more Mostert’s fourth score makes it look easy.

The 49ers philosophy seems to be, if it’s not broken, don’t fix it. The 7-play scoring drive started with Mostert notching big gains.

The back-breaker came on second-and-8, when the 49ers ran a reverse to receiver Deebo Samuel, who scampered 32 yards to the Green Bay 22-yard line.

Two plays later, Mostert evaded several blockers to rumble into the end zone.

The 49ers have run the ball so well that quarterback Jimmy Garoppolo has only thrown the ball six times, completing four of those passes for 48 yards.

Credit…AJ Mast for The New York Times

After a disastrous first half, the Green Bay Packers started the second with a strong 75-yard drive to chip into the 49ers’ 27-point lead.

Aaron Rodgers had time to throw, hitting receivers Davante Adams and Geronimo Allison for big gains. On the final play of the drive, Rodgers found running back Aaron Jones with 9-yard touchdown pass. Rodgers completed nine of 10 passes en route to the end zone.

The 11-play drive, though, consumed more than six minutes of game clock. Still behind by three possessions, the Packers will have to get the ball back quickly if they hope to keep making up ground.

Credit…AJ Mast for The New York Times

San Francisco 49ers running back Raheem Mostert is having the game of his professional life. In the first half alone, he scored all three 49ers touchdowns and ran the ball 14 times for 160 yards.

The 49ers went into the locker room leading the Packers, 27-0.

Mostert, a fifth-year player from Purdue, is the leading rusher in the 49ers backfield by committee. He gained 772 yards on 137 carries during the regular season with eight running touchdowns. He averaged a healthy 5.6 yards per carry.

Read more First half: All Niners.

Green Bay did not help themselves in the first half. Tyler Ervin bobbled a kickoff return. Aaron Rodgers muffed a snap, lost another fumble and threw an interception.

The 49ers have made the Packers pay for those turnovers, ending five of six total possessions with a touchdown or field goal.

Aaron Rodgers throws an interception.

Credit…AJ Mast for The New York Times

Cornerback Emmanuel Moseley picked off Aaron Rodgers on second-and-15 to add onto Green Bay’s woes. The Packers’ drive began with a muffed kick return by Tyler Ervin, which buried the team at their own 8-yard line to start. Four plays later, the 49ers have the ball yet again.

Packers mistakes dig a deeper hole.

Things are going from bad to worse for the Packers, and they have themselves to blame.

After finally gaining some momentum, quarterback Aaron Rodgers muffed a snap on second-and-4 deep in the San Francisco end of the field. San Francisco defensive lineman DeForest Buckner recovered the ball on the 49ers’ 25-yard line to give his team another chance to score.

The 49ers didn’t waste it. Raheem Mostert broke free for a 34-yard gain, cutting left and right through the Packers backfield. San Francisco fullback Kyle Juszczyk made a key block to pave the way for Mostert.

Read more Packers mistakes dig a deeper hole.

San Francisco’s drive ended on the Packers’ 7-yard line and the 49ers settled for a field goal to go up, 20-0, with just under 2 minutes left in the first half.

Tevin Coleman carted off.

Credit…AJ Mast for The New York Times

The 49ers have built a commanding 17-0 lead, but it has come at a cost.

On their last drive, Tevin Coleman injured his shoulder and left the game.

The injury happened in the red zone. Coleman ran for five yards and as he fell to the ground, he reached out with his arm to break his fall. After a lengthy examination by the team trainers, a cart was driven on to the field.

Read more Tevin Coleman carted off.

Coleman’s return is questionable.

Coleman was the 49ers third-leading rusher this season, after Raheem Mostert and Matt Breida.

Niners go up 17-0 as Mostert runs for another score.

Credit…AJ Mast for The New York Times

More pressure on Green Bay leads to more points for the 49ers.

On the Packers’ first drive of the second quarter, 49ers cornerback K’Waun Williams stripped quarterback Aaron Rodgers of the ball on third down. Green Bay recovered the fumble, but the play led to a 15-yard loss. Then Green Bay punter J.K. Scott shanked the punt just 23 yards down the field.

The 49ers took over on the Packers 37-yard line, eager to pounce. Running back Raheem Mostert ran for 13 yards and 9 yards to open the drive. Garoppolo extended it with a quarterback sneak.

Read more Niners go up 17-0 as Mostert runs for another score.

Then Mostert punched in his second touchdown run, this one for nine yards.

San Francisco now leads 17-0 midway through the second quarter.

Though both teams have had the ball for about the same amount of time, the game is starting to feel like another blowout by San Francisco.

Aided by a penalty, 49ers finish field-goal drive.

San Francisco kicker Robbie Gould hit a 54-yard field goal on the first play of the second quarter to put the 49ers up by 10 points. The 49ers caught a break on the 15-yard drive after the Packers were penalized 15 yards for roughing the passer.

The drive began with excellent field position for the 49ers after Richie James Jr. returned the Green Bay punt 26 yards to the San Francisco 49-yard line.

The first quarter zipped by, in part because the 49ers scored so quickly on their second drive to head into the break up, 7-0.

Read more Aided by a penalty, 49ers finish field-goal drive.

Both defenses have made outstanding plays. Nick Bosa has hounded quarterback Aaron Rodgers, while the Packers sacked 49ers quarterback Jimmy Garoppolo for an 8-yard loss to end the quarter.

Nick Bosa torments the Packers.

Credit…Ben Margot/Associated Press

San Francisco had the second best defense this year, and their front line showed why on the Packers’ second drive.

Rookie defensive end Nick Bosa sacked Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers for a 13-yard loss on third-and-7 to end Green Bay’s second drive. The play before, Bosa gobbled up running back Aaron Jones at the Packers 42-yard line for no gain.

Read more Nick Bosa torments the Packers.

Bosa tormented Rodgers when the teams met in November, recovering a Rodgers fumble and nearly returning it for a touchdown.

As my colleague Ben Shpigel wrote, Bosa totaled 80 sacks, hurries and hits for the 49ers during the regular season, “tormenting offenses with a blend of power, speed and technical expertise amplified by a sophistication uncommon for his age, particularly at that position.”

San Francisco strikes first.

Credit…AJ Mast for The New York Times

The San Francisco 49ers strike first. Running back Raheem Mostert broke free for a 36-yard run, speeding past several defenders to score the game’s first touchdown.

After their opening drive stalled on three plays at their own 34-yard line, the 49ers came out firing. Quarterback Jimmy Garoppolo hit receiver Deebo Samuel for two catches and 46 yards, including a 30-yard catch on second-and-5 that could have been a score had Samuel not been tripped up.

Read more San Francisco strikes first.

Mostert, a track and field star, did the rest, running for 5, 6 and 36 yards on the 6-play, 89-yard drive.

The 49ers had the second-best running game in the N.F.L. this season. They deploy tight end George Kittle as a blocker often, as they did early today.

The 49ers aren’t counting on a repeat.

Credit…Ben Margot/Associated Press

If the past is prologue, the San Francisco 49ers should wallop the Green Bay Packers in the N.F.C. championship game on Sunday. After all, the 49ers beat the Packers, 37-8 in November, as the 49ers bottled up Green Bay’s run game and constantly pressured quarterback Aaron Rogers.

But the Packers have had time to review what went wrong and prepare, which is why the 49ers are not complacent. “I promise they’re looking at some clips on tape where they know that they could have hit us on,” said Robert Saleh, the 49ers’ defensive coordinator. During the regular season, the Arizona Cardinals and the Los Angeles Rams were unable to avenge earlier losses to the 49ers, who swept the season series from both teams.

Neither the Packers nor the 49ers were in the postseason last year.

Matt LaFleur and Aaron Rodgers have Green Bay’s offense clicking.

The Green Bay Packers fired Mike McCarthy, their longtime coach, after Week 12 last season in part because quarterback Aaron Rodgers was reportedly unhappy with his boss. Despite a lot of wins together, the Packers had faltered in the last two years.

Enter Matt LaFleur, Green Bay’s 40-year old coach who has a reputation as an offensive savant. A quarterbacks coach with the Redskins and the Falcons, and offensive coordinator with the Rams and Titans, he appears to have Rodgers clicking again.

After two losing seasons, the Packers went 13-3 in the regular season. Rodgers topped 4,000 yards passing for the eighth time in his career. He threw 26 touchdown passes and was intercepted just four times.

Read more Matt LaFleur and Aaron Rodgers have Green Bay’s offense clicking.

The playoffs come to Santa Clara. Finally.

Credit…Tony Avelar/Associated Press

Levi’s Stadium opened to great fanfare in 2014, but the building has largely been a house of horrors for its primary tenant, the San Francisco 49ers. This year, the team has finally arrived, going 13-3 in the regular season and winning its first playoff game in Santa Clara last weekend.

The mood on the field before the N.F.C. championship game against the Green Bay Packers was as jubilant as it has been all season. The sidelines were packed six- and seven-deep with credentialed fans, including Steve Young, Jerry Rice, and Barry Bonds. Quarterback Jimmy Garoppolo got the loudest cheers as he stopped to sign autographs before heading into the locker room.

There was a sprinkling of Packers fans, who were easy to spot with their bright yellow foam cheeseheads. Home field advantage isn’t what it used to be, but if the 49ers need any encouragement, they’re likely to get it from a highly partisan crowd.

How will Richard Sherman fare against Davante Adams?

Richard Sherman returns an interception against the Minnesota Vikings in the divisional round.Credit…Ezra Shaw/Getty Images

One potential matchup worth watching: 49ers cornerback Richard Sherman and Packers wide receiver Davante Adams. Sherman usually plays on the left side of the field, but he may be asked to shadow Adams, who caught eight passes for 160 yards and two touchdowns in Green Bay’s victory over the Seattle Seahawks in the divisional round.

Sherman, one of the best cornerbacks in the game, intercepted Vikings quarterback Kirk Cousins when San Francisco beat Minnesota last week.

Because of Sherman’s skills, offenses often avoid throwing to his side of the field. But the 49ers could place him strategically on the right side, as well.

Read more How will Richard Sherman fare against Davante Adams?

On Thursday, Sherman talked down the notion that he gets more pumped up to cover an opponent’s top receiver, in this case, Adams. “At the end of the day it’s about winning football games. He’s a great player. He’s somebody that we’ve obviously got to account where he is on the field at all times. But in terms of individual matchups, it means nothing to me.”

Aaron Rodgers is looking for revenge against the 49ers.

Credit…Stacy Revere/Getty Images

Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers’s grudge against San Francisco is among the most talked about story lines in Sunday’s N.F.C. title game. Rodgers, 36, grew up a 49ers fan in Chico, Calif., and played college football at California. The 49ers had a chance to draft Rodgers in 2005, but opted instead to take quarterback Alex Smith with the first overall pick.

Smith, who quarterbacked the 49ers from 2005 to 2012, has had a fine career, but not the caliber of Rodgers, who has won a Super Bowl and appears destined to enter the Pro Football Hall of Fame. In that draft, Rodgers slipped to the 24th pick, where the Packers selected him. Rodgers has a 4-5 career record against San Francisco, including two losses in the playoffs.

from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/sport/san-franciscos-run-game-is-too-much-for-packers/

[junker-town]

The latest on NFL player protests, the anthem policy, and Colin Kaepernick

Catch up on what’s happening with the new rule and player activism heading into the 2018 NFL season.

A new NFL season is here, and that doesn’t just mean fun times with football like the NFL wants. It also means that the national movement started by former San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick is center stage once again.

In protesting social injustice and police brutality against people of color by peacefully kneeling during the playing of the national anthem, Kaepernick has sparked a large conversation — and debate. In the two years since, that has led to Kaepernick’s collusion lawsuit against the NFL and a new anthem policy from the league that was soon halted following backlash.

There’s a lot to keep up with, and all of it is important to understand going into another season of play. Here is a look at how we got here, where things are now, and what to expect going forward.

How the protests got started

Kaepernick sat for two preseason games before anyone noticed. He was quick to elaborate on his decision to protest.

“I’m going to continue to stand with the people that are being oppressed. To me, this is something that has to change. When there’s significant change and I feel that flag represents what it’s supposed to represent, and this country is representing people the way that it’s supposed to, I’ll stand.”

Kaepernick eventually tweaked the protest after speaking with Nate Boyer, a former Green Beret and NFL long snapper. Boyer advised him that kneeling instead of sitting would be a good middle ground to try and get the narrative back on track, as critics said that sitting was disrespectful to the flag and the military, which wasn’t at all the case.

His teammate at the time, safety Eric Reid, was the first to join Kaepernick in kneeling. Like Kaepernick, Reid is currently out of a job and embroiled in a legal battle with the league.

How the movement grew

On the same day that Kaepernick started kneeling, Sept. 1, Jeremy Lane of the Seattle Seahawks sat during the anthem, becoming the first non-teammate of Kaepernick’s to do so. Then players from other sports joined in, including Megan Rapinoe and all of Garfield High School’s football players.

During the regular season opener, Brandon Marshall of the Denver Broncos took a knee. A few days later, players from the Seahawks, Miami Dolphins, Kansas City Chiefs and New England Patriots began to demonstrate during the playing of the anthem as well.

For more, here’s a look at which athletes joined the movement in that first year.

But lots of folks were mad, especially the president

The backlash against the protests was widespread — and misguided. President Donald Trump got involved, consistently trying to muddy the waters and change the narrative by telling his supporters that players were “disrespecting the flag.”

As SB Nation explained:

The outrage continued — fed by the president’s appetite for cheap political gain by criticizing players — even after public dialog with players, veterans, and others showed it wasn’t about the anthem, the flag, or the military. It was about the suppression of black voices that attempted to shake the status quo.

Trump went on to brag that his Twitter account is stopping NFL teams from signing Kaepernick.

What’s the latest with Kaepernick?

While Kaepernick has been active in the community — including completing his goal of donating $1 million to different charities — he’s remained in the news for other reasons, too.

Kaepernick’s collusion case moves forward

Kaepernick opted out of his contract with the 49ers, who were likely going to cut him anyway, in 2017. The talented quarterback became a free agent, and he still is today, despite proving he can still play.

He believes he’s being blacklisted by the NFL and filed a grievance against NFL owners for collusion as a result. He was joined a year later by Reid, who also remains a free agent.

The league requested the case be thrown out in summary judgment, but failed in its bid. Our own Tyler Tynes spoke with attorney Jaia Thomas about the decision and what it means going forward:

Thomas: However this case turns out is going to set a precedent. Eric has the same attorney as Colin. Whatever Colin’s attorney was able to produce, there’s a pretty good chance he will be able to produce the same type of evidence on behalf of Eric. If Colin’s case completely moves forward and finds success, we can with certainty almost say the same will happen with Eric. That being said, I think the NFL will have to start re-examining and re-evaluating the ways in which they treat players and penalize them for using their free speech and right to speak up.

Kaepernick becomes the face of Nike’s campaign

Before the 2018 season started, it was announced that Kaepernick would be the face of Nike’s 30th anniversary for the “Just Do It” campaign. Here’s the first ad:

Believe in something. Even if it means sacrificing everything. #JustDoIt pic.twitter.com/x5TnU7Z51i

— Colin Kaepernick (@Kaepernick7) September 5, 2018

What’s happening with the NFL’s new anthem policy?

This offseason, the NFL owners passed a new rule that they tried and failed to sell as a “compromise.” It gave players two choices: they could either stand for the anthem before the games, or they can stay in the locker room for the anthem. If players decide to break policy, their teams get fined and then the team can decide what punishment (or non-punishment) to dish out to those players.

The NFL quickly suspended the new policy pending further discussions with the NFLPA in yet another damage control move. Here’s what that means for the players and the league.

Heading into the 2018 season, the policy — and enforcement of any discipline — remains on hold as the NFL and the NFLPA hammer out details.

Either way, the original message behind the protests, the one that the NFL, Donald Trump and countless others have tried to obscure with false equivalencies, is one that absolutely cannot be lost.

Are NFL players still protesting?

The 2018 preseason saw renewed protests in spite of the league’s attempts to quell activism. Eagles defensive backs Malcolm Jenkins and De’Vante Bausby raised their fists during the pregame anthem for their preseason opener against the Steelers; teammate Chris Long put his arm around Jenkins to unite two of the league’s loudest voices in the fight for equality. Several other players on the team wore T-shirts bringing attention to issues with both voter registration and incarceration rates.

Before we enjoy this game lets take some time to ponder that more than 60% of the prison population are people of color. The NFL is made up of 70% African Americans. What you witness on the field does not represent the reality of everyday America. We are the anomalies... pic.twitter.com/gCeNKuTl1d

— Malcolm Jenkins (@MalcolmJenkins) August 9, 2018

Later in the preseason, Jenkins waited in the tunnel during the anthem.

The defending champions weren’t the only ones to make a statement as the new season dawned. Dolphins receivers Kenny Stills and Albert Wilson knelt before their squad’s preseason opener. Jalen Ramsey, Telvin Smith, Leonard Fournette and T.J. Yeldon all declined to take the field for the anthem before Jacksonville’s first exhibition game.

And, as expected, President Trump had some very public feelings about that.

The Eagles will be in the spotlight again when the NFL regular season begins Thursday night. Philadelphia will play host to the Falcons in a primetime showdown that will likely stand as one of 2018’s most-watched games of the year. But despite a roster loaded with activists earning a national broadcast, the league was not expected to have a solution to its anthem policy woes before the season can officially kick off.

Tonight’s opener between #Eagles & #Falcons looms, and @NFLprguy says, "Dialogue continues among NFL and NFLPA and players” on a national anthem policy. The expectation is no final decision by tonight, I’m told. FYI, out of 2,880 players in the preseason, 2 took a knee and 1 sat.

— Ian Rapoport (@RapSheet) September 6, 2018

Before the season started, NBC told USA Today that it hasn’t decided whether it will show the anthem during its broadcasts. ESPN has already announced that it will not air the anthem during Monday Night Football.