#also i never have signal at work these days.. my boss has said shell get me on the staff wifi tho cuz i do need it for work reasons

[phagodyke]

yeah I'm not gonna talk abt it am I...

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Treasure- Part 1

M/F Pairing: Y/N x Kim Hongjoong (Ateez)

Word Count: 3,565

Genre: Fantasy AU, Pirate AU

Warnings: Language, Violence, Some Smut, Mentions of Blood

Summary: For her entire life, Y/N has always been at the disposal of the men who treat her like she’s less than human. Her father was an alcoholic and her mother is unable to support the two of them after his death. Years later, Y/N feels stuck and there’s nothing worse than feeling trapped in your own home. However, after being kidnapped by a gang of ruthless pirates, Y/N finally gets her first chance of freedom and she very much likes the way it tastes even if that means playing with the heart of the notorious pirate captain whose affections become more and more obvious every day.

When I was younger, my mother told me stories about the ocean goddess Amphitrite whose husband, Poseideon, commanded the endless tides and waves. She was a jealous lover, envious of the women Posideon would often bed, resulting in demigod children which he treasured and kept safely hidden away from his wife’s thirst for vengeance. But children can only be controlled for as long as their curiosity remains sated, choosing the comfort of land instead of that deep-spirited desire to return to the water. Eventually, his demigod children could no longer resist the call and that’s when Amphitrite would rise from the deepest trenches, commanding the ocean to overhaul boats of brave sailors, thunderous power splitting the ships in half while the demigod children lose themselves to their father’s perilous domain.

But Posideon grew angry with Amphitrite’s actions, demanding that she leave his children alone or else she would be banished to the Underworld where his ruthless brother Hades prevailed. Bitter and disappointed, Amphitrite sought a new solution to the problem of her husband’s illicit affairs. Amphitrite decided to try her luck on land and she lived amongst the humans for many years. One day, while she was wandering a distant shore, Amphitrite fell in love with a gorgeous sailor whose long, silky hair and endless sea-green eyes commanded her deepest affections. The sailor, who never realized her true identity, also fell for the mysterious way he felt drawn to the woman who climbed aboard his ship. He promised that he would do anything to please Amphitrite and the clever goddess requested that the sailor track and kill the children of her unsuspecting husband. So, with a crew at hand, the love-struck sailor spent years at sea burning the ships of Poseidon’s demigod children, earning him the nickname of “Pirate” for his bloodthirsty crimes at the behest of Amphitrite....

“I think that’s enough for one night,” my mother would say, noticing the way my eyes grew wider despite the fact that I was meant to be sleeping.

“Are there pirates here?” I would often ask my mother once she was finished.

“They’re only stories, my dearest,” my mother would reply, holding me close at night while my gaze wandered the darkness, searching out the window with a mixture of fear and trepidation, wondering if a pirate would sneak through the window with blood dripping from his blade.

But that was my childhood and, as the years slowly passed away, those stories grew as distant as my memories, lost to the powerful effects of time. I grew as tall as my mother, discovering her features whenever I would look into a mirror. I also inherited her passion for storytelling and would often sit on the hills overlooking the brilliant sea imagining myself exploring the distant lands that the maps at school promised would hold all sorts of possibilities.

Sadly, my dreams of leaving the island became less and less of a possibility as the realities of life replaced the fantastical wanderings of my imagination. When my father eventually died and left me alone to deal with my despondent mother who could no longer take care of herself. She would usually sit in the living room throughout the day, looking out the window at nothing in particular. It was a miracle to hear her speak, and I knew that my mother had become nothing more than a shell of her former self. To take care of us, I was forced to leave school which only dampened my curiosity in the study of Astronomy and the brilliant stars that always inspired me when I was younger. 

I would always miss my youth because now, at the tender age of 21, I had nothing left of the Spirit that once fueled my every hope and desire. I walked through each day dreading the possibility of another, watching everyone else around me move through their lives like the waves washing up on the beach, there at one instant and then gone the next. Leaving for a distant land in the small ships that frequently visited our small island. But nobody liked to stay forever because the human instinct to explore and conquer was present in every man and woman. Sadly, I’d never get the chance to satisfy mine.

Trapped here, like the fish brought in at high tide, to suffer through an endless cycle, wishing to escape to the stars because only then could I be truly free.

“You’re a little slut, aren’t you?” the heavy-set man groaned at my ear, thick hips pounding against mine with bruising power.

“I’ll be whatever you want,” I responded robotically, gazing at the ceiling and creating constellations out of the boards.

It was the same every night, depending on what sort of customers were drawn into the hostel. The owner, an older gentleman with greasy, balding hair, would accept payment for our services, setting aside a gold token or two if he was feeling generous towards his whores which only ever happened when the place was full. Our best customers were merchant ships full of drunk and horny sailors looking to forget about their unfortunate circumstances and stick their uncut cocks into whatever comfortable hole they could find. 

“It’s good business,” the owner would croon, gathering us girls together around him. “My sluts make me good money.”

I would always hold my tongue at the term because, despite the fact that it was true, the connotation still struck a nerve, especially considering how my father had treated my mother. He would often come home at night completely wasted, slapping my mother like she meant absolutely nothing to him. Yelling obscenities while requesting that his slut get him something else to drink.

My father had passed away years ago, but my mother took his loss a lot more than I was expecting considering his treatment towards her. Her eyes lost the light I had cherished as a child, spending her days gazing out the window in my father’s old armchair while I was forced to find work. And those young girls like me who were unable to stay in school on the island could always find work at a whorehouse, selling her body for enough money to buy food and pay rent. That’s all that mattered to me for survival, but it still didn’t satisfy my wildest imaginations, dreaming of escaping to a place far away from this horrible island.

My client for the evening let out a deep-throated moan, cumming inside and I winced when I felt him lean down to kiss my forehead, the gesture far too intimate for my comfort. “I’d buy you again a heartbeat,” he told me sincerely while I impatiently waited for my shift to finally end.

I was usually a lot stricter about the type of contact I allowed. However, these days, I usually endured far more than I used to back when I was still new to the services required of me. Skittish around the older men touching my body or afraid to even ask the other girls for advice. I’m sure some of those clients took advantage of my innocence, but that had since worn off and I was nothing if not completely stoic when it came time to satisfy another customer.

I was still often ignored by the other girls, especially since men usually preferred me because of my younger age. There was only so much that makeup could hide before the body itself bore its secrets in the wrinkles creasing one’s forehead or the bulging veins in a girl’s thighs and arms. My body was still soft, enjoying the effects of youth before those looks would inevitably become lost to a steady decline.

But then again, most men didn’t care since they were usually drunk and reeking of desperation when they entered the hostel. “Sell me your best,” they would often request of my boss to which he would simply signal whichever girl happened to be closest at the time. It was always unfortunate when it was someone simply looking to negotiate their pay so that they could feed their family.

I walked down the stairs from my room with heavy steps while trying to ignore the new ache between my thighs. Carefully, I avoided the lingering patrons while taking a seat at the bar. Someone had discarded a glass from earlier, but I didn’t care about whose lips might have touched the rim, downing the rest of the nasty-smelling liquid without care. “Don’t look so down, kid, you’re too young for wrinkles.”

I offered Wendy, the kind hostel bartender, a small smile. “Any news on how many ships are coming into port tonight?”

“Heard a lot of rumors today,” she said, toweling off another glass. “It might be a pretty busy night. You know that makes the boss happy.”

“But it also means a long shift for me,” I said. “I can only handle a few old bastards a night before I feel completely numb in my legs.”

“Try stretching,” she suggested. “Good business means you might get paid more.”

“Still won’t be enough,” I said, barely acknowledging one of the other hostel workers who had suddenly joined us at the bar.

“Sounds like someone should have stayed at home if she ain’t on her best game,” her nasal voice informed me.

“I don’t do much of the work.”

A snort of laughter. “That’s true. You might be the best of us at spreading those pretty thighs.”

I gritted my teeth together as I signaled for Wendy to refill my glass. “This coming from someone who’s always chosen last by the clientele.”

Barbara paused next to me, spine rigid. “Watch your mouth, little girl. We don’t talk that way to anyone, got it?”

“Whatever,” I muttered darkly, eyes narrowing as more men started to walk into the hostel, eyes shiny with evidence of their desires which I would have the obligation of fulfilling.

“Work hard,” Barbara snapped at me before wandering out onto the main floor sporting her best smile.

I glowered in her direction, surveying the crowd with disinterest. “There’s a big group,” Wendy remarked, nodding at the door.

I spun around in my chair, holding tightly to my glass as I discovered the boisterous crowd of relatively young sailors who had just entered the hostel.  It was a large group of men, clothed in ragged attire barely held together by worn stitching, black-toed boots scuffing the floors. They were loud and obnoxious, clearly oblivious to decorum. They wore matching black masks and hats, overcoats thick as they carried themselves with an air of superiority. “They don’t look like regular sailors,” I remarked loosely to Wendy, unaware of the consequences of my words until a few moments later when the leader of the group suddenly confronted my boss who had been talking with a few regulars.

“How many do you have here?” the masked man demanded, flaming red hair contrasting with his pale skin.

“H-how many of what?” my boss asked, cowering back as he took in the sight of the gangly crew.

“Whores,” the red-head said, surveying the hostel with interest, eyes pausing on me for longer than I would have liked.

“Tonight?” my boss spluttered. “I got six working the floor.”

“We’ll take all of them,” the red-head said. 

“I don’t know if I have enough rooms to accommodate that many pairings! If you could just-”

“Not here,” the red-head sighed impatiently, turning to look at one of his partners. “Am I not speaking English, San?”

“It sounds like it to me,” the one named San pondered, gaze thoughtful as he considered my boss. “Did you not hear him, old man? Give us all of your whores.”

“W-where would you take them?”

“Onboard, obviously,” the red-head snapped. “The crew needs some new entertainment.”

“They got bored of the last ones,” a deeper voice joined the fray belonging to someone whose eyes crinkled at the sides with mischief. He was undoubtedly smiling beneath that unusual disguise.

“Hurry up, Mingi, Captain’s not gonna wait all night!”

“Those girls aren’t leaving this hostel,” my boss said, standing straighter even as his shoulders fell against the heavy gaze of Mingi, tall form looming in a dominant fashion.

In a split second, Mingi pulled a gun from the belt around his waist, aiming directly at my boss’ head. The entire hostel grew silent, all eyes watching the impending situation with fear evident in their dilated irises. “What did you say?”

“Alright, alright,” my boss said, waving his hands like a lunatic. “You can use them for one night.”

BANG!

I heard a distant squeal when his body finally hit the floor, but I was too caught up in my unexpected self-satisfaction at seeing my slimy boss bleeding out against the wood I had spent hours cleaning last night. “He said six,” Mingi growled, glancing back at his men. “Take whichever six you want, including her,” he said, pointing in my direction. “We can save her for the captain.”

His words were the catalyst for the sudden action of the other men, swords drawn from their scabbards as they ran at the crowd with excited cheers as if the prospect of attacking innocent civilians was too much to anticipate. Screams filled the hostel, men and women alike running in opposite directions in their desperation to escape. “Pirates!” someone shouted and the word sent a shiver down my spine as I met the gaze of the man who had murdered my boss in cold blood.

“The Captain will like you a lot, girl,” Mingi said, nodding appreciatively as he openly appraised me like I was particularly worthy of his attention. Around us, the other girls were sobbing and pleading, struggling in the grasps of the pirates who had since taken them hostage, pulling them towards the door of the hostel which I once associated with long nights struggling to sell my body to the highest bidder. “Are you gonna give me a hard time like your friends?”

“They aren’t my friends,” I retorted coldly, surprising the pirate standing before me.

“You’ll be coming with us.”

“I understand,” I said calmly, gazing out across the now mostly vacant hostel, a few bodies littering the floors covered in blood. “I’ll go with you.”

Mingi smirked, gripping tightly to my upper arm even though it wasn’t necessary, leading me out into the chaotic streets like I was nothing more than a common dog for him to command. The island itself was a complete mess, townspeople running through the streets cursing and yelling, trash loitering the sidewalks, children mindlessly glancing around with wide, confused eyes. And through it all I managed to keep myself together, vaguely wondering what my mother might be doing at that moment. But it never crossed my mind to beg this pirate to allow me one last chance to see her. It didn’t matter that my mother depended on me to take care of her because, for a fleeting second, I could only think about how unfair it was that I was stuck with a mother like her who could no longer protect me from harm

The dock was glowing in the distance, lanterns lighting the worn pathways leading to different ships anchored at port. I had only been to the docks a few times in my life, mostly to help my former boss whenever the hostel received a large delivery. Nevertheless, it still managed to fill me with a sick feeling of hope that maybe one day I could find myself a ship willing to take me far away from the island. Somewhere warm and inviting where I could study Astronomy and remember all the delicate patterns I had once memorized when I was still a young and impressionable child. 

Of course, being kidnapped against my will was certainly not the way I envisioned leaving the island, especially when it involved pirates. I studied Mingi from the corner of my eyes. How many people has he killed? Would I be just another body to add to his list?

Such questions were useless to consider because fear was the last emotion I needed to feed into right now, paralyzed with the wide-eyed desire to run or fight and protect myself. I would stand no chance with these pirates, especially Mingi who was taller and strong, leading me to a ship that stood in contrast to the others anchored down. The ship in question, with the name “Precious” painted onto the side of the hull, was larger than any boat I had ever seen docked at the bay. It was actually quite beautiful, dark sails trembling in the breeze while the forlorn flag at the highest point indicated that it belonged to the pirate order. But that was just the ironic contradiction of the ship because despite its outward appearance, the men who commanded her wheel were nothing short of barbaric. A nasty breed of man who plundered the seas and killed without remorse.

I stumbled up the narrow plank, glaring at Mingi from the corner of my eye as he continued to push me onboard. The other girls were already kneeling, hands tied behind their backs as they suffered from various states of undress. I glanced down at my disheveled skirts, grateful that they at least covered my legs. “This one is for the Captain.”

“But she’s the youngest!” another voice complained, glaring almost enviously at the other girls.

“For. The. Captain,” Mingi repeated, jerking me to the right. “You can do whatever you want to the rest of them.”

I glanced back over my shoulder, wincing when I saw one of the pirates dig his fingers tightly into Barbara’s dark hair. “You should be grateful,” Mingi growled at me. “The Captain doesn’t like to share.”

“I don’t feel grateful,” I hissed back at him, completely unprepared for the accompanying slap as my head twisted to the side.

“You won’t talk to me that way,” Mingi said, shoving me against the wall, fingers tightening around my throat. My lungs were screaming for air, toes hovering above the deck, hands scratching against his impossible hold. I was gasping, desperate for air while my mind screamed at me to fight back, but I was powerless against his predominant strength.

“Is this one mine?”

My feet landed on the floor and I dropped to my knees, breathing in the air like it was the last time I might be able to do so. “It might not be worth it, Captain,” Mingi spat. “She’s got a mouth on her.”

“Is that so?”

I was slowly recovering from my temporary brush with death, lifting my gaze to locate the mysterious Captain I was now meant to serve. He wasn’t as tall as Mingi, but he was somehow far more intimidating, wearing all black from the mask hiding his face to the boots echoing against the deck. His hair was a strawberry color, delicately framing an angular face that might be handsome if it didn’t belong to such a despicable person. “Tell me your name, whore,” he demanded.

I swallowed hard against the raw ache in my throat. “Y/N.”

The Captain nodded. “Mingi, you can leave the two of us now. Go enjoy the other girls.”

Mingi obeyed, albeit reluctantly as he trained those suspicious eyes on my recovering form. “Aye, sir.”

I watched him as he walked away, fingers massaging my still-tender throat. “Does it hurt?”

I carefully considered the Captain. “He tried to kill me.”

“You shouldn’t mouth off,” the Captain said, nodding towards a door. “Come inside.” I bit my tongue, withholding a sharp retort as I did as he directed, brushing off my skirts. “My private quarters,” he said, shrugging off his thick overcoat while I examined the dozens of candles lining the mantlepiece. 

“Will the others be hurt?”

He paused at my question. “Does it matter? You can’t do anything to help them.”

“I just want to help myself,” I told him honestly, brushing my fingers across a rather ancient looking bookcase.

“Then this should be easy,” the Captain said, tearing off his mask. “You can be good for me while I fuck you.”

I took a moment to admire the Captain’s features, far more delicate than I was anticipating with dark, thoughtful eyes. “I’ve been doing that my whole life, Captain.”

He smirked. “Then this should be second-nature to you.”

I bristled at the insinuation. “Maybe I’m tired of being treated like a whore.”

“Why else do you think you were brought onto this ship?” the Captain asked, tone growing hostile.

“I was forced to come aboard,” I said. “By that bumbling idiot who tried to kill me.”

“And I could do the same,” the Captain said, drawing a gun from the holster hanging off his belt. “Get on the bed.”

“I’d rather die,” I told him honestly, staring down the silver weapon to meet the Captain’s narrowed eyes. “Kill me instead.”

A chuckle escaped from between his lips. “So that’s what you want? I could always force you.”

“I’d fight back.”

“But I’m quite strong, love,” he said with a barely distinguishable accent. 

“It wouldn’t be easy for you,” I said. “Didn’t you say you wanted someone easy?”

The Captain was quiet for a long time before he re-holstered his gun, crossing his arms in a closed-off manner. “Then perhaps a few nights in the brig will change your mind.”

[jgroffdaily]

Jonathan Groff decides we should take advantage of what might be New York’s last suitable night for al fresco dining in 2019. He sits down at one of a dozen empty tables outside the otherwise packed Hell’s Kitchen bistro and announces, in a tone suggesting more mischief than regret, that he must first make a call.

"Hello," he says, iPhone now at his ear. "Joel Grey?"

Groff is starring in a limited revival of Little Shop of Horrors, and it is a very hot ticket. The Broadway legend on the other end of the line has apparently thrown a Hail Mary in hopes of scoring seats to the night’s sold-out performance. Hamming up this exchange for my amusement, Groff is game to play broker for the Tony and Oscar winner who originated the role of Cabaret’s tuxedoed emcee — and, maybe, anybody else who has his number.

"This is basically my part-time job," says Groff of fielding requests, jotting down credit card information and negotiating pickup times and locations for friends both famous and civilian. "It was the same thing when I was doing Hamilton," he adds of his year playing King George III in Lin-Manuel Miranda’s hip-hop history lesson. "But I was really only onstage for nine minutes during that show, so the tickets were probably full-time."

The 34-year-old actor seems eager to please, not unlike current alter ego Seymour. Little Shop’s nebbish, sweet and ultimately doomed florist nurtures a manipulative plant even as the pet’s homicidal tendencies grow more and more apparent. Those familiar with the campy musical comedy know that it suffers no shortage of blood, but it’s a nursery rhyme compared with Groff’s recent work on truecrime thriller Mindhunter. Playing a curious FBI agent in David Fincher’s Netflix series has perhaps done more for his ascendant profile than anything yet. But two seasons on the drama have meant two nine-month stints in Pittsburgh, filming interrogation scenes with character actors who bear uncanny resemblances to famous serial killers.

So even on a two-show day like this late- October Saturday, the rigors of theater are easy work for Groff. Over a couple of hot toddies, in between humoring three smitten waiters at the restaurant at which he’s been a regular since Little Shop went into previews down the block, the actor appears to be in his element. "Theater is such a communal, familial medium and interactive experience," notes Groff, who says he recognizes faces in the crowd during most performances. "Mindhunter, for me at least, is a very private experience."

Groff plays against type on Mindhunter. Wide-eyed with an almost perpetual grin, his is a mug you wouldn’t be surprised to find in an illustrated Merriam-Webster — cozied up to the entry for "baby face." Much of his previous acting career leaned into this, starting with his breakout. The Pennsylvania native came to New York at 19 and landed the lead in the musical Spring Awakening by the time he was 21. "I was just auditioning for the ensemble of Broadway shows," says Groff. "I hadn’t really developed the taste to appreciate something like Spring Awakening until I was in it."

New York’s "It" Broadway show of the aughts, the rock opera about sexual discovery among 19th century German teenagers earned Groff his first Tony nomination. He spent two years in the production before leaving in 2008, at the same time as friend and co-star Lea Michele, to pursue film and television. The work that immediately followed — Ang Lee’s Taking Woodstock, a recurring spin on Michele’s Fox hit Glee, a supporting role in the second season of Kelsey Grammer’s cult drama Boss, voicework in Disney $1.3 billion smash Frozen (he’ll reprise his role as Kristoff in Frozen 2, out Nov. 22) — got him on the radar for vehicles of his own. When HBO began casting Looking, its 2014 dramedy about a group of gay friends navigating an evolving San Francisco, Groff was soon tapped to front the series.

"He will search for the best version of every scene and will work until everyone drops," says Looking executive producer Andrew Haigh, who cast him as Patrick — boy-nextdoor- ish, like the actor, but privileged and problematically fickle. "He is also wholly unafraid to be vulnerable onscreen."

Looking lasted for only two seasons and a wrap-up movie, and its premature demise allowed Groff to do Hamilton, which he joined while the show was off-Broadway in early 2015, and then made the jump to Broadway. His supporting part as the aforementioned royal — with interstitial lamentations for the seceding Colonies, sung like a lovelorn (and supremely pissed) Davy Jones — earned Groff his second Tony nomination. But Groff wasn’t long for Hamilton, either. He was circling his next TV project, a moody prestige procedural about the early days of the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, based on the 1995 memoir Mindhunter by criminal profiler John E. Douglas.

"I’m not naturally a true-crime person. So reading the book, I was like … 'oh, fuck,' "says Groff of John E. Douglas’ memoir 'Mindhunter.'

Mindhunter, the book and the series, delves into the morbid minutiae of notorious murder cases with an emphasis on interviews between law enforcement and criminals in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Groff was in contention for the role of FBI agent Holden Ford, based loosely on Douglas. First, he had to prove to director and executive producer Fincher — a filmmaker long admired by Groff, who says he has "a boner for his brain" — that a jovial Broadway star most widely known for singing with a reindeer in a Disney cartoon could have the upper hand with serial killers.

It was not Groff’s first audition for Fincher. Seven years earlier, he was in the running to play Napster co-founder Sean Parker in The Social Network. "My agents said, 'You have an audition in L.A. with David and Aaron Sorkin,' " Groff recalls. "If you get it, you start rehearsal the next day, so pack your suitcase for two months. They really like your tape, but they’re also considering Justin Timberlake." The part went to Timberlake.

"I did not feel then — and still don’t — that he had the inherent venality for that role," Fincher says of Groff. "He is as decent and sensitive as anyone I’ve ever met."

If venality is off the table for Groff, darkness is not. And though casting the song-anddance man was a source of curiosity for some in Hollywood before Mindhunter’s 2017 debut, the finished product didn’t elicit any skepticism from critics. Over the first season, Groff’s character goes from eager, milkdrinking company boy to a shell of the man introduced in the first episode. He alarms colleagues with the way he mirrors serial killers, until he has a panic attack after getting a bear hug from a necrophile. The second run, equally well reviewed after its August debut, saw a somewhat recovered Holden sit down with Charles Manson and, for the dramatic fulcrum of the season, investigate the Atlanta child murders of 1979-81.

"It is so impossibly bleak that I don’t think about it while I’m doing it," says Groff, who confesses he finds watching the show more affecting than making it. "All due respect to people who feel like the character is inside of them or whatever, but I don’t have that. I would leave set, listen to Beyoncé, and that was it."

After an hour and a half in his company, Groff reveals himself as a Lucille Ball historian, an avid bike rider, a devout New Yorker and someone who doesn’t seem easily bummed out — except when the conversation turns to success. His excitement over landing Mindhunter, he says, was immediately diluted by a pang of sadness. "Whenever something really great happens, it makes me feel a little bit depressed," he says. "It’s like, this is never going to get better than this moment right now. I’m sitting in David Fincher’s office and he’s giving me this role."

Talk of a third season of Mindhunter is on hold while Fincher focuses on his next feature. But the director did take a recent break from Mank, a biopic on Citizen Kane screenwriter Herman Mankiewicz, to attend Groff’s first Little Shop matinee with wife and fellow Mindhunter executive producer Céan Chaffin. It was a surprise appearance, but only because Groff hadn’t been checking his text messages. "I’m not good at my phone," he admits.

Groff has not looked at his phone since that one call — which, while polite, now has him in danger of running late for curtain. He breaks the bad news of his immediate departure to one particularly adoring waiter, and we walk to the stand where his bike is locked. There, he pulls from his bag a cobalt helmet that could double as Tron cosplay. Bars of blinding LED lights on both its front and back, his headgear tells cabs to get the hell out of the way and signals to everybody else that this is a man who values safety over subtlety.

"Yeah, I do really love riding my bike in the city … I’m just not that hard-core," Groff says of the helmet before encasing his tousle of sandy chestnut hair for the one-block ride to the theater and an expectant Joel Grey. "My mom bought this for me."

[osmw1]

Dimension Wave  Chapter 33 — A Battle under Moonlight

It was our fourth day out venturing on the Sea of No Return.

The waters were calm, making for easy experience and loot. That was of course a good thing, but a few problems had surfaced.

“We’ve finished all the food that we brought.” “… ‘Kay.” “Oh, and we’re also out of bait. Once we eat through the fish I’ve caught, then we’re out of luck.” “W-Whatever shall we do?!” “There’s nothing worse than an empty stomach~”

We never planned to be on a long voyage. I mean, when I said that we brought food, it’s really nothing more than just simple rations. Well, it’s not like I can’t fish without bait, but it’ll be a little tricky to feed all six of us. My cooking skill isn’t that refined either, so it’s more than likely it’ll result in a few failed attempts. That means we absolutely need to obtain and maintain our supply level.

“It ain’t all bad though.” “What do you mean?” “See, we’ve been without fresh water for a few days and we’re alright, aren’t we?” “… I see.” “Altorese is indeed correct.”

It’s true. Water should have been a problem long ago. I remember someone saying that if you go hungry in the game, it might become a problem once you’re finished playing. It probably has something to do with the program that brings us back to real life. As my real life friend once said, Dimension Wave is like a dream that you can vividly remember. There’s something sad about that, but hey, at least playing this probably won’t hurt your school grades too bad, unlike video games. … Let’s get back on track to the problem at hand.

“It’s a game after all. We might feel hungry, but that’s just a virtual thing and we won’t die from hunger. Worst case scenario might actually be overeating.” “I don’t think that far ahead… Well, anyway, let me see if I can’t do anything about getting us more food.”

In the end, I was thrown back into fishing, which was what I wanted to do from the beginning. No more high-quality bait means that I won’t be able to catch us anything big like tuna but I’ll still be able to get smaller fish. Here was where my shining lure came into play. Since it’s always lit up, I’ve been using it as my light source at night. I also found out that the lure can’t catch me anything during daytime, but it attracts squid at night. Or so says Alto anyway.

“Hello, shining squid lure.”

Makes sense that you need a squid lure for squid. I mean, it looks like a normal lure… except for the part where it lights up. In any case, I could solve our hunger problem with it. Let’s get that squid. Not that I can catch anything but squid at night. In mere days, I caught myself close to 500 of them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“I bite my thumb at thee, Miss Kizuna!”

Such were the hurtful words hurled unto me. Even Sheryl needed to vent her frustration of too much squid. That was by shooting them out of her ballista.

    Day in, day out, it was me, my fishing rod, and squid. Never mind the fact that I had over 1,000 of them in my inventory. What a lure. I still stood by the words I said that day at that time at that location: it’s worth every penny.

But there’s something about the Sea of No Return. Not sure what it is, but monsters come out only during the day. Even back at the outskirts of the First City, monsters would come out at night. What, did the devs want to give us a break or something? Seems highly unlikely. In any ordinary RPG, you’d find old clichéd dungeons like The Labyrinth or The Endless Desert where every route takes you down a different path and you can’t get out unless you solve a puzzle. It kinda feels like that. It’s getting close to a week out here at sea and we’re all getting a little stressed. Of course, the fact that we only have squid definitely contributes to it. We’ve gotta do something about this.

“Are they biting?” “… Oh, it’s you, Shouko.”

I was a little surprised when someone spoke to me since I get lost in my thoughts while late night fishing. Shouko sat down beside me and gazed up at the moon. The moon’s out tonight… It sure looks bigger in this world than the real thing. Big as it is though, it doesn’t shine very bright.

“Nature sure is wonderful.” “Something bothering you?” “Oh, no… Though I realize this world was created by people, who would think that a single storm would change all of our lives?” “Yeah, you’re right.”

We were unlucky getting sucked in by the storm, but I didn’t think that would result in all six of us living together on this ship. Up until now, we all had our individual rooms at our accommodation. It almost feels like we’re on a field trip together, at the risk of sounding like I’m taking this a little too lightly. But especially because of that, we must find a way to get through this together. Games are designed to be figured out if you pay close enough attention to the details. If we can’t find the answer, it means we’re not looking hard enough.

“Kizuna, you have a bite.” “S’alright. Squid aren’t that hard to catch.”

The tip of my line was bobbing up and down.

… No, wait. That’s no squid.

I had tirelessly fished for the past few days, so I know what squid feels like. There’s nothing but squid around here at night and it’s not because of my light-up lure. But that’s the problem. I’ve caught a thousand of them but this ain’t one. This had to be a rare catch. Literally. Anyway, time to reel…

“Come!”

—Kathunk! I’ve had a bite like this before and it’s a day and night difference compared to my normal catches. This… this was it. This was the Giant Herring.

“No, can’t be. This is more powerful…!” “Kizuna, it’s pulling our ship.” “… Damn! Go get Sheryl for me! I need her Harpoon skills or maybe…” “On it!”

I didn’t have the mental capacity to track Shouko as she disappeared under deck. My full attention was on the tip of my fishing rod. The line was connected directly to my cranial nerves. And when I felt it, I pulled… and reeled.

The reel, a compatible pairing to deep sea fishing and lures, was a new addition to my rod. It wasn’t too easy to the hang of it, but it provides a lot more leverage. The complex part is casting with a lure. It seems like it’s not too dissimilar to how they work in real life. Anyway, trust me when I say I feel like I’m one with my rod.

“… Here, Kizuna.” “Sheryl, you think you can use your harpoon and hit where I tell you to?” “… Possibly.” “Please! I won’t be able to do this alone.”

I mean, harpoons were originally for spearfishing anyway. It makes for a perfect weapon against a huge sea creature. That’s why I don’t think anyone would be more suited for this job other than Sheryl.

“… Where?” “Hold on…”

While we attacked and defended, I also tried to locate where the aquatic animal was. My mind and my rod are one. I… should know where it is. It should be like searching through with my mind, probably. Oh, I see. The Crystal of Mediation must’ve pulled its aggro. Maybe that’s why I was able to catch a thousand of them squid. But this… thing… I feel its hatred searing my skin. And it’s…

“Right there!” “… Bomber Lancer.”

A mid-tier skill for Harpoon-type weapons. It was a mid-range combat skill where you throw the harpoon like a javelin. With one hand on the cord, Sheryl chucked her harpoon out with an explosive visual effect. The missile audibly sunk deep into the creature. Reeling it in was instantly easier, but it started moving again.

“How many more can you do?” “I’m fine.” “I’m counting on you.” “‘Kay.”

It wouldn’t sit well with my pride if I let Sheryl do all the heavy lifting. As difficult as it was, I kept on reeling. From time to time, her harpoon would whiz by… It was strong enough to nearly stunlock the bastard. It helped immensely as I tried to fish it up.

“Keep it up!” “Mm.”

The battle dragged on, wearing down on our spirits. At least our enemy’s stamina is also being exhausted. But of course. It’s a 2v1. No way we’d lose.

“Sheryl, our next bout will end it!” “… Aight.”

With her harpoon gripped firmly, I signaled her to attack with all her might. And our enemy…

    “… I mean, I get it, but.”

We fished up—or rather, hunted—a humongous squid. It’s apparent that it’s related to the Giant Herring. Thank you very much. We couldn’t exactly heft it up on board, so we had it towed along with a rope. I mean, I say hunted, but we’re not sure yet if it’s a monster or not. “Kraken” wouldn’t be an unfair name for it. … I mean, Sheryl took it down with her attacks, so I guess it is a monster? Anyway, the harpoon is perfectly suited for fighting sea creatures.

“… Kizuna.” “Hmm? What’s up?” “I think you should gut it soon.” “Why do you… Ah, whatever. Gotcha. I’ll do it.” “Hm.”

I didn’t get the feeling she would answer even if I were to finish asking her, though there was something like a gleam in her eye. I guess shooting squid out of the ballista would’ve been effective, but eating nothing but it is another story. Not to mention that Sheryl had eaten the most out of any of us. … Maybe she likes squid? I decided it would’ve been wiser to not ask her and just to gut the Humongous Squid in silence. What I got was:

Water Deity’s Tentacle, Water Deity’s Fin, Water Deity’s Head, Water Deity’s Arm, Water Deity’s Mantle, Water Deity’s Heart, Water Deity’s Eye, Water Deity’s Shell, Top Quality Squid Ink, Top Quality Trimmed Squid

Just like with the Giant Herring, I received a surprising number of items from gutting. Maybe all of them boss creatures are like this, eh? And I suppose it was originally a squid turned water deity? Hmm, I wonder… what kind of weapons I could make with these parts…

“Sheryl, we’ll discuss it with everyone else, but have these items.” “… You sure?” “Why do you question it?” “Hm.” “I don’t have any ulterior motives. I just feel like it would be better if you held on to them.” “Hm.” “Call it a gut feeling. Speaking of which… that was kinda uncharacteristic of what you said earlier.” “… Not really.”

Whatever. Not like it’d help if I hounded her over it anyway. In any event, I handed over all the items I received by gutting the Humongous Squid. We’re still undecided, but it’d be nice if she could make a good weapon out of its parts.

“Kizuna! Sheryl!”

While we were basking in the glory of defeating the Humongous Squid, Shouko called out to us in a less delighted tone. I’ve seen her flustered only a handful of times since we’ve first met.

“What’s wrong?” “The ship is moving by itself.” “I’m pretty sure that’s what ships do.” “No, I don’t mean it like th—” “Kizuna.”

Sheryl interrupted Shouko as she pointed upwards. Our sails were furled. I looked around. A calm night without so much wind or waves. There was no one using Helmsmanship. And yet, despite so.

… Our ship was traveling at an unnatural speed.

contents: /prologue/ /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /ch006/ /ch007/ /ch008/ /ch009/ /ch010/ /ch011/ /ch012/ /ch013/ /ch014/ /ch015/ /ch016/ /ch017/ /ch018/ /ch019/ /ch020/ /ch021/ /ch022/ /ch023/ /ch024/ /ch025/ /ch026/ /ch027/ /ch028/ /ch029/ /ch030/ /ch031/ /ch032/ /ch033/ /next/

(leave me a tip on Patreon?)

[amethyst-noir]

could I maybe prompt you? if yes, maybe you could write some ironstrange where Stephen is really jealous of someone and Tony is oblivious to it all? And Stephen feels really insecure? Thank you!

First of all, thank you for a prompt that contains some of my favorite tropes. Yay! I didn’t know if you wanted a get-together or anestablished relationship so I choose the first scenario since I haven’t postedone of those before. I couldn’t leave Stephen in this place of desolation so parttwo became a necessity. I do hope you like your angst with a happy ending. Thisis also the part that got waaaaaaay longer and sweeter than anticipated. Is ittoo much? Maybe. (Probably.) I don’t know and I don’t care. I hope you enjoy, dear anon, and you and others like this story half as much as I lovedwriting it.

Somewhere outthere waiting(is a placewhere I’ll know peace)

“Goodevening, Doctor Strange.”

Stephensmiled at the greeting and looked up to find the nearest camera. “Hello,FRIDAY. Where can I find him?” The day had been long and stressful and tobe honest all he wanted to do right now was to portal home and go to sleep. Buthe had promised Tony to drop in and as much as he wanted to sleep he alsowanted so spent some time with the guy.

“Downstairs,in the laboratory, with Bruce.”

FRIDAY’swords were like a cold shower, forcing his wandering mind back to the here andnow so fast that it was almost painful. Banner, he thought. Wonderful.Even the AI calls him by his first name. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Doctor Banner. He seemed like a niceguy. Dependable. Here when you needed him, ever since he got back from is outerspace adventure. A good friend to Tony and the universe knew that Tony neededeach and every one he could get. It was just that in the last few weeks, eversince Stephen thought - hoped - that the next big step in theirrelationship might just be around the corner, every time he turned up in thetower or on the compound Bruce Banner was there. Always secreted away in thelab, always working on something with Tony. A something Tony didn’t discusswith Stephen, even when asked.

“Boss said you should just come down when youarrive.”

Other people would kill for unregulated access to Tony Stark’s lab; Stephenjust felt hollow. “Well, then please tell Tony that I’m sorry but it was along day and I just wanted to say hello. I don’t want to disturb him.Them.” Stephen closed his eyes and visualized the sanctum to create aportal. His hands moved on instinct but the first try failed when his left wristseized up and ruined the gesture. Orange sparks of magic fell around him andfaded away. “Damn it!” The pain took his concentration away and hismind was flooded with the images he had tried so hard to banish to the darkestcorner of his subconscious.

He didn’t want to think about the last time he had gone down to the lab,a few days ago, when Banner had been there. Him and Tony, standing just alittle bit too close for good friends, Tony’s arm around his shoulder whilethey were working on a holographic display, exchanging light banter andhigh-tech babble. The display had shut down the moment Stephen had entered thelab and both men had looked like little boys caught in the middle of someprank. They had been nice about it and Bruce had vanished not long after that.Tony and Stephen had spent the rest of the night talking, drinking a little bitand getting further along the road towards their first kiss. Or so Stephen hadthought. The secret project had been nagging at him since then and Tony’srefusal to talk about it had sown a seed that had grown and grown.

That incident had hurt Stephen deep down not only in his heart but alsohis soul. He’d hoped to be the person next to Tony, had even dared to dream ofstarting his theoretical work on neuroscience again, just a little bit, to keepin the loop, if and when his magical duties permitted it. He wanted to be theone Tony confided to, held on to, talked about the next wonder his lightningfast mind had conjured up from nothing.

He wanted everything. His magic, his old work backand Tony at his side. In his bed, his life.

Stupid,Strange. You still have not learned. It’s not about you. Tony always had far superior prospects than thebroken shell of a man Stephen had become. Banner was a better fit, anyway. Hehad the not so little green problem, granted, but he was getting better andbetter at controlling the Hulk and the Hulk himself had gotten more sociableand less destructive, too. He was not bad looking, very intelligent, nice andnot damaged goods, like Stephen himself. And he didn’t have other duties thattook him away for weeks at a time.

I’m tootired for this. And his thoughts weregoing in a circle. Variations of the Bruce Banner is a nice guy and perfectfor Tony theme had been haunting him for a while now and right in thismoment? It was pretty much all his exhausted brain could produce. Pathetic.

It took way more effort than it should have but at the second try themanaged to form a stable portal. “Bye, FRIDAY,” he called as hevanished through it, just as FRIDAY said, “Tony is coming up right now, Stephen.”

*

He was just coming out of the bathroom, gripping his left wrist as hardas he could, when his phone rang. Tony, of course. For a moment Stephen toyedwith the idea of just ignoring it but that would have been unfair. He had runaway from their appointment - not a date, he reminded himself - so hehad to apologize. A little bit of magic lifted the phone into the air and in hiswaiting hand. A quick tap and the holographic display was disabled and thespeaker activated. “Hello, Tony. I’m sorry about before.” He tried tosound more awake and far less depressed than he was. He threw the phone down onthe bed and searched his bedside table for the bandages.

“Hi Stephen.” Tony sounded wonderful, as always. A little bittired, maybe, but that only let his voice go deeper and Stephen shivered. Hisbody was far too exhausted for any other reaction but he enjoyed the feelingnonetheless. “What are you doing? Why where you not coming down? I waswaiting for you. FRIDAY said you look terrible, so what happened? Is this whywe are on audio only? Are you okay?”

The last question was quiet, completely at odds with the lightspeedbarrage of words that had preceded it. Stephen found himself answering beforehe even thought about it. “Just tired. It was a long day.”

“Tell me, please. You sound like you’rehurting, baby.”

Stephen’s breath caught and the silence from the other end was loudenough to drown out everything else. They’d never done nicknames before, theyhadn’t even kissed, for heaven’s sake, so how dare he…

“Stephen?” Tony’s voice got even deeper and softer. “Iknow this might not be the right time or place but I know that there’ssomething bothering you and it has something to do with me and I’m sorry,whatever it is, I can change it, just tell me. Please.”

Stephen searched his mind and got… nothing. He didn’t know how toreact, what to do, what to say. “I sprained my wrist,” he finallysaid and wanted to banish himself into the dark dimension a second later. Ofall the stupid, nonsensical things to say…

“Which one?” Tony immediately snapped into the concerned oneof my friends is hurt and I have to help them mode Stephen loved so muchabout the man. He answered on autopilot.

“The left one. I’m bandaging it right now to keep itimmobilized.” He was doing no such thing. The bandage was lying beforehim, near the phone and he was sitting on his bed, holding his wrist like achild with tears of frustration in his eyes.

Another short pause. “Stephen, we need to talk. Can you create aportal for me? It’s okay if not. I’ll fly there. Just tell your mausoleum tolet me in.”

He didn’t want to see Tony. He wanted to see Tony more than anything.He didn’t do or say anything, just stared at the wall and the Cloak which hadbeen watching him like a hawk since the moment he had stepped out of the shower.It radiated displeasure.

“Stephen. I’m coming over, one way or the other. If you don’t letme in I’m sure your Cloak will do it. Just give in gracefully before you’rebetrayed by your outfit. Please.” He’d never heard Tony use please thatoften before. It was unsettling. The Cloak was nodding its agreement to Tony’swords and Stephen knew he was outmatched. He gave in with a sigh.

“I can portal you over. Just give me a moment.” Hedisconnected the call and looked down on himself. He was in his bathrobe, whichwas unacceptable. A spell later and he was wearing comfortable sweats and along-sleeved shirt. Better. The creation of a portal was a little bit trickierbut he managed it with gritted teeth and a curse.

He was still fighting the pain when his wrist was suddenly cradled inwarm, strong hands. He looked up to see Tony kneeling before him. The portalwas fizzing out behind him and the Cloak engulfed their visitor in a hug ofgreeting. Tony smiled at it. “You’ll get petted, later. Promise. First Ihave to take care of you master.” The Cloak signaled its assent andfloated away. “Now on to you, Stephen. Just tell me: What the hell isgoing on with you?” His voice was far gentler then the words themselves.The calming tone wrapped itself around Stephen’s frayed nerves and soothed themalmost as much as Tony’s touch did.

He didn’t answer but he grabbed the roll of bandages and offered it tothe man before him. Tony took it and, after a gentle caress of his wrist, beganto wrap it up. His motions where quick and sure, betraying his familiarity withthe task. It was tight enough to prevent movement but not tight enough to blockcirculation.

“Thank you.”

“The left one is the bad one, isn’t it?” Tony was stillholding his wrist, smoothing over the fabric with slow strokes.

“Yes.” Stephen swallowed. “The right one wasn’t quite asshattered in the accident, did require less surgery and did heal better. Itgives me trouble on bad days but it’s not nearly as sensitive as this one.”He held up his left wrist and Tony’s hands fell down on his thighs. He lookedso sad and miserable that Stephen scrambled for an explanation. “It’s a miraclethat any doctor agreed to do my surgeries, considering the extent of the damageand my overall health at the time. This is the best possible outcome afterinjuries like mine.”

Tony smiled sadly at that. “Is that the optimist or the pessimistspeaking?” He grabbed Stephen’s right hand, pushed the shirtsleeves up andtraced over the scars on his wrist and fingers, leaving goosebumps in his wake.The shaking, bad to begin with, became worse.

“The realist,” Stephen finally answeredafter an eternity.

Tony looked up and stopped his gentle stroking. Instead he grippedStephen’s right wrist just this side of painful. “And why has this realistbeen running away from me - from us - for the last few days? I thoughtwe were on the same page, that it was finally time.” Suddenly Tony let goand got up to pace the room. Cool air on overheated skin brought Stephen’swandering mind back to his tired and bruised body. “I know that I’ve beenstringing you along for a while now,” Tony was saying right then andStephen didn’t know when he had taken a turn into an alternative universe. Hehad no idea what Tony was talking about. “I know that it took me awhileafter… after…”

No! Stephen realized too late where this was going buthe had no way of stopping it now. Instinctively he tried to rise his hands, asif to ward of something, but a warning twinge in his wrist forced him to keephis hands down in his lap.

“Pepper.” There were tears in Tony’s eyes and voice now andStephen wanted nothing more but to get up, bundle him up in an embrace and justhold on. Instead he sat there, paralyzed, wondering when it had all gone sohorribly wrong. “I know you were waiting, that you were giving me timeafter the final break up and I thought, I thought that the time was finally here.Our time.”

Stephen could no longer stand it. He got up, just as the Cloak flew atTony and pushed him into Stephen’s waiting arms. It was pure reflex to closehis arms around Tony and just hold on.

The both moved in at the same time - Tony stretching a little bit andStephen bending down for their first kiss. It was surprisingly chaste, apromise of things to come. Stephen was too tired and bruised, something whichTony seemed to sense and respect. It was like they had kissed a million timesbefore, comforting and wonderful.

It came to an end by mutual, unspoken decision. Tony buried his headbetween Stephens neck and shoulder. “It’s here,” Stephen promised.“I’m here. Whenever you want me to.” With his right hand he began tostroke Tony’s back. Up and down, up and down. It was a soothing rhythm and hewanted to lose himself in it.

Tony squeezed him tighter, wordlessly letting Stephen know that hewould never let him go again. “The why where you running away?” heasked again. Since Stephen knew he couldn’t escape the question forever hedecided to get it over with.

“Banner. Bruce,” he corrected himselfafter a moment.

“What?” Tony freed himself to look at himincredulously. “Bruce? What about him?”

Heaven help him, Tony had no idea what Stephen was talking about. Thislevel of cluelessness couldn’t be anything but real and Stephen was forced torethink his reaction.

He did.

He still came to the same conclusion.

By now the Cloak was gently but firmly guiding them both towards thebed to sit down. Stephen sank down gratefully, Tony eyed him for a moment butanother push from the Cloak forced him to sit down besides Stephen who hadinstinctively curled up on his side. Tony stretched out before him and after amoment of hesitation pulled him in. Stephen sighed gratefully and followed thegentle lead to lay his head on Tony’s right shoulder. He rolled onto his sideto really snuggle up to him. His left arm was between them and after a momenthe settled it on Tony’s leg. The position wasn’t quite comfortable but it wasthe best he could do right now. It was enough. It was perfect. Tony smelledamazing, as if he was freshly showered. Something turned over in his mind andStephen closed his eyes as he realized. I’m an idiot. “You wantedto make your move on me tonight, didn’t you?” And I ran away.

“Hmm.” No denial, no confirmation. But Stephen didn’t need toturn back time to know he was right. “Cuddling just after the firstkiss.” Tony chuckled as the got an arm around Stephen’s waist and held himtightly. “I don’t do cuddles. At least not clothed ones.” He presseda kiss to Stephens forehead. “You’ve always been an exception, StephenStrange. And now tell me about Bruce and what he did to you. You’re not afraidof the Hulk, so the nice scientist shouldn’t be a problem, either.”

The nice scientist. The problem adequately packaged in three words foreasy consumption. “You’ve not been flirting with the Hulk.” Oh, thatcame out way more petulant than expected. For a moment he resisted his impulsebut then he hid his face in Tony’s shoulder. “Ignore me, I’m anidiot.”

Tony laughed and stroked his neck. “But you’re my idiot andnow I’m curious why you thought that. Me and Bruce? Never! I like the guy,sure, he’s a good friend. One of the best. But that’s all. You’re the oneI…” He didn’t finish and he didn’t have to. It was too soon, they wouldget there in time. Which they apparently had, if the universe gave them somepeace after all the horrors they’d had to endure. “What the hell made youthink that I was flirting with Bruce?” The laughter had gone, replacedwith gentle amusement. His hold on Stephen tightened. “I thought I made itabsolutely clear that you’re the one for me, even though it took me a while to admitit.”

Stephen didn’t want to talk anymore. He wanted to drift off to sleep inthe arms of the man he loved more than anything. He wanted to wake up in themorning in the same position, followed by a peaceful day where they could exploreeach other’s bodies and preferences. He wanted his wrist to stop hurting. Hewanted to be kissed until he couldn’t breathe, he wanted to be taken by Tonyand take him in return, he wanted everything he had fantasized about in monthssince Tony had brought him back to life. He wanted so much more. He wanted tobe the man Tony apparently saw in him, not the insecure, hurting mess he trulywas.

But before all that they still had to get one last problem out of theway. “In the lab,” he began and stopped immediately. He didn’t have aclue how to explain himself. “I’m an overreacting, jealous idiot,” hefinally said, defeated. “Forget it.”

“No.” Tony gripped his chin and gently forced his headupwards till their eyes met. “It’s about that day in the lab, isn’t it?When you came an hour earlier as expected and surprised us in the middle of oursuper-secret project. The one you’ve been dying to learn about since then. Andthe moment you came in Bruce and I were very, very close. And you thought…?”Gentle laughter, once again. “Am I right or am I right?”

Stephen gave up. The downside of kind-of-dating a genius, who was alsovery empathic, was shit like this. You couldn’t really hide from Tony Stark;the guy was way too perceptive. He hid it, most of the time, but he didn’tbother with the people closest to him. He worked stuff out, he tried to help. Sometimeshe didn’t quite succeed, be he did try again and again. Stephen was destined tobe a life-long project. He simply nodded.

“Stephen, you’re an idiot.” But Tony was still smiling fondlyat him, so it wasn’t too bad. “But you’re my idiot. We are workingon something for you, to stabilize your hands and help with the pain. Sinceyou have a standing invitation FRIDAY didn’t warn me of your arrival. When thedoor opened we just tried to hide the screen until she could deactivate it, sinceI wanted it to be a surprise.” Tony let go of his head and let him cuddleup again. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk about it in the morning and you cancheck everything over and give us your input. It was stupid to keep it asecret, I know. We just wanted to make sure it was viable approach before Itold you about it. Rest, now.” He pressed another soft kiss into Stephenshair.

For him? Help him with the living hell his hands put him through every day?Tony and Bruce? What? It was too much information; Stephens exhausted braincouldn’t handle it. He just wanted to collapse and think of nothing. Tony knew,of course.

“Sleep, baby. Let go, I’ve gotyou.”

Baby, once again. He had hated pet-names in the past but he could getused to them. Especially the soft tone Tony adopted when he called him that.The thought, along with Tony’s gentle reassurances and tender caresses followedhim down to sleep.

=/\=

[rauliskafan]

Magic in Manhattan

Would you like a little Rafael Barba x Reader by way of “Tristan and Isolde?” Read on for more (for lt-sammi-matthews Twist on the Myth Challenge). Enjoy!!!

“You’re going to put the screws to him, right?”

Mark spoke out of the corner of his mouth as the pair of you sat at the defense table, listening to the man whose sole mission in life was to take your client down for fostering a campus rife with harassment complaints. While the idea of the latter turned your stomach, Mark swore up and down that it was a setup, that he was collateral damage in a world gone mad. You wanted to believe him. He had never been anything but generous as your mentor. The fact that he occasionally flirted was beside the point.

The fact that you wanted to beat ADA Rafael Barba at his own game had everything to do with the matter and more.

As soon as the well-dressed man with the emerald eyes rested his closing argument, he sent a smirk your way. You resented it. Did he think that you were being played? Or that you weren’t up to the challenge?

You would do your best to prove him wrong on both counts..

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, good morning. The prosecution took up the better part of an hour essentially repeating the same point. Surprised he didn’t throw an interpretative dance into the mix.”

That got some giggles out the jury, and you took the moment of laughter to deliver your own smirk to the ADA. He sat stone-faced but just curled his long fingers around a gold pen. Good. You wanted to get under his skin from the start.

“I will not be nearly as long-winded,” you continued. “My client, Dr. Mark Brower has served Hudson University’s Criminal Justice Department honorably for the last seven years. He certainly respects the gravity of these accusations. He would be the first to tell you that he applauds any woman with the strength to come forward after an assault.”

You caught a glimpse of Barba leaning forward in his chair. He had to wonder where you were going with this.

“But make no mistake,” you continued. “There are such things as baseless claims in our current climate, and three students in a span of seven years does not a predator make. I would argue it makes up a select student body who simply could not hack the coursework, and now here we are.”

Hearing the murmurs from the gallery mingled with two jurors who nodded at your logic set your mind more and more at ease. And Barba looked ready to sport a glove of ink, his pen about to explode in his palm.

“I’m sure the ADA is prepared to jump through a lot of hoops to convince you otherwise. But we have our own evidence. And when we reach the conclusion of this case, I have faith that you fine people will make the right decision. Thank you.”

Feeling supremely pleased with yourself, you sauntered back to the defense table, your eyes locking with Mr. Barba’s. Perhaps he wanted to wield his pen as a different kind of a weapon. No matter. Those possible sentiments mirrored yours exactly, and by the end of this trial, you would wipe that smug look off his face for good and all.

“Fancy meeting the likes of you here.”

Looking up from your legal briefs, you cringed at the sight of Barba polluting your favorite watering hole. Wasn’t he the Forlini’s type, his lips forever pressed to that holier-than-thou lieutenant’s ass?

“I trust you’re not following me, Mr. Barba,” you challenged as he hovered close to your place at the bar.

“After trying to track your dizzying line of questioning for the better part of the afternoon?” he shot back. “Thank you, no. I’m in the market for a reprieve.”

“And yet, here you are.”

As the bar was jam-packed on a Friday night, the man wearing pinstripes had one of two choices: retreat or assume the seat at your side. It did not surprise you when he opted for the latter, a feeble attempt to mark his territory and make your night a misery.

Two could play at that game.

“What are you working on?” he asked as he sipped a glass of scotch on the rocks.

“In what world do you think I would share my strategy with you?” you inquired in a blistering tone, taking care to shield your notes with your forearm.

“Certainly not this one,” he reasoned. “I thought maybe you were prepping for your next client.”

“My next client?” you asked, suddenly and slightly confused.

“That’s right,” he said, letting you hang in suspense as he took another drink. “Who’s next? Going to try to get Madoff a retrial? Or perhaps you prefer educators who take advantage. Absolutely no shortage of those these days.”

Seething where you sat, working overtime to let the insult wash over you and drip to the floor littered with peanut shells and pretzel dust, you polished off your bourbon and signaled to Bree, the distracted girl behind the bar who kept checking her phone, for another.

“And you are so sure that my client is guilty,” you spat. “Because you’ve never head of someone lying to get a leg up.”

“Of course I have,” he admitted as he downed the rest of his drink. “It happens. I’d ask if you made the same move with Brower---”

“Careful, counselor,” you warned as the door to the bar opened, bringing in a double date and an early autumn breeze.

“I was only going to say that you’ve made your marks based on merit. I would never deny that.”

He finished his drink and also ordered a refill. You stared at him carefully, considering how you should take the compliment and whether or not there was something sinister lurking beneath its surface.

“You would just accuse me of selling out my entire gender to get my name on the front page,” you finally said, not willing to give so much as an inch. Now his silence spoke volumes, and you turned away with a sneer.

“Hey!” you called out to Bree who was deep in conversation with one quarter of the double date. “Some service here, please?”

Bree started forward when her boss, a burly man with tattoos, intervened.

“Come on, Bree,” he muttered. “Got to move faster on a Friday.”

With that, he quickly picked up two shots of what looked like tequila and set one glass before you, one next to Barba.

“On the house,” the tattooed man said. “We’ll get you your right refills in just a moment.”

Needing a drink of something, anything, now, you lifted the shot glass to your lips and drank the contents in one swallow.

Strange. It tasted far sweeter than you expected. Barely any trace of alcohol. If you didn’t know any better, you would swear it was honey seasoned with… seasoned with what? Herbs? Was it laced with something? You just made out Bree’s eyes go wide and started to speak when Barba chuckled.

“That supposed to intimidate me or something?” he asked. “You mixing your drinks? Better study your adversaries a little more closely.”

Before you could offer anything in the way of a warning, he followed your lead and consumed the shot. Almost instantaneously, you saw his puzzled eyes, his lips lengthening into a straight line as his brow furrowed. He had to taste it, too. Had to wonder what was wrong with the beverage. Feeling the need to ask him as much, you met his eyes.

The world stopped moving. All the sounds in the room retired like children being called away from a summer night so they could get some much-needed sleep. The light in the bar stayed dim. Except for the place where Barba sat. There you saw a glow emanating from the man. Had it always been there? Why had you never noticed it before?

“Barba…”

Your own voice sounded different. Softer. At the very least, it was a tone that you had never used with him. When he tried to speak, only a sigh hit the air, sweet and gentle. Like a pie left cooling on a windowsill and promising even more thrills once one bit into the crust to savor the juices of the fruits so artfully buried within.

“I… I don’t know…”

He said nothing else. Simply took your hand in his. That same hand that might have crushed a pen with one squeeze let its fingers lace with yours. So soft. Setting your skin on fire and yet there was no burn.

“I don’t know either,” you murmured as you stretched towards him

And his kiss claimed yours, your flavors blending as you solved the mystery of your heart’s hidden desires by way of his mouth.

“What the hell, Bree?”

“Jerry, I can explain.”

“Did you dose them with something?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be for them.”

“So you admit it?”

“It was for my friends. Well, for their dates.”

“Why? You trying to set them up or something?”

“No! It was to make them fall in love!”

Bree and the bartender continued bickering back and forth. Some sense of sound returned when they ushered you from the bar to a backroom.

But Barba’s moans still bested any other voices.

“God, why didn’t we do this sooner?”

Answering his question with another kiss, you sat beside him on a battered couch. With your arms about his neck, you ran your eager hands across his back, under his blazer. You could feel his muscles straining through his vest, his shirt. He grazed his fingers over your legs and tenderly reached under your skirt. Sliding closer, sighing as he stroked your thighs, you dragged your lips towards his ear.

“Time… wasted,” you managed as you nibbled his lobe. “Looking at you in court every day… it was torture.”

Drawing you nearer, he guided you to his lap. One hand stayed on your leg as he began to unbutton your blouse, your breasts anxious for his touch when Jerry cleared his throat and Bree rushed forward.

“Guys,” she started. “Sorry. I… this was a mistake.”

“Hardly,” Barba argued before gazing into your eyes again. “I was fated to come here tonight. To fall in love.”

“Oh, Rafael!” you sighed, pushing him to his back, desperate to have him wearing much less when Bree furiously clapped her hands and stamped her foot.

“It was a love potion!” she shrieked.

“And it’s in her eyes,” Barba said as he caressed your face, and you leaned your cheek into his palm.

“You say the sweetest things,” you said, needing to kiss him again when Jerry groaned.

“Before I fire you, Bree, please tell me that there’s an antidote.”

“Not really,” she said. “I mean… I mean we could try to separate them or something.”

“Not on your life.”

Easing away from you ever so slightly, Barba rose and helped you to stand on wobbly legs. But as long as you could lean against him…

“She stays with me always,” he said. “Isn’t that right, querida?”

Your weak knees knocked together at the word, and you had no other choice but to cling to him, squealing as he lifted you into his arms. Jerry and Bree stood stunned as Barba brought you out the city street that seemed paved with even more flowers.

And you kissed him so hard that he had to sink to the curb even as his embrace stayed tight.

“What?” he asked as he nuzzled your nose.

“Querida?” you asked.

“Term of endearment. Do you not like it? I can change it if---”

“I love it,” you said. “I want to call you so many things.”

“Like what?” he asked, kissing you again as if he needed your breath to stay alive.

“Mine,” you murmured. “Always. Forever.”

He nodded, and you started to drift deeper into the pavement as a taxi pulled up.

“You crazy kids okay?” the bearded cabbie asked. “Somewhere you need to go?”

Once again, Barba helped you to your feet. You were more than ready to offer your place for this night, for the weekend and longer, when Barba stopped short and fashioned a smirk that made you blush.

“What are you thinking?” you asked.

“What you said. Making you mine. Forever.”

“Are you serious?”

You were still giddy and barely able to walk from the feel of Barba inside you for nearly two nights straight. But despite your ardor, there was still a job to do. And you stood together before the bench as you smiled into his eyes.

“Forgive me… forgive us your honor,” you started. “But it has to be a conflict of interest for me to go up against my husband in court.”

Barba laughed and kissed your lips, your mussed hair. The flight to Vegas took no time at all in the space of his arms. Once arrived, you found the first chapel available and spoke vows with an Elvis impersonator as your witness. When the officiant deemed that you were indeed man and wife, he tossed chips in the air. But you had no desire to make your way to the tables. Better to linger with him in a bed adorned with Lucky Sevens and savor so many sensations as the arid sun set and rose and left the room once more. You wanted his hands everywhere, kept him by your side throughout bubble baths and the few stolen moments to eat. Beyond that, you held him until he looked to his phone with a heavy sigh.

It’s almost Monday.

Let’s not go back.

Just to recuse ourselves. And then I’m taking my bride home.

Which led you to the courtroom. Just holding his hand was so much less than what you needed from his fingers, but the judge ultimately rolled her eyes. She warned of consequences for both of you. No matter. Soon enough you were back in the fresh air, on the courthouse steps, and in Barba’s arms.

“How do I love you so much?” he murmured into your hair.

“I know. Was it the drink?”

“No way. I always thought you were amazing.”

“Did you?”

“Smart as you are? How could I not.”

Weak in the knees all over again, ready to hail a cab and get back to the nearest bed, your wish was cut short by the harsh sound of a familiar voice.

“What the hell, you bitch?”

Mark stood only a few feet away, glaring with his hands in his pockets as Barba eased you behind his back.

“Don’t talk to my wife that way,” he cautioned.

“Your wife? In one weekend?”

“Mark, please,” you said. “Just find another attorney.”

“I want you.”

“I’m spoken for.”

Once again, the world came to a halt, Barba glowing as your mouth met his. His kiss tasted sweeter still, and you were more than ready to take your leave when Mark lunged forward.

“Do you think I would let you do this?” he barked.

“Hey, let her---!”

“You’re not like those other sluts. They were asking for it. You played hard to get. What else do I have to do to make you mine?”

Seeing him clearly as if for the first time, you shuddered but still summoned the strength to push him away, to nearly send him stumbling back.

“So it’s all true,” you said. “Mark, you need a lot more help than what I can give you.”

“I paid for you to stand by me.”

“Then you can have your money back,” you reasoned, any ire in your soul calming as Barba touched the small of your back. “I got a better offer in every way, shape, and form.”

Still strange how it happened. A part of you had desired him the second you saw him walk by in a three-piece suit. Now you only wanted him out of the pinstripes once more and started to kiss him…

“I’ll sue the both of you for damages!”

Mark screeched as he plowed forward. Barba pushed you out of the way and stood to ward Mark off when they both tumbled down a few steps. You screeched, your hands on your mouth as you thought of his head hitting a sharp edge, his beautiful mind stilling his beautiful heart.

“Rafael!”

Seeing no blood in is hair, you raced forward and clasped his hand.

“Baby?” you whispered.

His green eyes sparkled, the one breath he managed to exhale sweeter than ever as his finger reached for your hair.

“Querida…”

Hearing him speak soothed your heart, and you were ready to help him up when you saw the gold pen that had stayed so long in tact dislodged from his pocket…

…and sticking out of his chest.

“Uh… Mrs. Barba?”

You sat with his bloodied blazer in your hands, listening carefully to the doctor’s words. Lost a lot of blood. Critical but stable. Think he’s going to pull through.

Now the world moved. You heard his mother weep tears of joy and saw his colleagues, the lieutenant you had disparaged in particular, smile at the news. Your husband. Your most beautiful love going to come back to you in one piece. You hugged the doctor as you cried happily and asked to see him.

“Of course. Right this way.

Finding him pale under thin sheets, you set his coat aside and sat beside him.

“Hey. You’re going to be alright. You better be, Mr. Barba. You don’t get to barrel your way into my heart and leave me in the lurch.”

Not that you fully understood how it had even happened. Had Bree said something about a love potion? But that was the stuff of fairy tales. This was real, more real than any other moment or man that you had ever---

“Hello,” he said in a weak voice. You barely took in the sight of his troubled expression when you hugged him gently, your kisses threading through his hair

“Don’t you dare go scaring me like that again,” you whispered as you finally met his eyes and stroked his clammy cheek. His eyes grew more and more quizzical until he took your hand…

…and lowered it to one side.

“So… so it wasn’t all a dream then?” he began.

“What Mark did? I’m so sorry, baby. That was very real.”

“No. No I mean… us.”

“Us?” you echoed. “Well… yeah. We… we fell in love. We got married. Don’t you remember?”

You showed him the cheap band of gold that was now your most cherished piece of jewelry and watched his face appear to put the puzzle pieces together.

“I… remember,” he finally said. “We… we took a drink. And then…”

“Magic,” you insisted, your throat starting to tighten. Maybe it was a spell of some sort, but you didn’t care. It seemed so right. He said… he showed you that he felt the same way.

So what---?

“I think…”

“Yes?”

“I think it wore off.”

And your heart that had been so full shattered, the bits of glass seeming to swim through your body, bringing pain to more places than you could count.

“No,” you said. “You’re just… maybe it’s the anesthesia or something. Plus you lost a lot of blood.”

“I get that,” he admitted. “But I don’t… it doesn’t feel the same. You don’t… look the same. I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. But---”

“Save it.”

Finding it a struggle to stand with your broken heart, you removed the ring and started to leave the room. Suddenly feeling more like your old self, you turned on your heel to stare him down.

“Was it a trick?” you accused. “To make me throw the case? Look like a fool in front of the judge?”

“Think we’re both in that boat,” he murmured, his face seeming so sad. But now you were seeing him as was before, as he had always been.

“So maybe it was just about getting me into bed,” you hissed.

“No, I---”

“Save it, Mr. Barba,” you barked. “I’m having this sham of a marriage annulled ASAP. And do not call me again.”

Maybe it was his hurtful words or your dose of flowers having run its course, but now the spell ceased for you, too.

You sat solemnly in your office, trying to make sense of the past few days. As you were still his wife, word had reached you that Barba was to be released from the hospital. Not that you had any plans to see him. Toying with the notion of abandoning Manhattan altogether, you glanced up at the sound of a soft knock on your door.

“Hi.”

He still seemed pale, but he was up and about. While you did not wish the man dead, you stood with every intention of ushering him out when he held up one hand.

“Five minutes. That’s all I ask.”

Nodding, you glanced at your watch and crossed your arms over your chest.

“Come to rub salt in my wounds?” you asked.

“Nothing like that,” he said. “I… I should’ve called you.”

“I wouldn’t have answered.”

“I figured. So I… I actually called the girl from the bar.”

Lowering your arms, you watched him reach into his pocket. He held a vial of the same liquid from that fateful night.

“No,” you quickly said.

“No?” he echoed.

Even as you were tempted to see him shining again, to feel his touch, to look into his eyes and feel only love springing forth from his green orbs…

“It won’t work,” you said. “It’ll only fade away again, and I… I can’t go through that…”

Breaking down, you avoided his intended embrace and sat behind your desk. Barba grimaced as he dropped to one knee, still dangling the vial between his long fingers.

“You’re right,” he said. “But what if I told you that there’s another way?”

“What other way?” you asked, reaching for a tissue to dab your eyes.

“Maybe it was… I don’t know,” he started. “Witchcraft or whatever. But that weekend with you was the happiest two and a half days of my life.”

“You’re just trying to be nice,” you muttered.

“When have you ever know me to do that?” he asked, his smirk back in full force as you relaxed some in your chair.

“Point taken.”

“And see… see the thing is…”

Finally setting the vial aside, he reached for you hand. It felt oddly familiar and yet somehow altogether different. But you did not relinquish his hold.

“When I talked to Bree, she said that she’s never seen it work that fast. She couldn’t quite figure it out. But she… she surmised that it meant that there already had to be some feeling in my heart for you.”

“For me?” you asked. “I wouldn’t have guessed that. The way you spoke to me at the bar.”

“I wouldn’t spar like that with just anyone,” he confessed. “Only someone I couldn’t help but admire. Respect. Because you’re smart. And strong. And…”

His voice trailed off as he popped the cap off the vial and promptly poured the contents into your waste paper basket before reaching for your face.

“So I say let’s give it another try,” he said. “Without it. I would have taken it again for you. But maybe… maybe we don’t even need it. Let’s give forever a chance on our own terms.”

His eyes were wide and hopeful as he tightened his grip. Of course you had always felt the same way about him. There were just too many complications to contend with.

“I… I think that’s what hurt the most,” you admitted as a fresh stream of tears trailed down your cheeks.

“What’s that?” he asked, wiping the wetness away.

“Losing you… when I… when I had wanted you for so long.”

You felt your lips mirror his smile, and he leaned in for a chaste kiss. Maybe he didn’t taste quite as sweet, but there was still a kind of magic in his mouth.

“So?” he asked as he rested his brow against yours. “What do you think?”

“I… well… I guess we are already married,” you admitted.

“Elvis said you were a beautiful bride,” he teased, causing you to laugh.

“But we need to take this slowly,” you said. “Like really get to know each other.”

“You mean out of bed,” he said with a chuckle.

“Something like that.”

“Well…”

Standing slowly, he offered his arm.

“Can I take you out for a cup of coffee?”

You waited for only a second before rising to accept his touch. Would you have ever come to this place without Bree’s brew? No way of knowing. And maybe it was better to see him clearly, to explore the possibilities over which potions had no power.

“I’d like that,” you said. Leaning closer to his side, you stepped back towards what you had lost, what you had never known…

“I like you,” he whispered, as he pecked your cheek.

And somehow his simple schoolboy words were the most enchanting incantation that you had ever heard.

[bollywoodconfessions]

Bipasha Basu And Karan Singh Grover Are 'Lame', 'Goofy' And Very Much In Love!

When Bipasha Basu and Karan Singh Grover stepped into a Bandra eatery for this interview, it was refreshing to not see them flanked by their managers. They find this writer waiting at a table, greetings are exchanged, orders are placed after a mutual exchange of notes on our favourite smoothie, and just like that, without a formal 'start' signal, we realise we are five minutes into the conversation.

Their unassuming demeanour takes a little getting used to. But then, almost everything Basu and Grover do appears so.  "Why can't a married couple endorse condoms? Just because you are married does not mean you have no responsibility towards your partner," Basu says.

"We can't use sex as a dirty word. We wished that the conversation moved from sensuality to planned pregnancy, protection from STDs, and of course, loving your woman. Who talks about this in this country?" The ad was offered to them soon after they were married, and the decision to star in it was mutual. But they waited till they were sure the communication was fine-tuned to convey what they wanted to say.

Call them an evolved couple, and Basu rolls her eyes. "You know, Karan loves to use that word for us. But, we are what we are. I love taking photos and sharing them. My friends call me a 'Japanese tourist'. I have been like that since I was a little girl." "You are still a little girl," Grover says, landing a peck on her cheek. A slightly conscious Basu then smiles and says, "We love expressing love. We are goofs. We are lame." Karan has his own theory on this. "When you are acting, you get to be someone else anyway. Why be so, at other times."

On intimacy Basu: We shared great chemistry and, even while shooting this ad, Karan looked like he was on holiday. He was in the pool all day, and each time the shot was ready, we had to beg him to come out. Grover: I am getting paid to get into the pool and make out with my hot wife! What do you expect? Basu: He was always into the moment. Grover: I am always into you! Basu: I don't think the ad is steamy, per say. It just shows our playfulness. We did not need a director's instructions. That's how we are when we are together anyway. It was comforting to have my husband with me. One thing's for sure - we would not have done this ad with another co-star.

A physical and a non-physical trait you are attracted to in each other Basu: Physical would be the whole package. Non-physical would be his heart. He has a golden heart, and he will hate me for saying this, but he is more sensitive than me. Grover: You are not supposed to say these things in public. Basu: I need to keep his macho image going. Grover: I like her eyes, if I had to choose. Basu: Why don't you tell her what you really like? I'm the most ungraceful person, and that's what he can't get over. Grover: Let me explain. So, you see her working out in the gym, so hot and sexy, and then she just comes out and sits and talks in the most ungraceful manner (makes a face) Basu (laughs): I said to him last evening, I am like a Parsi aunty at home, who likes to just lounge in her nightie.

On social media Basu: I had to convince him to get on it. He's not a poser, unlike me. After the first shot, he starts making faces. Grover: I don't even understand the art of taking photos - lighting, cropping. I don't understand what to do with myself in photos, that's why I make faces. But, I'm learning, and I'm better now.

On trolls Grover: Really? People troll me? Like they say bad things? Basu: The negativity is little when compared to the love we get back. Yes, people can be brutal, but does it bother us? No. Social media is a great tool but you need nerves of steel to deal with the criticism that it can draw. If our friends, normal couples post their cosy moments on social media, why can't we? And why does it have to be seen as a 'brave' act? Grover: Celebs are private because they fear judgment. Basu: It's hard to read the mind of trolls, but we do feel sad for them.

On consent and #MeToo Basu: When it's a crime like rape or sexual assault, that is horrific and one obviously doesn't know what to do. But when you can make a choice, you cannot be the victim. I have never taken this much sh** from anyone in the industry. I have lost out on stuff but I have slept in peace. Grover: But then you are a strong woman. Basu: No, I was only 15 when I started. But, I made tough choices to stand up for myself and not be the victim. Grover: If you don't respect what the other person wants, sexually or otherwise, then that's weird. Nothing that follows then, is real. I am not sure what exactly this campaign is achieving, but at least people are coming out and sharing stuff.

On socialising Basu: He sleeps at 10.30 pm, wakes up at 5 am. How can we party? Grover: We have also never understood what happens in these parties. Yes, people network. I say, boss, that's never going to happen for us. Basu: We only go when we are well rested, and of course, most often to honour an invitation, say thank you.

On dealing with the past Grover: Whatever life that was, good or bad, it brought me to her. Now, my real life has begun. Basu: I have had my share of sadness, and I needed this storm of laughter and happiness, someone looking after me. Initially, I was like, 'is this really happening to me?' I never had anyone looking after me. Grover: When I told my parents about her, my dad said, 'beta, tumhara toh sab kuch wrong hai, how did you manage this?' If you judge me by what has happened in my life, that's not good. I chose not to live a lie. That is hard to do. Basu: You need to give a person a chance. Initially, my parents did not like him. And now, they are so fond of him. Mum says, 'Yeh mera beta, tu meri bahu!' He's the fish-eating, conch-shell playing damaad they had thought they'd never have.

On starting a family Basu: He's great with children and I love kids too, but I don't think we are ready yet. Grover: Children should never be a mistake, that is also one thing we want to communicate through the ad. Planned pregnancy is crucial. We'll get there when the time is right.

[thekittykitsune]

Kissed By Fire ~ Part II

SUMMARY: Mitch Rapp was the best of the best. He was cunning, ruthless, and more importantly he has never failed. Not once. But all of that is about to change.

PAIRINGS: Mitch Rapp X OC

WARNINGS: Language; Violence; Death

WORDS: 1,617

MASTER LIST

To say that Stan Hurley was livid was an understatement. He was a natural surly bastard, and he would be the first one to admit it. The whole mess in Istanbul, however, made him unusually ranked. He didn't want to take it out on his niece but his temper got the better of him.

He and Irene Kennedy had spent the better part of the last hour yelling at the top of their lungs and it didn't seem like they were going to stop anytime soon. Kennedy, who's usually so calm and collected, was on her feet shrieking like a banshee in an effort to get her point across Hurley's thick skull.

"I warned you since day one that this would happen, but you didn't listen." Hurley snarled. "You keep that dog on too loose of a leash."

"That dog," Kennedy hissed. "That dog has racked up more field experience in two years than your ten operatives combined."

"The point is he still fucked up." Hurley said enunciating every word and cocked his head at the young spy who was sitting patiently still behind the glass wall.

Mitch Rapp paid his two bosses no heed. He closed his eyes and tuned out their voices the minute they started bickering. He replayed in his mind the series of events that led to this debacle, carefully assessing every detail.

It wasn't long after Katrina and her men left that Rapp forced himself up ignoring the stabbing pain that shot across his body. He would tend to his wounds later. For now, his mind was solely focused on getting out of there as fast as he could before the cops showed up. If he got caught that would jeopardize the entire operation and put an end to his career, if he still had one to begin with.

Rapp surveyed the destruction before him. Dead bodies and shell casings littered across the floor. Stepping over them, he made his way out of the safe house. Soon enough, he heard sirens blazing in the background and saw police cars heading towards the scene.

As casually possible, he headed towards the market in search of a payphone. He kept his head down but his guard up the whole way. He had to call his handler. It was of utmost importance for him to check in else the powers that be would get more nervous than they already were.

As soon as he found one, he informed Kennedy of the development in a coded message. Her voice betrayed no surprise. It was one of her traits that Rapp admired. In a calm voice, she told him to head back to HQ and so he did.

Throughout the travel home, Rapp let his brain wander in the past. He thought about Katrina. He met her during freshmen year in high school. He was trying out for the lacrosse team when he first saw her. It wasn't love at first sight. It was something better. And it was the start of one of the greatest love affair he had ever seen.

From then on, they spent every minute possible together. They planned everything. They talked about college, career, kids, etc. And just before graduation, he proposed. He never considered even the slightest possibility that one of them would be gone.

All was perfect –until that dreadful day that basically changed everything.

Katrina and her family had been on a road trip. One of their bonding moments before she goes off to college. They were at a gas station when the car blew up instantly killing everyone inside including two innocent bystanders. Some of the remains were so badly burned that they were impossible to identify. Further investigation revealed that a bomb was planted underneath the car.

When Rapp heard the news he was devastated. He refused to see or talk to anyone. He wallowed in his grief not able to bear the thought of not seeing, smelling, touching her ever again, and the list went on and on.

When it was time for the funeral, he pulled himself together. It was during the mass that he allowed himself to feel again. He shoved his self-pity in a corner and let his anger riot. He then vowed to kill those responsible for her death. And since then, he had been killing terrorists one by one and brought retribution to the table in honor of her memory.

The elevator ding brought Rapp back to the present. The man they had been waiting for finally arrived. Rapp stood up and shook his hand.

"Mr. Rapp. I wish we could've met in a far better circumstance." Thomas Stansfield said. He motioned for Rapp to sit down. Stansfield didn't like to dilly-dally so he cut right into the heart of the matter. He had already heard what happened from Kennedy and Hurley yet he still wanted to hear it from the man himself.

Rapp recounted what happened. Stansfield was quiet the entire time allowing Rapp to finish his story without interruption. After he was done, Stansfield asked, "What about Ms. Reilly? Finding out she's alive must have been a shock for you."

Rapp shrugged, unsure of what Stansfield was asking.

"Is it possible that maybe you let your feelings get in the way?"

"I won't lie to you. Was I surprised? Yes. Anyone would be. But did I let my feelings get in the way? No. That's what compartmentalizing is for."

Stansfield leaned on his chair. "Hurley thinks it would be a mistake to send you in again."

"The mistake was I didn’t go alone." Rapp deadpanned.

Stansfield arched a brow. "Care to elaborate?"

"If I was alone I could've handled the situation better and I wouldn't have to worry about a double agent smacking me at the back of my head." Rapp said without flinching.

Stansfield stroke his chin as if deep in thought. He looked at Rapp and smiled.

"Thank you, Mr. Rapp. I'll keep that in mind."

With his usual composure, Stansfield stood up and walked in to the glass office.

"Thank God," Hurley announced.

With great disappointment, Stansfield glared down at the length of the table first at Hurley then at Kennedy. "Sit," He ordered. Kennedy sat. But Hurley remained standing. "The first one who raises their voice will be stuck behind a desk for the rest of their life."

"You can't put me behind a desk," Hurley called his bluff.

"No. But I can think of something much worse," Stansfield threatened.

That was enough for Hurley to shut up. He knew all too well what Stansfield was capable of.

"How bad is it?" Stansfield asked both of them.

"Bad," Kennedy answered.

"And Richards?" He inquired.

Hurley shook his head. "The only information we have is from what Rapp told us. For all we know, he could be lying and he's the traitor."

"You're really still milking that?" Kennedy asked annoyed.

"Yes. I'm still milking that."

"So you think that Mitch Rapp and Katrina Reilly conspired with terrorists to kill her entire family then fake her own death, all so that he could be a mole in the CIA? Do you hear yourself?"

"With all the yelling I've been doing, I do and you should too." Hurley said sarcastically.

Wanting to avoid another screaming match, Stansfield changed the subject and asked Hurley, "What did your sources in Zurich say?"

"Nothing specific yet. All they know is it'll be in Moscow." Hurley replied.

Of course it is, Stansfield thought. From their enemies’ perspective, it would make perfect sense.

"I'll put my team together and we'll fly to Moscow first thing tomorrow." Hurley offered.

"What about Rapp?" Kennedy asked.

"What about him? The little shit fucked up. Sending him in would be a preposterous."

"And sending you wouldn't?" Kennedy pressed. She looked at Stansfield and pleaded her case. "I know we don't usually let it get personal here but think about it. She has history with Rapp, yes. But she also had the chance to kill him but she didn't. You know I'm right."

Stansfield pondered on the thought for a moment. That definitely was a complication but it could still work in their advantage.

"I agree with Irene." Stansfield said.

Kennedy inwardly smiled but kept her face neutral. Hurley on the other hand was furious.

"What?" He exclaimed. "You can't be serious."

Stansfield stood up and with finality said, "Rapp will go alone. End of discussion." As he turned to leave, he motioned for Kennedy to follow him as they needed to discuss matters in private.

On his way out, Stansfield nodded at Rapp signaling his approval. He then made his way to the elevators with Kennedy on his tail.

As the elevator doors closed, Rapp turned to Hurley who was now standing next to him with an incredulous look on his face. He crossed his arms and waited for Hurley to speak; bracing himself for the mouthful he would surely receive.

Hurley lit a cigarette and said, "I don't care what Stansfield says, you're not going alone." He was well aware that he would be disobeying a direct order but he didn't care at this point, not when the stakes are these high. He took a long drag off his cigarette and asked genuinely curious, "What are you going to do if she comes at you?"

Rapp asked himself that same question since their encounter. And after a lot of thinking he made his choice. The Katrina he once knew and loved was dead and whoever he met in Istanbul was an empty shell. He gave Hurley an icy glare and with a voice devoid of any emotion answered, "Then I'll put a bullet in her head."

[gashaponma]

Aloha!

February is here.

Hopefully we’ll all have something to cheer. May you be surrounded by those you hold dear. May your troubles melt away along with your fears.

If your sun sign’s tarotscope is not clear, look to your rising sign, which you can determine here: http://www.astrologycafe.com/compatibility-ascendant-birth-chart-tools/

These are general readings so they won’t always be exact my dear. But if you like I could do one just for you, and it’ll hit bull’s eye like a spear.

ARIES

Love brings difficult choices. Love also brings some soul searching. As a sign that is more inclined than most to take a devil-may-care attitude, this month you’re being urged to think of the impact of your actions on your near and dear ones. The result? A fresh start, perhaps in just a change of attitude, that makes you feel lighter and more motivated about everything in general. For some, this marks a time of reckoning, especially in romantic relationships — should you say ‘I do’ or go? Follow your higher needs and not just physical/material concerns. For some, this is also a time of exploration or education and again, you are confronted with the challenge to establish a working harmony between reality and fantasy. Enjoy the mental exercise!

TAURUS

No matter how hard you try to get along with others and just do a good job at the end of the day, it’s never enough is it? This month could see you feeling cheated like this or in some other way. Or you might decide to speak up for some reason and that could result in a battle that will see no winners. Some of you could find you’ve been overlooked for praise or a promotion despite having done your fair share at work.Those of you getting their houses renovated may get the bad end of the bargain from renovators…steel yourself, keep a sharp eye out. In better news, if you’re competing against others for work or elsewhere this could be your moment to slay ’em. General advice for the month? Pick your battles as well as your words wisely.

GEMINI

Where do you go from here? It’s possible you moved into a new place recently, or got newly married, or perhaps left home for new shores. And now come the difficult decisions. Perhaps you’re having second thoughts or buyer’s remorse about where you are now? A lot of you though should be enjoying peace and stability. Some of you will be enjoying a free run of choices in your new setting — each one better than the other. For some of you a passionate encounter leads to moral conundrums over short-term gains versus long-term goals. This is definitely a ‘charged’ time, but it’s also a period where you can pave the path to inner peace should you follow a higher calling.

CANCER

Signing on dotted lines could be a big part of your month. As could be the formalisation of a relationship. If you’re caught between choices then the conventional option might be the better bet. Some of you will attract a partner who is a leader of an organisation or social group. For some of you, the advice is that if romance comes calling it will be a good idea to maintain a slightly reserved stance and not rush in as fools are wont to do. Following the form of formal courtship will help you maintain enough objectivity and distance to make the right moves. If you’re looking for a partner then joining a meet-up or website could help. If you feel like your health has seen better days, then now is the time to seek professional help from doctors/dieticians/holistic healers who will help you with fixing on a regimen. If you’re confused about a partner and it’s still early days, then ask to meet their friends or family

LEO

You’ve made a move, now you await the results. Did you recently make some bold decisions or life shifts that are failing to bear the kind of fruit you hoped they would? Don’t worry, be patient. New developments are gestating yet so you can’t exactly see them. For some of you it may seem like you’ve been making far too many compromises of late and that somewhere in the midst you’ve lost a grip on your own hopes and dreams. If there is some kind of ennui sinking in, plan and a mini adventure just for yourself! For some of you, this ennui could do with a relationship you’ve been trying to put a happy face on. Again, take some time out for yourself. Are you thinking of a career change or financial growth? Think bold but don’t go betting on horses!

VIRGO

This month you have the clarity of thought and consequently, the energy to dispel your fantastic notions to replace them with healthier dreams. Some new facts or someone’s true colours coming to light could help you see things clearer. It may not feel great but you’ll be happy for at least being able to work with the truth rather than misleading assumptions. For some of you this is a time to leave a drug or alcohol problem behind. There is a positive shift in perception many of you will experience. A special word of advice for you though, is to ride out the lows with patience and hope. Indeed, there will be moments when you’ll feel like detoxing is not really worth it, or that perhaps you should return to that unhealthy (co-dependent?) relationship after all….but stay strong. This month marks the lull before good things start flowing your way!

Jumper card with a special message

LIBRA

A long-distance relationship is on your mind! This relationship involves one person who is more concerned about the penny-and-pound realities of life and another who is more idealistic or romantic. Both parties are aware of this mismatch at one level and feel like it won’t work out, yet, both are thinking of each other as one goes about their daily business and the other waits for a phone call! Will the twain meet? The Star says that there is a bit of divine guidance navigating this situation. You never know! For those to whom this relationship situation does not apply, this month is a time to take a break from your worldly concerns and tune into your inner yearnings. What do you REALLY want from life? Surely not the same old grind! Perhaps a relaxing retreat will help you come up with some answers!

SCORPIO

Money or health concerns are on your mind! Something a boss or doctor said to you has you slightly worried that you might lose your hold on a stable situation. (Feels more like a money problem FYI). Perhaps you’re trying to still hold onto a job that has you feeling short-changed in some way. Is there a new organisational diktat that has you worried? The question is, should you stay or should you go? The answer: Choose the path of least stagnation! For some of you it’s possible that as a part of extended family, friends’ group or community you’re being asked to shell out some money and you’re not feeling too happy about that! How much do you stand to lose? How much love and respect do you stand to gain in its stead?

SAGITTARIUS

A new love comes in, prompting you to break things off with your current partner — be gentle. A new love enters your life and turns out to have been a Judas of some sort — be brave. An announcement of a pregnancy or marriage starts to cause squabbles between a happy couple. These are some of the scenarios that could play out in your life. But hey! Being inherently learning oriented you know loss teaches far more than it takes! So don’t dwell on the unpleasant exchanges (regardless of if you initiated them or received them), take away fresh insight from them. Watch your words this month and make it your mission to learn the art of fighting gracefully so no one gets permanently hurt. Whatever fight you lose this month, however you are disarmed, will ultimately lead to a new way of thinking and communicating for you. Some of you may also find some solace in a new no-strings-attached breezy affair.

CAPRICORN

It’s a mixed kind of month for you — bittersweet in its offerings. On the one hand it’s a highly social time, it may also bring a happy reunion or a string of parties but at the same time this will cause you to struggle with keeping up with chores and perhaps, even add to your already long list! If you’re in the midst of planning a big social event (a wedding?) then you’ll feel beset by endless obstacles and the cards want you to remain strong! Some of you might also find yourself needing to fend off many admirers when you make your public appearances….ooooh! In general, this is a month where you’ll be pressed to think creatively and in fact even be inspired to! Enjoy!

AQUARIUS

You’ve been toiling away or studying hard behind the scenes and now it’s time to show the world what you’ve got! Many of you might be getting ready for an exhibition or presentation of personal work at this time. And you’ll be feeling quite good about it all! For some of you this month signals a time to take a break from work and make the time for some romance….FYI, a suitor could come calling! ;-) Those of you who’ve been working on their bodies, this month you’ll feel ready to flaunt what you’ve got! Woo hoo! All in all, it’s a pleasant, inspiring and a tad dreamy month. Your work will be appreciated…and so will you!

PISCES

#gallery-0-6 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-6 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 50%; } #gallery-0-6 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-6 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

This month an authority or father figure, someone who has passed on, or a senior mentor of yours plays an important role. With regard to this person, where you were once feeling at a loss, you’re now becoming more comfortable. Those who’ve been grieving the passing away of such a figure will now start to feel OK again. Some of you are at a stage in life where you are taking big, concrete steps to build a better life — this month your efforts will start to bear fruit as losses start turning into wins. Health-wise, you still might suffer minor symptoms but largely you’ll find your condition steadily improving. For some of you, there is a transition from working to early retirement! For some of you this is a month where you leave ‘the hard life’ or a ‘killer instinct’ behind to adopt a more genteel and gentle approach. I almost feel as if there are some of you who are leaving some kind of a criminal career behind and choosing to go clean! Peace!

Until next month! :-)

      Feb-don’t-rue-ary February 2017 Tarotscopes are here! Aloha! February is here. Hopefully we'll all have something to cheer. May you be surrounded by those you hold dear.

[viralhottopics]

My Life as a Robot

I have been part robot since May. Instead of legs, I move on gyroscopically stabilized wheels. Instead of a face, I have an iPad screen. Instead of eyes, a camera with no peripheral vision. Instead of a mouth, a speaker whose volume I can’t even gauge with my own ears. And instead of ears, a tinny microphone that crackles and hisses withevery high note.

Im a remote worker; while most of WIRED is in San Francisco, I live in Boston. We IM. We talk on the phone. We tweet at each other, but I am often left out of crucial face-to-face meetings, spontaneous brainstorm sessions, gossip in the kitchen.

So my boss found a solution: a telepresence robot from Double Robotics, which would be my physical embodiment at headquarters, extending myself through technology. Specifically, an iPad on a stick on a Segway-like base. The telepresence robot market is crowded, ranging from high-end offerings like iRobot’s Ava (starting price: $69K) to the relatively more affordable Double, which starts at $2,499. The company says it has sold nearly 5,000 of them since its launch in 2012. Mostly these go to big corporations like IBM and McDonald’s, but I’ve heard of teachers and hospitals using them, too. Supposedly all a Double needs to work is a strong Wi-Fi signal.

Christie Hemm Klok/WIRED

The first time I opened the Double interface in Chrome and clicked on an icon of my robot 3,000 miles away I was greeted by the pixelated image of my boss’s torso and a few headless coworkers. There probably were some instructions somewhere that I should have read, but I didn’t. “How do I move it?” I asked them. “We don’t know,” they said. I clicked around. Nothing. I tried the arrow keys and, boom, jolted out of the robot’s charging dock and toward onlookers. I was like a foal, learning to walk. It took about 10 minutes to discover that a) driving a robot using a browser interface is clunky and b) the hip flooring choices of WIRED’s office were going to be my nemesis, with every transition from concrete to rubber to carpet providing another opportunity to fall on my screen.

Growing Pains

Before I ever tried the robot, I was sure I would hate the thing.I thought it would make me small and flat and foolish. I thought it would be annoying to deal with, would require me to wear pants (something we remote workers often don’t do, world!). I thought it would make me a novelty, a sideshow, a joke. And I thought it would be a waste of time.

Diary Entry: Day 1 Nice to meet you…robot, is it? says a strange torso I encounter in the kitchen.

EmBot, I say, Nice to meet you, too!

The figure leans down and puts a hand out to shake. Helpless, I move the EmBot from side to side using the arrow keys in what I hope translates as a gesture of excitement, rather than malfunction. Ill never really know if it worked out. The screen freezes and when it comes back, the torso is gone. I am alone, standing in a stream of humans trying to get breakfast.

Its just me, a robot, waiting in line for the human food I cant eat, I say. No response. I repeat it a few times. Is this thing on?

When I boot up, some of my original fears are realized: I’m disoriented and silly and helpless. I am a spectacle. People ogle and take pictures. I feel like a dog, the recipient of gawking smiles that say, Awwww, youre so adorably unable to take care of yourself. But, most importantly, I am surprised to find that being a robot is delightful. It’s thrilling. I am in the office! There is the kitchen! There is Sam! Hi, everyone! I am here!

Diary Entry: Day 2 I roll over behind Sams desk for a brief chat about a deadline. She hasnt heard me approach. I dont know what to do. If I just say her name shell freak out. I Hipchat her, Look behind you. As soon as I do it, I realize thats creepy—but its too late. She turns and there I am.

Hi, I say as casually as possible, I just–

Sam cuts me off. Em, she says, can you control the volume? Youre very loud.

I am? I ask.

YES, the entire bullpen yells.

I find and adjust the volume. I guess I was screaming all day.

Later that morning, I experienced the joy of being in the daily editorial meeting as a robot. Plunked at the end of the conference table, my iPad head tracked the conversation, listening. Yes, I interrupted people because my browser was a few seconds behind. Didn’t matter. I heard Molly on the phone from the Caribbean and she was barely audible. The audio system sucks. As she was trying to talk people were kind of looking exasperated. Not at her, but at the system. That was me two days ago, I kept thinking. Two days ago that speaker system was my only conduit to theentire company.

It was then I knew I could never go back. I felt so superior as my robot. I loved my robot.

I Am Become EmBot

The crazy thing about being a human 3,000 miles away from your telepresence robot is that divide instantly dissolves when you activate. As soon as I call into EmBot, I am her, and she is me. My head is her iPad. When she fell, I felt disoriented in Boston. When a piece of her came off in the impact, I felt broken.

Nothing drove home the depth of my connection more than the first time someone touched my robotic body without asking. My coworker (who shall remain nameless) came up to gawk at me, and then moved behind my screen. As I was chatting with other people, he picked me up and shook me. I expected pranks like this. Id have done the same thing if I were in the office and it were some other poor schmuck calling in to a stupid robot from far away. But I didnt expect how instantly violated I felt. He just picked up an extension of my body. One moment I was in control of myself, the next, I was powerless. I laughed from the iPad screen faced away from him, but I was unsettled, and then immediately embarrassed, for the first time, because why should it matter to me if the stick Im currently streaming from is picked up off the floor a continent away?

Get over it, I told myself. But then it happened again. And again.

Diary Entry, Day 3 My coworker picks me up as Im wheeling to the meeting because Im slow. I don’t want to be slow! I want to walk on my own! Im an adult! She lifts me up before I have a chance to object. In the air I meekly say, Just ask me first if youre going to lift me, which no one responds to because I assume they think that it’s a joke.

This became my secret shame. People wanted to help me, but every single time they did it, I felt infantilized. I needed to tell my coworkers not to pick me up—a conversation I dreaded. I did this by sending them a draft of my daily robot diary, in which they read about how I was feeling. (Classic passive aggressive move, you say? No doubt, but the few times I’d said the words aloud, they hadn’t clicked for people, so I thought the log was the best way.) It worked. Now no one touches my robot without permission. Case in point:

Diary Entry: Day 5 I cant get out of the all-glass conference room alone. I turn my screen to Joe and he says, Should I carry you?

Thats probably wise.

Ill just drop you off where its straight and then you can make your way from there. Joe is basically my robots father, and my robot is a toddler. When he picks me up Im jostled. He gently places me down at the straight hallway and I want very badly to navigate quickly back to my dock to prove Im self-sufficient, but the screen freezes twice and the motor is slow and it takes me forever.

Later, on the phone, another editor off-handedly said, You know, when Joe lifted you up and carried you—now I hope this doesnt make you uncomfortable—but from our end, with your face on the screen, it looked really inappropriate. Like he was cradling you in his arms. Because when we see the face, our brains cant help but project the rest of you, and so it was like you were actually being carried.

Looking at the future. #embot #newnewwiredoffice

A photo posted by @joemfbrown on May 7, 2015 at 11:00am PDT

So, even though I had given Joe permission to lift EmBot up, the fact that my face was still on the screen made other people uncomfortable. Fine. Another rule: If I ask for help and you pick me up, I’ll disconnect so the screen is dark. Voila. Everything was going to be fine.

EmBot Grows Up

After I put a stop to the inappropriate robot-touching, things quickly went from good to great. I’d call this the euphoria stage. I mastered the arrow keys (rather than holding them down and over correcting, just hit them quickly one at a time and roll like a BOSS). I figured out how to makethe robot stand taller so I wasnt constantly having conversations with peoples crotches. I booted up in the middle of spontaneous brainstorm sessions and shared ideas.

Diary Entry: Day 6

Major breakthrough! I have my first West-Wing-style walk and talk as Embot. I knew this day would come. After the morning meeting, Patrick walks with me down the hallway discussing a longread Im editing. Hes so cool about the robot thing that I briefly forget completely that its not normal to be a disembodied metal moving machine with an iPad for a face. He only says one thing that would be weird if I was walking down the hall as a fully-fleshed human, Youre about to run into wall, come this way.

At this point, I was also the star of cocktail parties in Boston. Everyone wanted to know how it was going with the robot. Are people still laughing at you? No. Isnt it weird that your robot is naked? No. Whats the worst thing thats happened with the robot so far? When I hit a dead-zone and EmBot died behind a strangers desk, with my face frozen on the screen, and I found out later that they thought I was lurking and spying on them. I mean, thats also one of the funnier things thats ever happened, but pretty terrible for that poor creeped-out human.

And just like that, I was a part of work in a way Id struggled to be since I first came on at WIRED. As a typical oldest child, tyrant and benefactor to two younger brothers, I pride myself on making sure everyone feels like were all in this together—whether “this” is divorce or publishing a magazine. Its hard to be that kind of leader when youre isolated from your team completely. When youre a voice coming out of speaker. EmBot changed that completely. Suddenly, there I was, materialized. My reporters and I started meeting face to face to discuss deadlines. Everything was so jovial and natural.

Christie Hemm Klok/WIRED

The other incredibly wonderful thing at this stage was that though Embot put me physically in the office, because she was just my head and not my body no one at work was seeing how pregnant I was looking. Now, of course, they know I am pregnant, but since I am not there, the visual reminder of my changed condition was not in their faces. I have worked at places before where women start getting treated differently when their bellies show. The kid gloves come on. I had been dreading how this could play out, but the way EmBot works I remained present and yet unchanged. No one remarked on my belly. It was not a factor in my work.

I became obsessed with EmBot. I couldt stop thinking about her when I turned her off at night. How sad that this thing that has made my life so much better was just dead when Im done working.

Diary Entry: Day 8

Its Friday. It occurs to me that EmBot doesnt get to enjoy the weekend. If only she had arms, she could push the button, summon the elevator, and be free. But shes a prisoner at work. Whereas my physical body is having adventures, growing a human life inside it and moving into a new apartment AND dog-sitting a Bernese Mountain dog.

Mostly my weekend will be about trying not poison my unborn child with paint fumes. My physical body is such a liability. Embot, though she is shackled to work and unable to exist without me to inhabit her, in some ways has the much simpler side of existence.

What if I have to share the Embot with someone? I tell myself that would be fine, but I know already that I would be feel upset. Embot is a part of me. Anyone else would be an intruder.

You can see from the daily diary entry that it was right about now that my connection with EmBot got a little weird. I couldnt let go of this notion that Embot was me and yet she lacked all freedom to exist outside the office. I started to feel that she was a caged animal. Which made me feel like a caged animal.

EmBot needed her freedom.

Get her a Mi-Fi, my friends suggested. Suddenly I imagined this vast conspiracy—finagling a coworker in SF to get me a company MiFi and surreptitiously hiding it under her screen. But then what? EmBot would rush out into the big bad streets of SOMA and try to find other robots to play with, meanwhile my poor comrade would be grilled by the Conde Nast HR department wanting to know “WHAT HAPPENED TO THE ROBOT? Who pushed the button to call the elevator, huh? The robot has no hands!”

That was clearly a terrible idea … and yet. I fantasized. I drove her past the elevator banks a few times to see if the Wi-Fi was strong enough for her to sneak out the door. I dont know what my plan was. EmBot was becoming a teenager. A teenager pushing her boundaries, pushing her luck.

First Pangs of Mortality

A photo posted by Patrick Witty (@patrickwitty) on May 7, 2015 at 12:09pm PDT

Within a few days, I started to realize perhaps EmBot wasn’t invincible after all. For one thing, I couldnt hear meetings very well. Sometimes I had to put my ear directly to the computer speaker to hear the people at the far end of the conference table, which meant that in the room EmBots face was just the folds of my (hopefully not-waxy) ear canal.

Double offers a $99 audio kit, which maybe would help this, but since we hadn’t yet decided if the robot was a wise investment, it was too early to shell out for add-ons.

Worse, though all EmBot needs to live is power and and Wi-Fi, signal strength was proving to be a big problem. Double Robotics acknowledges this is the leadingissue among corporate customers, because most businesses don’t prioritize a strong signal in hallways. This doesn’t matter for humans, but these dead zones can make navigating an office impossible for robots.

So even as I was obsessing about freeing EmBot from the cage of WIREDs office, she seemed less and less reliable. Even when the Wi-Fi was strong, the video would freeze for no reason. I missed crucial information in meetings, only to later learn that everyone thought I was listening because EmBot had frozen with my face on the screen, trapped in a ridiculous expression of curiosity.

And then, this happened:

Diary Entry: Day 12 I am feeling so alone. Embot is in a coma. She didnt charge overnight. “Haha,” I played it cool over IM to Davey, who sits next to Embot and checked on her vital signs for me. She shoved Embot into her dock. I assume shes charging now, but I cant tell.

Diary Entry: Day 13

She remains cut off of me. Its like Embot is in the kind of coma where she cant move or speak or alert the doctors that she is alive but inside her head, she is screaming, LET ME OUT! IM HERE! DONT TURN ME OFF!

Ive called her doctors, or parents, or gods, DoubleRobotics, but theres no answer. Theyll get back to me in one business day.

If she ever wakes up again, I promise to give her a better life. To give her some freedom.

Diary Entry, Day 14

Embot just had a seizure. I was so happy when she woke up that I decided this was my big chance to sneak her out and onto the elevator. I eased her out of the dock and turned to the right, but immediately something was wrong: her head was shaking. Just a little a bit at first but then side to side violently, thrashing around, my field of vision swinging wildly, too fast to make out peoples faces. I tried turning her and found that she was still responding to me somewhat but she could not be still. She was like diabetic Julia Roberts in Steel Magnolias, shaking out her beautiful wedding hair in Truveys salon.

I heard Chuck say, Oh no, youve woken EmBot like she was some kind of monster.

What is happening? Davey cried from her desk.

EmBot is having a seizure! I screamed into the computer. I dont know what to do!

As Embots camera panned quickly in front of Davey I saw her get up.

Can you put her in her dock? I asked, breathless.

She wont stop moving. She just keeps shaking.

I turned her off on my end, but Davey reported that she was still seizing on her own, face blank. She was like the body of a chicken, walking bloody around the yard after the chef cuts its head off. I implored Davey to find a button to turn her off. She did. She docked her. Shes docked now.

My heart wont stop beating. Maybe EmBot is corrupted and corroded and my time with her is over. Maybe EmBot is a monster. I feel like I just a had a seizure.

@EmilyDreyfuss FYI, Embots going crazy. Wandered out of its dock, now manically rolling back and forth.

Alex Davies (@adavies47) May 19, 2015

Were working on a fix. A coworker in San Francisco is logging into her, which normally would upset me, but Im so nervous I don’t care that another being enters her.

Im on the phone with Double Robotics, relaying what he finds.

He reports: On the screen it was shimmying back and forth, and I looked across the room and it looked like a wandering confused and dizzy child aimless and afraid. and alone. I left my screen and went over to see if I could help. I picked it up and smelled the wheels to see if it was on fire or anything then hurried back to my screen to put it in PARK. I may cover it in a sheet.

The Reckoning

Teaching my robot the hard lesson that she is not free http://pic.twitter.com/wen8MONbBm

— emily dreyfuss (@EmilyDreyfuss) May 21, 2015

After EmBot terrorized the office, nothing was the same. I relinquished my delusions of granduer. Double Robotics sent a new unit, and immediately upon activating it I knew it was not really EmBot. It rolls differently. Its speakers are quieter. It doesn’t connect to the Wi-Fi as well. It teeters differently on the carpet-edge. It’s not me. It’s just a robot. A robot I can’t trust.

I still use it, of course. Sure, It’s incredibly glitchy. Most weeks I have to write in our group chatroom, “SOS: EmBot is stranded somewhere between the dock and the IT department. Can someone rescue it?” It went through a phase where I couldn’t hear anything being said in meetings. Then for four days it was paralyzed, so needed to be picked up and carried everywhere. Now it does this thing where it clicks and hisses when the Wi-Fi connection struggles, setting an off-tempo jazz rhythm to every meeting.

It’s fine. I still prefer it to the speakerphone. It brings everyone in the office joy, even when it struggles. I get laughed at a lot from the iPad camera, but I like it. In a lot of ways, EmBot is a joke we are all in on together. Could we just set up an iPad in the conference room with FaceTime or Skype and achieve essentially the same thing? Sure. But where would be the fun in that, people? Where would be the soul-searching? Human life is short, and being a part-time, part-useful robot makes it ever so slightly more interesting.

Diary: Who Knows What Day, I’ve Lost Count

Joe carried EmBot to the head of the conference table for the edit meeting, because her Bluetooth connection isn’t working properly so I can’t control it. Sam asked, somewhere off-screen where I couldn’t see her, “Em, did you get new glasses?”

“No,” I spoke to the rest of the room, “my jerk cat knocked my glasses off the bedside table and I’m far too pregnant to crouch down low enough to get them, so I dug these out of a closet.”

“And that story,” someone from behind the robot said, “is the best argument in favor of having a robot. We would not have gotten to hear that if you were on the speakerphone.”

So, yes, as it turned out, most of the fears I had about becoming a part-time robot came true—it’s an unruly distraction that often makes me look ridiculous, that falls over and can’t be counted on—and yet my coworkers didn’t lose all respect for me. No, what happened was much more subtle and unexpected than that: EmBot lost her humanity. But I gained mine back.

Read more: http://ift.tt/2iw9PIh

from My Life as a Robot