#and I’m too paranoid to go for a lawyer again because if I fail to show up again they can put out a warrant for my arrest

[yellobb]

If things could stop going in exactly the wrong wrong direction that would be excellent

[trifoliumrex]

Mafia Meet Cute Yoongi 2

1 2 3

A Yoongi/ Reader Fic

Working at the library might not pay much but it had always been your dream. When you meet a man who who seems afraid of tech but desperate to learn, you have to decide if being brought back from the brink is worth waking up in a place even more dangerous than you dreamed.

Word Count: 5189

complete

Ao3 link

Tags: @scuzmunkie

  Yoongi frowns at the phone in his hand pacing back and forth. He knows from his contacts that you were taken to the hospital, not the police station. So why weren't you calling him? Were you still being questioned? Fuck.

    What is his self protection had gotten you blamed for all of this? He could always get you a lawyer, he knew a guy with the right cunning but if that failed? If he got you locked up? Fuck why aren't you calling.

    Finally, His phone rings. Not your number, not a number he recognizes at all. He answers the phone but says nothing, waiting for whoever is on the phone to speak first. “Hey, it's me, I’m calling from a payphone, I guess the one place they have them is hospitals, well and prisons” You sound out of it. He appreciates your caution though “Sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up I just.” You sound like you’re on the verge of tears.

     “It's fine, don’t worry about it. How are you? How's the head” He thinks about the blows to the face you had received, the blood trickling down your tips as that asshole tried to force his gun in your mouth. His hand grips the phone tighter. If he hadn’t been there? What would he have forced you to do?

    Unwanted flashes go through his mind. The feeling of you unsteady on your feet leaning against him. You on your knees. Your tears streaming down your face. How red your blood is against your skin. Jumbled together.

      “Haven’t got any complaints yet” He laughs, it's not even very funny and you still sound out of it but humor in his opinion is at least a good sign. “I….they are worried about my migraine. Because I might be concussed. They want to give me meds that will knock me out and keep me for observation” you breath hitches in your throat and you pause. Just long enough to wipe your eyes, he thinks. 

    “Are the cops gone?”

     “I don't think they even cared they killed someone before they killed him” He hears the sob this time. He doesn't comment. He suspects you're desperately trying to hide it. “It’s still Friday, will you give me a ride home? I don’t want to stay”

     “Yes. Should you leave though? Is it safe?” He will do whatever you want but doesn't want to put you in danger.

    “I don’t know. They said I should have someone check on me if I insist on leaving the AMA but, I…” You want to say his name but you resist the urge. His paranoia was rubbing off on you it seemed. What if someone was listening. Suddenly he seemed a lot less paranoid all together though.

   “You what?” he asks gently. He can tell whatever it is is hard for you to say. He waits patiently even though it takes you some time.

    “I’m afraid, I don’t want anyone to touch me when I’m asleep. Even if it’s just like an IV or…..” you trail off waiting for him to tell you you're being paranoid. He doesn’t. He doesn't say anything, wanting to be sure you are done. Waiting for him to reply brings the panic back. You can feel the man you shot hands on your face. Your breathing gets a little faster.

      “Will you let me stay with you tonight? At your apartment or the hospital. If something goes wrong, and I just let it happen again” It’s his turn to trail off.

      “Yes. I want to go home though. People keep looking at me.” You sound so uncomfortable. He hates it. He hates it so fucking much. He’s already on his way 

      “I’ll be there in 10. Do you want me to stay on the phone” 

       “Please” Your voice is doing that quiet thing it does when your head is killing you and you don’t want to tell him. You listen to the ambient sounds of him driving to you. You can tell he’s driving too fast as usual, faster than usual you suspect. “How do you know where I am?”

    “I have people watching the hospital. You. I have people watching you.” He sighs but it's only fair you know.

    “In case I talk?” You sound worried. Hurt even. Fuck. He was hurting you. His hand on the wheel is very tight. Probably for the best. If he was anywhere else he would have punched something. His foot hits the gas just a bit harder.

     “No, I never thought you would talk. To make sure you are safe.” You nod and then realize he can’t see you let out a breath that's almost a laugh. Certainly a sigh of relief.

      “So even if I stayed I would be fine...I’m being paranoid” You feel ridiculous. You should tell him to turn around. You desperately want to tell him to go faster though.

       “Do you feel safe?” He knows the answer.

      “No” It’s so small.

      “Then I'm coming and we will figure out how to change that.” He’s already here. He pulls up in front of the hospital and steps out. If someone tries to tow his car they are getting shot. “Where are you?”

      “Are you here? I’m on the fifth floor. Left corner from the elevators.”

     “I'm here. On the elevator now” He doesn't hang up until he sees you and is sure you see him. You gently hang the phone back up. You want to run over to him. You don’t want to make a scene. He has no reservation. He doesn't run exactly but he moves with a purpose and people get out of his way. He’s not the tallest but when he pulls you to him you feel completely hidden. Safe, secure. “I’m here. Did you get yourself discharged?” You nod into his shoulder and he strokes your hair. Your temperature seems fine but he can feel that uneasiness in your stance. The beginning of a lean into him. 

     He wraps his arm around your waist supporting you but under the guise of just wanting to be close to you. It’s not entirely a lie, he does just want to be close to you. You get to his car and a security guard is peering at his illegally parked car. Yoongi flashes him his gun and he looks from you to the car but you don’t appear to be uncomfortable with the man you're with. He doesn't want to get involved.

     Yoongi opens the door for you and buckles you in. Your eyes are squeezed shut against the light. He takes the opportunity to really look at the bruises on your face. He traces the outline of a few. A hand print on you fucking face. Like he’s touching you, like he's still touching you. He must have lingered too long. Your eyes have opened. You offer him a small smile.

     He bends down and kisses you. Once on each bruise then on the lips. For the blood he wasn't able to stop from being spilled. He pulls away and is quite pleased to see your smile although small is not gone. He is used to driving with one hand while his other takes yours. He stares pointedly at the road on the way to your apartment. 

     You make it to your apartment and he helps you out. You already have the key out for him, your eyes squeezed shut again. Trusting him to lead you. He does right to your couch. He doesn't remember if you are supposed to sleep or not with a concussion so he takes you over to the couch. There are things you need to talk about. Maybe this isn't the best time but before he goes any further he wants you to have an out. It's more of a choice than he’s given anyone else.

     “I am going to have someone watching you for a while.” It's not up for debate. He can’t handle you getting hurt again. Even if you don’t want him. Experience has taught him to expect that, expect you to reject him. He sits down next to you and when you put your head in his lap he seems confused. “not to keep you from talking. I think those men were just trash looking for cash to fund their next high, but just in case.” 

     His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he ponders the possibilities. Who hides in a library. Sure someone is not thinking clearly. Someone on drugs, or someone who was paid to. He wouldn't? Would he? Yoongi had been using the company to look into you if it had caught his fathers interest. Bile rises in his throat.

      “Do you trust them?” He pulls out two photos from his jacket pocket. He puts them on your coffee table to look over when you have a moment. When opening your eyes doesn't make your face twist in pain from the light accosting your eyes. He puts his hand gently over your eyes. The light leaking in seemed to be bothering you.

     “I’m a dangerous man. They won't cross me.” Your hand goes to his hand over your eyes. You lower it to your lips and kiss it. He freezes. 

     “I guessed, who bring a gun to a library”

     “Other than murders who threaten my” He's angry, too angry to catch his little slip.

     “Yours?” Your eyes aren't open but you are sure he is scowling. You open one eye expectantly. 

     “Does that '' what scare you? No that's not the right question. “Do you?” He breathes out a heavy sigh, frustrated. He’s tongue tied. He’s so rarely tongue tied. “Is that ok?”

     “I like it. Say it again”

     “Mine” You shift a bit. And he can tell once you’ve drifted off to sleep. He lets his hand fall from your eyes. Not far. Just to your hair. So soft. All of you is so soft. He was going to be bad for you. He can tell. It's all he thinks about as he drifts off to sleep too. 

     He wakes up to his phone ringing. He left it on. He never leaves it on. He looks at the number. Fuck. He’s on his feet in a second knocking your head off him. Thankfully you end up on the couch not the ground. Confused but unhurt.

     You look at him concerned by his demeanor. You have seen him paranoid, yes, and angry, there was a little fear when you were attacked but this is concerning. He sees your concern and turns away. “Hi Dad” there is anxiety in his voice that he wishes he could strain out.

     “Yoongi, what have I told you about spending the night at your friend's house? You have appearances to keep up… I think you should come home now, don't you agree?” He phrases it like it is a suggestion but Mr.Min? He didn't make suggestions.

     “Yes sir” there is anger in his voice and he starts to pace. There is a chuckle.

     “That pacing of yours is a very bad habit. Bring your friend too, you know Son, it’s very sloppy to investigate your little affairs with company time. I bet you’ve run your stupid fucking mouth too. Sloppy, always so sloppy”

     “They don’t know anything! Please I don’t think---”

     “No you don’t think so. That is the problem. How's your hand son? Do you need another lesson? Maybe I should go directly to the source. If you are going to have a fuck buddy at least close the blinds. Not That I mind the pretty face” Yoongi stops pacing and shuts the one opened blinds “See son? Sloppy. I’ll see you for dinner. Both of you. Oh and if they get one of their little headaches, and don't show up? I won't stop at your hand. Are we clear?”

    “Yes”

    “Yoongi” his voice is low and chastising. It's one he recognizes from childhood.

    “Yes Sir” he pauses but he decides he has to know. “Sir?”

    “Yes Yoongi?” He puts on a tone to his voice. Like he's a patient and caring father.

    “Did you send them? Because I was, misbehaving” he swallows hard. He knew how his father felt about computers. This extended call on a cell phone was even out of character.

    “Son, I would never send thugs in to hurt your friend.” Yoongi lets out a sigh of relief. “When I punish you for that, I'm going to look you in the eyes” The line goes dead. Yoongi feels his heart beat. Panic. That was the enemy. He forces it down. He knows his father wants him to grow. To be a man. He always has a lesson, Yoongi just had to figure it out. Just had to stop being so fucking stupid had to. 

    You're behind him. Arms around his, face in the crook of his neck. Can you feel how scared he is? You must be able to. He waits for you to say something but you don’t. You just hold on to him. “I, I need to ask you another favor. My father has requested we have dinner with him tonight” He said through gritted teeth.

     “Okay”

    “Just like that? No more questions? I'm dangerous but he… he’s worse” His head is spinning. What will happen if you don’t go? To you. To him. He’s already in trouble because of the computers. 

    “Yoongi, it's going to be okay” you sound calm now. 

    “Is your head feeling better?” He turns around in your arms and goes to your face and to your bruises again. They look lighter already.

     “No migraine today. Perfect time to meet your scary dad”

    “He’s probably going to comment on your bruises, insinuate I did it to you even though he knows. Ask you if you like it rough” you let go finally and shrug.

     “I didn't before. The thought of someone hurting me does not appeal to me. I hope that ok” Yoongi nods with no hesitation. Yoongi thinks of the sounds he heard as a child from his parents room. Thinks of the fear and pain in your eyes and the gun at his lips. 

     He has no problem hurting people but he is not like his father. He doesn't get satisfaction. Doesn't enjoy it. But, there is always a but isn't there, but you didn’t enjoy pulling that trigger Yoongi he tells himself. He enjoyed making YOU pull that trigger. “That will not be a problem.”

     “So, is this a formal event? You are always in suits so it’s hard to gauge.”

    “He… expects people to treat him like a king. If that helps” Yoongi makes a face and you kiss him. It lingers this time and when you pull away to get into something more respectable, maybe put a spot of concealer on, his lips chase after yours. He kisses you again. He pulls away embarrassed to be so needy. So desperate for you to touch him. 

     “I’ll be right back.” You kiss him once more and go off to your room. You change quickly but you watch him for a moment. You try not to feel fear at the idea of meeting the man who causes your scary man to be this afraid. Was he the reason Yoongi was so nervous all this time? You put on your nicest clothes. Still a far cry from him but you hoped it would satisfy. That it wouldn't dig him any deeper into whatever hole he was in.

    The ride to his fathers is uneventful but he clutches your hand the whole time. As it turns out it's not just his fathers it's also his house. Where he goes home to. It's a huge house exactly what you would expect a mafia family to live. You see armed guards at every entrance. To keep others out you remind yourself. Not to keep you in. You aren't walking into a trap.

     Yoongi hesitates when he gets out. He knows he’s walking into a trap. There is no doubt in his mind. You thought, were you being trapped? Or were you the bait. Fuck he should drive you somewhere else get you safe, but if his father had an interest in you? What hope did you even have?

     “Yoongi?”

      “What?”

      “Don’t forget ok? I'm here for you. Yours not his ok?” he frowns. Did your skill with computers somehow get a chip in his brain that let you see into his brain? That had to be paranoid. Even for him. You were different, then who he had been with before, you sought him out, reached out for him. 

    It's early in the day to early for dinner really. Yoongi brings you to the dining room. It's formal with a long table. There are so many forks. Yoongi sits at a chair near the end and gestures for you to sit across from him. It would be more appropriate to sit in the formal living room, but he wants to get this over with. He is lost in his thoughts again. Tongue poking at his cheek. Would his father hurt him in front of you? Probably. Should he warn you? Would it make you see him differently? He didn't want you to see him weak. Your hand snakes across the table and grabs his.

     “I am freaked out. I'm trying not to be but I am.” You say. Yoongi nods. In agreement in acknowledgment? He’s not sure. There's a sound and he looks up. He pulls away from you looking like he’s been caught. There is a flash of fear in his eyes but he forces it down. Forces himself into control.

    “Y/n, this is my father. Mr.Min, Father, this is Y/n.” Mr.Min is taller than his son though not by much. He's almost as pretty, the gray around the temples and the slight wrinkles all add a charm that you can’t deny is attractive but his eyes are cold and they look like he’s assessing you. He looks at Yoongi's hand you had held moments ago. A hint of a smile plays on his lips.

     All of his son's lovers have been a way to hurt him but you, is he shy around you? Have you two even actually fucked yet? He didn’t think so. His son had even gone to the hospital for you. He hated hospitals. The poor thing spent so much time there. This was going to be a nice opportunity for discipline. He wonders how desperate you are for money, that must be what you see in his useless Son. “So nice to meet you Y/n. I understand you’ve been teaching my son about computers? It’s so unfortunate, My son shouldn't have kept a pretty face like you all to himself”

     “Thank you Sir, but I wouldn’t say I'm teaching him about computers. He hardly even touches them. I'm fairly certain he was just flirting” Covering for his son. How cute. 

    “I don’t approve of computers of course” He takes a seat at the head of the table. Head of his table. “I suppose they are necessary for your job. Were necessary. Your branch is being shut down. Did you know? You could try for another job I suppose but who wants the broken librarian who snaps and shoots people” He grins as you recoil slightly. “You could have at least shot him before he shot your coworkers. Would have been the polite thing to do” He turns to Yoongi as if it was just a casual conversation.“So you broke my rule to flirt? Inappropriate for an engaged man”

     “I am not engaged, '' Yoongi says petulantly. It slips out before he can stop it. His fathers eyes flash. 

      “Watch your tone son.” employees bring out food. It looks fancy. It looks expensive. There is wine poured and Mr.Min immediately starts drinking. Yoongi doesn't touch a drop. You decide if you have to be here in this uncomfortable place you are drinking. Mr.Mins hands touch your thigh. It's brief, possibly just overly friendly but it makes you freeze. Yoongi freezes. Mr. Min grins and continues with his chatter. 

     Each topic seems like an attack. Mr.Mins hand returns to your thigh three more times. The last time squeezing in a decidedly not friendly way. It’s painful and you drop your wine glass spilling on yourself like a child. 

     “Oh dear, why don’t you step in the bathroom and get cleaned up. Second door on the right” You stand up to go and you feel a hand swat you on the ass as you leave. Yoongi doesn't miss the way your hands ball into fists as you go but he also doesn't hear you protest. A fact his father casually mentions.

    He’s done this before. His father is away reminding him who the best Min is. He can see the doubt he’s painted in his son’s eyes. “Please, not this time. Just leave them alone” begging already. Pathetic. 

     “I think you should focus on your engagement. I would love to make a public announcement”

     “You’ll leave them alone? If I do that you’ll leave them alone?” His father just laughs. 

     “What did I do to deserve such a spineless creature like you as a son?” Yoongi looks up at him trying to swallow his rage. His father grabs his wine glass, takes a single slip and then hurls it at his head. It very nearly misses. There is the fear he misses, the respect he demands. “It’s time for you to retire to your room. Don’t worry about your friend. I’ll personally see that they make it home alright”

    Yoongi stands. Stiff and awkward. He has to stop this, he has no idea how to stop this. He heads for the door. If he can catch you, warn you before he has to let you go. He stops though. When he sees the gun in his fathers hand. “Son I want a proposal by the end of the month. This is business” He calls after him. Yoongi turns left not right but he thinks he hears a sound from the bathroom. Were you crying? Oh fuck he’s fucked up your life so much should have stayed away but then you. Fuck fuck fuck he thinks about the gun at you lips you could be dead already.

     He sent you a text. It's one of maybe three he’s sent in his adult life. I'm sorry, plz wait ill figure it out. He snaps his phone in half to make sure it can't be read off his phone. When you step out of the bathroom in control of yourself and find Yoongi not there you are even more afraid. He insists you finish eating before he takes you home.

      Before you step out of his car, no more touching thank god he hands you a manila envelope. You flip threw it . It starts in Yoongi's childhood, a list of injuries and goes up right before you meet him. You feel bile rise in your throat. “When I call, you are going to come, do you understand? If you don’t it's Yoongi who will pay the price” You nod not looking at him and he grabs your jaw. His fingers line up with the bruises perfectly. He pulls out a small digital camera and takes a photo. He holds you there for a moment just to prove he can then lets you go.

    Yoongi is not the only one that paces around that night.

      It's some time before you see Yoongi again. Before you do small things start to happen , small things start to go wrong. His dad is right, your branch does get shut down, more than that finding a new job proves to be immensely difficult. You have savings but they are going to quickly deplete especially when you get a notice about your rent increasing by an astronomical amount.

     You feel yourself being watched too. Occasionally there will be glimpses. The two that Yoongi left printouts of on your coffee table sometimes, they don't make you so nervous but you suspect there are others. That you are meant to see them.

    You try to call him. Once. His phone is off. Of course it's off. 

   You don’t try again until your next bad migraine. It's very bad, one of the worst you’ve had. You stumble out of bed and onto the couch dragging a trash can over. You try to call Yoongi again to beg him. Please please take you to hospital but there is still no answer. You can’t afford an ambulance and you’ve lost contact with what coworkers you had left. Afraid to draw attention to anyone else you cared about.You curl up and are about to call an ambulance but you get a call. It's not a number you recognize but the caller ID comes up as Min. 

    “Yoongi?” You ask in a shaky voice. You’re so nauseous and in pain and it's making you feel so confused. 

    “Not quite Love. looks like you are having a bad day, do you need a little help?” you sit up with a start and clutch your head.

    “Are you watching me?” your voice is so high. He chuckles. No wonder Yoongi liked you. He always had an affinity for the damaged toys. 

    “You really should check for cameras. I don't watch them of course, I don't trust computers, but I've been waiting for one of your little episodes. Have some security on you, you mean so much to my son after all. Do you want my help”

      “No..no thank you” you catch yourself. Be polite, you have to be polite. “I will be alright. I’ll call an uber.” He laughs “can you afford that? No insurance can make those hospital bills really add up”

     “I...I’ll just sleep it off. Thank you for your offer”

   “I don’t think you understand I am on my way and if you do not come with me willingly it's going to end poorly for you and for Yoongi. Do you understand?”

   “Yes”

    “I think you know better than that”

    “Yes Sir” You let out a little sob as the line goes dead. Your eyes go to the file. What would he do to him if you said no? The file had the reasons for the punishments all bullshit. All minor infractions.

     The ride back to his home is silent. He opens your door and it's just like his son, the arms around your waist are not comforting, it's possessive, it's suffocating. He pulls you into the house. His Son has a meeting. Perfectly timed of course. Yoongi still needs his punishment for his infraction. He escorts you past him and your eyes meet for just a split second but just then your knees give out as another wave of nausea passes over you and you let out a groan. 

    Yoongi is on his feet. Did you call him? Did you call his father? Have you tried to call him? This migraine is bad. He can tell just by looking at you. You can barely stand. No, fuck your not standing. His Fathers arms at your waist is the only thing supporting you. “Yoongi, don’t be rude. Finish your meeting” 

    Yoongi looks at your horror evident on his face. Please. Look at him he thinks call for help so he can do something! “Listen… to your Dad Yoongi” is barely more than a murmur. Yoongi's face is hard. You were just like the rest then? What had he promised you? Drugs to end the pain? Money? Never having to work in that place again. Yoongi takes his seat and watches you disappear into the bedroom. 

    He has to sit while he can hear the two of you. No doubt this is why the meeting had been scheduled so quickly and to this room. His punishment. Yoongi completes his meeting but doesn't get up. He drafts a letter to the woman his father insists he marry. Her parents are his father's rivals, where he supposes, with this. He shouldn't have waited. The intercom buzzed.

    There is one in just about every room. With little to no phone usage in the house it was helpful. “Yoongi, bring me the papers from today's meeting” the intercom goes off. Anyone could do this but it appears his punishment is not over. 

    His movements are stiff and robotic as he gathers the papers. As he walks to His fathers bedroom. How many times has this happened? He should know better really. No defiance. Obedience. Would you laugh at him? How many times has that happened? He thought you were different. His.

    He doesn't bother knocking. He should have. You are lying on your back naked splayed out not moving for a moment.He’s dreamed of this, fantasized about this. Your head turns to him, eyes still glassy cloudy with pain. You flush and pull the covers over yourself. Yoongi turns his head. 

    At least his father has put on his boxers. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Lighting a cigarette. Casual. Always so casual. Is this punishment for his son or a coincidence? Always just enough to make Yoongi on edge. To make him doubt. “ set the papers on the desk. Oh, right, sorry you have to see this.” He turns to you and grabs his wallet from his night stand. He throws some bills down at you.

   You stare at them like you’ve never seen money before. You look up at Mr.Min and the glare he shoots you makes it obvious what he wants you to do. You take the money in a shaky hand trying the whole time to battle the urge to throw up. “Can’t you see your making Yoongi uncomfortable? Get out” You look from him to his sun and turn more red reaching for your clothes blanket still clutched to you but you feel the blanket be yanked back. “Now!”

    You hurry to get your clothes and struggle to go as quickly as you can. Money is still clutched in one hand. Once you get clothes on, covering you, you look up at Yoongi. “Yoongi I '' you feel a hand snake up and grab your hair pulling you to him. His lips to your ear.

     “You ever speak another word to him that I do not tell you say I will break him in front of you” He whispers in your ear too low for him to hear. He kisses you biting your lip till he tastes that bit of blood. He doesn't release you until Yoongi turns away red faced however. “Keep your phone on.” You stumble out of the room unable to look back at Yoongi. The second you are out of the building you wretch.

     You end up using the money to go to the hospital anyway. Chasing the drugs the hospital will give you so you can at least be unconscious. Away from what just happened. What you let happen.

1 2 3

[anika-ann]

WINSoD - Pt.4

What You Need (Is What I’m About)

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2, part 3)  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, one more ;)  Word count: 3400

Summary: In which fate has a strange sense of humour, the Maximoffs appear and... well. 

Warnings: brief violence, mention of death, messing around in one’s brain, language, cutesy and fluff (yep, it’s all there)

Part 3

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

You watched the kettle quiver as the temperature of the water climbed towards the boiling point. You’d like to say your blood was reaching it too, but despite the warm hoodie (Steve’s, naturally), you were feeling coldness seeping into your very core.

You hated waiting for him. You had never been a fan of it, sitting on your ass and stressing until he returned from a mission, bruised and usually bloody, but this time it was something else. This time, you had more than just a vague idea of what he was fighting; you had witnessed it first-hand. An army of fucking robots.

The team had left 43 hours ago, but who the hell was counting, right? Certainly not you. And you had certainly not been feeling the urge to ask Jarvis (R.I.P., my beloved A.I.) like every half an hour for any updates. You weren’t that desperate. You weren’t that scared-

Yeah, not even you were having your bullshit anymore.

You were shivering in cold from losing sleep, terrified and over all out of your mind. Nothing helped to ease your worries. Definitely not the fact they hadn’t made any contact ever since they had left.

They consisted of the usual Avengers team; Nat, Clint, Tony, Bruce and Thor, plus Bucky. All of them under Steve’s attentive command.

Surprisingly, Matt Murdock – also known as a freaking vigilante (a blind lawyer!!) – did not join the quest. He had said that robots were way outside his territory. You would beg to differ, because he punched the robot like a champ, yet you didn’t quite blame him for refusing. Bottomline, you still thought he was pretty swell (not to mention easy on the eyes, but that was beside the point). He had saved your life though, so you might be a bit biased. A lot biased.

Sam Wilson might have fought once too, but he would sit this one out as well. It was not helping your anxiety.

The soft click of the kettle brought you back to reality and you grabbed the handle to pour water into your mug, only to see you failed to actually put a teabag in it.

To be fair, you would have sworn you had done it, but that was just another prove of you losing your mind. At this rate you were about to burn the kitchen down – not that you felt like cooking… or eating for that matter. Steve was out there, in his own sci-fi movie that had somehow become reality and-

You sighed and set the kettle down, reaching for the box with chamomile tea. Taking one bag, you felt a strange gust of wind and curled into the hoodie as a shiver ran down your spine. Was the air-conditioning misbehaving…? Perhaps it was an aftermath of what they called the Ultron mess-

You shook your head, scolding yourself for getting paranoid and went to finally finish the simplest task of making yourself tea.

Only for your blood turning to ice when you noticed the teabag was missing. You had just put it there half a minute ago, you were sure of it. Your heart started hammering in your chest as you spun on your heels, your eyes scanning the room.

The cupboard behind your head clacked and your head swiftly snapped back to it. Feeling your own pulse pounding in your temples, you forced your brain to come up with a rational explanation.

You were losing your mind, you were imagining things, you hadn’t slept in almost two days, your mind was playing tricks on you-

Another gust of wind and the kettle disappeared from your hands, a shriek escaping your lips. On instinct, you opened the drawer and pulled out a knife. You were probably useless with it, basically offering it the potential attacker as a weapon, because they would be able to disarm you and use it to their advantage, but you didn’t give a shit. You felt better being armed.

What the fuck was happening?!

A man suddenly appeared by your left hip, like a hurricane inside of the room, and your body acted on its own, driving the knife in his side.

Or you attempted to; the knife met something solid that could not have been a body and the blond – he was a blond man, younger, hell, looking younger than you, dressed in a jumpsuit – stared at you with his mouth hanging open.

It was only then when you registered a strange red matter--- no, something unsubstantial, like an energy, swirling and changing, hovering around the blade that had stopped an inch from the man’s torso.

“Taka se ubivate, kolibri,” a female voice sounded from the other side of the room, nearly sending you into a cardiac arrest.

Yet, you couldn’t tear you gaze away from the strange man, whose face was now twisted in annoyed grimace as the woman seemed to be scolding him.

What kind of a language was that anyway?

Really not relevant.

There were two strangers in the Tower, in the very same room as you, they could be talking about how to kill you the most painful way and you wouldn’t even know, and for fuck’s sake, why couldn’t you catch a break-

“Ne ti e zabavno, foĭerverk,” he hummed back, his lips spreading in a smile, baffling you to no end. “Zdraveĭ, krasavitse.”

Your hand still on the handle of the knife that was no longer under your control, of which you refused to let go though because you were not a complete idiot, you had no idea what to do.

The man sounded almost friendly, but then again, villains often did. Sleazy. You would know.

A tremble ran through your body and out of nowhere, you made a lightning-fast decision of kicking the man in the crotch.

Your knee only brushed his manhood when your leg was no longer yours. With horror filling every cell in your body, you realized it was caught in the freaky red spiderweb of energy and you couldn’t move it no matter how much you tried.

Tears filled your eyes and suddenly you were free, the man several feet from you. A gorgeous young woman, dressed even more strangely than him – crimson leather jacket, black and half-torn leather leggings with high boots with way too many straps, her outfit completed by sleeves peeking from under her jacket –, stood next to him, cuffing him in the back of his head.

“Idiot!” she hissed and in the back of your mind, the one tiny corner that was not occupied with the fact you might die in the next second, you thanked god for some words being international.

Then, the girl with long wild red hair smiled at you apologetically, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

“Hello. Sorry for startling you,” she spoke with thick accent which you identified as Eastern-European and shot her companion a murderous look. “My brother is an ass and doesn’t know the difference between being funny and scaring people.”

She didn’t sound menacing at all; in fact, you saw every responsible older sibling annoyed at their younger family member in her. You blinked away the sting in your eyes and attempted to focus despite the ringing in your ears.

“Huh?” slipped from your lips intelligently, utter confusion gradually replacing your despair.

The blond rolled his eyes, which only earned him another clip round his ear.

“See what you’ve done? This is all your fault!”

“I was just messing around!”

“Do you have any idea what she’s been through? You scared her to death!” the woman hissed, effectively sending you back to the spiral of dismay, your slowly calming heartbeat skyrocketing again.

What did she know about what you had been through?!

With your knees wobbly and not to be trusted to keep you upright on their own anymore, you gripped the counter behind you with such force your muscles cramped.

“Who- who are you?” you breathed out shakily, catching the attention of the supposed sibling duo once more.

The woman smiled warmly, patronizingly almost.

“My name is Wanda and this is my brother, Pietro. We are of Sokovia. Your Captain and the other Avengers found us, showing us that we were fighting on the wrong side of things. Would you like to see?”

Her words echoed in your suddenly dull skull, the meaning escaping you.

And because her last sentence was what made sense the most and yet the least, you nodded.

Later, you would realize just how stupid and trusting you had been when agreeing, mostly because Steve gave you his look of disappointment and horror, but at the moment, it seemed right.

Somehow, on a level you couldn’t quite comprehend, you already understood they weren’t a threat to you.

“See how?”

Wanda smiled.

*Like this,* a ghost of her voice sounded somewhere deep in your mind, making you dizzy. What the hell-? *Please, don’t judge me. I thought I was doing the right thing.*

Before you could question such statement or the fact her lips were not moving while you heard her voice crystal clear, you were thrown into a vortex.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Ultron had been sure they were coming; he left a bait for them, an easy track to follow. The track they could follow towards their end.

Wanda wasn’t one to enjoy killing or hurting people in general, no. She hadn’t even considered herself a strong person once, but that had all changed with their parent’s deaths. She had had to rely on herself – on herself and on her brother. Where an opportunity had risen, to step up their game and possibly to get revenge on the name still haunting them in their worst nightmares, they hadn’t even hesitated.

Wanda had once been a weakling. It had been the tempering in fire, in a burning pain of experimentation with the sceptre that had made her the woman who she was now.

And she had a mission; she and Pietro had a mission, their chance at revenge finally gaining a shape.

She had already played with Stark’s mind, with the scum only interested in money and destruction; now she could do the same to all of them.

Bursting in with a crash, they clearly hadn’t expected such livid counterattack. A response so… nightmare-like.

Just a flick of wrist and a little concentration on Wanda’s part and they were dropping like dead, trapped in their own minds.

Black Widow, locked in a scary base, ballet dancers, martial art training and merciless killing, her fresh fears creating a horror picture of aiming her gun at her current lover’s head, at her soulmate.

“I should have known you’d never change. You’re nothing but human reduced to a murder machine…”

Thor, oh so mighty God, travelling back to his home planet to a feast, legends messing with his headspace, confusion and helplessness, thunder and lightning all around and out of his control.

“You’ll kill us all! See, son of Odin, close your eyes and see!”

The righteous captain, trapped in his own mind, folded like a house of cards under his soulmate’s dead eyes, anger and accusation blossoming into hate and finally indifference.

“You cared about your 40’s sweetheart more, anyway, didn’t you? If it was her in my place, you would have chosen her before the thousands. You wouldn’t let her blow up… but if I’m nothing to you, then you are nothing to me…”

Satisfied with her work, with only a nudge to their consciousness and their own brains doing the work for her, Wanda smirked as she noticed the busy archer. Now what tricks his could mind come up with? What hardship would he get caught in?

As she slowly sneaked behind his back, a voice snarled behind her, causing her heart to stop from more than a simple fright.

“Kak mozhe neshto tolkova malko da prichini tolkova nepriyatnosti?”

Her first reaction to her blood crystallizing in her veins with horror and rage towards the whole fucking universe, was a snarky reply.

How dared he to call her small? Implying she was weak? Underestimating her and saying that she couldn’t cause any real trouble? Oh, she would show him… that arrogant bastard! She would show him trouble-

“Laĭna…ti mi narichash nepriyatnosti?” she hissed back, carelessly losing the sight of the archer, not interested in him in the slightest all of sudden. “Vie ste strana s greshni khora!”

This stranger, this—this man-machine radiating pain as her powers barely brushed the surface of his mind on instinct… he was the real trouble as she didn’t hesitate to tell him. He was on the wrong side of things! Fraternizing with a mass murderer, with her parent’s killer-

“Pone te sa kho—” he wanted to argue, but they his mind stopped before it started screaming, punching her telepathic powers she seemed suddenly unable to turn off.

Memories, a dozen of his own memories, the way he looked at his soulmark in a mirror, the pain, the sorrow, the torture… his encounter with the Avengers, living with them; with the band of heroes she just put down, one by one, teasing and laughter, compassion and acceptance, even from the man who was supposed to be nothing but a cocky heartless bastard-

“What the hell did you just say?” Bucky rasped, astonished and horrified.

He realized it too then. Everyone always did, didn’t they? Because every person with a soulmark awaited a moment like this; the moment someone would finally say the words matching the ones on their skin, met their expectations or not…

But Bucky Burnes was the farthest from Wanda’s dream when it came to a life-long partner.

Strength is tempered in fire, she remembered reading once. She had once found a special irony in the fact that the treatment by the sceptre felt exactly like that. Wanda’s soul turned to steel with the games the fate had played with her.

So why did her hands fell from their defensive position to her side, limp and drained of all strength and determination they had known, tears stinging her eyes.

Her life was shit and she thought she had made her peace with that. But judging by the deep ache in her chest, she had been holding out for her soulmate more than she had thought. Because why else would it hurt so bad when she found out he was an enemy?

“And I thought Romeo and Juliet was just a lot of crap,” she chuckled bitterly, switching to English when he did.

His thoughts scream at her, disbelief, caution, pain, confusion, regret and hope— ambivalence. He had no idea what to do and he hated her for what she had done to his friends, but the knowledge of her being his, supposedly, it torn him in half, reaching out with willingness to forgive her if she fixed it, because if anyone understood fighting at the wrong side it was him--

Unable to resist, she dug deeper into his mind, baring his very soul, fascinated.

Pietro was still fighting with the archer and Stark, dodging the lame attempts at attack of the Avengers lost in their minds, but for two people, the time stopped.

They stood against each other, staring and motionless, and Wanda was confident she saw more than him. His mind was a tangled mess of emotions and desperate desire to get a hold of them and think rationally, bundle of memories and hopes colliding with reality and rock-solid facts and Wanda felt a pang at her heart, a crushing sensation in her chest when she finally embraced everything his headspace had to offer, getting lost in it.

Lost in him.

James Buchannan Barnes had a beautiful soul. Torn and glued together with little kind gestures from his friends, sweet memories of his sister and everlasting friendship with Steve, his no-longer-little-but-equally-stubborn Steve, Steve’s soulmate, his teammates that accepted Bucky with surprising ease and less judgement anyone would deserve… and the careful way he was giving away the pieces of the very same heart that was barely together, in gentle smiles and good-natured teasing, silent self-declaration of giving his whole life for every single one member of his new-found family.

And Wanda understood. In a fraction of second she looked under the illusions she had helped to build in the Avengers’ minds and saw the truth.

*Pietro, spri!* she cried out straight into his mind, begging him to stop fighting. With another flick of her wrist, her enemies were free of her handiwork, shell-shocked from the experience, too lost to find their footing. “Brat, spri! Pietro… greshim. They are right.”

The battle froze as if the time did and for a second, Wanda felt like she was in her brother’s skin, moving so fast that the world around her stopped turning. The stunned silence was only broken by a soft gush of wind when Pietro appeared by her side.

The Avengers seemed so baffled at her admission they didn’t try to attack them.

She exchanged a look with her twin, hoping her face spoke volumes as tears gathered in her eyes. She was far from convinced that Anthony Stark was a good man; but she knew he was better than the creature they had sworn to assist. And her mother always used to say that a man should be judged by the company he kept. From what she had seen in Bucky Barnes’ head, Stark had one bunch of fine people around; and their imperfections seemed to be balanced by the good they all wished to do.

Pietro understood. Of course he would. More than he could read her expression, he must have felt the change in Wanda’s aura, the transformation touching their bond as well.

He graced her with a reluctant nod of agreement. Via their mental connection, he whispered he trusted her. Her lips curled up in a tender smile.

“Are we just gonna stand here? Are we fighting together or against each other or what?!”

No, Tony Stark was by no means a man she would call good. In fact, she already found out he was an ass. But now, he had become her ally.

From all the eyes on their duo, she chose to meet her soulmate’s.

“Together, Anthony. Because there’s bigger malice in this world than you are.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Wanda nearly cut you off right then. The rest of what she showed was a blur of images, fear, pain and determination, destruction and cooperation, all of that leading to this very moment. It all resembled waking up from a very intense confusing dream, being pulled away into consciousness by the first sunrays of the dawn.

You blinked heavily as the world swayed off its place, the counter seemingly in a peculiar angle from your point of view.

Why was the lamp not up, but on the side? Why was it spinning?

“Oops. Sorry. Never made the connection for such a long period of time-“ a voice reached you, breaking through the hush of blood and your own heartbeat in your ears.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to get a fucking grip on both your body and thoughts.

Bucky had a soulmate?

No, not relevant, the images were too unclear for you to be sure everyone made it out alright, you needed to see Steve first, you had to-

By the time Steve’s figure appeared in your field of vision, you were certain you were steady on your feet and finally managed to control your mouth.

“Steve!” you cried out excitedly as you sprang his direction, relief mixing with delight, because he was alive, he was not bleeding visibly, he-

-was suddenly graced with an identical twin, two loving tired smiles blending into one and splitting into two the next moment, swimming in your vision and you felt something solid grabbing your body and positioning it right into his strong arms.

You gazed at him in haze, melting into his warm and firm embrace, spotting a swirl of red energy flow around you.

Oh. Wanda’s work, no doubt. Sweet.

“Are you okay, doll? Are you sick? What happened?”

Wanda’s guilt was nearly solid in your reach, but you only let your head lull onto Steve’s shoulder, plunging into the fluff of love that his presence provided.

“Nah. I’m fine… just drunk on you…” you mumbled.

The girl’s bubbly relieved laughter rang in the room, bringing a satisfied smile on your face.

Steve’s kiss landed on your forehead, corners of his own lips upright despite the concern in his voice.

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s just get you to bed…”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 5

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Thank you for reading!

I chose Bulgarian, just to avoid traditional Russian this once. Bucky is a Winter Soldier after all and he should know how to speak 30 languages or so :D just thought this would work. Google translator used; apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you had an okay start to 2021 :-*

[headinthe-fridge]

My Grandfather’s Lawyer (pt.5)

⁂ – Ushijima Wakatoshi x reader –  ⁂

warning: nsfw, swearing

Summary: Your grandfather, Washijo Tanji, disowned your mother when she was pregnant with you and her hatred towards him was passed on to you. Now, your estranged grandfather wants you to leave your life in Tokyo and come live with him in his estate in the Miyagi Prefecture.

You took a day off and a 6-hour trip, intending to give him a piece of your mind before disappearing from their lives forever. You didn’t expect to see an ailing and fragile old man. Your day trip stretched into weeks and soon, you patched things up with your estranged family and warmed up to everyone -except to one: Ushijima Wakatoshi -your grandfather’s lawyer.

He thinks you have ulterior motives in reuniting with your grandfather.

You weren’t suppose to care what he thinks of you. His opinion didn’t matter.

But it did.

AN: Soo sorry I didn’t update yesterday :( so to make up for it I’m posting part 5 and 6 today. Again, thank you for supporting this fic. That thing that spurred me to write this was my frustration over headcannons. HCs are cute and all but if it’s the same thing you see everyday it kinda makes you feel hungry for more. Anyway, enjoooy. And welcome to my new readers!!! 💖💖💖

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“y/n,” Your grandfather breathed as soon as you entered his ward. The old man’s eyes were wide in shock at seeing you. 

“Did you rest well, how are you feeling today?” He proceeded to ask.

“I’m fine, but I should be the one asking you that.” You replied when you approached his bed. You hung your head low, “I feel... guilty. I feel like I’m the reason why-”

“See, Tanji-san? Your grandchild is here so that means he’s also concerned about you.” Ushijima butted in. He gave you a stern look. “Right, y/l/n-san?” His eyes held an underlying message that says ‘dont-you-dare-contradict-me.’

You gulped unconsciously before you turned your attention back to your grandfather. “He’s right, Washijo-san. I was worried when I heard you were sent to the hospital.”

“I would feel better if you will start calling me ‘ji-ji’, like how your cousins call me.”

“I- what did the doctors say?” You swiftly changed the topic. You felt uncomfortable calling him that; because first, that was how your mother addressed him, and second because you felt you didn’t deserve it.

Your grandfather let out a small smile, if he noticed what you did, you weren’t sure. “Don’t worry too much, y/n, it’s nothing serious, Wakatoshi and Saki-san are just paranoid.”

“Old man, how could you say it’s nothing serious? You were having breathing problems earlier, it was a cause for concern.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine, I’m quite used to that and I won’t die yet. Not when my grandchild is finally back home.” He gave you his rare soft-and-affectionate lool which made you squirm. 

You were receiving too much ‘looks’ today. You started wondering what kind of ‘look’ you’ll be getting next.

“I won’t deprive myself of the joy especially if he’s here with us now.” Your grandfather said. But despite the smile on his wrinkled face, you were sure that he was still uncertain over the matter. You also know that Ushijima noticed it because the man threw you another look.

You mentally sighed.

“Washijo-san, I hate to say this but I... I can’t stay here.” You said softly, witnessing how his wrinkled face morphed into sadness. “The house.. and- and, I have a job back in Tokyo.” You didn’t want the old man to feel any worse but you didn’t want to give him false hopes either.

“Your parents are gone, y/n, and you’re alone. Of course, I will always be concerned about you. If you’re worried about your job, you can work in the family business. Or better yet, you can stop working if you decide to live with me. You can focus on your studies. Your mother mentioned that you wanted to be a doctor, right?”

You felt a light jab at your heart. He remembered?

“I appreciate your concern for me, but you don’t have to worry about me. I have my roommate, Kiyoko, and I also have great friends.” You knew they were gonna look out for you and have your back. As for your studies, that was the reason why you’re working and saving up.

“So you’re intent on going back to Tokyo and leaving us?”

It didn’t sound like a question to your ears but more like a resigned acceptance. The deep sadness in the old man’s voice did not escape your ears. You could feel your insides churning in guilt. 

No one had ever made you feel this guilty before. And you never knew you were capable of causing grave sadness to someone. For a second, you felt like a wretch so you tried to reason out.

“That is bec-”

“Tanji-san, it seems your grandchild is just confused. I think a breath of fresh hair would clear up y/n’s mind. Breakfast would be good too. Please excuse us.”

Without giving you a chance to speak -let alone open your mouth- Ushijima grabbed your wrist (once again, god damnit) and dragged you out of the ward. You tried to yank your wrist free of his grasp but failed miserably. It was like his hands are made of steel.

“Stop friggin’ dragging me.” You cursed but your words fell on deaf ears as Ushijima continued to drag you until you both reached the hospital’s outdoor garden. You subtly winced in pain when he unceremoniously shoved you down on a bench.

Your scowl turned into shock as Ushijima bent down, levelling his face with yours. His arm stretched on either side of your body, trapping you.

You swore that if you moved an inch your noses would touch. You could smell the faint minty breath of the man half-standing, half-hovering before you. And he was shooting you that ‘look’ again. That stern, meaningful, and handsome look.

God dammmit.

“Do you really hate your grandfather so much that you can’t grant his little request that could make him happy?” Ushijima snarled at you. The influx of his hot breath pulled you back from your thoughts.

You raised a brow in defiance. “Look, how I treat my grandfather is none of your business.” You retorted before averting your gaze, focusing them on the patch of grass past him. If you don’t do that, he might notice that your current position is making you uncomfortable.

To your utter relief (dismay), Ushijima straightened himself up and crossed his arms over his torso. “Actually, you need someone like me to remind you that your grandfather’s only sin was loving his daughter -your mother, very much.” He said sharply. “Yes, he was wrong at some point but can’t you give him another chance for him to make it right?”

You kept your eyes on the grass, suddenly feeling ashamed of yourself. You could see it; Ushijima is right. You knew that your grandfather is willing to make things right again.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

You felt irritated at the statement. It was the same statement Hoshina used yesterday when you just arrived.

“Your grandfather is also hoping that you would take care of him despite having his own caregivers. Can your conscience take it should anything happen to him?”

You were torn between defending yourself and remaining silent. Deep inside, you’re more than willing to look after him. And honestly, to patch things up with him and get to know the old man more.

However, you didn’t want to give Ushijima Wakatoshi satisfaction.

“If you’re done with your speech, I’m going back to the old man’s room.”

Was what you wanted to say but your mouth refused to move. So you abruptly stood up and briskly walked away from him. Leaving his tall figure and scowling face.

Part 6

Taglist: @thegrumpyhag​ @sushij1ma​ @valoryess​ @yakus-yakult​ @ly-nia​ @ushi-please​ @plutoglass @kokofirebangbomb​ @strawberryy-milkk @melanieacademy​ @defunkitatedmess​ @lunarknox​ @wtoshii​ @kyomihann​ @multishippers-trash-blog​ 

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 59

~*~Emma~*~

The lake had been fun. It was initially awkward, but after we loaded into the boat and were underway it got better. I snagged a spot up front in the bow. I was joined by three girls, now women, I’d known well in high school. We started by talking about our current lives and by the time we'd found a spot to anchor we were telling old stories and laughing through our memories. Once the four of us had reconnected the others were easy with conversations and groupings overlapping. An hour later it felt like old times. There were lots of pictures taken and we were texting them to each other immediately. I posted some on Instagram and sent some directly to Sebastian. I had no problem posting bikini-clad pictures of me in a group, but solo went only to him. I've never been one for posting me. It's usually an activity with people.

There was a dock near the southeast border of the lake for gassing up and they had a sandwich shop. Sandwich included hot dogs, hamburgers, french fries, and onion rings. We decided to eat at the picnic tables. Stowing food was more to pack up and could stink. We were relaxing and waiting for the last ones to finish when my notification went off. Chris Evans was asking permission to follow my account. Interesting. Approved. Not a minute later so was Chace Crawford. Also approved, but with a snarky DM about his pickup lines. He'd hit on me at Kirk's wedding. Very unsuccessfully.

Emma ~ Tell Chris hi and nice to meet him.

Sebastian ~ We’re not talking about you. Much. Ok, we are. Sebastian ~ We're mostly looking at pictures.

Emma ~ The ones on your phone are much better than IG

Sebastian ~ Chace will be the one to figure that out.

 Chris DM'd me, “Can't wait to meet you in person. Hearing very sweet things.”

I sent back, "A few are true. He exaggerates."

"Yeah, he's got a huge crush on you."

"Nice to know."

We watched sunset out on the water. It was beautiful. The haze and clouds made for muted pinks, purples, blues, and grays. I took a dozen of those hoping to catch the perfect one. I was in a group of people, but the sunset had me feeling lonely. It was fleeting and I was back into the party spirit quickly.

Amy thought it was a good idea to take everyone back to our house for a pool party. I did not agree. Our parents were home babysitting their granddaughter and we were about to invade with a hoard of drunk friends. All of whom were inviting more and asking them to pick up booze. It felt very high school and in need of at least a phone call. However, it was Amy’s idea and no one wanted to hear from me last night. I wouldn’t be calling ahead.

I went inside to go to the bathroom and ran into dad. "What's all that noise we just got Katie in bed?"

"Amy invited some friends back to the pool."

"You’re teenagers again."

"Seems like it."

"Try and keep it down."

"I will tell her." Not my party. Not my crowd control. I did my business and went back outside. Amy was making out with Max in the pool. I tapped on her head, breaking their kiss, "Dad said to keep it down."

They went back to kissing. I'd deemed my message delivered and headed to the bar, putting in the code and retrieving a bottle of tequila. When I stood up, I was surprised to see Kai on the other side of the bar. Kai was the boyfriend who broke up with me after rehab. Kai's hands were shoved in the pockets of his swim shorts. He nodded toward the group, "Amy said you'd be ok with me coming. I wanted to check."

My current plan for Amy’s death was drowning. She was already in the pool after all. I pasted a less than genuine smile on my face, "It's fine, Kai. It was a long time ago. How are you?"

Kai was very southern lawyer attractive. Thinking back, he always had been. "I’m good. I did become a lawyer. Work for a firm here in Alpharetta. I got married three years ago. Her name is Melanie. We're expecting a baby in January."

"Congratulations. That’s wonderful."

He nodded, "Thank you. What are you up to?"

"I teach first grade, love it. I play in a volleyball rec league. My best friend's in a band so I go into the city and visit. My boyfriend lives there too."

Kai laughed, "I might have heard about him."

"I bet. He's a good guy. Lots of fun and good to me.”

"Better than I was, I’m sure."

Ah! This was going to be some sort of apology. I cringed and pulled up my shades for a second, "Well Kai, you did break up will me three days after I got back from rehab. You kinda failed at supportive boyfriend."

"Yeah, I did. Sorry. In hindsight, it was a shitty thing to do. Bad timing and a lie of a reason."

"I knew that."

"Sorry. I’ve always felt guilty."

I smiled, "It was a long time ago, Kai. We've grown up. We're both doing well."

"I wish we could go back to friends again. We were friends since middle school."

I don't think he realized that made it worse. We’d been friends before we were anything else and none of that mattered when he left me. It didn’t matter to me now. “I stopped being angry with you a very, very long time ago, Kai. Forgave you for leaving me when I needed you. But there’s no reason for us to be friends now. I come back a couple of times a year. You and I are strangers now. And while I have forgiven you, I’d never trust you again.” His guilt is not a reason for me to welcome him back into my life.

“Wow.” He looked surprised.

I smiled, “I wish nothing but the best for you.”  I leaned back to see under the bar and brought up a couple of glasses. “Drink to old times?”

He looked surprised again. “Yeah, Em.”

“Good.” I poured the tequila and tapped my glass against his. “To happy memories and years of fun times.”

We both drank and he walked around to my side of the bar. It was my turn to be surprised when he hugged me, “I wish nothing but the best for you too, Emma.”

I patted his back, “Thank you.”

Kai let go and walked back toward the pool.

I tell you what, this has been the strangest visit I’ve ever had and that’s saying a lot. I’m starting to get paranoid about what the next three days are going to bring. I poured another tequila and questioned my decision to not hop back on a plane last night. I could be home in my bed or in the city tucked into Sebastian’s bed waiting for him to get home or out with Eli and Angie. All preferable to this mixed bag of what the fuck.

I hung out for another hour before letting Amy I was heading to bed. Family day was supposed to start at about noon. That gave me time to sleep in a little, go for a run, and shower before arrivals started. Of course, because I had time to sleep in, I woke up at my normal time. I texted Sebastian, saying good morning, and was pleasantly surprised when his face showed up on my phone.

“It’s morning, but good is a stretch.”

He looked a little rough, but still handsome. “Good night with the boys?”

Sebastian nodded then winced, “Very.” He filled me in on his night. There’d been lots of laughs and he gave me back story on any conversations. I liked watching him talk. In his hungover state, he was less animated than usual, but his expressions and eyes still conveyed a range of emotions. I laughed at the late-night stories. My favorite was Chris edging between Chace and Sebastian in the bathroom, sharing a urinal with Seb because he couldn’t wait.

My stories weren’t nearly as funny. It’s possible things got out of hand after I’d gone to bed. I’m sure Amy would fill me in. I told him about the conversation with Kai.

“Ouch, you’re tough.”

I rolled to my side, putting the phone against the pillow, “It’s not my responsibility to ease his guilt.”

“True.”

“If we were going to be around each other my response might have been different, but there’s no reason. Haven’t seen him in twelve years, likely won’t for at least that long. We talked at the party, laughed. We’re just not going to be friends.”

“No, no, I get it.” He was shaking his head. “I think you might still be a little angry.”

I laughed, “Maybe I should have been less direct. I wasn’t expecting to see him. More indifferent than angry.”

“I don’t know if you should have. I just don’t want to be on the receiving end of your directness. The indifferent version.” He smiled with his using my word instead of his “angry”. “You were pretty direct with Drew in the bar too. I like you having a little bite.” He looked like he was thinking and I stayed quiet. “You are incredibly kind until you’re not. I mean, I think you give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but once they cross over the line where you don’t trust them you have no problem putting them in their place. That’s a good thing. Sometimes people don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt.”

“Ed tells me I let people get away with too much.”

“Do you think so?”

“Sometimes. I can give too many chances. It all depends on how much I care about someone and the size of the bad behavior. I think I’m usually direct and kind at the same time, but when I’ve had enough, I’ve had enough.”

“I tend to sugar coat too much. Then get pissy when nothing changes and sometimes it’s because I wasn’t clear.”

Now I had a question. “Are you sugar-coating and think I was mean to Kai?”

“I was imagining being on the receiving end. I wouldn’t have liked it, but, no, I don’t think you were mean.”

“You’d have to fuck up a lot.” Sebastian’s opinion was important. “I’m direct with the good stuff too.”

“I know you are.” His blue eyes lit up with his smile. “I always know where I stand, how you feel.”

Not always. Not right now. “You read me bedtime stories when I’m sad.”

“And you ask me what I need when I’m anxious.”

“Quite the pair.”

“Yes, we are.”

We just looked at each other for a long time. “Your flight is at three.”

“Twelve, moved up to squeeze in a dinner tonight.”

I looked at the time on my phone, “You need to get to the airport.”

“Yeah.” He turned the camera where I could see his bags. “All packed. I’ll call you when I get back to the hotel for our date.”

Our phone sex date. I smiled and kissed my screen, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Definitely.”

I laid in bed for a few more minutes, just enjoying being happy, before I got up and got dressed to go for a run.  Mom and dad were already downstairs having coffee. I walked around the table, kissing both of their cheeks, “I’m going for a run before everyone gets here.”

Mom nodded over her cup, “How late was everyone here last night?”

I shrugged, “I went to bed about ten. Long day in the sun and then old friends showing up. I was done. Kai showed up. That was less than fun.”

“You left your sister to manage all your friends?”

Notice how they failed to ask how I was after an unexpected visit from my ex-boyfriend. I know I did. I thought about the conversation with Sebastian and what he’d said about some people not deserving the benefit of the doubt. The other night was the first time I’d been so confrontational with my parents in a very long time. Like since I was sixteen right before I moved to Seattle. I took a deep breath and tried to pull in some of the calmness I’d had upstairs in bed. “Guys, we’re almost thirty, not thirteen. Hopefully, we’ve grown out of getting so drunk we knock over patio furniture and throw up in the pool. If not, they are Amy’s problem. They are her friends, not mine. She invited them over. I haven’t seen most of these people for over ten years. And are you telling me in addition to not talking too much about my boyfriend or anything else that makes me happy, I am also expected to babysit my sister?”

“Emma, you’re overreacting.”

Again, with the fucking overreacting. I’m not an overreactor. If anything, I’m an underreactor. I’m positive I’m not overeating here. I guess it’s nice to know it’s not they don’t like Sebastian and don’t want to talk about him. They don’t want to talk about Kai either and I know they liked him. I muttered, “Unbelievable”, as I headed for the front door.

I ran far longer than I'd planned.

It took a long time to calm my mind and get into the zone. What often happens once I let go of my thoughts and get into a rhythm is that the thoughts organize themselves. When I stopped or during cool down I could see things more clearly. What I saw when I slowed my pace to a walk wasn't pretty. It had been my choice to leave rehab when it was no longer good for me. It had been my choice to call Ed to get me away from here when it was no longer good for me. I don't remember my parents favoriting Amy before that summer. Twenty-three days that strengthened me and weakened Amy. Broke my family and gave me a new one.

Choices, even ones that are good for you, have consequences. A tangled web of choices and consequences have led to now. This isn't my home. My parents' focus, as it had been since I went to Seattle or before, was Amy. I didn't agree with how they sheltered her, but I hadn't been here. In their view I was strong, I was fine, and they didn't have to worry about me. I had another family to worry about me. When I thought about it like this, it made sense. I'd left because being here was a threat to me. Now me being here was a threat to Amy. The situation was fucked. We'd all done the best we could. We still were. If what I'd told Sebastian was true, I wouldn't change anything if it meant I didn't know Ed, Jill, Olivia, and Harper. I had to accept the negatives too. I don't know what that means for the future, but as Ed tells me I put up with things too long sometimes.

I arrived back at the house as everyone was finishing breakfast. I'd separated myself from family time by taking a run. Or maybe I'd taken a run because I was separate from my family. I poured a cup of coffee and joined them at the table, helping myself to the container of Greek yogurt and covering it with berries. Blueberries for Sebastian and raspberries for me. That made me smile.

After I showered Amy and I went to pick up my grandparents. Amy told me what happened after I'd gone to bed, including her and Max having sex on the big round double lounger. I told her... nothing. I didn’t tell her about my fights with our parents, I didn’t tell her about the conversation with Kai. I most certainly didn't tell her about my phone sex date later with Sebastian, the early morning just woke up FaceTime, or how he'd read me Winnie the Pooh until I fell asleep. I hated it. I hated how yesterday we were back to talking like sisters and today it was not. Again, my choice, but I knew she’d tell our parents, which under any other circumstance would be fine, but I could not take any more. I could, but I didn’t want to.

The back yard easily held the gathering of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Kids played in the pool while adults talked with glasses of sangria and bottles of beer. The last stragglers were finishing their drinks when Katie crawled into my lap. She wanted me to take her to bed and read her a story. When the book was done, she curled up next to me, looked up, and said, "I love you, Emma."

I kissed her nose, "I love you, too.”

I joined my parents and sister in the family room. Amy explained they hadn't known how long I'd be with Katie and had started a movie without me. I lied and said it was fine, I'd seen it. There couldn't have been much left when “Dancing Queen” started playing from my phone. I stood up, "That’s Sebastian. He's in Canada. I'm going to take it upstairs. See you in the morning."

Mom yelled after me, "We need to leave at nine-thirty."

"OK." I connected the call, "Hey, baby, how was your flight and dinner?"

"Bumpy."

"Which one?"

"Both." His laughter was a balm that smoothed away the roughness of the day. "How was the barbeque and why can't I see you?"

I shut the door behind me and switched the call to video. "I was waiting until I could get you alone."

Sebastian put his arms across his chest, "What kind of a boy do you think I am?"

"A very handsome one." The top three buttons of his white dress shirt were unbuttoned and his tie hung loosely around his neck. "Damn, you look good."

"So do you."

I was in a plain peach t-shirt. He didn't care. To him, I looked good. I went back to his question, "It was fun. Caught up with lots of family. Watched kids in the pool. Mostly sat with my grandparents. Granny was happy to hold my hand and tell me I’m beautiful."

Sebastian's mouth dropped open in a gasp, "I like doing that too." He turned his head to the side looking over my face, "You don't look sad, but you don't look happy either. What's going on with you?"

I looked up for an answer, "I am accepting the reality of the situation. This isn't really home or really my family anymore. Their priority is Amy."

His face fell, "I’m sorry, baby. What can I do? What do you need?"

I smiled a real smile, "Nothing I don't already have." I could see he was struggling to believe me. "Since we were sixteen, they took care of Amy and Ed took care of me. I didn't realize exactly what that meant. Amy is doing better than she ever has. I always thought that when Amy was better." I stopped myself to figure out how I wanted to say this. "It took me coming home while things are good to realize it doesn't matter. Even if she is fine it's all a house of cards. I expected at some time things would be normal, but it won't be. I am changing my expectations."

"How do stop expecting your parents to support you?"

Good question. "You know why Jimmy and I broke up."

"He cheated."

"My parents do not. Amy didn't until Friday."

"Why not?" Sebastian's sadness for me was tinged with anger.

The list of things my parents didn’t know was long. "Just telling them we'd split. I felt like I might drown. The way they wanted to baby and take care of me felt like an anchor around my neck, like I was incapable of surviving a breakup. When I came here for Christmas, they had all these ideas for my life, but they never asked what I wanted. I knew if I told them he'd cheated it would be ten times worse. Does this make any sense?" It wasn't completely clear to me so how could it be to him.

Sebastian rubbed his fingers over his beard, pulling at the grey patch. "I hurt my knee once. They told me to take it easy for twenty-four hours, ice it, stay off it. Then I had exercises and had to move. Walking hurt like hell but it was the best thing if I wanted to heal. Your parents wanted you on bed rest when what you needed was PT. Support to get on your feet. Support should help, not cripple you."

"Exactly!" I smiled and ran my fingers over the video version of his face. "So not having their support isn’t new. I am working on accepting that's not going to change." I watched Sebastian bite his lip and let it slip free. "What's that about?"

"I feel lucky to know you. I'm so fucking proud of you. You don't get stuck in self-pity; you dig yourself out. It's the difference between seeing yourself as a victim or just someone who had something bad happen. They keep Amy stuck and Ed taught you resilience."

My heart stopped and I forgot how to breathe. Not in the good way. In the almost a panic attack way.

"I can do that with work, most things. Relationships." He scrunched up his face and rocked his head from side to side. "I'm learning."

"I'm not always good at it either." Sometimes I needed my ass kicked.

"That’s ok. I'll be here to help. You're still learning too."

I felt a slow smile form across my face and Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to be teaching me something tonight?"

I fought back the laugh at the way he squeezed his eyes shut and scrunched up his face. It took a good ten seconds for him to come back to me. I let go of the lip I was biting, "You ok there?"

"You cause me physical pain." He chuckled and smiled looking at me.

I don't think he minds all that much. "Where's it hurt, baby?" I dropped the tone and volume of my voice.

He made the face again and pointed his finger at me. "Turn off the camera."

My eyes went wide, "Why?"

"The first time I watch you get yourself off is going to be live."

"You have a lot of phone sex rules, Bastian." Still, I switched the phone to voice only. My screen went dark. I pouted. Not that he could see.

"Stop pouting and tell me what you're wearing."

I resisted the urge to tell him if he let me turn the damned camera back on, I'd show him. I didn't need to be taught how to do this. I was confident I could wing it just fine. What I didn’t know was if this was to be purely descriptive, giving each other instructions, or a role-play. It didn't matter. Any would be fun.

"I have on a peach t-shirt. It's not tight, but it fits against my body. Soft. My shorts are white. If you listen close, I bet you can hear me unzip them," I moved my phone lower to make sure he could. I left the phone by my hip, "I'm going to go ahead and take them off. My legs are smooth against my fingers."

"Take off your shirt too. Tell me about your bra and panties." His voice had taken on the timbre it gets when he's turned on.

"Nothing special. No one to see them. Simple white cotton. They do look nice against my tan."

"Next time we're together I’m licking those tan lines."

"Mmm, I'm looking forward to that. Tell me about you."

"Dressed from dinner. Black pants, long sleeve white shirt, black tie. You saw. Tie undone. A couple of buttons open and sleeves rolled up."

"Unbutton them all, but leave your shirt on. I like you undone. What’s going on with your pants?"

"They're tight. I’m not completely hard."

"Take them off. Rub yourself over your boxers. I love feeling you grow in my hand or my mouth. Your skin is so soft."

"Spread your legs. Touch yourself. Over your panties. I want them wet.” I heard a change in his breathing. Subtle. “I’m hard. Had to adjust my boxers. My cock's up toward my stomach where I can rub the underside. Feels good." He let out a little moan and I could easily imagine the little smile on his face.

"Take your cock out. I've got my hand over my pussy. Massaging myself. Warm. Panties are a little damp. I can tell I'm wet though. I can feel it."

"What's it like, Emma?"

"All the blood’s rushed between my legs. There's an ache, a throbbing, almost like I can feel my heart beating. An itch I need to scratch."

"My hand's around my cock. Slow strokes along the whole length. I flip my thumb over the tip every so often." His breath caught. "Hits the spot, you know the one, sends a jolt, like a shock through me. Feels even better when it's your tongue."

"Fuck. Your talking has me squirming. My hand is in my panties. My middle finger sliding from my clit to inside me. So slippery. How tight is your grip?"

"Tight. Not stroking my length anymore. Turned my hand around where my thumbs against the vein. Holding tight above the middle to the edge of the head. Feels good. Thinking about you touching your clit."

"Moving up and down, kind of slow. Tightening my muscles like you're inside me."

Words stopped, but it wasn't quiet.

Our breathing had synced up and there were these little catches, sighs, and soft moans.

"Faster and firmer now."

"Me too. I'm close."

I might not be able to see him, but I knew exactly what he looked like. His face, his body, were starting to tense.

"Feels good. Not as good as you touching me. Not even close."

"If I was there, I'd put my hand over yours. Feel how you like to be touched. So, I can match it. I'd kiss along your neck, taste you. My other hand, my fingers, barely touching your side, over your hip, across your thigh." The last word was interrupted.

" Em... fuck... yes..." Then a few seconds of silence followed by a long sigh.

"Where are you, baby?"

"Unhooked my bra. Nipples so tight."

"Perfect for me to suck on. I'd use my teeth. Run my hand up your inner thigh. Touching close. I can look down and see you touching yourself. God, how much I want to shove your hand away and taste you. Make you come."

"Oh fuck... Bastian." Everything tightened up then let go.

His voice was in my ear, "Turn your camera back on."

When I picked the phone up off my chest his face was already there. I hit the button and saw my face appear in the small rectangle. "Now you want to see me." I stretched with a contented sigh.

"I always want to see you after you come. The way your mouth is open and you lick your lips. Beautiful."

I rolled to my side, "What's an orgasm feel like for you?"

"Tonight. Mmm, for a while it just felt good. Like any touch, nothing special, except the where. Only more. Then it's like a switch. Goes from feels good to oh shit this is amazing. Starts where I’m touching and spreads down to my balls and lower stomach, base of my spine. It's like tightening a spring until it can't anymore and just let’s go."

"Is sex different? The orgasm."

"Oh yeah." His smile and eyes told me he drifted away a little. "I'll tell you all about it next time we have sex." Sebastian raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Similar. Like you said just feels good. More of a building for me though. Sometimes it's a slow steady increase. Other times like stair steps. I have to remind myself to relax or I clench my butt and thighs too much."

"I've noticed this. You start to rise off the bed and I have to hold you down." He was clearly enjoying the memory. "Does it change how it feels?"

I nodded, "Tightening up takes the focus away. Eventually, everything gets warm, tingly, and tightens up. Finally, it's like a wave breaking on the shore with muscle contractions."

"I feel those."

"I like the resistance of having something to hold onto." His eyes had questions. I had to search for a workable metaphor. "If you're sitting in a chair and lift your foot you can feel your thigh tighten, but if you're on a leg machine with weights you feel that muscle more."

Awareness hit him, "Really?" I nodded again. "I knew you liked, but I like knowing the why." He laughed, "I love these talks."

I joined in his laughter, "It is fun."

"Hang on a sec." He laid his phone next to him and I could hear him moving around.

"What are you doing?"

Sebastian picked his phone back up, "There was a mess to clean up."

It is so sexy that he told me this. The whole conversation is sexy. Lying in bed a thousand miles apart having a casual chat about a not at all casual topic is sexy as fuck.

"What did you use?" I was amused.

He looked at me with disbelief. Not sure if it was the question or that he was going to answer. "My underwear. They were nearby." He stood up and lifted the tie as he walked. "Can I get rid of this now?"

"Do I get to see your bare chest?"

"Do I get... ok well, there we go. Thank you."

I'd shifted my camera lower and flashed him naked breasts before he finished asking. I moved back to my face, "You're welcome."

He held his phone out where I could watch him free his arm and be shirtless. I made an appreciative noise and he asked, "Enjoying yourself?"

"I am." I hadn’t intended to lick my lips. "I'd like to lay by a pool with you. Or a beach."

"Easily arranged." He stretched out on the bed. "What haven't we done that you want to do?"

"In general, or sex."

He shrugged, "Sex is the topic. Tonight anyway."

"I want you to give me a full body massage that veers off track to a happy ending."

"That will be just as much fun for me." His face showed his interest. "I want you to tie me to the bed, blindfold me, and do whatever you want to me."

I sat up enough to take my bra off, giving him another peek "We're going to need a weekend locked in one of our bedrooms."

"My weekend is free. I think I have company coming Thursday."

"My departure time keeps creeping up to get to you sooner.”

He sang, "Oh what a lucky boy."

“Pretty soon I’ll get there before you, waiting on the floor outside your apartment.” I got hit with a memory, "We need to talk about your birthday. What do you want?"

"Well, that depends on how you feel about birthday sex? I like birthday sex. Not a deal-breaker, not my preference, but fun for a change."

He stretched out on the bed and stuck his phone to his leg. I could see chest up. I propped my head upon my hand and adjusted my phone. "I'm speaking from limited experience here." Sebastian tried very hard not to smile. He failed, but he tried. "You're such a man."

He stopped trying, "You're such a woman." His laughter was a wonderful sound.

"Less than good experience the first time because neither of us realized the amount of prep work required." He winced. I shrugged. "Next time I’d researched. I liked it, he didn't. He was too in his head, worried about being dirty. Then there's you. I knew what I was doing more in theory than practice."

"You should feel free to practice on me anytime you want." He cocked his head to the side. "You can come in and brush your teeth while I pee, but that's as far as I want to go there."

"Women have complete conversations while trading places in a bathroom."

"The group bathroom break cracks me up."

"We don't want to stop talking or want to talk about a cute guy in private."

"Mostly the last one." He wasn't wrong. "Oh..." he shook his head and pulled his eyebrows down, "not into period sex. But you've got an IUD. Do you even have a period?"

"Nope, happy side effect." Condoms eliminated the need for the birth control talk. "How do you know I have an IUD? Can you feel the strings?"

"My fingers are up there a lot."

I smirked, "You're dirty."

"About to be dirtier. Turn off your camera."

[bunnymaknaereacts]

Monsta X’s Reaction to Your Insecurities - Maknae Line

WARNING -This might be very triggering to you if you have/had a mental illness or suffer from anxiety/depression. Please read with caution.

EXTRA TRIGGER WARNING. THIS FIRST SCENARIO DEALS WITH SUICIDE.

Hyungwon (혀원) - “Nobody would miss me anyway…”

Screaming. That’s the last thing you heard as the blackness consumed you.

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ONE HOUR BEFORE…

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…

‘My dearest Hyungwon,’ you wrote, tears in your eyes. ‘I am so sorry to do this to you. You deserve so much better. I know you thought if you just loved me enough that I’d be okay. That things wouldn’t come to this. But things don’t always work that way, baby. Not everything can be fixed. I tried to get through this for you. I wanted so badly to grow old with you. Have children. Maybe a cat. But I can’t. I can’t really explain the feeling. All I know is that I’m not who you want. Who you deserve. I’m not beautiful or strong enough. I would just continue to disappoint you and everyone else. I would be a terrible mother. But I have every confidence that you’ll find someone who’s worthy of you. Not right away of course. I know you’ll need time to heal. But you will. If you could make it through No Mercy, you can make it through this. Maybe if we meet again in our next lives I’ll be a better me, one that deserves you. Please do me one last favor. Give my sister her letter, will you Wonnie? Stay with her. Hold her when she’s done reading it. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her how much I loved her. And after, burn the letters. Move on, without me. I’ll be fine. I’ll have mom. Well, I have to go. This is already too long. You’ll be home soon so I have to go. Goodbye, Wonnie. I love you. Y/N.’

Folding up the letter and putting in in an envelope with the one you wrote for your sister, you stood up, looking around your room. Pictures of you, Hyungwon and your friends were everywhere. You remember when you met Hyungwon. You were a huge fan of his group. He was your bias. Your mother had gotten you passes for a fansign for your birthday. Everyone was really nice. You and your sister had so much fun. You never in your wildest dreams imagined you would ever see him again. You were a waitress at a local restaurant. One day when you went in for your shift the place was completely empty, very unusual for a Saturday night. Your boss told you to be on your very best behavior. That a celebrity had rented out the place for the night. You nearly screamed when you saw Monsta X walk through the front doors. Needless to say it was a long night. You were very lucky you didn’t drop anything. You were so nervous. But the craziest thing that happened was after the boys left. Once your boss was confident that you weren’t going to cause some major disaster, he made some bullshit excuse about a family emergency and left you to fend for yourself, something he did often. The rest of the night went smoothly and it was finally time to lock up. However once you turned around to go home, you noticed a rather fancy car parked right in front of you. You couldn’t stop your jaw from dropping when Hyungwon rolled down the window, offering you a ride.

Even after how close you became since that night, it surprised you when he asked you to be his girlfriend. He was incredibly sweet, the best boyfriend ever. Things were amazing. Until your mother was suddenly diagnosed with cancer. It hit hard and fast. A couple months after it was confirmed you and your sister were dealing with lawyers and planning her funeral. It completely changed you. Your mom was the most important person in you life, and suddenly she was gone. You didn’t know how to cope. You started hanging out with your childhood friends, the ones who were bad news. Got into trouble. Lost your job. It got so bad that Starship wouldn’t let you out in public or to the company with Hyungwon until you got some help. For a while, you didn’t. By that time you were in the angry stage of grief, so needless to say you didn’t see much of Hyungwon for a while. He would stop by when he could, usually once or twice a week, to make sure you were okay, but that was about it. Deep down you felt bad, but you just missed your mom so much. You already fucked up so much. You figured he would eventually get sick of you and leave. But he never did. Not even when you started drinking. Eventually he came to your place one day to find you extremely drunk. That’s when he lost it. He broke down crying and finally said if you didn’t get help that he would leave you. He just could watch you self destruct anymore. That’s what made you finally snap out of it. You didn’t even want to think what would happen if you ever lost him. So you got help. Went to rehab and started seeing a therapist. Eventually Starship lifted the ban and things got a little better. But after a while, once you got used to the routine, everything you had done, everything you had felt started coming back to you. You were fine when you were around Hyungwon, Wonho, Kihyun and the others. But the second you were alone it all came rushing back. Taunting you. Torturing you. Reminding you that your happiness wouldn’t last forever. That somehow something would happen and you would let everyone down. Again. You became paranoid, guarded. Maybe you should just kill yourself. The first time you thought it, you were shocked. You loved Hyungwon. You didn’t want to leave him. You still don’t. Even as you hold the full bottle of sleeping pills in your hand. But as the depression worsened, you realized you needed to. Everyone would be better off without you.

You picked up your phone to look at the clock. Hyungwon will be home soon. If you’re going to do this it has to be now. So you went to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water and sat on your bed, taking the pills one by one until the bottle was empty. It took awhile but when it was over you were relieved. You would miss Hyungwon but it was for the best. He would be fine without you. Your eyelids slowly became heavy. By the time your boyfriend finally came home, you were already laying down. Eyes closed. Too sleepy to respond. It was odd. It was like sleep paralysis. You could hear Hyungwon calling your name. Could hear him screaming and crying when he found you and called the ambulance. But you couldn’t respond. Couldn’t tell him you loved him. Couldn’t say goodbye.

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TWO DAYS LATER

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It was your third night in the hospital and you still hadn’t woken up. Which meant that Hyungwon hadn’t slept in three days. He already missed the signs of what you were about to do. He wouldn’t miss anything else. Not until he heard your voice. Saw your beautiful eyes. Made you promise to never do this to him again. The doctors said if he had gotten home just five minutes later you would be dead right now.

(LIKE KIHYUN, HYUNGWON WILL NEED A SECOND PART)

Jooheon (주헌) - “I’m a failure.”

“Dammit!” You cursed, slamming your laptop shut. Your friend from high school got her masters degree today. You were happy for her, so out of curiosity you checked your email. You were trying to get back into school for music management, inspired by your loving boyfriend. You’ve had a lot of ups and downs in your past, but music was always a constant. Even if you hadn’t auditioned for Starship, and failed, and met Jooheon, you still would have tried to pursue music in some way. But every school you applied to rejected you, no matter what you applied for. Today was no different. You just couldn’t catch a break. Frustrated, you grabbed your phone and your headphones, turned on Do Not Disturb, and left to blow off some steam. With music blaring in your ears, you walked to the river near where you lived. More often than not, it calmed you down when your thoughts ran wild, but today was not one of those days. Relief was replaced with regret and self-loathing. By the time you got home, it was dark outside. Feeling no different than when you left, you just wanted to take a quick shower and head to bed. However, when you walked in the door, Jooheon was sitting on your couch, his head in his hands.

“Jooheon?” You asked when he didn’t react to you walking in the door. His head snapped up and you saw his tensed form relax once his eyes met yours.

“Thank god,” he whispered, getting up and wrapping you in a bone-crushing hug.

“Um. Honey?” You asked after a minute of him not letting go. He slowly pulled back, though he still kept his hands on your shoulders.

“Where were you? I’ve been texting you.” You sighed. You loved him but you so did not want to have this conversation right now.

“Nowhere.. Look, I just really want to go to bed okay?” You responded colder than you usually did, causing Jooheon to drop his hands. You could tell he was hurt by your attitude but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at the moment. You tried walking past him to your bedroom but were stopped by his hand around your wrist.

“No.”

“Excuse me?” What was up with him.

“I said no. I’m not going to let you blow me off this time. Do you know how worried I was?”

“I just went on a walk.” He scoffed, running his hands through his hair.

“Yeah. Because apparently you’d rather isolate yourself than talk to me.” You opened your mouth to respond but he wouldn’t continued talking. “Don’t. You’ve been so on edge lately. I don’t know if you realize it or not, but every time I try to talk to you you lash out at me. I don’t understand. I just want to help you. So why are you pushing me away?” Finally, the emotional dam in you cracked. Your eyes stung with tears. You tried looking back and realized he was right. All he’s done is be the perfect friend and boyfriend, and you’ve been nothing but a total asshole to him.

“I didn’t..” you said with a shaky voice. “I just.. I didn’t mean..” Jooheon’s frustration vanished as he pulled you into a hug. For a while all you did was sob. When you stopped, Jooheon pulled you to the couch and sat next to you, letting you collect your thoughts. When you calmed down enough to speak you hung your head, to ashamed to look at him. “I didn’t mean to push you away. Things have just been really hard lately and… I didn’t want you to know how much of a failure I was.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got another rejection email today.”

“Oh Jagi.. I’m sorry.” He rubbed your back softly, trying to comfort you.

“I just.. Don’t understand. I mean I know I didn’t have the best grades in high school. And I know dropping out not college was not the best idea. But I’ve been trying so hard to get back on track... It just feels like no matter what I do, I’m screwed. And I hate it. All of my friends are graduating and starting families and I’m still stuck. Working minimum wage and barely getting by. I wish I could go back in time and change things.” You heard Jooheon sigh next to you.

“Hey.” You looked up to see a sad smile on his face. “I love you, okay? You can trust me. You are not a failure. You’ve been working so hard to pick yourself up. I know I haven’t been around as much as I’d like to be. But I still see it. Things will get better. I’ll try harder to be around more. I’ll help you. Just don’t push me away.”

“Okay.” You took in a deep breath, finally smiling before leaning against his side and resting your head on his shoulder. You did not deserve this man, but you were thankful you had him.

WARNING. THIS NEXT SCENARIO DEALS WITH ABUSE. READ WITH CAUTION.

Changkyun (창균) / I.M (아이엠) - “I was used to it.”

The last thing you wanted to do right now was get out of bed. But you had to. Your best friend was due to show up in a little over an hour. It had been a while since you and Changkyun had a chance to hang out. You were excited and dreading it at the same time. Of course you were happy to see him. You missed him. But you were scared of how he was going to react to the bomb you were about to drop on him. You didn’t want to do it, but you needed to tell someone and he was the only person you could think of who you actually trusted. You anxiously went over everything in your head as you got ready and before long you heard him knocking on your door. You grabbed the doorknob, taking a deep breath before finally letting him in.

“Hey, stranger danger,” he said with a huge smile as you let him in. When you closed the door he pulled you in for the biggest hug. Usually his hugs made you feel safe and calm, but with what you were about to tell him you felt more nervous than anything. When you parted you got drinks for the two of you and settled on the couch, making sure to be the first to ask ‘So how’ve you been?’ What you had to say was pretty heavy so you wanted him to go first, the whole time he talked making sure to hold your cup in your lap. “So,” he finally said, finishing his piece. “What about you?” You took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“Well..” Even though you thought about what to say so many times you just couldn’t think of how to bring it up, so instead of telling him you were going to show him. You stretched your arm out to set your cup on the coffee table, your sleeve pushing up your arm just enough for Changkyun to see what he needed to see.

“What the hell is that?!” He grabs your wrist gently, pushing the sleeve up to your elbow to reveal bruises in the shapes of fingers around your forearm. “Did he do this?”

“Yeah.” Changkyun sighed deeply, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Was it the first time?” he asked, eyes still locked on your arm.

“No.”

“Jesus christ.” You knew he was about to go off so you spoke quickly.

“Look, I’m going to tell you everything, okay? I know what you’re going to say. But it’s over. We’re done. He’s not coming back.” He nodded, letting you explain everything first.

You and your boyfriend had known each other since you were kids. He was a really nice guy. You started dating towards the end of high school. But a lot happened to him after he graduated. When he enlisted in the military, his mom became ill and died. He developed anger issues and started hanging with the wrong people. Developed some bad habits. Drinking, smoking. For a while the anger never escalated past arguments and yelling. But as time went on, he started drinking more, and something snapped. He would push and yank you around, hold you too tight when you begged him to let go and so many other things. Whenever you tried to leave he threatened the people you cared about. So eventually you stopped trying. You let him have control on pretty much any aspect of your life that he could. What you did, who you talked to, how you looked, how you spent your money. You don’t really remember how it ended. What the argument was about that made him leave, but not too long after he was gone you realized you didn’t care. You were free.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Changkyun asked once he was finished processing everything.

“I didn’t want him to hurt you. He hated you. Besides, by then I was used to it.” Changkyun took your hands in his, finally looking at you, nearly in tears.

“You shouldn’t have been used to it. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place. You didn’t deserve that.” You sighed.

“At the time, in the middle of it all, I thought I did.”

“Y/N…” Changkyun paused, trying to hold in his tears. “You deserve so much better than that.”

“I know that now.”

“I never would have treated you like that.”

“I know.”

“Let me prove it to you.” Your mouth opened with an audible ‘pop.’

“Wait...what?”

“Look.. I never told you this because you and him were so close..but I always loved you. Maybe if I had confessed the first time I realized it...none of this would have happened. I know this is really bad timing. And if you want to wait.. If you want to take it slow.. I totally understand. I’d do it. I just.. want you to be happy.” Now it was your turn to cry. Shockingly, the whole situation with your ex didn’t make you sad. What made you sad was Changkyun. You always had feelings for him. You only started seeing your ex because you thought they weren’t reciprocated. If only you had noticed it sooner. This whole mess could have been avoided. “I’m sorry,” Changkyun said, gently wiping your tears with his thumb. “You don’t have to answer now. Just think about it okay?” You smiled at him, placing your free hand over the one holding your face.

“I don’t need to. I want to try.”

“Wait.. seriously?” Your heart warmed as he grinned excitedly. You nodded, your heart jumping as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I promise, I won’t let you down.”

“I know.

(Ok yes I know. That last one was super fluffy at the end but I couldn’t help it. I wanted it to be different from the rest.)

[natalienaughton]

Post-Hypomania

I am so grateful that the worst part of my recent hypomanic episode is over. At the same time, I still have a lot of unpleasant feelings. First, my anxiety is still very high, however, the sense of urgency and vacillating thoughts has subsided. My appetite is still non-existent and eating food feels like swallowing sand. I’ve been doing my best to eat high-calorie food to gain back what I’ve lost during this episode. So far, my best has not helped me gain weight back, but it is preventing me from losing more.

I am also processing the aftermath of the whole episode. Last year around the same time, I was not on medication and experienced a full-blown manic episode with psychotic features. My thoughts raced so rapidly, my eyes were unable to focus enough to read my phone or computer screen. I believed it had been my job to save the world. And that I had failed. And that the entire planet knew. I was going to go down as the biggest failure in history.

I believed I had special talents that if I fought hard enough, I could save the world. But since I had spent too much time socializing with friends and watching television, I was unable to complete the mission. I believed that because of my failure, a fascist regime had taken control of the government and the military police had surrounded my apartment and was going to kill me and my partner. I believed my family and friends had been killed and it was all my fault.

I remember making a conscious decision that I was not going to kill myself. I was going to be brave and face the consequences, whatever they may be. I had attempted to flee my apartment, but as I opened the door to the outside world, I made the decision to go back inside and be brave. I went back into my apartment and told myself that the only weapon I would use to fight was Love. And I stood facing my door with my hands in the air, expecting the police to come in with full force. But it was my mom and dad who opened the door and took me to the hospital.

That nightmare did not end there. I ended up being placed in a notoriously dirty, overcrowded, and frequently cited for abuse and shutdown (only to be re-opened) psychiatric ward. Not only was I paranoid, but in reality, I was actually unsafe. My family had to hire a lawyer to get me out of there. I had to wade out the rest of the manic episode in my apartment with the support of family, friends, and my outpatient therapist. I had to wait over a month to get an appointment to see a psychiatrist.

I could keep going into the abuse and neglect that happened at that hospital. There are plenty of good hospitals in the area, but since they are always full, this prison-like hospital is where they send you if “there’s no where else to put you.” But first, I’m too tired to write about all that. And second, the main point is that I’ve been so terrified that I would have a manic episode again. After the pass of the anniversary of my type 1 manic episode, I thought I had gotten over the hump and I was fine. I could trust that the meds would do their job. But I was wrong. It came back. It was not half as bad, but it still came back and it still felt intolerable.

The aftermath of accepting that I have an incurable disease that will flare up time to time scares me. At the same time, I know I have all the tools I need—not to fight it—but to tolerate the episode and let it pass. I am very proud of how well I managed to challenge my delusional thoughts during this episode. I resisted the urge to stay up all night and I forced myself to lie in bed and do guided sleep meditations until I fell asleep, even if just for a few hours. I also immediately made an appointment with my psychiatrist as soon as I was aware of what was going on. I went to my appointment and took her advice and I’ve been compliant with my new medication regimen, even though it’s scary and the side effects make me drowsy.

Thanks to anyone who read this. It helps me in my recovery to share my experience. I hope that by sharing, I can help others feel less alone, or at the very least challenge stigma of mental illness and asking for help. There are so many others out there going through their own shit. I hope that reading this has made you feel that asking for help is not a weakness, it is a protective factor. When shit starts going down, it helps to be aware to know when to send out flares. And don’t wait until you’re in the weeds to ask for help.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Chapter 21: cameos, indulgent nods to crack ships, and oh wait this is kind of an anticlimactic place to end the first fic what do you mean that’s an ending.

[Beginning] [Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

“So she’s like a centaur but the human part is a catfish.”

“If the only human part of a centaur was its head, yep.”

Trucy’s insistence on not divulging anything about Gourdy ahead of time was apparently just for the sake of surprise, because she tells Vera about it later that day despite her not coming to the lake. Larry wanders to the office with them, as well, and promised a drawn explanation that isn’t coming quick enough for Vera to not be completely confused by Trucy.

“Do you think reverse-centaurs are a thing?” Trucy asks.

“Minotaur,” Apollo says.

“If a reverse-centaur and a mermaid had a kid, it would be a seahorse,” Trucy says.

Phoenix groans and puts his head in his hands. Trucy smirks triumphantly, and Larry looks up so fast that Apollo wouldn’t be surprised to have heard his neck snap. “Can I use that idea for a book?” he asks.

“Oh, god,” Phoenix says.

Trucy’s bursts of – inspiration? Questionable genius? – are the sort of thing that Apollo uses to contextlessly start conversations with Klavier. It takes most of the pressure off him to be clever or have any excuse for talking, and right now, he did promise Trucy to extend her New Years invitation. But first, the lead-in, centaurs.

-The Fraülein’s mind is a compelling but uncharted territory

And Klavier barely knows the half of it, either.

Every time she says things like this I have this fear that it’s all actually real

-Then I hate to be the one to tell you -but seahorses are very real ;) 

Ah. There it is, that strange desire that Klavier instills in him, where Apollo wants to take one of the heavy law books from a shelf in this office and smack him upside the head with it.

I am going to pretend you said nothing and just tell you that Trucy is throwing a new year party at our office and wanted to invite you

Trucy has brought her laptop out to the couches to pull up reference images of catfish for Larry. What is a party in this ridiculous place even going to look like? Will Mia throw them out at some point, like a host who finally wants to reclaim her house?

-Certainly thank her for that for me, but I already have plans

Or is lying, which Apollo can’t see because they aren’t having this conversation in person, and instead just wants to avoid the possibility of crossing paths with Phoenix. Or he’s still wary about the office itself. There are far too many options.

Alright, but if she finds out those plans are hanging out alone and sad at your apartment she’s gonna be mad And she does not let people escape her wrath

-I don’t think you quite understand the rockstar lifestyle :P -But I am duly warned 

I don’t think you live it

-Hm.

-

“Do you think he would’ve come to the Gourdyversary if I’d invited him?” Trucy asks.

“I really, really don’t,” Apollo says.

She puts a hand on her chin and frowns in concentration in a similar manner to her father. “Yeah,” she agrees. “He’d probably be even more convinced than you were that Daddy conducts human sacrifices.”

-

On New Years’ Eve, Apollo takes a late lunch and wanders back to the office to find that in the meantime, Trucy has arrived from school with a friend. She introduces the other girl, who is furiously scribbling some complicated symbols on a pack of sticky notes, as Jinxie, and Jinxie introduces herself by smacking Apollo in the forehead with the sticky note she has just finished drawing on.

“Red, horns,” she mumbles, retreating back behind the couch with her pen at the ready again. “Fae.”

“No no, he’s human!” Trucy says. “He’s just a lawyer.”

“Fae lawyer,” Jinxie says. “There are lots of those.”

“I’m human,” Apollo says. “Really. Trust me.”

She squints suspiciously at him. Her eyes don’t change color – is she fae, unknowing or self-hating or hell, it’s probably sensible for the fae to be afraid of other fae. Or is she just twitchy and paranoid, worse than Clay, more like Starbuck. Still not appearing exactly happy about the situation, she at least seems calmed enough to emerge back from around the couch. In the back room, the phone rings – Apollo cannot recall the last time someone called that phone – and Trucy races back to it, Jinxie trailing behind her. Apollo has to follow them to return to his desk, where he’s trying to finish writing up notes for the Gourdyversary. He keeps a journal for more than just cases, now, tries on paper to make sense of magic (doesn’t really manage), and it’s taken several days to truly set in that he didn’t dream up the catfish-horse.

“Wright Anything Agency, Trucy speaking!” She flings herself into the desk chair, rolling it halfway out from behind the desk, as far as the phone cord reaches, and a grin spreads across her face. “What, no, it’s not the new year yet! It’s not midnight! No, I in fact don’t know what a time zone is!”

Apollo tries and fails not to roll his eyes. She spots him and scrunches up her nose until whatever is being said on the other end of the line draws her attention away. “Ooh, Paris! I wanna get there someday, you’ll have to tell me what to do – oh! I’m gonna put you on speaker and you can say hi to Apollo and Jinxie!” Her bangs flutter when she blows out an amused breath. “No, not everyone who hangs out here all the time works here. You’ll still have desk space! I think.” She drops the phone, letting it dangle to the floor, and hits a button on the base of it.

“Who’s this, exactly?” Apollo asks.

“Athena,” Trucy says. “She’s studying to be a defense lawyer and then she’s gonna come work here too!”

“Hi,” Jinxie says.

“I’m taking the Bar in February!” The voice on the other end of the phone is as chipper as Trucy, with no real trace of an accent despite the fact that she is evidently not in the country. “Mon Dieu, I’m taking the Bar in February! I have to study!”

“Yeah, I remember that period of sheer panic,” Apollo says. “It was worth it in the end, of course, but it wasn’t fun.”

Athena’s heavy exhale is slightly garbled through the phone. “That helps, thanks,” she says. “So you’re Apollo?” And then without waiting for his response, she barrels onward. “I guess we’ll be working together someday! Soon. Soon? Hopefully? Hopefully! Power of positive thinking!”

“Hopefully,” Apollo agrees, and he doesn’t think about it much, or tries not to, but something he misses about Kristoph’s office is that it was more people than just him and his boss, that there were other lawyers there, others of similar experience levels to him. If he lets himself feel it, he misses having other defense attorneys to talk to about other cases. He misses having more people around than a ghost, a flighty ex-attorney who’s been disbarred longer than he ever had his badge, and whatever teenage girls wander in with Trucy on any given day.

“February!” Trucy repeats. “You could be here soon! Like by the spring!”

“It takes a long time to get the results, just remember that,” Apollo says.

“Do you think I should keep studying while waiting?” Athena asks. “In case I don’t pass, so I can just go right back in and take it again?”

“That sounds like some sort of personal purgatory,” Apollo says, “but I mean, if you want to…”

“Well, if I keep studying and do pass, then some of it must be good to have a refresher on for when I go into court, right?”

Increasingly, Apollo thinks that over half of what he learned in law school has been entirely useless for the actual predicament of trying a case, and that he probably would have been better off taking a course on local folklore as well. Is it folklore if it’s true? Does Athena know the kind of office she’ll be stepping into? But he doesn’t exactly want to discourage her, not when she actually needs to be hitting the books most, so he says, “Yeah, I suppose.”

“Hm. You don’t sound convinced.” There is silence for a moment, and then she says, “But I’ve been studying this long, so might as well just keep going with it ‘till I know! Trucy, if I pass but haven’t found an apartment, would your dad mind if I crashed on the couch? You’d never know I was there, I swear!”

The amount she’s talking, Apollo doubts it. “I’m sure he would be fine with it,” Trucy says, which Apollo doesn’t doubt quite as much, but he’s not exactly sure about that either. “Or if he’s not you could sleep on the floor in my room and climb out the window every morning!”

“Sweet,” Athena says. “One less thing to worry about! Anyway sorry to cut this short but I wanna call your dad’s cell to tell him I’m officially testing in February and wish him a happy new year, and then I need to either sleep or run around the house a dozen times first to get rid of this nervous energy from talking about it. But Happy New Year, again!”

“It’ll be an awesome year if you’re around!” Trucy says. “But it’s still nine hours to go!”

“Time zones, bitchesssss,” Athena crows, drawing the last sound into a hiss that grows fainter, like she’s pulling away from the phone, before a beep signals the end of the call.

“She’s great,” Trucy says, bouncing in the chair. “You’re gonna love her, Polly.”

“She sounds exuberant,” Apollo says, because he’s not really sure what else to say. How does Phoenix meet people like this? How does he even have this much of a social circle? Is he more pleasant to everyone who isn’t Apollo, or are they more tolerant of it because they weren’t the ones who lost their first job being played for a fool with a bloody playing card?

“Very,” Trucy says. She springs from her seat, her laptop now in hand from one of the drawers.

“Is she a fae lawyer, too?” Jinxie asks.

“Of course not,” Trucy says. “And she’s not even a lawyer yet, either! Not everyone Daddy knows isn’t human!”

“You understand why we ask, though, right?” Apollo asks, as Trucy drags Jinxie back out to the couches, where for the next two hours bits and pieces of conversation about anime and pro wrestling drift back to him.

He doesn’t realize until he wanders out into the front room to stretch his legs that Vera has arrived. The three girls are huddled together on one couch in front of Trucy’s laptop, clearly watching something, which must be the reason that the internet connection on Apollo’s phone has slowed to an undead crawl. Spotting him, Trucy jumps up and ushers him back to the nebulously-existing kitchen to help her carry out several bottles of sparkling grape juice. She sets each on the floor as she unloads them from the fridge and Apollo, without thinking, reaches down and grabs it, backhanded, the way he would to swing it as a weapon, the way they argued about in Phoenix’s murder trial.

It’s awkward to pick them up differently, but he makes sure he does, fumbles with all the bottles in his arms and staggers back out, Trucy grabbing the doors for him. She’s promised that he and Clay won’t be the oldest adults here, however much she scoffs when she calls him an adult (rude), and however much Apollo doesn’t actually care if there isn’t any alcohol. He and Clay started the past three Januarys with hangovers and regrets and it’s probably about time to stop doing that.

The next person to arrive at the office is Ema, with two incredibly large bags of Snackoos, and Kay, who has nothing but an abundance of energy as she flings herself over the back of a couch to introduce herself to Vera and Jinxie. “I’m going to sleep at 10 pm and there’s nothing any of you can do to stop me,” Ema announces, dropping one bag on the coffee table, and apparently planning on keeping and eating the entire other one herself.

“Rough day?” Trucy asks.

“By noon I was wishing that I was working with Gavin, so yeah, that bad.”

“Gavin’s not that bad, though,” Kay says, rolling from the couch to the floor and bouncing up to her feet.

“He’s pretentious and obnoxious.” Ema forcefully tears open the bag of Snackoos. “But he at least doesn’t give a shit when I use fingerprint powder before forensics gets there, whereas Prosecutor Whasisface—” She stops with a chocolate nearly to her mouth, staring down at it in confusion. “Shit, what’s his name? Balding screechy voice prosecutor.”

Kay very slowly shrugs and turns her hands up in confusion. That description is almost ringing a few unpleasant bells in Apollo’s mind – distant ones, like there’s a mountain in between him and said bells. “I was just fucking working with him,” Ema mutters, shaking her head. She pops another chocolate into her mouth. “Whatever. That guy. Bumps the glimmerous fop up a notch in my rankings of favorite prosecutors in this damned nightmare coven office.”

“I was talking to Gavin the other day and he said you’re his favorite detective,” Kay offers.

Ema’s frown deepens. “He should probably be introduced to more detectives,” she says. “God, is that why I’m always working with him? Is he requesting—”

Kay has found a pack of playing cards and asks Trucy to show her how to throw them. Jinxie slaps one of her sticky-note sigils onto Kay’s back, which she must have noticed but apparently doesn’t seem to mind. Satisfied with her work, Jinxie goes to sit down on the piano bench next to Vera, who has cleared it off and is tapping at the keys trying to make a pattern of sounds that isn’t unpleasant.

The next arrival is Clay, who brings champagne and with it nets an apology from Ema about the time that she said she would trip him into the path of a hungry bear. Kay apparently doesn’t think this is a remark worth questioning and instead simply introduces herself in the same enthusiastic way that she met Apollo at the lake. “Hi! I’m Kay Faraday! You must be Apollo’s roommate!”

She shakes Clay’s hand like she’s trying to detach his arm and he raises his eyebrows at Apollo. “Sorry; if I’m supposed to have heard of you, someone dropped the ball—”

“I met her four days ago,” Apollo interrupts. “Like, only four days ago.”

“Irrelevant,” Kay says, waggling her fingers, and then she turns and shrieking, dives toward Trucy who had picked up to examine one of the champagne bottles. It turns, as expected, into a argument, citing the legal drinking ages of a dozen countries before a debate begins over the morality of lies of omission and perhaps more importantly, whether Phoenix can magically detect those as well. By the time Trucy throws Apollo and Clay out to pick up snacks at the Kitaki Bakery, Snackoos apparently not being enough for her, Kay has diverted all attention entirely by picking up a bottle of grape juice and threatening to chug it all.

“I like her,” Clay says.

“Of course you do,” Apollo says.

They’re halfway across People Park when Clay asks abruptly, “She’s human, right? All of them but Vera?”

“I – I have no idea about Kay or Jinxie.”

“Cool, cool,” Clay says. “I can’t wait to find out at the worst time that they’re not. That’s gotta be how it goes, right?”

At the bakery, Apollo turns his back on Clay for two minutes, to stammer out an answer to Little Plum asking how Apollo and the office are doing, and finds out that Clay somehow in that time got Wocky’s number. It would be very funny, after the conversation they just had, to tell Clay that the family are all kitsunes and to see his expression, but Apollo still isn’t quite sure what that means – are they shapeshifters? Cursed like werewolves? Foxes turned into humans? Some other kind of lingering magic? – because Trucy never explained, just laughed at the look on his face. Maybe he’ll ask Trucy for elaboration on that later, and tell Clay another time, some day when he really wants to mess with him.

Kay still has the juice bottle in her hand, is now standing on the coffee table, Ema throwing Snackoos at her and Trucy eating those Snackoos while cheering for Kay to chug. Someone new has arrived, a brown-haired mousy-looking young man trying to discourage Kay from the mad scheme she is in the middle of describing. Playing cards lie scattered across the floor and couch; Apollo can only guess what that was about. Throwing them, most likely. “—and technically, that is to the letter what I said I would do,” Kay says. She finally steps down from the table.

“If not the spirit of it,” the man says. “Though I’m not sure why I had different expectations for you.”

Kay snaps her fingers and lets them linger as a pair of finger guns. “I’ve got no idea either!”

He doesn’t pay much more mind to her, instead turning to Apollo and Clay. “Uh, hi,” he says, extending a hand to Apollo. He wears gloves, thin white ones. “Sebastian Debeste. Prosecutor. If you were wondering. Which maybe you weren’t.”

Apollo can’t actually recall knowing what a prosecutor’s badge looks like, in-person. Klavier certainly doesn’t wear one, and he’s the only prosecutor that Apollo has met closer than across the width of the courtroom. And Edgeworth, once, not that he remembers whether or not he saw him wearing a badge.

“Oh, uh, hi. Apollo Justice.”

“So you two have the coolest names for lawyers, ever,” Clay says. “Just to make sure we’re all aware of that.”

“I—” Kay starts and then stops. “Wait yeah, you’re right. I was gonna say Judge Courtney has the best name but she picked it as a pun knowing she was gonna go be a judge so that’s not quite fair.”

“Justine Courtney,” Sebastian says. “It’s a very legal system name and she’s – well, she’s one of the Fair Folk.”

It’s still better than the surname Fey, at any rate. But a judge, one of them, too? How do they judge – as fair or strict as humans? The determination is made solely on the evidence, like the Jurist System is trying to mitigate, but in that, he hopes, that the fae would assess evidence evenly. He wonders what a jury of the fae would look like. Even more swayed by emotion, their petty pride willing to acquit someone they know is guilty because by their morality, the crime is just? Kristoph is one of their own damned by that system – or is he one of theirs? Do changelings belong to the Court?

He closes his eyes and tries to tune out the chatter of Clay introducing himself and saying yes he’s an astronaut as in really going to space, next year, which next year is tomorrow but it won’t be until December that—

That’s normal. Space is normal. Clay is normal (in a certain context). Clay is the only normal person here and now it’s too late for him. Apollo dragged him into this. All his overabundance of caution that he tried to share with Apollo and he’s ended up here, both of them here, curiosity to kill them and turn them into cautionary stories that the next person like Clay will repeat.

And he opens his eyes and Ema is listening enraptured to what Clay has to say even though she heard it all on their road trip back in October. Trucy grabs her Magic Panties off the back of the couch and produces from within it several cardboard cone party hats. One she reaches out to arraign over apparent thin air, but it remains floating, now wedged onto the wisp. The next hat she hangs off of Apollo’s spiked bangs. Ema shakes her head too much to allow Trucy to put one on her, but Kay takes two. Sebastian seems to be listening both to Clay, and to Jinxie plunking away on one of the piano keys over and over and over, Vera flipping through the sticky notes. It’s normal. They’re all still people, somehow, people who don’t give Apollo time to dwell. “Trucy?” Sebastian says when Clay finally stops for breath. “When did your dad last tune this thing?”

“I don’t think he knows how to do that or what that is,” she replies. The levitating hat next to her bobs like her head does.

“Oh,” Sebastian says, staring blankly ahead. “That’s an offense – affront – I’m trying to come up with more synonyms and blanking—”

“Shitty,” Clay suggests.

“I was thinking more about how it affects us that just describing what it is,” Sebastian says, “but… yeah.”

“Disgust-inducing,” Clay says.

“Hey Sebby,” Kay says. “Do you remember that one bar wherever in Europe that they like, had the shots that they lit on fire? Do you remember that?”

“If this is to ask if I’ll set the champagne on fire, the answer is no,” Sebastian says. “That seems like an affront, a, uh – blasphemy! Feels like blasphemy, here. Particularly.”

“I don’t think Mia cares about casual use of magic,” Trucy says.

Oh. So they aren’t talking lighters or matches. “You – uh, Prosecutor Debeste,” Apollo says, feeling like he has the answer to a riddle but that he’s somehow taking a shot in the dark. “You wouldn’t happen to be the witch-prosecutor that Prosecutor Edgeworth and Gavin mention, are you?”

“Oh.” His face falls, immediately, and he doesn’t recover right away, not the way Apollo is used to Trucy and Klavier throwing up masks. “I – probably? I must be. I don’t actually know that there are any other witches in the office, not that I’ve seen or Seen” – he doesn’t say the word the same way when he repeats it, the implication obvious. “So if they said anything bad don’t tell me.”

“It was back in October, when he was annoyed with people trying to check in on him,” Apollo says. “So whatever he said was probably just – annoyed.”

“Yeah, he got like that,” Kay says. “Gets. Whatever. He’s been a little better and now it’s Mr Edgeworth who’s getting cagey and secretive with all that secret Chief Prosecutor business.”

Apollo’s phone buzzes. He expects a message from Klavier, because there’s no one else he regularly texts who isn’t in this room, but it’s Clay.

-witch -guess i shouldnt consider meeting cute guys around u bc everyone is like this 

Apollo makes sure that Clay sees him roll his eyes and put his phone back into his pocket without replying. He could say a lot about how despite that, Clay has still acted like that about Klavier.

“Hey,” Trucy says. “You should tell me and Polly all of the Prosecutors Office secrets, so that we’re totally prepared for whatever we face in court next!”

Ema flicks a Snackoos at Sebastian. “We don’t have secrets,” she says. “Everyone’s way too dramatic for that.”

“Set the grape juice on fire,” Kay says.

“Speaking of secret business,” Sebastian says, clearly and deliberately ignoring Kay’s request and when Trucy seconds it. “Kay, did you know Agent Lang is in town? Because I ran into him just a bit ago coming out of Mr Edgeworth's office with a stack of files, said they’re working on something, I have no idea what but they both seemed – kind of super unhappy.”

“What?” It’s easy to see what Ema meant when she said they’re dramatic; Kay springs up from her perch on the arm of the couch and puts her hands on her hips, frowning with a pout almost as unnecessarily exaggerated as some of Trucy’s. “Wolfman is around and didn’t tell me! I can’t believe him!”

Apollo wonders if he’ll ever reach the end of this network of people Phoenix knows, or if he’ll ever understand it. “It worries me when you say things like ‘Wolfman’ because I have no idea if you mean ‘werewolf’ or ‘guy who really likes wolves’.” Like Trucy and her centaurs but the answer is probably going to be worse.

“Both,” Ema says without change in expression.

Apollo throws his hands in the air. “Oh come on!” Next to him, Ema winces and puts a hand up to her ear. She deserves the wrong side of the Chords of Steel for that.

“He’s not a werewolf,” Kay says. “You’re going to kill this poor guy.” She points at Apollo. “It’s a family thing. They’re all super into wolves. His hair is like—” She holds up her forefingers like ears at the top of her head. “But he can’t turn into a wolf. He would, but he can’t. Which is good for not giving random people on the street heart attacks because he’d just wander around like that because what is the point of shapeshifting if not messing with people?”

She spreads her arms wide like she’s either waiting for applause and agreement, or trying to draw out some kind of debate or dissension. Sebastian walks past her to where Jinxie and Vera have googled how to tune an upright piano. Ema throws a Snackoo at her.

“I think that’s a sound theory,” Clay says. “Isn’t that just the entire thing of the Fair Folk, messing with people?”

The lights blink off for two full seconds. Apollo freezes, as does Clay, but the group over at the piano don’t stop their conversation and Ema is still throwing snacks, now at Kay. Mia, messing with them; most of them, used to it. “What is the ratio of those you’ve eaten to those on the floor?” Apollo asks. Ema shrugs.

“Yeah that’s basically it,” Kay says to Clay.

“You see why I worry,” Apollo says. He can feel a weight gathering behind his eyes and higher at the front of his skull. The conversation is all suddenly too loud, backed by the force of the topics they’ve covered, what almost proved overwhelming earlier, fae judges and now prosecuting witches and petty shapeshifters, and he extracts himself from the middle of it and retreats back toward Charley’s corner.

“You okay, Polly?” Trucy doesn’t give him a chance to catch his breath alone; she appears at his elbow, looking up at him with concern.

“Does it ever just hit you that this is all kind of completely mad?” he asks. “All this – this everything?” She pats his arm sympathetically. “Because it just hit me again, that just – last year I was pretty sure of what I could expect from my life.” And then, April. And then, Phoenix. “This year I know I’m going in without a clue! Just waiting for the fae to amp it up to celebrate the new year!”

“They won’t do that,” Trucy says. Her confidence is reassuring until she adds, “Time works differently for them. They don’t know when’s a new year or what. They’ll just amp it up for no reason if they want to, nothing by our calendars.”

“See?” Apollo asks. “That’s what I mean. Uncertainty and terror.”

She leans her elbow on the bookshelf and pokes at the spines of the large tomes. “Lawyers and performers always gotta smile, right through to the end, whatever it is. And you know what?” She bounces a little in place but says nothing, waiting for him to play along with her.

“What?” he asks, trying to at least sound annoyed even if he can’t manage to feel it. Better not let her know how much she can get away with when Mr Hat is already bobbing around his shoulder, prodding him in the arm with the tip of the cardboard party hat.

“Lots happens, and we figure it out.” She stops moving, all but her head, turning to glance to the doorway to the next room, and beyond that, Apollo knows what she’s thinking of, a desk, a drawer, a soul encased inside. “We make it through. We always have.”

-

[brief note on this ending]

[ruffsficstuffplace]

And The AWRD Goes To... (Part 42)

5:00 AM, Weiss was up, shortly before a nurse quietly arrived in their room with her daily dose of medication.

“Do you need anything else, Ms. Schnee?” he asked after she took it. “A snack before breakfast is served?”

“I’m good,” Weiss said, gesturing to the giant bag still waiting on the side from last night.

The nurse nodded. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asked.

“Would you happen to have a magical elixir that’ll get us all out of the hospital immediately?” Weiss asked with a serious face. “If there’s not enough for four full doses, we’ll just take repairing most of Diana’s bones, with the rest to spare for Ruby, Akko, and myself, in that order.”

“My apologies: we don’t have any miraculous panaceas in stock that I’m aware of,” the nurse replied with an expression just as sober. “Though, I do hear that if you go to the shrine room late at night after 10PM, you can find a little demon in the corner; I hear they offer contracts with very reasonable terms, though you should still likely bring a lawyer with you, just in case.”

“We don’t want to get better that badly, but the information is appreciated for any possible future desires for dealings of the otherworldy variety, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Schnee,” the nurse said, smiling. “Anything else?”

“Nope, you can go now,” Weiss said, smiling back.

The nurse bowed. “Excuse me, I will take my leave now,” he said, before he slipped out as quietly as he’d entered.

Weiss looked around as he did: Diana, Ruby, and Akko were still asleep, and likely would be for a while; the sun wasn’t yet up and it’d likely be freezing cold outside if she tried to take a walk, with or without the cold weather clothing fetched from her dorm; and she didn’t feel much like watching anime by herself with headphones on.

She sighed, and pulled out her scroll, ignored since yesterday afternoon. Her eyes widened as she saw two priority 1 items on her notifications:

11:47 PM yesterday, from Whitley: “Been in the guest room since I left the hospital, mom hasn’t come back yet. I’m going to bed now.”

Just a minute ago, also from Whitley: “Mom still isn’t back. No messages, no recent activity on her decantr, nothing from the Lodge. Anything on your end...?”

Weiss unlocked her scroll, went through the rest of her priority categories, forced herself to stop by the time she came to P3. She went into her messages, looking through all of her message histories with her family, trying to find if someone, anyone, had mentioned Snowie’s plans for last night, and it just happened to get buried for whatever reason, a glitch, a sleepy night time dismissal, a message sent from someone else’s scroll...

“Weiss…?”

Weiss blinked and looked up, found Ruby awake and looking at her in concern. “Ruby…?” Weiss whispered. “Did you need something…?”

“Are you okay?” Ruby whispered back. “You look worried.”

“I’m fi--” Weiss stopped herself, and climbed out of her bed, carefully stepping across the room before she sat down next to Ruby, her scroll in hand. “… Actually, no, I’m not fine...” she muttered.

“Want to talk about it?” Ruby asked.

Weiss sighed, and looked at her scroll again. “Mom hasn’t come back to the guest house since last night; Whitley messaged me, and neither of us have heard anything from her, not even activity on her decantr, so she was off her scroll the entire time.

“Winter’s already left for Hestia, Whitley was back in their room since he left, and—“ she stopped. “Wait, your dad was with her, right? Do you think she could have been with him?”

“Uh, probably?” Ruby asked. “Dad is really friendly, especially when it comes to other hunters.”

Weiss looked at Ruby’s scroll, left laying on her end table since last night. “Can we check your scroll?” she asked.

“Sure, go ahead!” Ruby said, telling Weiss the passcode as she grabbed it.

Weiss opened it, and cried out.

“What? What is it?!” Ruby whispered.

“Your notifications bar!” Weiss cried as she held up her scroll, the top overloaded with symbols. “Do you just subscribe to everything?!”

Ruby tried to shrug. “I have a lot of things to keep track of!”

Weiss sighed as she navigated to her messages. “We’re getting you a priority sorting system… actually, make that you and Diana both, so we can sync up with mine and Akko’s...” she checked her message history with Taiyang, sighed as she read the latest. “Oh, good, she was staying at your place last night… aww, he even took a selfie with her and your dog! Oh, he’s so cute...!”

“His name’s Zwei!” Ruby said, smiling. “We could totally come by my house one of these days and meet him, it wouldn’t even take more than an afternoon.”

“I’d love that...” Weiss said as she scrolled past the picture. “I was never allowed to own pets… wait, was is this…?” she said, quietly reading for a few moments.

“What?” Ruby asked. “What is it now?”

“… Ah, apparently your dad has invited my mom to come consult at the Bunker one of these days...”

“Oh, that’s great!” Ruby said, brightening up. “When are they going? I hope it’s not when we have class, I’d love to go with them.”

“… The date? The date won’t be a problem, don’t worry...” Weiss said as she projected Ruby’s scroll in front of her, large enough so she wouldn’t have to scroll.

For a moment, Ruby fawned over the selfie with Zwei, Snowie, and Taiyang, before she read the message that came soon after that. Her eyes slowly widened, before she squealed in excitement, trying to wiggle her limbs as much as she could.

Diana woke up with a yelp, frantically looking around till she saw Ruby, Weiss trying and failing to calm her down. “What is going on right now?!” she snapped.

“Sorry, Diana!” Ruby said. “It’s just that I just got some super good news!”

Diana sighed. “Good for you…” she muttered, before she rolled her head to one side of her pillow, put pressure on her special call button.

“Do you want to hear it?” Ruby asked.

“Sure, why not?” Diana replied.

“Dad just invited Weiss’ mom to consult at the Bunker, and they want me to come with!” Ruby said. “Ahh, it’s going to be great! We can totally set the date so all of us can go! We can meet all my old friends! We can meet all the new students that came in this year! We can see all the brand new projects they’ve been up to and—oh my gosh, it just occurred to me, I forgot all about my special summer project, and all the others’, too, which means I can go see them all in person, and...!” she squealed again.

Diana winced, and waited for Ruby to calm down before she said, “Ruby, I hate to rain on your parade, but I don’t think this visit can come until after preliminary exams, at the least.”

Ruby blinked. “Why not…?”

“Well, there’s the fact we’re already massively lagging behind on all of our classes as is, and the extra credit assignments and work we’ll doubtlessly be assigned after we get out of the hospital will most certainly take up most of our free time, not to mention what we’ll be doing instead of ACT, now that all four of us won’t be eligible for team sparring for a long time.”

The light in Ruby’s eyes faded. “Oh. Right. I forgot about those…”

“And if I may add a bit of admittedly paranoid thinking: our last trip together outside of Haven almost ended up with us getting torn apart by Grimm if not for the blessing of the Schnee Home’s security system, and killed by that grave lord, if all the other veteran hunters hadn’t conveniently been around to help kill it.

“I think it might be best if we just stayed inside Haven for the time being… maybe even go out armed and dangerous if we have to head down into the city or elsewhere, just in case.”

A nurse arrived in response to Diana’s call, she excused herself from the conversation as the nurse tended to her.

Ruby sighed, now looking gloomy. “Maybe I should just tell them to go on without me...” she mumbled.

Weiss reached out and touched her shoulder. “Or maybe you should ask if it can wait till at least after prelims...”

“Won’t that be a problem with your mom’s schedule?” Ruby asked. “She might not be free then.”

“Oh, trust me, if it’s something she really likes, she’ll make time for it,” Weiss said. “And I’m pretty sure she really rather likes hanging out with you—the two of you seemed to get along quite well when you were discussing weapons last night!”

Ruby hummed and nodded. “Yeah, that was great…” she sighed, getting sad all over again. “You know, it really sucks that I don’t really have any weapons engineering friends here like I did back in the Bunker, and especially ones on my level.”

She looked up at the ceiling. “’Try and find something you’re both passionate about, or some way you’re both alike!’ dad said when I asked him how I’d make new friends here in Haven, but I guess it’s not that easy to put into practice when all you’ve got is ‘Super into weapons, super socially awkward, and super passionate about old stories of huntsmen and huntresses kicking ass’—not the gritty, ‘tell-all’ journals your grandpa wants us to read for Intro to Grimm, either, like… Adventures of Ammy level stuff, old fairy tales, and the versions you tell kids because you cut out most of the bad parts.

She turned back to Weiss. “Don’t get me wrong: I really like you, and Diana, and Akko… but I’m pretty sure dad would still want me to make more friends, and I want, too… is that bad?”

“Definitely not bad,” Weiss said. “Honestly, before Fate just happened to decide my first week here in Haven wouldn’t even be even remotely close to my most cynical expectations, I was planning on finally trying to expand my social life again—maybe you could join me and Akko…?”

“As your teammate?”

Weiss smiled back. “More like our new best friend.”

Ruby blinked, before she smiled back as her eyes watered. “Thanks, Weiss... I’d really like that.”

Weiss cheeks heated up. She nearly jumped as she heard her scroll beeping, the special tone she used for incoming P1 notifications. “Oh, crap...” she muttered as she closed Ruby’s scroll, headed back to the end table.

As she’d feared, there was a new message from Whitley: “Update: mom was staying at Ruby’s dad’s place, she’s on her way back now. Didn’t pack her meds, but fortunately their dog called her a cab back to Haven as her dad was already off to work.”

There was the same selfie Taiyang had sent Ruby. “Also important: LOOK AT HIM. His name is Zwei and he’s so cute!

Weiss turned to Ruby. “You mind if I talk with my brother for a while?”

“Go ahead!” Ruby replied.

“Thanks,” Weiss said, before she returned to her scroll and typed: “Thanks for the update, sorry that I already knew since earlier, but forgot to pass the information onto you. I was using Ruby’s scroll, and we got distracted talking about some other info her dad had tacked onto the end.”

“Well, that’s however many minutes of my life spent in unnecessary panicking that I’ll never get back.” Whitley replied. “You’re lucky the sight of little tiny horizontal dogs has put me in a good mood. Pray tell, what WERE you two discussing...~?”

Weiss scowled at the little cheeky emoticon at the end of Whitley’s message. “Ruby’s dad invited mom to come consult at the Bunker. She agreed, but they want Ruby to come with, and she wants to take the rest of us with her.

“No date, and probably won’t be one till after prelims at the earliest.”

“A wise choice, considering how terrible things tend to befall you and your team every single time you’ve ever ventured outside of Haven. May want to wait until something terrible inevitably happens to any of you for while ON campus; that should be as good a sign as any that it’s relatively safe to take trips out now.”

Weiss chuckled. “Indeed. You go get ready for school, little brother,” she replied, tacking a heart on the end.

“I’ll try not to get horribly killed or otherwise imperiled now that you, Winter, and Akko aren’t conveniently around to save me,” Whitley replied, a heart on the end of his message, too.

Weiss smiled ruefully, shook her head as she closed her scroll. “So, where were we again…?” she asked as she turned back to Ruby.

“Your and Akko’s plan to make friends,” Ruby replied. “Oh, well, I guess it’s our plan to make friends now.”

“That it is,” Weiss said as she opened her scroll again, settled herself on the seat by Ruby’s bed. “Since phase 1, ‘Become good friends and/or establish a good rapport with my teammates’ went rather well, it’s time to move to phase 2:

“Learn a new skill or get into a new hobby, one that none of us are good at, or familiar with.” A light bulb went off in Weiss’ head. “Or you know what, maybe make that something two out of the three of us aren’t good or familiar with…”

She turned to Ruby, and smiled. “Ruby, how do you feel about teaching me and Akko all about weapons engineering?”

Ruby looked like a little child who’d just opened her Nondescript Winter Holiday present, before she quickly looked like one who’d just learned a little too early just what it took for her parents to buy it in the first place. “Oh, Weiss… I’d love to, but it’s just that I’m on a SUPER high level compared to you guys.

“Not to insult your intelligence or anything, but a lot of the things I do are pretty much instinct at this point. I’ll probably lose you guys all the time because I keep referencing things I can already do by muscle reflex, memorized a long time ago, or just, you know, know, kinda like how a weapon’s components lock together and what might probably be its internals before I even get to see a display model, a schematic, or ideally get to take it apart with my own hands.

“It’s probably gonna really suck, just like when I tried tutoring the others at the Bunker; eventually, we just decided it’d be a LOT easier if I just consulted for ongoing projects, than try to teach someone the principles in the first place.”

“And I say I still want to try!” Weiss replied. “My grandfather would have never come close accomplishing as much as he did if he never constantly stepped up when there was a need, stepped out of his comfort zone, and oftentimes did both at the same time!”

She smiled. “As a matter of fact, he didn’t take up mechanical engineering himself until one of his team’s dedicated engineers broke both his arms in a Grimm attack, and I guess now’s as good as time as any to mirror his example!”

“… Oookay then, if you say so, Weiss!” Ruby said. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You want to make an oath about it while we’re at it?” Weiss asked jokingly, putting her hand over her heart.

“Nah, I’m cool,” Ruby said. “So, where do you want to start?”

“Might as well be efficient about it: how about your notes for keeping Akko and the rest of us from breaking our bones every time we use the Shining Star?” Weiss asked as she grabbed Ruby’s scroll again. “I’m guessing you didn’t get as much brainstorming done last night as you’d have liked?”

“Though you can say that for pretty much every other time, it was a lot less work than usual, yeah...” Ruby replied.

Weiss navigated to her recent files, found Snowie’s notes, which she’d helpfully saved as “Brainstorming for Force Dampening of Shining Star.” Not as helpfully, it seemed to look almost exactly like one of her flow charts in her “Instructions To My Future Self” cabinet before she had gotten a chance to simplify, refine it, and test that her drunken self could still understand it.

Weiss projected the screen over to Ruby again as she pulled out her quill from its slot. “So, what am I looking at here exactly…?”

“Recoil buffers, inertia dampeners, and the beginnings of a hydraulic energy redirection exo-suit, similar to the one Constanze wears for combat, except instead of letting her carry all her equipment and serving as a mounting point for her primary robot arms, it’s meant to take the stress of impact away from Akko’s body, and transform it into a different form of energy that’s much more easily managed or is less dangerous to deal with…

“… Kind of like brakes for wheels turning all that kinetic energy into heat from the friction.”

Weiss nodded. “Is it okay if I make notes in the margins?”

“Go ahead!” Ruby said. “I do it all the time, anyway.”

“Thanks,” Weiss said, changing the digital “ink” to a shade of blue than the red Ruby used. “So I’m guessing all of these designs have to deal with the Third Law of Motion?”

“Action-Reaction, yeah,” Ruby replied. “A lot of people think weapons engineering problems involving reaction is limited to guns and recoil, but really, it applies to almost everything.

“You see, the crux of the problem is, Shining Star is just channeling and storing too much of Akko’s aura all at once, and releasing it far too fast. It’s basically a giant explosion of almost entirely pure aura force, that can’t help but disintegrate anything in front of it—take the grave lord and what used to be the ground underneath it that we turned into a giant crater—and blast it right back when the ground starts to be able to resist the force of the strike, and all that energy moves outwards and back the way it came—like when me, Diana, and Akko went flying up into the air.

“Like I said last night, we could just teach Akko to intentionally pull back on the strength of her swings, but like what I did with Crescent Rose, we could just figure out a different, better way to swing.”

Weiss nodded, listening in intently as she wrote.

“Don’t be afraid to offer any ideas, by the way!” Ruby said. “I like going back and forth with others, and hey, maybe you could crack the problem that stumped me and your mom!”

“You really think so...?” Weiss asked.

“You never really know unless you try!” Ruby chirped. “Maybe you’ll find out you’re actually really good at machines, just like your grandpa.”

Weiss blushed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence…” she looked back at Ruby’s scroll, and frowned. “Also, can I ask how you’re even able to read what my mom wrote last night?”

“She explained her note taking system, her codes, and her shorthand to me, or I already figured it out myself,” Ruby replied. “We’ll just do like we did with the vision-impaired students at the Bunker—I read, you take notes in your own way.”

Weiss nodded, and the two of them quickly went to work.

Thirty minutes later, Akko finally woke up on her own, smiling and yawning contentedly. “Morning guys!” she said, instinctively trying to sit up and stretch her arms, before she remembered they were still in casts. “So, what’s the plan for to…?” she trailed off.

She stared at the sight in front of her, Weiss standing beside Ruby’s bed, frantically scribbling on Ruby’s scroll with the quill, Ruby and Diana silently staring at her in a mixture of silent encouragement and serious concern.

“Okay!” Weiss cried as she slammed the quill down. “So: the backpack is basically a giant heat sink, so when there’s too much heat energy from the brakes, we can just use all the power now stored in the batteries from the thermoelectric generators to operate a giant fan that will help vent the system!

“Will that work?!”

Ruby looked at the desperate, hopeful expression on Weiss’ face, and cast a glance at Diana; Diana mouthed, “Your call, sorry,” Ruby looked back at Weiss, then slowly shook her head.

Weiss’ face fell. “What’s the problem this time…?” she whimpered.

“Problems, actually,” Ruby replied. “While the whole thing is theoretically sound with the mechanics for heat dispersion, we’ll need some hypothetical materials that won’t begin to completely melt and liquefy at that extreme temperature and level of friction;

“Akko will have to be wearing something like an aerodynamic, armoured, and mobile volcanic suit to avoid getting third degree burns from just basic operation or just really, really, super bad chafing;

“And even if the fan really could disperse that much excess heat at once without either also melting, having its internal mechanisms catastrophically failing, or breaking apart from the sheer amount of rotations per minute it’d be hypothetically capable of, we’d have a fourth problem on our hands.”

“Which would be…?” Weiss asked glumly.

“A giant pillar of fire blowing out from Akko’s back like a jet, possibly with enough force to move her, pinning her into the ground or whichever direction is opposite the exhaust—heh, funny, it’s the Third Law again, except applied differently!”

Weiss groaned, let her head hit Ruby’s bed with a thump, and started sobbing quietly.

“There, there, Weiss...” Ruby said. “I’m uh, patting you on the back in spirit, by the way...”

Akko turned to Diana. “Did I miss something…?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Diana replied. “They were already deep into it when I finished reading my morning routine, and I just tuned them out after a minute when my head started spinning. I… I think it’s about the Shining Star, though…?”

“Oooh!” Akko said, brightening up. “What about it?!”

“Later, Akko, later...” Weiss muttered as she raised her head up, dejectedly put Ruby’s quill back into her scroll then shut it. “I don’t want to hear about anything weapons, Shining Star, or the Third Law of Motion for a long while...” she said as she dragged herself back to bed.

Akko looked at Ruby and Diana, who just nodded in agreement.

Breakfast was served shortly after, and the team quickly moved onto discussing how they were going to spend the rest of their morning.

Note: An exo-suit for using Shining Star will be implemented at some point, and though it won't be a giant pillar of flame erupting from her back after every strike, it will be something that will doubtlessly be awesome.

[rametarin]

Thinking about cyborgs.

The traditional line of thought is that the poor will be forced to do shit like jerryrig egg beaters with oldschool heating pipes for artificial limbs and the rich will have Luke Skywalker arms and cloned organs and shit.

I’m here to say I don’t think that’s how it’ll happen.

Lets think about this. What is it that governments and the very wealthy and the very ‘socially conscious’ want, most of all? Safety and stability.

We live in a country (sorry international people, I’m being Americancentric again) that says wearing a grade of body armor too much and unapproved by the government, is like sporting a machine gun. With federal consequences.

And you think they’re gonna permit cybernetic/prosthetic platforms that would, even jerry rigged, enable people to jump higher than any estimated maximum required human wall, fence or gate? To see infrared lasers? To utilize radio frequencies without a license? Naw, fam.

What’s gonna happen is regenerative medicine comes to the working class and poor the same way cheap, legitimate pain killers, antibacterials, antivirals and antifungals do. They’re just upgrades to our standard levels of care, after all. Ways to keep the populace affordably able to replace failing limbs, effectively subsidizing the general tech level and consumption of care that the wealthy ironically benefit from, since for all their money, they’re still as fallible and frail as other humans.

And the unlimited world of cybernetics gets hit with the, “Do you REEAAALLLY need THAAAAAAT?” nagging. Where millionaires, billionaires and the hyper wealthy live, because the layman has been priced out, red taped out and the freedom put behind paywalls and lawyer walls, in the hopes that walling the common man out of it will prevent effective defiance of people doing what’s “best for you.”

Suppose some billionaire was crazy and paranoid enough to replace all his organs with artificial, redundant ones. His heart with four different miniaturized Egyptian Pumps/Archimedes’ Screws, so in the event one breaks or malfunctions, it can be replaced. Lungs replaced. Liver replaced. GI tract replaced. And in their place, ribs lined with layers of foam metal and insides lined with ceramic marbles suspended in non-newtonian fluid. Essentially, .50 caliber ammunition isn’t going to kill this guy from any angle to the center mass.

The government may tolerate current or former military, or astronauts, outfitted like that. But your bog standard civilian? Hell no. We live in a world where you need the ATF’s permission to wear body armor, or face federal action not unlike illegally owning a machine gun. They ain’t gonna let us even have the opportunity to have a cybernetics standard or platform that lets us be superhuman.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Hunger - chapter 23

Hunger master post

By the afternoon, the McCalls’ house is full of FBI agents, because apparently Gerard Argent was in the drug trade and Sheriff Haigh was involved, and absolutely nothing happened that has anything to do with werewolves. Rafael McCall suggests to his colleagues that Gerard at one time was operating out of the old bunker in the Preserve, and that one of the Hale kids must have seen something. And just like that the motive for the fire is neatly explained away.

Stiles worries about the fact that the investigation is going to turn up a distinct lack of drugs, but Chris seems to think that a search of his father’s properties will uncover enough money and weapons that the drug angle will be the only one that will play. Because the alternative? The alternative is werewolves, and nobody is going to go for that.

 Stiles worries that Haigh and the surviving hunters won’t go along with it, despite Derek’s threats.

“How can you be sure?” he asked Chris Argent on the way back to the house from the woods, when Rafael McCall and Jordan Parrish were making arrests and calling in outside backup from the scene.

“Because they’re going to prison anyway, and they’ll want to do their time in general population, not the psych ward,” Chris told him. His mouth quirked in the first smile Stiles thought he’d seen from him, and it was bitter. “Because the reason we’ve been able to fight this war in secret for centuries is that nobody would believe the truth anyway. And they know they’re better off in prison that dealing with the fallout from breaking the code.”

And Stiles had shuddered, because the thought of prison is one that never fails to make him feel sick to the stomach.

His dad…

Back at the house, Stiles gets a shower and Melissa makes pancakes. She forces Allison and Scott and Stiles to sit on the couch and refuses to let them move. Stiles fidgets and worries about Derek and Peter. Chris said something about taking them to a hotel to keep them out of the way.

They’re keeping their story simple.

Stiles came back to Beacon Hills because he was unhappy in care, and it was his home. Kate recognized him, leapt to the paranoid assumption he knew something about her involvement in his dad’s set up, and kidnapped him from Parrish’s custody. Parrish, who somehow managed to escape his burning cruiser, approached Chris Argent to question him about Kate’s whereabouts, and he nominated the bunker in the woods. Parrish called in a friend of a friend, Agent McCall.

Everything else happened pretty much the way it did.

Except for werewolves.

Except for Scott and Melissa and Allison.

They’re keeping it simple.

Stiles wishes he could say he feels uncomfortable about the idea of law enforcement officers lying under oath—given the whole Haigh thing—but it turns out his sense of morality isn’t so black and white. Stiles couldn’t be happier that Agent McCall and Deputy Parrish are lying through their teeth. The means really do justify the ends. But also, motive matters. McCall and Parrish aren’t framing an innocent man.

Stiles discovers he can live with that.

 ***

 Stiles’s lawyer is called David Whittemore. He reminds the agents that Stiles is traumatized and in shock, and produces an emergency placement order that says Stiles can stay with Melissa McCall. He pretends he doesn’t notice when Stiles cries.

 ***

 “Are you going to get my dad out?” Stiles asks Agent Kim after they go through what happened. Again. Stiles is tired and every time he blinks he sees Gerard Argent’s skull explode behind him as the bullet exits, but he’s a good liar. Always has been. The trick to lying is not to add any extra embellishments that might trip him up later. And the trick to dealing with police and other law enforcement is to just let the silences go. They’re trained to leave gaps, pauses, like lacunas in an orchestral piece, laden with anticipation. Stiles knows better than to try to fill those silences they’ve left. It’s human nature to want to talk, to mistake a friendly interrogation for a conversation and keep the rhythm going.

Stiles knows better.

He jiggles his legs and chews his nails and tells Agent Kim and David Whittemore how long it’s been since he had Adderall.

It’s just hard to sit back and do nothing knowing that his dad is still in prison.

“When can my dad come home?” he asks.

Agent Kim looks grave and serious. “There’s a process, Stiles. These things take time. You—”

“No, listen,” Stiles says. “My dad is a cop, who is in prison. You think about that. Please. Please just think about that. He needs to come home. He needs to be safe.”

This is supposed to be the end of the story. This is supposed to be the easy part. Stiles has faced the bad guys. He’s fought the fight. It’s ridiculous that the thing keeping them apart now is petty bureaucracy. That’s not fair. That’s not right.

“I want my dad,” he says, and stares at his knees so he doesn’t start crying again. “I just want my dad.”

“We’re done here,” Mr. Whittemore says. “Stiles isn’t answering any more questions today.”

Stiles flees downstairs to the basement.

 ***

 Stiles is curled up into a ball underneath the comforter when he hears footsteps on the basement stairs. It’s late afternoon and getting comfortably gloomy in the basement. The little windows don’t let in a lot of sunlight, but Stiles can’t be bothered get up and turn a light on.

He wants his dad. The ache of it is impossibly sharp now that it’s so close. He’s terrified that something will happen and it will be torn away from him at the last minute. He hates that he’s too afraid, even now, to believe in a happy ending. That he’d rather be this person, cynical and pessimistic and bitter, than to nurture fragile hope into faith in case the universe destroys it.

Once upon a time he had faith his mom would get better.

Once upon a time he had faith no court would convict an innocent man.

Faith and Stiles parted ways a long time ago.

Footsteps tread slowly down the stairs, and a moment later weight dips the mattress.

“Remember how I asked you if sometimes it would be okay if I did the mom stuff for you?” Melissa asks quietly.

Stiles nods, the comforter still pulled up to his chin.

“I think this might be one of those times, huh?” Melissa puts her hand on his back, and rubs small circles there.

Stiles squeezes his stinging eyes shut.

“I know this is hard for you right now,” Melissa says. “You haven’t been able to rely on the adults in your life for the past four years, and now here they are telling you to sit back and wait. Why the hell should you listen to anything we tell you, right?”

Stiles hugs his aching stomach, and manages a nod.

“All I can tell you is we have to get this part right, Stiles,” Melissa says, still rubbing those comforting circles into his back.

It reminds him of what his mom and dad did for him when he was little and sick. What his dad did after she was gone. He’s missed simple touch like this.

Melissa exhales slowly. “We have to trust that Rafa and Jordan know what they’re doing here, because this is their territory now, okay? This is what they do.” She pauses for a moment, her hand against the knot in the top of his spine. “Well, I hope they don’t usually lie and cover things up, but you get my point.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Stiles’s mouth despite himself. He opens his eyes and stares into the gloom. He can’t bring himself to turn and look at Melissa.

“I’m scared,” he says at last.

“I know,” she says. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared too, and today? Stiles, when you boys got out of the car, I thought my heart was going to give out.” She draws a shaking breath. “I have never been more terrified in my life than when I thought you were going to get hurt.”

“You were a total badass today.”

“And so were you,” Melissa tells him. “Being scared doesn’t mean you can’t be brave at the same time.”

“I don’t feel brave.”

“But you are,” she says. “You’ve one of the bravest people I know.”

Stiles scrubs at his damp cheeks with the ball of his hand.

“I know it’s not easy, Stiles, but you’re almost there, okay?” She brushes her hand over his hair. “And you’re not alone anymore.”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Okay.

 ***

 Stiles can’t sleep that night. It’s late when he hears the basement door open and then the click of claws on the steps. A moment later the springs of the foldout couch squeal as a heavy weight lands on them, and then there’s a huff of hot breath on Stiles’s face as a wolf settles down beside him.

“It’s really dark,” Stiles murmurs. “You’d better be Derek.”

The wolf chuffs.

Stiles rolls onto his side and throws an arm over the wolf’s shoulders. He presses his face against the fur of the wolf’s ruff and inhales. Derek rumbles underneath him.

“You can change back if you want,” Stiles whispers to him.

The wolf stretches, his weight shifts, and Stiles’s hand is suddenly resting on the smooth skin of Derek’s hip. It should feel more uncomfortable than it does.

“I’ll bet your hotel is nicer than this.”

“You’re not there,” Derek says, his voice low. He rolls over to that he’s facing Stiles.

Stiles’s hand finds its way to his hip again. And maybe it’s the fact that its dark now and he doesn’t have to see, but it’s very easy to move his hand back and forth, to rub more warmth into Derek’s skin without it being weird. Well, too weird. He touches Derek all the time when Derek is in wolf form. Skin-to-skin makes him feel a little breathless though.

“Can I scent you?” Derek asks. “Like this?”

In his human form.

Stiles suppresses a shiver. “Okay.”

Derek surges closer, closing the scant distance between them. He presses his cheek gently to Stiles’s, and Stiles closes his eyes at the scrape of Derek’s stubble. Then Derek’s nose is nudging his jaw up, and it’s such a familiar gesture—such a wolf gesture—that Stiles smiles as he tilts his head. Back in the alley, back when Stiles thought he had a really cool big dog, this is how Derek built their closeness. With a curious nose and a lack of understanding about personal space. Not that Stiles had wanted personal space. He’d needed someone to lean against, to curl up with, to hold, and that’s exactly what Derek had given him, and more.

Stiles reaches up and drags his fingers through Derek’s hair. It’s soft, and smells of whatever shampoo his hotel room provided him with. It’s okay. It’s not too weird. Derek is still outside the comforter, and Stiles is underneath. That’s several layers of fabric plus Stiles’s pajamas keeping this situation G-rated.

“Are you going to stay?” Stiles whispers.

Derek drags his nose up Stiles’s throat. “Yes.”

Stiles closes his eyes and sighs. “I didn’t just mean tonight.”

Derek’s breath is hot against his skin. “I know.”

Stiles tilts his head back further, and tries not to think about how much he wants to roll onto his back and feel Derek’s weight on him. How it wouldn’t be just for comfort. But maybe he’d pretend it was, because he’s only known Derek’s human form for such a short time that it feels skeevy and shallow to take the feelings he has for Derek—safety and comfort and protection—and add sex to them.

He loves Derek.

That’s been true since the alley.

All the other stuff feels too complicated to unpack right now.

But he loves Derek, and he’s loved in return.

“Say it,” he whispers as he cards his fingers through Derek’s hair and Derek’s mouth settles over the pulse point in his throat.

“Stiles,” Derek whispers. “My Stiles.”

“My Derek,” Stiles whispers back, and holds him close.

[thisisthetyty]

My DUI That Never Happened

There was a trip to my second home, Nashville, which my bestie and I had been planning for months. We had tickets to go see our favorite wrestling brand, NXT, which is a staple of our friendship and something we’d never experienced together live. Plus, any time you get to waste a day in downtown Nashville is a day to cherish.

So we found ourselves, shamefully tourist-like of us, in Tootsies at 3pm. And then we walked our way down Broadway, where we had a few more cocktails in a few more bars. And then we walked back to our cars where we took the pregaming shots we had so thoughtfully brought. And then we walked to the show where we each had one more cocktail then we had originally said we would.

Needless to say, my lightweight ass was drunk when we left the show. So we went back to Broadway, not for drinks, but for a chicken strip basket that I felt my life depended on. I was supposed to be staying with a friend that night that lived 30 minutes out, and I was clearly in no state to drive. So I devoured all that fried goodness, downed several glasses of water, made several trips to the bathroom: all the essential steps of a glorious boot and rally. And after reassuring my bestie several times, I deemed myself fine to drive.

I did the 30-minute trek to where my friend lived, Murfreesboro, without a hitch, happily blaring Blue Neighborhood by Troye Sivan the whole way. I met her and our friends at our usual bar, where I didn’t consume an ounce of alcohol. I knew I’d had enough for the night and wasn’t going to add any fuel to that dying fire. We all caught up for a few hours before everyone closed their tabs.

And no one asked me if I was okay to drive or not because I was so clearly not drunk. I drove my car, following my friend to her house that I had never been to before. I wasn’t even doing the ‘I’ve been drinking so I’m going to be the absolute best and most paranoid driver ever to be super-duper sure I don’t get pulled over’ routine. I was just driving. I was exhausted, beginning to feel hung over and my contacts were starting to dry. I have no clue how long the cop was behind me before he pulled me over.

Apparently I was speeding, although I was following a car that couldn’t have been going more than 10 over, swerving, although I never swerved out of my lane, and didn’t use my blinker, although there was no traffic on the road at 2AM. He asked for my license and registration. License was easy. However, I still couldn’t tell you what my registration looks like. The cop didn’t find my ignorance as cute as I do. I asked if two different papers were my registration, he told me they weren’t, and then he asked me to step out of my car. I hadn’t formed a thought since I saw the police lights in my rearview.

At some point he asked me if I had been drinking. I lied. I said I hadn’t. Telling the cops the truth hadn’t served me well in the past. Who knew I was such a time tested criminal? He asked me several times throughout our encounter. He even got slick at one point and asked ‘what were you drinking?’ to which I answered ‘water’ and felt like a boss for not falling for it. I’m a water drinking badass, y’all.

Outside my car, we started the roadside sobriety test. It’s a whole bunch of shit that tests your balance and ability to follow very specifically, vague instructions. I knew I wasn’t doing great a couple of times. It was cold and I was shivering. I was nervous and with my horrid anxiety I get quivers in high stress situations such as this. My balance is always shit. I’m clumsy 24/7. All in all, when it was over I still assumed I couldn’t have failed. I wasn’t drunk. Clearly they would see that I wasn’t drunk.

Then I was in handcuffs. Then I was in the back of a police car. Then I was in jail.

There, they took a blood sample to test my Blood Alcohol Content. That county does that instead of using a Breathalyzer at the scene. They pull you over, do a field sobriety test, deem that you are intoxicated, arrest you for DUI and then they take your blood to prove that you did indeed put the UI in DUI. Sounds legitimate, right? But it’s their system.

I’m not the type you’d ever expect to be in a jail cell; church kid, good student, rule follower, paranoid, terrified of authority figures, unadventurous, etc. I was forcing myself to not be terrified by not looking at or talking to any of the other people in there with me. Granted, most of them weren’t particularly scary. They were normal. A few of them even taught me how to use the phones when they saw me moving from phone to phone without a clue what I was doing. There was an older man that I’d be willing to bet had never been arrested before but had binge watched many a show about life in the slammer. He was old, dorky-looking and ginger. But he talked a good game about how hard he was, how much he hated the cops, how he didn’t even care he was arrested. He was most likely the creepy guy in a bar who had had a few too many and was pointlessly hitting on girls way out of his league just a few hours ago. He got into an argument with the only other annoying man in the cell: a stereotypical Mexican drug dealer who talked the entire time I was in there, usually to himself. At one point I thought he was talking to me but I continued to look down because I definitely did not want to see if I was right.

I was only in there for a couple of hours before my friend and a bail bondsman got me out. It honestly went by very fast, probably because my brain was shut off and I hadn’t formed many thoughts the entire time. And for a self-conscious, anxiety-ridden, stressed-out, too-critical, over-planning neurotic, that’s saying a lot.

After that, it was a waiting game. I waited for the weekend to be over so I could go to the police department and get my belongings they took from my car. I waited a couple of months for my BAC test to come back. Then I waited a couple more months for my toxicology screening to come back. Then I waited for my court date.

My BAC was .02. The legal limit is .08. Then they did the toxicology screening to see if I was on any drugs. That test was negative. They had no case against me. I broke no laws. The case was dismissed. The arrest was expunged from my record completely. All traces of it were erased, although my friends and I do have screenshots of the very attractive mug shot for our laughing pleasure. Perks.

Happy ending? Not exactly. My bail cost $300. Getting my car out of the impound lot cost $200. Hiring a lawyer cost $1,500. Thus, not breaking the law cost me a total of $2,000. At any other time in my life, I wouldn’t have even had the money. I was 23. I waited tables. I was six months out of college at the time. The $2,000 was all of my savings that I received as graduation gifts. I was saving it to cover moving expenses for when I finally found a job in my field. And then on one dreaded night, it was all gone.

The absurdity of the situation makes many of my friends say, “that’s not fair,” “how is that possible,” “will they give you your money back?” or “sue them.” That sounded like a good idea. Multiple lawyers have since told me that suing an officer or a police department is rarely fruitful. They typically have enough evidence to support their choice to arrest. On top of that, I would have to pay for a lawyer to handle the most likely pointless case.

I’m pulled in many different directions emotionally as I look back on these events. I’m ecstatic that my BAC was below the limit. I’m livid that it cost me so much money. I’m happy that the district attorney didn’t try to hit me with any other charges or punishments. I’m confused by how any of this was even possible. I’m relieved that the whole thing was removed from my record. I’m scared that I have no savings and with it no security. I’m proud to live in a world where Uber can save my life. I’m paranoid about having this whole thing happen again.

Although I didn’t technically break any laws or drive drunk, I’ve learned a lesson. I can tell you that I’ll never take a risky drive home after drinking ever again. I got a DUI when I wasn’t drunk; I’m not about to test my luck. I’ve since become an Uber regular. That makes me feel safer, smarter and more responsible then I felt all of the nights I deemed myself ‘sober enough’ to drive. And I’d much rather chalk up that small chunk of change than get a $2,000 non-DUI DUI.

[sopewriters]

Get to Know the Admins~

Hey Guys!! 

We’re so ecstatic to have reached yet another milestone in such a short time. How long has it been? seven months? Time flies by when you’re having such a great time. 

And most importantly, we’d like to thank all of you dedicated and sweet people for reading our fics, leaving a like and even reblogging them. Your efforts never fail to put a smile on our face :) 

Although we love seeing you guys in our notifications, we’d also love seeing you in our inbox, anonymous or not, so to help you all out, we made this ‘get to know the admins’ post so that you can see we’re just as awkward and funny as the rest of you :) 

So let’s get to it~

1. DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR CLOSET DOORS OPEN OR CLOSED?

M: Closed, I get super paranoid about these things.

S: Same, tbh. 

2. DO YOU TAKE THE SHAMPOOS AND CONDITIONER BOTTLES FROM HOTELS?

S: um, *laughs nervously* sometimes I guess lol 

M: Lmao, criminal activity or wut? Tho I’ve done it a lot when i was younger, tbh. 

3. DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR SHEETS TUCKED IN OR OUT?

M: Tucked out. It’s too stuffy otherwise.

S: How does one sleep with it tucked in? I’m all for tucked out 

4. HAVE YOU STOLEN A STREET SIGN BEFORE?

S: Lol no?

M: Same, but it sounds interesting enough. Wanna go try it out? xD

5. DO YOU LIKE TO USE POST-IT NOTES?

M: Yes, I am super obsessed with them. My desk is sort of decorated with sticky notes right now, actually.

S: I like them, they’re nice and organized but I cannot, for the life of me, get them to stick properly Istg 

6. DO YOU CUT OUT COUPONS BUT THEN NEVER USE THEM?

S: I don’t usually shop so I don’t even have coupons lol 

M: Sometimes yes.

7. WOULD YOU RATHER BE ATTACKED BY A BIG BEAR OR A SWARM OF BEES?

M: A bear, because I could still run away.

S: SAME, I hate bees

8. DO YOU HAVE FRECKLES?

S: Unfortunately not 

M: Nope.

9. DO YOU ALWAYS SMILE FOR PICTURES?

M: What is a smile, but a fleeting lie? Jk, I don’t

S: I always smile, whether it be for photos or just in general. Although Midnight does have a way of ruining my life :)

M: Rude. I’m a nice person, I promise.

10. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE?

S: I don’t really know. I guess when people who you take care of and are generous to, treat you like shit?

M: Somehow, I feel like that’s me TT. I have quite a few pet peeves, actually, but to name one: you know when people crowd into your personal space? Yeah, it’s the worst :’(

S: And I know for a fact that you’re referring to me there but that’s okay because I love you~~

M: Why.

11. DO YOU EVER COUNT YOUR STEPS WHEN YOU WALK?

M: No, not really, unless I’m climbing the stairs and want to reach the top as soon as possible (I’ve had to climb like 4000 stairs before, ok)

S: Sometimes but not really, I lose track of things rather easily.

12. HAVE YOU PEED IN THE WOODS?

S: Not that I remember

M: Lol, nope.

13. HAVE YOU EVER POOPED IN THE WOODS?

M: Lol, nope.

S: Nope~

14. DO YOU EVER DANCE EVEN IF THERES NO MUSIC PLAYING?

S: *remembers the night before*  Yes and my parents think I might be possessed?

M: This morning lmao. I don’t really like to do that in front of other people, so it’s confined to my room.Usually occurs when I feel super, weirdly happy.

15. DO YOU CHEW YOUR PENS AND PENCILS?

M: Nope, I mean that sounds unhygienic af. But, I know someone who does so...*meaningful glare*

S: *Cries* Unfortunately it is a habit that has persisted since childhood and I’m too lazy to do anything about it. 

16. HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU SLEPT WITH THIS WEEK?

S: Fictionally: 10+    In reality: None 

M: ...None?

17. WHAT SIZE IS YOUR BED?

M: Queen-sized.

S: Same, but I promise, we don’t sleep in the same bed... or do we? ;)

M: Yuck. 

18. WHAT IS YOUR SONG OF THE WEEK?

S: Don’t Recall - K. A. R. D.

M: Seo In Guk’s ‘Bebe’ has fucked my life up ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

19. IS IT OK FOR GUYS TO WEAR PINK?

M: Why the hell not. Go for it kids.

S: Uhm, of course, why not?

20. DO YOU STILL WATCH CARTOONS?

S: ....Sometimes but in my defense, kids these days have like super chic shit 

M: Maybe, maybe not....okay I do. Occasionally, but it’s ‘coz I have like a 2 year old living with me.

21. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE MOVIE?

M: ‘The Great Wall’ because ma boi Lu Han is fucked over...jk, it’s actually a pretty good movie.

S: Those dumb ass movies with predictable plot and shit

22. WHERE WOULD YOU BURY HIDDEN TREASURE IF YOU HAD SOME?

S: In my backyard but make like a really complicated map for it just to fuck with people lol. 

M: In my bank account. I wouldn’t bury it, but investment dudes.

23. WHAT DO YOU DRINK WITH DINNER?

M: Water. Obviously. Hopefully.

S: Same or like maybe sometimes soft drinks~

24. WHAT DO YOU DIP A CHICKEN NUGGET IN?

S: Barbeque shiz or like Ranch 

M: I’m like vegetarian, so grass? JK, I wouldn’t eat it in the first place, I promise I don’t actually eat grass.

25. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOOD?

M: I usually like spicy stuff. Pani Puri’s good too, if you know what I’m talking about.

S: Literally anything with good cooked chicken. You can never go wrong with chicken. Unless you don’t know how to cook. In which case, you’re fucked. 

26. WHAT MOVIES COULD YOU WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND STILL LOVE?

S: Harry potter, Lord of the rings and all the good ol’ classics 

M: Harry Potter’s one of those types, yes. But I also like to revert occasionally to my childhood--Robin Hood was good. aND sECRETLY, gREATLY HITS ME IN THE FEELS EVERY TIME HELP

27. LAST PERSON KISSED YOU?

M: I think...my mom? Or my brother? Idek.

S: My father, after I wished him happy birthday today!

28. WOULD YOU EVER STRIP OR POSE NUDE IN A MAGAZINE?

S: Hmmm.... Maybe? Probably not tbh

M: Hahahahahahahaha. Nah, bro.

29. BEST THING TO EAT FOR BREAKFAST?

M: I usually enjoy omelettes, sunny side up. Hash browns rock too.

S: I always have toast and cheese omelettes but I love pancakes and waffles with maple syrup

30. WHAT IS YOUR USUAL BEDTIME?

S: I don’t have one since I don’t really sleep so...

M: 10...gdi. Also, I don’t support your sleep schedule, I hope you know that.

31. ARE YOU LAZY?

M: Why would you say such a thing? Of course I am.

S: Depends. With studies and work: yes. Fanfiction: You can wake me up at 3 am and if I’m inspired, I will not hesitate to write a 10k fanfic.

32. WHEN YOU WERE A KID, WHAT DID YOU DRESS UP AS FOR HALLOWEEN?

S: I never really dressed up but if I did, I’d probably be a vampire 

M: I dressed up as Gabriella from High School Musical, once. But the most memorable one was the time I dressed up like Aurora. Man, those were good days.

33. WHAT IS YOUR CHINESE ASTROLOGICAL SIGN?

M: Rabbit, lmao.

S: Same! 

34. HOW MANY LANGUAGES CAN YOU SPEAK?

S: English, Hindi, French, Slight Korean and Japanese (Very very little)

M: English, Telugu, and Spanish. I tried learning Danish via Edmodo, but I only know how to say ‘a bear eats bread’ or something. I understand a bunch of other languages, but can’t speak them (A++ for well-roundedness)

35. ARE YOU STUBBORN?

M: Maybe, maybe not. Who knows?

S:I know and you’re not -.- But I am~  

36. EVER WATCH SOAP OPERAS?

S: YES YES YES!! Currently on the 49th episode of Our Gab Soon and still watching. Will it ever end? We will probably never know. 

M: My life revolves around soap operas...so like idek.

37. ARE YOU AFRAID OF HEIGHTS?

M: No, not really. Rollercoasters are the bomb yes

S: Extremely. How people can enjoy being thrown down a height in a metal contraption is beyond me. 

38. DO YOU SING IN THE CAR?

S: Yes! Very much and it bothers Midnight a lot on the bus. 

M:Tell me about it -_- But it’s okay, I’ve gotten used to it. I usually sing in the car if there’s no one there besides my parents, but not anywhere else.

39. DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER?

M: I used to, until I realized my neighbors could hear me.

S: Yes, rather loudly considering my grandma downstairs can hear me. 

40. DO YOU DANCE IN THE CAR?

S: Not much really. I’m not a dancer. 

M:You mean wiggle around? SURE I DO~

41. IS CHRISTMAS STRESSFUL?

M: Always. Do I look like I’m made of money?? But it’s fun too, so it’s all worth it :)

S: Not really. I love Christmas and it’s the joy of giving that makes me super happy the entire month. That and the fact that I’m done with my exams by then!

42. OCCUPATIONS YOU WANTED TO BE WHEN YOU WERE A KID?

S: Botanist. I was a huge fan of plants. Now, not so much. 

M: Funny you ask. I wanted to do a LOT of things: teacher, journalist, author, lawyer, marine biologist...the list goes on and on.

43. DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS?

M: I don’t want to think about it ;_;

S: Yes and I’m both fascinated and terrified. 

44. EVER HAVE A DEJA-VU FEELING?

S: All the damn time. It’s really weird. 

M: Yeah, same. My entire family thinks I’m weird now, but what can I say?

45. WHAT DO YOU WEAR TO BED?

M: Pajamas, usually. I don’t really pay attention, as long as I’ve got baggy pants and a loose T-shirt, it’s all good.

S: Shirts and shorts mostly~

46. IS THERE A PROFESSION YOU PICTURE YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE DOING?

S: Kpop idol? JK, probably something related to the science, idk man, I don’t really have any preference

M: I sort of do? Like, I’ve always had a preference for someone who’s either a lawyer or a chef, because I can’t cook for shit. I need someone for that so...

47. EVER BEEN IN LOVE?

M: I think I’m not ready for that yet lmao. But no, I don’t think I’ve ever been in love :))

S:HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME ;-; AFTER ALL THE LOVE I GIVE YOU!?!?!?Jk, but yes, I think I’ve been in love and currently am :) 

M: <3

48. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR?

S: Black and Red!  

M:greengreengreENYAS--

49. DO YOU CRY AND THROW A FIT UNTIL YOU GET YOUR OWN WAY?

M: Nah, that’s Sangria’s thing

S: -.- I didn’t ask for this discrimination

50. DJ OR BAND AT A WEDDING?

S: Band all the way!! 

M: Same, I don’t have any good experiences with DJs.

51. WHICH ARE BETTER: BLACK OR GREEN OLIVES?

M: Black olives duh??? But I don’t mind green olives either.

S:Same, tbh 

52. DO YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED?

S: YES! YES! YEEESS!!!!

M: Maybe, but there’s a long time for me to figure that out lmao.

[vanchlo]

the assistant / chapter eighteen, “down”

hey there!!!!! woah it’s been so long, i am so so sorry!!! it’s so good to be typing all this up and making this post haha and its kinda weird trying to get back into it too, i missed picking the gif and little sneak peeks out for the post on here lol. i hope you’ve all been well and had great holidays!! well i came back to this chapter that was sitting around for awhile and i wrapped up the end of it, and so i figured i would post it. hopefully it isn’t utter trash haha. i really don’t know when the next chapter will be up or if i’m back with this story just to be honest with you, but i thought i would give it another try and my bf like really wanted me to try again for awhile lol hes pretty great, so you have him to thank lmao. i really wanted to say a big thank you to those of you who have sent me lovely messages about the story (im sorry if some got lost :( or i never replied to) and who have been so patient, it means the world and im so excited to share this new one with you because of your continued love and support for this story, because i know youre all so excited. it still amazes me honestly, you guys are the best. but yes i hope you like this, plz plz let me know what you think! i enjoy!!!! :-) 

p.s. - i can’t remember for the fricken life of me how i formatted their texts so be easy on me lol theres not a lot to work with or do, i hope theyre easy to understand :) ugh if only you could change the color of the font on here it would be so much easier sigh 

old chapterzzzzzz!

i know that i probably shouldn’t, and honestly i really don’t know if harry would give a shit, but i thumb at the corner of the file by the label. the fact of being in his hall and not knowing if i should do this or not makes it a little worse.

i take a breath before i stop in front of his closed door. rapping my fist against the door, i wait like any other time. and after harry told me the other day to just come on in if he doesn’t answer by the second time, to just let myself in if it’s something important, i do just that ever so nervously. and with the suspicious as shit file weighing heavily in my arms, i wrap my fingers around the cold tingy metal and twist. the creepy neck feeling and the hot nervous one like i did something wrong floods back to me in a tsunamic like wave when i spot the graying man standing by harry’s desk. 

with a gulp that becomes harder when his dark brown eyes cast over to me along with the weak dimples peeking out of his cheeks aged with lines, suddenly i feel not so great. 

it feels like everybody’s eyes are on the back of my neck when i eventually walk out of the bathroom and back to my desk. when i turn around, there’s nobody watching or staring or prying. just my messed up conscious and paranoid mind, because that’s nice. i discreetly run a finger under my eyes as i pull out the wheely chair and sit back down, lifting the top of my macbook to open it up. holding down the power button, the white apple logo soon appears on my screen. with a sniffle, i pull at the tight waist of these black dress pants before typing my password in.

the plain mountain background loads quickly, and a second later a soft chime sounds. and then there’s another. dragging my eyes to the top right corner of the shiny screen, i see the name i dread maybe the most.

(H in italics and B in bold-italics :-))

12:05pm

please try to be nice with

the costume, pretty

please with a cherry on top?

12:10pm

you’re making me nervous,

becks.

and a new chime just as this message comes in, all fresh and new.

12:23pm

you there, love?

yeah sorry. got busy.

it’s ok.

instead of replying, i venture to chrome and open my email to find too much freaking shit. the third or fourth email is from him, time stamped from around eight am. he probably finished the list up and sent it from home last night, which isn’t too weird for him. sometimes it comes the night before, if he’s feeling generous or something like that.

12:29pm

what’s this file you want?

what?

on the list. it just says ‘find the

heartwood file for me asap and bring

it to me’. you need to learn to be more

specific you know, i thought we talked

about this.

12:30pm

oh yeah. that. sorryyyyyy,  i

know we spoke about

it. yeah, i need the

criminal file on bertie

heartwood. it’s not on the

online database as a digital file, so

you’ll have to go down

to the basement where

they keep all of the real paper ones.

you’ve been down there

the one time right? it

wasn’t too bad, huh?

yeah it was a jolly old time, i loved the

creepy old geezer sitting in the door shoving his face with a twinkie who couldn’t help me for shit. i almost had

an asthma attack from all of the dust

and i don’t have asthma!

damn you’re hilarious,

becks.

shutup, i’m being serious.

:) 

don’t send me a fucking smiley face.

first i have to do all of that awful filing

and now i have to go down to the

basement to the papers room where who knows

how many rats live with the creepy old

guy staring at my bum and boobs. watch, i probably

will never even get back up here to

17 because the elevator will have

stopped working, or the weirdo shanked me and i bled out. and god, don’t even

get me fucking started on the

cobwebs down there.

language! and would you chill out? there

are no bloody rats in my

law firm

i heard something the last time i was

down there trying and failing to find

that witman file for you, and i turned

around and i swear to god i saw a

tail, harry.

stop it, you did not see

a bleeding rat down there.

and i keep my firm

blooming spotless, so hush.

you still need to find a new clerk guy

down there who isn’t a 80 year old

who probably has an arrest or two

having to do with pedophilia and porn.

i bet you fifty pounds if you had the

techies look at his computer you’d find pornhub.com in his web history.

bloody hell becks. he

does not. jerry’s background

is spotless. ya really think

i’d take a bet on somebody

like that?

well all he does is basically just guard

about fifty dusty shelves of files, so

yeah maybee.

fuck you, you little shit.

uh no, i only get to call you that.

sure you do.

shutup.

can i pleaseeeeee not go down there?

i was considering it, but

not after all that lousy stuff

you said about the papers

room and nice old jerry.

he is not nice, harry! he’s so rude.

doesn’t even help me when i have a

question, scouts honor.

no way, you were a girl scout?

ya sell all those yummy boxes

of biscuits, too?

shut up.

ya better be nice, or i just

might make you come to

that ball with me after all,

you little shit.

stop calling me that, that’s my line.

would you rather i come down

and give you another nice

tour? i don’t really want to,

because i’m supposed to be

doing this skype call with

somebody from ny, and

hell thats why i asked you

to do it.

god, don’t be too honest there.

i’m sorry, just not looking forward

to this skype call. and amber

won’t stop blowing up my phone,

she’s in a real mood today.

what’s new with that?

be nice, becks.

i’m just stating the truth, that’s all.

his reply is lagged, and i tap my fingers against my thigh as i wait for the word ‘read’ to show up under my message. and more so for the little bubble to show up. i don’t know if i’m thankful or what when the t-rex rings and i drag my hand over with a huff to pick it up.

“styles and lawson, this is becky,” i answer the most mock cheerfully that i can do on a monday.

“hi, i was wondering who i could talk to about how i could go about setting up a consultation with mr. styles?” a chipper voice replies.

“i’m mr. styles’ assistant, so i can gladly answer that question for you,” i reply.

ten unnecessary minutes later, i finally set the phone down. and when i turn to wake up my computer, there’s a red bubble stuck to my little messages icon. with a shake of my head, i click on it and find harry’s texts. but i hardly get a chance to read them, when his name pops up in the corner of my screen again, but this time he’s calling me.

sticking my hand into my drawer, i pull my buzzing phone out and swipe my thumb across the screen.

“god, what do you want now?” i reply fake annoyed.

“ya betta watch it, becks. actually ‘m surprised ya answered, ya weren’t replying t’ me texts.”

“i’m sorry, i had to explain to some old lady on the phone that just because you’re such a greaaaat lawyer, that you don’t take all cases that come at you, and she wasn’t that happy because of that and because she doesn’t really know how to work email to send me a consult. actually i don’t think she even has one.”

“oh, i see. well sorry i blew up yer mac, but was hopin’ ya’d go an’ get that file fer me soon. pleeeease, becks?” he says, apology heavy in his tone, before it switches to something sickeningly sweet. what a little shit.

“can’t like, you call down there and just have them send it up somehow?”

“this isn’ a bloody post office, becks. ’s jus’ one li’l file, tha’s actually real important. an’ i need it, i wouldn’ ask ya t’ go get it if i didn’ need it.”

“suuuuure,” i sigh, browsing through this week’s list quickly, but it’s not much use because this isn’t the final length. it’ll just keep getting added to as the week carries on. the usual.

“come on, becks. i won’ make ya go down there fer awhile afta this, ok?”

“weak proposition, mr. lawyer,” i reply sassily, pushing my hair behind my ear as i open another email reading a consult from a possible client.

“‘m not gonn’ bribe you.”

“why not?”

“you cheeky li’l thing you, jus’ go get tha bloody file before i come out there.”

“wow, you’re soooo scary,” i tease, hearing his fed up huff.

“jus’ go get tha damn file, you bloody li’l shit,” he chuckles softly. “now i really hafta go, tha bloke’s s’posed t’ be callin’ any mo’ now.”

“no, wait!”

“whaaaat?” he groans.

“i forgot where i look down there, because you know there’s like fifty shelves with boxes of files on them.”

“bloody hell, becks, just ask jerry.”

“i am not talking to that creeper ever again in my life,” i whisper, lowering my voice when somebody walks by. “and he is soooo a creeper, harry! the last time i was down there, i was looking through a box of files that was on the bottom shelf, and when i looked up the bloke’s eyes were glued to my cleavage!”

what comes next is a little explosion of giggles from his side, and i have to resist rolling my eyes because it’s not as good when he can’t see it. since we’re on the phone, even though he’s like . . well right over there.

“becks, yer too damn funny fer yer own good, darlin’,” he gets out in a long titter, and i deal him back a sigh. “ok don’ botha with jerry then, but ’s organized by tha alphabet if i rememba right from tha last time i was down there. but yeah ’s just by last name, so it shouldn’ be too hard t’ find, love.”

“wow, thanks for calling me dumb.”

“‘m not callin’ you dumb, becks!” he laughs, and when i hear the familiar ringing sound faintly i know it’s his skype. “hey sorry, that bastard’s ringin’ me, so i gott’ go. but if ya ‘ave any troubles, jus’ text me an’ ‘ll try t’ get back t’ ya fairly quick.”

“ok, don’t get too bored,” i joke, hearing his sweet giggle for only a second.

“thanks, babe, don’ die down there,” he replies, and i only get a scoff in before he says a quick goodbye.

+

with a dreaded touch and an exaggerated groan, i stab the lit up plastic button labeled ‘bmt’ and take a few steps and turn to lean against the back wall of the elevator i’m alone in. with a soft hum, the doors squeeze back together and it starts to move down as i stare ahead at my blurry reflection in the shiny doors.

12:50pm

this really fricken sucks,

like a lot.

i stab my thumb at the ‘send’ button and let out a huff after pressing the lock button waiting to arrive in the moldy scary basement. the red led number above the doors falls one by one, sticking at ‘9’ before it drops again.

buzz buzz.

12:54pm

hush, don’t start being a

whine baby on me now.

i told you i won’t make you

go down there for awhile

after this.

you better not.

oh stop being so dramatic.

i think i got that from you.

you’re just hilarious.

why thank you.

now get off your phone and

go get that file.

i’m on the elevator as we

speak, god chill!

you chill, and stop taking the

lord’s name.

since when do you care?

doesn’t matter, now i gotta go.

this bloke is almost back from

whatever the hell he had to do,

and i gotta pay attention, this call

is important.

ok, sorry for bothering you.

don’t, you’re not bothering me.

why do ya always think you’re a

bother becks? but

text me if you need me for any

help with finding the file, and i’ll

try my best, i just might take a

bit to reply.

thank you, harry. you know

you’re probably the best, right?

:)

thanks, sweetheart :) you’re

pretty darn great yourself.

you’re welcome, and thanks :)

i wait for a quick witted reply, and after a little bit i think he should have replied by now with how quick his replies were coming. and so i stuff my phone away in my pocket, and look up to find the doors peeling apart. i take in a deep breath and step off the elevator, pulling my long gray sweater around me at the change of temperature. fuckkkkkk, i do not need this too.

with shivering shoulders and chattering teeth, i tiptoe down the hall - because well there’s not a fucking soul around and i feel like it’s too quiet and shit is going to echo - and soon spot the little sign that reads ‘file room’. but ever since i stepped my first foot into this form, it’s always been called ‘the papers room’ for a reason i don’t know, and that i should probably ask harry one day. or asher.

sure enough, wrinkly and graying and not to mention balding jerry whitter is sat at his black desk scrolling away on his silver desktop. probably looking at girl on girl action, or something really weird, i just have a weird feeling. it takes him too long to look up and when he does, i savor the look on his face because fuck i know he was looking at porn. that git.

with a forced smile stretching across his stubbly chubby cheeks, his thin lips you could hardly discern from his gray mustache part, “oh hullo, love. come down to find another file. ya need any help finding anything?” he says ever so cheerily, but i know it’s fake.

“uh no thanks, i think i got it,” i reply, trying a smile that he returns, but it’s last about a second. with a shiver and my arms pulled around myself, i walk past the wimpy coworker of mine dressed in a long sleeved gray button down and slacks. i don’t even want to think about those slacks and any other part of his body for that matter.

that thought gives me another shiver as i pass the tall gray metal shelves of cardboard box heavy with ancient files. all i know is that most of the files that harry and the other lawyers used and need these days are online digitally, and that somebody who’s not fucking jerry is in the process of scanning all of these to get them online. but i can imagine there’s a point where it’s just been enough, and what’s the point if you don’t need them? at least that’s what i think.

clearing my throat and trying to do the same with my mind, i bow my head and lift my hand to find the hot pink post it i scribbled down the info on, knowing i’ll most likely forget.

bertie heartwood

criminal files

1989

with a huff, i stuff it back away in the pocket of my sweater, pulling the front tighter across my chest. glancing a hasty look over my shoulder back at jerry, all i know is that i’m glad he’s not looking me up, and i don’t bother to see what he’s staring at on his computer. bad idea, becky, bad idea. and so i cross my arms over my chest, wincing at my annoying ass bra digging into my side as i look at the little sign on the very left of the shelf by the aisle. ‘a-f’ it reads. i try to hold back the groan as i walk down the long ass aisle, and turn to peek in the next one. like the other side, the very last shelf has another little sign reading ‘g-m’ and i drag my feet down to the beginning. first i go too far and i’m stuck in the g’s, and then when i veer to the right of the aisle i’m in the fucking j’s, because god. ughhhh.

i almost jump out of my fucking flats when my hip buzzes, and i look down to find the screen of my phone lit up. the smile is hard to push down at the sight of his words, and what they are.

12:55pm

it going alright? you get lost

down there, bub?

no, not yet. but apparently

finding the h’s in this aisle for

g-m is harder than it looks.

the screen goes dark as i stare at it waiting for his response, but it doesn’t come right away, and so i assume he’s caught up with his skype call. i don’t even know why he bothered anyways, especially since he joked somewhat about me leaving him alone. i turn my attention and eyes back to the boxes upon boxes of files waiting in front of me. after awhile, i finally get a little warmer and find the h’s. you’d think it wouldn’t be too hard to find ‘he-‘ especially when there shouldn’t be that big of a variety of files here, but yeah no. first there’s habergram. haberly. habittle. hack. hackney. hackman. like i’ve never seen so many ‘ha-’s in my entire life. what the fuck, harry?

my phone says it’s a few ticks away from quarter after one when i finally locate the ‘he-’s and then it’s not too bad then, considering ‘hea-‘ is right in the beginning, or so i hope. but after a minute or two, i finally finally the little label reading ‘heartwood, bertie’ and pull out the frayed dusty black file.

“ya find all that you need?” jerry questions when i walk up to his desk, much to my dismay.

“yep, thanks,” i answer, plucking a clicky pen from his coffee mug full of them. hmm so maybe the coffee mug of pens is a thing here, huh?

dreadfully so, i lean down and press the pen to the clipboard, but this time i remember to hold the file to my chest so the perv can’t look down my shirt. fucking gross. first i scribble down the date, time of 1:34pm, the name of the file as well as the handy dandy code on the lip of the file i have to locate first and then make it out and yada yada it’s too much work really, and finally i put down my autograph at the end.

jerry and i exchange small ‘thanks’ and he mutters a ‘bye’ i fully ignore, before i peel out of there and get back on the elevator afraid to be down there another minute more.

1:35pm

you still on the phone?

a dictionary sized ‘delivered’ pops up under my message after a moment, but no read receipt before i check my notifications and a few other things as the elevator brings me up. i’m happy when it sounds a long ding and the doors open, letting me breath again as i step out onto seventeen. the keys are clicking and the phones are a ringing as i walk back to my desk, veering for people in slacks and skirts rushing with their cups of tea and stacks of paper before i swing down harry’s hall. i know that i probably shouldn’t, and honestly i really don’t know if harry would give a shit, but i thumb at the corner of the file by the label. the fact of being in his hall and not knowing if i should do this or not makes it a little worse, so all i get is a glance of a wacky mugshot of a weird looking guy before i let it fall closed only a few steps away from harry’s door.

doing a once over for anybody busting me, even though i know it’s not going to happen or so i hope, i take a breath before i stop in front of his closed door. rapping my fist against the door, i wait like any other time. and after harry told me the other day to just come on in if he doesn’t answer by the second time, to just let myself in if it’s something important, i do just that ever so nervously. and with the suspicious as shit file weighing heavily in my arms, i wrap my fingers around the cold tingy metal and twist.

the creepy neck feeling and the hot nervous one like i did something wrong floods back to me in a tsunamic like wave when i spot the graying man standing by harry’s desk. with a gulp that becomes harder when his dark brown eyes cast over to me along with the weak dimples peeking out of his cheeks aged with lines, suddenly i feel not so great.

“u-uh can i help you with something, sir? i’m sorry, but nobody’s allowed in here without harry already-,” i begin, looking over his combed back thinning hair and broad-set frame.

“i got it, becks,” a voice says quickly, and when i turn my head, harry’s slipping into the room with his hard eyes set on the stranger standing in front of the both of us.

his emerald’s a different body of water from the man’s before us fall to me and i see something in his face that i don’t like. “are you sure?” i say quietly to him.

he nods his head and gives me a small smile, but i don’t know how much i believe it. “‘m sure, love, jus’ gimme a mo’ with him, alright?” he replies, patting my arm with his hand, and i don’t know why or how or what, but i catch his hand when it falls from me. it’s almost awkward and i don’t know what i’m doing or what my little half hatched plan is, but i hold it for a moment along with his gaze and last ditch murmur of his name. “’s fine, becks, promise. why dontcha go take yer break now, yeah?” he continues, giving me another reassuring smile that i don’t know if i can handle or accept, or whatever.

“ok,” i say, dropping his hand but not before i give it a little squeeze, one that he returns warmly. “let me know if you need anything.”

“will do,” he replies, before i turn away and head for the door, holding the image of his off smile and his whole off look in my mind. and the other thing sitting on his face that i don’t think i’ve ever seen before. nerves.

the door opens swiftly with a click, and as my back is to harry and the odd old guy, i hear the beginning of his brash voice. the voice of the other harry. “what, ya not know how t’ work a phone or sumthin’, can ya not gimme a quick ring befo’ ya jus’ swing by wheneva ya bloody like? i have a job ya know - people i represent an’ stuff i gott’ do, meetings i hafta go t’ an-“

“i bleedin’ built this place, ya not rememba that or sumthin’ . .” the stranger booms back in the same accent identical to harry’s, giving me a jump and making this whole thing even weirder. and with that, making me even more confused.

i blink hard before opening my eyes as the last bit of harry’s cold words spat at the stranger melt away from my ears with the distance i put between us, but i catch deep shouts and a raspy one in return. one i know all too well. and it hits me in the gut. because for some odd fucking reason, i want to spin around and stomp back over to his door and do i don’t know, something to get it to stop. to get the man to go away, a man i have a bad feeling about i know that already, and so i can wipe that scared nervous feeling from harry and make it all better.

but i know i shouldn’t and all of things, i know that i can’t. it’s not like that, and with a sad thought, i think it probably will never be like that. with another click, i step inside the break room and pop open the fridge, wishing the can of soda was something else. something still fizzy, but heavy to the taste and not sweet. something a happy medium like my favorite wine coolers, which only sends me into another dark thought about the man i just left. the man i care too fricken much about. fucking shit.

+

i knock the back of my middle knuckle against the screen of the kiosk, tapping hard at my numbers before pushing open the door to get back to work. i drop the black file i never actually put in harry’s hand on the last rack of the new little black file rack on my desk. i plop back down onto my chair, hearing a squeak i roll my eyes at. but my ass hardly hits the stiff chair when i hear shouting from far away and then a door slam, and when i think i recognize one of the voices, i fly out of that seat.

almost running, i bolt over to harry’s hallway in time to have the burly pissed old guy nearly charging past me. he gives me a dirty look that immediately reminds me too much of harry’s for some odd reason, before he rounds the corner and stomps away. with a gulp, my feet move again from being still and i carefully tread down to harry’s door. for what feels like the hundredth time, i hesitate when i reach my hand out to wrap around the door, but this time a feeling burns in my gut that i should and that i need to do this.

and with that, i turn the handle slowly even though an urgency pricks at my skin to turn it faster and harder, and everything else. i spot him almost instantaneously. back to me. shoulders taut and then shaking. little sad sounds carrying across the room from him.

i don’t know what to do. my body is rigid, every single fricken part of it. and so when i try to move my legs- hell just a muscle, i can’t. the fear immobilizes me. it restricts me as the pained sounds of what can only be his crying pricks at my ears, like the sharp end of little pins poking your skin, one by one, getting worse and worse. a breath is stuck in my lungs, not going anywhere along with the rest of me. and it only makes this worse, when i didn’t think that was an option.

all of a sudden the sniffles and the hoarse throaty sounds cease altogether, and i see his shoulders twitch. then a hand run through his impeccable curls that were messy for only a second, if that. all of a sudden he turns around and as if the sight of his red rimmed glassy eyes devoid of a care but riddled with emotion weren’t enough to send my mental self crashing to the ground, the look on his face when he sees me standing there with a foot out the door and the other in kills me altogether.

a syllable begins on his tongue i see. maybe my name. it pains me to even think it, but maybe another cry. or something possibly worse if that could happen: the beginning of a yell. the second one returns with a kick as i watch his eyes fill with tears again before he looks away with a knuckle to his eyes.

“i-i’m sorry, i don’t mean to barge in-,” i begin, but it all comes out wrong, and nothing right. it’s a mess, just like me. and well him, too. i don’t know what he’s thinking or doing, as his head is bent down looking at something on his desk, probably just finding something to do to occupy the embarrassment and the awkwardness that is all me. all fucking me. but i can’t blame him. because hell, i wouldn’t know what to do if he found me crying, well again. “harry,” is all that feels right and as i watch him poke his finger at a mini yellow legal pad with his gorgeous scrawling on it, a sob stutters in his throat. and i’m fucking gone.

within a blink or two, i’m standing in front of him. unsure of what to do. reach out, or go away. his adam’s apple bobs with a gulp before he lifts his chin slowly to look at me, and kill me with that defeated drowned look that makes me feel all sorts of horrible. for him. all for him. and because of what the fuck can i do?

but it’s more like what can’t i when i tug on his sleeve to bring him over to me until he’s close enough to wrap my arms around. that’s too late though, because his are already going around me and by the time i get mine around him, his face is bent into my neck with his hot tears melting into it. as he melts into me with throaty sobs leaving his lips.

i don’t know what to do, or what to say for that matter. i don’t even realize i’m doing it, or hell that i’m doing anything when i find my fingers lost in his hair combing through the end of his crazy curls, and drifting down to the long expanse of his back i rub in circles. through the easy silk of his shirt, i feel his taut strong back as it shakes with each hoarse cry and rises with a rattly breath that tickles against my now damp neck. we stand there for the next ten minutes, his head glued to my shoulder and my arms surrounding him and not moving an inch no matter how tired they get. but i hold onto him tight, my neck slick with tears and his breaths loud and hiccupy.

with every hiccupy cry that falls from his lips, my arms wrap around him a little tighter and my hands rub a little harder.

[thecoroutfitters]

Written by R. Ann Parris on The Prepper Journal.

Editors Note: Another article from R. Ann Parris to The Prepper Journal. Admit it, when you saw the title you thought this was about one of the Internets search engines. Alas, and thankfully, it is about something so much more important. If you have information for Preppers that you would like to share then enter into the Prepper Writing Contest with a chance to win one of three Amazon Gift Cards with the top prize being a $300 card to purchase your own prepping supplies!

Search and Rescue codes largely entered mainstream American awareness in the U.S. courtesy of massive hurricane disaster areas. We saw them before Katrina, although she brought them into American homes and still bears their scars, and sadly, we’ve seen them since and will likely continue to see them.

For preppers, there are two main reasons to understand the most common codes used to mark structures by teams in a disaster area.

One, there’s the counter-intel aspect. They can be used as camouflage, misleading others about our home or the entire area around our home – which can keep others from even getting close to us if applied properly.

*Be able to cover or remove markings especially if applied to a whole neighborhood in case a real disaster occurs and somebody is able to respond. If it looks like another unit checked the area or has done follow-up recently, they may assume SNAFU is in full effect and hop the block/road to work an area that hasn’t been covered yet.

Two, we can use them to gather intel should we find ourselves moving through a disaster area.

Let’s hit that “moving through” aspect, because there’s usually a lot of resistance there.

There are all kinds of reasons we might be out and about after a disaster, whether that disaster is what drove us out or we wander into the aftermath of a disaster while passing through.

Straight from the news: air, surface, and ground water contaminated by chemical spills from trains, factories, mines, and ships; housefires, wildfires, and droughts, which then exacerbate rain into floods and mudslides; upstream dams and levees failing; natural disasters kicking off fires, releasing previously contained toxins, cracking wells, tumbling houses, and wrecking cellars.

That’s not the what-if of a paranoid prepper.

That’s straight from the news.

Fires occur and spread daily – it’s why you have a fire department. Annually, monthly, weekly, we get things beyond our individual control, already causing people to relocate or find alternate resources even with all our technical advances in our nice, modernized nations.

That’s not the WROL (Without Rule of Law)/pandemic human-contact concerns, or the cooling tanks in nuclear plants steaming off over days or 2-20 years. It’s not droughts lowering water tables, animal plagues, or woods too emptied of trees or animal/plant foods to sustain another winter and spring. It’s not somebody traveling even “just” 30-100 miles from home before a disaster strikes.

Using just things that happen, pretty regularly, portions of the population are forced from homes that had seemed like perfect locations.

There are all kinds of reasons to include a Plan B (or C,D,E…) that involves traveling, and not always in nice, empty backcountry.

Being able to recognize what we’re seeing from either the “safe” resource site or avoidance perspectives while passing through is huge.

We can also plan to learn the CDC and HazMat codes that may become applicable even in our local neighborhoods.

Recognizing where we don’t want to be is one of the biggies for gaining International Search and Rescue Group – INSARAG literacy.

Lots of bodies, no marks for reclaiming them, disease is hella prevalent, pretty much guaranteed. I would rather not pick through a building that was already so questionable a search team opted not to press a full search. If it was already overrun by rats “then”, unless I’m desperate enough to eat them, I’d really rather hop well out of that neighborhood before we find a bed-down pocket.

We can learn lots of things when we know how to read INSARAG. The dates and updates alone can give us information about the area, human climate, and resource potentials.

Disaster Search Codes

In the U.S. we mostly use and see FEMA “X” codes – a circle divided into quadrants. Other NATO nations use a circled box.

There’s also a separate box that’s part of a three-tier structural integrity rating.

Take that with a grain of salt, because it’s “significant” hazards. Lesser risks that were no big deal in a mostly functional world can deliver a world of hurt if we’re already working with limited resources.

It’s also being assessed by teachers, lawyers, random National Guard types, clerks, landscapers, and cops, as opposed to firefighters, who develop a good eye for these things, or qualified civil engineers.

Those X’s that denote a big issue are worth paying attention to, period. Something stuck out at them to be marked. If that box is empty or “just” a slash … again, it was probably not cleared by professional housing inspectors. Be super-duper leery anyway.

There’s also a victim-location code based around a V. It’s sometimes used on its own, but it’s most commonly seen as an add-on.

All three contribute to streamlining both initial searches and follow-ups or retrieval operations. They convey basic information like the date, status of the structure, victim information, and risks.

There’s some personal twists added sometimes, some specific-unit tweaks and shorthand, and in some cases, simplification and deviations that develop in really widespread disasters.

The variations can help us if we’re using them along with noise and light discipline to discourage incursions during excessive loss of rule of law or by looters/survivors after a disaster.

Anyone familiar enough with the codes to accurately read what we’re saying will expect to see some of those deviations. However, if you put information in the wrong place or use some random combination, you may actually attract attention.

X codes are most common in the U.S. but it’s worth learning what you’re seeing in NATO INSARAG boxes and reading-writing victim V-codes, too.

FEMA “X” Search Codes

Top goes the date (and rarely the time). Left goes the unit that’s searching (and sometimes the time). Hazards, actions we took, and special notes go to the right.

Everybody knows a flood means human waste, wood rotting as it goes, and mold developing, but if the floor’s crumbling already, that gets put there with “hamster removed” and “GL” (gas or fuel leak visualized or smelled).

That’s also where a no-go, break-off, or exterior-only survey is noted, with or without a secondary structure box.

In the bottom, a zero or empty quadrant means nobody’s home, dead or alive. Victim counts are listed live to dead, top and bottom or left to right separated by a dash, dot or slash.

FEMA now advises to mark search results on windows and doors, and use their big stickers when available, instead of wrecking house paint and siding. If local teams are doing it and you’re aiming for camo, mimic them.

*If you’re marking for an animal rescue that’s coming through after you, make it Big and Bold, and note if it’s going to require saws/jacks to get them out.

Top Three Super-Duper Big-time Warning Signs

One, there’s that “no go” structural safety box with the X. If professionals with healthcare did not want anybody else to poke inside, that’s a real good one to skip.

Two, we want to be hyper-vigilant for the word “dog(s)” somewhere.

Now, I like dogs. I like my dogs a lot. But, my dogs make me very, very aware of other dogs. Especially my current girls, because they – Lab-terrier mixes, never strays, never starved, never abused, with no training for it – will separate, hug verges all nonchalant, easy-going postures, and then launch for takedown from multiple angles like a pack of lionesses.

So I watch for whether dogs are happy to see people, period, or happy and excited about chasing something that’s not as athletic as a squirrel. And I watch my flanks for others.

Three, we want to be very leery if we ever see a single diagonal slash with or without a date.

See, we’re trained to mark a slash – and, unit by unit, the date-time – before we enter a building or floor/area/apartment in large buildings. If we abandon a search before we finish, we are supposed to paint a dot/circle in the middle of it.  (Completed searches get the X, even if it’s “did not enter/exterior survey only – hazards”.)

Even if we’re leaving in a hurry, we’re supposed to put that dot on there.

That way if we don’t make our rally or contact, people know right exactly where we are. No question of did we get snatched off the porch, have an accident after leaving the building, or which building, floor, or compartment we bounced to next. If we drew that single slash and there is no other marking (+/- the date), we are still within that threshold.

This applies to preppers as “oh my my” because if there is only that slash, we have two conditions.

One, there is still a team inside. Maybe good, if we’re seeking other intelligent life. Maybe cause to fade away if we want to go unnoticed.

Two, the searcher(s) went in and either did not come out or something so bad happened inside that they un-A’d the AO in such a rush they didn’t even take time for another slash and an X-box.

That suggests, right up there with dogs, bodies, and compromised structures, that we do not want to go through that door.

*If you’re aiming for camo in EROL conditions, don’t use that one. SAR, first responders, and military will go in after each other almost as fast as if we heard a crying baby.

Now, shorthand/personalization that develops in widespread disasters means some never even drew a slash. But if we see just that slash, that is a warning sign.

Applying INSARAG Markings

INSARAG can provide intel on local conditions just by the quickie versions that suggest more need than available CERT/SAR teams could handle, and give us the number and types of teams working an area.

We can also use clues from how they’re marked. For instance, any time markings seem really high up on a building, or have serious up-down wavering of lines, circles undulating like scalloped pattypan squash, or oval “tornado spirals” instead of circles, it indicates a flood high enough that it was easier/safer to stand in a boat to paint than be in the water. Heights and dates of marks can tell us if water was rising or receding.

On the counter-intel front, we can use things like follow-ups and some of those super-duper bigtime warning signs to disseminate false information, projecting that fires gutted flats or stores, or there’s heavy mold and decaying bodies, etc.

They’re worth being familiar enough with to plan our actions to mitigate likely risks, choose avoidance of an area, or pick locations that may still have useful resources with the safest access, even if we’re not planning a bugout, ever. Too much goes wrong even right now to steadfastly insist we’ll never be away from home and traveling, or ever be forced out of our homes.

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i fucking hate--

12/13/2017

I fucking hate the new Instagram update. Before, I could go through my search feed (idk what it’s called), and wander from cooking post, to hair post, to meme, and back to more food posts. Now, if I click on a a hair post, I only see hair posts. Not even different ones, like they’re literally all the same.  

I also just fucking hate social media in general. Okay, more like I hate to love it, because I’m always on, and I’m too much of a pussy to actually delete anything anyway. I did, however, delete the Facebook app from my phone, so I mean, I guess that’s a start… right? I say so. But I should just rip the band-aid off and do it, because it’s not like anyone is counting on me to keep it, you know? Who cares if I delete it? Maybe my boyfriend who likes to google me every now and then because he’s bored (I say he’s paranoid). That’s all I can think of. And don’t even get me started on how shitty it makes me feel?!

Listen, I’m completely aware of these things work. Social media. Brag about yourself and what you have, and make everyone think that your life is 110% perfect. And get the likes and comments and all that other shit to make yourself feel better. I mean, I know I certainly feel good about getting them. Unfortunately, lol. But I also feel super shitty when a picture that means a lot to me only gets the same 20 likes from the same 20 people who go around following and liking everyone’s picture.

Maybe I’m just thinking about it too much…. Yes, most definitely. Everyone does! And I’m so sick of seeing everyone’s perfect life goals playing out for them perfectly, and things just going there way without problem, because DAMN, if only I could just have a little bit of that. Anyway.

I fucking hate this throbbing headache that I have after only the first of my three finals. I feel sick. And it’s not even today, like I feel sick all the time. I’m just super out of shape; moreover (learned this fancy sentence trick in AP Lang my junior year of high school—wassap), I eat like a fucking dump truck. Really. I fill my body with such gross food, it’s nasty. And I don’t take care of my body. Sigh.

I fucking hate the conversation I had with some girls from my Cell Bio class today, where we talked about how ridiculous the stress is we put ourselves through, just for a number out of 4, that is supposed to define the thousands of dollars and time and effort over four years. That’s what it boils down too. What is your GPA? Can’t be a lawyer with a shitty one. Can’t be a doctor with a shitty one. Does it matter? I don’t even want to be a doctor. What the fuck do I want to be? I don’t know? I don’t even know what I like. I’m mediocre at best at a lot of things, and nothing has called to be my passion, like it has been for so many others.

What I need to be doing, is looking for some stupid internships. I guess. Right? I could mix some fruit fly food for a lab. Biology. I could… be a lab bitch and do whatever shitty work has to be done for an actual scientist. Biology. How dumb would that be. Just doing more busy work.

I fucking hate that life just feels like one big pile of busy work. I don’t know if there’s going to be anything worthwhile underneath it, and I sure as hell don’t know how to get out of it. I just gotta figure things out already. I’m so physically tired of this semester. I haven’t been this tired in my life. At least when I worked like a dog over the summer, I was getting a decent paycheck. Now, I get to pay thousands of dollars for it instead.

I shouldn’t be like this, I know. I promise you—all maybe 1-2 of you that perhaps happened to stumble over this and read it—I promise you that I’m going to start trying. After finals. After this Friday, December 15th. Because fuck, life is too short.

I’m kidding. I hate that phrase. “Life is too short.” Maybe I should begin to like it, because doing it for myself honestly isn’t the motivation that’s going to keep me running right now, lol. I think of myself, and I see this lazy piece of unmotivated trash, that’s gained the most weight she ever has in her life, and I don’t want to do it for her. I’m just going to do it because you know what, I have nothing better to do. And there is nothing in my life that is just calling to me, so maybe I can just try to focus on this and sculpt this new creature that looks bawling in a bikini, and can wear whatever she want’s, but be comfortable in her own skin.

I hate how nervous I am about this. I think that I’m going to fail, and I really just don’t want that to happen. I want to think of myself as this strong person who can do it, who can push herself and get what she needs to get done. But… we’ll see, I suppose. And sometimes I still try to tell myself that; that I’m as strong as I have made myself up to be. Maybe when I told myself that in high school, it was true. But now I’m just running low on fumes. I just needed to break a little bit before I could realize it again…

Fuck…

> If you never break > you’ll never know how to put yourself > back together

I knew those were my favorite lyrics for a reason.

I fucking hate a lot of things right now, and this semester just fuckin dumped a load of highlighter onto those things. But you know what, Real Friends is right. I’m never going to learn how to put myself back into a functioning self unless I break.

And I know that’s been done very thoroughly! So it can only get better from here, right? Come on, new year, new me, RIGHT?!