#and spike already doesn’t have a personality so its free real estate

[they-hermes]

[tf hyperlink] spike witwicky ages 6, 14 and 18

[yellowocaballero]

Continuation of Human Relations (Oh My God, They Were Roommates)

This is a 16k story that’s a bit too short for AO3 but a bit too long for Tumblr that acts as a continuation of my Archivist!Sasha and Immortal!Jon fic Human Relations. I recommend that you read that before this. This story takes place between S2 and S3, and is about Sasha and Georgie’s roommate adventures. I’m uncertain if I’ll continue this and post it on AO3, post it on AO3 as it is, or what, but for the time being I’ll at least post it here. 

Serious content warnings for discussion of abusive friendships, gaslighting, discussion of 19th century racism, implied transphobia, and discussion of police brutality. Nothing more serious than what we saw in Human Relations, but it does have a much more explicit investigation of Jon and Elias’ relationship. Rest under the cut. Happy Birthday, @magickko. 

EDIT: HAHA READMORE DIDN’T WORK, YIKES. 

Sasha dreams, every night.

Nightmares, mostly. Statements given and Statements stolen run endlessly through her head in a scrolling loop, crying out for mercy, as its figures cry and scream. Sasha looks at them through a camera, pushing the button and clicking the shutter again and again and again, searching for that perfect shot frozen in time. 

A woman, trapped under a thousand pounds of dirt and crumpling metal. Snap. A woman, chewing keycaps, eyes riveted on a flickering screen. Snap. A woman, lost in her fiance’s grave, pleading for someone to find her. Snap. 

A man, eating canned peaches, alone. Snap. A man, swinging an axe with a frantic strength born of terror. Snap. A man, and the look in his eyes, betrayed. Snap. A man, gunshot wound leaking blood out of his chest, eyes rolling in the fluorescent lights. Snap.

When Sasha wakes up she is always surprised to find herself in a guest room, always out of place and out of time as she stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Maybe the worst part is those two seconds after waking, where she doesn’t know where she is, adrift in time and space. Then she remembers, and she’s faced with the situation all over again. 

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom. 

Sasha dreams, every night.

Nightmares, mostly. Statements given and Statements stolen run endlessly through her head in a scrolling loop, crying out for mercy, as its figures cry and scream. Sasha looks at them through a camera, pushing the button and clicking the shutter again and again and again, searching for that perfect shot frozen in time. 

A woman, trapped under a thousand pounds of dirt and crumpling metal. Snap. A woman, chewing keycaps, eyes riveted on a flickering screen. Snap. A woman, lost in her fiance’s grave, pleading for someone to find her. Snap. 

A man, eating canned peaches, alone. Snap. A man, swinging an axe with a frantic strength born of terror. Snap. A man, and the look in his eyes, betrayed. Snap. A man, gunshot wound leaking blood out of his chest, eyes rolling in the fluorescent lights. Snap.

When Sasha wakes up she is always surprised to find herself in a guest room, always out of place and out of time as she stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Maybe the worst part is those two seconds after waking, where she doesn’t know where she is, adrift in time and space. Then she remembers, and she’s faced with the situation all over again. 

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom. 

Georgie Barker wasn’t a mystery, and she’d be the first to tell you.

Of course you’re welcome to stay as long as you need, honey! I always love having Jonah owe me a favor. Don’t worry about the cops and the law, nobody will ever find you here. Seriously, the entire department’s in my pocket. It’s no hassle having you here, it’s a big flat! It’s been years since I’ve had a roommate, this’ll be fun!

The one thing she hadn’t understood was Sasha begging her not to let Jon in to see her. He knows exactly where you are, Georgie pointed out. He knows you’re not actually a murderer, Georgie said. He might be able to help explain some of what’s going on, Georgie hinted. Jon would respect my wishes, but if Jonah really wants him to talk to you, he’ll definitely do it...

“Please,” Sasha had croaked, the uncomfortable morning after she had stumbled into Georgie’s flat. The Admiral wove around her legs, purring up a storm, and Georgie was munching on avocado toast and sipping pomegranate juice. “I just - I just need some space.”

“Why?” Georgie asked obliviously. That was something that Sasha was rapidly learning about Georgie - she didn’t hold back with impolite questions, or her opinion. She seemed to be regarding Sasha’s life as her own personal Youtuber Drama, which Sasha really didn’t know how she felt about. Her life wasn’t a spectacle, but she guessed even the warfare and tragedy of ants were of obscure and strange interest to humanity. “He’s feeling, like, totally bad about framing you for murder. I can tell he super wants to apologize to you about everything.”

Martin’s words echoed through her mind, from what felt like a decade ago: Jon had ruined Martin’s life, but to him it was as simple as a momentary inconvenience. “I don’t want his apology,” Sasha croaked. “I want not to be on the run from the police. I want to go back to my flat. Unless he’s going to make me human again I don’t want any stupid apologies. They’re useless.”

“Hm. Well, you’re free to stay here as long as you need to, of course.” Georgie sipped at her tea. They were sitting around the breakfast table, Sasha desolately shoving eggs into her mouth as Georgie drank her tea that Sasha was reasonably sure was spiked with brandy. Rich people were literally never sober. “It’ll be so much fun, like a sleepover. We can do each other’s nails and talk about boys!”

“My boyfriend thought I was a monster for the past month and now thinks I’m a murderer,” Sasha said flatly. 

“Oh, I see.” Georgie tapped her lips thoughtfully. “We have to get you laid, huh?”

“I am literally on the run from the cops.”

“That’s very sexy to some people,” Georgie assured her. 

After that, Georgie waved goodbye and swanned out of the house, either going to her studio to work on her podcast or doing some work for her real estate empire or writing a best-selling book or schmoozing with celebrities or attending parties at exclusive nightclubs or working part-time as a bartender just for gossip or devouring souls. Just from Sasha’s one day at Georgie’s flat, she knew that she did all of these things and then some. It was a stunning contrast to Jon’s laziness, or Elias (Jonah’s) single-mindedness. 

Maybe you lost the energy to be so productive after your two hundredth year. Sasha didn’t fucking know. Hopefully she would never know. Or maybe Jon just appeared to be lazy, and every moment that he was complaining about being bored he was secretly manipulating world leaders. Maybe Jonah’s dedication to spreadsheets and dress code was a front, and he was secretly pulling the puppet strings of her entire life…

In the empty spaces of Georgie’s spacious flat, it was easy to be paranoid. Sasha lay on her luxurious couch, hands folded across her chest like a corpse, trying not to think of anything, thinking of everything. Thinking of Tim: of his smile, of his scowl, of his cold looks given to someone he had thought was a stranger. Thinking of Martin: his warm smile, his sharp looks. 

She struggled to think of other friends, other family members who gave her comfort, but drew up a blank. Her parent’s faces were blurred after ten years of no contact, not so much forgotten as repressed, and her baby siblings were likely unrecognizable to her now. Almost as unrecognizable as she was to them, probably. Tim, her boyfriend who hated her, and Martin, her subordinate who she had almost never had a conversation with that wasn’t about work or Jon...that was it. All the friends she had in the world. She was sleeping in the guest room of a podcast host/Grim Reaper whom she had met once, and that was all she had.

Loneliness was Sasha’s constant companion. In a crowd, in her family, in the world - no matter how many people she had been surrounded by, she had always been alone. She had never had anybody in the world to rely on besides herself, and for the first time in a long time she was achingly aware of it. Nobody who loved her was going to help her. She was alone now.

After an hour of lying on the couch and crying, Sasha desolately watched Netflix cooking shows on Georgie’s gigantic flat-screen TV, trying very hard to think of absolutely nothing at all. She only moved to pet Georgie’s silky long-haired cat whose name she had already forgotten, and even he left quickly once she lost the energy to give him attention.

That was how Georgie found Sasha when she came home: lying on the couch, still dressed in borrowed silk pyjamas, watching idiots on television fuck up cakes. Georgie’s arms were laden with shopping bags, with names of exclusive London boutiques sprawled along the side, her deep black pits of eyes hidden by designer sunglasses. She burst through the door happily, her cat running up to her and winding through her laps as he purred, and easily kicked off her red pumps. She stopped in the doorway of the living room, looking strangely excited. 

“Sorry I’m back to late! Utterly bogged up at work, there was a plane crash and I was processing corpses for hours. I had to do some serious retail therapy just to deal with the tedium - darling, have you moved?”

Sasha grunted. 

“You look like Mikey Crew threw you off the Shard,” Georgie said sympathetically. “Utterly disastrous. Don’t worry, Aunt Georgie’s here to make you feel better.” She lifted her bag triumphantly. “I bought you new outfits!”

Sasha eyed her warily. 

“You get no say in this,” Georgie said kindly. “Chop chop, we’re doing face masks too.”

That’s how, somehow, Sasha found herself playing an unwilling dress-up doll for the Grim Reaper. Georgie had taken Sasha’s casual mention that she had no clothing besides her work pantsuit to heart, and had hit up her favorite boutiques for ‘cute outfits that accentuated her figure and made her eyes pop!’. Or something. Sasha wasn’t much one for fashion. 

As it turned out, Georgie Barker had a walk-in closet. Because of course she did. 

The looks ranged from Sasha’s usual, as Georgie put it, ‘sexy librarian’ look, to ballgowns, to tennis outfits, to moddish, to vintage, to wintery. It was February, the seasons lingering in British chill, and according to Georgie the perfect solution to this was a mink coat that was probably worth a month’s rent on her flat. 

Strangely, all of the outfits fit perfectly - and Sasha knew that her measurements were difficult to find. Georgie took it in stride, clapping enthusiastically each time and suggesting accessories and how to mix and match the outfits. 

She would have thought that she was too dead inside to actually enjoy it, but so far as distractions went it actually worked pretty well. Georgie chatted about everything but their actual problems, and Sasha had absolutely no input or choice in what Georgie decided to dress her in, and by the time they had transitioned from nail painting to watching Legally Blonde and eating ice cream from the carton Sasha was actually feeling a little relaxed. 

“The musical’s better,” Georgie informed Sasha imperiously as Sasha dug around in her carton for chunks of cookie dough. Georgie was clutching a glass of wine in one hand, while Sasha was contenting herself with ice cream. Best not to drink when she was this sad. “Reese is such a doll, though. Allergic to shellfish, poor dear, but I told her not to let Leo pick the restaurant.”

“What I’m wondering,” Sasha said carefully, teeth cracking into the frozen chunk of cookie dough, “is that half the time when I see you, you’re dressed like a 2008 goth in jeans and t-shirts.”

“Oh, honey,” Georgie said pityingly, patting her hand. “I used to spend two hours getting dressed each morning. I’m never doing that to myself again. You, however, clearly have never had nice clothing in your life. It’s written all over your face. People’ll walk all over you if you always look like you’re straight from a charity shop. We gotta buy you some self-confidence.”

“Thanks. I think.” On screen, Elle flourished and achieved her dreams. Sasha tried not to feel jealous. “It’s not really as if I had a lot of girly sleepovers as a kid…”

“Word,” Georgie said sympathetically. She patted Sasha’s hand again. “Jon was the same way, you know. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to renovate that boy’s wardrobe. He has no idea how to dress to impress.”

“Do we have to talk about Jon right now,” Sasha groused. “He’s the last person I want to think about.”

“He means well,” Georgie soothed, as Elle Woods proudly proclaimed on television how she, yes, she, was a strong independent woman - who didn’t need a man! “It’s not his fault he’s stupid. He’s just so helpless on his own, you know, he needs girls like you and me to make sure he’s not wasting a decade fixating on obscure Bolivian religious practices or whatever.”

“Helpless? He’s a two hundred year old man.” Sasha spitefully grabbed the bottle of wine from the coffee table, pouring it into a spare glass and drinking it quickly. It probably cost thousands of pounds, but it just tasted like wine to her. “It’s not my job to make sure his little feelings aren’t hurt.”

“Of course not,” Georgie said, but Sasha had the sense she was being calmed instead of listened to. “But Jon’s...you know.”

“I don’t, actually.”

Georgie made an interpretive hand gesture. Sasha stared at her blankly. 

“...I still don’t.”

Georgie sighed. “He’s delicate. Jonah babies him, honestly.” She patted Sasha’s hand for the third time, making her skin crawl. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him see you until you’re ready to forgive him. Every woman has the right to some time to herself after a guy fucks her over. You two’ll patch things up, right as rain.”

There was nothing Sasha wanted to say to that, nothing she wanted to think about, and she kept drinking her wine and watching the movie, out of lack of any other options.

That night, she drunkenly tipped into bed, so blasted that she slid immediately into sleep and did not dream. It was the first relief she’d had in what felt like a very long time. 

It wasn’t Sasha’s job to fix Jonathan Sims. 

It really, really wasn’t. It wasn’t her job to make him feel better, or forgive him, or save him from himself. If Martin wanted to waste his time and energy doing that, then god fucking speed, but Sasha had other priorities. She had been profoundly fucked over and had her trust abused by three different men lately, and she wasn’t going to be the one to patch things up.

Two of them she had no desire to patch things up with at all. Two of them she’d be perfectly happy if she never saw again. The last one...Sasha didn’t know what she felt. But that was nothing new. 

That being said, as Sasha chewed her way through hangover medication and an acai bowl the next morning, Georgie’s inane chattering about tricking some celebrity or another into taking her to Hungary for authentic Hungarian food didn’t register nearly as loudly in Sasha’s mind as her words about Jonah and Jon. 

Jonah babies Jon. That was what she had said. It...it was accurate, right? It had to be. Georgie had known Jonah and Jon for a hundred years, and Sasha had barely heard one authentic conversation between them. She’d known them for a year, and known Jonah’s true nature for maybe a few days. There was no way Sasha understood their relationship better than Georgie did. It just didn’t make sense. 

Finally, she put her spoon down, cutting Georgie off in the middle of her ramble about the majesty of Hungarian food made by genuine Hungarian grandma hands. “What did you mean, ‘Jonah babies Jon’?”

Georgie blinked at her, clearly barely remembering the conversation, before recognition dawned. Then she shrugged, sipping her protein smoothie. Which may or may not be spiked. It seemed as if her solution to hangovers was to just not stop being drunk. “Oh, you know how those two are. Jon swans around the world doing whatever he wants, Jonah holds the fort down at home. That’s why Jon’s fun, you know.” She sighed nostalgically. “Romantic cruises to the Bahamas for two months, we tear up the Bahaman government and start a minor military coup, then we take a tour of the beaches. You haven’t lived until you’ve dug your toes into Bahaman sand.” 

That was something Georgie said frequently: you haven’t lived until you’ve done X, Y, or Z. It seemed as if Georgie was very intent on living, and very intent on defining it in discretionary ways. To Sasha, living was simply the act of not being dead, but Georgie was almost fanatical about experiencing life. 

“If he’s so much fun, then why did you break up?” Sasha asked, before she realized what she said. “I mean, it’s really none of my business, feel free not to answer that -”

But Georgie just laughed lightly. “That’s just how Jon and I work. We spend a few weeks together in bliss, and then we go our separate ways for six months or a year or whatever. Work’s always taking us different places, and seeing each other all day would make us hate each other. Some people work best when they’re not in each other’s pocket.” She took a long drag of the smoothie before speaking again. “Besides, he’ll always be second in my life to having fun. And I’ll always be second in his life to Jonah. It’s just how we work. It works for us!”

It seemed to. Last Sasha checked, Georgie and Jon seemed to be very amicable despite being exes. Lackadaisical, on-and-off, passionate yet going years without seeing each other - it was a relationship uniquely in the providence of workaholic immortals. 

It wasn’t until Georgie had already waved goodbye, making Sasha promise not to spend all day on the couch again, that she realized that Georgie hadn’t quite answered her question. 

An image flashed through Sasha’s mind - Jon’s face, as he dared to disagree with Jonah, and was utterly ground into the dust for it. 

There was something more to this. Something that wasn’t obvious on the surface, something that was so well hidden maybe nobody even knew it was going on. Or maybe it was deeper than that, more insidious: maybe whatever was going on was so well-known and pervasive that it simply wasn’t spoken about. Not polite, not the kind of thing you say about your friends, not normal. Not in polite company. Not vocalized. Utterly taken for granted. 

Sasha walked into the guest room, pulling out her phone from her bag and staring at its blank screen. Holding her breath, she hesitantly turned it on, staring at it blankly as it slowly booted up. 

She shouldn’t be turning it on. She was perfectly aware of how, given a warrant, the police could track cell phone location, texts sent and received, everything. She could do it herself. The crushing weight of surveillance, the fear of being found and seen and rooted out, settled over her shoulders like an old, familiar friend. A comforting blanket to wrap herself up in at night: where, even if the fear was terrible and awful, at least it was familiar. 

You could get used to anything, Sasha thought. Any behavior, any fears, any horrors or tragedies - anything could become normal, given enough time. A year. A hundred years. After two hundred years, maybe you wouldn’t even recognize it as happening at all.

Like a flood, the text messages poured in. Notifications chimed in a cacophony, as text after text after text popped up on her phone. Missed calls. Emails popped up, notifications from the doorbell camera, reminders from her fucking Duolingo...

Dizzily, Sasha scrolled through the texts. Lots from Tim, as expected, and a few from Martin, as expected. Some texts from her mother, which - which wasn’t expected. At all. Sasha hadn’t even known that she knew her number. 

Sasha’s brain stuttered over the Spanish, having been years since she spoke it. Her brain also stuttered over the gratuitous misgendering, which was also blissfully novel yet just as uncomfortable and upsetting as ever. Translated, it was a slightly accusatory question about why the police had been calling them about her whereabouts. What had she done? Had she gotten in trouble?

No matter what you did, the text read, God will forgive you. Just call them back. 

Sasha stared at the texts, brain buzzing. She felt sick. Forgive her? They’d forgive her? They thought she’d done it? They thought she was capable of -

Horribly, awfully, tears pricked at her eyes. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe you never really grew accustomed to pain, even if it was felt a thousand times. Maybe some pain you never acclimated to, never scarred over or calloused. Maybe sometimes the more you were hurt, the worse it hurt. The pain her parents gave her - how they cut off contact, the misgendering, the coldness - hurt just as badly at thirty six as it had at twenty six, at twenty, at fifteen, at nine. It had always hurt. 

So stupid. Sasha deleted the text messages. She didn’t have time for this. She wasn’t a child. She was thirty six goddamn years old, that was way too old to still care about your parents. To still need them.

She clicked on Martin’s texts next. The first one had a timestamp before the murder, the rest afterwards.

Martin: where are you?? I found Tim (he tried to kill me w/an axe but we’re ok now) and were trying to get out of here. I explained everything to him. We’ll meet you in the archives. 

Martin: Police are looking for you. I know you didn’t do it so call me back. Tim’s worried. Jon doesn’t seem that worried...

Martin: Shouldn’t text you anymore. Please be safe & careful. 

Jesus. Jesus, she had been terrible to Martin. She was a rotten friend. Sasha hiccuped, rubbing at her eyes. She needed to get him a gift basket. Five. He was a freak, but he was her freak. Maybe. 

Finally, almost holding her breath, she pressed on Tim’s messages. There were a lot of them - more than was safe, Sasha distantly registered. The first five were from the same time Martin had sent the second text. She guessed it was right after the police finished talking to them. He had called her slightly before - likely when they found the body - but there were also two texts from two am last night. 

Tim: pick up your phone

Tim: pick up your phone are you okay im so sorry

Tim: baby please please pick up

Tim: we need to talk & im sorry & i hope ur safe

Tim: dont text me back 

Then two texts from two am:

Tim: to warn you im drunk but im sorry (AND DRUNK) but in my defense im a shitty boyfriend. If you want to break up its fine but id like to make it work but i get if you cant because cops i guess. Bitch tonner wont stop bothering me make her stoppp

Tim: I love you and I wish that was enough. 

Sasha rubbed at her eyes, exhausted. She wished it was enough too. She knew it wasn’t. Strongly, like burning, Sasha wished so desperately that she had never met Jonathan Sims. Maybe, in that world, things were okay. She and Tim were happy. 

She scrolled through the rest of the notifications. Strangely, she even had two texts from Melanie. 

Melanie: Hey, I heard what’s going on. I know you couldn’t have done it. A LOT of cops are bothering me - Hussein and Tonner have called like five times. I think you know them? For legal purposes I’ll say that you should turn yourself in or whatever. 

Melanie: oh and Martin said to tell you that Mr. Bouchard’s been asking me a lot of questions about what im doing and my job situation - dunno y tho

That….probably wasn’t good. 

No texts from Jon. She wouldn’t know what to do if he had. She doubted he knew her number, or how to work a phone. The last thing she could deal with emotionally right now was an apology. She didn’t know what to do about Tonner or Hussein or Melanie. Those were all problems she couldn’t fix right now. 

Really, there was only one problem she could fix right now. She walked over to the door to the balcony, carefully stepping out onto the 20th story balcony. She carefully ejected her SIM card, snapped it in half, looked underneath her to make sure there were no passerby in the exclusive London neighborhood, and forced her fingers to release from the phone so she could watch it fall twenty stories onto the concrete. 

She imagined a smash, a crack, but it didn’t make any sound at all. Sasha forced herself to step back inside, leaving the past behind her. 

There was a lot Sasha had to force herself to do that day. Georgie owned a few laptops, but she hadn’t given Sasha permission to use any of them yet, and she didn’t want to intrude. Despite Sasha’s own...reservations about her personality, she really was being incredibly kind by letting her stay and trying to cheer her up. She did, however, have a great deal of antique books, and Sasha eagerly cracked open the first edition copies of fiction novels from the 19th century. Was that a first edition Pride & Prejudice? Oh, score!

She wasn’t hungry, but she forced herself to eat. Food tasted like ash in her mouth, but that always happened whenever she was upset. She forced herself to take a shower, impossibly intimidated by Georgie’s small army of hair care and hygiene products, and even cautiously let herself take a bubble bath with a bath bomb. It was...weirdly luxurious, but maybe not surprisingly. Georgie’s bathroom was like the Queen’s, and you could practically swim in the bathtub. It was intimidating and weird and uncomfortable, but Sasha forced herself to appreciate it. How many people got to take a shower in a stall with five different showerheads?

Halfway through the day the housekeeper came in, terrifying Sasha deeply, and she retreated to her guest bedroom to let the woman work. She inspected her newly painted toenails glumly, halfway through Pride & Prejudice, forcing herself not to think about how Jon could have been a background character in the novel. Wasn’t he in his twenties in this time period? Wasn’t that when he and Jonah Magnus had -

Sasha drank more wine, and put on another cooking program. She hadn’t watched telly all day, so technically she could tell Georgie that. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was anything productive to do. No work, which sucked when she was a workaholic. No computer to waste time on. No friends she could talk to without the police investigating her. She couldn’t go outside, again due to the aforementioned cop situation. Her life was her work, and her bosses had just framed her for murder. 

Somewhat buzzed, Sasha stole several pieces of intricate stationary and wrote down everything Leitner had told her before he was murdered. It wasn’t nearly as much as she wanted, yet far more than she knew what to do with. Halfway through her notes deteriorated into a bizarre sort of mind map, lists of cases connected together and obscure monsters and figures pointing to each other. Salasea and his endless array of dangerous trinkets, mysterious yet lonely ship captains, Michael and his gently twisting deceit, Gerry Keay and his bizarre heroism, Leitner and his ruinous imprints, Agnes and her desolate fate, and the oft-mentioned yet barely understood man, whose name was whispered by shadowy figures entrenched in  the supernatural world, Jonathan Sims…

Did he know? How often his shadow stained her statements? Did he care? Did he know how thoroughly he had ruined her life? 

She scoured her memory for hints, writing down everything she could remember of his cameos in random statements. Of Leitner’s testimony, the immortal figure who so easily attained what Leitner and Mary Keay had spent their entire lives grasping for. Was there a hint to his true nature, his true allegiance? 

In the corners of the cute stationary, Sasha doodled a small eye. She stared at it, and couldn’t help but fight the notion that it was staring back. 

She scratched it out, feeling paranoid, not feeling paranoid enough. 

A few hours later, Georgie came home, and Sasha fought the pathetically hopeful trepidation. When she heard the front door rattle she left her room, intending on welcoming Georgie back and proving that she hadn’t been watching telly all day, but she stopped short in the hallway when she heard the loud sound of voices. Specifically, the loud sound of Georgie’s still slightly unfamiliar voice, and the quieter tones of a voice that was far too familiar to her.  

“ - if you’ll just let me talk to her, she’ll understand.”

“And she said that she’s not seeing you,” Georgie said firmly. Sasha held her breath, pressing herself up against the hallway wall. Next to her was a doorway that led to the living room, that led to a foyer. If she craned her head she could just barely see Georgie standing in the foyer, arguing with a figure holding a leather briefcase that made Sasha’s heart leap into her throat. “You really did screw her over, you know.”

“I know,” Jonathan Sims whined. “I want to apologize. It’s not my fault. Jonah got pushy again, you know how he is.”

“Ugh, tell me about it.” Georgie scoffed. “Did something happen between you two? Sasha was asking all sorts of weird questions.”

“Just Jonah being his usual insufferable self,” Jon said, so carelessly and casually that if Sasha hadn’t known better she would have believed him. “It probably alarmed her, seeing how that man really is. I’m sure she’s feeling very overwhelmed right now.”

“She really is, the poor dear,” Georgie said sympathetically. Sasha’s hands clenched into fists. “But you aren’t getting past this foyer, honey. I’m sure she’ll want to be friends again once Jonah gets the cops off her case.”

“Martin’s giving me a hard time,” Jon sulked. “Says this is all my fault that the dreadful little wolf girl is sniffing around. It’s not my fault. If my Archivist just let me explain, she’d see that it’s not my fault.”

“That Blackwood boy’s always giving you a hard time,” Georgie sniffed. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with him. He’s overly moralistic and doesn’t know how to have fun. You spend too much time with him.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Georgina Barker,” Jon teased. He stepped forward a little closer, and although Sasah couldn’t see his face she had the feeling he was smiling. “It’s a bad look on you.”

“Idiot,” Georgie said fondly, “everything’s a good look on me.” She stretched up on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Ditch him and come party with me, darling, I’ll show you a wonderful time. Maybe after all of this nonsense blows over.”

“Judging from what I can make out of Jonah’s monologuing, we ought to get our parties in while we still can,” Jon said glumly. He opened his briefcase, passing a manila folder to Georgie. “Give her these. She’ll be getting hungry. Tell her that the top one is from work, and the second is from me.” He hesitated for a second. “You really think she’ll forgive me?”

“If it’s not your fault, then why do you need to be forgiven?”

Jon was silent for a long minute. Finally, he said, “I’ll talk to you later, Georgie. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie said easily, casually, as if she had said it a thousand times, a million times. “Take care of yourself.”

She stood in the foyer after he left, arms folded, one delicately manicured finger tapping against her arm. She eventually turned around, poking her head into the living room. 

“You can come out, darling, I don’t bite.”

Sasha guiltily stepped into the living room, crossing her arms defensively. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

But Georgie just rolled her eyes. “Please. My best friends are Jonathan Sims and Jonah Magnus.” She looked thoughtful for a second. “Well. My oldest friends. Anyway, if you’re in the same house as one of those Beholding types you aren’t getting a private conversation. I’m super used to it.” She held out the manila folder, and Sasha cautiously stepped forward and took it from her. 

“Beholding types?” 

“Oh, you know, you and your lot,” Georgie said dismissively. “Can’t do anything about that annoying little megalomania the Eye gives you. Have fun with lunch, I have to freshen up. It takes ages to get the scent of Jon’s musty old books off me.”

But Sasha was already tuning her out, because in the manilla envelope there were two Statements. They thrummed under her fingers, charged with energy and power and fear, and Sasha could feel herself gripping them. The first one was a classic Magnus Institute Statement, just like she would have read at work, but the second was what looked like a photocopy of a piece of paper. Judging from the ornate script, it was old, and when Sasha’s eyes wandered to the date her eyes widened. July 21st, 1823. 

She looked up, already frantically searching for a tape recorder, and immediately saw one sitting on the coffee table. She didn’t think twice about it, already sitting on the plush white couch and setting the papers out. Which one first - oh man, they were both so exciting - her fingers drifted to the one Jon gave her, and she picked it up. That one, then. 

Sasha James pressed play on the tape deck, feeling a familiar thrill go through her at the gentle whirring. She cleared her throat. 

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, regarding a letter sent by Barnabas Bennet to Jonah Magnus. Statement begins.”

And, as Sasha’s blood ran cold, she began to read. 

My dearest Jonah,

I hope you are well. It was an absolute pleasure to vacation at your estate this summer. I’ve never had such interesting conversations with a like-minded individual, and since returning to my own estate I have been sorely missing your company. You have introduced a great deal of brightness and acute interest to my life, and without you the luminescence of Heaven does not thrill me. How I wish you were around to thrill me again!

Do not concern yourself - I have maintained my studies. The library you loaned me is of great interest, and I have been spending many a quiet night bent over one of your occult tomes. I have never felt so enlightened. A world is opening up before us, Jonah, one of richness and wonder, and for the first time in many years I find myself excited to rise each morning. I thank our Heavenly Father each day that I was so fortunate as to cross your path. You must remind me to discuss with you the report by Smirke in detail - fascinating! Theoretical, of course, all theoretical - but the concept of classifying the devils that so bewitch man into fourteen unique taxonomies fascinates me. We must discuss it. 

Jonah, I trust that this letter reaches you in private, and that you shall not betray my confidence by discussing it with anyone. I have a private grievance I wish to address with you. It is regarding your boy, the one kept so close in your confidence and trust. 

I would never hasten to question any of your decisions, for I trust they are made with great deliberation and forethought. But I must question why you keep that boy so close to you. His air is strange and fey. While summering at your estate, I would frequently see him awake at late hours, pouring over some tome or report or another (I would swear that he reads better than I!). I know he’s somewhat of a project of yours, bringing him into Christianity and your charity, which will surely be rewarded etc etc, but I cannot shake my strange trepidation. 

If I were to be quite honest, my fear of him. 

He always asks questions. Disturbing and distressing questions. And when I deign to answer them, he acts as if he truly understands. Moreover, that he understands more than me - that he possesses some secret knowledge that only he has obtained. I catch him listening at doorways and around corners frequently, and no matter how many times I box him about the ears for it he will not cease. You encourage it, allowing this behavior. Even after I reported to you the pagan rituals which I am confident he is performing, you brush me off. You two are strangely close. I’m simply concerned for you, Jonah. Please heed my advice: that boy is trouble. I fear that he will bring you into trouble also. Do not allow this paganism to steer you away from the light of our heavenly Father. I understand that the occult is of great interest to all of us, discovering the secrets of the world and its many mysteries, but it is only an academic interest. I would never go so far as to partake of these devilish rituals myself, and you ought to dissuade yourself of such a notion also. Do not allow that John to lead you astray. 

I wish you most well. I am encountering some trouble of my own - debts and such - but do not concern yourself with them. The situation is well-handled. I hope to write to you again soon.

Yours, faithfully,

Barnabas

...supplemental.

Jon. Why did you show me this?

Is this your definition of vulnerability? Of honesty? What, are you trying to justify your decisions to me? I get it, it’s disgusting. These people were disgusting to you. I can’t know how you feel, but I think I - my parents -

What I mean is, I can’t understand. I can’t imagine how hard this must have been. I understand how Jonah was the only one to… ‘get’ you or whatever. How he was the only person to see how brilliant you are, how much you have to give. 

But, Jon - I don’t think Jonah thought any better of you than Barnabas did. He was just better at hiding it. I don’t know, I didn’t know him and I still don’t know him - but you get that the way he talked to you back then wasn’t right, right? You get that it was fucked up, right?

I don’t know. I don’t think you get that. I don’t think anybody does. Georgie’s too close to it, too used to you and Jonah’s ‘quirks’ or whatever. I...don’t know anything Martin thinks, but I feel as if you’d be pretty invested in keeping this from him. But I’m close enough to you to see it, and I’m far enough away from this that I understand. Something’s really fucked up about this situation. I’m worried I’m the only person who sees it. I hate being that person, the person who Sees it all, who knows it all, but is powerless to do anything about it. You understand, right? You understand how much this is hurting me?

I’m not sure you do. If you’re showing me this, trying to show me how hard you had it, how misunderstood you were, just so I forgive you...I don’t. And it’s manipulative, so cut it out. I’m not sure if you’re consciously doing that, I really don’t think you’re emotionally intelligent enough.

But you aren’t dumb, Jon. I know it’s a defence mechanism or whatever to pretend that you are, to act childish, but you aren’t. 

Ugh, listen to me. I sound like Martin. Disgusting. I don’t give a shit about this, I’m not your therapist. But you keep on making your problems my problems, and I’m not tolerating that. We’ll talk when I’m not fucking wanted for murder for something you were complicit in. 

Get your act together. I don’t forgive you. Statement fucking ends. 

As if Sasha’s life wasn’t hard enough, Georgie wanted to go dancing. 

“I am literally wanted by the police.”

“The nightclub’s so dark, nobody’ll even see your face,” Georgie promised. 

“Shouldn’t I be spending my time working on my conspiracy theory board?”

“Honey, no offence, that thing is so tacky.”

“I hate clubbing.”

“You’ll like the way I do it!”

“I really don’t want to -”

“Tough nuts.”

So, of course, that’s how Sasha ended up shoved into a tight dress, heels, and makeup, pushed into a taxi, and quickly deposited in front of a warehouse looking building. There was a long line out the door, of women with straightened hair dressed somehow identically, yet way worse, than Sasha, all looking very cold. Georgie looped her arm through Sasha’s, white teeth flashing as she grinned widely, and escorted them both straight through the doors and past security. 

She, it seemed, was a known quantity. Sasha, who had spent the last year working in a mill to feed evil psychic vampires and the ten years before that locked in academia, which was basically the same thing, was not a known quantity to any nightclub. She had not been clubbing since uni, which was approximately five lifetimes ago.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Sasha said into Georgie’s ear as they transitioned from the furiously cold February air into the swelteringly hot club. It was dim and smoky, the noise overwhelmingly grating at her ears. After so long in a quiet office, in a silent flat, she could barely handle it. 

Georgie said something to her. 

“What?” Sasha yelled. “Georgie, I don’t want to be here!”

Georgie frowned at her, and unlinked their arms so she could reach up on her tiptoes and clasp Sasha on the shoulders. “You have been accused of murder! You just split with your boyfriend because of clown trauma! You haven’t had fun in years! You deserve this, queen!”

You know...maybe she did. 

Georgie pressed a drink into her hands, mysteriously procured from somewhere, and without thinking too hard about it Sasha downed it in one gulp. Georgie whooped, clapping her on the back, and directed her towards the bar. She flashed her platinum credit card at the bartender, and suddenly Sasha was MVP of the night. 

You know, Sasha thought dizzily as she was given a toxic blue drink and pushed onto the dance floor, maybe she did deserve this. Didn’t she deserve to have fun? After the way things ended with Tim, couldn’t she just act like a normal girl and go clubbing with her friends to dance away the pain? She was almost forty, way too old for this, but maybe she could forget for a little bit. She had never had the opportunity as a teenager, not even as a young adult. Couldn’t she do this, before she died?

Maybe women closer to forty than thirty dealt with this with - with book clubs, with sisterhood, whatever. Maybe women closer to forty than thirty were married, had kids of their own. But Sasha was just Sasha, stuck in a literal dead-end job, going nowhere good, and this was all she would ever have. 

Maybe Georgie was right. Why not live, before she died? Everybody on earth died - everybody, that is, except for a small group of people who were willing to sell their soul for the privilege.  At least maybe this way she could have whatever joy she could fit into her life before all opportunity was lost, and she was lost. 

A man sidled up to her, asking for a dance, and she evaded him. But then there was another one, and another one, and Sasha found herself fleeing back to the bar and ordering another drink. Too soon. Way too soon. She found herself digging in her borrowed purse, searching for her phone, wanting to call Tim or talk to him or ask him if they really were broken up so she could have rebound sex with random dudes in bars, but the purse was empty of both a phone and a wallet. That’s right - she had destroyed it. Because the cops were after her. 

Next to her, out of the corner of her eye, a man sat down at a barstool. He said something to the bartender and leaned towards her, mouth spilling something obscured by the crush and heat and sound of the club. He seemed to be asking if he could buy her a drink. Sasha shook her head dizzily, confused and lost. Then he leaned in closer, and Sasha could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“Are you sure? I’d like to dance with you!”

Sasha shook her head no again, frantically. 

“Aw, come on -”

Then, as if by magic, Georgie was at her elbow. Unintimidating, not more than one hundred and seventy centimeters, with teased hair and sharp black lipstick and eyeliner, she raised an eyebrow at the guy. But there must have been something in her eyes, or a lack of something, because the guy rapidly slipped off the barstool and melted into the crowd, leaving the drink the bartender slid onto the counter behind. 

As if she had planned it, Georgie easily stole the drink and knocked it back. She tugged Sasha down, yelling into her ear. “Come with me, darling, let’s check out where the real party is.”

Without taking no for an answer, Georgie grabbed Sasha’s hand and tugged her through the outskirts of the crowd, ducking and weaving between small clusters of people and women dancing the night away. Sasha’s vision swam, details and faces lost in the endless ripple of flashing lights and sound, until all she felt was Georgie’s cool hand in hers, and it wasn’t until they emerged from the choppy sea of people into a small hallway off the main room that she felt like she could breathe. Sasha’s head swam with movement and smoke, and she was barely cognizant that they were in a hallway for a bathroom or something. 

But Georgie walked confidently past the bathrooms, into what appeared to be a storage closet. She confidently opened it, halting at the door frame to glance backwards at Sasha. A smile quirked at her bow lips. 

“You coming?”

Sasha, slightly intoxicated though she was, couldn’t fight the skepticism. “This is where the real party is? A supply closet?”

“Oh, my dear Archivist,” Georgie said, smirking slightly. “The world is full of far more delights than you could understand. Follow me, and stay close.”

Then Georgie stepped forward, disappearing into the closet, and as little as Sasha wanted to step inside more dubiously supernatural hallways she wanted to be left alone in this club even less, and she ducked after Georgie into the unknown. 

The unknown, as it turned out, was another club. 

Or, more accurately, a pub. It was a nice pub too, all smoky yellow lights and burnished wood booths. The booths were upholstered in soft and cushy looking brown leather, and the sound where nowhere above a quiet murmur. It didn’t seem to be abandoned, the shadows at some booths deeper than others, but for the life of her Sasha couldn’t puzzle out the faces or figures of anybody at these shadowy corners. There was a single bartender, wiping a grimy glass over and over. He nodded at Georgie when he walked in, and Sasha was forced to wonder how many dubiously physical supernatural bars and hang-outs existed in random back rooms of mundane stores. Were these things just everywhere? Or were there only a few, and so long as you had the right key any door could be an entrance? It was just Sasha’s intuition, but she felt as if it was the latter. 

What would, could Georgie open up for her? What power, what majesty? What world of power and control could Jon give her, that Jon was trying to hard to give her that she kept refusing? Nobody was telling her the cost. Nobody was letting her make a decision. She was being swept up in the wake of giants, and Sasha was just trying to keep her head above water. 

Georgie was still walking confidently down the aisles, and Sasha stumbled trying to keep up. Finally, she came to a stop in a back corner, utterly secluded with a booth that stretched the entire corner, large enough for seven or more people. Georgie turned to Sasha, smiling broadly, and Sasha tried not to feel intimidated. 

“Honey, these are my friends. Girls, this is my new roommate, Sasha James!”

With a flourish, she made a little tah-dah motion, and the smoky yellow lamp above the table flickered on. 

The table was crowded with women, or women appearing people. Absolutely none of them were familiar. No - in the corner, there was one person who was familiar. Michael, blonde hair hurting her eyes in curly ringlets, hands in his coat pockets. He smiled crookedly at her, jarring her adrift. 

“Uh,” Sasha said, confused. Who were these people? “Hello?”

A short East Asian woman in a white tank top and black jeans scowled from where she was slouching in her seat. “One of those Beholding patsies? Please, Georgie, they’re so insufferable.”

“I like this one,” Georgie said cheerfully. She slid into an empty seat, and Sasha cautiously sat next to her. “Play nice, everyone.”

“You’re such a grouch, Jude,” a woman said, leaning forward and looking interestedly at Sasha. Her eyes were dark and big, her head cocked, giving her an almost insectoid air. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person finally, Archivist. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re really making waves in our little community.”

“Patsy Archivist,” a tall and burly white woman with cascading brown hair said shortly, taking long gulps of a pint. “What’s impressive about that?”

“I’m impressed with anyone who puts up with Sims and Magnus long enough,” the insectish woman said. “No offence, Georgie.”

“Oh, they’re insufferable,” Georgie said cheerfully. “Have you heard how those two like to socialize? They go to galas. With those awful little Fairchilds and Lukases and whatever. It’s just tragic.”

“Word,” the insect woman said, raising her glass. The rim seemed to be coated in cobwebs, making Sasha feel vaguely ill. “Much rather have a pint at a nice little pub with friends. But we haven’t introduced ourselves, have we? My name’s Annabelle Cane. I’m sure you’ve heard of me in all those little stories you like.”

Anabelle Cane. Sasha swallowed. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“A proxy Archivist she may be,” Michael said serenely, “but perhaps our most successful yet. She’s already coming along so much further than Gertrude ever did.” He winked bizarrely at Sasha. “Michael, but you already know that. They and them, if you please.”

Oh. Sasha blinked at them. “Thanks for...saving my life back there. And Tim’s and Martin’s.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said affably. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in awhile. Always nice to have the Eye owe me a favor.”

“They’re just mad they didn’t get to kill Gertrude,” the brunette said evenly. “Julia Montauk. You should know me too, I think. Is it true you killed someone?”

“I definitely didn’t,” Sasha said heatedly. “It was a set-up.”

“Relax, we’re all killers here,” the woman in a tank top said. She scowled at Sasha. “Jude Perry. What the fuck do those old money ponces think they’re doing, installing another patsy Archivist this late in the game? I would have thought that they learned their lesson after that bitch Gertrude.”

“Archivists are quite slow learners,” a woman piped up. She sat in the corner, strangely oddly. Her skin was shiny and strange in the dim light, almost plasticish, and her dark eyes hadn’t moved from Sasha’s face since she walked in. “Nikola. A pleasure, Archivist.”

“Are you guys all…” Sasha trailed off uncomfortably. “You know?”

“Serial killers?” Julia Mauntauk asked flatly. 

“Inhuman monstrosities of plastic and flesh?” Nikola inquired. 

“Daughters of fear entities that control our every action?” Annabelle said. 

“Embodiments of unknown concepts made sentient, forced into a shape that cannot suit them, locked in flesh and fractal prisons, always screaming in endless turmoil, unable to understand the horrors of the concepts of ourselves, always searching for the sweet release of death that can never quite be obtained, because that which does not live can never die?” Michael said serenely. 

“Assholes?” Jude Perry said flatly. 

“The sexiest Avatars around?” Georgie asked. 

How did Sasha’s life devolve to this point. 

“...yeah,” Sasha said. “Hey, where can I get more drinks?”

Unsurprisingly enough, the drinks came very fast. Service was excellent when you hung out with eldritch women, Sasha supposed. 

The conversion flew thick and fast after that. In Sasha’s experience, joining a new group of established friends meant being ignored for favor of pre-existing dynamics. It was always uncomfortable, and no small part of why she just didn’t join new groups. Tim had never had that problem - he had a loud and persistent personality, the kind that made you pay attention to him. He dominated any room he entered, by force if necessary. It always seemed exhausting to Sasha, but Tim didn’t really seem to have anymore real friends than she did lately. His personality was like an ocean, overwhelming and everywhere, but when his mood turned sour it was just as intense. Gulfs of pleasure, intense pain - it seemed exhausting, to feel so deeply. God knows Sasha didn’t. 

But today, in this group, she seemed to be novel. Maybe new fear avatars were a rare enough thing, or at least ones with Georgie’s seal of approval. They aimed a barrage of questions at her, and Sasha did her best to keep up with each one.

How did Sasha know Georgie? Mostly through a mutual enemy. Oh, fuckin’ Sims, right - you guys friends? No, I hate him. You guys fucking? Ew. Right, right, Sims is a giant prude - actually I heard that he doesn’t really - no, Jon decided a while back he doesn’t do that, and we all respect his decision - ew, though, nobody wants to imagine that. So why are you two friends? We’re roommates, mostly, I’m kinda on the run from the cops. Who’d you kill? Nobody. Who’d that old fucker Bouchard kill? Jurgen Leitner, mostly. 

“Cheers to that!” Julia said abruptly, raising her glass. “Hate that fucker.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Annabelle said, downing her own drink and what seemed like an improbable quantity of spiders. She leaned over the table to where Sasha had hastily been stuffed in, beetle-black eyes gleaming. “But really. What are you doing here?”

“As I said,” Sasha said uncomfortably, “I got framed for murder -”

But Annabelle just waved her hand. “No, no, we know that. I’m asking what are you doing here? With people like us, in a place like us? You’re just a sexy librarian. Your highest goal in life was owning your own cottage house one day. How’d you get wrapped up in the tangled web of our world?”

Sasha’s mouth ran dry, her head spinning in a way that didn’t really seem to have anything to do with the alcohol. How had she ended up like this? Who was to blame?”

“Jonathan Sims,” Sasha said dizzily. “He -”

“Didn’t know you Beholding types were in the process of lying to yourselves,” Annabelle said, casually yet brutally. “No, really.”

Sasha opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally, she said, “I guess I just asked all the wrong questions.”

It was a pretty way of dressing up the real answer: that Sasha didn’t know. 

Maybe her thoughts were obvious, because Georgie cooed sympathetically and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Cheer up, honey, it’s not so bad. Not everything happens for a reason. Sometimes it’s just your own rotten luck.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jude called, lifting her glass. “I love my fucking life. It’s hookers, coke, and blow from here to Scotland. The life of a woman with power’s a thousand times better than the life of a woman without, James.”

“What is with you people and hedonism,” Sasha muttered. 

“Why not?” Nikola asked, tilting her head strangely. “Life’s so short when it’s this long. It’s just bread and circuses, Archivist. We all need...entertainment.”

“Humans are always trying to make sense of it all,” Michael said arily. They were digging their fingers into the table, scoring long grooves in it. “When you know there’s no meaning, no purpose, then everything else just...falls away.”

Sasha didn’t know if she believed that, but she bit her tongue. Instead, she said, “What about those Avatars like Magnus or Raynor? They seem really...driven.”

Georgie giggled, light and airy, and leaned in. “That’s because they don’t know.”

She shouldn’t even ask. She shouldn’t - “Know what?”

Georgie smiled, sharp and wicked. “That there’s no point.”

And that was all she would say on that for the night: conversation after that devolved into parties, restaurants, drugs, and conquests. Maybe the women were right, in their own clearly demented way: that without death there was no meaning, when when there was no meaning only pleasure held any significance. If there was no afterlife, no reward or punishment - which Sasha didn’t believe, but they seemed to - then there was no reason not to do what you wanted. To have fun. To take revenge. 

If all Georgie wanted was to have fun, and if all Jon wanted was revenge, then what did Jonah Magnus want? Sasha didn’t know. She had the feeling that if she didn’t figure it out, she wasn’t going to live much longer. 

Why had Jonah Magnus done this to her? What was the point of framing her for murder? She couldn’t do her job like this. What’s the point? 

Half-drunk, head spinning, she found herself vocalizing this. Somehow, Annabelle Cane had ended up sitting next to her, letting spiders run along her slightly too long and too jointed fingers. Annabelle Cane just smiled at her, jaw slightly slacking open to expose teeth. 

“Maybe it’s just to fuck with you,” Annabelle posited. “Why not? Do you think he has another reason?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha groaned. “I don’t know anything. Everything’s confusing and terrible. I could never understand those psychopaths.”

“You won’t make it very far in this line of work if you never ask why,” Annabelle scolded. She paused a second, spider running thoughtfully across her eyeball. “But too many questions damns you just as effectively, I suppose. Hm. Jonah’s quite good, isn’t he.”

“Why me,” Sasha groaned. “Everyone’s trying to keep shit from me, it fuckin’ - it fuckin’ sucks, man. It sucks. Nobody would tell me what’s going on, but I don’t think anybody knows what’s going on. Not even Jonah, or Jon, or - or anyone. Nobody but me.”

Annabelle blinked at her, somewhat curiously, before leaning in. Her perfume lingered in the air, a heavy rosy scent. “Do you know something that Jonah doesn’t?”

“Yeah,” Sasha slurred, world fading in and out. “Jonah doesn’t know that Jon -”

Then the world faded into black, and Sasha fell asleep. 

If she had felt too old for this at the nightclub, she definitely felt too old for this hangover. Sasha spent twenty minutes crouched over a toilet bowl, reluctantly shoved the Eggs Benedict in her mouth that Georgie insisted was a hangover cure, somehow, and refused the Bloody Mary that Georgie also insisted was a hangover cure that her Mum used to feed her. The thought of Georgie’s Mum filled Sasha with a deep fear, incapable of imagining somebody who was both likely born in the 1800s and who had raised a hellion like Georgie. 

When Sasha mumbled this to Georgie, she didn’t look offended. She just smiled, strangely fond. “Oh, none of this is my Mum’s fault. She was a darling, her and my Da. My childhood was positively idyllic. All things considered, you know.”

Yes, Sasha thought, struggling to imagine 1910s London in her mind, idyllic. She took another look at Georgie, squinting slightly as her head throbbed. She definitely seemed younger physically than Jon, but Jon had a particular way of carrying age about him that had nothing to do with his appearance. “When did you stop aging?”

“I forget, honestly,” Georgie said airly, sipping her own bloody mary. For some reason, Sasha didn’t believe her. “It always takes a while to notice, you know. I suppose, logically, it would be about when I died the first time.”

That, more than anything, alarmed Sasha. “I thought you couldn’t die.”

“Not permanently,” Georgie said, as if this was somehow obvious. “Eat your eggs, they’ll get cold.” Sasha frantically shoved eggs in her mouth, desperate for the story. But Georgie just sighed and propped her chin on her hand, eyes distant. “You know how it is. Small town girl, grew up in North Birmingham, Alabama - back when it was just a tiny little thing, you know. I wanted to be a star. I always did. Scared of dyin’ in the dirt. If I was gonna die young, I wanted to do it where everybody knew my name. So long as they remember you, it’s no kind of death at all, really.” She sighed, lost in memory. “I could sing so good...so I went to Harlem, ‘cause all my friends and I always had dreams of going to Harlem and making it big singing in the jazz clubs. They didn’t get so far, staying at home with their babies, but I did. Wasn’t really made for babies and such, I think.” Something strange emerged in her words, the last vestiges of a Southern accent. “I was pretty, and I could sing, and I took to the spotlight like a duck to water. It was tough, but man - if it ain’t tough, it ain’t worth it. I worked so hard. Like I was working myself to death, almost.”

She trailed off, birds softly trilling outside, and Sasha was silent. 

Quietly, Georgie began speaking again. “Got into some trouble. You know how it is. I spent dozens of years wondering if it was my fault, if there was something I coulda done differently, zig instead of zag...but now, I don’t think so. Just my own rotten luck, you know. Put my trust in the wrong people. Had the wrong sentence whispered into my ear.” She shrugged listlessly. “Couldn’t handle the truth. Just another girl who couldn’t handle the limelight, that was what they said. But I was set up to fail. All those jazz clubs were ganger run, you couldn’t avoid it. Every girl in that golden age fell prey to those men, same as I did. I just wanted to feel again. Tried everything once, just to feel something.” She sighed, taking another drink. “Got shot. Got back up. I remember it, clear as day. Must have been 1923. I scrubbed the blood out of my show dress and went back on stage that night, cuz you can’t get a rep as a flake. They said, that day...that day was my best performance.”

She trailed off, Sasha finally alert. She wanted more details, almost desperately, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to risk putting the whammy on her host, even if she wasn’t sure that she could. If Georgie was being purposefully vague...well, Sasha wasn’t entitled to her pain. 

Instead, she said, “I bet you were good.”

Georgie smiled at her wanly, eyes far away. “I was the best.”

They sat in silence for a little while, eating their food, Sasha’s head ringing and mind buzzing. What about this picture was she not understanding? What was so important that she was missing?

Finally, Sasha carefully floated, “I bet you must have met Jon soon after.”

Georgie looked up from her bloody mary, surprised. “Oh, yes. Just a few months after. He must have caught the word on the wind, you know, of that singing girl who got back up after getting shot in the lungs.” She sighed, propping her chin on her hand again. “Saw him in the front row of my club. He was so handsome, and so finely dressed. But there had been something strange in his eyes, you know? Like little marbles, reflecting the lamps. He caught up to me afterwards, and I figured he was just another fan to squeeze dry, but he told me in his funny little accent I’d never heard before that he could help me.” She swallowed, looking away. “That he could help me understand what was happening to me. Why I was having those strange dreams, seeing those strange tendrils. I guess he was right. After I met him, I understood it all. Things moved fast after that.” She smiled weakly at Sasha. “I suppose you know the rest.”

She really didn’t, but Sasha understood the dismissal for what it was. “Yeah. Thanks for telling me all of that.”

“It’s no secret,” Georgie said dismissively. She smiled cunningly. “A hundred years later almost exactly, and what I did to those gangsters was still my finest work. They say that if you pass by an old building on St. Nicholas Avenue, you can still hear the screams. Anyway, I have a meeting with my land development company in an hour, must run, ta!”

On that distressing note Georgie swanned out the door, and Sasha was left alone with nothing but a stack of conspiracy theories, an opulent flat, and bad memories. 

Time seemed to move quickly, yet sluggishly, after that. After another day of writing down literally every Statement she could remember off the top of her head and trying to fit them into the weird and seemingly kind of arbitrary categories that Leitner had given her, she had hit a roadblock. She couldn’t remember any more Statements, she didn’t have access to them, and the ones she did remember she either already sorted or couldn’t dredge up enough memory of them to sort them in a satisfactory way. Either that, or the Statement itself was just incomprehensible - Sasha still didn’t know what the fuck was going on with Tessa’s problem. She tended to have a better memory of the ones that seemingly mentioned the Avatars in the background, just because it had been so startling to actually meet them - and a few even mentioned Jon, usually in context of Salasea or any Eye Statement. 

When Georgie came home that night, they watched another movie and they both studiously avoided mentioning anything supernatural. Best not to take work home with you, even if Sasha had never quite been good at that. 

The next day Sasha did what she should have done in the first place, and hacked into the Magnus Institute server. 

It was seriously, comically easy. Sasha had installed a backdoor connection to the desktop of her work computer from her laptop ages ago, and all she had to do was borrow one of Georgie’s laptops and redownload the program. With an easy virtual desktop she was already in. It was somehow satisfying to see all of her work programs pop up on the borrowed laptop, and it was almost a relief to access the Archive drive that connected all of their computers. More importantly, where they all put their research follow-ups and the spreadsheet that documented the debunked, uncertain, and verified statements. It had gotten to the point where if the statement refused to record on the computer they automatically put it on verified, but what Sasha really wanted from that spreadsheet was the one sentence description they had all put for each Statement. 

From there, it was much easier. Sasha, sick of the disorganized conspiracy theorist aesthetic, made her own spreadsheet and began categorizing the verified Statements that way. Much more reliable than working from memory. 

If only she could actually access the Statements...Sasha’s life would be so much easier if everything could be digitized. The debunked ones were typed up, filed, and recorded, but the verified ones only existed on paper. Couldn’t be typed up, couldn’t be recorded. It was so stupid. 

Sasha checked the clock. Eleven am on a Wednesday. They were definitely all still working. Maybe…

It was an invasion of privacy. Did she actually care about that? No. Was she worried about apparently being locked into an employment contract with an...entity of some sort that preyed on invasions of privacy? No, although she felt like she should. Was she concerned that Jon and Jonah were trying to turn into her a conduit of this entity’s power into the world, probably gradually turning her, if not evil, at least into a giant dick? Somewhat. 

Words echoed through her mind, and Sasha’s fingers halted over the keyboard. Her powers manifesting differently than Jon’s...her unique skill with hacking…

Well, that was just kind of offensive. Sasha had worked hard for her skills. They weren’t given to her by Jon’s weird god. Also - seriously, a god? It was just a malevolent eldritch entity living in a separate dimension that encroached tendrils into Sasha’s life. There was nothing divine about it. That was just offensive. Sasha was a good feminist, transgender Catholic on the run from the law and didn’t worship false idols. 

It was only then that Sasha noticed a folder on the drive that she hadn’t created. It was labelled ‘For the Archivist’. Despite herself, she clicked on it. 

It held a few pdfs. Sasha clicked on one curiously, and saw that they were photocopies of statements. No - of Statements. She was already recognizing this one as one of those spider ones. She quickly printed them all out, conscientious of how easily supernatural files corrupted, and quickly exited the drive and the virtual desktop.

It wasn’t until Sasha was already in the kitchen and pulling down a bottle of Jack that she realized what she was doing. She sighed, replaced it, and fetched herself some sparkling water instead. She drank it slowly as she returned to her laptop and logged remotely into the police database, which she already had a backdoor into. 

It occurred to Sasha, perhaps belatedly, that if the police found her laptop and the incredible variety of highly illegal programs meant explicitly for accessing secure servers she was probably triple going to jail. This time, for something she had actually did. 

All of the hacking had never felt illegal. It had just felt...well, fun and necessary. It had never been about whether or not she should, it had been about if she could. 

Was that how it had started for Jon? Collecting household secrets because he had to, so secure the money and influence he desperately needed, because he could, because it was fun? 

Whatever. Sasha shook herself. She could have her moral crisis after she was no longer on the run from the cops for murder. This wasn’t the time to be squeamish about something that wasn’t hurting anybody. She knew, as Jon probably did, that just because something was illegal didn’t make it wrong. 

It was easy to log onto the police database and check out her own open case. She frequently checked out open homicide cases for fun, but it somehow hit a little different when it was her they were talking about. Incident, Senior Citizen, Offence: First Degree Murder, Location of Arrest: N/A, yeah, yeah, yeah…

One victim, a John Doe. Foul play was suspected...yes that’d be the gunshot wound. No witnesses. Reporting officer’s narrative...Elias Bouchard and Jonathan Sims the Fifth had walked into Head Archivist Sasha James’ office to discuss work with her when they found the body. Both were shocked and called the police...gun found at the scene had her fingerprints and the ballistics matched...suspect still at large. Friends and family had been contacted, everyone denied knowledge of where she was. Suspect had a noted history of mental illness...great…

The officers dispatched had been Alice Tonner and Basira Hussein. Sasha found that strange: Basira had history with one of the witnesses and the suspect, wouldn’t it be unprofessional to send her out? 

There couldn’t be that many sectioned officers, Sasha reasoned. Even if the incident hadn’t officially been sectioned, because the police report still existed, as a general rule if something happened at the Magnus Institute it was sectioned until proven otherwise. Even if the murder itself was seemingly mundane. 

Out of curiosity, she searched up Detective Tonner’s records. Been on the force for a long time, worked her way up the ranks. Very, very few cases and incident reports for a detective who had been on the force as long as she had. Sectioned, obviously, but even Basira had more official cases than she did. When Sasha clicked on the incident reports, they were extremely spotty and strange. Obvious details were omitted or censored. 

Something cold began to creep down Sasha’s spine. She found the arrest records of the latest four people with official records of Detective Tonner arresting them. 

Almost all of them had entered custody with bruises, cuts, and in one case a broken limb. They all had records down as ‘resisting arrest’. Sasha felt sick. 

There was one case that stopped strangely short. A clear perp, a rapist but one with little evidence, who Tonner had quickly caught. That was where the case ended: the report that Tonner had found his hiding spot, but no arrest, no trial, no prison sentence. When Sasha investigated the perp, she found that he had unceremoniously vanished shortly after Tonner had reported that she had found his hiding spot. A month later, a death certificate had been filed. 

Sasha stared at the death certificate, nauseated. This was who she was dealing with. A vigilante, some batshit pig who had obviously decided that the law was best taken into her own hands. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, but...if anybody looked at Sasha’s case on paper, they’d say the same thing. 

And that was just the cases on record. It was the only obvious instance Sasha could see of Tonner having offed someone just because she felt like it, but cops were good at covering shit like that up. How many other arrest records had fallen in the cracks? How many other dead perps that nobody gave a shit about? How many sectioned cases? 

God, Sasha was fucked. 

She begged off hanging out with Georgie that night, instead staying in bed with the covers pulled tight over her head as if that could ever protect her. Why was Jonah doing this to her? What did he have to gain? If he wanted her to die a mysterious death in the bottom of a ditch, why wasn’t he man enough to do it himself?

Tonner was going to murder her, Sasha thought hysterically, and she was going to pat herself on the back for keeping another monster off the streets. 

And Jon knew. The fucking hypocrite. He wasn’t going to help her. Nobody was. But, god, she was so alone…

The next morning, as if she knew, Georgie slipped Sasha a burner phone over the breakfast table as they both robotically ate quiches. 

“It should be untraceable, but just know that anybody you call you’re putting at serious risk,” Georgie warned, before her expression softened. “This’ll all be over soon, honey. I promise.”

“Did Jonah tell you that?” Sasha asked bitterly. 

“Nah. I just know those two.” Georgie delicately ate a forkful of quiche. “They get bored of terrorizing humans pretty quickly. Now, Michael’s a different story. They’ll terrorize someone for decades. I’ve seen them do it!”

“Great,” Sasha said. 

It seemed to be at this point that Georgie realized she was actually making Sasha feel much worse, because a slightly panicked expression crossed her face and she quickly reached out to pat Sasha on the hand. “But I’m sure they won’t do that to you,” Georgie said quickly. “They love you! Jon especially. Jonah’s just on another of his little power trips right now, he’ll get over it. And Jon, like, feels really bad about this whole thing. He’s been super annoying about it, actually -”

“See,” Sasha said, standing up to clear away her dishes, “I would rather handle an enemy who obviously wants to kill me than a friend whose good side I always have to be careful to stay on, who I can’t afford to ever make mad. I guess that’s the only difference left between me and you people.”

She angrily put her dishes in the sink, where the housekeeper would do them, and stalked to what was rapidly becoming her room, slamming the door. 

Flopping down on the bed, she stared at the burner phone. Tim wouldn’t be at work yet. They could talk. They could - 

Do what? Get back together? Split up? Could he explain, beg for her forgiveness? Did she have to apologize too? Sasha didn’t understand. 

That was rare for her. She understood a lot of things, or at least she thought she did. Maybe she had been lying to herself, about everything: that her and Tim were a good idea, that Martin was sketchy,  that Jon was evil, that Jon was kind, that Georgie just wanted to help her, that there was nothing that Jonah Magnus would do to her, that she was safe and human and a good person. 

God, her capacity for self-delusion was ridiculous. But maybe people needed a little bit of self-delusion to survive. Nobody could live in complete honesty, in full sight of their flaws and shortcomings. You could burn away, living like that. 

No. No time or space for fear. Sasha wasn’t afraid of anything. If she kept telling herself that, maybe it would be true. She desperately punched in a number that she didn’t remember memorizing, holding the phone desperately to her ear, her one connection to humanity. 

It rung, and rung, and one, and Sasha’s heart thumped in her chest. 

Finally, the ringing stopped, and a slightly sleepy voice punctuated the dead air. “Hello?”

“Tim, it’s me,” Sasha burst out, everything she wanted to say to him rushing through her throat and choking her, and she burst into tears. 

Distantly, through the sound of her crying, she could hear Tim on the other side losing his shit, and eventually wrangling himself to calmness. 

It was almost funny, how they could work each other up like that. Eventually, by the time Sasha had managed to wrangle her own crying, Tim had calmed himself down enough that he was able to clumsily try to cheer her up. 

“We’re all fine. Everyone’s perfectly safe. Martin’s gotten, uh, even more annoying since you left, and we’ve technically hired Melanie, which is - not good but it’s funny? Are you still crying? Please don’t still be crying.”

“I’m fine,” Sasha hiccuped. She rubbed at her red eyes. God, she’d missed him. “Tim, what happened?”

The line was silent for a while. Finally, he said, “Is this line secure?”

“Uh - probably? I mean -” Sasha quickly checked herself. She didn’t want to mention Georgie. The less he knew the better. “ - it’s a burner, if that’s what you’re asking, and I’m not the one who bought it.”

“Where are you living?” Tim asked harshly. “Are you homeless? You have to come stay with me, I can -”

“You mean the first place Tonner will look?” Sasha shot back. “No. I’m safe, I’m dry, things are fine. That’s all you need to know.” She softened her voice. “I promise, if it was safe I’d tell you more. I want to see you again. Tim, I - I’m really sorry.”

Tim laughed hoarsely, without humor. “Shouldn’t it be me saying that? I’m the one who thought you were a monster.”

“...yeah, that one’s on you.” Sasha sighed miserably, lying down on her bed, wishing Tim was next to her. “I am, though. A monster, I mean. Tim, I - I’m definitely not entirely human anymore.”

“God, Sash, that’s the least of our problems right now,” Tim said, laughing slightly again. “Can you just tell me what happened? I know you didn’t fucking do it. That dick Bouchard keeps playing dumb and his shitlead lackey keeps on avoiding the Archives. I bet Sims killed that old man, right? He totally did. Martin keeps on saying that his precious Jon wouldn’t let you take the fall for something he did, but I’m not so sure.”

“I...it’s more complicated than that.”

Sasha explained in short order. For once, Tim was totally silent the entire time, letting Sasha dispassionately recite the entire sad story. She finished it at Michael helping her escape, not detailing where she had been dropped off. 

Finally, after a long silence, Tim said, “So this is my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Sasha said harshly. “You were manipulated, same as I was.”

“I’m the idiot who -”

“Yes, you were being an idiot. You should have talked to me, talked to anyone. You should have done anything other than your homicidal partner in crime. You definitely shouldn’t have been buying a fucking black market gun when I know for a fact you have no idea how to shoot. But you tried playing hero and you played straight into Magnus’ hands. You fucked up. Okay? Now let’s try to do better.”

More silence, until Tim sighed. “Can’t believe the Douche’s Jonah Magnus. Explains why Sims is always playing lackey for him. Can’t wait to spill to Martin how his boyfriend framed his boss for murder.”

Sasha chewed her lip, uncertain. She hadn’t shared the details of Jonah and Jon’s conversation too closely - it had seemed private. “See, I’m not sure this is...entirely Jon’s fault.”

Tim groaned. “Not you too! Why is everyone but me and Melanie a fucking Sims apologist?”

“Jon and Jonah are...they’re weird, okay?” Sasha moved to chewing her hair, uncertain of how to describe it. If it should even be described. It seemed so private, so unsuitable to name...but maybe everybody thinking that was how these things stayed perpetuated for so long. “I think Jonah’s kind of, you know, abusive?”

The line went silent again. 

“Wow,” Tim said finally, “Martin’s going to be so disappointed his boyfriend’s taken.”

“They’re just friends! I think. I’m like, ninety percent sure. But you didn’t hear them, Tim. They’re really...it’s messed up. Trust me.”

“Jesus, Sash, why are you defending someone who fucked all of us over like this? Sims is a big boy, he’s responsible for his own shitty decisions and the shitty company he keeps.” Tim snorted. “I’ve heard them talk, anyway. If anything, Magnus is the one always giving into Sims and his little tantrums. Jesus, I just want to throttle the both of them.”

“Maybe you need to get over your anger issues and focus on actually solving the problem for once,” Sasha snapped. “Nobody has time for your revenge fantasy, Tim! We need to fix all of this.”

“Which one is it, Sash?” Tim asked coldly. “Was I manipulated, or was it my anger issues and hero complex? Are you going to decide if this is my fault or not?”

Sasha’s heart stuttered in her chest. She didn’t know how to explain to him what she knew - that it was everything, that it was all of the above, that he was manipulated through his anger issues and hero complex, that Tim had been pushed in a direction but he had taken the steps all by himself. But she couldn’t blame him entirely, because Sasha had been manipulated the same way, and so had Jon and Martin and Georgie, and if she started thinking like that then she would have to start hating the whole damn world. 

“Tim, are we going to stay together?” Sasha whispered, broken-hearted. “Can we even still be together? I love you. I want you here with me. But there’s so much ugliness that’s growing between us. I don’t know if this can be fixed.”

A long silence again. Sasha wanted to be there with him, to read his face, to see what he was thinking. She had always understood him so well, or at least she thought that he did. 

“I love you too,” Tim said finally. “I want to fix this too. I - I don’t know, Sasha. I love you. The thought of you alone, in danger, and not even knowing where you are, is fucking me up. It’s like Danny all over again, Sasha, I can’t handle this. Can we have this conversation again when I know you’re safe?”

“Okay,” Sasha said, and she knew that this was probably the best both of them could do right now. “Are we staying together?”

“...I don’t know.”

“...are we breaking up?”

“...still don’t know.”

“Okay,” Sasha repeated again, and sighed. “I won’t call you from this phone twice. I’m doing the best I can here. I’m safe, I think. Things will be okay, Tim.”

“Sash,” Tim said, “I don’t remember the last time things were okay.”

And neither did she, and they both knew it, and she hung up on him without saying anything further. She lay on the bed, listening faintly to the sound of the housekeeper vacuuming, staring up at the fan as it beat in a steady rhythm on the ceiling. 

Was Tim right? Was she reading too much into Jon and Jonah? It wasn’t her job to fix Jon, to puzzle out his weird psychology. Maybe he was just an asshole without a spine,and there wasn’t anything more to that.

No. Sasha didn’t believe that. This was a puzzle that she hadn’t solved yet, and she had the feeling that at the heart of this puzzle was the key to finally keeping herself and Tim safe. She couldn’t abide a mystery, couldn’t trick herself into thinking that the truth wasn’t important. The truth was all Sasha had. She couldn’t close her eyes to it, that awful and ugly reality. 

Tim...he had been such a bad idea. But he had always been her favorite one: the way he could always cheer her up, his bright and bold smile, his courage and heart and sensitivity and vulnerability. He had loved her, truly and wholly, for who she was. He knew the ugly corners of her and loved them as much as he loved her best attributes. 

Was that still true? Was Sasha turning into a person that Tim just couldn’t love? Was Tim turning into someone that Sasha couldn’t love? 

People changed. Sometimes they changed apart. And for some strange reason, Sasha just couldn’t bear the thought of that. 

Lying on the bed of a grim reaper, crying like a broken-hearted teenager, Sasha didn’t notice that the housekeeper’s vacuum had stopped running. She didn’t notice the knock on the door, or the creak of the door opening, or the gentle rise and fall of voices. She only heard it when there was a soft knock at her own door, and she was forced to roll off the bed to open her bedroom door. 

Standing in front of her, looking nervous, was the housekeeper. Standing behind her was Jonathan Sims. 

He looked pretty bad, Sasha noted clinically. Eye bags, even more pronounced than usual, stood starkly under his eyes, and his hair wasn’t as cropped short and styled as it usually was. It had grown out a little, making Jon look more like a tired modern guy walking the streets of London than a centuries old immortal psychic vampire. He was still dressed in a suit, as he always was, but the suit jacket was off and his dress shirt was rolled up to the elbow.

He stared at Sasha, probably registering every minute change in her appearance as she did his, before glancing down at the housekeeper. “You’re excused for the day. Thank you for your time.”

He passed her something - probably neatly folded bills - and nodded at her as she shakily nodded back and escaped the flat as quickly as possible. Jon stepped backwards in the hallway, gesturing for her to come out, and walked back into the living room. Because Sasha was just slightly too prideful to barricade herself in the bedroom, and partly because she wasn’t sure that Jon wouldn’t break into a woman’s bedroom, she stepped out into the grandiose yet cluttered living room with him. He stood in the center, hands in his pockets, looking over the flat with a clinical eye. 

“Georgie’s sense of interior decoration is as immaculate as ever,” Jon noted clinically. “She used to spend months getting every house we ever lived in just right. Said it was her job as lady of the household. She had never been a lady of any household, of course, not in the way that Jonah and I had once known - but her fun’s important to her, and it doesn’t hurt anybody important.” He sniffed slightly. “You coming to stay here was for the best after all. She’s been lonely, I think.” 

“I’m staying here because I’m homeless,” Sasha said flatly. For the first time, she noticed a small manila envelope under his arm, tucked slightly into his back pocket. “Because of you.”

“I’ve kept your flat for you,” Jon said eagerly, stepping forward, and letting his cold mask fall. In him now was something eager, something almost pleading. Sasha forced herself not to step away. “All of your possessions are intact, and I can get your bank accounts unfrozen easily enough. Once all of this blows over, your life can be right back to normal.”

“Wow,” Sasha drawled, crossing her arms, “how kind. Were you so busy being this nice to me that you forgot that Georgie barred you from this flat because I don’t want to fucking look at you?”

“She’ll get over it,” Jon said dismissively. “She’s been wanting us to make up, anyhow.” He stepped closer again, fluorescent green eyes fixed on her large and warm brown ones, and Sasha fought the tingle crawling up her spine. “Sasha, I really am sorry. Jonah was out of line in what he did. But - but you know, he really does know best. Even if it doesn’t seem so. What we’re doing now, it’s for the best for your development. I promise this will all blow over soon, and things will be better. For all of us.”

“For a subject of a truth god,” Sasha said, voice dripping sarcasm, “you have a unique ability to lie to yourself.”

Jon puffed up, scowling down at her. “That’s ridiculous. I -”

“Does Jonah Magnus respect you?” Sasha pressed. 

Jon...hesitated, and they both saw it. Jon frantically tried to cover, quickly saying, “Of course he does. I’m his partner, and we’ve been partners for two hundred years. There’s nobody on earth he respects more than me. There’s nobody he respects but me.”

“Then why does he talk to you like you’re an idiot?”

“He talks to everyone like that.”

“Because he doesn’t respect anyone but you. You just said that. But if he respects you, then wouldn’t he talk to you differently?”

There it is - Jon’s shoulders hunched slightly, unconsciously on the defensive. “Does he give you equal input on decisions?”

“I always give my -”

“Does he listen to them?”

Jon was silent. Finally, slowly, he said, “Jonah was right. He said you’d get like this.”

Fuck. Sasha’s heart sank, even as her jaw dropped in incredulity. She had lost him. “You must be kidding.”

“He said you’d get jealous.” Jon crossed his arms, turning slightly away from her, but what he clearly meant to be a closed-off stance just seemed defensive. “He said that you’d get upset that I’m more loyal to him than to you. What we’re doing now is for your own good, Miss James. You’ll see one day that this - this unpleasantness is helping you grow.”

Unpleasantness? Unpleasantness?! Putting her life at risk was an inconvenience? “I’ll see, huh?” Sasha said bitterly. “Just like you saw? Just like how you changed your mind from this being cruel and traumatic to it being a momentary unpleasantness?” She barked a short laugh, not very humorous at all. “I was there. He called you stupid, he said that you couldn’t trust anybody but him, and he called you an idiot. Are those the words of someone who respects you? Of someone who even likes you?”

Jon stiffened, mouth tightening, and he broke eye contact and looked away. “Don’t concern yourself with the private business between Jonah and I.”

“When you’re having the conversation over a cooling corpse that you framed me for then you’re making it my business, you absolute shitheel!” Sasha yelled, finally losing her temper. “Your bullshit is ruining my life! Your complete inability to stand up to that sack of shit is ruining my life!”

“Shut up!” Jon yelled, seemingly having taken her losing her temper as permission to lose his. Distantly, Sasha was aware of his stupid this must have looked: two fully grown adults, yelling in a living room like children. “You’re a spoiled child who doesn’t know anything! All I’ve ever done is try to help you, and you spit in my face! You’re no better than Martin!”

Abruptly, strangely, Jon stopped short. He seemed almost embarrassed, almost in pain. 

And just like that, Sasha knew. “He’s not letting you see Martin, is he.”

For just a split second, Jon’s expression crumpled, but he forced it back into his haughty mask. “I decided that it was best I didn’t waste my time with manipulative traitors.”

“Was that your idea?” Sasha asked flatly, abruptly extremely tired. “Or was it Jonah’s?”

Jon was silent. They both knew the answer. 

“If you walked up to Jonah now and told him that you wanted to start dating Martin, do you think that you’d leave that conversation still wanting to do it? Or would you somehow decide, all by yourself, that you’ll end up doing what Jonah wants anyway?”

Jon didn’t say anything.

A strange mix of emotions swirled in Sasha’s stomach. Anger and disgust mixed with pity and sadness. What had Jon been like, before he met Jonah Magnus? Had he been a good person?

But maybe that wasn’t so important. Maybe the question that had to be asked was - what kind of person would Jonathan Sims be without Jonah Magnus in his life?

All at once, the fight seemed to go out of Jon. His shoulders sagged, and he abruptly deflated. He looked down at the ground, ashamed and aware of it. He had always been aware of it. He had just been lying to himself. Maybe it was impossible to live without it. 

“I don’t know what to do without him,” Jon said quietly. “I’ve never - I need him.”

“You don’t,” Sasha said, abruptly exhausted. “You want to help me, Jon? You want to protect me and Martin? You can’t do that while staying friends with Jonah Magnus. You have to choose. So long as you stay close to him, you are going to stay within his complete control. That’s what he does. He controls everybody and everything. And you’re letting him. You’re justifying it. You’re doing his work for him. Everybody around him is - even Georgie. There are two people in your life who are trying to get you away from him, and he’s trying to convince you to cut them out of your life. You think that’s a coincidence?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed it. Weakly, he said, “You’re wrong.”

“I need your help, Jon,” Sasha whispered, and to her shame found her voice cracking. “I need someone on my side. I can do it alone, but - but I’m scared. And I don’t want to. I need help. I’m scared.”

But she knew, even as she said it, that Jon was scared too. He couldn’t reach out a hand to her - not now, not here. Jon had carried around his fear for hundreds of years, pushing it down and pretending it wasn’t there, and it informed everything he’d ever done. Scrambling for power, exerting that power, desperately dominating even as he was dominated - it stemmed from that fear, all of it. And Jonah Magnus kept those flames fanned, because a Jon who was afraid was a Jon who could be controlled. 

A Sasha who was afraid, who was isolated, who was trapped, was one who could be controlled. 

The realization was dizzying. Somehow, the thought that kept running through her mind was - who’d do that? Who was such a terrible person that they’d go through all that trouble, all of that plotting, just to make someone suffer? Not because they disliked them, not in revenge, not because of any human emotion - but just because it was convenient? Useful?

Because you could?

So this was what power did to a person, Sasha realized. So this was what power and immortality and money and supernatural gifts did to you. It made you someone who Sasha could never hope to understand, whose depths of depravity she could never truly rationalize. To Sasha, who prided herself on knowing people and being able to understand them and their motives - it was almost a relief, almost a blessing, that she couldn’t possibly understand the motives of Jonah Magnus at all. 

Jon stared at her, fluorescent green eyes wide, and for just a minute she could see the fear that she knew was there written all over his face. For just a minute, Sasha and Jon were scared together, both trapped in tumultuous waters that they couldn’t control. For the first time Sasha empathized with Jon. 

Jonah Magnus was somebody that Sasha could never understand. But Jon was, and for the first time Sasha knew what Martin meant when he said that he felt as if Jon had been a good person, a long time ago. 

You can’t understand someone and hate them. Not really. You could be angry, upset, betrayed...but if you really understood someone, backwards and forwards, true hate was difficult to find. 

“I have to go,” Jon said, almost dizzily. He shoved the manila folder at her, both of them having forgotten that it was even there in the first place. He glanced at it, frightened and guilty. “Be - be careful when meeting Jude Perry. Don’t take her at her word. I have to go.”

He fled, as if the hounds of hell themselves were snapping at his heels, and Sasha was left standing in an opulent hallway, clutching a manila folder as if it was a time bomb, completely certain that it was meant to hurt her and cause her pain and damage her, completely certain that she was going to read it anyway. 

Like Jon - what choice did she have? 

But as she stumbled back to her room, as she sat down on the comfortable chair and thumbed on the tape recorder that sat at the desk, the words of Jonathan Sims ran through her mind. His warning. A clumsy attempt at protection. At the very least, a signifier of desire. 

Sasha knew, as she sometimes knew things, that Jon had started out somebody who deeply desired to protect others like him. To take revenge, to grab power, yes, but also to spread that precious knowledge and resources around. He had never stopped thinking of himself as one of those vulnerable people, people who society had stepped on and ground into the dirt. Deep down he had just wanted things to be fair, wanted some justice in the world. Jon, at one point, had only wanted to help. 

Maybe she wasn’t so alone after all. 

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist…”

[chaeryybomb]

stray kids as anime boys: bang chan [part 1] [part 2]

✎ᝰ┆bang chan as the sports captain

(feat. stray kids && some of the 97liners)

listen

this is the only role I am 100% convince chan will be in an anime

u can't change my mind ᕦ(ò_ó)ᕤ

S O let's get into it

what sports captain is he??

the question should be what sports captain is he not 

d-does that make sense?? HDHS U GET WHAT I MEAN

look chan is build™ with muscles (and brains) he's gonna use those muscles

for s p o r t s

"chan u can't join all the sports club"

“watch me felix”

ya boi tried out for every sports club available in school and he got into to every one of them

THANKFULLY felix made him reject some(most) of them bc chan already doesn't sleep enough

everyone say thank u felix

so chan is in the volleyball and basketball club

and he's the volleyball captain!!!

chan is the secret weapon lemme tell u that

his spikes?? they can BREAK A WALL

so if u see chan practicing spikes pls be careful

avoid him

avoid the gym in general

unless ur asking for a concussion SKSKS

no joke there's a dent in one of the gym's wall bc he spiked too hard

his excuse was "bambam ur supposed to block it!"

"I WAS TRYING NOT TO DIE CHRISTOPHER!!!"

so how does that apply to u dear reader

well, ur not a huge sports fan

u rather stay at home and watch netflix than go under that cursed fireball u call a sun

but yk who is a huge sports fan???

ur best friends chaeyeon and lisa!

well technically bc chaeyeon is dating jaehyun who's also on the volleyball team

and lisa swears she doesn't but obviously she's there to look at jungkook

"y/n! there's a game after school today, and you're coming with us to watch it"

"just admit u wanna look at jungkook and go"

"WITH WHAT PROOF????"

"WITH THOSE HEART EYES LALISA"

"HHHHHHH CHAEYEON, Y/N IS BULLYING ME AGAIN"

Σ(°ロ°) "WHAT DO U MEAN AGAIN??? WHO WAS THE ONE WHO PUT CHILLI PEPPERS IN MY SANDWICH HUHH LISA WHOOOO—"

mama chaeyeon saves the day, "alright children no more fighting" 

"SHE STARTED IT FIRST!"

"FIGHT ME LISA" (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ

in the spongebob narrative voice 2 hours later

u find urself in sandwiched between chaeyeon and lisa, sitting on one of the gym's bleachers

chan and the boys are down there warming up

and u can't help but drift ur gaze to a certain (crispy)blond hair boy, who's stretching at the moment

maybe u were starting too long, but lisa nudges ur elbow with a sly smirk

"ohohoho y/n, what do u see??"

u shove her elbow away and glare at her, "ur about to see my fists in a minute"

the entire game ur gaze was set on chan and u don't even know why

jokes on u reader, it was the anime magic kicking in

up until the second half of the game, u had the sudden need to go to the bathroom and who are u to deny ur bladder dhhshd

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you tell lisa and stood up to squeeze ur way out of the bleachers

ur earbuds almost burst due to all the screaming dhshhd

but hey! u successfully made it to the end

＼（＠￣∇￣＠）／

u make ur way towards the exit when u hear lisa and chaeyeon scream your name

and suddenly the world went black

y/n?? y/n??? oh my god she fuckin dead

maybe u regain conscious for a few seconds bc the last thing u remembered was a pair of feet running and the scent of someone's sweat mixed with cologne

yk the typical anime shit dhsjdjs

when u wake up, ur laying down a bed and ur in a room where u don't recognise

"holy shit y/n, you're awake! lisa go get the nurse!" chaeyeon exclaims from beside you and you hear the door close

you squint your eyes, trying to adjust from the bright light

chaeyeon's face comes into view and she has a worried expression on

"w-what happened?? where am I??" you ask she helps you sit up on the bed

"you're in the nurse's office!"

"why,,, am I in the nurse's office?" you furrow your eyebrows at chaeyeon

"well you see—"

the door slams open to reveal lisa and the nurse

"oh good, y/n you're awake," the nurse smiles at you

she walks toward you and gently grabs your chin with her gloved hand to examine your face

"fortunately nothing is broken but that's gonna leave a bruise on your forehead for a while, you took quite a hit."

"a hit???" u furrow ur eyebrows even deeper if you could sjdjsk

"yeah! you got hit by a volleyball!! you should've seen what happened, the ball went flying like WOOOSH at you and BAM u were knocked out!!" lisa explains with many hand gestures

"it was a good thing that chan boy carried you here, you were out cold," the nurse adds.

wait

Σ(゜゜) c-chan???

CHAN CARRIED YOU HERE???

u don't even notice your face starts to heat up until the nurse looks at you with concern again

she places her hand against ur forehead and says, "oh my, you're heating up, I think you got a fever coming—"

"no! no, I'm completely fine!" you reassure the nurse

you bring your hands up to your cheeks and rub it harshly and slap it a few times in hopes the redness will go away

HAH SIKE UR BLOOD SAYS NO

the nurse let's you stay in the office for awhile, thank god school was already over

lisa and chaeyeon, like the best friends they were, stayed with u and walked u back home

the next morning when u wake up—

━Σ(ﾟДﾟ|||)━

HOLY SHIT THE NURSE WAS NOT KIDDING WHEN SHE SAID IT WAS GONNA LEAVE A BRUISE

THERE'S A HUGE ASS BUMP ON THE MIDDLE OF YOUR FOREHEAD

WHAT THE FUCK

HOW THE FUCK ARE U GONNA COVER THAT UP

U ARE THIS )( CLOSE IN CUTTING UR BANGS AT 7 IN THE MORNING JUST TO COVER UR FOREHEAD* U WOULD'VE IF UR BRAT OF A BROTHER DIDN'T KNOCK ON THE DOOR

"y/n hurry up you're gonna make us late!!"

"SHUT UP HYUNJIN I'M HAVING A MID LIFE CRISIS AT THE MOMENT"

"YOU CAN HAVE IT IN THE CAR"

in all honesty u should be thanking hyunjin for saving u from the future regrets

otw out of the bathroom u curse at hyunjin, who sticks his tongue out in return, and grab one of ur beanies from ur dresser and slip it on

"why the fuck are you wearing a beanie in the middle of summer??"

"it's called fashion hyunjin, look it up"

(hyunjin, snorting) "please, we all know I'm the fashionable one in this family"

so yes, u walk into school with a beanie on ur head, in the middle of summer

it definitely caught weird looks from people because again, why the fuck are you wearing a beanie in this heat???

it's equivalent to having a "I'm stupid" sign taped on ur forehead

u walk into class, already tired from everything and everyone and first period hasn't even started yet!

what a mood

chaeyeon looks at you weirdly and opens her mouth to ask but you stop her

"don't. a lot of people already asked," you groaned, pointing at the black beanie on your head, specifically the spot where u got hit at

chaeyeon looks at you with sympathy and pats your head

when lunch rolls on, lisa basically slams into ur classroom

"why are u wearing a beanie??"

"because I can and it's a free country!!!" u snap at her

"geez fine," lisa puts her hands up

(lisa, mumbling under her breath) "someone woke up from the wrong side of bed today"

"HEY I HEARD THA—"

"OKAAAAY let's go I wanna get pizza bread before it's gone," chaeyeon interrupts aka stopping another fight from happening by hooking her arms through yours and lisa’s* (¬､¬) hnnggg u win today jung chaeyeon

u turn to walk out of the door when u stop in your footsteps

to see the PERSON WHO CAUSE UR FOREHEAD BUMP BRENDA

YES U NAMED IT BRENDA IN THE CAR

IF SHE'S GONNA STAY ON UR FOREHEAD FOR A WHILE

AT LEAST SHE SHOULD HAVE A NAME

AND SHE'S NOT EVEN PAYING RENT

y/n's forehead:

brenda the bump: it's a free real estate

anyways

the three of u stop and stare at chan

like hullo, why u here???

chan coughs awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck. "um, can I speak with y/n?"

chaeyeon and lisa exchange a look and shrugs, "yeah sure," they say and pushes u out of the door

and u stumbled into his arms

again, the anime shit™ working its magic

u immediately push urself off chan and clasp ur hands behind ur back while chan takes a few steps back

"so,,," you start

"oh right! uh, I'm sorry for yesterday, hitting u with the ball and everything"

"oh! it's fine, it really is!" you assure him

"no, it's not! lemme treat you to lunch, it's the least I can do," chan says

"nononono you really don't have to!" you shake ur head at him

"please!" he begs, "I hurt you and I should do something for you"

"n—"

"JUST SAY YES" lisa yells from across the hall

you whip ur head towards her direction and flip her the bird

chaeyeon mouths an apology and drags lisa away, but her laughter rings through the empty hallway

you turn back to chan who's looking at you with pleading eyes

"pleaseee" (´･ᴗ･`)

GOD HE'S ADORABLE

"fine!"

"YAY"

"but!" u wag ur finger at him, "ur only allowed to buy me chocolate milk"

"yes!!" he cheers and drags u off to the school's convenience store to buy you a bottle of chocolate milk

u thought he was gonna get u the cheap one but nO

HE GETS U THE EXPENSIVE ONE

THE ONE THAT COSTS LIKE 3 DOLLARS

FIRST OF ALL, CHOCOLATE MILK SHOULD NOT BE THAT EXPENSIVE

FUCK CAPITALISM

secondly, if u thought this was a one time thing

hAH READER YOU ARE SO SO SO WRONG

it soon becomes a regular thing and every morning, there is a chocolate milk on ur desk with a cute stick it note saying "good morning ♡´･ᴗ･`♡"

GAH UR HEART

and everyday after school, chan walks up to u and ask "hey y/n! did u get the chocolate milk?"

and he will pout if u show him the untouched bottle of milk

so u make sure that u drink it during lunch where he can see u drinking it

and it makes his insides all mushy and squishy

and that escalates to him waiting by ur locker every morning!!

he waits for u by ur locker and when u walk in

he fucking beams at you

the sun who??? u only know a bang chan

he hands u the chocolate milk and greets u

"good morning, y/n!"

and ur hearts does it usual schedule bang-chan-caused-flips

AND THAT ESCALATES TO U GOING TO HIS GAMES

"I thought u hated these things??"

"well I do but chan asked me to come so—"

(lisa, wiggling her eyebrows) "oh chan huh"

"hdshhdshutup"

so here u are again, sandwiched in between lisa and chaeyeon

o wow ur feeling a sense of deja vu

chan spots u in the crowd and runs over to u

"try not to get hit by any balls this time," he grins as he ruffles ur hair

"friendly reminder, I got hit by a ball from you," u retort and smack his hand away

"YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN'T BRING THAT UP ANYMORE"

"I CROSSED MY FINGERS BITCH"

the coach whistles for chan to get into place and u grab onto his arm, shocking both of u

o wow u got bold moves there reader

"uh, good luck out there," u smile at him

chan's heart doubles over in LOVE and smiles back at you "thanks!"

he runs back to the team, who are all looking at him with a sly look

"so when are u gonna ask y/n out?"

"i'll purposely aim the ball at ur head mingyu"

tbh u don't even know much about volleyball and all u see are balls being hit back and forth

im writing the match based on what I've seen my school's team done and it may be inaccurate pls correct me

sometimes u involuntary wince when u see chan spikes and the ball bounces off the floor bc the other team failed to block it

u pity the floor

it's the last match and both teams are tied

chaeyeon is gripping onto ur arm for dear life bc out of the three of you, she's the only who understands the most about volleyball

both teams are fairly powerful

they have a really strong setter aka lee hyunjae

boy may not look like it but he's strong!!!

the coach whistles and jaehyun serves the ball

jacob from the other team returns the ball and it goes flying across the net

in a blink of an eye, chan yells "mine!" and he spikes the ball with force* hyunjae rushes to block it but misses by a milimetre and the ball bounces off the floor

the entire gymnasium erupts into cheers

and u are pulled up from ur seat by a screaming chaeyeon

they won???

OH MY GOD THEY WON DJSJDJ

chaeyeon runs down to congratulate her boyfriend and u follow in suit

but u run straight into chan's arms to hug him

"congrats!" u squeal as he lifts u off the ground and spins u around

when he sets u down, the both of u finally realizes the position ur in and back away from each other awkwardly

"ahaha,,, congratulations!!" u tell him

chan grins at u "what can I say, ur my lucky charm"

ur cheeks start to heat up again and chan laughs

the rest of the team comes over to drag chan to the changing room, leaving u alone with lisa and chaeyeon

once the boys disappear behind the doors, the two girls turn around to look at u

"what was that???" lisa asks, referring to the hug between u and chan, as she whacks ur arm

she tryna whack the answer out of u HDHS

"STOP HITTING ME WOMAN THAT HURTS!!!"

"NOT UNTIL U TELL ME WHAT WAS THAT BETWEEN U AND BANG CHAN, Y/N"

"it was a hug! nothing more!" u say, more like ur trying to convince it was nothing more

"that was not just a hug," lisa mimics ur voice "that was one of those couples hug chaeyeon and jaehyun does!"

(chaeyeon, pipping up from the side) "she's right!"

"he totally likes you!" lisa smirks at u

 "no he does not!"

"uh yes, he does! jaehyun says so!" chaeyeon says in a matter-of-fact tone

"and you—" lisa points her index finger at u "—like him too!"

"WITH WHAT PROOF???"

"WITH THOSE HEART EYES HWANG Y/N"

before u can continue bicker and PROVE THAT U DO NOT LIKE BANG CHAN

jaehyun comes into view and says "hey y/n, chan is waiting for u outside, he has something to tell u"

[ part 2 ]

[dearaliceliddel]

CHARACTER STUDY

— basics.

▸ is your muse tall / short / average ?

Alice is short average, standing at 5′5″

▸ are they okay with their height ?

Considering Wonderland, the height of things always so skewed, Alice doesn’t think much of her height often. But being short has proven to be quite useful at surviving and fighting. But trying to not be looked down upon or people assuming she’s too weak? Hm. Irritating.

▸ what’s their hair like ?

Long and soft, smooth to the touch. Alice has thick hair but where it was once wavy, it’s now straight for her own peace of mind, its own weight pulling it straighter. Dark brown, very nearly black in the right light.

▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair / grooming ?

Not often, as Alice doesn’t really style her hair unless she is left with no choice. Cleaning and bathing of course takes time, but otherwise it’s merely brushed out and handled to not be a wreck. If she has to, pulling it back into a pony tail or braid can happen on the rare occasion. Otherwise it is flowing free.

▸ does your muse care about their appearance / what others think ?

Considering Alice’s state in her appearances, she is more for comfort and self identity over being fancy. Her bigger worry is surviving and her personal feeling. Yet she is still a proper young lady, and knows how to look nice when she needs to. Alice’s sense of style has always been there, it is merely on a more comfortable level. Her dresses are a combination of utility and appearance.

— preferences.

▸ indoors or outdoors ?

Both. Being outdoors has always held a source of adventure for Alice alongside her imagination. But as the years went on and the trauma, torment, madness, and suffering sank in, she figured out how to enjoy being indoors just as much. She can acclimate to whatever may need.

▸ rain or sunshine ? 

Sunshine is much preferred, as the rain can bring such sad feelings. The sun brings warmth and hope, memories of better years. But one can not deny sitting inside, with a nice warm cup of tea while hearing the rain falling on a roof or against windows.

▸ forest or beach ?

The Forest hands down. Reminds Alice of her home in Oxford, and the estate that had the forest around it, where she would run around so easily. And first found the rabbit hole. While a beach can be fun, there is something about sprawling forests that has her at ease. 

▸ precious metals or gems ? 

Metal’s has many more uses than gems can have, as gorgeous as gems can be. Yet at the same time one can’t deny the chances of a rare stone of some sort being useful in a certain moment. So, I’m going to say both but metal leaning.

▸ flowers or perfumes ?

Flowers. Such things remind Alice of her younger days and gardens. Perfumes can sometimes smell like the same flowers she remembers as a child, and she does enjoy them if needed, but there’s always more enjoyment of the real thing.

▸ personality or appearance ?

Personality. While an appearance can be a bonus, Alice much prefers someone personality and who they truly are deep down and under whatever facade or surface level showing that is given for general public. The personality and personal quirks or ticks are more revealing of ones true self.

▸ being alone or being in a crowd ? 

Alone. Sometimes being in a crowd can be stressful, and bring a headache, especially if she is forced to be touching people as her trigger. Being alone has been forcefully ingrained into her by the torments of her life. But if she is comfortable with some friends, enough so to be considered a group, she does not mind being in the proverbial crowd with someone she knows has her back.

▸ order or anarchy ? 

Order and Anarchy mean nothing if the world is careening wildly on the jagged edge of reality. Alice has seen the best and worst of everything in equal measure, and knows the disgusting truths she wishes she could forget. But if she had to choose, a mix of both. Anarchy is merely chaos with a direction, and order is organized madness.

▸ painful truths or white lies ?

This is another Both situation. Alice is very much driven to discover the truth of situations if she has to do so, find facts, considering how many were hid from her and used against her in lies. But she also understands the need for lies to protect others or herself.

▸ science or magic ?

Magic is merely Science others don’t understand, as Alice has been told before. But she accepts both in equal measure, and loves to learn more.

▸ peace or conflict ?

Alice craves peace for once, even for a short time. Able to sit, rest, be at ease for once, with no fear or sadness. Able to sleep for once without fear, or feel like nothing is wrong. But that is a fleeting notion as she understands conflict shall always come in any form, and sometimes she will cause it if she has to.

▸ night or day ?

Night or Day can bring good and bad moments. Hiding in the dark can only protect you so much, while the daylight does not chase away cruelty. Alice accepts both with how little she sleeps and refuses to do so actively. But she enjoys the warmth of daylight.

▸ dusk or dawn ?

Dawn brings a new day. Watching a sunrise can be quite enjoyable. But she will always ever enjoy the beauty of a sunset and how it paints the skies and horizon like a work of art.

▸ warmth or cold ?

Considering how sensitive Alice is to temperature and the shifts in the air of such things, she prefers warmth. Easily cold thanks to the damage of her body from severe burns and fire. Yet the cold does not stop her and she can force herself through as unpleasant as it is.

▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends ?

Alice prefers to have just a few close friends, and yet she has acquired many acquaintances. A bit of both ever present in her life. She’s worried of opening up to people and accepting them closer as Alice has a habit of loosing those she cares about. But if you earn her friendship and to be close enough for her to be comfortable with you? Then you earned a fiercely loyal friend that will kill for you.

▸ reading or playing a game ?

Books have ALWAYS been a treasure for Alice, even more so being alone. It allows her to feel free and in another world for a while, imagination running wild without worry. And on top of that, she can learn so much from new studies or thick tomes. Her brain craves learning and teasers, alongside fantasy. Reality has so much of her attention already, she sometimes needs an escape. But a game? Now those will still have her highly interested. But its harder to play games alone.

— questionnaire.

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits ?

Refusing to sleep, unable to do so and staying up for extended periods. Eating exceedingly rarely and only enough to be functional and not starve, but still has water and drinks tea commonly. Taking on danger without any fear for herself, and not thinking twice of injuries she may take. Self destruction and self harm. Blaming herself for much at times. Withdrawal and refusing to open up to others without being convinced to do so. Sometimes spiking her tea with a strong alcohol. Using hookah at times, a habit picked up from Caterpillar. Having wonderful advice to give others but often not taking it herself. And as always, Alice’s impossible curiosity.

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them ? how has it affected them ?

Almost everyone. Alice lost her family in a fire that was started to cover up the murder and r*p* of her sister. Lost her Wonderland into Madness and even herself. Tormented and tortured in an Asylum for ten years of her life, with almost no real help. Lost her rabbit, her cat, her life, home, everything. Then was nearly broken by the very man that took it all away. So she killed that man in poetic justice so he could never harm anyone else. These moments have changed and hardened Alice through most of her life. Having made it hard to accept others into her life closely, always keeping people at arms length, but also willing to put in her all to help others get a better life than she had, or to try and help them have some sense of sanity. She fears physical contact due too the abuse she had and torments, scared of anything doing that again, even more so after what happened with her sister.

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has ?

There is so very few after the age of 8. But before that? Alice remembers fondly how her Father would help so many less fortunate kids or families, to give them a chance to learn, help them with food or clothes. And how Father would take her and her sister out for adventures in the city. Mother being a doctor and taking time at home to teach her daughters at home anything she could. The family dinners, the way they were always such a giving family, despite being so rich and well off. Alice’s older sister Lizzie always encouraging her to be herself, so open and loving. Then there was Wonderland before she fell apart. How she misses her friends even now. Nothing left but pain and heartache, as Alice strives to make better memories in her life.

▸ is it easy for your muse to kill ?

That depends on the person and situation. Alice has stepped across the threshold for murder and killing a long time ago, both in Wonderland and in Reality. Blood and gore are no problem. But if it is someone innocent, or a friend, anything like that? She won’t be able to kill. Injure and disable for their own safety yes, or just defend herself, but not kill. If it was someone that truly deserved it? Absolutely. 

▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down ?

An emotional roller coaster. Alice tries to keep her emotions kept under control, to think as logically as she can after all her experiences. But she has always felt so very deeply, more than many people, and it does not always work. She gets so angry when she gets sad, frustrated at herself for breaking down and upset she’s broken so. But her tears are always so heavy because she tries to keep it all contained. She would only cry harder if she had someone there to let her cry on and have support of. 

▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life ?

It is so very rare. But yes, Alice is capable of this. Although she is usually in the position of front liner and protector, as she has been forced to become with no choice. 

▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love ?

Considering how rare it is for Alice, she would be unaware of it at first. Just simply instinct driving her to be closer to the individual that has won her trust and affection. But after she starts to understand it, she will try her best to deny and bury those feelings down. Refusing to ruin a friendship or endanger anyone else. But once she loves someone, Alice loves with all her heart and can be quite a warm person and passionate.

*

Tagged by: @fatherdamned (thank you so much)

Tagging: @nerv0usm3chanic (lucan), @punsandfuturekingsmen @bluescarfvivi @heartsdefine , @trollamulet​, @maiolica-admirer​, @reanimatedmuses​ (Jack)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Disaster Lads, Part Two: The Flirtening

The second part of my AU collab with @whumpiary, Cass (Ace) and Kauri meet, and inevitable disaster ensues. Read Part One right here for context! This is part two, where shameless flirting is on the menu when Cass and Kauri head off to eat.

Things get, uh, spicy starting in Part Three. But I highly recommend you all reading Kauri just fail at flirting when he’s not using his training here...

CW: Shameless PG-13 flirting, discussion of past noncon/dubcon, discussion of an abusive relationship from the point of view of a survivor with fucky headspace, referenced consensual spice, discussed abusive relationship with INCREDIBLY dubious consent issues

Kauri pulls down on the stretched-out neckline of his shirt, and even in the dim alley, a bit of a large, twisted scar shows over his collarbone. 

"He paid a lot of money for, for me. I wasn't supposed to be able to leave. I took out the thing he put in to control me."

“Holy shit dude,” Cass breathes, fingers ghosting over the glossy pink of the scar tissue. He barks a sharp laugh of disbelief, looking back up to Kauri’s face like he’s something close to holy. He raises the hem of his own shirt, runs his thumb over the scar along his ribs. At least that particular excavation had been a success. “Snap.”

Cass grins, craning his neck to look closer at Kauri’s scar. He doesn’t even know Kauri, but looking at the mangled skin along his collarbone he feels something close to pride. 

“So, what? You cut out a tracker or something and then, what? You just… you just walked away?” he says. He can barely breathe with the thrill of that. This skittish, weedy little twink had more courage in his clavicle than Cass had in his whole body.  He’d dreamed about leaving Christopher so many times. He’s thought about leaving the Facility too. Of course he did. Everyone did. But you couldn’t just leave. “Weren’t you scared?”

"N-no, I ran away with it still… in me." Kauri grins, not quite nervous at the touch to his scar - he actually feels a little flutter of pride in himself, something Nat is always telling him he's allowed to have. That what he did was hard, especially for one like him. 

He can't quite hide his eyes lingering a little on Cass's scar. 

"It was, um…" He gives a kind of carefree smile, maybe the fakest one yet, and tries not to let himself think too hard about the rage and the pain. "A… like a shock collar. In my… skin." He flushes, looking down. "I fucked up really badly, and he just-... But, no. It wasn't because I… anyway, I ran away with it still in. I had to cut it out later because he wouldn't… stop…" He trails off, eyes sliding away, back down the way they'd come, looking ashamed of himself more than anything. 

He wouldn't stop because I ran away, I left him, I was all he had and I betrayed-

"He put up the reward after that."

Cass feels his heart sinking as Kauri talks. The long, hard nosedive Kauri takes from pride to shame is palpable. Visceral. It sits in Cass’ chest like a hunk of rock and he would do fucking anything to shift it. 

“I’m sorry,” Cass says, voice rasped. He can barely even look at Kauri. There is so much fucking guilt. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Cass stares at the zipper of Kauri’s oversized sweatshirt so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. He wonders for a moment if maybe he should kiss him again. Easy distraction. Bit of fun. But the line of panic that has spiked up again, talking about his past. About his… owner. Cass pushes the impulse away, gives Kauri’s knee a friendly nudge instead. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“But hey, at least you got away, right?” Yeah, and ended up homeless for his efforts. He’s really livin’ the dream.  “Now that sadistic fuck can die lonely.”

"I hope not," Kauri says, softly. "He was lonely, that's what I was for. I was supposed to fix it but I kept fucking it up." He catches this before it can go too far, too, and pushes himself away, as if trying to escape the thought. The spiral of guilt that ate him alive sometimes, the knowledge that him leaving was ruining Owen's life. It's his fault, because he couldn't take everything he was given. 

He hadn't been good enough at loving him. And he wasn't a good enough pet to go home. 

He wants to go home, back to Owen, so badly it hurts. Curl up in his lap and say he was sorry, he wouldn't ever leave again. Let his head be tipped back and be reminded that Owen might not love him but he wants him, which means he matters. And he wants to never ever do that, both at once. Is pretty sure Owen would kill him if he did.

He just has to find other people who want him instead, to fill that space. 

Kauri digs into his pockets, rummaging around until he finds a handful of bills all crumpled up. "Come on. I fucked up your night, I might as well buy you some fries or something? I mean, if you want. There's a place open all night near here, they like me, I can probably get you a milkshake for free."

Cass tries his best not to stare too pityingly at the woeful amount of cash in Kauri’s hand. 

“Yeah. Alright. Why not?” he decides all at once, pushing up from the ground “But either you get it for free or it’s on me. I definitely owe you one for the shiner.”

“I can buy you fries,” Kauri says almost dryly, although he stuffs the money back in his pockets quickly enough. It hadn’t been the best panhandling day, but he’d been in one of his slow spots and kind of expected it. But he wasn’t the only ex-pet wandering the streets begging for cash, and they tended to trade off areas to make sure everyone got an equal shot at the people who were more likely to give a little more.

As Cass stands, he feels the world slide backwards away from him at the weight of Kauri's wants come crashing down over him; booming echoes of regret and guilt and fear that go on further and deeper than any of the words he'd said aloud. 

There are people in the world who keep their thoughts inwards. Their desires are still there and ready to be listened to but it's almost like background music, a hushed murmur like a conversation in a library. And then there are people like Kauri, full of aching and wounds and messy thoughts, who feel things so loudly it almost hurts. 

Want to go ho- should’ve been a better pe- make him feel bette- he’s going to kill m- want to matter. Need to matter to someo- I’m so sorry Mr. Owen

Grief strikes at Cass in waves, just being near everything Kauri’s thinking. It’s dizzying. It's like the worst kind of homesickness. Yearning for a thing you can't have and don't want but need all the same. It's so much worse because the feeling's so familiar. Cass had hated every inch of Bergen Estate. And there'd been nights he'd have cut off his hand to be back with the devil he knew.

He screws his eyes shut against the pain of it spiking through his head, clinging to the wall with one hand as he feels the world tilt off its access. 

Cass wants to go home. He wants Christopher. He wants to throw up.

"Sorry," he croaks, eyes shut as he steadies himself. He lets out a ragged breath  "Must've stood up too quick or something. Gimme a sec."

Kauri frowns as Cass seems to tilt into the wall, nearly falling against it, and steps forward despite himself - whether or not he can really trust Cass or if he’s as nice as he seems doesn’t really have anything to do with if he needs help - and grabs at his arm to slide himself under it and help him balance.

“Hey, you okay? I think I can get you real food, not just fries. Have you eaten today? I fall over a lot when I don’t eat all day.”

Cass barks a laugh, but it's pale and wheezing. 

It's sweet. It's so incredibly sweet and charming and so fucking sad that that's Kauri first thought. But it's so earnest that Cass finds himself thinking back to what he has eaten.

"No, I've eaten plenty,  it's not that," he says, blinking his eyes open as the dizziness ebbs. "I just need-"

Need what? Need you to stop thinking about your fucked up Stockholm syndrome? Need you to stop feeling so saturated in shame and guilt it pours off you like an oil spill? He shakes his head, as if that'll be enough to clear the thoughts. 

"Yeah, uh, maybe you're right," he says, because he has to say something. People aren't fine one second and falling into an alleyway wall in the next for no reason "Need some real food."

“Then we’ll get you some,” Kauri says firmly, keeping himself under Cass’s arm to help him balance. “I’ll tell ‘em you kept me from being drugged, they’ll definitely give you free food, then.” He tries on a sidelong smile, going for something sort of dry and I’ve-seen-it-all but the expression doesn’t quite work - he’s too genuine to pull it off. 

“I know you just think I said I was sorry because I was supposed to, but I really am, um, sorry for pissing you off. I know people are mostly nice, I just… freaked out because of that guy earlier saying he would, um, would tell the cops who I was. Am. Was. Actually,” He changed subjects without even a pause for breath, walking with Cass out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, giving a cheery little wave to what was clearly a prostitute at the corner, who waved right back with sparkly fingernails that caught the streetlamp light. “Do you like milkshakes better or root beer floats? I had a root beer float for the first time at this place, it was so good.”

"Root beer floats are for six year olds," Cass teases through the thumping headache, taking care that his feet are keeping straight. "Strawberry milkshakes are the MVP."

He focuses on breathing in the crisp night air as they walk, already feeling better. It's stupid, actually, that he doesn't have more control over this shit. Weak that just a few minutes of someone else's thoughts and he's wilting like a fucking daisy. 

The place isn't far, as it turns out, but it seems like there's some displaced person on every corner that greets Kauri with a smile, or a nod. The guy’s obviously universally liked. The sort of person that people gave free milkshakes to. That people avoided calling the cops for, even if it meant missing out on some decent reward money. Like the universe figured he'd been served enough bullshit for one lifetime and was trying to protect him now.

"For what it's worth, I wasn't pissed at you," Cass says after about half a block. "To be honest, I'm usually pretty good at being selfish. But then when we started fucking around, some of the stuff in your head was just way too-" he blinks, stumbles on his words for a second "Like you, you wear your heart of your sleeve, I mean. And I dunno. I didn't want you to feel like… I dunno. It just got to me."

"Besides," Cass adds as they reach a crappy-chic little diner with a red sign "No offense, but I'd rather not get laid when the other person's terrified of me"

Kauri actually laughs at that, soft and kind of a sweet laugh. His voice is surprisingly deep for how small he is. “You’d be the first guy I’ve slept with in a while who cared about that.” There’s dry humor to his words, like Cass has said something sort of ridiculous that Kauri finds totally at odds with his everyday life.

“Besides, I wasn’t scared of you,” Kauri lies easily, and probably would have been perfectly believable if Cass hadn’t been able to feel the fear coming off of him at the time. “Just nervous about the bar. I used to never go out alone, but some stuff happened and I’m on my own, for now.” He shrugs, casually, pushing the door open and looking with a shy smile to an older woman behind the counter.

“Kauri, good to see you,” The woman says in a voice that says she’s been smoking since she was a teenager and that was no doubt a very long time ago. “It’s been a while.” Her eyes move to Cass, taking him in. All that comes from her is a vague sense of wishing her shift would be over so she could go home and sleep already. “Found yourself a new one?”

“Nah, just a friend.” When she raises an eyebrow, Kauri rolls his eyes. “An actual friend, Brenda, I have those.”

Cass grins a little despite himself. Kauri was an idiot. And way too trusting. But it’s sweet, being gently defended like that. It’s nice actually.

“First I’ve heard of it. Grab yourself a seat wherever, I’ll send Nick over to get your order.” She fixes a more scrutinizing eye on Cass. “You too, young man.”

“God, do you just bring out the White Knight side in everybody or something?” Cass says as soon as Brenda’s out of ear shot. Even as he says it, Cass’ thoughts slide to Matt at the bar, and then even further to Kauri’s owner — ex-owner — and he feels almost guilty for saying it. Maybe not everybody.

Kauri is just so fucking nice. He’s nice and he’s kind and he’s good. He deserves to have people defending him and looking out for him. Cass has known him for barely an hour and even he can tell that. But instead, the fuckheads of the world had found that goodness and twisted it and made it so he couldn’t say no – no just drink it don’t make him mad–  and he couldn’t ask for what he wanted - I want this I want you - and couldn't let himself be afraid –just say no Kauri you can just say no just say no stop it sto–

Cass scrubs a hand over his face and pushes his hair back, like maybe that’ll dislodge the sticky tar echoes of Kauri’s thoughts and the headache slamming an off-beat behind his eyes.

“What’s good here?” he asks, grabbing the laminated menu out from behind nearly-empty sauce bottles, desperate for the conversation to just stay normal for five minutes “It’s been fuckin’ ages since I’ve had diner food”

“Um, I mostly get cheeseburger and fries. It’s the cheapest whole meal and they usually give me more fries than it’s supposed to come with,” Kauri says, ignoring the menu entirely, drumming his fingers lightly on the shiny Formica tabletop. 

It’s the kind of menu that comes with pictures, and he could probably fake looking at it if he had to, but just the back of it facing him from Cass has him wincing if he looks too close. So he keeps his eyes carefully on Cass’s face, refusing to let the letters on Cass’s menu be anything more than unformed blurs. 

Instead he settles on pretending he’s such a regular he doesn’t even need the menu anymore. 

“I know they do, um, breakfast all day too so if you want eggs you can get those, or sausages, or whatever. I like their breakfast. Just get whatever.” He glances sidelong at Brenda, currently greeting another couple of customers, and then leans forward, putting a hint of a sneaky smile on his face.  “Just don’t get the fish. They don’t even know what kind of fish it is.”

Cass laughs, loud and loose as he tosses his head back, "Aw man. Now I want to order the fish" 

He puts the menu back in its place and scans his eyes over the patrons. The harsh pulse in his head is ebbing now, soothed by the soft, tired yearnings of late night diner patrons. There's a dad sitting in a booth across the room with his daughter, two giant milkshakes abandoned in favour of cramming tight in to play some video-game together on a tiny console. Cass watches as the girl points at the screen, stepping her dad through something with intense focus before they both cheer, throwing their hands up in victory. 

A side-hug. A high five. It's sweet. Heartwarming in a simple way. Even if they won't see each other tomorrow. 

Cass flicks his focus back to Kauri with a soft smile, "I can see why you like it here. Even if the fish is questionable, the people seem nice"

Kauri shrugs, melting a little under the softer smile. Most of Cass’s expressions have been sharp, and Kauri likes that, too, likes the way Cass flashes looks like light off a knife, but the softer look… Kauri grins back, hunching his shoulders forwards a little shyly. 

He feels weirdly warm all over, being looked at like that. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but it’s weird to feel it and not have the worry or fear running underneath it, too. For the moment, all he feels is warm.

“People are mostly nice everywhere I go,” Kauri says, trying to look away from Cass so it won’t seem like he’s staring, but he’s… not sure he’s pulling it off. 

A young man, about Kauri’s age or maybe younger, wearing a black apron tied at the waist over a white shirt and black pants, steps up with a little notepad in his hand. He smiles brightly at Kauri. “Hey, Kaur, you went out tonight?”

“Um, sort of.” Kauri shrugs again, making little circles on the tabletop with his finger. “For a little bit. Then this guy, um, I met… anyway. This is Cass. Cass, this is Nick.”

Nick glances over at Cass, taking him in with a slightly more false customer-service smile. Oh, sure, I only get the once but then you go find this guy who looks like he punches shit for fun…

“Good to meet you, Cass,” He says, brightly enough. “What can I get you two tonight?”

“Whatever he wants,” Kauri says quickly. “I’m buyin’.”

"That's still up for debate," Cass shoots back, grabbing the menu back again to make a show of his deliberation. Kauri’s got something a little giddy about him at the minute, and it's almost distracting, but it has nothing on the low level of jealousy and impatience radiating off of Nick. It's almost irresistible to play with. Nothing more than puppy love shit. But still enough to twist. 

"Let's see. I've heard amazing things about the fish," he shoots Kauri a wink, and the other man ducks his head, smiling down towards his own legs, biting his lower lip a little as he flushes. "But Kauri here reckons the cheeseburger's the way to go. So… two of those I guess? Oh, and a root beer float, right?" Cass flashes his very best smile at Kauri, who visibly brightens, before looking back at Nick, raking his eyes over him for a second as he slots the menu back into place, "Thanks hot stuff."

Nick’s customer-service smile freezes, just slightly, and there’s a moment where it’s clear that he is resisting the urge to roll his eyes with genuine difficulty. 

“Two root beer floats,” Kauri corrects, and then tilts his head just a little up at Nick in the same slightly-false way he’d done to Cass earlier in the night, seemingly without even realizing he’s doing it. “With cherries? I know they don’t come with them, but-”

“Yeah, Kaur, we know you get cherries.” Nick smiles, relaxing again, jotting that down. He clearly can’t tell that Kauri’s flirtation is artifice. “Let me see if I can get you and your, uh-” His eyes back on Cass for a second, uncertainly. “... friend here your floats on the house.”

Kauri doesn’t quite let out an audible sigh of relief, but the feeling is there. He won’t have enough for his bus pass after this, but that’s all right. There’s a bench in a park he can crash on, anyway, where he’s slept before. 

“See, there you go,” He says to Cass once Nick is gone. “Now we get drinks for free. Most people are really nice.”

Cass snorts a laugh. Hardly.

"I don't think it really counts as nice when they're just tryna get in your pants. That guy was a dick.” 

“He is not! He’s really nice! He let me stay over for breakfast and take a shower at his apartment, he didn’t have to do that.” Kauri’s jaw is set in a stubborn line, but it was still playful. He was relaxed here, in a way he hadn’t been outside the bar when it had all still been so fresh and he’d been scared of being found out. 

But if Cass was lying about promising not to tell, he was being really slow about it. Kauri doesn’t mind getting to have something nice first.

Cass glances over his shoulder at Nick, running the chances in his head. He looks back to Kauri with a grin, "Ten bucks I can get all our food on the house."

“Get all our food free? From Nick?” Kauri leans over, half-whispering the words, glancing sidelong at Nick putting the order in with the cook and then moving to start up the root beer floats. Nick looks their way and Kauri quickly turns his eyes back to Cass, half-laughing as he ducks his head down again. “I feel like letting you do that is really mean. But also I could really use ten dollars, so, uh, okay.” 

Kauri sits back up and sticks his right hand out across the table. “Shake on it?”

Cass grins like a shark, leaning forward a little further than necessary to shake Kauri's hand. "When he comes over next."

He risks another glance over his shoulder, struggling to hide a smirk as he watches the poor guy he's about to earn a meal from. Cass grabs at the ketchup bottle idly, spinning it in one hand as he watches. Nick's cute, in kind of an awkward, intense way. He gives the vibe of someone who was in a band in highschool and took it way too seriously. 

"He seriously took you home and didn't try anything?" Cass asks, turning back to Kauri. He tosses the bottle from hand to hand with nimble fingers. "What is he, a church boy?"

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean-” Kauri blinks, flushes bright red, and sits back in his seat again, unsure whether he was meant to be ashamed of this or not. It’s sometimes hard to tell - with Nat, yes… with most people, yes...

But Cass didn’t feel like most people. He felt almost like talking to another pet, except he had no idea what those were as far as Kauri could tell, and he’d been horrified by the idea, before. But he talked like he knew.

“No, we still… I just meant, a lot of people kind of say, um, ‘you were great, hope I see you around’, or whatever, and I just… go. Not everybody is okay with me staying over all night. But… he was. And he was really, really nice about it. He… wrote me a note and everything.”

Something went tight and uncomfortable in Kauri’s smile at that. He still had the note, shoved down in the pocket of the backpack he’d hidden in a secret hiding spot up in the vents in a bathroom at the park. He had no idea what was on it. 

“So get us free food but you gotta be nice to him about it, okay?”

Cass waves his hand, he smiles, replacing the sauce bottle back in its holder, "Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

He has to stop himself from cringing a little at Kauri's story. It's kinda cute, in a fucked up way. If you ignore that one of the leading men is only a part of the romance because he needs a place to crash. But it's also just… so blatantly innocent. Ridiculously, painfully naive. Cass shakes his head.

"Dude has it bad for you, huh?" It's strange that Kauri seems so oblivious to that fact when he's so very, very practiced in everything else. Ready to suck Cass' dick in an alley, no questions asked, but totally blind to the sight of someone head over heels for him "I still don't think that makes him nice. If this guy’s so nice why aren't you just shacking up all the time? What'd the note say?"

“I don’t, uh, I don’t know,” Kauri says, flashing the quick little making nice smile, looking away from Cass to glance out the window at the street outside. “I didn’t read it.”

He wanted to be able to read, for that to have been allowed, but Owen had wanted him a certain kind of way, he’d said it over and over again. I asked for a brainless slut, but shit, this seems like a little much, Kore-Bore. He had lots of papers in his backpack - things he’d been given for whatever reason. Pamphlets and handouts and the note from Nick, pages of books with cool illustrations. None of it he could read. All of it he hung onto because one day he wanted to. He knew words had been important, once, for whoever he’d been before. He wanted to make them important again.

“I don’t really stay with people more than once. If you stay a lot, people, um… want to know you.” Another flash of the nervous little smile. “It’s usually better for other people if they just see me sometimes. You know?”

Cass nods. He does know. Maybe not as well, or the same, but he knew. When you hung around someone a lot, they started looking a little closer. And once they started looking closer, they started wanting things from you. Sometimes they wanted something to hold over you. Sometimes they just thought they wanted to know you. But either way, they wanted your story, wanted to split you open and see all the ugly parts. Make a judgement.

“I get it,” he says, tracing lines between the grey flecks of the table top. He looks back up to Kauri, smiles something like understanding. Cass can’t give him much but he can give him that. He can give him understanding. “Safer that way, huh?”

Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, Cass sees Nick out of the corner of his eye carrying over their two impressive looking drinks. He leans back in his chair, posture loose and open and grins at Kauri, bouncing his eyebrows conspiratorially. Game on.

“Here we go. Two root beer floats,” Nick says, placing the drinks down before he smiles at Kauri, gaze lingering a little long “Extra cherries.”

“Thanks,” Cass says, smiling as he pulls his drink close. He picks up his spoon, skimming a little foam of the top and turning the spoon upside down on his tongue. He waits for Nick to turn away before he pipes up again, as if on an afterthought. “Hey… Nick, right? Can you settle a debate for us?”

“Uh…” Nick glances over his shoulder, in the vague direction of Brenda, who was currently engrossed in the photos on some regular’s phone “Yeah, sure.”

“Well see, I think Kauri here must be your favourite customer, seeing that he’s scoring the drinks for free and all. But he seems to think he’s not that special,” he makes quick eye contact with Kauri, resisting the urge to wink. “You like him though, right?”

Nick gapes a little, clearly flustered as he turns slowly red. He rubs a hand over the nape of his neck while looking pointedly everywhere but Kauri. “Uhh… Yeah. Sure. I mean- you know. Everyone likes Kauri.”

“See that’s what I said, but he refuses to agree with me,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Reckon you could score him his food for free to convince him?”

“Oh. Um,” Nick glances at Kauri, clearly embarrassed that he’s been caught between a rock and looking like an asshole. “I dunno. The um, two drinks is already kinda...”

Cass groans in a teasing way, reaching his foot out to nudge Nick’s leg as though they’re dancing around the inevitable. Which… well... 

“C'ᴍᴏɴ ɴɪᴄᴋ,” he says, reaching into that part of him that wants so badly to impress the boy with nothing to his name than a pretty face and the twenty bucks in his pocket. Cass catches the waiter’s eye and tilts his head to the side in a shadow of Kauri’s little trade-mark. “Gɪᴠᴇ ᴜs ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ.”

Nick glances back over his shoulder again at Brenda before looking at Kauri again, a rebellious little smile tugging at his mouth as he makes the choice. Or tells himself he makes the choice. “Yeah. Yeah alright.”

Kauri blinks, eyes slightly widening in surprise, but he covers it fairly well and smiles up at Nick with all his sweetness on display. “That’s really great, Nick,” He says, leaning his chin on one hand. Nick looks a little dazed at the attention from them both at once and swallows, almost compulsively, before he looks down with his head tilted, kind of rubbing at the back of his neck, a little shyly.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m doing much, just some food.”

“No, but it’s really cool of you, thank you,” Kauri says, sincerely. He’s not sure why Nick made that decision tonight, but he’s genuinely grateful for it. “Panhandling didn’t go super well today, it’s, it’s a big help.”

“Yeah, well.” Nick shrugs, and grins. “You want to apply for a job here, Kaur, you got it and you know it. I can get you an application, like, anytime.”

Kauri’s flirty little smile goes cold, for just a moment, and is immediately back to the artificial warmth from before. “Don’t worry about it,” He says, a little too softly. “You’re really cool, Nick, thanks.”

Nick just smiles back at him, gives he and Cass one more nod, and has his mouth open to say more when Brenda calls his name. “Gotta go, I’ll get your food out in just a minute.”

Kauri waits until he’s safely out of earshot before he leans forward, digging in one pocket with his hand. “How did you do that? I mean, I guess I’ve never actually asked for anything free, it just sort of happens sometimes, but… how’d you get the whole meal? I can’t believe he just gave it to you.”

He pulls a crumbled ten-dollar bill out of his pocket and slides it across the table. At least he can still look at numbers, if he’s careful. “All right, I owe you this.”

Cass grins, taking a spoonful of ice cream and turning it upside on his tongue as he looks over his shoulder, giving Nick a little wave and a smile. Poor sucker.

“Nah, keep it. Wasn’t really a fair bet.” he says, plucking one of the cherries from the top of his drink and topping Kauri’s with it instead. “You might be good at getting people to like you, but I’m good at getting people to do what I want. I knew he was gonna do it before I even asked.”

Kauri snorts, digging in himself, dipping the cherry out first to bite into it, enjoying the burst of cold sweetness on his tongue. “Clearly,” Kauri declares airily, “you have an ego the size of my dick.” He flushes, then, looking vaguely embarrassed. “I mean. Not, uh, mine. I mean, I think mine’s okay-...”

If he gets any more blood in his face he’s going to pass out.

“... I’m just going to stop talking now.” 

Kauri picks a big bite of ice cream off with his spoon and jams it into his mouth to shut himself up - only to wince when the brain freeze hits, groaning. Cass tosses his head back in a mad laugh at Kauri's self-spun embarrassment. Fuck he's cute. 

"Relax, man, don't hurt yourself," Cass says through the last of a chuckle, reaching out to grab Kauri's hand in mock-sympathy. "I'm sure you have a very nice-sized dick."

Kauri makes a sound that's somewhere between laughter and a please let me sink into the ground now noise, turning even redder if that's possible. He's not sure it is. 

He feels weirdly dizzy and his hand lights up where Cass touches him. He's sure he has the dumbest fucking smile on his face but he can't seem to stop it. 

Cass draws his hand back with a smirk and goes back to his own drink, taking a very deliberately very reasonably sized scoop of ice-cream from the top and tilting it towards Kauri before eating it. He looks at Kauri's face, still recovering from the flurry of a frozen head and the foot in his mouth. Cass taps his fingers on the table top, considering. How much did he want to show off?

"I mean like… you're not wrong, but it's also not ego if it's true," he shrugs "People just do what I want them to do. Call it a talent.”

Kauri feels an urge to say something like I would do what you want me to do, but he pushes it down. Last time Cass had… seen his training, and freaked out, and he doesn't want that to happen again. Cass was maybe the first person to notice when Kauri was in his head, at first. 

"Then why are you spending your time with a homeless guy and not, like, getting someone in a suit to buy you…" Kauri trails off. He has no idea what rich people eat, except what Owen ate, and he doesn't know if Owen was… like other rich people. He hopes not. "... I don't know, fancy steak or something?"

He leans over to sip through his straw, closing his eyes at the dark taste of root beer mixed with the cream and vanilla of the ice cream. 

It was getting increasingly difficult to even be in the general vicinity of Kauri existing and not be endlessly distracted by the slutty virgin shtick. The guy ate his root beer float like it was a gift from heaven, made by God personally and, even more infuriatingly, seemingly unaware of what that amount of blissful indulgence was doing to everyone around him. 

Not even seemingly unaware. Literally so. If it was intentional, the desire for attention would be rolling off of him in peutrid, sticky flashes. As it was, all Kauri seemed to care about right now was enjoying exactly what was in front of him. Cass has to stop himself from smiling too fondly. He was starting to see why the guy was so fucking liked. 

"I don't like people in suits. I like you," he says, simply. "Besides, you ever actually spend time with a rich person? They're all boring as fuck."

"Just, um, just the one rich person," Kauri says, trying not to let Owen's face find its way into his mind. How sad and lonely he must be by himself in the condo, without Kauri to curl up with him on the couch or in his bed. 

All by himself in the shower…

Kauri's eyes are distant, thinking of Owen drinking alone on the balcony with no one to talk to and be sad to, and he opens his mouth to say - something, he doesn't really know what, but he feels the sudden urge to tell Cass too much. To confess, just say I can't read and I can't look in the mirror I don't know what I look like I only know how to be good one way and everything they say about the ones like me is true and he hurt me and I still miss him - and just as the first vibration of sound is in his throat, Nick puts the plates down in front of them.

Kauri looks up at Nick with a smile shining with more gratitude than just bringing food out really calls for, and Nick blinks at him, a little thrown off. "You guys good? Need anything?"

"Everything looks great," Kauri says, with entirely too much sincerity. 

Cass smiles briefly at Nick in thanks as he grabs his plate, but he keeps his attention on Kauri, whose thoughts are currently as calm as a drum kit is when it's pushed down the stairs. Cass tilts his head to the side, eyes searching Kauri's face as Nick walks away. 

The same sadness and shame from earlier is coming off of him in waves, ebbing and flowing endlessly. A gentle desperation, searching for some way out, some way to relieve the constant storming.

"Did you want to tell me about him?" Cass asks, before he can stop himself, and immediately he feels the tugging of a yes and a no tangled violently together. He breaks eye-contact and turns his attention to the food. They really had given Kauri a whole damn mountain of fries. "The guy who, uh… who owned you."

There's no extra influence to it yet, no pressure. Just the question. Kauri could walk away from answering if he wanted. Sometimes a locked door didn't need a lockpick. Just the right key. 

Kauri picks up a fry, stares at it like it might bite him, then bites into it, half hanging out his mouth as he reaches to the side of the table, against the window, to get the ketchup bottle and pour some out on his plate, not quite looking up. 

Only when he finishes the first and picks up the second does he shrug, a little barely visible movement of his shoulders under his oversized zip-up. "You know how they say - people in, in movies say - that you can't force someone to love you? That's, uh. That's a lie. You can. You, um. He's… he was in a lot of movies, when he was a kid." Kauri's voice dips low, nearly a whisper. "Have you heard of Owen Grant? He was in, um, Dimmer Switch. That had a big international release, really popular in, um, overseas. And a movie about baseball when he was really young…"

Cass frowns, face twisting as he tries to place the name. He's heard of Dimmer Switch, he thinks, but he hasn't actually seen it. It sounded like the sort of cult classic horror junk Lou would watch. He's about to shake his head and shrug when he has a vague memory of an old VHS cover, a kid with insanely green eyes posing precociously with a baseball bat.

"Jesus Christ. The kid from fucking Swing for the Stars?" he blurts out as the pieces slot into place. Henri had been obssessed with that stupid movie. He shakes his head with a scoff, picking at the fries on his plate but not actually eating. It's kinda difficult to feel hungry, now. "What a fucking creep."

"Yeah!" Kauri brightens when Cass guesses right, a look of weird mixed sadness and guilt and pride on his face. "He was, um, that's what got him famous. Was that one. He's good in it, for a kid, right? Really good. He did a lot of movies but he stopped acting… um." There's a hesitation - he wants and doesn't want to tell Cass this, Cass is the only person he's ever said it out loud to. "He, um. You know who Vincent Shield is." His smile gets more nervous now. "I know you know, he's um, Nat always says he's like Tom Cruise. I, um. Nat says I… look like him. They used to be… they don't talk anymore. And Mr. Owen wanted… um." He swallows a bite the wrong way and has to clear his throat, fingers tapping nervously on the tabletop as he drank half of what was left of his root beer in one long go. 

"You can have someone made for you. If you have money." Flash of nervous smile again. "Mr. Owen has a lot. And he wanted the, um, Vince. To do that. To love him." 

A mix of cold rage and bone-deep sorrow sweeps through Cass like ice water. When Cass had gone with Christopher, when he'd agreed to sign his sentence over to the Bergen Estate, it'd been entirely his choice. He'd chosen to land himself juvie, he'd chosen to sign up to the indenture program, he'd chosen to sign that fucking contract, had chosen a life with Christopher. And he'd chosen when to end it.

He'd even chosen the Facility, chosen Tucker, in the end.

Kauri hadn't had any of that. Or at least, certainly not by the sounds. Cass had thought he'd looked familiar at the start of the night. Turns out he was just some poor bastard with a movie star's face.

"I'm sorry," Cass says for the second time that night. It's an effort to keep the shaking fury out of his voice. "I'm… that's horrible. That's really fucking horrible."

Cass runs his thumb up and down along the rim of his plate, clenching his jaw. The fucker wanted to force someone to love him, huh? He closes his eyes, takes a deep shaking breath, and swears he can see Christopher imprinted on his eyelids. I don't need you to love me back, darling boy, but I need you to know that I love you. He never thought he'd meet someone who made him feel lucky in comparison. He opens his eyes again, looking at Kauri with earnest. 

"You had a life, though, right? Before he took you? Why don't you just-" Cass cuts himself off and shakes his head, wiping a hand over his mouth like that could take the words back. For all he knew, Kauri had as much to go back to as he did. Maybe less. "Sorry. Stupid question. Don't answer that."

Kauri blinks at him, baffled by the question, before he smiles again. It’s a reflex more than an emotion - Kauri smiles to stave off conflict and deflect questions just as often as he smiles out of any genuine feeling. “He didn’t take me, he bought me. From a company, WRU? I don’t know who I was before.”

He shrugs. “The first thing I remember is training in the Facility. They, um… they probably know what my name was before. I don’t… remember it. They wipe us clean and then make us what the order form says.” He winces, reaching up to rub a hand against his head - the headache comes on fast, a sharp slice of pain across his mind, as soon as he tries to think any further back than training. 

“We sign contracts? We signed up for this.” The words come out almost monotone on the second sentence, clearly memorized, pushed out of him by some base conditioned instinct that isn’t even conscious thought. “All pets are of legal consenting age,” He intones, his eyes going distant again, before he shakes it off. “So, um. That’s why you can’t… I hope you won’t, anyway… tell the cops. Because I kind of broke the law, um, running away.”

It's so obviously a stack of beaten in, awful lies and Cass can't tell if Kauri actually believes them or has just had them forced down his throat so many times he doesn't know to say anything else. There’s an electric rage bubbling under his skin at the thought of Kauri being taken to some facility. Fucking signed up for it did he? Agreed to have his thoughts wiped clean and his personality reset to Sexdoll Barbie? What a crock of shit. 

Kauri flashes the sweet, slightly nervous smile again. “I’m a hardened criminal, believe it or not. I… I signed up for it, but… it doesn’t feel like I did...” He winces again, rubbing at his head. “Sorry. You did not sign up for all this when you tried to help me at the bar.”

"No, you're fine," Cass says, voice strained with the effort to keep it calm.  He doesn't know what else to say. “This isn’t exactly my first… fucked up backstory rodeo. I won’t tell anyone, I won’t say anything.” Cass’ word wasn’t worth much on a standard day, but he means this. “I promise.”

He stares at his food instead of Kauri, picks up a fry, puts it back down, turns the plate a little, picks up another fry. His vision darkens around the edges, a pressure in his head, and he realises his breaths have gotten quietly shallow and strained, air barely reaching his lungs. He takes a deliberately deep breath in, flashing a numbed smile at Kauri.

“It’s funny, well not- not funny,” he clears his throat “You’re the first person I’ve met who, uh… Look, I know a lotta people who have… contracts to people. To businesses. You’re the first person I met who doesn’t seem like they deserved it.”

Kauri tilts his head, glancing over at Nick - just around, really, but it seems like no one is listening in or anything - and then he turns back, reaching his hand back out, brushing his fingers against the back of Cass's hand holding the fry. 

"I'm okay," He says, reassuring, his voice low and sincere. "A lot of us have it, um, a lot worse than I did. Some pets get hurt a lot… I just, um." Another flash of his nervous smile. "Only after I messed up really badly. I was really lucky. He, um. He told me I was lucky all the time. I'm okay, Cass. See?"

A slightly sunnier expression, more sincere. He pushed himself up just slightly and leaned over to boop Cass on the nose.

"What could be more okay than hanging out with you, right? I don't mind. Don't feel bad for me or anything, I like moving around. Anything's better than not being allowed to leave, right?"

Cass finds himself smiling, despite himself, "Right."

He tries not to think about his bed back at the Facility, or the lab session he had tomorrow, or the interstate trip he'd have to do with Tucker next week. It wasn't the same. He chose to transfer his indenture. He could leave. He was here after all.

Kauri's a tragedy on legs and he doesn't even know it. He thought he was lucky because he wasn't hurt that much. Lucky, because he had the luxury of being homeless instead of chained to some guy's bed. And he was sitting here trying to make Cass feel better. He'd even been ready to give up his next-to-nothing savings to buy Cass a burger. It was almost enough to have you considering restoring your faith in the world.

Cass smiles again, properly this time, shaking his head. He shoves the fry in his mouth at last and grabs his glass, tilting it towards Kauri in a belated toast, "To moving around and root beer floats."

Kauri’s smile brightens even more and he picks up his already-half-gone glass almost eagerly to clink the rim against Cass’s. “Right! To never being stuck behind a locked door, ever again. That’s why I’m really lucky. When I got the chance to walk away… I could.” 

Well, not walk.

Throw himself out of a moving car, rolling along the road curled around his backpack to protect it, and then run like hell while his collarbone lit up and dropped him to the ground, again and again and again… 

But Cass didn’t need to know that part.

“Nat says the ones like me usually can’t.” He paused, considering something, eyes moving over Cass’s face thoughtfully. “And, hey. I really, honestly do think you’re, um, cute.” A hint of the flush again, unpracticed and genuine. “I know that you think it was because I was scared and that I was just saying it so you wouldn’t tell anybody about me, but… I can, uh. I can just want things like normal people do, too. You know? If I asked again and I wasn’t scared… what would you, um… what would you say?”

Cass smirks, and picks up his glass, ignoring the straw as he takes a long, slow drink from the rim before replacing it and sitting back in his seat. He tilts his head to the side, considering. What would he say?

There was no denying Kauri's attractiveness – he had the face of a goddamn movie star for fuck’s sake – but what was a pretty face stacked up next to a story so tragic the guy had to apologise just for telling it?

He thinks back to outside of the bar. The horrible whiplash between the desire to please and the terror to refuse. The faint, bitter aftertaste of I don't want this after every touch, every kiss. Even sitting here, now, Cass feels his stomach flip, his throat close up at just the thought of it.

But then he thinks about how Kauri looks, enjoying his float, complete and unapologetic bliss painting his face. Or the starry-eyed awe when Nick had agreed to the free meal. The way he's blushing right now, an equal mix of excited and unsure. That kind of enthusiasm was something Cass could get on board with. If Kauri asked him again and he wasn't scared, if he looked at him like that?

He lets his eyes travel down Kauri's torso and then back to his face. Lets his tongue flick out over his lips, as his mouth tugs into a dangerous smile. 

"Baby if you wanted it..." – if you really wanted it – "...I would eat you alive"

Kauri’s shy smile widens, until the usual hint of teeth instead flash bright white and light up his entire face, wide blue eyes sparkling, looking right at Cass, not ducking his head or using the practiced head-tilt at all. Just genuine, outright joy. 

“Do you, um…” The blush again, and he bites down on his lower lip, sitting leaning forward with his shoulders hunched, watching Cass’s face. He’s not as good as being suave as he wishes he was, and has to hope Cass is as much into a stammering mess as he might be into someone who had themselves together a little better than this. “... do you promise?”

Cass smiles at the blush, at the awkward. It's so much better than the low airy voice of complacency. He reaches forward, his fingers drawing a line up the back of Kauri's hand until they're sneaking their way up the cuff of his sweatshirt. He could almost swear there was electricity buzzing underneath Kauri's skin.

"Why don't you finish your burger? Maybe I'll prove it"

It feels, to Kauri like every spot Cass touches on him sparks and lights up, the feeling of his fingers lingering after he has pulled his hand back. Kauri wants to be on his knees or his back with Cass so badly he could scream.

He picks up his burger but he hardly cares about it now, he’s more interested in eating the exact amount necessary for Cass to figure it was enough to count as ‘finished’. Something about being way more honest about himself than he ever was with almost anyone feels like pure weight off his chest, leaving Kauri almost drunk on the feeling, more than he’d been drunk on the actual booze back in the bar. 

“I think I need to know more guys like you,” Kauri says, feeling a little dizzy with how fucking great tonight has ended up. He needs to know more guys who care if he’s scared or not, who even notice. He needs more guys who do the right thing when someone needs help.

“You’re really fucking nice, Cass.”

Cass snorts, throwing a fry in his mouth and speaking through a mouthful of potato, “I’m really not. You just caught me on a good night.”

If he’d been another few drinks in when he’d first noticed Kauri, he would’ve turned a blind eye and melted away to make out with Krystal or Kylie or whatever her name had been instead. If he’d been feeling a little more reckless fighting the douchebag in the corner, they’d probably both be sitting in a jail cell. If he’d been feeling a little more self-destructive outside the bar, a little more dangerous, he could’ve ignored the screaming in his head, the screaming in Kauri’s. He could’ve just kept kissing him. He could’ve… would’ve…

It doesn’t matter what he would have done, he tells himself. Because he didn’t. Not this time. That was what counted.

He wishes he believed it.

“What about your friends?” he asks, trying to shake off the thoughts rattling him as leans forward to dip a fry in Kauri’s sauce “They’re not nice?”

“Yeah, they are.” Kauri smiles a little. “I stay with them sometimes.” There was only one person he always picked up the phone for. The only person who knew all the bad things inside of him, not just the ones Kauri felt safe sharing. “But he’s, um.” Kauri’s smile slips and then reappears just as quickly as he shoves the guilt deeper down inside of himself, buries it under a cascade of not fucking now, damn it. 

“I’m kind of taking a break from bothering him with my shit.”

Kauri shifts around in the booth, moving to sit with his back to the window so he can pull his knees up, a hint of skin showing through where holes were beginning to wear. 

“He’s probably pretty happy to have me stop showing up at his door all the time. We just… sorry, none of that’s important.”

Cass taps his fingers in a steady rhythm on the tabletop as he watches Kauri carefully from across the booth. He doesn’t want to talk about this, Cass’ mind supplies. Literally anyone could see how uncomfortable Kauri was. Scared, even. 

“Nah you’re good,” Cass shrugs with an easy smile “I just wondered.”

Cass wants to ask what happened between the two of them. More than to empathise, he just wants to know the story. Which one of them fucked it up so bad that ‘only real friend’ goes to nothing. It was pretty fucking clear that Kauri thought it was his fault. But to be fair, Kauri more or less thought that getting punched in the head was his fault.

Cass wants to know the truth of it so bad. Instead he changes the subject. 

“I kinda fucked up your chances to find a place to stay tonight, huh?” 

Kauri snorts, resting his chin on his knees, watching Cass with a hint of the same small smile on his face. Just watching his hair move as he talks, and the way his fingers look touching the table.

Kauri wonders, vaguely, if he knows how to pull hair just the right way so it hurts a little, but not too much. With hair like his, he probably does. 

“You’re okay. Better than waking up drugged-up in that guy’s basement or whatever, right? I have a bench I go to sometimes if I don’t find anybody for the night, I’ll go over that way eventually. I have a blanket I hid over there we can, um, use, if you want. Or just an alley.” He tries for a wink, and he isn’t entirely sure it works and doesn’t just look a little bit ridiculous. “I’m not, um. Picky. You said you sleep at the place you work, right? It’s like a, a dorm thing?” Kauri hesitates, knowing the question is stupid he knows he’s stupid about this, but… “Do you, uh… do you get a bed, to sleep on?”

"Yeah," Cass says, trying not to sound off-put by the question. At what point in this sad fuck’s story did he not get a bed? "Yeah, I get a bed." He frowns briefly at his food before looking up again with a smile. "Lumpy as fuck, though."

The joke feels stale before it even lands. It's not exactly consolation in comparison to a park bench.

Cass can feel the offer on his tongue, heavy and loaded, and it's so fucking stupid to say it but guests aren't technically banned or anything, just frowned upon and the guy would be sleeping on a park bench.

"Do you... I mean it's not exactly homey, but did you want to come back to mine?" He nearly lets a thousand caveats fall off his tongue like, we'd have to be quiet and you'll have to leave before 8 and by the way my minder might decide to drop in for a late night chat, you cool with that? But instead he grins the easy way. "Can't guarantee we'll do much sleeping."

Kauri can’t quite hide the way he brightens again at the suggestion, although he tries, trying to look cool and smooth and like he wasn’t at all sort of not looking forward to the way he inevitably got woken up on the bench by some jogger yelling at him to go get a job.

You can’t get a job with no ID when you’re fucking illiterate.

“If, if you just wanted me to sleep,” He says, making his tone a little flirty, with a hint of a lopsided, shy smile. “I’d be disappointed. I hardly take up any space when I sleep, I promise. I’ll be up and out of your hair, I’m not, um, I don’t try and stick around or anything. That’s… see, you are nice. You just tell yourself you’re not.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cass snorts. He leans forward conspiratorially, walking his fingers up Kauri’s arm as he speaks “How do you know this hasn’t just been some long play just to get you into my cult or something? Maybe once you go inside, you’ll never leave.”

Kauri shivers a little, moving his arm just slightly to make it easier for Cass, biting down on his lower lip with the same hint of a shy smile. The feeling of Cass’s fingers was like little sparks on his arm, and it felt like his touch lingered even after his fingers had moved. Kauri felt warm and cold all at once, heat starting to pool in his hips as he shifted around.

I am going to ride him until I can barely walk, after.

“You’re, um-” Kauri’s voice caught in his throat, and he cleared it, embarrassed. “That’s not fair, doing that in public.”

Cass smiles, tilting his to the side, feels it rush through him like an electric thrill even time the guy shudders like that. “Told you,” he murmurs “It’s a talent.”

He slips his fingers under the cuff of Kauri’s sweatshirt again, running little circles over his wrist. The guy is so responsive to touch it’s intoxicating. And Cass hasn’t even got him undressed yet.

It’s been ages since Cass has had the chance to play this role. He usually just melts into whatever the other person wants. He’s scrawny looking and gets flirty when he's high and he moves like a slut on the dancefloor, so recently that meant he pretty consistently landed himself in the role of desperate twink, ready to turn his brain off and let his partner take the lead. But this. This is what he likes, if he’s honest with himself. He likes seeing someone dissolve under his hands.

He smirks, pulling Kauri’s hand towards him and planting a kiss on his palm, “I could have you falling apart before we even leave the table, huh?”

Kauri’s fingers twitch, a little, with the urge to touch right back. It’s a familiar feeling, the need to touch, to be touched, to be reminded that someone wants him. It’s a more reassuring one that it doesn’t feel as desperate or worried as it sometimes does. This feels more like all of Kauri wants him, not just the parts that only know to want one thing. 

It feels like wanting Dustin - almost safe. As close to safe as he gets.

“You’re about h-halfway there already,” He says, not quite a whisper, not quite speech. “What, um. I’m bad at this. What other talents do you-... no, that sounds stupid-... I’m so bad at it when I’m not, um, trying to be good at it, I don’t… please just-” He’s bright red. He can’t finish the sentence, not out loud. 

Please just take me somewhere and fuck me.

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Viridian Vanguard (Part 20)

As Yang had warned, the line at the Pits’ administrative desk moved painfully slowly. It seemed that every number that was called was for a huge team that needed to form a secondary line as they signed and vetted their paperwork in batches, an individual who was missing some important document or other bureaucratic hang-up, or a counter had suddenly closed, and just wouldn’t seem to open again.

The take-a-number holo chimed, Weiss looked up, back down at the number in her hand, before she groaned. “This is taking forever...” she whined as she stuck it back into Pyrrha’s jacket pocket, then pulled the garment around her again. “How can this system be so slow and inefficient...?”

“Welcome to paperwork for the rest of us!” someone quipped as they headed up to the counter.

The standing crowds began to shift as folks found seats, curses and yelling erupted as others were stolen by particularly sneaky and agile individuals. Someone looked pointedly at Weiss as he put a hand on a free spot on a bench, she shook her head. The Fae shrugged, and took it.

“Oh come on!” Yang shouted as she knelt on the ground on all fours.

Weiss ignored her and continued sitting on her back, calmly readjusting her legs.

Some time later, Pyrrha returned from her trip to the “Grub Hub,” carrying a single shake. “I’m back!” she said. “I’m sorry it took so long, it looks like the breakfast rush is already here.”

“Just hand me my shake, please,” Weiss said as she held out her hand. Pyrrha did, Weiss took a sip out of it, and immediately perked up. “Mmm! This is actually pretty good! How much was this?” she asked before she took another drink.

“180 Shinies.” Pyrrha replied.

Weiss nearly choked on her drink. “WHAT?! How does the Pits expect to charge so much for this?” sheasked, looking at her cup.

“Primary business tactic,” Yang explained. “Cheap entry, jacked up everything else. That’s part of the reasons they can afford to pay us so well, by the way, so I wouldn’t be the most vocal critic of it, if I were you...”

Weiss sighed, and sipped some more of her shake, enjoying it a lot less than earlier.

Just ten minutes after six, their number finally came up. Having already read through the terms of their contracts, and briefed on any issues through holo-chat earlier in the week, all they really needed to do was personally affix their signatures on paper copies, alongside giving their fingerprints, and additional hard evidence that they were actually there at the Pits when the documents said they were.

<Is blood needed?> Weiss asked sarcastically as they seemed to near the end of the list of proofs.

<If you wish,> the clerk replied in all seriousness, reaching into his desk, and pulling out a small knife wrapped around a clean cloth, glass vials, and a box of bandages. <The Pits never says ‘No’ to additional security.>

Weiss paused, staring at them, before she said, <I was joking.>

The clerk looked mildly annoyed at that as he put the items back into his drawer.

Eventually, the newly registered Furies left the counter, each with their own personal duplicate of their copyright, contained inside complimentary waterproof, fireproof, and reinforced tubes, complete with a leather-covered chain that they could use to tie it around their wrists or waists.

“This seems a little excessive for copyright,” Pyrrha said, feeling the weight of it all in one of her hands.

“It is once we rise up the ranks, and our name starts to be worth something!” Yang replied as she tied her duplicate around her wrist. “This is one of the easiest and most convenient ways to shutdown anyone trying to take advantage of our rep without our permission, like selling ‘official’ merchandise on the sly, so keep it somewhere safe, never forget where you hid it, and do not, I repeat, do not tell anyone else where it is.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you guys, it’s just that I’m worried about what certain unscrupulous folks will try to get all three of these babies, among other things.”

“So basically, treat this like criminal syndicates treat their real estate deeds?” Weiss asked sarcastically.

“Exactly!” Yang replied, pointing at her. “Anyway, that’s everything we needed to do in the Pits today! I’m going to go ask around and check out our competition, you guys can go do your own things now.”

“I’ll be watching a couple of live matches, then!” Pyrrha said. “Weiss, would you like to join me?”

“Maybe some other time, when I’m not as under-dressed,” Weiss said, looking down at herself. “I’m heading home, I’ll leave your jacket at the living room.”

“Alright, have a safe trip!” Pyrrha said, waving goodbye before they all went their separate ways.

Weiss returned to Keeper’s Grove, stashed her contract in her and Winter’s safe, then went down to her laboratory with Penny, working and checking on her ongoing projects, and practicing some useful skills, like how to make medicine with field equipment. Thanks to her collar, and Penny needing to stay plugged into the wall to after joining Winter on her night shift, almost everything went by at a snail’s pace.

On this particular day, Weiss didn’t mind, enjoying the peace.

Then, by ten o’clock, she got a message from Yang: “We’ve got trouble heading straight for the Grove in 15 minutes. Look decent, put your game face on, and make sure to bring either Dad or Penny with you to the road leading to the Tube station.”

Weiss tried to send her a reply, but Yang’s comm-crystal was already set to “Do Not Disturb” mode. She sighed as she took her hands off the magic oil press she was using, and muttered, “Well, this doesn’t seem ominous and menacing at all...”

“Would you like to me to ready my defensive measures, Weiss?” Penny asked. “If you carry me to the meeting location, I’ll be capable of doing one or two stunning blasts before shutting down for lack of power, but that should be enough to help you get away to safety.”

“Don’t bother,” Weiss said as she began to take off her working gloves and mask. “With Yang and Pyrrha, I’ve already got more than enough protection if things get ugly.” She noticed her loaner runeblade as she hung up her gear, before she shook her head and headed out without it.

“It’s not like I’m going to be able to do much with it, anyway...” she thought to herself.

It turned out to be the right decision as Yang, Pyrrha, and a trio of female Fae she’d never seen before also came completely unarmed, even if the atmosphere was far from friendly. With Penny in her hands, Weiss stepped up beside her friends, and checked out the strangers.

The one in the center was was a stockily built tamaraw Fae, an impressive set of V-shaped horns extending behind her head. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, and was so angry that Weiss could clearly see the puffs of hot air coming out of her nostrils.

The one on her left was a slender chicken Fae with a prominent crest of obnoxiously bright, neon green feathers styled like a Mohawk, the prominent talons of her feet making her seem even taller. She gave them all the evil eye, the decorative spikes and crystalline skulls on her clothes and accessories gleaming as ominously.

The one on her right was a meerkat Fae, much smaller and younger-looking than her companions; she seemed just as pissed as the others, but her being just as tall, if not shorter than Weiss ruined any sort of intimidating quality she had.

“Who the hell are those?” Weiss whispered to Yang.

“Big one’s Keren, tall girl’s Vigne, tiny gal is Sayuri,” Yang whispered back, eyes still on the trio.

“And why exactly do they all look like they want to kill us?”

“Because they’re not too happy we’ve got their old team name now.”

Weiss blinked. “Wait, did we steal it from them?!”

“We didn’t steal shit!” Yang snapped at Weiss, her eyes suddenly fiery red. She stopped herself, and took a deep breath, her eyes turning back to normal. “Look, I’ll explain the entire situation later, just let me do all the talking with them while you and Pyrrha stand by my sides and look tough, or just make it seem like they don’t bother you at all, alright?”

Weiss turned to Pyrrha. “We have the evidence overwhelmingly in our favour, don’t worry,” she said as she patted her duplicate, still in its tube and tied to her waist.

Weiss sighed, before she moved up to Yang’s free side, and scowled at the original Furies’ direction.

Yang took Penny from Weiss’ hands, and whispered to her, <Dedicated recording mode, multi-angle shots. Turn up the footage quality and sound sensitivity high, too, I don’t want any ambiguity if this gets messy.>

<Affirmative,> Penny said, before her tail and her ears started transforming as she hovered up between the two groups, looking like a fuzzy camera drone with auxiliary lenses, and an external sound receiver.

Satisfied, Yang stepped forward and threw her arms out. <Alright: we’re all here and ready! Lay it on us, sister.>

<Do you think this is funny…?> Keren snapped. <Get your laughs fucking us locals over?>

<On the contrary, we’re dead serious!> Yang said, holding up her duplicate. <So serious we put down money and our names on it.>

Keren stomped her hoof in the ground, hunching her shoulders as she clenched her fists. <Give it back—now,> she growled.

<You can’t demand someone to give back what you didn’t own,> Yang said calmly. <I checked several times, both on the Codex and at the Pits in-person, and have the saved and dated proof on my comm-crystal saying your copyright to our name expired at 6AM today!>

<And you think you could just steal it from right under our noses?!> Keren bellowed.

Yang’s eyes flared red again. <We didn’t steal shit!> she roared. She clenched her fists and took several long, deep breaths, before she continued, <All we did was wake up early, and stand in that line, with all our documentation in order and our Shinies ready, the same, legal process we would have done if we were going to lay claim to any other name.

<We did nothing to stop you, lie to you, or try to sabotage you in any way, nor did any of us even know who any of you were until you cornered me from out of nowhere, looking like you were about to gang up on me!

<As a matter of fact, it’s your fault you didn’t renew your copyright when you still had the exclusive right—two months before expiry, if I’m not mistaken?>

Sayuri faltered for a moment, Vigne and Keren maintained their composure. <Things happened,> Keren said quietly.

<And I’m sorry to hear that, but that still doesn’t change the fact that we were well within our right to take the name for ourselves, according to the written rules and regulations of the Pits,> Yang said. <If you three find you can’t follow those, then maybe you should all think about careers elsewhere...?>

Keren fumed, thick plumes of hot breath jetting out of her nostrils. <And maybe you three should start learning the unwritten rules of the Pits, especially since two of you fucking soft-skins can’t even understand the language they’re in!>

Yang looked like she’d just been socked in the face, her eyes flaring red and her hole body tensing up. <Look, what the fuck is it that you three want?!> she yelled. <We own the copyright from now till next year, and we have a shit ton of hard evidence to back us up! Even if you do take your beef to the honours, I am willing to bet a mountain of Shinies that they every single one of them will reject you, then charge you up front for wasting their time, trying to enlist their help to win a case that was already lost before it started!>

<Well, it’s a good thing we’re not doing that!> Keren barked, before she looked to her companions in turn. <Vigne! Sayuri!>

<On it!> they both cried.

Keren dramatically stomped both her hooves as she hunched forward and bared her horns, Vigne flapped her wings and scratched the mud beneath her with her talons, and Sayuri lunged and hissed, showing off her sharp teeth and her claws.

<We, the original Furies hereby challenge you to a duel, where the winner gets the copyright to the name!> Keren shouted. As one, the three of them dramatically pointed, and cried: <Do you all accept?!>

<Hang on, I gotta translate and consult with them first,> Yang said, before she turned her back to the original Furies.

Keren roared in frustration and started stomping about, Sayuri spluttered and fumed in confusion and anger, Vigne flapped her wings again, this time trying to calm them down and keep them from charging forward.

Yang, Pyrrha, and Weiss ignored them all as they huddled up.

“I take it the three of them are challenging us to a duel, to try to win the right to use their name again?” Pyrrha asked.

“Our name, but otherwise, that exactly, yeah,” Yang said.

“Do we really have to entertain this?” Weiss asked.

“Yes.” Yang replied.

Weiss groaned. “Ugh, please tell me you’re kidding...”

“I sincerely wish I was, Weiss, but the potential damage to our rep is just too great,” Yang said. “Even if we took our name fair and square, there’s no way folks are going to interpret our rejecting their challenge as anything other than our being too scared to fight them, or wanting to personally insult all three of them by implying they’re so beneath us we don’t even think it’s worth our time to fight them—not a good look for a brand new team, especially one that hasn’t even had a single official match in the Pits yet.

“First team impressions and reputations stick with a fighter, even long after they’ve left the group and gone on to new teams or fly solo, we have to get this right.”

“Please tell me we can at least set the conditions and the date.” Weiss said.

“We can, it’s our right as the challenged party, don’t worry,” Yang said. “The only things I have to insist on is that it be a completely vanilla, best 2 of 3 rounds toss-up, with a third-party judge and spotters, while being recorded and live-broadcasted on the Codex—ideally, the fight’s in the Pits, too.”

“Can’t we just have it at the training grounds again, with Ren and Nora officiating, and the others spotting?” Weiss asked. “All of that sounds ridiculously expensive.”

“I second that.” Pyrrha said. “We’re all down a great deal of shinies from all the fees, and it’ll be a long time yet before any of us ever see a paycheck from this, let alone that much money.”

“We’ll see if we can’t convince them to pony up the costs themselves, then,” Yang replied. “They definitely already have the dough to spend since they were supposed to register today, and it’s not like we need to spring for the fancier arenas, or high-ranking staff.”

“And if they say ‘No’?” Weiss asked.

“Then we can try to convince the Pits to make it a real, official bout, sell tickets, and HQ live-feed access and recordings to make up the costs, maybe even get a share of it if we can convince enough folks to get on board with sponsoring it.

“So with all that in mind: are we in agreement that we’re going to accept the challenge?’”

Weiss sighed, and said, “Yes… I always figured at some point I’d have to sell off pieces of my dignity to pay off my debt, anyway...”

“I’m so sorry, Yang, Weiss, but I have to say no.” Pyrrha said sheepishly.

“What?!” Yang spluttered. “Why?!”

“Will you look at her?” Pyrrha asked, pointing at Sayuri. “Even if it is legal for me to do so, I can’t willingly harm a child!”

Yang nodded. “Yeah, now that you say it loud, it would be a pretty shitty thing if we beat the crap out of someone half our age, even if she was willingly participating in a team match-up...”

“And that’s only occurring to you now...?” Weiss asked.

“Sue me!” Yang cried, throwing her arms up. “I’m used to the Valentino Underground, and trust me, shit got fucked up down there! Anyway, you want me to ask if they’ll agree to a 2v2? We’ll probably have to make it their choice who goes up against who, though.”

“I’d like to take that risk if you neither of you mind,” Pyrrha said. “I really don’t want that weight on my conscience.”

“I’m good with it,” Weiss said.

“And so am I,” Yang said, before she turned back to the original Furies. <Hey! You guys mind if we do it as a 2v2, your pick on who goes up?> she shouted.

<And why the fuck would we do that?!> Keren shouted back.

<Pyrrha here doesn’t want to fight Sayuri, says she doesn’t want to beat up a little kid!>

Sayuri’s eyes widened. <Little ki--?! I’M FIFTEEN, DAMN IT, I’M ONLY A FEW YEARS YOUNGER THAN ALL OF YOU...!> she screeched, so sharp and shrill everyone had to cover their ears.

<OW! FUCK! SORRY, FORGET THAT WE ASKED!> Yang shouted.

Sayuri stopped screeching, before she sharply spun around, and sulked.

Yang turned back to Pyrrha. “She’s actually 15!” she said loudly. “Since you’re fine with fighting Ruby, is it back to a 3v3?” she said, holding up three fingers on each hand.

“Yes!” Pyrrha replied, alongside a thumbs up.

Yang turned back around, and said, <Alright! We accept your challenge! Let’s shake on it, and start hashing out the details!>

The two teams met in the middle and started negotiating, Penny acting as witness. After finding a suitable date for all three of them, setting the terms, and convincing the original Furies to cover most of the costs of the fight (if extremely reluctantly), they sent the necessary requests and downpayments to the Pits.

<Don’t you dare bring anything less than your best, alright?> Keren snapped. <I want the whole realm to know why you don’t fuck with the Furies.>

<Ditto that, especially the rep!> Yang said, smirking. <Should really help us get off the ground, what with the stigma we carry.>

Keren started to rumble ominously, before Vigne put a hand on her shoulder and led her and Sayuri off.

“Is this going to be the first of many folks challenging us to a fight for one reason or the other?” Weiss asked flatly.

“Definitely,” Yang said, nodding. “Don’t worry though: we can definitely afford to be a lot more selective with our future fights once we win this.”

“Don’t you mean ‘if’ we win this?” Pyrrha asked.

Yang chuckled and smiled. “Aw, c’mon, Pyrrha, have a little more faith in us Furies, will ya? Fights are won before they start, after all!”

[kara4ublog-blog]

Condo Perils Explained

Condos have grown to turn into a significant habitat of urban centers across North America. Touted as a housing alternative with a care-free life-style, they've turn out to be incredibly well-known, specially through the final 10 years or so. Single men and women, childless couples and retirees look to be particularly attracted to them, primarily because of hassle-free amenities in and about them. But, to lots of buyers and unit owners, condominium ownership may possibly nonetheless be ambiguous and convoluted. Because condos usually are not according to the exact same ownership structure as street-level regular (freehold) houses, comparing condos to classic residences is like comparing apples with oranges. Bayanihan Flats ownership is depending on a two-tiered ownership method. One particular tier pertains for the individual unit itself, and the second, to the pro-rated and undivided interest of each of the widespread components in the condo complex, like the land underneath the complex. Despite the fact that the unit owner receives a person deed to their unit, it's constantly contingent and subordinate towards the master deed of the second tier ownership, represented by the prevalent components of the condo complicated. Conversely, a standard property, structured by its charge straightforward title ownership, provides its owner an absolute and exclusive ownership of each the land as well as the dwelling erected on it. The important distinction here is the fact that the individual unit owner is just not the absolute master from the condo house. Sharing a common roof as well as the rest in the condo complex using the other unit owners makes them an intrinsic element of the joint ownership commune. As a result, the value and destiny of any individual unit depends on all of the unit owners electing competent leaders (board members) to govern their condo complicated diligently, and on their prompt payments of realty tax, monthly upkeep charge and particular assessment, as they turn out to be due. These are two pivotally essential pre-requisites for any condo complicated to be run professionally, and stay fiscally wholesome to preserve the worth of its units in the future.

A vital thing to note is the fact that the house owner's loss of home doesn't adversely influence any of their neighbours. Conversely, the condo owner's loss of their unit automatically impacts all of their neighbours, the other fellow unit owners inside the very same condo complicated, by rising their financial obligations to preserve the whole complex. The extra losses from the units, the heavier financial burden on remaining unit owners to maintain the complicated. Condo complexes are comprised of unit owners with varying economic strengths. Some invest in their units all in money, and some with a sizable down payment. Several other people can only afford to purchase their units with really smaller down payments, facilitated via insured high-ratio, a.k.a. Monster mortgages, mostly guaranteed by tax payers. Economic policy makers, via quasi-government formed insurance coverage agencies like Fannie May possibly, Freddy Mac and CMHC in Canada, have already been approving and encouraging such (subsidized) purchases to stimulate the economy for rather some time. In the course of instances of a healthy economy and vibrant real estate markets, the condo scene - offering it can be not overvalued - may be a viable alternative to classic housing for which it was originally made from its inception in 1965. Its volatility comes into play in occasions of over-inflated prices, oversupply, unemployment and interest spikes. As a rule, the financially weakest unit owners would be the first to succumb during economic adversity. Their units get liened and sold out by forced sales. If adverse situations persist, as time passes, the strain on the remaining unit owners to shoulder the financial burden of sustaining the whole complex may start out a domino impact. More unit owners may well then succumb to economic pressures, specially when you will discover no readily accessible new unit buyers on the market. To recognize what may well occur to condos inside the extreme, 1 has to look at what occurred to cooperatives or "Co-ops," a really related notion to condominium-like ownership. The Terrific Depression of the 1930s caused scores of co-op owners, unable to cope with their financial woes, to default on their maintenance fees and typical co-op mortgages. That precipitated the catastrophic failure of co-ops on a enormous scale. Must the economy tank again, condos, a lot of of them financed to the hilt, may perhaps find yourself meeting their demise just as co-ops did some eighty years ago. To stop such scary scenarios, the public need to be conscious that shopping for into a condo complex isn't a worry no cost ownership arrangement, as numerous are led to believe. In reality, it can be fraught with peril. The preferred assumption that by buying a condo unit, one particular becomes totally free of its complicated ownership worries is dead incorrect. The public requirements a cautionary tale about condo ownership. Government regulators and policy makers should take note that condominiums will be the most volatile of true estate solutions on account of the monetary diversity of its inhabitants. Financially weak unit owners with small or no equity in their units have to understand that defaulting on a condo's upkeep fees and mortgages will make them lose their units, resulting in monetary liabilities that could haunt them for many years. Politicians and regulators in charge ought to realize that at the next big market correction, the trade-off of stimulating the economy by inducing financially weak purchasers to get condos with tiny or no down payments may perhaps backfire badly, resulting in taxpayers footing the bill for defaulted insured mortgages. Worse however, vacancies resulting from fall-outs by no-equity unit owners, could result in disastrous consequences towards the remaining unit owners and their complexes. To prevent such possibilities and assure that condos remain a viable and sustainable form of housing, certain safeguards, among which was formerly made use of by economic institutions, really should be reinstated for the benefit of the condo industry's future. A Mandatory Minimum Down Payment of no less than 35% Before government insurers stepped in to insure high-ratio mortgages on condo units, economic institutions have been insisting on a minimum 35% down payment. Figuring out that condos were exceptionally risky, they would not supply mortgages for extra than 65% of their unit value. Their danger was later minimized - the truth is, virtually eliminated - after government insured agencies started to supply them with guarantees in case of eventual defaults. By undertaking so, a car was formed by which a regular renter with pretty low cash on hand could invest in a Bayanihan Flats Mactan unit without the need of putting down significantly of their very own money (equity). This government-subsidized policy had induced scores of conventional renters, a lot of of them turned-speculators, to get as several condos as possible for the sake of keeping the housing sector a powerful contributor towards the country's economy. The imperfection of such a socialist-like system was tested through the real estate crash on the early 90s, exactly where, because of oversupply, the pool of legitimately readily available buyers dried out, major to a dramatic lowering of condominium unit values and huge defaults by no-equity unit owners. Worst hit have been taxpayers, who paid banks billions of dollars for defaulted mortgages via government insurance coverage agencies. A second test of your system's imperfection occurred in the US in 2008, where once again, the prices of housing, and specifically condominiums, experienced devaluation of as much as 50% in lots of main urban areas. Once again, it was taxpayers that had to foot the bill for the defaulted mortgages. It appears as if not a great deal was learned from such failures. A current MarketWatch piece titled "Opinion: It will soon get easier to purchase a home-but never do it" of October 24, 2014, quotes the FHFA director saying that Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac are arranging to assure some loans with down payments as little as 3%. Offered that most economists agree we presently live in an financial bubble with overinflated real estate prices, we must ask ourselves if we are able to afford to sit and wait for the subsequent marketplace crash that would lead to one more key condo devaluation. The next such crash couldn't only affect taxpayers but additionally the score of owners that would shed their condo units. Condo complexes left with several empty units could very possibly wind up wound down by way of insolvency proceedings, sooner or later transforming themselves into ordinary apartment buildings. Harm to the economy - in reality, towards the complete society - could be quite dire. For the sake of preserving the condominium sector and to minimize the risk of taxpayers' liability in case of potential massive defaults, condos needs to be excluded from high-ratio insured mortgages. Condo buyers really should once again be expected to place at the least a 35% down payment of their own funds if they want to purchase a condo. With no longer qualifying for government assured insurance on their mortgages, and condos remaining to be overpriced, banks may well insist for even greater down payments. Although sounding scary, this would truly lead us back for the free-market policy, on which our society was founded. Condo complexes which can be effectively governed, comprised of unit owners in a position to afford its distinct life-style, would be in considerably superior monetary shape as its individual owners would place down their own (substantial) equity into the units, leaving them in a lot far better position to cope with future elevated maintenance costs. Their person and collective economic strength would assure the preservation, even enhancement, of their units and complexes in occasions to come. Disqualifying condos for insured higher ratio mortgages would not weaken the true estate business. The truth is, it would entice developers to build extra reasonably priced apartment buildings to house members from the public that can not afford to buy true estate, and alleviate tax payers of paying for high-ratio insured mortgages on defaulted condo units.