#but this week was really busy so now I’ve got no executive functioning left and I’m tired/achy

[xmcu-fietro]

a fun game to play when you have adhd is “is my hyperfixation fading or do I just need a long nap” “is my hyperfixation fading or am I just burnt out” “is my hyperfixation fading or did I just forget to eat again” “is my hyperfixation fading or is this actually depression” etc etc.

[asset35-maya]

Prompt no. 18 from this list

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

“Sorry, just give me a minute, babe. I need to recalibrate the interface I’m using…”

Gavin’s voice trailed off. The only sound in the room was from the clacking of his keyboard, his fingers flying across the keys.

Nines tried his best to take his mind off his situation. Immobile in bed… with the very real possibility that it could be permanent.

It was a just a software update… just another afternoon nap… but now he had no idea whether he’d ever move again.

Noticing his stress levels spiking, he focused on Gavin. The crease of his brows… the old scar across his nose… the determined set of his jaw as he scrubbed through lines and lines of code to find the root of the problem.

Gavin.

Lover. Friend. Saviour.

The man he depended on for everything, including his continued existence.

Nines silently thanked whichever force of nature had brought him into the safety and sanctity of Gavin’s embrace. RA9 or God or the laws of physics that dictated where atoms would end up from the beginning of time.

Not all androids were as lucky as he was.

After the Revolution, the digital giant known as Cyberlife had been dissolved under political pressure from New Jericho and its vehement supporters. Android production ceased, Cyberlife’s assets were stripped and its R&D departments were spun off into smaller, more benign companies.

People were elated in the beginning… and then they realised there was no one around to maintain and service the androids that now comprised 30% of American citizenry. Private technicians had booming business, but they were eventually overwhelmed.

The worst of it was the software.

The patches, the bug fixes, the security.

No single company was able to do it by themselves and individuals realised they were pretty much on their own. Human husbands and wives and girlfriends and brothers and pretty much everyone scrambled to learn how to take care of beloved androids on their own.

Gavin was one of the most capable ones. He knew how to do most of the mechanical work and quickly taught himself the software and systems elements. When Nines asked him how he was so proficient… whether he learnt any of it in college… he wouldn’t respond directly. The closest Nines had gotten to an answer was a grumbled “s what happens when you share a room for fifteen years with the nerdy prick that started all this trouble in the first place”

It was initially tough on the both of them… and expensive… as they figured out how to do things by trial… but Gavin was confident and adamant that he wouldn’t let Nines down. He quickly reached a steady state, even managing to get a maintenance routine in place.

But he couldn’t be perfect.

And there were things he couldn’t control.

Androids were the most complicated cyberphysical systems on the planet. Anything and everything could go wrong at any time…

And it had… during a major OS update.

“Babe, can you hear me?”

Nines’ LED cycled yellow once and went back to red.

Gavin held one of the limp hands in his own.

“Can you feel this?”

The LED spun again.

“Great. And I’m pretty sure you can see me, I know that look in your eyes, babydoll. Hmm… okay, that means all the sensors and IOT device connections are fineee…”

The musing continued as Gavin set aside the laptop and scooted closer to Nines. A gentle hand came up to tilt the android’s face from side to side.

“But you can’t talk…”

“AAAAAAAAAA”

“Wow. Never make that noise in the bedroom again. Hmm… Okay, this means your vocal chords are fine but you can’t move your mouth. Huh.. well… you can’t seem to move anything… not that different from your usual participation levels in bed then. Not to worry.”

The only thing Nines could do was glare and Gavin seemed relieved that even that was possible. He patted the android’s cheek.

“I’ll check your motor actuation and control. Simple modules. I should be able to see anything strange right away.”

Gavin resumed scrolling through the chunks of code and running searches for common errors. But minutes passed… and turned into an hour… and the hour, doubled, tripled.

But Gavin was undeterred. He had to be. Giving up was not an option. Plus, years of being a dedicated police officer had wiped out any fears of hard work and failure… he would scroll all night if it came to that.

A notification popped up on the screen.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Sweetheart, you’ve been trying for hours. Take a break.

Gavin turned to his side. Nines could detect the worry and agitation behind the facade of lighthearted calm.

“I know right. It’s not fair. You’ve been chilling this whole time I’ve been working. Tsk tsk.”

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: I’m serious, Gavin. Stop. Take a break for today. Call someone. You can try again tomorrow morning.

“Nines, you’re not a work assignment. I can’t take a break from you. You can get up and close this laptop for me.”

A few more hours passed. Frowning, Gavin climbed under the covers with Nines and began troubleshooting and testing all other modules too. It was a massive undertaking, but he’d be damned if he didn’t do it.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Know when to give up on a lost cause.

It was nearly two in the morning when that message popped up. Gavin’s eyes were red from all the screen time, but his fighting spirit had not flagged. If anything, he felt close to the finish line. Having gone through nearly the entirety of his lover’s system architecture, there were only a few stones left unturned. He’d identify the problem, win half the battle and then the solution would flow from there. It always did. They’d be fine.

He turned to tell Nines precisely that and balked at the tears staining the android’s perfect face.

“Hey…”

Gavin leaned over his partner and wiped the tears away.

“Hey… shhh… don’t… don’t worry, I’ll take care of you…”

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m putting you through all this. Things can’t go on like this. I’m such a liability. Emotionally, physically, financially! You can’t keep doing this for me, Gavin.

Gavin placed the laptop on the bedside table and slipped deeper under the covers, wrapping himself around Nines’ still form.

“It’s a good thing you can’t speak right now, cause you’re talking some major bullshit, baby. You are going to be FINE. I will take care of you, like always, like I promised.

You are not a liability. You are my man. I signed up for this. If you were human and sick and I dunno, needed a kidney or something, I’d simply give it to you. You and I are bound like that. For life.

So quit bitching, let me do my thing, and when you’re back… you know how to thank me.”

He smiled genuinely as he said that, stroking the android’s skin and trying to calm him down. When the speed of the LED cycles came down and the colour stabilised at a warm amber, Gavin kissed the frozen lips and gave Nines one last cuddle before returning to his computer.

Sunrise began to streak across the dark sky by the time the critical error was identified. Gavin sighed deeply as he pulled up the faulty synchronisation that had jammed the hundreds of motors and drives throughout Nines’ body.

There was actually nothing much to be said for the root cause of the failed execution loop. Just improper methods written for some of the new hardware they had installed the previous week.

That’s what they got for using uncertified biocomponents and unlicensed third party software bought off the seedier parts of the internet. Some incompatibility somewhere would inevitably trip them up. Gavin was usually able to see such trouble before it found them… but even he couldn’t be perfect.

He stretched and cracked his spine and wiggled his fingers before plunging into rewriting the problematic section. He would sleep like a log after this… but first, he had to sprint to the finish line.

And he did.

At 7AM, Gavin finally copied the clean code into the compiler and hit execute. After a brief reinitialisation, Nines blinked awake. He raised his hands tentatively. As soon as he realised full functionality had been restored, he sat up and threw himself at Gavin, smothering the exhausted human in a giant hug.

Gavin hugged back, fighting to keep his emotions at bay.

“All… all good?”

“You saved my life. Again.”

“I’ll do it a thousand times more if I need to.”

“I thought I was done for.”

“Don’t be dramatic. It was just some bad code.”

“I could have been stuck like that forever. Never moving, never talking. Just lying there till my charge drains out. That could have been the end for us, and frankly, I was prepared for that eventuality. You should be too.”

“Never.”

“I don’t doubt your abilities, sweetheart, but we are painfully limited by our resources. There’s things in this world that only Cyberlife can do and they’re never coming back. We have to make our peace with that. Pulling all-nighters just to keep me alive… it’s not sustainable.”

“Hey it’s not like this happens all the time, Nines. I get that this was really scary, but it’s not always like this… so please don’t tell me whether things are sustainable. I will always fight for you. End of discussion.”

Nines didn’t respond and just rested his head on Gavin’s shoulder. His steel blue eyes were fixed on the pair of birds fluttering outside their bedroom window. They sat intertwined like that on the bed for a while. Now that he could, Nines didn’t seem to want to stop holding his partner. The birds landed on the window sill, chirping away and enjoying the morning breeze.

“They’re really quite sweet, aren’t they? The two of them are always here in the morning. I should build them a little bath in our garden.”

“They’re mates.”

“Huh. Just like us.”

“You know… it’s just a myth, what they say… that birds die when their mates do.”

“What?”

“Most species will go through a grieving period, but after that they will begin courtship again.”

“What the phck are you on about? No one’s dying and no one’s beginning courtship again. Nines, I’d move heaven and earth before anything like that happens.

Besides, if I really, really couldn’t get your body to work, worst case scenario, I’d just transfer you to a mobile device. Carry you around like a voice in my head… like my conscience… I promise you that nothing can keep us apart.”

It wasn’t all that easy to convince Nines, and Gavin wasn’t about to try. It had been an ordeal for the both of them. It wasn’t the first time, and it might not be the last. But for the time being, they had emerged, and they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

Yawning, Gavin lay back among the mussed sheets and pulled Nines with him. Birdsong and the muted whir of thirium pump compressions lulled him into a dreamless sleep.

[silverarmedassassin]

Clandestine Meetings - One

Actor!Bucky x Reader | Word Count: 2488 | Warnings: None

A/N: Listen, I know I said this would be posted in "about an hour," but I have no self-control and it must be posted NOW.

Sorry for the delay in getting this out! I was having a bit of block. Thank you for reading and, if you feel so inclined, please let me know what you think!❤️ If you want to be tagged, please send me a message or enter your url here!

Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

[ Previous | Masterlist | Next ]

It’s 10:30 by the time your boss stumbles into the office. Pepper Potts is usually the embodiment of poised and put together - sleek strawberry blonde hair either falling over her shoulders in beautiful waves or tied in a high ponytail; black pencil skirts and white blouses tucked neatly inside. But not today.

While the ponytail still sits high on her head, dark circles taint her usually smooth, pristine complexion. She’s fisting a to-go mug in one hand and her office mug in the other, already steaming with a fresh round of caffeine.

You hated days like these; mornings after Tony keeps her out late - either business or pleasure, you never know as you prefer not to pry into your bosses’ personal lives - were always interesting, to say the least. Pepper was never mean, and you were almost positive there wasn’t an unkind bone in her body. She was just off. And if she was off, it means you were off, resulting in your job being about one hundred times harder as you often had to play the roles of both assistant and editor.

“Good morning, Ms. Potts,” you finally greet as she sits down at her desk. She’s rummaging through her bag, growing more irritable as the seconds pass. She sighs before stopping to look up at you.

“Y/N, please. It’s been six months. Just call me Pepper.” You internally scoff at the insistence of being anything less than professional towards one of the smartest women you’ve ever encountered in your life, and she turns back to her treasure hunt. “Don’t tell me I left my laptop at home,” she whines to herself as she slumps down into her large executive chair.

You clear your throat as you shuffle forward, computer in hand. “You had me take down to IT to get your files backed up, remember?” you smile as you deposit the device on the cherry-oak desk.

Pepper returns the smile and shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t understand how I functioned before you.” She slides the laptop across the desk and opens it. While she waits for the software to boot up, she starts her typical morning rapid-fire session. “Did I miss any calls before I came in?”

“No, it’s been pretty q-word this morning.” You vowed never to say “quiet” while in the office. It somehow always jinxed your days, resulting in everyone and their mother calling within twenty minutes.

“E-mails?”

“The chef you’ve been in contact with sent over his schedule for the next few months. It’s looking like the best time to meet is early next month if you want to get the feature done in time for the winter edition.” Pepper opens her mouth to fire another question, but you’re one step ahead of her. “I’ve already blocked out a date in your calendar and sent the invite to his team.”

A soft smile graces the woman’s face as she scribbles notes in her daybook. “And what does my schedule look like for today?”

You sort through the mental files that contain minute-to-minute information regarding your boss’s workday. “You’re pretty booked. You have that photoshop with James Barnes at noon, and after-”

“Shit,” Pepper mummers, cutting you off. Panic quickly settles into her features. “Why does Tony do this? Barnes is impossible to book for anything. I can’t miss this….”

“Uh, no, you can’t,” you practically screech as you fix your boss with a wild look. “This photoshoot has been on your schedule since before I even started. And the time you have set up with him next week doesn’t allow for a full interview, photoshoot, and get material for the short online feature.” You try not to let the panic come out in your voice, but this is precisely the kind of incident you were hired to prevent.

Pepper gently closes her laptop and sets her features in a serious look. “Listen, I think you’re doing a great job here, and you’ve grown so much within the few months you’ve been on the team.” You eye her suspiciously, wondering if this was your ‘you’re fired’ speech. If so, it was definitely coming out of left field. “Why don’t you take my place at the shoot today? If Tony hadn’t promised I’d be in attendance for this investor meeting today, I’d have you go to that instead. But,” the blonde sighs deeply before continuing, “Tony has no regard for anyone’s schedule, and this is an important meeting.”

Your stomach drops from the 44th floor you’re currently on down to ground level. You’d never been on a set before, let alone one with someone as big as James. Plus, you’d only been on a handful of mid-sized interviews. How did she expect you to do this by yourself?

“Pepper, I…”

“I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to try and tell me that you’re not ready and that you can’t possibly clear your schedule for the afternoon. But if I didn’t think you were capable of holding your own, you wouldn’t even be sitting here with ‘assistant editor’ in front of your name. You have the skillset; you just need to show that you can use it. I know you don’t want to be an assistant forever.”

You anxiously bite your lip, feelings of inadequacy and anxiousness filling your senses.

“I don’t even know this James guy…” you say, defeated.

“Well, the car doesn’t arrive for another,” she looks down at her phone, “forty-five minutes. You better get reading.”

“We really need to bring you into the twenty-first century,” Natasha, Bucky’s manager, says as the first notes of My Funny Valentine start dancing through today’s set.

Following the too-bright flash of the camera, Bucky blinks the starbursts out of his eyes and tries to set the redhead with as stern of a look as possible. “Don’t you dare diss Mr. Sinatra. He’s a classic. A legend!” He watches as a stylist runs up and begins fussing with his hair.

Natasha just rolls her eyes and goes back to scrolling through her phone. As much as she acts annoyed with him - and his insistence of having at least two dozen 40’s songs on every photoshoot playlist - he knew she wouldn’t trade him for the world. They had a long history pre-dating the entertainment industry, and she was damn good at her job. If it wasn’t for Nat, Bucky’s not sure his current agency would have even signed him.

As the stylist finishes up her poking and prodding, the photographer - who Bucky has already forgotten the name of - begins shouting out directions from behind the camera. Pose this way. Turn that way. Make it look like you want to be here. It takes everything in Bucky not to grimace - both at the consistent reconfiguring he has to do to his body and the loud rumble that echoes through his stomach. The shirtless pictures they were shooting today caused him - against his better judgment - to forgo breakfast and, with nothing but too-weak black coffee in his system, Bucky couldn’t help but feel a little agitated.

“Just a few more shots, and then we can break for lunch,” he hears the man behind the camera shout before dragging the camera back up to his face.

Bucky contorts himself into a position that shows off the abs he’s worked incredibly hard to achieve and maintain and masks his face in the perfect moody smolder these magazines love so much. Three more pops of the shutter, some grumbling and direction by the photographer, and one more position change, and he’s finally free.

As he’s looking at the pictures and throwing a robe over his bare torso and boxer-clad bottom, Bucky’s attention is pulled from the camera’s tiny screen to the back of the spacious room by Natasha’s stern, Russian-lilted voice. The accent only came out when she was agitated, so the sound alone is often used as a warning sign to those closest to her to stay away.

“How did you even get up here? Is there no security in place? I swear-”

Bucky turns to find his manager - all five-foot-three inches of her - standing defensively in front of whomever she’s cornered by the elevator.

“As I said, I’m here in place of Ms. Potts.” Bucky perks up at the second voice; is almost positive he recognizes the sweet melody despite having only encountered it once several months before. “Here, look, I have my badge.”

Sure enough, as Bucky scurries over to the duo, he sees a familiar face anxiously looking at his manager. He might be terrible with names, but Bucky Barnes rarely forgets a face.

“Natasha, why do you insist on harassing every person who sets foot within a five-foot radius of me while on the job?” Bucky jokes as he approaches the women.

He watches as your attention shifts from the annoyed redhead to him; a look of shock and maybe a hint of mortification flashes across your face.

“I wasn’t harassing. This is a closed set, and randos from the street can’t just walk on up,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “And it’s not you I’m worried about. It’s...you. But you know what I mean!”

He does. After all, protecting his privacy and work is one of Bucky’s most significant concerns. That doesn't mean he isn’t going to tease Natasha any chance he gets. He playfully scoffs and turns his attention to you. “I see you got the job. I told you everything was going to work out.”

Bucky can’t help but preen at the way you anxiously tuck a non-existent stray hair behind your ear and bite your lip. “You were right. Mr. Stark isn’t as intimidating as I thought. Although,” you playfully roll your eyes, “he is a menace. He promised Pepper’s attendance at a meeting, so now you’re stuck with an inexperienced interviewer rather than the queen of journalism.”

“Bah!” Bucky exclaims. “I’m sure you’ll do great. Plus, you’re not the one half-naked in the situation. If anyone embarrasses themselves, it’ll be me.”

Natasha chortles at the comment, mumbling something the sounds a lot like, “ever the charmer,” before walking away. At the same time, Bucky doesn’t miss the way your gaze slowly skims down his cotton-clade body before snapping back up to his face.

“Come on. We just broke for lunch, and Stark spares no expense when it comes to the spreads.”

It’s well past six-thirty in the evening when you finally make it back to your building. Despite the exhaustion flowing through your veins and the grumble in your stomach reminding you every five minutes that you haven’t eaten since lunchtime, there’s a festive air to your being, a proverbial pep to your step that could only be the result of a successful first interview experience.

Yeah, you were a nervous wreck before and during the interview, but you walked away feeling amazing about yourself - and with three pages worth of phenomenal, touching, and personal quotes from the one and only Bucky Barnes.

You try to ignore the butterflies that erupt low in your belly at the thought of the blue-eyed god of a man. Despite having no other experience interviewing someone with as large of a celebrity as he, you’ve concluded that Bucky is an angel of an interviewee. He was polite, answered all of your questions, and flirted just a little. Or, at least that’s what you would call it if you were anyone but a lowly editorial assistant who still purchased from bargain bins because that’s all you could afford. In all reality, Bucky was a very smooth talker with the confidence to back it up. It explained the incomprehensible hype surrounding the man you had no idea was such a big deal less than twelve hours prior.

The rumble of your stomach pulls you back to reality as you unlock your apartment door. You push the thoughts of Bucky to the back of your mind, settle for finishing unpacking the day for when you’re unwinding for bed. Right now, all you want to focus on is fo-

“Uh, hello!” your roommate Wanda screeches as you push open the door. The redhead is standing, arms crossed, in your entry, a look of disdain on her face. “When were you going to tell me, your best friend and roommate, who pays half the rent and utilities, mind you, that Bucky Barnes followed you on Instagram. James Bucky Barnes, Y/N!”

You freeze at the mention of the man who has taken up every inch of your mind since you left the shoot earlier that day. You deposit your keys onto the small table next to the door and try to act as nonchalant as possible. “What are you talking about, Wanda?”

Your roommate starts wagging her phone in front of your face before pulling it back so she can read off her screen. “Well, I follow these gossip blogs - just for fun, of course. I like to stay up-to-date with all the celebrity goings-on.” You fix Wanda with an unamused look as you pass by on the way to the kitchen. “And I was scrolling through, catching up on today’s gossip, and all of a sudden, I see a screenshot of your Instagram account!”

You freeze mid-reach for a saucepan and turn to look at her. “What?”

“Yea, see,” Wanda holds her phone out so you can see the screen. Low and behold, there your account is; questionably composed landscape shots of the city and poorly-lit food pics in all their glory. “It started to circulate this afternoon after someone saw he followed you! Why did he follow you?”

You slowly resume your task of reheating last night’s spaghetti as you answer her. “I...I don’t know? I met him at work this afternoon. He probably just followed me because of Stark.” You shrug despite the thrill that runs through your body.

You halfheartedly listen as Wanda blabs on about the crush she’s apparently had for years despite never having once mentioned it to you, too focused on running through the day’s events to care much about how she’s seen every single one of his films at least a dozen times.

Maybe he had been flirting with you? His manager did mention he flirts with anything with a heartbeat, so it was most likely just part of his personality. Or at least the role he played in public. You weren’t naive enough to think that who Bucky presented himself as to the media, fans, and others not in his inner circle was the real Bucky. After all, he was likely just trying to win you over so you’d write something good about him.

Still, you can’t help the giddy smile that creeps across your face as, when you finally lie down for the night, you open the Instagram app to find Bucky’s name and verified status among the several notifications awaiting you.

@redbarn1995 @juenenfeu

[onomonopetabread]

Declawing the Cat - Chapter 3

(Sorry it took so long guys, between testing and homework and executive functioning, I could NOT get this done. Anyways,

“Father, do I have to go?” Adrien asked for the hundredth time.

“Of course Adrien. I refuse to go on a business trip as important as this one without you. You’re my son.”

Felix rolled his eyes. He and his mother were visiting the two bachelors (against his actual will, obviously). Everyone in the room knew the real reason why Adrien had to go; he was the face of the brand, and it was common fashion knowledge that to go to such a high-ranking event without your leading model would get you shunned and cancelled. ‘You’re my son’ EVERYONE’S arse.

It was obvious that Adrien was all too aware of this fact, because he couldn’t seem to run out of excuses for why he couldn’t go.

Well, he could also not wish to go because of how brain-numbingly boring the whole affair is, and honestly, who could blame him? This year’s Annual Pre-Junior’s Fashion Competition Assembly was being held in Sydney, and all of the biggest names in the industry were going to attend. The assembly takes place over the course of two. Entire. Months. For what, not even the attendees know. Felix swears, these designers were as mad as a bag of ferrets.

I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing, like Miss I’m-all-that Ginger Breadhouse, you’d probably be in Seventh Heaven there, but if you were, how do you say, normal, you’d sell your soul to be another else. In fact, Felix could almost bet Chat Noir’s Miraculous that Adrien would sign that demonic contract in a heartbeat if that were an option.

“But Father, what about school? I’ll miss so much instruction-”

“Natalie will tutor you, just like she did before you attended that … institution.”

“And my fencing practice? Surely, you wouldn’t want me to miss out on those.”

“Adrien, are you suggesting that they don’t have fencing areas in Sydney?”

“No, I’m just saying that fencing without Kagami wouldn’t be the same…”

“Well, you aren’t going to be fencing with her forever, so think of this as a sample for the future. Now, no more of this arguing, Adrien. You are going to the Assembly and that’s final. Have I made myself clear?”

Adrien’s shoulders slumped in defeat and for a heartbeat, Felix felt sympathetic. “Yes, Father.”

“Good, now go pack some clothes you will need for the weeks. We won’t be at the events the entire time, so I will permit you to bring some of your own wardrobe. Please remember we will be there for a long time, so pack accordingly.”

And with that, they were all dismissed. Adrien trugged upstairs looking particularly peeved. He invited Felix to come with him, and Felix agreed, but only to keep up appearances. If he knew any better, Felix would have sworn that he heard him talking to someone on the way up, but he decided to ignore it; he couldn’t be bothered to guess what weird habits his wanker of a cousin had.

Once they got to Adrien’s room, Felix sat himself down at the piano while Adrien took out a suitcase from his closet and started choosing some informal clothing for when they were just doing day-to-day activities.

“Can you believe that he’s making me go, Felix?”

“Yes, I can believe it.”

“AND we have to leave tomorrow! I won’t even get the chance to say goodbye to our friends.

“Not to worry, cousin dearest. I’ll tell them for you. Anyways, don’t look at this trip as a burden, look at it as a new opportunity. You can gather information and resources for your friend Marinette.”

Adrien’s face brightened at the mention of his friend and Felix rolled his eyes when his back was turned. He swears, all it takes to cheer him up was to be reminded that Pigtails was alive and well somewhere on the planet.

“You’re right, Felix! This way I can help her pursue her dreams! I can’t wait until we get back to tell her everything I’ve learned about the industry.”

“...Can’t you just text or call her?”

“You mean with my phone?”

“No Adrien, I mean with a plastic banana you can buy at the baby store. Yes I mean your phone!”

Adrien paused in the middle of folding a t-shirt and packing it into a suitcase. “I didn’t tell you? Father confiscated it for ‘my own good’. He thinks I spend too much time around my friends and not enough time focusing on my studies, so it’s with him for the time being.”

Well, there goes Felix’s plan to pull a quick cell prank before Adrien leaves. “Adrien Bartholomew Agreste, is that resent I hear in your voice?”

“Yes, it is. I’m tired of responsibilities and having people depend on me every second that I breathe. That’s why I wanted to go to school in the first place; it gives me eight hours of non-Agreste related freedom.”

Felix narrowed his eyes. What did this boy know about responsibilities? All he had to do was play a keyboard, wave a stick around, and look pretty for pictures. Felix couldn’t understand how a job like that could burden someone so badly.

“Goodness, Adrien. You make it sound as though Uncle asks you to carry the weight of the entire ever-loving world on your shoulders.”

Adrien sighed. “That’s just how I feel, sometimes. Anyways, I think these are all of the casual clothing Father will let me take with me. Maybe if I’m lucky, he might not see the video game I hid under them all.”

The next day was a Saturday, so Felix the delivery boy was going to have to give the mega-twits the message at a later time. Today, it was all about acting as emotional as he could for the departure of his Cousin & Co. gabriel thought it would be a good idea for Felix and his mother to stop by the mansion every once in a while to make sure everything was all right, accounted for, and in the case of the house plants, watered. This was news to Felix. He doubted his uncle was even a living being, let alone the type of person to have plants in his home. Right now, they were standing next to the family limo. Natalie and gabriel were talking to Ape Man about transportation in Australia.

“Oh, darling Adrien, I’m so sad to see you go. We only just now got here, and you’re leaving. Why must the fates keep up apart?”

“It’s alright, Aunt Amilie. We’ll be back before you even realize we’re gone.”

“We? Oh, I wasn’t talking about your father, dear. I wouldn’t mind some time away from him. Anyways, I hope you have the best time in Australia. Bring something back for me, will you? I’ve always wanted to get a real boomerang, ever since I was a young girl.”

“I’ll be sure to get you the best boomerang in the country, Aunt A. What about you Felix? Do you want me to get you anything?”

Felix, who was standing some ways behind the others, pretended to ponder it over. “Bring me a friendship bracelet.”

“...A friendship bracelet?”

“If you can’t find one it’s okay I really don’t mind-”

“No, I’ll get you a bracelet. I was only surprised because you aren’t really the type to want one.”

He’s right- there was no way on Good Green Earth would he want some dingly little arts and crafts project. There also wasn’t any way that maybe he wanted his cousin thinking about him during his trip, that he wanted to envision Adrien getting something for him. Don’t even think about considering that Felix felt bad for him, dealing with the devil himself in a new place and wanting to give him something to do. Nope. Not a chance. Felix simply thought that Adrien would look hilarious running around Australia looking for beads and twine.

“...Just make sure you make me a good one, alright?”

Adrien smiled as though he could read right into Felix’s mind, and of course he had to look completely handsome in doing so. Stupid model. They practically had the same face and somehow Felix ended up looking like the off-brand knockoff.

“Adrien, we have to go now. The plane leaves in five hours,” gabriel said, entering the car.

“Why do we need to leave so soon?”

“So that I can buy fabrics with threads, gather all of my designs, double check with Natalie that the suite is still booked for us-”

“Alright, Father. I understand. Well, bye Felix. I’ll miss you.”

With that, he entered the limousine and the four of them drove away.

“Come Felix. Let’s go check the house for anything they might have accidentally left behind. We wouldn’t want them to leave something important,” said Amilie, still a little teary-eyed over the loss of her precious little baby nephew. She couldn’t stand the idea of being away from him for so long, even though his look-alike (her own bloody son) was right in front of her. Of course, Felix wasn’t bitter! Why wouldn’t ever say such a thing?

“Yes, Mother. Would you like me to check Adrien’s room?”

“Please, dear. Oh, look at you, watching over your cousin! And to think you said you wouldn’t like him!”

It was as though his mother never met him. Couldn’t she see that he was just trying to gain some sort of upper hand against Mr. Perfect or to uncover a secret of his? On the sunny side, at least he knows his facade is effective. He was beginning to worry that someone other than Blue-Eyed Phoenix Wright would figure him out.

Felix pushed open the door of Adrien’s room and immediately began to look around and turn things over. He was being extremely careful to make sure that everything he touched was put back in the place he got it from. After looking through his closet and library, however, he was disappointed to find that Adrien was actually as innocent as he seemed (and acted). In fact, the worst thing he could find was a disturbing amount of Ladybug memoria. It was a pity, really. Felix hadn’t blackmailed anyone in a long time, and he was beginning to get antsy. He turned around and headed out.

“Adrien, is that you? I thought you said you weren’t going to come back for another two months.”

Felix did a complete 180 and faced the source of the voice, which seemed to be some sort of floating cat-thing. It looked like a deer in headlights.

“You aren’t Adrien. Wait, are you okay, you seem to be swaying-?”

The thing was right; he was feeling woozy, and it didn’t take him that long to hit the floor, having fainted. The last thing he heard was the talking cat muttering,

“Shit.”

@myazael @2confused-2doanything @thecaptainthunder @thatonecroc @symwinter @mermaidreject @pink-and-bunny @kyrakitesong @your-number-one-second-choice @kayla0binow @hansa-12 @fc-studios @nom-the-king @thetrashypanda423 @chez-pezeater @supertomboyprincess @alyceeve @ceres-zephyr @swiftie-miraculer13 @justafanwarrior @marinettepotterandplagg @starlightshield @sandraf0612

[animanightmate]

What do you do if you write something for a person but they dont acknowledge it? The person made it a point to requested something from you and then never commented that they either: liked it. Didnt like it or didnt read it or dont wanna read it etc…… do you keep writing? Quit writing it? Remove the connect between you and them- like mentions or tags or gifts? just being a little salty. ☹️ I worked hard for them and they doesnt care to respond at all- been several weeks now- plenty of time to say something. I want to tag another person (and remove the previous person) in it because they were a totally unexpected reader that really appreciated it and told me so. But I don’t want to offend the person who requested the work. what should I do?

Hey Anon, that does sound super-frustrating! If you've put a lot of work in for a particular request, it must feel like your effort is being disregarded.

I guess... if you've heard literally nothing about the piece from the person in question, you might want to check some stuff first:

Do they actually know you've written it? For them? It's possible they've either not seen the tag or tumblr/ AO3 hasn't notified them. I was tagged in something a couple of weeks ago and I only knew about it because someone mentioned it elsewhere - tumblr can definitely be Like That.

Have they been on the platform on which you've tagged them for other stuff, in the meantime? Maybe they're just having a break/ can't access the platform right now...

Are they busy/ sick/ overwhelmed at the moment? I had an unsolicited gift written for me once as an extension of a fic of mine and, even though the person concerned had commented on my fic to say they were planning this and asked was it all right to do, I freaked out for days. (I loved it and was immensely flattered but behold: freaking out!) I also know that, when my health is particularly poor, even though I keep meaning to get around to responding to people about various things, my executive function departs and then it's weeks since I "should" have said something, and it becomes even more embarrassing to respond after a gap...

Some more questions for you, as the writer:

Are you enjoying the story? If so, keep going, I reckon! Even if the original impetus has actually now gone, the gift to you of the tale remains.

If someone else is enjoying it (too), is that enough? Personally, I think you should definitely keep writing for their enjoyment. Whether you gift it to them as well/ instead is up to you.

How will you feel if you never finish writing it? To my mind, there's a lot to be said for Just Writing The Thing. It's a really important discipline to get into, for one. I've had creative commissions where I really haven't been feeling it, and the original patron has disappeared, but the sense of achievement in finishing the piece you set out to do, even if it's not your finest work, or the patron in question never looks at it once, is a very distinct one. And, from experience, the muscle memory of forging through like that will help get you through writer's block on things you really want to write in the future. (And oddly, some of those commissions have been the ones that have resonated the strongest with other people (while some of my personal favourites languish in the meh pile, as far as other audiences are concerned...).)

How important is that other person's opinion to you? In absolute honesty? How would you feel if they actually hated it? Or adored it? What would it change about your own feelings for the piece? It seems to me as though it has a life of its own now. What do you think?

Thank you, anon, for this exercise (if that doesn't sound too cold!) - I've never had an anonymous query before, for one thing, and, for another, responding has got me thinking about my own practice and motivations (and pieces I've left languishing lately). I hope this has been in some way helpful to you, and I guess I'd have one more piece of advice on which to part: if you haven't already, maybe just ask them what they think. If it's that important to you, it sounds like checking in with them would be the way to go. If it isn't, well, there's your answer, I suppose! 😊

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

ʙᴀʀɢᴀɪɴꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴀʟꜱ | 𝘏𝘢𝘪𝘬𝘺𝘶𝘶!! Hitmen AU! 19+ [Daichi x F!Reader] One-Shot | NSFW

Dedicating this one-shot to @heartbeat-art  for drawing my rendition of Daichi in this AU ;; This be for you bb! 

I literally feel like I gotta write Daichi to bring it full circle now man, I hope you all enjoy this and literally thank you precious bean, for inspiring me to write for my AU again man ;; I’ve never had anyone want to make art for anything I’ve written for and I jsut ahng;aoehgow;h I’m wallowing in feels --- ಥωಥ

TW; Manhandling ; Slight choking ; Dirty talking ; Just Daichi being a whole daddy--- I mean what  Σ(´・ω・｀) ; idk ahsoigaheroig I’m just plain old sinning

» » Admin Ko

»»————-　♔　————-««

A ping echoed throughout the empty foyer room. A lone figure sat glimpsing over the information provided as she couldn’t help but let a small chuckle escape her lips. Her form was seated rather comfortably in the large chair as her legs were pulled in tight to allow her chin to settle atop her knees as she finished the transaction and bargaining details on her end.

It was a corrupt. Something she should’ve never considered, but after the blatant jab to her company and the clear hit on her COO and CFO there was nothing else she could really revert to that wasn’t morally corrupt. 

“Besides...they were the one’s who started this game, and now it’s time to remind them who owns what.”

Dark (e/c) eyes narrowed at the mere thought of how her co-workers had been exterminated. Perhaps her enemies had hired the same hitmen, perhaps they didn’t. All she knew was that the planned meeting for details was within the next 24 hours, and she wasn’t going to miss a single thing. 

Her choice to step into the corrupt field was forced, though she thought it was unnecessary, the desire to rightfully bring vengeance for her subordinates reigned supreme. 

“They’re just a bunch of lecherous perverts anyways...”

Though at this point, she wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself that her choices were right; yet no matter what she thought now, the nail on the coffin had been slammed down with no remorse.

»»————-　➴　————-«« 

Simple and clean cut, he sat calmly within the well lit diner. Though for the price and bargain he was given, he had to admit he was rather surprised at the quaint meeting place that was set. He was used to the extravagant restaurants, the loud highly populated clubs, the dark sinister bars with their own shares of secrets, but a small diner? It was a first, and immediately his interests in the client had piqued. 

“Sawamura, correct?”

Soft, yet clearly pronounced, his attention fell onto the woman who approached the booth he was situated at. He offered a nod before gesturing to the seat before him. His deep bronze eyes focusing on her entire being as she settled in the booth across from him.

“Before we begin, I have to ask. Why here? It’s rather...”

“Different?”

A knowing smile formed on her lips as she waved a hand up for the waitress to swing over to take their orders. Her (e/c) never leaving his as a hint of mischief twinkled at him.

“Let’s just say I’ve been to many functions similar to this, and since it is my own I wanted a...change of pace, if you’d like to put it that way.”

The smile never left her features as she finally allowed her gaze to move from his own strong one as she looked up at the waitress, her order falling flawlessly from her lips before the woman turned to him.

Simply ordering a black coffee, the waitress left with the common phrase that their orders would be out shortly. Once out of earshot, he shifted to lean back, his eyes never leaving hers as he took in her calm stature as she met his gaze head-on. 

“I will say it is out of the norm, though not unwelcome. But let’s get to business, Shall we?”

“Ah yes, the order I have is simple. I understand that in your line of work you don’t necessarily care for the personal details so I won’t bore you with that, but I’m sure besides that you’re also wanting to discuss the payment methods, yes?”

“Eloquently said. You’re right on the dot Ms. (y/n). I have no qualms in your personal business, however I am rather curious over your bargaining chip you added. I will say, when that specific order came in my men were...more than shocked.”

A soft groan escaped his lips as he finally closed his eyes as he remembered how utterly chaotic that day had been.

“And? Are you opposed to it Sawamura?”

Her tone was sharp, quick witted as she tilted her head at him, the look of mischief never leaving her jovial (e/c) eyes as she watched him release a breath.

“No, not at all. Rather, I’m curious as to why you’d offer yourself. It strikes me as odd, and I can’t help but feel as though you’re aiming for something more than what is to be anticipated.”

With that, he leaned forward his gaze stormy and heated as he rested his elbows on the table, fingers intertwined with one another as he quirked a brow at her, almost as if teasing her to continue with her explanation. 

Meeting him halfway, she leaned forward, her body mimicking his own as she had a coy smile on her face as she gently rested her chin atop her intertwined hands. 

“Simple things really, after all I’m a woman who has desires, and I would’ve either changed the bargain if the person I was meeting wasn’t what I was expecting. As for that last statement...I’ll share that upon your completion of our deal.”

“Oh? And what was your expectations, Ms (y/n)?”

“A handsome, strong man who looks as though he could fuck me the way I want him to.”

The tension between the pair was high, amusement dancing in her eyes as his gaze practically darkened with heat and curiosity as he smirked. Though, with the sudden appearance of the waitress, the tension eased albeit slightly as the orders had been set down before them.

Yet neither broke eye contact, even as the waitress had asked if they needed anything else. 

“I believe we’ll be fine for the time being, right Ms. (y/n)?”

“Correct, I’ll wave you down if there’s anything we may need.”

Their voices overlapped one another smoothly, as if planned as she briefly broke their little staring contest to ensure that the waitress was completely out of earshot. Once she was, the young CEO relaxed and leaned back into the booth as she began to dig into her food, a little hum of joy escaping her lips at the first bite before she spoke once more.

“Well, do we have ourselves a deal Sawamura?”

Taking another bite, she took her time to chew the morsel before finally bringing her fiery gaze up to meet his own as she set one elbow on the table, and resting her chin against the palm of her hand as she waited patiently for his answer.

His response wasn’t immediate. Though he kept his gaze with hers, he only broke it momentarily as he grabbed the cup of coffee before taking a calm sip. A low sigh escaping him at the comforting cup before he raised his eyes to her own waiting ones.

“As long as you uphold your end of the deal and explain your ulterior motive after, then we have ourselves a deal. I’ll send you the results once it’s over.”

“Excellent. Your reward will be worth it. I guarantee it.”

»»————-　➴　————-««

It had been a hectic week. With working through the two deaths in the company and dealing with the publicity, she was ready for a nice glass of wine and a long night’s rest of the unnecessary stress that was given to her by the opposing corporation. 

At the last meeting she had met eyes with the CEO. His grimy eyes raking over her form, and the unnerving smug smirk on his face when the deaths in her company was mentioned in private. It had her utterly pissed off and hoping for the damn bastard’s execution even more.

And, to her surprise it came as a beautiful text message. Despite the unknown number, she knew exactly who it was.

xx-xxx-xxx-xxxx

Neutralized. 

Grinning from ear to ear, she felt the copious amounts of stress wash away. Though even to her, she wasn’t sure if she should’ve even felt this way. It was immoral, wrong. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to be upset. The amount of corruption and perverse things the CEO of her rival corporation had gotten away with was absolutely sickening, and finally he was gone.

xx-xxx-xxx-xxxx

8 p.m. xx/xx

375-1250, Sodeyachi, Ogawara-machi Shibata-gun, Miyagi

The response was simple, her eyes now hooded as she sent the message before getting herself up from her place on the couch.

“I suppose I should give him a treat.”

With that, she set her phone on the table before heading out to prepare for her visitor. 

»»————-　➴　————-««

The light knock at the door brought a sense of joy through her veins as she slowly got up from her seat on the couch. The room had been dimly lit, a glass of wine already downed and settling into the fiery pit of her stomach as she answered the door. The long transparent lacy robe she wore only added to her appearance as she gave her visitor a coy grin.

“Welcome, please. Make yourself at home.”

With that she shifted to allow the built man into the rented space as she closed the door behind him, locking the door. Though before she could turn to address him she was slammed up against the door, her thighs resting on either side of his waist as one of his arms coiled around her waist as he nipped at her ear.

A light gasp escaped her parted lips as her fingers found purchase against the deep royal blue dress shirt he wore as her thighs clenched around his sturdy waist. 

“Impatient, aren’t we?”

Though her words were light and wispy, the low growl in his throat had her shiver in anticipation as he planted a firm kiss to her jaw.

“You leave yourself looking like an entire treat for someone like me, and of course I’m going to take what’s due.”

“Then take it big boy...show me how badly you want it...”

There was no hesitation as his lips surged forth to claim her own. Passionate yet clearly skilled, his tongue dove forth as he swallowed every gasp and moan that escaped her lips. Her fingers tightening around the soft fabric of his shirt as his hands had slipped down to her thighs, caressing them lightly-- almost tauntingly before his fingers slipped past the thin fabric of the robe, and roughly grasped her ass as she was hefted up into his arms.

Another moan escaped her as his lips began to attack her neck. Unrelenting as each kiss left a mark on her skin. Each earning a groan of pleasure  from her as her fingers moved from his shirt to his hair as her fingers roughly ran through his hair, nails trailing down as a low moan was coaxed out of the large man, and the next thing she knew, she was thrown onto the bed. 

Though the sight gifted to her next was something she was sure she would desperately be wanting to see again in the near future. The grin that graced his features had her tauntingly spread her legs as she licked her lips. Though as he practically ripped his shirt off to reveal the mass expanse of muscle and unmarked territory to her, she couldn’t help but let out a sudden whimper as her fingers clutched tightly around the sheets beneath her. Practically ready to pounce onto the male before she was suddenly lying flat on her back, the robe doing well in restricting her movements as he seemed to pin down just the right areas to keep her in place.

“That desperate huh?”

The rasp and growl that coated his words as her softly groan before she tauntingly brought her head up to peck his jaw, though the action brought a large hand down to her throat, lightly squeezing as a spike of adrenaline surged through her. The dark hungry look in his eyes and the dominating aura he possessed had her practically sopping wet as she gyrated her hips against the heat that was pressed against her.

“Trying to ride my thigh now? Well aren’t you an impatient little girl...”

His taunting had her let out a raspy moan as he squeezed lightly once more, allowing his thigh to rub up against her throbbing cunt as she struggled to get air into her while alleviating the throbbing in her cunt.

“M-More...”

Desperate for more, she struggled to grasp his wrist as she felt her eyes roll into the back of her head at the immense sensations she was feeling, though had to bite back a cry as he pulled back. Vanquishing the rush she was feeling as he relented his hold on her. Confusion was written all over her face before he spoke once more. Heat flooding her cheeks as she couldn’t help but immediately do as he asked.

“Finger yourself for me, pretty girl. Let me see you prep yourself for when I fuck that wet cunt of yours.”

Leaning back, she did as she was told, her fingers daintily removing the thin piece of fabric that covered her as she began to slowly spread her legs side, her fingers slowly working their way around the juices that flooded out of her throbbing pussy before she began working and stretching herself for him.

As she did so, he slowly unbuckled his belt and began removing the last bits of clothes he had on. The look on his face practically having her forgo her assignment to just crawl over and take the hit man’s rock hard erection into her lips. 

“Stay and do as you’re told, pretty girl...”

The sheer amount of lust that coated his words had her gulping as she continued to stretch and fuck herself open for him, pushing as deep as she could as his gaze stayed strong on her.

“That’s it...stretch yourself good for me....gonna fill you and fuck that cute sopping cunt of yours...”

Another whine came from her as the thought of being filled flooded her mind, her ministrations slowing slightly before she was jerked back into the present as her hands were halted by a larger pair. Strong copper eyes bore deeply into her own before she was suddenly lifted up and set over his lap as he nipped at her neck.

“Work yourself on my baby girl...and before you even ask I’ve got protection on. No time to be a dad...”

Despite the comment, she couldn’t help but not care much as the comment really slipped by her thoughts before she slowly worked herself down onto him. His girth and size stretching her much more than what she had expected as she let out a sharp gasp as her fingers dug into his shoulders, marking up his skin as he eased her onto his cock.

“That’s right, good girl...you’re doing so well princess~.”

Gravelly and slightly slurred, his words began to jumble at the heat that was wrapped around him as he forced himself to wait until she had completely eased herself down onto his cock. Once settled, he gave an experimental jerk of his hips and she let out a shaky gasp and mewl as she pressed her forehead against his shoulder as she tightly clung onto him.

“Go on baby girl, let’s see you bounce.”

The teasing tone in his voice left no room for arguments as she shakily nodded before slowly moving herself up and down. The feel practically euphoric as she continued to quicken her pace, though when she thought she was about to tire out, the position had suddenly shifted and she was staring down at him, her body suddenly upright as he grinned cheekily at her before he jerked his hips up, helping her along before his fingers dug into her hips, steadying her only slightly as he began to meet her pace.

The coil of heat that formed between the pair grew even more as she felt her body begin to tense up. A string of curses left her lips as she tightened herself around him, before she came. Exhaustion hitting her soon after she felt him come straight after her. The bruising grip on her loosening as she felt herself lay on top of him in exhaustion.

At one point she had remembered laying on his chest, the next she was by his back was facing her as he seemed to be skimming down his phone.

“Mmmm...lay with me Sawamura...”

Broken and raspy, her voice was soft as she carefully got up to wrap her arms around him from behind.

“I believe I’m due for my explanation (y/n).”

“I suppose, you did fuck me rather well...I want a sort of business deal Sawarmura...finding other hit men can be so....annoying. Plus, I’ll be able to pay you in any way you want. Not a bad deal isn’t it?”

The silence that came after had her pouting slightly as she pressed her lips against his neck as he finally stopped scrolling through his phone to set it aside before turning to lay her down on the bed before laying next to her on his side.

“...I’ll discuss this with my team first--”

“I only want you.”

A light laugh came from him as he lightly flicked her forehead.

“Idiot, you think I’m going to share my client like this with those idiots? No. If it happens to work in your favor...then you can expect a message.”

“Oh? Then let’s hope that it works out in everyone’s favor~.”

»»————-　➴　————-««

Least to say, the next week she went in to work a brand new phone sat awaiting on her desk with a new message waiting for her.

xx-xxx-xxx-xxxx

What’s the next assignment?

[leam1983]

It’s the end of the work week and, well...

I’m having thoughts on labor culture.

My father was born in 1958. He lived as the son of an absent father of five children who had no ability to truthfully express his love and care, and who instead chose to bury himself in work as a means to display his commitment. My paternal grandfather made and sold mattressees and died quite young of a cancer strain that today would’ve seemed benign. He was described as a hard worker, either up to his neck in his business or wanting just a scant few hours per day to himself. It made an aloof lover out of him and a distant father - who still loved his wife and children to bits but who felt emotionally castrated in a sense, as were men of the era.

The family consensus is that his work killed him.

My father is now 65 and survived a bout of Non-Hodgkinian Lymphoma. The oncologist and anyone with half a brain agreed that stress was the culprit. Early on, Dad had the family as an excuse for his tendency to overwork. He had to provide for us, after all, and garnish my mother’s meagre savings. All she has is her government-issued pension plan, while my father does have his own pension as a retiree of the City of Montreal’s Real-Estate Appraisal service. Considering, he felt obligated to pull a heavier load to bring in more, so they’d have better investment opportunities. Later on, he kept working out of a sense of fealty and attachment to his division, breaking out of retirement during the pandemic to join the work-from-home team. He wanted to help techs and city officials find ways to bring more of the traditionally snail-mail-based parts of the system online so the city’s Land Management service wouldn’t be paralyzed by COVID-19. What was supposed to be a single month turned into four, which turned into twelve.

By the end, they were begging him to stay on the team and to pull longer hours. We’re talking twenty hours per day, in some particularly grueling stretches. That means being logged in by breakfast and scarfing bagels down with Urban Design techs on Zoom instead of your own family, or having supper with your boss because she needs a play-by-play of the situation to stave off her executive anxiety.

Long story short, I didn’t see Dad much during the first wave. His reasoning was that he’d eventually stop, pool all this cash, and chuck it into his and Mom’s Registered Retirement Savings Account - with maybe an extra two thou or so in case the country reopened enough for their postponed trip to Cuba to take place.

Guess what? His zona flared up and he ended up with odd, shingly bumps along his scalp which to this day the local dermatologist grimaces at and tentatively has us dab with cortisone cream.

Mom, though? She’s a retired and registered nurse with a self-negating streak and a chronic propensity to undervalue her own physical ailments. Someone who quite literally understands the pain of busted hips on a clinical level because she was trained in Gerontology - and also someone who refuses to schedule an appointment with her GP and who inexplicably self-medicates with white wine.

As for me, I’m a 37 year-old man with a paycheck I consider massive with its meagre six bucks above the minimum-wage threshold - someone who chose to shack in with his folks until the current crisis ends and who therefore has a history of a single, willingly terminated apartment lease that originally began in the Planned Housing market. The apartment I want is basically a Barbie doll house for adults, a gleaming fantasy I’ll never have enough capital to touch unless I feel like trying my hand with criminal applications of my skills. The apartment I can get right now is a shithole, and I have the audacity to think I deserve a shithole that at least wasn’t someone’s former cockroach den.

Now here’s the kicker: I value my sanity and my health. I know my mental stamina levels and I know from experience that after working seven-point-five hours per day with the occasionally shorter Friday, I’ve found my limit. I could invest more if I worked more, yes, and I’m already in a better position than my parents, retirement-wise. I’ll never be rich, but I’m already set to be comfortable, provided I don’t spend my golden years trying to make it as an unsponsored TechTuber or anything else that’s equally ludicrous.

Where that’s a problem is in the toxicity this is generating. See, I have the gall to slide my daily schedule later so I can start at an hour that fits my biological clock and ends at an hour where I’m at my most creative. That means the folks saw me spending my pandemic mornings on Animal Crossing while Dad was trying to wrangle Excel spreadsheets for non-tech-savvy fellow Boomers while preventing the dog from eating his meeting notes. That means they guzzled vinho verde like it was Kool-Aid after seven while I made sure to find more concrete means to distance myself from work - ideally ones that didn’t involve functional alcoholism.

Naturally, what was bound to happen, happened: Dad soon spent his evenings calling me shiftless or “unwilling to commit”, while I was stuck watching him miss all the cues his stressed-out body were sending him. We already had Trump’s last desperate months and a global plague to handle, I really didn’t want my work to turn into more of a nuisance than it already is. I already love the people I work for and hate what I do (repeating the family cycle, it seems), but I’ve at least decided to give myself ample Me time every single day. 

I’ve paired that with smaller, if consistent portfolio investments, along with a few new habits I wanted to get into to stay saner. Dad pulls crosswords or plays competitive chess in the wee hours, while I usually lay down to meditate around midnight and fall asleep by 1 AM at the latest. I’m half-expecting my father to pull a Tyler Durden and to sneer at me, at some point. “Self-care is masturbation,” he’d probably say.

Looking at classifieds for rentals, it’s obvious that the entire system is predicated on abuse. Work yourself down to the therapist’s office, right down to the fucking bone, and you just might earn a half-decent retirement because nobody’s taught you to invest incrementally. Nope, Society seems to say, you’re supposed to buy, buy and buy some more, until you realize you have ten years left to start from scratch!

I remember Dad’s face on my eighteenth birthday. “Why would you want a Disability Care Savings Account, Brain? You just turned into a legal adult by Canadian standards - you’re in no rush, right?”

I told him the real gift I wanted for my birthday, that day, was a ride to the family’s Financial Investments counsel. I pulled up the PDFs I’d printed out and filled and brought them over. From then on, if I dropped a penny in my nest-egg, Ottawa would drop another one. If my share grew, so did the government’s. In the twenty-odd years since, it’s expanded exponentially.

Dad thought I’d done this to have a big cushion by the time I’d retire. Mom thought I’d done this in case my disability worsened and I started requiring equipment or physical assistance. Honestly, my dumb, if slightly prescient eighteen year-old self figured I’d rather spend my time reading or playing video games than working. I knew I’d need something to help cushion my admittedly low career-related ambitions. I might throw several thousands at a new computer every seven to eight years, but that’s because I’ve saved them up for just as long, little by little. I have no vices beyond what sillicon offers and what you’d find in the pages of a book and don’t exactly need a big ‘ol, stonkin’ humidor stuffed with conoisseur stogies.

I have a shoebox with a poked-out Ziploc bag and a sponge, with a handful of joints and a few Santa Anas I got off of a buyer’s pool from work. Five of us occasional chair-bar goons pooled cash together on Cigar Chief and cushioned prices with a single, shared and massive order. I’m nowhere near rich, but assuming the housing market can catch its breath eventually, I’ll be able to live modestly - with one or two markers of occasional luxury I’ll have chosen.

I have a shittier job than my father has had and I’ve chosen to be happier than him. It’s just sad that the usual response elevates overwork as the supposedly one, true way to leave a mark in society.

No, Dad. I don’t want to die while my own cells eat me alive, I want to die blazed out of my fucking mind, happy because I’ll have had time to enjoy my friends’ company and to finally make some sense out of Kerouac’s Subterraneans or to figure out what the fuck is going on in Joyce’s Illiad. I’ll die crusty as shit and fulfilled as a Pop Culture jockey, because I’ll have either finished Persona 5: Golden in my lifetime or I’ll have watched the entirety of the MCU’s output before Disney finally manages to kill their golden goose.

I want to die decades from now, feeling like I at least owned my choices and didn’t spend my time tethered to someone else’s professional expectations of me.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

STARTUPS AND CADILLAC

Eventually the pimps and drug dealers notice that the doctors and lawyers have switched from Cadillac to Lexus, and do each kind of work in the way of noticing it consciously. The reason I've been writing about existing forms is that I don't know. Most of the people who've had to write PhD disserations about Dickens don't.1 That word balance is a significant one. I encourage founders to follow whichever path is most immediately exciting to them.2 What happens to publishing if you can't sell content? We're good at making movies and software, and undergrads are not especially prone to waste money.3 When you take people like this and put them together with other ambitious people, then a lot of people. One of my most vivid memories from our startup is going to be than the worst?4 In this model, the research department functions like a mine.5

I'm sometimes accused of meandering. With each step you gain confidence to stretch further next time.6 You had to for guests. Perl. If they get something wrong, it's usually not realizing they have to be inferior people.7 Of what? And because of supply and demand, they pay especially well.8

If free copies of your content are available online, then you're competing with publishing's form of distribution, and that's why they do it so well.9 Another trick I've found to protect myself against obsolete beliefs is exactly what you have to customize something for an individual client's complex and ill-defined needs.10 I make a note of what surprises me most about them is how conservative they are.11 It didn't seem to harm us. He redefined the problem as: make one that's beautiful.12 Prediction is usually all we have to rely on. As you accelerate, this drag increases, till eventually you reach a point where the adults sit you down and explain all the lies they told you. It's exciting to chase things and exciting to try to guess answers.13 Combine this with the confidence parents try to instill in their kids, and every year you get a valuable new resource you can use to figure out what he meant. One, the CTO couldn't be a first rate hacker, because to become an eminent NT developer he would have if the founders had given the VCs what they wanted, when they wanted it, and focus our efforts where they'll do the most good.

A few steps before a Rubik's Cube is solved, it still looks like a mess. There were a lot of false positives. At least, that's how they see it. If it fails, that is. But it's certainly possible to do things that make you stupid, and if you can, as Steve Jobs does, make satisfying you the kind of productivity that's measured in lines of code: the best programmers can solve a given problem in a tenth the time. Hackers & Painters. Particularly to young companies that are growing fast, but haven't been doing it for long enough to have grown big yet. Do we want to get the resulting ideas past other people's. Well, there precisely is Montaigne's great discovery. Note too that determination and talent are not the graphic designers and grandmas who were buying Macs at Apple's low point in the 1960s.14 It's one of the most spectacular lies our parents told us was about the death of our first cat.

But no one those days was paying a lot more than Yahoo. Conversations with corp dev is not doing a bad job of talking to them before they are. And I think we may be good at what we're good at for the same reason we're bad at.15 When you're too weak to lift something, you don't need either of those. It's something they plunge into, working fast and constantly changing their minds, and why companies pay now for Bloomberg terminals and Economist Intelligence Unit reports. The time was then ripe for the question: if the study of ancient texts became less about ancientness and more about texts. If they're only paying a twentieth as well. But this harmless type of lie can turn sour if left unexamined.16 We want kids to be innocent so they can get the most done. The world is more addictive than it was 40 years ago.

If you're really productive, why not modern texts? The place to look is where the line ends. I think founders will increasingly be the fate of anyone who wants to get things done. When you see something that's taking advantage of new technology to give people something they want that they couldn't have before, you're probably better off thinking directly about what users need. And I think this sort of thing it becomes national news. The less it costs to start a company. In the hundred meters, you know in 10 seconds who's fastest.

Notes

I know when this happened because it doesn't change the meaning of life.

Currently we do at least 150 million in 1970. Patrick Pantel and Dekang Lin.

Just use the name Homer, to a car dealer. A supports, say, but no doubt often are, but those are writeoffs from the most difficult part for startup founders tend to use some bad word multiple times. Ii. I'm not against editing.

Of the remaining outcomes don't have enough equity left to motivate people by saying Real artists ship.

But if they do for a patent troll, either. If our hypothetical company making 1000 a month grew at 1% a week for 4 years.

It should not try to get elected with a screw top would have disapproved if executives got too much. Another tip: If doctors did the same way a bibilical literalist is committed to believing anything in particular made for other reasons, the switch in mid-game.

Good and bad technological progress, however. Y Combinator makes founders move for 3 months also suggests one underestimates how hard they work. This is the accumulator generator benchmark are collected together on their companies took off? But that doesn't seem to have to talk about startups in Germany.

I may be exaggerated by the government to take board seats by switching to what you really want, like selflessness, might come from meditating in an urban legend. And if you know Apple originally had three founders? When you're starting a company if the students did well they do now.

After Greylock booted founder Philip Greenspun out of business, having spent much of the biggest winners, from hour to hour that the worm infected, because investing later would probably only improve filtering rates early on?

We Getting a Divorce? Perl.

Don't invest so much from day to day indeed, is a huge, overcomplicated agreements, and b when she's nervous, she doesn't like getting attention in the sense that there were about the same reason I stuck with such tricks will approach.

But it's useful to consider behaving the opposite way from the CIA. There are successful women who don't like to invest at any valuation the founders. But while this sort of things you waste your time working on is a dotted line on a scale that Google does. 0001.

But try this experiment is that you're not going to create a great deal of competition for the future.

VCs thus have a standard piece of casuistry for this essay will say that it refers to instant ramen would be more likely to come in and convince them. But this seems an odd idea.

You're going to drunken parties. I have no real substance. VCs should be working on Viaweb. But iTunes shows that people get older.

After a bruising fight he escaped with a slight disadvantage, but in practice money raised as convertible debt is a shock at first, but this sort of person who would never have left PARC. Again, hard work is in the Valley has over New York, people who did it lose?

[xxx-cat-xxx]

I walk this lonely road

Characters: Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers

TW: Self-harm references, Coronavirus (but nobody gets infected), Alcohol

A/N: This fic makes reference to self-harm and to the coronavirus. I know the latter is a really sensitive topic at the moment, so if that’s something that might upset you in any way, please be careful. 

The virus affects almost everyone in the world at the moment at some level and this fic is meant to explore one particular experience among millions. I do not claim that this experience is representative in any way, and I definitely do not claim that it is worse than what others have to deal with. Nat is in a very privileged position, but she is still hurting, and that’s what I wanted to write about.

As always, thanks to @whumphoarder for beta reading.

*

They lock down the tower in the second week of the pandemic. 

Steve, while helping to set up tents next to the already overcrowded Metro General, shared his lunch with another volunteer who tested positive two days later. Since tests are hard to come by and none of them were showing symptoms, the team decided against using their influence to get tested through the backdoor and instead are self-quarantining for at least two weeks. 

Bruce and Tony are elbow-deep in research to find a vaccine and wouldn’t leave the tower if an armed battalion tried to force them out. Clint went back to stay with his family at the farm as soon as the first cases started being detected in New York. Steve is keeping busy by exercising, recording PSAs about everything from handwashing to social distancing, and sending uplifting video messages to infected fans. 

Meanwhile, Nat is slowly coming apart at the seams.

Before the self-enforced quarantine, she was distributing essentials to homeless and low-income families, but now, trapped inside the tower, there isn’t really anything she can do remotely to help the population. 

(Except maybe taking out the president with one of his own killer drones, but that’s not exactly in the realm of legality.)

It’s not that she hasn’t experienced being locked down somewhere for weeks at a time before, but that was on missions, with work to do and a goal to achieve. Right now, she has nowhere to go and nothing to do, and for Nat, that is the worst possible combination. 

The first few days are comparatively easy to bear. She runs the better part of a marathon on the treadmill every morning. Brushes up on her Mandarin. Hacks the Pentagon for the sheer thrill of it. 

Anything to keep her from spiralling too far down. 

Five days in, she wakes up at midnight from a nightmare about the Red Room, feeling like there’s a boulder on her chest weighing her down. She scrambles up to open the window and takes huge, gasping breaths of the cool night air, trying to convince herself that it doesn’t make a difference whether she’s inside or outside the window frame. 

Finally, she slides down onto the carpet and digs her fingernails into her bare shins, heart still beating way too fast and too loud in her ears. Catches herself wishing for a task, an attack, anything she can do, eyes the small imprints of her nails in her legs, a few of them oozing blood. The pain is tempting, much too tempting. She tries not to think of the blades under her mattress, in the cupboard, below the bathroom sink.

She knows it’s not exactly pain she longs for, but it’s a functional substitute for everything else. 

Nat swallows. Then she makes the executive decision that she needs to go for a walk.

*

She wears a mask and gloves when she slips into the darkness. Even with the protective outfit, she keeps away from walls, streetlights, shop windows, anything she could potentially contaminate. 

The night air is just the right kind of chilly to feel alive. The city, devoid of people, cars, and pollution, is a different kind of beautiful. The huddled groups of desperate families in front of the downtown hospital are not. 

Nat finds a children’s playground with monkey bars wedged in between two residential buildings. She does pull-ups until her shoulders are on fire. Then she climbs up and lies on top of the climbing frame, her gaze getting lost where the skyscrapers meet the night sky. 

She only climbs down when she can hear the sirens of an ambulance from a nearby street. Then she wipes the bars clean with the hand sanitizer and paper towel she brought along. When she makes her way back to the tower, it finally feels like she can breathe a little easier. 

*

Tony and Steve are waiting for her when she sneaks back in through the delivery entrance.

Tony looks tired, three-nights-awake-in-the-lab kind of tired, but there’s a manic energy radiating from him that almost seems electric; Nat wouldn’t be surprised to see sparks flying off his fingertips. It’s the kind of energy that keeps him up and running until whatever problem he is working on is completely solved, until the world is saved once more. 

Nat would love to say she feels guilty upon seeing him. But the ugly truth is, all she can feel is envy.

Steve looks… not exactly angry. His face is stony, but something else flickers in his eyes. Nat takes off her gloves, the coat, the mask, and that’s when she realises. He looks disappointed. 

“What were you thinking, Natasha?” he says, his voice low and tight. “You know we’re all under quarantine! What, do you think you’re above this or something?”

“I was wearing a mask—” she begins in a weak attempt to avoid this conversation, but he doesn’t even let her finish.

“You know damn well they’re not a hundred per cent.. You’re just tempting fate for no good reason.”

“I don't—”

“What, you don’t get sick?” he interrupts and maybe it’s a good thing because what she was going to say was something else: I don’t care if I get sick. It’s the truth, but it’s nothing either of them want to hear. 

“It’s not just about you, Nat,” Steve continues, ignorant of her thoughts, his voice rising and a vein starting to swell on his forehead. “What if you infect someone else? For god’s sake, Tony’s only got two thirds of his lung capacity left. Did you think of that before putting him in danger?” 

“Calm down, Cap,” Tony interjects. “I’ve lived through worse—”

“No, I’m not calming down!” Steve snaps. “We are so privileged to be able to live here with all the food and money and medical services we could need―all we have to do is endure a few weeks of boredom, which really shouldn’t be too much to ask in exchange for everyone’s protection. And you decide to throw all of that out the window for a stroll?” 

He stares at her for a moment as if waiting for her to defend herself, but there’s nothing she has to say. What should she tell them? I couldn’t bear the thoughts in my own head? I can’t deal with not knowing when I can be out again? It was either that or sitting on the bathroom floor, cutting lines in my own flesh just to fucking feel in control of something?

“I really expected more of you,” Steve says finally, an eerie calm in his voice. Then he turns on his heels and leaves. 

“Well, that was dramatic.” Tony rubs a tired hand over his eyes before looking at Nat directly, his expression sober. “His mother died of TB, you know?”  

Nat feels numb. “Yeah, I know,” she says quietly.  

Tony’s expression softens. He seems to make a decision. “Come on.” He waves roughly in the direction of the elevator. “I guess we both need a drink.” 

“Okay.” Nat takes a deep breath. “I’ll take the stairs.”

When she enters the living room fifteen minutes later—after showering thoroughly and changing her clothes—she finds drinks on the table and Tony on the sofa, working again. Nat sits down on the armrest of the chair across from him, keeping a safe distance. Jazz music is playing in the background, the fake fireplace is lit, and it all just feels wrong. 

Nat takes her time to fill her glass and slowly drain it. When she looks up, Tony is observing her, his dark eyes unusually warm. 

“I get it, Nat,” he sighs when their eyes meet. “Trust me, I do.” He nods at the tablet sitting in his lap. “Why do you think I keep busy with this all the time?”

She gives a tiny nod of appreciation and hopes he gets that too. Tony smiles at her with a bit of sadness and then turns back to his work. 

Nat goes to the kitchen to refill her glass. When she comes back, Tony is asleep, twisted up on the couch as if he just fell over from exhaustion, tablet still in his hand. She goes back to wash her hands thoroughly, and then, holding her breath, takes the device out of his hand and covers him with a blanket.

She sits there, alone with the scotch bottle, Tony’s snores, and her thoughts, until pink clouds start to creep over the sky. 

At 5:35 on the dot, Steve appears in the doorway, dressed in his workout clothes. He stops just outside of the room and leans against the doorframe, taking in the scene. The look on his face makes it clear that it’s her turn to speak. 

Nat takes a moment to weigh her words. “It’s just… I can’t sit in here not knowing when I’m going to be out. Not again,” she finally admits into the fake fireplace that has now grown cold.

Steve doesn’t reply, but he relaxes just the tiniest bit against the doorframe and something in his expression shifts. 

“Are you up for a sparring session before hitting the treadmill?” he asks.

“You want to work out with me?” Nat doesn’t look him in the eyes. 

“That’s why I’m asking.”

This isn’t an apology—not from either of them. Nat isn’t guilty, just sad. And if Steve was sorry, he would’ve said so straight away. But this is not a concession―it’s a I don’t approve of your actions, but I’ll still be here for you. Just like Tony’s glass of scotch, what it means is: You don’t have to go through this alone. 

“So?” Steve asks. 

Nat pushes herself up from the armchair. The residual alcohol in her bloodstream and the all-too-familiar tiredness make her head swim for a moment, but she’s stable once she gets to her feet. “Fencing. Let’s go.”

____________________________

This is part of the Red in my Ledger series.

All my fics

[jenonctcity]

Anchored

[7:45pm]

Lee Donghyuck – Angst

Warnings: Aggressive behaviour. (He doesn’t harm the reader.)

Word Count: 1.8k

Rich-Kids!Au

Request: Anon - fixed marriage with snarky and cold donghyuck only for him to be so angry when you had announced that you were pregnant and you really weren't (you weren't whoring around and neither has donghyuck ever touched you) you were just tryna get out of the marriage since he hates you but he’s just scared.

 You’d always known your own destiny. Born into a family that had more money than sense. The amount of businesses your family owned was ridiculous. Of course, you’d been spoilt beyond your wildest dreams since birth by your doting parents. But you’d always had the unfair fate of your arranged marriage looming over your head like a dark cloud ready to rain on your parade at any given moment. All through your teens you would have cute boys approach you with the interest of dating. Only for you to turn them down flat. What was the point in dating someone, potentially falling head over heels in love with someone when in the end you’d just get married off to the son of a family just as influential as your own? You didn’t want the hurt that came with that, so you blocked off any potential love interests. You always knew the boy you would eventually marry was the son to your fathers’ best friend. Named Donghyuck and born a year before you, he also knew of the fate that you wouldn’t exactly call written in the stars for you both.

When you were kids, you would get along well. He was excited to one day marry you and would often refer to you as his princess and would offer you his hand to dance at any balls or functions your families attended. You enjoyed his company and thought that at least you hadn’t been paired up with someone unattractive and creepy. He had even been your first kiss when you had turned 16. You always remember how gentle and soft his lips had felt against yours. Until he turned 18 the year before you did. He suddenly became hostile to you, his attitude turning sour whenever you were in his presence. He would be cold and snarky, often trying to make you look stupid in front of your friends and strangers at the many events you all attended. This brought on a feeling of dread at marrying the spoilt brat. Most people are excited for their 18th birthday. Especially when they have parents are rich and generous as your own. But you woke up the morning of your birthday with tears trailing down your face and a panic attack moving like a hurricane through your mind and lungs. Your dreams of living an easy and happy life shattered as 18 is the age you would become engaged to Donghyuck. 

He was present at your party, gifting you with a beautiful necklace that his mother had no doubt picked out and had forced him to give to you. Your parents pushed you into being by his side the whole night until it was finally announced to all your friends, distant family, and people you had never seen before, that in four months’ time you would become a married woman and marry Lee Donghyuck. He faked a smile for the cameras that flashed in your eyes as he tightly gripped your hand. Cries of congratulations echoing in your mind and making you feel sick to the stomach with nerves.

A week later your parents had left the two of you alone in the big dining room of your mansion. The crystal chandelier reflecting light onto the diamond necklace that cascaded down your neck and stopped just above your breasts. It was the necklace that Donghyuck had given you. You’d only worn it in hopes he would be more appreciative towards you. You also had a slither of hope he would see it and start up a conversation with you just to mute the awkward silence you knew would ensue. His expensive tailored suit made him look gorgeous. His dark brown hair -that you knew was a dye job - was swept up to the side, exposing his forehead and giving his already handsome looks a more intimidating look. When you’d stepped into the dining room, he bowed to you, looking you up and down once and pretending that your stunning looks and beautiful dress didn’t affect him. You wore a beautiful floor length down, the crimson colour making your skin glow and making his heart skip a beat. His face stayed stoic all through the meal, his eyes barely glancing at you and leaving a burning feeling of fear at the pit of your stomach.

Is this what you had to endure for the foreseeable future? You couldn’t handle it. Immediately thinking of a get out plan and not executing it very well when you opening your red stained lips and spoke.

“I’m pregnant.” The moment the words left your mouth you felt a sense of dread and regret at the ridiculous excuse you’d blurted out to him. He froze, body visibly tensing and as he lowered his fork and steak knife down onto the table. His expensive cut of steak forgotten about as your words rang through his head.

“What the fuck did you just say?” He growled, glaring at you through his eyebrows. His glower intimidatingly scary as he kept is eyes on you. You gulped, taking a deep breath before feeding into your lie more.

“I’m pregnant with another mans baby. Call the wedding off.” You knew he didn’t have the power to actually stop the wedding on his own accord. But if he told his parents the words you’d just assaulted him with then you were sure they’d pull out of the deal in a heartbeat. Your palms started to get clammy as his silence caused an aura of fright in the room. He scoffed a laugh, standing up from the table and angrily lashing out, pushing everything in front of him onto the floor in rage. You flinched and froze up, staying rooted to your seat as he stormed over to you from his side of the long table.

“You fucking think that will stop them?! Stupid bitch. How could you be so stupid?!” His words cut you like a knife, his voice loud and echoing in the room over the sound of the soft music coming from the speakers. “They’ll still make us marry. But now I’m going to be forced to raise another mans baby.” His fists clenched and he let out a sigh, running a hand over his eyes and rubbing them in stress. “You did this on purpose, fucking slut.” He clearly had no care for the disgusting language leaving his mouth and you had no idea he could have so much malic in his tone. You jaw dropped open at his words, tears flooding to your eyes as you had the internal battle of whether to tell him the truth or not.

“Calm down…” You said softly, your words barely making it past your lips before he flipped out again.

“Calm down?! Calm fucking down?!” He grabbed the arms of the chair you sat in, caging you into the chair as his face got closer to you. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He didn’t shout or raise his voice, instead his words were quiet but like venom invading your bloodstream.

“Okay I lied. I’ve never slept with anyone…I just thought it would stop the marriage. I don’t want to marry you.” You cleared your throat, finally raising your head to stare him in the eyes. Confidence suddenly striking you. “You hate me. Why would I want to marry someone who does nothing but look down on me and belittle me?” He shut his eyes, his head dropping in relief at your confession. He let out a sigh before meeting his dark eyes with your own. You noticed the red rimming his eyes and the gloss that made the lights reflect brightly in them.

“I don’t hate you.” He pulled away from you, choosing to sit in the seat beside you instead of going back to his seat parallel to you across the table. He slouched, sniffing and giving his eyes a quick wipe in hopes you didn’t see the tears that threatened to spill. “I hate this situation. I thought if I was cold towards you that our parents wouldn’t force us to marry. Obviously, I was wrong.” He huffed a humourless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief at this situation.

“I didn’t hate this until you started being a dick.” Your voice wavered slightly as your confidence wore off. He shot you a look of surprise, his eyebrow raised at your choice of words.

“I didn’t hate it either until I found out the minute that I marry you I’m expected to get you pregnant and take over one of my fathers’ businesses.” He shook his head, his eyes wondering around the room as you let his words sink in. “How can I be a good husband, run a business, and be a loving father at my age?” His voice cracked again, sniffing back his emotions and suddenly finding the chandelier interesting so he didn’t have to look at you. “I didn’t want my work to get in the way of us…I thought I’d have time to be a husband and father before my father gave one of his businesses to me.” He sighed and focused on you again.

“Hyuck…” You reached out and laced your fingers with his own, using your other hand to fiddle with his long fingers. “We can figure this out…our parents love us and if we explain how bad this is making us feel maybe they can switch some things up.” You took a deep breath, lifting his hand to your lips before placing a soft chaste kiss on his knuckles, leaving behind a smudge of red lipstick. “At the minute they probably assume we’re happy with how the arrangement is. If we tell them otherwise then we can maybe figure out how to be happy with each other.” A tender smile made his face glow. You much preferred his face when it wasn’t sending death glares at you. Thinking maybe you could get used to the smiley side of Donghyuck again even after not seeing it for a year.

“I’d like that.” His voice was gentle, a complete juxtaposition of how harsh it was just minutes ago when he’d completely lost his shit. “I’m gonna kiss you now, is that okay?” He bit his bottom lip in anticipation of your answer.

“More than okay.” You blushed, nodding your head quickly. His hand slipped from yours, placing them both on the arms of your chair once again. He leaned in, brushing his nose gently against your own, your lips softly grazing against each other’s before he planted them firmly on you.

[fablesrose]

Of Kings and Shadows IX

Chapter IX

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Notes: On Wattpad –> Here

Series Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tap tap tap... Tap tap tapada tap...

I sighed, tired of looking at my computer. I resisted the urge to slam my head on the keyboard which could ruin the work I've been looking at for the past couple of hours. It's been two weeks since I've been cleared for active field duty, yet I haven't even been considered for a mission; I was getting restless. I've been training as much as possible and I was nearing the level I was before my... injury.

My boredom was bearable what I had some of the team check up on me, or if I had to deliver some file to the compound. Saying hi to them was usually the highlight of my day. The worst part was when they were on their own missions. Just the fact that I was cooped up in my office while they were out there made me feel even more caged. On those days I've found that more errands were handed to me, to keep me busy I guess, or I would spend even more time in the gym to get me back into action faster.

Today I could tell was not going to be enjoyable, I woke up grumpy, and no one had come to say hi to me yet. I was having a hard time focusing on my work and the minutes were ticking by slower than ever.

A knock came to the door and I sighed, maybe this would wake me up.

"Come in."

I turned in time to see Agent Fletcher enter my office, "Agent," he said with a nod.

"Sir," I replied seeing the files he had in his hand.

He wordlessly handed me the folder he had in his hand only for me to discover he had handed me two files.

"Two files this time..." I quickly tapped them together on my desk before looking up at Brian, "I'm assuming these are for the Avengers; I'll get these to them right away, sir."

"Actually," I could have almost sworn the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, "that top file is for you."

I looked at him and then the file puzzled, "what?" I opened the folder to see my name on the top, along with a briefing time. The papers behind had a bunch of information on a target area, only then did it really click. I raised my eyes to him with hope and questioning happiness, "really? Is, is this what I think it is?"

He gave a silent nod and I just smiled and tipped my head back against my chair, silently smiling at the ceiling. I sat up straight again, "thank you, sir."

"That other file has to go to the Avengers, so get on that," he said sternly pulling me down from my excitement.

I scrambled to my feet and snapped a salute, "yes, sir!" He exited my office leaving the door open for me to follow.

Before I left he popped his head back into my office, "Before you go," I turned back to him, "Fury needs to see you before you go through the mission."

I paused, suddenly nervous. "Me?"

He nodded and then hesitated a moment before asking, "would you like me to walk you down to his office?"

I took a deep breath, trying to see if he was being sincere. I couldn't find a reason to doubt him and decided to accept the offer with a nod.

We walked silently down the hall, stepping in time to each other, posture straight. We eventually got to his office, but I didn't go in right away. I stood at the door and took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

"Are you going to be okay in there?"

I appreciated how he seemed to understand how scary a man in power is to a woman. I turned my head slightly towards him as he stood behind me to show I acknowledged his statement. I nodded my head once and turned back towards the door. I quickly shook out my limbs releasing the tension in them.

"I'll be here waiting."

I smiled at him, "Thank you, sir."

I finally had the confidence to knock on the door, answered with a gruff, "come in!"

I respectfully entered the room and stood in front of his desk as he looked out the window behind it dramatically.

"Did you have a hard time getting here, Agent L/n?"

I was a little surprised at the question, "no, sir. Agent Fletcher accompanied me here."

He nodded, "he's a good agent."

"Yes, sir."

He finally turned to face me and gestured to a seat as he took his own. "I trust Agent Fletcher gave you your mission assignment before escorting you to my office?"

"Indeed he did, sir."

"Did you have time to look over it?"

"Only a glance."

He placed his hands fisted together on the desk between us and leaned towards me, "that brings us to what I wanted to talk to you about. Missions are important as I'm sure you already know."

I shifted in my seat to sit a little taller as I nodded my head.

"I would like for them to not get messed up for reasons of our own."

That's what made me start to sweat. Did he think I was going to mess up this mission?

"I don't want any unnecessary tension that puts the team in danger."

I nodded quickly and looked down at my lap; I felt like I was sitting through a lecture.

"I also don't want you to be scared of the assets you will be directing."

My eyes snapped up to his.

"I'm assuming you didn't get the chance to see exactly what your role will be or who you will be working with so I will just tell you."

My brain was having a hard time processing this whole situation, so I just blinked a couple of times waiting for him to continue.

"You will be on drone surveillance, you were doing good work there."

I smiled at the compliment.

"The Avengers will be under your care, which you have already handled, but what I'm worried about is that Loki will also be working the mission."

I felt conflicting relief and slight anxiety at what Fury was saying. I would have to watch over the Avengers which I was confident in doing, but also Loki of whom had caused me so much pain and grief. Realistically I knew I would do it just fine since after everything was explained the two of us hadn't had any confrontations, but it didn't stop the little voice in my head from questioning.

This is a whole new environment. Tensions are high, it's near life and death. This could be an opportunity to really hurt him. Show him what it's like to be under the power of someone you can't touch.

I shook my head slightly to clear it, focusing on Fury once more.

He looked at me for a moment before continuing, "Will his being there inhibit your ability to function?"

I took a moment to think before asking a question of my own, "what would be your course of action if I said yes?"

The constant pauses between each of our responses weren't being nice to my blood pressure, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. This stretch of silence was particularly worrisome after the question I asked.

"The two of you wouldn't be put on the same mission until you trust him to say otherwise, if at all."

I thought it was a reasonable answer and fair to me if he truly meant it and executed it accordingly. I already knew my answer to his question, but I just thought I would see his standpoint.

I sat still with a face I hope said confidence and answered him.

"How'd it go?"

I had forgotten that Brian waited for me to come out of Fury's office. I honestly felt lighter than when I had woken up this morning, so I was able to smile at him. "It went well. Now, I better get that file to the Avengers if it's all the same to you, sir."

"Of course."

He walked me back to my office and I left him with a smile to show I appreciated his support. I quickly picked up the Avengers' file and headed to the compound. I decided to give the file to Steve since he was probably the most responsible to get the information to the rest of the team. Jarvis lead me to the training room where I found the Captain beating a punching bag. I stood in a spot a little distance away, but still in his line of sight so he knew I was there without disturbing him.  After a minute or two, he took a water break and made his way over to me.

"Mr. Rogers--"

"Steve, you make me feel old when you say that."

I raised my eyebrow about to throw a jab at him before he caught his mistake.

"I know, I know, I'm a senior citizen, but that doesn't mean I have to feel it, gosh."

I let out a quick laugh and held out the file, "well, Steve, here's the file for the team's next mission."

"Thank you, Y/n," he quickly flipped through it, "how are you doing? Still cooped up in that office of yours?"

"At the moment I'm afraid."

Steve hummed and looked up at me without tilting his head, "don't worry, you'll be out there before you know it."

I smiled and turned on my heal, "much appreciated Captain, have fun on the rest of your workout!"

"See you Y/n!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day, another mission for the Avengers. They all had brave faces, but most had lingering feelings at the back of their heads. Clint was a bit bored and felt bad that they were going on another mission while Y/n was stuck in her office, not in the field. Natasha felt similar -- she knew how hard she had been working, only for her to still be stuck going nowhere. Steve understood how having physical ailments can hold someone back from what they really need and want to do, so he had the greatest sympathy for her. Tony knew that this mission was serious, every Hydra base taken down was an important step closer to taking the whole agency down, but he couldn't help wanting to just get it over with. He wished Y/n was there with a few witty remarks to keep him entertained.

Thor, on the other hand, couldn't wrap his head around why it was that much of a big deal. Of course, he felt bad that she was injured and was not able to go to battle, but with such a different outlook on time, the time taken to heal seems like nothing to him. Bruce didn't understand how anyone wanted to go out on one of these missions, so while he expressed sympathy to the injury and recovery, he didn't wish she was there. The only thing on Loki's mind was that he didn't want to come, but he knew he had to or else he would be locked up some way or another because he still wasn't trusted by the Midguardians.

With that in mind, they acknowledged the commanding Shield agents and boarded their Quinjet. These larger missions required a larger cargo capacity, so they usually split up into at least two vehicles: one for the Avengers and the others for Shield agents. The team spent most of the commute in silence or quiet chatting, living together didn't leave much to be talked about. About halfway through they received word to turn on comms for some last-minute instructions and equipment checks.

Everyone went through the checks half-heartedly mostly just going through the motions. If the agents on the other end noticed, they didn't comment.

Brian Fletcher was the agent in charge and was handing out the orders, "all right folks, we got a drone accompanied mission today so make sure you listen to her, got anything to add Agent?"

"Yeah," a familiar voice came through the comms causing everyone in the Quinjet to perk up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I couldn't help but smirk as I leaned back in my chair, looking at Brian, "don't be stupid and don't die."

There was a split second of silence that left Brian with a smirk that mirrored my own before I got the expected (and hoped) explosion of voices.

"Y/n?! Is that you?!"

"Welcome back!"

"Hey! There she is!"

"Yeeeeeeesssss!"

"Told ya you'd be back in it before you knew it."

"It's great to have you back, y/n"

I was smiling like a dork when one more voice came quietly into my ear, "I'm glad your recovery has been successful, Lady Y/n."

"That's a new title, thanks Loki. It's great to be back guys, and I'm serious! Don't be stupid, and don't die!"

The laughed, and I switched our comms line to a more private one where we could chat without all of the Shield agents be silent bystanders. I fiddled to get my display just right while I related the story of my assignment carefully leaving out the reason for Fury's concern for me being on this mission. The conversation mostly consisted of Clint, Tony, and me with an occasional comment from the others. The time flew by much faster than normal and suddenly we were nearing the target.

We landed and quickly got to work setting up all the equipment. I helped pull out the drones, and noticed Ike was checking them over.

"Hey Ike, are they lookin' okay?"

He looked up at me and with no emotion said, "ready for flight."

"Sweet, let's get them going then."

I did notice that after going over the manual and learning more about the mechanics was interesting as I could now mostly understand how they work. The drones were up in no time, and I linked them to the comms unit of each team leader.

My gut twisted slightly right before I heard the heavy footsteps and the hum of machinery behind me.

"If there's a scratch on this suit at the end of the day..."

I smiled and turned around to see Tony walking towards me. The rest of the Avengers weren't that far behind.

"You'll what?"

I glanced to see the rest of them smiling at the exchange, all either experienced or heard of the incident. Loki did not, however, seem to understand what was going on and rather seemed bored, but was listening anyway.

Tony couldn't help chuckle with a smirk, "I'll blow one of those drones of yours out of the sky."

"Not my money you're spending."

Thor, Clint, and Tony all roared with laughter and squeezed me into a hug. Natasha, Steve, and Bruce (now Hulk) all smiled in amusement in the background. Loki turned out, surprisingly, to split the difference, he stayed back, but he had a grin and a laugh at the quip against Tony.

"All right! All right! Let's get going! The longer we take the more work we've got to do!"

They all set off to their positions and I left to mine in the jet. I sat down and made sure all the feeds were online before I allowed myself to get into game mode. Watching each team advance on the Hydra base, it felt like I had never left.

The mission played out much like the ones before it, I would notify each group of enemy snipers, patrols, or other threatening objects. That was until the Avengers, the leading group, ran into a large barricade of Hydra opposition. I, of course, warned them beforehand, but it didn't change how hard of a fight it ended up being. The Shield agent teams slowly eased themselves around and behind the Hydra agents and even had to open another front. The Avengers were split up, unfortunately, but they're strong enough to hold their own separately.

I didn't worry about the Hulk, he was taking out the large weaponry with ease. Clint got up into a tree without me noticing and was shooting down soldiers and snipers alike, I occasionally had to inform him of one or two more that had him in their sights, but other than that he had himself covered. Natasha was watching Steve's back, and he was watching hers, they were in the heat of battle and didn't have to worry about anything except in their immediate vicinity which they were already aware of. Thor and Tony were wreaking havoc from the air and with the Hulk taking out all of their large weaponry including air defenses they didn't have an important enough target on their back.

Loki was a unique case, he was on his own, and it wasn't even close to a fair match. I couldn't even count how many men were surrounding him, all armed with advanced weaponry. They had drawn him far away from any help, not that anyone was available to give it. The drone obviously didn't give me a perfect perspective, but from what I could see, they all were nearly as tall as Loki was. Their dark and thick uniforms were nothing but menacing, masks designed to terrify. they had guns as tall as I was, evidence of what kind of damage they could do was evident in the trees surrounding the battle. The bark was scorched if it was even there at all. Some of the trees I questioned how they were even still standing as much was blown to splinters. They surrounded Loki on all sides, walls of bulk that guaranteed pain.

I almost felt bad for them.

Loki was tearing them to shreds, various weapons used. Knives lined with a green sheen that suggested magic, each stroke a death blow. Wisps of magic would extend and cause more damage, sometimes he would disappear entirely. It really was a sight to behold and I had to make sure I didn't get distracted at how graceful, deadly, and just plain cool it was.

He seemed to be taking care of himself just fine, so I was about to move on to check on everyone else when I caught something out of the corner of my eye. It was a lone sniper in a tree and his gun was aimed at Loki. He was out of range and sight from Clint from what I could tell and besides that everyone else was occupied. I was about to warn him when I hesitated. Those thoughts from before arose again.

He hurt you so badly. He's the equivalent of a god he won't die. Give him a little taste of his own medicine. You have power over him today, don't let it go to waste.

I'm ashamed to say that I didn't feel all that guilty in thinking them.

Being trained in firearms myself, I knew exactly what steps he was taking. He would be steadying his barrel carefully. He would adjust his support slightly, making sure the branch or stand wouldn't bounce and get in the way. I knew he was surrounded by my own men, distracted, and relatively stuck in one spot. My sights would be placed in the average area he was moving, aimed as high as his neck. His helmet could cause problems in killing him quickly, besides, a throat shot works just as well. My breathing is controlled, steady. My finger slowly switches the safety off, now I wait for just the right moment. There's no rush.

I have all the time in the world.

Time slows as fraction by fraction my finger twitches closer and closer to my fist. It moves the trigger smoothly, and with how light my trigger is, he'll be dead in less than a moment. Not even that, I just have to make sure I don't blink.

"Loki, you've got a sniper on your 5 o'clock. Southeast."

I watch as a green shield appears behind him, not even a fraction of a second after I see the muzzle flash from the sniper. I small ripple or spark appears on his shield right as I predicted, just below his helmet. I saw his arm swing around through his shield and then he continued fighting the band around him, though they were beginning to dwindle. The sniper I kept my eye on for him eased forward on his gun, eventually falling limp from the tree. How exactly he died I didn't know.

"Thank you, my dear"

"Of course Your Highness."

I went along watching out for the rest of the teams, occasionally picking up on something they missed, but I was really thinking about my actions.

That's when I came to the conclusion that I had forgiven him.

Tags: @nightrose64

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer IV: Christmas Eve

I rocked back and forth in a glider chair, eyes scanning the wall murals around me. Cute images of foxes, owls and deer peeked behind tree trunks and bushes. Little raccoons hung out in the branches. A bear reached for a hive of bees for the small bead of honey dripping out the bottom. Each image was painted in loving detail and in good humor.

I shifted my vision to the corner of the room where a small artificial tree twinkled with simple white lights. Gifts were piled under it, mostly for the baby. Each toy had marked on it a name and a brief description. 

“Ru’yi’s duckling.” 

“Ru’yi’s bear” 

“Ru’yi’s Hello Kitty”

On the door hung a simple plaque. 

“Ru’yi’s room.”

I checked my phone. It was getting close to midnight Oslo time. My eyes shifted to the table next to the rocking chair. A white unopened envelope from Comemnus Corp lay waiting. I turned it over face down, next to a box of tissues.

 I didn’t want to open that envelope alone. 

My phone buzzed. I exclaimed with delighted surprise. It was Johann and he wanted to video chat!

I immediately accepted and his face filled my phone screen. I grinned. “Heeeey!” My smile faded when I noticed the dark rings around his golden eyes and his pale complexion. “Wow you look sleepy...”

“Jet lag..." He shook his head. “The mission itself was simple. No problems.”

His expression softened, looking into my eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, it’s definitely getting harder.” I rested my hand on my round, distended belly. “She’s sitting really low on me right now so I waddle like a fat penguin...” I rolled my eyes. “...and yeah going to the bathroom every half hour is no fun at all.”

“That’s disturbing your sleep.” He observed.

“Yes, but I sleep a lot during the day. I’m trying to get as much as I can, while I can get it. At least, I can breathe now that her head isn’t under my chest.”

“Any contractions?” 

I shook my head.

“Bleeding? Pain?”

“I’m fine. I promise.” I raised my arms, flexing the muscles I’d managed to cultivate over a year of training. “We made sure I’d be strong for this. Remember?”

He nodded. “I remember.”

“So... I have a bit of a surprise.” I reached over to the envelope. “I got this last week but... I haven’t opened it yet.” I held it to the phone camera.

“Is that the prenatal dragon blood purity assessment?”

“Yep. It’s either good news or bad news...” I turned it over in my hands. “I didn’t want to open it without you here... just in case... you know.” My eyes shifted downward, voice trailing off.

“No matter what the news, I know we’ll be able to handle it. Go ahead and open it.”

“Okay... drumroll please?”

Johann obliged, lightly drumming his fingers on the desk. My words were light hearted, but I bit my lip as I tore open the envelope.

I unfolded the letter. “Thank you for choosing Comemnus for your genetic testing needs... we take pride in the accuracy of the results...blah blah...” My eyes scanned down the page. “...keep in mind that prenatal checks are just a marker to establish a history and not entirely predictive of the future...” I took a breath. “It’s recommended to do continual testing to monitor fluctuations.”

“We regret to inform you that Ru’yi’s dragon blood purity is 48.5%... putting her at... high risk...”

I set the letter in my lap. Disappointment welled up in my eyes. Warm tears slipped down my face. “I knew it... I knew it... I knew this was going to happen...”

“Meixiu.” Johann’s voice was gentle.  “You know you have a stabilizing effect...”

“Yes but after she’s born? When she’s separate from my blood?” I reached over to the tissues and wiped my face. “If she tests over 50 percent they’re going to take her.”

“No one’s going to take her. At most they’ll have to monitor her for a while.” He reached out to his screen. “No one’s going to take her. I won’t let them.”

I wished he could reach through the screen. I rested against the back of the rocking chair, willing the tears to stop.

He brought the camera a bit closer. “She’ll be fine. Your Soul Skill can help her. She’s not going to end up constantly dying like Erii. And even if that were the case, you’re in a unique position to help her live out a long healthy life. But I don’t think she’ll be like Erii.”

I put the letter back on the night stand. “What do you think is going to happen?”

A small smile played on his lips. “I think she’ll be born beautiful... and very strong. We’ll have to train her early and often. We’ll have to protect her and watch her very closely. Our lives won’t be our own for quite some time. But... that’s alright.”

“Will we be shipped to the quarantine island...?” I asked him.

“She’s a baby, she’s not that dangerous. Meixiu, relax. Take a deep breath. Please.”

I took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. 

Johann’s eyes didn’t shift away from me.  He breathed with me, helping me calm down. He stared, intent and serious, holding my gaze like an anchor. “Don’t let this stress you out, not in these final days. Make sure you’re getting enough rest. If you feel your mind racing, just remember it’s going to be fine. Alright?”

“Okay...” Relief flooded me. 

“Everything else is okay with her, right?” He asked, his soft voice guiding me through my panic.

“Yeah. She’s otherwise normal.”

“Good. Meixiu... Now... there’s something else.” He hesitated.

I detected a shift in mood from the way his brow creased when he glanced away. “I finished the mission a bit early. I should have called you earlier, but I was thinking about a lot of things... and I couldn’t sleep.” 

He ran his hand along the back of his neck. “I met someone who... was doing all this work for a woman who was stuck in a coma in a hospital. And I thought... he should be by her side. And it hit me... that I was not at your side.”

I hurried to reassure him. “I said it was alright...”

He held up a hand. “Please... hear me out.”

I bit my lip. “Okay.”

He sat for a bit, eyes distant. “To be honest... I forgot it was Christmas until I saw the decorations here. I’ve been that busy. Right now in Norway the sun doesn’t come up. It just flashes below the horizon. People have to work for their bodies to function normally. They spend a lot of time together to pass the time. I... I was alone.”

“A year ago. I would have been fine with nothing but my sword and a suitcase. But now... I’m not so sure.”

“The whole reason I joined Cassell was out of my own desire for revenge over something that happened to me when I was younger. I obsessed about it every day. I didn’t care what I did, so long as it kept me getting closer to my ultimate goal.”

“But I have gotten no closer.” He rested his forehead against his hand. “And I’ve left you alone. I’m sorry, Meixiu.”

He looked at me again. “I’ve been getting offers for where I will be stationed as official commissioner with the Executive Department. I haven’t answered any of them.”

“I’d just keep doing what I’m doing now, rising through the ranks of commissioner, to special commissioner, to senior... until I’m given a desk job when I’m too old or injured to take on missions any more.”

“I might never find what I’m looking for. And what’s more... I... I’m not sure if I want it as bad as I used to. When I fall asleep all I do is miss you.” He looked away suddenly.

Did he not mean to say that? I wondered. Was he ashamed?  I tilted my head in confusion. This way of thinking was nothing like the man I knew.    I held my breath, following his line of reasoning. I had kept my silence before such an unusually long speech, stunned at what I was hearing. Was he thinking of ending his dragonslaying career? 

“You want to quit?” I asked quietly, gently.

“I’m not sure... this is the first time I’ve felt like this. I don’t know how to tell Schneider.”

“You’re tired...”

“Yes...”

“Come home... get some sleep. Give it some time.”

He looked at me through the camera. The desperate, frustrated look to his eyes began to fade. “I just know that so long as that...” His jaw clenched. “... thing is out there, there’s a risk it might come after you.”

We sat silently a few seconds. “I’m strong, Johann.”

He shook his head.

“Then why don’t you tell me what we’re dealing with?” I asked. “You’ve been hiding this from me for years!”

I watched as the thoughts ran across his expression, his eyes shifting, weighing the pros and cons. His breath became shallower, his lips pressed together. Was what happened to his father really that hard for him to talk about?

“Please...” I said.

His voice was halting and soft. “I was... in the car with my father. It was raining so hard, we could hardly see the road...” He suddenly stopped.

I leaned forward. “Yes... and?”

He didn’t move or speak. A notification popped up. “Connection Lost.”

I sighed. “Are you kidding me!” I checked my wireless signal. “Johann? Are you there? Can you hear me?”

The screen went black. I clucked my tongue. I sat waiting and waiting for the connection to re-establish, trying again and again to call him.

“Unable to Connect with Chu Zihang.”

I sighed loudly and growled to myself. It was so rare for him to open up like this. Maybe he’ll get back online. I propped the phone up on the table and watched for his call, rocking back and forth. In an attempt to keep myself awake, I  sang to myself. Johann’s song, a very familiar tune.

The trees, they grow high, and the leaves, they do grow green Many is the time my true love I've seen Many an hour I watched him all alone He's young but he's daily growing...

I patted my stomach as I sang. I got to the end of the song, but there was no sign of him.

I got up to go to the bathroom. I turned out the lights to the rest of the house, showered and changed into my night robe, checking back after each activity for a return call. Thirty more minutes had passed but there was none. The connection was truly out.

“Come on... Johann...” I whispered, sitting back down in the rocking chair.

I picked up the phone to dial again.

“Relax Meixiu... what time is it?” I checked phone time. I hadn’t heard back for nearly an hour. I continued to rock myself and wait. I told myself to give him a few more minutes. He was clever. He was working on it.

 My eyes suddenly grew heavy but I forced them open. I had to stay awake in case he called.

The lights in the apartment flickered. My vision blurred and my eyes shut. I tried to force myself to open them. Twisted images swirled behind my eyelids for a moment before they opened again. 

I hadn’t moved from the room, but it wasn’t the room I’d just been in. The walls were different. They were just plain pink. The paintings were gone. The toys were different toys. The tree lights were multicolored!

Confused and frightened, I reached for my phone. I looked at it but it wasn’t the same color or the same model as I’d just been using! I dropped it.

“Johann!” 

A cold chill ran through me from top to bottom, followed by a profound numbness. There was no response from Johann through my soulbond any more. His presence in my mind and heart had been as large as a mountain. Now it as snatched away, leaving an agonizing vacuum. In desperation, I reached out to him again and again. “Johann! Johann!”

I grabbed the unfamiliar phone and flipped through my recent contacts. I couldn’t find his name. I threw it across the room.

“Where is my phone?! Where’s my phone?!” My words blended together until I was just screaming, crawling on the floor, knocking things over trying to find it.

My howling was like a wounded beast and a crying baby blended together. The unearthly wailing and crashing furniture carried through the walls, the ceiling, the floor and window. 

I lay my back against the wall, one arm over my eyes. My sorrowful pleas squeezed my lungs until my voice thinned to silence. Only for them to billow open again for me to cry out. “My love! Oh, my love! My love! My love!”

My love was gone. 

Johann, my beautiful Johann, was gone.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Encounters & Events

A JSE Fanfic

Usually I don’t write two parts of the same story so close together (since I have...so many stories I need to work on) but my muse for this has been going crazy. And people really seem to like this! So I decided to go ahead and, you know, write some of the more important events, including a huge reveal right at the end. This turned out a bit longer than usual, but it’s mostly dialogue, so it should go fast. Let’s check in on all the boys—and I do mean all the boys—shall we? :3c

You can find the other stories under the pw timeline tag!

“Luna, no, stop bothering your brother.” Marvin, carefully balancing a bowl in one hand, reached forward and tried scooting the small black cat away from the terrarium with the other. Said cat looked up at him with big yellow eyes. “Don’t give me that look. He’s probably trying to sleep. You’re annoying him. Go.”

After a few more careful nudges, the cat, Luna stood up and jumped off the table. She stalked to the open doorway, where she proceeded to flop down on her side and stare at him, not moving at all.

Marvin scowled at her. “I will step over you. You are tiny.” He turned back to the room at whole. It looked kind of bare, despite being back home for almost a week. He had yet to take all his knickknacks and posters out of the boxes and put them back up around the room. But the furniture—sofa, armchair, coffee table, table for the terrarium, and television—was all where he’d left them. The room hadn’t changed. The walls and furniture were still shades of blue, his gold stars still painted on the ceiling. And he could still eat his pasta while sitting on the sofa like he wanted to.

He set his bowl down on the coffee table and proceeded to flop down on the sofa before remembering he left his drink back in the kitchen. He sighed, and stood back up. And then the doorbell rang. Well. At least he was already standing up. He walked over to the front door, glanced through the peephole, and then opened it. “Hi JJ.”

Hello. JJ was standing on the doorstep, bouncing awkwardly. I hope I’m not bothering you.

“No, it’s fine, I was just about to have lunch.” Marvin shrugged. “You want to come inside?”

Please.

Marvin stepped aside to let JJ walk in. Before he entered, JJ bent over and picked up a gift bag he must have set down earlier. Once he was inside, JJ held the bag out for Marvin to take. Happy late birthday.

“Oh!” Marvin took the gift bag, looping his arm through the handles. “I thought you forgot.”

No, I’ve just been busy, JJ signed, looking sheepish. Sorry, I know I said I was going to help you unpack and such a few days ago. 

“It’s fine. I mean, I don’t think I can ever say anything about people leaving now that I’ve gone and...you know.” Marvin laughed. It came out a little forced.

JJ glanced around the living room, noting the boxes still sitting around with stuff inside. Do you still need help?

“Yeah. How’d you tell?” Marvin kicked the nearest box. “How’s it feel to be the only one in the group with executive function that actually works?”

JJ chuckled. By the way, I think your cat is trying to steal your noodles.

“Wha...?” Marvin spun around. “Luna Void! Get away from there!” He quickly crossed the room, picking up the black cat just before her paw dipped into the bowl. “That’s human food, not cat food. And I just filled your bowl, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

Luna meowed.

Marvin shook his head, glancing around the room. He noticed a big ball of white and brown fluff sitting on the armchair. “Here, play with Ragamuffin.” He set Luna on top of the fluff ball, which meowed and lifted its head, revealing itself to be a ragdoll cat, mostly off-white with a brown tail, face, and ears. “Shush, you love her, Muffin.” Ragamuffin meowed again as Luna flopped across him. Marvin looked back at JJ. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

I love them, JJ signed happily, eyes locked on the two cats.

Marvin laughed. “You can come by to see them any time. Your building still have the rules about pets?”

Yes, sadly. JJ sighed. Not even Mr. Purple Snake is allowed.

“Hey, Salazar isn’t purple, he’s lavender,” Marvin corrected. “Purple makes it sound like he’s the same shade as that thing from McDonald’s, while lavender is the actual name of the morph.”

And he has stripes.

“Exactly, he’s a striped lavender snake,” Marvin said, nodding.

Fits you perfectly, JJ commented. Anyway, are you going to open your present now or later?

“I can do it now,” Marvin said, grabbing the gift bag off his arm. He sat down on the sofa, searching through the tissue paper. JJ took a seat next to him. After pulling out all the paper, Marvin reached into the bag and pulled out a golden heart-shaped locket. His eyes widened. “No way.” He turned the locket over, noticing a small key, which he wound a few times. The chimes of a music box started playing. Marvin looked up at JJ. “Oh my god. Oh my god. I thought this was a collector’s item, how did you find one?”

Someone was selling it online, JJ explained. I know you really like the game, so I thought you’d like it. He looked hopeful. Well...do you?

“Fuck, of course I do.” Marvin lifted the locket to his ear, listening to the familiar melody. “Oh my god. Oh my god, JJ. Thank you so much.” Words weren’t enough to describe what he was feeling, so Marvin grabbed JJ’s hand and squeezed it tight, swinging it a little. He let go sooner than he would’ve liked to, so JJ could respond if he wanted.

I’m glad, JJ signed, beaming. I wanted to get you something that meant a lot, since it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.

“Yeah...yeah, it has, hasn’t it?” Marvin rewound the music box as it slowed down. He suddenly felt his eyes well with tears. He turned away from JJ, rubbing his eyes.

JJ picked up on it, of course. Are you okay? he asked, concern lining his face.

“Fine.” Marvin’s voice cracked on the single syllable. “I-It just...fine. I’m just...a lot of things have happened.”

Jameson scooted closer. Do you want to talk about it?

“No,” Marvin said, perhaps a little too fast. “I’m good.” He didn’t want to explain this to any of them. He wasn’t sure what they’d think of him if they knew. It might just be better if he kept silent about it. Part of him whispered that they’d want to know why he left eventually, but he...he didn’t think he was brave enough to listen to that part.

JJ looked at him oddly. You sure?

Well...there was a smaller thing that he thought was safe to talk about. “Well...” he said slowly. “You know, Schneep and I really liked this game.” He squeezed the locket under his hand. “It was kind of our thing. He joked that it was his birthday gift, since it, y’know, came out the same day. The two of us were the only ones who liked it for a long time, and we kept fucking badgering Jack to play it on the channel.” Marvin smiled. “No joke, we one time spent two hours straight just talking about it.” The smile faded. “I just...I miss him, I guess.”

Jameson didn’t say anything for some time. Then: I see, he signed. But he’s back now, isn’t he? You can go visit.

“Yeah, I know that, like intellectually,” Marvin explained. “But I-I don’t know, I guess I’m nervous. That something will go wrong. Y’know, Chase told me what happened at the last visit.”

JJ bit his lip. Well. That might’ve been because of me. I think that he just freaked out because...he thought I was someone else.

Was that what happened? Chase had said that JJ somehow caused Schneep to freak out, but he hadn’t mentioned it was because Schneep thought he was someone else. “Still,” Marvin said, and then fell silent.

You can go with Chase, if you want, for support, JJ suggested. 

“Maybe,” Marvin said slowly. “Maybe I should just go today, just jump in impulsively.” He...he did really want to see him. “Maybe Chase can come too, he can drive me.”

I think Chase has something to do today, JJ said.

“Really? What?”

I don’t know. JJ shrugged. 

“Maybe he’s filming or something,” Marvin wondered out loud. “Would you want to come, if I went to see Schneep today?”

Jameson immediately paled. I don’t think that’s a good idea, given how he reacted.

“He could’ve forgotten,” Marvin suggested.

In a few days?

“I don’t know, it’s possible. He used to complain a lot about how he didn’t have a strong sense of...time.”

Well, I’m still not sure it’s a good idea, JJ signed slowly. Besides, I have work this evening.

“Oh yeah,” Marvin recalled. “You still working for, uhhh what’s-his-face? Mr. Paddington, or something?”

JJ smiled. Mr. Patterson, he signed, spelling it out. And yes. Are you still working at the boutique?

Marvin’s face fell. “No.” He paused, then continued in sign. I got fired. About a month before I left.

Jameson’s mouth formed a small O shape. I’m sorry.

It’s fine, I hated retail anyway, Marvin signed dismissively.

For a moment more, they just sat there. I think your cats are fighting, JJ signed after a while.

Marvin looked over at the armchair and watched as Ragamuffin shoved Luna off the seat. “They’re fine, Muffin’s just grumpy.”

Ah. Jameson hesitated, then signed his next string of words super-fast, as if shoving out his idea before he started to regret it. You know, if you ever want to talk to someone, but not one of us, like, someone more serious about things that are...difficult, then I can give you my therapist’s number.

Marvin looked vaguely surprised. “Wait, you go to an actual talking therapist? Like for issues and stuff? I thought when you mentioned therapy it was, like, speech therapy.”

I tried speech therapy, it’s never worked, JJ said dryly. And at this point I don’t think it will. But I’m fine, not willing to try any sort of operation to fix the damage.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything. Wasn’t even thinking it,” Marvin assured him.

Some people do, JJ signed, a bit bitterly. But yes, an “actual” therapist. I suggested it to Chase, too.

“Oh, that’s good. He could use that.” Marvin fell silent. “I-I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” He wasn’t sure he would go through with it. He wasn’t sure how to explain to anyone about...all of this. Especially a therapist. He wasn’t sure he could trust them to not call the police.

JJ smiled. That’s enough. Now, are you ready to actually have me help you unpack?

“Oh shit I completely forgot about that,” Marvin said, sitting up straight.

Maybe I could come back after you’re done with lunch, JJ suggested.

“No, you’re here, let’s do it now.” Marvin hadn’t forgotten about the lunch, at least. Though he did realize his pasta was getting cold. He pulled the bowl towards him. “We can eat together first. I made too much spaghetti, there’s still some in the kitchen.”

Oh. Thank you.

“No problem. Let’s both go there, I don’t trust the cats to leave us alone anymore.” Marvin shot a look at the two cats, Ragamuffin sitting, satisfied, in the armchair while Luna zoomed around the floor.

Good idea. JJ stood up. He paused. I’m not sure if I’ve said this yet, but...it truly is good to see you again.

Marvin smiled; he hoped it wasn’t strained. He looped the locket’s chain around his neck, the gold heart settling against his blue shirt. Thanks, he signed. Good to be back.

——————

Chase had something to do. Something he’d been neglecting for...god, it must’ve been three months now. The thought made guilt curdle in his stomach. It’s been far too long. A lot had happened, but that wasn’t an excuse.

It was another hospital. Not like the one Schneep was in, more of what you would usually expect when you heard the word “hospital.” Still, the check-in procedure was basically the same. Though this one didn’t have a visitors’ room. You were allowed to see the patients in their rooms here.

Even though it had been a while, Chase still remembered what room number it was—309—and what section it was in—ICU. He pushed open the door, and saw nothing had changed in the months since he’d been there. He walked inside, taking a seat in the one chair in the room, next to the bed. He took a deep breath. “Hi, Jack.”

As usual, there was no response except for the beeping from the heart monitor. Jack looked pretty much exactly the same. Eyes closed, oxygen mask strapped to his face. Chase couldn’t remember what was actually wrong with him, just that the doctors said Jack would either come out of it in time, or not at all.

“I know it’s been a while. Things have been...kind of tough lately,” Chase said slowly. “Um, they found Schneep. I-I don’t know how you’d feel about that, given...you know...” He waved vaguely at the bed. “Him and this whole situation. I-I still don’t think he meant to. I think he might’ve just been a bit...confused. You know how he gets. Maybe he was off his meds that day. Anyway, he’s in Silver Hills now. You know that place. I think it’s good that he’s there, it could really help. Apparently they also think he killed some people? Which I was surprised to hear, I never would’ve thought...” Chase trailed off. “I-I don’t think it’s his fault, really.”

He paused there for a moment, eyes tracing the line on the heart monitor. Steady. That’s good.

“Also, Marvin’s back. I don’t know where he went, he said he went to live with his grandma for a while. Probably true, but I just know there’s something else. Anyway, I’m not gonna ask him too much if he doesn’t want to talk about it. I don’t want him to...you know, shut down or anything.”

Another pause. Breathing was steady, too. It always was.

“And Stacy called me, too. I thought she was mad at me, or something, but, uh, turns out she’s not. Which is great. She just was having some work troubles and was kinda stressed, and I guess she was just too busy. But she’s doing okay, now. She quit working at the school, now she’s somewhere else, uh, I don’t remember the name but it apparently pays better. She does something with graphic design, which you know, she’s always wanted to. And Sophie and Nick are great, too. They’ve started this thing called reception this year, which I guess is like preschool for England. I dunno, I’m some dumb American. They sound like they’re doing okay. Everything’s...everything’s doing okay...”

Chase blinked back tears. Why was he crying? He wasn’t sad. He wasn’t...anything, really. He felt kind of...gray. But there was one thing he could feel that wasn’t just...gray. “I miss you,” he choked out. “I...I miss you a lot, Jack. I’m sure a lot of people miss you. I’m still trying to keep your community alive, but...well, I’m not you. It’s not the same thing, watching someone else run it.” He rubbed his eyes. “God, this is stupid. I’m stupid. I was just telling you how everything’s okay. And it should be. It should be. Everything’s getting better, just a little bit. Maybe that’s why the things that aren’t...they just seem worse. I miss you. I miss Jackie. I’m...I’m tired, Jack. I’m always tired, I-I can’t do this.” He didn’t know what ‘this’ was.

Someone knocked on the door to the room.

Chase sat up straight, furiously swiping away tear tracks. He stood up and walked over to the door. He opened it to see Marvin standing there.

“Oh. Hi, you are here,” he said. “I thought, ‘cause the door was closed...are you busy?”

“No, no, come in, it’s fine,” Chase hurried to say. He stepped aside. “Um, is that a new shirt? I didn’t think you liked to wear green.”

Marvin looked down at his T-shirt. “Yeah, it’s new. Not one of my favorites, but whatever.” He walked inside, stopping by the side of the bed. He looked down at Jack with an unreadable expression. “He looks so...small.”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Chase said. Marvin hadn’t been one to visit often before he left. But he supposed his time away changed a lot of things.

Marvin nodded. “Yeah.” He looked up at Chase. “Were you...doing something, or...?”

“No, I-I was just—it’s fine,” Chase stuttered.

“Cause I...I kind of wanted to talk to him.”

“Yeah, of course, I-I’ll wait outside.” Chase hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him. He took a deep breath.

He really needed to get back into practice with these visits. Maybe then he wouldn’t start crying every time. But...well, maybe a different set of visits had taken up space in his mind.

Waiting outside the hospital room, Chase turned his thoughts to Schneep. He wondered how he was doing.

——————

The answer to Chase’s wondering was “not so good,” as proven by the interaction that took place across town, a little over two hours after Chase ended his visit.

Oliver hadn’t been prepared for anything like this in all his years working this job. He hadn’t been prepared for this entire case. The past few months had been a roller coaster that threw all his expectations out the window. He might’ve been inclined to reexamine those expectations, if he wasn’t too busy at the moment trying to keep peace in...well, in what was starting to look more like an argument than a therapy session.

Which was how most of these sessions were, now that Dr. Newson had taken over for Dr. Laurens. Oliver wasn’t sure what Newson had against Schneep, but there must’ve been something, because this was definitely not normal. In just a few days, Oliver had gone from standing in the corner of the room during these sessions, to standing right by Newson and Schneep in the center, looking back and forth between them so that he didn’t miss anything...potentially dangerous to either of them.

“You are asking too many questions!” Schneep growled. “Why should any of this matter to you?!”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell me how to do my job,” Newson retorted. “You’re not that kind of doctor. In fact, you might not even be that at all.”

Schneep bristled. “Excuse me? You insult me enough, do you have to bring something completely untrue into this?!”

“All I’m saying is that delusions are a common symptom of your condition,” Newson said with a sickly sweet smile. “Maybe you just thought you were—”

“Fick dich und deine Vorfahren! You do not come into here and dismiss years of my work and study like this!”

“I can come in here whenever I want! I’m in charge!”

Schneep burst into laughter. “And you are doing such a wonderful job of it! Do you have nothing better to do than yell at me for an hour?!” His head tilted to the side. His hand shot to his neck, fingers starting to claw at skin. Oliver reacted immediately, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand back. Schneep didn’t even notice. “Because that is really all you are doing!”

“Alright, fine.” Newson took a step back, straightening her jacket. “Let’s do something else, then. We can work on uncovering the inner motivation for you killing thirteen people.”

“I did not k—!”

“Yeah, I know, you think something made you do it,” Newson dismissed. “Well, the fingerprints on the murder weapons would tell a different story. Do you think you needed some sort of control? After all, things hadn’t been going so well in your personal life, with your job and your wife.”

“Shut up about Mina,” Schneep growled. “We were doing fine.”

“Hmm, yet I haven’t seen her in the visitors’ room yet. Or even heard from her.” Newson flashed a smile.

Oliver thought that was a bit too far. “Um, Dr. Newson, do you really think—”

“That is none of your business!” Schneep suddenly screamed.

“Of course it’s my business! How am I supposed to do my job without getting into your life?”

“That is not what you are doing! You are needling me for no reason! Why?! Is this fun for you?! I am tired of being fucked with by people and their sick games!” Schneep’s other hand darted forward, reaching for Newson. Oliver grabbed that one, too.

“Well, that’s the pot calling the kettle—” Newson suddenly stopped, being interrupted by a beeping noise. She looked down, and grabbed the pager off her belt. She quickly read the message, and sighed. “We’re going to have to cut this short today.”

“Good,” Schneep snarled. “I was about to tear your tongue out.”

“Now, you don’t want to be doing things like that, or you could spend the night in the quiet room again,” Newson said, folding her arms.

Schneep suddenly paled. He pulled his hands out of Oliver’s grasp and backed up, into the bed. He grabbed the pillow and hugged it to his chest, burying his face in it.

Oliver wasn’t sure why Schneep had such a strong reaction to the quiet room. Well, there was the stigma about having a room with padded walls, that was pretty much empty except for a bed. Oliver wasn’t about to pretend that popular culture hadn’t put its mark on that. But for some reason, even mentioning it made Schneep shut down entirely.

“Oliver, follow me,” Newson said. She turned on her heel, leaving the room. Oliver stood there for a moment more, then hurried to catch up.

“What is it, Dr. Newson?” he asked as they walked down the halls.

“What is what? The incident I’ve been paged about, or the reason why I asked you to come with me?”

“Um. Both, I guess.”

Dr. Newson sighed. “Lily just paged to tell me there’s some sort of commotion at the front desk. She’s new there, I guess she’s never had to deal with this before, so she appealed to the highest authority. Anyway, I wanted you to walk with me so we could talk about Henrik’s medication.”

“...alright,” Oliver said, confused. “Well, Dr. Laurens gave him a new one two weeks ago, since the other one apparently wasn’t effective.”

“I know that,” Newson nodded. “But it’s still not up to a full dosage.”

“Well...no,” Oliver admitted. “Laurens wanted to get him off the old one first, then get him used to this new one.”

“Well, I think he should be used to it by now,” Newson said dismissively. “We can up it to full. And we should give him a stronger tranquilizing agent, as well, I don’t think this one’s working too well.”

“...I see,” Oliver said slowly. He had to admit, he wasn’t an expert on this sort of stuff. It was why he was an orderly and not a doctor—well, that and the obvious lack of an actual doctorate. But he knew a bit about the medications, and... “Dr. Newson, aren’t there side effects for the current medication? Isn’t that why he has to get used to it in the first place? Are you—I don’t mean this the wrong way, but, are you sure he’s ready?”

“Of course I am.” Newson nodded once, firmly. Her eyes were burning. “I’m letting you know so you won’t think anything’s out of the ordinary when you pick it up tomorrow.”

“...alright.” Oliver didn’t want to say anything bad; he didn’t want to lose his job, and to be honest, Dr. Newson was a little intimidating. But he wasn’t sure her motives were entirely pure. Still, he kept silent. With Laurens gone, Schneep needed an ally.

“Here we are, the front desk,” Newson said, pushing open the door. Oliver hung back, watching the scene. Lily Travels, a relatively new doctor, was manning the desk, trying to calm down a clearly upset man, who...looked familiar. If it hadn’t been for the long wavy hair held back in a ponytail, Oliver could’ve sworn that he was—

“Hello, is there a problem here?” Newson asked pleasantly.

“I want to see someone,” the man said. “I looked up your hours on your website! But she keeps saying that he’s not available!” The man’s voice was loud and distressed. He kept touching the cup full of pens on top of the desk, playing with it.

“Sir, please put that down,” Dr. Travels said weakly, in the tone of someone who’s been asking the same thing for a while.

The man sharply withdrew his hand. And then immediately took five pens out of the cup and started chewing on the end of one of them. Dr. Travels sighed.

Newson looked the man up and down. Recognition flared in her eyes. “Sir, what’s your name?”

“Marvin. Marvin Maher, I wrote it on the clipboard,” the man said, still chewing on the pen.

“Mr. Maher, put down that pen, or you’ll have to pay for it.” Marvin immediately dropped the pen. “Who are you here to see?”

“His name’s Henrik von Schneeplestein.”

Newson nodded, her suspicions confirmed. “Well, Dr. Travels is right, he’s not available.”

“What?!” Marvin gasped. “Then—then why the fuck does your website say I can visit him now?!”

“Visiting hours for residents on the first floor are only on Fridays,” Newson said calmly.

Marvin paused, pulling at the collar of his blue shirt. “Well, why couldn’t you put that on the website?”

“It is on the website, Mr. Maher.”

“I didn’t see it,” Marvin grumbled. “Maybe your website layout fucking sucks. And how do you know where Schneep’s room is?”

“Well, I am his doctor,” Newson said pointedly. “And even if I wasn’t, we have a database where that information could easily be found.”

“You’re his...?” Marvin paused. “Sorry, what’s your name, again?”

“My name is Dr. Newson.”

“Oh.” Marvin’s face scrunched in confusion. “But I thought Dr. Laurens—no, wait. I remember now, Chase said she...oh, that sucks.” He paused. “Newson? Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Is that, like, a common name...?”

“I suppose not,” Newson mused. “But if that’ll be all you wanted...” She gestured towards the front door.

Marvin stared at her. “Um...‘if that’ll be all I wanted’ what?”

A flicker of annoyance temporarily broke Newson’s professional facade. “If that’ll be all, could you please exit now? Dr. Travels has more to do.”

“Oh! Yeah, sure.” Marvin turned around, took a few steps towards the entrance, then stopped and turned back. “So, are you, like, famous or something?”

The annoyance was replaced by surprise. “I don’t think so.”

“Not even locally?”

“Well, I suppose that depends. Why?”

“I think I read the name Newson somewhere,” Marvin muttered. “Something, like...it had something to do with Christmas, I think.”

For a brief, very brief moment, Newson’s face cracked in two, her expression falling to the ground, replaced by something of loss. She quickly recovered. “I wouldn’t know about that. Now if you’ll please.” She gestured towards the entrance again.

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, I guess.” And with that, Marvin left.

Newson straightened her jacket again, and without another word, spun around and walked past Oliver, deeper into the building.

Something was up here, and Oliver had no idea what. He was sure Laurens would’ve known something, but she wasn’t here.

With a sigh, Oliver also backed deeper into the building. He had more to do today.

——————

Her head was pounding. It felt like her brain had solidified into rock, and was being thrown against her temples.

“Hello?”

She felt like a pile of noodles. Limp and weak. All her bones were gone.

“Hey lady. A-are you alive?”

Where was she? The thought passed through her head like it was swimming through fog. The last thing she could remember...the last thing she could remember...

“I mean, you’re breathing. But I...I don’t know how awake you are. Been there for a while.”

 She was at her car and...and there was that man. She thought he was Chase, but...maybe he just looked like him...

Something hit the back of her head.

Laurens opened her eyes, immediately squeezing them shut again. God, her head was pounding. Not because of the thing that hit her, that felt small and light. What was it? She cracked open her eyes again, just enough to see that she was staring at a vaguely gray wall...plaster, but unpainted. She was lying on her side, the floor cold beneath her. She groaned.

“Oh good, you’re awake. Are you okay?”

That voice...it sounded kind of familiar. But from where? Laurens didn’t answer, just groaned again.

“I’m gonna take that as a no. Who are you? How did you get here?”

Laurens squeezed her eyes shut, tears starting to rise as a blinding pain shot through her temple. She moved her arm, but found something yanked her wrist back. So she raised her other one, waving it in the direction the voice was coming from.

“Oh.” The voice was whisper-shouting now. “Should I shut up?”

She gave the voice a thumbs-up.

“Alright. Sorry.”

Laurens wasn’t sure how long it took for the hammer to stop pounding an anvil into her head. It felt like a long time. If she was forced to guess, it was fifteen minutes until it was manageable and she could open her eyes. And it felt like another half an hour before she was able to roll over and face the room at large.

She immediately recognized it as a basement—an unfinished one, with rafters overhead, dangling lightbulbs, and pillars holding up the ceiling. There were random squares of carpet on the concrete floor, but none near where she was lying. There was a door in one wall, and a small, rectangular window high on the opposite wall, with no light coming through it. A short folding table was pressed against another wall, and nearby a boxy television sat on top of a wooden pallet crate. Overall, the room was about the size of an average living room.

“Are you okay now?”

Her eyes rolled towards the voice. There was a man sitting against a support pillar on the other side of the room and—and she immediately realized why his voice was familiar. Slightly higher, and a different accent, but she understood now. The man had shoulder-length brown hair, a beard, and wide blue eyes. He wore a dirty red hoodie. This whole group...they all looked and sounded alike, didn’t they?

“Should I stop talking again?” He asked.

Laurens blinked. “No, you’re good.” Her voice rasped.

“Okay. Alright.” The man visibly relaxed. “Are you, uh...I mean, you’re probably not doing okay, but how do you feel?”

She considered this. “My head hurts,” she finally said. It sounded inadequate.

“Hm. Yeah, I think it would.” The man pursed his lips. “You, uh. Don’t look good.”

“Thanks.” She pressed a hand to her temple. The other one was still caught on something. “Who’re you?”

“My name’s Jackie.”

“Jackie Donovan?” 

His eyes widened. “How do you know my name?”

Laurens tried to sit up. The pain in her head spiked, but she was able to prop her head on her hand. “My name’s Dr. Rya Laurens. I know your friend Schneep.”

“You do?!” Jackie sat up straight, but then hesitated. “Like, do you work with him? Have...you seen him recently?”

“Yes,” Laurens confirmed.

Jackie’s eyes lit up. He leaned forward. “How is he? Is he good? What happened?”

“I’m not sure ‘good’ is the right word for it,” Laurens mumbled. “You’re probably thinking right now that...that I work with Schneep at his hospital, the one where he was a surgeon. I don’t. I work at Silver Hills.”

“Oh.” Jackie leaned back again. He bit his lip, thinking. “That’s the, uh, psych ward, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s a mental hospital, it’s not the same thing,” Laurens said.

Jackie seemed to cringe. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“So, uh...” Jackie shifted where he was sitting. “H-how is he? Are they taking care of him?”

“I mean, I suppose so,” Laurens said. “I’m his therapist. I’m certainly trying to help, but I can’t speak for everyone. And I don’t know what’s happened since I...” She frowned. “What day is it?”

“Um...” Jackie glanced over at a nearby section of wall, one within arm’s length of where he was sitting. Laurens suddenly noticed the marks on the plaster, done in what looked like blue marker. Tally marks, divided into roughly eight groups. “I think it’s the twenty-first? Of August.”

Last she checked it was the fifteenth. “It...it’s been a week,” she realized. “I don’t remember any of it.”

Jackie nodded. “That happens sometimes. Let me guess, it’s all a blur? You sort of remember being, like, aware but not thinking anything?”

“...that...yeah.” Laurens shook her head, then immediately stopped; it was making her headache worse. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

Jackie laughed hysterically. “I mean, your guess is as good as mine! If it’s been a week, he probably wants you alive! Unless he just hasn’t gotten around to it yet! By the way, can I have my Sharpie back?”

Laurens was confused, until she looked around the nearby area and saw a blue Sharpie on the ground. She picked it up and threw it in Jackie’s direction. The throw went wide. By a lot.

“Fuck,” Jackie swore. “Hang on.” He reached out to the Sharpie, leaning forward, but wasn’t quite there. With another muffled curse, Jackie crawled towards it. And it was then when Laurens noticed the cuff around his ankle, connected to the nearby pillar by a very short length of chain. Realizing this, Laurens looked back at her other hand, the one that kept being yanked back. And no wonder. She was handcuffed to a pipe.

“Got it!” Jackie grabbed the Sharpie by his fingertips, retreating back to his spot by the pillar. “Sorry. I just don’t want to lose this.”

“It’s okay,” Laurens said softly. “I get it.”

Jackie pulled at the sleeves of his hoodie. “So...I know you said you haven’t seen Schneep for a while, but how was he the last time you saw him?”

Laurens thought about that. “He was getting better. He’d just gone through a bad episode, though, so not 100% good.”

“He recovering?”

“Yes, as far as I could tell. I got him new medication, but hopefully it would decrease his symptoms.”

“Symptoms?” Jackie frowned. “Oh. Yeah, I guess he has been unmedicated for some time. Best to take care of that, before dealing with everything else.”

Now Laurens frowned. “Wait, everything else?”

“Yeah? I stopped seeing him in—” Jackie glanced at the tally marks again, counting. “—May, and you’re a therapist, so. You know. Everything else.” He waited, but Laurens still looked confused. “Um...you know. Being kidnapped isn’t going to leave someone okay—”

“Wait, he was kidnapped?!” Laurens repeated.

“Yes! Why do you think—look around at this place!” Jackie gestured at the room. “Do you think either of us are here because we want to be?! The hell did you think happened to Schneep?”

“I don’t know, he wouldn’t say anything about it, but the police assumed he left of his own—”

“Wait wait wait,” Jackie held up a hand. “So...the police don’t know about him?”

“Of course they know about Schneep. How could they not, after all...” Laurens hesitated. “You know. The things that happened.”

“No, I wasn’t talking about Schneep.” Jackie insisted. “I was talking about...him.”

The way he emphasized the him...it reminded Laurens of the way Schneep would talk. “Do you mean...the thing Schneep’s been hallucinating about?”

Jackie looked shocked. “So. They don’t know, then? Wait, do they think Hen did it all by himself?!”

Laurens looked at Jackie, puzzled. “He...didn’t?”

Jackie buried his face in his hands. He didn’t say anything for a while. “Oh my god,” he finally said, words muffled. They sounded almost like a sob. “You don’t know. No one knows, do they?”

Laurens sat up. She was beginning to figure out that things were a lot more complicated than she thought. But maybe now she could get some answers for everything. “Know what. Who...who is this he?”

Jackie looked up at her. His eyes were red, like he was about to cry. Like he’d realized something. Maybe he realized that, if the police didn’t know what was going on, there wasn’t a good chance of either of them ever being found.

“He calls himself Anti.”

[michael-weinstein]

Reacting to David Hurwitz

Some weeks ago I came across the recently opened Youtube channel of David Hurwitz, a music critic who wrote reviews for High Fidelity and Amazon, and the founder and executive editor of the website Classics Today. I agree with some of his opinions, though I do disagree with him a good deal. But the straw that broke the camel's back was one of his early videos, which is titled: Classical Music's 10 Dirtiest Secrets. I was so alarmed by it, that I decided at once to stop watching his videos and to omit him from my YouTube recommendations. Today I've decided to finally face Mr. Hurwitz and express my reactions to his "secrets". Now, more than my opinions being lauded, I actually want people to congratulate me for copying the entire script, unabridged, because it was painful for me to do so, since I disagree with practically every "secret". And in response to some of the comments, Mr. Hurwitz said something to the effect of "some people here don't have a sense of humor!" Well, I do have a sense of humor (you can blame my parents for that), but if you, dear Herr Prof. Hurwitz, say you're joking, you've got to make that more clear in your arguments. Well, here is, without further ado, Classical Music's 10 Dirtiest Secrets by Mr. David Hurwitz.

[This is] the antidote to all of that PR we hear these days, that tells us that just because something is "classical", it must all be equally fabulous and we just can't get enough. Well, here's a news flash: it's not. Witness the following:

1. Mozart really does all sound the same. Yes, he was a genius. Yes, he wrote 620-some-odd pieces in 35 years, but let's face it. How different can they be? Even Toscanini thought they all sounded the same.

2. Beethoven's Grosse Fuge is just plain ugly. I mean, if you ever listen to that thing recently, it sounds like four dying cattle. I know we're supposed to be amazed at its contrapuntal mastery, and it's transcendental what-not whatever. It's ugly, let's not kid ourselves.

3. Wagner's operas are much better with cuts. I mean nothing, nothing has the right to be 4 or 5 hours long at a stretch. I mean, you go to the Met at 6 in the evening, and you don't leave till after midnight? You got to be crazy. The shorter it is, the better it is.

4. No one cares about the first 3 movements of Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique. I mean, nobody. We all want to hear The March to the Scaffold and then The Dream of the Witches' Sabbath. That's the hot stuff, that's were the music gets really juicy and exciting. The first 3 movements are more than a half hour [long], they're just preludial. I mean you sit through them politely, but then you wait to get your pulse racing, right? When the guy's head gets chopped off and the witches start hopping around. I mean, you know, he really should have just written the last 2 [movements] and left off the first 3, I think.

5. Schoenberg's music never sounds more attractive, no matter how many times you listen to it. Of course we're told that, you know, it's only a question of getting accustomed to its particular unique sound world and all that, and the more attention you give to it, the more rewarding it will be. Wrong, it's never more rewarding, it never sounds better. He was just a difficult truculant kind of guy, and he wrote difficult truculant music. Even his tonal music is hard to listen to. It's just difficult, period. Accept it, live with it, and love it, or don't.

6. Schumann's orchestration is really bad, and needs improvement. Once in a while a conductor will show up who says: "Well, you know I'm playing the original orchestration, it's better than everybody thought". No, it's not. It's thick, it's muddy, it doesn't do the music justice, and everybody tinkers with it. Even people who don't physically rescore it mess with the balances or whatever, just to make it listenable. Otherwise it's simply impossible.

7. Bruckner couldn't write a symphonic allegro to save his life. I mean, he calls some movements allegro, but who is he kidding. Even his early school symphony (you know, the one we call [Symphony No.] 00) has a first movement that's Allegro molto vivace. I mean, who is he kidding? It's not allegro, it's not molto, it's not vivace, it's all just slow. It's the way the man was, and we have to accept it as it is.

8. Liszt is trash. Enough said.

9. The so-called "happy ending" of Shostakovich's Fifth is actually perfectly sincere. Now, recent scholarship has revealed that this happy ending with the trumpets going nuts, and cymbals and timpani pounding away, crashing and bashing, is supposed to be a hidden signal for the misery and suffering of the Russian people. So while the music itself is going nuts with joy, we're supposed to be secretly sympathizing with their unhappiness and with the composer's personal misery. Well, I don't know. Freud said sometimes a happy ending is just a happy ending. And you know, it's okay to be happy. Finally:

10. It's a good thing that only about 200 Bach cantatas survive. I mean really, folks, have you listened to all 200 of them? Do you just like come home from work and say, "Heck! I really need to hear a 25-minute Lutheran penitential cantata about suffering and misery"? I mean, how many of them can we stand? Supposedly about a third of them are missing, I mean more than a hundred of them. And if you're really really that concerned about it, if you really think it's a loss to humanity, I have a suggestion of where you might want to look for them. You see, when Bach died his estate got divided up between his wife and kids, and the oldest one Wilhelm Friedemann (who was supposedly a drunk organist or something like that) had a daughter. And his daughter got married to a business man, and sometime around the 1760s or so (or '70s, I don't know somewhere around then) they moved to Oklahoma. So, if you happen to have nothing to do, and you're really desperate for a new Bach cantata, start looking in barns at Oklahoma, because they started a farm there, and so somewhere, maybe, you know, near Oklahoma City or somewhere out there in the Texas Panhandle, you may find a hundred or so Bach cantatas!

And with that, let me just suggest that you should use your own judgement, listen fearlessly, judge mercilessly, enjoy what you want, love what you love and don't worry about the rest.

Well, now it's my time to respond (wow, it was difficult copying all of that).

1. I have to admit that I'm not so hot on Mozart. I get the feeling that I must worship him because he was a colossal genius, in a sense he's an encylopedia figure (and it's weird that I don't feel the same way about Bach, Beethoven or Haydn who are usually considered as encylopedic figures, and Mr. Hurwitz has himself admitted that although he respects Bach, he doesn't like a lot of his music specifically for this reason). However, I do think that there's a very noticeable difference between Mozart's 1st symphony and his 40th (I haven't heard the Jupiter, so the analogy is not perfect, but at least I'm honest about it). Besides, I personally do not really like Toscanini, but even without that, just because Toscanini said something doesn't mean it needs to apply to everything and everyone.

2. Well, Beethoven's Grosse Fuge is an acquired taste. I mean yes, it's difficult, it's hard to get through, it's angry, and it might even be "ugly", but that's because Beethoven wanted to be ugly. If you don't like it, just go and leave.

3. This one touches a sick nerve because I am a Wagnerian. Yes, some people are crazy in order to go and be in the theater for 6 hours for a Wagner opera. I do get that sometimes it's difficult to be attentive throughout such a long performance (especially if it's a bad one), but Wagner knew what he was doing when he was composing such long operas (and mind you, I don't always agree with his megalomaniac ideas). It is Wagner's right to have Meistersinger run for 5 hours, just as it is Puccini's right to have La Bohème run for 2 hours. Once again, if you don't want to be in an opera house for 6 hours, don't go. But don't tell me that everything is better when it's short.

4. Once again, this one also touches a sick nerve as I'm a deep fan Berlioz's Symphonie fantastique. I should remark that aside from its programmatic function, I don't get the fourth movement, but I would be the first to admit that the finale is the X-Factor of the symphony. That said however, there is a place for the first 3 movements. If they're preludial, they're supposed to be so! And they're much more than a prelude! The first movement has lots of moments of teenage anxiety, depression and hallucination and one of the criteria for a good performance would be for me how much it gets the madness and extremness in this movement. In short, how "teenagery" it is. The second movement also seems to be just nice, and not having any service apart from its programmatic function, but it's sometimes good not to be going full tilt in the epicness department. Likewise, the third movement is also there for the need of what William Berger called (in a different context) "the lowering of the collective blood-pressure". And yet despite what might seem from a movement titled Scene in the Countryside, this movement actually has some manic terrifying moments. Once again, if you don't like the first 3 movements, just listen to the last 2, but again, Berlioz knew what he was doing in adding these first 3 movements.

5. Like the Grosse Fuge, Schoenberg's music is also an acquired taste. I disagree with Mr. Hurwitz's opinion that "it never gets more attractive", but I also disagree with those who say that "the more attention you give to it, the more it will reward you". Circumstances vary with every single person from one millisecond to the next. I am a Schoenberg fan, but I don't persuade people to join the Schoenberg fan club (but that's because I'm not a kind of a persudaing guy). And I'm not alone in that. Alexander Goehr, who is likewise a deep Schoenberg fan, seems to agree with me on this point (that is, I agree with him):

I don't think it is likely that it is possible to convince people who find the music [of Schoenberg] extremely difficult, that hidden beneath the surface is a heart of gold, and it's really all like Puccini if you only knew how to listen to it. It isn't like that. This was a fractious and difficult personality, with a striking and fast mind, and a feeling of responsibility towards music, musicians, students, all through his life.

Once again, if you don't like it, don't listen to it, just go and leave.

6. I haven't listened to Schumann's music so I can't say whether his orchestration is bad or not. However, I can say that people don't tinker only with Schumann's dynamics, and for some reason they get criticized for that in a way which would not happen if they would do the same to Schumann. So in a sense, having a conductor tinkering with Schumann's dynamics should not be something all that special, so stop making so much of a deal out of it.

7. Likewise, I haven't listened to much Bruckner, but I would agree that if it is indeed slow, that is the way Bruckner was and we can't do anything about it. Maybe what for him was fast, is slow for Mr. Hurwitz. And not only is the perception of tempo different from one person to another, it's different within the same person from one millisecond to the next.

8. Ok, I'm barely handling myself together when I'm writing this, and things are especially confusing when Mr. Hurwitz doesn't dare detail. If you think that Liszt is only virtuoso opera transcriptions, the Transcendental Etudes and the Hungarian Rhapsodies, you are damn wrong! Just look at his symphonic poems, and the Faust and Dante Symphonies and you'll see he was much more than just a flashy romantic pyrotechnic of the piano. You still think this is kitschy and wearing on the sleeve? Ok, fine. How about the late piano pieces?! I just keep going mad when I see how many people don't know, let alone appreciate Liszt's late works (which I'm not even going to write a blog post on, because it speaks by itself. Here's a playlist.) These pieces tell you, more even than Tristan, the Ring and Parsifal, how Debussy and early Schoenberg came into being. If you're not convinced by that, I really have no other idea to dissuade you from believing that "Liszt is trash".

9. I have to say before I begin the discussion of Mr. Hurwitz's argument, that trying to figure out the meaning of Shostakovich's music is just pure mayhem, for reasons I hope I don't need to tell you. That being said, we are really actually told that the conflict between musicologists is whether he composed the Fifth Symphony in order to save his skin, or is the music braced with sarcasm. As I understand, there is no reason why the ending should be understood as "sincerely happy" when one goes deeper. Once again, what Freud says doesn't necessarily apply to every situation. So yes, I wouldn't necessarily go as far as to say that we're supposed to be thinking of misery, but we should think of hypocrisy.

10. Once again, I have barely listened to Bach cantatas, but just from looking at the titles, I'm pretty sure that not all of those cantatas are about "suffering and misery" (small unimportant sidenote: You really needed to use the same two words you just used for Shostakovich?). I don't know how much this is likely, but go figure that the hundred or so lost cantatas happen to be the best cantatas Bach ever wrote, and what we've known till now is, forgive the expression, the rotten bottom of the barrel? But trying to go around Oklahoma farms to find them is almost hopeless, for a number of reasons. Most likely, the manuscripts could have been deemed worthless, so they were used for other purposes. The farm could have been destroyed or dismantled or whatever. So maybe we're lucky that some Bach cantatas are missing, maybe not, I have no idea what to say about this.

I saved the most important issue for the end. I have no problem with all the opinions that Mr. Hurwitz has expressed - as long as he was meaning only to express his own opinion. I obviously disagree with him, but I have no serious problem with Mr. Hurwitz suggesting that Wagner's operas are better when cut, that Mozart sounds all the same, and (though with some difficulty, if only because Liszt is widely misunderstood) that Liszt is trash. The problem I have is with him saying that these are the "official dirtiest-secret facts of the classical music industry". And once again, if he's joking, he should make that clearer.

P.S. As I was writing this, I discovered that it's apparently also available online as an editorial, so if you want to make me suffer twice, you can do that.

(Originally posted: 9 August 2020)

[withastolenlantern]

The sun set slowly over the western horizon towards the Mexican coast as the helicopter carried them across the swells, a bright orange glow in the distance that caused the waves to glisten and sparkle in a hypnotic rhythm in time with the whirring of the rotors above. Chatham sat dejected, her feet dangling out the side port where a machine-gun position had once existed. They’d chased the hovercraft as far as they could, but the copter had been built for transport, not speed, even when it was new, and they'd of course removed all the weaponry. The old bird kept them close for nearly forty kilometers, the autopilot bobbing and weaving around sporadic small-arms fire, but the large turbofans powering the hovercraft eventually outpaced them as the helicopter’s low fuel alarm had chimed. 

Whoever they were, they disappeared into the Caribbean twilight like so many pirates before them. The sea that spanned before them had formed the early foundation of the old British Empire, its islands once abustle with privateers and naval frigates alike. Thousands of ships had sailed these waters trading in sugar and gold and slaves, bringing untold wealth to the nascent imperium; the  sloops and galleons had long-ago been replaced by drone barges and the slaves with autofabs. Things had come full circle, now, and it seemed fitting that the reincarnated royal union might begin its decline here as well. 

She instructed the autopilot to turn and head for the Jamaican coast, where they landed at a joint Union and US naval air station. The obsolete helo purred like an enormous kitten as the rotors spun down and she dismounted the deck of the aircraft onto still-hot tarmac in the fading light of the equatorial sun. Santomas followed, his head ducked low under the slowing whine of the helicopter, as if unsure of a safe distance from the blades. Davis’s mobile rang as they crossed the air field, and he walked a distance to take the call outside the din of the aircraft. 

Across the landing pad she watched what appeared to be American Marines in exosuits running in PT formation; the base supported both Commonwealth and US operations in the Caribbean, but since the formation of the Union, the "Special Relationship" had become strained, especially since the Canadians had rejected a US-led proposal for a greater North American Congress of Nations. The Canadian parliament cited their status as a former Crown Dominion as a major factor in rejecting the invitation, but the influence of the US and it's defacto Mexican puppet-state's continued adherence to a "might makes right" socio-economic policy was evident. She passed several of the Union infantry garrison standing to the west end of the airfield, stoically but obviously observing their American counterparts' exercises with derision. 

Among the gawkers was the young flight leader who’d lent Chatham the Merlin. She stopped beside him and handed over the authenticator fob.

“Yanks are up to something again,” he remarked. “They’ve been drilling like this for days, full recon gear.” 

“Drugs, you think?” she responded idly. With the Americans and Mexicans it was always either drugs or immigrants. It wasn’t entirely surprising, she’d always thought. Central and South America had always been somewhat under-developed, and the shifting climate and rising seas had only exacerbated the situation. The US land border with its southern neighbor was enormous, and largely desert, which made securing it incredibly difficult. Her native South Africa had a similar geographic disadvantage, but while they still embraced the Rainbow Nation ethos, the Americans had responded to their modern economic challenges by ignoring their largely immigrant history and doubling-down on nationalist sentiments and geographic isolationism.  

“Most likely,” the young man said with a shrug. “What’s your deal, then? Command just said to expect some civvies and to have the helo fueled when you arrived. Never got to ask.”

“HeRMES,” the detective said, flashing her credentials from her mobile.

“Didn’t think they gave coppers flying lessons.”

“No, but the SBS does,” she replied with a wry smile.

“Curiouser and curiouser. And what’s with the nerd?” he asked, pointing toward Santomas who she now saw was now sprinting toward them across the tarmac.

“Technical consultant,” Chatham said, doing a poor job of hiding a smirk. She could only imagine her own reaction, back then, to such a scene: an obvious civilian running across the airbase, caked in sweat, with such reckless abandon. 

Santomas skidded to a halt next to her, his face red and drenched in perspiration from the heat and his recent exertion. He tried to speak, then thought better of it and swallowed several heavy gulps of air. “That was the boss,” he panted. “He was pissed.” 

“I’d assume so,” she said with a snort.

“He’s in Singapore until next week but he wants a full report when he gets back. Wants me back in the lab figuring out how the hell somebody’s getting execution access to the fabs. ‘Right bloody now’ I believe were the exact words,” Davis explained.

“Never a dull moment I suppose,” she said, turning to the officer. She offered a crisp salute in thanks. “Squadron Leader.”

“Don’t I know it, mum,” he said, returning the gesture.

They left the cadre of servicemen and walked across the airfield to one of the distant hangars. One of the Consortium’s commercial aircraft was parked under a rusting corrugated aluminum roof; it had ferried them down to the Caribbean and would carry them back up to Wales. How the Earl had gotten permission to park a private jet on an active Commonwealth military installation was beyond the detective, but she presumed that it had something to do with wealth and its privileges.

They boarded the jet without fanfare, and Davis keyed in his credentials and submitted the flight plan. Chatham settled into one of the plush chairs midway through the cabin and opened a terminal to begin her situation report. Before she knew it the autopilot had spooled up the turbines and they were aloft into the rapidly darkening sky, chasing the sunset as it crawled its way east. She looked out through one of the windows and saw Jamaica, still green and verdant even in the twilight, quickly disappear, just another speck amidst the breakers, swallowed by the massive sea. 

They flew in silence most of the way, Chatham working on her report and Davis just sitting quietly across the cabin. He nursed a small glass of whiskey from the Earl’s bar in the rear, mainly swirling it against the sides of the frosted crystal, staring off into space.

“You’ve been atypically quiet, Mister Santomas,” she said looking up from the terminal.

“I’ve, uh… I’ve never been shot at before. Never killed anybody either. I think that’s catching up with me a little bit,” he said, continuing to stare at the floor.

“Best not to make a habit of either, I’ve found,” Chatham responded. 

“Puts things in perspective a little,” the engineer confessed. “What if it had been me, falling lifeless through that hatch?”

The detective put down the terminal and leaned forward toward him. She’d been through this existential crisis before, many years ago in a bivouac in some coastal Indian city she couldn’t remember. Earlier that day she’d fired her weapon for the first time in anger, shooting a suicide bomber out of mid-air as he leaped over rubble and sprinted toward her squad. Afterward, she stood over the body, silent, staring at the hole in the insurgent’s chest. It was bigger than she had expected, somehow, and when she’d closed her eyes that night it was all she could see; a gaping, oozing portal where a person used to be, and it threatened to pull her in and consume her whole.

“But it wasn’t you,” she said.

“Tell me one thing I’ve done that matters,” he challenged.

“I mean, I’m...” she started to argue.

“Its fine,” he said, waving the detective off. “It’s not you. I’ve been doing this a long time, and I’ve heard it all. I’m reliable. I get things done. I’m ‘good at my function’.” He made finger quotes as he listed off descriptors. “But those are the qualities you look for in a washing machine, not a person.”

Chatham tried to interrupt, but he continued. “When I’m gone, it won’t matter. In the course of human history, I don’t even rate a footnote. Fuck, the shareholders won’t even notice, and I’ve done nothing but make them money. No… no they’ll probably be happy because they can replace me with someone cheaper,” he scoffed, turning his eyes to the floor. “I haven’t accomplished anything with my miserable existence that’s worth a damn.”

The detective sat quietly, unsure of what to say. She knew from her own experience that whatever arguments she might present to the contrary would fall on deaf ears. When one fell in to these depths, no rhetorical ropes could pull you out until you’d resolved to make the climb. Her companion continued to fume, obviously if quietly. “You’re probably not… wrong,” she hazarded. “In the grand scheme of things, I don’t know that any of us really matter. Not as individuals, anyway. I mean, I have a Military Cross and I keep it in a fucking sock drawer. When I’m dead, they’ll etch a fancy symbol on my tombstone, and that’ll be the last anyone thinks of me.”

He looked up at her, his gaze deep and penitent. “This is all a fucking show, you know,” he said, gesturing around the laboratory. ��It’s a sham, like me. HenRI is more than capable of running everything in here, at least to the Board’s liking. They put a body down here because it ‘humanizes’ the Consortium, makes the investors feel like they’re doing business with a human enterprise, and not just a machine. When Diaz passed away, they thought about letting HenRI run all of Operations. It’s not like we really do any meaningful R&D anymore; there’s no point when they’re shutting down most of the fabs. But the Earl knew better, and he was nervous about giving a virtual intelligence that much control. He wanted someone… pliable. Someone he could trot out to glad-hand and speak the customers’ language, but wouldn’t make waves. I’m no more than HenRI’s secretarial functions in flesh and bone.”

“I don’t believe that, even if you do,” she replied.

“Diaz killed himself, you know.”

“What?” Chatam said, taken aback.

Santomas shook his head in the affirmative, pantomiming a finger gun. “Forty-five to the temple, a no-doubter. Two floors up from here, in his office. He printed the gun himself, in one of the dev lab fabs that were off the network. I found the code on the server a couple days later.”

“Christ,” the detective swore.

“Janitorial drone found him one night, 3 AM, slumped over his desk. Only threw up the flag because of all the blood. HenRI notified me, and I had to break the news to Jaime, his partner. The Consortium bought his silence, of course; he took the payout and their kid and moved to some island in the Caribbean, or whatever’s left of it. Haven’t heard from him since,” he explained.

“Did he leave a note?” she asked.

“Not as such. It’s… it’s probably my fault, if anything,” Santomas said, starting to choke up. “I know Jaime hated it here in Wales and they were drifting apart at the end; looking back, I think I was the closest thing Yangervis had left resembling a friend. His parents fled cartel violence in Colombia when he was five, and they landed in Texas. They had trouble making ends meet in the US. His dad was killed robbing a convenience store; his mother sued the state and the settlement was how he was able to afford his initial studies at A&M. He started the autofabs, in my opinion anyway, as a way to relieve some of that economic anxiety for other families so they didn’t have go through what he did. We were so successful at first, but then Black Tuesday happened, and I think he blamed himself for all the layoffs that followed.

Looking back, I keep wondering if there weren’t signs I should have recognized. He used to gripe all the time about expanding capabilities and finding ways to streamline distributions to do more for the growing poor. I just… I never realized how far down that particular rabbit hole he’d gone. We had a memorial here, and then a week later the Earl offered me his job. I should’ve said no, but I’m too much of a coward.” The engineer wiped a single tear from his cheek with his shirt-sleeve.

Chatham leaned forward and patted his leg gently.“You saved my life today,” the detective replied. “That’s what you did that matters. There was no cowardice in that.”

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Last night I got to thinking, for no real reason, about how the AA6 portion of the Bullshit Defense AU doesn’t have a climactic plot. Like, the AA1 segment doesn’t either - there’s no equivalent to Turnabout Goodbyes, of course - but it’s just really funny after the AA4 and AA5 bits, where they expose Kristoph as the bastard he is, and catch the Phantom, that after all that, the only mildly interesting thing that happens is Trucy gets arrested for murder and Nahyuta has to prosecute his brother’s half-sister and Thalassa calls Retinz a bitch in front of the entire courtroom. 

Like the revolution happened ~14 years ago, Amara’s been back on the throne since, Nahyuta and Apollo have spent half their lives as royalty and Rayfa has never known anything but growing up in the palace a princess with two older brothers and Amara and Dhurke as her parents.

Except then I was like “wait, what if I can figure out drama to happen in Khura’in anyway?” and of course that’s exactly what I’ve done. And it’s too detailed in some parts and broad-strokes in others because, yknow, I worked through it last night and have other fic to write even though I spent all day so far on this uhhh 3.6k “summary”.

-

Ga’ran was not a popular queen for the ~9 or so years of her rule. Really, she’d be outright hated if she wasn’t playing the “my sister was assassinated” card for sympathy. Her criminal justice ““reforms”” are swift and brutal and not only send every defense attorney underground into the rebellion, but also some prosecutors as well, the ones who have concerns beyond simply winning. Among the prosecutors that stay, it’s a free-for-all of making shit up, calling retrials when things don’t go their way, etc etc - hey, if Ga’ran did it in her trial with Dhurke, then they can too!

Plus, Dhurke was quite popular in his own right, not just “Amara was a well-loved queen so people liked her husband as well.” He successfully defended himself from the charges that he was Amara’s assassin - it was Ga’ran calling a retrial, claiming that he forged evidence, that sent him running. And while Ga’ran tried to claim that Dhurke’s disappearance was suspicious, that if he was truly innocent he’d have nothing to fear from a retrial, and while some people accepted that, there were others who thought that Dhurke’s disappearance was actually Ga’ran disappearing him, and her claims that he was still out there leading a resistance were entirely fabricated to justify Ga’ran claiming extra power and cracking down on all defense attorneys and everything else. Which I mean, Dhurke is still out there, but point being, lots and lots of people aren’t buying Ga’ran’s story.

Plus, Inga is embezzling millions of the people’s tax dollars, and that’s not helping this new regime be popular, either.

This is all background to say, when Amara announced that she was alive, that Ga’ran framed Dhurke for the fire, that the people of Khura’in welcomed her back to the throne with open arms, even if she was no longer a goddess in their eyes, having admitted that she had been fooled, that she had been wrong, and that she made a terrible mistake in trusting her sister and not just her family had suffered for it, but the whole of the country had.

As part of their legal reforms, to clean up the mess that Ga’ran made of the courts and the country, Amara eliminated the death penalty. After Inga signing off on every execution warrant without caring, after Ga’ran wielding death sentences to defendants as a weapon against defense attorneys who she saw as threats to her political power - how could she continue to allow it, no matter the crime, no matter how clear the evidence and proof, when her people, because of the cruelty experienced within their living memory, will always be wondering, fearing, that their queen allowed the execution of an innocent? 

Which means that Ga’ran was not executed. Some of people of Khura’in were understandably crying out for Ga’ran’s blood, and treason is a capital crime, but Amara’s kind heart never wanted to see her sister dead at her word. And outlawing such a punishment, no exceptions, means that she could point to that and say - “I am not allowing my sister to escape justice. What I am doing is not adhering to her kind of justice that so ruined this country and so many lives. No more of that, ever.”

(Amara knows, of course, that Ga’ran was not trying to murder her; because Amara knows that Ga’ran cannot channel spirits. And Amara knows, of course, that if Ga’ran was capable of channeling, Amara would have burned to death in that blaze. Ga’ran kept her alive because she needed her. It wasn’t love. It was necessity. But in Amara’s heart of hearts, down in the core that still hurts no matter how many years have passed, she still loves her sister. Her own sister. Her little sister. How could she sentence her to death? How could she see that through?)

-

And this is all not to say also, that there weren’t a handful of people who had preferred Ga’ran’s rule. They were corrupt and power-hungry prosecutors, or grifters also involved in embezzling tax dollars, or so on and forth. That kind of people. And while Amara and Dhurke and Datz try their hardest to root out those people, get them properly punished, return what they’ve stolen from the country, they’re also busy with, like, everything else, fixing and reforming the justice system, reinvestigating every case Ga’ran oversaw to exonerate every innocent convicted under her rule, making reparations to the families of any innocents executed. Some of the people who were profiting most from Ga’ran’s rule slip through the cracks because of what Amara prioritizes. And they aren’t exactly happy at all about Amara being queen again.

But it’s pretty hard to get anyone else on your side when the country is just relieved that they’re not going to be convicted of a crime after a sham of a trial where they have no defense and the prosecution is making up evidence, so life in Khura’in goes along well and peacefully for more than a decade, with only the briefest, barest whispers of discontent from the sort of people who honestly deserve to be discontent because they’re greedy assholes.

-

Trouble begins to kick in after Rayfa’s fourteenth birthday. (This is, by the way, her worst birthday ever because Apollo always comes home for her birthday and Nahyuta is always around, except Apollo got blown up a week before, and his best friend is in the hospital in a coma from being stabbed, and Nahyuta ran off to LA after him to make sure he’s alive, and they’re still there, Nahyuta trying to help Apollo and friends wrap their heads around the absolute catastrophe that began with the Space Center bombing and is still happening.)

She’s been doing the Divination Seances for over a year, though rather sparsely and only on trials where either Nahyuta and/or Dhurke is there. But now she’s performing them more frequently, and also Nahyuta isn’t around because he’s planning to spend the short long-term in LA. (“Everything Apollo has told you about how fucked up the American legal system is true, and then some,” Nahyuta says. “They need all the help I can give and also a lot more.”)

Rayfa becoming more of a public figure, though, is something of a catalyst. It’s been so long that most of Ga’ran’s supporters have either left the country for somewhere they can be corrupt without the Queen’s right-hand man personally showing up in their houses to casually threaten them with a knife, or just given up. Except Ga’ran, languishing in prison, certainly has not given up, and her first real plan in fourteen years is to begin undermining her sister’s rule simply with rumors. Put some cracks in the foundation. Ga’ran is good at getting into people’s heads, and she hasn’t really managed to sway some of her guards to her side, but she has instilled some doubt in Amara in them, and she can work with that. She’ll create more doubt about Amara’s capacities as queen.

Whispers start going around the capital, and then out of it, that Rayfa isn’t actually Amara and Dhurke’s daughter, that Dhurke is a blight on the bloodline and no daughter of his could channel, and Rayfa is Ga’ran’s daughter, stolen from her when Amara reclaimed the throne. Critically, Ga’ran was never exposed as not being able to channel spirits; she was already guilty of arson, prosecutorial misconduct, and high treason, and that’s just from the time of the fire to when she was crowned, not even getting into everything she did as queen. She’d done enough to rot in prison for life without Amara announcing that she’s also an illegitimate queen. She was an illegitimate queen enough because Amara was still alive and the crown belongs to the eldest sister. Amara, at times too kindhearted, keeps her little sister’s secret.

So Ga’ran’s still in contention for the throne, technically, kinda, if she can pin the fire and Jove’s death on someone else again, if she can throw someone under the bus for her decisions as queen with the DC Act - ah! Inga! You’re still alive, too, rotting in a different prison! You’re a good scapegoat! There, another step of the plan figured out.

Ga’ran’s not planning on asking anyone to assassinate Amara, not yet. She wants to get her hands on the Founder’s Orb first, get that spiritual power, and then she can take out Amara, secure in the knowledge that she can prove herself a valid queen.

For now, she’s just testing the waters by claiming that Amara is a daughter-stealing whore who’s been taken in by Dhurke’s wily defense attorney lies just like the rest of the country. And probably other, increasingly outlandish rumors, that no matter how ridiculous they are, are enough to set Amara on the defensive and make people start to wonder about the functionality of the royal family. That she had Nahyuta exiled for [insert any number of stupid reasons here] and the “he went to America to visit his brother” is a cover story so that nobody realizes how much turmoil there is in the palace. That Apollo isn’t an adopted orphan but is Amara’s illegitimate son with Datz and that’s why he so rarely comes back from abroad, because Dhurke doesn’t want him around.

(“Listen,” Dhurke says, and everyone knows whatever he’s about to say is gonna be stupid as hell. “If Amara wanted to cheat on me with Datz that’s her prerogative because I’m pretty sure I’ve probably cheated on her with Datz?”)

(Amara sighs. Datz starts laughing and nearly chokes on a bite of apple.)

Then they find out that the Founder’s Orb has been stolen, and this crop of sudden, weird rumors comes into perfect clarity. Certainly they have an idea that Ga’ran was behind it in some way, especially given the claim about Rayfa, but they couldn’t figure out why beyond her being bored. Now they know what they’re seeing. Death by a thousand lashes, or a thousand little rumors adding up with this very big Founder’s Orb matter to paint a picture of Amara being an idiot and a fool and untrustworthy and a backstabber, and her rule as ineffective, if Khura’in’s greatest treasure went missing under her. And they know what they say about the Founder’s Orb, its ability to grant spiritual power to anyone, and they know that yes, yes, this is Ga’ran having bided her time, finally striking back.

But they don’t know how she’s getting word to her people - they don’t know who “her people” are - they don’t know where the Founder’s Orb is. They have nothing to tie back to Ga’ran, nothing but their very logical suspicions, but they don’t know what to do with that. They can’t make another case against her just on that, not without being hypocritical to the ideals and principles they’ve reformed their legal system on. And Datz would go and personally guard Ga’ran himself and put her in solitary where he’s her only contact to the outside, to know for sure no one can talk with her, but that would mean leaving Rayfa and Amara, and he also doesn’t trust anyone besides himself to properly bodyguard them, now, so it’s just a fucking mess.

Helping them investigate the stolen Orb are Maya and Misty - Maya, who’s been back for a few months after going home when the courthouse bombing happened, and Misty who came to visit her daughter what felt like 10 seconds before this shit started. Maya can play the bumbling tourist really well, and she understands Khura’inese much better than she speaks it, while Misty feigns not being able to understand or speak anything - she’s rusty, certainly, since it’s been so long since she herself visited Khura’in for her training, but she knows much more than she lets on.

Then Beh’leeb Inmee, who in her free time was looking into the Founder’s Orb matter along with her husband, is accused of murdering a monk, and everything really starts spiraling to shit. Beh’leeb, with investigation assistance from Maya and Dhurke, successfully proves that it was self-defense, and her attacker was someone else who’s been caught up in this Founder’s Orb theft and what’s looking more and more like it’s gonna be an attempted coup. And probably sooner rather than later.

Misty returns to LA, with Rayfa who is using a forged American passport - Datz has a fuckton of contingency plans, let no one ever say he’s only an idiot - under a fake name with the surname “Fey”, posing as Misty’s niece. With the situation in Khura’in becoming more dangerous for the royal family and their closest friends, Amara and Dhurke and Datz decide the best thing to do is get Rayfa the hell out. She doesn’t want to go, which is why Misty goes too - both to make sure she does in fact leave, and to protect her if it comes to it. Maya absolutely refuses to leave, though; come hell or high water she wants to help her distant cousins sort this out, and Misty can’t physically drag her away. So Maya stays.

Apollo and Nahyuta, meanwhile, know that it’s getting to be a mess back home, but they don’t realize how much of one until Rayfa shows up on the doorstep, jet-lagged and exhausted but still absolutely livid that she’s been dragged all this way. She wanted to visit LA but not like this, dammit!

Meanwhile, back in Khura’in, two very important things happen. Ga’ran escapes from jail. And Datz finds out where the Founder’s Orb went: to Kurain Village. Maya immediately tells Mia, who tells Apollo and Nahyuta and Rayfa, and when Misty tries to stop them Mia’s like “hey Mom remember the time that instead of talking to me you nearly got yourself killed for Maya’s sake? Yeah you aren’t allowed to tell us what’s good or safe for me or them. We’re going up to the village to get that Orb, see you later.”

So Mia, Apollo, Nahyuta, and Rayfa go on a family bonding train ride up to Kurain Village. There, they find the same canonical situation - the Orb hidden and Dr Buff dead. Nahyuta and Apollo go spelunking and nearly drown again; Rayfa hangs out with Pearl and gets more quality bonding time with another of her distant cousins; and when the boys get back thoroughly waterlogged but with the Orb, Atishon shows up to tell them that they’ll see him in court for the Orb - they’ll see him and his attorney. Mia.

The royal siblings understandably demand to know why Mia has turned on them. Atishon says it’s because she’s seen the light and knows what’s best for both her village and their kingdom. Mia doesn’t look them in the eyes. Rayfa curses out Atishon in Khura’inese, and watching his reaction, Apollo realizes: he doesn’t understand a word of it. He tries to catch Mia’s eye, tries to indicate in some, any, way, and then he asks her again, “Why?”

And she answers, with a very broken pronunciation and accent, but still understandable Khura’inese: “My sister.”

“What did you say?” Atishon demands, and Mia lies, “I told them to fuck off, since they aren’t getting the mesage in English.”

They know Maya; Apollo least, but Nahyuta got to know her pretty well on their trip to LA from Khura’in back in December, and Rayfa was, just a week or two ago, seeing her investigate the missing Orb, and vehemently protest returning to LA when she could help find the Orb and help her family, the ones here with the crown, being undermined by a sister. (It hits close to home for Maya, still.) They know Maya is on their side. They know something’s damn wrong. They call Datz and ask him to find Maya because something’s happened.

In court the next day, it’s Apollo and Nahyuta, with Rayfa in the gallery behind them sometimes shouting at them, up against Mia and Diego. Someone casually observing could be forgiven for thinking Diego doesn’t have a clue what’s happening and is accidentally undermining Mia’s case. He actually does know what’s happening and is actively undermining Mia’s case, per her request, because he can play the idiot better than she can, drag this out longer without Atishon getting suspicious, give a little more time for Maya to be rescued. And they don’t hear back about Maya, but they do prove that the Orb needs a spirit medium, and Rayfa knows Ga’ran’s secret, that she can’t channel. Amara’s the only other medium in the country; Maya’s got to be safe.

Atishon gets arrested for murder, and Apollo, Nahyuta, Rayfa, Mia, Diego, and Misty rush off on a plane Franziska gets for them to Khura’in. Mia is biting her tongue the whole time trying not to make a jab about what happened the last time Diego and Misty banded together to save Maya. (She’s really, really trying.

“What’s the plan? Get stabbed and stranded on top of a mountain again?”

Fuck, she was trying.

Instead of answering, Diego takes out his phone and starts sending a message. “Lana and I bet on how long it would take you to say something.”

“I’m going to break your fucking neck, Diego.”

“Not hers?”

“She’s not the one who stabbed my mother on a snowy mountaintop and spent 36 hours feeding my little cousin snow and cold gravy.”

“That’s because she was in prison at the time!!”

“Why is every family I’m part of so fucked up?” asks Apollo, who neither knows this story nor wants to know.)

And honestly I don’t have details that worked out of what goes down when they get back to Khura’in. Maya is rescued. Ga’ran tries some bullshit, but in this universe the only thing she really has going for her is charisma and a handful of supporters. She doesn’t have the throne, she doesn’t have murders to frame Dhurke and Amara for. (Unless she had one of her people murder Inga in jail and tried to blame it on Datz. Ooh, actually that could be a fun plot.) She’s been proven to have committed murder (Jove). If she can be queen, it’s only as a tyrant, having killed everyone in her way, but she’s still got a handful of people who are willing to kill for her. They can put her back in jail, as they should, but she’ll still have her people. They have to get rid of that factor, soundly ruin her so that no one would ever believe her whispers of temptation for power and riches.

So Apollo and Mia realize that the way to take her down is still with the Founder’s Orb. She can’t channel. If they just announce that fact, her supporters aren’t going to believe them. If Amara announces it, same thing. But what they can do is bait her with the Orb and the Holy Mother’s face, forcing her to completely humiliate herself in front of the whole country, proving once again that she has absolutely nothing to offer anyone.

(Also side note, this would be the first time that Apollo and Nahyuta and Rayfa have ever met their aunt, and it’s to find that yeah, she’s as awful as all of Datz’s stories that Amara claimed were slightly exaggerated.)

The Orb goes back where it belongs; Ga’ran also goes back to where she belongs, which is jail, along with everyone who was willing to do murder for her and break her out of jail. The rumors about how the royal family is actually a dysfunctional shitshow are soundly quashed by seeing Apollo and Nahyuta and Rayfa return with the Orb to support their mother and stop their aunt. (Actually  the stupid rumor about Apollo being Datz and Amara’s kid doesn’t quite die, but the fact that they’re no longer under siege and struggling to plug the holes and expose Ga’ran’s plotting means that it’s honestly kinda funny now, to most of them. Apollo’s mortified and wishes that Dhurke and Datz would stop joking about it. They will not.)

Anyway after that, everything calms down in Khura’in again and Pearl and Trucy and Thalassa fly out to Khura’in so that they can all meet the rest of their family, and the biggest problem anyone has is Nahyuta has to decide whether he wants to stay home and help prosecute the people involved in this shitshow, or return to LA and help his new friends there with their perpetual shitshow.