#geoff statement

[satelliteloooveeee]

Highlights:

Geoff knew that his son was an addict. They had last seen each other on August 29 last year in Manchester, for the singer's birthday. "He was fine, stable, clean," he said in his testimonial in Buenos Aires. But, according to the contents of his statement, he didn't know everything. He assured the investigators that Liam planned to stay only five days in Argentina. Also, that the former One Direction singer didn't have a phone.

Liam didn't have his own cell phone and it was his decision, in recent years he changed his cell phone numerous times. He decided to be disconnected as a method of protection to avoid social networks and also to stay away from the possibility of recurring in his addictions. That decision was personal to him and he had all the support from the family group, personally, I agreed that it was really a way to take care of himself for him"

Liam, in Argentina, had his cell phone. It was kidnapped by the City Police after his death and appraised by order of the Justice. Geoff, then, depended on intermediaries to know about his son. "For that reason my telephone contact with Liam was not direct, it was always through third parties," he said

Then, he identified them with name and surname: Kate Cassidy, Liam's girlfriend, and businessman Rogelio Nores, alias "Roger". "They were in his care because of his addictions. To Kate for love and Roger because he accompanied and took care of Liam in these last months and reported his state to me."

He didn't find out on television. It was Nores himself who warned him that his son had died, in a way: "I learned of Liam's death by Roger. I was at home with my wife. He called me at 5:23 pm, Buenos Aires time, but I didn't see the call until about an hour later. In the middle he called me once again and sent me a message to call him as soon as possible. When I saw all those calls at 6:18 pm here, I called him back," according to his testimony, which Infobae accessed.

What happened?, asked Geoff Payne.

-An accident happened, Nores replied: It's true, it's true.

-Is he dead?! Is he dead?!

-You have to come to Argentina.

Then, Geoff Payne contacted his daughters, Liam's older sisters: they already knew it, like the rest of the world. Nores called him in the meantime, over and over again. The singer's father, this time, did not return the contact

Payne father would know Nores well in mid-2024. The businessman appears strongly in a moment of crisis. "We managed to maintain it, stabilize it, but Liam was not improving. It was stable but it wasn't getting better. At that time, Liam received calls from Roger, I didn't know who he was," he continued. The businessman, said Payne Sr., offered to support the former One Direction "in exchange for nothing."

"We stayed 10 weeks there with Liam, the four of us. During that time we formed a team with Roger and the bodyguard for Liam's recovery, always monitored by psychologists and psychiatrists, all of Roger's contacts so I now don't have his data. Liam's girlfriend came and went."

However, simple friendship would then change, at least, according to Payne father.

The link between Nores and Liam, with the course of the case, would become a key to the imputation.

Payne's father said:

“The two of them had a friendly relationship. It is true that Roger this year managed meetings for Liam to enter the labor market again, but he said that he did it to help him, not for something in return or with a contract in between, he was just looking for his relationships. I also noticed lately that Roger was directing Liam to develop more in business than in his artistic part. This change of direction in Liam's work was not flattering for him, because what he liked to do and did him good was making music," he said.

Here, another piece on the board comes into play, which was not imputed by Justice: Nores' supposed girlfriend.

"Liam knew that I thought it was wrong to leave the music for the investments. When I met Roger, he was focused on Liam's well-being and believed it was genuine; then, Roger changed his focus when he tried to integrate his girlfriend into the circle of trust we had with Liam, his girlfriend, the bodyguard and me." The bride even showed up in Wellington.

In the end, Payne father didn't even know which hotel Liam was staying at before his death.

On the Wednesday of Liam's death, "a friend or girlfriend of his also sent me messages, 'Lula' expressing her condolences, I don't know how he got my number because I never gave it to her, surely Roger gave it to her, said Payne father.

[hawkzeyes]

Folks this is weird shit and if you believe this you need to unfollow me now. I’m so serious. This is not a safe space for you. If you think that 17 year olds should date grown men you’re not welcome on my blog. I don’t care about what the law legally says. There is a lot of things that are morally reprehensible and bankrupt that is still legal. That doesn’t mean it should be done.

Comic books authors are fucking weird about ages often and I will call that out. Just because she is “old enough legally” to consent doesn’t mean Al should be sniffing anywhere near her. She is literally freshly 17 here. Her birthday was a couple pages forward. So actually she was 16 when these thoughts started. He should know better as the adult in this situation and Geoff Johns is a fucking weirdo for writing it otherwise.

[sockssoakedwithgreentea]

Gertrude Robinson in her recordings:

This statement is worrying. It would indicate that the Evil Bastard Conglomerate™ is more active than ever. How is Geoff Von Poopenfarten involved in this? What are his intentions towards the Scrimblo artifact? This completely changes what we know about The Scrunkly, and what it wants. I have to consult The Dipshit League on this matter! If you're listening to this, I will store all the answers in my secret base on Mars that i have built. They should be safe from prying eyes there.

Jonny boi sitting at his stupid little desk, listening to his stupid little tape recorder:

:0

[apopcornkernel]

some thoughts on jason, post-reread of teen titans #29

the curious thing is that geoff johns writes jason wanting to be remembered, memorialized with the other dead titans—he throws tim into donna's statue, yells, where's MY statue? so i wonder—have i been wrong all this time? would he have actually appreciated bruce's horrific glass case?

another thing. if jason, according to this issue, knows that batman didn't arbitrarily "replace" him, so to speak, then why did he go to all that effort to beat tim up? ... in the comic he says smth about tim being nowhere near good enough to be robin/to measure up to jason's robin... perhaps he was lying to himself and Did feel resentment for the replacement despite his statements to the contrary. and jason notably keeps children away from his gig but perhaps he reasoned with himself that tim was trained by batman ans he could take it. perhaps he just wanted to have an excuse to vent his frustration and anger and grief onto the boy even if he knew it was wrong, even if it went against his moral code. or perhaps (see panel) he was even pulling a leslie and hoped the beatdown would also decommission tim and get him out of the vigilante lifestyle? EDITED TO ADD: im feeling more of the first explanation tbh. i talked about it with a friend and its really so easy to forget how young jason is. i think he was genuinely just very upset and deliberately took it out on tim despite knowing it wasn't exactly tim's fault. hey maybe some selfish part of him wanted bruce to never move on. maybe some part of him recognizes tim as a driving factor for it and resents tim ror that. girl idk. i don't even want to say that this comic is ooc or not because revived jason media is all so wildly varying in characterization so once again this is a reminder that i am simply Working Within The Confines Of The Text

of course, it could always be mischaracterization/shaky writing of character motivation. but i think there's merit in looking at complicated comics and examining the messy dynamics, especially since this issue has been more or less accepted as unmissable canon.

speaking of complicated comics, i actually also have thoughts on dick and jason's dynamic based on how they were written in nightwing: brothers in blood. remind me to crosspost from my private twt acc!

one last thing: i actually love that jason is aware of bruce's "spiral into darkness" and STILL continues to enact his plan. it's the whole false equivalence of "bruce kills the joker == bruce loves me", "bruce doesn't kill the joker == bruce doesn't love me", or at least not enough. he's refusing to accept bruce's grief as penance. jason has already named his price, and he will not recant it. he will accept nothing less than the death of the joker 😋😋😋

[total-drama-brainrot]

Thinking about the fake dating AU again. 🤯

What if, during his segment on the Aftermath, Noah plays off his 'cheating' as something so emotionally detached it makes him look almost psychopathic, in an attempt to make himself as unlikable as possible?

The 'cheating' was simply strategic, is all. It wasn't his fault the two of them had to go and catch real feelings; Noah was just playing the game. Nothing more.

What? You thought he had feelings for them? Don't be ridiculous, Noah felt nothing for either of them- they were just there to carry him through the competition.

(He doesn't anticipate the ache that twists through his chest after that statement. It isn't true in the slightest, yet even just pretending to not care about his partners is physically painful.)

At first, both Geoff and Blaineley commend him for enacting some long overdue karma/vengeance on the antagonistic duo, but the more Noah intentionally digs himself into a hole- the more hateable he makes himself- the more people actually begin to pity both Heather and Alejandro. Which was the plan from the beginning, so Noah fully commits to it, playing off every interaction as just another cog in his manipulation machine; he's the 'High IQ', after all, of course he planned it all.

And he hides the nausea writhing in his gut from the blatant lies he's sprouting under a carefully blank, uncaring mask of indifference. Every claim he makes is said in the most casual tone- as if he's commenting on the weather instead of admitting to masterminding the heartbreak of two strong competitors- and that's somehow worse than if he would at least seem smug about his achievement. Because at least then he'd (appear to) care.

So, when the Aftermath finally ends, Noah becomes persona non grata. No one wants to even look at him- who knew the little snark could be so ruthless? So uncaring?

And Noah, knowing that he can't confide in Owen (who can't keep a secret to save his life) or Izzy (who's too unpredictable to trust- and who also 'leaked' fake information about him to Sierra during her time on Celebrity Manhunt, so who knows what else she's leak?) turns to his friend Eva, who promptly decks him in the face.

"I'm not friends with cheaters."

And when he tries to explain himself, clutching at his quickly bruising face and hoping that she'll see reason or at the very least afford him some decency, she throws his actions back in his face (actions have always spoken louder than words with Eva). Claiming that, if he's willing to lead on two people romantically, who's to say he isn't also faking their friendship? How can she trust anything that comes out of his slimy mouth?

It hurts. Every accusation is like a wave of searing heat against his already blistered heart, and yet Eva's eyes are so cold as she looks at Noah like he's the scum beneath her shoes.

So he flees to his hotel room.

And, for the first time in years, he weeps.

.

Given the informative finale of World Tour, the Aftermath crew were given the go-ahead to host one last hurrah, to properly question their finalists about their scheme, and to clear Noah's name.

Their audience was practically frothing at the mouth for an update.

During their interview segment, Blaineley (in an attempt to stir up some drama- she's always endeavouring to stay on brand after all) plays clips of Noah's callous 'confessions' on his Aftermath segment post-elimination, hoping to cause some trouble in paradise for the lovely throuple by sewing the seeds of doubt in their minds.

To her surprise, both Heather and Alejandro start laughing at the clips as if they're the funniest thing they've ever seen, huddling closer to Noah as they poke and tease him. Noah, in turn, sinks in unto himself, red-faced and mortified.

"What? How can you be alright with him saying that?" Cries Blaineley, scandalised that her attempt at brewing tension somehow didn't work.

"Because he does not mean it." Alejandro explains. To his side, Heather nods in agreement.

"How can you be so sure?"

Heather points to the screen, where past Noah is lying his ass off for the world to see, stoic save for the barely noticable twitching of his fingers and the occasional jump of his leg.

"He's lying through his teeth! It's so obvious- you weren't even trying to hide your tells, and after all the practice we did!"

"I didn't need to. Neither of you were there to call me out on the bluff."

[scoundrels-in-love]

This could be the one (Could this be the one?) Our new year

When Meryl storms to scold her grumpy old neighbor for misfire of fireworks, who she meets instead might just change the trajectory of her new year. | VashMeryl | First meeting | Fluff | Also on Ao3 | | Commission me! |

Meryl’s evening goes from bad to worse with a sudden burst of noise and color in her neighbor’s garden.

She’s been fighting a headache the entire day while three articles demand her full focus, tomorrow’s work party looms over her like an axe and her general dim mood around holidays gnaws away at a hole in her chest. 

“For fuck’s sake,” she exclaims to no one in particular and pushes her chair away from the table angrily, sparks still firing off beyond the window. Her boots and winter coat are put on with equal annoyance and Meryl practically stomps over to the gate of the property next to her.

She’s never gotten along well with the old man next door, not since he decided he had any say in how she kept her garden and generally poking his nose in her business. Nothing she did was half as disruptive as this, Meryl groused as she rang the bell with more force than needed.

But instead of the expected grump, a young man with messy mop of blond hair near tumbles out of the house and down the driveaway. He is bundled up in a bright red coat and when he skid-halts at the gate, huffing and puffing, she has to tilt her back to have a proper look at his face, that’s how tall he is. But it’s a pretty face, Meryl has to admit, even through her annoyance. Angular, brightened by his awkward smile and expressive blue-green eyes. He looks nothing like her neighbor and she hadn’t known he had any family in the first place.

Still. She’s here for a reason. With her hands on her hips, Meryl juts her chin out: “Excuse me, could you please tell Mr. Geoff to wait until New Year’s for his obnoxious fireworks? Some of us would like some peace and quiet when the calendar doesn’t dictate otherwise.” 

The man flushes and shrinks a little on himself, a hand scratching at the back of his neck. “Oh no, that was me. Mr. Geoff doesn’t live here anymore, I moved in last week.”

Oh.

Shit.

Well, actually.

It’s not like she’s in the wrong, even if this is one hell of a first impression to make.

“My statement still stands,” she doubles down in the typical Stryfe fashion, as Roberto calls it. 

Her new neighbor shrinks beneath her stare and his whole face falls. It’s almost the theatrical perfection of misery.  “I am very sorry about that, miss. But I can explain, I swear. There’s this kitten that lives in my backyard, I keep trying to capture it to bring inside, but she always eludes me. And while my friend was helping me set up the fireworks ahead of time, we noticed her again and in the rush to get a hold of her, he dropped his cigarette and accidentally ignited the chain we’d just set up. It wasn’t on purpose at all!”

He speaks so fast she barely catches everything, gesturing to accompany his story, and now he’s giving her unreasonably effective puppy eyes. The combination of it all is somewhere in the miracle zone between annoying and oddly charming (closer to the latter) and Meryl feels her disposition shifting accordingly.

“Well, if that’s the case, you’ve definitely scared her off with fireworks for the night if not more,” she states and watches the man’s shoulders slump. “However, if she does come back, you’d have more chances in the future with a trap, rather than chasing her around the yard. If you want, I could help you set one up.”

Bright blue eyes widen almost comically as he gasps, clasping hands together, which is when she notices his left is curiously clad in black leather glove while the other is bare: “Really? You could?”

“Yes, I’ve written an article on it, so people would know how to set up traps for local TNRs,” she nods, confidently.

In return, she gets an almost blindingly bright smile from the blond. “That’s wonderful, miss! You're a reporter? Amazing! Would you like to come in? Oh, I forgot to introduce myself - my name’s Vash Saverem.” He fires it all off all the while opening the gate and gesturing an invite and extending hand for a shake, all of which Meryl accepts. 

“Meryl Stryfe,” she says as he leads her further inside and realizes that despite everything, her headache has eased as if Vash has miraculously melted it with his overeager energy.

Maybe there is something to look forward to in the next year, after all.

[tomorrowusa]

Republicans for Kamala is taking off and includes some high profile former office holders and staffers. This is more than just the usual handful of mid level and obscure officials.

At least three former governors including Jim Edgar of Illinois (1991-1999) have publicly announced their support for the candidacy of Vice President Kamala Harris.

Nine days into her 2024 candidacy, Vice President Kamala Harris picked a couple of notable Republican endorsements: Former Georgia Lt. Gov. Geoff Duncan threw his support behind the Democrat fairly quickly, and John Giles, the mayor of Mesa, Arizona’s third-largest city, endorsed her soon after. Given the state of the cotemporary GOP, it’s not easy for any Democratic candidate to pick up cross-party backing, so this represented a decent start. But hanging overhead was an obvious question: Would other Republicans soon follow? The question received a rather emphatic answer over the weekend. NBC News reported: >> The Harris campaign on Sunday unveiled more than two dozen endorsements from Republicans, including former governors, members of Congress and Trump administration officials. Many of the endorsements came from politicians who were already openly critical of former President Donald Trump, including former Republican Gov. Bill Weld of Massachusetts; former Rep. Denver Riggleman, R-Va.; and former Trump administration press secretary Stephanie Grisham.<< Those names are, of course, just a sampling. According to a press statement from the incumbent vice president’s campaign, Republicans for Harris includes endorsements from former Trump White House officials Stephanie Grisham and Olivia Troye; former Secretaries Chuck Hagel and Ray LaHood; former Governors Jim Edgar, Bill Weld, and Christine Todd Whitman; former U.S. House members Rod Chandler, Tom Coleman, Dave Emery, Wayne Gilchrest, Jim Greenwood, Adam Kinzinger, John LeBoutillier, Susan Molinari, Jack Quinn, Denver Riggleman, Claudine Schneider, Christopher Shays, Peter Smith, Alan Steelman, David Trott, and Joe Walsh; and former GOP State Chair and State Senator Chris Vance, among others. “As a proud conservative, I never thought I’d be endorsing a Democrat for President,” Kinzinger said in a written statement. “But, I know Vice President Harris will defend our democracy and ensure Donald Trump never returns to the White House. Donald Trump poses a direct threat to fundamental American values. He only cares about himself, and his pursuit of power. “That’s what we saw on January 6 when he sent a mob to overturn our lawful election, who violently attacked law enforcement and ransacked our nation’s Capitol in the process,” the former member of the Jan. 6 committee added. “There’s too much at stake to sit on the sidelines, which is why I wholeheartedly endorse Kamala Harris for president. Now is the time for us all to unite to save our democracy and defeat Donald Trump one last time.”

[blazehedgehog]

Thoughts on this years Game Awards ceremony?

I want to like Geoff Keighley. Every year he gets on camera and the dude is practically radiant. He's beaming. He's living his best life and loves getting to be the host of that show. And I truly believe that. I don't think it's some gameshow host act, where the moment he steps off stage his expression goes dark. I think that dude is doing his dream job and his life cannot get better.

But there are so many problems with The Game Awards. Rushing through winners lists just so they can get to showing more trailers, visibly flashing "WRAP IT UP" warning signs to people who are tearfully eulogizing dead colleagues, while also giving extended time slots to Hollywood celebrities and people that are friends of Geoff just to say effectively nothing. Hideo Kojima and Jordan Peele spent eight full minutes on something that was effectively just a logo.

And, like did y'all catch that bit with Anthony Mackie? On stream we heard nothing but solid, constant applause as he walked out. But when he got to his mark I'm pretty sure he called out how the the real people in the theater all stopped clapping for him almost immediately save for one specific section of seats on stage right. Meaning all the cheering and clapping and people going "Ohhhhh!!" at exciting things happening on screen is fake. Nobody in the audience is actually doing that. It's the awards show equivalent of a live laugh track. Think of all the times they cut to a shot of the crowd and everybody appears to be sitting in silence.

Which is to say nothing of literally everything else happening around The Game Awards. They have something called "The Future Class" every year, a diverse selection of (international?) up and coming game developers, and a non-trivial percentage of the Future Class this year asked for The Game Awards to make a statement about ending the crisis in Gaza. They were ignored. Geoff couldn't even spare table scraps.

Increasingly longer and longer shadows are being cast on The Game Awards. It's starting to go beyond just being "a bad awards show." It's starting to feel like four hours of advertisements with the thinnest pretenses of "honoring our industry."

Keighley may be living his best life but it sure seems to be focused on making him not only look good, but making him a lot of money in the process. All while dodging responsibility for anything beyond those two goals. For something that probably puts literal millions of dollars into his pocket, he sure doesn't want to take it very seriously.

Bad taste.

[thevindicativevordan]

it’s a shame that after Tom King’s Strange Adventures clearly positioned Mr Terrific as the clear avenue character for DC to do modern sci-fi adventure stories, they still never choose to do anything fun or worthwhile with the guy outside of the short lived Terrifics and lame ass JSA stuff. he’s SEVERELY underutilized and i’d love for Waid to have him be a big part of the new JL run. personal thoughts on the guy?

I love Holt because he’s such an American character.

We Americans love our trash talkers. Oh we publicly make a big deal about the need to stay humble and respectful, but don’t believe that for a second. Look at our heroes and icons! Only thing Americans really respect are winners, and we love winners who can walk their talk. Michael Holt comes from the proud tradition of American heroes who can do just that. He’s incredibly smart and he knows it. He’s fantastically competent and he shows it. He’s Mr. Terrific! - able to cut through the bullshit with his mind or his fists as need be. And he doesn’t take crap from anyone.

Like Hal Jordan or Barry Allen before him, Holt might not be the first character to hold the mantle, but he’s the one who made folks respect the name. No offense to the Terry Sloane fans out there (if you exist), but there’s a reason Holt is the only Mr. Terrific who ever gets used. He’s simply cooler than his predecessor in every way. His backstory, his design, his attitude, his powers, despite sharing the name I even hesitate to call Holt a “legacy character”. He’s more in the vein of a Hal Jordan, taking the title but reinventing the concept, than a Barry Allen or Wally West who is steadfastly trying to live up to a pre-existing ideal. How many people even know that Holt wasn’t the first Mr. Terrific? Who would care if they did know?

Holt is living in the timeline that John Stewart fans wish they had gotten after the DCAU. Far as the general public is concerned, there’s only one Mr. Terrific. Which I would be happy to see DC continue to act as if that were the case, I know this rubs against how most people view legacy as central to DC, but I don’t believe that any story about Holt “struggling” to live up to his predecessor’s example will ring true. Besides, it’s unnecessary.

Mr. Terrific already has plenty of baggage on his own to deal with. His unresolved trauma over the deaths of his wife and their baby, his mentally disabled older brother dying young also, his need to excel at anything he sets his mind to, his atheism in a universe where the gods are not only real but actively involved, the all but stated fact that he might be smarter than Bruce and Lex, but put himself in third place to not attract attention, and leading his own team the Terrifics. Returning to OP’s statement, I too bemoan Holt being trapped on the Boomer Squadron. Yes it’s expected given Geoff Johns created him to be part of the team in the first place, but like Wally on the Titans, Holt has outgrown his original team.

Making him the leader of his own team simply makes sense. Unlike most of his peers you can justify all sorts of adventures for Holt on the basis of SCIENCE! or simple adventure-seeking. The JL are not wont to taking field trips but the Terrifics have no problem doing that. Holt became an Olympian athlete simply to prove he could. He’s exactly the type of character who can easily justify a trip to space or through time simply because he felt like doing that. DC made it explicit but Holt always has been the natural counterpart to Marvel’s Reed Richards.

DC struggles to create teams that don’t languish in the shadow of the League. No matter the protestations to the contrary the Titans and the JSA absolutely are stuck in said shadow. Mr. Terrific and his Terrifics however don’t have to be. Market them as explorers and adventurers rather than crime fighters and they would have a niche that isn’t covered by anyone else at DC, with a mandate to go anywhere and do anything.

[larrydidthething]

let me tell yall something…. I thought I knew what being hurt was until 5 days ago. Since Wednesday.., that has done irreparable damage to my heart and soul.

From finding out while driving around 3-3:30pm that day, pulling over to read all the articles/tweets bc ain’t no way, the live tweets from Argentina fans, all the articles and media being that headline, to fucking tmz posting part of his body (a big fuck you to them bc what the actual fuck is wrong with them??????), to reading everyone’s post about how this can’t be true and they won’t believe it until family/friends say something, to the rest who started saying their goodbyes, to the two-faced bxtches who were hating on him not that long ago for going to Niall’s concert now posting their hypocritical comments, to those who bullied him WAY BEFORE MH’s allegations now posting how “sad” they are, the media using his name every chance they get, the boys’ statements, his family’s statements, his friends statements, some of yall harassing them to say something ???????, showing up to his house????, showing up to his family and friends houses????, knowing his son will read everything one day…, many degrading him for his addiction, the memorials/tributes being held for him worldwide, the pics of the skies and butterflies, everyone getting tattoos, to seeing his dxad uncensored body on my tl unprovoked, realizing that his family found out through the media (again FUCK YOU TMZ), Geoff being accompanied by both of their old bodyguards to Argentina, fans protecting him from the paps, the amount of pics of him smiling on my tl… and so soo much more…

(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) I, in no way, am saying don’t hold him accountable for what MH has said. Believe the victims!!!! And y’all are sick for sending her hate/death threats for this.. idk if it’s true or not bc I didn’t even know about her book until the day of his passing. But he deserved to be held responsible, if true. (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

But y’all are so fucking ridiculous for hating on him before any of that came out, and now saying how much you loved him and how much he means to you all for some hit tweets/posts. Nothing, and I truly mean NOTHING, would make me forgive yall. Sure yall can learn from this but holy fucking shit, how many people have to die first for y’all to realize your words/actions affect people??? Yall hate on someone until they die and all of a sudden it’s “omg they didn’t deserve that 💔” as if yall weren’t part of the problem. Fuck all of you who jumped on the hate trend. “Im just joking” “it’s just Liam” “he doesn’t read any of it” he said he’s read it. He’s seen all of them. His family and friends writing that media weren’t kind to him.. fuck all of you hypocrites. Yall are shit and I hope the guilt eats you idc.

Nothing has hurt me more ever since Wednesday. Finding out about everything all at once has put me in a conflicting state of emotions. But what I know for sure is that this, what I’m feeling, is true epitome of hurt. And it’s a selfish feeling bc I didn’t know him personally.. but I knew him. Parasocially, yeah. But I knew him. For 13 years. More than half of my life at 25. “You don’t know him like that “ “he doesn’t know you exist” yeah, so? Do you want me to beg you to understand? Or give you an explanation on why I’m allowed to feel the way I do? Bc I don’t have to. And I won’t. I know there’s millions who feel the same way.

Liam.. I still can’t believe that you’re gone. Idk if it’s bc I can’t grasp the truth or bc I don’t want to..

I can’t say goodbye yet. Please give me a bit of time to fully understand this. Or to come to terms with it. All of it.

You deserved better.

You deserved to be well.

You deserved to be surrounded by better people.

All the love poured out for you in these last few days, you deserved all these years ago.

The world was not kind to you for as long as I could remember. And I wish we could’ve properly shield you from it.

From everything I have in me.. heart, body, and soul.. I am so sorry we couldn’t help you the way you helped us.

[fallingblueroses]

At last, the final part of the Panic! story. This is the longest part, with just over 4000 words.

The rest of the story can be found here:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

I'll be posting this story in its entirety on Ao3 as well.

***

Geoff took long, quiet breaths to calm himself as he sat in the courtroom next to Kathy. He was dressed in a gray suit with a white shirt, and Kathy was wearing a modest dark blue dress. The rest of VoicePlay and their wives and J's sister were sitting nearby, all of them dressed in similar clothes. Geoff and Kathy had left William with Kathy's parents, and Layne and Cyndi had also not brought their children to court.

Kathy squeezed his hand, and Geoff looked at her and smiled to let her know he was all right. He'd spent the past two weeks helping Layne and Kathy at PattyCake and working on a new arrangement for VoicePlay while being in a sustained panic attack. By now he was worrying that the constant anxiety was permanent. Last night he'd dreamed of being back in that horse trailer, blind, deaf, and taped up. It hadn't helped his mental state in the slightest.

The five of them had written out their statements and given them to Wilson. Geoff had spent some time looking up the charges against Tony and legal procedures. He hadn't been very encouraged when he'd read that it could take months for a case to go to trial and years for it to be resolved. When he'd told Kathy she'd reassured him that that was the worst-case scenario. "Worry about all that after the hearing." He'd nodded, but it was hard not to think about.

His eyes drifted over to the table where Tony's lawyer sat waiting. Wilson had called him young and ambitious, but Geoff would have added slimy to the description. He had the feeling that getting "justice" one way or the other didn't matter to this guy, as long as he got his share of publicity. Which is going to make this even harder than it needs to be.

The court clerk's voice broke through his thoughts. "Next case: The State of Florida versus Wakim." They all watched as Tony, wearing an orange jumpsuit and with his hands cuffed in front of him, was led in through a side door by a bailiff. His face was angry, but his eyes were on his lawyer. Geoff sighed to himself. Even Tony doesn't like this guy, and Tony's life is in his hands.

The judge, a middle-aged blond female, nodded toward the lawyers. "Mr. Lawson, I've read your motion to dismiss all charges against Mr. Wakim. Mr. Wilson, I have also read your answer to the motion. Now, Mr. Lawson, you are saying that Mr. Wakim did not get due process, is that correct?"

"Yes, Your Honor." Lawson spoke seriously. Geoff glanced at Tony and saw him hanging his head. "The police delayed contacting the public defender's office, and in that time subjected Mr. Wakim to questioning and obtained a confession."

Wilson interrupted. "Your Honor, according to the officers' statements Mr. Wakim was read his rights at the time of arrest before the questioning started. He voluntarily gave his confession without a lawyer present."

"Mr. Wakim was suffering from a diminished mental capacity at the time he made his confession," Lawson said. "He was suffering from withdrawal, and therefore not capable of fully understanding what was happening."

J muttered something under his breath that Geoff didn't quite catch, but the sentiment was clear enough.

"Your Honor," Wilson cut in. "At no time did Mr. Wakim exhibit any behavior that would have made a reasonable officer question his capacity. According to his own testimony, Mr. Wakim drove for two days to return to Orlando and give himself up to the police. Even accounting for withdrawal symptoms, that is not the behavior of a man who is not of sound mind."

Lawson held up a paper. "If I may, I would like to present this copy of Mr. Wakim's letter to Mr. Castellucci as evidence of Mr. Wakim's state of mind."

Geoff felt a fist squeeze his stomach as the judge nodded. "Go ahead, Mr. Lawson."

"Thank you, Your Honor." Lawson cleared his throat. "In particular I want to call attention to paragraph number seven where he states that Mrs. Castellucci told him to either, quote, turn myself in or kill myself, unquote." Kathy lowered her head at that, and Geoff patted her hand. He glanced over and saw that Tony had his head in his hands. "In the next sentence he admits he did indeed attempt to commit suicide."

"Your Honor," Wilson said. "The State has no doubt that Mr. Wakim was in a state of high emotion when he attempted to end his life. However, he had several days to recover from that before he turned himself over to the police. And again, according to the arresting officer's statement, Mr. Wakim was perfectly calm when he gave his statement, and showed no behavior that would have given any indication that he was not of sound mind."

"I have to agree with you, Mr. Wilson," the judge said. "Let the record show that Mr. Lawson has failed to provide any concrete evidence that his client was denied due process or that he had diminished mental capacity at the time of his arrest, and therefore I am denying his motion to dismiss the charges against Mr. Wakim."

Geoff lowered his head and took a breath. He heard the others making quiet sounds of relief as the judge went on. "As for the second matter on the agenda, Mr. Lawson, you have submitted a plea deal for Mr. Wakim."

"Yes, Your Honor. Considering the circumstances and the fact that Mr. Wakim has no prior record, we ask that the attempted murder and kidnapping charges be dropped. In exchange Mr. Wakim will plead guilty to the charges of grand theft auto and destruction of property along with paying restitution."

Wilson interrupted again. "I'm afraid the State can't agree, Your Honor. The actions Mr. Wakim took in this matter show a pattern of deliberate and malicious intent."

Lawson looked toward Wilson. "His actions were taken under the influence of a hallucinogen which he was unaware he was taking."

Wilson looked back at him. "Mr. Wakim was coherent enough to find and purchase an explosive device online. He was coherent enough to plan to attack and kidnap five men who trusted him. He was coherent enough to take one of those men hostage in his escape."

Geoff sank down in his chair and stopped listening. Kathy squeezed his hand, and he was aware that the others were leaning in to check on him. His eyes unfocused as he stared at the floor by his feet. "Tony, please. I'm begging you..." He saw Tony, looking away from him, listening to whatever the "double" had been telling him.

"You don't have a choice."

"There's nothing left to do."

The panic from the sawmill welled in Geoff's throat, and he was on his feet before he thought. Every nerve was screaming escape, but he managed to keep his pace to a walk. He heard Kathy's light, quick steps behind him as he left the courtroom.

She took his arm and guided him to a bench in the hallway. "Here. Sit."

He sat down, and she sat next to him and pulled him into a hug. He couldn't stop shaking. "I'm sorry, Kath. I should be stronger than this."

"No, don't." She rubbed his back in a comforting manner. "Just breathe. We can wait for the others out here."

He nodded. She didn't ask any questions, which he was grateful for. It was quiet out in the hallway, which gave him a chance to calm himself. He didn't know how long they sat there before the courtroom doors opened. Eli came out first with Ashley, followed closely by everyone else.

Layne saw them and walked up to the bench. Before Geoff could ask he said "The judge accepted the plea deal."

Geoff looked at him. "So it's over?"

"Not yet. They're going to schedule a sentencing hearing. But yeah, he's going to prison."

Kathy heaved a sigh of relief and briefly rested her head on Geoff's arm. He looked down at the floor, unsure of what to say or do now.

Another pair of feet joined Layne's, and he looked up to see Eli. "Hey Geoff." His voice was very gentle. "We're all going out to get drinks. You want to go?"

"No." Geoff shook his head. "I just want to go home and sleep."

Eli nodded and looked at Layne. "What about you?"

"Sure. I'll go." He looked at Geoff. "Talk to you later?"

"Sure. See you later, Eli."

"...Bye, Geoff." Eli walked off, followed by Layne. Geoff remained on the bench until Kathy pulled him to his feet and walked him to their van.

***

Tony tried to ignore his aching head as he was led out of the courtroom and to the van that would take him back to the jail. He wasn't disappointed; he had known the charges wouldn't be dismissed. He was actually surprised that the plea bargain had been accepted.

He'd glanced back at his former friends as he'd been led out of the courtroom. They had looked disappointed and angry at the outcome. He didn't blame them. He'd also noticed that Geoff hadn't been there, but he was almost certain Geoff had been there when the hearing had started. He wondered what had happened...

He got in the back of the van and stayed still as the guard cuffed him to the seat. Lawson's smirking face after the hearing came to him. "You'll be out in a year, I guarantee it."

Tony had thanked him, barely hiding the sarcasm in his voice. He knew he should be grateful that the worst of the charges had been dropped, but he'd be relieved when he didn't have to deal with that sleazeball anymore.

He sat in silence as he was driven back to the jail.

***

Geoff had to take a bit to reorient himself once he woke up. He lifted his head and saw he was in bed next to Kathy. The television was on with low sound, casting light on her sleeping face. A quick glance at a wall clock showed it was just after four in the morning.

He laid where he was for a bit, then got up and turned the television off. They'd need to get up soon anyway. He'd surprise Kathy with a quick homemade breakfast before they went to PattyCake.

He walked into the kitchen, turned on the oven, and got what he'd need to make biscuits. His spirits lifted as he measured and mixed and rolled out the dough, and his mind drifted as he worked. Embarassment tinged his cheeks pink as he remembered his panic attack at the hearing, but Kathy had been very kind to him on the drive home. "You're not going to recover in a few weeks. Especially not with all this legal stuff hanging over you. Once all the hearings and things are over you can rest."

She's been amazing through all this, he thought. He'd probably have gone insane by now if not for Kathy. I'll have to do something to show her how much I appreciate her.

He tried to think of what he could do for her, but couldn't stop his mind from going over the hearing again and what possible sentences Tony might get. He wondered if he should skip the sentencing hearing, considering how he'd reacted yesterday. If the others go, I probably should too...

He began to cut biscuits out of the rolled dough, and an idea came to him. He slowly turned it over in his mind and then nodded to himself. I could do it...

A smile came to his face as he slid the biscuit-filled tray into the oven. Once it was more normal hours, he'd have some phone calls to make...

***

Tony frowned a little as the guard led him into the little room where he'd first met with Lawson. Another guard stood against the far wall. It was five days since the hearing, and he'd expected to see the lawyer there with an update on the sentencing hearing. Instead there was a woman in a gray pantsuit and with her curly orange hair up in a ponytail. She smiled and extended her hand when Tony sat down. "Good afternoon, Mr. Wakim. My name's Laura Fletcher. I'm a certified public accountant."

Right, Tony thought. Layne probably wanted to get him out of PattyCake's business as soon as possible. "...Nice to meet you."

"I've been hired by Mr. Geoff Castellucci to discuss the sale of your share in PattyCake Productions. I've got his offer here, and we can go over it together."

Geoff? Tony hadn't expected that. Fletcher slid a packet of papers over to him. As she went over the offer Tony was surprised again; the offer was more than fair, and in Tony's favor. There was an appraisal of PattyCake included, and Geoff was offering more than Tony's half was worth. Tony would also keep any future profits from videos that had been finished before the date of sale.

Tony tried to make sense of it. He'd known he would have to get rid of his share of PattyCake anyway, and had wondered where he was going to find a buyer. But this...he hadn't expected such a generous offer, especially not from any of VoicePlay. He'd have to pay restitution to them and this would put a good dent in it...

Was Geoff trying to help him out?

"Well, Mr. Wakim?" Fletcher said. "What do you think?"

Tony swallowed. "I'll take it." He took the pen Fletcher offered him, signed where she indicated, and handed everything back to her.

"Thank you, Mr. Wakim. I'll let Mr. Castellucci know you accepted his offer. The money will be transferred to your bank account within twenty-four hours." She picked up a messenger bag from the floor and tucked the papers inside.

"...Thank you." He swallowed. "And please tell Mr. Castellucci I said thank you as well."

"Of course, sir. Have a good day." They shook hands again. Once she'd left, the guard standing against the wall led Tony back to his cell. He laid on his bunk and stared at the ceiling for a long time.

There wasn't much else he could do.

***

William started crying as Geoff's phone went off, and Geoff sighed to himself as he checked the screen. "Great timing, Layne." He sat down in the nursery's rocking chair and tried to lull his son back to sleep as he answered the phone. "Hello Layne." He put the phone on speaker and set it down on a stand near the chair.

Layne's bewildered voice came over the phone. "Geoff, what the hell are you doing?"

"At the moment, trying to put William to bed. Which I was doing a good job at until you called, so thanks." Thankfully William's cries were already softening as he snuggled into his father's arms.

"Kathy just told me. You're buying Tony out?"

"I bought him out. He signed."

"At twenty percent above market value?"

Geoff sighed. "Yep."

"And continued royalty payments?"

"Sure did."

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to do that?"

"Wasn't aware your permission was needed." He stopped rocking as William went still.

"So you're telling me that you basically screwed yourself over on a business deal. On purpose."

"Tony would have had to sell anyway to pay the restitution. This way PattyCake stays in the family. You won't have any strangers coming in and telling you what to do."

"So he's going to be paying us with your money."

Geoff sighed. "His money now."

Layne sighed as well, and Geoff could imagine the look on his face. "You're trying to help Tony."

"Maybe."

"Geoff--"

"Layne, listen." Geoff began to rock William again; the motion calmed his nerves. "I know you guys are pissed off. I don't blame you. And I...I wish I could be pissed at him too. But I can't. It wasn't Tony that did that to us. It was that drug he was taking."

Layne's voice was even. "I get what you're saying. But I can't separate them." A pause. "I keep having nightmares about what happened. I keep seeing that moment when he swung the bat at me. I see myself going through PattyCake and finding everyone's dead bodies."

Geoff's eyes stung. "I'm having nightmares too. I keep seeing the sawmill after the bomb went off. Or else I'm back in that trailer and it's just silence and darkness. But...the Tony I saw at the sawmill wasn't the one that came to see me at the hospital. It wasn't the one I saw in the courtroom. The one at the sawmill was a monster...the others were my friend."

Layne was silent, and Geoff gently rocked William while he waited. Layne finally sighed. "The others won't like it."

"They don't have to."

"I guess not."

Geoff smiled to himself. "See you at work, partner."

Layne chuckled. "Yeah. Be ready to be put to work, partner."

"Good night, Layne."

"'Night, Geoff." Layne hung up. Geoff closed his eyes and kept rocking William as his body finally relaxed.

***

The sentencing hearing was held three weeks after the last one. Geoff sat with VoicePlay in the row behind Wilson's table as they waited for the hearing to start. In a coincidence, they had all decided to leave their families at home.

It'll be over soon, Geoff told himself. He glanced at his friends, who all seemed to be as tired as he felt. Wilson had said that they would be given the opportunity to speak after the lawyers had made their arguments and had advised them to prepare statements beforehand. Instead of five separate statements they had decided to go with one, and Layne had been chosen to read it to the court. Layne was holding the paper now, his head down as they waited for things to start.

"All rise," the bailiff called out. They rose to their feet as the same judge from before came in, and then sat back down at the judge's instruction. Tony was led in, his head bowed and looking as tired as the rest of them.

Geoff barely listened as the lawyers made their arguments on what Tony's sentence should be. As far as he could tell it was a repeat of the plea hearing, with Wilson arguing for the maximum penalty and Lawson for the minimum. The judge herself almost looked bored, and Geoff had the thought that they were all just going through the motions. No doubt the judge had already made up her mind, and all of this was just a formality.

Finally it was Layne's turn to speak. He started to read from the paper, then dropped it and looked directly at Tony, who was looking back. "Tony, you were our friend. We trusted you, and you betrayed us. And Geoff might be able to forgive you, but I can't. Not when I look at this--" he gestured to his cast "--and remember the look on your face when you swung that baseball bat at me. Not when I hold my baby girl and think of the future that you almost took from us." Layne's voice cracked, and he took a moment to compose himself. Tony lowered his head. "Or when I think of the sheer terror I felt, we all felt in that sawmill when we were waiting to die."

Earl was crying quietly by now, and Eli and J didn't look too far behind. Geoff had to wipe his own eyes. Layne went on. "And to hear that it was all over some...some drug-based delusion. If you felt you'd been cheated you should have come to us. We could have talked it out. Instead you...you did all this. And we'll heal, Tony, but our scars will remain. Maybe someday our nightmares will stop, but we'll never forget this." Layne hesitated, but then sat back down. Geoff squeezed his good hand while the others patted his shoulders and back.

"Do the rest of you have anything to say?" the judge asked. The others were silent, and she went on. "Very well. Mr. Wakim, do you have anything to say before I pronounce sentence?"

"Yes, Your Honor." Tony looked at them. "I'm sorry. I wish things were different, and I understand if you can't forgive me. But I just wanted you to know that." He turned away and lowered his head.

"All right," the judge said. "Mr. Wakim, after careful consideration, I sentence you to one year in prison for the first count of grand theft auto, one year in prison for the second count of grand theft auto, and one year in prison for the count of third-degree felony destruction of property. These sentences are to run concurrently with time served. You will be transferred to the minimum-security prison at Wildwood to serve your sentences. You will also be fined five thousand dollars for each of the three counts as well as pay restitution to your victims for their expenses incurred as a result of your actions." She looked at Tony. "Do you have any questions?"

Tony's back was ramrod straight as he looked back at the judge. "No, Your Honor."

"Very well. You will be taken back to the county jail and processed for transfer within the next twenty-four hours." She slammed down her gavel and the bailiff came to lead Tony out. He looked back at VoicePlay and met Geoff's eyes, but Geoff wasn't at all sure what his own face was saying as he looked back at him.

Once they got out in the hallway they all hugged Layne in turn. Layne wiped his eyes. "Sorry, guys. I just--"

"No," J said. "That speech was better than what we wrote anyway."

Eli sighed. "It's over now, isn't it?"

"Yeah," J said. "It's over."

There was an awkward silence, and then Layne said "Why don't you all come over to my place for a while?"

They agreed, none of them feeling like being alone at the moment. When they got to Layne's they found he'd called ahead and Cyndi had prepared some light snacks for them. It was a support group session rather than a celebration, but it gave them the time they needed to process and decompress before heading back to their own homes.

***

One month later

"Wakim. You have a visitor."

Tony got off his bunk and followed the guard to the visiting room. He was not at all surprised to see Geoff waiting. He'd tried to come visit two weeks ago, but the paperwork hadn't been filled out. Guess everything's been approved now. He sat down facing Geoff across the table. "Hey Geoff."

"Hey Tony." He smiled a little. "Holding up all right?"

"Yeah, considering." Tony nodded. "How are things out there?"

"Not bad. Layne's finally got his arm out of the cast. We're about to pick up our tour again."

"Back to normal, huh?"

"Just about."

"Does Kathy know you're here?"

"No." He grinned. "You think I'm stupid? She'd shred me if she knew I was here."

Tony smiled back. He had thought there would be a lot of awkward silences, but the two of them were soon talking as if nothing had ever happened. Tony told Geoff about his job in the prison laundry, and Geoff told Tony about the new project he and Layne were planning for PattyCake and, to Tony's surprise, asked for advice. "You've been a producer for a lot longer than I have." Tony gladly gave his suggestions as Geoff nodded and took mental notes.

It was a shock when the guard announced there was five minutes left. They both stood, and Geoff hugged him. "Don't know how often I'll get to visit with the tour coming up. But I'll keep in touch."

"I'll be looking forward to it." Tony pulled back. "And Geoff...thanks for this."

"You're welcome." Geoff smiled. "You know where to reach me."

"Yeah. See you later."

"Take care, Tony." Geoff slowly turned and left, and Tony took a moment to compose himself before he went back to his cell.

[probablyasocialecologist]

With AI’s harms (as documented by non-profits like DAIR and AJL, as well as by numerous AI ethics scholars and media outlets) subject to increasing public attention and scrutiny, the blithe optimism of the old futurism now looks clueless. In response, we see those who build tech finally acknowledging that it isn’t inherently a force for good. In the era of social media, old predictions can also come back to haunt their authors. Computer scientist Geoff Hinton’s prediction that radiologists would become obsolete, replaced by diagnostic AI, has been dredged up from the archives as we face a major shortage of radiologists that AI has come nowhere near addressing. Elon Musk’s old statements about how self-driving cars would imminently surpass and replace human drivers can be held up against the Tesla whistleblower’s data dump that shows safety problems with the system are still rife. We can all participate in the effort to examine these predictions against the reality of what’s happening now, and reassess the authority and trustworthiness of those who made them.

[ignitedminds27]

Update ‼️

Justice ordered a key expertise, it is the analysis of a hard drive from the Sacro restaurant, in whose courtyard Liam fell.

Bruniard also ordered the Division of Special Technological Investigations of the Superintendence of the Fight against Cybercrime of the City Police. The subject of expertise number 22 is an analysis ordered to a three-terabyte Western Digital hard drive.

On that hard drive, the authorities will look for the video of the exact moment of the "fall" that, so far, was not found, it is more until now, it was never part of the extensive cause investigated by Madrea. (Could it not exist?)

The interrogations will take place via Zoom between the 17th and the 19th. After the statements, Bruniard will have ten days to decide if he prosecutes the defendants, suspends them or dictates the lack of merit.

The testimony of Geoff Payne, who according to the prosecutor's office has become a key witness in the prosecution and Liam's phone could make the case much bigger.

Nores' iPhone remains to be analyzed, the computer of a pop singer linked to the accused businessman (Lula Miranda?) Seized in another raid in Palermo, Paiz and Pereyra's phones, several devices found in the polo club and other devices.

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: Her Speech is Nothing

Story Intro | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contains: outdated/problematic/ableist language, icky gender and power dynamics, asylum, death mention, lady whump, betrayal, generally uncomfortable medical setting, statements by the antagonist that allude to sexual assault and fall into both ableism and victim-blaming

Please heed the warnings!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 3000 || Approx reading time: 12 mins

Her Speech is Nothing

Teaser: After the darkness of the carriage, it was bright outside despite the lack of sun and the still-falling drizzle, and Bree blinked as her eyes adjusted. Something twisted in her stomach when she realized they were not where she expected. “Where are we?”

Baden spoke quietly to Dr. Gysborne, and Bree didn’t listen.

He brought her back outside, and she let him.

He did not tell her where they were going when he helped her into a carriage, and she didn’t care.

What difference did it make, anyway? She knew where they were going. He would take her back to the house, and she’d be his pretty possession once again, and unless she could find another way out, everything she’d done to escape her fate as Baden Hatchett’s wife would mean absolutely nothing.

The city rolled past, grim and soaked with rain. In a motion stiff and hurried, Baden tugged the curtains closed, concealing the world outside behind a bulwark of maroon velvet. With nothing to look at, Bree leaned against the wall and pretended to sleep. The minutes dragged on, poisoning every thought with guilt and sorrow.

She tried not to think of Jamie, who had to be cursing her very name—she, the silly girl he’d worked for so many years ago, grown into the silly woman who’d ruined his life and his brother’s. And Colette and Geoff? They must be cursing her, too, especially Geoff, for she’d seen the way he and Jamie looked at each other, the way their hands entwined whenever they were at rest.

It took all her self-control not to open her eyes and peer down at her own empty hands and think of the fingers that should have been laced with hers.

No matter how she tried, she could not banish Will from her thoughts.

Will, and how he must be hurting. How he must resent her, too.

“All right, Breanna. Let’s go.”

She opened her eyes. The carriage had stopped, and Baden was holding out his hand.

With no other choice, she accepted it.

After the darkness of the carriage, it was bright outside despite the lack of sun and the still-falling drizzle, and Bree blinked as her eyes adjusted. Something twisted in her stomach when she realized they were not where she expected. “Where are we?”

It seemed for several long moments that Baden would not answer.

“We’re at the hospital,” he said, pulling her forward. “Were you not listening? Gysborne suggested I take you to another doctor. To ensure you’re well enough to…” He paused. “Return.”

“I feel fine,” she said, although it was perhaps the most blatant lie she had ever told. “I want to go back. I only want to rest. I want to go home.”

Home. Bree felt sick. Home was not that cold and draughty manor with its locked windows and doors. Home could not be found in a four-poster bed shared with a man who didn’t want to be there, either.

Home was a tiny townhouse with thin, warped windows and uneven floors. Home was sunlight streaming through too-old curtains and mingling with the earthy-scented steam of freshly brewed tea. Home was a warm hand in hers, worn books with the pages falling out, generous laughter, and happiness like she had never known before.

Home was Will.

But, she tried to comfort herself, the sooner she made it back to the house she’d once called “home,” the sooner she might make it back out.

“I am concerned, and I want you to be well,” said Baden, his fingers crawling to her upper arm. “Come along.”

The hospital was almost pleasing to look at, rather like a house: a sprawling manor with glass windows and lovely, old trees dotting its grounds, tendrils of ivy swirling up the red-brick walls. On a sunny day, in the brilliance of summer, it might have looked homely. Welcoming.

Today, in the autumn gloom, it seemed to Bree like the nightmarish, haunted building of a Gothic novel; there was something insidious about the dim light, the choking ivy, the dead leaves scattered on the ground, the bare branches scraping at the air. Something about the shadows and the rain created the impression of bars over the windows—almost as if they had not left the prison at all.

“Good afternoon, doctor.” With a curt nod, Baden greeted the man waiting for them. Behind him, in the doorway, stood a nurse in a stiff white cap.

“Where are we? Which hospital?” she pressed. A sensation like thousands of tiny legs crawling over the back of her neck made her shiver with unease. “Baden, tell me, please—”

“Thank you for being so accommodating,” Baden said to the gentleman, shaking her into silence, “on such short notice. I would like you to examine my wife, Mrs. Hatchett. I have an initial report from Dr. Bernard Gysborne.”

Now there were two of them: the older doctor with cold blue eyes and a red beard peppered with silver, and a younger one with dark hair and a pale complexion. He was silent, watching Bree with a mixture of wariness and pity.

“Of course, Constable Hatchett,” said the older doctor. “I’m Dr. Richards. Please, come inside, out of the rain.”

“Baden,” Bree said, her heart pounding, although she did not know why it protested so, “I want to go home. Please. Now.”

But Baden said, “Once I am convinced of your good health, Breanna.”

“I’m not hurt,” she said, pulling away from the door. “You heard what Dr. Gysborne said. The cut is healing. Please. Let’s go.”

He jolted her forward with an impatient sigh. “Come along.” As they crossed the threshold, the wind began to howl outside, and the rain began to fall in a violent barrage once again. “This is for your own good.”

So he said, yet this examination seemed much the same as Gysborne’s. In a bleakly lit room lined with dusty wooden panels, the younger doctor, whose name Bree had missed, checked her breathing, her heartbeat, her eyesight, and her healing arm, while Dr. Richards asked a series of irritating questions that all had obvious answers—her name, her age, what had happened to her. It seemed to Bree he might have known if he’d simply read Mr. Gysborne’s report. There were a few others, though, that puzzled her: And what is your husband’s name? Where do you live? In what country do we live? What year is it?

“I’ve already been through this,” she said when her patience was wearing thin. By the desk, the doctors spoke quietly to the nurse. She could not hear what they said. “Baden, just show them Dr. Gysborne’s report. He already did these tests. Please, I’m—I’m so tired—I just—”

A crackle of paper had her lifting her head in surprise. Baden had listened; he had done as she said. For once, he had obeyed her.

Dr. Richards scanned the report with a frown.

“This seems insufficient evidence,” said the dark-haired doctor, peering over the elder one’s shoulder. “One prison medical officer’s quick assessment hardly seems adequate reason to—”

“You don’t understand,” said Baden harshly. “It’s much more than what is written here. You want evidence? You shall have plenty.” When he looked at Bree, she quailed again, her mouth going dry when she beheld the grey fire in his eyes. “Ask anyone who has witnessed her behaviour these recent weeks. Even before she was abducted. She forged my signature to join some silly women’s society—yet never once mentioned it to me, never even asked. She repeatedly, illicitly entered the prison under false pretences to visit a known criminal with whom, as far as any of us know, she had never had any contact before. And not just to visit him, but to enter his cell and care for him like she fancied herself some sort of nurse. She was caught, of course, and could not give a single good reason for why she did it.”

“Baden,” Bree whispered, a dreadful sense of cold settling over her body. “Why are you telling them all—”

“The housekeeper reported she wasn’t sleeping and was speaking and behaving strangely. She sent a letter filled with sheer nonsense to one of her friends, feigning a need to prepare for a visit from some fictitious cousin. She lied to me and my superior. She stole a set of keys from a constable. And she helped that blasted criminal escape.”

Dr. Richards gaped at Bree in horror, while the younger doctor’s face turned a brilliant shade of red.

“She was seen in men’s clothing, gallivanting around town and fleeing from those who tried to help her, and when we found her again today—just look at this!” He took hold of her arms and wrenched them both upwards, displaying the cut and the Iustitia aecum emblem.

Bree tried to jerk out of his grasp, to no avail. “Baden, what—”

“And this!” Releasing her arms, he forcibly tilted her chin up to expose the bruise, that scarlet letter on her neck that she should have known would spell her doom—the evidence of her infidelity, illuminated for these two strange men who now would not take their eyes off her.

Mortified, Bree jerked from his grasp and leapt to her feet.

But Baden was quick and strong as he always was; he apprehended her easily. As the nurse darted to block the door, Bree cried out, struggling to fight Baden’s grip while he held her still. No one else seemed to realize that Baden was clenching her tightly enough to hurt.

“Does any of that,” Baden snarled, his grip constricting even more as he pointed at the bruise on her throat, “sound like the behaviour of a sane person? Would a woman in her right mind let such a beast defile her in this way?”

Bree’s vision went, for an instant, pitch-black.

“It is clear to me,” Baden said, letting go only long enough to spin her around and force her to face him, “that you are very ill, Breanna, and I cannot help you through whatever hysteria you are presently suffering through.”

“Hysteria?” she repeated, as black spots threatened to eat away at her consciousness again.

“The lies. The sneaking around. The forged signature. Running away. The marks that bastard left on you.” Without warning, he let go. “Everyone agrees that you have been out of sorts. Officer Lenton. Mrs. Dennison. Your friends, even the silly one married to the soldier who tried to cover for you—even she was swayed in the end. It cannot be denied that you are unwell. And dangerously so.”

“Dangerously so…” she echoed. “What are you saying, Baden?”

“I am saying…” he began, his voice tight. No emotion leaked through now; he’d locked it away behind its usual frigid barricade. “I’m saying that you need help that I cannot provide, but I cannot trust you in our home, nor can I, despite all you’ve done, have my wife as an inmate in my prison.” He swallowed, every muscle rigid, his throat bobbing. “You have left me no choice.”

It sank in.

“No, Baden, please don’t do this.” Bree’s eyes finally took in what was all around her, what she had missed because she hadn’t been paying attention: boxes and papers stamped with three letters: G.I.A.

She looked frantically around again, seeking the answer.

Greyhurst Insane Asylum.

“You can’t leave me here!” she gasped.

“I can, and I will.” He shook his head. “You expect me to leave you in our house unsupervised? What will you do next? What will I come home to? A pile of ash and rubble? A corpse? A gang of thieves planning their next heist in my sitting room? No. I can’t. You’ve humiliated me, and perhaps you did not know what you were doing. In fact, I’m quite certain you did not. But all trust between us is gone.”

“Don’t,” she begged. “I’m not—I’m not mad.”

“Then explain yourself!”

Bree shook him off, and when, to her surprise, he let go, she backed away. “You’re just going to lock me away? I’m your wife! And I’m perfectly sane! How could you?”

“Do you see this?” Hatchett said, gesturing furiously as she tried to run, only to find herself immediately detained in the arms of the younger doctor. “Do you hear this? How she denies her mental infirmity? How she defies me at every turn? My wife has completely lost her senses.”

“You can’t do this to me!” she gasped, trying to wrench herself free of the doctor. “I’m—not—I’m not—ill!”

“The injury,” Baden said, pointing at her arm. “She did that to herself.”

Time seemed to freeze.

No. No. He couldn’t be saying that—couldn’t be using her own lie against her.

“Perhaps a straitjacket would be best?” Dr. Richards mused, utterly calm while Bree’s world crumbled around her. He rummaged in his leather bag for something Bree couldn’t see. “If she’s a danger to herself? Nurse Dugford, if you please—”

A straitjacket. One of those—god, one of those wicked contraptions they made poor, unfortunate folks wear that bound their arms—

“No!”

Bree’s shriek sliced through the air. Even Baden took a step back upon hearing the terror in her voice.

“I lied,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t cut my arm.”

Baden watched her, face impassive.

“He did it to me,” she choked, letting her limbs end their struggles, letting her body surrender alongside her resolve. As she gave her husband the story he wanted to hear. The only one he would believe. “It was him. He hurt me.”

“I knew it,” Baden breathed. His eyes flashed. “Why did you lie? Why do you insist on protecting him? After all he’s done?” He took a step toward her again. “What is he to you?”

Bree began to sob. How could he ask her that? For words she could not say, for an answer she could not give?

Her legs gave out beneath her, forcing the young doctor to cautiously release her. “Nothing,” she said. The word hurt. “He’s nothing to me. I was just afraid.”

Baden flung his hands into the air. “Nothing she says makes a whit of sense. This is the third story she’s given today to explain the cut. First, it was a pair of strange boys. Then she cut her own arm. Now, she didn’t.” His breath, too, was rapid. “He means nothing to her, but she lies and lies, all to save his sorry soul from the gallows.”

Gallows.

The gallows.

“The—what?”

But Baden ignored her, as if he hadn’t shattered her completely with that single word. But it was wrong—that word was wrong. What would Will’s sentence have been if she hadn’t helped him escape? Labour. Prison. Some other miserable, drawn-out fate.

Execution was never supposed to be the end of his story. Never.

What did he do to you?

He made good on his threats, didn’t he?

Would a woman in her right mind let such a beast defile her in this way?

No matter what she said, no matter what she did, Baden would only believe that Will had taken her by force in every sense of the word. And that was a crime a man like Baden Hatchett would never let slide. Not against his property.

A crime for which Will was now sentenced to pay the ultimate price.

You did this. A smug, sneering voice sang out from the recesses of her psyche, vindicated in every accusation that had hovered half-hidden in her thoughts from the first time she and Will kissed. No, even before. Long before—but she had buried them deep. You couldn’t stay away. You couldn’t keep your ridiculous whims to yourself. Couldn’t keep your legs closed. Couldn’t help yourself, and for what? Now, once Baden gets his hands on him, he’s dead.

Dead.

“You can’t do this!” Each word burst forth as if it might rend a hole in her very chest. “You can’t. He didn’t—he wasn’t—and I’m—Baden, please, you must listen, I’m not mad, and—and you can’t—you can’t—”

Will, dead, for being a thief. For stealing her away, for hurting her, for committing other atrocious crimes Bree knew he would never, never even think of.

And she, locked up for her lies.

“You will find,” said Baden coldly, “that everything which has transpired today is well within my rights under the law.” He pointed toward the paper still clutched in Dr. Richards’ hand. “Two signatures, superintendent approval, and reasonable evidence to make a charge.” His gaze grew even colder. “Entirely lawful, as a constable and as your husband. And so you will remain here at Greyhurst until you are deemed ready to be in society again.”

“But you can’t,” she said. “I’m not insane. I’m not.”

Will, dead, for daring to look at Constable’s Hatchett’s wife. For being the only person Bree had ever seen stand up to her husband.

She, locked up for loving him from the very start.

Baden said, “Yes, you are. But you will get better. In time.”

Will was dead, and she was the one who had killed him.

Like an arrow nocked and fired, her last and most abhorrent lie had sealed his fate.

Now, Baden would lock her away, hide her treachery, infidelity, and insanity from the world, so she could never, ever make it right.

Bree could only watch in horror as Dr. Richards, who was no mere doctor but the superintendent of the asylum, signed his name alongside Gysborne’s. As he beckoned the dark-haired doctor to do the same. As Baden took the pen and added his own signature, then wrote a final name that belonged to none of them. When Dr. Richards read the document out loud, Bree found she could not move a single muscle, even as her mind screamed and screamed and screamed.

“We, B. Gysborne and A.A. Dale, certified medical doctors, attest that we are graduates and practitioners of medicine; that at the request and in the presence of Medical Superintendent G. A. Richards, we have carefully examined Breanna Hatchett in reference to the charge of insanity made by Constable B. Hatchett and find that she is insane, and by reason of said insanity should be confined forthwith to a medical facility until it is determined that her mental infirmity has been cured.”

End note: If you are very uncomfortable with the asylum/mental health setting: Ch. 27 is from Will's POV so it's only discussed/mentioned, and the last chapter taking place there will be Ch. 29, although it will be mentioned pretty regularly after that.

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[steveinscarlet]

Another Pyro-era Sounds article for your delectation (text under the cut)

IT'S BETTER TO BURNOUT than fade away

GEOFF BARTON ignites DEF LEPPARD and stands well back

RECOGNISE THE headline to this feature? It's a phrase intoned by Def Leppard vocalist Joe Elliott at the beginning of 'Rock Of Ages', the awesomely anthemic and best track on the band's Friday-released third album, 'Pyromania'. In addition, the words are emblazoned for all to see on Joe's stylishly tatty UK tour T-shirt stagewear.

'It's better to burn out than fade away. A catchy slogan - and one that accurately defines the current Def Lep philosophy?

"Oh yeah." confirms Elliott. "I'd rather die at 25 than end up fat, old, bald and nowhere at 50."

But it's not really a 'hope I die before I get old' statement though, is it? I took it more to mean that it's better to go for broke than take a slow slide into obscurity.

Elliott mulls this point over for a couple of seconds. "I suppose you're right. And if you take it to to mean that, then it kind of relates our British tour, you know?

"Just because we're British we want to be big in Britain. But the fact is, the reality is, America's paying for us not to be big in Britain at the moment. 'Pyromania's doing great in the States; even our second album 'High 'N' Dry' is still selling well. But in Britain his voice trails off. "We're losing a heckuva lot of money here. We're going to lose £50,000 just by playing 11 gigs. It's ridiculous..."

"If we were businessmen, only in it for the money like some people think we are, then faced with that kind of financial disaster we'd probably go, uh-uhl No way! But, contrary to popular belief, we've never been like that. If the money comes in, great, if it doesn't, OK, at least we're having a good time doing what we're doing. If I had been in it just for the money I'd have left the band two-and-a-half years ago, when I first realised how difficult it really is to keep your head above water In this business."

Elliott gets momentarily mournful. "It's not worth it. It's terrible. If we actually were selling out we'd just say, 'Up yours, Britain, stuff ya!" He shoves his middle finger In the air for effect. "We wouldn't play one gig here and we'd be £50,000 better off. That's £10,000 for each member of the band, which is a deposit on a house, whatever..."

It's a matter of pride." Sitting in the bar of an Edinburgh hotel, a couple of hours after the Def Ones' gig at the Playhouse, you can't help but feel for Elliott. The guy craves for success and acceptance in his home country, you can see the hunger and, yes, desperation in his eyes. But at the moment that gleaming, glittering goal seems light years away. Unreachable. Unobtainable. Impossible.

As I said in my recent review of the 'Pyromania' LP, the reasons for Def Leppard's current, apparently untenable UK position have been well documented. No HM fan worth his salt should be unaware of the band's spectacular rise to fame and abrupt fall from grace or of the part played by a certain hard-hearted rock journalist as the so-called instigator of the whole sorry affair.

Can just one slag-off article have caused such a dramatic change of fortune? Or was it just one negative element amidst a whole heap of other minus factors? I know the right answers to these questions and I think Joe Elliott does too, otherwise we'd be tearing at each other's throats instead of sitting here sensibly, semi-tearfully,

attempting to right some of those wrongs.

"Trouble is," continues Elliott, "now is a terrible time to try and re-establish yourself as a band. It's not hard rock time any more, is it? That was 1979, 1980, let's face it."

Right. The ol' metal scene definitely seems to have peaked. When 'Big Al Lewis and I first launched Kerrang! the joint was jumpin' with dynamite bands, great albums, killer commitment and boundless enthusiasm. But now there's been a definite downturn. The hot new acts, with one or two honourable exceptions. just don't seem to be coming through any more and the old guard's constant games of musical chairs (Gillan 'n' Sabbath? Do me a favour!!) make everything seen faintly ludicrous.

"Plus people can't afford to go to as many gigs as they used to," says Elliott, making an equally pertinent point."

"Now they just save their money for the big tours your AC/DCs and Queens and the like. They haven't got the dough to see bands like us out of interest, like they used to in the old days. People might be thinking, Hey. I wonder what Def Leppard are like live these days? But they haven't got the readies to find out. They've just got to keep wondering.

And just in case you were.

ONLY 700 People in the Edinburgh Playhouse this Tuesday night. A doctor's just poked down Joe Elliott's throat and diagnosed acute laryngitis.

Support act Rock Goddess are kicking up a storm but are only garnering a polite, vaguely blase reception. It's cold. Echoey. The atmosphere is far from electric. The situation is far from ideal.

But I've I've been stuck behind my hi-rise executive desk for too long to become depressed or downhearted.

And the Leps, it seems, have much the same attitude. Show opener 'Rock! Rock! (Till You Drop) sounds very much like a statement of intent, a plan of attack, the band obviously aiming to recreate the scene of desolation painted on their (creased-up) stage backdrop out front in the auditorium.

As the set progresses it steadily dawns on you what an incredible wealth of quality material these youthful Leppard cubs have at their disposal. From fist-clenching skull- cleavers like 'Rock Brigade' and 'Let It Go', through the cleavers like Rock beefy, barbarous ballads 'Bringin' On The Heartbreak' and 'Overture', to the breathless steamhammer sounds of 'Wasted' and 'Rocks Off', the group are unquestioned masters of the art of good, strong, memorable HM songwriting.

Would that their stagework was equally irreproachable. While the collective Def dudes work well and hard on the boards, they still lack the distinction and sheer, superior presence of their peers.

The addition of Phil Collen on guitar (replacing Pete The Midget Willis, who used to go offstage during shows to hide behind his amps) is a definite step in the right direction, although the ex-Girl axeman's zippy choice of performance costumery is too punky by half.

Hopefully the ebullient Collen will bring his counterpart strummer Steve 'Steamin" Clark out of his shell. The unrecognised compositional lynchpin of the band, to my mind Clark needs to cultivate and build upon his soundcheck style, where I saw him posing fag-handed and moody, like some taciturn, sunken-cheeked Keefalike.

Slimline Joe Elliott, also, is still a far from ideal frontman. Tonight he over-compensates for his bad throat by flinging himself about the stage like a man possessed. He also does some very silly things, like picking Collen's guitar strings with his teeth, climbing a lighting rig to shine a white spotlight over the crowd and making a Dave Lee Roth-style splits leap from the drum riser at the end of the show.

However, Def Leppard are still an incredibly young band; plus, prior to this current series of British dates, they'd been off the road for all of 14 months. Their stagecraft can only improve. And when it matches the quality of the music the result'll music be devastating

MEANWHILE, back at the hotel and our regularly-scheduled interview. Elliott and myself are chatting more genially. The solemnity that tainted the start of our conversation is slowly beginning to ebb away..

So tell me about 'Rock Of Ages'. Its basic, stompalong sound reminds me of Judas Priest's "Take On The World', although it's nowhere near as crass..

"Yeah you know, we've re-christened 'Rock Of Ages' Another One Bites The Stroke' by Joan Jett's Rainbow! People've got to realise that we're taking the piss not out of the audience, but out of ourselves, out of 'anthems' in general. We've always been renowned for anthems, what with 'Rock Brigade', 'Let It Go', 'Rocks Off', you name it, we've got so many we don't know what to do with them. But with 'Ages' we wanted to bring a bit of fun back into it, put our tongues in our cheeks slightly. I don't know, I just got the feeling that things were were becoming too po-faced, too serious. This is the entertainment business, after all, and you can't entertain people unless you're enjoying what you're doing yourself."

"It's like tonight. I was sick. I know for a fact that I didn't sing particularly well, but I enjoyed it. I got a buzz back from the crowd, it made feel good. I've never been one of those singers who, all due respect to David Coverdale, who's a brilliant vocalist, I could never touch - just stands there and sticks his cock in people's faces. I want to smile, I want to be happy, I don't want to prowl around the stage all stern and grim-faced. Singing 'Rock Of Ages', I try to bring that sort of feeling across." Do you think Def Leppard were guilty of taking things too seriously at the early part of their career?

'Yes, definitely. But when you're as young as we were when we started out you can fall into loads of traps, which I admit we did. Mind you, at the time I was sure we were doing the right things; around the time we first started getting knocked God couldn't have told me I was wrong.

"Now I realise, yeah, alright, the first album 'On Through The Night' was a load of shit. It was very representative of the band for six weeks; six weeks after it came out it was true to our sound, afterwards we weren't anything like that any more. I learnt to sing, the band got better..."

"We've always been able to write good songs that first LP has some great numbers on it, they just weren't that well played, recorded or sung. Our second album 'High 'N' Dry' I can still listen to. Yeah, I think that's a good LP.

And 'Pyromania'?

'Pyromania' I'd like to be regarded and revered like Montrose's first album in the years to come. I'd like it to be awarded the same kind of stature. Whether it will or not don't know, but without wishing to come across all big headed. I seriously think 'Pyromania' is one of the best recorded LPs I've ever heard

For which kudos must go to producer 'Mutt' Lange.. surely and indisputably the reigning king of HM in-studio knob-twiddlers. Elliott is also quick to quick to credit Lange for an inestimable improvement in the vocal department.

"Mutt's really patient" relates Elliott. "he does take into consideration that I haven't got the talent of Lou Gramm or Robert Plant, he just tries to bring out in my voice what I'm capable of but what I wouldn't do myself because I'd get fed up with trying. If I was in charge of recording vocals I'd probably pack it in after six attempts but Mutt'll keep me going for twelve, It's painful and I hate him for it at the time. but when I listen to the end result I'm proud because know that's me at my best. It's the best I can do.

GOING back to what you were saying earlier, about it not being hard rock time any more, how do you see the genre developing in the future? Is there another sudden upswing on the horizon? Or will we be in the doldrums for years to come?

"It's very 1969 now, isn't it?" comments Elliott. "All these bands with names ending in -ER are are coming back! It's like everything is growing old again. I don't know. I guess what we really need is an audience that'll accept a band that looks like Duran Duran but sounds like Saxon. That's the next step because, let's face it, Duran Duran look amazing. And if a heavy rock version of Simon Le Bon and company is possible then, who knows, could be on the way to recreating the spirit of "74,"

You're talking about an early Eighties version of the Sweet?

"Could be, could be... because, thinking about it, by today's standards of pop music, the Sweet were heavy metal! 'Blockbuster. 'Ballroom Blitz... that is definitely heavy metal compared to Depeche Mode, Spandau Ballet and the Belle Stars."

What do you think about Hanoi Rocks' chances?

"If they only sounded as good as they look, they could be in with a shot. But at the moment they're too much like the New York Dolls. That's not to say that I never liked the Dolls, but I can't really see a pastiche of their music getting chart success in 1983. If Hanol Rocks practised, they'd be great. Maybe in two or three years...

But if Joe Elliott's vision of the future is accurate, then where does this leave Def Leppard? Is a quick trip down the Kajagoogoo instant image clinic in order?

"No," laughs Elliott, his depression now fully dissipated, "of course not! I've just got this gut feeling that, whatever happens, one day we will do it in Britain, on our own terms. We'll have a hit single, the crowds will start coming to gigs, the albums will begin selling..."

"I don't want to sound arrogant, but I I know I'm right."

He's got to be.

[plethomacademia]

Maeve/Labrys (maevebrys??) + tall sunflower

Doing these! Or I am doing them in theory because despite getting so many lovely asks (y'all are wonderful), I spent all night writing 1000 words about modern Maevebrys with the prompt "I'd never ask for your help, but ..." except it's just Maeve making up an excuse to try to fuck a hot firefighter again.

SFW, just jumping because ONE THOUSAND WORDS

“Walk me through the logic on this one again.”

The woman standing in front of them crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You can just leave, you don't have to be a dick about it.”

Labrys puts their forearm against the door. They lean against it, then use that leverage to lean over the much smaller woman. “I didn't say I wanted to leave. I just want you to explain how -- Let me get this right.” They reach into their pocket to pull out their phone. They catches how her eyes narrow as they unlock it, then a few taps later they have pulled up their text thread. “So when you said that there was an emergency —”

“There is an emergency.”

They look at her until she shuts her mouth again. “And when you said that you needed my expertise —”

“I d --” She huffs, then presses her lips together again.

They lock their phone and slide it back into their pocket. “So, explain to me how that text makes sense in this situation.”

She does a quick shake of her head, as if it were obvious. “You're a firefighter.”

When she doesn't continue, they tilt their head. “Is that a question?”

“No.” She unfolds one of her arms to hold up her hand. As she continues, she unfurls a finger for each sentence. “You're a firefighter. I am locked out of my apartment.” She rotates her hand with its two extended fingers in a gesture to suggest that they should see a connection between those two statements.

“And that's where you lose me, Maeve.”

She rolls her eyes. “You're just trying to be difficult. You have to have ways to open a locked door, Labrys. For, like, fire reasons.”

“Sure I do, but … don't you have a landlord for this?”

“I don't know, probably.”

This time, they are the one to press their lips together, less to keep from speaking and more to keep from laughing directly in her face. “There are also locksmiths.” They can't stop themselves from grinning. “It's even in the name, you know, how they handle locks.”

“Oh fuck off, Labrys.” Maeve reaches in her back pocket and pulls out her phone. “I'll call my landlord, then.” They watch as she pulls up her contacts list. She mutters under her breath as she scrolls, “Since you can't open a door, apparently.”

“The baiting could be little less transparent.”

They watch as this woman that they know is at least 35 years old sticks out her tongue as she continues scrolling. She taps on the screen, then holds her phone up with the screen facing them. It is the contact page for someone that she has labeled as “Geoff Super.” She hovers her thumb over the call button. “Last chance to prove me wrong.”

“You do know how firefighters open doors, right?” They lean down just a bit more, encroaching into her space. They catch how how her the corners of her lips tip up, how she lowers her chin and lifts her chest.

“How?” she says before taking her bottom lip between her teeth.

They mimic the gesture, darting out their tongue to wet their top lip. They do it slow, waiting until the moment when her eyes break from theirs to look. Then they lean back. “We break the fucking door down, Maeve. You won’t get your deposit back if I do this.”

He watches as she deflates against the door. “Fine, just — You can leave and I’ll call the landlord and wait in the hallway for an hour until he bothers to let me in.” She turns the phone away from them, but her thumb remains hovering over the call button for one moment, then two.

Labrys finally chuckles. “Get out of the way then.” Once Maeve has scuttled out of the way, they go to the door to size it up. It is, as they expected, an absolute piece of shit. They take the knob in their hand, then look over their shoulder. Maeve looks up from where she had been staring, apparently somewhere much lower. “Last chance.”

Her eyes glitter and she smiles. “Do it.”

They shake their head before turning back to the door. They take hold of the knob to brace, then move to line up their shoulder. One hard hit and they feel the latch give way. As expected, it was cheap and honestly, it was a miracle that this whole building hadn’t been hit by some kind of crime spree. They catch the smell of her candles as her apartment comes into view, some overpriced shit that they noticed the last time they had been invited over.

Which just left this part of the conversation.

They let go of the door knob, then stepped aside. Maeve walks past them, then turns to stand in the doorway. She crosses her ankles and they catch how she squeezes her legs together.

“I knew that you would save me, Labrys.” She looks up at them through her lashes again and gives them a lopsided smile. “I could make you some tea to thank you for your effort, if you want.”

“You know you can just ask me over, right? In the same place on your phone that you made up locking yourself out of your apartment, even.”

Her expression drops. “I didn’t make it up. You can search my pockets for my keys if you want.” She waits a beat, then adds. “Besides, last time we spoke, you said you didn’t like me.”

They take a step toward her. There is no longer a door to lean again, so they put one one on each side of the open doorway and lean down again. This time, they nearly stoop so that they are standing with their faces only six inches apart. “I didn’t say that I didn’t like you. I said that you had a shit personality.”

She tilts her chin to look up at them. “That’s the same thing for most people.”

“Are we most people, Maeve?” They lean in just a little more, just enough to see her do the same. They push off the doorway, not hiding their smile as she nearly staggers forward. She looks up at them with a scowl. “Well, get out of the way then,” they say. “And don’t bother with the kettle. You’ll just start a fire and we’ll be back to square one.”