#hi. still acquainting myself to the screen tablet

[b4kuch1n]

thank you for coming to the show

but now it's curtain call

and senses will be out the window in a minute

[kdyism-closed]

— NOTHING BUT MORNING

pairing. xu minghao x reader

genre. share house!au, fluff, acquaintance-to-more

wc. 2.909 / warn. curse word, alcohol consumption, reader is prescribed with sleeping pills for insomnia

synopsis. sleepless nights were one after another, lights on as he walks home, minghao always wonders why you were still awake when he walks home past one in the morning. unbeknownst to him, late-night talks lead to growing feelings and sleepless nights turn into shy conversations.

note from yunan — repost from starboyhao, hope this is fun and feedback, reblogs + comments are appreciated! accidentally posted this earlier, if anyone saw, no you didn't

Night after night, your mind lulls you into a never-ending tunnel of unwanted thoughts and the cold air of the air con, the familiar darkness of your room lit by the single night lamp on your bedside as you lay on your pillow, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes and a loud mind, you can't sleep yet again.

“Why aren't the pills working?” you ask yourself, side glancing at the white bottle of sleeping pills you were prescribed. “I hate taking tablets and now I might need even more, ugh,” you grumble, grabbing your phone from the side and unlocking the screen.

You hurriedly text your doctor that you can't sleep and put your phone back, sluggishly getting off the bed, your duvet following your legs as it tumbles down your carpeted floors and you open the door to the hallways being met with the sight of Seo Myungho on his tiptoes. “H-hi,” he said, raising his hand in a wave.

Your eyes linger on his bright neon tracksuit, almost cracking a smile at the way they reflect. “You're late again,” you off-handedly comment, dragging your feet to the shared kitchen while trying to keep quiet.

Two fifteen in the morning, your night was nothing but the morning. Dropping off his bag in his room beside yours, he follows you whilst watching you slide through your way (the fuzzy socks you wore to mute your footsteps, adorable as always he thinks) and takes a seat directly beside yours and sighs. “You're awake again,” he points, pouring himself some water from the kitchen island and you nod with a heavy sigh, “My pills aren't working,”

“I hope you can sleep someday,” he said, stiffly smiling at you and he stands up, “I know we aren't friends or anything but if you need someone to talk, I am only a knock away,”

Leaving you in the dimly lit kitchen area, you smile to yourself and nod, the number of times he has walked in your sleepless adventure through the house you share with five others while snacking on sugary snacks, this might be the first time he spoke more than three words to you that is more than, 'you're awake again,' his words would ring in your head as you lay back on your bed and you tell yourself, “why the fuck are you awake again?” for the nth night in a row.

Watching the sun steadily rise up, the rays of infinite sunlight fills your room and reminds you, you spent another night of sleeplessness and again, you got nothing but morning from the night. Rolling your eyes as you turn and shuffle into your duvet, you clench your eyes close and try to sleep. For at least a minute or two—what if you're late to work then, you thought, sitting up abruptly with a tired groan.

“I swear to bloody god, I will tire myself out today,” you said, getting off your bed again and it was only five now, you could have had a good three hours of sleep without being late to work.

“You’re still awake,” you hear as you open your room door and you lock eyes with Seo Myungho yet again, “And you're going out again,” you said, noting his sling bag back on his shoulder and his figure dressed to perfection as any other day.

“I have got a morning schedule,” he explains, his eyes linger on you for a second too long and you look away, raising your hand to your face greeting him goodbye awkwardly. “I s-see, well then, see ya,”

“um, hope you get some sleep,” he smiles, pushing the door open as you leave the entrance back into your room.

Sometimes, in the time you don't sleep, you wonder whether the man in the room beside yours ever does.

“She just made my heart jump, god damn it,” he sighs, sinking to the floor as he pressed his door close.

“Oh, so this is your way home?” you ask, bumping your shoulder with the man wearing a long pale pink coat you found on your stroll.

The time is past twelve and your eye bags began itching as your head throbs for the nth time. Seo Myungho glances at you, pausing in his steps and watching you clad in thin clothes unsuitable for the nighttime weather. Minus the fuzzy purple socks on your feet, bursting out of your sandals and the orange led of light poles makes you look almost warm.

“You're awake again,” he smiles, matching his pace to yours and you nod, “I was at the convenience store getting some more snacks,” you shake your arm in front of him, the plastic bag hanging on your wrist sounding through the air.

“Do you always snack when you can't sleep?” he asks, pulling at the handle of his side bag awkwardly.

Hissing with a thoughtful expression, you slowly nod remembering the many times you end up eating your time away until the morning comes. You never found it in you to not eat, the blue of the phone hurts your eyes and the pain that splits your head kept you from doing anything productive. “I can't find anything better to do,” you hum, tying your fingers together in front of you.

Myungho glances at you, your lashes rest softly on your cheeks and your dry lips subtly smiles, peering at him through your hair, “You also always come home late, do you ever sleep?” you twist your torso, directly looking at him with a sweet smile.

“I sleep in the afternoon, you're never home in the afternoon,” he replies with a tight smile, looking away from your sparkly eyes. He didn't understand how you were carefree when you were always awake, tired and groggy, he knows how careful everyone is around your room because your insomnia has been around for almost a month now.

“I work at a nine to five,” sighing, you pout and went on, “I hate my job,” you pause, carefully looking at his expression.

“Why...?” he trails, his head lowered and avoiding your gaze, he asks. He has always wanted to ask, what keeps you awake?

“You tell me, you seem to like your job. You work really hard. You come home late because of your work, don't you?” you inquire, halting and leaning forward as you catch sight of your share house.

“Yes, I do like my job. I work as a museum curator and it's fun,” Myungho said, looking into the distance, “I thankfully get to wear what I want, my schedule is flexible, I like art and I like analysing what the paintings are about. I could stare at them for days to come,” he rambles, a small smile forming on his pink lips.

You find his enthusiasm to be enthralling. His eyes are full of life and passion, you can tell he means what he says. Myungho always wore interesting outfits, while you don't always get to see them, you notice them whenever you do. Like neon tracksuit and baby pink coat, his dimensions are on display with his fashion.

Smiling to yourself, you unlock the door to the share house and let him walk in before you. “Um, is this good night or...” you look away from him, anxious feet digging into the door as you lock it and Myungho blinks, “Want to have a drink?” he asks, “I have some wine,”

“Um, sure,” you nod, biting down your lips and slipping your sandals off, following him into his room.

Myungho's room is just like him.

A sage green wallpaper that is vintage patterned, a gold-framed full body mirror and his king-size bed in the side, right under his window. A couple of hundred books maybe line his walls, overgrown plants he obviously needs to snip and a hanker to hold fabulous coats that look too thick for a cupboard. His room brims of his interest, a vinyl, an easel, walls adorned by paintings that are etched with the word, Minghao.

“Minghao...” you softly mutter, his ears perking at the sound of your voice calling.

A burn settles on his ears, he thinks he likes the way you say his name, “You called?” he asks, ruffling his hair to hide his flushing cheeks.

“You paint?” you ask gushing, “They look so nice, the colours and shading,” your mouth agape, you look in between him and his painting, recognizing the warm feeling he gives you in his paintings.

“I am not that good but I try,” he mumbles, watching you smile widely as you explore his room.

Myungho always locks his door, whether he was in or out, his door is always locked and no one has ever entered the room after he rented the space. You can understand why beacuse the number of designer items and sellable items screams potential burglary victim. Turning to meet his gaze, you watch him remove the corkscrew from the alcohol, “Oh champagne?” you tilt your head, walking over to him.

Sitting beside him, you bring your knees to your chest and ask, “Didn't you say you had wine?”

“Champagne is sparkling wine,” he shrugs with a small smile, pouring you a cup in a fanciful manner. “I learnt how to drink wine in a bar one time, it was interesting. The bartender—they suddenly went into a rant about how champagne is wine and doesn't need to sell as something other than though I didn't understand what the point was,”

“I didn't know that,” you hum, taking in a whif of the drink while circling your wrist gently. “I usually have a beer or something if I really need to sleep,” you said, “My room must smell of beer, honestly,”

Laughing at you, Myungho takes a sip from his glass with a smile breaking out. “I noticed,” he nods, his shoulder, free from his coat, rubs against yours pouring you more champagne as he laughs, “I usually hold a solo tea ceremony before I leave for work again in the morning,”

“So that's what you do,” you raise your brows, thoughtfully nodding.

The smell of tea does occasionally float to your room, the thin walls of your share house weren’t the most smell proof. You could imagine him, doing the whole thing, it suits the image he has cultivated, you think. Chugging your second glass of the drink, “Um, I am lightweight,” you groan, your head already feeling the heat from your neck rush to your head.

“You should go to sleep then,” he panics, reaching for the bottle of water on his bedside table and uncapping it, “Here, you can take my bed,” he said, pressing the cold bottle on your lips.

You drink the water, letting him feed you. “I can go to my room,” you said, “I am still in my senses, unfortunately,” you joke, using him as a lever to pull yourself up.

Myungho stares at you, holding your back and nodding, patiently. “But my bed is right here and it looks like you can finally sleep tonight,”

“Minghao, please,” you smile, swinging your arm around his shoulder. Your face dangerously close to his, his burning cheeks at the way you call his name, making his heart shake under your spell, “Let me go to my room, I can sleep over someday else,” you tease, “You can have me whenever you want,”

Flittering his lashes, he inhales sharply and allows you to escape his hold, walking out of his room with a grin on your lips. Sighing heavily, he drops to his knees and groans, “Fuck, she is not good for my heart,”

The cluttering noise from the doorway alerts Myungho, freezing in his movements and walking over to the door, finding you as you drop your keys in the key hanker on the wall and yawn, your hand clutching your forehead with a painful expression.

“Is that my fault?” Myungho asks sheepishly, waving.

“Definitely,” you laugh, taking off your white sneakers and revealing yet another patterned socks. This time, they were adorned with little frogs. “My hangover is insane,” you complain, following him into the kitchen.

“I am making some hangover soup, want some?” he offers and you shake your head, “I had some for lunch on my way,” you said, leaning on the wall as you sit on the stool in front of the kitchen island, your side bag landing with a thud beside you.

“You're not normally home at this time,” he points, going back to his cooking.

“Yeah, I asked for a half-day and come back. Didn't expect you to be awake,” you smile meeting his peering eyes, adoring the way his cheeks flush.

You were wearing a white shirt, black slacks and look super professional, unlike how he usually sees you, completely in the comfort of your fuzzy socks and homewear. “You look really nice in that,” he said, his voice too quiet but you didn't miss it with the silence that fills the room.

“Aw,” you cringe your face, feeling the squeeze of your heart that makes you want to squeal. “Thank you, but I really hate this white shirt,” you sigh, leaning on the island.

“Why is that?” he asks, pouring his soup into a bowl and moving it to the island beside you.

“There is a stupid rule at work, even though it was imposed by the department leader. We all need to wear white shirts as a uniform even though the other departments don't do anything like this,” you scoff, rolling your eyes and taking a breath. “Also, there are only two girls in the advertisement department, this rule completely sucks for us,” you add, rubbing your hand over your face frustratedly and Myungho watches you from beside you with a smile.

Nodding, he said, “You still look good despite not liking it, that's a skill,” he laughs when you pout in response.

Soon after, small talk erupts, you ask how the food tastes and silently watch him feast, asking him the recipe and thanking him for asking you to drink yesterday because you could sleep, although not through the night. Myungho enjoys your little rants about work, having not worked a nine-to-five, he finds it fascinating how you work there despite having so many scuffles with the way they managed things.

Before he knew, it was done with his soup, reluctant to leave, he asks, “Um, can I take you up on your...” gulping, he looks away from you, “On what?” you tilt your head, asking.

“Nevermind,” he ruffles his hair, hiding his embarrassment and you gasp, asking, “If I want to sleep over?” wiggling your brows, you lean forward into his space, his cheeks alight but he nods, “If you want to,”

“Let me change real quick then,”

His heart travels to his throat, waiting for you in his bed with a lightheaded feeling, he didn't know what the hell he was up to now. You couldn't sleep, he knew you couldn't sleep but he invited you for a sleepover. Though his idea of it was not leaving you lying awake beside him, for you to fall asleep peacefully with him.

Sometimes he wonders how it feels to have nothing but morning, the night falls but you don't get sleep, the peace or even quiet until the morning comes back. The sound of his door creaking open pulls him back from his thoughts and you walk in, clad in more comfortable clothes and your feet in another pair of fuzzy socks. “Ready to help me sleep?” you ask, crawling into his bed, your heart almost spilling out of your chest.

You were pretty sure you and he wore the same expression, watching him make space for you beside him. “You look like a light sleeper,” you point, the loudness of your heart muffling his response.

“I am but you also seem like a light sleeper,” he said, turning to face you and you nod, “I am, I guess we work well like that,” you smile, shifting to mimic him in his position, locking eyes.

“You can come closer,” he mutters, his glazed eyes observing your shivering body, “Want to me turn the air-con down?”

“Even if I am cold, I can't sleep without it on,” you laugh, taking his offer and your fingers play with the hem of his shirt, his speedy pulse coursing through you but you think maybe it's your own, the warmth of his body radiates and it lulls your body to relax.

“Are you sleepy?” he asks, his voice seems afar but you feel his breath on your skin, “Sleep well, then,” he breathes, you hum in response, his arms snaking around you, holding you snug.

Myungho blinks to himself, sighing in relief. You were falling asleep in his arms, a peaceful expression on your face and your head resting on his chest. Maybe you will sleep through the day, and when night falls, you will get your sleep beside him, wake up to the morning and it won't be the most horrid thing ever.

You snuggle closer to him, your ear pressed on his chest and he panics, maybe you were hearing his beating heart that wants to break out its cage, the noise his heart made might wake you up, taking a deep breath to calm his heart, Myungho sighs, resting his cheek on your head.

“God, she really is bad for me,”

©KDYISM, 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

[littleredlie]

Malignant (S1P2)

Series Masterlist | Master Masterlist

Chicago Med x doctor!OC Morgan Fitzgerald is a doctor at Chicago Medical, on her sister’s birthday she tries to stay focused on her patients without her emotions getting in the way, but it gets more difficult when a friend is in the hospital and her ex is lurking around. Based off S1E5 of Chicago Med.

5.3k+ Words

Featuring: Morgan Fitzgerald, Will Halstead, Natalie Manning, April Sexton, Maggie Lockwood, Ethan Choi, Daniel Charles, Sharon Goodwin, Connor Rhodes, Jay Halstead, Sam Zanetti, Kelly Severide, Christopher Herrmann Warning: Patient death, some cursing, angst, medical details that may or may not be wrong.  A/N: Sorry I posted later than usual, yesterday was quite the day. Enjoy!

Part One

The morning was running a bit slow, not that Morgan didn’t appreciate it. She didn’t get any sleep last night and the coffee she was sipping was not helping at all. She could barely focus on the notes in front of her as memories of her older sister kept flashing in front of her eyes. Eventually she gives up and tears her eyes away from the glaring screen. Leaning back in the chair, she notices Mrs. Goodwin talking to Detective Halstead and Lt. Severide. She keeps looking for a moment, wondering what they were talking about. Momentarily, the detective’s eyes sweep over the ED’s space and they land on her. She quickly looks back down to the computer and tries to peek from her peripheral to see if he’s stopped looking. He has, but Morgan doesn’t want to be caught looking again so she forces herself to continue looking at the computer screen.

Her attention is brought back up again when she notices the detective walk toward where she was sitting. Her heart rate picks up a little as he nears her, but then she realizes that Will is standing right next to her. The detective doesn’t even take notice of Morgan's presence, and honestly that stung her a little bit. She clenches her jaw and continues forcing herself to look at the screen, when she fails again, she decides to eavesdrop on the detective and Will’s conversation.

“Can I ask you a doctor question?” Jay asks and Morgan notices the familiarity, she knew they were brothers of course, but she only witnessed their relationship a few times before.

“Sure, come on.” The brothers walk away a little to gain some privacy, but Morgan is still able to hear them. As she did move her chair a bit more to the right and turned so that her ear was exposed to them. 

“Um, Herrmann?” His voice kind of hesitant

“Yeah,” Will asks, not fully paying attention.

“If he’d come in on your watch, would you have waited so long before doing anything?” It takes so much of the eavesdropping doctor’s will to not turn around and butt in, but she couldn’t. Jay and her weren’t close and eavesdropping on a colleague’s private conversation was not the best course of action.

“That’s a tough call.” Will sighs out. “It’s been a while since my surgical residency. And, you know, I wasn’t there for the exam so it’s hard to say.” Morgan could tell that Will was trying not to insinuate anything negative on Connor’s behalf and she hoped that Jay would take it, but he continues to egg on.

“Yeah, just in general.” He asks and Will basically gives in.

“In general?” He pauses for just a second, “ yeah, I probably would have gone in.” Natalie gives Morgan a smile as she walks by and Morgan almost misses it, but manages to throw one right back at her. “But, uh, again, I wasn’t there.”

At that Morgan scoffs and abruptly stands up, grabbing her tablet. She turns towards the brothers and tries to make a clean getaway, but Will stops her.

“Hey, Morgan.”

Morgan halts and closes her eyes, as if to calm herself, and hopes that something will fall out of the sky and allow her to be taken into a trauma room for treatment, but no such luck. She breathes out and slowly turns towards the Halstead brothers. “Yes, Dr. Halstead?” She questions, trying to keep her eyes off of Jay.

“I’d like you to meet my brother,” he points to the detective who Morgan can tell has gotten a little uncomfortable, but he sports a little grin on his face. “This is Jay. Jay, this is Dr. Morgan Fitzgerald.” He introduces the two, not knowing that they already know each other.

“Hi, Detective Halstead,” Morgan says, the tight smile on her face slightly distorting her words. Jay gives her a look, his eyes quickly darting to his brother, who is oblivious to what is going on. Morgan holds out a hand to him and he takes it, shaking gently.

“Hi, doctor. It’s nice to meet you.” His calloused hand was in hers for a little too long and she could remember the first time they were in hers. The actual first time they met. 

December 2013 

Morgan’s eyes were cast down to the tablet in front of her, but she was zoning out. One hand was stuffed in the pocket of her white coat, clutching the bracelet that she received for her birthday last year. A gift from her sister Olivia. Hayden had insisted that she stay home instead of forcing herself into work, but she needed a distraction. But now it seemed that it wasn’t working, especially after that last patient. She looked too much like Olivia. 

Morgan’s focus continues to deplete as she stared like a statue, a few onlookers getting concerned. Especially Maggie.“Dr. Fitzgerald?” Her name falls on deaf ears as Morgan continues to stare at the screen. “Dr. Fitzgerald!” Maggie’s voice raises and Morgan finally snaps out of her trance.

“Sorry Maggie.” The doctor whips her head up and looks to the nurse. “What do you need?” She places the tablet on the desk and stuffs her hand back into the pockets of her scrubs. Maggie pauses for a few seconds, looking at the doctor with concern before finally turning to face the body behind her. 

“This is Detective Halstead, he is on your Jane Doe’s case.” Morgan’s eyes finally land on the freckled man standing behind the charge nurse. Morgan could tell that he was handsome and it stuns her for a minute. He had freckles sprinkled all over his face and soft colored eyes. 

It’s his voice that makes her pay attention.“Detective Halstead,” he repeats, holding his hand out for her. She takes it and his hand basically envelops hers. They were warm and calloused and hers were cold and smooth. A slight grin is on his face and Morgan thinks it compliments his face so much more.

“Dr. Fitzgerald.  Morgan.” Their hands finally pull apart and Morgan doesn’t really like the emptiness the action left behind. “Jane Doe is up in ICU, I can take you.” She puts an arm out pointing in the direction towards the elevator and the detective begins walking. Maggie gives Morgan a look, her eyes flashing between the doctor’s tired face and the detective’s receding back. “Thanks for your help Maggie,” her eyes widened, as if she was telling the nurse to stop it. 

Maggie just laughs and continues doing her job.Morgan finally walks up to Detective Halstead and presses the up button for the elevator. “So, I’ve never seen you around here before.” Morgan says, her eyes not on Halstead but the descending number as the elevator headed for their floor.

“Yeah, I just started with the Intelligence Unit.” He sheepishly says.

“Well congratulations.” She nods, not sure what else to say. She didn’t understand why it was taking the elevator so damn long to get there. “I’ve been here a little over a year myself. If you ever want a tour of the best places in Chicago, I am your girl.” She says, not knowing that he was also a Chicago native.

“Are you asking me out?” He says, a teasing tone obviously present and an amusing look on his face. Morgan chokes a laugh out, a little surprised and a little flabbergasted. She had no idea what to say cause that wasn’t her intention, but it wouldn’t be a bad thing if they did end up going out. Before she could open her mouth to say anything the bell dings, signifying that the elevator had arrived. 

The brunette steps in first as Morgan is still trying to comprehend their conversation. She slowly steps in beside him and presses the button for the ICU’s floor. After a long day of sulking and mourning, a small smile finally shows up on her face as she takes in the presence that Detective Jay Halstead emitted.

Jay squeezes her hand slightly, and it pulls Morgan out of the memory. She rips her hand out of his too quickly after noticing how long she must’ve been holding it. Will actually notices this time and opens his mouth to say something to her, but she beats him to it.

“I’m sorry Jay, but I have a patient to take care of. It was nice meeting you.” before either brother could say anything to her, she turns around and bolts out of the ED. 

         ❦

Later on, Morgan is making her way up to Lt. Herrmann’s room to check on him and Connor. She had heard that he was beating himself up about his decision about his patient and it didn’t help that there were others questioning his decision as well. When she arrived at the room, Kelly was also peering in. The lieutenant doesn’t notice her as he’s too busy glaring at Connor. 

“You think it might’ve helped if you hadn’t waited so long?” Kelly asks and Morgan’s breath sits in her chest as she throws an accusing look at her acquaintance. He still doesn’t notice her standing next to him.

“Excuse me?” Connor turns, his eyes dashing to you quickly before landing on the firefighter.

“If you’d operated on him when we brought him in. Not waited.”

“Are you talking to me about medicine right now?”

“I’m talking to you about my friend,” Kelly points towards the unconscious Chris.

“Look, I’m gonna say this once, because he is my friend too.” He breathes out “I did what was right.”

“Well, some of your fellow docs don’t agree.”

“Really?” Connor steps closer, and Morgan steps forward as well, ready to throw herself between them if she had to. “Odd that they would share that with you and not me.” The men begin to glare each other down and Morgan forces herself from beside them. She puts herself between them, her back towards Connor and she looks up at the lieutenant.

“Lieutenant Severide, can I have a word with you?” He doesn’t stop glaring at Connor and Morgan can feel the tension continue to rise. “Kelly,” Morgan says sternly and he finally looks at her. She places a hand on his arm, tugs him away from the situation, and to a secluded corner. Connor turns away and walks down the hall, Morgan watches him before he disappears and she turns back to Kelly.

“What the hell was that Kelly?” Her arms are crossed across her chest and she huffs out, an angered look on her face. Kelly looks at her for a second before taking a few steps away. “Kelly!”

“His decision could’ve cost Chris his life! If he had operated sooner, we wouldn’t be in this position!” He practically yells, but Morgan doesn’t jump, instead she keeps her eyes on him.

“And you’re so sure about that?” He gives her a look of disbelief, a scoff escaping his lips.

“Of course you side with him.”

“Really Kelly,” this time she scoffs, “that’s how you want to do this?” 

“Yeah, that’s how we’re doing this doctor.”

“Well Lieutenant, last time I checked you were a firefighter, not a doctor. Given the information that Dr. Rhodes had, he made the appropriate decision. A decision I would have made as well.” The agitated firefighter doesn’t look the doctor in the eye, instead glancing to his colleague’s recovery room. “Now questioning a decision that has been said and done will do nothing to help Herrmann, we are doing our absolute best to make sure that he will be okay. Pitting the doctors that are supposed to be taking care of him against each other will not help.” He finally looks down at her, trying to glare her down but she doesn’t back away. “Go walk it off Kelly.” Morgan says with a softer tone, her eyes pleading. And without waiting for a reply from him, she walks away, hoping that her words would persuade him to calm down. 

         ❦

Morgan’s staring off into the distance, obviously upset. The day just seemed to dredge on and she constantly found herself thinking about her sister, which work was supposed to distract her from. For some reason, today was different. Her right hand was fiddling with the bracelet, as it always did on an anniversary related to Olivia. 

“Morgan, you okay?” Will pulls up next to the distracted doctor, looking down at a patient’s charts.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just lost a patient.” She wasn’t necessarily lying. She did lose a longtime patient to cancer, but she didn’t delve deeper into how the day just seemed to be tainted in death for her. But after all these years Will knew when she was lying, she happened to bite her lip whenever she was. 

“Are you sure Morgan, you’ve been a little off today.” He sits in the seat next to her, turning it to have his whole body face her.

“I’m okay Will,” she snaps before taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She slips the bracelet into her pocket and Will notices but decides not to push since she seemed to be stressed already. “It just sucks that we can’t save everyone, you know. People keep dying and sometimes all we can do is watch.” She shrugs at the end of her sentence and turns her chair away so that she isn’t facing him anymore. He didn’t know why she didn’t just let him in, they’ve been friends ever since he came back to Chicago and started at Med. 

“Morgan–” He isn’t allowed to continue as Maggie’s voice arises from somewhere in the ED.

“Rhodes and Halstead, we’ve got an incoming!” The charge nurse’s eyes on the cube in her hands as she begins directing the doctors. 

“Got it!” Rhodes says grabbing some gloves from a box. 

“Wanna help us out?” Will asks Morgan, nodding his head towards the doors.

“Sure,” Morgan shrugs nonchalantly. Will nods, still a little concerned for her, but he allows for the two of them to get to work..

“What do we got?” Connor asks as he, Morgan, and Will make their way up to the bay doors. Morgan pulls the gloves on her hands as the paramedic reports.

“25-year-old witnessed seizure in the street. She was clipped by a swerving car. GCS 3, intubated in the field.” They continue moving her deeper into the ED, turning to wheel her into the trauma room. “102 over 60, tachy at 110.”

“Alright, on my count.” Dr. Rhodes starts, “One, two, three.” Together, the team moves her onto the treatment table. “Give me a laryngoscope to confirm the tube. X-rays of the chest and pelvis, then to CT for a pan-scan.”

“Yes, doctor.” A nurse answers.

Morgan has her stethoscope on her chest, listening. “This isn’t a trauma. She went down before she was hit.” Dr. Halstead says to his colleagues hoping that it would change the route of treatment.

“But we don’t know the damage, she was hit by a car.” Connor rebutes quickly.

“Because she had a seizure,” Halstead says back.

Morgan huffs out a breath and focuses on the patient. “She’s tachy. Sats are down.” A nurse says and Morgan nods.

“Alright, let’s give her 500 milligrams of keppra.” Morgan says after viewing her pupil reaction with a light.

“Yes, doctor.” A nurse answers and proceeds.

“She’s got a chemo port.” April points out after cutting the patient’s shirt off.

“I’m telling you, the money’s in the seizure. We gotta figure that out,” Will reassures trying to get Morgan to agree. “Get a CBC, CMP, HCG, and a tox screen. Tell CT we’re going for the head only, not the whole body.” Before April could step away to put in the orders, Connor interrupts.

“No, tell CT that we’re going for the whole body. Now.” The tension in that small treatment room was suffocating for Morgan, if she wasn’t so focused on the patient, she might’ve gone off on her coworkers. “Must be nice, having so many opinions.” Connor bites.

“I have opinions about how I handle incoming patients. I don’t like that QT on the monitor.”

“On it!”

“You by any chance share those opinions with your brother?”

“What, Herrmann?” Will asks, but he knows the answer. “Look, Jay asked, so I told him.” 

Before Connor could say something again, Morgan interrupts with a growl, “Boys, not now!” They give Morgan a look, but drop the issue returning their undivided attention back to the unconscious patient.

“What’s happening?” A new voice enters the room and Doris interjects, trying to pull her out of the room. A chime on the monitor goes off and pulls everyone’s attention to it.

“She’s in V-tach!” Morgan states and a nurse gives off her blood pressure. “I can’t get a pulse.

“We need a crash cart, start compressions, now!” Connor orders and Will begins.

“We’re losing her.” The flatline corroborates that statement, but Will continues compressions.

“Charge to 200. Clear!”

Dr. Halsted pulls his hands off of Dani’s chest,“clear!” And Dr. Rhodes shocks her. When nothing happens, Will continues compressions, waiting for the next shock. 

“Come on, come Dani.” Morgan watches Will performing CPR. For some reason the doctor’s heart was beating out of her chest, a pit was forming at the bottom of her stomach, she couldn’t lose her.

“Milligram of epi.”

“One of epi.” April repeats.

“Clear!”

Will again pulls his hands off her chest again, “clear!” And they do it again, shocking Dani while her partner pleads from the door of the room. When nothing happens again, this time it’s Dr. Fitzgerald that orders another round of epi, but everyone hesitates. 

“Dr. Fitzgerald.” April starts, but Morgan isn’t having it.

“Now.” Morgan steps in the way of Will and continues compressions on the patient’s chest.

“One of epi,” April says, knowing it’s a lost cause.

“Stop compressions,” Connor says after a moment, but Morgan doesn’t stop. 

“Dr. Fitzgerald,” Will starts, putting a hand on Morgan’s back, but she continues. “Morgan,” he says softly this time and she finally pulls herself away, staring at the dead patient in front of her. Will gives her a concerned look, as he notices the crumpling look on her face.

“Time of death: 16:21.” At that Morgan lets a breath out and the woman at the door begins to cry. Morgan rips off her gloves and steps out of the room, not willing to see the heartbreaking scene in front of her. 

Why did today have to be so suffocating for her? Her eyes begin to tear up and without stopping she lightly jogs out through the lobby to the front of the building. The tears finally escaped down her face. With her hands on her hips, she looks up to the night sky trying her hardest to stop crying and to control her breathing.

“Morgan?” She recognizes the voice and at that moment she wants the world to swallow her whole, she didn’t want him to see her like this. Looking down, she sees Jay Halstead approaching her body and unknowingly she steps back, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Are you okay?” There is genuine concern in his eyes, they’re gentle and she remembered how much she missed looking into his eyes.

Morgan roughly wipes away her tears and sniffles, not yet looking at him. “I’m fine, Jay.” She pauses, not sure on how much to tell him. “Just lost a patient, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” He pushes, knowing she’s hiding something.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, hell, it barely makes it past her lips.

“You’ve been a doctor for over three years now Morgan, I’ve never seen you react–.”

“Well Jay, we only dated for seven months and you’ve barely spoken to me in the last two years. I’ve changed.” She snaps, interrupting him, trying her hardest to mask any other reason for her to break down this easy.

“You don’t have to talk to me, I get it.” He puts himself in her point of view, forcing her to finally look at him. “But talk to someone, please.” He looks at her waiting for some type of response. Unwittingly, a tear escapes Morgan’s eyes and she hesitantly nods. Jay gives her a soft smile.

“So,” he starts trying to lighten the mood, “you didn’t tell my brother about us.” At that Morgan gives out a short chuckle, wiping the tears away and fully turning towards the detective.

“No, I didn’t. There was no point in doing so,” Morgan shrugs, seeing a hint of amusement in his eyes. “We were broken up and I wasn’t here for even a year yet, didn’t want to ruin the dynamic that Will and I were building.” She glances away, before a realization arises in her mind. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“I guess for the same reason,” he shrugs now, but his voice is soft.

“How’re things with Erin?” Jay grimaces, but Morgan laughed. His partner was the reason she broke up with him, she didn’t feel like becoming a second choice. She didn’t feel like competing against a woman that he spent so much time with where she barely saw due to their hours. If you love them, gotta let them go, right?

“Things are good, we’re good.”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you. Really.” He looks at her, a solemn look on his face, words ready to pour out about their past relationship. Morgan, however, doesn’t want to hear it, she spent months trying to get over the handsome detective, she didn’t need him to dredge up old feelings. Gladly, her pager goes off and she sees that she’s being called to check up on another one of her patients. “Are you here to see Will or something?”

Jay is confused at her question at first before realizing that the opportunity to talk had passed. “Yeah, yeah I am”

“I’ll walk you in.” Together the two walk into the hospital, muttering a quick goodbye. Will exits the ED and sees the interaction between his brother and Morgan, he glimpses at the comfortable  aura between them and makes a note to address it later, after he confronted his brother about their conversation earlier.

         ❦

After discharging a patient that was wheeled in earlier, Morgan’s phone beeps and she fishes it out from the pocket of her scrubs. It was from Dr. Charles. The doctor was anxious, hoping that this wasn’t a talk about her overreacting behavior with Dani. Taking a deep breath to call her nerves, she makes her way down to the morgue. When she gets to the hallway that leads to her destination, she is caught up with Will and Connor. They greet each other, but Morgan ignores them, and she especially ignores the concerning looks that they were both giving her. The boys stop in front of the morgue’s door, but Morgan does not feel like sticking around for their conversation, so she walks in between them and enters.

Dr. Charles is standing in the room alongside the medical examiner and he greets her. “Dr. Fitzgerald, here.” He hands her a sheet and she looks down to it. It’s the results for her patient, Dani who was lying dead in front of her. Morgan takes the paper and takes a step away from the body, Dr. Charles notices. Soon, Halstead and Rhodes step into the room. “Gentlemen,” Dr. Charles says, also handing them a sheet.

Rhodes looks down and reads the results, coming to the same conclusion Morgan did when she read it. “Dani OD’ed on chemo. That explains why she seized in the street.”

Dr. Charles nods and gives a sigh out, “that’s not the troubling part. Yeah, she was loaded up on chemo. But this woman,” he says to Dr. Fitzgerald, “never had cancer.” It was like he was trying to tell her that she could not have saved her, that it wasn’t her fault that she was gone. 

All Morgan knew was that it didn’t help.

         ❦

Now, Dr. Choi, Dr. Halstead, Dr. Rhodes, and Dr. Fitzgerald stood in Mrs. Goodwin’s office listening to Dr. Charles’s hypothesis about the two women who OD'd on chemo.

“Two patients in one day overdose on chemo and neither had cancer.” He hands something to Mrs. Goodwin while Morgan goes through the patients’ charts.

“Which, I must admit, does seem suspicious.” Goodwin replies, setting her glasses on her nose.

“Well, it could be a new oncologist in town making incorrect diagnoses.” Connor remarks, but doesn’t sound like he has convinced himself.

“Or even just mixing up a few charts,” Dr. Choi adds.

“Yeah, but even then, why the overdoses?” Morgan asks, finally looking up to the people in the room. “And on the same day? It doesn’t add up.”

“What do we know about these women?” Sharon asks, taking off the glasses and pointing her attention to Dr. Charles.

“Jessica’s note said she felt betrayed.” He answers her.

“And Dani’s girlfriend said Dani was upset about something, but wouldn’t talk about it,” Will speaks up.

“Something was going on with both of these women,” the psychiatrist continues.

“Yeah, but we don’t have any medical records, and no information that might link them.” Morgan points out looking back to the charts, trying to find some reason as to why they overdosed on chemo.

Goodwin brainstorms out loud, “I’m going to get in touch with some local oncologists, see if there have been any problems with their chemo or if they’ve had other patients in the same condition. Thank you,” she nods to the doctors and they begin to head out. Connor places his hand on Morgan’s lower back and leads the two of them away from Choi and Halstead.

“Hey, are you okay?” The look on his face shows that he knows what she’s going through.

“Um,” Morgan hesitates and breathes out, looking down the hall where Will seems to be waiting for her. “Yeah, it’s just that–” Morgan trails off, looking everywhere but Connor’s eyes.

“It’s Olivia’s birthday,” he finishes for her and almost immediately, tears begin to cloud Morgan’s eyes. She collapses against her friend, his arms immediately wrapping around her.

Will watched them, he watched how open and vulnerable Morgan was with Rhodes. He understood that they knew each other since their childhood, but Rhodes has been gone for the past few years, and Will had been there instead. Or maybe he hadn’t been, as he looked at Morgan sobbing in Rhodes’s arms, he wondered if he ever really knew her, if she could ever allow him in her life like she allows Connor. He walks away from them, giving them space and himself time to think.

Connor reluctantly pulls away from Morgan, wiping away the tears from her face. “She would’ve been 32 years old, possibly married, maybe a few kids. I don’t know, I’ll never know,” Morgan whispers the last part, looking down at her feet. “I don’t know why I’m letting this affect me so much.” She angrily sighs out, turning away from Connor.

He lays a hand on her shoulder, “It was barely four years ago and Olivia was brutally murdered, it’s gonna take time. Maybe you should talk to Dr. Charles.”

“Well how much time until I am so distracted that I end up affecting a patient?” She yells, receiving a few annoyed and confused looks from some bystanders. At this time Dr. Charles is stepping out of Goodwin’s office and his attention is brought to the two arguing doctors. Morgan doesn’t want to be analyzed by the psychiatrist and she’s tired of the look of pity on Connor’s face, so she decides to remove herself from the situation.

“Morgan–”Connor begins, but she has already begun to walk away.

         ❦

The end of her shift was two hours ago, but she was still at the hospital, on the roof staring at the Chicago skyline. She couldn’t go home, she knew she wasn’t gonna be able to get any sleep tonight. A breeze danced around the doctor’s body and she tried her hardest to retreat deeper into her jacket, but it wasn’t helping much. The wind pushed the curls of her hair to brush against her face and despite this very reason, Morgan liked having her natural hair out. She felt a little bit more in control, a bit more free, a bit more beautiful. The braids she had in her hair last month were getting harder to handle, so she was okay with letting her hair and scalp breathe for a bit. Over the years her hair grew remarkably well and she was starting to feel a lot more confident in herself. Maybe she’d let it out longer than a few weeks.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were still here.” Morgan turns to Connor’s voice, he’s walking towards her.

“Yeah, I have a patient downstairs that I don’t want to leave.” He looks at her, knowing that she’s not telling the whole truth. But he doesn’t push her, at least not for now.

“I heard what you did for me today.” He leans next to her on the railing, his eyes peering out as well.

“What? With Kelly?” She asks and Connor nods. “It’s no big deal. They’re all one big family and can get a little hostile without noticing. I just had a little talk with him.”

“How long had you known him?”

“I met him shortly after I started my residency here, through an ex.”

“An ex?” He chuckles, “who?”

“Someone not important. He’s not really in my life anymore. But after deciding to maintain my paramedic license, I rode along a few times with their station and got close to them. I had hoped I could use my relationship with them as an advantage to talk Kelly down.”

“Well thanks.” He nudges her and she smiles, “however, you don’t always have to come to my rescue. Especially when you won’t let me come to yours.”

“It’s not that Connor, it’s just that sometimes there’s this look you give me. Like I’m broken and you want to fix me. I already get it from the rest of my family, and from Hayden. I don’t want that from you.”

“I understand, but it’s because I care about you Morgan.” He slings an arm around her shoulder and she leans against him.

“I appreciate it, and I promise that I’ll let you know if I need rescuing. But for now, let me just have my best friend, okay?”

“Alright, I’ll hold you to that promise.” He chuckles. For a moment, they’re quiet, leaning against each other, letting their troubles past them even for just a moment.

“So, you and Dr. Zanetti? I did not see that coming.” She looks at Connor skeptically and he scoffs at her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He looks down at Morgan, genuinely curious.

“I don’t know, it’s just that she’s her and you’re you. She’s the definition of an egotistical surgeon and you’re not.” Connor looks at her, urging her to continue, but Morgan knows it’s not her place. “But that’s just my opinion, I’m sure she’s nice and you wouldn’t be dating her if there wasn’t something there.”

“Is there some history between the two of you.” He asks, removing his arm from around the ED doctor.

“Just some disagreements on invasive versus less invasive procedures, it’s not a big deal. Don’t let my professional troubles ruin your personal life.” Connor nods his head, still a little wary of Morgan’s attitude towards his girlfriend. As he should be, Morgan felt a little jealousy clawing away at her insides, she didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like Connor was going to disappear out of her life now that he was dating Sam. Or maybe it was the fact that Morgan wasn’t his girlfriend, but that thought never crossed her mind.

“Are you dating anyone?”

“God, no. I don’t have the time for dates or caring about another person’s schedule. I did it a while in 2013, we dated, but we had opposite schedules and so I ended it.”

“When did you first get here? Morgan, that was almost three years ago!”

“No it was, two years ago. We broke up in 2014 and I just haven’t made time to go out.”

“God, you’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine with it.” She shrugs and Connor just shakes his head, not really understanding her decision. If only he understood that the universe was working against the two, it was never the right time for the both of them.

“Come on Morgan, let me drive you home.” Morgan nods and the two of them make their way down to the first floor. She could feel a little bit of the weight rising off of her shoulders as the two of them finally left the hospital.

Part Three

[geneshaven]

This Way To The Rabbit Hole

What the hell, I was feeling nostalgic today. And I miss writing about these two. 

 Felicity began to feel a massive rush of anger move through her as she sat on her couch at the Loft. A picture of Billy was displayed on her tablet screen laying upright next to her.  She could not tell how long it had been since Oliver told her what happened when he came back from confronting Prometheus. She was numb at first, as Oliver’s voice echoed in her mind, telling her that he had inadvertently killed Billy. Then he told everyone that they should get away from him.

Despite the tempest of emotions pouring through her, Felicity could still see the parts of him that would always cling to her heart. He was (and probably always will) put his own safety and well-being on the back burner, and in the name of those he cared for and loved, find his own kind of acceptance, garnering the acceptance of those gathered around him. But Felicity still could not move closer to him when the rest of the team took him into their embraces.

What she felt was a burgeoning, massive anger settle into her heart.

Revenge was not something Felicity had ever become acquainted with.  It was a feeling she had never taken out and had a really close look at. Not like Oliver. Ever since he washed up on the shores of Lian Yu, a person completely taken away from everything he had ever known, the man had built his rebirth on the foundation of survival, of killing to stay alive, of building formidable walls of strength and skill around him so that he would have the best chance to be the last person standing after the storms that blew into his life threatened to wash him away.

Perhaps she had been one of those storms that blew him away. Their relationship up until now was certainly tumultuous.  The very first thing they shared between themselves was Oliver’s lie about that laptop. Felicity knew it was a lie, but she also could feel a chemistry form in the space between them, and an almost uncanny prediction that she would be seeing more of Oliver Queen.

The night was deepening and Felicity felt like her life was descending into darkness. As she sat on her couch, she remembered that she tried to stop Billy as he went off to, in his own words, ‘be true to myself.’ Like she told Oliver that night on the balcony, she wasn’t sure how she felt about Billy. She could also remember telling Oliver that she was scared to tell him about her new boyfriend. She gazed down at the laptop next to her and winced at the smile Billy had on his face in the picture. A flash of guilt went through her as she felt like she had been fighting a war on two different fronts, a clash between her ambiguous feelings for Oliver and her affair with Billy. Yes, a part of her acknowledged that she felt like she not only chickened-out in telling Oliver about Billy, but also not letting Billy know that she  still had feelings for Oliver. It was all very confusing and she could not keep stepping over both of those lines.

But now, that conflict in her heart was gone. Billy was gone. And perhaps maybe Oliver was gone as well. Besides, she had been the one who walked away from their history. She knew Oliver was looking for absolution over his lie about William. She also knew that he wasn’t one to walk away from someone or something because of adversity. It was one of the many reasons she fell in love with him in the first place.

But despite everything, Felicity felt her own guilt rise to the surface as the reality of Billy’s death found her alone on this couch. She felt that she had used him as a pawn in the difficult and dysfunctional chess game going on between her need to move on from Oliver and her still lingering need to have him hold her. It was a reconciliation with herself she could not make.

And still, that anger she began to feel back at the Bunker was still there. The more she thought of how Prometheus manipulated both Billy and Oliver into completely upending her life, the closer it brought her to the deepening darkness settling not only around Star City, but also into her heart. She had been given the opportunity to look more closely at her need for revenge, her need to make Prometheus hurt and suffer as much as she did. She did not immediately recognize how much that anger would give her a clearer picture of why Oliver felt it was necessary to lie to her about William.  She did not recognize that killing Prometheus would not lessen her pain; it would embolden it to take more chances, to embrace the darkness that was poised to consume her.

And to mirror Oliver’s.

Felicity reached over and turned her tablet off. She could not look at Billy anymore. In her own way, and by herself, she had said goodbye to him. A single tear rolled down her weary face as she let him go. Now, a resolve took hold of her, a dimension that changed everything and would soon redefine her need to save her city, a dimension that Oliver introduced into her life when he broke cover and brought her into his orbit.

That earlier burgeoning anger fell into her eyes and she glared out into the darkness of the Loft. Yes, she had learned much from Oliver and his influence in her life. It was a lesson she intended to share with Prometheus when she found him.

@memcjo @it-was-a-red-heeler @swordandarrow @olicityotp-always @hope-for-olicity

[shanie-the-toyaddict]

1, 9, 15, 17, 21, 25, 26, 29, 33, 41, 46, 48, 54, 59, 68, 73, 81, 96, 98

😊

Oh my word! That's a lot!

Ok, here goes.

Behind cut for length

1. Name - I prefer Shanie but my parents call me “Mis”. Well, my mom calls me “Mis” my father calls me “Pooch” which I despise. Just stick with Shanie.

9. What did you study - I changed majors midway through college. I started out as an art major focusing on computer animation. That didn’t work out at ALL. Turns out I sucked ass at computer animation. Too much math involved. So I switched to a major in teaching with minors in history and popular culture. Unfortunately I failed at that too and, while I did graduate, it was with a degree in “Planned Program” which is a polite way of saying “General Ed”. I did earn my two minors though, so I guess that’s something!

15. Relationship Status -  Single. Very Very Single. I haven’t had a single date in about 10 years. By the looks of it, I’m going to stay single.

17. Do you have a crush - Do celebrities count? If not then no. I don't even know anyone IRL to have crushes on. I legit have nobody in my IRL life outside of my parents and my case manager. Kind of hard to have a crush when you don't have any friends or even acquaintances.

21: How was your day -  Well, today I got nothing accomplished. I did have a meeting with my case manager, so that was nice. It’s nice to have someone to talk to and infodump on (which she lets me). Outside of that I woke up, had breakfast, lunch, and dinner, had a nap, and went to Dairy Queen for ice cream on the way home. Unfortunately, DQ is on the far side of town and by the time I got home, it was melted. So it went in the fridge to eat later once it refreezes. Outside of that it was a pretty boring day.

25. Your fears - Whoo-ee. Ok. So coming in with the borderline I’d say my biggest fear is abandonment. That just comes with the territory. After that I have a huge fear of storms and waking up in a fire, both brought about by recurring nightmares. I also have a fear of flying (too much Air Crash Investigations) and I hate elevators. I’m not claustrophobic mind you, I just have a fear that they will fall on me. Anything over 3 stories and I’m having an anxiety attack. There are other, lesser fears but those are some of the big ones.

26. Your dreams - Well, in a literal sense, my dreams are wild, crazy adventures that I get most of my fanfics from. From a metaphorical standpoint I really don’t have any. I’ve given up on hoping for anything good in my life. I’m too busy trying to get from day to day to indulge in long term planning. I know it seems terrible, but it’s the truth.

29. Hobbies - Obviously action figures, that much is clear. I collect and customize them to display in my apartment. I also like making digital art (sometimes) and am starting to get into illustrations/artwork. However, I don’t have a tablet/pen for the computer so everything is done with the mouse and GIMP (which makes it difficult). I’m an avid collector of digital media. Some of my big ones are Doctor Who DVDs, Wrestling Entrance Themes, and Official Xena Photos (not the physical ones, jpeg scans). I used to be big into Wizard101 and, while I don’t really play anymore, I still like following the game on YT and on here.

33. Languages you speak – Only English, except it’s a very specific English. I usually speak what’s called the “Yinzer” dialect which is a dialect that is unique to the Pittsburgh region. That’s why you see me use the word “Yinz” a bunch. That’s our word for “You guys” or “Y’all”. However, while most of my speech is Yinzer, I have watched enough British TV in my lifetime to have picked up some Brit speech. It confuses the hell out of people when I use it because you’ll have me say things like “My apartment needs cleaned” and then follow it up thirty seconds later with, “I’m rubbish at cleaning.” My mother has picked up on this and sometimes calls me her “British Daughter” because of it.

41. Your Device Background – My phone’s lock screen is a picture of Shane in his Roman Centurion outfit from the one Royal Rumble photo shoot. My phone background is a checkered wallpaper with “SZ” on it for Sami Zayn. (That one might be getting changed if he stops being Sami.) And my computer background is just a night sky over the mountains. I rarely ever see my computer wallpaper so I don’t mind that it is a generic background.

46. The most dangerous thing you’ve done – You know how Lucy breathes fire on Xena? I taught myself how to do that. That wasn’t bright to begin with but it was made so much worse that I was underage and couldn’t buy Bacardi and was using lamp oil instead. I was young and dumb.

48. Some things you’ve tried in your life – Funny thing, I’m a sucker for strange foods. There was a list going around that said “How many of these weird foods have you eaten” and I think I had eaten all but six of them and that was only because I didn’t have access to them. I’m proud to say that, since then, I’ve knocked Quail Egg off the list! Turns out the local Japanese restaurant served it. So that knocked it down to five. Still need to get ahold of some gator meat and haggis. I’d love to try Foie Gras but it’s just so damn unethical that I don’t know if I could bring myself to eat it. Pheasant is another one that I’d love to try but I can’t convince my parents to buy me one (and I’m far too poor to afford it myself). But, yeah. I love strange foods. I’ll pretty much try any food once if I know it’s safe to eat.

54. Any tattoos or piercings – Unless you count partially pierced ears then no. And my ears are only partially pierced because after I had them done they got infected so I tried to let them heal shut. They ended up not closing fully and now, if I’m not adverse to a bit of pain, I can still wear earrings occasionally.

59. Song you wouldn’t normally admit you like – Judas is my guilty pleasure song. I know Jericho is a douchebag and I have tried to hate the song but I can’t. I end up singing along every time.

68. Favorite Movie/Series - Hmm... well, my all time favorite movie is definitely “The Towering Inferno”, hands down. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve seen that. I’m a sucker for disaster movies and, in my opinion, that one is the cream of the crop. I actually like it better than “The Poseidon Adventure” simply because I think the movie is inferior to the book. That said, I’ve also read both of the books that “The Towering Inferno” is based on and I like the combined movie better than them. Favorite series, however, I don’t think I have one definitive favorite series. I’ve had favoriteS like Xena, Buffy, Sherlock, Doctor Who, etc, but I’ve never had one all time favorite.

73: Favorite Greek God – Oh geez. Hmmm... You know, I’m going to have to go with Hermes here, primarily because I have this theory that he is the god of the internet. I know there was no internet in ancient Greece but, frankly, Hermes is the god of commerce, communication, travelers, and thieves. While it’s true that Hephaestus is the god of technology and would probably be the god of computers, I fully believe that Hermes would be the patron of the interwebs.

81 Favorite Books – In all honesty, going to college for 8 years burned me out for reading and now I can barely bring myself to read a comic book. For this reason, most of my favorite books come from childhood. My all time favorite book as a kid was “Flight #116 Is Down” by Caroline B Cooney. It was a disaster story about plane crash in a young woman’s back yard. Somehow, everyone didn’t die – a fact which was called out in the final pages when a fireman says that the crash was extremely odd because “usually they’re all dead.” That book might be another reason I’m terrified of flying. Other favorite books of mine was the ��Fear Street Saga Trilogy” (Not the Fear Street Series, the trilogy that served as the origin story). I also like the Hitchhikers Guide saga but when I found out that Douglas Adams died before he could finish the saga, I stopped reading after book 4 so that the story had a happy ending. Novelizations in general are a big thing for me too, I’ve read some really good ones over the years and it’s fascinating to see how they differ from the movies they’re based on.

96. Hero or Villain – Well, if my dreams are anything to go by, I’m a villain at heart. I know, weird right? You all think I’m such a nice person but really, I have a huge dark side to me IRL and, if I was in a world where superheroes were real and I had superpowers I would almost certainly use them for evil. Or, at the very least I would use them to force social change ala Dr. Horrible.

98. Shapeshifting or Controlling Time – SHAPESHIFTING! Oh my goodness shapeshifting! I would love that so much! First of all, I wouldn’t be this huge anymore. I could be as heavy or a skinny as I want. Also, I wouldn’t have to worry about looking old or losing my hair! Plus, can you imagine the cosplay potential!? Forget dressing as the 13th Doctor, I AM THE 13th DOCTOR! That would just be the best!

PHEW! That was a lot! Thanks so much for the ask! This was fun. I love ask games.

[littlemisssquiggles]

Hi! I Saw that you did your drawings on an iPad mini 5, hows your experience on It? Is It too small? Or you can draw pretty good on It? Im asking because i dont know if i buy It, im kinda nervous that i Wont like the size. I dont really use Big things, apart from my computer lol Can i ask to have your full opinión?, i would be so gratefull! Also, your art is cute and well done!✨

Hiyaanon-chan! Pleased to make your acquaintance. Well I’ve been a proud owner of my Ipad Mini 5 since August 2019 and in myworkflow, I’ve used it now again for some light sketching and smaller projectssince I mostly work from my laptop with my Cintiq. I also have a Wacom Cintiq13HD and that’s my main workstation so most of my more finished art of recenttimes was created with that.

Butin the regards to the Ipad Mini 5, for me I really like it and I was actuallypleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed working on it for my stuff. Thegreatest challenge for me with my Mini wasn’t so much the size or the deviceitself. In terms of performance, the Mini works terrifically. I haven’t had any realissue with it. While it took me sometime to find the right art software for me to use that feels like what I’musing to on my laptop, drawing on the Mini works just as nice as I’ve heard for it’s bigger counterparts. As a matter of fact, I liked drawing on my mini so muchthat for a short time, I spent more time working on my Ipad than my Cintiq XD

Interms of the size—partof the reason why I chose the mini over any other standard Ipad was because ofits size. I wanted a digital tablet that I could use as a sketchbook for mydigital art. I wanted one that was great to draw on while being portable enoughfor me to take anywhere with me. The Mini is around the size of your average5.5 x 8 inches sketchbook which was perfect for me since most of my sketchbooksare around that size. Just like you, I prefer smaller sketchbooks as opposed tothe bigger pads. I personally feel more comfortable drawing in smallersketchbooks and they’re perfect for me since I can always pop them in my travelbag without taking up much space.

That’swhat I like about the size of the mini. It can fit inside my smallest shoulderbag and I can take it anywhere with me if I have to go somewhere and want to dosome art while I’m there. Ichose the Mini to do digital art on those days when I don’t feel like sitting infront my laptop and Cintiq or if I have to go somewhere and wanted to draw.

Lastyear, I took a trip off island with my family and thankfully my Mini arrivedjust in time for me to take it with me on the trip and I was able to do somedigital art while away from home. And when I returned home, I just uploaded theart I did on my Mini via iCloud and was able to download and continue workingon it from my laptop.

Sorryif this isn’t some extensive review XD. But since you’re asking me about myexperience with the Mini, that’s pretty much it. For me, I love working on themini and never felt like the size really compromised my workflow. I’m about to work ascomfortably with the Mini as I do with my Cintiq.

Butthis is mainly for my workflow. It’s really up to you and what you’ll be usingthe Mini mostly for. If you’re like myself and you work strictly on your laptop butyou’re looking for a portable tablet to do art on days you wish to work awayfrom your main workstation (especially if you travel a lot) then I will recommendthe Mini.

Butif the mini is going to be your full time drawing tablet device, that’s whereit might be tricky. Some artists I’ve seen have both the Mini 5 and one of thelarger tablets for when they need the screen size for bigger projects. Butpersonally, I think you’ll be fine with the mini. If you’re accustomed to workingin smaller sketchbooks then the Mini will be perfect for you regardless of itssize. And like I said, it’s size doesn’t hinder its performance. You can still createfull pieces on the Mini but it depends on which art software you use. Twosoftware for the Ipad that I can recommend are of course Procreate (which you might’ve heard about already since it’s themost popular art program for the Ipad right now) and Artstudio Pro (a great program that I personally believe deserves justas much love and recognition as Procreate).

BothProcreate and Artstudio Pro offer a one-time purchase fee to download and usethem and all updates to the software are free. Procreate is $9.99 USD whileArtstudio Pro is $11.99. Both Procreate and Artstudio Pro allow you to importand use your favourite Photoshop brushes. Not going to go into much detail onsoftware since you mainly asked about the tablet but of all the art softwarefor the Ipad that I’ve tried, these two are the best in my opinion. But if you would like for me to give my thoughts on using Procreate or Artstudio Pro for the Ipad, feel free to ask. 

If you want an example of another artist whocreates art with the Ipad Mini 5, I’ll recommend you to check out @sandraghart. I found her on Instagram. After pondering for months on which Ipad to get within my pricerange, seeing her work that was done on the Mini 5 helped me to finally decideto get it and I don’t regret it.

Ihope this answers your question anon-chan. Take care!

~LittleMissSquiggles (2020)

[sunnydwrites]

The Silk Parade

Part I — Wild Radiance

The cake was salty. Granted, salted caramel cakes were supposed to have a certain degree of salt — it was in the name, after all — but something was off. Natalia gave a tight-lipped smile to the people at her table and excused herself through the food in her mouth, taking her napkin with her.

She had always been told that the food at the biannual Silk Parade was the best in the nation. When the invitation arrived in the mail, she imagined a night full of dishes made by master chefs, accenting their steaks with flecks of gold or whatever it was they did to make food fancy. Only when she was sure nobody was watching did she spit her mouthful into the napkin, grimacing.

“Is everything all right, miss?” someone asked, but she did not look. Instead she nodded and hurried the other way until their hand was on her arm and she was forced to pay some attention.

Natalia forced a smile. “Wonderful,” she said. “Simply delectable.”

The attendant — still holding onto her arm — was resplendent in a dress that seemed to be made entirely out of living flowers and butterflies, and somehow the colors all blended with each other. She took a moment to look the whole thing over, immediately caught up once again in the wondrous aspect of fashion that came with this night. If she remembered correctly, this gala’s theme was “Wild Radiance”, and they captured it perfectly.

Each of the flowers seemed to be a different shade of soft orange or red, blooming and closing as if on their own cycles. The butterflies followed suit, creating a mesmerizing flow of wings and petals that were all somehow perfectly timed with each other.

It put Natalia’s own dress, a fiery orange garment that flared out with petals towards the bottom hem, to shame. She had previously loved the way the orange made her dark brown skin glow, but now the look seemed drab. Underwhelming.

“Excellent,” the attendant smiled. “May I take you on a tour of the kitchen? I’m sure your father would quite like to see our operation.”

“I’m sure he would,” Natalia said. “Too bad you get me instead.”

The attendant simply laughed, but the look in their eyes said it all. “Come this way.”

She followed the attendant across the dining hall, trying to pick out each and every design for the night. How many people would wear these again? How many would be simply tossed aside, shoved into a display case to be seen in mansion hallways decades later?

As they walked, she caught dresses and suits and headwear and jewelry and makeup and all sorts of different wonderful things in brilliant shades of purples and yellow and everything in between. None of them paid her any attention, but why would they? The famous reason she was here wasn’t even at the banquet.

“I think your father would be especially pleased to know that we used his recipes and his recipes only for tonight’s meal,” the attendant said, breaking through Natalia’s haze.

“Only… his recipes?” she asked, and the attendant nodded. “Including the salted caramel cake?”

“How could we exclude that?” they laughed. “It’s iconic.”

“Iconic indeed,” she hummed along, surveying the crowd. What were the chances that she could get back here at the next banquet?

They arrived at the kitchen doors and the attendant pushed them open, inviting Natalia to lead the way. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see, but it wasn’t a large group of teenagers following recipes off the screens of their tablets. They wore plain gray aprons smeared with flour, batter, and various different sauces. They looked clueless and completely exhausted. Natalia raised an eyebrow and the attendant gave a nervous smile before clapping her hands to get the cooks’ attention. “Everyone, this is Natalia,” she said, making a grand gesture, “the daughter of Chef Mirialo.”

Everyone murmured and greeting and went back to their work, except for one worker. She watched Natalia with dark mono-lidded eyes, lifting her chin to meet Natalia’s gaze. The feeling sent shivers down her spine, the sudden feeling of being watched setting her nerves on edge.

“Looks like everything is in order here,” Natalia said, pretending for once to have a knowledge of cooking and how kitchens work.

“Fantastic,” the attendant beamed. “Let’s get you back to your table, then.”

“I actually need to run to the bathroom for a moment,” she said, then hurried away in the direction she was pretty sure was the bathroom.

It took a while, a couple of twists and turns and some run-ins with almost-acquaintances — as in people who somehow knew her father — but she got there. The din of the massive dining room was muffled behind the door and she took a deep breath walking to the mirror. Someone walked in behind her and directly into the nearest stall.

“Rough night?” she asked, and received no reply. “Yeah, we’ve all been there.” A whispering began and she assumed the girl had taken some sort of hallucinogen; apparently those were getting popular at parties now.

She leaned in closer to the mirror to check her hair, to make sure each of the gold and orange artificial lilies were in perfect position in her coarse black hair. Usually her father encouraged her to “tame” it, but tonight — as with every other occasion in his absence — she had let loose her hair and it now framed her face like a dark halo. Her shimmering gold lipstick seemed to be wearing off, but that wasn’t something she could fix.

Every detail became a point of focus as she tried to further procrastinate going out into the sea of people once again. Someone came out of the stall behind her and she offered a smile. “Keep some water—”

Then there was a knife at her throat.

Salted caramel cake was supposed to be a foolproof plan. The client had told her upon hire that it was a crowd favorite, a recipe invented by the chef’s daughter herself and perfected to a tee. She had dropped the poison in herself, insisted on serving the girl’s table. It should have gone without a hitch.

So why did Natalia Mirialo walk into the kitchen to observe the cooks work like everything was perfectly fine?

She called her underboss, who picked up on the fourth ring. “Who’s ringin’?”

“Who do ya fuckin’ think?” She paused, lowering her voice. “Something’s up. I put the poison in and she’s walkin’ like it’s nothing. Did you do me dirty?”

“I wouldn’t never do nothing like that,” the cronie on the other line stammered. “Who do ya take me for?”

A rat, she thought. “Then tell me why she’s breathin’.”

There was silence on the other line. “I—I don’t know,” he said.

“Gotta do everything for myself around here,” she growled. Before she hung up the phone, she added, “You’re paying for this once I get this contract settled.”

“Wait, boss—”

She hung up and drew the knife from its sheath inside the waistband of her pants. The Saint almost felt bad for this girl’s impending freeze until she remembered the mistakes of her imbecil father. You don’t cheat the Saint, and you sure as hell don’t get away with it.

This time she recognized the flaming orange of the girl’s dress, and she took a step forward. Another step and she placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, getting close enough to place a blade on her throat from behind.

“Don’t make this hard for me,” she warned.

The girl began to hyperventilate. The Saint watched as her chest rose and fell, faster and faster until—

“Are you gonna—”

“Kill ya? Unfortunately for you, that’s the plan,” she said, flicking a piece of dark hair out of her eyes.

“Why?”

“Ask your father when he makes his way up there with you.”

Her shoulders sag and a dangerous anger burns in her eyes before she hides it. “He made a deal, didn’t he? You’re with the mobs.”

“That’s a bit of an uncivilized term,” the Saint said, taking on a bit of the regality she had learned from these events. “We prefer organized ‘service’ — anyway, that’s not the point.” She pressed the blade a little harder and the girl whimpered.

“Why me?”

“He didn’t pay. Ever heard of ‘life for a life’?”

“That… sounds kind of illegal, actually.”

The Saint smiled a cruel smile, leaning forward and tilting her head. “Nothing’s legal around here, darling.”

“Don’t call me that.” She paused. “And if it’s really that important to you, he couldn’t come because he’s sick. Really sick.”

“What’re you saying?”

There was a pause and that same anger flashed in the girl’s eyes again. This time, she didn’t do as good of a job to mask it. “You could make it look like an accident.”

“You want to help me kill your father?” The Saint blinked. Of all the things she had experienced in this short lifetime, helping someone ice their own blood was not one of them.

She coughed, refusing to meet the Saint’s eyes. “I wouldn’t say help… I—I just don’t wanna die.”

The Saint sheathed her knife. “Where can I find him?”

“At my house. It’s—” the Saint held her hand up; she already knew the Mirialo address. What good boss didn’t?

“Just don’t walk in on the crime, and you won’t get caught up in it. Sound good?”

“How long should I wait?”

The Saint paused. “I’ll have to do some cleaning,” she murmured, “and then… Just attend every after party you can find.” The girl nodded. “Don’t get in my way.” She had no intention of cleaning up, really, but she would have preferred not to give a witness any more opportunity to sell her out.

She sheathed her blade again in an easy movement and walked back out into the party. It was easy to blend into the crowd as a serviceman — of a different kind — as she dialed the same number. It sent her immediately to voicemail and she made a mental note to talk to her subordinates about this. “Our contract has been changed a bit. Don’t bother calling, I’ve got this whole charade under control. We’re going after the man himself.”

Natalia’s heart pounded in her chest; even after the dark-haired girl from the kitchen disappeared, she couldn’t seem to get it back to a normal pace. With a shaky breath, she placed her hands on either side of the sink and leaned in towards the mirror. There was a light sheen of sweat on her deep tan skin, but nothing drastic enough to ruin the makeup on her face.

“Did I almost just—”

Someone walked into the room and she straightened up immediately.

“—ruin my makeup? Oh, stars, I hope not.”

Whoever walked in rushed over immediately, putting their hands on her face. I’ve never regretted saying anything more. She put her face close to Natalia’s, inspecting her makeup.

“No, darling, you’re fine,” she said after a while, releasing Natalia’s face. “I do admire the layer of gold in your eyeshadow, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Natalia said, jerking away before rushing back to the party.

The gala had continued on without her, and it was safe to say they were getting drunker by the moment. Someone latched onto her arm and she let them follow her for a moment before batting them away. The people at her table watched as she sat down, quieting down.

“What?” she asked, a numb feeling growing in her chest. Her father would die on this night.

There were a few shrugs and Natalia covered her lap with someone else’s dark red cloth. A slice of salted caramel chocolate with a single bite taken sat on her plate; knowing now what was inside, she shuddered and repressed her appetite. She couldn’t quite bring herself to partake in the festivities everyone else seemed to be enjoying. The easygoing comfort she had felt before was slowly replaced with a terrible cold feeling, one that started in her chest and spread out to the tips of her fingers.

She just signed her father’s life away.

A fleeting idea of her ability to save him ignited in her mind but she extinguished it just as quickly. If she got in that… that assassin’s way, she’d be putting her own life on the line as well.

Her father, the famous Dante Mirialo, would die tonight.

And she could do nothing to stop it.

Natalia found herself lost in a sea of bright colors, blooming dresses and suits themed after all sorts of colorful bugs and flowers. It was a spectacle, really, a once in a lifetime experience for someone like her. Someone offered her a dance.

She stood and pushed past them, ignoring the strange girl’s warning to stay out longer than usual. At the door, the grand entrance, a man in a plain black uniform — sleek but drab against the background of the crowd — stopped her.

He checked a list and handed her an envelope, but she didn’t dare open it yet. Instead she hailed a taxi and gave them her address; the driver tried to make small talk about her father’s wellbeing and the gala. She shut the speaking window and opened the envelope.

It was an invitation to the next Biannual Silk Parade. The paper was like a blade in her hands, but she didn’t dare let go.

She changed into her pajamas before calling the emergency line. She looked through his cracked door while she spoke the the operator. A pool of blood soaked into the carpet; certainly the girl had meant to be cleaner with Natalia’s death than with her father’s.

At least someone prioritized her over her father.

She looked down to the invitation in her hand. It was addressed to Natalia Mirialo, not to Dante. Not even an invitation to come in his place. No, this was all hers; she walked into her room with a soft smile and stayed there as the paramedics make their futile attempts to revive Dante.

[doomfisthero]

Peace Talks - The Father Rewrite

For those who don’t know, a while back me and my dear buddy Matty (@im-your-paladin​) did a few RP sessions set after the main story of Nebula Nine, dealing with Keaton and the problems he has transitioning to life after the fall of Hyperspace. Recently I’ve been thinking about rewriting a couple of them - fleshing them out and adding and moving some ideas around - and he gave me his blessing. Here’s the first, between Keaton and Thuban. Enjoy! 

Thuban didn’t quite know what to expect when his son asked him for a private chat, but he was ready to help with whatever the issue at hand was. He was currently seated in his room, awaiting Keaton’s arrival with all of his sixty-seven years of patience. 

Keaton wandered in, carrying his tablet computer under his arm. “Hi, Papa,” he murmured. “Thanks for agreeing to talk to me. I’ve got kind of a lot on my mind.” His expression was calm, but his eyes refused to meet his father’s. 

Thuban nodded, used to Keaton’s behavior patterns. “Take a seat and we’ll talk. And unless you wish it, not a word of this will leave this room.” He patted the rich violet comforter on his bed, motioning for Keaton to seat himself. 

Keaton fell onto the comforter next to Thuban. He set his tablet onto his lap and stared at the black mirror that was its screen. “How…how long did it take for you to make it big as an actor?” He asked. “I mean, when did you star in that romantic comedy? That…the one you told me about?”

Thuban’s whiskers twitched thoughtfully. “Oh, Fool Me Thrice? That was about three years after I began walking the boards, I believe.” He smiled, thinking back to those old days. “It was a wonderful feeling, that all my efforts had finally borne such fruit.”

Keaton turned his head toward the dragon. “What about…before then? Was it mostly practice, like what we’re doing here? Did you end up getting any bit roles in the mean time?”

“Well, yes, I put in a good deal of work to earn that opportunity,” the dragon admitted. “And I wouldn’t say they were entirely bit roles, but I did perform some smaller parts before I could act in a greater capacity.”

“…Did you ever get tired of waiting for that big lead role?” Keaton asked quietly. “I…you must have wondered if it was worth it sometimes.”

Thuban gave his son a concerned glance, though he had his suspicions. Likely his student was growing discouraged by his seeming lack of progress and needed solace. He’d been expecting this to happen at some point.

He reached out and gently cupped his son’s hand in his own. “I did wonder, Keaton. There were days when it all felt insurmountable, when the weight of my dreams was a burden. I promise you, there’s nothing unusual about those doubts.” Thuban met Keaton’s sapphire blue eyes with his own wine-red gaze, trying to convey all the love of a proud father and teacher.

“I know that perhaps it doesn’t seem as though you’re progressing quickly, but I assure you I couldn’t be prouder of how much you’ve grown, my dear cub. It’s been an honor to watch you learn, and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that you’ll become a superb actor in time.” He smiled warmly and laid a soft hand on Keaton’s shoulder. “And I look forward to the day when all of us Rangers will come together to witness your grand performances.”

Keaton’s lips curled up into a shadow of a smile, but the sudden glistening in his eyes made it seem much sadder. He took a deep breath and blinked the shimmer away. “Thanks, Papa,” he said. His air of cheer faded. “But what if…what if just being good enough isn’t good enough?”

Thuban looked oddly at his son. “Keaton? What do you mean?” He asked, confused and worried.

Keaton took another deep breath. “I knew when I asked you to teach me that I wasn’t being promised success. And I know that there are countless actors out there, good actors, who put in the time and don’t get anything out of it. I don’t-” Keaton’s voice caught, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t want to be one of them. I want my time to mean something, to pay off in the end. What’s the point of it otherwise?”

Thuban let out a soft gasp and reached out to pull the boy close. “Keaton…my darling boy, that’s okay. You haven’t even attended a single audition yet. There’s so much to teach you before then,” he murmured, cupping Keaton’s head to his chest. He was glad, in that moment, that he’d worn his Draco hoodie to this meeting; Keaton could rest comfortably upon the soft fabric. “You still have so much time, Keaton. I promise I would never abandon you while you were still finding your way.”

Keaton didn’t reply, but Thuban could hear his breathing quicken. He seemed almost in combat with himself, the sound of his breath vacillating between tight and watery and loose and calm as he fought for control against an inner turmoil that Thuban had failed to see.

All the while, the dragon’s embrace never loosened.

Eventually, Keaton’s breath grew soft against his father’s shirt as he regained some balance. “I…I’ve been having nightmares, Papa. About everyone,” he murmured, not looking up.

Thuban moved from the bed and knelt before Keaton on bended knee, never moving his hands from the boy’s shoulders. “Oh, Keaton. I had no idea,” he said quietly. His eyes were remorseful – he’d grown well-acquainted with nightmares over the years. “Would you care to tell me about them? I promise I’ll do everything I can to help.”

Keaton gave a small nod. Thinking of his nightmares made his breath tighten again, but he forced it back to normal. “I’m…working,” he began. “It always starts with me working. Usually I’m in a restaurant waiting tables or something, but sometimes I’m somewhere else. It’s always a service job, something to pay rent while I’m trying to become an actor.

“Then the other Rangers start coming in where I’m working,” he continued. “A bunch of them, usually. And…” Keaton stopped to let out a quiet sob. “And they’re always so successful. Champ’s a famous cop, Solomon and Raz are rock stars, Shaula’s got her r-royal entourage. And I’m just…just waiting tables.”

He convulsed for a moment in Thuban’s grasp, and furiously shook away his tears.

“Then when they recognize me, they ask me to spend some time with them. Or I ask them the same. But…I’m always too busy working to pay rent, or they always have somewhere to be. It just never works out.”

“Keaton…” Thuban murmured, his stunned eyes open wide.

“And then it…it keeps going,” Keaton said. “Suddenly, I’m years older, but nothing’s changed. I’m still…still working and waiting for something to change, but everything’s the same. And everyone else…they all moved on long ago. They didn’t – they didn’t need me anymore.” He clenched his teeth, and despondent tears slipped down his face. “And I…I couldn’t live with myself if I let that dream come true.”

Immediately, Thuban pulled him into a hug much firmer than his usual embraces. “My dear boy…I had no idea,” the dragon said, clutching his son tight. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t notice, Keaton. I had no idea that you missed everyone so much.” Thuban stroked his son’s back with a gentle touch. “And that dream will never come true, Keaton. I swear it. Tell me, what would make you feel better? Seeing everybody again?”

“I…” Keaton stopped. It would be nice, seeing everyone again. But it wouldn’t change what lay at the heart of the issue.

They had their lives. Keaton had his. He couldn’t live constantly calling everyone to his side whenever he was in pain. Even if that was all that he knew.

“I can’t…do that,” he whimpered into Thuban’s shoulder, despite his efforts to throttle back his tears. “They’re…finally living, now that Hyperspace is gone. They deserve to live. They’re going to be amazing. I can’t just take that away whenever. I have to be like them, or else…”

He shook and sobbed into Thuban’s embrace. "I’m scared, Papa. I’m so scared that I’m going to lose everyone. They all think I’m going to be amazing too, and I have to be what they think I can be, or else…they’re going to leave me behind!” Keaton cried against his father, finally letting his pain out. In the midst of it, he couldn’t see where he was going. He could only hold on, and he did. 

“Keaton…Son…” Thuban felt tears leak from his own eyes, holding his shaking child tight to his chest. “My little bear…” Regret welled in him, and his hands clenched involuntarily around Keaton’s shoulders. “You wouldn’t be taking that away. They adore you, just as I do. And you’re not the only one who needs support, Keaton. Do you recall that night, the one when you all congregated to help me get over my recurring nightmare? We all have our weaknesses, our injuries, our scars, and it is our duty to unite and help one another heal.”

He began to cry too. “My shining star, none of us would ever leave you behind. I’m so sorry we’ve made you-I’ve made you think that…” 

Keaton hiccuped and held onto his father as the dragon’s words stroked his mind. That was right…that was a wonderful night, the night Raptor dragged Thuban out of the shower so they could all be with him. All they had was words, but Keaton had grown up knowing the power of words, and now Thuban’s cradled him gently. They wouldn’t leave him, they adored him, they needed help just like he did. 

Eventually, Keaton felt like he could speak again. “I’m not – not saying you’d want to leave me,” Keaton said, voice still wet. “But…that’s life. We’re all going our own way, trying to find out where we belong. We can’t…we can’t be together forever. Not anymore.”

He shook against Thuban, who cradled the back of Keaton’s head in hand and looked down at him, surprise evident through the tears in his eyes.

“Is that truly what you want, Keaton?” Thuban asked. “For everything to be as it was? To be together with everyone again?”

Keaton looked down to hide his shame. “I-I know I shouldn’t. We were only together because of Hyperspace. Now that they’re gone, you guys can finally just live.” He sniffled. “Goggit, I don’t know how to do that. Just live. Just be normal. I’ve never been normal, and I-I didn’t have a life worth living until I met you all.”

Fresh tears dripped from his eyes into Thuban’s lap. “You all taught me so much,” he cried. “I don’t know what to do without you guys.”

“I know just what that’s like, Keaton,” Thuban said softly. “To have nothing to return to at the end of everything, and nothing to save you from feeling lost and frightened.” The dragon spared a moment’s thought for the loss of his people ��� just enough to sympathize with his son’s plight. “I know it’s difficult, and I’m sorry that you’ve had so little time to experience normal life before now. Perhaps this would have been much kinder to you then.”

He kissed the top of his son’s head, patting his back. “As I said, we all have injuries deep within us…You don’t have to act okay until you truly feel it.” He smiled, the expression’s warmth undiminished by the track of tears that soiled his fur. “And know this, my son – we will always stand with you, in body or in spirit, as you have stood with us.”

Keaton looked up at his father’s loving countenance, giving a wispy smile in return. “Thanks, Papa. But…I’m not sure the bonds of spirit are enough for me anymore. I…” He debated internally for a moment before continuing. “I’ve been looking at something for a little while, trying to make a choice about what to do. Can I…?” He wriggled slightly against Thuban, holding up the tablet in his lap as best he could.

Quickly, Thuban understood and broke his hold on the boy. “Oh, of course,” he said, shifting back onto the bed next to Keaton. He looked down at the black mirror of the tablet screen, keeping one arm loosely around his son’s body.

Keaton woke the tablet from slumber, dwelling for a moment on the lockscreen photo of him and his new family before unlocking the device with a few deft motions on the touchscreen.

The browser was already open, holding a number of tabbed pages. The current page displayed the proud logo of Mazura System University, as well as scrolling pictures of people of many species studying and smiling and having fun. Keaton was pretty sure that Liz, Feli, or Champ would show up if they waited. 

“You know about Mazura System University, right? I’ve thought about applying for a while, sort of a…backup plan in case I need to sustain myself without acting,” Keaton said. He tabbed over to a few of the other pages, bringing up information on various majors, clubs, and University culture. “I was really considering it, too, but…now I’m not so sure it’s the right choice.”

The dragon’s red eyes widened. “Keaton, that’s… that’s a capital idea,” he said quietly. “And Felipe, Champ, and Lizbeth would be there to support you and connect with you. Why ever would you reconsider?” His brows were furrowed in confusion. 

Keaton tabbed over to a page marked “Drama” that promised instruction in acting, singing, and stage crew. “I saw this. It…made me realize what I’d be giving up with you. A good life, being trained by someone who really knows and cares about me. I was…gonna abandon all of that.” He sighed. “Besides, I…I can’t help but feel like I need to get used to being on my own now. Everyone else has their life, and they’re figuring things out fine by themselves. They can’t always be around to help me. Sometimes I need to help myself.”

Thuban’s eyebrows knit into a look of contemplation as he thought for a moment. He looked up at Keaton and gently pulled his arm back to rest it on the boy’s shoulder. “Keaton, after everything you’ve told me, I think you would be best helping yourself by remaining closer to your loved ones. I do understand your intentions, but I think further isolating yourself would only continue this cycle of harm. Does that make sense?”

Keaton nodded.

“Excellent,” Thuban smiled. “I’d gladly support you if you’d like to go to college - perhaps I could dock the Asclepius on the University’s planet and make guest appearances for the drama courses you take. I am a former star, after all, I imagine they’d love having me as a guest speaker!” He laughed a little bit, but sobered up quickly after. “Regardless, you’re already making a good step by talking to me.” One of his clawed fingers wiped away the remnants of Keaton’s tears. “I think you should discuss this with your siblings, and with the others as well should you wish it.” 

Keaton was silent for a moment. “Yeah…I definitely need to talk to Felipe and Champ. I haven’t…treated them very well as of late.” 

“They video called me soon after that altercation,” Thuban remembered. “Both were very worried about you after your outburst, and they wanted to know if you were injured, ill, or otherwise harmed.”

“Did they seem mad?”

“Not at all,” Thuban replied. “Merely concerned for your well-being.” He sighed. “I absolutely urge that you speak to them - and Raptor, too.” 

Keaton blinked. “Raptor?” He asked. “I mean, nothing against her, but she hasn’t…I mean, I haven’t drawn her into this yet, like with you and my bros.”

“She’s still just as much my daughter and your sister as you are my son and her brother.” The dragon chuckled. “On top of that, she is the leader of the original Nebula Nine, back when we numbered nine. If there’s anyone who can offer you some pertinent advice about teamwork, it’s her.” 

“…Alright. I’ll send her a message sometime,” he decided. “And Felipe and Champ would…probably be free soon,” he added, calling on his memory of their schedules. “I guess I have a lot to talk about with them.” 

“Indubitably,” said Thuban. He sighed softly. “Keaton, I’m glad you came to me to talk about this. If only I had known sooner how deeply you were hurting, my sweet boy… But enough about that. I love you, son. I’m grateful that you are in my life, and I will always support you and your decisions, no matter what.” 

The corners of Keaton’s lips turned upward as one last, gentle sob bubbled up from his chest. This, he knew, was what mattered most. Not the origins of his birth, not the moments even now when he was at his worst. This feeling of love, of being wanted, was the life that he had chosen. It still wasn’t always easy, and he still felt, many days, that he wouldn’t make it through. The poison in him was thinner now, but perhaps one day, it would be gone - even if it took sharing it with everyone to truly dilute it. That was the most he could hope for, for now. 

Keaton took a breath, an easier breath than before. “Thank you, Papa. I love you, too. I’m…I still have a lot to think about, but…I’m happy I talked to you. I think I’d be lost without you. Without any of you.” 

“As would I.” Thuban took his own deep, calming breath. “Would you like to stay with me, perhaps have some tea? Or would you rather take your leave of me and do something else?” His words were, per the norm, nonjudgmental. 

Keaton thought for a moment. “Tea sounds good right now. After that, I’ll get in touch with Felipe, Champ, and Raptor and… give MSU a calmer look,” he said. “And while I have you, Papa, I’ve, uh…” His eyes slid back down toward the tablet on his lap, a bit embarrassed. “A while ago, I was thinking about how Razia’s Shadow brought you a lot of fame, and I sort of set out writing a play of my own. It’s…mostly a jumble of potential concepts written at my lowest point, but maybe there’s something there. Would you mind maybe helping me go through everything, while we’re having tea?” 

Thuban raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” he asked. “But of course, my boy! Let’s see what you have for me to look at!” His own heart’s turmoil quelled, seeing his son in higher spirits, and he rose from the bed to begin making tea, wondering what Keaton had created. 

They enjoyed their tea, and Keaton showed Thuban the fragments that he had pieced together; stories of villains protecting heroes in need, of a grand odyssey through a midnight abyss, of lonesome spirits and angels of glass, and others. All incomplete, but many full of promise.

And now that he’d shared his burden, Keaton found that things didn’t seem so dire anymore. He could take small steps instead of needing to sprint toward his future. He could enjoy the company of his family without fear that he was doing the wrong thing.

He could watch everyone else in peace instead of fearing they’d slip away if he let go.

For the first time in quite a while, Keaton didn’t worry about tomorrow being better. 

[mi6015handeldalegonzales]

Production Analysis

I have always loved movies, believing that stories on screen that take us back to the future and over the rainbow speak a language that is universal. They may not be real, but through this medium, they manage to influence our outlook on the world. This is what I think films are all about: a combination of technical and creative aspects that work in harmony to share the director’s perspective on life, and invoke specific emotions from the audience. My ultimate desire to be a filmmaker and share that perspective with my own audience is what drove me during my final project.

 I had many options in tackling this animation, be it showing off my skills, explicitly targeting the film industry, or just having fun with it. While any would have sufficed, I wanted to have full creative freedom to produce something that felt both powerful, and uniquely meaningful to me. Hence, I decided to make a personal short following a character that had undergone similar trials as I had in my life.

 Despite that, I believe that the project I ended up giving myself was too ambitious, which was corroborated by Goodfellow. This was due to having to condense the development of a whole storyline and an entire character into a two-minute animation, which meant a lot of scenes, and subsequently, numerous set designs to pack in all the information needed to convey the story. To cut this down, I had to change the story and replace the crash with a scene where the daughter falls and loses her ‘drawing competition award,’ in a bid to avoid creating an entire character arc for the animation. In this scene, the mum was supposed to arrive in her car to save the day, taking out her pen and drawing 3D wings for the daughter (the wings from the award). The story would have ended as the daughter takes flight, with a dedication fading into the sky that said, “To my mum and sister, who have always been the wind under my wings.”

 Despite how I pivoted, however, I still could not finish my changes in time due to my perfectionism. Instead of moving on to the next part of the animation, I kept finding small, negligible mistakes that I would take time out of my day trying to fix. Even as I submit my work now, there is still a lot that I want to change and improve upon. I ended up having to cut down the animation by half, including only the montage section of the initial concept, and ending it with, ‘to be continued’ for the animation to make sense.

 3D modelling was my favourite part of the whole process since I love seeing my sketches take shape in a 3-dimensional space. The process was not too hard, as I had modelled characters before, and I only needed to follow the same procedure, even managing to improve my method based on prior problems. In my previous projects, the clothes were all separate objects, causing too many tears in the model when animating. This time, I made the outfit part of the main body. The jacket was the only exception, but I still made sure to keep the vertices underneath far out from the ones for the main body, to prevent the different meshes from overlapping with each other. What I was not used to, and found more difficult, was giving the model high, defined cheekbones as it did not adhere to the basic round face I would normally create. Fortunately, with a few tweaks and experimentation, I managed to overcome this obstacle.

I’ve always found creating rigs a significant challenge, so I am thankful and fortunate that I was able to use the Advanced Skeleton, which cut my work down by weeks, compared to if I had done it manually from scratch. Even then, setting up the rig and weight painting drained me so much that my productivity levels plummeted in this section of the production process. This was because, having always preferred creative aspects over technical ones, I struggled with the lack of creative leeway in this part of the process. A challenge I encountered was the difficulty in animating natural eye blinks. When modelling, I gave the eyeballs an outer layer to create refraction from the light, making it more realistic. This layer was invisible, so I did not think it would matter that it protruded further than the eyelids. It turned out, however, that when rigging and making the eyes close, this did in fact cause problems. I did not have the time to fix these issues, and thus errors can be seen in the final animation. Still, lessons were learned; something to keep in mind for future projects.

 Ideally, I wanted a soundtrack that would elevate my project and help carry the weight of emotion I hoped would be conveyed by the short. However, it was tricky to find the right accompaniment due to copyright problems. Most free music online gave the animation the feel of a cheap advert, or made it seem like it was an amateur YouTube vlog. Even non-copyrighted lo-fi songs (which were my usual go-to) could not match the atmosphere I wanted. I even asked my housemate if he could produce a sample for me, as he is a DJ that creates some of his own tunes. Alas, that did not pan out as I kept changing the idea of my final piece and did not have the time to oversee the music production with him. Nevertheless, this may have been a blessing in disguise as I ended up finding a beautiful, free-to-use, fantasy-themed piano instrumental which yielded the right mystical and emotional ambience I desired. If given more time, I probably would have added several muffled, diegetic sounds to make the result even more atmospheric.

 The most excruciating part of the entire animation production was the creation of the 2D assets. This was because I did not have any drawing pads for digital art, and I also lacked a phone to take any photos of sketches, thus leaving my laptop mouse as my only option to draw with. Even the simplest assets were immensely tedious to make, which was the main reason why it took so long to make such a short video. I could not afford to get a drawing tablet at that time, so I just had to push through.

 Another, lesser difficulty was the colouring aspect. In one of the final project meetings with Goodfellow, he told me that he liked the colour scheme and aesthetic from the animation I submitted for the Professional Creative Production (MI6011) module and that I should try to incorporate that again into my final work. Of course, I took this as a challenge, not only to live up to expectations and previous standards, but to go above and beyond.

 It turned out to be an ambitious undertaking since colouring is not my forte. Most of my casual artwork consisted of sketches, and I was therefore not very acquainted with colour theory and design. To offset this, I took inspiration from themes of beautiful video games and movies that I liked, but had difficulty in combining everything into a uniform colour scheme throughout the whole work. I needed to make the entire piece coherent, and not like a patchwork painting reminiscent of Picasso’s more surreal works. Make it look like it is all part of the same cartoon and not a total mess of idea vomit dump. This was made even more taxing because I already had the inconsistency between the 3D and 2D characters. I eventually overcame this barrier by finding a reference point, and using hue tool to make everything match.

 In my opinion, the post production process was the most effortless part of working on this project, as I was experienced in After Effects from even before university. Neither did I find the merging of 3D and 2D that difficult, as I used an artificial greenscreen in Maya when rendering.

There were many fundamental obstacles I had to overcome during this project, but the main issue was timing and execution. Nonetheless, I am immensely proud of what I was able to produce, which showcases the tremendous amount I learned in this course, for which I am so very grateful. However, I am in some ways disappointed and unsatisfied with what I am submitting, compared to the scope of ambition in my head when I initially pictured my final film. I had a lot I wanted to give, but much of it was just not practical in the final delivery. Even then, from failure comes lessons, and I believe that despite not achieving everything I had hoped to, I have discovered a lot just from the production process. I have emerged not only more knowledgeable in both the creative and technical aspects of different areas of the pipeline, but I’ve also developed my work ethic, and myself as a person. The project has left me with so many takeaways, and I’m determined to continuously improve from here on out.

[sebbytaekookhemmings-blog]

Yoonmin - Proposal

 Jimin:

After my macaron stunt, Yoongi has made it his mission to turn up late to places or make me worried to show me how he felt, I do admit I was wrong to be so late and not call, but this isn’t fair! He turned up to dance practice late, our date on Tuesday and now he’s late home. I grumble to myself as I walk past the entity that is Taekook, seeing Taehyung cuddled into Jungkook’s chest whilst he watches YouTube with the tablet on Tae’s back.

“Hey Jimin” Jungkook whispers, aware of his sleeping boyfriend below and nestles into his hair more. I nod at him and look at the cuddling pair on the sofa, “still having trouble with Yoongi?” he asks quietly, I’m glad someone cares, even if it is the maknae.

“Yeah, he keeps turning up late because I did it once” I stutter out, feeling ashamed of the way I feel.

“Who knows” he replies, I look at him confused and begin to retract my thoughts about him caring, “what?” I snap at him, feeling angry with everyone now.

“I mean maybe he is up to something or making something” he looks at me and smiles, “koookie” I hear a quiet moan of Tae, “yeah baby?” Jungkook replies calmly and turning the tablet off to pay attention to Taehyung, “can we go to bed now?” he asks quietly, still nuzzling into Jungkook’s chest, I just stand in the corner of the kitchen, listening to what I sometimes wish I had with Yoongi.

“Of course, we can beautiful.” And in one swift motion, Jungkook picks up Tae in a forward hold, Tae’s arms clenching around his neck and loosely hanging on his back. Jungkook slides the iPad in Tae’s hoodie pocket and carries him to their room, but before leaving he looks at me, “I’m sure Yoongi means well Jimin” and smiles. I nod back and with that the two leave. Now I’m alone in the dorm kitchen, sipping on a strawberry milkshake waiting for anything.

The light buzzes above my head and slowly outside is growing a deeper shade of black, looking at my phone it reads “1AM” This is a bit extreme I think to myself, but as I look up I see a small framed person come through the front door, with a carrier bag full of items. He is hooded and wearing a cap, looks like he is trying to hide from the paparazzi, so it must be one of the members.

“Shit be quiet Yoongi” he whispers to himself.

YOONGI! I think to myself, I’m so happy he is here and safe but still mad at the fact he is so late, instead of screaming hello and running to hug him, I decided to quietly stay where I am and watch him and his movements that follow.

He takes the carrier bag and checks what’s in it, soon taking his jacket off as he does to reveal he is wearing black skinny jeans, a white shirt and black suit jacket. Flicking his much-hated converse off his small feet, he scurries off in the direction of the dorms, to which I can only assume is our room, also known as my room.

Much like Taekook, we share a room, choosing the biggest room out of the couple, in Yoonmin’s case it was mine and so Yoongi’s room is now an office and wardrobe space for us, sometimes Yoongi sleeps in there too during the day but often we resort to our shared dorm.

I follow him quietly, watching him and the bag slip into the doorway, “ah perfect he isn’t here” he mutters to himself, confused as to why he is pleased about my absence, I take the hint that I’m not supposed to be there and walk back quietly.

The kitchen is boring and so I choose to message Hobi Hyung and see if he is up.

Hyung?

Chimchim?

You up?

Evidently you idiot haha, what’s up?

Can I come in your room for a bit?

Yes! Of course! You want to play overwatch or something?

Sure, sounds great :)

I trundle off to Hobi’s room to expect a couple hours of silent laughing and being competitive over a video game, knocking on the door gently I await Hobi and his bright smile to acquaint me.

“Ah Chimchim! Hi come in!” He pokes his head out of the door, almost trying to be secretive and funny, he makes his face go funny as he checks for people around, I chuckle at his charade and walk on in once he deems his secret spy sense sustained.

“So, what brings you to Hobi palace?” He says, spreading his arms wide like in his Daydream music video, I laugh at his silly behaviour and sit down on a chair, grabbing a controller and brushing my hair back. He sits next to me and places his hand on my shoulder, I realise he already knows why I am here.

“I know you are having trouble with Yoongi, it’ll be ok! Yoongi just has these moments where he wipes everything from him to truly think and comes back to it all. Usually when he has a big decision to make” His smile seems to get brighter and almost like he is hinting something. What is it with the members and their implicit hints today! First Jungkook and now Hobi. I shrug and laugh it off, he soon retracts his hand and loads up the game, beginning to make gun noises, “pew pew! Pew!” I can’t help but smile at his actions and soon we begin to competitively play the game.

Hours pass, and defeats seem to ruin Hobi. Jungkook taught me how to win effectively whilst playing with Taehyung on overwatch, so I pretty much know all the best ways as I was taught by the golden maknae himself. Hobi begins to yawn as it is now 3AM, “Chimchim, I’m sorry but I need to sleep, I know it’s a free day tomorrow but still” I nod and agree, “That’s okay Hobi, thank you for letting me come in” I place the controller away as he crawls into bed. “Y’know” he begins to talk, “you could always stay the night?” he winks at me, trying to ignite a burning Hopemin romance and props himself on the bed seductively, I laugh at his joke as I stand by the door about to leave. “I think ill go back to my boyfriend now” I laugh, and he soon laughs too, sighing for dramatic effect, “I guess so” and he curls into bed, “’ always here for you Jimin” he adds. “I know you are Hobi” and with that I close the door.

My phone soon vibrates in my pocket, notifying me of something I am unware of at this stage in time, I peer at my screen, now reading “5AM” and see a text message.

Where are you bb? X

Its Yoongi, I sigh at the message and reply,

I am coming back to the room right now don’t worry x

And walk back to my room, expecting him to be in bed or mad at me for being so late. My head is sickened with these negative thoughts, I feel so low and upset about us. I should be happy or lucky or gleeful and yet all I want to do is cry or hide in a ball of blankets until it all feels okay again. I don’t know why I feel like this, my head doesn’t want to go back to my room, but my legs carry me there anyway, almost as if I must go back, I have no choice. I soon place my hand on the door handle, pushing it down to open the door, the handle is cold and yet the room for some reason is radiating so much heat….

Yoongi:

Fucking candles I think to myself, I had lit about 40…. Well 46 to be exact and placed them all around the room. There was quiet music in the background as it was 5AM and flower petals of gentle yellows scattered freely across the floor. I had gone to a lot of trouble to get this all perfect for Jimin, days of not talking or being on time; the flowers, the candles, the music, the ring, the whole lot.

I check the ring one last time, beautiful I think as I stare at the simple yet detailed ring. Nothing to masculine but nothing too feminine, it was small and silver, with three diamonds set in the band, small and aligned but nothing to flashy that Jimin wouldn’t be distracted by.

I hear the door handle push down and take a final breath, his head is hung down loose and he closes the door behind him, soon spinning around to see me on one knee in my suit attire to an extent. His face priceless, my face priceless, he is shocked, and I am so happy yet about to cry with nerves, we stare for a few minutes before I remember I have to say something, I cough and begin to talk quietly.

“Jimin, I know I haven’t be fair to you, and we have had our struggles. We have been in BTS together for a long time now, and I have loved every part of it, especially with you in it, I know at times you’ve been sad or I have been angry but every day, I remember that you love me and that I love you, I guess that’s what keeps me going through all the hardship of life, knowing I have you, no matter how mad or lonely I feel some times.” Tears begin to fall from his eyes, his smile hidden under his hand as he turns into an adorable mochi, his face beautiful as ever and him speechless at my words, I decide to carry on,

“now, my leg really hurts from kneeling like this for a couple of hours, but it is all worth it for you, everything is okay with you and you keep me happy and at bay. What I am trying to say is I love you and would you be willing to spend the rest of your life with me, as married partners?” I ask the question, breathing as I finally got the words out with no mess ups, or mistakes. He is still crying with joy, I hope, but also still hunched up quiet, “Jimin?” I ask, worried if he is ok.

He soon gets on his knees too, facing me directly and I too kneel of both of my legs, he places his hands around my face, causing me to smile and feel his warm hands around me, he smiles back at me, “Yoongi, you make me so worried, you confuse me, you tire me out, you make me mad…” with these words I feel worried as to whether he will say yes, the negative answer seems more promising at this stage, but I continue to listen in hope.

“But you also make me smile, laugh and you love me, I will love you eternally and can’t think of anything I would want more than to be yours forever and for you to be mine.” I smile at his words and small tears begin to fall from my eyes, I laugh to myself and face him directly, “in short?” I laugh, and he nods his head down in laughter, “Yes!” he giggles and soon we both stand up, kissing tightly and his hands around my waist, I slip the ring onto his finger, throwing the box god knows where, lifting his arms around my neck and putting mine on his waist. Pulling him in tightly and deepening the kiss, I release, “jump” I whisper smiling and he does as he is told perfectly, he jumps up and fastens his legs around my waist perfectly, kissing me tightly even more and exploring each-others mouth attentively and hungrily, smiling into the kiss.

Soon I place him on to the bed, kissing him still, both of us sickened with happiness and love in our heads, I move my kisses all over his neck, causing him to arch slightly but also breathe out in pleasure, “Yoongi…” I smirk and soon crawl up to beside him, bopping his nose and he smiles. Cuddling into me on the bed, I immediately turn into the big spoon, holding him tightly and both of us smiling stupidly.

I kiss his forehead, “I love you Park Jimin”, I really love him, more than anyone in the world, more than myself.    

Jimin:

I hear his sweet voice and breath blow against my hair, I cuddle in more and begin to admire the ring on my finger, beautiful, I think to myself.

“I love you Min Yoongi”

I really do love him, no human has affected me so much like Min Yoongi, and I love him and thank him for it all.

No more negativity felt, no more sadness, just pure happiness and luck, I’m so lucky to have Yoongi and will never leave him. Yoonmin forever

[ephemerational]

Outside looking in (VI)

Somewhere, between the smallish city of Rasten and the adjacent corporate district, a magnet train glides silently through the night. Almost silently. Inside of the third wagon, a soft, almost harmonious whistling is generated by wind blowing past a bullet hole in the window. A middle-aged businessman with a goatee, a revolver and a tunnel from the front to the backside of his head sits in front of it.

"a shame, really, he'd be cute with an intact skull"

"do you think they killed him because he knew too much? Got rid of the brain matter, destroyed the evidence?"

"well they definitely killed him"

The elder of the two girls sitting to either side of the corpse scrolls through the almost comical amount of emails this guy seemed to be getting. I would guess she’s somewhere in her early twenties, while the one who just commented on the attractiveness of a cadaver can’t be older than eighteen.

"poor schmuck had to take care of some assholes shit basically every five minutes. Must have had the patience of a saint to wait until he's on the train to blow his brains out."

"praise be"

She sounds almost sincere as she folds her hands like this is the tragic grave site of a deceased martyr, a temple gliding through the air at 200mph. Were it not for the accurate time indication on the top right of my screen, I would assume that I was somehow receiving some kind of absurd tv show.

The younger girl, dressed in vibrantly colored, trendy though utterly uncoordinated articles of clothing takes a sandwich out of their fellow passenger’s suitcase and beams with joy when she sees that no blood got on it.

"we just ate"

"so what? It'll get soggy if I wait. You wouldn't want his wife to have put in all of this effort for nothing."

"how much would you bet on his marital status"

The young girl cocks an eyebrow

"that's not fair, you have his phone!"

"seems to be purely business though. No pictures, no private calls, nothing."

While poking a finger into the dead man's cheek the younger sister has taken to scolding him. Or maybe they’re not actually sisters? Who knows?

"now that's no way to live mister corpse, you should have at least had photos of your hot naked wife to look at during breaks. Just imagine how happy that would have made her."

"she's hot now? What else do you know about this hypothetical wife, on whose existence you still haven't wagered anything."

"my sandwich then, you can practically taste the love that went into this. And of course she's hot, he managed to go on for this long after all."

"deal, tell me if you find something."

"that wasn't what I meant by did they kill him by the way. I was more thinking conspiracy."

"I know, but that's the first thing your mind goes to every time"

"well it would be so much more interesting"

"we literally saw this guy pull the trigger from the luggage department."

Oh, so that's where they came from. I was already considering befittingly ridiculous ways in which they could have somehow showed up in a train which previously just carried this guy, like entering from the roof of the moving Leviton.

"they still could have blackmailed him or something"

"you don't actually believe that"

"No, but thinking about it is fun"

She checks a pocket on the inside of his suit.

"found his wallet!"

“Excellent, how much did he have on him?”

“About 600 bucks, and no family pictures anywhere. What’s wrong with this guy”

“What will it take for you to believe that he didn’t have one?”

The girl looks to her sandwich, then back to her sister.

“I don’t care, you can keep the sandwich… If you can get the blood out of his suit.”

Her companion rubs the fabric between her fingers.

“Leave it to me!”

They… Oh god, they undress the dead businessman and stuff his suit into a bag. Should I call the police? No. Even aside from the uncomfortable situation that explaining the surveillance equipment I have in one of corporate’s Levitons would create, what would the point be? These girls don’t seem dangerous, just kind of unnerving. And besides, what’s the harm in robbing him, especially if he doesn’t have a “hot wife”? It’s certainly better than his possessions going to corporate. I look over at a picture of my own hot wife as I try to convince myself that this line of reasoning isn’t just a flimsy excuse not to intervene in the events unfolding behind the screen. To keep my distance from the outside word and not be swallowed by it. There would be no point in having the screen to begin with if I were to cross that sacred barrier.

Wait, maybe Mimi knows this guy. Wouldn’t be the first time one of her coworkers “removes themselves from the payroll” as she occasionally refers to it. I haven’t spoken to my wife in about a month, so I’m somewhat hesitant to open a conversation with “Hey, some poor soul committed suicide on the L39, were you acquainted?”, but then again, she is the last person to care about this kind of social decorum, possibly the only person to be more comfortable with this than with small talk. I send her an encrypted image from the video feed and add the question if she wants to come over sometime.

A reply comes instantly, despite it being 3 a.m.

“Never met him, but investigators ask me if I’ve seen these girls pretty much weekly.”

“what do they get up to?”

“Are you actually considering calling the cops?”

“Please don’t, they’re so cute.”

“Probably not, I’m just gauging how guilty I should feel about this inaction.”

“As far as I know they’re just thieves, probably from the huts.”

“Maybe? The way they speak doesn’t really fit.”

“Be that as it may, they’re precious and I’ll be really sad if corporate catches them one day.”

“April 11. Should work.”

“That’s only two weeks from now and you don’t have an exact time?”

“Mimi, are you sick?”

“I’m not giving you a time, because it’s the entire day. We’ll be on shutdown”

“Well I guess I’d better make some preparations then. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I push my chair backwards to escape the panopticon of monitors which I have constructed in the corner of my bedroom. This surveillance station and the other equipment connected to it easily make up for half of all value in this apartment, which admittedly isn’t much. A quick glance around the corner reveals that the blinds are indeed down, not that anyone is likely to be outside at this time of night in this neighborhood. It still gives me some sense of security, of control. I like being the one in charge of when to interact with reality.

Safe from any and all prying eyes, I get up for some good old-fashioned pacing. There’s definitely something to be said for wandering aimlessly around one’s abode after getting up, reevaluating the events of the past day with the necessary distance, making plans, thinking in general while using the body to stay grounded in the physicality of one’s own world. The subtle sway and rhythmic steps along with the residual sleepiness being conducive to all kinds of ponderings.

Usually I follow this ritual the moment I wake up, but there were some extraordinary circumstances today, starting with a gunshot that beat my alarm by about five minutes. I ducked into the surveillance station to find that someone had shot himself on an otherwise empty train, or a train that looked empty until two girls appeared from what I now know to be luggage department. To add to an already exceptionally strange morning, my workaholic wife revealed to me that she will have a full day off soon, which really only allows for one reasonable conclusion: I am still dreaming. This is way too good.

Then again… I scan the text on a pack of caffeine pills before dropping one in a mug and boiling some water. I’s impossible to read in a dream. You just kind of know what things say and words change when you focus on them. These lists of components and warnings on the other hand, despite partially being in languages I don’t speak stay consistent. I really will be with Mimi for a full day, huh? I should think about hat food to get. The hot water flows in a flawless spiral onto the ground coffee in my filter and drips slowly into the mug, dissolving the caffeine tablet little by little. I lean back against the counter. School starts in about four hours, so I better finish some prep-work work for the lessons, but not before checking back in with those two preliminary graverobbers. I anxiously await the last few drops falling before throwing away the filter in a practiced motion and running back to my monitors mug in hand.

The older girl stands incredibly close to the camera, probably on top of the seats, her face taking up most of the screen.

“That’s an odd position, why would they need additional cameras here?”

“Doesn’t look like corporate hardware.”

“So what, some creep is just spying on passengers? Doesn’t seem like a promising angle for those kinds of purposes.”

Ouch

“Well, it definitely looks expensive, let’s take it.”

What? No!

The screen goes back. I somehow feel violated.

[thefaultinmyhyungs]

To Be Continued...

Genres: Romance, Fluff, Slice of Life, Multi-Chapter Fic

Word Count: 5,674

Jeon Jungkook x OC (Lee Sora)

July 5, 2015

I’m not really sure where to begin with this. Starting with the moment we first met seems too abrupt and quite frankly, it wouldn’t be a fair representation of where we both came from.

Instead, I think it’d be more appropriate to start with an idea. Perhaps the concept of love? Because that’s exactly what it is - a concept. Nothing more, nothing less. Does love truly exist in a definitive form or does it remain subjective and ever-changing? I would be lying if I said I knew exactly what love is or how it should feel.

So no, our first meeting was definitely not the elusive “love-at-first-sight” that we all chase after. Not a cell in my body is willing to believe that such a thing exists because our definitions of love are too different, too unique, and too twisted to live up to even our own expectations. Ultimately, maybe the phrase “attraction-at-first-sight” is more fitting.

I say “attraction” because I’m inclined to believe that it was mutual. Whether or not it truly was, I can’t be 100% certain.

But back to the reason I started this.

It was a dreary Tuesday afternoon when we first met. Not exactly the ideal weather conditions for a picturesque meeting. But then again, I suppose our story was destined to be unconventional in more ways than one.

I was anxious as our car entered campus. Our aging sedan rolled smoothly under the gates of the Busan School of Performing Arts. It was unfamiliar territory, filled with both strangers and new opportunities. I was here to make a good impression and the pressure to do well was constantly in the back of my mind.

I was about to enter what my peers would come to call a modern-day concentration camp for young pianists like myself. Ten days of intense practice in an artistically challenging environment, coupled with private lessons and master classes from highly-educated, world-class professors. It was a festival that many musicians could only ever dream of attending.

I glanced at the clock on the dashboard of the car and took a shaky breath. It was time.

“We’ll circle back to your dorms and drop off your luggage, Sora-yah,” my mother said from the passenger seat. “Make sure you greet the professors politely.”

“I will,” I promised, reaching into the front of the car to squeeze my mother’s hand. “You guys have fun in Jeju and I’ll see you in a few days.”

“You better not mess this up,” Chanwoo, my younger brother, teased from behind the screen of his smartphone.

“Don’t forget to call or text us if you need anything,” my dad urged, grinning at me through the rearview mirror.

“I’ll be fine,” I tried to smile but it came out as a grimace instead. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

After a chorus of goodbyes were exchanged, I was out of the car and racing towards the music building. Five more minutes and I would be considered late. Late was unacceptable, especially on the very first day.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I chanted to myself as I dashed through the hallways, panting heavily. Just where was the auditorium-

Ah.

I gulped before steeling myself and entering.

“Lee Sora?” a friendly voice immediately greeted me. My ears picked up on the infamous Seoul accent many of my friends dreamed of having, my eyes scanning the room to find its source and landing on a pair of warm brown eyes that were shining with excitement and a touch of frenzy. “Glad you could make it here on time!”

“Hello...Professor Lim?” I managed in a timid voice, not completely sure how to address the program coordinator of the festival. She had seemed nice enough through the thread of emails that had been exchanged between us but her almost manic energy made me hesitant in sharing her enthusiasm.

“Go ahead and call me Yujin! It’s so nice to finally meet you face-to-face! We have some refreshments outside if you wanted something to snack on before dinner. The introductory workshop will start in just a few moments since we’re still waiting on a few late stragglers.”

And just as suddenly as she had appeared, she swept past me with her fingers flying across a small tablet and mumbling about flight delays.

Taking Yujin’s advice, I grabbed a bottle of water and a small banana, before turning around to come face-to-face with the very professor that had invited me to the festival.

I had first met Professor Min when I traveled to Busan for a national competition the previous year. Although the results of the contest had been less than satisfactory, Professor Min had been so impressed by my playing that she had personally reached out to me and asked that I attend her very own festival. It was no secret that the generous lady held many connections to renowned faculty members around the world. Being on Professor Min’s good side would broaden one’s musical horizon, so to speak.

“Professor, it’s so nice to see you again! I wanted to thank-” I was cut off as she wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug.

“It’s been too long, my dear Sora,” she pulled back to give me a warm smile. I returned it, surprised at the amount of strength she possessed despite her age. “I’m looking forward to hearing more of your playing this summer. From what I recall, your Abegg Variations were quite exquisite.”

“Thank you, Professor,” I mumbled in gratitude, touched that she had remembered a performance from nearly a year ago.

“I hope that you’ll continue to grow in your stay here,” she rubbed my arm encouragingly before ushering me inside the auditorium. She left to greet another participant as I continued to observe my surroundings, trying to determine which seat would allow me to socialize the most effectively.

I spotted a girl a few seats to my left, making small talk with a few other participants and gesticulating wildly.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” I approached her, a bit wary of her hyperness.

“Not at all,” she smiled at me kindly, dimples appearing in her cheeks. I smiled when I heard a touch of the Daegu dialect in her otherwise flawless Seoul accent.

“Mind if I sit?” I continued hesitantly, not even bothering to hide my Gwangju accent, secretly breathing a sigh of relief when she shook her head and patted the spot.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, slipping my backpack and jacket off before re-adjusting my hat and settling down.

“I’m Tae Gayoung by the way,” she held out a hand for me to shake.

“Oh!” I turned to her curiously, gripping her outstretched hand firmly. “Lee Sora. You must be the roommate that Professor Lim - erm - Yujin mentioned in her emails.”

“Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed, straightening in her seat. “Please tell me you’re still in high school.”

“P-pardon?” I cleared my throat, my brows scrunching in confusion.

“Although you do look a bit mature for a high schooler…” Gayoung trailed off, rubbing her chin as she mulled over the thought.

“I’m going to be a senior in the fall,” I confirmed.

“A senior?! You must be freakishly talented then,” she smiled in wonder at me.

“N-no, I’m afraid I don’t quite follow your...logic on this,” I admitted, wondering what exactly she was getting at.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but this festival is actually geared towards college and graduate students,” Gayoung leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “Take a look around. I guarantee that everybody here is at least 19.”

I did as she said and realized that she was right. There was a general air of maturity that permeated through the room, a sense of responsibility that often escaped the minds of high schoolers.

Just as the thought of being the youngest one here was beginning to overwhelm me, I spotted a boy with a lanky frame sitting towards the back of the auditorium next to a woman that I could only assume was his mother. He was dressed fashionably in monochromatic colors, his pitch black hair styled impeccably to frame his pale face.

“What about him then?” I asked Gayoung, waiting expectantly to see what kind of explanation she’d offer up this time. “Wait, are you even in college?”

“I did hear that the festival was making some exceptions this year for prospective music majors,” Gayoung didn’t miss a beat. “They’re hoping to start young and wheedle more kids into staying in the music field instead of running off to pursue the sciences or something. And yes, I’m going to be a freshman in college this fall. I just haven’t decided what to study yet so I was hoping to change that by coming here.”

I sighed pitifully before slumping in my seat, accepting my fate of inexperience and resolving to spend the next ten days never leaving my practice room.

“Listen,” Gayoung grabbed my shoulders and squeezed softly. “If you weren’t good enough for this program, you wouldn’t be here. So stop doubting yourself.”

I nodded my thanks before busying myself with the task of making new friends, murmuring rushed introductions and taking the time to soak in new information about the strangers that surrounded me.

As the general excitement of the auditorium began to die down, a boy around my age gently situated himself in front of me. He was joined a few moments later by the boy I had spotted earlier, the two of them easily slipping into a conversation as if they were old friends.

I paid them no further attention, fully engrossed in a conversation about the differences in music score editions when I heard muffled coughing that was slowly increasing in volume and frequency.

I looked up, frowning in concern when I saw the boy in front of me doubled over in his efforts to recover from his coughing fit. I immediately reached down to retrieve my water bottle, twisting the cap open and tentatively placing a hand on his back.

“Excuse me, but would you like some water?” I asked.

“Thanks,” it was the other lanky boy that answered. He took the bottle gratefully, bending down to offer it to his acquaintance. I was about to return to my previous conversation when a hand reached out to grab my wrist and stop me.

“Thank you,” a new voice whispered.

I turned, distracted by the unexpected pleasantness of that single phrase in the warm tambors of the stranger’s low tenor voice.

That was my first mistake.

I had never truly believed in love-at-first-sight, in a happily-ever-after. But the moment I locked eyes with the boy, I questioned that belief for the first time in my life.

I want to say that he felt it too. Whether it was the same enchantment that washed over me was another matter entirely but I saw something in the way his eyes widened slightly, felt something in the way his grip tightened around my arm unconsciously.

I don’t know how long we remained frozen in place. I just knew that as I was drinking him in fully for the first time, I was already trying to commit his face to memory.

My eyes roamed across his handsome features, marveling at the greenish flecks that sparkled in his strange hazel eyes, the bronze glow of his skin, the crookedness of his smile. He was lean but not quite as skinny as the paler boy next to him, his skin taut against the muscles that he was beginning to develop.

I felt a nudge to my side and just barely registered Gayoung harshly whispering my name. That brought me back to reality and I blinked, unable to look away from the boy completely.

“O-oh, you’re welcome.”

My voice sounded robotic compared to the richness of tones in the boy’s voice and I winced at its plainness.

“Forgive me, where are my manners? I completely forgot to introduce myself. I’m Jeon Jungkook.”

The hand that had been holding onto my wrist pulled back and grasped my limp one instead, giving it a firm shake before disappearing entirely.

“Lee Sora,” I answered shakily, clearing my throat. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he smirked, his Busan accent creeping out slightly. “I-”

He was cut off when Professor Min suddenly rose from her seat, clapping her hands together to get our attention. Silence fell over the auditorium and I tore my eyes away from Jungkook, twisting in my seat as I waited expectantly.

“Welcome to the Busan School of Performing Arts,” she began warmly. “My colleague Professor Shin and I are delighted to be working with such potential this summer and we hope that you enjoy your stay here. This will be your home for the next ten days so we decided to conduct a small gathering to acquaint everyone with their peers.”

“Now that everyone’s here, let’s begin the informal playing class,” Professor Shin took over. “The objective of this is to familiarize yourself with the piano and the concert hall, not to determine where you fit in level-wise amongst everyone.”

“So who would like to volunteer to be the first onstage?” Yujin appeared in the back of the auditorium, her brown eyes still wide and eager.

Everyone immediately looked away from the professors, suddenly finding extreme interest in their shoes. I hesitated, trying to decide if I should just go up and get the performance over with. At the same time, I was worried about appearing arrogant or overconfident in case the performance didn’t go well.

“I’ll go first.”

I was saved by Jungkook, who stood up and smoothed out his shirt. Gayoung’s mouth fell open in awe at his ease and willingness. I pursed my lips, unsure whether to be impressed or not by his bravery.

“Wonderful, Mr. Jeon,” Professor Min reclined in her seat. “And what will you be playing for us today?”

“The intermezzo movement in Carnival de Vienna by Schumann,” he declared smoothly as he made his way to the stage. We clapped politely as he took a bow and adjusted the height of the bench.

I sat forward on the edge of my seat, my hands clasped together in anticipation. Schumann was one of my favorite composers and I was particularly fond of the piece he was about to perform. I was curious to hear his interpretation and whether it would be pleasant or not.

His performance was enthralling but not too dramatic and I was surprised to find that I had liked his playing. It had been on the blurry side and he hadn’t followed the score entirely, but his musicality and soul had shown through his playing and I knew instantly that Jungkook found enjoyment in playing.

On his way back to his seat, I caught his eye.

“What’d you think?” he seemed to say.

I kept my face neutral and stared him down, feeling my competitive nature flare on the inside.

Not bad. But I can do better.

“Who would like to go next-”

My hand shot up into the air before I even consciously made the decision to play. Jungkook continued to watch me steadily, silently daring me to top his performance. I walked onto the stage, still unsure where the audacity to challenge him came from, panicking at my impulsiveness but knowing that it was too late to turn back now.

“And what will you be playing for us today?” Professor Min’s expectant voice made me straighten my back. I lifted my chin slightly, hoping that I wasn’t exuding too much haughtiness, and graciously lowered myself into a bow. I rose fluidly, my left hand gripping tightly onto the edge of the piano.

“I’ll be playing a Mozart sonata,” I said softly.

There was a collective intake of breath as my choice of repertoire sunk into the room. It was interesting, to say the least, definitely not as flashy as many of the romantic composers that had become stars amongst non-classically trained audiences. There was, however, a certain complexity to the simplicity of Mozart’s music that caused even seasoned musicians to shy away from attempting it, scared of the bare exposure that was inevitable in the music’s purity.

I sat down and briefly adjusted the seat for comfort before closing my eyes and exhaling once. When I opened them again, my fingers found the keys that would start the piece and pressed down effortlessly, the action almost entirely second nature as the music spilled out of me.

It sounds cliche but I forgot about everything else except for the pressure of my fingers against the polished ivory and the sound that resonated around me. It was almost dreamlike, how I seemed to fade in and out of reality as I started and ended the piece.

There was a beat of silence when my fingers first left the keyboard, the last chord still lingering in the air. Then a single clap, quickly joined by another and another until the whole room was filled with the sound of approval. I breathed a little sigh of relief, satisfied that I had proven myself for the time being at least.

I bowed once more before leaving the stage and heading back to my seat. I stole a quick glance towards the mysterious boy that had temporarily left my thoughts, quickly averting my eyes when I felt the back of my neck flush at the sight of him already looking at me. Now that I wasn’t effectively distracted, he was quickly sneaking his way back into my head and try as I might, I couldn’t find the strength to stop it.

I all but collapsed back into my seat, my knees weak as they gave out from underneath me. Whether it was leftover adrenaline from my performance or the boy, I couldn’t be sure.

“I told you that you had nothing to worry about,” Gayoung nudged my shoulder playfully, her tone teasing and almost proud. “You absolutely killed it just now.”

“You flatter me,” I chuckled, happy that even if the rest of this festival ended in failure, perhaps I would at least have gained a new friend in her.

“That was something else.”

A shiver ran down my spine as I mentally prepared myself to respond.

“The Mozart, I mean,” Jungkook clarified, clearing his throat and making me pause. Besides the piece, what else could he have been referring to?

“Ah,” I said dumbly, my eyes widening in embarrassment at the obvious lack of eloquence in my speech. “I mean...thank you. Really.”

“Of course,” he smirked, his eyes smoldering under the darkened auditorium lighting. He turned back around to face the front just as Professor Shin selected the next performer and I slumped against my seat, releasing the tension in my body.

The rest of the class passed by too quickly, with each performance revealing yet another talented pianist, their unique gifts fully demonstrating why they had been invited to attend such a prestigious program. At the end, I was left equally intimidated and inspired by these artists.

“Professor Min! Please excuse the tardiness I was trying to make reservations for-”

A tan girl with long, glossy black hair came to an awkward halt in the middle of the auditorium as all of us turned to see who had interrupted Yujin’s speech about campus safety precautions. She smiled sheepishly, conjuring up a dry chuckle from both professors and a slight huff of irritation from Yujin.

“Areum, how nice of you to join us,” Professor Min grinned warmly. “I gather that you’ve finally found a restaurant that holds a table big enough for these sixteen wonderful individuals?”

“Er, yes, that would be correct,” she nodded fervently.

“I guess this would be as good a time as any to introduce you all to Hong Areum,” Yujin interjected smoothly. “Areum’s a senior here at BPSA and a student of Professor Min. She’ll be your foster parent for the next ten days. If you need any help, just call for her and she’ll be there to assist you. You can find her number listed in the contact list that I’ve provided in your handy-dandy information packet-”

“Yes, that’s quite alright, Yujin-ssi,” Professor Min cut in. “Professor Shin and I have a lecture to attend and I do believe our guests must be tired and hungry after a day of traveling. Let’s proceed on to dinner shall we?”

“Right away, Professor,” Yujin finally relented. “Follow Areum if you’re done getting registered and unpacking. I’ll meet everyone in the lobby of the dorms for a quick tour at 8:00pm. Don’t be late!”

“Talk about a control freak. She’s probably written down a daily shower schedule for all of us to follow too,” Gayoung muttered next to me and I bit back a snort. We made our way towards the exit of our row where Jungkook and his friend were already waiting.

“After you,” he said smoothly and I had to actively fight the heat crawling up my face.

I stumbled my way to the front of the entourage, ignoring Gayoung’s calls for me to slow down as I tried to put some distance between myself and the distraction that Jungkook was quickly proving to be.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I cried as I bumped into Areum in my haste. She flashed me a reassuring smile and languidly dismissed my clumsiness.

“No worries,” she said pleasantly. “Don’t mind me, but I missed the introductory session because Yujin was having me run errands and didn’t quite catch your name.”

“I’m Sora,” I reached out a hand to shake hers. “Lee Sora.”

“Ah, Professor Min’s mentioned you a couple of times,” Areum’s eyes widened in recognition. “I was wondering who the Lee Sora would be. It’s a shame I had to miss hearing you play.”

“No, no I’m really not all that special-”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Professor Min’s got an eye for talent, that lady knows when she sees something golden. I mean she’s practically raised Jungkook and Taehyung and they’re Busan’s prodigies-”

“Jeon Jungkook? The one in this program?” I spluttered.

“Yeah the one being an idiot with Taehyung right now,” she pointed towards the back of the group and I caught sight of Jungkook messing around with his lanky companion.

“You know them well?” I broached the topic carefully.

“Well enough,” she shrugged. “Jungkook and I shared the same teacher, before I started attending BSPA. I’ve known Jungkook longer than Taehyung because of that but the two have been rivals in their age division since I could remember. Best of friends too which is kind of surprising, I know. But I guess they’ve both got respect for each other, they’re practically inseparable.”

“Wow,” I exhaled, unsure how else to respond.

“Eh, no need to be too impressed. It’ll get to their heads,” Areum laughed suddenly. “They are dethroned occasionally. It just doesn’t happen very often.”

I nodded slowly, trying to process the boy’s shared reputation. Honestly, it was quite intimidating and I didn’t need another reminder of the overbearing pressure riding on my shoulders. But it also made me curious about them. Jungkook, in particular, but I wasn’t ready to admit that to myself yet.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself? I’ve gone on babbling for long enough,” Areum said and I grinned slightly.

“What do you want to know?” I brushed aside a stray strand of hair as I turned to face her.

“I want to know how you’ve managed-” she paused and eyed me impishly, a mischievous smirk appearing on her face. “In less than two hours, you’ve somehow managed to catch the attention of Jeon Jungkook - supreme casanova. Tell me, just what did you do to have him wrapped so completely around your pinky finger?”

I blanched, tripping over my own feet and nearly falling into a passerby as her words rolled over.

“Ex-excuse me?” I choked slightly, unable to form a coherent thought.

“Please,” Areum said. “I’ve known that kid for ages. He’s been sneaking looks your way every two minutes and you expect me to believe that he’s not interested? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”

“I-I…” I trailed off, unsure how to respond. Confusing emotions warred inside of me, the instinct to run and hide battling with my unsolicited pleasure at what Areum had said.

“I just came to figure out what it is I want to do with my music,” I couldn’t find the courage to answer her directly. “I’ve got to make a decision soon, figure out if this is really what I want to do in my life.”

“That wasn’t exactly what I asked,” she mused.

“I don’t have time to worry about whether Lover Boy’s got the hots for me or not,” I relented. “Although if you ask me, I think that you’re opinion is baseless and completely unfounded-”

“Getting defensive now, aren’t we?” she smiled knowingly and I abruptly shut my mouth. “I’m just teasing, of course. But then again, I wouldn’t mind front row tickets to a summer romance because I really do think you look good together.”

“It’s only been two hours-” I started to protest, unsettled at how easily the girl had tuned into my fresh attraction.

“And we’re here!” Areum paused in front of a quaint Chinese restaurant and ushered us inside. Gayoung latched onto my arm as she finally caught up to me and huffed tiredly.

“Gosh, are we going to have to walk this far everyday just to get into town?” she sighed dramatically, fanning herself.

“It was only a few blocks,” I laughed at her distress, momentarily forgetting my own.

Dinner was a quiet affair as the participants generally kept to themselves save for Taehyung and Jungkook’s witty banter and Gayoung’s determination to convince me that floral-patterned pants had been a major fashion breakthrough.

“I’m telling you, you’ve just gotta give them a chance and they’ll....”

I rolled my eyes at her stubbornness, turning to the side to refill my cup of water only to find that Jungkook had apparently had the same idea.

“After you,” he repeated the same words from earlier and a sudden trail of heat flicked up to color my cheeks.

My hands grabbed shakily onto the pitcher’s handle and it nearly slipped out of my grip until he reached out to cover my fingers with his own and steady it. He guided the lip towards my cup, gracefully filling it before doing the same with his own cup.

He helped me set the heavy pitcher down before returning to his conversation with Taehyung, leaving me to my own devices. I tried to ignore the tingling sensation his touch had left on my skin as I faced Gayoung again and threw myself into the topic of floral pants if only to keep him out of my mind.

I was overly-relieved when Areum finally offered to show us her apartment and use her fridge for our leftovers. The waitress easily poured our food into plastic white containers and after paying for our meal, we were back on the streets.

This time, Gayoung’s iron grip forced me to stay with her in the back of the group. Which also meant that Jungkook and Taehyung were the only ones close enough to keep us immediate company.

“Mind if we join you two?” a deep, baritone voice inquired softly, stopping both of us in our tracks. We looked up to find Taehyung watching us expectantly and Jungkook peering with interest over his shoulder.

“Not at all!” Gayoung was quick to respond and dragged me forward eagerly. “I must say, I absolutely fell in love with your Ondine from before.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment but accepted the praise nonetheless. “Both of you were very impressive as well. That was a lively Mendelssohn piece, Gayoung.”

“You’re too kind,” Gayoung easily fell into conversation with him.

“And Sora, Jungkook wouldn’t shut up about your Mozart, it’s really quite remarkable. You’ll have to teach us all how you do it with such ease.”

I blushed, unsure whether it was because of his compliment or his offhanded comment about Jungkook, dipping my head into a show of gratitude.

Before I could return the favor, Gayoung had released me and latched onto Taehyung, the two of them eagerly discussing impressionistic composers.

Which left me...with Jungkook.

“Taehyung was right.”

“I’m sorry?” I dropped my gaze to the ground, hesitating to look him in the eyes.

“Your performance,” he clarified. “I couldn’t get over it.”

Ah...perhaps Areum was wrong. Perhaps his interest didn’t extend beyond that.

I looked up then, more certain of the situation. That was my second mistake.

I sensed more than saw his presence next to me, so close that I was sure we were breathing the same air. Startled, I stumbled a few steps backwards before regaining my balance.

“You alright?” his arms were outstretched towards me as though he had made a move to keep me from falling.

“Yeah,” I shook my head. “I’m fine. And thank you.”

“I just think that you ought to know how exceptional you are,” he gave me a cheeky grin as we lapsed into a comfortable silence.

“Since we’re going to be stuck here for the next ten days, might as well start getting to know each other,” he suggested. “Is this your first time in Busan?”

I answered him simply and we gradually found our rhythm, the conversation never grinding to a halt as both of us became more engrossed in each other. I learned that Jungkook had moved around a lot as a child, what with his father having been a military doctor. They only settled down in Busan once it was clear that Jungkook’s penchant for music went beyond a mere fascination and it became evident that he needed the stability of staying in one place to grow as a pianist.

He told me about his older siblings: Junghyun, a doctor in the Gangnam district and Junghwa, a successful lawyer in Seoul. In return, I told him about my insolent younger brother, Chanwoo, and my childhood growing up in Gwangju.

“What brought you to this program?” he asked delicately. Being a senior as well, he understood the stress of making a decision about our futures and didn’t want to pry. I shrugged, knowing that despite his best intentions, he was only curious and doing a horrid job at hiding it.

“Music...it’s my first language,” I began. “There’s the fact that it’s the only thing I know how to do well but it’s also just not something I’m willing to give up. I wish I could tell you what I want to do with it but I just don’t know. All I can say is that it makes me happy to share my passion with others and communicate my thoughts that way.”

“I wish I had half as much dedication as you did,” Jungkook sighed. “I love music with my entire being but I also know that there’s something else out there for me.”

“So you’re not going to pursue it past high school?”

“That’s hard to say,” he furrowed his brow, genuinely troubled at the thought. I decided to drop the conversation because it was a bit distressing to see him look so lost. Luckily at that moment, we finally arrived at Areum’s apartment and she hustled us inside the elevator.

The lot of us crammed into the small space and I sucked in a breath as Jungkook pressed himself against me in order to fit. My head came to align evenly with the top part of his chest, just barely reaching the tip of his shoulders. The scent of sage and fresh rain filled my nose and I almost sighed at the heavenly combination.

Once we were in Areum’s apartment, we handled our business with efficiency and practically ran back to the dorms in order to meet Yujin’s deadline. Orientation commenced with ease and soon we were given our own time to either practice or call it an early night.

Before I could bid Jungkook a good night, Gayoung had already whisked me to our room and requested my help in unpacking her things. Once we were done with that, I made my way out of our room towards the communal area in between the girls’ and boys’ dorms that held the co-ed showers.

Halfway through rinsing my hair, I realized with horror that I had forgotten to bring a change of clean clothes. I finished my shower in a hurry, doing my best to dry myself off with the single towel I had thought to bring. I wrapped the fluffy material securely around my body, making sure that everything that needed to be covered had been, before grabbing the rest of my toiletries and preparing to run back to my room.

That was my third mistake.

You’d think that I would have had the sense to check the hallway before I sprinted into it. I didn’t.

I cursed as a bottle of lotion slipped out of my makeup bag and went crashing down onto the floor. I bent over to pick it up and-

Someone cleared their throat and I froze, screwing my eyes shut as though that would somehow make this situation go away. I peeked one eye open and almost dropped my towel.

“You, um, dropped this,” Jungkook stooped down to pick up my bottle and when I didn’t make a move to take it from him, slipped it easily into my bag. He pulled away, the tips of his ears slightly red, as he offered a kind smile and lifted up his own bag of toiletries, pointing towards the men’s bathroom.

“I was just going to wash up so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Sora?”

I blinked, finally finding some courage to respond. “Y-yes?” I gripped onto my towel fiercely, trying to hold together whatever shred of dignity I had leftover, and met his gaze squarely.

“Goodnight.”

Author’s Note: Hey y’all! I know it’s been a long, long time since I’ve posted any writing on my blog but I was finally feeling inspired to churn this story out. This will in fact be a multi-chapter story and I’m thinking that it will have a sequel as well. However, I ask that you please be patient with updates as I cannot promise that they’ll come in a timely manner. There’s just a lot of things going on in my life right now that take priority over posting and I apologize again for the waiting that you may experience. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter and I promise I’ll be back with more of this story! <3

[tancong]

Modus Operandi (Chapter 2)

“You sure agreed rather easily.”

Nyx looked over at Akande who was flanked by Reaper. The wound in the man’s torso seemed to already have started healing. In all honesty, that man was a monster. Not because of his appearance or abilities. Well, ok his abilities may play a part in it. But he was someone who would walk through an army and come back fully healthy within a day if he really needed to.

Nyx had done this research of course but even then there was only so much he could do. There were no advanced combat gear designed to fight a person who can literally turn into smoke, walk up to your squad, and instantly kill everyone. Even he barely managed to dodge the shots and preemptively move in and engage at close range. If he had tried to run, it was unlikely that he would be walking right now.

Believe it or not, getting shot with a shotgun was not a pleasant experience. While it may not have immediately resulted in his death depending on the angle, it was always preferable to not be shot with one at all. Or be shot by anything actually. But one man could only do so much.

As such, Nyx simply focused his attention back in front of him with a sigh. At least they didn’t cuff him and shove him around like some sort of rebellious slave. There was some respect among mercenaries at the very least. While a bit unexpected, he was glad he was being treated with it.

“Contrary to popular belief, death is not all that exciting from what I heard. Well, at least the people I introduced the concept to didn’t seem to like it. I figured I would postpone on trying it myself for now.”

Nyx then shrugged and places his hands behind his head as he walked, looking up at the roof of the facility for a moment before back down again after finding nothing of interest.

“Besides, it’s not as if I have any loyalty to my employer. I don’t even know who they are.”

Akande raised an eyebrow. “Is that so. I am inclined to express my disbelief and propose that you reconsider your answer before I figure out another way to express my disbelief.”

“For once, I think he’s telling the truth.”

The owner of the Spanish-laced voice appeared in purple sporting an … interesting hairstyle stepped out handing Akande a tablet and crossing her arms over her chest. She looked Nyx over before smirking.

“Well, at least you look the part of a mercenary with 156 completed contracts. It’s a shame we have to put one termination on your record. You are quite popular you know. The name is Sombra.”

Akande handed the tablet back to Sombra, the four standing there for a moment as he turned to address Nyx. “Can you prove that this is you?”

Nyx let out a soft sigh and threw a glance at the backpack that Reaper had in hand. It was a bit tattered from all the rolling and crushing during the fight but its content was probably fine. With a nod from Akande, Nyx got his backpack back, retrieving his phone and used his fingerprint to unlock it.

There were only three icons on the device. The phone, a GPS tracking application, and one called Crime.Net. Nyx tapped on the Crime Net icon and brought up the application, allowing it to scan his thumbprint, iris, and voice sample.

“Is the login process always this damn complicated?”

Sombra chuckled at Reaper as if chastising the figure in black for a naive question. “Why do you think I haven’t been able to hack it out of all things? A server ran by multiple instances on every device that accesses it, verifying and cross-checking every detail between all the clients in real-time with data encrypted with a unique 400 character code. Of course the login process is going to be just as bad. Now we not only need to cut out his eyes and thumb but get him to talk normally as well.”

Nyx navigated to his crime net profile, phone still in plain sight of the other three as to ensure them that he was not doing anything sneaky. Akande took it and compared it to the profile on Sombra’s tablet, making a semi-impressed expression on his face that quickly vanished as soon as it appeared.

Meanwhile, Nyx did not waste a moment to join in with bullying the man who had taken him down. Or perhaps it was trying to ensure that Reaper and the others wouldn’t try to actually take his thumb and eye. He was rather fond of them after all.

“Besides, there’s no point in gaining access to my profile. There’s really nothing interesting on there. It doesn’t have my information or any of my clients’ information. Hell, it doesn’t even have my face on it.”

Sombra sighed. “You’re lucky your name is somewhat famous on crime net and that Akande here heard about you from your other targets in prison. Otherwise, you’d be a human boat in the nearby river by now.”

She then smirked. “Actually, I could use your account to try and spread a virus to the other servers. It’s hard to find crime net account holders after all. The verification and access level progression is hell after all.”

Nyx sighed as he received his phone back, gazing down at the screen and terminating the contract to assassinate the figure in black.

“Sounds like you already tried once. You must realize by now that you would need to shut down more systems that to gain a majority vote to override the main server’s information. With the encryption system now relying on the atmospheric ambiance that refreshes every 2 minutes, you wouldn’t even be able to shut down a tenth of the systems online, let alone half of them.”

Sombra frowned at him then, watching as Nyx put the phone back into the bag with a nod of thanks to Reaper. Well, technically Reaper wasn’t his bag carrier. It was for security purposes. Then again, Nyx was never one to linger on technicalities. All that mattered was that he had someone to carry his backpack for him. Now that was a pleasure he never had before in his life.

“Is that why the new encryption is such a pain. Wait, how do you know th-”

Nyx smiled coyly, “I may have slid an idea to the crime net forum and watch the others discuss and develop the algorithm. I thought I might have been able to use it to find a loophole since it’s my idea, but as it stands no one has a loophole. Not even the developers. So there’s that.”

Sombra groaned and frowned at her tablet, seeming to go and delete several pages of notes or some other documents of similar importance. As she walked off with her obligatory welcome completed, she was muttering something about ‘stupid community boy scouts’ and some obscenity about the weather.

Akande watched her walk away before turning back to Nyx. “Well, in any case, I suppose you’re truly a professional mercenary then. In that case, you should know how things are. We’ll get you some training to gauge your skill and get you acquainted with working in a team. Sombra gave me a report of your highlight contracts and what it told us about you but we gotta make sure.”

He thought for a moment before nodding. “Other than that, there is nothing else you need to know about Talon. You will be tracked for our security but since you know nothing, it comes at a greater risk to you than us if you wandered off and allowed yourself to get caught.”

Nyx raised his hand and asked very calmly, “Is dental included or do I have to buy insurance?”

Akande let out a small hmph with a half smile at the edge of his lips. “We have a doctor or two on site. They’re not great, as much as I would like to praise my organization. I’d recommend you maintain your own hygiene and try not to get hurt.”

He offered a hand which Nyx met confidently, not faltering or weakening in his own grip despite being almost crushed by the man’s iron grip on his left hand.

“It sounds like you’ll fit right in. I won’t say that I’ll look forward to working with you, I’m not so keen on putting you on a team with the same person you tried to kill. But considering your reputation and lack of loyalty toward a faceless client, I will consider it.”

As he walked away, Akande did not even bother to look over his shoulder as he gave Nyx his last words.

“You may go back to your establishment if you wish as long as you tell no one about your new involvement with us. If you want to bring anything back, inform us beforehand or else we may launch a missile or two at you. Reaper could take down a Svyatogor mech by himself you know.”

“Other than that, try to not get too comfortable. Reaper will show you to the dormitory and some other member will give you a tour. The food is not bad, give it a try.”

Only now did he stop and throw a grin at Nyx over his shoulder, “As for your pay, consider it to be your life. Don’t splurge on your paycheck too soon.”

And then, the man was gone for good, probably off to some important conference or room somewhere. The place wasn’t the headquarters of Talon for sure, the excessive surveillance he did during their walk told him that much. It was just an outpost or temporary base of operation.

Nyx walked in silence with the man in black, nodding his thanks as he inspected the tracking device he was given and clipping it securely onto his inner pocket. He then looked over Reaper while they continued to walk toward the dormitory.

“You all seem rather lax on this whole security thing. I was given my life and have the freedom to do almost whatever I wanted. Hell, I was even allowed to leave and just ditch this tracking device forever if I wanted to.”

In response, Reaper returned the backpack to Nyx, furthering his confusion about the fact of the matter. If anything, he had expected to be strong armed and be under heavy watch for a long while before he would even be allowed outside.

“The thing is, we’ve all been a mercenary or something of the sort in our lives. Every one of us has their own way to escape this contract if they wished. An operative who did not want to work here would not make an operative that was good enough. They would cause more harm than good to the organization.”

Nyx raised an eyebrow and glanced to his side at the calm, gravely explanation from his left. “And what about the infamous Widowmaker?”

Now there was a pause, the masked visage betraying no thoughts and no response that Nyx could gather. The dorm was in their sights by the time he received a reply, as unexpected as it was.

“That … was a necessary exception. I suggest you do not try to pry more into it, though it would not matter even if you found out. Your place is not to question or try to change the organization’s moral code.”

Reaper then stopped, nodding his head toward the dormitory and the people talking in the front. It was time for them to part ways. To Talon, Nyx was simply another recruit until he proved his worth. Until then, he will have to deal with boring and menial tasks. Only once he did all those things would he promote and earn more money while getting a chance to work with those three individuals he had just met. If he even wanted to.

“Besides, it’s not as if we’re losing anything by letting you go instead of killing you. I’m sure the contract won’t show up again. No one is idiotic enough to try to send a single mercenary in and reveal that they have knowledge of our outpost location. Regardless, it’s a pain that you showed up, seeing as we’ll have to relocate soon.”

The smirk beneath the man’s mask was visible despite his face being completely concealed. It was a side effect of the arrogant and challenging aura that the man gave off. That was something that Nyx had plenty of experience with. They were not so different after all.

“As for the chance of you using this excuse to try to get your revenge on losing, well we already know which one of us is the stronger fighter. There is absolutely no risk in leaving you here. A man with no motivation to damage Talon. If we give you a reason to fight for and a support for your life, that’s all you need right?”

“Who knows, maybe you’ll even be there to see when we bring the end to the world. If you’re anything like us, then I’m sure you’ll find yourself suddenly becoming a monster in a field of sheep when it comes.”

“Doesn’t that sound interesting, mercenary?”

Nyx smiled to himself and shake his head in disbelief as he watched the figure walk off. The man was something else. Beyond being a monster made of black smoke, he was a human. A man with the intuitions of a leader and a mercenary. Something about him said that had things been different, he would have made a fine commander for humanity. Alas, there he was, a monster in black and a vengeance without any lack.

He was right. It did sound interesting. There were only so many reasons that a person would become a mercenary. There were only so many things a killer could be good at. There are only so many kills that a person can take joy in before they lose their focus on what they wanted from life.

Who was he? What did he truly want? Why did he fight? These were all questions that he once had answers for. Answers that became lost with time and so he lost himself. The answers in their place that he fabricated felt empty and hollow.

He thought himself to be a man with honor once. Talon had a grand goal, even if it did not represent honor as known by the peaceful world beyond. He was sure that he was a believer in love, justice, and heroes once.

Justice. That was a pretty word. Justice came to all, in some form or another. That was what he had believed. When it died was when he realized that it was not true. Not everyone received their due of justice. Not everyone was fated to pay their dues and ‘get what they deserved.’ No, it was never so simple in this world. And when his sense of justice died, he lost his belief in everything else in the world.

Nyx shook himself mentally from these thoughts. There were many philosophical questions he could contemplate. There were many questions that he could consider and lead him to regret things in his past. However, there was no reason for him to do so.

Perhaps he had let his life waste away during the past few years. Perhaps what he did had no meaning and brought him no closer to the answers he desired. What did matter was that it all led him here. Whether by fate or his own foolishness, Nyx had arrived at a place called Talon. A place with those alike to him yet with their answers. A milestone on his path to the answers he so desired.

Yes, he was a wanderer. A wanderer on the journey of life, a journey where nothing was certain except the breath that he took. A world where death’s whispers can be ignored and rejected by smoke and angels. A world where the ground could be a precarious light bridge at the whim of an architect. A world where love, justice, honor, and so many things could be found all around, yet at the same time nowhere at all.

Yes, he was a wanderer. But a wanderer is not always lost. He just did not know where he needed to go yet. So for now, Talon will have to do.

Chapter 1: The Reaper

To be continued

[illumynare]

Red vs Blue Fic: Lay Your Weary Head to Rest

Summary: Wash knows all about second chances, and how easy they are to lose. After Sidewinder, he knows only one thing for sure: he can't be crazy.

And that means he can't sleep.

Parings: None. Warnings: Canon-typical language, mentions of self-harm, excruciatingly self-indulgent hurt/comfort.

Notes: Also available on AO3!

This was inspired by a conversation with @zalia and @whimsical-writer, and some of their lovely ideas. Also, Aki suggested the photos. Thanks, guys. ♥

Wash knows all about second chances.

That moment when the world opens up, turns over, and everything changes. That dizzying gasp of hope, like fingers loosing from your throat, ecstasy mixed with the sickening knowledge that you can't fuck this up, because you're a soldier now, you're a Freelancer now, you're—

Blue Team leader now.

Wash has never escaped anything except by the skin of his teeth. He was three weeks at boot camp when his homeworld got glassed. He was a breath away from a firing squad when Freelancer recruited him.

He was one suit of armor and a chorus of bad lies away from going back to prison.

Those first two fresh starts were so easily lost. Wash knows his place on Blue Team is just as fragile.

I'm done, he told Sarge, and let himself collapse into the snow of Sidewinder. And he'd really thought he was done. That he was ready to lie down and stop. But then Tucker and Caboose hauled him up, put him in the armor of their friend he'd done his best to destroy, and as soon as Wash took his first breaths through the new helmet, he was shaking with desperation to keep ahold of his final second chance.

But he still doesn't know how.

He knew what it meant to be a good soldier. He knew (too well) what it meant to be a good Freelancer. He's used to rules and structure, harsh expectations and demerits. To being told exactly how close he is to fucking up beyond repair.

He doesn't have the faintest idea how to be a good Blue Team leader.

The first few days, Wash feels like he's in free-fall. He gets them a jeep, he leads them away from Sidewinder, he gets them to the nearest Simulation Trooper base. (The Reds, no surprise, are next door immediately.) And he knows that's right, it has to be—

But then he's sitting at the kitchen table while Tucker works the coffee machine and Caboose eats peanut butter with a spoon.

"So, fearless leader, you got any more orders?" Tucker asks, sounding faintly resentful, and Wash's mouth goes dry, because he just. Doesn't. Know.

"What's standard mission protocol?" he asks.

"The fuck?"

"You have a mission." Wash's head is aching—he's hardly slept since Sidewinder—he hardly slept before Sidewinder—but he can sleep later. Once he knows what to do. Determinedly, he goes on, "Capture the Red Flag. That's your mission. You have a standard protocol, right?"

"Wellll . . . " Caboose draws out the word. "We used to have a protocol, but then it got wet, so we don't use it very much anymore."

Tucker shrugs. "Mostly, we just stand around and bitch. Or bang Sister, but she's not around anymore."

"Wait, what?" Wash stares at him. He can think of five different ways to interpret that sentence, and he's still trying to think of literally anything else it could mean.

"Oh yeah!" says Tucker, and grins. "Also, Blue Team leader has to change Caboose's underwear every day. It's a rule."

"I don't like that rule," Caboose mutters.

"Yeah, when Caboose and I went on that quest to fulfill the prophecy together, I had to take over for Church, and let me tell you, that was worse than getting knocked up and going into labor."

Wash lays his head down on the table.

He ends up leading them on a raid of Red Base, and it goes okay, they capture the flag, he knows that's the goal for Sim Troopers, it has to be okay.

"Man, Church was never this much of a hardass," Tucker complains as they march back into Blue Base.

"We just won, Private Tucker," Wash reminds him, and then his heart pounds for the next ten minutes because it doesn't matter that he's the leader, if Tucker decides he's had enough—

Wash breathes slowly, in and out, and slowly rolls his fingers into fists, one-two-three-four-five, before releasing them.

There's one thing Wash knows for sure: he can't be crazy.

There's no Article 12 on Blue Team. They don't have any hospitals where they can stash a broken soldier until he screams out his nightmares and learns how to stop clawing open his own skin. If they don't want him anymore, they'll call the UNSC. (Maybe they're calling them now.)

Wash has to get this right the first time.

He thinks he can do it. He's been convincing people he was sane for years. Even when he was in prison, and it felt like the walls were continually crawling towards him, he still held it together.

But something seems to have broken in him with they fought the Meta. When he said, I'm done, and threw away everything to help this stupid, senseless team. Wash goes to sleep that first night in Blue Base, and he dreams that his blood is turning into cold wires and circuits beneath his skin, and he's locked up somewhere small and dark as the memories rattle around in his head, you killed them you killed them, faster and faster, it's your fault your fault, and his teeth buzz and he can't breathe AllisonAllisonAllison—

make(){ it.STOP(); }

Wash wakes up, and barely manages to stumble into the bathroom before he vomits.

When he's done, he leans his elbows on the toilet seat and shakes. He wants to peel open the skin of his arms and check for wires. The bile burns in his throat and his nose like ones and zeroes.

But he can't go crazy again. He can't.

The day after, he twitches at every noise. Caboose appears silently behind him, and Wash has a knife to his throat before he can even think. A moment after, he's stumbling back, putting his knife away, thinking, how could you how could you how could you = alert() { error; error; error; }

The next night, he tries to sleep. He dreams that he's made of numbers and wires, and he wakes up screaming and trying to claw at his arms through his kevlar undersuit.

He decides: he can't sleep again.

He can't.

It makes perfect sense.

There are stim pills stored in his suit, but for now, coffee is enough. Coffee and knowing what will happen if he fucks up again. Wash can't go back to prison, he can't let me out let me out let me out—

Caboose gets ahold of the coffee maker and jams coffee grounds into every crevice. Tucker whines for twenty minutes, but Wash finds himself secretly grateful. It's kind of soothing, taking the machine apart and cleaning each piece.

If only he could be taken apart, cleaned, reformed—

He thinks again about peeling up his skin to check for wires again, and swallows. That's crazy. He's not allowed to do that. Normal people don't need to do that.

When he finishes cleaning the coffeemaker, he takes it apart and washes it two more times, just to be sure. Just to enjoy that feeling of gritty, ruined pieces becoming whole again.

Tucker doesn't like Wash.

Like, at all.

They drag the fucker back from Sidewinder because Caboose wants him, and Tucker… well, he's feeling guilty that he didn't stop either version of Church from destroying himself up on a pointless crusade. Letting Caboose adopt a Freelancer seems like the least he can do.

It also seems like a terrible idea.

Agent Washington is pale and twitchy and only gets worse on further acquaintance. He has an empty, mindless stare, and absolutely no sense of humor, and a way of saying. "I'm fine, Private Tucker," that makes Tucker want to punch him in the face.

He also doesn't sleep.

It takes Tucker a while to work that out, once they find a new base and settle down. Tucker has other things to think about, like sending a properly encoded message to Junior. He isn't ever letting a C.O. and his baggage get between him and his son again.

But at a certain point, Tucker notices: Wash doesn't sleep.

Like, ever.

It's kind of creepy, and also kind of dumb. Church didn't sleep, but that's because he was a ghost. AI. Whatever.

Wash doesn't sleep because he's a . . . crazy Freelancer?

"Dude, if you don't sleep, you'll go crazy," he says, and Wash fixes him with a hollow stare.

"I'm totally, completely sane," he says, like it's something he's said a hundred times before. Maybe it is. If Tucker went around acting that weird, he'd probably have to tell people he was sane all the time as well.

Wash helps them capture the Red Team flag four days in a row, and that's nice, but it doesn't change the fact that this fucker killed Donut and Church, and Tucker isn't ready to forgive that ever, ever.

But he also isn't ready when Wash falls asleep on him.

It happens near the end of the first week. Wash has been . . . honestly, the craziest Tucker has ever seen him, starting at nothing and staring at the corners of the room and scratching at his arms in a way that sets Tucker's teeth on edge.

When Tucker's sitting on the rec room couch and Wash asks him, "What are you looking at?" Tucker rolls his eyes and says, "Stolen ONI secrets beamed to me by the Insurrection, duh."

And Wash flinches, the way he does when something reminds him of Project Freelancer. (Tucker hates that he's already nearly fluent in Agent Washington flinches. He hates it just as much as he hated being fluent in the different ways Church would screech or sigh or mutter I'm going to kill myself, I'm going to kill myself, and FUCK YOU, CHURCH—)

"I'm looking at pictures of Junior, geez." Tucker tilts up the tablet so Wash can catch a glimpse. "You can come check it out if you want."

To his surprise, Wash does. He sits down beside Tucker and leans over his shoulder and says, in a baffled voice, "He looks like a normal Elite."

"Hey, Junior's better than normal," Tucker says indignantly. "Top of his class, and he made the basketball team." He swipes the screen to another picture. "Aw, yeah, here he is at his third grade graduation."

It's not that Tucker wants to share anything with Wash, it's just that he understands what it means for Junior to attend a private academy for the kids of UNSC officers (unlike Caboose) and he doesn't mutter kill it with fire (unlike Church). So Tucker shows him the pictures from Junior's school play—his son got cast as Romeo, fuck yeah of course he did—and then, since Wash isn't trying to escape, he starts showing him the pictures from when they were on Sanghelios together.

And he's aware that Wash has started leaning on him kind of heavily, and it's weird, but honestly Tucker doesn't care, because he hasn't gotten a chance to talk about Junior in so long. Until suddenly he realizes—

Wash is sleeping.

Mouth open, face slack. The crazy ex-Freelancer is leaning against him and sleeping, and making little snuffling noises like a normal person who hasn't killed two of Tucker's friends.

Tucker thinks, What the fuck.

And then doesn't move for twenty minutes, until Wash snorts suddenly, stands up, and stumbles away without a word.

Fucking lunatic.

If he isn't good enough, they'll send him back.

Wash knows that, he's always known that, it's been the rule of every family he ever had. And he's always failed and he thinks he's going to fail again. Tucker is always impatient with him, and Caboose always calls him Church, and they don't want him. They can't want him.

He can't sleep. He's tried a few more times, but every time the nightmares send him screaming awake.

There was a time when Wash could take the nightmares. When he was Recovery One, he didn't make a sound. He woke up with a shudder, and he swallowed—you are not a computer you are not Epsilon you are not dead���and flexed his human-not-human fingers, and went back to work.

But now there's no revenge burning in his gut. Not even a desperate, fuck-you-all desire for freedom. There's just a base and a flag and two idiot soldiers who saved him but don't really seem to want him, and without anything to fight for, Wash is falling apart.

He's going back to prison.

He's going, but he's not there yet, and he can't help clinging to every ritual that seems like it might keep him out.

2 A.M. and Wash decides that it's time to take the coffeemaker apart again. He can't quite remember why it's important, but it feels good to rinse the pieces and arrange them in a line as he finishes with each one.

He's not crazy.

(He can't do this.)

Wash's heartbeat pounds against his ribs, throbs behind his eyes and in his fingertips. He can't do this, can't be normal, doesn't even remember how—but he can't go back to prison, he can't he can't—

"Hey, Wash."

He startles and drops the coffee filter basket. Turns. See Tucker slouched in the kitchen doorway.

"What is it, Private Tucker?"

His tongue feels fuzzy and numb. He's not even sure why he's trying, except he has to, he can't go back, he has to—

"You need to sleep," says Tucker. "You're fucking crazy, man."

"I'm totally, completely—"

"OH MY GOD A SLEEPOVER." Caboose appears in the doorway behind Tucker. "Dibs on big spoon."

"What?" Wash's voice cracks, and he doesn't even care. He doesn't understand this.

"I had a lot of sleepovers with my sisters. I am very good at them."

"Okay, I never believed I'd say this, but listen to Caboose."

Wash feels trapped, defenseless before their eyes, and without meaning to, he says, "I can't sleep—I'll just—"

"Yeah, we've all heard you screaming, dude. Fucking Red Team has heard you screaming. I'm just glad Donut isn't here to ask if we—" Tucker cuts himself off. "Anyway. We're having a sleepover."

It still doesn't make sense, but Wash doesn't have it in him to protest. He stumbles after Caboose into the rec room, where there is already a pile of pillows and blankets. He lets Caboose strip the last pieces of his armor off. When Tucker arrives with three mugs, Wash accepts the one he's handed.

He wraps his fingers around the warm ceramic. Heat against his palms. The scent of milky hot chocolate. Those aren't things computers can feel. He takes a sip, and—

"It's good," he says, surprised.

Tucker looks absurdly proud. "Old family recipe. My mom made the best hot chocolate."

Wash takes another sip. His heartbeat is slowing down. He feels . . . warmer. More real.

"I can tell you a bedtime story," Tucker adds, "but I gotta warn you, it's gonna be totally NSFW, bow-chicka-bow-wow."

And Wash smiles reluctantly into his mug. "No thanks," he mutters.

He finishes the hot chocolate. He looks at the pillows and his heart thuds in fear again, because if he dreams he isn't human one more time, he doesn't think he can come back from it.

But Caboose has got an arm hooked around his shoulders and he just rolls over with Wash, down onto the pillows, and his body is tucked along the length of Wash's spine, and it's like warmth and safety being downloaded straight into his skull, and Wash is, he is—

Wanted.

Tucker settles down beside them, and Wash stares at the back of his neck, feels Caboose breathing on the back of his neck, and he can't understand why Tucker trusts him enough to turn his back on him, can't understand why Caboose cares enough to cradle him, but he's warm and he's safe and his heart beats slower, slower.

He sleeps.

He wakes up, and there are phantom circuits shivering over his skin, but he's squashed between Tucker and Caboose and he can feel them both breathing, both their hearts beating, and he breathes in time to them and thinks, Maybe I'm human.

He sleeps again, and doesn't dream.

Wash wakes slowly. He's alone now, beneath a pile of pillows and blankets, but he can hear people moving nearby, and hushed voices.

"Excuse you, moron, obviously pancakes are the best."

"But I do not think Agent Washington likes pancakes."

"You just say that because you don't like pancakes."

Wash thinks about that, his eyes still shut. Pancakes. His mother used to make them sometimes, from a mix. They were mealy and a little dry, but still a treat because of the syrup.

Tucker's voice rises. "Fuck you, I am not cleaning out the waffle iron again!"

York always claimed he had a family recipe for "famous home-cooked waffles," but he never got around to making them. Wash had once dreamed that someday, when the war was over and the Freelancers were all decorated veterans, they would eat waffles together—

He sits up abruptly. "I'll clean it."

"What?" Tucker stares at him. "Oh hey, you're awake. Please don't be crazy anymore."

"I'll clean the waffle iron." Wash's head is swimming a little, and he has to squint against the morning light, but he still manages to look Tucker in the eye. "If you make waffles."

He wants this. He wants it more than anything, to sit with his team and eat waffles—not when the war is over, not when he has his revenge, but now, while they still can. While they are all still here.

"Okay," Tucker says after a moment. "New job for Blue Team leader: always clean the waffle iron."

"I will add it to the handbook," says Caboose.

Wash nods, and doesn't even try to say, I don't believe you have a handbook. He feels like he could believe anything right now. He's still half-asleep and piercingly awake at the same time--his whole body feels lighter than air--and there's a blue border painted around the edge of the ceiling, how did he never notice it before? Such a bright and perfect blue.

"Uh, dude?" says Tucker. "You okay?"

"The colors," says Wash, and doesn't care if he sounds crazy. "They're so bright."

"I have often noticed that," says Caboose, as if they are sharing a fascinating discovery. "And I know all their names, so I can remind you if you forget, Church."

Tucker rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. And Wash thinks, suddenly, that perhaps they're going to keep him.

"I don't know . . . why I'm so . . ." He struggles for words. It's like the first time he stripped off power armor after a long training session, and his body was suddenly the correct size and weight again.

"Yeah, it's called getting enough sleep, dumbass." Tucker gets up from the couch. "C'mon into the kitchen. I'll teach you how to make waffles."

[ipadsadvise]

The iPad Pro is the most accessible computer Apple has ever built

How to join the network

I have actually always had a love-hate connection with conventional laptop computers, like the MacBook. I have one of the very first aluminum unibody models.

It was my first Mac, and regardless of being ancient in computer years, it's still functional. I don't utilize it much any longer, however it's enjoyable to assume that an equipment I got in 2008 is qualified of running OS X El Capitan in 2016 (albeit not well).

My MacBook may be slow and technically obsolete, but it still * functions *. Its durability speaks to Apple's hardware prowess-- design-wise, today's MacBook Pros are straight descendants-- as well as the Mac's worth proposition.

Though the MacBook chugs along, it's not all roses. In my encounter, I've found the laptop computer's kind element to work against me in terms of accessibility.

As I created last year, the trouble is that a laptop's display has always felt "far." Being visually impaired, I should obtain as close as possible in order to see pleasantly, as well as a laptop's screen makes that very difficult. I need to lean into see, almost the point where my nose is touching the display screen. It's not just ergonomically awful yet I look pretty ridiculous doing it. I attempt to make up for this by adjusting the position of the screen as well as making use of software techniques like increasing the size of the mouse guideline, however its benefits are nominal.

The fact of the issue is that laptop computers are harder for me to use since I cannot get as near to the display as I should function effectively. It isn't that I * can’t * use laptops, it's that utilizing them has constantly seemed like an uphill struggle I cannot win.

The iPad, specifically the 12.9-inch Pro, supplies a significantly different encounter. It's approximately the size of the 12-inch Retina MacBook, however the tablet's kind aspect as well as interaction version make it so much far better for accessibility.

It's for these reasons (along with my familiarity with iOS) that has actually made me a follower in making use of the iPad as my primary computer system. Unlike my old MacBook, I could hold the iPad Pro as near to my face as required, and I could do points merely by touching the screen.

My interest for the iPad is why I differ highly with Tech Insider's Tim Stenovec, whom I really feel was off the mark when he recently wrote the iPad Pro "isn't as functional as a computer," as it seems his comment ignores a particular niche however not insignificant market: the access community.

I contend that the iPad remains in numerous means * much more * functional than a laptop for individuals with impairments. Computing and productivity isn't really always about a spec sheet or raw power or Photoshop. The iPad * is * a fully fledged computer system, no doubt regarding it. After utilizing a review system for some time, I strongly believe the 12.9-inch iPad Pro is the most obtainable computer Apple has ever before built.

The iPad Pro's Awesome Feature: Bigger Is Better

From an ease of access standpoint, the iPad Pro's awesome feature is its screen.

In [covering why I switched over to an iPhone Sixes Plus, I claimed this about the iPad Pro:

At 12.9 inches, the iPad Pro's display is the best point to occur to my vision in a very long time. Its effects aren't just concerning pixel density or color reliability, it has to do with large size. The iPad Pro's screen is huge as well as has completely changed how I work. Every little thing I see on the iPad is much better merely because of the cinema, from managing email to surfing the Web to typing on the virtual keyboard.

The essential takeaway I have from making use of the iPad Pro is that bigger displays are a lot better for my vision. The Pro's substantial display is a magnificence to look at due to the fact that my eyes don't need to function as tough to check out text or locate buttons, everything I see is a lot more aesthetically accessible. The wonderful part is that it coincides iPad encounter I was utilized to on the 9.7-inch design, just now it's super-sized. There was no discovering contour or duration of adjustment in relocating to the Pro. Suffice it to state, relocating to the iPad Pro from my iPad Air 1 has been a considerable upgrade.

While it could seem trite or extremely simplistic to assert that the iPad Pro is excellent mainly for its display, it makes feeling in an access context. Using the iPad Pro has actually been absolutely nothing short of a discovery. It's instructed me to welcome the ginormous iOS gadgets * because * of their ginormous displays, their overall unwieldiness be damned.

It's worth noting, too, simply exactly how much of an impact the iPad Pro's screen has on one's understanding of other gadgets. After just the very first few hours with my review device, my old iPad Air really felt comically small. Compared to the Pro, making use of the Air made me feel as though I were holding an iPad Mini. It's a plain comparison, to be certain, but I can not see myself going back to the "small" 9.7-inch dimension after using the 12.9-inch iPad Pro.

Holding and Using the iPad Pro

When it wased initially revealed, I fretted the iPad Pro would certainly be awkward to use while resting on the sofa, to check out or enjoy videos, due to the fact that the gadget is so big. As it transforms out, holding the tablet computer hasn't been a problem. It is larger than my iPad Air 1, but its weight is commensurate with its size. It's not heavy overall, but like the iPhone Sixes Plus, is better when held with two hands. Nevertheless, additionally like the Sixes Plus, the Pro's awesome display trumps any concern over its physical size.

If I'm not holding the Pro, I'm keying with it on my lap. Though I simulate the Smart Keyboard (more on it later on), the majority of my "working hrs" (i.e., creating) are invested making use of the virtual keyboard. I like it a great deal, despite the fact that inputting isn't the most convenient thing for me to do. The bigger screen naturally permits a bigger keyboard, as well as I feel like my hands have even more area to relocate. I really feel like the bigger area is much more flexible on my two-finger, hunt-and-peck typing style.

iOS 9 On the Big Screen

As I composed previously, iOS on the iPad Pro is promptly acquainted to me. The distinction is that iOS has actually never before been propelled onto a display screen as big as well as stuffed with as several pixels as the iPad Pro's. That I can see more at a glance is definitely an excellent thing, however it doesn't suggest every little thing is perfect.

Let's very first highlight the positive. Among the benefits of utilizing iOS as a key channel is the operating system's lack of cruft. Conceptually speaking, where OS X was developed around keyboard-and-mouse input and a number of windows, iOS is drastically different. It's constructed for touch, gestures of all sorts, and also, till just recently, revealed just one app at once. This lack of intricacy is partially why iOS tools are loved by individuals of all ages and also abilities, and also why iOS is so terrific for availability. As I wrote first, this simplicity is a crucial factor why I decide to function from an iPad rather than a MacBook.

Of training course, iOS has actually expanded elder and also intricate since "apple iphone OS 1.0" in 2007. One of the [marquee attributes of iOS 9] (http://www.apple.com/ios/) is the multitasking assistance for iPad. Being able to see two applications simultaneously has greatly improved my efficiency, as I'm currently able to have Safari open close to my full-screen editor, which saves me from continuously switching backward and forward to study info as well as get links. It's so nice.

As I familiarized myself with iOS 9's multitasking functions, one thought that persisted in my mind was exactly how accessible the Split Perspective vehicle is. With desktop OSes, I have actually faced a great deal of trouble attempting to take care of windows on screen-- resizing them is specifically problematic because of the difficulty in finding a window's edge and also evaluating a proper size.

By contrast, Apple has limitations pertaining to just how much of their display an app can occupy. This decreases my cognitive lots because I not requirement to battle in determining where I intend to place points, I only should choose if I want an app to occupy a quarter or half of the screen.

More importantly for ease of access, the auto mechanics by which you invoke Split Perspective or Slide Over are definitely more obtainable than adjusting a mouse guideline. All I do is move my finger to drag the divider where I desire it, it also helps the divider is dark enough that I can easily see it on screen.

I have only one issue concerning iOS on the iPad Pro. It's most likely Apple is going to sneak peek iOS 10 in the next few months, and I would certainly like to see the business push even additionally at improving the encounter on iPad. The multitasking improvements notwithstanding, iOS is successfully an OS indicated for mobile phones, and it really shows on iPad Pro. It would be remarkable to see Apple remodel iOS on the 12.9-inch design to take also a lot better benefit of the screen property. Buttons and also other individual interface aspects could possibly be made a lot more noticable without requiring Display Zoom. Furthermore, the attachment point, zoom loupe, as well as cut/copy/paste menu all sorely need a visual upgrade.

On a display as big as iPad Pro's, these elements' tiny size is untenable for the aesthetically impaired. At least, iOS 10 should include a setup under Accessibility where users can change the size of the attachment factor, much like the mouse pointer choice on the Mac.

Gripes aside, I'm pleased by the overall encounter of iOS on the iPad Pro. I believe it is very important to make clear, however, that for as much as I laud iOS, I do not indicate to imply that OS X is inaccessible or a worse system. I like the Mac significantly, but the availability benefits to utilizing a touch-driven OS are so evident that it really feels best to spend most my time on iOS.

The Devices: Smart Keyboard and Apple Pencil

First, the Smart Key-board. I have actually created virtually the entire of this post on it, as well as it's been wonderful. I disliked it at initially, I have actually grown to actually like the Smart Key-board. It looks great, feels great to type on, and also isn't really as well large. I have actually attempted a number of third-party iPad keyboards in the past, but none match the niceness or attributes (firmware updates!) of Apple's solution.

My favorite feature of it? Striking Command-Tab to quickly switch over apps.

That claimed, the Smart Keyboard would be much better if it had two points. Initially, I 'd like backlit keys. I do not know exactly how sensible this is, engineering-wise, but the tricks as-is are difficult to see in reduced light. I invest several secs searching for the right keys to press due to the fact that it's tough to inform exactly what I'm checking out, and most of the time, I finish up hitting the incorrect key(s). The additional light would go a lengthy method in assisting me a lot more conveniently spot secrets. Secondly, the Caps Lock essential requirements a sign light. One terrific element regarding my old Apple wireless key-board is it has a little eco-friendly light that tells you whether caps lock is on or otherwise. That aesthetic sign is an useful, nevertheless subtle, accessibility help. Also in composing this piece, I have actually lost count at the amount of times I have actually pushed Caps Lock in order to see if it's on or off since I can not tell which state it's in, and I maintain making typos. It's frustrating.

Finally, a note about affixing the keyboard. My evaluation kit from Apple consisted of both accessories, and I had the hardest time in the beginning trying to get the Smart Keyboard and iPad with each other. This results from mastery concerns brought on by my spastic paralysis, in addition to my low vision. (In various other words, folding the keyboard and seeing where the Smart Connector is expected to dock.) After a couple of expletive-laden efforts, it took a how-to video by a close friend sent out over iMessage for me to ultimately comprehend the proper technique.

Regarding Apple Pencil, there typically aren't adequate superlatives in the thesaurus to describe how wonderful it is. I would state a solid disagreement can be made that the Pencil, on its own merits, was the most outstanding product to come out of Cupertino last year. It's essential Apple: their traditional mix of hardware as well as software application combination that functions so well, you would certainly vow it's magic. It's that good.

Using the Apple Pencil with iPad Pro really feels to me like the digital matching of the analog pen (or pencil) and paper. The Pencil feels great to hold and also to create with. Like with the Smart Keyboard, I've used other stylus-like devices with iPads in the past, however none resemble supplying exactly what the Pencil can. It's one of those "only Apple" points that Tim Cook frequently boasts about, due to the fact that Apple manages the entire pile by making their products in concert.

The highlight concerning making use of Apple Pencil is that it's gotten me to explore my creative side. I covet (and also admire) [tube who have much more artistic capability compared to I, but I do appreciate doodling as well as tinting. Among the very first App Store apps I downloaded and install for the iPad Pro was Pigment by Pixite, an "adult tinting publication" that's come to be one of my preferred apps.

As with published tinting publications, you're provided with black-and-white "web pages" of images spanning different categories to shade. It's a well done app, I particularly like that you could pinch-to-zoom to better see the lines. It's a large assistance for me in seeing more detail as well as seeing to it my job is neat. Above all, I like Pigment due to the fact that coloring is therapeutic.

When I'm stressed out or get an instance of writer's block, I find it unwinding to get my Pencil, open Pigment, and also color away for a couple of minutes. It's enjoyable, although I have actually yet to complete a page. It's more regarding process compared to product.

I have no agitations over the Apple Pencil itself. The only problem I have is that I'm paranoid about shedding the cap. It's tiny, and I fret over it being up to the floor and rolling right into the abyss due to the fact that, offered my eyesight, I 'd probably never see it once more. I have actually jokingly tweeted a couple of times that Apple ought to make a Locate My Apple Pencil Cap app for apple iphone, so as to aid individuals find the cap when they unavoidably misplace it.

Final Thoughts

I cringe whenever I see others in the technology press who, like Tim Stenovec did, claim that the iPad isn't really a real computer. I think this line of reasoning is shortsighted and also does the iPad a disservice. I yield that a MacBook continues to be better than an iPad Pro at executing certain jobs-- podcasting is one instance -- but the iPad is obtaining so powerful since the checklist of points it can not do is expanding ever more esoteric.

At this point, I believe to perpetuate the exhausted "laptop computers are for development, tablet computers are for intake" rhetoric is disingenuous.

In terms of ease of access and ease of usage, nevertheless, the iPad Pro is the clear winner over a laptop computer. As an individual with years of encounter using iPads in accessibility-centric settings, I am keenly mindful of the tablet's staminas and weak points. Yes, the encounter of using iOS on the iPad can and should enhance, however whatever mistakes that presently exist doesn't completely discourage from its apparent and also significant benefits. This puts on the handicapped and non-disabled alike. Today's iPad Pro is a giant, as well as its future prospective feels limitless.

John Gruber astutely directed out in concluding his iPad Pro testimonial that "the future of mass market mobile computing includes neither a mouse guideline neither an x86 processor."

I best regards believe that. The iPad Pro could not be a laptop computer replacement for every person, which's okay, yet it certainly is for me. The appeal of iOS as well as the tablet's form is tempting, as well as its mix makes computing a lot more obtainable. While I'll forever lust over the 12-inch MacBook's svelte style, the 12.9 ″ iPad Pro is definitely the far better "laptop" for my needs.

[mesmerizedchronophantasmalm-blog]

Fix Yourself

     My mentality was doomsday. I thought I was past the point of no return. To keep the family that I once lived with save I just disappeared. The lifestyle I was living had no place with them in it. I was a monster, I had no place in normal society. I just wanted to feel okay, and not be judged for my lifestyle.

     I was too self-absorbed in trying to numb the pain I felt inside. I stayed up for days, I’d watch the sun rise into the sky. I felt dead inside. Was this how I was going to feel for the rest of my life? I never felt okay. I’ve died twice technically. I couldn’t stand my own company let alone his. At one point, everything I knew in my life was a lie. It was hard to trust family, I isolated myself. Self medicating was the only thing that made me feel better. That self medicating eventually turned into getting a fix just to feel normal.

     I eventually found myself among the company of many people who flipped product. I felt normal around them. They understood my pain, however none of us were in the right. Along the way I was staying at this guy’s house. We’ll call him Barney because he’s a clown. Not a good one either. Barney’s been abusing substances for six years now. Some of our mutual friends started referring to him as my boyfriend in front of me.

     This was news to me, evidently he’d tell anybody and everybody we knew behind my back that we were in a relationship. If anybody flirted with me he freaked out and stormed off. Eventually he tried isolating me from everyone and everything so he got the silent treatment from me. I spent my days in silence thinking about what I could do. Barney liked ripping people off to get his fix. I wasn’t about that. He was pretty hateful and racist too. His obsession with me was unhealthy and unnatural.

     It was like dealing with a child, if I tried to go do something all hell would break lose with him. He even threatened to call the police on me once because I told him I was going to do something without him. This living situation was not going to work. He knew what I was going through with myself. I was at a war with my mind, and he allowed his obsession to isolate me from the few people I fucked with. This living situation was not going to work. Barney and I have been friends for a long time, and I was being patient with him in hopes that he’d realize what he’s doing to me is wrong.

      Why was I putting up with this though? This living situation wasn’t worth it, but abusive situations were my forte. They were engraved in my upbringing and my state of mind saw nothing wrong with it for a long time. My patience was running thin, I called my only friend at the time who Barney happened to know to come get me. He found out what was happening. I getting my belongings together and I was getting ready to leave. I didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t care.

     He called the friend I called up behind me back and threatened them, so she never showed up, and then walked in his room which had a deadbolt on it with a key lock on it, no door knob. He locked the door and told me that if I’m going to leave he needs a reasonable explanation for why I’m leaving. This was my last attempt to reason with him on peaceful terms. I felt like a caged animal. This didn’t help my state of mind at all.

     I didn’t need a reason to leave someone’s residence, Barney was past the point of reasoning with. Anything I told him he shot down and refused to unlock the door allowing me to leave. I ripped the key out of his hand so I could try to unlock the door. He then jumped on my back and I lost it. With all my weight I slammed him into the ground then punched him in the face. As my fist planted into the side of his right cheek his phone flew out of his hand and ricocheted off the floor, screen cracked, and mid bounce I grabbed the cracked phone and clocked him in the forehead with it. Blood was running down his forehead and he unlocked the door to run to the bathroom.

     I don’t understand him, and I don’t care. I ran out into the cold November rain, and ran out the door he chased me down the road but couldn’t keep up. I’ll never forget the disgusting gut wrenching way he screamed come back while he chased me. I wasn’t scared of him honestly, he was never the fighting type. I’m not saying I am, but he’s definitely not. I just knew if he caught up with me I would have destroyed him. There’s no coming back from that. I didn’t know where I was going, it was a long cold walk in the November rain to the only place that was open which was the casino. I didn’t have a phone at this time, however I did have a tablet. I dried off and got in contact with an acquaintance, we bounced from casino to casino every night. Different hotel room each night flipping product and being unproductive.

     I realized this was no way to live eventually. I was a hypersexual damaged addict. I was a ticking time bomb. I didn’t want too, but I had to clean my life up. I voluntarily put myself in rehabilitation. My first night in rehab down the hall from my room there was two guys getting into a fight, one of them stabbed the other one with a knife he wasn’t supposed to have. They took one look at me and booked me with a really cool roomate. She was trans, her name was V. She was a character. We shared stories, we shared scars, she looked out for me, and I looked out for her.

    Unfortunately she relapsed two weeks into my treatment. I was sad to see V go. There was a community leader everyone looked up too, he was fine as fuck I’m not gonna lie. Tatted head to toe, gorgeous, approachable, and respectable. I wanted to be like him. I became community of the rehab after him and the man who took his spot moved on with their life. It was hard opening up to a group of strangers at first and taking initiative to make people comfortable around you. It was some work too. We were all in there for different things, and have all experienced many crazy things in our life. Physical abuse, emotional abuse, psychological abuse, sexual abuse and substance abuse.

     The councilors there helped me identify the source of why I abuse. Alot of it was just because I couldn’t deal with the traumas of my past, shit like that fucks you up. It wasn’t easy facing my demons, the community leader of the female dorm really helped me alot with it. We’re still friends to this day. The rehabilitation program was an eye opener, however it didn’t save me. I had to save myself. I re-created myself, changed my legal name, cleaned out my closet. I’m currently working on making peace with my past and letting go of it. I’m far perfect, I am a work in progress.

      I never want to feel this way again though. The despair, the loneliness, the fights, the crimes. It was nice to see Our Sanctuary when I came back from all this. If you’re reading this, thank you for taking the time to do so, and do ke a favor, and love everyone including yourself unconditionally. Life’s too short to live the way I did. I regret it, I was introduced to a lifestyle at a young age and my life was flipped upside down, if I could go back in time and change it I would, but I wouldn’t be the person I am today. It’s crazy to say, but a year ago today I thought I’d be dead in a ditch somewhere, but I’m here and I’m alive. I’m making peace with myself, and I’m looking for brighter horizons.