#it would be good to get an emergency battery for my computer in case the light goes out I don't lose my work

[lynaferns]

It's windy outside and every time I hear a loud wind I quickly save the progress on my work

The other night it was very windy and the light went out for a second at least 3 times that night so now I'm paranoid that it's gonna go out again and I'll lose my work

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Circular battery self-sufficiency

I'm coming to DEFCON! On FRIDAY (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On SATURDAY (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

If we are going to survive the climate emergency, we will have to electrify – that is, transition from burning fossil fuels to collecting, storing, transmitting and using renewable energy generated by e.g. the tides, the wind, and (especially) the Sun.

Electrification is a big project, but it's not an insurmountable one. Planning and executing an electric future is like eating the elephant: we do it one step at a time. This is characteristic of big engineering projects, which explains why so many people find it hard to imagine pulling this off.

As a layperson, you are far more likely to be exposed to a work of popular science than you are a work of popular engineering. Pop science is great, but its role is to familiarize you with theory, not practice. Popular engineering is a minuscule and obscure genre, which is a pity, because it's one of my favorites.

Weathering the climate emergency is going to require a lot of politics, to be sure, but it's also going to require a lot of engineering, which is why I'm grateful for the nascent but vital (and growing) field of popular engineering. Not to mention, the practitioners of popular engineering tend to be a lot of fun, like the hosts of the Well That's Your Problem podcast, a superb long-form leftist podcast about engineering disasters (with slides!):

https://www.youtube.com/@welltheresyourproblempodca1465

If you want to get started on popular engineering and the climate, your first stop should be the "Without the Hot Air" series, which tackles sustainable energy, materials, transportation and food as engineering problems. You'll never think about climate the same way again:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/06/methane-diet/#3kg-per-day

Then there's Saul Griffith's 2021 book Electrify, which is basically a roadmap for carrying out the electrification of America and the world:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/09/practical-visionary/#popular-engineering

Griffith's book is inspiring and visionary, but to really get a sense of how fantastic an electrified world can be, it's gotta be Deb Chachra's How Infrastructure Works:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/17/care-work/#charismatic-megaprojects

Chachra is a material scientist who teaches at Olin College, and her book is a hymn to the historical and philosophical underpinnings of infrastructure, but more than anything, it's a popular engineering book about what is possible. For example, if we want to give every person on Earth the energy budget of a Canadian (like an American, but colder), we would only have to capture 0.4% of the solar energy that reaches the Earth's surface.

Now, this is a gigantic task, but it's a tractable one. Resolving it will require a very careful – and massive – marshaling of materials, particularly copper, but also a large number of conflict minerals and rare earths. It's gonna be hard.

But it's not impossible, let alone inconceivable. Indeed, Chachra's biggest contribution in this book is to make a compelling case for reconceiving our relationship to energy and materials. As a species, we have always treated energy as scarce, trying to wring every erg and therm that we can out of our energy sources. Meanwhile, we've treated materials as abundant, digging them up or chopping them down, using them briefly, then tossing them on a midden or burying them in a pit.

Chachra argues that this is precisely backwards. Our planet gets a fresh supply of energy twice a day, with sunrise (solar) and moonrise (tides). On the other hand, we've only got one Earth's worth of materials, supplemented very sporadically when a meteor survives entry into our atmosphere. Mining asteroids, the Moon and other planets is a losing proposition for the long foreseeable future:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/09/astrobezzle/#send-robots-instead

The promise of marshaling a very large amount of materials is that it will deliver effectively limitless, clean energy. This project will take a lot of time and its benefits will primarily accrue to people who come after its builders, which is why it is infrastructure. As Chachra says, infrastructure is inherently altruistic, a gift to our neighbors and our descendants. If all you want is a place to stick your own poop, you don't need to build a citywide sanitation system.

What's more, we can trade energy for materials. Manufacturing goods so that they gracefully decompose back into the material stream at the end of their lives is energy intensive. Harvesting materials from badly designed goods is also energy intensive. But if once we build out the renewables grid (which will take a lot of materials), we will have all the energy we need (to preserve and re-use our materials).

Our species' historical approach to materials is not (ahem) carved in stone. It is contingent. It has changed. It can change again. It needs to change, because the way we extract materials today is both unjust and unsustainable.

The horrific nature of material extraction under capitalism – and its geopolitics (e.g. "We will coup whoever we want! Deal with it.") – has many made comrades in the climate fight skeptical (or worse, cynical) about a clean energy transition. They do the back-of-the-envelope math about the material budget for electrification, mentally convert that to the number of wildlife preserves, low-income communities, unspoiled habitat and indigenous lands that we would destroy in the process of gathering those materials, and conclude that the whole thing is a farce.

That analysis is important, but it's incomplete. Yes, marshaling all those materials in the way that we do today would be catastrophic. But the point of a climate transition is that we will transition our approach to our planet, our energy, and our materials. That transition can and should challenge all the assumptions underpinning electrification doomerism.

Take the material bill itself: the assumption that a transition will require a linearly scaled quantity of materials includes the assumption that cleantech won't find substantial efficiencies in its material usage. Thankfully, that's a very bad assumption! Cleantech is just getting started. It's at the stage where we're still uncovering massive improvements to production (unlike fossil fuel technology, whose available efficiencies have been discovered and exploited, so that progress is glacial and negligible).

Take copper: electrification requires a lot of copper. But the amount of copper needed for each part of the cleantech revolution is declining faster than the demand for cleantech is rising. Just one example: between the first and second iteration of the Rivian electric vehicle, designers figured out how to remove 1.6 miles of copper wire from each vehicle:

https://insideevs.com/news/722265/rivian-r1s-r1t-wiring/

That's just one iteration and one technology! And yeah, EVs are only peripheral to a cleantech transition; for one thing, geometry hates cars. We're going to have to build a lot of mass transit, and we're going to be realizing these efficiencies with every generation of train, bus, and tram:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/29/geometry-hates-uber/#toronto-the-gullible

We have just lived through a massive surge in electrification, with unimaginable quantities of new renewables coming online and a stunning replacement of conventional vehicles with EVs, and throughout that surge, demand for copper remained flat:

https://www.chemanalyst.com/NewsAndDeals/NewsDetails/copper-wire-price-remains-stable-amidst-surplus-supply-and-expanding-mining-25416#:~:text=Global%20Copper%20wire%20Price%20Remains%20Stable%20Amidst%20Surplus%20Supply%20and%20Expanding%20Mining%20Activities

This isn't to say that cleantech is a solved problem. There are many political aspects to cleantech that remain pernicious, like the fact that so many of the cleantech offerings on the market are built around extractive financial arrangements (like lease-back rooftop solar) and "smart" appliances (like heat pumps and induction tops) that require enshittification-ready apps:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/26/unplanned-obsolescence/#better-micetraps

There's a quiet struggle going on between cleantech efficiencies and the finance sector's predation, from lease-back to apps to the carbon-credit scam, but many of those conflicts are cashing out in favor of a sustainable future and it doesn't help our cause to ignore those: we should be cheering them on!

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/12/s-curve/#anything-that-cant-go-on-forever-eventually-stops

Take "innovation." Silicon Valley's string of pump-and-dump nonsense – cryptocurrency, NFTs, metaverse, web3, and now AI – have made "innovation" into a dirty word. As the AI bubble bursts, the very idea of innovation is turning into a punchline:

https://www.wheresyoured.at/burst-damage/

But cleantech is excitingly, wonderfully innovative. The contrast between the fake innovation of Silicon Valley and the real – and vital – innovation of cleantech couldn't be starker, or more inspiring:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/30/posiwid/#social-cost-of-carbon

Like the "battery problem." Whenever the renewables future is raised, there's always a doomer insisting that batteries are an unsolved – and unsolvable – problem, and without massive batteries, there's no sense in trying, because the public won't accept brownouts when the sun goes down and the wind stops blowing.

Sometimes, these people are shilling boondoggles like nuclear power (reminder: this is Hiroshima Day):

https://theconversation.com/dutton-wants-australia-to-join-the-nuclear-renaissance-but-this-dream-has-failed-before-209584

Other times, they're just trying to foreclose on the conversation about a renewables transition altogether. But sometimes, these doubts are raised by comrades who really do want a transition and have serious questions about power storage.

If you're one of those people, I have some very good news: battery tech is taking off. Some of that takes the form of wild and cool new approaches. In Finland, a Scottish company is converting a disused copper mine into a gravity battery. During the day, excess renewables hoist a platform piled with tons of rock up a 530m shaft. At night, the platform lowers slowly, driving a turbine and releasing its potential energy. This is incredibly efficient, has a tiny (and sustainable) bill of materials, and it's highly replicable. The world has sufficient abandoned mine-shafts to store 70TWh of power – that's the daily energy budget for the entire planet. What's more, every mine shaft has a beefy connection to the power grid, because you can't run a mine without a lot of power:

https://www.euronews.com/green/2024/02/06/this-disused-mine-in-finland-is-being-turned-into-a-gravity-battery-to-store-renewable-ene

Gravity batteries are great for utility-scale storage, but we also need a lot of batteries for things that we can't keep plugged into the wall, like vehicles, personal electronics, etc. There's great news on that score, too! "The Battery Mineral Loop" is a new report from the Rocky Mountain Institute that describes the path to "circular battery self-sufficiency":

https://rmi.org/wp-content/uploads/dlm_uploads/2024/07/the_battery_mineral_loop_report_July.pdf

The big idea: rather than digging up new minerals to make batteries, we can recycle minerals from dead batteries to make new ones. Remember, energy can be traded for materials: we can expend more energy on designs that are optimized to decompose back into their component materials, or we can expend more energy extracting materials from designs that aren't optimized for recycling.

Both things are already happening. From the executive summary:

The chemistry of batteries is rapidly improving: over the past decade, we've reduced per-using demand for lithium, nickle and cobalt by 60-140%, and most lithium batteries are being recycled, not landfilled.

Within a decade, we'll hit peak mineral demand for batteries. By the mid-2030s, the amount of new "virgin minerals" needed to meet our battery demand will stop growing and start declining.

By 2050, we could attain net zero mineral demand for batteries: that is, we could meet all our energy storage needs without digging up any more minerals.

We are on a path to a "one-off" extraction effort. We can already build batteries that work for 10-15 years and whose materials can be recycled with 90-94% efficiency.

The total quantity of minerals we need to extract to permanently satisfy the world's energy storage needs is about 125m tons.

This last point is the one that caught my eye. Extracting 125m tons of anything is a tall order, and depending on how it's done, it could wreak a terrible toll on people and the places they live.

But one question I learned to ask from Tim Harford and BBC More Or Less is "is that a big number?" 125m tons sure feels like a large number, but it is one seventeenth of the amount of fossil fuels we dig up every year just for road transport. In other words, we're talking about spending the next thirty years carefully, sustainably, humanely extracting about 5.8% of the materials we currently pump and dig every year for our cars. Do that, and we satisfy our battery needs more-or-less forever.

This is a big engineering project. We've done those before. Crisscrossing the world with roads, supplying billions of fossil-fuel vehicles, building the infrastructure for refueling them, pumping billions of gallons of oil – all of that was done in living memory. As Robin Sloan wrote:

Did people say, at the dawn of the automobile: are you kidding me? This technology will require a ubiquitous network of refueling stations, one or two at every major intersection … even if there WAS that much gas in the world, how would you move it around at that scale? If everybody buys a car, you’ll need to build highways, HUGE ones — you’ll need to dig up cities! Madness!

https://www.robinsloan.com/newsletters/room-for-everybody/

That big project cost trillions and required bending the productive capacity of many nations to its completion. It produced a ghastly geopolitics that elevated petrostates – a hole in the ground, surrounded by guns – to kingmakers whose autocrats can knock the world on its ass at will.

By contrast, this giant engineering project is relatively modest, and it will upend that global order, yielding energy sovereignty (and its handmaiden, national resliency) to every country on Earth. Doing it well will be hard, and require that we rethink our relationship to energy and materials, but that's a bonus, not a cost. Changing how we use materials and energy will make all our lives better, it will improve the lives of the living things we share the planet with, and it will strip the monsters who currently control our energy supply of their political, economic, and electric power.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/06/with-great-power/#comes-great-responsibility

[trylkstopocket]

Tackling the Quantum Threat to Bitcoin

One of my favorite descriptions of Bitcoin comes from that great oracle of this space, Andreas Antonopoulos. He called it a “sewer rat.”

Antonopoulos’s unflattering comparison is actually an expression of respect. He means Bitcoin is a survivor; its exposure to threats has allowed it to develop strong resistance to them, akin to how exposure to germs helps people develop immune systems. It has faced multiple crises – from Mt. Gox to China’s mining ban – and after each has emerged stronger, with an expanded hashrate, enhanced economic security, growing user numbers, falling transaction costs and more efficient processing.

_You’re reading **_Money Reimagined_, a weekly look at the technological, economic and social events and trends that are redefining our relationship with money and transforming the global financial system. Subscribe to get the full newsletter _here_.**_

In many ways, the leaderless, amorphous ecosystem that drives Bitcoin forward embodies Nassim Taleb’s idea of an “anti-fragile” system (although Taleb recently became quite a prominent Bitcoin critic). It offers a good reason to believe Bitcoin will again bounce back stronger from the recent setbacks in cryptocurrency markets.

As many die-hard believers will tell you, Bitcoin’s durability is in large part a function of how hard it is to alter its protocol. As we learned from the block size wars, when a lobbying campaign by powerful interests failed to find support to increase Bitcoin’s data capacity, it takes an overwhelming consensus among both users and miners for significant code alterations to be adopted. That gives the system certainty and breeds faith in the provable scarcity it promises.

Still, it would be naive to think Bitcoin is entirely invulnerable to outside threats. In fact, one in particular that gets too little attention now looms larger than ever: quantum technologies. And in this case, Bitcoin’s “hard to change” characteristic could prove to be a bug, not a feature.

A long time coming

Quantum computing has been coming for four decades, delayed because of the highly complicated engineering challenge that sits before it can achieve, at scale, the kind of supercomputing powers it promises. That slow process is why some people, including many in the cryptocurrency industry, believe it will never come.

But recently, computer scientists have discovered uses for the field’s calculation techniques in conjunction with graphic processing units (GPU). They foresee powerful uses without having to wait for the development of an all-out quantum computer.

That has raised excitement around the possibilities posed by rapid processing of massive datasets to accelerate research into areas such as battery technology. It has also fueled concern the encryption systems upon which our digital economy depends are at risk of being broken by attackers wielding quantum tools.

So scientists are collectively working on the release of a set of open “post-quantum cryptography” standards to “quantum-proof” our computer systems. A recent article in Nature by a group of these scientists laid out a transition strategy backed by the U.S. National Institute for Standards and Technology (NIST) and its foreign counterparts.

A Biden administration memo last month outlined “key steps needed to maintain the nation’s competitive advantage in quantum information science (QIS), while mitigating the risks of quantum computers to the nation’s cyber, economic and national security.” It directed “specific actions for agencies to take as the United States begins the multi-year process of migrating vulnerable computer systems to quantum-resistant cryptography.”

One of the scientists behind this drive, Jack Hidary, the CEO of Sandbox AQ, is now on a mission to convince crypto developer communities to start the likely long process of transitioning to post-quantum standards before their blockchain protocols are rendered useless.

“This process of changing all the blockchains could take four or five years, and that’s part of the understanding of why we have to start this process now,” he said during an interview that ran in last week’s special World Economic Forum edition of the “Money Reimagined” podcast.

Bitcoin’s sewer rat resilience will not protect it here. Although its key pair system is built on Elliptic Curve cryptography (ECC), an advance beyond the ubiquitous RSA system of public key cryptography used in most encryption systems, research has shown that EEC will be unable to withstand quantum processing, Hidary says.

That means a third party could use a super-fast “brute force” quantum calculation to quickly uncover the private key you secretly guard to unlock and transact with bitcoins referenced on the public blockchain.

Act now, later or never?

Will blockchain developers buy in?

To upgrade the code in a company-owned website, all that’s needed is for the CEO or chief technology to order their staff to do so. But you can’t meaningfully change a widely distributed, decentralized, open-source protocol whose value depends on a network of users unless a sufficiently large majority of participants adopts the code change.

We know, not only from the block size wars but also from how long it has taken for less-contentious upgrades such as Taproot to be adopted, that finding consensus in Bitcoin can be especially difficult and time-consuming – partly because there’s so much money at stake.

One would think that if these computing advances pose this kind of existential threat, change would happen rapidly. People will preserve something they are invested in, one would think.

But such an upgrade entails much more than just a few lines of code. It means overhauling the entire cryptographic foundation and requires the engagement of all players in the Bitcoin economy. It will take a lot of meetings, and a great deal of argument over Twitter and IRC to get everyone on board. Bitcoin’s resistance to change could prove a barrier.

Inevitably, some will mistrust these scientists making threats and promises. Companies like Hidary’s are offering services to solve these problems for blockchain developers. Is this fix as urgent as he claims? My head hurts thinking of the fights, the accusations, the conspiracy theories.

The truth is no one knows how long it will take for quantum to become advanced and accessible enough to pose a threat to blockchains. But can the community afford to wait?

[thequeenxofhearts]

“Oh my, what have I done to deserve such a beautiful smile?”

Jason Todd x Reader | One-Shot

Summary: Jason is worried when Y/N doesn’t come home from work. Follow up to “Close your eyes...you’re safe now.”

“Just keep an eye out for her…thanks Damian.”

Jason hung up the phone and began pacing the living room again. Y/N was supposed to have been home a few hours ago but when she did not return home, Jason called her phone.

There was no answer.

He rang a few more times, and there was still no answer.

He called Bruce but no criminal activity came up on the Bat computer, and Bruce admitted that he had not gotten around to putting a tracker in Y/N so he couldn’t find her.

“I suggest you stay home in case she turns up. Tim’s on patrol tonight, I’ll send Damian out with him to look for her.” Bruce said, “Don’t worry Jason, she’ll turn up.”

But worrying was all Jason did.

The last few days he had noticed that Y/N had not been herself. He wondered if maybe she was having a hard time at work…she had not been the same since the Joker attacked her workplace a while ago.

But he knew she wanted to get back to work, she had had a lot of time off but he wondered if eventually she got sick of being at home and being bored and wanted to go to work.

But he knew she would not have gone if she really didn’t want to.

 Then he began to remember specific things that had been happening recently, she was not that interested in watching the TV as she used to be, she was struggling to get into the books that were stacked on the shelves.

She was eating less than usual, and she spent more time in the shower than she normally did.

 His phone lit up. He grabbed it, hoping it would be a message from Y/N, or about her. But it was just a stupid app update notification.

He saw his battery was running low, so he went into the bedroom to get the charger.

As he opened the door, he noticed the curtains were still open. Giving him the view of the city outside. And how it was getting darker outside. He looked at his watch; 6:41PM

He felt his stomach drop.

She had never been this late home without telling him where she was, and what time she thought she would be back.

He was getting more and more worried.

 His phone vibrated in his hand, it was Tim’s number, “Tim?”

“I’m sorry Jay, I can’t find her. I searched the park and most other placed where I know she’s been, but a lot of stores are closing for the night. I doubt she’d be in one of them.”

Jason ran his hand through his hair, “Where is she?” He muttered.

“Jason, it’s starting to rain.” Tim’s voice was filled with sorrow.

Jason went to the window. Tim was right, rain began spitting onto the window, and it started getting heavier.

“I’ll keep looking for her Jay, I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thanks Timmy.”

He hung up, and just as he did, Damian called, but he basically told Jason what Tim had just told him.

So, Jason called Bruce, “I need to be out there looking for her, Bruce.”

“Jason you need to be home in case sh-”

“In case she turns up, I know! But I’m no good to her worrying at home, am I?” Jason exclaimed.

“I’ll keep an eye on the computer, if anything comes up I’ll send the boys to check it out. I’ll keep you updated Jason.” And with that, he hung up.

Jason leant against the wall and slid to the ground.

He brought his legs up to his chest and buried his face in his hands.

Maybe Bruce was right, maybe he should stay home in case Y/N comes back. But he didn’t know where else to look for her, both Damian and Tim couldn’t find her. He didn’t know what to do.

He thought about everything he had done when he realised Y/N had come home; he’d called her several times and tried to remember the conversation they’d had before she left for work this morning, but he couldn’t remember her saying she was going anywhere.

But he knew that sometimes after work, she would go across to the bookstore opposite her workplace, but she would not be there for hours, maybe half an hour at the most.

At four o’clock, he called her workplace, but they said she left one-thirty. Normally it would have been two o’clock, but it was quiet, and she seemed tired, so they let her go early. It was then that he called Bruce and told him what had happened.

He was angry at himself for not going to look for her.

He wasn’t angry with her for not coming home, he thought maybe she needed sometime to herself and didn’t think to tell him, but now that neither Bruce, Damian or, Tim could find her, he was more and more worried.

He looked at the photograph of the two of them on the bedside cabinet. He remembered where and when it was taken; the apartment he was in right now, two years ago when they moved in.

Previously they had been living in Y/N’s old apartment, but it was too small for all of them. It was ok when they first started dating as Jason was living in the old Ace Chemicals factory, and he was just spending nights with her. But nights turned into weekends, and he eventually moved it.

But the small apartment just wasn’t big enough for the both of them, so they moved into this current apartment together two years ago.

Jason eventually told Y/N about his alias, and about his family, but it didn’t bother her as much as he thought it would; much to his relief.

She worried about him, he knew that, and she tried to stay awake when he was on patrol at night, but most of the time she fell asleep. Jason once joked, telling her it was her job to keep the bed warm for him.

He smiled at the memory, and then tears stung his eyes, “God I hope you’re ok.” He muttered.

 A few seconds later, he heard the front door opening. He quickly got to his feet and ran to the kitchen. Y/N had just closed the front door behind her.

She had gotten caught in the rain, her coat was wet, and her hair. Her face was wet, but he knew she had been crying.

“Y/N!” Jason exclaimed, he ran to her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, and he heard her quietly sobbing on his chest. “Where have you been?” He asked, peeling her coat off, and hanging it on the back of one of the chairs next to the heater.

He held her face in his hands and kissed her forehead, “Y/N?”

“I’m sorry.” She muttered, but Jason held her again.

He took her over to the sofa and wrapped a blanket around her before pulling her down with him on the sofa.

All she had said was, “I had a bad day.”

Jason brushed her wet hair out of her face, kissing her forehead again. “It’s ok now.” He whispered.

“Wanna tell me about it?”

She shrugged, “I dunno.”

“You’ll feel better.”

“I dunno Jay. I feel like everything in my head is all jumbled, and I don’t know what to do.”

Jason sighed, “Go take a shower, I don’t want you getting a cold. When you’re finished we’ll talk, alright?” He smiled sweetly; Y/N nodded.

“You’re not mad?” She asked.

“No, I’m not mad at you.” He replied.

 Y/N went to the en suite bathroom, she closed the door behind her and a few seconds later Jason heard the shower coming on.

He was so relieved that she was home safely, but he had another problem to sort out.

He called Bruce and told him she was home safe.

“I’m glad she’s ok Jason, I told you she would come home. Where was she?”

“I don’t know, she’s taking a shower but when she’s finished, I’ll find out.”

“I’ll call the boys and let them know she’s home.” And Bruce hung up.

 Jason opened one of the kitchen cupboards, and he pulled out the bottle of whisky he and Y/N had been saving ‘in case of emergencies’

He grabbed two whisky glasses and poured a little drop into each glass.

He went back to the couch and picked up his phone. Whilst he still a little bit of power in it, he called Domino’s Pizza and ordered pizza for them both, he knew she liked the garlic dough balls so he ordered them as well.

He went to the bedroom to charge his phone up, and while he was in there, he thought he would grab Y/N’s pyjamas, some underwear, and some thick socks for her. He put them on the radiator, so they were warm for her when she put them on.

 He heard the shower turning off and about five minutes after that, she came out of the bedroom, wearing the pyjamas that he had put on the radiator for her.

Jason opened his arms and she fell onto the sofa next to him, and snuggled against his warm body. He wrapped the blanket around her and reached for her glass of whisky on the coffee table.

She took it gratefully.

“Are we gonna talk now?” He asked gently. After taking a sip of the whisky, she nodded.

“What’s the matter then?” He asked, stroking her hair.

“I don’t know.”

“You haven’t been yourself since you went back to work.” Jason commented, and she nodded, “I think that’s it.”

“You think you went back too soon?”

She shook her head, “I don’t think I wanted to go back at all.”

Jason kissed the top of her head, “Why did you go back?”

She sighed, “I didn’t want to be at home all the time…and I didn’t want you to think that I couldn’t handle it.”

“If you weren’t ready to go back, you didn’t have to. Doesn’t matter what I think, my love.”  He held her tighter, and firmly pressed his lips to her head again.

“Go in tomorrow with your resignation. Take some time off and when you’re ready, look for another job.”

“That’s easier said than done, it’s gonna take ages to find another job.” Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair.

“I dunno I heard a certain billionaire is hiring at Wayne Enterprises.” Jason smirked, Y/N smiled.

Jason smiled, “Oh my, what have I done to deserve such a beautiful smile?” He squeezed her tightly, kissing her forehead again. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She replied.

There was a knock at the door.

“Dinners here!” Jason exclaimed.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, as Jason opened the door, she saw the Domino’s Pizza delivery guy standing at the door with 3 boxes. Jason gave him the money and returned to the couch with the boxes.

“I ordered your favourite; something cheesy and spicey, with stuffed crust and dough balls.” He winked; Y/N smiled again. “Thanks Jay.”

“My pleasure, babe.”

[sickcyclist]

This is the story of my day. It actually starts yesterday, when a heaven-sent rain swept in and cleared the smoke and cooled the air and tamped down the dust on the trails. I went on a bike ride because days like that are a gift. I have exercise-induced hypoxemia, which basically means that my oxygen drops when I exercise for reasons that we still don’t understand. Exercising with oxygen helps, but I still drop into the mid-80s. I knew I was too sick to ride and that doing so would make me much more sick, but I needed it for my mind so I was willing to sacrifice my body.

So that’s the first lesson of being sick. Everyone tells you that you have to be active and it will make things better and all you have to do is just push yourself hard enough. We’ve internalized this message to the point that many people believe sick people could get better if they just PUSHED. But that’s not always true. Sometimes pushing makes you worse. Sometimes it makes you much, much worse. And that can be true even if being active and pushing hard is something you love so much that it feels like it’s core to who you are.

I knew I would have to sleep for 12+ hours to make up for the ride, and I knew that I would have bad oxygen saturation stats because of it. And since I don’t have a real job, it should be easy to just take a lazy day (or week, or month) and get better, right? But actually I do have a real job and that job is to keep myself alive. It’s the job of a lot of us who are chronically ill, and it’s not a profession I would recommend. It’s not fun and it’s not rewarding and no one admires you for it and you’re not asked to speak to 5th graders on career day and you rarely get to move on to a newer, more interesting project.

Here’s what this particular day at work looked like for me. I woke up to a voicemail saying that my pulmonology appointment for Friday had been cancelled. I’ve been waiting to see a pulmonologist since March and was supposed to have an appointment weeks ago, but that was cancelled because the doctor quit two days beforehand. The other doctor in town couldn’t see me until the end of October, so I looked for a doctor in a bigger town hundreds of miles away. She comes highly recommended and in a way I’m happy because I strongly prefer female doctors, but for whatever reason she had to “clear her morning.” My new appointment is five weeks from now. I got off the phone and sobbed, which is not a good thing to do when your lungs don’t work. I probably could have toughed it up and avoided crying if I hadn’t worn myself down so much biking yesterday, but such is life.

I emailed my primary care provider asking for a note saying I could travel with my portable oxygen concentrator. I was supposed to get this letter from my pulmonologist, but now I won’t have a pulmonologist before I travel. The letter has to say that I use oxygen for sleep and activity, but it also has to specify that I won’t use oxygen on the plane. Which is a little funny because airplanes have extremely powerful oxygen-producing systems for emergencies, but they don’t like people who need oxygen because they don’t like the risk that comes with having sick people on board (think emergency landings). So people who need oxygen all the time need their own oxygen concentrator and battery power for the equivalent of 1.5x the time they will be in the air. I’m going on an 8-hour flight and it would cost about $400 to get strong enough batteries for that length. So I need them to let me carry my machine, which has lithium ion batteries that are otherwise prohibited. But in order to carry my machine I need to prove that I won’t be needing it.

I have a great primary care provider. I knew she would write the note. Easy peasy.

My next voicemail was from the specialty pharmacy that my insurance provider uses for certain drugs. I am allergic to a hormone all women produce as part of the menstrual cycle. This allergy is so severe that it has been responsible for 5 miscarriages, and it also means that I’m more miserable than usual for half the month. The good news is that all you have to do to stop it is take out your ovaries, but when you do that you go into full menopause. Which is not desirable because it increases your risk of cancer and osteoporosis and just overall mortality. Like not even from one thing. Just people who go into menopause early die early from all causes and we don’t know why.

That gives you some perspective on what the benefits have to look like in order for the cost-benefit analysis to still auger in favor of ovary removal. But since it is such a serious choice, you have to be sure. And the way you make sure is to stop your ovaries from working with a drug. The drug has hideous short and long term side effects, so if you feel better while taking it, that’s a pretty strong sign that an oophorectomy is the choice for you.

Approval for me to receive this particular drug was in limbo because the provider accidentally entered the wrong diagnosis. I have, as you can imagine, a lot of diagnoses. Entering the wrong diagnosis in this case was particularly funny because I’ve spent the last 6 months fighting with Blue Cross to get an expensive medicine that helps with my allergies. This medicine (Xolair) is approved for chronic urticaria (hives). It is not approved for progesterone hypersensitivity. I have both, which means I itch a lot for two weeks of the month and itch so much that I want to peel my skin off for two weeks of the month. Blue Cross argued that I wanted the drug for progesterone hypersensitivity. No medical provider said that, but it was the diagnosis they could use to deny the drug. Xolair costs $4000 a month. At that price it’s worth it to them to grind people down and hope they give up. It took four appeals and my lawyer (husband) to get the drug approved because I do indeed have chronic urticaria. It’s worked wonders for me, especially being allergic to the sun. You have no idea how easy it is to descend into madness when you are itchy all the time.

I went over all this with my new OB. I explained that, while the allergy shot solved the itching, it didn’t fix any of my systemic problems, which is why I was still interested in removing my ovaries. And because the conversation focused on how this ovary-suppressing drug (Lupron) specifically wasn’t for urticaria, it’s perhaps not surprising that she accidentally listed urticaria as the reason for the prescription. It’s like when you’re afraid you’ll mispronounce someone’s name. You tell yourself, “Say Kee-a, not Ky-a,” so many times that you’re basically guaranteed to call the person Ky-a.

So my ovary medicine was denied, of course, but I contacted my doctor’s office last week explaining the problem and they were very quick to apologize and resubmit. I returned the call from the specialty pharmacy but apparently they had just wanted to let me know that they were sorry for the delay. It was very polite of them but maybe didn’t require a phone call.

Then I got an email from Blue Cross Blue Shield. I logged in to read that coverage had again been denied (no reason stated) and that if I wanted to appeal the decision I would have to appeal through their specialty pharmacy. They gave me the name and number. Of a different specialty pharmacy than the one I had been dealing with for the past month. The one that I had already wrangled account numbers and diagnosis codes and special customer service phone lines out of. I typed up a polite response inquiring why I need to change pharmacies. And then I cried, but only just a little this time.

Then I called Walgreen’s because my medication for muscle spasms had been delayed and I received a note saying the pharmacist needed to speak to me. I am hypermobile so my connective tissue is just a little too bendy. My joints slip in and out all the time and my muscles have to overwork to hold my body together. Frequently they overwork so much that they lock up. This happens much more frequently in the progesterone-dominant phase of my cycle. Physical therapy is the best treatment, but sometimes I need muscles relaxants before I can even start physical therapy.

The man I spoke to at Walgreen’s told me I didn’t have a prescription for that drug. Then he told me I had a prescription but it had expired in March of 2020. I knew that wasn’t true because I hadn’t used it for years but had to start again when I got COVID. So I had no prescription in March of 2020 but I definitely did in March of 2021. No big deal. Just a simple computer error. Totally understandable in a pandemic, and I knew my doctor would refill it anyway. But he apparently felt that it was a big deal and wouldn’t submit the refill to my provider. I have no idea why. Maybe he thought I was engaged in drug-seeking behavior. Or maybe he was having a bad day. But he wouldn’t submit the refill. I hung up the phone and screamed. Loudly. Which really is not a good thing to do when your lungs don’t work.

Murry came up and rubbed the spasm out of my shoulder and listened to me vent and offered to be my medical power of attorney so he could deal with these people for me. But he’s the one with the real job that earns real money and when I’m sick he also cooks and cleans and does the shopping and walks the dogs. I may not be any good at the shitty job I had, but there’s no way I’m going to make him do it.

I switched tactics and chatted with someone through the Walgreen’s app. He was lovely and had no problem submitting my prescription for a refill. Easy peasy.

My final task for the day was calling to find out about the status of my CPAP prescription. I don’t have sleep apnea but while I’m asleep my breathing does slow down significantly enough that my oxygen drops (hypopnea). I need a special CPAP that adjust the pressure to my breathing, but it will get me off of oxygen at night. I’m very excited for it.

My insurance does not require prior authorization for CPAP prescriptions. However, St. Pete’s has its own prior authorization department that I guess makes sure you are not lying about not needing prior authorization? This department is, apparently, understaffed. I called my oxygen “rep” to find out how it was going. She very kindly bypassed the prior authorization department and called Blue Cross directly. Blue Cross informed her, as had I, that a prior authorization was not necessary. She could officially get me a CPAP.

Except that there is a national CPAP shortage. So she will try her best to get me one as soon as they get more. Hopefully this month. Even the rare, wonderful people who try to help you are sometimes as helpless as you.

I didn’t cry this time. Crying doesn’t fix anything and I can’t risk losing more oxygen. So I turned to writing therapy instead.

This was a bad day at work, but there are rarely good ones. It sucks to be sick, but I’m smart, articulate, overly educated, wealthy, and white. It could suck so, so much more. Someday I’ll turn all of this knowledge that I never wanted into something that helps people other than myself. Until then maybe someone will read this and know they are not alone. If being sick is your job, I see you. I would give you a hug—or a bonus!—if I could.

[lastsonlost]

Five students are charged with first-degree battery misdemeanor after beating a boy, 14, on a school bus

The Florida State Attorney’s Office says the incident does not meet the criteria of a hate crime

The Hamilton County School District superintendent released a press release on Friday

The superintendent says there was no evidence that the attack was caused by the boy’s Trump 2020 apparel, despite the mother’s allegations

The shocking incident occurred on November 21 in Hamilton County, Florida

Boy named only as Tyler was hospitalized after the brutal 5-on-1 attack

Mother says he had been relentlessly bullied after wearing Trump hat previously

Calls for the attackers to be prosecuted for hate crime and attempted murder

Five students have been been charged on Friday after a shocking video emerged of a Florida boy being attacked on a school bus, allegedly because he’d previously worn a hat supporting President Donald Trump.

The news comes three weeks after the initial attack on November 21 that sent the 14-year-old boy, identified as Tyler, to the hospital with head contusions.

The Hamilton County Sheriff’s Office said the students involved have been charged with first-degree misdemeanor battery after discussing the charges with the State Attorney’s Office.

The Florida State Attorney’s Office recommended that the incident does not meet the criteria for a hate crime.

Superintendent Rex L. Mitchell shared a press release on Friday addressing the incident.

Mitchell says the school district has investigated the incident, disciplined the students involved in the altercation and turned information over to the Sheriff’s office for criminal action.

Although social media was set ablaze at the implication that the beating happened because Tyler wore a MAGA hat, Mitchell contends that is not the case.  

‘It is implied in the post that the altercation occurred because one of the students involved was wearing a political hat showing support for President Trump. There was no evidence found during the investigation that indicated the student was wearing of such apparel on a prior occasion motivated the incident,’ the statement reads.

'The incident began with a verbal altercation between two students that escalated when additional students became involved.’

The school district reviewed the bus video to not only view the altercation, but the event leading up to the event and the subsequent conclusion.

Mitchell said: 'We absolutely do not condone the use of physical force between students. This was a very unfortunate incident completely unrelated to any political statements or agendas.’

A woman by the name of Melissa Griffin organized a GoFundMe on Friday for her son, Tyler.

She says Tyler is emotionally distraught as he reels from the incident and 'he is crying most days.’

Following the November incident, Griffin says they no longer feel safe sending Tyler back to the high school and are considering other options, including homeschooling or moving to a different county.  

The money donated to the GoFundMe will go towards purchasing 'a good laptop computer and other supplies needed to be successful in a home school environment,’ for Griffin’s two sons.

So far, the GoFundMe has raised around $2,600 of the $4,000 goal.  

The video first emerged on Thursday after the boy’s family retained attorney Foye B. Walker for possible legal action.

The attorney, Walker, verified in a tweet that the incident occurred on a school bus in Hamilton County, and that he was representing the family. He did not immediately respond to a request for comment from DailyMail.com.

The boy’s mother explained on Twitter that she believed the attackers were motivated by a Trump 2020 campaign hat that her son had previously worn to school.

She said that the boy stopped wearing the hat due to harassment, but that the bullying continued.

'To be clear, my son bought his Trump 2020 hat with his own money at the flea market a few weeks ago,’ his mother, a Trump supporter who tweets under the handle @AmericanDiaries, wrote.

'He was proud to wear it. He wore it to School, but due to immediate bullying he put it away & didn’t wear it to school again, sadly the damage was already done & [he] was now a target,’ she said.

'From that point on he was steadily getting messed with. He was getting hit, tripped & verbally abused on the bus, but it all came to a head yesterday on his bus ride home,’ she continued.

She said that when Tyler was examined after the school, nurses found older bruising along with the new injuries. 'He didn’t tell us about the bullying, but they took it to a new level yesterday and we are just now learning what he was going through,’ she said.

Video of the attack shows at least three females and two males raining blows down on Tyler’s head as he tries to protect himself from the attack.

Tyler’s mother says she believes the assault was racially motivated. Tyler is white, and the assailants appear to be black.

'Plain and simple this was a hate crime and attempted murder according to the state of Florida since it was over three kids that jumped him and these kids are older and larger,’ the mother tweeted.

She said that she had contacted the police and the school district, and that the children involved had been suspended from school.  

____

So what happens when this kid picks up a gun, gets recruited by a hate group or worse?

Are we just going to say “we knew he would do this so this is why we bullied him”? Are we just going to blame “THE HAT” and not even the parents of the kids responsible for the attack? 

but what do I know. I’m told this is punching up at the racist orange man establishment.

However all this being said, until I see a hat I have to take all this with a grain of salt.

[razielwriter]

Lockdown - A short horror/thriller story

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 1.

M: So… It looks like we’re in here for the long haul…

(Pause)

M: I think I heard somewhere that, to avoid going crazy on submarines, sailors get themselves into routines. It’s been nearly two weeks since… Well, it couldn’t hurt, I guess.

M: I started out slow. Ease myself into it, you know? Having breakfast, getting in some exercise, checking the security monitors. Still nothing. Not even cats. And cats get fucking everywhere. You know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a pigeon? Fucking… ages man. I mean not ages, but like… It’s crazy.

M: I did find a rat, though. Found him in a box of shreddies. He kept making this horrible scratching noise. It’s okay though. I fucking hate shreddies. I’ve decided to name him Jason, for obvious reasons. He now lives in a little cell I managed to rig together. He seems happy. Still likes to bite me, bloody nuisance.

M: I started going through the boxes. Some of the stuff was… Weird. I’ll say it, it was weird. I mean, who packs a Furby? In an emergency bunker? I mean who looks at Gods mistake of a children’s toy and thinks “yes, this will get me through the end of the world”. Its fucking creepy, is what it is. I’ve left it in a corner, next to the toaster. If it turns around, I’m out.

M: And now I’m talking to you. Like you’re a person. Like you care about any of this. Like you won’t outlive me by a decade, assuming, you know, the electricity stays on and nothing springs a leak.

M: But… that’s it. That’s my day. Fucking bollocks, that.

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 9.

M: I decided to go exploring today. Started making a map of this place. Goes on forever. Found some cool shit, though. Greenhouse. Supply room. Hell, even found someone’s stash of porn. Truly, the essentials.

M: Coolest thing, though. I found a radio. Not one of the digital ones. Like, 80’s to 90’s shit. Looks like it was used to broadcast. Bit old school, but I think I can get it set up again. I’m hoping someone, out there, might have had the same idea. Maybe they’ll come rescue me.

M: Anyway, my day. Yes, that’s what you really want to know about. Um… Had breakfast, did exercise. Fed Jason. I swear, he’s getting fat. Picked out a book to read. “Lord of the Flies”, cheery I know. But it only seemed appropriate, given the circumstances.

(Sigh)

M: God, I sound like a dating profile. I mean, dating a computer wouldn’t be that bad but, I hate to say it, I just don’t think you’re my type. We can still be friends though. Get a pint from time to time, smile awkwardly at parties. Then you and your boyfriend will have a fight one night, and you’ll call, just wanting a friend, but we both know it’s more than that. We have one drunken night of passionate love making. But we never talk about it.

M: Ooh, that’s the timer. My steak and kidney pies ready.

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 15.

M: God, that Ralphs a nark. All that “… eyes that proclaimed no evil” shit. He’s so preachy. I bet, if he had access to the internet, he’d be just as “innocent” as every other boy his age. Then we’ll see who’s so golden.

(Chuckles)

M: Same as usual. Breakfast, exercise, security cameras, tended to the greenhouse. The potatoes are coming along nicely, and the sunflowers. I’m surprised. I thought they’d need more, you know, sunlight. But halogen will have to do. I can’t exactly go and clean the windows from the outside.

M: Then I went to feed Jason… I don’t know if I should call her that anymore. Turns out he is a she. And she had babies. Tiny little pink bodies, all squirming and squeaking. Their eyes aren’t even open. Never seen a baby rat before. They’re kind of gross, but also kind of cute.

M: Went to check on the radio for a few hours. Calm my nerves a bit. It’s not every day you become a dad to five little rat shaped testicles. Thought I heard something at around seven, but it turned out to be nothing. I think it was just, like, a World War Two radio play, or something. Shooting and shouting, you know the sort.

M: But that’s it for today. Now for some good old-fashioned alone time… As if I haven’t got anything else.

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 26.

M: Okay, lets get this shit over with.  Woke up a little earlier than I would have liked. Damn scratching. I think Jason might be getting some cell mates soon, if I find the culprit. Had breakfast, did exercise, all that good stuff. Fed Jason and the Ratgonauts. Their skin has gone darker, so that’s good… I think… I don’t actually know. God, I wish I could ask someone. Anyway, tended to the greenhouse. Then I went to check on the radio. And, fucking hell, that’s when the interesting shit kicked in.

M: I heard someone. Out there. I’m sure of it this time. I wrote down the words. Hold on… Mm…

(Paper rustling)

M: Fuck, where is it? AH! Here. The signal was a bit shit, so I didn’t get all of it, but this is what I’ve got.

M: To anyone out there… Please�� Keep… My name is Sophie. I’m in… To anyone still out there, if anyone is still out there, I am here. I am still alive. But I don’t know how long I can last. Please, if you can hear me, my frequency is… That’s where it cut out.

M: I knew it. I fucking knew it! I knew I couldn’t be the only one left. And if I’m picking up on her signal, Sophie can’t be that far away! I guess I’ll have to keep flicking through the radio signals until I find her again. But I’m gonna make dinner first.

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 31.

M: She… She fucking ate them. I… I can’t…

(Pause)

M: It was normal. Breakfast, exercise, all that bollocks…

(Pause)

M: I thought it was quiet. I thought that was a bit weird. Usually, when its feeding time, Jason starts squeaking and running around… Fuck. Maybe I wasn’t feeding her enough. Maybe I needed to let her loose from time to time but… She ate them. They were gone when I looked in and I only realised when I found the tail… All five…

M: Anyway, yeah, did some gardening… Checked the radio… Nothing…

(Pause)

M: I don’t know why I’m fucking crying over rats. I kind of wanted to… But she’s the only other living thing here, except me…

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 39.

M: It’s quiet without the babies. Fucking little bastards waking me up at three in the morning with their scratching but...

(Pause)

M: Got breakfast, did exercise. It’s weird. Never thought I would have, like, muscle and shit. I’m more beer belly and pork scratchings. Who would have thought it?

M: My sunflowers are doing really well. Never thought I’d like courgettes, but, you know what? They’re not that bad.

M: I think Jason got out in the night. Or maybe it was someone else that ate the rest of my lasagne. Yeah I’m looking at you, baby eater.

M: The Furby woke up today. I was just making some coffee and it fucking laughed at me, this demonic screeching noise and wiggled its fucking ears. So I did what any other self-respecting person would do. Took it and chucked it at the wall. It broke. I still have no idea how it did that. Couldn’t find a battery or anything. Gives me the creeps just thinking about it.

M: That’s… that’s not the only thing though. Fuck, I really have been out here too long. I… well, I woke up at about 1 am. Nightmares, nothing new there. I went to get myself a drink and… I think I saw something. Outside. It was sort of like a shadow, but not really. Too solid for that. And… teeth. At least, I think they were teeth. They looked like teeth.

(Sigh)

M: Fuck, I need a drink. I found a bunch of booze in the back. I know I promised… but he’s gone now. Who cares about soberness anymore, right?

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 40.

M: The scratching. I think Jason’s getting kind of frustrated in the night. I keep waking up to the sound of scratching.

M: Ah… yeah, sorry. Day, yes. Um… Breakfast, exercise, feeding Jason. Sorry, I haven’t slept… at all, really. That damn scratching and… God, what was in those booze? Feels like my brain is being squeezed by an angry nun.

M: Anyway, that’s about…

(The radio is heard)

Prof S Taylor: Hello? Can anyone hear me?

M: What…? Holy shit… Um… Hello? I mean, fuck, yes! Me. I’m here! I can hear you!

Prof S Taylor: Oh my God. Finally. Hi.

M: Hello.

Prof S Taylor: I… Um… Right, no time for the gushy stuff. I’m Sophie. Professor Taylor, I should say, with the research team. Is Sargent Foster there?

M: Sargent Foster?

Prof S Taylor: You are in the bunker, right?

M: Yeah but, um, I’m not Foster and… Its just me here. No one else.

Prof S Taylor: What? Who are you, then? Name and rank, soldier.

M: Easy there, mate. I’m not a soldier. Its… It’s a little complicated.

Prof S Taylor: Whatever. We’ll talk about it more when I get there. You have supplies?

M: Yeah, sure. But not much.

Prof S Taylor: Fair enough. The higherups probably closed the whole valley in case... Has anyone attempted to contact you?

M: Nope. Only you so far.

Prof S Taylor: And its just you there? What happened to the others?

M: I… I have no idea. I thought you could tell me.

Prof S Taylor: Humm… Still, I’m on the other side of the valley. I’ll be stopping off halfway. There’s another bunker, there should be a few others there. I think their radios defective, though. Haven’t been able to get in contact. I should be with you by the end of Tuesday.

M: Wow, days still exist then? Wonder what else I’ve forgotten? Tell me, do people still shake hands anymore, or do we spit in each other’s general direction, or something?

Prof S Taylor: Oh, so you’re a comedian. That’s… something, I suppose. Listen, just sit tight. I’ll be there soon.

M: Okay. My names Matt by the way.

Prof S Taylor: That’s good to know. Nice to meet you Matt. I’ll be there soon.

(Radio is turned off)

M: … Wow. Just… Fucking wow… I should probably tidy up a bit.

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 45.

M: Okay, I’m sure somethings wrong now. Jason… She’s gone missing. And that… I saw it again. I… I fucking saw it! I know I did! I’m not going crazy, right? I can’t be?

M: Jason got out. I was looking for her and… The window. I saw it out the window. Its jaw was huge, large enough to eat a German shepherd whole. And its teeth were wet and glistening. It looked like… like a cartoon skull. No lips. No nose. Just black, rubbery skin pulled back over that massive jaw and tiny skull. And the body was thin. I could see every rib and organ through the skin. And skinny legs. The arms were fucking crazy, though. Like, long and muscly. I think it walked on them…

(The radio is heard)

Prof S Taylor: Matt? Matt, you there?

M: Shit. Ugh, yeah, yeah I’m here. Where are you?

Prof S Taylor: At the other bunker. Matt… I’m not gonna make it.

M: What do you mean?

Prof S Taylor: They… They’re all dead. And I know it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have trusted it to behave. I should have stopped it.

M: What? Sophie… Are you talking about the thing with the teeth? And the weird arms?

Prof S Taylor: You’ve seen it then. The Scratcher. That’s what the office wits liked calling it. Stupid name. But… I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. My suggestion is get out while you can. I’ll stay here, draw it to me. That should buy you some time.

M: Sophie... How far away are you? I’m sure I could reach you…

Prof S Taylor: There’s no time for that. I can see it through the trees. It shouldn’t be long now.

M: No…

Prof S Taylor: Just… Promise me one thing. If you get out, find Roshni Laghari. She’s a teacher in London. She… Tell her I loved her to. I never told her, but I did. Will you do that for me Matt? Please?

M: Y-Yes. I’ll do that.

Prof S Taylor: Thank you Matt. Thank you.

(Radio is turned off)

M: … Shit. I should never have come here. I… I really shouldn’t have… Where’s my bag?

~~~

Recording date not found. Author Unknown. Located in the Chainwell Tor Research Facility Database. Log 98.

M: I hear him. I hear him. He whispers to me at night, like the prophecies of an angry God. But I have not lost my way yet. I see him for what he is. A pig’s head. And I am the flies. I am the flies.

M: I found her today. He threw her through the greenhouse glass. My Jason. Poor Jason. I’ll tell you something, though. She was tasty. Can of beans and some whisky. Got to be careful. Don’t have too much left…

M: For fuck sake will you quiet. I hear you. I hear you all the fucking time you grinning bastard. I hear you when I sleep. When I wake up. Stop… Stop laughing at me! How you like it if I did it to you?

(Proceeds to laugh for one minute and thirty-two seconds)

M: See, I laugh at you devil. Scum. See how you like it. Because I’m not opening that door. Not for anything. Not for…

M: No. You… You can’t say that. It was… It was an accident. IT WAS AN ACIDENT! I couldn’t stop it. It wasn’t my fault. If anything, it was yours. All your fault, poor, pathetic monster. You’re the reason! You’re the reason they’re dead, not me!

M: What… What’s that?

(Gun shots)

M: Ha, they’ve come for me. They’re here for me. Yes! Take that fucker!

(The door is blown)

M: Yes! Aw man, you have no idea how good it is-

(Gun shots)

Unknown: All clear. Witness neutralised. Send in the clean up team. And send in the roundup team outside.

 ~~~

 End of transcript. Report compiled by T. R. Fisher.

Professional recommendation that these files remained closed to public consumption for the foreseeable future under paragraph W, subsection 26 of the DPA of 1927.

Files not to be removed from The Vault without express permission, upon fear of grievous bodily harm or legal prosecution.

[itslmdee]

Fiction: The Imprisonment of Daniel Watkins

In a dystopian future Dan is arrested, not for committing a crime, but for a computer’s prediction that he might somehow cause deaths if left at liberty. mentions of selfharm/suicidal ideation

“Weekly visitation, Watkins.” The masked guard rapped the long stick against the bars.

Dan got to his feet and waited as the guard opened the door. He exited the cell, the guard following, the stick hovering behind his back the whole way there, another two guards armed with Tasers waiting near the end of the corridor.

As Dan approached the guards moved backwards, never letting him get too close. They made their way to the cubicle where a large TV screen was waiting for him. Dan sank into the plastic chair and the image of his wife appeared on the screen.

He longed to touch her, to see her in person even, but even face to face visits were forbidden. Sarah gave him a weak smile but he knew she’d been crying again.

“How are you?” he asked.

She nodded as if to reassure him. “I’m okay.” She was wearing a blouse with long sleeves and he had to take her word for it that she hadn’t reverted to self-harm. “You?”

“Still alive,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant but unable to hide the bitterness in his tone. This was existing, not living. “I haven’t heard from Bryan.” His lawyer was usually better at keeping him updated.

“I called him this morning,” Sarah said. “He’s still waiting to hear from the judge.”

Dan’s heart sank. The judge had demanded more evidence and who knew how long that would take.

“I put some more posts on social media,” Sarah said. “Most of them got taken down but a few were allowed to stay up and even the censored ones got some attention before they were deleted. There are people out there on your side, and Tamara’s video channel has gained another thousand followers. No luck with the TV news.”

The television news delighted in their preferred narrative. Daniel Watkins was a potential murderer, not an innocent victim in their broadcasts and his indefinite incarceration a matter of public good.

“What about that journalist, from the Galaxy Eye?” Sarah asked. “Did he write back to you?”

“Yes. Heavily redacted by the time it got to me. He’s interested but he needs to convince the paper to publish my side of the story. He’s been writing short pieces on his blog but his employers aren’t ready to challenge the mainstream story yet. I’ve asked him to send you hard copies of any further letters.”

Sarah nodded. “I love you,” she said, lip trembling. She placed her hand against the screen. Dan hovered his palm near hers.

They talked a little more but soon Dan was told to end the call. It was automatically cut off mid-goodbyes. He got to his feet and began to walk back to his cell. Rubber gloved cleaners moved to scrub the screen and the desk and the chair behind him.

Dan sat on his bunk, head in his hands. He’d been on his way home from the office when two police officers had dragged him off the street and into a cell. He’d been confused, asked for a lawyer, denied one. This was a matter of public protection and the normal rules did not apply.

He’d been allowed to phone Sarah after he said she’d be reporting him missing. She’d promised to get a lawyer but, as she later told him over a video call, they’d been prevented from contacting Dan during the first phase of his interrogation.

He was held for 48 hours initially, was forced to give blood and hand over his social media passwords. He was told an emergency extension had been applied. After 72 hours he was allowed to speak briefly to his lawyer, who was forced to sit across the room from him.

“It’s the new ICM software,” Bryan Fairfax said. “It’s been running models for a while now and making predictions. Enough of those predictions came true, according to police records, that they moved from using it to confirm perpetrators to catching them. We’ve been following the legal implications closely. But last week they moved further, to attempt to use it to prevent crimes. You got flagged as a potential murderer.”

Dan stared at him, mouth agape. “What?” he said at last. This was like that old movie with the ladies who sat in a bath predicting crime.

“It’s classified data but we’re filing motions to try and get access,” Bryan said. “We have no idea what they’re basing their assumptions on. They’re claiming everything from terrorism to domestic violence to spreading disease. They say you’re at risk of killing anywhere from one to one thousand people.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

Bryan nodded. “Because this is considered a matter of public protection most of your legal rights have been suspended. My firm is doing its best and I’m looking at every angle here. We’re pretty sure this is a test case to see how the public reacts before they fully roll it out, and we’re going to represent you pro bono here. Rollins senior was a great believer in personal freedoms and the firm is keen to be seen upholding civil liberties.”

It sounded like a wonderful opportunity for Rollins, Rollins, and Fairfax. It was less exciting for Dan, treated like a criminal though he’d done nothing wrong.

“I’m going to court in half an hour,” Bryan said. “I’m certain we won’t get bail though I’ll ask for it. You won’t be allowed to attend. They’re treating you as a high security risk.”

So Dan sat and waited. Bryan returned later that afternoon, standing across the room again.

“They’re keeping you for another two weeks,” he said. “I’m sorry. They’re asking for more data from the ICM. And they don’t want me seeing you again. Video calls only from here on out. I protested it was a violation of privacy but the government minister for health said it was, according to the model, too much of a risk to allow you too near any other person. The guards will be keeping their distance and you’ll only be allowed a half hour outside your cell when no other prisoners are in the yard, and to take a brief shower each morning after everyone else has used the facilities.”

Dan had been in solitary confinement ever since, meals pushed through a slot in his cell, his cell hosed down while he showered, only ever seeing masked guards delivering his food or escorting him to the showers or the yard. Two weeks had been extended to four, then six, then nine.

Sarah was frantic and Dan was terrified for her. She’d come a long way in the last few years, from anxious and suicidal to a self-confident woman who’d left her self-harming behind. He was proud of her and told her how it was her own strength and her renewed faith that had made the difference, though she gave him significant credit. She said he’d given her something to live for, someone who loved her and would never belittle or hurt her. He feared a return to her previous state of mind.

After the six week extension, with Bryan sadly certain that nine would again be extended without major new evidence, Dan was, for the first time in his life, feeling helpless enough to wonder if living was worth the pain. He truly sympathised now with Sarah’s despair.

If he killed himself however it would prove the model right; the media would spin it as him being a murderer, albeit of himself. He was getting desperate but he didn’t want ICM’s programmers and those funding the software to win.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Dan wrote on the old, tiny tablet he was allowed to use in his cell, the only entertainment he had, frowning at the cracked screen as he typed. “I am innocent yet presumed guilty. I have had my civil rights violated because of a computer programme that no-one outside of the ICM thinktank has been allowed to analyse. I am kept isolated from human contact for 23 hours a day, every day. I am not allowed to see my wife aside from on a computer screen. I am not allowed to talk to my lawyer except on a video call which is monitored by the prison and, I believe, the government and representatives of the ICM. My name is Daniel Watkins and I am not a murderer.”

He sent the message out via email to the newspapers, the TV stations, various bloggers and vloggers and anyone else who might listen. The email might get intercepted by the prison or redacted; he’d copied in Sarah and Bryan and vlogger Tamara Maina (who’d been outspoken in his defence, the first social media influencer to take his side) so they could confirm receipt. Even if it went out intact the message went against the media hysteria: “Mass Murderer Prevented”, “Murderer Jailed BEFORE He Could Kill”, “Innocents Saved by ICM software.”

His professional social media accounts had been frozen after the waves of hatred began, accusing him of murder and wishing him dead.

Dan had voted in every election since coming of age. He knew politicians lied and exaggerated and he knew there were some corrupt cops but he’d always had an overall trust in and respect for his government and the law, and had largely believed people were decent and kind at heart. No longer, not after this.

He lay on his bunk and stared at the stone walls, remembering a time he’d been allowed to lie next to Sarah and hold her hand, to kiss her cheek, and to suggest they shower together before a lazy breakfast and a walk by the river before getting Sunday lunch at their favourite pub. He would probably never get to do any of those things ever again.

ICM was the villain here, not Dan. No, ICM was a machine, and those who had programmed it were at fault. But they’d never face justice even if, somehow, Dan could be freed. ICM’s predecessor, the ICA, had wrongly predicted an outbreak of a disease spread by horses. Millions of beautiful animals had been slaughtered, whole stables razed to the ground by public health officials and a panicked public alike. When other scientists proved with their own models and a battery of tests, that the ICA had been utterly wrong, people had shrugged and said better safe than sorry and the ICA had supposedly been retired, only to reemerge as the ICM, based on the same faulty code.

Dan was collateral, like those poor horses, or a test case, as Bryan suggested, for a sinister move to punish people on mere suspicion of future misdeeds. Both. Neither. It was the same result. Dan was a prisoner and would remain so, possibly for the rest of his existence.

[emoboijk]

jhs | carnations

“But carnations? Oh, what a beautiful flower. They come in every color. True, some are painted, but that doesn’t mean they are less beautiful, and they never wilt.” (Ruth McLeod-Kerns) or you fall in love with your fuck buddy—hanahaki disease au, friends with benefits au, flora & fauna series

2,510 words

p.cred

The waiting room is beige with a dark brown carpet, the kind that has either always been that color or is that color as a result of years of use. There are paintings (ironically) of flowers on the walls, and potted plants stationed randomly between the chairs. A receptionist sits behind a counter, typing on a computer and answering the phone when it rings. Aside from her, there are seven people scattered about the room.

You're wedged into a chair that's been pushed against the window, the sun hitting your back and making you feel warm for the first time in ages. The doctor said that might be a side effect of the blood loss; your circulation is less than stellar now that there's nothing to circulate. Your fingers and toes are practically made of ice now.

HOEbi: when r we meeting up? ;)

You frown down at the message. He sent it at 3 AM so you know he was drunk, out with some of the guys from his frat or his dance team. But it's the latest in a string of messages from him that ask the same question.

You're not sure how long you had expected to keep up this charade, but you had definitely hoped longer. There's no disguising it now. You can't be in the middle of hooking up, start coughing bloody carnations and expect to keep the momentum going. Bloody flowers sort of ruin the mood.

You run a hand through your hair, swallowing against bloody, petal-infused bile, as you try to come up with a response. Some subtle way of evading him yet again. But you're in the middle of thinking when the incoming-text animation appears.

HOEbi: sorry about that! :)

HOEbi: but really when am i going to see u?

HOEbi: i miss u :(

You roll your eyes, a smile coming to your lips despite yourself. You suppose that was really what you fell for; he's a good fuck, obviously, but that sort of sweetness and humility. He radiates warmth and friendliness.

I have an appt today

HOEbi: oh u sick?

HOEbi: i have a (meat) thermometer that might help ;)

Fucking hell. Is he still drunk?

Disgusting

HOEbi: if i promise to never say that again can i see u tonite

Maybe…

You're smiling at your phone like a dope.

A fourth person gets called in by the nurse when your screen changes. Incoming Call. Chaeyoung.

"Hey, what's up?" you wedge your phone between your ear and your shoulder, "I'm at the doctor's."

Your body goes stiff when you hear her crying. It's not a soft, gentle crying, it's violent sobbing and dry heaving.

"What happened?"

"I," she's stuttering, "I, I, I…I got into a car accident." She hiccups and cries harder. You run from the waiting room without so much as a look to the receptionist or the other patients.

You can see the accident from three blocks away; there are two police cars with their lights flashing and a tow truck backing into place. You don't spot your sister until you're closer; she's sitting on the sidewalk, leaning against a streetlight with her face in her hands. You pull into the grocery store parking lot nearby and race across the street.

"Oh my god," you breathe and Chaeyoung looks up. Your whole body relaxes when you see she's not injured, but Chae crumbles when she spots you. Her hug is nearly a tackle and her arms like a vice. You choke slightly as her grip forces flowers up your esophagus.

"What happened?" you whisper hoarsely.

Chaeyoung pulls away and you wipe her cheeks of tears. "I just," she hiccups, "I just looked at my phone for a second."

Your curse instantly. She knows how you feel about that. But one look at her expression and you know that totaling her car is punishment enough. You stroke her hair and say, "At least you're alright."

"But my car," she sobs.

You look over to where she's pointing, realizing that you hadn't actually seen the damage yet. "Fuck," you exhale. Her lime-green Dodge Neon is nearly half the size it used to be, the front end smashed into a streetlight, which toppled over and crushed the top of her car.

You rub circles into her back softly, "At least you didn't hit another car…"

Chaeyoung curls into your side and starts crying again. You squeeze her shoulder and pull out your phone, muttering about calling the insurance company, but you nearly jump when you see Hoseok's sent you another message.

HOEbi: srsly i need to tell you something important

It makes you cough; flower petals dance through the air to the pavement and blood runs down your chin.

The Emergency Room is bustling. And you want to leave because, honestly, it gives you anxiety.

"I'm fine," you tell your sister for the millionth time.

"People who are fine don't cough up blood for no reason," she replies for the millionth time.

You roll your eyes and go back to staring at Hobi's last message. You still haven't replied (what with your sister dragging you to the ER for no reason). (Well maybe a little reason).

A doctor appears beside the bed, almost as if from thin air, with his nose in a chart. He says your name as a question.

"That's me," you confirm, "But I really don't need to be here."

"Is that so?" the doctor says, putting on a pair of gloves.

"She coughed up blood," your sister interjects and you hiss profanities at her before you can help yourself.

The doctor chuckles and grabs a tongue compressor from a cart. "Say ‘ah'."

You don't.

"I won't let you leave until you do."

You open your mouth but you do not say ‘ah'. The doctor looks inside and frowns and you know what he sees.

"Yeah," he says, "I'm going to have to admit you."

Your sister is clutching your hand like she's the one who will have to stay in the hospital. "What's wrong!" It's a question but it comes out a desperate whine.

The doctor looks at you skeptically for a moment, trying to gauge how much you know. You roll your eyes and tell your sister, "It's called Hanahaki disease."

"What?" It's almost a shriek.

"And an advanced case at that," the doctor says, removing his gloves and scribbling on your chart, "I could see an entire carnation at the back of your throat. How are you not in pain?"

"I never said I wasn't in pain." You avoid looking at your sister because you don't feel like explaining yourself.

The doctor humphs in your direction and scribbles something else on your chart. He turns and barks at a nurse to admit you and to call Dr. Lee.

You lean against the exam bed you're perched on, giving in to your exhaustion. You close your eyes but can still feel your sister's gaze on you, full of questions. You don't have the energy; you pretend to fall asleep.

"How much pain?" the same doctor asks.

You still don't feel like opening your eyes; you hold up seven fingers. Chaeyoung's grip on your wrist tightens and you know she wants to yell at you but she's scared. Normally, you would woman-up and comfort her, but you're weak. You don't feel like taking care of her right now. You just want the burning in your throat and the stabbing in your chest and the iron on your teeth to go away.

"I'll give you something and a nurse will come to take you to a room."

You nod and wince as he gives you the medication. It works immediately, a comforting nothingness rushing through your body. This time you really do fall asleep.

You blink awake to a smart-looking female doctor shaking your shoulder; there's a crowd of younger doctors with clipboards standing behind her. She smiles when you meet her eyes.

"Hey there, sorry to wake you, but I need to do an initial check," she stands up straight, "I'm Dr. Lee."

You nod and push yourself up in the hospital bed. You're in a new room. There's a consistent beeping coming from one of the machines. Chaeyoung is passed out on an uncomfortable-looking loveseat that's built into the wall.

Dr. Lee asks you all the routine questions (how long and how much and who is it?). You answer them with a purposefully bored tone. Then, when your phone goes off halfway through the questions, your tone is not so much bored as anxious.

"Something you need to check on?" the doctor asks when you turn away from her for the third time. The phone goes off a second time and you realize it's in Chae's bag.

"No."

"It's okay," the doctor says, "We're done. We'll take you up for x-rays so we can see the extent of the damage and then talk about options."

"Fine," you nod.

It's almost thirty-six hours before you see Dr. Lee again (you've been counting). In that time you've slept, went through a battery of tests and scans, and ate four meals. Chaeyoung wouldn't leave for the first twelve hours until you insisted she go home and get your toothbrush at least (after promising she wouldn't text while driving your car). (Ugh, her car, you still need to deal with that).

You checked your phone when she left after her first visit.

HOEbi: c'mon u know i don't like to be serious

HOEbi: i gotta real talk

It caused another fit of coughing and the nurse told Chaeyoung to keep you from your phone. You were kind of relieved. His messages make you worried and uneasy, worst-case scenarios flying through your mind like locusts through a field of wheat.

And then, the strangest thing happens: the pressure in your chest dissipates.

When Dr. Lee does finally come in she's beaming. She smiles at you like she has a secret before turning and pinning two x-rays onto a lightbox.

"This," she points to the first, "is your initial scan, from when you were first admitted." It looks like an abstract painting. Black and white shadowy shapes, floral outlines imprinted on lung impressions.

"And this is your scan from this morning." This x-ray is significantly less cluttered. There's still a floral design in the way of the lungs but it's diminished.

"Am I getting better?" Your eyes scan the array of doctors she has behind her, "I was told that wasn't possible."

Dr. Lee leans against the railing at the foot of your bed. "Hanahaki is a tricky disease," she taps her fingernails, "Studies show that the majority of the cause is in the mind, with real, dangerous, physical manifestations," she shrugs, "Logic says that if you get over the mental part of it, the person on the other end of your unreciprocated love, you'll get better."

That strikes you. Get over him? You hadn't felt such a significant shift. You still thought about him, you still missed him...maybe not in the pining, desperate way of a few days ago... But you wouldn't say you'd gotten over him.

"Time away must be all you need," the doctor says, "We'll keep you here another day or two to make sure that's what's helping, and then you should be good to go." She pats your ankle comfortingly and turns to the others, leaving just as swiftly as she had arrived.

Your chest feels lighter but your mind feels muddier than ever.

Twenty-four hours later, you're actually smiling when Hoseok shows up while you're chatting with Chaeyoung. He knocks on the door before sliding it open and sticking his head inside.

It sort of takes your breath away. It's been almost a week since you've last seen him and whoo, he looks good. All tan and glowing, dark hair spilling over a headband and eyes like gemstones. His lips are pulled into a nervous heart shape and it makes your chest feel heavy (although it doesn't prickle with pain like it used to).

"Hobi?"

"Hey," he says and it's brimming with relief. Glass half full. He steps fully inside and his eyes scan down the length of your body. He chews on his bottom lip, "Alright?"

"I need a soda," your sister announces. Too abruptly. She stands and hurries out of the room, turning to wink at you before closing the door. It makes you roll your eyes.

"How did you find out I was here?" You tilt your head to the side.

"I, uh, kept texting you? Your sister responded."

You raise your eyebrows. You glance around the room and spot your bag; waving your hand at it you say, "Could you…?"

"Oh, yeah." Hoseok passes it to you. While you dig through it, he glances around before deciding to sit in the chair by your bed. He hesitates for a long moment before deciding to lean against the railing; he's missed being close to you.

There are over twenty missed text messages. A couple from your parents and your friends, but most are from Hobi.

From right before you were admitted:

HOEbi: did i scare u lol

HOEbi: it's not that big of a deal

HOEbi: honestly i don't even need to tell u

HOEbi: really it's ok let's just meet up

And then another the next day:

HOEbi: i missssss uuuuuuuuu

You smile at that one, scrolling to the next day's messages:

HOEbi: are u not texting me back cuz of what i said

HOEbi: cuz it's fine we don't have to talk

HOEbi: unless it's dirty ;) ;)

HOEbi: pls don't hate me

That actually makes you laugh. You can almost picture him texting and getting anxious. And then yesterday:

HOEbi: k i'm really worried

That's when your sister started replying.

She doesn't hate you. My sister loves you.

I'm Chaeyoung.

HOEbi: uh hey

HOEbi: wait! loves? really?

Duh

Anyway she's in the hospital

You're blushing. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he shrugs and when you look over he's giving you that smile. The one he gives everyone but that makes you feel extra special, the one that lights you from the inside. You wonder if everyone feels that way when he smiles. Maybe not. Maybe that's what makes it special. "You're in the hospital." He frowns, "Why didn't you tell me?"

You tuck a piece of your hair (stringy and unwashed) behind your ear, "We're not...anything. You didn't have to come. I...I didn't want you to see me like this."

He raises his eyebrows. His face is so open and vulnerable, soft and sweet. "I want to see you in every way." He runs his hand through his hair before lacing his fingers through yours. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I want to be more." He squeezes your hand.

On every single one of your anniversaries after that, Hobi gives you a bouquet of carnations. The note always says: We beat 'em.

author’s note—don’t ask me about hobi’s texting style because i have no answers

for more of my works check out my m.list

[voidendron]

Deep Blue Sea, Ch. 19

<<<Chapter 18 | Chapter 20>>> [wip]

Chapter 19: The Aurora Subnautica/JSE Egos Crossover

hiiii it’s been a while oops- I have a new hyperfixation, so working on Ego stuff has actually gotten pretty difficult, but I’ll do my best to update this whenever I’m motivated to do so!

Warnings: Swearing, Arguing, Knives Characters: Chase Brody, Marvin the Magnificent, Second Officer Keen, Jackieboy Man (briefly), Dr. Schneeplestein (briefly) POV: Chase Brody

“Warning: Local radiation readings suggest the Aurora’s drive core has reached critical state. Quantum detonation will occur within two hours.”

“…Hey, Chase. Remember what you said yesterday? That thing you were so confident about? What was it you said again?” Marvin asked as he glared down at his PDA. His diving mask was pushed up on his forehead while he treaded water with his free arm.

The repairman’s groan was muffled by his mouthpiece as he ducked his head under the surface to avoid his companion’s glare. That had to be literally one of the worst things to be wrong about.

A hand on his suit dragged him back above the surface, then moved to pull his mask off. “C’mon. What did you say?”

“…That the Aurora won’t blow up.”

“That the Aurora won’t blow up, right! And what’s about to happen?”

“…The Aurora’s gonna blow up?”

“The Aurora’s gonna blow up!” Marvin grumbled something under his breath, then with the flat of his palm smacked the water with a curse. “Just great! Wonderful! Let’s get back to the goddamn habitat.”

Both men pulled their masks back down over their faces and began the swim back with the materials they’d gathered to add to the growing collection. Chase could feel the dread in the pit of his stomach the whole way there, the worry, the “what ifs” lingering in the back of his mind. He was a repairman, not an engineer. Hopefully the damage wouldn’t be as severe as the warning made it sound…

When they entered the habitat, the drainage system seemed to take ages before they were finally able to push the bulkhead open. Both Seaglides were tucked out of the way along with the supplies, then Chase cast his eyes around the too-cramped room.

Jameson, already on his feet and moving to start putting the new materials away in their respective lockers. Henrik, tending to Jackie’s injury again while cussing him out over something. Keen, rubbing at his chin while he scowled down at his PDA’s cracked screen. It wasn’t long before his eyes shifted from the device, up toward Chase and Marvin. He pursed his lips, then, “Quantum detonation. We don’t know the shape that will leave the ship in.”

“And?” Marvin asked.

“And, for all we know, it could take out the computers that the data package was sent to.”

“Well…actually,” Chase interrupted, “detonation’s gonna be in the drive core, right? The drive core and some of the major computer systems are pretty damn far from each other. Multiple walls between ‘em—hell, they’re even on different levels, and the computers get their power from multiple places throughout the ship just in case one or more of its sources goes down. Long as the entire ship doesn’t decide, ‘Hey! Fuck this shit!’ then the package should be okay, even if I can’t repair the drive core.”

“Okay… How’re you so sure while Keen’s worried, thought?”

“Hey, no offense to Keen, but I’m the repairman. I’ve been on every level and in every room of that damn ship to fix shit no one else could be bothered with. He was one of the highest ranking officers there. Doubt you even set foot in the engine room or JJ’s cafe, like, ever, did ya?”

“…He’s right.” Keen nodded, tucking his PDA away. “Brody likely knows the layout of the ship better than anyone, save the engineers who built it. It you believe the main computers will be safe, I’ll take your word for it, then.”

One hour ticked by. He, Marvin, and Keen were now sticking close to the habitat as they gathered materials. Going inside during detonation would probably be the safest bet, right?

Fifteen more minutes. Marvin had already gone in to start getting more power cells and batteries crafted, leaving the officer and Chase to continue scavenging just a little while longer.

At half hour to detonation, they both made their way back into the habitat to join the others. Time seemed to stretch for ages as they sat around in tense silence—Jameson was chewing his nails, Marvin played with his hair, Chase couldn’t help the anxious tapping of his foot.

All six PDAs gave a warning beep that had Chase jumping even as he’d been expecting it. They echoed one another in an eerie monotone, each survivor moving away from the window as the words droned from their devices.

“Emergency: A quantum detonation has occurred in the Aurora’s drive core. The reactor will reach a super critical state in T-minus ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five—” Chase closed his eyes and scrunched his fists into the fabric of his dive suit, “—four, th-three-ee-ee, t-t-two-two…”

Even underwater, even inside the habitat, he could feel the shock wave from the explosion rip through the water around them: The way it threw sand up at the window, the habitat creaking, lights flickering, projectile shrapnel from the ship itself clanging as it hit the shallowly submerged habitat hard enough that in one spot off in the corner if even started a leak.

Then, it was over.

Just like that, everything went quiet as the survivors took a collective breath. So quiet, Chase grimaced when their PDAs chirped again with, “For your convenience, the radiation suit has been added to your blueprint database.”

Chase actually found it in himself to snort. “…At least one good thing comes outta that.”

“I’m almost scared to see the ship, now.” Jackie’s voice, through gritted teeth, as he winced with every step toward the window. Not like looking out of it would do any good. Not with the sand disturbed. It would be a while before the water was clear again in their shallows. “I mean, that had to be some explosion, right?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve gotta go and at least try to repair the drive core.”

“Well, I’m goin’ with you.”

“To hell you are!” Henrik scoffed. “You can barely stand and the water is no good for your injuries, Mann!”

Marvin shook his head even as he gathered up supplies from the lockers for the new blueprint. “Like hell am I going anywhere near the ship. I’m not dealin’ with a Reaper again.”

“I’m not goin’ alone! Someone’s gotta watch my—”

“I’ll go.” Keen was already at the fabricator that Marvin had put the supplies on, letting it read his PDA so it could get the sizing for the new suit correct. When Chase opened his mouth to protest, the older man simply put a hand up to stop him there. “I slept through the night and most of the morning—I’m rested and my injuries were minor. I’ll accompany you to the ship.”

The suits were heavier than their previous ones, but not n a way that hindered them as much as Chase had expected. The only downside was that the flippers were smaller—stiffer—but he supposed that would be good for when they got onto the actual ship and couldn’t take the flippers off unless they wanted radiation poisoning. Regular ones would have had them falling on their faces on dry land. The helmets also had a wider field of vision from the masks or rebreathers, and no mouthpiece so they could speak while keeping them on—another plus.

“One of you should take the Seamoth, and the other use a ‘Glide,” Marvin said as he handed both of them fully-charged Seaglides. “The ‘Moth’s a bigger target, but also a lot faster. If the Reaper goes after one of you, it’ll chase whoever’s in that, and it’ll have a better chance at escaping. Then the one with the ‘Glide can get past safely.”

“With any luck, we won’t run into one of these ‘Reapers’ at all.”

“Heh. Be nice if somethin’ goes our way for once, huh?”

A final nod to their companions, one last supply check (survival knives, extra batteries, laser cutter, scanners, first aid kit, repair tool—all accounted for), and they pulled the bulkhead open, waited for the teeny little corridor between it and the hatch to flood, then left the habitat.

Keen was the one to take the Seamoth, leaving Chase to trail behind. Smoke still rose from the ship as they approached, there were pieces of the hull that looked like they were barely held on by a few bolts, and the water was so murky from the disturbed sand that he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face and could barely tell which way was up when completely submerged.

It made the knowledge that there was a massive creature, somewhere out there, all the more terrifying. It could be swimming inches away from them and they’d never even know it.

The first time Chase heard the Reaper’s cry, he could have sworn his blood turned to ice right then and there. His breath caught in his throat, even as he realized the sounds were from far off. So far, it seemed the last few hundred yards to the ship would go without incident.

That didn’t change the fact that it was the most terrifying sound he’d ever heard and didn’t dare duck his head under the surface.

Ahead of him, the Seamoth sped up slightly before falling back again (hesitantly) so he could actually keep up. Keen had heard it, too.

They hugged the side of the ship when they finally reached it, searching for any points of entry that may have been torn into it. It didn’t take long to find one: The entire front half of the Aurora had been ripped apart by the explosion, and Chase’s stomach twisted. He really hoped they wouldn’t find any bodies once they got on board.

“Warning: Ship’s structural integrity is low. Fire suppression equipment and laser cutters may be required. Exploration is conducted at your own risk.”

“Thanks, PDA…” Great. They’d forgotten fire extinguishers. At least they’d been plentiful on the ship—they had a good chance of stumbling across one in their time aboard.

Keen parked the Seamoth as shallowly as he dared on a sloped piece of metal that would have to act as their ramp into the ship. They both hauled their Seaglides up under one arm, survival knives in the other. There were Cave Crawlers everywhere… A part of Chase told him that human bodies would probably be nonexistent with those things on board, and it took everything he had not to gag at the thought.

“Don’t let them rip your suit,” the officer demanded as he used his Seaglide as a bludgeon on one that lunged at him. It fell stunned at his feet, only for him to kick it off into the water. Chase would have snorted if not for the unease that settled over him as he got a good look at the smoldering remains of the ship, at twisted metal, at collapsed floors that used to be rooms and command center.

The repairman swallowed, holding his knife close as they continued up the “ramp” that he was starting to recognize as the floor that should have led straight to command.

“What do you think we’ll find on board?”

“…I don’t know. Let’s just worry about the drive core first.”

“Right. Yeah, okay.”

It was easy to find, once they got past all the crabs and into the ship, once they helped each other clamor over too-heavy crates that had fallen in the way of one of the corridors. H eknew the ship’s layout from bow to stern, after all. Now…

Now Chase could only frown as he looked down into the water that had flooded the drive core room. There were…things in there. Swimming about, attacking one another…

He pulled his scanner from his hip when one came close enough to the platform—the scanner dubbed them “Bleeders”—and then glared at all the damage he could see from where he stood. They kind of reminded him of cuttlefish. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be—he even figured it should be fairly easy to repair from what he was seeing—but if those Bleeders tore his suit..?

When he turned to Keen, the older man had his hands on the railing, eyes fixed on one of the creatures as it circled near them, clearly trying to figure out how to get at them. “They’re like leaches,” he said without looking to Chase. “Had one attack me when I left my lifepod. Don’t let them latch on.”

“Think you can keep ‘em away from me while I repair?”

“I believe so.”

They set their Seaglides near the door to keep them out of the way of feet and tools and knives and Chase got to work on the damage he could reach from the platforms, first.

Without looking away from his work, Chase asked, “So… What’re we gonna do about that Sepse guy? Just…leave ‘im here when we leave?”

“I hate to say it, but yes. He’s been here alone for too long and attempting to get him on a ship off world would just put anyone involved in danger.”

“Fair enough.” One spot finished, he moved on to the next. He’d have to go in the water soon. “Got another question for ya: The rest of Sepse’s crew. The Mongolians? Any idea how they ended up here? Marv thinks they were looking for habitable planets.”

“Why they were here, no.” Chase could tell by the sound of his voice that Keen had his back turned to him to watch the Bleeders beneath their platform. “It… But it’s why we’re here.”

When he spun around to face the officer, he about caught his own finger with the repair tool. “…What do you mean by that?”

Careful with the knives, Keen crossed his arms with a sigh and shook his head. “The Degasi went missing a decade ago. To improve relations with the Mongolian settlement, Alterra gave the Aurora a secondary mission: To find out what happened to its crew. This system was its last known location, and we came close to the planet in an attempt to scan. That’s the only reason we were equipped with diving gear and appropriate vehicles.”

“So this…this…” Chase went to pinch his nose but only bumped the glass on his helmet. So instead, he threw his hands up, nearly catching Keen with his still-active tool. “Why didn’t the rest of us know about this?! Some…secret fucking mission could be what kills us all!”

“It was meant to be a simple scan. But something happened, Brody. And I have a feeling what happened to us is what also brought down the Degasi.”

“Doesn’t fucking change the fact the rest of the crew should’ve known. That Mongolian emissary—Khasar?—that’s why he was on board, wasn’t it? So you could figure out what the hell happened and he could tell his people. Why the fuck would that be kept from the rest of us, man?”

“Because nothing was expected to come of it! If something was discovered we would have sent people down while the Aurora continued on its course to set up the phasegate. This—” he gestured at the flooded room around them, “—was never supposed to happen.”

“Awesome. Good to know we’re stranded ‘cause someone was curious about a crew that went missing ten fuckin’ years ago.” He shouldered past Keen to move on to the next spot that needed repairing.

Curiosity killed the cat, Chase thought bitterly. He reached a hand up for the pendent at his throat, could feel it under the thick fabric of his suit. Someone else’s curiosity could be what never let him see his kids again, dammit.

“…Did Doc know? He keep this shit from us?”

“No. Schneeplestein was too new to the crew. He was one of the few ranking officers who wasn’t informed.”

Chase shook his head and muttered under his breath, checked the battery on his repair tool—

“Brody—”

“Can it.”

—and stepped off the platform into the water below. The nearby Bleeders immediately went after him but the super-heated end of the repair tool worked even better on them than he’d expected. It wasn’t long before Keen was there with the knives so Chase could use the tool as it was actually meant to be used, however. Just focus on the job at hand for now, he told himself. Repair the drive core so you don’t have to worry about the radiation.

It took a lot of time—a few hours, by Chase’s estimation—before he was finally positive every leak in the core was repaired. Or…“repaired” since it wasn’t like it would ever run again anyway. At least now the leak was stopped.

When they surfaced again, Chase was the one to take the leader after they’d snatched up their Seaglides.

“When we get back, you better fuckin’ tell the others about the secret little mission that killed over a hundred people. Got it?”

He didn’t give Keen a chance to answer, instead storming off for another part of the ship.

To the computers then, he thought. Let’s see what that package is.

[prorevenge]

Boy meets girl

I often pressed V for information on how she earned income but she would give conflicting answers about grants and scholarships until one day.... About 6 months after our first meeting, she finally tells me and IT. IS. NOT. GOOD. I was interviewing at a professional school when I receive the call, she's in trouble, BIG TROUBLE, and needs my help. She tells me she earns money by doing others' assignments for them. $200 to write a paper and $800 to complete an online class, usually a 100 level introductory course. She describes the method she uses to circumvent the ITs detection of others completing others assignment and how her client wasn't doing his part to copy/paste and submit from his own computer. He is failing the course and blames her. He threatens to turn her in. Her plan is to refund his money and wants me to 'follow him to see if he goes somewhere alone and take his phone' because that has all the evidence of their communications. HOLY SHIT! SHE WANTS ME TO COMMIT STRONG ARMED ROBBERY, a FELONY for her! I'm not going down for this or with her and I know nobody would believe me. ENTER: military experience - if there's no record, it didn't happen. So, I agree to help her, somehow, as soon as I return to town. I go to V's dorm the next night and she shows me EVERYTHING. Her list of clients, their blackboard passwords, how she meets them, how she defends them during honor code violations, etc. So I tell her not to worry, I'll handle everything on the day she refunds his money. Relieved, she goes to bed but before she lays down I ask to use her computer for on assignment and she says "sure do whatever you want". In my state, if you let someone use your electronics, its called "having privilege" and anything you do with their computer which may harm them is legal as if it your own computer. So, I took screenshots of her conversations with her clients, I open google settings and screenshot all the blackboard users and passwords stored on her computer. I go to her messenger and screenshot their conversations. Back home, I compiled our recordings and saved our facebook conversations. A week later, I made up an argument about an upcoming New Years Party and broke up with her. Then sat on the information I had on hand for 2 more weeks thinking about what I should do.

I remembered how she has a history of arrests from high school to freshman year for stealing from outlet malls and selling their loot online. Never formally charged. She, of course, omitted this from her application into professional school. How she admitted "finding a mark" and using them to pass her courses. How she denigrated others who were completing courses through hard work. How she used her position as honor council to get her friends out of trouble while helping to expel others for doing exactly what she was doing. How she cheated on me multiple times, used me, manipulated me, tried to make me commit a felony and ruin my life. SHE HAD TO BE STOPPED.

Knowing she was friends with the faculty on the honor council, they often bought each other gifts, I had to go above their heads. I gave names and descriptions of the events to my program director. He then goes to the honor council, anyway. I was called into the honor council's head office of "Corrupt Administrator" CA. CA tells me I should delete the information I have because it could become a civil matter and I should consider my "self preservation." She schedules another meeting with me a week later. I return and she asks if I want to make a statement about V. Guess what I said, I tell her "no, I deleted everything and I don't remember" because I was in the military and I know how to 'play ball' when superiors tell you to shut your mouth. But the most important reason I decided to not file against V directly was due to the fact I was applying for a military scholarship to pay for professional school. Since I did not follow through, the program director filed an honor code violation complaint against V on a date [suggested by CA]. A month later they tell me their investigation was inconclusive and they will close the case due to the director waiting 1 day too long to file according to the school's academic policy. CA set us up! However, since the director used my name as a source, they must notify V because students have rights to know their accusers. FUCK.MY.LIFE. CA fucked me and ruined any chance for a case against V based on a technicality. Now I fear for my safety because V tried to get me to strong arm rob someone now I just implicated a dozen cheaters who have as much as her to lose. CA schedules a meeting with V and tell her about an ongoing investigation and tells her she will be kept up-to-date. I know the investigation is over and now they are just doing formalities. V requests the information of the investigation and they promise to email it to her. V calls me for support even though we aren't together. She is crying and talking about killing herself. She tells me her dad had been paying for her college this whole time and starts coming clean with other lies. I feel bad and almost regret everything. Maybe she is not a sociopath, maybe she is really sorry. She stays at my house the next few days, I'm watching her trying to keep it together. THEN HER FUCKING CLIENTS START COMING TO MY HOUSE. She is still doing their assignments! She NEVER LEARNS!

Finally she gets the investigation info and there's my name. She calls me 130 times in 3 days, sends her friends to my classes to tell me to come to her house, finally I do. But I don't go into her room because she will trap me. She takes my phone so I can't record. She tries to get me to sign a paper saying I fabricated everything and its all false. I tell V, "They already closed the investigation, you wont get in any trouble why should I implicate myself and get in trouble? It wont solve anything!" And she pleads, "Do you still love me?" I shake my head and walk out. Two days later, police are waiting at my house to serve a 72 hour emergency protective order (EPO) commanding me to stay away from V. I know what she is up to. She is trying to get me to violate the protective order, discredit me, and send me to jail. Its very easy to lie to create one and lie to say it was violated.

NOW ITS NOT JUST REVENGE TIME, ITS WAR

Here's the plot twist: I never really deleted the files as I told CA. TYVM, Google drive.

After the 72 hours EPO expired, another EPO arrives which lasts two years but requires a court appearance. This is a huge problem because I am in the US Army reserves and it requires the handling of firearms which is illegal under an EPO. Her lawyer calls me and threatens me not to "participate in anymore investigations against her" and sends a paper tiger. I get a lawyer, lets name him "Folds like a lawn chair". He tells me "who will they believe: a pretty girl or you?" I fire him. Get a better lawyer, a trial lawyer, called "Miss Badass Esq." and prepare for war. Miss Badass requests a copy of V's EPO from the court. It essentially says I was blackmailing her, threatening to beat her up, and I broke into her room to steal incriminating information against her. All lies. I provide my lawyer the entire history of our relationship: 600 pages of facebook and text messages showing she is the aggressor, the abuser, in the relationship, phone call history, all the recordings and screenshots of her cheating ring. I make a poster sized chart of her room and the events that transpire there the day in question when she tried to trap me into signing a statement taking responsibility for her actions.

Courtdate: We made V and her lawyer look REALLY stupid. They were going with the 'pretty girl' strategy. But the dorm gave us records showing she was signing me in and out of her room, so it discredits the need to break in. The call logs: 130 times in 3 days and aggressive texts showed she wasn't actually afraid of me adn it was her, not me, being aggressive. And when he asked what I had to use to blackmail her, her lawyer said "just some tutoring papers" for which the judge said, "that doesn't sound like anything wrong. What power did that give him over you?" They had no response. My turn to speak, I explain how she tried to get me to rob a guy, how she wanted me to write a letter to take the blame, how she used her position as honor council chair to break state law and violate academic policy. And summarized we were only there because she wanted revenge on me. I watched V and her lawyer stutter and squirm uncomfortably under the judges questioning, case dismissed.

All that information I gathered to defend myself was not going to go to waste. I took it to a newly hired honor council investigator called "Meg" who had no affiliation with V. I told her what CA had done to defend V. A week later, I was told the by Meg there had been a meeting with the school police, the provost, their legal team, then the provost himself decided filed a complaint against V. I had to meet with the police to file a statement about V trying to recruit me to rob someone but other than that I was out of the loop. I later learned the results: V lost her her slot at that school's professional program, her program director yelled at her at the top of his lungs, "YOU WILL NEVER GO TO ********* SCHOOL, I KNOW ADMISSIONS AND I WILL SEE TO IT", she got expelled, her TWO degrees (biomedical engineering and biology with a minor in chemistry) were withheld for 6 years and her transcripts would carry a permanent mention of an honor code violation, her clients who graduated had their degrees retracted with similar mentions on their transcripts, and current clients were also expelled. The school changed its policy on reporting date requirements to like 60 or 90 days. Me? I am in professional school. V had her chance to get away with all of this until she tried to get revenge on me. I reduced this super villain from owning a fleet of beta male minions, being the most connected person in the university, and having a lucrative future in ripping people off in the medical industry to the last time I saw her: riding a fucking scooter.

(source) story by (/u/Apophis1942)

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

let’s look at all the electronics i’m pretty sure are in this room right now + celebrate a small success + complain about how technology was a mistake: 

iphone 7 that i literally just replaced, younger than my godson,

ipad mini 2 that should really get a battery replacement/be replaced entirely but eh,

the hp pavilion a friend gave me out of pity after my beloved beautiful 17″ hp envy I bought in 2012 died permanently and dramatically the summer before last. despite a thorough cleaning and replacing the thermal paste (or the forbidden frosting) this pavilion is hilariously prone to overheating and the battery life is about half an hour. it lives on my desk. it doesn’t travel,

i don’t even know how many raspberry pis and arduinos and lilypads are kicking around or how many are functional, 

there’s also a dead chromebook unless i gave it to my brother the last time i saw him but i have no memory of this,

come to think of it i haven’t seen my snowball mike since i moved out so he’s probably got that too,

at least two semi-functional-if-it-was-an-emergency shitty android phones kicking around somewhere,

also a couple mice, 

one? two? cheap bluetooth keyboards, 

and two g3 imac keyboards (bondi blue, if you must know), and the gutted shells of a corresponding monitor and desktop. the monitor will be a cat bed and i might make a sleeper pc out of the desktop case. it’s very pretty is the thing and i am a sucker for translucent plastic, but i would have to do so much custom fitting,

a multimeter i need to steal a new fuse for,  

a thousand pairs of earbuds bc i am incapable of throwing any cords out,

an okay headset mike i stole from my old job,

approximately a billion USB sticks of varying size and quality,

a bag of mysterious cords,

a bag of useful cords,

a 1TB external/backup drive,

most importantly, this now operational acer aspire i won in a scholarship last winter.

this laptop’s display has been fucked since i got back to school/the september update and i have not had the brainspace to deal with it until now, as i’m frantically trying to do literally anything else other than finish this incomplete class. 

so today, i made sure the nice computer engineering boy who builds PCs will be in the makerspace the same time as me. i let the battery charge overnight, bc it’s been sitting dead since the last time i checked it right before my birthday. i lug TWO laptops and my external drive across campus, all the important electronics i own in one very scary bag. if the display is really and truly borked at least i can snag the documents & pics with one of the eleven billion monitors we have lying around before i ship it off to get it fixed, bc display bullshit is generally beyond my poor amateur abilities. i get to the makerspace, boot it up, am in the middle of saying “yeah every time i turn it on it just flickers gray once” and it boots up perfectly. INFURIATING. but it is lighter and faster and holds a charge, unlike the half-hour battery life of the literally wheezing old hp, and it fits in the laptop pocket in my bag, so i think it’ll go back to being the main laptop after i finish consolidating everything on the pavilion + backup drive to here, and then make a new master backup + thoroughly update the offsite backup instead of just throwing loose docs and photos into my dropbox. 

it’s been sitting in a corner updating itself since like 3 PM EST, and it still has a couple more to go, but it’s usable. i think. this is really a pretty good symptom of my general mental state these past six months. the only major electronic i own that has NOT had a severe issue in the past eight months is the elderly ipad mini 2 my aunt gave me. all i do is read comics and terrible romance novels from the library on there so it’s not like it sees hard use to begin with.

before i move, i need to quietly acquire a soldering iron setup and ditch some of this absolute garbage. there is no need to own so many semi-functional to flat out broken things. why am i like this. i do not want to turn into my old engineering boss, whose office is an absolute horror

[rawliverandcigarettes]

Stuff about writing, Halfway Home, life, things

Hello tumblr!

I am back to the lands of the internet after my computer cowardly abandoned me (the battery died and my computer is so old finding another compatible one and sending it to Sweden was a Long Endeavor). I hope you’ve all been well in the meantime!

I’ve had… a weird couple of months. Turns out: writing professionally and for yourself at once is not easy, and if one breaks the other might follow down as well. That is my way of saying I nearly burned out creatively recently due to a couple of complicated reasons, that I almost threw Halfway Home out of the window because I suddenly hated everything about it and felt like the worst writer in the universe that had tricked everyone into hiring her as competent, my health has been weird, my personal life has been weird, I drank way more than I ever did before in my life… My 2019 fall has been interesting so far.

I am actually fine right now (truly! Though I am not sure what changed besides: I have slept tonight), though going back to the internet and technology is giving me major peaks of anxiety (the internet is too wild for my poor little brain at the moment). All of that jazz to say I’ll probably disappear randomly again because maybe my computer had a good idea in breaking down, Actually.

But yeah, about Halfway Home.

Years and years and it still doesn’t work itself out. There are good parts in it, I think, but it has still not clicked yet, and it’s starting to be less fun to try and solve it as it used to be, and more, like, hysteria-inducing. I’ve had moments after trying to force an answer out of it where my brain turned into blank static for days –forgetting things, no daydreaming, just: nothing. So of course I freaked out, because I am paid to think good relevant thoughts. It has grown better, I am getting some stuff back and I am very slowly starting to return to my ability to have a helicopter view of the situation and not have my thoughts in a broken record saying “what the exact fuck did you see in that exploitative mess that felt worth investing days and nights of your life to the point where you hallucinated about not finishing it being your only regret if you ended up dying in the drug-fueled-scape of an emergency surgery???” –that mystery I could no longer solve, and you guys, it messed me up. I am still not really certain anymore, but I am reconnecting with what I liked, slowly. I guess the main difference between now and before is that I’m slowly accepting that maybe, it will not be good. Or not as good as what I passionately wanted it to be. I am still willing to put up a fight, and there is a possibility I’m just stuck in the 10% of the 10/90 ratio (10% of work making for 90% of something’s quality). But yeah, my confidence in my work has been in better places –I’m suddenly really fearing being exploitative and struck by a “white savior complex” (not tied to race, but privilege, but I don’t know how to formulate it better) for several of the plotlines, but also it’s not as if I had not tortured my brain about this before and chose to go for it anyway, either by pledging myself to be extra-careful, actual legitimacy on certain topics, or just wanting to take the risk and learn anyway –I am * usually * a big believer that self-censorship in art cannot lead to anywhere meaningful and just clear the way for shameless people to use these subjects for shock value. But yet, I have trouble with legitimacy in anything at the moment as I’m finally being hit by a major case of impostor syndrome, have never had as much money before in my life to the point where it freaks me the fuck out (I don’t even earn THAT much, but it’s still more than what I ever thought I would get), and being involved in stressful moments for the game company I’m working for.

But. I still have hope about it. Not grandiose hope, a tiny hope. I’ll rework the plot, go back at it, and at some point something will get out. Maybe nothing mind-shattering, but something that accompanied me for a while, something that helped me make sense of the world, and of myself.

So yes. The journey goes on.

How have your journey been, lately?

[vulpinmusings]

Ski’tar and Friends part 4: Ulmarid the Death World

The adventures of Ski’tar, Vemir, and Six continue with their most harrowing combat encounter so far. (But we leveled up afterward, so yay~)

The first part

The previous part.

Our stop-over at Absalom Station was rather uneventful.  Captain Arvin gave us a little more pocket change, and we set out shopping again.  I felt mostly satisfied with my current kit, since I’d so far used little more than a few charges from the batteries in my and my Drone’s laspistols, but the healing potion Vemir has used on Sixer back on the Eoxian ship had impressed me enough to want to obtain a few for myself.  That turned out to be a very wise investment, but I’m getting ahead of myself. It was a little awkward to go looking for a vendor of magic items when up to this point in my life I’d been strictly interested in technology, but I managed to get my hands on three basic healing serums without making too big a fool of myself.

Sixer went looking for some better armor. Vemir cashed in his bounty for the Eoxian power core, picked up a new job hunting down some pirate, and then joined Sixer in the search for better armor.  In the end, Vemir decided that nothing that was available in his price range was worth losing his Second Skin’s upgrade potential, but Sixer found something better than his old outfit.

The next day, Venture Captain Arvin gave us the run-down on what little was known about the planet Ulmarid.  A long time ago, the planet’s two moons had collided and created a kind of shell of asteroids orbiting around the entire planet.  Ulmarid itself was a wasteland, whether naturally or thanks to the fallout of the moons colliding, with weather patterns described as “a potential issue” but it at least had a breathable atmosphere.  Not much was known for certain, which is definitely why the Unbounded Wayfarer had been going there in the first place.

Since the Starfinders were hoping this was going to be a rescue mission, Captain Arvin provided us with a different, larger ship than the Loreseeker.  The Odyssey was a transport ship: it had a larger crew capacity and better shields than our other craft, but lacked weapons for its port and starboard arcs and no onboard workshops of any kind.  I was mildly put out by the lack of a tech workshop to tinker around in during the flight and made a weak attempt to argue that the Loreseeker’s smaller size would give it a better chance of navigating through Ulmarid’s asteroid layer, but the need for space to carry the Wayfarer crew outweighed my desire for the familiar.  At the least, ship’s captain Manson Navasi and science android Iseph were going to join us on the Odyssey.

We made it though the Drift to Ulmarid without incident.  That was our last piece of luck. Vemir wasn’t as capable with the Odyssey’s lesser maneuverability compared to the Loreseeker, and nearly wiped out half our shields with asteroid collisions.  After the second bump, I kindly pointed out that the idea was to go around the rocks, not through them.  Vemir snapped at me to do my job of recharging the shields (which I gladly got started on once the bumper-boat ride ended), and finally got us through the asteroids. Iseph scanned the planet for the Unbounded Wayfarer, but could only narrow its location down to a thirty-mile radius of desert.

Time for the three of us to take a hike.

The section of Ulmarid we set down on was a desert of sand broken up occasionally by great jagged rocks.  The air was breathable, but there was a strange metallic taste to it which lent the otherwise normal-looking environment an uncanny atmosphere.  The sky was clear and nothing seemed to be moving, but we could all sense something wasn’t quite right.  We began our hike with trepidation.

After crossing a few dunes, the tension finally broke when a great storm rose out of nowhere.  What started hitting us wasn’t rain or a sandstorm, though, it was a hail of sharp crystal shards that simply screamed “we’re poisonous.”  With a bit of constant vigilance, weaving steps, and a lot of faith in the toughness of my helmet and thickness of my fur, I managed to avoid any actual cuts from the crystals, but Sixer and Vemir weren’t so lucky.  The android’s non-organic nature let him shrug off the poisonous effects of the crystals, but they still sliced him up a little.  Vemir also got a lot of cuts and had to resort to trying one of the anti-toxin bulbs we’d been given by the Vat Farm’s owner. It seemed to do the trick, as Vemir made a quick recovery once the storm passed.  The metallic taste of the air went with the passing of the crystal hail, which was both a relief and a good bit of weather lore to keep in mind: seek cover when the air starts tasting like metal.

After more hiking, we came upon the wreck of a ship half-buried in the sand.  From what we could see of the ship’s profile, we determined that it was definitely the Unbounded Wafarer, and we picked up the pace.  As we got nearer, Sixer suddenly sensed movement coming from below the sands and warned us just in time to avoid getting immediately munched by what looked like a screw-off big worm with an eat-you-in-one-bite mouth full of teeth and covered in a bunch of the poison crystals.  Vemir dodged left toward a large piece of wreckage while my Drone and I went right toward a different, smaller bit while I tried to chuck a grenade into the worm’s mouth. The ‘nade bounced off he top of the worm’s head and exploded harmlessly in the air.  The worm was smart enough to figure out who was responsible for that indignity and lunged at me, failing to eat me but leaving me with a rather painful bite.  Vemir tried to shoot the worm, but his shots either went wide or did nothing.  My Drone landed a laser shot that actually hurt the thing and pulled its attention away from me.  While I certainly appreciated the Drone’s ability to use a laspistol, I hadn’t yet grown so attached to it that I’d begrudge having to build a new one should it get eaten, so I told the Drone to keep shooting while I slipped around the worm and booked it for Vemir’s position.

While this was happening, Sixer noticed something on the hull of the Wayfarer: an antipersonnel plasma turret that looked like it was still in working order.  He booked it over there and quickly determined that although the ammo feed was a bit borked, the turret had usable rounds loaded.  He climbed into the manual control seat and fired into the worm’s back just as it managed to get its teeth into my Drone.  The plasma hurt the worm so badly that it dropped my Drone and screamed.  I lobbed another grenade, hoping to take advantage of the creature’s vulnerability, but the ‘nade just sent up a cloud of sand next to the worm. The explosion did startle the beast, at least, and it dove beneath the sand.  Vemir and I were almost starting to think it had been driven off, when it suddenly erupted from right under Vemir’s feet.  Evidently it had decided to go for cover, and chose our bit of wreckage to hide behind.  As the worm re-emerged, I saw that it actually wasn’t exactly a worm: it had legs.  Six of them.  The monster let out a shriek that nearly split my skull and gave Vemir a bite that nearly ended the Kasantha’s life.

It was painfully obvious that nothing Vemir or I had on hand was going to do much of worth to the oversized worm-bug, so we both decided to just make a break for the Wayfarer and lure the beast out of cover so Sixer could shoot it with the turret.  Vemir staggered a little at first as he tried to drink a healing serum and run at the same time, while I focused just on running and scrambled up on the back end of the wing that Sixer’s turret was mounted on. We both made it to the ship before the beast could catch either of us. As we ran, my much-abused but single-minded Drone did its best to keep pelting the worm with lasers despite its gun mount being bent out of alignment. Sixer’s second and third shots just barely missed the charging worm, and the beast decided that stopping the thing that had actually hurt it would be a good idea.

Before Sixer could fire again, the worm wrapped its mouth around the side of the turret and bit down hard, and it was only thanks to it attacking the turret as a whole that Sixer survived, although he was knocked out.  While I panic-fired uselessly from my perch (although I somehow managed to take one of its legs off), Vemir had the presence of mind to climb up to the turret as the worm reared back in preparation for another lunge, shoved Sixer’s unconscious form out of the control seat, and spun the turret just in time to fire a plasma bolt straight down the beast’s throat.  The explosion was messy and underwhelming considering the mass involved, and it scattered crystals everywhere, but I was just glad to be alive.

Vemir used the last of his healing serums to patch himself up and get Sixer back on his feet while I took one of my own, and we all took a moment to collect a bunch of the crystals from the worm’s corpse, just in case they had some sort of value, before finally heading inside the Unbounded Wayfarer.

We’d come with the hope of finding survivors, but all we found were corpses.  Aside from seven bodies of the crew members, the ship was completely empty, looted by the Corpse Fleet (who, if you recall, had been sacked by pirates before we’d found them).  There was almost no power left in the ship’s core, just enough to operate the turret and run one of the computers for a few minutes.  I managed to extract some of the last logs, confirming the fate of the ship’s people and cargo, and a short list of planets and other curiosities the crew had investigated before coming to Ulmarid.  By using one of the crew insignias we’d brought along on Captain Arvin’s suggestion, I unlocked a compartment containing a strange, iridescent stone made of some compounds I had never seen before and which might have something magical about it.

We commed Captain Navasi to report.  He was distraught to learn that there were no survivors and asked us to bring as many of the remains back as we could.  Having no desire to hike another thirty miles dragging a corpse behind me and risk running into another of those monstrous worm-bugs, I transmitted our exact location and told Navasi to come to us if he wanted to collect his comrades’ remains. He admitted that was a much better idea, especially after I described the monster that had nearly eaten all three of us and turned my Drone into a chew toy.  It was solemn work putting all the corpses into body bags, and none of us had the energy to ask if those seven bodies accounted for the Wayfarer’s whole crew nor to speculate what our next move should be.

On the one hand, I was all for going back to Absalom Station again where I could get access to an actual workshop for giving my Drone a few tweaks and myself a chance to experiment on some of the stuff we found.  But on the other hand, there was a chance that Captain Arvin would declare our mission complete, give us the rest of our pay, and send us each on our separate way.  I’m not sure what Vemir and Six would have thought about that; Vemir’s been coldly professional about the job and Six doesn’t talk much, but I realized I’d started to become comfortable with their presence and unsure of what I would do without them continuing to be at my back.

[starfaring-princelotor]

Hopelessly Devoted To You

Hello my Prince and thank you for another doozy of a word.  Devotion is one of those things that can be experienced on so many levels, and in the case of this little story it is of a familial aspect. Nearly everything I write is about you, but as you already know how devoted I am to your Highness, I thought that just this one time I would go off script, so to speak.  ~ Babs

It’s 7:30 A.M.  The alarm on her phone goes off, just like every morning.  It doesn’t matter that she just fell asleep two hours ago, her day begins with or without her consent.  She lays there, staring at the ceiling, steeling her resolve before throwing the blankets off and sitting up.

Quietly descending the stairs, laptop under one arm, phone in hand, she makes her way to the kitchen and sets up the coffee pot to brew.  The kittens are all rubbing around her ankles, waiting for breakfast, expectantly looking at her as she sets her computer down in order to free her hands to pull out the food bowls.

Once they’re fed, she goes down to start laundry, hitting the reheat cycle on the dryer before heading back upstairs.  Then it’s time to empty the dishwasher only to start filling it again, cleaning the kitchen and preparing the list of meals for the day.  She pulls certain items from the freezer and makes sure everything is in order for breakfast.

She carefully opens the door to the makeshift bedroom off the kitchen, just to verify that all is as it should be.  Hearing the deep and slow breathing of the occupant, she backs out and gently closes the latch.

She adds a healthy splash of cream to her coffee cup, picks up her laptop and phone, and wanders to the sitting room.  Curling up on the couch she checks her messages on her phone while waiting for the laptop to come to life.  She takes a sip of her coffee and is joined by one of the kittens, jumping up to lay by her feet.  She reaches down and scratches his ears, remembering the day that changed her future.

********************************************

“We don’t know what’s wrong with her.  We’re checking for brain swelling, have done the lumbar puncture, and gotten a sample to rule out a UTI.  Has she been sick lately?”  The medical personnel were all surrounding the bed, poking and prodding, shining lights into her mom’s eyes as she lay prone on the gurney in the emergency ward.  She wasn’t talking, she wasn’t responding, her eyes rolled back in her head, her face ashen.

Her mom was behaving as if in a coma.  The MRI’s were being scheduled, as well as a battery of blood tests, CT scans, doppler testing, chest x-rays, everything to determine a reasonable explanation for what was happening.  She paced the room, opened the laptop and popped in a CD of her mom’s favorite music, in hopes to reach her on some unconscious level.

Eventually it was time to be admitted and taken up to the stroke ward.  She picked up all of her stuff, carrying everything as she hurried behind the hospital transport staff.  The room they were brought to was spacious and there was a foldable couch for family to sleep on.

She settled herself by organizing her things, before she started pacing the room, tears flowing with fear, waiting for the next medical staff to visit.  This was the pattern for several hours.  A visit by a doctor, nurse, physician’s assistant, physical therapist, hospital administration, and housekeeping, in between hours of nothing but waiting.  She fell asleep in the chair next to her mom, holding her hand all through the night.

Days of ICU stepdown and IV treatments later, her mom’s mind finally started to work, and she regained consciousness.

“Good morning!” the nurse yelled to her mom.  “Do you know where you are?”

Her mom nodded and said, “Yes”.

“Good!  Where are we?” she yelled.

“Hospital,” her mom answered.

“Yes!  We’re in the hospital!” she said with an excited voice.  The nurse gestured to her, “Do you know who this is?”

It was a shock to her when her mom turned and looked at her blankly, shaking her head no.

“This is your daughter,” the nurse said.

“Hi mom, don’t you know me?” she said.

The woman shook her head and turned over on the hospital bed, looking away from the stranger her oldest daughter had become.

********************************************

She sipped her coffee, listening for noise in the room behind her, starting to type her newest work that she was hoping to complete within the next few hours.  She was waiting for the call from her mom, needing her help to get out of bed.  As soon as she did it would be medications, physical treatments, and helping to dress.

She typed furiously, hiding within the words, letting the characters take her away to new worlds, stopping only to sip her coffee, and look up an occasional word in the thesaurus.  She felt herself slipping away, dancing in the words that were flying from her fingertips.

The sudden crashing sound that came from the bedroom had her throwing the laptop aside and sprinting into the other room, throwing the door open to find her mom on the floor.  She had attempted to get up, but the wheelchair had slid away, and she toppled over.  She grabbed the sling and slid it under her mom’s arms, securing it at the waist to help her up from the floor and into her wheelchair.

A quick check just to make sure there weren’t any additional injuries, she grabbed the fuzzy robe hanging on the door hooks and wrapped her mom in it.  Now it was down to the routine schedule.  First came the prosthetic leg, and then the cane so her mom could walk if she chose.  The amputation had come during the last bout of a mental lapse due to sepsis.  It was discovered her mom was suffering from an infection that originated from the bones in her foot.  It was either lose the leg or she would lose her life.  There was no decision to be made.

Next it was time for coffee and breakfast, which she prepares after pushing the wheelchair into the sitting room where her mom could wait, watching tv.  The laptop is still open after being abandoned on the couch, partially written page sitting here, cursor blinking.

Medications soon follow, along with general ablutions and getting dressed.

Then she would be able to pick up the laptop again, maybe.  Oh, there goes the dryer buzzer.

Never mind, the story could wait until later.  She sighs as she descends the stairs to the basement to gather the load and start the next one.

**************************************************

“So, miss, we can’t say how long she’ll be suffering from this newest dementia trouble.  She might be gone for an hour, a day or maybe even for good.  Have you discussed any long-term care options?” the doctor said, looking over the Living Will directive.  

“We did.  She needs to be home,” she answered, hugging herself at the finality of the conversation.  “If she comes back to us and finds herself in a retirement home, she’ll take that depression express bus to death.  I can’t do that to her.  I promised her she would always have me around to take care of her.  She’s going to be home with me.”

“That’s admirable.  So many families can’t make that choice.  You are certainly devoted to her,” the doctor said as you nodded.  “We can help make sure you have the proper support mechanisms in place.  Being a long-term caregiver is a very challenging, and you will face a lot of obstacles.

“I will not abandon her.  She is my family and she needs me.  I won’t leave her stuck in a place to slowly wither and die.  She needs to be where she has familiarity.  She needs to be with someone who loves her, even when she doesn’t know who I am.”  She let the doctor know that it was her final decision.

********************************************

She stood in front of her boss, handing in her resignation letter.  Her mom needed full time care and she simply couldn’t work a full-time job any longer.  The part-time she had would have to suffice.  She’d figure out how to make ends meet, somehow.

*********************************************

She walked into the counselor’s office, ready to terminate her schedule for the next semester.

“But, you’re only three classes from your Bachelor’s Degree!” the counselor exclaimed.

“I know, but I can’t come to campus anymore.  If I’m not there she might set the house on fire, or fall down the stairs, or wander out the door and never been seen again.  I’m going to be with her, taking care of her.  It’s my life now.”  She tearfully turned in her paperwork to drop all classes and return her student aid.

**********************************************

The evening routine is just like the morning, except in reverse.  Laundry, dishes, medications and treatments, getting pajamas on and washing her face, helping her into bed before removing the prosthesis.

She bends over and kisses her mom’s forehead, adjusting the pillows and pulling the blankets up to tuck her in.  She wonders how long it will be before her mom retreats into her mind again.  Will she still know me in the morning?

“Sleep well, mom,” she says.

“Don’t stay up too late,” her mom says.

“I won’t,” she lies as she turns out the light and closes the door.

She starts up the coffee again.  It is only 9:30 P.M.  She has four hours to get the next chapter done before it’s too late to meet her deadline.  Pouring the coffee into her cup, adding the flavored creamer, she finally sits back on the couch, the blueish glow emanating from the laptop.

She allows the world on her screen to suck her in, becoming lost in her written words, forgetting the reality around her.  One thousand words.  Then two thousand.  The clock reminding her that her deadline was racing towards her.  Three thousand.  

Spell-check.  

Saved.  

Updated on the platform.  

Posted.  

Headphones on.  

Site connected.

“Hello friends,” she says.  “How was your day?”

[youngksbass]

What else could I do?

♥ Young K x Reader 

♥ Warnings: gangs, mentions of drugs, mentions of blood/violence, angst, swearing, illness, hospitals

♥ Word Count: 2,033

♥ Part: 3 of ? (Part 1) (Part 2)

♥ A/N: Unedited but I haven’t posted a part of this series in so long I just wanted to get it up for you all! 💖

You woke up to a familiar beeping and an overwhelming feeling of numbness, the feeling of floating through nothingness that was familiar with a dose of morphine, and you sighed in annoyance as you began to groggily rub your eyes to wake them.

“Ah, you’re awake!” You heard a familiar quiet deep voice comment as the shy boy you met a long while ago at school appeared in your vision. “I’m glad you’re okay, I found you passing out in the hall and didn’t know what to do..so I brought you here but they didn’t have any emergency contacts, so I thought I’d stay and make sure you were alright-“ “Thank you.” You cut in before he continued, you were slightly overwhelmed with his rambling with your current drugged up state, and your speech was slightly slurred compared to usual. “Thanks for the help, you didn’t have to do this.” You restated, seeing as how your first statement of gratitude was a bit tense. “No problem (y/n), I’m just glad you’re okay.” The brunette stated with a small grin, he was now moved to the chair by your bedside so he could speak with you more easily. “Thanks, uh I never got your name?” You state, trying to remember if he had ever mentioned it, he very well could have because you can barely compute anything right now. “Sorry, I'm Dowoon.” The kind brunette replied scratching the back of his neck in slight embarrassment. “Nice to officially meet you then, and thanks again.” You tried to focus your attention on him and the conversation but it was still proving difficult in your current state. You laid back again on the cot, closing your eyes to try and ease the frustration that was slowly building due to your current situation. “Are you in pain again?” Dowoon’s deep voice cuts in concerned at your movement. “Nah, how long ago did they give me the morphine for pain?” You asked opening your eyes again and trying to see the state of the IV next to you and the current level of fluids to guess how long you’ve been in the hospital. “They injected it maybe…” He glanced at his watch but a small disappointed frown fell upon his face, "well I’m not sure how long ago really.” Dowoon admitted and you just laid in silence again for a moment, “But it’s 1pm right now.” You sat up even more abruptly, startling the brunette with your rushed movement. "I’ve been in here overnight?!” You ask now clearly beginning to panic, you begin to pull your cover aside and reach to begin stripping the many wires from your arm. Dowoon grabs your wrist stopping you, you then look at him with a challenging glance, he looks aside because of your intense gaze and clears his throat. You really want to shove him aside and free your wrist from his grasp, rip out the annoying IV, and get the hell out of here. However, you noticed you were still feeling the morphine and you admitted defeat, laying back down once more on the uncomfortable cot. “Don’t worry the doctors will clear things up with your boss and family, but you need to stay in the bed.” Dowoon interjects, letting you calm down and letting go of your wrist when you give up your effort. That’s when you realize the boys were probably wondering why you weren’t at the meet up last night. “Shit could you pass me my phone?” You ask him, noticing your belongings in the corner of the white walled hospital room. He nodded and did as asked, you began to scroll through the messages that had blown up your phone, your battery percent significantly lower due to the missed calls and spam of texts. From Hajoon: Big sis you missed the meeting with the customers!! Jaehyung made sure it was all good but where are you?.. From Jaehyung: I hope you are taking time to rest and… From Hajoon: What the hell is going on?! You aren’t answering any of us and aren’t at home!!... From Woosung: Where are you? Are you okay? Call me asap.. These were just the tip of the iceberg when it came to the mass of texts filling your screen, you tried to make your way through all of them to see if all the meetings with the customers went well- Ring ring.You were interrupted by Dowoon answering his own cellphone.“Hey-“ He was cut off by what seemed to be a loud voice on the other side of the line. “I’m sorry-“ He was cut off once again, “Listen I have a reason! I’m at the hospital-“ You heard a loud ‘what' shouted through the phone, “I’m at the hospital right now but it’s oka-“ before he could even finish the other person hung up and he looked down at his cellphone showing the call had ended with a defeated huff. “Aish.. He hung up on me.” Dowoon stated slightly annoyed, though it seemed like he was used to this from whoever he had been speaking to. “If your family is worried you’re welcome to leave, you’ve already done so much.” You stated with a reassuring smile. “Shouldn’t I wait until one of your family members comes though? I don’t want you to be left alone here.” “You don’t have to it’s alright.” “Well I’ll feel better if I do.” You gave him a slightly confused look, why did he care you weren’t even good friends or anything. You weren’t used to people you didn’t know being so kind to you, let alone caring for you like this. “Well if that’s the case I suppose it’s alright if you stay…” You muttered as you began to send a text to Woosung about your whereabouts. You didn’t want to make a scene so it would be best if only he came to help you discharge from the hospital and head home, the other boys would cause chaos even with their good intentions. You and Dowoon sat in intermittent silence, chatting on and off about studies and such for a little while. He seemed like a nice person, maybe you would become good friends moving forward. As you were about to explain something someone burst through the door cutting you off mid-sentence. “Where were you?! What the hell is going on?” You just started at the figure who’s hand still held the knob of the door he just flung open so abruptly, the purple hair causing every sense of anxiety in your aching body to shoot through the roof. Dowoon let out a big sigh as the purple haired boy slammed the door shut and stood with crossed arms now looking between you and Dowoon. “Explain." “Everything is fine, you didn’t have to come.” The brunette stated with an exasperated look. “I thought something had happened to you, all you said was that you were in the hospital.” The purple haired boy responded in slight annoyance, focusing all his attention now to Dowoon. “Because you cut me off on the phone, you didn’t let me finish explaining.” Dowoon was looking him dead in the face with an irritated glance, this seemed to be a common occurrence, he most likely had to deal with the purple haired boy’s slight hot-headedness and the antics caused by it often. “(Y/n) passed out outside of class and I had to bring her here to make sure she was okay.” Now both the boys looked to you, the purple haired boy now walking up closer towards your cot with crossed arms. His piercing gaze met yours for a moment, you stared back unfazed by the attempted intimidation. “She seems fine now, lets go.” The purple haired boy broke from your gaze and turned towards Dowoon nodding his head towards the door. “Hey! There’s no rush-“ Dowoon responded in slight confusion at the purple haired boys behavior. It seemed like the purple haired boy was ready to drag Dowoon out the door in an instant. “It’s okay if you need to leave Dowoon, thanks again for bringing me here.” You interjected with a smile, trying to ease the tension between him and his friend. Before the purple haired boy could add in an irritating comment to you and Dowoon’s interaction the door swung open once more, this time revealing an out-of-breath Woosung. “What happened?! Are you okay?!” He nearly shouted rushing over to you. “I’m fine, sorry for being off the grid for a bit.” At this he leaned a hand on the guardrail of your cot, letting out a deep sigh and pushing his hair from his face as he regained his breath. Before you could continue he turned to notice the other two in the room, and he immediately clenched a fist. “What are you doing here?” Woosung questioned in a calm manner to mask the rising anger within, looked to the purple haired boy. Immediately the purple haired boy approached Woosung with an intimidating air, this only made you more concerned as Woosung was starting to really show his rage. “What’s it to you?” The purple haired boy huffed, at this Dowoon grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Young K, stop.” He stated in a hushed but worried manner, realizing the situation that could very quickly escalate. Now you knew the purple haired boys name, and it was your turn to cut in. “Young K, I don’t know why you’re acting like this or why you attacked my boys that other night. We aren’t your enemy.” You stated in an intense tone that immediately commanded the room. Woosung now became the one to worry as he turned to you, whispering your nickname in a warning tone in his concern of what could happen next. “How are you not? You came into our territory without permission to do deals. That innately takes away our customers.” Young K replied now nearing your cot in an attempt to intimidate once more, he really liked to use that as a tactic. Woosung immediately stepped closer to your side in a defensive manner, you gently pushed him back and kept your attention on Young K. Unlike this other gang leader you could keep a calm demeanor in almost all situations, something he could definitely learn to keep from useless situations like fights. “We aren’t selling to any of your customers. You can ask each of them if you don’t believe me.” You replied bluntly at his accusation. “And we don’t ever intend to sell to your customers,” you added as his face changed to one of slight shock and confusion, “so we are not, and will never be, your enemy.” Young K seemed caught off guard at this, and Dowoon even seemed a little surprised. “In fact, I would propose that we could even work together in the future if you desired.” You suggested earning a questioning glance from Young K and Dowoon. At this Woosung turned to you with a loud, “What?!” Ignoring this, you continued to speak to Young K and Dowoon. “We aren’t dealing the same stuff, and if we are both covering territory together without worrying about each others whereabouts it will make everyone’s lives much easier.” You state simply, “You’re welcome to discuss it with your group and let me know if you want to take up the offer.” “(Y/n) we’ve never done something like this before, besides we might not want to get mixed up with whatever they’re selling.” Woosung interjects in utter shock at your actions. You dismiss him once again as Young K turns towards the door with a scoff at your proposition. “Think about it, Young K, no good comes from us fighting,” is all you are able to say before Young K heads out the door with one final glance towards you and Woosung. Dowoon quickly follows after him with a rushed goodbye. Woosung has now turned towards you with an expectant gaze, and now you realize what you may have just proposed. If all went through, your whole operation would have to change, but maybe this change would be for the greater good. At least, that’s what you hope.