#my car was fucking stolen which is just the most recent in a long line of bullshit happenings

[intraosseous]

no lie i kind of just want to give up on everything rn

[cdyssey]

Exit Strategies

Summary: Before they break Alexei out of a maximum security prison, Yelena convinces Natasha that they should rest, that they need to.

A/N: I finally got the chance to see Black Widow today and ugly sobbed through almost half of it. Natasha and Yelena deserved so much more—oh, my GOD, it's not fair.

AO3 Link

—

It’s only when the gas needle edges precariously below a gallon that Natasha frowns, the stark cut on her lower lip curving like a bow just begging to snap.

“We need gas,” she breaks the long silence between them. Yelena glances over at her sister’s profile, sharp and distinct even in the semi-darkness, slightly tinted blue by the BMW’s luminescent dashboard. Her angular jaw. The ribbon-like strands of red hair plastered to the side of her face. The bruises beginning to feather the column of her neck from their recent fight.

And the purple shadows beneath her visible eye.

The lines.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Yelena quips because it’s easier than being sincere, easier than dealing with all of the effed-up history between them. They used to snuggle in the same bed, wrists crossing wrists. Mere hours ago, they came close to strangling each other to death with curtains. 

“We also need to rest. Can’t go taking down a multinational child soldier complex on zero hours of sleep, y’know.”

“Mmm,” comes a noncommittal reply, short, patronizing. “You sleep. I’ll drive.”

Yelena simply stares at the older woman, searching, incredulous, and frankly, a little miffed. Has she always been this much of a martyr? She interrogates her own memories—the ones from her childhood are the clearest she has—and surprisingly concludes that, yes, she’s always been this way. 

Natasha would get into fights on the playground when older kids tried to bully Yelena.

And she was good with her fists.

She would always win.

“Don’t be stupid, Natalya. You’re not superhuman. Let’s pull off at an exit and get a motel room.”

“We don’t have time for that. My contact’ll be at the rendezvous spot at twelve tomorrow.”

“A few hours tops,” she promises, wheedling, glancing at the car’s central display. It’s 2:07. There’s plenty enough time for them to get some sleep and make it back to Norway, especially with how fast Natasha drives. They’ve never been under eighty-five the entire time they’ve been on the freeway. “C’mon. I stink. You stink. We both need showers and a vodka shot.”

“I don’t stink,” Natasha wrinkles her nose disdainfully. But even as she says it, she lets off the pedal and eases into the right lane. The speedometer slowly sinks from over a hundred to ninety… eighty… seventy…

“You do,” Yelena snickers, mischievous, triumphant, a little kid again teasing her older sister about a hopscotch victory. She arches a smug brow. “You smell like shit.”

“Asshole.”

“Bitch.”

But she watches, with fascination, as the corner of Natasha’s mouth twitches, the cut on her lip quivering too.

—

They get gas at a twenty-four hour station and buy a few necessities inside—some snacks, a bottle of cheap vodka, gauze, painkillers, a pack of Skittles for Yelena.

It’s been a long time since she’s had Skittles.

They’d once been her favorite candy.

Natasha had always preferred chocolate bars.

And behind their mother’s back, their papa would indulge them. 

Hush, my little kittens. He would raise a conspiratorial index finger to his mouth. Don’t tell Mama now.

“Jesus hell,” the clearly sleep-deprived cashier says, taking in their haggard, bloodstained appearances.

“We just got back from fight club,” Yelena supplies cheerfully.

“Do you got change for fifty euros?” Natasha asks.

—

At 2:40, they finally pull into a motel, a dingy, little dump far away from the main part of the city. The stolen BMW looks out of place against the worn-down building, all sleek and shiny and new. This is the kind of establishment that most people settle for, not actively choose—unless, of course, said people are two Russian killers trying to evade detection from a militant Taskmaster.

Yelena and Natasha are silent as they creep into the motel room that had been designated theirs by the scruffy faced twenty-year old working the night shift at the front desk, handguns drawn as they flick on lights and canvas the room as they had both been trained to do.

Two queen sized beds.

A boxy TV that looks like it could have been at home in the nineties.

A musty smell in the air.

A spluttering air conditioner in the window.

A framed painting on the wall of something that looks vaguely phallic.

“Clear in the bedroom,” Yelena calls after she checks under each bed. 

No monsters under there.

“Bathroom’s clear too.” Natasha walks out of the side door, replacing her Glock in her thigh holster. “If the front door gets blocked, our exit strategy’s the window in the bathroom. Leads out into some woods. We can climb a tree and pick threats off from a decent vantage point.”

Again, Yelena stares at the woman in front of her, trying to reconcile her bruised and scratched face with the kid from twenty-odd years ago, the one who used to make shadow puppets on the wall for her to laugh at, who’d comb her wet hair at night when Mama was working. 

There’s so little light in her eyes left, the particulars of her voice perfectly calculated to be distant.

Yelena wants to pull her hair out, wants to stomp around a little, wants to throw a tantrum and scream.

They lived together for three years.

They were sisters.

And Natasha… Natasha is distant.

“Do you always have an exit strategy?” Yelena blurts out a little stupidly. Of course she has an exit strategy. They’re trained fucking spies for God’s sake! Hell, Yelena even has a tentative exit strategy! 

(She's just gonna crash through the window and start shooting.)

But she is and really isn’t asking about exit strategies. 

Even as her lips formed the words, she knew this. Even as the words fell from her tongue, she felt their insufficiency and knew the depths of her own vulnerability.

Is that all you can look me in the eye and talk about, Natalya?

Exit strategies?

This is our first night together in twenty-one years, and you can stand here and tell me that the trees are the best place for blowing people’s brains out?

Natasha shrugs a single shoulder before limping over to the side table, where they’d placed their singular grocery bag.

“Go take a shower, and make sure you get all the dirt outta your wound.”

Yelena’s eyes flick downwards at her bandaged arm and then back to her sister again.

“You’re such a mom,” she repeats herself numbly as Nat draws the vodka bottle out of the bag, untwisting it with a deft motion and taking a long, practiced drag.

“Shower,” she exhales once she’s done, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “We’re leaving in six hours.”

—

Yelena takes a quick shower, ten minutes to the dot, and feels a little like a human again, even though the water was only lukewarm at best, and she has to put on her sweaty clothes from the day before. At least her hair and face are clean, the grime beneath her nails all scraped off, her wound cleansed of dirt. After she towels her hair off, she doesn’t put her jacket and tactical vest on just yet, remaining stripped down to just her undershirt and pants. 

She’s slept with her gear equipped before.

On most nights, really.

Tonight, though, just for a few hours, she doesn’t want to.

(She knows she doesn’t have to—her older sister is here.)

As she hangs her damp towel on the nearby rack, she notices that the window behind the dinky toilet has been cracked open about an inch, propped up by one of motel’s washcloths.

A handgun has been strategically placed on the back of the toilet.

A Glock-22.

An exit strategy.

When Yelena enters the main bedroom again, she sees that Natasha is sitting on the bed closest to the window—(the most vulnerable position, she briefly thinks to herself)—shirt off, tenderly probing a nasty-looking laceration just below her ribs.

The dried blood blooms across her stomach like a flower.

Crimson.

Replete with thorns.

“Damn,” she breathes, and Nat quickly looks up, eyes wide, brow furrowed.

“It’s not deep,” she says immediately. “Just long.”

“It’ll scar,” Yelena shakes her head.

Wounds like that always scar.

“I’m no stranger to scars.” A proffered grin—slight, elusive, wry. And no sooner than she says it, Yelena spots the long, telltale surgical incision where the hysterectomy had been performed, and to the left of her belly button, there’s a scar that had once clearly been a bullet’s entry point. “I collect them everywhere I go.”

It’s an innocuous enough statement, but the contents of it jog her memory.

She's reminded of what that their mama said long ago in a military camp somewhere in Cuba.

Pain only makes you stronger, remember?

Yelena has always drawn vague comfort from the words—usually when she’s nursing her own sundry wounds, doing her best to recover from them.

But tonight, looking at Natasha’s body—which surely mirrors her own—she can’t help but think that those words might’ve been bullshit said by a poor, dying woman.

Sometimes, pain can only hurt.

“Your turn to shower,” she says, jerking her thumb emphatically at the bathroom door.

A half-smile.

Her lips are dry and cracked.

“Make sure you get the dirt outta that wound.”

“Asshole,” Natasha chuckles, the sound low and hoarse, and maybe even a little painful because she winces at the end, her bloodied fingers involuntarily drawing themselves up her ribs. 

“сука,” Yelena returns, throwing herself unceremoniously onto her bed, hiding her own laughter in a pillow.

Bitch.

—

When Natasha returns some thirty minutes later, she’s already twisted her damp hair into a messy plait, and she’s fully clothed, dressed like an armed gunman is going to burst through the curtained window at any moment.

Yelena had already flicked off the lamp and bunched the stiff blankets up to her nose in an attempt to get comfortable… but she hasn’t fallen asleep yet.

Waiting.

She watches, ever observant, as her sister lithely winds through the room without making so much as a sound, the graceful ballerina that the Red Room tortured her to be. She’s similarly silent as she slowly lowers herself onto the other bed, gingerly propping herself up against the headboard, angling her torso towards the door.

But this is apparently too sudden of a movement for her body to currently handle.

A hissing noise escapes past her clenched teeth.

“You should sleep,” Yelena croaks aloud, having seen enough, having heard more. “I’ll take the first shift.”

Her sister’s hawklike stare finds her in the darkness. 

“What? No. Go to bed,” she snaps, obviously annoyed. “You were the one who wanted to stop for the night.”

“Yeah, because I looked over and saw that you looked like death warmed over!” She retorts haughtily. “However much you might pose otherwise, you’ve gotta have needs too.”

This quiets Natasha.

At the very least, it makes her look away.

She shifts (very incrementally) on her bed.

She plays a little with the end of her braid.

“An hour,” she says, so quietly that Yelena almost thinks she’s saying “an oar” for some bewildering reason.

“Чего?” What? 

“An hour,” Natasha repeats emphatically. “Wake me up in an hour. It’s… all I need.”

“Okay.” Yelena sits up abruptly, eager to please, desperate to show that she still cares.

It’s a bit sickening, really—the woman practically abandoned her.

She got out and never looked back…

“I mean it.” Her sister doesn’t quite lay down, but she does slouch a little more comfortably against her pillows. “An hour.”

“Yah.”

—

Yelena isn’t a woman of her words, though.

She lets her sleep for two.

“Dammit, Yelena,” Natasha groans, pulling her fingers hard over her eyes. “You told me you'd wake me up."

“Don’t be so dramatic, Natalya,” she yawns, finally slumping her head against her pillow. "It didn't kill you to get a little more beauty rest."

"Asshole."

As the dark takes her away, she smiles.

Bit—

—

A soft hand on her shoulder, a gentle shake. 

Yelena blearily opens her eyes to see Natasha standing over her, staring at her with that same inscrutable expression—complicated…  and utterly unreadable. It gives her the impression of being pierced through all over, analyzed and deconstructed.

Even though she’s quite clothed, she feels naked.

Seen.

“We gotta get moving,” she says matter-of-factly. “There’s coffee on the nightstand. Once you wash your face, I’ll change your bandage again.”

And then, stepping away, she disappears from view. From the sounds she’s making, she’s clearly cleaning the room, thoroughly removing all traces of their less than six hour presence in this motel in the middle of practically nowhere. In mere minutes, it will be like they had never been here at all.

And so it goes for Red Room operatives.

So it went in Ohio.

When Yelena sits up to stretch, blankets that she hadn’t fallen asleep under cascade heavily to the floor.

She glances to her left.

Sees a bed that’s been all but stripped clean.

—

In the bathroom, the gray light of dawn leans against the partially opened window. Yelena sits on the side of the half-bath as Natasha makes quick and expert work of cleaning her wound and bandaging it up again, snipping the excess gauze off with her penknife.

“Looks better today,” she simply comments as she replaces the knife in her utility belt. “Might not scar if you’re lucky.”

Unspoken between them but nonetheless understood, neither of them have really been lucky.

They were orphans abandoned by their mothers.

They were children who were trained to kill.

And now they have so much blood on their hands.

Red dripping from their ledgers.

Scars on their bodies, so many wounds on their souls.

Yelena’s not even thirty yet.

(Her life has given her plenty of reasons to suspect that she might never be.)

“Pssh,” she snorts derisively as her sister finally yanks the washcloth out from the window. 

It closes with a smart snap.

A decisive finality.

Yelena is just bending down to lace her boots up when Natasha suddenly speaks again, apropos of absolutely nothing.

She could have just left.

She shifts her weight from foot to foot.

Gripping the washcloth loosely in one hand, she stays.

“There was... this S.H.I.E.L.D. guy,” she says, her voice reluctant, full of clear misgivings, “who used t’complain all the time that I never had an extraction plan. No exit strategies either. I’d just go in… complete my mission… and it’d be up to my enemy’s aim if I made it out intact.”

Yelena looks up to see that her sister’s back is turned to her, her back stiff, the sharp ridges of her shoulder blades jutting visibly through the black fabric of her shirt.

Somehow, even in a bathroom barely big enough to admit the both of them, she seems strangely small.

Young even.

She curls her fingers around the nearby towel rack like a kid gripping the monkey bars.

“I used to think that maybe that was the best way to atone for everything I’d done,” she continues, her voice ever distant, so perfectly controlled. “To be so reckless with my life that if I died during a mission, someone might actually call it heroic.”

A laugh, short and humorless, entirely disaffected from the horrible words that the same voice just spoke.

Yelena wraps her arms loosely around her stomach.

And represses the primal urge to shudder.

But wish though she could, she can’t look away from Natasha Romanoff.

Mesmerized.

Horrified.

Concerned.

She should hate this woman.

For all of these many years, she has loved her unconditionally.

“But then I got with the Avengers, you know, and I was suddenly in the public eye, tasked to save people, to try and protect my team…”

A violent pause. 

Natasha lets go of the towel rack rather abruptly but neatly folds the rag over the top of it.

“It’s different when you’re on a team,” she finally shrugs. “You start making exit strategies because it’s not just your life on the line anymore.”

“So that’s what we are, huh?” Yelena can’t stop herself from asking. Her voice drips its own sarcasm; it relishes in mockery; she hopes it’s enough to hide her hurt. “A team?”

They’d once been family.

Every night, Natasha told her that she loved her.

Every night, Yelena replied just the same.

And in all the years afterwards, there was always a small part of her that hadn't lost hope that her big sister was going to come back for her one day, that she was going to bring the Avengers and rescue her—rescue all the Widows��from Dreykov.

She got out.

Thousands of girls didn't.

“For now,” comes the quiet reply. “C’mon. Finish getting ready.”

Natasha doesn’t look behind her when she walks out.

Yelena is starting to think she never does.

[trulycevans]

our perfect little family

Warnings: swearing, a bad pregnancy experience 

Summary: anon requested:

“hi!! i absolutely love ur imagines 🥺 i was thinking maybe u could do one where chris’ gf is pregnant and they break up (unrelated to the pregnancy) but chris still is in her life and they get back together after the baby is born 👉👈 just an idea! hope u’re staying safe! <3″

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

[A/N I’ve never been pregnant so I don’t know much about the ins and outs of it, I’ve tried as much as possible to be accurate but if anything isn’t quite right you know why]

*:��ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You paced the bathroom of yours and Chris’ shared home. Heart in your throat as you watched the timer on your phone. You sat down on the toilet lid, knees bobbing, head in your hands. Never had you expected to feel the amount of dread you did at that moment. While many people in a relationship feel excited about a possible pregnancy, you on the other hand felt a sense of impending doom. 

The alarm beeped on your phone causing your breath to hitch in your throat. “Ok [Y/N], you’ve got this. No matter what it says you’ll be okay” You muttered a pep talk to yourself as you twisted to pick up the pregnancy test from the sink. “Fuck,” the two lines on the pregnancy test were bold and dark. There was no denying or doubting whether your child was currently growing inside you. 

Your head began to spin. Yours and Chris’ relationship had been rocky for a few months and was hanging on by a thread. Virtually every conversation you would have would be an argument, which lead to Chris sleeping on the sofa and an awkward apology the next morning. However, this was cyclical and happened most nights. You ached for the relationship you once had, one filled with laughter and joy. With stolen kisses and romantic endeavours. 

Your hand moved down to your stomach, “Hello baby,” You whispered, your eyes beginning to well with tears. “I’m gonna protect you no matter what-” You were interrupted by the sound of your boyfriend shouting you from downstairs. “Where are you? I’ve been looking for you. I-” He pushed the door of your en suite open, his gaze dropping to the pregnancy test in your grasp and your hand held softly on your belly. 

“What’s that?” He asked softly, frozen in his spot in the doorway. You didn’t respond, silently handing him the pregnancy test. His poker face while studying the white stick in front of him made you flood with concern, your hand never leaving your stomach as your knee continued to bob anxiously. 

“You’re pregnant?” He finally whispered looking up at you with watery eyes, causing you to nod. He cautiously walked toward you, kneeling next to you on the cold tiles. He delicately lifted his hand so that his fingertips could brush your cheek softly, causing you to look at his face, a small smile etched on his face, as slow tears trickled down his cheeks. 

“I know things haven’t been great between us recently...” He hesitated, taking a second to breathe and observe your reaction. “But you don’t know how happy this makes me.” His voice was barely audible.

“We-We’re gonna make this work right Chris?” You questioned, “No matter what happens this baby is always gonna have us right?” 

“That’s what you’ve been worrying about?” He asked incredulously, “No matter what I’m gonna be there for our child... Nothing in the world would ever stop me from being the best Dad.” His hand hesitantly drifted to your own that rested upon your belly, as if seeking permission from you, unsure of how you would react. 

“That’s our baby in there Chris” You whispered, and he gave your hand a tight squeeze as he interlocked his fingers with yours. A comfortable silence washed over the two of you, and you prayed that this feeling would never end. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

But of course it did. A baby was never going to fix the problems you and Chris had had. You both quickly realised that the stress of your relationship was not good for you or the baby. So just as you entered the second trimester you and Chris had ended your relationship, a mutual decision that pained the both of you each day. 

Chris had moved out of your shared home, not wanting you to have to put too much pressure or stress on yourself by being the person to leave. So as you spent the first night alone in your large Boston home you had cried whilst sitting on the sofa, Dodger curled up on your lap as the sounds of your sobs echoed across the empty halls. Your phone beeped on the coffee table in front of you and you leaned forward to retrieve it and read the message.

chris 🤍: I’m so sorry for everything. I’m so grateful for everything you have, had and will do for me and our child. Sleep well, I’ll see you soon x

Silent tears trickled down your face as your heart shattered even more.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The pregnancy passed in a blur and you had hated every minute of it. Not only were the hormones surging through your body making you feel emotionally, mentally and physically horrendous, but your crippling loneliness made it awful as well. Yes, you had yours and Chris’ family around you in the day which made it that little bit easier. But at night when it was just you and Dodger alone in the house, the house that was a constant reminder of your failed relationship. 

Chris had tried to be there for you in any way he could, and it pained him to see you so damaged by the pregnancy. He felt to blame, and yet it was inappropriate of him to try and help relieve some of your symptoms. 

Chris on the day that marked exactly four weeks before your due date had found himself parked up on the driveway of your home just watching you and waiting in case anything happened. You were struggling to walk at this stage and while you had insisted to Chris that you could take care of yourself (”Chris I’ve got this, go home I’ll be fine” you had winced as a sharp pain shot through your back). However, he knew that was just your stubbornness shining through. 

So to settle his nerves Chris had camped outside of your house in his car, just in case you needed him, and as he watched you through the window standing at the kitchen. He smiled, staring at your swollen belly as you chopped vegetables at the island. His adoration for you had only grown throughout your pregnancy, he craved your attention and affection, he wanted nothing more than to be able to stand behind you now hands on your swelling stomach, kissing your hair comfortingly as you talk about your day. 

His affection was quickly converted to concern however as he watched your eyes widen and hands clutch your stomach. He leant forward as he watched your look down at the floor and then grab your phone, his own beginning to ring immediately. 

“Hey!” He answered, “What’s wrong?”

“You’re still outside aren’t you?” You questioned wincing. 

“Yeah, why?” Chris breathed, anxiety piling up with every second that passed. 

“I-I think my water just broke” You breathed, Chris immediately jumped out of the car, dropping his phone into the centre console. He raced into the house, fumbling with his keys to open the door. When finally the lock gave and he was able to rush inside he found you knelt on the kitchen floor trying to clean up the fluid that had leaked.

“Babe what are you doing?” He questioned incredulously, the nickname rolling off his tongue out of habit.

“Labour could take days, and then I’ll probably stay at the hospital for a few more. I’m not coming back in pain after having this baby and having to clean up the floor,” You explained, causing Chris to let out an exasperated laugh. “And what do you think I’m gonna be doing when this baby comes, just watching you do everything. I’ll clean this up for you” He knelt down in front of you taking the cloth from your hand. “Why don’t you head out to the car?” He questioned, “I’ll grab the bag and take Dodger round to Mrs. Dalloway.” All you could do was nod as a contraction occurred, causing your face to scrunch up and you to moan in pain. 

Chris dashed around the house making sure everything was in order as you shuffled to the car. When he eventually climbed into the car, the faint sound of the radio as you text yours and Chris’ parents to let them know what was happening so they could meet you at the hospital. “You ready to have a baby?” He questioned, and you nodded wide eyed. A sense of fear reverberating between you. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

36 hours. That’s how long it took for you to bring Emilia Grace Evans into the world. But it was so worth it. The moment you and Chris heard her cries you had made eye contact and shed tears. You fell back onto the hospital bed exhausted as the nurses shuffled to take care of you.

“Well done,” Chris whispered brushing your sweat-ridden hair away from your face. “You did so well,” He pressed a firm kiss to your temple as the midwife congratulated you on your baby girl. She was placed onto your chest, and at last you felt at peace. You felt normal again for the first time in eight months, and as your eyes moved from your beautiful newborn daughter to your ex-boyfriend, you knew that you couldn’t do this without him. The adoration in his eyes as he watched you whisper comforting words to your daughter. 

It was an unspoken agreement to continue your relationship. It naturally just happened. The moment you were discharged from hospital Chris had gradually moved back into your home. You shared a bed again, he cared for you as you recovered from the ordeal that was giving birth. 

And after a month of living this way you had asked what you were while rocking Emilia to sleep on your porch swing. “We’re just us, [Y/N]” Chris whispered. “We’re just our perfect little family” He smiled as Dodger nuzzled his leg.

“Our perfect little family,” You repeated, looking up at him and leaning up to kiss him as the evening sun washed over you.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

taglist

@onetwo3000​ @tvckerlance​

[rynhaswritersblock]

masterlist 🕊

hi!! welcome to my masterlist!

i try to make all of my imagines as inclusive as possible. PLEASE let me know if i discriminate against any group in any way; this is a safe space for everyone!

fluff 🧸 | angst 🕯| steamy ⚡️| personal favorite 🦦 | from an event ✨ ↬ i write predominantly fluff!

PETER PARKER imagines - anywhere from 1k to 10k words

desperate times and desperate measures 🧸 ↬ you're an avenger on a fake date with peter to get information from a group of villains, and peter has to think quick in order not to blow your cover... wink wink

far from home (part one, part two, part three, part four, part five) 🧸🕯 ↬ you and peter sit next to each other on the plane to europe and what begins as a friendship turns into so much more

can’t help it 🧸⚡️ ↬ you and peter have been dating for a few months now, and being the kind boy he is, he always asks for a kiss when he wants one. when kissing he always lets you set the pace because he's afraid to hurt you (because of his powers), but this time, his feelings are too much…

sista-sista 🧸🕯 ↬ you (peter's sister) were recruited by nick fury multiple years ago. ever since he discovered you, he took you in and trained you to work behind the scenes at S.H.I.E.L.D., and was the one to help you recover after being kidnapped by a terrorist group and experimented on (which resulted in you getting your powers). nick convinces you to work on a mission with peter, resulting in your coming clean to him about your past and the biological relationship between the two of you

study date 🧸 ↬ you and peter have been friends for most of your life but have slightly grown apart this last year due to peter's spider-man duties. finally, the two of you get together to work on a project and things... happen?

fancy-schmancy 🧸 ↬ you and peter sneak out of a fancy charity event because adults are boring and there’s better things to do

competitive 🧸 ↬ you and peter have had an interesting relationship due to the fact that you're both competing for being number one in your class. but, over time, a small, unexpected romance grows out of the rivalry

laser tag 🧸⚡️ ↬ tony organizes a game of avengers laser tag. you and peter are on opposite sides and have made it clear to each other that you will fight to the death- whatever it takes

NINE-NINE! 🧸 ↬ you and peter spend most nights watching brooklyn nine-nine together and have found just how similar the two of you were to the show's lead couple, jake and amy

how about a kiss, saumensch? (part one, part two) 🧸🕯 ↬ when peter sees you reading the book thief and talking about it afterwards, your love for it makes him want to read it. so, he does, and he decides to follow in the steps of rudy steiner, asking for a kiss at every chance he gets

take your things and go (part one, part two) 🧸🕯 ↬ you and peter have a love-hate relationship that makes some advances when the two of you land in a close situation

holy water!  🧸⚡️ ↬ after catching you and peter getting a little heated, natasha decides to take things into her own hands... in the messiest of ways

letters 🧸 ↬  after too long a wait for you and peter to just get together, the team decides to get you together their way

curiosity killed the cat 🧸🦦 ↬ peter parker is a photographer. the boy is absolutely obsessed with taking pictures of anything that attracts him, anything that catches his eye... anything, particularly you

under the mistletoe 🧸🕯 ↬ high school holiday parties can lead to unfortunate circumstances... especially when it involves your lifelong enemy and one godforsaken garnish

spider-man chapstick 🧸 ↬ nostalgic finds at new york bodegas can lead to flirtatious and awkward encounters with the boy you call your best friend

the benefits of fake dating 🧸 ↬ although incredibly annoying, flash thompson’s arrogance was just what you and peter needed

valentine’s and pickup lines 🧸🦦 ↬  sometimes, having to do mj's job for her can work out in the best ways. especially when it's valentine's day and a certain local hero has an errand to make

midtown morning announcements 🧸🕯 ↬ as a reporter for midtown tech's daily announcements, it's easy to get carried away with ideas. especially ones involving the newest superhero from queens

brace-face 🧸🦦 ↬ in which you get braces, peter is persistent, and mr. delmar gives you free slushees

take a bullet 🧸🕯 ↬ you and peter go on your first mission without the team, flirting can be a powerful tool, and cliches like "taking a bullet" for someone don't seem so unrealistic anymore

bad date 🧸 ↬ maybe trying to get over a crush on your best friend wasn't such a good idea after all

trust issues 🧸🕯 ↬ it wasn't peter's fault that he had trust issues after his mentor's death and his most recent superhero friend's manipulation, but it also wasn't your fault that you just wanted to be his friend

locked out 🧸 ↬ y/n can't remember to grab her keys, peter misses the old days with you, and may baked extra cookies

peter! from physics! 🧸 ↬ y/n can't be controlled by wallets, peter parker gets crushes too easily, and crime in new york is abnormally low

to the man who let her go 🧸🕯 ↬ fuck brad davis. yeah

odd one out 🧸🕯 ↬ thanos' plan was to wipe out half of the universe, but what happens when the universe isn't evenly numbered?

swing and a kiss 🧸 ↬  crushes from english class and a *touch* of ptsd turn into a new form of transportation, messy rooftop shenanigans, and a lecture from one (1) tony stark

i want it, i got it 🧸 ↬ newfound confidence during karaoke night certainly can end up in peter parker making bold moves

stolen kisses 🧸 ↬ secret dating always ends in getting caught, especially by a suspicious best friend and a group of superheroes that’s been rooting for you and peter for years.

wish i were heather  🕯 ↬ a relationship that never happened and the wrong one that did.

blurbs - under 1k words

party confessions 🧸⚡️ ↬ you and peter get paired up for seven minutes in heaven

go fix my car, assbag 🧸 ↬ you catch flash bullying peter in the hallway and you decide you've had enough of his crap (haven't we all?)

over-protective peter 🧸 ↬ when flash harasses you in the hallway, peter steps in and gets maybe a bit too angry…

movies and cuddles 🧸 ↬ the avengers have a movie night and you and peter end up in a slightly embarrassing situation

let me show you 🧸 ↬ peter helps you frost a cake in the avengers' kitchen at midnight and it turns into a food fight in which your father, tony stark, catches the two of you mid-fight  

scaredy-cat 🧸 ↬ you and peter are dorm neighbors (at MIT, of course), and he helps you out of a sticky-spider-situation

condensation 🧸🦦 ↬ cute neighbors drawing on condensated windows sure have the key to your heart

may? 🧸 ↬ sometimes, peter parker is a bit too caught up in the moment to realize the words that come out of his mouth... but, all for the lolz, right?

care package 🧸🕯 ↬ life is tough, but when a boy donned in red and blue shows up to make you feel better, it isn't so bad

eau de cologne 🧸⚡️🦦 ↬ avengers galas normally annoy you, but the scent of a certain hero can most certainly distract you

massage for massage? 🕯 ↬ unrequited feelings hurt, especially when your hands are the one massaging away his pain

a drive to montauk 🧸 ↬ a peaceful roadtrip with peter

moonlight tears (part one, part two) 🕯 ↬ depression took you away from yourself, but peter didn't let it take you away from him

the penis game 🧸🦦 ↬ a group of boys at the library plays the penis game and none of them manage to get above a quiet yell, so you take matters into your own hands

peter parker for pepper spray! 🧸 ↬ y/n lost her pepper spray, old men in new york are creepy, and peter parker just walked out of delmar's with a sandwich in hand and a kind enough heart to help out an enemy

english lit meet-cute 🧸 ↬ all it takes is an awkward mishap and some confidence to finally get you and the boy you keep seeing around campus together.

overnight beach trip 🧸✨ ↬ in which you and peter take a trip to the beach for a night.

headcanons - stories in the form of chaotic bullet-points

internship 🧸 ↬ tony stark not only helped in bringing together a group of people to protect earth, but also in sparking young love

dirty talk (part one, part two) ⚡️🦦 ↬ to the public, peter parker is the epitome of innocent, but after a conversation at lunch, he is determined to prove the opposite

hallway bookworm 🧸 ↬ girls reading and crying while walking in the hallway sure do seem to have an effect on peter parker

tiktok famous (part one, part two, part three, part four) 🧸⚡️ ↬ the wonderful chaotic adventures of y/n and peter making tiktoks

midnight at delmar’s 🧸 ↬ working alone late at night can be dangerous. 'nuff said

i go hard like thanos 🧸 ↬ popping off to an absolute banger during an avengers meeting is the best way to set yourselves up for failure

quaranteens 🧸 ↬ how you and petey boi spend your quarantine <3

gross 🧸🦦 ↬ chaotic mess in which you pull a Dumb Bitch Move and write a song for peter while relying on the hope that he never sees it

new york boy 🧸 ↬ life is hard when you visit your uncle in new york and all of a sudden there's a cute boy named peter parker in your life

giant teddy bears 🧸 ↬ first dates are awkward, peter sucks at dance dance revolution, and the night ends with a giant teddy bear and something sweet

actual books!

flicks (currently on wattpad; i will not be uploading this to tumblr as of now) ↬ in which a girl named indigo and a boy named peter bond over the love of movies, the loss of parents, and the power of saving the world | bonus imagine! 

lmk if any of the links are faulty or if there are any other problems with the imagines! i have been on this site working on transferring my work for hours i have the brain of a strapless croc rn pls forgive me!

[dashingdcboys]

Jason respects Wamen

I’ve been reading this book, and it inspired some Jason Todd hcs (which i’m not sure have been done before so bare w me)

So there’s this discreet home for female victims of domestic abuse in The Narrows, Gotham, and I say discreet because, well, it’s an official place of business but it’s not registered - just in case some of these women’s jerk ass husbands/boyfriends come looking for them for one sick reason or another.

But on the whole, it’s a well guarded place where women (and possibly their kids) from all over the country can rest until they get back on their feet. It’s funded by Wayne Enterprises, of course, but money can buy only so much security. And again, the men in question are stubborn asshats, and stubborn asshats can be dangerous.

Though, the place is guarded by a mask, one notorious for being a bit trigger happy. Red Hood. 

Jason had known about this place since he was a kid, having grown up in that shittier part of a shitty city, but with everything he’s been through in the last few years, he hasn’t thought about it for a long time. Not one seemlingly normal day, when he rescues a woman from a mugging - a woman who happened to be the owner of this home for mistreated women. 

She was just as he’d remember her, when she’d stand watch from within those fenced up walls, with a no-nonsense look on her face even after almost being mugged. Like she was prepared for any attack, despite her aged face. He’ll never forget those stern yet warm greyish green eyes that had looked upon him with pity as he walked past the home every day in search for a new illegal way to obtain money - back in the days his father was dead and his mother had resorted to drugs and alcohol to keep herself in a flase state of happiness.

She had offered him a bed in the limited space she had at the time, but he always rejected her help. Mostly because he knew her cause was a righteous one, and reply along the lines of “Don’t worry ma’am, save that bed for the helpless. I’ll be fine.”

to which she’d always respond with, “Don’t call me ma’am, it makes me feel old. But you reconsider my offer when your back’s against the wall, y’hear?”

He did consider her offer, quite a few times, especially after his mum died - but by the time he could make up his mind, he had stolen the wheels of the wrong - or right, depending on how you look at it - car.

As the memories of this place’s existence came flooding back, and because he’s a giant softie, he followed the middle-aged woman back to the home from the shadows that night, and kept a vigilant eye on the building - just to check on the state of things. The place seemed to be running smoothly, but he had a feeling there was more to it than that. Since this was a discreet haven, any unwanted guests were probably never reported to keep the reputation. So, he placed some of his own security cameras and sensors.

Surely enough, within 2 nights of this building coming to his attention, he spotted a man trying to climb the fence as his buddies taunted the occupants of the home. Little did they know, they’d be receiving a knuckle sandwich from the most feared outlaw in Gotham city. 

Least to say, word got around, and no one really dares invade these women’s lives for as long as they’re in Gotham - and depending on the intelligence of the men in question - outside of Gotham either.

Though word also spread among the occupants of the building, women and children alike started regarding the red hood as their guardian angel, and the kids of some of the victims would even stick childish drawings of him on their windows, or leave him braceletes they had made. Jason almost fried the contacts in his mask with tears from looking at them. Occasionally, he’ll even get requests from the females, such as

“If you see my husband, Gregg - kick him in the dick for me.” 

And the next day, they’d receive a video, front view, of the guy getting kick in the nuts - if they were ever dumb enough to show their faces around this place again.

Not all of the batfamily knows of this little community of red hood fans, except for Bruce and Barbara, because they make it their business to know. Yet, both are supportive of Jason’s work. 

It was all pretty fulfilling for Jay too, making active changes in peoples’ lives without having to resort to murder. And even though his mother and father had never come to this point in their lives as a married couple, he felt a bit of retribution there. He had wished his mum had got help from these kinds of people, far back then, instead of the drugs and the booze - which somehow eventually led her to joker. 

So here he is, on his normal patrol route, temporarily stopping at Gotham’s Home for Women as he’d occasionally do a few times a week. That’s when he heard the familiar voice of the owner from atop the roof. 

“I guess you really didn’t need my help after all.”

She was leaning, hunched over the window sill, her frizzy, thick, curly, dark hair lightly luminated by the moonlight, showing some grey stray hairs within the fuzzy mass, neatly held into a bun. She idly held a cigarette in one plump, bronzish-brown hand, and stared into the distance.

Jason wasn’t surprised she had discovered his secret identity in the slightest. As a kid, he had always considered her a wise woman, and he wasn’t just some other dumb kid. 

“What gave it away?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not. For now.”

“Yeah, well I just wanted to thank you. My clients have been feeling a lot safer when you masks started frequenting here more. I don’t know how you got here, and I’m not judging. I just wanted to say - I’m proud. I just have the feeling not many people tell you that.”

“Uh, thanks.” he thought back to his recent rekindling relationship with his dad, “But I’m starting to hear that phrase more often.”

“Good.”

“So . . . do I get to call you ma’am now?”

“Get your arse off my fucking roof.”

And for the first time in a long, long time, Jason let out a genuine, hearty laugh that echoued throughout the guarded institute.

[theotherackerman]

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: Any recognizable elements belong to Attack on Titan.

NOTES:

Thursday January 7th

song mikasa is singing: my tears ricochet- taylor swift 

chapter thirteen: hear my stolen lullabies

“It’s stuck!” Floch yelled.

“I told you to lift your side higher!” Niccolo shouted back.

Today was another moving day at the old Jaeger house. Most of the things would be loaded up into the moving truck.

Eren had caved and packed up his bedroom early this morning before everyone else arrived. Niccolo and Floch had been in charge of getting the wrap around couch in the basement out in sections. They had been having issues this entire time.

Now a section couch was stuck in the doorway to the basement. It was at a strange angle so that the back and the front were both tipped up. It almost looked like the couch was floating.

“You two are fucking idiots,” Zeke said as Eren helped stabilize the refrigerator on the dolly.

“Zeke, help us!” Floch whined.

“Moving a fridge right now,” he grunted as he tipped the refrigerator back.

“I’m going to be stuck in the basement forever,” Floch muttered.

“Oh you can finally improve on your bass skills,” Niccolo laughed.

“Ha ha ha. That joke was only funny the first ten times you said.”

“Oh no, it’s still funny. Just not to you.”

Suddenly, a group of people had descended on the couch.

Two girls went under the floating couch to the other side.

“Move,” Mikasa said as her and Historia grabbed onto the side Floch was holding.

Ymir and Sasha were on the other side, ready to lift.

“On three!” Sasha yelled. “One! Two! Three!”

The couch was free.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Niccolo muttered.

They carried the couch outside and onto the truck where Zeke and Eren were waiting for them.

They placed the couch down.

Zeke and the rest of the group exited, leaving Eren and Mikasa alone in the moving truck.

“Hey,” Eren said.

“Hey,” she said simply.

He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, “thanks for coming.”

“Of course. It gives Annie and Armin some alone time before he goes back to campus.”

“Levi not there?”

“Oh no, he’s there. He’s just got his earbuds in and he’s cleaning the entire house.”

“He didn’t make you help?” Eren raised an eyebrow.

“We tried to this morning and he ended up just getting frustrated with us. Besides, he’s really picky about how the Christmas decorations get put away.”

Eren laughed, “sounds like Levi.”

“Can you two go flirt somewhere else? We’ve got another piece of the couch,” Ymir said as she e ntered the moving truck holding one side of the couch.

“Ymir! Be nice to them,” Historia said as she held the other side.

“We’ve got the next piece!” Sasha called from outside the truck.

Moving went much faster than Eren had thought was possible. The girls were like a finely tuned machine. Even though he had seen them like this for years, the way they anticipated each other’s next move was still impressive to Eren.

They took a break for lunch. Everyone sat on the floor with their own carton of Chinese takeout.

“So how far are you going to be from us, Eren?” Sasha asked before taking another bite.

“A little over an hour. I’m fifteen minutes from the club we were at on New Year’s Eve.”

He couldn’t pretend not to notice Mikasa looking down into her takeout carton. He knew he was thinking the exact same thing. They had just got one another back in their lives, now he was leaving again.

“What’s your place like, Zeke?” Historia asked before she gave Mikasa a small pat on her knee.

“Well, there’s a lake. I’ve done quite a bit over remodeling the past few years since our grandparents died,” Zeke answered.

“Wait, your grandparents just died?” Ymir asked.

“Ah. Yes, our father lied about that too. While I was kept a secret from Carla and Eren, Eren was kept a secret from our grandparents.”

“What a piece of shit,” Ymir said before taking a bite.

“Zeke’s house is really nice. If you get the chance, you should come sometimes for band practice. The lake is awesome in the summer,” Niccolo chimed in.

“You can’t just invite people to Zeke’s house,” Floch said.

“It’s fine. They’re welcome too. Besides, Levi has an open door policy so I might as well too,” Zeke said before eating.

“Do you like being a psychologist?” Historia asked.

“Yes, I find it fulfilling. It’s nice to help someone improve their own life. It’s very rewarding to see someone take control back. There are also those that come simply to talk and it’s nice to be the person they confide in.”

“So what about you, Floch? Do anything interesting since high school?” Sasha asked.

“Joined a band. I’m in my last year of college. You know, normal stuff,” he said with a shrug.

“Wow, as normal and boring as ever,” Ymir remarked.

“Hey!”

“So Niccolo, are you ready to get grilled with questions?” Ymir smirked.

“Uh, sure. No, not really,” his face went red as he looked down into his container.

“Hmm, I don’t know about this one, Sasha.”

“What? Wait, you can ask me anything. Just not too personal. I mean I don’t have anything to hide. I….I’m in culinary school. I’ve played drums since I was five. I work as a bartender and at a restaurant. I’ve only had like two girlfriends before Sasha. And I really like your friend,” his face began to turn red.

“Oh you’re going to be fun,” Ymir smirked again.

“If they don’t tease you, you should be worried,” Mikasa spoke up finally.

“Oh. Good to know,” Niccolo replied.

The house was empty by 4:00 pm.

Zeke wanted to leave to make sure that he would make it back before sunset. Floch and Niccolo were following him back while Sasha took all the girls, besides Mikasa, back to Levi’s house.

So Eren and Mikasa were left alone in the old house to make sure everything had been cleared out.

“You’re not ready to say goodbye to this place, are you?” She asked as they stood in the basement.

“No, not really. It still hasn’t sold yet so Zeke will have to come by every so often to make sure everything is okay. We’ll be starting regular band practice again soon. It just makes sense for me to be there.”

Mikasa simply nodded.

“Looks like down here is all empty. We can check the rest of the house.” He grabbed onto the long sleeve on her shirt and gently tugged it.

She gave him a smile before nodding again. They walked upstairs, not once did Eren ever let go.

“You know an hour is not that far away.”

“I know.”

“And I’ll be back sometimes.”

“I know,” she repeated before looking down.

He let go of her sleeve and cupped her face with his hand. “I’m not giving up on this. I’m not giving up on fixing this. You gave me another chance. I can’t promise that I won’t fuck up again but I promise that I’m not giving up on you.”

That made her cry. He used his thumbs to wipe away her tears. He stared at her lips for a brief moment. He couldn’t put into words how desperately he wanted to kiss them again. He knew he shouldn’t so instead, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He took a step back from her. Mikasa went over to his backpack that was sitting in the corner and swung it over her shoulders before grabbing Eren’s sleeve.

“Let’s go home,” she replied simply.

---------

“Why would you name your child Anchovy?” was the first thing Mikasa heard as she entered the house. Ymir and Sasha were watching tv together.

“It’s a very delicious fish,” Sasha chimed in.

“Oh gross,” Ymir replied. “It’s a dumb name.”

Mikasa and Eren looked at one another before they took their shoes off.

“Is Annie naming her kid Anchovy?” Eren asked.

“No, at least I don’t think so. If she does, I’m going to tease her forever. It’s this dumb movie. Apparently, the couple is naming their child Anchovy,” Ymir said as she pointed to the tv.

“Where do you find this stuff?” Mikasa asked.

“Well, this one is on Hallmark. I guess they ate anchovy pizza the first date they went on. It’s dumb as hell.”

“House empty?” Sasha asked.

“Yep, we checked everything. Nothing left behind,” Eren answered.

“Good.”

“Thanks for helping, all of you.”

Ymir waved her hand, “it’s what friends do. Besides, Zeke bought us food. That makes it even.”

“Where’s Historia?” Mikasa asked.

“On the phone with my dad. She’s going to work at the indoor farmer’s market with us if she likes what he has to say,” Sasha replied before stretching.

“I got a job at the bar. I knew having an alcohol license would come in handy,” Ymir said.

“What about you, Mikasa? Got any jobs lined up?” Eren asked as he sat down in Levi’s chair.

“Oh! He doesn’t know!” Sasha exclaimed.

“Oh, right. So you know my mom’s tattoo that I got?” Mikasa asked, “the one for her family?”

“Yeah, I went with you.”

“Um, well. I guess I had a great aunt alive. Mom had her put me on the trust when I was born and she recently passed….”

“And now she’s loaded!” Ymir exclaimed.

“Well, not yet. Because of the holidays, things got slowed but it should go into my bank account any day now,” Mikasa sat down in between Ymir and Sasha.

“But Mikasa is boring and responsible so she won’t be doing anything fun with the money,” Ymir s coffed.

“That’s not true. I just...don’t really want much. I want to record an album but there’s not a studio space around here that’s easily for rent. I’ve been looking into it,” Mikasa replied.

“You could buy yourself a car so you could go visit him every week,” Ymir nodded her head in Eren’s direction.

“I..uhh…” Mikasa’s face went red.

“Sasha, I forgot how nice your dad was,” Historia said as she entered the room.

“So are you working with me?” Sasha asked as she took her phone back from Historia.

“Yeah!”

“Yay! It’ll be so nice to have you working with me. I get so bored sitting there by myself. I just end up drumming on the stand and driving all the other vendors nuts,” Sasha laughed.

“Speaking of which, are we practicing today?”

“As soon as Armin and Annie get done. They’re still looking at doctors,” Historia said before leaning on the back of the couch. “Eren, you want to join us?”

“Thanks but I’m going to get Armin into gold today. You said we could use your console, right?” Eren asked Mikasa.

“Yeah, it’s in my room.”

“Good luck with that. He got me killed multiple times last time I played with him,” Ymir scoffed.

“I’m carrying him but it should be fine. I’ve done it before.”

“....any chance you want to help me get back up in the ranks?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m staying here until Saturday. So I should have plenty of time.”

“Awesome!”

Mikasa smiled to herself. She had missed this, all of her friends together, happy.

Historia played with the back of Mikasa’s short hair so she leaned back.

“Want to go work on a song?” Historia asked, “oh I forgot you have such pretty eyes, Mikasa.”

Mikasa flushed, “thanks.”

“Let’s go work on lyrics,” Historia smiled.

“Okay,” Mikasa replied before going to the sun room with Historia.

Silence filled the living room besides the Hallmark video playing for a brief moment. Then the piano music began.

“You can go watch if you want,” Ymir finally said before resting her feet up on the table.

“No, I know how Mikasa can get sometimes with her lyrics,” Eren turned his attention towards the tv.

“Oh, that’s right. You haven’t seen her and Historia write. You’ll be lucky if they acknowledge your existence sometimes. They just get into this zone.”

“It’s like they can read one another’s mind.” Sasha added.

“Or they’re already seen the song in the future or something,” Ymir said before standing up.

Eren and Sasha followed her towards the sun room.

The music got louder as they walked.

“Their roles switch. It’s so interesting,” Sasha said, “Historia plays and Mikasa sings.”

And sure enough, Mikasa’s voice began to fill the air just as they reached the doorway of the sun room. Mikasa and Historia were sitting next to one another on the piano bench in front of the keyboard. Mikasa was writing down lyrics as she sang.

“[lyrics redacted].”

Eren been the one to say that to her. He recognized the words as soon as he heard them. Ymir walked over and lounged in one of the chairs. Sasha sat down at her drum set.

“Grab a chair, Eren. They aren’t paying attention.”

“ [lyrics redacted] .”

If Mikasa and Historia did notice them, they sure didn’t act like it. They were both clearly lost in the music.

“ [lyrics redacted] .”

Mikasa’s eyes met Eren’s for a moment.

“ [lyrics redacted] . ”

She looked away.

He was starting to think Ymir and Sasha had been wrong.

Both Historia and Mikasa clearly knew that people were there.

They just chose to ignore them.

Except Mikasa didn’t ignore Eren.

When had either of them been able to ignore each other?

“ [lyrics redacted] ”

Historia finished playing the song.

“Oh I liked that!” Historia beamed.

“Me too. It still needs work. I mean the whole first verse doesn’t exist. I think we could add more to the bridge.”

“Oh! What if we had rotating pieces to the chorus? Like we use similar lines and then change them. I really like ‘ [lyrics redacted] .’ I worry though if we repeat it, it’ll lose its meaning.”

“How high of a note can you sing again?”

“Why?”

“Because I think there needs to be something between ‘ [lyrics redacted] ’ and ‘ [lyrics redacted].’ I think whatever we put here, it needs to go up a few octaves so that it’s impactful.”

“Oh! I like that. Maybe we can have Annie or Ymir sing those two lines and then I’ll sing whatever the other two new lines are.”

“That works.”

Ymir had been right about their level of working together. They bounced ideas back and forth between one another. Though he and Mikasa had worked similarly to this, the way Mikasa worked with Historia was perfect. He wondered if leaving her had actually given her the push she needed. She wasn’t self conscious with Historia. She didn’t seem to care who heard her sing.

Maybe he was the problem.

No, she was just nervous because it was him, Eren corrected himself mentally.

Mikasa worried what he thought.

It wasn’t anything more than that.

Wasn’t he the same way?

Annie and Armin came into the sunroom.

“I thought I heard music,” Annie said with a smile.

“Pick a doctor?” Sasha asked.

“We picked a top three. I’ll start calling tomorrow. It’s kind of late for that now.”

“You up for band practice?” Ymir asked.

“I’m pregnant, not dead. Of course, I’m ready,” Annie scoffed as she walked over to her guitar and began tuning it.

Sasha laughed, “what song are we doing?”

“We should do another livestream soon. So maybe we’ll pick a song to do for that?” Historia suggested.

“What about that one summer song? The more recent one,” Ymir suggested.

Mikasa nodded, “it’s upbeat. I think that’ll be good.”

Levi entered the sun room with Sawney and Bean following him. “Not so fast. Ymir, you put your feet on my table. You get to clean it.”

“How do you know it was me?” Ymir asked.

He just stared at her.

“....Fine. I’ll be back.”

“Ready to go for gold?” Armin asked Eren.

“Yeah, let’s go. Have a good rehearsal,” Eren smiled.

Mikasa couldn’t help but smile back.

-------

“You’re in love with her still. Maybe even more now,” Armin said as he walked over and turned the console on.

Eren groaned, “don’t remind me.”

“Is it that bad?”

“I see her and I want to kiss her. I want all of her, emotionally, physically, and I had all that and I fucked it up. So now I get to sit here and wish I could go back to the way things were.”

Armin handed Eren a controller before he grabbed one from the charging dock Mikasa had.

“So why not just give in?” Armin asked as he sat down on the floor next to Eren.

“Can’t fuck it up this time. She gave me another chance. I have got to do things right. That’s why I came up with that plan the other day.”

“You’ve come a long way in this last year. Not just giving into everything you want to do and actually thinking things through for once.”

“Well, I did almost have sex with her that day after the graveyard.”

“Yeah, she told me.  How did that happen?”

“I don’t know! She’s just standing there being herself and I missed her and...she was saying all these things about not wanting to leave me. How she wants to share my burdens. I just sort of….got caught up in the moment. I’m sure you understand that,” Eren smirked as the game loaded up.

“Yes...but probably a good thing you didn’t.”

“But I still wanted to.”

“Wanted?”

“Want. It’s only her for me, you know? This time last year, I was sure I would never see her again or you. Then she happens to be at my concert? She walks back into my life and all I want to do is keep her here and make up for my fuck up. That’s all. So if that involves a lot of cold showers for a while, I’ll deal with it.”

Armin looked over at Eren and smiled.

[365days365movies]

January 20, 2021: Taken (2008)

Well, I know one thing about this movie. He’s gonna find ‘em. And he’s gonna kill ‘em. And also, Luc Besson didn’t direct this movie! Yeah, my bad, he wrote this movie. But, then, he also wrote Leon, so I wasn’t entirely wrong. Anyway, 2008!

I remember this year well. Obama was elected the first Black president of the United States of America; the Olympics took place in Beijing, months after a massive earthquake in Sichuan; the Large Hadron Collider was totally gonna make a black hole; and, of course, the most important news event of that year: Iron Man and The Dark Knight came out.

And of course, the film Taken came out, creating what is arguably the most repeated film meme ever. Or, at the very least, it’s WAY up there. It’s a 12-year old meme at this point, but lemme tell ya: this thing was HUGE in 2008. Not the movie itself, just the meme. And I could lie and tell you that I’m watching this movie because it’s another French action thriller, and it’s fitting, but…

...it’s the meme. It’s 100% the meme, I’m not gonna lie to you guys. So, uh...yeah, Taken, let’s do this. SPOILERS AHEAD!

Recap

Bryan Mills (Liam Neeson) is dreaming of his daughter and wife. In the modern day, he brings a birthday gift to his daughter, Kim (Maggie Grace), and his bitter ex-wife Lenore (Famke Janssen), who is married to a very wealthy man, Stuart (Xander Berkeley). Bryan, meanwhile, is a recent and comparatively poor retiree, whose friends come over for a night of drinks.

Retiree from what, you ask? Well, it’s likely the CIA, given that his friends refer to military missions and Langley. They invite him to join security detail for a pop star, Sheerah (Holly Valance), In the process, he saves her from crazed fans, including a knife-wielding assailant. Not sure why that guy wants to LITERALLY STAB HER, but somebody needs to look into that guy!

Out of gratitude, Sheerah gives Bryan some references to give to his daughter, who wants to be a singer, apparently. However, when he sees her and Lenore the next day, all she wants from him is permission to go on a trip to Paris with her friends. When he shows his doubts for her safety, she’s upset, and his wife berates him for...government and military service? I mean, that stuff breaks up marriages, of course, but GODDAMN, Lenore’s bitter about it! Whoof.

Bryan’s definitely being made to be sympathetic, while Lenore’s the opposite of that. And Bryan’s understandably worried about his daughter’s safety, as she’ll be abroad. And we get the idea that Bryan’s a bit of a helicopter parent, but...c’mon! He’s underage daughter is asking to go to Paris with her friends! It’s cause for a parent to be worried, and yet Lenore is like, “She needs to be freeeeeeeeeee!” And that’s made even WORSE by the fact that both of them lie to Bryan, a father who clearly loves his daughter, because she’s actually following U2 on a music tour around Europe!

Which...really? U2? Who the hell can stand that much Bono, for their ENTIRE EUROPEAN TOUR? Anyway, what I’m saying is, Lenore sucks, and I’m not Kim’s biggest fan either. But I get the feeling that, given the one thing I know about this movie...Bryan’s gonna be proven right. So Kim and her friend, Amanda (Katie Cassidy) go to Europe, alone, despite Bryan’s understandable misgivings. 

They IMMEDIATELY get hit on by Peter, a French boy who gives them a ride. He invites them to a party, Amanda accepts for them, and this is OBVIOUSLY A BAD IDEA. That’s even further confirmed by Peter making a mysterious call, telling the other person about the girls’ location. Kim doesn’t call Bryan, as promised, and Amanda is clearly a TERRIBLE influence. Looks like Bryan was completely right to be concerned, if his daughter’s gonna be so irresponsible. Oh, also because they’re about to get kidnapped.

Luckily, Kim had called Bryan just before, after realizing that he had called her, and he guides her through the upcoming kidnapping. With his help, although she gets kidnapped, Bryan is able to figure out that the kidnappers are Albanian, and that one of them is a six-foot tall bearded man with a moon and star tattoo on his right hand DAMN THAT’S OBSERVANT. But still...she’s been Taken.

Someone picks up the phone...and he says the speech.

Had to do it, folks. It’s the most iconic scene in the film. Time for action! Bryan calls a friend with Langley connections, then goes straight to Lenore and Stuart’s place, who find out that BRYAN WAS FUCKING RIGHT GODDAMMIT HOW DO YOU FEEL NOW 

 Having COMPLETELY FUCKED UP, Lenore asks Bryan to get her back safely. They actually figure out that the men who kidnapped her are professional sex-traffickers, who specialize in kidnapping travelling women and putting them in prostitution. But they tend to disappear...within 96 Hours. That’s how long Bryan has to find her, as well as being an alternate title for this film!

The time limit, by the way, is a common construct for the action-thriller. You know, “she has 12 hours to live,” that kind of deal. Thrillers are going to be peppered throughout this year, and there are a few coming up as well, so might as well start with this one, right?

Bryan flies to Paris, then makes his way to the apartment, tracing Kim’s steps up to her kidnapping. He also finds her destroyed phone, alongside an SD card with photos. From this, he gets a blurry look at Peter. I get the feeling that his face isn’t about to look much better. Speaking of, Peter’s playing his old tricks at the airport, and is caught by Bryan. Painfully caught. After Bryan fights off another guy, and chases Peter up a road, Peter also gets caught by karma.

80 hours left. Having exhausted options, Bryan meets an old contact, Jean-Claude (Olivier Rabourdin), who tells him where the Albanians hang out. He hires an Albanian translator, then heads for a prostitute-heavy area. He harrangues a prostitute until her manager comes out, whom he puts a small microphone on. With the translator’s help, he discovers that they’re having “merchandise problems” at a construction site. 

Following a hunch, he makes his way there, and sees several drug-addicted young women in a makeshift brothel. Also there is his daughter’s jacket. The prostitute that has it, however, is not exactly cognitively sound at the moment. So...she’s Taken. By Bryan, who fights his way out of the brothel and construction site, with gunshots, explosions, and car chases along the way.

Bryan brings the girl back to a hotel, where he somehow gets ahold of an IV and medicine, and detoxes her in the room. Which, given the time frame and other factors...seems like a very large risk to take for testimony that, let’s be honest, right not exist. Still, as this is happening, he gets a call from Jean-Claude, asking to meet.

56 hours left. After 7 people dead, a destroyed trailer, and 3 people injured (and probably stolen medicine from a hospital, let’s be honest), Bryan isn’t exactly the best friend of the French government. He escapes police custody and heads back to the hotel, where the girl is cogent enough to remember where she got the jacket: from Kim herself, at the house with the red door on the road of paradise. No, really.

Bryan gets to the house, and poses as Jean-Claude...badly. He apparently passes his bluff check, and takes advantage of a corrupt police system, and makes them give him protection money. Over the course of the conversation, he figures out that one of them is Marco. Which means that he found him. And he said that when he found him…

After that spree is done, he searches the facility and looks for Kim. He doesn’t find her...but he does find Amanda. And sadly, he’s too late for her. Turns out, though, that he didn’t kill Marko (Arben Bajraktaraj), the leader of the group. And of course not! He has some questions.

Bryan tortures Marko using electricity, and he reveals that Kim’s been sold quickly, as she is a virgin. She’s been sold to Patrice Saint-Clair (Gerard Watkins), although Marko doesn’t know where he is. And so, Bryan fulfills his promise, and electrocutes him. He then makes his way to meet Jean-Claude at his home. And, uh...that’s when he crosses a line.

...Um. Bryan shot his wife. And yeah, Jean-Claude’s clearly not on the up-and-up, but he’s not directly complicit in the kidnapping of his daughter. And yeah, he’s in Bryan’s way, but JESUS CHRIST DUDE. He officially loses the moral high-ground here for me, even if his cause is just. Jean-Claude concedes, and Bryan gets the information that he’s looking for and leaves, knocking Jean-Claude out in the process.

Bryan goes to the Saint-Clair residence, where an auction is taking place for various young women. The last of these is, of course, Kim. Having barged into a booth of one of the buyers, he forces him to buy Kim (ew). Unfortunately, he’s caught and chained to a pipe, where Saint-Clair’s henchmen are about to kill him. But, of course...

Bryan escapes and kills Saint-Clair in the process, but not before finding out that Kim’s been Taken to a boat. He obtains a car, and after a length (and seizure-inducing) car chase, gets onto the boat, which is owned by the Sheik, a man of unknown Arabic origin. And yeah, in case you were wondering, this feels very...VERY...wrong. It’s brief, yeah, but...you gave a rich Arabic guy multiple wives obtained through illegal means and made them the main villain? FUCKIN’ OOF BRUV

Anyway, as expected, Bryan kicks the asses of everybody on the boat, and finally rescues Kim, killing the Sheik in the process. The two have a tearful embrace, and Bryan NEVER LETS HER OUT OF HIS SIGHT AGAIN PROBABLY. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT BONO. THIS IS ALL YOUR GODDAMN FAULT.

Well, Bryan wins the I WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG GODDAMIT award, Kim gets to go home and meet that singer from before, Lenore gives Bryan some consideration as a human being for once, Stuart stepfathers, and that’s Taken! Also, WHERE IN THE HELL ARE AMANDA’S PARENTS, A GIRL IS DEAD

Epilogue soon!

[what-a-messsss]

2x2 rewatch

Eeeeehehehehe, why the fuck am I laughing this hard when I realized it was the roadkill compost episode?  That is not in the least funny, it’s actually pretty gross, but I’m literally paused 3 seconds in chortling to myself so hard that I’m having to wipe away tears.  ...I think the stress is getting to me.  Anyway, back to fictional Wyoming!

It’s actually a pretty genius business model, to be honest.  Taking a sadly repeating resource and using it to enrich the soil?  Tough work, no doubt, physically and mentally, but a smart and very niche thing.  I hadn’t thought about the fact that cleaning up roadkill would have been part of Walt’s job as a deputy.  Lucian said in S6, in his fantastically circuitous way, that it had been 10 years since he and Walt had worked together (if I remember correctly).  Which... wait, is that right?  Had Walt really only been sheriff for 4 years when the show started?  Which is a single term, before Branch ran against him.  I think I’d had the impression that he’d been sheriff for longer than that.  Or is my math just super borked?  (A very real possibility.)  Who were Walt’s deputies before these three?  Branch has  probably been a deputy for a while, Vic was hired a few months before the show and it isn’t clear for Ferg but it’s implied at least a chunk longer.  So who were his deputies for the rest of those 4 years?  (Aaaaaand this is how I grow OCs.  Shit.)

She names the roadkill?  Eeeeeh...

Branch, you douchecanoe.  You are very clearly not welcome in her home anymore; the fact that she hasn’t moved the spare key isn’t a fucking invitation to break in and invade her privacy, oh my gods I hate you so much.  This is predatory behavior.  You need to either go through official channels with the department to do a wellness check or FUCK RIGHT OFF into the deepest reaches of hell.  Excellent plan, fucking off.

Henry,  I adore you beyond measure.  “Thanks-taking.”  Vic... Seriously?  “God, you people really hold a grudge.”  Somehow, I think they’re kind of entitled to, what with all of the wars, genocide, stolen land, racism, broken treaties, and the like.  Get bent.

Genuinely, Henry’s dry as anything sass is quite possibly the best thing about the whole show.  We didn’t get nearly enough of it during the later seasons.  And his little smiiiiile at having made Walt chuckle, oh my heart.

The “Hands up!”  O.o  “Hands down!” little comedy gag is totally sold by KS’s face, haaaa.  And Ferg’s bafflement, but collected response to those truckers thinking he was a rentboy was solid.

I kind of have to applaud that sex worker’s gumption to just try to take off in the truck.  Not the best thought out plan, to be sure, but gutsy.

Ok, Branch has just had a line establishing that they’re not in Absaroka, and then Vic and Ferg look annoyed/confused when Walt tells them to cut the sex workers and customers loose, but then Branch finishes with, “Absaroka County wishes you all a fine evening... at home.”  So are they in Absaroka, or not??

Kudos to Walt saying, “Which will allow you to get out of here.  If that’s what you want.”  Not falling completely into the savior complex bs is good, and acknowledging that she is an adult who can make her own decisions, even if they’re ones he would wish she wouldn’t is good.  ........If only he could extend that same courtesy to his own daughter.  

Branch, wtf.  It’s a felony to even have burglar’s tools.  Legit, it’s a felony punishable with up to 3 years in prison or up to $3k, or both.  Unlawful entry is 10 years and/or $10k, and I’m pretttttyyyyyy fucking sure you don’t have a warrant to be in Cady’s house.  FUCK OFF.  You giant douchecanoe.  (Min and I also have a headcanon that the random coloured empty frames are Branch’s fault, because they don’t really go with any of the rest of the decor, and we hate them.  So we decided that when he saw the Andy Warhol style print she had that he got those for her and she just never got around to taking them down after they broke up.)  And isn’t tampering with someone’s mail a federal offence?  You are the worst.

Aaaand then Walt calls the Collettes showing Ross Lanten’s wife video of him with prostitutes “interfering in his marriage.”  Okaaaay.  Because helping get a woman and kids out of what has several hallmarks of an abusive marriage is “interfering,” I guess.  Not the happiest about that word choice, I’m not gonna lie.

Aaaaaand then Whitish is super racist, and I hate her.  Henry handles it with grace, but fuck, I cannot imagine how wearying that must be.  And Branch makes obnoxious and offensive assumptions (playing to his strengths, natch), and Henry once again demonstrates how he is also the Actual Best.

Nobody has heard from Cady recently, but the tiny little hesitation Henry has before he confirms that he hasn’t heard from her either is so good.  LDP is so good.  Just from that, it reinforces how much that bothers him, and that he’s worried, but also that he really doesn’t want to talk to Branch about any of it.

“If you do, will you let me know?”  “I most certainly will not.”  Such a classy way to basically tell Branch to fuck off and get wrecked.  

A lady threatening Henry with a knife and I should not be focusing on how great he looks in a vest, but heeeeere we are.  (I do love that brown vest.)  And even after she is drunk and rude and racist and threatens him, Henry’s look when she says that she knew the dead man still has concern and compassion in it.  Waaaaaah.

Do I remember what Walt did to his hand?  Was that something from this episode that I’m not remembering right now, or are they actually having some intra-episode continuity and that bandage is him still recovering from the start of frostbite?  [Dang it, my Xbox controller just pooped out.  Now I have to go swap it out for the other one and stick this one in the charging dock.  But I’m so cozy in bed with my jar o’ tea and everythinggggg.  Boo.]  ...  [It has been long enough since I wrote that last bit that my Xbox has shut itself down twice in the interim.  Oops.  I’m super great at focusing.]

Fuck, that “I was some place I shouldn’ta been” hits hard.  This whole seen in rough.

Aaaahaha, why is the fact that Ferg is also standing there looking at Walt when he wakes up so much funnier than if it had just been Vic?  And his little grin.  And Ruby with a mug of his toothbrush and such for Walt!  Rubyyyyy!  (Holy shit, the fact that they have this little set up is alarmingly adorable, and I heckin’ adore Ruby.)  And then she sasses Branch, and I just want nice things for her.  

Walt’s “If you want,” to Ferg came off to me more like, ‘waste your time if you want to,’ (though that could well be my own issues projected” but I’m proud of Ferg for running with it.  And I do appreciate Walt calling the sex worker a lady.

Of course, he pulls Henry into his bs, getting him to solicit a sex worker.  Why does Henry put up with him?  I’m sorryyyy, but the pointing is so awkward and I cringe so hard, but what else is he going to do, I guess?  And how does he recognize her anyway?  Did Walt take a picture of her before letting her go, or something?  It doesn’t seem like he even got her name, to pull up a picture from a rap sheet, sooo...  Why am I even worrying about it?  And at least Walt doesn’t think that it’s not rape just if it’s a sex worker.

The flashback scene sure hits hard, too.  Damn.  I’m trying to remember the last time I saw anybody other than Vic actually pull on a glove in consideration of fingerprints.  I think there might have been one time or something, but nothing comes readily to mind.

For all that I rag on Walt for just collecting his assumptions and taking them to the bank, there is heavy irony with him now laying out the reasons he’s not arresting Whitish, because there is reasonable doubt in the form of the Collettes.  

Ooooooope, and then Branch brings up Cady.  I sure this can only go really well.  Aaaaaaaaand of course Walt has one of his Longmire Epiphanies and just walks off in the middle of the conversation, such as it was.

Does a college registrar’s really have your birth certificate on file?  I’m pretty sure I didn’t have to submit a copy to mine, but I also don’t really remember?  But that seems weird.

Ah, the bandage was about the frostbite.  I appreciate the continuity.  

Hmmmmmm, Cady leaving her phone at home when she drove to CO seems unlikely.  It seems unlikely as a generality for her generation, and on practical levels (directions to the precinct and such?), and just... That’s pretty hard to buy.  If I don’t want to talk to somebody, or even a bunch of people, I’d ignore calls or even block numbers, but her not taking her phone gives the impression that there is literally nobody that she would want to talk to, and that plays into this really weird bit of characterization void that the writers fell into of Cady just not knowing any single person other than her dad, Henry, Ruby, Branch, and Ferg, and I guess Vic.  As if she just doesn’t exist outside of her relation to one of them.  She doesn’t want to talk to any of the 6 of them, so there is not a single other person on the planet who she would want to be able to talk to/have them contact her?  There’s not a single other person on the planet that she knows who if they called and said, “I have an emergency, can you talk/help?” that she wouldn’t want to be available for?  Bullshit.  The entire rest of the series when she’s onscreen is showing how much she cares.  She’s a fucking Hufflepuff, and she’s not going to leave her damn phone at home while she drives 6 hours away into another damn state.  If you so desperately need to that she’s not even seeing his call, have her leave it in her car when she goes into the Denver station.  Like, unless she has a second phone that she did take, I’m not buying it.  Even as an attempt at “she’s so caught up in her mother’s murder now, oooo, Longmire tantrum and singular focus’ characterization.  Just, boo.

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

The End of Year Awards Are Back... and This Time, It’s Personal!

And so we approach the end of 2020, the year that never really began. On paper, at least, it looked incredibly promising. There were lots of great movies slated to come out; culture seemed slightly less paucity-riddled and pointless than usual; good things were in the air. Then COVID happened, and basically fucked everything. Actually, that’s not quite true: my personal year has been fucking spectacular. I’m in a long-term relationship with a gorgeous woman for the first time in forever- no more abrupt trysts and stolen moments for yer humble narrator: I’ve got a sumptuously plus-size lady-friend who actually wants to spend substantial amounts of time me (and has knockers you could sled down, were you so inclined). I also started a Youtube channel where I upload performances of magic tricks I’ve designed and a few people seem to quite like it. Oh, and I’ve written four novels, with a fifth well on its way to completion. Unfortunately, that’s my life, not the life of our civilisation and culture as a whole. The fact that bugger all happened in that makes this end-of-year round-up a little hard to write. With that in mind, I’m going to hand out the gongs for 2020, but I’m also going to do my usual dodge of giving end-of-year awards to things that I discovered in 2020, even if they came out the year, decade or century before. It’s not like any right-minded person gives a hoot about my opinion anyway. Right then, everyone clear on the rules? Then let’s roll up our sleeves and plunge elbow deep into the fetid trough of our decaying society to ferret out the best and worst of the Things That Humans Have Done Recently.

The ‘I Like It Because It Confused Thick People’ Award for Best High-Concept Sci-Fi Movie... … Goes to the sterling Tenet, a spy film that used entropy inversion and symmetric, opposite-direction timelines within the same physical space the way most spy films use hacking and guns. Christopher Nolan films are always intricately constructed and meticulously-executed, but this one must have had Japanese Master Puzzle-Box Makers crying into their breakfast cereal. Is breakfast cereal a thing in Japan? I honestly I have no idea. For some reason, all I can imagine is a sort of dry kedgeree where all the ingredients that aren’t rice have been removed. But I digress. For all its intricacy, Tenet is actually really easy to follow once you’ve grasped the basic premise that there’s a machine that lets people move backwards through time, and that this makes them appear to move in reverse to the rest of the world while they perceive the rest of the world as moving in reverse. Nolan maintains a mastery of cinematic visual language that makes even the most abstruse concept easy to wrap your head around. Nonetheless, following Tenet’s release, dumb people took to the Internet on mass to complain that the film was confusing and stupid, never once realising that their inability to conceptualise time in non-linear ways was their own failing, not Nolan’s. I find that refreshing. It’s nice to see a sci-fi film that’s actually made for smart-cookie sci-fi fans and doesn’t give a hoot if it alienate thickos.

The Award for Most Inexplicably Compelling Web Comic… … Goes to Questionable Content. I originally started reading Questionable Content because I’d heard that the female lead and love interest was a plus size lassie and that shit’s my jam. However, the art style makes everyone look like a skinny indie-type, regardless of their actual, in-universe size, so it doesn’t do much to titillate my Fat Admiring Titillation Centres. And yet, I’m over five hundred ‘episodes’ in and still reading. The thing is, I couldn’t tell you why for the life of me. Maybe it’s the hope that the art style will evolve to the point where the people look like actual human beings with different body types (but then, why would I care unless I was invested for some other reason). Maybe it’s the fact that when I get one of the many, many obscure band or pop culture references, I feel a little buzz of kinship with the writer. Maybe it’s the fact that it takes place in a universe where robots and superheroes are things that regularly happen, yet most of the strips are just normal people chatting shit in a coffee shop and the slice-of-life narrative/sci-fi setting appeals to my sense of juxtaposition. I don’t know, but I find it really compelling to the extent that I’ve pissed away entire days reading it. I have a horrible feeling that it’s a short step from this to really angsty hentai. If I start singing the praises of that, somebody please shoot me in the crotch.

The ‘Forest Gump Debating Peter Andre’ Award For Most Sustained or Elongated Instance of Stupidity… … Goes to Donald Trump. I was tempted just to award this gong to his entire presidency, but that wasn’t just stupid: it was also venal, corrupt, horrifying and punctuated by terrible moments of low cunning. So, instead, this award goes to his ‘soup’ rant. For those of you who missed it, the former President of the United States spent a really, really long time (in the run-up to the election) wittering on about protestors throwing cans of soup at police. What was dumb and weird about it was that he appeared to be extolling the virtues of soup as a siege weapon, going into really specific detail about how it was better than a brick because it could be thrown with more force, finishing with the utterance that protestors would just argue that “this is just soup for my family” if they were caught with the cans… which is phrased wrong in such a subtle and inhuman way it’s hard to imagine that anyone actually ever said it, at least in those words. I have no idea if protestors in America were throwing soup cans at police (which would be entirely justified considering how many innocent people American police have murdered in cold blood quite recently) or if this was a fantasy dreamed up by the former president in the cloudcuckooland that is his diseased little brain. Either way, the connected rant was balls deep in dumb.

The Most Disturbing Unintentional Impression of Vincent Price Award… … Goes to the narrator from One Step Beyond, a Twilight Zone-esque anthology of weirdness that purports to be based on true events and has to be seen to be believed. The stories are oft-disturbing instances of spooky-inflected human drama and can occasionally be quite disconcerting… until they’re book-ended by a dude who sounds like Vincent Price reading a children’s book in a really earnest voice. It’s weird and no, it didn’t hit our screens in Space Year 2020, it dates back to Ye Olden Times of the 1950s or 60s, when men were men, women were women and technincolour was a distant dream that could get you strung up for witchcraft. Nonetheless, I only encountered it this year, so it’s getting its prize. I warned you I was going to pull this shit, but you foolish fools didn’t listen.

The ‘It’s Not Gay If I Don’t Clench’ Award for Cognitive Dissonance… … Goes to Amazon Prime, the content-making branch of evil, tax-dodging, anti-monopoly-law-breaking megalith Amazon. You see, while Big Daddy Amazon is off being incredibly sinister and worrying, like a shifty vampire hanging off the economy’s throat, the creative people at Amazon Prime are busy making or acquiring some of the flat-out best TV ever committed to a streaming-service, from the extra-weird slice of fun-pie that is The Tick, to the entertainingly horrifying cultural dissection of The Boys to the utterly unique Carnival Row, to the superbly adapted American Gods. It’s a bit like discovering that Geoffrey Dahlmer single-handedly created a body of artistic work to rival Vincent Van Gogh’s when he wasn’t pouring acid onto the brains of emotionally vulnerable young adults. It gives me a headache.

The Clint Eastwood Award for Most Effective Older Gentlemen… … Goes to Joe Biden, for unseating dipshit in chief Donald Trump with the casual badassery of a Wild West gunslinger shooting a baddy (probably played by Leonardo Di Caprio) in the balls. I mean, he’s not the best Prez America could ask for but a) as a Brit I don’t have to care and b) anyone who ousts Trump gets mad props from me.

The ‘It’s a Pity Everything Else is Shit Now’ Award for Best New Ongoing Series… … Goes to my own Youtube series, Victor The Magician, in which I claim to be a reality-hopping, interdimensional wizard on an endless quest to… perform magic, basically. I’ll admit that the quality is super-variable (Youtube algorithms and their constant demand for fresh content be a harsh mistress, etc., etc.). However, when I’m good, I’m really good. If you’re looking for a punch-line other than the fact that this whole bit is a self-promoting plug, it’s this: my Youtube series really was the best thing to come out this year. Not because I’m great or anything, just by default. A promising year really did turn into a cultural wasteland the moment COVIDius Rex reared its scaly head.

The Zombie Ian Curtis Award for Most Crushing Disappointment… … Goes to Rick and Morty Series 4. As I think I’ve said before, it was still good, but it just didn’t reach the dizzy heights of nihilistic lunacy achieved in series 1-3. I think the problem is that the audience is meant to learn something from Rick’s poor choices, even if he doesn’t, because the creators saw the amazing success of Bojack Horseman and decided they wanted a slice of that sweet, tangy deconstructionist pie. It worked up to a point in the climax of Series 3, but having made their point, the showrunners probably should have moved onto a different point. They forgot that the appeal of Rick Sanchez is his combination of ‘entertaining car-crash of a human being’ and ‘unstoppable superbeing’. Push him through an arc and you risk breaking the thing that makes him and the show so endlessly watchable. Rick, unlike Bojack, just wasn’t built for heavy introspection. Also, the team hired on new writers who were less than familiar with the characters, setting and subtext, and that’s always an invitation to disaster.

The Special Sir Mixalot Award for Posteriority… ...Goes to… my girlfriend and glamorous assistant, Mystic Miss Terri, who’s arse is gorgeous and majestic.

The ‘Are They STILL Making That?’ Award for a Show You Forgot Existed And is Now Back… … Goes to Supernatural, which never technically went away and whose final series is apparently being broadcast on one of the 4 channels (though who knows which one, any more), It’s kind of nice to realise it’s still out there and be reminded that there are still people who care deeply about what happens to it. It’s like when you remember ‘oh yeah, [insert cute animal here] actually exists and isn’t just an internet meme. That’s nice’. Also, it’s good to see Jared Padelacki working steadily. It can’t be easy to find acting gigs when most producers just want to shoot you and mount your antlers over a fireplace.

The Irritating Magician Award for Something That Just Won’t Fuck Off… ...Goes to this blog entry, which is three pages long in Word. Good grief. Bye y’all! See you next year, assuming that the last few days of 2020 don’t culminate in a civilisation-destroying attack by giant space-ants. If that seems worryingly specific, let’s just say that- as Leonard Cohen would say “I’ve seen the future and, brother, it is murder”… by giant space-ants.

[looselucy]

Apologies

June 21st “Right, Niall, get in position. A little to your left, closer to Lin.” I demanded from beside the lake, shivering and dripping from my recent dip. “No, your left! That’s my left.” “Which left?” “Your left! Left!”

“What is going on?” Libby laughed, watching the three lads get in line in the water. Libby had only just got there after having been at work most of the day, and preparing for her arrival, the lads had come up with a rather incredible synchronized swimming routine for her to arrive to. They’d sort of been exhausting her at work recently, with longer shifts and more responsibilities but no extra pay, and Louis was practically making it his life’s aim to cheer her up at any point and in any way that he could. Even with a water-based dance routine. “Just watch, you’re gunna love it.” I giggled to her. “Ready, lads?” Louis asked, and they nodded. “And a one, and a two, and a one two three.” Their arms shot up, all bizarrely in time to say how little practice they’d had over the past hour, and well, their entire lives before that. They started spinning on the spot, Niall clearly already dying to laugh but trying to just be serious for a minute of his life. Lin and Louis actually looked incredibly involved and invested in their routine. Libby was losing her head instantly, and I just stood laughing with her. Slowly, as they continued, my smile began to fade from my face as I stopped concentrating on their dance and lost myself staring at Lin, maybe forcing myself to look at him in a way I hadn’t done before. I hadn’t gone back to him with an answer to the question he’d asked me at the beginning of the week, and I didn’t really want to keep him waiting much longer. He’d asked me on Monday and it was now Sunday afternoon and I knew if I went much longer without acknowledging his proposed date and how much courage it had taken him, he’d retract the whole thing subconsciously and pretend it had never happened to save himself the shame. I wasn’t even sure that I’d made a decision, but then it seemed to me that there were pros and cons and risks either side, so why not just take the plunge? I wanted to let go and not even think about it and just see how it all unfolded of its own accord. Part of the reason I wanted to say yes was almost like a nod of respect to him for asking in the first place. I wanted to show him how much I appreciated the fact that he wasn’t going to let his fear hold him back and ruin something that could be incredible. Fear had ruined and stolen things from my life before and it was only looking back that I could see how foolish that was, the mistakes I and others had made due to fear. I didn’t want to look back on this and feel the same way. I was snapped out of my daze when Libby started clapping the lads along, laughing manically at their stupidity and the fact that Niall was completely out of time and now spinning the total opposite way to the other two. “You’re killing it!” She cheered them on. “I didn’t know there was so much talent in our group of friends, holy shit!” I had started and ended my week by that lake, starting somber and reflective and ending fun and carefree, always surrounded by people I loved, peaceful, happy. Maybe trying something with Lin would be the thing that finally shook things up again. And maybe that was exactly what I needed.

“You wanna stay?” I suggested nervously to Lin as everyone began drying off and packing up their things to head back into Rosebury. “Huh?” He hadn’t heard, too busy attempting to carefully dry his dreads as much as he could with his t-shirt. “Do you wanna stay for a bit? We could chat, or whatever.” “Uh... Yeah. Yeah definitely.” His smile was gradual, sensing my mood and tone. “Did you drive here?” “Yeah, I’ll drive us back. Saves you crawling into the back of Louis’ car too.” “I dunno why Niall always gets shotgun, it’s not fair.” “Niall always gets what he wants.” I smiled. “What is that about him? I feel like he could ask me to do anything and I would!” “He’s got a quality about him. It’s Niall’s world and we’re all just living in it.” “Rosebury might just be a figment of his imagination and we’re all just living in it, and we don’t even know that we don’t actually exist.” “What the fuck, Lin? Why would you say that? That’s gunna freak me out for weeks. That’s gunna keep me up!” “OI!” Louis yelped as they headed towards his car. “You coming, or what?” Lin turned his head so he could answer on our behalf, but before he’d even managed to spit out a sentence, Louis had this shit-eating grin on his face that showed he already knew exactly what was going on. “Um, we’re gunna stick around for a bit. Drinks tonight?” “Yeah, maybe. I’ll text you.” Louis called back, the three of them getting into his car. “Sweet. See ya later.” “Drive safe!” I yelled. Niall and Libby were none the wiser as they waved their goodbyes and got on the road, leaving the two of us alone. It was the first time we’d been alone since he’d asked me out. I was nervous. Never before had I felt like I didn’t know how to talk to Lin. From the second I’d met him, we’d conversed with ease. He was so friendly and bubbly and easy to get along with, it had been impossible to be any other way with him! It was so unnatural to feel as though I didn’t have anything to say to him when actually I probably had more to say than ever before, it was just harder now. It was obvious he felt the same way, so obvious in fact, that he called it out. I liked that about Lin. “This is weird.” “Right? Fuck, I know, I’m sorry.” “It’s my fault, why’re you sorry?” He cried. “I feel like I shouldn’t have ever asked and… put that on you, I’m sorry.” “No, don’t- Okay, sit.” I huffed, taking my place on the ground, Lin quietly sitting beside me. “I don’t want you to feel like that at all, because… I’ve given it careful consideration, and I think… we should do it.” “Seriously?” “Yeah. We should. We should… go on a date, or whatever. Although, I’m not even sure I know how dates work.” I sniggered down to the ground. “No one’s ever taken me out on a date.” “No one? What about Sam?” “Well we were young, weren’t we? We just kinda got to know each other at college, and back then all we did was get drunk and go to house parties. The next thing I knew, he was my boyfriend. We never really… had a dating stage.” With Sam, we’d been too young and too smitten to even think about dating. When things started with us, it was still all about being cool and bumping into each other in the right places, trying to show interest without ever being overly interested. Dates weren’t really a common thing at that age, so he’d never taken me out properly to try and woo me; he hadn’t needed to. And then there was Harry. “You deserve to be taken out on a date.” He was confident yet bashful, sweet. “Okay, well I will give you the honour of doing that then.” I joked. “You will?” He grinned. “I will.” “Fucking hell. M’gunna have to pull out the big guns then. First proper date.” “Yeah, good luck with that. There’s fuck all to do in Rosebury.” “Okay, so maybe we go out of Rosebury then.” He shrugged. “I mean, if I’m gunna do it, I’m gunna do it right.” “I’ll let you think about that then.” I giggled. “I’m already stressing about it. Genuinely.” “I wouldn’t. I think I’m pretty easy to please.” “Good to know.” Struggling to find something to say again, I looked out to the lake and attempted to control my breathing, my stomach not stilling even though we seemed to be fine. The thing that I couldn’t shake was the fact that my insides weren’t churning with nerves because of what he did to me, but because of what the scenario was doing to me. I didn’t want to overthink it and start questioning why we were so awkward, if it meant something, because after being friends for so many years it had to be inevitable, surely. But I craved that immediate spark, that sensation and desire that could occur between two people, like your bodies are begging it to happen. That was lacking and it was something we couldn’t create or force, I could only hope that it would appear in time and blind me when it arrived. “Thanks for… having the guts to ask me.” I spoke after a while. “That must have been difficult.” “I literally felt like my insides were rotting.” He seemed completely serious. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks for saying yes. Eventually.” “We’ll just… see how it goes.” I turned to look at him. “Yep. We’ll see how it goes.” He looked back to me. His gaze had changed. The only reason I had been barely surviving these new dynamics was because at our core, we felt the same. It was Lin and he was familiar even when our circumstances weren’t, and that was why I’d said yes and why I’d had the nerve to give it all a chance. But then he looked at me, and it had changed. He wasn’t just looking; he was gazing and it was different and I felt like I wanted to scream. And then he kissed me. He just threw his head forward and put his lips on mine and he fucking kissed me. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds before I ripped my head backwards, eyes still closed, not breathing at all before I just blurted out the only words I could. “You kissed me.” He didn’t say a thing for far too long. I opened my eyes, seeing that he was just as alarmed by his actions as I was. He looked horrified. “I did. Shit, I don’t know why I did that, m’sorry. Fuck, I dunno why I’m like this. I’m so fucking awkward and useless. I dunno what the fuck’s coming over me. I don’t-” This time it was me, flying my lips towards his. I wanted to kiss him and actually do it for long enough to be able to decipher how I felt about the kiss, but also to stop him ranting on and putting himself down, always thinking he’d done the wrong thing. He widened his mouth, kept the kiss calm yet intense, soothing his fingers down my jaw as his tongue gently met mine. It was slow, strange but good, captivating yet confusing. It was peculiar to kiss like that and still feel completely clueless. He slowed down our kiss, eventually stopping and laying his forehead against mine, the two of us taking a few quiet moments to reflect. “Sor-” “Lin, you’re gunna have to stop apologising for everything.” “Okay.” He chuckled, rubbing his nose against mine. And then the feeling came, crystal clear and undeniable. I was happy. And though it didn’t give me any of the answers I was searching for, it didn’t feel like a complete moment of clarity that defined what I wanted and what we might become, it was good enough for me. I was really happy. “Wanted to do that for ages.” He admitted through a whisper, like he was unsure whether he actually wanted me to know or not. “Did it disappoint?” I asked. “No, not at all! It was just… weird.” “Mm.” He leaned in a placed one last peck against my lips, my smile bursting as soon as he pulled away, the two of us incredibly coy and shy, but it seemed he was happy too. We would be okay. No matter what happened, we would be okay. I knew that then.

June 22nd “Was it nice? Was it big enough?” “It was fine.” My dad sighed on the other end of the line. “But I didn’t get any feeling about it, really. I can’t see myself there.” “Fair enough. It’s only the first place you’ve viewed anyway, I wouldn’t even worry about it.” “No, I won’t start panicking yet.” He'd been for his first viewing of a place he was looking to rent only a week after expressing the fact he wanted to leave Rosebury. He was moving quickly, proving to me just how much he’d been struggling since he moved back. He was eager to move on. Onwards and upwards, hopefully. My pride for him was literally bursting out of me. After so many years, he’d finally reached the stage where he felt he could progress and start this new life without feeling guilty about it. It was time he found his own contentment again, started anew. His happiness had been so routed in my mother for so long, and as wonderful as that was, I was thrilled that he didn’t really have any other option than to be utterly selfish and look out for himself. “How about you? How’s your day looking?” He asked. “I’m in the shop. I’ve given Louis the day off because him and Libby are looking at some venue for the wedding, so it’s just me today.” “Bloody hell, they’re not wasting any time, are they?” “I think they think they’ve had enough wasted time. They’re so adorable, it’s ridiculous.” “And have you decided on your date with Lincoln yet?” “Uh… yeah. I said yeah.” “Oh that’s good. I’m glad. Are you feeling okay about it?” “Yeah, fine. It’s strange but… y’know. It’s good. Why not?” “C’mon, Fee. You can talk to me. I know you struggled last year, when Harry left.” I was beyond thankful that my dad had been there to console me through our breakup, or whatever the hell it was. He’d been the only person there who I felt I could talk to, spill my guts to, and he’d been wonderful throughout. My heartbreak was delayed, in some ways. I’d been so angry with him and so confused by the things he'd said and how things had ended, that even after he’d left completely it hadn’t quite sunk in. And following that, when my mum died, that took up every single emotion and every single inch of my body, I didn’t have the room to habitat the pain he’d caused. It must have been a few months after her funeral, long after he’d first left. Nothing happened in particular, but it hit me from nowhere; that he’d gone, that I wouldn’t see him again, that I’d really loved him and lost him. It took so long for it to sink in, but when it had, I broke. My dad felt the brunt of that. My dad was the one who had to pick up the pieces, and I still hadn’t quite managed to put them back together. “Um… I kinda feel-” I was cut short by the bell chiming as someone walked into my shop, shutting up completely because I recognised her instantly this time around. It was Harry’s mum. It had been exactly a year to do the day since I’d last seen Harry, and in walked his mother. I stared in disbelief. “Fee? You there?” “I’ll have to call you back, I’ve got a customer.” “Alright, speak soon.” “Bye.” I hung up quickly, shooting her a friendly smile which was returned as she began to mosey around my shop quietly once again. I couldn’t believe she was back again. I didn’t think I’d ever see her again, despite the fact I knew she visited our little village. The fact she was there but I didn’t even know where Harry was, whether he’d ever reached her, if he’d even tried again. I felt really lost. “Julia?” I was timid, anxious. She turned to face me, looking sort of amazed. “I can’t believe you remember me.” She tittered. “It’s been over a year since I was last here.” “Well… I dunno.” I mumbled. “I uh… I guess I’m quite good with that sort of thing. We had a good chat.” There was a much grander reason behind why I remembered her so well, but that didn’t feel like the sort of thing I should just blurt out to her, even though seeing her then I really wanted to. I wanted her to know everything and hear what she had to say, because I’d never hear it from Harry. Their family was something I’d grown to care about and I wanted the best for all of them, even Jack. I recalled the time when Harry told me that he believed trauma either tied people together or tore them apart, and how their family had fallen victim to the latter, and I wanted so much for them to heal, tie themselves together even after all those years. Maybe they were on their way to that but I didn’t even know. There was much I could say to her. “We did.” She nodded. “How’ve you been?” “Yeah, yeah fine. How’re you?” “Good. Glad to be back, I love it here.” “It’s a beautiful place.” “It is. So, I feel like since you know my name, I should know yours?” She inquired. She was so friendly, so gentle. I saw a lot of Harry in her. They had the same eyes, the same beautiful smile, one that was warm and inviting. Even the energy she gave off without knowing reminded me of him, and suddenly I felt like I wanted to cry. It took so much strength to hold it back, but it was as though I could feel him there with me and it was agonising. “It’s Alfie.” I swallowed, and it hurt. “Alfie? That’s unusual for a girl.” “Yeah. It was my mum’s idea. Apparently, she was dead-set on it, much to my dad’s dismay. I think he wanted a really traditional name, but she wasn’t budging. She was tough like that.” “Did your mum grow up around here?” She asked, seemingly very intrigued. “Yeah.” “Did she… Did she have a dog called Custard?” I think my heart stopped beating, completely. She knew my mum. Harry’s mum knew my mum. “Rita.” I whispered, my tears brewing fully, unable to keep them at bay. “Yes, Rita! Rita was your mum?” She was excited, kindly ignoring the way I’d started to cry. “I went to school with her. She was… my best friend before I had to leave.” “How did… I…” “She was such a romantic. We used to play dress up, wear binbags as wedding dresses. Even then, she was set on the name Alfie. That’s how I knew, as soon as you said! We were so young, but she knew. I can’t believe she stuck with it! I remember it so well. I can’t believe this. What a small world. How is she?” Our world was even smaller than she recognised. My ties with Harry were even stronger and deeper and older than we could have ever known. Even when he’d told me his mother had grown up in Rosebury, I felt connected to him in new ways, but to now learn that our mothers had been so close in their childhood, it meant even more. I knew Julia had left when she was really young after losing both of her parents, and maybe that was why neither myself or my father could strongly recall hearing about Julia; maybe my mother had told us stories but never given a name, or maybe we’d just forgotten. It was mind blowing. “Um… She died. About a year ago.” “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” She rested her hand on her chest. “That’s… But she was so young?” “Very young.” I wiped my tears away quickly, embarrassed. “She uh… She had Alzheimer’s. Early onset, so… She had a lot of fight in her, but… Sorry, I dunno why I’m crying-” “Please don’t be sorry. It’s totally understandable. I’m sorry, I wish I hadn’t said anything-” “Are you kidding? I’m so glad you said something. Like… you knew my mum, that’s insane! I think these are happy tears, I don’t even know.” She reached out and took my hand, pinched her fingers into my palm and squeezed tightly, smiled sympathetically. She felt like a mother, in that way that some women do; certain qualities and sensations that just accompanied her and her friendly touch, a familiarity, a safeness. If anything, I think it made me cry even more, though that definitely hadn’t been her intention. “Thanks.” I sniffled and chuckled at the same time. “And sorry. I’ve probably made you really uncomfortable.” “Not at all. I’ve seen a lot of tears in my time, this is nothing new to me.” She comforted me as much as she could, her smile bright. “I had two little boys. Trust me, I know tears.” My vision dropped down to the counter, the mention of them making me want to block the entire conversation out. She was so unaware of how much I knew about her children and her husband and just how many tears had fallen in that family. They had struggled so much, lost so much. Even beyond their father, beyond what Jack and Harry had done in their teenage years; Harry had told me himself that there had been times where she struggled to even feed them because they didn’t have the money. She had been fighting for all of them on her own. Julia had faced and conquered some truly trying times. “M’still sorry.” I sniffled. “Tell you what, I’ll grab the wine I came for and I’ll get out of your hair.” She let go of my hand, thinking I’d want some space. “It was a Caymus, beautiful.” “I remember. Cabernet Sauvignon, right?” Already getting out from behind the counter to retrieve the bottle for her, I started to pull myself together, stop myself crying. “You’re good at this.” I remembered her last visit to my shop as though it had happened only days earlier. She didn’t know that I’d have any reason why I should remember her more than others, but after recognising her and ringing Harry and waiting, I was so tuned-in and locked-on that I could recall every aspect of that day, down to all the mundane details. I climbed our little ladder to grab the wine she desired down from the shelf, carrying it carefully back down the steps and then over to her, passing it carefully into her hands. “It’s free.” I told her. “I’m sorry? No. No, I couldn’t.” She tried to pass it back. “Please, you have to.” I pushed it to her. “My mum used to run this place, and if she was here today, you’d be leaving with a free bottle of wine. Please, have it.” “Are you sure?” “Positive.” She clutched it to her chest, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath inwards, as though kindness was rare to her, as though this gesture was special, a moment and a feeling to cherish. “Thank you.” “You’re more than welcome.” I cooed. “I’ll maybe see you in another year or so, if I visit again.” “Please do.” I nodded. “Do you need a bag?” “No, this is perfect, thank you. Nice to see you, Alfie.” “You too.” She turned on her heel, heading to the door and swinging it open, one foot outside before I spoke, without even meaning to, without even knowing what I was doing, without even thinking, it just happened. “I know Harry!” I uttered urgently, instantly bringing her to a halt. I cursed quietly beneath my breath as she slowly turned to face me once again, evidently alarmed by what I’d said, and so was I. “I’m sorry?” She was quiet, startled. “Harry. I… I know Harry.” “My Harry?” I nodded, and she let the door close with herself still indoors, the two of us stood staring in silence for a portion of time I couldn’t possibly decipher. I could see from the look on her face alone that he hadn’t gotten in touch. She really hadn’t seen him since he was 18 years old. There was a chance I’d made a mistake by telling her, but Harry and his wishes were no longer mine to fret over. I didn’t need to worry whether he’d be angry for intruding or trying to push him, because he wasn’t even there to see it or experience it. I didn’t mean to take matters into my own hands because he had failed to, but if there was something that I could do to help their family then I would. “Where is he?” Her voice was feeble, scared to hear my answer. “I’m not sure. New York, I think, but I don’t know for sure. But he was here, for a while. He lived here.” “Here?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “He bought your old house for you.” “What?” “He bought it for you. Did it up, hoping you’d come back. It’s beautiful, and as far as I’m aware it was never put up for sale again so… I think he’d want you to know. It’s yours, if you want it. The number I had for him was disconnected months ago, but I just know how much he wants you to have it.” Embarrassingly, I had tried to call him more than once. Usually after a few drinks, feeling lonely and asking questions about him and his wellbeing. It wasn’t that I ever knew what I wanted to say, but I knew I wanted to hear his voice more than I could even understand. “I… I haven’t heard from him for years.” “No… I haven’t either.” I choked. “But I know he tried a few times, to find you. I think he was just scared… after what happened.” “He told you what happened?” There was almost a sense of scrutiny in her voice, staggered. “He… Yeah.” I mumbled. “He was never much good at talking.” She was so dazed she sounded somewhat serene. “We… We got pretty close.” It seemed to me as though she hadn’t blinked at all from the moment I had said his name, in such a state of disbelief over what I was telling her, the fact I knew him at all. I’d just known in my heart that I had to tell her, even though it didn’t help either of us. I didn’t even have a way she could reach him, but that was beside the point. She remained quiet for a while, adding some things together from what I’d said and what she knew of her son. “He was in love with you, wasn’t he?” My body rejected the notion rapidly, shaking my head and breaking our eye contact, feeling like I’d been punched in the chest. Over a year, and the damage he had done when he’d spurned my love was still evident. “Uh… No. No, he wasn’t. I-I wish.” I tried to joke breathily, but neither of us laughed. “But I need you to know that… Your son is an incredible man. He’s grown into this… beautiful, kind, amazing person. He’s changed, and I really… I think you should reach out to him.” Her smile was fleeting, but I saw it, truly saw it, and I saw everything it held. I think what I liked about her smile that occurred over my words concerning her son ran deeper than the obvious pride, because within that brief and beautiful smile I noted how she didn’t seem at all surprised by what I’d said about who he’d become since she last saw him. I knew then that she’d always seen the good in him, she had always known how wonderful he was, in spite of his mistakes, but she’d just needed some time. After all those years and all that pain, she had chosen to put herself first, something she hadn’t been able to do when she was caring for all three of them. I appreciated that she had it in her to do that. For years, I had wanted my dad to be selfish enough to put himself first, look after himself, and he hadn’t really managed to do that until recently. I had to respect the way she had been as bold as to love herself enough to know her health had to be put first at some point. She may have cut him off for her own reasons, but she knew Harry was a good person. He always had been. “I’ve tried.” She told me simply. “What? Did you… Did you get through to him?” “I wish.” She faked a smile, repeating words I’d used just as wistfully. “It’s not easy. He’s a renowned artist, which makes him… hard to reach.” I hadn’t really thought of it that way before. For the time he’d been in my life, he was there and he was ours and he was close and familiar, so much so that it was hard to think of him in the sense of him being an artist, a public figure. Of course he’d be difficult to reach from outside of that; even when he used to go away for weeks at a time, he completely disappeared off the radar, made himself inaccessible. Harry would have been well aware of that, which was likely another reason he always felt it was in his hands to reach out to her. “I tried a few times. I got through to his agent once, but I never heard anything back.” “Fuck.” I seethed. “His agent is such a prick. I’ve never even met him but… fuck, I hate him.” I didn’t need to meet him and I had no desire to ever meet him because I knew exactly what he was like, even from the few facts I had, the basic knowledge I’d acquired through what Harry had shared with me about him. He literally wanted to keep Harry in pain and provide hardship, because that was where the art came from. He didn’t care about Harry’s health or happiness, he only cared about the buyers and the money. “Harry doesn’t know that.” I continued once I’d taken a few moments to calm down. “If he knew, he’d have replied. I spoke to him about it more than once. He doesn’t think you’ve even tried since he left for uni.” “I did, but then it got to the point where I felt I had to stop.” “Why?” “Because I didn’t want him to think for even a second, that the only reason I was trying was because of his money. We really struggled when he was growing up, and I didn’t want him to think that I only wanted to see him because he’s doing well for himself. The thought kills me.” An abundance of complications had kept them apart when they so desperately wanted to join themselves again, make amends and rebuild all that was broken. It was heart-breaking to think they had both wanted and tried for the same thing for years and yet it hadn’t happened for them. “That makes sense.” I acknowledged. “It’s… so complicated.” “Is he well? In himself?” “I wish I could tell you.” I started crying again. “I really fucking wish I could tell you. I hope so.” I craved to know the answer to that question myself, but I didn’t know and I wasn’t sure I’d ever know. His existence was now entirely separate from mine. Our only link in that moment appeared to be his mother, who was stood right in front of me holding back tears. I was as clueless as she was. “I’m sorry.” I sobbed. “It’s not your fault. It feels so surreal to speak to someone who knows him so well, knows what happened. I miss him terribly and it’s… As sad as it is, it’s almost comforting. To know he spoke to you. To know he found the courage to talk.” She shuddered. “You have no idea how much that means. That’s how I know he loved you, dearly. It’s been too long, but I know my son very well. He wouldn’t have told you about what happened with our family without feeling as though he was giving you his whole heart. I know it.” Even though I felt I knew more, things that made me immediately want to dismiss what she was saying, I didn’t want to say that to her. Him managing to talk was important, and I didn’t want to shatter that for her because of things that had happened months later. Instead, I tried to embrace what she was saying, beginning to appreciate that even if it hadn’t been love, it had been something significant for both of us. He might not have loved me in the way she thought, or the way I had wished he had, but I’d meant something to him, momentous enough that he had shared parts of himself that he would only hand over to someone he truly trusted. I reached for her hand the way she had reached for mine earlier, squeezing tightly in a rather weak attempt to comfort her, show her that tears were accepted, a sign of her strength more than a moment of weakness. And though our links to one another had only ended with the two of us in tears, we smiled at each other then as though we were grateful it had happened, grateful we’d gotten to talk and be open with each other. We shared something special in those moments. We somehow both ignited and eased the pain simultaneously. I appreciated her presence more than I’d ever be able to word.

[gasstationshane]

Tales From The DishWasher, Part 1

In a small town, on the north end of main street, on the same side as the dollar store and local ice cream shop, there's a restaurant that is one of the more popular dine in places in town. On the front side, there's a large sign made out of an maroon awning that shades the outdoor tables and chairs for those that want to eat outside or smoke.

On the back side, there's a sign painted on a metal maroon wall with the restaurants name. There's also a lable on the side of the walls that tell you if the doors are for the kitchen or the entrance. If you were to walk in from the back entrance you might wanna make sure your not walking in through the kitchen door. We've had an array of customers that walked in and ended up with a bag of trash falling onto them. One guy even tried suing us because salsa got on his brand new white jeans. Look, even if he didn't see the sign, the door is obviously a kitchen door.

Now if you walked into the actual back entrance, you'd see a small array of arcade machines that were more then likely made in the 90's. The audio from the games faded from years of dust and play time.There's also a small stand of gumball and candy machines, one of the ones where you can get a temporary tattoo for 50 cents each.

A few footsteps and a turn to the right, you'd see the vast open area. Booths to the immediate right and left, a bar on the slightly farther left, tables all scattered around with more booths on the right and left against the walls.

The kitchen area, which would be left at the arcade machines, has a few different sections. The left of where you walk in is the front line cooks area, a grill, friar and a freezer along the front and back as well as countertops with storage cabinets for lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and other toppings or side foods.

On the right of the entrance is the dishwashers station. A shelf and carts for the servers to sit the dirty dishes on, and a big sink with a sprayer and a few different soap options on the wall. There's of course, the washing machine that's usually used just for sanitation purposes.

Behind the dishwasher station is the shelves where the majority of the dishes that aren't plates or bowls are kept. Most of the kitchen employees keep their stuff there so it's out of the way. And finally, behind the front line cooks, are the back line cooks area as well as the walk in cooler and freezer.

In the dishwasher area is where I work. I spend most of my shifts there and only leaving to put away dishes or use the bathroom or even get a drink. Not everything's normal here though, most of the eventful things happening at night when it's just me and whoever is the main cook that night, and the closing bartender.

We've dealt with a pack of stray dogs that live in the old car wash station across from the dumpster. Their friendly though thankfully, begging me for pets and belly rubs after every shift as well as treats. All of them are a mixed breed between a husky and a wolf. I've taken the liberty of naming them all.

There's Yogi, the big grey and brown male who got his name from how much he looks like a bear. Luna, a blue-ish grey and white one, who got her name from the moon shaped crescent spot on her back. Waffle, a all black one with blue eyes, who got his name by sniffing out the waffle's in my bag one day. Then there's Crash, who's red orange-ish fur makes him look similar to the famous video game character.

There's a few pups too that I haven't named yet because I haven't had time to witness their personalities. Luna, the assumed to be mother of the pups, keeps them in the old storage room of the car wash. I've re done the storage room a bit to give them a bed and a few other things to help her take care of them.

I'm thankful that no animal control or pound people have taken them yet. If they tried, I wouldn't hesitate to take them home to keep them safe. The only reason I'm not taking them home now is because they are used to this place and I don't wanna make them uncomfortable. But believe me, the moment I feel like they are danger whether it be animal control, or them needing a vet visit, they'd be in my custody in no time.

And then there's the mysterious bar truck driver, a trucker who is always at the bar, no matter how early we open. The only time he's not there is when we're closed. He's always wearing a hat, flannel, and some form of camo. He drinks so many combinations of alcohol during his visits, it's a miracle he never passes out or hadn't died of alcohol poisoning. He knows all the words to all the songs on the digital bluetooth jukebox. If you ask him, he'll stop drinking long enough to sing a long to a full song of your choice if you buy him a drink.

And then there's the mysterious puddle of water surrounding the water softener and the pump. The puddle almost always fills the area where the tile is broken. No matter what we do, the puddle never goes away, and is a murky grey color. Sometimes it won't be as much water, but we could be closed for a week and the puddle will still be there. It doesn't help that some water that sprays off from the sink or gets spilled can add to the puddle.

I guess what I'm saying is, weird things happen at the patio restaurant in town. Mostly at night. Weird stuff has been happening even before I started working there. I remember a week before my first shift, there was an incident where all the liquors and vodkas to make mixed drinks were stolen, broken, or empty, as well as ate a whole gallon of ice cream. The whole situation could have easily been blamed on one of the bartenders or other employees at the time, but they were closed that day.

T-Dog, the main front line cook that I close with most of the time, thinks that the bar trucker pick pocketed the key and the security alarm code when we closed early one night. That would make sense, since they closed early the night before and he could've needed to make up for a days loss worth of drinks.

If you ask him, T-Dog always has a somewhat reasonable explanation to any weird thing that happens there. "That puddle isn't mysterious.." He told me after I had accidentally stepped in it again and almost fell over.

"The water softener is leaking, but since we run water so much with the sinks, washers, and bathrooms, the leak doesn't have a big impact. You think the owners would fix this shit, but since it's not causing any problems, they ain't touching it just to save them some fucking money." I always made an effort to hear out his explanations. They may or may not be true but it's way better than my theory about the bar trucker peeing on the broken tile. But my theory would explain the weird smell that happens over there, no matter how much we clean over there.

T-Dog isn't the only cook I close with. Some nights it's Danny, or Jack. Jack tends to ignore the weird things happening here. But he's also the cook that doesn't make me do everything I need to do before giving me the okay to leave.

And I know he doesn't do it because Tobias, Toby for short, is the opening cook in the mornings has told me multiple times whenever something doesn't get done. I see Toby once a week when I actually work a morning shift. He's one of the not so serious cooks, and jokes around every now and then. There was one time where acted like he was gonna knock over my drink.

What's kinda funny, about Toby being the not so serious guy around here, he doesn't believe any of the weird things that I've told him about. He thinks it's rumours to get more customers in.

"Shane, that bar trucker is only here for entertainment purposes. We don't have a stage so he just sits and takes his drinks at night to keep the drunks entertained." He explained. Well.. There was one night that Toby closed for the first time. He learned the hard way that the weird things really do happen here that night.

It was around ten thirty, and we were working on finishing our stuff up for the night when we heard a loud crash come from the cooler. "The fuck was that?" He asked. I shrugged.

"Maybe Alex is still cleaning his stuff up." I replied. He shook his head.

"No.. I saw Alex leave almost an hour ago. There's something back there." I finished taking care of the next load of dishes that needed to go in the washer, before following Toby to the walk in cooler. He was carrying a broom to defend us incase there was something that could attack us or scare it away.

We opened the door slowly to see, not one, not two, but three possums in the cooler. They were snacking on our most recent batch of precooked fish sticks. They looked up at us like a kid who had just got caught sneaking out. Toby went to swing the broom to get the mammals out of there, but as he did one of then jumped on the shelves, knocking down the large ice paddle.

It smacked into Toby and made him fall back. When he landed, the force of the fall against one of the shelves, causing a case of beer to fall onto him. Glass shattered, making him covered in glass shards, beer, and blood. Most of them in his legs and chest.

"Gah!" He cried out as he went to pulling some of the glass pieces. I rushed to the shelf where we keep the first aid kit, handing it to him but he smacked at out of my hands.

"Call an ambulance Shane! A first aid kit ain't gonna fix this shit." He yelled with a look of frustration on his face. I sighed and went to the area where the phone was and dialed the number for the station. When I had explained the situation, the man on the other end sounded genuinely confused.

"You said a Possum snuck into your walk in cooler, and made a ice paddle fall onto your co worker, which caused a case of beer to break onto him??" She asked to confirm what I said.

"Umm yeah that's what happened."

"But how would a Possum get into the cooler?" Possums usually never bothered with the busier end of town."

"I have no idea, but that's what happened!" She let out a sigh.

"And which restaurant in town was this again?" Now it was my turn to sigh.

"Darbie's Patio on Main Street..."

"Ooh that place!" She said, realizing who she was dealing with.

"Please hold." She said. I assumed she forwarded the call to the department that takes care of our cases. As much weird shit that happens here, the department has given us a specific branch and a officer to take care of us.

"Hello, this officer Mark here. Who is this?" He asked in his professional cop voice. Mark was the officer assigned to us, being close friends with the owners. Him and the owners have probably seen more weird shit than I have my whole life.

"Hey Mark, it's Shane Redfield from Darbies Patio. There was an accident with a few possums in the cooler, and now Toby is covered in glass shards." I briefly explained.

"Hang tight, I'll be there with an ambulance in five minutes or less. If there's any big chucks of glass in him, do not let him take it out. If he bleeds out before he can get to the hospital, that's bad news." I thanked him, hung up the phone and stayed with Toby while we waited. The bartender brought us both a drink. He took a long sip before looking back at me.

"Hey Shane?"

"Yeah?"

"..Does weird shit like this happen all the time...?"

To be... Continued

[momo-de-avis]

The life of the Infamous Banana Art work is honestly fucking hilarious because it’s an exact reflex of what happens when someone fucks with the art world and incites passionate responses both for and against it.

The art's initial price was at 120.000$, and has bid up to 150.000$. Two museums have so far acquired a banana each.

There are also 3 editions of the same work.

According to the gallery (Perrotin) representing Cattelan, 

"Back then, Cattelan was thinking of a sculpture that was shaped like a banana," it reads. "Every time he traveled, he brought a banana with him and hung it in his hotel room to find inspiration. He made several models: first in resin, then in bronze and in painted bronze (before) finally coming back to the initial idea of a real banana."

(remember, this is the guy who made a fucking toilet out of 18-carat gold and it got fucking stolen).

Recently, a performance artist just straight up walked up to the wall, peeled the duct-tape, peeled the banana and ate it. He does not regret it, claims he was hungry (and, in fact, did not eat prior to this action, so he could experience maximum potassium enjoyment) and that the banana was, in fact, delicious.

after that, the banana had to be removed from Art Basel because people were going absolutely bonkers over it, and lines were so long and the space around it so crowded, security had to just remove the art work. This was all for a chance at a cool instagram photo.

And like, yall remember when the Berlin Dada group made an exhibition basically insulting the bourgeoisie, got roasted by the whole city, then did a second one, tripled the price of the tickets, and when people got there it was basically Hueselbeck saying “why the fuck did you idiots spend triple the money if you hated it so much”?

Or when Tristan Tzara, at the Cabaret Voltaire, along with Hugo Ball, made such a bonkers show that people (again, high-society folk) showed up with bags of rotten fruit---prepared beforehand, after having been there several times, since they had apparently developed a passion for just to going there again to feel angry---and started wrecking the shit out of Cabaret Voltaire, to the point where they destroyed figurines and props? And Tzara calling it “the final victory of Dada”?

Or like, this whole ‘the travelling banana was an inspiration for me’ just sounds a whole lot like when Jasper Johns heard someone say that famous art marchand Leo Castelli “could sell two beer cans if you had them” (or something to that effect), and Jasper Johns dead ass said “it’s on”, and the mad man actually did a bronze cast of two beer cans and Castelli actually sold them?

We can even go way back, to Manet. The moment Olympia was presented at the Salon, it was so infamously known across Paris, people flocked to it to see it in person, so much the Salon had an influx of attendees like it never had before. And the sole reason was to make fun of it lmao even fucking Courbet was there daily, pointing at laughing at ‘nakey girl staring right at me’.

Or like, when Kienholz displayed his walk-ins, in which one of them was a car with a teenage couple engaged in sex in the back seat, and the gallery had the audacity of forcing the artist to close the door and plant two body guards there not to shock the audience? And despite being outraged by this, people still went there en masse.

And I’m not even going back to the obvious influence here, papa Duchamp with his urinals, but I’ll say this: I don’t remember his name, but the dude who smashed one of Duchamp’s urinals and peed on the other is pretty on par with the guy who just ate the banana, albeit for different reasons (and, well, dude who peed in a Duchamp was arrested both times lmao).

Every single one of these instances, which caused so much outrage across the art world, appeared at a crossing point in history, somehow, and they are there for a conspicous objective: to bring out its own hypocrisy. And like papa Duchamp (who every single critic immediately establish a connection with), they are being assimilated, though faster than they were back in the day. The dude who peed on the urinal did so because he contests The Fountain being on a museum, defeating the art work’s initial purpose and proclaiming the first avant-garde’s movements ultimate failure. It should be noted that Duchamp signed 14 urinals and authenticated them as authentic reproductions (one of them smashed, another peed on lmao. Idk if the others are fully intact). And this dude with the banana is no different.

One article states something very interesting about Art Basel:

Mary Rozell, the global head of art collection at UBS Group, said the works she wanted were all snapped up. Pieces under US$1 million were going especially quickly.

"Half the stuff is sold before you get here," she said.

Amoako Boafo's portraits were all gone within seconds, and hundreds of collectors put their names on a waiting list, with prices for the artist du jour ranging from US$25,000 to US$50,000.

(...)

Mnuchin Gallery, which had an exhibition by Mr Clark last year, sold several smaller works, with prices ranging from US$150,000 to US$300,000. Michael McGinnis, a partner, said he sold one of the works during his flight to Miami. "I could have sold it five times," he said.

Ms Rozell said she finally managed to buy some art. One was a painting by Jeffrey Gibson. Another, a sculpture by Shinique Smith, whose works were on view at the UBS collectors' lounge at the fair.

"You've got to take your time," she said. "But then act quickly."

Act fast.

There’s a lot that could be said about this, and I’m not writing an essay, just rambling with the knowledge I have, and we all know how art fairs across the world serve as 1) a place to See and Be Seen, and the pruchase of expensive art works is a Thing of Status, and 2) it’s money laundering. It’s blind investment by random private auctioneers who need to put that dirty money fast onto an object they can quickly transform into an asset should they need to get rid of it---etc, etc. But like, think about the ludicrous implication here: you gotta buy fast, otherwise you’ll just get there and come out empty-handed, which for some reason, for these folks, it’s the worst that could happen. So like, it’s no wonder a guy who taped a banana onto a wall sold this shit for such a high price. I can’t point out the reason why this person bought the art work, because honestly being either money laundering or just rich person trying to invest fast into something they don’t know the value of---both sound incredibly plausible to me (in my country, there was an influx into the art market in the 80s, where people rushed to buy EVERYTHING, and it inflated the art market---and keep in mind, Portugal is a small country with barely any market at all---to the point where some of the artists who sold the most back then have fallen into oblivion, and the people who bought their works have been desperately trying to get rid of them for decades, but they are worth nothing and they refuse to get the full price back lmaooo).

This shit is mostly why I nurture a profound hatred for art fairs. Like, on paper, they’re a nice concept, but as of today, worldwide, we have over 500 art fairs everywhere, and couple this with the art market inflation and all the nasty shit we know about (take the fucking Sacklers, for example), it’s the perfect playground for us to have a French Salon multiplied by 500 where contemporary art is transformed into an Appearance Thing. 

But every so often, a dude shows up and pulls some really bizarre shit and I am again reminded that there are still a lot of not exatctly Duchamps, but people like Jasper Johns or Tristan Tzara or even Robert Rauchenberg, which somehow manage to create a really poignant moment of hypocrisy. The really atrocious downside to this is that these artists exist in a fast-pacing scenario and they’re being assimilated at the speed of light. While neo-dada appeared in the 60s to confront the assimilation (thus, failure) of the first avant-garde movements, today it happens in real time. 

This is where I tell you guys the banana was apparently sold with a 14-page manual, which states shit like:

It should be hung about 175 centimeters from the ground, fixed to the wall at a 37-degree angle and the banana should be changed, "depending on its aesthetic appearance", about every seven or 10 days. About the only specification omitted is the optimum length or bendiness of said banana.

(the bendiness of the banana lmao)

Also, funny correlation: Duchamp’s work was called The Fountain, but we all call it ‘the urinal’, in the same way this work is called The Comedian, but we call it ‘the banana’. Make with that information what you will lol

[parabellumrpg]

Congratulations, Chris! You’ve been accepted to play Alondra Aleman. Please make your page and send it in within 24 hours.

A/N: This was such a difficult decision to make because both Alondra applications were absolutely flawless. Chris, you’re an incredibly talented writer, and I had to stop eating my ice cream midway through reading this because I was so freaking enthralled. Amazing job!

IC INFORMATION —

CHARACTER DESIRED

Alondra Aleman

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER IN YOUR OWN WORDS

Alondra love her things. She loves her purses, shoes, dresses, loves being able to redesign their home with the finest pieces of art and furniture — and even more, loves the ability to buy them whenever the mood may strike. None of this played a factor in her love for Gabriel, she’d been never left wanting before in her life, but the fact that she married into another wealthy family certainly doesn’t hurt.

Ever since she was a child, Alondra wanted to be able to do anything, be anything, and as a result, she took on all sorts of personalities throughout her youth. As she grew older, her practice had made it easier for her to adapt to different situations, and adjusting to her new life beside Gabriel proved to give it even more use. If being a meek lady is what is required to get the job done, she can plaster on the prettiest smile and bat her eyelashes with the best of them. If a web of lies is what it takes, then she can spin it quickly, easily, without even the tiniest flinch or hesitation. If it requires a harsher hand, well, even better.

The colder aspects of her personality come easier to her, as she’s never been much of a bleeding heart. She enjoys giving back to the communities, and loves being able to do so, but displaying a warmer heart only comes easily around those closest to her — those she’s chosen to welcome into the fold. Otherwise, she’s one of the last people you’d want to have a meltdown in front of. Displays of intense emotion make the woman uncomfortable, and in many cases, downright disgusted. There’s a time and a place for such outbursts, and it’s never in her company.

She loves keeping busy, and when Gabriel entrusted her with handling their legitimate business, it was one of the best things to happen to her. Alondra wants to feel useful, wants to feel power, and most of all, wants the opportunity to show how talented and intelligent she truly is. Over the years, she’s managed to do just that, and she relishes in the respect it commands.

WRITING SAMPLE

Heels clicked against cement as Alondra descended into the basement of their most recent acquisition. A hotel. They’d owned it only about four months, by now. She was accompanied by three other men, two of which were her “security,” while the other was the manager of the hotel. Gabriel had wanted the property, so he’d gotten it, and left it up to Alondra to redesign it according to her image. She’d kept most of the employees; they knew the business, the area, and had upstanding reputations. Or so she thought.

There were many things that angered Alondra, but nothing like when someone was disrespectful, when someone thought they could play her as a fool. Lessons had to be taught. People had to be kept in line. So when a manager, hearing rumors of how the Aleman’s made a large portion of their money, thought they could try to skim some off the top for themselves — well, Alondra intended to handle that personally. No one besmirched the Aleman name, and they most certainly didn’t do it on their own property.

Mr. Anchoridge, the man in question, was clearly nervous, because these types always were when they fucked up. They lacked a decent poker face. They lacked a spine. And when they reached the bottom floor, he huffed out a shaky chuckle. “Weird place for a meeting. We renovating this floor?”

Concrete covered nearly every surface, the hallway they were in leading to a wide open space. Plumbing snaked along the ceiling, leading one to the far back, where water heaters and a furnace stood like guards over the boxes stacked in the center. It wasn’t the worst idea. But then again, it was worth it to have an entire floor unoccupied — for meetings such as this.

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Mr. Anchoridge. I understand you have a penchant for stupidity based on what’s led us here… but I’d stop while I was ahead, if I were you.”

“Mrs. Aleman, I didn’t — please, don’t tell Mr. Aleman. I know it was stupid. It’s been a hard time for my family…” Stupid was an understatement. He’d stolen. He’d stolen before he was even fully aware of who he was dealing with.

“Oh, don’t you worry.” She placed a hand delicately on his shoulder, lips curling into a saccharine smile. “I would never bother Gabriel with something like this. I’m absolutely certain we can come to a resolution without him. And he would truly just be… so disappointed. I really hate disappointing him.”

“I shouldn’t have done it. I won’t ever again. I’m sorry. It was stupid. I’m sorry. I need this job. I —“ He was interrupted, not by a sound, but a look. Alondra’s face contorted with annoyance, lips twisting into a slight sneer as her foot, her Valentino’s, landed in a puddle.

“Isn’t this your job? Is that a leak?” Marco, one of her security, held out a hand for her to place her own into, balancing on one foot as she investigated the state of her designer heels. Desmond, the other, handed her a handkerchief, which she used to lightly dab the moisture of its surface. Water dribbled down from the piping above, forming a disgusting yellow tinted pool in the middle of the hallway, blended into the floor by the abysmal florescent lighting.

“I was going to make a call about that this afternoon.” His voice was shaking now, quivering under the stare of her, of the two men at either side of her — of the knowledge that he’d fucked over someone he really shouldn’t have. If you thought the rumors were true…

You should have known better.

“It’s alright. This is all new, right? New place. New owners. Takes adjusting. So sometimes, an example needs to be made, don’t you think?” That sugar-coated smile returned to its throne upon her lips. No anger radiated from her, despite it burrowing deep in her chest. There wasn’t any bite to her tone. It was as sweet as her features, soft and velvety. Comforting. Welcoming.

“Take care of him, would you boys?” She turned her back on Mr. Anchoridge, flicking a wrist dismissively through the air as she strode back toward the stairs. The two men closed in on the manager, one zeroing in to restrain him, and a crinkle of plastic could be heard as the other got a bag from his back pocket. Alondra didn’t look back again to see the specifics of his death, pausing on the stairs to add, “Make it all look like an accident, of course. And offer his family a nice check and our deepest condolences. We never anticipate such hazards on the job, do we?” She caught a small glimpse in her peripheral; Mr. Anchoridge’s mouth gaping open, a dark hole against the yellow plastic, and that was that.

Back to business.

Her assistant, Rose, met her at the door, balancing a tablet in her hands as she handed Alondra her coffee. Rose’s eyes never left the device as she walked beside Alondra, “You’re meeting with Mr. Cumberland is in twenty. I have lunch waiting for you in the car, it’s outside waiting. They just need you to stop by the restaurant and make sure the menu is in order.”

“Thank you, Rose.” Alondra’s shoe squeaked as they hit the marble flooring of the main lobby, and she let out an exasperated sigh, “And a pair of a new heels, please? Apparently, we have some leaks.”

“Absolutely, Mrs. Aleman. Right away. I’ll be waiting in the car by the time you get back from the restaurant.”

Rose had always been reliable. Timely. She got things done for Alondra before she was even asked. Organized. She anticipated needs, like now, when she was ready with her favorite coffee, lunch, and an air tight schedule. And with Mr. Anchoridge’s exit, they had an opening. As she was about to depart, she stopped, a manicured nail hovering in the air as she pursed her lips, eyeing the woman beside her, “How long have you worked for me now?”

“Just over three years.” Even now, Rose’s eyes never left the screen, tapping away as she rearranged her calendar.

“Why don’t clear some space for us this afternoon? Get together some resumes for a replacement assistant.”

“Wha- Mrs. Aleman, did I do-“ Finally, she did look up, brow furrowed in shock, her fingers already beginning to tremble as they lingered near the screen.

“Oh. No, darling. You just earned yourself a promotion.”

[s-j-ace]

The Same Question

Chapter Six

Characters:  Shuichi Saihara, Ouma Kokichi

Words: 14290

Summary:

After Detective Shuichi Saihara encounters mysterious thief Kokichi Ouma  for the first time, a game of cat and mouse ensues as both men ask themselves the same question. Why exactly does the elusive phantom thief  do what he does?

This is Chapter Six, Here are Chapters One, Two, Three, Four, and Five

Read on AO3

[Log of Text Messages from Maki Harukawa’s Cellular Device]

From: Me

Did you touch down at Haneda yet?

From: Principal Emo

Yeah

A while ago actually

I’m actually on the train home right now

Which I guess is a little silly considering I’m coming right back over tomorrow

But also I definitely need to sleep in my own bed at least once before meeting people Kaito works with

From: Me

Ugh

Meeting people

From: Principal Emo

Yeah

Especially meeting people with Kaito “What’s your favorite blood type?” Momota

From: Me

Hey that’s my boyfriend you’re talking about

And your description is completely accurate, continue

From: Principal Emo

Ugh sorry that was mean

I’m mean today and I don’t like it

I need coffee :(

From: Me

Or, you know

A decent night’s sleep

From: Principal Emo

Too hard

From: Me

Oh, you’re right, taking care of yourself is too hard

Back to relentlessly roasting Kaito it is

From: Principal Emo

What no

I’m not roasting him

I’m just

Trying not to be mad at him because the only reason I have to be mad at him is that I’m going to miss him while he’s on his mission and I don’t understand why he didn’t tell me he was going on the mission soon enough that I had time to ease into missing him and if I’m just angry at him about that then I’ll be missing him when he’s here so I should try and not be angry at him so that I don’t let time with him go to waste while he’s not in space yet

That makes sense right?

From: Me

I mean feel about it how you wanna feel

But I’d just be mad at him if I were you

From: Principal Emo

:(

From: Me

*>:(

From: Principal Emo

*<:(

From: Me

What is that

A party hat?

From: Principal Emo

No its like

Concerned eyebrows

From: Me

What are you concerned about?

From: Principal Emo

Right now? Or in general?

Because right now I’m worried that people on the train are giving me weird looks because my suitcase is taking up too much space

But like in general I fear that I am somehow secretly inadequate according to an unclear set of standards that only exist in my own mind

From: Me

Cool

Well not cool actually

You want me to give you a ride to the open house so that you don’t have to take the train again tomorrow

From: Principal Emo

I would actually very much appreciate that

I know that the lines under the Towa bridges have the newest trains and the most up to date security and all

But also there’s just a lot of people on trains and places to hide knives one would use for a train stabbing and even thought that’s super unreasonable maybe it’s not that unreasonable because we have a lot of stabbings in proportion to other countries but also we have a low homicide rate

From: Me

Ah so you don’t just want to carpool for my charming company

From: Principal Emo

If you’re trying to be sarcastic let me just say your company is genuinely more charming than the motley crew of characters one would expect on the Towa to Tanegashima line at ten in the morning

From: Me

Even though my car has the same amount of places to hide knives?

From: Principal Emo

Yeah but those knives are for your purposes and not train stabbings

From: Me

My purposes?

From: Principal Emo

You know what I mean

From: Me

Yeah I do

Also

While I do not want to validate your fear of train stabbings via the association of an abrupt subject change

I’ve been meaning to say for a while that I am sorry that I don’t trust your detective work more often

Well I don’t know about more often

What I mean is

I think that you are a good detective

Even when you say stuff that obviously sounds stupid

And if I implied a different stance through my words or actions

Then I regret those words and/or actions

From: Principal Emo

What?

Oh are you talking about what you told me before I went to Paris

From: Me

Yeah

I mean I don’t think I’m in the wrong when I say clowns stealing toilets from the louvre is a stupid premise for a crime

But I guess criminals are stupider than popular media and common sense would lead me to believe

And I think I should have believed in you more

But also I think I was right that you need a vacation and you haven’t taken one yet and I think that’s not great for you either

From: Principal Emo

Oh um

I guess not?

From: Me

And Kaito told me you’re not allowed to chase the clowns anymore

So maybe you should take a break now

From: Principal Emo

Well

I feel like in a way following the DICE case was a break?

Because I essentially didn’t get any cases done the whole time I was working it

Which means I’ll have catching up to do when I get back to the office

From: Me

Not if I kill you first

From: Principal Emo

Sorry, we’ll have to fit that in later

If you kill me then I’ll be even more behind

From: Me

Your eyeballs better be behind your eyelids at 8pm today or else I’m taking them

From: Principal Emo

Taking what?

From: Me

Your eyeballs

From: Principal Emo

No I need those

From: Me

Then hide them because I’m coming for you

From: Principal Emo

Okay, maybe I’ll sleep a little tonight

From: Me

You better still be sleeping when I get to your house

I’ll be there 8:30

From: Principal Emo

Maki if you want me to sleep at 8pm then that means you want me to sleep for 12 and a half hours

From: Me

Did I fucking stutter

From: Principal Emo

<:( --- Kokichi Ouma's flight from the Malpensa Airport in Milan, Italy to the Narita Airport in Tokyo, Japan was the first time he had ever been on a plane by himself. He had done that on purpose when organizing the flight groups yesterday. Ace and King had suggested that groups be made up of twos and threes to avoid "unnecessary danger," which Kokichi heard as avoiding "letting our boss eat paper and be in vents." Naturally Kokichi responded that it was a positively splendid suggestion, considering he had come up with it already, and he had obliged by it, organizing them into four groups with Kokichi's own group including Queen and Jack. Except somehow they had booked tickets for the wrong flight. Oooh noooo, how could that be? And Queen had been the one to book the tickets too…

Kokichi supposed that he hadn't quite thought this whole being on a plane alone thing all the way through when he was hacking into the airline's online ticket system last night. It seemed now, in the daylight of sitting in the window seat of aisle 22 watching the clouds stroll listlessly across the sky so that he wouldn't have to look at the lady next to him paint her toenails, that there was nothing overtly beneficial about the lack of a familiar audience to his exploits. Sure, it was nice that he could have his blue eyes white dragon on the plane with him in his pocket instead of hidden within the checked bags, but what was the point of it if there was no one to duel with?

Basically he was bored.

But also weirdly not motivated to do anything to end the boredom. Which seemed counterintuitive, because not being bored was his whole deal. Then again maybe having a whole deal was counterintuitive to his supposedly liquid personality. If he wanted to stir things up maybe he should indulge this part of himself that wanted to be boring because then that would vary from his constant need to not be boring, which in excess could be viewed as boring. Then again, changing things about his personality just to avoid an arbitrary standard of boring-ness would also be pretty boring, wouldn’t it?

He tried to think of what the Kokichi who didn't want to be bored with all of his being would do right now. Maybe he would turn around and just start picking apart the insecurities of miss "my toes need to be pink for the beach!" over here until she started crying and jumped out of the plane. Then again, he didn't trust his brain not to imprint onto the next person who had long eyelashes and who he thought might fuck up his whole deal if he let it wander free into the dangerous world of airplane small talk. Sure, he could steal something or break something or just cause some sort of problem on purpose, but, very concerningly, it didn't seem like he wanted to.

It just... seemed like a hassle right now, to think about things and scheme. If he was the maitre d' of mischief then what was the point of it if there wasn’t someone important's perceptions to attend to?

So his brain was left here, grasping at straws, rewatching episodes of Detective Conan in his head, and wondering where he went wrong with the whole dashing phantom thief thing.

It also felt like there was something he was supposed to be doing that he was forgetting to do but he didn't have a lot of time to think about it, what with the recently discovered antique fabregé egg being stolen from the Suzuki Modern Art Museum in Osaka and all. How did Kaitou Kid do it?

Oh, wait, Kokichi knew what this feeling reminded him of. It felt something like being twelve again. Back when DICE was just around a year old and they were still living in that apartment in Hokkaido. They were barely scraping by at that point. Spades and Clubs were in junior high, still seriously considering going back to the old home. All the other teens were still in highschool, except for King, who was just starting nursing school, and Ace still had their first job with that phony resume Kokichi made them. Wait, they hadn't even come up with their code names yet had they? Yeah, they still called him Ouma-sama back then.

That seemed kind of silly, looking back on it. While everyone was at school or work, Kokichi would stay in that little apartment and watch anime for hours, sometimes making nasty little bills disappear through some light, white collar crime. Well, it wasn't always anime he watched while committing tax fraud. Sometimes he would watch game shows or browse the internet while sending emails that would topple companies in just the right way so that rice cakes would be on sale the next week. He memorized a lot of different security detail layouts while lazing around and rerouting rubber horse mask deliveries to the CEO of the Towa corporation because their stupid TVs were too expensive. He also played a lot of video games. Like… a lot a lot. Most of his time was spent playing video games now that he thought of it...

Recalling those times now felt like looking down at half of a person. Or more like looking back at someone who didn't know he was a person yet.

Except now he was a person and he knew that he was one and he was on a plane by himself because he wanted to sulk defiantly. Wait sulk? Sulking? Was that what he was doing?

Well yeah, maybe he was a bit bummed about Saihara. He hadn't been able to think about that earlier because if he thought about the pit of disappointment sapping in the back of his head it might suck the rest of him in too and then he'd be no use to anyone. But now he was alone and it didn't matter how he felt about anybody and somehow he was still confused by it.

Maybe Saihara just wasn't the hot shit Kokichi thought he was. Actually, Kokichi was probably just being dumb for expecting more. Or, on the other hand, Saihara might just be doing things the right way. Tracking an internationally traveling thief through flight records was logical, but somehow knowing how the trick was done made it lose a little bit of magic. Or all of it, seeing as magic isn't real and all. Maybe Kokichi had just been excited by the possibility that Saihara had presented, and thus blew his minor deductive talent out of proportion.

Obviously whatever had made Saihara so interesting to him was of no consequence now, because the detective wouldn't be able to find them with his little method this time, what with DICE staggering out the ticket buying and all. He wasn't even going to leave a note to Interpol this time around. And so the semi-epic story of Shuichi v. Kokichi would end here.

Then Kokichi could just keep leading DICE in heists. Forever. He guessed. He didn't know, actually, what the long term plan was vis a vis their ever escalating chain of petty thefts. Bishop had said they made ¥2,000,000 this month. Kokichi didn't even know how much they had saved up in out of country bank accounts. It seemed like too much.

What was he supposed to say about that to DICE though? Ok guys, we’re making too much money actually, time to slow it down a bit and face the fact that we've wasted our young lives on being only mildly disruptive to but somehow somewhat supportive of the institution of capitalism.

Then what would happen after that?

When he started planning these heists, Kokichi had never really thought of an “after” to becoming an internationally wanted thief. He had seen it as the end goal. The destiny career.

How do you end that?

Maybe he should just pull a Ryo from GX except instead of a heart condition killing him he could just jump off a-

“Ladies and gentlemen,” The crackling voice of the Captain over the plane intercom interrupted the train of thought Kokichi was having as well as where he was in his mental Detective Conan Kaito Kid best hits Marathon, “As we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Thank you.”

Uh. What? This was a twelve hour flight and that sounded an awful lot like a landing announcement. Was the Captain on crack or someth-

Kokichi realized that the sky outside the window he had been spacing the fuck out through was dark now. Even more telling of the passage of time, though, was the fact that he was on episode 703 now, the train one where Kaitou Kid disguises himself as a maid.

In order to function like a real living person who experienced the passage of time, Kokichi banished anime from his brain.

Okay, not thinking about anime anymore… thinking instead about what to do when not on the plane….

Right, he was supposed to wait at the baggage claim until Rook, King, Queen and Jack’s flights came in. Then they would drive to the rendezvous in central Tokyo where they would meet the members who landed at Haneda instead of Narita. Then they would head to the JAXA launch site on one of the islands in the Kagoshima prefecture and Kokichi would lay out the heist plan he came up with on... the…. plane….

Oh... he forgot to do that, didn’t he?

…

See, who needed a nemesis when Kokichi had self foiling down to a science? --- Shuichi Saihara really meant to sleep last night. He really did. He went through the whole thing too, brushing his teeth, putting on a sleep t-shirt, and lying down in the bed. Yet somehow his brain never got the message that it was time to shut down.

Instead, it compulsively lit up with anxiety, which began dueling it out with the half hearted self reassurances he postulated to pretend he was coping.

The afternoon before, Shuichi had returned to the small building which served as his dual purpose home/office to find a slew of missed phone calls and letters. He spent three, gut-wrenchingly guilt-ridden hours sorting through everything from distress calls from potential clients, some well wishes from clients he had been following up with, and worst of all extremely distressed calls from clients he had failed to follow up with in wake of the DICE case.

He felt like the stupidest, most pathetic excuse for a detective on the face of the earth. He knew that he shouldn’t feel that way, but how could he not come to that conclusion with all the evidence that lay before him? Every call and letter was from a person that Shuichi had failed to help because he had somehow decided vainly pursuing international thieves was something only he could do. Maybe early on it had seemed like the logical step to pursue the thieves where interpol couldn’t. Shuichi had just come off of a big bust in the organized crime sector of Towa City, tracing back a series of revenge killings at the behest of a secretive swordswoman, and had been passively keeping up with the DICE case on the side. When he had managed to get his hands on one of the encoded letters sent to Interpol, he was certain DICE was going to hit the Smithsonian, so he and Kaito had gotten on a plane to America. And then they didn’t catch the thief and obviously that was Shuichi’s fault because the evidence was all in his hands if he had only been fast enough… So he got the next letter and pursued the thieves to Paris and he got even closer and when he failed it was even more obviously his fault because he should’ve been smart enough to notice an internationally wanted thief sitting literally right next to him. And then some how he had decided that? Stealing plane records was the next logical step? How did he even get there? It was so obviously over the line… But would he really have been satisfied, then, if he had just given up on the truth? Was he really satisfied now? He couldn’t possibly-

It didn’t matter whether he was satisfied or not. Not everything was about him. He had his own job to do here in Towa City and he had forgotten that for about a month and a half to chase after a group of essentially harmless thieves. There had been four murders in Towa City since then! And Shuichi knew that because four people had called him to investigate them! And Shuichi was aware that people would be calling him about violent crime! And he had seen the evidence that the thieves had a zero casualty count! And yet somehow he still had to have Agent Ishimaru spell it out for him that he should’ve just stayed home!

Okay he was freaking out a bit, things were fine. Interpol was going to take care of DICE now. It wasn't Shuichi's case. He needed to calm down. Stop trying to convince himself there was more to the case. Why would he think he knew the case best when he worked on it for less than half a hear? Interpol had been tracking criminal activity suspected of the organization for nearly a decade now. Then again maybe that was a point against interpol. What if they were in-

Stop! No! Not his case! Stop being suspicious!

Shuichi had other things to focus on now. He had managed to get into contact with most of the people who had left him messages, and to make up for lost time he had decided to try and take up a few cases at a time. Except contrary to his own self-conceited beliefs there were more detectives in Towa City than just him, and everyone who had called him about a case had managed to hire someone else already.

He tried to convince himself this was a good thing, as he lay awake at night. Everything was fine. He wasn’t failing anyone. There were so many other capable detectives in Towa city. No reason to be concerned.

Yeah, nobody needed him, the pathetic detective he was anyway. He hadn’t even managed to get close to catching DICE’s leader, let alone the nine other members of the group…

Well maybe he had gotten pretty close. He remembered grappling with the thief in Taipei and Milan. The close contact with the pilferer of his pursuit only made Shuichi’s own incompetence more frustrating, his mistakes made more obvious in the light of hindsight.

He really wanted to know why-

Not his case. God what an idiot. What had Dr. Iruma diagnosed him with after the thief escaped? Ah that’s right, shit for brains.

… That reminded him, he should follow up with the Idabashi labs people. He had gotten so caught up in making sure he stayed on DICE’s tail that he forgot to even perform the most basic courtesy in his practice as a detective. Being able to check up with clients, bystanders, and victims without risking a witness tampering charge was one of the main benefits of being a private detective versus being a police detective. When he had started his private practice Shuichi had promised himself that now that he could put the people involved in a case before the case itself he would do so to the best of his ability. He usually took much better care to address concerns of breaking and entering victims, what had he been thinking leaving the labs immediately to pursue DICE? Dr. Iruma had still been uncertain if her friend would recover from being shut down right in front of her! Shuichi was shocked at his own behavior. It was the kind of awful thing he would have pulled as a reckless teen detective, pursuing the truth without regard for who he accused or lied to along the way. The resurfacing of this behavior seemed appalling to him now.

He should call Idabashi labs right away to apologize.

It was this thought that finally stirred him from his half-awake stupor at 4 AM. At realizing the time, the part of Shuichi’s brain that was still capable of higher reasoning decided that calling would be rather rude at the hour, but he was too anxious he’d forget to call at all if he postponed now to abandon the idea altogether. In compromise, he took out his laptop and began drafting a letter to Dr. Iruma instead, expressing his regrets and apologies of every little thing he could think of. The broken windows, the used bomb, the cup of coffee he had made in her kitchen without asking…

He was typing and retyping the sign off at the end of the letter (Sincerely was a good stand bye but not very personal? Concernedly? Too personal. Thank you for your time? Ugh not the right tone) when he heard the knock at the door.

Shuichi blinked, breaking the trance-like state that he now realized had led him to write a four page letter. He looked at the grandfather clock on his mantle. It read 10:31 AM. Which meant it was actually 8:27 AM because that clock was 2 hours and 4 minutes fast and Shuichi was too afraid he might break it to try and fix it.

Maki had promised to pick him up at 8:30 so by process of logical deduction Shuichi could safely assume that it was her outside, coming to bully him for being sleep deprived.

Sure enough, the sound of the spare key he’d given her and Kaito could be heard jiggling in the door knob. Maki opened the door.

The desk Shuichi was working at was in his client reception area, which was unfortunately immediately in view of anyone opening the door. Maki locked eyes with him almost instantly, and the look in hers was that of disappointment.

“And here I was thinking you might actually be asleep.”

“Uh. Sorry.” Shuichi said, closing his laptop. Then he opened it again. “Hey if you were apologizing to someone for not catching a burglar in their home/place of work and then leaving while their friend was sick so that you could chase said crook to another continent, would you sign the letter ‘sincerely’ or with something more like ‘once more expressing deepest apologies...”

Maki frowned, coming in and closing the door. “I’m not good at apologies. Those both sound polite but, knowing you, you probably didn't do something you would actually need that level of politeness to apologize for.”

“Um.” Shuichi went with ‘deepest apologies, -Shuichi Saihara.’ “Better safe than sorry?” He hit print. The printer his laptop was connected to was upstairs in the office where he kept his case files, so he had to run up the stairs to grab the printed letter.

Maki, seeming to sense he was going to need a second to put his four page letter in an envelope, sighed and came into the building from the entryway. She took off her shoes, heading towards the kitchen in the next room over.

When Shuichi got back down stairs with his four page apology letter safely tucked away in an envelope with a nice international stamp on it, he came into the kitchen to find Maki unplugging his coffee maker.

Both took a moment to register what one another was holding in their hands. Then they both frowned disapprovingly.

“Maki come on…” Shuichi protested weakly. “I don’t want to fall asleep at the JAXA open house.”

“Shuichi you’re at ten-page-apology-letter crazy right now and you think caffeine is going to help you?”

“Yes.” Uh. Wait. Was that healthy? “Maybe.” Probably not. “It’s only four pages.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Okay Shuichi was not on the winning side of logic here that much was clear. But still…

“Okay you win.” Shuichi relented, moving toward the kitchen counter as if to set down the envelope in his hands.

The second he dropped it, he made a mad lunge for the coffee maker cord. Maki effortlessly pulled it out of the way and grabbed his wrist, twisting him into a lock and then bringing him to a pin on the ground.

“What was the plan there?” She asked. Was it just him or did she sound bemused? He couldn’t really look at her face to garner her expression because his own face was currently smashed against the tile of his own kitchen.

“No plan.” Shuichi admitted through a mouthful of the floor. “Only caffeine withdrawal.”

“Okay.” Shuichi felt his center of gravity flip once more, “You’re sleeping in the car.” Shuichi realized that Maki had scooped him up into a princess carry too late to actually do anything about it.

“Hey!” Shuichi protested, a little indignant.

Being close friends with Maki Harukawa came with the knowledge that you were going to be treated like you weighed less than a ragdoll from time to time. She had a tendency to muscle her way through social interactions if at all possible. Her significant other just gave her a compliment she didn’t know how to deal with? Punch him. That guy at work wouldn’t stop talking to her about his fucking car? Walk through a door and close it in his face if he tries to follow. Her best friend wants to make a series of regrettable decisions? Physically prevent him from doing so because he is easier to lift than a handful of grapes.

Shuichi had been friends with Maki for about seven years now, and he knew this all well enough, but that didn’t mean he had to go down without a fight. “Maki I have to get my letter to the-”

“Shuichi when you get back to that letter tomorrow morning you’ll be embarrassed you even wrote it.”

Okay, maybe Shuichi would go down without a fight. Maki made a good point, Shuichi was very often embarrassed by things he himself did while off his daily recommended prescription of z’s and or caffeine.

“Okay! I give! You’re right.”

“I know.” Maki had gotten to the front door and seemed to be puzzling out how to open it with her elbow.

“Here I can walk by myself.” Shuichi made a move to roll out of Maki’s arms, but she was still gripping his shoulder in place.

“Walk to the car by yourself or walk to your kitchen and feed your caffeine addiction?” She looked down at him with a stern expression that implied only one correct answer.

“The car.” Shuichi relented.

“Alright then.”

Maki set him down and opened the door while he grabbed his coat from the closet.

She gave him another look.

“What is it?” Shuichi thought she was scrutinizing his appearance, so he mentally did the same. “Oh! I forgot to do my eyes-” Today his morning routine had been: get out of bed, go to computer, write apology letter, whereas usually it went: get out of bed, apply eyeliner, worry about inadequacies, drink coffee, feel marginally better. Shuichi had skipped the second step, and he was about to rush to the bathroom to correct it, but Maki grabbed his arm.

“Shuichi we’re going to Tanegashima in August. It’s 30 degrees there. Your eyes are going to melt. Along with the rest of you.”

Shuichi took a moment to realize that Maki herself was wearing shorts and a loose aloha shirt. Meanwhile he was standing here in his baggy sleep t-shirt, skinny jeans, and black trenchcoat.

“Uh.” Shuichi took off his coat and tied it around his waist. “Better?”

“Hmph.” Maki grumbled, walking out onto the sidewalk. “If you die of heatstroke on the way there, I’m not going to your funeral.”

“Not even if Kaito went?” Shuichi followed, locking the door behind him.

“Especially not if Kaito went.” Maki pulled out her keys and unlocked her car, which was parallel parked on the street by Shuichi’s office. “He’d cry like a baby. It would be insufferable.”

Maki’s car was an old black honda that always smelled a little like burnt sugar. With Maki, Shuichi couldn't be sure if the smell came from a baking mishap or the trace of nitroglycerin from a recently fired gun. It was probably both. On hot days the air inside was unbearably warm until the AC was turned on for at least a minute, because the seats were made of a dark, greasy pleather sort of thing that made it its mission to absorb as much heat as possible. Shuichi had a distinct memory of pressing his face against the material to avoid being shot from behind. In fact he sort of had a slideshow of bad memories associated with riding in this car on various high stake chases or on the approach of even more stressful social situations. Yet despite all that, the second Shuichi settled into the passenger seat and pulled the seat belt over himself, he felt more at home than he had pulling up the covers when he’d been trying to sleep last night.

What happened next was embarrassingly predictable. From Shuichi’s point of view it seemed like Maki started the car, he closed his eyes, and then when he opened them his face was pressed against the window and he could see the Towa Bridge Expressway zooming past him.

The road was on the upper side of one of the bridges Towa Corp had built about a decade ago connecting Islands like Tanegashima, Yakushima, and Towa City to the mainland. On the underside of the bridges were bullet trains that ran underwater between the islands.

Regardless of this, all roads feel the same under the wheels of a car you forget falling asleep in.

“Hghh.” Shuichi was half aware that his throat was the thing that just made that noise.

“Wow you got a whole REM cycle in there.” Maki seemed to hear his rooster cry of wakefulness despite the interference of some sort of j-pop song coming out of the car speakers. As Shuichi’s eyes adjusted to the pale daylight stinging his retinas, he could make out that his friend had her eyes fixed on the road. “That must be a new record.”

“If you’re gonna-” Shuichi realized his speech was muffled and that it was because his face was still against the window. He made an effort to sit up straight and started his sentence again, unobstructed. “If you’re going to make fun of me for sleeping the same as not sleeping then why should I even bother?”

“Because your health is your health and that isn’t beholden to my judgement.”

“Everything about me is beholden to judgement.” Shuichi muttered, still thinking miserably about his poor uncle’s good name, which he was most certainly running into the ground by having the office closed for another day. He was working a sum total of NO cases right now. Maybe he should write his uncle an apology letter too. Then again he wouldn’t want to bother him in his retirement… Who would want to have their nice day interrupted by their whining nephew? No one.

“Yeah, you should fix that.” Apparently driving for an hour and a half hadn’t changed Maki’s stance. She still had biting comments about his poor self esteem at the ready.

“Hghk.” Shuichi replied eloquently.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Maki muttered in reply.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing." Maki replied a little too quickly. She was chewing her lip. After a moment of thought she went on. "Well I guess it means something. But I'm still trying to wrap my head around it and I don't want to tell you until I have it phrased right in my mind."

"Hm. Okay."

Shuichi tried to regain faculty over his higher social functions in an attempt to discern what Maki was upset about and to make sure it wasn’t anything that he did. But while he was performing this heroic feat he closed his eyes on accident and then when he opened them again Maki was parking, presumably on the campus of the Tanegashima Space Center.

Shuichi groaned, now finding himself leaned in the opposite direction of the window. “Why does it feel like the part of my brain that produces melatonin is always waiting to get me by surprise?”

“Because you keep trying to drown it in caffeine,” Maki replied readily, seeming to have lost her contemplative mood after another hour of driving, “it’s fighting for it’s life, of course it’s going to use guerilla tactics.”

Shuichi shook the feeling back into his legs as Maki pulled into a spot. He remembered when he used to drive a lot more. When he was on the force he had access to a police cruiser, but nowadays Shuichi had trouble driving a car while he was on his own. He kept having intrusive thoughts about accidentally hitting pedestrians. A lot of grisly murders happened like that. Even now he could picture that guy whose head had been crushed under the wheel of a yakuza boss’s car…

“Come on, we haven’t got all day.” Maki tapped him in the arm with her fist, then got out of the car. Shuichi was going to follow suit, but he paused to check himself for eye crusties in the pull down mirror. He had just regained the mental capacity to remember he didn’t put on his eyeliner and now it was time to be anxious about his appearance again. Well, at least this would probably go better than the last time he encountered a social situation without doing his eyes. He really thought he’d be safe going to ask Keebo about the wi-fi, but he had managed to stumble into a robbery in process, which had then turned into a hostage situation, which had then turned into an all night police investigation and journalists tried to talk to him again and then Dr. Iruma was doing robot surgery and he got chewed out by Ishimaru again and-

“Shuichi?” Maki had ducked her head back into the car. “Are you coming?”

Shuichi startled out his internal anxiety tirade. “Y-yeah! Sorry.” He shut the mirror and opened the door of the car. It took a second to untangle his coat from the seatbelt, but he managed to get out and retie it around his waist.

“Hey…” Maki had locked the car and come around to his side. Her eyebrows were furrowed. “Are you alright?”

“What?” Shuichi blinked. Did he really look that bad? “No, yeah, I’m fine.” It only occurred to him he was kind of lying for no reason after he said it. “I mean, well. I’m just like. Embarrassed about not being able to see that case I was doing through all the way to the end. Like, I’m thinking about all the ways I messed it up, you know?”

Maki nodded. “Yeah. I feel that way too. About my own stuff. Sometimes. A lot of times. Actually.” Her fingers tangled into a strand of her hair. “But… Well, you know what he would say about it already, don’t you?”

Oh yeah. “Probably something like… the past is the past. What really matters is what you do now.” Just thinking about what Kaito would say made him feel better... He shook his head. “I really should just get ‘what would Kaito do’ tattooed on my brain…”

“Yeah, as long as you’re not in a haunted house.” Maki pointed out.

Shuichi laughed. “Yeah… I guess so…”

Maki looked down at her feet, still carding her hands through her hair.

“I’m… Going to miss him.” She confessed.

Shuichi suddenly felt extremely guilty. Here Maki was trying to keep his anxiety from preventing the performance of his every day functions and he had totally neglected to consider she was going through a lot right now too. Shuichi knew that Kaito had been a lifeline for Maki for a long time, and even though she was in a much better place now Shuichi would be much less of an awful friend if he had realized how much harder Kaito’s absence would hit her.

“What’s with that expression?” She muttered. Shuichi realized he was making a very fretful face. “Ugh. Nevermind, talking about this is pointless anyway…”

“It’s not pointless!” Shuichi rebutted quickly. “Of course you’ll miss Kaito. Talking about your feelings is an important step in processing them… And you know I want to be here for you if you ever need that. I’m your friend.”

“Yeah.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “I know.” She was chewing her lip again. “Uh. Thanks. Sorry if I’ve been kind of… mother henning you today. It’s just. I don’t want to be… Alone again.”

Now Shuichi really felt like a bad friend. “Oh, Maki-”

Shuichi was interrupted by the 2012 song ‘Space Unicorn’ blasting from Maki’s phone. Whenever Shuichi heard that song, it reminded him of udon noodle soup, because that’s what he’d been eating in the college cafeteria when Kaito set it as his ringtone in Maki’s phone.

“Ugh. I hate that song.” Maki took the phone out of her pocket. “We’ll talk later.” She told Shuichi, before answering the call.

“What is it.” Shuichi overheard Maki’s side of the conversation. “We just parked… Yeah… Where?... That’s troublesome… I’m kidding… Ok, see you there… Gross.”

She hung up.

“He says he’s waiting for us by the bus terminal at the museum. Which is on the other side of the campus.”

Oh, Kaito… “It’s like he’s making us run laps again…”

“I’ll try not to leave you behind.” Maki offered, kindly.

“Hey, maybe I’ll be able to keep pace…” Shuichi postulated. “I’ve been in a lot of chases recently.”

“You won’t be.” Maki said, already jogging in place.

“I’ll try my best…” Shuichi promised. --- Kokichi Ouma found himself wondering where exactly that big old brain of his had wandered off to. He knew that by all accounts he was very good at coming up with plans on the fly. Yet for some reason the performance of the actual organ that processed his mental functions was lacking at the moment. Like it didn’t know it was supposed to be the brain of an internationally wanted criminal today. Spontaneity was supposed to mean fun for him, but for some reason this whole build a plane plan seemed more like a point of stress than anything else. Which was weird because Kokichi didn’t usually get stressed. There was just something about this heist that he wasn’t looking forward to and he couldn’t identify what exactly it was or how exactly he was supposed to get around it.

Kokichi was still trying to halfass his way to a half decent plan when DICE reunited in Tokyo. And on the drive down to the Kagoshima prefecture he had more than enough time to think about a plan. In fact he had another 15 hours. And he just… Didn’t. He just didn’t think of a plan. He just sat around pretending to be sociable and analyzing the rest of the group’s conversations and sleeping habits. He thought that maybe he was anxious about them scheming behind his back again, but realizing that he was anxious should have made the being anxious go away, so he decided that it wasn’t that.

So when they finally did arrive at the Tanegashima Space Center in their stolen Space Center Tour bus the next morning and everyone huddled in the backmost rows of seats to hear what exactly the plan was, Kokichi had to pause for a second.

Uh. Okay. Plan time.

“You may not have noticed,” Kokichi started off after compiling some observations in his head, “But there’s an open house happening at this facility for JAXA employees and family members right now. We’re going to capitalize on that for our fakeout heist, which will be centered around the museum’s gift shop.” Right because the open house wouldn’t let them have access to the non-touristy shit. “Rook, King, Bishop, you’re going to be on that.” Ugh that wasn’t very detailed. “The fake mark is…” Fuck think of something stupid. “As many of those freeze-dried ice cream things as you can carry.” Okay that left him with 7 pieces for the real heist. “Jack, Clubs, Spades you’re on floor duty, make sure to call in suspicious personnel, we have the map of the space center in the heist planning chat.” He had remembered to do that much at least. “So spread out as much as you can.” Four pieces. “Queen, you know what you need. Get Ace to handle transport.” Should he really be delegating that much power to Queen after his little upstart? Or did it just show insecurity to not trust him? Too late to contemplate. “When you get back to the bus, text us and then take off ASAP.” The jet engine would take up most of the tour bus, so they had to get an alternative means of escape. “Hearts, you and I are going to disable security systems and get the secondary escape car.” That was something he knew how to do at least. “Any questions.”

Kokichi would usually expect a hearty “No sir!” to that concluding statement, but instead he observed a smattering of queer looks from the car full of clowns.

Hearts was the first to pipe up. “Uh, boss, your plan for disabling the security system wouldn’t happen to involve getting into the vents, would it?”

“Yeah.” There wasn’t really a better way to covertly sneak around a facility like this when their identities may be compromised. “What about it?”

Kokichi really didn’t have time for Hearts’s whole ‘I don’t like getting vent dust on my white uniform’ thing. He would just pretend like the whole group misheard him and he assigned her to ground duty in the first place if she said she wanted to swap-

“No, I just think maybe I could handle the security system myself.” Oh. That was a new one. “There’s not really a need for you to... You know, risk yourself.”

Kokichi was suddenly made aware of the bandage that was still wrapped around his forehead. He consciously resisted the urge to graze his hand over it. He didn’t want to play into the whole damaged goods bullshit that was going on right now in terms of how his subordinates were viewing him. Then again maybe that’s exactly what he should do…

“Believe me, I’ve considered the consequences,” Kokichi compelled himself to shed a single tear, clenching his fist like a shounen anime protagonist. “And though I may be suffering great pain and personal injury… I’ll risk it if it means not letting my friends down…”

Queen rolled his eyes, seeming to buy Kokichi’s bit, but Hearts still looked concerned, and now King was getting ready to add his two cents.

“Uh, Boss.” Ugh him and his stupid Nurse’s license, “It’s really fine if you wanna stay back…” Maybe if Kokichi cried he could derail this? “Your head is still healing and if, you know, an accident happens, you could re-open it and then we might have to suture...”

No, crying would just make him look worse now. The power dynamic would make it look like he was trying to convince King to let him go on the heist, which didn’t make sense at all. Maybe he could slot himself into a different group? No, most elements of this plan involved being in civilian wear and that’d just remind his crew about that time he just casually let a detective get a police sketch done of him like one of his french girls. Besides, he didn’t strictly need to participate in every step of this heist anyway. Kokichi’s real goal here was to maintain the idea in his subordinates’ minds that he was not a twerp trying to find the most unreliable time to bleed out. Hmm, okay, let’s go with this then.

Kokichi flashed an incredulous grin before smothering it into an exaggerated damsel expression. “Oh,,, I hate to admit it, but you’re so right, King.” He leaned over dramatically, “Every second is torture in this frail body of mine, it’s taking all my strength just to stand here before you!” He wasn’t standing but that was probably the easiest thing he was lying about right now, “I guess I’ll just have to.. Stay here, and.. Regain my strength… While you guys do all the work.” He pulled out the handkerchief he just remembered he had and was going to blow his nose into it before he remembered at the last second it wasn’t his handkerchief. He settled for a grotesque imitation of blowing his nose instead. He lay down across the back seat in a faint. “Ohh, alas, I fear I am not long for this world…”

   “I vote we leave him here to die.” Jack bought in, rolling her eyes.

   “I second the motion.” That was Queen, and yeah, Kokichi had expected that much.

   “Hey, since when is this a democracy?” Kokichi sat up, adjusting the fluidity of his motions to reflect perfect health once more.

   “Since our boss died,” Jack wiped away a fake tear with her finger. “I miss him every day… Sometimes I even hear his voice…”

Kokichi tossed aside the handkerchief and took a bag of chips out from the seat in front of him where he had seen Bishop stash them earlier. He poured the chips into his own lap and then crumbled up the bag into a ball before throwing it at Jack’s face.

Jack, in turn, batted it away, and it hit Spades, who caught it and threw it back at Jack, who dodged, which led the bag to hit Rook instead. Rook picked it up and got ready to throw it again, but Hearts took it out of their hands, leading to Rook just throwing air at Clubs, who squealed despite nothing actually hitting him and jumped out of his seat.

Okay, success. Concern about Kokichi’s injuries had all but dissipated as Club’s reaction got a smattering of giggles.

“Wow,” He remarked to Hearts, who was still holding the crumpled chip bag. “I’m sure a dove of peace such as yourself can handle the security system all on your lonesome.” He gestured to his lap, which was still covered in chips. “As you see I have other business to attend to.” He picked up one of the chips and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly. When he finished the first chip he issued his final direction. “You guys better get started on your assignments. I’ll be here when you need to hijack the second getaway car.”

“Yes, Boss!” Most of his crew said the words more for their ritualistic purpose of ending the team huddle rather than out of genuine enthusiasm. They collected their gear, mostly stored in beach bags and casual purses, and filtered out of the van one by one. Everyone was still in their civilian clothing, so they’d blend right in with the crowds of tourists and open-house-goers.

And then Kokichi was alone again. Except instead of a plane he was on a tour bus. Eating chips off his lap. He got through them in about four minutes, which he estimated was about how long it would take DICE to get out of sight’s distance from the bus. When that time had passed, he licked the remaining salt and grease of his fingers and then stood up, brushing chip crumbs off his lap. Once he was clean, he picked up the handkerchief he had thrown aside earlier. He folded it up along the crease lines into a square, and put it in his pocket again. He convinced himself it was just because he wanted something to do.

He went up to the driver’s seat, sitting down. He didn’t have his license to drive a normal car, let alone a bus, but it didn’t really matter because the bus’s windows were reflective from the outside. They had parked the tour bus close to the entrance in the bus lane, so Kokichi had a good view of the people coming and going from the space center. If he had put any effort into this plan at all, he might’ve stationed Club or Spade here as a look out. Well, he guessed he was the look out now. Hah. Great.

….

BORED. He was bored again. Hgghghgfffkk.

He considered hitting his head against the horn of the car just to do something and by “considered” he meant he tried to actually do it but missed and almost hit his head on the dashboard before stopping and realizing that was a bad idea. For one, honking the horn would just make the vehicle look conspicuous, which was not ideal for a getaway car. And then there was also the fact that his plan had needlessly included bashing his head again which could open his cut and just cause a big hassle when King got back with his whole ‘I’m a licensed practical nurse’ thing he had going on.

So, okay. No horn honking. Right.

Kokichi took out his phone and checked Discord. The channel for heists had no new notifications. He put his phone away again.

God he was going to die in here. Wow, needy much? Shut up brain. Um.

Kokichi leaned over, smushing his chin against the dashboard, and occupied himself by looking at the passersby and picking out random details to build conspiracies about them. That guy’s shirt was untucked, untucked had eight letters in it, magic eight balls could see the future, eight balls were round, you know what else is round? An eyeball. Illuminati, natch. Next. That woman’s achilles tendon was chapped even though she was wearing sandals, which meant she wore heels a lot. Heel was something you said to train a dog. Who was trying to train the human race like dogs? The Illuminati. Next. That guy had really ugly hair. Looked like he used a lot of gel. Gel has three- wait, what?

Kokichi recognized that dumb hair style. It was almost like… No, it couldn’t be. The guy who had been with Saihara at the Smithsonian. What?

Kokichi didn’t let himself get excited until he spotted the slightly less dumb and slightly more familiar haircut on the guy standing next to him.

There was Shuichi Saihara, who was, apparently, the best detective in the world. Also, he was wearing a T-shirt, which was hilarious because he usually wore business casual button ups under his dark trench coat. Kokichi could see his arms, which were-

Wait, no, forget about his arms. How did any part of him even get here? How did he know? There wasn’t any way- Did he lie? HE LIED TO INTERPOL.

Wow, Saihara had more balls than Kokichi had originally anticipated. He should get out there and tickle them a little.

Kokichi started reformulating everything he had originally thought about this heist. If Saihara was going to buy into the phony heist he would have to get into the mix himself. How much would the detective have learned from their last bout in Milan? He knew about Kokichi’s head injury, surely. Kokichi stood up and headed for the door out of the bus. He would have to make his approach subtly, but the buffoon probably wouldn’t be much trouble to deal with. If anything he might make Saihara easier to trick. They were on the move, Kokichi would have to catch up. Was that woman in the hawaiian button up with them too? Yeah, it seemed like it. When she paused to look around, they paused too, looking back, presumably to see what was keeping her. Her eyes were scanning the crowd like she was some kind of terminator bot or something-

Every part of Kokichi froze when that gaze slipped past his.

He saw her face in that moment. Blunt brunette bangs. A dark birthmark. Blood red eyes.

For one shallow breath, a metallic tang poisoned the air in his lungs.

The eyes glanced unnotably over the JAXA tour bus. And then the red woman just... turned and walked away.

Saihara followed her into the building.

Kokichi sat back down.

…

…

What the fuck was she doing here. --- Shuichi Saihara’s best, it turned out, was most certainly not enough to keep pace with Maki Harukawa in a run across the Tanegashima Space Center’s beautiful green campus. Shuichi had plenty of time to admire that beautiful green color the grass had as he stood doubled over trying to catch his breath in front of the center’s main entrance.

Maki was standing by Kaito, breathing perfectly fine with only a modest sheen on her forehead as evidence of the run. Meanwhile, Shuichi was over here sweating through his t-shirt and trying not to let his lungs burst.

“Is he okay?” Kaito not so quietly whispered to Maki.

“He will be.” Maki replied, “He’s just an idiot who decided black skinny jeans were the way to go even though it’s the middle of the sunny season…”

“In my… Defense…” Shuichi panted out between gulps of air. “I didn’t… know… I’d be… running…  today…”

“Hey man, sweat’s just another word for hard work.” Kaito claimed, coming over to pat Shuichi on the back. “Awesome effort, sidekick.”

“Thanks… Kaito…” Shuichi was still trying to suppress his aching lungs into a normal pattern of breathing.

“Hold your hands over your head.” Maki advised, “It’ll open up your chest.”

Oh right, right. Shuichi should know that by now. He moved up from his hands-on-knees-to-make-sure-he-didn’t-fall-over position to one where his arms were up with his hands on his head. Immediately he found breathing easier, although the air was just as hot and stifling as before.

“You know,” Maki was looking at Kaito now. “We wouldn’t have had to run if you had been more specific before I paid for the parking permit… You said you wanted to show us the launch spectation sites, so our car is parked all the way out there...”

“Well, yeah, I did say that…” Kaito was characteristically unflustered by the accusation, “but, then I realized it would be better to show you guys the museum building first! This way we can take our time looking at the launch viewing sites without having to worry if the museum will be open or not later...”

Shuichi wondered if that was just an excuse for Kaito changing his mind about hiking when he realized how hot it was today.  Kaito had a tendency to be a little unreliable when it came to making plans with friends, but then again Shuichi also had a tendency to forgive him for that.

Maki usually did not. So when Maki just sighed and shook her head, Shuichi took that as a signal to let Kaito off the hook on this one.

…

It was so strange to think that in just another week, Shuichi wouldn’t be able to make any plans with Kaito at all…

Ugh. He shouldn’t think about that right now.

“Hey, what’s with the sour looks, you two?” Kaito’s words made Shuichi aware of his own conflicted expression, “Come on, I know what’ll cheer you up!” Kaito turned, walking towards the entrance and gesturing for them to follow him with a sweeping arm movement.

Shichi complied, but stopped when he noticed Maki wasn’t moving with them.

Instead, she was scanning the parking lot behind them with a dangerous look in her eyes…

“... Maki?” Shuichi asked hesitantly.

She didn’t seem to register him, but Kaito did, turning back around.

“Is something the matter, Maki Roll?” He called.

That seemed to snap her out of it. “It’s nothing.” She shook her head and started walking into the building. “Let’s go inside.”

“Hey, what’d I say about secrets?” Kaito confronted her, but he followed her through the doors anyway, Shuichi not far behind him.

“I never agreed to that…” Maki muttered, still walking. “But it really isn’t anything. I just felt like someone was watching us out there…”

Shuichi felt a chill go down his spine. He had also felt something off, but he thought it was just a him thing. He had been seeing the faces of DICE in random passerby ever since he touched down in Tokyo and it was setting him on edge even though he knew his suspicions were completely unsubstantiated. In fact there had been that big tour group of 9 or 8 people that passed them by while they were at the entrance... Could-

“Oh well, they probably were,” Kaito shrugged, “You know, I’m a famous astronaut and all.”

Oh. Yeah. Duh. Maybe the chill Shuichi had felt was just the museum’s AC …

“That isn’t…” Maki cut herself off, seeming to think better of whatever she had been about to say. “You’re probably right. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Alrighty, whatever you say, Maki Roll.” Kaito moved forward as if the issue was entirely settled and had maybe never been unsettled in the first place. “Now come on! I want to show you something!”

What Kaito had wanted to show them turned out to be a series of star maps that were up for display as a promotion for the upcoming launch. Included were larger infographics about which lights in the sky were actually satellites, but those weren’t what Kaito was interested in.

“Look!” He exclaimed, pointing at a section of one of the maps, “Right here! What do you see?”

“Stars?” Maki asked, looking mildly amused by her boyfriend’s enthusiasm.

“Well, yes but…”

“Oh!” Shuichi exclaimed, now pointing as well. “I recognize this one! It’s the beard of despair!”

He was pointing to a circle of stars that he and Maki had named after the cheek to cheek beard Kaito came back from his winter break with in their last year at Towa Community College.

“Hey, that’s right!” Maki exclaimed.

“Why is that the only one you guys remember…” Kaito grumbled.

Come to think about it, a lot of the stars looked familiar… “Are these the stars that appear over TCC?”

“Well, it varies depending on the season, but yeah that’s what we were looking at most of the time!”

Shuichi was overcome with a wave of nostalgia. He first met Maki and Kaito when he had been doing the mandatory two years of training it took to become a Towa City police officer after he had passed the national exam. He had been disillusioned with a future in his uncle’s practice because the idea of getting paid to dig up dirt had skeezed him out, not to mention that he still had huge doubts about his own ability as a detective to earn a living off of it. A police detective had seemed like a more secure, if more restricting, job than private detective work.

Well, maybe it was more accurate to say that Kaito had met Maki and Shuichi and then decided they were all going to be friends because he said so. He used to make them meet him in the school court yard every night after dark to do exercises of various kinds. Sometimes they put aside exercise in lieu of star gazing when Kaito was in the mood.

“Hey, do you remember when Kaito told us which planets he thought were most like us?” Maki asked Shuichi, probably remembering the same times he was, “And when we asked him what planet he was, he said the sun?”

Shuichi squinted. “Oh yeah… I think I remember…” he vaguely recalled thinking that the planet Kaito assigned him was weird, but he didn’t remember why or which planet it was.

“Well, now that I know more about space and stuff, I think he was right.”

“Aww… Maki Roll.”

She smiled a little. “Yeah… The sun is a big ball of gas, just like him.”

“Hey!” Kaito smacked his chest, acting as if taken aback, but Shuichi was pretty sure he was secretly delighted that Maki admitted to knowing more about space now.

Maki laughed, “This is what you get for talking about astronomy every night…”

Shuichi remarked to himself how long it had taken for Maki’s laugh to seem commonplace in a conversation. She was really a lot more open then she had been when they spent those first few nights under the stars. It was understandable, though, considering…

“Which planets did you say we were again?” Shuichi found himself asking.

“Hm?” Kaito paused, squinting for a second in thought. “Uh… I’m pretty sure it was…”

“You said I was Mars,” Maki supplied, “And I think Shuichi was Venus.”

“Oh yeah!” Kaito made a sort of ‘That’s it!’ gesture with his palm and fist, “Maki was Mars because she tried to seem dry and uninhabitable, but there was definitely a frozen ocean in there somewhere, and Shuichi, you were Venus, because even though you thought you tried to blend in with the stars all the time, sometimes you could appear in the day as a second sun!”

Huh. That was pretty nice to say, but Shuichi wasn’t sure it was what he remembered…

“Oh, wait.” Maki interjected, “Didn’t you say something else last time?”

“Hm?” Kaito put on his ‘I’m remembering something’ face again. “Did I say… Oh yeah!” He laughed. “I said Venus suited Shuichi because Venus is the goddess of love and Shuichi’s clients keep falling in love with him!”

Shuichi suddenly remembered exactly why he had been so offended by Kaito’s characterization of him all those years ago.

Maki gave him a bemused look, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the face you made last time too...”

“Yeah, that’s because it’s a really weird thing to say about my clients Kaito…”

“Oh yeah?” Kaito grinned now that he wasn’t the one being teased, “You can’t say I’m really wrong though, bro…”

Shuichi shook his head, “A detective can’t think that way about his clients! It’s exploitative!”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t stop them from thinking that way about you…” Maki pointed out.

“I- What- Maki-” Shuichi did not want to talk about this actually, he turned to Kaito hoping for some kind of escape, but his so-called friend just shook his head.

“You gotta face facts some time, Shuichi. You’re a heart-throb!”

“I don’t know what you mean…” Shuichi was finding that there was nowhere to hide his face and he cursed himself for letting Kaede talk him out of wearing his hat again.

“What about that girl who gave you chocolates?”

Oh, why had he told Maki that story?

“They were just for gratitude-”

“What about the guy who invited you on his yacht?”

Maybe asking his friends to help him out on cases all these years had been a mistake…

“That was to set up a trap for the-”

“The person who asked you out for dinner?”

Hghk.

“That was only to meet another contact-” “But then the contact didn’t show up and it was just the two of you.”

“They got in a car accident!”

What about the guy who pretended to be your husband on a plane? His own brain supplied rather unhelpfully.

*Bweeeeoop* *Bweeeeoop* *Bweeeeoop*

Shuichi had never been so grateful to hear an alarm sound off in his entire life.

Maki and Kaito stopped railing into him, looking around as if to see where the noise was coming from.

“I didn’t even know we had one of those…” Kaito muttered, barely audible over the continuing beep of the alarm. “I’m going to go ask someone what’s going on.” He declared, before storming off into a door marked ‘employees only.’

Maki, seemingly unperturbed by the sign, was about to follow him, but Shuichi grabbed her arm.

“Wait,” He said, retracing his own memory, “Come with me, please.”

“What?” She looked at him like he was crazy. “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere I’m more likely to get in a fight than Kaito…” Under scrutiny, Shuichi found that he didn’t recall seeing that group of suspicious tourists among the exhibits… They disappeared at the entrance, which was by the...

Shuichi started making a beeline for the gift shop, untying his coat and wrestling it onto his shoulders as he went.

“You two are so high maintenance…” Maki grumbled, following him nonetheless.

Sure, Shuichi had thought his gift shop theory was pretty on point, but when he got to the doorway of said gift shop the cartoonishly big mallet coming down over his head took him by surprise.

Maki grabbed him, pulling him back just in time. “Watch where you’re going, idiot.” She scolded him before grabbing the hammer and pulling it out of the hands holding it, which were the gloved hands of, you guessed it, a clown with a checkered scarf, standing over the doorway and poised to pounce.

This wasn’t one of the DICE members Shuichi recognized, but it seemed that they recognized him.

“What the hell is this guy doing here?” They called back into the shop, where Shuichi realized two other DICE members were shoving freeze dried ice cream into a bag, before diving down and trying to sweep Maki’s feet from under her. Maki jumped up and tried to use the gravity of her dodge to kick the clown in the head, but the clown rolled away, hopping back up, where Maki was waiting to meet them with their own mallet in the face.

Shuichi heard a sickening crack and the clown crumpled to the floor.

“Rook!” The leaner looking of the two members grabbing ice cream dropped his bag and ran up to help his friend.

“Maki!” Shuichi exclaimed, rather horrified at this level of violence, “They’re just thieves!”

“What?” Maki asked, unshaken. When she saw Shuichi’s expression, she blinked as if genuinely confused. Then she straightened up in a gesture that Shuichi recognized as sheepish even though her tone remained flat as she clarified, “That wasn’t the clown’s skull, it was the hammer.” She raised the big mallet to show him the end of it, which had popped off, “This is just a toy.”

“Yeah! That don’t mean it don’t smart, lady!” The one on the floor, ‘Rook’ if their friend was to be believed, waved off the other DICE member, rubbing their face under their mask.

“Was I talking to you?” Maki fixed the clown with her patented death glare, taking the stick of the broken mallet and twirling it into a fighting ready position like a bo staff.

“Where’s your boss?” Shuichi muttered aloud. “And the rest of you for that matter…” Maybe the gift shop was a distraction, it didn’t seem like the most attention had been given to it. Then again if there were something happening further inside the facilities then Kaito’s people were probably wise to it by now, so there might not be any point in wondering...

“I dunno, ask your mom!” The bearded DICE member standing next to ‘Rook’ threw something at him.

Maki acted quickly, hitting the object dead-on with the broken mallet handle before it could smack him in the face. It burst open, and by the time Shuichi realized it was a smoke bomb his eyes were already stinging from exposure.

“Gah!” He exclaimed, hiding his face in his arm to prevent himself from inhaling the smoke.

Maki, however, ignored the smoke, pressing forward into the gift shop.

Shuichi stayed back, blocking the doorway and tried to remember if he had seen an external entrance to the gift shop. The question was dismissed from his mind as he heard the clattering of shattering glass and remembered that these thieves had no qualms about making their own exits. When the smoke cleared, Shuichi saw that Maki was now holding the bag stuffed with freeze dried ice cream. She dropped it and started walking towards the wall of windows opposite to the entrance. She pulled back her hair and grabbed the side of the window like she was going to try and climb out the hole at the top, which the clowns seemed to have escaped out of.

Except… As Shuichi came up the steps from the entrance he didn’t see any clowns beyond the window. Remembering DICE’s knack for misdirection, Shuichi did a quick glance around the room and… There!

“Maki!” He called as he moved forward, “There’s a sliding door back by the register!”

It was open just a jar, and as Shuichi got closer he spotted the last DICE member vaulting over the balcony just outside.

Maki beat him to the door, sliding it open and hopping on the balcony. She paused for a second, then turned back to look at him. “Stay here.” She ordered, as if it had crossed her mind Shuichi might try to scale down the wall as well.

He would have found it weird that Maki would take the time to tell him something so obvious as ‘you would fall if you tried this,’ but Shuichi remembered what Maki had said to him before, about not wanting to be alone again. He nodded in an effort to reassure her. “Right, I’ll call the police.”

She seemed satisfied with this, turning around and shifting off the balcony to climb down the wall. Shuichi, in the meantime, pulled out his phone and called 110. The operator put him through to the Kukinaga substation, which was the Tanegashima police station only four minutes away from the space center. Shuichi reported what had happened, and the substation representative asked him to stay put to give a report to the officers when they arrived. He voiced acquiescence and thanked the representative before hanging up.

And then Shuichi was standing alone in a gift shop with broken glass and a bag full of freeze dried ice cream on the ground. He noticed some things he hadn’t before. For instance, it looked like the gift shop was partially divided into a sort of cafe, with a freezer full of purchasable food and tables by the windows to sit and eat. For some reason, he decided that sitting alone in a gift shop with broken glass and a bag full of freeze dried ice cream on the ground would be marginally better, so he pulled out one of the chairs, sitting at the table.

…

It was weird how much time Shuichi sat around, waiting for things to happen. Well, maybe less weird and more just plain old pathetic… He wasn’t really the action type like Maki and Kaito were. A lot of his work as a detective was done in the aftermath of events. He was usually only trying to figure out what had already happened. This whole DICE thing was a bit of a change of pace, requiring him to be able to predict the next course of events and perhaps even stop potential crimes. Except, well, maybe he wasn’t so good at that part of it… Today was pretty clear evidence of that. This gift shop robbery was obviously a ruse covering up some sort of bigger crime. Something similar had happened in Egypt, where in order to keep one room’s artifacts secure, Shuichi had to alert the actual museum security to take care of things. Except, had that really been the right choice? The entire museum besides the room Shuichi was in were rugless because he refused to take action. Shuichi knew that staying in this gift shop would prevent it from being robbed, but he had to weigh that against the great uncertainty of what was happening elsewhere right now. It just felt shitty, knowing he could do nothing right now but wait. It had been part of the reason being a detective had yucked him out when he was a teen. For a while he had been solving exclusively murder cases, which were the worst way to be reminded his job was usually only useful after the horrible things happen… Maybe working on the DICE case had felt good because so much of the work was preventative. Predicting where DICE would strike next always gave him the hope that the next time would be the last and it would all be thanks to him… How stupid…

A memory flashed through his head

“You’re really something else, Shuichi.” A face very close to his had said.

Maybe that was something else about the case that felt good. Chasing DICE’s leader had been light and exciting. A mystery less pursued out of a sense of requirement or needed justice, but rather because the mystery itself was genuinely intriguing. Shuichi had started out fearing that DICE may have had some sort of tie to organized crime or some sort of international conspiracy, but… After investigating into such ties and looking at all past robberies attributed to them, Shuichi had turned up nothing. It was almost comical how good these clowns were at going about their globetrotting crime-spree untraced. And it was weird that Shuichi kept crossing paths with them by almost complete happenstance. Sure, he had predicted their movements in DC, Paris, Reno, and Milan, but Egypt, Taipei, and now… Yeah, completely by chance. Unless… DICE weren’t following him, were they? No, there really would be no point to that at all… Hah, Shuichi was starting to see why Interpol suspected that he had ties with-

Oh, fuck. Interpol.

For about four minutes, Shuichi had forgotten how much trouble he was going to be in. --- [Log of Text Messages from Kaito Momota’s Cellular Device]

From: Me

Hey where are you guys?

I can’t find you anywhere?

From: My Sidekick

Sorry I’m talking to the police right now

From: Me

What??

Bro

I’m gonna need like

A follow up on that

From: Maki Roll

Did you not know the police were here?

From: Me

Uh no

Should I have?

Oh I get it

They’re here about the alarm right?

Well you can tell them it's nothing to worry about

We figured out that a sleeping security guard tripped it on accident...

From: Maki Roll

The museum got robbed

From: Me

What??

From: Maki Roll

Well Shuichi thinks something was stolen

I’m pretty sure I chased the clowns away though

From: Me

Wait the clowns are here?

From: My Sidekick

Sorry Kaito! I’m back

Maki is being questioned now

The alarm going off was probably staged as part of the distraction

Did you check the other exhibits to see if anything was stolen?

From: Me

Yeah everythings fine we did a whole check

From: My Sidekick

What about other buildings on the campus?

Anything missing?

From: Me

Nope everything is where it should be

From: My Sidekick

Well I guess that’s somewhat of a relief

Although that does open up a lot of questions about what exactly happened here…

From: Me

Shuichi I need you to come down to the Space center building

The one with the rocketship

Like right now

From: My Sidekick

What?

What happened?

Kaito?

From: Maki Roll

Where are you guys?

The police are gone and you’re not by the space center

From: Me

We’re chilling in the museum gift shop

From: Maki Roll

What?

It’s not closed?

Isn’t it a crime scene right now?

From: Me

Nah nothing was really stolen

So me and Shuichi were fixing the window

But now we are c h i l l i n g

From: Maki Roll

Huh

I thought you might be investigating still

From: Me

Nah

Shuichi needed to do something with his hands

From: Maki Roll

Oh so you mean Shuichi was fixing the window and you were watching

From: Me

I was moral support!

From: Maki Roll

You know you won’t be able to get other people to do your chores when you’re in space…

From: My Sidekick

He wasn’t making me do it

It was something I needed to do

To like

Avoid freaking out

From: Maki Roll

Oh

Are you okay?

From: My Sidekick

Yes

I just uh

Lost an entire space engine and i can’t do anything about it

From: Maki Roll

What?

From: Me

He did NOT lose a space engine

He was interrupted while doing an investigation on our STOLEN rocket engine

From: Maki Roll

What????

The engine in your shuttle was stolen???

Are you not concerned about that? You can’t fly without one of those right?

From: Me

Hey we’ll find it!

Or maybe we’ll build a new one

It doesn’t matter I’m going to space no matter what!

From: Maki Roll

Wait and you’re not out looking for it right now?

From: Me

Well Shuichi was having a moment here

And hey when it comes to looking after your ride or looking after your sidekick your sidekick has gotta come first

From: Maki Roll

A moment?

From: My Sidekick

I

Uh

Found out I’m on red notice

From: Maki Roll

What’s that

From: My Sidekick

Uh

It like

Means that

Interpol thinks I should be arrested

But Interpol doesn’t actually have the power to arrest me

So they’ve basically told every recognized country in the world to arrest me if I’m spotted

So maybe Japan will try to arrest me if they find that they agree with interpol that I should be arrested

From: Maki Roll

What??

Did you do something???

From: Me

No! He didn’t!

Get this

Some asshole in a green coat just came up

And told Shuichi that his boss thinks Shuichi is too good of a detective to be doing things legally

But it's like

No actually he really is just that good

From: My Sidekick

Hhhhghhhghghhghg

That was Agent Sakakura

Them sending him means they really want me dead…

From: Maki Roll

That’s so stupid

You’re just doing your damn job

Hey do you want me to kill that guy for you?

Because it sounds like he sucks and I will totally kill him for you

From: Me

No you won’t because killing is not good

But your anger is valid I am also very angry about this

From: My Sidekick

Hghfgfhhghhhgggggggggg

From: Me

Hmmm Maki roll Shuichi needs to vent some more so we’ll stop texting

From: Maki Roll

Ok

I’m bringing the car over

Tell me if you want me to kill someone for you Shuichi

From: My Sidekick

No thank you

But I appreciate the sentiment --- [Log of Messages sent via Discord to “#boss-where-he-shouldnt-be” from ???’s Cellular Device]

Ace: Hey, I know this is like a meme chat

Ace: But it's like the only one boss doesn’t have access to

Ace: And I wanted to know if anyone has noticed anything up with him?

Ace: Because I feel like he’s been kinda weird since we got the rocket

Queen: It’s not a rocket its an engine

Queen: In fact it’s actually only about 2/3s of an engine

King: What do you mean weird?

Queen: Rocket engines are built with mechanisms of fuel oxidization that won’t be strictly necessary for an aircraft that isn’t designed to operate in 0 ppm oxygen environments

Queen: So we’ll have to substitute it with an intake mechanism

Queen: Although the pre-existing combustion mechanism is EXQUISITE

Rook: No one cares queen

Queen: Its an important distinction

Hearts: Queen we have a channel for infodumping

Hearts: rn this channel is for gossiping about boss

Ace: He’s been quiet

Ace: Idk ive been worrying about it

King: Do you think it has to do with his injury?

Ace: Naw like

Ace: I feel like he was actin weird because of that before the space station

Ace: But now he’s actin weird a different way

Ace: Like before he seemed a little terse

Ace: And now he’s like catatonic in conversation

Queen: wym

Queen: I literally talked to him five seconds ago

Rook: no wait that is suspicious

Rook: if I were him I wouldn’tve just sat there and let you yap

Queen: oh shut up

Rook: MAKE ME

Ace: honestly i don’t know

Ace: but like you guys saw that detective guy there right

Ace: Do you think something happened with them that we didn’t see

King: What??

Jack: Oh you mean how boss definitely has a crush on him

King: What?????

Jack: Literally in Paris he dropped his entire 100 page plan just to go bully that guy

Jack: He’s like a middle schooler pulling pig tails

Hearts: Hmm… Hate to bring it down but pulling pigtails is a misogynistic notion that reinforces the normalization of violence against women...

Jack: It's true tho

Jack: My pigtails got pulled all the time because as you all know I am extremely attractive

Hearts: Maybe they were just bullying you darling

Spades: Yeah I can see that /s

Spades: Hey you know who really normalizes violence against women?

Spades: That detective guy

Spades: He flipped me in Milan!

Spades: Guy knows fucking aikido or some shit

Spades: And boss isn’t really a fan of violence

Rook: No wait

Queen: What? I thought he really liked yamikawaii shit

Rook: Even though that guy’s friend literally gave me a black eye

Spades: No I’m pretty sure he hates it

Rook: I see what Jack is saying

Rook: Boss totally has a thing for him

Rook: Like literally you can see the hearts pop into his eyes when he spots that guy

Rook: He dropped a display case on my foot when you told him the detective was in Cairo

Ace: Okay well thats not what I meant though

Jack: What you mean you don’t think he got his heart broken by aged up kid conan

Clubs: Conan’s name in his adult form is Shinichi Kudo.

Clubs: Also I think that talking behind Boss’s back is kind of not cool guys. :(

Spades: If you snitch I’m firing you from being my brother

Clubs: :(

Ace: I just meant like maybe he embarrassed himself platonically

Ace: Or I guess adversarially? Idk whatever word you would use for that

Queen: kismesissitude

Ace: What?

Spades: I will swiftly execute you

King: I mean i guess i could see him getting bent out of shape about that

King: But we were kinda onto the detective the whole time

King: I don’t think they would’ve had time to interact at all

Jack: Maybe he’s just sad he missed him

Ace: Ok sorry I don’t know if he’s sad

Ace: Just maybe in a weird mood

Ace: We haven't been in japan for a while and we haven't stuck around a place for more than a week in an even longer while

Ace: It’s putting me in a weird mood too so maybe that’s it

Hearts: Yeah he always likes to be on the move maybe he’s just antsy

King: Or maybe he feels bad cuz Rook got kinda beat up today?

King: I mean I feel bad about that

Rook: I’m okay <3

King: I know <3

Queen: Gross

Queen: You two are literally sitting right next to each other get a room

Bishop: He seems fine to me

Spades: Oh wow Bishop stopped scarfing for a second to weigh in...

Bishop: And by fine I mean terrible because he just dipped his pork dumpling in his panta right in front of me

Bishop: Also you guys know he can see you texting each other right

Bishop: We’re literally all eating at the same table rn

Queen: Oh yeah

Spades: Oops

[scripted-dalliances]

Rest In Peace: Chapter Nine

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 9

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

A/N: This chapter introduces more Egyptian gods, which now really divides it from Season Two. So I guess now they are just my interpretations, and they will be tweaked with accordingly. 

“It always ends, that's what gives it value.” Neil Gaiman

+

As it happens, they seek death but it's death that finds them, sitting in the shade of a roadside attraction as Sweeney attempts to get Horus to eat something other than peanuts and chips. So far, the young man has only eaten his fries and nibbled incrementally on the edges of a burger.

“Maybe he's a vegetarian?” Laura questions.

“He was a hawk, Not a fucking rabbit, he is just being picky because its cooked. Which he'll have to learn to love. Seeing how he is a real boy again.”Mad Sweeney says pointedly at the young god beside him.

Horus pouts, he is dressed in what they could find on the way here, mostly from gas stations. Cheap black flats, ugly bright orange beach shorts. A too-large t-shirt that was a horrible masterpiece of three photo shopped wolves all howling at a neon colored moon.

Laura elbows Sweeney in the gut and gestures with her face to change the young god's expression. The leprechaun huffs angrily, but in the end trades the last of his fries for the hardly touched burger.

“He will have to learn some day, dead girl. Someone catches him snatching mice with his bare hands and trying to gobble them up and that will be the end of that.”

“He has never been much of a fan of eating cow, ” Says a new voice, filled with undue mirth. “You should have started with cooked fish.”

It turns out to be a woman, tall as nearly Sweeney himself with flawless dark skin. She looks beautiful, in that kind of way that holds your gaze, with her cat like gold eyes and sensual full lips. She looks like she should be a model, spread across glossy magazines and plastered on bill boards for all to see, just that unreal and perfect. 

At once, Horus is leaping up and hooting with joy to greet her. The new woman smiles gently and opens her arms to capture him up in a hug. Pulling him close to her chest and raining down kisses on his cheeks with tenderness only allowed for a lost love one. Its a warm reunion.

Finally, after a few more softy whispered exchanges the woman looks up to the pair watching them.

“Horus has been lost to us for many years, and it has always been difficult to keep him human for long. So, thank you.”

“We just gave him a lift.” Laura explains. It wasn’t even a long one considering. Maybe a state line.

“You provide a safe journey, and returned him home. Kept him human longer than he has been in decades, that’s no easy task.” The beautiful woman explains gently. There is a musical quality to her voice, that makes it impossible for Laura to fight. Its so soothing she can do nothing but accept the thanks

“Nephthys.” Mad Sweeney says. “I didn’t think you lived near these parts.” Last time he had checked on the gods here, she had been rumored to have left for New York, she dealt with grief and mourning. Perhaps a different her was more involved in the death part of things, but like most she had to cut and learn to live off the lean meats of faith she could obtain.

Nephthys, winds her fingers with Horus long claw like digits and joins to sit with them. With her designer dress and heels, she looks out of place at the dirty burger joint but none of that matters. She radiates such a calm energy that Laura likes instinctively. A rare thing that she questions just a little, deep down.

“I was called home, and was on my way when I felt Horus. There is concern about the coming war…among other things. Perhaps you felt the pull of home too, nephew?” She directs this to Horus who nods.

“Even the winds are changing.”

She nods like this makes sense and continues, “There are only a few of us left, and many have all but lost our powers, but when war comes we have always stood together. This is no different.”

Laura frowns, “I thought you guys were staying out of it.”

“We do not fear the end, nor do we have any urge renew ourselves to previous grandeur. Not at the expense of justice and order. It makes it hard to manipulate us.”

“You think that’s what this was, a manipulation?” Sweeney interjects, tone just shy of angry. He had joined the war efforts after all, had for a brief -insane- moment believed in it. Things had changed, grew more complicated but he hates to be played the fool. “Grimnir was a right cunt, but there is no denying the other side ain't much better. War between our sides was going to come sooner or later.”

“I think it's awfully convenient for a disused war god to lead a war of gods. Old against new, for ownership of a future that isn’t ours to choose. Time changes all things. Even belief, and once upon a time even the oldest of us was considered new. Odin was only selling what those who fear death feel the need to buy. A place in the world, that lasts forever, high above the end of all things.” She smiled sadly. “And you don't have to be a god to know that sounds too good to be true. All things must eventually end. To challenge that, ruins the whole point. Of life, death and after.” Nephthys looks Mad Sweeney in the eyes, “Mess with the natural order too much and it tends to mess with you back.”

He nods and accepts her words, she isn't wrong and deep down Sweeney admits he really only joined Grimnir and his stupid war for the chance of a end. A good one, that he could sneak into without losing too much.

He was done running and playing a coward from his own death, so what leg did he have to stand on? Fucking none. The only reason he wasn't trying his all to get back into the game was because he owed Laura too much and that would have to come first.

“Since we did you a favor, mind giving us one in return?” He questions bluntly. Nephthys nods, and he continues. “We need to find the brothers. Anubis and Ibris. Dead girl here has some questions about the after life, or lack of it.”

For a second, her gold eyes light up with amusement, but then Horus whispers into her ear and the look fades into carefully poised seriousness. “I can give their address, it's not far from here, but...if I may be so bold, Laura Moon. I don't think they can help you.”

“What? Why?”

“My kin knows a great deal about death, of bone and tissue, of preserving it past it's prime. Of dealing with the spirit that is cage within it, but neither of them will know what to do with you. You are much more than just dead. If you want answers, you'll have to look else where.”

Sweeney doesn't need eyes in his head to feel the anger flow off Laura's tiny form next to him. It echoes like a siren, warning him that if he doesn't intervene things are going to get nasty very quickly. Instead of trying to pacify Laura -only a mad man would try that route, and he's not as mad as he used to be- he puts himself forward to the goddess.

“Are you going to tell us where to look, or to just fuck off? -because I don't suggest the latter. She might look like a tiny thing, but she's got my coin in her belly and recently beheaded a god with nothing but her own anger and a stolen sword. That's luck and balls, and it's a winning combination if there ever was one.”

Nepnthys throws back her head and laughs, it's a nice one.

“Oh. I know.” She tells them with evident joy, “She won't stop talking about it. There have been those who seek life after death before, Laura Moon. Many have tried, few succeed.” She tilts her head, reading something written invisible on the face of the dead girl and amends her words. “Laura McCabe. Christians have their Lazarus, the Greeks have Orpheus, all of them share a certain seed of an old story. And that's what you are seeking, yes? A mortal death, a return to mortal life.”

“I'm not asking for much. Just what is owed.”

The goddess bestows her a smile, kind in gesture but never the less just a little sad.

“You are owed more than that, and my sister has every intention of helping you get it.”

Laura doesn't understand the context of Nepnthys's words but Sweeney fucking does. Ice sinks into his veins, nearly stopping his heart. There are rumors, there always have been, about the really old ones. What they've done to survive this new world, where they hide and who keeps their faith for them in secret. Most are lies, tales spun for the sake of giving the rest of them some hope.

Then there are the ones, like Isis who make the rest of them look like fucking children.

“Fuck me.” Mad Sweeney says under his breath. Fuck.

+

“Want to explain what's got you so spooked?” Laura questions as soon as she can. Nephthys and Horus are getting comfortable in the back of the car. Who had been invited by the latter to join them. Laura herself didn’t mind and Sweeney had been mutely polite since it turned out that the ancient Egyptian goddess accepted the claim of shot gun seriously. 

Now she has the chance to question that silent while the two of them pump gas and grab snacks for the rest of the trip.

“This is good right? Far as I can tell, she's not a dick and bird boy ain't exactly all there enough to lie so whats got your panties in a bunch? This could get me my life back and your coin in your hands within a weeks time. Why are you acting like you're scared of her.”

Mad Sweeney tucks his hands into the soft joints of her elbows with forced tenderness, and yet she still feels a burst of hungry heat. Clawing up her veins and nerves, consuming her in a flash of burning that makes her shiver with the desire of more.

“That's why.” He says, pulling off his touch quickly and making her want to wage violence to get it back. It's only the insanity of that thought that keeps her from doing so. “Neph ain't a bad lass, always had a weak spot for the dying and dead. As far as guides go, you could have worse, lemme tell ya, but it ain't her I'm shaking in my boots about.”

“Her sister. Isis.”

He nods, “Heavy hitter if there ever was one, and she knows about you and what you did to Odin.”

Laura picks up on what he's trying not to say out loud. He thinks this could be a trap.

“And the touch thing?” She he questions and then nearly falls back. She has shit vision these days, what with her eyes on the verge of popping out of their sockets and maggots threatening to make homes in the cavities, but she would bet with the golden coin that she just saw him blush. “Oh, okay, you are going to explain what that reaction was. Right now. Spill it.”

“Fuck you.” He retorts, a knee gut reaction to anything she says these days, “Fuck you, this is all your fault. This is what you wanted, alright?” Sweeney hisses, offended as he is embarrassed by his own racing heart. “An equal little give and take, remember? I believe, you believe and we both get what we want.”

She blinks at him, “Yeah, and?”

“Put it together dead girl.” When she doesn't, he hangs his head and curses. Then stomps. Then sighs and eventually says, “Remember...remember the  story of your mum and the local minister?”

“Uh, yeah. The story about my mother having an affair,” She crosses her arms, anger rising. “Didn't really ever forget. What the fuck does that have to do with anything.”

“Recall that crack I made, that it was her, offering herself up to her god of choice?”

“Yeah-” She starts, but then stops because oh holy fucking hell. “You are fucking kidding me.”

“Wish I was. Except, you ain't just been believing in me, have you Laura.” He says, voice wavering like the wind across the plains, “You saved my life, you hold all my luck. Everything that I am, you've got, and that ain't just some bullshit thing a casual follower or a believer does. That...that's some other level shit. The likes of my kind don't come down for the mountains to dance with your lot, one on one for a fuckin’ reason. It's dangerous. Addicting. Every touch is playing with fire, with magic. Growing and twisting us together. Could wreck us both if we aren't careful...once or twice, we might be able to get away with. Might be tricky, but it's been done before. Keep fuckin’ about with it and who knows.”

“Why the fuck didn't you say anything!”

In an instant, he's there. Towering above her, with a heaving chest and furious gaze, ready to spit in her face. “Because what the fuck was I going to say? By the way, cunt who likes to punch me thrice a day and twice as much on Sunday, guess what? You're tied to me forever, because you don't know how to just believe in something. You had to know it, didn't you? All my secrets and then some, had to dig between my ribs and take my heart too.” In any other context, between two different people this would be a romantic speech. But he doesn't say it with passionate affection, he says it between gritted teeth and resentment. “And you opened yourself up to hide it. So now your blood heats and rushes for me because it sings for my touch and mine does the same, dead girl because we are two sides of the same spinning coin now. Of believer and belief.”

The confession drains her, she feels the earth spin under her feet.

“I believe in you, you believe in me.” She whispers.

“Aye, and now because neither of us do things by halves, we've fucked ourselves good and proper. Binding the likes of these rarely end pretty, something always gives. Nothing ever ends without a lesson. Like I'll get me coin back but lose my hands. You’ll get your shit life back complete with Mr.Moon and the next day you'll choke on your poptart.” He chances a glance over her shoulder to the back of the car. He can't see them, but he knows the gods are watching. “If things go sour, they will so faster if they know. So keep your hands to yourself and I'll do the same.” Sweeney tells her, putting his best authoritative voice on.

She only just keeps herself from breaking his hand out of resentment.

“Some how, I think I'll be able to control myself.” Laura replies with venom, turning from him and heading back to the car. Wrenching the driver's side open with such force that the metal whines like a broken beast before she slams it shut loud and hard enough to make him wince in sympathy.

Fuck.

This was going to be a fun car ride.

>

[rambling-at-midnight]

Protection: Part 2

Pairing: Mob!Tom x Reader

Warnings: Violence

Rule Number One: Never give them anything extra.

Rule Number Two: Take anything they offer you as long as you can be sure it’s not poisoned

Rule Number Three: Never trust anyone. Not even someone on your side.

Those were the three rules that governed your life. You’d memorized them before you’d memorized the alphabet. Your dad, especially, had taught you what he meant by Rule Number Three: even those on your side will hurt you, and he’d drilled it into your brain with multiple methods, most of which resulted in bruises and cuts on your part.

Don’t trust anyone, not even your blood.

Not anyone.

So when this vaguely-familiar pretty-boy tries to smile at you to gain your trust, you don’t even waver. You’d like to take him, yes, even right here, because damn is he pretty but you don’t trust him, not one inch. It’s like the bullet in your thigh is expelling all the weak blood that was in your body and leaving only the hardness your father had created.

You are your father’s creation, and you are made of nothing but feathers and glass, and you will not shatter.

You force yourself to visibly relax, blushing (even though that isn’t forced) at him, and ask timidly, “Who are you?” You realize the ‘shy’ act might not work, considering his first impression of you is violent, but you’ve already started and you can’t back out now.

“My name is Tom, darling,” he responds, still not moving. The eyebrow he lifts tells you that he doesn’t buy the act.

Your mouth straightens out into a thin line. Of course. He doesn’t even need to say his last name; you know exactly who he is: Thomas fucking Holland. His father was possibly the only man your father feared. Now you know why he’s so familiar; you’ve met him before at parties. His curls hadn’t been slicked back before, but his accent is still the same and you can see the resemblance between the scrawny kid he’d been then and the pretty boy he is now.

Remember, your father had said the last time you’d ever seen him, don’t do business with the Hollands. Then he’d gone out to do business with them and never returned, leaving you to live out your life in a relatively large house—ginormous for one person and a dog—not needing to do anything your whole life. You couldn’t spend everything your father had left to you in three lifetimes. Still, being smart and knowing that he had gone to business with the Hollands and never came back and they might want some money, you spread it out into multiple bank accounts, all under different names and some even in different countries.

That’s what this is, though they’ve taken their sweet time getting around to it: your father died nearly two years ago. That was around the time you stopped working, because now that you had your inheritance there wasn’t a point. Besides, the money is slowly increasing as it sits in the bank because of interest or something. In six years or so, it’ll already have fucktupled in size.

“So you want money?” you say flatly. Rule Number One, already out the window.

He laughs. “Darling, I always want money, but that’s not what this is about.”

You eye him, unconvinced, and sniff. “Well, you’ve made your point: I don’t have enough protection from you. Next time you come around, I’ll be sufficiently prepared.”

Charlotte lets out a scoff from behind Tom. You glare at her, knowing that it carries enough heat to sufficiently cow someone. It had come in handy in your job two years ago, but you’d gotten lax with your training. Your father would shudder if he could see you now: you’re getting soft. You can imagine the beating.

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Tom turns around and shoots Charlotte in the head. A few of the workers flinch away from the show, but they don’t look especially shocked or sad. You don’t flinch; you’ve seen much worse in your line of work. “She was getting annoying,” he says by way of explanation as she crumples to the ground, not that you needed one. You’re much too glad to see metal in her head. “Somebody better clean that mess up too!” he yells over his shoulder.

“I haven’t stolen anything from you,” you say flatly. Someone coughs behind you but you don’t turn to look. Your vision is starting to blur, but that might be his plan: wait until you pass out to take you. Good thing you’re quite good at staying awake, only you were already fighting unconsciousness even before Charlotte showed up behind you.

He laughs and remarks, “You haven’t stolen anything from anyone recently.”

You shrug; it’s true. You’re already uncomfortably rich.

“Normally I would like to have you come work for me, but—”

“You murdered my father,” you butt in.

He raises one eyebrow again. “Last I heard, that was more of a favor to you.”

You can’t deny it; you fall silent.

“But there’s a price on your head, as of”—he checks his watch—“two hours ago, and I’m here to bring you to my house.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” If there’s a price on your head, he should be shooting you and collecting it. You lean more heavily on your left leg, and his thin lips curl up into a mocking smile. You ignore the pain radiating up your leg; you’d rather bleed to death than ask for help. You’d rather bleed to death on your neighbor’s lawn than be stitched up by Tom fucking Holland before he tortures you or something for your money.

“Doesn’t it, love?” he smirks. He’s twisting in front of your eyes now, and the spots around him that are in your vision but not what you’re focusing on are turning white and hazy, like tunnel vision, which is a common thing for people who are about to die. If you’re about to die, you can at least die knowing your fuckton of money is going to the shelter—once the police figure out which bank accounts belong to you. Now you think about it, the shelter’s probably not gonna get all your money, and it’ll just keep collecting forever.

“I signed a contract to protect you until you get married. Now get in the car before you bleed out.”

“Who did you sign the contract for?” you ask, disregarding his ‘concern’ for your leg.

He shrugs. You cross your arms and stare at him. You’re going to win this staring contest.

Sure enough, after a few long moments, his eyes begin to water and he looks away, blinking furiously. You smirk.

“Your father,” he mutters, looking up at the sky to prevent the moisture from falling from his eyes. The glare he sends you is pure loathing, and you’ve no doubt that if it wasn’t for the contract, he’d shoot you right between the eyes.

You have a feeling this is the first time someone’s ever talked back to him, as he’s the most powerful person in Britain, including the Queen. “What if I never get married?”

“Until you get married or turn sixty,” he corrects.

You scoff and turn your head to look at the fancy cars. “Wow, guess dear ol’ Dad had a lot of confidence in me.” You replay the conversation quickly in your head, trying to find any weak spots in his argument, and come up with one question: “Who’s got money on my head and why, exactly? And how’d you find out and get here faster than anyone else?”

“We’ve been watching you for two years, darling, I think it’s safe to say we’re closer than some people in my country,” Tom explains. His accent makes him say dah-ling instead of darling and honestly, you’ve heard worse things. You just wish he wasn’t Tom fucking Holland.

“You only answered a third of my questions,” you point out, starting to tap your right foot but stopping when that jostles the bullet in your leg too much. He stares at the red spot on your leg and a flash of something streaks across his face before the smirk is back, but you know you saw that—what? Pain? Sympathy? You’d have thought hell would freeze over before Tom Holland would feel sympathy for someone.

“A perfectly lovely boy named Dylan O’Brien,” the mobster boss says carelessly, “says that you apparently stole from him.”

You groan and roll your eyes. “That’s such bullshit. Can’t you kill him?”

“I’ll start talking when you’re inside the car,” he says, nodding to a car. Since you’re sagging against nothing now, and angry that an entitled boy who’s threatened by your reputation is what’s turning your life upside down, you finally concede. No matter if Holland tortures you for money; you’ll escape anyway to kill Dylan, and if this is all a lie, you’ll still go and kill Dylan, because you didn’t like his attitude.

The mobster’s hands twitch when you half-walk, half-hop past him, but one glare from you is enough to make him pull his hands back and watch you enter the car. You just hope you’re not willingly walking into your doom. Rule Number Three out the window as well. Guess only Two’s left.

A blond boy who looks to be the same age as Holland and who is just as handsome as Holland looks up at you and smirks when you hop over to a seat. “I don’t think it’s ever taken him that long to convince someone to do something,” he mentions carelessly, shoving his phone into his pocket.

Holland clambers in after you, muttering a “Shut up, Haz,” and takes a seat across from you. You take mental note that this ‘Haz’ is probably his friend, most likely his second-in-command, and so Holland is more lenient with him than other people.

A curvaceous redhead climbs into the car as well, giving everyone ample looks at her cleavage in the process, and you sigh angrily and rest your head back against the interior of the ridiculously fancy car. Everyone in this car is ridiculously attractive and it’s making you feel inferior and angry, like because you possess a normally attractive face you’re lesser than them.

Remember, your father whispers into your ear, you’re only lesser than them if you believe yourself to be. But even he can’t drown out the normal self-conscious thoughts anyone would have in a car with these three.

The redhead smiles, a little nervously, at you, as the car starts to move. “I’m Devin. I’m Mr. Holland’s secretary. I’ll be taking care of you while you stay with us.”

“I hope not for long,” you mutter and close your eyes, letting the sweet bliss of unconsciousness sweep you under its waves, the salt scratching against your glass and the waves pounding at the barbs of your feathers.

Not sure about this chap, I feel like it’s a bit disappointing, but tell me what you guys think, I’ll edit the other ones accordingly!

@littlemarvelqueen @musical-whovian