#occasionally my laptop refuses to even play the video i saved so i have to upload it to google drive and watch on my phone to figure out

[lottieurl]

when i have a good laptop in like a month or two then you'll all see

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xiii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, little bit of violence, obnoxious flirting, and kidnapping lol

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: welcome to chaos week >:) this is the first of three updates coming out this week (if i can finish the last one in time).  big thank you to my love @no-shit-sherl0ck for the kidnaped!reader idea, and that one anon who suggested the inator that’s used here. i know you wanted to see it in a zoo but i couldn’t really figure out a way to use that so i referenced it a bunch in previous chapters. oh and also @ginevranights​ for this specific imagery 

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Who the fuck kidnaps a villain in this day and age?

Saturday started normally enough.

Nat kicked Bucky’s ass in training, evening the score to 120 and 120. He blames it on the lack of sleep. She tells him that it’s his fault he stayed up late to binge watch 911 Lone Star.

He still thinks it was worth it.

The team’s sunshines and rainbows that morning. Someone had cooked up a batch of pancakes and fresh orange juice. Someone else burnt the bacon but left to feed his dog before anyone could complain.

Nat opened up the newspaper. Different sections went to different people until Bucky got stuck with the entertainment section. Fun, considering that he doesn’t even recognise half the names. He’d have to pretend to be interested until the next rotation.

He watches the orange juice levitate in front of him from the corner of his eye and just assumes that Wanda’s getting a refill even though she could have just asked him to pass it. He smells the next batch of bacon burning and figures that Clint is back.

Sam’s beside him, annoying him about how long it takes for him to read about which new celebrity relationship just ended and Bucky retaliates by reading even slower. Fuck you.

He’s on his second stack of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup when the doors to the elevator open and Marie steps out, laptop in her hand.

An instant chorus of hello’s and invitations to have some charred bacon resound through the table. She politely declines them with a small smile, instead opening her laptop and placing it in front of Bucky without further ado. 

He looks at her questioningly, slowly swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“An email for you.” She tuts her head towards it. “It has a video attachment of your friend.”

Bucky has plans to not watch the video in front of everyone, given that the content could range anywhere from you reading out fanfiction about him to a deep-fake of him singing a Whitney Houston song.

Both of which you have done before and would do again, without any hesitation.

“Aren’t you gonna watch it?” Wanda asks from across the table.

He slowly shakes his head no, cutting his stack into smaller pieces.

“If what’s in it is real, it’s important,” Marie stresses.

“What’s in it?” he inquires instead, hoping that the team would stop staring at him. If Marie was implying strongly that he needed to watch then something was wrong.

“Just watch it, man.” Sam’s statement has everyone agreeing with him. Bucky can’t refuse now, and if the team makes fun of him for the next month about how he looks good belting Greatest Love of All, he’s going to personally assassinate you.

He clicks on the email, noticing it came from a throwaway address. Probably untraceable, if the cards are played right. 

The video opens to grainy footage, which is stupid considering modern technological advancements. If this is one more of your stupid LARPing sessions, it could definitely wait till after lunch. 

But, he instantly recognises your silhouette strapped to a chair and suddenly the room feels very cold around him. His hand automatically clutches onto a bead from the bracelet you gave him that still remained tied to his left arm more often than not.

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

“About what?” You sound annoyed, exasperated even.

“Why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you have unaddressed feelings of childhood insecurity.”

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly but his body relaxes the minute he reads the situation. 

The team’s crowded around him, he can feel it. His attention remains on the screen in front of him.

“Who even are you sending this to?” You don’t sound the least bit threatened. “My roommate’s not at home but my cat is and I don’t think she’d care.”

”You’ve made a complete joke out of villains everywhere. Fraternising with the enemies, the Avengers,” he spits the name with so much vitriol. “You’ve erased what it’s like to be truly evil. Turned us into a laughing stock.”

“If it takes one person to undermine your whole movement then maybe it wasn’t strong enough to begin with.” You look at someone outside the lens, face scrunching in distaste. “Also your costume’s ugly.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you trace this voice?” Bucky asks, receiving an immediate confirmation. “Figure out who it is.”

“On it.”

“Tell them. Tell them we are a serious threat and are to be feared.”

"No,” you say resolutely. “You’re an overgrown manchild. Go watch Teletubbies or something.”

“She does not give a shit,” Clint marvels at the situation, a piece of half eaten burnt toast between his fingers.

You didn’t. And if he knew you in the slightest, which he prided himself on at this point, you already had six different ways of getting out of there.

“She knows she’s going to be fine,” Bucky murmurs, returning back to take a bite of his pancakes. “She’s probably still there just to irritate him.”

He zeroes in on your wrist to see if the teleportation watch was still there but no, your wrists are bare. Guess you forgot.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a real villain does it.”

“A real villain- what are you, gatekeeping the villain community?” You scoff. “You sound like a fuckin’ incel.”

“Just send them a message,” the guy bellows, hitting a table.

“She’s going to frustrate them to death.” An accurate observation, Sam.

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

Bucky just knows that you rolled your eyes at that moment.

He had faith in you, or in your abilities at the very least. While every wisecrack could possibly inch you closer towards harm, you probably wouldn’t be making them unless you felt completely secure in your situation.

“Help, I’m totally kidnapped and in danger. Save me because I can’t do it myself. This man is too powerful and strong and sooo scary.”

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not worried, James?” Wanda asks curiously. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is my friend.” He reaches over to take the jug of orange from across the table. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

“Are you going to fight the Avengers?” you interrupt his endless tirade. “Because that’s a stupid plan. You get how that’s a stupid plan, right?”

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

“With what? A stick you found outside? A Nerf gun? Man, you’ve tied my hands with fuckin’ zip ties, you can’t be serious-”

“Shut up,” he roared and the stand shakes slightly from where he stamps his feet. “Our army is enough.”

“Wow,” you exhale. “I wish I had your confidence, I really do. I want to study you under a microscope.”

“I have reinforcements.” It sounds like he turns to the camera to address it directly. “This is a warning. Your friends have an hour to find you or things are gonna turn ugly. This is what real evil looks like.”

“Evil dresses in a dollar store Speedo, apparently.” The man pays you no heed, instead picking up the camera. “Hey, sarge, if you’re watching this, don’t bother. I’m fine, it’s not even the real me-”

The camera cuts to black.

“When was this video sent?” Nat looks at Marie, eyebrows drawn together.

“About ten minutes ago.”

Bucky clicks out of the email, determined to get at least half his breakfast in him before he left to see what’s up with your situation. A notification pops up immediately.

evilkneival123@gmail.com just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

“We got another one,” Bucky informs the team, drawing their attention back to the screen from the informal conversation that had erupted between them about what they could do.

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

"Ain’t that a Star Wars movie?" he asks, craning his neck to look at Clint.

"That's Attack of the Clones," Sam corrects. "Probably autocorrect."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion at him, jaw sliding outward before falling back into place. Enough times had Sam called him Fucky in the group chat and gotten away with it for him not to be wary.

“Or a code,” Wanda suggests, too many crime thrillers read and podcasts listened in her spare time. She occasionally brought them over to Self Care Saturday, introducing him to the world of true crime as a bit of light content while they snacked on chocolate chip cookies he baked. “Like the Zodiac.”

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

“All I remember from that movie is them rolling around a field together,” Clint mutters. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to save her.”

“I’m not saving anyone. Look at her, she’s fine.” Is he the only one who saw it?

When he’s met with skeptical looks and no other useful suggestions, he presses play on the video.

This time it's clearer footage. It hardly takes him a second to ascertain where it was.

"That's her lair." It showed the pathway leading up to the flat concrete building, exactly where the intercom should be.

There was a black Sedan parked haphazardly outside, engine still on judging by the sound of the radio blasting an AC/DC song. 

Within a few seconds, someone drags you from the entrance of the lair to the car, despite your very clear protests and opposition, shoving you inside before it takes off in full speed, tires screeching. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track the car from that video. Check all the CCTV and surveillance footage from around the area that you can find," Bucky commands, taking a sip of orange juice.  

"Why would they send us that?" Clint pipes up. "They make their email untraceable but send us a video of the fuckin' abduction itself?"

"I don't know." Bucky shakes his head, setting his glass down. "She probably convinced them to."

It was an unusual scenario, he realised that. But his eyebrows lower in contemplation, his lip caged between his lip before a thought suddenly occurs to him. A laugh in disbelief almost escapes his throat ad he pushes it down with some freshly cut strawberries. 

"And they listened?"

"I don't think you realise how annoying she can be." He knows, though. He knows. "Bet they regret it, though. I should tell them to keep her for a little longer."

"Voice recognition registers voice to someone named Chad, better known by his alias Soul Crusher. Surveillance footage places the car about thirty minutes away. Exact location sent to your phone GPS."

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

"I can make that fifteen." Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and knife. If his hunch is right, the team didn’t really have to get involved. “See you guys later.”

“Do you want any of us coming with you?” Wanda gestures to the crowd at hand.

“I got it.” He pushes away from the table, depositing his plate in the sink, dropping an extra piece of bacon on the ground for Clint’s dog. “She’ll be alright.”

They watch him trail out of the room briskly, heading up to his room to change.

“Is it just me or is he too casual about this?” Clint continues staring long after he leaves.

“Both of them are weirdos.” Nat pulls open the newspaper again, going back to the sport’s section. “Who knows what goes in their heads.”

“Can confirm that not a lot goes on in his.”

Without Bucky to retaliate or grumble, a Steve walking into the room, sweaty and shiny after training becomes the new subject of jokes that morning.

__

For the first time in months, he’s had to bring a weapon or two along with him. Two revolvers and a couple of knives kept out of plain view. He wouldn’t need more than that anyway.

True to his word, it takes only fifteen minutes to get there, thirteen if he didn’t stop for the chain of ducks that crossed the street.

He’s also dressed in a little more leather than he usually reserves for your meetings. A jacket that brings to act as a windbreaker and tightly laced up combat boots make him look like he either stepped off a runway, or more menacing than usual depending on who was looking.

The GPS points him to an old warehouse near a more subdued part of the city. It was abandoned by the looks of it, and had been for a while judging by the lack of upkeep. Prime real estate.

He pulls off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar along with his backpack before kicking the stand into place. The bike’s a few metres away just in case they decide to blow something up.

Bucky looks up at the warehouse, assessing the most damage he could do to it if at all it was needed. That thing could barely stand on its own, a grenade would absolutely decimate it. That wasn’t good news for you.

He sighs once before putting on his death glare, straightening out his shoulders into a stature that screams stone-cold, and pushes the door open, gun raised.

A mini-army of people ranging from their early twenties to late thirties stood guard at the entrance, all with rifles pointed at him. He counts fifteen, maybe eighteen.

“Oh, hell no,” a voice erupts from the back, followed by the sound of his gun being thrown to the ground. “No one told me that he was coming.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his death glare not shifting and Glock not lowering.

“I’m out.” The same guy raises his hands up to show he meant no harm, slowly brushing past Bucky as he squeezed out of the building.

“You got five seconds to leave before I shut this door,” Bucky gives the rest of them an ultimatum. Not like there was a point anyway. SHIELD was sending down some people to account for the one day rise in new morons. 

They all looked at each other, swallowing thickly before raising their weapons.

“I hope he’s giving you good insurance.” The second he finishes his sentence they all cry out in what sounds like a fucking war chant, launching themselves at him. 

______

“They’re here.” Someone presses his ear to the door as if the gunshots and screaming weren’t enough. 

“Brilliant. We’re ready.” Chad picks up the knife, running his finger along the sharp end. You try to see if you can use your Twitter-ordained powers of manifestation for a paper cut.

“How much are you asking them for?” You put forth a query instead, when it disappointingly doesn’t work.

“Asking who for what?” Chad stops his dumb intimidation tactic for a second. 

“You know,” you insist like it was obvious, “my ransom. How much did you ask them to pay?”

“We didn’t-” He looks around at the other people in the room for confirmation. “-we didn’t ask for any.”

“Because I’m invaluable?” Your head droops to the side in mock flattery. “Aw, you guys.”

“We didn’t think of it,” someone from the corner behind you speaks up, coming to the aid of their boss.

“Now that’s just rude.” You tut, shifting maybe an inch or two in your bounds to try and get more comfortable. “Leaving aside your lack of preparation, let’s just assume he bursts in here, desperate and ready to bargain. How much would you ask for?”

“Three million,” Chad says confidently, gathering a nod and sounds of agreement from everyone else.

“Are you serious?” Your jaw drops, a scoff escaping you. “That’s all?”

His self-assurance falters a little bit, you can see it under his 5 Minutes Craft mask.

“Three mill-” You stop mid-sentence. “With this wiring? Ridiculous. Make it ten, I demand it.”

“We’ll ask for fifteen mil,” Chad proposes, his teammates agreeing again, a little more delighted than last time.

“Ask for thirty, you coward,” you argued. “Thirty million and a jet.”

“You’re not worth that much.” The dipshit diagonal to you pipes up with his unwanted and, frankly, useless opinion.

“And you are?” You whip around the best you can. “Henchman number four?”

“Megedagik,” he informs, standing up a little taller now that he was given some importance. “It means ‘killer of many’.”

“Did you just say your name was Mega Dick?” 

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

You stare at him hard before turning away. “Alright, other than Mega Dick here, does anyo-”

A knife lands right next to your feet, driven at least an inch into the ground. You look up at the guy you managed to piss off within four sentences, his face now a beet red. 

“These are brand new, asshole,” you barked, shaking your shoes around. “You’re gonna pay if there’s even a scratch on it.”

“Permission to kill her?” Meg growls, casting a side eye at Chad.

The boss man looks at you thoughtfully, assessing the repercussions of what might happen. You raise an eyebrow.

“Slow and painful,” he settles. 

A small smirk makes its way onto your face. 

“Title of your sex tape,” you quip as the man in the corner storms towards you.

_____

It’s all a flurry, really. A bunch of inexperienced newcomers versus one of the most skilled assassins the world had ever seen? Ten minutes tops.

Bucky doesn’t do any serious damage. A couple of broken bones but only out of necessity, a lot of concussions, and maybe a bullet wound, or three, here and there. 

Most of the time he spends thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with what was going on. He forgot to take his laundry out of the machine. There was a biscotti recipe he had been procrastinating on trying. His succulents needed watering but he could do that once he was back. Was he wearing his good combat pants or was it the pair that had a hole in the pocket?

His left hand thrust outwards to shove someone away while he stuck his right hand into his pocket to check if it had frayed away. The person he pushed slams into a wall with a loud groan and no, his pants didn’t have a hole in them. 

He stops to take a breather, assess what was going on. There are bodies scattered all around, mostly writhing in pain from minor injuries. Someone very bravely stands up, hands posed in front of him in a regular fighting stance.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, reaching for one of the concealed knives he hadn’t had a chance of using yet. It twirls rather nimbly between his fingers for something so dangerous, the hilt finally landing in his palm for a sturdy grip.

The man takes one look at the knife before sitting right back down on the ground. 

“Good choice,” his voice drops to an octave lower than his self-esteem. He’s tired of this old routine but it works like a neat little party trick, often getting him the result he wanted. “Where?”

A few fingers point down the hall to the only room whose door was closed.

He makes sure to step over everyone who was lying along the way, ears tuned in to even the smallest of noises just in case one of them decided to attack him from the back. It doesn’t come.

He doesn’t bother creeping down the hallway. With all the ruckus that just went on outside, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious that they had an intruder. 

Bucky kicks in the large steel door with ease, given that it was barely hanging on its hinges. His gun’s raised, muscles tight, and senses on high alert for any immediate threats. 

It lands with a large thud, reverberating through the room. He’s reminded of your first meeting with him.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room with a person tied to it by a mixture of rope and tape. Others found themselves slithering around on the floor in a similar fashion, trying to get out of their bondages.

“Hey, James,” you call out, drawing his attention to you. You were sitting atop a table, legs swinging back and forth without a care in the world, a blade in your hand. 

“You okay?” He tucks the gun into his waistband when he realises that none of the henchmen are going to be going anywhere soon.

“All good.” You hop off the table with a little spring in your step. “Did you bring your bike? I need a ride back to the lair. I think I left the TV on when I was, you know, getting kidnapped.”

“You coulda teleported back home before all of this even happened.” Bucky does a quick assessment of your body to make sure there weren’t any bruises or anything of the sort. “Avoided the whole thing.”

“Don’t have the watch with me.” Odd, since he knows you consider it one of your essentials but it just fuels his theory further. “Besides, if I just quit before we started, they’d keep messing with me over and over again.”

“Do you want me to punch someone’s face in?” He glances around the room at the ones wiggling about on the floor like fucking worms. “I’d be happy to.”

“Nah, I got a few in myself.” You rotate your wrist, other hand still holding onto the knife. “You know what, maybe I’ll have another go.”

He simply makes a noise in acknowledgement before he places a hand on the hem of your shirt, gently reeling you back. “I think you fixed ‘em up real good. That’s enough for today.”

“Fine but only ‘cause you said so.” You huff, looking past him and at the weirdos on the ground. “You hear that? This man just saved your life. Say ‘thank you’.”

A muffled chorus of what sounded like appreciation echoed through the room. Bucky awkwardly looks around.

“Damn right.” You walk over to the guy in charge of the whole event, bending down to his level. “If you ever try to fuck with us again...”

You stare straight into his eyes, unblinking. You hold up the knife to his Adam’s apple. Chad doesn’t dare to move other than the thick swallow.

You raise your finger and flick him in the forehead. “Get a better costume.”

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

“Let’s go, sarge,” you announce, standing upright again and making a motion to follow you. “D’you have an extra helmet I could use?”

“Yeah.” He had brought one along in his bag, assuming that you’d need one once he noticed the watch was missing in the footage.  

“Yay.”

The only storage space on his bike was under his seat and it’s just enough for an extra revolver. Clint asked him if it was his way of flirting with someone, give ‘em a quick spin around the city and then show them his gun. If looks could kill, Clint would be 7 feet under. 

“You sure you wanna ride it, though?” He cringes immediately when he realises what it sounds like, waiting for you to smack the innuendo in his face. “We could wait for SHIELD.”

“Don’t really have another choice, Bucky,” you say absentmindedly, strolling out the room as you tossed the knife behind you.

He frowns at your indifference but turns around for a second to look at Chad. The man in question looks back viciously, his grandeur from that morning basically deflated and left to die along with his reputation.

“Might wanna reconsider the name,” Bucky remarks, doing a quick sweep of the area once more. “Soul Crusher.”

He waits until both of you are outside the cell and the door is shut on the ringleader and his circus clowns, handlebar twisted out of place so that they don’t escape for the time being.

“One second,” he calls, touch gently lingering on your forearm to stop you without even thinking twice about it. A famously uncharacteristic move for him.

"Hm?” You don’t even look like you notice his action.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks seriously, actual concern slipping through the question. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“They couldn’t hurt me anyway.” There’s something strange about the way you say it, almost assuredly. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” he concedes, his hand darting back when he realises it was still on your arm. His eyebrows furrow when he realises how instinctively he had reached out in the first place.  He didn’t touch anyone, ever.

“What are we gonna do about them?” you inquire, stepping over someone on the floor to get to the exit.

“Marie told Agent Hill. They’re sending someone over.”

“They’re sending SHIELD for these wannabes?” Someone groans in protest from somewhere and you elect to ignore them. “Ew.”

“Just to make sure confidential information isn’t compromised in any way.” There’s a large bang that comes from the room they just left. Maybe one of them shot their teammate by accident. They were more than capable of doing it.

“I would never,” you exacted a little more solemnly, pushing the door open with your elbow to let the sunlight flood in.

“I know.” He doesn’t realise how dark it was in the warehouse until he steps out into the noon sun. “I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that you were abducted.”

“For me?” The smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes the way he kinda likes. Something definitely felt off. “I love being class favourite.”

He doesn’t reply, a small grunt as he twists the handle of the warehouse door upwards, effectively jamming it. 

“Can I drive?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently, disregarding the loud screaming that came from inside as those less injured probably regrouped for a last ditch attempt. 

“No,” he doesn’t hesitate in replying, handing you a helmet and buckling his own securely.

“But I just got kidnapped,” you complained, watching him swing a leg over the bike and straddle it. Okay then. 

“All the more reason for you not to drive right now.” He mentions for you to get on, squinting at the warehouse a few feet away.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving,” you grumble, climbing on the back.

“Do you even know how to?” His head is tilted to look at you from the corner of his eye, voice heavier on account of the obstruction on his face.

The door starts shaking violently and he knows for a fact that it won’t hold up for much longer. Some of those who he had knocked out probably had been shaken awake again for manpower. 

“I can learn.” You take a pause, mischief seeping into your next words. “You can teach me.”

“No.” He didn’t exactly practice what was considered safe, law abiding driving. He just got from one point to another and that’s all he cared about.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” You sound determined. “I’m going to leave a note for us in the lair.”

“You do that.” He revs the engine when something solid hits the metal door. As guessed, their usage of props to push it down faster was coming into play. “Now, can you hold on to something? We need to go.”

If only those idiots just realised that the windows covered by newspapers were right there, ready to be broken.

“Only if you promise to let me drive next time,” you say defiantly, drawing this whole ordeal out.

“Whatever,” he urges. “I promise. Now can we go?”

“Wait for it...” There’s a devilish smile on your face. “One.”

There’s a loud creak as the door finally gives way.

“Two.” The same people you left tied up in the room burst out, almost stumbling over each other in the process.

“Three,” he completes it on his own, not waiting for you to finish because God knows how long you’d stretch it out just for the drama.

Your excited screech of laughter as he narrowly misses a rod that gets thrown at him like a fucking javelin temporarily distracts him from the brain freeze he gets when your arms wind around his waist to hold yourself in place. 

There’s angry screaming and bullets that whiz past in an attempt to get him to stop but a swift turn around a corner, pulling the both of you out of their sight is enough to get rid of them. 

“We should get a few weapons and go back,” you yell over the wind rushing by, barely audible.

“You do that in your own free time,” he shouts in response, yanking you through narrower lanes and less popular streets.

“Maybe I will, you bore.” 

Still, you shut up for the rest of the ride, only grumbling when he stops the bike to tell you that no, you cannot let go just because you want to throw your hands in the air like in the movies.

You hop off when he finally pulls up on the street outside your lair, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. He waits patiently as you unbuckle the helmet, switching off the engine. 

“You gonna drop me off at my door too, now?” You snicker, fingers pulling off the helmet.

He looks at you for a second before dropping the kickstand into place and dismounting from the motorcycle.

“I was kidding.” You laugh, handing him your headgear that he shoves into his backpack. 

“You’re pretty capable of gettin’ abducted along the way.” An absurd notion, considering it’s a short path from the road to the door. 

“Oh, how chivalrous.” You let him tag along anyway, for his peace of mind. 

“My ma didn’t expect any less.” A couple of sharp lessons from Winifred Barnes and Bucky was nothing short of a damn angel. 

You knock on the door three times, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited. 

“Aren’t you the one with the key?” Bucky questions, one hand on his waist. 

The door swung open in the middle of his sentence revealing... you.

Another you.

“Nah, she has it.” Ex-Kidnapped-You raises your head in acknowledgement at Doorway-You.

“Ah.” He fucking knew it. An unnatural sense of smugness blossoms in his chest. 

“Hey,” the both of you said at the same time.

Doorway-You looked way more relaxed, a little less grimy and dishevelled but exactly the same.

“Buck, I see you met my other half,” the you from the doorway greets him. “Or other whole, actually.”

“Sure did.” He sends a glance at Ex-Kidnapped-You.

“You can go on in. Big first day, huh?” Doorway-You refers to the you beside him.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Ex-Kidnaped-You mutters, pushing past the entrance and disappearing inside.

“She gonna be okay?” His gaze trails after your clone.

“Oh yeah, just needs to recharge.” You turn around to make sure she’s fine. “She’s made of some pretty strong carbon, technically almost indestructible.”

No wonder ‘you’ said they couldn’t hurt you.

“Heya, sarge.” You draw his attention back to you. “Always good to see you.”

“Can’t really say the same about you.” 

“Ever the emotional repressor, Mr Barnes. I like this little leather show you got going, did ya wear it just for me?”

He shifts his balance to his other foot, feet slightly wide apart. “Take it that the clone machine finally worked?”

“I was in the middle of celebrating.” You sigh, recalling the events of that morning. “Teleported home for a second to get some champagne and when I came back she was gone.”

“Irresponsible.” He tsks, head shaking in disappointment. 

“Sorry I didn’t take amateur kidnappers into account for my risk factor analysis, Bucky,” you shoot back, pressing on his name for added annoyance. “Anyway, I did the responsible thing. I sent all the evidence I had to you guys.”

“Real clever.” Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Attack on the clone? Really?”

“Hey, always make time for a good pun.” You finger gun, lopsided grin on your face. “Did the team like it?”

“They thought it was a typo.” Or a code. He really had Wanda to thank for his big revelation. “Your video didn’t help either.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.” You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t reply, pursing his lip inwards in sympathy, but more so to conceal a smile.

The happiness drops from your face slowly, horror taking its place. “Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.”

“Good job, your machine worked,” he adds helpfully.

“C’mon, there were so many differences,” you whine, the success of your endeavour the last thing on your mind. 

“That is your literal clone,” he points out, only to see you- clone you- walk into the giant box in the corner of the room, bright green light emanating from it like a xerox machine.

“How could they not tell the original apart from a copy?” You look genuinely offended. Insane. “Not even Sam?”

“Guess you’re not unique enough.” A rise and fall of his shoulders signify his attitude towards this whole thing. “Think I like your copy better, too, actually.”

“You’re so mean.” You puff in disbelief. “I’m a 100% original. How many mad scientist teachers do you know?”

“Two.” 

“I don’t mean now, that’s not even the-” You poke at his rock hard chest. “You are so much more annoying than when I first met you.”

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

“I have to deal with you every weekend.” He watches your finger drop from his chest. “Picked it up along the way.”

“Boo hoo, talking like you don’t have deep, deep feelings for me.” You roll your eyes. “I see right through you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Can you see the part that couldn’t give less of a shit?” He gestures to himself. “It’s all of it.”

“You think you’re such a comedian, huh?” You narrow your eyebrows. “How did you know she was a fake then, huh?”

Busted.

“Probably ‘cause you didn’t talk as much today,” he dodges. “Actually had some peace of mind for a change.”

“You knew before you got there, you liar.” You push past his fabrications. “You figured it out before everyone else.”

“You literally put it in the title.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the team saw it too.”

“Rest of the team didn’t know you were building a goddamn clone machine for months.”

“You remembered that?” You pulled away, palm over your heart. “Oh, sarge, you paid attention to me.”

His nose twitches.

“You said it, like, eight hundred times.” He could use both his hands to count the number of references you had offhandedly made in the last three weeks alone.

“Why'd you go save me when you knew it wasn't real?” you continue to challenge relentlessly, knowing fully well that he was fibbing. 

“Because you fuckin’ peer pressured me. Had the whole team around me when you sent your little video during breakfast.”

“Just admit it,” you coo, ignoring all his justifications. “You noticed it was fake me right away but showed up anyway because you’re wildly in love with me.”

“No,” he says stiffly. 

“No as in you won’t admit it you have a crush on me, or no as in you didn’t know it was fake me?”

There was no winning this. 

“Good day to you.” He pulls the motorcycle helmet on to hide the expression that plain as day screamed the former of your two options.

“Also,” you bring up indignantly, “she even got to ride the fucking bike and I’ve been asking to drive it for months now!”

“We-” he chooses his words carefully. “-compromised.”

“Oh, you did?” Your voice lowers at the newfound information, interest piqued. “I’m gonna hold you to that then, whatever it is.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Absolutely does,” you huff. “A promise is legally binding. Blue’s Clues taught me that.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

“You’re my knight in leathery armour,” you swoon, switching sides immediately, “Kinda.”

“See you next week,” he says in farewell, determined to leave before you made it worse. “Try not to get killed by then.”

“Why, so you can do it yourself? Protective much?” You pull him back when he starts walking away, laughing slightly. “Wait a second, you weirdo.”

He sighs, staying put anyway, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

You pull out the pen tucked behind your ear and slowly tap him twice on each shoulder in a makeshift knighting ceremony. “For your sacrifice.”

He rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

You ignore his lack of enthusiasm, pressing your fingertips to your lips in a small kiss and then to his nose, given that it was the only part of his face you had access to.

“That was for your bravery.” You grin brightly at him and he sure as hell is glad he’s wearing the stupid helmet because he can feel his cheeks light up a bright crimson.

“Thanks.” His voice sounds gruffer than a second ago. He clears his throat.

“Now you’re my knight in leathery armour,” you fawn, nearly falling over yourself dramatically. “Let’s ride into the sunset together. I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he calls out over his shoulder, turning away to return to his bike. “I despise you.”

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

also i managed to fuck my phone up really bad so all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards getting it fixed

Next part

[loving-barnes]

RED, SUS! - BUCKY BARNES

(A/N): I mean, come on, I had to write one where the team is playing Among us.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Summary: Tony calls everyone to play the current video game trend - Among us.

Warning: language, a bit fluff at the end

Words: 2800+

FULL MASTERLIST

RED, SUS! - BUCKY BARNES 

The gaming world was absorbed by the new game. Everyone was streaming it, playing with friends. It was the perfect game to play during a pandemic. Unfortunately, the illness got into the Avengers compound too. Some of the agents and workers were in isolation due to the virus. Also, even though some people could be considered as Gods, this nuisance got them too. Clint remained isolated in his room, Natasha and Wanda were sick too. Their symptoms were mild, fortunately. 

Tony’s orders were strict: social distancing for at least 14 days; checking via FRIDAY if anyone was in the kitchen; no gatherings or work meetings; those not affected had to be prepared for urgent or unexpected missions; masks were necessary for the hallways and common rooms and many more.

Every day, between two and five in the afternoon, they had to remain in their rooms due to obligatory disinfection that was happening in common rooms, hallways and other rooms. 

They were in the middle of their two-week personal lockdown when Tony sent everyone a message to log onto their laptops. Y/N was reading a book, slowly falling asleep when it happened. She checked her phone: Conference call, urgent, now. 

Y/N knew Tony pretty well. These types of messages never meant discussing work or missions. It was something for his amusement - mostly. Unwillingly and without a choice, she turned on her laptop and joined the conference call. 

Natasha: Hey, YN, you joined!

Y/N waved with a hand and then scratched her neck. She looked like a mess - baggy jumper, hair in a bun and her face looked sad and tired. In conclusion, she didn’t care less. The team saw her in her worst already - drunk and almost dead. 

Sam: What happened to you, Y/N? You look terrible. 

Y/N: Shut it, Wilson. I am well. This is my pandemic outfit. 

Bucky chuckled. She knew it was him because she could recognize his voice and other sounds anywhere. 

Steve: Tony, what is the meaning behind all of this? 

Tony: I’m glad you asked. Now that you are all here, and as you can see, I wanted you to join me in an adventure like never before. 

Y/N: Tony, I will not drink with you while being on a conference call. 

Tony: Y/N, I am not a madman. I don’t believe in virtual drinking. No, this one does not involve alcohol. All you need is your brain and the ability to lie. 

Natasha: Sounds interesting, continue. 

Tony: There is this new video game called Among Us which is an online multiplayer game. This game is pretty simple, there are crewmates or impostors. Crewmates have to do tasks to win and Impostors have to sabotage, fake tasks and kill to win. The goal of the game is to identify impostors and vote them out - yes, there will be meetings where we have to vote out someone or skip. The meetings also happen when someone reports a body. 

Both Wanda and Y/N made a sound that reminded of howling. They were interested. 

Bucky: Come on, you really called us to play some stupid video game. 

Wanda: Hey! Shush! I want to play. I am so bored in my room. I need some distraction. 

Y/N: Yes, exactly. This sounds so good. Let’s play, everyone, please.

Steve: Honestly, I am bored so I will join. However, I need instructions. 

Tony: Not a problem, buddy. I have already installed the game and sent you everything necessary. Just to explain one last detail. We will be on a conference call while playing. But, once the round starts, everyone has to mute their mics. When a meeting is called, you have to unmute and we discuss who to vote out and why. Once you are dead, you have to stay muted until the end of the game. At the beginning of every round, you will see whether you are an imposter or a crewmate. Don’t forget, impostors have to lie. 

Y/N: Give us ten minutes to check the materials and to start the game, alright? We have some people that are not too good with this type of technology. 

Y/N mocked Steve and Bucky especially. They were friends and she occasionally had to tease them. And when Sam was getting on her nerves, she would treat him the same way, if not even worse. 

Clint: Oh, that is easy. 

Natasha: Finally, something that will keep me occupied for more than ten seconds. 

Bruce: Do I have to play? 

Tony: Yes. Ten people are needed for two impostors and for it to be fun. You are playing, Banner.

Y/N: Does everyone understand? 

The team simultaneously agreed, each person with a different tone. Y/N turned on the game, as well as the rest of the team did, putting on the code Tony had sent them. She spawned in a lobby, as a little lime figure. 

Tony: You can also customise colours and accessories by coming to the laptop and using it. 

Y/N quickly did as Tony informed them. She changed the colour to purple and put a golden crown on. It was adorable and it did represent her a little. When she was finished, the rest of the team was in the lobby. They also customised their figures to represent them. 

Y/N: Oh my god, this is already so much fun.

Tony: Just to clarify - the crewmate’s vision is lower than the imposters have. The kill cooldown is 30 seconds. Voting time is 120 seconds, etc. You can see it on your left. I am starting the game and don’t forget to mute your mics. 

Y/N muted her mic as the game started. She was a crewmate. They all were standing around a table. She started to move to the right. That was when she noticed a map on the screen. When she opened it, a blue map appeared with yellow exclamation marks. When she ran to the first room, she noticed a chair was illuminated with yellow colour. 

"Alright, asteroids," she mumbled and did the task. 

Other players passed her, or stayed near her, even Bucky’s character did. His figure was white. When she moved, he moved with her. “That’s sus,” she commented and moved down the map to find another task. Bucky was still with her until the lights went off. 

“Fuck,” she whisper-shouted when the light around her was just a tiny circle. Several figures were around her and a report button appeared. She quickly clicked it. 

A board with all the names showed. Wanda and Sam were dead. She quickly unmuted her mic to talk to the rest of the players. “What the fuck was that?”

Tony: Where is the body?

Y/N: Down in the O2 I believe. The lights went off and suddenly, so many people were around me. Just a report button appeared. 

Steve: Who was there except you? 

Y/N: I saw Bucky, who was following me - by the way, sus, Barnes. You did your asteroids way too quickly. 

Bucky: I didn’t have that task, I just wanted to stay with you. 

Tony: Sus!

Natasha: Steve and I were in the admin. That fucking card swipe. I failed it like ten times! 

Y/N: Anyway, I think I saw Sam, Bruce and Clint with us. Now, Sam is dead. 

Clint: What if it’s you?

Y/N: How dare you, Barton? 

The time was slowly coming to its end and it was time to vote. Y/N had no idea who did the kill. She quickly voted skip. 

Bruce: We can skip because there are still eight of us. 

Tony: Banner, sus. 

Everyone skipped except Tony, who voted Clint. No one was ejected and the game could continue. They reappeared in the cafeteria around the table. This time, Y/N went down, because her map showed her she had some task there. Again, Bucky followed her. He stayed at the very beginning of the room while she went in and did the card swipe task. She was lucky to finish it on her second try. Once she was finished, Bucky was nowhere to be seen. 

She moved to the wires task. She heard the door to the cafeteria close. When she cleared the task, Bucky was again with her. Maybe he was just protecting her. She had no idea. 

The reactor was called. It was time to fix it. Bucky and Y/N moved through storage, under the electrical where they were met with Natasha, Tony and Bruce. They all moved to the reactor where Vision was. Everyone stacked on the upper reactor while Y/N was down alone. The reactor was saved and a body was reported. Natasha and Steve were killed. 

Bucky: What the hell happened? Natasha is dead and there are like four of us. 

Y/N: Was that a double kill? 

Tony: No, it was only Nat. Captain was killed somewhere else, obviously. 

Bruce: Most of us were together except Y/N, Bucky and Clint. 

Bucky: Y/N and I were in admin, doing our tasks. 

Tony: What about you, Vision? 

Vision: I am afraid I was alone most of the time. I did see people on cameras where I spent most of the time this round. 

Y/N: Clint, what about you? 

Clint: I was in… I don’t know the name but I came from the upper side of the map. 

Tony: I saw Steve going the way where medbay is. 

Y/N: Barton, you killed Steve!

Clint: No, I didn’t. 

Tony: Barton, get out of here. 

The voting was quickly coming to its end and almost everyone voted. Clint was the last one. He refused. When the time was up, the gang voted for Clint and he was ejected. 

Bucky: That’s what you get.

Y/N: That’s sus.

The game continued and Y/N was almost done with her tasks. Bucky was most of the time with her, again. When the lights went out again, she had decided not to go into the electrical. She didn’t want to die. It had been a long time since something happened. No bodies were reported, the taskbar was almost full. Alone, she quickly ran to the cafeteria and pressed the report button. When the board appeared, Only Bruce, Bucky and her were alive. 

Y/N: What?!

Bruce: Bucky, how could you? 

Bucky: Honestly, Bruce, I saw you kill Tony. Don’t blame me for this. 

Y/N: Oh no.

Bruce: Y/N, please don’t believe him, please. I am not the impostor. I was about to report the body when you hit the emergency button. 

Bucky: Wow, you are such a good liar. 

Y/N: No, don’t do this to me. 

Both of the men voted for each other, leaving her to decide the fate of the game. Who should she vote out? Bucky was with her most of the time and she did not see Bruce a lot. It made sense it was Banner. However, Bucky could be very good at this, using tactics like being in a field. 

Bruce: Y/N, you have to vote - vote for him. I am a crewmate. I saw him kill Tony in the lower reactor. 

Y/N: I mean, to be honest, Bucky was with me almost the whole game. I don’t think he would be able to do this. 

Bruce: No, Y/N, don’t do this. He needed you as an alibi. 

Bucky: How the hell would I do that? I was by her side the whole time and did my tasks. 

Y/N quickly voted for who she believed was the killer. When the results had shown, she voted for Bruce. For her, it made a lot of sense. How else would Bucky be able to do it? The rest of the team unmuted, screaming her name, laughing and making scenes. After a few seconds, the revelation came - they lost. Bucky was, in fact, the second impostor. 

Y/N: I mean, fuck both of you. What the actual fuck. You fucking tricked me!

Tony: Kids calls it marinating. 

Bucky: I am sorry, doll. You were the perfect person to stick with. 

Y/N: Again, fuck you. 

Bucky: You wish.

Sam: Wow, can you feel the sexual tension? 

Natasha: Sam, why do you make such stupid comments. You are such an intelligent man. 

Y/N changed her colour to Red, taking Wanda’s colour. She didn’t mind because she changed it into yellow. The next few games were funny. Two rounds Tony was an impostor. First with Steve than with Bruce. Two hours later, it was Y/N’s turn and she was paired with Bucky. 

“Holy shit,” she mumbled and sighed. This was her moment and she wanted to win, fast. She created a strategy. Before she could play by it, her phone rang. Bucky’s name appeared on her screen. “Yes?” 

“Well, what a dream team,” he chuckled. “What is the plan?” 

“First two kills, at random. After the first report, we will make a graveyard,” she said. “Honestly, that is going to be quick and funny.” 

“Sounds good. Where are you now?” he asked. 

She looked at the game and then at a map. “I am in admin, pretending to fail card swipe. I will turn off the lights once someone enters and then vent.” 

“I see Sam!”

“Kill him,” she encouraged him and turned off the lights. Vision came into the admin alone. 

They both took their opportunity and killed both people. Y/N vented into the cafeteria and went to weapons and Bucky quickly went into the comms, pretending to do a task. A few moments later, Sam’s body was reported. 

Natasha: Where is the body?

Wanda: Between O2 and shields. I think that is shields. 

Steve: Any suspicions? 

Y/N: I was passing by the cafeteria from medbay. When the lights were off, no one was around me. 

Tony: Bruce and I were in the reactor, doing the Simon says a thing. And I will fucking kill you for the report because now I have to do it again. 

Clint: Barnes, where were you? 

Bucky: On my way to storage. Did my quick task in coms. 

Bruce: So, no one is suspicious? 

Natasha: Honestly, we can skip. There are still eight of us. 

They all agreed and skipped voting. No one was ejected. When Y/N muted her mic, she went back to the call she had with Bucky. They both were laughing about the situation. “It’s a graveyard time.” 

“Where should we do it?” Bucky asked. 

“Reactor. After the first two kills, we will call the O2. During it, someone will come, searching for a body.” 

They both ran together into the reactor. Wanda was following them. She was about to become their first victim. After they arrived at the reactor, Bruce was also there, working on his Simon says. Their kill cooldown was almost at the end. 

“Come on, Buck, now!” 

Simultaneously, they killed Bruce and Wanda. Y/N waited almost ten seconds and called the O2 as she mentioned. Bucky quickly closed the doors around them, to slow them down. Their kill cooldown took thirty seconds and they needed time. 

The O2 was called off. They noticed the door around them opening and Tony was the first one approaching them. He reached the reactor and Bucky killed him. “One more and we win.”

“We have to hope someone else will come, otherwise they will call the button,” she explained. 

They were lucky. Steve and Natasha were on their way. Y/N quickly approached them and killed Steve. With that kill, the game was over and the impostors, Y/N and Bucky, won. 

Clint: What the fuck?

Natasha: How did you do that? 

Tony: They did a graveyard! 

Sam: Fuck you, Barnes, for killing me.

Bucky: It was my pleasure. 

Y/N: Oh my god, this was hilarious. Oh, my favourite round of all we played today. 

Bucky: Same. 

Tony: Want another game? 

Y/N: No, I want to take a break and make something to eat. We have been playing for hours. Let’s play tomorrow. 

Natasha: You are right. I need to take a nap after this. 

Steve: It’s almost seven. 

Natasha: My nap will take until tomorrow morning. 

Y/N’s phone beeped. She looked at the screen again. There was a text from the other impostor. Can I come over and watch a movie with you? It made her smile. 

Only if it involves the good popcorn you make and some kisses - she replied. They had been dating for over a month and things were going great. The team had their suspicions but they had decided not to meddle in their private life. Steve was happy and Tony was overly protective of Y/N but didn’t say a word. 

Y/N: I have to go. I am going to watch a movie. 

Clint: Oh yeah? Can I join? 

Y/N: No, I would like to enjoy it alone. 

Nat: Huh, that’s sus. 

Y/N: What is sus about it? 

Nat: Watching a movie, alone. Why would you want to watch it alone? 

Y/N: Because no one is making stupid comments during the movie I want to watch. 

Tony: Red, sus. 

Y/N: Alright, bye-bye friends. 

She ended the call and put her laptop on the night table. Rolling her eyes, she made her bed and went to the bathroom. Bucky would come any minute and she wanted to set the place. 

Who would have known this game would bring the whole team together? 

[chelsfic]

Unseemly Desire - Chapter 3 - Guillermo x Nandor

To read past chapters: WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Nandor and Guillermo deal with the fallout of their makeout session and the almost-attempted mind wipe. Guillermo discovers the untapped well of anger living inside him!

Warnings: Angst, Blood drinking, gratuitous use of the word Fuck, Angry kissing

A/N: Look how frickin handsome Nandor is in this gif. No wonder Guillermo can’t resist this idiot. Also, I wrote this really fast and barely edited it sooooo ehhhhhh sorrayyy.

---

Shit! Fuck! Damn! Fiasco!

Nandor retires straight to his coffin after storming out of his familiar’s room. He’s still fully dressed and the little hair pins in his bun stab the back of his head as he lies down. 

Fucking guy!

Who gave him permission to have those kinds of feelings, anyway? Nandor’s almost certain he included something about not falling in love in Guillermo’s employment contract. He’ll have to check on that tomorrow evening. He growls in angry frustration as he realizes the contract is locked in one Colin Robinson’s basement filing cabinets. Maybe he doesn’t need to worry about checking. He’s positive that he mentioned it to Guillermo before he became his familiar. No falling in love with me. End of discussion!

How dare that little guy ruin his perfect plan? What does he think, just because he has smooth, tan skin, a disarming smile and perfect wavy hair he can just go around forcing Nandor to be horny for him all the time? It’s unacceptable!

Nandor turns onto his side in a huff. He has half a mind to go back there and mind wipe him after all. But the vision of Guillermo’s tear streaked face as he begged Nandor not to hypnotize him floats before his eyes in the darkness and he feels that stabby, annoying pain in his heart area again.  

And now he’s having more confusing heart palpitations again. Great!

---

The movie is still playing on Guillermo’s discarded laptop. Claudia shrieks after learning that she can never grow or change as a vampire. It’s his favorite movie. He’s watched it hundreds of times. And Guillermo is only just now contemplating the real world evidence of that phenomenon. Nandor may have centuries of life experience but emotionally he is still the same repressed, spoiled, arrogant 13th century warlord he was when he was turned, just with a few new pop culture references under his belt. Can he really never learn or change? And if that’s true then what the fuck is Guillermo doing here?

He’s frozen in place where Nandor discarded him like so much refuse. His eyes are fixed on the curtain in fear or hope--he’s not certain--that Nandor might come blazing back into his little room, filling it up with his massive presence for better or worse. Salty tear tracks stain his cheeks and he’s still half wrapped up in the dumb snuggie. His face crumples and a silent sob escapes his throat. He’d been so stupidly happy there for a moment. Nandor--his dream boy, his vampire, his Nandor--kissed him and held him like Guillermo had always dreamed. But the memory tastes bitter in his mouth now as he remembers the cold, blank mask of his face after Guillermo mistakenly confessed his love. 

He fists his hands into the soft material of Nandor’s snuggie, burying his face in the fabric as his tears start anew. He begged for this, didn’t he? How pathetic is it that he pleaded with Nandor to let him hold onto the memory of yet another rejection? He falls asleep like that, crying silently and clinging to the only physical evidence of his master’s fleeting, mercurial affection. 

---

When he opens his coffin the next evening Nandor finds Guillermo waiting to attend him like always. The vampire hides his surprise and holds out his hand for assistance with all of his typical haughty self-importance. He spent all day plagued by nightmares of his familiar running away into the sunlight. Packing up his computing book, his cute little sweaters and his pizza rolls and fleeing from Nandor like he was some kind of...monster.

Ridiculous, of course.

Guillermo won’t leave him. He’d said so last night. He’d promised in exchange for his pathetic memories. But then Nandor notices the human’s hands are shaking as he adjusts his cravat and Guillermo won’t meet his eyes. There is also a strange new smell coming off of him that he usually only encounters around victims.

Fear.

“Guillermo…” Nandor wrinkles his nose “Have you been cleaning the cell? You should really shower afterwards. It’s not hygienic to be dressing me after being around all those human juices.”

His familiar finally looks up at him, eyes narrowed in confusion as he tries to parse his master’s thought process.

“No…” he finally answers and his voice is like a ghost, thin and ephemeral. “I haven’t been cleaning the cell master.”

He self-consciously leans down to sniff his own armpit and Nandor grimaces in disgust. 

“Well, then why--” he stops himself, his deep brown eyes going round as he finally makes the connection. Guillermo is afraid of...him? It is like his nightmares are coming to life!

“Guillermo! Snap out of it now! This is very upsetting and...unprofessional. Why are you afraid?”

Guillermo flinches as if struck by Nandor’s words. He didn’t realize how transparent he was being. His first instinct is to deny it but a flare of anger takes hold of him and he’s speaking before his ingrained habit of suppressing his true feelings can kick in.

“Why am I afraid!? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you almost erased my memories last night? And you could do it any time you want and I’d be powerless to stop you?”

Nandor’s brows knit together and he scoffs, “But that’s always--”

He stops himself, guiltily averting his eyes, but it’s too late. Something changes in Guillermo’s face. The anger bleeds away and his skin goes pale. He almost looks like a vampire or… or one of his victims. The thought sends a shiver down Nandor’s spine.

“Master…” Guillermo’s voice is calm and cool but Nandor has a feeling that what comes next will determine something very important. 

“Have you--” He swallows against the lump in his throat. “--Have you hypnotized me before?”

Nandor grimaces, baring his sharp fangs in an uncomfortable smile and looking like the vampiric embodiment of a dog shaming video.

---

There’s the time he dropped Guillermo while he was helping him dust around the spider houses…

...the time Guillermo saw Nandor fall down at the roller rink and the human children all laughed at him…

...when he shamed himself while Guillermo helped him adjust his orgy suit…

And countless other small, trivial moments that now seem to add up to quite a lot.

And, of course, there’s the other night when Nandor admitted that Guillermo is special to him.

---

“...Once or twice.”

Nandor watches his familiar’s face fall and his eyes start leaking. Guillermo angrily scrubs the tears away and shakes his head, throwing off the hurt as he’s learned to do all his life. From elementary school bullies to the love of his life, Guillermo has been rolling with the emotional punches for as long as he can remember. This is no different. So what if the last five years are a lie? So what if he can't trust his own memory? Guillermo is resilient. Guillermo is rubber. Guillermo kills ‘em with kindness and lives to fight another day. Or...

“Fuck you, Nandor,” he reaches up to finish tying the cravat, angrily cinching it around the vampire’s neck with a painful tug.

“Ouch! Watch it with that!” Nandor complains, batting Guillermo’s little hands away. Guillermo crosses his arms over his chest and glares back at him with fierce, thunderstorm eyes. Nandor’s never seen his familiar like this. So forceful…he shakes his head violently, banishing the stupid horny thoughts attempting to take over.

“Alright! So I hypnotized you a few times. So what? Kind of comes with the job there, Guillermo. Did you even read your contract?” 

“You mean the one you scribbled on the back of a Panera menu?” Guillermo rolls his eyes. “How did it go? ‘I.O.U. one unholy transition. Signed, Nandor the Relentless’?”

Nandor scrunches his face up and he shifts his eyes as he tries to remember. There must have been more to it…

“I don’t think…” he falters, losing steam for a second before riling himself back up through sheer force of will. He is Nandor the RELENTLESS! “That’s neither here nor anywhere, Guillermo! The point is...eh...the point is you should have expected the occasional hypnotic trance when you took the job! It is common sense!”

“You’re right, master,” Guillermo says in the tone he uses when he doesn’t mean the thing that he is saying. “Silly me, expecting that you’d treat me any differently than one of your victims.”

Nandor feels like he’s rapidly losing the thread of this conversation. Or, more realistically, that the thread ran out from between his fingers long ago and he’s grasping at the empty air. Guillermo thinks he treats him like a victim? After all the troubles he went through to get the smelly red flowers and the music for his dirty biting fantasy? After he saved him from Nadja’s horrendous aim? After all of their chess games and strolls through the moonlit hunting grounds and the countless hours Nandor has spent listening for the soft thump of Guillermo’s human heart? This is what he thinks?

Nandor curls his lip and hurls his next words to Guillermo’s feet with disdain, “Didn’t you say you were jealous of my victims, Guillermo? Well, now you do not have to be. You are one. Perhaps I should finish the job.”

Guillermo barks out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “Oh, please! You’re not going to kill me anymore than you’re going to turn me.”

Guillermo turns away, the job of dressing his master left unfinished and he starts to leave. Nandor looks at his familiar’s back and he sees him running away, abandoning him just like in his dream. 

“No!” he roars, lifting off the ground several inches as he flies at Guillermo, tackling the human into the wall of his crypt and knocking a 700-year-old sword to the floor. He presses his hands into Guillermo’s shoulders, pinning him in place and marveling at the soft give of his flesh layered over strong muscles. “You are my familiar and I have not given you permission to leave!”

Guillermo’s eyes harden and he parts his lips to deliver what Nandor is certain will be a devastating blow. He’s going to leave him. He’s going to quit. All because Nandor wasn’t aloof enough! He can’t let him do this! If Nandor’s heart could beat he’s sure it would be bursting from his chest this very second. He squeezes Guillermo’s shoulders too hard, painfully grinding the bones beneath his palms as he lunges, burying his face into the pristine, smooth expanse of his familiar’s neck and biting down with all the force in his body. Guillermo screams and flails against him, but it’s pointless. Nandor is too strong and he’s hell bent on giving his human a bruise to match the one on the other side of his neck.

Guillermo’s blood was made for Nandor. It floods his mouth, coating his tongue like a thick, sweet nectar. He swallows it with a savage groan and presses harder against Guillermo, digging his growing erection into the softness of his belly. 

Guillermo is lost in a confusing tangle of rage, sadness, fear and arousal. He can’t fucking believe that Nandor is doing this, basically proving that Guillermo is nothing more than another human victim. And it really, really shouldn’t turn him on this much. His words ring in Guillermo’s ears as the life pulses out of him. Perhaps I should finish the job. Guillermo doesn’t believe for a second that his master is planning to kill but just in case…

He fists his hands in the vampire’s shiny, soft hair--hair he’s lovingly brushed and arranged every night for the last five years--and he yanks it back with all of his might. 

“Ouch! Fucking--” Nandor rears back, blood pouring down his chin and his eyes blown with hunger and lust. He captures Guillermo with those eyes and the familiar is drawn in like a moth to the flame. Why is he always chasing the thing that will hurt him?

Before he can second guess himself, and before Nandor can do something stupid like turn into a vapor, Guillermo grabs the vampire’s collar, tugs him down to his level and slams his mouth against his in a brutal, angry kiss. Fuck you for throwing an axe at my head. Fuck you for making me feel inadequate. Fuck you for kissing me and then trying to erase it from my memory. And really, truly, deeply, fuck you for making me love you anyway.

Guillermo’s hands paw at Nandor’s bearded jaw, holding in place as their lips slide together, tongues seeking and massaging. The salty copper taste of Guillermo’s own blood fills his mouth as Nandor plunders inside. The vampire moans, his hands straying down over Guillermo’s chest, his stomach, reaching around to settle over the round curve of his backside. Guillermo whimpers into Nandor’s lips as the vampire squeezes his fingers into his buttocks and simultaneously rolls his pelvis. There’s a sound in the distance trying to attract his attention. As if Guillermo would let go of this moment for anything in the world.

In the next instant, the door to the crypt flings open and Laszlo ducks inside, slamming it shut again just in time to keep out his shrieking, furious wife. Nandor breaks away from Guillermo, jumping back and holding his hands aloft with an obvious, guilty expression. 

Laszlo takes one look at Nandor’s blood stained mouth and Guillermo’s utterly ravished appearance and snorts in amusement.

“I fucking knew it!”

[zukofenty]

FWU

➜ Summary: The one where Katara (is sure) she's in love with the campus drug dealer. 

“Sokka, I swear! He’s not a drug dealer...he’s just an unlicensed pharmacist!” 

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, humor, DrugDealer!Zuko

➜ Words: 2.5k 

➜ Warnings: I will fight Katara for DrugDealer!Zuko 😩

AO3 

“We got the goods!” Katara squeals, throwing down flour, sugar, chocolate chips, and a sack of marijuana. 

Suki picks it up, sniffing the plastic bag. “This shit is loud and clear.” Her smile is dangerously devious. “Thanks, Zuko! This is going to be the best 4/20 ever!” Suki immediately begins to grab the proffered ingredients, shuffling them to the kitchen. She’s already taking some of the buds and putting them on a tray to prep in the oven. “Who knew fingering a drug dealer’s asshole would come in handy?” 

  Zuko immediately turns beet red. “Why do you keep telling people that happened?” Katara slaps Suki upside the head. 

  “Because I like seeing the two of you squirm, sue me!” Suki admits, shrugging her shoulders and dodging Toph’s slap to her ass. 

  Katara collapses on her futon, positively spent after spending the day helping Zuko drop off sacks for his clients, while buying all the ingredients they needed for baking edibles to celebrate the holiday.

  // 

  “Zuko, what the fuck are you doing!” Katara screams, almost losing grip of the wheel. 

  “How about you make sure your fucking Prius doesn’t eat shit?” Zuko screeches, coming back to his seat after sticking his entire body out the hybrid car. 

  Katara smacks her forehead. The pain where she hit is almost as bad as the frustration she feels. “This is the exact fucking reason I never get Chipotle with you!” She sees the car that was formerly beside her pulled over at the side of the freeway, the driver clearly angry with how hard he was pounding the pavement with his fist. His entire body is covered in Zuko’s half chicken half barbacoa burrito bowl. 

  “I’m not going to lie, that was impressive. The NFL’s vag must be positively pulsating,” Katara deadpans, rubbing at her temples to relieve the pressure from forming. Sokka always said her road rage was the worst he’s ever seen, but alas her shouting and occasionally flipping people off could never compare to Zuko’s hotheadedness. Her gut feeling about grabbing an extra bowl paid off, much to her dismay. This was not a rare occurrence. “How did you manage to throw your entire bowl through the crack of his window?” 

  “Well, the NFL can go eat a dick!” Zuko says, wiping his hands on a Chipotle napkin before taking a sip from his water cup filled to the brim with their lemonade. “And the shit dick had it coming.” He did, Zuko swears. It’s completely his fault for not only playing Michael Buble as loud as his Honda Accord was capable of, but also refusing to use his turn signal, and then screaming “fuck you, pussy hoe!” when Katara honked at him. That bitch. 

  “Right. Anyways, I’m recalling a conversation we had I think...yes! Two days ago. You’re still thinking about going to therapy, right? You’re moving on from your designated therapy toad?” 

  Zuko fully turns to face Katara. He accidentally bumps his head on the roof, and proceeds to smack it. “First of all, what makes you say that? Second of all, you know Frank has a name!” 

  “Not your anger issues, of course.” She doesn’t miss his eye roll. “Also, when you gave me your phone so I could text your uncle that you were going to pick him up, I went through your Youtube search history. Because I care. You deserve better than boxed hair dye tutorials, Zuko. I know you can do better.” At the red light, she grabs Zuko’s shoulder in an almost caring manner. He slaps her tiny hand away. 

  //

  Zuko was certain he was spending this 4/20 positively baked , so while he waited for everyone to wash their hands so they could whip up his favorite Vegan Chocolate Chip Cookies edibles (with a gooey marshmallow middle), he took out his grinder from his hoodie’s pocket. 

  He grabs at the Sailor Moon bong he bought Katara for the one month anniversary of the time she saved him from being beaten to death by a group of frat brothers. She didn’t nearly like using marijuana as much her friends did, insisting on her maintaining her brain and lung health. She’d never admit to enjoying the cannabliss that came with huffing and puffing out some Mary Jane, but Zuko knows her sleepy smile after taking a hit lets her sleep just the slightest bit better. 

  Especially now that she’s working nonstop to pay off her tuition this semester. While Sokka was efficiently loaded, his record label was going through a rough patch after a scandal with one of their artists. Apparently, having viral toe sucking videos reflected badly on you as a person, and a number of investors pulled out after the news broke. Sokka was dipping into emergency savings, about to sell the Bugatti, but Katara insisted on taking on a few part time jobs. It breaks Zuko’s heart when he’s the first one to come home to her apartment, even after doing his runs for the night. She’s always blearly, insisting on taking a “quick nap” before she takes off her makeup. He likes feeling useful, when she instantly falls asleep and he’s the one using Micellar Water and a cotton pad to rub off her stubborn mascara of the day. 

  “I will literally curb stomp the Dean for you,” Zuko tells her, the fire behind his words that makes Katara doubt it was a passing joke. 

  “Zuko. No.” 

  He remembers being woken up in the middle of the night, Katara whispering into her phone. He invested in the Sailor Moon pipe after he found out she could only sleep a few hours, before being woken up abruptly from the stress weighing on her mind (her dark circles betrayed her).  “I started seeing someone,” Katara mutters, checking over her shoulder to see if Zuko was still sound asleep. She started wincing at the palpable silence that followed. 

  “As in dating or hallucinations?” Sokka questions, much too loud for her taste. 

  She sighs. “Don’t get like this! He’s a good guy, I promise. His name’s Zuko.” She hears shuffling on the other side of the line, after the prominent thunk of the phone dropping. “Why does that name sound so familiar? And so colonizer-like…” His voice is filled with suspicion, and she could almost see the cogs in his brain whirring to life. Before she could utter another word, her brother abruptly yelps. “Isn’t he the drug dealer who got beat up on campus?” 

  Katara sucks in a breath. “How do you know about that?” 

  “I read the Campus Crime Alert emails the school sends out, idiot! For such an expensive school, you would think they would have better security and less laptop snatchings. By the way, we need to buy you a laptop lock. You still have that self defense knife I sent you?” Sokka angrily whispers in the phone, mocking Katara’s quiet tone. 

  “Yes, dad !” She hears his irate protests as she flips her body to face Zuko. He looks a few years younger when he sleeps, breathing even and face forgetting the patented scowl. His bare chest and sweatpants hanging low on his hips were enticing. His hair was almost perfectly positioned, the strands messy and unruly but just screamed Zuko . The dangly cross earring doing too much to her heart. Down girl, down! Katara tells her pussy. “Sokka, I swear! He’s not a drug dealer...he’s just an unlicensed pharmacist!” 

  “I have the email right here! Right here! And tell me what about ‘student being violently attacked due to drug related incidents ’ doesn’t scream drug dealer getting beat up for drug dealing !” Katara bites down on her tongue, whether to hold back a laugh or scream she wasn’t completely sure. 

  Suki takes a hit from her Hello Kitty dab pen, a white, bedazzled one that Zuko had gotten her. Toph and Katara also had matching Hello Kitty dab pens, in green and blue respectively. She thinks Zuko has one in red, too. She added a second layer of soy lecithin to the weed infused mixture, before popping it in the oven again for another 30 mins. 

  In the meantime, Katara was preparing the ingredients for the cookies. Zuko’s laying on the ground, narrowly missing the futon, eyes glazed over. He hasn’t moved in the past twenty minutes. “Katara, that isn’t the hand mixer, that’s your vibrator .” Suko gently chastises, moving the device from her lax hands. Katara always complained her hands were numb when she was high, and once dropped a mug from their balcony after they packed a bowl together for the first time. Suki is still bitter. It was her favorite Gudetama mug. 

  After freezing the mixture for two hours, Suki, Toph, and Zuko were hard at work, mixing ingredients, and preparing to get fucked up. A few people have stopped by the apartment to exchange plastic bags for cash. 

  “Are you turning Katara’s apartment into a dispensary? ” Toph is absolutely incredulous. 

  “That’s a loaded question with an answer very much open to interpretation…” Zuko ducks the house slipper Toph propels to his face.  

  Katara has a dumb smile on her face, wide and threatening to split her head open. She’s an avid texter when she’s baked.  

 **

Katara: What are you doing right now? Come over! Zuko’s got apology weed for you <3

  Jet: I’m at McDonald’s!! Kinda of high lol 

  Katara: Ooo you got the munchies? 

  Jet: Nah 

  Katara: how come? 

  Jet: I smoke meth lmaoooo

**

  “Who are you texting?” Zuko asks, plopping next to her spot on the floor. She’s sprawled out, hair every which way and tangling into already unruly knots he’s going to have to detangle in the morning for her. Because Katara’s a lightweight, and suffers from weed hangovers regularly. Zuko’s already recovered from his many hits at the Moon Stick pipe. 

  “Did you know Jet smokes meth?” 

  Zuko rolls his eyes, curling up and trapping Katara with his outstretched embrace. “I really thought he would like my I’m sorry weed.” 

  “Me too.” He kisses the pout off of her.  

  Katara steadily crawls up (Zuko doesn’t miss her sleep shorts riding up) and tries her best to help Toph mix the marshmallow and Cinnamon Toast crunch mixture being heated up in their big pot they stole from Katara’s neighbor. 

  When Katara grabs the hand mixer to try assisting the cookie batter, Zuko knew he had to intervene lest something explodes. She smiles when he surrounds her with his body, the warm weight of his chest against her back and his hand wrapping around hers on the mixing device. 

  He loves her, he’s sure. Even while they roll the cookies together she tries to be funny (when she clearly knows she isn’t) and throws the dough at him, and it lands in his hair. He’s sure she peed herself with how hard she was laughing and scrambling to find the bathroom when her eyes could barely open. 

  Zuko shuts down his phone when the sweet scent of the pastries flood his nostrils. Even if 4/20 is like his version of Christmas, he’s determined to spend it with his girl. “I think my pussy just gave out. That shit looks dank ,” Katara squeals, shaking Toph by the shoulders to emphasize her point. 

  “Thanks for the visual,” Toph says, looking devious and wholly prepared to get stoned. 

  //

  “I could beat his ass if I needed to,” Katara loudly whispers in Suki’s ear. At this point, they were all laying down on the floor, the familiar tingle of an impending high at the forefront of their minds. 

  “Katara, you’re staring at a poster of 11 year old Frankie Muniz.” Suki shakes the girl off her. “Why do you always say that about any guy you see, sober or not?” 

  Zuko’s the most sober of them all, but based on the fact he killed a few joints on his own, he thinks he’s about to die. Toph’s on the balcony, weary of the smoke detector. She comes back in after repeatedly coughing, pounding at her chest to lessen the pain. She promptly lays on the floor with the rest of them, stupidly smiling. 

  Zuko sits, leaning on the futon for support. He pulls Katara into his lap, and she’s pliant, immediately melting in his hold. Hands coming out to wrap around his neck. “Check your school portal,” he says into her ear. She laughs at the sensation. 

  “Why?” She’s breathless, when he rubs comforting circles into her back. Zuko finds her phone, thrown carelessly on the futon, before gingerly handing it to her. After she types in the login information, she gasps, the sound reverberating through the room. Zuko blushes, and rubs the back of his neck gingerly. 

  “Happy 4/20, baby,” he presses a sweet kiss to her hair, wiping away the pricks of tears appearing at her eyes. 

  “ You’re lying !” She couldn’t believe her eyes, and thinks she’s a little dizzy from how many times she zooms in and out of the tuition financial statement. “You’re fucking lying!” The bill, formerly with a nauseating number of zeros was now only $0.00. “How?” she splutters, even spitting in her haste. 

  “Toph knew your portal login, so I just kind of...paid it off?” He’s doing the thing where he’s rubbing at his neck and looking shy, and so so positively adorable . The sheepish look he gives her makes it known that she was screwed . So absolutely in love. “I want you to not worry about it. Save the money from your job for something else.” The kiss she slams against his lips nearly knocks his breath away. 

  //

  “So what’s your plan, after paying all this off?” Zuko remembered Toph asking, after she entered Katara's password. 

  “After this, she’s catching all this ball juice. Going to suck her eggs out her ovaries like it’s boba. I’ll even use the straw and everything,” Zuko says, entering the pin of his debit card. 

  “You know what. She should have let you die that night.” 

  //

  “Who knew there would be perks to dating a drug dealer?” Toph teases.  “Girls be so single and then boom ! Baby shower pictures with some drug dealer in a Burberry shirt and Nike Air Maxes.”

  Suki groans. “Toph, I swear. You are a hindrance to society.” 

  “Well, you’re a cunt!” 

  She shoves the smaller girl. She gets up to face Katara, still staring at her phone in shock. Her hair is a bird’s nest after growing two sizes two large and painfully matted.  “You know, we thought we were bad friends for letting you date a drug dealer with mommy and daddy issues. We just sat there and prayed that our ‘we’re so happy for you guys!’ was convincing. But, I kind of like him.” 

  “Thanks for the support,” Zuko grumbles. 

  “Anytime!” The two say, perfectly synchronized.

  “Like MJ doctor, they killing me,” Zuko sighs, dropping his head in the crook of her neck, defeated. Katara’s heart nearly bursts because he’s so cute . A big bad drug dealer, but she still was squeezing at his cheeks like they were mochi, and he was dumbly smiling back. 

  “Why do you always quote Nicki Minaj lyrics when you’re high?” She thinks she can’t feel her face, the excessive smiling numbing her features. 

  He’s bombed, stomach growling from getting the munchies and devouring an entire box of Suki’s Wheat Thins cereal and he thinks he feels his heart about to explode. Whether it’s Katara’s sweet, sweet smile, or her body pressing to his, he’s not sure. She’s soft and perfect and everything he could have asked for. He’s sure he’s in love, the type of love that was dangerous and stupid and promised to consume him whole. Yet, he’s all but offered his heart on a silver platter to Katara. Her presence in his life was a constant he was willing to fight to keep. 

  “I love you,” he mumbles against her lips.

  “I know.” She stares into his eyes, before grabbing his hand. “I love you more.” 

  “Impossible.” 

  She pokes his chest in protest. 

  “Say it again, please?” Zuko begs, voice whiny. Her kiss was an adequate confirmation of the sentiment.  

[arabellaflynn]

Hello, all. It has been a rough pandemic.

As you may have figured, since I am in the performing arts, I have been completely out of work since this shitshow began. The earliest venues will open up here in MA is September, which is not helpful for me, because I need to be out of my current place by 8/31. No one will rent to me on my Patreon income, so I've been trying to figure out how to supplement that with other online work.

My first thought, frankly, was camming. I'm attractive and I know that, and I don't care about being naked in "public". I have a lot of opinions on the legitimacy and legalization of sex work, but making a statement would be a convenient bonus; I'd be in it for the tips. As the appliance menagerie on the Flintstones used to say, "Eh. It's a living."

The best camera I currently have is attached to the slightly-less ancient laptop. You know, the one with the broken hinge that won't hold the screen up on the right. Only the wifi on that computer has quit working. The onboard chip was always kind of flaky, but for some reason it has chosen now to deteriorate to the point where it no longer acknowledges a router on the other side of the goddamn wall. Shooting in the living room with an ethernet cable is not an option, because another housemate is already doing that.

I bought a dual-band USB wifi adapter with antenna. It's a Realtek chip -- not gold-plated, but also not total junk. I specifically checked to make sure it worked with Ubuntu Bionic before I ordered. I have now installed three separate sets of drivers in three completely different ways, read everything ever written about this on AskUbuntu, and still the computer refuses to acknowledge its existence. Not even if I blacklist the onboard chip to keep it from falling back into previous bad habits.

The other elderly laptop (with the working wifi) has a cam that tops out at 640 x 480, which I suppose might squeak by as a tiny facecam on Twitch, or for tutoring where no one cares about pixelization. The microphone, however, is crap. It's a tinny omni on the screen bezel that likes room noise more than my voice. I don't have an external microphone, and there's no onboard Bluetooth for my wireless headset. So I bought a USB Bluetooth adapter, which this computer is ignoring as hard as the other one is the wifi dongle. I have a wired headset with a mic, but because this computer is probably mere months too old to know what to do with an inline mic on the same jack as the output signal, it doesn't register at all.

The camera on my phone is potato quality, because that is honestly about how much the phone cost. Ditto the refurb Kindle. Neither is smart enough to keep up with streaming video, which I found out when I tried to do a video rehearsal for something months ago. 

I have no place to do any kind of professional non-entertainment streaming work (e.g., tutoring) with my terrible equipment in any event. I don't own a desk. If a free desk appeared on my doorstep tomorrow, I would have nowhere to put it. My bedroom is small enough to contravene the Geneva Convention requirements for POW cells and I'm basically stuck in here, for reasons of both air conditioning and not having to interact with a house full of people who very much want me gone.

What I do have is a set of working emulators and some free video editing software, so I decided to take a stab at a subtitled Let's Play. I can certainly ramble on for 30 or so hours of Final Fantasy II. At the very least it'll give me something scheduled to do. So I pulled everything out and set it up, only to find that my controller was "pining for the fjords" -- no lights, no acknowledgement from RetroArch, no response to any button presses.

...

...okay, well, at least we're down to a level of equipment I can afford to replace. So I am waiting for the mail carrier to bring me another $10 gamepad, whilst stuck in bureaucratic hell. I'm down to emergency public assistance, which keeps asking me to send them random documents, inconveniently one at a time. Even when I can submit them online I'm required to wait a minimum of 2-3 business days before a human can look at them. I'm trying to not be mad -- they are clearly horribly overworked -- but it also leaves me with a lot of time to do nothing but busy-wait. They've finally decided I'm destitute enough for food stamps, so now I have to sit on my hands until the card arrives in the mail.

The chronic, crushing lack of resources is not helped by (or helping) the fact that I'm just not functioning very well. I was already on the edge of disintegration when the lockdown orders hit anyway; I was taking every piece of work I could find in an effort to scrape together enough for first/last/deposit on a new apartment, and honestly that's more than I can handle. I can consistently get to about 20 hours of "stuff that can't be done while in bed, wearing pajamas" per week, with occasional spikes up to about 30, before I start losing the ability to take care of myself. I skip showers, let my living space become a complete disaster area, and go to bed without dinner because the whole process of choosing something to eat, preparing it, eating it, and cleaning up after myself is so overwhelming that I just burst into tears and don't do it. I fed the rats twice a day and cleaned their cage once or twice a week, but couldn't manage to do the same for myself.

It's difficult to explain to people the state of being physically and mentally exhausted without also being sweaty and shaky from muscle fatigue. Perhaps the single most salient example I can give is lying in bed at night and realizing I kind of vaguely needed to pee. Not like urgently -- just enough that I knew if I didn't, I'd wake up the next day with an uncomfortably full bladder. Then just lying there anyway, not because I thought suffering was noble or I deserved it or anything idiotic like that, but just because taking care of it would involve standing up, walking into another room, and initiating a new task, and I did not have the capacity to do any of those things.

If you suggest I start making a to-do list, I will sit down right now and invent a brand new Blunt Object Transfer Protocol (botp://) expressly for the purpose of punching you, personally, in the face over the goddamn internet. I will even credit you in the patent application. I will not share the licensing profits, which judging from social media right now, would be approximately all of the money on the face of the Earth. I do not need "life hacks". 

What I really need is a case worker, or possibly a babysitter, or just to have shown up at the ER about two months ago, because that is the only way I have ever found to get people to pay attention when I ask for help. Otherwise I get triaged out of sight and out of mind -- they ask if I'm suicidal, I tell them no, they tell me 'okay, here's a prescription for six Xanax and a packet of resources, go home and fix it yourself'. I'm just like, you sons of bitches, do you think I don't know how to Google things? If I could fix this on my own, I wouldn't be talking to you. Except I can't right now, because plague.

Everyone wants to fob me off on someone else. I was referred to an SSDI attorney by a friend, because frankly that's where I'm at right now. I wrote to them, specifically mentioning his name and the associate who helped him, and explained that I was basically a vegetable and I needed help applying for disability. I'm a college-educated suburban white girl, who grew up hearing her parents make rude jokes about welfare queens -- I have no idea how any of this works and I'm so broken I kept losing my place in a blanket whose pattern was literally "knit-purl-knit-purl to end of row; turn work over; repeat". Their response was "Sounds like you need some help applying for SSDI/SSI disability. Here's the website for the Boston Bar Association, good luck!" Crisis lines of both the psychiatric and financial varieties keep directing me to one of two national clearinghouse sites for social support services, both of which direct me to each other, because neither has any programs in my area.

I am trying really, really hard not to resent the ever-loving fuck out of anyone who has any sort of support system right now. One housemate has almost the exact same list of medical problems that I do, and is also completely out of work right now. She is married to the one who has a grown-up salaried WFH IT job, and will never have to worry about having a roof over her head or food in the cabinets. The single housemate has supportive family literally a five minute walk down the street; if she ever gets her feet kicked out from under her, she can stay with them temporarily while she scrambles back up. Another friend yote out to California right before lockdown to stay with his family. A local offered to help me with paperwork, then ghosted me intermittently before explaining that he was having a hard time himself right now and barely had the capacity for his own life. I have an elderly rat, no more savings, and no options.

I don't even know how I'm going to move the little I own. How do you even ask people to do that in the middle of a pandemic? If I don't have the money to move, I definitely don't have the money for a moving company, and I'm envisioning all of my community-minded friends pursing their lips in judgement and declining because like all the good people they are diligently social distancing.

I have also discovered, while hauling an empty suitcase out to Watertown and a full one back home again, that I do not cope well with face masks. It's fine if I'm not doing much, especially if I'm in a climate-controlled space like a store or the T, but as soon as I exert myself at all, I see spots. And no, it is not a matter of "just get used to it"; I have tested this by trying to wear a mask during my home workouts. It is just stuffy enough under there, and there is just enough reduction in air flow, that the world keeps going all film-grainy and dark on the sides, which I know from experience is the first step on a very short path to the Magical Land of Syncope. I had to stop during the outdoor trek and sit on the suitcase about twice a block through the commercial district, where it stayed on because there were people. This was when it was 72 whole degrees out (and the AC is generally on 74°F inside) which doesn't bode well for moving my heavy shit around in late August. 

I'm normally good at catching things at the weird-vision stage, although enough random strangers and T employees have asked me if I'm okay that I have to assume I look as ill as I feel at that point. And I have an absolutely tragic talent for talking people out of calling emergency services when I do actually keel over, but everyone is so health-panicked that I don't think it would work right now. I know what's happened and why, but I can't exactly communicate that to bystanders when I'm unconscious. As nice as EMS is, I don't feel like waking up to a round of Twenty Questions ("How many fingers am I holding up? Who's the President? Do you have a seizure disorder?"). So I just don't go out.

Alison over at Ask A Manager got a question about this the other day that suggests this is considered legitimate can't-(always-)wear-a-mask territory, and I am able to wear a mask where required in MA, which is indoors/during interactions with other people when it's actually useful, so I don't have any qualms on the scientific or legal front. I have just never been a good judge of how much potential peril/damage it's "reasonable" to put up with, and I don't have the capacity to explain myself over and over again a million times a day. 

I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of covid, I'm tired of living in a big glitzy continent-spanning banana republic, I'm tired of anxiety, I'm tired of other people carping at me to do things I can't in order to fix their anxiety for them, I'm tired of not having the space to dance, I'm tired of asking for help before things fall apart and being told 'well, come back when it is an emergency', and most of all I'm tired of this cycle where I tell myself "I'm going to stop being lazy! I'm going to put on my big-girl pants and wake up early and work 40 hours a week and support myself like an adult!" and then fail at it again because I just do not have the capacity to do that. I do not know how to make the system understand that I need some kind of support right now. 

Sorry for yet another depressing update, but that's where I am right now.

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[raybansandcoffee]

Los Angeles, When Will You Save Me? - Chapter One: Welcome Home (Joy Williams)

First off, I am so sorry about the delay in getting the first official chapter of Los Angeles, When Will You Save Me? posted. Winter has been hell. The weather in Iowa has been so spastic I’ve basically had a constant migraine since January. My oldest cat was sick off and on which has resulted in $200 in vet bills in the last month, thankfully none of it is life threatening. I’ve decided that running my own business and trying to fulfill my creative need by writing isn’t enough and have been working on launching a podcast with a close friend of mine. Then February decided to go out with a fucking bang and a panic attack as one of my closest friends was diagnosed with cancer which led to an incredibly dark period for me.

I need to find solace in my writing but this story was too heavy, too real for me to do that so I started writing something different. One of the hugest parts of my anxiety is perfectionism. I don’t like doing something if I can’t make it perfect. Today I realized something incredibly important:

Done is better than perfect.

So here it is, a completed chapter one. I hope you enjoy it and can’t wait to hear what you think about it.

Again, thank you for sticking with me through all of this.

Chapter One: Welcome Home (Joy Williams)

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Harry asked as he walked into the gym. I was just finishing a ride on my Peloton and he looked prepared for his morning work out. 

“Not really.”

“Hey Harry,” Dad called through the video chat we were doing while we did the ride together.

“Good morning, Marco. Should I blame you for the reason my girlfriend didn’t sleep last night?”

“That’s not my fault. Blame that Horcrux of hers. I got an email from her at 3:30AM, your time not mine.” It was currently 6:45 so Harry knew if I slept it was for only a handful of hours.

“Evie,” Harry said in his concerned tone of voice.

“What? I had a lot of work to do.”

“I’m gonna bow out of this conversation now. Have a good day. Love ya, Bambina.”

“Love ya, Dad.” The video ended and stepped off of the bike. I got on my tip toes to kiss Harry. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. You should’ve slept last night.”

“I missed the staff meeting yesterday because of the follow-up appointment Pops had with his cardiologist. So I had to read through the notes, get back with some of my staff on things and get prepped for a few conference calls and meetings that I have today.”

“Does this mean you’re leaving the house to work?”

“No, they are all with the New York and London teams. So they are video chats.”

“Everlee.”

“Just stop. I’m working from home again today. It’s okay.”

“You’re eventually going to have to go back to normal life.”

“I am back to normal life,” I argued. “Just an altered version of normal life.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” He was frustrated with me but he was being as supportive as he could be. “I have a meeting with the team to plan our recording sessions today. I’d like for my manager to attend, but we aren’t having the meeting in this house.” I hesitated. 

“What time is it?”

“It’s a lunch meeting.” I scrolled through my schedule on my phone. 

“I can do a lunch meeting.”

“Good. Now go shower, you smell disgusting.” Harry smiled as he kissed me. I walked out of the gym and into the morning air. A few steps from the gym and I snuck into the kitchen to find a fresh pot of coffee.

“Good morning, Everlee,” Linda said. She handed me the breakfast I’d gotten in the habit of eating every morning.

“Hey kiddo,” Pops called from the island where he was enjoying a cup of coffee, reading through the news on his iPad and eating breakfast. I walked towards him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Done with your morning workout already? It’s a bit early for you.”

“Yeah, Dad and I scheduled a Peloton ride together.”

“You two are having way too much fun with that.” I’d gotten one for Dad’s birthday for him while also buying one for myself.

“Hey, at least I’m being healthy.”

“Which I love,” Pops replied. “Are you going into the office today?” 

“Nope. I’ve got conference calls and video meetings. Though Harry is dragging me to lunch with the team he’s selected for his album. They are discussing the recording schedule.”

“When does he leave for Jamaica?”

“End of the month.” I slid into the seat beside my father. 

“You prepared to be apart again?”

“Not really. But it’s our life. We will always have time apart because of our careers.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo.” 

“Eh, it’s life. I better go shower though. My first conference call is in an hour and it’s a video conference.” I groaned as I stood up. 

“I’ll come down and see you a little later.” I kissed Pops on the cheek again before walking back outside and through the deck and outdoor area to the guest house. I slid the door open to find Harold curled up on the couch. He meowed at me. 

“Good morning, bud.” I scratched his head a little bit. “Mummy is gonna go shower.” As I headed towards the bathroom the cat jumped down off of the couch and followed me. It had been an adjustment period for us. Harry and I had been sharing his 4 bedroom, 5 bathroom, 4,400 square foot home near the Sunset Strip, sure Ty and Eliza had been living with us but they were rarely there because of work and their relationships. Once Pops was released from the hospital I moved into the guest house I’d lived in at his house in college. I refused to be away from him. Harry, not wanting to be away from me, packed up his stuff, the cat, and most of my things to move in with me at my father’s. 

It had been an adjustment the first six weeks that we’d been here but we were starting to get into a groove. I’d get up in the morning, work out, shower, get some work done, spend time with my father, and we’d all have dinner together. Harry was almost acting as Pops’ personal trainer. They’d play tennis, basketball, go on hikes, swim, and spend time in the gym that was in the house. I’d even witness Pops doing yoga with Harry which was something I never in a million years imagined I’d see. 

I’d been refusing to leave the house to go to work at the office. Kammi and Cameron were, of course, supportive of it. They knew I needed to be home with Pops for a while. For the most part, everyone had been really supportive. When Cynthia found out that I’d been using the coffee table that was near the couch in the guest house, which was essentially a really nice studio apartment, she showed up and went to work. The guest houses on the property were right next to each other. They were all rarely used except the one Pops had converted into a gym when he bought the house, in fact, the one Harry and I were living in hadn’t been used since I lived here in college. We even found some of my stuff still in the closet. She put the bedroom furniture of another guest house into storage in the house and within 48 hours designed and put together a dream office for me. Unlike my office at SME, it was all white, calming, and very serene. Harry had put me in a car, driven me to the Apple Store and told me to buy everything I needed to have a home office. I’d always just functioned off of my laptop when I was at home because I’d had roommates and nowhere to have a desk. I even went overboard and bought two iMacs so that if he was in there with me he could be on a computer as Cynthia had put two desks in there. There was still comfy furniture so if someone was there with me or if Harry or Pops came out to hang out while I worked they didn’t have to sit in a chair at my desk or if I needed to relax for a few minutes between calls I could. Kammi would occasionally come and work with me here so we could spend some time together and I could get some face time with people that weren’t my father, my boyfriend, Linda, Cynthia, Rachel or the twins. 

It had been nice to have Cynthia and the girls around the house again. It gave the house life when they’d all show up for dinner or a Saturday by the pool or on the horses. It was almost as if we were a family again. I had been pressuring Cynthia to talk to my father. I heard her in the hospital telling him he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere because she needed to talk to him. Here we were, six weeks later and she’d said nothing. He just thought that because he’d nearly died everyone was afraid to leave him alone. I knew that it was because she was hopelessly in love with him but still afraid to tell him that.

As I stood in the shower I heard my phone vibrate on the sink a few times. I tried to ignore it. It wasn’t even 8:00 yet. Everyone had been doing really great about not contacting me outside of normal business hours. They knew that if they did I’d work 24/7 which was unhealthy and a habit that Pops, Cameron, Kammi, and the Board were trying to break me of. Mom and Dad had made a trip out when Pops was first released from the hospital. They wanted to make sure I was okay and that Pops was okay. The boys were able to come with them and against my better judgment, Pops pushed me out of the house to spend time with them. It was nice to see them and spend time with them for a while. Mom was concerned and still is, about the fact that I’d moved home with Pops. She didn’t want me to give up my life to take care of him, but she got it. She knew it was temporary, I just wanted to be close to him in case something else happened. I had gone far enough to outfit every room on the property with one of those damn Amazon Echos so that no matter where he was I could talk to him. Harry wasn’t a huge fan of it but he knew that his girlfriend who dealt with severe anxiety needed to be able to reach her father wherever he was to settle her anxiety.

I got out of the shower and towel dried my hair before getting dressed. I’d chopped my hair short a few weeks ago. My stylist told me that it was something she’d been anticipated after she heard about Pops. Evidently, it was totally normal for people to go through massive changes in their physical appearance after traumatic experiences. She was also placing bets on how long it would be before I appeared back in the salon asking for extensions because of how much I loved having long hair. I must admit, it was easier to get ready in the morning and often times I just allowed my hair to air dry and embrace the slight wave my hair had naturally. Knowing I was going to lunch with Harry and his team I put on a pair of skinny jeans that were a little ripped and a vintage tee that Harry had bought for me recently. I would normally work in clothing that fell in the athleisure category since I didn’t really leave the house unless I absolutely had to. I grabbed my laptop off the coffee table, my planner, Harold, and a few other things before heading towards my office. 

“Alexa, turn on my morning playlist,” I said as I slide the door open and walked into my office leaving the screen door open so I could enjoy the morning air while I worked.

“Playing Evie’s Morning Playlist on Spotify,” the computerized voice replied. I plugged in my MacBook Pro and woke up the iMac while I got settled in at my desk. I had a routine every morning. First I’d turn on the morning playlist I’d made on Spotify and then turn on the giant TV that hung on the wall with CNN on with it on mute with closed captioning so I could stay up-to-date on the news while I worked. Then I look at my calendar and updated my to do list in Wunderlist so I knew what my tasks were for the day. After that, I’d check my email and see if there’s anything I need to add while prioritizing what I needed to reply to and when. I would always send out the morning update to my team with everything that I needed by the end of the day. I’d become surprisingly productive and followed this same routine every morning. 

Living without an assistant a few feet away had been a challenge at first. I debated back and forth on if I wanted to have Eliza working here with me every day, we’d even tried it for a week and gave up. Sharing the office space with her wasn’t productive for me and it had seemed incredibly uncomfortable for everyone involved. I wasn’t keeping the hours I normally did. There wasn’t a cafeteria so if you wanted to eat it was in the kitchen in the main house. I’d adjusted, she hadn’t. So she went back to work at the office. I think the amount of time Harry spent in the office with me bothered her a bit. He’d been a great help, often bouncing ideas with me when I needed human interaction. He also spent time working on his stuff while I worked, which was surprisingly nice. Since we’d set the space up as an office for both of us he was in here with me for part of the day most days. Though on days that Kammi came to work with me he’d hand off his desk and work from the couch if he felt like invading girl time. We even tried Eliza spending a few hours here once a week until a week ago when she asked if she could stop doing that. She said it wasn’t conducive to her work style. I could respect that. The work life I had set up now wasn’t for everyone. But that meant her job was shifting because she wasn’t really working for me anymore. Harry had suggested I look at getting a personal assistant, someone that could help with some of the stuff that Eliza had done that kept me organized but more specifically someone that could help me with things like running errands and making sure that my personal life was organized. I knew that what he was suggesting made sense but the fear of Eliza’s reaction had me hesitating to start the search for one.

At the request of Cameron, Kammi, and the board my responsibilities had started to shift because of the change with Pops. We’d temporarily promoted Pops’ #2 to take over his management roles and some of mine had shifted to several of my top employees in LA so that I could be the daughter I needed to be. It had been a challenge, I wasn’t always the best delegator but I trusted the people beneath me and knew that they were not only capable of taking on more but also deserved the chance to shine. I’d been so impressed by their work. I met with the once per week. Sometimes it was in a coffee shop as an excuse to get me out of the house. Sometimes they came over to the house and we’d hang out on the deck, enjoy some of Linda’s delicious food and the gorgeous view from my Pops’ house. And I’d even tried going into the office to meet with them once, that had been a nightmare. The second I walked in the door everyone was in my face. I hadn’t been in the office in two weeks at that point and Pops hadn’t either so everyone wanted to know how everything was going. It had been extremely overwhelming. I’d actually locked myself in my office and had a panic attack as soon as I made it through the building. It was too much being there and having everyone ask questions and try and get time with me. After that day I’d been afraid to go back into the office. 

I’d not disclosed that panic attack to anyone but my therapist who I was now seeing twice a week. She was trying to prepare me mentally for the idea that someday I’d have to go back to work in the office while also working through the emotional repercussions of all of the changes happening in my life. Processing my father nearly dying had been hard. I didn’t talk for two days and had remained relatively quiet until he got out of the hospital and I started living with him again. My relationships with my friends and family had changed, which she told me constantly was normal. I’d experienced something extremely traumatic and only those who felt that same kind of trauma would get what I’d gone through or at least try to be supportive. I’d found myself growing apart from people I thought were essential to my existence and closer to people that at one point in my life I’d wished didn’t exist in my life. Harry had started joining me for one of the appointments with me each week. We’d struggled initially after my decision to move in with Pops. Living in a guest house together had been quite the adjustment. We’d fought a few times, once to the point that I slept on the couch in my office. I woke up the next morning to Harry sleeping on the floor beside me. He started crying and telling me that he was done fighting, he wanted to do whatever he needed to do to support me. That was when we decided he’d start joining me with my therapist on occasion. The experience initially had tried to pull us apart but honestly, we were closer now than we had been before.

“Hey there, buddy,” I said to Harold as he jumped up onto my desk looking for a few scratches behind his ear. He immediately meowed back at me. He was an extremely talkative cat. I loved that he was so happy coming to my office with me during the day. Sometimes he’d lay on the couch but most of the time he’d occupy a spot on my desk so that he could be part of everything that was going on. Sometimes he’d try to jump into the view of my video conferences. My staff and clients had become big fans of Harold’s appearances. I saw the request pop up in the corner of my screen for my first video chat, this one was with the head of my department in London. It would likely take about a half hour. In an hour I had one scheduled with the head of the department in New York. They’d each stepped up immediately taking over the weekly staff meetings that I usually video conferenced in for. Today they’d touch base with me to let me know how the staff meeting had gone. Then this afternoon I’d touch base with the staff in Chicago and LA that were handling the offices for me. We were working towards a quarterly meeting at the end of next week that would be held here in LA. As soon as the video chat with London ended a new request came in, this one from Kammi.

“Hey,” I answered as I leaned back in my chair with my iced coffee.

“Happy Monday!” she said cheerily, she had clearly had more coffee than I had so far.

“You’re still too fucking cheery in the morning.”

“Sorry, not sorry. How is the morning so far?” 

“Not too bad. The video conference with London went well. The portion of the staff that will be here next week for quarterly meetings is excited.”

“Are you?”

“Fuck no,” I replied laughing. “I hate quarterly meetings. If I get a second of sleep between now and the end of next week I’ll be surprised.”

“You clearly didn’t get any last night,” she said. I’d emailed her at 4:00 this morning. I shrugged. “I know that they prescribed you sleeping pills. You need to take them.” She and Harry clearly talked about that last night when she, Nick, and Ty joined us for Sunday dinner.

“I hate that you and my boyfriend share everything. Nothing is sacred.”

“No, certain things are sacred. I don’t tell him what you tell me unless I’m super concerned for your safety.”

“I know. Thank you for that. How’s the office today?” I asked.

“Strange,” she replied. “Ty is lonely so he keeps coming in my office.”

“Why is he lonely?”

“They moved Eliza off of your desk, she was officially done at the end of the day Friday.” I frowned. “Yeah, it’s fucking weird. Until they determine where she’s permanently going to be she’s working the front desk.”

“Ouch. That’s the worst assignment. I feel bad.”

“Don’t,” Kammi ordered. “You gave her a chance. You did everything you could to make your current situation conducive for her and she couldn’t make it work. That’s not your fault. Ty is having a rough time with it though.” We’d recently promoted Ty. He wasn’t just running Kammi’s desk anymore, he was the person who was placed in charge of all of the executive assistants in the office. It had been Pops’ assistant before but with his change, she decided it was time to retire. She’d been planning to retire at the end of the year so Pops’ agreed to pay out the remainder of the year so she could start retirement early.

“Tell him I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Ev. It’s not your fault,” came Ty’s voice. He appeared behind Kammi and sat on the back part of her desk. “She’s been a real bitch to deal with lately. When I told her that if she wasn’t going to work to accommodate what you need we’d have to move her she got super pissy. She stopped staying at the house a week ago.”

“Is she staying with you?” I asked Kammi.

“Nope. Neither of us has any idea where she’s staying. Honestly, even Joe has no idea where she’s been staying. She also turned off her location on ‘Find My Friends’ after her fight with Ty. Well technically after the fight with Joe when he defended Ty.”

“I wonder why she’s getting pissed at you guys?” I hated this. I got that my life had been disrupted but seeing how everyone else’s lives were changing because of it was hard to deal with. 

“Here’s what I figure,” Ty started. I could tell by his tone and body language that I should get comfortable as he was going to explain what was going on in detail. “She’s not sure how to handle what you’re dealing with. I mean how the fuck long did it take her to come to see you and Jimmy when he was in the hospital?”

“Four days,” I said. It had been four days after they landed from the East Coast before she came. Ty had made Kammi, Nick and Joe stay out of the hospital the night they got home because of how fucked up I was. They showed up about two hours after Pops woke up. Joe had made excuses every time he came that Eliza had come down with a cold and didn’t want to get Pops sick. She showed up looking like she felt great and made no mention of being sick. I’d never asked what really kept her away, I honestly didn’t want to know. 

“Exactly. It took me about four minutes after I found out to get in a car and get to you. Kammi was on a plane within four hours. Then when she gets back and you declare you’re moving out of the house and not only did you move home with Jimmy but so did Harry she saw that you were in a relationship solid enough that he was willing to give up literally the best house I’ve ever lived in to move into the guest house you started living in at 16 just so he could be with you. Then when Maureen decided to retire and the board decided that I was the one that would replace her she was pissed. She ranted for like two fucking hours about how she thought that she was better suited for the job than I was, which by the way she’s fucking not. I pointed out to her that she never wanted this job.” He was right, she hadn’t. She’d told me initially she expected she’d have the job for like six months while she got settled in LA and then she’d be gone because she’d be acting and bartending. “She, of course, got fucking pissed that I pointed that out, so when she told me that she was going to focus on her ‘acting career’ I told her that the only reasonable thing I could do until she showed she was fully committed to her job was put her at the front desk because there was a crew of people who worked the desk. If she decides she’s done then I’ve got back up. It’s not like putting her on someone else’s desk. If she decides she hates it and leaves then I have to fucking rehire someone or train someone from the front desk. Which, by the way, Harry told me last night that he wanted you to hire someone that could do some of what Eliza did but more personal assistant type shit. I’ve got a few candidates from around here that I think would work. You say the word and I’ll get meetings set up.”

“What would I do without you two?” I asked. I could feel tears pricking my eyes.

“You’d be super fucking lonely,” Ty said. I laughed.

“True story,” I replied.

“We are working from your house tomorrow,” Kammi said. “I’m dragging Ty with me.” He normally stayed in the office when she came to see me during the week. It gave him a chance to do the managerial stuff he needed to do. 

“Yay!” I cheered as I picked up Harold and made the cat cheer too.

“It’s mainly because I miss the cat being my roommate,” Ty tried to get out without laughing. “We can talk more about what you’d be looking for in an assistant tomorrow.”

“Okay. I’m just afraid to look for one.”

“Why?” Kammi asked.

“I don’t want Eliza to get more pissed than she already is.”

“That is not your problem to worry about,” Harry said as he slid the screen door open. 

“Hey Harry,” Kammi and Ty said in unison. He came to my desk and sat on my lap. 

“Hi, miss you,” he replied.

“You saw us yesterday. You’re lying that you miss us unless you’re really tired of living with Ev in The Tiny House.” Kammi had started referring to our living situation as The Tiny House, it made me laugh because while we were living in a much smaller footprint than we were before the reality was we had everything we needed and a few steps away was everything you could ever imagine in the main house. She just couldn’t understand how we were making it work. She wanted to kill Nick most days because of the whole shared room thing. It didn’t help that they also lived with Joe. 

“I do miss you both. Am I allowed to work in the office with you all tomorrow?” 

“Of course, Harry,” Ty answered. “Evs, if you can’t find an assistant that works for a while, Kammi and I have decided that I can come out once a week to help you make sure that your schedule is put together for the week, that all the meetings are confirmed. I can handle the extra responsibility for a while.”

“I love you both so much. I’m excited for tomorrow now,” I said. “But I’m getting the 10-minute warning for my New York meeting.”

“Enjoy that,” Kammi replied. “We will see you at 8:30 tomorrow.”

“Yay!!! Bye!!” I ended the call.

“Ty is going to help you find an assistant?” Harry asked as he went to sit down at his desk.

“He is. He’s evidently been scouting people from the pool in the office for me today.”

“So what was it about Eliza?” 

“Her last day on my desk was Friday.”

“We knew that was coming.”

“We did. But Ty told me today that he told her last week that he couldn’t move her onto someone else’s desk knowing that they may have to quickly find a replacement knowing that she wasn’t fully committed to the job.”

“She’s not fully committed?” Harry asked.

“Evidently not. So she’s on the front desk.” I saw him cringe. “Exactly. It’s the worst job in the entire place. The phones ring non-stop, she won’t have a guaranteed daytime schedule anymore because everyone has to work in rotations. I fear that she’s going to fucking hate me for this because somehow it’s going to end up my fault.”

“It’s not your fault but I understand why you’re uneasy about it.” Eliza had been difficult to deal with and that was being polite. I had done so great and not flipped out on her about everything, but I knew that if she said anything about her new job that was even remotely negative that it was a risk. I got it, my life and job changing was causing her job to change. I wanted to scream when she’d complain about that. I didn’t ask for this change in my life. I’d go back to being a workaholic in a heartbeat to change the fact that my Pops had a heart attack. She was being selfish, which wasn’t totally abnormal, but was pretty shocking considering everything that had happened. 

“I just hate when there are problems. If there’s an issue between two people in The Circus it makes everything awkward and weird. We had this problem once before.”

“What happened then?” Harry asked.

“Weirdly enough it was Eliza and Nick. He made an admittedly funny but very bad joke when we were all drinking at the condo one night. She’d been on a bender and had a different guy come home with her every night for like 10 days. She got pissed and didn’t talk to him for almost a month.”

“Ouch. What do you mean bender? Like drugs or drinking or just men?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know. I tried not to ask because I was worried about her but knew that if I made any comments she’d do the same thing to me that she was to Nick. She’d broken up with some guy that she thought was the one, they’d been dating for maybe three or four months but she is often times crazy when she’s in relationships. There was so much tension among the whole group. It just sucked.”

“I’m sure everything will work out in the end.” Harry was attempting to calm me knowing I was about to get on another conference call. He stood from his side of the desk and came over to me. He bent down and gently kissed my lips. “Whatever happens remember that I love you.”

“I love you too.” One more kiss and he headed back to his side of the desk and slid on headphones knowing that my conference call would likely bore him to death. Everything went well and was over in less time than I expected. I kept working until Harry decided we needed to leave for his lunch meeting. It was an incredibly nice day in LA so when I made it up to the driveway with my stuff I found him sitting in my Jeep with the top off. He had sunglasses on and his goofy smile plastered across his face. I threw my bag into the back and climbed up into the passenger seat. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were this born and bred California surfer in this thing. Tan skin, wayfarers, and a floral shirt. You look just like the boys I brought home from the beach in high school.” He laughed loudly at the last comment.

“I’m sure I do. It’s easy to get a tan like this if you leave your office for more than a short walk to the house or gym every day.”

“Shut up. Not all of us have time to lay around in the pool or run shirtless on the horse trail.” 

“You could have time, you can take a break every once in a while.”

“I know. We both also know that I’m not very good at taking breaks. I took time when Pops was in the hospital, I can’t now. Too much work to do.” He reached his hand across the car and grabbed mine. Our fingers interlocked as he brought it to his lips kissing the back of it. His rings felt cool against the inside of my fingers. After his lips left my hand he returned it to my lap so he could focus on driving. He expertly navigated his way through the area my father lived into the restaurant that his lunch meeting was at. 

I zoned out easily these days. It didn’t matter if I was alone or with a group of people my mind would wander and I’d lose track of everything else happening around me. This happened most frequently in a car, thankfully it was usually only when I wasn’t driving, though that had happened once. I got home and sat in the driveway sobbing until Harry came out to find me and asked what was wrong. I was terrified that I’d driven from an appointment across town to the house and had no idea how long it had taken or how I’d gotten home. That was the first week we’d been living here. I hadn’t driven much since then. Harry or Sam took me everywhere. It was odd. I missed driving. I missed the freedom of being in a car alone but I understood why Harry had decided to hide every set of car keys to every car that either of us or my Pops owned. This ride was like the rest. I stared blankly at the scenery and watched the world fly by. I could hear Harry singing along to the radio but couldn’t pinpoint the song which was rare. 

“Evie…Ev…Everlee Mae Scarcello.” Harry snapped in front of my eyes breaking me of the trance. “Where were you at babe?”

“Sorry,” I replied.

“Don’t apologize. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a long day and I’m a little overwhelmed right now.”

“Call Ty and have him cancel your afternoon,” he suggested. I’d been up late the night before working as I had been most nights. I was often lucky if I got more than a handful of hours of sleep at a time. I hadn’t slept a full night since I’d been in France with Harry for the final time.

“I can’t do that.”

“Then I will.” He grabbed his phone from where he usually threw it into a cupholder and I watched as he hit Ty’s entry in his favorites. They’d been communicating so frequently that I was pretty sure he’d rearranged it so Ty was the easiest entry to click. 

“You can’t do that,” I protested.

“I can and I am.”

“Harry this is my work and my life. You can’t do this.” He glared at me and I quieted. He could do this. Cameron and Jimmy had given him this power when they all realized that I was struggling. He did it often which had initially pissed me off. “Hey Ty,”I heard him say. He grabbed my hand and laced our fingers together. “Yeah, we just got the restaurant. She’s out of it. Can you reschedule her afternoon?” His thumb rubbed across the back of my hand as he listened to Ty. “I’ll let you know later today how she’s doing for tomorrow. I need to get her to take the sleeping pills her doctor gave her so she can sleep. Her day tomorrow is just you and Kammi here, right?” I don’t know how I got so lucky to have Harry in my life. I was an absolute fucking mess most of the time and he was doing everything he could to help me navigate through and survive it. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later and see you in the morning.” He hung up the phone and I turned to look at him. “Ty canceled the rest of the day. When we’re done we are going to go do something to help you relax a little.”

“Okay,” I responded quietly. I held his hand once out of the car as we walked into the restaurant. I tried to put on my best happy face and not appear like the fragile shell of a human I was right now. He’d been delaying this album for too long all because of me. I felt immensely guilty and was pretty sure that his team hated me for it at this point. 

“Hey Ev,” Mitch greeted as he hugged me. 

“Hey, how are you?” I asked.

“I’m good. We are all happy you could make it.” He and Harry had instantly bonded when they met in spring. He was a great guy and an incredible musician. I’d really enjoyed watching them form this really amazing musical bond. They often sat with drinks on the deck at Pops house with guitars, notebooks, and a laptop. I’d sit in my office working, with the door open, listening to them and the sound of Harry’s voice as it drifted into the room. I’d hold off as long as I could before grabbing my laptop of iPad to go sit with them and listen. More than once I’d found Pops out there with them. 

The lunch meeting was great. Harry was getting so excited for them to take off to Jamaica. I tried to stay out of their plans for that. I knew that the teams were anxious to leave and that having to put off the trip more than once was inconvenient, to say the least. But they all had been the kindest people through the process. Hell, the first week we’d been living with Pops after he’d been released from the hospital Jeff, Alex, and Tyler showed up at the house with the most amazing spread of food and tried to help us all relax. My father was really enjoying the amount of life that everyone brought to his house, despite the heart attack and everything that had happened he seemed to be the happiest I’d seen him in years. 

“Are you going to come with us for a while?” Jeff asked. I snapped out of my wandering thoughts when I realized he was talking to me.

“I don’t know. Right now is a difficult time for me to leave. I have so much work right now that I will probably remain attached to a laptop for the next 12 months solid. You’ll have to keep this guy in line for me,” I said as I squeezed Harry’s shoulder with my hand. He bent his head to the side kissing my fingers. 

“I hope she can make it for at least a visit or two while we are gone,” he added. He had really been trying to convince me that I could come with. That working remotely was possible because I’d been doing it from my laptop at the house for the last six weeks. He knew that it wasn’t just about work, it was about leaving Pops. They’d be gone for a minimum of a month but likely 6-8 weeks if things were going well and they wanted a bit more time. Leaving home for that long seemed terrifying. What if Pops got sick again and I was gone? What if he needed me? What if he got lonely? As if he knew I was thinking about him I saw my phone light up on the table with a text from him.

Message with Pops

Pops: Are you done working for the day? I stopped in your office and you weren’t there?

I’m at lunch with Harry, Jeff, Tyler, Alex, and Mitch.

Pops: Ahh the boys club. You always did tend to fit into those groups.

As I sit here listening to them I feel like I’m in a parallel universe. This is what life would’ve been like if I hadn’t quit Designated Hitter and hadn’t forced Kyle to start drumming in that band and sent him on tour. 

Pops: Oh god. That would’ve been pretty terrifying. Okay��what I was actually texting you about. I just got off the phone with Cynthia. She and your sisters are coming over for dinner tonight. Evidently you girls need to get to work on planning a baby shower.

Shit. I forgot I was supposed to call Kayci to set up lunch this week. I’m the worst sister ever. Fuck. Do you need me to pick something up?

Pops: Nope. Linda has everything covered. You’re also not the worst sister ever. You’re busy, they get it. Just prepare Harry. He usually seems a bit overwhelmed when you five women are all in a room together. Oh and Kourt is bringing her new boyfriend. Though Cynthia tells me that Kayci is pissed about that because her boyfriend just broke up with her? I can’t keep up with all of you. Rachel has at least had the same guy since she was 6.

It’s because she’s weird. Kayci and Dylan did break up over the weekend. How did you not miss her sobs? She sent out the Bat signal to the sisters and everyone arrived at the house at about 12:30 Friday night. I felt bad for Rach and Harry. We all ended up a bit drunk, well except Rachel because well pregnant. Harry I think slept in my office most of the night. Rachel slept on the couch, Kourtney passed out in a lounger on the deck and we found Kayci on the floor of the bathroom using a towel as a blanket. It was a mess. 

Pops: I did wonder why they were there Saturday morning and why Kayci didn’t leave until Sunday night. You’re a good big sister.

I try and because I’m the one willing to drink with her and because Kourtney likes to lecture her for smoking pot. I, of course, can’t. 

Pops: You’re still a good sister. Your three sisters and three brothers are lucky to have you.  Speaking of sisters…Kayci just walked in looking for you. She said she’ll be waiting in the pool. I think she hates her roommates and this is just an excuse. Now stop paying attention to me and participate in your meeting. You worry that Brit when you zone out.

I know. It happened on the way here again. I swear he’s never going to let me drive a car again because I can’t be in one right now without having any clue what is going on. Also, Kayci does hate her roommates, with a passion. I’m surprised she hasn’t moved into the other guest house or back into her old bedroom. Okay…okay, back to work. I’ll see you both when we get home.

“What was that?” Harry whispered to me.

“Pops. Evidently, Cynthia and the girls are coming over for dinner. I flaked on my sister duties and didn’t text the girls about setting up a lunch to plan Rachel’s baby shower.”

“Shit. You were supposed to call them this morning.”

“I know. So be prepared, dinner with my family tonight.”

“Good, you know I love them. And you. Mostly you.” He kissed me quickly before falling right back into the conversation with everyone at the table.

Message with Kayci Grant

You okay, sis?

Kayci: I’m fine. My roommates are annoying. And fucking Dylan called me drunk last night.

Please tell me you didn’t invite him over.

Kayci: I didn’t. I’m not THAT fucking dumb. He was trying to apologize but I knew that he didn’t mean it. He was drunk. He just wanted to get laid. I kept telling myself what you and Rachel told me Friday night. He doesn’t deserve me. I deserve so much better than him and someday I’m going to find my person and it’s not Dylan.

Definitely NOT Dylan. No one that cheats on you deserves a second chance. You are a first class, five star, James Beard award-winning, four months to get a Monday night reservation level catch. He doesn’t even deserve to be handed out through a fucking drive-thru.

Kayci: You are the best. Also now I’m hungry. Tell the Brit to hurry up the fucking meeting and get you home.

I’ll do my best but he’s currently in the process of planning a trip to leave me and record an album so I’m feeling a little woe is me.

Kayci: If you need a roommate while he’s gone I can come live with you and Harold. 

Oh, I know you would. We will be home soon. I’ll text when we are on our way.

I slipped my phone into my purse and tried to focus back in on the conversation. They settled on dates to head to Jamaica for the third time since starting this process and we were back in the car headed home. Harry was always so talkative when we left. He loved the guys that were part of this team. It was like a dream for him. They supported every, single, idea and decision he had. He’d lay in bed at night gushing to me about how amazing they were making work. I loved listening to him ramble on and on and on about how different this experience was already from everything else he’d experienced and they hadn’t even taken off for the bulk of their recording.

“So I have to warn you, Kayci is at the house already.”

“Good, there’s no way you can go back to work if she’s there.”

“I know. I’m honestly surprised that she hasn’t asked Pops if she can move back into her old room. She hates her roommates. She can afford to live without them but they were her best friends when she was in school. They are all still in school and she’s working so life is different for them.”

“Also when you consider that working for your sister is essentially playing dress up, at least how the roommates view it, they seem pretty judgmental.” The twins had turned 22 three weeks ago. Harry had drug me out of the house to spend time with them while they celebrated. It was the first time I’d met Kourtney’s boyfriend Max and the first time Harry had really met anyone outside of the twins, Rachel and Luke. Her roommates had been a nightmare. They did judge Kayci. She’d met them when she was a student, she had decided to take some time off from college after her freshman year because she was offered a fairly large modeling contract and had started working on her music. They hated that. They were all still struggling through their senior year and hoping to get into grad school or law school and here was Kayci getting paid to fly around and put on expensive clothes. They were bitter and jealous. 

Kourtney had opted to get her own place when they went to school. She lived in a super cute studio in West Hollywood so it wasn’t like her sister could move in with her. I had suggested that she move back home with Cynthia but it was not an option for Kayci. When it was just she and her Mom they argued constantly. They were so much alike. Their arguments were ridiculous and often that they agreed with each other and hated it. She also had been with Dylan for almost a year so she barely stayed with her roommates until the last month or so when he had started making excuses that she couldn’t be there which turned out to be because he was cheating on her. I knew if she asked that Jimmy would give her the final guest house or even let her have her old bedroom back. The house was big enough that it was one of the few times growing up that the twins hadn’t been forced to share a bedroom. 

“Yeah, it’s a bad situation for her.”

“I’ve thought about telling her to just move into the house until we get back but the idea of having she, Eliza, and Ty alone there is a little unsettling.”

“Eliza isn’t staying at the house.”

“Where is she staying?”

“I don’t know. Actually, no one does.”

“Do you have any ideas?” he asked. He was concerned, I could tell. Despite how things had been going lately we all still cared about Eliza, though I’m sure she’d say we didn’t.

“No idea, honestly. Maybe an ex, maybe someone she worked with when she was bartending, a friend from one of her acting classes, or some new guy. She also could be staying in a hotel for all I know. She and Ty got into a fight and he’s not seen her since other than work and there she’s essentially ignoring him.”

“What is all of this about?” 

“Her demotion.” And again the wave of guilt washed over me. Eliza had been my best friend since she was about five hours old. I hadn’t had a pleasant conversation with her in weeks.

“This isn’t your fault. I know you’re internalizing a lot of blame. Stop doing that.”

“I’d like to point out that I hate that you can read my mind,” I replied turning to face him in the car and smiling a bit. “It’s annoying because when I’m trying to have will power you make me fail.”

“I personally love that it’s my newest superpower. So how can I help you with not blaming yourself?”

“I don’t know.” I didn’t honestly have a clue. “I want to fix everything but that’s what I’ve always done. Eliza and I have always been close but we’ve also always fought. She has a wicked jealous streak and can be incredibly vindictive when she wants. At this point, I’m sure she’s jealous that everyone’s focus has been me because it was my Pops that almost died. She doesn’t like when the spotlight isn’t on her.”

“I’m sorry, Evie. You don’t deserve this extra stress. She also should know that she needs to be a better friend but I’m beginning to see that she isn’t really capable of that. I hate saying that because I know how much she means to you but you deserve better than to be treated like this.”

“You’re right. I don’t deserve this. But honestly, there’s not much I can do about it right now. I am just going to give her the space she so clearly needs and keep plugging away at everything I’m doing to make life better for me, for us, and for my family.” He squeezed my hand in his.

“I’m proud of you for how strong you’ve been through all of this. It hasn’t been easy to watch your Pops go through everything and you’ve been the most incredible daughter through it all. If we’re being honest, I don’t even completely mind that we gave up our dream house in the hills to live in a guest house. Getting to build a relationship like I have with your Pops has been pretty great.”

“I love you. Honestly, I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do.” He plugged in the code to the gate and pulled to where we left my Jeep in the driveway which was next to where Kayci’s Mercedes was sitting. We got out and started to walk to the back. “I’m gonna let you have some time alone with your sister. Okay?” I nodded before he kissed me and walked towards our guest house.

“Kayci,” I called as I walked towards the pool. I found her on a raft, her foot anchoring her to the side where a beer sat on the edge. She was staring at her phone.

“Hey sis,” she called back.

“Drinking already?”

“I needed a beer and Pops always has my favorite here.” Her favorite was a random craft beer we’d found at a dive bar on a sister road trip that we all went on to celebrate the twins turning 21 last year and as a last hoorah of the four sisters all being “single” or at least as single as the four of us could all be at once. The bar had told us where we could find this beer and Pops always kept it at the house for the random warm days that everyone ended up in his pool because he was so proud that the girliest of his girls found a beer she could drink. I, of course, would drink anything as long as it was cold. 

“He does always have it. He’s a sucker for his girls.”

“He is. He looks like he’s feeling great,” she said. I sat down on the side of the pool and took a drink from her beer. 

“He is. We had an appointment at his cardiologist Friday and they are really happy about his progress.”

“Is it totally weird to be the person who that stuff with him?” Kayci asked.

“Completely. Like I’m not ready to be a parent and here I am essentially parenting my parent. I’m stressed out beyond belief and work isn’t helping.”

“What’s going on with work?”

“Well, the Eliza bullshit is getting worse.”

“How so?” 

“She refused to come work from here with me. Ty is in charge of all of the assistants now and he informed her that my assistant will need to be willing to work remotely from ‘The Compound’ until I return to the office.” Ty had jokingly referred to my Pops’ place as The Compound since his first visit here in high school. “So she got moved to the front reception desk until a more permanent decision could be made on a placement for her and now he and Harry are plotting to put together a job description for me that is half work assistant/half personal assistant. She and Ty got in such a blow out fight that she’s moved out of the house and none of us know where she’s staying.”

“She tends to be reactive like that. I remember when she would come out with you for spring break and shit she used to be so fucking evil to me and Kourt. I am pretty sure it’s why we were evil back. I apologize now that you were collateral damage in that whole thing.”

“I appreciate that. You were young and annoying then, I can forgive that. Now you’re just annoying.” She splashed me with water as I took another drink of her beer. I heard the door from the house open and glanced to see my father walk out and towards us.

“I saw you out here drinking your sister’s beer and thought you might prefer your own.”

“Thanks, Pops.” I took the beer from him before he sat down on a chair not far from me. 

“So she’s just talking to no one?” Kayci asked. I nodded. “That’s super bitchy. I mean I have always just tolerated her because she’s one of your best friends but this is like way out of line. You have been more than fair and have given her a life that let’s face it without you she’d never be able to afford. She’s paid less for housing in your penthouse than I do for my bedroom with my shitty fucking roommates. She’s flown around the world like ten fucking times with you and gets to do some of the coolest shit. Hell, I’d kill for that job and we know that I essentially have no desire to have a real job in life because as my roommates like to say I get paid to play dress-up. She’s so far out of line that getting to keep any job is too nice.” I tried to give visual clues to Kayci to get her to shut up about it but clearly, I was failing.

“What’s out of line?” Pops asked. He knew nothing about what was going on at work. We’d all been trying to shelter him from the stress for the most part and only fill him in on the extremely important things.”

“Everything going on with Eliza,” I said.

“Oh, like how she tried to use her P Card for the Marilyn Monroe Suite at The Roosevelt?”

“She what?!” I asked.

“She still had a credit card for company expenses. She was an authorized cardholder on your account and you hadn’t answered the call, I was the second contact. I got a call from the credit card company one night for unusual charges about a week ago. They said the charge was at The Roosevelt so I called over there and talked to my contact since we often use it for client events. They sent over the security camera footage because it was on your account and I was worried your card or Eliza’s had been stolen. There she was with giant sunglasses and a headscarf trying to hide her identity checking into the Marilyn Monroe suite for an undetermined amount of time.”

“First of all, where the hell was I? Second, did you decline the charge?” I asked.

“You were busy with your sisters cooking dinner, it was Sunday. Your phone had been sitting next to mine. I didn’t want to worry you so I deleted the missed call and voicemail. I called Eliza, told her I was declining the charge and asked why she was checking in there. She lied about some bullshit. Said that a friend was coming in for a while and she wanted to have some privacy from Ty. I told her that it didn’t matter, she couldn’t use her P Card because that was theft. I told her that I wouldn’t turn her into our legal department and let her keep her job but that if she was trying to run from her problems I wouldn’t be paying for them. She made me promise not to tell her parents as she sobbed on the phone. Something is going on with that girl, she didn’t sound like herself. She sounded strung out so I changed all of the locks on the Malibu house, your penthouse, and this place the next day. It’s why you and Harry needed a new code last week. Ty changed the locks at your place so you’ll need new keys and new codes when you head home. She knows if she needs help she can come to me, I made that clear. But I also made it clear that she would no longer be living off of you if she wasn’t working for you.”

“Fuck. This is worse than I thought it was. I need to try and sit down with her, don’t I?”

“Probably at some point but give her some time. She usually figures shit out after a week or two. I mean how many times has she given you her resignation and then decided she was staying?” Pops asked.

“At least a dozen times.”

“So let’s allow this to make it one more time and give her another week before you step in. Ty and I can handle the rest of it.”

“I can’t believe you were keeping this from me,” I said as I turned to look straight into his eyes.

“You’ve been handling all of the hard stuff lately. I thought this could be my turn to handle the tough stuff. I told her that night that she sounded high and offered to send her to rehab. She denied it and hung up on me.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try not to get involved but if she’s using I might need to step in.”

“No, you don’t. If she’s using and needs help I’ll help her or I’ll call her mother and father. It’s our jobs to be parents, not yours. You’ve been working to take care of literally everyone in your life. You need a break and a vacation.”

“I’ll second that,” Harry said as he walked up to the pool. He bent down to kiss the top of my head before going to sit beside my father. “Speaking of vacations, we settled on a schedule for recording.” 

“When do you leave?” Pops asked.

“Two weeks. I’m trying to convince that daughter of yours that she’s coming with me for at least a few days in the beginning.”

“I think that sounds like a great idea,” Pops said. “How long will you be gone?”

“The plan is 4-6 weeks before heading back and finishing between here and London,” Harry excitedly answered.

“Well, if you need her father/boss’s approval you’ve got it. Take her the whole damn time for all I care. It’ll be nice to have a break from her.” I threw the lid from my bottle of beer at my Pops.

“I’ll take care of Harold,” Kayci said.

“That’s just your excuse to figure out how to move home,” Pops replied laughing. “If your living situation is really that bad you can stay here until you figure something out?”

“Are you serious?!” Kayci looked stunned. Pops didn’t joke about this kind of stuff and she knew it as well as I did.

“Of course I am. I actually talked to your mother about it yesterday. She was going to take you shopping to try and figure out what you wanted to do to that last guest suite down by Evie and Harry. If my girls need somewhere to come home to my girls have a home here.” Before he knew what was happening Kayci had jumped out of the pool and engulfed my father in a giant hug. “Welcome home, Kayc."

There was a lot in that chapter. I know it may not make the most sense but neither does anything happening in Evie’s head right now. She’s trying to navigate her relationships in this new world after her father’s heart attack. Having one of the most important relationships struggle is hard on her. I speak from experience on this. It’s part of the reason it was very important for me to tell these parts of Jimmy’s recovery and the way it has an impact on Evie’s life, not just his.

Last year as I helped my mother through the aftermath of her diagnosis my relationships struggled. My brother and I fought over everything. My sister-in-law tried to pretend as if she was willing to be there but only when her schedule wouldn’t allow it. I had friends who disappeared off of the face of the earth, one of them being one of my closest friends. She always claims that I’ll let her know when I need her. A little over a year ago as I prepared to move home with my Mom for the first time in nearly 20 years I told her that I was done coming to her and telling her when I needed help. Friends don’t have to cry out to friends. They are just there for each other. They check in. They show love. They care. It wasn’t my job to point out that my life was in shambles to everyone around me. 

I wanted to show the struggles that a major life change can cause on relationships through this story. Unlike me, Evie doesn’t share any siblings with Jimmy. Eliza was the closest thing. As the struggle in their friendship imitates the real-life struggle in my friendships it became harder and harder to write. It’s part of why I needed a larger time to write this than I initially expected. It was hard to see the reality of my life played out on the pages of my fiction. But it was necessary, as your priorities in life shift so do the relationships in it.

I did find my voice again and have been working on another story that I’m unlikely to publish, at least here as Harry is not the lead male. For those curious Michael B. Jordan is. Finding my voice there helped me find my way back here. I am hopeful that chapter two won’t take nearly the amount of time that one did.

I hope you enjoyed this. Feel free to send your thoughts over. As my brain was scattered writing this I’m sure it’s not up to my normal writing standards but I would still love to hear from you.

xx AM.

[marshmallow-phd]

Insolent Housemate

Request:   k, love. Take your time with this and I mean it because I just requested one and I know B requested one as well. (As a writing blog, we get it! So don't feel pressured!) But I love your writing and you, so I HAVE to send in another Jongdae request. Housemate / roommate AU, please and thank you! <3 - T

A/N: I got it done! And I somehow made myself squeal? Lol @noona-clock T, I hope you like it!

Genre: Housemate AU

Pairing: Jongdae x (fem) Reader

Part 1 I Part 2 

**

Life had it out for you. At least someone up there who controlled the inner workings of the world’s events had a grudge against you.

It all started when you answered an ad for a roommate for a house. It all seemed too good to be true. An original four bedroom, the half attic had been renovated into a living quarters and the current residents were looking for an extra housemate to ease rent. They were all college students, just around your age. However, the listing had said it was four females that lived there. It was a typo with severe consequences.

You answered the ad without question. It was close to the university and the bookstore you worked at part time. You’d have a room to yourself and maybe even make a few friends. The deposit was sent to the landlord and you were given the code to enter through the gate. All your luggage with you, you walked up to the house, only slightly nervous. It took you a good amount of time to warm up to people. Typically, people had to approach you first. But you could do this. You told yourself that over and over.

The landlord had already informed your new roommates that you’d be arriving and they were all out and about when you did. Unpacking took very little time; you’d organize things better later as you got more comfortable and familiar with your new surroundings.

Feeling thirsty and needing to take your eating ware down anyway, you lugged the heavy box down the stairs and to the kitchen. That many steps just for food and water was going to get annoying real fast.

After everything was put into the empty spaces you could find, you filled a glass with water and glanced around the place, trying to get a feel of your new home. Then the front door opened.

Several voices intermingled and talked over each other, laughing about something. You froze.

The voices definitely weren’t female.

You were stuck in the kitchen like a statue, drink hanging in the air halfway to your lips. Four males stumbled into the kitchen and locked into place, their eyes on you.

“Who are you?” the tallest of them asked.

“I’m (y/n),” you answered, putting the glass down on the counter. “Who are you?”

“We live here,” the one decked out in athletic gear replied.

You nearly choked. “What? No, the advertisement said girls lived here!”

“You’re our new roommate?” squealed the one with a puppy-like face.

Groaning, you laid your head on the counter with a hard thump. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

***

The landlord refused to give you back your deposit despite the ad being his mistake. You’d already signed the lease and, as horrid as living with four boys sounded, it wasn’t worth losing the money to find a new place. Besides, they weren’t that bad. Well, three of them weren’t that bad.

Chanyeol and Baekhyun were quick to welcome you, understanding that the mix up wasn’t your fault. They went out of their way to invite you out when they left the house and include you in on conversations. To your own surprise, you often took them up on their offers and enjoyed speaking with them.

Minseok was a mystery at first. He didn’t talk much, but would often smile at some of the things the others were saying, proving that he was at least paying attention. It took time for you to get used to his cleaning first thing in the morning, but you soon joined in, much preferring to live in a sanitary house and participating in its upkeep made you feel a sense of pride.

It was your last roommate that gave you the most trouble. Jongdae whined when the situation was explained about the mix up on the listing. He whined when you couldn’t get your deposit back. He whined when the boys offered to take you out and get to know you, apparently ruining “guy time”. You often wondered how the others put up with him.

You were barely able to do it. It was something you just couldn't understand. You tried to be nice, to show him that you wouldn’t be a bad roommate. Occasionally, you made dinner for the guys. As a stress baker, you constantly made cookies and sweets that the guys ate up. Jongdae included, although he never let you see him eat it.

Jongdae, on the other hand, seemed to go out of his way to annoy you. He played his music so loud in the morning it woke you up as his room was right under yours. He hardly cleaned up after himself. His sentences were always short with you and he just didn’t seem to like you at all and you couldn’t understand why or what you might have done. What you hated more was how cute he was. Sure, all four of them were attractive to the point of your friends were constantly asking to come over, but Jongdae stood out to you the most. And that attraction just added to your irritation.

Today was the day that you snapped. The paper you were currently working on was worth forty percent of your grade and it needed to be perfect. Concentrating was nearly impossible with the sounds of gunshots, yelling, and car tires squealing against asphalt vibrating through the house. Sick of it all, you saved your paper, slammed your laptop shut and stormed down to the living room.

Chanyeol and Baekhyun were in Chanyeol’s room playing video games at a reasonable level of noise. Minseok was at work, leaving only one suspect left.

“Jongdae!” you yelled over the obnoxious action movie.

He barely turned his head in your direction and then paused the movie. “What?”

You scoffed. “Seriously? I’m trying write my paper and I could probably recite the last ten minutes of the movie, it’s so loud. Are you really that deaf?”

He just shrugged. “I like watching these movies on high volume.”

“Well, could you turn it down just a little bit?” you asked as sweetly as you could. “This paper is really important and its due next week.”

There was a moment of silence as if he were actually thinking about it. Then he turned back around, settling into the couch. “Nah, I’m good. I hear the library is quiet.”

Like a volcano on the verge of erupting, you were ready to let loose and give Jongdae a piece of your mind. You’d managed to take two steps towards his back when Chanyeol ran from the doorway where he’d been standing, watching you two. He grabbed you around the waist and lifted you up, making you feel like a cartoon as your legs kicked in the air.

“Let me go, Chanyeol,” you grunted, still fighting his too strong grip. “I just want to shove that remote down his throat.”

The front door opened and Minseok walked in, hanging his jacket up in the front closet. One look at you and Chanyeol and he knew exactly what had occurred. He turned to Jongdae. “Now what did you do?”

Scoffing, Jongdae turned off the TV and threw the remote down on the coffee table. “Of course you take her side immediately. I’m always the bad guy. Whatever.”

He stood up, swiped his keys from the counter and stormed out of the house. Once the door was shut, Chanyeol let you down and Baekhyun came out from his hiding place.

“So, what happened?” Minseok asked again.

You sighed. “I simply asked him to turn down the volume since I’m trying to write my paper. He said no and told me to go to the library. Which is super crowded right now due to midterms. Like he doesn’t know that I hate crowded places when I’m trying to work.”

That was the weird thing about your relationship with Jongdae. The two of you obviously hated each other, but you also seemed to know everything about each other. One time when the five of you went out to eat, you asked the waitress to leave off the olives from his pasta because he hated them more than anything but hadn’t realized that his dish came with them. When you were sick - without even asking - Jongdae put on one of your favorite movies and watched the whole thing with you even though it was a gushy romantic comedy. It was a strange two way street that you couldn’t quite navigate.

Chanyeol scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know what’s up with him lately. It’s like the smallest little thing sets him off.”

Minseok threw him a look. “You seriously don’t have any idea what it might be?”

“I’m not convinced that that’s the reason, Seok,” Baekhyun commented.

You frowned, hating when they had a secret conversation in front of you. The last one was over your coworker they thought was cute.

“What reason?” you asked.

The boys exchanged glances and then kept their mouths shut. Rolling your eyes, you left them without a word, not wanting to let them know your feelings were hurt for being left out. You reminded yourself that there would always be a gap between you guys no matter how close you got, being a girl living amongst boys.

Taking advantage of the quiet, you tried to finish up your paper. But your mind kept going back to Jongdae. Was something going on with him? Was something happening at school or with work that was making him so touchy? Maybe something was going on with his family?

If that was true and the other boys were just respecting his privacy, then you might have overreacted with Jongdae. Although, you did ask nicely. Did he take your sweetness as fake? Manipulative? You weren’t meaning to come off that way. Your mom always taught you it was better to fight meanness with kindness.

Completely unmotivated to work on school, you crept back down to the first floor and stepped into the kitchen. Breaking into your secret baking stash, you started on making Jongdae’s favorite cookies: chocolate chip, confetti cake cookies.

Used to the sound of your kitchen wonders, the boys had snuck into your work space, trying to swipe some chocolate or cookie batter. You caught them each time, stopping them from making off with your supplies.

The smell of the baking treats were making your own mouth water, but you had to fight with yourself. They weren’t for you.

Jongdae still wasn’t back when the cookies were finished, so you arranged them prettily on a plate and laid them nicely in the middle of his bed, hoping he’d be too preoccupied with the dessert to realize you’d been in his room without his permission. You hid away in your own space, reading a book on your bed and waiting for the potential fallout.

A knock came from your door about an hour later. Hesitantly, you got up from the bed and shuffled over to the door, opening it slowly. Jongdae stood out in the short hallway, hands behind his back and an apologetic look on his face.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” you whispered back.

He sighed. “You didn’t have to do that. I was the one who blew up.”

“I know,” you nodded. “But I thought that maybe something was going on that made you so touchy and I just wanted to do something to make you feel better. Even if just for a second.”

He actually smiled at you. It was bright like sunshine and it made your heart flutter.

What?

Why were you reacting like this? Sure, Jongdae was cute, yes you were attracted to him, but this was an unusual reaction. Normally, you could push it away and forget about that fleeting feeling.

Now that you thought about it, you did try extra hard to make him okay with the living situation. Why was that? His personal feelings shouldn't be your first priority, especially at this stage. But you still liked to see him smile, hear him laugh. It made your day, you realized.

“I appreciate that,” he said, pulling you from your thoughts. “I really do. And I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting towards you. It really isn’t right. There is something going on, but it’s still not right for me to take it out on you.”

Opening your door wider, you offered, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jongdae shook his head. “No, not right now. I’m not ready for that. But-” He let out a long, deep breath and then pulled you into a surprise hug. His grip around your waist was tight, but comforting, his hands resting on the small of your back.

You laced your arms around his shoulders, letting your face rest in the crook of his neck. You liked it there, if you had to admit it. The smell radiating from Jongdae was intoxicating. He seemed to be taking in your scent as well from the deep breaths he was taking in through his nose that was buried in your hair.

All too soon, he pulled away. Part of you wanted to fight it, hold on tighter, but you let go as well, taking a step back. Not saying anything, he turned to go down the stairs, but stopped as soon as his foot hit the first step.

Over his shoulder, he asked, “Hey, um, would you like to get dinner tonight? You’ve gone out with each of the other guys one on one. Why don't don’t we finish it off?”

You smiled. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

[iwroteinapastlife]

For the last day of @auyeahaugust I decided to finally start writing my Teacher AU. This has been in the making for years and I’m excited to finally start it! Enjoy~

“Now get some sleep, Adrien. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “See you tomorrow.”

With a heavy sigh, Adrien hung up the phone call with his old friend and collapsed into the soft cushions of his sofa, silence settling back in its rightful place in the big, empty apartment. The refrigerator was too expensive to hum, the building’s air vents were probably the quietest in existence, and the cars on the street fifty floors down couldn’t be heard through the top-of-the-line soundproofed walls and windows. Even his mischievous black cat was asleep in the corner. Complete and utter silence.

He turned on the news and set the volume to low before getting up to keep packing.

“—retiring even though he’s only 36 years old and still as popular as ever. Gabriel Agreste has refused to make any public statements on the matter, but his recent hiring of a new model leads us to believe that this change is in fact permanent.”

“Better believe it,” he mumbled as he walked into the kitchen. The white, sleek cabinets were as pristine and empty as the day he’d moved in. He opened each one in turn to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything and found the box of crackers he’d set aside earlier. His immediate instinct was to set them back aside—no snacks after 10pm, fruit if you absolutely must—but with a wicked smile, he remembered that he was free to eat however he wanted now, and that meant Wheat Thins at 11:43pm were A-OK.

He stuffed three in his mouth with delight and continued combing through the kitchen. All clear except for the banana and granola bars sitting on the counter for tomorrow’s breakfast.

In his bedroom, the big walk-in closet was completely empty and all that was left in his dresser drawers were the boxers, socks, jeans and t-shirt he planned on wearing tomorrow. He got them out and laid them on his desk in a neat pile right next to his open laptop. He mindlessly glanced at the screen and paused as the little red notification bubble from Discord caught his eye.

Ladybug: NO.

Ladybug: NOOOOO.

Ladybug: NO NO NO NO NO.

Ladybug: You cannot honestly believe that Live Free was a better album than Jagged on the Move! Jotm was ICONIC.

He laughed at the woman’s usual overdramatics as he typed a response. At least amidst all the chaos and headlines in his life, his online friend’s argumentative nature never changed.

Chat Noir: Iconic? Yes. Absolutely amazing? Yes. Crucial to his career? *Definitely.* But the best album he’s ever made?

Chat Noir: Nope.

Marinette scoffed at her computer screen in horror. She could not believe what she was reading. Jagged on the Move was the classic Jagged Stone album—the album that had not one, not two, but seven hits on it! She dropped the fabric and needle she was working with and furiously typed out a rant to show her friend the error of his ways.

“Uh oh,” Kagami remarked from the couch. “What was the pun this time? Was it another cat one? Or eggs? Did it at least have to do with the conversation this time?”

“No no not that,” Marinette mumbled, glaring at the computer as if she could glare at the man himself. “It’s about Jagged Stone.”

“Ah,” her roommate nodded. She looked back down at her book in disinterest.

Marinette hit enter, sending out the three-paragraph in-depth analysis comparing the musical qualities of the two albums before sitting back again and resuming her work. A few minutes of peace passed in their cozy apartment, the only sounds that of the soft jazz music playing from Kagami’s laptop, the turning of book pages, and the occasional rustle of fabric. Then, after placing some final stitches, the designer turned the mannequin to face her roommate.

“What do you think?”

Golden brown eyes lifted from the book in her hands to assess the dress. “I like all the tattered fabrics,” she began. “The bright, varied colors speak to the chaotic and whimsical nature of the fairies.” She squinted, scrutinizing the details, and though Marinette knew she was great at communicating constructive criticism, she couldn’t help the nervous wave that rolled through her. “Can you make the skirt longer?”

“Yeah…” she answered slowly, looking at her work. “I can throw some extra fabric down there and tie it into the design. Why though?”

“Lydia is playing Puck, right?”

“Probably.”

“I remember Kim saying the other day that she’s recently hit a growth spurt.” She rolled her eyes. “He was gloating that her long legs will make the track team perform better than the fencing team this year or something like that. Anyway, the star of the show might be showing off a lot more leg than you want her to at that length.”

Marinette nodded as she jotted down the note. “Thank you.” With a smirk, she added, “Kim’s delusional if he thinks he’s got an edge on you.”

“That he is.”

Kagami raised her phone camera and shot a picture of Marinette sitting next to the dress, completely oblivious as always, and sent it to the group chat.

Inigo Montoya: [Photo]

Nino paused with his toothbrush hanging from his mouth to open the message on his phone. He immediately smiled and sent back a heart-eyes emoji. A moment later, the bedroom door shut and he could hear Alya collapse on the bed with a heavy sigh. He peeked his head out from the bathroom to see her face down in the blankets, feet still touching the ground as she hadn’t even managed to make it that far.

“I swear,” her muffled voice grumbled, “the older they get the harder it is to put them to bed.” He chuckled and resumed brushing his teeth as he approached.

“Check it out,” he tried to say around the toothpaste in his mouth. It came out more like sheh-kih-how, but she understood nonetheless. He dropped his phone on the bed next to her and she turned to glare at it, then perked up when she saw the photo.

“Oh damn! That’s going to go great with the playlist you’ve been putting together!”

“Mmhmm.”

She sighed, hopping up with renewed spirit to go brush her teeth too. “Man, Marinette just gets better with time. She’s like fine wine.”

Nino followed his wife back into the bathroom and hugged her from behind as she got out her own toothbrush. “Could say the same about you,” he said in garbled toothpaste-speak. He watched those beautiful hazel eyes in the mirror as she laughed affectionately.

“But really though,” she continued, “those are professional-level costumes.” She stuck her toothbrush in her mouth and pulled her own phone out of her pocket.

Lois Lane: OMG

Lois Lane: GURL

Lois Lane: P L E A S E

Lois Lane: SUBMIT THAT

Lois Lane: TO A COMPETITION

Lois Lane: OR SOMETHING

“My fucking god, tell Alya to shut up.”

Luka stirred to movement in the bed as his girlfriend leaned over him to grab his buzzing cell phone from the bedside table.

“How do you know it’s Alya?” he mumbled tiredly. “Oof.” His breathing was suddenly restricted as Lila lay across his middle.

“It’s Alya.” He grabbed her by the waist and shifted so that she wasn’t pressing uncomfortably into his abdomen as she opened up the messages. “Oh!”

“Hmm?” he hummed, still half-asleep and running his palm over her back mindlessly.

“Marinette finished the Puck dress,” she replied, holding up the phone. He winced as bright light suddenly flooded his vision. Blinking away the spots on his eyes, he eventually saw a dress made up of a wide array of colors that while chaotic, blended beautifully. It was perfect.

“That’s awesome.”

“After that, she only has Titania left, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Damn, the acting may suck, but those kids are sure as hell going to look good—ow!” He pinched her. “Oh come on, that was a compliment for Marinette.”

“And an insult to the kids acting—and Mylène’s directing.” She made a disgusted sigh and he didn’t have to see her to know she was rolling her eyes. She didn’t argue though; she knew he was right. He smiled and went back to softly smoothing his hand over her skin, this time kneading his fingers along her spine.

She sighed. “You gotta start putting this thing on Do Not Disturb though.”

“Sorry, I forget that you’re such a light sleeper.” Her only response was to hum and sink into his touch, laying down even though she was still across him. “It would be easier to remember if you slept here more often,” he continued. She hummed again. “You’d save a lot of gas money that way too by just carpooling to work with me.” Another hum. “And I could make you dinner every night.”

With a heavy sigh, Lila pushed herself up to hover over him. Her kiss was as intoxicating as always, complete with smooth, plush lips and that tongue that always seemed in perfect tandem with his own. Even the very first one had floored him, and it seemed her kisses only got better with time.

A moment later, it was gone and she was rolling back onto her side of the bed. “Your closet isn’t big enough for all my clothes,” she stated simply. He huffed a small laugh.

“Fair enough.” The phone buzzed again and he realized she must have been too distracted to actually put it on Do Not Disturb. The bright screen lit up his vision once again as he picked it up.

Bill and Ted: Most excellent [thumbs_up]

“Okay okay,” Nathaniel muttered to no one in particular as his cell phone buzzed across the room again. He finally set aside his drawing tablet and grabbed his empty water glass to go refill it while he was up, snatching his phone from the desk on his way out of the room.

“Oh no man why you gotta do me like this please I’m too young to die!!”

Nathaniel ignored Enzo’s frantic yelling from the living room as he made his way to the kitchen. His son’s outbursts and the video game explosions that accompanied them had long since become normal background noise in his ears.

Oh, it’s already tomorrow, he noted in the back of his mind as his screen popped to life. He supposed that made sense, since it had been 10pm when Marc had sent him the script for the week. He could probably crank out a few more pages tonight before bed and then get the rest done in the morning before Enzo’s dentist appointment.

When he finally opened the group chat, there were 27 notifications waiting for him, 23 of which were from a string of one-liners from Alya. He scrolled back to see what had started it all.

A subsequent grin spread across his cheeks.

Ninja Turtle: It’s perfect.

Ninja Turtle: Marinette, I don’t know how you consistently manage to compliment my scene designs so well but seriously DAMN

Edna Mode: [heart]

“Alright,” Kagami announced, shutting her book. “I’m going to bed.”

Marinette looked up from all the praise on the group chat with a smile. “Goodnight.”

“Don’t stay up too much longer,” she warned. The music stopped as Kagami shut down her laptop. “Remember we’re meeting Alya and the kids tomorrow for brunch.”

“Right right. 11?”

“10.”

“Bleh,” she replied with a sour face. “Early.”

“Only for night owls like you.” The woman stood with grace, hefting up the computer and giant hardcover book in her arms. “Better start getting used to it again; only a couple weeks left.”

She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Kagami laughed. “I bet you thought lamenting the end of winter break was over after lycée.”

“I can’t believe I signed up to go to school for the rest of my life.”

As if on cue, a new notification sounded from Marinette’s computer.

“Isn’t that your school email?” Kagami asked, recognizing the sound. She approached to watch over her roommate and coworker’s shoulder as she pulled up the message.

“Yep. Looks like it’s for all of us.”

Nathaniel heard the email notification chime right as he sat back down at his desk. He told himself he’d check it in the morning. He wasn’t ready to be a teacher again quite yet.

Luka’s head was just settling back into the pillow again when a new notification sounded, from Lila’s phone this time. She vaguely grunted in annoyance, but otherwise ignored it. He decided to do the same, rolling onto his side and draping an arm over her waist to pull her close.

Somewhere in the very back of his mind, Nino acknowledged the twin buzzes from their phones, but consciousness was drifting far too quickly for him to check it now.

Adrien closed the tab confirming his flight information and opened the very first message to be received on his brand new teacher email.

From: Chloé Bourgeois

To: All Faculty Members

Happy new year everyone,

I hope you’ve all been enjoying winter break and are ready to return for a new term in a couple weeks.

As you all know, this past term was our last year with previous Math and Science Department Head, Max Kanté. I’m sure you’ll all be delighted to hear that he has since settled into his new position at Cambridge and says that while he misses all of us here at Lycée Françoise Dupont, the university is treating him well.

Acting as the new head of the Math and Science Department from now on will be math professor Sabrina Raincomprix. In addition, to fill the gap, we have been working on hiring a new professor to take Max’s place teaching physics. I am happy to inform you that a decision has been made.

I’m sure many of you have heard of Adrien Agreste’s recent retirement. Though he is known for modeling the fashion designs of his father, Gabriel Agreste, Adrien’s true goal has always been to be a teacher. With a Master’s degree in physics, a Bachelor’s in mathematics, and the recent attainment his teaching license, he makes the perfect candidate to fill the gap in our current faculty. I trust you will all give him a warm welcome this Spring as the newest addition to our team.

Enjoy what is left of your break, and I will see you all again in two weeks.

Warm Regards,

Principal Bourgeois

Chloé shut her laptop and stood with a tired yawn. She should have been asleep hours ago—she risked getting bags under her eyes staying up like this. But she knew the second word got out about Adrien teaching, it would be all over the news and she wanted to make sure her faculty heard it from her first.

She reached up and pulled out her hair tie as she walked to the bedroom, flicking off all the lights in the apartment on the way. What little hair had been pulled back fell down around her head with ease, returning to her classy bob. She sighed and ran her fingers through it as she pulled out her phone to set the alarm.

7 am. She would be a bit behind on sleep, but her morning coffee would make up for it. She made a mental note to grab an extra caramel macchiato as well. Knowing Adrien, he would likely be tired and craving something tooth-rotting when he got off the plane after staying up all night packing instead of sleeping.

She smiled and finally crawled into the silk sheets on her memory foam mattress. As much as she wasn’t looking forward to getting up in the morning, she was excited to see her friend again.

And with that thought in mind, she slept soundly.

[lozenger8]

an empty space you left behind

Inspired by this gifset and written for @dylantyler. Title from ‘Missing U’ by Robyn, because it’s a great song and ‘strumming my pain with his fingers’ was somehow even less subtle.

On Tuesday, Stiles launches from the side of the screen to the center with a guitar neck clutched firmly in his hand and a manic grin planted firmly on his face. 

“What did you do?”

“It was sitting there all innocent and lonely at the pawn shop, Scotty. It cost me like five shifts’ worth, if that. I spent more on that jacket last month. Listen. I already know some songs.”

That jacket? Scott has fond memories of Stiles modeling it for him. It hugged his wide shoulders, making them seem even wider, and accentuated the slimness of his waist. It’s a very attractive jacket. Scott likes it very much. Scott sits through two excruciating renditions of Three Little Birds and Hound Dog, heart thumping louder than usual - loud enough he worries Stiles could hear it - as he watches Stiles’ tongue, peeking out the side of his mouth. 

Oh. This is Not Great.

“Good try!” Scott says, because he doesn’t like to lie to Stiles and he cannot praise the actual playing. “Keep at it.”

Stiles beams at him. There’s no way he can’t tell Scott’s being diplomatic, but at the same time, he doesn’t seem to care he’s nowhere near a Hendrix. 

“I’m gonna!”

*

On a Saturday weeks later, the guitar is on the bed as Stiles is chatting to Scott about blood spatter patterns, and Scott can’t stop his eyes from wandering to it. Stiles catches him after one gruesome retelling of the blood spatter from a women whose wife had used an electric drill post-mortem. He squints, glances from the bed back to Scott.

“You wanna hear my progress?”

“Anything other than the continued adventures of Denise the Dentist, yeah, dude,” Scott says, wincing. 

Scott rolls his shoulders and sucks in a few deep breaths as he watches Stiles reach over and grab the guitar in an ungainly sprawl. Stiles’ shirt rides up and Scott resolutely refuses to stare at the strip of skin above his boxers and the hem of his shirt. The pale skin with two, no, three moles. The treasure trail that used to make Scott jealous.

He fails. 

“I know nine chords,” Stiles says, holding the guitar with a far more natural position than the last time. “I can play them with more than thirty seconds between each change.”

“You sound like you’ve actually been practicing.”

“I have. Every day. Who knew I could attain a talent?”

“You already had plenty of talents,” Scott counters.

“Yeah,” Stiles scoffs, “That were already inherent in me being me. A loud mouth, insatiable curiosity, and ability to piss off all minority and majority groups. Talents, sure, but nothing I learned.”

Scott frowns a deliberate frown. “You don’t really think that’s true, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Stiles says, scrabbling for a pick on his desk, gesturing wildly when he successfully lifts it. He mutters the next part, but Scott still hears it. “I know it is.”

Stiles plays him ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’, and it isn’t what Scott would call capable or even intermediate playing, but Stiles even sings along and seems really into it, so Scott can’t help but be thoroughly charmed anyway. Plus, Stiles’ long, strong-looking fingers against the fret-board have been doing all sorts of things to Scott’s entire body. 

His face smiles against his own volition. “That was super cute, buddy.”

“That’s the first time you ever called me cute.”

Maybe to his face.

*

On a lazy Friday evening, spent indoors rather than out partying, Stiles plays Scott, ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’. It’s beautiful and Scott surreptitiously wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. Unfortunately, nothing is surreptitious when Stiles is involved. 

“They weren’t tears of ear-splitting pain, were they?”

“I wouldn’t tell you even if they were, you know that,” Scott says. But he shakes his head. “But no, it’s just one of those songs that always gets me.” Scott gestures at his chest.

It’s true, not a word of a lie, but he was also imagining Stiles singing this song to him for real, not just to show off, and it hurts to know that’s not going to happen any time soon. Probably not ever. Scott resolved himself to that after Stiles decided to go to Washington rather than stay with him, but... but it still sounds out like a discordant note inside his heart.

*

Monday morning a few months later, Stiles texts Scott to ask if he’ll be a sounding board for his rendition of, ‘Fix You’. Scott listens as he writes a paper, swaying from side to side. Stiles has gotten so good he plays with minimal breaks. Scott’s a mixture of proud and sorrow-filled that he hasn’t seen the improvement in person. 

*

It’s Saturday. Scott’s had a shitty week, a shitty month if he’s being honest, and he’s lying on his bed, head on the pillow, cradling his laptop. It’s past midnight. Stiles is up, occasionally wandering around while he talks, even though it’s literally the middle of the night for him - if not the early morning. He’s wearing a loose gray shirt and Spider-Man boxers and Scott wishes he could reach out and tug him into bed. 

“Sing me to sleep?” Scott asks, after twenty minutes of telling Stiles exactly why he’s three fourths the way to miserable. (His friend Shelley ran over a kitten and neither of them could save it, his shifts at the local vet’s were cut, he sent his mom money rather than buying more Aggie cash and is constantly hungry, and Liam was almost captured and slaughtered by hunters.)

Stiles peers at him in the dim light, his face soft and warm in a way that Scott rarely got to see in person, let alone through their video chats, and he returns with his guitar a moment later.

“Um, okay. I’m not amazing at this song yet because I only started it a week ago. But I think you’ll like it.” His next words are muted. “I hope you will.”

When Stiles begins strumming and singing ‘Thinking Out Loud’, Scott’s breath stops in his throat and he clutches his pillow tight with his left hand, claws pricking the cover. 

Stiles won’t look at him when he finishes, sets his guitar down. “Sweet dreams, Scotty,” he murmurs, disconnecting the chat. 

Scott stares up at the ceiling for another two hours. 

It can’t be what he’s thinking.

Stiles would have said something.

Stiles is terrible with handling his emotions but is always vocal in his love.

Yet Stiles has been singing and playing him love songs since those first two tracks. Only love songs. 

*

“You feeling better?” Stiles asks the next time they’re face to face. It’s another Tuesday. They’ve texted during the past couple of weeks or so, but that’s all, and Scott had found himself increasingly mimicking Stiles’ expressions and speech cadences in lieu of the real thing, to the bafflement of his college friends.

“I haven’t learned how to play guitar in the space of seventeen days,” Scott says without answering the question being asked. “But I downloaded this karaoke track.”

Scott starts the track, rocks back in his chair, braces himself, and tries not to fall apart with nerves. 

“Love me tender Love me sweet Never let me go You have made my life complete And I love you so

Love me tender Love me true All my dreams fulfilled For my darlin' I love you And I always will”

Stiles’ expression morphs from confusion to fondness to joy. He picks up his guitar and plays along towards the end of the song, humming with Scott, adding a little harmony when he can. 

“You noticed, huh?” Stiles asks when Scott finishes, scratching the back of his neck and ducking his head down.

“It took me way too long,” Scott says. He shrugs, smiles. “I got there eventually.”

“Yeah, so, I’m like head over heels in love with you, Scott,” Stiles says, too earnest considering the casual phrasing, the nonchalant slant of his shoulders.

“That’s good to hear. I’m like truly, madly, deeply in love with you too.” Scott grins, full of a huge quantity of unnamed and usually suppressed emotions. 

Stiles’ answering smile has Scott’s palms feeling clammy and his nerves zinging. 

“I feel very strongly that we need to somehow be in the same room so we can make sweet, sweet music together,” Stiles says, voice a little rough, like he’s holding back his own crescendo of feelings and can only let one or two loose. 

“I completely agree.”

*

On Thursday evening, after Scott’s least favorite lectures and the longest and most frustrating shift at the vet’s clinic, he finds himself humming along to an old song he’s only heard once or twice in the past 10 years. It takes a while to place it.

It takes even longer to realize he’s humming it because he can hear a guitar strumming the chords. He throws open the window to his shoebox apartment, blood thundering in his veins, hoping against hope he’s going to see what he thinks he is. 

Stiles stands there with his guitar. 

“In my life, I love you more,” Stiles sings. 

Scott rushes down the stairs on all fours, damn near crashes through the door in a cartoon cut-out. He’s not proud of it, but it is what it is. 

He’s careful as he adjusts the guitar so it’s on Stiles’s back, soft as he cradles his jaw, and high-pitched as Stiles closes the distance between them before he gets a chance to and kisses him with a rhythm and tempo that leave him breathless.

[catboysuigetsu]

Robogirl, Monkey Boy and Their Fantastic Kids

In which Trunks and Marron care for Pan, Bulla and Uub on a movie night that ends with introspection (because I wrote it, it can’t be all fluffy, curse my writing)

a late entry for @dbnextgenweek 

The only ship is Truten and Goten isn’t even here  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And rated T I guess? mostly G except one line at the end and some alcohol drinking. Mostly no one gets hurt, it’s just domestic shenanigans. Enjoy, ya’ll.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Trunks, can I have a margarita?” Bulla asked, leaning way over on the counter, eyes wide. What he was making himself was a cocktail, but to Bulla it was all the same. She was five years old.

“What’s the magic word?” Marron nearly choked.

“Please?” she whined, flopping on the bar.

“Alright, go sit down.” She hopped off the stool and Trunks met Marron’s eyes. The girl was glaring daggers at him.

“Are you going to give your five year old sister alcohol?” she demanded.

He smirked, so much like his father. “Of course not. Check it out.” He motioned for her to look under the bar and opened a wine chiller. Lined up was every brightly colored fruity soda she could name off the top of her head. “Mix it together and it looks just like the real thing, and the smell’s so strong they won’t be able to tell that it’s different than mine. It was Goten’s idea. He’s so smart,” he added wistfully, which made Marron laugh because no, he’s really not. Trunks’s boyfriend was away visiting colleges this weekend, even though he would likely go to online college and work at Capsule Corp like Trunks did. Or at least he hoped so.

“Well, that sure is deception.”

“It’s great! Gotta stay one step ahead of these kids.”

“Bad attitude, man.” She wouldn’t admit that she had felt the same way since she was nine, or even before then. She was so below the Saiyan children’s power that she had to accept that getting close to their level would be no easy task. She had strategy, though, taught by her dad and figured out by trial and error. Catching her boys off guard was her specialty.

“Do you want one?” Trunks asked, cracking open four bottles of soda and pouring the first in a glass of ice.

“The real kind or the sugar monstrosity?” She was 16, not legally allowed to drink alcohol yet, not like Trunks knew that, or cared. “Neither. I think I’m good.”

“Alright. Could you go ask Pan and Uub what they want?”

“Whatever.” She went.

The home theater was cut off from the bar by only glass. It was dark, only illuminated by the blue screen of the TV, but all three children were good at seeing in low light. Bulla crouched in the corner, adjusting the movie settings on the laptop there, and Pan leaned over her shoulder observantly. Uub sat on the edge of the couch with his arms around his knees, the blue of the frozen screen reflecting in his large brown eyes.

“Who wants what, kids?”

“Can I have a margarita too?” Pan asked. Marron sighed.

“Do you have milk?” Uub asked quietly.

“Probably upstairs. I’ll get you a glass.” She didn’t move for a moment, then sat down next to the boy. He looked skittish and kept pushing his chin into his knees. “You doing okay?”

“It’s not usually this dark, I-I’m not used to not seeing the sky.” The theater room had no windows and gave the best of them claustrophobia. The sterile air and the enclosed space were understandably frightening the little boy who was never as far from the outside as he was in the Briefs’ compound.

“You want to go for a walk?”

“Yes.” After a beat he unfolded himself and walked with the teen to the door.

“Pan wants a cocktail too,” Marron informed Trunks as they walked by, “and we’re going upstairs to get milk.” He waved a hand to acknowledge them, but didn’t even turn his head. He was on the phone and judging by the spacey, blissed out look on his face she could guess with whom.

The whole compound was dark, save the occasional emergency light, and the air whirred with the sounds of machinery, but at least topside light from the streetlamps and stars streamed in the windows. Uub looked at the sky in wonder, and smiled like it was his best friend. They stopped a moment to stare through the window. Marron wondered if a part of the child remembered that he came from there, somewhere farther out in the cosmos than she could imagine from her little shoebox house on Earth. He played with the lock on the window and before Marron could stop him he was leaning into the warm breeze, giggling at the spring peepers that filled the air with noise.

“Go fly around, I’ll let you back in,” and he was out, hitting the ground and bolting after the peeping frogs. Marron hardly saw someone so happy.

She continued to the kitchen and poured milk for Uub and herself. She spend a minute tapping on the counter, checking her email, enjoying the quiet, before her companion touched down on the patio and knocked on the glass with his elbow. His hands were clamped tightly together and something squeaked inside. Uub smiled like a mad man.

“You shouldn’t bring the frog inside,” Marron warned, but that’s all it was, a warning. She didn’t say he couldn’t.

“I want to show Pan, then I’ll let it back out.”

“Alright.” and after a moment she added with a  smirk, “We’re gonna freak Trunks out though, okay?”

He didn’t get it. He didn’t have to.

They headed back downstairs, Uub looking giddily down at the frog in the empty cereal box they placed it in. Trunks was wrapping his call with Goten up when they returned and Marron transferred the frog into her hand.

“How is Goten doing?” she asked, hands clasped behind her back.

“Great. He’s coming home earlier than he thought he was.” Trunks smelled of alcohol but he was drunk on his own love. It might have been cute.

“How much did you drink? You haven’t touched your cocktail,” she commented, moving closer.

“I had some vodka, just from the bottle. The drink’s for the movie.”

“Ah-huh.” She moved so they were almost touching and wrapped her arms around the tall teen. He hugged back, of course. And her hand sneaked up to his shoulder and placed the frog there. He didn’t notice— until it croaked. The half Saiyan jumped backwards into the wine rack. Marron cackled.

Uub stepped in frantically to rescue the peeper and the girls raced in as Trunks yelled groggily, “How dare you weaponize hugs! Friendship ended robogirl!”

“Talk’s cheap monkey boy!”

“Hey!” Bulla shouted, tiny hands on tiny hips. “Don’t be racist.” Both teens doubled over laughing. Pan agreed loudly over her shoulder.

Marron reached to help Trunks stand up, and he took her hand with one of his and pointed in her face with the other. “Don’t put! Slimy creatures on me please, young lady.”

“Alright, old man, but I promise nothing about slimy plants.”

Trunks groaned.

Pan jumped on Marron, flying up to be face to face with her. “Can we go watch Frozen now?”

“We’re watching Frozen? Oy, I had no idea.” This was the third time they were watching Frozen for movie night, she could have guessed. She stepped toward the theater room and the kids headed that way. “Don’t forget your movie drink, Trunks.” She took her milk with her. Trunks followed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Marron was the outcast at her school from 1st grade (she skipped preschool and Kindergarten) to about age 9, and truly she never stopped being one. She had cried for her mom the first couple months of school, and she solved her problems with ki blasts from her fingers, put together with her appearance and need to question everything and not having a filter between curiosity and prying and talking back, did not make her popular.

Chiaotzu had something to say about that, after all he had watched her (along with Tien and/or Yamcha) when she was little the few times 18 had somewhere to be or she and Krillin had a night or a weekend out. She called him her best friend, other than her mom, and didn’t see any problem with it until she had to go to school and he didn’t, seeing as he was a 30 year old. Chiaotzu was the first one to recognize that she really needed some friends her own age.

The only people in the world who could understand Marron, daughter of an android and the most powerful human on Earth, who could bend the energy in and around her to her will, were deemed to be Goten and Trunks. They didn’t like that all that much. Goten wanted to help her but didn’t want his friendship with Trunks to change, and Trunks flat out refused, “Goten is my friend and I don’t wanna share.”

They started meeting only once a week, an Saturday afternoons, after which Bulma would let them stay up as long as they liked playing video games (not like they didn’t do that already, but now it was permitted so they wouldn’t have to try and hide it.) They played hide-and-seek in the sprawling gardens until they introduced her to video games, where she took a vicious liking to whooping their virtual backsides. Hangouts at the Capsule Compound became trips to the mall and the zoo and aquarium, camping trips and occasional sleepovers. They liked each other and reveled in their secret powers, exchanging glances and smiles at school. They confided in each other. She was their friend, and they were her boys.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Trunks sat with his arm spread out on top of the couch like always, and Marron sat on the cushion in front of it and leaned her head back. Her shaved hair irritated his skin and he readjusted himself so the short girl leaned on his shoulder instead. When she first shaved her hair he accused her of copying him. She said neither flattery nor mockery was involved in her decision. Her hair was just too long for her own good, she didn’t like it on the back of her neck or behind her ears. It made her a better fighter too, which was always a plus. Grabbing Goten’s hair over and over was what made him finally cut his. Trunks kept his short for convenience probably, since he has no patience to deal with tangles.

“I’m going to start the movie!” Bulla declared, pressing the play button then running and catapulting herself into her brother’s lap.

“OOF! Ow, Bulla!” She giggled. “What is this, mess with Trunks night?”

“Here I come,” Pan warned and jumped onto Marron’s lap. The teen tackled the littler girl to the couch into a laughing heap.

Uub had gone somewhere, but returned not too far into the movie. “The frog’s back outside.”

Pan pouted. “Can you catch another one later?”

“I’ll teach you how to catch one.” He sat down and Pan clambered off Marron’s lap and onto his. He hardly let anybody touch him, let alone sit in his lap. Pan was a special case. She was his training buddy, and fellow frog lover.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

By the time everyone lived happily ever after it was past 11 o’clock but none of the kids wanted to go to sleep. Trunks and Marron were ready but the young ones still had energy. Trunks wasn’t about to deal with that.

He tucked Bulla and Pan into their little shared bed against their protests and made them promise that if they played games they had to be talking games, not get up and run around ones. Uub slept in a cot in the same room and he was the one of the three closest to falling asleep. He was curled up with his eyes closed when the teens left.

Marron climbed into Trunks’s bed as he exhaustedly set up the air mattress.

“Goten will be back this time tomorrow. You think you two’ll be screwing in this room then?” Marron asked lazily.

“I haven’t the foggiest idea why you would want to know that given where you are currently laying,” he responded, smirking and flopping on his mattress.

“You’re right. I don’t wanna know.”

The Saiyan boy pulled his quilt up to his chin. “Lights off,” he commanded, and they clicked off.

“You think either of you’ll ever have kids?” she asked, quieter this time. “You’re a good… you’re such a good big brother to all three of them.”

She almost thought Trunks hadn’t heard her, and listened for his snores. He finally said, “We haven’t talked about it, I mean I’m only 19 and he’s 18. I can’t say I want kids but I do... like caring for the kids we have now.” Pause. “I don’t know, you don’t think putting me in permanent charge of a kid is a good idea, right? I’m not that responsible.” She knew. He had given his five year old sister what she thought was a margarita.

“I dunno. Put you and Goten together and you make a great team. I mean, what else are you gonna do?”

“How about run Capsule Corp? I’ve got my job set for me, I don’t know about him.”

“Bulma runs this place and still raised two kids. You could do it.”

“A lot of faith, Marron, a lot of faith.” It was quiet again.

“You could go pro at fighting, I think that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Fruit and vodka. Mechanical whirring, light through the windows from streetlamps and stars. Spring peepers. “Goodnight, Mar.”

“Goodnight.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Please tell me other people know what peepers are? Those frogs where you can open your window in the springtime and hear them screaming at each other. We have them in the suburbs but I’m pretending they have them in the city too.

Also I have not watched any of GT, although I guess this takes place some time in between the end of Z and the start of GT in some au where Uub stays in Satan City to train along with Bulla and Pan instead of going back to his island. All characterizations are kind of pulled out of my head along with things I’ve gotten from fandom osmosis.

Hope you liked!

edit: HAHAH i forgot to mention that i have zero concept of anybody’s ages in canon so if something’s really wrong, it’s probably just my ignorance. Whoops.

[ao3porcelainstorm]

poison ivy & stinging nettles 22

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 21 - Chapter 23

Chapter 22- Repercussions

~~~

And we try and try to figure out what "normal" is around here. Is "normal" solving murders? Is it saving one another from the week's newest maniac? I can't imagine any of us in a nice little house with a fence and a dog, so what is even "normal" anymore?

~~~

The first video showed up the next day.

Amelia had been alone in her room when she screamed, throwing her phone across the room, bringing down a few plants when it hit a shelf.

By the time Sherlock and John got to her, she was in her closet, blanket over her head, hyperventilating. John coaxed her out and Sherlock watched the clip with a steely expression.

Later that night, Mrs. Hudson’s cell phone rang an achingly familiar American Country tune floating from the downstairs, the landlady complaining that the ringtone was different.

The second video appeared on the tele when John and Amelia were waiting for Sherlock to return from a case at the Yard a few days later.

This one was similar to the one that John and Sherlock had received back in December, except Amelia was ripping at her arms, screeching like a wounded animal. It replayed, over and over, and when John finally ripped the power cord from the wall, it popped up on their cell phones and laptops.

Amelia didn’t say a word, eyes glazed over while the screams permeated the walls of the only safe place she had in this world.

When they met with Mycroft at the Diogenes Club, he wouldn’t meet her eyes. He kept his questions directed to John and Sherlock, only being straightforward when Anthea stepped in and offered to take Amelia for some lunch.

“We know he’s a madman,” Mycroft waited until the door was shut before speaking. “And it’s clear what his game is at this point.”

“What about the court? Amelia’s therapist should have submitted-,” John offered, only to be cut short by more bad news.

“Thrown away,” Mycroft looked like he was seething at the news. “All three judges voted against a criminal proceeding against him, though they were willing to move forward against the board at Chemco.”

“He’s the one that bribed them,” John snapped.

“He likely bribed the judges as well,” Sherlock muttered, earning a grunt of agreement from his older brother.

“He also gave one of my agents this,” Mycroft held up a USB that was sitting on his desk. “After he was released from custody.”

“And what’s that?” John demanded, still seething from the previous news.

“It’s the entire surveillance footage from December,” Mycroft’s focus fell on his younger brother.  “Everything up until the moment we knocked on the hotel room door. It isn’t pleasant, but I think you should see it.”

Sherlock wordlessly reached for the device, fumbling with it a moment in his hands before tucking it into his jacket pocket.

“What now?” John asked the brothers. Sherlock and Mycroft exchanged uneasy glances before the older brother spoke.

“We move onto the next case,” he replied tersely.

John fumed out of the room at that, leaving only Sherlock and Mycroft in the ornate office.

“Would you like some advice, dear brother?” Mycroft leaned back on his desk, watching Sherlock. “Move forward.”

“It’s not so simple,” Sherlock replied, standing up and straightening his scarf.  

“It is once you detach yourself from your self-blame,” Mycroft noted firmly. “The only person to blame is James Moriarty.”

“How bad is it?” Sherlock held up the USB.

“I felt sick to my stomach by January,” Mycroft answered truthfully.

“I shouldn’t have let it go past twenty-four hours,” Sherlock pocketed the USB and started for the door. “Let Anthea know we will be meeting them.”

~~~

No one knew how to handle themselves after that.

Sherlock, against both Amelia and John’s insistence, watched the video.

After a few days, John skimmed through it as well, shutting himself away in his room for a few days. He wouldn’t leave her alone after that, treating her like a fragile glass figurine.

Both men refused to let Amelia have access to it, but Amelia knew exactly where to look for the USB, finding it tucked inside of the skull on the mantle.

She saved it to the same drive as the Chemo data, returning it less than an hour later, no one was the wiser. Amelia knew she needed to get her nerve up to watch it, unsure of what she’d find on the other side.

She told Ruthie that she was staying with her mother, then boys she was staying with Ruthie and her mother that she was staying with Molly, and checked herself into a hotel across town. Under her fake ID, of course, knowing that neither Sherlock nor John had any reason to know that particular name.

She brought a small bag of clothes, two bottles of wine, and her computer. Hooking the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door to her room. She pressed play, the video starting out familiar; her escaping the room after shoving Moriarty, the subsequent capture, and so on.

She sped up the time, watching scenes she recognized, and slowing it when she didn’t recall something.

The whole thing had sound, and she winced when she heard some of the beatings, and gagged when the force-feedings started, all were still relatively clear in her memory. What she didn’t recall was those last few weeks to days.

There was more blood than she remembered, between vomiting and fighting back as much as she could. At least Amelia could say she fought like hell to the very end.

What broke her heart were the times she was tied in the metal chair, whispering to herself, occasionally screaming for help, begging for John and Sherlock. Or the times she had what she’d thought were full conversations with the detective but were actually incoherent ramblings of her talking to herself out loud.

All in all, it wasn’t quite as bad as having experienced it herself. There was certainly savagery that she didn’t quite remember, but the incessant sense of dread was all the same.

That was when she realized that the video wasn’t ever meant for her.

It was meant for everyone else.

She returned back to Baker Street a day later, Sherlock demanding to know where she’d been, and she handed him her laptop, disappearing to the basement while he opened it.  

It was only fair that they all be on the same page, she later defended when John asked why Sherlock wouldn’t leave his room.

Amelia knew that they’d all have to confront each other about it eventually. There was no way they’d all be able to move forward without having done so. Sherlock was the one who made the first move, crawling into Amelia’s bed one night, wrapping his arms over her.

“I understand if you want to leave,” his voice rumbled against her back.

Was that what he was worried about?

“And go where?” she asked, still facing away, her hand finding him and tracing circles over his palm with her thumb.

“Back to Brooklyn? Away from all of this,” he replied.

Away from me, she could hear between the lines.

“None of this was your fault,” she stated, hearing his breath caught when she spoke.

“Moriarty targeted you because of your relationship with me-,” he began and Amelia rolled to face him, scowling at his insistence.

“All of this happened because I couldn’t listen to you for five seconds and not taunt the bad guy,” she replied sternly.

“It’s a defense mechanism, you didn’t know any better,” he countered. “You were kidnapped because of me.”

“I was kidnapped because some guy has this insane obsession with you and your magnificent mind,” she tapped his forehead lightly. “How is that your fault? You can’t control other people, as much as I know you wish you could.”

He huffed in response.

“I should have found you then,” he corrected. “Rescued you before…”

“The crazy guy did crazy things to try and make us all crazy?”

“Stop brushing this off!” he protested, voice cutting the still night air. “I’m trying to be serious.”

“You’re trying to justify your self imposed misery,” she murmured softly, reaching for his cheek and running her thumb over the skin soothingly. “You can be angry and sad, but don’t put it on you, put it on the person to blame.”

He sat upon his elbow, looking down at her, his expression impossible to read in the dark light.

“Where have you been?” he whispered, fingers tangling themselves in a few of her stray hairs on the pillow.

“I was on Bleecker Street for a while in college-,” she teased, silenced when a small smirk tugged at his lips. He was so pretty, her mind buzzed, the dim street lights catching the subtle blues of his eyes.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he continued, his brows furrowed a moment, as if he was trying to analyze something.

Slowly, he bent down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

Amelia reciprocated in kind. It was the type of kiss that had them panting, and Amelia desperately wanting to pull her nightclothes off, but he caught her by the hand before she could grab the bottom of her shirt.

“Not… not yet,” he rumbled, pulling her to his chest and wrapping an arm over her.

Sighing, Amelia peeked up at him with a pout.

“Making me wait,” she grumbled, earning a light chuckle from her companion.

“It’ll be worth it.”

“Don’t make checks you can’t cash, Holmes.”

~~~

Elsewhere in London, behind expertly trained marksmen and steel doors, James Moriarty stared at the wall while another hapless MI6 agent tried to get something of use out of him.

It was to be expected, after all. He had a brilliant mind and those in power feared those more clever than them. They usually wanted to extinguish those minds or exploit them.

Still, he was enjoying the brief respite from his obligations. There meals a day, a bit of peace and quiet- lots of time to think. Unfortunately, it was when these agents came by and rambled on and on about negotiations or how he can help the world, he grew weary.

What could they offer? He had anything he could have ever wanted in terms of material goods. Immaterially, he had power, influence, and ruled over his global kingdom with fear.

He heard the shift of the agent leaving the room, the door not quite closing when footfalls stopped a few meters away.

Someone new, he realized with a small twinge of excitement, freezing and waiting for them to speak first. He never wasted his time with such boring things such as small talk or reasoning.

“What if we discuss Sherlock Holmes?”

Chapter 23

[alexsmitposts]

Authoritarian versus ‘Democratic’ Rulers Much American ink is being spilt over the fact that Russian voters recently agreed to allow President Vladimir Putin to potentially serve for another sixteen years. This is part of a liberal campaign against authoritarian leaders that pays scant attention to reality: while ‘democratic’ rulers are constantly negotiating with their people’s representatives, evil authoritarians are implementing their decisions. If you think about it, the crucial question is not whether a ruler is ‘elected’, but whether he can be successfully challenged. Peter the Great brought the Boyars (the Russian equivalent of America’s Senators) to heel, imposing fundamental changes to every aspect of Russian life, including the ‘opening to the West’ for which he is remembered abroad, and changing the way Russians dressed. President Donald Trump is nowhere near being able to rule with a free hand, however, he is ridding the country of what he calls ‘the swamp’, rolling back necessary rules and regulations rather than preventing Congress’s pet projects from getting in the way of ‘making America great again’ (even though this would have to start with eliminating the Corona virus). The governments of European countries are not dependent on Brussels for basic necessities, while the politically independent American states depend on Washington for crucial funds, resulting in an overall inability to, as the mantra goes, ‘get things done’. While the American President tells Americans to ‘live with the Corona virus’ until it ‘magically goes away’, ordering governors not to make mask wearing obligatory, countries in both Europe and Asia are bringing the pandemic at least partially under control. This suggests not only that more centralized/authoritarian governments are better able to meet crises, but also, that ‘exceptionalism’ can refer to failure. Europe’s democratic socialist regimes have remained in power for decades, whether under center right or center-left governments. In France, where I spent thirty years during two different periods, actions are taken by the Prime Minister chosen by the President, and the cabinet he in turn creates. When taking office, as is currently happening, he presents his program to the parliament, requesting a ‘vote of confidence’. When parliament refuses to cooperate with actions being taken by the Prime Minister on something the President considers vital, he can invoke a law known as 49.3 that allows him to force passage of a bill without a vote (unless the parliament votes a motion of no confidence). While under the American system of ‘checks and balances’, it is proving nearly impossible to rid the country of a terrible president who, in Steve Bannon’s words, is ‘dismantling the state’, without slogans, Europe’s parliamentary systems keep power on a relatively short leash. This is all the more meaningful that in crises such as Covid, the President or Prime Minister can order industries to produce masks or other indispensable items, and to order social security to pay workers forced into unemployment 84% of their salaries instead of the usual 75%. European parliamentary systems also allow for the occasional authoritarian. Take France’s Charles de Gaulle, for example. An obscure Colonel at the start of World War II, his command of English enabled him to set up a provisional government based in London, prolonging his rule for another two years “in order to re-establish democracy” in formerly Vichy France. Ten years later, as France’s colonies fought for independence, he came out of retirement to create the entirely new, presidential Fifth Republic, leading it from 1958 until a year before his death in 1969, as the left gnashed its (few) teeth. While the Presidents and Prime Ministers that followed him ended in the trash bin of history, he is admired across the globe as it struggles to flatten the Covid death curve. The most threatening epidemic since the 1918 flu that killed more than 50 million worldwide, Covid starkly illustrates the superiority of centralized government. Recently, the Guardian noted that for decades, in the face of uninterrupted US sanctions, revolutionary Cuba has sent doctors and other health workers to Indonesia, Pakistan, Haiti, West Africa, and recently, to the rescue of Europe’s social democratic health systems brought up short by Covid. The British daily also points out that not all Cuban health workers are happy with the obligation to repay their government for the free training they received from nursery to medical school, however, as usual when it comes to Cuba, the condemnation of ‘democrats’ goes hand in hand with ignorance: Cuba’s communist rulers have been sending medical teams overseas for decades in a bid to save lives and influence people. Paul Hare, a former British ambassador to Havana, said Fidel Castro launched the “doctor diplomacy” policy soon after his 1959 takeover as a means of using the island’s highly trained professionals to export revolutionary ideas and make new friends. While some missions are provided free of charge, other countries pay Cuba for the medical services, bringing in $6.3bn (£4.8bn) annually and making it Havana’s largest source of foreign currency. It’s true that Cuba has been exporting revolution and making friends around the world, in true socialist tradition, however the claim that when Fidel took power in 1959, Cuban doctors were eager to work in other third world countries is cringingly wrong. There were only enough of them to serve the well-off, and most would soon flee to more lucrative locations. While teaching many Cubans to read, the socialist government trained engineers, agricultural specialists and medical professionals in record time, (including thousands of doctors and nurses from developing countries and the US) tuition free. Inevitably, under the influence of ‘democratic’ ideas wafting across the Caribbean, some of those who benefit from the system resent having to reimburse it by serving abroad for a number of years, as I learned when revisiting the island in 2011. But it’s not as though they didn’t know what they were committing to, anymore than American students who take out high interest loans in order to acquire one of the most lucrative professions. The policy of all socialist countries is that free training creates an implicit IOU with the government, while the US Secretary of State Mike Pompeo describes noblesse oblige in these terms: Cuban doctors and nurses are being abused and exploited in order to fill the coffers of an authoritarian regime. “The Cuban ‘medical missions’ are exploitation: a for-profit front used to fund the regime’s repression and sow political discord. Predictably, the Guardian chimed in: “Of course there are big human rights problems in Cuba – as there have been since the start of the revolution,” failing to point out that an American who enlists in the armed forces to kill innocent civilians abroad is a patriot, while a Cuban doctor who agrees to serve foreign patients is a victim. As I wrote at the beginning of this article, the never mentioned difference between authoritarianism and ‘democracy’ (‘rule by the people’, also known as popular ‘consent’), is that authoritarian rulers are able to implement history-changing policies without domestic battles. Every leader who has gone down in history, including France’s Sun King, Russia’s Peter the Great, George Washington, FDR, Indira Ghandi and Vladimir Putin, has come to power determined to bring sweeping change to his/her country. In my memoir “Lunch with Fellini, Dinner with Fidel”, in 1963 I discovered that both Fidel Castro and the Italian film maker Federico Fellini, whom I had followed for a year, ‘ate, drank and slept’ their respective passions 24/7. (I was not surprised when Cuba’s then President Osvaldo Dorticos, told me that he considered Fidel to be ‘an artist’.) Currently, for all the indignation over ‘Russian interference’, American elections play a relatively minor role, as politicians challenge national policies or delay their implementation to gain electoral points from their local voters, hindering efforts to deal with Covid 19. Meanwhile, Hong Kong covers the cleaning costs for its schools; South Korea helps them create day care centers open til evening; Germany subsidizes laptops so low-income students can participate in remote learning; Italy gives schools money for more teachers, masks and separations. And in Africa, Kenya’s Zoonotic Disease Unit brings human and animal health experts together with environmental specialists, since their interface is where pandemics occur. If the outgoing hegemon would work with Xi Jin Ping and Vladimir Putin, they could not only prevent nuclear war, but craft common policies toward pandemics, of which there are certain to be more. The fact that Covid has been found to be airborne suggests that technology could play an important role in its elimination, similar to our ability to seed clouds. Has not the Russian President been shown on video passing through a short decontamination corridor, as pharmaceutical companies around the world compete to produce the best vaccine?

[impurelight]

Mac OS High Sierra - ♪ I Love It ♪

I recently installed the High Sierra public beta and I'm glad I did. Let's go back to WWDC 2017. Craig uttered this brief statement that felt like an afterthought, "We even moved the window manager to use Metal." I believe he also said something about how the most difficult animations would be accelerated using Metal or something. But this didn't seem too important to Apple in the grand scheme of things.

When he said this my ears perked up. Could it be? Has Apple finally fixed the stuttering of animations? I have wanted to try High Sierra ever since. And now that I had some time with High Sierra I have to say that this change does indeed fix those issues. 99% of the time anyways.

When I first got my Pro the animations were noticeably choppy. So much so that I kept the resolution at 1280x800 rather than the retina resolution of 2560x1600 just to avoid the choppiness. High Sierra is not perfect. There's definitely a little bit of choppiness going on, especially when moving from a full screen application to the desktop, and I suspect the animations aren't a crispy 60FPS.

But the difference between Sierra and High Sierra are like night and day. I can finally use my Mac at the retina resolution without pulling my hair out in frustration. It actually looks like the demo laptops in the Apple Store.

This makes me a lot more hopeful for the MacBook Adorable. The graphics on that thing should be about the same as my MacBook Pro so I'm a lot less worried about stuttering on that now.

That's the really big thing in High Sierra. This choppiness that was present since I got it has finally been fixed. But there are a few other important changes I'd like to discuss.

First is APFS. I thought this would be a bigger deal than it ended up being. Every time I need to change the file system I've had to format a drive so Apple doing it in place is basically magic.

In fact they did it so well I didn't even notice anything changed. When it restarted after the update it showed me all my Windows from before I restarted, a feature I'm shocked Windows has not copied yet, so I didn't know if anything actually changed. I had to look at my disk properties to see: APFS, oh, it actually worked. Speaking of which the main drive now appears in the Finder side bar. A small change.

I haven't seen any speed improvements yet. My Mac was fast enough already. I've seen APFS actually doing worse compared to HFS+ in benchmarks. I'd suspect that's accurate. From what I hear APFS has to write more and more detailed metadata. But in real world scenarios it may be faster.

Now let's talk about Safari. Safari has had perhaps the most changes out of all the apps I've used. First of all the block autoplaying videos is very nice. I know what you're thinking, "But how often do I encounter autoplaying videos?". And you're right but it also blocks youtube videos that are in the background. Not foreground ones, they work normally.

I open a lot of Youtube videos and they take a bit of time to load so sometimes I do something else and then suddenly the youtube video starts playing in the background. Annoying. In High Sierra it's no more. It's one of those things like picture in picture that I didn't think was such a big deal until I actually started using it.

Of course not all the Safari changes are so awesome. The 'always on' reader that they trumpeted is nothing more than an option to automatically open the reader view when opening a page. Also you can definitely tell Apple changed the title font here. I don't like it, hopefully I'll get used to it though. Also it is now harder to get out of the reader mode. You now have to physically click on the reader icon. This is very annoying as text to speech automatically enters this view.

I hope they change it; I already sent a complaint about it to Apple. I recognize a lot of people don't use Safari but I do because of the text to speech integration and the view all tabs options (that firefox removed for some reason).

The view all tabs is, first of all, much faster. It got the Metal treatment. They also don't stack the tabs anymore and they don't load all thumbnails at once. Probably to help with performance but it looks a bit janky.

There are also a few useful tweaks. This may just be me, but the battery life may have gotten better. Well, I'm reaching for the charger less. It might be because of Metal being less graphically taxing especially while watching YouTube videos or maybe APFS is allowing processes to be more efficient. I heard APFS allows for multiple processes to read a file now which I'd imagine increases efficiency by decreasing the reliance on locks and lends to more bursty tasks meaning more time for the CPU to be idle. But what do I know? It could just be me, though, I'm not using any tools to measure my battery life.

There's also a new Wifi icon. At least I think it's new and I believe status bar icons have been spread out a bit more. Finally there is HEVC and HEIC. HEIC will probably become a big deal but I don't see it being important for a long time.

HEVC is overrated. Sure, the OS supports it. But I never use the built in video player so the only benefit I'll get is files encoded in H.265 will now have thumbnails. Because apparently a lot of video players already support H.265. I'm using IINA, basically a prettier version of VLC, and it supports it. I think Apple just popularized it, they aren't actually doing anything meaningful with it. Just like how Apple popularized Helvetica fonts, well they did for me anyways. So this next section concerns mostly H.265.

The hype for H.265 is real. H.265 video takes up a lot less space compared to H.264 and I have not noticed any performance dip when playing it back at 2x speed. I used to compare video codecs to see which one used the least space. I stopped because the change was never that significant (like 10%) but H.265 might get me into it again as using handbrake the difference in size is like 50%. It's huge.

The only downside to H.265 is that video is too clear. Using handbrake the outputted video appears to be less grainy. The difference is slight but it's there and you'll probably notice it on some level when viewing low res video although to actually see what's going on you'll have to compare individual frames. The H.265 video just doesn't seem as crisp. I believe these are compression artifacts being stripped away. This makes the video look a bit softer which I don't appreciate. Now I know why many games have a graphics setting called 'film grain'.

The weird thing about handbrake is it saves H.265 files using .mp4 or .mkv file extensions. When I save a H.265 file I expect it to be using a dedicated H.265 file extension like .hevc. This is like saving a JPG using .png or a markdown file as .txt or an mp3 file as .wav or a GIF using .jif. Madness. Absolute madness. Well that's video codecs for you. They make no sense.

So the last thing I'd like to talk about are the bugs. There's definitely a lot of them in High Sierra. However when I restarted my Mac, like actually restarted not that automatic restart that happens when you upgrade, things got a lot better. Still a few bugs though.

Update: This only applies to public beta 1.

All in all High Sierra is stellar release. I think one of the Mac OS versions promised to fix a bunch of bugs. But I never noticed any differences. And new OS versions in general, whether it be Windows, Mac, iOS, Android, or even Linux have gotten pretty stale with only the occasional feature appearing every so often. High Sierra feels like a big upgrade. If only because it fixes a problem I've had for so long.

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