#or in memorandum metal

[artcalledtheewhip]

All The Dunce Caps In My Head & Drinking OJ All the dunce caps in my head sprouting outwards What’s left for us? Thinking in Social Pondering Business Into the mind left Mental That leads into The lead pipes take from here On the street The lead was made into piping Not in water at all Until chemicals contaminated See in Appendix Flint Flint is not only for starting fires It’s the place for contamination in the water The parts per millionths Not safe enough to drink Or to grow upon At least by the Humans The green grass is resilient Stages in college degrees even in beginning All this stuff eaten up Collegiate Where have you been n Studies You missed a whole bunch of sectors still grounding you in good food music fashion apps sneakers and the class your sorting with it’s just easy as A E I O U Affecting Effecting Infecting Oh live You, U & you other in emotional atmosphere Affecting Effecting Infecting Oh live You, U & you other in emotional atmosphere Where do we all belong Pounds or prisons Refugee in dollars And Leaders in stands Bombing Ukraine Stiking a Strip And his face causes turmoil Is all Trump The sand friends Didn’t do his killings Fore the love of rich Golf All precessions for MAGA Married with Communistic conspiracies Who couldn’t? It’s all dunced capped Smarter than most I knew where I began And the affiliates or opposite afflicted Speak on stand more Spoiled orange Don’t eat Can you get this done faster than OJ? Dear Trump Please get done faster than OJ Please get done Look for a picture Just get this done faster I’m fine you looking at something Just get it done faster than OJ J is vowel So is V Throbbing shacket never mind the retailers It’s what he wears Just not without and buttonlessness If it was up to him He would be horseback shirtless Trump would stopped bathing in the suns Had he one With Putin The Middle is all confusing from here Where do the both sides Land Is it bunker or walled A Cardinal flys over A Phoenix flys around Thinking of clubs in the apps I grab Albatross Where’s your hit posted PostTragicJan6 PostTraffickedSexDeny Well talk about Wife already Dear Donald

[oatmealwrites]

Catch Kira, NOT Feelings! Ch. 4

Previous part | Ch. 5

Series masterlist here

regular masterlist here

Tags : slooow burn, mentions of masturbation, Light is a manipulator ofc, Jealous! L, mentions of sex, Aizawa is cockblock, L is nervous and shy teehee, implied relationship/casual sex at end assumed, fake dating? (teehee im gettin frisky), 18+ , MDNI

Synopsis : You confide in Light after feeling embarassed from snapping at Ryuzaki last night. Realizing that your confidence in L is not as deep seeded as once priorly suspected, Light sees this as a chance to strengthen the relationship the two of you have. By the time Aoyama comes around, Ryuzaki has you working on CCTV duty with him and Aizawa. But when Aizawa comes marching in while you and L discuss the notebooks, L opens his mouth and says the first thing that comes to mind.

a/n are at the end!

Word Count: 7.2 k

~~~~~~~~~

The next morning on campus, time seems to move slower than it had in the weeks since you joined the investigation. Students walk huddled together between classes, and you watch an intense wind pick up from your classroom window.

“So we assume in article 32 of the proposed memorandum…”

Ugh.

It’s the same professor who insists on writing exclusively with chalk instead of projecting notes, droning on about another law dissection. You tap on your desk with impatience, waiting for the class to end so you can get one step closer to tonight’s meeting.

To be fair, you aren’t sure you want to even go at all; the embarrassment of last night comes rushing to your face. While yes, you had fully expected to receive the field work position in Aoyama, you didn’t mean to look like an entitled douchebag who was better than Matsuda. You barely slept last night; dreams of Ryuzaki calling you out for poor behavior left you tossing and turning in an anxious sweat.

Fuck it.

Slipping your actual cell phone from your pocket, you open the list of contacts and scroll until you see the familiar name. Peering up every so often to avoid looking so obvious, you draft a message.

You: Hey, can we meet before the meeting today? I wanna talk to you in private.

After hitting send, you slide the phone back in your front jeans pocket and slide deeper into your seat to get more comfortable. Spinning your pen in your hand, you watch the professor face the chalkboard and write down more uninterpretable phrases while continuing to lecture. 

Fatigue is heavy on your eyelids, occasionally dropping them a moment longer than you expect and startling yourself awake again. In the back of your mind, the anxious dreams about L reprimanding you feel more like a memory than a conjure of your late night imagination. Though the moment is incomplete, as if the conversation was barely formed and ended just as quickly as it began.

That’s not possible…

A vibrate emits in your pocket, and you drop the pen to your desk to fish around the tight pocket of your jeans and retrieve the device, sleep now in the back of your mind. With a glance up for safety, you lean down and peer at the screen with a new message plastered on the front.

Light: Sure! Coffee at the usual spot?

It’s probably wrong to casually meet up with someone who L suspects of being Kira, but it’s not like you were left with many choices in who to confide in. All your other friends were kept at an arm’s length for their own safety, believing you were simply back on the usual grind of working late nights with Mr. Yagami, assisting in paperwork. 

Running your thumb over the metal base of the bottom of your phone, you pause for a moment and consider cancelling; the weight of embarrassment tugs that feeling away. Even if you and L are suspicious of Light’s behavior, that’s all it really is at the end of the day. Right? Innocent until proven guilty?

Ensuring your professor is still consumed with his seminar, you draft a message of confirmation and hit send.

******

Light stands in front of the small coffee shop just off campus and scrolls through his recent texts absentmindedly until the sight of you walking drifts into his peripherals. The natural and suave smile he’s seemed to display a million times before flashes on his face, and he slides his cellphone into his pocket to give you his full attention like a gentleman. 

Cold wind pushes your hair in every direction, and you tighten the scarf around your neck to keep the breeze from drifting down the collar of your coat. Light gives a small chuckle at your messy hairstyle the wind has created and pivots to push open the cafe door, holding it for you.

“Nice to see you’re still a gentleman despite being a douche,” you grumble, walking inside and moving to your usual corner table by the window while combing through your hair. 

Light raises an eyebrow and follows you to his unofficial spot across from you at the table. “Which is it? Am I a douche bag or a gentleman?”

“Both.”

You grumble and look at the menu hanging above the order counter, despite already knowing what you’re gonna be ordering. Your companion sighs but the small smile on his face indicates he’s not really upset at the array of nicknames you’ve always used for him. 

The frown on your face lingers for a few moments too long and catches Light’s attention; he nudges your foot from under the table.

“I’m gonna go order our drinks. Let me know what’s bugging you when I get back, ok?”

His tone is soft and comforting, as if he genuinely cares about what seems to be bringing you down, and he leaves to recite the usual order to the employee at the counter. A melancholic feeling washes over you, and watching Light remember every detail about the way you take your coffee makes a guilty weight press on your shoulders.

It can’t be Light. Kira couldn’t be him…

A sigh escapes your nostrils when Light returns with two mugs and slides back into his seat while casually passing your beverage over. The ceramic warms your hands and Light blows steam away from the top before peering at you from above his drink.

“You ok? You’re usually more talkative.”

You fiddle with the handle and tap your nail against it. “I think I made myself look like an idiot.”

Light pauses for a moment and lets out a loud laugh before muffling it with the back of his hand. “What? You always–oh you’re serious.”

He pauses and leans forward, placing his mug down next to yours while leaning into the table and searching your face. The joke made you smile slightly, but you rolled your eyes regardless.

“Yea, I think I fucked up. When L announced I wasn’t going to Aoyama, I sulked on the couch like a child.”

Light looks gently at you and sighs, “Ah, I noticed you were pretty quiet the rest of the meeting after that was announced.”

You sink into your chair and rest your head into your palm, looking out the window apathetically as people walk by.

“Well,” he begins again, “Why did you want to go to Aoyama in the first place? It seems like you helped plan it, but why did you want to go?”

You shrug and look back at the man. “I don’t know… I thought maybe it would make sense to have someone our age go.”

“I mean, I’m going, so you’re right about that part.”

With a dejected groan, you push your hair back and out of your face, embarrassment still coursing through your veins. When you peer back at Light, his face is furrowed deep in concentration for a moment before noticing your glance and immediately softening. All the times you mentioned Kira, his entire persona shifted, but so far on this excursion, he’s been nothing but the man you’ve come to know and appreciate. 

“I’m just eager to catch Kira.” 

Light shifts slightly in his seat, but you continue on. “Maybe if I could get out there and catch them… it would clear your name quicker and we could go back to normal.” You laugh dryly and shake your head. “Damn, I’m starting to sound like your dad.”

Light watches the scene in front of him, his mind slowly working out the possibility that L had not entirely convinced you of his suspicions of himself, the possibility that you could still be on his side when all is said and done. Time freezes and watching your face genuinely glance at him as if he were human makes Light nearly burst out laughing. 

But he holds it in and time resumes.

“No, I’m really grateful to hear you say that actually.” Light’s face contorts with a vulnerable smile. “To be honest, the more Ryuzaki talks about me being a monster… the more I question myself about it.”

Shit. 

The thought had rarely crossed your mind, your selfish feelings about feeling so sad your friend might be a mass murder, when the accusation probably stung a million times more. Geez, you really need a therapist if you’re gonna stay in this field. 

“Oh, Light, I'm so sorry. I didn’t even consider how you fee–”

“–It’s ok.” He cuts you off. “Just knowing I have you on my side and not just Matsuda and my father, makes me feel a lot better.”

You pause and sigh, feeling better in your admission but now feeling a new form of guilt for reconsidering L’s theory about Kira’s identity. Why couldn’t L be suspicious of literally anybody else?

Light gives you time to mull over your emotions, and waits a few moments longer before reaching to casually grab his coffee mug and take a sip. 

“Anyways… I don’t think you were overreacting at all. If anyone deserved that position in Aoyama, it was you.”

You lift your head up and the affirmation of his words makes you feel better than you can admit. “Wait, really?”

“Yea, I mean you’re one of the smartest people on this task force! No offense to Matsuda, but either Ryuzaki has some weird plan we just don't know about yet, or he’s seriously undervaluing you.”

The compliment makes your cheeks blush and you look down to avoid his gaze in humility; you miss the way a smirk works its way onto his face from behind the mug. Light knows how rare it is for Ryuzaki to praise anyone, and it seems that habit provides the perfect opportunity to prove to you what a kind and sincere guy he really is. 

Looking at your mug for a moment, you take in the warped reflection and can’t help the way Light’s validation for your support makes you feel much better. Granted, he doesn’t know the argument you had gotten into last night with L, knowing the other members of the task force weren’t seeing you as a spoiled child provided relief. 

Before you can continue the conversation, there’s a vibrate from your bag of a cellphone message. Shit! Wasn’t the ringer turned off on that one…?

Light doesn’t notice the bulge in your pocket from under the table from your actual phone, but your panicked response gives him just enough of a hunch that it’s probably L who’s causing it. As you sheepishly apologize and move to dig the phone out of your bag, he places his coffee cup down abruptly.

“Why don’t we go to the meeting tonight together? If you’re still feeling uneasy, that is…”

The phone vibrating in your hands from inside your bags drops as you watch your companion make steady eye contact. Before you can question his evening class schedule, he leans forward while casually waving his hand.

“My last lecture is just a TA review for the upcoming exam; there’s no real need for me to attend.”

Pausing still, you watch the way he awkwardly smiles after the proposal and waits for your response. There’s enough time in advance that you can text Watari if you don't need a ride, and your next lecture conveniently ends at the same time as Light’s. There’s no good reason to oppose it. 

Nodding once and removing your hand from your bag, you position yourself to focus solely on the man across from you once again. 

“Alright, I’ll meet you at the university metro station at 5:15?”

~~~~~

The train ride to the hotel is crowded from the evening rush of employees getting off work, and Light makes sure to stand next to you to deter any creeps. Each stop on the line leaves more and more people filtering off until you can finally sit and enjoy small talk about your classes; though, the weight of knowing the Aoyama plan was only two days away still lingers in the back of your mind.

When the automatic doors open to your stop, Light leads the way off the platform and up the escalator to street view, navigating a way to the expensive hotel. The usual black mercedes parked in the lot, you both walk through the lobby and head for the elevators.

“Nervous?” Light asks, pushing the button for the floor.

“Kinda.”

The doors shut and he crosses his arms while leaning against the reflective walls. “Don’t be, ok? He’s an idiot not to pick you.”

The walk down the hallway is less tense, with Light cracking a few jokes about the professor you both happened to share for different classes, and you internally psych yourself up.

“Don’t get me started on how slow he speaks–”

Your voice rings out with slight laughter and the group inside is idly sipping coffee on their short break; Matsuda looks up first and grins at seeing the both of you entering the room.

“Hey! Light, you came here early with y/n? It’s nice to have everyone here together before it gets too late.”

Light shoots him a grin. “Yea, well my last class wasn’t too important.” He turns to you. “Plus it’s nice to have company on the commute over.”

You roll your eyes with a grin and shimmy off your coat for Watari to take and place on a hotel hanger from within the closet while Mr. Yagami sighs at the idea of his son skipping class. Placing your bag next to the couch in its usual spot, you move to take your unofficial position on the sofa.

Ryuzaki sits perched on his chair, forehead creasing as he takes in the scene before him. The laughter of your voice from the hallway, the way your companion had casually opened the front door for you, and the way your colleagues brightened up when you both entered a room left a disgusting taste in his mouth. 

He had planned on pulling you aside, as he did at the start of most meetings, to clear the air and properly apologize; the fact you walked in with company derailed said plan. Ryuzaki hates the sight in front of him and hates himself for feeling so easily swayed by meaningless emotions when there was a mass murderer on the loose. He’s nearly upset at the way you seem to be feeling better than he had anticipated given your argument the prior night, and he hates the way the other man seems so comfortable at your side. The smirk on Light’s face is nearly taunting.

With the group now sitting in their respective spots, the meeting officially resumes. Mr. Yagami stands to pass out a few documents before positioning himself in front of the screen, a bulleted list of the Aoyama plan on display.

“Alright everyone, now that you’re all here, let’s get on even ground. Light, you and Matsuda will set off for Aoyama on the 22nd early in the morning. Mogi and I will meet with the local police force for that precinct before setting up recon inside the Sakura TV offices.”

He pauses and holds up his papers before moving to the next bullet point. “y/n, Aizawa, and Ryuzaki will remain at the task force headquarters serving as communication between all three groups. You will be watching CCTV, monitoring hotlines, and working with the police department to convey information as we learn.”

Mr. Yagami pauses and looks up at the group. “Is that alright everyone? All caught up?”

The group nods in agreement while Mr. Yagami slides back into his seat and Ryuzaki leans forward to grab the remote. You notice the way his gaze meets yours for a moment, and you’re the first to break the contact in an awkward shudder.

Popping a few sugar cubes in his tea while Watari passes two warm cups of coffee to you and Light, L flips to the next screen. “In more detail, we’re going to need to document everything we see. If this is the event where the Second Kira makes their move, we can call off the advanced security in Shibuya and Tokyo Dome.”

You watch in focus as he flips through the screens. “Sakura TV may be monitored by either Kira from afar again; we’ll need everyone to be on high alert for another attack. For the team remaining in the task force headquarters, we’ll need someone to maintain contact with the security teams in each of the nearby buildings.”

“I’ll do it.” Aizawa leans forward with an intense look on his face. “I’m not gonna let what happened to Ukita repeat.”

Ryuzaki watches the man and turns to glance at you, confirming your own roles to monitor the CCTV alone, together. You swallow thickly and turn to the TV to watch the screen again; Light watches your reaction before glancing up at L. His hand rests on the upper portion of the couch and hovers just above your shoulders to give an affirmative squeeze, though the action is more directed at Ryuzaki than you.

L coughs slightly and peels his eyes off the horrid sight and back to the plan about how they were going to catch Kira. “That’s fine, Aizawa. Anyways, we need to finalize the last few details before we set this in motion; nothing should be left unsaid among the group.”

Except the notebooks. With one glance in L’s direction, he meets your gaze and blinks slowly. A silent communication you’ve shared a million times before, though Ryuzaki seems to have another emotion simmering beneath. 

Before you can raise an eyebrow at him, Mogi leans forward. “The DNA analysis is set to be ready for retrieval in the following days. Assuming nothing drastic happens between then and now, I can be the one to bring it back to the task force.”

L peels his eyes off yours and gives Mogi a nod of approval before turning back to the TV. “Alright, back to Aoyama. I’d like you to break into groups to sort out the following: walking route for Matsuda and Light to take, a finalized description of a potential Second Kira, and the ending call time at the conclusion of the day.” Ryuzaki stirs a metal spoon in his teacup and looks between everyone. “Does that sound ok?”

A muffled ‘yes’ rings from the living room and you all split off to make the last minute adjustments. Mogi and Matsdua draft up varying descriptions based on L’s theory of a younger audience, Mr. Yagami and Aizawa compare notes on when to call off the investigation based on a variety of factors, and you sit beside Light in the kitchen area making a list of places to walk by.

The map is already marked up from you and Ryuzaki’s late evenings constructing the plan, and you point out several red circles on the paper. 

“This street has a lot of taller buildings, so make sure you both have a baseball hat or sunglasses on to hide your face; just in case one of the… Kiras(?) happens to be on a high floor.”

Light nods and traces another street with his finger; pausing when it lands on a circle. “What about this?”

“Hmm? Oh, that’s a popular cafe spot with local students and young professionals. They serve cute desserts and drinks that look good in photos.”

Light places his hand under his chin and nods in agreement; it was the type of place a young woman would most likely hang around. The more you explained the carefully planned out walking path, the more grateful Light was for the ego Ryuzaki had.

Here you sit, brilliantly going over likely places for the Second Kira to be lingering at in excellent detail, while L had simply placed you on CCTV duty. It was almost pitiful how easy Ryuzaki had made it for Light to become someone you could confide in. 

Bringing his hand to the map once more, Light points out a coffee shop that wasn’t circled, but he’s definitely heard you mention before. 

“What about here?”

“There? It’s a bit out of the way…”

Light doesn’t miss the way your eyes had lit up slightly when he pointed it out, and leans down into your ear with a hushed tone. “I’ll try to sneak over at some point and grab you a pastry.”

Your eyes shoot up at him before ducking back down to act as inconspicuous as possible. “That’s a bad idea. Any stray movement from the plan will cause mayhem.”

Light sighs and leans back in his chair. “Ah, I guess you’re right. Maybe when it’s all over, we can go together then.”

Once again, the implication is meant for Ryuzaki’s eavesdropping ears while you continue running your hand along the map. 

“Oh, yea… that would be fun.”

Ryuzaki’s gaze burns a hole in the side of Light’s head as you continue explaining the final few street paths to your friend. He doesn’t feel any better than he did last night: the dirty feeling of reprimanding you for no reason and then proceeding to masturbate to your image left him unable to concentrate. 

Ryuzaki had planned to apologize properly when you arrived after class, pull you aside while the others took their break, and offer you a real explanation for his poor words. When Light had showed up at your side with that same condescending look on his face, L couldn’t help but feel there was more than Kira he was currently chasing after. The murmuring of the group pulls him from his thoughts, and he motions for Watari to set into motion the other plan regarding the notebooks. With one last breath, he continues flipping through the documents for the plan you both had set aside in secret, and tries to ignore the ugly jealous feeling that’s sitting heavy in his gut.

The groups work in tandem for another 90 minutes before Mogi stands and stretches side to side. Matsuda's stomach lets out an awkward growl and he sheepishly looks around the room; Aizawa stands with a pack of cigarettes in his hand.

“Alright, maybe a quick 15 minute break everyone?” Mr. Yagami proposes while standing up, his gaze locked on Ryuzaki for permission. 

The men hold their breath, half expecting the request to be denied, but Ryuzaki stands up and nods once while placing the manila folder in his hands onto the coffee table.

“Sure, just be back here on time.”

A sigh of relief, the group scatters out of the room, though Light lingers for an extra moment. You dig through your bag, looking for a phone charger, and pause when you feel the atmosphere of the room completely shift. Glancing upwards, you notice Light and L staring at each other from across the coffee table. 

“You don’t want to take a break, Light? I figured after a long day of classes, you must be exhausted.” Ryuzaki asks without blinking.

“They weren’t too hard. Besides, I’m waiting for y/n.”

Feeling the cable, you pull it out of your bag and stand up, ready to join the conversation; the two men continue speaking as if you’re not in the room.

“I see, well that’s unfortunate because I actually need to speak with her. So it’s better you take this time off alone.”

Light doesn’t move. “Oh really, Ryuzaki? I don’t see what you two need to speak about that the rest of the group can’t hear as well.”

You move towards the two of them, ready to question what the hell they were actually talking about, before Mr. Yagami comes back into the room. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt you two. Light, I’d like to call your mother and Sayu before they head to bed. Come say goodnight.”

Light blinks once at his father and the icy atmosphere melts slightly as he plasters on a grin and walks towards the suite door.

“Of course, Dad! I wouldn’t want to keep them up later than they’ve already been.”

As if the conversation between him and L had never happened, Light casually walks out of the room to join his father in the hallway for a conversation. You watch the door shut and suddenly feel vulnerable when you turn and notice Ryuzaki staring.

Swallowing awkwardly, you turn towards a wall outlet and plug in your charger while L stands motionless behind the coffee table still. Ensuring it’s charging, you place your phone on the carpet and rise to exit as well, before he calls out to you.

“I do want to speak with you, y/n. If that’s ok.”

Pausing, slight discomfort at your outburst from last night causes your anxiety to swell; you spin around and nod.

“Yea, that’s fine… are we going to your room again…?”

L blinks and coughs slightly. “Yes, that would be best for increased privacy.”

When you both enter the hotel bedroom and shut the door, Ryuzaki can’t help the disgust that’s sitting heavy in his gut. Watching you lean against the mattress he was pleasuring himself on while having visions of you leaves him awkwardly creating as much distance as possible.

The analog clock that sits on the wall continues ticking away absentmindedly, while the moonlight pouring in from the windows illuminates you both in a cool glow. The silence and distance between you both leaves you crossing your arms in slight impatience.

Before you can ask why he called you in here, L awkwardly scratches his cheek with his index finger and catches your eye.

“I wanted to apologize properly. My tone may have come off as harsh, and I’m sorry if it made you feel belittled.”

What?

Your eyes widen slightly; fully expecting him to call you in here for poor behavior and not to apologize for simply relaying your disappointing position in the plan. At this point, you’re convinced the L that detectives spoke about at the NPA meetings was somebody else, and not the man in front of you.

Eyes lingering on his desk and hand now pulling at strands of hair on the back of his head, Ryuzaki shifts his weight from leg to leg waiting for your response. 

“O-Oh… you don’t have to do all that. I should’ve acted more maturely.” You take a breath and sink into yourself a bit. “I mean you’re the world famous detective here… I trust you and your decisions.”

L peels his eyes off his messy desk and lingers on your figure sitting on the same sheets he had ruined not even 24 hours ago. Not only were you apologizing for a completely valid reaction, but you were also admitting your utmost respect and trust in him while sitting on the same bed he jerked off to you in. If karma exists, then this moment would be proof because Ryuzaki only feels ten times worse than before. 

He sighs and moves forward. “That’s alright; it still doesn’t excuse my poor communication skills.” With a slight pause, he scratches his left foot with the right one. “I also wanted to apologize for my phone call late last night. I should’ve waited until today to explain things.”

You raise an eyebrow. He called? The sound of his voice wasn’t a dream?

“I didn’t even realize you had called. I’m sorry– I must’ve been pretty out of it when I answered.”

L swallows and fights the shiver running down his spine; he needed to end this conversation quickly, especially considering it’s happening in this room.

He waves his hand slightly. “No, it’s alright. That’s all I wanted to speak about anyways.”

While you still wanted better reasoning as to why you weren’t selected for Aoyama, an apology from L was much more than you could ever ask for. It was your behavior that had caused the argument in the first place, and him apologizing to you still left an uneasy feeling.

Ryuzaki stands in front of where you lean against the mattress and flicks his eyes to the door, waiting for the sign that it's ok to re-enter the hotel main room and continue the meeting. He holds himself with insecurity and self-doubt.

He must still feel bad about snapping…

“Let’s just call everything even, yea?” You stand and walk over to him, raising your hand. “Friends?”

L pauses and widens his eyes in shock; his hand falls from where it was previously playing with his hair and drops to his side. Friends? There are a million thoughts racing through his mind in this moment, the top two primarily being:

 1. Friend!

& 

 2. Friends probably don’t masturbate to thoughts of each other. 

Realizing he’s taking too long to answer, Ryuzaki shoots his hand out to connect with yours. “Y-Yea, friends.”

You take a mental note of how sweaty his palms are while he commits to memory the smoothness of your skin. Both of your hands fall and you give him a genuine grin, grateful for dissolved tension in the room.

Ryuzaki glances at his hand momentarily before keeping his gaze on your face. “I’ve never really had friends before… but I’m glad we can be them.”

A tug at your heart strings; it made sense given the reclusive need for a detective involved in cases as risky as the Kira one. While you move to exit the bedroom, L holds the door open and watches the way you move to your phone charging on the floor.

While he still feels utterly repulsed at his own actions the night before, and while he’s certain friends don’t spend time imagining banging each other, he’s happy you consider him one. 

****** 

May 22 – Aoyama Plan

Everything has been going to plan, which is a miracle considering the lack of luck stopping Kira in previous attempts. Light had brought a handful of university students with him to cover for the slight age gap between him and Matsuda, which also allowed for additional safety considering the name and face Kira needs. Mr. Yagami and Mogi were able to successfully set up operations at Sakura TV: one monitored the phone lines while the other stayed with the camera crew filming live to ensure everything was running smoothly. Aizawa, you, and L sit in a bigger rented out building with a variety of rooms; each has TVs and monitors to cover every angle of Aoyama.

Aizawa walks into the room you and L sit in. You’re tapping through a variety of buttons to change the camera angle and Aizawa holds up a few documents while Ryuzaki pauses to take a sip of extremely sweet hot tea. 

“I’ve got some reports from the security in the surrounding buildings.” He places the manilla folder on the desk with a sigh. “Nothing suspicious to report.”

You purse your lips and move to grab the document. “Is it bad I feel frustrated that there's no Kira movement? It would be easier if they would do something ....”

Ryuzaki looks over your shoulder at the papers before returning his gaze to the TV, spoon resting between his teeth. “No need to feel strange, it would be easy for them to make an appearance. Too easy though…”

A breath escapes your lips and you reach forward to slide through the next set of camera angles, waiting for something to happen. Aizawa leans between both of your seats and rests his palms on the cool desk you sit in front of to glance at the screen.

“What’s the plan if Kira doesn’t show? We do all of this again for Shibuya and Tokyo Dome?”

You look to give L a quick glance that he returns in understanding.

Ryuzaki sits back in his chair casually. “No need to go all out for those events; we’re certain Kira will make some sort of contact today.”

Aizawa raises an eyebrow and doesn’t miss the wording. “We? You two have already worked this out without telling the rest of the group?”

You pivot and look up at the man who’s peering at you both with a pissed off expression. “We just discussed it when you were getting the forwarded documents from security. It’s most likely that the Second Kira will make a move during the least emphasized date to retain the most cover.”

L watches you through the corner of his eye as you continue explaining. “Besides, this invitation was meant for the original Kira… so even if it seems like nothing happened to us, there’s a high chance the intended exchange between the two of them has already happened.”

Aizawa pauses and shuts his eyes slightly; he sighs and returns to his upright standing position, bringing a hand to his chin. “Yea… that makes sense. Ryuzaki, should I relay this to the other teams?”

L peels his eyes off your face with a slight pink tinge on his ears and turns to the man. “Yes, that would be helpful. Also, alert Light and Matsuda to keep their hats and sunglasses on; the next few blocks have a lot of overhead balconies where they could be watched.”

Aizawa nods his head and pulls his tie back slightly to get a breath of air; his glance lingers on the screens for an additional moment before turning around.

Heading for the door he gives a wave without turning around. “Alright, I’ll be back in a few”

You turn back to flip through the monitors, laughing slightly when one angle shows Matsuda spilling his water bottle on his chest; Ryuzaki waits in silence for the click of the door before standing up and running to lock it.

You spin around in your chair and raise an eyebrow. “What are you–”

“Watch the restaurant and cafe windows.”

Ryuzaki slips back into his chair and spins to reface the monitors, ignoring the surprise and skepticism on your face; without looking down, he pops a few extra sugar cubes into his teacup.

You reluctantly spin back around and pan through a few camera angles before pausing on the front entrance of a cafe facing the street. Most cafes and restaurants refused complete CCTV access inside their businesses, though street view was allowed. 

Glancing at the screen in front of you, it appears to be a normal scene of people sitting at the window, sipping on coffee while customers walk in and out of the front door.

You raise an eyebrow and turn to L. “What are we looking for– the windows?”

Ryuzaki peels his eyes off the screen as realization finally seems to wash over you. If ‘notebooks’ are really the clue here… both Kiras would have no need to survey the streets from sky scrapers– they could sit in the window of a cafe as inconspicuous as possible.

“You understand, right? The original or Second Kira can very well be any one of these people.”

You lean closer to L, still working out some of the logistics. “So anyone with a journal or agenda could also fall into that category.”

“Exactly, and because we only have street view–”

“We have to watch the people who are purposely seated with a view of the road!”

The excitement of such a discovery has you ignoring the close proximity between you both until there’s a slight lull in the conversation. His lips are so close to yours that you can smell the English Breakfast tea on his breath, and he gets wafts of the delicious shampoo scent you always use. 

Heat rises to your cheeks and you swear his eyes dip to your lips more than once. Kira! We’re trying to catch Kira! …. 

Ryuzaki doesn’t break the distance when he speaks again. “We have to keep this a secret a bit longer though...until I find concrete evidence…”

“Right… of course.”

Your mind is fuzzy when you can almost feel yourself leaning in, even more so when it seems like Ryuzaki is mirroring that same motion. Any rational thought is seeping out of your mind as you tilt your head just slightly to make room; the feeling of his hair now tickling your cheeks leaves your eyelids fluttering shut.

What am I doing–?

BANG!

You snap your head back and your eyes shoot towards the door you forgot L had locked. Ryuzaki remains in the same leaned position for a moment longer, his brain taking an extra moment to process what was just about to happen as he blinks in shock.

Taking a short breath, you jump when there’s several more pounds at the door and Aizawa’s voice can be heard booming from the other side of the door.

“Why the hell is this shit locked?! What’s going on?!”

Scrambling out of your chair, Ryuzaki brings his finger to his lips to indicate keeping quiet on your break through; you take a breath and unlock the door just to have Aizawa push it open. You stumble backwards for a second while the very pissed off man storms into the room with a stack of papers in his hand. 

“Care to explain why the door was fucking locked?” He crosses his arms and looks between the both of you.

The tension leaves you backing up until your legs hit the back of your chair, and Ryuzaki looks up at the man silently. 

Aizawa scans your face and then L’s before glancing at the screen. “Don’t tell me…you’re plotting against Light again? Why can you never make a decision without referring to the rest of the group?!”

Immediately, Ryuzaki shoots his hand up in front of Aizawa’s face, blocking the view of the TV screen.

“We were kissing!”

…

A pin could drop a million miles away and you would all be able to hear it. Slowly, you turn your head to Ryuzaki with eyes wide open in horror and confusion.

WHAT?

Aizawa looks between you both in complete shock while you stand frozen in mortification at the outburst. Putting his hand down, Ryuzaki rises to his feet and stands beside you, his position still covering the view of the TV from Aizawa.

He catches the man’s eyes and continues. “We were taking advantage of the dark room and couldn’t control ourselves or our bodies..” He takes the nail of his thumb between his teeth for a moment. “Who knows how far we would’ve gone if you hadn’t stopped us.”

Time passes infinitely slower than any other time in history as Aizawa hangs on to every word in shock and disgust. He takes a few breaths, his eyebrows still high on his forehead from shock, before turning to face you.

You can tell he’s curious as to why Ryuzaki is the only one talking, and swallowing any pride you have left, you wrap your arms around L’s bicep. Clutching him a bit closer, you bring your bodies to jointly cover the view of the main monitor.

“Yep! I’m sorry for the interruption… I just can’t keep my hands to myself when I’m around him!”

Aizawa scans your face, looking borderline concerned and leans down to whisper, “he’s your type…?”

The look on his face is one similar urging you to blink twice if you need to be rescued; Ryuzaki wraps his arm around your waist and pulls your head onto his shoulder.

He pivots and keeps you tucked into him. “Yes, we are simply made for each other; so back off because she’s taken!”

It looks so cringey and forced, the way you and Ryuzaki are awkwardly clawing at each other like high school virgins in the world’s worst school play. Aizawa tosses the documents on the desk before backing away slowly and raising his hands in defense; his face is painted ghastly pale. 

You notice the way Ryuzaki’s finger tips are digging into your hips and the sharpness of his shoulder bone that digs into the flesh of your cheek; he’s trembling at the contact.

Taking a breath, you lift your head up slightly. “Please don’t tell anyone else on the team though. We want to keep it a secret…”

Aizawa takes a few deep breaths and continues walking backwards towards the door, nearly stumbling over a few cardboard boxes. He raises his hand to wave you off and uses the other to pinch the bridge of his nose in stress.

“Yea, I’ll keep the whole thing a secret… I don’t even want to image it–”

You silently wish for death at the mention of it– aka the both of you fucking and all your coworkers knowing about it– while Aizawa shudders and backs up into the door, awkwardly reaching for the knob before slipping out through a crack. As if finally snapping back into reality, Ryuzaki stands up a bit straighter to yell out before the door is completely shut.

“You got it! We’ll keep our ministrations to ourselves… S-So make sure you knock next time!”

You shove an elbow into L’s ribcage, leaving his grasp on your hips weak enough to slip out of his pull; Aizawa throws a ‘thumbs up’ through the crack before pulling the door shut. Once his footsteps disappear, you take a full step away from Ryuzaki and let out all the air that was lingering in your lungs. 

When you connect your eyes with him, his cheeks are red and his eyes are scanning your face in a desperate search to read your mind. You scratch the back of your neck before idly spinning your office chair from hand to hand.

“Sorry for that. It was the first thing I thought of that seemed believable.”

You pause and look up at him before looking back down and spinning the chair one more time. Believable?

With a shrug, you spin it to face yourself and sink into the chair, ready to resume work and not wanting to discuss what the hell just happened until your death bed. Ryuzaki stays hovering above you for a few moments before sitting back down and awkwardly stirring his tea once again.

The atmosphere is thick; despite L just apologizing for the scenario, neither one of you wants to go over what just happened. Especially what almost happened before Aizawa knocked on the door. 

You frown and internally scream at yourself for your bizarre behavior the past few days. First, you threw a fit over not getting field work, and now you were about to lean in and kiss your boss?? Of course, the fact that one of your coworkers thinks that everytime you and Ryuzaki are left alone it means you’re making out or banging doesn’t help you feel any better either.

Silently wishing for Kira’s swift arrest, because it meant you could take a vacation, you glance over to the man next to you. Despite staring at the screen with intense focus, his hands are still slightly trembling from the contact you just shared. Pausing slightly, you spin in your chair to face him fully.

“You ok? I don’t think Aizawa will tell anyone, but.. I mean it’s not the end of the world if the task force thinks..” Even saying the words out loud makes your cheeks warm. Thinks that you and I are casually having sex despite simultaneously working together to catch Kira. 

Ryuzaki peels his eyes off the screen and faces you; his hand drops the spoon against the side of the teacup.

“Oh, yes. We do have many other things that take priority.” He takes a moment to scan your face before awkwardly spinning back to face the screen. You swallow thickly, rethinking all of your life choices that have led to this moment while Ryuzaki continues. “Though we have to be prepared to keep up the act in case Aizawa does mention it… At least until we tell the group about the notebooks.”

a/n: TY for all your support on this series, it fr makes me so happy that so many people like this!! <33

this update took a bit longer bc i got norovirus :-( [shit was ASS don't get it, stay healthy]

anyways~ this is the longest chapter to date so far I think! and yes, it's a slowburn but i PROMISE things will continue to heat up hehe

as always: like/comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated & lmk if you wanna join the tag list!

-oatmeal

tags: @lechatparle24 @irissfoot @iheteeaifs @automaticpatroltragedy @greenapplesaucepi @thesimpnovao

[blueiscoool]

MFA Boston Returns a 2,500-Year-Old Necklace to Turkey

When the museum bought the necklace in 1982, it did not receive any provenance records.

The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston has repatriated a necklace to Turkey after scholars told museum staff that elements of the artifact were likely looted from an ancient tomb illegally excavated in the 1970s.

Parts of the disassembled 2,500-year-old gold and carnelian necklace, which has been on display at the MFA for more than forty years after it was acquired, were believed by researchers to have been taken out of Turkey after an illicit excavation that took place in 1976.

The necklace is believed to have been strung together and sold privately to the museum by a London dealer in 1982.

Prior to its return, an outside researcher contacted the museum about the necklace’s suspect provenance record, comparing its similarities to other beads and metallic elements of ancient jewelry excavated from a site in the province of Manisa located in Western Turkey.

According to Victoria Reed, the MFA’s Sadler Curator for Provenance, some beads from the looted site that were used as visual references by scholars to link the MFA necklace to it never left the country. They were instead placed in the collection of a local archaeological museum.

The museum’s internal staff conducted its own review of the object’s ownership record to confirm the outside research.

In a statement announcing the artifact’s return, Reed said, “It’s our responsibility to ensure that we are not holding onto objects that were unlawfully acquired.”

Representatives from Turkey’s government attended a repatriation ceremony at the Turkish consulate in Boston to retrieve the necklace earlier this week, where they signed a memorandum marking the occasion.

By Angelica Villa.

[punkedsolar]

The two individuals shown are representative members of the EBMs, of which there are two major families: the Bipae-leporae and the Quadrupedia-leporae.

Etymology The terminology selected by Coastal Sphynx is an approximation of 'two legged rabbit' and 'four legged rabbit'. EBM stands for Evidence Based Memorandum, though most New Petrans say 'Ebem' instead of using EBM as an acronym. EBMs themselves always use the acronym.

Taxonomy There is no current taxonomy accepted by all New Petran individuals because the EBMs refuse to update the central archive and have given no explanations as to why. This has lead to robust arguments over their status (generally assumed morphic) and their biology (unknown). EBMs who present as male are called 'bucks' and EBMs who present as female are called 'does' with the term 'coney' for all others.

A group of EBMs is known as a colony or swarm.

Description

The EBM, is a fast-running terrestrial creature; it has a dome of glassy material set high its head, long ears and a flexible neck. Its teeth grow continuously, the first incisors being modified for gnawing while the second incisors are peg-like and non-functional. An EBM is capable of gnawing through metal over time.

The limb musculature of EBMS is adapted for high-speed endurance running in open country. While no internal dissections have been permitted, observation has shown a flexible spine and considerable limb rotation that may mean that even the four-leggers are capable of throwing or hurling objects.

The fur colour is smooth and single coloured, and adjusts to levels of solar radiation, ranging from black through smooth blues to white. High levels of radiation mean paler colours, low levels mean darker. An EBM in a cold environment in midwinter will be entirely black.

Bipedal EBMs wear clothing, and quadrupedal EBMs tend not to. There are numerous indeterminate forms of greater or lesser functionality with movement, weight carrying capacity, and agility. Bipeds usually weigh less and are smaller in body size than quadrupeds.

Behaviour and ecology

The EBM originates from New Petra, and travelling is rare, but does occassionally happen.

Detailed behaviour and ecology is ultimately unknown - putting in a repair request that is approved into the central archive will summon an EBM who will then attend to the area of concern. EBMs seem to attend to other issues that have not had alerts, but with less urgency. They are commonly seen during the day, and only rarely at night.

Reproduction, socialisation, and similar topics are unknown - EBMs generally retreat back to the central archive once their work is done, and do not appear to communicate with each other even when working together.

They are not considered anti-social, and rarely cause any issues for New Petran citizens. They do vote and engage in civic duties, as well as engage with commercial operations - thus they may purchase food, clothing and minor items using New Petran Scrip. Any negative interactions are in the form of large EBMs blocking traffic while engaged in repairs, and issues of that nature.

No juvenile EBMs have ever been recorded, but Coastal Sphynx note that rabbits as animals hide their young until they are fully able to defend themselves.

EBMs avoid fighting and conflict wherever possible. When injured, they retreat immediately. Their speed makes such encounters rare. An EBM will not even defend another EBM - they will leave.

Morphic ecology notes

The two main shapes of EBMs and their willingness to work together lead to an assumption that the species is morphic, but what triggers any change between types is unknown. There are a number of intermediate anthropomorphic shapes as well.

Social notes

One can certainly talk to EBMs, and they do respond in the common tongue, but their conversational abilities are more or less bland and limited. They generally do not express interest in much - but they do seem to like music. Outdoor events or clubs are known to attract them in small swarms, which can kill the vibe for other, less strange New Petrans.

They do have names - the two above are called D-Comp and D-Res.

[coeurdalene]

looking for some light

masterlist | ao3

summary: he tells raleigh, “i want to come back from this mission, ‘cause i quite like my life.” he means, there’s still so much i want to do, so much i have to do. (aka chuck wants to make it through this goddamn war so he can finally live a normal life, even if he doesn’t really know what that means.)

pairing: chuck hansen x reader

warning(s): character death (sorry), swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence.

word count: 3.86k

a/n: i meant to have this finished by the ten year anniversary of the movie but uh… anyways, here it is now! this is my love letter to chuck hansen and also a projection of my want for a beach house.

The universe gifts Chuck an unwanted Christmas present in the form of a memorandum. He swears under his breath when you trudge into the Mission Control Center that morning with a dejected frown on your face and shove the crisp paper into his hands. His eyes fall on the letterhead, embossed with the familiar spread-winged eagle, and he already knows what it contains. He’d been expecting it for months. He resists the urge to scream, to crumple the paper into a ball and hurl it at the trash bin with every ounce of remaining strength in his body. He doesn’t envy you when you announce the bad news to everyone else, fulfilling your final duty as Sydney’s Chief LOCCENT Officer.

Days later, not even twenty-four hours after the Shatterdome decommissioning and right at the beginning of the new year, the universe offers him—and the rest of Sydney—another unwanted gift.

Mutavore is an ugly thing. Nearly ninety meters tall and weighing over two thousand tons, it’s hunched over as if struggling to support its own weight, blade-like plates protruding from its head and back.

“I don’t care how many eyes it has,” he says after you read out its classification and measurements, “I’m gonna kick its ass.”

(Six. It has six eyes. Just because he doesn’t care doesn’t mean he won’t pay attention.)

The category four Kaiju plows through the coastal wall like a knife cutting through warm butter and tramps into Sydney Harbour, stopping only to raise its head and let out a guttural screech, as if barging through a metal barrier hadn't been enough to announce its presence. He wonders how many millions of dollars have now been reduced to rubble at the bottom of the bay and how many weeks were spent welding together beams that took only a few seconds to destroy. 

Then, its beady eyes—all six of them—focus on Striker Eureka and her brass knuckles glinting in the sun. It screeches again before charging headfirst into Striker’s swinging fist.

Mutavore dies as quickly as it breached the wall, lying motionless in the bay, blood-soaked missiles lodged in its chest and Kaiju blue staining the water. 

“That’s Striker Eureka’s tenth kill to date. It’s a new record,” he boasts to the reporter in the aftermath. He ignores the questions about the decommissioning and brushes off the look his father gives him. Don’t get too cocky, he looks like he wants to say.

When they return to the Shatterdome, the J-Tech crew cleans Striker, polishing her knuckles and wiping Kaiju remains from the Conn-Pod. Chuck takes a long hot shower. Then, the move to Hong Kong begins.

The Anchorage Shatterdome—the cold and stalwart Icebox—had been the first to close. He remembers how you had stared blankly at the official PPDC statement for hours while he watched the newscaster on the television read it out loud. The Marshal had been on the broadcast, too, brought on for further questioning. When the anchor asked about the future of the Jaeger Program, he had assured her that, as long as the Kaiju kept coming, the Jaegers would keep fighting. Chuck had laughed dryly at that. The dwindling funding from the U.N. would say otherwise and whispers of better opportunities at the wall hung in the air, getting louder with every passing day.

The closure of the Icebox set off a string of shutdowns: Lima and Tokyo later that month, Panama City in November, Vladivostok and Los Angeles a few weeks after. The clock was ticking and it was only a matter of time before that damned memorandum arrived in Sydney, his fate dictated by its contents.

His beloved Sydney Shatterdome closes at the turn of the year, leaving behind its only remaining sibling in Hong Kong. What had once been a robust network of PPDC hubs was now reduced to one. 

And the clock continues to tick. 

“We don’t need a stupid wall,” Chuck declares on the flight to Hong Kong, glaring at the news broadcast replaying footage of the Sydney attack. “We need better pilots.”

He’d expressed the same sentiment to the reporter who interviewed him after Mutavore’s attack, too, blaming the fall of the Jaeger program on the mediocrity of those involved. He isn’t sure if it’s that simple—you had explained something to him about politics and funding and morale, government nonsense he didn’t understand—but he sure as hell knows that the Jaegers would be winning if pilots stopped letting the Kaiju kick their asses.

“Have some respect,” his father chides. “Every pilot has fought tooth and nail to protect the people they love.”

And perhaps that’s the truth—it sure is for him. His days consist of sore muscles from training, never getting enough sleep, and always anticipating another fight. He does it for his father, who has been a soldier for as long as he can remember. For his mother, whose untimely death lingers in the back of his mind every time he sets his eyes on a Kaiju. For you, who frequently pulls all-nighters and agonizes over details to make sure the Shatterdome stays running. And for Max, of course. (Silly little dog probably has no idea what a Kaiju is.)

So, yeah, perhaps it is the truth. But it doesn’t change the fact that they only have eight months left of funding, or that the U.N. thinks a wall will fare better than a Jaeger.

“We won’t be getting more pilots. All we can do is work with what we still have,” you chime in, pulling Chuck out of his thoughts. “But, on the bright side, our remaining pilots are some of the best in program history.”

“Including me?” he smirks. You laugh, cheerful and bright, punching his arm lightly. Max shifts in his sleep at the sudden noise. His father gives him that look again. Don’t get too cocky.

He spends the rest of the flight listening to you read briefing notes on “Operation Pitfall,” the Marshal’s shiny new plan to end the war by detonating a bomb at the throat of the Breach. Somehow, the PPDC had procured a thermonuclear warhead from the Russians, entrusting Striker Eureka to carry it while the remaining Jaegers played defense. 

Chuck is cynical about this plan. They had already tried (and failed) to drop things into the Breach. A bomb would only bounce back at them and kill anything in range.

He quips sarcastically if the Marshal had thought of that. You respond only by flipping through the file again for an explanation. He knows you won’t find one. 

As he steps off the plane and onto the landing pad, he’s met with a grinning Tendo Choi shouting over the patter of heavy rain, “Welcome to Hong Kong!”

The man, wearing a grey suit jacket too wide around the shoulders shakes their hands in greeting before ushering them out of the rain and into the Shatterdome. Chuck sidesteps some J-Techs as he enters, surveying his surroundings.

He had been much younger the last time he visited Hong Kong and much less invested in all the inner workings of the PPDC. He remembers mechanics and pilots shouting and running about, dirt and scuff marks on the floor, and his father reminding him to keep a tight grip on Max’s leash. It had felt unfamiliar then, but he realizes now that it isn’t too different from Sydney. Same high ceiling, same metal catwalks, and almost the same arsenal of Jaegers towering over him. It’s a little older, a little grittier, and a little more worn down, but no longer foreign. 

He spots Cherno Alpha in one of the bays, its stalwart form hunkering and heavy. The Kaidanovskys stand at its feet, engaged in conversation. Crimson Typhoon stands opposite it, brilliant red and regal. J-Techs gather around her three arms, inspecting and cleaning the rotating saw blades. 

“Striker arrived a few minutes before you did,” Tendo gestures to the shiny silver Jaeger standing in the far bay, metal glinting under the bright lights of the hangar. “The crew is getting her settled in.”

Then, Chuck’s eyes fall on the fourth and final Jaeger. That last he had heard of Gipsy Danger was that she had been decommissioned, damaged beyond repair from a mission gone wrong. But here she stands—untarnished metallic blue, left arm intact, and definitely not lying forgotten in Oblivion Bay.

“What’s that old rustbucket doing here?” he leers, very aware that there isn’t a single speck of rust on her.

“She looks brand new,” you remark. 

“She is, sorta,” Tendo replies, “We’ve been fixing her up: a new fluid synapse system, new engine blocks, and a new hull. She’ll be holding the defensive perimeter for you in Operation Pitfall, along with Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon.”

“Does she have pilots?” you inquire.

“Not yet,” Tendo grins. “But she will.”

Chuck hopes that these pilots won’t be incompetent idiots, whoever they might be.

The peaceful moments are rare, but cherished and so welcomed. In these instances, he lets his guard down, breathes deeply, and allows himself to think of anything other than training or fighting.

One of his favorites is somewhere in between Striker’s fourth and fifth kills: a lazy afternoon in bed with your back against the headboard and his head in your lap, sunlight streaming in through the windows with your fingers carding lightly through his hair.

“After this war is over,” he declares, imagining a life without the chaos and destruction that comes with being a Jaeger pilot, “we’ll buy a nice house in the suburbs where we’ll live blissfully for the rest of our lives.”

“The suburbs are nice,” you contend, “but how about a beach house on the Gold Coast? Or Port Douglas?”

He chuckles at that, picturing what living by the ocean without the fear of a Kaiju attack would be like. He would spend his mornings engulfed in the soothing murmur of the sea, gazing out at the unbroken horizon. His afternoons basking in the warmth of the sun, feet buried in the soft sand. His evenings surrounded by music and your melodious laughter, trying not to step on your toes while you lead him through a dance in your living room.

Quiet, he thinks. Serene. The only unrest would be the waves at high tide or the gulls swooping down to steal his food.

“Wherever you want, as long as it’s you and me. And Max. Right, bud?” he grins at the bulldog lying at the foot of the bed. Max lets out a little grunt. Chuck takes that as a sign of agreement.

“Sounds lovely,” you reply, your hand moving to rest against his cheek. He turns his head to kiss your palm, heart soaring at the way you smile softly down at him.

All Chuck knows about Raleigh Becket is that he quit the Jaeger Program. That information alone is enough for him to dislike the guy. He doesn’t trust some washed-up pilot to run defense for him while he carries a 2400-pound bomb on the back of his Jaeger. Doesn’t care that his father fought alongside the guy in Manila or that he single-handedly piloted his Jaeger back to shore. Doesn’t bother to hold back a grimace when Raleigh tells him that he’d been working on the wall for the past five years.

“If you slow me down, I'm gonna drop you like a sack of Kaiju shit,” he hisses at him in the mess hall. He ignores the way his father watches him with disapproval as he stalks away.

His bad mood turns worse when Mako Mori is named Raleigh’s copilot. 

He has known Mako for years. They had grown up in Shatterdomes together, met a few times when the Marshal had brought her to Sydney, and briefly bonded over their love of dogs. He’s close enough to her to know that she can fight well and that she has one of the best simulator scores he’s ever seen. (Better than his, although he’d never admit that.) But, she has no experience in a Jaeger and no understanding of what a drift is actually like, which, in his eyes, makes her no better than Raleigh. He isn’t surprised when they’re both out of alignment during their test run, your concerned tone alerting the rest of LOCCENT of the deviation, or when Mako begins chasing the RABIT, raising apprehensive murmurs from the crowd of onlookers. Or when it ends in Tendo pulling the plug on Gipsy’s power.

“Worse mistakes have happened,” Tendo sighs as Gipsy’s plasma cannon goes offline. Chuck scowls. There is no space for even a single mistake in the plan to attack the Breach, especially amateur ones like chasing RABITs. He knows that the Marshal understands this, too.

Later, as he paces in the Marshal’s office, still brimming with anger from Raleigh and Mako’s failure of a test run, he snaps, “He's a has-been. She’s a rookie. I don’t want them protecting my bomb run. sir.”

His father stands across the room, arms crossed and mouth set tightly in a frown. In the corner, you and Tendo are huddled over a tablet, discussing the drift results in hushed voices. The Marshal warns him to watch his tone. Chuck rolls his eyes in response and thinks to himself, He knows I’m right.

He finds Raleigh and Mako standing silently in the hall outside after his father kicks him out of the room. He rounds on the former, seething and jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He turns to Mako, sneering and spitting out some distasteful things, ignoring the feeling that he’ll regret it later. 

When Raleigh’s fist makes contact with his jaw, Chuck sees red.

On bad nights, he wakes up in a cold sweat, plagued by nightmares of being painfully ripped to shreds by sharp claws and teeth. Some nights he wakes up angry, frustrated with himself after overanalyzing his fights. Other nights, he relives the moment when he found out about his mother’s death, shaking with body-wracking sobs and shuddering with each intake of breath. But you hold him through it, your soothing hands on his back and comforting words in his ear. He focuses on your voice, steady and calm, and syncs his breathing with yours.

“You’re okay,” you murmur. “They’re just nightmares. You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he repeats.

On bad nights, you confess your fear that the war will never end, or that you’ll burn out before it does. Some nights, you feel that you’re not doing enough, that you need to get back to work even though it’s past midnight. Other nights, you worry that you’ll spend your entire life fighting, that you’ll never be able to rest. But he holds you through it, his calloused fingers on your cheeks wiping away your tears. You focus on his touch, firm and resolute, and rest your hands on top of his.

“It’s okay,” you contend, voice shaky but certain. “I have you. This is enough.”

“This is enough,” he repeats.

Yet, he can’t help but want more. He wants the beach house instead of the cold metal walls of the Shatterdome. Wants to wake up to the sun, your smile, and Max’s whining for food instead of doomsday alarms and Kaiju attacks. Wants you to be able to sleep in for once. Wants to spend his days sunbathing and learning to surf instead of training in combat drills and preparing for another attack. Wants to give you some peace, and to find some of his own.

He tells Raleigh, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”

He means, There’s still so much I want to do, so much I have to do.

Chuck has only felt true fear a few times in his life. Standing on top of his disabled Jaeger with only a flare gun in his hands is one of them. In the moment, he tells himself that he isn’t afraid, that a double event isn’t any different from any other Kaiju attack, and that Striker will come back online in just a second. The adrenaline coursing through his veins overpowers the feeling of impending doom anyway. But, later, as he reflects on the feeling of relief that had washed over when Gipsy’s fog lights enveloped him, he admits that he had been scared shitless. And, he admits (only to himself) that he’s thankful for Raleigh and Mako, even if they’re has-beens or rookies.

He holds you closer that night and knows that you’ve already picked up on all the details of his uneasy expression. Still, he musters up the strength to confess aloud, “I thought we were gonna die.”

You’re silent, responding only by rubbing your hand across his back and hugging him a little tighter. The heavy weight of his lingering fear sits in his chest as he continues, “Dad had injured his arm, our comms were out, Cherno and Crimson were gone, and there was a fucking Kaiju ready to swallow us whole. Shooting that flare at it made it even more pissed off.”

“Not your best idea,” you remark playfully. “You’d think all that training to prepare you for situations like this would help you keep calm and think of something rational to do.”

“It was Dad’s idea, not mine,” he shrugs.

“Well, I’m glad the flare managed to keep it occupied long enough for Gipsy to get there,” you reply, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “And I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Me, too,” he sighs, the weight in his chest lightening slightly.

When he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of the war ending and a house overlooking the shore.

If, a year ago, you had told Chuck that he would be piloting a Jaeger with the Marshal Stacker Pentecost, he would have laughed in your face and asked why the Marshal wasn’t off doing better things (like convincing world leaders to keep funding the Jaeger Program or figuring out ways to increase pilot recruitment). And, if you had told him that he would hear the phrase “there’s a third signature emerging from the Breach,” he would have rolled his eyes and declared the situation impossible. (“I’d still kick its ass, though,” he would have probably said.)

Yet, here he is, strapped into Striker with the Marshal as his copilot, only three hundred meters from the Breach, watching a category five Kaiju materialize in front of him. He feels his stomach drop as he lays eyes on Slattern’s angular head and the sharp spike protruding from its chest. When it roars, the water around them ripples, and the ground beneath shakes. He barely has any time to think before the massive beast rears its head and charges, swinging its heavy leathery tail directly at them. 

The hit knocks Striker off her feet and sends her crashing into a nearby hydrothermal vent. He winces and swears, body aching and head beginning to throb as streams of water push and jostle the Jaeger. Slattern prepares to charge again just as Striker regains her footing and he easily falls into a fighting stance along with the Marshal, fists clenched and ready to strike. This time, when it attacks, they’re ready—dealing out swift punches that send the Kaiju reeling.

He isn’t sure how much of it is the Marshal and how much of it is himself, but the exhilaration that rushes through him as one of Striker’s sting blades slices across Slattern’s throat reinvigorates him. The other blade cuts into its arms, blue blood spilling from deep gashes. It screeches, and he expects it to rush at them again, but it swims away, blood trailing eerily in the water.

He takes the moment of respite to breathe, and to survey the damage. The harsh red light of the many, many warning messages flashes across his vision. He fiddles with some controls, watches as the Marshal does the same, and sighs heavily when neither of their attempts fixes anything. He resigns himself to hoping that Striker can hold on a little longer. She had gotten him this far, surely she could see him through to the end of this war—and to the beginning of his life at peace.

But–

“The attack jammed the bomb release,” he notices. “We’ll have to manually override–”

A yell from LOCCENT cuts him off. Chuck’s stomach drops even further when he hears someone say, “Striker, you have two Kaiju converging on you fast!”

He curses loudly and immediately knows, There’s no time for a manual override.

The Marshal is on the intercom before Chuck can even begin to formulate a plan, shouting to Raleigh and Mako. 

“You know exactly what you have to do,” he declares. “Gipsy is nuclear, take her to the Breach.”

“What can we do, sir?” Chuck asks, bracing for the hit.

“We can clear a path,” the Marshal answers firmly, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “for the lady.”

Even without the drift connecting their thoughts, Chuck understands.

“Well, my father always said, ‘If you have a shot, you take it,’” he remarks, knowing that, on the other end, his father is listening with pride. Chuck can admit that he was an arrogant dickhead with no respect for any of the pilots around him and that he never bothered to hide his resentment for his old man, never gave him a reason to like the man his son had become. Yet, he knows—and has always known—that his father is proud of him. (He is proud of his father, too, for what it’s worth.)

In the final moments, his thoughts drift to you: swathed in blankets and gathered in his arms on cold winter nights, perched on the seat of a stationary bike and reading reports while keeping him company in the gym, wrapped in his brown leather jacket with Max’s leash in your hand while accompanying him for walks around the Shatterdome. He recalls your bright laughter when he’d crack stupid jokes, your serious voice you’d use only over the intercom, and the mischievous glint in your eyes when you’d pretend you hadn’t given Max extra treats.

“I love you,” he had said before entering the Conn-Pod, so quietly that only you could hear him, holding you tightly and kissing away your concerned frown. The warmth of your hands against his cheeks had lingered as he had stepped away.

“I love you,” he says now, loud enough for you to hear him over all the noise, swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking away the tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry we’ll never get that beach house.”

“But, I had you,” he says. “It was enough.”

When the bomb detonates, he’s surrounded by blinding light and a deafening boom. And, finally, peace.

In his dreams, he can’t tell where he is, only that Max is sitting at his feet, his father is somewhere in the distance, and you’re next to him with your hand in his, fingers intertwined.

[shootybangbang]

The Nature of Hounds [Part 1/?]

[Ao3 link]

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Mature

Tinkering around with low honor Arthur Morgan. Unedited, feel free to point out errors and give criticism.

------

When you shake the pocket watch, it rattles with the jingle of loose parts. You frown and set it back down on the table. “This is broken. Best I can do is three dollars.”

“Get outta here with that shit.” Arthur taps the metal casing. “This is real gold. You can do at least ten.”

You weigh the watch against your palm.

“Well?”

“Gold plated.”

“You’re kiddin’ me.”

“You know I don’t kid when there’s money on the line.”

“Lowest I’ll go on this is nine.”

“Four.”

He gives you a look.

“You think that yokel over in Emerald Ranch’ll give you a better deal?” you ask.

Seamus would buy this fucking watch for no less than fifteen fucking dollars. He’d give the thing a once over, offer a timid “I can give you five”, then buckle at a glare and go triple. And yet here he is. Following the whim of his cock and his own misplaced affections, like a bull with a lead strung through its nose.

“I’ll tell you what. Mr Kuang downstairs used to be a watchmaker. This thing doesn’t sound that busted, and he owes me a favor anyhow. I’ll do you four fifty.”

He raises his eyes up to high heaven and sighs. “Fine.”

“So adding up the rings, the pendant, the cameo, and the, uh… the teeth… I’ve got you totalling seventeen.” You slide a neatly penciled memorandum across the table. “Check my sums if you don’t believe me.”

“I ain’t botherin’ with that.”

“You’re the only one who doesn’t.” You sweep the little pile of stolen goods into a drawer. “Is it because you’re stupid or you’re sweet, I wonder?”

“Prob’ly the first.” He dips his head down to steal a kiss, but you press a stern palm against his shoulder and hold him at arm’s length.

“Not when I’m behind the counter.”

“Take care of this shit later.”

“Down.”

“C’mon—”

“I said down.”

So he steps back with his heart sunk one notch lower. Posts himself near the front door, arms crossed, hat brim tipped low, cleaning the dirt beneath his fingernails with a pocket knife as the rectangle of light spilled from the window begins to tick across the floorboards in a dimming dial. He presides over the thin trickle of customers and peddlers alike with a baleful eye, and it’s not until the bell tower in the square tolls five and you swing open the side gate in a flurry of swirling skirts that he can pull you in by the waist and sink into the frantic kiss that you press him with.

Locked door, shuttered windows. Hurriedly, you flip the sign posted against the glass from OPEN to CLOSED as he flattens your back against the wall and pulls the ribbon at your throat loose with a yank of his teeth. You sift your fingers through his hair, then grip hard, yanking his head back. “Three weeks without a letter, you bastard,” you snarl. “Thought they’d hanged you someplace out west."

“Aw, don’t tell me you was worried.”

“‘Course I was worried. You’re my best earner.”

The smile you flash along the slight is sweet and quick as a fleeting slip of riverlight, and he forces himself to smile back, but the truth remains that he has never come here empty handed. Still fearful of the risk that you might cut him with the same expectant look Dutch has at the end of deals gone wrong and scores lost.

Your eyes shut slow as you kiss him again. He runs his palm up your back as he finds and unclips the clasp of your blouse and the tension in your hand loosens like weakening resolve. It surprises him still, that gentling spread that flows arterial at the simple touch of his hand.

The room tucked behind the storefront is cramped and cluttered with belongings that you have only recently begun letting him examine. When you lead him in, it’s with your hands clutching his neckerchief like reins, tripping over the hazard of table corners and your lone, bystanding chair. You walk backwards into your unmade bed, and he lets you pull him atop you with an obedience he scarcely understands. You fumble to pull down his belt and he yanks down your skirt in a confusion of hands as you work to lay each other bare. “Did you miss me,” you murmur, and he answers not with words but with a violent jerk of his hips, relaying with friction what he does not know how to otherwise.

Arthur cups his hand to your cunt, trails his middle finger along the wet seam like tracing the crest of a wave. In red fantasy, he takes the time to prime you for him, spreads and sucks the soft furl of flesh with his mouth, but you have never had the patience for foreplay. It's as if the unselfish act of pleasuring you were a step too intimate; even in this, a necessary expectation of quid pro quo that you have not the inclination to entertain.

“Come on then, gunslinger,” you growl. Another kiss, fierce and carrying the admonishment of teeth. You jerk the fabric of his shirt up to reveal his chest, then stiffen and splay your hand over the filthy bandage wrapped there. “Christ.”

“It’s nothin’.”

The cloth is stained with old blood that has seeped from the locus of his wound like a rust colored bloom, and is grimy from sweat and travel. You stare at it with revulsion. “Morgan, this is disgusting.”

The prickle of shame that stretches up his spine has transitioned to sullen indignation by the time it reaches his head. “Didn’t figure someone in your line of work to be so goddamned squeamish.” He tries to pull his shirt back down. You grab his wrist.

“Keep this off,” you say. “I’m running you a bath.”

[planet-of-the-machines]

A Rude Awakening (attempt #2)

“Oh look, it’s the try-hard.”

“Team leader? More like a stubborn girlfailure who doesn’t know when to quit.”

“You say your teammates are worthless? Maybe you should look in the mirror, J.”

“…and here you are, leading the lowest team on the scoreboard for 8 years in a row–”

“All I see in front of me are a spineless loser, a feral beast, and a spoilsport with delusions of grandeur.”

“Maybe if you stopped trying to look so professional, you’d be killing more than a handful of drones per quarter—”

PAINFUL MEMORY REMIX.MP3 DETECTED

(PLS GET A LIFE)

REBOOTING…

*The moment J woke up, she was met by the same metal ceiling as the past... month? She hadn't really been keeping track of time.  Alarms were blaring on her interface. One, Transformation cog status: CRITICAL DAMAGED SUSTAINED; WEAPONS AND FLIGHT LOCKED, was nothing new. Somehow, that undersized Heavy Drone managed to impale her and damage this vital organ, with a branded pen! However, there was something new that she didn’t remember being there: UNAUTHORIZED MODIFICATIONS DETECTED. 

J: “wha… Sweet mother of… annual… profits…”

*It wasn’t a minute after she rebooted when the door to her cell opened. In came some Elite Guardsmen, one of whom being Darkwing, alongside someone J was quite familiar with.*

J: “…well, if it isn’t the local king of the scrapyard. Here to finally give up your worthless life?”

Prowl: *not taking this bullshit* “Save your rants, J. I’ve just returned to duty and I don’t have time for your presentations. We need to talk.” 

*One of the guards proceeds to angle the table the disassembler is bound to about 70 degrees, so that J can face the Elite Guardsman directly.*

J: “I told you, I’m not leaking any memorandums, you barely-functioning washing machine!”

Prowl: *flatly* “I knew that. You’ve told me over 34 times before I was put on mandatory sick leave.”

J: “Tch, typical heavy drone behavior. You may think you’ve won–” [[Most Badass Threat.mp3 “–but when corporate inevitably comes to bail me and my team out, there will be nothing left of this outpost but a sinkhole. That I can guarantee. By the way, I’m getting an unauthorized mod notification. Do you have anything to do with that?”

Prowl: “If your masters wanted to rescue you and your friends, they would’ve done that long ago. Besides, your teammates don’t seem to mind living here that much.” 

J: *frowns* “N’s a synergistic liability. Of course he likes it here. V knows better than to–” 

Prowl: *folds his arms* “V tried to deceive a fake face-heel turn less than two weeks ago, J. Of course, that turned out to be a trap by some unhappy schoolgirls going through a revenge arc… one of whom is in a cell right now because they wound up killing half their grade…” *rolls eyelights* “More importantly, my nephew is keeping an eye on her in case she tries something again.”

J: *a mixture of stupefied, flustered, and confused* “Wha– no. No!” *shakes her head in refutation* “V wouldn’t try that, not by herself. She’d never do something like that without telling me first.”

Prowl: “Well, that’s what happened. Regarding your modifications, We did that for two reasons. For one, you were taking too much oil to keep you from overheating to death. So, while I was out, Strongarm asked Dr. Ratchet to install a Worker Drone heat sink and rework your circulation system so you won’t need as much… or need to kill anyone. I can see he also made it so your actual hands are showing instead of those blades.” 

J: “What? That’s—” *loses her temper, her eyelights turning a pinkish-red* “That's an extreme violation of the rules of conduct!!! Equity partnership, you can’t just move me to a lower job position!!! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO MY WORK!?!?!?!?!?”

Prowl: *calm, matter-of-factly* “Simple: you don’t.” *she freezes up, sweat drops appearing on her visor* “Which brings me to the other reason. In short, you’re being integrated into our outpost.” 

*J’s eyelights hollow and switch back to their original yellow color. As the following speech plays out, her expression becomes increasingly horrified.* 

Prowl: “We are putting you with your teammates in a class, because the Council does not trust you or them with any real jobs as of now. You are to learn of our customs, our way of living, and if I’m being honest, get rid of the corporate jargon in your vocabulary. If you prove yourself able to break whatever longstanding protocols you were built with, then maybe we will try to fix your cog.”

Darkwing: ““But don’t even think about using this to escape! We’ll make sure you’ll— AGH!”

*One of the other guards elbows their blue and purple HD companion, and he shuts up.*

Prowl: “Darkwing, please refrain from the theatrics.” *sighs* “Both of your teammates have given rather colorful descriptions about your relative loyalty to that goddamn company. As I’m sure you can tell, you are currently unable to fly or deploy your weapons– especially that virus pike –without skilled medical intervention. In the event you somehow sneak your way past security and make it past the doors, you’re too far from JCJenson territory, wherever that may be, to safely walk home. We have snipers and an excellent tracker, all of whom are ready for you. Even if we lose track of you, going by what N has told us, It’s highly likely your company believes you’ve been too ‘corrupted by exposure to us,’ to quote your pet, to take you back alive. In short, you have no viable exit route. 

“You will cooperate when asked to, and you will see things from our perspective. For your own safety, do NOT cause trouble.”

*By now, steam is coming out of the sides of the disassembler’s head, and a red caution symbol has replaced her left eyelight.* 

J: “I… uh… organizational… restru–?”

*Her OS crashes, unable to comprehend the nightmarish scenario she’s in. J goes limp and a blue screen of death overtakes her visor, taking her out for another few hours.*

Guard 1: “Was… that really necessary, sir?”

Prowl: “Perhaps not. But at least it seems we’ve finally gotten through that thick firewall of hers. Now, what else has happened while I was out?”

*The head of Outpost 3’s share of the Elite Guard leaves, the three guards following behind him. As they did, they failed to notice two streams of oil leaking out from under J’s visor…*

[himari-tsuki]

「Memorandum a few days ago」

Today was the 1st overseas stage

of my world tour.

So much has happened,

I was so nervous

my whole body was shaking

before the performance.

But when I got on stage

and sang from my heart

everyone responded and all my fears

were blown away.

Thank you for letting me sing today!

With the "stay metal" spirit

I got from Fredrik

I know "There's nothing to be afraid of!"

I want to share this with everyone.

For me, singing was a way

to find a place to belong and salvation.

I’ll continue to grow in my own

way as best I can,

even though I’m still a metal baby.

wait. dungeon synth is so good…

I've received the words

"I don't like Himari's song" before.

I wasn't good at singing at that time.

Recently, I really receive a lot of words

"warrior's song, angel's voice".

I'm really happy now

that I'm meeting people

who accept my growth, not just songs.

Street tacos are so good………

Can I write one thing here?

For all my years of activity

both as a Solo artist & in a Group,

I have never been absent

from a live performance,

lessons or any artist activities.

I feel like I should be proud of this.

I tend to worry about various things

that I don't really have to think about…

but at that time,

"Am I having the most fun now?"

When I asked myself, the answer is,

"Definitely."

I want to use this English.

"YIPPIEEEEE"

I was taught this English.

"GOOD EGG"

[five-rivers]

Memorandum

*Banging pots and pans together* GEN REX FANS COME GET YOUR FOOD.

AO3

.

Skwydd woke suddenly.  

After years living on the street, he'd become a light sleeper.  Being able to spring into action at a moment's notice was a life skill.  Or, you know, trauma.  But it was easier to think of it as a cool trick.

That being said, he didn't always know what it was that woke him.  Which was… not great for his nerves.  

This time, though…

He sat up slowly and turned his head scanning the apartment.  People didn’t usually realize it, but one of his EVO adaptations was low-light vision, It was why he was usually the lookout.  Not that he needed it this time.  The light was on in the ‘kitchenette,’ which wasn’t really a kitchenette at all, but the doorless cubby they’d stuffed their microwave and hot plates into.  It was big enough for two people to squeeze in at a time, if they weren’t particularly big on personal space.

It wasn’t really the kind of place an intruder would be hanging out in, so Skwydd got up to look without making all that much of an effort to be sneaky.  Inside, bent double over the shelf they used as a counter, was Tuck.  

“What are you doing?” asked Skwydd.  

Tuck startled, hitting his head on the shelf above, and jostling several metal scraps to the floor.  “Ow!”

Skwydd ignored him, staring at the scraps.  “Is that Rex’s journal?” he asked.    

“Yeah,” said Tuck, picking up the scattered pieces.  “So what?”

“So, what are you doing with it?”

“I’m trying to fix it.”

Skwydd crossed his arms and leaned against the corner where the cubby let out into the rest of the room.  “Why?”  

Tuck turned and frowned at it, the inhuman lines of his face making the expression difficult to read, even for him.  “You know, before Quarry pulled this thing out, I never would have thought Rex would have sold us out.”

“Just let it rest.”  Skwydd and Cricket certainly wanted to, if for different reasons.  “It’s like he said, he’s basically a different person now.”

“That’s not what I meant.  I mean, why did we believe it after?”

“What d’you mean?”

“We’re not wearing tattoos for the fashion statement,” said Tuck.  “And, think about it.  Rex gives up his journal to Quarry, and Quarry just… keeps it handy?  For three years?  When he didn’t think Rex was ever going to come back?”

“Yeah, so he could play mind games with us.”

“Mind games he waited three years for?  Come on, like, we knew Rex.  And we know him now, sort of.  And then there’s this.  One of these things doesn’t fit.”

“We thought we knew him.”

“How many kids did he cure when he was with us?  He didn’t double cross any of them, far as I know.  And he freaking cried when he couldn’t cure someone.”

“Okay, and what’s your theory?  John Scarecrow?  Some kind of deepfake?  It sounded just like Rex.”

“Yeah,” said Tuck, picking up a screwdriver and playing with it.  “Just like him.  Hey, d’you remember what Rex sounded like back then?  Before he disappeared?  Or do you just know what he sounds like now?  ‘Cause, I can’t be sure I do.”

“Yeah, yeah, and what’s your theory?”  There was some movement behind him, and Skwydd was aware he was being maybe a little loud.  Cricket had still been sleeping.  "Remember, Rex said he had a- a memory flash or whatever of taking Quarry's offer."

“I don't know.  But Rex, he could be a jerk sometimes, but our Rex– the only way I can think of that our Rex would have willingly given this up – and freaking unlocked it for Quarry to snoop – is if he got his memory back or if he had no idea what it was."

"Holy crap," whispered Cricket behind Skwydd.  "Do you really think that's what happened?  Rex lost his memory and Quarry scammed him into leaving?"

"Honest?"  Tuck laughed humorlessly.  "I dunno that this's even Rex's journal."  He dropped the screwdriver on the shelf.  "I thought maybe if I get this put back together, it'd be blank except the one video or something, or if it was the real one, then there’d be something about Quarry one way or the other, but I'm not Rex.  I can't talk to machines, and even he didn't think he could get anything out of this one." 

"But if it isn't," said Cricket, "then where's the real one?"

"Who freaking knows.”  It wasn’t a question, more an exclamation of defeat.  “It’s been years.”

“Do you think we should talk to Rex about this?” asked Crickey, audibly trying to keep herself calm.  “Like, if we really think it wasn’t him in the recording…”

“But we don’t know,” said Tuck.  “We don’t know.  And even if we did know, we still believed…”  He covered his mouth with his hand, elbow firmly set on the shelf.  Almost like he was grinding it in, trying to make it hurt.  

He was going to break that if he wasn’t careful.  The shelf wasn’t that stable.  

“Would it do any good, either way?” Skwydd found himself asking out loud.  “Would it do more harm than good?  Since we don’t know…  Maybe he did do it.  We can’t tell.”

“Yeah, exactly.”  Tuck’s voice was muffled by his hand, barely understandable.

“What,” said Cricket, looking back and forth between them.  “You can’t be serious.  You just had this whole big thing about how it wouldn’t make sense for him to do it.  Like, it’s completely out of character, right?  That’s what you said.”

“Yeah, well, the world doesn’t make sense, did you ever think of that?”  Tuck got up and roughly pushed past Skwydd, the ribbons that made up his body briefly unknotting and brushing by him.  

“Hey!” said Cricket.  “Hey!  Why are you so mad?  You’re the one that brought it up!

Tuck spared Cricket a withering glare and otherwise only stopped long enough on the way out of the apartment to grab his hoodie and throw it over his head, so he wouldn’t be instantly pegged as an EVO.  

“What gives!?”  she started to go after him, but Skwydd caught her arm.  

“He needs time to cool off,” he said.  “Just let him be.”

Cricket glared at him and shook him off, but went back to her cot.  

“I don’t get it,” said Cricket.  “If we don’t think he actually sold us out, isn’t letting him think he did kind of a crappy thing to do?”

“Maybe, if we had proof one way or another,” said Skwydd.  “But we don’t.”  He stepped into the kitchenette and picked up a piece of the PDA, examining the sharp edge where Rex had cut it with his giant sword.

“Just, he’s our friend, isn’t he?  He helped us.”

Skwydd shrugged, trying not to show how much this was affecting him.  “It’s like he said.  He’s a different person now.”  He let the piece fall back to the table with a clatter.  “In the end, he didn’t want to know about the past, either.”

He turned off the kitchenette light and went back to bed.  He pretended not to hear Cricket when she asked, “Isn’t that just because he thought we were more important?”

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Egypt and Brazil look to enter the ship recycling sector

New final destinations for ships are opening up with both Egypt and Brazil looking to get into the ship recycling sector. 

Egypt’s transport ministry has signed a memorandum of understanding with El Wehda Industrial Company to develop a shipbreaking yard at Damietta Port as part of the government’s bid to be less reliant on imported scrap metal.

The Egyptian site will cover some 155,000 sq m and will be capable of handling ships of up to 230 m in length. Other Egyptian ship recycling sites are also being discussed.

Meanwhile, last month in Brazil a memorandum of understanding was signed between local authorities and Modern American Recycling Services to explore the feasibility of establishing a ship recycling and decommissioning yard in Porto Central.

Source.

[cyberbenb]

Ukraine, US to start working on free trade zone, Shmyhal says

Ukraine and the U.S. agreed to start working on a free trade zone between the two countries, Prime Minister Denys Shmyhal said on April 23 after meeting U.S. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent in Washington.

Ukraine and the U.S. launched initial talks on a free trade zone back in 2021. Earlier, Shmyhal said that Kyiv seeks to boost bilateral trade and an agreement with the U.S. to allow “everything except for the fixed exceptions."

Ukrainian trade with the U.S. has dropped in recent years, with only $874 million of exports and $3.4 billion of American imports last year. But the knock-on effect could be a global trade war that hits Ukraine too, Oleksandra Myronenko from the Center for Economic Strategy (CES) in Kyiv, told the Kyiv Independent.

In early April, U.S. President Donald Trump imposed a 10% tariff on all Ukrainian goods, except metal products, which had already been subject to a 25% tariff in March.

According to Shmyhal, the parties also discussed “important political aspects” of the long-debated future minerals deal between Kyiv and Washington, which was reaffirmed in a recently signed memorandum. Further details on the ongoing negotiations are expected by April 26.

“Ukraine’s government undoubtedly supports the conclusion of an agreement on economic partnership between the American and Ukrainian peoples and the creation of a Reconstruction Investment Fund,” the prime minister said.

Shmyhal also called on the U.S. to strengthen energy sanctions against Russia due to the occupation of the Zaporizhzhia Nuclear Power Plant.

Politico reported on April 23, citing undisclosed sources, that the Trump administration is discussing the possible lifting of sanctions on Russia’s Nord Stream 2 gas pipeline and other Russian energy assets in Europe.

Ukraine has no great options if Trump recognizes Crimea as Russian

Ukraine is facing a crossroads in its fight against Russia’s full-scale invasion, with the possibility of being forced to reject an unfavorable peace deal being imposed under huge pressure from the U.S.

The Kyiv IndependentChris York

[rawstorys]

US and Ukraine banners note on the metal deal

Open the newsletter to watch the White House for free Your guide to what the American elections mean 2024 for Washington and the world Kyiv and Washington signed a memorandum of intention to submit an agreement on an investment fund for natural resources and energy assets in Ukraine. The officials said that the memo was actually signed and they were hoping for the final touches on the full…

[darkmaga-returns]

March 27, 2025

Trump's Rewritten 'Deal' With Ukraine Is Imposed Indentured Servitude

The Trump administration wants to press Ukraine into infinite indentured servitude for payments and weapons previously delivered by the Biden administration with no conditions attached to them.

Hedge fund mogul and U.S. Secretary of the Treasury Scott Bessent has (re-)written the 'mineral deal':

U.S. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent said on Wednesday Ukraine may sign an economic deal next week ... "We have passed along a completed document for the economic partnership (that) is currently being reviewed by Ukrainians, and we hope to go to full discussions and perhaps even get signatures next week," Bessent said. Trump said on Monday he expects a U.S.-Ukraine revenue-sharing agreement on Ukrainian critical minerals to be signed soon.

The (former) Ukrainian President Vladimir Zelenski acknowledged the arrival of the agreement (machine translation):

President Volodymyr Zelensky said that the United States offered Ukraine a new version of the agreement on minerals . During the press conference , he stressed that the issue of Ukrainian nuclear power plants is not in it. "This is a big full deal for the American side, from the steps that were taken earlier. A framework agreement, you remember, and after the framework agreement, the full agreement is developed. Now the American side has offered our side a big deal at once, their vision," Zelensky said.

The deal, see below, is anything but an 'offer'.

Zelenski should have signed the earlier 'framework agreement'. It would have allowed to later stall on the implementation. Now he will be pressed to sign on to the details.

The new 'big deal at once' is a 'horror' for Ukraine (machine translation):

A new version of the agreement on minerals between Ukraine and the United States, in which, as reported by ZN.UA, now the American side wants control not only over the extraction of rare earth metals, but all the minerals of Ukraine and the infrastructure associated with their extraction, provides for unlimited US control over Ukrainian resursans and with the right of veto of the Americans on their extraction by Ukraine. At the same time, the United States does not offer any security guarantees, and such a monopoly should be a "payment" for the already provided US assistance to Ukraine, said Yaroslav Zheleznyak, a People's Deputy of Ukraine. "I received this document from our officials yesterday.This is not the final document. And I hope the Ukrainian side will demand and achieve significant changes to it. But the text that I saw is straight horror. All 18 sections ... this is no longer a framework memorandum of intent (which was before the scandalous meeting in the Oval Office). This is a very big and very clear deal. And it is not in our direction," he wrote in his Telegram.

The legal text has 60(!) pages. Its main points, according to Zheleznyak, are these (machine translation):

This 'deal' is pure extortion and robbery. It would bind Ukraine indefinitely. It would also discourage any investment in any natural deposits in Ukraine. There is no chance that any such deal will be ratified by the Ukrainian parliament. 

[trump-executive-orders]

Additional Recissions of Harmful Executive Orders and Actions

Issued March 14, 2025.

By the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America, it is hereby ordered:

Section 1.  Purpose.  In Executive Order 14148 of January 20, 2025 (Initial Rescissions of Harmful Executive Orders and Actions), I rescinded 78 Presidential orders and memoranda issued by then-President Biden.  I also directed the Assistant to the President for Domestic Policy, the Assistant to the President for Economic Policy, and the Assistant to the President for National Security Affairs to compile lists of additional orders, memoranda, and proclamations issued by the prior administration that should be rescinded.  I have determined that the following additional rescissions are necessary to advance the policy of the United States to restore common sense to the Federal Government and unleash the potential of American citizens. 

Sec. 2.  Revocation of Orders and Actions.  The following executive actions are hereby revoked:

(a)  Executive Order 13994 of January 21, 2021 (Ensuring a Data-Driven Response to COVID-19 and Future High-Consequence Public Health Threats).

(b)  National Security Memorandum 3 of February 4, 2021 (Revitalizing America’s Foreign Policy and National Security Workforce, Institutions, and Partnerships).

(c)  Presidential Memorandum of February 4, 2021 (Advancing the Human Rights of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, and Intersex Persons Around the World).

(d)  Executive Order 14026 of April 27, 2021 (Increasing the Minimum Wage for Federal Contractors).

(e)  Presidential Memorandum of March 31, 2022 (Finding of a Severe Energy Supply Interruption).

(f)  Presidential Determination 2022-13 of May 18, 2022 (Delegating Authority Under the Defense Production Act to Ensure an Adequate Supply of Infant Formula).

(g)  Presidential Determination 2022-15 of June 6, 2022 (Presidential Determination Pursuant to Section 303 of the Defense Production Act of 1950, as amended, on Solar Photovoltaic Modules and Module Components).

(h)  Presidential Determination 2022-16 of June 6, 2022 (Presidential Determination Pursuant to Section 303 of the Defense Production Act of 1950, as amended, on Insulation).

(i)  Presidential Determination 2022-17 of June 6, 2022 (Presidential Determination Pursuant to Section 303 of the Defense Production Act of 1950, as amended, on Electrolyzers, Fuel Cells, and Platinum Group Metals).

(j)  Presidential Determination 2022-18 of June 6, 2022 (Presidential Determination Pursuant to Section 303 of the Defense Production Act of 1950, as amended, on Electric Heat Pumps).

(k)  Executive Order 14081 of September 12, 2022 (Advancing Biotechnology and Biomanufacturing Innovation for a Sustainable, Safe, and Secure American Bioeconomy).

(l)  Presidential Memorandum of January 17, 2023 (Delegation of Authority Under Section 6501(b)(2) of the National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2022).

(m)  National Security Memorandum 18 of February 23, 2023 (United States Conventional Arms Transfer Policy).

(n)  Presidential Memorandum of February 27, 2023 (Presidential Waiver of Statutory Requirements Pursuant to Section 303 of the Defense Production Act of 1950, as amended, on Department of Defense Supply Chains Resilience).

(o)  Presidential Memorandum of November 16, 2023 (Advancing Worker Empowerment, Rights, and High Labor Standards Globally).

(p)  Executive Order 14112 of December 6, 2023 (Reforming Federal Funding and Support for Tribal Nations to Better Embrace Our Trust Responsibilities and Promote the Next Era of Tribal Self-Determination).

(q)  Executive Order 14119 of March 6, 2024 (Scaling and Expanding the Use of Registered Apprenticeships in Industries and the Federal Government and Promoting Labor-Management Forums).

(r)  Executive Order 14126 of September 6, 2024 (Investing in America and Investing in American Workers).

Sec. 3.  General Provisions.  (a)  Nothing in this order shall be construed to impair or otherwise affect:

(i)   the authority granted by law to an executive department or agency, or the head thereof; or

(ii)  the functions of the Director of the Office of Management and Budget relating to budgetary, administrative, or legislative proposals.

(b)  This order shall be implemented consistent with applicable law and subject to the availability of appropriations.

(c)  This order is not intended to, and does not, create any right or benefit, substantive or procedural, enforceable at law or in equity by any party against the United States, its departments, agencies, or entities, its officers, employees, or agents, or any other person.