#the responsible ones - the brains of the operations - the ones keeping all the plates spinning

[clotpolesonly]

Call Down The Hawk ch 45 // Call Down The Hawk ch 3

[tomhardydallasstarsgirl]

FUCK.YOU.ANGEL.REYES.

Chapter 8

Angel Reyes x Black Reader

Warnings: Language, Angst Secrets coming to a head, Death and Clayton Cardenas making his debut.

"Dr. Helena to Surgery 3, Dr. Helena to Surgery 3", goes over the PA as you pace back and forth waiting in the waiting room.

Your Mayans brothers as you now call them are there with you for moral support as you all are patiently waiting for her Doctor to speak with you.

"Colibri, have a seat please", whispers Angel stopping you in your tracks.

"I can't Angel. I can get over this just that easy".

"I feel like I'm somewhat responsible for this".

"I haven't come to see her in a while and it's caught up with me for not doing so", as you break down and cry in front of everyone.

"Hey now, I won't have any of that now my beautiful sister, and I'm sure that bad ass in there who is your Granny won't have that foolishness either", says Naomi as she wipes away your tears.

"She knows you're an adult and have a lot of things on you plate right now. So don't feel guilty about not seeing her like you want to. Besides Bishop and I along with everyone else has been keeping her company as well too sugar", as your head rests on Naomi's shoulder.

Just then the doctor walks into the waiting room putting everyone on alert.

"Hello Ms. L/N. I just wanted to fill you in on your grandmother's condition. She's stable for the moment right now but, she will need surgery to repair the fracture in her hip".

"Wait a minute she'll need surgery? Will she survive this?", as a lump forms in your throat as Taza rests his hands on your shoulders.

"It's touch and go from here on out. Also, I will be performing the surgery along with Dr. Anders so we'll keep you all posted as she's getting prepped for surgery. Now if you'll excuse me I'm gonna scrub in".

"Can we see her now please?", you ask.

"Oh, yes you can. But, please don't bombard her all at once", says the doctor as he leaves to prepare for Mama Sadie's surgery.

Taza and Angel escort you to your grandmother's room as everyone else waits behind.

"Hey, Y/F/N", you hear being called behind you as you turn around seeing Margo and Neron together holding hands.

"Hey, Margo. Hey Creeper. What's going on you two", you say in a sing-song tone as Angel chuckles to himself.

She walks up to you giving you a hug as you eye Angel over her shoulder as he shrugs his shoulders like he's innocent as Taza suppresses a laugh.

"Lo siento Y/N", says Creeper kissing your cheek.

"We'll be in the waiting room okay", says Margo.

"Yes, we will. Anything for you my Mayan sister", says Creeper as they head towards the waiting area.

"Margo and Creep?", says you and your grandfather simultaneously drawing a smile on Angel's face.

"I'll tell you both later", says Angel as you all finally reach your grandmother's room.

"Hey let me get some air first okay? Then I'll be back to see her okay", you whisper to Angel.

"Want me to come with you mi dulce?", he asks not letting your hand go at the moment.

"No my King. I'll be fine", you say tip-toeing a kiss from Angel as he finally let's you go before stepping outside into the cool air.

Walking through the door to a seated area outside you breath a heavy sigh as you sit down on a bench in the well lit area. You take this time to respond to emails, texts and calls as you hear voices shouting. You walk to the corner of the building as you peek around it.

"Look he's is busy right now. Why do you keep coming around looking to start some shit. He's with his girl right now so just get the fuck out of here before he sees you", shouts Coco to the other person.

"You all know why I'm fucking here Coco. He needs to know and no one is going to stop me from telling him", speaks the female with a heavy accent", as you hear Gilly telling the female to leave.

"It's like what they say nowadays. What happens in Mexico stays in fucking Mexico. Now get the fuck out of here", says Coco gritting those words through his teeth.

The woman says nothing more as she takes her exit to leave. You accidentally step on a twig as your brothers look towards your general direction. You suddenly hear fast footfalls to the ground as you quietly ease your way back inside the hospital heading towards the ladies room where its empty of other occupants. You step into a stall as you sit on the toilet seat. You attempt to wrack your brain about what you just heard from outside between Coco and this female. You notice Bishop speaking quietly to what seemed to a be another doctor. You couldn't make out the entire conversation but, the only words you could make out was "paternity" and "DNA Test" causing you to almost stutter step in your tracks.

A nurse was just wrapping up checking vitals and making her comfortable as she quietly leaves the room. No words are spoken as the sounds of her heart being monitored beeps and your grandfather says a prayer in Native American Tongue.

Your body was stiff as you stood in the threshold of her room as Angel and Taza looked on with patience. You felt a bit queasy and dizzy as you swore the room suddenly begins to spin.

"Whoa, little one. Are you alright my dear", asks Taza with concern as he looks toward you.

"Angel", you shout as he catches you picking you up.

"Hey nurse, please help. My girl almost fainted", shouts Angel as you girls come running to check on you.

A male nurse brings a wheel chair for you to sit in as you grandmother's doctor approaches.

"Honey, are you okay?", asks Scarlett as they watch the doctor check you as Angel holds your hand.

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

"Have you been eating well?"

"Not really".

"And what what about your sleeping Y/N? Has it been good for you?"

"No, it hasn't

"When was your last period?"

"Period?", your girls whispering looking at each other.

"Whoa dude!!! What you asking her that for?",says Angel grabbing the doctor by the collar.

"Goddammit Angel, STOP!!!. Let him do his job please", you say as Angel releases him straightening his collar back to normal.

"I'm so sorry doc. Didn't mean to do that to you sir.

"Oh, it's alright son", says the doctor letting out an uneasy chuckle as he continued to check on you.

"My last period was the week of April 20th", you spoke calmly to the doctor as your friends eyed each other with suspicion as Taza and glared in Angel's direction as he suddenly felt hot and nervous under the collar.

BUZZ BUZZ BUUUUUZZZZZ!!! Goes your friends phones as they all check them simultaneously.

"Biiiiitch, that was over two months ago", as your girls read Scarlett's group text as they all eye each in agreement as Bishop, EZ and Ariza walk up behind them quietly peaking over their shoulders without them noticing.

"Girl, I had a feeling Angel was back to waxing that ass", says Naomi responding next in the group text.

"No wonder she been all Minnie Ripperton "Looooooving Yooooouuu" and shit", goes Danielle next as your girls share a giggle.

"LA LA LA LA LA, LA LA LA LA LA, LA LA LA LA LA, LA LA LA LA LAAAAAAAAAA", responds Scarlett.

You became dismissive of the thought of possibly being pregnant. You didn't have time to be a mother right now since you were more concerned about the well-being of your grandmother.

"You know what it's probably just stress Doctor. No need to do a test. I have been under a lot of pressure lately. With work, getting ready for this show that's coming up in a couple of weeks. Hell my girls been working their fingers to the bone as well getting this show together for the whole world to see", you say as you quickly dropped the subject. The doctor pleaded with you as you said no.

"Sir, im here for Mama Sadie right now. Not me. So can I spend time with her before she has surgery please.

The doctor doesn't argue as he respects your wishes leaving her room. You lay beside in her bed lacing her fingers with yours as you fall asleep.

"Colibri. Wake up Colibri. They're here to prep her for surgery", says Angel.

You give your grandmother a kiss as she's being wheeled away towards the operating room. Dr. Anders gives you words of comfort before heading off to the O.R. for your grandmother's surgery.

You're pacing back and forth in the waiting room as you wait for Mama Sadie. At that point you receive a text message:

CC: Hey babygirl, I heard about Mama Sadie from Margot. Im so sorry to hear that. I was thinking of coming there to see you all. Is that okay?

You contemplate on what exactly to say back to Clayton. At the time you didn't think it was a big deal so you answered his question.

Y/N: Sure no problem.

CC: Okay I will see you all tomorrow evening sweetheart. 😘⚘⚘

Y/N: Thank you. See you then. 😊

Its the next day as the sun is skimming the clouds when everyone was still waiting as you were asleep with Angel's arm around you. Well when you woke up with a jolt it wasn't Angel's arm around you it was Coco.

"Hey Coco? Where's Angel?".

"He's outside taking a smoke break".

Taking a long stretch you survey the waiting as you see all the couples fast asleep. All except for Angel. You decided to stretch your legs a bit as you grab your jacket. You was about to step outside as you bumped into Angel who looks upset.

"Hey, I was just looking for you. Are you okay baby?".

"Yeah, I'm good Colibri", as he grabs your hand pulling you away to leave the hospital.

"Whoa, wait a minute where are we going?"

"I need a shower and I'm hungry. Then we can come back".

"Okay well let me get my purse okay".

You head back to the waiting room to retrieve your purse without disturbing anyone. You made sure to tell the nurse at the front desk that you will be back shortly.

You were in the shower singing as Angel was cooking something quick for you both. You step out if the shower feeling good. You get dressed as you walk towards the living room hearing hushed tones of an argument. You didn't turn the corner as between Angel and the other person.

"Look it's not my fucking baby. And stop calling me. Stay away from my fucking brothers. I. DON'T. FUCKING. WANT. YOU", you hear as he tosses his cell phone across the room landing on the couch.

You put your biggest smile on your face as you come around the corner. You hug him from behind as he turns around to give you a deep kiss. You were about to say something when both of your phones go off simultaneously.

You both arrive at the hospital hand in hand running towards everyone else. Suddenly you stop in your tracks as you feel something fly right through you. As if another spirit touched your soul giving you a warm hug.

"Baby what's wrong?", asks Angel.

"Oh nothing im fine", you say as you finally see your grandfather being consoled by Hank and Bishop.

"Hey what's happening? How is Mama Sadie doing?", you ask Dr. Anders as you approach him

"I'm sorry Y/N. We tried everything but, your grandmother suffered an aneurysm and we couldn't get to it in time".

"So, are you telling me that my grandmother is dead?", you say raising your voices catching everyone's attention.

"Yes, Ms. L/N", as you began to wail and cry as your girls are there to comfort you.

Angel approaches you offering you hug as you stop him.

"I hope it was worth it Reyes. Since you have a baby on the way by some chick named Adelita", you say giving him a shove.

"Or as Coco called it "What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico".

"Babygirl, just calm down. I know your upset right let's just go somewhere we can talk and make arrangements", says Bishop attempting to calm you down.

"Oh, here you go Obispo. How is that paternity test coming along huh? I'm curious to find out what kid will you be fathering along with Angel?", you shout wiping tears away.

"He could be your father Y/N", goes a voice as you turn around to see that its your life long best friend Naomi.

"What do you mean Bishop could be my father", you ask with disbelief on your face.

"Bishop told me this a while back. He confessed to me with tears in his eyes saying that he could be the father of my best friend".

"That's not true Philip is my father to me and my baby brother" you shout as you run off.

"Give her some space Hermano", says EZ grabbing his older brother's shoulder.

Clearing the hospital front door you see Clayton walking to those same doors. You run toward him jumping into his arms as you break down and cry. Angel walks out first with his brothers in tow catching a glimpse.

"Hey Hey Hey, what's the matter babygirl", says Clayton comforting you.

"Can we get out of here Jonathan?".

@nxxstybrat @angelreyesgirl @blue-angel-wings @calif0rnia-lovers @phantomnae @ljstraightnochaser @mayans-sauce @basickassandra @basickayreblogs @berberriescorner @rosieposie0624 @mrsmarvelous1995 @amorestevens @bigsisbria @crossfitjesusinblackskinnyjeans @no-cheese-please @emmaveale123 @pananegra @kijahslove @spnaquakindgdom @cydhouseofgryffindor @skyofficialxx @spookys-girl @sesamepancakes @trulysuccubus @brattyfics​ @bigchoose @manuphantom

[rodeo-boots]

Hello hello!!💖💖😊 hope you're doing alright and your day's going fine and smoothly over there, dear!😊🌺💐🌻🌹🌺💐🌻🌹

For writing requests, can I request a morbell story??☺ at the first of chapter 2 when gang is going to live in horseshoe overlook, Dutch sends Micah with Lenny to Strawberry and then something happens which ends with Micah in jail. But I want it to be 'Dutch sends Arthur with Micah to Strawberry' so! Just imagine what will happen😆👀. Boys probably end up in jail anyway but I think..maybe with Arthur, Micah would act different..?

Fluff is always welcome and I don't mind smut too at all! And I'm ok with any tags too like blood/gore, angst, different kinks or..

Love you and thank you soo soo much!💜💗💜

I'm sorry this took a hundred years, but I still hope you'll enjoy this!! I hope you've had some wonderful days yourself, Merry <33

Rating: T

Words: 2221

Warnings: one instance of a homophobic slur, off-screen murder

AO3

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Dutch and his plans. His great plans that had gotten them in this entire mess to begin with. Arthur couldn't believe him these days, could only watch in bafflement as his mentor spoke one ridiculous idea after the other; but this one took the cake.

Why have a safe operation for once, right? Why send Arthur and Lenny to scout ahead and make sure West Elizabeth wasn't all swarmed by Pinkertons when you could have Micah, the very man who had gotten them in this situation to begin with. The man who's judgement had led them astray and towards the butchered ferry job in Blackwater, who's fantastic information had killed several of their people – with no telling if Mac and Sean were still out there, somewhere.

Obviously, Arthur had objected the instant he's heard what he was supposed to do. He had tried to talk to Dutch, to explain that Micah would find a way to turn even the easiest scouting mission into a bloodbath. Really, he had tried everything to convince him otherwise, to send him alone, for Goodness sake, but to no avail. Dutch's mind was made, and so he let his two best men ride out, in pursuit of information or fortune or anything, Arthur hadn't cared to ask.

–

"Oh, don't soil your britches, princess," Micah held onto Baylock's reins with a loose grip, his grin lopsided where he glanced at Arthur from the corners of his eyes. Of course had he caught onto his less than ideal mood, ever the observant type as he was. "We'll be havin' fun at the end of the day, I promise." His voice was syrupy sweet, almost sickeningly so, though Arthur had stopped listening to him a long time ago either way, staring ahead and onto the road in an attempt to accept his current fate.

He answered the man with a grunt, not overly eager to amuse himself. If it was up to him, they'd be in and out of the settlement within an hour, would take a look around and go, without being noticed in the best of cases. Those seemed rare these days, though.

"Lighten up." Arthur flinched when the man tossed him a bottle, barely catching it in his hands, an irritated gaze meeting Micah's smirking visage. The booze in Arthur's hands certainly wasn't the best, moonshine with a questionable label, glinting copper under the sunlight. His eyebrows furrowed, but he kept the bottle either way.

Maybe it was just what he needed now, a welcome distraction from the day Micah had planned for them to enjoy. Arthur was certain he'd enjoy it all the more if he witnessed as little of it as possible.

He uncapped the bottle, squeezing his eyes shut as the liquor burned down his throat, tipping it back further before tossing it aside. The glass shattered at the side of the road, Micah's own likely joining the shards where they lay, the man already reaching for another drink from his bottomless saddlebags. "See? Much better already." And this time, Arthur couldn't help but return his grin.

Arthur had been unable to keep track of time, with Micah's unrelenting talk, the bottles he passed him along the way. Strawberry was drawing closer by the moment and he knew it, traffic higher with every further step. It seemed to be a busy town, workers passing them by without a glance, whistling as they did the tasks of the day. Oh, how Arthur wished he could lead a life like theirs at times.

"You up for a meal, Morgan?" Micah clambered off his horse, shooting him another bright expression, his lids appearing heavier by the liquor he had consumed already.

"Dying of starvation," Arthur mumbled, a little heavier and slower as he dismounted his mare, holding onto the saddle to keep himself from falling gracelessly. He seriously had to overthink his approach to the drink some time, not as used to booze as he had been in his better days, wiping at his brow now before trailing after Micah and towards the hotel.

Even though they were new in the area, Micah seemed to know his way around, greeting the man behind the counter like an old friend before ordering their meals. Arthur didn't understand how he was standing straight after drinking all the way here, he himself barely holding onto the back of a chair. Hopefully with something in his stomach, his head would stop spinning again.

"Now, Mr. Morgan–" Micah waved his arm around in a great gesture of chivalry, pulling a chair out for Arthur to take. "Will you take this seat, and sit down with me?"

He grunted, plopping down onto the hard wood. Maybe if he followed along without complaint, Micah would take mercy on him and spare him more of his bluster. A single look at his self-satisfied smirk was enough for him to tell that that wouldn't be the case, however.

Their plates had emptied at a rapid pace, Arthur scarfing his food down eagerly, enlivened by the taste and the sensation of something in his stomach – something more agreeable than the liquor. He was chewing his second to last bite by now, glancing over and towards Micah and his plate with a furrowed brow. "Y'ain't hungry?" He asked, swallowing before he rubbed at the corner of his mouth. "S'real good–"

Micah had his eyes set on something else already, waving at him to be quiet before turning with a secretive stare. "You up for a game?" He asked, his drunkenness slowly manifesting in the drag of his voice, though the glint in his eyes was prominent as always.

Arthur shrugged, placing the fork in his hands aside, his gaze following the other man's. Upon seeing what he was seeing, however, his cheeks heated up in a cherry red, Arthur averting his eyes all at once. "The hell you on about?" He grumbled in irritation, not looking back at the woman Micah had focused on. Or rather, her cleavage.

"I bet'chu, I can hit her right in between those beauties." The corners of his mouth quirked up further, Micah taking his own fork in hand to prepare it as a makeshift catapult.

"You finally lost it now?" But Arthur couldn't help watching, not moving to stop the man as he took aim, his tongue peeking out between pursed lips. One second the fork was still loaded with mashed potato, the next, Micah tossed his head back with a shattering laugh, a scandalized gasp from the other table indicating that he had hit his target dead on.

The woman stood all at once, forcefully enough to make her chair tumble to the ground, not letting herself be stopped by the man at her side as she marched out of the building. Her face had been colored by embarrassment, by disgust, and while Arthur had every intention to feel bad for her, he couldn't. Instead, he found himself laughing along with Micah, giggling like the drunken fool he was, having to hold onto the wooden table as to not keel over.

–

Micah was a man of many ideas; few of them good. He seemed keen on seeing how far they could go before being kicked out of the establishment, doing the most in making those around him uncomfortable to elicit a response, Arthur rising to the challenge by doing just the same.

"Y'know what I could do?" Micah whispered, leaning closer to him as though his words were confidential, the lopsided nature of his smirk indicating that they were truly meant for all to hear. "Could lay you out on this table." His hand wandered up Arthur's thigh from where it had formerly rested upon his knee. He hadn't even noticed that. "I could fuck you silly for all these fine folks to see," he smiled, satisfied with the blush spreading over Arthur's cheeks and the tips of his ears.

He pushed the hand off his leg, keeping hold of the other man's wrist. "If that's what you want, I might just lay you out instead," he grumbled, though the threat within his words was lost in the slur of his voice. "Punch you out, s'what I mean."

They stared at one another for a tense few moments, Arthur's grip remaining firm around Micah's wrist.

With a sputtering laugh, he had to let go, however, shaking his head and reaching up to rub his eyes. Micah was quick to follow along, cackling like a maniac in his own right, even if his own words hadn't been all empty.

"C'mon, let's get outta here." Micah pat his knee in encouragement, grunting when he pushed himself to his legs. "I'm bored," he added, his eyes glinting mischievously. Arthur didn't care for his oncoming plans now, either way, keen on leaving the hotel to spare himself of further embarrassment, uncertain as to what he might've done already.

The past minutes, or hours, weren't as prominent in his brain as he would've liked, the influence of the drink undeniable in his every action. He didn't pass the bar-man another look, following after Micah as he ducked through the door, squinting when his eyes were met with darkness instead of the sun he had expected.

"How late's it?" He slurred, glancing at Micah in uncertainty, not at all remembering when or if Dutch would expect them back at camp.

Micah tugged him down the stairs, the grip he had on his sleeve almost desperately hard. "Don't worry your pretty little head," he cooed, glancing back at Arthur with an almost alluring gaze, pulling him closer to offer him some more stability. "We got all the time we need." But Micah's eyes were no longer trained to his. Instead, he had focused on his lips, licking his own almost nervously.

"I always meant to tell you, Arthur–" his hold started to feel a lot more like an embrace, Arthur swallowing lightly as he watched the emotions pass over the other man's face. He was much too drunk to make sense of them, releasing a tense chuckle when Micah didn't continue.

"Meant to tell me what?" He eventually asked, his own arms slowly smoothing around the other man's frame. From this angle, he almost looked good, less crazed than what Arthur usually saw of him, more like the person he kept hidden from plain view in front of everyone else.

He didn't receive an answer, blinking in bafflement when Micah leaned in to press his lips against his own.

Arthur stood frozen for a couple moments, unsure if this was yet another game of his, another attempt to make the people around them uneasy like they had succeeded in doing before.

Micah didn't pull away with a smirk at his lips, however, in fact, he didn't pull away at all, deepening the kiss instead. He tilted his head, moving his lips so uncharacteristically sweet against Arthur's own that he had no choice but to melt.

His hands pulled the man closer, their bodies flush, chests pressing against one another. It was like a lover's embrace, like the last thing Arthur had ever expected to share, least of all with Micah Bell. Here and now, it felt more than just right, though.

He pulled away with a soft exhale, brushing a strand of hair out of the other man's eyes, his motions gentle. "What was that all about?" He asked, though his tone wasn't teasing. If anything, he wanted to know if he understood correctly, wanted to be certain that Micah had enjoyed this kiss for more reasons than his drunkenness; the question of a possible repetition already sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Before he could formulate any of his thoughts, however, another voice broke the tranquility around them.

"If that ain't van der Linde's very special queens," the man slurred himself, the Irish accent still clear in his tone of voice. "This is O'Driscoll territory, we ain't wanna see the likes of you perverts 'round here." Arthur had heard worse in his life, not expecting anything better from the likes of Colm's boys. But a look into Micah's eyes was enough to tell, that he wasn't about to let this slide.

He loosened his hold on Arthur, turning to the man slowly, his stare narrowed at the O'Driscoll. "Run that by me one more time?" His voice was low, the shyness from before wiped clear away now that he was facing the person who had seemingly ruined their moment.

Without Micah's assistance in standing, Arthur plopped down to the muddy ground, staring at the man's back until the spinning of his head became too much. He laid back, letting Micah handle this on his own, smiling dumbly at the distant thought of him protecting his honor.

The shots were faint, just like the voices drawing closer once they had pierced the silence, once they likely had pierced the O'Driscoll's skull just as much.

Arthur felt Micah's presence by his side again, the man dropping down next to him, tossing his weapons aside mindlessly. "Guess that marks the end'a our night," he chimed, his voice drowning out the calls of the sheriff, the law cautiously surrounding them. "I told you we'd have fun, though," Micah spoke up again, chuckling at this small success of the day.

[johannstutt413]

(requested by anonymous)

Bison felt the mass of Swire’s spinning spike-wheel of death fly over his head as he ducked behind his shield to block the hit coming for him; the yelp from his attacker told him how that went for the poor Reunion bastard he was fighting. “Thanks,” he called behind him.

“Anytime!” She yelled back. “Left side!”

“On it!” He knocked the incoming assailant to the ground and gave them a solid thwack with the bottom of his shield. As he lifted his shield up again, however, a premonition struck him; rather than wait to confirm it, Bison turned and dashed at Swire, tackling her as a blast of Arts fire splashed the ground behind them.

She looked up at him. “Thanks, Bison.”

“Of course.” He hopped up and helped her to her feet in time to see the caster responsible get shot through the head with one of Provence’s bolts. “I think that’s the last of them. We should be able to finish guiding the cargo without any more trouble.”

“I’ll let the team lead know. Ow!”

Bison was still by her side. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I knocked something out of place.” She sighed. “Better than having my head burned off, but try to be a little more gentle next time, okay?”

“I’ll try,” he blushed, something in his brain focusing on the “next time” part of her rebuke.

-

A few days later, back at Rhodes Island, there was a knock on Swire’s door. “It’s open!”

“Good afternoon, Miss Swire.” To her surprise, Bison walked in, a sheepish grin on his face as he set a cup of coffee on her desk. “How have you been?”

“Well enough, considering the state of everything. You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you - the other day, when you knocked me out of the way of that attack, you also knocked one of my ribs back into place from an operation awhile back. I haven’t been this flexible in a while, so thanks for that. And the coffee, too, while I’m at it. What’s the occasion?”

He shrugged, a little color coming to his cheeks. “Nothing particular. I heard through the grapevine you like coffee, and since I was on break, I thought I’d swing by and bring you some.”

“Really?” She smiled at him. “Well, that’s sweet of you. What do I owe you?”

“Huh? Nothing.”

Swire cocked her head. “Nothing?”

“It’s on me,” Bison replied. “Why would you need to pay me back?”

“Well, you have to have some reason for coming in and giving me a free cup of coffee, right?”

His blush fully blossomed. “It means being able to talk with you, so that’s all I need out of it.”

“Oh?...Oh!” She giggled. “Sorry, I’ve been in this office too long already. Go ahead and take a seat. I need to take a break, anyway, or I’ll forget again.”

“Do you forget to take breaks often?”

Swire sighed. “So much work, so little time. Between managing Lungmen’s accounts and training for half of all of Rhodes Island, it’s a lot to keep track of.”

“There is a lot of paperwork when it comes to the economic side of things,” he agreed, absentmindedly glancing over her papers from the other side of her desk. “Actually, um...forgive me, I know you said this was going to be a break, but I think there’s an error in your numbers.”

“Huh? Where?”

Bison pointed to the digit in question. “That should be a 9, not a 5, shouldn’t it? Considering you’re doing the numbers for a whole city, not just the tax income?”

“You’re right, but the math is right...Hang on a minute.” She started shuffling through papers. “If that’s true, then...ah-hah! See? These are our numbers from last month.”

“They’ve got the same problem. My dad and I had to track down an embezzler working for us once; if you want, I’ll help you track them down, if that’s what’s happening?”

Swire smiled at him again. “You will?”

“Of course!” He grinned back. “And I’ll make sure we have plenty of coffee while we work.”

“I like the sound of this a lot. Alright, I’ll worry about my break later; for now, let me grab some more records, and we’ll see how far we can trace this...”

-

Nearly two weeks of side-by-side coffee-fueled investigation later, and they’d found the culprit and reported him to the next person in Swire’s chain-of-command. To celebrate their victory, and the raise she’d gotten out of the ordeal, she invited Bison out to dinner at an inexpensive but well-regarded restaurant. It wasn’t really the food either of them were there for, anyway.

“Congratulations for a job well done,” she grinned at him from across the table, swirling a glass of wine in her hand. “I would never have noticed that on my own, you know.”

“It was a two-person problem at least. Honestly, the amount of work you have on your plate just isn’t fair; you more than deserved the raise even if you hadn’t caught this guy.”

Swire shook her head. “We caught him together, Bison, and I’m just doing what I have to do for Lungmen. You know how our city is.”

“It does need all the help it can get,” he sighed, “but you still shouldn’t have to bear all that alone.”

“I wouldn’t say shouldn’t...but it would be nice to have someone to share the load with.” She looked him in the eye meaningfully.

Bison held out his off hand - the one that wasn’t busy spinning long noodles around a fork. “You keep our city safe, and I’ll make sure our companies keep it healthy...if you’ll let me help with your family’s affairs, that is.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She took his hand and squeezed it. “They’ll be your family, too, when the time’s right. You’re sure you don’t mind our...um...”

“Age is a number, and even in business numbers aren’t everything. Besides, most of the younger girls I know don’t understand me nearly as well.”

Swire giggled. “Their loss, I suppose.”

“And my gain.” He sighed. “I don’t want to let go, but we really do need to finish our meal.”

“We’ll have some time to ourselves later, anyway,” she winked as she released his hand.

Bison chuckled, raising his wineglass of sparkling cider. “Right, dessert. Here - a toast to Lungmen’s finest, and to the rest of the people she works with.”

“Cheers.” *Clink*

[malachite-isms]

Your Kiss is on Their List pt2: Ruby Rose

Their trap was set. The hunters in position, the bait readied, the prey driven into range. Now all that was left to do was wait. It was all too simple... Like, way too simple. Stupidly simple. Cartoonishly simple. But, if their research was to be trusted, it was just the right amount of simple.

That is not to say their target would be as easily caught as the trap was set. Quite the opposite. She was a veteran in all but title, a seasoned fighter and hunter of the creatures of Grimm. More, she was a speedster, able to outpace and out-maneuver nearly any foe. Not only that, but her position of leadership spoke to her tactical mind and quick thinking. Any who considered her a mere upstart in battle would be sure to suffer.

Fortunately for the devious duo, their target had weaknesses they were intimately familiar with exploiting. She was socially awkward, romantically inexperienced, easily embarrassed by praise, and currently crushing hard on another girl. Additionally, it would appear as though she has never been competently flirted with. Frankly, all they would need to do to secure their victory would be to make physical contact.

And she was getting closer by the moment.

-------------------------

Usually, this sort of thing might've been her fault. She could admit that, no problem. But this? This?! How in Oum's name was she supposed to know the lines for the bathroom grew so quickly? She had taken five minutes to clip her toenails in the room (almost exclusively for the purposes of upsetting Weiss) and suddenly the lines for every bathroom on every floor of their dorm stretched longer than lines for the new Scroll.

After patrolling every bathroom in the building in her pajamas for what felt like hours, Ruby had simply started wandering. Maybe she could trick Weiss into thinking she had taken a shower if she was gone long enough. It wasn't like she was going to perform an inspection.

As she considered tweaking that thought to make a new pickup line to use on a certain cyborg, the most divine scent known to man or faunus made its way to her senses.

When had she wandered so close to the kitchens? It didn't matter. Who was baking in the school kitchens so late at night? Who cares? Would she be welcome to partake in the sweet treats? Irrelevant.

She had been denied a shower by fate, truly this was the universe making things right. She quickly moved from the thought in favor of kicking open the wooden double doors to the cafeteria. She scanned the grand dining hall, finding it empty. Good. A better chance the cookies would be fresh. Unless... No... Could the cookies be gone already?

Across the room, the huntress spied the door to the kitchen with light flooding from its edges. So there was hope! With a whisper-shout of "parkour!" Ruby took advantage of her solitude and clumsily ran over the benches and tables between her and the kitchen.

As she stood outside the kitchen's silver swinging door, the chocolatey aroma had hit a new high. If her nose was to be trusted, as it often was, not only were there plenty of chocolate chips, but they were fresh enough that they were at an optimal level of gooey-ness. Whoever was responsible for this batch was quite the adept.

Momentarily forgetting the concept of being judged, Ruby made a show of kicking open the light door and adopting an entirely ineffectual, yet very cool looking, fighting pose. She spied the hefty plate of cookies and wasted no time in closing the distance between herself and the small countertop it rested on. As a connoisseur of cookies, she had no doubt that this was a masterfully made batch.

The dough was baked to a beautiful golden-brown, not a single spot overcooked. Plenty chewy, but with just the right amount of satisfying crunch. The chips were still gooey, as expected, and spaced appropriately so that both the chocolate and cookie would be properly appreciated.

Swiftly taking a bite out of the first cookie very nearly brought a tear to her eye. A superb mix of gooey, crunchy, and chewy melted in her mouth. This was truly the epitome of sweets.

"Well well well, what do we have here?"

Halfway through her fifth... fifteenth? Tenth. Her tenth cookie, Ruby's eyes shot wide open when she heard the monotonous voices behind her. She swivelled around, cheeks pudged and half a cookie still in her hand, and saw the source of the voices.

There were two young women, each in short, wide-skirted lolita-style dresses, red lipstick, high heels, and a feathered hair clip. The woman on her left was dressed in white, with elbow-length straight black hair and particularly sharp looking heels. The woman on her right was dressed in red, with a short black bob cut, and a fluffy fur boa across the back of her neck and shoulders.

Ruby had done plenty of growing in her time at Beacon, not enough to resist the temptation of cookies mind you, but getting caught red-handed like this made her feel like a kid again in the worst way. Operating on instinct, she popped the half-cookie in her mouth and chewed slowly. The pair each simultaneously raised a single eyebrow, the perfect synchronization unnerving. Ruby's eyes darted between the two, eventually falling on a glass of milk in the white twin's hand.

Following her gaze, said twin piped up. "So first you eat half our cookies, now you wanna take our milk too?" she demanded.

"My min'd meem do!" Ruby tried to communicate, but was impeded by half-chewed cookie. She began coughing after swallowing the cookies down the wrong pipe.

"Ugh," the white twin began ",fine, here."

Ruby took only a moment to consider the act of kindness before swiping the milk and chugging it with practiced efficiency.

"Sorry!," she gasped, wasting no time on breathing ",I just smelled then while I was walking around, and I could tell they were fresh, and nobody was around, and the universe owed me because I'm still all sweaty, and you guys got a lot closer, and I'm starting to sweat again...!"

Just as she had said, the twins had stepped forward, in perfect unity once again. Ruby had stared down Nevermores, Deathstalkers, Ursas, Beowolves, and all manner of nightmare in her huntress training, but being cornered by these two was a different game altogether.

Ruby was short, shorter than most anyway, and these two weren't exactly tall, but as they loomed mere inches from her, she felt like she was facing giants.

"Sorry!" she managed to squeak out as she squeezed her eyes shut.

"*chu*"

Ruby's eyes flew open to see the twins' faces pulling away from her cheeks. Her brain took its time putting the pieces together; the noise, the oily feeling on her cheeks and the warm tickle preceding it... They'd kissed her.

All coherent thought ground to a halt, no external stimuli was being acknowledged save for the slick sensation where the two women's lips just were. A thousand questions raced through her mind, none of which she had the capacity to try and answer. She had short circuited.

"Uh...," her mouth was flailing, and with no help from her floundering mind, all that escaped her was "UH?!?"

"Oh we couldn't be mad at that cute little face of yours!" the red twin said with a sweet smile before leaning in again and pressing a kiss to the smaller girl's forehead. Ruby's eyes widened and her blush deepened.

The white twin gently poked Ruby's nose before kissing it. "Oh you're so small and adorable, I just wanna take you home and make you my teddy bear!," she gushed.

With all mental defenses thoroughly crushed, Ruby imagined herself in bed, nestled between these two beautiful, inexplicable women.

Her blush deepened as the kisses and compliments and mental images kept coming. As the cookies behind her cooled off, Ruby Rose began to steam.

-------------------------

"Hey, where's Ruby?" Yang asked, stopping in the middle of pulling a loose t-shirt over her head.

"Could she still be in the showers?" Blake offered ",only a few of them are working, so the lines have been pretty long."

"That's true," Weiss paused, noting Yang still not having moved from her mid-dressing stance before continuing ",but even so, it's been far too long. Hasn't it been hours?"

"Eh, maybe she spotted one of the blacksmiths on their way to the forge," the brawler theorized, finally pulling the shirt on fully ",you know how she gets with weapons."

"That's true," the heiress conceded ",but she's never hasdled them for this-"

"Wait!" Blake cut in, looking at an arbitrary point above.

"What's up?"

"Do you smell that?"

At her urging the two girls took probing sniffs of the air and reached the same conclusion. Sweet and rich, their fearless leader had made them all familiar with that aroma in due time.

"Cookies." they stated in unison.

There was a light tapping on the door and Weiss was ready to begin a tirade.

"Ruby! How many times are you going to do this? You can't just-" she opened the door "-keep doing thi- *gasp*"

There in the doorway stood Ruby Rose, clad in her pyjamas, holding a tray of chocolate chip cookies, and wearing a mask of crimson lip prints. Across her forehead and cheeks, tracing her jawline and cheekbones, and peppered on her neck and nose were the remnants of an amorous assault. Weiss might've recognised the shade of lipstick on her partner's face were she not in stunned silence.

Her features spoke to the trance she seemed to be in, as well as the low, slow, mumbled gibberish that was flowing from her mouth. In a way, the sight was comical, one could almost see the hearts in her eyes and spinning around her head.

"Wow Yang," Blake chuckled ",maybe you should ask your sister for some pointers, huh?"

"Heh, always knew she was a chip off the ol block!" Yang responded, trying to hide the nervous pit in her chest.

"Um... guys?" Weiss called from the door.

Blake and Yang approached as Weiss held out a photograph. It was a school photo of Ruby, big enthusiastic grin and all, but stained with two lipstick marks. Weiss flipped it over to reveal the message on the back:

💋Who's next?💋

-----------------------

(And there's the first part. Not great, I know, but I really just wanna put this silly idea on metaphorical paper, y'know? Plus, I think we know of plenty of characters in need of a good smooching.)

[forlornmelody]

Traitor, Martyr, Spy Chapter 3 -- So Far, So Close

Rating: Explicit (this chapter has smut)

Ship: Miranda Lawson x Femshep

AO3 Link: Here

Summary: The Reapers are finally here, and Miranda would do anything to help Shepard, but she has far more personal things to worry about.

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The moment Arcturus Station blows up, Miranda knows about it. She has contacts spread throughout the galaxy, near every relay--in case someone, or in this case something shows up to threaten those she loves. Miranda calculates how long it’ll take the Reapers to reach Earth, and Elysium, where Oriana’s family is hiding. Not long. Always Miranda has stayed calm even in the worst circumstances--even when she was certain she was walking into a suicide mission. Any moment she dared to doubt herself, she only proved her father right. But now Miranda feels nearly powerless to protect her loved ones.

What can she do against a thousand-foot-tall god? What can anyone do? Miranda is used to human targets, or at least, smaller targets. How does one fool a reaper? How does one foil their destruction? It’s selfish. It’s not what Artemis or Oriana would want, but Miranda focuses her limited resources on keeping them safe. She sabotages Cerberus shuttles heading toward Mars. While Miranda can’t take care of all of them, she can stop a few. Hopefully it’s enough. Artemis has been through worse, Miranda. Get a hold of yourself.

Her fingers rattle her coffee mug when she tries to take a drink. The cup slips from her hand and falls to the floor, but nothing spills out. Apparently, she forgot to refill it the last time she took a drink. How long has it been since she slept? Since she ate?  Miranda’s kitchen stands empty, save for a box of protein bars. Munching on one, she sends in orders to move Ori and her parents to a new home. It’s a risk, but so is leaving them one system closer to the invasion.

Hours later, and the Normandy leaves Mars safe and sound--though Miranda discovers a med evac request on enroute to the Citadel. Her heart throbs in her chest as she skims the request for names, and sags with relief when she sees Ashley Williams name there instead of Artemis Shepard. Nausea fills her stomach as she looks over Doctor Chawkwa’s preliminary report. She just saw Ashley a few months ago. Ashley was alive, and... mostly well. Likely just as stressed over Shepard’s trial as Miranda was. And now she has a concussion, internal bleeding, and likely more. Despite their past, despite Ashley’s past with Shepard, Miranda can’t help but feel a loss. Artemis must be reeling. Miranda finds herself debating the morality of hacking into Artemis’s omni-tool to check her vital signs.

Ori would have a fit.

I need you to trust me. Trust that I’m just as capable as you of taking care of myself. Trust that I can protect myself. I’m 19 years old for crying out loud!

Oh, to be that young and brave. Miranda envies her all the time, despite being largely responsible for her normal life. But her sister is right. She needs to trust them both. Artemis can take care of herself. So can Oriana.

But it wouldn’t hurt to check up on her sister.

Miranda sips a fresh cup of coffee and logs into the security feeds of her sister’s home. Or, at least, she tries to. The screens are all black, and when she checks the logs, she finds an error message. Taking a deep breath, she contacts an old associate that she had moved in across the hall. Cal always responded within five minutes--Miranda had timed him. She waits 10 minutes before she allows herself to panic.

It’s probably nothing.

Ten minutes pass and nothing is exactly the response Miranda receives. She calls again. And again, without waiting. Miranda calls her other contact, and nothing. She checks the school Ori attends, and damn them--they don’t keep attendance records. Taking a shuttle to the Citadel, Miranda checks the security logs for the classes Ori should have been in the past few days. Nothing. The university Ori attends stretches nearly over an entire city. There isn’t time for Miranda to search it on her own.

Shepard would help. But Shepard has her own problems to deal with. An ex in critical condition in the hospital, a war to fight--there’s even reports that Shepard has more favors to do before she can get Turian support. As much as Shepard would want to help--she won’t be able to jaunt across the galaxy--and she likely would try. Miranda can’t ask her to sacrifice the war effort.

But Miranda can pay her a visit. If she can hardly focus because of their time apart, how must Artemis feel? While Miranda could say she’s visiting Shepard because she knows it’ll boost her morale--she must admit it’s for more...selfish reasons. As the shuttle lands, Miranda’s mind and body thrum as if her lover sits in the seat next to her. To hold Artemis close, wind her fingers through her silken hair, inspect every mark the war and Cerberus drones have left behind--

Her mind spins so quickly that when Miranda does finally spot her, walking through the docking security, she almost doesn’t recognize her. The Artemis in Miranda’s mind is happy, full of vigor, a self-satisfied smirk on her face not unlike the one she wears when she invites Miranda to bed. This Artemis has dark bags under her eyes like she hasn’t slept since Earth, and skin that hasn’t seen the sun in weeks.

“Miranda?” Artemis says her name softly from behind her, making Miranda jump inside her skin. She had just sent that message an hour ago. Hardly enough time for Shepard to make it here, unless this was her first stop. Her voice is thick and her eyes sluggish as she looks Miranda over like she’s stuck in the same recurring dream.

“Shepard!” Coyness has always been Miranda’s default with romantic partners, but then before, she’d never seen the same person twice. She must sound like a lovesick puppy right about now. “It’s so good to finally see you.” Miranda steps closer, close enough to touch.

Artemis steps back, rubbing her shoulder. “You too, Miranda.”

Not the reunion she dreamed of, but Miranda will take whatever she’s offered. She starts walking down the corridor, Artemis picking up speed to walk with her. They never hold hands but their fingers brush against each other as they talk.

“Glad to see they let you out.” Miranda passes it off like a joke.

“Had to. Who else would fight their goddamn war?”

They talk about Earth, and Artemis’s eyes go distant as she recalls all the lives she saw snuffed out. Artemis shakes the fog out of her brain, glancing back at her. “What about you? Why are you here?” She looks worried.

Miranda stops in an alcove away from the security cameras’ prying eyes. “I know what I’m doing, Shepard.” Sure, the Citadel seems like one of the worst places a former Cerberus operative should linger, but Miranda has made a career of hiding in plain sight. Not to mention Kai Leng and his ilk will have a harder time taking her out here, and she won’t go quietly. The Illusive Man would never let them heighten security here. Too many wasted opportunities.

Artemis’s eyes widen, realizing how she must sound. “I know. Sorry. I... I just have a lot on my plate.”

“When don’t you?” Miranda dares to reach over and squeeze her hand, and goosebumps race up Artemis’s arms. “I know you have a plan.”

Squeezing her hands, Shepard nods, but she doesn’t elaborate much. Is she keeping it from her on purpose? Have they really been apart that long?

“Am I part of your plan?”

Artemis squeezes her hand fiercely. “Always!”

Miranda presses a finger against her lips. “Shh. You don’t want the whole docking bay hearing us, do you?”

Artemis eyes her like a desert traveler who’s just discovered an oasis. Her words crack as they fall from her mouth. “I want you in my life, Miranda.” She kisses Miranda’s finger as if to illustrate her point, squeezing her wrist with her other hand for good measure.

“You sure?” Miranda leans closer, slipping her free hand around Shepard’s waist. “This is your chance to back out.” She doesn’t hold on, meaning every one of her words, as much as she doesn’t want to. She won’t grip onto people like her father did.

Pulling her against her chest, Artemis answers her with a kiss. Their lips crash against one another, their hands tangled in each other’s hair. Who cares about being discreet? There’s a war on, and who knows if Miranda will ever see Artemis again. It pains her to think about it--she even holds Shepard a little tighter at the thought--but she must be realistic. Accept all possibilities, no matter how much they hurt. Pressing Shepard against the glass wall, she trails her hands down her body, feeling for when she flinches. And yes, she does more than once, but more often her breath catches in her throat, and she tightens her grip. Just when Miranda’s about to lose her carefully held control, Artemis parts for air.

“Don’t be stranger, Miranda.” Artemis tells her with a grin, her lips bruised, and her breath ragged.

“I don’t want to be, Shepard. Believe me, I want to stay close.” She steps back. “It’s my sister. Something’s happened.” Usually Miranda’s so eloquent--something drilled into her by her father, but now she stumbles over her words as she explains. “I just know my father’s involved.”

“What do you need me to do?” She asks without hesitation, reaching her hand as if to whisk her away from all this.

Miranda can so easily imagine Shepard charging into Oriana’s home--her campus, even, gun in hand-finger on the trigger. As much as Miranda wants her to help--she knows Artemis isn’t one for cloak and dagger--she’ll only complicate things. And she has enough to deal with already. “I’ll be fine.”

Artemis looks unconvinced. “Okay.” She holds her arm, as if punched. “I understand.”

Miranda reaches over, squeezing Artemis’s hands together. “I was tempted to break in and see you.”

Quirking her head, Artemis scrutinizes her expression. “Wait. You didn’t.”

Unable to help her grin, Miranda replies. “Define ‘do.’”

Artemis shakes her head. “There’s no way you would’ve made it through security.” Then her voice drops low. “You’re a wanted woman, Miranda.”

Miranda lets a hand wander past Artemis’s lower back, never quite squeezing, but enough to feel that unbearably toned arse of hers. Mm. Maybe not as toned as it used to be. “I’m well, aware.”

Her breath quickens as her lips part. “When--?”

She can still feel the Vancouver rain soaking her skin. Miranda leans her forehead against hers, almost whispering. “The day they put you in cuffs.” And now every centimeter of space between them is too much--not even in a sexual way. It’s just been so long--Miranda needs to feel her Artemis close against her so she doesn’t get pulled from her orbit.

“Jesus. You have a death wish.” Her eyes slip closed as Miranda brushes her nose against hers.

“Mm. Death isn’t what I want right now.” Artemis’s skin warms against Miranda’s fingertips.

“Miranda,” she sputters, “Out here? Really? Aren’t we a little exposed?”

“The Citadel’s actually one of the safest places. For now.”

“I’m still not sure meeting out here where everyone can see is a good idea.” Her lips are still dark from when Miranda ravaged them, even as she looks away.

Miranda draws her attention back with her finger hooked under her chin. “Is it me you’re worried about?” She lets her voice drop low. “Or are you worried about getting caught with your pants down?”

Artemis flushes a helpless smile. “Maybe a bit of both. Do you have a place in mind?”

“Follow me.”

“Always.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 They wind up in an office closed for remodeling, donning utility uniform costumes from some forgotten holiday. Once they’re inside a room away from the dust, Miranda pushes Artemis down into a rolling chair, kicking it back until it bumps against the desk. “God, that uniform looks awful on you.”

“Mm. That sounds like a problem.” Artemis looks up at her with the dim lights dancing in her eyes. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I can think of a few things.” Miranda straddles her lap, guiding Artemis’s fingers to each button on her jumper. She undoes them meticulously, one by one, letting her knuckles drag down the curves of Miranda’s chest, her lips parted ever so slightly. When Artemis’s breath quickens, Miranda feels it against her skin, and her lover grins as she notices the goosebumps dotting her breasts.

As she reaches the button sitting above Miranda’s crotch, Artemis digs her knuckles extra hard until her breath catches. She licks her own lips, slipping her hands around to the back of Miranda’s head, pulling her into a kiss. “I’ve missed you so much, Miranda,” she whispers into her lips after they’ve broken for air.

“I’ve missed you, too.” It surprises her to say it, but it’s true. Miranda undoes her carefully pinned bun, weaving her hands into her silken chocolate tresses.

“You could’ve had anyone. Anyone.” Artemis looks up at her with wonder as she unhooks her bra. “Why wait for me?”

“You’re different.” Maybe she says it too quickly, swallowing as Artemis retraces the skin laid bare. Why? She knows Miranda’s body’s immune to the ravages of space and time. Nothing has changed.

Ah. There it is. Under Artemis’s fierce Amazon exterior lies her true feelings--eyes that dart and fingers that tremble. Her mouth moves, but no words spill out, but Miranda can see it written all over her face. “Am I?”

Miranda kisses her nose. “You are the bravest person I’ve ever known.” Her lips graze her left cheek. “You have the whole galaxy resting on your shoulders.” Her right ear. “And yet you put everything on hold to show me how much you missed me.” Her right neck, drinking in her moan. Ah yes. Artemis is sensitive there. “And you gave me a chance when you had every reason to hate me.”

Artemis’s eyes don’t open when she answers. “I never hated you.” Another moan slips out when Miranda’s teeth graze her skin. “I hated Cerberus.” Her voice comes out jagged.

“I worked for Cerberus.” Miranda debates where to go from here. She could scoot Artemis to the edge of the chair, and really take her time with her, but time is not a luxury they have. Not in a construction zone with fake uniforms.

“So did I.”

Miranda answers her with a kiss, slowly grinding her pelvis against hers. Maybe it’s a little cliché or maybe she’s watched too many porn vids while Artemis was in prison, but she can’t help her curiosity. It feels nicer than either of them would expect. “Mm.”

“Y-yeah.” Artemis replies, exploring her mouth with her tongue as they pick up speed. Miranda feels a moan slip out of her mouth as her girlfriend pulls her closer and tighter. She manages to drown her moans into her shoulder until they both still.

Stretching her arms, Miranda gulps when Artemis pulls her back. “I’m not done with you yet,” she murmurs into Miranda’s ears, brushing her lips there until she shivers and swallows. Artemis trails one set of fingers down between Miranda’s breasts, while the other cups her ass, squeezing when she starts to squirm. “You’re--” she almost says beautiful, Miranda can see it on her lips, but she knows better--knows that’s a loaded word with her, even during sex. Her eyes widen when she can’t find a better word, and her mouth twists and turns without a sound falling out.

“Shh.” Miranda captures her mouth with her own, letting their touch speak for them. Mirroring Artemis’s fingers with her own, she finds her so exquisitely wet it makes her mouth water.

“Miranda, I--” she can’t finish her sentence, not like this, not when Miranda’s fingers are dancing across her clit. “Fuck,” she says helplessly, her eyes squeezing shut and her mouth falling open. A moan punctuates her sentence as her hips lift them both above the seat of the chair.

Putting her feet on the floor for balance, Miranda holds Artemis in place with her hand on the back of the chair. “I love it when you’re like this.” Her finger slips inside her cunt like melted butter, and Artemis’s head tips back. Warmth rushes over Miranda as she feels Artemis pulsing around her fingers.

Her chair rolls back and forth to the rhythm of her hips. Her eyes open just enough. “I love you too.”

Miranda’s jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Still breathlessly in bliss, it takes Artemis a moment to register the shock on her girlfriend’s face. She licks her lips. “Too soon?” Artemis tries to smile sheepishly, but her eyebrows furrow with worry.

It’s then Miranda remembers where her fingers are. “You love me?”

Artemis shudders as she pulls out. “Nn. Y-yeah.” She sobers quickly, sitting up. “Miranda, I….”

Bloody hell, Miranda. You’re ruining everything. “Sorry,” is the only thing she can think to say. It’s not what she wants to say.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything,” Artemis says abruptly. She stares pointedly at the lone freckle on her right shoulder. Her father always hated that freckle. Said it was skin damage. Her skin wasn’t supposed to get damaged. Perhaps that’s why he replaced her with Ori.

“I’m not very good at this.” Miranda mumbles. She’s shaking. Why is she shaking?

Artemis coughs. “Liar. You are amazing at sex. Your pillow talk, though.” She smirks, though her eyes still search her face.

“Har, har.” Miranda does the only thing that makes sense in this moment--pinning Artemis back into the chair with a searing kiss. “It’s not you.”

“Miranda…”

“I mean it. And I want to mean it when I say it.” Another kiss aimed at her throat. “Not just return the words to make someone feel better.”

“I get it.” She doesn’t. But that doesn’t stop her from reciprocating Miranda’s touch. Artemis bites her neck to catch her attention, and Miranda can’t help her ragged gasp.

Her free hand just barely grazes the inside of Miranda’s thigh, never quite touching where she wants. “Arti--”

This time Artemis’s grin is real. “Mm?” She hums into her skin, rubbing deeper into her skin, but never touching her center.

“Goddamnit, Artemis.”

“Shh. Let me take care of you for once.” Artemis finally reaches Miranda’s clit, circling and rubbing with a featherlight touch. This time, Miranda has no reply, clinging to Artemis as her body shudders in ecstasy. The room around them vanishes--she can’t even feel the rub of her uniform anymore. It’s just her and Artemis--the salt of their sweat, and the sound of their heavy breathing mixed with the slick of her fingertips against her skin. For once, she can forget the war, and her worries, and maybe, just maybe, this is what love feels like.

Telling Artemis she loves her is a whole different story. “Thank you,” Miranda whispers breathlessly.

“Any time.” Artemis licks her fingers cheekily, stretching once Miranda pulls off her.

“I don’t want to leave.” Miranda buttons up her utility uniform, though she can’t take her eyes off her, so she keeps missing a hole, or three.

“Me either.” Artemis ignores her suit for now, focusing on putting up her hair. Her lips are still bruised from when Miranda kissed her last. “You sure we can’t stay a little longer?” The skin around her throat still flushes with heat.

“It’s not wise for me to stay in one place too long.”

Her skin cools as she sobers. “The Illusive Man. Is he after you?”

Miranda nods, telling her about her run-in with Kai Leng. Artemis’s brows furrow as she listens.

“Sounds final.” She traces her finger down Miranda’s cheek, looking for any signs of distress, scars, or bruises. Miranda’s stupidly perfect body hides it all. Just like it did when her father--

“It nearly was.” She can’t allow herself to think about him right now. She can’t break down now, especially not in front of Artemis. “He doesn’t take rejection well.”

Artemis snorts, gingerly poking her skin in what’s likely a bruise from Mars. “No, he doesn’t.” She glances back at Miranda, narrowing her eyes. “How are you sure it’s not him going after Oriana?”

“I won’t know anything until I track down some leads.”

“Here?”

“Hey. I’m owed a few favors.”

Artemis matches her grin, only to groan when her omni-tool chimes at her. She sighs as she pulls back. “I gotta get going. Be careful, okay?”

Miranda leans forward, pecking her cheek. “No promises.”

Taking a few steps towards the elevator, Shepard murmurs. “EDI says next time you want to tap into the Normandy’s systems, just ask nicely.”

[queenof-fiction]

The story of Kai Waters (Part one)

 Summary: Kai Waters is was from Erudite, but she never felt like she fit in. Then everything became clear the day of the choosing ceremony.

Word count: 2652

"Kai let's go! We have to leave now!" my brother yelled. It was the day of our aptitude test. Today we are going to find out which faction we belong in. I look at my mother, Kathrynn. Her long brown hair twisted into a tight bun at the top of her head. Dressed in a dark blue pantsuit. Our community is divided up into factions. Each with their own Manifesto, and being in Erudite I've had to memorize each one.

Erudite: We submit the following into statements as truth: "Ignorance" is defined not as stupidity but as lack of knowledge. Lack of knowledge inevitably leads to lack of understanding. Lack of understanding leads to a disconnect among people with differences. Disconnection among people with differences leads to conflict. Knowledge is the only logical solution to the problem of conflict. Therefore, We propose that in order to eliminate conflict, we must eliminate the disconnect among those with differences by correcting the lack of understanding that arises from the ignorance with knowledge. The areas in which people must be educated are: Sociology So that the individual understands how society at large functions. Psychology So that the individual understands how a person functions within that society. Mathematics So that the individual is prepared for further study in science, engineering, medicine, and technology. Science So that the individual better understands how the world operates. So that the individual's study in other areas is supplemented. So that as many individuals as possible are prepared to enter the fields devoted to innovations and progress. Communication So that the individual knows how to speak and write clearly and effectively. History So that the individual understands the mistakes and successes that have led us to this point. So that the individual learns to emulate those successes and avoid those mistakes. Leaders must not be chosen based on Charisma, popularity, or ease of communication, all of which are misleading and have little to do with the efficacy of a political leader. An objective standard must be used in order to determine who is best fit to lead. That standard will be an intelligence test, administered to all adults when the present leader reaches fifty-five or begins to decline in brain function in a demonstrable way. Those who, after rigorous studying, do not meet the minimum intelligence requirement will be exiled from the faction so they can be made useful. This is not an act of elitism but rather one of practicality: Those who are not intelligent enough to engage in the roles assigned to us- roles that require a considerable mental capacity- are better suited to menial work that to faction work. Menial work is required for the survival of society, and is therefore just as important as faction work. Information must always be made available to all faction members at the same times. The withholding of information is punishable by reprimand, imprisonment, and, eventually, exile. Every question that can be answered must be answered or at least engaged. Illogical thought processes must be challenged when they arise. Wrong answers must be corrected. Correct answers must be affirmed. If an answer to a question is unclear, it must be put to debate. All debates require evidence. Any controversial thought or idea must be supplemented by evidence in order to reduce the potential for conflict. Intelligence must be used for the benefit, and not to the detriment, of society. Those who use intelligence for their own personal gain or to the detriment of others have not properly borne the responsibility of their gift, and are not welcome in our faction. It bears repeating: Intelligence is a gift, not a right. It must be wielded not as a weapon but as a tool for the betterment of others. I can each word for all 5 factions. As a kid we are taught each Manifesto and required to memorize each one along with a full map of the city. I was never interested in the whole, studying 24/7 thing. I have no clue what the test will tell me, but I do know I will not be staying here. In Erudite. "Kai! We are going to be late if you don't hurry up!" My twin brother Daniel yelled. I quickly grabbed my bag of the ground and followed him out the door and into the hall. We quickly ran down the hall and down the stairs.    Yes, We are aware that they have elevators but are nerves are extremely high. Studies have shown that physical activity is good to calm down anxiety.    We ran out the front door. Jeanine, our faction leader, stands by the door as everyone walks out. Daniel had just walked out when I got stopped.    "Kai. I wish you luck on the test today. I hope you do whatever feels right to you. Although, I'd hate to see you and your brother Daniel leave I want you guys to be happy. I've known your mom for a long time now and I have faith you will do what's right." She explained. I smiled at her for a second before replying. "Thank you, Jeanine. I will do what's best for me and for society." I then turn and run out the door and catch up with Daniel.    We climbed onto the bus that will take us to the school. Once we got to school my friend Maddie runs up to me. Maddie isn't in Erudite with us. Maddie is in Candor. Candor focuses on the truth and honesty. We aren't usually allowed to socialize with other factions, but they don't usually say anything to us about it.    Maddie and I walk to our first period together. Faction History. I get straight A's in all my classes, but being in Erudite it's kind of impossible not to. Our classes go by pretty fast. We are done with all of our classes by lunch time. At lunch we must sit with our own faction. I sit in the corner reading with every other child from Erudite. Candor, dressed in all black and white, stands at the back of the room having a debate. Like usual. Amity, in red and yellow, sits in the front of the cafeteria laughing and telling jokes. Amity focuses on happiness and peace. The abnegation faction, dressed in only gray, stands at the back of the room quietly whispering at each other. Abnegation focus on selflessness. Then, there's Dauntless, dressed in all black, they talk loudly at the table in the middle of the room. Some dauntless are throwing food at each other, which isn't anything out of the ordinary.    After lunch Daniel, Maddie and I head to the room that are used only for the aptitude test. The test are administered by the abnegation, with an exception for the two dauntless administrators. It is against the rules to administrate the test to someone of the same faction. The Erudite are supposed to be tested by the dauntless also. The Abnegation faction and Erudite don't get along. Mainly, because Abnegation lies. They say they are focused on selflessness, but in reality they are actually quite selfish. Amity gives Abnegation fresh fruit, so they can give it to the factionless. The factionless are people who failed initiation, never got assigned a faction or quit their faction. Abnegation is said to keep the fruit for themselves rather than giving it to the factionless like they are supposed to do. I never have gotten along with other kids from abnegation.    It felt as if I was waiting for hours. Maddie got called back about a half hour ago. Then, George. Then, I got called back.    "Kai! Kai Waters!" A guy with blonde hair and piercings yells. I get up and walk towards him. I smile softly but he doesn't return it. I let out a breath and walked in. "Sit." He mutters. I walk over to this metal reclined chair. I slowly sat back. "Here drink this." He said and handed me a vial of cloudy blue liquid. "What is this?" I ask. "A serum." He muttered. I downed the liquid it felt cold. Like mint, but had no taste. I look over at him but, he's gone. I stand up and the chair disappears. "Choose." I hear him say but, no one's around. I look over and there are two platforms. Each with a plate. One with a slab of meat. The second one with a knife. I grab the knife. The platforms disappear. I hear a slight pat. Pat. Pat. Pat. I spin around right as a huge dog springs at me. I twist and he collides with my shoulder. I get pushed to the ground. My knife fell out of my hands and spun away. I quickly turn and sit on my knees. The dog starts running at me full speed. I don't have time to grab my knife. I wrestle with the dog. He tries to claw at my torso, and bite at my face. I twisted my body and rolled to where my knife landed. I grabbed the handle and tried to stab the dog. I cut his side as he snarled at me. I held him just centimeters away from my face. I did what I had to do. God. I would rather do anything than this. I feel like such a horrible person. It's either me or this evil dog. I grab the knife. I close my eyes and jab it wherever I could manage. I heard a cry and everything changed.    I let out a breath. I was back in the aptitude room. My face is hot and my heart is racing. I close my eyes for a second and steady my breath. I sit up.    "What was my result?" I ask looking up at him. He looked down at me with no emotions. I mimicked his actions and showed no emotions either. "Dauntless." He said and typed something into the computer. I sighed and stood up. I brushed myself off and walked out. Daniel was waiting with Maddie. "So?" Maddie asked what happened. "Maddie, You know we aren't supposed to talk out our results or test." I said.    Maddie just stared at me. "Fine. You're right. Well I better meet up with Jackson so, we can go home." Maddie said and hugged me. "I'll see you tomorrow at the ceremony." I smiled and nodded. I turned to Daniel and we walked out.    We walked home instead of riding the bus so, we could have more time to think. I got dauntless. They're crazy. Hell not only are they crazy they're insane. I also couldn't be more excited. I know what I want to do. Tomorrow at the choosing ceremony, I'm going to pick dauntless. That's where I belong. Not here. Not Abnegation. Not Amity. Not Candor. Dauntless. We finally arrived back to the Erudite headquarters. Daniel and I walked in. Everyone was in their normal stations, but we get the rest of the evening off. We are supposed to be alone to think about what we are going to do. Although, I already know what I'm going to do. It's still going to be hard to leave my mom and dad, but I have to do this for me. Daniel and I walk to our apartment, we are alone for a good 3 more hours. I ended up falling asleep when I got home. The next morning, my mom wakes me up. Today is the choosing ceremony. Today is the day I will leave to join dauntless. I walk into the kitchen and grab a slice of toast and my bag. I meet Daniel at the door and we walk to school. I keep wondering what Daniel will end up doing. What will Maddie do? We finally make it to the ceremony where Daniel and I are supposed to meet mom and dad. We find 4 seats in the front and we wait. More people start flooding in. I wait to see mom and dad among them. We wait a while longer. Still they haven't shown. 20 minutes later they still aren't here. There's 5 more minutes until the ceremony starts. Daniel and I keep exchanging concerned looks. I leaned over. "Do you think something happened?" I asked. Daniel just shook his head. "I doubt they'll show." He muttered. I felt so betrayed at. "Why wouldn't they?" I asked. Daniel looked at me, "Kai, last night mom and dad fought. Dad left and mom said she doesn't even care if we stay or not." He said. I felt as if my heart shattered into a million pieces. I also got this overwhelming feeling like someone set my stomach on fire. I was furious. I was more determined now than I have ever been. Daniel reached over and squeezed my hand. "It'll be okay." He said and I nodded. Then the ceremony began. "Jackson Cristle." Maddie's brother. Jackson choose Amity. I looked over to see Maddie. She looked broken. "Maddie Cristle." They announced next. Maddie slowly stood up and walked up to the podiums. She cut her hand and her blood dripped into the Dauntless coals. I heard quiet sobs coming from her mother. They were the only ones who left their faction for a while. "Caleb Prior." A blonde guy from Abnegation stood up and walked to the front. He chose Erudite. "Beatrice Prior." I recognized her from my faction history class. Her hand hovered over Abnegation, then last minute chose Dauntless. I blocked everything out for a while. "Daniel Waters." I snapped out of my thoughts as Daniel squeezed my hand and walked forward. He took the knife from Marcus and sliced his hand. I watched as his hand moved over the Amity soil and let the blood drip. He looked back at me and half smiled, then sat with his new faction. "Kai Waters." I felt as if my heart was going to explode out of my chest. I stood up and walked forward. I grabbed the freshly cleaned knife and pressed it to my skin. Blood started to bubble up. I looked into the Erudite bowl, and reached my hand and let it drop into the hot coals of Dauntless. The dauntless cheered as I walked over to their factions section. They were a sea of black clothing. I smiled and sat down. The rest happened quickly since there were only like 3 people after me. They finally released us. The dauntless get up and start running towards the stairs. We run down 8 flights of stairs and out of the building. We run all the way to where the train tracks are one story high. The dauntless born are starting to climb the pillars. I sighed and watched them for a second as they climbed gracefully. I grabbed onto one of the bars and pulled myself up. One by one I finally made it to the top. People were lining up along the tracks. I stood in between a dauntless born and Beatrice Prior. "Is the train going to stop?" I asked the dauntless born initiate. "Nope." He says and starts to run. I turn back and see the train heading our way. What the hell. I follow behind him. When the train passes he grabs the handle to the first open car, and pulls himself in. I try to do the same. He grabs my arm and pulls me in. He sighs and sits there. I look out the door and see Beatrice trying to get up. I reach my hand out and she grabs my hand and the handle and I help pull her in. We both turn and sit there as everyone else tries pulling themselves up. I look back outside to Alex. He was a friend of Daniels. He fell to his knees as the path next to the tracks ended. He is now factionless.

Part 2

[ursafilms]

The Nightmare Before Christmas and the Curse of the Oogie-Boogie Set

In between visits by perennially disgruntled The Nightmare Before Christmas employees, a few other adventures awaited me on the production of the movie. One of them actually involved Tim Burton.

He showed up at the studio one morning with Lisa Marie in tow.

Jenny, TNBC’s fab accounting assistant had just poured water into our coffee maker and hit the ‘On’ button. We had an old-fashioned restaurant style system which did not include an automatic shut-off. Tim, in his zeal to get some caffeine into his system made a bee-line for the kitchen.

Before I could intercede, he’d snatched the glass coffee pot off the burner; emptied its contents into a large Styrofoam cup; added milk and/or sugar before placing the pot back to catch the remaining coffee.

Tim and the strikingly beautiful Lisa Marie disappeared to their confab with Kathleen Gavin, our producer and Henry Selick, TNBC’s director.

I turned back to survey the damage.

Me: “Jen, the best Smiley Face I can put on this one, is that Tim Burton is one intense and focused individual.”

Jen: “You want the counter or the carpet?”

Me: “The carpet. It will take longer and delay my inevitable daily public stoning in front of The Big Board at the hands of the animators.”

Jen: “Oh come on. It’s not that bad. They don’t stone you every day.”

Me: “That’s true. Sometimes they do it twice.”

****

The next incident involved the late night stage inspections, of which I became a part after Jackie, the former head of scheduling, left on maternity leave and I moved from stage management (ahem) to the production department.

The production department split up the responsibility of doing one final late night walk-through of the stages among the entirety of the staff, which now included me. We wanted to share the pain of 14 hour days equally. Okay, they did. I might have. I can’t remember.

Before finishing their shift, one production person checked on the stages and made sure the animators, some of whom did work very late, had everything they needed to finish a shot or at least continue one.

Along with everyone in the production department, I pulled that duty once a month. Most of the inspections were fairly routine and involved finding a missing prop or getting animators tape, paint, or glue. They were a very self-sufficient bunch, used to working long hours on their own, but a last check-in did help expedite the process.

During one of my late night shifts I walked the main studio, which included the Roulette Wheel set, the one used for the final confrontation between Jack and Oogie-Boogie. It occupied the largest stage in the complex. The exact dimensions escape me, but about half the set lived on a couple pieces of secured plywood whose length and width exceeded that of a King-sized bed.

Which turned out to be a very appropriate comparison.

Now would be a good time to explain the physical rigors of stop-motion animation. Anyone trained in this particular artform has to be in relatively good shape. I’ve never seen a fat animator. Okay, that’s not true. I’ve seen plenty of fat animators. They sit on their behinds and push a mouse, pencil, or joystick around and make pretty pictures on a monitor.

The qualification I make is I’ve never seen a fat stop-motion animator.

One of TNBC’s animators, in particular, would rise everyone morning at 6am and do an hour of plyometrics before coming into work. Another one studied martial arts. One of them, an artist from Boston, had to be one of the most athletic people I’d ever met. Had he not gone into animation, I believe he could have excelled at professional sports.

It’s a very physical job. A lot of crawling, climbing, clutching, and lifting.

All this might go so far as to excuse me for not paying nearly enough attention to the heavy breathing I heard coming from the roulette wheel set. And if not for the apparent sounds of twosets of rhythmic and intense respiration, I’d have walked into quite a performance. Common sense took over and just before I yanked back the closure of black curtains that surrounded all the stages, I withdrew my hand and stepped back.

But not quite quickly enough.

Panting Individual: “Anyone out there?”

Me: “Uh. No?”

Continually Panting Individual: “Is anyone out there?”

Me: “I’ll come back later.”

Still Panting Individual: “I don’t need anything.”

Me: “Evidently.”

Really Panting Individual: “What was that?”

Me: “I’ll go check on Steve and the Sleigh flying rig.”

Several animators wondered if production forgot about them that evening. I fled the scene and skipped a few stages, hoping that the independent buggers could get along without someone to fetch them 1” white camera tape for a night.

For a week I avoided the couple I speculated occupied Motel Oogie-Boogie on that particular evening. Not easy to do in a facility with 100 workers, all of whom knew each other right down to their personal lives. A conversation with a coworker or two about my possible voyeurism didn’t make it high on the list of things to do during the workday.

****

That particular Oogie-Boogie roulette wheel set had a curse on it. A few days after the Things Go Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump In The Night episode, one of our quantum physics degreed camera operators decided to drive their brand new motion control rig from Stage 1 to Stage 20.

In defense of our own Doctor Einstein, his next assignment did take place on Stage 20. However, driving a contraption of speed rail, welded metal plates, block and tackle from the 1700s ship-building industry, and a motorized Worrall head through the Escher-like construction of Skellington AT NIGHT however, might not have been the best plan. Throw in the duvetyne which wrapped everything on the stage floor in a black shroud of grim death and the only place more dangerous to take a spin on four wheels might be a Demolition Derby on ABC’s Wide World of Sports.

[Whoa! Look at that, Jim. Hunter McQueen just backed his Brinks Armored Vehicle overthe Yugo driven by the former Jimmy “The Bohunk” Abramowitz!]

[Yes that is something, John!]

But don’t let common sense interfere with a joyride in the middle of the night . . . on a pitch black studio floor . . . with hundreds of thousands of dollars of equipment and gear in the way . . . and millions of dollars of set pieces, props, and puppets on display.

The following is the chagrined personal account of said cameraman and the production assistant on rounds. I was not on duty that evening. Follow the layout of Skellington Studios below this posting.

The camera operator took off from Stage 1 and worked the Motion Control rig down one of the narrow alleyways on the studio floor. The stages did lay out in a surprising form of organized numbering. Stages 1 through 7 were on the right hand side of the studio as you drove from front to back, and Stages 8 through 13 sat on the left.

14 through 20, or the Auxiliary Stages, were in the far reaches of Skellington and defied such military regimentation. As such we had an overhead of the stages that I used until I memorized where they were. Several thousand trips to each working set will embed their whereabouts in your brain.

Back to the accident about to happen.

The motion control rig, far from street ready, managed to avoid any collisions, despite the lack of definition in the field of vision of the driver, until it got to near the end of its initial journey through the first thirteen stages. Just before the safety of open space, which lay just on the other side of the drapery that divided the two sets of stages, the motion control rig crashed into a corner of the Oogie-Boogie Roulette Wheel set.

A six inch protrusion of a corner of the set extended into the narrow alleyway. Invisible due to its camouflage of black duvetyne. An additional piece of plywood had been added to allow the animator to keep certain tools and materials close at hand.

Or, perhaps the amorous couple of a few nights back needed a little extra room to move around. We will never know.

Whatever the reason, the MoCon (That’s film lingo.) rig had inadvertently committed one of the several zillion cardinal sins of stop motion animation known as unnecessary or un-filmed movement.

It causes horrific things to happen when such events occur such as Oogie-Boogie moving six feet in perspective without any known purpose and against all the laws of physics. The shot, to this juncture, might be ruined.

The fallout and possible solutions.

1.     The animator can kill the camera operator and be found not guilty due to justifiable homicide. Also included would be the subsequent dismantling and melting down of the MoCon rig. The entire camera department would be forced to attend this event.

2.     The animator can commit suicide, greatly reducing his productivity ongoing.

3.     The shot, already 360 frames into a 720 frame extravaganza, can be restarted. This request would precipitate #2.

4.     Phil Lofaro works on a brilliant solution. He sends the finished 360 frames to Disney. They send back specs to line up the set in its original position. The animator starts from frame 361, and Disney’s editorial staff is prepared to make further micro adjustments in post.

Strangely, as much as we wanted to see the camera operator dispatched and the cursed MoCon rig turned into scrap, we opted for #4.

Courtesy Reminder: When I said Phil Lofaro could do anything, I was not joking. The shot continued on schedule. It finished on time and looked great. If another performance of the Posturepedic Polka occurred on the Oogie-Boogie set, I was not the one to hear it.

And really, you two. That Roulette Wheel had a surface like an Iron Maiden.

Ick.

[calcinators-blog]

Two Irons (Part 10.)

Conversation had not been tempted after you left. The General swiftly recognized you knew more than you should which kept him from engaging you, though sheer, bitter resolve.

You noticed his appraisal of the situation inside distinct creases of worry, banding across his forehead. You witnessed when you briefly fell inside of his determined pace, only to fall out as he pushed ahead. There was worry in how he managed to remain at minimum, a half-step ahead as you marched after him through the maze of passageways, riddling the multiplex of the base that sprawled out in all directions.

You saw the same worry manifest in fidgeting, readjusting the length of his tailored sleeves. Dignified and subtle, but still there. Autopilot. The muscles do what the brain says, and his said “worry.”

From what you could gather by the young General’s speeches, transmit like clockwork to bolster morale, was that he had no shortage of confidence in himself. There might not have been a creator, a God perched over all matter, but there was modus operandi of equal divinity. There was logic, science, reason. The methods that the General strictly operated inside had no room for accommodation of vocabulary like “close enough” or “almost.”

Considering programing was his authority, he must have been not only deeply surprised, but also monumentally devastated by one of his own defecting. The entire military of the Order was ultimately built and sustained by his M.O. The traitor had become a blight of failure. Humiliation from FN-2187 had created a dent in his otherwise gleaming legacy. The training regime, distilled from ideas that had long ago hatched within the Imperial Academy, was supposed to be flawless...

So, how did FN-2187 resist? How did he free himself?

You watched the back of the General’s head. He was more than a few steps ahead but impossible to lose in a crowd. You shared a collective conscious of similar thought.

Maybe that’s the way the universe works. Maybe we all return to where we come from.

And then it was strange, foreign to recall the fields of red dwarf poppies. As a child, running free and barefoot through the sun-warmed earth to now, in adulthood, contained by a sheath of sterility and coldness about the sharp, unforgiving architecture you lived in. The smell of sanitizer and steel left much to be desired after the indulgence of the crisp, fresh fragrance of soil after rainfall.

Playing tag and chasing your friends one day– being hunted the next.

Each time the General’s boot lifted from off the polished tile beneath, you imagined bursting and blooming of the poppies, as if he was leading you over lush earthen floor of your childhood— of your home planet. Each flower wilted before you could catch up, as if to remind you of how reality had fused with the surreal.

You imagined further, the General as he padded numbly through files on his holopad, wondering how the results and data had lied to him. How he must have searched, eyes blood-shot, smoking cigarette after cigarette, reduced to nothing but forced to carry on. You imaged how when you cropped up, the tension had a new direction to move towards instead of uselessly and cyclically inside. You imaged how quickly you were caught in between two people, desperate for answers they believed you had or could fetch, when you clutched onto nothing but what? Recycled air?

In spite of them, you had to survive. Ahead of you, the back of the General filled your gaze still, likely bound to parallel thoughts. Who would outsmart the other?

For immunity, you had to fulfill your promise to the Commander. The General, however, needed simply to expose your role and if that happened, then what? You had no illusions it would leave FN-2199 and the Lieutenant Colonel to become your replacement— or worse.

And Kylo Ren—

A shiver for the name you avoided.

—has the nerve to say that nothing’s changed. Of course it’s changed. It’s a new game entirely. The only thing that’s stayed the same are the stakes.

Maybe it was the visual of poppies, maybe it was the whiff and desperation and denial in his sleeve-adjustments for the umpteenth time— they were impeccably tailored, where’s your pokerface— but you had happened across an interesting idea.

What if, somehow, you could both be satisfied? 

Through flashes of neon and blinking lights, though the call and response of instructions, coming and going, back and fourth. The weight of your boots echoed as they hit the deck plates; the walk was drowned in droids chirping, control panels humming, and orders over comm. systems. The heavy gaberwool greatcoat, slung over his shoulders, intermittently brushed against you, in stride. Moving far beyond the possibility of having the Commander eavesdrop, finding something related to comfort, he led through hallways choked with engineers and stormroopers, mechs and uniforms. The sea bent around him, like a jagged rock, guiding wave after wave.

All the while, you held onto your idea, letting it develop into something irresistible.

He eventually stopped on an abandoned catwalk, slighted by an imposing viewport in the heart of what appeared to be, from the sudden lack of bodies, an unused observation platform. The single transparent wall was leaning just so that it appeared to invite all of space inside the deck. Cropped were the snow-capped peaks of foothills and undisturbed foliage growing in desperately straight lines. Instead you were surrounded by the profound blackness of the universe. Remarkably similar to the Finalizer, you felt so much less grounded by the view. Littered with countless specks of light. You stood in silent awe of the stillness and divinity. The cosmic blanket painted a black web across your face.

If you ever had another moment all to yourself again, you’d come back here. It beckoned you in with promises to cleanse you of all of your worries, to make you feel normal again, as it did for some holy few seconds.

You breathed it in, trying to hold it inside your lungs, but on your dreaded exhale, you were brought back into the moment. With an exaggerated scoff, finding nothing inspirational about the heavens overhead, the General held little patience for additional pleasantries, “When I was informed that petulant chi— the Commander— had ripped apart another of my soldiers, I was concerned. Imagine my surprise, upon seeking him out, to find you once again.”

Oh, switch off already.

You pressed for a smile, but it became twisted and crooked and guilty through execution. You were already prepared to stow away the awkwardness of your last encounter with the Commander, keeping the foray beneath you. It lapped tenderly around your ankles, stirring and moving unpredictably in the General’s dry commentary.

He continued, demanding of you, “Now that you’ve made it obnoxiously apparent that my concern is warranted, what are you up to?”

A credit for your thoughts, General... This “you” that you speak of... You can’t possibly mean Disaster Ren and myself. But, if you do, thanks for lumping me with that.

The thread, connecting you to your deal with the General, had rapidly been fraying. You hadn’t yet figured out how to spin the conversation successfully so that both you and the General could profit, to help each other get what you wanted. If you could somehow make your allegiance to the Commander redundant, you would.

But, if I just tell the General what Kylo Ren is up to, he’ll have to deal with Matt. Won’t he?

Decidedly, it was tempting.

I can’t take much more of this as it is. But, the cons? Kylo Ren could kill me. He’ll have no obligation to keep me alive. Forfeiting my silence is forfeiting my life.

The way that the General looked to you made you consider how long you had been quiet, how much time between his question and your reply. “I don’t know anything,” you assured him, lying through your teeth and hoping it was enough— Commander, who?

The General rubbed his temples, as if to ward off a fast approaching headache.

He sighed with terrible impatience before refocusing. “Listen here,” bordering a snarl, each following word sounding clipped. The tip of his pointer finger prodded before your chest, though, didn’t quite touch, “What Ren has done, as per usual, has me in an uncomfortable position. If you have any loyalty for the First Order, you will not mollycoddle him.”

You saw through his veil of assertion. Not that he didn’t mean what he had said, only that because you were standing versus being strapped to an interrogation table, did you understand you were still within a comfortable position to negotiate.

After coming face-to-face with evil incarnate, the General was a proverbial walk in the park. It was easier to underestimate him, bearing new cynical edges as you had, than to regard him in the same context as the Commander’s voracious presence.

And what if my loyalty is tired?

The hallucination of the corridor was brought fourth again, highlighting Matt’s emphatic stillness and his backwards calmness that found him after the storm. Reliving the moment, how he turned the passageway into a slaughterhouse, made your stomach churn. You thought of him touching you and being filled with rage in return.

Evil was heavy. The First Order was heavy.

Whatever goodness FN-2187 had left behind needed to stay. Your home planet needed goodness too. It was starved; that’s why it was dying a prolonged death.

“Do you think the Commander would hesitate to protect you in this way, as you are to him now? Do you think if he had to use you, he wouldn’t take that chance?” The General’s voice had changed.

I... never thought about that.

He had changed your acuity in the way conversation had turned. Kylo Ren was not driven by compassion; he would leave you stranded if he had the chance. If you could abandon him before he could abandon you, it was a blessing in disguise to be standing where you were.

That was the tipping point.

You spoke softly. You would have looked stern if you were not so terrified of what words that escaped you, “I want what he promised me. You have to give me that, at least, before I say anything.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I need your word.”

You would test to see if your charisma could successfully parley with the General. You had conditions that needed to be satisfied.

“Help me and I’ll help you,” the phrase met your lips. It was just a string of words, warm in your throat as the sounds of speech were produced, but it felt a lot like hatching an escape plan. “It’s very simple, General.”

“Absolutely not,” he snapped. “You will tell me without making demands of me...” 

You looked down as he refused, then back to meet his stare, “So, then what? Poke me to death.”

His gloved fingertip still hovered weakly before your chest, at the top of your sternum. He pulled his hand back, straightening the length of his sleeve as he set his arm back as his side.

Re-calculating, he managed, “What is it that you need so badly that you’ll freely abandon all reason to extort?”

Well, General, not to sound greedy but there’s a lot of things that I want.

Maybe it would be sensible to request something else, but at your core, you desired greater than seeing yourself, and Nines especially with his prophesied death, out of harm’s way. It was no more complicated than that.

“I want to know you can keep someone safe– and by safe, I mean away from Kylo Ren. Really far away.”

You felt it unnecessary to give reason why Nines was important, allowing the General to speculate as he desired. If he had remembered how he had been the trooper that held the lightsaber was irrelevant, but you wondered still.

A puckish grin commandeered the face of the man before you, impossible to hide, “So, you’ll tell me what he’s been doing, in great secrecy, if I can secure a life?”

The smile, chilling, but promising. As if he was saying— oh, that’s easy.

And just to be safe, you followed up for the sake of the comment he had made at the table, “Lieutenant Colonel Zack, too.”

He looked questioningly at you, “The Lieutenant Colonel’s safety is already secured. It is superfluous to ask me for further consideration... Unless...”

You would leave out the details concerning Zack as well. It was impossible for you to know the General’s existing paranoia concerning the Lieutenant Colonel.

“We make a deal first. I’m not saying anything else unless I know Kylo Ren won’t be a problem.” His name off your tongue tasted rough, metallic, sharing likeness of a mouth full of blood. The fever was still there.

The General's hands pressed together, with the ends at his lips, making steeple of his fingers. His mouth set in a hard line. As if he were engaged in a game, his careful deliberation was apparent on sight as the totalizator in his mind ran through scenarios. He understood that he had to make some kind of a deal with you. The Commander would give him nothing, and the pressure to adhere and surpass a “certain mysterious individual’s expectation” was tremendous.

“So, tell me,” there was no containing his dire interest as he extended a gloved hand, “What is he doing?”

Your allegiance shifted in a touch that didn’t burn you– that couldn't. And the moment was so brief that it might have not taken place at all.

Although you had done it for yourself, and your those you cared for, there was no mistaking the look all over his face; an eclipse of his satisfaction had blotted out all previous symptoms of worry. With matched alacrity, his hand firmly closed around yours, leaving you to steal a quick, albeit brave look towards his vaporous gaze. Suggested being freshly dosed with a strong euphoriant, the eyes you found caged discs, sliding about the apex, growing in conquest. Now he had won. He would savor it.

Everything that you knew came out, “He’s surveying your troopers, making sure that none have the intention of going rouge.”

You could hardly believe the sound of your voice, the words out loud at last.

Here we go.

The General had soured but boasted, turning his chin up, “My soldiers are exceptionally trained, programmed from birth. We know there isn’t anyone else deluded with non-conformity-“

“-But that’s exactly why he doesn’t believe it.” To his displeasure, you cut him short. “That’s why he doubts you. Your process, your methods. FN-2187 had surprised you, had he not? If can happen again, it will happen again.”

As if it were derogatory, the idea that his troopers could be so massively flawed, the General was quick to interject. “Impossible. If the psytech assigned to the FN squadron had found any signs of nonconformity we would have severed them from our operations. They were too valuable.”

A single psytech. They took the Captain’s elite squadron and assigned the entire group to one professional, who couldn’t tell that FN-2187 was having some kind of episode, that lead him to free the Resistance fighter and steal a TIE fighter?

You held your face as still as you could.

“How many psytechs are enlisted?”

“I hardly see why that matters. We have enough.”

“Well, it’s just that...” You awkwardly navigated though his suspicion, knowing it was fortified by trip mines, “If we have so many...”

“It’s the most effective method, one overseer to monitor an entire group. The evaluations can be easily duplicated and everyone receives the same treatment.”

Yes, and that’s worked out so marvelously for you so far.

For your own delayed curiosity, understanding how you could wedge yourself inside restricted information, you prodded, “Do you remember their name?”

The General wasn’t about to budge. “No, Detective. I suddenly can’t recall.”

“Maybe if you remember, I have more to tell you.”

After eyeing you for some time, he released it, “You tell me first, and then I’ll tell you.”

Hardball always. Why is this so tough? General, I practically surrendered my life to you just now and you want to act as if I’m not walking target practice.

“Kylo Ren has been closely monitoring the FN squadron and everyone they interact with.“

Hux mumbled, to himself, “This is nothing new to me...” You looked to him; he waved his hand in the air towards you, motioning you to keep talking, “And?”

“And—” you stopped prematurely. Outside, the frigid environment had crested the exterior pane with a layer of frost; briefly amazing that such a small detail had become grossly magnified by your sliding attention.

You forced yourself to continue, “And he’s been spying, in my sector. No one knows that he’s there, but me.”

Speaking on top of you, somehow his pallor intensifying, “I beg your pardon? Spying? You don’t think we would know if he...”

Mimicking his interruption, you spoke on top of him, “General. He dresses in civilian clothes.” Feeding the moment with a long pause, greatly testing the man before you, you finally heaved it out, “He’s Matt.”

And it was stumbled in the air, moving about like a TIE-fighter freshly blasted into the sky.

“... Matt?” The General was nothing short of dumbfounded. Awareness jumped to his face with all the urgency of a droid on low battery, all comically delayed and choppy– movements you had already anticipated as he worked through them.

“Matt the radar technician, sir. Matt is Kylo Ren.”

Hux was shell-shocked, painted by the unfathomable. It was juvenile and ridiculous. As man who could have boasted about the depth in his inner thesaurus, he was entirely lost for appropriate words. He bent in the middle, folding over himself to curse and roar with profanity that almost made you flush with embarrassment, had it not been such a gratifying moment.

You allowed the scene he was making to play out before interjecting, “You mean, you had no idea?”

Eyes like daggers, “What do you think? We have casual kriffing Fridays?”

You waited until after he became composed, or semi-composed. It had taken a disastrous chunk of time for the red to drain out of his face. After discussing more details, the terms and conditions, had he began to loose the facetious tone.

He was taking you seriously. He even gave up a piece of information you had considered he had forgotten that you asked for, “His name is Dr. Thos. He’s the head of his department in his ward. Why you care matters little to me, but that’s name you wanted, isn’t it?”

The General ensured you that he would secure FN-2199, the Lieutenant Colonel, and yourself. With very short, snipped phrases, he told you he would now look after the rest of the matter. He also included at the end, like an afterthought, that he would utilize the information you gave him with caution. He then advised you return to your duties, giving you some idea of the time; you were still inside your work cycle.

Going your separate ways, you hurried off with a stunted sense of direction, trying to commit the course to the area to memory. As you vacated, unimposing signage informed you to remember the name,  as you longed to stay and look out, to enjoy artificial sanctuary for just a moment longer. Just long enough, at least, to drain a bit of the celestial peace from the abundance of the vista and sequester it within for when you would need it again. There was no pretending to be calm, not if you still felt the need to look over your shoulders as you moved.

Although you had returned to your office with the intention of being productive, you struggled to parse what was required; entering this in that, shifting this to there. Menial and impossible. Work required a level of focus that wasn’t in you, not after being leeched by previous difficulties. So you left, but not without a small stack of files in hand, to prove to yourself and whoever was watching that the effort was indeed there.

While flimsiplast was an uncommon media to work with, every so often it would come by your desk and so you had initially thought nothing of it. Not until you began your walk back to your personal quarters. It was then when you looked over what you were holding, finding one section in particular that had been bound together. The unusual use of scarlet ink demanded it was different. Urgent.

You leafed through the hair-thin acrylic sheets— this doesn’t look like it was meant for my office— finding an impersonal account of the Commander’s slaughter from Captian Phasma, where the word “witness” had been circled with a stylus. Attached as well: a copy of the stormtrooper’s profile, a medcenter coronary report describing an itemized list of injury... An estimation by the financial department to replace the lights and smooth over the rest of the damage.

You were glazed. Queasy. Everything that had just happened to you, the reminder of it all in your hands. A cruel joke? No, although it felt like that at first. It was someone telling you they knew, understood what you had seen.

Witness.

Halfheartedly, you sent the file to the bottom of the stack. You couldn’t read the profile, risking the bias of familiarity. You didn’t want to feel like you knew them. It was easier if it was impersonal. And it wasn’t easy at all. For every insignificant thought you forced yourself to queue, there were countless others behind it to chase you back. Just look. I don’t want to. You have to. But why? Again.

He did it because he could. I could never do that.

You thought of the burning in your palms and how it made you want to hurt him. In revenge. Is that all? What if you had manged to hurt him, would you have stopped? it made you sick to think about your intention evolving into something you would be helpless to have power over.

I’m not like him.

Perhaps you understood what he had done better than you once thought. Perhaps he had resisted, as you were now. Incremental submission to the pull of dark, the suffocating hate. Changing over time, adapting, for what? For survival? Was that what it was?

You shut down the thought again, your throat taut as you swallowed. Fortunately, the walk was over and you could redirect your attention to other matters, like the immediate disposal of the flimsi.

Starkiller borrowing the likeness of snow-globe, you gravitated towards the narrow viewport once inside your room. A gentle flurry of glittering white desperately tried to repair the tensile apparatus of peace among the base. In the distance, a furious comet sliced through the starlight, rushing and running beyond the tree line. You appreciated the sight, an unspoken apology from the planet to you, before feeling along the wall for the control panel.

The room flickered into life before you, flushed by spotlights in the bulkhead above. An alabaster trooper helmet, discarded on the foot of your bed, stared at you.

How did you get here?

It was eerily and perfectly facing you, watching, as if waiting for you. And that’s when you felt it: paranoia on sight, on recognition. Adrenaline fused with you again once, looping through your blood.

The stormtrooper from the hallway, the one who had been murdered— what if was theirs? If the Commander had somehow gotten word of your new deal with the General, this would be the exact kind of psychological and theatrical display you would expect. Death is a production. Death is a choice. The symbolic mask was dizzying enough without the sickening afterthought that he was near.

Looking from the bed, around the rest of the room, you saw it.

A body.

They, in full stormtrooper armor, were confined to a chair. Head tilted back, limply. Awkwardly positioned. Entirely too motionless.

Not only that, but without the helmet, the identity of the body was instantly recognizable. You would never forget that face, even from the obscured profile over the back of the chair. The hair color alone was enough.

Stars. No.

You dropped the files. They flew out in every direction under you, the sound of rustling filling the air. Birds, charging into flight, the sound of hundreds of wings fanning a fire around you. Falling, they curled at your feet, bowing, strewn around you like freshly fallen snow.

You drew back, as if standing on the ledge of a cold-aired chasm.

Nines.

[meraenthusiast]

A Doctor’s Primer On Real Estate Professional Status

A Doctor’s Primer On Real Estate Professional Status

It seems like real estate investing has become the “hot” investment among doctors and other high-income professionals these days. Why? Many are becoming gun-shy of the volatile stock market and want diversification.

Others are sick of paying Uncle Sam half of their check each month and are looking for tax advantages.

How about you? Do you fall into either of these categories? I don’t know too many people that want to continue receiving a HUGE tax bill each year. Myself included.

One of the top questions I get asked from members of the Passive Investors Circle is:

“Will investing in passive real estate syndications lower my practice income?”

The only income that investing in syndications lowers would be the passive income it produces and NOT your practice’s income.

The depreciation from an apartment syndication offsets the monthly/quarterly distributions. This is great as these distributions are received and zero tax have to be paid!

Related article: How Is Passive Income Taxed

But there’s also something out there that could help doctors significantly reduce their tax burden called Real Estate Professional Status (REPS).

Have you ever heard of this? Most haven’t. But if you’re already a real estate investor like myself, then using this designation could potentially save you a huge amount of dinero when it comes to paying taxes.

Interested? Let’s begin…..but first a disclaimer.

[Disclaimer: I’m not an accountant, lawyer or financial advisor. This article is informational only. Please consult your own team of professionals about the topics covered here today.]

Going, Going, Gone…

Dentists and physicians alike have very few tax advantages.

Unfortunately, many of the tax deductions that most people get are in the lower income brackets keeping us from benefiting from them.

As an example, most deductions begin to phase out the higher the income made. You may have encountered this when attempting to deduct student loan interest.

Here’s how I felt when I tried this: “Sorry, we’re going to punish you because you trained and sacrificed and had to take on student loan debt in order to do so but wait, you now earn too much so no deductions will be allowed.”

As a side note, when we reached debt-free status, most of our practice’s deductions were phased out leaving us with a HUGE tax bill. So much for enjoying being debt-free!

Passive Real Estate Investing

The majority of the Passive Investor Circle members are too busy to become an active real estate investor and for that reason, focus on investing in passive real estate.

The definition of a passive investor is someone that does NOT “materially participate” in the buying, selling, or management of properties.

A popular type of passive investment (that we invest in) are called real estate syndications.

These allow the passive investor to pool their money with others (plus the sponsor who handles the day-to-day property) to purchase an asset (i.e. apartment building) that they couldn’t normally do so on their own.

Other examples of passive investments are:

Real estate funds

Real Estate Investment Trusts or REITs

As stated earlier, these types of investors are subject to passive activity loss rules. This means if your real estate investments generate losses, you’re NOT able to deduct those against your practice’s income.

Passive investment example

Most syndication deals are for accredited investors only which allows the majority of doctors to qualify for due to a high income.

The minimum investment for most of the deals that we’re currently in is $50K. If you invest in a deal then you can expect to receive a K-1 tax form annually.

If a particular deal that you’re in generates a $20,000 loss from depreciation, you can’t offset that $20,000 against your W-2 or practice income.

However, you can offset that loss against any passive gains you have in the current tax year. Most of these will be used against your monthly/quarterly distributions your investment spins off.

Active Real Estate Investing

When I first made it a point to begin the process of acquiring streams of passive income, real estate investing was one of my first choices.

At that time, I thought that in order to get into real estate, I had to become a landlord. As you can imagine, I wasn’t too thrilled with the thought of getting a second job. For me, practicing full-time along with being a husband and dad puts plenty on my plate.

But back then I was clueless about other options available. I thought that I wanted to buy a handful of single family homes and eventually pay them off to reap the benefits of the cash flow rolling in.

As an active investor, you’re responsible for:

finding investment properties

acquiring financing

managing yourself or hiring a firm

marketing vacancies

repairing holes in walls 🙁

As you can tell from the list above, being an active investor acquires much more hands-on attention vs passive investing.

Active investor

The IRS states that an active investor are those who materially participate in the management of the real estate business. In this situation, they’re substantially involved in the business’s operations.

Unlike passive investors, active investors can offset losses from real estate investing against their ordinary income.

Good news, right?

If you’re a doctor or other high-income earner, think again.

If you’re an active investor and married making over $150,000 a year, no deduction is allowed. Again, it seems as if we’re being punished for being successful, right?

For those who earn less than $100,000 (single) or $150,000 (married), they can deduct up to $25,000 of losses against their ordinary income from W-2s or 1099s.

But wait, there maybe something you can do about it….

What Is Real Estate Professional Status?

If you’re able to claim real estate professional status (REPS) on your taxes then you can be exempt from both the passive loss rules and the active investor’s income limitations.

This is great news!

In order to qualify for REPS, the good ‘ole IRS states you must meet a few conditions:

(1) must spend the majority of his or her time (more than 50%) in real property businesses in which you materially participate.

(2) the taxpayer must spend 750 hours or more in the real property business and rentals in which he or she materially participates (roughly 15 hours per week).

In layman’s terms: You have to work on real estate more than you do any other job. So being a real estate professional is your primary profession which means you spend more hours in real estate than you do treating patients.

You also must work at least 750 hours on real estate activities with most of this coming from the day-to-day management of your rentals.

Literally anyone can qualify if the criteria above is met. No special license or degree is needed.

How can a doctor qualify?

If you’re a doctor or other high-income professional that typically works more than 40 hours a week, it may not be that easy to cut back in order to claim this status based on your work situation.

But wait…there is another option. Have I ever told you that I love options? 🙂

If your spouse currently doesn’t work, works part-time or is looking for a career change then this could be the key to success.

Basically only one spouse needs to qualify (not both). So if you’re a full-time dentist, then you can continue treating patients (if you want!) and your spouse can fulfill the real estate professional status requirement.

This way, BOTH spouses can benefit from the deductions and possibly HUGE tax savings while not sacrificing any income.

Does This ONLY Work For Real Estate Losses?

The short answer is “yes.” In order to obtain a tax benefit, you have to show losses on any real estate activity you’re in.

If you know anything about psychology then you’re probably familiar with how the brain works when it comes to loss vs gain.

We’re wired to AVOID losses more than we are to try to GAIN something.

For instance, if we have been searching for a particular pair of basketball shoes and Zappos claims that there’s ONLY one pair left….then we’re MORE motivated to buy ’em from FEAR of loss.

Just last night, I told my youngest son that if he doesn’t come to the kitchen and eat then his mom was going to put all of the food away.

He was there in less than 20 seconds :). He didn’t want to lose out!

So now when I tell you that the ONLY way to benefit from using the real estate professional status as a type of tax shelter is to actually show a loss on your real estate then you may initially have a negative reaction.

I get it. NOBODY like to lose. But when it comes to real estate, I’m giving you permission that it’s OK to lose (just this one time)!

That’s what makes real estate investing so great.

Taxes and real estate

One of the key reasons most doctors SHOULD look into real estate investing has to do with the multiple different ways to EXTREMELY lower their taxes.

The MORE you make, the MORE taxes you’ll pay. So you can continue working your tail off putting in longer hours just to make a little more or work SMARTER.

If you play your cards right, you can work less yet make MUCH more.

Interested?

It all starts with how taxes are calculated when it comes to real estate.

The NOI, or net operating income, is what’s left over after all expenses have been paid. This is what you pay taxes on.

But one of the cool things is something called “phantom expenses” which are expenses you don’t actually pay for. That’s right, you read that correctly.

Not only do you NOT have to pay for them but the IRS will actually allow you to claim them on your taxes.

Sound too good to be true?

Let me introduce you to one of the most powerful phantom expenses around.

Depreciation

Let’s briefly define what depreciation is. In accounting terms, depreciation is nothing more than the reduction in value of an item over time.

An example of this is the value of the computer I’m currently typing on. What I paid for it a few years ago and what it’s worth now (not much) is much lower. In other words, it’s depreciated in value.

One of the BEST financial gifts we could ever receive (ironically it’s from the IRS) is having the ability to depreciate an appreciating asset.

Phantom?

By doing this, it creates a phantom or paper loss that can be used to offset actual gains which saves you in taxes.

Remember, this isn’t a true expense. You don’t have to worry about taking money out of your pocket to pay for this….

If you claim real estate professional status, losses from depreciation allow you to offset your W2 clinical income and reduce your tax liability.

Is REPS Right For You?mi

I get it. Being a real estate professional is not for everyone. But if you can swing it, it could be extremely beneficial to your family.

Remember, if you’re married and both of you work, then you’ll first need to figure out who’s going to become the real estate professional.

Your two choices are:

scale back treating patients or…

commit to working more hours in real estate than your practice with the minimum number of hours being 750 hours

Consider keeping a detailed log of the hours you’ve spent, but also what exactly you’ve been doing during that time.

Examples include:

meetings

searching for new properties

renovations

marketing to fill vacancies

responding to tenants, etc.)

If you have further questions, consider hiring a CPA that’s knowledgeable about qualifying for the real estate professional status.

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