#this went on for over a year until they changed my computer and upgraded the OS

[improbcat]

I had an issue working from home where opening certain .pdf files and scrolling down would lag out the computer I was remoting into so badly it would hard crash that computer *and* my local computer. Someone would have to walk to my desk at the office and power cycle the computer there.

Put up multiple tickets where I got back "that doesn't happen when I open the PDF on my computer" and they would close the ticket.

Eventually convinced an IT guy to let me show him the problem. He remotes into my computer and I have him open the file and scroll down. It proceeds to lag out and crash my remote computer, my local computer, and the IT guy's computer.

I have rarely felt so vindicated at work.

[senstless]

Splinterlands Highlights - Share Your Journey - Featuring @senstless

Splinterlands Social Media Challenge - Theme: Share Your Journey!

Discovery of Splinterlands:

I'm not exactly sure how I discovered splinter lands, I'm pretty sure it's from a fellow member of the silver gold stackers community who told me I should check out the game and it seemed like something that might enjoy. I have never played a trading card game before and I was intimidated before getting in. I was immediately frustrated and hooked at the same time. Trying to understand all of the rules attack orders and abilities was overwhelming at first but was something that has been the joy to learn.

Duration of Participation:

I joined splinterlands at the end of alpha and start of beta. While I have not been around since the very beginning, I have certainly been around for a very long time and have seen tremendous changes in both gameplay, the community, and the ideas put out forth by the team and the future state.

I have been around for what feels like forever and have seen and have participated in a game of many aspects.

I started a brand new account called senstlessmonster where I blogged about starting a account with just the $10 play pass and did nothing but cell reward cards to grow the account. I was able to grow that account to Silver before I called it quits and felt that that was about as far as one could grow just based on earnings before it became simply too large of a task to upgrade cards to diamond.

I also went through a phase where I didn't sell any cards I acquired and instead spent every spare time I had a new cards and grew the number of counts I was playing. This was back before bots were around and I was manually playing senstless, senstlessmonster, initech and bill-lumbergh. This would require me to be playing two at the same time and two different browsers, and sometimes a third and a second computer to try to get in all my daily quests and when those chests. This causes of strife as I was probably spending too much time playing the game an acquiring cards versus spending time with my family and focusing on other activities. I eventually had to take a step back and reassess how much time I was spending playing each day and every prioritize.

Time Spent in Splinterlands:

I try to get my matches in first thing in the morning as I drink my first cup of freshly ground coffee. Between the time it takes to percolate in my cup, cool down and drink it I can usually get enough matches in to hit my target chests for the day. Plain and bronze I Target 11:00 for the simple fact that then I can push button to reveal all. Once I get up high enough I feel that my earnings are pretty good and it usually takes me enough games to win I have 11 chests, my recovery rate somewhere down in the i-20s to mid-30s.

I also participate in brawls but honestly they don't take that much time fill in. I feel like it's significantly improved over the years for matchmaking and it never takes too long to find an opponent and to get a match as where I used to spend forever just waiting to find someone. This is great especially considering I only play in modern where there should be no bots and that means that there's that many regular people playing

Accomplishments:

Having been around for so long I've had a bunch of different accomplishments over that time. I've placed very well in some gold foil tournaments back when I was building one of those collections, I grew my collections to what I considered to be a significant value worth over $5,000 before the release of SPS. Unfortunately for me due to some life circumstances I had to sell out of my collection mere month before the explosion and value happened and I lost out of a significant gain in both value and earnings. Of course hindsight is always 20/20 but there was no way at the time to know that I should have sourced the refrigerator we needed from different funds, or just bridge the gap until the price is magically exploded up 40x.

I am proud to say that I decided to get back into the game with chaos. I was able to build a almost complete chaos legion deck, I believe the only thing I was missing is potentially not having all of the epics maxed for bronze. I think I chose to go with all of the epics at level one and focus on completeness.

Upcoming Goals:

I am now working my collection to be complete for a bronze level at rebellion as well, and continue to keep a complete runs account for the modern rule sets.

I am trying to learn all the new abilities and strategies. I'm having a lot of fun implementing them and winning. I'm also continuing to stack as much SPS as I can, and I'm happy that I just crossed the 13k threshold. Right now I'm a little lost with how land works since I don't have any and I don't think I'll have any intent to go out and buy some right now. I'm not sure if get into land or how I can find a way to participate

Advice for Beginners:

My advice for beginners is to watch to replace slowly, and a couple of times as you figure out how things work. The splinter lands help page has improved significantly from when I started and having all of the abilities and rule sets listed out now helps clear up any confusion that you might have around why cards attack, how they attack, and potential ideas on how to counter.

~~@senstless

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story Pt 19 - Sci Fi

The new part is here. I've struggled with this story a little bit recently, but I wanted to continue this, to share it with you.

Master Post linked here

Enjoy!

_________________________

“Bel…”

“BEL!”

The world around me was pitch black, empty except for voices I didn't recognize, shouting a name I couldn't remember. I blinked, trying to clear my vision without success.

“Hello?” My anxious shout faded into the nothingness around me.

“I have to do it, Bel. It’s how the story goes.” A blurry figure stood in front of me, his facial features unclear behind his blond hair, but his tone contained frustration and regret. “You know what happens to a world when the story is incomplete. Sacrifices have to made.”

“Who are you…?”

“That’s our fate, we just have to accept that.” He faded away into the darkness, leaving me alone again.

“Come back! Explain what you meant!” I screamed at the disappearing figure. “WHAT SACRIFICE? WHAT FATE?!”

"YOU MUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE."

“Are you lost?” A new voice spoke up, strange, yet completely and utterly familiar.

I spun around, but there was no one behind me. “I’m… I’m lost.”

“No matter where you go, who you become… I’ll find you, Bel. I promise.” The voice was a whisper in my ear. “Fate can’t tear us apart. I won’t let it. Even if I have to destroy fate itself.”

“But I can’t find you. I don’t remember who you are!” I was crying, my tears disappearing into the surrounding mist.

“I’ll find you.” The words were quieter, as if the owner of the voice was fading away.

“DON’T LEAVE ME!”

“I promise.”

“NOT AGAIN!”

"You must accept your fate."

"Bel..."

"You must.."

“…I promise…”

_________________________

“LIAM!”

I woke up, screaming a name that disappeared from my mind as soon as the sound as faded, tears and sweat staining my cheeks.

I curled up into a ball, my head resting on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

Who am I?

Finding no answers, I eventually steadied my nerves, getting up, showering and changing. I looked up at the clock on the wall, wincing as I realized that I was running late for class.

Great, now I’m going to miss breakfast, and I'm starving.

I put on my uniform jacket, lamenting silently my lack of time to fill my empty stomach. As I left my dorm, however, my eye caught something sitting on the floor right outside my door. It was a small plate with a peeled apple and a note with Alaira’s name on it.

I thought Alaira was supposed to be loner… This has to be a trap, right?

It had been several weeks since I woke up in this strange world. It couldn’t be more obvious that she didn’t have any true friends or allies. No one who would care enough to send breakfast, definitely.

Maybe it’s from whoever has been following me around?

Since the second day, I had noticed a shadowy presence following me at a distance. Whoever it was, they never attempted to try to speak to me, or interfere with me in ay way. But it was always nearby, always watching.

So now they’ve upgraded to leaving me food?

I picked up the apple, looking around, and scanned it with the personal computer on my wrist, which showed no drugs or other abnormalities.

Well… I am hungry, which outweighs the possible grim outcome of death by poison, I suppose.

Shrugging mentally, I took a bite. The taste was sweet. I sighed with satisfaction and took another bite. As I chewed, a thought occurred to me, confusing me all the more.

How did they know I like peeled apples?

As far as I could remember, Alaira had never liked apples. It was considered an ancient fruit, more of an oddity than a dietary staple. She had tried it once or twice and hadn’t been impressed.

But I liked it…

I liked apples a lot… but only peeled ones. It was something almost instinctive I had felt whenever I thought about the fruit. But… I hadn’t eaten any apples since I woke up as Alaira.

So how do they know? Does this sci fi story come with mind readers?

I took another bite, feeling confused.

_________________________

“Why the hatred for the apple peel?”

The young man seemed genuinely curious from his tone of voice as he handed me a freshly peeled fruit.

I shrugged, taking a bite. “You try living as a princess in a lower fantasy realm. I bit into a poisoned apple once and the inside was glowing green.” I shuddered. “Ever since then I can’t stand to bite into an apple with the peel still on.”

The man had already started peeling another fruit, and paused in his actions. “Did the prince have to kiss you to break the spell?”

“Why, are you jealous?” I grinned.

“N-no… I’m just asking.” His head hung down, as he seemed to stare intently into the apple in his hands.

I patted his head. “I took an antidote ahead of time. Didn’t fall asleep. Instead, I beat the crap out of the witch.”

He laughed at that. “Didn’t you get in trouble for changing things?”

“Of course. But it was so worth it.”

_________________________

I stared down at the partially eaten fruit in my hands, feeling overwhelmed at the memories surging through my mind.

I keep seeing these memories, but I can’t connect them to anything. What are these lower realms? Is that what I’m in right now? Who is this person I keep seeing?

I felt incomplete, a large part of my memories, my emotions, were missing. What was worse, I wasn’t even sure what was gone, what I should be sad about losing.

I grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

“Alaira.” A voice called out, stopping me in my tracks. Turning, I sighed with odd sense of disappointment at the person standing before me.

Who was I expecting?

I forced a grin and made a rude gesture. “Hey Chris, how awful to see you this morning! Terrible of you to stop by.” I checked my personal communicator and shrugged. “Fortunately for me, I’m running late and have no time for your nonsense. So we’ll save your annoying ranting and raving for a later date, okay?”

He ignored my words, stepping closer with an excited look. “Have you heard the news?”

“Even if I say yes, you’re still going to tell me, right?”

“Don’t pretend, it’s not fooling anyone!” He glared at me. “You’ve been hoping to trap me as your Connector since the match results came back!”

I sighed. “At this point, it’s not even funny anymore. What can I say that will possibly convince you that that is NOT the case?”

“You won’t be able to stop my dreams, Alaira! Next time I’m going to win!”

“Yes, you’re the absolute greatest.” I rolled my eyes. “I cry myself to sleep each night over the fact that we aren’t partners, and I will never feel anything in this life but anguish and despair… now can I go to class?”

He looked ever angrier at my sarcasm. “Just wait until the next match. You’ll see that I’m good enough to be a Guardian. Because I’ve got…”

“Okay, buddy. Sounds good.” I interrupted, walking away.

“Wait, you didn’t finish listening…”

“Yep. See you next match.”

I left him behind, ignoring his rage induced sputtering.

Met an idiot first thing... but hey, at least I'm not hungry anymore!

_________________________

A few days later, the next round of mock Mech battles began.

As the winner of the prior fight, I was slated to go first, completing the first four battles with relative ease. As the day wore on, however, the drain on my body from using the Mech was increasing exponentially. Fortunately I was on my last scheduled fight of the day… even if this was the hardest so far.

A light headache was throbbing at my temples as I scanned the field around me. The arena stood as a large stadium, featuring a high-class barrier shield that extended up to twenty stories in the air. Hundreds of seats surrounded the fighting field, all equipped with holo screens that played the footage taken by the referee bots floating around the fight.

The excited screams from the audience were slightly muffled by the protective screen, and the remaining noise was filtered out as I focused on the fight ahead of me.

My opponent this time was a third year A level Guardian, an experienced fighter, who fought along side a D level Connector. Alaira had faced off with them multiple times in the past, and she had always struggled to win despite the difference in strength of abilities.

There was no denying the advantage that a Connector brought to the fight.

I grinned, ignoring the draining sensation of operating my Mech, the headache and weakness that quickly came on each time I made the Connection. The pain was severe, like a knife stabbing through my eye, but I forced myself to ignore it. As I fought, I couldn’t help but feel bitter.

It’s not like I haven’t been looking for a Connector.

Each day I went to the Matching Center. Each day I endured the laughter, the stares, the whispers and pointing. Each day I was faced with the same words: “No match available.”

Do I need to come up with a different plan? But I can’t fight the Hive without a Mech, and I can’t operate a Mech without a Connector… unless I want to slowly destroy my mind like Alaira did.

I sighed, not seeing any easy answers, and focused on the fight ahead of me. Although I had Alaira’s memories, and operating the Mech came as almost second nature with my S level alpha waves, I had run into an unexpected obstacle:

Alaira’s weapon of choice had been dual wielding energy pistols.

What a waste of the cool looking sword on my back. My physical body was suspended in the Connection chamber, a shielded globe filled with suspension gel. Although the Mech was controlled through alpha brain waves and the Connection, the closer I was to the Mech, the easier that control was. Thus the space for the Guardian was always in the center of the Mech.

I wore helmeted mask monitoring my vitals such as oxygen saturation and heart rate, adjusting the air composition and breath volume to accommodate my body’s stress reaction during battle. A skintight silver suit covered me, interacting with the gel to provide me physical feedback that the Mech would feel. My vision was shared with my Mech’s video system; I looked down and saw the pistols resting in the robotic hands. It was strange, I was obviously inside the robot, but the sensation of the ground beneath my feet, the guns in my hands, was all too real.

The physical sensation made it easier to fight, but it had an obvious drawback, which was that I felt any blows that my Mech sustained. During the fight I was the Mech, and it was a part of me. I tightened my grip around the energy weapons, feeling tired.

Something felt off about using these as my weapons.

I still had no memories about my past, but as I had practiced with the Mech these past few weeks, I had noticed a familiarity with fighting and battles, even more than what Alaira had in my memories after a lifetime of training at home with her father and then in the academy.

Am I some kind of warrior or something?

It didn’t seem right, but I couldn’t explain the comfortable sensation of judging my opponent and fighting with them. But that comfort and familiarity did not extend to dual wielding pistols.

I just wasn’t a great shot.

We had already been fighting for ten minutes. My headache had worsened and I felt tired, but I had only managed to score a few hits on non-vital areas. The only benefit was that the opposing Mech had only been able to strike me twice with the energy-enhanced spear he carried.

“You seem a little off today, Alaira, everything all right?” My opponent’s voice came over his speaker, shocking me. It was technically considered bad etiquette to talk during battle, but it was hard to fault him, as he seemed genuinely concerned about my less than ideal fighting state.

I shook my head, raising my pistols once more. “I’m fine, let’s continue.”

I rushed forward, taking advantage of my superior speed and maneuverability to get closer, trying to make it harder to miss my shots. The opposing Mech jumped backwards, but it was too late. Its hand was within my grasp. Turning and using its significant weight to my advantage, I flipped the robot over my own’s shoulder put the barrel of my gun against the metal head.

My final shot through its temple destroyed the key mechanisms within it, rendering it immobile and finishing the fight.

That was too close… I’ve been practicing with the pistols since I’ve woken up in this strange world, and seen no improvement… what am I doing wrong?

As the referee called out my victory, I backed away, letting out a sigh of relief. It had been a harder fight than it should have been, but at least it was over.

I need a nap.

“I WANT TO CHALLENGE ALAIRA!”

An extremely annoying voice spoke up, causing my already bad headache to worsen.

... Why me?

I turned towards the speaker. “Chris. Didn’t we agree that we were going to avoid each other? … Or was that just my wishful thinking?”

His all white Mech landed in front of my own, holding a large, oversized sword. He swung it back and forth, and although I couldn’t see his facial expressions, the smug tone of his voice through the Mech’s speakers were enough to make me wish I could make my Mech roll its eyes.

“Surely the legendary S level Guardian Alaira isn’t SCARED to fight with a mere D level Guardian such as myself, right?”

“Guardian Chris, please retract your challenge. Guardian Alaira has already finished five consecutive mock battles, and needs time to recover.” The instructor’s face was stern on the holographic screens around us, leaving no room for disagreement.

Chris laughed mockingly. “Oh, I thought she said that even with all the advantages and luck she could still beat me? I guess it was just empty arrogance.” His Mech shook its head. “With such a weak personality, no wonder you can’t find a Connector to match you. Who would want to endure such a woman?”

“…”

CLANG!

My Mech’s foot connected with the other’s crotch, and I heard a high-pitched squeal of pain. Ha, shared sensation with the Mech comes in handy sometimes.

“How dare you?!” His pained shout made me grin.

“Less talking, more fighting. I accept your challenge, Chris.” I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feeling of my head splitting apart, as well as the light ringing in my ears. I had reached the limit of how long I could safely operate the Mech.

But the sound of his smug satisfaction infuriated me.

Every night, I was haunted by nightmares. Sometimes it was fragments of memories of unfamiliar worlds and people. Most nights, however, I dreamt of Alaira’s end. Alone, broken, terrified, a horrific death for a lonely girl.

And this idiot had watched it happen.

It might not be smart, but I just really want to beat him up. I took a stance, brandishing the pistols, feeling off kilter once more at the light weight in both of my hands.

In the meantime Chris had recovered from his inconvenience, and had resumed his taunting. “Oh, yeah, you ran away so fast the other day, I never got to share with you the good news:” He paused for what I assumed was dramatic effect. “I matched with a Connector earlier last week.”

He obviously meant this to be a huge blow to me, but Alaira’s memories had already warned me this would happen. A beautiful young woman, one of the many who competed for Chis’s affection. This one is a princess… Ilene, I think?

Unbidden, my mind was filled with the thought of the serious, quiet Prince William. I hadn’t seen him since that first day in front of the matching center. So he would be her brother?

I felt a moment of concern at his absence, and then confused, I shook my head, dismissing the thought. I had no reason to see him. Why would I worry about a stranger? Shrugging, I waved casually to Chris’s Mech.

“I welcome the princess to the battle. Sorry you’re on the losing team!”

“…”

There was a moment of shocked silence. “You already know?!”

I winced at Chris’s ear piercing shriek. “Know and don’t care.”

“But… I have a Connector.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“So I won’t be YOUR Connector!”

I sighed. “We’ve long established that. Look, buddy, it’s been a long day and I’m really tired, are you gonna keep talking about your boring personal life, or are we gonna try to crush each other with massive robots?”

“... Fine then! Keep pretending you don’t care!” Chris seemed really upset at not eliciting a bigger reaction from me, but fortunately turned his attention to the battle as well.

As the hologram around us signaled the start to the fight, he raised his sword and moved towards me, but I had already moved behind him.

BAM!

A shot hit his shoulder, blowing large metallic pieces into the air. I frowned, frustrated. I was faster and stronger than him, but my shots just weren’t going where I wanted them to.

Chris ‘s Mech turned around to face, me, the oversized sword’s momentum swaying the robot from side to side. His movement accuracy and speed had tripled from our last encounter. Clearly, he and his Connector were well matched, well over the required 50%.

But I was still faster.

I ducked under his blow, aiming upwards at his elbow and firing another couple shots.

BAM! BAM!

I missed. Cursing, I recovered, dodging another blow as I increased the distance between us.

Stupid guns.

_________________________

A young man threw up his hands, clearly frustrated.

“Why are you so stubborn? Every single world you insist on using a sword. We were in a laser battle for goodness sake!”

“Swords are more dependable.”

“Oh come on…”

“Plus I’m a terrible shot.”

He sighed. “Fine. But what if one day you don’t have me watching your back?”

“It will be fine.” I grinned. “Don’t you love saying that everything is according to fate? Maybe a sword is just mine?”

“... It doesn’t work like that.”

_________________________

A brief memory flashed in my mind, confusing me.

During my distraction, Chris’s Mech tried to strike again. With no time to dodge, I raised my gun, blocking the blow with the barrel. The weapon cracked under the edge of the sword. I pushed him back, relying on my superior strength and jumped backwards, throwing away the broken weapon in my hand. Glancing down at the remaining gun I had, I felt a warm liquid drip from my nose. It was bleeding, a sign of the increasing strain of the Connection.

I was breaking down. I wouldn't last the rest of the fight.

I had to surrender.

Screw that!

I holstered my remaining gun, drawing the large sword on my Mech’s back. As I held it in front of me, I suddenly felt at home, completely comfortable, as if I had held a sword many times before. I stared at Chris’s Mech, feeling excited.

Now, this feels like a fight!

I raced forward, swinging my sword in a horizontal strike.

_________________________

I was standing in a group of zombies, my sword cutting through the neck of the closest monster.

_________________________

Chris dodged, stumbling backwards. I used the momentum of my first swing to smoothly transition into a downward slash.

_________________________

I was an elf, dancing in the forest, my blade striking down shadowy creatures in the midst of a large battle.

_________________________

THUD!

A robotic hand fell to the ground as I cut it off at the wrist. Chris let out a moan of pain, cut short as I controlled my Mech to kick him in the face, knocking him on his back.

_________________________

I was a vampire, holding a sword made of darkness, fighting humans with elegance and grace.

_________________________

Chris tried to stand up but my foot on his chest prevented the movement. I rested the tip of my sword at his Mech’s throat.

“Do you surrender?”

_________________________

“Surrender?” I smiled as I spoke, staring down at the man on the ground. I couldn’t see his face clearly except for his dark blue eyes, which stared at me without a hint of embarrassment despite his defeated position.

“I surrender.” His voice was warm. “You’re pretty amazing with a sword.”

“After all the realms I’ve fought through? I would have to be.” I shook my head. “Don’t you use swords when you travel?”

“I’m not permitted to travel anymore.” He grinned. “I keep refusing to play my role.”

_________________________

I blinked, focusing on the partially destroyed Mech in front of me. Not hearing his answer, I dug the tip into his neck slightly, only stopping when he let out a groan.

“Do. You. Surrender?”

“I surrender.” His answer sounded like it was forced through gritted teeth.

I could hear muted cheers from the crowd behind the shield as the holographic screens around us displayed my name as the victor.

“Good.” I moved my sword and turned away. My body felt drained, every muscle screaming in pain. I tasted blood in my mouth, my head hurting worse with each passing second.

“I’LL BEAT YOU ONE DAY!” Chris called out behind me. “I’LL GET STRONGER, AND I’LL SHOW YOU!”

“Tell it to someone who cares.” I didn’t turn around, and left the arena.

At least I won. Now if my head would just stop hurting...

As soon as I reached the docking area, my legs crumpled beneath me, and my world faded into darkness.

_________________________

Where am I?

I woke up in a white room, on a plain, clean bed, wearing a hospital gown.

This isn’t a different world, is it?

I carefully searched my memories, but didn’t feel anything different. I sighed, realizing I must be in the school infirmary. In my memories of her life, Alaira had helped bring her fellow students there in the past, but had never stayed to be examined. Deep down she had known that without a Connector she was breaking down, and was afraid the school would prevent her from fighting.

It might have saved her life if she had.

I sat up, rubbing my forehead tiredly. It was still throbbing.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice spoke up, startling me.

I jumped, looking to the chair beside my bed, where a dark haired young man sat. His dark blue eyes studied me carefully, his face expressionless.

“…Prince William?”

“…” After a long silence, he nodded slowly.

“What are you doing here?”

He stared down at the floor silently, and just when I thought he might not respond, he reached out, handing me a peeled apple.

I took it, feeling dazed. “Umm… thanks.” I took a bite, and after swallowing, asked the question on my mind. “Were you the one leaving food outside my dorm room then?”

“…hmm.” His gaze never left the ground.

What the heck kind of answer is “hmm”?!!

“How did you know I like peeled apples?”

“…” A look of genuine confusion crossed his face, but quickly disappeared as he shrugged silently.

“Okay. Well. Thanks.” I pushed myself up, trying to swing my legs to the side of the bed.

He stood up, his face concerned. “Wait. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, my head hurts, but otherwise I feel great.”

“…You should rest.” He frowned as he looked me over.

“It’s just strain from a prolonged connection.” I sighed. “I’m used to it.”

“You haven’t matched?” He seemed mixed, as if happy and disappointed at the same time.

“Nope. Not for lack of trying though. ” I looked him over. “Are you a Connector? Have you matched yet?”

“I…” A look of agony distorted his features.

“He can’t. He’s broken.”

A young woman stood at the door of the infirmary, a mocking smile on her face.

I studied the newcomer carefully. She had long black curls framing a heart shaped face, and large blue eyes that looked down on me with pride. Given the similarities in features to Prince William next to me, it wasn’t difficult to figure out her identity.

“I’m assuming you’re Princess Ilene?”

She ignored my words, walking closer to her brother, whose face had become expressionless once again.

“He can’t Connect. His mental barrier is too strong.” She stopped a few feet away from him and raised her hand, knocking on what looked to be empty air. It made a solid noise, her hand stopping at the same invisible point. “He can’t put it down even if he wants to.”

I thought back to the first time I met him, remembering people being pushed aside.

“A useless Connector who can’t make the connection. A Guardian who can’t match. Two failures together.” She smiled at me. “Sorry I took away your only possible chance at matching Chris, but you needed to see the reality of the situation. He’s a better Guardian than you.”

“…Remind me again who ended up flat on their back at the end of the last fight?”

Her eyes narrowed in annoyance at my comeback. “At least he will be around a long time to help fight the Hive. You, on the other hand.” Ilene pointed at her head and turned her finger in a circle. “You have no future. But on the bright side, at least my useless brother can keep you company while your mind slowly breaks apart.”

BAM

William stood up, angry, and with the loud sound of an impact, Ilene was pushed by an invisible barrier out of the room. Her face enraged, she slammed her fists against it while her mouth made motions as if she was shouting. I stared at her, confused as to why I couldn’t hear her.

“…I sealed her out of the barrier.” William whispered. “Her voice can't make it through either.”

“Oh.” I nodded with satisfaction, watching her shout silently outside the doorway. “Thanks.”

“I can expand the barrier… but she’s right… I can’t drop it.” His eyes dropped down to the floor again. “I can’t Connect… I can’t help Guardians… useless…” His voice slowly dropped in volume, until it was barely a whisper.

“Well, you’re helping me out right now, and I’m a Guardian. So I’d say you’re a pretty useful guy.” I gave him a thumbs up. “I know that not hearing her is already making my day better.”

He stared at me silently for a few moments. “… Are you hungry?”

“Kind of. Why? Do you have more apples or something?”

William shook his head. “No… cake.”

“Please tell me you are serious.”

He solemnly set a container with a piece of cake on the table next to me, along with a napkin and utensils.

I stared at it in shock, motionless.

“… Do you not like it?” His nervous tone broke me out of my stupor. I quickly reached out and held the container close, grabbing the fork and taking a bite.

“Oh, this is amazing… totally worth passing out after my fight.” I took a few more bites, noting him relaxing visibly as I showed my enjoyment. “…Why are you being so nice to me, anyways?”

“Why?” William blinked, looking shocked as if he hadn’t considered it before.

“Yeah. As far as I can tell, I haven’t met you outside of running into you in the hallway once. Why go out of your way to leave me food and sit by me in the infirmary?”

He finally looked up, his dark blue eyes staring into my own. “…I’m not sure. “ He shrugged. “Whenever I see you, I feel happy. I want to help you.”

I leaned back against the backboard of the infirmary bed. “Well… I guess I could always use a friend.”

“Friends?” A trace of a smile crossed his face, before it disappeared into expressionless once more. “Really?”

“Yeah. So let me introduce myself officially, Prince William.” I started to reach out a hand to shake, but remembering his barrier, I pulled it back. “I’m Alaira. Level S Guardian but unable to match, and your new friend.”

He stared at my hand with a look of regret before looking back up. “I���m a Level S Connector… but can’t connect. I’m your new friend… “ He hesitated. “Can you call me a nickname instead?”

“Sure.”

“Then call me… Liam.”

_________________________

“Are you lost?” I woke up in a strange world to the sound of an unfamiliar voice, laying on my back, confused.

“Seems a good description for my current situation.” I stared into a pair of dark blue eyes, smiling despite the dizziness. “Nice to meet you, Stranger.”

He grinned, reaching out a hand to help me up. “Call me Liam.”

“Nice to meet you, Liam.”

_________________________

I blinked away the memory, smiling at the timid young man in front of me. “Nice to meet you… Liam.”

[jamielea81]

Conversations

Bonus Chapter: Colorado

Description: Takes place a year and a half after the first bonus chapter Back to the Beginning. The reader and Chris are married with life changes ahead. Original description for the series Conversations: You accompany your friends on a day trip to Animal Kingdom Theme Park where you meet Scott Evans by chance. This one afternoon leads to a year long friendship with both Chris and Scott over text messages and phone calls.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader, Scott Evans

Warning: Slightly NSFW (18+ only!), cursing, talk of pregnancy, fluff, Grumpy and Sassy shenanigans. 

A/N: Look who finally wrote a bonus chapter for Conversations! This girl, right here! Just a little timestamp in the reader and Chris’ life. And of course we needed some Scott time. You do not have to read the series to read this one shot, but it doesn’t hurt. Reblogs, comments, asks, what have you, I enjoy. 

Italics are internal thoughts

**

“Honestly, love, it’s fine,” you spoke softly into the phone, trying your best to keep your voice even. The last thing you want is for him to feel worse than he already does.

“I don’t know…” Chris trailed off. “Usually, when women say the word fine, they really don’t mean, fine.”

“Such a guy,” you chuckle. “I promise, Scott and I are going to have a terrific time. He’s taking care of me and promised not to get us into any trouble.” You raise an eyebrow at your travel companion seated next to you in the hired car.

Chris laughed and then followed it up with a groan. “That does not make me feel better. Put me on speaker.”

You rolled your eyes but did as he asked or rather demanded. “Okay, you’re on speaker.”

“Scott, you better take care of my wife. She’s precious cargo. And she’s carrying precious cargo. So, it’s extra precious cargo.”

You laughed; hand automatically going to your stomach. You were four months along and just starting to show. Family and close friends knew the two of you were expecting your first child, but the tabloids had not caught wind. The two of you had been going back and forth on whether to let People Magazine do an exclusive cover shoot when baby Evans is born. The money earned from People would be donated to charity which was the only reason you were even considering it. Plus, the whole you two breaking the news rather than the public finding out when you weren’t ready. Chris wanted to be the one to introduce his child to the world rather than having paparazzi sneaking into your backyard to get a picture. You couldn’t argue with him there.

“Would you relax! You’re going to give yourself a coronary and then I’d have to take care of both precious cargos and you don’t want that.” Scott shouted.

I really hope the driver doesn’t recognize Scott.

You smacked his arm, taking the call off speaker and bringing it back to your ear. “Chris, we are both going to be just fine. The plane ride was as relaxing as any plane ride can be and we are almost to the hotel. Scott and I are going to pamper ourselves and eat lots of great food. Work is important and I completely understand.”

Chris got called back to Los Angeles for reshoots that he couldn’t get out of. He planned a couple of mini babymoons and this was going to be the first one. Because of your advanced age – insert eyeroll – your doctor had mentioned it may not be safe to travel a lot once you were six months along. Chris took this seriously and booked a trip to Colorado at a gorgeous snowy mountain resort. There wouldn’t be any skiing, just loads of alone time and cuddling by the fireplace. When Chris had to cancel, Scott stepped in and volunteered the cuddles.

“This is one of the many reasons I love you. I’m just disappointed our romantic getaway is now being shared with Scott. My brother,” he said, voice in mock disgust.

“It’s fine. Scott and I haven’t hung out just the two of us in forever.” Scott reached for your hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Alright, sweetheart. Have a great time and rest please.”

“You know I will. I love you, babe. Say hi to Pedro for me,” you said, smile evident in your voice.

“I will. Love you too.”

**

“Mr. and Mrs. Evans?” The check in clerk, Barbara according to her nametag asked.

“That’s right,” Scott chimed in, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Newlyweds.”

You forced a smile and bit the inside of your cheek so that you wouldn’t laugh.

“Congratulations!” she replied with a sweet smile on her face.

She tapped her chin with her index finger before going back to her keyboard. “Let’s see what I can do here,” Barbara replied, typing away on the computer in front of her. “We have you in a one-bedroom suite with a mountain view, but,” she paused for dramatic effect. “I’m moving the two of you to one of our honeymoon suites.”

Scott gasped and slapped his hand on the countertop. “That’s mighty nice of you,” he spoke in a fake southern accent.

Where did that come from?

“Me and the misses really appreciate it. Don’t we honey?” he asked, turning his attention back to you.

“My pleasure,” Barbara said before you could reply, laying two room keycards on the counter next to Scott’s hand.

You smiled brightly but kept your mouth closed, so afraid of letting a chuckle out or saying the wrong thing. Scott steered you away from the counter, placing a hand on your bottom.

Once you turned the corner to the bank of elevators, you yanked Scott’s hand off your behind.

“Newlyweds. Really?”

“It got us an upgrade, didn’t it dear?”

**

The first night you were fine. Scott kept you occupied with stories of the single life and the wonders of online dating. You weren’t sure how he did it. Or rather, how he didn’t. After he told you about the guy who wore Barney the dinosaur underwear in a child’s size husky, you laughed until you cried.

“But did you still sleep with him?” you asked wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“Sassy! Of course not. Barneeeeyyyy,” he drawled out.

Shrugging your shoulders, you got up to grab yourself a tissue from the bathroom. Coming back in the room, Scott was on his phone, fingers swiping feverously. You plopped down on the couch, tucking one leg under yourself.

“Here,” Scott said, handing you his phone. On screen was what you would refer to as tall, dark, and handsome.

“He’s hot,” you said, passing the phone back to him.

“Barney.”

“No,” you gasped.

Scott sighed before he started to laugh which got you going once again.

**

The second day you weren’t so fine. The two of you ordered breakfast in the suite. Pancakes dripping with syrup, crispy thick cut bacon, sausage links, a bowl of mixed fruit, and decaf coffee because Scott was in solidarity with you on your caffeine hiatus.

“Let’s go for a walk. There are tons of trails that the resort clears of snow. I need to work off this breakfast,” Scott said patting his stomach.

“You and me both,” you said, getting up to put on actual clothes instead of the pajamas you were still wearing.

“You are so lucky. Get to eat whatever you want and can just blame it on the baby.”

Stopping in your tracks, you turned around to face him, lower lip slightly wobbling. Since the minute you found out you were pregnant, you found it really hard to control your emotions. You knew Scott didn’t mean anything by the commit, but your brain couldn’t help itself.

“I have to work really hard to be healthy. It’s bad enough the doctor said I’m old.” A sob escapes your lips. The tears already starting to roll down your cheeks. “I can’t have any caffeine, can’t eat a lot of my favorite foods, have to cut back on my salt. My salt! You know fries are my jam. Doesn’t help that my husband is built like a fucking Greek God. I’m not a model or an actress. I already feel like Dodger’s poo compared to him.”

Scott was out of his seat before you could utter another word. Strong arm pulling you to his chest while one hand cradled your head.

“Stop that. You are fucking beautiful and frankly my bonehead brother is lucky you agreed to marry him. Do you even know how many times I have had to leave the room in the last two months when he starts talking about you growing his child inside you and that it turns him on?” Scott pulls away slightly an emulates puking.

“Stop,” you said, burying your head in his neck.

“Why is my neck wet, Sassy.”

“It’s snot,” you said with a chuckle, wrapping your arm around him and holding on tight.

“You two are meant for each other.”

After a minute he pulled away and grasped both of your hands. “I’m with you in any way you need. If you need a healthy eating buddy, I am your man. If you want to say ‘to hell with it’, I’ll pick up McDonalds for the two of us every day if you like.”

You wiped at your eyes and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I love you Grumpy.”

“Love you too,” he replied and then clapped his hands together. “So, are we napping or are we walking?”

“Walking,” you stated, making your way into the bedroom to finally get changed.

That evening, the two of you got dressed up and went to your dinner reservation at the hotel where you were addressed as Mr. and Mrs. Evans. Scott stuck to sparkling water even though you encouraged him to get an alcoholic beverage.

“I don’t need to drink to be the life of the party. You know that.”

He wasn’t wrong. He’d kept you entertained even without the raspberry liquor he force fed you years ago.

“I think we need a dance party when we get back to the room. For old time sakes. Before I am too big to shake it.”

“Done and done.”

The night ended in a bubble bath with both you and Scott in your swimsuits in an oversized soaking tub. Dozens of pictures were taken with many going to your husband. Rather than a text in return, he called.

“What is this? My brother movin’ in on my wife?”

“Babe! You know that it was me and Scott from the start,” you teased.

Chris chuckled. “You go away for a couple of days and it’s like that.”

“You know you are my one and only. Scott’s just making me smile.”

“I know baby. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you said.

**

The next day you were weepy. As much as you tried to put on a happy face, you were missing Chris. Pregnancy hormones or not, Chris had been working a lot and you had barely seen each other. This romantic babymoon wasn’t what you had in mind. Yes, spending it with your best friend was great, but it wasn’t the same.

The fire place was roaring while Magic Mike was queued up on the flat screen. You and Scott were dressed in jeans and cable knit sweaters with fuzzy socks on your feet. The snow was coming down heavy which was fine with you since neither of you had any place to be.

Pop in hand, though you wouldn’t let Scott hear you call soda that, diet for you, regular for him, the only thing you were needing was Dodger’s wet nose on your stomach and Chris.

“You know, Chris can do that,” you said pointing at the screen where one of the dancers picked up an audience member like she weighed a pound.

“No. Stop. Do not ruin this movie for me. I do not need to picture what you and my brother do.”

“Scott, you do know where babies come from, right?”

“Gross.”

You chuckled, standing up to excuse yourself to the bathroom. Why you brought up Chris when you already cried twice this morning was beyond you. After using the bathroom, you cleaned up your face and stepped back into the living room of your suite.

Scott draped himself over the couch, phone in hand, eyes shifting between the screen of his phone and the TV.

“I think I’m going to take another bath. Need to relax a little bit.”

Scott looked up. “Not too hot.”

“Yes, dad,” you said, offering him a mock salute.

You kept the bath water warm, but added extra oils and bubbles to make it feel more luxurious. The lights were off but a few candles were lit and your phone played 90s R&B. You snapped a pic of your soapy legs and sent it to Chris. Within a few minutes you had a reply.

Chris: My brother better not be in there

Y/N: I’m all alone

Chris: We can’t have that

You heard the door open and you scolded yourself for not locking the door. This text conversation seemed to be heading into rated R territory. You did not need Scott to witness that.

“Scott,” you drawled out. “I’m not wearing my suit tonight. Get out of here.”

When you heard the distinct sound of a belt buckle, you turned around. Rather than Scott dropping his pants, it was Chris.

You gasped, mouth hanging open.

“Room for one more sweetheart?”

You nodded your head unable to form words but those tears had no trouble forming.

Chris continued to undress while you tried your best to compose yourself. He joined you a moment later slipping in behind you.

“How? I thought you were working.”

“I put in some long hours so that I could get to you. I was miserable without you.”

“I know that feeling,” you replied, leaning your head against his chest. Chris lightly rubbing your stomach before sliding his hands up to your breasts, fingers tips rubbing against your nipples. “Babe, did you lock the door?” you asked.

“Don’t worry, I got Scott another room.”

You reached your left hand behind you grabbing on to Chris’ head bringing his mouth to yours. Chris kissed you deeply, your back automatically arching at the taste of his tongue.

“Was he mad?” you asked.

“I don’t even care,” he replied, rubbing his nose against yours.

“Neither do I.”

Tagging: @tanelle83 @pinknerdpanda @allaboutthebooz @estillion14 @panicfob @patzammit @xoxabs88xox @heartislubbingdubbing @twittytelly @linki-locks11 @ab-baybay @impalaimages @jesseswartzwelder @rainbowkisses31 @xostephanie @smoothdogsgirl @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @xxloki81xx @firstangeldragonranch @soitmightgetweird @maeleeme @denisemarieangelina @rvgrsbrns @icanfeelastormbrewing @kitkat1690 @smilexcaptainx @dangerouslovefanfic@kelbabyblue @sweetlittlegingy @dont-need-another-fandom @chrisevansforever @evansxxx @southerngracela @bitterstar88 @squirrelnotsam @kitkatd7 @marvelislove10 @the-doctors-fallen-angel @hista-girl @cocomel0613 @also-fangirlinsweden @mustangshelby04 @bellaireland1981 @carolina-thiell @straightforwardly @torntaltos @denise1605 @mcuclintasha @iam-cj @trynnabemultifandom @chrisevansforever @kelbabyblue @broadwayandnetflix @kyjey @thevelvetseries​ @i-just-feel-like @daddieslittlefangirl @stankface @im-not-an-armrest-im-short @whymalu @mariswritingforfun @tessabb7​ @lakamaa12​ @deidrashouseofpain @the-murder-strut-murdered-me @greyeyedsmile14 @dangerouslovefanfic @ripvandrinkle @bitterstar88 @zestygingergirl @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @onceuponathreetwoone @supraveng @michelehansel @fanfictionaffair @agirlcanstilldream @what-is-your-plan-today @jessyballet @capstopavenger @wiczer @titty-teetee

[cinewhore]

alright alright after laying in bed and staring at my wall. a minor update on my life currently:

I came home, cursed the sky and then ate cause i was for sure hungry and that was irritating my mood. Felt better and went to the computer shop. Guy there said that he should be able to pull my data and he could help me switch it over whenever i get my new one. I’ll know in a few days.

I’m not upset because my computer went kaput but because it forced me to do something i wasn’t prepared to do at the moment. I kept telling myself i needed a new computer and was gonna upgrade next year but it decided to upgrade for me :) if i lose everything? No worries, most of it is backed up in my google drive/iCloud. Certain files I’ll have to do extra work to get but it’s not impossible to do.

This is the reason i bought an iPad so I’ll work from it until things change. With the hurricane predicted to hit this weekend, hopefully classes get canceled. Hopefully the weather isn’t super terrible and people will still come to my party.

All things considered, it’s a bad day not a bad life. Life may be insufferable but so am i.

[ohwaitimthewriter]

Ner Naak (My peace)

Pairing: Din Djarin x earthling!reader

Warnings: SPOILER of the Child’s name! Other than that, none! 

Summarize: Din Djarin meets you, an earthling, with no idea of the existence of an outer space. 

Words count: 1373

A/n: Nothing to declare other than just enjoy your reading! and don’t forget to tell me if you want to be remove from the tag list! (Or to be added)

Ner naak Masterlist. // The Mandalorian Masterlist. 

Mando had left for about fifteen minutes to check that the child had fallen asleep comfortably in the bed in the room they both occupied at your house. It was late. Very late. Maybe even too late to say for sure what time it was exactly. You had spent the evening and part of the night working on the sketches.

Mando was feeling tired. A kind of fog was clouding his mind. His breathing was strangely calm and his whole body was calling him to close his eyes. The child slept soundly. Mando returned to the living room and even the dog was slumped on his carpet to sleep. 

And Mando noticed something. It was a quiet night. He couldn't hear anything. Just silence. He glanced at the living room window and there was not a single movement either. Were the nights on earth always this quiet? He could certainly get a liking for it. It wasn't difficult either. 

It was a bit too quiet and since he couldn't hear you tidying up as you had told him just before he went away, he decided to come and see what you were doing. 

And there you were. With your head resting in your arms on the worktop. Sitting on a chair, you had fallen asleep. Within a few minutes you had let yourself fall into Morpheus' arms.

Mando felt a certain remorse at observing you when you didn't know anything about it. It didn't match his personality. He wasn't used to being so intrusive, but he couldn't help but notice the way you had intertwined your fingers, or the way your chest rose and fell at the peaceful rhythm of your breathing. And you had fallen asleep knowing that he, almost a stranger, had not.

He no longer counted the times when he had been unable to sleep, knowing that strangers were in the same room. And you were asleep. You didn't care that he was from somewhere else, you didn't care that you could never see his face, you didn't even care if he wasn't potentially a dangerous person. You were asleep. And Mando was confused by this, because the trust you placed in him was so surprising. 

And maybe he shouldn't waste that trust. Looking at you that way was far from polite, so he slowly moved closer to you. His gloved hand touched your shoulder and gently stroked it to wake you up.

You grumbled, your eyes flickering as you tried to get out of your sleep and you could almost hear Mando talking softly in your ear. 

"You should go to bed." 

You simply nodded and Mando helped you to get up while your mind was still between sleep and wake. 

"You should too."  You almost whispered, and your hand, which had found itself resting on Mando's arm when he had supported you to get you up, returned the gentle gesture that Mando had made towards you to wake you up. 

Mando watched you go up the stairs before disappearing into your room. Despite the thick fabric on his sleeve, your touch had not gone unnoticed by Mando. He couldn't really feel the warmth of your hand, but the gesture was probably even warmer. 

And he thought about it all night long. At least the rest of the night he had to spend. The next day you had also gone to work. To the university. He still hadn't solved the mystery of that institution. He took advantage of your absence to use your computer and continue his investigations on the planet Earth. He wanted to understand people. He wanted to know their customs. He wanted to know the meaning of affectionate gestures as mundane as a simple pat on the forearm. Yes, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He was flustered by it. Not flustered like a teenager discovering the emotional side of love. It had nothing to do with it. And he didn't believe in it either. But he was confused and he thought he would never find out why.

As for you, you wanted to start the repairs. Your thoughts weren't really focused on that gesture of affection that Mando was having trouble getting through. It was natural for you, rather common to think about it. On the other hand, a spaceship waiting to be upgraded, that wasn't very usual. 

All day long you had been bothered by thoughts of repair. You were proud of the work you and Mando had done the night before, even though it had made your night incredibly short. But now everything was ready. It was all set and you couldn't wait to get your hands dirty.

You had estimated the number of days needed for the repair at 5 days. 5 days, if everything went the way you wanted, but you already knew that making some of the pieces would be a difficult task. You had informed Mando about this. He looked surprised. Perhaps he was expecting a shorter period? After all, who knows what a person with the knowledge and tools to repair a ship could do.

A ship. It was difficult to realize how much it meant. You never really took the time to think about it. At the same time, was your brain able to understand the scope of it? Not really. But having the possibility to go off to space travel was happily running through your mind. There was something exciting and frightening about the unknown. 

And you probably would have loved being able to put ship repair on a line on your resume. But it was not possible. 

You sighed as you closed a student notebook. It was decided, you were going to take some holiday time earlier this year. 

When you got home from university, you found Mando on your computer. He seemed enthralled by something he had found online. Your dog was still lying at his feet. He seemed to like him particularly since Mando had dared to scratch his head the first night he came. Yet Banjo loved everyone. But you were surprised not to see the child. 

"Mando? Where is the child? "You asked him, looking around again. 

"Grogu? He's upstairs. He found a children's book. "Mando said to you as he looked away from the computer. 

"Oh well, he must have found one of the old books I had when I was..." And then you stopped dead in your tracks. 

Grogu. Mando, had called him Grogu. And suddenly a feeling of intense shame had invaded you from head to toe. You had never, ever asked Mando the name of his son. You had never asked about his identity. Your cheeks turned bright red and you suddenly didn't know where to stand. How could you have never asked his name in three days? 

"Oh no, honestly, I’m an idiot!" You blurted out. 

Mando was taken by surprise. You didn't see him but he frowned, not understanding this sudden change in behaviour. He sat up and put the computer on the coffee table. 

"What do you mean?" he said. 

"Grogu... that's his name, isn't it?" You asked him. 

"Obviously" he said. Mando still didn't understand where you were going with this.

"I'm really sorry I didn't ask you his name earlier, really, it's... I'm sorry." You apologized with the thought of slapping you in the face. 

"Don't worry, you did better than me." 

Mando cracked a smile under his helmet. You were unbelievable. In three days you had learned about a universe larger than your wildest dreams could imagine, and you were worried about a name. Mando didn't like prejudices, but he couldn't help making fun of something as earthly as this. 

"Better than you?" 

"I didn't know his name until a person, a friend, gave it to me weeks later."

By telling you this anecdote, Mando had hoped to reassure you. He studied the features of your face and when the redness had somewhat faded to give way to astonishment, he knew he had succeeded. 

"Weeks?" 

"It's a long story." Mando replied. 

"It's a good thing I took some time off," and you crossed your arms over your chest. "You're going to tell me about it while I fix your junk heap."

[lambourngb]

a skeleton of something more [3/7]

previously here. malex wip based on the trailer for season 3, some spoilers and my own speculation. I’m failing at the daily serial because keeping to 2K is impossible, but hoping to have it finished by next week.

Warnings: NSFW content, not forrest long friendly

*** NOW **** 

Alex shut off the streaming hot water reluctantly, and shifted back on the new shower bench to lean his head against the tile. 

His fingertips were pruned from the long shower, his attempt at using the scalding water to try to wash away the dirt he felt covered in after being away from Roswell for so long. Pointless endeavour, when he knew the filth was more than skin deep at this point. It was in his bones. It was in his blood, the way the Manes name still opened the worst doors. Alex touched the corners of his smile with his hands, looking for the edge of the mask he wore around Deep Sky and finding only the bristle of his beard growing in, a very late five o’clock shadow.

The steam of the shower was slowly fading, bringing back the visual details of his naked body. His stump was slightly swollen, the marks of wearing his prosthesis for too long, but it was hard to feel safe without it on, doing the work he was doing around even more paranoid men than he was. Three years past his injury, the scars were still ugly to his eyes as he cupped his fingers over the end of his right leg, but time had faded the lines from an angry red to a wizened white. 

Alex hoped that time would do the same to his soul. 

He moved his hand from his stump, over to his thighs to stretch the lingering soreness from his legs. He ignored where his cock laid, half-full of blood from the simple pleasure of a hot shower; the desire to let himself feel good was far from his mind. Instead he focused on returning functionality to his body after the long, cramped ride on that bus. That was the physical challenge, the emotional one would be trickier. 

It helped that he knew Michael was still there, in his house, probably fixing something else that had been neglected during Alex’s time away. Finding something that was broken or damaged, and then making it whole just with his touch, that was what Michael did naturally. Alex was no exception to that.

Every muscle was loose finally, thanks to the improved water pressure beating on the knots of tension until they turned into putty. Beyond the simple improvement of the plumbing, Michael had also relocated the shower taps to the wall next to the bench, so he could sit safely and turn on the water without balancing on one foot in the front of the stall. 

New grab bars lined the bathroom walls as well. Alex had worried about the expense until he recognized the chrome and black rails from the boxes he had bought a while ago, before shuttling them off to the garage. Michael had apparently found the abandoned project and had finished it for him. The longer the trips he made away from Roswell were, the more involved the upgrades Michael made in his absence. He would need to prepare a cover story in case Forrest noticed the changes, a renovated bathroom went far beyond changing out bulbs in a light fixture.

He was getting closer to ending the sham relationship with Forrest, but he wasn’t there quite yet. His first night back in Roswell he had managed to steer Forrest away from his house and more importantly, his bed, but that was only a temporary reprieve. Tomorrow it would all begin again, playing the role of a grieving son looking to ‘understand’ his father, docilely following Forrest’s lead in ‘discovering’ the alien threat, letting the other man comfort him, but this time, that would all happen in front of Michael. 

Michael knocked on the half-open bathroom door to get his attention, before stepping inside carrying a bath towel. “Are you still alive in there?”

“I am, but I want to marry this shower,” and you, he finished silently. Michael looked pleased by the comment as he stood outside the glass doors, waiting patiently as Alex pulled himself up from the bench and carefully hopped toward him. As he drew closer, the proud expression changed to one of open hunger as Michael took in his nakedness, cataloging the changes on his body. Downtime while he had been away from Roswell had often been filled with trips to the gym, exercising to work through his frustration at the slow pace of developments regarding Deep Sky. Weight lifting and core training had kept his hands away from his phone when the desire to check in with Michael took hold.

There was only so many times he could pass off a call to Michael about his mail or paying a bill for his house.

Alex held out his hand for the towel, while Michael stared at him, his gaze almost physical as he lingered over the swells of muscle. He snapped his fingers at Michael to break the hypnosis.

At the sound, Michael blinked, but then avoided his hand to wrap the towel around Alex himself. Warmth from the soft linen enveloped Alex, a sign the towel was fresh from the drier. He closed his eyes under Michael’s safe hold, enjoying the blatant pampering as Michael gently patted Alex’s wet skin dry. “I don’t mind sharing you with the shower, especially if it means you’re not wearing clothes,” he murmured in Alex’s ear, nosing the lock of wet hair away.

Shivering under the ghost of Michael’s lips, Alex felt something start to knit and heal inside him, blanketed by more than just the towel. Love. Feeling more like himself, Alex teased Michael back, “You could have joined me.”

“It was tempting, very tempting, but then who would have made dinner if I had taken you up on that offer?” Michael tucked the towel around Alex, and then offered his arm as a support while Alex hopped toward the pile of folded sweats to wear. 

“I have a lot of appetites, Michael, food is barely in the top five. And I can eat later, after you leave,-” Alex held his clothes in his hand, not moving to get dressed just yet. 

“You can, but you won’t eat. As soon as I walk out that door, I know you’re going to park yourself in front of your computer and spend the rest of the night hacking, just like you’ve done nearly every night since this started.” Michael waited with a raised eyebrow for Alex to deny it. 

Caught by both the frustration that Michael was right and by the ticking clock in his head that counted down the end of this precious time together, Alex conceded. He pulled his sweatshirt down over his head grumpily, “I didn’t spend every night hacking.”

“Just the nights when you weren’t with Forrest Long.” Michael said it quietly, turning away to hang up the wet towel. 

Alex tucked his crutches under his arms, before reaching out to catch Michael’s shoulder. “Hey, it doesn’t mean anything, you know that, right? It’s just…friction.” He studied Michael’s face, worried that perhaps his patience with everything was wearing thin. 

Over the last year, as he moved deeper and deeper into the circle of men that made up Deep Sky, Michael had been his lifeline to his real identity. A voice on the line, late at night, warm and beloved, reminding Alex what was important and keeping him grounded. During the day, his resolve had felt less certain. He had forced himself to echo the words of Jesse Manes to curry favor, ducking his reflection in the mirror when the hateful words started to come easier and easier to him. Then there was the feeling he had, when he had to accept Forrest’s offers to visit him in Los Alamos, the way he had felt weirdly relieved to see a familiar face, even if it was someone he couldn’t trust. 

Hearing Michael’s voice led him back to himself, and then little by little, the updates were less mission-related and more personal. It had led them back to each other. By the second month, Michael had stopped dancing around things, admitting to Alex just how much he missed him and by the third month, Alex was slipping away to meet with him at half-way destinations to seal his words with actions.

It was reminiscent of his early days in the Air Force, finding Michael in out-of-the-way places where no one knew them. Back then, Alex had DADT and military physicals to dodge. Michael had to take care in leaving no marks on Alex’s body, while Alex had had no such restriction. Michael would leave those encounters, mauled with love bites and fucked thoroughly, while Alex stayed as pristine as his neatly pressed uniform. Eleven, twelve years on, the need for discretion had changed, from the military to Forrest Long. 

That was the elephant in the room. Alex was still having sex with Forrest, mostly when he couldn’t avoid it with a trip out of town, like when he accompanied Forrest to Deep Sky owned properties. It was just friction, putting his body in motion to do a job, much like he had when he had deployed abroad. He had lost any amount of shame for what he was doing to the other man after the first time, when he had found a detailed write-up about his own visit to the Long Farm that Forrest had filed and sent to the mysterious leader of Deep Sky.

“I know.” Michael replied, his smile weak but real as Alex brought him closer for a slow, thorough kiss. 

Alex inhaled the scent of rain into his nose as Michael melted in his arms and the kiss deepened between them. This was the opposite of friction, as they slid easily together in the doorway of the bathroom, until Alex’s stomach betrayed him thoroughly and growled. Michael broke away with a laugh, and Alex noted with relief that his earlier fragility had completely vanished from his eyes, as he headed toward the kitchen, “Come on, I made you your favorite for dinner, spicy tomato soup.”

“With strips of cheese toast?”

Michael looked offended at the question. “Of course.”

That was proof that Michael had been listening to him closely during their late night conversations, the way the subject migrated from business to the personal, until Alex had flat out whined over how terrible the food was at one of the Deep Sky outfits. “Forget looking for aliens, they should look for a new chef.”  And then they were off and running about comfort food, with Michael sharing his fondness for canned spaghettios, they tasted fine cold. Sharing his own fond memory from childhood of his mother making soup as a rare show of maternal care. Melted cheese dripped over cut up toast, then dipped in the tomato soup.

The clock was still ticking in his head, counting down the end of this brief interlude of happiness. Alex laid back on his couch with a tray of soup on his lap and tried to soak in every minute. The thrill of sharing a meal together, sitting side by side on his couch with the evening news droning on in the background. It was a type of domesticity that he never thought he had wanted until Michael. His thoughts turned away from the wholesome toward the carnal as he watched Michael pucker his lips together to blow on the steaming bowl. 

The food was delicious, but that was a distracting sight for anyone, let alone someone who knew just what Michael’s mouth was capable of doing. 

Michael flashed a wicked smile when he caught Alex staring, picking up his strip of toast to dip in his soup and then licked it indecently clean. The perfect bow of his mouth around his food, his tongue chasing his lips for every drop of spilled soup had Alex shifting on the couch. The production lasted until Michael hit a hot place in his bowl, squeaking in shock, sending Alex into a peal of laughter at the affronted look on his face.

“Fuck, that’s hot!”

“Yes it was.”

“Asshole, I meant the soup!”

Alex laughed long and hard, his head tipped back against the couch, and after a moment, Michael joined him. Tears came to his eyes, the laughter set off each time they looked at each other. There was a point, where Alex realized he couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed like that, at least not in the last year outside of talking to Michael on the phone. 

It was worth it. All of it. Infiltrating Deep Sky, spending half of his time around people who would cheerfully murder an alien, even using sex to get information, the price was not too steep to pay if it meant he could protect this moment, preserve it and repeat it forever. To see laugh lines around Michael’s mouth, instead of the press of fear, he would fuck the Devil himself if it meant Michael was safe.

He slowly sobered on the couch, his laughter gone at the thought of losing this. Michael placed their empty dishes in the kitchen and then drew Alex’s foot into his lap to rub. “I can practically see the gears turning now. Relax, okay? Watching the clock doesn’t help.”

“I know,” Alex agreed quietly, pressing his foot into Michael’s grip. “I’m feeling a little guilty here, with all this pampering.” 

Michael dug his thumbs into Alex’s instep, drawing a loud groan of appreciation as he worked on releasing the knots of stress. Too much time in combat boots, the calluses were thick and tough under Michael’s hands but he kept rubbing regardless. 

“If that guilt motivates you into taking better care of yourself-”

“I know, I am trying. But what about you?” Alex gestured toward Michael’s face with his own look of judgment, “are you sleeping enough? Eating enough?”

“I’m also trying. It will be better once this is over. Once you get to meet the head of Deep Sky, and hack him, we’ll both sleep better.”

“If it’s ever over. I’m starting to think the leader of Deep Sky is like the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

Instead of pulling on the threads of pessimism, Michael tugged on Alex’s ankle as he crawled closer to him on the couch. As a subject change, it was a welcome one to Alex. Why dwell on the future, it was better to enjoy the present. Michael’s hands smoothed over the soft fleece of the sweatpants, sending a thrill of excitement through Alex. He slipped down on the seat to allow Michael room. 

“Is it okay to pamper you a little more?” Michael asked, his eyes dark as his fingers slipped inside the waistband of Alex’s sweats. He teased at the taut muscles, stroking his fingers over the soft rasp of hair trailing downward. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“When’s the last time someone’s sucked this big dick of yours?”

There was a dark hint of teasing in Michael’s voice, he was daring Alex to say a name. Forrest’s name. It was the type of playful provocation they could use with each other now, safely, the result of their late night phone calls to each other. When time was valued, what was the point of secrets between them? 

Alex licked his lips absently, giving Michael a thorough head to toe look of consideration, before answering honestly, “It was in Santa Fe. At the Silver Saddle Motel. A very hot cowboy sucked me until I was hard, and then rode my dick all night long.” 

Michael blinked, not expecting that answer, but pinked in pleasure. “Oh…well then, you’ve been deprived because that was months ago.” He pulled down on Alex’s sweats, letting the band of elastic tuck neatly under his balls and sat back to admire the view. Alex shifted under his eyes, his cock straining upward as Michael bent his head down. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, he’s a short guy, all of this probably doesn’t fit in his mouth,” Michael commented, wrapping his palm around Alex’s cock firmly.

“Yeah,” Alex gasped, hitching up into Michael’s grip, “small mouth, it’s hard to even kiss, impossible to fuck-” His voice gave out as Michael licked the bead of pre-cum with tip of his tongue before stretching his mouth wide. There was a way that Michael approached cock-sucking that Alex could never get over. The look of hunger and that deep breath he always took, as if he had to hold himself back to keep from gorging himself on Alex’s cock. 

Alex had been deprived. Very deprived.

Slowly Michael slid his lips down on Alex’s cock, taking him deep into his mouth. His tongue, warm and firm, dragged downward. Alex cried out in pleasure, it felt so good, his hips rocking upward imperceptibly as his iron-strong control was rocked by Michael. He kept his eyes trained on Michael’s mouth, the reddening stretch of his lips wrapped tightly around his cock. Michael looked up, catching his eye and then bobbed his mouth downward.

Reaching downward, Alex placed his hand against Michael’s jaw and traced his thumb around the edge of his mouth. “So good, you take me so well, Michael.”

The praise had Michael blinking in pleasure before he redoubled his efforts in sucking. Alex gasped again, sinking deeper into Michael’s throat until his lips were kissing the sparse hair, down to the root. Fuck. He was ready to come already. Worse than the clock sweeping toward the end of the evening, was his body ready to end it now.

“Close, I’m gonna-” Alex warned, his hands going to Michael’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull Michael off of him, or keep Michael in place to feed him his cock in case he backed away as Alex teetered on the edge of orgasm. His grip clutched uselessly on him, but Michael showed no signs of stopping his efforts. 

Kicking at the couch cushion, he lost the fight to hold back, as he felt his cock hit the back of Michael’s throat. There was a tightening around him, throat muscles working hard to swallow, and then Michael wrapped his hand back around the base of Alex’s cock to stroke him in time with his sucking. His free hand gently squeezed Alex, before rubbing a knuckle along the seam of his balls to his perineum. The outside touch against his prostate was enough to have Alex coming hard down Michael’s throat.

God it was so good. Michael knew every place to touch him. He knew to keep his mouth on Alex as he came, swallowing his release sloppily, until come and saliva leaked from his lips. It was over far too fast, but Michael held on until Alex felt the tears of overstimulation burn in his eyes. Slowly Michael softened his lips, letting Alex’s spent cock slip lazily from his messy mouth and then met Alex’s gaze with a knowing glint.

Michael knew exactly how depraved he looked. 

It was too soon to get hard again, but Alex felt the twinge of it as he stared at Michael. His hands were greedy, cupping Michael’s face between them before wiping up the spill from Michael’s lips with his thumb. Two could play at that game, he thought as he brought it to his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Michael swore softly, “Look at you, tasting yourself.”

“I’d rather taste you,” Alex patted the couch he was laying down on and straightened his disheveled sweatpants. “Take off those jeans and wrap those great thighs of yours around my head and let me suck you.”

“Actually, I’d rather take you to bed.”

Alex glanced at the clock behind Michael. It was close to midnight. He knew based on experience that Forrest would be by in the morning with coffee, before Alex was fully awake. It was a transparent way of trying to catch him off guard, to see if Alex would slip up with news about Michael, or any other alien. After every short trip back to Roswell, the other man had made sure to find an excuse to be in Alex’s house. 

“I know I can’t stay, but I don’t want to leave.”

“I never want you to leave either.” Alex chewed on his lower lip, as Michael waited. Sensing his advantage, he tilted his head seductively, spilling his curls over one eye and then made a transparent pleading face at Alex. Laughing, Alex conceded, “Okay, okay, you can stay for a little while. Help me to bed, and set an alarm.”

*** 

[yourmcu]

Friday, I’m In Love

Pairings: Tony Stark x reader

Summary:

In which the reader is an Avenger and she just geeks out when she sees a bunch of musical instruments at the compound and Tony just fallsinlovewithherstraightaway because of her personality and music taste

Word count: 2,562

A/n: (moved to the end of the fic!)

Warnings: u have nothing to worry about :) fluff!

read it on ao3!

gif not mine! credits to the owner^^

“I’ll drop this off at your room before I hit the hay, Tony mentioned about giving you a tour of the place first.” Clint patted you on the arm and walked pass you with your bags.

You nodded and smiled, really appreciating his help. You’ve been sorting things out at your apartment with Clint all day. “Alright, thanks. I owe you one.” You heard him say something along the lines of ‘buy me donuts’ before he was out of sight.

“Agent L/N, you’re finally able to join us,” Tony gave you a playful smile, finishing his drink to walk over to you.

You were officially one of the avengers, and now officially moving in. It’s been a few months since you assisted the team on a particularly huge mission. It was not planned of course, after that you started helping out when they needed it, and they thought you’d fit right in.

“Tony,” you gave him a small nod and a kind smile. “And please, call me Y/N.” The billionaire then offered you a drink but you declined.

“Good, didn’t think you’d be much of a drinker,” Tony stated and gave you one of those charming looks that would literally sweep any girl right off her feet. “Has anybody told you that you’ve got pretty eyes?”

The comment surprised you but then again, you remembered who you were talking to. “Stark, if we’re going to be working together you better cut the crap.” You laughed.

Tony raised an eyebrow, thinking that you probably ran into Pepper first before coming up. The small talk led to Tony’s said compound tour. He was making jokes here and there, even revealing secrets about the others that you didn’t need to know about.

After some time the both of you reached the last floor, the one that had your bedroom. Tony was still talking but your  gaze was glued to the black, shiny piano out in the balcony. Why was something so grand and probably expensive doing in plain sight where someone could just swoop in and steal it?

“Earth to Y/N,” Tony waved a hand in front of your face. He stopped when you came back from your trance. “There you are. That’s a secluded, little balcony. It’s a great place to let off some steam or just to take a break for a while.”

“That’s nice,” you murmured. “You... uh, you play?”

Tony spun around to look at you again. “Play?”

“Yeah. The piano, I mean. It’s a good looking piano.” You admitted.

“Oh. That’s what you were ogling? For a second I thought I was a bad and boring tour guide,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t say I do. It’s a specific model my mother used to own and...”

You waved him off and smiled lightly, not wanting him to explain further as you already understood. It might kill the mood. It’s been a while since you’ve run your fingers through a set of piano keys, you realized, but you were also shy to ask Tony if you could play it sometime.

“Alright, just call for Friday if you need anything, or call Friday to call me,” he joked when you finally reached your bedroom door. “After you settle maybe you could stop by the lab? I could really use your help for something - it’s in your area of expertise, you know?”

“Sure. Tomorrow’s good?”

“Sounds great.”

You nodded and thanked him for the tour, and he gave you a salute before walking away.

----

“Good morning, metal man.”

From inside the Iron Man suit, Tony turned around to see you leaning against the wall beside the door to the lab, a cheeky smile on your face, one cup of coffee in each hand. He was certain that he pulled another all nighter, not even realizing that it was morning until you greeted him.

Surprised by your presence, the iron helmet swiftly revealed his tired face, then he opened up the chest plate of his suit to get out of it completely. “Time?”

“It’s six. I didn’t think you’d be working this early,” but you noticed the circles around his eyes. “...or you didn’t stop since last night.”

“Nope.” Tony snatched one of the cups from your hand and gulped it down. His eyes slightly widened when he realized you snuck in some bourbon in there.

He also couldn’t help but look at your nightwear. Slightly shabby sweatpants and a large band shirt. Green Day, he noticed. They weren’t bad. Heck he could’ve sworn he heard one of their songs on the radio once.

“You said you needed me for something?” You recalled, walking over to his computer. You were an all in one package: you practiced a lot of fighting as a teenager, now you trained with Natasha or Steve, so you knew a decent amount of hand-to-hand combat. Originally you were supposed to major in arts, but switched to the science stuff, engineering, so you knew a thing or two about building things. You also took interest in coding. Plus, Fury admitted to like your wit, one of the reasons why he wasn’t against you joining the avengers.

Tony just wanted you to try and make the security systems around the compound more tight, more secure. He’d do it himself but he wanted to see what you can do. You were the newest part of the team, of course he’d be curious about you.

You pushed yourself away from his desk, humming at the green bar slowly filling up in the monitor. “That should take a while,” you crossed your legs and looked up at the genius billionaire. “You’re awfully quiet, Tony, I think you need some sleep.”

He rolled his eyes, smiling. “I’m getting back to work.”

“Hey no, I’m serious. You need to re-”

You cut yourself off when you saw a beautiful, six-stringed instrument that hung from the wall when you turned. Tony wondered why you abruptly stopped talking and looked at you.

You got up the chair and carefully removed the electric guitar from the wall. You cringed a bit when you felt the rusty strings on your fingertips. Clearly this hasn’t been played in a while.

But nonetheless, you thought it was beautiful.

“You’re looking at it like it’s the love of your life,” Tony pointed out.

“Do you not know what this is?” You gestured to the instrument. It was a Gibson, 1960 Les Paul - its color scheme being cherry red and black. It greatly reminded you of Brian May’s red special-

Anyway, you sat back down, running your hands through the fret board a couple times to get used to the rusty strings, also tuning some that were out of tune. Then you pulled out a small pick from your pocket.

“So you just carry around a plastic plectrum everywhere you go, huh?” Tony heaved himself up to sit on top of his desk in front of you.

Playing a few sets of chords made you reminisce about your high school years. You were the type that brought a guitar everyday to school back then. “It’s a habit,” you chuckled. “When did you start playing?”

“Oh, no. I just collect them. I know a chord or two but that’s it.”

You laughed. Of course, he was a billionaire. “I could teach you if you want.”

Tony crossed his arms and playfully raised an eyebrow. Is this your way of flirting with him, or was it just an innocent offer? “Why, you a professional or something?”

“No - well, if I stuck to my original career choice, I should be.” You shrugged.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Tony made a mental note to himself to ask you more about that specific topic later on.

“Fine,” you giggled. “Name a band and I’ll play a song.”

He pretended to think. “Dunno, AC/DC.”

You slid your fingers up a bit to the higher frets to play the intro to ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’. It’s your personal favorite from that band. The guitar doesn’t sound as exciting as it is when it’s plugged in, but you manage to pull it off. You then played the opening riff a couple times then skipped to the chorus.

Tony watched your hand as you hummed along the chorus. It was a great song, yet simple chords, simple until you get to the solo part. He thought you played it beautifully but he’d never admit it to your face.

“C’mon, it was just one song, am I that good?” You teased when you saw a glint of amazement in his eyes.

“Please, anyone can play that song.” Tony rolled his eyes, grinning. Then he pointed to your shirt. “Green Day.”

You repositioned your hand on the frets, playing the fingerstyle to the band’s song ‘Minority’. “I’d never wear a band shirt if I didn’t know the band. That’s downright embarrassing.

“What’s your genre, Stark? I’m guessing a lotta rock?” You stopped playing for a bit to look at him.

“You could say that. But if I think it’s catchy then it’s going on my playlist,” Tony responded. “You can keep that guitar, by the way.”

You looked at him with wide eyes. “I can’t. This - this model is expensive. The brand’s expensive-”

“It’s three grand.” He told you like it didn’t matter to him.

“Exactly! It’s expensive!”

“Boss, Miss Romanoff is on her way down.” Friday’s voice rang throughout the room.

On cue, Natasha walked in wearing her usual sparring attire. “Y/N. You were supposed to meet me at the gym half an hour ago.”

You cursed, getting up and hanging the guitar back up the wall earning a glare from Tony. He really did want to give it to you. “Sorry, got caught up. Uh... I think it’s done, Tony,” you rambled and pointed at his computer, green bar already full. 

Natasha lingered at the door after you ran up to change. “I know you have a lot of those displayed around and I’m telling you, hide them.” She was referring to the guitar.

“Why?” Tony hopped off the desk and began working again.

“Mainly because she turns into a huge music geek, but I’m assuming you love it.”

----

Tony had a stressful time doing work one night. He’s in the middle of a suit upgrade and he just can’t seem to put it together right. Maybe he just needed a moment to breathe and relax.

So he went to the balcony, a glass of his preferred alcohol for the night in hand.

He wasn’t that surprised when he saw you in there too. After the first time you came over his lab you started coming over regularly, just to talk about random stuff, music and bands, assisting him with anything he needs assisting with. The both of you became close. You could catch and snap back whenever he made a smart remark, and when he would shamelessly flirt with you, you’d just play along, you don’t get insulted or take any of it too seriously. That’s probably why he likes you so much.

This time you sat in front of the piano, playing chords and doing random scales. Tony admired you quietly from the entrance of the balcony. You did look pretty peaceful humming along, he even found it adorable when your eyebrows furrowed when you accidentally hit a wrong note, sometimes you’d shake your head slightly.

You were definitely something else. As time passed, Tony realized his feelings for you only grew and grew. He even started listening to all the songs you recommended, which were all amazing, even though at first he wasn’t used to hearing songs without an electric guitar on full distortion.

“Sorry. It was just so tempting.” You giggled. You pat the vacant part of the piano seat next to you. Tony placed his drink on top of the piano before sitting down.

You began playing a new song and he was very much relaxed by it. He remembered that time he got to ask you why you didn’t grab the opportunity to play music professionally.

“Well why didn’t you?” Tony asked.

You shrugged, fiddling with his custom made Iron Man guitar. “People judged me. Told me I’d never make it as a musician, that it was just out of luck for the famous ones out there now. It’s fine honestly, I liked other stuff anyway. After that I started training, y’know, became a spy...”

“You know how The Cure’s ‘Friday I’m In Love’ is upbeat?” You asked as you transitioned to a new chord. Tony hummed. “I found a slow, piano version the other day and I... learned it. I think it’s pretty.”

“Let’s hear it.”

You smiled. You were always flattered when he wanted to hear you play songs.

Tony looked at your hands swiftly playing the piano keys, up to your face concentrating on what chord was next. You only learned it by ear, you were sure you’d mess up at some point.

“I don’t care if Monday’s blue,” you hummed. “Tuesday’s grey and Wednesday too...”

You believed your singing voice was shit, so you just did this thing where you hummed- but also sung the lyrics as you played. Tony believed differently though. He thought your voice was beautiful.

“Thursday, I don’t care about you... it’s Friday, I’m in love,” You glanced at Tony for a moment and then returned your attention to the piano keys when you saw that he’d been fully listening to you.

“Monday you could fall apart,” you fell into your own little world again, high-fiving yourself in your mind when you nailed that chord progression.

Whereas Tony was sure that he was falling for you as moments passed.

“Tuesday, Wednesday, break my heart...”

The way you sung that last part made him feel things. It was just so soft, warm, damn, he wanted to make a move now.

‘Do it! You won’t have a chance like this again.’ A voice inside his head told him.

“Thursday doesn’t even start, it’s-”

You did an entirely different chord, messing up the song. “Oh god, that was horrible.” You laughed, closing your eyes and putting your hands around your stomach to contain your laughter. “But it was a good version, don’t you th-”

When you went to look at Tony, you were immediately cut off by lips pressing to yours. He cupped both sides of your face to gently deepen the kiss. He didn’t want it to be forced but seeing as you weren’t pulling away and you started to kiss back, he didn’t stop.

You were shocked to say the least. It was so fucking cliche but it was happening. Tony Stark was kissing you, and you liked it. Well of course you did, who wouldn’t? Maybe because it felt like it had meaning, not because he’s just lusting for you. It felt like your heart was about to leap out of your chest and there were actual butterflies inside you.

“Friday, I’m in love.” Tony finished the lyric for you after he pulled away.

“Are - are you-”

“I might have to kiss you again just to shut you up.”

But this time you beat him to it. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, and you felt those darn butterflies again.

“It’s about time, sir.” Friday spoke.

----

so this is just a pure music-related imagine and also I’m sorry if you don’t like the band(s) mentioned (bc it’s an x reader), or have a different guitar preference, or play a different instrument or have a drastically different fav genre, etc.

(AND YES I THOUGHT THE TITLE WAS PERFECT FOR THIS SINCE IT’S A SONG AND HE HAS AN A.I NAMED FRIDAY)

[alfredosauce50]

What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 11

Wordcount: 5,150 Rating: M for strong language, ideologically sensitive and mature themes, gore “In a society that normalizes cybernetic enhancements, many forget what it is to be human. He never did.” Chapter synopsis: Allen and Arthur race to find you both, but it proves to be harder without knowing your whereabouts. Meanwhile, you've successfully helped Alfred find the chip. Before leaving, you have a long-awaited conversation with your father to realize he's more insane than you thought. The reader is referred to as she/her.

Songs to listen to while you read (in order as found in playlist): Cyberninja,  Trouble finds trouble, Tower Lockdown, Me!Me!Me!, Pt. 2, Him & I (with Halsey), Atlantis. I have indented song titles throughout the chapter so you can change accordingly. Starting now:

Cyberninja

Before Arthur could even buckle himself in, Allen rammed his foot into the gas pedal. He was thrown back in a violent manner, and hit his head against the headrest. But the mechanic never complained. He looked stressed enough as is, continually scanning the road while murmuring to himself as if he’d really gone mad. “Hell, that motherfucker could be anywhere in the whole fucking city right now.” He hissed, pulling out of the driveway and into the main road.

“We can’t call him. Track him. Nothing. Same goes for (F/N). They’re off the map.” Turning to his companion numerous times in distress, he sped through the streets, though he had no particular destination in mind.

The indicator clicked. Allen cursed at the car in front of them, but never made a move to overtake. As Arthur became overwhelmed by these stimulants, he opened his mouth, defeated. “If you’re in such a hurry, why--why bother following traffic rules? You never have before, so why now?” He asked with a shake of the head, earning a loud scoff from the other.

The car windows glowed with a flurry of pinks and purples as they moved closer to the commercial district. They were near their first stop.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t give a damn if I didn’t have to.” The whites of his eyes reflected a mosaic of color as he never looked away from the road. “But that was when I was working for my boss. I had protection. I could do a hit and run if I wanted, and without the running part.” The redhead breathed. Then, he stuck his head out of the window with a huff. Immediately, he was choked by the city smog, and deafened by the blaring of car horns.

“Friggen’ prick...” He flipped off the driver in front of him. Sitting back into his seat, he flashed Arthur a grin, though the man couldn’t return the energy.

“Did you get fired? Or did you quit?” This wasn’t the best time to ask about the past, but he had been dying to know why he wound up half-dead on his doorstep. So what better a time to do it than now?

“I quit.” Allen answered point-blank. “Old man didn’t take it well. Decided to kill me. Didn’t.” Slowing the vehicle, they arrived at a parking-lot surrounded by backdoors of multiple piss-poor establishments. One of which was illuminated by a flickering red neon sign that read ‘no-tell motel’.

“He thinks I’m dead, so the rest of the city has to think that too.”

Arthur gawked at him. “That makes you no better than a fugitive! And it’s not just anybody after you--Allen, he’ll kill you when he finds out you’re still alive!”

“And that’s why he won’t find out.” Tapping the side of his neck for a flap to open, the said man slotted a small disk inside. “Disables cybernetic upgrades in a twenty foot radius. Means I can’t use mine, but it stops other people from figuring out who I am.” He dug through one of the compartments for a muffler, which he wrapped around the bottom half of his face.

What he did next was alarming, however. Sticking his hand further in, he pulled out a gun and cocked it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell are you doing--!?” Arthur exclaimed, fumbling with a face mask Allen tossed his way. He didn’t see a silencer anywhere either. “If I can call the police without any upgrades, so can everyone else!”

His statement couldn’t ring any truer, and yet, it never slowed down the other’s movements as he climbed out of the car. Unsatisfied by his silence, he wound up getting out to follow him. “Oi, say something! At least let me know you’re not gonna shoot up a restaurant!” Whispering that part out, he had to speed up a few steps to catch up with the man, now marching to the backdoor of a motel.

“Put the mask on.” Allen murmured without sparing him a single glance. But he paused briefly to process what he said. “... A motel, you mean. But I’m hoping we won’t have to resort to that.”

Arthur’s eyes went round. “You were considering--”

He could share the desperation to save Alfred’s life, but he had a hard time following how. Shooting up a motel? What was he thinking?

“Yes.” Attaching his hand to the door, it creaked open. Before Allen took another step, he faced him with a serious glower. “Now when we get inside, I want you to walk up to the receptionist. He’s programmed to greet you. Ask him for a room, and while you do, I’ll approach him from behind and deactivate him. Kapeesh?”

But then again, he was in the dark here. Arthur hadn’t the slightest clue on what Alfred’s circumstances were, as mysterious as the man was, so he had no idea how he was on the verge of dying.

So naturally, he wouldn’t know how to save him either.

But he trusted Allen to know what to do.

“... Alright. You better not make me regret this, you tyke.” 

“You can call me anything you want, just not that. I’m not a kid anymore.” Those words would become apparent as they walked inside, where their plan went by without a hitch. They heard the automated voice of superficial kindness, which stopped abruptly to the sound of an android powering off. Its body fell to the ground to reveal Allen standing behind. Without wasting a second, he leaned over and typed furiously on the keyboard of the computer.

Trouble finds trouble

“Lemme see if this has a log of everybody who came by...” A few moments later, he started nodding at what he saw. “Bingo...” On their private encrypted server, stored the history of all the guests who booked a night. “Well, what do you know... Alfred checked out two days ago. But he’s on the move.” Pulling away to stand up straight, he jogged over to the exit.

“Even if someone tried to look for him in one a’ these places, he’d have to get behind the reception and do exactly what I did.” This someone referred to Matsumoto, but death already followed Alfred wherever he went. Not that Alfred knew that. “The perks of a no-tell motel. Even if they reek of piss, so long as there’s crime, they’ll never go out of business.” He beckoned Arthur to follow him with a tilt of the head. 

“One down, twenty-seven more to go. And that’s only in the direction he’s going... And under the assumption he’s only staying at these motels. So, uh, let’s hope he didn’t try to be too unpredictable.” 

The Brit huffed. This wasn’t going to be easy. 

“I think he’d be predictable to do that if you asked me.” He murmured. “But you call the shots. I’ll just be... Moral support.” 

Allen already disappeared out the door, but his head poked into the doorframe at that. “Nah. You have the most important job outta’ the both of us.” 

That was right. He didn’t tell him yet. He really should’ve a while ago, but he got caught up in the chase. 

“Whether you remove a chip from his head or not will determine if he lives or not.” 

Arthur paled. 

“He’s the guy my boss wanted me to kill. Remember the dude I told you about? The one who tried to steal a prototype chip three years ago?” Now that he mentioned it, he recalled the conversation a few weeks ago. But wait a minute. 

The mechanic felt his face scrunch up as he was hit with a major epiphany. That was Alfred? The terrorist Allen had been updating him about? He was the man who tore up three floors of the headquarters of Matsumoto Optics, and simultaneously, the same customer he had been serving for the last few years.

Before he could even process his shock, he was presented with even more appalling information. 

“He stole it this time. That’s what he and (F/N) disappeared to do. But now that it’s in his head, it’ll overwrite his consciousness until he’s a fucking vegetable.” 

Arthur was horrified. “Then why would he even--” 

“Because he doesn’t know.” Allen cut in with a grim expression. “He thought the chip was supposed to give him immortality, so he wanted to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. Like my boss. But no. It’s the opposite. It was all a ploy to kill him.” At this point, the blonde was at loss for words. As a doctor and mechanic, he was quite frankly terrified of how devilishly clever Matsumoto was. But he couldn’t expect any less from him, could he?

They made it back to the car, and he could only stare aimlessly out the windshield, paralyzed. 

“That’s why we need you.” He heard him say. Turning to the man, albeit slowly, he felt a hand slap down on his shoulder. Allen gave him a lopsided grin. “You’re the smartest guy I know, second to my boss. You were always great at fixing stuff. Cars, enhancements, people--so what’s a mixture of all three?”

Arthur dug a hand through his hair stressfully. “... You’re kidding.” And yet, he already knew he was on board. “... Are you calling him a car?” 

The other flattened his lips. “... He technically could be.” 

“Just to be clear, I fucking hate you.” 

Allen laughed. “Sure.”

“But otherwise, we’re wasting time.” He couldn’t believe the words falling from his lips. This was really happening, wasn’t it? After taking him in as an apprentice for his auto shop, the roles were finally reversed. He no longer took charge as the teacher. Or rather, he became the student caught up in the most difficult assignment yet. Having a taste of Allen’s work. 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” 

***

Tower Lockdown

You had all the reasons in the world to be anxious coming home. 

On top of worrying over Alfred, who had hundreds of trained assassins coming at him all at once, during every minute of the heist, you had to face an aspect of reality you avoided until now. You were in the building, and he had already stolen the chip. It was slotted comfortably in his head, ready to leave the premises.

 How come your father never appeared? Was he really just going to let you go just like that?

But the real question was this--should you stay or leave? 

Yes, you hardly approved of anything he’d done. Done to the world like Alfred always mentioned, and to Alfred himself. But you weren’t prepared to abandon him yet. He was still your father, and the only family you had. If you had to make a decision, you needed some closure. If not, a discussion. 

And you expected him to give it to you as the least he could do. 

As Alfred stood among a pile of dead bodies bathing in red, his mantis blades trembled against a katana blade. Even with his hands full, he made the time to check on you. “(F/N)! Stay away from walls! Just hang on for a second longer!” He shouted, turning to you briefly before diverting his attention back to his opponent. “We’re nearly home free!” 

Pulling away to give him a swift jab in the chest, blood sprayed onto his face, but he wasn’t fazed.

What did, however, was the sight of you being thrown over the shoulder of one of the bodyguards. Color drained from his face and he burst into a sprint. 

“(F/N)! No!” Watching you disappear into an elevator, he slammed right into the closing metal doors. “Fuck!” He slammed his fist against them to hear a loud bang. Before he could linger too long, he hastily made his way to a door adjacent. The emergency stairs would take a hell lot longer, but as if he’d wait for the elevator to come back down. 

Even if he needed to climb up a hundred flights to get to you, he would--all the way to the penthouse where Matsumoto was. 

When those men approached you, there was no struggle on your end. You knew where they were going to take you. And you wanted them to. It could even be said you were relieved, because that meant your father was thinking of you. After a minute or so, the soft whirring fell silent, followed by a soft ‘ding’. 

They moved outside the elevator, and after a few steps, they set you down on your feet. Right in the middle of your father’s office. At the very end behind a desk sat the man himself, and he was eyeing you with an unreadable expression. Upon returning his stare, came an onslaught of emotions. But the most prominent was incapacitating anxiety.

Even as his daughter, you could never see through him. He was impossible to read. So you had no idea what to expect. 

“Dad... We need to talk.” You began, walking up to him warily. This was what you wished for at the start, cried for, even. To return home. And yet, the nervous pounding in your chest seemed to worsen with every step you took. It was jarring to confront how much had changed since then. So while you barely managed any words, you were already overwhelmed, struggling to choke back tears. 

“For once, I need to know what you’re thinking.” 

He inhaled deeply before responding. “I was under the same impression that we’d have this conversation.” Standing up from his chair, he furrowed his brows at the sight of you clenching the fabric of your pants. “Don’t look so nervous, child. You haven’t done anything to anger or disappoint me.” Reaching out to your head, he settled a hand on it. 

“... Really?” You whispered out. Hearing his assurances calmed you down a touch. But when you saw the forlorn gaze he cast down at you, your heart was crushed. “... Dad?”

Me!Me!Me!, Pt.2

Any existing contempt for him melted away just like that, but you weren’t upset at yourself for it. Your father hardly expressed any emotion besides calm indifference. And when he did, it always felt like the world was ending. 

“I’m the one who deserves your anger.” He clarified, lowering his hands to your shoulders. “I’ve left you by yourself for far too long, (F/N). I hope you don’t hold it against me that you had to come home yourself.” You hung your head, unable to meet his saddened gray eyes. If you were to hold a grudge at him for it, you’d start by avoiding his gaze. “And I understand why you would’ve wanted to help him. He has a way with words, and a naïve sense of justice. But it’s a warped perception of reality.”  

You’d hate to admit it, but no matter how cruel he seemed to be, there was a method to his madness. 

And you were perhaps the only person in the world to know it. 

That was why you were so torn. Torn between hating him and understanding him. After all, you couldn’t have both. “You can’t blame him after what you did to him.” Glancing up at that, you felt bile rise in your throat. Then, your vision blurred. “I don’t know what you’re aiming for--for this company, and this world. But you can’t expect him to accept this world you created when you stole him from his. He had a life!” 

Staring at him through hot tears, he breathed out a soft sigh before rubbing them away with a swipe of the thumb. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness. And I won’t expect you to forgive me even after telling you the reasons for my actions.”  

He pulled away from you to begin walking back to his desk, but not to sit down. Instead, he stood by the window to watch the blinking lights of skyscrapers and small moving dots of cars on the streets. “In a society that normalizes cybernetic enhancements, many forget what it is to be human. He never did. So of course, he would reject the idea of immortality. The destruction of the most human quality there is.” 

He paused briefly to scan the landscape.

“Mortality. One’s inevitable end gives everything they do meaning.” 

Wrinkles creased between your brows. It was confusing to hear him speak so highly of death, frustrating, even. Wasn’t he the one investing billions into correcting it like a flaw? “If that’s what you really think, then why? Why would you make something that would take that all away?” 

He held his hands behind his back. “To serve the greater good. A sacrifice, if you will.” The man turned to you, this time with a serious glower. “Alfred thinks I would commercialize it. Sell it to the public. But he’s wrong. Immortality will only be available to the leaders of the world.”

By leaders, you could only assume he meant people like him. Not politicians, but business men and women. Company owners. The most powerful forces of the present. “The inability to die is a curse. You never move on because you’re still breathing. But that may be just what the world needs. Stagnation. An absence of change.” 

It was daunting to know this man was your father. You couldn’t say you were born with half as many of these attributes he had. Intelligence was easily passed down, but there was something else written in his genes you could never dream of having. “With every passing year, decade, and century, humanity frays like a rope. Society continues to deteriorate... All until self-destruction becomes a matter of time.” Facing the window again, he scanned the impressive architecture he was proud to call his own. And it looked as pristine as it did yesterday. 

“The only way to stop this was to take control of it myself. And that’s how I came to found this company. I’ve found a way to govern the people. To invest in science as the world’s last and only hope. But it’s a job that will last eons, so I was prepared to do it until the end of time.” 

He was right in saying that society was inevitably doomed with the direction it was heading. That technology was the only solution, along with a world government. Matsumoto Optics. A cosmocracy with jurisdiction over the whole planet. There would be no wars. No conflict. And with only one state to call the shots, things could be done so much faster on a global scale. 

It was a radical concept to grasp, but you couldn’t say there was no logic to it. “Alfred was meant to do it with me. To reincarnate again and again as my closest aide on my quest to preserve the world. But he ended up being the opposite. My foil.” Matsumoto shook his head. “Alfred is a nostalgic soul. He’s too attached to the past. But the way of the old can never last with how fast it makes the world burn. Even if he realized that, he would want to exact revenge on me after what I’ve done to him.” 

“So before he destroys everything I’ve created, I have to destroy him first.” 

Him & I (with Halsey)

You tensed up all over, but before you could ask him what he meant by destroy, the doors burst open. The very subject of the conversation had appeared, and just in time for the conclusion of it. His arrival caught you completely off guard, successfully derailing your train of thought, but your father merely acknowledged his arrival. “Ah. Speak of the devil.” 

“Speak for yourself, you fucking demon.” He spat, marching over to your side to pull you into his chest. Immediately putting his hands all over your face, he was riddled with concern as he inspected you. “You okay? I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you in time. What are you still doing here? C’mon, let’s go.” While he reached down to your hand to lead you away, you stayed put. 

As relieved as you were to see him here, you couldn’t follow him out yet. You gave his hand a squeeze, then a soft smile of reassurance. Then, you turned to your father. 

This time, you held him in a firm stare. 

“Even if everyone thinks you’re crazy, I always knew you’d have some kind of justification for everything.” You started. Little did you know, you would take back this statement in the very near future. “But I can’t forgive you for what you did to Alfred. He never ended up doing anything you wanted him to, so giving him all those adjustments was pointless for you. But not for him. If you wanted to get rid of him, it wouldn't be easy.”

Matsumoto closed his eyes as if to agree. That was what you interpreted it as, at least. But unbeknownst to you, he was doing anything but. “I wouldn’t know what’s best for this world.” 

“But what I do know is that I won’t let you hurt him.” 

You spoke those words with a conviction so strong, Alfred’s eyes widened when he heard it. It wasn’t news you cared deeply for him, but to hear you say it to your father like that, and Matsumoto, no less, it made his mechanical heart pound more than he could fathom. You were actively disobeying him, a man you previously revolved your life around, for his sake. To say he was infatuated would be an understatement. 

You felt his grip on you tighten. 

“Say what you will, and I’ll respect your conviction. But I will come for him.” The bearded man murmured in a foreboding tone. A sinister light glinted in his dark gray irises. “And in the most unexpected way he could ever imagine. You will never want to see me again when that happens.” 

“If.” Your voice was a little strained. As much as you wanted to hate him and move on, you couldn’t. Every single fiber of your being was urging you to find a reason, any reason, to not despise the man who raised you. “If, dad. Because if you did, I really will never forgive you. I’ll hate you forever.” 

A grim expression contorted at his face. In his many decades on the planet, he’d never felt more dread. But one had to wonder if that was the right word. The regret had already arrived, because he’d already done something unforgivable. It was only a matter of time before you’d find out. “I’ve already done something to earn your unconditional hatred, child.” 

That was right. He’d killed Allen, your best friend and only other semblance of family in your life. And perhaps, the person you held the closest to your heart. “Soon, you will learn what it is. So I’ll let you leave today because you will never want to come back. I’d imagine that to be more… Convenient for you.” 

It was only your ignorance that blessed him this last moment. The last moment where you’d see him as your father with eyes unclouded by hatred. But it was short-lived. 

It didn’t take long for you to put two and two together, and in your short silence, you came to remember someone that had been gone for a while. Allen. 

Atlantis

You woke up in a cold sweat. For just one measly second as you oriented yourself, you weren’t tortured by a fury. Betrayal. Disgust. But it all came rushing back to you like the memories of that Godforsaken day you met with your father.

Sitting up with a deep frown, you felt heat build up around your face. It would be etched in your mind forever. The memory of Allen laying in the dump. Tossed out like a broken toy. Then, the stench of blood and rust as he was left for dead. 

You always knew your father was mad, but he kept on surprising you with how mad he was. Turning to the figure beside you, tears only overwhelmed your waterline to see his chest rise and fall steadily. 

He was still here. Alive and well. You could only hope the same for Allen.

It had been ten days since the heist. There hadn’t been a single sign of Matsumoto or his men, meaning Alfred really did do his research on the best places to hide. Climbing onto his form, you wound up laying on his chest. Then, you peered down at his sleeping face. 

As you got comfortable, you felt a smile creep onto your lips. If the you from a few months ago saw what you were doing, she’d be flabbergasted. Since when did you like him this much? 

Your cheeks grew a little rosy as you became self-aware of the position you were in. Full-on embarrassment hit you when he began to stir, but before you could get off of him, his eyes fluttered open. Uh oh. Now this warranted an explanation. 

For a second, he was confused, but when he saw that it was just you, he grinned lazily. “Morning, babe. Care to tell me why you’re not sleeping on your side of the bed?” 

He’d totally cornered you. And did he just call you babe? “Um... I, well... I woke up on you, so don’t get the wrong idea. I was just about to get off.” Sliding yourself off of him at that, you tried your damndest to simmer down. But he never gave you the chance. Rolling over to face you, he pulled you in around your waist much to your surprise. “Hey!” 

You never got around to pointing out that pet name, either. 

He caught you in a serious stare. “Don’t be so shy. We’re close, aren’t we?” Alfred was never one to beat around the bush. You knew that better than anyone, but that didn’t mean you were used to it. Lowering your head at that, you fixated on his chest. 

“... I guess so. That doesn’t mean I can sleep on you like that, though. And plus, it must’ve been uncomfortable.” 

“Nah. You’re light as hell.” He hummed. Sitting up with you on his lap, his statement became more apparent in how effortless he made it seem. “You’re like a few grapes, really. So don’t worry about it.” 

Why he chose to focus on that part of your argument was beyond you. Did he really not see anything wrong with what you were doing? Or maybe he did, and didn’t want to mention it. He’d been hugging you a lot lately the past week, but that wasn’t as deserving of your attention as spooning you while he slept. 

Wasn’t he pushing the envelope? It would make sense he was just trying to comfort you after your run-in with your father, and your discovery that he was the one who attempted to off your best friend. But wasn’t this a bit much? 

He wrapped his arms around your neck. There was nothing between you both, and yet, he was holding you like there was. Like you were his. 

"...” It was in his smile. It was different to how he always looked at you, as if there was finally something behind those electric blue irises. Something alive. Something hot. As you played around with the idea, you lit up like a Christmas tree and pushed his mouth away. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

Almost as if he read your mind, he relented. But only reluctantly. Picking you up from under your arms, he set you onto the mattress so he could get out of bed. Looking back at you over his shoulder, he gave your cheek an affectionate pinch. “Whatever you say. I’ll be back after a piss.” 

When he left the room, you were left to your own devices. As you brought your knees to your chest, you came to realize how tight it was. He’d only left for a few seconds, and you were already waiting for him to return. It was ridiculous to think about, but it was almost as if you missed him. Already.

Did spending all this time with him give you some kind of separation anxiety? 

Or was it something more? 

You couldn’t tell. 

The fact that he mentioned ‘I’ll be back’ suggested he was aware of your attachment to him. You buried your face into your knees. 

Turns out, you weren’t the only one having a hard time processing your feelings. 

When he disappeared into the bathroom, he pressed his back against the wall. Reaching up to his chest, he scrunched up a part of his shirt as the pounding in his heart subsided--his metaphorical one. Alfred didn’t think it was weird to find you on top of him like that, let alone dislike it. In fact, he loved it. It gave him a shred of hope that maybe, you did like him the way he liked you. 

But that didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t be with you. 

This was the fifth motel he’d been to after the heist. There was no saying he’d be dead by the end of the day. Not when your father was after his head. So he wasn’t about to start anything. That would be too selfish, even for him--though one had to wonder if ‘selfish’ could even describe him anymore. He was anything but. At least, for you he wasn’t. 

Alfred would only be proven right when he took a step towards the toilet. His vision started to glitch. Then, he lost his balance, falling over the sink and slamming his head against the mirror. “Fuck--!” Stumbling back onto his feet, he was engulfed in black for a few seconds. What the hell was going on? 

His bout of disorientation lasted for far too long to be normal.

Before he would start accepting the prospect of going blind, his vision returned. He thought he would celebrate that moment, but he forgot what he was even fussing about. What happened? Lowering his gaze to his hands, he stared at them for a while before looking back up. What was he doing here? Where was he? 

That was right. He was in a motel. With you. Running away from uncertain death. It took a minute or so to recall all of these things, and that was what alarmed him. It seemed like his body wasn’t accepting the chip very well. 

Temporary memory loss and blindness was just apart of the transition, right? 

Little did he know, it was anything but. 

Outside that very district sat two men in a car. Bags hung under their dull eyes as they scanned the streets as vigilantly as their sleep deprivation let them. It had been two days since they slept, but they wouldn’t rest until they found him. There were only four days until the damage was done.

If they didn’t get to the man before then, he would be as good as dead. 

[ofieugogyshz]

Fic;; This Will Get Better, ch. 7 - Rotomdex

Chapter content warnings: none

Word count: 3500

Chapter Summary: Having cleared the first Trial with ease, Mustard gives the students of the Master Dojo and its guests a few hours before starting the next one. In that time, Sarah decides to update her Pokedex, and meets Hyde, the son of Honey and Mustard. When everyone comes back for lunch, Mustard announces what the next trial is!

(Fic Masterpost)

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

Mustard announced that there would be a short pause before the second trial. I decided to take the time to look into getting my Pokedex updated. I didn't need it to be upgraded to a full, complete transfer over to a new device-- in fact, I hated that idea. I wanted to update the information in mine with that of Galar's, so that I'd know about any other regional variant Pokemon, like those three Slowpoke from earlier. I was going to need at least that much while we stayed here and trained.

“Do you know if there's any way that I can update my Pokedex while I'm here?” I asked Miss Honey. “Those Slowpoke didn't respond to Pika's Thunderbolt like I expected, and if we're going to be here for a month, I'd like to be able to know more about the local Pokemon.” While I spoke, I dug my Pokedex out of my bag, one that dated over 20 years old. I saw the surprise on Honey's face and let out an annoyed sigh, expecting yet another comment about its age. “I know, I know, it's old, but I've been able to keep it upgraded; the insides are far more up to date and have more memory than the original model did. Honestly, this is just a shell, but it's the same shell that I've had since I started out as a trainer.”

“Why... That's amazing that you've managed to keep it functioning after all this time!” The unexpected praise caused my face to warm up. “I wouldn't know how to upgrade that myself, but if there's anyone on the Isle of Armor that could, it'd be my son Hyde!”

“Hyde?” I tried to think back on everyone that I had met so far. No one introduced themselves with that name, and no one had said anything about being Honey and Mustard's child, either. She must have caught my confused look and nodded, as though remembering something.

“Yes, of course. You haven't had a chance to meet him yet-- he doesn't like to come out of his room often, and prefers to play with his inventions instead. If you go over here...” Honey pointed me towards his room. “...you'll probably find him inside.”

I went down the path she pointed, until I found a nameplate that said “Hyde”. I knocked on the closed door; there was no immediate response. I thought about knocking again when the door opened, and I had to look down to see a small child, maybe around age 8 or 9, looking up at me with an almost condescending face.

“What do you want? I'm kind of busy right now, so make it quick.”

“Oh, um. Uh... I'm looking for Hyde. Do you know where I could find him?” As soon as I said it, I knew that I had asked a dumb question. I had expected someone much older, given Mustard's age. Was Honey just that good at hiding her age, or... I did not want to think about that.

The little boy let out an annoyed sigh.

“Yes, that's me. Geez, why are you even knocking around if you don't know who you're looking for.” He started to close the door, and before I could stop myself, I put my hand on it to keep it from closing.

“Wait! Sorry, I just... Didn't know that you were going to be.... Um....”

“A kid?” He rolled his eyes at me. “Did you need something from me or what?”

Rude little shit. He was quickly getting on my nerves. But if his mom thought he could help update my Pokedex...

“Yes, actually, I did need something from you.” I held out my Pokedex. Hyde's grip on the door loosened and he adjusted his glasses to look at the device in my hand.

“What is that?” he asked incredulously.

I let out an annoyed sigh.

“It's my Pokedex.”

“I've never seen a Pokedex like that.” He motioned if he could take it, and I handed it over. He looked it over, opening it to look at the screen that had been replaced more than three times over the years.

I was attached to the old model of Pokedex. I felt bad when I had to scrape the insides out in order for someone to build a new computer inside of it, when times changed and technology improved far more than it could keep up. When information began to take up too much space, I paid someone to change its storage capacity, along with everything else. I had invested so much into it. Time. Money. Emotions. Experiences. It was my pride and joy as a trainer, having that model; where others had upgraded as soon as they could, I still clung to it, glad to relive memories that were forever etched into the casing. It wasn't just about the data-- data could be saved, duplicated, and moved. It was about the attachment, the memories it held for me. And upgrading to a new shell meant that I wouldn't have that connection to those old days anymore.

“It's a little bit older than you,” I said after a few moments of letting him look.

“Looks older than my dad.”

I could hear a snort of laughter from behind me, and I turned around, seeing Lance standing there, trying not to laugh. I crossed my arms, frowning at him.

“I'm sorry; I came to look for you, and--” he began.

“You're in no position to talk, mister 'listens to music from the 1800s',” I scoffed.

“1900s. And that's not even that old!”

“It may as well be the 1800s, old as your soul is!”

“Can you two stop your married bickering?” Hyde interjected. The small child looked annoyed: he was tapping his foot, arms across his chest, waiting for his presence to be noticed again. “I want to get back to work on important stuff; I don't have time for your old people nonsense.”

I couldn't tell whether I should have laughed or been appalled at that comment, while Lance seemed amused.

“Is this... is this how you treat people who want to ask you for favors?”

“You came to me; I don't see why I have to help you.”

I puffed out my cheeks, trying to hold back any rude comments. Kid or not, I wasn't above telling them off. But he was the master's kid, and my husband was there now, too...

“What's going on?” Lance asked.

“I asked Honey if she knew where I could get my Pokedex updated, and she suggested that I ask her son.” I jerked my head in the direction of Hyde. “But I'm starting to think that this was a waste of my time.”

“Look, I don't know how to update something that old. But I can give you a Rotomdex for you to use. I feel a little bad giving it away since my mom got it for me to use next year, but I'm not interested in doing the Gym Challenge. You want it or not?”

“Not particularly.”

“A Rotomdex would make it a lot easier to get around here,” Hyde began saying, as he continued to look over my ancient device to understand it. “They have maps, camera function, voice-based communications, and they're controlled by a Rotom, who are able to talk by using the installed voice libraries. And it's lot quicker for me than trying to figure out how this thing works.”

I thought about it. A Rotomdex sounded interesting, for sure, but the thought of using it felt off. It would be too different from what I was used to. Like I'd have to give up using my old Pokedex because of the new one.

“You'd just need a Rotom to put into the device. Trust me, out here you'll want a Rotomdex for the map system. It'll help guide you around the Isle and provide you with information on the area. It's really easy to get lost here.”

“Yeah... I won't need that. I've never gotten lost. I have a pretty damn good internal GPS; I can intuitively find my way to the place I need to be.” It wasn't even some sort of sixth sense developed over years of travel; I had always known the quickest way out of a route, cave, or forest. Even a trip to the distortion world in my younger years was disorienting at best, but I hardly got lost while in it. Still was not on my list of favorite places to go.

“That doesn't happen around here. Lots of overconfident trainers think that they don't need to use a map, and then they wind up getting themselves lost, especially in the forest. We usually have to wind up sending out a search party, like we did with you when you got here.”

“Excuse you, we were not lost!” I crossed my arms and huffed. “We were misinformed on how to meetup.”

Hyde handed back my Pokedex. It seemed that he was done with me if I wasn't going to take the offer for a Rotomdex. There was a quiet pause as we waited for the other to speak.

“If you're done here...”

“Ugh, fine, I'll take the d—stupid Pokedex.”

“It's a Rotomdex,” he corrected. Hyde opened the door to his bedroom all the way and invited both my husband and I inside.

It looked more like a workshop than a bedroom. There were many computers, all sorts of machinery scattered about. Cables were bundled up together, but that didn't stop the few spare ones creating tangles across the floor. There were boxes around the room used to house different components he kept.

“Sorry about the mess. Mom's always telling me to clean up, but I don't see the point if I don't usually have people over.”

Hyde went over to a cabinet in the corner and began to rifle through its drawers, trying to find something.

“Right...” That felt familiar to me. I was the same way when I was a kid, though I certainly didn't have the vast array of mechanical and computational skill as he did. I looked around and noticed something that was near his computer; it looked like a machine that he was working on, blue in color, and shaped like some sort of bird that I wasn't familiar with.

“What're you working on over there?” I asked, both curious and trying to be friendly with the kid. He was giving me a free Pokedex, after all.

“Oh that? That's my Cram-o-Matic. It's the invention of the century! It's my very own brilliant take on recycling. But it doesn't do a thing right now, since it's out of power. If I just had enough Watts...” He paused. “Hey, actually--! I can give you this Rotomdex if you can do a favor for me!”

I knew there was gonna be a catch. I sighed.

“Sure kid. I can try; what do you want?”

“Watts. All it would take is a measly 500 Watts to get the Cram-o-matic up and running!”

“Watts?” I looked at Lance, and he shrugged. He didn't seem to know what it was either.

“The two of you don't know?! Watts are the energy that you can get from the Pokemon Dens in the Wild Areas. Your Dynamax bands can absorb it whenever you're near one, and then we can transfer that energy into the machine or a battery with a cable!”

I looked at Lance; he was the only one between the two of us that had a Dynamax band.

“We don't have any right now, but would it be possible to pay you back later?” he asked.

Hyde tapped his foot against the ground as he thought about it.

“What are your names again?”

“I'm Sarah, and this is my husband Lance.”

“You're the Champions that my parents invited over for training, right?”

“That's right.”

“You guys are probably more the outdoors type, huh? Well, I'll loan this Rotomdex to you for now, Sarah, so long as you guys promise to pay me when you get the watts. Then it's all yours.”

“Yeah, that doesn't sound like an issue for me. Though, it might be a little bit before we get any. That okay with you, Hyde?”

He began to dig into the drawer again, and finally pulled out a flat, red device, about as wide as the Switch I had packed in my bag. He waved it at me. “No problem. Well, let me know when you've got a Rotom to put into here, and I'll help set you up.”

“If you guys had a PC, I could get that done right now.”

The kid lit up, as though proud to lord this incoming fact over me.

“It just got delivered this morning, while you guys were out doing dad's first trial! I watched the guy set it up.”

Hyde showed me to where the dojo's PC was. I connected to my account and withdrew a Rotom-- one that I had caught back in Sinnoh many, many years ago. It zipped around excitedly when I let it out, like an old friend who hadn't seen me in a long time. I directed it into the Pokedex. The screen lit up a light blue, and two large blue eyes, much like a Rotom's, appeared on the screen.

“Hi? Hello? Hello! It is I, your trusty Rotom, Plasmastar! So good to see you again, Sarah!” The Rotomdex floated around; not nearly as fast as the zippy Ghost-type Pokemon typically was. But it seemed overjoyed nevertheless with its new home.

Hyde grabbed the Pokedex, causing the Rotom inside to give a startled cry. “If you don't mind, I'll help talk your Rotom through proper installation, so it's familiar with how to use all of its components. It'll take at least an hour though.”

“An hour?!” shouted my Rotom, and it tried to pull itself away from Hyde's grip. “I don't have time for that! Please, please, don't leave me with him!”

“Sorry Plasmastar. But please bear with it, so you can help us. I heard you'll be able to read the map really well and be super helpful to us, if you do!”

It stopped tugging. “Super helpful? Say no more, I am glad to be of service!” I'm not sure what it was trying to do at that moment, but there was a flash that went off, temporarily blinding Hyde.

“Oops! Sorry about that, small human! I'll listen, but you better make it quicker than an hour! I want to go explore with Sarah again!”

Lance and I went outside to look around the dojo. Pokemon played in the grass; the groups of Jigglypuff and Buneary from yesterday saw us and ran up, excited to see us again. I reached into my bag and let out the two that I had caught so they could see their friends.

“Ellie, Bunbun! C'mon out!”

The Jigglypuff and Buneary appeared. They looked around while their friends stood in awe for a moment, before clamoring all around them excitedly. Ellie puffed herself up with pride, and began to tell her audience about her battle. She mimed out what happened, eventually getting Bunbun to play the Mienfoo. Though Bunbun was reluctant, she eventually joined in. She got so into it that she was suddenly going off script, including a lowkick when Ellie was supposed to dodge another punch, causing Ellie to bounce into the ground. Angry, the Jigglypuff began to yell at the Buneary, while the other turned around and stuck up her nose. Their audience didn't know what to do at this point, so they wandered away, going back to playing in the grass.

As amusing as it was, it wouldn't do me any good if my two newest members were fighting amongst each other. I walked over and pushed them apart.

“C'mon guys. Bunbun, apologize to Ellie; and Ellie, calm down. You asked her to do something she didn't want to do anyways. This is a consequence of that.”

Ellie huffed and turned away, crossing her arms while Bunbun continued to do so. I sighed.

“Please? If the two of you make up, I'll give you each a treat.”

At the promise of a treat, the two of them looked at me, before turning around and looking at each other. Bunbun smiled and apologized, and Ellie smiled and puffed herself up, as though proclaiming that she was in the right anyways. Bunbun looked away, pretending not to be annoyed by the display. Both of them looked at me, holding out their hands expectantly.

“Hey-- wait, I never said I was going to give you a treat right away! They're back in the Dojo; you'll have to wait 'til later for one.”

Both of them gave me an angry look and turned away from me, arms crossed. Well, at least they were in unison on that.

“Eheh.... Alright, how about the two of you c'mon back.” I held up my Pokeballs and they both went back inside.

“Trouble with your new friends?” Lance asked. He had let Zweilous out while Ellie and Bunbun entertained their audience, and the two-headed dragon was biting onto sleeve of his uniform.

“Nothing that I'm not used to.” I motioned to Zweilous. “On the other hand, I think I should be asking you that, except I know that's just how Zwei is. Did he break through the fabric already?”

Lance laughed and pet both of their heads in sequence, causing each one to finally let go of the loose fabric. He brought up his arm, looking at the sleeve. “No, not yet. He's just hungry. We should go back inside and get something to eat for lunch.”

Everyone had gathered in the dining room once more, with plates and bowls left out in the Dojo's main hall for our Pokemon. Zweilous ran over to the nearest bowl, both of his heads fighting over bites. Pika ran up to the bowl next to him. We let out the rest of our Pokemon, leaving them to eat while we headed towards a spot at the table where we could sit next to each other.

“Thank you, Ms. Honey!” everyone said before digging in. Chatter filled the dining room between bites, and everyone felt so warm and welcoming. No one seemed to begrudge us for having defeated all three Slowpokes, including those who never even got to catch up to one. In fact, many were excitedly speculating about what the next trial might be. I looked around the table, wondering if Hyde had joined everyone, or if he had missed the call to lunch. I couldn't see him. The din of the dining room began to lower as everyone filled up on the food made by Ms. Honey and the students who helped with meal prep. The final peals of laughter and conversation were silenced when Mustard stood up and addressed everyone.

“A-hem. I'd like to congratulate everyone who did their best this morning with the first trial. To those of you that weren't able to pass—may you have better luck next time. Take this time to train up! For those of you moving on to the second trial, I will take the time to explain what your next trial is. Now that you're all energized from lunch--” Mustard paused mid-thought, as though something came to mind.

“I think our second trial should be something to welcome them with. You know what would sound good for dinner tonight? The Master Dojo's secret recipe: Max Soup! Since we have two special guests, I'd love for them to have a bowl of Max Soup full of Max Mushrooms for tonight. And that's why your second trial shall be mushroom picking!” A collective, confused reaction, interspersed with some groans, went out among the students. I blinked, confused myself. How was gathering dinner ingredients supposed to be a trial? If anything, it sounded much easier than the first. Someone whispered to another student that they were glad they hadn't passed.

“Students!” The dining room quieted once more at Mustard's raised voice. “That's better. In case you forgot, or you aren't aware, Max Mushrooms are the key to Gigantamaxing, and I'm tasking all of you with finding three!”

Honey stood next to Mustard, explaining what we were looking for. “Max Mushrooms are red with a spiral pattern. You can usually find them in dark, humid places, such as the forest or Warm-Up Tunnel.”

Mustard, “And with that, your next trial begins! I'm countin' on ya!”

[everydayanth]

Academic Elitism: an institutional issue

Sorry for being so rant-y lately, but the elitism of university has been a problem for me from the exact moment I accepted my scholarship with a signature and a handshake in high school. (The scholarship was later revoked due to state up-fuckery, but that’s another story, and I was already in too deep by the time they told me).

My parent’s house was only an hour north, my younger sister had already claimed my room, but I was excited. I was in the furthest dorm building, because that’s where the scholarship kids went, it was like a poor kid diversity hall, every few doors was someone from a completely different background, but we were all poor except our Swedish RA, and there was an odd pride in that. We all had various scholarships: robotics, dance team, nerds like me, etc. (not the football or hockey athletes though, they had their own dorm next to the library for... reasons, lol).

But being the last hall, it wasn’t actually full, most of us had entire rooms to ourselves, often whole suites; our hall was co-ed, but rooms were only occupied at every-other, staggered down the corridor. Only the front two halls were used, the back two closed off for construction or codes or something. We had to hike up the hill for dining halls, which was fine until snowdays that shut the whole campus down (and I mean west Michigan ones, with 4+ feet of powder and ice underneath). I had an old computer my dad got me for graduation and I didn’t know it was old until my peers started calling it a dinosaur. I had to use the library computers to write and print papers, and most places I went, I ran into the other scholarship kids. We didn’t talk much, just a head bob here and there, awareness at our similarities and an annoyed spite at being thrown together this way. It was lonely for everyone.

I had a purple flip phone I’d gotten only that calendar year (2009) and was still learning to text with (abbreviations? instant messaging? what?). My roommate had come down from Alaska to live near her dad, we’d talked in the summer, but I never saw her. I moved my things in and her stuff was on her side, I texted her about going to turn in paperwork and when I came back, there was a note on my bed and all her things were gone, she couldn’t do it, had never been away from home for even a night. She left a few mismatched socks and a bag of junk pens that I resented for years. 

Social media was mostly a way to talk to people across campus and exchange homework and party times/locations. We posted over-edited photos of our food and still jogged with our mp3 players and ipods. But within two years, I had to trade in my computer three times and upgrade to a smartphone to keep up with the expectations of communication. Professors would cancel classes by emails an hour out, and if I was on campus, I simply didn’t get the message, running between classes with 19 credit hours and three jobs. Work would call in or cancel my appointments (tutoring) and I needed to be able to communicate at the rate of my peers, so though it wasn’t something we could easily afford, my parents let me get the smartphone and my dad helped me find computers that could keep up with writing papers and researching without having to go to the lab, which saved so much time. 

There was little understanding for my suffering. I didn’t have a car, I had to call my parents and organize a time to get home or take the train which was more expensive than waiting around on an empty campus. They were often things that even the wealthiest students had to deal with, but there were so much more of them for us, more stress, more problems, more solutions, more consequences, and in some ways, more determination.

I spent plenty of breaks holed up in my room, but when the swine flu/H1N1 outbreak happened, guess where they quarantined students?

In our hall. 

Not the back one that was closed. In the room attached to my suite. 

After half a semester alone, suddenly strangers shared my bathroom. I never saw them, I would just hear the formidable click of the bathroom lock followed by the shower. A week later I got a blue half-sheet note in my mailbox about quarantines. The other kids were as pissed off, as we watched kids escorted in with blue masks and were told to just get cleaning wipes from the front desk –they ran out in a week. 

We were the recyclable students, brought in to trade scholarships for university grade averages. Many of my friends were struggling with scholarship qualifications and gpas (which only encouraged my continual obsessive perfectionism and involvement). 

We were expendable. 

I didn’t understand the elitism then, or I did, but I’d twisted it in my head from years tossed between private and public schools. I was an invader, I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I wanted to be. I understood that I didn’t deserve it, that I had to work harder to stay. I completed Master’s coursework for my Bachelor’s degree, finishing two BA programs (anthropology and English: creative writing) and 2 minor programs in philosophy and world lit, lead several campus groups and volunteered with honor’s societies. I spent hours on campus every day, running home just to go to one job or the other. I slept about four hours a night and I still romanticize it because I loved it. And I was good at it. It was a closed system, easy to infiltrate, easy to watch and observe and follow, to feel protected from the world, but there were always ways that I came up short. 

I didn’t have leggings or Northface fleeces or Ugg boots or name brand anything (except a pair of converse I got in 8th grade from my Babcia). I had old high school sweats and soccer shirts, hand-me-down clothes from sisters and cousins that mix-matched a style I thought was unique but I now understand screamed I don’t really belong here. Example: I went to propose an independent study to a professor I really admired and I panicked about what to wear. I still cringe at the memory, gahhhhhh, but I pulled on what I thought was a decent dress because it had no rips or stains or tears and though I’d picked it up from a clearance rack, it was the newest thing and therefore the best. But in retrospect, it was definitely a “party” dress, I grabbed a sweater, hoop earrings that had always been beautiful in my neighborhood, and heels I never wore otherwise, and presented my idea. This old professor was just like “um...did you dress up for me?” Clearly spooked by red flags and I realized my mistake. Saved by quick thinking I clarified “no, I have a presentation later,” and being a familiar face in the social sciences department, I let him assume I was dressed up as something. I just went in my sweats and t-shirts after that, got a haircut that tamed the wavy frizz and learned the importance of muted tones, cardigans, and flats.

I made a lot of interesting friends in the process, people who also stuck out from the American Academic culture: exchange students, older (non-traditional) students, rebels, and other poor kids. But that also meant that we all evolved during our time there, so friendship was quick and fleeting as we adapted or dropped out or remained oblivious, lost in our studies and dreams of changing the world or our lives. 

I had no idea how to approach the dining halls because I could only afford the bronze plan that was included with my room+board scholarship. I could enter the hall ten times per week, with four included passes to the after-hours carry-out (this was an upgrade from the free high school lunch I was coming from). I met other kids on this plan and their dorm rooms had fridges and microwaves and shelves of ramen and mac’n’cheese. Mine was sparse, my fridge had jugs of water from the filtered tap in the common room, and though it had a shared kitchenette, it always smelled bad or was being used and the nearest grocery store was Meijers which was a 15-20 minute drive from campus. I used so much energy dividing up my meals and figuring out how to sneak food from the hall for later or just learn to not eat, which is another story involving malnutrition, broken bones, and the American Healthcare System.

We like to summarize the college experience with fond struggles. I went back to my old high school to watch my younger sisters’ marching band competition that first year (it’s MI, and they were good). My old art teacher (not much older than we were but she felt so much older at the time, also her maiden name was Erickson and so was her fiance’s so she didn’t “change” her name and that blows my mind to this day), anyway, she stopped me to ask how school was going, and I was not prepared to be recognized in anyway and stammered out something like “oh, yeah, stressful. Fun, cool, yeah,” like the eloquent well-educated student I was. And she said, “oh, I loved it, don’t you love it? Everything’s so charming, and being poor? Oh man, it’s hard for a while, but it’s so good to go through.” 

I was dumbfounded at her reference to poverty as a thing to go through when you’re a student. I again had to remember that I was infiltrating places where people weren’t just marginally more well-off than I was, but far beyond, in a place where they couldn’t comprehend an alternative, couldn’t conceive of surviving poverty, of not having a reliable place to fall if you mess up, parents who couldn’t support you if things went wrong, who couldn’t save you from having to drop out if scholarships were canceled because the money just wasn’t there.

Talking with my parents never worked, and I recently found this video by The Financial Diet about Boomer shame in being poor, where many Millennials were united by it and it was #relatable. But all this is to say that there are so many layers and ways we develop in higher education that are often overlooked by the romantic nostalgia of the elite expectation. What we demand from education vs. what it offers us in return is rarely equal for students coming from poverty, and it starts with that first sacrifice of looking at money and deciding it has to be worth it to do something bigger, and that education is a necessary piece of that goal.

Now I live near Brown University, I’ve been to Harvard when we lived in Boston and recently took a trip to Yale with bold expectations. I am friends with several people who work at these places and I hear the same things: so many students are in a place where their obsessions are considered more important than the larger world, an argument that Shakespeare is a woman is more important to prove than the greater issues of sexism in society as a whole, while others are trained to look at data and the world as a pocketable fact-book, going to conferences and  week-long summits and then off to D.C. to make important decisions about places they’ve never been to, for people they’ve never met, about problems they’ve never experienced.  

It’s not new. It’s not romantic. It’s not nostalgic. It’s just sick. 

I was horrified at New Haven. I have read so many social science reports and papers and experiments and academic bullshit that has come from professors at Yale with a big badge of ivy-league validation. So much of this research was focused on homelessness and culture clash and socio-economics in America, as that was my “dissertation” that got me discounted master’s classes for my BA in Anthropology. Anyway, my point was that I thought this noble, proud university that put out so much research was going to be situated in something of a utopia, where their research is put into practice. Obviously, I was wrong, but I didn’t expect how wrong. (I had also started reading Leigh Bardugo’s Ninth House, so... there’s another thing).

My observations were validated by employees of ivy-league schools, who have watched over the past 2 decades as they grow more and more reclusive, hiding away from the public except through a few, probably well-intentioned, outstretched hands that do little to contribute to the world outside the university itself. These ivory towers are built by poaching: environments, observations, resources, research, and yeah, even students.

I love academia. I will sit in a library for hours just pulling down tomes (and putting them back in their proper locations like a dork) and drawing connections just for fun. But right now, I’m a bit bitter and spiteful and angry. 

When something like Coronavirus sneaks up on us, we have a tendency to throw the most expendable people under the bus as quickly as we can, and all I can think about is my shadow of a suite-mate sneezing and coughing with swine flu for two weeks, at how I refused to use my own bathroom and listened to my hall-mates’ advice about showering at the rec center a mile away as we all collectively locked our bathroom doors and were left there by the university to get sick without insurance to help with any foreseeable costs.

It’s not the same now, they’ve rebuilt the entire section of the campus, it’s odd to see it, I wonder where they put the expendable kids. Or maybe they don’t accept them anymore. I’ve worked in college admissions since then, and it is a scary industry of politics and preference and hidden quotas and image-agendas. Not all schools are industry monsters, but when you’re expendable, they sure do feel like it, whether you graduate summa cum laude with two degrees, six awards, and five tasseled ropes around your neck or not. 

I wish I had a positive message. I wish I was in a place to help people who feel expendable or like they can’t keep up with communications because of technology or language or network or environment. But I don’t have much right now. For all its posturing and linear progression, academia needs to create profit. All I can do is yell about this existing.

If you are feeling expandable in university, I can tell you you’re not alone. I can let you rant about all the small ways your peers don’t get it, whether its an accent they shit on or ceremonies you don’t have the right clothes for or textbooks you share with a friend to cut costs but then they hoard them. I can relate to you about guilt and that sneaking panic that fills you with anxiety at night as you question yourself and wonder if it’s worth it at all, if it’s necessary, if it’s okay to be expendable to follow something that feels bigger. I can validate your doubt and tell you that you’re not actually expendable, you’re a bridge. 

I’m sorry it still works like this. I wish we figured out how to change it by now, I wish I had secret shortcuts to tell you about, that there was more accountability or hope, but I’m not seeing it lately. I hope you do. <3

[buildmeafairytale]

Female Werewolf Reader X Female Human

Hi everyone! So it’s been a little while since I’ve posted a story and I figured it was due time! Summer classes have been insane (but almost over, send good vibes) and I finally made time to finish up this request for a werewolf girlfriend. Enjoy!

It is the start of a new school year, and I am excited to meet the sweet little cherubs that will grace my classroom. I’m also excited to meet the parents, but I have a feeling I’ll know most of them already. It’s a very small town and most everyone knows each other, and a lot of the people I had gone to school with myself are having kids. 

First days are always hectic, and this is no exception. The day went by somewhat normally though, until the school wide assembly. The school was a large campus, and went all the way from pre-K to grade twelve, the buildings kept a bit apart. I had my kids walk over to the auditorium, where I caught the most heavenly scent in the air. I tried to inhale a bit more and trace the scent, almost frenzied with it, but I couldn’t lose sight of the kids. Most of them were pups themselves and wouldn’t be too put off with me sniffing the air, but I didn’t want to look ridiculous to those few who were human. 

I just hoped that whatever the origin of the scent was would be in the auditorium, or that I would be able to slip out and trace it. I stopped my class right outside the doors and gave them a reminder.

“Okay class! So what do we do in the auditorium?” I call on Sara, a little girl who always has her hand up.

“We don’t talk and we raise our hands if we need you for anything!” She yells out, excited to know the answer. I give her a thumbs up.

“Yes class! We stay quiet in there, and if you’re the most quiet class you all get a treat when we get back to class!” I tell them, and get a little army of ‘yays’ and other excited responses in return. I smile, not my phoney teacher smile but one of excitement. I think I am going to have a fun year working with these students. We file into the auditorium, and the elementary, middle, and high schools are all kept on different sides. The kindergarten classes are placed in between older students, so they can serve as a good example. I stand next to my kids, and make small talk with a few of the other teachers.

 I catch the scent again, stronger now, and I look around trying to trace it. The superintendent starts to speak, but I can’t concentrate on him. Nothing he is saying is important to me anyway, the topics of the assembly already covered for the staff. He then goes to introduce the new assistant coach to the High School’s football team, and if I was a lesser woman and shifter, I would have changed right then. Her name is Megan Flynn, and she graduated from a large university where she helped coach and manage the football team. She has dirty blonde hair to the top of her chest, and looms over the superintendent by a half a foot, who already dwarfs me in size. She is in the Talon Valley colors of green and silver, and the warm up all the football coaches are given clings to her in all the right places. She is well muscled and I am overcome with images of what she could do to me with arms like that. 

I feel my jaw going slack, and my heart starts to race. As I look at her and isolate her scent, I know that I have chosen her. The wolf within me has set her eyes on her mate, and a low rumble leaves me. The children do not notice, but a few other staff members who are wolves do, the teacher beside me nudging me and giving me an odd look. I turn to look at her and tell her sorry, but when she catches my gaze she knows what I am experiencing. She had found her mate years prior and knows this look well. She congratulates me, and I can barely breath.  Megan is also going to be working in my building, in the IT department. I can already feel the wheels turning in my head. 

I’ve always been especially illiterate with computers. Not ridiculously so, compared to the older teachers, but definitely at the lower end of the spectrum for my generation. Me calling IT would not be out of place at all, and I always had trouble setting things up at the beginning of the year. Hopefully she would have time to settle in, and then we can meet. I hate to feel so meddlesome, but this is tame for me at the moment. If I wasn’t holding back, I would have transformed and thrown her over my shoulder in the middle of the whole school district. 

I spend the time here memorizing her face, and the superintendent gives her the microphone to introduce herself. I look on starry eyed as she tells everyone how excited she is to work with them, and as she looks around we lock eyes, only for a moment. It is all I need, I know she is meant to be mine. 

She is human, though, that much is clear. She does not know the secrets of this town, so I have to tread carefully. I already feel my skin bristling at the thought of hiding this from her, but there are rules and traditions, and I will not reveal myself to her until I am confident she will not tell others. Many of the humans who live here know the truth, but the town is good about keeping things quiet. I have so many thoughts running through my mind, will she like me? Does she like women? Will she be disgusted by who I really am? I try to calm myself though, if she is truly meant to be my mate then everything should be okay. I hope that the universe would not be so cruel to let me find such a good mate only for them to not be interested at all. 

The assembly goes by and I am on edge; I wonder how long it will take for this feeling to go away. I persist, though, and manage to corral the kids back into the room. The rest of the day goes by smoothly, and soon enough I am at home with a glass of wine. I have my tablet in hand, and I may or may not be looking at my potential mate’s social media. Or lack thereof, I suppose. All she has is a facebook that is reserved for not much more than people telling her happy birthday. But hey, at least now I know when her birthday is. It is a stark difference from my frequently updated instagram, twitter, and facebook. I sigh and push away my tablet, and my kitten Rumi jumps onto my coffee table, nudging himself into my palm. I can’t help but let a fond smile take over my face, glad he took a break from his bird watching to give me some attention.

The next week is filled with me getting to know my students and introducing them to the material, and while I have a few tech problems, I’m more nervous than I thought I would be about calling Megan to my classroom. Everytime I want to call her, I get scared and busy myself. I can only avoid this so long, and one day at lunch she comes in and introduces herself to everyone. I feel like an idiot when she looks at me, and when she shakes my hand I somehow manage to get an appropriate greeting out. Some of the other werewolf staff members are hiding their snickers and grins behind hands and coffee mugs, finding my situation amusing. At least they know who she is to me, and they won’t attempt to move in on my territory.

I try to shake myself out of these possessive thoughts and make subtle conversation with Megan. She has the most striking blue eyes I have ever seen, though, and I have trouble focusing. I try so hard to remember everything about her. She takes her coffee black, which I find hot for some reason. She’s friendly and sits by me, and I ask her how she’s liked coaching so far. At this she lights up, and starts to get excited.

“Oh, it’s been so great! I think the boys are gonna do really well this year too. The first game is Friday, hopefully you’ll be there!” She beams at me, and at that moment she could have asked anything of me. 

“I wouldn’t miss it!” I reply, trying to sound just the right amount of eager. A few more snickers from my colleagues tell me that I may have over done it, but I don’t care. I’m going to start my plan tomorrow.  

Of course, I really do have an IT problem and need to call her. I get nervous again and try to solve the problem myself, but when I see how restless my students are getting I put in a request for IT and help them start a different activity. She arrives quickly, and gets to work on my crashing computer. She bends over to adjust the cords, and I quickly avert my eyes so I don’t drool over her thick ass in front of 20 kindergarteners. 

“Oh wow, they have you hooked up to a really old system, no wonder this keeps crashing on you. Let me upgrade this for you, we have a ton in the IT department. It might take me a little while, though. Is that alright?” She is kneeling on the floor, pulling cords and removing equipment while she says this, and I quickly agree.

“Sure, that sounds good! Recess and lunch are coming up anyway, so if you don’t mind working through recess I can get us lunch?” I ask her, feeling as if my heart is beating in my mouth. 

“You don’t have to get me lunch, it’s literally my job to fix this,” she teases at me, but my instinct is to provide for my mate, and I feel as though lunch will be a good way to spend more time with her. 

“I was going to order some food anyway, any preference?” I ask her, moving over to get my phone and place an order. She tells me what she wants and I order it for us, a smile on my face. 

Megan goes to get the computer parts she mentions, but before she leaves one of my students pulls on her hand, and tells her he needs to tell her a secret. Had I been human, I would not have been able to hear him, but I do. He pulls Megan down, and I am mortified.

“Ms. Flynn, my mommy told me that Ms. Hallaway thinks you're cute,” he whispered, then erupts into a fit of giggles.

“Oh, is that right?” I hear her whisper back, watching him nod before he walks away. Megan’s face turns bright red, and she has a small smile on her lips. I feel my face turning red, too, so I turn away and busy myself so she doesn’t see. I hope she isn’t scared away now, but that didn’t seem like too bad of a response. 

She leaves and I take the kids out for recess, grabbing our delivery food on the way back in. I sit our food down but then I hear her a crash outside of the room. I know it is Megan before I see her, and she’s fumbling with a bunch of equipment stacked so high in her arms thatI can't see her face. 

“What are you doing?” I scold her good naturedly, and come to try to take some of the parts out of her arms.

“Wait, I got it! It’s heavy, be careful!” she says to me, but I have already taken more than half of the equipment for her. I can tell she is confused at how I can carry all of this, but I just shrug.

“Don’t look so surprised, I work out,” I tell her, smiling at the fact she can see where she is going now. 

She smiles back, and conversation flows easily throughout our lunch. She talks about her new house, and I know just the one she is talking about. It isn’t far from mine at all, and she tells me that once she unpacks she would love to have me over. The next day I come in for a coffee and note on my desk. 

“Thanks for lunch, hope this brightens your morning!” -Megan

This is sweet and surprising, but I don’t want to let myself take it the wrong way. I don’t want to get my hopes up and think she’s courting me back, but the werewolf cavewomen part of my brain is jumping to all kinds of conclusions. I don’t want to just be her friend, I want to be much more than that with her.

The courting started out innocently enough, really. I would bring her coffee, or other little snacks I knew she liked and would just conveniently have extra of. I became her friend fast, and while I haven’t gotten to the next step of the courting process, I don’t know if it’s time yet. I want nothing more than to patrol her property in my other form, to brush against bushes and trees and leave my scent to warn all others away, but I want her to know my intentions first. I want her to know what I am, and want me back the way I want her. 

On Friday, Megan stops into my room. Football is a big deal at Talon Valley, and now that all the little ones know she is a coach they get very excited. They’re all in the silver and green colors, and she takes her time to give high fives and say hi to them all before coming over to me, and nodding for me to meet her in the hall. She pulls something from behind her back, and hands me a bag. 

“So you’ve been here a while and I know you probably have plenty to wear to the game, but I thought that you might wear this and rep me in the stands,” she tells me, tugging on her hair and a hopeful smile on her face. When I open up the cute bag, also decked out in school colors, I see one of her coaching jerseys. I let out an excited squeak, and hold it up. It will be huge on me, and I can’t wait to be wrapped up in her jersey, her name on the back and her scent clinging to it. 

“Oh my gosh yes! This is so sweet, of course I’ll wear it!” I tell her, already pulling it over the Talon High tee-shirt I have on. She turns an even darker shade of red, and I don’t bother resisting the urge to hug her. She hugs me back, and if she wasn’t holding on I would have swooned like some 16th century maiden in her thick arms. I can feel her heart racing, and I’m sure mine matches. 

By the time the football game rolled around I was itching to see her coach. I thought about how assertive she would be, and I felt myself get excited at the prospect of seeing her in her element. I’m in her jersey, with little green and silver glitter stripes under my eyes. I’m in the front section of the student section along with a handful of other teachers, and the players run out onto the field. I lose myself in the hype of it all, and I’m cheering with my friends, waving at Megan down on the field when she spots me. I didn’t do these kinds of things in high school much, and it’s fun to be able to enjoy them now. She’s a great coach, and when I see her get fired up and celebrate with the boys, I just smile. We won the game, and there are plans for a big celebration after. I’m not big on parties though, and the only one I would be interested in seeing is Megan. I don’t want to bother her when there are plenty of other people who want to talk to her, though, so I start to head to my car.

I’m getting out my keys when I hear Megan call out for me. “Hey! You’re headed to coach Mather’s right? I can drive us if you want!” She jogs up to me with a grin, and I couldn’t possibly go home now. 

“Sure, that sounds good! And good job out there, you guys did great!” I tell her, all plans of an early night gone. She loops her arm around one of mine, so casually and familiar, and leads us to her truck. 

“I know right! I’m so stoked we won! And they let me make so many calls about who to pull and switch around, and I put Dion in to start and he really proved himself!” She talks through this while giving me a boost into her truck that has my cheeks flushing, her hands so big around my waist. 

“Oh crap, I forgot I have to feed my kitten! I knew I was forgetting something.” 

“No problem, we can stop at yours on the way?” She offers up a solution, and I feel bad for being a annoyance. 

“I’m sorry, yeah that would work,” I tell her, not wanting to ruin her plans but knowing I need to feed Rumi. 

“Not a problem at all, just tell me where to go,” she sends another heart stopping smile my way, and luckily my house is on the way, too.  We stop in, and Rumi comes up to say hello, yelling at Megan and I for attention.

“Aw he looks like a little toasted marshmallow, don’t you sweetheart?” Megan peers down at Rumi, and I think my heart might burst. She fawns over him while I feed him, and a calmness comes over me from seeing my intended mate cozy in my home. 

I hear her come closer as I’m getting things ready to leave, and her hands are on either side of me, planted on the counter top. My heart is racing, and on every inhale I can smell her, so sweet that I feel dizzy. She leans in and I feel her breath brushing against my ear.

“Hi,” she whispers, and I reply the same, my voice cracking.

“Tell me I haven’t been reading this wrong, sweetheart?” She asks me, and a hand brushes the hair away from the back of my neck

“You haven’t been,” I reply, breathless and tilting my head more to the side. The first brush of her lips against my neck has me digging my hands into the counter. The full moon is only in a few days, and it takes so much of my control to not let a hair shift out of place. 

“Good,” she tells me, turning my head to meet her lips. The kiss is sweet and soft, yet I’m breathing like I’ve run a mile. We share syrupy grins, and we head back out to go to the party. This time, when she boosts me into the truck she lets her hands linger. I feel like a teenager again, going to a party after a football game dressed up in my crush’s jersey. It’s a good feeling, and it’s a fun night spent with her by my side, everyone celebrating her success and good judgement. We snuggle up by the bonfire and drink and bullshit with the other coaches. When she drops me off late at night, she asks when we can do this again. I try not to seem too eager, but I can’t help it. I invite her over for dinner the next night, and she kisses me goodbye with a promise to bring desert. 

After the shared kiss and the semi date we went on, I feel guilty. I feel as though I am lying to her about what I am, and this was all under false pretenses. The horrible little voice in my head is hard to ignore, and I decide that after dinner I will tell her. The idea of laying everything out in the open like that scares me, but it needs to be done. 

I make a big dinner and throw myself into cooking and cleaning up before she comes. I spend the hour before she gets here getting ready, trying to look my best for her. The table is set and everything is perfect when she rings the doorbell. Opening it, I see that she brought flowers and chocolate cake from my favorite bakery. Dinner goes well, but I know she can tell I’m nervous and I’m ready to just rip the band-aid off. I don’t want to scare her, though.

“I think I need to tell you something,“ I whisper, wringing my hands out in front of me and my eyes cast down.  

“Sweetheart, I don’t like how upset you look. What’s wrong?” she asks, her warm hand titling up my chin to look at her. 

“I’m not - this town isn’t -” I take a deep breath and stop myself, her hands starting to run up and down my arms. I go to try to speak again, but she shushes me. 

“Baby, if this is about the whole werewolf thing and living in a town full of supernatural creatures, I already know,” she tells me, concern and compassion lacing her voice, still attempting to sooth me. 

My eyes go wide and I feel my jaw go slack. Someone else in the town, one of the elders, must have already filled her in. That was the tradition when a newcomer was becoming permanent and trusted in the town, one of the elders or council members would tell them a bit of the history and secrets of the town. They must have done this quickly after finding out she was my mate. 

My brain is still trying to catch up to what is going on when she leads me over to the love seat, draping me across her lap with an arm wrapped around my waist. 

“What?” I ask her, “You know...about me?” I ask her dumbly, and she just nods, her other hand in my hair. 

“I’m coaching hormonal teenage boys all day, some of which happen to be werewolves. Some of them something else, still not sure what the fuck that kid Matt is,” she shrugs. “I was clued into it pretty early, and then the old lady next door kinda filled in some of the gaps for me.” She explains this to me so calmly, and I feel so much of the anxiety I have been harboring leave my body. 

“You aren’t mad?” I ask her, still seeking reassurance.

“No, how could I be mad? It took me a minute to figure out you were one too, but I noticed a few things and Moira is a gossiping old bitty and ruined the surprise. Something about mates and courting that sounded an awful lot like the sweet teacher bringing me coffee and sweets,” she jests, still maintaining a smile. 

“Can I ask a question, though?” she asks, and I nod.

“Anything,” I tell her, hoping it won’t be a deal breaker.

“Coach Ben is the hairiest man I’ve ever seen, he’s something, right?” I can’t hold it in anymore, and burst out in giggles, the tension in my chest finally giving way completely. 

“Nope, just a hairy guy,” I confirm, happy she is taking this so well. 

“So we’re good then? You really want me to be your mate?” A hint of doubt clouds her words, one that I quickly assuage with my eager nod and heated look. She pulls me into a kiss by the collar of my shirt, aggressive and dominant and everything I want from her. Soon the buttons are undone, and she gives a groan when the lace of my bralette peeks out, bending down to kiss the straps out of the way. We stumble our way through the house, a trail of clothing left behind us. She falls onto my bed and encourages me to join her.

She kisses me again, hands wrapped around my face. I cannot help the whining sounds leaving me, and as she pulls me onto her legs I start to shift. I’m trying to stop it from happening, knowing she is attracted to me as a human is enough. She accepts the wolf in me, but I am unsure if she will still want me in this way when I turn. She must sense my struggle, though, and kisses me harder. This is when I smell her, the want coming off of her only increasing when her tongue brushes against my growing canines. I cannot stop it any longer. My ears grow and pull back away from my face, my mouth and jaw elongate, and hair turns to fur and covers my body. I feel bones snapping and rearranging, and muscle clumping up in different spots. The change is like breathing for me, and when I look down Megan is mesmerized. I am only slightly bigger this way, and I still feel small in her arms. 

I bend down and rub the side of my face against her’s, then her neck and chest. I lose myself in scenting her, and it’s only when I hear a breathy laugh that I pull back.  Her face is flushed and she has an amused smile on her face. 

“Need me to smell like you honey?” She coos at me, and I nod and let out a whine, hips rolling over hers from where I am seated.

“How else is everyone supposed to know you’re my mate?” I speak into her ear, letting a growl rumble out. A choked out sound escapes her and her hands reach for my hips. She pulls them towards her and flexes her thigh under my core. I let my teeth graze her ear as my clawed hands find her breasts, pulling and tweaking them. Her thigh is slick from my pussy, and my knee brushes against hers on every thrust of my hips. I want to taste her, but as I go to move she pulls me up to straddle her face, the movement so effortless for her that the display of strength has a moan leaving my mouth. This is followed by another when she licks a broad stripe up to my clit, swirling her tongue around it. 

I’m mewling and gyrating my hips as she feasts on me, my hands hanging onto the headboard. Megan locks her arms around my thighs and pulls me down harder onto her mouth, and I feel my core start to tighten. A litany of moans and ‘don’t stops’ fall out of my lips as my climax overtakes me. I twitch and jerk above her before going limp, and with a final stroke of her tongue against my clit, she sets me down as if I am a doll instead of the clawed, muscled beast I currently am. She bestows gentle kisses upon me, covering my chest, collarbones, and working her way up to my muzzle. 

“You look smug.” I tell her with a smile, finally getting my breath back.

“Hmm do I? Seems like I have a good reason,” she teases back.

I growl at her and flip her back to her back, a hand on each side of her head. “I think I could fix that,” I tell her, and proceed to move down her body. I open up my wide jaw, and lave my tongue over her, drinking her in. I’m mindful of my claws pressing into her skin, but the thoughts of my marks decorating her excites me. My tongue enters her, thick and pressing against her walls, and I look up at her, our eyes locking. She looks back at me, and deep moans are leaving her. Heaving breaths force her chest up and down, and I feel as though I’m seeing stars all over again when she comes apart for me, her hips pushing further into my widened jaws. I feel insatiable, and it is only when she starts to pull away that I make my retreat. She’s still twitching and dazed minutes later, praise falling from her lips that I soak up. 

As I lay there with her, tucked into her arms, I am looking forward to the future with my mate. The games in her jersey, the visits to my classroom, and the many made up IT problems I will surely have are all waiting for us. She rolls over, and pets me in a way that has me melting.

“You think we’re done already? My mate, I am nowhere near finished with you yet,” she tells me, and I am grateful for whatever in the universe gave my mate such an appetite. 

[halleyj96]

🏆 Learn How To Be More Productive With Notion 🏆

Notion is not at all an unfamiliar name, as it has been countlessly praised on social media for its aid in productivity. For me, I heard about Notion about a year ago, but only until last week that I started trying out this application (after hearing praises from my boyfriend nonstop) and I have to admit, I'm hooked.

So, what exactly is Notion? And why should you start using it asap?

____________________

1️⃣ What is Notion?

Simply put, Notion is a note taking application, just like Evernote. It impresses users with its minimalistic interface and a whole lot of tools waiting to be discovered. But, Notion doesn't stop at being "just a note taking application", it's a solution to better productivity, an all-in-one tool that you need for your personal life as well as your career.

____________________

2️⃣ What does Notion offer?

For me, Notion is like an online computer, where you can create an unlimited amount of folders and files. The only difference is that you can access to this computer anywhere you want as long as you have internet.

These are, generally, what Notion comes to offer it users:

- Unlimited pages & Blocks. - Infinite Hierarchy - Pages within pages within pages. - Tables & Databases - Categorize your data exactly how you want, and reference data from other tables or projects. - A web clipper browser extension. - A lot of premade templates. - Sync data between devices. - Native Android, iPhone, Windows, and Mac apps.

____________________

3️⃣ Why you should use Notion:

- Not just a note-taking application: You can journal, manage projects and time efficiently, etc. Almost everything is possible with Notion.

- Simple, clean, unlimited: You can create unlimited amount of folders and files and everything is navigatable through pages' map.

- Quick reference with @: At any point in your typing, you can enter an @ to create easy references to pages, people, and dates.

- Easy embeding with /: The forward-slash ( / ) character works just like the @, but for embeds. You can perform nearly 100 tasks with the forward slash.

- Teamwork 24/7 with a click: You can add people and change members' roles in each page (same thing as Google Doc). You can also keep a record on all the changes made in each page.

- Drag and drop blocks: In Notion, each paragraph, each header, each picture is consider a block of information. You can drag and drop these blocks wherever you like.

- A lot of templates to choose from: It's great if you can design your own template, but for someone who knows nothing about designing like me, templates are my life saver.

- Available on all devices: From Android to iPhone, from Mac to Windows, Notion is available everywhere.

- Import/export data easily: Notion allows users to import from various sources (like Evernote, Trello, etc.) and export data as HTML, PDF, or Markdown.

- Reasonable price: For most people only upgrading to "Personal Pro" plan is enough. And this plan is only $4/month, a pretty cheap price compare to what you can get out of this application.

____________________

4️⃣ Free Personal Pro plan upgrade

Now that I have done my part introducing Notion to you, I'm going to share a tip on how to upgrade your Notion Personal plan to Personal Pro plan FOR FREE.

However, this tip only works for those who have university emails. For example, my university email is halley*****@kookmin.ac.kr so I am eligible to get the Personal Pro plan for free from Notion.

All you have to do is sign up or sign in with your university email. Then click on "Settings & Members", on the left side, choose "Upgrade". Skip all the promotional stuffs about all the plans, scroll down until you see "Students & educators". Click "Get free Education plan".

If your email is eligible to get the plan for free, you just have to hit confirm to finalize. But if your email is not eligible then... I'm so sorry it doesn't work out for you :<

____________________

5️⃣ My personal opinion on Notion

I actually started to read a lot more after using Notion's "Reading List" template. The reason is because I can save the articles I read and kinda... decorate them the way I like. So I read to collect information and to create cool looking archives as well.

I also made a list including all the movies I watched and all the movies I want to watch. Took me a while to list everything out but the result was unexpectedly neat and satisfactory.

Lastly, I planned this post by Notion. From research, draft to official posting, I went through all the stages with Notion and I am 100% satisfied by how much help Notion offered me. I usually draft in Note, which is a mess because sometimes I cannot distinguish the main ideas I wrote down and the ideas that were still in consideration. Notion gave me a template that is clear and easy to follow, my writing had never gone to smoothly before, istg.

My conclusion is, just give Notion a try, I'm sure you will fall head over heel for it soon.

____________________

☎️ CONTACT

► Personal Instagram – halleyj96119

► Study Instagram – studywith.halley

► Tumblr – halleyj96

► Youtube – Halley’s Adventure

► Facebook – Halley’s Adventure

► WordPress – Halley’s Adventure

► Email – halleyjung96119@gmail.com

[why-are-you-even-here-tho]

okay people. i’m gonna be spitting a lot of Words. because i’m feeling a lot of Feelings at the moment and i don’t know how to express them through any other methods so. yeah. 

this is just gonna be me venting so. probably wouldn’t recommend reading but idk u do u i guess. i put most of the things that i think are triggers in the tags, but i’m actual shit at tagging so. if literally anything is gonna affect you negatively just. don’t read. i can’t tag everything and yeah. idk. to the cut now i guess. bye. 

hi lmaooo what the fUCK am i writing lmaoo

so. first. my past week has been fucking shit. 

    first, i was super fuckin stressed cause i had chair placement auditions for band, a 70 point spanish vocab test, and a 5-7 minute presentation of elizabethan crime and punishment all due in the span of two fucking hours on wednesday. and my stepmother. has the fucking a u d a c i t y. to tell me that i’m actually only allowed to study (on my computer, where everything is) for one hour after school each day. like honey i can’t control what i’m fuckin assigned. and she’s already shitty with me cause she thinks that i’m not doing anything when i’m on my computer (which, despite what you all have seen of me, is not true lmao). so she’s super fuckin dumb about that. 

    second. my chickens. which i call my chickens because, up until recently, i was the only person that did jack shit for those fuckin birds. literally. stepmother bought the food and sold the eggs. maybe went outside once every couple weeks. it pissed me off but you know. whatever. that’s not even what i’m talking about this time. but she goes out there, before i do my daily stuff for them, and comes back in- whirlwind if pissed off cause the stuff isn’t done. like honey i haven’t done that yet. and she gets bitchy cause i haven’t done it yet and starts to go on about how she knew that i secretly hated the chickens and that she bet that i intentionally fucking killed some of them (cause a few of them actually disappeared this week)?? like what in the fUCK??? i would never fuckin do that??? and i love hearing her complain about what food and water is full to the top as if she bothers doing literally anything to help with them. so i’m now not even allowed in my own fucking backyard because apparently i’m a fuckin serial chicken killer. fuck that. 

    third. i had. the audacity to forget an entire assignment. and stepmother dearest sees it. and goes fuckin apeshit. i am the epitome of disrespectful and useless and such a little bitch and stupid and do i need someone to go with me to school every day and hold my hand and remind me to breathe? and like. i can take that, in a way. it’s the normal shit i get from this woman. what really, for some odd reason, got me this time? when she asked, i think completely sincerely, actually, if there was some sort of implant that could make me better. like bitch. i’m not a fucking dog, you don’t need to fucking chip me so you know where i am all the time. i’m not a fucking robot that needs a fucking upgrade so that my fucking memory is better. i haven’t really said anything to her (or anyone really) about this (cause i don’t fuckin trust her not to give me shit because of it) but i have. a fuckin Issue. with fuckin dehumanization. and that hit. every single fucking button. so i’m fucking pissed and just decide that hey. i’m gonna go to my room for a minute. so i don’t fucking murder my dad’s wife. and i get shit for that too!!! like what in the fUCK???? and now i’m at my grandma’s for some length of time. in fuckin exile. 

    fourth, because i feel like it’s its own thing. my stepmom. as i’m going to my grandma’s for my tommyinnit arc. stops me for a minute. uses her “i’m being genuine (lie) and just trying to make you understand my point of view (with the attitude that it is the only one that matters cause yeah) because being me is hard :(” voice. tells me. “I just want to help you, but you being here makes me think about hurting myself.” which. yes, i understand is not a thing to just dismiss. i do kinda feel shitty about it. but also. 2 things. one, she said it in such a tone of voice that practically screamed “this is a lie to make you feel like shit”. and two, she?? also does this?? to me??? like honey. the blood on the inside of the thighs of my pants and the pocketknife blade hidden in my jewelry box are saying a bit more about “thinking about hurting myself” than you, sitting there on the couch, rewatching game of thrones for the third time. i sound like an asshole in this bit. but i’m just. fuckin angry. 

     fuckin angry and fuckin pissed at myself. cause maybe if i didn’t fuck that assignment up, i’d not be in so much trouble. if i did the chicken stuff earlier that day i’d be at home still. if i could focus more in class my parents might not be as easy to piss off. if i were just. better. if i were not. like this. if i could do more than just “try to” change. if i could look at my issues and actually work to fix them rather than staying up till midnight on a weekday, spending over an hour typing a fucking essay about the shit i’ve been through this week that nobody is gonna read. maybe even if i just. weren’t here. 

    i wasn’t supposed to exist. there were. so many signs. telling my parents that they shouldn’t have kids. one - the fact?? that my mom had no less than four miscarriages??? before she got pregnant with me??? one would think that they may stop trying after like. two. and my mom already had one son! it was with her first husband (red flag right there lmao) but she had! a kid! already! why go through all that pain? idk. i’m not, and never will be, a parent. two - my parents! actually did! decide to stop trying! to have a kid! and then my bitchy little -9 month old ass was like “hey bitches are you ready for 16 years of hell?” three - there were so many issues with my (i mean. not mine but the only one i’ve been involved in) pregnancy. like. mom got badly sick like. 3 times. she told me one day that her doctor told her that it would be healthier for me? if she kept smoking while she was pregnant???? so that’s fun. and i’m positive that it was not just nicotine. yeah. fun. don’t necessarily have an issue with weed but like. bro. you’re pregnant. no thanks. four - i was a cesarean. not that that’s really an issue. but. i felt like it might go on here. five - i refused! to breathe! on my own! for almost 24 hours! this might have meant something!!!!! 

     i don’t even know what i’m writing anymore honestly. i’m feeling emotions and i hate it. it’s midnight. i’ve spent over an hour writing this.  why am i not working on my fic. bye.

i would like access to alcohol please lmao

[wolftraps]

Sign over your soul

Many people (including @sidewalk-and-chalkin most recently) asked about Cass and her meeting with Martin about keeping her job and the whole reveal. Technically this doesn’t include the full reveal, but I already gave you a powerpoint for that. So here. Have Cass and Martin trying to one-up each other while Jon continues being a disaster.

--

Cass and Martin have never been friends. Which is odd because it’s not like they haven’t known each other, and they’re both generally friendly people. They’ve even been friends with a lot of the same people. And yet, even after years of working in the same place and talking to the same people, they still know each other almost solely by reputation. Reputation which, prior to Martin joining the Archives, had been good. Now… well, now it’s hard to say. The doors are locked, as usual, when Cass arrives for her pseudo-interview, but that’s been the case for months and it hasn’t mattered so far. And as usual, Patrząc meets her out front and leads her around to a side door, propped open with a tape recorder, that she locks back up behind her. As always. “And how are you today, beautiful?” Cass asks. Patrząc meows back, pleased. “That’s great. So, what are the odds I’m about to lose my job?” Another meow; Cass laughs. “I know better than to bet against myself. Do you even have any money?” Patrząc ignores her, just leads her through the familiar building to a room on the ground floor that Cass knows has been turned into Martin’s new office. There they stop. “Right.” Cass takes a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”

“Mrrow,” Patrząc says. “It doesn’t matter if I need it or not. It’s polite.” The cat just stares. “Oh hush.” With another breath, Cass knocks, intending to wait, but as soon as she does, Patrząc huffs and rubs up against the door, which swings open with only a soft click. She meows at Martin as she leads Cass in and then stalks right back out as the door closes behind her. “That cat has no sense of decorum,” Cass says fondly, staring after her. “She’s Jon’s cat,” Martin responds, just as fond, “I’ve given up. Anyway. Sit, please. You want any tea?” “Sure. Just a—” “Small spoonful of sugar,” Martin finishes, already setting the mug in front of her. It’s made perfectly. “So, first off, thank you for all the work you’ve been doing. It’s really been a relief to not have all that to worry about.” “No idea what you’re talking about,” Cass lies. “Right. So you don’t want this bonus I was going to give you.” “Well it’s not like you or Sims were going to maintain the network. Also you can blame the cat for letting me in.” “Yeah, I know. I’ve always known. If it was a problem we would’ve talked way before now.” “Right. Good… Should I bother asking how? I know you’re not watching the security footage.” She’d checked. No one had accessed any of it but her since they closed the doors. “You… can. First I’d like to go over some things myself. And, whenever he can be bothered to join us, Jon has some questions too.” “O- oh.” Cass doesn’t actually have anything to hide— not really. She still gets a shiver down her spine, though, and takes a sip of perfect tea to cover it. “Sure.” “Cool. Alright. Where—” Martin flips through the papers on his desk, fumbling a bit. It makes him look like the same nice, approachable man he’d been before. Something about it feels deliberate, though. Cass forces herself into a relaxed posture to match. Finally, Martin finds what he was ‘looking’ for, two sheets down in the stack right in front of him. “Ah! Here we go. So you’ve been working here for six years, right? Two promotions in that time. Do you like working here? I guess that’s a good place to start.” “I mean, yeah. It’s not exactly easy work. IT in a place like this—” “Not exactly easy to do any job in a place like this,” Martin mutters. “Well, yeah, but you never had to explain to Elias that it didn’t matter how high- or low- tech we went, security cameras wouldn’t work in the Archives.” “You didn’t have to hide in your flat for a full day because supernatural worms trapped you there.” “You didn’t have to create an entirely new encryption program to prevent data corruption in all Elias’s emails.” “You didn’t have to try to convince Tim not to murder Jon.” “You didn’t have to write a virus to keep Tim from stalking Sims even more.” “Did you really?” “Yeah.” “Oh… thanks.” Cass waves him off. “Not like it worked.” “Still… You didn’t get chased through secret tunnels and stumble across your old boss’s corpse.” “Right, about that! Who did kill Gertrude? Really?” “Elias.” “Yes! Called it…” She considers for a second. “You didn’t have to crawl through the walls to replace the cables the worms ate through. You think the ECDC cleared out all their gross, wriggly little corpses? They didn’t.” Martin sets down his tea, looking appropriately disgusted. “Oh, ugh. Hmm… You didn’t have to run from a creature that eats people and steals their identities.” “You didn’t have your friend replaced and have to explain to their best friend what happened without fully understanding it yourself.” “I… kind of did, actually.”

Cass pauses, something suddenly becoming clear. “Oh… oh. I’m… surprised Tim was as controlled as he was, then.” “Yeah. He had… other things to distract him. It’s not exactly the same. Sasha’s still around, sort of. She’s just—” Not something he really wants to talk about, clearly. “Right. You’ve never had to spend hours trying to figure out exactly how Sasha fucked up your system after she changed things without warning.” “I have, though,” Martin sighs, clearly exasperated. “The number of forms I’ve had to redo. It’s not… totally her fault. She doesn’t mean to do it; it’s more like a reflex.” “Oh no. Michael Lanson’s entire existence in our system was not some reflex. She did that intentionally, and she made it just right enough that I probably wouldn’t have noticed for months if Hannah hadn’t said something, and just wrong enough I had to redo the whole thing from scratch or it would’ve drove me insane.” “Oh. That. Yeah. She was… trying to do us a favor, sort of? Anyway, you never had to convince Daisy Tonner that you had no clue where Jon might be while he was on the run.” “Sure I did. Not as hard as you did, sure, but I still had to lie to her.” “Wait— You knew where Jon was?” “I mean, not at first. But Melanie King comes in talking about the dead guy being Jurgen Leitner and leaving with boxes from the Archives? That she’s just allowed to carry out? After Sims utterly destroyed Diana in her defense?” “Wait, Jon did what?”

Cass sits bolt upright, potential glee already taking hold. “You don’t know about that? I swear the archives were CCed.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Oh my god. Okay. Hold on,” Cass says, already scrolling through the saved emails on her phone. It takes less than a minute to find and send the right one. “You never wondered why Diana hates Sims so much?” “I mean. A lot of people hate Jon, and I doubt Diana could kill him, so I wasn’t that worried that… Oh my god, Jon. How did I miss this? I… I think I might need to frame this… Wait, if you thought he was with Melanie, why didn’t you say anything to Daisy?” Cass pauses for a second, but, well, given how freaky the Archivist himself is, this probably won’t phase Martin too much. “I didn’t just think. I traced her mobile to place her at Georgie Barker’s and then hacked CCTV feeds until I caught Sims.” “You…” Martin sighs and slumps a bit. “Of course you did. I don’t know why I… That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell Daisy.” Cass shrugs and takes another sip of tea. “Wasn’t my business. Also, that would’ve been tampering and all the bets I’d taken would be void. Anyway. You never had to prove to Daisy Tonner that you’d already destroyed any and all evidence that might implicate Jonathan Sims in any murder, especially that of Peter Lukas, after she joined the Institute.” “You never had to get Jon to talk about his feelings.” “True, but you never had to explain to Elias both what keyloggers are and why we shouldn’t use them.” “Key— Wait, are you trying to tell me there aren’t keyloggers on every computer here?” “Oh, no, there absolutely are. But all collected data is immediately encrypted with a specially created algorithm where the key changes at short, irregular intervals and requires both knowledge-based and biological-based authentication just to generate a decryption key for use. Also our storage space is limited, so most of it can only be kept for a week at most. He probably still knew everything everyone ever typed, but any actual evidence was only ever accessible by me.” It takes Martin a moment to process this. Cass takes another sip of tea. “How did you get away with that?” “Assured him Gertrude would never be able to access any of it. And then every time he came around for any reason I started thinking about all the upgrades I wanted to ask for.” He looks a little shell-shocked. “I… honestly can’t tell how much you know about everything that’s been going on around here.” “Not as much as us, but more than most everyone else, and enough she likely won’t change her mind about staying,” Jonathan Sims says, striding in looking harried with a very self-satisfied cat draped across his shoulders. “I… apologize for my tardiness, Martin, Josie.” Cass freezes. “Jos—” Martin starts to ask. “Ahh,” Sims says, almost sheepishly. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t—” “It’s fine,” Cass says stiffly. “I figured you probably knew. It’s— not actually that big a deal.” “Still. I shouldn’t— I didn’t mean to—” Well, this is awkward. “Martin said you had some questions,” she cuts him off. “Y-yes. I— don’t think that will be necessary.” “Wait- really?” Martin asks incredulously. “You don’t have any questions? You?” “I—” Cass knows many things about most of the people who have worked in the Institute over the past six years, but there’s only so much you can ever actually know about a person from a distance. She’s good at filling in the blanks, but it still somehow surprises her to find that the dreaded Archivist is almost painfully awkward. He looks at her with something like apprehension. “Go ahead,” she tells him and goes to take another sip, only to find her cup empty. Damn. “Miss Walters has a grand total of one close friend outside the Institute, and that only because Hannah Kenway has now left our employ. Her only remaining family is a grandfather who lives in a small town near Barcelona and hasn’t taken any of her calls in the past five years, though she still always tries on Christmas and her mother’s birthday. She has had an interest in the paranormal since… ah.” “Since?” Martin prompts. Cass keeps staring at the empty mug in betrayal. “Since her mother disappeared when she was six, after reading her a children’s book titled “Una Invitada Para el Señor Araña.” “What does— Ohh.” “Guessing you know that one, then,” Cass says. “I— had my own encounter with it,” Sims tells her. “About three years after yours, though it was in English then.” “Yeah. Strange how no one ever believes the kid who says they saw a giant spider eat someone.” “And yet— You aren’t afraid of spiders.” “I am. Sort of. After it happened, I decided I was going to learn everything there was to know about spiders, the supernatural, and Jurgen Letiner. Which eventually brought me here. It’s just… Spiders are fascinating. I have a… healthy respect for them—” “And you’ve always been attracted to dangerous things.” Cass narrows her eyes at him and tries to keep her voice serious when she says, “If you’re about to say the word ‘murderwives,’ I’m gonna have to insist you let me record it.” Sims scowls, something like affront on his face. “I would not.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but now I actually kind of want to hear you say that, Jon,” Martin says. Cass wonders again why they aren’t friends already. “I will not!” “I bet Sasha could get you to say it.” “She could not, and you are not going to call her in here just to try,” Sims asserts, but the mischievous smile Martin has doesn’t seem to agree. “Martin.” “I won’t call her in here just to try,” Martin promises, though Cass notes what he doesn’t say and doubts that will be the end of it. Around Sims, Martin nods at her, just slightly, and she knows that she’ll probably get an audio file from him within the week. Sims looks reproachful. Martin looks entirely unrepentant. “Regardless,” Sims decides to move on, “Miss Walters has found herself rather attached to the Institute and likely hasn’t even considered not staying on. Also I suspect, should we not keep her on, our network may refuse to cooperate with her replacement entirely.” “… You mean that literally, don’t you?” Martin sounds so resigned Cass has to laugh. “That’s my baby,” she says proudly. “Right,” he sighs. “So I guess we’ll just go straight to selling your soul to a fear god, then.” She can’t say that’s what she was expecting to hear, especially with someone like Martin in charge. But, she supposes, they don’t actually know each other that well. Anyway, selling your soul to a fear god sounds dangerous, and she’s intrigued. “Alright,” she asks, “is that a bug or a feature?”

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 13

Previous: Codename The Mochi of it All 

Pairing: Lee Euna X Min Yoongi, Lee Euna X Kim Seokjin, Jeon Jungkook X OFC

Genre: Angst, Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2.2k 

Warnings: Swearing 

Summary: Lee Euna returns to identify a mystery man and put another name on the list. 

Justifying Jimin 

Present Day

          The light is a speckled mess as it attempts to stream through the stained-glass windows arched above the rattling glass below. The warping wood welcomes the reprieve from winter, early spring seeping in through the pollen in the air. I’ve been working with Lee Euna since around Christmas and she continues to pay far more than is necessary. I’m not complaining, upgraded computer, new camera, better security, I can now afford HBO Max and Hulu and Netflix at once. It’s wonderful, no scraping by. My savings account has even been growing, something I didn’t think would happen until I at least solved my first murder. Catching cheating spouses is lucrative, but not enough that I can afford rent in two places.

         The point being, bless Lee Euna and her money. I sleep just fine with it in my bank account. Though I’ve yet to determine if I’m sleeping fine because Jungkook’s holding me, pulling me into his orbit, securely protecting me from my deepest fears, or because I’m no longer stressed about making ends meet. Having him around… it’s stupid. It’s, I’m trying to work on valuing my feelings, all of them, and while I find romance stupid, it’s so comforting sleeping next to someone you care about. The way his lips slightly part, the soft curl of his breath, his hair cascading over his cheek, an arm always wrapped around me, or his hand holding mine.

         I don’t know what I thought it would be like, having someone consistently in my bed, looking out for me, caring when I let the cucumber turn to mush inside my refrigerator, asking if I’ve drunk all my water for a day or encouraging me to go to bed before 11PM. It’s an odd thing, falling in love with someone. I am, falling, I think, not that I’ve said as much. There’s a certain amount of pride, in keeping your growing feelings of adoration to yourself, of sorting them before sharing them, nurturing them in silence. I do hate how integral he’s become in my life… It hasn’t been long, but in the pit of my stomach, all I can feel is a growing blossom of hope, waiting to bloom.

         It’s an odd thing, knowing Jungkook is lying to me about something, and not being able to confront him about it. Sitting in my office, patiently waiting for Lee Euna, I’m staring at a list of facts I’ve written down.

         Taehyung and the mystery man know Jungkook, now I don’t know how they know him, or why, or if they’re old school friends or poker acquaintances. Jungkook doesn’t play poker, so maybe basketball buddies. Or lost friends from childhood, bonding over their heritage and shared experiences of hating their 4th grade teacher. The important fact is that they recognized him by name. The look they exchanged, the way their bodies shifted, it would be wild to have behaved that way and not know of Jungkook. There’s no possible way they could’ve been thinking of a different Jeon Jungkook.

         All these ‘facts’, lead me to a central question that I don’t know how I feel about, or what I’m going to do about, but it still remains: who is Jungkook?

         “Ms. Y/N, good afternoon,” Euna says walking through the door of my office. I glance at her and smile.

         “Good afternoon, can I get you anything to drink?”

         “Mm, do you still have that water I like?” She sits down, crossing her ankle behind the other and waits.

         “Yes, I do, Pellegrino, lemon or regular?” I offer.

         “Lemon please,” She responds, she only ever drinks lemon.

         “Here,” I hand her the bottle and watch as she patiently opens it, letting the few bubbles escape before placing her lips to the top. “I have good news, and bad news.”

         “Oh? Let’s start with the bad,” She’s curious, her brow lightly furrowing, concern in her eyes as they move across my desk looking for a sign of what’s to come.

         “I’ve found a few men who seems to know Taehyung. The problem, is that I don’t know who they are.” I tell her plainly.

         “Oh, that is a problem,” She sits back in her chair, brows creasing deeper.

         “I have photos and am trying to run it through the system,” I tell her, “But,          I don’t know if I’ll find anything. It was almost impossible to track down Seokjin, and I had to call in a favor just to get any intel.”

         “Can I see them?” Euna sets her drink down on the end table and leans forward. “Maybe it’s someone I know? That will make less work for you, right?”  

         “Well, that leads me to my next bit of news,” I inform her.

         “The good news?” She isn’t hopeful, I can tell from her tone. She should be hopeful, I mean, I’ve done a decent job in not a lot of time.

         “Yes, I found Seokjin and Taehyung,” I turn on the extra monitor and the photos appear for her to look at, hoping she can make sense of the mystery men. I prefer to use digital photos instead of the standard print, less chance of blackmail on the part of the perpetrator. It also provides additional income when someone comes back a year, or a few months later to get prints for their lawyers.

         In this moment, however, Euna isn’t nodding in contentment at my amazing photography skills, she’s in shock, mouth open, eyes wide.

         “Jimin,” She whispers.

         “Yeah! Is he the Jimin on your list?” I ask, confused.

         “He’s my brother’s fiancé,” She whispers, eyes scanning the photos of Taehyung and Jimin.

         “Is or was?” I push.

         “How do they know each other?” She asks instead.

         “I don’t know,” I tell her, lying in this business gets you nowhere, fast.

         Picking up another photo to compare, “How much will it cost to find out?”

         “I don’t know, it’ll take more time for sure, maybe another month or two. I’m still putting out feelers for Min Yoongi,” I inform her. “Then there’s the question of how all of them are connected, if they are. I have a slight lead on Jung Hoseok, he’s been out with Taehyung once or twice, and I guess, until today, not much on Park Jimin. There’s one other man that Taehyung goes to dinner with, but I don’t know who he is.”

         “Yoongi will be easy to find, though, right?” She asks me.

         “I would assume so, but I had to call in a favor to find Seokjin,” I reiterate.

         “Jimin was with Tae?”

         “What happened between your brother and Jimin?” I redirect.

         “He, they, fuck,” She swears, slamming her hand on her the table before turning her back to me and pacing the width of my office. “They were engaged and on the night of their engagement party, Jimin disappeared. No note, no call, nothing. Changed his cell number too. Wiped his social media. Jun-Seo couldn’t find him at his job, couldn’t locate him through his parents. Their friends didn’t know where he was.” Euna sits, taking a long swig from her Pellegrino. “It was as if he never really existed, Seo felt like he’d been in some dream that he’d magically woken up from to realize his life was a nightmare. He didn’t sleep for weeks, went on benders, became Dae’s henchman.”

         “Wasn’t he already?” I question.

         “Yes, but he was at his beck and call, for, what, six months or something? He’s started returning to his old self, but he’s never going to get over Jimin.” Euna takes another sip, hiccupping gently before screwing the cap back on.

         “Does Seo want revenge?” I ask.

         “Is it your job to know?” Euna snaps.

         “No, I guess not,” I shrug.

         “Jimin’s in town? For good?” She’s calculating, pupils contracting, irises moving from picture to picture.

         Tilting my head, I tell her, “I don’t know about that.”  

         She glances up at me, looking me dead on, “Will you find out?”

         “Sure, but it’ll cost. Your list keeps growing,” I pull out the handwritten list she’d made me for our first meeting.

         “Who’s on it again?”

         “Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung,” I recite, pretty names for prettier men.

         “And that other guy Taehyung hangs out with, I want him too,” Euna absentmindedly flings her hand in the general direction of her original list.

         “Okay,” I say, moving the note to jot a few words down on another piece of paper.

         “I’ll add an extra, what, two grand to your weekly? Can that move this along?” She’s refitting her sunglasses over her eyes, but I catch the glimmer of tears coating them.

         “Yes, it can. I’m going to have to work my –

         “Do whatever you have to,” Euna stands, grabbing her purse and pauses to look at the photos again. “When someone breaks your heart, destroys your world, well, wouldn’t you want revenge too?”

           Lee Euna leaves, a comment about her returning in two weeks for an update that I acknowledge with an “okay!” to hide how overwhelmed I am. The list is supposed to be getting shorter, not longer, and yet I’m sitting here, a few months in, with more people to find. Granted She just added more money to my fee, real money, tangible, squirrel away for when I’m back to hunting cheaters and abusers, money. But how am I going to find men who clearly and aggressively don’t want to be found? Not to mention the notes in my car, the connection to Jungkook and the very real chance that Euna’s revenge could very well be dangerous.

           I pick up my phone and dial the third number I have memorized, though Jungkook’s is slowly becoming #4.

           “You’ve ran out of favors, Y/N,” C says, tutting her teeth.

           “I’m not calling about a favor, I’m calling because I need advice.” I correct her.

           “What?” She’s curious, I can hear it in the lilt she uses for emphasis. Sisterhood allows you to notice those things, a life lived together means she can tell how frustrated I am.

           “It’s taking forever to run these pictures through the system. I’ve searched social media, I’ve combed local yearbooks and university graduation lists, and I cannot find these men. Either they’re –

           “Either they’re hiding and have scrubbed their existence from the web, or they are using fake names.” C answers, she hates when I call on her lunch break to talk shop, but she always answers.

           “How would I know?” I let out a frustrated growl that she chuckles at.

           “Isn’t that part of your job?” She snorts.

           “No, I know. I ran their names against Lee Enterprises rosters, and a few came back with different last names. Enterprises doesn’t post company photos so all I have to match them with are the names and photos Euna has given me. Which is minimally helpful. Seokjin wasn’t lying, his name was the same, but Taehyung’s isn’t Kim Taehyung at the library, but it’s him,” I explain.

           “Someone’s lying, either the men or Euna,” C deduces.

           “Could this be bigger than what Euna is asking for?” I ask the question that’s been stuck in my mind for days.

           “As in a larger group?”

           “Yes, as in a larger play in the works, a government agency, Interpol, Mafia, someone who’s out of my jurisdiction,” I clarify.

           “Lol, Interpol is the British Mafia. That’s funny. Truly, it could be, but how would you know?” She inquires.

           “We’ve had this conversation before,” I remind her.

           “True, but you process best when you speak through your problems,”

           “Also true.”

           “You’re on the right track, trust yourself, Y/N. Did you figure out if that Jimin was the same-

           “It is,” I interrupt.

         “What’s his deal?” C inquires.

         “Broke her brother’s heart,” I confirm.

           “Dae-Seong is gay?” She’s shocked, I roll my eyes.

           “Other brother,” I correct her.

           She hums. “Oh, he seems fluid? Is that the correct phrasing?”

           I snort, “Yeah, we’re all fluid technically,”

           “Mmm, speaking of-

           “Speaking of, if this was part of something larger, and you knew, would you tell me?” My voice is soft, C doesn’t know about the notes in my car, and she doesn’t need to.

           “If I could, if I had any information or anything, I would,” She promises.

           “Thank you. Love you, mean it,” I say.

           “Love you, mean it,” She answers.

           Finding Jimin was just a fluke, a one off, a bit of luck. He was with Taehyung in a genuine friendly engagement. They weren’t expecting me, I wasn’t expecting them. But the rest of these men? Jung Hoseok shows up here and there, nothing recent, no phone number or Facebook page with activity after 2015. Min Yoongi, well, Park Yoongi, shows up on the database, but when I look at the one photo of him, he is not the same man that Euna swears he is. The cherry on top of that is the last man to appear occasionally with Taehyung.

           Altogether, that’s six men. I’ve found three, which I guess should make me a glass half full kind of optimist. However, one was pure luck. The other was secrets from my sister and dumb luck, and the third? Child’s play. So, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, and Mystery Man, who are you, and what have you done to Lee Euna?

Next: Codename Love Reimagined