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chickensarentcheap · 2 years ago

Text

Lost and Found- Chapter 7

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake and Esme Drummond (established OFC. Although you do not need to read the others to understand this one)

Warnings: angst, mild profanity, brief mention of childhood cancer and death

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @thesirenrealm @residentdormouse @asirensrage @munstysmind @muchadoaboutcj @starryeyes2000 @karimac @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @themaradaniels

My tag list is OPEN. Just give me a shout if you’d like to added :)

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/115598767

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t a social call?”

“Is that any way to greet your nearest and dearest?” Nik chides. “Haven’t we progressed to pleasantries by now?”

“I’ve spent enough time with you to know you never call with pleasant news. Or ideas.”

“It’s been a couple of years since I got you into trouble. I thought it was kind of fun. The last time we got together.”

“You and I have very different views on what’s considered ‘fun’. Being caught in the middle of a prison riot isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.” Tyler catches movement out of the corner of his eye; watching as Delaney briefly slides upon the door and sets a mug of coffee down on the deck. And he returns her shaky smile with a brief one of his own; offering a stiff nod when she raises her hand in farewell.

He wants to feel something. Anything. Regret, guilt, humiliation. And while he’s able to acknowledge that he hurt her and should find a way to make amends, he can’t help but wonder if it’s even worth the effort. It’ll never work; the two of them rarely see eye to eye on where their relationship stands or where it’s heading. He will never be the man she wants him to be; he can’t bring himself to open up to her or commit to anything more serious than they’re already experiencing. And she’ll always be in competition with Esme; everything she says and does will constantly be compared to the year he’d spent with someone else.

“It wasn’t THAT bad,” Nik’s voice jolts him back to the conversation at hand. “You got out of there unscathed. Relatively, anyway. And I’m kind of insulted; you assuming I only call under bad circumstances. Maybe I just missed you and wanted to catch up. See how you’re doing.”

“I’m the same as I was when you called out of the blue six months ago. Old, sore, and miserable.”

“So basically the same as the day I met you. Minus the ‘old’. You always did have the personality of a crotchety old man, standing on his front porch with a shotgun, yelling at people to stay off his lawn.”

Smirking, he heads barefoot across the deck and then peers through the window; making sure the kitchen is empty before grabbing the cup of coffee. “Comparing me to Clint Eastwood? That’s a compliment. I’ll take it.”

“It’s nice to see that some things don’t really change. You’re still a smart ass, Tyler.”

“And you’re still a sweet talker. Flattery gets you everywhere.” Taking a swig of his drink, he grimaces at the bitter taste; mumbling profanities as he heads for the edge of the deck and dumps the coffee out onto the grass. “You alright? How’s things?”

“Busy. As usual. The bad guys don’t take days off.”

“Being busy keeps you out of trouble. Or keeps you in it. I know how you get when you’re bored’ all grumpy and shit when business is slow. Nice to hear you’re keeping a roof over your head. What house are you on now? Six? Seven? Last time we talked you were thinking about buying that penthouse in Dubai. Somewhere you could keep your boy toy stashed away. How is he anyway? Did you feed him breakfast and get him on the school bus alright?”

“You’re such a fucking asshole. Remind me why I call you again?”

“Usually because you need me to bail your ass out of trouble. Or you want to get me into some. Like I said, I know this isn’t a social call.”

“Maybe it’s both. Personal AND business. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

“Depends what the business is.”

“First thing’s first. I never bought the place in Dubai. And there is no boy toy. Not anymore.”

“Sorry to hear that. You seemed pretty happy. What went wrong? He got therapy for his mummy issues?”

“He just decided he wanted to go in a different direction with his life. Without me along for the ride. Apparently, I was ‘bringing him down’. He wanted someone he could pamper and spoil and treat like a princess. Someone completely dependent on him. Subservient.”

“He definitely barked up the wrong tree with that one. Things are good, though? Other than that?”

“I’m still as assertive and bitchy as ever, if that’s what you’re asking. And things are okay. I’m still on this side of the dirt.”

“Definitely a good day when you can say that.”

“Things are good. I’M good. What about you, Tyler? How are YOU? And don’t bullshit me. I always know when you’re lying.”

He contemplates telling her about the dreams and the memories; about the immense loneliness and heartache that have permanently staked their claim on both heart and mind. He’d been encouraged by the feelings and the semblance of happiness he’d experienced when he met Delaney; allowing himself to begin a relationship even though he’d made it perfectly clear that it was the last thing he really wanted. He’d been willing to try; succumbing to the pressure piled on by her brother and Koen. And while he’d enjoyed the moments of contentment and the companionship that she provided him with, they were always fleeting; finding himself quickly annoyed by her presence and her often overbearing and suffocating behaviour. Then the guilt would set in; the harsh reality that while she deserves so much better, he can’t seem to totally cut her loose. Not wanting to be alone, yet not wanting her around at the same time; desperately needing space and breathing room. And it makes him feel pathetic. Weak. The fact that his happiness still hinges on a woman who clearly showed she never meant a damn word she said to him; lying about love and her hopes for a future…THEIR future…and conning him in the same way she had so many others while on the job.

“I’m doing alright.” He chooses the easy way out. “ Working a lot of long hours. Putting out a lot of fires. Getting a lot of cats out of trees.”

Nik gives a small laugh.

“And the reno business is going good. A lot of clients on my hands. And more coming on board every week.”

“How are you feeling? Health-wise?”

“I’m in better shape than I've ever been. I feel good, Nik. Real good. Keeping myself busy. Active. Rate I’m going, I might live to be ninety.”

“And mentally?”

“It’s hit or miss. Some days are good, some not so good. It’s a crap shoot.”

“You still on the meds? Are you…?”

“I’m stable, Nik. I keep on top of it. Haven’t had a really bad episode in a while. It’s under control.”

“What about the other stuff?”

“I’m clean. Sober. Haven’t had a drink or gone anywhere near Oxy in four years. And I plan on keeping it that way. Now…” His knees crack as he lowers himself onto the top step of the deck stairs. “… is this where we quit the bullshit chit-chat and get down to why you really called? Because I am staring down a twelve-hour shift; gotta be at the station soon.”

“I have a job for you.”

“I’m retired.”

“SEMI retired. And you said whenever I needed you…”

“I didn’t say ‘whenever’, I said if you ever found yourself in a tough spot. If a job came up that you didn’t have the right guy for.”

“I’m in a tough spot. I DO have the right men for it, but…”

“But? You either do or you don’t. What’s…?”

“There’s a client asking for you. By name. Willing to pay big money.”

“How’d they hear about me?”

“I didn’t ask. But when I told them that I had other men that were more than capable of getting the job done, they wouldn’t hear of it. Your reputation precedes you, Tyler. This isn’t the first time someone has wanted you in the driver’s seat.”

“First time it’s happened since I retired. Did you tell them? That I didn’t exactly have both feet in the pond anymore?”

“It didn’t matter. They said they only wanted you. In fact, they said it HAS to be you.”

“Sounds like they’re pretty determined.”

“They want the best. No one else will do. They won’t settle for mediocrity.”

“What kind of stakes are we looking at?”

“Pretty damn high. You’ll be going against a pretty powerful organized crime family. Hell-bent on revenge.”

“What did the client do? To get themselves on their bad side?”

“They were working a job themselves. Strictly on the down-low. Spent months infiltrating the circle. They had their cover blown last night. I had to get a team together and go in and get them out of trouble. I’ve got them somewhere safe right now, but…”

“You need to get them somewhere safer.”

“I can only keep them here for a few days. It’s a secure spot, but one that’s normally just a refuge for certain clientele. The owner is doing me a huge favour; giving them a suite to hole up in and around-the-clock protection. The goal is to get them out of the country. Take them somewhere far away while my team and I deal with things here.”

“And where exactly is ‘here’?”

“New York City.”

“Jesus Christ, Nik. You know how much I hate the North American circuit. I haven’t been that way in six, seven years. You know I like to stick to things on the other side of the globe.”

“I realize that. But I’m only doing what the client asked for. And that’s for you to handle their case. I wouldn’t have called you if they weren’t adamant about this. And if I didn’t agree that you really are the best person for this job.”

Sighing, he runs a palm along his beard. “What exactly is it you need me to do?”

“Get the client out of New York City. Get them somewhere safe. Keep an eye on them. Until my team and I handle things here.”

“Babysit, you mean.”

“Extract and protect. Tyler, I wouldn’t have called if she…”

“Hold up…hold up. It’s a SHE? Nik…”

“Tyler, they…SHE..asked for you. She’s adamant. It has to be you.”

“I’m not into rescuing damsels in distress. Nik. I’m not some knight in shining armour. I’m…”

“She comes with fragile contents.”

He falls silent; his thoughts turning to his son. That beautiful, blond-haired little boy that he’d left behind while he was sick and dying; choosing the military over his family when they’d needed him the most. And he allows himself to think of the happier times; before cancer ever became a part of their lives. The walks on the beach and the camping and fishing trips and the dreams of his son taking up his love of surfing.

“Tyler…”

“How old?”

“Four. A little girl. Her mother is terrified. Says she can’t trust just anyone with her daughter’s life. All that matters to her is the little one. Keeping her safe.”

“And exactly who are these people? That are after them? I know you said organized crime, but…”

“It’s better we discuss that in person. Along with the payout. How soon can you be in New York City?”

“How soon can you get me a flight”?

“I can get you a red eye. Your time, of course. I’ll set it all up. Contact you when everything is finalized. Can I tell them? That you’ve agreed to take it? Can I give them my word that you’ll show?”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, abruptly hanging up to end the call. And for several minutes he remains on the step; listening to the kookaburras and the rustle of leaves as a stiff breeze passes through the trees. And his chest aches and his eyes close as he once more thinks of her. Of big brown eyes and a freckle-splattered nose and hair that felt like silk when his hands moved through it.

And of the absence of her next to him.

*****

The sweatshirt is faded and tattered. His smell long gone. It had devastated her when it finally happened; preparing herself for the inevitable over the course of several months, yet still despondent when it disappeared entirely. The hoodie had been the last thing she had grabbed before fleeing the shack; snagging it off the back of the armchair in the living room on her way out the door. Wanting something…anything…to remember him by; a token or souvenir that could remind her of happier, simpler times and all of the plans they’d made for their future. And provide her comfort on the hardest of days and loneliest of nights; either wearing it as intended or simply wrapping it around her pillow. Desperately needing to feel him close to her amidst the harsh reality she’d likely never see him again; the mixture of his familiar scent and the warmth provided by the fabric the closest thing she had to being in his arms.

It had been her only link to him. Just a plain and simple burgundy garment that he’d purchased long before they met. The drawstring for the hood completely missing, the cuffs of the sleeves moth bitten and frayed, the fabric stained in various places; remnants of paint and drywall from when he’d been doing much-needed repairs and renovations on the shack. Every imperfection and loose thread served as a reminder of the time they’d spent together; ten months spent getting to know one another and growing together and planning a future. Dhaka had created a solid foundation for them to build upon; beginning with those initial five days in that dirty little hotel and room and ending with those terrifying and life-altering moments on the bridge. Everything that came after served to help them learn about one another and grow together; his long stay in the hospital, her decision to stay in Australia instead of returning to Colorado, and that comfortable little bubble they created inside that run-down little cabin in the outback. Shedding blood, sweat, and tears while turning it into a home; every coat of paint and every inch of new flooring helping to exorcise the darkness and the demons that haunted him for far too long.

Her fingers trace each hole and every frayed edge. The sweater was the one thing she’d refused to leave behind; frantically searching through both clean and dirty laundry baskets and then hastily shoving it into the lone backpack she and Millie had fled with. Choosing those stains and imperfections over the most expensive garments in her closet; the memories attached to it far more important than any price tag or designer label. Alessio had always nagged her to get rid of it; it was far too big on her petite frame, far too messy with its stains and its puckers and tears, far too ‘poor looking’. Despite refusing to get too deeply involved with his family’s illegal doings, he put far too much emphasis on being one of the ‘elite’; obsessed with the image that he not only presented and maintained, but she and Millie as well.

The latter he complained about often; her hair was too wild and untamed, she was too loud and vibrant and should be ‘seen and not heard’ and he was ‘disgusted’ by her penchant for mixing the frilliest of dresses with the sloppiest of footwear. And Millie had been devastated when he’d taken it upon himself to throw out her beloved light-up Spiderman sandals while she’d been at school; crying herself to sleep as her mother cuddled her tight and tried her very best to console her. The next morning, Esme had made it a point of replacing the shoes; buying two pairs and then boldly setting them right in the midst of all of Alessio’s Hugo Boss and Bruno Malli loafers. He had crossed a line and she refused to let it slip; no one disrespected her daughter and got away with it. Those sandals representing everything that is beautiful and perfect about her little girl. Carefree and confident, vibrant and creative, feisty and resilient. And no one was going to strip her of those things and turn her into a watered-down version of who she was meant to be.

He had tried the same nonsense with the sweater; throwing it into the bin in the kitchen and burying it under household waste in hopes of preventing her from finding it. When she couldn’t locate it after an especially long and trying day of attempting to keep up the lies and the fake persona, she’d just KNOWN he was the culprit. And she’d frantically and angrily torn apart every inch of the house in order to find it; tears spilling down her cheeks as she ranted and raved about his refusal to respect her or her boundaries. In his eyes she was being ridiculous and overly dramatic; what kind of sane and rational person is that attached to a cheap hoodie that looked as if she picked it out of a dumpster? She hadn’t bothered to explain; he would never understand and definitely would never try. And she hadn’t wanted to share those intimate details; tales of her real and her immense heartache and guilt over the choices she made just made things far too personal. She was just there for the job after all; not make genuine bonds and actually go through with the wedding. Admittedly, she had enjoyed how he made her feel when he wasn’t being a complete asshole; loved and wanted and cherished. It had been so long since she’d had a man gaze at her in adoration; it was flattering and ego boosting and it did wonders to mend some of her shattered confidence. But there was no way she could ever TRULY care for him. She’d only ever loved one man in her life; with everything she was and everything she had. And she’d wounded him deeply and saddled herself with a lifetime of regret.

Moving on is impossible. Even with the most honourable and respectful of men. After all, how do you love a person when your heart still firmly rests in the hands of someone else?

Her heart is heavy as she slips into the hoodie; a mixture of anticipation and fear co-mingling with the guilt and regret that’s been burdening her for four and a half years. While she’s relieved he agreed to the job and both anxious and excited to see him again, there’s genuine fear gnawing at both stomach and nerves. She worries about how deep the damage may still run; how ferociously he may be clinging to all that hurt and anger. Nik had always kept her informed of how he was doing during the first year; searching endlessly and aimlessly for her, struggling to maintain his sobriety, one moment filled with rage and hate and the other with heartache and loneliness.

She wouldn’t blame him; if -upon seeing her- he changed his mind about the job and turned his back on both her and Millie. She had wounded him deeply; fleeing without explanation and leaving nothing but random articles of clothing, her recently factory-reset cell phone, and an apology hastily scribbled on a scrap piece of paper. Nothing more than a simple and pathetic “I’m sorry”; placed in the middle of the kitchen table and propped up by her favourite mug. It seemed silly; leaving something so trivial behind. But in the back of her mind she’d hoped it would give him some kind of solace; having something that she’d loved and had brought her so much joy. Perhaps he’d even see it as something much deeper; both a reassurance that her absence wouldn’t be permanent, and a promise that she’d one day return to that cup. And to him.

Drawing the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands, she lifts them to her face and inhales deeply. While his scent may no longer cling to the fabric, if she closes her eyes and tries hard enough, she can still remember it. Familiar and comforting, it fills her with a sense of peace and contentment; allowing her to immerse herself in the memories of those much happier, easier times. It’s the smell of home; of safety and security and love. A reminder of the last time she’d ever been truly happy. When she’d been taught what love…REAL LOVE…was all about it. It was patience and it was sacrifice and it was choosing to be together even when all the cards were stacked against them. It was taking the bad along with the good and learning more about yourself than the person you’re with. Tyler had shown her that she was still worthy of love and being loved in return; taking all her broken pieces and every so slowly and tenderly putting them back together. Mark hadn’t destroyed her, he’d simply damaged her. And another man was ready, willing, and able to help her out of that deep, dark hole she’d been tossed into. And when he wasn’t able to, he just climbed down into that hole with her. Loving her when she wasn’t capable of loving herself.

She misses that. That level of adoration. Trust. Acceptance.

Most of all, she misses HIM.

******

A brisk knock comes to the door, followed by Abuela’s voice; soft and full of concern. “Esme? Are you awake?”

She wishes she was; wanting nothing more than to climb into bed and bury herself under a mountain of blankets and stay there forever. She’s physically and mentally exhausted and the ache is intense; her heart heavy and weary as she relives both those happier times and the moment she’d thrown her entire life away. There’d been no other choice; he hadn’t deserved to be dragged into the mess with The High Table and she knew she had to do whatever it took to keep him safe. Even if it meant breaking both their hearts in the process

It hasn’t been easy; attempting to go on with life without him. And at times she still grieves the tremendous loss; torturing herself with thoughts of ‘what if’ and daydreaming about what their life would have been like had everything worked out for the best. It’s an agony she wouldn’t wish on her own worst enemy; to love someone to the very depths of your soul yet be forced to cut them loose. And then spend the rest of your days missing them terribly and constantly wondering about ‘ what could have been’.

“Esme?” Abuela again, her knock more insistent. “Honey, you CAN’T stay holed up in there forever. I know you’re going through it right now and it seems like there’s no end in sight, but you’ve got to at least TRY and function. You’re not sleeping…you’re not eating properly…you’re…”

“I’m not hungry. I just need some time. Alone. Just a little bit of time.”

“You didn’t eat breakfast and you went back to bed the second Millie went downstairs to hang out at the front desk with Charon. Have you been sleeping all this time? It is well after noon hour and…”

Had she really been hiding for that long? Locked away with her memories and her guilt and regret? Had she even fallen back asleep? It’s all so hazy; every moment that’s passed since fleeing her home in the middle of the night is a complete blur. She had expected the news of Tyler agreeing to take the job would brighten her spirits; fill her with hope and optimism and a newfound assurance that everything was going to be okay. But the lingering trepidation has now shifted focus; switching from the desperate need to ensure Millie’s safety to wanting to keep her own heart intact. She had lied the night before; when she told Nik she could handle Tyler having another woman in his life. That she’d be able to cope if all they could manage was being friends and amicably co-parenting their daughter. The truth is that she’ll be devastated; torn apart seeing him in love with someone else and watching them with the adoration and affection that had once been solely reserved for her.

It makes her physically nauseous to even THINK about it. The stress and the fear and the heartache finally catch up to her and she buries her face in her hands and openly sobs. She hates herself for what she’s done; not only hurting the only man she’s ever loved, but putting their daughter’s life at risk. The baby that she so desperately wanted but has kept from him for four years; her own pride and selfishness and fear harming them both. And maybe it’s her punishment for making such horrible mistakes; forced to watch him as he creates a life with someone other than her.

She hears neither the door clicking open nor Abuela’s footfalls as she enters the room, yet suddenly finds herself wrapped in the woman’s strong, motherly embrace. She has been a godsend since the job started; working under the guise of being Millie’s nanny while not only keeping a close eye on both mother and child, but on Alessio’s behaviour and the comings and goings of his family. At a remarkably spry and fierce, sixty-five, Abuela -as she’d told Millie to call her- remains a legend among those in the ‘circle’; long ago given the moniker ‘the death dealer’’ for her lucrative mercenary and weapon trafficking businesses. Highly educated and well-spoken, she personifies ‘never judge a book by its cover’; conning people with an initially meek and mild persona and then quickly becoming their worst nightmare. Tall and beautiful even as she ages; with warm, dark eyes and an inviting smile and a soft, demure smile. But she’s not to be disrespected or underestimated. There were very valid and admirable reasons why she excelled in a world dominated by testosterone.

“Talk to me,” Abuela encourages as she pulls away; smoothing Esme’s unkempt hair from her face and then cradling her face in her palms. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“It’s just too much. It’s just all too much.”

“What is? Take a breath and tell me. What’s too much?”

“Everything. Five years ago, two nights ago…” She struggles to draw breath. “...just…everything! I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up so bad and I don’t know how to fix it. First Tyler, now Millie. I screwed things up with him and now I’ve royally messed things up as a mom and…”

“That’s bullshit. Utter bullshit. You did no such thing. Millie is fine. She’s settled nicely, she’s almost back to being her normal self. In a couple of days, she won’t even think about what happened. It won’t even bother her anymore. And you know why? Because her mother was right there with her. Through all the tears and the tantrums and the nightmares. That’s what she’ll remember. That you never left her side.”

“I never should have taken the risk. Not with her involved. I know the job. I know how crazy and unpredictable it can be. How quickly things can go wrong. And I never…ever…should have dragged her into that. Knowing the possibilities. I never…”

“You had no reason to believe things that would go THAT bad. None of us did. I know I didn’t see it coming. And I’ve been in the game a hell of a lot longer than you have.”

“No mother in their right mind would have gotten their kid mixed up in this shit. What kind of parent would do that? Get back into this life? When they have someone dependent on them? She’s innocent. She doesn’t deserve any of this. She never should have been put in harm’s way. And I’m the one who put her there!”

“All you’ve ever done is love that little girl. Devote your entire life to her. Your entire BEING. You didn’t intentionally put her in danger. There is no way you could have known how bad things were going to go. Now when it had all been going so well. For months! Esme…” Abuela uses her thumbs to swipe at the younger woman’s tears. “...none of this is your fault. You did nothing wrong. In fact, you were doing everything RIGHT. Things went sideways. It happens. You should know that by now.”

“But Millie. I never…”

“Millie is tough. Like her momma. You’re her entire world. The centre of her little universe. Do you think she thinks any less of you because of what happened? That she blames you? All that mattered to her was that momma was there through the entire thing. Keeping her safe. That’s all.”

“I don’t want her growing up to hate me. I don’t want her thinking…years from now…that I put her in danger. Because I would never do that. Not intentionally. All I’ve ever wanted was to protect. Even when she was still in my belly. Keeping her safe was my priority. And now…”

“And now you’ve taken the proper steps to get her the hell out of New York and to somewhere safe. WITH someone safe. And it’ll do you both a world of good; being far away from this shit show. Now….” She loops Esme’s hair behind her ears, then once more cups her cheeks in her palms. “...you’re no good to that little one of yours if you don’t take care of yourself. And that includes eating. You need to…’

“I’m really not hungry. I….”

“No nonsense from you. No more bullshit. You need to keep your strength. For Millie AND for yourself.”

She allows herself to be guided from the bedroom room and out into the living area. Abuela’s arm wrapped securely around her shoulders, keeping her tightly pressed into her side. It’s attentive and caring. Motherly. The treatment she’d so desperately longed for from her own flesh and blood as a child and beyond. And it’s filled a void that she never realized she had; repairing those final pieces of the wounded little girl and teenager that had never felt wanted or loved. Old, previously gaping wounds that nearly healed; no longer needing reassurance or acceptance from her own blood when she’s surrounded by her ‘adoptive’ family.

And Millie, of course. With those brilliant blue eyes and cheeky grin and infectious giggle. So full of brightness and love and wonder.

“I took the liberty.” Abuela nods down at the coffee table; its surface filled with various cold beverages and a wide variety of Mexican food. “All your favourites. Nothing like a little comfort food to get things back on the right track.”

“I don’t know how much I can eat,” Esme laments, and rubs her stomach in slow, smooth circles. “I’m not exactly in the best shape. My nerves are shot. Everything’s just piling up and piling up. And when I think about how I’m going to come face to face with him in less than twenty-four hours…”

“Just try your best. Believe me, you’ll feel a lot better with at least something in you. You can’t pour from an empty cup, Esme. You’re going to burn yourself out; letting your mind run rampant like that. So just sit…” With a hand on the small of the younger woman’s back, she leads her to the couch and encourages her to take a seat. “...and try and relax and get at least a little bit of food.”

“Millie…” Worry creases her forehead as she furtively glances around the suite. “....where….?”

“Grandpa Winston took her for lunch on the rooftop terrace. And told her he has some flowers that are in dire need of her attention.”

“Millie and her green thumb,” Esme smiles and accepts a cutlery and a plate of food. “Not even four and a half and she can grow anything, it seems. I can’t even keep a simple house plant alive and she’s out in the backyard watering her massive strawberry and tomato plants. She always tells me it’s because she talks and sings to them. Always says, ‘momma, you have to baby them. You have to chat and sing!’ I think she’s just damn lucky.”

“She’s certainly got a knack for nurturing things. Actually, she has a knack for quite a lot, doesn’t she? If anyone ever told me that a four-year-old could draw as good as she does…”

“Her dad’s quite the artist. It’s his secret talent. I never would have expected it in a million years. And then he told me about his childhood and how he loved to draw and how his mom really supported it. She was his biggest fan. His dad…” She chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip; eyes downcast she uses her fork to move food around her plate. “...well let’s just say he didn’t deserve that title. Dad.”

“Not a Father of the Year award finalist?”

“Not in the slightest. He was a horrible person. First to Tyler’s mom, then to Tyler. He had it pretty rough. His dad was a monster. And that’s putting it lightly. He used to worry about being just like him. Whenever we’d talk about kids and if we could see ourselves having any. He’d always tell me that he was scared. Of turning into his dad. And that was the last thing he wanted.”

“And would you say?”

“That it could never happen. That he was nowhere close to being like his father. I understood though; why he felt that way. I just tried to do my best to convince him he wasn’t the monster he thought he was.”

“Because of what happened with his son?”

Esme glances up. “How’d you…?”

“Information is easy to get. If you know where to look and who to ask. I never hired someone without thoroughly researching them. And I taught Nik to do the same.”

“Tyler made a mistake. He was scared and emotionally vulnerable and weak. He admitted that. And everything fell apart after his son died. His marriage, his military career. His sobriety. He was in a pretty dark place. When I met him.”

“Seems like you got him out of it.”

“We got EACH OTHER out of it. I wasn’t in the best shape, either. Between my own marriage disintegrating and the problems with The High Table. And then Dhaka…”

“That was…messy.”

“That’s putting it lightly. Everything that could go wrong, did.”

“Other than that first five days.”

A blush creeps into her cheeks. “You know about THAT, too?”

“Oh, honey. I know about everything. Word travels. And it’s not hard to put two and two together. A woman doesn’t just decide to give up her entire life for no reason. It’s obvious something happened. To make you stick around. Both on that bridge and off it.”

“It wasn’t the right place. Or the right time. But it happened. And neither of us regretted it. Or at least we didn’t five years ago. I know I don’t. He’s still the best thing that ever happened to me. He was the first person that ever made me feel safe and protected. Who I could just be myself with. And he gave me Millie. We created this amazing little human together. No way I could EVER regret that.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t regret meeting you. Or how things went down between you. If you were to ask him, I’m sure he’d say that was the best ten months of his life. You saved him. In every way a person can be saved.”

“And then I turned around and hurt him. He deserved so much better; than how I ended things. He deserved so much better than ME. And I don't know how to make up for it. I don’t know what to say to him. Somehow ‘sorry’ just doesn’t seem to cut it, you know?”

“Just tell him the truth. Tell him about your involvement with The High Table and the threats they made and that you had no other choice. You did what you did to PROTECT him. You said it yourself; he never would have survived their onslaught.”

“He would have fought back. No hesitation. When he told me that he’d do anything for me…anything he had to keep me safe…he meant it. HE SHOWED it. In Dhaka. We barely knew each other and he was more than willing to sacrifice himself so I’d get out of there alive. There’s no way he would have just let them walk in and take me. He wouldn’t have gone down without a fight. And I never would have forgiven myself; if something happened to him.”

“Then tell him that. Tell him ALL of it. It isn’t just black and white, Esme. There are a lot of shades of grey. But once you explain, he’ll understand. That it WAS for the best. And that it wasn’t a decision you wanted to make,”

“I never wanted to go. And I didn’t leave because I didn’t love him. I left because I did.”

“Make sure you tell him that too. And maybe he won’t understand right away…right in the moment…but once you give him a chance to sit back and let everything sink in? He’ll realize you only had his best interests at heart. You were protecting him. In the same way he would have protected you.”

“He may understand THAT, but what about Millie? How do I explain HER? I kept her from him. For four years! For the first eight months, I didn’t have a choice. I had to protect BOTH of them. But what about after? I had so many chances to reach out to him. To let him know about her.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“I was scared. I was worried that he hated me enough to totally turn his back on her. And I wouldn’t have been able to handle that. Him rejecting her. My baby. OUR baby. I realize now how stupid I was. For ever thinking that. Because I know his heart. He’s a good man, AB. A really good man. And he wanted to be a dad again. He was just afraid. There’s no way he would have closed the door on her. Pretended that she didn’t exist.”

“And you think he would do that now? Esme, he’s still that same man. The one you fell in love with. The one you STILL love. I see it in your eyes and I hear it in your voice. It’s all still there, isn’t it.”

“I never got over him. I don’t think I ever will. And I know he’s moved on and it’s killing me inside; thinking about him with someone else. I tried convincing myself that I’d be okay with it; if all we could manage was co-parenting Millie. But the truth is, I don’t think I can do it. See him with another woman. Even if it is what I deserve.”

“And these are things you need to tell him. If there was ever a time to be completely honest, this is it. As soon as you can, you need to sit him down and tell him everything you’ve told me. It’s what he deserves, don’t you think?”

She nods.

“He’s going to be angry and hurt and he’s likely going to lash out. He’s been holding onto all of that for years. And just like you have things that you need to talk about, so does he. Once he’s gotten that anger out, he WILL listen. Because there was a time he loved you very much. Where he would have done anything for you. And I’m pretty sure some of those feelings still exist. If not all of them.”

“But if he hates me…”

“I doubt he hates you. I don’t think he could EVER hate you. I’ve met Tyler. Briefly. When he first started working for Nik. And I could see it in his eyes; all that hurt he was carrying around. But you know what else I saw? Humanity. Lingering right there under the surface. Someone that could still feel. That was still living. Even if he didn’t realize it.”

“That’s what I saw too. When we met. He wasn’t like everyone else on the job. He was quiet and thoughtful. He had a gentleness to him. And that’s what drew me in. The fact he was different. And when we were in Dhaka, I got to see all these different sides to him. That he never let anyone else see. And that was the man I fell in love with. The one that cried to me about his son and the mistakes that he’d made. The one who wanted to kill my ex-husband for doing the things he did to me. The one who looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing on earth.”

“That’s the man you still love.”

“I can’t help it. I can’t stop. I know I should. But I just can’t.”

“There’s no time limit. On when it’s appropriate to get over someone. Sometimes you never do. Sometimes you find that one person that you love more than you ever thought you could love someone. And then you lose them. Unfortunately. I never got over my husband. I still love him. I still miss him. And it’s been twenty years.”

“How did you do it? Move on? How did you get over him?”

“I didn’t. And just because my body is carrying on, it doesn’t mean my heart is. There will never be another. I don’t want there to be. And something tells me you don’t want that either.”

“I don’t,” Esme admits. “I don’t want anyone else. Just him. It’ll always be just him.”

“And that’s what you tell him. I know you’re scared; that he’s going to tell you he doesn’t want the same thing. But you need to take the risk. Because if you don’t and he DOES move on with his life, you’re going to spend the rest of your life kicking yourself in the ass. Isn’t it better to find out where you stand than spend decades watching him with someone else?”

“I guess so. I don’t know. I just…” Setting her plate on the coffee table, she places her elbows on her knees and her face in her palms. “...I just didn’t think this is how it would go. Seeing him again. Telling him about Millie. This is not what I planned for. At all.”

“But this is where we’re at. This is what’s happening. Through no fault of your own. And in twenty-four hours, he’s going to be standing right in front of you. And as scared as you are, I know there’s a part of you that’s excited. About seeing him again.”

“Of course I’m excited. I’ve only spent nearly five years thinking about him. Worrying about him. Missing him. I WANT to see him. But I’m still terrified. About how things are going to go. About what I’m going to say to him. How I’m going to explain the things I did. How I’m going to explain our baby. HIS baby.”

“When he’s here…when you’re finally face to face with him…it’ll come to you. Just speak from the heart. You can never go wrong when you do that, believe me.”

Tears threaten; lower lip and chin wobbling as she attempts to rein in her emotions. “What have I done, AB? What kind of mess have I made? How did this happen? How did it all go so wrong? We were so happy. We were happy and we were planning a future and it just went so bad. We deserved a chance. At a normal life. We paid our dues and made our amends. Wasn’t it enough?”

“Sometimes things don’t go the way we want them to. There’s no reason. No explanation. They just don’t. But honey, you have the chance. To set things right. To get back to where you were. And it’s scary as hell; having to own up to what you’ve done. But that man deserves to hear it, don’t you think?”

“He deserved that a long time ago.”

“Love is a hell of a thing. There’s times it's wonderful and it’s beautiful and there’s times it’s maddening and terrifying. But nine times out of ten? It’s more than worth it. And you’ll never know what he’s feeling if you DON’T face him. Do you want to spend the rest of your life wondering what he would have said?”

“Of course not. Five years has been way too long as it is.”

“He’s not going to turn his back on you. Not after everything the two of you went through in Dhaka. Not after you gave up your life for him. And especially not after he meets that little girl. He’s going to take one look at her and fall madly and deeply in love.”

“I hope so. Because she’s everything that’s perfect and beautiful inside both of us.”

“Even if she does look exactly like him.”

Esme manages a laugh, then uses the backs of her hands to brush wayward tears from her cheeks. “She’s definitely his Mini Me. From head to toe. You know how many times I’ve been asked if I��m her nanny? When we’re out together? There’s not a stitch of me in her. She is ALL dad.”

“I don’t know about that. She’s a strong little thing. Resilient as hell. And stubborn…”

“That’s him too. The stubborn thing. He is the most stubborn human being I have ever met.”

“Other than when you look in the mirror, you mean? Because in case you haven’t been told, you have got to be the most pigheaded person on the planet. I’ve never seen anyone that gets knocked down and keeps getting back up quite like you do.”

“What’s the saying? It’s the little ones you have to watch out for? They’re the ones you least expect?”

“I always say that great things come in small packages. Millie, her mom. Look at everything you’ve been through. Not just here in New York, either. Dhaka, the trouble with The High Table. All the things that could have…SHOULD HAVE…broken you? You beat them. On your own.”

“I had help. In Dhaka. I wouldn’t have survived. If Tyler hadn't been there. If he hadn’t been so willing to sacrifice himself for Ovi and I. He could have left us. He could have just abandoned us and worried about himself. But he didn’t. He was willing to die for us, AB. No questions asked.”

“If he was willing to do that then, think about what he’ll be willing to do for you now. After the year you spent together. After loving one another. After making a baby together. Do you really think he’ll feel nothing? When he sees you?”

“I don’t know what he’ll feel. Good OR bad. I want it to be good. I’d give anything for it to be good.”

“Give him a chance. Even if he doesn’t react the way you want at first…even if he’s angry as hell…give that to him. He’ll come around. I don’t doubt it. In the slightest. He’s a smart man. Smarter than anyone gives him credit for.”

“I always thought so too. That everyone underestimated him. That he underestimated himself. I can’t wait to see him.” Tears threaten once again. “It’s all I’ve wanted. For almost five years. Just to see him. To hear his voice. Just be in the same room with him again.”

“Soon.“Very soon.”

“I just hope he wants the same thing. Who knows; maybe he’s been waiting for this too. I don’t think it’s too much to ask, do you? That maybe he feels the same way? That maybe he’s missed me too? That maybe he still loves me?”

“Oh sweetheart…” Leaning forward in her seat, Abuela reaches across the coffee table; gently cradling the younger woman’s cheek in her palm. “...I don’t that it’s too much to ask at all”

#Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction #Extraction #Chris Hemsworth #Chris Hemsworth Extraction #Tyler Rake fan fic #Extraction fan fic #Tyler Rake x OFC

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kalena-henden · 3 years ago

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This show fantastically serves us all the tropes yet lovingly pokes fun at them in the best ways. Episode 4 is completely devoted to skewering the ultimate Secret Identity sub-trope: Clark Kenting. Where no one can tell that Clark Kent is really Superman all because he wears ‘glasses’ or in Hari’s case a ‘wig’.

Throughout the episode there are countless moments where it appears that Taemu is aware of that Hari is Geumhee. Surely, that surprised look when the elevator opened meant he knows. (LOL Nope.) Or that smile while he watches Hari in the the behind-the-scenes footage and decides it should be on the website. (Sans wig ftw!) Needling Chef Minwoo about whether or not he is aware of his friend of seven year’s crush. (Hmm. Hari and Geumhee just have another thing in common. *shrugs*) Hari having a very discerning palate at their fancy dinner. (Discovering similar interests that have nothing to do with anyone being Taemu’s employee.) The Chairman, our resident kdrama lover, specifically comparing their beloved Geumhee with the weirdo Hari whom he doesn’t like. (Taemu’s response: I like Hari too. Yes, we get it you like them both.) It’s not until all worlds start to collide at the end that he FINALLY realizes that they are same person, confirming it with her ID card.

There were so many viewers bewildered afterwards on how Taemu couldn’t figure it out and at what point he really knew. The show played with our expectations by providing a red herring that the heavy makeup was her ‘glasses’, aka paper thin disguise that normally intelligent people can’t see through. Up until now, the writer has made a point to emphasis how Hari always has to rush to put on her makeup in order to meet with Taemu face-to-face. The elevator and video scenes appear to confirm this when he doesn’t put two-and-two together. They play with this further when Hari, sans makeup and sans wig, meets up with Taemu wearing a bear delivery hoodie that hides her head and face. It’s only when the Chairman suggests Hari’s real hair is a ‘wig’(!) that the writer tips their hand as to the true disguise.

Secretary Cha, while seemingly completely separated from this trope, is actually an integral cog in why this Clark Kent ruse works. He himself is a voice of reason for the show and very observant, often pointing out the obvious truth that others then self-deceptively dismiss. It’s not a coincidence that Cha’s only close encounters with Hari have been several elevator rides where he did not see her face and she barely spoke. At the tasting, it’s Secretary Cha who points out that Hari isn’t present with her team. Had she been there, it’s likely that Cha would have figured out the truth. By keeping him apart from Hari, they are able to keep her secret safe. Cha Sunghoon also is a literal representation of the Clark Kent trope: wearing his glasses at work when he is Secretary Cha, and sans glasses when he’s Sunghoon relaxing at home or working out. It’s also intentional that Sunghoon figured out that the guy hitting on Youngseo is sketchy because he was able to read the clock without his glasses, signaling that the creepy guy’s glasses are a disguise.

Now that the cat’s out of the bag, can’t wait to see Taemu extract his revenge on Hari before realizing how deeply he cares for her. Also, if Sunghoon wants to work out every episode both Youngseo and I are cool with that.

#business proposal #a business proposal #business proposal meta #kalenapost #kalenameta

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arty-chase · 4 years ago

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Graveyard Siblings (5)

[Masterlink] (PART 1) (PART 4)

-----

Mari and Cass sometimes switch their suits as they have the same body type. Cass would sometimes go out in full Hellbat gear and give the appearance that Hellbat is out more often than she actually is.

So Orphan/Black Bat also sometimes uses guns.

This also helps with concealing secret identities. Maria was rescued by Hellbat from Joker’s Henchmen. (Vicki Vale was getting sus of the new Wayne and Hellbat.)

Unfortunately since Hellbat rarely comes out and she had already made all of her appearance for the month and it wasn’t a busy weekend, the public had come to the conclusion that Hellbat has a crush on the newest Wayne.

Basically everyone thought that Mari has a crush on herself. Which led to some teasing and escalated to Mari announcing that Jason had a crush on Red Hood on live TV.

It didn’t help that a video of Red Hood and Jason re-enacting Romeo and Juliet with Jason on his apartment balcony and Red Hood on the roof was posted on the internet a few days later. (Thank you, Trixx and Tim’s awesome video editing skills)

Sadly, it was taken down 24 hours later. (Tim and the others have multiple copies of it, on the cloud or hardware, hidden around in the manor and their respective safehouses in the US.)

Some people kidnapped Jason to hopefully gain leverage over the Red Hood and to their dismay and nightmares for years to come, Hellbat came instead.

One lucky and incredibly brave reporter asked why she was there instead of her brother.

Mari being a little shit, “Red Hood may be a tough and scary guy but when it comes to his feelings, my brother is a chicken.”

Pictures of Jason tackling Hellbat somehow never made it into any papers.

The criminal underworld hasn’t taken a hint and Jason has been kidnapped a few more times.

Other times Jason was kidnapped:

Robin: Red Hood made a fool of himself in front of Todd recently and he doesn’t dare to show his face.

Spoiler: He was taking too damn long checking his hair even though I told him that no one was going to see it under his helmet and he was so offended that he is currently sulking in the bathroom.

Red Robin: Red Hood can’t think straight when he is around Jason. I mean have you seen the dude.

Arsenal*during a rare visit to Gotham*: Red Hood owes me one now.

Dick finally ends it by going out as Red Hood and rescuing Jason. Gotham is happy that Redson (Red Hood x Jason) ship has finally sailed.

-------

Kate, Babs, Cass, Steph and Mari were out on Mari’s first girls’ night since her move to the manor.

This is set a little after she came back from Paris with Jason.

They watched rom-com movies, did hair and nails, gossip about the superhero community and bitch and vent to each other.

Marinette off-handedly mentioned the crazy shits she had done during her stint as Ladybug. It started with asking about the T-rex in the Batcave and she mentions jumping into the mouth of a live one before.

Everyone in the room was shocked and after a few more questions, it was obvious that she was very reckless and self-sacrificing. Yep, she was going to fit into this crazy family just fine.

And Holy Shit. There is so much trauma packed into this kid. She needs lots of therapy.

Babs finally decided that they all needed to get out and have some fun. All in their respective suits and they went out.

Joined by Harley, Ivy and Selina.

Plagg came along because I want Plagg to meet Selina.

It was a chaotic night and it was a miracle that Bruce didn’t find out about what the girls did.

-------

Batman and Red Hood were on patrol together when Selina jumped in front of them.

“Hello, Boys”

“What do you want, Catwoman?”

“I want to meet my new prodigy, Kitty Noire.”

Cue Marinette jumping down from her hiding spot, transformed with the Black Cat Miraculous. “Hiya.”

Red Hood carries her like a potato sack and points his gun at the other two.

“Nope, she’s my sister and I called dibs. I adopted her. She’s off limits.”

“Legally, she’s mine.” Batman coughed out.

“I did it first. Emotionally. She’s my emotional support sister. You have plenty kids already, B and Selina, get your own.”

“Hey, I am still here and can hear you.”- Maria

-------

Alya was worried for Lila. She had been acting weirdly for the past month.

She looked very out of sorts. Her clothes weren’t in order and her hair was in disarray. She had bags under her eyes and her eyes looked wild. Lila didn’t look like herself at all.

She jumped at any sound and flinched at really sudden movements.

Alya tried to find out what was wrong with Lila and received vague answers.

One time Lila said that Marinette is to blame.

Alya reaches the somewhat right conclusion that Marinette was haunting Lila and hurting her because Lila used to come to school with bruises and claims that Marinette did it.

Alya goes to Marinette’s grave to desecrate it. (Yeah, go anger the ghost that is haunting someone.)

Unfortunately, the moment she tries to do something, the sky turns dark, clouds appear and the wind begins whipping. A Lightning strike near her and there was a cloaked figure beside her with a scythe.

All Alya saw from the figure was the blood-red lips in a very sharp grin and glowing blue eyes, raising the scythe high before she ran away. The scythe swiped the air where her head once was.

Alya didn’t get far before she tripped and blacked out.

When she woke up, she found herself in the hospital with no idea how she got there.

She was told that somebody found her with a concussion in the park and took her to the hospital.

------

The next one on Mari’s hit list was Natalie.

She wasn’t as involved in the whole thing like Lila, Adrien or Gabriel but she still did it anyways.

Her punishment is a little mild compared to the others and was more of a warning to Gabriel.

Natalie woke up in the middle of the night to see a not-so-dead Ladybug sitting on her vanity chair with the moonlight from the windows illuminating her body and her neck. Her suit was torn exactly like the day of that battle with blood dripping down her arms and from her open wounds. The shadows kept her face hidden but glowing blue eyes stared at her.

Natalie was scared at first. But she regained her normal cool composure.

“I assume you are here to extract your revenge for aiding in your unfortunate demise. But before you kill me, I regret my part in my entire thing and I apologize for everything I have done against you even though I knew it was wrong.”

“At least you show remorse over what you have done. Visiting my grave when even my parents didn’t and leaving flowers. I love those purple hyacinths by the way. Did you know that they mean sorry in the language of the flowers?”

“Why are you stalling my death? Just kill me already.”

“Madam Sancouer. You just played a minor role in my downfall compared to what Adrien and Lila Rossi did to me. And you showed more guilt over your actions than they ever did and Adrien claimed to have loved me. And like I have told the Bats, Death is too swift of a punishment.”

“Who are the bats?”

“None of your concern. You should be more concerned about yourself.”

“Lila sees the ghosts of her past and they haunt her. Adrien is in a living nightmare and has no control over his actions and is despised by everyone. What are you going to do to me?”

“Well, since you show some guilt over your actions, let me tell you a little secret. I am not dead. Not really. I mean I did die. But there was a spell in the grimoire that revived me. It took a few days to work.”

Marinette changed to her normal form. It was a little jarring to see an older Marinette Dupain-Cheng sitting on her vanity chair like it was a throne. The Ladybug suit and the wounds were gone. She looked a little familiar.

“Why are you telling me this? What was the point?” Natalie faltered as she wondered why the girl looked familiar. Marinette moved closer and her face was fully illuminated by the moonlight.

“I intend to take everything by which I mean everything from Gabriel Agreste for what he did.”

“M. Agreste just wanted his wife back. You just gave him your Miraculous, you would still have everything.”

“What difference would it make? Sure I had friends and family before but they turned out to be disappointing. I might have become a famous designer like I dreamed of and can't achieve because I died. Besides, he never said about wanting his wife to come back in his tedious monologues. For all we knew back then, he wanted them for world domination. He showed that he would end the world for them. For kwamis’ sake, he nearly started World War III, just for a pair of earring and a ring. He was willing to kill me to have her back. No wait, he did that too. If he actually read the translated grimoire or asked the Guardian or at least someone with magic for help instead or maybe used his head and made some who can heal as his champion using the Butterfly, we wouldn’t even be in this mess. Face it, Mme Sancour, your boss is a power-hungry and very controlling maniac who is also thankfully an idiot.”

“But- he- he just-. You are just a child, what do you know? M. Agreste knew what he was doing.”

“A child who had a normal life up until he tried to ruin it with his idiotic schemes and hiring Lila to do it. A child who had to fight a war on her own.”

“I am sorry you had to go through that but I doubt you and your little revenge rampage is going to solve anything.”

Ghostly Chains wrapped around Natalie’s body, squeezing tight like it was squeezing the life out of her.

“I was all for sparing you, you know. If you had actually listened to my side of the story, you would have spared from my ‘little revenge rampage’. This is going to be a little painful. Sorry about that.” In a tone that was definitely not sorry.

Pain coursed through Natalie’s body. Her skin crawled and itched as pitch back feathers grew out of it. Her bones turned to dust and reformed.

Where Natalie Sancour once was, there was a raven.

An omen of death and destruction for one Gabriel Agreste.

Marinette leaned down towards the raven. Natalie tried to peck her eye out but Marinette held the beak in a firm grip.

“Ah. ah ah. Luckily for you this is temporary. Mostly. Every night, you will assume this shape and each night the longer you will stay in this form. Slowly counting down the days until Gabriel’s downfall. Since you love helping him so much, you are going to help him know how long he has to live. The night you are a raven from sunset to sunrise, that sunrise starts the day Gabriel Agreste will be utterly destroyed.”

She released the beak and headed towards the window.

"Send him my regards."

With that, she was gone.

(Part 6)

#platonic jasonette #graveyard siblings #maribat #ml x dc #marinette meets the sirens

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hephaestuscrew · 3 years ago

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Here’s another Minkowski & Eiffel ficlet, set at the end of Need to Know. You can read it on AO3 here if you’d prefer.

By now, it's a habit so ingrained that Minkowski does it without thinking. In moments of crisis, or when she faces a difficult decision, the relevant DSSPPM tips rise to the front of her mind without conscious effort. Often, she doesn't register that she's panicking until her brain offers up extracts from the manual as a response. She knows Eiffel would mock her for this coping mechanism if he knew about it. She can easily picture the affectionate smirk that would play across his face as he'd tease her.

After she reads that Eiffel was convicted of kidnapping and child endangerment, she thinks: 874. Ignorance is bliss. Bliss is to be avoided at all times during active rotation. She wouldn't characterise her time on the Hephaestus as anything akin to bliss, but her previous ignorance of this particular information certainly felt a hell of a lot better than the knowledge of it. If she were a good Commander, she'd want to know the truth no matter how unpleasant, but right now she just wishes desperately that she could successfully obey Tip 391. Forget what you’ve been told. Preferably after you’ve done whatever we told you to do.

She hasn't been told to do anything, which means she's got to figure out the next step on her own. There are only really two choices: talk to him about it or don't. She tells herself she's going to do the former, to confront things head on. But then he apologises to her, for something so entirely trivial compared to the crime he apparently committed. And she doesn't know how to reconcile these two versions of him.

There's Eiffel, the man she's known for over two years, who just said sorry for not keeping her in the loop about developments on the station, who hates spiders and loves pizza, who talks in pop culture references and stupid jokes, who tries so hard to make her crack a smile in the midst of this nightmare, who tells her to look after herself, who always argues against hurting anyone (even those who might deserve it), who has saved her life more than once, who she knows would do whatever he could if she was in danger again. And then there's the person in that leaked file, a person who is guilty of kidnapping and child endangerment, a person she doesn't know at all.

She thinks of all the times she's thought she might lose him; that possibility felt like a gun to her own head. This is a different way of losing him, one she hadn't even known to fear. The version of him she's had in her head is being ripped away from her, not by a virus or a bomb or the dangers of space, but by the truth about his own past.

340. Protect yourself from dramatic and/or ironic twists. If something seems too good to be true, that’s because it is. This revelation is the dramatic twist to punish her for failing to follow that tip. Eiffel has never been a perfect crewmate, but she supposes it was still too good to be true, that she would have anyone on this hellscape of a station whom she could trust completely.

She trusts Hera and Lovelace, of course she does, but she has seen both of them nearly kill a man (not that she really blames them, given that it was Hilbert both times). And if Eiffel - often the sole proponent of Team What's Wrong With Handcuffs - is a kidnapper… Then perhaps there's no one within 8 lightyears whom she can totally depend upon to do the right thing.

622. Keep no secrets. You may be told lies. That one isn't completely relevant. He never actually lied to her about this. She would have known if he had; he's the worst liar she's ever met. The truth is she never asked him about his life before the mission, the same way he never asked whether she was married. Perhaps she never asked because she understood he didn't want to talk about it. Or perhaps, deep down, some part of her knew that there was something awful in his past, something she'd rather not know. But she never would have guessed this kind of awfulness. If she'd thought about it, she would have expected it was something awful that had happened to him, not something awful that he'd done. Those aren't mutually exclusive, she reminds herself.

Maybe it's a trick, or a mistake. Maybe he was wrongly convicted. She wants to hope it isn't true, but a memory that she's spent months repressing resurfaces: Hilbert asking Eiffel if he was afraid that she'd find out how he ended up on the Hephaestus. There was true fear in Eiffel's voice when he cut Hilbert off, and true shame on his face when he told Minkowski to drop it. It wasn't the response of an innocent man.

"What about you, Lieutenant? Are you going to care?" Jacobi asks. Nothing in the DSSPPM, nothing in her training, nothing she's ever experienced, can tell her how to answer that question. It’s all down to her, and a man she'd thought she knew, and a truth she wishes she didn't.

537. Trust your fellow crew members with your life.

538. But no further.

Yet another tip she didn't follow. She's trusted Eiffel not only with her life, but also with a piece of herself, of how she understands the world, of how she gets through life on the Hephaestus without falling apart. And if that piece is crumbling away, how can she not care?

#Yes its 'being emotional about Minkowski & Eiffel' hours yet again #All day every day I'm emotional about them #I think a lot about her reaction to finding out about Eiffel's jail sentence #It hits her really hard #because he matters to her so much and so she can't deal with the idea that he might not be the person she thought he was #which is why she can't bring herself to talk to him about it #Renee Minkowski #Renée Minkowski #doug eiffel #w359 #Wolf 359 #w359 spoilers #wolf 359 spoilers #w359 fic #the empty man posteth #Eiffel & Minkowski

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yoonpobs · 4 years ago

Text

bad boy good thing xiv.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 5, 690

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

hello!!!! we’re here at fourteen chapters omg ✨✨when i first started this series it was mostly self-indulgent and now there are people who actually enjoy reading it??🥺 it almost doesn’t seem real T.T

thank you so much for the love and support!!! just so I don't give too much spoilers for this chap - I apologise to my fellow geminis for the potential slander 🤣 this is more of a self-drag lmaooo

anyway, I hope you enjoy this chap!!!

“Ah. I’m getting allergies.” Yena sniffs, scrunching her nose.

You furrow your brows in concern, “Are you okay? Do you need any medicine?”

“It’s just the seasonal changes,” She brushes you off.

You nod in understanding, “I get it. My mom has horrible reactions towards pollen so—”

“I’m not allergic to flowers.” She blinks.

“Then what—?”

“It’s Gemini season. It’s like—literally the worst time of the year.” She blinks.

You gawk at her, taking a whole ten seconds to process her serious tone when she doesn’t waver under your scrutiny.

“I’m a Gemini,” You inform her slowly.

“I mean …” She shrugs all as you scowl at her, opting to throw the closest object you had, which was your favourite pen so you decide against it; simply shooting her the meanest glare you could possibly muster.

“Look, it’s not you,” She sighs, and you’re half-expecting her to finish with an it’s me to make you scoff, “It’s me.” And there you go. “I mean, it’s Gemini’s in general because they’re two-faced bitches who have the worst emotional attachment issues. Like they’re literally what the opposite of glue is. And they’re so over-analytical. How is it like psychoanalysing every person you meet only to hurt your own feelings and sulk about it?”

You blink.

“I mean it’s not you but if the shoe fits.” She says casually, plopping a grape into her mouth that you’re tempted to slap away.

“You’re so mean!” You pout indignantly.

She cackles, throwing her head back as you continue to sulk. You weren’t that bad. You just … you were risk-averse! You liked having the freedom to observe everyone and anyone and package them into tiny compartments in your head so you could understand them better. You weren’t … that Gemini.

“You’re so cute,” She coos pinching your cheeks. “No wonder Beef One and Beef Two like you so much.” She teases.

Your first reaction is to blush because you know who exactly she’s talking about, but you have more pressing matters, like—

“You have nicknames for them?” You ask, baffled.

“Hey, I wasn’t friends with many girls in high school. Don’t girls usually have nicknames for their crushes?” She says through a pout.

You stay expressionless as you try to gauge the level of seriousness you can extract from her tone.

You realise she’s dead serious.

“Yeah, but we’re in college,” You argue, scrunching your nose, “And sides’, it’s not like they’re strangers. We know them.”

She rolls her eyes, waving you off like you were the inconvenience here. Then she leans forward, her eyes twinkling as she takes a complete one-eighty that you try to adjust to.

“So … you Gemini hoe, what’s your plans?” She nudges you.

You raise a brow, “Did you just call me a—?”

“Plans, ___. Stay on track.” She scolds.

You sigh, still fond but you pretend to be annoyed. You really couldn’t get annoyed with Yena. After all, the more time you spend with her the more you realise how much life sucked before you had her in your life. You spent each moment learning more about her quirks and habits, her choice of words that made you giggle or laugh until you were crying.

And you realise that this is how she loves, a little rough but welcomed nonetheless.

“If you’re talking about my birthday then … not much. I’m probably stuck doing admin work for the college’s charity programme.” You shrug, stabbing a fork into your soiled salad.

Yena gapes at you, “Not much—excuse me? It’s your birthday! You’re turning twenty-five!”

You look at her dryly, “I’ve been twenty-five since the year—”

She groans, “That’s not the same! You’re like—officially twenty-five. You’re literally hitting the mark for a quarter-life crisis. Isn’t that something to celebrate?”

“Me going through an existential crisis at the end of my degree is not how I want to celebrate my birthday but okay,” You blink.

She rolls her eyes at your realism.

“That’s not the point. Point is, this is our first birthday together and I want it to be special.” She points out.

You snort, “What? Are we doubling my birthday as our monthsary or something?”

She shoves you with a brute force that has you snickering but she continues to pester you anyway.

“You’re so dumb. So smart, but so dumb,” She shakes her head, “You’re always studying or doing some form of work that requires the use of more than one brain cell. You deserve a break. Besides, you have two dudes to pick from on how you’d like to be wined and dined and—”

“Yena!” You whine.

“—it’ll be like an episode of the Bachelorette! But just with a super cool and smart best friend that’ll make the decision for you. It’s not your birthday. It’s ours.” She emphasises towards the end.

You stare at her for a long second, before the two of you are bursting into laughter at the absurdity of her statement.

It was nice, just to laugh about things without having your heart feel so heavy. Even if it was a mild distraction, it was still wholly pleasant to be able to just talk about mindless things that didn’t require much mental gymnastics to navigate the conversation with.

“What are the two of you laughing about?” Taehyung and Jimin arrive at impeccable timing, sliding into the booth with their own packaged food. It’s very college-student-esque, a cute paper (because no plastic) container filled with an array of assortments.

“None of your XY chromosomes business.” Yena retorts.

Jimin blinks, “You are literally so hostile.”

“Then don’t give me a reason to be.” She sticks her tongue out petulantly.

You laugh, nudging her with your shoulder, “Be nice.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes but manages to keep a civil smile on his face. Always the more rational one between the two.

“Anyway, Yena definitely isn’t going to answer me so, what’s up?” He turns to look at you.

You roll your eyes but it’s half-hearted, “She wants to celebrate my birthday like we’re on the Bachelorette.”

“Like you’re on the Bachelorette.” She corrects.

“Oh my God, our baby’s turning twenty-five!” Jimin coos at the reminder, pinching your cheeks as he coddles you. You scowl and weakly shove him away, even if you preen under the attention.

“I’m literally older than the both of you.” You huff.

Yena blinks, “There’s no way I’m the oldest person at this table.”

Taehyung furrows his brows, “Wait—how old are you?”

She sends him a scathing glare that has his arms raised up in defence.

“Jeez, okay. Don’t answer.”

“I’m going to answer because you told me not to.” She clips. “I’m twenty-seven.”

Jimin blinks, “No wonder you and Yoongi hyung are so alike.”

You almost miss it, but as Yena so eloquently pointed out, you were a sucker for psychoanalysing people (even if you didn’t want to admit it yet) that you notice the way she flushes ever so slightly as she scoffs.

“Him? How dare you compare me to that sorry excuse of a—!”

“Okay, everyone is beneath you. I’m sorry your highness.” Jimin rolls his eyes.

You make a note to ask her about it because you know for a fact that Yoongi ‘complains’ about Yena every hour he can. It’s almost as if he can’t go long enough without mentioning her.

You smile to yourself as you duck your head.

“Exactly,” She flips her hair over her shoulders before turning to face you. “Anyway, back to you—our baby.”

Taehyung nods, “Exactly, the baby.”

You scrunch your nose, “Don’t coddle me.”

He pats your head before cooing at you like he would to an actual baby, “But you’re just so cute. You’re too good for this shitty world. Too good for the likes of mere mortals like us.”

“Not me.” Yena blinks before gesturing to their bodies, “You.”

Jimin sticks his tongue out in retaliation as you sigh at their never-ending bickering.

Somehow … it felt right. You think it most of the times but you don’t know any other way to describe how it feels to be back with your friends, laughing, bickering and just appreciating their presence.

When you and Jungkook had your issues, it was like you made the conscious choice to avoid everyone and anyone as much as you could, and any interaction you had during that period was purely out of coincidences and not the intention. You remember actively avoiding Jimin and Taehyung because it felt too draining to pretend like you didn’t have a battle in your head. Even studying or spending time with Namjoon made you feel guilty, the thought of Jungkook lingering in your mind. Yena was there through it all, but even then you saw her as much as you did with any of your classmates you so happened to share a class with.

In fact, if it weren’t for Yena you’d probably have zero social interactions as a whole because she just knew. She somehow picked up on your internal conflicts but never outwardly shamed you or confronted you about it. All she did was be there for you, offering you her presence and you were grateful.

So, yeah. Things were better, but your heart was still at its core—confused. Your feelings for Jungkook didn’t disappear overnight and you knew that you were the one that asked for space.

You forgave him … you did, honestly. But there are things you can’t forget, and those are the things that you wished you could. The words he said in principle, was outright shitty. But the fact that it came from him only poked at every single one of your insecurities that you developed over the years.

You knew it wasn’t healthy to compare yourself to other women when they were living vastly different lives than you were, but it’s proven difficult when you’re forced to see these type of women every day, at college, in your community work or on the media.

Believing Jungkook’s apparent feelings for you was harder because, well. Jungkook was Jungkook. He wasn’t just another guy, and despite his shortcomings, he had more merits than he’d let on and you knew that people saw that. It was also the fact that Jungkook had a charm that drew all types of people in. He was soft-spoken but passionate, and people loved a quiet achiever.

You �� knew about the women. Way before Jennie and way before the thing between the two of you happened. Jimin and Taehyung would always update you about the new fling or girl he had tied to his hip just as he was in his final year in high school. You had to force a smile every single time they’d snicker and joke about how your Jungkook suddenly became a man overnight.

And you noticed the trend with the women he liked. They were … captivating. Beautiful wasn’t even enough to describe them because they looked like they could carry the world on their shoulders and spark immense change with just the movement of their lips. They were confident and charismatic, outgoing and just the right amount of flirty. You were anything but.

It sucked, majorly, because you spent years agonising over the fact that you were already coined with the older sister title in the group because of the way you acted—just a little more uptight than the average woman your age. You were quiet but loud in the right company; you didn’t like crowds, socialising or mingling around with people you didn’t know and based on your observations it seemed like that was the only thing that Jungkook’s been doing ever since he made it to senior year in high school, and even in the first years of college.

You don’t resent him, you think. You couldn’t blame him because you weren’t honest either. You consented, to all of the kisses and touches even if he hadn’t officially had sex with you. You wanted to, but you were terrified. Not at the prospect of penetration but at the prospect of not being enough and the fact that Jungkook was the only person you wanted to have sex with while he had options that were far more attractive and experienced than you were.

That’s why you needed time because at least you could get your shit together even if it was an uphill battle.

“Earth to ____?” Taehyung waves a hand in front of your face with a concerned expression.

You blink, snapping out of your daze as you offer a meek smile and an apology.

“We just asked you if you wanted a small get together at Tae’s and I’s place for your birthday?” Jimin asks.

“Really?” You beam. That was exactly what you preferred.

“Yeah, we know you don’t like clubs and stuff. Just a small and intimate gathering with all your best buds.” He grins.

You nod your head, but Yena beats you to a response.

“By best buds you mean the three friends she has, which is us and the two meatheads duelling for her affection.” She snorts.

You flush, “Y-Yena!”

Taehyung snickers at your embarrassment.

“It doesn’t help that both of them are literally the biggest dudes on the football team. It’s literally like watching King Kong and Godzilla getting into a fight for world domination.”

Jimin throws his back in laughter as you fold your arms across your chest at post at the way your friends are practically crying in laughter at the image. Jimin was clutching onto Taehyung for his dear life because if he didn’t then he’d fall off the chair.

“Stop,” You whine, “you guys are being mean.”

“Oh my God, you’re literally the only person on this earth that would take two people fighting for your attention as an offence.” Taehyung groans.

“I-It’s not that!” You deny exasperatedly, “I-It’s just … awkward …”

Jimin sighs with a small smile, patting your head.

“If it’s any consolation I think it’s offensive that Jungkook thinks he even has the right to breathe in—”

“Jimin!”

“Wow. It really is like King Kong and Godzilla.” Jimin whistles lowly, eyeing the scene before him with amusement lingering in his eyes.

“Do you think they’re gonna start slamming their chests soon or …?” Taehyung trails off in a whisper, leaning into Jimin so that the two other men wouldn’t notice.

“I can literally hear you.” You say dryly.

Jimin offers you a plastic smile, “You’re meant to hear us, babe. How about you try to tame them like Jane did with Tarzan?”

Jimin nearly shrieks when you shove him so fiercely that he topples over into Taehyung’s grasp as the second part of the duo only catches him in the process.

You sigh, completely ignoring the way that Jimin’s muttering curses that were directed to you under his breath. Instead, you were transfixed on the scene before you—which specifically is Jungkook and Namjoon staring each other down through the mirror of the gym. You were lucky that it was just the five of you since Namjoon was able to use his captain privileges to book the gym because you had no idea how to explain the fact that two big-sized men were attempting to outdo each other in their circuit reps as if they were on a suicide mission.

“Listen, when I agreed to help you out with your sets I thought I was meant to help log it in for a report.” You exasperate, but the two men continue their manly lift-off as they huff and puff their exertion away.

“Trust me, you are helping. Being the motivation is more than—”

This time it’s Taehyung who faces your wrath as you thwack him upside the head.

From where Jungkook and Namjoon were, Jungkook can only deliver death stares into the direction of his captain who returns it tenfold. He wasn’t even sure why they were doing this but something a flicked definitely switched in Jungkook when Namjoon (purposefully) revealed that you were helping out with something. At the gym. Supposedly alone.

Jungkook’s primitive side came out because the next thing Namjoon knew was that Jungkook managed to drag himself, and Jimin and Taehyung as a diversion. He still feels his chest swell with pride when recalling the scowl on Namjoon’s face when he entered the gym, all fake smiles and a pep in his step.

“____, could you help me spot?” Namjoon breathes, sitting up from whatever the hell he was doing with the barbell. You weren’t fixated with gym language and you weren’t even sure why he was asking you when there was an entire Jimin and Taehyung right next to you.

“Uh, okay sure—“

“Noona,” Jungkook calls.

You freeze.

“Jungkook … I thought we established that you don’t need to call me that anymore.” You raise an eyebrow.

You miss the obvious glare that Namjoon shoots his bitchass friend, as well as the snorts that leave Jimin and Taehyung’s mouth.

“Pay attention to me,” Jungkook pouts. Like, actually pouts. You somehow flush because he seemed so much like the younger version of Jungkook who used to always coddle you for attention.

“Okay but after I help—”

“Yeah. After she helps me.” Namjoon interjects, and you nearly jump at the way he’s suddenly behind you, more so—pressed against your back with his hands on your hips as he moves you aside to get to another piece of equipment.

Your breath hitches because while you weren’t exactly invested in Namjoon in the romantic sense, he was undeniably attractive and … big. You could salivate in private.

“Oh my God, do you see that?” Taehyung hisses in a hushed whisper.

“Hyung is petty,” Jimin gawks.

“This is Namjoon we’re talking about. Didn’t he steal all the umbrellas from your dorm because you ratted him out to the librarian when he broke a bookshelf?” Taehyung recalls.

Jimin pauses to retract his mind to that moment.

“He’s so petty and I’m living for it. Look at Kook’s face,” He snickers, nudging Taehyung with his shoulder.

Jungkook only can clench his jaw in return because he knew that you wouldn’t be a fan of him reaching out to strangle the shit out of Namjoon. But the older boy seems fine, if not pleased with how Jungkook’s fuming in his own spot.

“Let me just …” You cock a thumb to Namjoon, before releasing a breath of your own and going to help him with whatever he needed in the first place.

“Jimin can help him. I have a more pressing problem.” He complains.

You stop in your tracks before turning around, raising an eyebrow at Jungkook who finally sits up, still staring at you like you held all the solutions in the world.

“Literally wait for your turn,” Namjoon scowls.

“My arm hurts,” Jungkook says, raising his arm to show you.

“I don’t … see anything?” You furrow your brows.

“Because my muscles hurt, Noona,” Jungkook emphasises with a flex of his bicep and you can feel yourself get hot in the way your eyes can’t stray away.

You’re momentarily distracted by the blatant display of muscle by Jungkook that you completely miss the way that Jimin and Taehyung are struggling to breathe because of how hard they’re stifling their laughter or the way that Namjoon is contemplating on throwing the nearest dumbbell into Jungkook’s direction.

You flush, “Okay, you know what? Wait here. Let me get the first aid kit.” You mumble, quickly scampering off to alleviate yourself from the situation.

The moment you leave the room, Namjoon takes two long strides until he reaches where Jungkook’s sat, before wrapping a hand around the arm that was supposedly hurt—and squeezes.

“Ow! What the fuck hyung?!” Jungkook shrieks.

“Don’t hyung me, you brat.” Namjoon seethes, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jungkook gapes, while Jimin and Taehyung watch in amusement.

“Me?! What’s wrong with you?” Jungkook retorts, equally as agitated, “Oh, _____, help spot me! Woe is me! Like she wouldn’t get crushed under you, you meathead!”

“Like you’re any better,” Namjoon snaps, “Oh, Noona, pay attention to me. My arm hurts. You might as well have asked her to change your fucking diapers at the rate you’re acting like a damn child.”

“You’re the one that started all of this!” Jungkook exasperates, “With all due respect hyung, I love you and you’re my captain but I really feel like smashing your head into the wall right now.”

“That’s it?” Namjoon scoffs, “Well I’ll do you one better and let you know that every time you breathe in my direction I feel like—”

“Oh my God will you two idiots shut the fuck up?” Taehyung interjects, snapping at the two boys who pause, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Even Jimin is surprised at Taehyung’s intervention, purely because he was the type that usually let shit slide or let other people put problematic individuals into place. He was the mediator, the diplomat—not usually the aggressor.

“Wha—”

“Another peep and I’m going to smother your body under the dumbbells and leave you here to rot and die.” Taehyung seethes, staring straight into Jungkook’s soul.

That shuts him up.

“Both of you are acting like goddamn children, and for what? To battle out your masculinity to see who gets ____’s attention first?” Taehyung exasperates.

Namjoon clears his throat, “We were just—”

“—acting like a bunch of barbarians who’s never seen civilisation?” Taehyung retorts dryly, “Yeah. Because that’s exactly what this looks like. The two of you are so petty and for what? You two are literally rubbing the last remaining brain cells you have with each other but nothing is coming out from it. Like—nothing. Do you think she’d give a shit which one of you can lift more reps? That means absolutely nothing! She’s already freaked the fuck out at the prospect of her childhood best friend being in love with her and now we have Big Tit Number One and Two battling it out like you’re in the Greek Olympics.”

Jungkook blinks, and Jimin is mildly impressed.

“So before she comes back and tends to Jungkook’s hurt muscle,” Taehyung sneers, eyes narrowing at a guilty-looking Jungkook, “Both of you better sort your shit out.”

Namjoon flushes, embarrassed at the prospect of being called out, all while Jungkook is avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Oh my God, do you have a crush on each other or something? Apologise!” Taehyung gestures towards the two boys who awkwardly blink at each other, feeling much like reprimanded children.

It’s Namjoon who breaks the silence first, clearly the more mature one in the situation.

“Look … Jungkook,” He sighs, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … drag it out like this. I don’t mean it maliciously and you’re my friend and teammate, so I’d really hate if a girl got in the way.”

Jungkook nibbles on his lips, eyebrows still scrunched; and the irrational part of him tells him to ignore the apology. But with the way that Taehyung is glaring him down, with Jimin’s expectant gaze, he knows that he doesn’t have much of a choice.

“I’m sorry … too,” he winces at his own voice, “But just to let you know … I really …” He shuts his eyes, feeling his chest tighten when he tries to force the words out, “She isn’t just … a girl to me, hyung. I really, really like her. And—I know you like her too but … I fucked up and I really want to make things right and seeing you—”

Jungkook is flushing while he rambles on, fully aware that the rest of his friends are listening intently to him speaking his heart. But a hand rests itself on his shoulder, and when Jungkook opens his eyes he sees Namjoon offering him a gentle smile.

“I know,” He says, “I know I said I wouldn’t back off …” He trails off and Jungkook recalls the conversation he had with him in the very same gym just a few weeks back, “But I don’t think I can compete with a decade long love story.”

Jungkook scoffs, though his ears are flushed.

“It’s really not—”

Namjoon waves him off, clasping a tight hand onto his back that tells him it’s okay, and whatever that was going on would get better. And Jungkook feels marginally better and allows himself to let out a sigh of release.

“So are the two of you gonna kiss or what?” Jimin asks in the midst of the silence.

Namjoon glares at the boy, “Don’t make me give you an extra ten laps.”

He backs down immediately, raising his hands up in defence. And at that moment, you return, all smiles and with a pant as you raise the first aid kit up.

“Your arm?” You smile sweetly, and Jungkook can only offer a weak on in return.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Depends. Will I have to run from the government if I answer you honestly?” Yena ponders out loud.

You roll your eyes but shake your head anyway. The two of you were meant to be cooking dinner but you’ve surrendered yourself to Netflix and Yena’s witty live commentary on horrible films you were scrolling through an hour earlier. Though, your head wasn’t quite in it, to begin with; your thoughts drifting to other aspects, ones that you thought too hard for and didn’t necessarily know the answer to.

It was frustrating, the way that you wanted to have a solution for everything but overthought every single case that happens to pass by your mind.

“No one’s hunting anyone down, your anarchist,” You say, “This is a little … personal.”

You didn’t have any girl friends prior to Yena, and that was your first mistake. You weren’t the person that actively avoided having girl friends because you thought they were dramatic or overly emotional but purely because you never knew how to befriend women. It was weird—being a woman yet being muddled with your own sense of femininity that suppressed your ability to form meaningful friendships with your women peers.

Throughout most of your childhood and teenaged life, you only had Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook. While they were more than enough to keep your memories cheerful and filled with laughter, there were more personal things that you couldn’t quite approach them with. They had each other to confide in their ‘manly’ discussions, small talk that you’d often flush at—but you couldn’t ask them the same things you wanted to.

You knew, that on a fundamental level that your personal things were just … things. It wasn’t that deep, nor did it require a PhD in Gender Studies to fully understand the nuance of periods or apparent ‘girl’ problems; you just needed to listen. But you were timid, and you got embarrassed super easily—so that never boded well whenever you’d want to approach them with a question of your own.

But now, you had Yena—debatably the most open and understanding person you’ve met in your life; and you owed it to yourself, and her—to be honest, to live yourself vicariously in your girl best friends eyes—and ask:

“How do you have sex?”

Granted, there was definitely a smoother way of peeling off the bandaid, but you supposed if you were going to be discussing this one way or another, you’d go big or go home.

“I’m sorry,” She coughs, “What?”

You blink.

“Sorry, I guess I should’ve asked if you were a virgin first …” You mumble.

Yena stares at you with a stupefied expression as she gapes at you.

“Hey, repeat after me: candy, tree and cat.” She grabs you by your shoulders.

“I’m not cerebrally compromised, Yena,” you say dryly.

“Repeat,” She glares.

You huff, shoving her hand off your shoulder.

“Candy, tree and cat. There, happy?” You huff.

She eyes you weirdly as you sigh.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes!” You exasperate, “So like … how? Do you just? Penetrate?”

Yena blinks one more time, her eyes trailing to the ceiling as she asks for a higher being to give her strength before she returns her gaze onto your figure.

“Babe, that is literally the unsexiest way to approach sex.”

“Penetration?” You furrow your brows.

She scrunches her brows, “No.” She gestures to you, “That.”

You scowl.

“I don’t know how to approach sex! That’s why I’m asking you. I literally don’t know who else to approach. If I went to Jimin or Taehyung I’m pretty sure they’d just stare at me and cry. Namjoon is out of the picture because he’d likely approach sex textbook style and I don’t need that level of detail right now. I definitely can’t ask Jungkook because he’s the guy I wanna have sex with. So yeah. I’m here because you’re a woman and the only person I can have a full conversation with without losing my will to live.”

Yena gawks at you, jaw slack as you finish your ramble; ears flushed.

“… you …” She begins, wracking her brain for the words that seem to fail her, “… okay. You know what, the fact that you’re here and putting your big girl pants on and asking me this is a feat in itself so I’m going to just ignore the fact that you said you wanted to have sex with Jungkook.”

You flush, “I was word vomiting—”

“Ah,” She holds her hands up, levelling you with a knowing glare, “If you want honest, you be honest too.”

You slump in your seat, sighing as you nod your head defeatedly.

“Firstly, I’m not a virgin. I could never be a virgin.” Yena declares, “Granted, I’ve slept with three people and two of them were women. But the idiot I lost my virginity to was, unfortunately, of XY chromosomes so … I guess I can answer your questions.”

“I mean … I know how sex works but … approaching it …” You mutter.

“And sex isn’t this groundbreaking act that requires Einstein’s IQ to partake in. It’s both intimate and not, and that’s definitely a personal preference. You can know the semantics of how people have sex, for hets in this case, which is just the classic ol’ penetration method where the penis enters the—”

“Your point?” You exasperate.

“—okay, I got a little carried away. But really, sex isn’t … difficult. It’s scary, I’ll give you that. But you don’t go into your first time thinking you’ll be great at it. Hell, you won’t even like sex that much your first few times unless your partner is a sex demon or something.”

“I mean when Jungkook …” You shudder, “When he … I … you know, did things … it felt …” You fiddle with your fingers. Your ears were undoubtedly on fire, and you were so embarrassed saying these things out loud because it was just so awkward!

“Good? You know I’m not going to judge you for it,” she says pointedly, “That’s what friends are for, right?”

You flush, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment. You knew that Yena would never judge you for something as trivial and as unimportant as your sexual endeavours, but this was still a road you’ve yet to properly navigate yourself.

“I … came,” you wince at your breathy voice, “It felt good. And … he’s experienced, you know? I just don’t want to …”

Yena looks at you inquisitively.

“You don’t want to …?”

You sigh deeply, considering your next words with a soft murmur, “I don’t want to not live up to his expectations, you know?”

She frowns at you, “Jungkook’s made some mistakes but you said it yourself. He’s in love with you,” she says softly, “There’s no pressure to have sex with him just because it’s out in the open now, you know?”

You nibble on your lips.

“It’s … more than just that,” you tell her, “I told him I needed time, and really, I do. But it isn’t because I’m confused. I mean, kind of—but really it’s because I don’t want to walk into something and disappoint him … I’m just … scared.”

Yena holds your hand in hers while offering you a gentle smile.

“It’s valid that you’re scared. But there really isn’t anything that can come out of being scared right now. The two of you worked through an obstacle, and here you are creating another one that doesn’t quite exist yet. Trust me, when the time feels right, it does. And you’ll feel ready. Will you still be scared? Maybe. But it’ll feel like it’s meant to fit within your timeline.”

You nibble on your lips, “Is it bad that I’m overthinking this?” You wince.

Yena shrugs her shoulders, “Like everything else in your life?” She teases.

You whine, shoving at her shoulder playfully where all Yena does is snicker in response. You weren’t quite sure what you were expecting out of the conversation, even if it was vaguely about the ins and outs of sexual exploration. And she was right, you’ll always be afraid of something, whether it’ll benefit you or harm you because that’s what change does. It shifts your comfort zone into a space that may be unfamiliar but necessary.

You lean into Yena’s shoulder, and a wave of overwhelming emotion washes upon you when you look at her. You really didn’t know how you survived a time without Yena in your life. And as if she’s noticed your glassy gaze, she raises an eyebrow at you.

“What are you looking at?”

You grin at her, all teeth and gums on display as you hug onto her arm like a koala.

“I’m just really happy you’re in my life.” You sigh wistfully.

She pauses for one whole second before she snorts.

“Wow, talk about sex once and suddenly you’re in love with me?” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, “Tell Jeon and Kim that you’re mine now.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes.

“They’re not even competing in the same league as you are,” you assure her.

She smiles.

“So … does that mean I don’t need to get you a birthday gift?”

That earns a thwack on her shoulder.

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wackybuddiemewbs · 3 years ago

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WIP Wednesday Buddie Edition

So yeah... I'm still at it, apparently. Even though I know shit about bombs or whatever else and base this solely off of quick internet research. So yeah, those grenades are clearly plot devices for the bombshell that is that those two be gay for each other. Anywho, hope you enjoy the angst! Cheers!

Working title: Reenact My Pain of Losing You

Basic idea: When the 118 is summoned to a field with actual trenches and not at all real soldiers of a world war, everyone is in for a bad surprise when the play turns dead serious. And it’s not just time that’s ticking for Buck and Eddie.

Find out more here: Part 1, Part 2

“Alright, everyone! Gather around!” Greg announces as he makes his way back into the tent. All are at their feet at an instant. Because no matter what, this promises a way to stop walking circles, running circles inside their heads at all the things that may happen.

“The drone just landed. We got a pretty good visual of the situation. One of my men is prepping up as we speak to extract the unconscious civilian. He is nowhere near the explosives, thankfully. So if we move fast, both will make it out of the danger zone without further interference,” Greg begins.

“Lucky bastard,” Eddie mutters under his breath.

He knows he shouldn’t think like this. That guy doesn’t deserve to die because he made some shitty choices or likes to pretend to be in a war. Deep down, Eddie knows all this. And on any other day, he would know how to show proper sympathy for people ending up in tough situations because of some wrong choices. Because they didn’t have the intention for anyone to get hurt. He knows all this. And any other day, he’d know how to show it.

But he can’t. Tonight he can’t. Because tonight it’s Buck who may have to pay the price for their mistake. So Eddie can’t bring himself to it yet, to feel sympathy. He cuts it short, right above the chest. He will put it in its place once this is over, but not tonight. Just not tonight.

“It’s lucky for all of us. Given his condition, he may move in unexpected ways and cause an explosion by accident,” Greg reasons. “So long we move with caution to get him, removing the civilian from the trench will be the least of our troubles, the sooner the better.”

“But what of Buck?” Eddie asks hoarsely.

“That’s the most of our troubles, sadly,” Greg sighs, brushing thumb and index finger over the corners of his mouth. “There is at least ten explosives within close proximity. If any of them detonate, his chances of survival are little to none. Concussion grenades do not compare to fragmentation grenades of the same period when it comes to blast effect, but if you’re right on top of them… things still look grim.”

“Somehow, you make it sound like that’s not even the worst news yet,” Chim ponders, his nerves getting more frayed with every second passing, despite his best efforts. “And I don’t like that. So please, tell me I’m shit at reading a room… or a tent and that this is indeed the worst of it.”

“No, you’re sadly reading the tent correctly. The worst news are yet to come,” Greg confirms, which has Chim visibly cringe. And Eddie finds himself wincing as well. This can’t be any good.

Maybe walking circles was not the almost bad after all.

“So here it goes: We were informed that M15 were used. M15 grenades from that period had a huge downfall when it came to safety measures. To ignite them, you have to pull on a string at the base of the stick. It can easily catch on debris or clutter and thus ignite the fuse by accident. Soldiers had them exploding on their belts unawares during the war. Which is why they were eventually replaced by a model without that string.”

“But that guy got the faulty ones.” Hen’s grimace is tight. Her eyes are betraying any composure she might exude otherwise.

“Yes,” Greg agrees. “Right now, we cannot rule out that Buck at least partially pulled on some of the strings when he landed on the box. It may be that some are fully pulled back but didn’t ignite because they are too old. There is no way for us to properly determine that without moving him.”

“And thus move the cords,” Bobby guesses.

“So if Buck moves off of them, they may blow up and he goes up in flames,” Eddie mutters, finding himself short of breath. “That’s what you’re saying.”

Buck may die, that’s what he’s saying.

Buck may die while they try to save him, that’s what he’s saying.

Buck may die. Buck may die. Buck may die…

“That is what we’re trying to prevent, but that’s the biggest concern right now, yes,” Greg agrees, trying to stick to the facts for what it seems. “Buck is lying on top of them. His shoulder, side, and hip are certainly touching a grenade.”

“So you can’t remove or secure these without Buck moving,” Bobby concludes.

“There’s still a chance they won’t explode at all. When my men go in to gather the civilian, we will see how many we can safely remove. Whatever can lessen the impact of an explosion, we will do. Plus, maybe the examination is going to give us some ideas about how to proceed,” Greg sighs. “I wished I had better news, guys, but we have to take the situation for what it is. Sugarcoating it won’t help you, and it certainly won’t help him.”

Eddie huffs. “Shit.”

“Yeah, it is,” Greg sighs, offering a sympathetic look. “Alright, I’m going to see about the extraction of the civilian now. We need to reduce as many risk factors as we possibly can.”

“Keep us posted,” Bobby answers tightly. “And let us know if we can help in any way.”

“Will do.” With that, he and his team set to work.

Eddie finds it somewhat surreal, watching things proceed. He stands there by the tent and watches as the EOD moves in. He is watching a perfectly carried out operation. They move effectively and with utmost care. He can see that. He is watching them extract Larry from the trench. He can see his head emerge, and then the rest of him, banged up but alive.

And yet again, there are those things he knows he should feel but doesn’t. Relief, for instance. Normally, he’d be relieved to see this injured man emerge, to be brought to safety, to receive the help he needs. Deserves.

Because that’s a life saved.

Because that’s the job, the job he loves, the job he chose and feels like he was chosen for.

But he can’t feel it, not tonight.

Because here they are, people who are dedicated to saving lives, and they are standing by as they pull one out. And it isn’t Buck.

Yes, it is surreal. It is surreal because it is real.

It is real that they are just standing there, waiting, unable to move, unable to help.

It is real that they can’t do their job, that they can’t do it for Buck.

Eddie is grateful that Hen is taking care of Larry once he is out of the danger zone. He doesn’t know if he could keep his cool, talking to him. He’s been there before, what feels like a small eternity ago. But if that guy came about and started talking shit like the other war enthusiast did, Eddie can’t rule out he may have done something he’s sure to regret. So yes, he’ll have to thank Hen for this later on.

Because he can’t do it.

Because Buck may be blow to bits and pieces, torn apart and burned to ash in the air.

Because they wanted a big explosion, the grand finale for their little game before the final curtain draws.

Because he wanted his evening to conclude with Buck next to him on his couch, having beers and talks and little big nothings that only pass between them.

It’s because of Buck. It’s because it’s Buck. That’s why. That’s the only reason why.

“Hey.”

Eddie turns his head to see Chimney walking up to him. “Hey.”

“Just wanted to let you know that Larry is banged up alright, but he’ll be fine.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says, nodding his head tightly. “Did you manage to get a hold of Maddie yet?”

“No,” Chim sighs. “She’ll only know once she comes back home to get her phone, I guess. And trust me, I wished there was another way to deliver the news.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“But I can’t leave.”

“No.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I just… I get it that you may feel like that right now, but it’s not your fault and it’s not Buck’s. That was just some bad luck.”

“I know,” Eddie sighs. “I just can’t help going back over this.”

“Yeah, I get that feeling. Doesn’t get you anywhere, though,” Chimney sighs.

Walking circles yet again, isn’t it?

“You mean when Maddie ran away to Boston,” Eddie mutters.

“Yeah. I obsessed over all the things I may have done wrong. What I should have done differently. The signs I missed… On that matter, Buck was right. I was spiraling. And that didn’t help, her or me.”

“Yeah, that kind of seems to be the motto of the evening. The things we can’t do to help people we care about,” Eddie huffs. “Look, I know there are things beyond our control. I know that. And I know this is such a situation.”

“But you wanna control it. You wanna gain the upper hand,” Chimney agrees.

Eddie lost control too many times throughout his life, even though he’s always been so desperate to keep it. He has since dug through some of that with Frank, learns to understand that this is true. That there are things beyond their control, and that this is okay.

But this is not okay. It just isn’t.

The rational part of Eddie long since accepted that there are things they can’t change. The rational part would likely say the same thing if it was someone else of the team down there and he had to calm someone down. But his partner is down there and he can’t help him. His best friend is down there and he can’t be with him. And it’s tearing him apart by the seams.

“Yeah, you wanna win but you can’t,” Eddie sighs. “It’s just...”

Chimney offers a sad smile. “It’s Buck.”

“Yeah, it’s Buck,” Eddie swallows thickly.

It’s always Buck.

“Eds?”

Eddie nearly jumps at the sound. He fumbles for his radio hurriedly. “H, hey, Buck, what’s the matter?”

“Am I right to assume that the EOD taking so long is not a good sign?” Buck asks, still trying to sound casual, though he is anything but that. “Or are they just shit at their job and having a tea party without me?”

“We’re all working on it,” Eddie assures him. “So is the EOD.”

“No doubt about it,” Buck answers, then adds quieter, “Just needing someone to be honest with me, man. So, ugh… How bad is it?”

“You’ll be fine,” Eddie answers automatically.

“… O-kay… That means I have my answer,” Buck grunts. “I’m fucked.”

“No, you’re not,” Eddie insists, licking his lips nervously.

“Eddie, that’s how we talk to people we know won’t pull through.”

“No, it’s not,” Eddie insists. “You’re not listening to me. We’re gonna get you out.”

“As I said, no doubt,” Buck sighs, his voice trailing off. “I just wonder in how many pieces.”

“Would you stop talking like that, please?” Eddie retorts, screwing his eyes shut. He regrets it the moment the words slip out of his mouth, but he just can’t take anyone joking about it. Not even Buck.

“I get to make all the jokes about this. No one else does. I’m not at all cozy on a bunch of grenades, and my bladder is about to explode before these might. Jokes are my lifeline right now. So don’t blow this for me before those motherfuckers can.”

Eddie touches his forehead with his free hand. “Right, it’s just…”

“I’m sorry,” Buck interjects. “I shouldn’t be snapping.”

“You get to snap. You get to snap and joke however much you want, actually.” Eddie closes his eyes. “But I wasn’t joking. We’re gonna get you out.”

“Okay.” Buck’s voice is almost not audible this time, and Eddie doesn’t know what to make of it. Is Buck just giving in so not to upset him? Or are they both cashing in on that lie now?

Eddie’s eyes shift to Bobby approaching. He gestures at him, and Eddie understands.

“Buck, I gotta talk to Bobby, okay?” Eddie says, eyes fixed on their captain. “We’ll talk again in a bit. Hang in there.”

“Not much left to do. Unless I piss on the grenades first.”

Eddie forces a crooked smile with the comment, “Try to think of the Sahara or some other dry place.”

“But that makes me thirsty!”

“Just hang in there,” Eddie mutters. “Please.”

“… Okay.”

“Okay.” Eddie switches the radio back off. He glances at Bobby. “What’s the news?”

“It’s looking even worse, actually. The grenades they secured can still detonate, which means the ones Buck’s on might as well. The cord is rather brittle, so it may well be that even slightest movements may make them snap to ignite the fuse.”

“Shit,” Chimney curses under his breath.

Eddie swallows thickly. “So, so… what do we do now?”

What is the plan? What mad rescue are they about to pull? There has to be something, right? They freed people out of molten chocolate before. They can do this, right? They have to.

I have to.

“The EOD still try to figure out what’s the best approach,” Bobby replies somberly. “The biggest issues is apparently the unpredictability of the malfunctions. With more modern bombs, they’d have a clearer idea of what to do. But like this, it’s really fishing in muddy waters.”

That is certainly not the answer Eddie was waiting for. Then again, was he really expecting Bobby to swing by and tell them that all is good and that the bombs wouldn’t ever blow up? Like they ever get that lucky.

Wishful thinking much, huh?

“If someone pulls him out very fast…,” Eddie bargains, he knows he is bargaining.

Bobby shakes his head. “Not happening.”

“We can’t just leave him down there,” Eddie whispers, his eyes drifting back to the trench.

“And we won’t. Ever,” Bobby resolves. “So you get back on the radio with him and keep him preoccupied, okay? This will likely take some more time.”

Eddie blinks. “Preoccupied?”

“He needs someone to talk to him. He may panic, even though he’s been trained not to,” Bobby reasons. “We got the rest under control, so you should sit down and talk to him.”

“But I…,” Eddie mutters, suddenly at a loss.

“You know whom he wants to talk to right now,” Bobby argues. “And it isn’t Greg.”

Eddie nods his head silently. No, it isn’t Greg. It’s him. It has to be him.

Bobby walks over to give his shoulder a firm squeeze. “You got this.”

“Yeah.”

Bobby nods at Chimney. “Chim? Let’s see if Greg can use our help.”

Chimney nods, offering another sympathetic look to Eddie before he follows Bobby.

Heaving a sigh, Eddie takes the radio back into hand. He feels the familiar weight, though strangely, it feels heavier in his hand than it usually does.

“Okay, back to bug you, Buck,” he says, forcing a smile. “So if dry places don’t do the trick, how about lakes?”

“You’re pure evil, I hope you know that,” Buck whines.

“You bragged about knowing the list of all bigger lakes in North and South America by heart, just last week,” Eddie argues, putting on his most casual tone. “I think now might be the time to catch up on that bold claim you made.”

“It’s not bragging if you just state the facts.”

“So if I look it up on Wikipedia right now, you’ll name me the top ten for each continent?” Eddie challenges.

It’s silly, but it’s the best thing Eddie can come up with at the moment. If that is a lifeline for Buck, he will gladly keep it up.

“You really wanna get me to piss myself, don’t you?” Buck grunts.

“No, just figuring out whether that means you get to study with Christopher for his next geography test. I heard they are doing lakes and rivers next, and I don’t have the nerve for it,” Eddie answers.

“I thought you only suck at math.”

Eddie can’t help but grin at that. “You suck at math.”

“Well, then get your phone out and let’s try, man.”

“Alright.”

Eddie keeps forcing a smile as he quizzes Buck on lakes, daring to hope that his voice will not betray him as much as his face likely does. Because if Buck was with there with him, he could tell at once that Eddie is pretending. Even though he told him not at all that long ago that he doesn’t have to pretend with him.

But this time, this is not about me pretending to be fine for my own sake. So hopefully, this doesn’t count.

But apparently, that’s the only way he can have his back right now, even if it is just with a whimsical distraction. Because deep down, both know it’s no more than that. And perhaps that’s the worst of it, the fact that they know it’s only just an act.

Yet, they keep playing this game together.

Because what else is there left to do for us?

#buddie #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #evan buckley x eddie diaz #eddie diaz x evan buckley #fanfic #buddie fanfic #in smol #wip wednesday

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 years ago

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Watomatic, for lower Whatsapp switching costs

Any discussion of monopolization of the web is bound to include the term “network effects,” and its constant companion, “natural monopolies.” This econojargon is certainly relevant to the discussion, but really needs the oft-MIA idea of “switching costs.”

A technology has “network effects” when its value grows as its users increase, attracting more users, making it more valuable, attracting more users.

The classic example is the fax machine: one fax is useless, two is better, but when everyone has a fax, you need one too.

Social media and messaging obviously benefit significantly from network effects: if all your friends are on Facebook (or if it’s where your kid’s Little League games are organized, or how your work colleagues plan fun activities), you’ll feel enormous pressure to join.

Indeed, in these days of Facebook’s cratering reputation, it’s common to hear people say, “I’m only on FB because my friends are there,” and then your friends say, “I’m only there because you are there.”

It’s a form of mutual hostage-taking.

That hostage situation illustrates (yet) another economic idea: “collective action problems.” There are lots of alternatives to Facebook, but unless you can convince everyone on Facebook to pick one and move en masse, you’ll just end up with yet another social account.

This combination of network effects and collective action problems leads some apologists for tech concentration to call the whole thing a “natural monopoly” — a system that tends to be dominated by a single company, no matter how hard we try.

Railroads are canonical “natural monopolies.” Between the costs of labor and capital and the difficulty in securing pencil-straight rights-of-way across long distances, it’s hard to make the case for running a second set of parallel tracks for a competing company’s engines.

Other examples of natural monopolies include cable and telephone systems, water and gas systems, sewer systems, public roads, and electric grids.

Not coincidentally, these are often operated as public utilities, to keep natural monopolies from being abused by greedy jerks.

But the internet isn’t a railroad. Digital is different, because computers are universal in a way that railroads aren’t — all computers can run all programs that can be expressed in symbolic logic, and that means we can almost always connect new systems to existing ones.

Open up a doc in your favorite word processor and choose “Save As…” and just stare in awe and wonder at all the different file-formats you can read and write with a single program. Some of those formats are standardized, while others are proprietary and/or obsolete.

It’s easier to implement support for a standard, documented format, but even proprietary formats pose only a small challenge relative to the challenge presented by, say, railroads.

Throw some reverse-engineering and experimentation at a format like MS DOC and you can make Apple Pages, which reads and writes MS’s formats (which were standardized shortly after Pages’ release, that is, after the proprietary advantage of the format was annihilated).

This is not to dismiss the ingenuity of the Apple engineers who reversed Microsoft’s hairball of a file-format, but rather, to stress how much harder their lives would have been if they were dealing with railroads instead of word-processors.

During Australia’s colonization, every state had its own governance and its own would-be rail-barons. Each state laid its own gauge of rail-track, producing the “multi-gauge muddle” — which is why, 150+ years later, you can’t get a train from one end of Oz to the other.

Hundreds of designs for interoperable rolling stock have been tried, but it’s proven impossible to make a reliable car that retracts one set of wheels and drops a different one.

The solution to the middle-gauge muddle? Tear up and re-lay thousands of kilometers of track.

Contrast that with the Windows users who discovered that Pages would read and write the thousands of documents they’d authored and had to exchange with colleagues: if they heeded the advice of the Apple Switch ads, they could buy a Mac, move their files over, and voila!

Which brings me to switching costs. The thing that make natural monopolies out of digital goods and services are high switching costs, including the collective action problem of convincing everyone to quit Facebook or start using a different word-processor.

These switching costs aren’t naturally occurring: they are deliberately introduced by dominant firms that want to keep their users locked in.

Microsoft used file format obfuscation and dirty tricks (like making a shoddy Mac Office suite that only offered partial compatibility with Windows Word files) to keep the switching costs high.

By reverse-engineering and reimplementing Word support, Apple obliterated those switching costs — and with them, the collective action problem that created Word’s natural monopoly.

Once Pages was a thing, you didn’t have to convince your friends to switch to a Mac at the same time as you in order to continue collaborating with them.

Once you get an email-to-fax program, you can discard your fax machine without convincing everyone else to do the same.

Interoperability generally lowers switching costs. But adversarial interoperability — making something new that connects to something that already exists, without its manufacturer’s consent — specifically lowers deliberate switching costs.

Adversarial interoperability (or “competitive compatibility,” AKA “comcom”) is part of the origin story of every dominant tech company today. But those same companies have gone to extraordinary lengths to extinguish it.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Just as a new company may endorse standardization when it’s trying to attract customers who would otherwise be locked into a “ecosystem” of apps, service, protocols and parts, so too do new companies endorse reverse-engineering and comcom to “fix” proprietary tech.

But every pirate wants to be an admiral. Once companies attain dominance, they start adding proprietary extensions to the standard and fighting comcom-based interoperability, decrying it as “hacking” or “theft of intellectual property.”

In the decades since Microsoft, Apple, Google, and Facebook were upstarts, luring users away from the giants of their days, these same companies have labored to stretch copyright law, terms of service, trade secrecy, patents and other rules to ban the tactics they once used.

This has all but extinguished comcom as a commercial practice. Today’s comcom practitioners risk civil and criminal liability and struggle to get a sympathetic hearing from lawmakers or the press, who have generally forgotten that comcom was once a completely normal tactic.

The obliteration of comcom is why network effects produce such sturdy monopolies in tech — and there’s nothing “natural” about those monopolies.

If you could leave Facebook but still exchange messages with your friends who hadn’t wised up, there’d be no reason to stay.

In other words, the collective action problem that the prisoners of tech monopolies struggle with is the result of a deliberate strategy of imposing high technical and legal burdens to comcom, in order to impose insurmountable switching costs.

I wrote about this for Wired UK back in April, comparing the “switching costs” the USSR imposed on my grandmother when she fled to Canada in the 1940s to the low switching costs I endured when I emigrated from Canada to the UK to the USA:

https://www.wired.co.uk/article/social-media-competitive-compatibility

Today, there’s a group of tech monopoly hostages who are stuck behind their own digital iron curtain, thanks to Facebook’s deliberate lock-in tactics: the users of Whatsapp, a messaging company that FB bought in 2014.

Whatsapp was a startup success: founded by privacy-focused technologists who sensed users were growing weary of commercial surveillance, they pitched their $1 service as an alternative to Facebook and other companies whose “free” products extracted a high privacy price.

Facebook bought Whatsapp, stopped the $1 charge, and started spying. In response to public outcry, the Facebook product managers responsible for the app assured its users that the surveillance data WA extracted wouldn’t be blended with Facebook’s vast database of kompromat.

That ended this year, when every Whatsapp user in the world got a message warning them that Facebook had unilaterally changed Whatsapp’s terms of service and would henceforth use the app’s surveillance data alongside the data it acquired on billions of people by other means.

Downloads of Whatsapp alternatives like Signal and Telegram surged, and Facebook announced it would hold off on implementing the change for three months. Three months later, on May 15, Facebook implemented the change and commenced with the promised, more aggressive spying.

Why not? After all, despite all of the downloads of those rival apps, Whatsapp usage did not appreciably fall. Convincing all your friends to quit Whatsapp and switch to Signal is a lot of work.

If the holdout is — say — a beloved elder whom you haven’t seen in a year due to lockdown, then the temptation to keep Whatsapp installed is hard to resist.

What if there was a way to lower those collective action costs?

It turns out there is. Watomatic is a free/open source “autoresponder” utility for Whatsapp and Facebook that automatically replies to messages with instructions for reaching you on a rival service.

https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.parishod.watomatic

It’s not full interoperability — not a way to stay connected to those friends who won’t or can’t leave Facebook’s services behind — but it’s still a huge improvement on the nagging feeling that people you love are wondering why you aren’t replying to their messages.

The project’s sourcecode is live on Github, so you can satisfy yourself that there isn’t any sneaky spying going on here:

https://github.com/adeekshith/watomatic

It’s part of a wider constellation of Whatsapp mods, which have their origins in a Syrian reverse-engineer whose Whatsapp comcom project was picked up and extended by African modders who produced a constellation of Whatsapp-compatible apps.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/03/african-whatsapp-modders-are-masters-worldwide-adversarial-interoperability

These apps are often targeted for legal retaliation by Facebook, so it’s hard to find them in official app stores where they might be vetted for malicious code.

It’s a strategy that imposes a new switching cost on Whatsapp’s hostages, in the form of malware risk.

Legal threats are Facebook’s default response to comcom. That’s how they responded to NYU’s Ad Observer, a plugin that lets users scrape and repost the political ads they’re served.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/04/553000000-reasons-not-let-facebook-make-decisions-about-your-privacy

Ad Observer lets independent researchers and journalists track whether Facebook is living up to its promises to block paid political disinformation. Facebook has made dire legal threats to shut this down, arguing that we should trust the company to mark its own homework.

Whatsapp lured users in by promising privacy. It held onto them post-acquisition by promising them their data would be siloed from Facebook’s main databases.

When it reneged on both promises, it papered this over by with a dialog box where they had to click I AGREE.

This “agreement” is a prime example of “consent theater,” the laughable pretense that Facebook is “making an offer” and the public is “accepting the offer.”

https://onezero.medium.com/consent-theater-a32b98cd8d96

Most people never read terms of service — but even when they do, “agreements” are subject to unilateral “renegotiation” by companies that engineered high switching costs as a means of corralling you into clicking “I agree” to things no rational person would ever agree to.

Consent theater lays bare the fiction of agreement. Real agreement is based on negotiation, and markets are based on price-signals in which buyers and sellers make counteroffers.

A “market” isn’t a place where a dominant seller names a price and then takes it from you.

Comcom is a mechanism for making these counteroffers. Take ad-blockers, which Doc Searls calls “the largest consumer boycott in history.” More than a quarter of internet users have installed an ad-block, fed up with commercial surveillance.

This is negotiation, a counteroffer. Big Tech — and the publications it colonizes — demand you give them everything, all the data they can extract, for every purpose they can imagine, forever, as a condition of access.

Ad-block lets you say “Nah.”

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

The fiction that tech barons have “discovered” the “price” that the public is willing to pay for having a digital life is a parody of market doctrine. Without the ability to counteroffer — in code, as well as in law — there is no price discovery.

Rather, there is price-setting.

Not coincidentally, “the ability to set prices” is the textbook definition of an illegal monopoly.

#pluralistic

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mymostimaginaryfriend · 4 years ago

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between a heart & a hard place

♛ 5x05: Teresa and James plan the heist (1.9k words; rating T; tags: missing scene, weaponized jazz music, angsty dancing)

➢ read on ao3 or below the cut:

The Van Gogh was beautiful. It was a shame they’d have to cut it from the frame, yet Teresa knew better than most that no beauty survived long in this world without collecting a few scars. So while it was a shame, it wasn't enough to stop her. Indeed, it’d be one of the only decisions she’d been forced to make lately that she wouldn’t lose any sleep over tonight.

Losing Kostya wasn’t an option. The pain of lost beauty was nothing compared to the pain of lost power.

They gathered in the hotel lobby, using the private concert by a semi-famous jazz pianist as cover for some recon. Kelly Anne gamely chatted up the hotel owner while Pote stifled a yawn and nursed his beer. James leaned casually against the bar, seemingly entranced by the music. It was only because she knew him so well that she could see the relaxed demeanor hid a man at work, busy formulating a plan. He hadn’t said much about his time away, but it was hard to believe any of it had involved art heists.

She felt a frisson of worry about putting him in unfamiliar, possibly dangerous territory but she knew better than to underestimate him. It was a lesson she’d learned the first day they’d met.

She followed his gaze to the piano, wondering what he was studying there. Teresa had never thought herself a jazz fan before moving to New Orleans, but it had become the soundtrack of her triumphs and heartaches over the past year. She found herself drawn to the melancholy of it, the soaring heights of a trombone, the plaintive pleas of a piano. Rising, falling, rising again. Even now, each soulful note plucked at her heartstrings with the simple strike of a key.

The song was beautiful, perhaps James was merely getting lost for a moment in the music. He’d said she’d changed and she had, but she wasn’t the only one. When he’d left, there’d been sharp edges, edges that should have been honed to lethal blades by his work with Devon and yet the James who had returned had a softness she was unprepared for. A sort of fragile vulnerability that made her want to shelter it from the wind like a flickering candle flame, to nurture and feed it until it was strong enough to warm her too. Her throat ached at the knowledge of how easily it could be snuffed out.

She’d almost done it herself this past week. It’d hurt to see the light in his eyes dim when he looked at her but that had been what she wanted, hadn't it? This distance between them. If it wasn’t easy, it was necessary. She’d rather let the sun set between them than watch the light in his eyes permanently go out because of her.

Emotional attachments equaled vulnerability. Romantic attachments could get you killed. She had needed someone once and his loss had nearly destroyed her. She felt in her bones she wouldn't be able to survive losing James. If she let him into her heart, his death would take that vital organ with him. For as much as she thought about the future these days, there was a part of her relentlessly certain in the knowledge that they’d never get there. Not in one piece.

That didn’t stop her from wanting to reach out to him though—for comfort, maybe, or reassurance. Perhaps it was the thought he no longer understood her that hurt the most, that made her want to seek communion with him skin to skin if not soul to soul. But that wouldn’t be fair to him, to push him away then pull him close just because she desperately needed someone—him—to tell her it’d be okay. That it was all worth it. She suspected his silence these last few days was answer enough.

It was for the best. The higher the climb, the longer the fall. She couldn’t afford weakness and neither could he. If he was no longer able to be as ruthless, then she would have to be ruthless enough for the both of them.

The song ended and she turned back to James to find that he wasn’t studying the room anymore. He was studying her, his expression inscrutable.

His gaze, like the silence between them, was heavy with unsaid words, words that might never be spoken at all but most certainly not here in public. Best to get back to business.

“You have a plan?” she asked, grateful that her voice remained steady.

He nodded.

“Walk me through it,” she murmured, eyes drawn back to the painting in question.

“Dance with me.”

Her attention snapped back to his face at his surprise counter offer. She’d expected a cool recitation of information—sight lines, security cameras, escape routes—not a softly uttered invitation to be close to him, to touch him for the first time since that night in New York.

“James,” she began, not sure if she meant it as the prelude to a warning or an apology.

A flash of emotion was quickly smoothed away by his normal mask of professionalism. “Relax,” he said, pushing off the bar. “I just need a reason to be in the northwest quadrant of the room.”

She shot him a questioning look and the corner of his mouth ticked up in muted amusement. “The dance floor,” he clarified, holding out a hand.

Right. Of course. The plan. Just business, just how she wanted it. She ignored Kelly Anne’s double take and took James’ hand, letting him lead her to the far side of the small dance floor.

Once it would have been a simple thing to step into his arms, but as the first few notes of the next song began, she hesitated. He might not recognize the tune, but after being a bar owner in New Orleans for over a year, she sure did.

They’re writing songs of love, but not for me. A lucky star’s above, but not for me.

If he noticed any significance, he hid it well, guiding one of her hands to his shoulder and holding the other against his chest. His other hand found her waist and turned her smoothly in the direction he needed to surveil.

She didn’t speak, letting him work in silence. She tried to concentrate on the people around them, the sound of the piano, the lights of the city beyond the windows, anything but the warmth of his body, not under the usual leather jacket, but the expensive fabric of his suit, his scent of new cologne and old cigarettes as foreign as it was familiar.

After a moment, he pulled her closer, leaning down to murmur near her ear. “We’ll do a smoke bomb, smash and grab. Extract the painting, ditch the van. Travel by motorcycle to the drop-off.”

“We?” Teresa asked, a little breathless. Some not small part of her wished she could watch him in action, especially in the kind of situation when no one was shooting back at them.

“Me,” James corrected. “You’ll be at the rendezvous point with Pote. I’ll use a two-man team—”

“One of the men?” Teresa asked. She trusted the crew that had accompanied her to Berlin to handle security but wasn’t sure who she’d recommend for a job that required the finesse of art theft.

“I know a guy nearby,” James told her and she let out a breath of laughter. Of course he did.

“You know everyone.” She turned to smile up at him but was taken aback by the seriousness of his expression.

“Not everyone.”

His words, or maybe the weight behind them, had her wondering if he was thinking of her.

She had done her best to hide her inner turmoil over the events of the last week. Suppressing her guilt and remorse over turning in Marcel. Hiding any misgivings she had about ordering the hit on the crooked cop with defensiveness or dismissal. She was la Jefa, it would do no good for anyone to see her doubts. So she'd put on strong front but hadn’t realized until now how much she’d depended on James seeing through it. He always had before.

“You think we made a mistake,” she ventured, allowing space for his answer to clarify what was specifically bothering him the most. Perhaps it was vindictive of her to use “we” but distance or not they were still in this together.

James looked away. “It’s over now.”

“That’s not an answer,” she pressed.

He frowned, hesitating. “I did. I don’t know. You were right, the feds were ready to raid us. Bringing in Gamble would have been their next step.”

It was almost shameful, the intensity of the relief that washed over her at his words. But by James' grim expression, it seemed he grew even more troubled by the admission.

“But?”

He glanced at her, eyes bleak. “His wife was home. She found him while I was still there.”

Teresa’s heart dropped in her chest. She knew from the news reports that there’d only been one victim that night but looking into James’ eyes she saw that it haunted him. The future that might have been. He’d have killed the wife too if she’d caught him. He’d have killed her for them.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, letting her hand find the tender skin of his neck and the staccato rhythm of his heart beat. “I’m sorry. But…”

His eyes briefly fluttered shut. “I know.”

If she couldn’t help herself from holding onto him a little tighter, it seemed he welcomed her momentary lapse. His hand sliding to the small of her back to draw her nearer until they were touching the entire lengths of their bodies, their only attempt at dancing a slight swaying from side to side.

“I just want to keep you safe,” he said, resting his cheek against her temple. She felt the old familiar panic at the implied even from yourself, but this wasn’t like Phoenix. He wasn’t trying to make decisions for her.

Couldn’t he see that she wished the same safety for him? That everything she did was in pursuit of this shared goal?

“I didn’t think I’d be back here,” he continued, slowing their sway until he was just holding her. “And now...hope is a dangerous thing. It draws your attention to the horizon instead of keeping it on the danger right in front of you.”

She wondered if he was feeling it too: the walls closing in from every angle, the same echoing dread that haunted her midnight hours. The ever narrowing window of daylight to that future someday.

But as the final notes of the song were played, even as the distance between them didn’t seem as vast anymore, even if for a moment she entertained the idea of not letting go, of leading him back up to the suite to finish repairing with their bodies what she’d bruised with her words, she knew that if they had any hope at all of that other life, they had work to do now.

James, as always, understood that better than anyone. He released her and smiled, eyes once again lit from within.

Many, many hours later while she waited in a safe location as he once again risked life and limb and freedom at her request, Teresa tried not to give too much credence to the sickening feeling in her stomach that the danger he’d mentioned earlier, the danger right in front of him that threatened their much dreamed about future…

....might end up being her.

(ao3)

#queen of the south #qots #qots fic #jeresa fic #jeresa #*ficbyme

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aperrywilliams · 5 years ago

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New blurbs-series: 10 days to my birthday!! (Day 8)

(Not my gif)

Author Masterlist - Series Masterlist

My birthday will be in 8 days from now. So I’m going to celebrate myself with 10 Spencer Reid’s blurbs. Enjoy!

Day 10 | Day 09 | Day 08 | Day 07 | Day 06 | Day 05 | Day 04 | Day 03 | Day 02 | Day 01

Day 08: Spencer Reid hold your hand for the first time.

When you made the decision to apply at the BAU, you knew so well what you were getting into. You knew you would see horrible things and meet despicable people. Moreover, you knew you'd have to get into the minds of serial killers in order to stop them. That was basically your job. But human behavior never ceased to amaze. Even after working on Aaron Hotchner's team for over a year, it seemed like a every week you will face an even more twisted case compared to the last one.

One of the first things they told you when you were accepted to the BAU is that you shouldn't take cases personally. They told you that it’s okay to empathize, but that once the case was over, you have to move on. You tried to do that as best you could, but like your co-workers, there were times when was too hard to do that. There were cases that affected you more than others. There were unsubs who managed to settle in your mind more persistently than others.

John Rogger was an example of that kind of cases for you. He was a murderer of young women in Alabama. When the BAU was called to investigate, Rogger already had more than 15 deaths in tow and at least 3 more women kidnapped. In addition to identifying and arresting him, the purpose was to be able to save the abducted women alive. That meant that once arrested, the team had to apply several and intense interviews to obtain information, but Rogger didn’t say a word. So far, only Hotch and Rossi had conducted the questionings. According to the profile the team built, they concluded if someone of the opposite sex and young questioned him, a better result could be obtained. Given the physical resemblance and closeness of age to the victims, Hotch decided that you were the best option to do that.

So you found yourself locked in a room with one of the most despicable murderers you had ever met, trying to obtain information. Hours and hours passed, where your patience, your temperance and your profiling skills were tested. To gain his trust, you said things about yourself that you wouldn’t have told anyone. You had to 'empathize' with a serial killer. You navigated his disturbed mind revealing details that you would have preferred not to know. Every time you took a break between questioning, Spencer made a point of checking how you were feeling and if you needed anything. He knew - or at least suspected - that this case was draining what little energy you had left so far. In each new interrogation, Rogger tried to find out more about you, your family, your private life. It was as if he wanted to get into your mind in the same way that you tried to get into his. You felt vulnerable, exposed. Even knowing that the one who was handcuffed and locked up for life was him and not you, every time his eyes fell on you, you couldn't help but feel fear. Even so, you didn’t waver and continued with the interrogations until after 2 intense days, Rogger broke and you managed to obtain the kidnapped women’s location.

The team quickly mobilized to the rescue. When you were about to put on your FBI vest to go with them, Hotch stopped you.

“You won’t go with us. You'll stay here at the station until we get back,” he told you immediately as he saw how you were getting ready, fastening your weapon in the holster attached to your belt.

“But sir, I have to go. I'm the one with the most details about the location and the things that can be found there…”, you tried to convince him. But Hotch wasn’t going to back down on his decision.

“I told you (Y/L/N). You will stay here. The extraction team is now ready. You've done enough, it's not safe for you to go with us”. Clearly Hotch was trying to prevent you from collapsing on the field, already knowing that Rogger had absorbed all your energy, but you didn't see it that way, and you interpreted it as punishment for some mysterious reason that you didn't know. According to you it was unfair, you wanted to save those women as much as everyone else, why deny you that option?

Reluctantly you nodded and watched as the whole team rushed out of the police station towards the location where they expected to find the women kidnapped by Rogger. With a lump in your throat and a defeating feeling you sat on one of the benches that were in the hall of the station. You felt useless, why you had to sit and wait while everyone was doing their job? The same job you could be doing.

You were deep in thought when Spencer sat next to you. You hadn't even noticed that he hadn't gone with the team.

“Spencer... I thought you would go with...,” you trailed off in confusion. Spencer looked at you and shook his head.

“I think this time it’s better I stay here. Just like you,” he replied. You let out a frustrated sigh.

“Do you too think I would be an obstacle in the field? Like Hotch?”. You asked sadly. Spencer frowned and rushed to reply.

“I don't think that (Y/N), and I’m sure Hotch doesn’t think that either,” Reid said, staring at you and trying to read your micro expressions.

“So why did he leave me here? I don't get it...,” your trembling voice revealed that you were about to cry overwhelmed by frustration.

“Because you've already done all the work you could do (Y/N), that's why,” Spencer replied simply. You looked at him with teary eyes trying to understand what his words were referring to.

“What does that mean? Does it mean that I have to wait and do nothing?...”

“Do you think it’s nothing you participating in Rogger's arrest and spent two whole days in and out of that interrogation room, doing everything in your power to break him… and finally achieve it? I think you did enough (Y/N),” Spencer pointed out, not losing eye contact with you.

“But... what if they are not found alive? If they can´t save them?...”. Just thinking about that scenario made your stomach clench.

“It would be a bad outcome, no doubt, but sadly it’s no longer in your hands (Y/N), nor in mine. I know waiting is excruciating, but there are times when it’s inevitable. We must wait and trust the team will do the right decisions on the field. That's as teamwork works”.

Thinking of Spencer's words you could only sigh again and come to the conclusion that he was right. You put your whole heart in for hours and days to get some clue to help the case. You just wanted it not to be too late.

Your mind tried to convince itself that you should wait for news. But your body told you otherwise, you couldn't stop bouncing your leg, you sighed uneasily every two minutes, with the fingers of one of your hands you squeezed the fingers of your other hand, you rocked back and forth on the bench. Your entire body expression screamed unease and disturbance. Spencer was silent to respect your own process, but seeing you like this hurt him deeply. He just wanted you could regain some serenity and peace of mind, but he also knew that the body was capable of betraying you over and over again, ignoring your own will.

Without saying a word, one of his hands that was resting on his knee reached for yours and gave it a gentle squeeze to remove it from its task of digging your nails into your own palm. The first contact startled you a little, but you gave in to the touch and let him guide your linked hands, making it rest in the space of the bench that was between you. After squeezing it slightly, with his thumb he began to trace soft patterns over your knuckles, looking for to relax your fingers. The warmth of his hand and the softness of his touch made you give in as the minutes passed and the tension in your body managed to dissipate in part. Your breathing also returned to a fairly normal rhythm. Both in silence. But it was not an awkward silence. It was the waiting you both had to face. It was fate that was no longer in your hands. And that was the first time Spencer Reid held your hand and taught you about there are times you just had to let it go. And that there are times when you don’t have to wait and face destiny alone.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #10 days to my birthday #aperrywilliams #criminal minds #mini series #spencer reid x reader

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whitexwingedxdoves · 4 years ago

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Scream part 4

Scream. Part Four: Help Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Platonic Peter Parker x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Warning: Swearing, fighting, little fluffy. Summary: Scream pleas with Venom to help her, when he refuses you strike a deal with her. A/N: Gets a little heated in this one. I’m not sure how many more parts there will be but im excited with what I have planned for this. I barley had time to proof read this one so, sorry if theres any mistakes; Ive been editing my podcast at the same time ha. If you want to be tagged, just ask <3 Master list of chapters

When you finally woke up, you found yourself in what you could only presume was a cell. Though it wasn’t bars and a metal bed, no. It looked comfortable and the walls almost seemed invisible if it wasn’t for the blue hue. What the hell happened.

You stopped panicking long enough to notice Bucky was sat in a chair just outside your cell. You allowed your eyes pan over him for a moment. His body seemed calm but the look on his face screamed worry. “You’re awake” he words were soft and despite your current situation, they made a part of you melt like butter. He pushed himself off the chair taking a few steps closer to your cell. “what-what happened?” you stumbled over your words as they seemed to crack in your throat. You listened to every word that spilt from his lips, explaining how Venom knocked you out, that Venom’s host was called Eddie Brock and despite them both being arseholes, Eddie seemed much more rational. He ended his little speech claiming that they had come up with an agreement, You were to stay with the Avengers, try to control the Symbiote or completely get rid but Tony argued his point of how it had to be your choice and despite Venom’s obvious opposition, Eddie managed to get him on board. You sat with the information you were given for a moment, allowing it to sink in. You clearly had a big choice to make. I want to talk to him. It sounded like she was crying and instantly broke your heart. “She want’s to talk to him! I want to talk to him” your words seemed a little too stern but you stood your ground. Bucky nodded before leaving the room without another word.

You were only alone for a couple of seconds until a large framed man walked through the sliding doors. You watched the way he carried himself and already you could tell that Bucky was telling the truth, he was an arsehole. He stopped in front of you cell, a smirk etched onto his face which caused your eyes to roll. “She wants to talk to Venom” you demanded, in which he cockily shrugged and instantly morphed into the large Symbiote, it didn’t take long until Scream made her appearance. She was silent for a moment, you could feel your eyes welling up at the emotion she held. “You have to help me” though she stood confidently, her words showed weakness, even more so when he laughed at her. “You have to help me!” she repeated, her words louder now, causing Venom to growl slightly at her. “Help you? Look at you, no amount of help would stop you from being so pathetic” he spat at her, you could feel the anger bubble through your blood as his words cut through you. “You can’t just leave me here like this. We’re suppose to be family!” anyone with ears could hear the pain in her words. “You have to help me understand” she pleaded but you couldn’t take it anymore.

For the first time since she bonded with you, you took control. Forcing yourself to appear, your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at Venom. “Let me talk to Eddie!” you spat at him, your face showing nothing but disgust at the actions of the Klyntar. He laughed before his form shifted back to Eddie. “Can’t you talk to him” you so hoped that he would agree, that he would be the middle man, Scream needed so bad but alas, he just shook his head, a small laugh left his lips. “Look, it’s not my problem, I’ve got better things to do. I can’t babysit yet another Symbiote” he shrugged. Your eyes narrowed at the man as he turned on his heels to leave the room. “You’re both cowards.” You whispered, as he waved you off.

You sat back slight on the bed that was provided in the cell, trying to figure out what to do. You thoughts rushing from one scenario to another. One thing was for sure, you weren’t going to let them pull her from you. We can do this together. Despite her silence, you felt her gratitude towards you. If you can promise me, you wont try and kill everyone. I’ll help you, I’ll help you figure it all out! She promised and with that you called to Friday and asked to see Tony.

When you told Tony your plan of helping Scream, he was a little unsure but soon came around. You got him to agree to let the part he extracted from you, back into your body so that she could fully bond with you. Once you rested after you felt the rest of Scream find its place in you, you headed towards the gym. You saw Peter go in there not long ago and you figured he would probably be the best bet to help you with these new powers. With each step you could feel Scream getting stronger, it scared you a little, considering how much of a loose cannon she had been but you chose to trust your instinct.

Pushing the door open to the gym, you looked around to spot Peter, sitting on the edge of a boxing ring swinging his legs, listening to Happy drone on about the importance of understanding his strength. The bored expression on the teens face wasn’t lost on you causing you to giggle a little. Both their head snapping towards you before you started taking steps towards them. “Sorry to interrupt the pep talk” you giggled finally reaching them, you hand settled on Happy’s shoulder for a second. “You mind if I steal the kid for a moment?” you questioned he seemed reluctant at first but nodded, realising himself from your touch and throwing a look Peter’s way as if to say their conversation was yet but over.

You waited until the man left the room before turning to boy. Giving him a small smile before propping yourself next to him. “How you feeling?” he questioned, his voice a little shaky. You almost forgot how terrified he looked at you after he first met you. You nodded slowly pressing your lips into a thin line. “Actually, I feel great!” you admitted, placing your palms on your thighs. “I actually came here to ask you a favour!” you’re face scrunched up a little as you awaited his response. “Yeah- yeah sure. What is it?” you allowed a small smile to grace your face as he stumbled over his words. Assuming the boy had been fully informed of the decision you made, you sighed a little. “Well, considering you and Scream seem to share the same sort of... powers, I was hoping you could help me- help her figure them out” your words were slightly unsure of asking him to do such a thing. He took a moment, figuring out his decision before finally nodding, a little too aggressively.

You had probably been in the gym with the boy for hours at this point, constantly morphing in and out of your natural form as Peter taught you how to use your powers, the ones he shared with you anyway, despite being completely taken back by the webs that shot from her skin compared to the device he wore to make it happen. You on the other hand experienced scaling the celling for the first time, you couldn’t deny the fear that spread through your entire body, despite not having any control over it. Finally you had completely exhausted yourself but the boy barley broke a sweat, your head snapped at the sound of the door swinging open. Now standing in place of the door was Bucky, laughing slightly at how the two of you contrasted each other. You looked up at him like a saving grace for a moment, thankful to be done with this training experience. You noticed he was holding something in his hand but you couldn’t quite make out what it was.

“I think i’ve taken up too much of your time, Kid!” your words were breathless as you peeled yourself off the canvas you once sat on and patted him on the shoulder. Making your way over to the taller man, with a grateful smile on your face. He greeted you with a sly laugh, slightly mocking the way you obviously couldn’t match Peter’s stamina. Without a word, he held up a DVD case and displayed it on his chest. You’re eyes glossed over it for a moment before returning to his gaze with a rather large smile. “Fight Club?!” mixing you confusion with excitement as he escorted you out of the room. “Yeah, figure you’ve had a long day and you seemed almost offended knowing I haven’t seen it yet” a light chuckle left his lips as you both made your way towards your rooms. You didn’t say much of anything else before you reached your room, you told him you just needed to shower and signalled to the beads of sweat rolling across your body, he nodded and made his way to his room leaving you to do just that.

After you felt sufficiently clean and swapped your clothes for some that laid spare in one of the dressers, you made your way to Bucky’s room, lightly brushing your knuckles over the door. It took a couple of seconds before he answered with that forced smile of his. Though you knew it was genuine you couldn’t help but wonder if after all this time he’d simply forgotten how to smile. He lead you towards the bed before handing you a beer. You took in the sight of his dark room for a second before pressing the bottle on your lips, allowing the cold liquid run down your throat. You watched him fumble around with the DVD case attempting to figure out how his TV even worked. You didn’t offer any help, it was far too entertaining to get involved.

Finally he conquered the TV and sat back on his bed, holding onto the remote. He patted the mattress beside him, signalling you to climb on and you did just that. You allowed your body to curl up as you rested your back on the headrest of the bed, slightly turned in Bucky’s direction, resting the cold bottle on your thigh. When he noticed you had gotten comfortable, he pressed play and relaxed himself. You couldn’t help yourself looking at him every time something good was about to happen, needing to take in his reaction and never being disappointed. Every so often, he’d catch your gaze but instead of commenting on it, he’d ask about the plot line or one of the actor’s. You where taken back a little as he reacted the same way you did when Brad Pitt appeared on screen with nothing on but washing up gloves but it only made you laugh.

With your beer’s finished and the room now filled with the sound of Where is my mind by the pixies, you allowed yourself to stretch out a little. “So...” you pestered the older man, nudging him slightly with your knee. He just nodded in response, looking up at you. “Good, hu?” you giggled slightly placing the empty bottle on his night stand. You listened to the song for a moment, unintentionally singing along as you seemed distracted. You snapped back to reality as you felt eyes on you, looking up at Bucky, you couldn’t help but note how incredibly handsome he was in this moment. The way his eyes seemed to soak you up, the smile that got a little more natural every time he allowed one to pass. “Thank you” you whispered softly, slightly taken back by the way he looked at you. You’re eyes now filled with admiration for the man, you admired how he took the time out of his own busy day to make yours a little easier. He just shook his head at your words, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. The air suddenly feeling far to thick for your lungs as he got closer and closer to your face. The heat radiated off your cheeks as you felt his breath blow on you hair gently, each strand slightly tickling your face. Before you could even register what was happening, you felt his lips on yours. You didn’t react at first, taken back by the sudden gesture but as soon as you managed to wrap your head around it, you leaned into his lips kissing him back a little more hungrily than it started. You felt his arm wrap around your waist pushing you on your back gently as he hovered over you. Your hands explored his hair, grasping at it a little as he laid you down so delicately. Your breathing became short and restless as his hands explored the rest of your body, tickling slightly as he allowed his finger tips to tease the hem of your shirt. Oh, that’s hot!

Startled by the voice in your head, you pulled away from a moment only to receive a confused look from Bucky, attempting to ignore it, you pulled him back to your lips, easily falling back into his grasp. I wonder what he does with the metal arm. You groaned slightly at the voice in your head, praying and begging she would just leave, let you have your moment. Of course she didn’t, every so often she would say something to pull you from the moment until you had, had enough. Finally you pushed away from Bucky completely. “Go away!” you shouted, your hands resting on your temples. Bucky seemed a little taken back by your sudden out burst, sitting up right on the bed. “I thought you wanted to –“ he started before you turned your attention to him, a defeated look on your face. “No, I do – I really do but” now turning away from him, you could feel your face getting slightly flushed. “She keeps talking to me” you admitted only to be met with his laugh. You felt the weight of the mattress shift as he made his way closer to you, you felt the strap of your shirt fall onto your forearm before the sensation of the cold kisses he planted in it place, slowly making his way to your ear. “I know how we can shut her up”

tag list : @sadbutradbarnes @sweetdayme4427

#bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fic #avengers fanfiction #avengers x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel symbiotes #peter parker x y/n #platonic peter parker x reader

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guiltysecretpasttime · 4 years ago

Text

Homecoming - 2

This is the continuation of this prompt.

Lin/Tenzin, pre-canon AU, 2 of 2, T, completed.

----

“Hello?” Lin’s yelling was paused when the phone rang.

Tenzin’s continued words of apologies and evasion of flying folders and papers were cut short when Lin had to answer (irritably) the ringing phone. He bent over to pick up the scattered things, while listening to the one-sided conversation he could hear.

“Nothing’s wrong here. Of course not – yes, he is here.” Lin rolled her eyes. “There is no domestic disturbance at my address, I don’t know where that report even came from… Well, if they want to arrest someone, why don’t they arrest him?” She threw him an irritated look. “He is trespassing, isn’t he?”

At this, Tenzin frowned at her and dangled the house keys.

Who could she be talking to at this time of the night? Which police officer is responding to the call?

How can he be trespassing when he actually had keys? And as far as he knew, he lived here, didn’t he?

She snapped her fingers, asking him to hand over the keys.

Oh, damn he is screwed.

Lin leaned back at the headboard. “Okay, fine.” She placed a hand on her stomach. “I’m sure my blood pressure is fine… Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow… Love you too, Mom.”

Tenzin felt his stomach turn to lead.

If Lin reacted this way to him, Toph Beifong could do much worse.

And all because – at least from what he gathered from Lin’s invectives earlier– Lin’s letter informing him of her pregnancy did not reach him.

When the earthbender had suitably calmed down, Tenzin cautiously approached the bed with her paperwork. She was eying him with distrust.

At least she had stopped shouting or throwing things – so I count that as a win.

To his surprise, Lin offered the phone to him.

“Tenzin!” Toph’s gruff voice greeted him. “I don’t care what your excuse is but for tonight, make sure she relaxes. She’s on bed rest –.”

“Bed rest!”

Toph continued speaking as though he did not just interrupt her. “So, make sure she takes it easy and does not overexert herself.” She sighed. “You know what I mean, Airhead. No bedroom activities for the two of you.”

---

After a relatively painful call with Toph (where he was alternately scolded, reminded, threatened and advised), the airbender finally addressed the earthbender who was sitting in bed, protectively cradling her pregnant stomach.

“So,” Tenzin rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re having a child.” He sat the edge of the bed cautiously.

“Are we?” Lin asked back in challenge. “As far I know, you seemed to have washed your hands off of us the moment you left to fulfill your airbending duties.”

“No – I would never –,” He reached out to hold her hand, tightening when her grasp went limp. “You – the both of you – are my priority. Please don’t doubt that.” He looked straight into her eyes, trying to convey the truth behind his words.

Only their breathing can be heard for the next few moments.

“You never replied – I thought – we thought – you were gone. Then the acolytes responded and said you were there… I thought… you didn’t want it. You didn’t want…” Lin cleared her throat. “You were so pleased about being able to finally go around the temples. Having a child – well – I wouldn’t put it past you to stay behind because of responsibility, even if you didn’t want…”

At that point, her tears fell. This was the side of Lin Beifong that only few managed to see – one that was more human than her public persona allowed her to be. He was one of the few who she allowed to know about her insecurities and her fears.

Both of them had been raised in the public eye and they learned early on that their actions will be dissected by the press. They learned to be guarded – but not with each other.

Her mother had tried to protect her as much as she could but Lin learned the truth anyway. That her father had abandoned only remained with her mother as long as he could only due to a sense of duty to the unborn child. That when the opportunity came for him to jump ship, he did so without a backward glance.

Tenzin knew this was what was going through her mind with their current predicament.

He knew that words at this point would not mean anything to her as he pulled her into an embrace, letting her tears drop on his robes.

Tenzin knew he would do his best to reassure her.

---

The next few days were spent getting up to speed with Lin’s pregnancy. He wanted to know it all – how were her check-ups, what is the gestational age, are there any food or drink that she is not allowed to eat, etc. After that first night, Lin became apprehensive about what Tenzin thinks of fatherhood; she did have several weeks to get used to it but Tenzin, apparently was learning about it just now.

It seemed like she need not have worried, however, as the man reveled in it.

Katara had laughed at that, fondly saying that Aang is the same for each of their children.

To be fair, Toph had snorted, he was like that for all of the children born within their circle of friends, remembering that Aang was over the moon when Toph started showing with Lin.

---

Tenzin did not think the rest of the pregnancy would be spent in peaceful waiting if the succeeding days were a precedent as to what to expect.

It had been embarrassing enough to have his mother extract a promise from him to refrain from intercourse (“Stop cringing, Tenzin. If you’re old enough to be a father, you’re old enough to use the clinical term.”) in the next few months due to Lin’s delicate condition.

It became worse when Lin’s mother dropped by to bring in paperwork from headquarters. The older metalbender could not resist but comment about flighty airbenders doing the cut-and-run. That definitely did not do well to assuage Lin’s doubts.

His own father would likewise come by almost daily, bringing all sorts of food for Lin. Lin would graciously thank him and accept the gifts but would often ask him that he did not need to bring anything over. The Avatar would wave her concern away and say he was bringing over materials that Tenzin would need to work on anyway. Lin subtly implied that he need not stay in Republic City and he could go back to Air Temple Island to do whatever he needs to do for the Air Nation. This made Tenzin all the more adamant to work remotely from the house.

It also seemed like both of the Avatar’s sons took on the same anticipation and excitement in welcoming a child as Tenzin discovered that Bumi had taken to sending a knitted piece to Republic City every few weeks or so. Never mind that there were only so many bibs or bonnets a baby could use.

Their family, however well-meaning, tended to barge into their life – always checking in, always dropping by, always present.

Lin, being the well-mannered lady that she was, took it all in stride. While she would have previously scowled at her mother’s narratives or kept a polite face at his mother’s coddling, Tenzin saw her have a genuine smile at her face at their visits.

It was only one afternoon that Tenzin realized why.

He thought that they were simply falling into a routine when he came back. However, it became apparent to him that he was the one who has not yet assimilated into the established routine. With a pang, he realized their family had done what he should have been doing in the first place in supporting Lin in her pregnancy.

---

It was not quite the same home he had left.

Being away for months made it challenging for the airbender to reintegrate himself but he did manage bit by bit.

---

Lin really disliked being on bedrest. She had never been one for idleness, but she saw the necessity in taking it easy. She was determined to bring the child up to term and Lin Beifong is not anything but determined.

Nonetheless, this did not keep her from occasionally complaining; she did not like being dependent on others after all.

“I’m sorry Lin – but healer’s orders.” Tenzin handed her a book she requested; she was put out when he did not let her get out of bed and she had to wait for him to get it for her.

She thanked him though still with a frown on her face.

Tenzin settled himself beside her in bed as they were wont to do before bedtime, taking out his own book to read. “Mother said you’ll likely be removed from bed rest in a few weeks’ time. Your mother did not have to go on extended bed rest and managed to work at the station back then. So mother is hopeful for you.”

Lin sighed and leaned back, lightly flipping through the pages of her book. “Well, that’s my mother. Unfortunately for me, I inherited the body type of my grandmother.”

They knew how difficult it was for Poppy Beifong to carry a child to term. As much as Lao and she wanted another child as a sibling to Toph, it had not been successful.

She saw Tenzin pause, recognizing the moment he understood what was not being said.

In true (and expected) airbender fashion, he did not address it head on and simply turned to focus on fluffing her pillows.

“Well, if you’re going to stay in bed much longer, we’ll have to make sure it’s a comfortable stay, right?”

She merely tilted her head in agreement, thankful that he did not push the issue.

---

Lin did not know what to expect from Tenzin when he said they will make the extended bed rest comfortable.

He arrived home one day with a lot of paper bags.

She had thought Bumi was ridiculous in sending a lot of baby clothes, but this did not even compare. Lin found Tenzin guilty of a shopping spree – his were of a complement to Bumi’s bibs and bonnets in the form of onesies, mittens and booties.

No matter, she thought, as she lightly fingered the texture of one of the green onesies, it pleased her to see Tenzin excited about the child.

---

As the weeks passed, Lin was able to finally convince Tenzin that she would be fine at home during the day with the staff and that he need not curtail his own activities.

During the day, after all, the household staff that Toph hired for them to clean and cook was around and could easily assist Lin with her needs.

The airbender still spent most of his time at home, working and keeping her company. But at least, his company was no longer limited to her and their family. Hopefully, Lin thought, it would keep him from being bored and restless.

She was pleasantly surprised when he arrived home on that first day.

He had been listening to her when they talked about food she missed and likely craved for. She was thankful for the food that Aang brings over and the food the chef cooks, however, there is only so much she could take of healthy and bordering on bland food.

Tenzin had gone out of his way to the other side of the city to bring home her favorite steamed buns. Steamed meat buns, that is. None of the vegetarian mush he enjoyed himself.

---

It became their ritual – whenever Tenzin goes out, they were sure to have a dinner that consists of Lin’s favorite foods.

---

“You keep eating more of that and we’re calling our baby Bao.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Doesn’t Bao Beifong sound nice?”

A pillow hit Tenzin in the face.

---

“Thanks, kid. Excellent paperwork as per usual, loved your penmanship.”

Lin rolled her eyes at her mother’s odd humor. She took the folder her mother brought in exchange for the reports she had completed. Before her mother leaves, Lin usually makes sure she had scanned through quickly the paperwork so she could ask questions if she has clarifications.

“There was a meeting earlier at City Hall.” Toph often shared with her about her workday. “I suppose you were the catalyst for this.”

“What? I don’t even get to leave the house, never mind the bedroom,” Lin felt defensive, thinking that Toph was about to blame her for something. “How can I have caused it?” She continued to go through the paperwork.

Toph clicked her tongue. “They’ve selected an air acolyte as the representative to the Air Temples.”

That got her full attention. “But Tenzin’s the current representative.” She put down the folder on her lap and turned to her mother. “He did not mention he was quitting.”

“He was not quitting per se, he would be still part of the Air Nation’s council staff – just not the one who would need to frequently travel around the temples.”

---

She was floored.

She never asked that of him.

The airbender had been talking about air temples and all things air nomad from they were kids.

Giving up this particular role – this is huge.

And if it was because of her – them – she corrected, rubbing her stomach, it was significant.

---

He did not bring it up that night.

She thought he would have done so the first thing he got home.

But he did not.

---

She brought it up two nights later, unable to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

The why hung between them.

He simply smiled back at her, his hand joining hers as their baby kicked.

“I know my priorities.”

---

The next day, she hands him back his keys.

Then maybe, he feels hopeful as he tightens his fist around it, maybe this is what it really feels like the beginning of a true homecoming.

-----

Note: And that’s that. Thoughts around it? Thanks for reading :)

#linzin #linzin fanfic #writing prompts maybe #toccatina's fanfics #toccatina completed #toccatina homecoming #lin beifong #tenzin

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felassan · 4 years ago

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Extended thoughts on the Dark Fortress preview pages [spoilers at link]

(Would I be an MJ if I did not do this? This post is under a cut due to spoilers.)

I like the preview pages a lot, I’m excited for release - roll on March 31. There’s a lot packed into just these limited pages, so I’m looking forwards to seeing the issue and its contents in their entirety.

A flashback to the Battle of Ostagar all those years ago is the last thing I was expecting when coming to this comic and it hit me with a one-two of feelings and nostalgia. Up there just off-screen, the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair have just lit the beacon in the Tower of Ishal. In these panels, the rain, the lighting, the atmosphere - it’s surreal (not in a bad way) seeing these fateful events again, back where it all kinda began really, and that page does a good job of replicating that cutscene and the heavy feel of it in a different medium. It’s a nice touch seeing surprise/unsureness and even conflict on some of the soldiers’ faces as Loghain gives the order to retreat. A couple of them even seen disconcerted as they walk away (looking at one another in askance). I like this take on Ser Cauthrien, and I wonder if Aaron ever encountered Aveline, Wynne, Carver or non-mage Hawke at Ostagar before the battle...?

Loghain’s words “He must do what his honor compels him to do” almost feel like a bit of metacommentary, i.e. on Loghain’s character in addition to obviously being about Ser Aaron.

In-universe before now, there have been varying accounts of Ser Aaron’s experience at Ostagar. Did he miss the fight, did he kill two ogres, etc. Now we see the truth of the matter is exactly as he told Vaea, which speaks of the trust and close relationship between the two. I’m not going to lie, the “I am coming my king” and subsequent panels make me cry on this re-read. Aaron reaching out for Cailan in his sleep with his other fist clenched, jerking awake from a nightmare in a cold sweat.. Aaron is so brave, he was the sole or one of the few soldiers in Loghain’s company to make this kind of stand (and you can see that there was a moment when he did turn to leave and considered it before turning back), and these panels convey the extent of the trauma that he experienced on the field of battle that day. I’m positive that in panel 2 here, it’s the exact moment when he sees Cailan die. It also hurts to think that not far from there, Duncan is seeing the same thing. They’ve done a good job integrating the new characters’ pasts with previous canon events with things like these. It’s like, expanding on things, but without anything conflicting.

When Aaron reaches for his alcohol skin I’m pretty sure his hand is shaking. Vaea is so tender and understanding/supportive at this part and it’s a really poignant and soft moment for them.. Aaron’s nightmares are a regular occurrence it seems. I love her and their relationship so much.. keeping watch over him while he sleeps a bit away from the others and the fire. ;; Also Autumn’s ears here, she’s lying down but still listening to what’s going on with and between her people. ;;

Brief pause here: I always appreciate getting a good sense where different events are taking place in the additional media. Also we now have in-universe confirmation that in the timeline we’ve now reached 9:45, as opposed to only external word-of-god. Do you guys ever think about your Wardens and how it’s been 15 years for them?

Aaron is like a father to Vaea 😭

Fenris has two daggers now in addition to his twohanded sword. The better for ending Danarius’ bloodline my dear 🔪

Have they tweaked Fenris’ hairstyle a bit, compared to Blue Wraith? Possibly also his skintone and eyebrows, compared to Blue Wraith? (I find this kind of thing hard to tell. If I’m incorrect here please feel free to correct me.) He looks good in this preview.

Poor Francesca. Tessa is really kind at this part and it’s nice to see more moments like these between female characters (women supporting one another). It reminds me of the moment in a previous issue where Vaea hugs Francesca on the ground. Tessa makes a great point here that true strength isn’t necessarily being stoic and unemotional, it’s standing up for what you believe in and for the greater good, even at great personal cost. It’s not 'not crying' and hiding your sadness. That’s a nice message, and again, Fran has really grown on me.

I also think it speaks well of Fenris and his character development after all these years in-universe that he was looking for a way to help Aaron, then immediately thought to go speak to Francesca when she was upset to see if he could help her in turn.

hhh brooding silent Marius staring broodily and silently into the flames and not responding to Fenris’ attempt at making conversation tho, the gentle lampshading.. That’s so true to his character. These might be my favorite panels in the whole preview. Fenris’ dry wit and facial expressions, the general composition, Fenris peacing out like “ok bye ig” lmao. You also get the sense that Fenris is reeling a bit and feeling abandoned since Hawke and co split up. After trying to do something to help both Aaron and Fran above, he then tries to make conversation with Marius. He’s trying to lighten the mood but also to connect after being alone for some time. He has missed having a group around him, and I suspect this group with its varying troubles and issues reminds him a lot of Hawke and co. That both the humor aspect and this characterization comes through in these 3 panels is pretty brilliant.

We reach the titular dark fortress! If ever there was a fortress for a bad guy, huh? x) The narrow exposed causeway being the only approach is a smart line of defense, strategically. Also, the realization that this is where Fenris lived while he was a slave of Danarius’ :| It’s a horrible-looking place and will be full of bad memories for him.

If this is how stormy the Nocen Sea gets in places - well, it reminds me of the lore that in Thedas naval exploration beyond the known map has been historically limited by different factors like pirates, Qunari dreadnoughts, stormy seas and sea creatures etc.

Characters speaking their native languages in places is always a nice touch. Now we’ve heard “By the Maker!” in Orlesian.

Aspects of the style and architecture of the Tevinter buildings in this preview, like the window shapes and the red lights and stuff, echo or remind me of what we’ve seen of Minrathous in the most recent trailer and some of the recent pieces of concept art for the next game. Neat.

We have our name and identity for the mage on the cover! Tractus Danarius, bastard son of Danarius. Danarius fucked around huh. “Tractus” has a Latin root, fittingly for a Tevinter name. Its different meanings are quite interesting: being dragged, extracted, plundered, an anthem sung in some masses, an elongated area or abnormal passage... I wonder if one of them will come into play somehow, the name possibly having been chosen for a reason? I also wonder how young Tractus is relative to Fenris, and if their paths have ever crossed in the past.

Tractus makes his entrance with two elven slaves or servants in tow. Like on the cover, his eyes are red. The head of his staff is a red sphere, also. Can we assume a connection to red lyrium, then, given these factors and the villains’ interest in using red lyrium to power the sarcophagus? I would guess that as normal magic was required to make it work with blue lyrium, the thing required to make it work with red lyrium is blood magic? A blood magic ritual. My guess is that the thing Tractus shows Marquette and Nenealeus is probably a chained up dragon or similar, which they plan to sacrifice and use the blood/power derived from that to fuel the magic/ritual. This is considering blood as a theme in this setting, blood as a source of power mechanically and the dragon-like beast on one of the covers which has clearly at one point been shackled and collared. (Here’s some previous speculation about Dark Fortress based on the covers.)

Although Tractus’ relative youth and inexperience compared to Nenealeus comes across in these pages, I get the feeling that Nenealeus will regret talking down in this manner to Tractus later in the comic.

It seems Tractus paints his nails dark. His commitment to aesthetic I give 5/5 stars

Remember the fall of Ventus/Qarinus to the Antaam invasion in TN? The Antaam must be progressing through Tevinter if people fear that Neromenian may soon fall also.

I appreciate that everyone’s horse is different! It’s a nice touch. A lot of the time in media groups of people ride identical horses like they’re clones or automatons as opposed to actual creatures.

Tractus’ smile when he’s asking if they’re going to wait for Qintara to arrive is slightly manic, lol, he’s giving off “Are we there yet?” car journey energy here. The doorway in this panel - is that a portcullis-style door? It seems like it has spikes at the bottom which would sink into the floor, and that there’s some kind of mechanism running along the floor towards it. Presumably to contain the [dragon?]?

I forgot Nenealeus has a sword - I guess then he knows magic artforms similar to those of a Knight-Enchanter or Arcane Warrior. Also here, Marquette echoes the Executor in TN, with the sentiment that Qintara fell with Ventus. Nenealeus is then referencing Gaius, the impersonator Qintara, right? That’s interesting; Gaius’ true master was Fen’Harel, on whose behalf he accessed important information about the world. This means then [?] that some of the time when Gaius believed himself to be working on behalf of Fen’Harel, he was really being manipulated by Nenealeus. Poor Gaius, at different points Fen’Harel and Nenealeus were pulling his strings. Does Nenealeus’ manipulation refer to Gaius trading it away to House Danarius for information?

Marquette references the red lyrium idol, and suddenly my Dragon Age 4 ears are pricking the way Autumn’s do. x) He mentions that it makes weapons, referencing I assume Meredith’s lyrium sword, Certainty and the ritual blade that pops out from the base of the idol during The Dread Wolf Take You. I wonder when the events of this comic take place in relation to the stories related at the spy meeting in TDWTY? Is this before or after the events of the Mortalitasi’s tale? At any rate, Marquette voices something we’ve been obsessing over: what else can and does the idol do specifically, beyond just making weapons and being Ominous and Powerful? Because whatever it is, it’s key to Solas’ ongoing plans, and Solas obviously knows.

So it seems that the villains’ plan is to use the red lyrium idol’s sword part with the sarcophagus, red lyrium, a ritual and [the thing Tractus shows them in that panel - the dragon?] in order to transform Shirallas into, essentially, a Red Wraith, a Red Lyrium Fenris. And then to arm him, under Nenealeus’ control, with the sword.

Does Shirallas still have his vallaslin - is it just the lighting and the angle in that panel? Also, that panel with Shirallas and Nenealeus looks so ominous and foreboding 😭 .. (and reminds me somehow of Fenris and Danarius when Fenris was still his slave and bodyguard) Shirallas, we really are in it now 😭 This is a really cool panel btw, like the composition, the lighting, the dramatic-ness.

Nenealeus is motivated by a desire to route the Antaam from Tevinter (like the mage in the Mortalitasi’s tale in TDWTY) and reconquer lost lands in order to restore the glory of the Imperium (which reminds me in a way of of Aurelian Titus, who also wanted to restore the Imperium to greatness). Classically Tevinter here.

“Danarius the Lesser” is a sick burn. I’d guess Tractus’ life thus far, as a bastard, has had themes and struggles with inferiority and consequent lack of power but desire for it (being disrespected, but craving respect, being connected to a certain world but not really part of it, in fact rejected by it). Venatori connection confirmed. That the Venatori had to be convinced to accept someone as a Danarius - implications for the role of the Venatori remnants and their role in Tevinter and things in general going forwards? Lightning flashes overhead as Tractus and Nenealeus have this face-off in that panel, emphasizing the tension between the two. I wonder what the magic in the fortress and in the courtyard can do? It’d have been no mean feat to escape from this place as a slave, it seems, especially bearing in mind there’s only one proper way out, that causeway (passage not included). Tractus’ staff-head lights up when he’s making a threat (uh-oh), and then wow! Shirallas moves so quickly, in the blink of an eye suddenly appearing out of nowhere and startling the guard-mage onlookers. He’s fast and formidable.

I wonder about Tractus. Is he a “half blood” because he’s a bastard and his mother wasn’t an Altus, or even wasn’t a mage, or because he’s a bastard and his mother was an elf? Or both?

Will we see a face-off between perrepataes (Marius and Shirallas)? Will Marius face-off against his former master, Nenealeus? Perhaps a showdown between the Blue Wraith and the “Red Wraith” is on the cards?

Back to our team in the tavern! There’s a looot of great character content packed into these pages, which is really cool. Each brief character interaction conveys a lot, and in general this sequence is just well-executed imo. How troubled and tired Aaron looks at the bar (my heart.. it hurts); Fran worrying for Aaron; Vaea knowing that she can’t pressure him too much because that’s just not how it works when it comes to folks who struggle with issues like these; Vaea asking after Fran’s wellbeing; Fran struggling to come to terms with what happened to her father; Fenris watching the door waiting for news (he’s so vigilant isn’t he? safety, an escape-route..); Marius Broods Harder; Vaea’s [relative] pacifism being highlighted; Vaea engaging Marius looking for reassurance; and the choice of having Marius break his silence now is meaningful and impactful in that it shows what happens when one becomes ‘numb’ to the constant murderizing of people, so to speak. Fenris then rightfully points out that becoming numb to killing and violence isn’t really a good thing and is worse, really, than being ‘soft’ or uncomfortable with it. I wonder if he’s speaking from experience here, given the hundreds of people Hawke and co kill their way through during the Kirkwall years, for example. Then Vaea’s concern for Aaron and his state of mind, and Fenris’ uncanny insight into that, of a man he’s only recently met.

Tessa looks so cute when she comes in the door! I love Vaea’s lil “:D” face when she sees her, and I wonder what the tavern food on the table is.

Those two panels, when Fenris talks about Hawke and Leandra, are the biggest emotional gut-punch in the preview pages 😭 omg.. I’m not strong enough for this.. bls... bruh... This is then compounded by (hitting me when I’m down!!) the look of sheer... fear, fury, alarm, upset, shock - that appears on Fenris’ face as soon as he hears “I found Danarius”. Seriously, look at his eyes here. He (understandably) still has a trauma-response associated with the name/man.

Bless Tessa.

I have to say, it’s very Metal of Fenris that not only did he kill Danarius in DA2 (in those universes), but he has also been going around Tevinter since then killing all of Danarius’ [adult] heirs, and that his response to learning there’s still one remaining is to grab his sword and go to march off with the aim of ending the bloodline a second time. Very metal

I love the final panels in the preview as well! Vaea’s sense/smarts and how she wasn’t afraid to tell Fenris no, Autumn’s giant ears, how Autumn also moves with Vaea to step in front of Fenris to stop him (SHE! HELPED!!!), Autumn’s Happy Face and furiously wagging tail and agreement with Aaron, and Proud Dad Aaron rising from his slump to praise Vaea with the most Proudest Daddest expression that you ever did see... ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` )

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mindfulvenus · 5 years ago

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Baking Cookies_Tendou Satori

About: Baking chocolate chip cookies with Tendou (๑❛ᴗ❛๑)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.4k

“Milk, eggs, butter, vanilla extract, brown sugar, and last but not least, the chocolate chips!!” Tendou smiled as he grabbed all the ingredients from pantry and set them on the countertop.

Today was a baking day, in which you and Tendou made some sort of sweet treat from scratch. It all started when you found out that Tendou had a hand in baking sweets and from there became a sort of a custom between you two whenever you could both find the time.

You were thinking about how gooey the chocolate chips in the cookies would taste after you and Tendou were done baking them as you grabbed the bowls, measuring cups, and mixer.

The smooth jazz music that came from your phone transpired through the house as the sun slowly set. It’s rays peeked through the windows of the house in a soothing orange color. The amount of clouds in the sky were plentiful enough and they looked as comfy as fleece blankets.

As you and Tendou set the ingredients and baking tools on the counter you guys looked at each other. Nothing but pure excitement and happiness through your faces could be seen.

“Shall we get started?” You say as you felt the excitement bubble within you.

“Of course, let’s start baking these scrumptious cookies!!” Tendou exclaimed throwing his arms up in the air as you both started to scan the recipe together.

“I’ll warm up the butter you pour the flour in the bowl, kay?” You instructed as you placed the butter on a plate and into the microwave.

“Kay, kay!!” He made his way to the bag of flour and lifted it up to the bowl. The bag was quite big and definitely heavy. As you finished softening the butter you walked over to Tendou, who seemed to be struggling a bit with the bag of flour.

“Here let me help you with that.” You gestured your hands towards the bag.

“No, it’s all good, I got this.” He groaned as he lifts the hefty bag so that the lip of it was facing the inside of the bow. The flour started pouring into the bowl, until you read the instructions and realized there only needed to be 2 cups of flour.

“Wait- Tendou stop pouring it, we’re going over the measurements!!” As soon as you had said that, the flour started to fall out of the bowl and onto the counter.

“It’s...it’s slipping out of my hands...” Tendou put all of his effort into the grasp he had on the bag only for it to fall on the floor, creating a big flour explosion all over the two of you and the kitchen.

The white powder was thrown all over your guy’s clothing and even reached your faces. The flour became airborne and the two of you entered coughing fits. When the powdery substance settled down, you and Tendou just looked at each other up and down with wide eyes. Within a matter of seconds though, you both started to laughing uncontrollably pointing out each others powdery faces and clothes.

“Tendou you goof!” You blurted as you continued laughing and pointing out the flour that covered his face.

“Sorry y/n but you look like the bigger goof here, I mean there’s flour ALL over your face!” Tendou retorted as he attempted to wipe some of the flour off of his face so he could properly see you.

“Ok ok, but we for sure know these are going to be the best cookies because the more of a mess we make, the better the cookies are going to taste!!!” You patted him on the shoulder dusting the powder from his shirt and you gave him a warm, excitful smile.

“You got that one right for sure, here let me get the vanilla extract and eggs!” Tendou gave you a thumbs up as he winked at you with a open mouth smile.

You grabbed the sugar, milk, and mixer as Tendou poured the vanilla extract and cracked the eggs into the bowl. You watched him through the action as he gave out his cat-like smile.

He was so gentle as he cracked the eggs as if he didn’t want to hurt them. It was moments like these where you could never believe how people used to bully Tendou. He always had a lovable smile on his face, even through his times of hardships. Whatever the circumstances, he’s been there for others, including you. It’s what makes him the strong, warm-hearted person he is today.

“Earth to y/n, are ya there?” Tendou waved his hand in front of your face as you were stuck in your thoughts and appeared frozen in time. You quickly snapped out of your daze, apologizing and putting the rest of the ingredients into the bowl. You turned the mixer on and waited for the batter to form.

After the ingredients were done mixing, Tendou poured in the chocolate chips. They we’re scattered everywhere and a perfect amount was within the bowl. You turned the mixer back on for five minutes and then stopped it. You both just knew that these cookies were going to be perfect. Tendou and you both spooned the batter into twelve round sphere-ish shapes onto the pan and threw it into the oven.

As the cookies were baking you guys jumped onto the counter sitting on top of it. The jazz music still played but it seemed to have been blurred out while you were making the cookies. These moments were always the best, no doubt about it. You started a conversation, talking about your week while exaggerating moments with your hand movements and Tendou did the same except he shared some stories of volleyball practice that were without a doubt entertaining.

By the time you guys were done chatting, the oven binged signaling that the cookies were ready. Tendou put on a pair of oven mittens and took out the batch of cookies. The chocolate chip cookies looked crips at the edge and nicely baked in the middle. You reached over to grab one but Tendou pulled the pan from out of your reach.

“Ah-ah, you’ll burn little hands if you grab one now. Just wait five minutes, kay??” He warned with a sly smile that took over his face. Thus, you and Tendou waited for five minutes talking about how good the cookies would taste once they cooled down.

Tendou hovered the back of his hand over the back of one cookie. His face lit up as a sign that the cookies were finally cooled off. You rushed up to the pan a grabbed a chocolate chip cookie and so did Tendou. As soon as you bit into it, you could feel the chocolate melt into your mouth along with the baked part of the cookie.

Within ten seconds, the cookie you were eating was no where to be seen, though Tendou was still finishing his cookie up. He always had such a small appetite compared to you but nonetheless, ate the cookie pretty fast. He had a little bit of chocolate on the tip of his nose from shoving the cookie into his mouth.

“You got some chocolate right, here.” Inching closer to Tendou, as one of your hands laid right next to his on the counter. To Tendou, the music that played in the background was no longer heard as he focused on the deep features that defined your face. You suddenly booped the top of his nose right where there was chocolate. His face lit up a little and a smidge of blush was visible.

He felt a soft yet suprised feeling that soon made him break into a fit of giggles and smiles. This feeling soon spread to you. The laughter died down and led to a comfortable silence that was soon broken.

“Thanks...thanks for always making me smile y/n, it means the world to me...” Tendou spoke softly looking down a little with a small smile and thoughtful eyes.

“Anytime Tendou and don’t forget that you make me crack a laugh all the time too! I mean, remember that one time in class...”

You carried into a conversation of all the enjoyable times that you and Tendou went through as highschoolers. Every day, hour, minute, and second you spent with Tendou you are thankful for. He is the joy of your life when things get difficult and your his happiness through his rough times.

The bond between you and Tendou will only continue to only grow stronger. You loved this dork and he loved you but to imagine all these feelings being revealed was something that won’t be seen until the far future, but when the secret is over, you can’t wait to just fall into each other embrace while baking cookies in the afternoon. Just like today.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #tendou hcs #tendou x reader #tendou imagine #tendou satori #tendou fic #tendou headcanon #tendou drabble #tendou x y/n #tendou x you #tendou fluff #hq tendou #ツ.my works

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yourillusoryenvy · 5 years ago

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Did Chrollo doom the Phantom Troupe?

Disclaimer: Please note that I am mostly referring to the 2011 anime as I only picked up the manga where the anime stopped. This is my own reflection on the subject, and is not in anyway a fact or truth. Feel free to disagree!

Neon’s Fortune Telling Power & Her Lack of Knowledge about Nen:

Let’s start by talking about Neon’s Hatsu. We all know that if given the full name, birth date and blood type of someone, she is capable of predicting the future with 100% accuracy, one month at a time, in the form of short poems, one short paragraph per week of the month. She has no knowledge of what she writes/predicts (and does not like to know what she predicted because she feels it will impact what she wrote). First off, from my point of view Neon seemed really unaware of her nen ability. She is very well aware that she is able to predict fortunes that are 100% reliable, but she does not even seem to know how she does that: she does not know about nen, like Chrollo, Gon or Kurapika for instance.

Evidence of this is scattered throughout the York New Arc. First, if she was a traditional nen-user she would have practiced all the other basic exercises and should be able to use some level of aura in a defensive manner. I cannot believe that a traditional nen-user would have so easily put their guard down around Chrollo, and used no aura to surround their body. Sure, even a trained Nen-user would loose in a battle against Chrollo but still! A basic nen-user could have limited the force of the blow to her head/neck. And since she would be more capable of defending herself, had she been trained with the basic exercises, she shouldn’t need SO MANY guards. The amount of guards that she has is what you leave with a powerless, defenseless person, not with a nen-user that has at least some basic knowledge of nen.

Next, she announces that “her hand just write the fortune”, and to me that shows she actually does not know how she can give such accurate fortune. She goes on to tell Chrollo that “they say they are 100% accurate”. Why would a nen user doubt their skills? Compare this to Pakunoda’s reaction when Gon and Killua challenge her ability by stating that “she only extract the purest deepest unaltered memory” and that they won’t be able to deceive her.

Sure, maybe an explanation is that she does not want to walk around explaining what nen is and how she does it, but this actually bring me to my next point. Wouldn’t a nen-user, be able to recognize a fellow nen-user? And if so why didn’t she get bothered by Chrollo’s aura? Even Leorio that has the tiniest understanding of nen can tell that Kurapika’s “presence” has changed. Nen-user “feel” different. A non-nen user would brush it off but a nen-user would be able to tell whether a person is a nen-user or not. Had she been a nen-user, and in anyway aware of it, she would have been way more wary of Chrollo’s intention.

Lastly, let’s not forget that she has no clue what happened to her and why she can’t write fortunes anymore. Wouldn’t a nen-user suspect that their nen was sealed somehow? I am not saying she should know that specifically Chrollo did it, I am saying that if she knew about nen, she would know that a nen-user did something to prevent her from using her nen.

I Strongly Suspect that Neon Unknowingly Put a Condition on her Hatsu.

Now why is it important? Well remember what I said earlier about her hatsu, how “she doesn’t know what she writes (AND DOESN’T WANT TO KNOW)”? This is why it matters. A 100% accuracy is a hell of good rate, it’s almost as impossible as let’s say creating unbreakable chains or being able to steal another people’s hatsu... It most likely requires a condition.

Neon’s goal is to help people know about their future so they can prevent the bad from happening. She states that she feels that if she was told about the fortune, it would impact it somehow. And what if it does? What if she unknowingly set a condition on her hatsu? One that prohibit her from knowing what she wrote, and if she is told then what she wrote becomes fate, unalterable destiny, something her “clients” cannot escape?

Many time through the arc we are reminded that Neon’s fortune can be escaped if we pay attention to them. If it wasn’t an important fact it would NOT have been repeated so many times throughout: by Chrollo, by Neon, by some random mafia guy... Simply knowing people were using it should have been enough, but Togashi went out of his way to make it point that it was used specifically for this purpose. I think this is a hint to Neon’s nen ability. A hint that if that is her purpose she would need a condition defying the purpose of her nen, something rendering her nen less strong or useless. And what better defies the purpose of her fortune telling ability than rendering her fortune unescapable?

If it became unavoidable, I believe the person attempts to escape would only push back the inevitable. Sure their fate would not happen within that month (making the person feel like they escaped it) but it would keep coming for them.

I know I might be stretching it but stick with me a little bit more!

Chrollo Used Neon’s Ability and Was Bound by The Condition. So What Does this Mean for the Troupe?

If Chrollo used someone else’s nen I’m assuming he is bond by the same conditions. For instance the indoor fish is for INDOOR only, he cannot alter it and make it useable outside. This was probably a condition set by the original Nen-user to render them more powerful. Similarly, while we can only assume, if Chrollo was to take Shizuku’s ability he could only vacuum non-living things, just like Shizuku.

This mean in this case, unbeknownst to Chrollo, Neon’s extremely useful nen ability came at a cost: he could not know about what he wrote or its purpose would be wasted by the fortune becoming unavoidable.

Now we all know what the Troupe did when Chrollo wrote them their fortune, they shared it with each other, out loud, in front of everyone including Chrollo (well except for Hisoka who hid the real fortune with Texture Surprise).

At that point Uvogin was dead, next in line was Pakunoda. Now it can be argued that Paku died because Hisoka hid his fortune and convinced them to stay. Or maybe it was meant to be because Chrollo had learned her fortune? I mean how, knowing about her fortune, did she still manage to make the wrong choice and get herself kill? I know she cares about Chrollo but her fortune should have guided her! Well anyway for the sake of the argument I won’t count Paku.

Next of course was Kortopi, who did NOT get his fortune read, but finally come my poor Shalnark (I am still not over his death...). Shalnark’s fortune talked about how he should not make phone calls, because when it matters the most he won’t be able to reach anyone for help. Lastly telling him that death will come calling one time in three. From what we see in the manga and the anime from that point on, the third time that Shalnark’s phone ring is when Hisoka kills him. His phone is shown ringing, falling to the ground as he lunges to catch Kortopi’s head (Hisoka I still hate you for that!). He did not have his phone anymore on him. At the time it mattered most he could not reach anyone. And death came on the third call... Isn’t this odd to you?

Also let’s not forget that Hisoka could have killed Machi but DID NOT. An odd choice. He could have killed the three of them and send poor Kortopi’s head as a present to Chrollo. I don’t know, he did not have to keep Machi alive. Unless she was MEANT to stay alive, you know just like as her fortune said?

Lastly, to support this argument Hisoka, who was the only one to know his real fortune AND to actively try to maintain it, tells Pakunoda that “it seems that bit by bit fate seems to be changing”. This is a very odd statement. It makes no sense why it is changing, why did Hisoka fortune’s change? Why didn’t he get his fight with Chrollo when his fortune told him he would? Because had he fought Chrollo right then and there, he would have most likely won. Chrollo wouldn’t have had time to prepare and no “puppets” to use to fight. It would have been a tough fight, Hisoka would have been the winner and he would have had no reason to kill Kortopi and Shalnark. But if Kortopi’s and Shalnark’s fate was now unalterable, his own fate needed to change so that he could fight Chrollo later, loose, come back, kill Shalnark and Kortopi to accomplish their fates!

What Will Happen Next (if the hiatus ever ends)?

I have three predictions as to who will die next. The first two depends on whether we count Hisoka leaving the Spiders as “a loss to the calendar”. All the Spiders fortune talked about how their legs are going to be cut in half a.k.a 6 members will die. Personally I don’t think he counts, but I can see the argument that he is a loss so I’ll include my line of thinking in this case. Currently as dead members we have Uvogin, Pakunoda, Shalnark and Kortopi.

If we count Hisoka has being one of the 6 (as in he left the troupe), then only one person has to die. The only person remaining who we know was meant to die in York New was Shizuku. Her fortune talked about her being alone in a room of stolen goods. The Black Whale is filled with goods, some probably stolen, all definitely soon-to-be stolen.. Considering the spiders are slowly breaking up in small groups exploring the ship I wouldn’t be surprised that at some point Shizuku finds herself in such room only to meet her death: Hisoka or Kurapika. Her death would be the end of the fortune.

If we don’t count Hisoka has being one of the 6 lost legs then inevitably Shizuku will die for the reason mention above, but another member has to die. That member will be Feitan or Phinks... Most likely Phinks in my opinion, because Feitan is too big of a character for him to be killed like that. I know there is no way to say whether it will be Phinks or Fei but my gut feeling tells me Phinks... Why one of these two? Because they are the only one who did not get their fortune read, and if the fortunes of all the other members have to become true, it can only be someone who did not get their fortune read that can die.

The last option which I believe in way less and really really really hope is wrong is that the fortune said the Spiders will get done to 6 members and so the “massacre” will not end until this happens. The spider is currently at 10 members so 4 more needs to die. Shizuku is one of them I’m sure of that, Phinks and Fei are more than fair game, and then Kalluto and Illumi since they did not have they fortune read. I can see Kalluto and Phinks dying. And then either Illumi or Fei dying grand finale style, as in Hisoka killed Kalluto and Illumi goes berserk or same with Fei after loosing Phinks. However in this case, I think all other members become fair game. Chrollo, Machi, Bonolenov, Franklin and Nobu are all in danger. I don’t believe, and don’t want to believe, in this third theory but well it is still an option worth mentioning.

Conclusion:

Am I stretching the facts? Maybe. I am forced to since we are missing a lot of information, and can only make assumptions about some things. But I believe that some clues are hidden all over the manga and anime hinting that this could be a real possibility. Plus if you think about it from the writter perspective wouldn’t it be a huge plot twist. Imagine for a second a Kurapika v. Chrollo battle, with Kurapika actually knowing about Neon’s nen condition (e.g: she was told when she was working for the Nostrade to never read Neon’s ability to her) and being able to tell Chrollo that it is HIS fault that half the spiders died, that they could have survived had he not STOLEN Neon’s nen ability. Finally, Chrollo regretting stealing something, feeling GUILTY for stealing, feeling GUILTY for what he did and the impact it had. I would personally love to read something like that!

Truth is we do not know anything for sure and this is just a theory, but it is worth considering in my opinion. I have no doubt at all that Shizuku, and most likely Fei or Phinks are next.

Anyway that it just my theory!

P.S: English is not my first language so I apologize for any grammar/vocab mistakes

#phantom troupe #shalnark #pakunoda #kortopi #chrollo #hisoka #neon #fortune #hxh #hunter x 2011 #hunter x hunter

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