#& all some of us have is a budget laptop from a decade ago

[thesecrettimes]

Dell XPS 17 review: An excellent workhorse or coding laptop... if you can afford it

If you can afford the hefty price tag, the Dell XPS 17 is a fantastic big-screen laptop. Live Science Verdict The Dell XPS 17 is one of the most desirable workstation-like style laptops, even if its design may seem a little conservative to some at this point. $1,699 at Dell $1,729 at Dell $1,977 at Amazon Pros - +Powerful - +Good speakers - +Attractive and well-made - +All-day battery life for light tasks Cons - -Uses a lower-power GPU - -720p webcam - -Expensive Why you can trust Live Science  Our expert reviewers spend hours testing and comparing products and services so you can choose the best ones for you. Find out more about how we test. Jump to: Price Design & usability Display Keyboard & touchpad Performance & features Battery life & connectivity Verdict The Dell XPS 17 is a laptop that wants to be virtually all things to all people. Well, all people aside from those on a tight budget. It has style, serious productivity power, it can play games up there with some of the best, and we've even used it as an ultraportable as part of our testing. That huge screen and powerful hardware means it's a perfect laptop for coding and programming. We're sure that it'd be an amazing student laptops too, but at the price Dell is asking, it's limited to a select few. So, what's the price for all this? Our exact Dell XPS 17 spec costs £3699/$2999, which alone rules it out for, well, just about everyone. Still listening? If you're looking to drop that much cash on a laptop, we think you'll find a lot to like here. - Dell XPS 17 (17-inch) at Dell for $1,699 DELL XPS 17: PRICE AND AVAILABILITY The rear of the Dell XPS 17 laptop. (Image credit: Andrew Williams) The Dell XPS 17 series began in 2020. You might recall hearing about this range a decade or more ago, but this giant model is relatively new. This particular iteration was announced in February 2023, and rolled out to markets across the world a little after. As is common with Dell PCs, there are several specs available, but like the MacBook Pro range, none come cheap. The most affordable costs £2299 in the UK at the time of review, $2049 in the US. Our review spec has an official price of $3,549.00/£3699 and sold direct from Dell for $2,999/£3299 at review. DELL XPS 17: DESIGN & USABILITY Front view of the Dell XPS 17 laptop. (Image credit: Andrew Williams) - Aluminum and carbon fiber weave design - A little too heavy for all-day portability - Excellent build quality Dell has started to mess with elements of its classic laptop design recently, with the mildly wild XPS 13 Plus. But the Dell XPS 17? This is the Dell style we know and, mostly, love. Its lid is aluminum, as is the underside. The inside is decked out in a carbon fiber weave, designed to boost rigidity. It's an elegant, serious-looking design. And while it has been around for ages, the Dell XPS 17's super-slim screen borders mean you aren't going to mistake this for something released years ago. But is it actually portable? Not in a traditional sense. The Dell XPS 17 weighs 2.44kg, a full kilo more than what we consider ideal for everyday roving use. However, its small screen borders and sub-2cm thickness mean it will fit into a normal-size rucksack just fine. We spent a week using the Dell XPS 17 out and about with no issue, but do have a think about whether it might be too heavy if that is your plan week-after-week. Think about something like the LG Gram 17 or 16 if you want true low-weight portability. Still, we had no worries about its resilience out on the road. The metal lid is sturdy, the keyboard plate lovely and stiff. It's what we expect from Dell's venerable XPS line. DELL XPS 17: DISPLAY The Dell XPS 17's 4K display looks great 4K touchscreen, though an OLED option would have been nice. (Image credit: Andrew Williams) - Up to 4K resolution - Good maximum brightness - Excellent color saturation One key reason to put up with that weight is the Dell XPS 17's XL-size screen. It comes in two flavors, a Full HD style display and the 4K 3480 x 2400 monster we have here. This is of the increasingly popular 16:10 ratio, which makes busy apps feel more roomy while leaving just small black bars above and below widescreen videos. The Dell XPS 17's color depth is fantastic, covering 99.9% of the Adobe RGB gamut according to our colorimeter tool. It's pro-grade color saturation. Maximum brightness of 544 nits makes light work of writing documents outdoors on a sunny day, and is almost 10% higher than Dell's own claim. Of course, the MacBook Pro 16 can go much brighter still, with 1000-nit standard brightness and 1600-nit HDR. But on the Windows side, this is among the brightest large-screen laptops we've seen. There's just one slight weakness. Contrast is just OK at 1000:1 to 1370:1 depending on the screen brightness. If you use the Dell XPS 17 in a darkened room to watch a movie, you are going to notice that the "blacks" aren't really that black. While this is normal for an LCD, we're now in an age where OLED screens, which have near-perfect black levels, are quite common in laptops. It'd certainly be a capable laptop for photo editing, but if you're serious about it, we'd recommend springing for something with an OLED display like the HP Spectre x360 16. Other parts to note here include that the Dell XPS 17 has a touchscreen, lovely-looking edge-to-edge glass, and uses a standard 60Hz refresh rate. We don't think that's much of an issue for work, but gaming laptops typically have much faster-reacting displays these days. DELL XPS 17: KEYBOARD & TOUCHPAD The XPS 17's keyboard is big, but despite the size it doesn't have a dedicated number pad, which might put some users off. (Image credit: Andrew Williams) - Top-tier glass touchpad - Good, although fairly normal, keyboard design - Powerful speakers The Dell XPS 17 doesn't take the usual approach to keyboard design for a laptop this size. You'd usually see a separate NUM pad off to the side, as was once the convention for anything 15.6-inch or larger. Here, you just get the core array of buttons, in order to keep the keyboard centered with the screen. The keys aren't quite as deep as those of a Lenovo ThinkPad X1 Carbon, and not quite as snappy as the mechanical designs of some gaming laptops. But they are deeper than those of a MacBook, and feel great for long-form typing. Their feel is slightly mushy rather than clicky, and typing isn't too noisy, until you start hammering the space bar, which can generate a good clack when whacked. The keyboard also has a multi-stage white backlight, as you'd hope. The spare space to the left and right of the keys is given over to the speaker array, a quad-driver setup that sounds good. There's real volume and projection here, plus a good amount of bass for a laptop. It's a little less of a well composed and integrated sound than the MacBook Pro 16, but that laptop set a very high bar. The Dell XPS 17 has a spacious and comfortable trackpad. (Image credit: Andrew Williams) The Dell XPS 17's touchpad is excellent too. It's a large, ultra-smooth pane of textured glass with a classic mechanical clicker, rather than the haptic kind Apple has used since 2015, and others have experimented with in more recent years. There's nothing wrong with this older style. The Dell XPS 17's pad has a velvety-feeling clicker, similar to those of Microsoft's top Surface laptops before the company started playing around with largely inferior haptic designs. Working on this laptop feels great, with one issue. The Dell XPS 17’s webcam is behind the times in tech terms. It’s a 720p camera, at a time when most premium laptops have started to use at least 1080p cams. There’s more to camera image quality than resolution, but the soft image here doesn’t sit well with the laptop’s price and its otherwise consistent high quality level. DELL XPS 17: PERFORMANCE & FEATURES Our XPS 17 came with a powerful Intel Core i9-13900H CPU. (Image credit: Andrew Williams) - Excellent all-round performance - Not ideal for hardcore gamers thanks to lower-power GPU The Dell XPS 17 is a real performance laptop, particularly in the spec we have. It uses Intel's top-end Core i9-13900H CPU, 32GB RAM, a 1TB SSD and the Nvidia RTX 4070 graphics card. This sounds like a killer line-up, and it is. But you should bear one important thing in mind if you are interested in graphics performance. Dell uses a power-limited version of the Nvidia RTX 4070 that puts a significant limit on performance. For example, in 3DMark's Time Spy test the Dell XPS 17 scores 8799 points. A maxed-out gaming laptop with an RTX 4070 that can draw up to 140W might score as much as 12000 points. And a desktop RTX 4070? You're looking at 16000 points. Dell says it is limited to 60W. Using the MSI Afterburner app we actually saw it regularly reach 70W when there was power to spare i.e when the CPU was using very little. But, sure, 60W is the conservative max. High power and low-power cards all bear the "RTX 4070" name, but the Dell XPS 17 only offers a little over 50% of a home gaming PC with such a card. But does it matter? The Dell XPS 17 is clearly not a laptop made primarily for gaming. And it can still play Cyberpunk 2077 comfortably, not least because this generation of cards has a feature called frame generation. This is similar to the frame interpolation used in TVs, but much smarter, and can well over double frame rates in supported games. Of course, if you’re the XPS 17 owner Dell actually has in mind, you are more likely to use the GPU power for video editing or 3D modeling more often than gaming. The Dell XPS 17 can play games, but isn’t specifically made for the job. You can hear this in its fan behavior too. The most sensible workstations and gaming laptops sacrifice slimness in order to house a cooling system that is subtle, and avoids the high-pitch whine common in slim PCs. Dell’s XPS 17 does not whine, but it does have a treble component that is harder to ignore as the fans start to pick up the pace. DELL XPS 17: BATTERY LIFE & CONNECTIVITY Side view of the Dell XPS 17 laptop. (Image credit: Andrew Williams) - All-day battery life for light jobs - You’ll need an adapter or dock for older connectors The Dell XPS 17 has an XL-size 97Wh battery. Add just 10% more and you wouldn’t legally be able to take this laptop on a plane. We have seen reports that this laptop only lasts 3.5 hours between charges, but that has not been our experience at all. In PC Mark's Modern Office it lasted 10.5 hours exactly. This test is designed to emulate normal office job workloads, if admittedly including periods of sitting around doing nothing. After using it outside at maximum brightness, working without breaks, our testing says you can expect the Dell XPS 17 to last just under six hours of light work. This is all good news considering this laptop has a fairly bright screen of 4K resolution. These high-res displays can at times be serious power hogs. Like all laptops this powerful, the Dell XPS 17 needs a larger, heavier power supply than, say, a MacBook Air. It’s a 130W supply, but is still much trimmer than the average gaming laptop PSU. You might expect classic USB-A ports in a laptop of this style, but there are none. There’s plenty of potential to extend this with a dock, though, because the Dell XPS 17 has four ultra-fast Thunderbolt 4 connectors. Dell throws in a basic dongle to turn one of these into a USB-A and HDMI 2.0 port. Other connectors on the Dell XPS 17 include a combi headphone/mic jack and a full-size SD card slot. SHOULD YOU BUY THE DELL XPS 17? The Dell XPS 17 is a powerful, stylish laptop that impresses on multiple fronts, and faces two main roadblocks. This is an expensive laptop, just like the Apple MacBook Pro 16, and more workstation-style power is available for less from some enthusiast gaming laptops. The Dell XPS 17 is also not that portable-friendly, unlike the smaller models in this family. However, laptops like this show that the outer elements of design and build are more than just superficial. As well as feeling solid, the Dell XPS 17 has a quality keyboard and an excellent touchpad, which levels-up the everyday feel of using the PC. If you want a powerful, well-built laptop with a large screen and you can stomach the price, then the Dell XPS 17 is a fantastic choice. Dell XPS 17: Price Comparison $2,599 $1,699 VIEW $2,659 $1,729 VIEW $1,949 VIEW $2,070.29 $1,977 VIEW $2,009 VIEW SHOW MORE DEALS We check over 250 million products every day for the best prices Read the full article

[widevewor]

Should i get a mac or pc for coding

#SHOULD I GET A MAC OR PC FOR CODING PRO#

#SHOULD I GET A MAC OR PC FOR CODING SOFTWARE#

#SHOULD I GET A MAC OR PC FOR CODING CODE#

#SHOULD I GET A MAC OR PC FOR CODING PC#

#SHOULD I GET A MAC OR PC FOR CODING MAC#

It finally ditched that awful keyboard, and it added a ton of horsepower, which makes it more appealing for those of us who work with video.

#SHOULD I GET A MAC OR PC FOR CODING PRO#

Recently, with the launch of the 16-inch MacBook Pro (and now the updated 13-inch as well), Apple addressed some of the issues I’d had before I made my switch. These college-ready computers will help you excel. I’ve also had it refuse to charge past 87 percent (or sometimes 93 percent), only for it to charge all the way to 100 the next time I plug it in. I had a ton of work to do that day, and there were no outlets on that five-hour flight. I once put it in, fully charged, then pulled it out on a flight only to discover that it had awakened for reasons unknown, was blazing hot, and that the battery had drained to 17 percent. It’s also done that when unplugged, tucked away in my backpack. It’s gotten so hot at times that the glue has melted and both strips have fallen off. The bottom of the laptop had two rubber strips to keep it from sliding around on a table. But what the hell is it doing? And why? It woke up like this once when it was plugged in, and it whirred all night and was too hot to pick up in the morning. It just suddenly fires up, and the fan is screaming, so you can tell it’s working hard. It has a tendency to randomly turn itself on when it’s supposed to be asleep, even when the lid is closed. I’ve mostly loved this HP laptop I selected that day at Best Buy, but it does this weird thing. As if to emphasize this, while demand for virtual reality content is steadily growing, Steam just announced that it will be discontinuing SteamVR support for macOS. Much of that is owed to the modular nature of PCs, where you can slap a super-powered graphics processor into your chassis, but the net result is there are far fewer games for Apple computers.

#SHOULD I GET A MAC OR PC FOR CODING SOFTWARE#

The one arena where Windows has the software advantage is gaming. By contrast, the same task in macOS involves four straightforward steps.

#SHOULD I GET A MAC OR PC FOR CODING CODE#

How do you do that, you ask? Why, just follow these elaborate steps through the baffling Registry Editor and enter some code into a sea of gobbledygook. At one point, I wanted to change one of Windows’ default keyboard shortcuts. Each one signifies an error, but Windows often doesn’t tell me what I did wrong, or even what application is protesting. These are the best Windows notebooks, MacBooks, and Chromebooks on a budget. Inconsistencies abound: Sometimes Control+F4 closes an application, and sometimes it’s Alt+F4, even in Microsoft’s own programs. Tasks that used to be done with Apple’s Command key are done with Windows’ Control key. Muscle memory is very stubborn, so this made things frustrating.

#SHOULD I GET A MAC OR PC FOR CODING MAC#

In my writing and video editing, I’ve come to rely heavily on keyboard shortcuts-those magical keystroke combinations that save tons of mousing-but shortcuts in Windows are virtually never the same as their Mac counterparts. Even within Windows itself, you’ll find screens that look modern and fabulous (like the Start menu and the excellent multitasking interface) alongside things like the Disk Management application, which looks like it teleported here from decades ago. Some Windows applications look like they haven’t been updated since the late '90s. There is no way of getting around it: Windows just doesn’t have the same level of polish as macOS, the new name Apple has given to the operating system formerly known as OS X. After many hours of research and hand-wringing, I decided to take the plunge and go back to Windows. It had the latest-generation silicon, and even with 16 gigs of RAM, the whole thing would cost roughly half the price of the MacBook Pro with weaker specs. It could be folded back into a (gigantic) tablet, and it even had a mechanical webcam kill switch for added security. It had a gorgeous 4K screen-and a touchscreen at that! It sported a pair of Thunderbolt-equipped USB-C ports, as well as a standard USB-A, a full-sized HDMI port, and an SD card slot. Most looked like relics made of cheap plastic, but there was one that immediately caught my eye: The 15.6-inch HP Spectre x360.

#SHOULD I GET A MAC OR PC FOR CODING PC#

In a bit of a daze, I wandered over to the PC laptops. And for this I was supposed to pay 4,000 bucks? I was shocked. The screen was nice, but that display hadn’t really improved much since my late-2012 model, and it was using processors and graphics cards from nearly a whole year earlier. I hated that it had only USB-C ports, and I imagined myself in dongle hell each time I needed to connect a standard USB-A cord or an HDMI cable. The keyboard was awful-the same “butterfly switch” model that would soon become notorious-and as I tried some online typing tests in the store, the errors piled up. So I went to a Best Buy to try the latest and greatest MacBook Pro.

[neesieiumz]

PAIN - Chapter 1 {Shouta Aizawa x Reader}

Story summary:  You’ve been away for so long, for over thirteen years. As soon as you graduated, without saying by to the man you like and your best friend, you left. Not even leaving  a note, Aizawa and Yamada had to hear from your female best friend, Nemuri that you were going to join the I.H.A.C, the International Hero Agency Commission. You became the best hero there, saving so many people with tactical precision, but you’re always overworked yourself, to the point where you’ve dropped and fainted while walking to your office. Concerned for you, your boss called your old principal, who’s been looking for a new teacher to teach about stealth and rescue operations. Deciding to send you, even though you’ve adamantly refused, you’re finally coming home... a place you abandoned a long time ago.

Chapter summary: You were with your teammates, discussing how to write up a report, this were the worst part of your job. That’s when you’re called to your Unit Chief’s office, the man who represents your team with the Higher Ups. What does he need, and who do you see again?

A/n: MERRY CHRISTMAS!! This is the second gift I have for everyone! Keep in mind that I have not started the second chapter but I’ll see if I can get it out before the end of the year... but I can’t promise that...In the prologue/ sneak peek, I had your female best friend be Mirko, but I changed it to Midnight, because she was the only one who went to school with Aizawa and Mic. I wrote this in three days and took one to edit. So enjoy this first chapter and hopefully there will be more to come!

Word Count: 4.2k

Chapter 1 - A Decision of a Lifetime

You were sitting at a table, in the conference room with your teammates, discussing how the report should be split up. Who should take cultural impact, how the people reacted, the steps we took to bring stability and what not. You were currently arguing with one of your male teammates, someone who you’ve but heads with before. This was nothing new. 

“I’m telling you, I should take this part, I was there during the Rancin incident. I saw everything that happened!” Your teammate, Chad Barrymore, argued, slamming the papers on the desk. 

You rolled your eyes, “but who’s the one who actually solved it? Oh right, it was me!” 

The rest of your team was sitting around, some looking at their phones, some already starting on their assigned part of the report. One of your teammates even took this opportunity to catch up on some sleep. 

“Chad, who was assigned leader of this team?” You questioned, already knowing the answer.

He groaned and rolled his eyes, “you were,” he mumbled under his breath. 

You smiled and assorted the papers in front of you back into the file you had. 

“That’s right, me, Y/n L/n, not Chad Barrymore. Alright? You’re the best at the budget report and justifying why we used over 200,000 american dollars over our budget,” You smile sheepishly at him making him glare at you before snatching up the papers and putting them in his own file. 

“Fine, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna like it,” he grumbled, making you shake your head and roll your eyes. 

“Who actually enjoys doing the reports?” You questioned, mostly  to yourself. 

“I do!” Your teammate, Mariposa, popped her head from ehr laptop where she had already started her part of the report. 

You shook your head and laughed with the rest of your teammates, “Mariposa, you are one in a kind.”

“Y/n L/n, You’re needed in Agent Prowess’ office, Agent Y/n L/n, you are needed in Agent Prowess’s office at this instant…” The announcement went off, making you groan and plant your head face down on the table where you and your teammates were sitting. 

“Uh-oh, someone’s in trouble,” One of your teammates, Michelle LaRue, teased, poking you in your back. 

You swatted her hand away from your body and slowly lifted your head up and looked around,

 “Why me,” you groaned, slowly getting up for your seat. 

“Maybe you’re finally getting that promotion, you’re literally the youngest here but you’ve been here for over thirteen years, the longest out of anyone here. it’s time for you to finally get paid your dues!” Another teammate of yours, Ian Adewanju, exclaimed. 

His words made you burn red with embarrassment, reminding you of the fact you are 31, you are the youngest one on the team yet you’re the one who's been here the longest. You shook your thoughts out of your head before turning around and heading out the door to go to your Unit Chief’s offices. You had just gotten back from a sting operation in Aprain, helping their forces uncover a huge child position ring. There were villains with very strong quirks, and that country's heroes were outnumbered by the ring’s villains so they had called us. My team especially to help narrow down who was the leader and how they should go about freeing all the children they trafficked. We were given temporary hero licenses and stayed there for about a year, being those countries’ heroes until they were able to get a stable enforcement system in place. After that, we come back to base, on an independent island, where we stay for 4-6 months until our next mission. 

And there’s always another mission. 

You reached Agent Prowess’s office and knocked on the door a couple of times. You waited for a response before you could enter. 

“Come in, Agent L/n,” You heard his muffled voice call out. 

You opened the door and immediately closed behind and stood guard, standing up straight and placing your hands behind your back. 

“Agent Prowess.” You greeted, looking at the wall behind him. 

You didn’t see the person who was sitting on one of the couches, wasn’t your concern yet. Probably someone who just wanted to meet you in person. 

You heard a couple of paper shuffling around, “at ease Agent, I want to introduce or rather, reintroduce an old face from your past.” 

Your face twisted a bit in confusion, you stopped looking ahead at the wall and looked at your unit chief. You then noticed a white blur sitting on the couch in front of your boss’s desk. You got a closer look. And then you froze. 

It couldn’t be…

But it was, it was your old principal from U.A. What the heck was he doing here? What would the Principal of one the best hero schools in Japan, top two and some say they aint number two. You tried not to show your surprise in your face but you knew Principal Nezu knew you better than that, but he said nothing as he continued to sip the complimentary tea that Prowess always offers to his guests. 

“You remember Principal Nezu, don’t you Agent L/n?” 

You took a deep breath and nodded, not saying a word. You could hear the clanking of fine china hitting the table before hearing a throat being cleared. 

“It’s good to see you again, Ms. L/n, it’s been over a decade since I last saw you. At your graduation, I believe.”

Before you could stop yourself, you mumbled “It was the last time anyone saw me.” 

Prowess’s throat cleared and you closed your mouth quickly and lowered your head. You could hear a hum come from Nezu. You tried to ignore it as you waited for Prowess’ instructions. 

“L/n, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m worried,” Prowess started, making your head shoot up in confusion. 

Worried? What is he talking about? You were confused, did you do something? Was something in your reports wrong, did someone complain about your behavior recently that you weren’t checking in within yourself? You doubt Prowess would have let you walk around with so many complaints about your behavior without telling you about it or having consequences laid out. Your mind raced through all the possibilities that could have happened. 

“Agent L/n, we can hear your mind racing 5 miles a minute. Calm down, nothing happened concerning your work ethic. You’re a good agent here and a good hero as well,” he started to explain. 

He gestured for you to take a seat on the couch in front of the one Principal Nezu was sitting on, you glanced at him and your boss before slowly walking over to the couch and slowly sitting down on it. 

“As you know, you were recruited from a hero course school, which is very rare as you were recommended to us by one of my peers. You came here straight from graduation and have never let up. You’ve been here since you were 18, barely even an adult in the world. You were one of the top students in U.A, who had the potential to be something great, but you came here, a place where you’d never get fully recognized for your accomplishments.”

You sighed and leaned back into the couch, wondering where this conversation was going. This was information you already knew, things that you lived. You remember when you got the recommendation, the talk with Principal Nezu and your homeroom teacher. When they were talking about your options with your older cousins.

“Prowess, I’m not understanding, why are you telling me this?” You couldn’t help but ask him. 

You still weren’t understanding why you were here with your old principal in front of your new boss. You looked in front of you to find a poured cup of tea right front of you. You glanced up at Nezu who simply looked at you with a smile. You scoffed before grabbing the teacup and taking a sip. 

Chamomile, with honey, nice…

“You were one of the youngest recruits here, and out of your training class, you’re one of the only ones who’s still here. This job weighs on people and a lot can’t take it after a while.”

“But you’re still here,” you interrupted his spill. 

“I came here after being a hero in America for over 10 years, the high rise lifestyle wasn’t for me. Most of the recruits we got were sidekicks that needed a place to go, heroes who still wanted to make a difference even if they couldn’t work anymore. You were different.” He noted, opening a file, your file you assumed. 

“You immediately came from the hero course in U.A, you had some of the best offers one could have ever have been given, even a sidekick offer from the current #2 Hero in Japan, am I correct?” 

You sighed and nodded, turning your head to look at him as you finished the tea. Prowess gave of a soft chuckle before continuing to flip through your file. 

“You decide to come here, out of all places. An isolated island, away from everyone with limited english skills as well… I questioned it, my superiors questioned it, but you were one of the best, if not the best we’ve ever seen. We couldn’t give up a gem like you, because you decided to come here… but we should have let you go sooner.”

You froze, mid-way of putting your cup down on the table, and slowly turned your head to look at him. He was staring at you with concern, a look you hated seeing with him but was a regular occurrence with you. 

“Last week, before you came back to base. You were admitted into the hospital for extreme exhaustion, for the 16th time. Your teammates were concerned about you. I’m concerned about you, and I should have put my foot down about your own well-being.” He said, leaning back in his chair.

“I didn’t because we were getting an amazing track record, your team was being asked for specifically. You have been overworking yourself, not recently but for the last 13 years,” You rolled your eyes he said that but he caught it, “don’t roll your eyes, you know it’s true. You’ve been overcompensating for over 13 years.”

“I don’t know what you were running from but it was obviously too much for you to stay in Japan but now I want you to do something for me. Principal Nezu is in need of a teacher, a teacher that can teach aspiring heroes about stealth and rescue operations. And I know that you were the perfect person for the job, you are the perfect person for the job…”

Your anger roared through before you could stop it, the cup in your hand was crushed by a cloud that you summoned on accident. 

“Deep breaths, Ms. L/n. Take deep breaths, we’ve had issues with your anger before…” You heard Principal Nezu say in Japanese, hearing the language you once spoke all the time. 

You felt your hands shake as you took deep breaths and leaned back into the couch. You placed your head in your hands to stop the shaking but that just triggered your legs to start moving up and down in its stead. Your face felt wet, you licked the side of your face and tasted the familiar salty liquid. Tears. 

“So what,” you garbled out, “you’re forcing me into retirement to go and teach some snot-faced brats?”

“I’m making an executive decision to let you go before you destroy yourself, Y/n… I’ve always seen you as someone I need to look out for, even if you were the most capable at your job… you were never the best at taking care of yourself.”

“I didn’t have an excuse of how to get you out but until Principal Nezu here asked for someone here to be a teacher at U.A… I knew it had to be you,” He finalized, closing your file before handing it to Nezu. 

You said nothing as the exchange of papers went on. You were sinking back into your thoughts. 

So that’s it huh? After 13 years of giving your life to help people, helping people off the grid. And now I’m being sent back to the place I ran away from. Run away from everything that’s haunted me for most of your life huh…?

“L/n,” he called out. 

You slowly turned your head to look at Prowess, who was handing you some papers. Your retirement papers were in his hands. You sighed before reaching over to grab them from his hands. 

“I know you’re mad at me, but trust me on this… It’s time to let you go off this job and find something else, something else that makes you happy and not want to overwork yourself to death. It may not be teaching, but it’s definitely not here.”

You looked at him with low eyes before getting up and walking towards the door, not waiting for his permission to leave his office. 

“Ms. L/n, I know this isn’t ideal, but know that you are the best person for this job… just trust me on this…”

You sighed at Principal Nezu’s words, and turned your head slightly to look at him. 

“We’ll see about that, Principal Nezu…”

                                                           ---

You didn’t return to your teammates after that, heading straight to your room.  You laid on your bed, papers discarded somewhere on your desk. You held your pillow in your arms, staring into the nothingness that is your ceiling. You didn’t have much belongings, mostly souvenirs from the countries you were assigned to. Your walls are white and blank, the only thing you brought from Japan was a picture frame, a picture of before everything went wrong for you. 

A knock came at your door. You lifted your head and turned it towards the door but didn't get up to answer it. You wanted to be alone, you weren't ready to face anyone, especially your team. 

“Hey Y/n, we… we heard about what happened. Where Prowess is sending you…” You heard the voice of Blake, one of four females on the team, called out. 

“Y/n, I’m gonna be honest with you, I had a hand in your transfer… I just didn’t realize he was turning it into a chance to force you to retire… that you weren’t coming back at all… that we were losing our leader for good…”

You laid back down on the bed as you registered her words. She had a hand in this? She’s the reason I have to leave? 

“I know that isn’t what you want to hear but I’ve been here right beside you, I came here after 7 years you were here and I saw so much pain behind those eyes… you reminded me of myself when I was a hero in France… constantly throwing yourself into work,” she started to explain, making you sit up on the bed.

“Although with me, it made me lose everyone that I love. All for fame and glory, while you threw yourself in work for different reasons. You threw yourself to forget who you once were, and everything you knew about your past. Babes, I’m scared for you and I know it’s time for you to get away from this place, you’ve been in these walls for 13 years… don’t you think that’s enough?”

Once again, you could feel your anger rushing right through you. They don’t… they don’t understand what you’ve been through… they don’t understand what’s waiting for you back in Japan… you had to get away and you had to stay away from Japan, it doesn’t matter… it doesn’t matter, he can’t… he couldn’t find you here… he couldn’t find you here, he couldn’t track you down here…

“But I also know you, and so does Prowess, you’re running… that's why you never took the opportunities to go home and see your family… and that’s okay, you don't have to see them.. You don’t have to see them, but you need to get away from this desolate place.”

You threw your pillow on your bed before flopping back and laying on it. You looked over at your night table and saw two picture frames sitting on it. The one you had brought when you first arrived here, and a recent one, from a couple of years ago when you were on an island country, helping them out until they also had a stable hero system. You were with the locals and they were throwing you a goodbye party. You were smiling, holding a child of a family you had gotten close to… the first time in a while you were happy with yourself. 

You took a deep breath before turning around on your other side. You just wanted to go to sleep and pretend that you weren’t actually leaving, that you weren’t being forced to go to Japan. You could hear Blake walking away.

                                                           ---

[This conversation is in Japanese]

The air was cold, and tasted like salt water from the surrounding ocean. After Blake came to your door, you couldn't fall asleep, your head spinning after all the information that came at you at once. You grabbed a blanket, a random bottle of alcohol you had lying around and a glass before coming to the one place where you could feel like you could breath. You were on the rooftops, watching the sun go down and sipping on a glass of some kind of spicy alcohol, you honestly didn’t look at the bottle. 

“I thought you would be here, Ms. L/n.” A voice called out behind you. 

You didn’t bother to look back at who it was, there were only so many people who spoke Japanese here and none of them were on your team or weren’t even close to you. 

“Should have known that you would find out where I am,” you mumbled under your breath, downing the rest of your drink. 

You could hear him walk towards you before stopping right beside you and looking out into the horizon with you. Together the two of you watched the sun lower together. You pulled the blanket closer as you felt more chills throughout your body. 

“So then you should also know I have an idea of why you're running. You can’t hide much from me, Ms. L/n,” he added. 

You sighed, using your hand that held the glass as support for your head. You could feel a headache coming, making you groan out loud. Using your free hand, you moved your head around until you could feel and hear your neck crack. You felt a pressure at your shoulder, and you looked over to find a water bottle and a couple of pills  being handed to you. You glanced at Nezu who was still looking at the horizon before looking back down at the bottle. Sighing, you took the pills and water bottle. You threw the pills in your mouth and ripped open the cap and downed the entire bottle in ten seconds. 

“You’ll be safe at UA, I hope you know that, we’ve introduced a dorm system including one for teachers. I promise you.”

“Not as safe as I am here,” you scoffed. 

You looked away from the sunset, placing your arm down and using it to support you from behind. 

“How do you know that?” Nezu questioned. 

You said nothing, which answered Nezu’s question. You could feel him turn around and start to walk away. 

“Your plane will be here in two weeks, use that time to say your goodbyes and figure out your lesson plans and learn about your students. I would pay particular attention to the incoming class of 2A.”

You scoffed, 2A huh?

                                                          ---

“AND IN FIRST PLACE, IS Y/N L/N!! One of the most strongest quirks I’ve ever seen in a first year, there’s nobody to match her in battle formations and strategies, even when faced with a difficult quirk, she found a way out and was easily able to snag that FIRST PLACE TITLE!!” The announcer yelled out as the crowd cheered on. 

In the center of the stadium was the stage, where the winners were being honored in front of everyone and in the center was you, Y/n L/n, with the biggest smirk on her face. Hair in a large afro puff, with a purple bandana. You were tired but you were happy, you had fought and trained hard for a long time for this. This first step to creating the path to becoming one of the best female pro-heroes Japan and this world has ever seen. You looked at the rest of your peers as they cheered you on and gongradualted you on winning the U.A Sports Festival. You looked to your left and saw a close friend of yours, Oboro giving you a thumbs up. You winked and gave him one back, mouthing “good job” to him.

“Y/N!!! OBORO!!!” A loud, familiar voice called out to you. 

You looked at where the voice came from and saw Yamada, your closest friend Nemuri Kayama, and him, Shota waving at you, although he wasn't waving but he was staring at you. You gave him a soft smile while you felt your cheeks burn before turning to Principal Nezu who was offering you the gold medal. You bent down, low enough for him to put the medal on you. Once you stood up, you lifted the medal slightly to get a good look at it. 

First place felt so good…

The ceremony ended and soon enough, you were getting ready to go home to show your family what you got, what you had won, even though you knew they were all watching you. You were tired and just wanted to get on the first train to your home when you heard Yamada call out to you again. You flinched at the loud noise, his quirk was called “Voice” after all. You turned around to find him, Kayama, Shirakumo, and Aizawa all walking towards you. You smiled tiredly and flipped your bookbag on your back. 

“Hey guys…” you greeted sofly, “what’s up?”

They all stopped in front of you, all ready to go home as well. 

“For someone who won first place as a first year, you look like pure shit,” Aizawa said bluntly.

You rolled your eyes, “I’m just tired, over using your quirk will do that. I know my parents will have a whole party waiting for me when I get home.” 

“Well, let’s walk to the train together, I’m sure we’ll be able to get you out of your tired mood by the time we get to your stop!” Shirakumo said, turning towards the door. 

You glanced over at Kayama who was looking at Shirakumo with heart eyes, you walked up to her and nudged her with your elbow. This made her snap out of her heart eyes and look at you, you look abc at her with a knowing smirk. 

“Shut up,” she mumbled, making you laugh out loud. 

The both of you followed the three boys out of the room and out of the school. All five of you walked to the train station, Yamada having to take a different train because he lives in the opposite direction of the four of you. You waved goodbye to him as he waited for his train and the four of you got on the one waiting for you. You all got on and immediately found seats, well for you and Nemuri, Shouta and Oboro had to stand at the poles in front of you. As you were riding on the train, Kayama got a call on her cell, possibly from her mom. She groaned and answered it, but the call wasn’t long. You could hear her voice start to rise and even could hear her mom’s start to rise. They argued for a while and then she quickly ended the call and turned to look at you. 

She gave you the same puppy eyes she always gives you before she asks you the same question she always asked you before. You exhaled and looked away smiling. Shouta looked at the both of you before rolling his eyes, making you reach over and pinched him in the stomach. He grunted and wacked your hand away from him, making you smile at him before poking him and leaning back into the bench. 

“Yes, you can spend the night, you know my mom doesn’t care,” you laughed , pushing her softly. 

“Thank you L/n, I can’t deal with her tonight! You know she got a new boyfriend and he honestly creeps me out,” she groaned as she remembered interactions with her mom’s new boyfriend. 

“You’re welcome,” you giggled, giving her a one armed hug. 

“Aww, group hug!” Oboro shouted, pulling down Shouta with one arm and pulling Nemuri and you into a big group hug. 

“Oboro, fuck- warn somebody please!” Shouta complained, but was ignored by said man who just pulled him closer to all of us. 

We all laughed at his pain, who just made a grunt-like noise but made no movement to wiggle out of the group hug. 

“Yamada would be jealous,” Nemuri said, as we all separated from the hug. 

You looked out the window and smiled softly… you were so happy...

[kjack89]

happiness

Sequel to ‘tis the damn season (Tumblr | AO3), gold rush (Tumblr | AO3), closure (Tumblr | AO3) and evermore (Tumblr | AO3).

ExR, modern AU. A happy ending, or, perhaps more accurately, a happy beginning.

It was an unseasonably chilly day in early June, but the sun shining brightly offset the chill enough by late afternoon that Enjolras left his red hoodie in his apartment before heading across the city.

Weather aside, he figured it would probably be overkill to show up at Grantaire’s gallery dressed like he had in high school. Even if it would have been a good bookend to closing the chapter on the worst mistake he had ever made.

He was fine the entire train ride downtown, but when he got within a block of the gallery, his stomach began doing somersaults and his palms started sweating. He paused outside of the unassuming brick building that held his future and took a deep breath.

A breath that caught in his throat as he saw Grantaire through the window.

Ten years and six months later and he was still stupid for this man.

Only now, he wasn’t too proud to admit it. And he wasn’t willing to waste any more time.

Enjolras pushed the door to the shop open, the bell tinkling above his head as he did, and Grantaire glanced up from where he was typing something on a laptop, his eyes widening when he saw Enjolras. 

But when he stood, his expression had evened out into something neutral. “I’d ask if there was something in particular that you were looking for, but I don’t think we have anything on display that matches your revolutionary-chic style,” he said mildly.

Enjolras laughed lightly. “Probably not,” he agreed. “Not to mention, I very highly doubt you have anything in stock that fits my budget.”

“So then what can I do for you?”

Enjolras hesitated. “Are you off work soon?”

If Grantaire was surprised, he didn’t show it. “I was technically off work twenty minutes ago, but I wanted to finish this up.”

He gestured vaguely towards his computer and Enjolras nodded. “Then when you’re done with that, can we go somewhere and talk?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “You can’t talk here?” he asked. “I know you’re not a huge fan of art, but…”

Enjolras’s lips twitched. “I’m not that afraid of art,” he said, “but I also don’t want to put you in a situation that makes you feel uncomfortable, and I know having this conversation at your workplace could easily be uncomfortable.”

“Then why did you come here?” Grantaire asked, sounding more curious than anything.

Enjolras shrugged. “Well, for starters, I don’t have your home address.” He returned Grantaire’s raised eyebrow. “And even if I did, I don’t think showing up there unannounced would be likely to make you more comfortable.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Touché. So how about this, then – as I reminded you the last time I saw you, my phone number hasn’t changed. Why didn’t you just call me if you wanted to talk?”

Enjolras’s smile faded, just slightly. “I thought this was a conversation better had in person.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire had something that he wanted to say to that, but whatever it was, he clearly decided against it. “Fine,” he said instead. “There’s a park a couple blocks from here—”

“I know it,” Enjolras said quickly. “Meet me by the fountain?”

Again, it looked like there was more Grantaire wanted to say, but again, he didn’t. “Sure,” he said. “See you in about…” He glanced up at the clock. “Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes max.”

Enjolras nodded. “Sounds good,” he said, hesitating for only a moment before turning to leave. He could feel Grantaire’s eyes on him as he left, and his stomach was turning even more than it had been before.

He didn’t know what he had expected after six months – hell, he didn’t know what he had any right to expect. It wasn’t like he had expected some big, cinematic reunion, especially not after how the last time they saw each other had gone. And maybe the fact that Grantaire hadn’t immediately ordered him to leave was as good a sign as he was going to get.

And maybe he was reading way too far into a two minute long conversation.

In a desperate attempt to calm his nerves, or perhaps more accurately, to give him something to do besides obsess for the next twenty minutes, he ducked into a coffeeshop to grab two coffees, bringing them to the park with him.

All in all, he wasted maybe five minutes, which left him with fifteen minutes to panic.

That was probably a little overdramatic, even for him, but he’d been building this up for so long that he couldn’t help but feel like he had fumbled it already. Or maybe that’s just what happened when you got this close to getting everything you ever wanted.

He exhaled deeply and focused on the fountain, watching the way the water caught the late afternoon sun, and tried to calm his pounding heart. His therapist would tell him that he needed to refocus on why he was here, and why he was actually nervous. He wasn’t nervous that he was going to screw this up, in large part there was no way he could screw up worse than he had in December.

He wasn’t even that nervous because Grantaire might again rebuff him, though he certainly wouldn’t relish the feeling.

No, he was nervous because for the first time, he wanted to be as open and honest with Grantaire as Grantaire had always tried to be with him. And Enjolras wasn’t historically in a position of making himself vulnerable like that, or vulnerable at all, if he was being completely honest..

But he had to be. Between therapy, Combeferre, and just plain realizing what an asshat he’d been for the past decade, he had realized he had no other choice.

And he was finally ready to accept whatever came of that.

With his stomach finally back where it belonged and his heart returning to its regular speed, Enjolras took another deep breath and closed his eyes, tilting his head back and enjoying the feel of the sun against his face. He stayed like that for a long moment, until— 

“Can you really blame me for calling you Apollo when you look like that?”

Grantaire sounded more amused than he had in the gallery, and Enjolras’s eyes snapped open. “Yes,” he said, giving Grantaire a tentative smile as he sat up. “Here, I got you a coffee.”

Grantaire accepted the outstretched cup but didn’t take a sip. “You don’t know what kind of coffee I drink these days.”

Enjolras shrugged. “No, but I figured what you used to like in high school would probably be acceptable,” he said, before adding, in his best Grantaire impression, “Tall, dark and strong. Blacker than night and sweeter than sin.”

“I have never once in my life uttered the phrase ‘sweeter than sin’,” Grantaire said with a laugh.

“Well, you have now,” Enjolras said, just a little smugly, watching as Grantaire took a sip. “So how’d I do?”

“You’re just lucky that I’m predictable,” Grantaire said, finally sitting down next to Enjolras on the bench. They sat in comfortable silence for a long moment, both men drinking their coffee, before Grantaire turned to look expectantly at Enjolras. “So,” he said pointedly.

“So,” Enjolras repeated, looking at him closely.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “You wanted to talk, so...talk.”

“I quit my job.”

Enjolras hadn’t meant to blurt it like that, but Grantaire didn’t look surprised. “Ok,” he said, taking another sip of coffee. “And?”

“And I called Combeferre,” Enjolras said. “And started therapy.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “You say that like you hadn’t spoken to Combeferre in a while,” he said, ignoring the therapy part, at least for the moment.

Enjolras shook his head. “I hadn’t.”

“Your best friend from college?” Grantaire said skeptically.

Enjolras could feel himself flush, just a little, and he sighed as he glanced away from him. “What can I say, you weren’t the only one I lost touch with. I clearly made some mistakes over the years.”

“You think?”

Grantaire said it mildly, and Enjolras barked a laugh. “Remind me to never introduce the two of you,” he said. “I don’t think I would survive it.” Grantaire suddenly looked very occupied with his coffee cup and Enjolras frowned. “Hold on…” he said slowly, before realization hit. “You’ve met Combeferre? How?!”

Grantaire took too big a sip of coffee and choked on it. “Blind date gone spectacularly wrong,” he rasped when he had recovered enough to speak.

“Seriously?”

Grantaire nodded. “Seriously.”

Enjolras hesitated for a moment. “When you say spectacularly wrong…”

“We discovered we had exactly one interest in common.” Enjolras frowned, confused, and Grantaire nudged him gently. “You, you idiot.”

Enjolras shook his head. “He never said,” he told Grantaire, feeling – and sounding – a little put-out by that. “You can bet I’m bringing it up the next time I see him.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” he said, a little impatiently. “But that’s enough about that. We’re here to talk about you.”

Enjolras hesitated. “Actually, I wanted to talk about you.” Grantaire looked surprised, at least until Enjolras added, “I just have one thing to say first.”

A sharp smile curved across Grantaire’s face. “One? That would be a miracle.”

Enjolras sighed. “Ok, so more like one series of interrelated things to say.”

Grantaire smirked. “And that sounds more like it.”

Enjolras glared at him. “Is there any chance that you’re going to make this easy on me?” Grantaire mimed zipping his lips and Enjolras rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as well, warmth filling his chest. This was what he had missed, how easy this was – how easy it had always been. Only now, it was easy because they were on the same footing. And he had never before realized how amazing that would feel.

So he took a deep breath, and he told Grantaire, “Like I said, I quit my job. I started therapy. I’m putting in the work. And I wasn’t sure that I was ready, or that I was where you needed me to be for this conversation. I know that I can’t put this on you, and I don’t want to.”

Something pained flitted across Grantaire’s expression. “Enjolras—” he started, but Enjolras shook his head.

“Please,” he said quietly. “I just need to say this.”

Grantaire hesitated before nodding, his eyes not leaving Enjolras’s face. “I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, hoping that the starkness of the words underlined their sincerity. “For a lot of things, for how I treated you, and, probably even worse, for not realizing that I was treating you that way. I know that doesn’t change anything, but I needed to say it.”

He shifted, his knee knocking against Grantaire’s, and only realizing then how close they were sitting. “I’m still figuring a lot of things out,” he said. “You’ve had a decade of therapy, so I’m still playing catch up. And I know that I’m not better. I’m not whole. Not yet.” Enjolras took a deep breath. “The truth is, I lost a part of me when I broke up with you all those years ago, when I first traded something good for what I thought would be better. And I kept losing pieces of myself along the way until I became someone I didn’t even recognize. And I spent a lot of time these past few months trying to find these pieces and trying to get back to where we started. But I finally realized, I can never go back. I’ve lost too much. So I have to rebuild with what I’ve got, and fill in the rest of the missing with something new. And...I want you to be a part of that something new.”

“Enj…” Grantaire whispered, but Enjolras didn’t let him interrupt that time either.

“You said that there was a part of you that would always love me. And if I never truly loved you back then, that doesn’t change the fact that there’s a part of me that will always love at the very least the idea of you, the idea of what we had and the possibility of what we could be.” Enjolras’s throat felt tight. “I know that that’s not a lot to offer.” He huffed a laugh, and ran a hand across his face. “Truth be told, I don’t have a lot to offer these days on any level. Thankfully, I saved a lot of money when I was doing the work I hated, and that’ll hopefully be enough to keep me afloat while I do the work I want to do, but it’s nothing glamorous.”

“I never wanted glamor,” Grantaire said quietly. “I just wanted you.”

Enjolras ducked his head, swallowing hard, before he looked back at Grantaire. “Well, thankfully, that’s all I have to offer: Me, and the fact that I want to try, and the chance that this could actually be something real.”

Grantaire’s expression was oddly closed as he fiddled with the lid of his coffee cup, staring at the fountain. Enjolras didn’t try to interrupt at first, knowing that at the very least, he owed Grantaire time to think about it. But after a few minutes had passed, he couldn’t help himself, clearing his throat before asking quietly, “What are you thinking?”

Grantaire shook his head. “I’m thinking... honestly, I’m thinking that this doesn’t seem real.”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

Grantaire gave him a smile that was a little crooked and a little sad. “I mean, you’re sitting here, and you’re saying everything I’ve ever wanted to hear you say, and…” He trailed off, shaking his head again. “I don’t know, it’s like...well, frankly, like it’s too good to be true. Like it’s a dream.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I know what you mean,” he murmured, his voice pitched low, his head tilting towards Grantaire. “It does seem like it could be a dream.”

“Exactly,” Grantaire said a little hoarsely, his eyes darting down to Enjolras’s lips and back up again, even as the space between them disappeared. “And if it’s a dream, that means I have to wake up at some point.”

“Mmm.” Enjolras hummed in agreement, his lips now mere inches from Grantaire’s. “That means there’s only one thing to do.”

“What—?” Grantaire started, before letting out a yelp and jerking back as Enjolras pinched his arm. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Proof that you’re not dreaming.”

Grantaire scowled and rubbed his arm, even as a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Asshole,” he said, but without any real heat. “Was that really necessary?”

Enjolras looked at him evenly. “You tell me.“

All traces of Grantaire’s smile disappeared. “I wish it wasn’t,” he said. “But even with that dash of reality, I still don’t know if I believe it. I mean, people don’t just go back to their high school boyfriend a decade down the line.”

“Maybe not,” Enjolras acknowledged. “But I’m not your high school boyfriend anymore. Literally and in the figurative sense that I’m not that person anymore. And you’re not either.” He took a breath. “And if you don’t still feel it, if you don’t want to try, that’s fine. Say the word and that’s the end of it, I swear.” He squared his shoulders. “But if your only hesitation is that you don’t think this is real, then short of pinching you again, the only thing you can do is believe in me. In this, in us.”

Grantaire went very still for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded. “Ok,” he said, closing the space between them to kiss Enjolras for real this time.

The move was such a surprise that Enjolras jerked back without meaning to. “What, just like that?” he asked blankly. “Seriously?”

Grantaire shrugged, his hand not moving from where he had rested it against Enjolras’s cheek like he had so many time before. “I told you back in December, I still believe in you.” He brushed his thumb lightly against Enjolras’s cheekbone. “Besides, in case I need to remind you—”

“I know, I know, you’re wild,” Enjolras grumbled. He looked at Grantaire, unable to stop his smile. “You really mean it?”

“I mean thatI can’t make any promises, because it’s been a long ten years for both of us,” Grantaire said evenly. “But I want to try.”

That was all Enjolras needed to hear.

This time, when his lips found Grantaire’s, neither man pulled away. 

Enjolras didn’t remember it ever feeling like this, like he and Grantaire slotted together perfectly, and part of him longed to trace his fingers down Grantaire’s chest, to turn the kiss hot and heady until they would both be breathless, until one would suggest taking this to somewhere more private.

But there would be time for that later.

They had all the time in the world.

And there was still one thing Enjolras had to say.

He kissed Grantaire once more and pulled back, reaching down to take Grantaire’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Now, for probably the first time since this all started…” Enjolras paused, mostly for dramatic effect, but also to admire the way the corners of Grantaire’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. The years may have been long, and he would spend a lot of time learning everything he could about what life for Grantaire had been like without him, about every moment that he could see reflected in every crease on Grantaire’s face, but he didn’t regret them. Not when it had brought them here, together, and would give them years together to come, at least if he had anything to say about it. “Enough about me. I want to hear about you.”

Grantaire’s smile widened. “What do you want to know?” he asked easily, with none of the hesitation he’d had six months prior.

Enjolras didn’t hesitate. “Everything.”

[castillon02]

Rental Cars

Written for an anon prompt: Reverse of Bond's Colbert sketch: Bond works at a car place and he's constantly snarking at people who rent cars from him.

Also on AO3

---

“You want me to go undercover at his car rental place,” Bond repeated. “And Don Marconi won’t be suspicious that his old clerk left?”

“They frequently quit,” M said. “Something about the manager.”

“And they frequently get replaced by muscle-bound assassins?” Bond asked.

M’s mouth curved up with blatant amusement, now. “Don Marconi is nearsighted and hates wearing glasses. I’m told he won’t suspect anything.”

“How convenient,” Bond said sourly.

This had to be Q’s doing. The timing was too perfect: Bond had ruined the Aston Martin that Q had so lovingly restored, and now M was sending him on a mission to be a car caretaker. It looked to be the most boring surveillance mission in existence, too, keeping tabs on an octogenarian criminal whose nephew, Timothy Wilbur, happened to be a British terrorist. As far as recon could tell, these days Don Marconi mostly used his mob boss cred to keep his driver’s license. The last time he’d probably killed someone had been over a decade ago.

The possible but pathetically small likelihood of Don Marconi doing anything interesting that connected back to his terrorist nephew was likely why M had agreed to the assignment. M was a big believer in the power of boredom to induce penitence.

Q, on the other hand, was apparently a big believer in the power of abstinence to induce penitence. Not only was Bond going to be on the other side of the ocean from him, but there was literally no one worth seducing for information on this mission.

“Enjoy New Jersey. I’ll see you in three weeks, 007,” M said, by way of goodbye. “Or perhaps three months; you never know when further intelligence may be needed.”

In other words, if he complained, M would extend the assignment.

“Of course, M,” Bond said in his most pleasantly hateful voice, and left before he could do something he regretted.

---

“Your equipment, 007,” Q said, handing it to him.

Bond opened the box. A scratched up old iPhone Six filled the space where his Walther should have been. Bond was pretty sure it was one from Q’s stash in the kitchen, which for some reason had a drawer dedicated to outmoded devices. Underneath the mobile, five coiled black wires stared up at him like eyes.

“Where’s my bloody gun?” Bond asked.

“Your mission is infiltration and observation only, 007,” Q said. “These charging cables will plug into various mobile devices and allow Q Branch to gain access to their contents. We may also gain access to their contacts’ devices, providing our virus transmits as it should. You should be able to observe some of the stolen data through your own issued mobile.”

Bond glanced from Q to the cables and back again. “Will those at least work as garottes?”

Q shrugged. “I’m not sure, and for some reason we don’t have the budget to run tests. Here are your tickets, by the way. Economy class.” For the first time, Q allowed his no doubt valiant attempt at neutral professionalism to slide, favoring Bond with a sarcastic smile. “There will be a few layovers, I’m afraid. Have a good flight, 007.”

“Q.”

“And I’ll see you at home when you get back,” Q said softly. He gripped Bond’s hand in his before turning back to his laptop.

Bond took a deep breath and left.

All right, he might have wrecked the Aston accidentally-on-purpose. Maybe. Just to see what Q would do, now that they were in a relationship. Just because Bond was going to fuck up big time at some point, inevitably, because he always did, so he might as well get it over with.

Just to see if Q would end things, maybe, because Bond never got to keep the good things in his life, so he might as well get rid of them now, before they could slip even deeper under his skin and hurt even more when they got ripped away.

Only instead of dumping him, Q had conspired to ship him overseas to a humiliating customer service job, putting him in the MI6 equivalent of the No-No Corner.

Dread at his future boredom sat low in Bond’s belly, but a flicker of hope kindled in his chest, too. He hadn’t counted on Q refusing to let their relationship die like the Aston Martin had.

---

“Big Hal’s Rental Service, we do big rentals, small prices,” Bond said into the telephone, using the same pleasantly hateful voice he had with M. “Yes, we do have a Lamborghini. No, you may not ‘take it for a test drive.’ Yes, the same applies to all vehicles. However, I will point out that at Big Hal’s Rental Service, you are allowed to rent these vehicles and take them for as many drives as you please.” He listened to the customer’s counter-offer. “No...no, I’m afraid that we are a for-profit business, and as such we accept money in exchange for goods and services. I cannot be bribed with ‘a nice bucket of fried chicken.’ And a good day to you and your mother as well.”

Bond clicked the ridiculous, corded landline phone back into its archaic cradle. The phone looked like it could very well have been in use since Big Hal and Don Marconi had opened the place in the nineties in order to do their money laundering.

“Rookie mistake, Mike,” Big Hal said, leaning over Bond’s shoulder. He was a tall, greasy man who consistently wore ties that Bond wanted to set on fire. “Shoulda had ’em bring the chicken over, we coulda split it for lunch. And then you coulda upsold them. They’re already a bucket of chicken deep, might as well rent a car to go with it.”

Bond fought the urge to judo throw Hal over the rental counter. “That’s stupid,” he pointed out.

Big Hal chuckled. “That’s customers,” he said. The thick smell of his cologne was giving Bond a headache. “Tell you what,” he clapped a hand on Bond’s shoulder, “I’ll take over the counter and you go do some cleanup.”

Bond nodded. They’d had five returns today and he’d been shown where to find the vacuum.

---

One of the returned cars smelled like literal shit; Bond discovered a used nappy in the glove compartment. His headache worsened and his determination to never pollute the world with offspring increased. After dumping the foul thing, he rolled down the car’s windows, put an entire tray of odor absorber into the passenger seat, and hoped for the best.

Another car had Taco Bell wrappers, lettuce, and cheese littering the floor. Americans really would eat anything. Bond disposed of the rubbish with extreme prejudice and made a mental note to try to find some actual Mexican food now that he was on the same continent as the country in question. The only ‘Mexican’ restaurants in London were all Spanish food places who thought that adding some sour cream and tortillas to their dishes would be a good enough disguise, an action that managed to disgust Bond both as a foodie and as a spy.

Anyway. Maybe the next cars wouldn’t be atrocious?

...Incredibly, the last three vehicles, in addition to having clearly defiled backseats, all featured used condoms tucked neatly into the ashtray. Apparently, leaving cum-filled prophylactics in a rental was perfectly acceptable behavior so long as they weren’t draped over the upholstery. Berks.

(Bond thought guiltily of the condoms he had occasionally shoved into the bottom of the Aston’s emptied champagne box. Out of sight, out of mind… But there had definitely been a boffin who’d had to dispose of his honeypot leavings. Oops. Hopefully not Q himself…)

---

The manual labor of cleaning dirty rentals was tedious. Big Hal was a creep who watched porn at work. Don Marconi came in and said offensive things about the ‘good old days.’ Bond frequently had to endure customer interactions that would baffle any sane mind and battle messes that would offend any sane nose. His fingers itched for a trigger to pull.

To add insult to injury, most of the cars weren’t even very good. Big Hal’s Rental Service had the usual American mixture of sedans, SUVs, trucks, and tawdry sports cars. Cheap to mid-grade rubbish.

However, there were four shining lights of vehicular stardom in the collection: a gleaming silver Lexus LC, a sleek white Lamborghini Huracan, a deep blue Audi R8, and a black, beautifully preserved 1930 Blower Bentley. Bond’s first good car had been an old Bentley; he’d done much of the restoration work himself, and nostalgia panged through him.

It was an otherwise terrible assignment, but Bond loved getting to walk past those four beauties every day.

---

“Big Hal’s Rental Service, we do big rentals, small prices,” Bond said into the telephone.

“Hello, Mr. Rotch,” Q’s cheerful voice said in his ear.

Was he being recalled? Had Don Marconi’s terrorist nephew been spotted?

“I’m just calling to inquire what Big Hal’s policy is on renting vehicles to people when they destroyed the last one he gave them,” Q said, a laugh in his voice. “It says on the website--”

Bond hung up.

Little shite.

(He ignored the fact that he was smiling, really smiling, for the first time all week.)

---

The customer desk offered Bond plenty of time to practice manipulating people when he got bored, usually by figuring out how to get the customer to upgrade. (Or to downgrade, if Big Hal or Don Marconi had been particularly odious.)

Some customers were more entertaining than others, however.

“But I need that car now!” The young man, Mr. Charles Wastlethwaite, ‘call me Chad,’ all but stomped his foot. He had a haircut that Felix would have called ‘douchey,’ a gaudy fraternity ring on his index finger, and a suit that had likely fit him a few months ago but now hung off of his artificially tanned frame.

Unless Bond missed his guess, Chad was only renting a vehicle in order to take a load of cash somewhere unsavory. Cash or drugs, from the way he was gripping his briefcase so tightly. Probably cash from dealing drugs; stress or dipping into his own wares would account for the new fit of the suit. Probably opioids and stimulants for his university friends.

Probably the Porsche that dear old daddy had bought him wouldn’t do in the sort of neighborhood you took your drug payments to. And probably Chad was on a deadline, mixed up with people who would do much more than dock his grade if he were tardy. Oh dear, oh dear.

“I’m so sorry,” Bond said, “but it appears you have an unsafe driving record.”

“I do not!” Chad protested.

“Approximately thirty-five months ago you were ticketed with a DUI,” Bond corrected him, having run his license. “I’m afraid that Hal’s policy is not to rent to people who are at risk of driving under the influence of alcohol. It’s very unsafe.” Bond kept his tone even.

“But I--” Chad paused. Looked at him. Swallowed. Took out his wallet. “Look. How much?” he asked, low, his face flushed.

“I’ll have your phone,” Bond said, cheerfully hitting where it would hurt someone from Gen Z the most.

“You’ll what?”

“Your phone,” Bond repeated. “As collateral. Safe return of the car, safe return of your mobile. Everyone’s happy.” He smiled.

“I--” The young man’s hand went to his pocket. “I need the GPS.”

“We have many vehicles with onboard GPS for you to choose from,” Bond informed him. “In fact, I have a particular one in mind.” He typed in the identifying information for what Big Hal referred to as the Diaper-mobile, which still smelled hideous. Then he made a show of peering at the clock on his computer monitor. “What time did you say your meeting was?”

“Fuck, okay, take it!” The young man threw his hideously expensive mobile on the counter. “Where do I sign?”

“Let me just print that out for you,” Bond said, sliding the mobile onto his side of the desk. He fired up the dot matrix printer.

They waited.

“This will take a few moments,” Bond said, needlessly, while the machine behind him beeped and clicked and did its grim, slow work. He had ‘accidentally’ told the machine to print ten copies of the required documents. If he were lucky and the young man were particularly inattentive, he could probably get all ten copies signed and initialled.

If he were exceptionally lucky, the Diaper-mobile would be stolen and chopped for parts while Chadwas out of the vehicle and making his delivery.

After Chad left, Big Hal poked his head out from his porn room. “Nice one,” he said. “I’ll tell Little Jerry to chop the car while it’s out so we can get the insurance payout. I’m sick of smelling that shit.”

Sometimes, when you worked with criminals, luck wasn’t required.

When Big Hal wasn’t looking, Bond plugged Charles ‘Chad’ Wastlethwaite’s mobile into one of his Q Branch-issue chargers. If Q’s virus did all he’d said it could, then it might be useful to see what wealthy old Papa Wastlethwaite was up to. An apple like that? Bond’s gut said it was worth investigating the whole family tree.

---

“Big Hal’s Rental Service, we do big rentals, small prices,” Bond said into the telephone.

“Are cars the only thing you rent?” Moneypenny asked. “Because there are other big things that I might like for a small price.”

“We also offer SUVs and pick-up trucks in various sizes,” Bond said, trying to keep a straight face.

“Sure that’s not a code for anything?” Moneypenny’s grin was obvious in her voice. “You don’t offer pick-up fucks instead?”

“Even if we did, we don’t have anything for pennies,” Bond retorted and cut off the call.

---

Big Hal didn’t do checks on Don Marconi’s driving history, of course, and it was Don Marconi who sideswiped a young couple in a Ford Fiesta while driving the beautiful silver Lexus.

“Damn morons,” the old man grumbled to Big Hal while Bond minded the front desk and eavesdropped. “They said their goddamn GPS malfunctioned. And it took five whole minutes for those idiots to register that I was threatening them! Kids today. No respect. They took off when I showed them my photobook, though. Timmy digitized it for me last Christmas, put it on my mobile. He said it was a hoot; I knew I liked him.”

Timmy, aka Timothy Wilbur, responsible for killing nine people in various politically-motivated attacks, aka the whole reason Bond was here in the first place.

The family that slays together, stays together, apparently.

---

A few days later, Marconi took out the Audi R8. It came back with the help of a tow truck.

Marconi himself was fine. “I swear to god, my light was green!” he told Big Hal. “How the fuck can there be two green lights at the same time?”

“Technology these days,” Big Hal tutted, giving Marconi a matronly look while Marconi wasn’t looking. “It giveth and it taketh away.”

Indeed. Particularly if it had a certain letter of the alphabet helping it along.

Bond looked at the poor Audi, its right side crumpled in, its deep blue coat scraped with an inferior automobile’s tacky red paint. He looked at the Lexus, only mildly scraped, but still not repaired. And then he looked at the undamaged Lamborghini and Bentley, both of them innocently haloed by small floodlights that Marconi had made Big Hal set up in the garage in order to highlight his collection.

Had Q meddled with the first two cars? Would he destroy the last two, ruining a pair of beautiful, brilliant machines for the sake of vengeance? Could Bond be with someone who could go that far?

The hypocrisy of his last thought struck him. Fuck. Was this how Q had felt about the Aston?

This mission really needed to end.

“Didn’t you say Timmy was good at technology?” Bond asked as innocently as possible. “Maybe he’ll know what to make of this.”

“Hmmm, good idea,” Marconi said, snapping his fingers. “I’ll give him a call. He needs to catch up with his Uncle Marc anyway, the little twerp.”

---

“Big Hal’s Rental Service, we do big rentals, small prices,” Bond said into the telephone.

“Do you have any golf carts?” Tanner asked, undoubtedly a reference to the last time they had golfed together. They didn’t usually get a cart, but Bond had been sporting a stabbed thigh and Tanner had clearly been itching to dare him to perform some very specific vehicular stunts that he may or may not have seen on YouTube.

Bond had picked up the thrown gauntlet and the two of them had very nearly been banned from the course for life before Bond had managed to bargain the manager down to six months.

“Terribly sorry, but in New Jersey it’s illegal to rent golf carts to people who are going bald,” Bond lied. “Try somewhere more local...if they’ll let you in.” He hung up in the middle of Tanner’s indignant laugh.

---

Timmy turned out to be in town. He was staying with Wastlethwaite Sr.

Bond considered the intel he had pulled from Chad’s phone, and then from Wastlethwaite Sr.’s phone after Q’s virus had done its work. In particular, he considered that the suspiciously deleted emails that Wastlethwaite Sr. had been sending about funding more homeless shelters were probably about funding more criminal ventures against the underclasses instead. Shocking. And apparently this financial venture included donating money to Timothy Wilbur’s terrible terrorist fund.

“Come on, Timbo,” Don Marconi said over the phone. “It’s probably nothing, but if it’s something, you’re the guy to talk to. And hey, we’ll take the Lambo to dinner. My treat.”

Apparently even being in the mob couldn’t save Don Marconi from the indignity of having to bribe a younger relative to spend time with him.

“Yeah, that place on fifth. Uh-huh. Christ, I’ve been driving for over sixty years--what do you mean that’s the point? Fine, you little fucker, I can get Hal to drive the car to your place.”

“Can’t!” Big Hal called from his porn room. “I have a thing!”

“Turn your thing off, Hal!”

“No, I mean, I legit have a chiropractor’s appointment. My back hasn’t been the same since I carried that bod--uh, that thing to the docks last month.”

Safely behind the customer service desk and facing away from the conversation happening behind him, Bond rolled his eyes to the heavens. Maybe when he got back, if he were very good, M would let him investigate criminals with at least one subtle bone in their body.

“Oh yeah,” Marconi said, “you told me about that. You going to Smith’s? He’s real good.”

“Yeah, he made an opening.”

“Hey, Rotch!” Marconi said.

Bond obligingly turned around.

“You ever drive a Lamborghini? Doesn’t matter; you’re about to.”

---

Wastlethwaite’s house had good, solid colonial bones; it was a shame they had been covered up by McMansion-style expansions.

Bond’s target came out of the house, a leggy man in his thirties dressed mostly in Tommy Hilfiger clothes that he was too old for; they had maybe been borrowed from Chad. He wasn’t packing a gun. Bond could kill Timothy Wilbur and Don Marconi right here and right now, before anyone could muster up so much as a token protest. In fact, Wastlethwaite senior was in the Bahamas, so there was only Chad to worry about.

Instead, Bond obligingly stepped out of the vehicle and passed Timothy Wilbur the keys. “Safe travels,” he said.

“See you in a couple hours,” Don Marconi said, waving him off from the passenger seat. He addressed Timmy with an avuncular smile. “Now, let’s see what she can do, eh?”

Timmy slammed the door in Bond’s face and the car roared down the ridiculously long driveway, leaving Bond all alone in front of a morally bankrupt rich person’s house.

Hmmm. Whatever would he do with his spare time?

---

Bond wandered with impunity through the mansion, which seemed cluttered all to hell with faddish purchases but empty as a shucked oyster shell when it came to people. If anyone happened to ask, he was here looking for Chad, eager to return Chad’s mobile.

The upper middle floor seemed to be Chad’s, in fact. It had a personal gym, a dusty-looking library, and a bedroom/entertainment room suite lined with Call of Duty posters and fan paintings. (Ah, the glamor of fictional war. Bond rolled his eyes.)

Then a toilet flushed and Chad came out of the nearby bathroom, still tugging his trackies up. His eyes widened. “You!” he said.

“Me,” Bond said, smirking.

“What--”

“I’m investigating your dad for funding terrorism,” Bond said.

To his surprise, Chad paled. “Terrorism?” he asked, one hand over his mouth. “No. No, he just--he just cheats on his taxes and bribes politicians! He’s not that kind of billionaire!”

Bond gave him a pitying look.

“Is he?” Chad asked, quieter.

Bond tilted his head.

“Oh, fuck, he is.”

“Why don’t we double-check,” Bond suggested. “Where’s his office?”

Chad narrowed his eyes. “Am I going to get my phone back after this?”

“If you’re a good boy,” Bond said. “And if I don’t find out that you were involved.”

Chad flushed. “Look, man, I just deal weed and Adderall and shit. I’m not even a business major!”

Bond smiled. “Still undeclared?”

Chad’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah. Guess I don’t need to worry about how he’ll react to those art classes now. You want his office-office, or his secret office that he thinks I don’t know about?”

“Secret office first,” Bond decided. “And then we’ll visit his office-office so you can transfer some money to your accounts before his assets are frozen. You won’t see me again after you inherit, I hope?”

“I don’t need some rental car hitman on my ass, so no,” Chad said.

---

They uncovered a lot of evidence in the secret office. Chad’s face went pale, and then red with anger, and then pale again. If art didn’t work out for him, he could try getting work as a stoplight.

“Oh, look,” Bond said, reading through the poorly encrypted emails on Wastlethwaite Senior’s PC, “he’s going to stop funding Timothy Wilbur’s terrorist group...”

Chad’s eyes flickered with hope.

“...Because he wants to start funding a different, more ‘results-oriented’ terrorist group,” Bond finished. “He’s ‘really feeling their synergy.’”

Chad slumped. Then he said, “Wait, Timmy’s a terrorist? Really? Fuck, I should have known, he never returns the outfits he borrows.”

They went to the office-office next, and after they finished securing Chad’s financial future, Bond said, “Go play your Zed-Box, and don’t come downstairs until I tell you it’s safe. I’ll give you your phone later.”

Chad scowled. “You have to know it’s an XBox, man. There’s no way,” he said.

Bond raised his eyebrows. “That’s what you want to be skeptical about?”

“It’s a global franchise!” Chad said.

“Yeah, I was fucking with you,” Bond admitted. “Good job.”

Chad’s face lit up from the praise. Then his gaze turned warm and speculative, and he bit his bottom lip suggestively.

Dear God. Bond went downstairs before the XBox infant could attempt something regrettable.

---

The Lamborghini roared up the drive after about an hour of Bond being forced to listen to the half-muffled, oddly engaging Call of Duty soundtrack. Then car doors slammed closed, keys jingled, and the front door opened.

“I still say it was weird, Timmy, but I guess if your gadgets didn’t pick up on anything, it’s just an old man’s imagination,” Don Marconi grumbled, following Timothy Wilbur in. “ROTCH!” he shouted. “MIKE! GET THE FUCK DOWN HERE, WE’RE GOING HOME.”

Bond waited in his hiding place behind the half-open door of a little-used visiting room.

“Guess he went home, Uncle Marc,” Wilbur said. “Do you want me to drive you back?” The ‘aw, shucks’ tone in his voice was so fake that Bond’s heart rate increased instantly after hearing it.

“Ah, fuck off, I told you, I’ve been driving myself home since before your dad started jerking it,” Don Marconi said.

“If you’re sure…” Wilbur said. Bond could hear his smile.

“Sure as shit,” Marconi said, and then the front door opened and closed again, the car started, its engine purred down the road…

“Fucking idiot,” Wilbur muttered, and a moment later the engine stopped purring, because it was hard for engines to do that when they’d been exploded.

Chad came pounding down the stairs. “What the fuck? Did you blow up that car?”

“Chad?” Wilbur asked. “Oh, fuck. Look, I’ll split Marc’s inheritance with you--”

Meanwhile, several car-accident-related puzzle pieces clicked together in Bond’s mind: no more money from the billionaire; Wilbur was good with technology; Marconi had a tidy nest egg stashed away. Bond burst out of his hiding spot.

“You killed that man!” Chad shouted.

“You killed those cars!” Bond said, and he tackled Wilbur to the ground.

---

Six’s cover-up ops handled things with Chad and Wilbur, who Bond respectively returned the phone of and left only mostly dead. Wilbur would live to suffer like Marconi’s cars had suffered.

For his next move, Bond went back to the rental place, let himself into Hal’s office, and interrupted Hal’s wanking for the last time. Turned out the charging cables did work as garottes. He would have to let Q know.

Finally, Bond went to the garage. Three terrible casualties...three magnificent machines destroyed...but there was still Bond’s secret favorite, the beautiful Blower Bentley. There was no way he could leave the old girl in a place like this.

Except when he went to collect her, the Bentley was gone.

Bond’s stomach dropped.

Stupid. It was just a car. The mission was done--that was the important thing. This was fine. Totally fine. The Bentley would have been finicky anyway. No sense in keeping a fussy old thing like that around.

---

“I’m old and decrepit and I’m retiring,” Bond announced to Q from his spot on Q’s sofa. He planted his face back into the sofa cushions after he said it. He was already drunk on the disgusting Earl Grey vodka he had found in Q’s freezer, which was the sole alcohol in Q’s house, probably in an attempt to limit just this sort of behavior. It had only made Bond feel spiteful enough to hold his nose and chug it.

Q closed the front door behind him. His keys and anorak clinked onto their respective hooks and his shoes went onto their shoe shelf. Once the putting-away routine was complete, the cats hopped off of Bond’s back and went to greet Q for their own homecoming ritual, the loyal sods. “Retiring?” Q asked. “Tragic.” His voice came from lower to the ground, and Bond knew he was kneeling to scratch behind Jelly’s ears and let Butter headbutt his leg, just like he always did.

The shush-shush sound of Q’s trousers around his legs, the soft padding of Q’s bare foot against the wooden flooring--they felt loud in the quiet room, this room where they had fucked, this room where they had watched telly, this room that Bond had come back to bleeding and bruised and had always been made welcome. This room where he was welcome still. Bond felt Q’s warm, strong presence standing next to him, smelled the tea-metal-oil scent that Q carried with him like a cat on his shoulders.

“The thing is,” Q said, trailing his hand down Bond’s shoulder, “I had a gift for you, but it’s a gift that I can only give active agents, so I suppose I’ll just have to let 009 know...” He trailed off.

Bond lifted his head again. “Fine,” he said. “I un-retire. For now.” So long as M gave him the good missions again.

Q patted his shoulder condescendingly. “Up you get, if your ancient bones can still stand,” he said.

Bond swooped up and threw Q into a fireman’s carry, ignoring his yelping and flailing. “I’ll show you how well I can stand,” he said, turning his head to leer at Q once Q had resigned himself to the situation.

To Bond’s delight, Q leered back and nearly fell off of Bond’s shoulders trying to grope Bond’s arse. “I missed you,” Q said, holding tight to him. “Do you know how many times my vibrator ran out of batteries while I thought about you? Do you know how often my tea ran cold because you distracted me even while you were across the bloody ocean?”

“I’m sorry about the car,” Bond blurted. He shifted Q so he could wrap his legs around Bond’s waist and his arms around Bond’s back, one of their favorite positions.

Q pressed his forehead against Bond’s. “I know you are,” he said. “I forgive you.” He pulled back a little. “And I’ll do my share of fucking up, you know. You just ran ahead like you usually do.” He cupped his hand around Bond’s head and tugged him close. Not coincidentally, this position also made kissing much easier.

Bond had missed Q’s mouth. He had missed Q’s hands. He had missed Q, just Q, so fucking much.

“Wait, wait,” Q said when they pulled back for air. “Garage first.”

Bond quirked his eyebrows.

“You’ll like this,” Q said. He added thoughtfully, “You know, there would be something terribly poetic about me getting to use you for transportation instead of the other way around.”

Bond laughed and carried him to the garage, trying to ignore the thrum of nerves through his brain as he walked there. It’s not going to be what you hope it is, he told himself. It’s just not. You aren’t that lucky and you don’t deserve to be that lucky, so just be happy about whatever the fuck Q got you.

But Bond was that lucky. In Q’s garage, in the same place the old Aston had been parked, there stood the beautiful black 1930 Blower Bentley.

“Some cars are rentals,” Q said, smiling at whatever he could see on Bond’s face. “But I knew as soon as you saw that one that it was going to be for keeps.”

“You’re for keeps,” Bond said, choked up, and they shagged right in front of Bond’s new old car.

[mentalisttraceur-software]

Here's something misleading about this paragraph from my last post:

The thing is, I would really like to get very secure parameters for Argon2id, but even a mere three iterations with one lane using 256 MiB of RAM costs one to three seconds on recent browser versions on recent hardware with high end specs. That's just for the Argon2id itself.

Those are not insecure parameters for Argon2id. You could go a lot lower and still be very secure. It won't withstand incomprehensibly expensive dedicated hardware farms like 32 iterations, 8 lanes, 16 GiB would. But it's not awful. Even 1 iteration, 1 lane, and 1 MiB RAM is still more secure than sending my password to the server every time I log in or set it!

At least then I can worry about whether or not someone is willing to spend lots of dollars and energy and silicon to crack my password within an unacceptably short time, rather than worrying about an intern logging my password in plain text on twenty hard drives in some cloud provider's data centers because they forgot to scrub the HTTP Authorization header first.

For comparison: bcrypt uses 4 KiB RAM. That's KiB, not MiB.

Meanwhile, on my Pixel 5 on this web page for calculating Argon2 in the browser, it reports around 250ms to run Argon2id, 3 iterations, 1 lane, 16 MiB. If we just naively run the numbers, for the price of a quarter second, I still forced a cracking ASIC/FPGA/GPU for my Argon2id parameters to have many times more RAM than it would need for bcrypt. Now, I'm sure there's some fancy optimizations, and space-time trade-offs, and other factors which mean you can't just compare memory requirements. Especially since the whole point is that you can get equivalent protection by dialing down memory and dialing up iterations, or vice versa. But the point is it's easy enough to get it more expensive than a comparable bcrypt cracker.

On a Samsung Galaxy 5s from over half a decade ago, the same settings on the same website took around 1400ms. That's not ideal, but if you're using hardware that old or weak, you're used to stuff being a bit on the slow side. (And if I drop the iteration count down to 2, which is still within OWASP minimum recommendations, even on that phone it starts to take only 900ms.)

So when I say I would like "very secure parameters for Argon2id", I don't mean acceptably secure. I mean I want to protect your grandma's Facebook password so hard that every spy agency, every military, every black budget, every criminal enterprise, every cryptominer, could be combining efforts to crack her password with the best Argon2id cracking hardware money can buy, at the best bulk prices, and they still all go bankrupt before getting to it, even though it's something obvious like "LoveMyGr4ndkids!" and she hasn't changed it in two decades and isn't going to for the rest of her life.

Sadly, I apparently can't do that while keeping imperceptibly fast response times on phones and laptops that most humans have nowadays. That's fine. Even if it has to be a "mere" 16 MiB in 1 lane with 2 or 3 iterations, I'm fairly confident that will never be the weakest link. It's strong enough that if I'm the attacker I'd rather just try to hack your device and keylog your password or hack the server to send you malicious JavaScript to send me the password directly.

[detroitloading685]

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[cordonia-continued]

Captivated

Chapter 21

AU - TRR Liam x MC (Riley Taylor)

A/N - Set after the Tariq scandal is cleared. Liam ends his engagement to Madeleine and proposes to MC as per the original story, but Riley turns him down. This AU follows their life from then on.

I work in investigation and my best friend's husband is a body guard so apologies if this chapter turned out too ‘techy’, I tried not to make it like that and to keep it very brief while still trying to be accurate, although they do say write about what you know! 

Word count - 3,366

@kingliam2019 @imjusthereforliam @amandablink @hopefulmoonobject @texaskitten30​ @mom2000aggie​ (let me know if you no longer want to be tagged)

catch up here

Liam is sitting at the long highly polished walnut table in the main conference room at the palace, he’s been locked in a meeting all morning with several of his advisors discussing budget cuts and he’s just about had enough. He’s welcome of the interruption when Bastien knocks on the door. His mind soon turns to concern however when the guard enters without waiting for an invitation. He looks up from his notes in surprise at the intrusion and sees the look on Bastien’s face, he knows immediately that something’s wrong. He rises from his seat and excuses himself as everyone around the table stands on ceremony with him. He follows Bastien down the hallway in silence to his study. He takes a seat at his desk as Bastien shuts the door firmly behind them.

“What’s wrong?” Liam asks as soon as the door is shut, knowing from the concerned look on Bastien’s face that this isn’t the time for pleasantries.

“Sir, don’t be concerned but I’ve had a call from Mara, they seem to have mislaid Lady Riley.”

“What?” Liam’s face creases in confusion. “What do you mean mislaid her? She not a wallet Bastien, how can you mislay her?” Bastien’s heart thumps wildly in his chest, he had hoped to avoid having to impart this news on his king, had hoped that Mara would have called him telling him that she had found Riley in a shop or cafe by now.

“They can’t find her sir. They stopped on the way to meet Drake and Duchess Olivia for lunch on Main Street. Somehow, and I don’t quite know how yet sir, Lady Riley went into a store and that was the last anyone saw of her. Her phone was found on the pavement with its screen smashed. There is no trace of her anywhere on the street or in the other shops. She’s not turned up to meet Drake.” Liam notices what appears to be shame and regret cross Bastien’s usually calm and competent face.

“What? How long ago did this happen?” Liam’s jaw sets ridged and Bastien notices a vein popping out on his strained neck. He bows his head avoiding the Kings steely eyes.

“About 30 maybe 40 minutes ago sir.”

“How has this happened Bastien? Where was Mara for Christ’s sake? You need to find her now!” Liam yells.

“I’m on it sir. She probably just went shopping and lost track of time, or ended up on a different street and got a bit lost. Don’t worry just yet, I’m sure it’s nothing. I need to go and makes some calls. I’ve got guards going to the loss location now. We’re getting the security footage for all along the street as we speak. If nothing turns up in the next hour I’m going to inform the police and set up a control centre in the conference room. Don’t worry Your Majesty, we’ll find her.”

“You had better Bastien.” Bastien nods and leaves the room, racing down to his office.

Liam’s phone silently buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, his heart hammering as he looks at the caller ID hoping it’s Riley. It sinks when he sees it’s Drake.

“Drake?”

“Li what the hell’s happening? Where’s Taylor?”

“I don’t know. Bastien’s just told me they can’t find her. Drake why is she not with you? I thought she was meeting you and Olivia for lunch? Where the fuck is she Drake?” As soon as Drake hears the usually calm Liam curse he knows that it’s serious.

“Shit Li, stay calm. We’ll find her. She has to be there somewhere. You know what she’s like, she probably saw a kitten and followed it and got lost or something. Me and Liv are going to stay here in case she turns up. Keep me updated yeah.”

“Yes of course, same goes for you too.”

“Yep sure thing buddy. Speak soon.”

Liam sits down on the couch in his study and puts his head in his hands, panic rising through him, adrenaline pumping through his veins making his hands shake. He stands, his legs trembling, and walks over to his desk, picking up the phone he presses the button for his assistant.

“Gabriella please dismiss the gentlemen in the conference room. Tell them something unexpected has come up. And cancel my meetings for the rest of the day. Please field any phone calls unless they are from Bastien, the police or...” his words catch in his throat. “Riley.”

2 hours later and there’s still no trace of where Riley disappeared to. Liam enters the conference room as Bastien’s team and plain clothes police officers are setting up phone lines and computers. A uniformed man walks over with Bastien, he bows and holds out his hand. 

“Chief of Police, Officer Beckett. Pleased to meet you Your Majesty.” Liam shakes his hand. “I want assure you sir we are doing everything we can to locate Lady Riley. I have my best team on it and we will be working around the clock. The ports and airport are on high alert.”

Liam nods in response. “Bastien I want to stay here, I won’t get in the way. I need to know what’s going on.” It wasn't a request but a command.

“Very well sir. We are currently reviewing the security footage from the shops and the highways agency. We have a very narrow time frame in which she disappeared so we hope it will give us some results. A team of police officers are taking statements from anyone that we can identify who was in the vicinity at the time.” Liam nods his head in understanding. Bastien looks at the King gravely and lowers his voice. “I have an officer on the way to the Beaumont’s, we need to search Lady Riley’s room, see if anything’s missing, find out if she’s taken any clothes or personal effects, check if her passport is still there. I have asked an officer to be posted at the estate going forward until we have a clearer picture of what’s going on. We know that the letters and calls we recently identified were addressed to her there, I’ve spoken to the Duke of Ramsford and made him aware of the situation and he has agreed to allow us to place a tap on the phone line there. We need to be ready for the possibility of a ransom demand being sent. At the moment we have no lead on whether this is a planned attack by a known enemy of the crown or something else. Or if she’s gone of her own volition sir.”

“She wouldn’t do that Bastien.” Liam assures him.

“Sir at this point we can’t rule anything out. I have stationed guards at the restaurant she had planned to go to today in case she makes her way there, I have contacted Drake and Duchess Olivia they are on their way here. If you receive a call on your personal mobile phone from an unknown or unrecognised number don’t answer it and alert me immediately.”

Liam looks directly into his guards eyes. “Bastien you have to find her.”

“I know sir. I will.” He nods.

An hour later Drake and Olivia race into the conference room. Liam’s surprised as Olivia pulls him into an uncharacteristic hug. Drake fires questions at him. Liam holds up his hands.

“Drake slow down. I don’t know anything yet. Just that she was there one minute and gone the next. We have no ransom demands or contact from anyone claiming to be holding her.” He leads them over to the sitting area where they all perch nervously on the edge of the armchairs. They sit in silence as Olivia mindlessly drums her fingernails on the side table next to her. Like hail on a glass pane, the noise is as relentless as it is loud. Each click of the French polished nails on the table echoes the tumultuous thudding of all of their heart beats.

“Olivia!” Drake eventually snaps. “Quit it!” She glares at him, her face rigid with tension. As Drake looks at her he can’t help thinking that she seems to have aged a decade in the past few hours. She gets up and pours them all a cup of coffee from the pot on the low coffee table in front of them. She takes her cup, cradling it in her hands but not taking even one sip. She paces the plush carpeted floor back and forth asking the same questions that they’re all thinking but no one knows the answers to. Where is she? Why did she leave her phone? Why the hell was Mara not with her? What the fuck was she thinking going off on her own?

Waiting is easier for Drake than it is for the feisty Duchess. He’s had plenty practice while fishing. He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes trying to clear his mind of the intrusive thoughts that are creeping in. He knows Taylor wouldn’t go off on her own and not let him know she was safe, she would know how much he would worry about her. Olivia is firing her questions at an unresponsive Liam who’s engrossed in his laptop, scouring every known news website for any information that may have been leaked to them, reading every comment on Riley’s social media in the hope of finding a clue, continually refreshing his email in case a kidnapper tries to make contact that way.

As the productivity of the police and guards go on around them, time for the trio slows to a trickle, minutes and hours blend into each other. Eventually Bastien calls Liam over to where he is standing looking over the shoulder of one of his technical officers.

“Your Majesty I think you need you to see this.” He points to the image of the inside of a store displayed on one of the large computer screens set up on the table. Bastien then addresses his officer. “Lucas go and take five please.” The techie gets up wordlessly from his chair and wanders off to the coffee and pastries that the palace staff have set up along the far wall. Bastien takes his place pulling a chair over for Liam. He presses play on the footage and Liam’s heart leaps into his throat as he sees Riley on the screen.

“These are the last movements we see of her sir. Here she is entering the shop. She goes directly to this aisle, picks something off the shelf here and then we see her from the other camera angle.” He switches to another clip. “Here. She goes to the checkout clerk and pays with her credit card. She leaves the shop here. The cameras in the front of the shop are broken. We don’t see anything after she walks out of that door.” Liam nods not taking his eyes off Riley on the screen.

“Sir we have confirmed from the footage and with the store clerk what her purchase was. It explains why she wanted to make the purchase herself and why she wanted to go into the store alone.” Bastien pauses and takes a deep breath, he lowers his voice so only Liam can hear him.

“Your Majesty, Lady Riley purchased a pregnancy test.”

Liam’s head snaps to his guard as his eyes go wide.

“What! Are you sure?”

“Yes Sir. I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you.”

Liam gulps audibly. “No, don’t be. Thank you Bastien. I’d rather no one else knows about this. No one Bastien, do you understand?”

“Of course Your Majesty. Lucas my digital investigator who enhanced the footage and Mara who spoke with the store clerk are the only other people who know.” Bastien can’t look at Liam as he says the next words. “Sir I hate to say it but we can’t rule out the possibility that this is the reason for her disappearance. It could be that she doesn’t want to be found at the moment, maybe she needed time to come to terms with whatever the result was.”

Liam closes his eyes and presses his fingers into them. He’s silent for a long moment. Thoughts swirl around his brain. He shakes his head but he can’t dislodge them. He wonders why she wouldn’t have told him about this; is she worried about how he would react. He wonders if she’s scared or excited at the prospect of becoming a parent. Maybe Bastien is right – would she be scared enough to run; to leave him alone carrying the burden of never knowing what happened to her. He can’t even begin to think about what his own feelings are on the subject, not with so much worry in his stomach about where she is. He addresses his guard with a certainty that he doesn’t quite believe.

“No. She wouldn’t do that. I can’t believe that she would do that. And we know from the time stamp that she text Drake after she left the shop. Why would she have done that if she was planning on leaving? And she wouldn’t leave her phone.” Liam rises from the desk.

“Have you contacted Jacob Henley?” He asks, not wanting to hear the answer, Liam wonders if she would have confided in Jacob rather than him and hopes to God that it’s not true. He can’t even imagine the pressure that Riley must feel at potentially carrying the heir to a country when she’s she’s not even married to its king.

“Yes sir.” Bastien responds, he merely shakes his head no as an answer. Liam understands and can’t quite decide if he’s relieved or not.

“I need to take a minute, let Drake know that I’m going to get some air. I’ve got my phone, please call me straight away if anything changes.”

“Yes sir.”

Liam leaves the conference room and walks with heavy legs to his study. So many hours have passed since Riley was last seen and they have no leads. Fear curls up inside him and clings to his ribs, settling uncomfortably in his chest. He feels powerless. The not knowing is torturing him, thoughts of what might have happened creep into his mind, images of the love of his life being hurt or alone, crying or in pain. He walks over to his cabinet and takes out a decanter of scotch, he pours a large measure into a crystal glass and downs it in one gulp immediately pouring another. He takes his glass over to the leather couch and sits down heavily. He rubs his hand over his face, trying to rub away the thoughts that torment his mind. He sits alone staring blankly at the palace gardens beyond his window for some time until there’s a quiet knock at his study door. He ignores it, knowing if it was Bastien he would have called him or burst into the room already. The knocking starts up again a moment later before the door knob slowly twists and the door creeps open. A sombre looking Drake peers around the door frame.

“Hey Li, ok if I come in?” He asks with uncertainty in his voice.

“Yeah sure Drake.” Liam sighs. “Help yourself to a drink.” He lifts his glass to his friend. Drake makes his way over to the cabinet and chooses a decanter of whiskey. He pours a large measure and takes a seat next to Liam on the couch.

“You ok?” Drake kicks himself as soon as he’s said the words out loud.

“Not really no.” Liam shakes his head. And Drake winces at his own stupidity.

“Yeah, stupid question. Sorry. I don’t really know what to say.”

“It’s ok. You don’t need to say anything. Thanks for just being here.”

Drake shakes his head. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else. You know that. Olivia is staying over, she’s claimed a guest bedroom, sent one of your staff out for clothes and toiletries. Although I don’t know that anyone will do much sleeping. And Maxwell has not stopped texting me. He tells me he’s having a bit of a breakdown, although I’m hoping that’s what he meant and it was just his phone that autocorrected it to breakdance, the thought of him dancing at a time like this seems wholly inappropriate. But then again it is Maxwell we’re talking about here. He’s keeping me updated with the goings on at the Beaumont Estate through emojis.” Liam can’t even muster a smile for his best friend.

“Is there anything happening in there?” Liam gestures towards the direction of the conference room.

“Everyone seems to be busy but they’ve not given us any kind of update.” Liam nods. “Don’t worry Li, we’ll find her. She’ll be ok. She’s got to be. She’s probably just lost. She’ll be back before you know it with some grand story about how she lost track of time after finding an injured puppy and how she nursed it back to health with the help of a group of ragamuffin street kids, finding common ground by singing show tunes, or you know, something equally as farcical.”

“I hope so Drake. I can’t live without her.” Liam’s voice is barley a whisper. Drake knows exactly how Liam feels, his own heart echoes the same sentiment. The two men sip their drinks in silence for a long while until Liam eventually breaks it.

“Drake.” He takes a deep shaky breath. “Bastien said that she might have chosen to leave. Do you...do you think that she might have left because she wanted to?” Drake can see his best friend is holding back tears. Drake quietly contemplates the question before answering honestly.

“No Liam, I don’t think Taylor would do that. And if she did want to leave she would have told you first, probably in a big dramatic argument knowing her.” He smiles thinking of how Riley would never let anything go. She’s steely and determined, headstrong and impetuous. “She wouldn’t have wanted you to worry like this. She knows how much you love her. She wouldn’t leave her phone, she’s glued to the damn thing most of the time.” Drake smiles softly at the memory of arguing with Riley about having her phone permanently glued to her hand, remembering her asking him to take a dozen photos of her in the same God damn pose for Pictagram, how he wishes she was here badgering him to take her picture now. “And she would have definitely told Maxwell. She wouldn’t let people down.”

“Then that means that something’s happened to her Drake. Which is worse.” Liam’s voice breaks. “Someone’s taken her. I don’t know what to do Drake. I feel so useless.” A tear slips out of the kings eye and runs down his cheek. He wipes it away angrily.

“We don't know that Li. And it’s ok to have emotions. It’s normal to let them out from time to time you know. We can stay in here for a while.” Liam drains his glass and puts it down on his desk. He clears this throat and fixes his face into a much practised and disciplined unemotional façade.

“No. I need to get back in there and see what’s happening.”

He stands and Drake sees his friend transform in front of his eyes; brave on the outside, leading from the front regardless of personal cost. Everyone else has to see him as flawless, the polished version of himself to inspire confidence. Whilst Drake knows him as a friend he can’t help but respect him as a king. He doubts that the citizens of the country Liam reigns over could ever comprehend how much he has given up for them; he’s always the king that they need, stoic and strong. Drake sees the man underneath the crown, the man afraid of not being enough, of failing in his duty, of his purpose being unfulfilled. He sees a man that loves truly and deeply with his whole heart. A heart that’s in the process of breaking. Drake knows, because Drake’s is in the process of breaking too.

[theokotrain]

Vestige - Interlude: The Party

Wattpad Version

As the night fills the sky

All my fears are dissipating

'Cause I feel reassured

That I might make it through

And if all my luck should burn

Then I guess it burned for you

---

April 13th, 2012

I was sitting on my bed, back against the bed frame with my knees raised in front of me, holding up my laptop. I had been spending the last few hours writing an essay for my English class, specifically answering the topic question my teacher had given everybody: "How do our past experiences influence our decisions?". The question was simple enough, it's a pretty universally recognized idea that stuff that happens to us has an effect on our decision making. I mean, that's what it means to grow, right? You gain more knowledge as you live through life and form new memories, and that helps you make more informed decisions in the future.

I've never really been too good at writing anything analytical, especially non-fiction. Essays and research papers that required informed arguments that helped to prove your point? Those were an entirely unknown game to me, one which I had never managed to breeze through. Of course, we were supposed to use some of the books we've read this year as evidence for our arguments, so that at least made it a bit easier, even if most of the books were ones from nearly five decades ago and definitely out of touch at this point. The sound of my laptop's keys clicking as I typed away were the only sounds I could pick up in the room. I had my earphones in for a bit, but those always hurt my ears after a while, so I had taken them out.

Looking at the time in the corner of my laptop screen, it was 4:43 PM. I started writing as soon as I got home from class, so I've only been going for about an hour. Unfortunately, this essay is a non-insignificant amount of my course grade, so I needed to finish this as soon as possible.

God, it's a Friday! I could be out doing something actually fun with Shae and the other guys. Isn't that the whole point of high school? That's what it always seemed like in movies, at least, but I guess I've been a victim of false advertising.

After a bit more time passes, the sound of my phone ringing from my desk brings me out of my writing trance. I sigh, setting my laptop next to me on the bed, not wanting to get out of bed, but eventually forcing myself into maneuvering over to the desk, I grab the phone and flip it open, looking to see the Caller ID.

Shaela.

I instantly accept the call, it's almost second nature at this point. She calls me at least once a day so she can tell me about whatever person is pissing her off that day, or whatever drama she's heard from her other friends. I was never really one for gossip, or whatever, but I did appreciate talking to her.

I put the phone up to my ear, "What's up?" I say, a tinge of fatigue in my voice.

"Hey! Just warning you that I'm like five minutes from your place and you don't have a say in the matter." She replied bluntly. I can hear the sound of cars driving by on the other side of the phone, so she's obviously outside, confirming her words.

I take a deep breath before speaking, "...Why?" I said with exasperated sarcasm.

"Because! I have something to tell you, and if I say it over the phone then I seriously doubt it'll work out in the way I'm hoping it does."

"That clears up nothing, actually, and now I regret picking up."

"Even if you didn't answer, that doesn't stop your parents from letting their son's lovely goody-two-shoes of a friend stop by for a visit!" She exclaimed, a mischievous tone subtly layered in her voice.

She's not wrong.

"Wow, you make this sound like you're sneaking into a high-security building or something." I say, utterly confused at her motives. "Obviously you can come over, but I'm not exactly filled with confidence at whatever you're planning."

"Like I said, I can't tell you yet, but it's gonna be awesome!" She said. There was an unusual perkiness to her that made itself pretty clear over the phone.

Before I can say anything, I'm met with the dial tone, signalling that she had hung up. The only thing I can do at this point is wait for her to get here, I guess. She always lets herself in when she comes over, so I don't make the effort to meet her downstairs. A sudden ping sound fills the quiet room, seeming to come from my laptop. I get back into bed, looking to see where the notification came from.

It's a message from Tyler.

He's definitely the newest member of our little group, if even that. I'm the only person in the group that he's actually friends with so far, despite my efforts to bring him along on any plans we all make. I only met the Grey Wolf back in February, at the beginning of the second semester, in the school's photography class. Nobody I knew signed up for it, and due to our prestigious high school's advanced budget for technology, we were forced to be paired up for shared computer use in the Photography Room. I suppose Tyler was also fortunate enough to not know anybody in the class, as we ended up being paired together by the teacher. He was definitely someone I could only describe as uninterested, as the first week or two I spent with him in that class consisted of him either giving me one word answers or answering in the most blunt, bored tone he could manage. Though, it seemed that it took a bit of persistence on my part to push him to be more open, and since then he's grown to be a pretty great friend.

Tyler: u goin to that party tonight ive been hearin about?

Party? I wasn't made aware of anything like that, at least... not yet. Something in the back of my brain was telling me that Shae had ulterior motives about coming to my place so suddenly, but I'm still hoping that I'm wrong. I hate parties.

Jake: party? havent heard anything, are u going?

Tyler: thinkin about it

think its gonna be over at chris's place, guess his parents r gone for the weekend or somethin

Jake: chrisssss? ughh that guy is such an asshole

Tyler: yeah u dont havee to go, but itd prob be more fun to have someone u actually know there

The way he worded that was directed at me, but I could tell he didn't want to go on his own.

Jake: i guess ill think about it

Tyler: sickk, call me if u make up ur mind

Before I can type my farewells over IM, Shaela energetically bursts through the door.

"Jesus! You scared the shit outta me, don't you knock?" I said, mildly exasperated.

"Oh come on, I literally called you a few minutes ago, you had plenty of time to not make a situation where it'd be a bad idea for me to barge in," She replies, laughing, before setting her bag on the ground and dramatically falling into my bed. "Today was garbage."

"What happened?"

"Ugh, Claire decided to just not show up, I guess, on the day we're supposed to present that stupid History project? And, obviously, she didn't give me her part of the project or anything, so I had tell Mr Thomas about the situation, which was fucking embarrassing." She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Luckily, he said he wouldn't reduce my grade for handing it in late, since I actually had my part finished. God, what a bitch- I must've called her like thirty times before class to get her to email me her part, and every time it went straight to voicemail - and she told me last night that she'd have it ready for today!"

"Have you gotten a hold of her yet?" I asked, closing my laptop and setting it beside me.

Shae turns her head to me, shaking her head, "Nope, she's been ghosting me all day."

"Sounds like typical Claire."

"Yeah, I shouldn't have partnered with her, but apparently I can't say no to anyone, so..." I chuckle lightly in response. "Anyways! I didn't just come here to complain to you!" She says, sitting up on the bed, now facing towards me.

"Right... So what was so important that you just had to tell me in person?" I say, sarcastically.

"Like I said, if I asked you over the phone you would've definitely said no, and my ability to pressure you into doing things isn't as effective unless it's in person!" She responded.

I subtly rolled my eyes, but it's clear she noticed from the stare-down she gave me, "Okay, so what is it?"

"Soooooo..." She says, trying to find the rest of the words, "There's a party."

Wow.

"Wh- did everybody know about that party except for me?!?" I exclaimed.

Shaela's face quickly turns to an expression of shock, "Who told you?"

"Tyler did, like, not even five minutes ago." I say, bluntly.

"What? How does he know Chris?"

"Friend-of-a-friend, I'm guessing?"

"Hmm..." She hummed, thinking about something, "So, did you tell him you were going?"

"I specifically said I'd think about it, nothing definite." I made it clear in my tone that I wasn't particularly interested.

"Oh, come on, dude! It'll be fun!"

I didn't really have an interest in going, but I know it'd make Shae happy, plus it'd be nice to hang out with Tyler again even if we've only known each other for a couple months.

"...Fine. But, if Chris or any of his buddies start shit, I'm leaving."

"Awesome!"

"Lemme just call Tyler and let him know," I said as I grabbed my phone and flipped it open, finding Tyler in my contact list and dialling.

"You gonna bring him with-" The phone rings a few times before he picks up and I extend my hand out towards Shae in a shushing motion. She rolls her eyes, smirking.

"Hey? So are ya gonna go?" He said eagerly.

"Well, Shae showed up at my door literally right after you messaged me, asking the same thing!" I exclaimed in a fake-preppy voice. "So, I guess I have no choice since she'll probably just drag me there if I say no," I joked. She nods her head toward me in response.

"Oh, is she going too?" He inquired.

"Yeah, I guess so! Your place is kinda on the way to Chris', so we could probably meet you at your place and go from there."

"Yeah! Sounds good!" He quickly responded.

I laughed, "Okay, we'll call you when we get there?"

"Sure thing!"

We exchanged our farewells, and hung up. The party wasn't for at least another hour or two, so Shae and I had some time to burn, of which I was entirely out of ideas. I figured I could at least spend this time actually being productive, so I grabbed my laptop and continued on writing my English essay as Shae resumed her previous conversation topic of stuff at school that was pissing her off. It was pretty entertaining, to be fair. She was telling me about how Chris had gotten in a fight with this other kid in our grade yesterday after class, which I wasn't lucky enough to witness, but it was obviously all anyone would talk about for basically the entire day today so word spread around fast. The part I hadn't heard about was that both Chris and the other guy, Nathan, got suspended for a week because of it. Chris was generally an asshole to everybody, including myself, so I didn't feel too bad about that. Although, I didn't know Nathan all that well. Other than having a few classes together, I don't think I've ever held an actual conversation with the guy. I think it was safe to assume that Chris was the one who started it, and Shae seemed to agree with me, even though she hadn't seen the fight either.

"But, apparently Nathan's gonna show up tonight!" She exclaimed coyly.

"...Remind me again why you want me to go to this specific party?"

"You'll have a great time! It's not like we'll be involved in the drama anyway so think of it more as entertainment!"

"I think you and I have different definitions of the word 'entertainment'," I joked.

"I'm sure you can go run off somewhere with Tyler if you're not having fun," She said, her tone reminding me of my mom.

"Oh yeah? What about you?"

"I can't just leave Alex at a party with Chris, those two start shit between each other so much and I'd rather not deal with the aftermath of that today."

"I'm guessing it's safe to assume that Elliot's going too, then?"

"He's not big on parties, but he'll usually go if everyone else is, unlike somebody," She says, gesturing towards me.

"Good one," I reply, unmoving as I keep typing away at my assignment.

"Well, we should probably leave soon since we're stopping at Tyler's place on the way.

I saved the document I had been working on, closing my laptop. "Sounds good to me!"

---

"I can't believe you actually agreed to go." Tyler joked as we walked towards the road from his house.

"Yeah, me either." I replied. I definitely didn't put in any effort in dressing up for the party, opting for a snug space-themed graphic tee, along with black jeans and a white zip-up hoodie. Shae and Tyler both stand on opposite sides of me as we walk down the sidewalk.

"Luckily I learned the subtle techniques in convincing you to do things against your better judgement, so now you get to have fun for once!" Shae exclaimed.

"It's not my fault that going to a party is literally the last thing on earth I'd do for fun in any normal situation." I retorted, putting my hands in the pockets of my jacket.

"Oh yeah? And what do you consider a 'normal situation'?" Shae asks.

"Any situation where you guys aren't the ones trying to get me to go! I'm only doing this for you two, y'know." I said, looking over at both of them.

"What about Elliot and Alex?" Tyler chimed in.

"They aren't the ones asking me to go to this party." I sarcastically remarked, trying to keep the conversation light-hearted. "Speaking of the party- this is Chris we're talking about, there's gonna be beer, right?"

"Uh, duh?" Shae replied.

"Yeah, that's a definite no for me, I'm already enough of a disappointment to my parents,"

"No one's making you drink, Jake. At least you'd be safe if some old hag called the cops about the noise." Shae said.

"I think at that point we're guilty by association, so we'd just make a run for it if that happens," Tyler joked.

"Dude, the chance of me outrunning a police officer successfully is about as likely as me not wanting to punch Chris tonight."

"And the chance of you winning that fight is just as low!" Shae retorted, Tyler laughing in response.

"I specifically said 'want' because of that very reason!"

"Wow, I'd pay money to see you fight that guy." Tyler said, nudging his elbow into my side.

It isn't a secret that I'm not exactly athletic. I mean, I'm definitely not weak, but fighting basically any animal of a similar size to mine was not a situation that favoured my victory.

"That sounds more like just getting the shit kicked outta me for your entertainment." I remarked, lightly punching Tyler's shoulder in return.

"Absolutely worth every penny!" Shae exclaimed. Luckily, the place wasn't any more than ten minutes away from Tyler's place, so I didn't have to endure listening to these two talk about me getting beat up for much longer.

We finally make it to Chris' house, and I'm suddenly filled with an impending sense of regret. Obviously, my parents would never in a million years agree to me going to a party like this. As far as they know, I'm just spending the evening hanging out with Shae at Tyler's house. So yeah, this entire night had a lot of potential for disaster.

Shae can clearly see my hesitation, because she grabs my hand, leading me up the walkway, Tyler following closely behind.

"I wonder if Elliot and Alex beat us here?" She says, knocking on the front door.

"I doubt they had anything to do earlier, hell they probably came straight here after school, knowing Alex." I said, laughing.

Our conversation is cut short by the opening door, revealing the familiar black cat.

"Oh, look, the Stephenson kid brought his girlfriend!" Chris exclaimed mockingly, looking back into the house, before peering around my shoulder, "And... Tyler?" He said, inquisitively.

I lean over, blocking Tyler from his line of sight, "Yeah, hey, not dating by the way!" I said. I've known Shae since I first moved to Vestige, around the time I turned five years old, so it wasn't uncommon for rumours to go around that we were dating. I've always thought of her more as a sister, if anything.

"I asked them to come!" Tyler said. That was only partly true, but according to Tyler, they've been 'somewhat-friends' for quite a while now, so saying that would at least mean less mild-harassment from Chris for tonight.

"Oh, uh, okay... come on in! But you're on the hook for any shit they pull, Tyler!" He said, opening the door wider.

---

The party had been going on for a few hours at this point. I could recognize most of the animals here from school, but not enough to actually hold a conversation with any of them, so most of my time here had just been spent with Shae and Tyler. The place hasn't been incredibly crowded luckily, but there were easily about forty others in this part of the house alone. I'm assuming only high school grades were invited, but there were a considerable number of students to meet that requirement. The issue at hand for me, other than how crowded this place is, is that both Shae and Tyler ditched me to go... somewhere? I think Shae saw some of her friends and went somewhere with them, but Tyler was pretty secretive about where he was going, only telling me that he'd be back in a bit. So I've been standing here in this random corner of the house with a drink in hand, trying to make myself look busy and not awkward, which is exactly why I didn't want to go to this party in the first place!

"Jake!" A voice shouted from a ways away.

I turn my head in confusion, revealing Alex, walking towards me from across the room.

"Oh, Alex! Hey! What's up dude!" I finish the last bit of my soda, waving at him. Because this was Chris' party, there was obviously beer too, but I didn't feel like coming home drunk and my parents finding out.

"I didn't think you'd wanna come to something like this! Feeling the regret yet?"

"I like parties! It's the times like these when I'm standing in a corner by myself with nothing to do that I hate, which seems to happen every time I go to a party!" I exclaimed, pausing for a moment. "Okay, maybe I do hate parties- I've had to explain this so many times today I'm about ready to jump into Lake Ambuscade."

' "Wow, sounds like somebody needs to socialize instead of stewing in a corner for the rest of the night!"

"Socialize? Really? I know just about everybody here and just about none of them are worth talking-"

"Hang with me and Elliot, then? Justin set up some racing games in the other room, we were gonna join, but we could use a fourth... You in?" He said, his tone obviously trying to sound coercing.

"God, please, anything to get me out of this corner for the next three hours." I said, Alex returning my words with a laugh.

"Well, come on then! We'll have to hurry if we want to get one of the good controllers!" He exclaimed, motioning to follow him.

As we move through the various cliques, I recognize a few faces here and there, though not enough to actually want to talk to them. There's been music playing since we got here, and I have yet to recognize a single song, they all seem to be some form of drone-y bass-heavy music that I can't say I've heard in any normal situations. I'm doing my best to follow Alex, although he keeps weaving between the other animals faster than I can keep up, resulting in me having to shove past everyone near me in an effort to speed myself up. Luckily, it seems that no one notices me anyway.

When we arrive in the other room, it seems to just be another living room, but decorated with a galore of punk band posters, shelves holding more DVD cases than I would ever care to count, and even a mini-fridge. Maybe Chris is the type to have a 'man cave' or something? Just hearing that phrase almost makes me want to vomit, but there aren't any more accurate words that come to mind. The room isn't massive or anything, but the TV resting upon the wall across the room seems to challenge that idea, looking almost eighty inches in size. Luckily no randoms from the party were in here, sitting about ten feet away from the TV is Elliot, leaning back in a purple bean bag chair that seems almost three times bigger than him, and Justin, the cougar I'd only known slightly through Alex, laying down sideways on the couch directly in front of the gigantic screen.

"Whatttt! You took the bean bag chair? Lameee..." Alex whined.

"You're the one who wanted to go get Jake, you snooze you lose!" Elliot retorted, looking oddly proud of himself.

"Damn, wish I had a room like this at my house..." I mumbled, looking around the room.

"Are we gonna play or what?" Justin said, cutting through the momentary silence.

"Duh!" Alex claimed.

Justin sits up, taking the spot on the couch closest to Elliot. I opt for the leftmost seat, and Alex sits in-between the both of us. Elliot grabs the other three controllers and tosses them over at us, one by one. Luckily, there weren't any garbage third-party controllers, so at least none of us would have to deal with that. I will admit, it did feel kinda weird going to someone's party just to play games away from everybody, but I would be lying if I said I didn't prefer that, even though I rarely play games, if ever.

After Justin turns the console on, he goes through the menus, launching the game. I can't say I recognize the title, but it seems to be a pretty standard racing game. He goes into the custom mode, opting for a four-player split-screen match, choosing 'R1' as the category of cars to race in. As everyone chooses their cars, I scroll through the list, not really knowing what to pick. I've never been good with car stuff, so I pick an 'Aston Martin Lola' just based on the number-rating system the game ranks the cars with.

"You guys ready?" Justin asks.

"Oh yeah, get ready to eat my dust you guys!" Elliot exclaims, challengingly.

"Oddly prideful words for someone about to lose!" Alex replies, laughing.

The countdown begins, as the cameras slowly show the view of each car as it moves to the rear. When it starts, I somehow manage the fuckup of spinning my tires out, leaving me a few seconds behind the others as the car swerves back and forth. I curse under my breath as I try to regain control of the car, and swiftly pick up speed. The track seems like nothing I haven't seen before, a typical professional track, with rows and rows of audience seating to the side. Unfortunately, I'm now in last place. The next few moments of the track are a few quick corners, allowing me the chance to catch up, at least a little.

Unexpectedly, the track turns off of the main road, going into a forested area. The road is considerably more narrow at this point, so it takes a conscious effort to not drive into the trees by the asphalt. It looks like the road stretches on forever, as I still can't make out any upcoming turns. I guess the car I chose for the race had a better top speed than Justin's, as I'm quickly catching up to him, moving into third place. I'm gripping my controller to an uncomfortable degree, but I can't seem to relax the tension as I try to make my way into second place. I don't think I can pick up any more speed in this car, so me moving up is reliant on the road staying straight for just a bit longer. After what feels like a lifetime, the front of my car finally starts making it past Elliot's, then the midsection, and finally, I'm in second. The sound of all four car engines is drowning out any remnants of the video game music, and I feel the sudden urge to curse out whoever turned the TV volume up this high. My eyes are focused entirely on Alex's car as I make my final push into first place. If I were actually driving this fast in the real world, I'd be scared out of my fucking mind. Out of nowhere, Alex, and the others, begins to slow down considerably.

Oh fuck.

It's at that point I notice that there is a sharp right turn rapidly approaching. I've been pushing the top-speed of this car since the beginning of this stretch of road, and now I'm going too quickly to stop in time. What's the button to use the handbrake, again? I figure that the only way for me to not fuck up this race for myself is to try to drift around the corner. Considering I've never played this game before, it's going to prove to be a challenge. But, it's either that, or just ending up in dead-last again.

I hold down the A button, and pull the joystick as far to the right as possible. Suddenly, all I can hear from the game is the loud skidding sounds of my tires against the asphalt. To my surprise, I cut the corner a bit early, now going over the grass. I try to do a bit of directional-corrections and start heading back onto the track. Going over the grass definitely slowed me down a fair bit, but it definitely was a significantly better outcome over just crashing into the wall. And, to my surprise, the corner of my screen reads... first?!?

"How the fuck...?" Alex questions, seemingly in disbelief.

"I wish I could tell you." I replied, eyes wide at whatever the fuck just happened.

The distance I managed to gain on Alex isn't by a whole lot, but there's only about a quarter of the track left before we reach the finish line, so I have a chance at winning this. The track hurriedly changes from the forest as it reenters the main track. The long, straight roads seem to end as the road becomes a slow series of sharp turns, never giving me the opportunity to get back up to speed. It seems like the high top speed was my only advantage, because at every corner we take, I turn my camera around, revealing the other cars inching closer and closer to me.

I can see the finish line on the mini-map, just a few more turns away. I know that I'm not gonna be able to distance myself from Alex and the others at this point, so my only feasible strategy is to keep moving, cutting the corners as fast as I can, and getting to the finish line before they can pass me. Unfortunately, Alex's car seems to be getting too close for comfort now, meaning I might have to take some risks to ensure I can stay in first. As we approach the final turn, leading into the finish line, I realise I'm gonna have to try to drift this corner. I can feel my pointer finger practically cracking the plastic on the controller from the amount of pressure I'm putting on the right trigger. In a final plea to win, I push down on the A button, pulling the handbrake. The car starts to smoothly skid around the corner. Luckily, there are barriers on the sides of the road this time, preventing me from sliding onto the grass. To my surprise, the drift seems to work better than expected. That is, until, like the fucking idiot I am, make a slight overcorrection towards the left barriers as I exit the drift. I managed to avoid driving directly into the wall, but it did slow me down a bit.

Alex is immediately behind me, and I put all of my strength into accelerating towards the finish line. I'd be fucked if I broke the controller, cause I can't really afford the fifty dollars to buy a new one, but winning this race is more important to me at the moment. The finish line is only about five-hundred metres away, and Alex is slowly beginning to pass. All I can do at this point is push the gas as much as I can, and pray that I can cross the finish line before he can get back into first place. The finish line gets closer and closer, and it seems like it's gonna be too close for me to accurately tell the winner. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest from how stressful this fucking game has been, and now, we're about to find out whose efforts paid off. As each car makes its way over the finish line, each of our dedicated sections of the screen turns to slow motion. When it's finally over, the text fades in on each screen, revealing our place...

...

...

...Second?!?

"FUCK!" I shouted, realising I had been holding my breath since the final stretch of the race.

"HA! Dude, you suck!" Alex exclaimed, playfully shoving me.

"I think that was the most effort I've put into anything in my life." I said, setting my controller on the coffee table in front of me.

"Wow, that's dramatic," Justin remarked.

"Yeah, that's the usual for Jake," Elliot replied, laughing.

"You probably woulda won if you picked a better car, dude. That track was way too close-quarters so you should've gone with a car with better acceleration." Alex said.

"Wha- do you own this game?" I questioned, looking accusatory.

"...Yeah? It came out a few months ago, pretty popular right now." He replied.

"Ugh, this is what I get for playing with a bunch of gamers." I exclaimed, applying a disgusted tone to the last word.

"Not my fault you only play like one game a month!" Alex joked.

"Even then, I was like this close to beating you anyway!" I said, gesturing a minuscule distance between my thumb and pointer finger.

A voice interrupts our argument, coming from right outside the room, "Uh huh...

...

Really? That's bullshit! Come on...

...

Dude, give me a couple of days, I'll make it right!

...

Yeah, I swear."

It seems that we all stopped talking to listen in at the same time. "That sounds like Tyler... who's he arguing with?" Elliot asked. I can't make out the voice of whoever he's talking to, it just sounds like mumbling.

They seem to pause for a moment, and the sound of a single set of footsteps can be heard.

"Fuck..." Tyler says to himself, still out of view.

"...I should probably see what's up, you guys can keep playing without me." I say, getting up from my spot on the couch.

"Yeah, you do that! Less competition for me," Alex exclaims, laughing to himself.

"Hey, I can still beat your ass at this game, I know exactly which car to pick this time!" Elliot argued.

"Yeah, right! Guess we'll find out!"

I leave as the three start up another game, kind of glad I don't have to have another near-heart attack from playing again. When I get back into the dimly-lit hallway, Tyler is nowhere to be seen.

I look around, heading into the main room of the house to see if I can spot him. It's pretty difficult to see anything, because of how dim it is here, plus the sheer amount of animals crowding up the place. Despite that, I manage to spot the Grey Wolf a ways away, hurrying quickly into the bathroom.

As I shove my way through a few groups of teens, I almost fall over a few times, gaining confused stares from a few in the room. I lightly knock on the bathroom door, waiting for a response, "Hey, you okay Tyler?" After a few moments, I'm returned with no answer, "...Tyler-" Before I can finish my sentence, Tyler swiftly pulls open the bathroom door, pulling me in and shutting the door behind me, before sitting down on the side of the bathtub. As I'm about to say something, I hear the sound of him sniffling.

...Is he crying?

He's looking towards the floor, so I can't confirm it visually, but the sound definitely gives it away.

"Whoa, what's wrong? Did something happen?" I asked worriedly, not yet choosing to bring up the argument we overheard.

There's a few seconds of silence as he tries to bring himself together, not very successfully. "I- I... I don't- I don't think I can-"

"It's fine, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to," I tried to reassure him. He raises his head for a moment to look at me, trying to find words to say, instead opting to go back to crying, head in his hands. I've never been good with situations like this, so I sit down next to him, putting my hand on his upper back, softly patting.

"I'm sorry- I'm a fucking idiot. I shouldn't have asked you to come."

"Hey! I've been having fun! Don't worry about me, it seems like you're the one who shouldn't have come." I joke, in some effort to lighten the mood.

Shit, was that inconsiderate of me to say?

To my surprise, he manages to let out a light laugh, "Yeah, I'm starting to realise that."

"...Do you wanna leave, then? They know I didn't want to go here in the first place, so you could just say you're being nice and walking me home." I didn't know if he would actually take up that offer, but I know some guys have a weird thing about not wanting to seem 'uncool' and leaving a party early was definitely considered that.

He thinks for a moment, still sniffling pretty noticeably. "...okay, just- give me a minute, I don't want to go out there looking like this." He mumbles, looking towards the door.

"Yeah, that's fine." I said, continuing to rub around his neck area.

This definitely wasn't how I expected the night to go. But it was a sort of 'two-birds-with-one-stone' kind of situation. I get to help out Tyler, which is usually the other way around, I get to leave early, and hopefully Shae stops bugging me about going to parties, at least for a while.

Now that I think about it, that analogy is pretty messed up.

A few silent minutes go by as I sit next to the still-crying Tyler, waiting for him to recollect himself. Even though he hasn't actually said anything here, in the two months I've known him, this is probably the most vulnerable I've ever seen him. When I first met him, it was pretty accurate to describe him as the kind of guy who acts like he never feels emotion. Hell, even I refuse to be open about my feelings, but most of my friends see through that nowadays. Even now, I don't really understand why I do that. I guess it's just easier to not talk about shit like that? Is that why Tyler does it?

"I think I'm good now," He said, shaking his hands as he stood up.

"Okay, let's get out of this dumpster fire." I sarcastically remarked. Tyler shot me a confused look in return. "Whatever, let's just go."

I open the bathroom door, grabbing his arm as I lead him out into the main room. Almost immediately the voice of a certain black cat perks up behind us.

"Oh? And what did you two get up to in there?" Chris remarked, laughing, "I didn't know you guys were THAT kind of friends!"

God damnit. This stupid fucking feline.

"Yeah, it's too loud out here for me, I needed a break, he came with." I explained, Tyler standing closely behind me with a confused look on his face. Just roll with it, dude, I think to myself, knowing I probably shouldn't say that out loud.

"You know, I would believe that, but normal guys actually just go outside when they need a break." He replied.

"Well, hey! That's where we're going right now, so it all checks out!" I say in the bitchiest voice I can muster.

"Heh, sure thing, Jake." He said, sounding weirdly satisfied with himself. I didn't want to spend any more time in this fucking house than I needed to, especially while talking to Chris, so I continue on, pulling Tyler by the hand towards the exit. After a few moments, we make it to the front door. I promptly open it and we both head outside.

We're immediately greeted by the light of the moon and the starry sky as we head down the walkway toward the street. One of the few benefits of living in such a backwater town was the absence of any significant light pollution. I've been to Portland a few times for school field trips and such, and seeing the sheer difference in visible stars was absolutely staggering. I could only imagine what it would be like to go stargazing in the middle of nowhere.

"At least it's a nice night out." I said.

"Yeah..." Tyler replied, his mind clearly in a completely different place.

"I should probably tell Shae where we went, so she doesn't freak out trying to find us back there." I joked, pulling out my cell phone. Texting on my flip phone was an arduous task, but I didn't want to call her, so I had not much of a choice.

I send the text, and close my phone, returning it to my pocket. As we walk down the road, we stew in the silence, the only auditory sounds coming from the party still close by, and the local crickets chirping.

I won't lie, as much as I usually appreciate quiet, this is the loudest silence I've ever been stuck in. It goes on for more than five minutes. I could tell he wanted to say something, and I was eager to find out whatever was going on that started this in the first place. But, like the coward I am, I try to lighten the mood.

"Hopefully that satisfied your quota of me going to parties with you for a while, cause I do not plan on having the energy for something like that again for at least a few months." I said, awkwardly laughing. He doesn't respond, at least for a while, as he raises his hand, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "...Uhh, are you sure you don't wanna talk about it? I mean-"

"Can I tell you something?" He interrupted, his voice still cracking like it was in the bathroom.

"...Sure?" I replied, slightly confused.

"It's just that- I don't really know- like what-"

"-to say? Just think for a minute. No rush." That's what my dad always says whenever my mind spirals. I used to be really anxious, although I've been getting better at controlling my thoughts in the past few years.

When I went to text Shae a few minutes ago, my phone's clock read 9:48 PM. I'm supposed to be home at ten and we're still at least twenty minutes away, not even including the detour we'll take to get to Tyler's place. Which brings me to the realisation that, when we get to his house, I'm gonna have to walk the rest of the way home by myself, in the dark. If I get murdered by some serial killer this late at night I'm gonna fucking haunt Shae from the afterlife-

"I think I'm gay," He quickly says, his voice holding a noticeable increase in energy compared to what I've been used to tonight.

Well... can't say that's exactly what I was expecting. Was I expecting anything in particular? I honestly don't know anymore. His words took me by surprise, my brain is kind of scrambled right now. I look over at him - he's looking back at me, probably trying to gauge my reaction. I did my best to conceal any facial reaction, but it's pretty clear that my lack of a response is starting to become noticeable.

"...You... think?"

"Well, like- I don't know. I guess I've just been thinking for a while, and it makes sense... all things considered." He replied anxiously.

"That- That's great! Does anyone else know?"

"I only really realised a few weeks ago, so... no. But compared to anyone else, I probably trust you the most to not like- tell anyone?" He said, looking over at me again.

"Well, I appreciate the completely undeserved confidence you have in me," I joked, realising too late that now probably isn't the time for that, "Yeah, I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Thank you," He replies, a genuine smile strewn across his face.

A few minutes go by as we walk down the road, absorbing the positive energy we created. Having only known Tyler for a little over two months, it definitely surprised me knowing that he trusted me more than anyone else to keep a secret like that... I mean, despite the short amount of time since I met him, I'm as close to him as I've been to Shaela for the past eight years. Maybe even closer? I barely even tell Shae about my actual problems, at least the non-surface level stuff. So yeah, I guess it makes sense that he would trust me with something so important, I know I would absolutely trust him if it were me in that situation.

"...So, do you think you're gonna tell your dad?"

He didn't say anything for a moment as he stared down at the ground beneath him, "I'll probably have to tell him soon, if he has to find out from some asshole that isn't me it'd make it ten times more difficult than if I just said it myself."

I agreed, and we let the conversation cut itself off as we finally approached Tyler's house. I followed him up the walkway and stood on the patio, making sure he actually got inside. He tries the doorknob eagerly, to no avail. Realising that it was locked, he reaches into his pocket for his key - again, to no avail.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Tyler mumbled under his breath, clearly done with tonight. All of the lights were off in the house, signalling that his dad was not awake.

"Maybe you'll wake him up if you knock? Then he can let you in."

"Nonono, he thinks I'm staying at your place! If he finds out I went to a party I'm in deep shit," He whispered.

Of course. If I had to lie to my parents, why would I expect anything different from anyone else?

"Okay, uhh... maybe we can make that lie... not a lie?" I said, sounding weirder than I'd like.

Tyler looked at me, confused for a moment, eyes widening as he realised what I meant, "I can't let you do that, I've already forced you through too much shit tonight."

"Oh, come on, of course you can sleep at my place for the night! My parents think I'm at your house right now, so I can just tell them that we both went over there early in the morning. They love you anyway, so it won't be a problem!"

He didn't move at all, still looking reluctant, "Are you sure it won't be... weird? I don't want to put you in an awkward situation cause of w- what I told you."

"Dude, that couch in my room has a hide-a-bed if you don't want to share mine. Either way, we're friends, aren't we? I trust you."

After a few moments of silence, he speaks up, "...I guess so-"

"Great, then it's settled!" I said, putting my arm around his shoulder as I led him back down the walkway.

---

Once we make it to my place, walk up the creaky wooden steps of my patio as I fish the house key out of my pocket. Tyler's standing closely behind me, looking awkward as ever, clearly not knowing what to do with his hands as he switches between putting them in his pockets and clasping them together.

I turn the key on the lock and try the door, noticing that It's completely pitch black inside the house. My parents usually go to bed at 10 PM, and it was well past that at this point. I lock the door behind us as I reach for my pocket, grabbing my phone and flipping it open to use as a barely-useful flashlight. I take Tyler's wrist as I lead him through the furniture of my living room and up the stairs. The only sounds in the house come from the soft ticking of a clock in the kitchen, the sound of which has always freaked me out whenever I'd come downstairs at three in the morning. Despite my best efforts to be as quiet as possible, the old wooden boards of the stairs prove my effort to be futile as they creak with every step. I can only hope that both of my parents have fallen asleep by now, or else they'd definitely have heard us. As I take Tyler down the hallway, walls strung with various family photos and art fit for a motel, I hear no sounds coming from the master bedroom, relaxing some of my tension.

Once we make it to my room, I breathe a sigh of relief as I turn on the overhead light, hoping my mom doesn't find out and try to lecture me in the morning, "Okay, hide-a-bed or mine, your choice!"

"Hide-a-bed." He replies.

"Sure thing, lemme show you how to set it up," I say as I remove each couch cushion one by one. The couch is sitting directly under my massive bedroom window, illuminated by the glow of the moon. Under the cushions is a black folded-up contraption, bearing a metal handle. I grab the handle and start pulling the bed out from the couch. As the first section of the bed comes out, Tyler stands next to me and helps unfold the second section, and finally the third.

I move over to open the closet door, "I have some spare pillows and blankets in here."

"So, why do you have a spare bed... thingy... in your room anyway?" He asked.

"My cousins' family came to visit from the other side of the country a few years back, so my parents made the cousins stay in my room and gave me our old couch that used to be in the living room. They were here for like two weeks, it was fucking awful," I remarked, pulling a comforter out of the closet and unfolding it out on the mattress.

"That sounds miserable," Tyler sympathized.

"It was, but hey, now I got a sick as fuck couch in my room! And it works as a great place for certain friends to sleep when they wanna spend the night," I said sarcastically, looking over at Tyler as I grabbed the pillows from the closet, tossing them to one end of the bed.

He turned his head, baffled, "Was that a dig on me?" He questioned.

"Depends on how you took it I suppose," I replied, smiling cunningly.

"You're the one who offered, dude- are you sure you didn't drink at the party? You've at least doubled your usual level of sarcasm." He retorted.

"Nope, unless somebody spiked my soda!" I joked, but the realisation slowly set in, "Oh shit- maybe someone spiked my soda?!?"

"Don't freak out, I seriously doubt someone would spike your drink,"

"God, I hope so, if my parents found out I went to that party, that'd be one thing, but if I got drunk? I doubt I'd see the outside world for months," I sighed.

"Even if you were drunk, it's not like you would still be drunk in the morning for them to find out, anyway."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I said, letting out a yawn shortly thereafter. "Fuck, I didn't realise how tired I am." Looking at my alarm clock, it was 10:37 PM. That wasn't terribly late, I've definitely stayed up later when there was an assignment due the next day that I forgot about, but even before I met up with Alex and Elliot, that party was just wearing me down. "At least I can sleep in 'till like noon tomorrow. You sure you don't need anything before I pass out from exhaustion?"

"No, I'm okay, I think. And, thank you... Jake." He replied, smiling at me.

"No problem, dude!" I quietly exclaimed as I turned off the bedroom lights and hopped into bed. I can practically feel my muscles dissolve as I lean into the mattress, pulling the heavy blankets over me as I close my eyes.

I can't help but feel something itching in the back of my brain. I never did find out why Tyler was even crying back at the party. Was it related to what he told me after? He sounded pretty upset when he was talking to whoever it was in the hallway, too, so maybe that was why? We've already talked about so much shit tonight, though, and I definitely did not have the energy to have another huge conversation about something like that. It could definitely wait until tomorrow.

Soon, I feel my consciousness drift away, the only sound I can make out being the slow breathing of Tyler, across the room.

---

As I wake up, I'm blinded by the bright sun shining in through my windows, directly into my eyes. I glance over at my alarm clock, feeling incredibly groggy and sore, noticing that it's 11:13 AM. Usually, the latest I'd sleep in on weekends was only around ten, but I guess it took a lot of my energy yesterday to try to tune the party out. At least it's over.

I slowly sit up, yawning as I lean back against the bed frame. I glanced around the room, noticing that the hide-a-bed had been folded back into the couch, Tyler nowhere to be seen. I reach over to my bedside table to check my phone, finding an unread text from him, sent a few hours ago.

Tyler: hey

woke up early, figured youd want 2 sleep in.

will call u later, might have somthin big i wanna share, will see

A pair of oddly cryptic messages. Guess that confirms he isn't here anymore.

At least it was a Saturday, meaning that I had full permission to be a slob. I get out of bed, deciding to skip my usual shower until after breakfast. Other than the snacks that were out at the party, I ate practically nothing last night. I could almost feel my stomach turning itself inside out, so I hurried out of my room and downstairs to the kitchen to have some breakfast.

The first thing I notice when I get downstairs is my mom, sitting on the couch with a book. I head straight to the kitchen, trying not to make myself stand out.

"Jake! Finally woken up, I see." She remarked, still looking at her book.

"Hey, mom!" There's a moment of silence as I grab a bowl out of the cupboard, as well as a box of cereal, and begin to pour.

She speaks up, "Your friend, Tyler, seemed to be in a hurry to leave this morning, anything I should know about?"

"...Not that I know of? Like what?" I questioned as I poured some milk from the fridge, grabbed a spoon, and sat at the kitchen counter.

"Well, it's not like we didn't notice that you weren't home by ten like your father asked you to be, so obviously you must have a good excuse for why you didn't at least call to let us know you'd be late?" She replied. I could tell when she started talking all responsible-parent-like, it meant that she was gonna lecture me about something.

I sighed, thinking of the right thing to say. "...Well, Tyler was going through some things... so I was trying to help him with that, I guess. Time just kinda flew by and I wasn't able to get home 'till later."

"So he spent the night here? Weren't you at his house?" She asked as I ate a spoonful of cereal.

"Yeah... we went out for a bit and once I noticed how late it was I offered to let him spend the night at our house since it was closer," I said. Almost entirely a lie, but definitely preferable to the truth.

"Jake..." She said, setting her book down on the coffee table in front of the couch, walking over to me, and resting a hand on my shoulder. "You're sixteen now, obviously we don't expect you to tell us everything you're up to nowadays. But we worry about you! I worry about you. Just for future reference, please let us know if you're gonna be home late or anything like that."

"Okay, I'll keep that in mind," I said, looking up at her.

"Great! Now, I have to go meet a friend for lunch, please try not to burn the house down while I'm out!" She said as she grabbed her purse and keys off of the counter, hurring out the door.

"No promises, love you!" I said as she closed the door behind her.

Well, I guess that went... better than expected? I doubt she believed that story I made up, but I guess as long as I don't break curfew without telling them, I should be fine.

Having the house to myself wasn't totally uncommon. Considering my dad was gone during the day five days a week, and my mom would head out to go meet friends or run errands pretty often, I got some much needed alone time often enough to not go mad.

As I finish my bowl of cereal, I realise that I probably should go shower as soon as possible, considering the night I had. I put my bowl and spoon in the dishwasher and head back upstairs. I grab a towel from my room and head into the bathroom, grabbing my various fur care products out of the cabinet for after the shower. As I turn the shower on, I hear the sound of my ringtone going off in the pocket of my pants on the floor. I sigh annoyedly, walking over and trying to figure out which pocket my phone was in. When I flip open the phone, the Caller ID reads out Tyler's name.

"Tyler! What's up?" I ask eagerly, hoping to find out what the news he cryptically texted about was.

"Jake- fuck, I messed up, I shouldn't have- what am I gonna do?" He said anxiously, sounding almost out of breath.

"Hey! Slow down, what's wrong?" I questioned.

"I'm such a fucking idiot! Why did I think this would be a good idea? Jake, I'm so sorry-"

"Tyler! Calm. Down. Just take a few deep breaths," I said. After a few moments, I can hear his breathing steadying on the other side of the call. "Okay, good. Now, what's wrong?"

There's a short pause as he tries to find the right words to say. It sounds like he's been crying. What even the fuck has been the past twenty-four hours?

"Can- do you think I could crash at y- your place for a few more nights? I don't know what to do."

[avaantares]

My New Ventilated Social-Distancing Movie Theatre

(or, how I bought a 2020-proof social life for less than $100)

So the USA is (still) a hot mess in terms of pandemic response. Because both my father and I are at increased risk for complications from COVID-19, and my sister and I have to work together in person to run our workshops, my entire family has been in a state of self-quarantine for six months straight (with no end in sight). But it’s hard being in constant isolation, so the four households that comprise my local family have been doing weekly outdoor gatherings -- with plenty of hand sanitizer and safely-spaced tables -- so we can see each other and socialize at a distance. However, that’s only feasible when the weather cooperates.

I’ve also really missed watching movies with friends, which prior to the pandemic had been a regular activity. I have a 70-year-old tripod screen I inherited from my grandfather and a projector I use for running panels at conventions, so we’ve watched occasional DVDs outdoors, but we could only do that on evenings without wind (which could tear the brittle screen) or rain (which would damage the projector), and we have to be careful not to have the sound too loud because it might disturb the neighbors.

A couple weeks ago, when our city delayed reopening again due to rising COVID-19 case numbers, I decided to convert half of my garage into an outdoor movie theatre. It turned out pretty well, and it only cost about what I would spend on movie tickets in an average year (and since I’m not going to any movies in 2020, it’s pretty much a wash). I’m sharing the details in case it gives anyone else ideas for making a health-conscious social hangout!

Obviously YMMV, and in areas with higher case numbers (hi, FL & AZ), this still might be too much contact. Be safe and follow official recommendations to prevent viral spread, folks!

The Space

Before I settled on the garage, I considered building a movie space under a tent canopy (nixed because they’re almost impossible to anchor through Midwest storm winds) or carport kit (too expensive and high-maintenance for me), so there are definitely other options depending on where you live, your typical weather, and what space you have available!

My garage has an unusual layout that allows for better-than-average ventilation. When it was first built, it was a 2 1/2-car garage with the doors facing the street and windows on the side. About 40 years later, the owners decided to move the driveway to the other side of the house, so they built a second garage attached to the drive-door side and knocked out an end wall to put in a new overhead door. This means that by square footage, the garage could hold four cars, but the way the drive doors are situated, it’s a divided two-car garage with a bunch of extra space at the far end. The two sides are connected by one of the original overhead doors, which means that three of the four walls have openings that allow for air movement. (More on that below.)

Normally there’s a car in each side of the garage, but I decided I was willing to park outside all summer for the sake of having a social life. Over the course of a week, I emptied and thoroughly cleaned the half of the garage that has the windows.

Air Flow

Constant fresh air flow is critical to flushing aerosolized particles that can spread the virus, so in order to make a safe indoor space, I had to simulate outdoor air movement. I opened all three overhead doors and both windows, then placed several fans to draw air through the building: One in each window, one along the side wall, and a box fan in the connecting door between the two sides of the garage to pull more air in from the outside. To make sure air was actually moving through the building and not just circulating within it, I turned on all the fans while I was sweeping the (very dusty) floor and walls, and adjusted the fan angles until the dust blew straight out the overhead door, rather hanging in the air or gathering in the corners. (Experts recommend that to prevent virus transmission, indoor spaces should have 100% air turnover every 10 minutes; obviously I have no way of testing that in a garage, but there is a constant light breeze through the building and stuff seems to be blowing out, so I feel pretty good about it.)

Projection Setup

I already had the projector and DVD player (I took the one out of my living room, since I usually just watch DVDs on my game console anyway), but I wanted a larger wall-mounted screen, since my grandfather’s 1950s screen was designed for showing vacation slides in a living room, not wide-screen films. Hanging fabric screens are very cheap, but I opted for a 120″ retractable screen so it would stay clean in the dusty garage. I also have an old set of monitor speakers that provide nice stereo sound.

Seating

The beauty of setting up in a garage is that it’s basically outdoors, so you can use lawn furniture or bean bags or old chairs you pulled out of someone’s trash (I do this regularly; it’s how I got my entire patio set). Measuring out at least 6 feet between each table and staggering their positions so nobody was directly downwind of another table, I set up all the card tables and folding tables I owned, and put a pair of chairs by each one so that couples from the same household could share a table but not be in close contact with any other groups. I put my largest folding table (which was also salvaged from the trash -- seriously, it’s the best way to get stuff!) against the wall right by the open door to serve as a snack table, so it’s on the opposite wall from the seating and nobody would be breathing on the food. I covered all the tables with decorative heavy-duty vinyl tablecloths (mostly for sanitation purposes, because those tables have been sitting out in my garage and I know I’ve had raccoons and opossums out there -- not to mention the colony of bats that lives in the loft off the back of the garage).

This setup can seat up to eight people, and even provides a place for serving food. (I put pump bottles of hand sanitizer on each table and on the food table, and people wear face masks when they’re loading up their plates, so there’s minimal contamination risk there.)

Total Cost

My out-of-pocket cost for this whole project was only about $83, though that’s because I already had a lot of stuff lying around. Here’s a more complete breakdown:

Fans: I already owned the box fan ($25 new) and a couple other fans that I’d picked up super cheap at garage sales ($5 or so), because my house is old and the HVAC is not very efficient. The only new fan I bought for this project was a refurbished air circulator from Amazon ($14), because I needed a small but high-velocity fan to fit in a window.

Projection setup: The only new thing I bought was the screen, which was $65 including shipping (though non-retractable fabric screens start around $10-15, so if you’re on a budget you can get one very cheap). I bought the projector used on eBay about eight years ago. I think I paid around $40 for it then, but prices have come down since; I’ve seen discount projectors for as low as $20. The DVD player is a cheapo region free model, which I got a decade ago for maybe $30. The speakers were secondhand; I’ve also used an old set of external PC speakers ($10 from Goodwill) when running video off my laptop, and they worked well enough in the indoor space.

Seating: Almost all the outdoor furniture I own came from other people’s trash, so I didn’t pay anything for it! Any kind of seating or tables will work, though. I did invest about $4 for new tablecloths, which I got on seasonal clearance.

Bonus Perks

I’ve discovered that the garage walls block a LOT of light and sound unless you’re standing directly outside the drive doors, so we can watch movies for half the night or stay up late chatting and we aren’t disturbing the neighbors! We couldn’t run movies out on the patio late at night because the sound would carry to neighboring houses.

Also, when we’re watching a film in the evening, we get to watch my bats fly through the garage on their way to and from dinner! (Which might be an annoyance to the bats if we were out there all the time, but we try to keep our volume low and we’re only out there about once a week, so I don’t think we’re disturbing them too much.) Bats are protected in my state, as some of the native species are critically endangered, and we try to encourage nesting as they’re essential to pest insect control. I love watching them fly around!

The setup also works well for video games. A local friend and I had been playing online, late at night because it was the only time we could get enough bandwidth to maintain connection (the ISP in my area is not super reliable), but now we can sit on opposite sides of the garage and play local co-op with no lag:

So, in summary, my “movie theatre” is by no means a luxurious setup, but it was cheap :) and it’s a great way for my small pandemic social bubble to get together and chat, have a movie night, or play games without risking being in a closed room together.

[female-overlord-3]

Bring Them Home Ch 6

Accept some help <- ao3 link

Prev - Next

People think planning is an amazing and easy thing like the movies. It’s fucking not when you have people not trusting your judgement and arguing against you. Alex would pull his hair out but training recruits already did that for him, so this is pretty much child's play.

“Max for the last time if you disagree on every suggestion or decision I make, you will be left here with Isobel like I originally intended but chained to a chair.” Alex declares when Max says having Kyle stay in the getaway car is stupid.

“I’m just saying-” Alex is having none of it. “You want a valuable member who has medical experience to be vulnerable and possibly hurt or killed.”

“This isn’t some military crew you can order around Alex.” Max argues but that gets a laugh out of Alex, Cam, Michael, and Kyle.

Michael actually has to lean on Alex to breathe. “Max besides Cam here we wouldn’t know a thing about infiltrating an army type facility and she only came cause Alex is fucking persuasive. Chill out and let someone who knows what their doing lead alright.” He tosses him a bread roll. “You did what you could so far but we have help now. Take it.”

Michael knew Alex could handle Max being difficult for longer but he doesn't know how much longer he could handle Alex being all authoritative and hot.

"Michael your hand." Alex murmurs. Michael turns and blinks at him, still not used to Alex using his first name, and confused until he sees his hand is molded to Alex's neck and his thumb is rubbing against it.

He's not really sure what to do though because he wants to keep touching Alex but he thinks Alex is asking him to stop. They were fine earlier and Alex even took the initiative to hold hands. Are hands okay but not what he's doing now?

They really need to talk because Michael can't mess this up, he needs to know what he can and can't do.

Alex can see the uncertain look on Michael's face turn to frustration and he didn't want that when he mentioned Michael's hand, he just needed to concentrate.

“I’m trying to be in charge right now so either keep your hand still or move it somewhere else please.”

Michael can do that. A shoulder seems like a neutral area so that's where he moves his hand.

They focus back into the conversation and things settle after that. Once all the food as either been eaten or put away, everyone decides a break from planning would be good.

Alex slips away and reclaims the chair he had when he first got here,  bringing his laptop out to continue going through the files. A glass of water settles on the table in front of him and he smiles before refocusing.

From what he's collected he has data of footage, medical records, finances, blueprints and employment list that go back until the 1980's. Not everything but he'll take what he can get.

He goes over the blueprints of the building and noting all the changes made over the years, the most recent, only being a decade ago. With the building being an old prison, most of the exits and entrances are kept the same, minor rooms added and updated plumbing but still pretty outdated security.

Alex can work with this easily.

He moves onto the employment lists and seeing how much it's thinned out over the years, taking note of which branch is keeping it funded and thankfully it still has the current higher-ups listed. That'll come in handy.

That quickly turns into finances and Alex can see how time really has made a difference because the budget is less than half from the last decade. He can make an easy case to have his father dishonorably discharged especially with what he still has after he relocated him.

For once he finally feels like he's winning against his dad. He's protecting those he cares about, keeping them safe and going to free people who should've been helped instead of made prisoners.

"Alex."

Looking up he grins at Michael.

"Hey I've gone through most of the stuff I got from Caulfield and now I have what I need to finally get my dad off our backs. I haven't looked at any of the footage or medical records but I really don't think I can stomach them right now. I-" he's cutoff by lips brushing against his cheek.

"Take a break?"

Alex hesitates and glances back at his laptop. He could probably find something else to use with another 20 minutes.

"Just 10 minutes. Come join us, Liz is talking about her college days and I know Cam is waiting for you so you can swap more army stories."

A warm hand starts rubbing at the tension in his neck and shoulders.

"Or we could stay here. Not going to lie, it's kinda nice just being able to touch you knowing I can."

Alex sighs into the touch and nods.

"Fine 10 minutes but that's it."

Michael just grins and puts all his focus on turning Alex into relaxed goo.

"Thank you." He murmurs while working as many knots as he can out of Alex.

Alex just hums and relaxes further into his chair.

When Alex's breathing evens out and Michael sees his eyes closed, he grabs a blanket from the couch and lays it over him, kneeling down to slowly and gently remove his prosthetic.

With it removed and hidden under the chair, Michael stands and leans down to press a light kiss to Alex's head, a giddiness hits him because he can do that.

He throws a pillow behind him but it's caught.

"You going soft on me Guerin?"

Michael just hums and he brings his drink to him, keeping his back to Kyle while he keeps his eyes on Alex.

"What do you want Valenti?"

He glances at him for a second before turning back to Alex.

Kyle just grins, face soft as he hugs the pillow to his chest.

"Hey I'm-" Kyle pauses hoping Michael let's him talk. "I'm glad he lets someone take care of him." He finally says keeping his eyes on the back of Michael's head.

Turning he looks to Kyle with a rare kind smile.

"Me too Doc."

[the-headbop-wraith]

1_12 Contracts

Summary: The Mystery Skulls spend a night exploring a condemned welding plant rumored to be haunted.  The group encounters shadow people lingering and cold spots, but one spirit in particular offers cryptic advice regarding a shy spook that doesn’t wish to be bothered.

The mom and pop diner had been around for a quarter of the century and sustained its self through the regulars and travelers passing through, or infrequent few that come by from the thoroughfare where the line of hotels and motels had sprung up over the decades.  A steady fog of amber sun gleamed through the thin paned windows that faced the parking lot, beyond awaited the road and the distance motels.  It was customary of restaurants with outdated stoves to raise a dull haze into the ceiling, for which the air transported rich currents of coffee, sizzling bacon and eggs, and cooking potatoes.

This old time atmosphere was lost on regulars who frequented these places, the promise of good coffee and a warm meal the only acquisition worth the time allotted.  Sometimes this reward was a ruse, and the disappointed customer would mark it down on the migration as a place that would never see a bill from their wallet again.  Vivi didn’t care, as she had her fair share of substandard meals that were not prepared by strangers, food was food.  Traveling as her group did on a tight schedule and a stricter budget, beggars couldn’t be choosy.

“I must interject,” Arthur began, as he scooted his coffee mug nearer to the edge of the worn plastic table when the waiter came by.  Arhur waited until the waiter refilled his mug and stepped away, before he continued, “that this spirit you guys saw may have been screwin’ with you.  Lewis in particular.”  Arthur took a sip before the steam could settle.

Vivi shrugged.  She tapped away at the computer, about twenty tabs open in each of the search engines she skimmed through.  “I don’t wanna come off as sounding naïve, but he seemed genuine,” she said.  “Anyway, he didn’t really mention anything about Lew.  Just gave us the fetch quest and wished us a good luck.”  Vivi pause and placed her elbows to the table top and entwined her fingers together, and set her chin on the bridge her knuckles formed.  “I don’t think he was from the plant.  He had a nondescript following him, same color as him; like with Lew and his deadbeats.”

Arthur cut his sausages with his fork, while picking up a chicken tender from the appetizer plate set between their individuals plates.  The chicken tender disappeared under the table, and Arthur selected another one in the same fashion, jaws clacking below.  “A suicide may not be impossible to look up,” Arthur says, and another chicken tender goes under the table while he pokes at a sausage with his fork, “but it may be well hidden unless we look for some more specific details.  A date, a time?  There would have to be an unrelated article somewhere.”

“I keep trying the factories name,” Vivi says.  More tabs in the search engine, a few others closed.  She sips at her warm tea and sighs.  “Maybe I’m trying to be too specific.  Er… damn?”

“Freeze up again?”  Arthur’s question was answered, as Vivi hefted up the laptop and passed it over the table to him.  “Hold up a sec.  You got Firefox opened too?”  He pushed his half eaten plate away and set the laptop down.  “It sucks when you got Chrome open.”  Arthur yelped when a loud snarl came from under the table, followed by a clank.  “I wasn’t talking to you!”

“Forgot I was using it,” Vivi says, as apology.  She fumbles with a piece of bacon on her plate and looks out the large window beside them.  “‘The one you should be looking for,’” she repeats.

__

“He’s hiding from you.”

Lewis had moved to stand between Vivi and the other when its voice found them, but Vivi had gently nudged him aside and raised her camera to get a picture.  She never took her eyes off the gloomy figure, maybe as tall as Lewis, standing on the first step of a set of cement stairs leading to a higher level of the factory.  The voice had a thick grating, as if the bearer was older in life, if not in death.

The condemned welding plant had been shut down for years, following its closure.  The drums and machinery left behind emit a heavy vapor of rust, traces of seeping propane and oil fumes filled the air with a thick tar.  The only light source came from a flashlight Vivi carried, and what moonlight drips down from the large thick shutters high above in the ceiling.

“Who… do you think we should be looking for?” Lewis asked.  He looked over as Vivi checked the view screen of the camera, and showed him the figure carefully hidden by dark folds of shadows and grease.  But Lewis could make out dissimilar features, a bald head, bright eyes gleaming, and a dark suit.  The figure looked human, but for its eyes.

“I don’t come here often,” said the other.  He watched Vivi carefully.  “The others, they remain.  I know none of them.”

Vivi waited.  She noted a shape huddled on the steps somewhere above the other spirit, a dull glow emitting from its chest which had a coloration that matched the heart of the spirit whom addressed them.  It was too cold to be standing around, the factory absorbed the heat and expelled icy drafts that clung to bones.  “So this guy, you wouldn’t know his name?” she says.  “He’s a he?  Right?”

The spirit crackled, his voice hollow but it failed to echo around them.  “I sometimes come around here.  After the place was shut down, but even then that was a long time ago.”  A strange sound came from him, a rattle or crinkle, and the nondescript shadow on the steps faded.  “But you’re here, you must be looking for him.”

“If you say so?” Lewis said, unsure himself.  “We’re just paranormal investigators, trying to catch some evidence of unusual occurrences.  Namely, spooks.”

“I see,” the other said.  “Then I’m right.  You should be looking for him, and he is hiding from you.”

Vivi pulled her backpack around and slipped the camera into a side pocket.  “I hope you don’t tell us we’re wasting our time, wandering around here,” Vivi says.  She adjusts the straps on her shoulders and thumbs at the walkie-talkie in her hand.  “Because we have ways to draw out the shy ones.”

The eyes of the other spirit brightened.  “You do?” he said, and glanced away for a moment.  “It would help if you had a unique item of his?”

Vivi took a step toward the steps, and the spirit snapped his gaze back on her.  “Immensely.  Is there something in this factory he favored, or owned?”

“No, not here, I don’t think,” the spirit said.  Above him, the lingering nondescript reappeared, nearly missed in the gloom as it drifted down to its companion.  “I know a few very interesting details that will help you, should you want to speak with him.”

 Vivi jarred.  She heard Arthur’s voice in her ear and tried to answer him on the walkie-talkie.  She blinked, her heavy eyelids struggling to stay down as she drew her face back from the table’s surface.

Arthur winced and withdrew his hand from her shoulder.  “Sorry,” he said, and held up the laptop in his good arm.  “I fixed it, but you looked really beat.”

“So why’d you wake me?”  Vivi pulled her back upright, and fixed the magenta glasses on the bridge of her nose.  She looked to where Arthur was pointing to the plates, dangerously near the edge of the table.

“You are such a restless sleeper.”  Arthur set the laptop down in the space before her, and pulled the top screen open.  “I had to go back and retrieve a bunch of your browsing history, but I don’t think you’ve checked this link yet?”  His metal arm reached around the screens side and indicated one of the non-highlighted links.

As Arthur pulled back the plates from the edge of Sparta, Vivi clicked on the link.  “It didn’t have a lot of visits, so I just forgot about it.”  A shabby and self-made webpage appeared, the font very simple and all of the simplicity of the site gave off the strong vibe of do-it-yourself-or-don’t.  The links did work, the list included Home page, Town history, Images, and a few others.  Vivi selected Businesses.  She took a scoop of her eggs as she read down the page, a long list of shops, farmers, and one page for the welding factory they had visited.  “Okay, fingers crossed,” she announced, as she clicked the link.  She took her last piece of bacon and passed it under the table.

“Remember,” Arthur says, chewing on a buttered biscuit.  He shifted his food into his cheek like Galahad would, before he went on, “Even little things can be enlightening.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vivi muttered.  “I always check.  Last on my list though.”  She read through the numerous articles, more history, she picked some of the dates and historical value of the old factory.  “Yes!  Got it!”  She spun the laptop around, nearly knocking Arthur’s coffee over as she pushed the computer toward him.  “Name. Got a name.”

Arthur rescued his coffee, and took another sip as his eyes wandered to the page.  “Local man commits suicide?  You sure that’s the one?” he asked.  Suicides weren’t uncommon, said to say.  Arthur didn’t like the topic far less than others.

Vivi ordered another tea, before she leaned over to the computer.  “This one’s it because he worked at the factory.  I know it doesn’t say it there – like you said they don’t tell people about these things, but he worked at the factory, and he killed himself there.  It’s him.”  She spun the computer back around and stooped over, to the wall under the window where her backpack rested.  “Some of his family still resides in the city.”

“No, you’re not getting my sausage,” Arthur said, under the table.  He scooted his plate from the edge, and gave a cough.  “Yeah, about messaging between family and the deceased,” he grumbled.  “I hate that!”

“They’re not direct relatives,” Vivi says, struggling to keep her voice low.  “Descendants.  We’ll tell them we’re curious about some… bogus family history.  That ghost said—”

“That ghost was a complete dick!”  Arthur sighed and rubbed his face as he sat back.  The booth seat was so uncomfortable, but after a night of walking around in that drafty factory… no, he still hated the hard cold seat.  “We’re going on a fetch quest, why?”

“Because the ghost we want committed suicide.  And he was hiding from us,” Vivi says.  She smiles sweetly to the waiter when he brought more hot water and a new teabag.  “I want to know why he’s hiding from us.”

“Have you seen Lewis lately?” Arthur mumbled, looking into his empty coffee mug.  “He’s hard to miss.  Fucking scary too.”  He said that last part under his breath.

“Where is Lewis by the way?”  Vivi had two windows on the laptop open, just like her days attending college and writing book reports.  One window was a phonebook with names and addresses, the other tab was left open for the history of the welding factory.

“Went for a walk,” Arthur said.  He finished off his sausages and poked at his hash browns with his fork.  “I think.”  He thanked the waiter as more coffee came his way.  “You think he’s jealous you were talking to another ghost?”

Vivi put her sleeve to her lips as she giggled.  “No,” she says.  “He better not be.”  Arthur smirked and gave a light snicker.  “Do you think he gets hungry?  Or, maybe he’s around food he gets hungry?  Like, does he even smell?”

“Not bad?” Arthur said.  He chewed on some of his hash browns, and winced when Vivi tried to pop him on his good shoulder.  “Hey!  These are tasty, and I’m not done,” he growled.  “No-no.  No potatoes for you Mystery.”

“What about eating?”  Vivi continues.  She watches as Arthur picks up his mug of coffee and lifts it to his lips.  “Do you think he could….?  Never mind.”  She looks away and presses her lips together.

“Huh?” Arthur says.  And takes a sip.

“I was just thinking about Casper.”  She had his reaction pegged to a dime.  Arthur snorted and began coughing.  “Sorry.”

“My good pants!” Arthur snarled, as he went for the napkins and began blotting up the black mess now all over his plate and the table.  “Just got them from home!”

“That was pretty good,” Vivi says.

“Yeah, it was,” Arthur grumbled.  He took the half glass of water and poured some water onto his pants.  “I’m up to get you next.  The scores…. Eh, three and two.  I’m still winning.”

“I still say pointing out Lewis is shaped like a Dorito doesn’t count,” Vivi says.  She cut off a piece of her egg and ate it, then went back to scrolling and writing.  “Only because it is true, and that’s a foul.”

“You still laughed, and that’s what counts,” he said.  Arthur’s pants weren’t stained too bad, a few drops that the water had diluted enough.

“I feel bad about it though,” Vivi said.  She took a few more sips of her tea and finished off her eggs, then took the remainder of Arthur’s biscuit.

“I don’t think it bothered him that much,” Arthur says, as he scoots the tatters of potato remains around on his plate.  “He’ll just never look at a Dorito the same way.  No loss.”

“No, I mean—” Vivi stopped and stared at Arthur for a moment.  Recognition of who he was and their topic source hitting her hard.  She took a breath and sipped at her tea a little more.  “You eat a lot of Doritos.”

“Doritos, Pop Rocks, and Energy drinks,” Arthur pipes.  “Anything to keep me running when the headlamps are blazing.”  He looks under the table.  “Mystery, are you seriously licking the floor.  Gross.”  He stops the waiter and gets a fresh mug of coffee, before slipping it under the table.  “Careful, it’s hot.  Want sugar?”  There’s a bark.  “One or two?”  Three barks.  “Humming bird.”

Vivi paused in writing to watch Arthur and smirked.  “When he’s bouncing off the walls, I’ll remember this,” she warns.

“Lew can handle him.”  Arthur’s smirk faded.  He put some creamer into his own coffee and sipped.  “And the case?”

“Right,” Vivi took a breath.  She scrolled up reading through the historical document.  “No mention of the death, though there were a lot of accidents reported.  Then, the former owner passed away.  Hmm.”  She scanned through the font.  “‘Faulty equipment… Inability to acquire new equipment following The Stock Market crash of twenty-nine.’  Rough stuff.”

“A lot of businesses went bankrupt,” Arthur said.  “A lot of the owners couldn’t deal with it.  Does it say how the factory owner died?”

Vivi took a moment to write a few more notes in her notebook, before she answered, “It just says natural causes.”  She finishes copying down the addresses and sketches out a quick map on the next page.  “There’s not too many, most our time will probably be spent driving around until we find the right relations.  That’s IF the spirit was being honest.” 

“I should hang back with the van, while you guys go harass people in their homes,” Arthur says.  He reaches under the table and brings back up the empty coffee mug.  “That way when you guys get arrested for trespassing, I can bail you out.”

“It won’t come to that,” Vivi said.  She turned to look out the window and noticed the sun had risen higher above the distant rooftops during breakfast.  “As long as they’re not weirded about random strangers visiting out of the blue.” 

Arthur says, “Pot.  Kettle.  Black.”  Vivi throws a crumpled up napkin at him, which Arthur catches and sets aside. 

“I’ll go see if I can find Lewis,” Vivi says, as she tucks the beaten up spiral notebook into her backpack.  She takes up the half eaten biscuit and finishes it off.  “Want anything else?”

“I’m good.”  Arthur scoots over as Mystery clambers up, claws scratching at the plastic seat.  Arthur reaches over the table and pulls the laptop around and shuffles some of the plates and begins organizing the mess on the table.  “Here’s the keys,” he says, and holds up the ring with the boo charm on it.  “In case.”  He doesn’t let go of the keys when Vivi grabs them, and only looks up at her from under his thick eyebrows.

“He can’t just keep running away from us,” Vivi murmurs.  Arthur doesn’t comment, but releases the keys.  Vivi grabs her backpack and slings it over her shoulder as she walks off.  She looks to the other side of the diner, toward the half that is gift curious and jewelry but with Lewis stature it should be impossible to miss him.  There was clothing and coats at the furthest back, but she could still see the wood panels of the stores rustic backside.

At the counter within the midpoint of the diner, across from the glass door entrance, Vivi gives pause and waits for the cashier to finish with her customers.  When the family disperses around Vivi, she steps forward to the cashier.  “How was your meal?” the darker woman asks and smiles.

Vivi returns the gesture, her eyes still scanning behind the cashier should Lewis materialize (literally) out of nowhere.  “Splendiful, thank you.  Hey listen, I’m wondering if you’d see my friend lingering around here?” she says.  “Grizzly-tall guy, poof hair, purple sweater.”  The woman begins to shake her head and frowns a bit.  “He’s wearing these big, dorky ass sunglasses.”

“Oh!  Yeah,” the cashier said, with a grin.  She motions over her shoulder with her thumb.  “Guys in the back doing dishes.”

Vivi scowls.  “WHAT?”

Lewis is in the back doing dishes. 

For everything of him he couldn’t remember the last time he had done dishes.  Probably when he was still working for his family at Peppers Paradise, either cooking or doing the dishes.  Sometimes he preferred doing one over the other.  If he was feeling invigorated and playful he had the urge to create, to bring simple ingredients together into zesty splendor; sometimes experimenting with the ingredients of the dishes his Mamma and Pappa had spent years mastering.  Some free reign ambition was good, other times… well, Lewis and friends didn’t mind eating his creations.

Dishes were simple, dishes were autopilot.  He’d been doing dishwashing so long he didn’t need to think, he could let his mind wander off.  Go back a few years, reunite with simpler times though they may be lost. 

Water gushed, steam hissed.  Lewis scrubbed at the rock like crust of black, scouring the inside of pots forgotten too long on the stove with the hard scrubber.  If the task was impossible he’d fill the dish with hot water and some degreaser, then leave it be moment while he slid off.  The floor was slick enough he could get away with it, as he’d seen another kitchen aid skidding by on his own black heels a moment before.  Luckily, everyone’s eyes were elsewhere or they might’ve caught the hot pink sparks leaving scorch marks on the tile.

He moved further down the sink line, to the smaller pots and sauce pans in the deep basin.  An apron was tied to his front over his sweater, the sweater sleeves rolled up his forearms, and a pair of thick gloves were pulled up to wrap snug over the bundled ends.  He turned the heavy tap on and let water cascade into the deep sink and put a dab of the degreaser in, he skids over and put a little more in the large pot for good measure and skid back.  He took the rag and scrapped off the stains of food, scrubbed the pot clean and rinsed it then slid it down the stainless steel ramp to the next kitchen aid drying off the pots for the cooks.

The water practically boiled around his arms, but it was hard to tell with the thick suds.  He raises up an aggravating knife with a stubborn crust of something on it, and examined the sharp blade as it glint under the harsh phosphorus light.

“Knife coming down,” Lewis called, and slid the blade towards the dryer.  Soon there were stacks of plates, mugs, plastic cups rolling down the glistening wet ramp.

“Give me a sec, Lew,” the dryer called.  The dryer finished buffing two plates and set them into wire rimmed slots in a cart at his back.  While on pause, Lewis let the water drain out and rinsed the deep sink. 

“We’re short on pots.”  One of the cooks, dressed in a white uniform, approached Lewis.  “I’ll dry’em, don’t worry about it.”  The chef adjusted a towel laid over his forearm.

“How many?  What kind?”  Lewis was already pulling a few of the smaller pots from the stack and dunked them into the steaming bubbles.

“Two,” the cook answered.  “Lids too.  And three ladles.”  He rubbed at his brow with the inner side of his shoulder as Lewis scrubbed and rinsed.  He held open the towel as Lewis handed over the pots, plus lids, and spoons. 

“Got them?” Lewis asked, as he stuck the ladles into the pots open top.

“Yep, thanks,” the chef said.  He began pawing at the dishes between the towels.  “Whoo.  Hot, hot.  These are scalding.  Don’t your hands burn?”

Lewis shrugged as he turned back to the deep sink.  “Nope,” he chimes.  “I’ll turn the taps temp down, though.”  He freezes when the door across from him sweeps open and in charges Vivi.

“Lew—” Vivi’s words cut off when the sunglasses drop off his face and hit the floor, one of the lens pops out and skips up under one of the stainless steel counters.  “Oh shit!”  Vivi fidgets around as if trying to pick up a wild, spewing bottle of soda but uncertain how to do this feat without getting her clothing all wet and stained.

“I’m sorry, blueberry,” Lewis begins, holding up his slick gloved hands.  “You were eating, and I was going to—” He emits a brief but loud shriek, when Vivi jerks him down by the collar of his suit.  The lights in the kitchen flicker and dim causing the nearest of the kitchen aids to pause and look up, after a short sputter the lights brighten without problem.  “What?  What now?”  Lewis stares as Vivi jerks her sweater off over her head.  Underneath the sweater Vivi always wore a darker blue T-shirt that matched her skirt, but she preferred the extra comfort of the sweater.  Lewis doesn’t get out another sound before Vivi shoves the puffy sweater down over his face and she begins shoving him toward the swinging doors.

“Your face, Lew.  Your face,” Vivi hisses into his back.

“Ah.”  Lewis puts his hands up and pushes the doors away as he’s herded out.  A voice calls from the side, and he detects a presence hurry at them.

“I’m very sorry,” Vivi says around Lewis shoulder, her voice strained.  She pauses in the entry of the swinging doors as the taller man stares at them from the kitchens interior, between her and Lewis but mostly at Lewis with the sweater sagged around his face.  “He’s got… a bad nose bleed,” Vivi said, and kept going with the evasion, nodding.  “He gets them sometimes.  I gotta get him outside, get him some fresh air.”

“O… kay,” the older man said, staring with confusion.  Lewis thought he sounded like a compact version of his father.  “I’ll just need the gloves back, and the apron.  Also, I wanted to let you know we took some of your bill off, since he was doing the dishes.  It’s only fair.”  He nods.

“Right, um, thank you.”  Vivi pulls on Lewis sleeves and turns him away from – who she suspects could be the manager, or assistant manager.  Vivi slips off the rubber gloves and pulls the damp sweater down over Lewis’ suit.  She tugs at the apron, until Vivi finds the one cord at Lewis’ back that undoes the elegant little tight knot.  Vivi slaps Lewis hands away when he tries to help take off the apron, and instead he leans forward to allow Vivi the range to pull the aprons loop off from over his sweater garbed head.  Lewis doesn’t realize how fortunate he is that Vivi’s hands are full, otherwise she’d punch him.  “Really, thank you.  I’m so sorry about this.”

The kitchen aid waves her off.  “It’s no prob, nose bleeds suck,” he says, taking the gloves and apron.  “He’s really good at this gig.  I hope you’ll come by again before you head out.”

“Yes!  Most def.  C’mon Lew, let’s get you some napkins.”  Vivi pulls Lewis by his cuffs, guiding him out into the main interior of gift store.  She guides him around the few aisles and finds the little exercise is much easier than what it would be, if Lewis was just any other person.  The cashier watches them from the counter island in the center of the store, but says nothing as Vivi guides Lewis towards towards the glass doors of the restaurants entrance. 

People are still coming in, and too many stop to stare as she hauls Lewis out.  Vivi turns to the diner’s interior, scanning along the many large windows that face the parking lot and catches Arthur’s gaze as he looks up from the laptop in front of him.  Seated beside Arthur, Mystery catches his movement and looks up as well.  Arthur slants his eyes and makes a vague gesture with his good arm, twirling his hand at the wrist.  Vivi frowns and shakes her head, she gestures back with a sort of cutting motion and points out the door.  She has only a slight hint to what Arthur had signed, but he probably already gathered up the sum of what occurred in the kitchen.

It took a little longer than it normally would for Lewis to get his bearings together and pull on his Alive appearance.  Vivi had waited outside the doors of the van, as he sat in the back soundless and weightless.  For the duration Vivi would watch people walk by on the sidewalk across the parking lot.  The van was parked with its back facing the crumbling old wall of the restaurants side, and she felt confident no one would get close enough to the front of the van to make out the curious movement within through the large windshield.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” she began, when she heard Lewis creep out onto the back bumper.  It was tricky to tell, but she was getting accustomed to his airless movements.  “I panicked, but I guess I shouldn’t have.  You have to be more careful, though.”  She turned to the open door where Lewis now stood, dark eyes with the bright glimmer in their depths staring at her dubiously.  “You gotta work on not getting surprised when something random happens, or work on recovering faster.”

Lewis sort of frowned, his nose wrinkling in a way that seemed natural.  “It’s not as easy as I’m making it out to be, y’know,” he says.  “It’s not like there’s a little switch in me and when I feel like it, I flip it and change the way I look.”

Vivi sighed.  “I know.  I’m scared, that’s all.  But I’m not sure how—” She stopped and looked away as if something had caught her attention.  “I worry about you,” Vivi says.  “I worry about you, and I don’t want to worry about something taking you from us.”

“Mi arandano,” Lewis hummed.  He stepped over to Vivi and put his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug.  “I think I’m far beyond that threshold of being taken by someone else.”

Vivi kept silent for a moment, her arms curled up and pressed back into Lewis’ sleeves.  She listened to the distance traffic on the roads, and somewhere else the muffled patter of the locket Lewis carried.  A frail breeze crooned over the hard concrete and Vivi took a deep breath, taking in the thick scent of the earthy weeds growing between the cracks in the cement along the road, and the old oil baking on the asphalt.  There was… an unfamiliar scent to her long travels, something foreign to the countless roads and parking lots she had visited throughout the states.  The aroma was somewhat sweet and fresh, like after shower rains in a forest.  Or is it more electrical, like a thunderstorm charging across the untamed plains of the open desert?  She takes a tentative breath.  It was so pleasant and out of place, under the rash bake of the warm sun on cool pavement.  She leaned over and sniffed at Lewis sleeve.  That was it.  It was Lewis.

“What kind of soap were you using?” Vivi asked, as she pressed her nose into his sweater.  “On the dishes?”

Lewis looked away from a family that was walking by on the nearby sidewalk, towards the restaurants front.  “Just the usual industrial lemony-antibacterial stuff,” he said, distracted.  “I never really noticed it, I guess.”  He glanced over as the family entered through the glass doors.

“Hmm.”  Vivi could remember Lewis just drenched in the stuff from long hours in kitchen, on the late evening when he was washing the endless cycle of dishes that lay siege on the kitchen.  That was his smell when they were younger and while they were home, and she grew to like it.  That was not what he smelled like now.  But this was nice, whatever it was.  Vivi took one last deep breath of his sweater.  “You smell really nice,” she said, and stepped away from him.

Lewis stood there, arms open.  “Thanks?”

Vivi made her way around back to the front doors of the diner.  “I have to pay the bill,” she called back.  “And I’ll get you some new glasses from the gift shop.”

“Make sure they’re fashionable,” he hails after her.  “And purple!”

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 21, 2020

Heather Cox Richardson

As we enter the home stretch to this election, we are bombarded with so much news the only way to make sense of it is to divide it into categories.

The president is angry and self-pitying while campaign officials are trying to tip the election with the dubious laptop story. Administration officials are also working as quickly as they can to push through whatever they can while they are still in power, hoping what they are doing flies under the radar with so much going on. And this flurry of activity means there are bad slips.

At the same time, Democratic candidate Joe Biden is trying to get elected, but in such a storm of crazy that his actual policies, which are quite developed, are simply not getting much airtime. Instead, people have begun to look to him as a return to an America in which strength was measured not by dominance but by caring.

The president began the day by tweeting about Biden’s proposed tax plan, which he calls “the Radical Biden-Harris Agenda.” He claims that the plan will “slash the typical American’s income by $6,500 per year. They will raise TAXES by $4 TRILLION DOLLARS – triggering a mass exodus of jobs out of America and into foreign countries…. Your 401k’s will crash with Biden. Massive Biden Tax and Regulation increases will destroy all that you have built! Additionally, 180 Million People will lose their Private Healthcare Plans.”

In fact, though, it is the administration that is talking about slashing things, including millions of dollars from Democratic-led cities that Trump and Barr have labeled “anarchist jurisdictions”: New York City; Portland, Oregon; Washington, D.C.; and Seattle, Washington. That money would cut federal grants for coronavirus relief, HIV treatment, newborn screening, and so on. Officials from the affected cities, as well as the U.S. Conference of Mayors, say they will sue if the administration tries to follow this through.

In a move that threatens to destroy our nonpartisan civil service, Trump today signed an Executive Order creating a new category of public servant who is not covered by normal rules. These employees can be hired by agency heads without having to go through the merit-based system in place since 1883, and can be fired at will. This new “Schedule F” will once again allow presidents to appoint cronies to office, while firing those insufficiently loyal. It also appears to shield political appointees from an incoming administration by protecting them from firing because of political affiliation.

Yesterday, an inspector general for the United States Postal Service issued a report requested by Congress examining the effects of Postmaster General Louis DeJoy’s changes to the postal service. The report concluded that the changes resulted in “significant negative service impacts across the country.” DeJoy is a Trump loyalist. The USPS Board of Governors, made up of Trump appointees, rejects the report’s conclusions.

Meanwhile, a number of senior administration officials and lawmakers from both parties are worried that the White House is fast-tracking a business deal worth billions of dollars in what is essentially a no-bid contract to a company associated with Republican operatives, including Karl Rove. The company, Rivada, wants to lease the Department of Defense’s mid-band spectrum. This spectrum is wildly valuable for the 5G market, the next-generation mobile network. Pentagon leaders are opposed to the deal since the military uses that spectrum, and they say they have not been able to study the effect of commercial use of the spectrum on military readiness. Pentagon lawyers say the White House has no authority to sell or lease its spectrum. Lawmakers of both parties oppose the deal. One senior official told CNN, “Something is really fishy about this.”

Today, Director of National Intelligence John Ratcliffe blamed Iran for hacked emails purporting to come from the alt-right Proud Boys warning Democrats to vote for Trump. Ratcliffe said “we have identified that two foreign actors, Iran and Russia, have taken specific actions” relating to the election. He said the emails were designed to hurt Trump. Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY) told Rachel Maddow that intelligence officers in a classified briefing about the matter did not, in fact, say that there was any attempt to hurt Trump. “I’m surprised that Ratcliffe would say that to the public…. I had the strong impression it was much rather to undermine confidence in elections….”

Meanwhile, Trump continues to push the laptop story. He is reportedly considering firing FBI director Christopher Wray after the election because Wray has refused to announce an investigation into Biden, his son Hunter Biden, or other Biden associates. After Wray’s refusal to back up Trump’s insistence that this summer’s violence was from “Antifa,” the FBI director’s unwillingness to announce a Biden investigation is apparently infuriating the president. In 2016, then FBI director James Comey announced a new investigation into Hillary Clinton’s emails just 11 days before the election, an announcement political scientists say helped to swing victory to Trump. While the president can, in fact, fire an FBI director, it is unusual, and certainly should not happen because the director refuses to attack the president’s political rival. The term of the FBI director is set at 10 years so the director serves at least two presidents, and is not bound to the political cycle.

Trump is railing not just at Wray, but also at Attorney General William Barr. Trump was counting on Barr’s probe of the Russia investigation to implicate high-ranking members of the Obama administration just before the election, but Barr has backed off on delivering the report. Trump is frustrated, recently retweeting a photo of Barr with the caption “for the love of GOD ARREST SOMEBODY.” Barr has been staying out of the news lately, although he was in Memphis, Tennessee, today, announcing arrests made there under his Operation Legend, the name for the police crackdown in a number of cities announced in July.

Pushing the story of Hunter Biden’s laptop got a lot more difficult today when Sacha Baron Cohen revealed that his new Borat film shows Trump’s lawyer Rudy Giuliani—the source of the laptop-- in a compromising position with a young woman. Giuliani insists the scene is a “complete fabrication,” but the stills I saw (and I was trying really hard not to see any of this) indicate that this explanation will convince only those determined to be convinced. As many observers have pointed out, if Baron Cohen could prank Giuliani so easily, what does that say about how well Giuliani could identify foreign influence operations?

For his part, Biden is acting like a normal presidential candidate, which just doesn’t grab the headlines the way Trump’s actions do. After Trump attacked Biden’s tax policy, though, a number of stories noted the actual terms of the plan.

Biden proposes to raise taxes on the wealthy. He would get rid of some of the 2017 Trump tax cuts, including the cut in the income tax rate for people making more than $400,000 a year. Trump cut that rate from 39.6% to 37%. Biden would put it back where it was. This change would affect fewer than 10% of taxpayers. People would also pay into the Social Security payroll tax for incomes over $400,000. That tax is currently collected only on $137,700 of earnings. Under this plan, the nation’s top 1% of earners would bring home about 15.9% less money after taxes than they do now.

Biden also proposes to raise the corporate tax rate from 21% to 28%, and establish a 15% minimum tax on the so-called “book income” of a corporation, that is, the amount its directors report to shareholders, which often makes a corporation look quite profitable while it pays little or no tax. He would also increase taxes on international profits. These proposed taxes would make up more than half of the revenue the Treasury would see from the new measures.

The Biden proposals would raise between $2.4 and $4 trillion over a decade. The Penn Wharton Budget Model concludes that the top 1% of earners would pay about 80% of the tax increases. Its report continues: “All groups outside of the top 5%... see their after-tax incomes fall by less than 1 percent.” The Washington Post awarded four Pinocchios to Trump’s attacks on Biden’s tax plan. The Tax Foundation could not score Trump’s own plan because he has made no actual proposals.

Biden had powerful help today getting out his message. Former President Barack Obama, who has largely stayed out of the political fray, has reentered it powerfully. In a speech in Philadelphia, Obama directly attacked Trump, tearing apart his successor’s response to the coronavirus and his administration in general. No one gets under Trump’s skin like Obama does, and the former president seemed to be deliberately needling the president, perhaps to prod him to more self-destruction at tomorrow’s debate.

His appearances were not just attacks on Trump, though. They were reminders of what the presidency looked like just four years ago, and they were designed to make sure people get to the polls. “We’ve got to turn out like never before,” President Obama said. “We cannot leave any doubt in this election…. A whole bunch of people stayed at home and got lazy and complacent. Not this time,” he said. “Not in this election.”

Still, what made most news for Biden today was an old video of the former vice president at a memorial service for Chris Hixon, the athletic director at the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, who died when he tried to disarm the killer. In the clip, which circulated widely on social media, Biden expresses his sympathy to Hixon’s parents and is walking away when Hixon’s son Corey, who has Kabuki Syndrome, runs up and, as Biden turns to see what’s happening, throws himself into Biden’s embrace. Biden spontaneously kisses the young man’s forehead and asks if he’s okay. When he shakes his head no, Biden hugs him, cradling his head, and reassures him, “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay, I promise.”

—-

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

Heather Cox  Richardson

[diningpageantry]

Put A Ring On It

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19934752

Epilogue of “It’s A Handheld Disaster”

Word Count: 2165

Summary: After years of being together, Baz finds the perfect spot to propose at.

Notes: this fic has been a long time in the works--as in, i started it nearly two months ago, didn’t have a laptop for a month and a half, and finally was able to finish it tonight. this goes out to @the-lincyclopedia, who i promised this to a while ago (i’m sorry it took so long omg). i hope y’all like it!!!

~~~~~~~~~~

“You really won’t tell me where we’re going?”

The cellophane wrap around the flowers squeaks as I squeeze the stems, letting them roll in my hands as Baz’s fingers keep snuggly wrapped around my bicep. I feel his index and middle finger tap a few times while the soft rumble of his voice just barely escapes the thundering noise of the underground.

“No.”

My lips press together as I huff, staring out into darkness.

Fucking drama queen, with his blindfolding and romantic gestures.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

I can’t stop myself from smiling, even if it’s a tiny smirk. “Never have. Doesn’t change the sentiment, though.”

His hand curls tighter, pulling the fabric of the nice shirt he made me wear. The car jostles, and we roll our feet with the track’s bumps. It isn’t really jarring, but instead a bit calming. Baz’s head drops to the top of mine, settling there as his hair falls down and brushes my cheek. I move to push it off, but it falls right back into place.

“Do you not trust me?” Baz murmurs, his hand sliding down to mine as my nose wrinkles.

“Of course I do,” I protest back, taking hold of his hand and pressing out palms together. His fingers sink right into place. “After nearly half a decade, I don’t think I have much a choice, do I?”

Pause. “No, not really.”

“Thought so.” We lean against one another, the car of the train rocking a bit and starting to squeal into the next station.

“Mind the gap between the train and the platform,” it stirs, the masculine voice speaking over head before changing to, “This is, Bakers Street.”

Baz gives my arm a good tug, leading us out of the Tube as I blink curiously. Yes, sure, there’s a few things around here that are worth the trip. Like that one shop with the fantastic lemon poppy muffin, or the zoo, and of course the Gastrell museum, but it’s all usually a bit of a splurge given our usual budget (especially since his father stopped sending cheques once we graduated).

“Can I take off the blindfold yet?” I ask, feeling him pull me out towards the stairs.

“Not yet,” he calls, steps ahead and voice getting lost amongst the crowd. In hopes of keeping him close, I tighten my grip and carefully follow him step by step.

The crowd keeps around us, and finally breaks as we rise up into the outside, city air.

It’s a change in volume now. Moving cars, passing busses, and the remarkable scent of the nearby street cart vendors.

Baz drifts close enough that I can take hold of his bicep, feeling the slight chill of his skin underneath as I walk closely to his side. “How far?”

He hums beside me, other hand closing around our joint ones as the wrap for the flowers audibly catch on his face. “Not even five minutes--will you hold up until then? Please?”

I sigh, dramatically, and tighten the hand around his arm. “Five minutes?” I enthuse dramatically. “Better be for the bloody Queen.”

“I thought I was the queen of this town?”

“Drama queen, maybe.”

I feel a pinch at my arm, and I can’t help but smile, tugging him closer as we slow our strides. His hand circles around mine, rubbing my wrist and soothing my nerves as we step in time together. It feels like we’ve always been like this--in synch. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but we’re always in this rhythm.

I wonder, sometimes, if that’s what made me fall in love with him. The beat. A nonstop back and forth. A pace to our connection.

Something irreplaceable. Something I don’t know if anyone could ever replicate.

We weave about and walk in time until we get to a stop. He tugs my arm back, looping his free hand around my elbow as I halt and turn at his will. Suddenly, he lets go before steady hands work around my skull, unwrapping and untying the careful knot in my blindfold.

Once it falls, I see it in fine, carved lettering.

“The Huxley Gastrell Museum”

I turn slowly back, barely seeing the excitement contained on Baz’s face as he tries to gesture up cooly. “Well?”

“Holy shit,” I laugh. I don’t have much else to say, or do, besides hug him tight, nearly making the flowers fly everywhere as I exclaim “Holy shit!” once more.

He smirks proudly, arms circling around me and tugging our bodies together. Keeping mindful, I carefully tuck my face into his neck and press a soft, slow kiss to his skin. It’s a bit cold to the touch, but easy to indulge in.

He hums, clearly grinning as he speaks. "Happy anniversary, my love."

Pulling back, my face starts to hurt from all the smiling. "Fuck you, and your surprises," I breathe cheekily, nose brushing his as I go in for the kiss.

We laugh together before he hauls me into line, letting me practically curl around his bicep and kiss his shoulder as often as I like. Screw anti-PDA bullshit, he's getting all my affections.

“How long have you been planning for this one, then?” I hum, glancing around the street as I think through it. Sure, he’s been putting in hours at the bookshop he’d took the job at last year, and we’ve been eating out a bit less, but I’d figured we’d just been saving generally.

Not that this is expensive, or anything. Just not something we tend to work towards spending money on. Still, not a terrible surprise by any means, regardless as to how deep we are (or really, aren’t) in the fandom, nowadays.

It isn’t like we abandoned our love of it at all--quite the opposite, really. Our bedroom practically has a shrine, after all. Stacked special editions, antique copies of the book. Copper busts, the collector’s item dolls. Hell, Baz even got the same type of violin that Gastrell plays as a holiday gift two years ago that just sits there and collects dust as a display centrepiece. It feels like, sometimes, we appreciate it more than we did when we were younger.

But our worlds changed.

We found new ways to cope. New ways to love.

Healthier things to enjoy.

Our blogs are still up, but just shifted a bit. Mine ran out of focus and is mostly my shitposts now, while he’s moved towards more life-updates sort of shit. He’s got enough followers accumulated over time that they shockingly care about what we do now, but the overarching urge to post about Gastrell has died down.

Now it’s just people asking about our lives (and Penny’s too, by relation). It’s a bit amazing that people actually care about shit like our relationship, but it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy when people ask if we’re planning on getting married. Which, we agreed that we’d wait until we were done schooling to figure out that far into the future.

Although, now that we’re done, it feels like neither of us have mentioned it. And, while it doesn’t feel awkward, it still comes back into my mind every now and again as a question. I tend to ignore it. Figured we’ll talk about it when he’s ready.

But now? Now we’re in a happy place, regardless. Separated from the past now, and moving towards a new life.

Which excludes most of our old online life--guess isn’t a shock, anyway. Given the fandom’s practically dead along with it. Still, we read reread the stories, rewatch the better episodes, and always use it as our go-to for a costume party.

But it feels like history, now.

It’s still part of our history--Huxley and Sammy. Part of their story has become part of ours.

“Planned the museum idea a month or two ago,” he says, a bit self-righteously (still a prick, after all this time). “Good idea, though, isn’t it?”

“Suppose so.” I shrug up to him as we step ahead. “Lucky guess, but good idea.”

“I never guess on these sorts of things.”

“Liar.”

Together, we wrinkle our noses up to one another, then follow the line as it scoots closer, people piling into the bottom of the shop.

We’ve been down here before--we came here the first week we moved into London. Which, strangely, feels like centuries ago now.

We didn’t have much money to do anything, but we just wanted to peer inside, given this space is free. Fiona bought us some housewarming mugs here that day.

I smile when I see the same ones, looking over them as we brush past and head towards the ticket booth for the proper parts of the building.

Baz pays with cash as I lean against his arms, trying to get a good look up and sniffing my flowers happily. It looks like what I’d imagined from the book--especially with the way Baz peppers in emphasis on details.

He reads a story aloud whenever I can’t sleep. We’ve gotten through all the stories twice now.

I tug on his sleeve again as he’s thanking the ticketer, practically buzzing as he laughs at me and finally follows along as I dash up.

“Why don’t we start at the top?” Baz says gently as I practically skip my way upwards. “Work our way down?”

I shrug, nodding silently as we brush past other people stopping off immediately at the second floor. I tug him along, taking some steps two at a time to get up and finally start to look about the space. And, while it isn’t quite boring, the third floor fascinates us both a bit more, despite the wax sculptures feeling a bit creepy. I’ve never quite been one for lifelike shit that isn’t living, after all.

Still, it’s interesting. The staple items--the ones to gawk at. The ones I tug his arm over, watching him grin as I excitedly sneak in references.

He stays a bit silent most of the time, his hand in his jacket (which I probably should make fun of him for--it feels a bit too warm for thicker clothes). Sometimes I catch him staring at me instead, which I tease him a bit for, but he nudges my arm and rolls his eyes as his response.

“There’s only one Gastrell Museum,” I remind him at one point.

He shrugged, which made me feel a bit off, but I shrug away the thought. Maybe something to talk about later.

I do catch him after we make it down to the second floor, though. Give him a good peck on the cheek as we huddle into a corner.

He raises a brow as I stare up, one hand settling onto his chest.

“Just… wanted to say thank you for a fantastic present,” I whisper. “I don’t know if my anniversary breakfast quite lives up to this one.”

His face breaks into a private grin, eyes rolling as he kisses my cheek back. “I thought the pancakes were an excellent effort,” he whispers, making my cheeks flush.

Effort is the right word for them.

“Thanks,” I scoff softly before we step into the main room, glancing briefly before deciding to head through the back rooms first before taking it all in.

It’s fun to gaze around the bedrooms, sure, but I’m practically bouncing on the balls of when we make it back to the main one.

Baz lets go of me as I take a step closer to their armchairs set up, borderline vibrating as I peer around the space in front of me. “Hey Baz,” I start, going to spin around as I speak. “Can we take a picture of--”

I nearly drop my fucking flowers, staring wide-eyed as he exhales, kneeling down and staring up at me with raised eyebrows.

“Holy--”

His smile and hand movement cuts me off as he opens a box, grinning like a madman. I swear, I’ve never seen him this genuinely joyful. Half makes me wonder if he’s just having a laugh, but fucking hell, the ring that he’s got int here looks expensive and old. “Simon,” he says gently. “I could give you a year’s-long speech about why I love you, but it’s never going to properly summarize how I feel. You have been, and still are, the most important thing in my life, and I’d be honored if you--”

“Stop rambling,” I laugh, bending down to grab his face. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

He blinks, a little taken aback by my response, but ends up just pushing himself up and snogging me, right in the middle of the room.

Screw the fannish shit I wanted to do--kissing Baz in the middle of the Gastrell museum is probably both the best possible and most appropriate thing for us to do here.

After all, it is part of our history.

[joe-mazzello-archive]

The Strangers - Chapter One - Cold as Ice

A Joe Mazzello x OC fic

Word Count: 5.8k

Chapter Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, sexual references

A/N: Here we go, gang! Please please please feel free to send me feedback/questions/theories. I want to hear from y’all! Also I do technically have a playlist for this series but since each chapter is a song title, the playlist is a bit on the spoilery side so I’ll wait until after it’s finished to link it. Also sorry that Ben is accidentally Barney Stinson. I needed someone to balance out Joe.

Joe shifted in the cold leather chair he sat in. He couldn’t help but fidget as he patiently waited for the door to the office across from him to open. He looked at his watch. 4:32pm. He’d been waiting for over ten minutes now, hoping that somehow his punctuality would make the meeting to go well.

His eyes wandered to the plaque next to the door. Theatre Arts Department Chair was engraved neatly into the gold metal. He couldn’t help but smile as he thought back to a conversation he had with Ben a week ago, before the meeting had even been scheduled.

“Mate, the fact that you’re not already the department chair over that old geezer is beyond me!” Ben had all but shouted through the crowded bar, swinging his mostly empty beer bottle around wildly. “I mean he doesn’t do shit! He sits at his big desk doing fuck all and takes a huge check home every month! You’re the one who really runs that department.” Joe threw his head back in laughter.

“Well last time I checked, he’s still got the title and I’m still a lowly professor. But I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ben,” Joe replied before finishing off his own beer.

“You should just take that shiny gold plate off the wall and hang it next to your office. See how long it takes that idiot to even notice!” Ben countered before waving down the bartender. Joe noticed and pushed his friend’s arm down.

“I think we’re both done for the night, dude. Besides, you’ve been so focused on me you haven’t even picked out your prey for the night,” Joe teased.

“Ey! Don’t call the women I sleep with and then never call again ‘prey’! I’m offended you think so little of me, Joseph,” Ben argued, before turning to survey the room.

The conversation seemed so long ago to Joe. What had started as a rant about how the department didn’t have enough funding to put on the shows he wanted to do led to a discussion about how Joe hadn’t received a raise in years. Ben urged him to setup a meeting with the department chair. The next day he found himself sending an email to his boss, asking to discuss the plans for the department for the next term.

A day after that, Joe regretted ever hitting send. In his inbox sat an email reply from the grumpy old man himself.

Sure. My office, Friday 4:30pm.

And there he sat, outside that very office, his knee bouncing the messenger bag that sat on his lap as he rehearsed in his head what he wanted to say to the man.

Finally, the door opened and Joe all but jumped to his feet.

“Mr. Mazzello, come on in,” the man growled, his deep gravelly voice giving the impression that he had a perpetual sore throat. Joe shuffled into the large office, eyes glued to the floor, heart pounding. He cursed himself for listening to Ben. He’s rarely listened to Ben before. Why did he start now?

The old man grunted as he sat down, his desk chair that had been there since the department was built squeaking underneath his weight. Joe took a seat in one of the dusty chairs on the other side of the large wooden desk. Clearly this office rarely saw visitors.

As the old man adjusted his tie and glasses, Joe took a moment to glance around the spacious office. The off-white walls were bare except for a few certificates framed behind the elder man’s head. A small bookshelf sat off to the side, the shelves half empty, with only various binders and knick knacks cluttering the spaces. In the corner sat a tall filing cabinet that looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades. The man’s desk was almost bare except for a laptop computer, a pile of papers, and one lone picture frame that faced him. Joe couldn’t help but be curious as to who’s face the chairman looked at all day long, considering the man had never married nor had children.

The room was the complete opposite of Joe’s chaotic office. Every bit of wall space in Joe’s office was covered in posters for previous productions, show programs, and framed photos of casts and crews from shows past. He hadn’t seen the actual top of his desk since his first year as a professor, every inch being covered in scripts and books.

“I believe you mentioned in your email that you wanted to discuss next term. If I recall correctly, I already approved next year’s season of shows,” the man said, his head cocked to the side as he stared at the young professor. Joe wrung his hands together as worked up the nerve to respond.

“Yes sir, you did,” was Joe’s simple reply, his voice shaky.

“Then what more needs discussing?” the man asked, somewhat incredulously. Joe took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully.

“This past term, we ran into roadblocks when it came to our budget for our productions. We wanted to do things that weren’t realistic when it came to what funding we did have. So I dipped into my own funds to make those things happen. And as a result, we put on some of the best shows the department has ever done.” Joe suddenly found a burst of confidence, surprised at how assured his statements sounded.

“I was unaware of this. Did you submit for reimbursement? That can easily be arranged,” the man replied, his demeanor softening at Joe’s words. Joe felt the energy in the room shift; as if Joe was now in control of the conversation.

“I honestly don’t think that’s necessary, sir. What I am asking for is that you find more in the department budget for our productions, so we can make these things happen with nothing to hold us back,” Joe proposed, the quivering in his voice completely gone now.

The man paused for a moment, processing what had just been asked of him. He turned to his laptop, squinting as he began to mash at the keyboard. Joe sat frozen, his confidence beginning to waver as he waited with bated breath for the old man’s reply. After what felt like an hour, but was probably no more than ten seconds, the man turned back to the auburn-haired professor.

“Consider it done.”

Joe’s eyes widened and he suddenly found it hard to breathe.

“Sir?” he squeaked out.

“I was extremely impressed with this past season. If you’re telling me you can continue to reach that level of quality and beyond, I see no reason to not expand the production budget,” the man continued. Joe couldn’t help but grin like an idiot, surprised at the response he had gotten.

“Thank you sir, we can absolutely do that,” Joe replied, nodding almost too eagerly. The old man turned back to his laptop, typing away once again.

“I’m also going to approve a 10% salary increase for you,” the man added before standing up and stretching out his hand.

Joe mirrored his actions, getting up so fast that the blood rushed to his head. He took the man’s hand and shook it vigorously.

“Thank you, so much sir. I don’t know what to say,” Joe spat out, realizing that he was probably shaking the man’s hand too long. Joe released the chairman’s hand, realizing his own hands were jittery with excitement.

“No need to say any more, I actually have another meeting in a few minutes. Enjoy the rest of your Friday, Mr. Mazzello,” the man answered, sitting back down and immediately turning back to his computer, as if Joe wasn’t even in the room anymore.

“You too, sir. Thank you again!” Joe crowed as he grabbed his bag and moved towards the exit. The man didn’t even look back up.

It wasn’t until Joe was back in his own office that he truly processed everything that had just happened. Not only did he successfully argue for more funding, he got a raise without even asking. He whipped out his phone, pulling up his friends’ group chat.

Joe: I MADE THAT MEETING MY BITCH Lucy: You kiss your mother with that mouth? Ben: you got the funding???? Joe: AND A RAISE Rami: I have no idea what we’re talking about. Lucy: Babe I told you, Joe was trying to convince the department head to give him more money for shows. Ben: fuck yeah mate!!!! Bevs tonight to celebrate??? Joe: I absolutely need a beer. Or several. Rami: I’m in. Lucy: I’m there too! Ben: as the kids say, let’s get TURNT Joe: Please never say that again.

And that’s how Joe found himself bar-hopping in the city with his three closest friends. After closing out the bill in bar number three, Joe was starting to pass the threshold between tipsy and drunk. He debated about calling himself an Uber, pulling up the app to determine how much one would be. But suddenly his phone was ripped from his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing? The night is so very young, Joseph,” Ben slurred, locking Joe’s phone and putting it in his own pocket. Ben swung his arm around Joe’s shoulders. “We still gotta hit up Sully’s!”

“I’ve heard that place is such a dive, Ben. Can we go literally anywhere else?” Lucy asked, swirling the last of her cocktail before downing it. Rami’s arms were wrapped around her waist while he slowly swayed to the background music playing through the bar’s speakers.

“How else are we gonna find a girl who’ll be interested in Joe?” Ben said with a shit-eating grin, squeezing Joe’s shoulder.

“Gee thanks, Ben,” Joe replied with an eye roll.

“Besides, an old mate of mine is one of the bartenders there. I’m sure he can hook us up with some free drinks or something,” Ben added, practically dragging Joe towards the bar exit. Lucy and Rami followed behind without further argument.

After stumbling four or five blocks, the group finally found the correct street. A neon red sign reading “BAR” hung above the door and the name Sullivan Street was etched in white letters on the window.

Ben led the group inside the almost full bar. Joe couldn’t help but scan the room, Ben’s comment rolling around in his head. Not that he had been actively looking before tonight, but it had been awhile since Joe had been with someone. Mostly because his work took most of his focus away. But with only exam week left before the summer began, Joe felt like he finally had time for something. Or someone.

His eyes darted around the bar as the group continued to follow the blonde Brit. Ben wove through the crowd to the stairs leading to the second floor. The upper floor was much smaller and definitely less crowded. A small bar with one lone bartender was tucked in the corner, while the room was littered with high top tables. At the back of the room was a small stage boasting an array of instruments surrounding a large drumset with the words Parkway Diner neatly painted on the bass drum.

Ben made his way over to the bar, the group close behind. The lone bartender’s face lit up as Ben approached him. While the two exchanged pleasantries and a handshake, the group took seats at the bar, Joe continuing to survey his surroundings. A female laugh rang out and drew his attention to one of the high-tops closest to the stage. The laugh belonged to a small woman with bleached blonde hair that she styled in a messy pixie cut. Her burgundy crew-neck sweatshirt contrasted against the sea of tank tops and t-shirts the other bar-goers wore. A shiny black color coated her nails; standing out against the pale skin of her hand that held her beer.

Joe watched as she clinked that beer with the three men surrounding her at the table. Joe was immediately intrigued by the woman, who almost looked too young to be in a bar. He watched as she pulled out her phone, glancing at the screen before shoving it back into the pocket of her black jeans. She raised her hand, seemingly signaling something to the men around her. They immediately understood whatever the message was, as they all simultaneously left the table and headed through a door next to the stage.

Joe suddenly understood. They were the band, and they had five minutes until their set.

But the woman remained, downing the rest of her beer. She turned and surveyed the room, almost the same as Joe had been doing moments before. All of a sudden, her eyes connected with his, and he found himself smiling.

But the moment was brief, as the woman just continued to look around the room, not even noticing Joe.

“Earth to Mazzello!” Ben’s voice rang out in Joe’s ear, pulling him from his trance.

“Sorry, what?” Joe replied, turning to face his friend.

“Gwil, this inattentive asshole is my coworker, Joe,” Ben said to the tall bartender.

“Pleasure to meet you, Joe,” the bartender greeted, stretching his hand out for a shake. “I’m Gwilym, but call me Gwil.” Joe shook the man’s hand, quickly noticing how much the bartender towered over him.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Joe answered before quickly turning his attention back to the high top by the stage. But the woman had vanished, forcing Joe’s focus back to his friends. “Is there a band performing tonight?”

“Oh yeah. Friday nights we have a seventies pop and rock cover band called Parkway Diner,” Gwil responded, wiping down an empty glass.

“They any good?” Ben asked, playing with a lime on the bar before Gwil swatted his hand away.

“Oh, they’re way too good to be playing here. Their drummer and lead singer is incredible,” Gwil replied before gesturing to the rest of the group. “Drinks anyone? First round is on me.”

Drink orders were taken as a distracted Joe’s mind couldn’t shake the image of the small blonde woman. He looked at his watch, hoping the five minute warning she gave the other men was up soon so she’d reappear.

As if on cue, the other bar patrons began to cheer as the woman and her bandmates entered the stage. The woman pulled two drumsticks from her boot as she found her spot at the drum kit. Joe watched her curiously as she fidgeted with a microphone that was at level with her face.

Before Joe could inquire more about the woman, a guitar riff pierced through the bar. The woman seemed unfazed as she joined in on the drums, the rest of the band following suit. The woman leaned towards the microphone, never missing a beat before singing out.

Now if you're feelin' kinda low 'bout the dues you've been paying Future's coming much too slow And you want to run but somehow you just keep on stayin' Can't decide on which way to go Yeah, yeah, yeah I understand about indecision But I don't care if I get behind People livin' in competition All I want is to have my peace of mind

Joe was entranced by the woman. Her voice was beautifully raspy and harsh, perfectly fitting the hard rock song. She belted every note with ease, all while she drummed away. Joe found himself hypnotized by her passion as she performed, each note and drum beat piercing through him. He felt a tap on his shoulder and a glass of beer was shoved in front of him. He grabbed it, his eyes not leaving the stage for even a moment.

Now you're climbin' to the top of the company ladder Hope it doesn't take too long Can'tcha you see there'll come a day when it won't matter? Come a day when you'll be gone, whoa I understand about indecision But I don't care if I get behind People livin' in competition All I want is to have my peace of mind Take a look ahead, take a look ahead, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Joe was completely blown away. The woman’s fervor in her performance was intoxicating; she played the drums like it was the most important thing she could ever do. But the thing that Joe was most affected by was the woman’s absolute joy as she struck each drum and sang each lyric. She smiled and laughed, seemingly losing herself in the music. Joe was almost jealous; he wracked his memories, trying to determine if he’d ever been that happy in his life.

Now everybody's got advice they just keep on givin' Doesn't mean too much to me Lots of people out to make-believe they're livin' Can't decide who they should be, whoa I understand about indecision But I don't care if I get behind People livin' in competition All I want is to have my peace of mind Take a look ahead, take a look ahead, look ahead

She sang out the last lyric with such intensity, that by the time she stopped singing, Joe realized he had been holding his breath. The woman continued to beat the set in front of her, finishing the song by throwing her sticks above her head.

Joe hadn’t even noticed the crowd that had formed in front of the group until they roared with applause. Joe joined in, cheering and clapping for the performance.

“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding, Gwil,” Rami shouted over the crowd.

“Yeah, they’re the real deal,” Gwil replied before turning his attention to another patron.

The band played a few more songs for the continually growing crowd. Joe’s friends chatted away behind him, while his attention never left the stage. Despite the several drinks he had consumed since the night began, Joe felt sober as ever. He only knew one thing: he needed to meet the woman on the stage before him.

As each song ended, Joe prayed that it was the last, wanting nothing more than for the woman to return to her original high top so he could weave his way over to her. He wanted to be around her, hear her speak, ask her questions. He was so fascinated by her and he didn’t even know her name.

Finally, the desperate man got his wish.

“Thanks everyone, we’re gonna take a short break and be back in a little bit,” the guitar player announced through his microphone.

Joe’s eyes followed the woman as she squeezed past her drumset and the discarded instruments amongst the stage. And much to his delight, she headed right his way.

“Gwilly! The usual please,” the woman shouted before slapping both hands on the bar counter next to Joe, paying him no mind.

“Already got it ready for ya,” Gwil replied, handing her a mixed drink. “Oh, Mar, this is an old mate of mine, Ben. And these are his friends.”

“Gwil, you have a friend other than me? I’m proud of you, bud,” the woman teased before sticking her tongue out at him. Gwil flipped her off in response.

“I’m Lucy and this is my boyfriend Rami. You’re so talented!” Lucy gushed as she rested her hand on her heart. The woman chuckled before responding, the sound like music to Joe’s ears. He wanted nothing more than to make her laugh again and again.

“I’m Marley. And thanks,” she replied quickly before taking a sip of her drink.

“I’m Joe,” Joe added, unable to hide the huge grin that had taken up residence on his face. Marley simply nodded in response, seemingly uninterested in the group’s presence.

“Pleasure,” Marley responded coldly, turning back to Gwil and taking another sip of her drink. “Gwil, can you tell Paul the right amp is being weird again? I can still hear a tiny bit of feedback.”

Joe wanted her attention again, but the woman seemed more focused on the drink in her hand than anything else.

“Why can’t you tell him?” Gwil countered, pouring a beer for himself.

“He’s still mad I called him a cuntfuck, so he’s giving me the silent treatment,” Marley answered, before she downed the rest of her drink, slammed the glass on the counter, and headed back in the direction of the stage.

And just like that she was gone. The group was left speechless, with Joe caught up on the way she said “cuntfuck” so casually.

“Well she’s a friendly one, huh?” Ben sarcastically commented after a few seconds of awkward silence.

“Yeah that’s Mar for ya. She’s a bit rough around the edges. Took her months of playing here to finally warm up to me,” Gwil offered.

“Is she single?” Joe asked, his own words surprising him. He had been thinking it, but wasn’t planning on actually asking it. Gwil let out a deep belly laugh.

“Good luck with that one, mate. Like I said, tough one to crack,” Gwil said, continuing to laugh.

Joe furrowed his brow, put off by the man’s laugh at his expense. So she was not the most friendly person at first. Big deal, Joe had met people like her before. He had students who put up the same walls. He knew that under her hard shell, she was full of passion. He could tell by the way she lost herself in her music.

Joe knew he had to be patient. He knew people like that needed time to open up, to be vulnerable. He didn’t want to “figure her out”; he didn’t want to search through her soul and dig up her deepest insecurities. He wanted her to offer herself openly, to trust him enough to let down her walls.

Joe chastised himself for only saying two words to her, feeling like he fumbled their first meeting. But he wasn’t going to let that or Gwil’s reaction deter him.

Marley. Her name rang through his mind as he watched her return to her spot behind the bass drum, effortlessly twirling a drumstick between her fingers. The familiar intro of “Roxanne” by the Police rang out through the room. Joe spotted an empty high top closer to the stage, the same table the band had occupied before their first set. He made his way over to it, weaving through the droves of people singing along, leaving his friends and the judgmental bartender behind. He leaned on the table, nursing his beer as Marley and the rest of the band played their hearts out. Joe’s eyes centered in on the fiery blonde, watching every flick of her wrists, every arch of her back. She finished singing the first chorus and flung her head to the side, letting the music dictate her movement. She bobbed to the beat of the musical break, turning to survey the crowd.

And for the second time that night, her eyes locked onto Joe’s. This time he wasn’t grinning like an idiot. He kept his eyes soft, but his face almost completely neutral. Her stare lingered for a moment, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips before turning back to the mic to start the next verse.

Progress, Joe thought. He only wanted to pique her curiosity in him, to even the playing field a bit. Marley had taken up so much space in Joe’s head already, he wanted her to wonder about him too.

The rest of the group eventually joined him at the high top as the night went on. Rami and Lucy swayed to the music and even sang along to some of the songs, with Ben more focused on the drunk brunette who had been hanging all over him for the past half hour. Every once in awhile, Marley’s eyes would meet Joe’s. Each meeting was like a duel, both parties challenging the other to look away. Joe won every time, having the advantage of not having to perform for a group of rowdy bar-goers.

After a few more classic seventies hits, the band finally finished their set to deafening applause from the crowd. Joe had to admit that Gwil was right about one thing, they really were way too good to be playing in a dive bar like Sully’s. Joe wondered if they played original music, filing that question away for when he actually got to have an actual conversation with Marley.

The three men each bowed while Marley simply gave the audience a half-assed mock salute before climbing off the stage and heading straight back to the bar. Joe stood up straight from the table, before an arm snaked around his shoulders.

“You ready to call it?” Lucy asked, resting her head against Joe. “Rami is seconds away from falling asleep. I think Ben fucked off somewhere with that girl so the three of us can split an Uber.” Joe glanced in the direction of the bar, the stools empty except for Marley, who appeared to be having a wildly dramatic conversation with Gwil.

“I think I’m gonna stick around, Luce. But thanks,” Joe replied, snaking his own arm around Lucy’s back to pull her into a side hug.

“Okay, text me when you get home so I know you’re not dead,” she added before peeling Rami off the high top.

“Will do.”

He patted his pocket and suddenly realized that Ben still had his phone. Well shit. He shook the thought from his head. He had more important matters to attend to.

Once the pair disappeared down the stairs, Joe began to make his way back over to the bar. He quickly downed the rest of his beer as he approached, giving him a reason to go to the bar other than the woman perched at it. Suddenly he was cut off by a hand landing on his shoulder.

“Hey, there you are. Where are the lovebirds?” Ben questioned, eyes darting around in search of the couple.

“They headed out. Where have you been?” Joe countered, shrugging Ben’s hand off.

“Oh you know, the bathroom,” Ben answered evasively. Joe then noticed the dark mark under Ben’s left ear and he suddenly understood.

“For fuck’s sake, Ben. Not even taking her back to your place this time? You just knocked it out in the bathroom of a shitty bar?” Joe teased, shaking his head.

“Hey, I offered, but the girl had no patience. I just gave her what she wanted,” Ben boasted. Joe rolled his eyes.

“What a gentleman,” Joe commented. “Can I have my phone back please?”

“So what are you still doing here?” Ben asked, slamming Joe in the chest with his own phone. Joe took the phone back and simply looked in the direction of the bar at the woman seated there. She was laughing at something Gwil had said, the sound carrying throughout the bar that was slowly emptying now that the show was over. Ben followed Joe’s eyes and understood immediately. “You trying to go for the drummer?”

“I just want to talk to her,” Joe admitted, his voice low.

“Well good thing your best friend is here to wingman for ya,” Ben offered, swinging an arm around Joe’s shoulders. Joe shrugged it off with a chuckle.

“Lucy is my best--”

“Shut up, let’s go,” Ben interrupted before heading towards the bar. He slapped his palms down on the counter, much like Marley had done before. He slid on the stool one away from Marley, giving Joe the opportunity to take the spot next to her. Maybe Ben did know what he was doing. Joe took his seat, briefly glancing to his right. He found Marley’s brown eyes glaring at him for a moment before turning back to her drink.

“Gwilym, another round for me and Joseph. The boy needs it,” Ben exclaimed. The tall bartender nodded before grabbing two glasses.

Joe pondered what to say to the woman next to him. He wanted to come off as cool and collected, not wanting to act like he was as engrossed by her as he truly was. He didn’t want her to think he was some slimy dude trying to get in her pants. He needed to establish himself as someone as intriguing as she was. Gwil handed him his beer with a nod and a knowing smile. He was onto Joe.

Joe pushed the bartender out of his head and leaned slightly in Marley’s direction.

“I’m sure you hear this all the time, but you’ve got a killer voice,” Joe offered, his own voice somewhat quiet so only she could hear him. He played the sentence back in his head. Was it too gushy? Was it too cliche? Suddenly his normal confidence when talking to women was disappearing. He was second-guessing himself. He found himself briefly glancing at Ben for his reaction, but the Brit was too wrapped up in a conversation with Gwil. He was on his own. Some wingman, Joe thought. But his trepidation was immediately sated by Marley’s slight chuckle.

“Eh, I don’t mind hearing it anyway. Thanks,” Marley answered, holding her drink towards him, almost as a peace offering. Joe smiled and clinked his glass against hers. They both took a sip of their respective drinks before Joe continued.

“It kind of begs the question, what the hell are you doing in a place like this?” Joe inquired, propping his elbow on the bar and his chin on his knuckles. Marley was unfazed by the question, giving a noncommittal shrug.

“Pays the bills,” she responded, fingers tracing the condensation on her glass.

“Why seventies music?” Joe asked. Marley finally turned to face him, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

“You are just full of questions, aren’t you?” Marley challenged. Joe was unsure if she was genuinely annoyed or just playing with him. He decided to take the risk.

“How else are we supposed to get to know each other?”

“Who says I want to get to know you?”

“Well you haven’t called me a ‘cuntfuck” yet, so I’m taking that as a good sign.”

Marley threw her head back with a cackle, the sound reverberating through Joe’s chest.

“Touche, random guy, touche,” she finally said, arching an eyebrow. “You haven’t been a cuntfuck. At least not yet.”

“I guess there’s still time,” Joe added with a smile. “And it’s Joe.”

“Right. Joe,” she corrected, unfolding her arms and relaxing a bit. Joe was now close enough to notice that her maroon sweatshirt had small white text across the front of it. Squinting to try and decipher it in the dim lighting of the bar, he suddenly recognized the words. The infamous “to be or not to be” speech from Hamlet.

“Shakespeare, huh?” Joe pointed out, nodding his head in the direction of the text in question. “A woman after my own heart.”

Another deep cackle. This one a bit more forced than the last.

“Not in the slightest,” Marley responded with a smirk, patting Joe’s thigh and turning back to sip her drink. The interaction was confusing, her words like a slap in the face but her touch warming every inch of his body. Joe couldn’t let himself get caught up in the moment. He had to keep the conversation going, or she’d lose interest.

“So do you agree with Hamlet?” Joe asked. Marley cocked her head, clearly surprised by either the question itself or the fact that Joe wasn’t discouraged by her rejection. Maybe both. She turned back to the man, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Are you asking if I agree that the concept of death is scary? Or if I agree that taking one’s life is the most powerful thing one can do the combat the shittiness of living? Because both questions are pretty heavy-handed considering we’ve just met,” Marley argued, leaning forward to emphasize her point.

“Would you rather I ask about your favorite color or whether you prefer Coke to Pepsi?” Joe countered, arching an eyebrow. Marley paused, eyeing Joe up and down and pursing her lips.

“I would rather ask you a question for once, oh curious one,” she finally answered. More progress. He had her hooked. “So. Joe. What do you do? You know, other than pester random women in bars.” It was Joe’s turn to chuckle.

“I’m a theatre professor over at the college,” Joe revealed. Marley smirked and nodded.

“Oh, yeah. That explains a lot,” Marley commented, before finishing her drink. Joe folded his arms this time, leaning closer.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Marley opened her mouth to respond, but Gwil appeared.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re closing up shop soon,” the bartender admitted, swinging a towel over his shoulder and handing Joe his bill. Joe glanced at his watch. 1:57am. He groaned, knowing his time with the woman was up.

“Well, this certainly has been...a conversation,” Marley declared, drumming her fingers on her thighs. Joe signed his bill with a smile.

“That it was,” Joe replied, before grabbing a cocktail napkin. He jotted down his number and slid the napkin towards Marley. She eyed the napkin with an arched eyebrow. “In case you want to banter with me again.”

Marley’s eyes flashed between Joe and the napkin a few times. Joe held his breath, hoping the bold move would pay off. After a few more seconds and another pursing of her lips, she snatched the napkin and stuffed it into her pocket. Without another word, she hopped off the stool and disappeared into the door next to the stage.

Joe finally let out the breath he had been holding, sliding off of his own bar stool. Ben nudged him.

“How’d you do? I’ll be honest, I was not paying attention whatsoever,” Ben admitted, as the two men began to make their way down the stairs and towards the bar’s exit.

“Yeah, I noticed. And I think it went well. I gave her my number,” Joe answered. Ben chuckled and shook his head lovingly.

“Mate, you’re supposed to get her number,” Ben countered as he pushed the front door of the bar open for the two of them.

“I figured she probably wouldn’t give it to me if I asked. So I put the ball in her court,” Joe said with a shrug.

A short Uber ride later, Joe found himself back in his own apartment. He sighed as he settled into bed, Marley still at the forefront of his mind. Everything about her was absolutely fascinating. She had a youthful radiance about her, yet she was hard and cynical. She performed with such love for what she was doing, but the second she was off the stage, she hated the world. Joe hadn’t met anyone like her before.

But for now all he could do was let his mind wander, and hope that he’d hear from her soon.

All he could do was wait.

--

Taglist: @hellysthings​ @queenspur​ @briarrose26​

[chibinightowl]

10. “Poppycock! No fool could ever be that daft to actually go through with it!”, Bruce/Clark but its Bruce who says poppycock.

I swear, I have started and failed this prompt about half a dozen times. I even built an entire Holmesian AU in my head around it. And yet, what do I end up with? This. I hope you enjoy! (also, love your icon! Asmo is amazing!)

(also, for the anon who asked for #10 with Alfred and Bruce, this is also your response too!)

~*~*~

There was nothing quite like the glitz and glamor of a charity auction hosted by the Wayne Foundation, Clark decided. These sort of puff pieces were beneath a reporter of his caliber, but he appreciated covering events hosted by Bruce because he knew that not only were the funds being raised going to the right places, but that the majority of the costs associated with hosting this were covered by Bruce himself.

Whether they were tax deductible, he’d yet to discover.

Lingering near the canapé table, Clark dutifully took notes for the article that was already mostly written in his head. All he needed were a few quotes from the people who really mattered rather than the attention seekers attracted by his visible press pass. His hearing told him that Tim wasn’t too far and that Bruce was perhaps a few meters beyond his son.

Tim was always good for an honest statement at an event like this, touching on the meaningful points of what his adopted father’s foundation was currently doing. With the right questions, Clark was sure he could learn more about Tim’s own Neon Knights program and how that was progressing.

But, meaningful as that was, it didn’t sell papers or keep people renewing their online subscriptions.

No, what sold papers were the antics of Brucie Wayne, billionaire playboy and philanthropist.

And just like Bruce’s children, Clark really disliked dealing with the Brucie persona that was always in full effect when the public was watching. Nearly two decades hadn’t lessened it in the slightest.

Deciding it was best to get it over with, he made his way through the crowd with his own act of mild mannered reporter who was a tad bit clumsy on display.

As he moved into the periphery of Bruce’s circle of sycophants, Clark noticed that Brucie seemed to be in rare form tonight. To the outside world, there was absolutely nothing going on behind those pale blue eyes. Wide and vapid, they matched his laugh, his smile, his everything.

Brucie was in the middle of a story and gesturing with great enthusiasm. “…And then Alfred said Poppycock! No fool could ever be that daft to actually go through with it! Well, I’m no fool and Dickie had already done it, so I figured I could too.”

Clark zoned out as he tried to maneuver closer, already familiar with the real story about how Dick took it upon himself to try walking a tightrope strung up between two large Las Vegas hotels. Bruce’s public version though explains how he ended up with that broken leg a couple months ago.

The crowd was too tight around Bruce, so he decided hitting up Tim would be the better option. If he was lucky, Brucie would pull some ridiculous stunt before he left that could be added into his article.

No sooner had he turned his sights on Tim, a large hand thumped solidly on the back of his shoulder. “Well, well, well, would you look who’s here?”

It was Bruce.

“Hello there, Nebraska.”

Clark tossed a prayer into the ether for patience. “It’s Kansas.”

“Right, right. I’ll remember next time, Iowa.” Brucie grinned vapidly but Clark didn’t miss the gleam of amusement in his eyes.

Someone wanted to play. Damn, and here he’d been hoping that if he did speak with Bruce, he’d take pity on him and make it easy. No such luck tonight.

“Mr. Wayne, congratulations on the turnout tonight. How much are you and the Wayne Foundation anticipating this auction will raise for the Boys and Girls Clubs of the Greater Gotham City area?”

“Ugh, numbers.” Bruce pulled a disgusted face as he looped an arm over Clark’s shoulders and started leading him away. “I hate numbers. They’re so…numbery. Who even invented them anyway?”

“The current number system we use originally evolved from the Hindus by way of the Arabs —“ Clark was cut off with a broad wave of Bruce’s hand that almost hit him in the face.

“If I wanted a history lesson, Smallville, I’d have asked for one.”

Well, at least he was using the right town now. It was better than farm boy, which was probably coming up as Bruce cycled through all his nicknames. The list was long and Clark swore that Lois and Bruce must have a master list that they shared because some of them were just too crazy for them to have come up with on their own.

Clark sighed and pushed his glasses firmly onto his nose. “Mr. Wayne, if you could just give me a brief statement about the auction, I can get out of your hair.”

“Hmm, and go bother Timothy instead?” A brief flash of Bruce’s usual wry humor appeared in his eyes. “No, I think that —”

This time, Bruce was cut off as a well-dressed socialite appeared out of nowhere and tossed champagne right in his face.

“How could you, Brucie?” the brunette wailed, eyes welling with tears so big her makeup was already starting to run. “I thought you said I was special.”

Only with his super hearing could Clark hear the low Fuck that escaped from his friend.

“Anita!” Bruce said smoothly, completely ignoring the liquid streaming down his face. Already, there was a circle forming around them as people stopped to stare.

The woman wailed even more loudly. “That’s not my name!”

“Annie? Annabelle? Something that starts with an A?“

Clark stepped to the side to watch the drama unfold. And what a show it was, right out of a daytime soap opera. A jilted lover seeking public vindication that she’d been wronged in some hope of winning back the love of the one who wronged them. The backdrop of the hotel ballroom was the perfect touch too if by some chance this woman did manage to convince Bruce to speak with her in private. Perhaps in a hotel room upstairs. Like that was going to happen though. At this point in time, the playboy reputation was just that, a reputation, and had been for some time. Whoever this person was, they were trying to take advantage of that for their own gain.

Bruce and the woman were going around in circles, the woman getting more and more hysterical by the minute. The whole thing ended when she threw her empty glass and then herself at Bruce. A security guard caught hold of her before she could though. It took two of them to drag her away, still wailing and screaming.

“Well, that was entertaining.” Bruce smiled disarmingly at Clark. “I think you got your story now, Iowa.”

“I got something, that’s for sure. Have a good night, Mr. Wayne.”

It was past time to seek out Tim, get his quote, and get out of here.

~*~

Less than an hour later, Clark sat in his hotel room and typed up the story. A shower had gone a long way toward improving his mood, as had the comfortable pillows supporting his back as he wrote. The bed was surprisingly comfortable, which, considering the price tag for the room, it had better be. This kind of place was out of his budget, but wasn’t even a drop in the bucket for the man who was taking a shower of his own in the bathroom.

Bruce.

This was one of those rare nights where their schedules happened to coincide, that there wasn’t some disaster calling him away. The kids were all on patrol tonight, so unless there was an Arkham emergency, here they would stay until morning and life tore them apart once again.

Clark shook off his maudlin thoughts and kept writing. Work first. This was how his bills got paid. Fingers flew over the keyboard of his laptop and he’d proofread the article twice by the time Bruce exited the bathroom, dressed in a bathrobe and his hair still damp.

“Almost done?” he asked as he took a seat on the other side of the large bed, swinging his legs up so that he could lay down.

“Just about.” Clark clicked on send and the article was off to Perry. “Tim was a huge help.”

“He always is.”

Setting the laptop aside, he took off his glasses and turned his attention on Bruce. The man looked exhausted, even more so than usual. “Rough week?”

Bruce rolled onto his side to face Clark. “Rough month. Don’t tell Alfred, but I probably shouldn’t have taken the cast off when I did.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” He laid down and pointedly did not switch over to his x-ray vision to scan Bruce’s leg. It wouldn’t do any good for either of them. “Ready for bed?” he asked instead.

“We haven’t seen each other in person for three months. Do you really think I want to sleep?”

Clark sighed and traced one dark smudge under Bruce’s eye, then the other. They’d been hidden by concealer earlier. “These say otherwise.”

Bruce grabbed his hand and drew it to his mouth, lips ghosting over the large knuckles. “Those are never going away, Clark. Deal with it.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right. Now get over here and keep me awake.”

“And what if I want you to fall asleep on me?” Clark shifted around until he was pressed flush against the other man. 

It constantly amazed him that he and the oh so proud Batman were at a point in their lives where this was even possible. Twenty years ago, he’d have asked if the person suggesting it was feeling all right and done a quick scan of their brain to check for damage. Ten years ago, he would have wordlessly shrugged it off. Five years… well, time made for all the difference in the world. This was about as close to domestic as the two of them got. It hurt that it couldn’t be more, but with the lives they led, these quiet moments were more precious than gold.

“Shut up and kiss me, Clark.”

Laughing, he did just that.