#But he still needs to handle him to whoever his contractor is

[lixie-lovie]

{ Mysterious Stranger | Skz }

h.hyunjin x Reader

Chapter 1: The Letter

Genre: Dark!au, Thriller-ish, Fantasy!au

Warnings: Small mention of blood, but otherwise none!

Word Count: 2.3k

Note: I am kinda sorta really excited about writing this story and although this is only the first chapter I hope whoever reads this enjoys! Not a very long chapter, but I should be posting more regularly! (hopefully lol) This is definitely different to anything I have ever worked on, so feedback is super appreciated! <3 

Chapter Song: d.r.e.a.m. - ab6ix

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I came rushing down the stairway into the subway stumbling over my own feet in the low light. I was trying hard not to drop the bags of groceries I was carrying and also not miss my train. Breathing heavy, I took a quick moment to stop at the bottom of the stairs to listen intently for the incoming train. I quickly brushed my hair out of my face with my one free hand as I looked around and took in my surroundings. I noticed there was only one other person seemingly waiting for this late night train ride. As I slowly shuffled my heavy bag higher on my hip I felt my brow start to sweat even though the chill of the night air was enough to fog my breath as my breathing became shallow. I felt my eyes unconsciously glancing back at the tall man shrouded in darkness a few times only to notice him already facing my direction.

Strange, I thought as he wasn’t looking towards the train or even the clock on the far wall. Rather, I could almost make out a dull glow coming from the piercing eyes glaring in my direction from under the man's black hood. It felt as though his stare could cut me in half. By now I was too aware of how slowly the time was moving and how vulnerable I must seem in such a hurry with so many things preoccupying my hands. I began to shuffle my feet nervously and grip the straps of my bags tighter. My eyes darted to the clock, the mysterious stranger, and then the nearest exit repeating this pattern more times than I could count. I knew I couldn’t run, I had nowhere to go and no time to wait for another train. My mother was poor and sick and needed these groceries and the medicine I had picked up only minutes before running my way into this predicament. I found my thoughts drifting as I locked eyes with the man. There suddenly was a rumbling moving through the heels of my feet that rattled the key-chains connected to my bag, startling me to notice the train was quickly approaching. This notified me that I would have to find a way past this wall of a man.

As the light from the train rounded the corner, my eyes darted swiftly back to the man and noted the sleek, black line of ink spreading from under his right eye down his cheek and under the collar of his blank, torn black hoodie. He removed his hands from his pockets and just before the doors to the train opened I saw a glint of light reflect off of something in his hand. Something metal, I concluded as I took swift steps in a wide arch to reach the doors of the train as they opened for me, hopefully welcoming me to their grimy state and the undeniable safety of other people. My heels clicked loudly in my ears as my breathing became labored and I could feel the bread in my grocery bag slowly mushing between the tightened grip of my freezing fingertips. Just as I approached the door to the train I heard a loud ring and they opened for me, welcoming me to the few straggling, tired people occupying the area. Then, suddenly, I felt a rough, calloused hand wrap around my delicate wrist, pulling me roughly backwards. I gasped harshly and spun around only to be face to face with the man himself. His hood was down and his long, blonde hair stood out in the dim train light and my eyes went wide as I felt something cold and metallic be pressed harshly into my palm.

“It all starts now.” The man said in a gruff, tense voice as he released my wrist and pushed me harshly through the now closing train doors. I looked down as I saw his hood quickly fly back over his head and his body seemingly disappear into the shadows. My eyes darted down to the object in my grip and in my hand sat a dagger. A small and intricate dagger that was sharp enough that just from my rough grip a small line of blood from my palm was now sitting upon its blade. I noticed an engraving on the hilt of the blade, the same words the strange man had uttered to me before and got lost in thought while looking at the way my reflection was looking back at me in the polished silver metal shining in my hand. DING! Suddenly, we were stopping again and my mothers face flashed in my mind as I cursed to myself lowly and slipped the blade into the pocket of my bag while rushing to my mothers. Sadly, now I was late and unable to rid myself of the curiosity handed to me just moments prior.

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All I could hear over the bustling traffic while crossing the street to my mother’s tiny, antique apartment was the deep thrumming of my own heightened heartbeat and the sound of my feet pounding on the pavement as I rushed, already late to bring my mother the things I had gotten from the store. 

I slowed my pace as I approached the door and quickly began rummaging through my bag looking for the spare key. As I was continuing my search I allowed my thoughts to drift back to the man I had just encountered and the odd experience, wondering if the situation had even occurred or was just a figment of the imagination of my overworked and tired mind. As my hands fumbled around until they found the next pocket on my bag I bit my lip in anticipation of getting a glimpse of the strange dagger again. Once my hand felt the dagger, still lying on it’s side, gleaming in the dim blue-ish light of the streetlamp behind me I let out a breath of relief. I then realized the keys were lying with the dagger and quickly reached for them. As I finally grasped the cool metal key between my fingertips there was a sudden crash that sounded from inside the apartment. I whipped my head up at the unexpected commotion and rushed to get the door unlocked. 

My hands shook as I turned the ornate silver handle. I took a few cautious steps into the house and called out to my mother. When there was no response I began moving more hastily, ducking my head into every doorway possible looking for my mother. I finally reached the living room last. My movements became more and more rushed the longer I couldn’t find my mother. That was, until I took my first few steps into the living room only to hear a sharp cracking noise come from under my feet. I quickly looked to the floor as I heard more scraping and crackling coming from the movement of my shoes. “Broken glass?” I questioned no one in particular, “What the hell?”

My eyes slowly trailed up the length of the floor in front of me as I noted that the whole floor was littered with broken glass. I called out for my mother as I quickly began to take hurried, albeit significantly lighter, steps forward until I noticed the large window, that used to rest peacefully on the far side of the room, shattered. All that was left of the once protection from the outside were a few dangling, cracked pieces of the weathered glass and the now torn white curtains flowing from the chilly breeze outside. I gasped and rushed to the window to inspect, but when I looked around there was nothing unusual to take in besides the window itself. I then turned to quickly search the room for what could have caused the shattering of the window or a clue as to where my sickly mother could be. It wasn’t until I found myself approaching my mother’s rocking chair that I really noticed something off.

There, on the old, worn wooden chair, slowly rocking in the wind, sat a fairly small eggshell white envelope with a blood red wax seal pressing it closed. I furrowed my brow as I reached out to examine it, but as I scanned the chair again in the closer proximity I noticed the small trail of bloody fingerprints, still wet. I gasped harshly and looked over my shoulder quickly before grabbing the envelope and turning to pull my phone out of my bag. I quickly searched for the right person’s contact and dialed. Pressing the phone to my ear, I swiftly did another sweep of the house to make sure there was nothing I missed and made a b-line for the front door. As I made it out of the house the person on the other end finally picked up. 

“Seungmin! Thank you for picking up.” I breathed out, relieved. “I need you to come pick me up. Something’s happened.”

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An hour later I was seated at my favorite late night diner fiddling with the straw of my vanilla milkshake while Seungmin was tiredly rubbing his eyes talking to the grandmotherly waitress with the white hair and kind smile that had known us both since our first visit here around the age of six. Seungmin was still in his too large white t-shirt and blue and grey checkered pajama pants with more than averagely fluffy hair from being woken up after working a long shift this weekend. I had never seen Seungmin at work, but I knew whatever the job was it had to be tiring as he was always working long shifts at random hours and constantly had new bumps and bruises that he rarely ever told me about unless I asked. He said he does odd jobs for different contractors and I never had the heart seeing his too tired face to question it much. 

Because of the unknowns of his work and his constant sleeping when he was off, it had become mutually known that I wouldn’t be the one to contact him unless the situation is dire. On a normal occasion he would send me one text to let me know he was alive, I would respond asking if he needs groceries again, and his next message would be hours or days later once he had rested and received word of his next job to let me know when he was free to take me to lunch and then scurry off to at each new opportunity. However, recently those unprompted lunch dates have been slim to none, as have his days off, so he came quickly to my call, knowing it must be something extremely important if I would willingly ask him to be out of bed on a day off. 

He smiled at me softly for a moment before turning to yawn into his hand while using his free one to make a small circular motion towards me that I interpreted as “go on, tell me what’s wrong.” At this, I sighed deeply and reached down by my ankle to grab my discarded bag. I pondered for a moment on telling him about the experience with the man at the subway station, but my pressing anxieties and worries about my mother spurred me to grab the letter, not the dagger, to hurriedly pull out. I flipped it over in my hands under the table for a moment while explaining what occurred at my mother’s house up until finding the chair. As I got to explaining what I found Seungmin was seemingly no longer tired and instead shoveling his food into his mouth swiftly while looking past me, seemingly in thought with the way his brows furrowed deeply. My gaze became more concerned as I raked my eyes over his face and I bit my lip as I pulled the envelope containing the letter out for him to see. As I handed it to him I noticed his hands were shaking and I assumed it was for the same reason as mine, out of worry for my mother. He swiftly opened the envelope and read the big bold letters printed there. Then, more surprisingly, his eyes drifted back to the envelope itself as he quickly drew it back towards his face before turning it over. Upon notice of the ornate wax seal that sat there he gasped and threw his hands down against the table, rattling the silverware and dishes loudly and jarring me out of my curious state, making me yelp softly. He then moved his gaze to bore into mine before saying something that left me further confused. 

“We have to go. Now. They know where you are.” He said this soft and sternly, whipping his head around to see who else was in the diner. I don’t remember anyone but us entering or leaving. He grabbed my bag quickly, shoving the envelope inside before throwing some money onto the table, leaving a little extra tip (so kind even in such a panic, I noted). He then reached for my wrist and began to pull me towards the exit. In such a panicked and hurried state I didn’t dare defy him and only tried my best to keep up with his quick pace. However, the concern and rising uneasiness in my chest didn’t stop my head from turning ever so slightly to eye whoever might have been dining with us so late tonight. What I saw left me gasping harshly for air and stumbling over my feet to try and remain balanced.

Sitting there, staring right into my eyes, in the same outfit I had seen him in before was the man. The mysterious stranger. He sat silently with his black hood resting over his head twirling a blade much like the one lying in the beat up bag on Seungmin’s shoulder and as Seungmin was rounding the corner, with me in tow, I thought I had caught a flash of teeth, what could have been a grimace or a smile. 

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[crowleyellestair]

The Point- Witcher Lambert OS

Warnings: mention of blood, injury and swearing

Summary: Y/n wakes up after suffering a wound in the heat of battle, and her lover, Lambert hadn’t been handling it well

 AN// Welcome to the idea of a 3 am, sleep deprived brain

When Y/n woke up, it wasn’t a jostling scene. At first, she blinked softly, then rubbed her eyes as she usually did when she woke up. The last thing she remembered was crystal clear, though she was highly aware that much time has passed. She knew moving wasn’t going to be easy, as her last thoughts had only been about Lambert and how lucky she was to have enough adrenaline to not feel the gaping hole through her chest.

The room she was in was quite familiar, as it was the one she shared with Lambert at Kaer Morhen. When she had first made a home with him there, the room had been bare. Eskel had stacks of books, practically making a labyrinth of text, never knowing how to get to his bed. Geralt had small trophies and nick-knacks from grateful contractors who didn’t necessarily have enough to pay, yet were still grateful. The young witcher had said it was because he had never wanted to have to lug items around till winter, though she knew it was deeper than that. When she had moved in, he had a single item that showed life was present, and it was a small plant near the window. He had said it was to make the place ‘lively’ so she would feel comfortable. There still wasn’t much in it, but there had been notebooks on the new desk he had built, and clothes usually disorganized throughout the closet. One plant had become three, and there were portraits amateurly hung over the mantle of the small fireplace.

Now, all of those small things that made it their own, were strewn everywhere. Two of the smaller plants had their pots smashed and the leaves wilting. The fireplace had charred stains outlining the hearth, as if someone continuously casted Igni into it. The papers where strewn everywhere, laying on the floor next to the clothes that seemed to be hastily ripped from the closet. There was a chair next to the bed, blankets layered over the back.

Worry and comfort both flooded through her as she knew Lambert was the chair’s previous occupant. The questions though, that sent ice through her veins, pertained to where he was and why their room is in such a state.  While knowing that a larger amount of time had passed, it was hard to approximate. The leaves were wilting, which meant Lambert probably hadn’t watered them since their return. If the plants, happily named Sir Green Leaf and Planty, had only wilted, it seems she might not have been out long.

The woman’s eyes dart to the opposite end of the room where the door opens. She had yet to see who was behind the door, but she knew by the lack of rush that no one knew she was awake. Eskel walked through the door, putting the broom he had in hand down, and propped against the wall. His hands fly over the papers and journals on the ground, being gentle, yet quick enough as to not be able to read anything. It brought a small smile to Y/n, knowing that Eskel wouldn’t break their trust, even if now would seem like the most opportune time. The witcher straightened his back, placing what he had collected back onto the desk.

“Not snooping?” She had a grin and a sarcastic tone, but both were wiped away after she heard how gravelly and rough it was. Eskel’s head snapped to look at her, and a smile spread over him. He swiftly made it to the bed, grabbing the waterskin on the floor.

“Through your stuff? The only info I’d have to gain from that is theories on medicine.” Despite her voice, she was excited to see her brother.

“At least I have some. I know Dandelion loved the place, but those medical professors are doing Jack-all to try and fight terminal illnesses. I mean, really, we already have headache medication, we don’t need a new strain.” Eskel’s smile never fell, and only grew when his hand fell to her shoulder.

“This is why I didn’t snoop to begin with.” Y/n smiled back, then looked to herself. Her favorite fur had been thrown over her torso, so she had yet to see the damage. Her eyes flicked back to the witcher she had considered a big brother since falling in love with the youngest in the wolf pack.

“Would you mind helping me sit?” Eskel’s face fell, and his brow scrunched. His hand flew over his scars, immediately telling her how uneasy he truly was with it.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Y/n’s hand grasped the fur, holding it up to peak at herself. If anyone could decide her state, it could be her as a medical professional.

Her shirt had been rolled up to rest just under her breast, giving her a great view of the wound on her lower abdomen. She remembered being with Lambert when he had to fight with some Giant centipedes. One time, he had thrown the bomb and it landed right into the hole the worm receded into, and the explosion was massive. Dirt debris flew everywhere, and it was much like how her wound looked. There was the initial puncture wound of the large lance that had flew through her like butter. Then, there seemed to be a second cut made, presumably when the handle broke while the weapon was still lodged in her side. It seemed that there were extra cuts made from the initial wound, probably due to whoever operated on her. The edge to every cut made was ragged and there were remnants of stitches from before the new set she now dawned. The impact was on her lower right side, but bruising painted her whole chest. The cuts were red and puffy, but it seemed that there was a very watchful eye on it, and the stiches were beautifully done to allow some movement.

“It will be fine. It’s doing nicely.” Eskel let out a shaky breath, but placed a hand on her lower back and upper chest, trying to force her to keep herself straight as she sat. Once he helped her slide, and rest against the headboard, he looked to the door.

“I should go tell Lambert. He’ll be upset I didn’t rush to get him sooner.” The medic rolled her eyes and huffed.

“He won’t have a chance to. Planty and Sir Green Leaf deserve an apology first.” Eskel’s lip twitched, but the grin didn’t last.

“The room was an accident, by the way. Geralt had been worried about him, and it had been about a week since Lambert truly left this room. He dragged him out of here only an hour ago, and he didn’t go without a fight. Though, I’m sure you’ll be grateful,” his smile finally returning. “As he smelled worse than the stables after Dandelion forgot to clean it last year.” Now it was Y/n failing to return the smile. Her hand gently reached out and grasped his, giving a small squeeze. The action carried a lot from thanks to worry.

“Would you mind getting him for me?” He gave a nod and headed to the door. Her hands flew to the wound feeling a small ache. She knew she had a numbing agent on it, or she would be in immense pain, but it seems that shifting started a reaction and her body started to release fluids. Gently, she called out knowing the brunette would still hear even in the hall. “Would you also bring a bowl of water and fresh bandages, please?”

One would be alarmed by how calm Y/n has been. Though, Y/n was above all grateful to have opened her eyes, and could see no reason to make a big deal of it. There had been an attack on the fort. The witchers and some allies had to migrate back to Kaer Morhen in early autumn to try and help Dandelion. There had been a large price on his head, and the poet was apart of the family, no one was to harm him. A large militia of hired swordsman had attacked, though had been defeated. Y/n, despite being told to stay by Triss and Yen, decided she wouldn’t leave Lambert’s side. She had walked the path with him for years, and the two fought in tandem. There had been a group that flooded the back path where the two had been held, and she noticed the lancer before him. Knowing the casting time of Quen, she knew Lambert wouldn’t be able to throw it in time. Y/n hastily threw herself against the witcher, who casted the shield as he felt her body. It had been too late, and he knew it the moment he felt the tip of a lance on his hip. The weapon had speared through her so far that it still scathed the man. The shield had broken the handle, splintering the lance, and making her would worse. In that moment, Y/n had decided that Lambert was more important than she was, though she knew it was also selfish, as she wouldn’t be able to live without him. Being awake new has just been a blessing.

Fast footfalls could be heard bouncing off the halls. There had been a moment where the sounds had faltered, and a loud curse followed. The running started back up, and moments later, Lambert slid into the room, out of breath. It seems that he had just been in the hot spring, only a pair of unlaced trousers being donned. Steam rolled off of his skin, and his hair dripped everywhere. He had been panting, and his eyes were frantic- more frantic than she had ever seen them. Large bags fell under his eyes and his lips looked pale, and those were the only attributes she could use to tell how he hadn’t been treating himself properly.

He pushed himself to the bed once they had made eye contact, though he stopped himself moments before wrapping himself around her. His hands flew to hers, pulling both to his mouth, his eye closing, and letting out a shaky breath.

“Lambert.” He let out another breath, but his eyes remained closed. Her fingers griped his, pulling his hands closer. Y/n dropped her tone to a whisper, and seeing him so broken started to affect her. “Lambert, look at me.” Eyes that she knew were made of the sun peered up at her, glass covering the relieved gaze. “Please hold me.” The young witcher’s gaze flew to her stomach and he gave a small shake of his head.

“I don’t think that’s-.”

“You can either hold me, or I can start lecturing you on how you haven’t been taking care of yourself.” His brow raised and she gave a fond sigh. “I’ve been resting. It’s not like I’ve forgotten how to read you, and trust me, I have a few words.”

“A few words, huh?”

“Yes.” Lambert huffed, yet he still crowed her into the headboard. Only their shoulders were pressed together, but his arms tightened themselves as much as he thought was safe. His nose pressed itself into its usual spot under her ear, and that’s where he remained as his body started to shake. She could feel the wetness of his tears start prickling her skin.

“I actually have a few fucking words, Y/n.” She could feel him start to fist her rolled shirt.

“I-.”

“No. What you did was unforgivable.” There was a long moment where nothing was said, and the only movement was the man’s sharp intakes of breath and Y/n’s thumb moving in small circles.

“Letting you get hurt would be unforgivable.”

“I would have been fine. You, on the other hand, have been laying here. There were times…” He took a long breath. His tone hardened, but was still quiet. “Y/n, there were times where I thought your heart stopped. Hell, I think it did the second day.”

“My heart would have stopped if yours did.”

“And what would I have done?” His voice grew in volume, and his arms held on just a little tighter. “Centuries? Without you?”

“You wouldn’t be without me. You have my heart and soul.”

“And you have mine. Don’t you get that? I can’t live without you here. You are the only thing in this world that keeps me going.”

“That’s not true. You have the rest of our family here.”

“What was the thing you said before I asked you to move in?” Y/n smiled at the memory.

“You mean told me to move in.”

“What was it?” Lambert pulled away, his hands moving to cup her neck. His eyes were torn between sorrow and love.

“What’s the point of going on if you can’t enjoy it.”

[nobodyfamousposts]

My-Crack-ulous: The Movie Trailer

Happy April Fools, everybody! (Yes, I know I’m late. No, I don’t care.)

When a villain attacked…

“Go forth my akuma! And evilize him!”

The corrupted butterfly flew up to the window.

And kept running into the glass repeatedly as the window was still closed.

“Dammit! I bought this stupid thing to be automatic! Hawk Moth cursed to himself as he kept trying to hit the button to no effect. Eventually he gave up and was forced to call Nathalie to have her open the window by hand while he made a note to fire the contractor.

When a Guardian was beyond reach…

Fu and Wayzz gaped in horror at the breaking news in Paris from their apartment in Hawaii.

“Master! It’s Nooroo! Someone has found the Butterfly Miraculous!”

“And is using it for evil.” Fu replied, narrowing his eyes. “We must act.”

“But Master, we’re halfway across the world!”

Fu pulled out his cellphone and dialed the airport to arrange for a ticket to Paris.

He was immediately put on hold.

When a monster was unleashed…

“Ivan?” Bustier asked.

“Not anymore!” The hulking rock monstrosity answered. “Now I’m Stoneheart!”

“That’s nice, Ivan—er—Stoneheart, but you still need to say ‘here’ for role call.” She admonished him, gesturing to his many terrified yet still seated classmates who had previously been waiting to be marked for attendance.

“Oh. Sorry.”

When a miracle wasn’t there…

“It’s okay, Marinette.” She worked to reassure herself as she carried the box of macarons to school. “It’s the first day of school. That means a new school year. New changes. New chances. Now to go out there and show them what you’re made of!”

She squared up her shoulders, held her head high, and prepared herself for whatever the school year would bring.

“RAAAAAH!” Stoneheart yelled, stomping down the street and causing random destruction. People were running. Cars were being thrown. Loud noises and screams filled the streets.

She stared.

Her grip on the box was lost and many macaroons went falling out and onto the concrete.

“Nope.”

And promptly turned right back around and went home.

When Paris cried out for help…

“NOOO!” Chloe screeched from position trapped in the monster’s grip. “I chipped a nail!”

The mayor gasped in horror. “Chloe! Oh no!”

Roger gave him a dirty look from the side where he stood with his broken arm and surrounded by a number of other injured officers. All of them incredulous over the mayor bemoaning his daughter’s chipped nail.

One hero answered…

A figure could be seen standing proudly beyond a den of smoke.

“Who dares?!” Stoneheart demanded.

The figure approached, revealing itself—

“HOO HOOT!” The Owl called as he threw a net at the surprised Stoneheart.

“What the—?!”

“Now I’ve got you!” 

His identity unknown.

“Is that Principal Damocles?” Nino wondered.

“Affirmative.” Max replied.

“Wow.” Kim marveled. “I don’t believe it…”

“Tell me about it.” Alix snarked.

Kim grinned, excitedly. “Our Principal was a furry this whole time!”

Everyone else facepalmed.

His abilities a mystery…

“A hidden lair. An armored costume. All sorts of gadgets. Where did you even get these things?!” Mendelieve demanded.

“Google.”

She frowned.

“I see…”

A pause.

“And pray tell, exactly how much of a school budget do we have that you could afford it all?”

Damocles coughed and looked away.

A lone hero.

Damocles stood tall as he stared down the young student before him. 

“I know you want to help, young lady. But it is much too dangerous for you to be fighting monsters.”

Marinette stared in confusion. “What?”

He shook his head. “No. Don’t try to argue with me! I’m only looking out for your safety!”

“But I didn’t—”

He looked down at her, his eyes shining with something almost like tears. “I know the call of justice is strong, but you are young! And you deserve a chance at a normal life!”

“I never said—”

He sighed. “I can’t stop you, can I?”

“I’m not—”

“Even if I say no, you’ll just go out there anyway.”

“Actually no—”

“Very well! You can be my sidekick!”

A slow blink.

“What?”

Standing alone against an unknown foe…

“Dad, I think we need to talk.”

“Adrien, go to your room.”

“I know you miss Mom a lot…”

“I’m pretty sure I just told you to go to your room.”

“And her loss was hard on us all.”

“Room, Adrien.”

“But I think the way you’re handling it isn’t healthy.”

“What?!” Gabriel gasped, affronted. “How can you say that?!”

“Well for one,” Adrien replied, “You’re wearing a weird suited luchador getup.”

Gabriel looked down, realizing he was still currently transformed as Hawk Moth. Multiple butterflies floated around, adding to the incriminating appearance and showing that he was, in fact, the real Hawk Moth.

“And for another,” Adrien continued, “WE’RE IN MY ROOM.”

…

…

…

“Oh.”

The city against him…

“Whoever could this mysterious hero be?” Nadja Chamack asked on her show, sounding almost bored as she read the words off the prompter in an almost sarcastic manner.

The Mayor was shown at a press conference. “Paris has no need for vigilantes who take the law into their own hands, even if it’s against a terrorist with magical powers that said hero is currently the only one who can deal with. And certainly isn’t using government funds to combat. Wink. Wink.”

“So we’re just going to pretend we don’t know who this guy is?” One officer asked another.

“But…don’t we know?”

“Everyone knows.”

In Hawk Moth’s Lair…

“WHO IS THIS MAN?!” Hawk Moth shouted angrily over a table of newspaper clippings. “And how does he keep foiling my carefully laid plans?”

“You mean the carefully-laid plan you made to attack the city you happen to be in to get magical jewelry you don’t even know is here thinking the exact ones you want will just crop up?” Adrien questioned, sardonically.

“Adrien, I don’t believe I let you out of your room.”

“You let your stupid butterflies take it over!"

"I TOLD YOU THEY NEED THE SPACE!"

His enemies conspire…

Adrien smirked at the picture of Damocles putting on the Owl mask.

“Well, that was easy. I suppose the only thing left to do is tell father.”

Chloe groaned. “No. Adrikens no.”

“What?”

“Your dad’s designs are bad enough. He does NOT need help from Principal Damocles.”

They move against him…

"Hey dad.” Adrien said upon entering the mansion. “School was great—thanks for finally letting me go, by the way. I made some friends, impressed the teachers, and found out that my principal is the Owl."

Gabriel looked up from his conspiracy board and squinted at Adrien. “Who let you out of your room this time?"

“The butterflies.” Adrien deadpanned.

Ever plotting evil…

“Clearly he’s using an Owl Miraculous!” Gabriel exclaimed.

“Whyyyy?��� Adrien drawled, annoyed and just wanting to have a normal dinner in peace. A normal, non-villainy-focused dinner.

“Well, he’s the Owl! What else would he be?”

“An old man with a fetish?”

“Don’t be foolish, Adrien! How else would he defeat my akumas if he didn’t have magic?”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Because it’s not like your akumas are stupid or your plans are dumb.”

“Quite right.” Gabriel said with a resolute nod. “It’s clearly a work of genius! And only magic could counter it!”

He wasn’t serious…

“Now why is there no mention of an Owl Miraculous in the book?”

“Clearly it must be the most powerful!”

Adrien just thumped his head against the table in exasperation.

But even so, the hero will not falter…

“Yeah, sorry about this.” Chat Noir shrugged apologetically before moving to attack.

“A battle between sidekicks!” The Owl exclaimed gleefully. “Go get him, Spooky! I shall deal with the akuma!”

“I TOLD YOU I’M NOT YOUR SIDEKICK!” She shouted after him as he took off towards the rampaging monster. “Why does no one listen?”

Seeing the interaction between them, Chat Noir paused. “Wait—you, too?”

“What?”

“Is he your dad?”

She shook her head. “No. Just a neglectful mentor who kind of dragged me into this.”

“Oh. Same. Except mine can’t in any way be considered a mentor. And there was no ‘kind of’ about this. Or any choice altogether.”

She frowned. “Then why are you helping him?”

“Because 'My father is an evil supervillain' isn't a valid reason for the courts to accept emancipation apparently.”

A pause.

“Are…are you okay?”

He stared at her in shock.

“That’s the first time anyone’s ever asked me that.”

Whatever may happen…

From above, video footage shows the Owl was climbing the tower. Pulling himself ever upward and towards his foe. Bearing a fierce look on his face as he prepares for battle.

A different angle shows he’s maybe a couple feet off the ground and panting heavily.

“Am I at least halfway there yet?”

He will protect this city…

The Eiffel Tower fell over.

And he will save us all…

Stoneheart trudged by, still covered in a net and entirely unconcerned with it or the man still attached

“I think he’s giving up!” The Owl coughed out as he continued to be dragged along after. “Any minute now!”

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Reliving An Old Nightmare - Chapter 16

<= Chapter 15

Summary : Snatcher and Hat Kid's search for the Time Piece begins. Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337299/chapters/57711178

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New chapter ! Since I was able to start writing the 19th chapter, which has been very hard to begin, I decided to post the 16th chapter. I hope you'll like it ! Don't hesitate to leave a comment if you did ! You have no idea how much it helps me writing !

Also, just wanted to announce that I commissioned something for the 18th chapter! And it's not a drawing. I sure wonder what it might be :)) I can't wait to post it with said chapter !

Happy reading !!

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Chapter 16

Just like Snatcher had expected, eating food even under his ghostly form was not an enjoyable experience. It was still better because he didn’t get to feel textures as much as when he was as a human. Though, the sense of touch still lingered a little bit. Normally, the ghost shouldn’t feel anything but, with the recent events… A lot of things had changed. Thus, when the little kid fed him a lot of stuff he knew nothing about, mostly sweets and junk food, the spirit had to resist the urge of throwing up from disgust. Gagging was something he never knew he could do as a ghost but, hey, you learn something new every day! Fortunately, the shade had managed to eat everything the kid had given him until he felt full enough. He still had no idea how being hungry was possible in his state, though it might very well be because of “Simeon”, just like the hat-wearing brat had explained it to him. Whatever that guy did with that Time Piece, it had changed the way Snatcher’s spectral body worked. And that was absolutely unacceptable for the shade, who loathed whoever or whatever was hiding behind Simeon’s identity. Yet, he couldn’t ignore how powerful they were, if they managed to create a whole dimension when even the alien kid could not.

Once the eating torture was over, he and the child started to elaborate a plan. While the kid would be able to track and locate the Time Piece while in the manor (thanks to her sixth sense he supposed), Snatcher would be the one leading them to it. The shade knew that breaking into the manor wouldn’t be easy with all the guards and servants watching the place. Fortunately, he knew the mansion enough to know how to avoid being found.

The kid took a few things with her, especially most of her hats, as well as her usual umbrella, just in case. It was best for them to be prepared, even more considering how dangerous their mission was. As soon as they were ready, the brat teleported them down again, in the backyard of the mansion. Unsurprisingly, the process was still extremely agonizing to the ghost, who felt his body change once again. He hated those sensations and hoped the return to the real dimension wasn’t going to be as uncomfortable.

As soon as they arrived in the rift, Snatcher couldn’t help but fall to the ground, nauseous. With his hand on his stomach, he had to take deep breaths in order not to throw up the food he had eaten earlier. He didn’t want to think about how illogical and stupid it was for it to have been “transferred” to his human body. How was that even possible? He wasn’t even sure the kid could answer his interrogations. Speaking of her, she ran to his side as soon as she noticed his malaise, visibly worried.

-“Snatcher!” stammered the child, lifting her hand to rub his back before hesitating and eventually stopping. She seemed to understand that the ghost didn’t want to be touched and she was right. The last thing the shade needed at the moment was another sensation his brain couldn’t deal with! He wasn’t sure he could remain focused on not throwing up if he had to feel another contact.

It was always weird to come back into this body because he had to feel all those things again, the clothes against his skin, the air filling his lungs, the saliva pilling up in his mouth… Compared to his short experience back in his original body, it was quite different and the change was always weird to handle, at least for a little while. Next to him, the kid remained silent, watching him carefully. If he had to be honest, Snatcher was quite relieved and thankful she was keeping her mouth shut, as her voice would be another unwanted distraction. In the meantime, the spirit continued to breathe calmly, doing his best to ignore the nausea, which was already dulling thanks to his effort, fortunately.

He finally took a look at his surroundings. They were in the back garden, behind a huge bush. The vegetation hid them from most of the guards’ eyes, which was a good thing, since the spirit still needed several minutes until he was able to stand up. The sun seemed to have set not long ago and the air was colder than before he left for the kid’s ship. He felt his body shudder from the chill, though it did help to reduce his nausea. It was dark outside, which helped them to fade into the background. Sure, he was the Prince and the guards normally wouldn’t do anything to him but… Vanessa and her accomplice might have asked them to take him back inside if they ever saw him out of his bedroom. Something like that wouldn’t surprise him. As for what they would do to the kid, on the other hand… He didn’t want to think about it now.

Little by little, he felt the unease go away and his mind clearing up with it.

-“Snatcher…?” insisted the little girl, seeing his malaise disappearing as well: “Sorry, you get used to it after a while…”

The shade had to think for a moment until he understood what the child was talking about: the teleportation process. God, how was she even able to feel so well after that? Well, he thought, maybe it was because he still wasn’t used to having organs yet. It was probably one of those things one could only get used to after more than a few days. Or, well, maybe it was just because the kid was an alien and their biology was simply too much different on the inside. That would explain quite a lot, if it was the case.

The ghost panted for a few seconds more and finally asked his ex-contractor about it:

-“How are you not sick every time you teleport? I feel like I’m going to puke…”

The small brat gave him a faint and sympathetic smile, a look that Snatcher definitely hated when it came to him:

-“Don’t worry, it was the same for me,” she replied, before trying to reassure him more: “I had a lot of training sessions with teleportation before I was even allowed to have my own ship, so I know how it’s like.”

She eventually changed her mind and started to rub the ghost’s back slowly. Snatcher didn’t feel much nauseous anymore and, contrary to what he believed, the contact actually helped him to feel better. She probably knew what to do with that kind of malaise, if what she said was true. Maybe she had had someone on her home planet to do the same for her. He still disliked the contact, but it was more out of pride rather than anything else.

After a while, the ghost felt better enough to stand up, still watched carefully by the girl’s blue eyes. He could tell she was still worried about him and, truth to be told, he wasn’t particularly reassured about his state either. The spirit took a final deep breath and straightened: it wasn’t the moment to think about that. They needed to move and get inside the mansion!

-“Time to get going, kiddo,” he said, decided.

-“Are you sure?” whispered back the kid, still visibly anxious: “We can wait a little more if-”

-“No, I’m fine,” retorted Snatcher darkly, not liking being pitied over: “We’re doing this now.”

The hat-wearing brat nodded, though she looked unconvinced. Snatcher scanned the area: the guards mostly stayed motionless, unless they heard something suspicious. Luckily, both he and the child had been discreet so far. However, they would need to be very careful when trying to get closer to the mansion: even if it was dark, it was still very much possible to perceive figures in the darkness. If these guards were just like the ones he used to know… They were pretty serious and dedicated to their job.

-“So, you’re still sure it’s in there?” questioned Snatcher, just to be sure. Next to him, the kid shifted, apparently ill-at-ease.

-“It is inside, but…” she started, gulping with difficulty: “It’s weird. I know it’s in there, I can feel it… But it feels like it’s not the same?”

-“What do you mean?” pressed the shade, not liking the look on her face and the way she played with her hands nervously.

-“Well, uh… I can feel my Time Pieces when they’re around, it’s like a basic instinct for me. But this time, its aura feels… Different,” explained the little girl.

-“Different how?”

The brat frowned, thinking for a while, as if she had trouble putting words over said feeling:

-“It’s like… Vaguer? I know it’s in there, I know which way it is… The thing is I can’t help but have a very bad feeling about this. It just feels different! I don’t know how I can explain it. It’s weird.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, the unease intensified on her face. So there was a problem. Snatcher had trouble imagining the kid exaggerating it: after all, she was the time expert! Though, knowing how she felt about the object they were looking for… The spirit couldn’t help but feel wary at the thought. She was right. Even if he couldn’t sense anything, the ghost knew something was wrong.

-“You think it’s a trap?” he asked her, glowering as well. Wouldn’t it be too easy if they found the Time Piece inside? Wouldn’t it have been smarter to hide it somewhere in the village? It was a place he couldn’t go without drawing attention to himself… From what he gathered, no one seemed to be aware of the hatted child’s presence… So why would Vanessa and her accomplice hide the precious object exactly where he was? It was suspicious.

-“I don’t know…” answered the kid, grimacing: “I still feel it inside, so it’s definitely there… Though I have no idea where this weird sensation comes from.”

Snatcher remained silent and looked at the manor. They still had a countdown problem: if they didn’t try anything now, the rift would collapse, taking them with it in the process. The ghost didn’t want to know what it would feel like.

-“Well…” he paused, sighing: “Guess there is only one way to find out.”

The child nodded, however, her face showed that she was still anxious. He couldn’t blame her.

-“So… How are we going to break in?” then asked the hatted kid, still hesitant.

The question took Snatcher aback when it really shouldn’t have: the reason was that he had thought about it and he had come up with an option that was… Not ideal. Most of the doors were closed at night, and often guarded by at least two soldiers. But there was one door that wasn’t guarded: the trapdoor leading to the cellar. And Snatcher did not want to go through there, no matter how urgent the situation was. There was no way he would float or walk in there ever again, dead or alive! Just thinking about it was bringing him horrible memories of his last moments shackled to this wall, feeling the cold finally numbing the pain in his body… His bones had broken with his weight pulling him down and he only died hours after that. It had seemed like days, months, years, centuries to him… At the time, he had lost all hope of ever getting out and only waited for death to save him, to end this awful and terrible suffering both hurting his body and his heart. How could Vanessa have done this to him? After everything they had experienced together? It had taken him years to even consider that he wasn’t the faulty one and that maybe Vanessa was the problem.

And now he would have to relive all those memories again? Absolutely not.

-“Snatcher?” the little voice cut his thoughts short once again and he lowered his eyes to the small child, whose worried expression only intensified when she saw his expression. He couldn’t even imagine the face he was making at the moment. But he didn’t have to be extremely smart to see that the child quickly understood what was going on in his mind. Her face crumpled instantly and her teeth were clenched. The ghost couldn’t help but frown at the sight in front of him: she was pitying him, wasn’t she? Why? There was no reason to, it all belonged to the past now. Yet, some old wounds never fully healed…

He jumped silently when he felt the child’s little hands take his, squeezing them tight as her eyes were staring at him with compassion and concern. God, he loathed being looked at this way. The spirit’s reflex was to pull his hand away, not wanting to admit the contact had felt comforting, at least for a few seconds. Yeah, right! Yet, he couldn’t deny the tinge of guilt when he was rewarded with the child’s hurt look, though it was brief. The kid seemed to understand his need for personal space and took a step back, to Snatcher’s great relief. He didn’t need contact now. The ghost looked at his hands: he was shaking. His legs felt weak and his heart was beating fast inside his chest. Great. He realized that he had stopped breathing only when the kid started to talk again:

-“We… We don’t have to go through there. I’m sure there are plenty of ways we can enter the mansion!” assured the brat, trying to be reassuring. However, Snatcher knew better. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t some dumb child who needed comfort and sympathy, especially coming from her. This was not what he needed.

Snatcher scoffed and lifted his hands as he replied, with a voice full of sarcasm:

-“Oh yeah? And how else are we going to break in? There are guards everywhere!”

The child seemed offended at his retort but didn’t say anything back. She probably knew it wasn’t the right time to argue with him and she was right to think so. They often argued normally, but this was different and the girl knew it. She bit the bullet and only sighed, not answering back. Instead, her eyes scanned the mansion, looking for any way in. Snatcher imitated her, ready to take every possible risk if it meant he wouldn’t have to go in there again. Everything but this.

The shade could see his bedroom window from there, but it was way too high, and the door was closed on the inside. He could also see Vanessa’s window, though this was definitely not an option. He scanned several other windows until he felt the kid’s elbow nudging him.

-“Hey, look!” she exclaimed, still softly not to be heard by any guard. The shade looked in the direction she was pointing at and his eyes widened. The girl was pointing at an ajar window! It was one of the kitchen ones. He almost didn’t believe it: it was too good to be true!

He mindlessly let a sigh of relief escape him at the realization that there was actually another solution. In the corner of his vision, he could see the child beaming proudly at him. The spirit tried to ignore the warm feeling rising in his chest at the sight. This was ridiculous. Though he supposed she did deserve a thank-you, especially considering how patient she had been after what happened on the ship. She still looked extremely tired, but it was now a bit hidden by her overjoyed expression. He could tell she wanted to jump around everywhere in excitement, only managing to hold herself back because she knew they had to stay discreet.

The ghost clenched his teeth as he extended his hand towards her, patting her head briefly. He couldn’t believe he just did that. But she did deserve it, he supposed…

-“It’s only a window, calm down! There are way more important things to be excited about than a dumb window!” But, after a few seconds, he muttered a quick “thank you” that he was sure the kid had heard, seeing how her smile widened even more. The contact already made her bounce up and down!

-“And stop smiling like that, will you? You look stupider than usual!” grunted the ghost, knowing fully well that it would only make the brat happier than she already was. God, this kid would never let him forget that, would she?

The shade then straightened. No more fooling around now. It was time to get serious. He brought the child back to task and she replied by saluting him as if he were her boss. Snatcher sighed and decided to ignore her, conscious that she would never get back to the situation at hand otherwise. It apparently worked as she looked back at the kitchen window, her joyful expression soon replaced by a serious and determined one. How would they reach it without being seen by the guards? They needed to be discreet. Yet, it was going to be hard to cross the whole backyard quick enough.

Snatcher didn’t even the time to turn towards the kid as he heard a poofing sound behind him. Just as he was about to ask what was that noise, he felt himself being lifted up from the ground. The sudden movement caused him to jump from the surprise. He realized that the child had taken him onto her very small shoulder, without flinching or losing her balance. He lowered his head to stare at her in bewilderment: how was she able to hold a fully grown adult? She was just a kid!

… An alien kid with a biology which was probably completely different than a human one.

He was going to order her to put him back on the ground when he saw the new hat on the brat’s head: it was the time stop one. Snatcher’s face grew pale as he started to understand what she was planning to do.

-“Wait… Wait, wait, wait, no-” stuttered the ghost, trying to persuade her to not do what she was about to do. But the child only lifted her head to look at him mischievously, definitely defying his demands. She started to run. And then the ghost blinked. When he opened his eyes again, everything had changed around them. The vegetation had disappeared, replaced by walls, counters and cupboards, tables and chairs… They were not outside anymore: the kid had taken them into the kitchen in a blink, literally. The hatted child put Snatcher back on the floor and the spirit had to hold to one of the counters to stomach what had happened. This… Was not something he thought he would experience. It was definitely weird, though clearly not as bad as teleportation.

-“Hey, Snatcher, you okay?” whispered the little girl, looking at him with a malicious smile. That brat…!

-“You could have warned me you wanted to do that…” grunted the shade, slowly pulling himself together. This mission was not going to be a simple walk in the park… Especially not if the kid decided to keep up this kind of risky behaviour. They only had one chance, now was not the time for hazardous stunts.

The ghost turned back to the window, which had remained open, and threw a careful glance outside. No one seemed to have noticed them, fortunately. Still, what the kid had done could have ruined their chances and Snatcher couldn’t remain silent about it. He slowly closed the window, not wanting to draw attention. He then turned back towards the kid, glaring at her:

-“Next time, don’t be that reckless, we can’t be found.”

The child only rolled her eyes, annoyed:

-“Yeeees, dad!”

The shade grew pale immediately and almost lost his balance to the kid’s words. What? His reaction must have been really funny to her as she started giggling in the palm of her hand. She was making fun of him! Anger and indignation arose inside of him: how dared she? Plus, this was not the time!

-“I swear, once we’re out of this mess, I’ll make sure to-”

Snatcher didn’t have the time to finish his sentence. Footsteps resonated in the next hallway, coming closer and closer. The spirit could feel his heart sinking in his chest as he realized that someone was going to enter this room in a few seconds. They had to hide! The same look of panic had replaced the child’s playful expression. She probably understood it as well and her stance was much more tensed than before. The shade looked all around themselves, trying to find any good hiding spot. But the steps were coming closer and closer. The kid quickly kneeled down and took his hand, pulling him with her. The ghost mindlessly followed her, too distressed to think. They both crawled under the table, just in time. The moment they hid, the door opened and two guards entered the room. Thankfully, the tablecloth was long enough to keep them hidden from the men’s sight. They could still see their feet walking around.

-“See?” said one of the guards, punching the other’s shoulder mockingly: “I told you there was no one there. You’re so paranoid, relax.”

Next to him, the kid was holding her breath, keeping her mouth shut by covering it with both hands. Snatcher himself did his best to stay silent. His whole body was frozen, not moving an inch, and he was barely breathing as well. The feet continued moving.

-“Yeah… You’re right,” replied the other, embarrassed: “No one would break in. I thought I heard something, but it was probably my imagination.”

The spirit’s eyes locked with the brat’s scared ones. Well, now she seemed to understand what he meant earlier! But it was too late! He glared at her to prove his point, but she just lowered her hands to stick her tongue out in response. The ghost’s anger intensified. Oh, if only he had his powers! But he still couldn’t use them under this form, so the only thing he could do at the moment was glaring at her even more.

-“Yeah it was, just like I told you!” retorted the first one with a sneering tone: “Come on, let’s go back to work.”

The guards left the room after what seemed like an eternity to Snatcher. Once the door closed behind them, he and the brat waited for a bit before daring to move an inch. When the spirit thought they were finally safe, he crawled away from the table, clearly exasperated by the hat-wearing child’s attitude.

-“What was that?” he whispered furiously, lifting his arms in an interrogative and irritated gesture.

The little girl pouted at his reproach, staring at the ground as she grumbled:

-“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think they would hear us from there.”

The ghost would have facepalmed if he wasn’t trying to stay as focused as possible:

-“Well, duh! Of course they were going to hear us! You weren’t exactly cautious as far as I know!”

-“Yeah, fine, my bad. Can we move on now?” retorted the kid, annoyed. Snatcher was doing his best to stay calm despite his ex-contractor’s insolence. She definitely didn’t like being told what to do, which was a shame, since it was exactly what was going to happen.

The shade pinched his nose and took a deep breath. He could do this.

-“Listen, I’m the one who knows this manor. So, from now on, when I tell you to hide or to stay quiet, you obey me. The only thing you need to care about is telling me where that Time Piece is. Is that clear or do you need me to explain it in a more murderous way?”

The child sighed and nodded, still very much displeased by the discussion. However, she wasn’t in a position to say anything against it, so she reluctantly agreed. Well, that was the first step, at least.

-“Okay, so, about that Time Piece,” said the spirit: “Do you know where it is?”

His interlocutor took a moment to think, closing her eyes for a few seconds. The process seemed to be harder than usual as she started to frown. It was enough to tell the ghost that the search wasn’t going to be as easy as he hoped.

-“Hum… It’s weird…” started the brat, thinking harder: “I can feel it, it’s upstairs but… It’s very vague. I feel its aura above us, but I can’t exactly tell you where it is. It’s like there is something hiding it from me.”

Snatcher wasn’t surprised. The idea of “Simeon” and Vanessa not taking precautions to protect the precious artefact would have been rather absurd. If he were in their shoes, hiding the Time Piece would have been one of the first things he would have done. But, at least, they could work with a warm and cold kind of game. It wouldn’t be easy and they would probably need to check some of the rooms without being found by the guards patrolling in the hallways… But it was still a lead.

The spirit nodded. They could work with this. Well, they had to if they didn’t want to disappear with the rift’s collapse. It’s not like they had any choice in the matter anyway.

-“Well…” guessed the ghost: “I suppose we should get going then.”

The kid agreed. Both of them walked to the door, ready to start this treasure hunt for their survival. Deep inside, the shade couldn’t help but have a very bad feeling about this. But how hard could it be? He knew the manor perfectly and the kid had enough magical hats in case of emergency! What could go wrong?

The ghost opened the door carefully, throwing a glance in the hallway to make sure no one was there.

They had a treasure to find.

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Welp, what could go wrong ? :)

I hope you liked that chapter ! The last drawing is one of my favourites, I had so much fun drawing it. I hope you'll like the next chapters as well ! And thank you SO MUCH for all your support, it makes me feel so happy reading your comments and theories !!

See you later ! Take care in the meantime !

Chapter 17 =>

[andersunmenschlich]

Episode 8: Burned Out

Okay! So tonight I get the story of an Ivo Lensik, a contractor. (I sense a haunted house story.)

He gets called in to take over a wiring job for a guy who had jury duty, and decides to take the job and do it in the evenings since he has another job going during the day. So far, so good.

The house is on Hilltop Road, which apparently is a very quiet road with not a lot of people living on it. This means Ivo Lensik is going to be in an unfinished house in a secluded location as night falls, doesn't it? I like that. That is nicely spooky.

Let's see, the house has two floors, doors but no locks, and no windows.

...Why are they putting electricity into a house with no windows? It might just be me, but that seems like a good way to get a short.

Oh, and there's a big old dead tree in the yard.

I quite like trees, especially big ones, but the dead ones are only really good to look at since if you climb them the limbs have a tendency to break at inconvenient moments. This tree sounds particularly aesthetic: apparently it casts nice, clear, dark shadows even on overcast days. I don't know why, but I really like the sound of that.

Anyway, the third evening of this job, there comes a knock on the door. Ivo Lensik goes and opens the door (and takes a hammer, in case the knocker is unfriendly), and oh, look! It's a man in a tan jacket.

No word on a suitcase filled with flies, though.

The man in the tan jacket introduces himself as Raymond Fielding, the owner of the house.

And this is evidently not a crossover, since our statement-giver seems able to describe him quite easily: young, white, maybe mid-twenties, clean-shaven with shaggy chestnut brown hair. He produces the deed to the house, which says yep, a man named Raymond Fielding owns the place.

So Ivo Lensik lets him in, which is something I don't entirely understand. I mean... sure, he's got a deed saying the house belongs to Raymond Fielding, and sure, he says he's Raymond Fielding, but what proof is there that he is?

But our story-teller lets him in.

Raymond Fielding (self-proclaimed) heads over to an empty window and stares out into the backyard, which is weird but I guess doesn't get in Ivo's way, because he goes back to work. Then there's the smell of burning hair, and when Ivo Lensik looks for the man in the tan jacket all he finds is a smoldering patch of floor in front of the window.

...That's some extreme spontaneous human combustion, right there.

And the floor! Is that coming out of our Ivo Lensik's paycheck? I mean, how's he going to prove he didn't char the floor?

Oh. Apparently I was worrying about nothing, because when he takes a couple seconds to grab a fire extinguisher the smoldering bit goes as cold as the rest of the floor, and then the ashes turn out to just be sitting on top of the wooden flooring, which is fine once it's cleaned up.

That's surprisingly thoughtful of... Mr. Fielding, I guess, or whoever burned him.

Anyway, I approve.

Ivo cleans things up and then, as the situation sinks in, begins to panic because he thinks he's losing his mind. It seems his dad went a bit loopy later in life, and Ivo's worried it'll be him next.

Ivo's father, it seems, was obsessed with fractals. Big into mathematics, which I can understand. Math can be really fun, when you're not being forced to do it. But the older Mr. Lensik also developed this idea that some mysterious person who can be recognized because "all the bones are in his hands" was stalking him and trying to stop him from finishing his fractal work, which would definitely be stark, staring, unmoored-from-reality paranoia in our world, but since this is the world of The Magnus Archives, well... who knows?

Aha, and then one day he turns up dead in his locked(?) study with deep gouges along his wrists and arms (made by something the coroner can't identify) and a look of fear on his dead face, surrounded by drawings of fractals (not in blood, though, in pencil, mostly on paper but also on the walls). And this is called a suicide, because of course it is.

"All the bones are in his hands"?

I have no idea what that means, but dang it sounds creepy.

I'm picturing a kind of boneless man with giant hands full of all the bones the rest of his body doesn't have, dragging the squelching, wet, oozing part along like giant, bony spiders trailing a partly digested corpse.

In any case, Ivo's so worried about losing his mind that he loses his balance, slips on the just-cleaned floor, and hits his head.

Whereupon he loses consciousness.

Head wounds do have a marked tendency to bleed awfully. So when he wakes up, dizzy and bleeding, I'm sure it's quite dramatic. In fact he's so dizzy that he can't drive, and calls an ambulance instead. It comes and takes him to the hospital, and yes, he's got a terrible concussion, which I suppose means he can't be alone for a while, either.

At least he probably won't end up at the apartment of a strange man who eats notebook pages... but, then again, who knows?

He tells his doctor everything and asks if he's losing his mind.

His doctor says no, probably not—it would be very strange if he went that nuts that quickly, normally you have to sort of work up to full-on hallucinations, and Ivo is reassured.

Meanwhile, an eavesdropping nurse (an older lady) seems very interested in the story, but (like most eavesdroppers) doesn't hang around to be talked to. Just before Ivo's discharged, though, he sees her again. Actually it's her job to give him the final check, so they get to talk! Which, it seems, she wants to do.

She wants to know if the man in the tan jacket really called himself "Raymond Fielding."

Ivo says yes, he did, and he had a deed to the place with that name on it, too. This information seems to give the old lady a need to sit down. So she does, and explains that her family's among the few living on Hilltop Road, and they know that house.

Apparently there was a house there in the 1960s, and it belonged to a man named Raymond Fielding, who used it as a halfway house on behalf of the local diocese.

Having a bunch of juvenile delinquents around didn't make the neighbors happy, but everybody really liked Raymond so nobody said anything. And then one day Agnes showed up. She was eleven at most and might have been Raymond's actual daughter, and she was also kind of creepy, always standing in windows staring at people. But she didn't cause problems, so....

Oh, and then the delinquents slowly stopped causing problems.

Actually it looks like they slowly started vanishing.

And then there was no one living there but Raymond and his maybe-daughter Agnes... and then there was just Agnes, who by this point was a quiet young woman of 18 or 19.

Okay. Something's definitely up with Agnes.

People ask where Raymond went, and she just says he went away and the house is hers now. Which apparently is the case—the house has been legally signed over to her, and there's certainly no sign that Raymond's been murdered or anything. So she lives there, all by herself, which sounds lovely except I do wonder how she gets the groceries, and what happens if a pipe leaks or a drain gets clogged or something?

Maybe she knows how to handle all that sort of repair on her own, but if there's one thing I know it's that you can't buy groceries without money, and it's very difficult to get money without leaving the house unless you work from home somehow, which Agnes doesn't seem to do.

Ooh, and pets in the area tend to vanish, so people learn not to keep them.

...And it looks like small children aren't exempt from vanishing, either. So long, Henry White, five years old.

A week after little Henry goes missing, the Fielding house burns to the ground. No one calls the fire department, because Agnes creeps them out and they figure she might have had something to do with all these disappearances—which, frankly, seems like a pretty reasonable assumption to me, but that still looks like a fire hazard to the whole community, doesn't it, unless someone's come up with a way to prevent neighbors' houses from catching fire when something like this happens?

Well, maybe the Fielding house is set far enough away from the other houses (and the air's calm enough) that it isn't a problem. Who knows.

Anyway, there's no sign that there's anyone in the house at all, and when the fire finally gets put out a burned body is found inside—but it doesn't belong to Agnes. No, it's the skeleton of Raymond Fielding, missing its right hand. Huh. I wonder if that's the hand that signed the house over to Agnes....

Then people cleared up the rubble and had some confusion over who the land belonged to now, and finally they figured it out and someone started building.

That new house is where our Ivo Lensik is putting in wiring.

So the man in the tan jacket was a ghost. Haunted house! Called it.

Ivo Lensik, recovered from his concussion, decides to do his wiring work as much during the day as possible, and he does pretty well; but whenever he finds himself alone in a room, or things get quiet, he thinks he sees little Agnes's brown pigtails whisking around corners, or thinks he smells burning hair.

Funny, he didn't see anything to do with Agnes before, and... would she be dead now? I don't think she died in that fire, anyway. Maybe he's imagining that, now that he knows the story.

He does pretty well at working only during the day when there are other people around, but as they're finishing things up apparently he works later and later, and one night he looks up to find the sun's set and he's completely alone. Whereupon he starts sweating.

He thinks he's just freaking out at first, but no—he's legitimately burning up. Like fever, except more so.

Now, I'm usually cold. I live in the desert. On average it gets up to around 93 degrees Fahrenheit come July, and that strikes me as a bit warm but much better than winter, because my internal heating system basically doesn't work. That said, this doesn't sound great. I have no objection to lying around like a lizard on a rock, surrounded by heat that seems to melt all your muscles to useless, cozy goo... but this kind of heat sounds unpleasant.

Ivo takes off his coat and his hat and it doesn't do any good at all. He can't even breathe, he's so hot. He's collapsed to the floor (dying, I think) when there's a knock on the door and suddenly he's fine.

He climbs to his feet and answers the door, and it's a Catholic priest.

...Well, that was unexpected.

Oh, apparently the nice old lady from the hospital sent him (and apparently her name's Annie). Aw, she was worried about Ivo so she sent him an exorcist. With suspiciously good timing, too!

Father Edwin Burroughs wanders around and takes a look at the house while Ivo explains what's been happening, and then he tells Ivo to go hang out in the backyard while he runs through some prayers and things and sees if he can't do for ghosts what's typically done for demons.

In the backyard, Ivo suddenly develops an herbicidal mania and attacks the already dead tree with a crowbar.

Which seems... really weird to me.

And then the tree starts bleeding! Like, actual blood!

I wonder what kind of blood it is. And if it's human, would it be any good for transfusions? Could they just go tap the, I dunno, B- tree instead of asking for donations or going to the blood bank? Blood trees could be really handy so long as they didn't, you know, curse anyone who got their blood! ...Actually, depending on the curse, certain types of people might think it was worth it anyway.

Oh, and the tree's got old scorch marks at its base. Which I guess makes sense: it's an old tree, it would've been here when the old house burned, right?

Ivo decides to chain the tree to his car and drag the thing out of the ground, for reasons which are not well explained and make me think either he's got some kind of supernatural intuitive sense, or something's reaching into his head and using him as a tool to destroy the tree.

He drags the tree out of the ground.

The bleeding, surprisingly, stops.

Looking into the hole where the roots used to be, Ivo notices something in the dirt and climbs down to get it.

It's a six-inch-square wooden box engraved with patterns that remind me of that table from episode three (which, after the concussion, is the second thing in this episode to remind me of that one), and it's got a nice, fresh, green apple inside. Looks like it's just been picked.

When Ivo takes it out of the box, though, the freshness shrivels away, the skin splits, and spiders just pour out of the thing.

He screams and drops everything. The apple hits the ground and turns to dust.

Ivo backs off and waits for the spiders to leave before he goes back and wrecks what sounds like a perfectly lovely box, which wanton destruction I'm coming to expect from this particular statement-giver, and chucks the splinters into a trash can.

Not long after Ivo's finished trashing everything, Father Burroughs comes out of the house and, ignoring the tree, tells our guy that he's done his prayers and hopefully it'll help and here's his card.

Ivo works on the house for another week.

There are no further interesting incidents. Job done, he leaves and never goes back.

Jonathan Sims seems to blame the man in the tan jacket on the concussion that happened later, or else on the genetic disposition to mental problems that the doctor said probably weren't happening. That... it seems like he's really reaching here. Maybe it's less that he's an actual skeptic, and more that he really, really doesn't want to know what's actually going on?

That would make a kind of sense: it's a sort of self-defense. He only believes horrible things when he's forced to. Otherwise he's skeptical, sarcastic, and dismissive.

Oh, neat—Father Edwin Burroughs gave a statement, too!

I'm guessing the fact that it's mentioned means we get to hear it later.

Unless this is the kind of show where they taunt you with stuff you never get to know, but that's unusual and so I figure I'll be hearing that one eventually. Should be fun!

And apparently Ivo Lensik was the only contractor who got haunted by the house they were all working on, which is interesting. I wonder why? Was it just because he was the only one who stayed late? Or maybe he was the first one to stay late, or the only one to let in an ID-less stranger waving an old deed and claiming to be Raymond Fielding, or...?

Who knows.

Mr. Sims's assistants have apparently done a ton of work in research, as usual.

Martin couldn't figure out who built the old house, but the earliest records it turns up it show it being bought by Raymond Fielding's grandfather (Walter Fielding). Then it was inherited by his father (Alfred Fielding), and then by him. But there's no record that it was ever an official halfway house. Maybe he was running it illegally. Maybe that record got lost. No way to know.

Tim got an interview with the nice old nurse, Anna Kasuma, but didn't get any new info.

One of the residents of Hilltop Road did provide a photo of the old house in flames, which means that while nobody called the fire department, at least one person was taking pictures. This strikes me as extremely human.

The obit for Raymond Fielding said he worked with juvenile delinquents, and died in a house fire, but didn't give any real details.

Mr. Sim's little team down at the Magnus Institute apparently can't turn up any proof that Agnes ever even existed, which makes me think that something's definitely going on with her.

...Ooh.

And on the same day Ivo Lensik uprooted that old dead tree, a woman named Agnes Montague was found dead in her apartment.

Apparently she'd hanged herself, and there was a severed human hand attached to her waist with a chain—a right hand, one that the coroner time-of-death-ed at the same time Agnes Montague died, which makes no sense from a natural perspective but suggests some interesting things from an unnatural one.

What do you want to bet it was the ghost of Raymond Fielding that made Ivo Lensik uproot that old tree?

Oh, and Agnes Montague passed as only 26.

You know, if you're going to tie your life force to something, maybe don't pick a tree? It's as bad as a secret painting that you have to hide in a secret room of your house to prevent people from seeing how old and evil you're actually getting.

What would I tie mine to? Uh... hmm. I think maybe entropy. A painting never ages, sure—a tree loses life a lot more slowly than a human—but the entropy of a closed system never decreases over time. Tie your life to a painting and it'll age instead of you, to a tree and you'll get all its life, but if you tie your life force to entropy, well! That's a force that'll never run out, and if it should happen to decrease a bit... would that be so bad?

In any case, two more families lived in that house since this statement, and nothing weird happened to any of them, either.

Looks like Raymond got rid of Agnes and they both finally died.

This is a really good story! I like this one. It's very tidy.

[ambassadorquark]

31 day horror house day 15: a conniving double-crosser that could be helpful

wisteria looks somewhat rattled from her meeting with... whoever she was meeting with. she fidgets with her bandages, and you catch a glimpse of something underneath... squirming? you ask her if she got her pay raise, trying to lighten the mood, but she gives you an odd look and shows you outside, where an unmarked van is waiting. a suspicious character is leaning on it, smoking a cigarette.

“hey, wisteria,” he says, flicking the cigarette butt onto the lawn. you can actually see wisteria wince as he grinds it into the dry grass with his heel. the grass may be dead, but it’s still clipped neatly, and you can guess that wisteria’s the one who cuts it.

“Hello, Kyle,” she says, gripping the handle of her shovel very tightly. you can tell she doesn’t like him much. “Do you have my items?”

“yeah, i got ‘em,” kyle says, and leers at you. “who’s this?”

“A friend of mine who would like to get back home.”

kyle looks you up and down in a way that makes you want a shower more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life. “yeah?” he says. “i can arrange that.” his words drip with innuendo, an unspoken “for a price”... among other things. you wonder what the hell wisteria needs this guy for. what’s so important to her that she has to get it from someone as unpleasant as kyle?

“it’s cold out,” says kyle. “aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“I don’t live here,” wisteria says quietly. “You’re even less welcome than I am.”

“who cares?” kyle says. “this whole freak family can take it up with my contractors if they have a problem with me being here.”

he turns to look at you with a big, grotesque smile. “has she told you about what they do here? that crazy lady doctor’s totally insane, but her nephew is even worse... no wonder you’re getting the hell out of dodge.”

you’re about to ask him what he means when you hear the faint, now-familiar sound of a quick-beating heart.

[prorevenge]

Sexually harass me and think you're getting away with it? Find out that I get by with a little help from my friends.

First post, and a REALLY long one, I’m so sorry. Obviously on a throwaway.

This was awhile ago, way before the Me Too movement, before stuff like this was taken seriously. Additionally I feel a need to re-iterate that this was not revenge wrought solely by myself, but also by some of the fantastic guys I worked with, and the brave women who also stepped forward. They deserve credit as well.

TL;DR at the bottom.

---

I was working and going to college in a high-tourism area in one of the lower states, getting my Bachelor’s in Hospitality. I loved the company I worked for, and my university was practically partnered with them, so initially my life wasn’t super hectic. Go to class, go to work, and go home. At some point though, the branch of the company I was working for started to cut hours, a lot. As a part-timer, this meant I was among the first to have their hours chopped. Around this time, I was also told that I needed a third internship for my degree, and it couldn’t be in the same place I had been in. (They had already counted that position as internship #2) Because of this, and helped by the fact that I was barely getting by with my reduced paychecks, I went to the career center to ask about jobs in the area, and they recommended me to a nearby golf course that needed employees.

Relevant Info: To explain the backstory on the management of this golf course: it was run by a third party management company, operating under the umbrella of a massive hospitality company. This is not unusual for golf courses, the golf industry was/is hurting and frankly this is the only way for most of them to break even. While I was technically working directly for this third party, I was also listed as a “contractor” for the large umbrella company.

My upper boss, the director, was okay, if not a little oblivious. The assistant director under him was a jerk, and the string of supervisors under him were hit or miss. When I started, I was the only woman on the operations side of the team. You had several groups: The pro shop guys (also supervisors), the beverage/snack girls that ran the snack stand and the carts that buzzed around the course, the course starters (usually older, retirement age, been with the company a long time), and the ground operations group (where I was). Most of the ops guys were wary of me at first, but after they saw that I was willing to do as much of the manual labor as they did, they accepted me. I didn’t love my job, but it was a paycheck and it counted for my degree. It was a lot of manual labor: lifting clubs, baskets of practice balls, running from one spot to another, shifting golf carts around throughout the day, driving big course equipment, and lots of guest interaction. Everything was okay, and I was learning a lot, until one of the older ops guys (let’s call him Bob) got promoted to supervisor.

Bob had been stellar as an operations guy, but around the time he got this promotion, his wife also filed for divorce. His home life took a steep nose dive, and unfortunately it carried over to his work ethic. We all felt bad for him, and initially tried to help as much as we could. As time went on though, Bob went from being sad and depressed, to being an outright asshole. He was in his mid-40’s and started crashing gatherings with all of us 20-somethings. This wouldn’t have been an issue, except he started aggressively trying to pick up girls wherever we went. He became the textbook case of the sleazy guy that would get roaring drunk, and complain “She didn’t respond to my creepy flirtations, so she must be a b*tch”. I stopped going to these group outings for this reason, along with several others. His behavior was making a lot of us uncomfortable.

Eventually, his creepy behavior rolled over to work. He would be AWOL for hours, out chasing down the cart girls. When he wasn’t doing that, he was sitting in the club storage area regaling the younger ops guys with his stories of “conquests”. I tried to stay away as much as possible, but there were several shifts where I was assigned to deep clean the rental clubs, or re-stock equipment, and then I couldn’t get away. I won’t go into detail on some of what he did, but it was bad. Major sexual harassment. Some of the lighter instances were suggestive comments about my appearance, or “let me show you what you can do to your boyfriend” –with matching hand gestures. I felt I couldn’t quit because I only had a few months or so left of my time with the job before I graduated, and I needed that internship credit. Going to the director and the guy under him went nowhere, his answer was to pull Bob from the course to “apologize” to me, and then “…go on and give her a hug! See? Everything is fine now!” I felt totally powerless, but got some sage advice from my dad to start documenting EVERYTHING. Dates, times, location, witnesses, and what Bob was doing.

After seeing how the director treated his infractions, Bob started getting bolder and less careful. These harassment events were beginning happen in full view of several of the other guys. One afternoon, two of the starters that I had become close with happened to walk into club storage right as Bob made one of his sexually-charged remarks. Bob seemed not to notice them, but I saw both of their eyebrows shoot up. One of the guys started to get visibly angry and had to be quietly pulled out of the room by the other. I made a lame excuse to leave the room right after this, ducking Bob’s grab, and ran outside. The two starters were standing not far away, speaking in low, angry tones. As soon as they saw me, they waved me over, far out of earshot of the other employees and Bob. They asked for an explanation, and I told them everything that had been happening, including how the director had treated me when I went in to complain. They were incensed. Immediately, they physically walked me back into the director’s office, and shut the door behind them. Keeping me between them, they told the director what they had witnessed, what they had heard, and if he didn’t handle it the way he was supposed to, by company policy, they would go over his head and report it to the umbrella company themselves. The director was startled, but calmly told them that one witnessed incident was hardly reason to go to “corporate”, and that this issue had already been “handled”. This was when I finally chimed in, re-iterating that the sexual harassment had only gotten worse, that I had a 4 page word document at home with countless time stamps and witnesses, along with the record of how he previously “handled” my complaint. A document that I would not hesitate to email to whoever needed proof, per the starters’ advice. We saw the blood physically drain from his face, and he asked us to step out so he could make a phone call. I ended up finishing the rest of my shift with the starters, then went home.

When I showed up the next afternoon, the jerk under the director came out and asked that I run back home to get a copy of my reporting’s. He also said that we had to sit in on a group call with the umbrella hospitality company in about 2 hours. During this time, they sent Bob out to monitor the course so he wouldn’t get suspicious. What I didn’t know, and found out during the meeting, is that in the span of one evening and morning, the other cart girls had somehow gotten wind of my report being taken seriously by the director. (I suspect the starters mentioned it to them)They came in, nearly the entire female snack staff, to pile on their own harassment claims. It was no longer one minor female “peon” reporting him, it was now a massive group. The director knew they had a problem. The umbrella company requested that I read my entire record during the call, and when I got to the bit about the “hug and apology” that the director had requested, he looked like he wanted to become one with the carpet in his office. When the call ended, the voices in the phone requested to speak with the director alone, and the rest of us (me, assistant director, starters, and the third party company rep that had been asked to come in) filed out of the room. After about 10 minutes, we were called back in. The director was silent and pale, and the voice in the phone promised me that I wouldn’t be bothered anymore by Bob, and to contact them directly if I had any further problems.

They sent me out to the other side of the course, to keep me away, while they then called Bob in to the office. I didn’t witness what happened, but I was told later that Bob came storming out of the office after about 10 minutes, kicking golf carts and throwing things as he left. Yelling out to the other ops guys in the vicinity that “all women are b*tches!” as he went to his car. Not only had been fired, but he was further statused as a no-rehire, and BANNED, with/from ALL the courses (run by both the umbrella company and the third party, who owned/operated a sizeable list of properties) in the area. The director eventually was transferred out to a smaller course, and the jerk under him was moved as well. We got a much better management team in to replace them, and I was able to finish my time with the company with no further issues. I am happy to say that I still keep in touch with the starters and other guys to this very day.

TL;DR I was continuously sexually harassed by my supervisor, but was finally able to get justice with the help of my coworkers, and he lost his job while also being blacklisted from all courses in the area.

(source) (story by Iwritenovels1234)

[kisstheashes]

“The creature is staring at me again.” With whoever you wanna write!

Questionably human.

Two words that rang in his head every day. In perspective, they meant absolutely nothing. In his heart, they stung like the burn of a hot poker- or a blowtorch. They couldn’t have meant anything, could they? They were only said to confuse and manipulate him.

Questionably. Human.

Marvin looked up from the sink, looking into the mirror. The scar covering his right cheek was still visceral as ever. God, he thought he looked ugly as hell. No wonder everyone stared. He heaved a soul-heavy sigh, feeling like he might implode silently.

If his vision was left unguided he would see glitches and a green figure standing behind him in the mirror. He couldn’t tell if it was real or fake anymore, or a combination of both. He closed his eyes, images of sharp teeth and white-hot knives swimming in his mind’s eye. “Fuck…”

Marvin shook his head and finished cleaning up, leaving the bathroom and going to help Jackie make breakfast. Jamie had physical therapy today, he had to be present. He couldn’t be lost in his pathetic drowning vacuum of trauma again. If he had another panic attack while in the waiting room he thought he’d be admitted to a psych ward. That was the last thing anyone needed. He took another deep breath as he saw Jackie in his wheelchair, a stake going through his heart. *It’s going to be one of those days…* It wasn’t 8 am and he was on the verge of a breakdown.

“Hey…you don’t have to take him, Marvin. I can take him to therapy, I’m capable,” Jackie stopped him, looking up at him, worried. “You don’t have to do everything, Marvin. We’re here to help you too.”

Marvin closed his eyes for a moment. He knew he looked like hell. Dark circles, overgrown hair, sunken cheeks, pale and always a little shaky from the constant blood loss. He kept covered up, even as it turned into spring. It had been three days, he expected a visit from Anti tonight or tomorrow. He almost lost his balance and fell thinking about it. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it this time. The still closing wounds hurt against the fabric of his shirt. “I have to keep myself busy, Jackie. It’s how I know how to cope.” Marvin rubbed Jackie’s shoulder for a moment before moving into the kitchen and helping Jackie finish cooking some omelets.

***

It was the same, no matter who the receptionist was, or how familiar the people were. Most stared at Marvin with curiosity, or sadness, or pity. Even among those there, he stood out- someone who was built strong and wide, shaking and pale and gaunt. He hated the pity. He hated the stares. He already couldn’t stand the stare in the mirror, strangers were just too much. He wanted to disappear whenever he took Jamie to the hospital.

Someone sat next to him- only slightly surprising given the full seating in the room. Marvin didn’t bother looking to see who it was; they could see his facial scar, they knew that he was a “tortured soul” as some put. He kept his focus on his phone, texting Jackie about something stupid.

“You look a bit young for a veteran.”

Marvin frowned, glancing up. An older man, probably thirty years older than Marvin was. Marvin snorted, focusing back on his phone. “Talking to me?” he murmured.

The old man had a smile in his voice. “No one else here has that war-torn look, son. Did they get you right out of high school?”

This was the first conversation he’d had with a stranger since the contractors had finished renovating the house to accommodate Jackie’s chair. “No. I’m not a veteran.” Marvin bit the inside of his cheek as the sound of a blowtorch startled him. *It’s all in your own fucking head, Marvin.*

He glanced up to see the old man look surprised. “You look like you’ve seen war. I know that haunted look. Everyone who’s seen war has that look.”

Marvin swallowed, ignoring the auditory hallucinations as it sounded like the building caught on fire. *It’s not fucking real.* He shook his head. “No…I’ve just seen hell.” There was silence before Marvin looked up at him, looking every bit like a dead man walking. “And I choked on blood every second of it.”

The old man gave him a sympathetic gaze and clapped him on the shoulder. “Veteran or not, you’re every bit a soldier for still being here.” He got up and left, greeting who Marvin assumed was his wife as she left the physical therapy room.

Marvin slid back in his chair, sighing. He felt static crawl across his skin.

As Marvin walked back home after therapy, Marvin saw the glitch follow him in the shop windows. He took a shaky breath, which prompted Jamie to ask what was wrong.

“It’s nothing…just seeing Anti stare at me again. I’ll be fine.”

It was going to be tonight.

There wasn’t much clean skin left.

@writerwithdepression @superbanananinja234 @egopocalypse @gum-xx-drop @clownoutofdarkness @friendly-neighborhood-badger @acuriousquail @maybekatie @here-be-becquerel @shamrockace @nuggetfromspace @cute-anxious-kitten @the-rampaige @starlightxnightmare @glixbitch @watermelonsinmyattic @gingersrants @risingroseakira @weirdmixofweirdness @blitzindite @nekob00 @mihaela-tbg @iris-the-asparagus @assbutt-of-the-readers @sylver-striings @epicfangirl01Ask me if you want to be tagged!

[sordidandsublime]

Musings, nothing set in stone:

After Roth leaves the SAS, he takes up as a mercenary or a military contractor as they're typically called nowadays. The 80s, 90s are an interesting time for a free agent like him, countries being formed and reformed, the fall of old regimes, armed conflict all across the globe. Roth isn't precisely a sadist, he's seen what sadism is, but he's a hard man and a hard life on the move suits him because he excels at his chosen work. He has the usual gigs, security duty for embassies, government agencies or intelligence officials touring overseas, escorting convoys, providing "assistance" to troops that technically shouldn't be on the ground, but increasingly his clients are criminals of all stripes (although Roth stops short of working for religiously motivated terrorists, there are some idiocies a man can't stomach).

He misses home in the abstract sort of way of the unsentimental, perhaps it's more correct to say he misses the familiarity of home, of knowing precisely how to navigate its changeable tides and abrupt storms. He calls on Nayara, who he never really fell out of touch with— again the unsentimental sentiment—who is married to her second or third husband, thriving in her business and happy to have him home and has friends who has friends.

Roth does some little jobs for Nayara, teaches some keen boys of hers how to shoot and handle weapons properly, how to be prudent, beats the idea of discretion into their hot heads. He goes to Bolivia and Venezuela, leaves after he finds the violence too senseless for his tastes, joins a high risk venture moving and guarding shipments of cocaine into Africa and across miles of desert in a grim convoy.

The coke job leads to one thing or another, and Roth finds employment as a sicario for the Colombian narco cartels. His arrival is timely; the OG narcos are dead, arrested or fallen victim to their own paranoia and violence or to their rivals, and the new generation of narcos would like a little more professionalism in their work. They depend less and less on inexperienced children and young men with guns taken out of the barrio, and begin hiring ex commandos and police into their private armies. Roth gets together a group of guys he met during his time as a contractor, professional soldiers, all of them, and begins to peddle his services to whoever can pay him the most money. Working for anyone who can pay without taking sides is a difficult praxis to maintain in life but Roth just about manages it. The work takes him and his crew up and down the country, sometimes into Mexico and around the continent, occasionally out of the country, and once, famously, they had to hunt one of the high ranking lieutenants of the Tres Reyes halfway across the globe when he escaped execution with several million US taken out of the gang's coffers.

At around the same time that Roth begins a working relationship with the Colombian-Mexican Santa Sangre, he realizes he's in a little too deep. He has nearly a hundred men under his command, practically an armed militia in its own right (one of many in the country, but still) and far too much responsibility for what was, initially, a heavily armed lark. Things had become downright medieval, he was like the general of those traveling armies that bounced between city states in those bad old days. Full on retirement wasn't an option anymore, because no one trusted anyone to simply retire in the game. He had to leave the country if he wanted to be done, so he begins to put out discreet notices that he was, once again, available for hire to interested foreign parties.

While on a little vacation between jobs in Panama, an old friend of his by the name of Aguirre, a distinguished elderly Spanish gentleman with a business in the construction and rental of old fashioned sailing yachts (occasionally, these ships carried bales of Blanca in their holds), tells him that a Russian acquaintance of his is in need of a man of experience and discretion willing to work for several months. The next day Roth returns to Colombia to turn his militia over to one of his lieutenants, and travels to Spain with a good number of his guys who didn't fancy dying in the impending cartel wars.

[halloweennut]

I fic’d for my DuckTales ocs. I, personally, blame @musekicker and @raidenraccoon , but it's mostly myself and the godforsaken heat. So I wrote some exploratory stuff. I'm not really all that pleased with the bit for Felicity, so I'm gonna reread it later and tack on here, but here's the one for Penelope I like under a read more. Granted, I have no clue how to write Scrooge and it McFreakin’ shows

His former secretary had retired, citing being too old to handle any and all shenanigans that happened in the Money Bin or in connection to McDuck Enterprises, LLCs, and etc. So unfortunately, Scrooge had been forced to hire a new secretary, Fortunately, there were always plenty in Duckburg, and businesses new and old were always hiring, so finding one that was available at a reasonable hourly wage was easy enough.

The new one was a young hen with brown feathers and a sharp, short bob that made her face look severe and older. Scrooge was glad she was young, and with a business degree to boot - it meant that she could work there as indefinitely like his former one, and at the same price but she wouldn’t need that much training. She was efficient, quick, and followed orders similarly, if not a bit aloof and cold at times, but at least she smiled at the triplets and Webby when they came to visit.

Granted her eyes were a little unsettling. Sharp like her haircut and constantly calculating, never resting for more than a minute unless she had to. It made him think of Gyro to the point he asked if they were related - he would have to insure the Money Bank twice as much if he had two Gearloose’s under his employ. But no, she only knew of him through her employer. It was like anyone in Duckburg with some brand of aspiration to reach ever higher and higher.

But she was quick and efficient and took a low pay, remembered how he liked his tea and smiled at his nephews and niece. And strangely enough, she never acted on the look in her eyes. She took to antics from unleashed magickal items and Gyro easily, tiptoeing over incidents and spills without taking her eyes off of her schedule and paperwork.  Gyro liked her because she was prompt, Fenton liked her because she would sometimes listen to him infodump when she had a moment to delay, the Board liked her because she was cheap, and the kids liked her because she snuck them treats with a smile and a raised finger that said “our secret.” Scrooge liked her for those reasons as well and after a while some worries dispelled.  

Until, that is, one day when his schedule was empty between 2pm and 3.

The secretary walked into his office at 2:05, tea, schedule and paperwork in hand, bob sharp, shirt and skirt pressed, and heels polished and pointed with sharp clicks on polished marble floors. Perfectly timed to when he would have wanted tea and updated paperwork and schedule for the rest of the day.

“Ah, Penelope, right on time,” Scrooge said, barely looking up from his paperwork consolidating his properties up north, glancing to the side with the familiar click of china on his desk. “Thank you, Penelope.”

Usually she left after that unless there was something that required his attention. But she stood in front of his desk, calculating and hungry eyes staring at him. Scrooge paused, hand stilled in the middle of his signature. He shifted to look behind her.

“Is there someone here to see me?” he asked. She shook her head.

“No, Mr. McDuck. Your schedule is free until 3,” Penelope said, tapping the appointment on the schedule with a finger.

“Then...well? What is it?”

“I wish to speak with you, sir. May I sit?”

He stared at her and nodded. The secretary sat on the edge of one of the stools in front of his desk, ankles crossed and paperwork carefully and almost purposefully arranged on her lap.

“If this is about a raise, as stated in your contract, you can’t ask for one until you’ve worked here for ten years,” Scrooge warned, ready to pull out his copy of it, along with magnifying glass, as it was in the fine print, but she shook her head.

“No,” Penelope said. “I’ve come to make you an offer.”

“Oh blazes, not this again.” Scrooge groaned, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Listen, you are very lovely, and a very fine secretary, but I really don’t need-”

“Oh god, no I am not offering that. I have morals, Mr. McDuck,” she interrupted. “Well they’re loose in some regards but not like...that. I’m offering something different that will actually interest you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You have one minute to either impress me or go back to your desk and we both pretend none of this happened.”

She smiled thinly with a matter of fact kind of look. “You see Mr. McDuck, companies like yours are always looking for secretaries. There are plenty, you know, some with dreams of climbing a corporate ladder to the top, or into a lap of some wealthy mogul.”

Penelope pulled a small file from the paperstack on her lap.

“I’m not interested in doing either. I’m just a very, very good secretary.”

The folder slid onto his desk, and she flipped open, revealing the Glomgold logo.

“Compiled here is all Glomgold attacks on your life and all attempts to out-do, copy and what have you,” she continued.”In chronological order, for convenience.”

Scrooge flipped through them absentmindedly, remembering all quite clearly until the he reached the last three forms. He didn’t recognize the events listed at all - following him on a lumber mill survey, splashy charity gala, an uncomfortable red wedding scenario in potentia -, so unless he had been drugged, knocked out, or he repressed the memories, she was wrong.

“I think you mixed up some files, Ms. Glider,” Scrooge deadpanned, pushing the stack nearly over the edge. “I don’t think these have happened at all.”

Penelope caught them with a slap, which made him tense for a moment, and pushed them back.

“Not yet.”

Scrooge raised an eyebrow, and her mouth raised into a light, rare smile.

“May I suggest, sir, looking at the dates of those three?”

He flipped back open to the last forms. They were dated from three months from then up to two years. Scrooge squinted and reread them. He repeated the lines again, this time with an added frown.  Before he could even ask, she continued.

“Secretaries compile schedules, take notes, organize files and paperwork. Contact contractors. Set up appointments and meetings. Take care of their employer’s agenda,” she said. “But they go wildly unnoticed, don’t they, Mr. McDuck? As such, no one really notices or questions them, making it very easy to compile data. And when you’re good with computers to boot - well, it just makes you a very good secretary.”

He blinked. “That’s how you got these three?”

Penelope nodded. “Glomgold is a monologuer, but he is also strangely very meticulous with his agenda involving beating you. He has plenty more if you’re interested.”

“And if I was, why should I believe you don’t work for him?”

“Oh, I do. He needs a night secretary after 5pm. How do you think I got most of my data on him?”

“Then how should I believe that you aren’t spying on me for him?” Scrooge stood, voice starting to raise, and half-ready to end this nonsense and fire her. After confiscating any and all information on him, of course.

“I don’t use the word spy. I prefer…,” she paused for a moment. “Corporate espionage. And I only do it for myself. I like the challenge. And McDuck Enterprises? The most challenging company I’ve ever come across. That’s why I’m offering to spy for you. On Glomgold. Beaks. Rockerduck. Whoever. They are always hiring.”

“So you jump from secretary position to secretary position, for the challenge?” he said with a raised brow.

“Usually.” Penelope shrugged. “But you know? I like working here. There’s the challenge, of course, but I’m not treated like an idiot here either. No one has ever called me sweetheart.”

“So exactly why,” Scrooge asked, sitting back down and steepling his fingers. “Would keeping you be beneficial, other than being a competent secretary?”

“By keeping me as a secretary and corporate espionage associate-”

“Just say spy.”

“Fine. And spy,” she deadpanned, “you’ll not only have a better competitive edge on some of your rivals but you’ll have something they never had or will have.”

“And what could that be, Penelope?”

“My loyalty to you and the company, and keeping other corporate espionage associates- ahem, spies, out of your business.”

“Before I answer, how much do you have on me?” Scrooge asked, wary.

“A dossier twice the size of this one compiled from both public and private records. I make one of all my employers. Like I said, I’m very good at my work.”

“Why does this keep happening,” Scrooge muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his beak. First his spy housekeeper, now his spy secretary. He looked up at her again. “Your contract  stays the same, Penelope.”

She smiled another rare smile and nodded, slipping back to her normal seriousness and slipping the Glomgold dossier off his desk, replacing it with another. “Thank you, Mr. McDuck. Here is the information on your three o’clock appointment along with your notes from the previous meeting. Do you require anything else?”

He shook his head. Penelope nodded and stood, heading back to the door. Before she exited and faced him again with a finger to her beak. Their secret. Scrooge shook his head once the door clicked, and finished his half-scrawled signature. Maybe he would have to get more insurance after all.

But he had to wonder: why tell him any of this at all?

[newstfionline]

Saturday, September 4, 2021

The costs of war (The Intercept) The U.S.-led global war on terror has killed nearly 1 million people globally and cost more than $8 trillion since it began two decades ago. These staggering figures come from a landmark report issued Wednesday by Brown University’s Costs of War Project, an ongoing research effort to document the economic and human impact of post-9/11 military operations. The report—which looks at the tolls of wars waged in Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Somalia, and other regions where the U.S. is militarily engaged—is the latest in a series published by the Costs of War Project and provides the most extensive public accounting to date of the consequences of open-ended U.S. conflicts in the Middle East, Central Asia, and Africa, referred to today as the “forever wars.” The Costs of War Project’s latest estimates hold that 897,000 to 929,000 people have been killed during the wars. Of those killed, 387,000 are categorized as civilians, 207,000 as members of national military and police forces, and a further 301,000 as opposition fighters killed by U.S.-led coalition troops and their allies. The report also found that around 15,000 U.S. military service members and contractors have been killed in the wars, along with a similar number of allied Western troops deployed to the conflicts and several hundred journalists and humanitarian aid workers.

Calmer winds aid California fire fight but hot weekend looms (AP) Fire crews took advantage of decreasing winds to battle a California wildfire near popular Lake Tahoe and were even able to allow some people back to their homes but dry weather and a weekend warming trend meant the battle was far from over. The Caldor Fire remained only a few miles from South Lake Tahoe, which was emptied of 22,000 residents days ago, along with casinos and shops across the state line in Nevada. The wind-driven fire that began Aug. 14 had raged through densely forested, craggy areas and still threatened more than 30,000 homes, businesses and other buildings ranging from cabins to ski resorts.

Excitement meets worry as European kids head back to school (AP) English educator Richard Sheriff watched this week as a group of energetic 11-year-olds entered their new secondary school for the first time—finding their classrooms, eating in the cafeteria, racing around the halls. But in addition to the usual excitement, there’s a new feeling this year: trepidation. The start of a new school year in many northern hemisphere nations comes as the highly infectious delta variant continues to drive a surge in coronavirus cases. Still, many governments including Britain’s are determined to get children back into classrooms after 18 stop-start months of lockdowns, remote learning and abandoned exams. U.K. schools, have closed for three-month stretches twice since early 2020, and major year-end exams have been canceled two years running, throwing university admissions into chaos.

Suga bows out of party vote, paves way for new Japan leader (AP) Amid growing criticism of his handling of the pandemic, Prime Minister Yoshihide Suga said Friday he won’t run for the leadership of the governing party later this month, paving the way for a new Japanese leader after just a year in office. Suga has faced criticism and nosediving public support over a coronavirus response seen as too slow and limited and for holding the Olympics despite the public’s health concerns. His hope of having the Olympic festivities help turn around his plunging popularity was also dashed. The Liberal Democrats have a majority in parliament, meaning whoever wins the Sept. 29 party vote is virtually guaranteed to become the new prime minister.

New Zealand police kill ‘terrorist’ after he stabs 6 people (AP) New Zealand authorities were so worried about an Islamic extremist they were following him around-the-clock and were able to shoot and kill him within 60 seconds of him unleashing a frenzied knife attack that wounded six people Friday at an Auckland supermarket. Three of the shoppers were taken to Auckland hospitals in critical condition, police said. Another was in serious condition, while two more were in moderate condition. Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern said the incident was a terror attack. She said the man was a Sri Lankan national who was inspired by the Islamic State group and was well known to the nation’s security agencies.

Restoration of Kabul’s Closed Airport Begins as Some Afghan Aid Resumes (NYT) Afghanistan’s plunge into chaos, isolation and near-destitution under its newly ascendant Taliban rulers appeared to slow on Thursday, with the first significant moves to salvage Kabul’s inoperable airport, an increased flow of U.N. aid and word that international money transfers had resumed to the country, where many banks are shuttered. The airport remained closed to the public on Thursday, its hangars strewn with debris and some aircraft damaged by shrapnel, bullets and vandalism, but the Taliban permitted reporters inside, where security personnel and technicians from Qatar who had been sent to help reopen the airport were busy. The airport had been a vital link to the outside world, one of the main routes for food, medical supplies and other aid to enter, and for people to leave. The United Nations, which has long helped oversee distribution of food and medical aid in Afghanistan, said Thursday that its World Food Program’s Humanitarian Air Service was resuming flights to the cities of Mazar-i-Sharif and Kandahar, where the airports have remained serviceable despite the chaos and violence of recent weeks.

Worst Tripoli fighting in a year shows limits of Libya peace push (Reuters) Fighting broke out in Tripoli early on Friday between rival armed forces, witnesses said, the heaviest clashes in the Libyan capital since the conflict between eastern and western factions paused a year ago. Conflict in Tripoli between the armed groups who vie to control both territory and state institutions would further undermine the prospect of December elections as part of a plan to end a decade of chaos, violence and division. Libya is a major oil producer and though it has been able to maintain output over the past decade, disputes have sometimes shut down exports, including for months last year.

Thwarted aid (Foreign Policy) An aid blockade in Ethiopia’s conflict-stricken Tigray region is threatening the lives of millions of Ethiopians who are in urgent need of humanitarian assistance, almost a year after the start of the war. According to aid workers, 100 aid trucks are supposed to enter Tigray every day, but none have been able to get through since Aug. 22. The blockade comes as Tigrayan rebel fighters reportedly assaulted villages and looted stores carrying U.S. aid in the neighboring Amhara region, plunging the country deeper into crisis. In July, the U.N. warned that more than 400,000 Ethiopians were facing famine, with another 1.8 million people on the edge.

Bitcoin Uses More Electricity Than Many Countries (NYT) Cryptocurrencies have emerged as one of the most captivating, yet head-scratching, investments in the world. They soar in value. They crash. They'll change the world, their fans claim, by displacing traditional currencies like the dollar, rupee or ruble. They're named after dog memes. And in the process of simply existing, cryptocurrencies like Bitcoin, one of the most popular, use astonishing amounts of electricity. The process of creating Bitcoin to spend or trade consumes around 91 terawatt-hours of electricity annually, more than is used by Finland.

[setepenre-set]

💄Lipstick (chapter 3)

Megamind/Roxanne, M rating, pre-movie AU

Roxanne slips away from the mayor’s birthday gala to search for a piece of evidence that will break the story of governmental corruption in Metro City wide open. Unbeknownst to Roxanne, however, Megamind is at the party, too. And the city’s supervillain wants the same thing as the city’s nosiest reporter…

AO3 | FFN | chapter 1 | chapter 2

Megamind was mildly surprised to find that the mayor’s office door was already unlocked—the man must be even more careless than Megamind had previously assumed.

The handle turned easily in his hand; Megamind opened the door, stepped inside, and closed the door quietly behind himself. Then he quickly turned off the disguise watch.

Megamind really did need to do some work on this prototype; by the time he’d made it to the mayor’s office, the watch had gone worryingly hot on his wrist. He’d have to the let the mechanism cool before turning it on again; he was afraid the holographic projection might overheat and fail without warning if he didn’t.

Shaking his wrist lightly to cool it, Megamind began to move to the desk at the far end of the room.

And then he stopped.

The room was empty; the light coming through the big windows behind the mayor’s desk gave him more than enough illumination to see that.

And yet—

There was something—some kind of—feeling in the air that gave him the sense that someone had either been in this room recently, or—was still in the room.

He slipped his hand in his pocket for the butterfly knife, pulled it out, and gave a quick, fluid twist of his wrist—flick flick flick—opening the knife, flipping the blade out.

Possibly he was simply being paranoid, but he’d much rather be paranoid with a knife in his hand.

If someone was here, they were beneath the desk; it was the only hiding place. With even, apparently casual steps, Megamind approached the desk.

No sound or movement from beneath the desk. He drew nearer to it, near enough to touch the edge of it.

Nothing—and yet he was more sure than ever that someone was here.

He paused before the desk.

Interesting that they didn’t attack. But then, they couldn’t see through the desk; they couldn’t be certain it was him…

They’d be expecting him to walk around the desk. Megamind’s lips curved into a sharp smile. Well, he’d just have to surprise them, then.

In one quick motion, planted his free hand on the desktop and vaulted over the desk entirely to land in a crouch on the other side, knife at the ready—

It had been unwise, Roxanne knew, to listen to the recording while still in the mayor’s office. But she’d needed to make sure that it was the right one, and then it had just been so fascinating that she'd rather lost track of how long she’d been listening to it.

Proof on all of you, the mayor had said, and he when he said all, he really meant all. Recordings of half the city council, Judge Sludd, the chief of police, and a good number of Metro City’s leading citizens—Wayne’s father among them; Roxanne had never liked that man—they were all on this little recording. The evidence was absolutely damning—bribery, embezzlement, corruption of all kinds.

“I’m afraid,” the mayor’s voice had sounded nervous, “I’m afraid that the, ah, the charity hospital won’t—er—be able to open quite on schedule.”

“Really.”

Roxanne had actually jumped. Megamind’s voice was instantly recognizable, although she’d never heard him sound quite so—dangerous, before. The way that single word had been spoken was honestly more chilling than any evil monologue he’d ever given.

“Well! You—you know! Unexpected costs—difficulty with the plans—problems with the contractors—may have to postpone indefinitely—”

“Exactly how much of the money,” Megamind’s voice sounded even more dangerous, now, “have you and the rest of the planning committee stolen?”

She’d had the volume on the lowest setting, her ear pressed to the speaker, so it had almost been as if Megamind was whispering in her ear as he went on.

“Half of it?” he asked. “All of it?”

“N-not—not stolen,” the mayor had said feebly. “Unexpected costs—”

“Don’t try to lie to me any more,” Megamind had said. “It’s a terrible waste of my time.”

“—half. Half of it.”

“I see. Well, I do hope you and your friends had fun with it, because you’re not going to be having any more fun for quite some time. I will cover the missing money, the charity hospital will go ahead as planned, on schedule, and with no more ‘unexpected costs’, and you and your friends will all owe me, along with the money, several extremely large favors. I expect—”

The sound of footsteps in the hallway. Roxanne jerked upright, yanking the flash drive from the computer and quickly switching off the monitor—shit shit shit—

Maybe they were just walking past; maybe whoever it was wouldn’t—

The footsteps came to a stop.

In front of the door.

Roxanne had just enough time to fumble with her clutch, hide the flash drive, and duck beneath the desk; as soon as she was hidden, she heard the door open—

—and close again.

Okay. Okay, it might just be security, doing a check; surely they wouldn’t search the entire room…

A series of three soft, unidentifiable metallic noises—snick snick snick—and then—

Footsteps approaching the desk.

Oh, she was fucked; she was so fucked—

No! Roxanne’s mind raced. Megamind! This could all be Megamind’s fault! Poor, helpless Miss Ritchi, who had been captured by Megamind and knocked unconscious and hidden beneath this desk, yes, and then Megamind had disappeared and—

It was at this point that the person on the other side of the desk vaulted over it like a fucking madman and landed in a crouch in front of her, a knife in their hand.

Roxanne gave a stifled exclamation of shock and jerked backwards against the wall of the desk and—

A number of things happened in very quick succession.

one, she realized that the person crouching in front of her with a knife was actually goddamn Megamind, what the fuck

two, she saw an expression of almost comical bewilderment flash across Megamind’s face as he recognized her as well, and

three, there was another burst of sound from the hall outside the door, voices and laughter, which very promptly resulted in

four, Roxanne panicking and

five, Roxanne reaching out, grabbing Megamind, and dragging him beneath the desk with her.

...to be continued .💋

notes:

Happy Day 12 of my Birthday Fic Month!! since today is my ACTUAL BIRTHDAY, I posted two things; the established relationship ficlet Always and this update to Lipstick! I hope you enjoyed!

AAAAAHHHH IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!  :DD  I’M SO EXCITED!!

[mirroredtranslations]

Jinrui Saikyou no Netsuai - Chapter 3

Jinrui Saikyou no Jun'ai – Nisioisin p. 15-24

[Previous Chapter]

Urbanization advanced throughout Japan, and visualization—or rather, surveillance—advanced alongside it; so, you might think it would be harder to find deserted places to battle without people noticing, but oddly enough, even cities have their crevices. As skyscrapers proliferate, so do shadows...? Maybe not shadows, but rather darkness... In any case, no matter how the times change, places for people like me and Kouta to live continue to exist. For which I'm grateful. And so do the conditions for lively youngsters like this Matsuri Shimegiwa boy to be born. The scope of that territory might actually be getting wider—all in balance, I suppose. Well, in spite of my careful analysis of modern times, the place where Shimegiwa took me wasn't a dark, narrow alley or a subway tunnel; it was the sunlit roof of some official institution or municipal office building. It was a sloped roof, not a flat one. The place he chose as our battlefield was deserted, and it was out of the public view, but it was pretty big. I kinda like that.

“I'm a bit surprised. You're not like I heard... uh, you're not like I expected.”

Said Shimegiwa, turning around after we'd arrived. The fierce stare of those sanpaku eyes hadn't changed.

“Humanity's strongest contractor, Jun Aikawa; I thought you might kick me as soon as I turned my back... I didn't think you'd just let me guide you here without taking any action at all.”

Sorry I couldn't live up to your expectations—I mean, is that what people think of me? Is this like a game of intergenerational telephone, where I end up sounding incomprehensibly violent to the new generation? Maybe this is an after-effect from when I was cut off from work worldwide. I'm sure Kouta would laugh out loud and say, “Incomprehensibly violent. Doesn't that describe you perfectly, my dear friend?” But there's no way I could just let that assessment stand, so I continued: I'm kinda disappointed myself. When you said you wanted to change locations, I thought you might take me to a dead-end alley where a swarm of your friends were waiting. I got all excited.

“......”

Is he mad? That's not what I really thought (though I was surprised he took me to a public office building), I just said it as a light provocation; this guy's got a hot temper. Is that because he's young? Well, his hairstyle does look pretty angry, after all. I was so distracted by his puffed-up hair that I hadn't really noticed until now, but he's wearing some pretty flashy clothes, too. He made fun of my redness, but he's silver all over. It was all arranged with good fashion sense, but it looked like a difficult outfit to pull off.

“...What?”

Oh, nothing. So, shall we begin? Whoever falls down first loses. I have another job to get to, so let's settle this quickly. You have a handicap? Like fighting with one hand, or fighting with just my tongue.

“I don't need one. Don't worry about your next job... You'll have to cancel it anyway.”

Nicely said.

“I mean, don't you want to ask why I've challenged you?”

Do I have to ask? That stuff's a pain in the ass, so I thought I'd skip it... And it doesn't matter.

“I see. So that's the famous Jun Aikawa from the rumors... No matter who challenges you, you never refuse. How very gallant.”

It's not that cool a reason. I just don't feel like scrutinizing everything about a reckless idiot like you—hey, now. Bring it on. Or do you want me to come at you?

“To show respect for your legend, I yield the first move to you.”

Oh, okay. You'll dampen my spirits if you treat me like an old lady, though. I'll lose motivation. Well then, time to snip a young sprout. Here comes the countdown—three, two, one, Zerozaki!

“Oof...!”

I unleashed a no-motion high kick with my hands in my pockets, trying to make his head part ways with his torso, but he defended with both hands—setting aside the high kick, maybe keeping my hands in my pockets was a bit too insulting? Even so, a ordinary opponent would have gotten his head plucked off along with both arms, but let alone that, this guy managed to grab my ankle. Wow, nice going.

“Hah. You're no big deal after all!”

It didn't entirely seem like a bluff. Still holding onto my foot, Shimegiwa returned my kick. Kicking me with such unstable posture didn't pose much of a threat, but as if to return the favor, it was a high kick. I was taller, but he was flexible enough to aim for my temple with his toes. Since his stance was somewhat impractical, I could either avoid it, or catch it the same way he did, but I wanted to try taking it directly. I should be able to estimate his power level from that. As such, I didn't move an inch, and Shimegiwa's kick connected cleanly with my head. I was surprised. Well, I mean, it'd be exceptionally stupid for me to be surprised by the fact I got kicked, but still, I was amazed. What I mean is, his kick was much more powerful than I expected. It spun me around, with the beautiful leg he was holding as the axis. I made a whole rotation, and was able to land cleanly.

“Purposefully taking a hit; you can only look down on someone so much, humanity's strongest. If you fell down from that kick, it'd be my win, you know?”

Sorry, sorry, I underestimated you. That'd be fine by me, of course—in that case, you'd be humanity's strongest from tomorrow on. But if you want to decide based on that kick, you'd be looking down on me too much. Ready, now? I slammed the foot he was holding directly downward.

“...! Oo...uh...”

I put enough force into it to rip Shimegiwa's arm out of its socket, but as I might have expected, he responded by letting go of my foot. Unlike me, it seemed he knew when it'd be dangerous to take a hit.

“I'm happy to see you're going all out now, humanity's strongest!”

He really did look happy. Does he have battle mania? If so, then we ought to congratulate each other; or maybe, pity each other... however, the middle of a fight is no place for a hug. So, I said to him: I still haven't decided whether or not to go all out—but I am deadly serious.

“Aaah... I see, I see.”

It was more of a threat than a provocation, but Shimegiwa smiled even wider—this really brings me back. The world used to be teeming with guys like him. I've been squaring off with a lot of aliens lately, so I want to cherish these times when I can fight humans.

“So I can challenge you with the intent to kill too, then?”

Sure, but are you okay with that? It's not like you've been ordered to kill me, right? After I pointed that out, it was Shimegiwa's turn to look surprised. What's surprising about that? Maybe the fact that Jun Aikawa's signature move is mind-reading isn't as well-known as I thought, these days. Someone asked you to pick a fight with me; I could tell that much from looking at your face when you kicked me.

“Hmph... Is that so. After all that stuff you said, are you really interested in my goal, humanity's strongest?”

I said it didn't matter, didn't I? It's not like you'll be able to reach it anyway. That was just something I could tell by looking at your face—and besides, my mind-reading isn't telepathy; I don't know any details beyond that.

“...Well, it's true that someone won't be able to reach their goal—'cause I'm gonna kill you right now!”

Shimegiwa wound up a punch. This time, the blow used all the power he could muster from a straight line that ran through his torso, making use of his entire body. It wasn't clear whether he was aiming to kill, but he was definitely going all out—the opposite of me. I see; if I took that hit, it might be over for me... but I lacked the finesse to avoid it. As such, I decided to intercept his fist—that is, I smashed my fist into his. Although I fired mine after his, my punch is speedy, and I easily made it in time. So, how about the force? Is my fist gonna break, or is Shimegiwa's fist gonna break?

“Guhh... Ah! A-are you fucking crazy!?”

The result was, neither of our fists broke, but we both sent each other flying; Shimegiwa cursed me out, but didn't flinch, and came rushing at me intensely. That's not just a compliment or a turn of phrase, it was really intense; at least, in terms of speed. He didn't seem to be very dextrous, and looked to have trouble balancing his power and speed. I easily handled the fast rush—I didn't politely meet his blow with a blow of my own again; I knocked him off his feet with a single hook. ...Oh, by the way, I have trouble balancing power and speed too. So either way, I give everything I have.

“Die!”

Nevertheless, Shimegiwa didn't retreat, and with a cry, he moved to kick me in the ankle. I didn't know what the “Die!” thing was about (I hadn't been told that in a while, so I had a hard time figuring it out), but aiming for my ankle was a good strategy—since the rule was whoever fell down first loses, all he had to do was play the sickle-weasel and knock me over.(1) In that sense, his low kick really looked like a sickle. Should I field this one too? Should I intercept his kick with a kick? I could also plant my feet down and endure it, but I felt like I'd been on the receiving side for a while, and that's not like me. I felt like I was playing the role of sparring partner for this energetic youngster—this isn't some post-retirement job or leisure pastime. My thinking changed, and before the arch of Shimegiwa's foot hit my ankle, I landed a direct thrust on his chest. Naturally, since Shimegiwa was standing on one foot like a flamingo, and we were on a slanted roof without decent footholds to begin with, he was blown backward—his sickle hit empty air. I thought he might fall on his back, but he's got some grit; he put both hands on the ground as if preparing to do a backflip, and jumped back like a spring. I couldn't say it was as deft as a gymnast, but he managed to land on his feet.

“You're insane...”

Said Shimegiwa, crouching and holding his chest. Technically speaking, in terms of sumo wrestling, you could say he lost the moment he put his hands on the ground; well, it's just a rule I came up with off the top of my head, so I'll let this pass. I'm easy-going.

“I attacked first, but why did yours land before mine? You waited to see my move but you still got the jump on me... it's not fair.”

Not fair? What are you, a child? Well, you do look like a child as far as age goes. Watch, think, move, catch; if you can do that, fighting gets really easy—although, you might be right to call it unfair. It's like I'm living in a different timeline from everyone else. Alright, alright, I won't do that anymore.

“Nah, do it as much as you want... I can use unfair techniques, inhuman skills that stink of foul play too.”

Oh? What, you've got some tricks up your sleeve? I thought I was through evaluating him based on our earlier exchange... But if that's the case, why'd you hold back? I won't blame you or anything, no matter what kind of techniques you use. If you say stuff like that, it makes the fact that I'm the strongest sound unfair in the first place.

“Okay, I hear you. Don't you regret those words, humanity's strongest.”

Regret, huh. I'd love to try that at least once. If you're going to let me, then I welcome it—well, I was being nonchalant (bad habit of mine), but even though Shimegiwa's, Matsuri Shimegiwa's next move didn't make me regret anything, it definitely sufficed to dumbfound me.

“I am Matsuri Shimegiwa—also known as Campfires.”

He reintroduced himself, rolling up his sleeves; the next moment, his right arm—Shimegiwa's right arm—transformed into flames. Transformed into flames. I'm sure that sounds like some kind of metaphor, but I described exactly what it was; there's no metaphor, Shimegiwa's right arm literally turned into flames—transfired into flames. I drew the highly sensible conclusion that his body had caught fire, that he'd messed up trying to activate some kind of fire-related device and burned up his own arm. But I was wrong—he used the flames of his right arm to once again wind up a punch. With a burning fist. I observe, then take action, and I'm still on time, but even I—no, that's exactly why I was at a loss. It was dubious whether or not I even had time to think. I can't look past a bizarre and enigmatic development like this; however, it was clear I wouldn't come up with an answer to this phenomenon by fretting about it. So, all I can do is test things out. Experiment—experiment by comparison. Just like I'd done at the start, I decided to intercept his fist. Answer a punch with a punch. If it was a bluff, and he was using using some kind of trick or illusion, then this kind of direct response ought to be best. However—

“Idiot! You think you can hit fire with flesh?”

It was just as Shimegiwa so scornfully said: my fist slipped right through his. As if punching the air—no, not just the air. My arm was covered in an outrageous amount of heat, an outrageously hot wind; it was just like I'd thrust my hand into a fire. There was no trick or illusion; it was an actual flame. What's with this guy? I've fought a variety of people up 'til now, and I've battled players with a variety of abilities. Among them there were considerable eccentrics, and people who used techniques I could hardly believe. People who use fire, flame-wielders, they aren't all that uncommon. I've met fifty thousand people whose fighting style involved becoming one with flames—but I'd never met someone who turned their own body into flames. What the hell are you, Matsuri Shimegiwa!

“I'll blacken you to a crisp, red woman!”

As he called out to me like I were a demon, Shimegiwa's rather demonic fist—his fist of flame—landed a direct hit on my chest. No, strictly speaking, it would be hard to call it a “direct hit”; it's not like the flames that my fist slipped through actually hit my chest. Again, it passed through—but there was no avoiding the high temperature and hot wind. My clothes burned; this red jacket that could be recognized five kilometers away really did blacken and turn to ash. I liked this jacket, you know... I thought, as I flew into the air. Within the waves of hot wind, I was about to succumb to confusion... but I changed tacks right away. His ability... well, I'd be hard-pressed to call it a technique, but in any case, no matter what the truth about his ability is, we're in the middle of a bout right now, and at this rate I'm going to fall down on the rooftop—in other words, I'm going to lose. And I don't want that. I see; for the new generation, Shimegiwa's shown me he's on a scale that exceeded my imagination. However, if I were to lose right here, it'd be a disgrace to the title “humanity's strongest”. I rotated my body midair, planning to land right then and there if possible, but that didn't work out—I might've been able to land if I'd wanted to, but unlike Shimegiwa, I wasn't okay with making any old landing; it needs to be cool. If I can't stick an Ultra C landing,(2) I'd rather fall down ostentatiously—though, I'd prefer to be the one doing the knocking down. Rotating my body, with only a few centimeters remaining between me and the rooftop, I drove my scorched fist downward. There was no grand plan; I simply punched it—and that was enough.

“Huh? … Huuhhhhhh!?”

Shimegiwa, who must have been all but certain of victory, understandably let out a cry. It might have been a scream. Maybe, although part of it must be because he’s young, he's the type who panics when something unexpected happens. But it'd be harsh to criticize him for that; most adults would probably shriek like that too if the place they were standing on suddenly collapsed.

“The whole roof...!?”

Yes, with a full-strength punch, I destroyed the roof of the public office building; I destroyed the battlefield itself. The rule was whoever fell down first loses... so all I had to do was destroy the place where I would have fallen.

“That's allowed!?”

Of course it is. I let it pass when you put your hand on the rooftop earlier, after all. And didn't you know? When I was about your age, this is what people would say about me: any building Jun Aikawa sets foot in collapses, without exception.

[Next Chapter]

Footnotes: (1) Sickle-weasel, or more commonly kamaitachi (鎌鼬), is a youkai that appears in a whirlwind to cut people and make them fall over. (2) In the 1968 Summer Olympics, gymnastic feats were assigned difficulty levels from A to C, with C being the highest difficulty. The Japanese team came up with the term “Ultra C” to mean something along the lines of performing above and beyond the maximum, and since then it has been used generally to refer to an amazing or momentous feat.

[theblacklistscripts]

4.12 Natalie Luca #184

You're new. [Breathes heavily] Oh! Roll over. [Gasping chuckle] Okay. [Laughs] [Breathing heavily] - What's your name? - [Sighs] - Zack. - [Whispers] Zack. [Breathing heavily] Hi. I see you're ready. What happened to the new girl? What new girl? [Gasps] [Gagging, coughing] [Coughs, gasps] - Red: How much? - [Typing on keyboard] [Typing continues] Smoll was cleaning over $200 million. How much was lost? All of it. [Door opens] Thank you, Abe. Problems? Yes. [Chuckles] [Door closes] Transactions vital to my interests failed to be tendered. What kinds of transactions? It seems a bid I made on the Whistler Cruise Line wasn't tendered because my accountant dropped dead before he could transfer the funds. In addition, millions are missing that the same accountant was in the process of laundering. I think I've heard enough. It appears my operation is under siege. And this affects the fate of the free world how? Not at all. However, in order for me to be useful to your task force, I have to maintain a certain stature in the criminal underworld. From time to time, I am compelled to rely on your bureau's support in that endeavor. This is one of those times. The interest I hope to acquire from Whistler Cruise Line was sold to a longstanding rival, Baldur Magnusson. Rumors have circulated that he assassinated my accountant to secure the deal. What do you need from us? Some help to determine who murdered my man, Zack Smoll. If I can't staunch the bleeding Smoll's death has precipitated, all of our work could come to a grinding and permanent halt. I'm under attack, Elizabeth, and I need to find out by whom. Liz: Roughly 14 hours ago, Zack Smoll was found dead in the Gentle Bliss Massage Parlor. M. E. 's preliminary report describes symptoms consistent with acute meningitis. How does Reddington know Smoll didn't contract meningitis naturally? He didn't say, but if he's coming to us with this, it means he's desperate. You may feel you're paid enough to serve the public's interests and Reddington's. Personally, I don't. Ressler: If someone killed Reddington's accountant, you think he's gonna want us to just put him in jail? I mean, the second we find him, he's gonna insist that we hand him over so he can make an example by murdering him. I agree. Agent Keen? - [Duck quack sound] - Tell Reddington he's on his own. Uh, guys? Smoll's body's just been flagged by the CDC. They've rerouted it to a level 4 bio-containment lab. - What does that mean? - It means whatever killed Smoll is a lot more dangerous than meningitis. Get to the CDC. See what you can find out. Liz: Any idea what we're dealing with? Luschen's disease. It's a form of viral meningitis. Symptoms include sudden high fever, stiffened neck, reddish-purple rash, seizure, respiratory failure, and death. - How contagious is it? - This strain's mutated such that it's transmitted via physical contact Sweat, saliva, even the lightest touch can be lethal. Good news is it doesn't survive outside a host. Symptoms present almost immediately after exposure followed by death in only minutes. Which is, ironically, the one saving grace of the disease. - How so? - It can't travel. The victim's incapacitated before he can transmit it. - So how did Smoll get infected? - Lipstick. We found traces of it around the victim's mouth. Based on the sample, whoever left it behind should've been dead long before she had the chance to even kiss our victim. So who is she? Why isn't she dead? Well, for the moment, Agent Ressler, that remains a mystery. Oh, oh, oh. I found our suspect. Good for you. [Chair scrapes] Okay, um, what what's going on? Nothing. I'm fine. Really? Because you seem upset. And, um, and before, uh, with Mr. Cooper about not getting paid enough I just lost it in front of the ladies in payroll. They gave me your check instead of mine because, you know, we both have brown faces. [Chuckles] I'm, uh, I'm sure that was a mistake - You make 32% more than I do. - Oh, you opened my check? I have a PhD from the London School of Economics. Well, maybe it's because you're on loan - from Mossad. - I have the same clearances - and responsibilities. - Actually, technically - And people actually shoot at me. - That is true. Okay, you should probably say something to Agent Cooper. Say what? Aram has a suspect. Yes. Uh, the suspect. Uh, the suspect, yes. Okay, so I found a partial angle from a security camera behind the massage parlor. Check it out. [Typing on keyboard] Okay, now the CDC has only one other recorded outbreak of Luschen's in the U. S. A pawnbroker in Maryland. The local coroner wrote it off as natural causes, but the weird thing is, his pawnshop was robbed the day he died. So I dug up some security feeds, and look who was there. [Taps key] Same woman at both outbreaks. One, a robbery, the other an assassination. And a bad disguise at both. What if it's not a disguise? Look at the time code, it's July. In Maryland, it must've been 90 degrees. So either she's sick, she has fevers, chills, or she doesn't want anyone else to get sick so she's using it as a protective covering to mitigate contagion. So she's not trying to start a pandemic. Well, whatever she's doing, if we don't find her soon, someone else is gonna die in the process. I wish there was another way. It's okay. But we need it for the next stage. It's okay. You don't have to explain. This is what we both want. Just do it. [Cellphone rings] What do you want? Are the rumors true that you're responsible for the death of my accountant, Zack Smoll? The truth doesn't matter. It's about appearances. And at the moment, it appears to virtually everyone who gives a damn that I killed Smoll. And your failure to retaliate is proof of your weakness. Whether I killed him or not is immaterial. You have no choice but to come for me. - And you for me. - Which begs the question, why bother with a phone call? Because we've known each other for a long time. We understand each other's organizations. If Cristobal acted without your authority or someone forced your hand, tell me. We can try and sort it out. After all, you're a bit long in the tooth for a street brawl. You think so? [Cellphone beeps, closes] [Cellphone rings] I've reviewed the case file you sent. And you've got something? You know, many ancient cultures shared a common figure a god or demon who brought disease to humanity. The Finns called her Loviatar, the Yoruba people knew her as Shapona. The Greeks, of course, immortalized Pandora. Odd that they're always women. Have you every heard of Mary Mallon? Should I have? She was a cook for the New York elite in the late 19th century. When an alarming number of high society swells came down with typhoid fever, a research scientist traced the outbreak to a woman with the rare ability to carry the disease without suffering its effects - or exhibiting any outward symptoms - [Typing on keyboard] - earning her the name - Typhoid Mary. Correct. You're looking for asymptomatic carrier of Luschen's disease. To find your suspect you, need to know when and where was the outbreak that she survived. And hurry. There's a reason the plague bringers were the most feared among the ancient deities. You've got that little crease between your brow. Right here. It always happens when you're upset. [Utensil clatters] [Inhales sharply] The spinal tap didn't yield the results that I was expecting. And and we still need specialized equipment. Which means that [Sighs] More money. More people. I found another opportunity that we we can handle, that you can handle, I'm sure of it. [Chair scrapes ground] Please. Look at me. I'm gonna figure this out. I swear it. I just need a little bit more time. We're so close. - All right, baby. Home sweet home. - [Fussing] [Breathes sharply] All right, come on, you. [Gurgles] Please excuse the intrusion. She's not here. I'm not here to see Elizabeth. What do you know about Edgar Legate? When it comes to assassins, he's the gold standard. - Nobody's ever seen the guy. - Precisely. Because he doesn't exist. Legate is an elaborate fiction, a bogeyman I created. No. No, Legate is real. All right? I know of at least six jobs the guy's done. Or so you believe. Edgar Legate is nothing more than a name I employ to take credit for various killings for which I or my associates are responsible. One of my competitors, Baldur Magnusson, is actively seeking a reliable independent contractor to kill me, someone I won't see coming. I think Legate would fit the bill nicely. - And you want me to become Legate? - I thought maybe. Forget it. I'm not gonna play dress-up assassin so you can kill someone I've never met. I don't need you to become Legate to kill Magnusson. I need you to become Legate so Magnusson will hire you to kill me. You want me to deliver him to you? Yes. If you can find a sitter. [Agnes coos] [Telephone rings in distance] I wanna talk to you after this. Yeah, sure. So I looked into Reddington's Typhoid Mary angle and I found something. The first recorded outbreak of Luschen's in human beings occurred in rural Moldova in 2002. A family of nine wiped out except for one daughter Natalie Luca. She was taken to a local clinic, but the outbreak was deemed too much for them to handle. - How did she get out of Moldova? - The World Health Organization called in Hawthorne Biologics, a company that specializes in infectious disease response. They brought the girl back to their research clinic outside Alexandria for further treatment. I had no idea Natalie was capable of anything like this. We care for dozens of patients who are too infectious to live outside of strict quarantine. Out of all of them [Huffs] Natalie was the sweetest, the kindest. If she was so infectious, how come she's at large? We did our best to give her a normal life. But she was young, determined to be independent. We did everything we could to dissuade her from leaving. But eventually, we had no choice but to comply with her wishes. How is that possible? She was infected with a deadly contagion. We had no legal right to hold her. She was young she was in love. In love? With who? Malik Roumain. He was a promising young bio research tech. They're here. Navabi: But they couldn't touch each other? Woman: No. It's hard to imagine in the absence of physical contact, but certainly not impossible. He advocated for her, agreed to take responsibility for her quarantine, see to her needs. We agreed to a year-long break from testing in exchange for Malik submitting regular reports. Until you called, we had no idea they were gone. The reports kept coming in, so we assumed they were still at the house we'd provided. It turns out, they moved out months ago. You didn't check on them? We wanted to respect their privacy. If you need anything further from me, please don't hesitate to call. If anything were to happen to this child, I don't know that I'll be able to forgive myself. If I were you, I'd be more worried about what might happen to everyone else. Hi. I'm so sorry, but we're doing this scavenger hunt for my sorority, - and I need to kiss two guys with a gun - Seriously? - I know. It's stupid. - Do your worst. So does your friend have a gun, too? [Grunts softly] [Coughs] [Gurgling] [Van door opens, closes] [Driver door opens, closes] If you had allowed me secure the facility as I requested, Malik never could've broken her out in the first place. We agreed your men would've drawn unnecessary attention. - Enough. - What did you tell the FBI? That Natalie voluntarily chose to leave with Malik. They have no reason to suspect the true nature of our research. It's only a matter of time before the FBI find them. Then make sure you're there when they do. Perhaps it would be best to temporarily suspend our research. Out of the question. Our top priority at this point is recovering Natalie alive. - Understand? - Yep. Malik Roumain born to immigrant parents. Full-boat to Berkeley at 17. The American dream. By 23, he had his PhD in biochemistry from Johns Hopkins and turned down a number of highly paid offers to accept a post-doc at Hawthorne. Hawthorne claims that he and Natalie fell for each other - while he was working there. - Talk about forbidden love. Cooper: There was another attack. An armored truck was taken down in Bethesda. The CDC's already on site. They should have something for us soon. Aram. Cooper called me in. Apparently the ladies in accounting were not too thrilled with my freakout. Did you tell him why you freaked out? Yeah, he offered me a raise. 16%. - That's fantastic. - I'd still make less than you. Okay, but, you know, it's a start. No, it isn't. It's an insult. I turned it down. [Indistinct conversations] [Cellphone chirps] He's here. [Elevator bell dings] [Lock beeps] Man: All clear. [Elevator door closes] [Elevator bell dings, door opens] - Excuse me. - Huh? Wrong door, sir. [Laughs] You're the ugliest chambermaid I've ever seen. [Groans] [Grunts] [Lock beeps] [Wolf whistle] Myron, my sincere condolences. - Who died? - You did. I need Baldur Magnusson to believe Edgar Legate is in town. And what better way to announce that than by making him believe Legate killed a larcenist of your stature. And what better place for the deadly deed to occur than the flagship hotel Magnusson owns and operates. By the time our little charade is finished, Magnusson will be scouring the town desperate to hire your killer. Not to worry, Myron, we'll have you out of there in a jiffy. You'll be ordering room service and watching the game with my associates before you know it. You'll provide the body, we'll provide the evidence. The CDC confirmed the victims of the armored truck robbery died of Luschen's. Witnesses saw a 2006 dark red Ford van, - partial plate 7-Mike-Echo-6. - [Typing on keyboard] Okay, the vehicle is registered under a Alec Moore. That's him. He must've registered the car under an alias. - Okay, pulling up his address - Samar, Ressler, get over there. Liz, pull together a Hazmat team. Have them meet them at the location. Can I help you, sir? As a matter of fact, you can. I believe this man checked out of your hotel earlier today. He's an old friend, and I completely lost my head and forgot our appointment. I was wondering if you could tell me where he was headed. The airport, perhaps? Train station? Or was he driving himself? I'm afraid I don't know. And even if I did, I would not be at liberty to say. I'm sorry. Keep it. Discretion is a rare and tragically undervalued quality. [Telephone beeps] - [Cellphone rings] - Yes? Reddington was here looking for one of the guests, Michel Badot. He was there when they removed the body, watching. - It's Legate. - What do you want me to do? Secure Legate. I want a word. [Dog barking in distance] Police! Open up! [Door pounds open] [Man shouts indistinctly] [Guns cock] Agent Ressler! What the hell is this place? - You got it - Yeah. It cost everything that we got. But if I can isolate the enzymes, we'll be able to [Phone beeping] What is it? What's wrong? - They found the house. - Who? The cops. They have all of our equipment and our research. - Well, what should we do? - What can we do? Natalie, we have to start all over again. Malik, I'm sure there's something we c - Natalie, just - Don't! - I'm sorry. - [Breathing heavily] I love you, Natalie. There's nothing that I wouldn't do for you. You know that. We'll we'll start again. How? Another job. One that I heard about from Hawthorne, and I wouldn't be asking if I knew that it wasn't absolutely necessary, and it is. But it's the only way. [Breathes sharply] But after this, I won't have to hurt anyone else? No. Never again. I promise. I'll take your hand in mine. [Inhales sharply] And I'll pull you closer. I'll feel your breath against my skin. And I kiss you. The two of us. Both: Forever. Monsieur Legate. My employer would like a word with you. It appears he was trying to isolate the enzyme in her blood that shields her from Luschen's. He was trying to replicate her immunity. - A cure? - No, the opposite. The boyfriend was trying to infect himself so he could be immune like her. He was willing to give himself an incurable disease so they could touch and kiss and be together. Typhoid Mary, meet Typhoid Larry. The pawnshop in Maryland, the armored car driver. They were robbing people to pay for their research. I get that, but what I don't get is what any of this has to do with Reddington's man, Smoll. What are we looking at? Okay, I pulled these from from one of Malik's hard drives. They're blueprints for a compound in Sag Harbor, New York, owned by an offshore trust. Now, he also had a number of dossiers, including these All right, Francois Troyet, owner of the world's largest private collection of post-Impressionist art. William Lawsover, a billionaire corporate debt restructurer. Caitlin Montag, gajillionaire author of the Buddy Chanticleer novels. The writing is atrocious, but I can't put them down. Other than being rich, what do these three have in common? Xavier Holcombe's annual poker bash. An all cash, no limit marathon with positively obscene stakes. - How obscene? - Buy-in is half a million, quite the research grant for our star- crossed outlaws. I bought in on a lark three years ago. Lost my well, no one has a shirt that expensive. Nevertheless, I had a ball. It's a weekend of delicious isolation and degenerate risk heaven. Liz: Just like everything else is to you. A game. - Where's Tom? - Belgium. You know, Tom and I were just starting to find some semblance of normalcy. And you had to just sweep in, drag him back down your rabbit hole. There must be dozens of contract operatives just like him. Why him? Tom is very good at what he does. It defines him. He can no sooner choose to stop than a great white shark can choose to stop swimming and eating. He will do what he does. But at least if he's doing it for me, he won't risk a double-cross, unlike with the vast majority of his prospective employers. Because unlike them, I genuinely care for him. Or rather you, and your daughter. Holcombe's game commences precisely at 6:00. You don't have much time. Care for a claw? Hmm. No, thanks. As I told your goons Oh, tut, tut. Don't be uncharitable. These gentlemen are seasoned professionals like yourself, Monsieur Edgar Legate. I don't insist on the Monsieur. [Chuckling] [Glass thuds] That Saudi oil minister in Kuala Lumpur How on earth did you manage that one? I don't discuss the details of my work. I appreciate that, particularly as I wish to engage your services. You know, I usually require a referral for a new client, but, uh, I might be able to make an exception. [Chair scrapes] So Legate works for you. In a manner of speaking. Well, I suppose it was inevitable, one way or the other. Looks like it's "the other. " Kill me and restore your reputation. Give us a moment. You said something before. The truth doesn't matter, that the only thing in this world that matters is just the appearance of truth. I fear you might be right about that. Lately I find that the truth has become so elusive. Often imaginary. But in the end, it's all that we're left with, isn't it? What is real, what you can taste and touch and feel. The words that pass between us as we look each other in the eye are all we have to hold on to. The truth. I hold it dear. I didn't kill your accountant. Your deal was falling apart. I stepped in and took it. I would've done exactly the same. Keep the ships, Baldur. As Rat said to Mole, "There is nothing, absolutely nothing half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. " [Chuckling] It's funny. For the longest time, I've been perfectly comfortable knowing I could die at any moment. I could walk out of this room and be shot in the street. I've always been fine with that. But lately, I can smell it in the air around me. Like death is slouching towards me from the corners of the room. And I cannot tell if it is here for me. Just an echo of the past. I wish it had been you. Would've been so much easier. [Indistinct conversations] - [Chips clatter] - Man: Raise. Three red. [Knocking] Uh, oyster delivery for Mr. Holcombe. About time. You're an hour late. [Engine roaring] [Tires screech] Ressler: We're two minutes out. How soon until Hazmat is on site? 10 minutes. [Chips clatter] Raise. Three red, three black, three red. FBI. We have reason to believe that your compound is under threat of biological attack. We need you to start evacuating immediately. Ressler: Samar, what do you got? There's no sign of Malik. I'm going in. [Indistinct conversations] [Cards shuffle] - [Gasps] - [Plates clatter] On the ground. Get on the ground! Move! - [Shrieking] - [Speaks indistinctly] Stop, Natalie! Stop! Don't move. No one else has to die today. - Malik! - You need to come with us now. If you wanna stop me, you're gonna have to kill me. Please don't make me do that. I can't be locked up again. [Taser clicking] Suspect's in custody. [Breathes heavily] [Exhales] There's no sign of Malik. Aram, check that local PD has shut down the roads - 10 miles in every direction. - Aram: On it. And that Hazmat team we sent earlier, - they should be there any minute. - No, Hazmat's already transported her. - What are you talking about? - The Hazmat team. Samar: The Hazmat team is already en route. Oh, my God. [Engine starts] [Tires screech] We have gone through quite a lot of trouble to find you, young lady. You're the most valuable asset in our portfolio. Fortunately, the FBI was kind enough to lend an assist and lead us straight to you. I won't go back there. - [Engine roaring] - Samar: Aram. Aram: Okay, yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay. Come on now. All right, uh, satellite's coming around now. Okay, they're heading southeast on Holly Knoll Drive. [Tires screeching] They're about 200 yards past mile marker 46. [Tires screech, thuds] [Tires screeching] Okay, weird. There's another vehicle trying to push them off the road. Uh, okay, now both vehicles are off the roadway. They're about 1/4 mile before marker 45. [Breathing heavily] [Grunts, breathing heavily] I thought I lost you. Are you okay? Yes. What do we do now? We'll go in the woods. We'll find a car. - [Gunshot] - [Gasps] [Tires screech] - Ressler: Don't move! - Natalie: Aah! [Gunfire] Natalie. - Oh, God. [Gasping] - Ressler: Don't! We need help! I'm sorry. - I'm so sorry. I was wrong. - No. I was so wrong. No. No. I never should've made you [Panting] I would've done anything to be with you. Oh, I take your hand in mine. So soft. And I pull you close. I feel your breath against my skin. And I kiss you. [Whispers] The two of us [Whispers] Forever. Give her a minute. [Crying] [Sobbing] [Sobbing continues] [Radio chatter] I can describe every tile in the room they kept me in. For 13 years, I was just a medical curiosity. But then, there was Malik. He was the only one who really saw me, not the subject, but me, Natalie. What made you leave? At first, we thought the research they were doing was our best chance at being together. But when Malik learned what Whitehall was doing - Whitehall? - Hawthorne's weapons lab. They weren't trying to cure me. They were using me, my cells, to develop a biological weapon. So why didn't you go to the authorities? Hawthorne had contracts with the government. We didn't know who we could trust. I'm sorry. [Crying] We We're really sorry for all those people. [Crying] I know. [Sniffling] [José González's "Heartbeats" playing] One night to be confused - One night to speed up truth - [Door opens] - [Door closes] - We had a promise made Four hands and then away Both under influence We had divine scent To know what to say - Mind is a razor blade - It was one of the most romantic things I've ever seen. He died in her arms. It was like an episode of I don't know. Some show. But the point is, it made me feel a little sorry for myself, that I didn't have someone like that. What, to die in your arms? And then I started thinking about my raise. 16%. That's an odd number. And then I thought it's exactly half of the difference between what you and I make. I went down to the ladies in accounting, and they never talked to Cooper. You did. You gave me half of your 32%. Now we get paid equally. - I don't want your money. - Why not? You were right. We do the same thing. No, we don't. I-I know. You put your life on the line. - What you do - No, I'm sure you deserve more. It's just I have this this student loan and this online poker debt What you did, no one else would do for me. I'd do anything for you. I know. Which is why I have no reason to feel sorry for myself. You knew the hands of the Devil [Door closes] And you Kept us away How'd it go? Honestly, it was great. I was thinking about what you said, about why I needed that. [Fussing] Truth is, I still don't know. But what I do know is that this family's the most important thing in my life. I don't wanna lose it. We just arrested a woman who would've done anything to stay with the person she loved, but she lost him anyway. I'm not going anywhere. That's not what I meant. [Fussing] From the beginning, we've been fighting secrets and agendas and psychotic homicidal killers coming between us. And for the first time, we're together, and we've got no one to fight. But it still feels Like we're coming apart? I know this family is the most important thing to you. But it's not gonna work if you can't be who you are. - I guess I'm just scared. - Of what? [Voice breaks] I'm not gonna love that person. Do you love me? Yes. Then you love that person. Because that's who I am. I understand that the work we do depends on you. So I'm going to allow this, but understand this We are sworn officers of the law. Do not expect us again to carry your water. You work for us, not the other way around. Is that clear? I'm sorry to have put you in such a difficult position, Harold. [Door closes] Who are you? [Exhales] Losing someone we love is painful. Agonizing even unto death. The Japanese call it tako-tsubo a grieving surge of abnormal electrical waves that causes the heart to deflate and contort until it resembles a a fishing pot. Hollow and cold, an empty vessel at the bottom of a fathomless sea. I'm sorry for your loss. You have suffered enough of that in your life. What do you want? The man you killed at the massage parlor was an associate of mine. You didn't know him, you didn't rob him. Someone hired you to assassinate him. She knew who I was. We had no choice. She said if I didn't kill him, she would tell Hawthorne where to find us. Who? Isabella Stone. Thank you. Natalie, do you mind if I sit here for a moment? For the life of me, I don't think I could get up right now.

[valenshawke]

Me vs. My Boss - Part 89798427987

My relationship with my boss is interesting.

I spent so much time in school that I really never had a boss before, even when I was someone’s research assistant. With my mentor at undergrad, when I was his research assistant, I didn’t need to have a boss, I just worked hard because I totally appreciated the things he did for me. For those last two years in college and three years in Columbus, he fulfilled that father figure I hadn’t had since my dad died. And while we never really spoke about anything deeply personal (except my rejection letters for grad school), he did provide that professional/career/financial guidance I feel like my dad would have. It was his advice to me when I was on the job market (academic, public, and private sector) that I found the most reasonable. 

“Whoever makes the best offer to you first, go with it. You’d be suffering upwards for 5-7 more years if you commit now to being a part-timer working 3 campuses.” 

He was the only one that offered me any career advice after I defended my dissertation. Not even my advisor/dissertation chairperson could. But, admittedly, she and her husband (also on my committee) felt really bad about my situation when I graduated (in a more favorably market, I could have stayed 1-2 more years and gotten something). They also cop to not having done enough. But hey, I got a real job with benefits.They were ecstatic.

Which brings me to my actual factual boss. 

Hooboy.

When I got to my job, he was still only one of my two group leaders. Group leaders occupy a weird position of not being managers but having some managerial authority as delegated by their (and my) Deputy Director, who is my actual manager/boss. 

Nice guy. 

Nice guys don’t always make for good managers. In fact, they make for pretty rotten managers. 

In the boss/employee relationship, I don’t need to be friends with my manager. I really don’t give two shits. Can I be respectful? Yes. Can they be respectful? Yes. Can we be professional in dealing with problems? Yes. Is there a time to raise your voice in anger? Sure. 

The problem with my boss is he’s been acting like the good cop since he was promoted. Now. there were some shady office politics (nothing illegal but between the people) going on in my office in the two years before I got there that set the stage here.

His allies among the employees for my first year here were, me and the two guys that I sat next two. 

Those two guys left for jobs at HQ, which I understand.

This leaves me.

The next two years, become a harrowing experience.

He is not a good manager.

But on a personal level, I like him. He’s a guy you could go out and have a few drinks with, watch football, and have a good time.

As a manager...

I protected him twice. 

How? I warned him on something because of something he had to one of my coworkers. He worded things so poorly even though I know his intent was, “Don’t be belligerent,” which my coworker was by refusing an assignment. Because my coworker literally HAD no assignments. 

But he worded it in a way that could have been actionable. I literally told him to walk with me out of our building and I explained it to him. 

He and our director continued to handle it poorly. But fine, that coworker ends up leaving to another department and out of our hair. Goodbye forever. [Side note: This same coworker actually asked for my number before I left. I responded with, “Why, you want me to do your work at another agency?”

After saying that we were friends, I responded with, “You are literally the worst person I have ever dealt with and I never want to see or hear from you again.”

I was literally in my 30 minutes of the day before I went on vacation and to San Diego Comic Con. 

I stopped by my actual friend’s office and my soon-to-be former coworker was there, apparently crying not understanding why I hated them so. When I do 60% or more of your work, that’s why].

Which brings us to the last 10 months.

I can’t and won’t say much but I will say that part of how I operate at work is generally this: Keep your head down, don’t talk politics, don’t talk religion, and make no physical contact with people. That last part is unless I KNOW you really well or your someone I HAVE to shake hands with (big deal with at HQ), do not fucking touch me. 

But I see a lot of things and hear a lot, having a large headset makes people think I tune out when I’m listening. 

But you know what? The truth, as I saw it, made this thing I won’t say much about really a non-starter. But it’s still stressful.

I even literally try to console my boss who feels bad about us being called about it. 

Now, that said, in the summer of 2015, some family problems rear their ugly head the weekend before I am supposed to run my first training school at this agency. There are some serious questions as to whether or not I can teach that Monday.

He set it up where if I can’t be there, my backup (who had actually done this project last year and knew the stuff) could do it.

I managed to run the school. Not well mind you, I know my standards.

He had my back.

I appreciated that.

I have his.

Until you start JERKING ME AROUND AND ASKING ME TO GROVEL.

On Fridays, I have the privilege to work at home. I earned it and in  the two years I’ve been doing this, all the metrics show I actually do work and get more done at home cause I have almost no distractions. 

I also have situational times due to mitigating circumstances. Remember the eclipse? There was going to be a protest downtown that day, right in front of the building and the building managers wanted us out.

Today, they’re putting in a door in some office space behind my work area. Building contractors want no one there for safety reasons.

My director has already indicated I could telework that day. 

But communications breakdown. 

I ask my boss Tuesday, what the deal was going to be. 

He say he’d know tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes.

He knows I have to leave at 3 PM everyday since I maxed out on credit and they won’t give me comp.

I want an answer. 

I actually go to his office like 4 times that day (which is normal). 

He avoids that issue. 

He wants me to ask and beg.

I am literally not having it. 

2:45 comes and my group leader says he’s willing to ask. I tell him no and even point out he’s not in his office and hadn’t been for awhile. 

2:55, still hiding. Even our Account Tech thinks I’m teleworking and is shocked when I tell her I don’t have an answer.

At this point, I just flip my shit.

I put myself on the leave calendar under sick leave (cause I have 4 people at the office wondering about my mental health at this point because I had been on edge for a two weeks). And, honestly, I was sick of being at my office and seeing people. As my friend at work said, “Yeah, sounds like you need a vacation.”

Sick leave doesn’t require any approval. I can use it without approval whenever. I don’t like using it but it’s handy sometimes. 

3 PM, I leave not before telling my group leader to tell our boss to fuck off (”I cannot tell him to fuck off, Michael.”

“Just tell him I left pissed.”)

I come home. 

And, well, situation here makes my day WORSE.

On my way back I get a text from my boss asking if I’m okay cause now I’m on the calendar on Sick Leave.

So, I actually GO BACK to my office. But I’m off the clock. 

My group leader is rather shocked I’m back and I explain to him the thing at home. At this point, he just looks at me like, “Shit man, you’re hit at all sides today.”

I end up taking him, his wife (group leader on the other side of the office), and one of the account techs to dinner just to kill time before my work friend crashes dinner with us.

But that was about 1 hour of me being at the office before we go to dinner. My boss is still there.

I walk out of the my office (our layout is weird) to go the vending machine cause I need a soda and would use the can to fill up on water. My boss is walking over to my group leader’s office as I’m heading out to the hallway.

“Oh hey, I thought I heard your voice-”

I turn around

“YOU AND I DON’T NEED TO TALK TODAY!” And I give him that wide eyed smile like I really want to pick up the chair and fling it at him.

And I walk out to get my soda.

Now, I have to walk around the office a few times mostly to calm myself down and find someone to kill time with. I actually walk past my boss twice and he tries to say something but I ignore him.

So, we go to dinner. Have some BBQ chicken nachos and a couple of racks of ribs. My group leader is happy, it’s free beer.

Beer is disgusting.

Anyways, at dinner my group leader tells me that he actually stopped my boss from trying to talk to me because he didn’t want to get between us. I then tell him the incident where I almost got between my boss and another coworker cause I reasonably believed my coworker was gunna throw a punch at my boss.

Anyways, “Well, I was gunna tell him he could work from home tomorrow.” 

It’s almost 6 PM when that conversation took place. 

You wanted me to beg and grovel.

Nope.

Not today.

We don’t have enough work to let me work some comp? You guys can cover? Okay. Here’s two more days to my vacation.

[sarakellar]

you’re not alone when you take somebody home

I've only been promising this for years. This is exactly the story that you think it is.

1) CAVALIER (my modern day retelling of the early life of King David) establishes that David, at least, is attracted to Bathsheba. That attraction is something that he's struggled with for years, especially considering that she's married to one of his mighty men and good friends (if he can see her from his rooftop in the biblical account, I think we can safely assume that means he and Uriah were close). Bathsheba wasn't a stranger to David in the Biblical account.

2) Due to the messiness of David's marriages and that you can't modernize them without ignoring polygamy laws, Michal is out of the picture and David and Ahinoam are not legally married. David's only wife, as of right now, is Abigail. None of David's other mentioned wives/lovers even come into play except for the ones that we already know.

3) Title is a line from "Astoria" by Mariana's Trench, aka the song I listened to on repeat while writing.

4) I struggled with where to end this as I was writing because I didn't want David to be forgiven. I think I took so long writing it because I knew that Uriah would have to die. Writing him in CAVALIER was important, because I got to know him as more than just Bathsheba's husband--he was one of David's mighty men. He was one of the men who came to David's aid when he was on the run. I wish I could change the end to this story.

5) But if God had grace for David I suppose I should, too.

Buckle in. It's a bumpy ride.

-

David’s always needed his friends close.

He remembers what it is to not have friends, to live as an outsider looking in. He remembers what it is to have older brothers who won’t give you the time of day and to have the beings closest to you be sheep. And since Jonathan—since having Jonathan, and then losing him (and the thought still strikes his heart like he’s hearing it for the first time all over again)—it’s gotten more pronounced.

He doesn’t give his friends a choice. As the Presidential Mansion is renovated, David doing as much as he can to erase the bad memories he has of Saul, he gathers Jashobeam, Benaiah, Eleazar, and Uriah together and says, “I’m keeping you close.”

“I want my room to have a seventy inch TV,” Benaiah says.

David rolls his eyes. “Not that close, Benaiah.”

“I want my house to have a seventy inch TV.”

Jashobeam snorts, like he thinks that that’s not what David means, either, but when David says, “Okay,” his expression turns stunned.

“David,” Jashobeam says as Benaiah does a fist pump, “you don’t have the kind of money to build all of us a house.”

“Yes I do,” David says, and he does, because he’d gotten some of his more money-savvy men to crunch the numbers, Abigail watching over their shoulder as they did the math and their son ran around their feet, and when they came to him with the numbers she confirmed. They won’t be large houses, but they will be houses. Homes stocked with all the amenities and a few indulgences and, more important, homes that will be close to David.

Eleazar stops gnawing on his lip for a second, long enough for him to say, “You sure you don’t want us on base?”

David’s been President for over a decade, now, long enough that the main conflict between his supporters and Saul’s have faded and that wounds from the civil war are starting to heal, but tensions still flare every now and then. His friends have been invaluable during that time, even more so than they usually are, because while David has been running the country and verbally sparring with other politicians, his men have been breaking up fights and ensuring that they’re all united under one banner. Under the title of Israel. Under David, their President.

Under God.

“Abishai and Joab and their merry men should be able to take care of it,” David says. The day that he pinned a medal on Joab’s chest, promoting him to head of the army, was the proudest day of David’s life. Joab’s made his mistakes, but he is loyal to David. Without a doubt. “The rest of the guys—”

“The mighty men!” Benaiah chirps cheerfully, and David rolls his eyes before he continues like the interruption didn’t happen.

“They’ll still be on base. I’m not concerned. But I haven’t been on base as much, and it’s a hassle to get you guys from there to here when I need your opinion on something—”

Uriah clasps a hand on David’s shoulder, and it shuts David right up. He’d known that his voice was starting to sound frantic, but he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to pull back.When David looks at Uriah, his friend’s eyes are calm and steady. “David,” Uriah says. “We get it. It’s okay.”

David nods, then swallows thickly.

He has contractors on site the next day.

-

David, somehow, balances a building project and the threat of the Ammonites.

His nephews are invaluable, proving their worth again and again. When the new Ammonite President comes into power David sends a couple of well-wishers in good faith, hoping to continue their steady relationship.

The new President doesn’t see it that way.

“They accused us of being spies,” one of David’s men whispers over the video call from where they’re huddled up in Jericho, like that’ll cover up the shame of half of his beard being gone. “Said that we were just there to scope out the city to overthrow it.”

Like David doesn’t have enough on his plate. “Stay in Jericho,” he says gently. “Rest up, heal up, give your beard time to come back in. I’ll handle it.”

“Sir—”

“You did well,” David says. “Don’t worry.”

He leans his head back, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, and then continues his paperwork. He’ll call the Ammonite President…later.

Or, at least, that’s the plan until Joab pops into his office in the afternoon, David’s son on his hip. “Danny boy wanted to say hi,” Joab says, setting Danny on the floor so that he can run to David. David stands just in time to grab him under the arms, swooping him into the air. Either he needs to spend more time in the gym, or his son is getting too big for this. But there’s no way that his son is this big already.

Joab watches from the door, amusement covering his face. With Danny’s giggles sounding in the background, he says, “Also.”

David quirks an eyebrow, sitting back in his chair so that he can tickle Danny and not worry about the kid crashing to the floor if he squirms. “Also?”

“The Ammonites are mobilizing.”

“Where?”

“To here, presumably.”

David stops for a moment, just long enough for Danny to pout at him. He bounces him on his knee as he says to Joab, “You’re sure?”

“About as sure as we can be, Uncle. Uriah intercepted the transmission asking for Aramean assistance.”

“What kind of Aramean assistance?” David asks, brow furrowed, settling Danny on the ground.

“Twenty thousand foot soldiers.”

Truthfully, all it would’ve taken was a phone call. If the Ammonite president had just called him, they would’ve sorted this all out. Having a reputation as a skilled military leader isn’t always great. “So that’ll mean they’re sending out—what. Just under thirty-five thousand?”

“That’s what Jash reckons.”

Of course he consulted with them first. David hadn’t been totally convinced that taking him on the lam with him when Saul was pursuing him was the best call, but it’s paying off now in spades. Joab knows the importance of community in leadership, in running his decisions past others and bouncing ideas off of them. Sometimes, when the light is just right, David looks at his nephew and sees shades of himself. David sighs. “Well, I suppose that’s that, then.”

“Pretty much.”

“When can you be ready?”

“Just say the word,” Joab says. “I’m gonna take Ab, too.”

Of course. Joab and Abishai are two halves of the same coin at this point, fused closer together by their brother’s death. David says, “Take whoever you want, just let me know. Deal with it as quick as you can, Joab. This shouldn’t even be an issue.”

Joab does a lazy salute. “Yes, sir.”

David grabs Danny, kissing his son on the forehead before getting up to hand him off to Joab. “Bring him to Abigail before you leave, would you? I’ve got some extra work to do now, and,” he looks Danny in the eye, “I think it’s almost nap time.”

Danny pouts again, hiding his head in Joab’s shoulder. “I don’ wanna nap.”

“You don’t have a choice, buddy,” David says, ruffling Danny’s hair. “Maybe if I get done in time, I’ll come and have a lay down with you, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Joab gives David a raised eyebrow, and David holds a finger over his lips. They both know that the chances of that happening are slim to none, but if David buckles down there’s a chance. There’s always a chance.

-

David doesn’t go with the army to the camp; Joab and Abishai should be able to deal with it. They do, handily, but the Arameans regroup and head towards Halem. When Joab gives David the update he doesn’t ask for help. He actually insists that he can handle it, and David’s willing to give his nephew points for bravado but this never should’ve happened in the first place.

He rounds up the rest of the army that Joab hadn’t taken with him. Before he leaves for battle, Abigail kisses him soundly. “Be careful,” she says quietly; it’s early enough in the morning that it’s still dark out, and Danny is still asleep.

David quirks a smile at her. “Why? My son doesn’t need a dead father?”

“Of course that,” Abigail says seriously, “but more than that. This country doesn’t need a dead president. Not right now.”

She’s right, of course. The union is still tremulous at best. He kisses her again—her forehead, and then her mouth. “Of course,” he says. “Of course I will be.”

-

The battle isn’t so much of a battle as it is a chase and catch. The Arameans hold their ground for an hour, maybe two, but then David’s army breaks through the line and their foe begins to flee. When the day is over, the Arameans are seven hundred charioteers and forty thousand soldiers down, including their army commander, and David has more land available to his soldiers.

The houses are done just before winter. Benaiah gets the one closest to David by sheer force of will; he camps out in front of it for a week until he gets the okay to move in. David had known that was going to happen, and the messages that he receives when Benaiah realizes there is a seventy-inch TV in the house already are worth keeping. Jashobeam, Uriah, and Eleazar figure out who gets which of the three remaining houses among themselves, and Babs winks at him as she and Uriah go to settle in.

It does exactly what David had wanted to accomplish. The convenience of having his friends close to figure out what, exactly, to do with the Ammonites is priceless. Danny sits in on meetings usually, wanting to be close, playing on the floor with his trucks and boats or just sitting tucked in close to David’s side. David’s friends spoil him, calling him ‘little prince’ and sneaking him treats and toys when they think David isn’t looking.

Uriah, surprisingly, is the one that’s the worst about it. He brings David’s son trinkets from where he and Bathsheba travel, a sad glint in his eye as Danny takes them. Uriah and Bathsheba want children; they’ve been talking about it ever since they settled back in Israel, even during the civil war. They’ve seen doctors, and they’ve done tests. The problem isn’t with Uriah.

“There are other ways to have kids, you know,” David says under his breath to Uriah during a winter get together, as Danny runs circles around Eleazar’s toddler. “You could look into a sperm donor, or adopt. There are a lot of kids who would love to be adopted by one of David’s mighty men.”

Uriah takes a sip of his beer. “So now you’re okay with the title.”

David holds his hands up. “I’m just saying. Also, Bathsehba would make a fantastic mom.”

“Yeah,” Uriah says softly, looking at her across the room. “Yeah, I know.”

David follows his gaze. “She looks fantastic tonight,” he says.

Uriah nudges him in the side. “She always looks fantastic and you know it,” he says. “Keep your eyes on your own wife.”

David snorts, taking a drink of his own beer as his eyes Abigail. She looks spectacular, too, even if she’s just in lounging clothes, but his eyes keep going back to Bathsheba.

-

Spring dawns with blossoms and plants breaking up through the soil, stretching towards the sunshine. David marks it by sending Joab to siege the Ammonite city of Rabbah.

They’ve had all winter to discuss it and figure out a plan, and they finally settle on one before the Ammonites can mobilize once more. David offers to go, halfheartedly, but Joab shakes his head before he can even finish offering his assistance. “It’s fine,” he says. “We’ll have it. You can sit this one out.”

David puts up a fight, at least. “But—”

Eleazar steps in, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, bossman,” he says. “Joab’s a good leader, and a siege is easy. There’ll be fighting, but we’ll mostly be waiting for them to surrender. You don’t need to be there for that.”

Jashobeam and Benaiah both nod in agreement. Uriah says, “Take a rest. Spend time with your boy.”

Like he hasn’t been resting all winter. Still, he concedes, and he sees his army off the next day.

-

Danny is thrilled.

His son is four years old, almost five now, and David has spent much of his life in and out again through the revolving door of battles to fight and Presidential things to do. He doesn’t want to leave his son behind, hopes that he can raise half of the kind young man that Jonathan manage to while he was still here, but it’s difficult to do when most of the politicians in the immediate area want his attention.

Now, though, David doesn’t have to worry about the battles because there are none. He gets daily updates from Joab, but other than that the Philistines have been subdued for now and there’s no other discernible threats. David has at least open lines of communication with those around him. Even the political side of the presidency seems to be getting easier.

This means more time with Danny, with Abigail. More time to be with his wife and his son, to relish in the whirlwind of time flying by, trying to grasp them with his hands as the moments slip through his fingers like sand.

Danny is so thrilled that, when Abigail takes him with her to a conference for mothers, he throws a tantrum in the car seat before they leave. “I wan’ stay home with Da,” he wails, and David’s heart aches but he still lays an arm around Abigail’s shoulder, kissing her temple.

“Are you sure you want to take him?” he asks. “He could stay here. We’ll be fine, you could have a week without him.”

Abigail smiles at him. “That’s very considerate of you, but we’ll be okay.

“If you insist,” David replies. He leans into the car so that he can kiss Danny on the forehead.

His son whimpers and pulls at his shirt. “Da, I don’ wanna go.”

“I’ll see you before you know it,” David says softly. “You’re gonna have fun, kiddo. Be good for Mama.”

Danny frowns until David raises an eyebrow at him, and then he huffs. “‘Kay.”

“Okay.”

David kisses Abigail one more time, and then watches them drive away until he can’t see them anymore. His men are at war, his nephews are leading them, his wife and his son are driving away.

He is well and truly alone.

-

It’s too quiet.

He tries to fill his days with work, but there’s truly not that much to do. His staff are incredibly competent and efficient, and Joab is the best commander that he could ask for. When he runs out of things to do he spends time with his guitar, but he can only play it for so long before his fingers are sore and he needs to put that down, too.

The nights are long. He doesn’t sleep well, and the bed is too empty. Halfway through the week a nightmare jerks him from sleep, and he goes up to the roof to steady himself, get some air.

The city is beautiful at dusk, sun sinking below the horizon. All is calm, quiet, the city settling in for a rest. There are people out and about, and David closes his eyes and focusses on the sound of their revelry.

His phone rings. He answers it without opening his eyes. “Hello?”

“You should be asleep,” Bathsheba says.

“I should be,” David agrees, “but what I want to know is how you know.”

“Turn around.”

David opens his eyes and turns. Bathsheba waves from where she is on the roof of her and Uriah’s house. David waves back. “That’s a little creepy,” he says.

“I was here first,” she says.

“You should be asleep, too.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“I guess.”

The conversation lulls, and David starts to get chilly from the cool evening air. He should probably go back inside. Back inside of his empty house. “Hey Babs, do you want to come over?”

He can feel Bathsheba’s shock like it’s a tangible thing that can ride on the air. “Can you repeat that?”

This is a bad idea, a small voice whispers to his heart. He pushes it away, and says, “I’ve got early access to all of these TV shows and no one ot watch them with.”

He watches Bathsheba consider it as his thoughts tell him to take it back take it back take it back. But he’s so lonely, and he’d rather stay up late watching TV with Uriah’s wife (except you’re not looking at her as Uriah’s wife you’re looking at her as Babs take it back) than tossing and turning and struggling to sleep.

Hang up, the whisper says. Call Abigail.

Bathsheba says, “Do you have wine?”

“Of course I have wine,” he replies.

“I’ll be over in five.”

-

That little voice that’s been tugging at his heart keeps getting more and more quiet throughout the duration of the night, silencing completely when they’re halfway through a six episode season and two glasses of wine down each. They’re nowhere near drunk, but they’re definitely tipsy, and Bathsheba’s cheeks are just the slightest bit flushed and she’s beautiful. She truly is.

They started on opposite ends of the couch under a mountain of blankets each, but somehow they’ve crept closer and closer. They whisper to each other, hands brushing each other as they reach for snacks or more wine. At the end of another episode, Bathsheba says seriously, “Uriah is a good husband. I know that he doesn’t think so sometimes, and that my parents don’t think so all of the time, but he is.”

David nods. “You got a good one with him, Babs.”

“I know,” she says. “We didn’t know each other for very long before we got married, but I was so sure of him. Even when we had to pack up after eloping. He’d told me all about his friend David, but I didn’t think that he was you.”

David shrugs, a flush creeping up his neck. “I’m not that great,” he mumbles.

“Yes you are,” Bathsheba protests. “You were my first celebrity crush. My parents didn’t even tell me to cut it out. I think they were hoping, or something.”

David’s heart starts beating double time. He was her what? “Yeah, right,” he says.

“I swear,” Bathsheba says. “I think I cried all day when I heard that you were married to Michal.” She looks at him fully, eyes wife and shining. “But that’s okay. I got Uriah at the end of the day, and it might not have worked out with Michal for you but you have Abigail, and Abigail is amazing.”

“Yeah, she is,” David breathes, tilting his head a little closer to her.

“And Danny is such a sweet little boy,” Bathsheba says, twisting a little so that she’s fully facing him.

“The light of my world.”

He can feel her breath on his lips. He whispers, “You know I think you’re beautiful, Babs.”

“I never completely got over that crush,” she replies.

He turns off the TV without looking away, and then he kisses her. It starts out soft, exploring, but quickly turns desperate.

He’s lonely. So lonely. And he gently breaks the kiss, takes her hand, and leads her to the bedroom.

-

The sun streams in through the curtains, and David pulls the person laying next to him closer. He buries his face into her shoulder, kissing her neck softly, and she lays a hand on top of the one he has wrapped around her waist. A voice says softly, “David.”

He groans.

“David, come on. We have to wake up.”

He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. Then he takes his hand back, moving away from the warm body next to him, and Bathsheba says evenly, “This was a mistake.”

“Yes,” David replies dumbly, because of course it was. Yes.

Nobody can know. Not Abigail. Not Uriah. Not any of the mighty men. Nobody.

Bathsheba climbs out of the bed and quickly gets into her clothes from yesterday, pulling her hair back into a messy bun. “Did anybody see me come in last night?”

David blinks, tries to think. “Yeah, I think so. We can tell them you slept in a separate room.”

“I think we’ll have to.” She pulls on her socks, then her shoes. “It’s a good thing I’m on birth control.”

“Why?”

“We didn’t use a condom.”

Crap. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“Sure of what?” she replies, but then she shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. Yes I am sure of both of those things.”

He sits up, sheets pooling around his waist. Bathsheba turns only once at the door, hand on the doorknob. “This was a mistake,” she says.

“It won’t happen again,” David says.

She slips out the door without a goodbye. The staff accept David’s explanation, and when Abigail gets back he tells her the same thing. That Bathsheba came over, but she had too much wine to drink and slept it off in one of the guest rooms. His relief at Abigail’s easy acceptance of the lie makes his kiss desperate, and she laughs when Danny tries to push them apart.

David takes the hint, breaking away from his wife and swinging his son up into his arms. His son. As Danny clings to him, babbling about how the time that he had, David buries his nose in his hair and breathes him in.

-

Life continues as normal. The siege continues, the Ammonites holding out and fighting to the bitter end. As the days pass, the secret eats him up less and less inside. It’s cool. Nobody knows, and nobody has to know.

Then he gets a text from an unknown number. Two words.

I’m pregnant.

-

“You’ve been distracted,” Abigail says at dinner one night. It’s been just over a week since he found out, and of course he’s distracted. He’s running on borrowed time. Bathsheba is going to start showing soon, and her husband and who people will presume is that father of her baby is still at the siege.

Not that Abigail can know any of that. But then an idea strikes. “I’m thinking about calling one of the guys back,” he says. “Trying to figure out which one.”

“Why?” Abigail asks.

“Just for help around here. And company, suppose.”

His wife laughs. “Missing your boys?”

“I suppose I am,” he answers honestly. “Joab needs all the help he can get, but he won’t miss one.”

“No, he won’t,” Abigail replies. She thinks for a few moments, and then says, “What about Uriah?”

“What about him?”

“Bathsheba hasn’t been doing that good lately,” Abigail says. “Battling a wicked bout of the flu. Maybe having her husband home will help.”

“Uriah loves to dote on her,” David agrees, careful not to let relief leak into his voice. “Yeah, I think we’ll go with that. Thank you, Abigail.”

She kisses him on the cheek. “You’re welcome.”

He sends word to Joab that night, and Uriah is back the next morning. Uriah doesn’t go straight home, however; he stops in at David’s Mansion first. David gives him a wide smile when he shows up in the door, and tries not to squeeze him too tightly when he hugs him. “Whoa, buddy,” Uriah says when David lifts him up a little, and David sets him back on the ground. Yeah, that was a little much. Uriah raises an eyebrow at him. “When Joab said that he thought you were going stir crazy, he didn’t think it was this bad.”

“It’s been a long couple of months,” David replies. He hands Uriah a beer and they settle on the couch in David’s office. “So, I know how he’s doing, but I want to hear it from an outside source. How’s the kid doing?”

“Joab?” Uriah takes a swig of his beer. “He’s doing great, bossman. We did great with that kid.”

David quirks an eyebrow. “We?”

“We raised that kid into the man that he is today and you know it.”

“If you insists,” he says, and they toast their beer bottles. “And the soldiers?”

“There’s just enough action to keep them busy,” he says. “Joab’s done good at rotating them s that nobody gets bored on the walls where there’s not as much action. The Ammonites are putting up a wicked fight, but they have to break soon. Either that, or Benaiah figures out a way to get in.”

“What’s the wager at?”

“Over half the army thinks he’s going to crack and go for it,” Uriah says, grinning. “But I know for a fact that he bet that he wouldn’t, and that Joab put money on it, too, so it’ll be interesting.”

They spend the rest of the day together, moving back and forth between being productive and being not productive at all. The plan is coming together quite nicely; all there’s left to do is to send Uriah home. Bathsheba and her beauty, hopefully, will lake care of the rest. David walks him to the door that night, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he says.

Uriah nods. “Yeah, sure thing.”

-

David sleeps easily for the first time in weeks.

Uriah doesn’t go home.

-

Uriah’s exhausted. He spent the night in the garage, sleeping in the backseat of one of the cars. He’s not nearly as chipper the next day, slumped on the couch in David’s office once again. It’s possibly only his military experience that has him as alert as he is right now, combined with the large cup of coffee David pressed into his hand. “Why didn’t you just go home, man?” he asks.

Uriah takes a long drink. “Everybody else is staying in a tent in the open country,” he says. “Why should I get to go home to my bed? To my wife? I’m not going to do that.”

Panic wells up in David’s throat, but he won’t panic. Not yet. He’s faced tens of thousands of men who want him dead and come out on the other side. So he spends another day with Uriah, laughing and reminiscing and plying him with alcohol, and at the end of the night he sends him out the door with a gentle push. “Go home to your wife,” David says. “She’ll be happy to see you.”

Uriah hiccups. “David, y’know what?”

“What, buddy?”

“You’ve made me a better man. I’m glad that you are our leader. I’m glad to have been able to follow you into battle.”

David feels sick. “Home, Uriah.”

-

But Uriah doesn’t go home.

David knows he doesn’t—he watches his friend (his friend, Bathsheba’s husband, Bathsheba who is pregnant with David’s child) get to the garage and slip in side. Backseat of one of the cars again, taking away David’s free ticket out of this situation. He made a mistake, he knows he made a mistake, but now he just wants to fix it.

He gets out of bed before he can wake Abigail up with his tossing and turning. He closes their bedroom door softly behind him, and then goes to check on Danny out of habit. His son sleeps on his stomach, mouth wide open, gently gripping the lion that Benaiah brought him once. He remembers when Abigail first told him that she was pregnant, the excitement that curled through him. He’s always wanted to be a dad; it was the greatest gift she could’ve given him. Danny is the greatest gift he’s ever received.

And now all he feels is dread.

David closes the door to Danny’s room so that just a crack of light shines through and then goes to his office. He grabs a piece of his official stationary and writes a letter to Joab, his stomach threatening to riot as each letter is written down.

Joab—

Put Uriah out in front where the fighting is fiercest. Then withdraw from him so he will be struck down and die. Burn this.

He slips it into an envelope, writes Joab’s name on the front, and seals it with the official seal. He still doesn’t get any sleep, and when Uriah gets ready to go back to the front the next morning David presses the letter into his hand. “Give this to Joab for me, would you?”

“Of course, David,” Uriah says.

Unflinchingly loyal, ever since the start. David’s throat gets tight, and he pulls Uriah in for a tight hug. One of David’s oldest friends pats his back, awkward; David is never like this. David has hugged him more in the past two days than he ever has in his life. “I’ll see you soon, David,” Uriah says, voice a little confused, and David takes a deep breath before he steps back.

“Yeah,” David says, shaking his head a little. “Yeah, man. Of course.”

Uriah leaves.

-

David’s been waiting all morning for this phone call. David’s nephew is loyal, but he isn’t stupid.

“What the heck is this?” Joab asks.

David rubs a hand over his face. “Is he around?”

“Is he—of course he isn’t around. I don’t care about that—”

“Joab.”

“—what I care about is that you want me to do this in the first place—”

“Joab.”

“—because, frankly, it doesn’t make any sense to me in the least—”

“Joab.”

David’s nephew, commander of his army, finally shuts up. David says, voice deceptively calm, “I need you to do this for me.”

Joab doesn’t reply right away. When he does, his voice is very small. “But he’s one of your closest friends.”

David squeezes his eyes shut, like that will push the burn of the tears away. “I know,” David whispers. “I know.”

-

David spends the whole day with his son. Danny can tell that something is wrong, so he does everything that he can to keep David’s mind off of it. He shows David his favourite toys. He reads David his favourite books as well as he can. He has David watch his favourite movies.

Abigail is too perceptive. She knows that something is wrong, too, but she doesn’t ask.

Joab calls during supper. David excuses himself from the table, ignoring Abigail’s troubled look. He goes into his office, closing the door behind him. “Yeah?”

“Uriah is dead.”

David thought he would feel free. He doesn’t feel free. “You’ll always lose men in battle, Joab.”

“I know, Uncle,” he replies stiffly.

There’s not much more to say. David ends the call, and then goes to the bathroom and throws up the small amount he’d been able to eat.

-

It doesn’t get better.

Bathsheba begins to show, and everyone assumes that it’s Uriah’s. That it’s a miracle baby, and that it’ll be something to remember Uriah by. Abigail especially comes alongside Bathsheba during this time, and David needs to tell her but every time he opens his mouth to his tongue gets tied up and he can’t.

He should’ve told her a long time ago.

He loses weight, doesn’t smile as much. His attitude is rubbing off on Danny, to the point where Abigail takes it out of his hands and confronts him in his office two months later. “I know that Uriah’s death is hitting you hard,” she says slowly, closing the door behind her, “but something else is bothering you.”

The tears well up; David swallows them down, biting the inside of his cheek. “I have work to do, babe.”

She comes close to perch on the edge of his side of the desk, placing a soft hand on one of his cheeks. “This is serious.”

“This work? Yes.”

“Danny keeps asking when his Da is going to get better.”

His stomach rolls. “Abigail, I—I can’t.”

She strokes his cheek gently. “Please,” she says. “I’m worried about you.”

He kisses the inside of her wrist, relishing in this last moment before everything falls apart. He closes his eyes. And then he says, very quietly, “Bathsheba’s baby is mine.”

-

Abigail packs quickly. He doesn’t even try to stop her. She puts everything that she needs into one suitcase, packs another one for Danny. David holds his son close while she does, and Danny doesn’t squirm or talk or smile. This is the most solemn that his son has ever been. Because of him.

Abigail holds her arms out for their son. David hugs him tightly, kisses him on both cheeks, and whispers, “I love you, Danny.”

Danny, confused, says, “I love you too, Da. Why are you sad?”

David is crying, but he ruffles his son’s hair as he tries on a smile. “No reason, buddy. Have a good time with Mama.”

The image of Danny looking at him over Abigail’s shoulder, clutching his blanket as the woman that David loves takes David’s sunshine away—she leaves David—haunts him for the rest of his life.

-

She doesn’t come back.

-

He gives himself a week, and then another week, and then another week.

Then the tabloids break the story.

Luckily, they never make the connection between Uriah’s death and Bathsheba’s baby, though Joab says that some of the men become a little restless. David calls Bathsheba. “You should probably just move in,” he says.

“Are we going to elope, too?”

Abigail’s lawyer just served him with the papers. She’s offering him a generous custody agreement, one that he doesn’t deserve. “I mean, if you want.”

“I don’t know if it’s about what I want,” Bathsheba says slowly.

“I’m sorry, Babs.”

“David, don’t—don’t call me that.”

She moves in, and another one of David’s men moves into their house. They elope as soon as David’s divorce is finalized.

He still doesn’t feel free.

-

The baby, after a troubled pregnancy, is born. A little boy that they name Maor. Light, because he is the light in the darkness of this entire ordeal.

His son. Uriah had so badly wanted a baby.

You made me a better man.

David took everything away.

-

He hasn’t slept well sine before his son was born, but he certainly doesn’t help things. Bathsheba does a lot, but if he ever cries out in the morning David takes care of him and then goes to do some work.

This morning, though, when the baby is about a month old, when David goes to his office there’s already a man standing there looking at the pictures on David’s desk.

“Excuse me?” David says, hand instantly on the Beretta in his waistband.

The man sticks his hands up in the air like he knows. He’s a young guy in ratty jeans and a leather jacket, sunglasses tucked into the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Did you check in with security? How did you get in here?”

“I know people.”

The Beretta is in David’s hand and pointing at the man before he can register the motion. The man shakes his hands a little bit. “Hey, now. We’re cool. My name’s Nathan. I’m just here to pass on a message.”

David clicks the safety off. “A message.”

“Yeah man. One message, and then I’ll go. Okay?”

David hesitates, but then clicks the safety back on and puts it back in his waistband. “Make it quick.”

“Of course.” Nathan clears his throat, rolling his shoulders back, and then settles right into David’s chair like it’s no big deal. “There were two men in a certain town, one rich and the other poor. The rich man had a very large number of sheep and cattle, but the poor man had nothing except one little ewe lamb he had bought. He raised it, and it grew up with him and his children. It shared his food, drank from his cup and even slept in his arms. It was like a daughter to him.

“Now a traveler came to the rich man, but the rich man refrained from taking one of his own sheep or cattle to prepare a meal for the traveler who had come to him. Instead, he took the ewe lamb that belonged to the poor man and prepared it for the one who had come to him.”

Anger curls through David. “Has this actually happened? Do you know who did this? AS surely as God lives, the man who did that has to die. He must pay for the lamb four times over because he did such a thing and had no pity.”

Nathan looks him in the eye, easy-going demeanour gone faster than a blink. “You are that man.”

The blood drains from David’s face. “I—what are you talking about—”

Nathan stands from the chair and comes to stand nose to nose with David, somehow towering over him. “This is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: ‘I made you ruler over Israel, and I delivered you from the hand of Saul. I gave you all Israel and Judah. And if all this had been too little, I would have given you even more. Why did you despise the word of the Lord by doing what is evil in his eyes? You struck down Uriah the Hittite with the sword and took his wife to be your own. You killed him with the sword of the Ammonites. Now, therefore, the sword will never depart from your house, because you despised me and took the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your own, and out of your own household I am going to bring calamity on you.”

It sounds—Nathan sounds like Samuel, like Ahimelek, like Abiathar. Except where those men had encouraged David, this is a curse. “I have sinned against God,” David whispers.

“God has forgiven you,” Nathan says. “He has taken away your sin. You’re not going to die for this. But because by doing this you’ve shown utter contempt for him, the son born to you will die.”

David nods, dazed, and Nathan quietly makes his exit. David goes to find his baby. Bathsheba is with him, napping in the rocking chair, but she wakes up when David comes into the room. “David?” she says softly. “What’s wrong?”

But David can’t say anything. All he can do is take his baby in his arms—his son, whose breath is already rattling in his chest—and weep.