#Corporate work destroyed my taste

[orange-chair-of-doom]

For all Izzy Haters (not all, all, just the one puritanical enough to start a witch hunt for the one who enjoy him, the other idc, you do you, babe, agree to disagree):

If you had an Hannigram phase -> you're an hypocrite

If you didn't have an Hannigram phase -> I did, Izzy is literally the least problematic shit I like, stop clutching you pear in horror, it's literally a downgrade from my usual depravity and toxicity

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part nine

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

everything changes, and then everything changes all over again.

a/n: COME AND GET IT Y’ALL. we’re getting closer and closer…and just for the record, now is when things are more than likely going to deviate a lot harder from what’s canon. I had to revamp a lot of my plan to fall in line with ep 3 (check the main masterlist if you’re curious), but at the end of the day, this is fanfiction y’all! plus this show is still airing so not everything is gonna be spot on! ya girl is trying her best!

word count: 6.1k (longest part yet!)

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, canon-typical violence and injuries, scars, blood, depictions of loss and grief, I’m making up a lot of shit okay

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters!✨

“No, no, I can’t. You do it.”

“What?”

“You do it,” you say, feeling tears spring into your eyes. “I can’t.”

Cowan peers at you. He’s pulled his helmet off, and shoves his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face as he bends to your level. Definitely not a regulation haircut, but does FEDRA really care about that shit anymore?

“Are you sure?”

You shake your head, holding the headset towards him. He takes it from you wordlessly, and points to a piece of paper and a pen that’s sitting on the desk beside the radio.

“Write down their names.”

You chew the inside of your lip until you taste blood, uncapping the pen and scrawling your family’s names across the paper. You almost don’t write his name down, his voice a low murmur that rings through the base of your skull. I’ll find you, baby. 

Your hand is shaking as you form the letters.

Joel Miller.

Sarah Miller.

Tommy Miller.

Once you’re done, you slide the paper towards Cowan, and he gives a curt nod. He puts the headset over his ears, reaches for the mic attached to the radio, holds down the red button like Melissa said.

“This is Corporal Nicholas Cowan, Boston QZ, over,” he says, his voice brimming with authority. “Requesting civilian information, Austin QZ, over.”

As he waits, his brow goes tight, and your stomach follows suit. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, your breathing growing shallow. You lean forward, elbows propped on your knees, hands steepled at your mouth. The words sound muffled to your ears, the response from Austin garbled over the headphones, Cowan’s response barely audible even though you’re sitting right there.

When he says the names though, that you hear crystal clear. Your head perks up, eyes glued to Cowan’s face, his unreadable expression. His eyes dart to yours only once, and he swallows, his throat bobbling. “Confirmed transmission, Austin QZ, over. Cowan out.”

The air feels still as he sets the mic down, takes the headset off. You’re just staring, watching his movements, unable to read what’s coming. Why doesn’t he just tell—

Cowan reaches out and takes your hand between both of his. His hands are warm, his knuckles calloused, palms rough. His brow pinches hard as his thumb swipes over the back of your hand, and he won’t meet your eyes. He says your name, barely a whisper.

Oh.

You straighten, your free hand falling into your lap. You want to wrench your other hand from his grip, but you’re frozen, your limbs almost limp. He opens his mouth, shuts it, shakes his head slightly.

“You have to say it,” you whisper out, your voice cracking on every other word. “Tell me what they said.”

He blows out a breath, and you can feel the warmth of it on your skin. You feel cold, all over. “They…they had nothing on the Millers, none of them. But your family…” He trails off, closes his eyes for a long moment that makes everything in you stall. “There is no record of Anna. Your sister?” You manage to nod. “But your parents…they were in a shelter. Austin was…Austin was overrun three days ago, and FEDRA ordered it levelled. The shelter was destroyed, and everyone inside was killed.”

The rug has been pulled out from under your feet, in a sense. Your stomach is in your toes, that bottomless feeling of falling forcing bile up the back of your throat. You’re lightheaded. You can’t see straight. The edges of your vision are ringed with black, darkness webbing across your line of sight. Cowan drops your hand, slides off the desk and sinks into a crouch in front of you. You can feel his hands around your biceps, fingers digging in.

“Look at me.”

Aren’t you? You thought you were, but you slide your eyes towards the sound of his voice. His face is blurry, a smudge you can’t quite make out. He keeps talking, his voice sounding muffled again, a jumble of letters your brain can’t suss out.

All of them? Gone?

Joel…

I’ll find you, baby.

You’re really falling then, the world tilting sideways. You let the darkness take you.

+

You don’t know where you are.

You blink slow, eyes focusing on the plain ceiling above you. There’s a crack in the paint, the orange shadow of light coming in through a window. The blanket pulled to your chin is not one you recognize; you’d nicked a thick flannel one from the mall, and this one isn’t as thick, or as soft. It’s a duvet, you think, the material almost scratchy against your cheek. Where…?

Rolling over slowly, you push the blanket back. You’re still fully dressed beneath, but your boots have been removed, sitting on the floor in front of the bed you’ve been tucked into. You lean up on your elbow slowly, swinging your legs over the edge of the mattress. Your head throbs a little, but you blink past it, taking in the space around you.

It’s a goddamned bachelor pad.

You get to your feet slowly, brow furrowed as a noise reaches your ears. Running water, someone clearing their throat. The place is nice, much nicer than the apartment you’ve been staying in with Deanna and the kids, but it still shows a bit of the destruction and decay of the outside world, one of the windows cracked, the split you’d noticed in the ceiling crawling down the wall. Your face must give away your exact feelings as you walk towards the noise and come face to face with Cowan.

“I know,” he says quietly, an embarrassed look on his face. “But there’s running water. For now, anyway. You can take a shower, if you want. How are you feeling?”

He looks…different.

You’re use to the soldier, with the rifle on his back and the bulky gear. Instead, the version standing in front of you is much…friendlier? Grey sweats and a plain t-shirt, feet still stuffed into his army-issue boots, but the laces are loose. There’s a tattoo around his bicep you’ve never seen before, like barbed wire wrapped all the way around.

And the look he’s giving is the polar opposite of the Signature Stare you’ve grown so used to.

“Here,” he says, his voice dropping low, handing you a bottle of water. “How are you feeling?” he asks again, and you crack open the bottle, take a long sip. “Scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, half into the bottle, sipping again. “Thank you.”

He just nods.

“How long was I out?”

“Couple hours,” he replies, running a hand through his hair. Something in the back of your mind twinges; his hair looks soft, and you wonder how it would feel if you—

Nope.

“I should go,” you say, capping the bottle again. “Deanna is probably—”

“Ready to rip you a new one,” Cowan tells you, and the corner of his mouth quirks. “I went and told her what happened, after I brought you back here. She’s less than impressed with you.”

You groan loudly, tipping your head back on your shoulders. “Fuck.”

“You can hide out here a little longer,” he offers, shrugging, arms crossed across his chest. You find your eyes lingering on the bulge of his bicep beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt and immediately rip your eyes away. He’s good-looking, there’s no getting around that, but… “Take a shower, like I said. I’ve got patrols in a few hours. I told her about your family, too, so I’m sure she’ll go easier on you than you think.”

Your family.

The realization sets in almost anew, the memory sending a shiver surging up your spine. Your hands tighten on the water bottle, and you blink hard, willing the tears away. You nod so hard your neck hurts with the movement, swallowing hard. “Shower sounds good.”

Cowan leads you across the apartment, opens the bathroom door for you. “There’s towels under the sink,” he says, pointing to the most-intact vanity. It’s clean —the cleanest bathroom you’ve seen since the the outbreak — but still has that little tinge of destruction. The mirror’s cracked, the glass shattered in its frame, spidering outward like someone tried to put their fist through it. Bad luck. “Use whatever’s in the shower, the hot water lasts thirty minutes tops but…” He trails off, rubbing his bicep. “Take as long as you need. I’ll grab you a change of clothes.”

You just nod, stepping into the bathroom. The tiles feel almost foreign under your feet, and you get undressed, your hands almost shaking as you go. You catch a glimpse of your bare form in the cracked mirror, the spidery lines shattering the reflection. You can see the scars on your shoulder, from Dean, and the spot seems to throb, a phantom reminder of what happened, what brought you here.

Meeting your own eyes in the shards of glass makes something in you ache, your mind spinning as you remember the information Cowan had relayed. It sits heavily in your chest, a dark mark across your heart that makes everything in you ache. Tearing your eyes from the mirror, you cross to the shower, crank the heat as high as you can tolerate and step under the spray, pulling the curtain into place behind you.

The hot water makes you cry, the feeling of being truly clean making every emotion you’re already feeling turn overwhelming. You plant your hands on the tiled wall, bend your head beneath the water, letting it pour down your body, washing away the dirt that you couldn’t seem to rid yourself of no matter how many wipes they gave you. It wasn’t the same. 

It’s a comfort, standing under there for as long as you do. Something you’d taken for granted, before. Your mind wanders as you wash your hair, digging your nails into your scalp and savouring in the bubbles that pour down your arms.

You think about Joel.

He swore he’d find you. His voice lingers in the back of your head almost daily, a reoccurring whisper that pushes you forward. He knows you’re in Boston, so it made sense then, that he wouldn’t be in Austin, that they wouldn’t have record of him. But that still doesn’t mean that he made it, that he’s still alive. You know he’s capable, knows how to protect himself. If he’s still with Tommy, they’ll take care of each other, and Sarah. 

You don’t know where they are. You don’t know what path will bring them to you, if any. Cowan’s voice joins the volley in your head.

You will die out there.

You know he’s right. And now…there are people here that are starting to depend on you. Deanna could handle herself, you know that, but it doesn’t mean she should have to. And the kids…

Maybe leaving Boston isn’t the right answer.

Maybe all you can do is hope and pray to whoever’s still listening that Joel makes it, that they get to Boston, that he keeps his promise. It’s a thin thread of hope, you know, and it tugs at your heart all the same, pricking tears in your eyes, and you let them fall, let them mix with the water as it swirls down the drain. 

You can keep hoping, keep praying, keep dreaming, but there are no guarantees, not anymore.

You use up all the hot water, and stay under the spray even when it goes cold. The shock wakes you up, clears your head some, hardens your decision. When you finally push back the curtain, there’s a stack of clothes sitting on the edge of the sink, an army green t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, thick socks. You pull it all on, towel dry your hair, steal some of the lotion on the edge of the sink, coating your hands and rubbing it into your face, your chest, your shoulders. There’s mouthwash on the counter too, and you savour the burn of the mind, the tingling behind your teeth.

The apartment is darker when you step out of the bathroom, more of the lights turned off, and the world outside the windows is a lightening shade of orange, the sun rising in the sky. Cowan stands by the window, a walkie-talkie clipped to the waist of his sweats, arms crossed over his chest. He’s just staring out, his brow hard, jaw set. Only when the floor creaks under your socked feet does he look up, and just stares at you as you cross the floor, joining him by the window.

“Feel better?”

“Best I’ve felt in weeks,” you admit, pushing your fingers through your damp hair. “Given the circumstance.” You feel heat rising in your face, the weight of his gaze almost too much. “Thank you, Cowan, for what you did.”

He reaches out, catches your free hand with his, and you freeze, watching his fingers curl around yours, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles, almost the same as he had in the radio room. “Call me Nick.”

You inhale slightly, feeling the air between you grow thick. You swallow around the lump in your throat, finding you can’t pull your hand from his. You don’t want to.

It’s a comfort.

“I’ll take you back to the fence in the morning,” he says, eyes trained on your linked hands, “if you still want to go.”

“No,” you say, and the word falls so heavily out of your mouth you think for a moment you might topple over. “I…I’m gonna stay. Here. In Boston.”

Cowan’s — Nick’s — eyes lift, and you’re surprised to see the dark shade of blue seems a bit brighter. “Really?”

“You’re right,” you continue, finally pulling your hand from his, tucking your hands against your sides and turning towards the window. “I’d die out there. Who knows if I’d even make it out of the state.”

He huffs a laugh. “I think you’d get that far, at least. But beyond that, it’s anyone’s game.”

You nod slowly. “Besides, there are people here now that…the kids, Deanna, I…I can’t leave.” Nick’s mouth quirks in a grin. “People’d miss me too much.”

The grin widens slightly. “You’re right. They would.”

You avert your eyes, staring out the window instead, at the city below. The building is in the heart of FEDRA’s set up, the ground below crawling with trucks and soldiers. The sky is slowly getting brighter, and you rub at your eyes; you’re exhausted.

“I’d miss you,” Nick says, his voice low, almost hoarse. “Just so you know.”

You turn your head slowly, arms still wrapped around your middle. “Would you?”

“Yeah,” he replies, almost sheepish, still grinning, a blush rising in his cheeks. “My patrols have gotten boring without you.”

Your brow twitches. “You kept your distance.”

“I knew you’d try to make a break for it again,” he says and you suddenly realize the space between you has gotten a little smaller. “Didn’t wanna get attached.”

He’s close. Too close. Close enough that you can feel his breath on your neck, and a shiver wracks through you when his palm lands on the small of your back, fingers tapping against your spine. You let your eyes flutter shut, breath hitching in your chest. Nick bends his neck, lowers his face closer to yours, and you inhale sharply when you feel the brush of his mouth over yours. You freeze.

“I can’t.”

He pulls away instantly, straightening, his cheeks a fiery red now, that same brightness in his eyes. “It’s okay,” he tells you, and puts more space between you again, removing his hand from your back. “Can I ask you something?”

Your curl your fingers in the fabric of the t-shirt, over your ribs. “Yeah.”

“Was it Tommy Miller,” he starts, and your chest prickles, “or Joel?”

“Joel,” you reply, almost instantly, and his name tastes almost sour on your tongue. “It was Joel.”

“You and him…?”

You nod. “Yeah. Me and him.”

“I get it,” he says, and when you finally find it in you to look at him, his face makes you freeze again. “I had someone too. Before.” He shakes his head, and you don’t mis the fact that his eyes are almost glassy. “You’re just…”

You’re not quite sure what makes you do it. Your body is not your own for a moment, thrown off-kilter by the infinite loop of thoughts running through your head. Joel. Your parents. Anna. Tommy. Sarah. Deanna. Henry. Emily. Nick. On and on it goes, making your blood thrum.

“Nick,��� you say, simple, short. He lifts his head. You reach out, curl your fingers in the collar of his shirt, and haul him against you, your mouth seeking his. It’s a hot kiss, a desperate one, and when his hand fists at your hip, your blood sings louder.

It’s a comfort.

+

FIVE YEARS LATER

+

You wake up with a start. You fell asleep.

Fuck.

There’s a heavy arm around your waist, blankets tugged up to your chest. You rub the sleep from your eyes, crack your wrist, glance at your watch. Nearly half past six. Shit.

“Fuck,” you whisper out, and push at the arm around you. “Wake up.”

Nick stirs, but only barely, nosing at your shoulder, grumbling against your skin. You push harder, planting a palm against his shoulder and nearly shoving. His eyes are still shut, stupidly long lashes fanning his cheeks, and you kick off the blanket, grabbing your jeans off the floor of his bedroom, immediately standing and pulling them on.

“Get up, Nick,” you say, your voice still thick with sleep, but louder. “We’re late.”

He rolls into the space you’d been occupying, bunching your pillow under his head. “Not me. Switched shifts with McCoy.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky.”

You grab your shirt next, pulling it over your head. Jacket after that, bag looped over your head, gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans. Socks yanked on, feet shoved into boots, laces yanked tight.

“Got some coffee yesterday,” Nick mumbles, face half-buried in the pillow. “That good shit you like.”

“I don’t have time,” you say, stepping out of his reach when he lifts a hand towards you, eyes raking over you. “I wasn’t supposed to stay over. You know that.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Best kept secret in the QZ.”

You scoff. “Maybe not the best, but close.”

“Tell Deanna I say hello.”

“Sure.”

His eyes slip closed, and you head out of the bedroom. McCoy’s bedroom door is closed, and you go straight past it, walking towards the living room, the window beyond. You jimmy the lock, slide up the glass, and slip out onto the fire escape.

It took them almost a year to put up the wall. More Infected showed up, drawn to the lights and sounds and smells of the city. They bombed again, heavier the second time, and a few of the buildings toppled, their construction weakened to shit. You watched it from your window. 

They moved the survivors into the low-rise buildings towards the middle of the QZ. FEDRA soldiers took the apartments around the outside. Over time, more people showed up — survivors — and once FEDRA had scanners to find out if someone was infected or not, the numbers grew.

So did the bodies.

The curfew stuck, though people cut it close more often than not. It started with a little slap on the wrist, a stern warning from a soldier, but as time wore on, it got worse. Service fines, ration cuts, nights spent in FEDRA lockup. After a few years, it became public beatings, weeks in lockup instead of days.

You made it a point to learn every route in the city. The bombings from before the wall went up had still left some destruction, and you used it to your advantage. Including a route you discovered went right under the wall, popping you back up right on the other side.

You push the limits. You venture out as far as you dare — always with the bat in hand — and start to sift through the rubble. There are things to be found, stuff that hasn’t been taken yet. Stuff that could be worth something, to the right people.

Shortly after the Baltimore QZ falls, FEDRA revamps their communication. The radio room where you’d learned the fate of your family is abandoned by the soldiers, but the civilians are quick to swoop in and pick at what’s left behind. An older man named Abe, who came to Boston with his family from Rhode Island, takes over. He’s good with the connections, knows how to work the wires from his own time in the army, and starts sending messages for people, in exchange for ration tickets and other things.

Abe likes to smoke, you learn, and you stop by the radio room once a week, every Monday at noon, and in exchange for a pack of cigarettes, he sends a message to each of the remaining QZs, and asks after the Millers. You find a whole carton in an abandoned gas station outside the wall to keep the habit going. Abe also shows you how to use the radio, how to send out the transmissions, and you start finding other people beyond the wall, people that want to trade, people who are just doing the same thing you are. Surviving.

You don’t tell Nick. Not at first.

Things with Nick just…happen. He doesn’t push, neither do you. It’s a lot of sneaking around. He figures out what you’re doing, that you’re going beyond the wall, testing the limits, smuggling things in and out of the border. You know it puts a target on your back, which means Nick can’t be seen with you. If the higher ups in FEDRA knew, they’d take you both out, no questions asked. You time your moves right, using Nick’s patrols to your advantage, occasionally finding things for him to sweeten the deal. Maybe it’s an abuse of power; you know he has feelings, feelings you don’t — can’t — reciprocate, but everything else is just…

It’s a comfort. A warm body. A guilty pleasure, heavy on the guilt.

Every time someone new walks up to the wall, gets shuffled through the gates and processed by the FEDRA system, spat out the other side if they’re clean, disappeared if they’re not, you hope. Every single goddamned time, you hope it’s Joel. Or Tommy. Sarah. Your sister. Someone. It crawls up your throat unbidden; you can’t help it. You’ve stopped asking Nick on the days he works the gate; he just tells it to you straight. “Not today.”

But still, every single time, you hope. Even as months fade into years, and before you know it, half a decade have passed since the outbreak, since the start of what felt like the end. You’re still paying Abe with cigarettes to send your messages, still waiting for the day he tells you he got a response. 

You’re still here, so why can’t they be too?

The sun is just peeking over the edge of the wall as you slip down the fire escape. You really weren’t supposed to stay over with Nick. It’s a bad habit, one you know makes him happy, and part of you wants to give it to him, as some kind of repayment for your own selfishness. Doing it puts you both in harm’s way, but…guilty pleasure.

It’s spring, the snows long melted, grass sprouting between cracks in the sidewalk. You keep your head down as you drop into the alley, boots crunching on the gravel that covers the pavement. You’re forever kicking shards of glass out of the way, picking them from the soles of your shoes.

There are already soldiers out doing the rounds, some perched on street corners, guns close at hand. You pull up the hood of your coat, make sure the back is covering the waist of your jeans, the handgun sticking out. You pull your shirt down too, just to be safe.

It’s a quick trek from the soldiers barracks to the citizens housing. Especially since you have all the shortcuts memorized — FEDRA has blocked off more than a few buildings, for “safety concerns”, but that hasn’t stopped you from finding ways through.

When you moved to the new housing, they gave you your own unit. Deanna stayed with the kids, a few floors up, and you stayed over most nights. Your own place became a cache of sorts, most of the floorboards loose, all manner of goodies you’d found over the years stashed beneath the worn hardwood. The floral-patterned wallpaper was a bit of an eyesore, but you didn’t much care. It was yours.

You stop at your own place first, change your shirt, stash your gun, clean your face. You’d done a deal down in the subway tunnels the day before, and you weren’t fool enough to go unarmed. You only wasted ammo on people; you saved the bat for the Infected.

By the time you make it up to Deanna’s place, you can hear them all awake, having breakfast. Henry’s in a mood, shouting, “I just think it’s stupid!” by way of greeting. Emily jumps up from her chair the moment you’re through the door, running to you and through her arms around your leg.

“Hi, kiddo.”

She just grins in response. After the mall, she hadn’t said a word, and no matter what you or Deanna or the FEDRA doctors did, she wouldn’t. It wasn’t until Henry finally talked about it, months after you’d left the mall, that it started to make sense. She’d been sitting right there, when Tim turned. She’d watched her father kill her mother, right in front of her.

But you’ve always been able to make her smile. It’s something.

Deanna pushes a mug of coffee into your hands as you sink into the kitchen chair besides Henry. Emily takes the seat next to you, returning to her crayons and colouring but still holding your free hand. “What’s stupid?” you ask, sipping the coffee. It’s instant stuff, nasty, but you’ll take whatever caffeine you can get after the night you had.

“Math,” Henry groans, tipping his head back and glowering at you. “Did you have to learn this stuff, when you were in school?”

“I did,” you agree, nodding, reaching out and running your palm over Emily’s head as she focuses on her colouring. “I didn’t like it either.”

Deanna looks over her shoulder at you from where she’s stood at the stove. “Don’t encourage him, please.”

You wink at Henry before pulling the notebook in front of him towards you. “What are you working on? Fractions?”

He nods. “It’s stupid. The world ended, why do I have to learn math?”

You can’t stop yourself from chuckling, sipping your coffee as Deanna makes for the table, handing you a plate of eggs. “World’s not over yet, kid,” she tells Henry, reaching over and pinching his cheek. “We’re still here.”

“That still doesn’t mean I should have to learn math,” he grumbles, but returns to his breakfast, picking up his pencil again.

Emily tugs on your hand, pointing to her picture, and you lean over, grinning at the butterfly she’s drawn, the page loud with colour. “Pretty!” She slides the paper for you and you gasp. “For me?” She nods, grinning broadly, and you lean over and kiss her cheek. “Thank you, sweet pea.”

Deanna glances between the kids, waiting until they’re too engrossed in their fractions and crayons to listen to either of you. “All clear?” she asks, peering at you over the rim of her coffee cup.

“No issues,” you reply, sipping your coffee again and setting the mug in front of you. “Subway’s still empty. I gotta make a run through the museum next week; guys from Providence are bringing the good stuff.”

“Pills and bullets?”

“Bullets and pills,” you agree, pushing a hand through your hair. “Nick says hello.”

Deanna’s eyes go hard for a fraction of a second. She’s never really approved of your…situation with Nick, especially not after you started the smuggling. Yes, it benefited the civilians in the QZ, but you traded with some of the FEDRA soldiers too, in exchange for ration cards, medicine, whatever they had to offer. It made the target bigger, and she didn’t like the idea of you in the line of fire — though she knew she couldn’t stop you. Dragging Nick in with you just made it worse, in her eyes.

She ignores it, setting her mug on the table too. “You working today?”

You nod. “Food bank. Full day, pays well. I’ll bring you some cards tonight.”

“Good,” she agrees, nodding. “I need you to go by the pharmacy, if you can. Math genius over here needs a new inhaler.” She juts her chin towards Henry, and he glares at her, earning a laugh from the older woman as she pinches his cheek again.

You down the rest of the coffee, wincing when you get to the dregs and the remnants grit your teeth. “Orange or blue?”

“One of each, if they’ve got ‘em,” she answers, rubbing at her brow. “I asked when I was in the clinic the other day. They said they didn’t have any, but I call bullshit. Heard the other nurses say they got fresh shipments in earlier in the week. No way they got through it that fast.”

“Or traded it all away,” you say, getting to your feet. You cross the kitchen, put your mug in the sink. 

“Either way, you know how to work those assholes behind the counter. They see me coming and they try to charge me double.”

“I’ll get it done.”

Deanna gets out of her chair, comes and stands beside you at the sink. She puts her own mug down, flicks on the water. The pipes rattle. “I know you will, honey.” Her face pinches. “See if you can find something good, for the kids? Em’s having a rough go. That’s the first smile I’ve seen in days.”

You nod, repeating yourself with a hand on Deanna’s shoulder. “I’ll get it done.”

The day goes mostly normal.

You work the first half of your shift at the food bank before one of Abe’s sons comes looking for you. You cut your shift short, take what cards you’ve earned, and head for the radio room. Abe’s busy with someone when you walk inside, but slides a notepad towards you, words scrawled in red ink.

Providence - museum - TODAY.

“Fuckers,” you grumble, but take the note, nod in thanks to Abe and make a mental note to find a new carton of cigarettes while you’re out. You stuff the paper in your pocket, heading to the pharmacy next. You recognize the soldiers behind the counter; you’ve traded with both of them before. “I need two inhalers.”

Like Deanna said, they try to charge you double the number of cards you know to be the price, but you’re not about to let that fly.

“You kidding?”

One of them puts a hand on the pistol strapped to her thigh. “We don’t make the rules.”

You scoff. “The fuck you don’t. They’re for a ten-year-old orphan. You should be giving them to me for free.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel bad?”

“You should feel bad,” you throw back, leaning on the counter, giving her a hard stare. “You should also remember that I have dirt on you, Angie. So I’d watch your mouth before you try to screw me any harder. I’ll pay half. That’s it.”

Her throat bobs, and the other soldier stares at her expectantly. She slides the inhalers across the counter. “Half.”

You pull the cards out of your pocket, toss them towards her. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

You stash the inhalers in your bag and leave before they can give you any more shit.

The trade with the guys from Providence goes off without a hitch. Few bottles of pills, couple baggies of something…stronger, and an array of ammunition. In exchange, you give them first aid supplies, rations that’ll actually last on the road, a few books they’d requested specifically, vegetable seeds, and to sweeten the deal just a tad, a few porno mags, of…varying appetites.

You do some scavenging while you’re out, having traded your handgun for the baseball bat. The leather around the handle has frayed over the years, and you’ve wrapped it up with tape. You still wipe it down when you can, keep it by your bedside every night.

Your bag is full by the time you’re headed back for the QZ; you hit the jackpot in one of the little boutique shops near the museum. A bunch of knickknacks you’re sure someone will appreciate, yarn for Deanna, and for the kiddos: board games.

It’s cutting it close, when you make your way back. You have both McCoy and Nick’s patrol routes memorized, and as per usual, you time it right, taking a path that leads right from the top of the wall and through the top level of one of the closed-off buildings. He’s standing on the pavement when you slide down the ladder into the alleyway, boots splashing in the rainwater. He keeps his back to you, gun brandished in that casual way only FEDRA soldiers can. You pull up the hood of your jacket, wipe the rain from your cheeks as it pelts down on you.

Nick doesn’t look at you as you walk out of the alley, pausing on the sidewalk beside him. You don’t chance a glance at him, bending to retie one of your laces. “You good?” he asks under his breath.

You just nod, disguising it as a nonchalant look across the street. “Yep.”

“Deanna’s looking for you,” he says, still not glancing at you, keeping a good few feet between you two. “Sounded urgent.”

That grabs your attention, and you turn to face him. “Are the kids okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine,” he answers, his tone going softer. “She came by about an hour ago, asked if I had seen you, said to tell you to find her once you got back. Wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

Your brow crinkles, and you nod. “Thanks.”

You feel uneasy as you turn on your heel, heading in the direction of your building. The sky is an unkind shade of grey, the rain soaking quickly through your jacket, wetting your hair beneath your hood. It’s sticking to the back of your neck by the time you get inside, and you push your hood back, wiping the droplets from your face as you head for the stairs. You head straight for Deanna’s, your bag feeling heavier on your shoulders with every step.

Your heart jumps into your throat when you approach the door, hearing voices from the other side. The doorknob feels unusually cold in your grip, and when you push it open, you nearly crumble onto Deanna’s kitchen floor.

Tommy Miller is sitting at her table, those big brown eyes instantly shiny with tears when he sees you standing in the doorway. 

He leaps out of his chair and crosses to the door, pulling you into the same kind of bear hug he’d once cornered you with in your parents’ hardware store. You can’t stop the gasp that falls out of you, followed immediately by tears, and hug him back hard, curling your fingers in his flannel shirt, holding him tightly to you. “Tommy?” you breathe out, half convinced this isn’t real, that you’re dreaming. Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up, please don’t—

“You have no idea how good it is to see you, darlin’,” he says softly, the smile evident in his voice. You’re shaking, your eyes squeezed tight, just holding him to you. If Tommy’s here, then that could mean…

You cut the thought short, pulling back enough that you can look at him. He’s the same as you remember, if not a little worn at the edges, but you have no doubt you look the same to him. His hair’s a little longer, facial hair that suits him well long his jaw and upper lip. He looks…intact. Alive.

“What are you…?” you breathe out, almost choking on the questions. “How did you…?”

He cups your cheek his his big palm, giving you a smile that makes everything in you twist tight with happiness. “Heard a rumour Boston was letting veterans into the QZ, thought we’d take the chance.” His grin widens. “It worked out.”

Your mind snags on the we. “You…?” You nearly stumble back a step, held in place only by him. Your heart sinks into your stomach, your breath hitching. “Tommy, is he—”

“He is,” Tommy nods, the movement almost furious. “Joel’s alive.”

PREV | NEXT

[noodyl-blasstal]

Super-ish

It's day 9 of @taznovembercelebration and I drew "superhero AU". Taako's speed dating to save the puppy orphans!

Read below or on Ao3 and find yesterday's prompt here.

--

The bell clangs loudly and it can't come soon enough. It's a melody, a sweet symphony of horrible bell janglies because it means Taako gets to move on.

When Magnus told him there was a speed dating event to raise money for the puppy orphanage Taako definitely, 100%, absolutely told him it was a fucking stupid idea. He knows those words came out of his face, near certainly followed by 'what nerd's gonna show up to that?' Apparently him? Apparently he's the nerd that's gonna show up to it. He doesn't know how it happened, it's like he blacked out and woke up with at least twenty of the worst men in the city taking turns to talk at him.

Magnus looks so pleased with himself, he and Julia are holding hands, even when Magnus rings the bell. They keep looking at him expectantly every time too. He has to keep giving them a small head shake and destroying their dreams of finally pairing him off and getting to go on double dates. Taako's the perma third wheel baby, get used to it.

Honestly, Taako was sick of his single status, and maybe that was how Magnus wore him down. He tried at first, he did, but there were only so many times he could be talked at tonight. His most promising match so far seemed to be the spider magician. If he wasn't in a fucking cult he'd probably be a great bet, but the guy's deep in the sauce. Also, Taako and Brian?? Terrible. There's no mystery in it. What are they gonna portmanteau to? Taian? Braako? Bad. No way. Taako needs sophistication, he needs...

"Kravitz." Says the, admittedly handsome, dude he plunks himself down opposite. Something's gotta be wrong with him. He's wearing a three piece suit, a nice one, his tie has a tasteful skull pattern and Taako wanted to inspect his raven collar pin. He wanted to inspect a lot of things about Kravitz. Corporate goth with flair, most other people were in jeans and a t-shirt... or their spider magic uniform.

"So, what're you in for?" Taako asks. He's long given up on the suggested questions on the sheet. He doesn't know if he cares about this guy's job yet, or if he wants kids or likes sports.

"I'm here to find true love, obviously... Taako?" Kravitz glances at Taako's name badge and actually pronounces it right, suspect behaviour, if you ask him, along with taking this seriously.

Kravitz manages to hold his face in a sappy smile for a few moments before he cracks and laughs. "My friend bullied me into it. Bought me a ticket, drove me here with her wife. I've actually possibly been kidnapped - do you think I need to tell anyone?"

"Hmmm, are you having a bad time? I think it's only kidnap of you're not enjoying yourself."

"Then it's partial kidnap. I wasn't having a good time before , but I am now."

Okay, so he was funny too, funny and handsome, Taako likes funny and handsome. Taako can work with funny and handsome, especially if he keeps flirting.

"How about you? Why are you here?" Kravitz asks and leans in like he's interested in the answer.

"I have no idea. Not in a 'they knocked me out and put me in a trunk and now I'm here' way, more a 'my friend turned every ounce of his enthusiasm on me and I got caught in the tractor beam and now I'm here' way."

Kravitz nods sympathetically, like he understands, like the same thing could happen to anyone.

"That's him, over there, staring intently at us right now." Taako waggles his fingers at Magnus, who raises his eyebrows questioningly. "He's the most married man I know who isn't my brother in law."

"Gross." Says Kravitz happily and waves at Magnus too, probably giving him false hope. Magnus looks delighted.

"Anyway..." says Kravitz, "...down to business, if you could fly to the moon via any object and have one cheese as a snack, what would you choose?" Kravitz picks up his pen to take notes like he's taking this seriously, like he's considering Taako as a life partner. Wild.

But... the thing is, Taako likes to win.

"Unicorn." He replies immediately. "With two horns. If Taako's going to the moon he's gonna go in style."

"What's the unicor... Binicorn? called?" Okay, Kravitz is operating near his level, he knows how to play.

"Binicorn, thank you for respecting Garyl's identity. Now, cheesewise, cheesewise you got me because there's options, see, there's manchego because it's smooth and it's got the fun texture; but could cha'boy whip up a baked camembert with hot honey and garlic?"

Kravitz considers for a moment, then nods. "I'll allow it." He jots some things down on his black notepad with his silver ink pen. It was covered in tiny bats.

Taako admires the commitment to aesthetic theme. Taako also desperately, passionately, needs to know what he's writing. It'd better be "hottest man alive, great cheese opinions, 69/10"

"But the problem is, the problem is, that cave aged cheddar exists. It's got the bits."

"The mineral chunks!" Kravitz adds with enthusiasm.

"A man of taste I see!"

"I like to think so."

Kravitz sounds like he's flirting. Taako was probably flirting? He oozed it apparently, had no idea it was happening most of the time. People got angry about it sometimes, but you can't lead someone on if you don't know you're doing it.

"How about you, cheese and object?"

"Giant raven, mozzarella shreds straight out of the bag." Kravitz doesn't even look ashamed.

He's disgusting, he's perfect.

The bell rings, loud and unwelcome. It's far too soon, Magnus clearly fucked up the timings, but some guy is walking over here like he's planning to sit down?

"Keep it moving, kemosabe, this seat's taken."

Maybe he should have checked with Kravitz before engaging this plan, but he hasn't objected, so Taako's going to assume he's on board.

Magnus looks confused and gives the bell another jangle while looking straight at Taako - which means he misses the chaos it causes as everyone else stands up and rotates again. Julia tugs their conjoined hands and gently guides him away from ringing a third time.

"Nope." Taako doesn't even look round at the second guy. He's absolutely not budging, this is the first conversation even vaguely worth his time. Goth boy is his now, actually.

"Thank you." Kravitz looks relieved enough that Taako doesn't feel any guilt. "You're stuck with me now, you can't throw me back into the man pit."

"If you insist, but the man pit sounds intriguing."

"The man mines?"

"Yeah, okay, Taako doesn't do heavy labour."

"I bet you did while you were carrying all those prior conversations." Kravitz wiggles his eyebrows, dork.

"Speaking of which what's your shit superpower?" Taako asks. "I mean, you can tell Taako if you can stop time or whatever too, cha'boy isn't a snitch, but this is about the day to day powers." Taako kind of hopes he can stop time, honestly, then he doesn't have to worry about Magnus' bell ringing.

"I run the perfect bath every time." Kravitz barely hesitates, just has it ready to go.

"You know how you like your bath?" Taako's not convinced Kravitz understands the question.

"Oh, no, you misunderstand me, anyone, no matter who, I can run them the perfect bath." Kravitz looks totally confident. It's weirdly sexy. Maybe it has been too long since Taako dated...

"Run many baths for strangers, have you?"

Kravitz winces slightly, oh, now Taako's intrigued.

"There was this whole thing in college." Kravitz begins.

This sounds like it's going to get unhinged. Taako needs to know this story right now immediately. He rests his chin on his hand and may or may not flutter his eyelashes a little, no one can prove anything one way or another.

Kravitz looks like he's running sums in his head, big ones, difficult ones, with scary number teeth.

"You can't dangle something like that and then stop!" Taako needs to hear.

"It... well... when I..." Kravitz starts, then seems to find his feet. "Sloane, my married friend, off of kidnapping me fame."

Taako nods to show he follows.

"We went to college together, in Goldcliff."

Taako winces.

"Yeah, exactly. We were full ride scholarships, but most people were so posh and so rich and so unaware. The cost of everything there was ridiculous - so we needed money."

It's a shame Kravitz isn't loaded, but at least he's not saddled with college debt and was smart enough for someone to give him money about it.

"I ran Sloane a bath one time after she had a hellish shift at the roller skate diner and I guess she mentioned offhand that I ran the perfect bath because Johann asked if I'd do one for him and he was a friend so I did and he loved it." There's definitely pride in his tone. This is incredible, Taako wants to study him. Lup's gonna get a kick out of this.

"Sloane thought it was the perfect rich people nonsense magnet - pay 40 quid for the perfect bath. Pocket change to them, a week of food for us."

Taako nods as if this is a reasonable plan, a completely normal thing to do with one's time. "Bath consultant, right, of course."

"Oh, no, no no Taako, there's no consultation, I just do it. Wham, bam, perfect bath every time. It was weird enough that they'd pay it to test it out, and then they'd tell their friends and their friends would test it out. Snowballing. Bathballing." Kravitz looks so earnest, so keen for Taako to understand the magnitude of his powers.

"You bathballed your way through college?" Taako adores this man. He's going to pick him up so carefully, take him home and put him in a special box and just look at him.

Kravitz nods. "What can I say? I'm talented."

He looks so self confident, so pleased with himself, Taako's probably being goaded right now... But, but...

"What kind of bath do I like?"

"I can't tell you."

"Is it illegal?"

"I can't describe the perfect bath, and if I tried you might do something that gives me an indication of what you like which is cheating. I don't need to cheat. I have to just do it."

Okay, Taako's in. "What're you doing after this, handsome?"

"Running you a bath?"

"You can run us both a bath, if you'd like."

Kravitz's smile is wide, but he pretends to take a second to consider anyway. "Hmmm... What's your shit power? You'll need to show me yours if I show you mine."

Taako laughs lightly. "You're never going to believe this, Kraveroo, but cha'boy makes the perfect breakfast. Whatever you're craving in the morning will be what Taako already decided to make."

"I can't wait."

-

I hope you enjoyed! Want to read more? Find the next prompt here.

[cock-holliday]

The whole “how will anarchism account for insulin” or any similar gotcha is so funny because of how it not only misunderstands anarchism but also misunderstands how things are handled currently.

It’s very similar to gotchas over prison abolition. “If we don’t enforce x by threat of prison and police brutality, how are we gonna stop it?” We don’t stop it with threat of prison and police brutality.

When anarchists call for removal of state oversight, the assumption is that the perspective is the same as republicans. When I say “I hate Joe Biden”, it doesn’t mean my ire towards him is for the same reason as those from the opposite direction. In fact, my ire often comes from the current system enabling my opposition. The same with insulin.

BUCKLE UP FOR AN ESSAY

Assuming these discussions are actually based in fruitful curiosity and not a horniness for the state, let’s debunk a few issues:

Item 1: Deregulated means unsafe, regulated means safe.

One of the big concerns is without STATE oversight, things won’t be safely made. The assumption then is that state oversight makes things safe. State oversight is conceptually neutral, and depends on what the state wants. Yes, it is in poor taste to off your citizens and generally they wanna keep the populous around, but that’s not always how things operate in practice.

In reproductive healthcare, under the guise of “safety” a series of laws referred to as TRAP Laws, over-regulate abortion providers with the intention of closing them down. Your hallways must be this wide. You must have x equipment you won’t use. You have to have this type of doorway. The intent is to red-tape these facilities into closing. It’s not about safety, it’s about control.

When it comes to covid vaccines, companies held patents that prevented “unpermitted” groups to produce their own vaccines and forced a dependance on the patent-holders. And by “groups” I mean entire medical organizations with the skills, training, and materials to make their own safely and correctly. It wasn’t about safety, it was about profit.

In India, certain strains of potatoes are illegal to grow because Lays holds a patent on them. You are not permitted to grow your own type of food because a company holds the “rights” to these potatoes.

Native land in the US that was “granted” in the form of reservations repeatedly gets re-stolen under the insistence of a “need” for resources and pipeline access.

You’ll notice a trend. In place of “safety” is political control, in place of “rights” to something, is financial gain.

Now, not all red tape we have currently is pointed towards the people, a lot is pointed at institutions and corporations—which is what many people are afraid of losing. Republicans want to remove child labor laws, they want to add hours to the workweek, they want to cut wages, so without the laws and oversight on these entities, we’d be fucked, right?

Item 2: Corporations are held accountable NOW.

It’s true that without any of the current oversight, corporations would be even worse. Workplace safety would be worse. But leaving the analysis here is a mistake for two reasons: it assumes that what we have is due to the benevolence of the state, and assumes the regulations we have even do what they’re supposed to.

The 40 hour work week, weekends, child labor laws, workers rights, everything good about regulation we have is because those lobbying for it were seen as a reasonable compromise next to people blowing up factories, killing tycoons, and destroying company goods. Every single good thing we have on the books was fought for with blood, sweat, tears, and the bodies of children, because the state wasn’t going to grant these protections until it became unwise for THEM not to.

Now, once we HAVE these protections, what are the consequences for violating them? The state considers child labor bad, stealing wages is bad, forcing employees to work in dangerous conditions is bad—so these things don’t happen, or when they do, the consequences prevent it from happening in the future, right?

…right?

I’ve already talked a lot about labor law on my blog and how amazingly toothless it is, but I’ll give a sparknotes version here for those who don’t know. Your boss stealing your wages, your boss employing children, your boss employing undocumented workers, your boss forcing you to work in unsafe conditions…will most often not face CRIMINAL legal consequences. The consequences they will face are under LABOR law, and the consequences for labor violations are: 1. Injunction (I prommy not to do it again) 2. Remedy (reinstating unfairly fired worker, financial compensation, etc) 3. Fines. That’s it.

No jailtime. And when it comes to fines, when the financial punishment is so minuscule as it usually is, it is not a deterrent, it becomes a cost of operation.

Now, you might be thinking “wow LJ, you paint a really bleak picture of people, things sound so bad” I want to say no, this is a bleak picture of corporations. Regulation or a lack thereof is tied to FINANCIAL INCENTIVE. It is not a reflection of people in general.

Item 3: Without fear of punishment, people will do whatever they want.

Workers on an assembly line don’t add corn and sawdust to foods because they feel like it, they are directed to by a boss who stands to make a profit by cutting down on what is real in their food. Medical industries trying out new products stand to gain money from introducing a product before it is ready. Construction workers pouring concrete have no incentive to make a bridge incorrectly, but the company shaves off some expenses by cutting corners. Financial gain AND MONOPOLY GRANTED BY POWER is what makes this cycle continue. Individual greed does not have this kind of devastation. A worker stealing from work, someone fudging their time card, doesn’t have this kind of impact because the devastating impact requires power and hierarchy.

We have a variety of social contracts that aren’t enforced with a big stick. People tend to all face the same way in an elevator. I won’t go to jail for spitting on my friend, so what stops me? No one is legally mandated to hold doors for each other or help your neighbor with groceries or donate to charity. Likewise, no one is punished for the opposite.

If a worker knows something isn’t up to code can they do something about it? I saw a post once saying the only people who hate OSHA are business tycoons. I know plenty of steelworkers who “hate OSHA” because OSHA requires heavy gloves for protection that make it impossible to grip tools, so workers forgo them under the speed demands of their boss and get hurt, then it’s their fault. I know workers who “hate OSHA” because if they get hurt at work they have to hide it because their boss has to send them home where they can’t work per OSHA guidelines. I know glass workers who “hate OSHA” because the ear protection they have to wear is too thick for the workers to communicate, so they forgo them and when they suffer ear damage, it’s their fault. In truth, they don’t hate OSHA. But the actual application of restrictions on employer’s doesn’t help if employers don’t face actual consequences, and bend their own consequences to punish the worker trying to utilize them. Sure, your boss can’t legally hurl racist slurs at you, but if you report it and get fired, can you withstand the years and expenses of court time only for your sole compensation being “reinstatement”?

So what should be the remedy then? Prison time for bosses? Let’s circle back to prisons and abolition. Prisons are an elaborate moneymaking scheme and its tentacles are gripping a wild amount of industry. Go to your local Walmart and pick up the first item you see boldly bearing a sticker that says “made in America!” Unless it’s a local small company, chances are pretty high that it was made, grown, built by prison labor. A large portion of farmworkers are prison labor. Even more are undocumented workers not protected by even our pitiful worker protections. 1/3 of California’s firefighters are prison labor.

Item 4: The state is separate from corporate influence.

So sure, more condemnation of corporations. But what does this have to do with the state? If you want to make yourself very angry about our government, look into ALEC. ALEC is a lobbying group for congress. A lot of corporations are part of this lobbying group, and they essentially write legislation that supports their financial incentives, and then lawmakers propose it before their committees. Holding hands behind your senators are corporations and private prison industries. And lawmakers are cut in on these deals.

Constantly lawmakers are revealed to be doing insider trading, taking bribes from corporations. Not just senators and reps. But supreme court justices. Presidential cabinet members. Power, control, financial incentives. The state has an interest to maintain itself, and when the opportunity for financial gain is presented, those in power take it again and again.

And ultimately, it’s not even just the case of personal corruption. It’s “playing the game.” You can’t run for office without financial backers, since elections are a money-pissing contest. Nonprofits have to kiss ass to wealthy benefactors in order to accomplish their noble goals, and their mission and directives ultimately become overwritten by the financial desires of their backers. Wealthy people won’t support unlucrative proposals, and so justice and fairness and meaningful change has to give them a financial return. Philanthrocapitalists is a term given to those of extreme wealth who pour obscene amounts of money into a social issue and are hailed a hero for the redistribution of their wealth. In reality, the “solutions” they fund perpetuate the issue. It becomes a business. Charity is turned into a profit-generating scheme. There are entire companies where you pay money to go build houses in “third world” countries. When the projects are completed and everyone feels good about the difference they’ve made and go home, the houses are torn down to make room for the next batch of saviors.

No matter how well-meaning, no president from New York is ever going to know how to appropriately address issues plaguing rural Iowans. To address them means to empower the community facing them now. No white president will ever know how to solve issues in Black communities. Appointing a Federal Black Issues Committee will still not solve the issues at a local level, because the committee, no matter how it is structured, will not reflect the issues of every Black American.

Calls for decentralization, allowing communities to address their needs at local levels without having to jump for treats from the federal government is NOT the same as right wingers chanting “states rights.”

Corporations and state financial interests reinging supreme means that as long as those in power have a big stick to control the masses, that sort of power should not be theirs in the first place, because it will continue the cycle. “MY group should get to hold the stick because not everyone can be trusted to handle things themselves” makes you much more inclined to side with structures predicated on maintaining power (cough cough financial incentives, monopolies, hierarchy) and makes you so much more dangerous than Joe Schmoe who wants out from under a boot.

So yes, how ever will anarchists address issues like insulin and ramp building without the state?

The only meaningful way to address it is WITHOUT a state.

[digital-corruption]

Now for the epic conclusion of Infiltrator. You can read Part 1 here.

Infiltrator - Part 2

When MC came around she found herself in a large, cold warehouse space that stank of rot. It was lit by old fluorescent lights, several of which flickered on and off intermittently. It was the furthest thing from the marble empire. Her head pounded worse than a jackhammer and the metallic taste in her mouth was undoubtedly dried blood. She lifted her hand to her head to confirm her worst fear - the earphone had been removed. She was on her own.

“How stupid do you have to be?” an older male voice interrupted her awakening and walked over to MC sitting on the ground. She looked up and recognised him immediately as the CEO, Harold Bowles. Glancing around, there was at least a dozen henchmen watching from the sidelines. “Did you really think you get away with something so harebrained?”

“Why not? You get away with it every day,” she muttered.

“Yes, but I have the resources of a multinational corporation. That’s not to mention my friends in the capital,” Harold grinned.

“Ah, but I have friends in high places!” she said loudly.

“Um, ok, but I have friends in higher places,” Harold mocked her.

“One of the things I learned working this job is that I’m never alone!” she announced even louder.

“Are you talking to us or…?” one of the henchman asked.

“Oh, did you think he can hear you? Your little friend in your ear?” Harold gestured. “Yeah, he can’t hear you. Not anymore.”

“Then… am I…” MC gasped.

“That’s right, you’re done for,” he confirmed. “But either we make this quick and painless, or my friends here drag this out. Who are you working for?”

“Working for? I work for myself!” she snapped.

“You can’t be serious,” Harold shook his head.

“Maybe you heard of my group. Mystery Investigators. Inc,” MC smiled. 

“No, I can definitely say I haven’t. I would remember a stupid name like that,” he laughed.

“Hey! You don’t see me making fun of your name, Hairy Balls!” she objected.

“It’s Bowles!” he sneered.

“Well, at any rate, you should take care to remember us. We’ll be the ones to take you down,” she beamed.

“You and your little friend?” he burst out laughing. “Oh, I get it. Lau’s mother put you up to this, didn’t she? That woman would not give it up.”

“You did kill her son,” MC glared.

“I did no such thing,” he shook his head. “What I do understand is that Lau was snooping in areas he wasn’t meant to be, and found himself in trouble because of it. Kind of like you. Admit it. You have nothing on me.”

“My team right now is putting together a rock-solid case against you and will destroy you,” she said confidently.

“Nice bluff,” Harold chuckled. “Get rid of her, then locate her friend and get rid of him too.”

“Yes sir,” the lead henchman nodded.

“Oh, could you be more specific?” MC spoke up.

“What are you talking about?” Harold asked confused.

“Get rid of me like drop me back to my place or…?” she shrugged.

Harry hesitated for a moment as he thought it was pretty clear, “Kill you and dump your body, of course.”

“Won’t that be suspicious?” she pointed out.

“We have ways of making it look self-inflicted,” the lead henchman answered.

“Oh, just like Lau’s friend, who also mysteriously died,” MC concluded.

“One of my best works,” the lead henchman grinned.

“Shut up, you idiot,” Harold glared at him.

“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for clearing that up for us,” she smiled.

“What are you-“ he began, but was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing.

Harold pulled at his phone to check who was calling, but when he saw it was an unknown number, he rejected the call and put the phone back into the inside pocket of his coat. Just as he finished readjusting his coat, the phone started ringing again. He pulled it out just enough to check that it was still the unknown number and rejected the call again.

“I would really answer that if I were you,” MC commented.

“I don’t take calls from unknown numbers,” he shook his head.

Suddenly the lead henchman’s phone started ringing. Harold turned to watch him check his phone and saw it was also an unknown number.

“Don’t answer that!” Harold yelled. “It’s going to be her stupid friend. We’re not negotiating!”

The lead henchman rejected the call and started to put his phone back away, but it started ringing again almost immediately. Before he could reject it again, another henchman’s phone started ringing. Then another. Then another. Soon, the entire warehouse was full of the sound of ringtones. The henchmen all desperately tried to reject the calls, but their phones would not respond. Harold’s phone started ringing again, but this time he was so freaked out he answered it. All of the phones responded to the call acceptance. All of the phones’ screens changed to a red eye on a black ground.

<<Harold Bowles, I will give you one chance to release that woman. Failure to do so will have severe repercussions for you and your friends.>> the unmistakeable distorted voice echoed through the room as it came through all of the phones’ speakerphones. <<You thought that by destroying her phone and earpiece that you would be untouchable in that location. You’re not. I already have you surrounded.>>

“You’re bluffing,” Harold shook his head in disbelief.

<<Are you sure that is a risk you want to take?>> Jake questioned.

Suddenly all of the phones changed to a live feed, each showing a different view – each showing their owner from above. They all looked up in unison and saw a mass of drones hovering above in the upper rafters of the warehouse, at least double their numbers.

“I told you I have friends in high places,” MC chortled.

“They’re just machines!” Harold yelled at the henchman that started to freak out. “Shoot them and then kill the girl!”

As the henchmen started to take out their sidearms, the drones fired tranquiliser darts at their targets. One by one the henchmen fell like dominoes until only Harold was standing. MC stood up, tilting her head back to look down at Harold. A single drone lifted from behind her and floated over her shoulder. She put into her ear a new earphone that the drone had just delivered to her while she held a new phone in the other hand.

“It’s over, Harry,” she grinned.

“What are you going to do? Kill me? You will never get away with it!” Harold said confidently. “Even in my death my corporation with hunt you down!”

“Oh, Harry, we’re not going to stoop to your level,” she laughed. “We don’t have to. You’re already given us everything we need.”

MC held up her new phone, showing Harold a live news feed. The news broadcast showed them just a few minutes earlier when Harold ordered the hit on MC and the henchman then confirmed that they were responsible for the death of Lau’s friend.

“Th-that’s fake news!” he yelled.

<<That will be for a jury to decide,>> Jake declared. <<Surrender now – there is no escape.>>

Darting his eyes to the side, Harold spotted a discarded gun from one of the henchman and dived for it. Before he even had his finger on the safety, a drone from above shot a tranquiliser dart at Harold. He fought the drug in his system and pointed the handgun at MC. Just as the shot rang out, the drone from over her shoulder flew in front of MC, shielding her from the gunshot. While Harold collapsed unconscious on the ground, MC screamed and fell to her knees, mourning the fallen drone.

“Why? Why!?” she sobbed. “Oh the humanity!”

<<Are you done?>> Jake spoke through the earpiece in her ear without the distortion.

“How can you say that? He just saved my life!” she continued.

<<MC. It’s a drone. I have dozens more of them,>> he reminded her.

“Drones have feelings too you know!” she exclaimed. “It’s one of your babies and that makes it a piece of you!”

The moment was interrupted by the sound of approaching police sirens. MC quickly grabbed the fallen drone and ran for the exit.

“Well, this has been another thrilling case!” MC teased.

<<MC…!>> Jake fought yelling at her for her carelessness and lying to him. He was having a hard time putting his anger into words that made sense.

However, just as she reached for the door, it opened and revealed a familiar face.

“Eric!?” MC gasped.

“MC?” Eric jumped at the sight of the fallen bodies. “What the hell happened here!?”

<<Eric, you’re late!>> Jake sneered through MC’s phone with the voice distortion on.

“I told you it was my night off!” Eric defended as he walked further into the warehouse to check the bodies.

“Awww, babe, you were worried about me?” MC giggled. “Hey, how did you find me? I thought the drones’ batteries weren’t powerful enough for tracking vehicles across the city.”

<<They’re not,>> Jake answered vaguely.

“You don’t know?” Eric questioned, glancing over shoulder.

<<Eric!>> Jake hissed.

“Know what?” MC frowned.

“He has a tracker on you,” Eric smirked.

“He what!?” MC snapped.

<<MC, please, can we talk about this later?>> Jake pleaded through the earpiece rather than the phone.

“You put a tracker on me!?” she exclaimed loudly.

<<After today, how can you blame me?>> he asked defensively. <<When you have someone that keeps diving headfirst into trouble alone, you put a tracker on them!>>

“Yeah, ok, can you two leave this for later? I have some more pressing questions for you both,” Eric interrupted. 

“Mmmm, I think I left my oven on,” MC lied.

<<You definitely did. I can see it now,>> Jake confirmed through her phone again with the distortion on.

“Jake, if you can see it is on, then you can turn it off,” Eric pointed out. “Please, don’t do this again. Don’t leave me with a scene like this and run off!”

“But the oven, he can’t turn it off. I have to do it for him,” MC explained. “So, toodeloo!”

Before Eric could utter another word, MC darted through the open doorway and ran across the parking lot outside the building to the front gate. If the fence around the property had not been barbed, she would’ve just jumped the fence. As it was, she hardly reached the alley before the police cars came streaming down the road. They stopped abruptly in front of the warehouse and cops jumped out of their cars. MC peeked around the corner to watch as Eric greeted the cops and issued orders. Confident that no one saw her, she turned away and leaned her back against the brick wall. Closing her eyes, she sighed with relief. A slight change of breeze alerted her to another presence in the alley. She opened her eyes and saw a hooded man standing before her.

“Hi!” she smiled.

“Don’t ‘hi’ me,” Jake glared from underneath his hood. “I am still mad at you.”

“And I am mad at you,” she pointed out.

“For what?” he asked confused.

“The tracker!” she reminded him.

“You’re really that upset over it?” he laughed. “Who is the one who said ‘I’ve got to go to a family thing! I will be back tomorrow!’ What would you have done if I had not broken into the mainframe?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Probably failed to get past security?”

“That’s true. Maybe I should’ve let you fail,” he looked away in anger.

MC’s stomach growled, making it clear to both of them just how hungry she was. “Chinese?” she smirked.

“Yes, sure,” Jake couldn’t help but laugh.

MC held out the broken drone, still in her clutches. “Can you fix him?”

Jake sighed, then took a quick look at the broken drone in the dim light of the night, “I don’t know. Maybe?” MC sobbed again, making Jake uncomfortable. “I’ll do what I can, ok?”

“You have to do better than that,” MC frowned.

“If the bullet shattered the board, I might as well get a new drone,” he frowned.

“Fix him!” MC insisted.

“Ok, fine! I’ll fix him!” he conceded.

“Good,” she nodded in victory. “And tell me where the tracker is!”

“No,” he laughed at her persistence.

“Well fine, maybe I won’t tell you the truth of where I’m going then,” she declared.

“That makes no sense,” he shook his head.

“What would be the fun if I ruined the surprise every time?” she reasoned.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Jake leaned his forehead down to rest against MC’s.

“But at least it won’t be boring,” she smirked.

“It’s never boring with you around,” he smiled. “But I won’t be taking my eyes off of you for a while.”

“Like you can stop me,” she teased.

“Don’t make me tie you down,” he narrowed his eyes.

“You say like that’s a bad thing,” she bit her lip suggestively.

“Um, maybe we should get out of here,” he gulped and scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah, ok, but I have no idea where we are so please lead the way,” she giggled.

Jake smiled and took her hand, “Sure, let’s go.”

The End

[halcyon-hyacinth]

i trust your leatin fic taste, so do you have any yellowjackets fic recs? btw the new haunted chapter is one of my favourites so far, it’s written so well! i can’t wait for more

Thank you!!! :)) if you ever want to see what I'm reading and really enjoying just check my ao3 bookmarks!

For Yellowjackets, I have 3 recommendations so far:

Jackie POV - shaunajackie timeloop fic of Jackie trying to stop the plane crash that ruined my life. Read it and it will destroy you. It's completed.

Nat POV lottienat oneshot my friend wrote - it's captures their characters soooo well and I love how she writes them.

Van POV fic where she's friends with Lottie - character study and a story that explores their friendship and how much in common they have with each other. I recognized the author from some lumity one shots I read a while back and enjoyed so I subbed to the fic after a chap - and its off to a really good start.

I haven't read a lot for this fandom, but now that I'm getting into it I'm open to any recs tbh. Enjoy!

Jackie snatches up the magazine and stares at it with bulging eyes. Nope, she thinks. This doesn’t mean anything. It’s only a date. Months and numbers stop mattering when you’re surrounded by indeterminate miles of pure, utter nothingness, so this month and number don’t matter to her one bit. Not anymore. She’s expired. She’s gone.

(Or: Jackie relives the day of the crash again. Then again. And again. She's going to fix this. She just has to be convinced that it's worth fixing first.)

Lottie shows up at Nat’s place in the middle of the night. Again, and again, and again.

Lottie and Van only lived next door to each other for two months, when their mom was dating some corporate lawyer who worked out of the neighboring city.

It was entirely against Van’s will, Lottie remembers, because she first introduced herself to her future teammate after seeing their stubborn 14-year-old ass parked on the manicured curb of the house next door to the Matthews. They knew each other—or of each other—Lottie supposed, because Wisayok is just that kind of town.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Now, being eternally curious, I just have to ask: what DO other monsters think is under my hood? -The River Person

Undertale Sans - He tried all his teenage years to pull the hood to see what's under, but it's like River Person always knows what he's doing. Sans thinks they're just a random eye, seeing everything. Not the weirdest thing he has seen though.

Undertale Papyrus - If Papyrus insists so much on doing all his trips on foot, it's because Sans once said to his five-years-old self that a terrible carnivore monster was hiding under that hood and was eating children who don't do their homework when they're alone. He didn't believe it, of course! But just to be sure, he decided to not take the ferry anymore. Like never. He doesn't want to know.

Undertale Toriel - She assumed over time it's just a very shy monster and respects that. Sure, they are odd and their predictions creep her out, but that would be just rude to ask what's under the hood.

Undertale Asgore - He's pretty sure that monster has been there since the war, so maybe a hiding boss monster who ignores themselves? He tried to get them to live in a house like everyone, but it never worked? Asgore decided not to question it anymore as time passed.

Undertale Undyne - She thinks it's some elaborated robot honestly. No one would do their job 24 hours a day without complaining once or... You know, leaving their boat. She tried several times to see what was under, but like Sans, she never had any chance. She wants to know so bad.

Undertale Alphys - Obviously, some villain stuck in the boat by a spell to prevent him from ever hurting anyone. It's like their redemption arc or something. Or maybe she's just watching a little too much anime, who knows.

Undertale Frisk - They always assumed it was Gaster, but then Gaster showed up and ruined their theory. So then they assumed it was Papyrus hiding because they're the same height, but one day Papyrus showed up to stop them from going on the ferry, so it's not that either. Frisk is still investigating.

Undertale Chara - They're corporeal for sure because Chara punched their guts once after they said they were going to die and that hurt them. Well, they died shortly after so that river person guy was right, but still. Chara hates their guts and doesn't want to know what's hiding there.

Undertale Mettaton - Like Alphys, he always assumed it was a robot created to lead him where he has to go, before realizing everyone can use it. Well, that sucks. He wrote an offensive movie about the river person just because he was angry. In it, he said River Person is a very mysterious charismatic robot that somehow looks exactly like him. Then the robot turns out to be a master ninja in disguise for some reason. Not all movies can be good.

Undertale Gaster - He always assumed the hood was the monster and that there was nothing under it. I mean, there are rock monsters, blanket monsters, and even mouth monsters, why not hood monsters?

Undertale Grillby - He thinks that's an elemental monster of darkness. That would explain why they're here for so long and why they're looking invisible. It's just odd he doesn't feel it as he's supposed to being an elemental monster himself.

Undertale Muffet - Clearly not enough money for her own taste.

Undertale Burgerpants - He thinks the monster is the boat, since it seems alive, and that River Person is just some disguise because the boat monster thinks it's weird just being a boat for a living. He understands. Everyone calls him the burger guy :(

Undertale Flowey - He doesn't know but he never could kill the guy, so he assumed it's a ghost? Maybe the first River Person died and their spirit has been haunting the boat since? He wishes he could destroy them to dissect them.

Undertale Gerson - He thinks that's a random guy working the day and sleepwalking the night, and that's why they're in their boat all day and night. And somehow as old as Asgore for some reason. Maybe some exiled member of the royal family they punished this way.

[tobiasdrake]

So. Looks like that's the final truth.

And it sucks. I don't want to reap their souls. I already felt bad about reaping the Priest earlier because. Like. In a city this corrupt, murder is the only justice people can receive. I get that. I get why the Priest did it. And the one victim that had me going, "Wait, no, gross," wasn't his doing. So that left a sour taste in my mouth.

This is about ten times worse. What Waruna, Yoshiko, and Kurane did doesn't feel all that wrong. Karen killed their friend, stole her spotlight and her prestige, and the Peacekeepers shrugged their shoulders and went, "Meh."

She got away scot free, then got the big fancy lead position guaranteeing her a bright and prosperous future forevermore. There will be no justice. There will be no closure. This is a town where monsters prosper and victims can only be stepped on. This is Capitalism Town.

They turned to murder because there was no other recourse available to them, and they couldn't bear to let their bestie's killer live happily ever after on a mountain of money and fame for it. They did nothing wrong. This is what you have to do when you live in a place as despicable as Kanai Ward.

I don't know if they would. These girls aren't evil. They're damaged. Driven to extremes by desperation and powerlessness in a city that hung them out to dry. This doesn't feel right.

Oh, shut up. You're just a hungry predator. Your opinion has no value here.

You shut up too. Citing the WDO creed isn't helping. Both because it's creepy, and also because you have no frame of reference for the context here. You don't know that we're talking about slaying these girls for seeking justice for a murdered friend.

This is a crime that should forever remain unsolved. The kind of situation where the Great Detective would go, "Mm, can't seem to find an answer to this one. Pity," then turn on his heel and walk out.

The only reason we can't do that is because Amaterasu wants to arrest Kurumi for it. The plot is literally holding a gun to Kurumi's head and saying, "Murder this trauma victims or the blorbo GETS IT!"

Prove to who, Yuma? You might be slow on the uptake but it's pretty clear that justice is dead in Kanai Ward.

Man, even Desuhiko gets it! This outcome sucks. We're not combatting Amaterasu; We're joining them in corruption and victimization. We're kicking Amaterasu's victims while they're down. Picking off the wounded that Amaterasu's cruelty leaves behind.

I think I hate this case. We're supposed to be combatting the evil corporation but instead we're doing their dirty work. Amaterasu destroys lives and ruins families, and then we swoop in to punish their victims for lashing out. This is a disgusting perversion of justice.

[bojanus]

The Touch of the Sea reviews

My roommate snagged me a short story anthology that she called "A collection of gay mermaid erotica." Say no more. Turns out most the stories were NOT erotic (most made some reference to sex but some were only a few lines or fade to black) but there was plenty else to enjoy in this anthology edited by Steve Berman. Individual story thoughts below the read more.

Time and Tide by 'Nathan Burgoine

A man returns to his hometown for his father's funeral, and has to confront his ex he left behind when he originally left and his own heritage/powers. This one was super sweet, I found it nicely grounded and healing in a "returning to the hometown and finding peace" way. The ending brought a little tear to my eye. The powers/gifts were somewhat underexplored, but that makes sense for a short story.

The Calm Tonight by Matthew A. Merendo

Sea men go up to land every 200 years to choose a mate, and always bring back a woman who magically is able to live underwater with them thanks to magic. Our main character, however, falls in love with a man, and is hesitant because the magic may not protect his love the same way, and so he must choose between the sea and his love. Made me somewhat sad, but I'm staying hopeful despite all the evidence otherwise. I choose to believe they got their happy ending.

The Bloated Woman by Jonathan Harper

Not a fan. A man stays by the shore to help take care of his aging professor, has a tryst with a married man, and runs into a random woman's body on the beach. Just kind of felt like "Ooh sad/brutal things happen". The narrator also spoke about others in a mean way sometimes that I'm not sure if it was intentional characterization or just the author kind of being a dick. The mystery aspect was intriguing but didn't really have a satisfying payoff for me.

The Stone of Sacrifice by Jeff Mann

This was a breath of fresh air, especially the first half where a man just finds this random cute guy swimming in the middle of a storm. I will say the Scottish accent of the sea-guy was something I'm not used to reading and it made for a bit of a silly contrast for me during the heavier erotic sections... but I was delighted the whole time. The ending got a lil worrisome, but overall I'm a fan.

Air Tears by Damon Shaw

After a kiss, the main character finds himself unable to breath air but able to breath underwater. Short, and I think that fit as the compelling part of it was the snapshot concept of a man underwater, crying tears of air that bubble up to the surface.

The Grief of the Seagulls by Joel Lane

A man recalls how his lover died thanks to corporate greed for oil along the shore. Sad but poignant, the corporate greed destroying safety felt all-too-familiar, but at least in this story there is a little closure given for the grief. A really thoughtful work.

Ban's Dream of the Sea by Alex Jeffers

People who colonized an abandoned island full of architecture have been having sexy dreams and disappearing. I enjoyed the relationship between the two main men in this, the descriptions of architecture (and the use of the tower near the end) I think would appeal to anyone who loves buildings and such but otherwise... the racism I think was intended to be period accurate, but there were various lines about how "savages couldn't have made architecture that advanced/organized/beautiful"... which again we are in the POV of the colonists for that line so it makes sense they say that, but there was so little depth or acknowledgement of the natives culture (or like, what IS the natives architecture then?? If it's not that?) and the randomly tossed in bonds(wo)men just felt like turning a whole group of people into set dressing... It left a bad taste in my mouth that the cool magic concept couldn't quite overpower. Lovecraftian in many ways.

Night of the Sea Beast by Brandon Cracraft

A delightful romp through the making of a monster movie in the McCarthy era with cultural hysteria around homosexuality stoked high... but more importantly, someone or something keeps killing the lead actress of this monster movie. This story was by far the most fun, somewhat silly at times but with a nice core concept and in the spirit of a B-movie horror film. There was also a really strong theme of community, not just among queer folks but also among allies who love them; people continually showed up and helped each other throughout and the very ending scene was so sweet. The exposition was a little heavy-handed at times (everyone's always dropping their relevant backstory notes at the drop of a hat), but I think that's in the nature of the short story (this was among the longer in this anthology, but I would gladly read a longer version with more time spent with the characters and the twists and turns of the mystery).

Wave Boys by Vincent Kovar

This story follows the Wave Boys, a specific sea-faring group among many others that all have their own traditions and cultures. Seeing the Wave Boys traditions, those of other groups, and the larger culture surrounding all of them was interesting and well constructed. Fun with really interesting/engaging cultural worldbuilding, though I got confused at times trying to keep track and figure out what everything was. I especially enjoyed the traditions around storytelling.

Out to Sea by John Howard

One of the more happy stories, where a guy just decides to go and visit some islands he has been interested in for a long time. Didn't particularly stick with me, but was a nice change of pace from some of the sadder/ambiguous stories.

Keep the Aspidochelone Floating by Chaz Brenchley

A vessel gets hijacked by the pirate queen, and a particularly famous sailor decides to join the pirates as a cook. He ends up in a romance with a cute young guy, and there's various shenanigans along the way, including some whaling. If you like Moby Dick then you'll probably enjoy this one. The characters were all strong, especially the pirate queen who I adored. I wish everyone could have had a happy ending, but overall I think the final scene was wonderfully dramatic and full of action and twists. Plus the love interest was adorable.

Overall

I'm not an experienced short story reader, like I don't really do anthologies, so I think it was challenging for me to read stories where there wasn't a lot of time to get into the characters and plots. Plus there were a lot of sad/ambiguous endings, which I generally avoid... but I'm glad I read through and tasted some new things and stuff that's interesting to check out but I might not want a whole book about. My top four were: Night of the Sea Beast, The Stone of Sacrifice, Time and Tide, and Keep the Aspidochelone.

[zylice]

The ‘Loki’ series as a metaphor for the state of Hollywood and the movie industry.

I was watching the ‘Loki’ series in a way that I saw it clearly as a metaphor for how Hollywood is currently. Mainly Marvel. The entire plot of its’ second season is *LITERALLY* about ‘destroying Marvel and putting it back together.’ You see Marvel ‘exploding multiple times’ and Loki ‘grasping at straws’ to hold it together. The ending scene is him ripping Marvel apart and putting back together as something ‘better’ as he carries on his back (*LITERALLY!*) Another character Sylvie says that it’s okay to ‘destroy some things and that there is no justice.’

In the beginning of season 1, he is forced to sign a contract and is held a ‘prisoner’ who is stripped of all his rights similar to how Disney makes its’ actors sign a contract that they can’t get out of.

*“What if I was a robot and didn’t know it?”* AI is a HUGE issue in the industry (Nicholas Cage in the Flash) and he wasn’t happy with how it was used.

“I’m going to write a little script of my own.” “I can rewrite the story.” Are also quotes that Loki says. The script writers for the show used a *BLACKLISTED* script from 2018 for the show. The main producer said that he was relying on Tom (Hiddleston) & Owen (Wilson) to improvise in order to ‘engage the audience.’ The script writer for the show Michael Waldron is a p*d*phile and a and such a bad writer that most of his ideas were scrapped and Benedict Cumberbatch of Doctor Strange 2 had to take it into his own hands and rewrite some of the script. Michael’s blacklisted script ‘The Worst Guy of All Time and the Girl Who Came to Kill Him’ promotes physical and sexual abuse. Things like kicking corpses and ‘jerking off’ over seeing certain characters being abused. Elizabeth Olsen who was also in the film clearly doesn’t like this creep and either does Benedict not Tom Hiddleston from the ‘Loki’ show. Yet the likes of Bob Iger rehired him after firing him (similar to the James Gunn situation) to write the next two ‘Avengers’ movies. He is a *CRIMINAL* and Jonathan Majors who plays a large role in those movies as the main villain is currently under trial for abuse. *HE* was cast in the ‘Loki’ series and the show was about him more so than the character of ‘Loki.’ The show was just to set him up and the organisation that he created in order to further Marvel’s plot for the next few phases of their movies while using ‘Loki’ and ‘Tom Hiddleston’ as their brand in order to get people to watch. *THAT’S* not even getting start on all the work ‘M-She-U’ woke BS and blatant misandry and abuse against male characters.

I recently finished season 2and found is *ASTOUNDING* that something with such poor production quality can possibly be the *THIRD* most expensive tv show of *ALL TIME!* It just boggles my mind! 🤯

In the behind the scenes ‘Making of’ video, the crew were only focused on how the show ‘looked.’ There was *NO* mention of the writing. That just goes to show that the ‘VISUALS’ are their main priority and casting big name actors to be in these shows. The acting is compromised due to them having little or no choose/power as to whether or not they actually *WANT* to be in these projects and it’s quite exploitative and abuse to be honest and leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Even the posters for the show are hideous AI abominations that look *NOTHING* like their lead actor. It’s *DISGRACEFUL* to their image & legacy! I saw a video earlier of AI generated voices of said actors saying things that they had never (or rarely) said. It’s uncharacteristic and could *EASILY* be used in a wrong manner. It’s quite disturbing actually. CGI dead actors and using AI to generate their voices to say things that they wouldn’t say is just *WRONG* without their consent! 🤢🤮

I love the movie industry dearly and am utterly *DEVASTATED* at what it has become. It means a lot so *SO* many people but greedy corporations such as Disney just don’t care and exploit it’s staff in order to continually keep the money-making machine moving with sub-par products which are made with exploited actors/crew.

Please Hollywood, get rid of these corrupt behemoths that are the puppeteers of this shit Storm who are exploring actors as their puppets! This goes beyond money! 🤑💵💰🫤😓😐

“Around and around we go again.” — He Who Remains

Keep the wheels turning.

“We have to say that we’re having the ‘times of of lives’ because the cameras are running.” — Tom Hiddleston

(The Industry) “It’s broken. It’s ROTTEN!”— Sylvie

“Never fear truth.”— Johnny Depp

[faerie-fable1992]

Name:Jensen Lumen

Alias: Frost Spider

Age: 30

Pronouns: he/they

Likes:

✓writing & art

✓rainy weather

✓running

Dislikes:

× hot, sunny weather

× sewing

× static

Powers:

Spidey; heightened senses, reflexes and strength on top gravity defying wall/ceiling walking, heightened metabolism and natural web slinging

Asgard; slow aging, minor illusion manipulation, minor presence concealment, conjures ice & frost

Weakness: his own mind/depression,

Backstory:

you know, my earth (#6K) used to be great, Asgard and shield worked together to create well, a shield, protecting earth from invasion but some big corporations collider went off, triggered by one in a different universe and a micro black hole formed, destroying a few keys parts of the Shield Array, after that, we got invaded. In a last ditch effort to save everyone a few Shield and Asgard big wigs created the Spiders Program, they created these nasty ass spiders with radioactive and magical venom and well, I figured I would volunteer, I already lost almost everyone I knew. Found out I'm part Asgardian while we were at it, that raised some brows and made me question my grandmother's marriage. We managed to fight back the invasion, repair the Shield Arrays and now our earth's safe, but in all the excitement we found out about the multiverse and some of us got permission to explore, I was one of them. It was either that or become someone's puppet.

Frost: so kingpin caused your collider fuckup too?

Miles: yeah, he just wante- wait! you've got a kingpin in your universe too?

Frost: yeah, big muscled bloke, looks like a potato. Gotta say, does not taste the way he looks

Miles: how do you....

Frost: I bit him

Miles: why?!

Frost: My hands were tied.

Pav: none of this conversation has gone where I was expecting

[vyragosa]

Hi Vyra!

I adore your art and I found you a few years ago, when you were the only one who liked Limbo while everyone else hated him. So I was very happy to find another soul who loved him just as I do :)

Since we share the same tastes, I wanted to ask, what are some mangas that you like? I’ve recently picked up The Ghost and the Lady and I LOVED it! And I vaguely remember that you did answer an ask that was a little similar to this but I couldn’t find it and I think my memory could’ve been off.

Thank you and have a great day/night!

🥺

zomg....first of all thank you for such a sweet message and yes

GHOST AND LADY IS THE BEST, ONCE AGAIN, I HAVE THE VOLUMES ON MY DESK LITERALLY IN EYESIGHT CAUSE THAT'S HOW IMPORTANT IT IS

from same author you have, karakuri circus (found family, powerful) and souboutei must be destroyed (can't pinpoint how to describe it other than my friend fucking read all chapters in two day more mere mention, it has it all)

in the same genre of, mystery horror surrealist weird loving emotional focusing on the bonds of people through horror

i will never stop reccommending demon detective nougami neuro, same author as assassination classroom but i'm a purist, it was the first ever manga i read too so it's very important to me in general if familiar you can imagine how this author is comedy horror and bizarre but never strays from the most humane feelings, i will now recommend his newest work and currently published ELUSIVE SAMURAI. it's historical drama this time and fucking honestly, goes just as hard and the research is thorough as well while having the surrealist comedy, real fucking good (+ neuro is without a doubt one of the main inspirations of the Great hasendow)

dorohedoro because it's dorohedoro.

magilumiere co (adult corporate magical girl, really fuckin well done)

daisuke igarashi's saru fucked me up but i'm not sure you can find it easily which sucks, i don't even have the volumes myself

i haven't read much recently actually but that should be it!

[ridley-was-a-cat]

What I Watched This Week – 11/20-11/26

Giant Gorg - This week's classic anime selection throws it all the way back to 1984 with a fun little two cour original anime about a boy and his giant robot. It starts off with our main character flying from Japan to New York City to meet up with a professor friend of his father, continuing anime's hilarious habit of depicting NYC as a decrepit, garbage-strewn hive of crime, before joining up with a ragtag group to visit a volcanic island that suddenly reappeared after disappearing under the ocean for 30,000 years. The characters were mostly entertaining, although the main girl got a little whiny and her professor brother was both kind of useless and looked too much like Woody Allen for my taste, and the story did a good job of weaving together action, adventure, and some mystery. Watching this series this year was darkly amusing, as I couldn't help but compare the privileged adult grandson of the evil corporation president making every bad decision and causing all sorts of damage to a certain emerald mine failson chaotically destroying a social media company. 7/10

Fragtime - I really want to love yuri anime, but with maybe two exceptions, they've either been terrible adaptations or just not to my taste. This 60-minute movie centers on a high school girl who has the ability to stop time for three minutes at a go, and uses it to escape social situations she doesn't want to be in. She starts the story off by stopping time to get out of a classmate trying to recruit her for a sports club, and wandering outside, where she finds a different classmate and decides to lift up her skirt to look at her underwear. This is noted in the description for the series, so I expected it, but I had hoped it would do something to make it make sense and then work from there. Unfortunately, the story never quite convinced me that this shy, anxious girl would violate another girl like this, nor did it make it hot or sexy. None of the characters' decisions made a whole lot of sense, which just made the whole thing feel kind of pointless. 5/10

Gintama Ep.51-75 - This bunch of episodes contained the first serious arcs of the show, with the Benizakura arc pitting the odd-jobs crew against a mix of space mercenaries and Gintoki's former war comrade, and one where they rescue an android head and square off against an army of robot maids. The Benizakura arc had some interesting story lines and character development, along with a couple moments of excellent fight animation, while the robot maids was a little lighter in tone and not as tied to the characters' backstories, but still sporting some pretty good action writing. I'm honestly surprised at how much I'm enjoying this show. I thought it was going to be like when I watched Konosuba.

[daja-the-hypnokitten]

Jukebox reviews part 10! For context, see my post “A Project” under this same tag. If you want to see a full list of his EMCSA stories, they can be found here, sorted alphabetically.And if you want to see some of his drabbles, check out his blog at @jukeboxemcsa

Uninvited

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5/23/2009                                     mc mf ma

This is sweet and tender to me, or as much as interaction between some sort of fae and a human who only perceives her as a dream can be. I do wish there was more between Ben and Liora, but again this feels like it only barely skates in on the mind control - a glamour counts, but not in the way I typically expect from the EMCSA. I like this story a lot, though – 8/10 spirals

  Don’t You Forget About Me

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5/30/2009                                     mc ff

This one breaks my heart. I like sweet, sappy, romantic stories, and this ... this takes all the sweet and sappy in it and destroys it. Which is *fine* if you like that sort of thing, and I know people do. But it isn't for me. The brainwashing machine is clever, just ... the use of it is not to my taste. 3/10 spirals.

  Play the Game

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6/7/2009                                       mc ff

So much good hypnosis in this! Like, obviously the consent is bad, but it's a story and it isn't like maliciously bad, so I'll give it a pass. Setting it up so that Barbera had a chance to see Alexis work on others, getting that expectation and belief and weighting the scales was delightful. The technique is good, the pacing is fun, and the sex stuff is pretty minor! 9/10 spirals

  Surrender (Jukebox)

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6/14/2009                                     mc

Another induction, and while I can hear it being read aloud in my head, I don't actually *like* this one. First, it needs a content note - again, using arousal and pleasure to wear away resistance, a suggestion to strip, and to masturbate ending with a suggestion/command to orgasm. But also, the line "if you’re excited, if you’re aroused, then that must mean you want this" is something I think should be flagged; on the one hand, yes, it can be a hot phrase. On the other, it can ALSO be a major emotion/trauma trigger for some folk. I'd also flag it clearly as an induction that erodes resistance, as not everyone wants that. Those content notes aside, it's a solid induction that I think a lot of folk could enjoy! The approach to wearing away resistance is clever and well executed, and the pacing and flow is solid. 8/10 spirals

  Moment of Weakness

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7/4/2009                                       mc ff

A fun twist on the "unethical therapist" trope, and a solid one technically speaking. It's easy to see how Joan got to this point, and how she succumbs to the temptation. That said, I *do* wish she'd teach Lori some basic boundaries, to keep Lori safe from predatory hypnotists, but you can't teach the unwilling I suppose. I'm not a fan of the twisting therapy trope in general, so this isn't my favourite, but the way it's used here makes me like it more than I would have otherwise. 7/10 spirals

  Policy of Truth

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7/12/2009                                     mc mf md ma

This one is a lot darker than I tend to prefer, but I can see why other folk may like it. Seeing her respond physically while mentally not wanting to do what she's doing - that's not my sort of dynamic, but if you like that and abuse of corporate power, this may be your sort of story. 5/10 spirals

  Miss You

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7/18/2009                                     mc mf md

Wow, Roger *seriously* needs some therapy. And not the hypnotic kind! This is creepy and gross and all sorts of not ok, but also the sheer demonstration of *level* of control is ... in a different context, it would be hella hot. But Roger just ... makes none of it work for me. 4/10 spirals

  Kiss Me Deadly

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7/25/2009                                     mc fd

Ah, vampires! I do enjoy a good vampire story, and this one is VERY good. Her soft tone, her use of psychology over magic, the way she tempts and lures our journalist to look into her eyes ... and the speed with which her eyes capture our narrator is delightful and makes me swoon. I do wonder what happens after the vampire drinks from the narrator, but alas, we don't get to see. 9/10 spirals

  Keep Myself Awake

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8/2/2009                                       mc mf md

Magical mind control, yes. Hypnosis? Hm. Arguably more related to Hypnos than "regular" hypnosis is, anyway! It's' a clever idea and story, and I really enjoy a lot of it! Though I have to wonder if Courtney's last, desperate gamble would have worked, given it was magic, not anything scientific. Regardless, I'm gald she's happy with it, since there appears no way out of it for her. 8/10 spirals

  Listen to the Music

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8/8/2009                                       mc ff

Music as a form of induction and control? Ok, either this music is edited or there's something else in play, because that's not really how music works, but as someone who has fond memories of singing one of my partners into trance, well. It works, and it works well. I do wonder if the fact that all of the songs listed are songs that Jukebox has used for titles of his stories - "Once Bitten, Twice Shy," of course, "Jessie's Girl", heck, "Feels Like the First Time" was uploaded the week after this story - was that something Jukebox planned to do for a while? Or did the reference to the song get the title in his head? Every song I could find a title for is a song he's written a story for, though my music knowledge is much lacking so there were a few songs I didn't check. But it's a delightful conceit, even if one or two of them wasn't a song used for a title, and I do love that Jukebox did it for his 100th story.Outside of the meta-love I have for it? It's a solid story, and I enjoy seeing how Bea melts under the relentless onslaught of the music. I'd like it better if I were more familiar with the music referenced, I think. 9/10 spirals.

[thegirlwhowritesfics]

So I’m back on topamax for my migraines & headaches and the amount of water I’m drinking is ridiculous. And I feel so guilty because I’m drinking bottled water because our tap water still tastes horrible.

And I take all our bottles and cans to the recycling place and I know the general population contributes absolutely nothing to the overall plastic waste and recycling is pointless, and it’s actually major corporations like Coke who are destroying the planet.

BUT IT DOESNT STOP THIS CYCLE OF GUILT.

Also the fact that Coke probably own the company that make the bottled water I drink doesn’t help either.

But if I don’t drink the water I will die, well i’ll get kidney stones and honestly i’d prefer death 🤣.

I also don’t know how 15 year old me took 300mg of topamax daily, I’m a fucking zombie on 50mg a day, the amount of times i’ve walked into the bathroom door is ridiculous.

I’ve been taking it at night to try and sleep through the worst of the side effects but my neck/shoulder pain is so bad lately I’m not sleeping so it’s not really working.

I have a doctors appointment tomorrow so im hoping she can do something about my neck/shoulder pain because I’ve been taking high strength benzenoids that I had left over from my surgery last year and it’s barely touching the pain.

And for any medical professionals who are probably going “you should have disposed of those medications” my surgeon, specialist and regular doctor told me to keep them and use them for flares of my endometriosis, while this isn’t endo pain it’s on the same level.

[wrongarmofthelaw]

S/o is hurt badly from the Director in the last level and when Dr. Caine appear and saw what happened to his s/o while his ex-boss held them hostage.

S/O had expected things to be difficult, since when had it been easy during this entire experience? But they couldn't help but wonder whether they could make things a little less of a struggle for Daniel. He had worked so hard to gather each bit of D.N.A. and stop the Corporation sending its deadly man-made plague out into the world's water supplies, liquifying the corrupt security officers of his former employer and putting the twisted mutants created in science labs and by illegal chemical dumping out of their misery.

Now only the Director remained a man Daniel had described as looking like a pig, though S/O had felt that was way too generous a description. Pigs might eat anything they could get ahold of, but they didn't risk wiping out their entire species for money. Though one comparison did seem apt: with no more burly security officers and no more monsters to protect him, he was vulnerable as any meat animal, unaware it had walked into the slaughterhouse. S/O began to consider their own scheme: if they could capture the Director themselves, it make it that much easier for Daniel to get to him and give him the fate he deserved for all the misery he had caused. For attempting to murder the man you loved.

S/O had made their way down to the basement level of the factory, avoiding what few threats remained. They traveled until they reached the room they had seen the Director in, readying their gun as they unscrewed the the vent panel, intending on holding the cruel ex-employer hostage until Daniel arrived. S/O stood up to face their adversary, but was taken off guard upon hearing his voice. “You’re not who I expected.” Soon S/O felt a sharp and a searing pain hit their back, they cried out in shock as much as in agony. Then everything went black.

Some time later, Daniel made his way into the basement complex, weaving around and through the dangers as he had from the beginning. He knew he had to be getting close, close to the man who had started this whole gruesome situation. The man who tried to murder him, taken his humanity, made him into a monster. Well, now the greedy bastard would see what his hand had wrought and just what kind of monster that former Daniel Caine had become.

He entered the basement bunker where the director had been holing up, fully expecting a fight. Something he was more than willing to engage one more time to bring this living nightmare to a close. What he had nor expected was to see his S/O in the tight grip of the Director's hand, severe burn marks on their arm and shoulder and a gun pointed at their head. The Director spoke, smirking at seeing Daniel's horrified expression. "I expected you to be here sooner. While I was waiting, I had to engage in some... pest control for my vents. Non-lethal at the moment, however, I'm perfectly willing to deal with the vermin and slime crawling around my factory on a more permanent basis." He sneered, a clear warning to Daniel not try anything that would rusk S/O's life. S/O called out to Daniel. "Don't listen to him! The world's in danger! Don't worry about me! Do what you have to!" The Director squeezed S/O's arm, making them cry out from the painful burn being affected. The Director pushed the gun against SO's head harder. "I would appreciate it if you remained silent. This is a business meeting a boss and an employee and you don't work here."

Daniel snarled. “You leave them alone! They wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t turned me into this... this... freak!” The Director smirked. “And let free a saboteur who has helped said mutated freak destroy my security forces and facilities? I think not.” He paused. “Your S/O got a taste of my new flamethrower... fare more accurate than previous models, akin to a laser in its accuracy. As they can well attest.” The Director grabbed S/O’s arm, pulling them and turning them around so Daniel could see the terrible burn wounds on S/O’s arm and back.

 Daniel winced for a moment at the sight before his anger returned. “At least those security officers got off lucky. They died fast.... I’m not a sadist like you. But you’re pushing your luck. You hurt S/O any further and I will make you suffer like you can’t even imagine.”