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A Curse [Chapter 7: Exposition Park]

A/N: Hi besties! Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy Chapter 7. Big reveals are on the horizon. The a n t i c i p a t i o n is killing me 🥰😉

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, fake dating but Jace doesn't know, drama, angst, a Targ family reunion, more metaphorical fish, Charli XCX.

Word count: 6.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

You begin reading and it hits you, and you dissolve until all of your molecules are the black typeface of the audition script, just one scene that wipes you clean like steam from a window until there is no more California or Minnesota or Aegon or Becca or Mason or your family awaiting your inevitable return to them like a meteorite crashing down to earth.

Here is your new life: Gilded Age, Daddy gambled and died and now the money’s gone, Mama and your sisters need shelter from the storm amidst the Panic of 1893. Fortunately you have a suitor, a good man, a young handsome doctor with a small practice, and he would provide for you and your family, he would be an innocuous and obliging lifeboat. He asks you to marry him, and you almost say yes; but there is another fellow who comes courting, chance encounters at nightscape balls, evening walks under stars and streetlights. This lover of darkness, rippling in and out of your life only when the sun is on the opposite side of the planet, implores you to reject the doctor’s advances, and so you do…only to discover that this nocturnal bewitcher is not a man but a monster, a murderer, a vampire who can offer you nothing more than love that is bloodstained and fleeting and cursed.

Aegon has scrawled the date, time, and location of the audition on the inside of the manila folder. You Google the directions, use Maps to scope out the parking situation. You’ll take the 110 north, then the 91 east out of the city limits of Los Angeles, then the 710 to the 105 to Paramount Boulevard. The Rives Mansion, built in 1911, has been trapped in time as a century grew up around it like grasping threads of ivy; across the street is a Mexican restaurant and the Downey Brewing Company, a sports bar known for their mediocre wings and pizza, currently sitting at an illustrious 2.5/5 stars on Yelp. But the interior of the house will transport you back to the Gilded Age, and this must be why the casting director has chosen it.

You remember what Aegon said about getting you the audition: I didn’t do anything. They reached out to me. But where would they have heard about you? From the people at the Grey’s Anatomy shoot? From Dan or somebody else involved in the Maroon 5 music video?

You need a gown for the charity gala, so you tell your parents you want to buy a dress for Clara’s rehearsal dinner and they enthusiastically approve and give you the green light to charge whatever it costs to your credit card. In the fitting room at Elie Saab, you are torn between two options: sensuous bold red with cutouts and a plunging neckline (all the better for someone to sink their fangs into), timeless beaded gold that feels more like you. You send photos of yourself wearing both to Baela via WhatsApp. She is presently in Paris, nibbling on croissants and downing shots of espresso and filming the new Yorgos Lanthimos movie in which she has third billing.

She replies: Are you lowkey tryna fuck your agent again or nah?

You are scandalized. You type: Definitely not. His future wife will be there.

There is a pause as Baela considers this. By the time you are back in your street clothes—denim shorts, white Sketchers, and a Pacific Palisades t-shirt—she has reached a decision: Still get the red one. It’s brave. It’s memorable.

But you cannot bring yourself to buy it, even if that means the gold is comparatively modest and forgettable. You choose the gold gown and swipe your Chase Sapphire, but not before you make one last discovery: a black lace dress with a high frilly neckline that circles the throat like a noose, out of season and damaged with a rip in the back by the zipper, sold as-is and at a much reduced price. It reminds you of the style of dresses women wore in the Edwardian era, and it fits with the script, and the Rives Mansion, and the person who you will be at the audition on Saturday, July 19th.

You take your shopping bags and step out of the Elie Saab boutique of Beverly Hills into the sunlight, over one hundred degrees, over a century past the glittering deceit of the Gilded Age.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You lied to me.”

The actor’s name is Santiago, but he introduced himself as Santi. He’s been cast already. There’s a chemistry between you, not romantic but corporeal, following each other’s footsteps and inflections, the unspoken potential of improvisation. Across the otherwise empty room are four people seated at a table, two men and two women. Aegon lurks in the corner in his I-give-a-fuck suit, chomping on Juicy Fruit and holding an iced coffee that drips condensation. Morning light cascades in through the vast Palladian window and over the hardwood floor. “I omitted,” the vampire counters.

“You lied by silence. You lied like a coward,” you hiss at him, hair pulled back from your face, black lace at your throat, black shimmering on your eyelids, Renegade by Huda Beauty, Poison by Urban Decay.

He reaches for you. “I could not surrender you to any other man—”

“And now I’m all yours!” you scream, flinging his hands away. “My other prospects are squandered and my family will lose our home and our heirlooms, and I will lose the future that I dreamed of sharing with you, and if your love had been true for even for a moment you would have spared me this.”

“My love was sincere, and it endures.”

“It is selfish,” you seethe, lips quivering and tears slithering down your cheeks. The vampire stalks you, and you flee one blind step at a time until your back hits the wall. “It cannot give or preserve, only consume.”

He reaches out to touch you again, and this time you let him—you cannot resist him—and his fingertips ghost from your hairline to your jaw, tracing the borderlands of your face like the arc of a crescent moon. Then his hand settles lightly on your throat. And you are drawn to him, bound to him, invisible threads weaving his bones to your own, drowning in the opaque pools of his irises. “We can still be together.”

“Yes, in darkness. In destitution. In transient minutes between the murders that sustain you.”

“I never asked to be a monster. I was made this way by another.”

“And now you have proven yourself to be without humanity.”

He turns away and storms out of the room, and you are supposed to wait for him to return. But instead—because you feel that this must be what happens next—you bolt after him, and as you pass through the doorway you hear the puzzled clamoring of the casting director, producer, and two assistants: What is she doing? Where is she going? Then when Aegon follows you they hurry to do the same, their metal folding chairs squealing against the floor, their footsteps pounding like thunder or a racing pulse.

You chase the vampire onto the landing and down the staircase. “I rejected the doctor for you, I endangered my reputation and disregarded my family’s counsel for you, and what have you given me in return? Lies and horror and bloodstains on my conscience that I’ll never wash out. How can you claim to care for someone you’ve destroyed? What do you have to offer anybody except suffering and death—?!”

Three steps from the bottom, he whirls and pins you to the wall, his hands careful (as they are required to be) but his eyes hard, glass or stone or pavement, intractable, inhuman. “Stop fighting the horror. Join me in it. It calls to you, and you yearn for it, and to only me can you confess this.”

“You ruined my life,” you choke out, a loathsome lethal desire, a death rattle.

He touches his forehead to yours, his heat radiating through your skull. “I cannot be without you.”

“Let it end now,” you whisper, you plead. “Let the next artery you drain wash away the taste of me.”

And you both lean in, your lips a second from meeting, and farther up the staircase your audience of five watch in rivetted silence, as far from you as the stars from Earth, Betelgeuse or Rigel or Proxima Centauri. And then you are you again, and Santi is Santi, and you laugh together and each take a step back, the tension of your muscles unraveling and your memories already beginning to degrade.

The casting director, producer, and assistants all shake your hand and thank you again for taking the time to audition. You thank them for their consideration. They seem pleased, but when you turn to Aegon, he doesn’t give you his usual signal that you’ve done a good job. He doesn’t slip his aviator sunglasses out of the pocket of his suit jacket, put them on, and smile: You are so bright, sunshine. He just steals glimpses of you as he’s deep in conversation with the casting director, discussing the timeline for callbacks and when a final decision is expected to be made.

“See you tonight,” you tell Aegon when it’s over and you are both walking out to where your cars are parked on the curb, your Honda, his Chrysler. His white convertible has a sizeable dent in the front passenger’s side and the headlight busted out. “What happened there?”

“Someone cut me off,” he says, and passes you the iced coffee he hasn’t taken a sip of, a venti-sized vanilla latte.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you are dressed, you send a photo of yourself in the gold gown to your parents and Clara. Rehearsal dinner outfit! you type.

Mom replies: Very flattering, honey! and then sends back a picture of her snuggling one of the Akitas on the couch. Dad responds with a thumbs-up emoji. Clara leaves you on read.

Jace is wearing a floral tuxedo and has already pre-gamed. He’s buzzed when you climb together into the Uber he called; parking will be murder, and you’ll probably have a few drinks yourself at the gala. He pays with the account linked to Baela’s credit card. The charity gala is being held at the California Science Center in Exposition Park, which is on your side of the city: southeast of Tarzana and Beverly Hills, southwest of Downtown, Chinatown, and Aegon’s office in Elysian Park, just a twenty-minute drive dead north on the 110. When you arrive, men in black suits and women in shimmering floor-length gowns are posing for professional photographers on the front steps, and black limousines and SUVs are honking at each other as they battle for inches of space in the drop-off lane.

On your way to the glass doors at the building entrance, you and Jace pass beneath a vast hanging structure of spiraling red beams like arteries. When you look up, you see a myriad of gold dots like the infinitesimal glimmers of stars.

“This is the Aerial!” a museum employee is proudly telling a group of ogling guests. “It has precisely 1,578 spheres, each plated with gold leaf. And the sculpture right here underneath is the DNA Bench, engraved with images of all sorts of organisms…a bat, an octopus, a snake, a tree…”

Inside, the ground floor of the California Science Center is illuminated with soft pink light, and everywhere there are glamorous people chatting and nursing drinks and eating hors d’oeuvres on tiny plates, and you don’t recognize anyone, and you are very grateful that Jace is here. You cling to his arm so you don’t lose him in the crowd. There is an open bar beside a set of escalators heading skyward, and a DJ with his table set up against one wall. From the ceiling hang fighter jets and disco balls. Confetti litters the floor. As you open your gold clutch to get your phone and text Aegon that you’re here, the DJ puts on Pink Pony Club.

“Ah, I love this song!” you shout to Jace over the noise of the room, and then you sing together:

“I know you wanted me to stay,

But I can’t ignore the crazy visions of me in L.A.,

And I heard that there’s a special place,

Where boys and girls can all be queens every single day…”

“Hey,” Aegon says from behind you, and you lose your footing when you spin towards him—you are much better in wedges than heels—and Jace grabs your hands to steady you, and he’s laughing too loudly in that I’m-kind-of-drunk sort of way, and Aegon is glaring at him. He’s wearing a powder blue suit, and it actually fits him, and strands of his sandy blonde hair are escaping from his sheen of gel to fall down over his forehead, and for a few seconds you’re a little stunned by how beautiful he is, here in the dim distorted light and looking like he wants to hit someone. That’s never been why you felt drawn to Aegon, what he looks like. But here he is, engaged to another woman and a decade older than you and kind of horrible, surely, and you are in disbelief that you can’t reach out and touch him.

“Hi, hello, sorry,” you say, prying your hands out of Jace’s grasp. “I thought I’d just be able to walk in and find you, but it’s really crowded! But I’m here. I’m fine. I’m ready to work.”

Aegon’s turbulent blue gaze sweeps over you. “You look like an Oscar.”

You are puzzled. “The fish?”

He smiles. “No. The award.”

“I’m going to get a drink!” Jace tells you, and saunters off towards the bar.

Aegon watches him leave, then says: “I didn’t know you were bringing a guest.”

“Well, you have one. And I was worried I’d be lonely.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, irritated. Then he holds up two glasses. “I have a lemon drop and a Long Island iced tea. Which do you want?”

“The lemon drop.”

“Great.” He hands it to you, takes a gulp of the Long Island iced tea, and leads you off to be introduced to the elites of the city, here to raise money for Cedars-Sinai Medical Center.

There is a series of people whose names you can’t remember but you beam radiantly for: producers, directors, actors, cinematographers, screenwriters, assistants, models, journalists. Aegon lies to them about your experience and says you’re better than you are. He says you’ll have your own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame someday. You take delicate sips of your lemon drop, determined not to get tipsy, but Aegon drains his Long Island iced tea and swings by the bar for another one. Now Jace is talking to the DJ like he’s trying to convince him of something.

Aegon hurries past where Becca is mingling with a flock of women, tall and small-boned like flamingoes; Becca casts you a glower that is sharp and swift and belittling. She is wearing a white ballgown, very bridal, with powder blue palm leaves overlaying the skirt to match Aegon’s suit. No one can forget they’re about to get married, and you assume this is intentional.

“Becca, you have such gorgeous hair,” one of her friends, noticeably drunk, fawns as she pets Becca’s long sleek tresses, artfully styled into miraculously frizzless waves.

“Aww, thanks!” Becca says. “According to family legend, we’re part Native American. The Karankawa tribe.”

Another friend, not so easily impressed, rolls her eyes. “Becca, everybody claims their family is part Native American.”

“No, seriously! My mom’s maiden name was Broadwater, that has to be Native American!”

“Becca, it’s literally English.”

“Do a test,” Becca’s drunk friend says, poking at her bare shoulder. “One of those DNA thingies you send through the mail.”

Becca seems inspired, her eyes bright, her thoughts racing. “Maybe I should! Like 23AndMe?”

“There’s a new one,” the not-drunk friend says, slurping what appears to be a mojito. “It’s called Legacea, I think. It’s supposed to be super fast and super thorough.”

The drunk friend is stymied. “Legawhata?”

“Legacea,” the not-drunk friend repeats. “I know, it’s pretentious, it’s legacy and panacea smashed together. But Becca should totally do it and if she is so much as one percent Native American, I will personally redress historic wrongs by gifting her my Brentwood apartment…”

Now Jace is moshing with a group of newfound friends. He has at last convinced the DJ to put on a Charli XCX song. The bass reverberates through the rose-colored twilight of the room; some sophisticated guests appear baffled, others alarmed.

“When I go to the club, I wanna hear those club classics,

Club classics, club, club classics,

When I go to the club, I wanna hear those club classics,

Club classics, club, club classics…”

A woman, mid-fifties and auburn-haired, appears out of the multitude with large, nervous eyes. “We should have gotten an orchestra,” she tells Aegon fretfully, twisting the rings on her fingers. She is wearing a gold wedding band, although if she is who you assume her to be—the resemblance is striking—she hasn’t had a husband in over fifteen years. “Shouldn’t we have gotten an orchestra?”

A man who looks very much like a younger version of Aegon, late-twenties instead of mid-thirties, laughs as he materializes beside her. “Mom, no one wants to listen to an orchestra.”

“No one under eighty years old,” Aegon says.

“Aemond thought we should get an orchestra,” she replies.

Aegon says sarcastically: “And of course, Aemond is an expert on all things cool and timely.” Then he introduces you to them both: his mother Alicent, his brother Daeron, an up-and-coming actor who has been in a successful Netflix series and has innumerable Tumblr blogs devoted to him. He’s been called the blonde Timothee Chalamet.

“Oh, aren’t you lovely,” Alicent tells you, although she seems perpetually a little distracted, a little sad. She tugs at a thin gold chain she wears around her neck with a cross suspended from it. “And we’ll be seeing you again at the wedding, won’t we? I know Aegon has invited all his clients.”

You hesitate. You doubt Becca wants you there. You have no interest whatsoever in watching Aegon marry her. “Um…well…actually, I might have a prior commitment that weekend, so—”

“She’ll be there,” Aegon says.

“Wonderful.” Alicent smiles at you. You smile back, a reflex. Then yet another Targaryen arrives, a woman with dreamy blue eyes and a butter yellow gown covered in ruffles. They are so massive she seems to be drowning in them. “Helaena, have you met Aegon’s newest client?”

“I don’t believe I have.” Helaena, a fashion designer whose work is a staple on red carpets and runways, exchanges pleasantries with you. Her eyes never quite meet yours; instead they bounce around weightlessly to your gown, your gold heels, your hair, your hand clasping your lemon drop, and then to where Aegon is standing next to you probably too closely for someone who is supposed to be your agent and nothing more.

“I absolutely love your dress!” you tell Helaena. “It’s so fun. And yellow is my favorite color.”

“Thank you,” Helaena says, soft and placid. You can barely hear her over the horrible Charli XCX music. “I love your eyeshadow. Is that Alchemist?”

You are startled; you touch your fingertips to your orbital socket before you can stop yourself, hopefully not smudging the glittering gold powder. “It is, yeah. By Natasha Denona.”

“Is Aemond nearby?” Aegon asks his family, and you are aware that he seems to want to get away from them, like he’s rushing towards the end of the conversation.

Alicent peers around. “Um, I don’t think so…maybe he’s up on the second floor?”

“Okay. I’ll bump into him eventually.” But as Aegon turns away, his mother places a palm on his arm, and he stops even if he hasn’t been seized or commanded, yielding to her forcelessness. When Alicent speaks, her voice is gentle and her dark eyes wounded, like there’s a knife in her somewhere that no one has ever pulled out.

“Aegon, I’m very happy to see you here tonight.”

“No problem,” he says briskly, and ushers you away to the bar where he orders another Long Island iced tea.

“Why would I go to your wedding?” you ask as you wait with him. You still have half of your lemon drop left, but Aegon’s cheeks are flushed and he’s beginning to sway, and when he gazes at you from under the sandy strands of hair that have fallen over his eyes, the blue of his irises is murky and slow and far-away, miles away, years away.

“Because you promised you’d do whatever I say, and I want you there.”

“Maybe I don’t want to fly to Turks and Caicos to watch you marry someone else.”

“There will be industry people in attendance. You can network. Consider it good for your career.”

“But—”

“Steve! Hey!” Aegon calls out, then waves some people over to the bar. These are his other clients, the last of a dying breed: a young Scottish guy, a middle-aged man who spent his twenties and thirties in the Navy, a disorientingly beautiful woman who came to the United States as a refugee from Somalia when she was eight years old. They are all kind and welcoming and real, amazingly real, and they adore Aegon, they speak about him with a gratitude that is bone-deep and eternal, and you marvel at this quiet magic he has to him, this way of finding people who’ve fallen through cracks like continental divides and dragging them back up into the daylight.

“Aegon?” the woman, Fatima, says a bit regretfully. “I’m so sorry to steal you away, but I remember you mentioned a certain director last week, the one who worked on Only Murders in the Building. Do you know if he’s here tonight?”

“Oh yeah, totally!” Aegon says, picking up his fresh Long Island iced tea off the bar. “Come on, I’ll help you find him and get the ball rolling.” Then he looks at you, conflicted, as if he isn’t quite comfortable leaving you alone.

You are nonchalant, like you don’t care what he does. “I’m fine. I’ll be with Jace.”

Aegon glances at your aforementioned date, who is presently shoveling his mouth full of crab-stuffed mushrooms and shrimp cocktail by the DJ. “Fantastic,” he mutters, and vanishes into the crowd with Fatima.

You weave through guests as you make your way towards Jace, then someone runs up and throws their arms around you before you can process who it is. Fortunately, you are not one to turn down hugs. When he pulls back, he is grinning. It’s Brandon, doubtlessly cashing in on one of the few benefits of being Aegon’s receptionist. “Hey, girl! Oh my God, I didn’t realize you had a drink. I didn’t make you spill your lemon drop, did I?”

“Oh no, it’s fine! Hi, Brandon!”

“How’d the audition go this morning?”

“Good! We’ll see. It was intense, and I can never really remember what I did afterwards. But I think they liked me.”

He smiles warmly. “Great. I’m so glad it went well. Aegon was really obsessed with it. He must have spent two hours on the phone with those people.”

You are confounded; you have no idea what he means. “On the phone…?”

“Convincing them to give you an audition,” Brandon says, as if surely you already know this and he’s just jogging your memory. Before you can respond, he is rejoined by his date Dylan and dashes off to dance with him. Evidently, Brandon and his date appreciate Charlie XCX.

The indie movie people didn’t know about me, you think, your skull hazy with organ-pink light and gala guests brushing by you and the bass beat thudding from the speakers. They didn’t call Aegon. He called them. And then he lied to me about it.

You look around, wondering where Aegon is, needing to find him; and then you spot someone up on the second floor, not Aegon but another man you have to talk to, a phantom you only know from television and the internet and a rarely-utilized contact in Aegon’s iPhone. You take the escalator up to him, ascending slowly, and he doesn’t even notice you until you speak. He’s standing amidst suits and gowns but he’s in solitude somehow, thoughtful, somber, fidgeting with a gold rush rather than drinking it, gazing vacantly over the crowd down on the ground floor. He wears a navy blue pinstripe tuxedo and a scar down the left half of his face, some sort of childhood accident that cost him an eye. He wears a prosthesis in its place, and you wouldn’t know the difference if this wasn’t common knowledge in Hollywood.

“I think I have to thank you,” you say.

Aemond Targaryen turns to you, startled and then amused. “Thank me?”

“Aegon forged my resume and listed you as a reference. That’s how I got my first job out here, a Grey’s Anatomy episode. So…thank you for the fraud.”

He chuckles to himself and sips his gold rush, ice clinking in the glass. Artificial pink light shifts across his scarred face. A film he wrote the screenplay for won Best Picture at the Oscars last year. “I can’t condone the deception, but I’m comforted that it was for a good cause. I assume you’re the new client.”

“And the last.”

Aemond furrows his brow at you. “The last?”

“Before Aegon retires,” you say. “And I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. Probably end up living under a bridge somewhere.” Probably return to Minnesota to spend the rest of my life impersonating someone my parents want me to be.

But Aemond still isn’t following. “Aegon is retiring?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little tentatively now. “After the wedding. He didn’t tell you?”

Aemond’s eye—the right one, the real one—shifts down towards the ground floor like he’s looking for somebody and then back to you. “Did he say why?”

“He said he was sick of how shallow this place is.” How dangerous. How cursed.

Aemond’s voice is flat. “But it’s always been this way.”

“I mean…I guess? I don’t know. I love it here in Los Angeles!” But you don’t think you mean that as much as you did two months ago.

“Where is Aegon right now?”

“He’s downstairs with Fatima, one of his other clients.”

“I have to go,” Aemond says abruptly, and leaves you alone by the railing. You watch him descend on the escalator, too impatient to wait, walking instead of riding and taking two steps at the time.

Was I not supposed to say anything? Does Aegon’s family not know he’s leaving?

You finish your lemon drop and then frown with your free hand resting on the railing, looking down into the throng of people on the ground floor: freckled with the light scattered by the disco balls, slipping drunkenly on strips of confetti, tolerating yet another Charli XCX song, this one not so offensive and with a plucky tempo that’s easy to dance to:

“I think the apple’s rotten right to the core,

From all the things passed down from all the apples coming before,

I split the apple down symmetrical lines and what I find is kinda scary,

Makes me just wanna drive…”

You are suddenly aware that a woman is standing beside you. White ballgown, blue palm leaves, a long dark shock of hair. “You can’t act if your leg is broken,” Becca says.

You are so alarmed to see her that you physically recoil. “Sorry, what?”

She nods to the escalator. “Be careful. If you trip and fall on that—or on a staircase, or on a curb, or, you know, anywhere—you could break your leg and then you wouldn’t be able to take any acting jobs for months, and I suppose that would derail your plans quite a bit.”

You blink at her, half-terrified, half-disbelieving, gripping your empty lemon drop glass so tightly your hand aches. “Are you…threatening me…?”

Becca gasps, theatrical, mocking. “I would never do that. I’m just looking out for you.” Then she leans in close so no one else can listen. She smells like flowers, like summer, like all the golden days she and Aegon will share together. “You will not be at my wedding. You have somewhere else to be. You can’t make it, how sad. We’ll spare you a thought. You’ll send a gift. Maybe a waffle maker, Aegon loves waffles.”

“Okay,” you squeak. And she swishes away in her bridal gown without saying anything else, but even if she did you wouldn’t be able to hear her. Your heartbeat is thunderous in your ears; your face is scalding with blood, panicked and ashamed and confused.

Breaking legs? Impending wedding?? Waffles???

You give your empty glass to a museum employee and take the escalator back down to the ground floor—after ensuring that Becca isn’t standing nearby—and then hunt through the mob for Jace. But you can’t find him. The only people you bump into are tall booming men in suits or women with tight lineless faces and bony arms and full breasts that stay exactly where they’re supposed to be even without a bra, and you want to go home but you can’t leave without making sure Jace is alright, and he doesn’t answer the texts you frantically type to him. You try to hide in the bathroom but the first one you seek refuge in is lit with pink tubes of neon and full of women fixing their hair and makeup, and you can’t risk someone important seeing you freak out and making a bad impression. Instead, you follow a dark hallway that leads to some of the museum exhibits, and then a benign bluish glow appears and beckons you to a sanctuary: the kelp forest, a tunnel surrounded by a microcosm ocean.

You place your palms on the cool curved glass and breathe, slow and deep, your heartrate going quiet again. On the other side of the transparent divide, angelfish and blue tangs dart between thick ropes of kelp. Above you, a leopard shark sails by over the crest of the tunnel. From far away, you can hear echoes of Alicent addressing the crowd and thanking them for being in attendance tonight, and how much it would have meant to her late husband Viserys.

I don’t want to go to the wedding anyway, you tell yourself, but that’s not helping.

You check your phone again. Jace still hasn’t answered your texts.

And here’s the truth: I don’t want Aegon to marry anyone else. Not even if she was a saint, not even if she was perfect for him.

There are footsteps here in the ocean and the glass and the blue, and you turn to see Aegon stepping into the tunnel, looking around with great confusion as if he’s trying to figure out how you ended up here.

“Are you lost?” he says.

“Yes. But it’s intentional.”

He comes to stand beside you, watching the fish flit through the kelp forest, his hands in the pockets of his powder blue suit, the one Becca picked out for him. And because at last you are alone and the world is hushed, after a while Aegon says: “That was insane, what you did this morning. That was some of the best work I’ve ever seen.”

“So you think I’ll get the job.”

“I think you deserve it. But sometimes that doesn’t have a lot to do with who ends up being cast. We tried, that’s all we can do. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

You look over at him. “You lied to me.”

He seems afraid. “About what?”

“You got me the audition. And you had to convince them.”

Aegon smiles to himself. Is he relieved? “Yeah, alright. I did.”

“Why are you working so hard to help me?”

“Because you’re my girl. And I have to make sure you’re taken care of. And I don’t have much time left.”

“Don’t leave me,” you say, pathetic like a child. Don’t marry her. Don’t move across the country with her. “You’re the only person who thinks I belong here.”

“Other people will believe in you soon. You’re too good for them not to.”

“But I don’t want another agent.”

And Aegon gazes at you, rippling blue light on his face, and when he kisses you he tastes like the Long Island ice teas he’s been drinking since you got here: vodka, tequila, light rum, triple sec, gin, Coke, lemon, poison cut with sweetness, a cold swig that burns all the way down.

You stop him, one hand on his chest, too frail to mean it. “Your fiancée is out there doing a victory lap.”

“But you don’t care,” Aegon says. “And I’m right here with you.”

And now you surrender, you fall into him like a pool, like an ocean, and like a riptide he pulls you to the nearest bathroom—this one small and abandoned—and you drag each other to the frigid tile floor beneath cobalt neon light, and you unravel yourself from him just long enough to lunge for the door and throw the bolt so no one else can open it, and then Aegon is on top of you again, tearing off his suit jacket and unbuttoning the white shirt beneath, and you yank up the hem of your sparking beaded gown until it’s at your hips; but this isn’t enough for him.

“No,” Aegon murmurs against your throat like he has fangs, like he can’t stop until every blood drop of you has hemorrhaged out to satiate him. “I want to see you.”

And so you sit up so he can unzip the top of your dress and help you slip your arms out of the straps, and then you fall back again and let the cold blue chemical light flood over you as he nuzzles you, warm lips, teasing teeth, and it’s perfect, and now he’s rummaging around in his wallet until he finds a condom and you need him now, now, now, and he’s kissing you like he feels the same desperation in this dwindling eleventh hour. But when you reach down to touch him, he’s barely hard.

You are bewildered. This has never happened to you before. Undeterred, you straddle Aegon, kissing him deeply as your hips grind against his, and he seems like he wants to…he really does…but it’s not working. Now he’s completely soft.

Aegon sighs heavily. “Just stop,” he says, rubbing his face with his hands, and you crawl off of him and sit beside him on the floor, draped in uneasy blue, the room silent except for your own rapid breathing and distant rumblings from the gala.

You have no idea what to say. You don’t even look at him. You stare at the wall instead, feeling like you’ve made some horrific mistake, like you’ve shattered something that could have been beautiful.

After a moment, Aegon grabs your thighs roughly and tugs you closer to him. “Come here. I’ll get you off.”

“But I’m not going to be into it if I feel like you’re not into it.”

“I am into it,” Aegon insists, frustrated.

“What did you want me to do that I wasn’t doing?” What does Becca do for you?

“It’s not you. You’re not the problem.”

“But I want to know what I should have done differently—”

“It’s not about you,” Aegon snaps. “I’m just…I’m not in my twenties anymore, you know?”

You stare at him. “You’re thirty-five, Aegon. You’re not old.”

“Please, please, just shut up and let me take care of you, and we can move on.”

But you draw away when he tries to reach between your legs, and you lay an open palm against his flushed cheek, and you are suddenly struck by a lightning bolt of a theory. Why is he really leaving Los Angeles? What did Viserys Targaryen die of? “Aegon…is there something wrong with you?”

“I’ll take you home,” he says, and starts putting his clothes back on.

“Because if you weren’t okay, I would want to know, and I could help you—”

“I’ll take you home,” Aegon says again, so severely and with such finality you can’t argue, because you can’t speak at all. If you try to, you’ll burst into tears. You feel completely rejected by him. You feel like you ruined your very last chance to touch him, and soon he’ll be getting married on Turks and Caicos, and soon you’ll never see him again except in Becca’s blissful Instagram stories.

Aegon walks with you quickly through the museum, past the guests he ignores, and outside where a long line of black SUVs and limousines are waiting. He puts you in an Escalade and then jogs around to the other side, sitting so the skinny middle seat is between you. Then he tells you to give the driver your address. He must not remember it.

Once you have relayed your address, you say miserably to Aegon: “I can ride home by myself, thanks.”

He’s gazing blankly out the window and running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll feel better if I make sure you get there safely.” It feels patronizing, humiliating, like a weak wordless goodbye. You wonder if tomorrow you’ll get a text that he’s officially offloaded you onto some other agent.

The Escalade driver begins to pull away from the curb, and you realize you’ve forgotten something…or, rather, someone. “Wait!” you shout, and the Escalade lurches to a halt.

“What’s your problem?” Aegon says irritably. His powder blue suit is wrinkled; his face is exhausted.

“I can’t leave without Jace.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Right on time, you look through the tinted window to see Jace wandering around the entranceway. He must have seen you hurry out of the museum. You open the Escalade door and call to him. Jace runs to the vehicle, scrambles over your lap, and flops into the middle seat between you and Aegon.

“You can’t get your own ride?” Aegon flares at him.

Jace is incredulous. He looks at you. “We’re going to the same place, right?”

“Right,” you agree casually, and Aegon shakes his head and resumes staring out the window, although there is nothing there but darkness and blooms of artificial light.

“That was so cool,” Jace says as he types energetically on his iPhone. He spends the entirety of the twenty-minute drive posting photos and videos of himself with minor celebrities on his Instagram stories: Frankie Muniz, Cole Sprouse, Meghan Trainor, Katy Perry. He asks you for suggestions as he chooses filters and adds music. Aegon doesn’t say a word; he aggressively chews several sticks of Juicy Fruit instead.

When the Escalade stops in front of your building, you and Jace depart beneath omnipresent light pollution that blots out the stars.

“Hey,” Aegon says just before you shut the car door, and you are powerless to walk away until you’ve heard what he has to tell you—an apology? an explanation?—and you stand frozen on the sidewalk under a streetlight as Jace goes inside. “You know, I, uh…I had a lot to drink, right?”

“You tried to think of an excuse the whole way here and that’s the best one you came up with?”

Before Aegon can reply, you slam the door and follow Jace into your apartment building.

[gamerbearmira]

Maybe the movie doesn’t go as planned and the door hits Antonio when casita is crashing. Instead of dying he’s sent back to the beginning of his birthday. Keeps going back until he can notice some thing is wrong at the party (Mirabel not at the party in his room) maybe he could help or something. But every time it resets, someone else also starts to get caught in the loop. Abuela

I LOVE THIS IDEA WHAT‼️‼️‼️

I think it takes a whole nother cycle for him to realize he’s in a loop. The first time he thinks it’s a bad dream; but when everything happens a second time, verbatim, he realizes something is wrong. He thinks that if he can live through the crash, it will stop. So, he tries to get Felíx to help him; I think that in this au, Felíx tries to save Antonio, but barely misses him. This time, instead of Antonio freezing, he runs to Felíx. But Felíx isn’t prepared, and basically tackles Antonio; they end up underneath the furniture anyway.

Keep in mind, Antonio would have been trying to tell anyone about what was happening; Felíx believes him after his first time through the loop. He is also a very big help, as he has, to put it frankly, much more critical thinking than Antonio. Not saying that homeboy is stupid, he’s actually really smart, but Felíx is able to notice things more quickly. He can also do more.

From this point on, they have to be careful. If either of them dies or something goes horrendously wrong, it will start all the way over. Back at Antonio’s birthday. He doesn’t even enjoy the gift ceremony at some point, it’s just a routine that he tries to rush through. But, he (and Felíx), discover that if they move through events too quickly, and something that wasn’t supposed to happen ends up happening that drastically changes the timeline. Boom.

Butterfly effect. Restart. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

This actually leads to the death of other family members and they end up in the time loop as well. Like how Antonio thought that if he told Mirabel about Bruno sooner, they could work things out with Alma. Nope. This just leads to the same argument, but now Bruno gets stuck in the walls and can’t escape because he’s not in the right hallway.

Oh, he wants to make sure Camilo gets to the candle? Well, if Casita goes to help Camilo instead of Mirabel, Mirabel gets crushed. Now she’s in the loop. If Casita focuses too much on Mirabel, Camilo ends up in the loop. It’s a constant gamble of choices that ultimately will end up getting at least one family member killed per cycle. Until they’re just going in circles. The whole family can make up in any given loop, but if Alma doesn’t make up as well, it won’t be for anything.

Alma would most definitely be the last, if at all. To join the loop. She, by some miracle from the Man upstairs, straight up just defies time???? Or at least, manages to evade the events of the time loop and stick to the script. Every. Single. Time. Without even knowing. It’s terrifying.

I really like this idea let me shut up

[ratwavekayla]

I'm working on a zine with @molomoot called Ritual Magic for Besties! Ritual Magic for Besties is a tabletop roleplaying game for two-to-six players, using a deck of tarot cards. You play a group of magic users, in an urban fantasy setting, gathering together to cast a ritual spell.

Ritual magic relies on the connections between the gathered group, a de-facto coven. In play you build stacks of cards and establish details of your connections as well as how the in-progress ritual is developing.

I've written the zine and will do the layout and Mol'll illustrate it (they're a really great artist).

Here's a preview of the zine, the cold open setting the mood and tone:

Eris knuckles knock on the door a few times, starting as a simple repetition before they turn the knocking into a jaunty tune. Gale opens the door, hair still wet and towel draped over her shoulders.

“Am I…early?” Eris asks, in disbelief.

“Ha, no. I just gambled on you being late. Still you’re the first to arrive.”

“How did I beat KC here? They live here.”

“They’re doing a snack run on their way home from work.” Gale offers an explanation and leads Eris inside.

Gale and KC’s flat is cramped, but distinctly decorated. Gale’s sketches decorate the walls, along with a whiteboard she got while studying. KC has an assortment of tour posters covering their room.

“Soooo…” Eris drags out the phrase, hoping Gale will pick it up for them.

“So?” Gale leaves a space, refusing to offer Eris a graceful escape from awkward.

“So, about tonight.”

“Yes?”

“Errrr-”

“You don’t know what we’re doing or why, do you?” Gale puts Eris out of their misery, with only slight smugness.

Eris lets out a sigh of release as they crash on Gale and KC’s sofa. “I know it’s for Ginger.” Eris shrugs and offers a bashful smile. “And I knew I was on board whatever so I kinda spaced on the explanation.” Gale begins making some tea and rolls her eyes and her guest.

“She has a job interview tomorrow.” Gale finally explains.

“Oh, we cursing the opposition?”

“No, Christ, don’t be absurd.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to, I asked if that’s what we were doing, chill out!”

“Luck! She wants some luck.”

“Oh.” Eris replies, sounded lightly deflated.

“Dissapointed?”

“No, I just figured, I dunno, a knowledge enchantment or something?”

“She doesn’t want to feel like she’s cheating, c’mon, it’s Ginger. And wishing her luck, even if it’s a very powerful wish, isn’t cheating.”

Gale hands a cup of tea to Eris, who immediately takes a sip and let’s out a yelp at their burnt tongue. Gale sighs, having expected this if she thinks about it for a second.

“You, uh, sure you should be in on this? We could it with three.” Gale broaches a subject she’d been dancing around.

“I’m not as foolish as I like.”

“I don’t think you’re a fool.”

“Oh, you absolutely do, but you’re trying not to care about that so it’s fine.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Gale sounds sterner now.

“Well, what did you mean?” Eris asks, some nervousness creeping into their voice.

“Ginger. You’re…” Gale pauses, uncomfortable having to broach this. “Your unconfessed crush on her.”

“It’s not…like that. Not exactly.”

“Hm. Think what you want, but you’re gonna be holding back. Sure that’s a good move?”

“Luck’s simple, and I… I just wanna help. Because I care about her and she asked me for help and take that smug look off your face or I’ll knock it off.”

“Never.” Gale smiles, an earnest smile.

The two friends laugh, then rest in comfortable silence. Eris takes another sip of tea, still too hot.

(I've done cold opens like this before. Fear the Taste of Blood starts with a script extract of a horror movie, the kind that inspired the game. Wild Duelist has a narration covering some history, vibes and themes. I think I'm drawn to it when the description of the game itself calls for a less "flavourful" summary.)

[williamgreytrader]

Is Algo Trading Safe? Here’s the Truth

Algo trading—or algorithmic trading—is safe as long as it is built with expert and real human strategies and settings. It basically uses bots to execute trades based on pre-programmed rules. It's fast, data-driven, and emotion-free. But is it safe?

Let’s break it down:

✅ The Upside

Speed & Efficiency: Bots can analyze charts and execute trades in milliseconds, way faster than humans.

No Emotion: No FOMO. No panic selling. Just logic.

Backtestable: You can test strategies on years of data before going live.

24/7 Execution: Your bot doesn’t sleep. It works across time zones, even while you're offline.

⚠️ The Risks

Bad Code = Bad Trades: A single bug or miscalculation in your logic can blow your account.

Market Shocks: Flash crashes or news events can confuse or mislead bots that aren't adaptive.

Over-Optimization: Many strategies look great in backtests but fail in live markets.

No Human Oversight: If you walk away and the system malfunctions, you might not know until it’s too late.

So, Is Algorithmic Trading Safe?

Algo trading is as safe as its design and the discipline behind it. A well-coded, well-tested system running with risk controls can be safer than manual trading. But a copy-paste script or a black-box EA you bought online? That’s a gamble.

For the best use of Algo trading, you must try SureShotFX once for the best trading strategies experience. Here you will get automated trading backed by expert trading strategies and analysis. So, no fear of getting flashed out or getting ripped off in the name of Algo trading bot.

Yes, SureShotFx provides an EA file for the Algo trading. But the EA includes strong analysis and strategy setup that you can relax after setting up on your trading platform.

Final Thought

Use risk management. Monitor results. Backtest ruthlessly. Algo trading isn’t a cheat code—it’s an EA of trading. Like any EA file, it can build wealth or destroy it depending on how you use it.

Safety = Smart Setup + Active Monitoring.

[afrestudios]

Mastering IRCTC Tatkal Booking: Tips for Quick Railway Reservations

In India, where millions rely on the railway system for daily commuting and long-distance travel, securing a confirmed train ticket is often a race against time—especially for last-minute travelers. The Tatkal scheme, introduced by the Indian Railways, is a lifesaver for such travelers. However, getting a Tatkal ticket can be tricky due to high demand. In this article, we’ll explore essential tips and insights for IRCTC Tatkal Booking, how to make a successful tatkal reservation booking, and why many travelers turn to smart planning tools from trusted digital service providers like Afre Studios to enhance their booking experience.

What is Tatkal Booking?

Tatkal is a scheme under which Indian Railways offers tickets for booking one day in advance of the journey date. It was launched to help travelers who need to travel on short notice. Tatkal reservation booking opens at 10:00 AM for AC classes and 11:00 AM for non-AC classes, one day before the train’s departure (excluding the day of travel).

IRCTC Tatkal Booking: A Race Against Time

Booking Tatkal tickets through the IRCTC (Indian Railway Catering and Tourism Corporation) portal is a real-time competition. You are not just filling a form; you are racing against thousands of other passengers who also want a seat.

Here are a few practical tips for fast and successful Indian Railways Ticket Booking Tatkal:

Create Your Master Plan

Before Tatkal bookings open, ensure:

Your IRCTC account is logged in.

Passenger details are pre-filled using tools or extensions.

Payment method is pre-decided and saved.

Use Fast Internet & Devices

A high-speed and reliable internet connection, preferably on a desktop or laptop, can give you an edge. Browser-based bookings usually perform better than the app during peak hours.

Choose Quota & Train Smartly

Select Tatkal quota from the start. Avoid popular trains or routes during festive seasons if you're booking last-minute. Alternatives with fewer passengers often have better availability.

Opt for Autofill Tools

Several tech-savvy users rely on form autofill extensions or platforms like Afre Studios, which offer browser tools or scripts designed to speed up railway reservation tatkal bookings. These tools fill in passenger and payment information instantly, giving users a better shot at securing their tickets.

Payment Gateways Matter

Choose a fast and reliable payment option like UPI, net banking, or stored cards. IRCTC wallet and Paytm are also effective options. Avoid options that require additional OTP verifications if possible.

Common Issues Faced During Tatkal Reservation

Despite careful preparation, users often face issues such as:

Session timeouts

Payment gateway errors

IRCTC website crashes

Network lags

To mitigate these risks, platforms such as Afre Studios are building tools that optimize the Tatkal reservation booking experience through automation and speed-focused utilities.

Afre Studios: Enhancing the Booking Experience

Afre Studios, a growing name in digital utility solutions, has started helping users improve their railway booking journey. With a user-focused design philosophy and performance-driven tools, Afre Studios offers services that help travelers:

Pre-fill booking forms

Manage multiple IRCTC accounts

Automate login and captcha recognition (within legal limits)

Use mobile-friendly solutions for on-the-go booking

For those who regularly travel by train and depend on last-minute bookings, using tech-powered tools from brands like Afre Studios could be a game-changer.

Conclusion

Securing a confirmed Tatkal ticket is a blend of strategy, speed, and preparation. While Indian Railways continues to enhance its digital infrastructure, travelers can stay ahead of the curve by using fast devices, smart payment methods, and booking optimization tools from brands like Afre Studios. With the right approach, IRCTC Tatkal Booking doesn’t have to be a gamble—it can be a well-executed travel plan.

[ideyalabsllp]

Performance, Security, Usability: The QA Consulting Blueprint for Mobile Banking Success

Performance, Security, Usability: The QA Consulting Blueprint for Mobile Banking Success

Mobile banking has rewrite Performance, Security, Usability: The QA Consulting Blueprint for Mobile Banking Success ten the rules of finance. Gone are the days of wa

iting in line at a branch—now, customers expect to deposit checks, send money, or check their balance with a flick of their wrist. But here’s the rub: an app that’s slow, vulnerable, or confusing doesn’t just disappoint—it drives users away. For QA Managers, Project Managers, and decision-makers, the pressure is on to deliver flawless mobile banking experiences. That’s where quality assurance consulting services come in, offering a blueprint for success rooted in performance, security, and usability.

This isn’t about quick fixes or cutting corners. It’s about building an app that thrives under scrutiny and earns customer loyalty. Let’s explore how quality assurance consulting services tackle these three pillars to create mobile banking apps that don’t just survive—they dominate.

The Mobile Banking Tightrope The numbers don’t lie: mobile banking adoption is soaring, with over 70% of U.S. bank customers using apps in 2024. But with growth comes risk. Cybercrime costs in the financial sector are projected to hit $10 trillion by 2027, and user churn spikes when apps falter. Banks can’t afford to stumble—every tap matters.

Quality assurance consulting services are the safety net. They bring precision and foresight, helping QA Managers squash bugs, Project Managers meet deadlines, and decision-makers protect their brand. Here’s how they balance the tightrope of performance, security, and usability.

Security: The First Line of Defense Trust is the currency of mobile banking, and security is its vault. A single breach—say, a leaked PIN or a hijacked transfer—can unravel years of goodwill. Customers demand ironclad protection, and hackers are all too eager to test it.

Quality assurance consulting services don’t mess around. They hammer apps with penetration tests, mimicking attacks like cross-site scripting or session hijacking to find cracks. Encryption gets a deep dive—QA teams verify that data, from login credentials to transaction details, stays unreadable to outsiders. They even test edge cases, like what happens if a phone’s stolen mid-session—does the app lock down fast enough?

For Security Engineers, this is a dream teammate. Consultants also check user safeguards: Are push notifications secure? Does the app flag unusual activity? It’s not just about stopping threats—it’s about empowering users to feel safe.

Performance: Speed That Wins In mobile banking, every second counts. A customer trying to pay rent at the last minute doesn’t have patience for a sluggish app. Performance isn’t a bonus—it’s the heartbeat of user satisfaction. A slow app doesn’t just annoy; it loses you business.

QA consultants treat performance like a science. They run endurance tests, pushing the app through hours of heavy use to spot crashes. They measure latency—how fast does a balance update?—across spotty networks and peak hours. Compatibility is non-negotiable: the app has to fly on a beat-up tablet or a brand-new iPhone.

For Project Managers, this means launch day isn’t a gamble. Quality assurance consulting services catch resource hogs—like a chatty backend or unoptimized graphics—and propose fixes early. The payoff? An app that’s smooth as silk, keeping users hooked.

Usability: Where Simplicity Rules A fortress of security and a speed demon of an app mean nothing if users can’t figure it out. Usability is the bridge between tech and people, and it’s where quality assurance consulting services turn good apps into great ones. It’s not about geeky specs—it’s about human instincts.

QA teams start with the basics: Is the layout clean? Are key features—like transfers or bill pay—easy to find? They test with real people, watching how a college student or a grandparent navigates the app. Accessibility is baked in—think adjustable text for bad eyes or tap-friendly buttons for shaky hands.

For Mobile Developers, this is a goldmine of feedback. Consultants refine flows—like trimming steps to add a payee—based on what clicks with users. The result? An app that feels like second nature, not a chore.

Industry Insights: QA’s Mobile Banking Playbook Mobile banking is evolving, and QA is writing the playbook. Real-time payments are exploding—think Venmo-style instant transfers—and QA consultants test these systems to ensure they’re fast and fraud-proof. Voice banking is creeping in too, with QA teams checking if “pay my electric bill” works across accents and devices.

Data privacy is another frontier. With laws like Canada’s PIPEDA or Brazil’s LGPD tightening the screws, apps need to anonymize data without breaking functionality. Quality assurance consulting services test these balances, keeping banks compliant and customers happy. For decision-makers, this is a roadmap to stay ahead.

Why QA Consulting Is Your Ace In-house QA can grind out results, but quality assurance consulting services bring the X-factor. They’re outsiders with no baggage, spotting flaws your team might gloss over. They wield niche expertise—like mobile-specific testing frameworks—that internal staff might lack. And they flex fast, scaling up for a crunch or dialing back post-launch.

For QA Managers, it’s a stress reliever. For Project Managers, it’s a deadline saver. For decision-makers, it’s a profit driver—happy users don’t churn, and secure apps don’t bleed cash on fixes. It’s a no-brainer.

Conclusion: Build Your Mobile Banking Legacy Mobile banking success isn’t luck—it’s strategy. Performance, security, and usability are the trifecta, and quality assurance consulting services are the masterminds behind it. QA Managers, Project Managers, and decision-makers can lean on this expertise to launch apps that dazzle users and defy threats.

Don’t let your app be a cautionary tale. Team up with QA consultants today and craft a mobile banking experience that’s fast, safe, and effortless. The competition’s watching—make sure you’re the one they’re chasing. Contact a QA expert now and start building your edge.

[jonathanvik]

Luyten V - Chapter 19

“What do you wish to discuss?” Macauley asked the computer screen. Once again, Macauley had lured her to the same dingy apartment building. The mysterious alien entity was alone this time, her assistant Naboth off elsewhere.

At first glance, Cecilia seemed alone, too. That was an illusion, however. Through a wiretap, Sandage overheard every word, ready to assist if something untoward happened. While they doubted Macauley would try anything, Cecilia was in a dangerous part of town. Sandage refused to send her there all alone. From a hidden earpiece, she could converse with the agent.

The reason for the deception was simple: Sandage figured Macauley might be more careless with her words if she spoke with Cecilia instead of him. A simple but clever gamble, in her opinion. Contacting the streamer hadn’t been difficult. A PM with Cecilia’s name had sufficed to get the vTuber’s attention.

“You seem knowledgeable about many things.” Cecilia pulled a piece of odd metal from her pocket and placed it before the open laptop. “Have you seen this before?”

Sandage and his contacts had worked hard to find the fragment from a crashed alien ship from the ’70s. Written on its curved surface was the alien script Cecilia recognized from her vision. Unfortunately, it was only a section of the ship’s hull. Still, Dr. Gold and the other LUVOLT scientists had shown great interest in its strange, alien material.

“Hmm.” The digital being scratched her chin, peering at the fragment with open curiosity. “Is that some sort of alien language?” Macauley’s expression gave nothing away, all cheerful exuberance as usual.

“Is it from your people?” Cecilia asked, cursing when she realized she’d asked too directly.

“My people? No.” Cecilia examined Macauley’s digital face for any sign of a lie. She found none, much to her frustration. The alien was too difficult to read. “But, hmm. I wonder if I should tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Is Rose still in a coma?” Macauley asked, abruptly changing the subject. “Considering I haven’t seen her on any of my streams, I’m guessing she’s still infected with the Altair’s disease. Did LUVOLT’s director not approve of my plan?”

Cecilia reeled from the sudden change in topic. Inwardly, she fumed at the alien’s evasiveness and told herself to remain cordial, despite her feelings. “No. Director Shapley said it was too risky. He was only willing to use it as a last resort.”

“Isn’t he cutting it close? From the doctor's estimates I’ve read, Rose has only about three days left to live.”

“We realize that,” Cecilia said, her jaw tense. “Unless you’ve found a better plan in the meantime?”

“Unfortunately, no. Petrus and I still believe it’s Rose’s best chance.”

“I see.” Despair stabbed at Cecilia’s heart, knowing that Rose’s chances were getting slimmer by the second. Heck, Director Shapley might have waited too long to enact Macauley’s plan.

Sensing Cecilia’s worry, Macauley’s digital countenance softened. “Hey, it’s not over yet. Hope will get us through this.”

“Hope?”

“Yes, it’s what keeps us going, no matter how bleak things get. Do you believe in a higher power?”

“No.” What an odd question. Why would she?

“I do, and I don’t think he’s abandoned us yet. Say, how about you visit me tonight? I have a special surprise for you,” Macauley said, abruptly changing the topic again.

“What?”

“About 10, I’d say. I promise it will rock your world entirely!”

“I���I guess,” Cecilia replied, flummoxed.

“Good. See you then!” Macauley’s computer screen cut off, leaving only a black screen.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Cecilia said, feeling stupid. She hadn’t even cleared it with Sandage or anything!

“It’s fine. Whatever Macauley has to offer should be interesting,” Sandage said from her earpiece. Cecilia rejoined him in a parked nondescript van outside the apartment building. Inside its rear was a station filled with advanced surveillance equipment. On one monitor, she saw Sandage through the wire she still wore. 

“I really don’t like talking with that person.” The alien’s evasiveness annoyed Cecilia to no end. Whatever. She hoped whatever Macauley had to show her wouldn’t be something stupid. She’d seen the streamer’s propensity for pranks and told Sandage as much.

Her comment earned a smile from the older man. “She has a mischievous streak, but my gut tells me she has our best interests in mind. Not that I trust her, but I don’t think she means us any harm.”

When she saw Cecilia’s skeptical response, Sandage only shrugged. “She’s like Gauss. She can’t help it.”

“Great.” It wasn’t like the Earth was threatened with extinction or anything! “Let’s hope you’re right.”

---

“It’s bright. I hate it,” Tseen Foo said, complaining as they climbed the hill. “Why must it be so bright? These eyes absorb too much light!”

As they passed a group of humans, the crowd scattered upon seeing the three figures approach. It might have been because they sensed the predators among them. But Tarazed knew it was more likely because they noticed their torn, ravaged overalls.

Tseen Foo had been overeager when he dealt with the three workmen they encountered upon entering this universe. Tarazed hoped they wouldn’t draw too much attention before they found more suitable clothing. Still, these human disguises would suffice as they searched to eliminate Rose. Their workmen’s bland appearances made blending in easy.

They passed a row of what Tarazed assumed were food services, watching as the humans babbled nonsense at each other in their loud, guttural language. He glared at them with contempt, wondering how they accomplished anything with such an ineffective means of communication.

Curious, Tseen Foo snatched a food item from a passing man and his mate, taking a bite.

“Hey, my burger!” the human protested.

But the disguised Altair ignored him, chewing on the food item for several moments before spitting it out in disgust. “And you call that food? Its nutritional value is pathetic!”

“Hey, man, I know it’s not good for you, but it tastes good,” the human replied, but Tseen Foo was already pushing past him.

“Would you stop complaining and acting out!” Denebokab snapped, finally losing his temper. “We’re trying to complete a mission here!”

“And these legs are the worst! It’s so hard to get the right balance! Can’t they grow wings or something? It’d be so much more convenient!” Tseen Foo said, ignoring his colleague. “They have the technology. Can’t they alter their DNA to something more useful?”

“Not sure,” Denebokab replied, considering. “Maybe they feel fine with their bodily structure? They’re well-tailored for their environment.”

“Hence why humanity is doomed to extinction. They smell, eat bad food, and don’t have the sense to evolve into something useful!”

Before a further argument could break out, Tarazed interrupted them. Not a single word was spoken aloud, as Tarazed found speaking actual words beneath him. “Enough. You know your mission. Gather intel about Rose of the Red Devil. When the sun sets, meet at our arrival point. Don’t cause any trouble unless your life is threatened. And get less conspicuous clothes. I don’t want to cause any incidents with the local authorities.”

“Okay,” the pair said in unison, with both their minds and mouths. As one, they broke apart for the operation.

It took some effort, but Tarazed secured unobtrusive clothes to blend in. He’d snatched them from a man distracted with a clothes-cleaning machine. They were surprisingly warm and sturdy, but Tarazed supposed that made sense for a species with weak, delicate skin lacking natural protection.

In his search for clues about Rose of the Red Devil, Tarazed wandered the human city, observing the Altair’s latest prey as they lived their daily lives. He noted they were a species that had turned their technology to making their lives easier. For example, they developed processed food to fill their seemingly bottomless stomachs. Their vehicles helped them travel in relative comfort at impressive speeds. They even carried devices to amuse themselves throughout the day. This species thrived because of its technology.

“These humans seem to need constant distraction and bustle,” Tarazed observed, wondering how this weakness might be exploited.

After some wandering around, Tarazed drew a mental map of the city. Some areas attracted many humans, while others were sparsely populated. The reason became apparent: some sections of the city catered to services humans wanted, like food or entertainment, while others were for industrial needs, such as factories or storing supplies. Since humans preferred recreational areas, Tarazed stuck to those.

When he spotted a building popular with the locals, Tarazed stepped inside. The interior was less appealing, filled with loud, boisterous sounds that hurt his ears. Somehow, the conversations were even less coherent than other human interactions. The patrons of this establishment were unusual—less lucid than others of their species. The reason soon became apparent: each human drank from cups filled with a vile-smelling liquid.

“It must be intoxicating.” Like many other species, humanity seemed fond of fermented drinks. A human at the counter tried catching his attention, but he ignored them.

“Useless.” Tarazed turned to leave, but a metal box caught his eye. It showed a man reading what was clearly news, with text flashing in a moving banner beneath him. This program must be how humans convey intelligence to each other.

Intrigued by what humans deemed important, Tarazed stood and watched. It might convey something interesting about his target. But he soon found himself disappointed. The man on the screen was talking about some trivial local matter regarding farming. Then another human discussed something even less interesting: the weather. Despite his disinterest, Tarazed kept watching.

The Altair general jerked as something bumped into him, spilling a nasty, reeking liquid onto him.

“Hey, man! Don’t stand in the middle of the room, moron!” A heavyset human said, face flushing red in agitation. “You spilled my beer.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Tarazed’s expression before vanishing. While it rankled to have filthy human beverage splashed on him, the offending human meant little in the grand scheme of the Altair’s master plan, amounting to little more than an annoying buzz. Tarazed’s stare of utter indifference didn’t change as returned to the screen.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!” the human said, clearly disliking being ignored. But his words fell on indifferent ears.

“And now a quick update on Rosemary Brahe's status. The Luyten V pilot remains in critical condition after her fight with the Altair attack last week. We’ve been told she’s stable, but there is little change in her struggle against the Altair infection. The nation’s thoughts and prayers are with her as this brave hero fights the alien contamination. She is quarantined in a hidden facility for safety reasons. President Okona is planning to visit her tomorrow to discuss possible treatments with the doctors there.”

“Infected.” The word caught Tarazed’s attention. It seemed Okab’s efforts hadn’t been in vain. The Grand Intelligence need not worry about Rose of the Red Devil—she was destined to die. Even the most advanced civilizations had failed to cure the Altair’s cells. Tarazed doubted this primitive backwater could accomplish anything different.

“Then I should instruct the Grand Intelligence to begin a full assault as soon as possible,” Tarazed thought. Without the Red Devil, the humans were hopelessly defenseless. But he would destroy the weapon first, just in case another human attempted piloting it.

“I’m talking to you.” A hand shoved Tarazed, and he turned to meet the offender’s gaze. The human’s bravado faltered immediately under the weight of Tarazed’s piercing stare—an expression devoid of emotion, which yet froze him in terror. A primal fear seized the man, like he’d entered a predator’s domain.

“On second thought, don’t worry about it.” The human released a nervous laugh before scurrying away like a frightened rodent.

Tarazed remained impassive, dismissing the altercation from his mind. He, however, took quiet satisfaction as the lesser creatures scattered from his path as he exited the building. It was time to reunite with his subordinates and finalize an attack strategy. They would be pleased to learn that the Red Devil was no longer a viable threat. The pair were already waiting for him at the park. Some humans walked along paved paths, but the Altair paid them little attention.  

“I found much success!” Tseen Foo declared, waving enthusiastically as Tarazed approached, radiating self-satisfaction.

“I also discovered useful information,” Denebokab said more quietly. He presented a bound collection of pages—a book. The title read Mobile Metal Heroes. “The store clerk told me this book contains all known human knowledge about giant robot combat. It should provide valuable insights into how the Luyten V fights.”

“So what?” Tseen Foo interjected, eager to one-up his colleague. “I learned that Rose is badly sick. She’s infected with Altair cells. I even got a list of local medical facilities. I say we crush them all. One of them is bound to have her in it.”

Tarazed fought the urge to groan, his patience thinning. 

“Denebokab, that book you’re holding is fiction,” Tarazed kept his tone as level as possible. “None of it is real. My guess is it’s a fanciful description of what the writer imagined giant robot combat would be like.”

“What? Humans write things that aren’t real?” Denebokab’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Yes.”

“But that’s absurd!” He stared at the book as if it had grown limbs.

“It’s the way of lesser creatures,” Tarazed replied dismissively. “They cling to falsehoods to distract themselves from their meaningless lives.”

Denebokab, instead of showing disdain, appeared intrigued. He opened the book and began reading with open fascination. 

“And as for your idea, Tseen Foo,” Tarazed continued, “it would be counterproductive. I also learned that Rose is infected with our cells, but she’s being treated in a secret facility, not a normal hospital. Your plan would only alert the humans that we’re after her and accomplish little beyond pointless destruction.”

“We could do it anyway,” Tseen Foo suggested. “It’d keep them distraught and distracted. The destruction would send terror through their tiny brains. And they’d have nowhere to tend their injured when we attack.”

“No.” Tarazed’s voice kept firm. “I have a better plan—one that’ll lead us directly to our target. The leader of this country will soon visit her. We’ll trail him, discover her location, and strike.” He allowed himself a thin smile. “As a bonus, the death of their president will plunge this land into chaos—perfect conditions for the Altair’s full assault.”

“Excellent idea, General Tarazed,” Denebokab said, briefly glancing up from his book.

“It’s serviceable,” Tseen Foo conceded, though his tone sounded disappointed. “But it’s lacking in general mayhem. Can I at least kill their president?”

“Go ahead,” Tarazed replied without hesitation. As long as they accomplished the mission, the details mattered little.

“Nice,” Tseen Foo said with a grin, his eyes alight with anticipation.

The plan was in motion. Rose of the Red Devil would die, their leader would fall, and the country would burn. Tarazed would ensure the humans learned the futility of opposing the Altair.

[stevishabitat]

The whole point is that they can AI 90% of it and only pay the designer to touch it up a bit. So the designer can do loads of these per hour, just tweaking it a bit to clean it up, and they can only have one designer on staff, or maybe even a unpaid student intern or something, instead of having several designers and artists doing projects from start to finish.

That's the plan for SO much AI, tbh. They don't expect AI to write a whole script, but if it can churn out something, then they can pay an editor to clean it up quickly and move onto the next one, then they don't need actual writers, much less a whole room of them. Just one sad editor trying to turn a giant pile of pig shit into a bunch of purses as fast as possible.

Translators have already warned us that they get this all the time. A company needs documents in another language. Instead of hiring a translator to do the translation, they feed it into Google Translate, then hand whatever comes out to a translator to just 'touch it up' and expect it done yesterday. That's a terrible way to do translation, and horrible to expect a language professional to basically spell-check a pile of garbage churned out by a computer.

It's mass production, assembly line style, but for things that previously were valued for human creativity.

The human creativity part is no longer valuable, because things aren't being produced for the consumer. They are being produced to prove that the company is being productive.

It doesn't even matter in many cases if the goods are even purchased or consumed, as long as the level of production keeps increasing.

Factories dumping products that no one wants to (or can't afford to) buy. Studios producing movies and series that they aren't even going to release. Quality doesn't matter in that kind of economy.

Obviously that's not sustainable indefinitely, but everyone involved is just hoping to make enough money to get out before it all crashes. They're all gambling that the economy will sustain long enough to pad out their retirement and after that, it's not their problem.

the first fallout show promotional illustration posted to twitter by amazon prime appears to be ai-generated

[krunnuy]

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[denimbex1986]

'The many worlds where narrative cinema can take us is one of the form’s most attractive features. We can see what life on Mars might look like if we ever set up shop there (The Martian, 2015), dodge a dragon in a gold-filled cavern (The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug, 2013), feel the excitement of high-stakes gambling (Molly’s Game, 2017), or have a thrilling adventure circumnavigating the globe (Around the World in Eighty Days, 1956). We can thank the many directors, actors, cinematographers, and stylists of all sorts for the way they create the visual environments in which we can immerse ourselves.

This all starts, however, with the word. The films I mentioned above were all adapted from books, the vehicle that has nurtured our need to stretch our experiences and imagination for centuries. As a writer myself, I am acutely aware that what I see on screen is an exercise of the writer’s craft made visible. So, my view of Andrew Haigh’s All of Us Strangers, adapted by the director from Japanese author Taichi Yamada’s 1987novel Strangers, definitely is colored by their choice to have their main character make his living as a screenwriter.

We meet Adam (Andrew Scott) in his apartment on the 27nd floor of a boxy, nondescript building somewhere in London. He is trying to write a script on his laptop, but nothing is coming. He lowers the screen, looks through a few old photos, and goes to his refrigerator to grab some leftovers when a fire alarm sounds. Clearly well practiced at high-rise evacuation procedures, he heads down to the street and crosses the road to look up at the building. He sees someone looking back at him from another apartment.

Returning home after the false alarm, Adam gets a visit from the figure he saw at the window. Harry (Paul Mescal), apparently the only other tenant in the building, offers him a slug of whiskey from his half-empty bottle and a chance to hang out or possibly hook up for sex. Adam begs off, but the connection has been made. The next time Harry comes to Adam’s door, he is invited in for oral sex. The men talk afterward, with Adam having trouble using the now preferred term “queer,” which he always found derogatory. Adam is an older gay man who lived in the shadow of AIDS and who hasn’t considered fucking anyone for ages for fear of dying. Harry’s arrival reawakens Adam’s interest not only in sex, but also in companionship and the possibility of love.

We learn through a conversation he has with Harry that Adam’s parents were killed in a car crash when he was eleven and that he is trying to write about them. To that end, he travels by train to Croydon, in South London, to the home in which he was raised. To his astonishment, he finds his parents living in the home, looking exactly as they did the year of their deaths. So begins a series of visits between the three of them during which Adam’s career, sexuality, and the manner of his parents’ death—they know they died—are discussed.

Yamada’s novel carries on his culture’s time-honored tradition of ghost stories and was made into the 1988 horror film The Discarnates by director Nobuhiko Obayashi. While most such Japanese stories take for granted the existence of ghosts and advance in a conventional horror/eerie fashion, Western takes on hauntings like All of Us Strangers tend to the psychological.

Even before we get to Croydon, we can perceive the film’s otherworldly patina. It’s hard to believe that a large apartment building like the one Adam and Harry inhabit would be so empty. At the same time, the environment Haigh creates goes beyond a simple haunting. If we remember that in Jungian psychology, the house is the symbol of the self, then it would appear that Adam is not at home with himself. All is provisional, isolated. And who set off the fire alarm? Perhaps an obviously lonely Harry to see some of his neighbors. It also is entirely possible that it was an internal trigger by Adam himself signaling that some neglected part of his psyche is ready to be tended to.

Director Andrew Haigh is entirely upfront about how personal All of Us Strangers is to him. Haigh envisaged Adam as something of an alter ego, a middle-age gay man and screenwriter. He cast Jamie Bell and Claire Foy as Adam’s parents because they reminded him of his parents, and he filmed the scenes between these characters at the actual home in which he was raised. Thus, the ghosts he conjures exist as avatars of remembrance, psychological need, and emotional honesty.

Throughout All of Us Strangers, Adam flashes back repeatedly to the night he learned that his parents died, suggesting that he may still be suffering trauma from the loss. He even tries to prevent them from going to the party from which they would never return. Foy and Bell completely inhabit the roles of caring parents caught in time and trying to give Adam what he needs. They seem so natural in their affection and actions, making the homecoming scenes both comfortable and impossibly poignant.

Adam gives himself the chance to share aspects of his life and personality with them that they never lived to know. He beams with pleasure when they are impressed that he is a writer, a career they never would have guessed he would pursue. Importantly, he sits down to have a talk with each of them separately about being gay. His mother, inquiring as to why he hasn’t got a girlfriend, is shocked when he says he is into men. Foy expertly runs through the mother’s emotions of anger, fear about his vulnerability to AIDS, and clichés about homosexuality being a “lonely life.” Adam says people don’t really say that anymore and that things are different, but, in fact, his life is lonely. His father reveals that he suspected that Adam was gay and being bullied, but never raised it with him because he confesses he probably would have picked on his son if he were one of his schoolmates.

Adam’s relationship with Harry is one of the best depictions of modern romance I have seen in a long time. Haigh says he has filmed a lot of sex scenes, so he knows how to modulate the pair’s first hook-up to be sexy, but still tentative, as first encounters normally are. The men grow in their mutual familiarity, keeping their love private for a time, but eventually bursting out into the world in a dark, color-saturated disco. (Indeed, cinematographer Jamie Ramsay bathes Adam’s world in glorious color—reds, blues, lavenders, golds—and the bright, suburban hues of life with his parents.) The sensuality of dancing, of being surrounded by sweaty bodies and physical closeness, is something Adam basks in like a ritual bath. Scott and Mescal are exceptionally good, their chemistry and understanding of the dynamics of falling in love fully realized in their performances.

We are not at all surprised that Adam wants to introduce Harry to his parents—but only he can see them. When he breaks into his childhood home to find them, he crosses a line. The next time he sees his parents, they tell him that he needs to stop coming around for his own good. His tearful pleading with them that he needs more time is heartbreaking. But since Adam dreamed them up in the first place, he is really telling himself that he has done the work he needed to do to climb out of his shell and connect to the rest of the world.

Haigh’s variation on the Yamada’s title underlines that, in a sense, we are all strangers, imprisoned in the only mind we can hear. Reaching out requires some courage and boundless amounts of empathy for others and ourselves. All of Us Strangers has a surprising ending that blends our experience of real lives and feelings brought to the screen and the strange prerogatives of writers to do with their characters what they will to resolve whatever issues they choose to raise. In the final analysis, Haigh affirms that “We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.”'

[peterkester96]

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[softwaredevelopmentcompanyy]

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[midheavenastrology]

🥂Hey y’all here’s another astro observation

Happy Sag Season 😇 as a 9th house stellium, I’m here 4 it 🙌

𓃗 Chiron in Gemini could manifest as either not knowing how to drive until later in life/having chronic car problems or having trauma to do with cars (could’ve gotten into a horrible car accident or died in a car crash in a past life)

𓆣 This just came 2 me but I’ve noticed a lot of celebrities have Pisces moons and it makes a whole lotta sense: Pisces: fantasy, illusion, being able to morph into the environment around them/the moon: emotions, ur subconscious. Using ur emotional/subconscious nature to create a fantasy character:an illusion: the basis of acting

𓅟 Neptune conjunct mercury: ur dream world is probably hella vivid. Like when u dream, u probably dream in real vivid colors with creatures who have five heads and weird foreign places that have spaceships made of candy or some shit. I mean 4 real if u have this aspect, u gotta write a movie script or something about ur dreams. (Note to self 😝)

𓃟Neptune aspects to ascendant, moon or Mercury : any new place u live in or sleep in u probably pick up on the vibes, energy and especially dreams:fantasies:traumas of the people who have lived there. U will often see this in ur dreams. Hello nightmares….😖 ...But imagine…the type of dream work healing ❤️‍🩹 u could do 🥲

𓆏Neptune in Sagittarius aspects to moon or ascendant, as well as in the 12th house: sag placements are SO physic. More so than any water sign. It’s because they have foresight- the archer’s arrow shooting into the distance- seeing ahead of time. If a Sagittarius placement, especially those with these aspects and placement tell you something that might happen to u in the future…take note(this placement reminds me of the quote from dune “do you often dream things that happen, just as you dreamed them ?”)

𓆉The house placement of a stellium is just as impt as what sign and planets the placement is in. It can completely change the flavor of how that sign/planet presents itself. For ex: someone with a Libra stellium in the 8th house will def have a darker, more secretive side to them than an average Libra. In some cases, they’ll seem more scorpionic than anything.

𓃰Look at ur 8th house placements and then look at ur 9th house placements- the Scorpio to Sagittarius transition is literally the butterfly emerging from the chrysalis. Think of ur 8th house placement as a gift from the universe before u passed onto ur next soul journey and the 9th house is how u can manifest it into the 3D realm.

𓄿For ex: I’ll use zendayas placements: zendaya has her sun in virgo in the 8th house- her soul gift is about sharing her innate gift of humbling ur ego to heal trauma: she has Mercury, Chiron and her north node in Libra in the 9th house- so she did this by playing her character Rue in Euphoria- a young adult struggling with drug addiction that ultimately finds a way to heal both her own trauma of loss and her families as well by losing her ego and humbling herself. She “shared” her resource through communicating it in a Libra way- acting.

𓆈If you have significant 6th house placements and you don’t have a soft spot for animals……I dunno what happened ?

𓆜If you have ur north node/rahu in the 2nd house and ketu/south node in the 8th house: this lifetime is ALL about money 💰 and how to secure money for yourself. You MUST respect money, u have to treat it like ur greatest teacher because in many past lives you were born into wealth, so you did not respect it. You probably wasted someone else’s resources away on whatever you pleased with zero respect for the hard work that another person went through to acquire that wealth. Kinda like Marie Antoinette…”let them eat cake 🍰 “ mentality in past lives. You might also do such things, like gamble, borrowing against ur means, stealing etc to acquire money.

𓆙In vedic astrology, Rahu is a kind of obsession, therefore having it in the 2nd makes you almost obsessed with money, gaining wealth, so you could do this through illegal means. It’s only when u respect and value money gained through true hard work and integrity will the fruits of ur labor shine down on you.

𓃮On the other hand if you have the opposite - north node/rahu in 8th and south node/ketu in 2nd, this lifetime for you is about the spiritual, it’s about letting go of a need for security, a need to obtain and hoard possessions/wealth and live a very nomadic, spiritual existence of letting go of control in the material realm. Kinda like a gypsy, free spirit. It’s about living a life that is less focused on stability/structure in the 3D and more about finding ur souls true calling in the 5D.

Das all y’all 💜💜💜🌞🌞🌞👏👏👏

Hope this was helpful 🍵

[v-lynx-2]

< incognito / >

Part one

Summery :

The hacker Nymos has managed to keep many cyber criminal groups on their toes.

Little did they know it was someone else far from being called a hacker.

Could she play the hacker well ? Deceive the fbi ? How would that impact Jake and mc's relationship?

Not sure if lady lotus can see that one.

(AKA How to help your hacker boyfriend 101)

_________________________________________

(Takes place right after chapter 10)

_________________________________________

Warnings:

- material girl, brat , script kiddie and girlboss mc.

- some angry jealous protective strict Jake .

- might get out of hand and make it spicy.

- might mention cyber crimes and violence.

- of course bad language.

__________________________________________

The chase seemed to take longer than Jake has expected, he knows better than to contact mc now, it's best if he just disappears forever..

he doesn't want to of course, it hurts his soul to even think about it, he promised he would be there, he promised to stay, he promised the chase would end soon, he promised her a date.

A kiss.

How much he longed to have her in his arms now that everything is over, he could only think of her, her words seem to stuck on his mind, wondering if she is safe, what could she be doing-

He has to stay focused, thinking about mc now in this critical condition isn't a good idea.

He could barley remember how he made it out of their hands, he took cover in the mess that was around, manged to run away, destroyed his phone before the FBI could use it to track him, they could follow mc instead, his only weak point.

He can't put her in danger like that.

Even if that meant running forever.

Mc on the other hand, has already suspected as much, either Jake was cought or he is on the run, something she wished she could do something about.

In the midst of her tears, fear of losing her lover,  she decided that she actually is going to do something.

Breaking her promise, she goes to duskwood, keeping a low profile, Alan might feel like a chat and it wasn't something she was looking forward to.

Traveling to that place overwhelmed mc, as she felt something stuck in her throat, a lot happened, she lost a dear friend, her lover and someone is in jail for a reason she could be the reason too, mc blamed herself for everything

Richy's change of plan, Jake's sacrifice and the pain and fear the group had to go through.

"It was all my fault.. if I didn't answer that time.. things would have gone differently.. "

The stream of tears caused by her frustration didn't seem to stop, the clenching pain in her heart, crashed by her worries, mc decided, she can't meet the others for now.

The reason she went to duskwood was to try and track Jake herself.

Funny, it would take experts in the cyber security field a good amount of time to only gather information on their target, yet she dares to believe she can find him before they can.

" You asked me to walk this path with you "

" Here I am "

Mc was planning her route before she traveled to duskwood, packed the most important things with her, things she might need later as well, she made sure if she disappears it wouldn't look suspicious.

After all, after all that happened. No one is expected to stay and deal with false accusations.

They will never understand, they don't have all the details regarding the situation, not even mc but she is the most understanding, considering she is only chasing the hacker for a good reason.

Jake mentioned before that he was staying at a motel, he didn't specify in or out of duskwood, but mc was willing to gamble it would outside, he also mentioned " being around" when he told mc and the others he was going into the mine .

This made her think, as she remembered Jake only had access to information through the web, she could use that too.

Pinpointing a number of motels around and breaking in, was, something she would never believe she would do, her goal was to find the one which Jake kept his equipment in, she believes that she is running out of time.

Well it didn't always go well.

Cuts and bruises were nothing to her, she was running on adrenaline, fear, knowing if she doesn't act now she might lose him forever.

Act now and think later was the way for now.

Jake would highly disagree with her method, maybe even stop her, cute, he gets too protective sometimes, it's like he knows, she would give her life to him.

She already knows he would do the same.

Which makes her understand his worry.

The plan was successful, she found his equipment, packed them and left the motel leaving nothing of his behind.

Mc didn't know what to do now.

It's good that she has his stuff, the FBI don't have anything concrete, the equipment are better off with her than them.. but what is to do now?

Maybe..

Try to confuse the fbi a little?

Or Maybe it's time to see the others too.

Looking at her phone.

She called Jessy,

" .. hey Jessy "

" Mc? Mc! It was- "

" It was Richy all along, yes, he contacted me "

" I can't believe it, I can't believe it ! "

" Jessy.. "

All mc can hear is crying on the other line, she felt really bad, her vision started to go blurry with tears as well, but she can't just do that now, she is racing with FBI to find Jake.

She has to put her emotions aside, there is no time for them now.

" Jessy, I'm so sorry for what happened, we couldn't have stopped it, Richy meant a lot to me too, I understand"

" Yeah, it isn't your fault mc, I know "

" Thank you.. hey can you do me a favor? "

" Sure, what is it ? "

" Jessy.. I'm in duskwood, can you pick me up ? "

" What ?! I mean sure but why are you here ? "

" Don't get me wrong, of course I want to see you, but I thought you would stay away for a while after Alan- "

" Alan ? What did he do ? " mc asked as the mention of the police caught her attention.

" He contacted us about Jake, of course he didn't know more and we all didn't say anything, we owe that to Jake "

" Thank you guys "

" I'm going to pick you up, mc, give me a second "

It seems Alan was indeed interested in gathering information about Jake, not good, not good at all, mc thought.

But maybe, she can use that to her advantage, just like Jake said , to view what happened as an opportunity.

She can use the information Alan already gathered .. no that's a risky idea, but did Jake hesitate to go to the mine? No, he came up with a good plan, mc didn't like it one bit, it wasn't that bad considering the circumstances.

Jake wouldn't probably like mc's plan as well.

Jessy arrived, in the car, there was Dan sitting in the front seat.

" You are looking for trouble bigger than your size, little girl " Dan said instead of a greeting

" Are you calling me short, Daniels? "

Said mc faking looking offended.

" Welcome to duskwood, mc " Dan said as she got into the car. 

" Dan called after you so.. " Jessy said trying to explain why he was here.

" It's fine, it's Dan, as long as Alan doesn't know, I'm good "

"I was serious about the big troubles part "

" What do you mean ?! "

" Listen, before you throw a fit, you are too young to be dealing with this- " Dan informed mc giving her a stern look.

"I'm not! "

" You should be doing college shit or maybe getting a better job, find a person that exists in the real world- "

" Dan, if you say another word, I'm leaving the car. "

" Dan ! You can't just- " Jessy tried to help

" Look this guy is the reason why you are here, am I correct ? "

" Don't glare at me like that, i know you are here for hackerman " Dan continued

" You can't carry on doing mc things without getting in the line of fire, you aren't one of the likes of him, you have your life ahead"

" If it's not with him, I don't want it ! " mc said crossing her arms and looking away.

" Don't think this way, I can't believe I'm going to say this but.. he probably doesn't want you to put yourself in danger"

" That's why he didn't contact you, am I right ? " " Of course I am "

" If I know you would be that annoying, I would have booked a suite in a hotel " mc said seriously considering it, a bit of luxury isn't bad. 

" Oh mc, but of course we would like to have you, my house is your house "

" Aww, that's nice and sweet and HELPFUL " said mc for Dan to hear.

" So me warning you not to chase after criminals wasn't helpful? "

" To say the least, No "

In few minutes, they arrived at Jessy's place, it was nice and simple, cozy, maybe staying at a hotel alone was a bad idea, this is much better, not luxurious but oh well.

They sat and Jessy got them something to drink.

" So how are Cleo, Thomas and lilly doing? "

" Cleo and Thomas are staying with Hannah at her family's place, of course lilly is with them"

" Hm ...Richy ..? "

" Never found, at least no information yet "

" .. I'm sorry "

" Don't be, it isn't your fault, if anything we are sorry you had to go through this "

" .. thanks Dan.. but I still feel bad about it.. I couldn't stop it "

" Is this why you are here after all? You want to do something, you are done just staying hidden behind a phone, aren't you? "

" Yes! I didn't think you would understand "

" I understand, I did that as well, I couldn't stay in the hospital and hear about my friends being in danger "

" That's why I'm worried " Dan said looking serious.

" Dan.. you don't have to worry, I got my legs " mc mocked.

" You sassy little shi-"

" Haha, by the way, I need you to teach me how to shoot "

" And why is that ? "

" So-"

" Excuse me, I mean why would I? "

" Don't you worry? "

" If I don't teach you I don't have to worry "

" That's what you think, I can be more reckless than I already am"

" Hey, mc... I was on the phone with Alan.. " Jessy came in after.

" What did you talk about? "

" I wanted to see Phil and tell him what happened and .. but Alan said something.. about Jake "

" Here we go again " Dan said.

" TELL ME ! "

" Alan has photographs, that he intends to send to the newspaper.."

" Jake.. "

" Like that hackerman wouldn't be able to hide"

" Hackerman is done for if that happens .."

" I'm so sorry.. he intends to make us talk this way it seems.. "

" Wait Jessy ! You said photographs? "

" Yes,  and ? "

" Not pictures? "

" No, photographs "

" So it was taken with a non digital camera? "

" Well I don't know if that makes any difference but, this usually means he has them in physical copies "

" How lame and old like who the hell- "

" That's freaking great actually! " mc said.

" Jessy, I need you to tell me everything about the duskwood police station, whatever you know about Alan or his whereabouts. "

" Oh no.. not another crazy idea" Dan said displeased.

" Dan if we don't act, Jake would be gone forever ! Come on ! We owe it to him "

" I don't owe anything to-  oh fine "

" Yayyyy! Let's go! "

" I'm gonna hate this "

" It's a job for mc Holmes "

" And Jessy Watson! "

" And who am I ? " Dan asked

" The world's greatest driver " mc answered

" Amazing "

Mc set up jake's equipment, she feared the fbi might track him this way but, they seemed to know somehow that he was in the mine.

They didn't exactly go for his stuff, so maybe it was safe?

Now all mc had to do is .. enter the password

Of course his laptop would have a password!

Mc tried to come up with things but they didn't work.

She took a break after

" Any luck? " Jessy asked

" Nope "

" Of course, what did you expect, trying to unlock a hacker's laptop "

" Hey it was worth the try ! "

" So what now? "

" I was hoping to get information about the duskwood police through his laptop but.. well"

" Okay, let's do it the classic way " Jessy said

" You think I would let you run off to the police? "

" Jessy Watson means we would try to locate Alan "

" Again my question still stands "

" What do you think mc Holmes? "

" Are you two treating it like a game? "

" Dan, you are boring" mc said.

" Anyway, my plan is, I will go with you to visit Phil but I can't go as mc .."

" But who would be okay to go visit Phil with me ? " Jessy asked.

" A friend? Well yes but no, your sister ? She might show up later and we would get caught"

" We need someone the police wouldn't find suspicious"

" How about... Phil's lawyer? "

" Mc that's a great idea! "

" Bullshit, you are going in by yourself to the police who suspect you, they won't just reveal the pictures of hackerman, but you as well"

" Now now, I'm not gonna go as mc, I'm going as the gorgeous Ms.lawyer, I will use make up to change my look and should up with a fake card, I won't look like mc that much "

" I still have my doubts about this"

" Relax, they don't know how I look! "

" About time ! "

" Chillax, I've got this, I'm not afraid of people who still take paper photographs"

" I fear you are going to rub this on Alan's face"

" Oh yeah "

" Dear lord.. "

Mc and Jessy went upstairs to prepare for the visit, mc didn't show it but she was very anxious and nervous about everything.. what if it doesn't work out well? What if they get her instead.. mc's stomach started to hurt, not your friendly butterflies anymore.

She stood Infront of the mirror, she can see the same worry reflecting from jessy's face, mc knows Jessy is getting her strength from mc's determination, if mc appears to be doubtful, Jessy would be discouraged, so she had to keep an appearance.

"Fake it until you make it mc" said to herself as she was putting on her outfit.

Black blazer , day make up but in a way that hides her real face structure, it seems like she thought of everything, even the accessories.

" Umm mc? Do you really need this one? "

Said Jessy pointing at the push-up bra laying on the bed.

" Jessy, that's my get out of jail card "

Going down stairs, mc looked at herself one last time, trying to wipe the worry on her face,

That's it, now or never, now would get her a chance to help Jake, never would mean she would lose him forever.

This brought her strength but she is still weighted down with uncertainty.

" Relax babe, you are too hot for the police to handle " mc said to herself blowing a kiss.

" Should I give you some privacy? " Said Jessy giggling

" Yes, if you mind "

As they were about to leave mc remembered.

" Jessy.. heels, do you know a shop nearby? The look needs to be completed! "

" Of course, it's on our way "

" I thought you were planning on knocking out Alan, but I never thought it would be this way "

" Thank you, Dan. you think I got a chance? "

" You would be the main attraction "

" Not good "

" Oh ho that's perfect actually "

" Mc the car is ready! I mean ms.holmes "

" Haha let's go! "

"Jessy? Mc ! Dammit "

" Don't worry, we will be home to babysit you later "

" Fucking brat, if you are going to do this then I will give you a tip, the room that has the photographs will be dark and red, that's where they chemically treat them. "

" Purrfect ! Thank you Dan! "

They drove to the boutique first, where mc picked red bottom heels, the devil wears Prada and so she did.

Back to the car Jessy looked nervous

" Hey Jess, don't worry too much, I won't do anything that might be bad for Phil "

" I know, I trust you, it's just that.. I have never done anything like this before.. it's kind of exciting "

" Me too ! "

" We are on our first mission together! Let's celebrate once we get rid of the evidence they have on Jake, the FBI are probably on their toes so we gotta be careful "

" Yes! " Jessy said.

Duskwood police station, worry started to hit mc like a knife, she isn't going to back down now ! Never !

She can prove to Jake that she can keep up with him like that, he doesn't have to worry.

Entering the place, she prepared herself mentally to be the main attraction, she knows eyes would be on her, even without the new look, talk about confidence.

It only adds to your look, so she mastered fake confidence.

A heel click can be heard and many turned their heads, chic black blazer, designer bag, the outfit says confident, the look on her face says professional.

Suddenly jessy, seemed to forget her lines, so mc took the lead

" Hello, my name is Ms. ____, Mr. Hawkins lawyer " she said in an assertive tone.

An officer dared to speak in her graceful presence, " we haven't been informed of your visit "

" Pity, I did feel unwelcomed "

" I have few questions to ask then I will be in my way, will you show me the way? "

In another room, or office, Alan bloomgate was writing a report, he seemed all stressed like he didn't sleep well lately.

He hears a knock on the door

" Come in "

" Sir, Phil Hawkins lawyer came to question him"

" So ? "

" I thought you might want to hear this considering she would be there to defend him in Michel Hanson's case "

" I will be there in a minute "

Mc has already made her way to Phil, Jessy behind her.

Phil looked her from down to up, meeting her eyes, mc smiles.

The officer leaves them, of course after taking some safety precautions.

" Phil, this is mc, but don't tell anyone okay? "

" Hello Phil "

Phil who appeared to be dazed managed to say hello back.

" I have many questions to ask but now, I have something else that urgently requires my attention"

" Did you catch anything from the police, about a hacker ? An culprit maybe, a person Alan is after "

" Alan asked me if I know anything about a hacker, he said he might help me if I confess.. unfortunately I knew nothing "

" Thank god, thank you Phil, for not lying, I can't stand people who lie in their testimony "

" You know people like that? "

" You would be surprised, moving on "

" Alan said this hacker was involved in this case and could harm Jessy with the help of mc "

" I told him this is not true, mc is a good person, if anything, she wanted to help "

" Aww Phil thank you really "

"You are always welcome, babe"

" So what happened next ? "

" He took his recorder with him and left "

" Hmmm Alan is now after him.."

" Him? "

" The hacker "

" Do you have anything on him, mc? , Anything that can help me, I hope ? "

" Nope, trust me, he isn't the one responsible for what happened to you "

" You two worked together, Alan said "

" Aww jealous? "

" I might be "

" Phil, don't be silly, mc and-"

" Jessy, can I have a second? "

Mc pulled Jessy to a corner and whispered.

"Jess, I don't want many people knowing jake's identity."

" Oh sure, of course "

" So, we were saying. Anything else? "

" Alan is spending more time in his office than before, I heard an officer mutter something like that, he also goes to the police station late as well, he is used to patrolling alone"

" Emo officer, it wasn't just a phase after all, I bet he is all dressed up in black as well "

" Haha "

" There is no respect for police these days among youngsters it seems "

" Speak of the devil "

" Trust me, no one mentioned your name, dear "

" Why are you asking Mr.hawkins

irrelevant questions to his case? "

" Who are you to interfere with my job ? "

Mc said raising an eyebrow giving him a challenging look

" .. this is Alan"

" Oh" oh shit, this isn't good at all, if he knows, everything is over, Jake is gone and- okay calm down mc, stay cool.

" Hello, Mr bloomgate"

" And you are ? "

" Mr Hawkins lawyer"

" I can't get a name? "

" If you are lucky, you might add it to your contact list "

Flirting with the police isn't always a good idea, they tend to backfire, but Alan got more curious.

Something about her confidence and attitude that piqued his interest.

" Ms Hawkins, you can have few moments with your brother, I have to take a break "

Mc left the door making sure she brushes Alan  lightly, the sly smile on her face still.

As expected, Alan followed.

" You smoke Ms? "

" No, I would rather have some fresh air instead"

" Would you care for a cup of coffee, Mr bloomgate? "  Mc added.

" On me, I hope office coffee is to your liking"

" It's something I don't get bored of to be honest, I wonder how this one would taste~"

" You are a curious one it seems, ever heard of the saying, 'curiosity killed the cat' ? "

" Not this kitty" mc winks.

" What are your intentions? "

" I'm afraid, I've reached a dead end with Mr Hawkins case.. I was wondering if I could get anything through you.."

" I'm sorry if I sounded so rude earlier "

" If you sounded? "

" Okay I'm not too sorry to be honest "

Alan let a short laugh escape, mc smiled cutely, he definitely caught the bait.

" You remind me of a mysterious person I know, or to be honest, I don't know much about "

" That's what makes them mysterious "

" Perhaps. Did you get what you want from this visit? "

" No, I'm running in circles... I wonder if you can help me? What is your officer intuition telling you? "

" To be careful "

" Of me? "

" No, but if you think so, I might have to do that as well "

" Hehe aren't you a bet too antsy, loosen up, I feel like you can help me, that's why my intuition is telling me "

" Please? "

" I can show you some of my investigations in the case "

" I knew it! Thank you Alan! "

" Sorry, can I call you that? "

" Yes, it's fine, what can I call you? "

" Dear " mc winks at him again, he seemed so done with her.

He takes her to his office, it felt weird, he never done it before, but this stranger might help him bring justice to his old friend, or so he hoped.

Mc scanned the room, on her way she noticed many details, the keys to the room that has the photographs, his office computer...only of Jake was here.

She needed Alan to leave so she can do something.

She picked her phone and texted Jessy

_________________________________________

Mc = Jessy???

       < Jessy is now online >

Jessy = yes ?

Mc = I'm going to send Alan ur way, stall for time.

Jessy = got it !

_________________________________________

" Alan.. our coffee? "

" Sorry, I was deep in thought, please sit and wait for me "

" Don't take long, I don't like over time"

" Trust, neither do I "

Alan left the office, first thing mc did was get into that room, just walk like you own place and no one looked her way.

Saw the photographs hanging, the pictures didn't show much of his face, mc took one to look at.

Just his raven dark hair, his hoodie not much visible, she is glad and disappointed at the same time, but whatever the plan must go on.

Moving on, she took all the pictures along with the camera and the film in her bag, locked the room and left.

This is going to have some consequences later, let's hope it's only later.

___________________________________________

Note : next chapter should be uploaded this week in two days or so.

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