#SOMEONE HOLD ME BACK OR I’M EATING A ROUTER

[fictionfanatic-wren]

The robin games

chapter 5/7. The Robin Games - Chapter 5 - Fictionfanatic_Wren - Batman - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

The small, dimly lit maintenance room was packed wall-to-wall with capes, armor, and confusion. Superman hovered just above the ground, arms crossed. Green Arrow was crouched near the half-eaten protein bar like it was a crime scene. Wonder Woman stood by the door, stone-faced. Hal Jordan paced, while Barry looked like someone had kicked his dog. “Alright,” Dinah said, hands on her hips. “Someone needs to explain why it smells like old coffee, protein bars, and deodorant for teenage boys in here.” “Because someone’s been living here,” Ollie grumbled, holding up the half-unwrapped bar with two fingers. “Look at this. Half-eaten. Not even wrapped properly. There’s coffee residue in the cup holder and prints on the terminal.” “That’s definitely not ours,” Barry added, squinting at the cup. “That’s the mug I’ve been looking for since yesterday. Yesterday, people.” “So someone’s been camping out on the Watchtower without us knowing,” Hal said, turning to Bruce with narrowed eyes. “Care to explain how your billion-dollar security system missed a freeloader living in the walls?” Bruce stood silent, face unreadable. “It didn’t miss them,” he said finally, tone low. “It found them just now.” “That’s not an answer,” Hal shot back. “I’m still processing the data,” Bruce replied smoothly, eyes never leaving the half-powered computer console. Clark floated a little closer, scanning the equipment with his x-ray vision. “There’s a whole tech setup hidden behind the panels,” he reported. “Wires, a motion sensor jammer, even a router spoof. This wasn’t slapped together. This was deliberate.” “So the real question,” Ollie muttered, “is which one of us brought a secret intern onboard.” Barry perked up, hopeful. “Maybe it’s a stowaway from Earth? A well-meaning super-fan?” “With access to League systems?” Diana said, one brow arching. “And the ability to bypass our security and, according to you, eat your pizza?” Barry deflated. “...Yeah, okay, probably not a fan.” “Let’s take stock,” Dinah said, ticking off her fingers. “We’ve had: stolen pizza, missing coffee mugs, glitter bombs in the armory, Green Arrow’s door screaming shame at him, and now someone is nesting in our walls. Someone very skilled.” Hal rubbed his temples. “Okay, real talk. If this is about the laser pointer prank from six months ago, I already apologized, Barry.” “That’s what you want me to think,” Barry snapped, arms flailing. “Maybe this is the long con. The real revenge!” “You are not important enough to sabotage with a long con,” Bruce said flatly, stepping past them to inspect the panel Tim had hastily closed. Everyone froze. “Spooky,” Clark said carefully. “That sounded kinda personal.” “Let’s not fight,” Diana said, sighing. “Let’s focus. Whoever’s here is skilled enough to hide, hack, and infiltrate without being caught for days. We need a plan.” “Oh, I’ve got one,” Ollie muttered. “We burn the whole maintenance wing and flush them out.” “Ollie.” “What? It worked with raccoons.” Bruce straightened from the console. “No fire” he said. “But we lock down non-essential areas. Increase patrols. Motion sensors, heat trackers, and set traps in likely routes.” Everyone nodded, except Barry, who just looked mournfully at his empty mug. “…I miss my coffee.”

Tim Drake moved quickly through the narrow metal duct, his body pressed low and knees aching from the awkward angles. He was running on pure adrenaline now, he’d narrowly escaped being discovered in the maintenance room, but not without losses. His spare toolkit, the laptop charger, and Barry’s coffee mug were all left behind. “Fantastic,” Tim muttered under his breath, the distant hum of voices below fading as he crawled deeper into the Watchtower’s belly. “All because someone decided to trigger an alarm right next to me.” He paused at a junction in the vent, twisting to glance at the corridor below through a slatted grate. Then, Thump. The faintest vibration in the metal above him. He stilled. Every instinct screamed caution. Someone else was in the shaft. Tim slowly reached for a small baton from his belt and turned. From the shadows, a low voice spoke: “You’re incredibly loud for someone who’s supposed to be stealthy.” Tim froze. A small figure crouched just ahead, perched in the shadows like a gargoyle. Damian. The youngest Robin looked perfectly at ease, barely winded, his cloak tucked tightly around his small frame, expression full of judgment. Tim narrowed his eyes. “You tripped the alarm, didn’t you.” Damian tilted his head. “Of course I did. This is a competition. Only the competent deserve to win. You were getting too comfortable.” Tim exhaled sharply, crawling closer so they could talk without echoing. “You little gremlin, I had a whole system running. I was fine until your stunt brought the League breathing down my neck.” Damian’s eyes gleamed in the dim light. “You were growing complacent. And it was funny.” Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know if they’d found my stuff-” “Then you would’ve lost. You should thank me for teaching you the importance of vigilance.” Tim stared at him. “You sound exactly like Bruce when he’s being a hypocrite.” “A compliment.” Tim groaned. “You stole Dick’s gear too, didn’t you?” Damian didn’t answer, but his smug silence spoke volumes. Tim muttered something under his breath that was definitely not appropriate for younger ears. The two stared at each other in silence, crouched in opposite corners of the vent. For a moment, there was a grudging, still tension between them. Then Tim sighed. “Fine. Truce. Just for today. I need a new hiding spot.” Damian raised a brow. “I’m not sharing my camp.” “I don’t want it. Just a direction that isn’t crawling with League members and panic.” Damian considered this. Then he jerked his chin to the left. “Upper deck. Storage vents near the armory. Leaguers don’t patrol there much.” Tim paused, then gave a curt nod. “Thanks.” Damian arched a brow. “Try not to get caught. It would be… disappointing.” Tim rolled his eyes and began crawling away. “Right back at you, gremlin.” Damian smirked as he disappeared into the shadows, already thinking of his next move.

Jason pressed himself against the cool metallic wall, breathing shallowly as he listened to the distant sound of boots echoing through the corridor. Way too many boots. He peeked around the corner. Green Arrow. Black Canary. Flash. All moving in different directions, radios buzzing on their hips. “Maintenance room sweep’s clear,” Dinana’s voice crackled over the comms. “Yeah, but somebody left a thermos of my coffee in there,” Barry hissed. Jason ducked back, swearing under his breath. This was bad. The League was in full lockdown mode now, walking around like a bunch of angry substitute teachers trying to catch kids passing notes. All because of one little triggered alarm and a missing mug. Okay. And maybe the trip wire in the gym. And maybe the slightly rigged training bot that randomly screamed insults at ollie for two hours. And, yeah, okay, a few pranks. He crept backward into a dark corridor that led to the utility crawlspaces. His old hiding spot in the storage bay was now way too risky, at least three League members had passed through in the last hour. Jason muttered to himself as he climbed into an access tunnel. “Could’ve just let Tim or Damian take the fall, but nooo. I had to switch Barry’s toothpaste with marshmallow fluff and now the whole tower’s on DEFCON 1.” He crawled deeper until he found a narrow space behind a ventilation conduit, the metal panels warm against his back. He took off his helmet, wiping sweat from his brow, then pulled a granola bar from his pocket and bit into it like it owed him money. Footsteps passed by again above. Jason closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to slow. This was fine. This was manageable. He’d hide here for a bit, wait for the tension to cool, maybe frame Hal later if things got dire. No one suspected that Red Hood himself was in the watchtower. Yet. But the moment his eyes started to droop, a voice blared from a nearby intercom: “Reminder: motion sensors have been temporarily enhanced in this sector due to recent… incidents. Please report any suspicious movement immediately.” Jason sighed, then shoved the rest of the granola bar into his mouth. “I swear to god, if I find out Tim set this up…”

Watchtower, Sector B1, Personnel Quarters Dick Grayson moved like a shadow, a very annoyed, gearless shadow. His crawlspace hiding spot had been compromised hours ago. And without his tools, he was flying blind in a nest full of superheroes and security systems. Damian had swiped everything from his little rooftop nook, even his emergency chocolate bar. The betrayal stung. "Never trust a ten-year-old with murder training," Dick muttered under his breath as he crept through a dim hallway, every motion smooth but fueled by pure desperation. His Nightwing suit, while flexible, was now a beacon without the signal disruptors. The sleek navy blue made him far too recognizable for someone trying to stay unseen. He needed a disguise. Fast. He turned a corner, and stopped. Room B1-04. The door was heavy, black, and marked only by a biometric scanner and a simple nameplate: RESTRICTED, ACCESS LEVEL 10 Most of the League assumed this room was storage or an unused system control station. But Dick had known the truth since his early Robin years. Batman’s quarters. He hesitated for exactly two seconds. Then: “Desperate times…” Dick bypassed the lock with a quick override Bruce had taught him back when trust between them wasn’t a limited resource, and slipped inside. The room was spartan. Clean. Every corner obsessively organized. A minimalistic bed, a locked trunk, and a closet lined with armor and utility gear. But no personal touches. No photos. No journals. Classic Bruce. Dick moved to the closet. His heart thudded in his ears as he flipped through the suits, mostly standard Bat-armor, backup units, and even one older prototype with an awkward yellow emblem. Finally, he found it: a slimmed-down, stealth-variant Batsuit. Jet black, lightweight. More flexible than the others, probably one Bruce wore for espionage operations. Perfect. Dick stripped off his Nightwing gear in record time and pulled the suit on. It clung to him like a second skin. The cowl, smaller than Bruce’s standard, fit well enough once he adjusted the chin plate. He looked into the darkened windowpane and smirked at the reflection: “Well. I guess I’m Batman now.” He paused. Then shook his head. “Nope. Not saying that out loud again.” Just as he secured the last piece of armor, he heard footsteps outside the hallway.

Dick didn’t expect to be stopped. That was the whole point of wearing the suit. But as soon as he turned the corner, he nearly ran straight into Green Arrow, Canary, and Martian Manhunter, all looking like they’d been mid-conversation until the second he appeared. “Batman,” Ollie said with a nod, stepping aside to let him pass. Dick managed a stiff nod back. “Arrow. Canary. J’onn.” He deepened his voice slightly, not a full growl (he wasn’t going to parody Bruce), but just enough to pass. It seemed to work. At least for a second. Until Green Arrow squinted. “You look… thinner than usual.” “I changed my diet.” Dinah tilted her head. “And you’re walking weird.” “My leg was injured in Gotham. Minor strain. Nothing worth filing.” Martian Manhunter stared. Hard. His glowing eyes narrowed like he was scanning something just off. Dick’s internal panic flared, was the suit giving him away? Heat signature? His height? He subtly adjusted his posture and folded his arms across his chest, classic Bruce. “If there’s nothing else, I need to return to my work.” Canary blinked. “We were going to brief you on the Star City gang forming. You skipped the last two meetings.” “I was busy,” Dick said, already turning to walk past them. “And I read the reports. Proceed without me.” He held his breath as he walked away, back rigid, cape swishing just enough to look dramatic. The moment he turned the next corner and was out of sight, he bolted into the next maintenance shaft like his life depended on it. Inside the vent, he slumped against the wall, yanked off the cowl, and exhaled. “Never again,” he muttered. “I need a double the cookies when i win. And therapy.”

[mylovesstuffs]

Never in my life have I thought I'll write a deadass Wikipedia shit of a thousand words and format it with all the possible links, and then Tumblr will decide to test my patience AND NOT SAVE IT!

@staff

[obeymeluv]

Isnt devildom liquor weaker than human world liquor? Mc had beat Asmo in a drinking contest. How do you think it they'd act, completely hammered in the human world. I think harder liquor means stupider drunks.

Spoiler alert to the in-game MC’s “heritage” reveal. You know, the descendent/reincarnation thing. If you know, you know.

Below: Thoughts on Devildom liquor + the specific incident Nonnie is talking about with Asmo in game + THE ACTUAL ANSWER TO THE ASK. My bad, haha.

My thoughts on Devildom liquor at that point in the game:

The MC is not as affected because they are human/angel. Maybe the angel part fortifies MC and makes it harder for them to get drunk?

Maybe the HUMAN side of MC is what makes it harder for them to get drunk on Devildom liquor? Like...everything in the Devildom is made primarily for demons so maybe there are ingredients in there that specifically affect those with demon blood. Maybe humans don’t have the biology to be inebriated by those ingredients?

I am a little fuzzy on that point in the game but did Asmo pre-game? Like, a lot? Did we ever find out? I could see him being so emotionally distraught that his lovely MC is leaving that he just wants to be sloshed. Maybe he assumed MC beat him in a drinking contest because he forgot how much he already drank?

Maybe Solomon gave MC a heads up that Asmo was down for drinking and gave them a pre-game potion of their own to ward off the affects.

End hypothesis: Maybe Devildom liquor IS strong (for demons) but that potency just can’t translate in human bodies so the bros (Lucifer especially) don’t want MC drinking it because they’re not sure what it will do. They just ASSUME it will do to MC what it does to them.

Other thoughts: Because demons sprinkled little secrets to the humans over the course of history, gave them trinkets and magic and things, I’d like to think they gave humans the idea or process of alcohol-making but are TOTALLY not prepared for the end result. All the flavors, types, etc. 

As far as I understand it (at the point I’m at in the game), travel between the Devildom and human world was widely discouraged until Diavolo could make a program that united the three realms and improved the overall image. So basically everyone has been separated for thousands of years.

What if demons are equally bad at holding human world liquor? I could just see a drunk Asmo being like, “What is this? Sangria? This isn’t what I told them to call it.” as he’s trying to drink and (speed) walk away from Beel, who wants the fruit out of the pitcher.

I could just see them all getting TOTALLY wasted on human world stuff just because they thought “Ahh, we taught them this 5,000 years ago! Of COURSE we can handle it! We invented it!” (spoiler alert: they cannot). Like, I’d like to think their biology works against them here. They heal quicker and probably get over stomach aches and things quicker, so they probably metabolize alcohol quicker to restore bodily equilibrium so they probably get flash-drunk off of just about anything with a decent alcohol content. 

HOW THEY WOULD ACT (AKA: the real question)

The facts: 

They’re all going to be like drunk kittens, big bassy purrs and wanting to cuddle you or scent you. 

They’ll basically curl up in a pile together; you occasionally have to move body parts (so no one suffocates). 

Do a head count every now and then, give them some crackers/carbs when needed, and put water all around them like a summoning circle because when one of them wakes up, all of them will and they’ll act like big babies

Put a bucket near Lucifer and Asmo, they’re sympathy pukers.

Levi and Belphie need total sensory deprivation when they wake up. You may only breach the darkness to bring them things to settle their stomach and anything to kill the headache

Just give Beel bread and anything like Gatorade/Pedialite. He’ll help you with the others after three loaves or so.

Asmo will be especially pitiful and demand you take care of the others first. Once they’re decently able to take care of themselves he’s near teary-eyed, demanding tummy rubs and tell him he’s still pretty even though he feels awful. Please get him a sheet mask.

Mammon’s not functional enough to help with anything major but he’s standing the next day so he rubs that in everyone’s face. He’s the one shuffling around with a half-eaten sandwich, looking for any comfort item (heating pack, cold wrap for his head). He will demon screech at you if you touch any of the lights in the house.

As Mammon comes to, he demands dim lights and acts like a grumpy mom. He’s making porridge and they better shut up and eat it. Says it’s for him but there’s a suspicious amount of bowls nearby.

Satan just swears he’ll never drink again (like always). Dutifully waits for porridge. Spends most of his time letting cold water run over his head. Can’t spend too much time hunched over because he gets nauseous. Baby him a little. Find a way to let his head float in a bit of water where he can lay down and he’s as quiet as a mouse. 

Who can drink the most? (Best to worst - my opinions only)

1) Beel (body mass helps), 2) Mammon (party king), 3) Asmodeus (huuuge history with mixed drinks. Boy is READY), 4) Lucifer, 5) Satan (neck and neck with Lucifer - casual drinker only. Even wine is rare for him), 6) Leviathan, 7) Belphie (usually sleeping instead of drinking). 

Lucifer:

We’ve seen little gags about how ‘Lucifer got drunk and unplugged the router’ so this guy’s either going to be super cuddly, a hot mess, or both

You know the people who fluff their hair, comb it back, undo a tie or some buttons and just get comfy as they drink? That’s Lucifer.

He’ll smile a bit more, laugh a bit more, and there will be some color to his cheeks

He’s not sloppy, just cozy. 

Drunk Lucifer is not overly loud but he is honest. He won’t throw himself into groups or pester all the brothers, but he’s up for some accidentally-heartwarming one-on-one

When he’s drunk he’ll lay his head on your shoulder and let you play with his hair

Will not win any drinking games. Is actually a lightweight compared to his brothers (see best > worst drinker, above).

Mammon:

GO BIG OR GO HOME! MAMMON’S HERE TO PLAY FOR BIG MONEY! (AKA: bragging rights that he can handle more than his brothers)

He and Asmo are quick to get the drinks flowing because they want to try shots of everything. 

He and Asmo are pretty good at matching brothers to drinks and tasting subtle notes, things like that

Show Mammon beer pong once and it’s done. He’s betting the brothers he can whoop them and is somehow able to pull off ping pong ball math to get Lucifer shit-faced real quick (might do it even faster if Belphie or Satan slip him some money)

The type to be like “Bet you I can hit that cup right there--third row, second from the left.” and can do it flawlessly. You have to give him head pats or $5, that’s the rules.

He’ll be one of the bros you have to chase around and make put his clothes back on. Boy will try to strip and strut

Will definitely hoard his favorite bottle (picked it on smell) and spend a majority of the time trying to drink it and avoid the bros. (”YOU CAN’T MAKE ME SHARE IF YOU CAN’T CATCH ME!”)

Leviathan

Not the best drinker. Not a frequent drinker at all.

His envy makes him drink because as he starts to go on a tangent about how ‘it’s not fair! Everyone’s having a good time!’ when he realizes it’s as easy as picking up a drink. Like...he can join in too.

Levi won’t grab himself an alcoholic drink because he’s a nervous over-thinker. Asmo or Mammon will just hand him a cup like the resident Liquor Fairy and he trusts their judgement

The first one to let his demon form out just because the liquor is a little warm in his belly and he feels like he’s flying? Also comfortable?

The excited drunk who goes on animated, slurred rants

The loud laugher

He’s honestly so adorably animated that anyone who knew him would be surprised? He seems far from a shut in

Trade off: he can’t hold his liquor well

Boy probably trips on his own tail or thinks something snagged his ankle to bring him down when, in fact, he just fell down

Sways when he sits

When he’s done, he just wants a nice comfy lap to lay in and maybe play with his hair. 

Like Lucifer, liquor will make him confess all his feelings. 

Watch out for the tail. It will be all over you when he starts to lose the ability to wrap it around himself.

Satan:

It’s a toss-up as to whether he gets drunk before Lucifer or vice versa. I’d like to think his tolerance is slightly higher since he might run in the same circles as Asmo, but he is a part of Lucifer so I’m sure it balances out

He’s a drink snob and this is what hurts him the most. He goes to fancy tastings and random things he’s invited to, but this is a drop in the bucket

He’s never gone hardcore before because he’s afraid he’ll be prone to anger

He’s not. He’s actually a lot like Levi. He just wants to smile and laugh and have fun.

The one who knows a lot of random/interesting stuff and has unexpectedly awesome party tricks

He and Asmo act as instigators and somehow con everyone else into getting drunk. It’s mostly because he wants blackmail material, but he enjoys the mind games

He’s the one you’re going to have to carry BUT he’s super chill when he’s having a good time. You want him to wear a lampshade? Okay, but only if you call him Enlightened One (get it?)

Makes bad jokes. Lucifer definitely laughs

The one that randomly dances with someone at the party. But it’s a fancy dance or slow dance, not something crazy

Will try to prove he’s not as drunk as he is by reading or reciting something and just breaks down into snorts and giggles

Cat Mode: Activated. He wants to be all over you. Hug him and play with his hair, please.

Asmo:

Asmo isn’t really different from his usual self.

He’s a little social butterfly, making his rounds and checking on people

He’s the silent, sneaky drunk. No one notices he’s drunk until his face starts getting red and his eyes get glassy

The quiet cuddler. Just progressively gets closer to you until he’s resting his head on your shoulder, hugging you from the side and asking you to give him his drink.

Would be the happiest person on the planet if you literally just held his drink up to his lips and let him drink it when he wanted to. You just love him so much?! You’re so thoughtful?! He wants to cry

Guilty party #2 for ‘chase him around and make him put his clothes back on’

Next in line for ‘Liquor makes me tell the truth and my darkest secrets’.

Will try any activity at the party and will dance at least once with everybody

If he gets in a fight, that’s because someone doesn’t respect what he put on the party playlist. He knows good music, okay?!

Has a personal goal to steal one drink from everyone, drink it before they realize, and hand them back the empty cup as he slips away. Something about it just amuses him.

Wants to leave lipstick/lip gloss kisses on people. Thinks they’re the cutest accessory!

The one who loses something at the party and makes everyone look for it the next day

The one who’s passed out in a random spot and no one has the heart to move them but everyone checks on them to make sure they’re safe. When everyone’s turned in for the night, he is safely moved like the precious baby he is.

Beel:

The one who takes the longest to get drunk. You don’t know if it’s because of his build or how much he ate to offset the alcohol

Unofficial baby sitter of the group. Pays special attention to everyone but Belphie, Asmo, and Levi in particular.

Not super loud. Just vibes and enjoys time with his family.

He’ll participate in the party activities because he does have that competitive streak but he’s not as invested in it as Mammon. If he wins at least once he’s proved his point and is on to something else

Surprsingly, #3 to ‘you might have to chase him and make him put his clothes on’. Drunk Beel is convinced he’ll get over the alcohol faster with less clothes because of temperature regulation and something that doesn’t really make sense because he’s slurring

Will drink more if Belphie is nearby or if he can hold onto Belphie. Taking care of Belphie and knowing he’s okay (in a tactile way) makes him a little more carefree. 

Doesn’t really confess like the other bros but he’s the one no one can really hear talking because his purr takes over everything. His purrs are so loud and deep! Big boy is truly happy

Drunk Beel is affectionate as ever and this is where you learn that demons can express affection by licking people. Most of the bros end up with a Simba-style mohawk. It’s just one lick but Beel’s got a long tongue and it fucks with hair real good.

Will jump in for a song or two if karaoke is a thing at the party. A really good singer but wouldn’t do it unless he had a decent amount of alcohol in him.

He’s the type to trip over stuff trying to help clean up. If he falls down he says he’s just ‘taking a break’ and will ‘help in a minute’. Might not get up again.

Once Beel lays down, Belphie, Satan, and Levi drunk crawl/stumble/slither over to him for warmth. This is how the cuddle pile starts.

When he lays down, if you get anywhere near him, he’s begging you to lay down with him. Wants to whisper little compliments and lovely things. A big sap. Handsy but will definitely know when to lay off and will listen if you get uncomfortable. 

Belphie:

Honestly, doesn’t really drink. He’s more interested in the nap.

His biggest motivation is to get the others drunk so everyone’s quiet and he can sleep. Definitely wants Lucifer blackmail.

He’ll have a few things but he prefers a lot of something mild versus a mix or a few shots of something super potent

Will try the funnel drink challenge.

The third enticer. He wants to work everyone up (Lucifer especially) and get the booze going.

Borrows off of Beel’s body mass and ability to handle alcohol here and there, but it all catches up with him eventually

The type to have really diluted drinks because he’s already sleepy by nature and doesn’t want to faceplant with a shot glass.

Will slow dance with Asmo. When Asmo starts to struggle with his weight as Belphie gets cozy and sleepy, Beel steps in and you just see the twins purring and warbling to each other as Beel just scoops him up and lets him sit on his hip like a toddler.

Another one who wants to slither into your lap and take all your attention.

The type to do random shit like boop your nose and giggle about it.

The one who doesn’t want anyone else to touch you. If he’s laying on you then the others need to leave you alone. It’s not hard to understand!

[oh-for-fic-sake]

They Hung Up

Masterlist

Summary: August can always fix your problems, especially when someone is ripping off his princess.

Warnings: fluff, ddlg, daddy kink

A/n: inspired by my chat with ebay this morning. Apparantly ebay will charge buyers import and customs VAT on items that aren't even being imported into the country... or going through customs. And they don't charge this at checkout they only charge it when they take the actually money. When i told the lady thats stealing your taking more then the agreed amount from my bank she hung up on me telling me to 'speak to the tax office'

Taglist: in reblogs.

"No but you cant charge import tax on something that isn't being imported.... No they cant that's illegal look I just want my money beck for the tax-what do you mean no?!... Hello? Hello?" You could have cried you were so angry and upset. You closed locked your phone screen and sniffed shaking your head in frustration.

"Princess what's wrong?" You snapped your head to your daddy, august was scowling. You could see the aggravated look as he took in your tears. Your daddy never liked you wasting them on other people. Your sweet pure tears were only meant to be shed for him! Every droplet was his to pull from you, be it tears of rapturous pleasure or shed from being spanked for being naughty.

"August? I? they hung up on me!" You hissed quickly running over to him tucking yourself into his thick frame pressing your head into his chest trying to soak in the smell of his aftershave. The spicy scent was heady and a little overbearing, you could tell why. Under the spice was the metallic twang of blood and deep sooty smell of fired bullets. You both loved and hated it, as safe as it made you feel remembering just who and what he was if frightened you, one day he could be hurt.

"Who? Sweetpea?" He purred softly needing to calm you down before he could make heads roll. His arms encircled you squeezing you tightly and he rested his chin on your head the  began swaying with you slowly.

"The support desk! They charged import tax! And nothing was imported! Daddy I was careful and-and I checked and double checked there was no warning not on check out or nothin' then they took another ten dollars on top and now my bank is angry and charging me for going over!" You said quickly panicked that he would be mad at you for spending too much again.

"Okay pumpkin slow down... Tell daddy what's going on slowly... Don't miss anything out okay angel" he said pulling you back a little to let you catch your breath. But you quivered and opened your mouth wiping at your eyes before trying to argue.

"Yeah but!?"

"Shh shh no buts take a deep breath... Now out, good girl now start from the beginning" he coaxed slowly cooing at you as you took a few breaths and calmed, settling down n his arms feeling safe and secure, even if you were still angry.

"I got that lamp with the shelves... It was fifty four dollars and ninety nine cents" you started explaining from the beginning and waited for August to nod.

"Yes I know, I remember you showing me to see if it would fit in the corner" he spoke remembering the little pull cord box lamp and three shelves, you wanted it for the internet router and house phone to sit on so you had more room for snacks on the side table.

"Well I got it and paid but then when paypal billed me they charged sixty four dollars and ninety-nine cents... I messaged them and they said it was import tax!" You cried out getting yourself all angry again, cheeks puffing out sweetly as you huffed and growled even throwing you hands up in frustration. August made to speak but you continued your tale of the mean support desk and their money thieving ways.

"I looked it up and cos its coming for inside the state I don't have to pay! So I called and they said I had to because the shop was registered outside of the USA! But its wrong! They're wrong and when I asked for my money she hung up on me! She said I have to talk to the tax office people!" August frowned that wasn't right and he knew it. It was clear you were being taken for a fool. These bastards were at it all over the place he'd seen some of it on the news, instead of tax evasion as we know it there was a new crime. Stealing tax from buyers and classing it as profit. Because its tax most people don't question it.

"And then my bank sent me this! Saying I was over my limit and in the minus! So now they are taking twenty dollars when my next allowance goes in!"  You cried quickly pulling up an email on your phone from your bank showing a notice of charges you now had on your account.

"Its not fair I didn't do nothing wrong daddy but now I'm loosing the tax and twenty dollars of my allowance!" You yelled and began sniffling again your lip wobbling. His heart melted as he watched you try so hard not to break down and cry again. You were being his big brave girl.

"Okay pumpkin i will sort this out give me the phone" he said plucking the phone from you then turned around heading to his office.

"But you cant! Its a withheld number-" you said sniffling following him one hand fisting the back of his jacket as he strode through the pent house to the secure room.

"Oh come on sweetheart don't tell me I'm going too soft and you've forgotten just who your daddy is~" he cooed opening the door and ushering you to the small teepee in the corner that had a large iPad and a few fuzzy scatter cushions .

"Go sit and watch YouTube or something okay? Let daddy fix this mess" he said pulling your headphones from the drawer and handed them to you ushering you to the small cozy spot he had made you.

You watched as he plugged your phone into his computer and made a few quick clicks before picking up his own phone and dialled a number with a smug look the  clicked his fingers at you pointing to the headphones wanting you to pop them on and stop worrying. You pouted but slipped on the large pink headset  and pretended to loom at your screen and select a video in reality you were listening to your daddy.

"Yes you wouldn't recognize it. How? Well this is a government number, you just told a young lady to inform us about taxes?" You flicked your eyes up at him grinning hearing the professional growl to his voice the 'daddy means business' tone that made you quiver with want and fear. It never meant good things, most of the time he used this tone when you were a bad girl. You only hoped the mean woman on the phone felt bad now too.

"Why yes, yes she did a miss y/n yes that's her. I would like for you to put me through to head office" you bit your lip hearing him begin his assault. No one not even the lady on the phone and her jargon would out smart your daddy!

"Pardon me I'm sorry I'm Mr Walker...I work for the tax office in her state and have decided to open an investigation about tax fraud over the issue, we have had many complaints... oh yes she informed us of everything, she was distressed over the tax miscalculation? Which has caused her to go over drawn on her account and incurred charges" he spoke firmly and turned looking to you as you giggled watching him in his huge leather spiny chair. You gasped when he frowned and pointed a finger to your iPad clearly telling you to stop being nosey and watch your videos.

"Yes I am aware of that but the shop is registered overseas, it doesn't export from overseas... so there is no international import tax due." He continued spinning around in the chair making a few notes on the large paper pad in front of him.

"Yes that's why I'm calling I've been on your website and your policies are in fact breaking the law and infringing on the rights of consumers. Do you understand? What you have done is illegal and fraudulent and I can see it isn't the first time so I would like to speak to your head of office now- thank you" you quickly looked down as August spun once more and grunted at you pointing to the door with a scowl catching you eavesdropping again.

"Poppet either watch your videos or go and have some lunch" he said covering the mouthpiece on the phone making you pout and flick your legs at him and cross your arms stubbornly. You wanted to watch!

"Decide or I will decide for you" he said raising his brows at you but you just huffed pleading with your eyes at him to let you stay and listen.

"Right lunch it is come on up! Off you pop go make a sandwich and have some juice" he said holding out his hand for the headphones.

"But I want to see you tell them off daddy!" You huffed non to impressed at being set out of the room so quickly.

"No, now do as I've asked daddy will be out in a few minuets this wont take long" you held his gaze for a few moments before you lost your nerve then stood with a pout handing him your headphones and left the room closing the door when you were told to.

It was twenty minuets alter August came put of the office and padded to the kitchen seeing you at the breakfast bar swinging on a chair whislt munching a chocolate spread sandwich a few candy wrappers on the side and packets of chips and un touched apple. He sighed giving you the stink eye but didn't say anything. You found a loop hole he said lunch and sandwich... he hadn't specified what type of lunch and sandwich.

"All sorted poppet! Your being refunded and getting compensation which will be debited into your account in forty eight hours" he said rounding the breakfast bar snatching the apple opening the cutlery drawer fishing out a knife.

"That's quick daddy... I thought they can only do it in five days?" You asked watching as he sliced the apples and began cutting the core out for you.

"Oh princess its amazing what people can do when they think the big bad tax man is on to them~" he chuckled at your face as he placed the apple on your plate. You didn't want to eat it but you would . Quickly. Because if you left it too long itd go brown and you would whine about it, get a warning and end up having to eat it anyway.

"Will you get in trouble? you pretended to be the tax man daddy" You said cautiously lifting a small apple wedge to your mouth and nibbled it.

"Me? Of course not daddy has many different identities love, and I can use them when I want love... besides we just uncovered a company that not only evades tax but it stealing it!" He grinned. If there was one thing he liked it was justice. Everyone should pay their dues. Especially someone who rigs a system to benefit themselves.

"And.. My bank charges?" You asked still unsure if he will be mad a you for over spending...Again

"All gone, daddy will cover them princess; now just how much chocolate spread is in that sandwich?" He said leaning over your plate trying to pry apart the two slices of bread.

"Err a little" you shrugged still eating your apple whist trying to smoosh your sandwich and hide the super thick chocolatey layer.

"Mm hmm there's more chocolate then bread poppet~" he hummed unimpressed but let it slide, again you'd found your loophole, the last thing he'd do is punish you for being a smart ass. It could save your life one day.

"Sorry daddy" you said whilst pulling the plates closer to yourself protectively worried he would steal our chocolate.

"Oh don't be poppet once its gone its gone its you that will miss it not me" he chuckled and spun around crossing the kitchen to make his own lunch. You grinned happily, what had been a bad day was getting better and better! You were getting your money back, compensation,  your daddy was paying your and charges and you got to keep your chocolate spread! What more could you ask for? Well there was one more thing you could ask for.

"Daddy can I have a puppy?"

[tennessoui]

Mobi wan stressing about Anakin wanting to leave him (both before and after they get married) and then kuwsk obi wan stressing about Anakin wanting to move out (both the Thanksgiving incident and the router incident) like man being afraid of being left behind is really an integral part of the infinite sadness and I am feeling it bigtime

🥺 oh no you're right this is part of infinite sadness and that's really sad 🥺🥺 i have this sorta related scene from KUWSK that's planned out where Anakin and Obi-Wan (post final kiss in the classroom) talk about their relationship going forward now that they know they're in love and it's a relief but it's also just all new kinds of vulnerable.

This was supposed to be a snippet and in Kit fashion it's 1.3 words i blame the fact that i was listening to @usetheforce 's beautiful KUWSK playlist . Anyway this is an exposition on the fear of being left behind something something how love is trusting the person you love that they won't leave you, even if you don't know why 🥺

Obi-Wan feels silly for having his arms crossed. It's not like this is a fight. They're not fighting. They're telling each other their secrets. They're telling each other their dreams, their hopes, their feelings. It's not a fight, but Obi-Wan feels like his crossed arms are the only thing holding his body together.

Anakin doesn't look much better. He's staring resolutely down at the carpet between his feet. He's sprung for a nice hotel room for this. He's also sprung for a double, probably so Obi-Wan doesn't feel pressured.

All Obi-Wan feels is love for this man, hopeless, endearing, enduring love.

But Anakin is right. Love is one thing. A kiss in a classroom with an audience is one thing.

Attempting to rearrange their entire lives--that's another thing. There are people at stake. The twins. There's more here than love. There's so much that can go wrong.

Anakin knows that too, that's why he hasn't looked Obi-Wan in the eye since he stuttered out his own version of I'm in love with you.

That's why they're here in this nice hotel room, thirty minutes from home. That's why they're doing this here and not in the house, so if this doesn't--if they can't--if they decide not to--

Then hopefully they won't think about this moment every time they step through the front door.

If they stand on the precipice and decide to walk backwards, to not fall off that ledge, then they still need to be able to return home. They still need to be able to look each other in the eyes.

Obi-Wan’s said his bit. Obi-Wan’s said everything he knows how to say. I’m in love with you, for a start. You have given me more than I have ever thought I wanted, let alone needed. But the truth was I needed all of it. I still do. I have a home now. That’s priceless. There’s no equivalent that I can give you in exchange. Everything I am and will be and have become is already yours. Because I love you and I had not even noticed because it just made sense. Loving you has always made more sense than not loving you.

Not in those words, of course.

But Obi-Wan’s said his bit, and Anakin’s said his too, and now there’s no more secrets.

There’s just a decision to make.

Obi-Wan uncrosses his arms and sits on the end of the bed next to Anakin, two feet of space between them. “So then,” he says.

“Do we?” Anakin finishes the thought, half-turning towards Obi-Wan to throw him a sad little smirk.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan admits. “Do we?”

“Is it bad that a huge part of me wants to say. Let’s do it. Damn the future?” Anakin asks with a huff of a laugh.

“Of course not,” Obi-Wan reassures him, reaching across the bed to rest a hand on his knee. “I would say that I understand the impulse. Damn the future. I love you. You love me--” he says these words wondrously. He still can’t quite believe they’re true, that Anakin means them the same way Obi-Wan does. “Let’s move in together.”

Anakin shoots him an incredulous look and lets out a genuine snort. “But I know...we shouldn’t do that.”

Obi-Wan fights his every impulse to retract his hand from Anakin’s knee. He knows the words have a certain truth to them. He knows what Anakin’s thinking of. He knows he has a point. It still hurts to hear. “We need to talk about it,” he says diplomatically.

“Talk about it?” Anakin sounds hurt. “Why? We both already know. What if--what if we were to--to date, to try and make this work and then we can’t? Obi-Wan, the twins love you. They love you. They’re--you’re their other parent. They need a stable home environment, they--if we--if we try and we can’t do it, then what happens to them? What happens to you and them?”

They’re worries that Obi-Wan has thought of himself ever since the kiss this morning. But it feels different to hear them in Anakin’s voice, to hear them spoken out loud. If Obi-Wan and Anakin dated and then broke up, they probably couldn’t continue living together. Obi-Wan tries to imagine living with Satine in the months following the divorce papers being signed, but he can’t.

He knows people do it. He knows himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t be able to. If Anakin were to break up with him--the only way Obi-Wan can imagine their relationship ending--Obi-Wan would need months if not years before he was able to look him in the eye again. If ever, actually.

If Anakin were to break up with him--to hold everything Obi-Wan is in his hands and cast it aside for something else, like Satine had, like...like his father had, then Obi-Wan would not be able to see him everyday without breaking down into tears and begging him for a second chance, for a detailed list of all the things that he did wrong, all the things about himself that were so wrong that no one can stand to stay for long.

“If,” Anakin says, breaking the silence when it’s clear Obi-Wan isn’t going to say anything. “If we try and then you...you leave, I don’t--”

He stops himself and clears his throat, shaking his head and looking down at his hands. “Obi-Wan, it’d break my heart.”

Obi-Wan stares at him for a second, confused and mouth slightly open. Anakin sounds as if he’s operating under some serious misconceptions.

As if Obi-Wan would be the one to leave. Obi-Wan can’t imagine there’s anything Anakin could ever do in order to make him want to leave. It’s Anakin. Seven months ago, before Obi-Wan even realized he was in love with the man, he’d gotten wine drunk with Padme Amidala and asked her quite insistently how the fuck she could have turned Anakin down, not once--but twice.

It’s Anakin.

And if...if Anakin is half as sure as he sounds that the only way they would ever break up is if Obi-Wan decided to leave, then...then maybe it’s worth jumping off that precipice. Damn the future.

But Obi-Wan thinks maybe this future won’t be so bad at all.

It’s a strange kind of numb bravery that has him moving his hand from Anakin’s knee to his palm. “Anakin,” he says quietly, and he feels as if he’s watching this happen from someone else’s point of view. Surely this isn’t Obi-Wan Kenobi about to put his heart firmly and resolutely into another’s hands. Not after last time.

But the truth is, it’s been there for years already. It’s about trust. It’s about trusting Anakin to always think that Obi-Wan could leave and never entertain the possibility that he could.

“Anakin,” he says again, until Anakin looks up at him from beneath his lashes. It’s suddenly not enough for him. He wants closer. He wants his turn to kiss Anakin and mean it.

He leans slowly in, raising his other hand to tilt Anakin’s chin up to meet his mouth. He’s giving Anakin plenty of room to move away, but Anakin doesn’t. Anakin stays.

Maybe it’s time they start giving each other more credit for that.

He feels his eyelashes flutter closed just as his lips touch Anakin’s so carefully it’s hardly a kiss at all. Butterfly wings have more substance than this kiss, but Obi-Wan would not change it for the world. Anakin needs to know they can go slow, that they can be gentle with each other. Anakin needs to know that Obi-Wan will never hurt him.

Anakin needs to know that--

“If I were capable of ever, ever leaving you,” Obi-Wan murmurs, pulling back until their lips are just brushing with every word and opening his eyes just enough to see the perfect picture Anakin makes like this, “I would have done so when Luke was going through that phase where he insisted upon only eating orange foods.”

Anakin’s eyes flutter open in shock and then the words register, and the meaning behind them does as well. Slowly, a sort of breathless smile breaks across his face.

It’s the most beautiful thing Obi-Wan has ever seen.

[ready-to-obeyme]

[OM!] 7 Demon Brothers + Alcohol 🥂

tw: alcohol consumption and things related to it

Note: Ranked the brother’s alcohol tolerance from best to worst at handling alcohol and added some alcohol-related headcanons too like how they’d act at parties :0

I may have used some people I’ve seen at college parties as inspiration

Asmodeus

what can I say except: King 👑👑

the man goes out to parties often and you BET there’s alcohol 

and yeah it’s fun to get buzzed, but ya boy gotta be sober enough to woo all the demons and dance the entire night!!

he’s built a lot of tolerance against all devildom drinks and even some human alcohol-- which is why he’s so shocked when he loses to you in a drinking contest in the storyline

he’s not used to losing especially when it comes to drinking and he takes pride in being the one on top every time

is there to have a Good Time with alcohol, and he’s usually an instigator when it comes to its consumption because he wants people to have a good time too!! (but only if they actually want to drink-- he ain’t forcing anyone!)

would know when to stop; knows his limits and the limits of others pretty well, so he’s actually really good at taking care of people when they’ve gone overboard

alas is the burden of the sober (or less drunk); is definitely the one who throws back a shot but is also the one offering you a glass of water or a trashbag to throw up in or hold up your hair 

he is SO good at taking care of you after a night out 

like I said: 👑👑

Beelzebub

bigger mass, bigger muscles = better alcohol tolerance

doesn’t drink that often to be honest, but he can hold his own 

doesn’t like drinking because it tastes nasty and doesn’t really fill him up-- though the fruity drinks are ok

heavy weight drinker when he does drink tho--- voracious appetite is matched with his ability to down shots like it’s no biggie

also, considering he eats so much, that also helps him in terms of alcohol tolerance

like asmo, his ability to not get drunk easily makes him the Guardian Angel Demon of Hydration

“have some more water” he says as he bends down and rubs your shoulders as you yak into a black trashbag 

could probably shotgun a beer--- smash the butt of the can against his forehead and chugging it all down 

ESEPCIALLY if it’s for a bet for food-- the man is unstoppable 

will be part of clean-up crew and also eat all the snacks

Mammon

that’s right, he can drink Lucifer under the table-- but barely

but he’s the type to go too hard too fast so no know actually knows/thinks he can, but the man is WILDIN’

what can I say about the Avatar of GREED??

shotgunning beers, slappin’ the wine bags, funneling alcohol-- HE’S GOT IT ALL

gets super hyped up when drunk and is definitely a big instigator when he gets some alcohol in him

kind of endearing to watch his inhibitions completely disappear as he reigns as the Big Brother who will definitely win against you in any alcohol related games like beer pong, rage cage, anything!!

the man is good at gambling, math, and probably loads more that we don’t know about yet, so I’m not surprised if he’s actually super good at any games related to dexterity and hand-eye coordination even when he’s drunk 

usually doesn’t really control himself with alcohol, so despite his tolerance often ends up bent over with a trash bag in hand

but if you’re there with him and aren’t familiar with alcohol, he’ll definitely tone it down and look out for you BECAUSE HE’S A SWEETIE 

Lucifer

more of a wine drinker, less of a SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS type of person

you think he’d be all suave and haha alcohol np--

but the error message of him hugging the router because he’s drunk tells  you he’s not as tolerant as people think he is AT ALL

he’s just very good at hiding when he’s inebriated, but even he can’t hide the tell-tale sign of his cheeks reddening  

against his brothers, he’s very good at controlling himself and taking in enough alcohol to amuse himself but not go out of control

unless he’s provoked and Diavolo (or you ;) ) are there

lowkey competitive, especially when he thinks he can win

for some reason always finds himself drunk as hell despite telling himself “ok, easy on the alc tonight” and starts to slur his words and be suuuuuuper relaxed (which is really endearing for you to see because he softens and is more affectionate and less shy about pda)

I hc that he’s actually a talkative drunk because he’s usually so composed and careful with his words that without the ihibitions, he’s freely speaking his feelings more (uwu) 

when he lets himself go though it’s so easy for him to embarrass himself LMAO and he’s lucky that most of his brothers are black-out drunk or too busy taking care of other people

Belphegor 

“MC, I’m so sleeeeeeepy”

“Belphie, you’re always sleepy”

super cuddly when he’s buzzed

after a few drinks, settles himself into a couch and just chills and fuzzily watches people chaotically chugging drinks

pretty happy with just doing this because he sort of enjoys just being in the background and seeing his brothers enjoy themselves

if he was honest before, oh he’s super honest now-- but in an extremely affectionate way:

“MC have I ever told you that your hands are super soft?”

“Ahaha Mammon you dance funnyyyy”

absolutely no filter on the love, the mad man

definitely conks out at like 11pm even if the party started like only two hours ago, blissfully unaware of any of the party aftermath and thus never really ends up helping during clean-up 

pretty hard to wake up-- but then again, he’s always hard to wake up 

you could probably pick up the couch he’s on and push it into a lake and he’d just wake up confused??? or stack things on top of him and he’d never wake up or move 

reminds me of that one vine where someone pours water on this girl’s face and she just wakes up and says “hello????”

Satan

the man wishes he had the tolerance of beel or lucifer or mammon god he wishes

but he does not-- not even CLOSE

is usually the designated driver and pretends he’s real cool with alcohol, but whenever he does drink, he’s out of the game SO QUICK 

maybe it’s because everyone expects him to be tolerant to alcohol because he sometimes sips wine when he reads, but he is not great at alcoholic party games so ends up being drunk really early in the party 

also, shots??? not the same

definitely the type of person to have taken a few shots at a time and be like “hm nothing is happening” and then feel it all at once 

he’s definitely learned from that first time he’s drank so NEVER AGAIN

so whenever he does drink, he knows his limits (and boy it is low) 

get super happy and-- not giggly persay, but he definitely has an easier time laughing considering he’s lost his inhibitions

not much can bring him down from this mood when he’s in the perfect zone between buzzed and drunk-- tries to aim for this zone every time but doesn’t always hit the mark 

has probably tried reading after drinking and just ended up sleeping with the book on his face

Leviathan 

doesn’t drink that much, doesn’t handle alcohol that well

...but people think he does because he always wins at party games 

the man has the best hand-eye coordination from gaming; he is the MASTER at beer pong and rage cage

hates shots because it takes him out so quick 

low-key one shot wonder, and his face gets so red after a few drinks 

handles himself with beer a lot better, but easy to get pulled into the chaos and gets challenged by MUCH more experienced and alcohol tolerant brothers (COUGH MAMMON)

usually tries to find excuses to not drink and prefers to sit and drink other beverages 

he is the master of the NAVY, give him WATER

would be part of clean up crew reluctantly, but if you need to be taken care of he is there for you--- no doubts about that

shyly puts an arm around you if you’re sleepy and makes sure you’re comfortable if you do end up falling asleep

also would end up taking care of other people (and actually does it really well), but does grumble under his breath bc he’s a tsundere

definitely has been on the bad side of drunk so is actually very protective of you if people are pushy with their drinks (it’s kind of sweet)

if you’re sober, you definitely have a friend with you who can watch on and remember EVERYTHING that goes on in the party and share inside jokes and good memories

[gendercraft]

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter Four: Waylon]

Read on ao3

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Trigger warnings: Sexual assault plus everything already in the game; eye gore

Waylon hopped out of the vent into a tiny, mostly bare room. A Variant sat in the corner, hugging his legs with his face buried in his knees. A metal storage crate barricaded the door. 

“You mind if I move this?” Waylon asked quietly. 

The man shook his head. 

Waylon swallowed and braced himself against the crate. His weak muscles trembled and strained as he pushed. Holding back a groan, he squeezed his eyes shut. When it was finally out of the way he shook his hands out and sighed. 

Poking his head into the hall, he bit his lip. It was empty, the walls covered in plastic, emergency lights still blasting. The rest of the lights had gone out. There were several dead bodies littering the hall, blood smeared on the plastic. One body was completely ripped in half, torso from legs, guts spilling into the floor. 

He snuck into a security room and shut the door behind him. Through the window to a decontamination chamber, a man in scrubs pressed his hands to the glass. 

“Help me, please!” He cried. “I’m a doctor! I need to get home to my…” His eyes widened. He spluttered for a second, then said, “You’re not security. I was… I’m a patient,” he said carefully. 

Waylon stepped closer, brows furrowed. 

“I stole these clothes from a… dead body I found. You gotta let me out of here. Please. Just push the button, open the door. We can get out of here together!” 

Waylon hesitated. He wished he’d recognized the man—if it were really a doctor, he’d leave him to rot, but he couldn’t risk hurting a patient, could he? Fuck. He slammed his hand on the button. 

The doors slid open, and a Variant with a grimace and a red face stepped inside. The doctor/patient gasped and stepped back. 

“No, no!” 

“All of you,” the Variant snarled, grabbing the back of the doctor/patient’s head and slamming it into the glass. Waylon stepped backwards with wide eyes, “doctors and liars.” 

He slammed the man’s head into the glass, over and over and over and over again, thunk, thunk, crack, thunk, blood spurted everywhere. Slipping out of its socket, the eye was crushed against the glass. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose and eyes. Crack! Thin lines stained the glass like a halo. 

Waylon felt sick. Gagging, he backed up until he was pressed against the door. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

The Variant thanked him, then left. 

He’d never seen a man die before today. Never seen a dead body outside of a coffin. Dozens in the last few hours, murdered and worse. The look in the Variant’s eyes, the raw anger, as he crushed the man’s skull… There was no real difference between the doctors and patients now. They were all crazy, all sick. 

And what was Waylon? He watched a man die and only thought, it’s not me, thank God. 

He knew he’d die someday. He didn’t want to be murdered. 

Waylon stumbled out of the room and made his way to the airlock. It sprayed him with that awful-smelling green gas, then let him through. The corpse watched him as he left. He crept through to the closest exit he knew of, but it was jammed and blocked. Dead Variants littered the ground. 

A file caught his eye. He picked it up with shaking hands. 

 From: j.blaire@murkoffcorp.us.com

To: h.grant@murkoff.us.com

Subject: Resignation for Mental Health, CC 8208 

Ms. Grant, 

 You may receive requests for information from a Mrs. Lisa Park, of Leadville, CO, in the coming weeks concerning the resignation and hospitalization of her husband, Waylon. If so, please forward them to my personal attention. 

 Waylon’s stomach lurched. Lisa? Oh, God… 

 Waylon Park (former consulting contract 8208) resigned due to previously undiagnosed mental illness. I personally visited Mrs. Lisa Park and her sons and broke the news to them, with the “silver lining” that Murkoff Psychiatric would be graciously providing treatment. 

 Mrs. Park had some less than charitable things to say about myself and the Murkoff corporation. I assured her that with her power of attorney she could try to fight the doctors’ diagnoses of her husband’s illness. 

 However, if it were discovered that he resigned under false pretenses, his insurance would be cancelled and the family would be saddled with not insignificant healthcare debts. 

 The paper crunched in Waylon’s fist. 

 Hopefully she understood. 

But if she insists on making a nuisance of herself, or tries to get around me, please let me know. This is one I want to take care of personally. 

 Yours, 

Jeremy Blaire

 Waylon shoved the paper in his pocket. Please say she let it go. Please let her be okay. 

 Blaire’s voice echoed in his head. 

“Somehow not smart enough to realize that the last thing a fly ought to do in a spider’s web is wiggle.” The laptop cracked on the ground as Blaire dropped it. “Somehow dumb enough to think that a borrowed laptop, onion router, and firewall patch would be enough to fool the world’s leading supplier of biometric security.” He tapped his forehead. “Stupid, Mr. Park. More than stupid. In fact, that was crazy!” A sick grin spread across his face. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to have you committed. Mr. Park, will you willfully submit to forced confinement?” He glanced over his shoulder at the three armed security guards that followed him. “Did you hear that, agent?” 

Waylon’s heart slammed against his chest, his fingertips. The fear burned hot in his abdomen, sweat gathering on his brow. 

“He said ‘yes,’ Mr. Blaire.” 

“Great!” Blaire waved his finger. “Oh, and… did I just hear Mr. Waylon Park volunteer for the Morphogenic Engine program?” 

“That’s what I heard, Mr. Blaire.” 

“That was brave, indeed, Waylon. The Murkoff Corporation and the onward march of science both appreciate your bravery… and sacrifice. Maybe you should administer Mr. Park here a light anesthetic?” 

“Gladly.” The front guard stepped forward and wound his arm back. 

Waylon raised his hands. Blinding pain rippled across his face, and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

Waylon ground his teeth together so hard something cracked. He would get back to Lisa and the boys if he had to tear through the entire asylum. 

The next airlock was broken, so he climbed atop a stack of crates covered in a blue tarp and dragged himself on top. Army crawling across, he jumped to the ground. It was pitch black in the hall. He raised his camcorder and flicked on the nightvision. 

He found himself in the cafeteria. Body parts were strewn across like decorations. Someone hummed and mumbled nearby. Bodies hung from the freezer’s ceiling like cured pigs. Flesh teared in the cafeteria, munching. Hands shaking, he crept into the kitchen. 

Waylon gagged. Blood boiled on the stove like someone was making fucking spaghetti, an arm and a hand poking out of the bubbling warmth. He entered the dining area, and behind the glass of the bar, blood splattered across the copious amount already caked on. Around the corner, then he zoomed in to look through the glass at the naked, bearded man sawing into a corpse. 

Keeping his camera up, Waylon’s eyes watered. He stepped forward. 

POP!

The microwave beeped and the head inside exploded. 

“Oh, God,” Waylon choked out. 

“Don’t you look at us,” the man snapped. “I love him.” He pulled out an organ and dropped it into his mouth. 

He chewed with his lips open, blood spurting, tissue tearing. Waylon stumbled back and hurried out of the room. He doubled over and gagged, choked, trying to vomit but nothing coming up. 

Sitting on the ground, he set the camera down facing him. “Don’t ask to see my body, Lisa,” he choked out. “When I die, when you finish the lawsuits that let you pry this footage from Murkoff’s army of lawyers and corporate hitmen, don’t make them show you my body. Just bury it. Or burn it. Let my sons remember me whole.” He looked away and squeezed his eyes shut. “That man is eating human flesh,” he whispered. “He looks at me and I see anger. A little desire. But more than anything, hunger. Please don’t make them show you my body.” 

He grabbed the camera. He didn’t plan on dying, but he would not risk not warning Lisa. 

He passed through a locker room and into a hallway, towards a grated door. A corpse hung by the wrist to set of handcuffs, looped through the grate, holding it closed. He had to get through there to get to the prison, get to the radio. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, yanking at the handcuffs. He’d have to find the key. There had to be a security guard around here somewhere. 

Across from the grate was a boarded up door. The glass above it was broken. He climbed atop the desk resting there and pulled himself through the broken window, hissing as glass cut across his thighs. 

Keeping an eye out for the key, he crept down the hall. Bzzzz! 

Waylon dropped to the floor as the cook came into the hall. His eyes glowed in the infrared, slowly surveying every inch of the blackness. There was that desire in his eyes, that hunger. Waylon kept the camcorder up and swallowed, his skin crawling. Out of all the people in Mount Massive, he did not want to be in the hands of the cook. 

He thought about turning around and finding an alternate way to the prison, but it would take too much time. He’d just have to be careful, quiet. He crept forward. The hall went forward and then to the left, with a room to the right. As the cook disappeared into the room to the right, Waylon hurried forward, still low to the ground. His eyes were on the corner. If he could just get around the corner, maybe he wouldn’t be seen. 

His foot crinkled on a sheet of plastic hanging off the wall. He froze. 

“I can smell you!” 

Shuddering, Waylon crept further into the darkness. 

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!” 

The saw buzzed, bzzz! 

Just keep moving, Waylon. 

He crawled forward in the hall and turned the corner. The man was still busy in the room to the right. In the turn of the hall, the walls were lined with wooden doors. He crept into the first one just long enough to catch his breath. It was bare with just a stack of mattresses on a metal bedframe, no key in sight. He stood up halfway and peeked open the door. 

The hall was empty. He swung the door open and snuck out. 

“MINE! You are mine!” 

The voice was right behind him. He broke into a sprint, just in time for the buzzsaw to catch the hairs on the back of his neck. 

“Fuck!” He gasped, skidding to a stop at the blocked end of the hall and slamming his fist into the door as he barged inside. 

He ran straight across the hall to the next door, barging through that one as well, leading him into a room full of storage shelves and crosses on the wall. A dead end. He looked around wildly, a place to hide, a place to escape. 

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!” 

Waylon whipped around. The cook grinned, blood glinting on his teeth, white in the night vision. He swung the buzzsaw and Waylon leapt backwards. Tripping over his own feet, his back smacked against the ground. The saw came over the cook’s head, and Waylon rolled out of the way, only for burning pain to rip through his leg. 

“FUCK!” He staggered to his feet and felt frantically at the blood dripping down his calf. 

Another swing, Waylon brought his hand up, a slash down his palm. He whimpered and stumbled backwards. 

Then he saw it—an open vent sat above a desk. He ducked another blow and dashed for the vent. His collar caught and he choked, his eyes watering. The cook dragged him backwards and threw him into a shelf. His chest and knee and elbow slammed into the corners. Wheezing, he made another break for the vent. He shoved past the cook and leapt onto the desk as all the lights flicked on. 

The buzzsaw caught the bottom of his foot as he dragged himself into the vent. He curled into a ball and hissed through his teeth. His blood smelled of iron, it was all he could smell, all he could think. He sat up as best as he could, cramped in the little square space, and looked for a seam to rip with his teeth. The cook grunted and cursed as he tried to get into the vent, only to turn and leave the room. 

“I’ll find another way…”

Waylon found a seam in his pants and ripped off what fabric he could. It wasn’t even or clean, but it was long enough for him to wrap around his calf and tie tight enough to hurt. He ripped off another piece for his foot, and another for his hand. 

He was shaking when he dropped to the ground. His foot burning, he bit back a whimper. 

A Variant stood in the corner. He was dressed, thank God, but bandages wrapped around his eyes. 

Waylon held his hands up as the Variant stalked towards him. “Hey, hey… What’s going on, man?” 

“I have an itch.” 

He cringed. “I can’t help with that. Want me to get those bandages off?” 

The Variant shook his head. What could be behind the fabric? 

Waylon swallowed. “Your clothes… you come from upstairs?” He wasn’t wearing the standard jumpsuit the Morphogenic volunteers wore. His clothes came from the Male Ward. 

“Yes.” 

“So you can get around safely, you know how to not get caught?” 

The Variant hesitated, then continued forward. Waylon stepped back. “I can move around.” 

“I need you to find someone for me. Can you do that? I can switch out your bandage for something cleaner.” 

“...okay.”

“There should be an investigative journalist running around here somewhere—”

“Miles Upshur.” 

Waylon blinked. “Y… yeah. How’d you- how’d you know?” 

“He’s been… talking to everyone. Trying to. In the abandoned sections. Headed to the basement, last I saw. Why do you need him?” 

“Find him,” Waylon begged, “tell him Waylon Park, the whistleblower, is headed to the prison. I’m going to get help.”

He stopped walking. “You’re the whistleblower?” 

“Yes,” Waylon said uncertainly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” 

Waylon found a seam in his shirt sleeve and ripped it free. He carefully pulled the bandages away from the Variant’s face. In the sockets, the eyes were completely eviscerated, nothing but bloody pulp. Waylon felt like gouging his own eyes out with a spoon. He bit back a gag and pulled the new bandage around his eyes. 

“Get those clean,” he mumbled, then patted his shoulder. “I need to go.” 

Waylon was back towards the labs, plastic lining the glass walls and laptop carts clogging up the halls. He wasn’t sure if the handcuff key would be around here, but he was just grateful to be away from the cook. 

He looked around for a tense couple of minutes, stepping quietly and keeping an ear out for any buzzing, before he finally found a bathroom with a dead security guard. He snatched the key from the man’s belt and sighed in relief. 

All he had to do now was get back. 

He found his way back to the main hall and stuck his head out the door. The cook grumbled to himself, peeking inside a room, saw buzzing beside him. Waylon swallowed and crouched. He crept into the hall and around the corner. 

If he comes this way, I’m fucked. But the barred door he originally jumped over was in sight. The cook was not agile, couldn’t follow him. It was Waylon’s only strength here. 

He cursed himself, then broke into a sprint. 

“MINE!” 

His feet slapped the floor as the cook raced behind him. Vaulting over a turned over bed and leaping onto a desk, he scrambled up through the window again, the broken glass making more cuts across his thighs. 

Waylon stumbled to the ground. His vision blurred, his head hot. Panic? Blood loss? Both? Whatever. He got the key. 

Unlocking the handcuffs, the corpse’s arm slipped out and thunked to the ground. With shaking hands, Waylon pulled the handcuffs out of the lock and swung the grate open. 

It led into the crematorium. He headed down a short staircase and crept into the room. His heart was still racing, his legs still equipped to run. Something banged on the nearby door as he passed the ovens. He nearly jumped out of his skin. 

Backing up, he watched the door shake again, then stop. He hesitated. 

I have to go this way. 

He watched his steps, stepping over broken glass and litter. The second he passed the door slammed open. The cook grabbed him by the neck and threw him onto his back. Waylon wheezed and kicked, the wind knocked out of him. The cook hauled him onto a wooden slab and raised the buzzsaw. 

“This meat is mine,” he cackled. 

He brought the buzzsaw to his chest, slowly inching forward until red splattered. Waylon threw his head back and screamed. Then the cook pulled the saw away. 

Grabbing Waylon by the legs, he shoved him backwards. The heat of the oven burned the back of Waylon’s head. 

“You stay there,” he grinned, “and cook!” 

Then he threw Waylon into the oven, and slammed the door. 

@wasnt-hiding-in-cuba-for-7-years asked for waylon torture porn so here’s me delivering the best i can this early in the story. more whump later, hope you enjoyed lol 

[adverb-slut]

Operation: Pluck the Peacock (Fanfiction)

Uhm ... apparently this whole thing got deleted?  What?  Okay, here it is again.  Again, just a super dumb thing I wrote for fun!

Title:

Operation: Pluck the Peacock

Summary:

The demon brothers face the immeasurably daunting challenge of trying to photograph Lucifer shirtless.

Genre:

Fluff/Humor/Slice of Life

Rating:

T

Word Count:

4958

-

“Ahem! Ahem! ” Asmodeus chirped from the front of the R.A.D Council Room.  He rapped on the podium in front of him and frowned when he noticed the crowd of people that filled the room had yet to dispel their cacophony of chitchat.  “I said ahem! ”

With that, the remaining six Student Council members, as well as their President, Lord Diavolo, quieted down.

Asmo raised an eyebrow.  “You know, I thought at least you five—” he gestured toward Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Beelzebub, and Belphegor, “—would be eager to get this meeting started.”

Mammon gasped and smirked.  “No kiddin’—totally forgot what this was about for a second there, to be honest.”

Lucifer’s brow furrowed as he noticed the mischievous look that passed between Belphegor and Satan.  

Asmo grinned at his elder brother’s suspicion.

“I’m only here ‘cause Beel ate the router,” Levi grumbled, his head on his desk.  “I can’t play any games without connection and Barbatos said it’d be like, seven hours before he can get a chance to fix everything.”

“Belphie promised me a chocolate-covered cricket chip cookie if I went along with this!” Beel announced cheerfully.

Mammon turned around to face his brother and cocked his head.  “Only one cookie, Beel?  C’mon, I’d think ya’d rather take a steeper offer than that.  I mean—” his smirk only grew as he peeked at Lucifer, “—I think this is gonna be good, but it’ll probably get us in a buncha trouble, too.”

Beel lowered his head and frowned.  “I already ate the rest of the cookies in the box.  Belphie just promised me the last one if I helped you guys with this.”

Asmo snapped his fingers from the podium.  “That’s enough prattling from you two; we’ve got bigger matters to attend t—”

“Okay, I’ve had just about enough of this,” Lucifer decided.  He stood up from his chair as Diavolo watched him eagerly. “Why in the world did you call us here, Asmo?”

Asmodeus scowled.  “I was just about to get to that.”

“Well, don’t meander about your point and get to it, then.”  Lucifer sighed and sat back down.

Feeling rather ruffled, Asmo huffed and said, “I am.  In fact, we already sort of discussed this in a text message conversation awhile back.”  From his back pocket, he pulled out a small, cleverly folded square of paper.  Careful not to chip his nail polish, he unfolded the sheet to reveal a huge poster.

Lucifer rolled his eyes as he read aloud the bright, sparkly pink words on the said poster.  “Operation: Pluck the Peacock.”

“Translation—get Lucifer shirtless,” Satan clarified, closing his eyes and smiling in satisfaction.

“And photograph him,” Belphegor added, with an equally devious grin.

“And sell it!” Mammon concluded.

“The last part’s debatable,” Asmodeus admitted.  “He’s only saying that ‘cause he got so much cash off of Levi’s shirtless pic.”

Leviathan, who did not like to be reminded of his insurmountable internet fame from the picture of his toned swimmer’s body, scowled at Mammon.  “I still am gonna kill you for that.”

Mammon smiled sweetly in response.  “Yeah, and ya can bury me in the most expensive mausoleum there is, what with all the cash I made off of ya.”

Levi’s face grew red, but before he could lunge at his brother, Lord Diavolo rose from his chair, his face gravely serious.  

Lucifer looked incredibly pleased with Diavolo’s somber expression, while the other six demon brothers exchanged irritated glances, worried that the President would shoot their idea down.

“I must say, Asmo, this is a rather frivolous thing to bring to the Student Council floor,” Diavolo said.  As he saw six demon faces fall, he amended, “ But, frivolous is what we’re about here at R.A.D!”

“What? ” Lucifer blanched.  “No, we’re not.”  Attempting to regain his composure, he coughed and said, “With all due respect, Diavolo, this operation is a waste of time.”

Diavolo chuckled as he saw Lucifer’s pout.  “Oh come on, Lucifer, there’s no harm in it.  Besides,” he reasoned, “think of it as a test for you.  A test to see if you can avoid your brothers’ attempts to ‘pluck your peacock.’”

Asmodeus smirked, while Levi blushed and stuttered, “D—don’t say it like that!”

“Then it’s settled, then!”  Mammon cheered. “Operation: Pluck the Peacock is a go!”

-

“Okay, what’s our first order of business?” Satan asked, sitting at his desk, with Belphegor, Leviathan, and Mammon surrounding him.  He peered behind him and sighed. “You can’t eat any of those books, Beel.”

Beelzebub, who was poking around in Satan’s mountain of books, sighed despondently, saying “I was just checking,” before flopping onto the bed.

“If you say so.”  Satan rolled his eyes when he realized that the fifth-born demon was missing, as well.  “Asmo, come on.  This whole operation was your idea.”

“Hold on,” Asmodeus urged, as he too, nosed through Satan’s book collection.  “You really don’t have any fun magazines around here, do you?”

Mammon raised his eyebrows.  “Yeah, smarty-pants Satan’s gonna read some tabloidy stuff like that.  Now, get over here.”

“Oh, calm down,” Asmo replied as he pranced toward the group.  “I already have a foolproof idea.”

Belphegor yawned.  “Oh, so it’s Mammon-proof?”

“Keep talkin’ like that, Belphie,” Mammon warned.  “And I’ll lock ya back up in the attic, again!”

As if on cue, Beelzebub leaped off the bed and curled his hands into fists.  “You wouldn’t dare, Mammon.”

“Gah!  Cool it, Beel!  I was just kidding!”  Mammon yelped, backing into Levi, who growled irately.

Satan sighed.  “Alright, everyone be quiet.  Asmo, what was your idea?”

“Well, it wasn’t an idea, more like, a thought,” Asmo confessed.

Belphegor rolled his eyes.  “Do you even know the difference between a thot and a thought ?”

“Yes, good job, Belphie,” remarked Satan drily.  “Say two homonyms in spoken dialogue and expect us to know the difference.  Very nice.”  

Before Belphegor could hiss a reply, Beel sighed.  “Can everyone just please stop fighting? This whole thing was supposed to be a fun way to pass the time and this isn’t fun.”

Satan nodded.  “Beel’s right. Okay, Asmo, what was your thought ?”

“Well,” Asmodeus began.  “A while back Lucifer was helping me get ready—sometimes he has impeccable taste, you know—and when we went through my closet, I remember that he seemed to be especially fond of this dark blue silk undershirt that I have.  He didn’t say anything, but I could tell he wanted it.”

“That’s it?”  Mammon asked. “Ya wanted to brag about buyin’ silk undershirts?”

Satan massaged his forehead and conked Mammon on the head.  “How can you and your one brain cell miss the point so badly?”  He turned to Asmo and stroked his chin. “So, what you’re saying is, if you can lend him this undershirt and put him in a situation where he could damage it, he’ll take it off, revealing his chest underneath for us to photograph?”

“That’s right!” Asmodeus chirped.

“But what kind of situation would make Lucifer realize that he doesn’t want to ruin the silk and take off the shirt?” Beel wondered.

“We could throw him in a fire,” Belphie suggested, with an innocent grin that absolutely dripped malice.

While the rest of the brothers stared at Belphegor with gaping mouths, Satan snapped his fingers and nodded appreciatively.  “He’s got a point. I mean, we live in Hell—fire is in no short supply. It’s economical, at least.”

“… or we could do something milder,” Levi suggested.  “How about we have someone pretend to drown in R.A.D’s swimming pool and stage it so Lucifer walks by and has to save them?”

Mammon, who had some faith in his elder brother, wondered, “Would he really take time to strip off a silk shirt if someone was drownin’?”

“He’d better,” Asmo glowered.

“Fine.  I suppose that’s a feasible idea, too,” Satan said.  “But who will be the one to fake-drown in the pool?”

“Levi’ll do it,” Mammon, who was not thrilled with his younger brother’s constant death threats, offered.  “I mean, he’s the one who suggested it, after all.”

“I second that,” Belphie agreed.

“I’m not doing this, guys!” Leviathan argued.

“I third it,” Beel replied.  

“Still not gonna do it!” spat Levi.

“I four—” Asmo began before he was interrupted by Satan.

“—We only technically needed two affirmations for this to go through, and we’re wasting time.  Sorry Asmo,” Satan explained. “Alright, Levi, get your swim trunks and acting skills on, because it’s time for Operation: Pluck the Peacock, Attempt One: Drown the Fish!”

“I’m not supposed to represent a fis—” Leviathan insisted, but he was cut off as Beelzebub threw him onto his back and the six made their way over to R.A.D’s swimming pool.

-

“Guys, I just got a text from Lord Diavolo,” Asmo whispered as he, Mammon, Satan, Beel, and Belphie crowded behind the bleachers in the empty R.A.D natatorium, as they watched Leviathan bob up and down in the pool.  “He says when we get the shirtless pics of Lucifer, we should send them to him.”

Belphie scowled.  “I thought you were supposed to ask him if he could ask Lucifer to do some fake Student-Council-related stuff here by the pool.”

Asmodeus huffed.  “I did, and he said he would.  I just thought that information would be more interesting.”

“ Shh! ” hushed Satan when a loud rumble reverberated through the room.  “I hear something.”

Beel blushed.  “Sorry, that was me.”

“No, wait—I actually hear footsteps this time,” Mammon whispered, and sure enough, the group could hear footsteps through the natatorium’s door. 

“Levi!  Start drowning!”  Satan hissed.

“Whatever,” Levi mumbled as he quietly laid his head back in the water and tilted it back.  He mimicked gasping and stiffened his legs, remaining for the most part, quite quiet.

The brothers watched this natural display, before Belphie growled, “That’s not ‘drowning,’ Levi.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to play it up more!  Start coughing and spasming and screaming ‘n’ stuff!” Mammon called.

Leviathan scowled.  “Have you guys ever seen anyone drown before?  No one does that!”

“Do it anyway!  Lucifer doesn’t know that, and besides, there’s nothing wrong with being dramatique! ” Asmo encouraged.

Levi rolled his eyes and muttered, “Fine.”  He took a deep breath, and as soon as the natatorium door creaked open, he began to scream, “ Help!  Someone save me!  I’m drowning! I can’t breathe! ”  He thrashed around in the pool, making the normally stagnant water an array of waves.  

Lucifer walked in, deliberately, and ignoring the ‘drowning’ Levi, knelt down by the pool, took out a small beaker and strip from his pocket, and began to take samples of the water.

“Um, hello! ” Levi groused, splashing even more.  “ I said I’m drowning, here!  What do you think you’re doing?”

“Taking pH samples of the water for Diavolo,” Lucifer replied easily, carefully dribbling a drop of the pool water onto the pH strip.  

“Yeah, but I’m drowning!  Don’t you see me splashing and dying here? ” 

“Levi, you spend an unholy amount of time in your aquarium, are the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy, and not to mention, can breathe underwater.  If you’re going to drown, do it with a little more class.”

“Oh.  Crap, you’re right.”

From behind the bleachers, Mammon shook his head, disheartened.  “I knew we were forgetting something,” he said, which earned him another bonk on the head from Satan.  He wheeled on his brother. “Quit it! Also, I’ve got another plan.  I call it Operation: Pluck the Peacock, Attempt Two: Boil the Bird!”

-

“How did you even know the code to get in here?” Satan wondered as he, Mammon, Beelzebub, Belphegor, and Asmodeus huddled behind a bookcase in Lucifer’s private study.  Leviathan, who caught a cold from spending so much time in the freezing R.A.D pool in their last expedition, couldn’t attend the next phase of the operation.

“Lucky guess,” Mammon shrugged, modest for once.  “And ya did turn the heat up all the way, right, Beel?”

“Yes,” Beel nodded.  “It was set to Light Burn in here before, but I switched it to Dante’s Inferno.  It’s going to take a few minutes to kick in.” 

Asmodeus frowned.  “If the heat ruins my hair, Mammon you’d better be ready to foot my salon bill.”

“Hey!  Why me?” argued the secondborn demon. 

“Because turning up the heat in Lucifer’s study to get him to take off his clothes was your lousy idea,” affirmed Asmo.

“Shut up, you two,” Belphegor hushed in irritation.  “Lucifer’s gonna come into his office any moment and he can’t know we’re in here.”

The five demons stood in silence as they heard footsteps approach the door.

As they heard the automated door slide open, Mammon gagged.  “Holy Father, I’m feelin’ it now—the heat.” A sweat broke out over his body and he fanned himself with his hand furiously.

Satan, who was considerably less sweaty, frowned at Mammon, as Lucifer walked into the room.

The brothers peeked at the eldest through empty spots in the bookcase and watched as Lucifer raised his eyebrows.

“That’s strange,” the firstborn muttered.  “I don’t remember turning the heat on in here.”  He shook his head and sat down at his desk. He worked quietly for a few minutes, before succumbing to the temperature and taking off his cape.

“One layer of clothing down,” Asmo whisper-sung.  “Two more to go.”

Satan nodded and wiped the perspiration off his brow.  “Beel, turn up the heat.”

“Okay.  I’ll set it to Inside of a Just-Cooked Pizza Roll—that’s even hotter than Dante’s Inferno.” Beel agreed.  “Mmm … Pizza Rolls.”  

As Beel turned the heater dial, Mammon slunk to the floor, moving the hair off his forehead and fanning himself even faster, trying to cool himself down.  “I’m beginnin’ to think this was a bad idea.”

Belphegor shook his head.  “I guess the ‘bird’ in Operation: Pluck the Peacock, Attempt Two: Boil the Bird was a ‘crow.’”

“Look, look,” Asmo ushered and gestured toward Lucifer, who was beginning to unbutton his vermillion vest.  “Inside of a Just-Cooked Pizza Roll is hot enough to make him take off another layer of clothing.”

Mammon put his head on his knees, beginning to strip off his clothes, as well.  “I don’t know how much more of this I can take, guys. My head’s startin’ to hurt, now.”

“Too bad,” Satan said unsympathetically as he dragged his brother, whose skin was turning red, off the ground.  “This was your idea.”

“And it seems to be working,” Belphie admitted.  “Beel, turn up the heat; we just need him to take off his shirt, now.”

Beel obediently turned toward the heater dial, again.  “The heat is now going from Inside of a Just-Cooked Pizza Roll to Seat Belt Tongue on a Hot Summer Day.”

The five brothers, all completely drenched in sweat, watched eagerly as Lucifer meticulously began to unbutton the black shirt that was the last layer of clothing on his torso.

But, as his red-nail-polished (sausage) fingers fumbled with the last button, there was a muffled gasp from Mammon as the secondborn collapsed.

Satan raised his eyebrows as he realized what had happened.  “Heatstroke. We’ve got to get him to the infirmary, now.”

Beel grabbed his brother and ushered the remaining three silently out the door of the study without Lucifer seeing them.  

“I guess even demons have their heat tolerances,” Asmo mumbled as the group marched down the House of Lamentation’s corridors, without a picture of Lucifer shirtless to show for their troubles.

-

“Operation: Pluck the Peacock, Attempt Three: Give Him a Cupcake is a terrible name, Beel,” Asmo sighed.  “All the other names for the attempts sounded mysterious—this one is just saying exactly what we’re going to do to him.”

Beel’s brows downturned and he looked down.  “Well, it doesn’t say what I’m going to do with the cupcake.”

Satan raised an eyebrow.  “The name literally says we’re going to ‘give’ it to him, Beel.”

“He means after that,” Belphie retorted, always quick to defend his twin.  “You can’t know that we’re gonna ‘accidentally’ smear the cupcake all down the front of Lucifer’s shirt after we give it to him just from the name.”

Asmo shrugged.  “This whole attempt lacks decorum if you ask me, but I guess it’s all we’ve got.”

“Hopefully your plan works, Beel,” Satan said.  “Mammon’s still in the infirmary and Levi won’t come out of his room since he’s nursing his cold, so we’re dropping like flies here and we still haven’t gotten the picture.”

Beel gulped, not enjoying the pressure that this whole ordeal put on him.  “I hope it works, too.” He fiddled with the frosted pink cupcake that he held in his hands, going against every single one of his instincts to eat it.

The four remaining demons stood aside in the R.A.D hallways, waiting for Lucifer to walk by after his daily meeting with Diavolo.

“Now, Beel,” Satan reminded his brother.  “When you end up smearing the cupcake on Lucifer, make sure you smash the frosting so that it gets on both his vest and the shirt underneath—aim for mostly the upper part of his torso.  It’s after school hours now, so he should be in his everyday clothes and not his uniform.”

Beel nodded, faithfully ignoring the growl of his stomach as he and his brothers waited for Lucifer to walk past them.  

After a few minutes, Belphie spotted a dark figure skulking down the hallway.  “There he is. Go, Beel.”

Beelzebub walked toward his brother and greeted, “Hey, Lucifer.”

Lucifer cocked his head in confusion but smiled demurely at him.  “Beel.”

Painfully, Beel reached out his hand and offered Lucifer the cupcake.  “H—here.” He could barely make out the words; how could he possibly give away food?  “You … you can have this.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow.  “You? Offering me food, Beel?”  He made the connection between this gesture and the operation instantly, and his smile widened.  He pushed Beel’s hand away, and in his gentlest tone said, “No, thank you. Please take it for yourself.”

Beel’s eyes widened in excitement.  “Really?”

Lucifer nodded.  “Yes.” He pulled his brother close and spoke quietly.  “In fact, Beel, drop this whole operation and I’ll buy you a dozen cupcakes.”

Beelzebub stepped away, realizing Lucifer’s ploy.  “I—no, I … can’t.” His stomach growled loudly in protest.

“Two dozen, then.”  

“I—I—I can’t—”

“Three dozen.  And all of the ‘dozens’ will be baker’s dozens.”

“ … Fine.”

From afar, Satan watched Lucifer walk away with Beel and hissed, “That snake.”

Belphegor frowned and stomped on his foot.  “Hey.”

“Not Beel,” Satan reassured.  “Lucifer just stole one of our team members.”

Asmodeus shook his head.  “And now there’s just us three remaining.”  His eyes lit up deviously. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

“If you suggest a threesome, Asmo, I’ll end you,” Belphegor warned.  

Asmo retorted, “Um, excuse me, if I was going to suggest anything like that, I’d do it when there were more of us together so we could do it orgy-style.”

“Well, what were you going to suggest, Asmo?” queried Satan.

Asmodeus grinned deviously.  “Actually I was going to suggest a threesome—Ow! Belphie, kick me again, I dare you!  Anyway, but now I just thought of the answer to getting Lucifer to take his shirt off—sex.”

Belphegor and Satan exchanged a look.  “ … What?” they chorused.

“Just leave it to me.  I propose, Operation: Pluck the Peacock, Attempt Four: Get the Cock!”

-

“This isn’t going to work,” Belphie remarked drily.  He and Satan were poised outside Lucifer’s room, in which Asmo was alone with Lucifer.

Satan shook his head.  “I know. I don’t know what he’s thinking, trying to seduce Lucifer like this.  We know the only person that can make Lucifer go boing! is D— ”

“Wait—shh … I hear something.”  Belphegor had his head pressed up against Lucifer’s door and raised his eyebrows.  “Holy Father … I think … I think I hear Asmo’s ‘Sexy Time’ playlist on the speakers.”

The fourth-eldest brother scrunched his nose.  “You don’t think …?”

Belphegor blanched as he heard Lucifer’s voice through the door.  He repeated the words back to Satan, saying, “‘Oh, Asmo … I’m going to make you feel so many things …’”  His eyes widened. “I hear footsteps, and they’re getting closer. Holy Father, Holy Father, someone’s coming to lock the door.”  He turned to Satan, his eyes wild. “They’re gonna do it!”

“Oh, my …” Satan gulped as he too, heard the footsteps draw near.  “Perhaps we should go.”

Belphie looked conflicted.  “I don’t kn—”

Before he could get very far, the door to Lucifer’s room swung open and Lucifer—fully clothed—marched out, not noticing the two eavesdroppers standing sentinel at his threshold.

“And all of those things I said you’d feel—” Lucifer said, his voice menacingly smooth, as he made his way over to Asmodeus’ room, wielding a rather large, rather sharp pair of scissors.  “—are all going to be variants of pain .”

Asmo sprinted out after him, his face red with exertion.  

Satan flew onto his feet.  “What happened?”

The fifth-born demon paused in his race to say, “He was totally into it—I swear!  Or at least, I thought he was until he said ‘Oh, Asmo … I’m going to make you feel so many things …’ and then walked out with a pair of scissors.  He said he’s gonna cut up all my clothes! I think he knows it was all a plot!” With that, he continued to sprint after Lucifer.

“ … Or maybe he just didn’t want to fool around with Asmodeus,” Belphegor reasoned.

Satan nodded.  “That’s more likely.  And besides … Asmo should be glad Lucifer’s gonna slice up all his clothes.  That way they’re more revealing—which is what he likes, anyway.”

“Yeah, but there goes another member of our team.”   Belphie squinted his eyes at Satan. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”

“ … seems that way.  Any ideas for the next attempt?”

“No.”

“Hm, well, I think I have one, then.”

-

“ … I can’t believe we didn’t think of this before,” Belphie sighed.  “This way is so much easier.”

Satan bobbed his head.  “Yes, Operation: Pluck the Peacock, Attempt Five: Unleash the Magic should be our easiest try, yet.”  He flipped open his spellbook. “What’s really impressive is that I’ve magically found a super-convenient, super-specific curse that instantly vaporizes someone’s shirt and only their shirt through a blast of heat but only if its aimed properly at their heart.”

“Better not show that to Asmo,” Belphegor warned.  “Vaporizing shirts sounds like something he could easily take advantage of.”

Satan pointed to a section of the text in the book.  “No need to worry about that; it says right here that the spell is one-time use only.  Once it’s incanted, the spell can never be used again.”

“Huh, the book also says that if the produced heat isn’t directed at the heart, the heat won’t function as it’s supposed to—that is, to vaporize clothes—but will work as regular heat and cause a fire using whatever the user pointed at as fuel,” Belphie read.

“We have to get this right on the first try, then.  Asmo’s usually the designated photographer, but since he’s too busy crying over his ruined clothes, you better have your D.D.D out to take a picture of Lucifer as I say the spell,” ordered Satan.

Belphie pulled out his device.  “Got it.”

“Alright.” The pair were huddled behind a couch in the Common Room.  Lucifer was seated on the couch across from them. “I’m going to incant the spell right here.  The tip of my pointer finger should glow fiery orange once I’m done. Then, I’ll get up from behind this couch and point my glowing finger at Lucifer’s heart.  I’ll say the release command for the spell, which should cause the heat from my fingers to zoom toward Lucifer and vaporize his shirt. Afterward, you take the picture.”

Belphegor nodded.

Satan continued and muttered aloud from his spellbook, “ In eaque faciam ignis / ignis ardens et lucens tam secura / ut hac flamma quae mando ad conflandum / quem legeret furore libare. ”  With this, Satan rose, his fingertip burning hot with the spell.

Lucifer, who had been studying a page of music on the other Common Room couch, widened his eyes in confusion, as Satan pointed his finger at his brother’s heart.  “What in the Celestial Realm—”

“Hey, everyone!  Your favorite brother Mammon has been released from the infirmary and can now stay in the comforts of his own bed!” was heard from the hallway, just as Satan shouted, “Release command: adolebitque!”  

However, when Satan heard the caterwaul that was Mammon’s voice, he turned behind him to see the commotion.  This caused his entire body—and therefore, the position of his poised finger—to shift. The heated, released spell burst from his fingers and zoomed toward a hand mirror that Asmodeus had left on the coffee table earlier. 

Belphie dutifully snapped a picture of the spell’s effects once it reflected off the mirror and came barreling back at him who incanted it and lit Satan’s hair on fire.

“Belphegor,” Satan said through gritted teeth and he tried to fan out the inferno that was his head.  “Delete that photo immediately.”

-

Well, Operation: Pluck the Peacock was a bust, Belphie thought sleepily, just awakening from a nap in the Music Room.  Normally, his favorite spot to sleep was the Planetarium, but he had been doing his schoolwork and the Music Room helped him concentrate.  Everyone just gave up, it seems, due to some reason or another.  Too bad—having a shirtless picture of Lucifer would be excellent blackmail.

It was nighttime, and Belphegor figured he should be warm in his bed, but he had been kept on his toes all day with the whole operation, and he felt too tired to pry open his eyes and meander back to his room.

So he lay there, half-asleep on one of the Music Room chairs until he heard footsteps wander into the room.

Who the Hell is that? he wondered.  Most of those guys are usually asleep by now.  He opened one of his eyes slightly and closed it immediately when he saw who it was and what they were wearing.  Holy crap, Lucifer doesn’t wear a shirt to bed.  Opening his eyes a crack, he stared in amazement at his brother’s shirtless form as he scrounged the Music Room for what Belphegor assumed to be some late-night classical music; Lucifer, being the ex-Angel of Music, was easily soothed by calming tunes.

Careful not to make any sudden movements, Belphie reached into his sweater pocket and pulled out his D.D.D, ready to take a picture.  Only, as soon as he clicked the button to capture the image, a loud click resounded throughout the room.  

Crap, crap, crap, I forgot to turn off my ringer.

Lucifer, who had just noticed Belphegor’s body slouched in one of the chairs from the noise, sprinted over to his brother as he realized what had occurred.

The firstborn brother grinned maliciously, suddenly transforming into his demon form as he politely spat, “Delete that.  Now.”

-

Diavolo shook his head in disappointment at the Student Council members the next day.  “I assume from your faces that Operation: Pluck the Peacock was a bust?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Satan muttered, shaking his head.  “Even with all of us together, none of us could get Lucifer to take his shirt off.”

Mammon shrugged.  “Hey, the Great Mammon totally could’ve done it, y’know!”

“You literally passed out because of heat.  What kind of demon does that?”  Asmo retorted.

“And don’t count me among all you who failed,” Belphie argued.  “I actually got a shirtless Lucifer picture.  Until he made me delete it, that is.” He turned to glare at brother.

Asmo let out a pertinent hmph and grumbled, “Killjoy.”

Diavolo’s eyes widened.  “Wait—is that true, Lucifer?  Your brothers did complete their challenge?”

“I don’t consider catching me in my pajamas and taking a picture to be ‘completing the challenge,’ Diavolo,” Lucifer reasoned, ignoring the angry stares of his brothers.  “I believe the whole point was for them to cause me to have my shirt off, not me having it off regardless.”

“We never really specified the details,” Beel admitted, after a moment of silence.

Levi looked up from his D.D.D, where he had been playing a mobile gacha game, since Barbatos had fixed the router.  “Yeah, so that technically means that we can clarify the rules, now, if we want.”

Satan nodded and rubbed his chin.  “That’s right. I vote we make it so that we could have photographed Lucifer shirtless, regardless of his reason for being so.”

“I second that,” Belphie agreed.

“I third it,” Beel replied.  

“I four—” Asmo began before he was interrupted by Diavolo.

“—Sorry for cutting you off, Asmodeus, but we only technically needed two affirmations for this to go through,” said Diavolo, his face lighting up.  “That settles it. Lucifer, since you wrongfully deprived me—I mean, your brothers—of a shirtless picture of you yesterday during Operation: Pluck the Peacock, I hereby declare that you must grace us with your glorious shirtless figure right here and now in the R.A.D Council Room!”

As the six brothers cheered, Lucifer’s eyes widened.  “I most certainly will not!”

“You must!  It’s an order!” Diavolo countered.

Lucifer frowned and blushed.  “ … Fine. Just … don’t take any photographs.  I’d rather not have this ridiculous event emblazoned across the internet.”

Once Lucifer had unbuckled the belt of his robelike school uniform and undid the buttons, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor and Diavolo all whipped out their D.D.Ds and captured the most ethereal image of all—Lucifer’s abs.

THE END

[nattikay]

So I don’t typically like making personal posts of this type, as I generally come here to escape all that and relax, but at this point I’m just not really sure where else to go with it, all things considered.

Anyways...I’ve been...stressed lately. No, coronavirus isn’t the root cause of it, but it certainly ain’t helping (as I will explain later).

So the first thing I guess...is my younger sister’s wedding tomorrow. To explain why this is a stressor I first have to reveal a bit about myself, a little deeper than I am usually comfortable doing on the internet, and I know it’s ultimately gonna make me sound like...kinda a selfish butthole.

So...I’ve always greatly valued the concept of marriage and family. It’s a value I hold very dear, I always have, and I’ve always wanted to one day get married and have kids of my own. However, I’ve also always struggled hugely with social anxiety, for pretty much as long as I can remember, and needless to say dating does not come easily to me.

For a while, that was ok because I had other goals to work towards in the meantime...getting into my college of choice...getting into their animation program...doing well in my classes...graduating...getting a job...but now I’ve done all those things, and getting married would be the natural next step in life. 

...if I could actually fall in love with someone. 

So I’m stuck. I feel like I’m just treading water, or running in circles. I feel like I can’t progress and it’s scary. But progressing itself, going out and meeting people, opening myself up like that--is also scary. It’s like I'm caught between a rock and a hard place. A lose-lose situation. 

I did have a sort-of boyfriend towards the end of college, but then I graduated and moved away and, well...things are a bit complicated. I still chat with him online now and then, but we only see each other in-person maybe once or twice a year for conventions. And even though we’re still on good terms in a friendly sorta way, given the time and distance I’m not sure whether or not he’s still interested in pursuing that type of relationship with me, nor am I sure how to bring it up without making him feel awkward.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe I should’ve stayed in Utah after I graduated, found a job there and been able to spend more time with him...but I didn’t...and now a part of me feels like...I dunno....like I missed my chance?

But...all of that’s a tangent...it’s not the only issue...

So anyways...like I said...this is my younger sister’s wedding. For those who don’t know, I’m the oldest sibling in my family. Maybe I wouldn’t feel as stressed if my sister were older than me. But as it is...this is the first time in my life that I haven’t been first to a major life event. And yes, I know, I know it’s not a race, it’s not a competition, etc. etc. etc....I know. But...it’s a reminder.

I’m stuck, and now I’m being “surpassed” and I’m constantly being reminded.

And things seemed to work out so easily for her too. She met this guy less than a year ago and they’re absolutely head-over-heels obsessed with each other. 

and I don’t

understand 

that?

I mean, her fiancé’s a good guy don’t get me wrong, and they’re really happy together and I’m glad of that, but at the same time...watching how they are with each other, how they interact...I don’t...know that I’ve ever felt that? And in my head, I wish I could, it seems like it’d be so nice but...

guys, sometimes I feel like I’m broken.

I feel like I don’t have that capacity to get so excited over a real person the way my sister and her fiancé are about each other.

Not romantically. Not even platonically. 

Except...not quite. I do have some capacity to be all giddy. But...it only ever seems to happen with fictional characters, animals, or plushies.

Never real people. Never real relationships.

and I don’t

understand

why

And quite frankly, I’m terrified, absolutely terrified that that’ll lead me to being forever alone

And yes, I know that some people are perfectly content to live their lives single, and that’s fine and you do you and I’m not gonna judge you or say you’re invalid or whatever; I don’t believe that. But...I don’t think I’m one of those people. Marriage and family is something I hold too dear to my heart to just give up on the idea of having my own.

But...like I said...reminders.

Reminders, reminders, and reminders of one of my weaknesses, one of my struggles, of a concept that utterly frightens me and I have to be around it constantly right now. And when I’m with other people, I have to do it with a smile.

I love my sister, don’t get me wrong. And like I said, her fiancé’s a good guy. I’m glad they’re happy. I don’t want to ruin that for them with my selfish struggles. Just because I’m unhappy right now doesn’t mean I have to drag them down with me. They deserve to have a good time.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not struggling.

So...there. That’s why my sister’s wedding is a stressor for me.

On top of all that...the wedding was supposed to be in April, in Utah. But because of the coronavirus shutdowns, we’ve had to to some last-minute rearrangements, and now it’s tomorrow here in Alabama. This has been extremely stressful on my mom, who really put a lot of dedication into the wedding planning and is bummed that it didn’t work out. She’s been particularly frazzled this past week, constantly scrambling to get all the rearrangements taken care of and terrified that more shutdowns with mess it all up again.

This is why I’m making this post here. Usually I would talk to my mom, or my therapist...but I don’t have another therapy appointment for a few weeks (if it hasn’t been cancelled for the virus) and my mom, well...she has enough of her own problems to deal with right now. I don’t want to burden her with mine.

And then there’s the situation at work. With the whole social distancing thing going on they’re trying to get as many people set up to work remotely as possible. Unfortunately, because of what I do and the way our network works, this entails bringing home my entire computer setup, which is a hassle in itself on merely a physical level. I stuck it out coming into the office longer than most of my coworkers, but my mom texted me today saying that they’re now talking about shutting down all “non-essential” businesses so if I wanted to work at all over the next little bit and not eat up vacation hours I should just bite the bullet and move my setup home. So I did. 

But now there’s another potential problem. I’ve got all the hardware and it should work just fine...but I also need internet connectivity in order to access our pipeline. As we were packing up my stuff, my coworker mentioned that he wasn’t actually sure if the computers had wifi capabilities and that I might have to plug it in directly...which could be a problem, because the internet connection is on the other side of the house from where I’d be working, and even if I moved my setup to that room I’m pretty sure I’d have to unplug the router in order to plug in this computer and then everyone else would lose their wifi...which would really suck with all of us being stuck at home right now, and would be especially detrimental to my dad who is also working from home right now and needs the wifi. 

Granted, I haven’t actually tried to hook it up just yet, so who knows, I might just get lucky and it’ll have wifi capabilities after all...but I don’t know for sure yet.

I mentioned this issue to my mom when I got home today, mostly just to warn her that I might have to make some weird arrangements like a long extensions cord or something (if it doesn’t in fact have wifi). Alas, that turned out to be a mistake...like I said, my mom’s already really stressed with the wedding stuff and a potential work computer problem just added fuel to the fire and then she started stressing about that too even though it’s not really a thing she needs to be worrying about, it’s my problem to figure out...but nonetheless I felt pretty guilty for making her feel even more stressed that she already was.

I don’t know what I’m going to do if I can’t get my work computer connected at home. I guess just bring it back to the office...but that’s assuming people with still be allowed in the building at all come next week. I just...I dunno man. I don’t know.

All this mess has led to me starting to experience certain anxiety symptoms that I haven’t really dealt with since I first went on my medication a few years ago, which means the stress is getting bad enough to...override the meds a bit. I guess. idk, the symptoms haven’t been too severe but the fact that they’re there at all...hng.

If you made it through this whole mess, congrats, I’m impressed

tl;dr

everything’s a mess, everyone’s stressed, I have anxiety and I don’t know who to talk to

not really looking for advice so much as just somewhere to vent and maybe some comfort, idk

Thanks for your time

-NattiKay

[wirewitchviolet]

“What can I do to help?”

As I’m writing this, I’m dealing with a rather astounding amount of vicious harassment which is taking a very serious toll on me. Usually when this is happening, I try not to talk about it publicly, because the sort of people who do this love nothing more than seeing evidence that it’s working, but sometimes, exceptions need to be made. And more to the point, as someone who deals with these sort of attacks as a constant presence in my own life, as well as helping others deal with the same in what is arguably a professional capacity, it seems to me the state of things today is at a point where we need a fresh round of public education on how these sorts of attack play out, and what any given person can do to actually help people deal with them in a meaningful way.

Predators and Herds

As a basic fundamental primer here, I’m going to need everyone to start looking at things from the perspective of a herd animal, because not only is it a pretty clear metaphor for a lot of this, I honestly think this is literally the sort of ancestral memory/instinct that drives this sort of thing. Plus there’s an amusing irony in telling people dealing with these sorts of predatory scumbags that they aren’t acting ENOUGH like sheep.

Some animals are predators. In order to survive, they have to stalk/chase/pin down other animals and kill them in order to eat. Invariably, the animals they target are those that are the most vulnerable. It’s the easiest way to go, and the one with the least risk of anything going wrong. If you’re a hungry wolf, you’re not going to mess with the big beefy ram who can headbutt you and break some ribs, or the really fit sheep you’d have to chase for an hour and still might never catch up with. You’re just going to go for the one with the broken leg, or the little defenseless baby lamb. Those ones you can definitely pick off without much effort at all, and they can’t really fight back in any meaningful way.

Some animals deal with predators by just focusing single-mindedly on defending themselves. If you can outrun the predators, and never let them get the drop on you, or you hide well enough they can’t ever find you, or you know how to really fight back and hurt them badly enough they know not to mess with you, then cool, you aren’t going to get eaten. At least until you let your guard down at the wrong time, or you get injured, or age starts taking its toll. Plus with all of these you’re just living your whole life in this constant state of fear, actively aware that death lurks just around the corner, and you can’t really form any real attachments with anyone else or protect them. It’s no way to live your life, and all of these require you to be able to outperform any predator who comes at you.

The other way to survive with predators wanting you dead is to be part of a herd. If everyone the predators want to prey on are in a big group, there’s inherent safety in numbers there. Not, to be clear, simply because having so many potential meals to choose from means the odds of you being chosen drop. Predators have to weigh the risks now of coordinated defenses. That big tough ram they’d rather not tackle for fear of getting hurt is right there next to that shaky-legged little lamb that would otherwise be the easiest meal to snag there is.

Herds cause a whole lot of headaches for predators, so when they’re a factor, the first step is pretty much always going to be to scatter the herd in some fashion, so all the prey that would be a pain to deal with leave, and the easily picked off targets are left behind to move in on. There’s a lot of ways to do this, and I don’t want to get into too much detail because the metaphor would get too strained, but the real key counter-strategy is to keep the herd from scattering.

Wolves are going to show up, they’re going to show up in packs, they’re going to start snarling and howling and all that, and some sheep are always going to run when that happens, and some sheep aren’t going to be able to. The trick is to have as many sheep as possible stand their ground. If there’s only a couple who do, they’re just going to get picked off along with the ones who can’t run or fight back. But if enough sheep stand their ground to keep those intimidating numbers, nobody’s getting eaten.

There’s our big framework for looking at this, don’t ever let it drop.

How Predators Attack

Now, the next thing to keep in mind here is that people who haven’t been really hit hard by the sort of attacks I’m talking about here tend to be totally clueless about what they actually involve, and even those who have been targeted tend to be really bad at recognizing when other people are being put through the same.

What people imagine to be a “really devastating attack” is when, say, 2000 different twitter accounts all coordinate to hurl violent threats and horrible slurs at a single person over a single one-hour period or something. Don’t get me wrong here. That does happen, regularly, and that’s never a fun thing to deal with, if only because it essentially serves as a DDoS attack, rendering you unable to see any messages from people you want to see things from, but at the end of the day, it does no more harm than having your router go down for a few hours, maybe a day or two in the most extreme cases. It’s also not something that ever really gets sustained in the long term. It’s more like the predators are just holding a pep rally and testing how many accounts they can direct at once.

The really devastating attacks are the effort to drive herds away. They’re a hell of a lot less flashy, generally. They’re hard to point out to others. When really well executed, the target doesn’t even necessarily see anything happening. And what’s happening is elaborately orchestrated character assassination.

I can’t really convey the seriousness of this without some very specific examples. I may follow this up with a roundup of every attack I’ve personally had launched against me, but for now, let me present a very old and famous example, along with the one I’m most recently dealing with.

The classic, of course, from way back in 2014- “Zoe Quinn slept with five guys from various publications in exchange for good reviews of a game.” If this were the first time you encountered this statement, odds are good your personal reaction would be along the lines of “who?” or “who cares?” The goal here isn’t to make everyone hate Zoe Quinn though, just people immediately around Zoe Quinn. The premise of trading favors for good press is something anyone involved in the press is going to take quite seriously, with even baseless claims having an extreme chilling effect. For another crowd, promiscuity is considered a crime worthy of stoning someone to death (and it’s rather telling that the most commonly repeated version of this attack shortens it to simply “Zoe Quinn slept with five guys”). Much more to the point though, the premise that anyone reading this hasn’t previously encountered this line. That message was shouted from the rooftops all over the world for five straight years, over every possible channel.

More recently, I’ve been dealing with... this incoherent mess. This is much less coordinated, with just a handful of people in the think tank, testing every attack live on the fly. You can watch, more or less in real time, as this predator tosses out a variety of defamatory attacks, switching to a new one every time one falls flat. I’m friends with Graham, then I’m business partners, then I’m either paying him or maybe sleeping with him in exchange for promoting some website. I’m a professional journalist (which is a rather weird angle to press as an attack). Then suddenly I’m a “pedophile defender.” A new attack every day.

Now, in both these cases, there’s no truth at all behind any of these attacks. None of these are even stories with two sides to consider. Zoe Quinn’s game was a little choose your own adventure story comprised of a few simple HTML pages linking to each other. No one ever reviewed it to begin with, so the whole thing falls apart. Graham Linehan is a disgusting crusader who attacks children’s charities for daring to provide support to trans children, and quite famously has some weird fixation on publicly attacking me, and I’m a trans woman who hasn’t had any real luck finding work of any kind since coming out half a decade ago. I’ve never run any website that wasn’t a simple blog like this one, or this one which I think puts that last claim to bed well enough.

But again, the idea with attacks like this isn’t to be credible, or even plausible. People don’t make these sorts of attacks based on anything the target has done, it’s all about what will do the most harm if even one person actually buys into it. You want to hurt an indie game dev? Get people to believe they have to bribe people with sex to get any positive mention of their output. You want to hurt a trans woman? Get people to believe she’s friends with and/or sold everyone else out to the king of the transphobes. Someone who does real work to shut down child porn sites? Secretly a pedophile. Etc. Etc. And the success rate of attacks like this is never zero. No matter how transparently false the claim is, shout it at enough people and SOMEONE is going to treat it as ironclad fact, spreading it around in turn and coming off more credible because they’re quoting someone.These rumors spread like wildfire since, let’s be honest, social media sites are all just glorified gossip mills at the end of the day, and all those laughable details from the original lie drop away, replaced with lists of all the very credible people who always know what they’re talking about these scathing claims have been filtered through.

In my experience, honestly it’s the all the most pathetic claims that do the most damage. “Slept with five guys” sticks more than “in exchange for reviews” because it’s such a non-crime that people default to “let’s say that’s true - who even cares?” rather than question the veracity. And I swear all the most damaging attacks I’ve ever suffered really just boil down to baseless claims that I really just don’t like some arbitrary collection of mostly women (a mix of strangers and people I generally view in a positive light).

Having established all of that, we can finally get around to the big question found in the title of this post:

What can I do to help?

Really, the most meaningful and impactful thing you can ever do when someone is being attacked like this is just to do whatever you can to get in front of it. If you know someone has some predator out there trying to convince people she eats puppies, broadcast a big announcement about how that’s happening, along with how and why you’re as confident as you are that she doesn’t, and it’s a baseless hit job. If you have media connections, try to get a story printed about the whole mess, or set up an interview where the victim can talk about how surreal the experience is. If you don’t, just shout about it where you can, so people know not to trust it when word eventually reaches them of all the depraved puppy feasts.

Past that, just be an active support. Tell the alleged puppy eater how you have her back. Ask how she’s holding up. Offer to talk for a bit, or watch a movie. More often than not, attacks like this cost people career contacts and close friends, and cause a lot of trauma. Whatever you can do to help beat the encroaching darkness back helps.

Also? Don’t fall into that trap of granting these sort of BS claims are true to argue the point that they’re stupid reasons to attack someone. They’re always going to be a big deal to someone, and your hypothetical just makes it seem more factual.

Do keep in mind though that these sorts of solidarity moves are going to make the predators real mad. They want to drive you away, and failing that, they’re going to want to take you down too for not running off with the rest of the herd. If we can establish these sorts of defenses as a cultural norm, or you’re personally the sort of person it’s too risky to go after, this is a total non-issue, but if you’re also particularly vulnerable, and nobody else is following suit, be aware of the risks you’re taking.

Finally, make sure you don’t fall into the trap of becoming a predator yourself. So many people get this idea in their heads that the best defense is a good offense, and set out to “turn the tables,” but frankly it just doesn’t work. When you go on the offense, you can’t help but take on those predatory instincts. You end up targeting the most vulnerable people you can find and convince yourself are “the enemy.” I mean that’s almost certainly how the batch of predators you’re trying to fight got started in the first place.

So just... try to be kind. Be supportive. Get out in front of life-ruining rumors. And don’t just do it for people you know and trust. Do it for strangers who are plainly being preyed on. Look for people who just live to tear into people, especially when they keep tearing into the super marginalized. Object to that on principle. And remember anyone can fall into doing it, no matter how long you’ve known and trusted them, or what their politics are.

And some more thoughts on this topic.

[missmentelle]

I could use advice on how to support my partner. He has anxiety and it has been getting increasingly worse. He's always worried about physical symptoms he sometimes feels (like if he has a headache) and thinks they are signs something fatal is wrong with him and he is going to die. Last weekend he thought he was having a heat attack and I took him to the ER, but it was actually a panic attack. I know he's scared and I feel for him, but I'm also skeptical that there is something physically (1/2)

wrong with him. I don't want to be dismissive when he thinks something is wrong, but I also have to face the reality that we can't afford to take him to the hospital to get every symptom checked out. He is already on medication for anxiety and sees a therapist (though it's on hold due to Covid). Nothing I say seems to reassure him. I love him so much, but this situation is beginning to really stress me out. I'd appreciate any insight you have. (2/2)

Hey, I’m really sorry to hear that you’re both in this situation. Anxiety is a horrible illness, and we aren’t exactly living at a great moment in history to be dealing with it. I have also lived with a partner who had debilitating anxiety, and I can understand where you’re coming from - it can be extremely difficult to know what to do when your partner is unable to lead a normal life because of their anxiety and nothing seems to be helping. I’m guessing that you’re in the USA if you are having to pay for emergency room visits, and that’s also an extremely difficult situation to be in - going to the emergency room for every panic attack is not ideal at the best of times, but it’s really not a workable solution if it’s putting you at risk of medical debt. I think the first thing to look into would be getting your partner back in therapy sessions. I know that in-person therapy sessions are still on hold due to COVID, but it’s vital to find him some form of Skype, Zoom or phone-based therapy to see him through until he can start seeing his actual therapist again. Contact his regular therapist and let them know that he had a panic attack that sent him to the emergency room - that’s information that his therapist will definitely want to know, and they should have some recommendations and resources for how to prevent this from happening again. If your partner’s therapist really isn’t willing or able to do video therapy sessions, look for a different therapist who will do them - at this point, non-ideal therapy is absolutely better than no therapy at all. This is not a situation that a partner can deal with on their own, and it’s essential that you get professional support to help you deal with this. 

I would also contact your partner’s doctor (whichever doctor prescribes their anxiety medication) about the situation, and let them know about the panic attack. Again, that is information that their doctor needs to know in order to help manage their condition. Depending on the situation, your partner’s doctor may be willing to adjust their dosage or prescribe a benzodiapine to prevent panic attacks. It’s something that your partner will need to discuss with their doctor, and a video appointment may be required before any prescriptions can be changed. 

I think it’s also important for your partner to be proactive about identifying possible stressors and doing his best to minimize them. I know that that’s often something that’s easier said than done, but see if you two can work together to find strategies that might help. If the news is stressing him out, limit his exposure to it - don’t put the news on TV, and try to keep him away from internet news. Turn the router off at night if you need to. Do your best to make sure that he eats regularly, gets some sleep, and avoids caffeine. If he has friends and family he’s in contact with, try to encourage him to reach out to at least a few of them - even if he doesn’t tell them about what happened, it’s still good for him to have reminders that he is not alone and that he has a network of people who care about him. Definitely make sure that he is taking his medication as prescribed and not missing any doses. If his therapist has any recommendations for coping strategies - breathing exercises, journalling, grounding exercises, etc - you could also try reminding him to do those when he is getting upset. 

It’s also important for you to find support for yourself, and to take time to yourself to do things you enjoy. This is a lot for one person to carry on their shoulders, and you need to remember that it is not your responsibility to fix this, even if it feels like it - your partner has a team of professionals that he needs to be reaching out to for help, and he also needs to be taking steps to implement the tools he has already been given to try to deal with this. I know it’s not easy to watch someone you love struggle so greatly, but do your best to also make your own mental health a priority and take care of yourself as best you can.  Best of luck to you both. MM

[arabellaflynn]

Hello, all. It has been a rough pandemic.

As you may have figured, since I am in the performing arts, I have been completely out of work since this shitshow began. The earliest venues will open up here in MA is September, which is not helpful for me, because I need to be out of my current place by 8/31. No one will rent to me on my Patreon income, so I've been trying to figure out how to supplement that with other online work.

My first thought, frankly, was camming. I'm attractive and I know that, and I don't care about being naked in "public". I have a lot of opinions on the legitimacy and legalization of sex work, but making a statement would be a convenient bonus; I'd be in it for the tips. As the appliance menagerie on the Flintstones used to say, "Eh. It's a living."

The best camera I currently have is attached to the slightly-less ancient laptop. You know, the one with the broken hinge that won't hold the screen up on the right. Only the wifi on that computer has quit working. The onboard chip was always kind of flaky, but for some reason it has chosen now to deteriorate to the point where it no longer acknowledges a router on the other side of the goddamn wall. Shooting in the living room with an ethernet cable is not an option, because another housemate is already doing that.

I bought a dual-band USB wifi adapter with antenna. It's a Realtek chip -- not gold-plated, but also not total junk. I specifically checked to make sure it worked with Ubuntu Bionic before I ordered. I have now installed three separate sets of drivers in three completely different ways, read everything ever written about this on AskUbuntu, and still the computer refuses to acknowledge its existence. Not even if I blacklist the onboard chip to keep it from falling back into previous bad habits.

The other elderly laptop (with the working wifi) has a cam that tops out at 640 x 480, which I suppose might squeak by as a tiny facecam on Twitch, or for tutoring where no one cares about pixelization. The microphone, however, is crap. It's a tinny omni on the screen bezel that likes room noise more than my voice. I don't have an external microphone, and there's no onboard Bluetooth for my wireless headset. So I bought a USB Bluetooth adapter, which this computer is ignoring as hard as the other one is the wifi dongle. I have a wired headset with a mic, but because this computer is probably mere months too old to know what to do with an inline mic on the same jack as the output signal, it doesn't register at all.

The camera on my phone is potato quality, because that is honestly about how much the phone cost. Ditto the refurb Kindle. Neither is smart enough to keep up with streaming video, which I found out when I tried to do a video rehearsal for something months ago. 

I have no place to do any kind of professional non-entertainment streaming work (e.g., tutoring) with my terrible equipment in any event. I don't own a desk. If a free desk appeared on my doorstep tomorrow, I would have nowhere to put it. My bedroom is small enough to contravene the Geneva Convention requirements for POW cells and I'm basically stuck in here, for reasons of both air conditioning and not having to interact with a house full of people who very much want me gone.

What I do have is a set of working emulators and some free video editing software, so I decided to take a stab at a subtitled Let's Play. I can certainly ramble on for 30 or so hours of Final Fantasy II. At the very least it'll give me something scheduled to do. So I pulled everything out and set it up, only to find that my controller was "pining for the fjords" -- no lights, no acknowledgement from RetroArch, no response to any button presses.

...

...okay, well, at least we're down to a level of equipment I can afford to replace. So I am waiting for the mail carrier to bring me another $10 gamepad, whilst stuck in bureaucratic hell. I'm down to emergency public assistance, which keeps asking me to send them random documents, inconveniently one at a time. Even when I can submit them online I'm required to wait a minimum of 2-3 business days before a human can look at them. I'm trying to not be mad -- they are clearly horribly overworked -- but it also leaves me with a lot of time to do nothing but busy-wait. They've finally decided I'm destitute enough for food stamps, so now I have to sit on my hands until the card arrives in the mail.

The chronic, crushing lack of resources is not helped by (or helping) the fact that I'm just not functioning very well. I was already on the edge of disintegration when the lockdown orders hit anyway; I was taking every piece of work I could find in an effort to scrape together enough for first/last/deposit on a new apartment, and honestly that's more than I can handle. I can consistently get to about 20 hours of "stuff that can't be done while in bed, wearing pajamas" per week, with occasional spikes up to about 30, before I start losing the ability to take care of myself. I skip showers, let my living space become a complete disaster area, and go to bed without dinner because the whole process of choosing something to eat, preparing it, eating it, and cleaning up after myself is so overwhelming that I just burst into tears and don't do it. I fed the rats twice a day and cleaned their cage once or twice a week, but couldn't manage to do the same for myself.

It's difficult to explain to people the state of being physically and mentally exhausted without also being sweaty and shaky from muscle fatigue. Perhaps the single most salient example I can give is lying in bed at night and realizing I kind of vaguely needed to pee. Not like urgently -- just enough that I knew if I didn't, I'd wake up the next day with an uncomfortably full bladder. Then just lying there anyway, not because I thought suffering was noble or I deserved it or anything idiotic like that, but just because taking care of it would involve standing up, walking into another room, and initiating a new task, and I did not have the capacity to do any of those things.

If you suggest I start making a to-do list, I will sit down right now and invent a brand new Blunt Object Transfer Protocol (botp://) expressly for the purpose of punching you, personally, in the face over the goddamn internet. I will even credit you in the patent application. I will not share the licensing profits, which judging from social media right now, would be approximately all of the money on the face of the Earth. I do not need "life hacks". 

What I really need is a case worker, or possibly a babysitter, or just to have shown up at the ER about two months ago, because that is the only way I have ever found to get people to pay attention when I ask for help. Otherwise I get triaged out of sight and out of mind -- they ask if I'm suicidal, I tell them no, they tell me 'okay, here's a prescription for six Xanax and a packet of resources, go home and fix it yourself'. I'm just like, you sons of bitches, do you think I don't know how to Google things? If I could fix this on my own, I wouldn't be talking to you. Except I can't right now, because plague.

Everyone wants to fob me off on someone else. I was referred to an SSDI attorney by a friend, because frankly that's where I'm at right now. I wrote to them, specifically mentioning his name and the associate who helped him, and explained that I was basically a vegetable and I needed help applying for disability. I'm a college-educated suburban white girl, who grew up hearing her parents make rude jokes about welfare queens -- I have no idea how any of this works and I'm so broken I kept losing my place in a blanket whose pattern was literally "knit-purl-knit-purl to end of row; turn work over; repeat". Their response was "Sounds like you need some help applying for SSDI/SSI disability. Here's the website for the Boston Bar Association, good luck!" Crisis lines of both the psychiatric and financial varieties keep directing me to one of two national clearinghouse sites for social support services, both of which direct me to each other, because neither has any programs in my area.

I am trying really, really hard not to resent the ever-loving fuck out of anyone who has any sort of support system right now. One housemate has almost the exact same list of medical problems that I do, and is also completely out of work right now. She is married to the one who has a grown-up salaried WFH IT job, and will never have to worry about having a roof over her head or food in the cabinets. The single housemate has supportive family literally a five minute walk down the street; if she ever gets her feet kicked out from under her, she can stay with them temporarily while she scrambles back up. Another friend yote out to California right before lockdown to stay with his family. A local offered to help me with paperwork, then ghosted me intermittently before explaining that he was having a hard time himself right now and barely had the capacity for his own life. I have an elderly rat, no more savings, and no options.

I don't even know how I'm going to move the little I own. How do you even ask people to do that in the middle of a pandemic? If I don't have the money to move, I definitely don't have the money for a moving company, and I'm envisioning all of my community-minded friends pursing their lips in judgement and declining because like all the good people they are diligently social distancing.

I have also discovered, while hauling an empty suitcase out to Watertown and a full one back home again, that I do not cope well with face masks. It's fine if I'm not doing much, especially if I'm in a climate-controlled space like a store or the T, but as soon as I exert myself at all, I see spots. And no, it is not a matter of "just get used to it"; I have tested this by trying to wear a mask during my home workouts. It is just stuffy enough under there, and there is just enough reduction in air flow, that the world keeps going all film-grainy and dark on the sides, which I know from experience is the first step on a very short path to the Magical Land of Syncope. I had to stop during the outdoor trek and sit on the suitcase about twice a block through the commercial district, where it stayed on because there were people. This was when it was 72 whole degrees out (and the AC is generally on 74°F inside) which doesn't bode well for moving my heavy shit around in late August. 

I'm normally good at catching things at the weird-vision stage, although enough random strangers and T employees have asked me if I'm okay that I have to assume I look as ill as I feel at that point. And I have an absolutely tragic talent for talking people out of calling emergency services when I do actually keel over, but everyone is so health-panicked that I don't think it would work right now. I know what's happened and why, but I can't exactly communicate that to bystanders when I'm unconscious. As nice as EMS is, I don't feel like waking up to a round of Twenty Questions ("How many fingers am I holding up? Who's the President? Do you have a seizure disorder?"). So I just don't go out.

Alison over at Ask A Manager got a question about this the other day that suggests this is considered legitimate can't-(always-)wear-a-mask territory, and I am able to wear a mask where required in MA, which is indoors/during interactions with other people when it's actually useful, so I don't have any qualms on the scientific or legal front. I have just never been a good judge of how much potential peril/damage it's "reasonable" to put up with, and I don't have the capacity to explain myself over and over again a million times a day. 

I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of covid, I'm tired of living in a big glitzy continent-spanning banana republic, I'm tired of anxiety, I'm tired of other people carping at me to do things I can't in order to fix their anxiety for them, I'm tired of not having the space to dance, I'm tired of asking for help before things fall apart and being told 'well, come back when it is an emergency', and most of all I'm tired of this cycle where I tell myself "I'm going to stop being lazy! I'm going to put on my big-girl pants and wake up early and work 40 hours a week and support myself like an adult!" and then fail at it again because I just do not have the capacity to do that. I do not know how to make the system understand that I need some kind of support right now. 

Sorry for yet another depressing update, but that's where I am right now.

from Blogger https://ift.tt/2YPv8Xu via IFTTT -------------------- Enjoy my writing? Consider becoming a Patron, subscribing via Kindle, or just toss a little something in my tip jar. Thanks!

[hollowincalmo]

The Good Boyfriend/Girlfriend - a lifepath

The Good Boyfriend/Girlfriend

Campaign: Looking Glass Heart

Academics Skill: Above Average

Sports Skill: Slightly Below Average

Favorite Foods: Tea of All Kinds, Waffles, French Fries

Blood Type: O

Animal: Lovebird

Age: 18

Genres: Pastoral, Immersive Fantasy, Techno

Step 1: Choose Your Name

Hello, and welcome to the world of Looking Glass Heart.

The first thing you should know is that you're a good person.

You're a kind person. A pure person. A loving person.

The sort of person who makes a good friend, or a good partner.

You're sort of known for this quality.

You're also ridiculously fashionable. You've thought about starting a fashion blog, but you're not sure how to even begin getting a router set up in Fortitude.

But even good and kind and loving people have dark sides. Even good and kind and loving people feel pain.

Something bad happened to you when you were young. It changed your perspective on the world. Before that, you thought of the world as a good and beautiful place. Nowadays you think of it as something sick and wrong, a place where innocent people get hurt, and where people who should be happy don't get to enjoy happiness.

If you're thinking right now that this sounds a lot like the philosophy of the Rider Magisters, you're not wrong. It does. You're aware of that.

But you're not a Magister. You're not even a Rider at all.

That's because you've found a purpose. You've found something to hold onto, something to love and cherish in this rotten, ugly world.

And that sustains you. That keeps your head above the water, even at the worst of times.

You don't want anyone to know that you're all broken inside. You don't want even your closest friends to know.

So to make up for it all, you love, deeply and passionately.

To make up for it all, you make yourself good.

Are you...

• ...Matteus Novikov, the Good Boyfriend, a gender non-conforming boy?

• ...Julia Novikova, the Good Girlfriend, an extremely goth girl?

• ...Jesse Novikov, the Good Partner, who is not bound by such silly notions as gender?

• ...or someone else altogether?

Sorry, Julia! This book is going to assume you're Matteus Novikov, a boy. But swap the gender and the name and you should find this a useful document about yourself!

Step 2: Choose Your Trauma

Something awful happened to you when you were young, somewhere between eight and ten years old. Typically, it's something supernatural, but it might also be something mundane, if that's the angle you want to run with.

Either way, it changed the way you look at things.

You've worked the worst of it at this point, but it still upsets you and unnerves you at times.

What happened to you?

• The summer I turned nine, I became friends with a youkai I called Mister Bignose. At the end of the summer, he lured me into a pond and tried to drown me, which had been his goal all along.

• My father was a giant world-eating snake, and on my tenth birthday, he told me that he had been raising me with no goal other than to consume me to sustain his lifespan and human form for another ten years. Just moments after telling me this, he tried to consume me, and I barely escaped with my life.

• When I was nine, my grandfather ripped out my heart and used it for strange alchemy. He never gave it back to me.

• My mother was a renegade glass-maker. When I was ten years old, I learned that I was not a human being after all, but an eidolon made of glass. When I read my mother's research notes, I learned that she viewed me as a failed experiment, and was planning to destroy me when she completed her next experiment. I ran away, and never saw her again after that.

Or did something else altogether happen to you?

Whatever it was, I'm very sorry that it happened to you, because this whole concept is such an awful thing for a child to have to go through.

Step 3: Choose Your Calling

You have a reason why you haven't fallen over the brink and become an enemy of the world. This is a fundamentally pastoral, honest reason for being. Whenever you're feeling at your worst, you can fall back on this thing, and it brings you comfort, unlike the rest of the world.

Are you trying to...

• ...be the best partner I can be to my partner(s)?

• ...take care of your disabled best friend?

• ...become the most renowned fashion designer in Town?

• ...get straight A's in school?

• …create a comprehensive botanical catalog of everything plant in the Walking Fields?

• ...learn everything there is to know about your favorite TV series?

• ...get more dates than your rival?

• ...collect every issue of your favorite long-running superhero comic?

• ...live an interesting life?

• ...make your friends happy?

• ...or something else?

If your calling is a goal that you can complete, you'll have to find a new calling when you finish your first one.

Step 4: Choose Your Favorite Scenes

Are you most often seen...

[Purple]...hanging out with your friends?

[Purple]...comforting a friend who's hurting?

[Purple] ...taking care of a pet or child?

[Purple] ...spending time in The Princess of Emptiness's Good Place?

[Purple] ...being kind to people you don't even know?

[Purple] ...on a date with a cute person?

[Purple] ...sewing a new outfit for a friend?

[Silver] ...doing simple, honest work alone in Fortitude?

[Silver] ...reading books on fashion design?

[Silver] ...playing your bass guitar?

[Silver] ...cleaning your house?

[Silver] ...wandering around Fortitude?

[Silver] ...sewing a new outfit for yourself?

[Gold]...competing with a rival?

[Gold]...flirting with cute people?

Pick 2-3 favorites to help you figure out what you might be doing when you're not sure what to do in a scene.

Step 5: Review Your Goals

You've got your calling. That's a huge goal. It occupies a lot of your time.

Other than that, you've pretty much always got a lot of work to do. Being the kind of helpful person you are, people ask you for your help pretty often.

You also want to date someone cute. Having a partner to take care of, and who could take care of you would be pretty nice.

Otherwise, you're just trying to make it through each day. Even though you have stuff to do, that isn't easy at all sometimes...

Step 6: Choose Your Connections

You're close to a lot of people. It's how you do things. Your identity is very much understood through the lens of the people around you, the people you help, the people you love.

You starting Connections are typically as follows:

• The Princess/Prince of Emptiness 3. You and Sadako are childhood friends. You're also kind of rivals. And you want to kiss her.

• The Guardian 2. You and Iris are childhood friends too. You grew up together, and you hang out a lot.

• Emily Kanda 2. You grew up with her too. This is starting to look like a running theme, isn't it?

•  The One Becoming 1. You grew up together in Fortitude. You and her don't talk as often nowadays though.

Talk to the other players about your relationship with their characters. If someone agrees that you should feel comfortable around their PC and have a fair amount of knowledge about how to take care of them, you can get a free level 2-3 Connection to their character as well! You can improve these Connections later, if you want.

Step 7: Review Your Powers

You're not really that miraculous yet. You can't do much at all in the way of amazing stuff (well, other than stuff that's mundane but cool). You do your best despite it though.

• You have a calling that sustains you even when things get bad.

[smileygene]

“Business Man” 407Ladd fic

This is a Fic I wrote with the lovely @corkcollector :D

She’s a great writer and artist so better check their stuff out!!!

Word count: 8900+ words

Warning(s): Angst, Smut (at the end), Mochi (Because she is a cute dog)

Character/s: John(Kryoz), Smii7y, Scotty(407), Craig(MiniLadd), Mochi

Based on this song :D

New day, new target...

An envelope sat on Scotty's doorstep, he picked it up and saw a note "No Witnesses" he sighs, opening the envelope and seeing the target with a small deposit in a check, and a date on when is the kill due before they cut off the pay. Bonus will be added if you make it look like suicide, Scotty smiled at the bonus noted at the bottom of the file. He was a creative killer, cops do not suspect anything at all on his kills, and he was as invisible as the wind, not leaving any tracks or witnesses. He grabbed his bags and tools... "Time to scan the area." he said, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it.

***

Craig hated this place

He spent 5 years on getting a good degree on IT.  Even passing his grades with flying colors, but in this economy he ended up as a computer repair guy for this big ass company.

The job didn't even pay well. Well, more like the boss had something against him, he didn't know fucking why he just showed him how to fix his laptop once and suddenly his pay is cut. He grumbled as he fixes yet another broken monitor, he even had to give reports on why it broke in the first place and they always put the blame on him.

"You just turned the thing off you idiot... “Craig thought to himself as he magically fixed yet another monitor, he was done. He would actually murder someone if they accidentally turned off their monitor again. He politely excused himself as He went back to the tiny prison he calls his office. Walking as fast as he could to get away from the idiots in the office. Suddenly, he bumped into someone, looking up he saw a good looking man with brown hair.

 "Whoa, you gucci fam?  Slow down now..." He said, in a smooth raspy voice.

 "Ri-Right... Sorry..." Craig said, his cheeks blushing red as he walked away.

 "Alright, see you later hot stuff... “The man said making him blush even more.

 Scotty admired the nice view of Craig's ass, he was on his itinerary on People who has access on the target. Apparently within Craig's office lies the codes to disable the cameras on certain areas of the office. While there is a security room with access to the cameras.  Craig basically has control of everything around here...

Craig sighed and sunk into his office chair. He spent all these past couple nights doing what his boss had told him to, doing even the man's own work. Yet, he still had more sent to him by the time he got back to his office.

 He suddenly had the urge break shit he was so mad.

But he refrained himself for the sake of his shitty job.

He typed away on his computer, yawing every so often. He took tech, coding, math, IT, and Evan business for this? No, he had better plans, but he got stuck with this.

Scotty sat down, blending in perfectly as he is, well not perfectly really, he had to flirt his way in and right now he counted 3 women and 6 men complementing his ass. The cubicle he sat in was reserved by his employer, he had the perfect view of Craig's office and the target's office...

Now all he needed was a plan.

He took a sip of his coffee, the only thing he can tolerate in this place. Hopefully eliminating the target would make changes around here. He isn’t going to blame poor Craig for looking so glum while working here.  This place was a literal hell...

Another five notifications popped up on Craig's computer popped up, everyone wanted him to do their shit. He threw his coffee cup and it shattered against the wall, the walls were sound proofed so no one would be able to hear him fume. He groaned and rubbed his face as he muttered to himself, walking in circles, his face red from the overwhelming anger he felt.

Why… why do they have jobs in the first place?

He can name a few people that hadn't even gotten the education or experience with this shit.

"These fuckers are getting paid twice as much as I do and they can't even work their fucking monitors!" He groaned. Yet again, no one heard him, his walls were sound proof.

He looked down at the broken mug on the floor and sighed.

That was his favorite mug...

Knowing he made a mess in his office, he got up and went to attend to the poor five souls who needed his help.  Opening the door to his office, he used his phone track down the ones who needed help, starting of course with the Boss, the bastard always needed his help, whether it's in his PC or the router connecting to the internet, he always finds a way to break something in his office, even his sanity!

Scotty leaned back as he observes the office, he was only given a whole month to complete this assignment. He was thinking of doing the whole bit in a week but seeing the opportunities to mess around, he might do it in two weeks or so, whatever comes first.

He tapped on Craig's phone so he could profile him, know some dirt on him and his schedule so that he could know the guy better. Seeing the man out of his office, he easily assessed him as someone who had his dreams flushed down the toilet because he landed on a bad job. His brows rose at the sight of his credentials…

“What a waste…” Scotty muttered, he gazed through the glass seeing the broken mug and the coffee sleeping into the carpet. He noted that.

Craig flinched when hearing his boss yell at him through the phone, fingers twitching in annoyance. He sighs, "Got it boss, seven reports." He hangs up, running a hand over his cheek. Craig decided to work on his other co-worker so they would stop bitching.

Guess you're not going home tonight, Craig. Well, whatever you consider home. You live in a shitty apartment with no electricity.

He buried those thoughts at worked on someone's RAM, computer, wiring and such.

Something inside Scotty twitched as he looked at Craig, he actually felt sorry for the guy. Seeing the poor man deal with bitching co-workers and a whiny boss (which is actually his target), this job could actually be beneficial, after killing Craig's boss, one nuisance would be removed from his life.

He saw Craig approaching him now, Scotty sat up straight and went in character as he started to pin the guy on anything he could use as an advantage.

"Alright, what's your problem?" Craig asked, his tone sounded bored and uninterested.

"Uh, yeah... I-I think this file here must be corrupted, I can't open it." Scotty replied, receiving an eye roll from Craig.

"Have you tried unplugging your hard drive and then plugging it again?" Craig asked, Scotty nodded.

Scotty can tell that Craig was having a migraine already, Craig told him to step aside as he went inside Scotty's cubicle, and he leaned in and started to find the problem.

Craig focused on the computer, fixing his glasses every so often.

"Alright here's your problem," Craig spoke eyes still glued to the screen, "your file is corrupted, but it isn't that bad. We can still get it back." He smiled, this was one of things that was less idiotic. Didn't help is migraines, but he could easily fix this.

After five minutes or so Craig pulled away, "There! Good as knew." Craig grinned at Scotty before wincing at his phone suddenly ringing, he sighed, "Call me over if anything gets corrupted again." He patted Scotty's shoulder and went to take the call.

Scotty looked at Craig's ass before going back to his work, so his assessment was right, Craig was smarter than your average Joe. Scotty's file was coded with a hard to crack virus that looked like a simple corrupted file. He's gonna have to ask Smitty later to get him a better virus to get access to the security system.

Or maybe something else would work...

Scotty looked over at Craig's office, thanking the heavens that glass walls are built in so that he could easily observe him, his boss, the target's office, on the other hand, was just across Craig's. A long hallway stretched through it before seeing the door. Scotty smiled, a plan formulating in his mind.

Craig cleaned up his mess in his office, cutting his finger in the process, he sighed. He’s gonna be listing a box of Band-Aids after getting a stainless mug. Never again will he buy ceramic mugs. A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.

 He looked upwards to see that... New Employee? He didn't know and didn't really care, he sighed and stood up after dumping the glass into his trash bin. He stretched out his back and opened his office door.

"Yeah?"

He asked nonchalantly. Craig reminds himself to take Tylenol later for his migraine. His eyes were void of any sort of enjoyment, just glaring.

"I just wanted to say thanks for fixing the problem earlier, and I also saw that you broke you coffee mug so I got you this" Scotty said, using in the friendly act to get to him.

Craig blushed at the word of thanks, he saw the new employee holding a bag of food from Starbucks and a box of Band-Aids. Seeing the Band-Aids reminded him of his still bleeding finger now staining the glass door.

"Oh shit!" Craig exclaimed, wiping the blood off the door. Scotty watched as the man get all flustered and compose himself.

"Here." Scotty stepped in his office, putting the bag of food at his desk. Craig only stood still, embarrassed at being like this in front of a really good looking guy.

Craig was flushed red and used a tissue to clean up a bit of the blood, sticking a band aid to his stinging finger, "I-I'm not usually like this, you caught me off guard." He muttered. This was a first for Craig, he never really got the chance to eat meals at the correct time.

He chuckled nervously, "Thanks... I'm, Craig," he smiled awkwardly, "though you may already know me." Scotty smiled, completely having the technician under his control "Scotty, I just got hired a few weeks ago so you might not really see me that much. How long have you been working here, you look younger than I Am.” he asked. Craig bit his lip, no one in the office really took time to know him, and Scotty was the first one who engaged him in a conversation.

"I'm just 28 years old, I got hired a year ago after graduating... It's hell really..." Craig said. Scotty handed him a Cappuccino and a Muffin, his stomach grumbling at the sight of food.

"Thanks... You know, you're the first person to actually acknowledge me here..." Craig said, taking a bite from the Muffin, almost tearing up because of food.

Craig happily ate, the muffin melting on his tongue. It was so good he could cry, he hasn't eaten properly ever since he got hired into this hell hole. His boss could suck it, he's taking a break to eat because he was hungry.

The thought of being acknowledged but another employee, a new one at that, made him a little suspicious, but he wasn't really trustful of strangers anyways.

Scotty tried to make a good impression as possible, wanting to get on his good side. Seeing Craig eat the muffin now means that the first contact was a success, he now had a good view of his tiny office and a peek at the codes on his PC. They chattered a bit more, Scotty disarming Craig for any useful info, So far he had none, Craig really was a smart cookie.

As Scotty made his leave, Craig thanked him one last time before returning to his cubicle. Scotty wrote in the first few things he observed. Making sure to add the details on Craig. He thanked his employer now for giving him a month to execute his plan.

The day passed and it's now 10 pm in the office, everybody went home and the only ones left are Craig, Scotty, and the Boss who is now approaching Craig.

"I'll be needing those reports in tomorrow Thompson, better wrap this shit up chop chop!" He exclaimed, Craig's boss was a fat guy with a balding problem. He wasn't even listening to him, he just looked at the poor buttons of his shirt, doing their best to hide a nightmare underneath those clothes.

"But sir— it's seven reports you want me to do," Craig fiddled with his wrist, "I don't think I can finish them all by tomorrow." Craig tried his best not to sock that fucker, he was getting tired of this.

"Then you're staying overnight to get it done!" The fat man snarled.

 Craig shot his boss a glare and stood up, "Listen you fat ass I've been your work for the past year! It's almost been two years— two!" Craig didn't even acknowledge Scotty as he cussed out his boss.

It ended in a loud smack and a crunch.

Craig broke his boss' nose.

"Shit."

 "Mr. Thompson? Am I clear?"  Craig snapped out of his thoughts, breathing a sigh of relief knowing that what happened was just an illusion. He just nodded, continuing to type away as his Boss left.

Scotty just stared at the whole ordeal, wishing for something to happen because Craig looks like he's about to lose it in a moment. As the fat man left, Scotty stood up and collected his stuff. He contemplated on visiting Craig but he seems too immersed in his work to even notice him.

Craig sighed, "Bye, Scott." He muttered as he continued to type away on his computer. He wouldn't be getting a wink tonight, he already prepared the shitty espresso machine.

Bad coffee and several reports. This is going to be fun. He thought sarcastically with a scowl. Be really just wanted to break his boss' fingers, but he didn't want to stick in jail for "assault". Picking on big CORPS like him usually didn't end well.

5 am

Scotty was the first person to walk in the office, he wanted to do an initial background check on the area but it was disturbed when he bumped into Craig. Scotty almost screamed in terror by his looks.

 "My god, did you really stay here and finished all that?" Scotty asked.

Craig stared at him, his eyes burning with anger "Yes" he said firmly

"I know I look like a fucking mess, don't need to be so dramatic." Craig mumbled grabbing another cup of coffee. He yawns as he makes the coffee, he has another day full work anyways, so there instead any use going home. He'll check people's computers to see if any of them have problems.

It's funny for such a big company yet they buy shit monitors.

Craig passed the reports to Scotty "Give this to the fat man, I'm going home" Craig said and left. Scotty was left to his devices and took this opportunity to inspect the specs of the office.

Craig walked all the way home when he realized that he has no money for a ride home, he took a sip from the coffee he stole from the office. As he relishes the warmth of caffeine on his throat a hand grabs him and drags him in the alley

"Give me your money" Said a man, pressing a knife on his back. Craig rolled his eyes. Coffee in hand he threw the remaining caffeine on the man's face, his attacker stepping back to wipe the hot liquid off his eyes. Craig then punched the man's lights out and the man fell down in one swoop.

"Fuck off" Craig says, walking away...

He arrives at his apartment, grinning as he stepped into his bedroom. At least his bed is was so comfortable, he would be out for hours he knew that for sure. Two all-nighters really take a toll on someone.

He falls limp onto his bed, not even bothering to change. He's knocked out instantly.

Two licks is all it takes to put him back to the world of the living. Craig's Samoyed pup sat neatly on his chest, barking at his return.

"Did you thank Mrs. Ferguson for feeding you?" Craig asked, patting the dog, in which he got a bark as a reply. "Sorry I can't play with you today Mochi, I need to rest, come rest with me..." Craig muttered, the dog seemed to understand him because the little pup found a nice place just beside his head and took a nap. The dog's soft breaths lulled Craig back to sleep.

Craig smiled, lying next to Mochi happily as he slept.

Scotty had almost finished surveying the office, writing reports on each of the things he finds interesting or informational. He kicked back in his seat and yawned.

His phone ringing woke him from his sleep, he looked and saw his boss' number on the caller ID (named "Fat Bastard") he tapped in and answered. A scream from across the line almost deafened him. Apparently Craig didn't sort out the reports correctly and now his boss is confused. He sighed, muttering that he will be there in a few minutes. He looked at the dog, the pup was wagging her tail at her now fully awaken Master.

"Fuck it... I'm taking you to work" he said, standing straight up and went straight to the dark shower. "I gotta pay the bill soon..." he muttered to himself.

 ***

Scotty was bored, flirty co-workers we seriously boring him, he fucked one of them in the Executive bathroom earlier in which he regretted doing because now the bitch seems to be attached to him now. He has laid out an initial plan in his first sweep in the office. He also realized that there aren't any cameras on the Boss' room, not even bugs. He'll planned on just grabbing the essentials when he got home and going for the kill the next day and just grab the payment and go to Hawaii.

Craig walked in the office, looking more human than what he looked like earlier. Mochi sat happily on his carrier, seeing the new environment around her made her wag her tail like crazy!

"It's nothing to get too excited about," Craig giggled kissing Mochi's nose, "Hope you don't mind me brining you to meet my crap boss." He muttered patting her head gently.

He walked towards his boss’s office, keeping Mochi safe in his arms. Craig sighed when stopping at the door, shoulders deflating. He was already getting a migraine and he hasn't even spoke to his boss yet.

"Craig explain yourself!" He boss screamed, anger in his eyes.

Craig sighed, "You have me two days to sort out several reports, sir." He said with a glare, "I usually get at least a one good night of sleep, but you've kind of ruined that for me."

"That doesn't excuse you from doing a sloppy job, seems to me that degree of yours is as useless as a toilet paper I wipe my ass with" his boss said, smirking at him. "I pay you too much to be doing such an awful job.”

Mochi whimpered on Craig's arms, hiding from the Boss' glare, Craig only managed to roll his eyes. "Sir, with all due respect. My student loans costs greater than my salary here. Now if you'll be giving any work load not related to the degree I took in college then I will be seeing you later." He turned his back on his awful Employer and went straight to his office, carefully putting his dog on the ground, she took in her new surroundings, emitting a happy bark at her master.

Scotty saw the new activity on Craig's office, a fluffy white pup ran around while Craig was working on a new work load. Scotty was on his phone talking to a friend as he would prefer to.

"Scotty? You still there?" Smitty asked on the other line.

"Yeah, so anything on this Craig guy?" Scotty asked

"He's a good friend of mine in college, smart ass dude and graduated with flying colors. Shame to see him ending in the dump of a job" Smitty sighs "I can help you talk him into getting a bug on the cameras so you could go and execute the plan, but you know how my services cost." he said

"I'll treat you and your boyfriend to a one week all expense trip to Japan. Sound good?" Scotty said

The line was silent for a few moments then Smitty answered "Fine... I'll drop by tomorrow, or maybe next week, I’ll text you…" he said then hung up.

Mochi jumped into Craig's lap, laying her head down his thighs and she yawned. Craig chuckled and ruffled his fluff, "Me too Mochi, me too." He was in a better mood when Mochi was here, he thinks he should bring her to work more often. His boss wouldn't give a shit, so it'll be good for him and for his stress.

 He typed away on his monitor. What his boss said about his degree being as useless as the toilet paper he wiped his ass on infuriated him. He worked hard to get that degree, he put in the effort.

Craig ran a hand through his locks, he's been staring at the screen for so long it's fucking with his vision now. Craig's going to take a well-deserved break after he finishes his work.

Scotty was outside, just by the back off the building, he puffed out a smoke as he checked around the area for any escape route. Calculating any jump or curve, nook and cranny. The whole building itself was pretty easy to escape to, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

"Okay, Mochi heel! Geez, I'm gonna have to cut the treats if you keep that up... Hey! that's mine get back here!"

 A white puppy stopped and sat in front of Scotty, it's tail wagging happily at him, in its mouth was a half-eaten bagel. Craig ran in after picking up the dog and looked at it angrily. "That. Was. My. Last. Bagel!" he exclaimed not noticing Scotty's presence

Mochi licked Craig's nose acting like she didn't do anything wrong, it worked on Craig as he pouted, "I can't ever stay mad at you. Damn your puppy charms." He muttered pressing a kiss on her forehead.

 Mochi barked at Scotty again and Craig faced him, "Oh, hey Scotty. Taking a break?" He asked, eyeing the cigarette and gazing firmly into his eyes. Craig was a tad embarrassed by getting caught being so soft, he usually held a strong figure, but he's done that for most his life.

 Scotty, a little caught off guard, hummed lowly, "Uh, yeah," he cleared his throat and took a puff, "I don't get how you're still sane working here, 'specially dealing with that douchebag boss of yours."

"It pays the rent, a few more years or so and I might even pay the bills..." Craig said, looking at the discarded bagel Mochi dropped when she licked his nose. "Sarcasm helps keep me sane for one..."

 Scotty laughed, "I can see that..." he took in another drag of his cigarette, puffing the smoke out as he crushes the butt of it with his heel "Wanna go to a bar or something?" he asked.

 Craig's eyebrows rose "I'm still working on six reports..." he muttered.

 "Come on, I know a place who allows dogs inside, it's my treat..." Scotty said walking off. Craig thought of going back to his office to work, but his stomach said otherwise. Beer isn't really food but it's a nice substitute...

 "Scotty wait!" Craig exclaimed, running to him with the Mochi in his arms.

Scotty grinned at Craig, laughing as he ran, "Come on! I know a place where you can bring your pets!" The hitman knew he was getting off track, but Craig made him feel things he hadn't felt before. He was kind of a fuck once and no feeling attached kind of guy, but Craig was giving him problems. He wasn't sure if he hated or loved this change, but that doesn't matter. Scotty can have fun for tonight, a little delay in his plans wouldn't be a bother.

"John! My man! Get us two beers here!" Scotty announced as he walked inside the bar. Luckily the retro style bar was only a few blocks away from the office building so Craig was relieved. Mochi barked happily in his arms as he took in the scene.

 Vinyl records decorated the place, while a jukebox sat in a corner playing indie songs. Craig loved it...

 "Careful now, Hitler's a moody today" a man, John by the looks of it,  said. He was a blonde, a little chubby on the side. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt decorated with hula girls.

 "Hitler?" Craig asked.

 "It's his cat..." Scotty said. A low growl was heard from a distance. Mochi leaped from Craig's arms and rushed to the jukebox, tackling a black and white cat. Mochi barked happily, the cat only looked annoyed.

"Mochi!" Craig exclaimed hopping out off the stool as he rushed to grab the white puff. He picked her up gently, but with a enough force to carry her away from the cat, "I don't like scolding you but," Craig inhaled, "bad girl." He muttered with a slight enforced glare. But he kissed her forehead anyways, "C'mon let's sit and order something."

He plopped right next to Scotty and sipped his beer. Craig himself knew wasn't a lightweight, but he didn't drink much either way.

"Bad for the resume" they say.

"You have an enegetic pup there pal. Hitler here just can't stand energetic pets, but I think he likes your pup." John said, taking a hit from his vape and puffing out a smoke that smells like cotton candy.

Craig smiled, patting Mochi's head, the dog barked happily as she sat in the bar, leaning over to Craig's touch. Scotty found himself smiling at him. He looked entirely different from outside of the office. Killing his Boss would be a favor.

"How's the boyfriend?" Scotty asked John.

"Still sending memes... but he's taking me to Japan next week. I wonder why." John says, glaring at him. Scotty only managed to bite his lips. Making Craig blush at his looks. Craig took a sip from his beer again, his eyes wandering over the place.

"So, Craig right? What do you do?" John asked him.

"Oh, I'm in charge of the IT department at BBS industries..." he replied, a sudden wave of nausea hits him when he says the name of his workplace

Craig sighs, "Which fucking sucks by the way." He mutters taking another sip of his beer. He never took notice of how much he really hated his job till now. Craig honestly wouldn't mind being a stock boy, hell, that job probably pays more.

Mochi licks his hand, tail wagging slowly.

All he wanted was to work somewhere he was at least a little respected and not wasting his three and a half years’ worth of college. Craig was just pissed at the world as of right now, but he'll eventually find a job that pays enough. Or he'll be able to pummel his boss at least once in his lifetime.

"I've only been there a few weeks so I'm a witness to it." Scotty said, sympathizing with Craig.

"Hey, the Bar is always open for y'all. Drain your sorrows here, and bring your pets too!" John said, giving them another round of beer. Craig smiled, still feeling the dread of going back to the hell that is his work place.

"I'm just gonna go take a leak." Scotty said, going to the restroom.

Inside, Scotty took out his phone to find a message.

 Got the virus, just gonna need Craig to install it... Meet me at the office tomorrow at 5 -S7

 Scotty took a deep breath, finally seeing his plan come in place. His thoughts wander onto Craig, a warm feeling settling in his chest.

 He didn't like it

 The next day Craig followed his usual routine with a harsh migraine pulsating his head. He was already preparing himself for his douchebag of a boss, but at least Scotty was going to make it more bearable.

His cheeks heated up at the thought of the lean, but otherwise muscular man.

Craig won't deny when a man looks good.

Oh, fuck it. You're in love pussy.

He thought to himself as he slipped on his suit, not really caring about his tie. Craig sighed, his thoughts landing on Scotty again.

Fuckfuckfuck.

He had it bad.

Mrs. Ferguson, his neighbor, happily gave Mochi another treat as she sat on her chair knitting.

 "Take care of yourself now Craig" the old lady said "and pay your Bills, you and your Dog here might freeze when winter comes."

"Don't worry Mrs. F, I'm gonna be paying them soon enough." Craig said, petting Mochi and saying the old woman goodbye.

Taking a painkiller before entering the office building, he accidentally bumped into someone, almost dropping the pill. He glared onto the person until he finds himself facing a familiar face.

"Smitty?"

"Craig! What's up dude?" Smitty said, giving Craig a side hug.

"I'm fine, just fine... What are you doing here?" He asked.

The white haired man smiled, "I got a call here saying they need to upgrade some features in the security system, I think someone's managing it now but you better get there to check. I gotta go, I've got a plane to catch later. Talk to you soon!"

Craig was about to utter a reply but Smitty was already at the door. Something suspicious was happening at it made Craig uneasy.

He's a bit hesitant, forgetting about the pill and putting it back in its bottle. Craig was more worried about the security system than his migraine right now.

Craig rushed to his office, it was kind of the central of everything. Something must be wrong if Smitty was here, the dude was like an expert in this shit, but he guessed he had somewhere to be.

 Oh, that's right. He said he was going to Japan with his boyfriend.

 Craig hummed and sees Scotty standing over his desk with a... He wasn't sure what expression the man was wearing.

"H-hey Scotty," his voice had cracked and he cleared his throat, "I heard about the security system. Smitty run a diagnostic yet?" Craig asked standing next to the lean man.

"Yeah, he um, just got fixed a few bugs here because of some glitches in the system. Nothing to be worried about, we just need to install this" Scotty took a CD and gave it to Craig.

 Craig sighed, "Oh, phew, I thought it was serious..." he took the CD in Scotty's hand, looking at it well "This is a pretty high class software..." he said, inserting the CD into the PC and letting it run.

 "Only the best says the boss..." Scotty said "I'd better get back now, I'm pretty sure you can handle this..."

 Craig waved him goodbye as he went back to finishing the reports and waiting for the new system to install.

 "Now, we wait..." Scotty thought as he got back to his desk

 The uneasy feeling didn't fade, neither did his migraine. He should take his pain medication now— first thing when he finds a better job he's getting the proper medication for these migraines. He downs a couple of pain killers with the disgusting office coffee and gets to work. It's the usual, but less people had asked for his help which he welcomed with open arms.

 “I actually might be able to head home early tonight.” Just as he thought that five more reports were sent over from his boss. "Why do I even get my hopes up anymore?" He said flatly.

The hours passed but it felt like years, Scotty was getting impatient, fortunately, the people in the office were decreasing in numbers, hearing the folks say their goodbyes. He looked at his arsenal, a rope, knife, and a gun for emergencies. He was going for the suicidal kill. Hopefully the rope would hold on the Boss' fat ass.

"Just a few more..." Scotty muttered, seeing only five people including Craig inside the office. The four people are now starting to pack and leave, seeing them all head for the Elevators, Scotty went in, Knowing Craig will be too busy to even notice him.

"He'll call the cops...Perfect" Scotty thought, a sudden feeling of dread hitting him, but he didn’t mind it, he had a job to do.

Using the virus Smitty installed in, he got the cameras to play a loop that he recorded to display a video of a few people leaving the office.

"Three minutes..." That's all he needed. He walked the long hallway, reaching the Boss' office. He opened the doors to see the fat man sitting down and watching some erotic movie and reaching down to pleasure himself. It made Scotty look away for a minute. Slipping in quietly inside, he got the rope.

"Killing you will be a pleasure" he thought, before going in for the kill...

Scotty snuck up behind the boss who was wearing headphones and jacking himself off in his chair. His face contorted with disgust and he untangled to rope.

3...

Scotty began to tie it in the shape of a noose.

2...

He gets in a pouncing stance, a serious expression on his face.

1...!

He lunges, the rope tight around the fat ass' neck. It tightened more the man struggled, Scotty just snarled.

"Hey, Carl..." a co-worker called.

"Craig... its Craig..." he said, pinching the bridge of his nose...

"Whatever, the boss wants you to hand these to him." she said, her voice annoying Craig even more. "Why don't you hand them?" he asked

"Cause he asked for you Dumbass" she said, dropping the files and leaving him. Craig sighed, grabbing the files and the finished reports into his Boss' office.

Craig trudged down the hall, papers in his arms. For some reason the uneasy feeling grows, a cold nervous feeling building in his gut. He wasn't sure what for, but his hands began to tremble and he felt a little sick.

He hesitated twisting the door knob, fingers twitching. Craig bites down in his bottom lip and swallowed the sudden lump in throat.

He slowly opens the door.

What he saw made him drop the papers onto the floor.

He saw his Boss hanging like an ornament from the ceiling, with Scotty tightening the rope on his neck. He jumped down on the table making sure that he doesn't leave prints

Scotty was breathless swear picked up from the long white sleeved shirt he wore. He drew his gun, a bit disappointed that he didn't get to use it. He looked at the man.

"It was difficult hauling your fat ass... but luckily you're in hell now..." Scotty said, putting his gun back on his holster.

"Scotty?"

Craig just awkwardly stood there, not sure how to react. His brain just trying to process the situation. He didn't technically feel bad for his boss, but he's trying to wrap his head around the whole Scotty just killed one situation.

Craig's mind landed on one thing.

He was going to die, well, he knew this because no murderer in their right mind would leave a witness.

Ah, but Mochi.

Mrs. Ferguson could take care of her.

I hope Mochi doesn't feel as if I abandoned her.

His fingers twitched, his body kind of numb. Paralysis from fear he guessed.

"Fuck."

"I know you're a smart guy Craig, it will be a shame to kill you... not unless you walk away right now..." Scotty glared at him. Craig registered his words, picking up the papers and running as fast as he could.

Scotty knew that a panicked witness will be a problem, Craig was smart but he couldn't risk it. He ran after him, after cleaning up.

Craig was just at the back of the building. His hands shaking as he stared at his phone, his migraine got even worse, the pain was too much that he can't even see the numbers right. His breaths got quicker and his chest is getting tighter than the minute.

"You're having a Panic Attack..." Scotty's voice made him jump and fall, luckily Scotty just got him in time before he hit his head on something. "Calm down..."

"G-g-g-et away from me!" Craig uttered, pushing Scotty away, but the man was insistent and just held him enough that he wouldn't escape his grasp.

"I'm gonna need you to calm down Craig or else I'm gonna kill you..." Scotty smirked, this was a pleasant feeling for him to be holding Craig like this. If only he would stop struggling...

Craig took in sharp breaths, struggling to breathe. Everything was too fast, his head is beating in sync with his fast paced heartbeat. His vision was fucked, all he could see was red as he clawed at Scotty's back.

He was going to die. Mochi was going to be lonely.

"F-f-fuck— fuck, f-fuck—!" He muttered over and over.

He couldn't focus on anything besides Scotty and it unbelievable that this man who killed his asshole boss made him feel calmer.

Scotty managed to calm him down, the scratches Craig did on him was stinging yet oddly satisfying. He looked at Craig only to see him leaning at his shoulder, softly breathing.

"You calm now sweetie?" Scotty asked, Craig nodded and blushed at the name Scotty called him.

"Alright, let's go talk somewhere private..." Scotty whispered. Craig swallowed a lump on his throat as he meekly followed the assassin on his tail.

Craig felt scared, but overall calm. He kept his head down only looking up at Scotty when the hitman wasn't looking. Craig doubted he could run from a trained hitman, so he didn't push it.

Plus he still fell for the man.

Being in love with the killer. What a strange thing.

Craig might die tonight, but he didn't find himself caring. Of course he'll miss his little Mochi, well she deserved more than him anyways, so this might have one good thing coming out of it.

The walk was pretty short and he felt familiar with the surroundings. Suddenly Craig found himself staring at his front door. Mrs. Ferguson stood across with Mochi in his arms.

"Back a bit early today Craig!" the old woman greeted "And you bought in a handsome fellow with you! Is he your boyfriend?"

"That's a nice thought ma'am, but I'm just here to walk him home, work just gets to him y'know? Oh, I'll be getting that little thing now." Scotty said, as he took Mochi. Craig tensed, fear creeping on his back, will he kill Mrs. Ferguson too? Thoughts are racing as he frantically reached for his keys.

"You alright Craig? You seem tense?" Mrs. Ferguson asked, looking at him with concern. Craig can feel Scotty's glare "I-I'm fine Mrs. F! Ju-u-st tired that's all, me and my friend will be uh, resting for the night!"

 "Alright dearie, just don't wake the neighbors now..."

 Craig blushed at the last words the old lady said, Scotty smirked "Oooh, something you're not telling me Craig?" he asked

Craig's face turned bright red and finally managed to open the door with his shaking hands. Mochi barked happily patting his shin with her paws as they stepped inside. He was fucking terrified and his migraine was coming back, he's forgotten he'd had one since the burst of panic from earlier.

 I'm a sick bastard, I'm in love with a hitman.

 He stood awkwardly in his apartment, closing the door behind him and Scotty.

He kept his apartment clean, but used candles and battery fueled lamps— no cords and such since he had gotten to pay his electricity bill which he doubt he'll ever do now.

"Already setting up a romantic vibe here huh?" Scotty said, whistling at the sight.

"I-I don't have electricity..." Craig muttered, taking a seat on his sofa, Mochi jumped on his lap, licking his cheek. He smiled, but another jolt from his migraine made him wince.

"Hmm, we'll have to get warm somehow since it's starting to get cold..." Scotty said, poking around Craig's apartment.

"What do you want? Why did you take me here?" Craig asked bluntly…

Scotty's brows furrowed, "Hmm, not sure," he hummed and stared up thoughtfully, "if you were a normal witness, which mind you I rarely ever have a witness, you'd probably be dead by now." Scotty sighed and ran a hand through his unkempt locks.

"You make me feel... I guess— fuzzy? I usually fuck with no feelings attach, but you… I want."

Scotty was now leaning over Craig with a glare, "I don't know if it's just some sort of pity or that you genuinely make me want you. You're not boring like everything else."

Scotty grabbed a fist full of Craig's hair and pulled him forward, "It pisses me off."

Craig swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling... Aroused?

 What did he want?

Why is he feeling this way?

What the hell is going on!?

 "The hell does that even mean!?" Craig said, the dog started to whimper in his lap, feeling the fear within him.

 "I don't know... but if you and your dog want to live you better stay put and don't get any funny ideas." Scotty said, kneeling down in front of Craig, he gently grabbed Mochi off his lap and sent the dog running to Craig's room without looking away from him. Craig only managed to watch in awe of what is happening...

Craig's body trembled slightly and his mind raced. He wasn't in the right mindset, questions flowing through his head.

 Did he want this?

 Didn't this guy kill someone?

 So many questions, too many worries. His emotions, logic, and body were fighting with one another.

 Craig jumps when two hands squeeze his shaking thighs and his eyes flicked quickly to meet Scotty's.

 "Stay still, I have two guns on me right me right now, you don't want me shooting the other one... Well unless you don't want this…" Scotty said, his steely gaze turning soft. Craig only managed to surrender to his touch, leaning back on the sofa. Scotty took this as a signal to continue. "I'll take care of you... don't worry…" Scotty said. Running his hands over Craig's legs and started roaming to his body. He pulled at Craig's tie, and leaned in for a kiss.

 Craig's thoughts and worries flew away as Scotty's lips pressed to his. He lifted his arms and encircled them over Scotty's neck, his hands running through his locks.

 "Fuck, this is real..." Scotty thought, leaning over to rest Craig by the sofa's armrest. He felt his dick getting hard by the little moans Craig is emitting.

Craig's face was hot and red, holding back his small whimpers and moans was harder than it seemed. Scotty growled, "Open that sweet mouth of yours." He murmured between the kisses, pressing his lips harder against Craig's as his hands gripped tightly at the man's sensitive sides making him gasp.

Scotty pushed Craig against the couch more, the other's thighs wrapped around his waist. He takes advantage of said gasp and forces his tongue between Craig's lips.

This was such an unfamiliar feeling to Craig, never once had he made out with another person. He's kissed yes, but never got any farther than that. Heat began to pool in his gut, gasping and whining in the kiss.

Scotty started to mingle with Craig's clothes, removing his tie and throwing it somewhere across the room. Afterwards he began to unbutton his shirt, kissing the newly exposed flesh, the rest still covered by an undershirt. "You wear too much…" Scotty muttered as he bit onto the skin on Craig's neck, making the man moan. "Not too loud now... Remember what the old lady said.

Scotty took a moment and look at what he has done. Craig was sprawled on the couch, his lips swollen by the kiss, his clothes in shambles on his body, and he was a panting, sweating mess.

 Scotty liked the view... but he wanted more...

 "Pants. Off. Now." Scotty said.

 With shaky hands Craig reached for the zipper of his trousers as tears started to fall in his eyes.

 "I fucking hate myself, why am I like this? Why couldn't he just kill me!?"

 Scotty didn't mind the tears, ran a hand through Craig's locks and tugged them for the man to look at him, "Don't cry now," he muttered, "you're in good hands." He kissed those tears away. He grabbed Craig's hand and helped him undo the zipper, keeping a fist full of his hair and staring into his eyes as he pulled down the man's pants.

 Craig whimpers, his scalp stinging from the tight hold on his hair. He almost sobbed when Scotty's lips met his again, but he held back these tears as Scotty pressed his hand against the front of his boxers. His face growing red again.

Scotty liked the reactions he was getting, and he like it even more as he got ahold of his dick. He began stroking it slowly, the sensations making Craig squirm underneath him.

 Craig needed to hold something, someone...

 He embraced Scotty as the man started to pleasure him, nails digging on his back. Scotty liked the feeling, it was better than anyone he took to bed, couch, table... whatever!

 "You're so good baby boy, I got you, don't worry" Scotty whispered, he himself beginning to get hard as he is.

"H-hhh– ngh–!" Craig gasped, biting his lip to keep himself quiet. He kept what his neighbor said in mind. His eyes watered, his legs trembling as more heat pooled into his office.

 The nickname made him blush hard causing him to buck his hips upwards letting one moan slip by.

 He felt overwhelmed, his body overheated as he let out whimpers and small moans into Scotty's shoulder keeping his grip tight on the man.

 One of Scotty's hands made its way to Craig's backside and slips into his boxers.

"Mmhm, I like this..." Scotty whispered, he began to rub Craig even harder, faster. With each stroke comes an occasional thrust on Craig's hips. "Just a few more, just get those worries out of you, I'll take real good care of you baby boy." Scotty said.

 "Fuck" Craig muttered, feeling almost light headed as he almost reached his limits.

 One last stroke sent Craig over the edge...        

Craig's eyes widened, his mouth open as he silently released. His body shook as he digs his nails into Scotty's shoulder with his back arched. His eyes watered as he panted, face red and body hot and sweaty.

 He whimpers into Scotty's shoulders breathing heavily, body trembling from his high.

"Good boy" Scotty whispered "Always so good to me…"

 Scotty took a second, standing up to remove his and Craig's clothes "You still up for another round baby boy?" Scotty asked. Craig blushed, but managed to nod. Scotty smiled, licking his hand and rubbing his now erect cock, he then lifted Craig's leg.

 "Scotty… I-I don't think that would - Ah!"

 Craig gasped in pain, whimpers leaving his throat the deeper Scotty went. His toes curled and nails dug into Scotty's back. The feeling of Scotty inside him was uncomfortable and itchy, his body hot as he clenched his eyes shut to get used to the sudden length inside.

 He breathed through his nose, body trembling as the itch didn't go away because of how still the hitman was.

 "Sc-Scotty it itch-itches," he managed choke out, "pl-please..."

 Craig grew embarrassed when hearing his strained voice.

 "I'm sorry love, didn't have lube on me I'm afraid, but just hold on now, it'll get better" Scotty's voice was a bit strained too, a mix of pain and pleasure coursing through him as he went in raw. He managed to pull out smoothly spitting on his dick to gain more friction and avoid hurting Craig even more. Scotty managed to thrust in with a little more friction, now picking up pace. He can see Craig getting hard again, he grabbed his pulsating dick, still throbbing from the earlier release, and started to rub him off again. Craig bit his lip, embarrassed about the pleasure he felt from this.

"Scotty... Ah!"

"That's it baby boy, keep saying my name..."

Craig's gut tickled with pleasure, his voice hard to keep down as he began to follow Scotty's thrusts. He swallowed thickly, sputtering out swears and Scotty's name as tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

He sniffled his head falling back, the itching feeling fading away as it started to hurt less. Craig didn't know how to feel, everything felt too hot or too good.

Craig's thighs jostled with Scotty's rough thrusting, a sudden jolt of nerves making him let out a sweet moan of surprise.

The moan sent Scotty over the edge, his seed spilling inside Craig.

 Craig also came, his seed spreading across his body. Slow deep breaths filled the room, Mochi barked from the side, the dog finding Craig's tie and now playing with it.

 "Mochi... no... not my tie..." Craig uttered, lightheaded from the orgasms he felt. He was drained, his body unable to move, he liked the feeling.

 "Hold on now, lemme clean you up before you pass out there.." Scotty said, walking over to the bathroom.

 With the moon as his light, Craig saw himself, sticky seed covered his chest and abdomen, the feeling he felt was wrong but he didn't care. He loved the hitman, and if a bullet to the head comes after this, he will welcome it with open arms.

Craig breathed softly, eyelids going slack as he began to drift off. If he was going to die he hoped Mochi would have a better owner and the life she deserved. He loved Mochi and Mochi loved him, but he wanted her to have a good life if anything. Too exhausted to care he allowed Scotty to wipe him down, body shuddering as he looked at Scotty.

 "If you're going to kill me," he started, "get Mochi a good home please..." Craig mutters in all seriousness, his heart clenching.

 He loved Scotty, but leaving a witness was no good for hitman's rank he guessed.

"Who says anything about killing?" Scotty says, pressing a kiss on Craig's forehead.

"Wait... what-"

"Look, when I leave a witness, I kill them on the spot. You, eh, my heart got a bit too soft for you. Besides, I think my employer has a better use for you than your old Boss." Scotty says, lifting Craig bridal style as he walks to his bedroom

Craig's mind was fully awake now, questions boggling his mind "What are you going to do to me?" he asked

"Well, after cleaning up the mess in the office, I'm thinking... you resign and leave that shithole, get my employer to hire you, and then maybe get dinner over at Hawaii." Scotty replied, tucking in Craig before he slides in beside him, his head resting on Craig's chest.

Craig blushed and timidly wrapped his arms around Scotty. He buried his face in his hair, somewhat relieved to be bake to stay with Scotty and Mochi.

"Okay... But we have to take Mochi with us." He muttered into Scott's locks with a smile.

 He couldn't believe he fell in love with a hitman.

Scotty smiled "Of course, we'd be taking her, can't leave this little angel now can't we?"

A great weight has been lifted off of Craig's chest, the feeling of living another day filled him with great joy, soon enough a wave of drowsiness started to wash over him, but he fought it just to make this moment last longer.

"Go to sleep now you idiot..." Scotty murmured, wrapping his arms around Craig. Mochi jumped in and took her usual spot just beside Craig's head.

Craig sighed, for the first time in his life, he didn't have to bother getting up early to work ever again...

 He definitely wouldn't believe he'd actually be married and working with this crazed man in the future.

Hawaii was nice, it was exactly what he read in the books. Mochi sat on his lap, the dog grew bigger thorugh a few years, but she was still his little lap dog.

“Some juice love?” Scotty asked, passing a glass to him, the ring he wore shines brightly in his finger.

Craig wore the same ring on his hand, he smiled as he thought of the small ceremony, some friends came, a few sketchy people (He didn’t want to question it anymore), and of course. Mochi!

“Thanks love” Craig said kissing Scotty in the process.

 Scotty only sat, draping his arm on his husband. Thanking the stars that he decided not to kill this one.

 (end <3)

[zombierunfiction]

Season 2 Mission 8: Chicken Payback

A few weeks had past and Abel was beginning to look more back to normal.  Walls had been reconstructed and buildings had been repaired.  Charlotte was in Sam's coms room helpping him get some new tech that Jody had brought in attached to the scanners.  

Charlotte was getting the cords under the desk set up while Sam checked the scanners to make sure the tech was accepted.  Sam had been uncharacteristically quiet all morning which made Charlotte a little worried.

"Penny for your thoughts love?"  Charlotte asked as she tightened a zip tie around a bundle of cords.

"Just... uh... thinking about something."  Sam said nervously.

"And that something is?"  Charlotte probed again.

Sam sighed softly then squated down so he could look at her.  "You know I love you right?"

That made her incredibly worried.

Charlotte sits up on her elbows looking at her.  "Of course.  I love you too.  What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong... just... I was talking to the Major yesturday... and she told me and I agree with her but I don't know how you would feel about it because I know how private you are-"  Sam rambled on.

"Sam."  Charlotte said making him stop.  "What did you and the Major talk about?"

Sam took a slow breath before looking at her.  "I know beds are rather limited so the Major suggested that... we share living area together."

Charlotte felt her heart flutter and a smile moved over her lips.  "Your asking if I would move in with you.  Essentially."

"Well uh... considering we're already living together in the township I guess it wouldn't change much but we would be sharing one bed-"

"I'd like that."  Charlotte said making Sam stop.

"R-really?  You would?"  Sam asked smiling brightly.

Charlotte laughs softly.  "Yes.  I'd love to live with you."

Sam smiled even more as he crawled under the desk kissing her deeply.  Charlotte happily returned the kiss running her fingers through his hair.  She hummed as he laid completely on top of her carding his fingers into her hair.

A cleared throat broke them apart making Sam slam his head into the desk.  "Ah!  Ow ow ow ow!"  He whined holding his head.

"Are you ok Sam?" Maxine asked with a small laugh.

"Yeah. I'm fine."  Sam said tensely as he got off Charlotte standing up still rubbing his head.

"Didn't mean to get you hurt but I figured Charlotte would like to hear about a mission that is needing to be done quickly."  Maxine said.

Charlotte got up from under the desk and gently checked Sam's head.  "Sure what's going on?"  She said once she was done with Sam.

"We need barbed wire for the perimeter wall and you will be running with a New Canton runner."  Maxine said somewhat carefully.

Charlotte's smile fell instantly as Sam took his hands away from his head.  "After what Nadia tried to pull I don't like the idea of Charlotte being put with someone who might try and hurt her again."

"I get it, Sam, really, I do. But the Major's been explaining how important working together with New Canton is.  We've got that summit coming up - peace discussions!"  Maxine countered before looking at Charlotte.  "For the survival of the human race, we have to share resources and expertise, and not keep on with this backbitting, childish tit for tat."

Charlotte glared at MAxine.  "Childish tit for tat?  Are you saying that deliberately trying to get me killed is just what?  A game?"

"Charlotte relax... I didn't mean it like that.  Look we've got a larger enemy, here.  Van Ark is the one who attacked us.  He's the one who fired that rocket launcher at Five's chopper.  He's the one who keeps sending his zoms against us.  He's got Paula!"  Maxine said trying to push the issue.

Sam and Charlotte both sighed heavily as Charlotte kisses Sam's cheek.  "I'm going to go get ready."  She moved past Maxine and headed to the packs.  She put on her bag, grabbed the axe she used since her outing with Simon to clear their path, and her head set with the headcam attached.  "Can you two hear me?"  She asked.

"Loud and clear Five."  Maxine said.  

"So how are you?  Since we found out Paula's, um... working with Van Ark?  How are you?" Sam asked softly.

"Fine.  Yeah, I'm fine."  Maxine said softly.

"Okay, yeah, fine.  Hearing that.  Raise the gates!  I guess, well... open the gate."  Once the gate was raised Sam spoke again.  "And go!"  Gun shots rang out taking out a few zoms as Charlotte took off down the path sighing softly.

"New Canton have put that operator Nadia under house arrest.  They know what she did was wrong.  They're trying to make amends in all ways they can."  Maxine said as Charlotte looked up seeing Archie running over to her with a smile.

"They've sent me!"  Archie said happily as they met in the middle and headed down a connecting path.

"Yeah... I, uh..."  Sam started before whispering.  "Is that amends, exactly?  It's not quite-"

"It's going to be lots of fun, today!"  Archie said happily.  "We need barbed wire to make your township secure so you can come to the meeting.  And maybe we'll find some apples?  I love apples!  So crunchy!  Well, the old ones are soft and sweet."  Archie snorts almost angry about it.  Suddenly her smile returns.  "All apples are good apples!"  

Charlotte looked at her oddly as Maxine whispered softly.  "Can you believe she has a PhD in protein crustallography, Sam?  From Cambridge."  Suddenly Charlotte did a double take on Archie.

This girl's head was so far in space that she could be passing Jupiter!

"I still think she might stop dead in the middle of a zom attack to look at an interesting cloud."  Sam whispers back.  "'Dead' being the operative word."  

Archie smiles looking at Charlotte.  "Come on!  There's barbed wire around one of the Rofflenet transmitter stations that way.  We can cut it off for now.  Borrowing is okay!"

"Right.  Let's make it a good one.  Mission to retrieve barbed wire from Rofflenet station: go!"  Sam said as they continued down the path.

A while later Charlotte had a thought.  "Who put up these Rofflenet stations, anyway?  I mean, it's rather foreward thinking to have set them up prior to the outbreak."  

"I think it was mostly done piecemeal by survivors, using old transmissions stations, that kind of thing?  Some dedicated radio and communications people left transmitters powered by solar or wind generators to be a repeater stations."  Maxine explained.

Charlotte raised an eyebrow but before she could say something Archie jumpped in.  "How would they do it?  Hmm... I expect any old Linksys router would do.  Just grab two APs with microwave dishes, flash the router with DD-WRT, simple BGP routing table, and hook the whole thing up to a car battery, and it would work just fine!  If you would put on a wind turbine, the LEDs would probably keep on blinking for years.  Very clever of them."  She said seriously.

"Ok... that's just went 35,000 feet over my head."  Charlotte said as Archie giggled.

"I... uh, yeah.  Um.  That sounds about right, yeah..."  Sam said slowly.

Soon enough they came upon a tall radio tower with a small building below it.  There was a wire fence with the barbed wire wrapped around the top of it a good 6 yards away from the building.  

Something about this seemed odd to Charlotte.  

Why would they put so much space between the fence and the building?

"This one's very well looked after.  A fence, and barbed wire.  Like a little bird in a nest!  It won't mind if we take some of the wire for now.  And then you can come and visit New Canton, because you'll know Abel will be..."  Archie stopped for a moment looking around before gasping.  "chickens!"

Charlotte blinked looking at her then following her line of sight.

"Abel will be... chickens?  Is... is that some kind of tech jargon?"  Sam asked very confused.

"Look, she's right!  On our cams, just to the north of the repeat station.  It looks like a small flock of chickens!"  Maxine said.

"They must have come from some farm."  Charlotte said seeing the half a dozen chickens clucking softly and pecking at the ground.

"Now, I don't know how to, um, flash a router with a WD-40 or whatever it was, but I am pretty sure that chickens produce eggs?"  Sam suggests.

"And sometimes baby chickens!"  Archie said gleefully.

"Which makes more eggs?"  Sam offers again.

"Her graps of biology is really impressive."  Maxine whispers sarcasticly.

"So, if you're thinking what I'm thinking..."  Sam starts.  

"Come on, Charlotte, with me!  After the chickens!"  Archie said as the two of them ran towards the chickens.  Archie tried to dive for one only for it to jump away.  Charlotte couldn't help but laugh as she ran to the side of the now running chicken and cut off it's escape by scooping it up.  "Come here chickie chickie chickie."  Archie said as she dived for another missing again.  

Charlotte laughed again smiling.  "Archie just stay there and I'll herd one over to you."  She said as she held onto her chicken chasing one then jumpped close to it making it leap right up into Archie's arms making her squeal.

"That's okay, little chicken, we're going to take you back to Abel and give you a nice life, with grain and things to peck!"  Archie said happily petting her chicken as Charlotte took of fher pack and gently put the chicken inside with only it's head sticking out.

"At least until we roast you with a wild mushroom sauce."  Sam whispers before humming happily.

"Hmm, but how are we going to cut the barbed wire around the transmission station?"  Archie asked.

"Put it under your arm, wings folded so it's not uncomfortable."  Maxine started before obviously recieving an odd look for Sam.  "What?  I grew up on a farm, okay?"

"I didn't say anything."  Sam replied.

"You didn't have to say anything."  Maxine countered.

The chicken in Archie's arms clucked softly as they walked back over to the fence.  "Oh, she's so happy now!  I'm going to give her a name!"

"Oh, don't do that!  We might want to, well, you know, eat it!"  Sam stressed.

"I will call her Mildred!"  Archie said happily.  "Or maybe Van de Graaff?  Do you think she's more of a Mildred or a Van de Graaff, Charlotte?"

Charlotte looks at her.  "Mildred Van de Graaff sounds good to me."

"Me too!"  Archie said happily.

"Yeah, okay.  Uh, so, with the chicken under that arm, and Five's chicken rather more sensibly nestled in a back pack, off to get that barbed wire now?  To defend Abel against attack by zombies?  You remember the zombies?"  Sam prodded.

"Come on, Mildred!  Let's go for a run!"  Archie said as they headed for a section of the fence they could start to take from.  "Okay, I see.  There are strips of barbed wire attached around the fence keeping zombies from the transmission hut.  So if I stand here, and-"

"Yes.  You stand there, with the chicken in your hand, and snip the barbed wire, and Five, you run around the fence and reel it in.  You've got gloves, yeah?"  Sam asked as Charlotte reached in the side pocket of the bag trying to get her gloves.  "We sent Runner Five out with gloves to get barbed wire, year?"

"I'm pretty sure."  Maxine said softly.

Charlotte pulled out her gloves and slipped them on.  "We have gloves."

"Good for getting chickens too!  Not so good for stroking chickens.  Hm... I wonder if chickens like to be stroked.  Do you think they do?"  Archie asked as she started to snip the barbed wire while Charlotte started rolling it up.  After the first roll was done she set it on the ground near them.  

"Good job with the barbed wire, Runner five!"  Sam said as Archie cried out suddenly.

"Ow, ugh!  Ew!"  Archie whimpered.

"What is it?"  Charlotte asked.

"Mildred Van de Graaff has gone poo poo all over my hand!"  Archie cried out as Charlotte snorted looking at the horrified look on Archie's face.  "Oh, it's coming out of her bottom!"  She  tried to knock it off before the chicken hit the ground with a loud cluck.  "Oh!  I dropped her!"  She said as Mildred took off away from her.  "Come here, Mildred, come here!"  Archie said chasing after her.

"Five what's going on?"  Sam asked.

"Archie is now chasing Mildred around.  I have to say this is a the funniest mission I've been on bar none."  Charlotte said as she followed after Archie.

"Mildred! Van de Graaf!  You naughty girl, come here!  ?No, don't, don't!"  Archie cried as Mildred ran through a break in the fence and into the area between the fence and the transmission station.  "No..."  Archie whined as she looked at the chicken walking around.

"The chicken has gone under the fence. I repeat, the chicken has gone under the fence."  Sam said half serious half bored.

Charlotte and Archie both looked through the fence at Mildred.  "Van de Graaff, come here!"  Archie said.

Charlotte looked around then walked over to the spot they had started to unwrap the barbed wire.  She took Archie's dropped shears and cut the remaining barbed wire and pushed them away.  "Here a bit of fence that you could climb over and get it Archie."  She said as Archie ran over.

"Okay, I'm going to climb over."  Archie said as she grabbed onto the top of the fence as Charlotte cupped her hands letting Archie step on it slowly getting up.  "Come here, Mildred Van de Graaff!  There's nothing for you in that transmission hut!  When I get over this fence, I'm going-"  As Archie's leg got over the fence Mildred took a step and the ground around her exploded up in a flash of orange light.  Charlotte and Archie gasped closing their eyes as debris flew at them  After a moment the two of them looked over seeing Mildred had been obliderated.  "Oh..."  Archie said softly.

"What was that?!"  Sam asked.

"Mildred Van de Graaff has exploded."  Charlotte said as Archie pulled her leg back over and hopped down.

Archie and Charlotte walked over to where they could see the hole that was left trying to see what happened.  "So, what, we're thinking - spontaneous chicken combustion?  Chicken, uh, destruction rays from space?"  Sam asked.

"Landmines."  Charlotte said simply.  

"Yeah, I was pretty much thinking landmines."  Maxine said.

"Yeah, yea, well that was my first thought, too.  We should send someone back to put up warning signs, in case anyone else thinks of scaling the fence."  Sam said as Archie was visibly deflated.

"I'm sad... Mildred Van de Graaff is dead."  Archie said as Charlotte wrapped her arm around Archie who laid her head on Charlotte's shoulder.

"And she didn't even end up a supper."  Sam sighed softly.

"Sam!"  Charlotte and Maxine snapped.

"Listen, um, I didn't make a joke about an 'egg'splosion, did i?"  Sam justified as he chuckled softly.  "Don't say I'm not respectful."

Maxine laughed softly.  "Yeah, well, that's a 'poultry' excuse."  She said laughing as Charlotte shook her head as she grabbed the barbed wire heading back towrads Abel.  "Oh well, it looks like we got enough barbed wire to patch that hole.  Come on home."

"I will miss Mildred Van de Graaf.  She was so rebellious and naughty."  Archie said with a smile.  "And why would someone put landmines around this little hut in the middle of nowhere?  Why have they nought thought of chicken safety?"  

"Yeah, it is a bit weird. Whoever designed the protection aorund this little comms hut did a... 'bang up' job?"  Sam started as Charlotte pursed her lips.

"Did you honestly just say that?"  She asked as she chuckled dryly.  

"I think I did, yeah.  I mean, I started, and I just couldn't make it stop."  Sam laughed as they continued back down the path.

"It is sad about Mildred.  But I will come back another day to find a new chicken.  I will call it Hubert Vexillology.  Or... no, that's a silly idea.  Hubert is a boy's name.  Instead... Ramona Newton!"  Archie said back to her excitable self.

There was a long pause before Sam spoke up.  "For the first time, probably ever, I think I have nothing to say to that.  Come on home, runners."  He said softly as the chicken in Charlotte's bag clucked softly.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

<     40     >

Season 1 Beginning

Season 2 Beginning

[ineffable-monster-romancer]

Take A Break

I’m procrastinating because I have exams to sit and I can’t even. So @hamiltonhistory asked for some stressed Hamilton in finals week and Jefferson helping him and I kinda went wild with it. Beware, it’s a long fic! I also thought it was wildly appropriate, God knows I could take a break. Anywho, I don’t have finals week, I’m Scottish and we have EXAM MONTH which is a cluster fuck of anger and crying, so I’m glad I got to write this for you :D hit me up with any Hamilton prompt and I’ll try and write it! 

Thomas felt as though he was standing on the very edge of a cliff, only the heels of his feet grounding him.

What was the reason for standing on the edge of this metaphorical cliff you ask? Alexander. Fucking. Hamilton. And what was going to push him over the edge? Finals week.

Thomas thought he had been bad when it came to finals week. He thought he went full Monty over the hell that was exam season and the stress that came with it. His old roommate and best friend Jemmy had suffered through enough all-night coffee sessions, door slamming arguments over who’s socks were left on the floor, and holding Thomas as he sobbed into his history textbooks, to attest to the fact that Thomas went completely overboard during fucking finals week. Which is why Jemmy had laughed when Thomas took refuge in his old dorm and told Jemmy the horror that was his boyfriend, Alexander.

“Wait… You’re not joking?” Jemmy had tentatively asked when Thomas’s face had stayed the same pleading pity fare it had been when he first started the story.

“No. I’m deadly serious. He hasn’t brushed his hair since he started studying, he barely washes, hardly eats and if I even breathe near him he just stares at me with these sunken eyes that look fucking terrifying until I get creeped out and walk away. One time I asked him if he wanted to take a walk and clear his head and he hissed at me, like a feral tomcat. I asked him if he wanted to phone in food and he told me he ate a banana yesterday. That’s his idea of a meal Jemmy.”

Jemmy’s eyes widened throughout the story and he let out a low breath. “Uh… when did he last sleep?”

“He hasn’t.”

“How long?”

“That’s the thing Jemmy. He hasn’t. Full stop. Like, I can’t remember the last time he wasn’t hunched over his laptop or… or snapping at me, or the last time we even held a conversation that wasn’t a one-sided ‘Alexander drink something, Alexander eat something, Alexander come to bed with me…” Thomas’s eyes were suspiciously wet and he hid them from his friend, sniffling slightly. “Maybe he just… doesn’t want anything to do with me? What if this isn’t about finals? What if… this has been in the running for a while?”

Jemmy stepped forward and ran his hand through Thomas’s hair, smiling slightly. “In your complete worry about what Hamilton is doing, you’ve forgotten your own stress about finals, and now that everything is coming out, the stress is catching up to you and making you think silly things. Hamilton adores you Thomas, completely, so listen closely and take notes, we’re going to devise a plan to get you and homeboy some stress relief…”

And so, half an hour later, armed with one of Jemmy’s many, many notebooks, he walked to his apartment.

Unlocking the door, he realised how empty the room looked without Alexander’s usual clutter completely inhabiting the room. Unfortunately, it was now all relegated to the bedroom, and the small desk he had claimed as his own. Scrap paper, textbooks and jotters littered the floor making it a minefield trying to get anywhere in the room.

He walked into the room, not surprised to find Alex hunched over his laptop, hands flying across the keys with such a ferocity that Thomas was surprised the keys weren’t broken. Remembering the notebook, he flicked past the doodles and hearts drawn on the various pages (really Jemmy? Aaron Burr? For shame!)

1.       Organised apartment, organised mind

Okay, Thomas could work with that. He set to work, binning the papers that hadn’t quite made it to the bin, piling up the discarded textbooks and jotters, taking any plates and glasses into the kitchen and generally tidying up around Alex, who didn’t so much as acknowledge the light kiss Thomas left on his cheek and he picked up an apple core to the left of his hand. Once the curtains were flung to their sides and the window thrown open, the room seemed much more alive and Thomas had to smile.

2.       Goodbye Wi-Fi, no-one can talk to Hamilton on his laptop so it needs to go.

This would be slightly trickier, Thomas would have to invent a problem that would put their router out of action or Alexander would have it fixed in no time. Unfortunately, Thomas was a dinosaur when it came to the inner workings of technology. If it wasn’t as simple as plug it in and turn it on, he was lost (much to Alexander’s chagrin when teaching Thomas how to use Netflix). Thomas briefly toyed with the idea of throwing the bloody router out the window and letting Alexander try to put it back together with duct tape, but eventually he relented and decided to text Angelica Schuyler. The woman was a powerhouse, jack-of-all-trades wonder who could figure just about any puzzle set in front of her.

Thomas: If someone were to sabotage his apartment Wi-Fi for long enough to get his boyfriend to take a break, how would one go about it?

Angelica: I suppose throwing the bloody thing out the window isn’t an option?

Thomas: Trust me, I thought about it…

Angelica: What you need to do is unplug the Wi-Fi, then plug it back in. Alex will rush out, trying to fix it and while he’s doing this, you need to block his laptop from the Wi-Fi and then put your plan into action.

Thomas: And I do this how?

After a short tutorial that made Thomas’s head spin, he put his plan into action. Sneakily unplugging the Wi-Fi and plugging it back in before making a break for the bathroom. He listened for Alexander’s shuffling footsteps and hissed curses passing the door before rushing into the bathroom and saving all of Alexander’s over the top essay’s before blocking the Wi-Fi and practically racing back to the bathroom just in time for Alexander’s zombie walk.

3.       Prepare for the shit-storm

Thomas casually meandered into the living room, picking up his small, well-loved novel off the coffee table and flicking through it, trying to look genuinely interested in the words as he heard a loud “SHIT!” from the bedroom.

Alexander tore through the apartment, skidding to a halt at the router with his laptop in hand and desperately searching the box, scrambling to pull out the wires and push them back in, scrambling to check his laptop and practically screaming when nothing happened. And then he seemed to freeze.

“What happened to the Wi-Fi, Thomas?” He hissed, his voice raspy with the lack of use.

“I don’t know, I haven’t used it yet since I got back from Jemmy’s.” Thomas replied, gesturing casually to the book in his hand.

“You were out?” Alexander looked so confused, frowning at Thomas. His stomach flipped and the same sadness he felt at Jemmy’s dorm filled him. If Alexander hadn’t even noticed he was gone, what was stopping him from noticing if Thomas were to leave and not come back? Would Alexander even care if Thomas were to leave? Did Alexander care if Thomas was around?

“Yeah Alex, for nearly an hour…” He whispered, his voice losing the casual air as he turned back to his book, steadfastly staring at the words, willing his brain to take them in.

“Oh…” Alexander was still staring at Thomas, his eyes wide. The stare burned through Thomas’s skull and he brought the book closer to his face in an attempt to shield his face from it. Alexander looked down at his laptop, to the router and then back to Thomas before standing and shuffling out of the room and back to the bedroom.

Thomas sighed, throwing the book back to its original place on the coffee table and running his hands over his face. He steeled himself, only a few more points left in the notebook, and then he could stand proudly and say, “At least I tried”. He probably wasn’t the first person to stand up and say that about dating Alexander. That thought finally resolved Thomas to stand up and put the fourth point in play. He wouldn’t have to say that he tried, because this would work.

4.       Mac and Cheese

Alexander’s friends always joked about the fact that Alexander and he practically lived off a diet of macaroni cheese and decent beer. Laurens had dubbed it “the classy college food” a level up from ramen and cheap beer. Thomas was going to make the most fucking irresistible bowl of mac n’ cheese known to man and Alexander would have no choice but to eat it. It was likely that Alexander had ditched the laptop and had moved on to the textbooks, desperately trying to absorb every last word that he could, completely non-stop.

Thomas got the water boiling and soon he was lost in the calm that cooking brought him, eventually he left the burner simmering very low to keep the food warm and put into act, the fifth and possibly the hardest point in the book.

5.       Get him to eat and relax, without any work distractions

Thomas took a steadying breath and walked purposefully to the bedroom, knocking slightly on the door before opening it. Alexander’s laptop sat on the windowsill, and in its place on the desk was a textbook thicker than the bible opened at an incredibly bland looking page completely crammed with text. The afternoon was slowly changing to evening, bringing with it a pleasant chill that chased away the cloying heat of the day.

“Alexander,” Thomas called, hardly getting a reply outside a slight incline of his head, showing that he was listening. “Alexander, take a break. Run away with me for a couple of hours. Eat some food, and then we can go for a walk in the nearby park. Sound good?” He inched forward while he was talking until he eventually ended up perched on the edge of the desk, his fingers brushing against Alexander’s arm.

“I’d love to go…” Alexander muttered, finally looking up at Thomas, their eyes meeting. But before Thomas could encourage the thought, his eyes snapped back to the book. “I have to get this essay through to Washington, I’ll lose my scholarship if I don’t get this essay to him.”

“Alexander, you’ve already handed in four drafts of the essay to Washington, each one perfect. You can afford to take a breather!” Thomas pleaded with Alexander. “I made our favourite. We can forgo the walk in the park if it really bothers you, but please, Alexander, darlin’ eat something.”

Alexander looked back up at Thomas, the spark of interest in his eyes making Thomas desperately hope. “You made mac n’ cheese?” He asked, his curiosity piqued.

“What else doll? Our favourite, just one bowl and then I promise I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Thomas said, shoulders sagging in relief. He fully intended to keep his promise, pleased that he had even convinced Alexander to leave his work at all. He held his hand out to Alex and lead him to the kitchen, ladling out a large portion into a bowl for Alex and giving him a look that dared him to argue.

6.       Help him relax

Thomas knew the only way to do this would be to get Alexander’s mind off his upcoming exams, so he did what he always did well. Between mouthfuls, he casually brought up one of his and Alexander’s most worn out debates, and then they were off, batting ideas, ideals, and arguments against each other and in Alexander’s fit of passion, he didn’t notice that his bowl had been emptied and refilled.

Soon, they were debating as they pulled on their jackets (and Thomas forced Alexander to cover his knotted hair with a hat, no way was he being caught associated with someone who looked like a bird had nested in his hair, boyfriend or not) and debating as they walked down the stair and out into the crisp New York air and to the local park. They stopped at a bench that had a clear view of the practically empty park, only a few joggers and dog walked inhabiting the walks, and took a seat. Their debate slowly petered out as they watched the sun disappear beneath the horizon, the streetlamps flickering to light and bathing everything in a soft yellow light. Alexander’s hand felt warm and comfortable in his and Thomas couldn’t remember when their hands became tied together, but it felt right.

“Thank you.” Alexander whispered, his head dropping to rest on Thomas’s shoulder.

“What for?” Thomas smirked, leaning closer to Alex, resting his own head on top of Alex’s.

“For blocking my laptop’s Wi-Fi and forcing me to change to books, for tidying up the mess I left behind, for cooking for me and making sure my brain was still alive with the debate and making sure I got out… For being the best boyfriend in the world, really.” Alexander replied.

“How did you… never mind, you’re welcome darlin’.”

“You always come up with some sort of plan when you’re with Madison, he’s a bad influence!” Alexander chuckled.

Thomas leaned down, pushing the fingers of his free hand under Alexander’s chin he angled his head upwards and claimed his lips in a soft kiss, their lips easily moulding together. Alexander pushed into the kiss, his free hand running through Thomas’s hair before coming to a rest on the back of his neck, slowly brushing the fine hairs there. Thomas’s hand framed Alexander’s face, gently guiding him through the kiss, his thumb slowly brushing over Alexander’s cheek. Eventually they break for air their foreheads rested against one another, hands still meticulously placed. Thomas slowly blinked his eyes open, smiling softly at his Alexander.

“I love you.” Alexander whispered, briefly flickering his eyes open to look directly into Thomas’s before closing them again, content to rest against his boyfriend.

“I love you more.” Thomas replied, the teasing tone completely offset by the tight squeeze he gives Alexander’s hand.

“I love you most!” Alexander laughs softly, the sound almost completely muffled by Thomas’s lips claiming his again, replaced by a gentle moan.

7.       Take him home and get him into bed, by any means necessary.

Thomas had this one covered he thought as he moved closer to devour Alexander’s mouth.