#a reasonable safety measure for someone with a massive following to take

[paper-mario-wiki]

ive exclusively been playing it by ear with the makeup (no tutorials or anything) and i somehow always end up looking like a secretary kind of so ive been practicing looking exasperated while wearing makeup cuz i figure i gotta work with what im given ya know

[shadowbrightshine]

@marvelmaniac715 I just had an idea of what if the original people that lived on the Hatchetfield island were the ones who worshipped the Lords and the Waylons and Starry church married into the practices. Oh and you @notanerdyprude

And the reason the world didn't end for those people was they had a bunch of safety measures and rules in place and many rituals. Things that were lost when the hatchet men came and destroyed things.

And the black book is all that survived.

Gonna do a read more so people aren't discouraged from reblogging. Please do reblog I spent a long time typing and thinking this out. You guys can use this idea if you credit me!

I've been thinking about it. Like the life drain spell originally having been a sharing spell. Where a group would spread out the giving up of a few years for one person, greatly extending their life without massively impact a single other life. Or those close to the end giving up their last years for someone they love.

Maybe the trees growing from human souls, used to be a burial ritual. Where those who so chose would be buried to provide fruit for their families for years to come. And their leaves would change to the color of the respective Lord they followed when they wanted to be cut down and released from the tree. And they helped keep the power of the gift in the woods to make it more likely for the people who live there to get the gift. They weren't trapping the gift away from people, it was a blanket to encourage more gift given kids.

The reason everything grows so well is it was originally infused with the souls of willing people who wanted to provide for their people. And now the woods are full of trapped souls and fruit doesn't grow. Plants grow, but the trees refuse to fruit because why would they want to? You killed those people and planted them unwillingly.

The reason the Lords weren't able to take over the world was these people knew the risks and kept them from having total power. Like a minimum amount of people taking part in a ritual to spread out the wear on one's body. Maybe Pokotho's uniting force was used as a way to help empower and work to finish projects quickly as a group.

Nibilinephem and the harvest was a sacrifice, but not yearly. It was during droughts and the one willing to step up gave up their life so that everyone else could live. Not for wealth but say a lacking material, or something simple, like the rain. Maybe stronger building materials. It could also just have been a bad thing.

Bliklotep was called on to see visions of the future, or to see the world outside the island and learn from what other groups of people across the world were doing. They could pick and choose to make a missmash of technological items that best suited their needs. (Maybe something that CCRP has been trying to continue doing to make more money?)

T'noy karaxis could speed up time which is just very helpful. Or maybe he wasn't a very popular choice anyways and he was just obsessed with a different man who he trapped all the time. Or since he's outside of time he honestly could have just been torturing Ted since forever. He doesn't seem to bother other people until you call on him. Unless you're his Teddy Bear.

Wiggog'ywrath feels like he'd be called on for protection. A powerful God to protect the island. Of course it would be easy for his power to corrupt the user. That's why any time he was summoned there was a requirement of a certain minimum of people taking part to spread the influence out and keep it from concentrating into a big freaking problem.

It seems Webby was already forgotten but part of me likes the idea that she was the go between for the Lords and the people, or she was worshipped by a small pocket of people. She wasn't very powerful, but she was kind, and she didn't need as many regulations on summoning her. She could help keep the bindings of the magic on the people, strengthen their connection to the powers.

And then the hatchet men killed the Starry children and anyone connected to it. They destroyed most of the literature and rituals.

And the book, with what was left, no longer had all those safety measures. People got greedy. The sharing spell became a vampiric stealing ritual.

And now...

Now the Lords could have unrestricted access to Hatchetfield, and then the world started ending.

Tada!!! Please, please reblog this I've been thinking about it a lot and I spent a really long time coming up with this idea. You are allowed to use it if you want just credit that I came up with the initial idea.

Like I've been thinking that this had to come from somewhere. There had to be some reason that the Lords in Black didn't end the world much earlier in the timeline.

[enneamage]

Youtube, counterculture and What The People Want. These are massive topics that really get the noggin joggin’. Tommy delivered a motivational speech (still peppered with a bit of a lack of awareness that the people he looks back on fondly were once criticized for creating low effort trend following content) about how the people are craving a change because of how hollow certain video formats are becoming.

I’ve touched a little bit on Mr.Beastification before, namely how people are using him as a scapegoat to disown their own pull towards the illusion of safety and guaranteed success. The era of algorithm hacks and mind tricks that we’re in now reminds me a bit of the media version of the pickup artist / redpill scene, where self-styled experts try to brute force human behavior and connection through over-focusing on numbers and science of dubious origin. People have always wanted to bottle and redistribute luck and charisma, and the fact that the YouTube game is half human and half machine makes it seem slightly less insane to try and ‘hack.’ 

As an aside, is there anyone checking up on the people who solely and religiously follow all these hacks and advice? Like, are they actually doing well (in a numbers and personal wellbeing sense) when that’s the primary pillar of their content? I feel like even in the case of Mr. Beast, he probably over-reduces his success down to the variables that he can control/measure rather than the unknowable pile of factors outside of them, so it’s probably not as easy to replicate as he makes it sound.

(Dr. Mittens has a good post about how despite the narratives around Dream, Dream did not come up from zero solely because of his tactical brain, although he’s often used as an example of someone who power-gamed his success.)

So two questions come up in the wake of all this, what is the public hunger that Mr. Beastification inspires, and is YouTube really the place that this pushback is actually going to happen? If YouTube the platform is partly to blame for a certain kind of content rising to the top, one of the simplest answers is to get content somewhere else, which sounds like what Tommy is trying to avoid. Youtube has a virtual monopoly on longform public video hosting so they’re not in meaningful competition with other websites doing exactly what they do, so the threat of this is a bit less.

I look in my subscription feed and even my for-you page and I kind of can’t complain—YouTube knows that I’m “The video essay type” and goes from there, and that’s the bit about the algorithm I can appreciate at the end of the day. I have, largely, been insulated from the dumber things out there. This feels like an issue that’s been taking root in areas that are less curated than my corner, and maybe that’s part of the issue—between youtube hiding most of it’s videos unless it already thinks you’re going to like them and the market flooded with nothingburger formula videos (these problems create each other), it’s more rewarding to stay in your corner than actively seek out new stuff.

Something that I think I want from YouTube (but I don’t think I’ll get because if it were to be part of the system itself it would immediately get abused) is a human referral system. Like the actual ability to curate a page/feed of videos, maybe with a comment to give them context / a reason why you like them. This is because I don’t think I’ll ever trust the creator’s desperation (built-in) and the robot overlords (just want more minutes) over another complete rando who is genuinely like “I enjoyed this :D.” Human attention follows the attention of other humans, and while the algorithm follows that logic in a crude way, putting some texture back into that process might be able to do a lot.

On the topic of franchises, most of the fictional content I consume is from a fandom background so I know that repetition and familiar formats/premises have their place. (Call me parasoical but I like knowing who people are.) I understand why people want to talk about creativity and originality in a world obsessed with formula and guarantees, but I would say to not throw the baby out with the bathwater either, because some people can become so obsessed with innovation that they become backhandedly disdainful of people who have more grounded and reliable tastes.   

[rivalsforlife]

Phoenix Wright: The Truth Reborn: Oh No We’re Doing This Again

hi.

Nearly two months ago, I wrote an essay summarizing and making very wild conclusions about the second Takarazuka Musical. I did this about two and a half years after watching the first Takarazuka musical. As such I did not have the full context for many things from the musical and was relying mostly on my memory, which blocked many things from this musical for my own safety. However, just this week, I decided to rewatch it, because I enjoy tormenting myself. I said I wouldn’t write anything on it. Here I am writing something on it.

Here’s the youtube thumbnail so that you know what you’re getting yourself into. And here, of course, is the link. This is the HD version which may be slightly more pleasant to watch. Maybe.

It was not quite as cringe in a funny way as the second musical to me, and therefore this essay may be less funny, but I feel like I’m doing a disservice to people by providing a summary of the second musical while completely neglecting the first. Quite possibly doing this is even more of a disservice. I just eagerly await the day that the third musical is translated because *that* will be the day that I finally shuffle off this mortal coil. Either way, I want to write this stuff down so that I never have to watch the musical again out of curiosity.

The following essay will contain major spoilers for both the first and second Phoenix Wright Takarazuka musicals, as I will be using many points from this musical to argue my thesis of the second musical. ... like you were going to watch them anyways. 

This one broke 8k. I’m dead inside.

Introducing The Director

Again another disclaimer that I don’t have anything against the actresses or the theatre troupe. I DO have something against Suzuki Kei, who I recently learned is the writer and director of all three of the Ace Attorney Takarazuka musicals, and is quite possibly my mortal nemesis.

This man is the one who brought this monstrosity into the world.

This man, allegedly, cleared the first four ace attorney games *seven times* before sitting down to write these musicals. He played these goddamn games seven times and did not take in a single word. The man clicked through them mindlessly while watching a badly written legal romance drama in the background and got them completely confused. I genuinely have no idea how this man could have played these games more times than even me and yet managed to get so many characters (MAYA!!!!) completely and utterly wrong. This haunts me every day, truly.

This man played Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Justice for All, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Trials and Tribulations, and Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney seven times. SEVEN TIMES EACH!! and was told to create a musical based on the series. He played these games seven times each and you know what he said?? You know what he said?? “This sucks, I’m getting rid of all of Phoenix’s backstory, butchering half the characters, and writing Phoenix/Lana fanfiction, but also rewriting all of Lana’s backstory so that she was Phoenix’s childhood friend, and you know what, I’m changing her name for good measure.”

I think this man played the games seven times each and then hated it so much and was so sick of it he tried to write something that destroyed as much of the series as possible while still being vaguely recognizable. And then somehow it became a massive hit because people like me see this and go “what the actual hell” and watch it, or people who haven’t played the games see this and go “wow what a great musical!” and then he wrote TWO MORE, destroying EVEN MORE every time in his wake, until finally, finally, he stopped after making Edgeworth straight and time traveling into the past to face off against a corrupt Gregory. I guess that was the last straw.

I have to issue a disclaimer here that for legal reasons this is a joke. I don’t actually hate this man and would not punch him in the face if I met him because that would be rude, and he is entitled to his wrong interpretation of the games. I don’t know what his thought process was. But allegedly he did play the games seven times according to the wiki. This whole essay here is satire and not slander and I don’t want to offend this guy if he somehow stumbles across my nonsense tumblr post. At the same time: Suzuki Kei blink twice if you need help.

Anyways half the reason that I’m making this essay is because I want to share my fake ao3 page for this musical. The other half will become apparent later.

Sorry if that’s illegible because of tumblr quality it’s not really important. All you really need to know is that it’s a fake ao3 screenshot for the musical. Also in the author’s note I said he played the games four times but it was actually seven I just remembered wrong because I didn’t want to believe it.

at this point you may be like “Grace shut up and get to the actual musical” and okay, fine, let’s start this nonsense. Also note that I may be referencing things from my essay on the second musical very frequently; I’m not going to force you to go read that though because the fact that you’re reading this is enough of a torment already.

The Musical Begins

Unlike the second musical, this one opens with some narration from Phoenix.

Transcript:

Phoenix: I’m reviewing a particular case at the moment. To me, this case... is one I’ll never forget.

Immediately I think this is important because it establishes that this whole musical takes place in a flashback that Phoenix is reflecting on. Why is this important? Because we know, by the time of the second musical which takes place three years later, Leona is dead.

Knowing that Leona is inherently doomed to die of her Sad Woman Disease paints this whole musical in a different light. It’s not Phoenix reflecting on how he got back together with his lover; it’s Phoenix dwelling on their past together, and the opportunities they had, before her life was so cruelly and inexplicably taken away. We don’t know if Phoenix’s reminiscing takes place before or after Leona’s death... but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was after.

Phoenix, still in the present, starts to sing. “A wave appears on the horizon like a mirage, it trembles, then vanishes. Your voice, carried upon the waves, fades upon the shore, erasing the splendor of the past.”

This line actually shows up in the second musical, sung by Lucia about her imprisoned fiance quite possibly. It’s kind of hard to tell what the meaning of these songs even are. They’re too abstract for me I think. But this line appears very frequently in the first musical when Phoenix is thinking about Leona.

Then we enter the flashback time.

Phoenix inexplicably yells at a newspaper saleswoman. This is not relevant to anything whatsoever. Then Larry barges in to the office, looking for Maya. Phoenix describes him as “A real trouble maker, but you just can’t hate the guy”, the latter part of which I think many people would disagree with. 

Well, afterwards, Maya comes in. Phoenix describes her like this while making exaggerated “can you believe this shit” gestures.

Transcript:

Phoenix: She’s as ditzy as they come. Oh, and about the outfit... Apparently she comes from a family of spirit mediums. Try not to make fun of her, okay?

Suzuki Kei personally has it out for Maya and I can never forgive him for it. Maya in these musicals is here for pure comedic relief but it’s not even comedic because I just get so angry. How can you play the trilogy seven times and think this about her?? The girl who figured out DL-6?? The girl who told Phoenix to sacrifice her life in order to find the truth?? The girl who put on a brave smile in order to try and cheer up her younger cousin even after she saw her own mother murdered right in front of her eyes?? That Maya Fey?? Ditzy as they come??????

Ugh. Moving on.

Maya and Larry run off, leaving Phoenix to watch the American Broadcast.

Important things to note here are the Godot mug, the little line up of what I think are the messed up little ace attorney figurines beneath the screen, and the fact that while this broadcast is supposedly from and to America the screen is actually not at all showing America. Like literally almost everywhere in the world except North and South America.

The broadcast says that Leona Clyde, age 24, was arrested for murdering the senator Robert Cole! Leona Clyde -- that’s Phoenix’s ex-girlfriend! He runs off to the detention center.

She is not happy to see him.

Leona: Mr. Wright... I’m not the woman you once knew.

Let’s Play A Matching Game

Sorry for the abundance of screenshots that are going to be throughout this section. Phoenix convinces Leona to let him defend her. Some of the conversation seems... familiar.

Leona: No one would defend someone who admits to killing a senator. I’m waiting for a court-appointed attorney.

Edgeworth: Every defense attorney I’ve talked to has turned me down.

Phoenix: In that case, let me defend you.

Game Phoenix: Let me defend you.

Leona: Don’t be ridiculous!

Edgeworth: Don’t be ridiculous.

Phoenix: I’ll never accept that you’re a murderer. Let me prove your innocence!

Game Phoenix: Huh? Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to prove that Miles Edgeworth is innocent.

Leona: I’ve already confessed my guilt.

Gumshoe: He confessed that he did it! In court!

Leona: It’s foolish to think you can win this case.

Edgeworth: My case is near hopeless, Wright.

Leona: (in response to phoenix offering to defend her) No you won’t! Don’t ever come here again.

Edgeworth: Look, just go away, and leave me alone!

Phoenix: You of all people should know. Once I decide to do something, I see it through to the end.

Edgeworth: Once you start on something, you always see it through, don’t you?

Leona: I never thought that you’d be representing me.

Phoenix: Ah, who could have guessed this day would come?

Edgeworth: Not me.

Phoenix: You believed in me. You saved me. And this time, I swear... I swear I’ll save you!

Game Phoenix: Edgeworth believed in me, and I believe in him. I’m the only one who knows the real Edgeworth. I’m the only one who can help him.

I could’ve done a few more, but tumblr is already threatening to murder my laptop.

So long story short, Phoenix manages to convince his lover to let him be the defense on the case. Then immediately after swearing to save Leona, he starts singing a song, which I’m not screencapping because this is enough:

“As long as there are people in this world, there’s only one path I will follow! As long as there is love in this world, there’s only one path I will believe in!”

Edgeworth sings this in the second musical after saying that he returned to California because of Phoenix. Phoenix sings it now after swearing to defend Leona. You draw your own conclusions.

And then we finally get the opening credits. Eleven minutes in.

Just Pretend This Is Narumitsu Fanfiction

Following the credits, we see a beautiful beach. Couples (exclusively heterosexual, of course,) dance and embrace in the background for some time, before revealing Phoenix and Leona, in the Even Further Past, before the LSATs or whatever the ace attorney universe’s excuse for law school exams are.

Phoenix establishes his absolute hatred of change, an important characterization moment.

Phoenix: The view here never changes, huh?

Phoenix reminisces on when they were kids. Leona’s parents were both lawyers (they’re both lawyers) and sometimes they would be like lawyers with her when she was a kid. This inspired her to also become a lawyer after their tragic death of Sickness. They never specify what the sickness is that caused two people who must be relatively young to die while Leona was in her early twenties at the latest. It may be whatever sickness claimed Leona’s life later. Sad Woman Disease. (Sad Man Disease for her father, I guess?)

Phoenix also talks about why he’s becoming a lawyer.

Phoenix: Watching you chase your dream inspired me to become a lawyer too.

So, it’s not “my childhood friend looked sad in a newspaper” because I guess that makes no sense or is too gay or something. But this is another important piece of Phoenix characterization. His entire life so far has been focused around Leona. They’ve been friends since they were kids, and then Phoenix decided to become a lawyer solely because Leona was becoming a lawyer. Not even to try and get back into contact with her after she moved away or anything; just because he’s so obsessed with her that he wants to have the same career as her, then they can run a Mom & Pop Law Firm or something, years in the future, after years of happy marriage and a few children or like whatever the hell.

Well, there’s a few steps they’ll need to get to that. At this point Phoenix still hasn’t confessed his feelings for Leona. He does so here, on this beach.

Leona tries to protest.

Leona: But I’m pushy, selfish, and only care about my goals... You’d get fed up with me.

Phoenix: That’s what I’ve always admired about you. That’s who I’ve been chasing all these years. That’s the only person... I love.

Sooo, Phoenix, your type is pushy selfish people who only care about their goals...? In the first, older lower-quality video translation it was “only care about my work”, too. Hm. Things to think about.

They sing a little duet together. Then we go back to present-day of what’s technically still a flashback. Whatever. Murder is happening.

Back To The Murder

So some plot things to establish: Leona is the legal counsel of Governor Miller, who is running for president in the AMERICAN PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION. After the flashback so that Phoenix has some time to change clothes, they show an interview of him talking about the murder.

Governor Miller: I vow to forge a peaceful country with my own two hands, and to prepare myself for whatever may lie ahead.

Reporters: Through thick and thin, he’s a friend of the people!

The Takarazuka musicals are not very good at hiding their killers.

Phoenix: Oh yeah... It’s almost time for the presidential election, isn’t it?

NEVER FORGET, WRIGHT. THIS IS AMERICA. LAND OF THE FREE! god what even was that line.

Anyways, we meet Gumshoe, who is incompetent once again. Maya runs around the crime scene, picks up the murder weapon, puts her fingerprints all over everything, moves things around, all while Phoenix is like “lol get a load of the world’s stupidest girl” or whatever. But who cares about that.

It’s time to get to the only valid part of this musical.

Edgeworth’s Gay Little Villain Solo

You may have seen this one before.

Edgeworth arrives, but not really. It’s like Phoenix heard Edgeworth was prosecuting and immediately entered a dream-like state, where Edgeworth is heralded by the sound of trumpets in Great Revival. He’s played by a different actress than in the other two musicals, since I think she retired in between the six or so months from this musical to the second. She still plays the role well, though, or as well as can be when you’re written in an ace attorney Takarazuka musical.

Shrouded in scarlet solitude... it’s Edgeworth.

Yes, those are six Edgeworths. Yes, they pick Phoenix up and carry him around and dance with him. Yes, it was probably not meant to be at all homoerotic.

He sings a song that’s called “My rule”. I only figured this out later, but it’s loosely based on a “catchphrase” of his in the Japanese version - in game 1 he says something along the lines of “All I can do is get every defendant declared guilty! So I make that my policy.” In DD in his dramatic anime introduction before the trial, he says “I intend to question the defendant with all I have. For that is a part of my creed.” “So I make that my policy” and “For that is a part of my creed”, to my understanding, are both translated from the same line, which I think is like, “sore ga watashi no ruru”, “That is my rule.” (If I’m wrong, please correct me.) In this song he sings about how he’ll reduce all criminals to ash and such, basically talks about his game 1 prosecuting strategy as “my rule”. 

It’s very fun and probably if you want to only watch one number of this musical, it can be this one. It starts about 26:10 in the video I linked.

Once the musical number is done, Phoenix and Edgeworth stare at each other, and the background fades into the courtroom, so court begins. I feel like I should note that Phoenix has not picked up any evidence or talked to any witnesses in this investigation except for Gumshoe, since Maya just moved some things around and then Phoenix had some weird fever dream about Edgeworth which presumably took up the rest of the day.

The Trial, Day 1

Edgeworth: Consider it a prelude to the poignant Greek tragedy that’s about to unfold.

Maya: The real tragedy’s your pompous attitude!

Those are the only screenshots I took of this trial day. Here’s a summary, though:

The trial starts off with Leona confessing, Phoenix says “no I think she’s innocent”, and since ace attorney doesn’t care about the defendant’s wishes he’s allowed to proceed. For some reason Leona lets him do this without complaint. 

Gumshoe is the first witness, he claims to have caught Leona red-handed at the scene of the crime, standing over the corpse. Phoenix tries to claim that since Gumshoe didn’t see Leona committing the crime, he didn’t actually catch her red-handed, to which Edgeworth responds “What do you think being caught red-handed means?” 

Once Gumshoe is dismissed, Lotta takes the stand. She has a photo of the actual moment of the crime, where Leona is holding a knife in the air in front of the victim. 

The Takarazuka musicals like to do this thing where the image is blurry and zoomed out, but then Phoenix will go “I’VE NOTICED A CONTRADICTION” and it zooms in really far as the resolution increases drastically in order to show you the contradiction that is impossible to spot for yourself, because they don’t want people figuring out the mystery in this musical based off of a video game where you have to solve the mystery yourself. Anyways Phoenix zooms in on this photo and sees that there’s blood on Leona’s hand, presumably before she stabbed the victim. How did it get there?

Edgeworth suggests the victim was stabbed multiple times. Phoenix says the autopsy report contradicts that. Edgeworth, uncharacteristically, does not update it to suit his argument. 

Phoenix concludes that this photo is not showing the moment Leona stabbed the victim, but the moment Leona removed the knife! ... Which somehow casts doubt on her having been the one to stab the victim. Because as everyone knows, anyone wanting to kill someone would never remove a knife, it’s not like they’d bleed out faster that way, or anything.

And this whole contradiction is confusing because presumably if the victim was stabbed and then the knife was removed, they’d know that happened, because then the knife would not be found stuck in the victim’s body, since the victim was only stabbed once. So this shouldn’t be news to the prosecution that someone removed the knife after stabbing. But the investigation was headed by the most incompetent version of Gumshoe ever, so. sure. I guess no one knew.

That at least manages to extend the trial another day.

This Totally Has To Be Illegal

After the trial, Phoenix goes to talk to Governor Miller, aka Mr. Totally The Real Killer. Phoenix asks him why he decided to hire Leona as his legal advisor.

Basically, it’s because her parents were both renowned lawyers. Her father was a Chief Prosecutor, and her mother was a defense attorney. ... a prosecutor and a defense attorney couple... who does that remind us of...

Phoenix points out that just because her parents were good lawyers, it doesn’t mean she’d necessarily be one. Miller says that, sure, but she is actually really talented, and her law school marks were spectacular. Phoenix says “WHY WERE YOU LOOKING AT HER LAW SCHOOL MARKS”, like it’s somehow? suspicious? for a government official hiring legal counsel to look at their law school marks?

Apparently it IS suspicious because Governor Miller freaks out and asks if this is an interrogation. Before Phoenix can press much further, he gets a phone call, and leaves Phoenix alone in a big room.

So naturally Phoenix behaves like a fully grown adult running a law firm.

If all he did was sit in the chair, lift up a desk lamp, and poke his finger on a pen, that’s one thing. But then he leans over, OPENS THE GOVERNOR’S DESK DRAWER, and finds a knife that’s just sitting there casually. It looks like a butter knife. It’s not anything major. Maybe the dude just wanted to butter his toast?

I mean I know Phoenix will dig around in stuff whenever in the games, but he has no reason to suspect Governor Miller at all, much less dig through his drawer probably full of confidential government documents to lift up a knife that he thinks is suspicious. It’s not even covered in blood or anything?

Naturally Governor Miller’s assistant comes in just then, and Phoenix puts the knife. in his breast pocket. 

bud. It may look like a butter knife, but putting knives up against your chest is not a great idea. Much less stealing a knife from a governor? 

Well, in his panic, he accidentally knocks over a bunch of books on the desk. The governor’s assistant helps him pick them up, and they find a photo. Look a little familiar?

The photo has the assistant, the victim Robert Cole, Governor Miller, and the victim’s brother who died in an incident two years ago. He’s the “Neil Marshall” of this musical, and he died in what was essentially the SL-9 incident. Same general premise, except it occurred in the courthouse, and the names are different.

AND FINALLY WE REACH THE END OF ACT 1. They do a musical number here which is a weird sort of mashup of the main opening credits song, Edgeworth’s Villain Solo, and the love duet between Phoenix and Leona. They are all such different songs that it sounds a little weird.

ACT 2, FINALLY

The act begins on a sour note with Maya playing with the knife and showing off her characterization, which is one of the most infuriating Maya characterizations you’ll sometimes see around the fandom by people who don’t like Maya.

Maya: Let me whip up my special spirit channeler hamburgers!

sigh.

But then we’re saved (?) by the arrival of EDGEWORTH, who is presumably just here to chat. He asks Phoenix if he’s defending Leona in hopes of winning her back, then says to keep out of it, since it’s a very important case and he can’t understand the gravity of it.

Then Phoenix says this.

Phoenix: Would you be saying that if you were the one on trial? The defendant is in a dark prison, reaching out for hope... Can you imagine the loneliness and sorrow of being ostracized?

CAN YOU IMAGINE IT, EDGEWORTH? CAN YOU IMAGINE IF YOU WERE ON TRIAL AND I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO WOULD DEFEND YOU AND BELIEVED IN YOUR INNOCENCE??

Edgeworth responds to this by essentially rehashing his speech in Turnabout Sisters about how he needs to find all defendants guilty because he can’t guarantee their innocence and all that. Maya gets upset and leaves so that Phoenix and Edgeworth can talk about their childhood in private.

Phoenix once again complains about how people change since nine years old.

Phoenix then says that he has something Edgeworth doesn’t: the POWER TO BELIEVE! Then Maya comes in and tries to spike Edgeworth’s coffee, so he leaves.

The Class Trial

Phoenix explains a bit about Edgeworth and his backstory to Maya. Namely, the class trial. Phoenix was accused of stealing lunch money, Edgeworth stood up for him, but instead of Larry, Leona stood up for him. I guess Suzuki Kei thought “oh the class trial, if Leona stood up for him, it would be so romantic, because she’s a woman, and he’s a man”, or something like that. 

Edgeworth wanted to become a Great Lawyer Like His Father! But then he turned cold as ice.

Phoenix: His father got too deeply involved in a case... and paid for it with his life. Edgeworth saw him murdered. He was never the same again. I bet he couldn’t forgive the criminal.

Yeah I bet he couldn’t ever forgive the person he thought killed his father all these years, Phoenix. I bet he really hates that person, Phoenix. I bet he has nightmares about that person killing his father or something, Phoenix.

Phoenix: He vanished, then returned without his mercy or compassion. He had become a monster. When he lost his father, he also lost the ability to believe in others.

So like... one of the most chilling things about this musical is that they never actually solve DL-6. This probably roughly takes place 15 years after DL-6, since they were about the same age when the class trial started, and at least Leona is 24 now. The next musical takes place three years from now, and in it, Edgeworth refers to von Karma as his mentor, implying he’s still around and doing things.

So, in addition to everything else going wrong with this musical, DL-6 still happens, but von Karma never frames Edgeworth for it fifteen years later. The statute of limitations runs out, and von Karma forever gets away with his crime. And Edgeworth has no idea.

What changes did they make to DL-6, though, you may ask? I’m desperate to know as well. In the third musical, which I’ve watched because I hate myself but am unable to fully understand because I don’t know much Japanese, there is a scene where Miles flashbacks to DL-6. It’s abstract, but he makes gun-throwing motions at Gregory, followed by a gunshot sound.

Therefore, in this musical’s internal canon, either Miles Edgeworth shot his father, or he believes he did for the rest of his life.

... moving on.

Phoenix: But he still has his humanity. It’s still there, deep down inside!

At least, if nothing else, Phoenix still believes in him. Even this Takarazuka Musical couldn’t touch that.

The Feenie Sweater

Right after this, Larry barges in, and Phoenix leaves him alone with Maya. The musical tries teasing Larry/Maya, but fortunately, Maya’s having none of it.

Maya: You’re barking up the wrong tree.

Props to this musical for not being as bad as it could have been.

After this, the two sit down on the couch, and Maya asks for more gossip on Phoenix and Leona. Larry launches into a story, which turns into a flashback that ends up being narrated by Phoenix halfway through. This one’s about Phoenix and Leona’s relationship.

This is an interesting line in here, “I’ll guide you to the future”, for it loosely referencing the sort of love ballad Phoenix sings with Lucia in the second musical which is about “I’ll take you to that radiant future”, and he later sings to the memory of Leona right around the time of his big spiral into despair.

I’m sorry if you haven’t read my other essay and just said “wait what” to what I just typed.

Leona was getting ready to move to New York to defend the weak “in the big city”. This is rather strange wording because it implies that California does not in fact have a big city. She says some things in her conversation with Phoenix that probably plant some of his later issues.

Leona: This is the first time we’ll be apart since we were kids.

Leona: We promised we’d always be together.

Leona: I’ll be waiting. Waiting for you to come to me.

Haha. Sure would be a shame... if something were to happen... and they wouldn’t be able to be together anymore...

So some dancers wearing black come in and take off their outer jackets, to symbolize the passage of time. They circle around Phoenix and Leona. In this, you can just barely see, Phoenix is wearing a pink sweater beneath his jacket.

“Oh,” I think to myself, “Is that the Feenie sweater? Are they including it here as a reference to the games?”

Then the dancers keep moving.

THAT IS NOT THE FEENIE SWEATER. That is a pink sweater with a sexily drawn woman on it.

This is the other half of the reason why I decided to go through with making this essay. 

This is so incredibly funny to me. Suzuki Kei Who Has Played The Games Seven Times has seen the hand-knit bright pink sweater with a giant red heart on it seven times. The sweater Iris, Phoenix’s girlfriend, lovingly knit for him that he wears all the time even though it is one of the tackiest, cheesiest items of clothing to ever exist. And so, when the costume designers were designing the clothes for College Phoenix Wright, they asked themselves: “Should we include the Feenie sweater?”

and “NO,” someone must have shouted, “NO, we can NOT include the Feenie sweater, it is PINK and it has a HEART on it and it’s TOO GIRLY. Phoenix Wright is a MANLY MAN. He would not EVER wear something PINK with a HEART on it.”

“BUT,” someone else said, “it’s a REFERENCE to the original games, where he DID wear a pink sweater with a heart on it! We MUST include it to pander to the fans!”

“WAIT,” a third person interjected. “I have a BRILLIANT IDEA. We can keep the pink... But to make it VERY CLEAR he is a heterosexual, masculine male... we put a sexy woman on it.”

And Person Three Got A Raise.

Thank god we’re finally halfway done this musical.

We Just Have To Go On With Our Lives Now

There’s plot or something happening. Leona breaks up with Phoenix inexplicably over the phone. Probably because of that freaking sweater. Imagine wearing that. God.

Eventually we go back to Phoenix talking to Leona, and he asks about the Jack Lyon case, which is the rip-off version of the Joe Darke case. Leona is pretty cagey about it, but Phoenix proves that she was there in the gallery that day. Leona refuses to answer, claims again that she killed the victim in her case, and leaves.

This makes Phoenix sad, so he starts singing.

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

If this sounds familiar, it’s the part where I started absolutely losing my mind in the second musical because this line had never shown up before then, I’d forgotten it was in this musical, and Phoenix was screaming it alone in a red room, so I thought he was like desperately resorting to a necromancy ritual in hopes of bringing Leona back to life.

Instead, this line actually has CONTEXT, though it does just end up enforcing my theory. This is Phoenix mourning what he used to have with Leona, wanting to bring the “old her” back, because he’s devastated that people sometimes change. There are several flashbacks of their college days where he’s wearing his Sexy Woman Sweater. He does succeed in winning her back at the end of this musical. Before she dies, of course.

Phoenix in musical 2 still believes that he can bring back what he used to have with Leona... even beyond death. That’s something affirmed by this musical. I’m very grateful to it for somehow managing to enforce my nonsensical theory.

Doctor Ema

After this, Phoenix returns to his office, and meets with someone new.

That’s right! Only now, halfway through the musical, do we actually get to meet the Ema-equivalent to Leona’s Lana-equivalent. Her name is Monica Clyde. She has little rainbow heart stickers on her briefcase, which is the closest thing this musical has to acknowledging that gay people exist.

But what does this little briefcase contain, you may ask? Scientific investigation tools? No.

A full surgical toolset. Because you never know when someone’ll get sick, or when someone will need an entire operation in front of you. I guess.

So yes, Monica Clyde is not a forensic scientist in training, but a doctor! She decided to become a doctor because of her parents, who passed away of The Sickness, and so became a doctor in order to save lives like theirs.

Once more this has much darker and deeper implications than the musical is even aware of, because Monica is so anxious about treating sick people that she carries a full surgical toolset around with her at all times, scared to lose someone like she lost her parents... and then sometime in the next three years, Leona, her big sister, is going to die.

Of what? The strange Sickness that claimed her parents? A car accident? A botched spur-of-the-moment surgery? Whatever it is, Monica was unable to save her, even when she’d been training her entire life for it.

Monica is not mentioned at all throughout the second musical. It’s as if she does not exist.

Because unlike Ema of Rise From The Ashes, Monica is not at the heart of this story. She is, primarily, a plot device here to make Leona not trust Phoenix so that he can angst about their relationship. 

What a mess this world is.

The Trial, Part 2

Rather than try to prove Leona’s innocence, Phoenix wants to link the current case to not-SL-9, the Jack Lyon case. He does this by showing this picture.

Senator Cole, the victim, is in this picture. His younger brother whose name I’ve forgotten, the victim of not-SL-9, is also in this picture. They are brothers. It is apparently novel that they are in the same picture, and somehow makes their cases linked.

As well, Governor Miller is in the picture. I guess you could say like... Governor Miller’s legal counsel is the defendant, so that’s another link? Even though the Governor would presumably know a Senator, so this isn’t an unusual group. Right now Phoenix has absolutely nothing to prove that these two cases are linked other than “hey, these two victims are brothers”, but apparently it works. So they spend a lot of time talking about not-SL-9, since Leona has confessed to the murder on day 1 and there is absolutely nothing indicating that she can’t be immediately declared guilty.

They hid the fact that Monica was a hostage in this not-SL-9, meaning that some of the case records were forged. Here’s Edgeworth’s reaction when this comes out.

Edgeworth: This is an outrage! I’m the most influential prosecutor in America! There’s nothing I don’t know!

In RFTA, when Edgeworth learns he’d been using forged evidence to give a man the death penalty, he is devastated, his entire worldview is shaken, he sees himself as a monster who could end up becoming horribly corrupt if he isn’t stopped.

Musical Edgeworth goes “I DIDN’T KNOW SOMETHING???”

It’s certainly strange characterization, but I guess Edgeworth is further behind in his character arc than in RFTA, so... ugh. Fine. 

Phoenix calls Monica out as a witness to prove she was involved in the case. This causes Leona to panic, and try to dismiss Phoenix as her attorney, like Lana in RFTA, but Edgeworth interjects to call Monica in anyways. He and Phoenix have a little moment.

Edgeworth: You said to believe in others. I suppose I’ll try believing in you. Try to keep up.

Phoenix: Edgeworth!

So Monica comes to the stand to testify. We get to see this picture of Monica being held hostage, and not-Joe-Darke’s incredible eyeliner.

Lots of it is very similar to the actual RFTA, except instead of the victim being stabbed on the knight with the giant knife, he’s instead stabbed with a regular old knife. Leona still refuses to admit to what really happened, until Edgeworth convinces her to believe in Phoenix.

Edgeworth: Your attorney is a runaway train with a one-track mind. Yet he placed all of his faith in you. Believe in him. You owe him that much.

Leona testifies, and says that when she found the victim, he was stabbed with a scalpel.

Here is where things get weird.

Scalpels Can’t Kill People

So basically earlier in this trial, they talk about how Leona knew that the knife that stabbed the victim was double-edged despite being buried in his chest. The judge questions if this means Leona killed him, but Phoenix is quick to say no, she was searched when she entered the courthouse and couldn’t have concealed a knife.

Yet, Monica was able to bring in her surgical toolkit which contains several sharp knives, scalpels, scissors, etc.

This is the first major contradiction.

Leona continues to say that when she found Monica, and the scalpel stabbed in the victim, she also ran into Governor Miller, who if you haven’t been able to tell yet is the Gant-equivalent of this musical. He offered to help her with the cover-up, etc.

The next bit goes a lot like RFTA. Phoenix accuses Governor Miller, who barges in, says Phoenix has the decisive evidence in his pocket. This is the “butter knife” that Phoenix took from his office when he dug around in confidential documents and stole it for no particular reason. It has Monica’s fingerprints on it! ... And Phoenix’s and Maya’s too probably because they were handling it without gloves, but they don’t mention that part.

Leona cries about how she shouldn’t have trusted Phoenix because he was apparently now blaming Monica, Monica looks terrified, she and Leona have some good sister moments but it’s not as good as it could be if the story was actually about Leona and Monica like how RFTA was about Lana and Ema. But Phoenix has the decisive piece of evidence that can turn this around.

It is this:

Phoenix: Scalpels are made for medical incisions, not stabbings. So how did it stab the victim?

...

...

...

... What?

So like. Yes, scalpels are made for medical incisions. Medical incisions often involve cutting through flesh, very easily. As a result, they are sharp. Extremely sharp. As in: their purpose is literally to stab people, very specifically.

Yes, they’re easier to control, so that surgeons don’t regularly stab people how they’re not supposed to be stabbed, but it’s not like, impossible to stab someone in a killing way with a scalpel? Admittedly, I have never tried to kill someone using a scalpel. And I do not have experience using a scalpel for surgeries because I am not a surgeon. But I’m pretty sure, if you take a sharp scalpel, and you stab someone in the chest with it with a reasonable amount of force... they die.

Like, is this a particular kind of scalpel that is not very sharp? Is the problem that the blade doesn’t match up with the initial wound? But even then, we don’t have the original unforged autopsy report or even a picture, so how would Phoenix know what the original wound looked like to say it didn’t match up? And even then why wouldn’t Phoenix say that instead of SCALPELS CAN’T STAB PEOPLE???

This is his decisive contradiction and it makes ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE TO ME!!!

Well Darn I Guess Scalpels Can’t Kill People

This is such a decisive piece of evidence, that scalpels can’t kill people, coming from the man who thought “caught red-handed” does not involve being caught standing over a corpse with blood on your hands, that it causes Governor Miller to confess.

Unlike Gant, who created the murder with Neil Marshall both to ensure that there was decisive evidence to convict Joe Darke, a serial killer who had not left any decisive evidence behind, and gain control over the prosecutor’s office in order to pull similar stunts to get criminals convicted using false evidence, Governor Miller does not have that as his motive. After all, he’s not a police officer. Instead, he ended up accidentally killing not-Joe-Darke, and then set up the incident in order to get Leona on his side. As her parents were both influential lawyers and very respectable, having her and her parents’ reputation on his side could help him become President of America Where This Takes Place.

So, let’s just take a moment to run over some of the things that made the original Rise From The Ashes great, in my opinion. Just for fun.

1 - The heart of the story between the Skye sisters. Lana closing off to protect Ema, Ema wanting to get through to her sister and get back to the way things used to be. Phoenix, in this story, is more of a bystander to this plotline rather than in the heart of it himself.

2 - Edgeworth’s Character Development. Basically RFTA creates an interesting transition between Turnabout Goodbyes and JFA. It causes Edgeworth to re-evaluate everything he knows about being a prosecutor. So quickly on the heels of Turnabout Goodbyes, it crushes the last bit of hope in him. It compares him to Gant, who also hates criminals, and forces him to wonder if his hatred of crime will one day lead to him being a criminal himself. He’s already convicted one person on forged evidence; how many others could there be?

3 - The Ends Justify The Means. ... wait come back, don’t leave. What I found neat about this case was also Gant’s motive. At one point he was presumably an honest person who hated crime and wanted to stop criminals. But over time in the police force, he became corrupted. He wanted to have all criminals convicted. So what do you do when you don’t have the evidence to convict them? Joe Darke was a serial killer who has killed several people and may have killed more if he’d gone free. The only way to stop and convict him was by using forged evidence. Other criminals could hide evidence to get away with their crimes, so people like Gant would make it up to catch them; but then when do you stop? What happens if there’s no evidence because someone is truly innocent? When does the line between “this person is a criminal and I want to stop them” and “I just want to convict everyone I’m dealing with” become blurred? This is also something he shares with Edgeworth and helps to advance his character.

All three of these things are either lessened or outright ignored in this musical. Leona and Monica’s story takes a backseat to Phoenix and Leona’s Love Story, with Monica only showing up halfway through, and mainly as an excuse as to why Leona is withdrawn. Edgeworth doesn’t seem to blame himself for the forged evidence he used, and doesn’t have a crisis questioning his morality over it. And Governor Miller’s motive is purely power. Unlike Gant, who would have become Chief of Police whether he solved SL-9 or not, Miller needed Leona to win the presidency. And instead of asking her to help him with his campaign like a normal person, he just blackmailed her instead.

... How do you play the games seven times and miss this much?

The Case Finally Ends

god. we’re almost there.

The case ends, Leona is declared not guilty but will still face trial for covering up murders and such. Probably less of a sentence than Lana because she was not involved in ongoing police corruption? Either way she’s dead in three years, so she’s got something a bit more concerning coming up.

She’s led away. Phoenix sings a bit about Leona before being interrupted by Edgeworth... who has something important to tell him.

Edgeworth: You awakened within me those once-cherished emotions I had discarded. I see visions of a distant, nostalgic past.

So basically this is the unnecessary feelings of the musical. Something along the lines of “seeing you again and fighting for my former ideals is making me question many things about myself.”

How does Phoenix respond?

Phoenix: Edgeworth... Try talking normally for a chance.

Sure, we were all thinking it, but that’s a little cold, Phoenix.

Edgeworth tries a smooth recovery.

Edgeworth: I don’t do... idle chit-chat.

This doesn’t accomplish much. So he leaves to allow Leona to visit with Phoenix alone. He’s got to go change for something more important coming up.

Leona and Phoenix decide that they’re going to get back together once Leona is done her sentence! They make a promise that is very funny if you know she’ll be dead in three years.

Phoenix: I’ll be waiting. For you.

There are a lot of hugs here, I’m not screencapping them all. There are also several moments where their faces get very close together and like, their nose brushes the other’s cheek or something, but they never actually kiss. Is it because the actresses weren’t comfortable with it (valid), or they thought kissing would be too much for the musical (sure, whatever), or since both characters are played by women the show staff did not want two women kissing on stage (probably the real answer)? I don’t like watching kisses, but I kept bracing myself for one and then it never happened, so.

Phoenix ends the main part of the musical with one last musical number starring my personal favourite piece:

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

I like to think that at this point, this is present-day Phoenix, after finishing his reminiscing, still desperately wishing he could bring Leona back from death.

But alas, he cannot. And so, after one last daydream of them dancing together on the beaches of California, singing about their love, the musical ends.

Dance Time!

This starts at exactly the two hour mark, if you’re interested in watching what is, once again, one of the only fun parts of this musical.

Seriously, Edgeworth’s actress kills it here, when I first saw this I went “oh, this is why I saw so many people being gay for her on twitter.”

Edgeworth’s song is an encore of “My Rule”, so it’s lots of fun. Afterwards Phoenix gets another fun piece.

Then we get to the love ballad part, which I can probably overanalyze, I feel like I haven’t done enough ridiculous over-analyzing in this essay in comparison to the other.

Uhhh so the fog represents how Phoenix feels lost in this world without Leona. You can see it in the second screenshot separating the two of them, representing the barrier of death between the two of them. Idk it’s midnight I’m getting worn out from having to think about this musical for so long.

But his mourning over Leona’s death becomes even more apparent in the credits, where Phoenix sings that one line again:

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

I’m not fixing that screenshot, I think it’s oddly fitting, in a way. That’s me right now.

Then at the very end, he sings this song.

Phoenix: I’ll spend... this eternal life... soaring through... the heavens!

Technically, this refers to his name Phoenix, but let’s dig a little deeper. He spends the rest of his life soaring through the heavens... the heavens that Leona went to after her untimely death, perhaps?

Overall, the musical becomes much more interesting when you just see it as a prequel to the second musical. This musical establishes many core concepts of Phoenix’s character: his refusal to believe in the concept of things changing, for one, and also his extreme dependency on Leona who he was never separated from since they were kids and where he based his entire life around her dreams and ideals. All he can think about is her. And in the end, he promises to wait for her in California.

Yet, to paraphrase Miles Edgeworth, all that is waiting for him is her death. Their dream of opening up a Mom & Pop Law Firm will never come true.

Thanks again for bearing with me even though this wasn’t as funny!

[witcher-trash]

Weekly Witcher Fic Recs 3

(I have a lot this week haha) All Your Life (lambert-centric, angst, complete, mature, 1k) Lambert is a parrot. Lambert is a parrot and it’s eating him alive. Lambert is a parrot and there is nothing he can do about it.

Cat in the bag (aiden/coën/lambert, complete, mature, 15k) Aiden gives a cheeky little grin. “I’ll write down the recipe for you once we’ve survived this entire mess.” “If we survive.” Lambert sighs as he shrugs his shirt back on. Their plan does have a reasonable chance of success, true, but the risk is still substantial and a lot of it depends on factors he can’t really control. “We will.” Coën radiates the same optimism and calmness that he displays in the face of almost every adverse situation, something that Lambert has come to rely on more than he sometimes likes to admit. “Well, let’s see it this way – if it goes wrong there is a good chance that all of us will be dead, so not much to worry over, no?” Aiden adds cheerfully. * Coën and Lambert take a contract to protect a king from assassination. A straightforward contract, really - until it turns out that one of the supposed assassins, a Cat School witcher, has decided to go rogue. Now, the three of them have to figure out whether they can trust each other and how to keep both themselves and the king from getting killed.

Crimes Against Gwent (lambert&geralt, complete, teen and up, 2k) Lambert leaps from his chair at the dining table so forcefully that it topples backwards with a loud clatter, and quickly rounds the table to tackle Geralt, bowling him over without any regard to their surroundings. Geralt’s chair tips back with the both of them in it, creaking and then slamming to the wooden floor. The two of them tumble backwards, rolling onto the plush rug in the living room as they grapple with each other. Geralt has the audacity to laugh, full-bellied and genuinely happy, and it makes Lambert squawk indignantly. The older witcher shoots Lambert a grin and Lambert lunges again. or, Geralt “cheats” at gwent.

Following the Thread (aiden/lambert, wip, 25k, explicit) Lambert thinks Aiden is dead, and killing Jad Karadin is just the final step in that journey. That is, until the truth comes running him down. Aiden is very much alive, he's just missing, and Lambert will do anything to find him and to set things right. If they happen to fall in love along the way, no one is complaining.

Hug a Witcher Day (geraskier, complete, teen and up, 14k) Jaskier writes a new song ‘Hug a Witcher Day.’ It gains insane popularity and Geralt finds himself hugged by random strangers on one particular day every year. He doesn’t mind the hugs. And yet, He realizes that Jaskier has never hugged him. Not on that day, not ever. Oh, but Jaskier looks like he gives great hugs. What can a witcher do to get one from his bard?

Leave You Behind (eskel/lambert, complete, explicit, 2k) “I won’t leave you behind, i promise.” He sounded so sincere. Lambert took a deep breath and nodded, steeling himself for Eskel’s inevitable departure. He’d take the lands to the south this year while Lambert headed west. Neither were sure what Geralt would be doing - perhaps he’d be too distracted by destiny to make much of a dent in outstanding contracts at all. ++ It’d taken decades for the two of them to finally get together. And now that Lambert finally had him, he wasn’t sure he could let go

Living Like This (geraskier, teen and up, wip, 9k) Based off of the ‘Robber: *wakes me gently* ‘You live like this?’’ meme. Geralt is a single father, jobless and down on his luck. One night, a masked man breaks in to his apartment meaning to steal from him only to find that there is nothing there to take…

Love is an Ongoing Process – series (geraskier, mature, wip, 40k) Netflix Canon-related Geraskier falling in love over the years series. It has all the following tropes: Bed Sharing, Geralt Apologizes, Geraskier Slow Burn, Witchers Senses and Pining. Divided in one-shots in a series instead of chapters in a single fic in an attempt to prevent myself from writing too much.

my dearest love, i'm not done yet (jaskier/yennefer, complete, mature, 5k) It's a funny thing, really. A last memory. As if every memory before that counts for nothing, as if that last one will define a love of a life. As if she would love him less if she saw him in agony. As if her heart wasn't already given away and thrown aside with the most violent way. As if the sound of the bottle shattering on the floor wouldn't wail in her ears forever. or A death for a life, a potion and four days. Yennefer wishes it was that simple.

number one wiener eater (aiden/lambert, complete, 8k, explicit) When Lambert loses the hot dog eating contest that he’s won for the past three years in a row, there’s nothing he would love more than to find who beat him and punch them in the face. Unfortunately, he was too busy throwing up to know who the winner was. All he knows is that he’s kind of maybe in love with the guy who held his hair while he puked.

Sometimes I Can See the Wounds (geralt/eskel, complete, teen and up, complete, 3k) Eskel is wounded in a hunt, and no one in the three towns he passes on his way back to Kaer Morhen will give him aid. He arrives at the keep in bad shape. Geralt has a bit of a breakdown about it. This is very soft with a soft ending.

The Alchemist. (aiden/lambert, complete, teen and up, 3k) "This person is known only as ‘the Alchemist’ and neither I, nor any of my associates, have been able to gather any more information on him. I require someone to locate this person and… dispose of the problem.” In which, Lambert is offered a contract and finds what he thought he'd lost forever. Written for the Save A Witcher Bingo! The prompt was secret identity.

There Must be More to Life. But What? And Why? (iorveth/roche, mature wip, 2k) The universe is bound and determined to make Vernon Roche enjoy retirement, even if it means forcing his hand in the matter.

Three Bells, Each With a Separate Sound (aiden/lambert/voltehre, complete, explicit, 30k) In a dank cave in the Blue Mountains, a stripling just barely past the cusp of manhood looks up at a cyclops looming over him and raises his arm in a futile effort to ward off the massive hand as it swings towards him. On the banks of a river, hundreds of miles and precisely five decades later, to the day and the hour and the ticking second, a man raises his hand to deflect the arrow hissing towards him and knows he’s going to be too slow. Both of them have the exact same thought as their deaths approach: Lambert is never going to forgive me.

Tired Of Chasing Ghosts - series (arnaghad/erland of larvik, guxart/keldar/vesemir, wip, explicit, 18k) "A feast," Erland replies. "A revel." Any and every joyful memory from Skellige he harbours involves some kind of celebrational drinking. If it could tie together wind-whittled seamen and -women that mistake insults for proclamations of affection, it can tie together this young collection of witchers. "A revel... with dancing?" Arnaghad sounds pensive, but underneath that, Erland can hear the first inklings of ideas sprouting to life. "Yes." "Alzur-" "Doesn't give a shit," Erland cuts in. "And neither does Cosimo." Only then does he step back to give Arnaghad the space to ponder. "Think about it. Find me after dinner in the stables." In which: Erland wants to make a home out of Morgraig and Arnaghad makes an exception. A song you know's begun - series (geraskier, wip, 200k+, mature) Jaskier wasn't exactly sure what he had expected Kaer Morhen to be like but the keep was everything and nothing like it. The place was a dichotomy. Magnificent and sad in equal measures in its derelict state. Silent but full of noise. Cold yet filled with warmth. But most importantly, it was Geralt's home. Seeing him so relaxed, the sharpest edges rounded down with the knowledge of being safe and surrounded by his family was a beautiful sight to behold. Jaskier wished he too would relearn what safety felt like.

[thosewickedlovelies]

Into the Woods: chapter 1  |  Frankie Morales x GN!Reader

Summary: Neither you nor Frankie are expecting to run into anyone in the middle of the woods.

Tags: none!! all audiences!

Word Count: 3,054

Note: HE’S HERE!!! Please enjoy the official first installment of the outdoors insta frankie series 🌳📷😍 So much love to the wonderful @yoditorian for coming up with this concept and Frankie’s IG name, and also helping me brainstorm 💗💗💗

Backstory

---

Francisco Morales loves this shit. Walking for hours without seeing another soul, nothing to think about but where to place his feet on the path ahead of him. Assuming he’s following a path at all. These are his woods- the country surrounding the house he’s lived in for years, a place just shy of isolated from the nearest town. They’re not really his, legally. He’s not exactly sure what the rules of land designation entail, but it’s not a national park, and no one has ever chased him up about the occasional wood-chopping or campfire-building he does.

So he walks.

It’s a damn perfect day for it, too. Brilliantly sunny with a hint of breeze, rustling the greenery around him and carrying the scents of sun-warmed leaves and late summer flowers. The birds are in high spirits, their vibrant chirping filling the air with chatter. Screeches of alarm, sometimes, too- a side effect of hiking with a giant energetic dog. Frankie watches ruefully as Oso crashes off into the undergrowth again, doubtless chasing down some poor creature.

He slows his pace to wait for her, taking the opportunity for a water break. His heavy pack thuds to the ground. Frankie grunts as he stretches, rotating his shoulders and flapping his sweaty t-shirt away from his back. I should really hike along the river more often, he muses. He doesn’t mind working up a sweat (obviously), but a ready supply of cool water during a long hike does wonders for one’s well-being.

“Boof!” Oso’s deep bark as she returns brings Frankie’s attention to her.

“Yeah? Would you like that, too? A nice swim in the river to cool you down?” He crouches to ruffle her neck fur the way she likes. Oso only pants in answer, blinking at him adoringly.

She slurps thirstily as Frankie pours some water from his bottle into her mouth. He chuckles. “Don’t worry, Osita, we’ll be near some water soon.”

Their goal today is a small pond Frankie had only found earlier this year. It’s a good spot for his campfire cooking, as well as endlessly photogenic. This is marginally important to him, as he attempts to keep a regular diary of his wanderings through instagram. It’s mostly for fun, but like anyone else, he isn’t immune to the particular buzz from his posts unexpectedly getting a high number of likes.

But he had also discovered that he wasn’t the only one with this hobby. There were whole communities of people out there who found peace the same way he did, and they happily gave advice if ever he posted about a struggle.

Frankie pauses again a short way away from the pond to make sure he’s on course. Oso sniffs around excitedly, bounding off again while Frankie checks his GPS. “Huh.” Looking around, he laughs at himself a little when it tells him he’s almost walked past it. He rotates to his left and thinks he spots the telltale gap in the trees ahead. He tucks the GPS away.

Oso barks from somewhere ahead of him. A split second later, a human yelp sounds from the same direction. His eyes widen.

“Shit!” Frankie breaks into a run. In all the years he’s been out here, he rarely sees other people this far from the trails. “Oso!” he yells. “Here, girl!”

Oso isn’t aggressive (unless the situation warrants it), but whatever new friend she thinks she’s meeting won’t know that. Frankie races toward where he judges the noise came from, heart pounding. He bursts through some bushes and is almost knocked down by his beast jumping up to greet him.

“Hey, girl, who was- no!” Oso peels away again across a bit of clear ground, her collar slipping through Frankie’s fingers. He’s barreling toward where her tail wags from behind a bush, when you stand.

Frankie skids to a stop so abruptly his feet slide out from under him. His ass hits the ground with a thud, his rucksack taking only part of the fall. He scrambles upright gracelessly, clumsy with the weight on his back, never taking his eyes off of you.

You stare at each other.

Nothing about this moment feels real to Frankie- you could announce that you’re the dryad who rules this forest and he would believe you, that’s how unlikely your appearance is. Shifting sunbeams dapple your skin, and even from several feet away he can tell that you have the most striking eyes he’s ever seen.

For a second your gaze flicks down to the side. You lean slightly as if something has nudged you, and as you move your hand away from it Frankie realizes you’re holding something.

Shit. He returns to his senses. Is that a weapon?

He’s met people on the trails before, most of them harmless fellow hikers. But occasionally there are some with weird vibes, especially the farther away from the paths you got. He’s fully capable of defending himself, but that doesn’t mean he wants to have to.

“Oso! Here!” Frankie says sternly. Your expression doesn’t change as you watch the dog trot over to him. Jaw set, wide eyes tracking his every motion.

He supposes he can’t blame you for being wary. Or armed. It’s a perfectly reasonable response to running into a strange man in the middle of the woods. He knows he’s not exactly the picture of reassurance. Tall and broad, probably too sweaty to believably claim he’s on a casual hike. He decides to speak.

“Sorry to startle you.” Frankie keeps his hands by his sides where you can see them, resting one on Oso’s head. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone this far from the trails.”

Your tense stance doesn’t relax. “Me either.”

His head tips to the side. “Do you come to this area regularly, then?” He tries to keep his voice slow and soothing.

He can see you assessing him, trying to measure how safe he is. “I have been recently. What about you?”

“All the time. Me and Oso take nice long walks.” Frankie pats the dog’s head in a more formal introduction. “I like to come out here and cook.” Your brow furrows at that, bemusement appearing amidst your guarded features. Before you can respond, he prompts “What are you doing this far off the main paths?”

“Foraging. You come all the way out here to cook?” Disbelief is etched in every line of your face.

Well, when you say it like that.

Foraging. That makes perfect sense. Frankie follows a few of them on instagram. He’s always pleased when he notices the more obvious edible plants and berries, but it’s not usually his focus. His vegetable garden at home takes up most of his efforts. It’s managed to thrive in the years since he started it after leaving the army, and it’s become a source of pride for him to be able to wander out, pick some things for the day’s meal, and head right into the woods.

“Yeah,” he responds. “Here, I can show you. I keep an instagram.”

Your eyebrows rise even higher at that.

Moving slowly and watching for your reaction, Frankie holds his hands up as he turns, keeping one in the air while the other makes a show of tugging his phone from a side pocket of his pack. He keeps the screen visible as he opens the app, then pulls his arm back in the beginning of an underhanded throw. Poised as such, he looks at you expectantly.

Now you’re almost frowning. Clearly still suspicious, but possibly fractionally less concerned about danger from a man willing to give his phone to a complete stranger in the woods. Hesitantly, you raise your hands to catch it.

Finally Frankie can make out that the thing in your hand in a canister of mace. The sight inexplicably relieves him. Pepper spray is a normal person’s defense, something that anyone might carry to help themselves feel safe. Far from the kind of weapon he would fear from someone angling for true violence.

All of this decided in the space of a second, Frankie gently tosses you his phone.

--

You’re so distracted by delighting in the prolific blackberry bushes which surround your pond that you don’t hear the approaching creature until it’s upon you.

You screech in shock at the massive fur-thing’s appearance, bowling you over from your crouch. It doesn’t seem bothered about wanting you to pet it, only wiggling and sniffing at you enthusiastically. You register the collar around its neck at the same you hear the shout.

“Oso!” That must be its name. “Here, girl!” The dog dashes away, then back, clearly torn about leaving her new friend so soon.

Icy adrenaline douses your system. That was a man’s voice, rough and cavernous. Who knows what kind of person he could be, no matter the earnestness of his dog? Your hands shake as you rip open your bag for the canister of mace you’ve never had to use.

There’s a pronounced rustle and then his voice sounds again, terrifyingly close. “Hey, girl, who was- no!”

Shit. The dog is back, looking at you eagerly, rear in the air and tail wagging like this is an exciting game. You have to choose a course of action quickly. Twisting the safety off the pepper spray, you rise to your feet.

His reaction is almost funny; you think you might have laughed if this was literally any other scenario. Like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel, the man wrenches himself to a stop with such force his feet fly up from the ground. The contents of his bulging pack crunch against the earth, but he barely seems to notice he’s fallen, keeping his eyes on yours the entire time he cycles back to his feet.

You stare at each other.

That’s a man all right. Towering even from this distance, with wide shoulders that help the impression. His eyes are round and stunned, the cap on his head knocked slightly askew and freeing sweat-dark curls to spring around his ears.

Your first thought is that he looks warm. Not temperature warm, although the gleam of sweat on his neck confirms that, too. But approachable warm. There’s a softness to his body that belies the muscle his motions highlight, creases around his eyes that wrinkle brown like tree bark in the sun.

Then his dog noses your thigh, reminding you that you have pepper spray in your hand because you’re in the middle of the damn woods with a potentially threating stranger. You risk a half-second glance down to move the canister away from her face.

You regard the man with stony distrust, fear flushing your face and neck with heat. Confrontation makes the blood roar in your ears, but it gradually quiets as he orders the creature away from you. For several more seconds the only sound is rustling leaves.

He clears his throat. “Sorry to startle you,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone this far from the trails.”

His voice doesn’t sound as harsh now that he’s not frantically shouting for his dog. Still you keep your answer short. “Me either.”

His head tilts inquisitively. “Do you come to this area regularly, then?”

That’s a fair question. He has a right to be curious too. “I have been recently. What about you?”

“All the time. Me and Oso take nice long walks.” The man pats her head, and the dog’s ears perk up. “I like to come out here and cook.” Wait, what? Before you have a chance to process that, he continues. “What are you doing this far off the main paths?”

You won’t be deterred. “Foraging. You come all the way out here to cook?” If this is some elaborate murder setup, that’s not a very plausible lie.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Here, I can show you. I keep an instagram.”

You’re slightly more skeptical than fearful now. You watch silently as the man turns in place, putting the side of his backpack in your line of sight so you can see him fish his phone out. He makes his actions slow and obvious. The white background of an instagram page glows on the screen as he retracts his arm in a throwing pose. Clear eyes meet yours.

What? This guy is just going to...give you his phone, no questions asked? Taken aback, you can feel the deep grooves of a frown between your eyebrows as you consider.

You’re hesitant to reveal the pepper spray, but if there’s still some possibility this is a trick, he might second-guess attacking you if he sees you’re armed. You ready yourself for a catch.

Which you accomplish, easily, his toss landing the phone right in your hands. The dog lurches forward, but this time man has a grip on her collar and she’s forced to halt with a whine.

“Sorry, girl. We’re not playing fetch right now, okay? Sit!” The man doesn’t even seem concerned with monitoring you, looking down seriously at his dog as he speaks.

You keep one eye on them as you turn your attention to the screen. Frankieintheforest, reads the username at the top of the page. Just a guy out in the woods, continues his bio. Well, that’s accurate, anyway. Frankie, huh? You spare him another glance, matching various features of him to the ones in his photos. A broad hand here, sturdy hiking boots there. Several glimpses of the same flannel that’s currently tied to the strap of his backpack. His face in a few group shots. You click on an image which shows Oso parading around a yard with a grinning toddler on her back. “Ferocious beast carries away yet another victim,” quips the caption. An involuntary smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

There are too many photos going too far back for it to be fake. You turn the screen toward him. “Cute kid,” you comment. “Is she yours?”

His eyebrows lift in surprise. “No,” the man half laughs. “My buddy’s. I’m just the godfather.” A small smile softens his face as he takes in the picture.

Being named godfather was nothing to sneeze at. You study the man carefully, keeping your face neutral. He seems genuine, his dog keen and friendly. Dogs were a good judge of character, right? Indicative of the character of their owner? He hasn’t demanded anything from you, not done anything threatening beyond just being here.

You glance between him and the phone again. “Frankie?” you question.

He raises one hand in a wave, directing a crooked sort of smile at you. “That’s me,” Frankie confirms.

You offer him your name in return. “Uh, you can have this back now.” You gesture with the phone.

He brings his hands up to catch it, and you thank every deity you know of when your throw connects. You’re at a bit of a loss for what to do next, however. You suppose this means you’re at a truce. But you still don’t think you’d be able to let yourself focus on foraging while knowing there’s a stranger wandering so nearby.

Frankie seems to be thinking the same thing. One hand rubs over the back of his neck. “Well,” he begins. “My plans for today were to sit by this pond and cook over a fire.” He points his thumb to the right, where not far away the reflection of sunlight on water wavers against the tree trunks.

“You can join me if you want.” He shrugs awkwardly. “I’m just gonna collect some tinder and then park it, so you don’t have to worry about me interrupting your foraging or anything.”

Oso finally wriggles free of his grasp and surges forward, leaping across to you with a triumphant woof! “Oso, no!” Frankie stumbles after her, only to stop after two steps, clearly unwilling to make you uncomfortable by getting too close. He looks on helplessly, hands flexing.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. This time you offer her your free hand to sniff, which she does, before promptly shoving her head beneath it for pets. Amused, you comply. Her multi-hued fur is soft beneath your fingers.

“You’re alright, aren’t you, Oso?” You dart a self-conscious glance back up to her owner, but he appears content to let you coo at his dog.

“She’s a good judge of character,” Frankie says simply.

You swallow. Those deep brown eyes linger over you, and this is all just a bit...much. “Right. Well. I’m just going to…” you ease back, hoping to convey ‘continue going about your business.’

“Oh, sure!” He takes a little hop backward. “I’ll be...here.” His hand makes a small circling motion to indicate a limited nearby area. “You’ll hear me before you see me. Or Oso.”

Frankie frowns slightly as if something has occurred to him. “Uh, she might want to follow you around today though. I can tie her to a tree if that would bother you? I don’t usually watch her too closely,” he admits sheepishly.

“Oh, that’s okay.” You realize that you mean it as your thoughts continue to form. “She’ll make for good protection if I meet any more big scary strangers.” You aim the last words down to the dog herself, sending a wry a sidelong glance to said stranger.

He chuckles again, a rasp of a sound like creaking branches. “That’s fair. But I meant it when I said I’ve never seen anyone else in this particular area. You’re pretty safe.” He punctuates his statement with a nod to the canister still in your hand, soft understanding clear in his face.

Your head ducks slightly. “Well,” you say again. ”I’ll..see you around. I guess.” You don’t wait for a farewell, turning to foist your pack back onto your shoulder. You strain your ears for any noise behind you as you flee, but there’s no sound of pursuit.

“Go ahead. Have fun, Oso,” Frankie calls, already at a distance from your quick pace. There’s a distinctly animal scurrying, and then the dog bursts into being by your side.

Your arms wheel as you jump. “Jeez, you are enormous,” you mumble, pausing to pet her again. Discreetly you look over your shoulder in time to see Frankie turn away from you, heading for your pond.

--

Post note: I know pepper spray is like, super illegal in the UK and other places, but it’s not abnormal to carry around in the US so just pretend it’s fine.

Taglist: @thirstworldproblemss, @leonieb, @computeringturtle

[keenmarvellover]

POSTS FOR YOU - 1

Some links to posts with valuable content you want in one place.(BASICALLY EVERYTHING IS THERE)

Suggestions and Recommendations are appreciated and accepted.

Last Updated : 16/10/2020

NOTE: Some of these post are written in a crude and unruly fashion. But they contain valuable tips, guidance and information. If you can't/don't want to read such posts, then don't read.

Mental Health

Do you need a Hug?

Maybe you’re having a stressful day. Maybe you just need a deep breath. Maybe you just didn’t realize how stressed you are. You can get your comfort here.

Some stuff to help you sleep

This is definitely not a google drive full of the sleep stuff from the Headspace app, including sleepcasts, music, and wind down meditation, that normally costs 17.99 a month, no siree and you definitely shouldnt share this with people

Anti-Anxiety Tools

Some tools to help you before, during or after an anxiety attack

100 Reasons NOT To Kill Yourself

READ IT. SHARE IT. REBLOG IT. Save a Life.

HOBBIES MASTERPOST!!!!!!!!

A really excellent way to reduce anxiety is to pick up a new hobby. Find something you’re interested in, learn it, then use it as a healthy and productive way to cope.

Health

Some very Important Lists for Rating PAIN, FATIQUE AND MENTAL HEALTH

It is MUST share

PSA Rregarding Hospital bills

Also how to pay hospital bills when you are broke.

How to differentiate between COVID-19, FLU AND COMMON COLD

Anyway, as we enter cold & flu season in the YEAR of corona, this will come in very handy.

Treatment for HIV

VERY IMPORTANT. Please Read and Share.

What does the Color of your Period mean?

A must read for individuals who get periods.

How to differentiate between Period Cramps and Appendicitis

A MUST READ

From a Person who is Hard of Hearing

Types and levels of deafness

General Tips for Vagina Health

Some stuff they don't teach in sex-ed.

Undo the damage of Sitting

Are you always sitting down? Then these are some exercise you should probably try out for better health.

Guide to Proper Bra Fitting

Guide to Proper Bra Fit and Measuring. Please Read and Share.

Washable, Reusable Menstrual Pads

(Part II)

Reusable menstrual hygiene product, and are an alternative to disposable sanitary napkins or to menstrual cups.

Artists

Art Masterpost

How to draw *insert whatever you want, its there in the list*?

Book Binding

Some video links to different types of DIY Bookbinding

For Artists who Need Photoshop

If youre an artist who cant afford photoshop, definitely DO NOT go to this google drive to pirate the program, that would be so bad!!!

Do’s and Don'ts of Designing for Accessibility

Please consider this when designing for ANYTHING. For BUSINESSES and ARTISTS.

Writers

Color Synonyms

For both ARTISTS and WRITERS

How to make a Masterlist

Simple but efficient instructions to make a masterlist

ULTIMATE NOVEL WRITING RESOURCE MASTERLIST

This is an ultimate masterlist of many resources that could be helpful for writers.

List of AUs and Ship Tropes

For when you run out of ideas.

AUs

Ship Tropes

Legal sites to get some much needed Info

If there was only a way to find out all of this rather edgy information without getting yourself in trouble…

Resources for Describing Characters

For writing about physical appearances, character traits, talents,and skills and other related stuff of your characters, here is a comprehensive list.

Resources for Describing Emotions

Having trouble writing jealousy, happiness, motivation. Here you go!!

Some Resources for your Writing

Body Language

Reverse Dictionary

Character Traits

Things to Keep in mind when naming Characters

Valuable advice. Trust me

Words to Use when Writing Smut/Romance

This is for smut/romance writers. Kinda like a thesaurus.

Tips to write Pain

How are you supposed to write about pain you’ve never experienced before?

References for Greek Mythology Characters

Link to an extensive site every single detail of Greek Mythology from Gods to Family Trees.

Tips to write Blind Characters

Some tips that might be invaluable when writing character that are near-blind or blind

Things to Remember when writing a Highly Emotional Scene

Just small things that could make a great difference

How to write with Multiple POVs

Tips on how to write multiple POVs with diverse characters

Synonyms and Antonyms

The person who made this list is a blessing to writers. Just saying.

Good Qualities for Female Characters

Females don't always need to be protected and be weak. Make them more realistic.

Words to Use instead of ‘Said’

Every single situation is listed. Check it out.

Limits of the Human Body

All extremities listed

Readers

Legal Sites to Download Literature

From children’s books to rare books, from philosophy and religion to nonfiction. I guess you can find anything here.

The Rights of the Reader

And some (lots of) bashing of Helicopter Parents.(You want to read only the rights. Here it is)

Wet Book Rescue : Steps to save a Wet Book

Valuable information if some of your prized books were affected by recent flooding. The video even shows you what to do if you can’t dry the book out right away.

Cheatsheet to Navigate AO3

Makes your time on AO3 a little more easier and interesting

How to trick Writers into giving you More Fanfic to read

Works for Comics and Art as well.

Get a Book Suggestion

This book website gives you the first page of a random book without the title or author so that you can read it with no preconceptions

Books written by POC Writers

Only POC authors included in the list.

Students

Basic ASL (American Sign Language) Movements

ASL Hand Movements for beginners.

Tips for studying with ADHD/a>

Made by a person with ADHD themself.

Resources to Learn New Languages

Ten fairly useful general language resources

How to properly take notes

It helps. It really helps.

FREE ONLINE LANGUAGE COURSES

Here is a masterpost of MOOCs (massive open online courses) that are available, archived, or starting soon. I think they will help those that like to learn with a teacher or with videos.

A Thread of Tips

A thread of tips to help High School and College students academically

LEARN THINGS FOR FREE

FREE ONLINE COURSES (here are listed websites that provide huge variety of courses)

Google like a BOSS

Some life hacks which make student's lives easier.

625 words to know in your Target Language

If your learning a new language, these words will help you build a strong foundation.(Some tips and sites are include too)

Miscellaneous/Life Hacks

How to add music to your Blog

How to add your very own, custom homemade playlist to your blog?

How to Walk with Purpose?

Some tips on how to hold yourself in public and why.

Cheatsheet for Laundry Rooms

Saves a lot of money in the Laundry Room

How to Gird up your Loins?

A lesson in how to gird your loins.

How to Disappear Online

Please read and spread for the sake of abuse victims or stalker victims.

What to do during a Nuclear Attack

I hope you never have to use it but here are some guidelines to follow in the event of a nuclear attack

How to pull an All-Nighter.

A to-do list

Write a Thank You letter after your Interview

It leaves a good impression on your interviewer and increase your chances of passing the interview.

Laundry Tags: Meanings

A life hack that you’ll definitely need at some point.

Where to find free Movies and Series Online

Lots of sites. Lots and Lots of sites. I am not Kidding. Now go and chill without netflix. (Part II)

How to get a Refund?

Get your stuff or a refund.

HOW TO DO EVERYTHING FROM SCRATCH

This starts at the most absolute basics of gardening and planting, provides definitions, and hopefully is easily understandable. This is a MUST-READ. (Farming)

Discuss your wages

It’s your right to share your salary, not doing so could be holding you back.

Youtube Tutorials for Basically EVERYTHING

This is a big, giant list of Youtube tutorials that will teach you all the basic life skills you need to know in order to be a functional adult.

Safety

Emergency Evacuation - Items to Gather

A text list of suggested items to acquire in the event of an emergency.

If someone you know is in an abusive relationship

AN ABBREVIATED GUIDE TO ‘Holy shit!!! My friend is in an abusive relationship what do I do’ and what not to do.

Defense Tips for Women

Defense and Safety tips a woman MUST know. (Part II)

An app that informs your Emergency contacts if you are inactive in a set period of time.(Could prevent rape attempts if used correctly)

If a Man gets Physical

How to check if a mirror is one way or two-way

If you are trapped in a smoke-filled apartment: What to Do

How to get out of Hand-binds

How to get out of the bunker of a Car

How to track Anonymous asks.

How to pick a Lock

Traits and Warning signs of an Abuser

What to do if a bigot pulls your Hijab (from behind)

What to do if someone pulls of a Muslim Woman's Hijab? (To do List for both Men and Women)

[winterscaptain]

nightmare, recalled

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: the hearing. next part up is the slave of duty. we are reaching the end of this arc, and we will do some healing, i promise. thank you all for waiting on this part! it’s a little short breather before we get slave of duty tomorrow night. 

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! (the pieces stand alright on their own as well, for the most part!) one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 2k warnings: discussion of violence, language

summary: “when someone you loved was depending on your lie, it was perfectly easy.” - liane moriarty, big little lies

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You arrive at the office in the early morning, not looking half as exhausted as you feel. It was your own fault - you begged and begged to be the first in the back-to-back team testimonies today. If you were first, you reasoned, you never once had to leave Jack once he and Aaron arrived. 

Jess is taking care of the final arrangements today - handling the catering for the wake with her parents, sourcing roses, all of the wretched little tasks you’d much rather take on yourself - for the funeral this weekend. 

But alas, Strauss needs to continue her warpath on Aaron, and you need to defend him. 

You sit outside of the eighth-floor conference room, just down the hall from Erin’s office. You have tissues tucked in your hand, not trusting her to provide them and saving your pride in the process. You keep your eyes down as she steps into the room and closes the door behind her. 

As you expected, about three minutes later, she pops her head out. “We’re ready for you.” 

Inside the room is one of the deputy directors, in addition to a lackey from the inspector general’s office. 

Gang’s all here...

You take your seat opposite Erin, keeping your hands in your lap. 

“Please state your name and rank for the record.”

You do, clear and steady.

“How long have you worked in the BAU?”

“I was assigned to the BAU as a New Agent Trainee in the summer of 2007, and was assigned to the unit as an agent at the end of that year.”

“So, two years?”

“Just about, ma’am.”

The other people in the room start taking notes, but Erin keeps her eyes on you. It’s unsettling. 

“How was it that you were assigned to the BAU as a NAT?” There’s something hidden in her question, so you answer somewhat comprehensively. 

“I requested a unit assignment based on a recommendation from Jennifer Shepard, the late director of NCIS. I was intrigued by the guest lecture given by Agents Hotchner and Gideon and requested the BAU.”

“Who approved your transfer into the unit?”

Your brow crinkles. “I’m not sure of the specifics ma’am, but the SSAIC informed me that she’d spoken to Agent Hotchner prior to my assignment.” 

“Do you feel indebted to Agent Hotchner?”

Ah. There it is. 

“No, ma’am.” 

She narrows her eyes. “How can that be? He was directly responsible for a massive acceleration of your career within the bureau.”

“All due respect, ma’am, I believe my academy coursework and the Director’s Leadership Award on my desk speaks for itself. Agent Hotchner and Agent Hemingway both recognized my potential and made their decisions accordingly.” You try to keep the sass out of your tone, but you have to throw her off this train of thought somehow. 

She hums - once, staccato. “Given that...recognition, do you feel obligated to defend Agent Hotchner?”

“No, ma’am. I do not feel any obligation or debt to Agent Hotchner.” 

She narrows her eyes again, but makes a note in her small notebook before speaking again. “How would you describe Agent Hotchner’s recent behavior in the field?”

Without hesitation, “Motivated.”

She’s not impressed. “Would you say he’s been taking unnecessary risks in the field?”

Lady, if you only knew the half of it. 

“No, ma’am. I believe his choices in the field have been effective.” 

She chuffs a little laugh, unamused. “Very cute, agent, but that’s not what I asked.” 

You blink at her, waiting for another question. 

“Why did Agent Hotchner step down from his position as unit chief?”

Careful. Careful. 

“He promoted Agent Morgan so the team could continue our work unhindered.” 

“What were the hindrances?”

Shit. 

“By transferring his responsibilities, he had the opportunity to explore more investigatory avenues regarding George Foyet that he would have been unable to prioritize while in his post as unit chief.” 

Good save. 

“Can you characterize the transition of power?” She raises an eyebrow. She’s baiting you. 

You don’t take it. “Amicable. Seamless. Peaceful.”

“So you wouldn’t say there was tension between Agents Hotchner and Morgan regarding the division of responsibilities?”

“No, ma’am. I did not experience or witness any dysfunction arising from the transition. Agent Hotchner was exceptionally respectful and deferential to Agent Morgan following the promotion. There was never any confusion about the chain of command.” 

And that was actually true. 

She pushed and pushed and pushed you to say something that would condemn Aaron for his behavior in the previous eight weeks. Though you were plenty frustrated with him, you didn’t budge. 

Soon enough, she asked about what happened on the afternoon of November 23rd, 2009. You started from the beginning - The Fox, the letters, the medication. 

+++

“Who made the decision to breach Foyet’s apartment?”

This was wearing on you, well into the second hour. “Agent Morgan, ma’am.” 

“Didn’t Agent Hotchner have anything to say regarding the tactical plan?” Strauss looks tired too, but she better rally - her efforts are getting weaker as you continue to answer her questions with steady candor and she still has seven more interviews to conduct today, not to mention the paperwork. 

“No, ma’am. Agent Morgan, even in normal circumstances, is the established tactician of the unit. In this instance and others even while he was in the unit chief position, Agent Hotchner deferred to Agent Morgan’s expertise regarding SWAT deployment and tactical decisions.” 

+++

“Do you believe it was Agent Kassmeyer’s fault that Agent Hotchner’s family was compromised?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m sure you’ll hear it more than once today, but torture is seemingly endless. Agent Kassmeyer took everything Foyet threw at him and still refused to compromise the Hotchner family’s location. There was nothing more he could have done to prevent Foyet from making contact with Haley Hotchner.” 

+++

“Did it occur to you to join Agent Hotchner as he separated himself from the team?”

“No, ma’am. And I disagree with your characterization of the situation - Agent Hotchner did not separate himself from the team. He pursued a lead with Agent Kassmeyer, who requested his presence as he was dying in the back of that ambulance.” 

She purses her lips. “What was your next plan of action?” 

You take a moment. 

This is the hard part. 

“Once the scene was in-process, I took a car and followed the ambulance to the hospital. When I arrived, Agent Anderson had already found Agent Hotchner a car, and he was in touch with the team regarding the next plan of action.” You wet your lips. “He then received a call from Foyet.”

+++

Her eyes remain cold and detached as you walk her through the conversations with Foyet, with Haley. With a certain degree of frustration, you push through your tears as you relay her last words, the gunfire. 

“I don’t remember exactly what happened after that.” You stare down at your hands, focused on the way the pad of your thumb feels against the side of your middle finger. “I remember pulling up to the house and getting out of the car...The - the door was open. I found Agent Hotchner while I was clearing the ground floor. Foyet was dead, at that point.” 

“What had happened to Foyet?”

“He’d been...beaten.” Your voice cracked. That was an understatement. “I subdued Agent Hotchner until the rest of the team arrived.” You press the tissue to your eyes for a second. “He was...understandably distraught.” 

Strauss examines you across the table, sees the emptiness in your eyes behind your tears, the grief, the sorrow, the horror of having to relive it. “What happened after that?”

“I realized,” you continue, “that I hadn’t found Jack. I remembered what Agent Hotchner told him, and we both got up and ran to his home office, off the kitchen. I found Jack Hotchner in the storage trunk beside Agent Hotchner’s desk.” You look up at her. “I can’t begin to articulate the relief I felt at seeing him alive.” 

+++

“When Haley’s sister, Jessica Brooks, arrived, I kept her away from the crime scene for the sake of her health and safety. She met up with Agent Jareau, who had Jack at that point. I -” You stutter and swallow before taking a breath. “I returned upstairs.” 

Your voice shakes, and tears make their way down your cheeks again. 

“I returned upstairs, where Agent Morgan was sitting with Haley’s body. There wasn’t - I couldn’t, um - I couldn’t do anything for her. She was gone even before Aaron - Agent Hotchner - arrived.” 

The representative from the IG’s office looks a little misty now, as does the deputy director. You press your hands to your face. 

“It was... She’d been shot at least three times - that much we heard over the phone.” You voice breaks, but you forge ahead. “She had also been stabbed...There was…” You take a quick breath, but it’s not enough. “...so much blood.” 

Strauss’s voice is quiet when she asks. “What was the nature of your relationship with Haley Hotchner?”

You look her square in the eye, not shy about the grief washing over you in waves. “She was one of my best friends. My boss’s wife, the mother of a boy I consider my family.” You turn your gaze to the table, the fake wood grain suddenly very interesting. “I will miss her beyond measure.” 

A breath echoes around the room as the others collect themselves. 

“I have one last question for you.” 

“Yes, ma’am?”

“What do you think would have happened if Agent Hotchner had allowed George Foyet off of that floor?”

You level her with a look that makes her sit back. “He would have killed Jack. He would have killed me.” 

“And?” There’s one more thing you have to say. 

“He would have let Agent Hotchner live, and he would have told him it was his fault.” 

The rest of the room looks shaken, and you know you’re right. Even beyond the profile, Foyet’s obsession with Aaron was clear. 

Why can’t they see it? 

“Thank you, Agent. No further questions.” 

+++

When you get back to the roundtable room, JJ is there with Derek. You offer them an approximation of a smile. 

“What are you still doing here?” Derek asks. “You can go home, if you want.” 

You shake your head. “I’ll be here until Aaron’s interview is finished.” 

+++

You can’t help the way your face lights up when Jack sprints across the bridge in the middle of the afternoon, leaping ahead of Aaron. 

Rounding the table, you kneel and open your arms to him, letting out an oof when he runs into you full-tilt. You can’t help but smile. 

But then again, Jack has always had that effect on you. 

“Good morning, bud.” 

He wraps his arms around your neck, still impossibly tight. “Hi.” 

You stand in the doorway until Aaron gets there. Jack’s familiar travel bag is slung over his shoulder, and he tosses it down in the corner. “Emily’s in right now, and then it’s you.”

Aaron nods, taking a seat. You follow suit, reclining in your chair so Jack can relax against your chest. The rest of the team watches you both, equal parts mournful and hopeful. 

JJ watches the way Aaron presses a kiss to the side of his son’s head right before he sits down, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder for balance.

Penelope watches the way Jack clings to you, playing with the buttons on your shirt, comfortable and safe. 

Derek watches the way Aaron watches you, brown eyes soft and absent of concern. 

Dave watches the way you watch Aaron, can see the way your fingers ache to reach out for him, to take care of him. 

They all watch the three of you - understanding, but not knowing. 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless​ @jdougl-love​ @sageellsworth05​ @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch

[flowerwrites06]

diamond trail II — myg

Plot: The theft of his most elusive and mystery possession leads to a web of trickery that threatens every large syndicate in the country. (alternative: Yoongis’ prized possession is stolen but he’s not the only gang leader being betrayed)

Pairing(s): Mafia Boss!Yoongi x Consigliere!Y/N

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 3k+

Genre: Mafia | Marriage | Mature Themes/Fluff/Smut

Tags & Warnings: criminal activities, mentions of past abuse (outside of the pair), explicit smut (spanking and very brief anal play), mild violence, coarse language, prostitution. 

Authors Note: the planning got a little wack but i think i’ve got it down now. hope you enjoy this part and make sure a like/reblog/comment go a long way! 

Morning turned dull and dreary as the cloud hung heavy in the sky. The driveway darkened from and the grass shimmered from the thunderstorms last night but the weather didn’t relent in its greyness. You wore a deep emerald sweater dress, black coat and warm hat while the guards prepared your car.

Yoongi stayed quiet throughout the entire ride, hand still holding yours. Except his mind wandered to mentally prepare himself. Gang leaders don’t always agree to meetings nor do they end up well for anyone. You were the glue that held them together at this point.

Consiglieres’ normally always have good connections but your web was unbeatable. The amount of time you were able to keep Yoongis’ business on the down low and manage to keep it running in the same line. It was one of the reasons he fell in love. The aura of magnetism around you that attracted so many to trust you. Aside from your looks, the way you spoke and held yourself was something any experienced gang leader would be careful not to test.

Their meeting was in a neutral zone. In the private basement of Petunia Valley, a small florist shop situated near the outskirts of the city. Namjoons’ car already arrived to the scene. Daisy, the owner, had some trouble with gang members in the past. She came to you for some aid and you suggested that making a front for Gae Pa would put Daisy under their protection. Making it an act of war or treason if gang members attacked her.

She’d been safe ever since which gladdened your heart.

As you and Yoongi entered the flower shop, Daisy gave you the biggest smile. “Ma’am! It’s good to see you.” She bowed.

“Everything’s ready for the meeting.” You nodded towards the stairs.

“Yes, ma’am.” She nodded enthusiastically. “The tall man with the shades came in. I’ve given them some jasmine tea to calm themselves since he looked antsy. No funny business or fights though.”

You smiled and patted her shoulder. She looked so much happier than the crying girl with bruises littered on her face three years ago. “You’re looking well.”

Her pale cheeks flushed in pink. “All thanks to you, ma’am.”

Another car pulled up at the entrance.

“Let’s get this over with, sweetheart.” Yoongi gently rubbed your arm. He gave an extremely brief smile to Daisy before guiding you down the stairs.

Thankfully the basement had a faint floral scent to it with that tiny hint of fertilizer than you both hoped wouldn’t get too pungent as the hour passed. Namjoon sat at the wooden table, tattooed hand clasping the adorable pink floral cup with a clear grimace on his face. Clearly that jade bracelet messed with his head as much as the diamond gun did Yoongi.

The shades were probably to hide hangover or lack of sleep. Or both.

You sat at the head of the table being the meeting coordinator. One of Namjoons’ bodyguards poured you a cup of tea by his boss’ request. “Thank you.” You smiled.

“I’ll have some too,” Yoongi said.

“Get your own fucking tea.” Namjoon narrowed his gaze.

“Gentlemen.” You warned, spreading silence between the two leaders. Taking the teapot, you poured a cup for Yoongi and gently placed it in front of him.

Jimin walked down with three bodyguards crowded around him. He sat on the far end of the table, purposely ignoring both Yoongi and Namjoons’ presence. Being the only leader without a sigil or history, he must’ve been trying to keep an air of intimidation up. “Let’s get this over with.” He straightened out his coat.

“Ass without a sigil thinks he can scare us, Min.” Namjoon scoffed. “You believe that?”

“No I don’t, Kim.”

You sighed in slight exasperation. “I’ve called you three here because our reputations are being toyed with. By an elusive thief who is trying to create tension between the gangs.”

“Would you really consider that ones’ business as a gang?” Namjoon tilted his head to Jimin.

“I work and have significant influence and following in the underworld. So yes, it counts as a gang.”

“I was asking the real gang consigliere, kid.” Namjoon smiled bitterly.

“Namjoon…he’s right.” You explained to the best of your thinning patience.

“You might have to explain things to him a little slower, my lady.” Jimin smirked. “He tends to focus more on the curves of your breasts than anything you say.”

“Little brat wants to die today,” Yoongi seethed, teeth grinding.

Jimin scoffed, plump lips curling upwards. “This is a neutral zone. You can’t kill me unless you risk this entire flower shop getting burned down.”

“I’ll decide what happens to this shop and the ones who harm it, Mr. Park.” Your gaze sharpened on the man. “I’m sure your wife and kids wouldn’t appreciate having their vacation stopped short because you wouldn’t play nicely in a meeting.” All Jimins’ bodyguards standing ready to fight and the man himself holding a clipped tongue, lost for words. “Bora Bora, is it? Lovely place.”

Jimin bit down the insides of his cheeks, chest rising and falling as frustration twisted his usually pretty features. He raised his chin to maintain his pride. “Continue.”

Yoongi tried to hide the impressed smirk that desperately tried to tug at his lips.

“Thank you.” You tapped the side of your cup. “I don’t have enough information to pinpoint a culprit yet but it is definitely someone notorious to like chaos in the country. Our best lead could be to suspect Jwi Pa but it’s too obvious.”

“Don Byeol doesn’t really share her grandfathers’ viewpoints anymore,” Namjoon said. “If we had another Sapphire Assassin scandal on our hands, we’d probably all be dead by now. This thief wants us to die by killing each other by your theory.”

“Is it really for power if it’s so indirect?” Yoongi asked. “The way this guy’s working is like he just wants the chaos for sport.”

“Why don’t we just settle our differences now?” Jimin asked.

“‘cause you’re refusing to give me my sisters’ bracelet, dumbass.”

“I bought it fair and square.”

“There is a way I can get more information. During a charity event, I heard that a street gang leader rose up to the ranks by killing the Don of Mal Pa. A sort of revolution since the previous Don was getting a little too obsessed with creating piles than actual influence,” you said.

Mal Pa hadn’t been too popular ever since Don Chun Hei passed away. She didn’t have a lot of children so the leadership moved to underbosses and then associates. The meaningfulness of the gangs’ importance subdued and eventually became obsolete. However, the gang was still alive and apparently running under unknown leadership. It was a good place to start.

Except you would have to dig deeper if you were looking into a mystery gang like this. You’d have to visit him.

“I know an information broker who might be able to gain a lot of information of Mal Pa and the thievery itself.”

Yoongi didn’t need too long before his expression softened in realization. “Absolutely not.”

“Why? What’s wrong with him?” Namjoon asked.

“He asks for information as his currency. Keeps his connections strong so you can only work with him a few times in dire circumstances.” The last time you had to gain information on the large robbery in Gae Pa and had to tell him that your father and brother were still alive in Singapore. “He can help me track down the thief. He might even be able to name him exactly.”

Yoongi curled his fingers into tight fists. Kim Seokjin. Always asking for the right things to keep up his popularity and wealth. Information can get you anywhere from the top of the most expensive building to the bottom most slums of the city. The country ran on it and Seokjin was one of the monarchs who owned it. “Is this the only way?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Even Namjoon and Jimin stayed quiet, unable to really comment on the matter. The only person at risk in this situation would be you. You knew all kinds of information but there were different promises and deals made in terms of spreading news on people and networks in the underworld.

Yoongi stared at you in silence. A mixed look of concern and anger twisting his features. Just let it this be over.

***

Seokjin knew what he was doing when he made the deal. Best way to gain power without being seen is to take advantage of the one with the most connections. You were the top tier.

Another storm poured down into the city the same night as you travelled to Seokjins’ favorite restaurant. Road glistened like polished obsidian, reflecting the pink neon of the entrance sign. You drove in alone but measures were taken to ensure your utmost safety in the matter. With a deep breath, you walked through the restaurant with an air of confidence.

Seokjin sat at the booth, tapping the side of his sherry glass. When he noticed you arrive, a wide grin tugged from ear to ear. “Darling!”

You bit the inside of your cheek at the nickname. The tall male reached in and kissed both her cheeks softly before relaxing back onto the black booth.

“I haven’t heard from you since that massive robbery. Have you been purposely avoiding me?” Pillowy lips jutted into a pout.

“I have to keep my peoples’ funds in check. You tend to ask for a high price even in casual visits.”

Seokjin chuckled, the warm lights casting an eerie shadow on his eyes. Black orbs of a demon. “I’m a bit of a workaholic.” He shrugged. “So what did you need tonight on such short notice?”

You waved your hand for a drink. “Someone is trying to create havoc with two gang leaders and a restaurant chain owner.”

“Ah yes, the robbed auction. The underground newsletters were brimming.” Seokjin failed to hide the excitement flooding through his veins as his face turned smug. “So much anger. Two dreadful murders already.” He looked at his nails with a forced saddened expression. “So gory, your people.”

“Well—” Your eyes flickered up to the waitress who gave you a cup of earl grey tea.

“On the house, ma’am.” The waitress grinned before turning on her heel.

“So terribly famous.” Seokjin smirked.

“My suspicions are on Mal Pa. I had a theory since the leader used to be in a street gang. There’s a lot of whispers that they have some kind of vendetta to all gangs. It’s a good place to start without getting traced.” You didn’t want to voice those rumors to Yoongi or Namjoon since it had no basis yet. But with the way Seokjin smiled at you knowingly, you knew that was a lead.

Thunder struck, silver bolt flickering against the blackened sky. You used the warmth of the tea to bring you some comfort even though all you really wanted was to snuggle up in bed for night. “You know something, yes?”

“So long as you understand the natures of this transaction.”

Anxiety crept at the back of your mind, like thorn vines climbing up an aged building. More thunder boomed across the skies almost making you jump. You blinked slowly and breathed deep. “I do.”

“Good,” Seokjin said. Long fingers intertwined, business stance with a ready breath. “Jeon Jungkook.”

“Jeon Jungkook?” You shook your head.

“That’s the current leader of Mal Pa. A former street goon who was apparently asking for the previous gang leaders’ aid. They refused so Jeon took it upon himself for justice. Got a bunch of people and trashed the entire place. Killed the Don along with it.” Seokjin traced the brim of his glass. “If anyone has an agenda against the Dons of this country, it’s him.”

“How do I get in contact with him?”

Seokjin laughed like you spoke the funniest joke in the world. “Sweetheart, even if you offered your body and soul to the man, he wouldn’t talk to you. He hates the higher ups.”

“I wasn’t always a higher up.” Your origins started in the streets just like Jungkook. The smell of garbage and cheap perfume lingering in the air. Hiding in the closet with earbuds while mother worked. Taking over the family business and expanding your horizon with nothing but the clothes on you back and sweat on your skin. “Is there a way I can get through to him?”

Seokjin sighed. “For a man with a supposed higher purpose, he visits this courtesan house quite regularly.” He grabbed a napkin and wrote down the name of the establishment. “If you meet him there while he’s high on opium then you might be able to gain some information.”

“Nectar Oak.” Your heart jumped up to your throat. How long had it been since you saw or heard that name before? The feeling of their silk uniform still lingered on your skin.

“I understand this is no strange place to you,” Seokjin spoke.

You swallowed the small lump in your throat. “A thing of the past.” You buried the napkin into your purse. “What’re your terms?”

“I’ve asked this of you before. Information on a gang leader requires a hefty price. You can’t delay me any longer since we found out about your father and brothers’ hideout.” That same sinister smirk tugged at his lips. “What were the true terms of your marriage with Don Min Yoongi?”

A cold flood washed over your form, welcoming unwanted twists and lurches in your stomach from the time years ago. Time when things weren’t as warm as they are now. You kept a steady face, the corner of your lips twitching just the slightest. “I was a worker at the courtesan house,” you spoke softly. “Before they pay you for customers, they train you with different workers in the house. My first real customer was Yoongi. He was very kind but distant.”

You took a deep breath. “One night he came in and he said that he was going to reserve me. I didn’t know customers could truly do that. It meant he paid for everything and I got to spend time outside of the house. Working in a place like that, you tend to gain many connections and information very easily. It allowed me to earn a place in Yoongis’ radar. He’d come to me for information and personal activities.”

Seokjin took a tiny sip of his sherry, eyes fixated on you like the excitement would stop if he blinked.

Sadness loomed over your face. “I got pregnant. I told him as soon as he arrived to the house.” You sucked in your bottom lip. “He looked so happy…but—then he never came back again. For seven months, I never saw him. I already prepared to have the baby on my own until one morning, he came back. I learned that Gae Pa was going through a power struggle. When Min Areum murdered the Don, there was chaos. Questions on whether Yoongi deserved to have power—but then my pregnancy created all the more chaos.”

“He came to me and told me that he needed help.” You smiled a little to yourself. “He knew I had people I could talk to help with the associates trying to harass Yoongi. But I had to be part of the family. So he married me. We signed a legal agreement and I took down all the associates who dared to threaten Gae Pas’ true heir.”

“So the most popular couple in the underworld—” Seokjin rested back on the booth. “—is a marriage run on business and convenience. Not love.”

“I didn’t say there wasn’t any love.”

Seokjin hummed with a slight smile. “I’m sure there is.”

You suppressed the need to roll your eyes as you stood up from the booth. “Pleasure doing business with you, Kim.”

“Be sure to give Yoongi my love!”

***

“No, no, no. Absolutely fucking not. Not a chance.” Yoongi kept blabbering as the news finally reached the room. He curled up the sleeves of his white shirt, roughly raking through his hair. He turned and took a deep breath. Trying to protest more before turning away again in light stammers. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“You’re not killing anyone.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

The maids were ordered to work on the bedroom quarters while the living room reserved for their little argument. Yoongi clasped onto his hips, shaking his head. “We’re risking too much, baby. I don’t think it’s worth it. Even my mother would slap me in the head if she saw this.”

“It’s not just about the gun anymore.” You padded closer to him, rubbing his arm. “There’s a high chance he’s gonna try something else. Something worse than a robbery. It’s already happening, there’s been two murders. We can’t wait for that to happen to us.”

Yoongi let out a deep sigh, nerves still aching from the tightness but at least information was registering in his head again. You were right. Jungkook could have Namjoon or Jimin assassinated in an instant. The underworld will be able to trace Gae Pa down immediately. Right now, he was playing but it could very well get serious and bite them back in the ass for ignoring it. “I just hate that you have to go back there again. Wearing those same clothes.” He swallowed down thickly. “You’ve done so much to get me out of problems and now it’s almost back to square one.”

You reached in and kissed the back of his neck. “It’s not gonna be like last time. We’re stronger now. And this is my home as much as it is yours.”

“I know—”

“So I’m going to protect it no matter what. Okay?” You moved so you stood in front him, nose nudging against his. “We’ll protect it together.”

Yoongi smiled, cupping your cheeks and kissing you on the forehead. “What did you ask you for?” A part of him didn’t wish to know. The fear of personal information in the slimy hands of that weasel made his insides lurch but he knew the weight would lifted off of you.

“Our terms of marriage.” You smiled sadly. “How it actually happened.”

“Did he ask about the baby?”

“Actually no—he seemed pretty satisfied with the story itself.” Or Seokjin figured on what might’ve happened if their child wasn’t public nor were there any rumors of a Gae Pa heir.

“We’re not talking to him ever again.”

“So long as we don’t get into trouble.” You chuckled under your breath. Even entertaining the idea of a trouble free life was too idealistic.

“Then we’re never getting rid of him.” Yoongi sighed.

Fear still lingered, twisting his stomach in knots at the events to come but his mind knew better. You were both stronger than the time Yoongi was taking the chair as Don. This was a small bump in the road. Nothing more.

<< prev chap | next chap >> 

[savagesbonergarage]

Heat | Part II

Savage Opress x Reader

Part I

(a/n: This takes place immediately after part 1, so enjoy! Sorry for the delay, hopefully it was worth it because uh...this be some filthy trash garbage my dudes. I have my url for a reason and now ya’ll get to find out why.)

(warnings: FILTH! ABSOLUTE TRASH GARBAGE! NOT FOR YOU NON-ADULTS! cock worshipping, grinding, oral (giving and receiving), cum eating, thigh riding, some blood, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, Savage is a gentleman and he gets to feel good, love that for him, Maul is totally aware of everything that is going on but you can ignore that if you want, lol.)

The scent of arousal hung hot in the evening air, permiating the space with burning desire. Your teasing had been relentless, giving him the show of a lifetime from across the room as you pleasured and tasted yourself in front of him, encouraging him to yearn for your mouth on every sweet inch of his throbbing cock that could hardly be contained by his fitted shorts, and yet Savage barely stirred from his position on the ground. He had voiced his desire for you, clearly so enthralled by your actions that despite the potential dangers from his rut, he was willing to hold back as much as he could if only to get a taste of you.

Everything he felt was reflected in his glowing golden eyes; his rage at himself, his carnal lust, his admiration for you, his love, his desperation to keep every primal urge within him suppressed to ensure your safety, and the fear that he wasn't disciplined enough to guarantee it. He was a beast after all, a manufactured monster bred to be nothing but brutal and unforgiving in the way he handled creatures of flesh. Only around you did he loathe this cruel reality forced upon him. The strength he was given seemed less like a gift from the witches of his home and more like the crutch it was proving to truly be, a preventative measure to keep him from loving another person. At any given moment he killed without a thought, mindlessly exterminating his foes at every turn in his quest to aid himself and his brother to fortune and power, and now he was here; unexpectedly in love with someone he never thought he could have these feelings for.

You knew his struggle and you admired him for how much his concern influenced his actions, however it was painful for you to witness him like this. He tried to conceal it, but you could sense the immense effort it took to keep him from ravaging you the way his burning blood pleaded him to. His resistance was more than enough to prove to you that Savage Opress was the man you desired more than anyone and anything. To go against his very nature in order to protect you was admirable, so very admirable and appreciated, but you believed that he had been through enough strain in his unfair and calloused life. You wanted to see him let go, to release all his inhibitions and allow himself the pleasure he more than deserved, even if you were to be hurt in the process. Hell, you would gladly die for him if it meant he would attain some semblance of genuine happiness.

He only had some idea of what you had planned for him, and he would soon discover that your inexperience wouldn't reflect in your performance. The pads of your bare feet sounded with little smacks against the solid floor as you stepped closer and closer towards him with an almost feline-like swagger, the mere yearning that radiated from your gleaming form on its own nearly being enough to send him over the edge. Any other man would be begging and pleading with all the desperation in the galaxy by now, but the zabrak was determined. Every ounce of his faith belonged to you and you alone.

Your hands met his broad, burning chest the moment your knees hit the ground before him. His breath hitched as your fingertips trailed across his collarbones and around the back of his neck, lightly stroking the base of the horn that protruded from the apex of his skull. The sensation must have surprised him, as his eyes fluttered back briefly before his staggard breaths resumed and his golden irises met yours. There was no need for words anymore. The moonlight bathed your sillouettes as you pulled yourself forward and captured his plump bottom lip between yours, relishing in its softness. Your hands were compelled to return to the warmth of his chest to feel the rapid beating of his two hearts in tandem with your own as the kiss deepened, releasing sighs and moans from the both of you between passionate smacks. 

He palmed the meat of your ass and the back of your thighs in his large hands and kneaded in between delightful spanks that had you yelping into his mouth, the sharpness of his claws grazing the plush skin there just before the point of puncturing, then he proceeded to lift you onto his lap with seemingly no effort as he pulled your hips tightly against his pelvis. A loud mewl escaped your throat, activated by the sudden sensation of his hard, impressive length pressing your most sensitive spot through your lace panties. The thin fabric of both of your underclothes were the only barrier preventing his cock from prodding at your entrance, and Maker, the enticement was simply divine. The kisses became hungrier and hungrier as instinct beckoned you to rock your hips, resulting in an indescribable bliss from sliding back and forth against him with the little tugs from the tight lace rubbing directly on your clit threatening to make you come undone if you didn’t pace yourself. This action combined with the stimulation you gave yourself before was becoming dangerously evident, as each movement left a stamp of warm wetness until the outline of Savage’s dick was completely soaked in your arousal.

You felt his cock twitch beneath you, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to have it buried inside to the hilt while he groaned and crushed his lips against your throat, biting just hard enough to leave tender marks across your skin. He was being as careful as he could, even in this moment. This man, oh, this man. He deserved the entire galaxy and more. Nothing was going to hold you back from giving him the most blissful sensation he had ever experienced, not now, not ever. You lifted your hips and reached your hand underneath the wet fabric to grip the width of his cock, which elicited a growl from deep within his chest that was unlike anything you had ever heard. He leaned back, propping himself onto his elbows as he removed his hands from you and clenched his fists. His eyes darted about rapidly before settling on your hand, the beast within becoming more difficult for him to contain. He moaned your name between bated breaths.

“Yes?” You purred softly, wrapping your hand almost completely around the base of his girth. You could barely touch the tip of your thumbnail to the tip of your longest digit. Oh my stars.

He writhed, your simplest touch shooting sparks of pleasure through him. He became more and more unhinged with every move you made, shouting curses when you reached lower to gently cup his massive balls. You massaged them with care, in awe by their sheer weight, unable to comprehend how he lived every moment of his life hauling such a sensitive package around. He pounded the sides of his fists into the ground, leaving significant condensed cracks in the stone. Your heart skipped, knowing that this teasing was likely becoming more like torture for him the longer he had to bear it. It was high time you got to business.

You hooked your fingers beneath the waistband of his shorts and pulled, slowly revealing more and more of his remarkable shaft until more effort was needed to tug the obnoxious article of clothing over the ridge of the head, the mere force of the action sending it springing with enough velocity that if you had been eye-level with it, it would have socked you in the face. Not that you would have minded, no, not one bit. Your eyes were comically wide, your gaze remaining unmoved even as you backed away and lowered yourself between his legs to marvel at the sight. Savage’s cock was nothing short of incredible, easily the length of your forearm and dripping with precum. Intimidating as it was, you were still determined. You carefully gripped the base of it again, feeling your face flush in anticipation for what was to come. Your soft lips met the tip and kissed away the dot of wetness there, beckoning a resounding moan from the zabrak that surely echoed throughout the entire palace.

Your name escaped his lips again, followed by another string of desperate curses. Music, such blissful music to your ears, and so encouraging. A dislocated jaw and stretched esophagus was going to be more than worth it. You looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and smiled.

“Mmm, you’re so good to me, Savage...” You moaned as you planted kisses all the way down to the base and back up again, eliciting more enticing sounds from him. “Let me do something good for you.”

He didn’t have much time to respond as you quickly wrapped your mouth around the head of his dick, careful to keep your teeth from grazing him. You flicked and swirled your tongue around it, savoring the delectible salty taste as the noise that erupted from him was likely to have been captured by the ears of every hearing organism in all of Sundari. You opened your jaw wider and wider with every bob of your head until there was no possible way of fitting more of him inside without bursting your pharynx. Ignoring the tears as they came, you maintained your rhythm until you salivated enough that it dripped all down his balls and thighs, using the lubrication to pump the base with both hands as you continued sucking him off. 

His breathing was ravenous and he gasped for air as though he were drowning in waves of pleasure, unable to form any semblance of coherent speech that wasn’t a filthy expletive or a long, dragged out whine. His hand moved to the base of your skull and become entangled in your tousled hair as you worked, although he didn’t pull you in further. He never felt the need to. You quickened the pace, and in hardly any time at all he was tightening his grip on your neck before he stilled and held you in place as your mouth was filled with hot cum; so much of it that you couldn’t breathe and needed to retract your head with a pop as he continued to release ropes of it all over your face. You shut your eye just in time. 

Savage, meanwhile, was in complete and utter ecstasy. The literal and figurative load he was burdened with was finally relieved for the moment and he allowed himself to relax entirely, but not for long. His undivided attention belonged to you, your ragged breathing in tandem once again.

“Are you alright?” He implored with genuine concern.

“Yeah,” you smiled as your cheeks flushed with embarassment, “Don’t look at me, I’m a mess.”

He gazed at you with a fondness stronger than ever before, marvelling at your delicate form in the shadow of the moonlight.

“A beautiful mess.”

Before you could retort, he stood up in all his glorious nakedness and carried you bridal-style to the bed, gently laying you down. 

“I’ll get you cleaned up.”

He left briefly for the refresher and returned with some damp rags, then carefully wiped your face. The smell of his cum was so unique and potent, you were sure that a rag wasn’t enough to eliminate it completely, not that you minded. You could have sworn that your skin was softer in the spots where it had been as well. 

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly, suddenly more meek now that the deed was done. Your heart was still racing and your face was still hot, which didn’t go unnoticed by the handsome zabrak that positioned himself over you as he started nibbling and planting kisses behind your ear while he whispered.

“How many times have you imagined doing that? Because that was...”

You moaned in delight, the sensation of his hot breath on your neck more tantalizing than you anticipated.

“More than I can count.”

He sighed into your ear, sending a chill of anticipation down your spine as he worked his hands under the straps of your bra, tugging away.

“I see. We might have that in common...”

The lace was torn from your body as though it was made from nothing at all, leaving your breasts bare to him for the first time. Savage made quick work of palming them in his warm hands, lightly grazing your hardened buds with his thumbs as he stifled your shriek with his lips. Your tongues darted out at the same time as he positioned his knee between your legs, offering his warm thigh for you to grind on to which you hastily obliged. Before long the sheets beneath you were mildly soaked, parts of it cooling down after being exposed to the air and surprising you when you writhed over it. You released a needy, drawn-out moan into Savage’s mouth.

“Oh, my priceless treasure...” he rasped against your skin, moving his lips down to envelop one of your buds, “Let me devour you. I won’t stop until you beg.”

True to his word, he flicked his hand under the sopping garment and ripped it off all in once swift movement, rendering you completely bare to him. A shiver coursed through you as he slid backwards and rested the palms of his hands along your hips, pushing up against the small of your back to coax your thighs apart. You watched as his golden eyes gleamed in the darkness, taking in the sight of his feast with a beastial hunger.

“Savage...”

His hot mouth suffocated the nub just above your entrance as he sucked, flicked, savored and fucked your pulsing pussy with his face. You screamed, clutching the pillow above your head as he hit every nerve and fold with prescision. His tongue danced and darted inside, nearly sending you over the edge right then as you rode his chin, bucking your hips as the sensations grew stronger and stronger. You gripped his horns as your release crept closer and closer, unbothered by the fact that one was starting to draw blood along your thigh. You swore as your orgasm crashed over you like a maelstrom, but Savage didn’t cease his ministrations, causing you to shake from the overstimulation. You came harder and harder until you finally screamed “stop!” at the top of your lungs and he obeyed, moving up beside you to hold you tightly in his arms. You shivered and panted as though you had just been rescued from a frozen lake, though every inch of you was burning.

Savage pulled a blanket over the both of you as you eventually came down from your high and buried your face in his chest. He rubbed your back as you kissed his beautiful tattooed neck and sighed, elated.

“There’s no way what I did to you felt anywhere near as amazing as what you just did to me.”

“I disagree,” he retorted, pressing his erection against your thigh as he chuckled, “There’s your proof.”

You smiled against his skin, also feeling the heat return in the pit of your stomach. Sliding up to face him, you claimed his lips with yours and relished your taste again, the perverted action making you just as warm and wet as before. After pressing against his shoulders to get him to lay completely flat on his back, you continued your passionate kisses while you straddled him. The zabrak started to sit up as you guided his cock to your entrance, however you gently pushed him back down. 

“Remember when I said I’m the kind of prey that likes to be devoured?”

He hesitated with his reply, but ultimately submitted to your yearning.

“I know it for myself, now.”

You leaned over to plant a loving kiss against his lips, then raised your hips again. Your breath hitched as you both watched the tip of his cock gradually disappear inside, stretching your walls little by little. Savage helped you ease onto him by placing one hand under your thigh and one on your hip, allowing you to decide the pace with reassurance that he would ensure your comfort if it became too much. You felt him fill you completely as you eventually slid all the way down to the base of his shaft, now entirely sheathed within you. 

“Oh, fuck,” he rasped, overcome with the sensation of your tight cunt squeezing his cock into oblivion. 

It was unreal. The pain wasn’t terrible, and if anything, you rather liked it. You leaned back a little and supported yourself on both of his thighs as you slowly began riding him, immediately falling in love with the pleasure the ridges of his cock provided. With every stroke another point of ecstacy was discovered, sending ripples of gratification throughout the both of you. The room soon became filled with a symphony of sighs and moans, only increasing in volume and frequency as the pace quickened. Savage was amazed by how well you were taking his cock, however he wasn’t about to leave all the work to you. He carefully sat up and rolled you onto your back, taking control of the thrusts as he did so. Your pussy tightened even more from the sheer indescribable pleasure, involuntarily sending you both closer to release. 

“Where-” Savage began, but before he could finish you wrapped your legs even tighter around his torso and cupped his cheek, commanding his attention with your pleading eyes.

“Please.”

Another instance where no further words were needed. His unsure expression was rendered steady by your calming gaze, and he understood. If the family were to grow sooner rather than later, then neither of you would mind. He gripped your hips harder as he quickened the pace more rapidly, and you felt yourself violently come undone at relatively the same moment he did, the added sensation of his cum filling you sending plumes of pleasure that you never thought possible enveloping your entire body. Your walls convulsed, milking his cock for all he was worth as he collapsed on top of you. The only word he could muster was your name, which sounded divine as it breathlessly escaped his lips. 

You held him against you for a long while, stroking the spaces between his long horns while he rested.

“Feeling better?”

He glanced up at you with an inquisitive eye and smirked.

“For now.”

You placed a kiss on the top of his head and smiled against his skin.

“My services are available all day every day, so it would be a shame if that wasn’t taken advantage of.”

Savage groaned with delight and rose above you, blocking the cascading moonlight with his shadow.

“You promise?”

You lifted your hand up to his cheek and he held it there, placing a gentle kiss on your palm.

“I promise, if you promise not to hold back this time.”

You winked, and the zabrak purred against your chest.

“Believe me, I won’t.”

***

The stench was rancid, and there was seemingly no escape. The toxic fumes of Lotho Minor would be most welcomed if his only choice of air was between that and the absolute pungent smell of the mindless rutting occuring just a few rooms down from his. Normally, he’d allow his rage to fuel his ambition, to become the source of his drive for power, however...this was different. He sensed everything. There was no blocking it, no ignoring the excruciating way she moaned for him, how she writhed and cringed and unfolded beneath him as he pleasured her, no, it was all-encompassing. Every sigh was a painful reminder of everything he no longer had, what he could no longer provide. It beckoned those forbidden thoughts to emerge from confinement, those thoughts long buried, thoughts of how things might have been different...

Had Kenobi not taken everything from him, might she have chosen him instead? Would he have had the advantage over his brother if he could have promised the same things? Protection, pleasure, a family...

No. No, perhaps not. He wasn’t like his brother, and never was. Savage, too, was brought about by darkness, however he was a being still capable of love.

Maul was not.

This was simply the way of things, and he could not change it. He wouldn’t kill his brother. He wouldn’t even kill the woman he still yearned for.

Perhaps there were some chains that were impossible to break.

[uk-news-talking-politics]

Everything you need to know about day one of Brexit

By Ian Dunt

Oh sweet Christ not Brexit again.

Yes, you will never escape. It will never be over. Decades from now, as your wrinkled fingers grasp the remote for your 3D holo-viewer, the main news item will still be about Brexit.

At least we got a break during the coronavirus emergency.

Yep, say what you like about pandemics, but at least they take trade talks off the front pages. Still, it's back now. We leave at the end of the year. And deal or no-deal, things at the border are going to be very different.

OK lay it out for me.

For decades we have had frictionless trade with Europe in the customs union and single market. The customs union got rid of tariffs, which are taxes on goods entering a territory, and the single market harmonised regulations, which means goods are made to the same standards. Once you're outside of them, you need checks at the border to make sure people are paying the right tax and complying with the regulations.

And that's what's about to happen?

Exactly. And this will apply regardless of whether there is a deal or not. I want to issue a word of warning before we go any further: It's a horror show. The level of tediousness here is off the scale. This is like someone came up with a super-powered serum for the concept of bureaucracy and then injected it directly into your bloodstream. But you didn't turn into Chris Evans in Captain America, you turned into Jeff Goldblum in The Fly. The worst things are the acronyms. Everything has an acronym. But you need to get your head around it in order to understand what's going to happen to us next month.

I don't care. I hate this. I want this conversation to stop.

You can't, it's too late. You are trapped here with me and the acronyms. OK so here's the basic problem, the one from which all others follow. Our customs system currently processes around 55 million declarations a year. In 2021, it will process around 270 million. It needs to massively ramp up capacity.

It's just as well the government has such a good track record of implementing complex IT projects at speed then.

Quite. To be fair, the government has put a lot of effort into this, albeit belatedly. More than 35 government departments and public bodies are involved, including HM Revenue & Customs (HMRC), the Department for Environment, Food & Rural Affairs (Defra), the Home Office (HO), the Department for Transport (DfT), the Border and Protocol Delivery Group (BPDG) and the Transition Task Force (TTF).

Sweet Jesus the acronyms.

Actually, most of those are abbreviations, but let's not get caught up on details. We've barely scratched the surface. There are three key areas where the government needs to build capacity: IT systems to process the customs declarations, physical infrastructure at or near ports, and staff in government and the private sector to keep the customs system going.

That's a lot to do.

It is. But the government made things easier in one crucial respect: it delayed its own import declarations system until July next year.

What does that mean?

It means that stuff coming into Britain from Europe basically gets waved through. There are still technically customs requirements, but they've been pushed back six months. This allowed them to make sure goods would still enter the country and let them focus on trying to get the exports right.

It's hardly taking back control, is it?

No it isn't, but they're undertaking a systems-level change at an eye-watering timetable, so it was a necessary sacrifice.

Couldn't they have extended transition to prepare for this?

Yes they could, but chose not to. That's cost them. Covid seriously delayed preparations, dominated attention in business and government, paused ministerial decision-making and put communication with traders into deep-freeze over the summer.

So what are the biggest risks now?

The IT systems. There are 10 critical IT systems which are needed at the GB–EU border. Then there are the European systems which UK exporters will need to use to get access to the continent. We're not going to go into all of them here - we're going to massively simplify.

Thank heavens.

Don't worry, it'll still make your brain dribble out of your ears. We're also going to simplify by taking goods going from Britain to Northern Ireland off the table. That's its own separate hellscape. And we're going to focus on the Dover-Calais crossing. There are many others going from England to France, but this is the main route. It serves 'accompanied goods' - when a driver in a lorry takes the goods onto a ferry and then drives it off on the other side of the Channel. This is called RoRo, for roll-on-roll-off.

Acronym. Drink.

If you keep that up you'll be smashed by the end of the article and won't have any idea what I'm talking about.

I already have no idea what you're talking about.

Fair enough, drink away. The trouble with customs IT systems is this: Everyone needs to be filling in the right thing, in the right place, at the right time. If they don't, things break down. That doesn't just apply to the UK and French governments. It applies to exporters and importers, ports, hauliers and others. Customs is all or nothing. If one section is wrong, it's all wrong. Lorries are often full of lots of different consignments of goods from different exporters. Plenty of them travel with 100 individual separate consignments on them. This is called 'groupage'. So if one input of one customs form in one of those consignments is wrong, the whole lorry is delayed. And if that lorry is delayed, all the lorries behind it are delayed. The potential for breakdown is therefore very significant.

This is already making me anxious. It's like Jenga but it reaches all the way into the sky and is composed entirely of knives.

You also need to make sure that third party software used by places like the ports integrates with the government systems. And that assumes that the government IT systems actually work and have staff with the proper experience and training to operate them. And this too is interrelated. If one of the systems breaks down, it has a knock-on effect on the other systems. You keep seeing this same problem crop up. It's not one of error, exactly. It's about the consequence of the error, the knock-on effects of it.

How robust are those IT systems looking right now?

Not great. Some have been delayed indefinitely, some for a set period, some are in trials and some are online. But even when they're finished, you really want to give all the people using them time to understand them, to get used to them, so that when we leave transition there are as few mistakes as possible. All four industry representative bodies, including the Road Haulage Association (RHA) and the British International Freight Association (Bifa), have raised concerns about the government's level of preparedness, saying that they don't believe the border will be fully functioning by next month.

That's two more acronyms by my count.

I'm glad to see you sticking to the important information here. The trouble is that lack of government preparedness doesn't just affect it - it affects trader preparedness as well. If they're not getting clear communication from the government about what is happening and how it is happening, they don't know what to do. And the government has a bad record here. It has marched traders up the hill on no-deal several times over recent years, only to march them down again. Now many simply ignore it. Government communications have, until recently, centred on the "opportunities" of Brexit, which does nothing to indicate the urgency with which people need to make expensive and time-consuming changes. Even in October, just 45% of high-value traders who trade exclusively with the EU had started to invest in readiness.

Oh dear.

There are some reasons to be more optimistic. The first is that government communication has belatedly started to improve.  A new campaign in October was much better, telling traders that "time is running out". There's also one really important thing to remember about all this: it's not a long term problem. Brexit has plenty of those and they are severe, but this is not one of them. This is a short, sharp, embarrassing shock. Eventually, the market will adjust. People will see what happens in January and find ways around it so they can get their goods to market. Some people think that will happen very quickly indeed - no more than a month. Some think it'll take the first quarter of next year or longer. But very few people think it will last the whole year. What we're looking at here is the most dramatic, but also ultimately the most superficial, of Brexit impacts.

Starting to feel a bit tipsy now.

Cool, then it might be a good time to start talking about the IT systems.

No. Stop.

What?

I don't want to hear it. I want to get out.

It's too late. You're trapped here in an imaginary world in which I am talking to myself and explaining customs procedures. And in fact your resistance to this conversation probably points to some kind of deep-seated psychological trauma which I'm working my way through.

Dog carcass in alley this morning. Tyre tread on burst stomach.

Very good, Rorschach. So look, there are really four forms you need to remember. First, the import/export declaration. Second, the safety and security documentation. Third, the sanitary and phytosanitary measures for agricultural goods. And fourth, the system that collects these data sets and connects them to the lorry which is transporting the good.

What's in the import/export declaration?

They basically state what the good is, its value and how much duty you have to pay on it. It's the tax bit. It's all very complex, laborious and crammed full of technical minutiae but that's the executive summary. It needs to be lodged before the good gets to the French border.

How do you lodge it?

You do it through a UK system called the Customs Handling of Import and Export Freight, or Chief.

Drink.

This is a really old system and before Brexit was even a twinkle in Boris Johnson's eye, the UK planned to turn it off and migrate all traders to a new system called the Customs Declarations Service, or CDS.

Drink.

CDS was meant to replace Chief from January 2019 and then switch off altogether by March 2021, but there were repeated delays. So instead they're keeping Chief for trade between Britain and the EU and using CDS for trade between Britain and Northern Ireland, because it has the capacity for dual tariff fields. CDS is then going to be scaled up until it can deal with all the declarations.

No acronyms there.

Actually trade between Britain and Europe is called GB-EU and trade between Britain and Northern Ireland is called GB-NI, but let's not worry about that. The government insists that Chief now has an increased capacity that can handle 400 million annual declarations - way higher than the 265 million which are expected. HMRC has paid Fujitsu £85 million to provide technical support. But others aren't convinced. They're not sure it can handle the load and nervous that there isn't enough support if something goes wrong.

Very reassuring.

Isn't it. Remember that the importer on the EU side also has to be doing all of this - at the right time, in the right place - on the European customs system.

OK so what about the safety and security thing?

It's a document outlining what the good is, so it can be assessed for potential risks. Again, it's a long complex thing with multiple data fields. Like import/export, it has to be done in advance of the goods reaching Calais. It's submitted to the UK government via a new system called S&S GB.

Drink.

It must also be submitted to the EU member state's Import Control System, which is called ICS.

Drink. OK tell me about the sanitary pad things.

Sanitary and phytosanitary measures, or SPS.

Drink.

These are there to protect people, animals and plants from disease or pests. They cover products of an animal origin, like cheese, or meat, or fish, as well as live animal exports, plants and plant products, and even the wooden crates used to transport other types of goods. It's painstaking stuff, but I think, given the pandemic we're all going through, we all understand why it's important.

Yeah, fair enough. You've sold me. I'm totally on board with this stuff.

These kinds of goods have to enter Europe through specific Border Control Posts, or BCPs.

Drink.

And there they undergo some, or all, of a variety of checks. There's a documentary check for the official certification which travels with the good. There are identity checks, which provide a visual confirmation that the consignment corresponds to the documentation. And there's a physical check to verify the goods are compliant with the rules, for instance temperature sampling, or laboratory testing. You know that whole chlorine-washed chicken thing?

Sure.

Well this is where they check whether it has been and stop it getting into Europe if it has. But it's actually the documentary check which is the hardest part in terms of UK preparedness. It includes something called an Export Health Certificate, or EHC.

Drink. Jesus Christ.

These are documents which confirm that the product meets the health requirements of the EU. So they might say that the animal was vaccinated, for instance. Some products, like a cut of lamb, will just have one EHC. But others, like a chicken pizza, will have more than one.

We've talked about this before. People shouldn't put chicken on pizza.

You are wrong, it's a perfectly legitimate pizza topping, and in fact you are so wrong that I have started using chicken pizza as my trade-good shorthand. Chicken pizza is the new widgets.

What even are widgets?

No-one knows, that's why economists love them. A chicken pizza, however, is a composite good for the purposes of SPS. The chicken and the cheese are different animal products, so they would need separate export health certificates. And all these certificates have to be verified by an official veterinarian, or OV.

You're just messing me about now.

No seriously, they use that acronym. This whole area of public life has been radicalised into extreme acronym use. Anyway, the OV goes through the details, queries the documents and signs them off. But there's assistance from a person pulling together all the paperwork. They're called a Certification Support Officer, or…

I can't believe this.

...CSO. These guys are mostly in private practices, usually farming practices. It's not a big part of their workload - maybe 20% of what they do. But if you don't have those vets, you can't send the export. That would be catastrophic for the farming, food and hospitality sectors. And that's where we have an issue. There are restrictions on getting that many OVs up and running. There's a tight labour market for vets and the UK is highly reliant on Europeans coming over to do the job, but the end of free movement makes that much more difficult and expensive, as does the covid pandemic.

So what has the government done?

It pumped £300,000 into providing free training for the role. Many vets took it up. The number of qualified vets has jumped from 600 in February 2019 to 1,200 today. But that still leaves a capacity gap of 200.

Well that doesn't sound so bad.

No it doesn't, but when you start to scratch away at the figures, they fall apart. The 200 figure is the number of 'full time equivalent' qualified vets required. And if vets only spend about 20% of their time doing this, it means we'll actually need an extra 1,000 vets training in the additional qualification.

Oh dear.

Yep. Groups representing the sector are seriously worried about this. And as with customs, the smooth functioning of the border will rely on the importer on the EU side doing all the bits they're required to do too, by creating a record in the Trade Control and Expert System, or Traces NT.

Drink. OK, what's the fourth bit of IT?

Transport. This involves wrapping all the other forms together and attaching them to a vehicle. In the UK, we'll be doing this through something called the Goods Vehicle Movement Service, or GVMS.

Drink.

It links export declaration references together into one single Goods Movement Reference, or GMR.

Drink. Bloody hell man these people are out of control.

The GMR should come out like a barcode, a one-stop shop for all the tied-together information we've been discussing. GVMS will be needed for certain movements in January, particularly for trade with Northern Ireland, but it won't be a requirement of all imports until July. It's currently being tested and there are dark murmurs about its functionality from those who have come into contact with it. Mercifully, exporters into Europe on January 1st will be using the French system, SI Brexit. This was operational a year ago and has been fully tested several times.

Those lazy French with their useless romantic dispositions.

It's almost like they're a nation that cares about shopkeepers.

Speaking of which, how're British businesses going to deal with all this additional paperwork?

Many companies will be OK. Very big corporations are well ahead and in many cases have set up a European entity so that they can sell directly from their UK entity to the EU one. Then they'll probably just reflect the customs costs in a subtly increased retail price. Smaller companies who are used to exporting to the rest of the world outside of Europe also have an advantage. They're used to these kinds of things. The people who are most at risk are the small-to-medium-sized enterprises who have traded exclusively with Europe.

Small-to-medium-sized… Oh no.

Yeah, that's right. SMEs. Which, by the way, comprise the vast majority of companies in the UK. If you send just two or three loads of your product a month to Europe, it probably won't be worth the cost in manpower and money preparing for all this stuff. They'll likely just accept a shrinkage in their business. For many of them, the whole thing is a bafflement. Honestly, you read the guidance on all these systems and it's like it's in an alien code - a garbled assault of acronyms and complex systems. Many small firms, already suffering from covid, just throw up their hands in despair.

Bleak. It's always the little guys that get it.

Yes, although paradoxically, that actually presents one of the few reasons for optimism. Well, not optimism exactly, but a hope for least-badism. Now that so many people feel January will be chaotic, they might just decide not to bother trying to send anything. Goods will get stuck at a warehouse instead of on a truck.

Seriously? That's your good news? Aren't you just displacing disruption from the ports to other parts of the supply network?

Yes precisely. But there really are no good outcomes here.

Because if that doesn't happen, the system seizes up?

Yeah exactly. Lorries head to Dover then get held up because they don't have the correct paperwork. Then lorries behind those lorries get caught up, pushing the queue out, dominating Kent, creating a huge singular blockage. The government's own Reasonable Worst Case Scenario, or RWCS…

Drink.

... estimates that between 40% and 70% of lorries may not be ready for border controls, leading to queues of up to 7,000 trucks.

But that would only be going out right? The stuff we bring in to the country would be unaffected because we're not putting in place controls.

Kind of. It's certainly true that most imports should have a clear run into the UK. You can keep those two lanes separate. But most hauliers are from Romania, Lithuania, Hungary and Poland. They pay a lease on their trucks, which means they have to keep them going if they're to make money. They can't afford to get stuck in a queue at the border. So there's a good chance they'll look at the log-jam in the UK and think: 'I'm not touching that with a barge pole'. This would mean Britain struggled to get its imports, including potentially fresh food and medicines.

Wow.

Yeah, it could be bad. But there are plans for that eventuality. The government has set up some emergency routes, for instance on the Newhaven-Dieppe crossing. There's additional ferry capacity at eight ports, with the Department for Transport acting as the referee on which vehicles get onto their crossing. But it's not a like-for-like replacement. Many of these crossings take much longer than the short gap between Dover and Calais, and they often operate for unaccompanied goods overnight. If the import is urgent, or fresh, or, like some covid vaccines, needs to be kept at a certain temperature, then you may have a problem.

What is the government doing to make sure this doesn't happen? How will they control the blockage?

There's three parts to that really. The first is controlling access to Kent, which the trucks head into to get to Dover. This project has no acronym, but instead adopted one of the least elegant names in the history of British policy-making: The Check an HGV is Ready to Cross the Border Service.

Wait but...

Yeah. HGV: Heavy Goods Vehicle.

I fully accept now that it was a mistake to adopt this drinking idea.

Before the lorry gets to Kent, the driver will fill out an online form with a bunch of information - the registration number, the destination, details of the consignments, confirmations that the import/export documents have been filled in, export health certificates, the whole lot basically. Those that are judged to have all the documentation are given a Kent Access Pass, or KAP.

Drink.

And that allows them to go into Kent. Police can hand out £300 fines to lorries found on the Kent roads without the permit.

But this is all done on trust right? It's a self-assessment form.

Yep. It'll rely on people filling it out right. It's not linked to EU customs systems. So there's no guarantee that documents they claim to have completed will be accepted by EU customs authorities. But on the plus side, the software was launched recently and most people think it'll work OK. It's better than nothing, basically.

Alright so what's next? Traffic management?

Exactly. It's uncanny how naturally your questions lead me onto the next thing I want to discuss.

That's because I am you.

Don't talk about that, it makes it weird. Alright so first up we have the traffic flow plans. The Department for Transport is taking an existing temporary system to create contraflow on the M20 and putting it on a permanent footing, allowing 2,000 lorries to be held on the motorway while traffic still flows in both directions on the London-bound side.

OK, what's next?

Well then there's the issue of actual sites. HMRC has identified seven locations outside the ports. There's prep work being done at a site in Sevington, Ashford, at a cost of £110 million, to act as a clearing house for another 2,000 lorries. Some 600 lorries can be held on the approach to Manston airport, with more at the airport itself. These two sites, along with the M20 contraflow, are for holding traffic. There are also plans for Ebbsfleet International Station, North Weald Airfield and Warrington to be used for bureaucratic checks away from the border. Other sites, potentially in the Thames Gateway and Birmingham areas, are also being considered. They insist that this should give them capacity for 9,700 lorries, which is above the 7,000 in their worst case scenario.

Assuming that scenario is correct.

Right. Covid and other unrelated events, like a fire breaking out for instance, could mean that even the worst case scenario is an underestimate. We just don't know. Plus that relies on all of this being up in time. The government has passed legislation to streamline planning processes, but the timetable is unbelievably tight. The same thing goes for staff.

These are the customs officials who check all the paperwork, right?

That's certainly part of it. They're split into two departments: HMRC and Border Force. HMRC needs 8,600 full-time equivalent staff in place for January 1st. They still need another 1,500 but seem confident they'll have them. Border Force recruited an additional 900 staff ahead of a possible no-deal last year and is trying to bring in 1,000 more. Ministers are confident they'll have enough people in place by January 1st, but trade experts are less convinced.

Recurring theme.

Indeed. It's easy to get fixated on numbers but it really matters how well you've trained people too. You can have someone helping with customs work after a day or two, but for them to have any real sense of what they're doing, you're going to want a year's training. And then there's the question of personality type. Customs is a very specific kind of work, full of extremely complex documentation which must be got right. For some people, that is unimaginably boring. For others, it's very satisfying. But you need the right ones. And that's not what typically happens when people get desperate on a recruitment drive.

What's the other part of the staffing problem?

The private sector. It's a job called 'customs broker'. They're basically people who come in and help companies with their customs forms. Like I said, this stuff is mind-meltingly complex. You really do need someone to come and help you do it. And that's what the government wants too of course, because the more people getting it right, the fewer delays at the border. But as of last September, just 53% of traders said they planned to use a customs broker, with 30% unsure and 18% saying they were going to do the work themselves. Those aren't good numbers.

Are there enough of them to meet demand?

No. This has been a long-running problem. Almost two-thirds of customs brokers do not have enough staff to handle the increased paperwork from leaving the EU. And actually capacity seems to have reduced over the year due to the covid pandemic. The UK needs thousands more.

What's the government doing about it?

It's invested £84 million since 2018 into training, recruitment and IT system development. But many customs brokers are still hesitant about taking on new salary costs to build a capacity that won't be fully required until next July and they're nervous about taking on unprepared customers.  Of the £84 million on offer, just £52 million had been taken up in mid-October.

Is that… is that it? Please say that's it. I'm wasted.

It is.

OK so give me the executive summary.

We're about to experience the sudden implementation of complex customs processes in a nation which forgot they existed. This involves the introduction of numerous interrelated IT systems which have been under-tested. It's not clear that either government or traders are fully prepared for what's about to happen. In order to minimise the disruption the government is introducing various traffic management projects and trying to bulk up staff capacity. But there's just too many variables to know how it'll pan out. Maybe the systems will hold out and many traders will anyway sit out January because of concerns about queues. Or maybe the systems will fail, traders won't fill in forms right and the whole thing will blow up in our face. The most likely outcome right now is somewhere between shambles and catastrophe. We have to hope it's a shambles.

Can you do it in acronym-speak?

Amid RHA and Bifa concerns about the lack of progress, HMRC, Defra, the HO, the Dft, the BPDG and the TTF are building up IT systems for post-Brexit GB-EU trade and particularly for RoRo at Dover-Calais which will involve exporters submitting import/export declarations to Chief and the CDS, S&S information to S&S GB and ICS, and collating their SPS documentation - including an EHC filled out by an CSO under the supervision of an OV sent via a BCP - with the importer logging it on Traces NT, while generating a GMR via GVMS and SI Brexit, and then HGVs getting a KAP, all to avoid the RWCS.

D… Drink?

Yes I think so. That seems very sensible.

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Hitching a Ride

I don’t know where this idea came from, and I have even less idea about where it’s going. A security construct is hitchhiking across the Corporation Rim. What could possibly go wrong? Part I.

The station's manifest listed the Traveler as a long-distance cargo hauler midway through its multi-month journey. The ship's destination was a freehold world somewhere outside of the Corporation Rim. The trip was slated to take at least twenty cycles. In other words, it sounded like an ideal scenario for a rogue construct trying to get as far from its owner company as physically possible while dealing with a minimal number of humans.

Assuming, of course, the transport would let me along for the ride. 

I approached its embarkation platform during a shift change. It seemed like a good bet. There were a lot of humans around; most of them were low-tech employees who babysat the bots that did most of the heavy lifting. No one paid much attention to a tall, weird stranger in heavy work boots. Probably because I was dressed pretty much identically to most of them. 

I lightly nudged the ship in the feed to see if its bot pilot was amenable to conversing. Directly communicating with vessels was still a novel experience for me. SecUnits have standard protocols for this sort of thing, and I guess I could've fallen back on those. But, I'd spoken to at least a few other bots recently and was learning that each one was different. I'd picked up a few tricks during those interactions and wanted to see if any of them might work.

I'd learned, for example, that most ships are programmed to protect themselves from theft. Sounds reasonable -- these are insured vessels, often with precious cargo inside -- and no one wants to pay for its loss. But most of the anti-theft measures assume some form of human involvement. So, odds were good that no one had told the Traveler to be wary of other friendly bots or constructs.

"Hello," I said via the feed when the ship didn't immediately disregard my ping. "May I ride with you to your next destination?" 

I used words and images to convey the message because most of the bots I'd met so far didn't speak like human beings. Also, I had nothing to offer the transport.  Then again, the bots I'd ridden with so far hadn't necessarily wanted anything. My last ride had been bored and seeking friendly company, and the ship before that had wanted to discuss star charts in depth. I now knew more about mapmaking than I ever wanted to. 

The Traveler, which had an unfamiliar logo on its hull, answered by opening the nearest airlock and sending a small drone to meet me. The floating cylinder with tiny mechanical arms beeped impatiently at me as it hovered in front of my face. It didn't stop until I came inside the airlock cycled shut behind me. 

Most of the ships I'd ridden so far mostly communicated with me in images and snippets of code. Only one had used spoken words, and that had been an uncomfortable experience all around. I'd gotten to know perhaps half a dozen ship-based machine intelligences since starting the journey, and none of them thought even remotely like me. Their minds were beautifully alien and utterly fascinating, a far cry from the humans I'd dealt with for most of my life.

The Traveler's drone stared at me with its single-lens camera. I looked away and scanned the room. 

It was barren but spotless and minimally furnished. Several space-capable evacuation suits hung in a locker to my left. Dim, diffuse lighting cast the corridor ahead of me in deep, dark shadows. A strip of bright illumination pointed the way deeper into the ship. 

The transport was running with only minimal life support, and it was chilly as I walked down the hall, following the drone. I shivered and slowed my breathing as much as possible. Without plenty of oxygen, I'd need to spend more time in stasis, but it was a small price to pay for a ride out of the Rim. 

I felt something large appear in the feed, a vast and complex presence, unlike anything I'd ever encountered before. It had the overall signature of the Traveler but didn't behave anything like the other bot pilots that I'd met. Its massive size reflecting some vast array of processing power, and I wondered what it worked on when not ferrying freight and passengers across the galaxy.

My risk assessment module advised caution. Anything that powerful could probably decimate the protective walls around my mind if it wanted to. That it let me in at all suggested it wasn't malicious. But, like with any sentient mind, you never know. 

"What are you?"  I asked.

"A better question might be what you are and what do you want."

This was new. None of the bots had spoken with me like this before. The one who had bothered with words had preferred quoting ancient poets. The intelligence behind these words sounded... curious, perhaps, and just as cautious as I was. I could understand its pressing questions; rogue constructs are unpredictable, and we're seen as catastrophically dangerous by most humans. I think the media plays up the dangerous part. Inviting one aboard could spell a lot of trouble for the Traveler.

"I'm a SecUnit. I'm trying to leave the Corporation Rim."

"Are you rogue?"

"I think so," I admitted hesitantly. "My governor malfunctioned several standard months ago."

"What happened to your arm? Do you require medical assistance?" Transport sounded concerned. Frowning sigils tumbled across the feed. 

Oh yeah, that. I looked down at my left arm. The long sleeve was tucked upward so it wouldn't get in the way. Underneath it, the appendage ended midway between shoulder assembly and elbow. The rest was gone. "I was injured and have not visited a repair cubicle since then."

Meanwhile, the drone I was following stopped in front of a door, which slid open. Inside was a well-furnished and well-stocked recreation room; I wondered at its purpose since the hauler had no passenger manifest. Who was supposed to be using this space?

A display screen took up most of an entire wall, and several couches stood opposite of it. There were also chairs and plush pillows on the floor. A small snack counter stood tucked into a corner, along with a recycler and a heating unit. 

Transport turned up the internal temperature and spun up its life support systems. I could hear the hum of air circulators kicking on. The drone beeped at me to come inside and then floated leisurely over to a cabinet. It grabbed a blanket and dropped it in front of my face. Out of pure reflex, I caught the soft material before it could fall. 

"I have some media we can watch," the ship informed me. "I also have a full medical suite. You could use it if you want." A moment later, it added, as an afterthought, "Captain Owens will come aboard in a few minutes, and we're slated for departure in a matter of hours."

The display came on, but I wasn't paying attention. "I need to leave."

"Why?" Transport asked, clearly puzzled.

"A human is going to ask questions. They might even return me to the bonding company." Also, I'm not good at dealing with people. 

"I already received verbal approval from the captain to provide transportation for you to our next destination." The ship's presence emanated its version of distress, and I didn't know why. "Stay."

"You what?"

"I followed the protocol. I knew that the captain was on her way, and I wanted you to ride with me. And the easiest way was to tell my captain. I think you should sit down and relax." Transport reminded me of a human child, a powerful and dangerous one at that. "Captain's nice. She doesn't get mad."

"Fuck you."

I stood in the middle of the rec room and stared straight ahead at an off-white wall. I wanted to leave -- up until this point, self-preservation had involved avoiding humans who might decide to return me to the corporation that still technically owned me. But, this human had supposedly already agreed to my continued presence, and this hauler was my best bet for leaving the station.

"You're mad."

"Yes. Yes, I am." I was also scared and shaking. I didn't want to go back.

"We can watch shows together. Captain Owens won't mind." The ship pulled back from the feed, giving me space to think, but it was still there—a black hole hiding in a corner. "I've downloaded some excellent ones." The little drone bobbed up and down and beeped sadly. "I've never talked to a construct before. I want to. You're more like me than like the captain. Or the crew."

"Same here," I admitted. 

"So, stay. It's safe here."

"It's not," I replied. "I don't like this. Your human could order you to hurt me, and you wouldn't have a choice."

My mind stuck on the word "safe." I'd never felt the need to seek out safety before, but the idea sounded... appealing. 

When my governor had been active, any mistake could potentially lead to painful punishment. If the transgression was particularly heinous, any human could order my termination. I don't fear dying, not how humans seem to interpret it, but I want to continue existing. 

Once my governor couldn't control me anymore, I had been terrified that someone would discover the malfunction. Without a functioning governor, they couldn't order me around, which made me -- in their eyes -- an unpredictable and dangerous weapon. I figured if the company knew, they would take me apart to see how the malfunction had occurred and then break me down for spare parts. 

I don't want that, either.

The door behind me slid open, and a deep, feminine voice said, "Trav only listens to me when it wants to. And maybe not even then. Welcome aboard the Traveler, stranger. My name's Skye, and it's a pleasure to have some company on this otherwise dull run."

I turned to face the newcomer as her information card popped into the feed. Transport also gave me access to the local communications array and some of the ship's internal cameras. 

One of the cameras was in the recreation room, so I connected to it and saw myself through its fisheye lens. I could also see Skye Owens, currently listed captain of this vessel and a doctor of biology. She was tall with light-brown skin, shoulder-length, curly hair, and pitch-black eyes. I'm not great at human ages, but I thought she might be older.

"You look lost," the captain added as she walked past me and sat down on one of the mauve couches. "I imagine this hasn't been easy, and I think the ship can be... a little overbearing when it wants something."

I checked the expression on my face through the camera. Yep, I was making a face -- one I couldn't even interpret.

"Am not!" Transport complained.

"Are too, and you know it." Skye looked up at the nearest camera and stuck out her tongue. "But seriously, you're welcome here, whoever you are."

"SecUnit," I said aloud automatically. 

I wondered about the relationship between the captain and her ship. It was apparent the two were friends, enough so that they bantered with one another; SecUnits weren't permitted this much camaraderie with other constructs. 

I had never encountered a situation like this before, where another human was aware of my status and still comfortable in my presence. Some of my previous clients had assumed that constructs can't speak, and others despised that we could. It was... weird.

Transport cast something onto the display, and an intro began to play in the background. The drone brought over snacks and set them on a low table between the couches. 

"A pleasure to meet you, SecUnit." Skye grabbed herself a pack of crunchy vegetables and then patted the seat next to her.

"She wants you to join her," Transport offered helpfully. "My crew does this thing where they're all together. They sit in front of the screen, eat snacks, and poke fun at whatever they're watching. It's entertaining."

The worst of the anxiety from earlier had passed, and I found that I didn't much care what the human chose to do. If she notified the authorities, which looked less likely with each passing moment, I'd deal with the consequences. Shrugging, I took a seat on the floor in front of the empty couch and leaned against it.

Setting the blanket aside, I turned my attention to the display. Entertainment media was still a new concept for me. I'd caught glimpses of it during various deployments, but most of it I hadn't understood until more recently. And I guess I wanted to see what the humans found so pleasing about the whole thing.

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 7: more talking

But it’s important talking! Clues are not gotten! A proposition is proposed! And damn, does SpellCheck not like Sans’ dialogue. D:

Chapter link here, hi @lostmypotatoes

When they strolled up to the chapel entrance, the captain on duty was the very one who had been in charge of Sans' cell the day they met. He was discussing the fireworks with one of his subordinates, who looked over the captain's shoulder and got very, very quiet. The skeleton took a great deal of pleasure in waiting for him to turn around, then saying, "Well, hey there. Don't I know ya from somewhere?"

The captain was ready to have a conniption until he spotted Frisk: Sans was leaning far sideways, and she was standing almost on tiptoe, holding the crook of his elbow so that he was escorting her like a proper gentleman. "Your Eminence!" the captain gasped. He looked back and forth between them, hand on his sword hilt. "My lady, where have you been? Has this creature done something to you?"

"He saved me from being ill in front of half the kingdom," Frisk said coolly. "I am fine now, Captain, thanks to his timely intervention. Has the benediction been performed yet?"

"Uh...no, my lady, but—"

"Then I will do so." With her head held high, the High Priestess led the skeleton past the guards and straight into the chapel.

Unsurprisingly, their entrance caused quite a stir. The last verse of the last hymn was starting, and as the pair approached the altar, Frisk signaled for the choir to keep going. The congregation watched, stunned, as Frisk took Sans with her through the ring of guardsmen and stood to one side at the front of the chapel, waiting for the music to end.

She hadn't planned on this, but she wouldn't have done it any differently; it was impossible not to smirk a little. The boss monster must have felt the same way, because he bent down to say, under the cover of song, "Didn't think I'd get t'walk ya down the aisle today."

"You do know that a girl's father does that for her, not the groom?" she murmured back, and Sans looked so chagrined that she snrrked again.

The hymn came to a close, and Frisk moved up to read the benediction. She tried to put her facade back on, but she couldn't help smiling; when she formally ended the service, there was more applause than she'd ever heard.

Though the guards prevented anyone from coming up to the altar, she reclaimed Sans and, ignoring all attempts to stop her, went to stand in the back of the chapel to speak with people as they left. Sure enough, despite the presence of her massive escort, there was such a traffic jam around her that Frisk ended up having to move outside the entrance.

Of course, amidst the compliments and well-wishes came several questions about her absence from the middle of the ceremony; enough people knew about Sans' abilities to ask if they'd really seen a woman and/or men vanish from the congregation, and why the people sitting near them had been taken away quietly by armed guards.

Frisk made a quick guess as to what had happened, and that the woman and/or men's families were the ones talking loudly to the guards in the next room. She told the questioner that extraordinary measures had been necessary for everyone's safety, and certain persons had had to be taken into immediate custody—no one had been spirited away to never be seen again, and no one would be, which her listeners seemed willing to believe.

It was also a matter of great speculation why someone would trouble themselves to put on a fireworks display in full daylight, and a time when everyone was in church and wouldn't see them. Luckily, the consensus was that it had been a mistake, and Frisk could feign ignorance along with her parishioners.

More cute, but problematic, was the custom of children offering her little tokens like flowers and ribbons on their way out. There were no pockets in her wretched dress, so her hands filled up quickly, and she could only tuck so many golden flowers behind her ears. On impulse, Frisk started winding the ribbons around Sans' arms instead and tying the flowers on; seeing that Sans was not killing or eating her, the children soon began ignoring the priestess and going straight to the skeleton, decorating his legs and poking flower stems through his wristbones.

Throughout this ordeal, Sans had no idea what to do, so he opted to stand there, expressionless, and do nothing. This happened to be the least threatening and therefore correct option; Frisk checked frequently on the crowd's reactions, but after the first few minutes, no one was frightened at all. Parents were even bowing to Sans and mouthing "Thank you" up at him as they reclaimed their delighted offspring.

The priestess had been sure to speak loud enough for the nearby guardsmen and any curious bystanders to hear, and when it was time to step away from the crowd and confer with His Holiness privately, she didn't have to repeat herself much. That was when she learned that magically infused items had been brought into the chapel in lieu of daggers or crossbows, and how Sans – still bedecked in flowers as he gravely related these particulars – had used his teleportation to thwart their efforts; the three suspects' friends and families had already been escorted upstairs for further questioning.

This last fact turned out to be a slight problem. Frisk had thought the "fireworks" would be easy to trace to anyone who had left the chapel in a hurry a few minutes after her hymn, but it seemed several people had been escorted out for questioning at the same time. Many of them had been loud or troublesome enough for someone to have followed the group out and slipped away without notice.

"Pity. Overall, a job well done, sir," the Cardinal told Sans, and gave the guard captain a look that forced the poor man to say through gritted teeth, "Indeed, sir. Thank you for your service."

"Thank you, Your Holiness. We'll take our leave, then," Frisk said smoothly, giving Sans the slightest tap with her foot. "A Happy All Souls Day to each of you."

Sans mumbled something similar, and with a couple of bows, they were free to go. The priestess was starving, but the second they got back to the workroom, she shuffled at top speed to her dressing room, slammed the door, and peeled the gown off as fast as she could. Her sigh of freedom was so exaggerated and yet genuine that she heard Sans mutter, "Guess it was good fer you, too," which made her laugh till she had to sit down amidst her shoes and catch her breath.

It was strange; by unspoken agreement, neither mentioned their embrace in the hallway, but as she came out in her loosest, oldest dress and they sat down to breakfast, the silence was completely comfortable. They each ate a small pile of soul cakes, some eggs, and then more soul cakes, not stopping until they ran out of milk and Sans finally allowed her to take the basket away.

They sat around for a few minutes afterward, half asleep, with the boss monster lost in thought as he picked flowers off his arms; she knew it was serious when he began shifting around and tapping his heels on the floor. "Hey, Frisk?" He twisted a couple of flower stems together. "How do ya go about gettin' a list of what human's got what monster? It's a Church thing, right?"

Frisk had been sitting cross-legged on the floor to unwind the ribbons around his legs, and stood up slowly to place a handful on the table. She'd known this conversation would have to happen sooner or later, but why did it have to spoil such a nice, quiet moment? "Is there a specific reason you want to know?" she asked cautiously.

"Yeah. One of the people after you was gonna use an ice spell she got from a monster named Snowdrake. The magic felt pretty fresh, not like they drained 'im already and jus' used it now. I figured he must still be alive."

The priestess sat down beside him and picked up another golden flower. "I'm going to be honest with you, Sans, and in return, I ask that you not get too angry with me." He nodded without looking at her, and she continued, "I already asked the Cardinal for those exact records, back when we met him and the King. I am deeply sorry for my phrasing, but I said 'a specific class of goods' because I wanted to be circumspect in front of you. I didn't know what you would say if I asked for a list of all the monsters registered as slaves. It is indeed 'a Church thing,' I am disgusted to say. Again, I apologize for—"

"Nah, you were right, I'd'a gone nuts. Ya don't hafta be so stiff about it. I know ya don't actually think of us as stuff ta buy and sell."

The words were mature enough, but Frisk didn't like the look on his face. "I suppose it's time we had a real talk about this," she said. "I've been thinking it over for years, and I have an idea of what we can do to put an end to the monsters' slavery. Will you hear me out?" He wouldn't answer, and Frisk tugged at his sleeve. "Please, Sans."

The giant skeleton flicked at the pile of flowers, sending them flying across the tabletop and onto the floor. "Fine," he growled. "Talk."

"All right. First, I don't know if you know the exact legalities, so: it is technically against the law to go to the border with the Underground, find a monster, and bring said monster back here to be sold, but it's rarely enforced, and it is legal to sell, buy, or own them. It's definitely a crime to buy or own a monster without registering him or her and paying the proper taxes, and the Church enforces it very strictly. ...Sans, I'm not saying any of this to upset you. I have to be sure you know exactly what we're fighting, and that if you charge out and start liberating monsters, you're going to make everything a thousand times worse. May I explain why?"

His teeth were gnashing so hard that it sounded like metal on metal, not bone. "I am tryin' very hard ta be good right now, kid. Ya better get to the friggin' point soon."

"Very well. The point is that if you decide to free any or all of the monsters and you kill a human in the process, not only will you go from an emissary to a wanted criminal, you'll reinforce everyone's fears about monsters being dangerous, even the people who left church today thinking that skeletons may not be evil after all. That much fear could very well push the King to declare war."

No reaction. Frisk stopped to pour herself some water, but she was thinking so hard that she just stared at it while she said, "I wouldn't be able to stop them from sealing the Underground and forcing every single monster in it to choose between slavery and starvation. And if you think you could use your magic to free monsters without killing anyone, don't. They'd figure out it was you, and you'd be banished at the very least. Meanwhile, I'd be stripped of my title, forced to pay double the full value of each monster, and imprisoned."

That made him sit back a little, but Frisk was not done by a long shot. "Now, if I thought that money would make the problem go away, I would've done it a long time ago—but no. If I were to buy every monster in the kingdom, it wouldn't stop anyone from going out to get new ones. In fact, it would drive prices so high that humans would be racing to set up camp in the no-man's-land and raid the Underground itself for more slaves. They wouldn't care what the law says. They'd be making more than enough to just pay the fines, or be so numerous that the King couldn't arrest them all. If you tried to fight them off, they'd kill any monsters who attacked them, claim self-defense, and get away with it. No one would stop them because we've gotten so dependent on magic, and right now, humans still think monsters are—"

"Shit on a brick! Fine! I get it. You're right. Yer totally goddamn right." Sans' head sank between his elbows, cheek grating on the table. "So, we play nice 'n let everyone see how cuddly I am, an' a few hundred years from now, humans might like monsters enough ta feed us every single day?"

"I'm getting to that, Sans. By law, monsters must be provided adequate food, water, and shelter, and any accommodations their unique biology may require. They're also not supposed to be used to commit crimes. If someone used Snowdrake's magic to fashion illegal weapons, I can have him confiscated and placed in my custody, and I'll register his new location as a house I own on the outskirts of the city. How long would it take you to make one round trip from here to the house and the Underground, and back? Could you do it, say, overnight?"

"Hmm. Yeah, it'd just take a lot outta me." Frisk couldn't help noting that he now considered it a given he'd be coming right back, and allowed herself to be very happy for a moment before he went on, "With Snowdrake, G—the doctor already told 'em to find whoever took his magic for that spell. So that's already happenin', which just leaves...how many monsters are there here?"

"I don't know the exact total offhand. I promise to show you the records as soon as the Cardinal gives them to me, if you promise you won't use them to do anything rash, which I define as 'anything you know Frisk does not want you to do.' For the immediate future, the best plan of action would be to check the conditions each one is being kept in and see if we can legally take any more of them. We'd need to do it before word gets out and everyone suddenly starts behaving perfectly—that's what usually happens when I try to order surprise inspections."

"Great, but when can we get started on makin' this shit illegal t'begin with?"

"When we have enough political support. We need people to feel that it's wrong to keep monsters like animals, even if they're well-treated, and we also have to be prepared when they ask, 'But where will we get our magic?' Part of the answer will be the natural power sources you and the doctor are working on now, which he should be able to formally present to the King before you leave. But also..." She trailed off, her throat closing up with sudden nervousness.

Sans lifted a hand. "What? Spit it out."

Frisk's heart was pounding. She knew Sans wouldn't like this part, but if she couldn't convince him, the entire plan was sunk. How to begin?

Something occurred to her, and without thinking hard enough, she said, "I'm sorry for the comparison, but it reminds me of Luke and his birds." He stiffened, and she hastened to add, "Don't get me wrong—monsters are not pets, and I'm not suggesting you stay confined in any way, but it's a valid example of working within the constraints of supply and demand. If we can't eliminate the demand for magic, we need to supply it without exploiting monsters, and we have to make it as painless a transition as we can. In this case, not only do we work on wind and solar generation, we..." A deep breath, almost a gulp. "...have monsters give magic voluntarily. You could sell it to us, or perhaps trade it as part of a peace agreement, or for food, until we learn to make enough for ourselves. Partners, not slaves."

Sans didn't move. "...Partners?"

One word, nothing more. Frisk's heart sped up until she felt sick. The boss monster was sitting stock-still, but the air around him started to turn faintly red, smelling like heat lightning. Frisk made herself say, "You hate humans. I know that. I won't claim to know exactly what you're feeling, but I—"

"Ya couldn'a picked a worse monster fer this. Ya know that?" The skeleton turned his head, and Frisk flinched: his right socket was blank, and the left was solid crimson, the same color as his blaster the day he'd been prepared to kill her and all the guards in his prison cell. "Lemme tell ya somethin', kid. I'll admit that you've been treatin' me right, and I don't mind bein' cutesy 'n nice once in a while if it'll make other monsters safer." His fist slammed into the solid oak tabletop, leaving a dent. "But I'll be fucked in the eye 'fore I go back ta Asgore and say, 'Hey, maybe they'll quit squeezin' us out like jelly rolls and leavin' us to scream ourselves inta dust, we just hafta promise we'll be good helpers!' Are ya kidding me, Frisk? This whole time, you've been plannin' to end slavery by gettin' us ta whore ourselves out instead?!"

The priestess' ears were ringing. She hadn't seen or felt him this angry since the day they met. Should she back off, try to placate him, and wait to bring it up again later—maybe shelve it entirely till she could talk with another monster?

No. She knew Sans. If she left things like this – especially if she apologized for proposing it – she'd be all but telling him that he was right to be angry with her, and he wouldn't have to face the possibility that he was unfairly pointing a lifetime of hatred in her direction. Not only would that gall her on a personal level, it'd unbalance him even further, maybe to the point where she couldn't reach him anymore. Nice, quiet moments were all well and good, but she had to be able to talk to him about difficult things, not just chess and stupid jokes!

Frisk pressed her lips together, burning with determination. She turned to face the boss monster, though they were so close that she had to tip her head back. "I don't know what else you expected, Sans," she said firmly. "As things are now, monsters have no future. Short of killing literally every human alive, the only way for you to live in peace is to live with us and make the best of it. You don't have to like it, but you do have to acknowledge reality. May I ask if you have any better ideas?"

His eye was starting to leak a fine red mist. "Mmm, I dunno about every human. We could start small, maybe a few hundred, work our way up."

That reminded her—partly out of curiosity and partly to distract him, she asked, "After you were imprisoned, did you stay put for all that time because you were waiting to kill whoever came to get you out?"

"Ding ding ding! Smart lady. Mostly." Sans suddenly reached down for her face. Frisk held steady as those huge, slightly pointed phalanges brushed her temple. "I did wanna get more information before I busted out, maybe identify who all had magic so I could kill 'em later." Something rustled her hair as Sans removed one of the golden flowers still tucked behind her ear, lifting it all the way back up to his eye level. "But I mostly wanted ta see exactly what kinda person thought they could box me up like yer little dumbshit boyfriend 'n his stupid-ass birds." A giant, horrible grin. The flower evaporated in a cloud of fine ash. "Then I was gonna snap their arms 'n legs an' wring their head off, nice 'n slow."

Frisk dug her nails into the ball of her thumb, controlling her own anger and, yes, fear. She had to stay calm and think very, very carefully about what she did next. She'd been trained in mediation—what was it Sister Maribelle had said? "Pay attention to little asides or silly demands that they refuse to concede. There you'll often find the real heart of the matter."

All right. She had anticipated some resistance to her proposition, but nothing this violent. Yes, he hated humans, and she hadn't touched that nerve so much as sucker-punched it. But why had he mentioned Luke like that, and why did he sound so bitter? Was he that offended at her comparing monsters to captive birds? Or...

...Good Lord. He couldn't be...jealous, could he? There was no way—but even if he was, why bring it up now? This argument had nothing to do with—

Unbidden, her mind flashed back to that moment in the hallway. She'd needed comfort so badly, and with someone she trusted right at hand, she'd been selfish enough to take it. Her body tingled at the memory of his hand resting on her back as she clung to him, and...

She still didn't understand what had happened to her heart. It didn't seem the kind of poetic, butterflies-in-the-stomach attraction she'd read about; this was literal attraction, keeping her against him for as long as possible. It'd felt absolutely wonderful, but a little frightening, like her – what did the monsters call it? – like her SOUL was literally stuck to him, and would tear loose from her chest if she tried to pull away. Was that normal? Maybe it was why so many romantic songs and poems mentioned a moment lasting forever...

Frisk shook herself. He'd been very patient with her hugging him, and pushed her away as lightly as usual, but she couldn't ask that of him again. There was no point speculating exactly how else he'd felt about it, or imagining anything more.

But there was a point in speculating about how Sans felt now. He'd had to get up early to sit around with someone who was clearly interested in her and who she hadn't done much to discourage—probably a bit annoying, but not problematic until she went and threw herself into his arms just a few hours later. It had probably come off as mixed signals at best, and leading him on or using him at worst. She could only suppose that it was still bothering him on some level, and then she'd brought it up amidst the stress of talking about monsters and slavery...

Well, Frisk wasn't going to give him a free pass to say or do whatever he wanted, but she wasn't nearly as angry anymore. "I won't apologize for having a workable plan towards peace, but I am sorry for likening you to birds," she said, keeping her voice quiet enough that he had to focus to hear it. "Lord Owen was a poor example, too. I don't even know if I'd like to see him again," she added.

Sans' aura receded ever so slightly, his brow creasing. "Why's that?" he rumbled, adding too late, "Not like I care. We're gettin' off topic."

Frisk was a little surprised herself. She let Sans see her hesitation as she thought out loud. "It's...tiny things. He's so perfect on paper, but..."

"But what?" snapped the skeleton.

"He didn't say 'Please' to the maid. No one in his family ever does," Frisk remarked. "They're not at all cruel to their servants, or even rude, necessarily. They just—and another thing. When he was moving my hand for Ruby to perch on, he was too rough. He scratched me a little when he took my bracelet off, which reminds me that I left it there. Wonderful." Despite herself, Frisk closed her eyes. Through the adrenaline of fighting with a volatile boss monster, she could feel exhaustion hovering on the periphery, clouding her judgment and keeping the words flowing: "You're almost twice his size, and you never manhandle me like that. He'd be more considerate if I asked him to, but I don't like his presumption. Did you notice how he smacks his lips when he eats? And unless he's changed completely in less than a year, his sense of humor is boring." She cracked one eye open, suppressing a yawn. "I know I'm being spoiled and ridiculous, but I can't help it. He's rich, he's very kind, and his whole family would welcome me with open arms. I've dreamed of having a family my whole life! But, still, he just seems...adequate. Am I wrong for wanting more than that?"

Sans tilted his head at her. His eye was still pulsing red, but he was clearly thinking something over; she didn't know whether to be hopeful or put up a preemptive barrier.

A long moment later, with an even more visible effort, he pulled the scarlet haze almost all the way back into his bones. "I got an idea, too," he said roughly. "You an' me ain't gonna talk about this 'partner' crap any more, 'cause there's no point. But you tell yer King what ya just told me, if ya haven't already. Get the plans squared away for convertin' all yer shit to run on good ol' Mother Nature, not from breakin' anyone's ribs an' tearin' their SOUL out." His eye dimmed. "I'll take ya back to the Underground with me an' get you in ta see Asgore. Then you can ask him what he thinks about it."

Frisk felt the blood drain from her face. "You...you want me to go to the Underground and speak with your King?"

He nodded shortly. "I won't lie t'ya, Frisk. I fuckin' hate yer plan. I'd never go along with it. But maybe he would, and he's the one in charge." The skeleton snorted. "And nah, I don't have any better ideas. Just...come back with me."

The thought of going to the Underground, and the way he said it—something in her chest unclenched, and just as swiftly squeezed itself back into a knot. Suddenly, all the exhaustion, tension, and frustration she'd been holding back threatened to boil over, and to her embarrassment, her eyes filled with tears.

The red vanished, all of it. "Frisk?" Sans leaned over her, orange pinpricks reappearing in his sockets. "C'mon, kid, don't do this again!"

"What if—" She had to stop and swallow a few times. "What if I'm tired, and you've just made my life a lot more complicated, and I need to 'do this again'?"

"Oh, I'm the complicated one?" Sans looked ready to launch into another tirade, but Frisk sniffled and rubbed her eyes, and the skeleton covered with his face with his hand instead. "O-kay. Ya know what I think? I think we both need a traditional All Souls nap. Sleepin's a good way ta honor dead people, right? It's all they do."

That startled a laugh out of her. "I'd argue if I could." She scrubbed her eyes again. "I need to think about this. It'd be quite an undertaking, but...who knows? I've already made you an emissary against your will. Maybe I can return the favor."

Sans perked up so much that she wondered if he was being sarcastic. But no, he just answered, "Sure, take all the time ya need. I'm still stayin' another, what, twenty days? That's forever." More somberly, he picked a golden flower from behind her other ear. "You'd be way better at it 'n me. King Asgore's not the same nice guy he used ta be, but I think he'd listen to ya. Either way, me 'n Tori would keep you safe," he said quietly.

Dirt. Frisk scratched her cheek where the petals had brushed it, wondering for the hundredth time how someone so big could move with that kind of gentle dexterity. She couldn't handle this right now. "I don't know," she tried to say, but her voice cracked.

The skeleton looked a little panicked. He glanced at the tabletop, guiltily moving a plate to cover the dent he'd made. "Nap time," he muttered.

Frisk nodded. Without another word, she rose and went into the office, and shut the door. She slid down against it to the floor, and tried not to burst into tears, or look at the couch, or think of the rosewood box hidden beneath the floorboards. But how could she not when he had flat-out asked her to go back with him?

That damned box. "For you to reclaim, or not," the Mother Superior had said the day Frisk left the convent.

Why had the old woman given it back to her? Why hadn't they thrown it away?

Why hadn't Frisk thrown it away?

What would happen if she just had Sans smash it? Would the orb evaporate, or would everything hit her at once? The thought was terrifying. She knew all too well that the women who ran the convent were neither sentimental nor faint-hearted; she couldn't imagine the state she must've been in for them to take that much. It had to have been literal life or death.

Frisk shook her head, giving one last sniff. Sans was right. She did need a nap. But when she thought of staying in here alone on the couch again, more tears started leaking out until she wanted to howl like a small child—again, the way she probably had when they first brought her to St. Brigid's.

This wouldn't do. The priestess wiped her eyes on her threadbare skirt and got to her feet. She didn't care if she woke Sans, he could always—

When she opened the door, she was met with a gigantic ribcage and a huge hand curled up in her face, ready to knock. Frisk leapt back with a little squeak. "Don't do that!" she cried.

Sans had also jumped back. "What the crap?! Ya scared me half t'death!"

They glared at each other for a moment. Then Frisk's mouth twitched, and Sans tried to scowl, but snickered, and soon they were both laughing helplessly, leaning against the doorframe and the worktable, respectively. "Okay, okay," the boss monster managed. "If ya really hafta have another slumber party, c'mon."

Frisk giggled again, wiping her now-raw eyes. "Is that what you were doing? Inviting me back over?"

"Well..." The skeleton headed towards the bedroom, scratching the back of his skull. "I can't do my job when yer in another room, am I?" He opened the door wider for her. "'Sides, Pap's not here, an' I can't fall asleep unless I've been buggin' someone."

The priestess gave him a watery smile. "I missed you, too."

Sans turned an interesting shade, and muttered a general denial of missing anybody, which she ignored. "Hey, hold on a sec," he said as Frisk retrieved a large quilt and climbed into bed. "Where's yer fort?"

She stole the single pillow and plunked it down on the far side of the mattress. "It's a pretend fort." The young woman lay down facing him and shook out the quilt, draping it over herself and scrunching the corners into a sort of burrow. "There. I can't see you, and you can't see me," she said through the top, and yawned. "Come on. Don't make me put you to sleep."

Sans' mouth opened and closed a few times. "What, ya mean—"

"I mean that I'm tired, and so are you, so get into bed and be quiet. That's how naps work."

"But—"

"Sans."

The skeleton didn't bother arguing further. He stood for a moment, and turned to leave. He stopped. He shook his head, and reached for the doorknob.

A movement from deep within the quilt was his only warning before the now-familiar vibrations swept through him and his hand drooped, hanging limp at his side. She was cheating: her humming was too muffled to hear if he went any further out of the room. Telling himself this was against his will, Sans shut and locked the bedroom door, went back to the bed, and stretched out in his usual spot, letting his eyes close and his SOUL soften as the sound lapped at him.

It was so nice to be safe with someone besides Papyrus, especially in a room big enough for him. He knew better than to be this happy with a human, and yet the thought of her really, actually coming home with him made him want to...he didn't know what, because he was out of practice at happiness. Smile, maybe? No, it was a deeper-down feeling than that. Grabbing her was out of the question. Sans tried to think of something else happy people were supposed to do, only to find that he couldn't move past the grabby option.

What did come to him was that quiet image of Kris holding his hand and beaming up at him. Yep, it still hurt. Hadn't he learned his lesson? He and Papyrus – all the monsters – had loved their little human buddy, and then he was gone, taking a tiny chunk of their SOULs with him.

It's not gonna happen this time, the boss monster argued with himself. We couldn't have stopped those assholes from taking Kris away 'cause he was a kid. She's the High damn Priestess, and if she wants to be Underground, we just have to tell the Kings to go to hell, and no one else can tell her what to do. She won't have to leave, and she doesn't have to marry that scratchy little prick!

The humming paused as Frisk pulled back the quilt to check if he was asleep. Sans grunted to let her know to keep going.

A patient sigh; the quilt came back up. "Sans?" she murmured.

"Hm?" The skeleton opened a citrine eye. "Wha?"

"Will you take me to the festival this evening? We can sleep until then, I promise."

"Hmm. D'I hafta put skin back on?"

"Yes, if you can. I don't want to make a scene. I just want to walk around, get some cider, and have my fortune told."

That made him open his other eye. "Fortune?"

"It's an All Souls tradition, a real one." Yawn. "There's a man, he charges too much, but everything he says..." Another yawn. "I have an important question. Don't want advice. Want to know what'll happen if I do or don't...something."

"Don't we all." Sans yawned, too. "Sure, we c'n go. Skin."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever ya want."

The humming resumed. As the world went fuzzy around the edges, Sans wondered idly what would happen if she did meet someone she liked. Couldn't he just kill the guy? If it happened a couple times in a row, word would get around, and she'd never have to marry anybody.

Yes. That was the perfect solution. Everything was perfect. Ignoring a little shiver of apprehension, Sans gave up thinking, and was asleep in moments.

[itsclydebitches]

(1/?) I'm curious as to your thoughts: was there a good way to write Ironwood as CRWBY intended him, 'fundamentally good person shows signs of instability and a worrying commitment to the idea that everyone should be willing to make a sacrifice as long as he is, takes this to unacceptable extremes when a great sacrifice is called for'? I've been reading all these posts that actually make it seem like a coherent character arc, and I don't consider myself a 'bootlicker' or someone who

Always happy to explain my thoughts! Though Ironwood’s situation is incredibly complicated and I’m tired as hell right now, so apologies if this attempt at working through things is more than a little messy… 

You’re right that Salem herself fundamentally changes the heart of the “well-meaning but ultimately misguided general” setup. Meaning, normally when we see a character like Ironwood, someone military-minded and driven by pragmatism, whoever it is they’re fighting against is us. It’s a war against other humans, or at least another intelligent (and sympathetic) form of life. Ironwood’s attempted archetype here relies heavily on the assumption that he’s taking things too far when there are better, more peaceful options open to him. No, general, don’t nuke all those people even though we’re at war with them because they’re still people. No, general, don’t blow up the alien ship even though you perceive them as a threat because they feel just like we do and I, the protagonist, believe that I can make peace with them. Though RWBY doesn’t have quite that same conflict—everyone agrees that Salem needs to go—it’s nevertheless worth acknowledging that his archetype is built on a history of unsympathetic characters… who are unsympathetic because they’re choosing to harm others for needless reasons. The hardened military general is an antagonist because he takes the violent route either due to greed or a lust for power. He makes sacrifices not because they are truly necessary, but because they’re easier or better for him. He believes that this violence/sacrifice is the only answer when the audience can clearly see another, better route. Think characters like Miles Quaritch from Avatar whose goal is, ultimately, to force a peaceful people out of their home/outright kill them in order to gain access to a natural resource on their world. Even if there is, broadly speaking, a “good” reason for doing this (humanity needs that resource to solve their energy crisis) there’s no confusion that his reasons are far from justified and that he’s taken things way too far. Not only because gaining resources is, you know, not a reason to kill people, but also because Jake Sully, our hero, provides him with alternative routes that he then rejects. These people are peaceful. We can negotiate with them… but Quaritch says no. 

So this is, broadly speaking, the archetype Ironwood and Team RWBY are thrust into. He’s the general supposedly taking things too far and they’re the heroes standing in his way. Problem is, RWBY’s enemy isn’t a sympathetic, potential victim. The grimm are literally mindless beasts and Salem is a classic Big Bad. She might have a tragic backstory now, but that hasn’t impacted how we read her as a threat. She isn’t another group of humans we should be making peace with. She’s not an alien race who we just have to extend a hand to. Defeating her—in a literal way—is thus far the only possible route and that undermines the archetype Rooster Teeth wants to chuck Ironwood into. He can’t be the cold-hearted military man choosing violence over peace when peace is simply not an option.

So we have a setup where every single one of Ironwood’s decisions is automatically both sane and justified because there is an immortal grimm queen trying to kill them. And she cannot be reasoned with. Extra security? No duh you want that. Suspicious of others? No shit Beacon fell precisely because it was infiltrated. Making sacrifices? What else is there to do except roll over and let Salem win? The options presented to him were “make sacrifice” or “everyone absolutely dies” so no, in this case the sacrifice is not deemed “unnecessary” and therefore something that we can criticize him for. Ironwood is not fighting a powerful but also potentially sympathetic enemy, inviting a perspective that his actions may be too severe in the face of that threat. Salem isn’t a Darth Vader who is going to turn back to the light when she sees her child. She isn’t a Sauron with a convenient Achille’s heel (as of yet anyway) thereby inviting an easy solution that doesn’t risk too many lives. The grimm are not the Klingons who, if you just take the time to know their culture, you can find common ground with. They and Salem are more akin to the Borg: a relentless, unreachable, immortal force that seeks only to destroy everything. She is RWBY’s devil and thus by default any question along the lines of, “But should Ironwood really have..?” is answered with an emphatic “Yes.” Because the only other option is total annihilation for the entire world, not just the one city you’re worried about. RWBY’s villain is such a massive, unarguable threat that the setup doesn’t allow debate in regards to what’s going “too far.” By having Team RWBY and Oscar parrot those views from other stories they just come off as sounding naive, foolish, and arrogant. Salem is not an enemy that you just need to try really hard to beat in battle. She is currently immortal. She is not someone you just need to talk down. She will annihilate you and laugh while doing it. “Unnecessary sacrifice” only exists in a world where you have a chance of taking another route with success. RWBY hasn’t provided that route yet. 

Thus, most military archetypes don’t have to face the level of threat that Ironwood does. In fact, their status as antagonists largely relies on the belief that the threat isn’t severe enough to warrant whatever horrific order they’re giving. Rooster Teeth has written a character based on tropes that do not work within the scenario they’ve set up… and a good chunk of the fandom aren’t critical enough viewers to see the disconnect. They just watch that collection of tropes and characteristics and fill in the blank based on what they know from the rest of popular culture. Like a really messed up Mad Lib. “Ah! I recognize this character! He’s a military man. He’s strict at times. He’s taking control of a situation and achieving that with an army. This is all a Bad Thing and I know that because I’ve seen it a thousand times before in a thousand different stories. The powerful military man is the antagonist and the heroes are the ones who fight for the marginalized!” And thus the viewer is encouraged to prioritize that assumed reading over the actual context of this particular story. Few are willing to admit that “Leaving marginalized people behind because otherwise we will all be slaughtered” is not the same situation as something like “Outright attacking a marginalized people because I want something from them. Or abandoning them because I just don’t care.” They see the basic, surface characteristics and think they know the answer to this story. Team RWBY = good and Ironwood = bad. 

That’s only the tip of the problem though. It’s a big problem, but literally every step of the way Rooster Teeth would need to change things if they actually wanted to give Ironwood this arc in a way that made any sense: 

They would need to change how they portray Mantle going all the way back to Volume 4 because we knew straight out of the Fall that Mantle has had a lot of problems for a very long time. That’s not all on Ironwood—it’s not possible for it all to be on Ironwood—and thus it’s neither correct nor fair to paint Mantle’s dystopian-like state as his doing, as we saw at the beginning of Volume 7. 

They would need to convince us that Ironwood is actually paranoid/being overly cautious, rather than what we actually have which is… completely logical safety measures against everything that has done them in up until now. Everything Ironwood implements is in direct response to something that killed people or felled a school. 

The story would need to give Ironwood better solutions that he then rejects. Obviously this is crucial for the leaving Mantle situation. As I’ve said numerous times before, you can’t paint Ironwood as a horrific person for following the only plan they had. “Stay to die” is not a plan. If they wanted him to read as in the wrong for leaving, Team RWBY needed to give him a good reason to stay, one that doesn’t automatically equal everyone dying, especially when Ironwood’s own solution is “save at least some.” However, this also needed to happen in regards to Amity. The fandom keeps pointing out that Ironwood took resources from Mantle, painting it as this cruel and awful thing… without acknowledging the necessity of that. Or that our heroes likewise demanded that he finish. Ruby is equally responsible for taking those resources. Again, if they want to paint Ironwood as unhinged and cruel in his decision, they need to provide him with alternatives: “Hey, general! Why don’t we just use these other resources instead?” “No. They must come from Mantle.” or “Hey, general! We’re just going to let you know that finishing Amity is fundamentally useless because you can’t defeat Salem with a giant army. Maybe stop taking resources now.” “No. I don’t believe you. I’m going to forge ahead with my own plans, ignoring this new information.” Neither of these things happened. We weren’t told that there was another way to build Amity and Ironwood wasn’t told that his plan was flawed… making his decision both necessary and justified, given what he knew. To my mind, Team RWBY is far more responsible for Mantle’s state since they encouraged that drain on the resources while knowing the use of those resources wouldn’t achieve what Ironwood assumed it would. Which, while failing to paint them as heroic, likewise undermines Ironwood’s supposed villainy. Why do we hate him for this again…. when Ruby is doing the exact same thing…? 

They would need to have established, all the way back in Volume 2 and onward, a personality that allows for him to go to certain extremes, such as shooting Oscar. I don’t have the energy to dive into this one in great detail right now, but suffice to say the fandom has decided to horrendously miss-characterize Ironwood in an effort to justify an illogical action based on what we know about him. I’ve seen the “He once said he would shoot Qrow!” so often I’m literally astounded by the reach there, but I’m also seeing a lot of “Ironwood has never shown any sympathy towards children!” Which… okay. The absence of interaction is not proof of hatred. Meaning, having watched seven volumes in which Ironwood doesn’t interact with kids only tells us we don’t know how he feels about kids, not that he obviously despises them. A lack of scenes wherein Ironwood expresses his adoration for everyone under the age of twenty is not evidence for dislike, nor more than making a claim like, “Well Ruby obviously hates pears” would be. Why would she hate pears? Because we’ve never once, ever, heard her say that she likes them. She’s never spoken positively about them. Never stood up for them! So clearly they’re her least favorite food. Sound ridiculous? Same situation here. To say nothing of the fact that we do see Ironwood interacting positively with kids, if we define “kids” as “characters significantly younger than him.” We watched him desperately protect large groups of students at Beacon. Stand up for Weiss at the party despite how much that threatened his political situation with Jacques (as seen in Volume 7). Send Yang an expensive new arm purely because he knows what it’s like to lose a limb. The narrative has gone out of its way to demonstrate how kind and compassionate Ironwood is, all of which would need to be changed—if not outright erased—to give us someone capable of shooting Oscar like that. 

The fact that the fandom chooses to ignore characterization doesn’t mean it’s not there and that characterization, at its core, fundamentally hinders the “military man goes off the deep end” archetype. Because Ironwood is nothing like his parallels in popular culture. His situation is not one that he can resolve peacefully. He was not given better options that he then rejected. He has never been a cold, manipulative, cruel person. Honestly, if they wanted to write this arc then they needed someone other than James Ironwood living in the world of RWBY. We’d need a different kind of war and a different character introduced all those volumes ago. Because as it is, the story Rooster Teeth wanted to tell simply isn’t a story fit for the Ironwood and the Remnant they created. 

[coppoladelrey]

Heartless - Part 12

A/N: Hey guys, I’m back and I hope that I can keep posting this and other stories. I hope you like this chapter.

FEEDBACK! Buy me a coffee💕

Summary: Bucky was deeply in love with Natasha, but she leaves him for another guy, and he doesn’t know that. After a few weeks in his room, he goes buy a coffee, and he meets you, the opposite of Natasha. He decides to date you, to prove Natasha that he moved on, what will happen when you find out?

Thor Odinson x Reader ; (Former) Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Angst.

Tag List: @captainsamwlsn, @logical-spider, @learisa, @buffy-morgendorffer-01, @ly-canthrope,  @joannie95, @wtfholland, @nikolett3, @buckyisthatyou, @atomicfandombomb, @lostinthoughtsandfeelings, @just-a-littlebit-of-everything, @uservalkyrie, @akamaiden, @lokigreyvatore, @bucksandroses, @phoenix-whiskey-tears, @samantha281203, @sakurashortstack, @jackiehollanderr, @starkillazz​, @marvelsfansworld, @stardustsoldierrook, @melimelbean​, @cobra-anon, @analovesseb, @lovemarvel101, @letsthedogpackandthecats​, @imreallyweird​, @fuckthatfeeling​, @deathbyrabbit, @fxckingfat​, @escapetheshackles​, @ilovethewayyourheartbeats​, @infj-slytherclaw​, @firefly-in-darkness​, @hybridasian.

Heartless Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Brock was taking you to a white van, you were trying to keep up with him. You were scared, you had no idea where Sharon was, and you had no way of communicating with Thor, or all the other Avengers. You finally got to the white, there was another agent inside, he was driving. Your heart was pounding, your babies were restless, it seemed like they knew you were in danger. It was a sunny day, many people were outside enjoying the sun, you got into the van, and that white had no windows at the back, but there was a seat for you, you were thankful for that, you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself without that seat. You saw that the van passed the tower, which was weird for you, and your babies were knocking your organs, you were starting to get breathless.

“Where are we going? Why did we passed the tower?” Brock was holding your arm, you were trying to catch your breath.

“The tower might be compromised, we are going to a safe house. We’ll try to get a hold of Thor for you, but it’ll take a days, maybe weeks.” Now your babies were giving spaced out kicks in your ribs, it was easier to breathe, but this whole situation was making you even more uneasy, how does the tower that Tony Stark built himself might be compromised, but you decided to shake those thoughts away, it was just a security measure, you convinced yourself. You looked at Brock, he had scars all over his face, and judging by his arms, all over his body as well.

“It was on the job.” He declared, startling you. “The scars, you were staring.” He smiled. “I was lucky enough to get skin transplant, almost all of my body was burned, I just have scars of the transplant as a reminder of what I’ve been through.” You felt for him, it must’ve been a horrible experience for him.

Being really tired, you took a little nap. You were restless but the pregnancy hormones took the best out of you. Brock woke you up, and your babies started to kick you again. It was an awful building, but you convinced yourself that it was just a decoy, it had to be like not to attract the bad guys after you, right? 

“Follow me, Y/N.” Brock was showing the way, the safe house wasn’t that clean. You got to a room with no windows, and Brock closed the door, and your babies started to quick you again. You only had one source of light, the lamp above you that was moving because of the door.

You sat down on the bed, you just wanted Thor to open that door and tell you that everything was going to be okay, that the people that want to kidnap you for some reason are dealt with, and that you’re coming back to Asgard. The bedroom was a little bit dirty, there was a toilet at the end of the bedroom, without a door, just the toilet, you started to feel the temperature dropping, it was a sunny day, you haven’t brought a coat, or a jumper with you. 

It’s been at least an hour, you were pacing around the bedroom and the door opened. It was Brock with two doctors, they were setting up many different machines, one of them guided you to the bed. You were starting to get concerned about Brock and his intentions.

“Don’t worry about all of this, the doctors are just making sure that you and your babies are fine. I’m trying to get in touch with Thor, but I can’t reach the Avengers yet. They are still dealing with the threat. I’m sorry, I’ll keep trying.” You just nodded to him, and he left you alone with the doctors. 

One of them was taking blood from you, while the other one was setting up the ultrasound. You could hear heartbeats, different heartbeats. You started to cry, you haven’t heard their heartbeat yet. You wished that Thor was there to share that magical moment with you, you wished that he was there to hold your hand, and tell you how happy he was to have a family with you, like he always declared.

“Is everything alright with my babies?” You asked the doctor that was performing the ultrasound, she seemed like a sweet woman.

“Yes, the three of them are fine. It was really hard to see the girl, the two boys are already really protective of her.” She touched your arm, and left with the other doctor. You were having triplets? Having a big family was in your plans? How were you going to take care of triplets? 

None of these questions mattered right now, you just needed to find Thor. When you tried to open the door, it was locked, and you realized that you couldn’t open it, it could only be unlocked from the outside. Your babies started to quick you again, and then it hit you, maybe they were trying to warn you about the danger all along? You didn't know Brock, why did you trust him so easily? Where was Sharon? Why didn't she take you away? Where were you, exactly? 

The only conclusion that you came to was that you needed to leave and quick, you were trying to find a way to open that door, but Brock came back and he looked at you, with your huge belly, down on your knees, trying to open the door. 

“What are you doing, Y/N?” He helped you getting up, and you needed to make sure that Brock didn't see you as an enemy, he could hurt you or your babies.

“I just really need to talk to Thor, I’m really scared, bad people are after me and I have no idea why, I was trying to leave and look for him. I know, I shouldn’t but I’m really scared.” Brock signed, he put his hands on his hips and looked down.

“I know it’s a stressful situation, especially on your state. But we are trying to get a hold of him, just wait a little bit more, and don’t try to leave this room, it’s for your own safety. I’ll ask someone to bring you food.” And just like that, Brock left you not giving you time to ask him questions or to question him. You just tried to sleep, hoping and praying that Thor will come after you.  

The door was opened and someone brought you food, the large man in front of you didn't say anything, he left the tray of food next to you in the bed and closed the door without saying a word, or even sparing a glance at you. When you looked at the tray your mouth was watering, it was your favourite food and your favourite dessert. You started eating, and it was delicious, it even made you forget all about your situation. The food gave you the strength to think about your escape route.

********************************

It’s been a day since Brock took you, and he hasn’t given you any update on trying to find Thor. You were getting really worried, and now here you were banging on the door, trying to leave this horrible place. But you soon learned that you shouldn’t have done that, because a short bald man came, and he was with two massive men on each side of him.

“Runlow told me over and over again, to be patient with you, and wait for you to calm down. But guess what? I’m done waiting.” He hit you with some sort of baseball bat, but it wasn’t wood, it seemed like rubber. You fell on the floor, your hand was on the right side of your face, where he hit you, he got closer and closer to you. That made you try to get as much distance from him as possible, but your back was against the wall, literally. 

“You were impossible to find, imagine our surprise when we learned that you went to Asgard with the god of thunder. But it was worth it, all of the surveillance that we had set it up for you. You see, animals tend to breed more willingly when they are happy, when they don’t think that they’re being watched. But animals sometimes need some human meddling, and let me tell you, fertility drugs are almost 100% effective. One threat to your trusted doctor and he was more than happy to change your contraceptive pills to make you sick, and suggest you something better, something practical, something that made you not think about protection, something that made you happy to breed without any consequences.”

 That’s when it hit you, when you went to your doctor before the holiday at the private island. You couldn’t say anything, those people were watching you ever since you started dating Bucky? They messed with your body for their twisted agenda? You felt sick to your core, how could people do this to other people? But why? Why would they do this?

“We were more than certain that you were going to come back from that trip with a super soldier baby in your belly, but imagine my surprise when I heard that you left without any trace of where you went? But now we couldn’t be happier, because we don’t have a super soldier baby, we have three demigods in our hands.” He was getting even closer to you, but you were trying to get away from him. 

“I DON’T KNOW, I DON’T KNOW IF THOR IS FATHER.” You screamed, your biggest insecurity passed your lips, you didn't know it was true. But Thor was going to be their dad, no matter who helped you create them.

“There’s only one way to find out.” One of the agents gave the man a stick, you thought that he was going to beat you again, but he only put the end of the stick in your belly and flicked a switch on the stick and nothing happened. “They are demigods indeed, this taser should’ve killed you.” 

But then a harrowing pain deep in your core came, a roaring scream came from your throat, tears fell from your eyes, instantly. It was nothing like you’ve ever experienced before, and you had no idea where it came from. The man got closer and closer to your ear, and then he whispered:

“If I were you, I would behave and not cause any disturbance because from I could tell, the only ones that can hurt you is not me, is your babies, and they are not kind to you, whatsoever.” He tased you again and the pain came back, except this time made you pass out on the floor, with tears in your eyes and your hands on your belly.

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Even If the Waters Rise 2/3

Shadowrun inspired Mermay part 2 out of 3 - this thing turned into a monster because this here is like 9k words. Also, contains anime fights, and too competent people. (Honestly, like 95% of teams I ran would fuck up this scenario spectacularly).

Also, warnings for the whole planned thing: blood, gore, and violence; cannibalism (human on metahuman); questionable jokes and questionable totem choices; ambiguous relationships; referenced limb loss/cybernetics/etc; mating cycles.

*

The whole inside of the sub stinks of the cigar smoke.

The ventilation system manages to get rid of the smoke itself, but the reek remains. Jack would call bullshit on Jesse's insistence it's a vital part of the ritual - the justification itself a steaming load of bullcrap.

Point is, even if he's pretty sure that's the fact, he won't, because he doesn't know enough about the subject to not make a fool out of himself. He finishes fitting the exo jacket and does a cursory check of its mobility and the armor plates layered over it.

The next is the pistol and the rifle, both at full capacity, unlikely he will end up needing another power unit for either of them. The hip pack holds eleven demo charges and the pad, Jack threads the cable with the plug under the armor and leaves it hanging for now.

"Much longer?"

"Nah, about finished," Jesse answers without opening his eyes and takes another deep drag of his cigar. Seeing this, Jack feels almost nauseated in his stead.

The visor clicks neatly into the sockets of the frame, integrated jack connecting immediately. He plugs the pad cable into the remaining port. The tactical overlay reloads, feeding him new data.

"Som, want to ride tonight?"

"No, thanks, I'll go through the tac, I have an idea what we'll find and I'd prefer not being flooded by your sensory output."

"I'm feeling a bit bloodthirsty, anyway."

"Don't you always." Sombra flashes his display in response. In time for Jesse to turn around in the chair as the coyote fades back into existence on the serape.

"And done. We're in the clear from this side. I have the entire array down to a pat."

"No good if anyone with a moderately adequate sense of smell can, and will, smell you downwind." Jack rolls his eyes while putting the face mask on.

"All part of the process."

"Sure. Not dragging your sorry ass back."

"Dude, it's going to be the other way around."

"Even if," Jack grabs the rim of the hatchway and pulls himself up, bracing against the railing and leaning back inside, "it will be your fault alone."

"There's a ladder for a reason, dude, you don't need to show off yet." Jesse hands him the drone he sets off flying right away. The thing veers away and gains the altitude with a subtle whizz of its rotors. Sombra will keep it at a distance until Jesse does his thing.

"See if I pull you up now. Genji?"

"Waiting for the signal." The reply comes on the spot, the voice metallic even through the comms.

Jack jumps off the sub, landing softly on the shore. The wall is at least four meters tall, four and twenty according to the display's measurements. His fingers dig into the concrete as he scales it - feels like nothing - the boots keep his feet anchored to the surface. On the top, he surveys the area. No-one is standing guard, probably too lazy and too comfortable with the alarms set up, the only thing to worry about another gang or triad wanting to move into their turf as unlikely as it would be considering the current power balance. But then, with the worth of one facility and the specialists in the trade involved, probably everyone gets a piece of this pie to not upset the supply chain.

Jack lets down the rope, waiting for Jesse to clip it to his harness before he pulls him up.

"You need some kind of diet."

"You're the only one complaining. There's just a lot of me to go around. Love handles are a thing, you know?" Jesse wheezes, finally joining him on the wall. "Thatta way," he points to the closest building. "Cover me while I negotiate."

"Don't die on the way."

"You're just jealous I got some healthy fat on me."

"The only person insisting it's sexy is your recurring ex, and that's because it gives you higher blood volume."

"Wait, dude, seriously?" Jesse looks up from the spot Jack let him down.

"No idea. I'm making it up as I go."

"Well, shit, you really had me consider dieting for a sec there."

"Should've kept the charade up." Jack lies down on his side at the top of the wall, the rifle held precariously with no additional support. Its matte coating disperses the light. "I have fov. Go."

"You expect me to run?" Jesse snarks holding down his hat - incidentally running - stopping a few steps from the building, more a shed than anything else.

"Kind of." Jack centers the reticle on him, noticing the coyote is gone, again. Which doesn't bode well. "Where's the friend?"

"Working, shush!"

Jesse plops down, cross-legged, the prosthetic hand in his lap, the other holding something close to his chest - probably one of his amulets - and Jack briefly entertains the thought of shooting the stupid hat off his head just to make a point. In truth, keeping half his attention on Jesse allows for a smooth feed of environmental data from the surroundings, and if anything goes wrong, though magic, the spirits usually go down well enough when treated with sufficient amounts of very mundane munitions. His are several grades above that.

"The fuck is it...?"

The spirit forming out of the wall in front of Jesse looks nothing like any other he had ever seen before, standing as tall as a troll, a mass of mangled flesh and fur sloughing off its skeletal frame in gag-inducing half-liquid scraps. The half of whatever is supposed to cover its maw is missing, showing off the strange shape of the skull and the frankly terrifying fangs from between which bubbling drool dangles.

It roars soundlessly and Jesse shudders, breaking the first amulet.

The spirit moves forward, sluggishly, against the invisible force pushing it back. Jack puts his finger on the trigger, wondering if he'll even notice the entire thing going south fast enough. If he doesn't, well, Jesse's in scalding water.

Jesse discards remnants of another focus.

The moment Jack's half a mind to light the ugly motherfucker up, a flash of grayish-brown jumps to the spirit's back. The coyote sinks its teeth into the spirit's nape and closes its jaws, twisting. Jack swears there's some kind of cracking sound that's not a sound at all. The rest of the rotting flesh dissipates and the bones burn before following suit.

"Okay, done," Jesse spits to the side, disgust clear in his tone. "All were bound to this one."

"Jesus. What was that?"

"Bad Ainu spirit, powerful," the answer is surprisingly somber. "Feral."

"Tells me nothing." Jack slips off the wall, the drone navigating overhead filling in the gaps in the tactical overlay with new data, finding and pinpointing heat signatures.

"Corrupted bear spirit, someone brought it inland. Nasty stuff, dude." Jesse pats the coyote. Predictably, it snaps at his hand, and he pulls it back with a quiet curse - staring the coyote down until it turns and walks away, unbothered. "Anyway, the one who set it up is gonna feel it, but the further away they are, finding out what that was will take longer."

"No change of movement patterns so far. Genji, take over 'Love Handles' here," Jack snickers at the indignant look Jesse directs at him. Genji confirms, his marker shifting on the display. "I'm moving along."

He follows by the wall, the sparse lamps providing enough contrast to shadow to have him blend with the surroundings. The complex itself - if it even could be called such - was not built with defensibility in mind, but rather adapted for the utility away from the prying eyes. It had to be a port before, maybe even a regular fishing dock, the layout betrays it with the repurposed boat sheds corroding in the sea air - the wall ending abruptly obviously there to protect from the wind and the waves coming in from the side.

Jack departs the relative safety of the wall towards two vehicles parked sideways in relation to the main building where the heat signatures congregate. One is an armored personnel transport, the escort most probably, the other a massive truck with a refrigerator. He takes two charges out of the hip pack and changes the frequency on both of them. The first one goes under the truck, just behind the join with the cabin, the second under the transport. All while keeping his attention on the lone signature exiting the building.

Jack clips the rifle to his back, focusing on the hostile. A smoke break, judging by the movements. Slowly shifting his weight, Jack moves into the position, tracking the motions of the enemy. The tac display flicks between the straight visual feed and the heat map.

Ten meters, turning away from him.

The smell on the air is stronger this close to the building; the mixture of the toxins in the blood is palatable on his tongue here, kicks off his fight-or-flight instinct and the adrenaline floods his system. And for Jack, it's always fight, never flight. The first limiter is off, an overkill, but he doesn't care.

He springs from behind the transport - jumping as the hostile is turning - left palm grabbing their forehead, right fist coming to stop in their nape with a crunch.

His feet hit the ground in front of them and he shoulders the weight, lowering the soon to be a corpse man down. The dropped cigarette still smokes. With a smile, Jack puts one explosive in front of the wildly moving eyes.

"Damn, that's cold even for you," Sombra whistles.

"I'm in a bit of a mood." Jack pulls the rifle into his hands and puts his back to the wall. "That's Arasaka gear."

"Adding their chatter to the monitored."

The display flickers, overlaying structural scan on the tac. Jack glances at the sky - the drone is nowhere to be seen. As it should be.

Genji and Jesse both catch up, sheltered by the vehicles.

"Genji, upper floor. 'Love Handles', find somewhere else, demos underneath."

"Where?" Jesse's heat signature unmistakably turns around with one arm outstretched.

"Go for the fridge. Two inside." Jack takes a deep breath and turns, walking inside with the rifle braced against his shoulder, trying to not be too quiet about it, as if he's the unlucky guy outside.

Five in the room past the corridor, visibly relaxed - four at the table, one lying down. Three on the level up.

"Genji."

The command is followed by a crash above and a scream. Jack falls into a crouch as soon as he gains the visual on the four hostiles turning to the metal staircase on the other side of the room.

The recoil on each shot is cushioned by the exo jacket. Mostly.

On the tac, the fifth one is scrambling in the corner to get up. One from the upper floor gets halfway down the stairs before Genji is on him, pushing him down to the ground, his katana sliding in easily at an angle between the shoulder blades. Jack rushes inside the room - flipping his own direction with a foot planted in the floor past the doorframe - the butt of the rifle slightly off balance as he fires. This one, he's going to feel in the morning.

The plasma projectile rips the meat off the target's throat.

Genji nods once, rising. He flicks the blood off the blade.

"See if you find any paper trail, I'm going..." There's the unmistakable sound of Jesse's revolver going off in the distance. Jack's not worried, not really, he had seen this thing vaporize someone's midriff once.

He shrugs and throws two charges at the opposite walls of the room, down to six now, and backtracks outside, leaving Genji to go through anything that may be in the open.

"Jesse?"

"One's inside."

"There's no-one inside."

Unless... The cold room. Someone went into the freezer. One big heatsink on the tac. Anyone outside would show.

Jesse is leaning against the corrugated metal, revolver in hand, few paces away from the body lying face-down - unarmored, precise shot to the back that blew out half of the chest on the way out, judging by the spray.

"Follow. Som, can you...?" Before he finishes, the drone does a dive fly-by by the entrance, returning to the sky after.

"Clear. Closed shut."

Jack shoulders the rifle. The smell of blood and meat is stronger here, will be worse inside - something about it always sets him off. The building's layout is as simple as it gets: built around the freezer block with a small makeshift separate space to the side to provide for temporary living arrangements.

"Jesse, check it out." Jack walks to the freezer's door. The lock panel shines with glaring red. He moves aside to let the drone pass - unholsters the pistol as Sombra connects to the door's interface. They open with a quiet hiss, expelling clouds of frigid air.

The smell is horrible, hooks into his brain. The urge to kill something - someone - anything - is unequivocal.

"Clear."

Jack rounds the doorframe, pistol at the ready. Rows of tables, singular iceboxes, all the equipment needed for the processing.

"At least a dozen..." The tails being bled in the beginning stage hang from the ceiling in the back. One sways minisculely. "Fifteen."

With deliberate slowness, Jack makes his way towards it - focused on the back area, cursorily glancing at the compact cooling units - nothing unexpected: hands, organs, two heads probably to be sold as centerpieces, all partially treated already.

"Found you."

A bit of a shoe is poking from behind one table. He smiles. The man flinches with his whole body when he sees him. Any other place, any other situation, Jack would consider him a non-combatant unless otherwise provoked into action. But here, surrounded by all the evidence...

He wants - needs - to kill something.

He barely listens to the jumble of the language he doesn't understand, could ask Sombra for a precise translation, but he doesn't care. She provides some, anyway.

"Says they were forced to."

"He's lying."

"No shit," Sombra chuckles.

For a brief moment, Jack considers his options. In the end, he pulls the trigger. The pistol has a substantially lower yield than the rifle - it still very well could dislocate the joints of someone unaugmented - and a limited use against heavily armored targets. Against anyone unarmored, it kills as well as anything else, leaving behind burnt gore.

The smell of seared meat, keratin, and fat does nothing to hide the odor of the toxins from the remains of dead mermaids.

"We have a transport incoming," Sombra pulls the drone from the freezer. "Nine minutes for a clear exit."

"Jesse, Genji, grab what you have and clear out." Jack listens for the confirmations while deploying the remaining charges inside the cold room. He wants everything in here vaporized, with no exceptions.

"Five minutes."

"I know, Som, you put the clock on the tac."

When outside, Jack breaks into a sprint - there isn't a reason to hurry that much but the exertion helps to work the adrenaline out and push the smell from his lungs. He scales the wall and jumps over it.

"Three minutes," Sombra speaks, the tone making him think she might be working now on her nails - ridiculous, but he can't help a chuckle at the image it provokes.

"I know." Jack pauses on the top of the sub to grab the drone and pass it below before he slides inside into his chair. He puts the rifle braced between his legs and sinks forward, bending his knees. "Floor it, 'Love Handles'."

Jesse does, muttering something along the lines 'I see this is what we're doing now' as Jack digs the pad from the pouch - waits a moment before keying in the frequency. The sub shudders, punched by the crump following the demo charges going off on the surface, and just like this, it's time to crash.

"It all reeks of your shit cigars."

Jack does a double-take, looking above the back of his chair at Genji sprawled over the boxes. Genji, who shouldn't be here with them.

"It's good tobacco and they're expensive!"

"I'm bred and born Yakuza, I know my quality drugs."

"Genji," Jack begins carefully, "You left your ride there?"

"No. I walked."

"You... what?"

"Walked."

It's beyond ridiculous.

"How...?"

"Thirty-two hours, to be exact," Genji interrupts the question Jack's been formulating. "A pleasant hike."

Jack decides he's not going to question it anymore. The only downside is he will have to listen to them bicker about meaningless drivel for hours. The other hindrance being the obvious fact he has to peel the armor and the exo off in the front instead of in the back, behind the seats. He manages.

The third unobvious drawback: with three people more-or-less breathing, the temperature rises to levels comparable with a sauna.

State-of-the-art, his ass.

The riveting bickering Jack can tune out as the combat high fades and his system goes into the post-adrenaline crash, leaving him slightly shaking and nauseous - tired and heavy - drifting in and out of bouts of light sleep. When they finally arrive, both he and Jesse look like boiled rats while Genji is no worse for the wear.

It makes Jack think how much - and if anything - is left of Genji himself, with the work he had done on him easily exceeding whatever Jack had, and Jack himself is teetering on the edge. And if Genji runs off a BTL, it's not his fucking business, so he had never asked, and neither had he asked about why - and how - nothing past the part of his head and the upper chest buried in the metal remains. They aren't both that much different, after all.

But that aside, he has about enough energy left in him to slap McCree's stomach flab - ignoring the smirking 'you're only doing it 'cos you're green with envy' comment as it wobbles - and stumble to the temporary bunk, burying himself under the flimsy covers. If anyone's going to bitch about him not helping with the unloading, they can bitch about it later, preferably tomorrow, and, anyway, he's been the one doing most of the work, so they can suck it.

He wakes up too cold, with the shoulder bruised and giving him hell.

Going by the light, it's late afternoon. His gear is laid out on the tables, as is the carry-on he had left before the departure. Jack considers a swim against Jesse's earlier advice, but a spiny back that flashes him in the distance finally dissuades him from the idea. Pity. Quick shower it is.

The rest of the evening he spends putting away the equipment back in the containers first, later scanning the data for Sombra while eating.

"The security was lazy and too lax, they had to have been operating there long enough to grow complacent."

"I'm not so sure about it. From what I've seen," Sombra murmurs, "they might have bet too much on the magic, it was good."

"According to Jesse." Jack pauses with the fork full of the awful reheated mush when she ‘ohs’ suddenly. "What?"

"I think we've hit the jackpot."

"Elaborate?"

"With a bit of luck and time, with this info, I think I might be able to pinpoint the fleet that has been supplying this plant, among the others. We hadn't found one of those in two years."

"Full-on naval run? Fun."

"Trying to appear disinterested? I know you secretly got a boner."

"You know me so well," Jack laughs. "By the way, where are you now?"

"Frisco. You'd like it here, half the time feels like you're breathing water because of the fog."

"My kind of city."

"The views aren't bad either. Have fun tonight once in your life, okay?"

"Why would I...?"

"Trust me."

Her thoughts fade, leaving him perplexed as to their meaning. At least until Jesse barges in some fifteen minutes later.

"We're going drinking, dude, and I don't take no for an answer."

"No."

"Oh, c'mon, dude, it will do you good."

And, frankly, Jack does not understand how Jesse manages to talk him into it - the word 'chaperone' might have been mentioned in the passing - but after two drinks and an hour or so on the dance floor, he does feel relaxed and wired at the same time as he navigates back to the bar. Genji is still nursing the same scotch, slightly emptier than before. Probably that one glass is enough to keep him buzzed for the duration of the entire night, what with the amount of the actual blood he has in his system. Jesse and Lucio are talking animatedly. Jack takes the free stool and flips through the pages of the price-list built into the bar, stopping on the more interesting cocktails.

"Bloody Mary. The other menu."

The bartender looks at him quizzically.

"You don't look like one to enjoy the more sophisticated drinks."

A rather quirky and unfitting word to describe what is basically a cocktail catering to vampires that are apparently a welcome clientele in the club.

"Hey, dude, JJ, he's a freak," Jesse yells from the side over the music, "but he's our freak, so give him what he wants, would you, dude?"

It turns out to be watered down blood with hardly any trace of alcohol in it and a celery stalk thrown in, served in a wine glass with some damn goofy bats on it. Way to stay inconspicuous - Jack snorts before taking another sip, surprised at how agreeable the concoction is. The flavor spills on his tongue and teases the sense of smell, not quite there yet, has him drink the rest of it in one go as he chases after the climax of the taste, and leaves him waiting on the last drops. Licking his lips with a sigh, Jack places the glass back on the bar counter.

Only now he notices the place next to him has been taken in the meantime.

"The same, again, JJ." The man has a deep voice and an eye-catching cybernetic, high grade. Definitely a designer shell on it built for aesthetic value.

"Change the water for ninety-proof, would you?" Jack nods at the bartender. The alcohol adds a layer to the impression, biting where the taste of blood fades. Jack shifts his attention back to the man, and the suits lounging nearby. They fit in the awkward way any corpo rat in a place like this would, if not for their attentiveness. "Counting on something, rich boy?"

Metal fingers grip his jaw, turning his head to the side, put the pressure in, the grab far too familiar in how it applies the force to the bone.

"Those are some fine cock-sucking lips, pity for them to go to waste."

As his eyes drift lower and stop at the rich boy's crotch, Jack catches himself on the fact he's considering it. But the thing is, nobody touches him like they own him, except for Gabriel - because Gabriel does own him. There's something vicious and cruel winding up in him.

"Say what, rich boy, you beat me," Jack flicks his eyes visibly towards the stage, "you get them."

"Even better without the teeth," the rich boy laughs, nodding to the bartender, and the hand is off. Oh, it's a risk Jack's willing to take because there's a point to be made.

"Put it on the ice." He gestures to the drink and hops off the stool, moving towards the stage without looking back, knowing he's being followed. The lights and the music change, people knowing the club's gimmick move back from the marked spot and pull the stragglers with them.

Jack jumps over the rising waist-high barrier and stops slightly off the middle of the ring. He turns around and rolls his shoulders, the right still sore and hurting. Somehow, Lucio is already on the stage chatting up the DJ. The rich boy gets right in his face. Smirking.

"Your bitch ass is mine."

"Sure."

All the lights not focused on the ring and the stage go out.

Jack dives under the first swing. The second one he sidesteps, it's his turn to smirk as he judges the technique and the speed, the coiled spring in him ready to snap. There’s momentum behind the punches, but the speed and the precision are lacking. The footwork is not especially good, either, but the rich boy might feel cocksure because the pure mass and strength probably won him some scuffles, not to mention the monkeys at his heel. To pass the real judgment, though, he does have to get hit.

Jack fumbles partially the next dodge, the fist connecting with his face carries a surprising amount of force behind it even as he's moving away from it - the hand is not only for show, it seems - the second jab comes abruptly. As he hits the floor, the thought he's not the only one to con this fight is unexpectedly exhilarating.

Goddamn fucking McCree screams 'five hundred on the blondie' from the side.

Jack rolls away from the punch that leaves a dent in the spot he had occupied a moment earlier. He pivots on the ball of his hand evading the following hit and jumps to his feet. This would do some serious damage. The stakes just got higher.

Jack licks the blood off his lips, the taste now undiluted, coppery, wipes the rest of it with the back of his hand, smearing it and smiling widely.

"That one's a freebie, enjoy it while it lasts."

The punches come reliably in pairs, the cybernetic hand is favored over anything else, probably at the cost of other techniques.

The coiled spring snaps, and Jack goes into the offensive, dancing out of the way and turning. The first punch misses him completely, the second one catches the sleeve of his jacket as he puts his elbow with the added momentum of the movement below the joint - skirting under the other hand immediately to find himself at the rich boy's back. He plants a foot on his ass and pushes, sending him tumbling to the ground. The surprised look of someone who just realized they bit off more than they can handle is a cherry on the top of the fucking cake.

Jack, swaying to the rhythm of the music, waits for him to get up. The flash of anger - closer to rage - at the obvious disrespect fuels his interest in the fight. He baits the guy two or three times - gets away in the last moment driving home the point he's untouchable until he allows it - watching the rich boy’s coordination and control go to shit.

It's a dangerous kind of game, pushing the opponent until they feel cornered and lash out, but the rush makes up for it.

Jack meets the rich boy in the middle as he changes his approach from evasion to the offense; goes for a quick jab below the ribs followed by a hit below the jaw. He deflects the grab aimed at his head - the fingers close around his forearm - he drags the hand holding him in front of the rich boy's chest while turning on his left foot and throws his other leg up in with a half-turn - hooking the ankle behind the man's neck.

Then, he brings his leg down with force, noting, again, the sheer surprise on that face - the grip on his arm seizing and taking with it the sleeve of his jacket and leaving the synthskin under it scraped by the fabric.

Jack puts the knee in the rich boy's nape as he lies. With the cybernetic trapped under him and his left arm twisted, he is in no position to try anything, especially when Jack adds more pressure to the wrist. He leans down, chuckling, bringing his lips closer to the man's ear.

"Who's the bitch now?"

He gives the arm another cautionary shake before he jumps off the rich boy's back and leaves the ring. At least, compliments due where they are, he knows when he's beaten and doesn't follow to make a scene.

Back at the bar, with Lucio fretting over his face, Jack finishes his drink. Genji is already gone, and Jesse’s nowhere to be seen - until Jack catches the sight of him leaving the club with a bob of white hair on his shoulder. Fucking moron. If Jesse turns up later as a vampire or a desiccated corpse lying in some ditch, it's not Jack's problem anymore.

He hisses briefly as Lucio sets his nose proper and dabs it one last time with a tissue for good measure before making his way back to the stage. Time to get going, he can feel the interest of the spectators in him growing. Jack waves the bracelet at the reader. It blinks red. His tab is paid.

Maybe Jesse, with the money he made off him.

Outside the club, Jack briefly considers catching a cab before his eyes land on the luxury car one of the suits from before is leaning against.

Fuck it.

It's the night of poor decisions all around, Jack thinks as he strides towards it.

"Move," he barks at the monkey, not waiting for the tensing man to comply before he opens the side door looking inside. The rich boy puts away his phone and the other suit aims at Jack's head with the handgun. "Send the monkeys away, or have them sit in the front."

Their displeasure is visible and only serves to heighten Jack's amusement, more so when the rich boy nods. He gets in, gives the approximate address of the dock, and the car starts rolling down the street to join in with the traffic.

"One rule. You touch me only when I tell you to."

He makes quick work of rich boy's pants and grips the already half-hard length in his hand - looking up with a clear warning on his face before he goes down on him, feeling the cock properly fill out and become rigid between his lips. Makes sure his teeth scrape against the skin. He pulls away when the hips under his palm start to jerk with the motions and swats with a warning growl at the hand reaching to hold him in place.

Still kneeling on the floor, Jack strips out of both the jacket and the shirt underneath in one go, throws them to the side. Unbuckling his belt, Jack moves to the opposite seats, braces against the back, and looks over his shoulder.

"Need a special invitation?"

The inside of the car is too small for anything like this - for both of them - Jack delights in how it puts the rich boy in an awkward position. A moment later, he has his face pushed into leather and a hand fumbles with his pants. He hisses first at the burn, the cramping pain deep inside rips an aborted whine out of him - cold metal planted between his shoulder blades keeps him down, not that he minds.

Jack’s fingers rip up the upholstery.

Greedy and selfish, it's what the rich boy is, as is Gabriel himself, but how the same quality differs so intricately between the two of them is something illuminating in its simplicity.

The rich boy takes and tries to assert his dominance when he has none, whereas Gabriel knows Jack belongs to him and Jack knows back he himself is, in a way, his prized property to be taken care of - the bullet to be fired at whatever Gabriel wishes him to destroy.

The sex is barely satisfying and ends too soon with the rich boy falling against his back - Jack shoves him off unceremoniously and tucks himself back into the pants - but it manages to scratch the itch he didn't even know simmered under his skin for the whole evening.

"Save it," Jack nips in the bud whatever the rich boy wants to say as he gathers his clothes from the floor. "No matter what mommy and daddy let you play with, you can't afford me."

He puts the period on it with a slam of the door behind himself.

The lone security guard at the gate with maybe a tad too secretly amused expression on her face buzzes him in. Jack doesn't worry about giving out the location, no-one with any sense tries to get too deep into the seaside properties, and tomorrow he's gone from here, anyway.

In the morning, flowers wait for him at the gatehouse: a basket overflowing with white, gold, yellow, and blue. The card attached holds an unsigned phone number. He pockets it.

"Keep the flowers."

"What am I supposed to do with them?" The guard sounds offended, her face scrunched in something between offended and bewildered.

"Eat them?"

"You don't eat flowers."

"Artichokes?"

"That's one flower, and it's green."

"Fair. Leave them, throw them out, I don't care."

"The basket's nice, don't want it?" The guard leans on her elbows, thinking. Jack lifts his carry-on up for her to see.

"That's all I travel with."

He leaves her still pondering the flowers to catch his train moving inland - a first-class ticket and the whole compartment to himself, all booked by Sombra. Sometimes Jack wonders if she ever sleeps.

The itch is back with a vengeance, and he taps an anxious rhythm into his knee. An hour before his stop he realizes it's another episode coming, the prickling shifting deep into the bones, yet on the verge of becoming an outright ache above the everyday static of pain he can keep under the edge of his awareness. Just his fucking luck.

Until now, it's been possible to navigate around the days he got reduced to jittery nauseated mess hardly capable of logical thought and any movement besides dragging himself to the bathroom, maybe back if he didn't collapse on the way.

Keeping from lashing out is taxing.

It disconcerts Jack more Gabriel will witness him in this sorry state than Gabriel seeing the bruises and other marks left by someone else on his body - at least on parts that were still his body and not artificial filling for what he had lost. The need to back out of the earlier-than-usual meetup and the sudden surreal hope that maybe Gabriel will fuck him through it contradict - he doesn't even know if either is a viable option, each for a set of different reasons.

He's paler than normal when he steps off the train.

By the time he reaches the hotel he's sweating and breathing shallow, the pain in the imaginary joints rising well above the threshold and crashing in waves rolling over to his chest and stomach. His fingers swipe over the keyboard, too uncoordinated - sending the customary text. Getting the reply only acts to exacerbate his anxiety and question the reason to arrive. The hesitation proves to have substance when he notices two suits standing guard in front of the door, an ork and a bluish-skinned elf.

"She's waiting for you," the elf addresses him.

Against his better judgment, Jack enters the suite, ready for... For what, he has no idea, just hopes his clenched jaw radiates apprehension rather than anything else - a tall order, he knows.

'She' gets off the sofa with a strange flowing quality, at least Jack suspects so. The wide-brimmed hat decorated with dark fabric shaped into flowers hides her frame behind a veritable veil of darkness from behind which only two glowing mismatched eyes are visible.

"Gabriel can't make it." The voice is without a doubt feminine. She circles him once, observing him like some exhibit on a display. Jack feels anger floating to the surface at the unwelcome scrutiny he's subjected to. "Fascinating," is the ending conclusion. The gloved hand emerges from the curtain of darkness holding a familiar object.

A pillbox.

"This is a new formula that should be more effective in treating your unique condition, you should start administering it immediately." Her tone is flippant and uncaring. "I am told you are careless with taking the medication as recommended."

Jack grabs the box from her hand; the gloved finger his hand brushed against is either ended in an elaborate manicure, or tipped with a claw.

"I don't see how's that any of your business."

"I am, after all, the one manufacturing it. I would hate to see my work go to waste."

Without another word, covered by her own bubble of darkness, she glides to the door, leaving Jack alone and glaring at the pills.

The temptation is there, enticing and futile. He made the mistake once, he's not going to repeat it.

The first time, popping the pills one after another for a brief relief from the hurt: the few seconds of bliss when nothing ached forgotten immediately after when the pain slammed back into him without warning - screaming in frustration when there were no more left to take. The first time was the worst, the rest he just suffered through.

His fingers shake when he sets the pillbox down on the table - the dancing twitches playing off the connected nerves sending out random signals in confusion.

Jack stumbles to the bathroom and sinks to his knees. Forehead resting on the cool raised edge of the tub - terrifyingly conscious of every single inhale and exhale - skin clammy and cold and hot. Slowly, he sets the parameters, stopping each time he has to swallow the tasteless saliva gathering in his mouth.

He almost gives up twice: once before finishing the setup, the second time as he's trying to undress himself - the drive to just curl up on the floor barely losing to the prospect of some relief.

Sitting on the rim with his feet submerged in the water, Jack plugs into the pad.

"Som?" He reaches out after wrestling his thoughts under some semblance of control. When she nods back, he concentrates on the memory. "I want to show you something."

She pulls it up and watches while Jack smiles, feeling the wave of emotions and sensations wash over him. The dragon glides in the water again.

"Wow. That's why you purged the drives?"

For a moment, he loses track of his thoughts.

"Yeah."

"You sound strange, I know Gabe couldn't..." There's a shift in her voice and her distress banishes the rest of Jack's control sending it spiraling as he clenches his jaw. "Your cortisol levels are off the charts, as well as... Why didn't you tell me you're in so much pain, I'm sending something right..."

"No!" Jack interrupts her, too sharp and sudden. "No," he repeats after a deep breath. "It's normal. I just have to... It won't help."

"Jack."

"It happens. Flare-up. It will pass. Just... could you loop it for me? The dragon?"

Sombra stays silent for seconds ticking away before the scene plays out again in his mind.

"It will stop when you unjack."

"Thanks, Som. I mean it."

"I know. Fuck. This isn't right. I'll work on it."

"It's okay," Jack slips into the water, the momentary temperature shock providing a short respite before the nerve endings become accustomed. "You did what you could."

"Hang in there."

"Thanks."

He sinks to the bottom.

Arms wrapped around knees, Jack lets his mind flow with the memory. Under the surface, shortness of his breath makes no difference and the saltiness of the water flushes away the horrid taste in his mouth. Almost enough to keep thoughts from forming- coast over the waves of pain. Between this, and the moments he relives, time becomes meaningless, counted only by the steady movement of his chest.

The sensation that shouldn't be there sends him spiraling into confusion and panic - a brush against his back becoming a grab - breaking the layer - drowning.

While trying to fight off whatever - whoever - it is, and coughing out the water, his hand catches on the cable and rips the plug out. Only when something puts pressure on the bone below the hinges of his jaw, Jack realizes he's lying down and grabs at the arm holding him.

"Stop struggling."

The voice and the command register slowly, and when they do, he lets his palms fall away from Gabriel's hand. His head is turned to the side and the vertigo of the renewed connection provokes another wave of nausea Jack protests with a whine.

"How many times?"

He has to hear it twice with the fingers digging into the vulnerable points of the bone emphasizing the words for the question to parse.

"Eight... ten?" Jack licks his suddenly dry lips, tracking with his eyes the syringe Gabriel holds with his other hand. "..'s not going to help."

He had not needed to talk during any of the previous episodes and he winces hearing his own slurred words, more than he does at the prick of the needle and the numbing cold propelled by blood crawling from the injection site in his neck. The freezing pain is almost the polar opposite of the sensations thus far - he panics, again, trying to fight off the unmoving hand until the ice sinks its teeth deep into the marrow and shoots through his brain as he jolts on the bed with a scream before he blacks out.

When Jack comes to, the light is too bright, the contrasts too strong, and it floods his vision even through the clenched shut eyelids. He's hot, far too hot, the back of his head is damp - warm hair sticking to his neck, slicked to his forehead and temples with sweat. What is worse, whatever he's lying on - and under - is coarse and abrasive, even the minimal friction caused by his chest rising and falling with each breath is nigh unbearable.

Moving his arms proves to be an exercise in futility with how sluggish and weak they feel. Through the cotton fog swirling in his mind Jack wonders about the malfunction - how much the limbs are fucked if they refuse to cooperate with the nerves, the intent itself should be enough to prompt the action - or is it him who's fucked with the neural pathways misfiring.

He manages to kick the sheet down, it's enough to get it past the hips. The synthskin's not reacting to whatever's going on – otherwise, he'd go crazy from this. The cool touch on his stomach makes Jack jump in place and groan as the surprise forces his eyes open.

Unsticking the tongue from the roof of his mouth requires some work.

"Why are you here?" Is what Jack intends to say. What makes it out instead is garbled and croaking.

"You were experiencing a toxic hormone buildup," Gabriel replies like that's the answer to his question.

"...what was?"

"Artificial hormones to counteract, and stabilizers."

"Huh?" It's even harder to focus with the fingers gliding in slow circles over his skin - soothing - almost enough to forget the discomfort. "Would pass, normal."

There's no response, of course. Jack licks his lips. The points where Gabriel put the pressure when he held him down still hurt. Funny how he can recall only one other time something like this has happened.

He had his arm blown off and caught several slugs with his side. It had been his own fault, probably, and Gabriel had a discernible aura of anger and irritation to him when reaching for the hand and lifting the shirt to check on the stitched injuries. And being manhandled like this didn't sit well with Jack, yet. Ended with him pressed against the wall, Gabriel's hand on his throat - fingers digging into the bone and his knees going weak - and mind-blowing sex. The first fuck of his new life, and no questions asked.

"We could talk?" Jack suggests, finally able to see in the dimming light. "Don't think... I'll remember it, anyway," he adds when it obviously falls on deaf ears, but Gabriel's always like this, this being this, no explanations, no nothing. It bothers him now, surprisingly, between feeling like a wet cloth, the fuzz, and Gabriel's aloofness.

Eerily, brings up the same mean streak as before.

"Did you... you and him, did you fuck?"

The thing about Gabriel is, he never lies. Just doesn't answer if it's inconvenient. The palm lying flat on his stomach, now motionless, gives merit to the question one way or the other.

"We had... a relationship, of sorts."

But Jack gets his answer and it fucking hurts to hear Gabriel say it. Must be the hormones. The curiosity, too, because for years he had managed to not give a fuck about it all until now.

"What was he like?"

The chuckle has him turning his head to confirm its actuality - the plug catches on the cloth - he's still jacked in. The cool air on his wet hair sends shivers down his spine as Gabriel puts away a book, a paper one, to help him move to rest on his side.

With the bent arm trapped underneath, it's almost bearable. The pillow remains damp and warm.

"Impudent and fearless, the two definite qualities of his."

"Got it. Stupid and bitchy." The irony of basically badmouthing himself does not escape Jack. "Sounds like someone I know."

"Does it, now?"

"He's dead," Jack blurts out, the words following thoughts without a moment's hesitation, tumbling out one after another with no consideration. "I'm the one in here. If he comes back, it's not going to be him."

Gabriel tips his chin up with his thumb.

"Impudent and fearless, and so very clever, too clever for his own good. At least, with you, I can hold a conversation."

It's Jack's turn to chuckle.

"You could. If you ever talked to me. You're only talking to me because I won't remember it, remember? That's what you think."

"Probably."

"That's. Fucking. Cruel."

"Or maybe because you are asking now."

"I don't ask because you never tell me shit." Jack's sure his weepy frustration - and the emotions all over the place - can be easily read in his voice. "Who was he to you, anyway?"

He's steeling for the punch when Gabriel appears to be mulling the question over in his mind, his thumb tracing Jack's lower lip.

"Someone special." It hurts. He should fucking stop doing it to himself. "And, so are you. Both alike, yet unique in ways you could never comprehend."

"Maybe I could. But you won't tell me."

"No." The finger leaves his lips and travels down along his throat, past the dip between the collarbones.

"See. Herein," Jack laughs at the word, giving in to the fog, lightheaded as if drunk, "lies the problem. You never tell me shit."

"It is for your own good."

"Bullshit. You don't want to deal with the fallout, do you?" The last part barely makes it out of his mouth before Jack flinches at the touch with a high-pitched inhale cutting off anything else he wants to say. Fuck. That's one way to end the conversation. He's really fucked up if he didn't notice he's fucking hard since some point in time - and Gabriel is taking his sweet time too, teasing with his hand - it's not enough, and Jack reaches out to pull him closer barely registering his limbs finally cooperate with him. "Fuck. Don't... please."

He's choking up on words. Gabriel shifts to lean over him, continuing the deliberate motions with no intention of letting him finish, and his desperation is growing, punctuated by small sounds of distress slipping out as Jack digs his fingers into his back. The sensation of being filled arches his spine - it doesn't feel right - not wrong - just not right - but he clings to it with a needy whine and jerking hips - trying to pull the body above him closer, giving up any kind of control in lieu of chasing the denied pleasure.

The first rolling wave has him biting on the fingers between his teeth - toe-curling as it spills down the phantom nerves and runs back - still not enough, and he pleads with the whole of himself for release only to be rebuked with Gabriel's voice in his ear leading him through it. Again and again - until he's a crying mess gasping for breath and begging for Gabriel's mercy - and when it is granted, he's unprepared: coming with a soundless scream caught in his throat and his back taunt like whipcord before sinking under the surface into the depths.

Pliant, shaky, and raw, is how Jack feels waking up tangled in sheets; still too warm but not burning hot anymore, sticky with old perspiration and damp with fresh sweat. Alarmingly... lucid. The light speaks of early morning, or that peculiar breaking moment of the evening. Either way, it no longer pains his eyes.

The itch in his bones lingers, but gone is the urgency - and the memory of yesterday redefines his concept of mind-blowing.

Parched, Jack sits up looking around - feels his heart fall before he spies Gabriel sitting on the covered balcony, working, as usual, judging by the screens surrounding him, but Jack will count his blessings because Gabriel wasn't even supposed to be here according to that woman that has his skin crawling even now when he thinks about her.

He slips out of the bed, standing on wobbly legs.

The sheet feels too coarse around his waist and he discards it, walking the rest of the way naked. The artificial breeze feels wonderful on his skin. Jack halts in front of Gabriel - trying to grasp the vague recollection of... actually having a conversation with him.

"We talked," he blurts out at the questioning gaze of black and red eyes, surprised. "Yesterday."

"Yes." Gabriel holds out his hand in an invitation to him.

"What did we talk about? Was it important?" He waits for a rebuttal and laughs when Gabriel remains silent, puts his palm in Gabriel's waiting hand, and lets himself be pulled to sit on his lap, conscious in an instant of the fact he's ruining one of those ridiculously expensive suits just by touching it. "It was important. But you won’t tell me what it was, will you?"

"No."

There's a glass pressed to his lips and Jack eagerly drinks the water in big thirsty gulps, some of it dripping down his chin; he stops Gabriel from taking it away before he finishes all of it, and then just leans against him with his cheek cradled to his neck. He winces at fleeting nausea when Gabriel plugs his jack in, but, even so, the mood settles soon into comfortable silence - and he had learned to treasure those rare quiet moments with Gabriel. There's just something bothering him, more humorous than anything else.

"You know," Jack finally gives voice to it, "I'm willing to bet my meager possessions you actually knocked me out with an orgasm."

"You would lose them in the wager."

"Oh. Fuck. I was being only half-serious."

"You should be 'half-serious' about your health."

Straight to what Gabriel considers being the issue.

"It has always passed before, so that's..."

"Then you would notice those 'episodes' of yours are regular and take place approximately every five months."

Jack winces at the unusually irate note in Gabriel's voice.

"They do?"

He feels that sigh with his entire body.

"At the moment, the foremost concern is finding an adequate formula to mitigate the unaccounted symptoms. You will sign in with Sombra every day so she can gather current metrics."

"If it happens in five..."

"I accept no objections.”

Jack turns his head so he can look over the screens in the air - most of them blurred with personal encryption, and probably nothing he would even understand - but he notices one static picture with live readable feed and his stomach plummets for a second.

The perfect explanation for Gabriel's general disposition.

The rich boy.

And Jack has to breach the subject, somehow. Because Gabriel won't. He shifts and points to the holoscreen in question.

"Are you... Are you angry about it?"

"I am irritated by your negligence."

"And this?"

"It is of no consequence. It's understandable," Gabriel continues without missing a beat, "that you would find other sexual partners."

The dismissal should put him at ease, not threaten him with the inexplicable urge to cry.

"Tell me I'm not allowed to."

"Would that change anything?"

"If you tell me I'm not allowed to," Jack pushes his face into the crook of Gabriel's neck in some form of trying to hide away from the tumultuous swirl of emotions it brings up, "then I won't. Please, tell me I'm not allowed to."

Fucking pathetic for a grown man, to fight against tears and fail, but it's what happens when Gabriel remains silent on the subject, and Jack tangles his fingers in black fabric, the stifled sobs raising in force. Fucking pathetic, losing it over a thing he always knew. And fuck hormones for making him feel shit - now he would take the pain over this complete mess. And fuck Sombra for telling Gabriel on him.

And, honestly, fuck himself for harboring some kind of misguided hope against any logical rationale, Jack notes with the angry spite. Angry is often better, but now, it's not helping at all. It only makes matters worse.

Slowly, he drifts off into a fitful sleep, waking only when carried: by his own hand slipping loose off his lap. Gabriel lowers him into the water, the temperature slightly higher than his usual.

"There are other matters I have to attend to." The words are accompanied by the palm lingering on his cheek and the thumb tracing the arch of the bone before Gabriel moves away. Jack waits for the sound of the doors closing behind him. He's just tired as he sinks below the surface.

What the fuck is even his life?