#another 4% of me thinks its still friday and that the passage of time is fake

[smidge-j]

Free me from this prison cell (sick)

[gstqaobc]

THE ROYAL FASCINATOR

Friday, May 21, 2021

Hello, royal watchers and all those intrigued by what’s going on inside the House of Windsor. This is your biweekly dose of royal news and analysis. Reading this online? Sign up here to get this delivered to your inbox.

Janet DavisonRoyal Expert

Meeting the Queen online

For Dr. Steve Beerman, it was in many ways like having a pleasant conversation with his 92-year-old mother. Except it wasn’t his mother. It was the Queen. Beerman, a retired family physician in Nanaimo, B.C., spoke with Queen Elizabeth online the other day as she gave him — virtually — an award recognizing his longstanding work in drowning prevention. “I’m very delighted to be able to present you with this cup, a very large cup, which one day you might see if you come to London,” Elizabeth told Beerman as she honoured him with the King Edward VII Cup during the virtual session with the Royal Life Saving Society. Beerman, co-chair of the Canadian Drowning Prevention Coalition, was quick to reply that it was “a pleasure and a humbling honour to be with you.” Being with the Queen in this way has become the way of the royal world during the pandemic. Many observers have said that virtual sessions involving the Queen have offered new insight into the 95-year-old monarch, who has more often been seen from afar, giving formal speeches or doing a walkabout. “Many people who commented to me about the interview [said] that they had never seen her have what they would describe as a nearly normal conversation with some people,” Beerman said. “My own mother is 92. This was not a whole lot different than talking to my own mother.” Beerman, a trustee with the Royal Life Saving Society, had met the Queen at Buckingham Palace a handful of times in connection with that Commonwealth organization. But his most recent session with her was memorable in a new way. “It was more chatty,” he said. “It was more communicative than when I’ve experienced these encounters in real life, face to face. So I thought this was actually a better way to do this.” A seven-minute video of the session involving Beerman and others honoured for their drowning prevention efforts was posted online, but the overall virtual encounter lasted about 20 minutes, and came after participants had two practice sessions. “In the second one, we actually rehearsed what we were going to say and we were coached in a very nice way by the people from the royal household about pausing and being slow enough to allow her to interject with comments or questions,” Beerman said. “We were very much encouraged to participate in a conversation as opposed to doing an acceptance speech.” Still, there was a bit of nervousness for Beerman as the call began. “There’s always some nerves about are you going to misstep or say something in a way you might regret or that might be perceived to be awkward by others,” he said. As the conversation progressed, Elizabeth shared her own memories of receiving a life-saving award as a teenager. In 1941, she became the first person in the Commonwealth to receive the Royal Life Saving Society’s junior respiration award. “I didn’t realize I was the first one — I just did it, and had to work very hard for it,” Elizabeth said. “It was a great achievement and I was very proud to wear the badge on the front of my swimming suit. It was very grand, I thought.” Beerman sees the shift to the virtual world for the Royal Family as a signal the House of Windsor can change with the times. “I think it’s a strong statement of ... we can pivot when we need to, we are flexible, adjustable and, like the rest of the world, we have to respond to the reality that we live within.”

The deceit behind the Diana interview

The interview was as devastating as it was haunting. And now, 26 years after Diana, Princess of Wales, sat down with a BBC journalist and told the world “there were three of us in this marriage, so it was a bit crowded,” an inquiry has found that Martin Bashir acted deceitfully to gain the interview. It’s a finding that will echo through both the royal and journalistic worlds.   In response, Princes William and Harry made statements that lay bare the deep pain the interview with their mother has left with them. “It is my view that the deceitful way the interview was obtained substantially influenced what my mother said. The interview was a major contribution to making my parents’ relationship worse and has since hurt countless others," William said in his statement. "It brings indescribable sadness to know that the BBC’s failures contributed significantly to her fear, paranoia and isolation that I remember from those final years with her." But what saddens William the most, he said, “is that if the BBC had properly investigated the complaints and concerns first raised in 1995, my mother would have known that she had been deceived.” Diana was failed, he said, “not just by a rogue reporter, but by leaders at the BBC who looked the other way rather than asking the tough questions.” Prince Harry said their mother “was an incredible woman who dedicated her life to service. She was resilient, brave and unquestionably honest.” He said what “deeply concerns” him is that similar journalistic practices are still widespread. “Our mother lost her life because of this, and nothing has changed. By protecting her legacy, we protect everyone, and uphold the dignity with which she lived her life. Let’s remember who she was and what she stood for.” Observers suggest it will all have a significant impact on how the BBC is viewed. “It shakes the real core of journalism because people will no longer look to that broadcaster and trust them wholly because we now know that they're prepared to lie to coerce people into taking part in interviews,” marketing consultant Diana Young told the CBC’s Tesa Arcilla. Diana and Prince Charles were divorced in 1996. She died after a car crash in Paris in 1997.

Babies and the line of succession

(Peter Byrne/Press Association via The Associated Press Word this week that Princess Beatrice and her husband, Edoardo Mapelli Mozzi, are expecting their first child will add yet another shuffle in short order to the line of succession. The child, due sometime this fall, will be the 12th great-grandchild for the Queen, and the fourth baby to arrive in a matter of months. Beatrice’s younger sister, Princess Eugenie, and her husband, Jack Brooksbank, welcomed their son, August, in February. The following month, Princess Anne’s daughter Zara, and her husband, Mike Tindall, welcomed their son Lucas. Prince Harry and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, are expecting a daughter, with a due date thought to be in early summer. That baby will take the highest spot in the succession among the new arrivals, landing at No. 8, following her father, Harry, who is sixth in line to the throne and Harry and Meghan’s first child, Archie, now sitting at No. 7. The passage of time can mean marked shifts in the line of succession for those who enter it somewhat lower in the roster. Take, for example, Sarah Chatto, daughter of Princess Margaret. When she was born in 1964, she was No. 7. Now, she is 26th.

Royally quotable

"Planting a tree is a statement of hope and faith in the future."

— Prince Charles, in a video posted online to mark the launch of the Queen’s Green Canopy,

a tree-planting initiative to mark Queen Elizabeth’s Platinum Jubilee

next year that aims to enhance the environment now and for future generations.

Royal reads

1. Prince Harry says the pain of Diana’s death

pushed him to drinking and drugs

. The Duke of Sussex’s latest comments, along with further criticism of how he said the Royal Family neglected both him and his wife, Meghan, came in an interview with Oprah Winfrey in The Me You Can’t See, a new Apple TV series about mental health debuting Friday. [CBC]

2. Queen Elizabeth’s

first major ceremonial duty since the death of her husband

, Prince Philip, came during a scaled-down state opening of Parliament. [The Independent]

3. Prince Michael of Kent, a cousin of Queen Elizabeth, has

denied reports

he was willing to use his royal status for personal profit and provide access to the regime of Russian President Vladimir Putin. [BBC]

4. There was

lots of taffeta and no tantrums

during the creation of Diana's wedding dress, recalls one of its designers. [The Guardian]

5. One of the Queen’s two new puppies, which she reportedly received a few months ago from Prince Andrew for companionship,

has died

. [The Daily Mail]

6. The succession for the British throne is clearly laid out, but succession can in some other countries be

considerably more complicated

. [The Guardian]

Cheers!

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royalfascinator@cbc.ca

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💜🙏🏻🙂✝️💟PG💟✝️🙂🙏🏻💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿.

[lyansi]

Dulce periculum

Summary: Kagome isn't too sure how she found herself in this position. She often tells herself not to take on too much, not to allow herself to be deluded, and to not involve herself unnecessarily in every issue she comes across.

But how could she not? It was in her very nature to be compassionate. And, it was because of this disposition that she found herself in the middle of the night, on a Friday no less, deeply consumed with the sweet taste of danger.

Author Notes: Although Day 4 is an exploration of the sin greed, I have actually decided to explore its virtue: charity/generosity. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Rumiko Takahashi is responsible for the Inuyasha series, I only lay claim on the story I have written.

The whispers of raindrops are the only sounds she hears as it thrums against her umbrella.

Pitter-patter.

Pitter-patter.

Pitter-patter.

Light sprinkles turn into a rhythmic beat as large droplets begin to splash on the parasol, against the sidewalk, and soak into her sneakers. Hopefully she can make it home before it soaks through to her socks. Pastel-pink lips part and blue eyes gaze over the lip of the umbrella, careful to avoid dripping rain onto herself. Street lights flicker to life with the setting sun. Higurashi Kagome sighs and closes her eyes, shivering underneath the too-big raincoat as a breeze passes.

Luckily, Miroku spared an extra umbrella and his raincoat for use— he insisted, in fact, to drive her home but Kagome was quite reluctant. She kept insisting that she preferred to walk the twenty minutes between the clinic and her house. That it was merely going to sprinkle. Anyway, he was leaving much earlier than she was and she still had much more medical paperwork to look over before calling it quits.

Early on during her undergraduate degree, Kagome began to volunteer at shelters geared towards at-risk youth. Although trained as a spiritualist and miko, where she  helped her grandfather at the family shrine her spare time, she was much more invested in the community outreach programs. The human-youkai war had ended a century ago and although the larger more industrial cities lived in peace, there was still dissent in many rural parts of Japan. Often times, skirmishes lead to orphaned youkai and hanyou in foster care.

Read on AO3

In the last year of university, she had begun to look for outreach opportunities that would better prepare her for medical school. At the same time, Miroku, a graduate student, was looking for volunteers to help with his community project. She wound up spending many weeknights and weekends shadowing alongside the spiritualistic physicians who gave medical attention to young youkai and hanyou.

After Kagome started medical school, his small community project became a thriving medical clinic and shelter for those same at-risk youth. Thankfully she was able to choose his clinic in her pediatric rotation for her medical training, and often where she found herself working late on Friday evenings.

It was only after a few more hours of intense scrutiny over her clerical task that she realized that the sun had begun to dip into the horizon as streaks of orange and pink began to paint the sky. By the time she cleaned up her desk, and slipped into the large raincoat, even the last rays of sun began to wane.

And, what would have been a normal humid September evening was threatened by thick, gray clouds drifting overhead. Although rain was typical during this year— the weather app made no notice of such dark looking clouds that had begun to roll in as she locked up the clinic.

Using one hand, the woman grips at the neck of her coat, checking to ensure the fasteners are secure. When satisfied, Kagome quickened her pace. The office was not too far off from her home luckily. All she had to do was turn the corner here, walk three blocks up the street and—

Upon turning the corner, Kagome’s steps began to falter.

Standing underneath the stream of a street lamp and without any type of cover from the rain, a tall man stands with his back towards her. He is deep in conversation with an unseen person. The rain soaks into his shirt, clinging against his muscular form. One sleeve is rolled to reveal bright blue lotus flowers, woven alongside a slithering golden snake that wraps around a tanned forearm. Hands, balled up at his side, look bruise and stained with blood, washing away as the rain soaks him. Black hair drips with water, coming loose from its plait as it hangs down the expanse of his back.

Kagome’s eyebrows come together in confusion and immediately she senses that something is wrong. The man possesses no discernible jaki, so he must not be a demon, but he did not seem to hold reiki either leaning to the fact that he was just a regular human man.

It was his stance, however, that put her on edge. With feet spread wide and fists balled at his side, it was more than enough to make her shift with unease. She couldn’t see his face but knew for certain it must be contorted in anger. Feelings of anxiety begin to bubble in the pit of her stomach. Should she turn around to take a different path home?

Before she could make that decision, the man turns to her. She stares back in shock. Blue, angry eyes glare at her before Kagome notices it. Etched across his forehead in purple is a diamond star. A mark she recognizes belonging to a distinct fraction of criminals: the yakuza.

The man turns back down the passage, making a gesture as he does so. Kagome watches as he walks in the opposite direction casually and, not even moments later, another man emerges from the alley.

Like the first man, two vertical stripes emerge from the bottom of his chin and extends to his eyebrow line. In the middle of his forehead, a pointed mark was stamped. Unlike the first man whose hair fell to his waist, this man was completely bald. Beady eyes stared at her for a moment before he, too, walked away in nonchalance.

The young medical student lets out a breath she had not even been aware of holding. Kagome eyes the alleyway wearily. What exactly were those two men doing there? Maybe she should just turn around and find a different road back home after all.

Instead, she finds herself taking steps closer and closer to the entrance of the alley. At that moment the sky decides to opens up entirely and, what began as a slow drizzle, picks up speed and force. As she approaches the entrance, her heart begins to hammer against her ribs, lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub, as she remembers the stain of blood bright against tanned skin.

As Kagome peers with hesitance into the alley, her shoulders fall away from her chin. On the left side, the building wraps around with the entrance facing into the alleyway. Standing across the building were color coded trash receptacles. Nothing unusual stood out: she misinterpreted the scene for something more nefarious. It was, after all, a completely normal alleyway. Including the figure leaning precariously on the opposite end of the receptacles.

A soft gasp leaves Kagome’s lips and she rushes forward, the umbrella falling from her hands, forgotten. Soaked to the bone, a man is thrown carelessly against one side of the bin. Dark hair forms a curtain around his frame, matted against his skin and clothes. From her angle, she is unable to see his face.

“Hey! You— are you okay?” Kagome reaches out carefully and tries to rouse him. With his head tilted back in an ungraceful and seemingly uncomfortable way, Kagome can only assume him to be unconscious. She blinks away the suddenly onslaught of rain, wiping at her face as it presses her fringe to her forehead.

When Kagome presses a hand against his chest to check for a heartbeat, she feels a sudden warmth. Quickly pulling back her hand, Kagome is astonished to see her hand dripping in bright, red blood. He was injured!

“Oh no, oh no…” Kagome looks behind her. She is certain that no one would be walking around in this weather. Furthermore, walking in a residential area, there were few businesses that are still open this late. Biting her lip, Kagome decides the best solution for this situation is to get him to a place that could help.

“Hey— I’m going to help you… if you don’t want me to, you have to tell me now.” She bites her lip, knowing she is making a useless gesture by asking for permission. Even if he were conscious enough to deny her assistance, she would still insist upon it. She was compassionate, after all.

When the man makes no response, Kagome slides an arm underneath his back and works to lift him up. The sudden movement causes the man to rasp for breath, his head and chest leaning forward against her shoulder.

Using her strength, she pulls the two of them straight up. The man is definitely much taller than Kagome and she has to lean the both of them against one another.

For a moment, she wonders at the repercussions of taking this stranger to a hospital. Obvious reasons plainly indicate that taking him to the hospital might be the better place however, it may lead to some unsavory questions and refusal to assist in gang violence (because, honestly, what other situation could this be?).

Anyway, if he didn’t have his health insurance card on him, Kagome feared she would be stuck with the cost of his medical care. While she was generous to a fault, paying for a strangers very expensive medical bill helps to separate the line between generous and stupidity.

So, she makes the decision to take him back home with her. It didn’t seem like he had a weapon on him and, regardless, he was too injured to even think of hurting her. She makes a mental note to call Miroku in the morning, already knowing the firm lecture she will receive.

Thankfully, she works in a high-volume hospital and had come across her fair share of gang-related victims. This would not be the first time she patched up an injured person. And, at least it was a human this time. Some of the demons and hanyou she worked with were much harder to care for alone due to their naturally aggressive temperament when under threat.

She isn’t sure how she did it, but somehow she was able to make the trek back home. Kagome is surprised by her own strength to make it up the steps to the shrine, over the courtyard, and into the house. The rain was quick to pass through and she was able to avoid slipping through puddles.

Upon arriving, she lays him on the dining table, grateful that one of the entrances opens into the kitchen.

“Mama!” Kagome calls out, exhausted and soaked.

No answer.

“Mama? Oji-chan?” Kagome calls out again, frowning. Were they not home?

“Souta?”

Still— no response.

She walks around the kitchen as if to look for some clue. Finally, she finds it: taped on fridge door is a note written in her younger brothers handwriting (Oji-chan wanted to visit the Gero Onsen Town in Gifu. We will be back on Sunday. Mom says to lock up!).

“Great, just great Kagome.” She mumbles to herself, eyeing the unconscious man. His breathing has become harsher, and a sweat is beginning to break out across his forehead. At least she wouldn’t have to explain to her family why she brought an unconscious, wounded man back home.

With measured speed and accuracy, Kagome begins to move around the kitchen. She grabs scissors from a drawer, several clean dishrags, and fills a bowl with water. She rummages through several cabinets before finding her emergency first aid kit. Immediately, she begins working.

The first thing she does is to remove his shirt with care. Seeing how she was unable to determine where his wound was or the extent of it, cutting his shirt down the middle was her best option. Once the cloth gives her an unobstructed view of his chest, Kagome dips the dishcloth in the water and begins to dab away blood.

Had the situation been different, Kagome would have bashfully reveled in the expanse of skin. Whoever this man was, he definitely cared for his fitness. Muscles pulled taut at his abdomen and his Adonis belt dipping below the waistband of his pants.

Once Kagome cleans the blood away, it becomes easy to see the knife puncture below his false rib. Maybe due to the fact that she had put unintended pressure on the wound dragging him down the street, it was not bleeding as heavily as it could have been.

It definitely is not as deep as she originally thought and the location is not nearly as severe as some of the other injuries she had cared for in the past. With rest and care, she was certain this man would make a proper recovery.

What shocks her more than the knife wound is the number of bruises that mar his body. Lesions of different sizes and hues of purple smear themselves up his chest. She isn’t sure what warranted such an attack on this man but she was sympathetic to his pain.

Kagome works to dump the soiled water and the rags into the kitchen sink. Filling a saucepan with water, Kagome places it on the stovetop to boil. She scrubs her hands and underneath her fingernails clean and moves to remove the suture kit.

As the water boils, Kagome throws her instruments into the water. After a few minutes and using a strainer, she removes them and places them on a napkin. Kagome irrigates his wound with fresh water, before she begins to suture up him up. While working, Kagome is unaware of the passage of time. She isn’t sure whether the stitching takes her ten minutes, or an hour. When she is finally done, she throws herself down into one of the chairs closest to her and stares at him.

Reaching out, the young woman pushes away hair from his face. For the first time, Kagome actually takes a good look at the man.

Thick, dark eyebrows frame over heavy-lidded eyes. A prominent, straight nose protrudes from the middle of his face. The young woman’s eyes follow down towards full lips and a thick, muscular neck. Had it not been for the current situation, Kagome would have blushed at staring at him with such earnest.

At the top of his chest, Kagome realizes that a tattoo adorns his skin. The ink wraps around his pectoral, upper shoulder, and down his bicep. She leans closer to examine the design. Along the upper part of his chest protrudes the figure of a large canine, as if emerging celestially from the heavens itself. Golden eyes with flecks of red and yellow stare back at her. The dog vanishes in hues and shades of blues clouds that trail down his shoulder and along his bicep. Cherry blossom petals cascade around his elbow.

Reaching out a hand, Kagome traces the canine figure along his bicep. She fingers the clouds along his shoulder, and follows the path of the sakura petals. For the briefest of moments she questions if she did the right thing to care for his wound.

Exhaustion answers her, instead.

Getting up, Kagome begins to clean. She throws dirty rags in the sink, she wipes down dried blood from the table and counters. After cleaning and putting away her first aid kit, she checks the time on her phone. The backlight flashes back at her, 12:37 AM. Sunrise would be happening soon enough and she was expected to wake early in the absence of her grandfather and brother to start Shrine duties.

Should she leave him on the table then? She isn’t sure she has the strength to take him up the stairs to one of the rooms. “He may be more comfortable on the futon, though…” Kagome mumbles to herself. She slides open the shoji that separates the kitchen from the living room.

The young woman rummages through the cabinet space in the living room and pulls out the spare futon. She pushes the chabudai out of the way and throws the zabuton to the side before walking back into the kitchen.

Pulling the man off of the table, Kagome is careful to not tear open his stitches. Already exhausted between her long day and now treating this stranger, she relies heavy on the wall for support as she makes her way into the next room.

She successfully avoids the chabudai and manages to all but drop him on the futon. For the first time, a weak groan emerges from him.“Oh— shoot! Sorry, sorry.” She kneels next to his prone figure, checking over his stitches.

Satisfied with her results, and fatigued from the day, she decides to lay down on the tatami next to him.

She’ll lay only for a minute.

Kagome sighs and closes her eyes.

One minute to recharge herself.

Her breathing begins to slow.

Only a few more seconds and she’ll get up to go to her room.

Kagome is sure she must have fallen asleep as she imagines a pulling under her neck and below her knees. Her neck tilts to the side as she feels herself pressed against a firm torso. Her arm falls away from her chest and, although she should expect it to feel the tatami underneath her, she does not. In fact, she feels nothing as it dangles.

As if someone were carrying her.

Kagome startles awake, her entire upper half jumping up from her horizontal position. Heart hammering in her chest, it takes her a moment to clear away the sleep and confusion. She immediately recognizes her desk, the curtains, and her bed. Her comforter falls away from her, thrown back upon her sudden wakefulness.

When did she get in her room?

Kagome thinks to the night before: the tattooed thugs, the injured man. At some point she must have fallen asleep and awoken again to climb the steps to her room. She decides she should go check on the man.

As she begins to spring out of bed, Kagome sees her curtains flutter. Frowning, she realizes that for whatever reason, she decided to open the window. She approaches it and shuts the window tight, pulling the curtains open. The sun is beginning to peak over the horizon.

Kagome turns and begins to make her way downstairs. She decides to check on the man before she changes into her miko uniform. Although her family’s shrine has served the area for five centuries, it was not a huge tourist attraction. Usually, on a weekend, there would only be one couple who bothered to come before mid-morning. This gave her ample time to check on the man, change, and even fix herself (and him) some breakfast foods.

As she makes it to the last landing of the stairs, she full expects to see a dark-haired man laying down on the futon. What she does not expect to see, is an empty futon when her fingers flip on the living room light.

If he was awake and moving, where could he be?

Oh man, bringing him back home was a bad idea. What was she thinking?! Her family was definitely going to come home to see her mangled body thrown on the tatami. How could she be so selfish? And here she thought she was acting with genorisity.

Kagome swallows, glancing behind her, as if expecting to see him standing on the stairs above, like some axe-wielding murderer. He isn’t though. Nor is he in the kitchen or any of the rooms, or bathrooms.

“Hello? Hello! Come out please!” She calls out as she moves around the house from room to room. The man isn’t there. Nothing seems to be out of sorts either. Hands on her hips, Kagome huffs and glares at the empty futon.

After searching the house twice, she decides to give up. Either he was hiding too well for her to find (not that there were even any hiding places in the house) or he got up and left.

No note or anything! Not even a thank-you!

As she stares down the empty futon, Kagome notices a thin, string-like object thrown across the bed. Frowning, she kneels to get a much better look, noticing the droplets of blood that stand out against the cot. Frowning, she immediately recognizes the suture thread stitched into his skin hours before.

Did he rip out his stitches? How could he be so ungrateful and do something so careless! He must be bleeding all over again— wherever he was. In the end though, Kagome recognizes that there was nothing she could do. For whatever reason, this man decided to refused to accept her help. She hopes he would seek medical attention elsewhere, if needed.

But Kagome knew she couldn’t allow such thoughts to plague her. Shaking her head back and forth, she balls her fist. By doing so, her fingers tangle in long, silverly threads of hair. She pulls her hand up to examine the fine tresses, eyebrows furrowing together.

Was her Ojii-chan using this futon to sleep in? It would make sense, but the hair seems way too long. As she lengthens the threads to asses the size, she knew that it could not have been her grandfathers hair. With a span this long, it would fall down to her knees. Who else could have such long, thin silvery hair?

Was it possible that her grandfather had a lady friend?

Shuddering, Kagome balked at the thought of her grandfather being that friendly. It definitely did not fit his personality. Anyway, her mother was always home— the older woman would have mentioned it to her that he had someone stay the night. Maybe she should ask them about it when they returned— it’s possible that her mother was sworn to secrecy with this matter.

Chuckling to herself, Kagome begins to fold the futon. She returns it back to the closet and begins to straighten the room. Once she decides the living room is clean, thrown the dirted rags in the wash, and wipes and disinfects the kitchen, Kagome begins to prepare for her day, suddenly more excited than normal.

She couldn’t wait to find out exactly how her grandfather would react to his secret being revealed.

[beyondconfessor]

Principle Decisions [4/24]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: “Ask me nicely,” she whispered, her hand coming to brush across Zelda’s cheek. “Ask me to do unspeakable things to you.”

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. This is pure fantasy, please suspend your disbelief.

“Professor Spellman?” Prudence asked as she knocked on the doorframe to her work office. “I booked an appointment for eleven?”

Zelda nodded and gestured to the chair in front of her. Prudence stepped forward into the room, moving to sit in the seat before the desk, setting her bag down beside her. She waited until Zelda paled down her pen before she sat laced her hands together and leant forward in the chair, seeming to be agitated by something.

“What can I help with you, Prudence?”

“I was hoping you might have a TA position available.”

Zelda frowned. Despite her best attempts, the Department Head had been unwilling to provide her with the required funding. “Nothing paid,” she advised.

“I don’t need a paid position,” Prudence said, though Zelda could see her deflate over the response. “There’s an opportunity next year to go to Greece, expenses paid with Professor Blackwood, but you need to have some TA experience before you can obtain the position.”

Zelda nodded, familiar with the program. “I can give you a recommendation and place in a good word with Professor Blackwood if that’s what you after from this?”

“It is,” Prudence advise. There was a keen look about her and Zelda softened.

“Well, I could use the extra hands. It would be after hours, on top of your own workload, and I’d still expect you to be pulling the same marks you are now. If I don’t think you can handle it, I’ll cease your involvement immediately.”

Prudence nodded. “I can handle it,” she assured.

“In that case,” Zelda reached into the depth of her desk, pulling out a familiar sheet she had, back when Language had funding from the university, “here, fill this in and you can come back to me tomorrow.”

Prudence brightened, reaching out. “Thank you, Professor. It’s most appreciated.”

Zelda nodded, handing the slip of paper over and watched as Prudence took her bag and left, looking pleased with herself. The position Prudence required for the following year would be fully funded if she continued to keep her marks high. Zelda wasn’t sure why she wanted the position. Although Prudence showed an aptitude for language, the study its self was based around anthropological––Faustus’ domain.

Perhaps it was just for the thrill of going to Greece and having her expenses paid. If that was the case, Zelda could hardly fault Prudence. She, herself, had gone across most of the continents to complete her doctorate, whilst simultaneously engaging in the cultures far more than a PhD required.

If she was honest with herself, she missed travelling, seeing new people, slipping into bed with a new paramour or two. Once Sabrina was in college, she might consider travelling again. Wander through the middle east and return to the northern Africa countries, or perhaps try somewhere she hadn’t gone.

“Zelda,” a knock sounded at her door. Zelda capped her pen and looked up. Prudence had been a planned interruption, but Faustus was another thing entirely. Perhaps he’d sensed her thoughts.

“Yes?” she asked, smiling tightly as he stepped into the room.

“Shirley has gone on unexpected leave for a few weeks. I understand a family member is in palliative care and she’s been advised to spend time with them before their passing.” He paused there as if to allow her a chance to speak some sympathetic nonsense, but the truth was it was for Shirley, so she didn’t care what the woman was feeling. Zelda tilted her head, waiting for him to continue speaking.

In the lack of a response, Faustus coughed, clearing his throat awkwardly.“I need you to cover her classes.”

Zelda’s eyes narrowed. “Their religious studies,” she advised.

“You double-majored in language and religion,” Faustus pointed out. “Wasn’t your most recent article on the original Hebrew texts in the context of its time?”

That was an oversimplification of what her last article had been about, it’d been about a specific passage, first and foremost, and had been about the evolution of language––but she didn’t articulate that, instead of drawing back in her seat to stare at Faustus. She was proficient in religious studies, but it wasn’t an area she enjoyed teaching in just as Shirley preferred religion and didn’t enjoy languages despite completing her associates on one of the romantic languages.

“Is there no one else?” she asked. “I already have a full schedule with my office hours.”

“I’ve checked your roster, and you have room on Monday and Friday. You don’t need to change your office hours.”

No, but she used those days for marking, as well as other administrative work. Perhaps it was beneficial that Prudence had reached out.

“How long is it for?” she asked.

“Six weeks at most.”

Six weeks, Zelda bit her tongue to stop from snapping back. “I’ll need funding for a TA until she returns then.”

Faustus’ mouth parted before he nodded. “I can find some funding.”

There, Zelda relaxed. Well, that would at least be helpful towards Prudence. If the girl was working, she might be able to ease her external shifts to help with the overflow and marking. “Thank you, Faustus. Send over what you have from Shirley, and I’ll compose a lesson plan for next week.”

“I…need you to start this Friday.”

Zelda felt her a tension return to her as she stared down at the grain in her desk, biting back any sharp comment.

She’d booked an appointment on Sunday for her Doctor’s appointment––mostly because she was overdue––but in part, if she was honest, she was intrigued as to what Lilith had to offer.

Since the Saturday, she’d been more relaxed than ever, and now she could feel that frustration returning, like an itch under her skin she couldn’t quite scratch. She wanted to scream or yell or just do something, but she couldn’t.

So she smiled at Faustus, and agreed to take on a class that she needed to prep for with only four days notice, and tried to remind herself that all of this would eventually lead to further career progression.

Besides, if she managed to take over the class and show them what a proper education looked like, she might find as well that Shirley was suddenly out of a job, leaving her and other competent academics to teach the up and coming minds of Greendale University.

“Thank you, Zelda,” Faustus said with a nod, before leaving. He left her office door wide open, and once Zelda was sure his footsteps had receded down the hall, she rose to her feet and closed the door behind him before returning to her seat.

Her nails drummed on the desk, as she rolled her shoulders and neck, trying not to remember how the sting of the crop had felt against her skin. She didn’t want to book another appointment, especially not one so soon, and especially not after running into that woman in the grocery store.

No, she needed to wait.

She reached into her drawer and picked out her cigarettes. Standing up, she walked over to the office window and inched it open. Lighting the cigarette, she stood by the window sill and blew out gusts of smoke outside watching it curl away into the air.

Six weeks wasn’t that long. A month and two weeks. She could handle the pressure of looking after that many classes, despite the headache it would inevitably cause.

And yet Friday came faster than she expected. Prudence eagerly took to the position of TA (and was all the more pleased when Zelda mentioned she managed to find some funding to help) providing Zelda with some time actually to work on the lesson plan. It meant she spent long nights in the office and had to miss out on attending Sabrina’s first cheerleading stint for football or basketball or whatever game she was cheerleading for, but that was a small sacrifice.

She promised her niece that she would attend the charity event in a fortnight, finding time in the workday to make it over to the school.

Besides, she could still attend her pep rally (whenever that was), and there would be other high school games of school sport she could attend and watch her niece cheerlead for. What was one game?

The lesson was a second-year subject, and the information Faustus had managed to send over was difficult to understand. Although there was a general framework of what they were studying, Zelda had no idea as to the messages Shirley was trying to convey or discuss with the class.

So when it came time for Zelda to attend, there was an anxious knot in her stomach. She’d prepped the best she could, but it would be up to the class to let her know where they were up to.

“Good Morning,” she said as she walked into the classroom. On the whiteboard, she wrote her name as Professor Spellman, before setting her lesson plan on the stand and looked over the class. There were far more students than Zelda expected, many of them she’d never seen before.

Shirley’s class was more popular than she realised.

“I’ll be taking over Professor Jackson’s role while she’s on leave. Can anyone tell me as to where you last left off?”

A few students explained to where they were, and Zelda felt her chest ease and knot differently. The students listened, they were aware of where they were up to, but furthermore, they were invested in the coursework.

She left the class satisfied that she’d managed to express what Shirley intended, bringing across her own influence, but also left with a sour taste in her mouth.

Should she think on it any further, she might find herself scratching at the idea until she made herself raw with deep-seated feelings she’d long left ago in her childhood.

It couldn’t be that Shirley Jackson was a better teacher than herself? It had to be that the nature of the course that religion drew in more subjects than language did (especially at Greendale University, which, although known for having its merits was not known to be the best or worst by any means).

Zelda felt her frustration grow. A solemn ache growing in her chest––could it be that she was the reason her third-year classes were skeletal at the best of times?

Perhaps she had done the wrong thing? Pushed when she should have nurtured––not that she could see Shirley being nurturing by any means, but…she must be doing something right if her classes were as full as they were.

Zelda seethed quietly, feeling the jealousy gnaw at her as she returned to her office and collected her work for the evening. Sabrina had already informed her that Harvey would be dropping her off home, so there was no need to wait for her niece to arrive. Her office hours were finished. The only reason she’d want to stay was to build a quiet time for herself, away from the bustling of Hilda in the kitchen or Ambrose rumbling through whatever music he wanted whilst he remained up in the attic.

Pausing as she set her work into her bag, she realised that home was not something she wanted either. Her body ached and itched, as nervous energy pulling under her skin.

But she didn’t want to call Lilith.

No, that wasn’t true. She desperately wanted to call and see if Lilith had availability, she just wished she didn’t want it. The last thing she desired was coming off…needy.

But…it was a service like any other, and should Zelda had found relief from a spa, she would not feel so conflicted about calling to book in a new appointment.

Zelda had spent the last few evenings trying to avoid thinking about the woman, and yet every masturbation ended up inevitably daydreaming about the woman’s riding crop on her back, her hand splayed over her chest, the idea of running into her and having the woman shover her against the next available surface and––

Someone walked past her office door, shoes clicking on the polished floor.

She cleared her throat, a blush rising over her chest and face as if her thoughts were too loud and that someone could overhear them––entirely ridiculous, and yet she stuffed the thoughts away.

Sex. She just needed sex. Casual sex, no strings attached. She flicked through the contacts in her head, trying to think of someone, but all of her ex-paramours she trusted for casual sex were now monogamous or out of state (and in some instances, out of the country).

It’d been two years. Surely she could get a handle of herself and push her needs away, focus on her article or at the very least, get a head-on lesson planning. There was more than one vibrator home should she really need to scratch an itch.

Zelda packed her bags, planning to return home to her office to work on her article. She had every intention of going home, completing tasks that needed to get done, and then having a sit-down meal with her family.

It was a good plan.

She definitely wasn’t thinking about Lilith.

She walked to her car, bag in hand, certain that if she just managed to get into the car, she’d be able to drive out of the parking lot, onto the main road and make her way back home. But evidently not, because as soon as she was in her car, her phone was out in hand and she was dialling a number that she had no right in knowing so well.

“Good Afternoon,” Lilith said. Too late, Zelda realised she’d dialled from her personal phone, and now the woman likely had her number.

If she hung-up, Lilith could just call back and even if she didn’t answer, her voicemail clearly dictated who she was. “Good evening,” Zelda responded before the woman could clip a follow-up response.

“Zelda,” the woman purred. “I thought it was you.”

“And why would you think that?”

“You’ve been on my mind,” she responded. “How can I be of service?”

Zelda drew in a breath. “I––“ she began and then because she’d begun she had to finish, “was looking to enquire into your services. Again.”

“Mm. And which services are you after?”

Not this again, Zelda thought as she rolled her eyes up to the ceiling of the car. “The same services.”

“You’ll have to refresh my memory,” Lilith teased, and Zelda’s grip on her phone tightened.

Drawing in a breath, she found her eyes flicking around the car, to the rearview and side mirrors before she said. “Dominatrix services.”

“I’m going to need you to be more specific. Many things fall under that particular umbrella.”

“Honestly,” Zelda clipped, seriously considering clicking off the device before the woman’s warm laugh poured through the speaker. “If you insist on needlessly teasing me––“

“You’re in luck. I have a spot free in about two hours if that suits?”

Zelda paused. It seemed too good to be true. And yet…the ache filled her. She wanted it more than she wanted anything else at that moment.

“It does,” she agreed.

“I look forward to seeing you. Have a think about how long you want the session to run. I have a few ideas of what we can do.” And then the phone clicked off, and Zelda was left with the words swimming around her head.

A few ideas. What on earth could that mean?

Zelda closed her eyes and sunk in the seat, biting her lip. Her gynaecologist appointment wasn’t until tomorrow and results would likely not occur for another week. Yet, the idea of even just experiencing the impact of that crop again brought a shiver down her spine.

She went home, showered and changed into a new set of lingerie before fixing her make-up again. And then she was making a passing excuse about forgetting something in the office before she was leaving again, advising Hilda to set her dinner aside.

She was fifteen minutes early, sitting in her car, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she tried to understand just how she got to this stage.

She was outside of a dominatrix’s business address, dressed in lingerie and a new dress, with more effort into how she looked than when she went into the actual office. Was this her life now? Finding herself driving out into the middle of nowhere to get spanked?

Apparently so, because as she fixed her lipstick in the rearview mirror, there was a telltale sign of a blush rushing across her cheeks.

She grabbed her handbag and exited the car, locking it behind her as she walked up to the apartment and rang the doorbell.

And then there was silence as she counted her heartbeat for five seconds before she heard the sound of Lilith’s heels on the hardwood floor of the hallway.

A shadow moved behind the door and then it opened, revealing the grinning dominatrix. Her hair was out again, though it looked recently tussled like she’d ran her fingers through it before opening the door.

Zelda drew in a breath, feeling herself battle between shrinking away and pushing forward to assert her own dominance.

And then Lilith was leaning against the doorframe, eyebrow cocked as she waited for Zelda to break the growing silence between them––just as she had at the grocers. Damn her.

“Evening,” Zelda clipped.

“Evening,” Lilith teased in return, unmoving as her eyes raked over her body, a slow, noticeable breath pulling into her lungs as if she couldn’t wait to devour her.

Zelda felt as if the air warmed around them. “Well?”

“Hmm?” Lilith said, eyes flicking back up to Zelda’s.

“Are you going to let me in or should I recall some password?”

“Ohh, I like the idea of a secret password. What do you think it is?”

Annoyance flared in her as she crossed her arms, having half a mind to turn on her heel and leave, but before she could even threaten that option, Lilith laughed, pushing off the door frame and stepped out of the way to allow her entrance.

Zelda gave an icy glare, ensuring the woman saw how unimpressed she was as she stepped inside and removed her coat. It warm inside, and already she felt overdressed.

Lilith stepped closer, and Zelda held her ground, refusing to give in to the urge to step away. And then she felt the woman reach behind her and shut the door. “You look well,” Lilith commented. “Less…frightened.”

Zelda felt a flare of anger grow inside of her. “I beg your pardon. I was not frightened.”

“At the grocers you were. I could have said boo, and you would have run away screaming…or maybe just melt in a puddle on the floor,” she added, her eyes intensely focusing on Zelda’s mouth as she spoke. “Difficult to say.”

Zelda felt a strangled breath jump in her throat before she looked away, resisting the urge to cough awkwardly.

“Have anything for me?” Lilith enquired, as she stepped forward again. This time, Zelda did take a step back, knowing exactly what she was asking.

“I––have an appointment tomorrow,” she admitted.

Lilith’s grin widened. “You won’t regret it, and personally I can say that I’m looking forward to it,” and then she was stepping back and suddenly Zelda was following her upstairs, into the bedroom.

The bedroom door was shut behind her, the ottoman bench was opened, the phone was switched off, bag and coat went inside, and then Lilith was staring at her as the lid was flicked down.

“Do you know what you want?”

Zelda felt her heart pound in her chest. She didn’t know exactly what she wanted. She wanted last time, but she wanted it to be different. She wanted to forget about the world and yet feel alive. “I trust you,” she said instead.

Lilith nodded, seeming to hold back from teasing her. “I have an idea.”

“Do you now?” Zelda asked, curious as to what the woman could possibly be thinking.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Lilith said as she walked over to her dresser and opened it up. “I think I know exactly what you want.”

Anyone else, and Zelda would have rolled her eyes, but as she watched the woman draw out two lengths of rope and a blindfold, she found herself only further intrigued. This time, Lilith didn’t set it on the bed; instead, she dropped the items in the centre of the room, before nudging them with her heel, so they rested where she wanted it.

Zelda stared at the items, looking to the wardrobe and finding herself both relieved and disappointed to note there was nothing from there on the floor.

“Take off your dress,” Lilith said.

Zelda obeyed, unzipping underneath her arm and then rolling it down her waist to the floor where she stepped out of it. Lilith looked her over, taking note of the stockings, to where her eyes held where the hemline of the silk was.

“That one is to come off too,” she said, pointing to the slip.

Zelda felt something quiver, low in her belly as she reached down and lifted the slip off. When she dropped that to the ground as well, she watched as Lilith’s face broke out in a wide smile, seeming to admire her choice in lingerie.

“This one involves more patience,” Lilith advised. “Put your clothes away, heels too, and then we’ll begin.”

Zelda bit her inner cheek, hating how the woman made her feel like a child as she picked her clothes up off the floor and set them nicely in the ottoman, her heels placed inside of her handbag before she came to stand before Lilith.

“Do you remember your safe word from last time?”

“I do.”

“What is it?”

“Music box,” Zelda said, feeling ridiculous as she said it. But as Lilith mentioned last time, the point of the word was to be jarring, so that both of them knew that it needed to end.

“I’m going to tie you up, and then we’ll see where you’re at when you’re tied up, and if you’re still comfortable, I’m going to blindfold you.”

“And then what?” Zelda asked.

“And then we’ll see how badly you want it.”

Want what, Zelda wanted to ask, but she nodded to show she understood. Lilith grinned and then pointed to the floor, her expression sharpened, as with condescension in her voice, she ordered, “On your knees." Zelda felt the command slip over her as she pressed onto her knees, feeling the hardwood floor press against her legs.

She watched then as Lilith drew a short wooden stool over and set it down before her, before she sat upon it and crossed her legs, looking far more elegant than she had any right to.

“If you ever want to learn to do this, I can run a workshop,” Lilith said as held a hand out. Zelda placed the back of hand into her palm and watched as the length of red rope was tossed over one wrist. “When I lived in New York, I used to run a workshop with a few others like me.” She held her hand out again, and Zelda provided it. “I’ve been doing rope since I was…oh, a young girl, I suppose.”

“Am I not meant to speak?” Zelda asked, confused as to what game they were playing.

“You can speak,” Lilith nodded. “We’re just setting up, first,” she grinned just as she made a knot. “You’ll know when we’ve begun playing.”

Lilith wove a pattern over her arms, like a spiderweb slipping up her arms, and Zelda listened as she spoke about the different knots she was tied, as well as the different safety precautions she placing in so that at any stage if Zelda wanted to slip out, she could.

It was fascinating in its own right, and Zelda enjoyed watching the complicated knots made and adjusted as if Lilith had been doing them her whole life––which, in a sense, she had. At least for thirty years, she’d been tying up herself and others, just because she liked the look of the knots she could make.

“Are we doing this because of the last session?” Zelda asked, watching as Lilith began drawing the rope over her waist. What she was trying to ask in as few words as possible was, are we not doing impact play because of what occurred.

“Not for the reasons you think,” Lilith said. “You were relaxed when I tied you up. Most people get somewhat panicked at being unable to move, but you seemed entirely at ease.” Her fingers were brushing over her stomach as she spoke, slipping and weaving the rope as one end of it dangle into her lap. “I thought I might indulge the rope bunny in you.”

And then Lilith’s eyes were returning to the rope, her fingers dragging along her skin, the back of her knuckles sliding over her ribs. Zelda drew in a breath, trying to focus on the feeling of the rope against her skin.

“Turn around.”

Zelda moved onto her knees until her back was to Lilith, and felt as the woman drew her hair over her shoulder, before resuming the pattern. Zelda tried to resist the shiver that shot down her spin as Lilith’s hands drew over her, moulding the rope into place.

“So you’ve indulged in ropes from the beginning,” Zelda said in an effort to find a semblance of control. “But what about everything else?”

“You’ll have to be specific,” Lilith said. She paused, and Zelda could feel her hands, just below the band of her bra, she could easily undo it if she wanted to and there was nothing Zelda could to do stop her.

The thought struck through like a rush.

“When did you decide to be a dominatrix?”

Lilith hummed. “It’s not as interesting as you think,” she said, her fingers resuming to shift and adjust, slipping the rope through loops, twisting it around its self. “Girl met boy, boy wanted to try things with girl, girl was much better at it than boy, boy became sulky, so girl left. Tale as old as time its self,” she finished.

Zelda scoffed. “Sounds like most men.”

“Oh yes,” Lilith said and then suddenly Zelda felt a breath brush over her shoulder, a nail drawing over the skin. “Don’t worry, if you take an interest in domination, I’ll be very excited to play with you. I’m very good on my knees.”

Zelda closed her eyes, feeling a heat press through her. She was starting to get an idea as to what Lilith was getting at before.

“There,” Lilith said, and suddenly Zelda felt a kiss press to the back of her shoulder as the woman’s hands dropped away. “Now lie on your back.”

Zelda shifted as much as she could, and then felt Lilith’s hand on her, helping her to ease down on the ground. The woman rose, taking her stool with her and then sat it down by Zelda’s feet as unravelled the second piece of rope. “You’re not done?” Zelda asked.

“I told you, this is about patience. Don’t worry. There will be plenty of time to play with whatever toy you want.”

Zelda looked away, wondering what that meant, and then watched as the woman lifted her foot and began tying it.

In the state of undress, tied up, watching the woman lift one leg to drag it into her lap and focus her attention on it entirely had Zelda’s thoughts reeling in fantasies. The woman was quick with her fingers this time, binding her ankles together.

Except she didn’t stop there.

The rope began slipping up her leg, binding like a fishnet up her right leg, slipping over calves and thighs in loops, and then Zelda had to look away as she felt the woman slip the rope over the highest part of her thigh, a wicked smile on her face.

“There are certain knots you can tie,” Lilith said, while tying a knot on her inner thigh, “That can induce arousal as the occupant squirms in their bindings.”

“I’m aware,” Zelda said, her voice heavy with desire she didn’t mean to carry. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“I can, if you want,” Lilith said, “I can do it so you’ll have no relief from it, too.”

Zelda bit her lip, imaging herself bound and squirming, feeling the rope between her legs rub, but provide nothing but a tease. “And how much would you need to change for either of those?”

“To make you squirm I’d need to adjust it, but I could get you off as it is.”

Zelda laughed. “I’m sure you could with how quick your hands work.”

“Oh, no. You misunderstand, I could make you come without my hands ever touching your vagina.”

Zelda's eyebrows shot up high in disbelief. Lilith may think herself talented, but it took more than well-placed rope to get her climbing to ecstasy.

Lilith’s eyes seemed to catch her, a smirk growing on her face. “That looks like a challenge.”

“You can certainly try, but it won’t work.”

“Is that so?” Lilith asked, and then she was gently placing Zelda’s legs down to the ground. Zelda looked down, noticing that only one leg had the rope go all the way up, whereas the other was only bound at the ankle.

The rope that went around her high thigh was knotted in a way that if she were to twist, possibly she could rub herself against it, but that wasn’t something she planned on doing. She looked up, quirking her eyebrow at the woman as if to ask, is this your worst?

But Lilith only smiled down at her. “If you’d like, I can take a photo. I have a polaroid camera.”

“Absolutely not,” Zelda stated. Like hell, she would allow a picture of herself to be taken.

“I wouldn’t have your face in frame, just the ropes.”

“No,” Zelda said, before adding shortly, “Thank you.”

Lilith seemed to take no offence to it, clearly too pleased by her work as she drew her eyes over Zelda’s body.  “All the things I could do to you,” she said, drawing her eyes from head to feet. “And you’d just be begging for me not to stop.”

It was a threat, and yet Zelda felt it tremble through her, a longing pulling at the idea of being at the complete mercy of the woman. She hadn’t done anything, hadn’t so much as kissed her, and yet Zelda yearned to feel her fingers press against her body.

“You won’t though,” Zelda said. “I haven’t provided you with the test results.”

Lilith grinned. “There are a lot of things I could do to you that doesn’t involve taking your underwear off,” she pointed out. “All you have to do is ask.”

What things, she wanted to ask, but bit back the words.

“What are you planning on doing?” she inquired, hoping she didn’t sound as aroused as she was.

Lilith’s eyes drew over her before she crouched down beside her, picking up the blindfold. “First, what I’m going to do is blindfold you.”

Zelda watched, waiting as she thought about the idea of being bound and blind, relying only on her other senses. The anticipation of not knowing…

“And then…we’ll see.”

Lilith placed the blindfold over her eyes, and then settled her back on the ground, combing her fingers once again through her hair. “Remember your safe word?”

“I do.”

“Good girl,” Lilith said, and then there was the sound of her heels walking away. Zelda listened as a drawer was open, and then the creak of wood as the wardrobe was opened as well. There was a noise of something cutting through the air (like a riding crop or a whip, perhaps) and then there was silence. “You’re mine, now Zelda. Be mindful to ask politely for anything you want.”

Zelda swallowed, knowing that she meant that she had to answer correctly, or else be disciplined.

Complete, utter silence followed those words, and Zelda became all the more aware of how excited she was. Genuinely excited, as well as aroused, waiting for the woman to come out and discipline her with the riding crop, or a cane or paddle.

Or her bare hand.

Zelda pressed her thighs together, feeling the rope rub on her bare leg, pressing just below her sex. A part of her wanted to adjust, see if she could move the rope a little higher, but she didn’t. The last thing she needed was Lilith seeing her rutting off to a piece of looped rope.

She paused, feeling something draw against her skin on her leg. It was soft as it slowly slid over her bare leg and down. And then it disappeared.

Zelda hadn’t even heard the woman approach. Likely, she’d taken off her heels to allow her to slip closer and draw over her skin quietly.

Nothing followed, and then suddenly, she felt a shift, and then a weight settle on her hips. Zelda drew in a deep breath, uncertain if the woman had placed something on her, or if she was now straddling her.

Until she felt the woman’s hands draw up her sides, slipping up her ribs. Zelda arched against the rope, her hands splaying out in their bindings as a part of her tried to lean forward to wherever the dominatrix was.

“Relax,” Lilith said. “I won’t do anything like that to you.”

Oh, Zelda realised. Of course, because she hasn’t been tested yet.

“Unless you ask me to.”

Zelda almost moaned, catching in time to clench her jaw shut because there was no way she was going to let this woman know how much of an effect she had on her.

And yet, she felt the spider light touches of a hand drawing up neck, thumb and fingers slipping around the throat and Zelda wondered what it would be like to feel the woman’s hand around her throat, squeezing as she…

She realised too late that her hips had rolled and she’d very intentionally (without realising) pressed firmer against the woman’s straddling body. There was no way that Lilith misinterpreted that, no way she didn’t suspect what it meant.

“Ask me nicely,” she whispered, her hand coming to brush across Zelda’s cheek. “Ask me to do unspeakable things to you.”

Zelda swallowed, she could feel the words there, drawing tight in her chest, building up in her throat. Please, my queen. But she couldn’t say the words. How could she beg for such a thing?

Lilith’s finger swept across her cheek, and Zelda could almost taste here. How close was she to her, was she just hovering above her face. Inches from her own? Was she smirking, watching with interest, or also holding back from kissing her?

She could smell her perfume. Zelda’s mouth parted, watching to tilt her head up and kiss her or hope that she would be kissed in return.

Zelda felt the woman shift on her, leaning forward and although she could feel one hand on her face, and was so very aware of how warm it was, her attention drew to the other as it settled to cup just under her breast in a way that Zelda wondered how easily she could slip under the material and press her fingers to where Zelda could feel her nipples hardening, aching to be touched.

She wanted to whimper as she felt the fingers press against the underwire of her lingerie as if daring her to ask, the thumb edging at it, the hand on her cheek was tilting her head up, and Zelda wasn’t even sure she cared for what part of Lilith her lips touch, so as long as she felt her there.

But the woman’s command sat between them, daring her to respond and ask.

But she wouldn’t beg. She wouldn’t become some animal rutting against the woman, hoping to find relief.

“Ah, I see,” Lilith said with a warm chuckle.

And then, all at once, she was gone. She felt the woman stand up, off from her, and Zelda wished she could push the blindfold off and look at her.

She almost pleaded for Lilith's return, but her tongue held firm, swallowing the words back.

A silence loomed, and despite how her ears pricked, she could not hear Lilith move. The woman was quiet as if she walked from shadow to shadow. For all Zelda knew, she could be standing beside her, watching her move her shoulder, stretching her hands and adjusting her feet, feeling for any movement in the ropes.

There wasn’t any. The ropes held firm.

“My queen?”

“Yes?” the woman asked, and she was closer than Zelda expected. Close enough that she knew she just needed to ask.

She swallowed, “What unspeakable things would you do?”

And then Zelda felt fingers wrap around the rope on her chest, seeming to grab hold of a particular loop that sat below her breasts, in the middle of her chest, as another hand drew behind her head, fisting into her hair.

She was pulled up into a sitting position and before Zelda could do so much as gasp as she felt nails scrape against her scalp, electrifying her nerves. “Do want a taste?”

“Yes.”

She felt the woman’s mouth descend upon hers.

It was an earnest kiss, and then Lilith was straddling her lap again, and Zelda was moaning into her mouth, pressing against her as a tongue swiped over her lips, before teeth bit and tugged, and a mouth sucked, and fingers tugged at her hair until she couldn’t tell between the pain and pleasure.

She wanted to grab at the woman, but her hands were bound and pressed between them, and it was all she could do not to wriggle forward and see if she could brush the rope between Lilith’s thighs (though if happened accidentally…it was hardly her fault).

“Naughty,” Lilith said, and then her mouth was pouring down her jaw, to her neck and across her shoulder. Zelda was trying to remember how long they’d agreed to because right now all she wanted was to feel Lilith rub against her thighs as she continued to kiss her like the world was running out of time.

A hand grabbed at her breast, and then it slid underneath the cup of her bra, the other hand still fisting her hair, tugging her head back, so Zelda’s neck was elongated as Lilith's mouth continued to bite and suck at her shoulder.

It was going to leave a mark, but she didn’t care as a keened whine broke from as she felt her nerves electrify.

Lilith’s hand slid over her nipple, tweaking it, then grasping and pinching it between the length of her fingers.

If she kept doing that, Zelda was going to…to…

She groaned, feeling the rope on her thigh press against her underwear.

“I told you I could get you off without touching your cunt,” Lilith growled into her ear, and Zelda moaned at the words. “But you were so naughty that I don’t think I will.”

“No––“

“No, what?” Lilith enquired.

“Don’t stop.”

“Say, please.”

Zelda shut her jaw, groaning as the hand in her hair tugged again. Even blindfolded, she opened her eyes, wishing she could gaze upon her. She was met with darkness, but even in that, she could feel Lilith's eyes penetrating through, commanding her to just say it.

“Please,” she hissed.

“Good girl,” and the hand on breast squeezed, and Zelda felt the rope pressing against her underwear, rubbing against it as Lilith seemed to rock on her lap.

There was something unholy about the pressure Lilith had with her teeth and tongue on her shoulder like she knew just how to apply it just right as she tugged at her hair at the right moment and pinched at the nipple just right.

Zelda arched into the touch, feeling the pressure build low in her belly, growing with each rocked movement until her hips jerked, rocking over a knot on her thigh and Zelda felt the climax hit her with a sudden, strangled gasp.

It shuddered through her, and she felt the woman’s laugh rumble against her chest as she carried her through it for what felt like too short of a time before the rope became too sensitive and she was jerking her hips away.

The hand in her hair relaxed, and Lilith’s lips trailed against her neck, pressing lightly against the skin as the hand on Zelda’s breast dropped away.

Zelda drew in one breath, and then another, feeling the aftershocks tremble through her before she was placed down on the ground once more. She felt Lilith’s hands rest on either side of her face, before pushing up the blindfold as she flickered her eyes between Zelda’s, studying her.

Zelda pushed up and kissed her, lips pressing to feel the soft intake of breath against her mouth as Lilith tilted her head and sunk against her. Before she could even stop to think about how warm the woman’s lips were on hers, Lilith was pulling away, and Zelda was left to look at her flushed face, feeling thumbs draw against her cheeks bones.

“How do you feel?” Lilith asked.

Zelda nodded, swallowing before she found herself biting back a sharp comment. “Good,” she agreed. “I won’t doubt you again.”

“You  and I both know that’s a lie.”

The effects of the orgasm still ran through her and Zelda feel herself the endorphins flooding through her bloodstream. A part of her hungered to do it again, see if Lilith could get her off twice more.

But the woman climbed off and began untying her, and it was all she could to take a breath and breathe, focusing on the way the woman’s fingers unravelled the knots faster than she expected.

The moment she was unbound, the ropes were pulled away, and a strange shyness seemed to overtake Lilith as she spooled the rope, undoing the knots that remained, her eyes look away. Perhaps she felt she’d crossed a boundary, Zelda wondered.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Lilith looked up, and her face softened, “It’s been a while since I’ve tied anyone up like that,” she admitted, though there was more to it. “If you wanted a shower, you could take one,” she said. “I’ll clean up in here and make tea.”

Zelda nodded, feeling the uncomfortable wetness slide between her thighs at the mention of it. Tea would be good, she decided.

She went to the ottoman, picking up her belongings and taking them to the bathroom, where she set them down again on the counter. The towel was different this time, a black towel.

Zelda shut the bathroom door and slid off her clothes, looking into the mirror. There were lines on her back where the rope had pressed as she laid down, but otherwise, the only mark was a growing bruise on her shoulder––easily able to be hidden with the shirts and dresses she wore.

She slid into the shower, finding the temperature warm (and with a surprisingly strong water pressure that beat down her back, soothing knots she didn’t realise she had.)

Taking the showerhead in hand, she washed over her body, cleaning the mess between her thighs. There, the water pressure was prominent in a way she didn’t expect, and Zelda nearly allowed herself to sink in that, finding her arousal growing at the idea of getting off while the woman was in the next room over. But she pushed it away, setting the showerhead back in place and stayed under the spray of water until she had her desire under control.

The woman was a dominatrix first, a sex worker. It was completely understandable that she wanted to feel the woman’s hand relieve the pressure building between her thighs. It was understandable that she was being seduced, but Zelda reminded herself that it was all pretend. A service between two consenting adults.

And if she was going to delve further into that service, actually allow the woman to penetrate her (as she so crassly spoke, likely to get a reaction out of her) then she needed to see it as a service. She was a client, yes, but that did not mean that Lilith was going to take an emotional interest in her suddenly.

She switched off the water, coming out to clean dry herself off before she dressed again (placing the underwear in her handbag, given their ruined state).

She walked downstairs and watched as Lilith finished setting out the items, placing them onto the kitchen table.

There was a tightness to the woman that settled in Zelda’s stomach uncomfortably as she took her seat. When Lilith had finished setting everything aside, the woman sat across from her, a cup of water in hand.

And then a silence sat between them.

Zelda wanted to apologise. She wasn’t sure what the apology was for, perhaps for kissing her, or for not doing the right thing, or whatever it was. But she didn’t say the words; instead, she took a sip of tea and averted her eyes to where the kitchen light flooded over the patio, bringing partial light to the garden.

Something had shifted between them.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Lilith asked, a smile on her lips.

“I did,” Zelda said. “Did you?”

“Always,” Lilith said, but the way she said the word implied otherwise.

“I…” Zelda swallowed thickly, looking away. “I think we should stick to what we did in the first session…if this is to continue.”

Lilith nodded. “You’re the client,” she advised. “Whatever service you want, I’m happy to provide.” The expression remained, and Zelda couldn’t tell if she was relieved, or disappointed or just neutral towards it.

Zelda blinked, adverting her gaze. She was a client, just a client. Lilith was sure to have a dozen more just like her.

Taking a sip of tea, she asked. “How much for the session?”

____________

[joon-ipersgirl]

O2 - the bloody build-up

genre: mafia!au, angst, fluff, slow burn, mystery-thriller

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: charismatic. beautiful. fearless without question. the ambitious team of seven young men in charge of spiral, downtown district’s hottest new club, go above and beyond to provide 100% satisfaction to their clients.

after an eventful night out, you have no choice but to join the team for property damages greater than your intern salary. challenging a series of events that can no longer be left to coincidence, secrets threaten to burst at the seams as your professional and private life collide, and another - more sinister - debt is added to your total. 

how far are you willing to go to pay back your pound of flesh? remember, nothing is ever as it seems...

word count: 4.6k

warnings: cursing, some mentions of blood, mentions of guns (someone does get shot, but nothing super crazy), some violence, mentions of alcohol consumption 

a/n: thank you guys so much for the love on the first part! i really appreciate it. i hope y’all aren’t confused about their nicknames and stuff, like which member is which, but let me know and i’ll clarify 😭 this part might be a little far-fetched towards the end, but stay with me lol. i’m still working on my masterlist, but please check out my updates page which includes my works-in-progress. i’m actually pretty excited about what’s coming up next. as always, feedback is always appreciated and encouraged. thank you again to @alversia​ for reading this and supporting my writing. pls enjoy! 

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“You expect me to head to Spiral tonight? Dressed like this?” You look down at your white button-up and black pencil skirt. Laura was out of her damn mind.

“Oh come on! It’ll be fun. Just some coworkers getting together after a hard week’s work. You haven’t been out with us in forever!” she exclaims, standing up from her desk.

“You know Amani doesn’t like us like that, Laura.” Paul does have a point. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them as people - well, that would be a lie. You didn’t. It’s just, who would want to spend their Friday night drinking with their coworkers when you could be at home, curled up with your cat, and tucking into whatever delicious dinner your roommate had prepared?

“I never said that I didn’t like you guys -”

“Out loud,” Paul says, interrupting you.

“- I just wasn’t planning on going out tonight. I’m not even dressed for the occasion,” you continue.

“It doesn’t matter. It’ll be dark anyway,” Laura tries again. “You said you had a good time the last time you went,” she reminds you.

You remember your brief run-in with Suga and the sleazy man at the bar. It’s been three weeks since then and the bruises on your arm have faded. Aside from that minor incident, you did have fun. The music was good, the bartender was attractive, and the drinks weren’t too pricey. In fact, Suga did say that the next time you came, drinks were on the house.

“Plus, you missed James’ birthday celebration 2 weeks ago.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Alright, alright. Fine, I’ll come,” You tell them.

“Great! Let’s go!” Laura squeals and grabs your coats.

It was going to be a long night.

The small group of you huddle together in front of the door to Spiral like penguins in the dead of winter. The wind is harsh but expected on a cold December night. You pull up the collar of your wool coat to shield your face as you wait in line and wish you had remembered to bring your scarf. Spiral was fairly new and you assume that more and more people were coming to experience the place with its modern goth vibe. Your feet hurt from the 4-inch heels that your manager, Mrs. Kim, insisted on young women wearing to “keep the spirit of professionalism going”. Honestly, you just thought she wanted to see you suffer the way she did all those eons ago. A rite of passage, if you will. After fifteen minutes, you’re finally at the door where the bouncer and two other men stand talking.

“Is everyone here ridiculously attractive?” Laura whispers to you. You glance up to look at her.

“Who are you talking about?” She points at the three men by the door.

“Ah,” you say, acknowledging them. It was on second glance that you realize Min is one of the men in the group. You groan as you remember your brief conversation the last time you were here.

“You okay there?” Paul turns to ask you over his shoulder. You nod. “Just making sure you weren’t thinking about bailing on us,” he says with a grin. You roll your eyes and punch his shoulder as you wait to get your IDs checked. It seemed as though security had increased.

“Well if it isn’t my little snack?” You groan again as Min grins at you. His silver hair stands out among his dark-haired companions, though he’s shorter than the other two.

“Your who?” the man next to him asks, confused.

“My snack,” Min emphasizes. “Suga wouldn’t let me have her though,” he says with a pout as he turns to you again.

“I wouldn’t let you have me,” you mumble and shift closer to Laura who’s watching the scene unfold with wide eyes.

“What was that?” Min asks, his grin growing again as he steps closer to you.

“Min, leave her alone,” the bouncer says as he waves through the first half of your coworkers after checking their IDs.

“You guys really never let me have any fun.” Min’s laugh rings through the air as he steps back next to his friends.

“Do you know him?” Laura asks you. You shake your head. She doesn’t need to know that story.

“I’ve only seen him once and very briefly at that. Come on,” you say nodding towards the entrance after taking back your ID.

You brush past her and the three men and head down the stairs ignoring the eyes that follow you. The heat from the club hits you like a brick wall and you immediately pull off your coat. You follow Paul’s tall figure through the mass of people on the edge of the dance floor. The music is just as loud as you remember and you welcome the thumping bass music as it pounds through your veins and echoes in your chest. You slide into the booth next to Paul and Laura follows closely behind you.

“This place is so cool! We have to come back!” Laura yells over the music into your ear. You wince at the sound.

“Laura, we just got here,” you tell her while putting some distance between you though there isn’t much room as seven of you have squished into a booth probably meant to seat five.

“I know, but this place is awesome!” she yells back with more enthusiasm. This was going to be a very long night and you could not do it sober.

“I’m going to get a drink from the bar,” you say, excusing yourself and squeezing past Laura to exit the semi-circle shaped booth.

“Why don’t you just wait for the server?” Paul asks while holding up a menu from the stack placed on the table.

“Because I need something strong before I can sit down and socialize with you guys,” you reply with a sourly sweet smile.

Paul shakes his head and you head off to the bar ignoring his judgemental stares. You take the long way, bypassing the dancefloor to avoid any prolonged standing on your already aching feet trying to shuffle through the thick crowd. Though there are more people here tonight than the first time you came, you’re able to squeeze through relatively unscathed. Sometimes being small did have its perks. You find an empty barstool close to the spiral stairs that led to the second level and sit down.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asks. You narrow your eyes at him. This was not Jin.

“Where’s Jin?” you ask him.

“He’ll be here later. Do you -”

“And Suga?” you ask, cutting him off. How were you supposed to get your free drinks when this guy didn’t know who you were?

“Who’s asking for him?” he retorts, his eyes narrowing at you. His tall frame takes up most of the room in front of you as he leans across the bar, inches away from your face.

You try your best not to cower as you stare each other down, but his presence is powerful. His platinum blonde hair shines purple under the fluorescent colored lighting and his brown eyes are dark. His lean muscles sprawl taut under his skin and his black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. Your hypothesis was right: everyone who works here is fucking beautiful.

“A valued customer,” you tell him. “He told me the next time I came in, drinks were on the house.”

“Suga said that?” the blonde asks incredulously. He lets out a boisterous laugh. “Now I know you bumped into me pretty hard a few weeks ago, but I didn’t think my chest was that hard,” he says while slapping it.

“Bumping into you? I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you don’t believe me, why don’t you ask him?” You cross your arms. “While you’re at it, you can make me an Old Fashioned.”

“Bossy, aren’t we? Honcho!” He waves his arm to someone. You turn and see the other man from outside walk over with a tray in his hand. Of course, he works here too. The all-black uniform should have given it away. Apparently, all the attractive men who live in this city did.

“What’s up?” he asks while passing him a ticket most likely filled with drink orders. He isn’t as tall, but his build is athletic and you can tell he works out.

“This young woman says that Suga told her next time she came in, drinks were on the house,” the bartender tells him, a teasing tone in his voice. The second man turns to look you up and down.

“Suga told her that? Babe, I think you’re thinking about the wrong man. Maybe it was Min? I know we all kind of look alike in the dark,” he suggests.

“That’ll be $10.50, sweetheart. Definitely seems more like Min’s type,” the bartender agrees, giving you a once over. He sets the Old Fashioned down in front of you. You scowl at both of them.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You think I’m making this up? Fine,” you say, hopping off the stool. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll go get him myself.”

You hate most people and you hate most clubs, but one of the things you despise the most is being called a liar. You pride yourself on being a woman of integrity and you would not let these assholes paint you to be something you’re not. As you turn to head up the stairs, you feel someone grab your wrist and you whip your head around.

“Where are you going?” Honcho asks, his dark eyes sizing you up.

“Let go of me,” you tell him and yank your arm from his grip. You weren’t doing this again, not tonight.

“It’s okay, Honcho. Let her go,” you hear the bartender say as you walk away.

You climb the stairs and strut across the walkway. Below you, the blonde bartender and Honcho, arms crossed, watch you as you make your way to the office. Motivated by their doubt, you walk a little more confidently towards the office door. You stop short, take a deep breath, and then bang on the door. There’s no answer. You knock again. Nothing. Just as you go to knock for the third time, the door flies open.

“Who the fuck is -?! Kid? What are you doing here? You can’t just walk up here!” Suga yells at you.

“Your employees are being assholes and don’t believe that you said I could have free drinks for some reason,” you tell him, ignoring his outburst.

“You came all the way up here to tell me that?” he asks, eyes wide. “Do you even know - You know what? It doesn’t matter,” he finishes.

“I don’t like being called a liar,” you state.

“You’re bold, kid. I’ll give you that.” He shakes his head and shuts the door behind him, locking it.

He walks past you and heads down the stairs. You turn and follow him back to the bar. Though Suga is short and you are in heels, he moves much quicker than you expect. By the time you make it downstairs, he’s already leaning against the bar and signaling for the bartender to come over. Your Old Fashioned is sitting right where you’d left it. The bartender walks over and grins at you.

“I see you found him,” he says with a smile.

“Moon, why are you patronizing our customers?” Suga sighs. The bartender laughs.

“Always gotta check orders, boss,” Moon chuckles. Suga narrows his eyes at him.

“Look, just give her what she wants okay? You know I have other things to look at right now and I can’t have you fucking around.” You grin smugly behind Suga’s back, your short stature barely visible over his mint-green head. You didn’t like to think of yourself as cocky, but most times, when you were right, you were right. You saunter towards the bar and climb back onto the barstool you’d previously vacated. Moon’s eyes narrow and he glances over at you.

“Alright, Suga. I’ll stop fucking around and get the job done like you asked,” Moon spits. You survey Suga’s face as it falls and you feel the mood shift drastically as unspoken words pass between the two men.

“Can I have a new one? You never know what crazy people will do around here, you know?” You ask and add the please at the end, smiling sweetly at Moon, drawing the attention back to you.

“Y/N!” You barely hear Laura yelling your name over the music. “Y/N, are you okay?!” she screams over the music. You watch her hobble over to the bar with her drink in her hand. You know her feet hurt just as much as yours do and it shows in the way she walks.

“Paul and I saw you go up the stairs and I wanted to make sure everything was okay,” she continues when she gets closer.

“Everything’s great. Hey, do you want another one of those? Moon was it? Could you make her a strawberry daiquiri along with that Old Fashioned?” You ask. You shouldn’t enjoy this as much as you are.

“She’s real bold,” Moon says, turning to Suga, the mood seeming to return to its previous vibe though you can sense the tension between the two of them.

“That’s what I said.” You grin at Suga.

Moon sets your drinks down and you take a small sip, savoring the taste of the brown liquor. Observing Moon and Suga over the rim of your glass, the two of them have hushed words in a corner. Though Suga supposedly owns the club, it seems as though Moon is calling the shots based on their body language. Laura sits next to you and interrupts your examination as she starts talking about work-related issues. Laura is a sweet girl and as much as you want to be an active listener, paying attention to her drone on and on about Paul asking Melissa to lunch every day instead of her can only be so interesting after 20 minutes of the same story.

“Look Laura, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back, okay?” She nods and you leave her at the bar after finishing the last bit of your drink.

It wasn’t a surprise to see the line to the ladies’ room outside the door, soft chatter filling the hallway as you wait. This was one of those times when being a woman wasn’t fun. At the rate this line was going, you would have permanent blisters on your feet. The heat isn’t as stifling and you’re grateful you remembered a hair tie as you scrape your curls into a low messy bun. You shuffle forward with the rest of the women as the line advances and you thank the sweet gods when you can finally see the stalls. A few more minutes pass and then it‘s finally your turn. You practically run into the stall, slamming it behind you. Once you’ve finished and flushed, you exit the stall and hear screaming.

You rinse your hands quickly and peer around the propped open door. The line had disappeared and the small hallway and rest of the restroom was empty. This was not regular partygoer screams of fun. No, this is something much more gruesome. You peek quickly down the hallway again from your hiding spot. The music is still blaring, but now it sounds eerily quiet for a Friday night at one of the most talked about clubs in the city. Something is wrong.

You slip off your heels and tuck them under your arms. You sigh softly as the blood rushes back to your toes. If it came down to it, they could be used as a weapon, but only if you had the element of surprise. Sneaking a look around the corner, you immediately draw back. A gun. Fuck. You turn back and quickly hide in one of the stalls on the left hand side of the restroom and crouch over the toilet, holding onto your heels with one hand and using the other to stay in place. You shut your eyes and try to even out your breathing. How the fuck were you supposed to get out of this?

The sound of a walkie talkie alerts you to the second presence in the room. Their steps are even as the person systematically checks the stalls. There are five stalls between yourself and the first door and you need to figure out something fast. The person had checked the second door and was moving onto the third. Taking a chance, you balance your shoes on your lap and shift your weight gently so you’re holding one foot in your dominant hand. Just as whoever is pushing open the third stall, you throw your shoe diagonally across the room under the stall next to you and hear it skid across the floor.

“What the fuck?” A man. Fuck. You pray that he hadn’t been looking too closely to see the initial direction the shoe had come from and was only focused on its destination.

Peeping through the small crack between the stall wall and the door, you see that his back is towards you. You take your second shoe and slide it in the direction of the main door of the bathroom. Through the small crack, you watch as he turns toward it again.

“Where the fuck are these shoes coming from?” You knew you only had a few seconds before he would forget about the shoes and resume his search. You take your chance.

As quietly as you can, you hop off the toilet seat and bolt out of the stall. Before he could fully turn after hearing the banging of the stall door against the wall, you jump on his back and wrap your arms around his throat as tight as you possibly can. He lets out a strangled cry as he drops his gun where it clatters to the floor. You press on his throat harder using the muscles in your forearm to apply more pressure. His hands are desperately clawing at your own as he stumbles around the room. Your grip around his waist falters when he slams you back into the glass mirror mounted on the wall. You hope the music is still blaring as the shattered pieces fall to the floor. The force of the blow has you slipping to the ground and you feel lightheaded. You know you can’t give up if you want to live.

“You fucking bitch!” he yells out hoarsely while clutching his throat. He turns to retrieve his gun from across the room and you grab the longest shard of glass from the ground that you can find before you launch yourself at him again.

You stab him in between the joint of his right shoulder, praying you’ve shoved it deep enough to sever the muscles and ligaments holding it together, leaving him unable to use his arm. Blood pools in your palm and you bite my lip to stop yourself from crying out. His shout is loud and you dive past him to grab the gun while he tries to remove the glass. You flip over onto your back and aim at his left knee as he charges towards you, right arm hanging down at his side, limp. Missing, you hit him in the thigh as he falls on top of you, groaning in pain. You scramble from beneath him and stand as he clutches his bleeding leg wound. Your breathing is heavy as you realize you had just shot a man, the cut on the back of your hand evidence as the gun had kicked back and cut you. Granted you have every right as he was trying to kill you first, but you’ve never fired a gun before yet here you were standing over the body of a potentially dead man.

“Don’t move,” you tell him as he writhes around on the floor. “And shut the fuck up before I give you something else to scream about.”

You look down at your stained clothing and ripped stockings. Blood is splattered around the room and the stinging in your palm intensifies. You can’t have him calling for help. Tucking the gun into the back of your skirt, you remove your stockings and shove them into his mouth, creating a makeshift gag. His breathing is shallow and you roll him onto his side so the glass is no longer pressing into his shoulder. You grab the walkie talkie and realize your hands are shaking as drops of blood hit the floor. Your skirt is ripped and your hair has fallen out of its bun. Your adrenaline rush is starting to fade and you can feel the pain radiate from the back of your skull outward. The faint splattering of blood against your fingers makes your stomach churns slightly at the sight. Fuck. You were probably concussed.

Glancing back down at the man who now seemed to be unconscious, you walk quietly back to the main door of the bathroom and poke your head around. No one is in the hallway. You realize that the music is off but the strobe lights are still going. You assume that you shot the man while the music was still playing and that’s why no one had come running. Both hands on the gun and held at your side, you inch your way closer to the end of the short hallway. You’re trying to stay alert and keep your breathing even, but it’s becoming more difficult as time passes.

Crouching down by the entryway to the main floor, you try to scout the location of everyone. You can no longer see Laura, but Paul is across the room hiding under the table with some of your other coworkers. The rest of the partygoers are all laying down on the floor as the lights continue to pulse and flash. Min is by the door leading to the stairs to exit with the bouncer, a man pointing a gun to both of their heads. Honcho and the DJ are on their knees in front of the small stage below the DJ booth with another man holding guns to their heads too. The strange thing is neither Min, the bouncer, Honcho or the DJ look scared. In fact, they were staring at Jin, Moon, and Suga behind the bar, as if they were waiting for something.

“You guys mean to tell me that you know nothing about our loss of business?” the man in the center of the room asks. “Nothing at all?” You count three men pointing guns at the three men behind the bar, but know there are probably more upstairs.

“Nothing man. We’ve never seen you guys before,” Moon answers.

“Bullshit! That’s not what they told me,” he replies. He waves his pistol around aimlessly.

“Whoever gave you that information was wrong. We have no idea what you’re talking about. Just let the people leave and we can talk this out,” Moon says again.

The man in the center looks like he’s growing visibly agitated as he paces in the small open area of the dance floor. You can hear the soft whimpers from some of the people on the ground. You breathe out softly and try to keep your eyes focused on the man in the center. He’s tall and skinny with deep lines etched into his forehead as if he’s never experienced peace. His coat is thick and looks just as expensive as the suit he wears underneath it. You know there’s no point in taking any aim anywhere the coat covers because it would never make it past the first layer of fur.

“You little shits think you’re so smart, huh? As if I could let any of these people go after they’ve seen my face.” He chuckles. A horrified shriek echoes in the room.

“Shut up!” he screams and points his gun in the direction he thinks the sound comes from. Though he’s fairly young, you can tell he can’t hear very well as the shriek comes from the left side of the room and he was facing right.

“You fuckers moved to a big city and think no one would think to check you out and figure out what you’re really up to, huh?” You also realize he can’t see very well. Anyone looking at him would think he’s glowering at the three men behind the bar, but you can tell he’s squinting to try and see them better through the bright lighting; he’s nearsighted.

“Listen you crazy fuck, if you wanted to talk business, you could have walked in here nicely and asked about us instead of terrorizing our customers,” Suga spits. This was not going to end well.

“And who the fuck do you think you are?” The man roars, walking closer to the bar.

You watch as Moon’s jaw visibly clenches and unclenches as he tries to deescalate the situation almost in rhythm to the strobe lights. You know you’re running out of time before things potentially become bloody. There’s no way in hell you’d be able to hit a moving target; you’d figured that much out when the gunman charged at you and you shot him in his thigh instead of his knee. You try to stay calm and think of the best possible solution, but the lights are bothering your eyes. The fucking lights! If he could barely see with all the bright flashing lights, his range of vision should reduce with less light in the room. You have to shoot out the lights.

“Suga, shut the fuck up,” Moon grits out through clenched teeth. You squint and try to count the number of lights hanging from the ceiling.

“You gonna let him talk to you like that, sweetheart?” The well-dressed man cackles while holding his belly, his head thrown back. “Are you his bitch?” He sneers. Suga lunges forward and you hear guns cock. It didn’t matter how many lights there were, you just need to hit as many as you can.

“You think you’re tough kid? We’ll see how tough you are with a bullet in your brain,” the man says coldly, taking another step forward.

Just as he’s taking aim at Suga, you fire the first shot and miss the lights closest to Min. Your coordination is off. You feel seven pairs of eyes snap towards you and you make eye contact with Min from across the room.

“Fucking shoot her!” someone yells. You duck down as a rain of bullets fired toward your direction.

Screams echo around you as people try their best to get away from the danger. You ignore the guns pointing at you, firing, and stand up to take better aim at your target. You pray there are enough bullets in the chamber to get the job done as you squeeze the trigger repeatedly, aiming as best as you can. Your ears are ringing from the shots which are wild and you’re surprised as you manage to hit three sets of lights before you run out of bullets.

“Get down!” You focused back on the scene in front of me. You hear the shots fire and start to duck, but you weren't fast enough. With your arms still outstretched holding the gun, a bullet grazes across your upper arm. The skin burns and you cry out in pain. You drop the gun as Jin grabs you and pushes you closer towards the restroom, shielding you with his large body. Fuck, it was going to be a really long night.  

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ⓒ joon-ipersgirl, 2020

[afrolesbikita]

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As Texas braces for its notoriously scorching summer temperatures, the state House agreed to install air conditioning in dozens of uncooled prisons within seven years — but only if lawmakers set aside money for it.

On Thursday night, the Texas House initially passed a bill that would require all Texas lockups to be cooled over a seven-year span, capping costs at $300 million. But the state prison agency would only have to abide by the measure if lawmakers also agree to provide state or federal funds toward cooling costs. The bill finally cleared the House Friday on a 123-18 vote and was sent to the Senate.

“The reality is, in Texas, we are cooking people in prisons,” state Rep. Terry Canales, D-Edinburg, said on the floor when presenting his bill. “This is the right thing to do, it is the humane thing to do, and it’s something we should have done a long time ago.”

Currently, 70% of the state’s nearly 100 prison facilities do not have air conditioning in living areas. Some areas, like administrative offices and infirmaries, are air conditioned at all units.

In the last decade, at least 13 men have died of heat stroke while incarcerated in Texas prisons, according to court records and autopsy reports. Many more prisoners and guards are sickened each year in temperatures that often soar past 100 degrees, requiring intravenous fluids after reporting dizziness, nausea, heat rashes and muscle cramps.

For years, Texas Democrats have proposed measures to require state prisons to have cooling systems, as is the case in county jails. But legislators have balked at the cost, which the prison agency estimates would be more than $1 billion — though it has grossly overestimated air conditioning costs in the past.

In 2017, after a federal judge slammed the Texas Department of Criminal Justice for being “deliberately indifferent” to the potentially fatal risk of stifling temperatures inside a geriatric prison, Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton argued that “taxpayers shouldn’t be on the hook for tens of millions of dollars to pay for expensive prison air conditioning systems.”

The state has, however, spent millions of dollars in ongoing legal battles while resisting installing the cooling units. The yearslong lawsuit at the geriatric Pack Unit cost the state more than $7.3 million in legal fees. TDCJ ultimately settled the suit in 2018 and agreed to cool the prison near College Station, which cost less than $4 million — a fraction of the prison agency’s original estimate of more than $20 million.

Dozens of other lawsuits against TDCJ over heat-related deaths and illnesses have cost the state millions more since the summer of 2011, when a heat wave in Texas killed at least 10 imprisoned men.

“The reality is what we’re doing is disgusting. It’s truly disheartening,” Canales told the House Corrections Committee last month. “I don’t think we have a money problem. I think we have a give-a-damn problem.”

This year, Canales filed House Bill 1971 to incrementally install air conditioning in Texas’ uncooled prisons at a maximum cost of $100 million per biennium. The bill would permit three two-year phases of installation, ending with all state prisons cooled below 85 degrees before 2029. TDCJ said the cost would be much higher, but Canales and other lawmakers have called the agency’s billion-dollar price tag “ridiculous.”

But even if Canales’ bill becomes law, state lawmakers would still need to separately set aside state dollars or seek federal funding for it. The funds couldn’t come from TDCJ’s existing budget. The bill instead relies on lawmakers in the future giving TDCJ state funds specifically for cooling or directing federal dollars toward the project.

Still, the bill’s passage on the House floor this session is the furthest a prison air conditioning bill has gone in the Texas Legislature. Eye-popping cost estimates often kept air conditioning proposals from progressing beyond the first legislative step of a committee hearing in previous years.

But this year, Canales’ bill was unanimously voted out of the House Corrections Committee and was approved on a voice vote without opposition by the full chamber Thursday night. Other bills similar to previous proposals that did not include a staggered implementation failed to move forward. State Rep. Andrew Murr, the committee chair, said Thursday that Canales’ phased approach with specific budgeting allowed for success in his committee.

“This legislation takes steps to solve an infrastructure issue that has faced our correctional institutions for decades,” the Junction Republican said in an email.

At the bill’s committee hearing last month, Murr also questioned TDCJ about the high costs of litigation the state continues to face by continuing to avoid cooling its prisons, but prison officials did not provide specific numbers.

Texas has spent about $6.4 million legally representing TDCJ alone in prison heat litigation since 2011, according to billing records from the Texas Attorney General’s Office. And the state shelled out about $10 million more in settlement expenses in the last few years, including prisoners’ attorney fees and payouts to families in wrongful death lawsuits for prisoners who died of heat stroke.

In settling the high-profile heat lawsuit at the Pack Unit, TDCJ agreed in 2018 to pay $4.5 million to the plaintiffs’ attorneys. In 2019, the Texas legislature signed off on $1.8 million in payments to settle wrongful death lawsuits in the heat-related deaths of three prisoners in 2011 and 2012.

And the state agreed to pay another $3 million in settlement payouts connected to five other heat-related deaths that occurred in those years, according to records obtained by Texas Prisons Air-Conditioning Advocates and shared with The Texas Tribune. Plus, a man who sued over heat-related illness in prison after he was released received a $90,000 settlement.

Despite the continued legal costs, the advertised billion-dollar investment to cool prisons is not an easy sell, even with bipartisan skepticism of TDCJ’s estimate. In 2019, a Republican on the House Corrections Committee suggested an independent cost study since TDCJ had a history of inflated costs, but the prison agency still was the sole source of the cost estimate officially attached to bills this year.

In lieu of installing air conditioning, the costly lawsuits moved TDCJ to implement new heat safety protocols in 2018 — like more personal fans and a steady supply of ice water — in all of its units. Prison officials have argued such heat mitigation efforts work to keep prisoners safe, even if they may still be uncomfortable. Officials claimed that there were no heat-related deaths or major illnesses since the change of protocols.

But prisoners often say heat policies are followed inconsistently, and they have previously broken windows for air flow or flooded their cells to lie in water. Months after the Pack lawsuit was settled, a medical examiner ruled that a 54-year-old man at the Michael Unit died from environmental hyperthermia — often referred to as fatal heat stroke.

In 2019, TDCJ officials contested the cause of death, stating that the autopsy report was preliminary and the prisoner had been housed in an air conditioned cell. The state death report still lists hyperthermia as the cause of death, however. A TDCJ spokesperson said Thursday the agency still refuted the finding.

Carlee Purdum, an assistant research professor for the Hazard Reduction and Recovery Center at Texas A&M University, said without systemwide cooling, the prison agency won’t solve safety and medical problems associated with heat. Prison populations, her area of expertise, tend to be more vulnerable than people in the free world, since prisoners are often older and have more medical ailments that can be exacerbated by heat, she said.

“Investing in hazard mitigation saves so much money in the long term,” she said. “We’re expecting to see about a tripling of days in Texas that are over 100 degrees Fahrenheit, and this issue is only going to get worse … and more costly.”

For Amite Dominick, with Texas Prisons Air-Conditioning Advocates, the cost of air conditioning should be considered a preventive medical cost. But more important than the money, she said, are the people who get sick and die from the conditions the state holds them in.

“These people are being tortured,” she said. “We don’t treat animals like this, why on earth would we treat human beings like this?”

Disclosure: Texas A&M University has been a financial supporter of The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan news organization that is funded in part by donations from members, foundations and corporate sponsors. Financial supporters play no role in the Tribune’s journalism. Find a complete list of them here.

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[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Episode 41 Review: 78 Pick-Up

{ Youtube: 1 | 2 | 3 }

{ Full Synopses/Recaps: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

  Hello and welcome back to my Garden of Evil, where today we begin an especially weird week of Strange Paradise. This is Ian Martin’s final week writing the show, albeit with heavy executive meddling at this point. In previous weeks, some of the things mentioned in the Lost Episode summaries still happened, or certain plot points still appeared with a different outcome, but that mostly stopped last episode and will only happen once more with one more plot point. For reference, here is the Lost Episode summary for this episode:

Source: Cleveland Plain Dealer (November 7, 1969), p. 84.

That doesn’t happen in this episode. Actually, not much does compared to a typical Monday episode--or does it? Usually, Martin reserves the most important events or revelations for Mondays and Fridays and uses Tuesday through Thursday for less important plot points, recap, and building suspense, but this time we get a Monday episode that’s mostly focused on the latter. This breaks with the previous weekly structure of the show and underscores how hasty his rewrite of Episode 41 must have been.

Don’t believe me? Here’s a list of the most important events that occurred on previous Monday episodes:

1: Jean Paul releases Jacques 6: Jacques gives Alison her first dream about him 11: Alison writes to Dan for help 16: Matt arrives on Maljardin 21: Dan suspects Jean Paul of murder 26: Alison uncovers her first clues about Dr. Menkin’s experiments 31: The cryonics tank leaks 36: The 1st séance

And on Fridays:

5: Dr. Menkin dies 10: Tim and Holly arrive on Maljardin 15: Jacques fires Dan 20: Alison's second dream about Jacques 25: Raxl and Vangie learn that Elizabeth is a witch [didn’t amount to much in the aired version, but foreshadows her original plotline] 30: Jean Paul decides to arrange first séance 35: Vangie foresees her death on Maljardin 40: Jean Paul's emergency meeting

For comparison, here are the biggest events from Tuesday-Thursday episodes: (brackets indicate events that I believe were originally intended to be more significant)

Week 1: Holly escapes Westley House (3), Jacques signs his name on Dan's documents (4), Alison arrives on Maljardin (4) Week 2: Holly flees to Caribbean (7), Dan shows Vangie Jacques' signature (8) Week 3: Elizabeth arrives on Maljardin (12), Tim begins Portrait of Doom (13) Week 4: Conjure Man dies and makes Vangie Conjure Woman (17), Jacques brings Dan to Maljardin (18), [Holly discusses her nightmare about Tarasca (19)], Erica's funeral (19) Week 5: Raxl and Quito show Matt the temple (23), Jean Paul steals the bottle of cyanide (23) Week 6: [Jacques cements his relationship with Elizabeth (28)], [Raxl predicts the possession of other characters with her cards (29)] Week 7: Jean Paul brings Vangie to Maljardin (32), the guests learn that Quito is a zombie (33), [the Holly portrait is damaged (33)] Week 8: [Holly starts searching for the secret passage (37)], [Jacques gives Alison more notes (38)]

So what happens in Episode 41, which feels more like a mid-week episode? Let’s explore it together and see what took the place of the beginning of Elizabeth’s mental descent into the 17th century.

When Dan enters the Great Hall and tells the other guests where he’s been, both Matt and Vangie give him the side-eye.

Dressed in a dirty black turtleneck, Dan returns from his exploration of the eponymous garden of Maljardin, where he was searching for the missing cyanide and/or the way out (I don't care about either subplot--give me Jacques, dammit!). "What are you all planning?" he asks as Vangie, Matt, and Tim eye him with suspicion. "Another séance, Vangie? Or a prayer meeting, Reverend, to save us all by communication with the infinite?"

Matt asks him where he was and he says that he was searching for the way off the island. "Like Holly," Tim comments, which is the only reason why he's even in this scene. Cue recap, although surprisingly little from Mr. Boring Artist, whom Martin seems not to know what to do with anymore. Considering how bland Tim is, I don’t blame him.

Vangie making her favorite facial expression.

Uh-oh!

But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is upstage right, and the gorgeous but volatile Jean Paul has arrived to bitch out Dan for wanting to leave Maljardin! “Have you been on a journey, Dan?” he asks. “Here on Maljardin, they all meet the same end.”

“And some end in death,” adds Matt, which further angers the master.

“Is that a prediction or a predilection, or perhaps a threat?” Jean Paul asks, because he’s the only one allowed to make death threats on Maljardin. God Jean Paul forbid the Reverend return the favor.

“A fact, Mr. Desmond.” Too bad Jean Paul doesn’t care much for facts.

Holly is safe for now!

Both Alison and Holly(!) follow him upstairs. Holly says she feels fine now, which she attributes to Alison’s arrival just in time to show Jean Paul Dr. Menkin’s notes at the end of last episode. And then Jacques torments Jean Paul in front of all the detained guests:

Jacques: “Yes, be discreet. If I make you seem mad, they will betray you...”

“...and your sleeping Erica in her vulnerable cryocapsule.”

Holly: “Look at him. It’s like he’s in another world! Just like he seemed to be another man down there in that creepy crypt.”

He reminds everyone that visits to the crypt are off-limits and marches off, ignoring Elizabeth’s attempt to calm him down. Alison shows the notes to her increasingly estranged fiancé Dan and recaps to him about how she now only has five weeks of notes left. Meanwhile, in the dining room...

In a trance, Vangie solemnly lays a spread of Tarot cards on the dining room table, when suddenly she crushes one within the palm of her hand:

Matt notices that she is in a trance and Alison rushes over to get her out of it. When she does, Vangie is confused:

As is the tradition on this blog, I will attempt to interpret the Tarot cards that Vangie has drawn to determine the message. I suspect that Ian Martin deliberately chose specific Tarot spreads to subtly foreshadow planned events (see also my Episode 29 review where I analyze one such spread) in addition to all of the other Tarot symbolism he uses. Let’s start with the cards on the table:

And their possible meanings, taken (mostly) from Tarot.com and The Tarot Guide:

The Devil can also refer to the id, chaos, sexuality, obsession, or abuse, but I believe that it’s more likely meant literally here. Death may be meant literally (which is not how it’s normally used in the Tarot), but change would make just as much sense in the context of Jacques’ plans for Maljardin. I had trouble identifying the card at the top, but I think that most likely it’s the Ace of Cups in reverse. Ace of Cups RX can mean (among other things) sadness, unrequited love, or pessimism, but it could also mean a shadow version of Alison, whom Vangie’s previous readings represented as the upright Ace of Cups. Sounds like Rahua, although that’s doubtful because the show has all but forgotten about her. More likely, it foreshadows Alison’s death or another form of undoing.

As for the card crumpled in Vangie’s hand,

The Eight of Wands seems a very odd choice in combination with the others, because of its positive meaning:

Success--but for whom? I’m guessing Jacques, which would explain her reaction. The spread implies that Jacques’ plans to steal Jean Paul’s body for good (the change), followed by discontent, sadness, and loss, will succeed.

In the Great Hall, we hear Dan tell Tim and Matt about how, while searching Jean Paul’s bedroom, he found a map drawn by Jacques of the only escape route through the channel. “They’re probably false and intended to lure sailors to their watery grave,” the Reverend speculates, given the cartographer in question. Unfortunately for them, Jean Paul overhears their conversation. “The Reverend knows the Requiem,” he threatens passive-aggressively.

Jean Paul must have contact with his Erica, even if it kills him as Vangie predicts it will.

Then Jean Paul visits Vangie in the dining room to insist once again upon another séance. She reluctantly agrees, although she feels very uneasy about it. By now the Conjure Woman has laid another Tarot spread, consisting of a different combination of cards:

And my interpretation:

The King of Swords--which we know represents Jacques--is reversed, and so is the Knight of Pentacles. As with the reversed Ace of Cups from the first spread, the reversed Knight could either mean the revival of Dan’s 17th-century counterpart d’Anton or (more likely) Dan’s demise. Whether the reversed King of Swords still means Jacques or instead refers to his reversal Jean Paul is unclear, but I think the latter is more likely. The King’s characterization on The Tarot Guide is very negative, but “power-crazed,” “controlling,” and “ruthless” do describe the man Jean Paul has become, and Vangie does predict in this scene that he may soon die. The Queen of Cups, which has previously represented both Elizabeth and Holly, appears upright, as do the Knight of Cups and the Queen of Swords. The Tarot Guide’s description for the Knight of Cups mentions an “artistic, creative” man, which sounds like Tim: the only male guest in Maljardin to not have previously been associated with a Tarot card. The identity of the Queen of Swords is unclear, but I have a feeling that she is meant to represent Erica. The Nine and Ten of Swords indicate that at least some of these characters will die, and there will be no way of preventing it.

Later in the episode, she lays a third spread while talking to Elizabeth:

My interpretation:

Elizabeth asks what the cards means, and Vangie gives this curious explanation: “That a woman who seeks love will receive what she gives...Nothing else.” Evidently, that includes burnout (Ten of Wands reversed) and regret/missed opportunities (Four of Cups). But which woman could these cards be about? Is it Elizabeth, Holly, or someone else? Could it even be...Erica?

Elizabeth suggests that Vangie invite her to tomorrow’s séance, then leaves when she sees Matt. They discuss the upcoming séance and Matt tells her, “I will certainly not consent to take part in the circle a second time.” But the Tarot cards say otherwise:

“What we say is one thing,” says Vangie. “What takes place is another. The Fool. The cards say you will. They cannot change it, and neither can you. The cards do not lie. Forces join the battle. Which is good, which is evil, who knows? You can’t change it, in spite of yourself!”

Vangie lays two spreads of Tarot cards in this scene. The first is too blurry to interpret, but appears to include either the Nine or the Ten of Swords:

The second--which Vangie implies relates to the events at tomorrow’s séance and which includes the Fool as its fifth card--is interesting:

My interpretation:

I did not expect to see the Hierophant--which represents tradition and conformity when upright--in any of her spreads. It just doesn’t seem relevant to any of the themes of the Maljardin arc, unless we count the generational gap between Holly and the establishment. The Tarot Guide gives “reversed roles” as one suggested meaning for the Hierophant reversed, which fits neatly with Ian Martin’s original (now scrapped) plans for at least one additional possession (but probably more). Five of Cups reversed is pretty straightforward: Jean Paul is trying to move on from his wife’s death by contacting her spirit. Likewise for the Hanged Man, whose trapped state could represent anyone on the island except for Jacques. The Ace of Cups here could represent idealism or compassion, but it has always meant Alison in previous episodes, so I’m sticking with her as my interpretation.

As I’ve written above, I don’t actually know if any of these cards (save the Fool) were mentioned in this episode’s script. There’s no way of knowing if any of these arrangements were deliberate or if Angela Roland was actually just drawing random cards in her scenes. Mostly, I’m interpreting these cards because there isn’t much else to do in February in the middle of a pandemic. It keeps my mind busy and it gives me something to talk about re: this episode other than weekly plot structure.

There’s one more scene of her pulling cards. The three cards in this spread appear to be the Five of Cups RX again, the Ten of Swords RX (either a total disaster or one narrowly averted), and the King of Wands RX (most likely Jacques). She has just pulled another when she lets the rest of the deck slide out of her hand onto the table. She has a nervous breakdown:

The combination of the Tarot spreads full of omens of doom lead Vangie to a nervous breakdown the day before the séance.

This episode serves the function of building suspense to the second séance, which we know will happen soon. Vangie does not want to hold it because of the danger that the cards have foretold, but she knows that there’s no way out of it and (according to her) the cards don’t lie. What doom awaits Maljardin in the coming weeks? Only time will tell. It won’t be Tarasca, but it will be something seriously strange.

Coming up next: A mysterious black rabbit appears in the Garden that has not known wild animal life in three hundred years.

{<- Previous: Episode 40   ||   Next: Episode 42 ->}

[dewitty1]

The Pirate and the Prince

Maniacani @maniacani-arts  PalenDrome (nerdherderette) @nerdherderette

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Terry Boot, Colin Creevey, Marcus Flint, Roger Davies, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Pius Thicknesse, Hedwig (Harry Potter) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Pirate Harry Potter, Aristocrat Draco Malfoy, Virgin Draco Malfoy, POV Draco Malfoy, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Neville Longbottom/Ginny Weasley, Past Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter - Freeform, Past Roger Davies/Harry Potter, Harlequin, Adventure & Romance, Tattoos, Drinking, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Sexual Harassment, No Period-Typical Homophobia, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Light Angst, Happy Ending, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Secondary Theme: Travel Fair, Digital Art

Summary:

Draco can't believe that fate and circumstance have made him a stowaway on the Master of Death's ship. He doesn't know what's worse: the dread pirate's legendary vendetta against the aristocracy, or the fact that his captor is the most infuriating yet irrefutably fascinating man Draco has ever met.

Excerpt:

"Don't jump," someone says softly. 

Draco hears the weight of Harry's footsteps on the deck behind him, sure and light-footed. "Sometimes, when I close my eyes and hear the birds and the waves, it's as if I'm flying alongside them," Draco says, opening his eyes slowly. 

Harry settles himself on the railing next to Draco as they stare out at the waters ahead. "Hmm," he says quietly. The setting sun bathes his strong features in its soft light, his eyes luminous under his dark lashes. "I think I prefer to keep my eyes open, though. To be prepared for any eventuality."

"Being prepared doesn't mean one can't enjoy a moment of spontaneity. I would think that the Master of Death would embrace Fate's whimsy with a bit more daring."

Harry snorts. "I've experienced more 'daring' by the age of twenty than most have in the entirety of their lives."

"So modest." Draco glances at Harry, and in a fit of inspiration, lowers his hand to the strip of green fabric that's wrapped around his waist. He undoes the knot and waves it in front of Harry face. "Let's try, for a bit of fun. It will be like playing buffy with a stick."

Harry's eyes widen as he lets out a long hiss. "I won't wear a blindfold."

Draco frowns, deflated at the rejection. "But you wear a mask all the time," he says.

"Not one that impedes my vision." Harry leans back, visibly trying to slow his breathing. "I was often locked in a cupboard as punishment when I was a child. To be forced into such darkness is difficult for me."

"I'm sorry." Guilt wells up in Draco, the heat in his face rising. "I didn't know."

"How could you?" Harry asks, soft and without censure.

Draco thinks about his parents, how they tried to lay everything at his feet, give him every advantage. Though their wishes for his future may be different from his own, they had never done anything so deliberately cruel. "Your parents…forgive me, Harry, for speaking out of turn, but I don't understand how anyone could do such a thing to a child, never mind their own."

"It wasn't my parents," Harry whispers, fiercely staring at a spot on the railing. "It was my aunt and uncle. Monsters can be found everywhere, including one's family."

Draco reaches out to hold Harry's hand. Harry's eyes dart up in surprise, but he doesn't withdraw from the touch. His palm feels solid and warm, and then his fingers curl, interlocking with Draco's.

Harry watches Draco intently, then raises Draco's hand and brings it to his lips.

Harry's mouth brushes against Draco's skin. It's fleeting, but the ghost of the kiss lingers, the memory a sweet boon. "You're beautiful when you blush," Harry says, grinning.

"You make me feel like a lady who's just been granted a voucher to Almack's," Draco laughingly admits, thinking of Pansy.

"Hmm." Harry lets go of Draco's hand and runs a finger absentmindedly along the railing. "I doubt you'd ever find me hanging around with such esteemed company."

Draco's face falls at the disdain that's clear in Harry's voice. "Whatever do you mean?"

"The company of people who think that good breeding and exemplary behaviour are provinces of the nobility when they, in fact, are often the ones who lack it the most."

Draco takes a step forward, unwilling to let such a statement go unanswered. "That's a bit presumptuous. Why would you think so poorly of those whose only crime is to have been born of noble birth?"

"Because I was shown their immorality and cruelty at an early age, for it was none other than a noble—Lord Voldemort, the Duke of Hangleton—who robbed me of my childhood when he struck down my parents for his political advantage."

A chill washes over Draco, causing him to shiver despite the still-present sun. His father was an ardent supporter of Voldemort and his policies. He's still not sure how Voldemort met his demise and Harry's role in it, what rumours are salacious gossip versus some embellished version of reality. Given what he's just learned, he's certain that both Harry and his father are somehow involved.

Draco turns back to the open sea. As the sun touches down over the horizon, lavender washes over the skies, and the ocean turns a dark and turbulent blue.

Draco crosses his arms, unable to shake the sense of foreboding. "Here," Harry says gruffly as a light, woolen coat drapes over Draco's shoulders. It smells of Harry and his soap.

"Thank you," Draco says. Harry's gaze flicks over Draco's body wrapped in the too-large jacket before his expression becomes hooded.

"We'll be docking at Brisson Cay on Friday. My estate—Godric's Hollow—is on the western side of the Isle of Hogsmeade. It is large, and most of us reside there when not at sea, while we attend to our other business ventures. There is room for you and work to be had if you would like to continue your stay, although it might include a bit of hard labour."

Despite his predicament, the prospect fills Draco with a semblance of hope. "I believe I have proved to you that I have both the desire and capability to perform such work."

Harry gives him a smile. "It would only be fair to tell you that the Hogwarts Express sails from Brisson Cay to the Port of New York every three months. From there, it would not be difficult for one to book passage to London. If you should ever need it."

Draco frowns. "Is that what you'd prefer?" he eventually asks.

"There is a small cottage by the gardens, close to the water." Harry hesitates. "Hogsmeade is famed for its unusual beauty. I think that, for you, it would be a perfect home."

There's no mistaking the way in which Harry's voice husks lower. Draco tilts his head and licks his lips, parting them invitingly. "I look forward to you showing me all the beautiful things," he dares.

Draco winds his fingers along the back of Harry's neck and pulls him in. The hairs along Harry's nape tickle Draco's skin; Harry lets out a groan and gives in to the demand with the smallest of protests, and when he does, it's as if the walls of his resistance come crumbling down. He pushes Draco against the rail and brackets Draco's body between his muscular arms, his breath hot against Draco's cheek as their foreheads brush against one another. 

"You drive me to madness," Harry grits out. "Filling me with a fever beyond all reason." He allows Draco to bridge the distance as their lips touch, and the kiss that follows is desperate and almost angry.

The force of their kiss nearly causes Draco to buckle, his head dizzy as Harry cups Draco's chin and tilts it so the angle is better. The clumsiness of Draco's initial attempt slides into something more practised, a longing filled with lips and tongue, the heat of it urgent. Harry's left hand grips the side of Draco's hip, pulling them flush, the tightness of his breeches leaving no misunderstanding about the state of his arousal.

"Harry," Draco gasps. He tilts his neck back as Harry mouths the exposed line of Draco's throat, and he's sure that his skin is mottled and bruised as Harry worries it between his teeth. Draco's hips buck forward, and he's mortified by how needy he sounds, how desperate, how dangerously close he is to spilling in his trousers as he ruts against Harry's thigh.

"Do you know how much I've thought of you, Jacob?" Harry asks as Draco whimpers, his heart a rapid staccato.

Draco is so far gone that he doesn't care that Harry thinks he's someone else. His body burns as if suffering from ague and his heart races from the way Harry's fingers dig into his sides, as if he is trying to mark Draco's skin through the layers of his clothes.

"So needy. So beautifully responsive," Harry adds as he punctuates his words with a roll of his hips.

"Only for you, Harry," Draco gasps. "No one else. There's never been anyone else."

Harry's hands still, his grip painfully tight. He pulls back, and though his eyes are still dark with arousal, they are also widening in shock. He takes a step back, his lips swollen and kiss-bitten, his dark hair tumbling out of its queue as he shakes his head forcefully. "You are…" he rasps, his throat working from the effort. "You are an innocent?"

"What does it matter?" Draco pleads. He moves to draw Harry towards him, his heart aching when Harry recoils from his touch.

Harry's hands are clenched into fists so tight, Draco fears his nails will draw blood. "It matters because your first time should be something more than a dalliance."

Draco's cheeks pink with anger. "Are you saying I'm but an amusement?"

"Jacob…" Harry takes several deep breaths but he's already closed off, distancing himself from Draco with his words and actions. "I am saying that I am not the man that you think, nor the one you deserve. You should be someone who can return the trust that you give in equal measure."

He turns and walks away. When the sun breathes its last gasp, Draco realises that he's still wearing Harry's coat.

[dailyaudiobible]

09/11/2020 DAB Transcript

Isaiah 8:1-9:21, 2 Corinthians 12:1-10, Psalms 55:1-23, Proverbs 23:4-5

Today is the 11th day of September welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian it is wonderful to be here with you today as we continue the journey forward step-by-step day by day just consistently takin’ the next step forward in its leading us into the inner workings of our hearts as the Bible does but it's also giving us wisdom and advice and encouragement for the journey that we are on this journey called life. And what a joy that we can share this stretch of road together as we as…we move through the Scriptures. So, we’re reading from the Christian Standard Bible this week. Today, Isaiah chapters 8 and 9.

Commentary:

Okay. So, in the book of Psalms today we came across a very, very, very, very famous passage of Scripture, “cast your burden on the Lord, and He will sustain you; he will never allow the righteous to be shaken”, right? You may quote that every day. Every time that we find ourselves suffering in some sort of way, this is the kind of passage that we turn to for encouragement to ourselves or this is the kinds of passage that we quote while handing it to somebody else who's facing difficulty. So, how does this work? What's going on here? First of all, we see that David in this Psalm has been betrayed by a friend. Okay. So, that brings things close. Like, somebody really, really trusted has betrayed him. And, so, he's angry, but he’s also broken very, very hurt. And, so, we can see both of those kinds of emotions mixed in with this psalm – very very human outburst, very very human way to feel and think about this. And he’s just looking at all the things, all of the difficulties of life, all the hardships and he says something that we probably all feel or have felt, “I wish I had…I wish I could fly away like a bird”, right, “if only I had wings like a dove I would fly away and find rest. I would flee far away. I would stay in the wilderness.” “I”, basically, “I would get to a solitary place away from all of this all-consuming difficulty.” Man…I just…I mean…I don't even know how many thousands of times I've felt that way of my life, right? Haven’t you? Like, “O…if I could just fly away from this all.” So, for David to sort of conclude with an encouragement to himself, “cast your burden on the Lord and he will sustain you. He will and never allow the righteous to be shaken.” Indeed, that's very encouraging. So, it's very encouraging when we are reminded of it by someone. It's very encouraging we remind ourselves of it. It's even very encouraging when were able to encourage another with this passage of Scripture. But I gotta tell you something about this passage of Scripture, it's not going to work if you say it. I know that's crazy. It's not gonna work even if you memorize it. It's a short one so you can memorize it by the end of the day and then you could say it 100 times as a mantra and it's still not gonna work. Knowing it, saying it, that’s just reciting words, that doesn't do anything. To enjoy what David is encouraging himself and us with we have to engage and do what it says. Normally what happens is that…I mean like there are three lines in this piece of poem that we’re reading today and we skip the first one and then just hear, “he will sustain you, he will never allow the righteous to be shaken” and take that as an encouragement when the first part is an invitation to collaborate in this thing, “cast your burden on the Lord and he will sustain you, he will never allow the righteous to be shaken.” You can say that a thousand times, until you cast your burden on the Lord nothing's gonna happen. Are you with me on this? I…like…I know I’m like being right up in our face today but, kinda being up in my own face today. We can't carry the burdens around and then complain about how God’s not sustaining us. He was willing to carry it all if we had been willing to cast it on him. And casting it on him isn’t like, “hey Jesus, my shoulders are weighed down with anxiety today could you carry this backpack of pain and suffering for me for the next, I don't know, quarter of mile, and then I'll pick it back up and take it.” Like that doesn't lead to freedom. The invitation here is…and man…David’s talking about a pretty grievance, the betrayal of a friend. So, this is a deep-rooted pain that he’s saying like, “cast this on the Lord and he will sustain you. H won’t allow you to be shaken.” So, one thing that we are told here pretty explicitly is that we are…that we must be involved in engaging this, but also that we are not just helpless. When we are facing whatever it is that seems to be overwhelming us there is an out, there is an escape hatch, cast it on the Lord. Man…if just for one day let's practice that today. Like it's like so many of the other instructions that we come to in the Bible that are stark, especially when they’re famous passages. We can live into this today. What do we have to lose? We can carry the backpack of stress and anxiety, all of the poison that’s in that backpack, we can carry that heavy burden around or we can cast it on the Lord and see what happens. What is there to lose? If we really can't part with that anxiety then I guess we could go collect it back, but wouldn't it be nice to be free. Wouldn’t it be nice to be in collaboration with God, knowing that he will sustain us if we cast our burdens upon Him.

Prayer:

Father, what a gift you are offering. Like, what and immeasurably loving thing to say, that we can come and cast these things off that are killing us inside giving them to you knowing that you will sustain us and lead us forward if we will pay attention, if we will have eyes to see and ears to hear. And, so, our eyes are open and we’re gonna walk into this and live into this day and we invite your Holy Spirit to lead us into all truth. We pray this in the precious name of Jesus, our Savior. Amen.

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And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hey this is just a shout out to Brian, Jill, Ezekiel, China, all the DABbers. Some mornings I wake up and I’m grumpy and groggy and just feel overly unhappy and then I think about going and having my coffee and listening to Daily Audio Bible and taking in Scripture and my prayer time and it totally lifts my spirits. It’s something to look forward to in the mornings. I love that. So, thank you for providing this. It’s such a beautiful thing. Every morning it gives me this warm feeling like I’m going to the table, I’m going to the campfire to be with my people. And I don’t know, never has there been an app that comes with such a personality and has such a connection to other people. I really feel like I’m taking part in something with many other people. That’s a special thing. Love you guys.

Hello, my DAB family this is Mark Street from Sydney Australia today’s Friday the 5th of September and I just want to call in to say how grateful I am to God and this community. There’s so much love, God’s love flowing to this community. I should’ve been writing everybody’s name down who’s dialed a prayer request for me but I haven’t been doing it so instead of mentioning anybody’s name, you know you called in for me and I have listened and I’m up today and I’ve heard your messages to me and I just want to say how grateful I am for your love and God’s love and I just want to pray to…to God to say thank you. Heavenly Father…and just a quick update first. I am recovering very well. I do have to have some heart surgery in about five weeks-time, and I’ll let you know prior to that but I just want to thank God. Heavenly Father I come to You and say thank you to everyone in this community Lord, not just the people who pray for each other but also the people that are paying in the background. Also, the people that are hurting Lord. Lord this community is so wonderful. Your love is expressed so wonderful in this community Lord and I…I am in awe of Your presence in this community Lord. And Lord I ask You to extend Your blessing to everybody in this community, show them Your love in Your personal way in their lives Lord and as You have in me as well Lord. Lord I thank You for Brian and his whole family for listening to You and presenting this program for everybody to love each other through You Lord. In Your name I thank You Lord. And I love you family and once again…

This is Ricky from Louisiana first-time caller I’ve been listening to my DAB family since October last year. I’m calling in with a prayer request. I have a request for my son, my 25-year-old son who has been recently diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. He was a two-time all-state and one-time all-American football…football defensive back in high school. Now he is unable to walk at all. He’s unable to bathe himself. Initially when he was diagnosed, he was able to…he went to the hospital, he did not…he wasn’t able to walk and then he got better. He was able to walk with the use of a cane but now it has…his condition has deteriorated. So, I’m calling in to ask my prayer warriors to lift him up in prayer. He’s my namesake, Ricky Junior. Thank you in advance for your prayers and we continue to give God the glory, the praise, and the owner for what Je’s going to do.

Yes, I am Alicia Hansen I just wanted to pray for what’s going on in the world. I’ve been listening to your devotional and I really love it. I know I’m going above and beyond 365 day. I’m trying to read it all and I’m just addicted to it. It’s is a wonderful book and I want to pray for all the strife that is going on in this world right now, all of the anger, the loss of jobs, the plague, the pestilence. We were told that it will happen, and it is happening, and you can see it clear as day. I am a blind person. I see only darkness all the time but yet my eyes are open and I see what is happening to our society and I just would like to ask that we all join hands and we pray to Jesus and God the Father almighty that he may rescue us and that He may show us the light and lead us to the land that He promised. And I just…I give my prayers and I ask that only the Lord and Jesus Christ let the words come from my mouth because a tongue is a double edge sword. It can hurt and it can make you feel good. You need to choose your words and your actions wisely. I’m sitting in a small town in South Carolina and it’s been hot here but it’s pretty …

Hey Daily Audio Bible family this is Abigail from California I’m just listening on the way into work as I do some days through __ my workdays. I work at a group home for teens in crisis and I just want to share…I know it’s been a while since…I believe it was Angel…was your name…you called in about your daughter. I just wanted you to know that I pray for you every morning and I pray for your daughter every morning on my way into work as I just think about our youth in America and just…they’re going through a lot. So, I just wanted to pray with you guys for…for our kids. Dear God, I’m just so thankful for Your provision and that You do have resources and prayer and…and Your hands on these kids. God I just pray…I just break the bondage of depression and anxiety over these kids. I pray that Your hand would be on the Lord, that in Your name, Jesus, these chains would be broken, that…that they would not have to struggle with this. I just pray for myself and those who work in homes for teens, God that You would just be with us, that You would fill us with peace and joy and patience …

Hello, my fellow DABbers first-time caller Chris from Minnesota beloved son of an affectionate father. I also go by rompin stompin dynamite. I am so grateful my fiancé Dawn also known as bouncing poucin love and joy called in a while back and asked that you pray for my son Gabriel whom I haven’t spoken to in five months. He did three tours of duty in Iraq as a Marine in the infantry. The day Dawn’s prayer aired is the day one of my other sons said, “dad Gabe is going to be coming to the wedding.” And thank you so much to Lisa the Encourager who let us all at a very specific heartfelt prayer. The day her prayer aired was the day my son called me to apologize for cutting me off. There has been an amazing change in his art. On a more corporate note I have been listening for five years and my heart cries out and my holy ambition is to pray for those who are going through or face divorce. I did face the destruction that divorce can unleash on a family, but I do know there’s life in through and on the other side of this tragedy. Let me encourage you that our life is not defined by our failures or accomplishments. Our identity is found in whose I am and who I belong to. One of my favorite portion of description is when the Father gives to Jesus the one thing we all want to hear, “this is my beloved son in whom I’m well pleased in whom my favor rests.” My prayer for us all, no matter how good our lives are or the struggles we go through, this is your identity. You are a beloved son. You are a beloved daughter of an affectionate father. This is Chris from Minnesota.

Good evening DABbers this is Running Desperately to Jesus a.k.a. Staying Desperately Connected to Jesus. That’s from kingdom seeker Daniel. We just finished reading September 4th Ecclesiastes chapter 7 and I am so blown away. I want my DABbers to know I have not been with the guy that I openly was transparent that I fornicated with. I have not been with him and I feel a weight has been lifted off. I feel clear. I haven’t been with him now for several weeks and I made that decision. Initially it was…I gave all other kind of reasons but finally I gave the right reason to him, which was I was disrespecting and doing something against God. One of the things that I thank God for and Brian everything that you said in Ecclesiastes about godly sorrow and sorrow is exactly what I felt. Thank God for the godly sorrow or the sensation of conviction. I felt convicted the whole time I was with this person and I regret it. I feel ashamed. I’m angry with him. I’m angry with myself even more. But I thank God for the conviction for the godly sorrow that has led me back to say, “God I repent for my actions that were against you and your word.” Running Desperately to Jesus. Also known as Staying Desperately Connected to Jesus.

[aratilightwood]

If Kit lived the extravagant lifestyle

Tagging @kit-herondale-blackthorn for the ‘Cirenworth hall’ craze fest.

...

(1) *Kit and Ty prepare for patrolling near a restaurant.*

“Are you ready to leave?” Ty asked as he walked into Kit’s bedroom.

“Yeah, give me a minute, I just have to lace up my red bottoms,” Kit replied.

“Red bottoms? What kind of demons have red bottoms?” Ty said.

“No they’re -“ Kit began. “Nevermind.”

(2) *Kit and Tessa wash dishes in the kitchen.*

“Do I really have to clear away the dishes?” Kit questioned miserably.

“Well, I cooked, so it only seems fair that you clean,” Tessa replied.

“But I don’t want to scratch my Rolex watch, please help me take it off,” Kit said.

“Fine,” Tessa sighed.

(3) *Kit and Emma prepare for patrolling at a bar*

“Have you got all the weapons you need?” Emma asked as she walked into the weapon’s room.

“Erm, yeah,” Kit replied.

She eyed the golden chain around his neck, “why are you still wearing that?”

“It might work like an electrum whip,” Kit said.

“I doubt that,” Emma replied.

(4) *Kit is feeding baby Cordelia.*

“Have you finished feeding Cordelia?” Jem asked as he peered in the living room doorway.

“Almost done,” Kit said happily.

“It’s good you’re getting practice,” Jem said.

Before Kit could reply, Cordelia picked up the plate that was filled with mushy bananas and flung it in his direction.

“Oh God, not my tie. It’s from Prada!” He exclaimed as he ducked to avoid the hit.

(5) *Kit and Ty are reading after hours in the library.*

“It says here, that a Raum demon’s venom doesn’t work immediately, but kills you slowly,” Ty said while he read a passage from the book.

“How long does it take for the victim to die than?” Kit asked.

“Hold on, this is a very old book. The writing has faded over the years. Could you please bring out your witchlight?” Ty said.

Kit reached into his pocket and took something out, “would this help?”

Ty eyed the shining object in Kit’s hands, “what’s that?”

“A Swarovski crystal,” Kit replied.

(6) *Residents of the institute plan to go to the ‘Midnight theatre’.*

“We’re going to be late, if we don’t leave now,” Ty said while he sat at the edge of Kit’s bed.

“I can’t find my silver cuff links,” Kit replied as he rummaged through his drawers.

“Pick another one, you have loads to choose from,” Ty said.

“But the silver ones have your initials, please help me find them,” Kit pleaded.

Ty smiled slightly, got up from the bed and walked towards Kit.

(7) *Kit and Dru plan to visit the shadow market.*

“Have you found a way to disguise yourself while we’re there?” Drusilla asked as she approached Kit near the institute’s entrance.

“Yeah, Givenchy sunglasses,” Kit said while he put them one.

“That’s not going to help,” Drusilla said. “It’s not even sunny outside.”

“It’s more of a fashion accessory than a convenient hindrance against sunlight,” Kit said.

Drusilla rolled her eyes, but followed him out of the institute anyway.

(8) *Kit is giving baby Cordelia a bath.*

“God, your hair grows a lot quicker than mine,” Kit said as he washed off the shampoo.

The baby giggled at the statement and splashed around the small bath tub.

“Bath time is your favourite time of the day, isn’t it?” Kit asked.

Cordelia’s smile grew wider as she noticed a ring glittering on Kit’s finger. She reached out and tried to grab it.

“Uh uh, no way,” Kit began as he moved his hand away. “You’re not having anymore of my rings, especially after the last one fell down the drain.”

(9) *Kit and Ty prepare to go patrolling on Santa Monica pier.*

“Kit, I can’t find my ge-“ Ty began as he walked into the training room. “What are you wearing?”

Kit was standing beside a target board in a casual jumper and jeans.

“It’s quite cold outside. I thought my Burberry, wool jumper would keep me warm,” Kit said.

“We’re going on patrol, not a moonlight walk. It’s best you wear your gear instead,” Ty replied.

“Nope, I should be fine like this,” Kit said.

(10) *Kit and Helen argue over washing clothes.*

“Kit, do you have any clothes that need cleaning?” Helen asked.

“I don’t think so,” Kit said after some thought.

“What about your leather jacket?” Helen said.

“Nope, I’m not putting that in the washing machine with the rest of the clothes after what happened to my other jacket. Oh the horror!” Kit said dramatically.

(11) *Kit and Ty walk around the shopping centre and do window shopping.*

“I don’t know why you wanted to go shopping,” Ty said. “You seem to have a lot of things already.”

“Even I can’t resist sales,” Kit replied.

A few moments passed when Ty felt a tug on his arm. He looked down and noticed that his shirt had caught on Kit’s bracelet.

“Kit!” Ty exclaimed. “This is the third time today your Armani bracelet has done this.”

Kit looked down at both of their arms and attempted to unlink them, “sorry.”

“Maybe its best you take it off,” Ty suggested.

“Erm, absolutely not,” Kit said.

(12) *Kit finds Julian in the art studio on Friday morning.*

“Julian, are you in here? Everyone’s been looking for you,” Kit said as he opened the door to the studio slightly.

“Yeah, I’m just finishing an art work. Is everything ok?” Julian replied.

Julian was standing in front of a canvass. The small paint brush in his hand had a rich, golden colour.

“The children are getting restless because it’s Friday, and you haven’t cooked any pancakes yet,” Kit said.

“Damn,” Julian said as he walked towards Kit. “I can’t believe I forgot.”

Suddenly some paint from the brush fell to the floor, only two inches away from Kit’s Jimmy Choo shoes.

Kit flinched back.

“Oops, sorry,” Julian said.

(13) *Dru and Kit decide to investigate the convergence site.*

“Have you got anything to place your weapons in?” Drusilla asked as they made their way down the staircase.

“Yeah, my Ralph Lauren bag,” Kit replied.

Drusilla gave the bag a long look and than gave Kit a disapproving one, “a weapon’s belt would be best.”

“It’s fine,” Kit said.

“You can’t put knives in there, the bag will get ruined,” Drusilla said.

“Not if they’re sheathed,” Kit replied.

(14) *The New York institute is hosting a Christmas ball, and everyone’s invited.*

“The portal to New York is opened. It’s time to lea-“ Ty began as he approached Kit.

“What?” Kit questioned when he saw Ty’s surprised face.

“You’re not seriously wearing that, are you?” Ty asked.

Kit was dressed formally in a waistcoat, shirt, trousers and bow tie, but he had an Icon cap on his head.

“What’s wrong with it?” Kit said.

“You look like you should be going to a baseball game, not party,” Ty laughed.

“I do not!” Kit protested.

(15) *Kit and Ty are changing into gear.*

“Ty, doesn’t this look great?” Kit asked as he adjusted the cashmere scarf around his neck.

“I’m sure gear isn’t supposed to accommodate any fashionable accessories,” Ty replied.

“I think it’s about time things change than,” Kit said.

“I don’t think so,” Ty said.

“Please, just try the red one,” Kit said while he held out another scarf.

(16) *Dru and Kit are spending time together in her room.*

“What kind of perfumes do you wear?” Kit asked as he examined Drusilla’s dressing table.

“I just borrow Emma’s, and I don’t know their names half of the time,” Drusilla said.

“You should try ‘Daisy’ by Marc Jacobs, it’s supposed to be great,” Kit said.

“Who’s Marc Jacobs, some kind of warlock?” Drusilla asked.

“Yeah,” Kit said with amusement.

(17) *Kit and Mark argue before he goes on patrol.*

“Give it back to me!” Kit cried as he tugged at his Gucci trousers.

“No, you’re not wearing this, it’s too nice. You’ll ruin it,” Mark replied while he pulled gently in retaliation.

“I’ll be extra cautious! Nothing’s going to happen to the trousers,” Kit said.

“I don’t believe that,” Mark said.

(18) *Kit and Ty take a walk on the beach.*

“I thought you always preferred wearing shoes whenever we walked on sand,” Ty said while he examined Kit’s feet.

“I am prepared to make any sacrifice for my Versace trainers,” Kit replied as he held onto his shoes.

“Well at least now you understand how great sand feels under foot,” Ty said.

“It’s like a warm blanket,” Kit sighed.

(19) *Kit and Aline talk before he goes on patrol.*

“What’s that smell?” Aline asked as she approached Kit.

Kit held out a bottle of perfume, “Dolce and Gabbana, do you like it?”

“Are you mad? You’re going demon hunting, not to a fashion show,” Aline exclaimed.

“What’s your point?” Kit said.

“Demons are attracted to nice scents,” Aline said. “You’re a dead man.”

“Not before I kill them first,” Kit said with a grin.

(20) *Kit is attending a Clave meeting.*

“Now, does anyone have suggestions for changes that need to be made to the new government?” Consul Alec asked.

Kit pulled out a Swarovski pen from his pocket, “I think we need to change the way steles are made.”

Alec gave Kit a questioning look, “steles cannot be made without adamas.”

“I know,” Kit said. “Keep the adamas, but I think we should decorate them with valuable gems, like this pen.”

“Kit I don’t think-“ Alec began.

“Please, it will look good,” Kit said.

...

@tdanetwork mission 1: favourite character

An AU of Kit living a completely different lifestyle to the one he’s known.

[scyllua]

While chap.203 hasn't stirred that much of a reaction in the Japanese fandom as the previous chapter did, it prompted many fans to emulate Sugimoto's art style. Nothing of this comes as a particular surprise, as the chapter serves as sort of a recap of the events from vol.14 (the Abashiri Prison assault)... and because Sugimoto's drawing talent would be on par with his sniping skills.

The highlights of this chapter have to do with the confirmation of the Russian sniper's identity and goals and the hint at Noda pursuing the plotline regarding the Partisans. It was rather obvious who that Russian sniper was from the very moment he (re)appeared in the manga, but given this is Golden Kamuy and the weird things that have already transpired in the plot made me think it's a very crazy Meiji era the one they are living in, I'd rather wait for the author's clear confirmation on ANY matter before taking anything for granted. Let us not forget that, for starters, I think most of us had already assumed our Russian sniper pretty dead. We can always speculate, however, and this chapter leaves enough room to reflect on a certain other sniper (this one, Japanese and now one-eyed) and how soon (or not) he could make it back to the plot.

I should work on my summaries so they aren't that long. In the meantime and to everyone who had the patience to read my previous chapter post: thank you very much and fear not, for I have no random movie comments to make here! There should be some fan comments, of course, and the usual warnings about mistakes and mistranslations apply as well. Onto the fun of two amateur artists sharing their Ogata fanarts then!

In short, as no further shots are made, Tsukishima believes Sugimoto got to the sniper and Asirpa runs off to meet him. Meanwhile, Sugimoto and the sniper -now confirmed to be Vasily- overcome the language barrier by using the latter's hand-drawn pictures to explain to each other the circumstances in which they crossed paths/met Ogata. Upon the arrival of the rest of the group and after Asirpa recognizes Vasily as probably one of the men who ambushed them in the frontier, Tsukishima explains to him Kiroranke is already dead and they don't know about the current whereabouts of Ogata, their only purpose in Karafuto being finding Asirpa and going back with her. As a rather annoyed Shiraishi complains to Vasily for shooting him, it's revealed he can't speak because of the shot wounds he sustained. As Sugimoto's group resumes their journey, Vasily keeps following them on horseback from a distance. They deduce he's now keen on meeting Ogata again and engaging in another snipers' duel, and that he's sticking around convinced the wildcat will eventually come after them. Questioned by Asirpa, Sugimoto says as long as they're still looking for the Ainu gold, there's always the possibility of Ogata coming back; as per his motivations, Sugimoto adds it might be that Ogata is simply messing with them as opposed to being after an actual goal. In their way back, the group visits Svetlana's parents to hand them a letter she wrote; even though Sugimoto would rather search for Sofia and find out the truth, he understands their primary purpose in Karafuto has been fulfilled already. The chapter ends with Sofia meeting Gansoku and Svetlana in a port city in Russian territory. After exchanging a few hits, Sofia invites Gansoku to come with her, but he turns down the offering, stating he'll travel west with Svetlana. Sofia then states she'll go to Hokkaidou in pursue of their hope... and revenge.

Ever wondered why streets are always so conveniently empty whenever there's a chasing or a shooting going on? I have, even if my question is probably answered in the same question already (because... they're so conveniently empty: easier to describe, draw or animate, and with a minimum of casualties, as well!) In any case, and even though our group seemed to be the only bystanders at the time the shooting began, there's now the usual traffic and activity you'd expect in a town street. In fact, a man in a sled is just walking down the street when, alerted by Koito and Tsukishima not to come that way or otherwise risk being shot, he good-naturally asked what the soldiers are doing. Tsukishima comments it seems as though Sugimoto has already done his magic, ie. he did what he's best at (hint: it isn't sniping or drawing, as we'll see in this chapter), and Asirpa runs off to meet him.

Here follows some good 4 pages of Sugimoto and Vasily proving the language barrier isn't an hindrance when it comes to relatively difficult tasks, such as explaining the events from vol.14 up to that point or how both of them have survived being shot in the head by the same sniper. It turns out Vasily has made enough drawings of Ogata to start his own Pixiv account -putting aside the fact that he's one century ago from that website being created-; actually, Vasily could begin posting full illustration logs, as he even took the care and time to draw the wildcat sporting different expressions, including one smiling. I'm suspecting he might have more study sketches of Ogata in the fiction than author Noda in the real world. This would pose a question for me: just how well could he see Ogata during their snipers' duel? In the extended passage as it was compiled in vol.17, they do spend many hours watching and studying each other... but let us not forget that Ogata's face was obscured in such a way, Vasily couldn't tell for sure where it was him or not. Well, following last chapter's caption at the end, I'm just going to assume here Vasily has nothing short of a photographic memory, sharpened to perfection through his sniping skills, and that he could commit to memory the features of a man he only seemed to have caught fleeting glimpses of partly because the wildcat is unforgettable. Being shot can arise that kind of reaction in people, after all. Going back to the chapter, and given the amount of Ogata portraits he has, Sugimoto asks him whether he's been requested to find him -bounty hunter-style, we may speculate-, but then Vasily uses some of his many (MANY) drawings to explain he went into a showdown with Ogata... and lost. This chapter's title could be translated as "portrait" (似顔絵, nigaoe), though its exact meaning would be more in the lines of a "drawn sketch/picture of a face". Why, yes, a portrait indeed, only that the term in Japanese suggests it isn't as precise as a taken photograph, but a close enough depiction.

I'm always making jokes and complaining about the cast in this manga being so prone to trust in others no matter what terms they might have been on in the past, but I have to admit that being able not to hold grudges, apart from preventing bitterness and anxiety in addition to other negative feelings, also helps greatly when it comes to pace the story forward. Remember how Sugimoto was about to kill Vasily in the best of Friday the 13th traditions (only that less bloody I might presume, given this is still a seinen manga and not a R-rated story), all of this happening in the previous chapter, 7 days ago in real time, 2 pages prior in the manga, like 10 seconds previously in the story's timeline? Well, let's put aside all that negativity for the sake of a couple of souls bonded by the same sniper (different bullet obviously, same rifle and all) sharing an artistic moment.

In addition to their fanboying over Ogata -for the wrong reasons, though, as they'd be both after the wildcat to settle some scores-, Sugimoto and Vasily manage to summarize the manga from vol.14 up to that point, using their respective drawings to explain to each other the events. "Explaining to each other" wouldn't be a wrong statement in this case because they do appear to be understanding the other quite well through the drawings, some gesturing, and the usefulness of somatic language, even though Vasily doesn't seem to know Japanese (as he's puzzled at Sugimoto's questions). When he produces drawings of Kiroranke, Shiraishi and Asirpa, Sugimoto explains to him the latter two aren't related to the Partisans: the bad guy here, no doubt about it, is Ogata, as he emphatically conveys by hitting his portrait with his fist. Now in quite the roll because Vasily is assimilating the ideas very fast (as he also hits Ogata's portrait), Sugimoto then explains he was also shot by the wildcat... and reveals his artistic sense might be on par with his sniping skills. ...and while I'll keep joking about his awful aiming until the day he finally manages to shoot anything down -as opposed to pummel or pierce it with his rifle or affixed bayonet-, I won't make much fun of his artistic capabilities because, I'm afraid, he might draw better than I. As I state in my blog's sidebar, I color manga panels partly because I can't draw a straight... or crooked... line for the love of it.

Sugimoto explains Ogata was in cahoots with Kiroranke -and as well as the readers, he doesn't how for how long-, shot him in the head in Abashiri Prison and then ran away taking Asirpa with him. Unlike their previous exchange, I can deduce Vasily didn't get a single word of any of it, as he mistakes Sugimoto's drawing of himself for a spider. And I must confess it took me some time to realize Sugimoto drew himself being shot: those tendril-like things sticking out of his head -that Vasily takes for a spider's legs, it seems- are meant to show the bullet's trajectory when impacting him. A parenthesis here: Let's just check Sugimoto's drawing of Ogata running away on horseback. I don't pretend to make fun of it, but I still find quite the noteworthy detail that he draws Ogata with an arrow sticking out of his right eye, and not sparing even the lock of hair that frames his face. Or at least, I'm assuming that's a lock of hair on Ogata's head. The caption Sugimoto writes in katakana reads, "Ogata escaped". That scene, may I add, has been a fan favorite -mine included- and a source of inspiration for many works in the Japanese fandom. Some speculative fanworks have to do with the circumstances Ogata runs away, and thus some fans have posed quite the questions, ranging from where he got that horse, to whether it didn't hurt too much to ride it in such conditions as, you might remember, he was wearing a hospital gown only and had no underwear to speak of. If you take a closer look at the panel, however, you'll notice Ogata is carrying a sack when he's riding away, implying he managed to gather his belongings and probably a couple more things for the road, and thus wouldn't be dying on us due to exposure or some painful horse riding to wherever it was he ran away .

Back to our amateur artists (because I'm assuming Vasily's main occupation revolves about being a sniper... with an eidetic memory for faces and some outstanding artistic talent as bonus) and resuming his recapping of the latter half of the manga and unabated by the debatable poor reception his drawing skills might be getting, Sugimoto explains Asirpa involuntarily shot an arrow that hit Ogata in the eye. Here comes a short passage -it's a single panel, in fact- that killed my Japanese pretty dead, so I wouldn't risk a translation of it... though I think, it seems to me, I could grasp that blah blah etc. etc., Sugimoto further and quite lively states Ogata's death would have "stained" Asirpa -meaning, would have dirtied her hands-, and thus he saved the wildcat because he'd do anything in his power to keep everything surrounding her pure for her sake. The actual word in Japanese he uses is 綺麗 (kirei), which you might know as meaning "cute" and "pretty", but it can also be understood in the sense of "clean", "pure" or "neat." Given Sugimoto literally uses 汚い (kitanai), "dirty", "unclean" or "foul" (used as a verb in this case) to describe how Ogata's death would have impacted Asirpa, I'm going with "pure" in my previous sentence. ...I'm aware my explanation of Sugimoto's statement makes it sound as though he's belittling saving Ogata, but I can reassure you that his lines are way more poetic and moving: it's just that my Japanese -and my English, come to that- is just that lacking, sorry about this! The scene is more moving because Asirpa arrives at the precise moment to hear Sugimoto's words, but he doesn't notice her.

The rest of the group arrives and cuts off Sugimoto and Vasily's artistically driven moment of plot exposition, though. And now, please allow me to state that God bless Tsukishima for being himself, acting as the sane man every story needs, accompanying the group in this journey, and knowing Russian, not in that particular order: I'm 100% convinced this manga wouldn't progress half as smoothly as it does weren't he around. And Tsurumi and Koito wouldn't be probably around either if he didn't have that presence of mind and swiftness of action, specifically when projectiles and explosions are involved. After Asirpa says she thinks Vasily was part of the group of men that ambushed them in the frontier, Tsukishima explains to him Kiroranke is already dead and Ogata ran away, his whereabouts unknown to them. Their only purpose in Karafuto was to find Asirpa and go back with her, he adds, and they have nothing to do with the Czar's assassination by the Partisans. Vasily says nothing in the metaphorical sense, as he keeps quiet and seems to accept the explanation. Now, and I've already written above, I've always complained about the GK cast for being this trusty and, let's say, think nothing of the repeated risk of a headshot by accepting in their ranks a traitorous character who left their previous party after shooting a couple people in the head, but I have to admit yet again the characters being this quick to understand, accept and come to terms with practically anything and everything does help move forward the plot. Very much so.

I wrote Vasily said nothing in the metaphorical sense because it's revealed -just as we were speculating- he can't speak due to the shot wounds he sustained during his duel with Ogata. Once outside, Shiraishi complains to him about shooting him; when our Escape King snaps whether he doesn't have anything to say or it's just that Russians don't know how to apologize (he literally asks whether there are no words for apologizing in Russian), Vasily shows him his face, prompting a reaction in Shiraishi that might make readers grateful we aren't shown the state of his lower face. Sugimoto comments at that moment he might not be able to speak due to those wounds. I was also wondering whether Vasily knew or at the very least could grasp a little Japanese. It seems to me he might not after all, as there are some panels throughout the chapter that show him with an interrogation mark -indicating he isn't understanding- when Sugimoto was talking to him. In the above panels as well, Tsukishima seems to be translating Shiraishi's complaints for him.

Just before the group resumes their journey, Shiraishi tells Vasily -in not so kind words- to go back to Russia, but he's shown to keep following them from a distance. Shiraishi ponders whether he doesn't believe Kiroranke is already dead, but Asirpa points out he used the back of Kiro's wanted poster to make some of his drawings, leading her to conclude he isn't interested in the latter anymore. As discussed by the our main protagonist trio, it seems Vasily is sticking to them under the belief they'll eventually cross paths with Ogata; as Sugimoto puts it, given he's still alive, he considers their snipers' duel to be not finished (I suppose a more poetic way to put it would be, "as long as he draws breath, he can keep fighting"). The immortal also thinks there's always the possibility of Ogata coming after them because of the Ainu gold, prompting Asirpa to wonder if that's actually his goal: let us not forget he showed quite the intent to kill her (chap.187) and thus, eliminate the one person who holds the key to solving the tattoo puzzle. A somewhat serious and pensive Sugimoto comments it might be that Ogata... is simply messing or toying around with them. Cue a full-page panel depicting a lynx (in Japanese, an ooyamaneko) crossing the path in the snowy forest. (I should point out I'm assuming it's a lynx because of its ears, making it very similar to the one shown in chap.169, vol.17.)

A not-so-random fan comment here: I always refer to Sugimoto as not being the sharpest knife in the drawer. Actually, I'd say he's the kind to smash the drawer against a wall and use the sharpest fragments of it to cut open whatever it is he might need cut, even if I'm compelled yet again to admit his approach, while not the most strategically planned, tends to work. But he also seems to be quite understanding of others in addition to his natural kindness, and it comes as not much of a surprise then that he could be the person with the better grasp at Ogata's personality. Or the only person who might have any grasp on it at all, in any case. I must say my opinion of Ogata's character pretty much coincides with that of Sugimoto as he stated it in chap.196 and now in this chapter: specifically, that Ogata doesn't have a particular motivation to act as he does (apart from being driven by the most negative and dangerous of his traits, of course). I think his character isn't meant to have any specific motivations or goals other than being chaotic for the sake of it; however, as Noda has given a background to every single recurrent and relevant character in the manga and spares no revelations for some of them no matter how far into the plot we might be (the most recent flashback regarding Koito's past should be an example), I can't discard the possibility of the author having in store some plot twist or equal revelation about Ogata.

Given Sofia is the only one who knows the truth now (I'm assuming here Sugimoto thinks Ogata might have sided with Kiroranke for a reason that lies with the Partisans' intentions), our immortal comments he'd liked to look for her. He's aware, though, that Tsukishima and Koito's mission was to find Asirpa and get back with her to Hokkaido, whereas Tanigaki joined in the entourage for the sake of the girl as well and thus, they should have no reason to pursue other ends at the time. They still stop by the lighthouse to hand Svetlana's letter to her parents, and just as the manga implies they won't be going after more subplots, Asirpa points out Sofia was planning to reunite with her comrades in the continent and then go back to Japan: she wouldn't just run away to Europe after everything that just happened.

Right in cue, Sofia meets Gansoku and Svetlana in a port town in Russia. Just as Gansoku seemed to be involved in yet another cathartic moment pummeling around men who can't put a dent on him, he's challenged by Sofia but refuses, stating he only fights other men. He's quick to change his mind and declare the world does have many surprises in store ("The world is so wide!") after Sofia not only punches him, but manages to get in quite the equal grounds with him. This yet again poses another question for me: given Gansoku is one of the toughest men in this story -in the strictest physical sense at the very least: we can't forget everything Nikaidou has gone through the manga, after all-, how come Sofia can beat him so badly? The obvious answer would be that Sofia happens to be just that tough -or the toughest woman of the Meiji era-, but since this is a Shueisha and a Jump-published manga, I also want to believe she might be using Haki to hit that hard. Just as Nami in One Piece, her blows manage to harm a man's heart and soul.

Before their fight can further escalate (but after Sofia has pulled off the almost obligatory Rip Open my Shirt scene, only that she isn't exactly wearing a shirt and the scene isn't that common when female characters are involved because of censorship), Svetlana intervenes and stops them, saying it'll be quite the problem for her if Sofia kills her bodyguard. Implying here she was at least sure of what the outcome of the fight would have been. The three of them have a talk then and Sofia invites Gansoku to join her, but he turns down the offer and explains both he and Svetlana intend to make their way to the west, to the cities where a larger population means a larger possibility to find stronger people (to beat the **** out of them in more cathartic instances, I'm presuming). As Svetlana asks Sofia where she's planning to go now, she replies that she's going to Hokkaido... for their hope and revenge.

I should note I'm not including any more panels of Sofia in this chapter because I'm assuming Tumblr would flag this entry otherwise. I was never told why they put my blog "under review" when I barely had any posts on it, so my best guess has to with an entry I wrote explaining about the terrorist groups that operated in my country. I made that post partly because to poke some fun at Sugimoto's wielding a hammer and a sickle in chap.145 (vol.15), and how that would have been merited a ban for this manga were some conservative Congressmen in my country to see the panels (the largest terrorist group operating in my country originally followed the Communist ideology). Well, as Sofia begins exchanging blows with Gansoku, she uncovers her torso and her breasts remain visible for the rest of the chapter, even when she's speaking with him and Svetlana in the freezing Russian landscape. Her breasts are so big, they cover part of the chapter's title in the last page... making me suspect Tumblr could flag this entry just because her nipples are equally big.

Some (more) fan comments on this chapter: The story is unfolding as I'd anticipated in a very broad way, as it seems Vasily will stick around with the group for at least some more chapters. While none has proposed an alliance, I don't think any will have any inconvenience cooperating with each other as long as their goals align: even if it's true Sugimoto's group isn't that elated at the possibility of meeting Ogata again, they're obviously expecting to cross paths with him in the future, and extra help is always welcomed. Specially if things come to a sniper against another sniper, I'd say: the manga is hinting at another confrontation between Vasily and Ogata. After all, Noda is a noteworthy narrator and all of his plot elements turn out to be relevant (even those related to food and cultural traditions which could have been seen at first as more trivia-informative to the reader than important to the plot), so I don't think he brought Vasily back to the story for no reason. Or just to show off Vasily's artistic talent, in any case, * ahem *. The plot would still have to take shape, but it seems to me all elements are aligning so that Noda can solve several pending subplots: Vasily's reappearance can tie up with the plot regarding the remaining member of the Partisans trio, Sofia, and also provides the proper scenario for Ogata to make it back to the story. It'd be a viable, solid and swift way to focus in the current open subplots before focusing on the main premise of the Ainu gold in Hokkaido.

I'd just speculate then about how soon the subplots would meet a resolution. I'm wondering whether we'll see the rest of this arc taking place in Karafuto, as Sugimoto's group has already made their way back to its southern region, whereas Sofia is in Russian soil, but making her way to Hokkaido. If Vasily doesn't have any trouble with following them to Hokkaido -given he's already in Japanese soil-, then I see no reason as to why the action might not unfold in the island that is the main stage of this manga, but I'm thinking this arc could wrap up while the group is still in Karafuto. We'd need to see at least one more chapter to see how things progress from this point on; unless Noda suddenly feels like jumping back to Hokkaido and showing us what Hijikata has been up to since vol.18 and whether Tsurumi reunited with his men already, with the arc “introduction“ over and the situation laid out to both the cast and the readers, chap.204 should serve as the starting point for the resolution of the current subplots.

My last fan comment of the entry has to do with Vasily. While I'm happy to see him back in the plot and sticking to the protagonist cast for the time being (and hoping he stays in the plot and with the cast for at least the remainder of this volume), his personality as shown in the current events has caught my attention. I wouldn't say he's that different or plain out-of-character in comparison to his first appearance in vol.17, but it's also true he now acts carefree enough as to join Sugimoto in a fanart-sharing moment, and is more emotional as opposed to his cool-headed demeanor during the ambush in the frontier. And adding to his minor hairstyle change, he also looks more youthful now, even if the only we get to see of his face are his eyes. We'd need to see more of him in upcoming chapters to have a better grasp at his character... but if you'd ask me, I'd say Noda has made some changes to his personality, or rather, is shaping his character in a different, though not drastic, way. Why? Well, it seems to me Vasily would fit our protagonist cast and all the weird things bound to happen in this convulsed Meiji era just fine and even better now; in comparison, the group he first appeared as part of acted colder, more focused and serious. Until we see more of him, I'm just going to assume Noda decided to give his character another direction because Tsukishima was plenty of a sane, serious man for the group. Any more sane men in the same group at the same time and I might begin doubting what happened to this manga.

[teacher-lavin]

Shawn’s Story*

Shawn’s fable unfolds along the banks of the rivers that authors, Langston Hughes and James Joyce traveled. Also, here to be found is the River Delaware as it flows through Philadelphia and environs. Among other themes, this is a tale of incarceration and deportation. Waiting at the story’s edges, readers will notice that we also meet with a lot of homework,  –and a very discerning librarian.

(Above) Image Taken from Salmon Ireland’s web site (Salmonireland.com), is a landscape photograph of the River Foyle.

The Letter

Hi Pops, thanks for your letter. Too bad, the prison blocked a lotta words out. What I got was that you’re getting to go out with work crews to pick up trash on the highways. It must be weird being chained together like that and having guards with shotguns and such watch over you guys  while you’re just basically cleaning the roadside. I really like the part where you said that you all go up to the highway right next to the river and that you always take a minute from sweepin or whatever  to look out over the riverwaves and see the sun reflect on the swelling banks and feel the breeze. So, that was a really good idea where you said if after work some day I walk to the far end of the Wal-Mart parking lot on Delaware Avenue where it comes up on the river that I’ll be looking out over the same Delaware River as you seen earlier, and I’ll be seeing the same waves, and the same currents, and the same mists and breezes playing off the wave- tops, hearin the same sounds and tasting that little bit of sea salt that the river has from its trip out to the ocean. Imma do it. I miss you, Pops. If I go down that parking lot where it looks across to  Camden on the opposite bank on the same day maybe when y’all been out on the highway cleanup crew in your orange prison suits, I’ll be able to catch up with your spirit, at least. And, I’ll say all the stuff you used to listen to me carrying on about. How muad I get at everything and how sad and sorry I feel about other stuff. Remember? I ain’t seen Mom or Dad at all for a long time. But Aunt Helen came down from the convent last week and helped me clean the place. So, we scoured the joint from “stem to stern” just like you always used to say. “FROM STEM TO STERN.” I kept repeating that and then Aunt Helen and me was laughing about the way you used to say it and about how you talk and your Irish accent, “From Stem To Stern,” like a pirate or something. Haha. Don’t get mad. I miss you. Pops. Love You. Shawn.

Saturday Morning: The Library

Shawn:  Did you see a piece of paper with writing on it? … like a letter?

Librarian: (Curtly, not looking up from her desk.) No.

Shawn: I was in here after work last night trynna do my homework, and wrote the letter, and now I can’t find it.

Librarian:  (Still not looking up.) Why don’t you check around the table where you always work.

Shawn:  Where’s the maps of Ireland. They say my grandfather might have to go back there even though he doesn’t want to.

Librarian: (Still looking down. Staccato.) Geography. Under Great Britain.

Shawn: (With an angry edge.) It’s not in Britain.

Librarian: (Looking up.) Yes, It is. Aisle 4, Shelves 10 through 17. Clearly labeled Great Britain including Ireland, Scotland and Wales.

Shawn: (Pointing to the green tattoo on his forearm) Just remember, 26 Plus 6 equals ONE.

Librarian: (Loudly, Pointing Finger at Shawn.) Quiet.

Shawn: (Louder.) No!

Franklinville High School

I had already found the letter on the floor in the back of the classroom while grading papers and cleaning the room on Friday evening. That’s when I read the letter and realized that Shawn must have dropped it that day during class. Shawn was new in our school. His body language was terse. He seemed beaten and bent inward. He refused to make eye contact. He never talked in class. When I asked him why he slept on his desk everyday, he said that he worked most nights and that he was exhausted all day. That’s all I knew about Shawn. But then, I looked at the address on his file and recognized that the neighborhood where Shawn lived was near the  block where my grandfather owned a bar many decades ago. Jimmy’s Pub opened at 7 in the morning for guys coming off the night shift at the Stetson factory and for other graveyard workers. And some 7 a.m. drinkers were guys on their way out to jobs they hated in center city offices and, then, there were the guys who had been out all night drinking and wanted one last shot before they did their daily perish. Cousins right off the boat from Ireland lived above the bar. I worked there while I was going to college. It was a hole of a place where I learned the codes of the Belfast streets thousands of miles away, streets that I’d never actually seen. I could imagine Shawn’s grandfather, his aunt and the way that prison must have  shaken them up and spit them out emotional wrecks fractured by fear, frustration and anger, fractured people living fractured lives.

Over the weekend, I read the letter over and over and wondered how Shawn would feel about my seeing his message to his grandfather. I put it in an envelope and wrote a simple note, “Found on Floor of Classroom” and, then, I noticed that I had planned for our class had to read Modern writers like Langston Hughes and James Joyce. So, I decided to begin on Monday with with a meditation. I planned for us to read the Langston Hughes poem that begins, “I’ve Known Rivers.”

Before class, when I gave the envelope to Shawn, he tore it open and sat down immediately in one of the desks at the front, disclosing the letter’s folds and smoothing out the page while he read it, running his fingers along each line as he read. Class started and he looked at me and I smiled at him hoping to silently say, “yes,” with the smile, yes, I read the letter. Shawn hesitated, looked down, then looked up again and smiled back, nodding. Then, I handed out a worksheet asking the entire class to meditate on the lines that Langston Hughes wrote as a young poet, traveling along the Mississippi River in a train headed South:

“I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the

flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.”

I played the music that the jazz musician, Gary Bartz composed to accompany the Hughes poem. I asked just one question beneath the poem’s lines.

“As you read, how do you connect the poet’s rivers to his soul?”

After class:

Shawn:  Mister, thanks for finding the letter.

Me:  I felt lucky to read it, Shawn.

Shawn: I’m not sending it cuz I just learned that my granda is going to the prison’s hospice which means that he’s very sick.

Me: (Pausing, lump in throat.) He must be very proud of you. I think you should send it to him or give it to him when you visit.

Shawn: I ain’t got the time or the money.

Me: Still, he must be proud of you.

Shawn: I don’t know if they’re gonna send him back to Ireland or keep him here cuz he’s so sick. My aunt told me about this hospice thing on Friday night when she visited from the convent in Allentown where she works.

Me: The worst part must be not knowing what’s gong to happen, right?

Shawn: (Crying, as he looked away as if he were seeing the far shore of a river through his tears, and quoting the poem.) And My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

Me: It’s quite a poem, Shawn.

Shawn: I’ll think about it at work. It’s really good.

Me: Don’t forget your homework. (Smiling, ironically).

Shawn: I never forget my homework.  (Smiling back, ironically).

Homework

Translate the following passage from James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake into your own words. Remember that this excerpt is taken from the end of Anna Livia Plurabelle’s section of Joyce’s novel. Hint: The River Liffey is the scene of this passage, all of which occurs not during the day but at night deep in the language of a very long dream about all rivers.

Monday Evening: The Library

Shawn: Do you wanna hear my homework?

Librarian: I’m busy. Don’t you work today?

Shawn: I skipped work to do my homework first then walk up to the Wal-Mart parking lot to be on the river for a minute.

Librarian: (Smiling). Aren’t you very organized, Shawn?

Shawn: This guy from Dublin’s book is all rivers. You wanna hear my translation of his story about rivers?

Librarian: Yes. But quietly.

Shawn: I’ll whisper it. It’s even better that way.

Librarian: You are a very strange young man. Have you been told this?

Shawn:   (whispering)

I can barely hear you with the waters of the river.

The waters chitter. The bats flitter.

Are you not going home alone?

Think of the waters of the River Liffey in Dublin?

Think of the waters of Lough Neagh near Belfast?

I feel as old as that Elm Tree over there.

This is Shawn’s story. This is Seamus’s story.

Good Night, Grand farther, the farther away you go.

Shawn means John.

Seamus means James.

Who were John and James sons or daughters of?

Goodnight, Pops.

Tell me another story about plants and rocks.

Please tell me.

Beside the waters, there hither like the Delaware River.

There thither like the Liffey, the Shannon, the River Erne,

The River Boyne, The River Foyle.

Now, I’m with you beside the rivering waters

The hitherandthithering waters of

Goodnight ……..

Librarian: (Looking up, mouth open in astonishment.) And you wrote that based on the passage in James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake?

Shawn: (Nodding. Smiling. Agitated). And now I have to get over to the Wal-Mart parking lot to listen to see the river and tell it what I can hear and telepath it all to my granda who’s up north waiting for the words to echo their way up and back to him.

Librarian: You seem relieved.

Shawn: Of course, it’s sad but I have to say good bye.

(Above) Clinton Cahill’s exhibition “Illuminating the Wake,” which are Cahill’s interpretive drawings on the text of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake, synthesizing his encounters with the novel’s dreamscapes. Taken from the web site of the James Joyce Centre in Dublin (https://jamesjoyce.ie/illuminating-the-wake-no-31/).

(Above) Image from web site of Monica and Tyler Aiello’s gallery exhibition titled, “I’ve known Rivers,” which are images based upon the poetry of Langston Hughes (http://www.studioaiello.net/).

*All persons mentioned in this story are fictional (and bear no connectin to actual, historical persons) with the exception of Langston Hughes and James Joyce. All places, also, with the exception of the Wal-Mart parking lot overlooking the Delaware River also are fictional.  

(Below) Youtube Musical Composition by Gary Bartz, based upon Langston Hughes’ poetic lines, “I’ve Known Rivers.”

[firedingo]

A Not So Little Update Post On Life

So it’s been a while since I’ve done one of the blog posts. Not by choice though. Life has been hectic!

Dad

So one of the biggest changes for me has been walking into a full-time caring role for my father who is challenging at the best of times because he likes the world to operate on his terms and that’s not how life works. At times I struggle to get him to see the seriousness of his situation.

He has long term health issues which include chronic alcohol abuse leading to memory issues and seizures when he undergoes withdrawal. He’s also only partially compliant with taking his medication which leads to further issues.

On top of that he had a valve replaced a few years ago with a metal one which means his blood clotting level needs to be monitored regularly and at the moment he’s like a rollercoaster going between so thick it’s like cheese to so thin it’s like water.

It’s also not helped by the fact my father is also essentially homeless and couch surfing with friends and refusing to even entertain any option that would cost more than $100/week. He’s dreaming if he thinks he’ll find anything at that rate because he won’t but because a mate of his will charge him that much to sleep on his couch he now compares everything else to that -_-

Uni

The other big thing which I think I’ve mentioned before has been uni. I went back to study to finish off my bachelor of Information Technology off. I have about a year’s worth of work left but doing it at part-time rate since I’ve been caring for my father.

Passed 1 of 2 subjects last semester which was my first semester. Got an additional exam for the other subject. Missed passing the final exam by 8 marks which means no subject pass even though I have the marks to pass :(

Only doing one subject this semester but will sit two exams in exam period. The additional exam from last semester and the exam for this subject. I’m hoping I can do this. A touch anxious because despite dropping back to one subject I’m still struggling to find time thanks to my father.

So 2 weeks ago my father was admitted to hospital confused thinking it was 1999 again. I spent a week concerned about him. Then 2 days ago I was admitted briefly for a few hours.

Viral Illness

For the last 6 days I’ve been suffering what I think is just a common cold but it has beat the living crap out of me. On triage at the hospital I had a temperature of 38 degrees Celsius or 100.5 degrees Fahrenheit.

I was also highly dehydrated despite drinking perhaps 4 litres or more of water every day for the previous 4 days. Alas none of the water was being absorbed and was just passing through me.

I also had a heart rate of 130 beats per minute which is only like 40 more beats than I’d normally have.

So they started me on a bag of fluids and got me some pain relief for my throat which by this stage was making it all but impossible to swallow food or liquids. About 30 minutes into the bag of fluids they checked me again and my temperature had gone up to 39.1 degrees Celsius or 102.2 degrees Fahrenheit. Yikes! Another 30 minutes later and my temp was back at 38 degrees Celsius or 100.5 degrees Fahrenheit.

Then the lovely nurse I knew gave me some steroids to reduce the swelling in my throat and started some antibiotics to cover their butts in case bacterial(I don’t think it’s bacterial but anyway).

Quite a few people commented that the colour has returned to my face after the bag of fluids. I began to realise little things like the return of saliva generation, the reduction in my thirst desire which I’d just not really registered in the 4 days prior. I was drinking automatically when I needed it but not really registering I was thirsty.

After everything I felt a lot more alert and more like myself. I wasn’t shivering every 5 seconds too. Just before discharge they checked my obs again and temp was down to 37.2  I think degrees Celsius or 98.96 degrees Fahrenheit. I remember 37 point something at least. Almost normal as I think it’s 36.7 for normal. My heart rate came back from 130 beats per minute to 100 beats per minute which was much better too.

So as you can see I’ve had a hell of a week with a raging fever and cough and sore throat. On Tuesday evening I reckon I might have been a good 39 or even 40 degrees Celsius / 102.2 or even 104 degrees Fahrenheit.

So consequently I’m now so far behind on an assignment due this week. Hoping I’m granted special consideration for it. Between my dad last week and me this week I’ve been unable to work on it. It’s not hard but it will require a clear head and time neither of which I’ve been able to find.

Church & Christianity

Now the other big news. So I’m not sure if I’ve said it here or much here but I think it’s worth sharing.

So 7 and 3/4 months ago I started going to church with my neighbours. At first it was an exercise in curiosity and intellect. I learned heaps and found sooooooo many assumptions I’d made were sooooooooo wrong too.

Remember kids, Never Judge a Book By Its Cover! And that goes for the Holy Bible too!

Seriously though I’d never read it and made assumptions from what little I did know. I was made a fool of to myself for that. I was glad to know the truth first hand for myself.

What I never expected was to believe. In all this time I’ve been skeptical and questioned everything and you know what? It stacks up more than you might expect.

What has struck me the most is when you read through what Jesus went through in that final week leading up to his crucifixion. It becomes pretty clear that the horror of what is about to happen begins to really set in for Jesus.

Through Year 11 at high school I took Ancient History for a subject. I looked at Emperor Nero and the burning of Rome. Consequently I got to know Tacitus’s work very well and I quite respect him as a historian. He speaks about Jesus.

Tacitus was a Roman senator. He was born within a few years after Jesus’s death and he was no fan of Christians or Jesus and was VERY loyal to the Roman empire, yet he speaks with such confidence of the death of Jesus you have to ask why would he lie? To me this along with the likely medical evidence of what he went through says Jesus died on the cross.

It was a pretty gruesome death. He essentially suffocated to death in agonizing pain and according to the Bible he was fully conscious of what was happening until the last moment when he finally grew too weak to be able to inhale again.

So the striking bit, the striking bit is that despite all that, Jesus WILLINGLY went through it all. How many people can you say that would do that? That would suffer an unbelievably painful death to save another?

That’s such a profound love that it’s almost incomprehensible. We see mirrors of that behaviour in tragedies we experience. I think about the one of the cars that drove down one of the streets in Melbourne and people pushed others out of the way of the car to save them only to be collected themselves. That’s love, incredible love!

That’s why I so really.....well love this passage from Romans 5, because I think it captures the whole idea and act of love so well.

6 You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. 7 Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. 8 But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

9 Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God’s wrath through him! 10 For if, while we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life! 11 Not only is this so, but we also boast in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.

- Romans 5 : 6 - 11

The other thing I never expected was to be poked back when I started poking Christianity. I can’t explain it.....or well I can’t scientifically explain it but when I pray God hears me and my prayers are answered.

Mental health

Getting to know Jesus and through Jesus God has been one of the best things for me. So the word Gospel means good news and truthfully this has been good news, this has been the best news of my life.

Quite literally it has saved my life. And I don’t mean like saved from being thrown into hell. I mean saved from taking my own life by suicide saved.

Before as readers should know, I had a pretty hopeless outlook on life. I would describe it as a nihilistic hoplessness because it really was that bad.

So I went to my church’s Good Friday and Easter Sunday services. The minister preaching then on Easter Sunday said “death removes the meaning from life”. It profoundly changed the way I looked at everything!

It all struck me and made sense to me on that Good Friday but it was Easter Sunday that transformed my life and filled me with hope.

Suddenly everything mattered in the light of the idea of eternal life. For you see even our greatest buildings will be consumed in more or less 1000 years. At that point what can we do that will last? Nothing!

But if we live after death then the most valuable thing we have is our relationships and how we treat other people.And that means what I do now will have a lasting impact because I will remember what I’ve done and so will they.

That means every action now has meaning, from something as simple as helping an elderly person reach something at the supermarket to how I speak about my life to other people.

I have begun to change in response to this too. Fear no longer rules my life.

I find that lots of the Bible is true, for example when Jesus says:

29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

- Matthew 11 : 29 - 30

I find that this is very true. The burden is far less than I put upon myself and I bear the world on my shoulders as the Titan Atlas did/does.

I have been so profoundly changed for the good by my belief I got baptized last Sunday. I froze my arse off too :P

Despite that it was a wonderful day and I want to share with all of you the profoundly good news and great gift I have found in Christianity and my church.

While I know not everyone is interested, can I encourage anyone who is to take a chance, to really go all in. Look at me, I tried to take my own life in the past twice no less and yet I have been given the greatest gift - a life of hope and love by daring to take a chance. If I can go from nihilistic hopelessness to a life of hope and love then why not give it a shot?

What’s the worst that can happen eh? Worst is that nothing changes but I think you’ll find more than that because there’s something about Christianity that’s beautiful and healing.

To give you some insight. I’ve been struggling with self-harm thoughts for a long time, more than a decade. The other night while I was very ill and not coping I had to deal with them again. I said no and pushed back against them. It’s the first time I said no and didn’t self-harm myself despite the thoughts.

I have changed. I have grown, I have healed and I am healing and I am loved and I love and I have hope and NONE of this would have been possible without church and Christianity. It’s truly profoundly changed my life for the better!

Game Jam & Closing Stuff

So as you can see my life has been hectic hey? I haven’t given up on video games either :D

I started having a crack at GMC Jam a few weeks ago but well dad ate my time up. I did get something started though. I should finish it though.

And yes that is a giant infinite column of spawning slimes :P

And yes I noticed my tiles needed a bit of adjusting and offsetting to make them a touch bit better but that’s cool. I was impressed I got like 4 variations with minimal work to add variety.

The player also animates just in a still image that’s hard to show.

Just been so stupidly busy I just haven’t had the time for video games! But I wanted to share some of my life and give a bit of an update on things because well it might be a while before I can get another one of these little......well not so little update posts out.

[haledamage]

Pairing: Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe

Story Summary: Cathain Cousland had been in love with Nathaniel Howe for as long as she can remember. It doesn’t take long after they reunite in Amaranthine to realize she still is.

Chapter Summary: The party makes it to Blackmarsh and regret it almost immediately.

Hey, so I posted this on Friday as a text post, but for some reason tumblr decided to hide it from everyone and make it not show up in the tags. So I’m posting it again like this in the hopes that it won’t be invisible. Text under the cut if you’d prefer to read here instead of ao3

Cait was awoken the next morning by Byron’s sloppy puppy kisses on his triumphant return to camp. He climbed all over her, tail wagging furiously, until she was able to push him away enough to sit up.

She rubbed his ears as he nuzzled at the poultice on her forehead. “Hey, buddy. Did you finish your mission from Nathaniel?” He barked happily and she laughed. “Good boy. Who’s my fierce Grey Warden? Who’s the best pup in Ferelden?” Byron rolled over on his back so she could pet his belly. “That’s right! It’s you!”

He wouldn’t leave her side all morning. She had to eat breakfast, change into clean clothes, and buckle her armor back on with Byron’s shoulder pressed hard against her hip. He didn’t back off until they were on the road again, and even then only far enough that they wouldn’t trip over each other.

They walked at a slower pace today than the day before, wary of another ambush, but the conversation flowed easily enough. It wasn’t much different than her travels before; different faces (except Oghren), but the camaraderie was familiar. Last time she’d traveled in a group this small, though, had been after Lothering, and she missed the comparative safety of a larger group. At least this time her friends mostly got along. Compared to trying to travel with Alistair and Morrigan at each other’s throats, being Commander of the Grey was a walk in the park.

“You know, Oghren,” said Anders cheerfully, “maybe we should get you a shield. While it’s only the four of us, you might be more useful as a meat shield than… whatever you call it that you normally do.”

“You know, Anders,” Oghren said, less cheerfully, “maybe we should get you a set of armor so you won’t fall apart like a wet paper bag if a darkspawn walks too close to you.”

“Maybe we should get Nate a sword,” Anders added.

Oghren giggled. “Heh heh, do you think he knows which end to hold?”

“Would you like to find out?” Nathaniel growled.

“Nah,” Oghren was laughing so hard now he stumbled, almost collapsing to the road. “Wouldn’t want to make the Commander jealous.”

They were still a day out from the Blackmarsh, and even though it was early afternoon the sky grew darker with every step. It felt heavy, like a storm was coming, but the darkening sky remained cloudless. The ground started to feel softer, springy under Cathain’s boots, and the air smelled of still water and rotting vegetation and something sour that stood out from the normal marsh scents.

Cait stepped up to the front of the group, where Nathaniel had taken the lead. He had his bow in hand, sharp eyes on the thickening woodland for anything amiss. She waited until he glanced her way until she said anything; he looked liable to jump at the slightest provocation.

“What do you remember of Blackmarsh?” She asked quietly. Something in the air made her want to whisper.

“Ghost stories,” he replied in the same hushed tone. “Tales Adria and your Nan used to tell us to keep us out of it. I never really thought there was anything to them until now.”

“Is that why I could never convince you or Thomas to come exploring with me? You were scared of ghosts?” A bird exploded out from a nearby bush, startled out of hiding by their passage. Cait gasped and reached for her blades, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Nathaniel steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. His laughter was warm in her ear. “Yes, how silly of us, to be scared of ghosts. Would that we all had your fortitude.”

“I’m just saying,” Cait said. She stepped away from him reluctantly, trying to ignore the prickle of Oghren’s and Anders’ stares on the back of her neck. “Going to explore a spooky swamp would have been an excellent excuse to have two or three days alone.”

“Then you should have led with that then,” Nathaniel practically purred at her, “or left your friends at home now.”

Cait stared at him slack-jawed. “You are a cruel and wicked tease and I hate you,” she told him with no real heat behind it.

His laugh pushed back the encroaching darkness a little.

——-

It was two hours past full dark when they finally stopped to rest, though it had been dark long before the sun had set. The gibbous moon hung large and nearly full in the sky, but none of its light seemed to make it down to their little fire.

They set up camp in silence, the shroud over Blackmarsh stifling conversation as quickly as it started. Cathain hoped they wouldn’t be there long, that they wouldn’t need to spend a night in the swamp itself. The shadow of the marsh felt like a living thing, like icy fingers on her neck. She found herself twitching at the smallest breeze, as if even the air and trees were her enemies, and saw the same niggling fear in her companions’ eyes.

Once the stew was started, Cait turned to find a place to sit down and nearly ran right into Anders. He grabbed her shoulders to keep her from falling into the fire, looking startled for only a moment before his face rearranged itself into a familiar sly grin. “Throwing yourself at me already, Cait? What will the others think?”

When she didn’t push him away immediately, still trying to regain her balance, Anders stepped a little closer. He grabbed her chin in one long-fingered hand and gently but firmly forced her eyes to his. Those eyes didn’t hold any of the smile still painted across his face, and he studied her shrewdly, almost clinically.

“Are you going to kiss me, mage?” Cait whispered, because it’s what she knew he wanted her to say.

“Only if you beg for it, Commander.” He stared at her for another long moment before abruptly releasing her as if it had never happened. “Looks like you’re mostly recovered from your incident yesterday. How’s your head?”

“Attached. Bit of a headache, but I can function through it.” She stood where he had released her for a second, getting her bearings. Just when she thought she had a handle on who Anders was, he did something like that. She shook herself and sat down on the nearest seat by the fire. “You could’ve just asked, you know. You didn’t have to get all handsy.”

“You’d just lie. You’re lying about it right now, in fact. Besides, how could I miss out on the look on his face?” Anders nodded behind her. Cait followed his gaze to Nathaniel, who was past the edge of camp gathering firewood. He was too far away to hear them talking, most likely, and he was frozen just outside the light from the fire. The look on his face was… complicated. “Your boyfriend looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.”

“He’s not my–” Cait started, an old habit, but Anders interrupted with a scoff.

“He wants to be. You want him to be. I’m not stupid, Cait, despite appearances.”

“It’s not like that. It’s never been anything… official.” She thought back to summers past, sneaking into his room after everyone was asleep and back to her own bed before dawn, stealing moments in shadowed alcoves.

Cait pried her eyes away from Nate back to the fire. She wrung her hands in her lap, suddenly restless. “His father would never have approved.”

“His father isn’t around anymore, if I recall.” He popped a piece of dried fruit into his mouth. “Just something to think about.”

“What’s something to think about?” Nathaniel asked gruffly as he joined them by the fire.

“I’m trying to convince our stubborn and illustrious leader to take tonight off,” Anders lied easily. He threw a piece of fruit at Nathaniel, who plucked it out of the air and threw it back. It hit Anders in the forehead. “Ow!”

Nate sat down across the fire from them. “Is your head still bothering you, Caitie?”

“It’s tolerable. Really. You all worry too much.” It was worse than she let on, a sharp spiking pain that increased in the bright glow of the fire, but she could tune it out enough to do her job so she wasn’t quite lying. Still, she was happy to latch onto the lie Anders offered. “And I already told you, Anders, I am not a child, and I don’t appreciate being treated like one.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he sighed as if they actually had been having this argument for a while. He was a frighteningly good actor. “I’ll let you take a shift tonight, under the condition that you take first watch with Nathaniel instead of a watch on your own. You still get to be useful and I don’t have to worry that the concussion you still have - and I can see it in your eyes no matter how pig-headed you try to be - will cause you to lose focus while you’re alone.”

Oh. So that was his game. Cait felt backed into a corner. “I… deal,” she said through clenched teeth. “But for the record, I am fine.”

Dinner that night was a somber affair, the darkness so thick Cathain couldn’t see anything past their little circle of tents. Even Oghren was remarkably sober and silent, two things she’d never seen from him before. He went to bed immediately after he was done eating and, after more waggled eyebrows and pointed looks, so did Anders. Bryon settled at her feet with a weary boof.

As soon as they were gone, Nathaniel came around the fire to sit next to her. Byron put his head in his lap and he absently scratched the dog’s ears. “What is with him tonight?” He asked quietly, nodding toward Anders’ tent.

“He fancies himself as a matchmaker, apparently.” Cait sighed, too tired to try and come up with a convincing lie. “I guess they don’t teach subtlety in the Circle tower.”

“He’s about thirteen years late on that,” he chuckled. “I was under the impression that he knew that.”

Cait ignored the accusation in his tone, and said, “I think he’s read too many of those romance books Delilah liked to read. He’s disappointed I haven’t fallen helplessly into your arms.”

“I think I remember those books,” Nathaniel murmured, smile warm in the deep darkness. His voice shook with barely contained laughter. “Aren’t I supposed to be wearing a billowy shirt with the breeze fluttering through the hair on my chest? Perhaps while reciting poetry or staring longingly at the ocean?”

“You have chest hair now? Mmm, that’s new.” Cait pushed that image out of her head, lovely as it was. “I think the billowing shirt is supposed to be under your armor, which I remove with my dainty and trembling fingers. Probably while wearing a clinging silk dress.”

“Hmm, dainty, trembling, and helpless. If I had to pick three words to describe you…”

Cait covered her face with her hands to stifle her giggles. “I’ve never been very good at playing the damsel.”

“Aye,” Nathaniel chuckled, caught up in her laughter, “but I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Cathain felt her face flush, pleased and embarrassed in equal measure. She started to undo her braid so she wouldn’t fidget, unplaiting it and combing it straight with her fingers. “Your accent’s gone a bit Marcher,” she said, to change the subject a little and fill the oppressive quiet.

“Has it? I suppose it makes sense, but I never noticed.” He scratched at his jaw, running his fingers over the layer of stubble accumulated from two days on the road. It seemed like the same nervous not-fidgeting that she was doing, and drew a fond smile to her lips.

“I like it. It's…” it helps remind me of how much time has passed, it makes you sound less like your father, it does interesting things to the butterflies in my stomach when you say my name “nice.”

He didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he just stared at her in the flickering firelight, looking like he was trying to solve a puzzle and the answer was written somewhere on her face.

Cait tried to stare back for a while, but the intensity and curiosity in his gaze left her flustered, so she turned back to the fire instead, trying and failing to see past it into the woods around them. The night may as well have been a wall of black stone; neither light nor sound nor wind penetrated it at all.

She gasped as Nathaniel’s warm, calloused fingers touched her cheek. Her hair had fallen into her face now that it was freed from its plait, and he pushed it gently back behind her ear.

“I’ve never seen your hair this long before,” he said softly. Cait could barely hear him over the pounding of her heart.

“I… haven’t had much opportunity to cut it.” Her face felt hot again and she had trouble meeting his eyes.

“I like it.” Nathaniel traced his finger along her jaw, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “It’s nice.”

“You stop that,” Cait said, flustered. She pushed his hand away resolutely, but he didn’t let her back away entirely, catching her hand between his. He still had his archery gloves on and she still had her fingerless ones. The contrast between cool leather and warm skin was… intriguing.

“‘Shy’ isn’t a word I’d use to describe you either,” he said with a sweet smile.

“We are supposed to be working.” Cathain couldn’t look at him, but she didn’t try to pull her hand back. “I have enough trouble concentrating with this blighted headache, I don’t need you being…” she couldn’t think of a word, so she just waved her free hand in his direction, where he sat too close and entirely too pleased with himself, her mabari asleep halfway in his lap.

“Okay, okay. No more flirting tonight.” Nathaniel still sounded far too amused with himself. He released her hand, but didn’t stop staring. “It seems I’m a bit rusty anyway.”

Cait crossed her arms over her chest. “Right. I’m sure you didn’t have Marcher girls throwing themselves at you,” she said, and was surprised at the amount of bitterness she heard in her own voice.

Nate started to say something and she cut him off. She stood up abruptly and put a few steps of space between them. She said in a rush, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I’m just being grumpy. It’s none of my business anyway. I’m going to go walk perimeter for a bit, make sure nothing’s trying to sneak up on us.”

She stepped out of the light of the fire and into the solid night before he had a chance to reply.

——-

Cathain was awake just before dawn. It was a pretty normal occurrence for her - especially out on the road - and she was dressed and ready in time to join Anders in silence as the sun rose at the end of his watch shift. It didn’t do much to brighten the gloom of the Blackmarsh; even with the sun fully up, their camp was surrounded by deep twilight, but it at least pushed back some of the oppressiveness of the night.

Her headache hadn’t gone away. It settled as a dull throbbing behind her right eye. Anders gave her another once over, thankfully less hands-on without an audience, but couldn’t find any evidence of lingering injury. Most likely, it was an adverse reaction to the Blackmarsh itself; with luck, their business there would be done today and her head would clear as they left it behind.

She managed to do a passable job of avoiding Nathaniel for the most part, keeping conversation strictly on professional terms. The darkness helped; none of them had much energy to spend on conversation with the weight of the marsh pressing them down.

It gave her a lot of time to think. Too much time to think. She hadn’t really thought much about what Nate might have gotten up to in the Free Marches outside of training. He’d always been very serious, even as a boy, preferring quiet and solitude over the taverns his brother Thomas frequented or the balls and parties Delilah enjoyed.

But… well, 8 years was a long time. They had agreed not to wait for each other; they hadn’t known if or when he’d ever return to Ferelden, if she’d ever get the opportunity to join him up north. He hadn’t wanted to leave her with just 'someday’.

But she had waited. She was still waiting. Had he?

Cait’s feeling on the matter shifted wildly as they walked. Sometimes she was resigned: it didn’t matter what had happened before, it was in the past. Sometimes she felt possessive; she wanted to shove him against a tree and put her mouth and hands on him until he couldn’t remember any touch but hers. Sometimes, more than she would care to admit, she felt self-conscious. She wondered what kind of women he would have met in the Free Marches. Women like in the romance books they’d talked about, fair and dainty, with long flowing hair and soft hands that had never touched a sword.

She wore her hair down instead of braiding it back up. She hoped he’d comment, but he didn’t. All he did was stare; every time she looked his way, she found that he’d already been looking at her.

Around midday, they reached the swamp proper and progress slowed to a crawl. The mud sucked at their boots, the trees clawed at their hair and clothes, and every instinct Cait had screamed Run! Leave! Get out while you can!

She wished she was surprised when they found the first Fade tear.

“I hate the Fade,” she muttered vehemently. She crossed her arms defensively across her chest, tense for trouble as Anders did the Mage Thing, inspecting and hopefully repairing the rip in reality.

“What should we expect?” Nathaniel asked softly. He walked up to stand next to her as they watched Anders.

Cathain felt the weight of his hand on her back, one small point of connection. She didn’t move away. “If we’re lucky, just demons. If we’re unlucky, demons and weird shit. If we’re really unlucky, we get knocked unconscious and our spirits are sent into the Fade, where we have to deal with weird shit at the whims of a demon.”

“I feel like there’s a story there. Maybe you can tell it to me over drinks sometime.” His voice was very close, but she refused to look and see just how close he was. Distraction could be fatal right now, and Nathaniel Howe was nothing if not a tall, blue-eyed distraction.

She did feel warm and a bit giddy at the suggestion, though. She found her voice enough to say, “Okay. I’d like that.”

——-

Their second attempt at working together in combat went better. It helped that blighted werewolves were not subtle creatures. It helped also that they had expected to be attacked for days, since the darkness set in.

Cait and Oghren made a point to stay apart, harrowing the same enemy from opposing sides so one of them was always flanking. It gave room for Nathaniel and Anders to sling arrows and spells with impunity, and Bryon stood back to stop anything that tried to approach them.

“Did they bite or scratch any of you?” Cait asked once the last werewolf fell. She inspected the bodies as if they held a clue to the Blackmarsh’s mystery. They remained enigmatic. “We’re immune to the taint, but not the werewolf curse.”

“We’re all fine, Caitie,” Nathaniel said, tense and alert for more enemies. “I don’t think we should dally here.”

He was right, of course, and they moved on as quickly as they could. Cait really hoped Kristoff hadn’t actually come here. She’d really like to find a living person at the end of one of these wild goose chases for a change.

She wasn’t so lucky. Kristoff’s camp was only recently abandoned. A few days, maybe a week at most. Long enough for dust and debris to settle in his cot, for the embers of his fire to burn out, but his tent still stood and the things within it - notes, a chest with a few simple belongings, a couple days’ worth of food - hadn’t been reclaimed by nature or predator.

Cait tucked his notes carefully into her bag and sighed. “I’m sorry, Kristoff.”

Nathaniel’s hand found her shoulder again, gave her a warm squeeze. “We might still find him.”

“Yeah,” said Anders, sounding much less optimistic than Nate. “Maybe he found what he was looking for and left. Maybe he’s back at Vigil’s Keep right now wondering where you are.”

She touched Nate’s hand briefly before she stepped out of his reach. “Your optimism is noted and appreciated. I hope it serves you for a very long time.”

The town that had once been here was clearly abandoned, the buildings long since rotted away to skeletons and husks. It did not, however, feel empty. It felt as alive as if the entire population had just stepped out for lunch. Which, Cait supposed, was what the ghost stories said. That they all disappeared one day but their spirits still lingered.

She kept looking over her shoulder as they walked, catching flashes of light and movement in the corner of her eye. She tried to convince herself it was the trees or the sun glinting off the water, but there was no wind to blow through the bare branches of the trees, and the sun was hidden behind deep clouds and didn’t reach the still lakes.

Everything in this marsh was creepier than the last. A huge, mostly intact dragon skull. An ominous ring of tall stones with a pedestal in the center, untouched by the ravages of time. A scavenger hunt leading to a proposal, a glimpse into the lives and love of people long gone.

Cait held the ring in the palm of her hand. The gold was still untarnished, the green stone set in it clear and bright. “I wonder if she would have said yes,” she mused.

Nathaniel’s voice was soft, contemplative. “Maybe they’re still together, wherever they are.”

“You are such a romantic,” Cait murmured, much more fondly than she’d intended.

“One of us has to be.”

Cait slipped the ring on her finger. It fit. She stared at it, fascinated. It made her feel strange in a way she couldn’t quite understand. Like catching a glimpse of herself in another life.

She caught Nate watching her and removed the ring and shoved it in her pocket, embarrassed.

Not much farther along the trail, they found a body of a Grey Warden - and something much, much worse. They were like giant grubs or maggots with almost human-like faces. If humans had mandibles like a spider and too many malicious, beady black eyes. They were in her blood, clearly darkspawn, but the pitch was wrong. Not the warm hum of her fellow Wardens or the buzzing undercurrent of normal darkspawn, but a high pitched whine that sent chills across her skin.

One of them tackled her, much faster than they should be. She got a dagger up into its mouth, stopping its mandibles from clamping down on her arm. Oghren brought his axe down on it, bisecting it in one blow and only barely stopping short of getting her as well.

In the wake of these… monsters came something even worse, because that was apparently the kind of day Cait was going to have. A hurlock approached them and, like the one that had almost killed Varel, introduced himself. The First.

He spoke haltingly, with a mouth not made for human languages. Of a Mother, of The Children, of big problems about to fall on the heads of those Cait had sworn to protect.

She drew her blades and The First raised his hands and Cait discovered that her day could actually still get worse.

She stared up at the hazy, grey-brown sky, at the Black City always in the distance, and said with every ounce of rage in her soul, “I. Hate. The Fade.”

“Are you sure you’re not a mage?” Anders asked, looking more comfortable than any of the rest of them. Maybe mages were more used to traveling the Fade outside of dreams. He leaned against a barrel that appeared to be floating a foot off the ground. “Because you must have some sort of psychic powers.”

“Yeah, it’s called 'deja vu,’ Cait grumbled. She put a hand on Oghren’s shoulder to steady him as he silently freaked out. She wondered if the Fade looked different to dwarves, since they couldn’t come here in dreams like others could. She wondered if he was the first dwarf to ever walk in the Fade. She’d ask him about it later, once they had stone under their feet again.

"So we just… need to find the demon at the center of this and kill it?” Nathaniel asked, wary but surprisingly composed all things considered. “Or find The First?”

“There’s usually a trick to it,” Anders said. “Something like… the exit’s through a small hole and you need to turn into a mouse to escape. Or you have to find the demon and convince them that sending you home is their idea.”

“Or we can just go join that mob over there,” Cait pointed toward a gathering of spirit villagers, torches and pitchforks at the ready. “The demon’s probably keeping them there too.”

They walked through the town of Blackmarsh-That-Was, the buildings tall and clean, chickens and townsfolk alike ignoring their passage. No children, that was weird. Down an alley, Cait saw a man being dragged off by unseen hands; that was weirder.

And weirdest of all, the one inciting the mob was a Fade spirit.

That’s what he had to be. Cait remembered Wynne’s tales of the spirit of Faith that had saved her life and of other spirits that represented positive traits - charity, valor, compassion. As this spirit clearly was not human and also didn’t resemble any demon she’d ever met, she felt comfortable with the assumption.

She hoped he was what he appeared to be, but… well, worst case scenario they were still trapped here. Best case, they made a new friend and they all got out of here alive. She’d take her chances.

[ionica01]

A Cup of Magic 7

I’ve just remembered I haven’t updated this in forever I’m a horrible disgusting human being who doesn’t deserve to live another day!

Anyhooow, here is my favourite chapter up to date! It’s all thanks to @kitanoko who brainstormed the last scene with me! Thanks, Dora!

Chapter 7: Smiles that Bend Science to Their Will

Shouto neither likes nor hates crowded places. In fact, there aren't many things he cares for enough to “like” or “hate” them. Unless something or someone goes out of their way to step on his toes, he doesn’t see any reason to make an effort to label them as “likeable” or “dislikeable”. There are just better things he can do during that time, like focusing on his studies or calling his sister. Occasionally, he goes out with Midoriya- mostly when he has to buy a present for Uraraka, his girlfriend of almost three years now, and spends 3 to 4 hours freaking out before giving in and calling Shouto and Iida for help.

The cafe he goes to daily used to be neutral, too. One would argue that visiting it with the religious regularity Shouto does proves otherwise, but that wasn’t the case. The place was quiet enough for him to study, but not so quiet that it would leave him time to dwell on the cold, dark apartment that he could never bring himself to call home. The people working there were nice, although Shouto sometimes thought they smiled too much (and he pitied them for the muscle pain in their cheeks), but not so nice that he’d bother learning their names.

As he crouches to the ground, pulling cat food out of one pocket, Shouto feels the weight of the other bag he’s carrying- a brown paper bag, one that didn’t use to hang from his hand merely a few days ago.

The cat Shouto feeds every day on his way to the cafe peeks shily from the bushes, recognises her benefactor and approaches. She sniffs at her food and pushes her head in Shouto’s open palm before nibbling on the treat. He scratches her between her ears, and thinks that some things never change.

This cat, for example, is here every day, a constant in his life, an anchor that Shouto has tied himself to, afraid to lose himself otherwise. He doesn’t know exactly where he’d lose himself- whether it be in life or just in the mix of threads that he doesn’t dare separate called feelings- but he knows he can’t let her go, no matter what.

But there are variables in his life, too- they are usually the ones Shouto at least despises, if not outright hates. There was having to move out, for instance, leaving the calm lifestyle he shared with his sister and being left to fend for himself. There’s the fridge that can’t refill itself and the convenience store that was only two blocks away that closed down last week, so now Shouto has to take a fifteen minute walk when he doesn’t feel like falling asleep to the grumbles of his stomach.

And then there’s her.

She’s the one exception to every single one of the feeble rules that dictate Shouto’s life. One day, she waltzed up to the bar instead of the man who drew smiles on his cup and started talking to him without any ulterior motive. She made him want to remember the names of the baristas in the cafe, and told him stories about them that gave them a background and made them feel real. She made him add a dessert to every cup of indifferent green tea he drank.

She forced A Cup of Magic off the “indifferent” list where Shouto had pinned it and put it on the very short list of things Shouto likes. His mother and sister. His older twin brothers, when they aren’t teasing him. Midoriya and Iida. His cat. Green tea. Dancing. Classical music.

A Cup of Magic.

Momo.

He gets up and the weight of the brown bag tugs on his hand, but it somehow doesn’t feel like a burden. It’s quite the opposite, Shouto thinks, not without surprise: the changes that she brought in his life make him lighter, and he walks towards the cafe as if he grew wings. He spares the stray cat a last look, but she has already ducked her head and sprang in the narrow alleyway where she hides most of the day.

The path to the cafe is always the same, barely visible under the people rushing out of university to grab their daily caffeine supply, hopefully enough to last them until their evening classes are over. Shouto inwardly sighs relieved, thinking that being a third year brings several advantages, one of which is the loose program. His backpack, heavy with research material, reminds him what the price for his freedom is.

People rushing in and out of the cafe make the chimes jingle almost without pause, but it doesn’t bother Shouto. Its chirp is actually one of his favourite sounds now, because whenever it pierces through the atmospheric music, it makes her lift her head, her eyes tracking the shop to him and her face breaking into a wide smile.

This smile is perhaps number 1 on Shouto’s list of favourite things. When he was in highschool, he had to explain the passage “and when she smiled, the stars lit up and the world stopped moving all at once” in an exam. He remembers thinking that the sentence was quite pretentious, and that it was a clear exaggeration to emphasise the character’s feelings.

Shouto regrets not remembering who wrote that passage, because he’d like to tell him that he now understands. He understands it’s actually a simplification of the real feeling, or that the author hasn’t seen her smile, in which case Shouto pities him, because he’s certain that her smile is the single, most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

The night sky is nothing in comparison to her smiling face, and no star has anything on the way her eyes sparkle with genuine emotion. It reminds Shouto of his mother’s face when she sees him enter her perfectly white room,but it's different from that, because it sets his heart racing and makes him feel something he didn’t know he was capable of mustering.

As he sits in line, Shouto watches her serve everyone with a smile, and realises he may have gone crazy, because he’s positive that the smile she gives him is different. For once, her lips part just barely when she sees him, revealing pearl-like teeth, and her honest onyx eyes glint with something unidentifiable. He wonders if that is the cause for the fuzzy feeling in his chest whose name he has googled more times that he can remember, but found only gibberish: he’s either in love or dying.

“Hello,” she greets him when it’s finally his turn, and it rolls of her tongue naturally, as if she knew he would be there around now. She effortlessly drows a cup from the stack on the counter and starts writing his name, about to jot down the usual order when Shouto stops her.

“I want the Winter Wonderland today,” he throws away one more constant in his life out of the window but regrets nothing, because after she blinks confused she smiles. Shouto wonders if it would be too weird to take a picture of it and make it his wallpaper.

Instead of drawing out his phone though, he puts the brown bag on the counter. “They had blueberry filling today,” he says and watches her smile bloom into a grin. There’s that surge of happiness in his chest again, the one Shouto would like to get checked at a hospital, but he does his best not to let it show on his face. She worried so much about his cold hand that he doesn’t want her to have a heart attack when she hears his heart is beating too fast.

“Thank you,” she nods and hands the cup over to Uravity. The name feels weird in Shouto’s mind- he’s only recently began referring to the round-faced, brown-haired girl like that.

He leaves the counter faster than he wants to. Uravity gives him a smile with a tilt of something daring to it, but he doesn’t dwell on the meaning of her dimples when he notices that she looks more flushed than usual.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asks as he picks up his drink.

“Of course!” She nods less energetically than usual, and Shouto can’t help but feel a pang of sharp pain through his chest. The last time he felt that was when Momo almost fell on Friday, and when Midoriya broke his arm last year. He gulps the fear back and lingers a moment longer than needed, deciding to retreat in the end.

Still worried about Uravity, Shouto has difficulty in focusing on his work, and contemplates the drawbacks of putting living beings on his “like” list- they make him concerned when they are feeling unwell. He catches himself staring at Momo and loosens a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

When he first chose this seat, it was because it felt secure, hidden in a corner of the cafe, protecting him from the buzz of the counter. He can now see another advantage to it: from here, he can watch the baristas work around the customers, swirling on their heels to deliver the orders. Sometimes, Shouto is sure they will collide and holds his breath, but the staff is so tightly knit together that it’s like they know what path the others will take, and they dance by each other effortlessly.

He never used to watch the people, preferring the calming mahogany of the wooden furniture. The counter with its countless little drawers for herbal infusions, the jars of ground coffee and the general smell of the shop are exactly how Shouto imagined a witch’s house in the stories his mother used to read to him. But the air smelling of melted chocolate and the music that lures him into a drowsy state are proof enough that whichever witch designed A Cup of Magic must have worked against the forces of evil.

In the middle of the buzz hour, from the counter where good witches (fairies, perhaps?) hide, Momo finds a smile for everyone, and Shouto loses track of time as he watches her. He wouldn't describe himself as a stalker, but he doesn’t stare at her like she’s a work of art either, though granted, she is beautiful. Watching her is more of a healing process for Shouto, as it inexplicably makes him feel at ease and brings him peace of mind, inducing that kind of mentality he needs to sort through his thermodynamics assignments.

Today is just another one of those calm days when he loses himself in the pace of the cafe and in his work, or at least that’s what Shouto thinks. And until he empties half of his drink and finishes the bulk of his homework for All Might, nothing proves him wrong.

And then there’s a thud.

It’s so loud that Shouto looks up from his research immediately and almost jumps from his seat when he sees it. It all happens too quickly, but he’s at the counter before he knows what willed his feet to move, elbowing his way through the growing crowd around the island.

“Uravity!” Momo raises her voice in the commotion, and Shouto hears it before he can see the scene. “Ochako!” she yells now, and Shouto freezes just as his eyes fall upon the scene, because he knows that name and how hasn’t he made the connection before?

“Hey, Midoriya, what’s with that bracelet you’re always wearing?” Shouto asks as he watches Midoriya sigh in relief, clenching his fist around the bracelet that almost fell into the centrifugal wheel.

He looks up and smiles sheepishly, one finger absentmindedly tracing the symbol of infinity carved in metal and tied by two straps of green leather over his wrist, where it has been ever since Shouto met him. “It was a gift from my girlfriend,” he admits and blushes at the use of the word.

Shouto isn’t surprised that Midoriya has a girlfriend, despite him never bragging about her. He guesses it might be the “Uraraka” that keeps popping up in their discussions.

Still, Midoriya adds, “I bought her a pendant in the shape of infinity for her birthday, and she bought me this for Christmas. I guess we were thinking of the same thing.”

The way Midoriya talks is nonchalant, but there’s a serene look on his face and he keeps tracking the outline of his bracelet with a faraway look that tells Shouto there’s more to it than just a present. He doesn’t really get “love”, but his sister has tortured him with enough cheesy romance movies to teach him that matching items are more than just a coincidence.

They’re an unspoken promise.

The pendant hanging around Uravity’s neck reflects the light of the cafe and it burns Shouto’s retinas. He jumps over the counter before anyone can stop him.

“Uraraka, are you okay?” The words rip from his throat as if they’re too big to get out and need to be pulled by force.

She flashes him a weak smile. “It’s nothing, I’m just a bit dizzy.”

“You fainted!” Momo says as she wipes Uraraka’s brow and frowns. “Ah, as expected, you have a fever. This isn’t nothing. You need to get home and rest.”

“It’s fine, I can at least finish my shift. The shop is crowded and-” she speaks softly, her eyelids half closed despite her efforts to seem okay. Shouto glances around the counter, where Sato is keeping the others at bay and assuring them their favourite Uravity is alright, but he doesn’t look too convinced of the fact himself.

“I’ll call Midoriya to pick you up,” Shouto decides after giving Uraraka a pointed look and blaming himself for not pushing for details earlier.

“Deku?” Uraraka faintly menages, and flaps her hands weakly in front of her. “He’ll get worried, don’t-”

But it’s too late. Midoriya picks up from the third ring and asks, “Todoroki? This is rare, is everything alright?”

He ignores Momo’s flicker of curiosity amidst the worry for Uraraka that paints her face and breathes in. “I need you to come to the coffee shop next to the university. Uraraka has collapsed.”

He hears Midoriya get up and there’s rustling on the other end of the phone. “Is she awake? Wait, how do you- actually no, do I need to bring something?” There’s the jingle of keys accompanying the urgency in his tone and then tensed silence.

“No. She has a fever and passed out earlier, but no other symptoms.”

He looks at Momo for more details, but she only mumbles,  “Probably from overworking herself.”

There’s rustling again, and then the thud of Midoriya’s footsteps against cement. “Thank you for letting me know. Please look after her until I get there.”

Shouto can read the modulations in Midoriya’s voice, the confusion, the worry and the adrenaline rush, the fear caused by his attachment to Uraraka, and wonders if he ever was or will be so concerned about someone. His eyes flicker to Momo and he wonders how he would react if someone called to tell him she had fainted. He decides he doesn’t want to know the answer.

“Will do,” he assures Midoriya and hangs up. “He should be here in about 15 minutes,” he informs the girls after he quickly calculates how far Midoriya’s apartment is. Maybe 10, if he runs.

“Thank you,” Momo says and doesn’t ask why he knows Midoriya or that Uraraka is his girlfriend, but instead allows herself to look a bit relieved. Shouto glances down at Ochako, whose cheeks have grown even redder. She stops resisting Midoriya’s arrival, using the energy she has left to inhale the mint Momo has placed under her nose to clear her nostrils. “We should carry her to the lockers,” Momo says, not taking her eyes off Uraraka.

“I’ll do it,” he offers. Nobody complains as he scoops up Uraraka, trying to figure out how to carry her without making her uncomfortable. He tucks a hand under her knees and one rests on the small of her back, and she adjusts by circling his throat with one of her arms, weakly clinging to him.

She’s surprisingly light, and Shouto suddenly feels like she’s fragile, an object that can break as a result of his own carelessness, and he lightens his grip on her, just enough so he won’t drop her. Is this what it means to be protective?

“I’m sorry,” she mutters under her breath, so only Shouto can hear.

He doesn’t know what she’s apologising for, but he mutters back, “It’s okay. He’ll be here soon.”

He feels her nod against his chest, and despite her state, a fond smile curls around her lips, one that Shouto think only people that have others to worry for them can show. It’s new, seeing the bouncy Uravity show this side of her, and it only solidifies her place on the list of things Shouto cares for.

Momo jumbles with the keys, unlocking the space reserved to the staff members. As soon as they’re in, she makes Uraraka sit down, and then she dips a cloth in freshwater and places it on Uraraka’s forehead. The next five minutes are more of Momo running around the locker, searching her purse for pills and asking Sato to fix their friend a cup of chamomile tea, all while Uraraka declines the attention and care directed in her way.

“Listen,” Momo eventually snaps, cutting through all that Uraraka has to say. “You are sick and we are your friends, so would you just shut up and let us help you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer and hands the cloth she had just peeled off Uraraka’s forehead to Shouto before leaving to get the tea and a blanket.

Left alone with Uraraka, Shouto finds himself saying “She’s right.” He doesn’t know what prompted him to talk, but her curious look makes him continue, “People would naturally worry about you because they care. I think this is proof you’re important to them,” he tells her as he brushes her bangs apart and puts the now cold again cloth on her forehead. The image of his sister doing the same for him after he had fallen in a frozen pond when he was 6 flashes before his eyes and he smiles a little.

Uraraka mirrors the smile. “You’re right. Thank you,” she says weakly and lays on the bench she’s resting on. “Momo’s going to lecture me once I get better, isn’t she?” she mumbles to herself.

“Probably,” Shouto admits. Her having a cold doesn’t mean he should lie to her.

Momo enters the room shortly thereafter, a fluffy blanket in her arms and a cup of tea fuming in her hand. “Here,” she hands Shouto the drink and proceeds to wrap Uraraka like a baby, which elicits a small giggle out of the sick girl. Momo’s eyebrows arch, but Shouto notices a fond smile nestling on her lips and feels himself relax. Somehow, it feels like, if Momo’s here, nothing can go wrong.

Midoriya is escorted in by Sato only two minutes later, panting and cheeks red, and Shouto concludes he must have ran all the way here- he only needed 8 minutes, too.

“Ah, Deku!” Uraraka greets from her cocoon of blankets and warmth.

Nobody has a chance to explain what happened, because Midoriya closes the distance between him and Uraraka in an instant and presses a hand against her forehead, checking her temperature. His face darkens as he asks, “Does anything hurt? Throat? Head? Since when? Do you need medicine?”

He only stops when Uraraka muffles his mouth with her hand. “I won’t die, Deku,” she says lightly, but as he removes her hand from his face gently, her smile withers, because he looks dead serious.

“I know,” he sighs, squeezing her hand tightly. “But I hate seeing you suffer.”

Shouto can only watch silently, retreating in a corner to give the couple space. They look like they are already family, and Shouto notices the bracelet hanging from Deku’s wrist again. He know finds the answer to his earlier question: this is being protective.

Something brushes against his arm and Shouto sees Momo has retreated next to him. “She’ll be fine now,” she says confidently and Shouto can only nod in return. She’s in good hands.

After Midoriya is done with his interrogating Uraraka and thanking the staff for looking after her, he listens to Momo’s instructions and picks Uraraka up, together with her blanket, piggyback style. He thanks Shouto for a tenth time and is about to leave when Uraraka yelps, “What about my shift? The cafe-”

“We can manage,” Momo assures her. Shouto steals a glance outside the lockers and wonders if two people can really face that crowd. Momo is smiling confidently, but it’s probably for Uraraka’s sake.

“I can do it,” Shouto says before he meaning of the words that have left his mouth sink in and feels everyone staring at him.

***

When Shouto suddenly offered to take over Uraraka’s shift, Momo wasn’t sure she heard him right. And yet here he is, blue apron tied around his waist, jotting down orders, taking his job as serious as he takes his studies. She had her doubts about suddenly dumping the job on him- the new baristas usually undergo a thorough training- but he caught the drift of taking orders fast.

He’s handling the customers politely, but he’s a bit rusty with his smiles and doesn’t seem to be aware of the many first time female customers ogling him. When he was sitting in a corner of the cafe, he was safe from prying eyes, but here, in his uniform and in everyone’s view, Momo can’t deny he looks dashingly good. She shakes the pang of jealousy she feels- she has no right to feel that way, and it benefits their business so-

“-mo. Momo,” someone calls her. When she whips her head around, she’s met with mismatched eyes too close for comfort and feels the blood rising to her cheeks. “Did you catch a cold, as well?” Shouto asks and is about to press his palm to her forehead.

She takes a step back and smiles what she hopes to be a convincing smile. “No, I’m alright. Do you need help with something?”

He doesn’t look persuaded, but only says, “It’s almost closing time. Should I inform that group?” he asks, pointing towards the five or so teenager girls batting their eyelashes sweetly at him.

Momo’s eyes shift from him to them and back to him. He hasn’t even spared them a sideways glance. She feels stupid now, because it’s obvious he has taken no interest in his fans, and she made him worry, too. “It’s alright, I can tell them,” she smiles, suddenly feeling pity for the girls.

“Okay. I’ll start cleaning up then,” he says as he picks a wiping cloth and make his way towards the back corner, but not as a customer this time.

***

The shop is mostly empty, save for the two people swiping the floor. Sato left early today, excusing himself to go pick up his parents from the train station- he has been excited about their visiting his new apartment and workplace for a while now- and Momo assured him she and Shouto could close up just fine.

She would like to thank him somehow, but she also has oh so many questions to ask: how does he know Midoriya? Did he know Ochako was Midoriya’s girlfriend? Why did he offer to help? So many words bubble up inside her, racing to get out the fastest, that she can’t decide what to say.

Because she can’t speak, she supposes she’d let music do it for her, and fishes an old vinyl disc from the back room.

When the music fills the shop with its first violin accords, he raises his eyes from the wooden tiles on the floor. “Strauss-The Blue Danube,” he immediately recognises the piece. “Switching back to classical music?” he asks, but it’s more of an observation than an actual question.

She feels it would be too cheesy to admit that she’s associated the piece with Shouto ever since she saw him, because of his blue eye and serene atmosphere surrounding him. Instead, she says, “It was the least I could do. After all, you’ve been a huge help today.”

She doesn’t know how she expected him to react, but it certainly wasn’t like this, because after he stares at her for almost a whole minute, seemingly pondering something, he lets the broom rest against a table and stretches his hand out to her. Momo’s eyes dart towards the old pickup, and then back to him, wondering if she’s misunderstanding.

“Do you want to dance?” he voices her thoughts out loud.

She doesn’t get a chance to answer more properly than with a nod: as soon as she approves, he takes her hand and leads the well known waltz, spinning her around the tables in the cafe. Momo quickly finds her pacing, and she also finds out that Shouto is a great dancer. She doesn’t know many people that could whirl around the chairs and armchairs without skipping a beat.

“You’re good at this,” she eventually decides to tell him, after they’ve almost completed a tour of the entire shop.

It may be her imagination- as this whole evening could be, because what barista’s normal shift culminates with waltzing in the closed shop with dim lights- but his lips crook into something akin to a smirk. “I may have not taken piano or violin lessons, but I didn’t escape the dance classes. And apparently, neither did you.”

Under normal circumstances, Momo would blush, but the song just got faster and she has already decided this is a dream, so she smirks back. Maybe it’s because of the music, or the unrealistic situation, or just the timing, but the words finally reach her lips and fall off them with ease. “So you know Midoriya?”

He doesn’t hesitate to answer either. “Yes, he is my friend. We’ve been having classes together ever since the start of the year.”

“So you’re a Physics major?” There’s more spinning, more avoiding tables, more music, more talking. She doesn’t know if he has pulled her closer or if her body moved on her own, but she is close enough to realise he is just a bit taller than her, and to look into his mismatched eyes. She decides that people who say that heterochromatic eyes are confusing are lying.

“Yes. Well, actually, I’m a Thermodynamics major, and Midoriya’s a Quantum Mechanics major, so we only have a handful of classes together.”

“Then I imagine you must be quite good friends if you knew Ochako.”

“Actually, I’ve never seen them together. He did tell me a few things about her, though. I should have recognised her sooner.” Something curtains his eyes and Momo can tell it’s concern, so she changes the subject.

“I’m a Chemistry major. Food Chemistry, to be exact.”

There’s silence as their feet slow down with the music, and she wonders if she failed to distract him, but then he says, “It fits you.”

“How so?”

He pinpoints her with his mismatched eyes, and spins her for the last encore. “You look like you want to break the world apart and rebuild it so that everybody will be happy,” he says as the last notes of The Blue Danube echo in the shop, and then adds,  "When it's you that says they believe in magic, I almost believe it, too."

They come to a halt as the melody dies out. For a moment, she stares at him blankly, too focused on his words to even wheeze after the waltz, still holding his hand- the hot one.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, not letting go of her either, and she wonders if she made him worry again.

“Nothing,” she smiles, and the smile blooms into a giggle that escalates into a genuine laugh. He looks at her weirdly, but she just finds the situation too bizarre to react to in any other way. It’s not long before she hears a deep chuckle, like a purr, mingle with her own and she laughs even louder.

Maybe Ochako was right after all. Maybe she does have a crush on him.

[daphnegeeksout]

If You Were Here (2/9) [Tony Stark x Reader]

Read it on AO3

By: daphnethewriter

It’s hard to live this way… to only see someone through the other side of a screen. Tony stumbles across a computer bug that’s more than just a bug. You need his help, but first you need to win his trust. Hopefully you can do it before time runs out.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  | Part 4

Words: 3,815 Chapters: 2/9 Language: English

Chapter 2

So, in his attempt to destroy it, Tony released the Cheshire into the rest of his system. Brilliant. And now it's making itself right at home. It's everywhere—the cameras, the PA system, the bots—wreaking subtle, but irritating, havoc. It watches him, tailoring its actions to his presence so it is all but undetectable for everyone but Tony.

Beyoncé blasts through the speakers in the background, as it does every time he's in the lab now. Tony stares at the holographic representation he created of the Cheshire's codebase. It's an approximation of what he trapped in the server, before it metastasized to the rest of the system. It's still… well… he wishes that he wrote it.

"Let's see what you're made of." He approaches the visualization to pick it into its components. Not that he knows where to start. The code is so intricately entwined, there's no easy access point to divide the functionality. He spins the visualization and enlarges part for easier access.

<You could at least buy me a drink first.>

The hologram shimmers and reforms, taking a human shape. Tony takes a step back. He recognizes you from your pictures, from the security video, from the hospital. Now you stand in front of him, shimmering with the reflected light of the hologram, as if you were really in his lab, barefoot in a Nirvana concert tee and ripped jean shorts.

<I think we got off to a bad start,> you say. <Though, in my defense, you were trying to kill me.>

"Amazing." Tony circles the hologram. You turn with him, so he's always facing you. Your expression is subtly amused, so lifelike. The program must be using the input from the security cameras to judge his behavior and adjust the hologram in response. But for it to create appropriate visual cues… there is a reason he never gave his AIs a visual form. The amount of coding would be monumental.

Tony returns to his workbench, pulling up a set of diagnostics to run over the program. Now that it's staying in one place, he might be able to get a handle on it. The monitor remains unresponsive.

<It's rude to ignore me when I'm talking to you. I need your help.>

"What could you possibly need?" he asks, trying and failing to elicit a response from FRIDAY. "You're a bunch of code."

<And a brain is just a bunch of neurons. Firing, not firing. Ones and zeros. Same difference.>

"So, you're a neural network." Of course it's a neural network. Groups all over the country were developing them. No one was close to anything like this, though. "Who made you? Caltech? Stanford?"

<No one made me.> Your voice contains a hint of impatience. <I'm a person, not a program.>

"So you say. Where are you based? How many servers do you need to run? They must have a massive cooling—"

<You've seen where I was based. I led you there.>

Tony's hands still over the keys. "The long-term care ward?"

<Gold star for you.>

"There was nothing there."

<There was me.>

"The girl?"

<Woman,> you correct him. <And, yes. You think I chose this visualization at random?>

"That's not possible."

<Yeah, I get that it looks that way.>

"That's not—"

<Look. I just need your help. I need you to get me back in my body.>

Every alarm bell in Tony's head goes off. An AI looking for a physical form. An artificial consciousness too powerful, too intricate to be manmade. A chill runs up his spine. He hits the command to flush the system without responding.

The room goes dark and the music cuts out. Your hologram flickers from sight.

#

To Tony's dismay, the system flush doesn't keep you out for long. You come back whenever Tony purges you, faster each time, as if you're learning the passages through the security by heart. He tries new tactics: guard dog protocols and a firewall with shifting defenses (that accidentally blocks Netflix and sends an irritated Clint into Tony's lab). You're persistent.

You favor the hologram view now, making your presence felt more forcefully than you had before. Sometimes you plead with him, always coming back to the same topic, but mostly you sit on the periphery of the lab, monitoring him as he looks for new ways to eliminate your annoyance.

That's what you are: an annoyance. You don't do anything to outright jeopardize anything, but Tony feels the red herring. You can be a distraction. He knows you're capable of stealth—you managed to stay off his radar for weeks. You could be employing a similar tactic this time.

<Why won't you help me?>

Most of the time, Tony ignores you, focusing instead on his work. Today he can't. Your holographic form lounges across the bench where he works, shorts and a crop top giving a generous view of your tattoos and a set of shiny dermal piercings along your ribcage that he had definitely not noticed when he saw you at the hospital. He stands to get away from you.

<You're just going to pretend I'm not here?> You reappear in front of him as he crosses to the suit.

He stops short, unable to suppress the reflex to keep from walking through you. "You're not here. You're not anything. And I'm getting sick of looking at you." He sidesteps you to reach the suit.

You reappear at his side, leaning against the shoulder of the suit, suddenly clad in nothing but lingerie. <You don't like looking at me?> you ask. You make a big show of looking yourself over, doing a spin for him. Tony… well, he can't really lie that it's appealing. The screwdriver slips from his hand. Normally, this would be all kinds of up his alley. Tony loves the assertive power play. And the lingerie isn't bad either. But you are a hologram of a woman who is lying comatose a hundred miles away. You're just there to manipulate him.

"Not my type." He turns away, abandoning the suit in favor of his workbench.

<What if I look like this?> The voice changes and a knife slices through Tony's heart. He doesn't want to look—he really doesn't—because he knows what he'll see. But he can't stop himself, so he turns. It's Pepper. Down to the last detail. From the tips of her stiletto heels to the hem of her perfectly pressed dress to the quirk of her lips to the stray wisp of hair that never stays in her ponytail. <You'd help me. Right, Tony?>

He swallows. "You're not real." The walls are suddenly much closer than they'd been before. There isn't enough air. Even if he goes, you'll follow him. You'll be waiting for him in his room or the kitchen, always there. It won't do any good, but he rises to leave anyway.

Blaire stands in the door to the lab, her hand raised to knock, a look of shock frozen on her face. Tony freezes too. Shit. She lowers her hand, eyes narrowing into discerning slits. [did I interrupt?] she signs.

Tony glares at your hologram. "Go away."

<Of course.> The Pepper Imposter smiles, hands on her waist. <Whatever you need, Mr. Stark.> You flicker out of view.

You little shit.

[you okay?] Blaire signs. [S-T-E-V-E is worried]

"Yeah, well, tell your boyfriend I'm fine."

[we haven't seen you in a while] Blaire comes further into the lab where normally she would stand on the edges. She isn't comfortable around Tony, never has been. It's not unusual for Tony to go for a few days without seeing anyone. It must have gotten really bad if Blaire noticed.

"Been busy."

Blaire hesitates, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. [did you make]—her fingers fidget over one another, a nervous tick as unconscious as a stutter—[girlfriend?]

Oh, fuck. Of course that's what it looked like. "No." The word comes out a little too fast, a little too sharp.

[S-T-E-V-E told me about P-E-P-P-E-R]

Oh man, Tony does not want to talk about this with Blaire. He can't handle the sympathetic look that crosses her face. It's… hell, it's a little like the look that Cap gives him sometimes. Maybe Rogers has been giving Blaire lessons on how to make Tony feel pathetic. "I'm fine."

[You broke your lab]

Boy, Blaire is chatty today. "It's none of your business," Tony snaps, then thinks better of it. He'll get an earful from Cap if he upsets his girlfriend. "FRIDAY has a bug. It's taking a while to work out."

[that why N-E-T-F-L-I-X broke?]

Tony rolls his eyes. These people. The security of their system is at stake and all they worry about is whether they can stream the new season of Kimmy Schmidt (apparently, Steve's new favorite). No, that's not fair. Tony hasn't told any of them about the breach. Mostly because if they knew…

"Did you have something you wanted?" he asks.

Her eyebrows pull together and, just like every time, Tony gets the feeling that she's looking through him. [S-A-M ordered pizza]

"Yeah, I'll be right there." It isn't a perfect solution, but at least the company will provide him with a much needed respite from you.

#

You wait until Tony is alone, which isn't until much later that night in his bedroom. Your hologram wears a tank top and pajama shorts, clothes you actually did wear when you were alive. Not that you're not alive, just that—things are confusing now. It's stupid, there's no reason for you to change the hologram's appearance, but you do, altering the clothing to suit the situation or your mood. It makes you feel… human. And when your brain pattern could be flattened down to a series of ones and zeros, that seems important.

<How was the pizza?> You try for light and breezy, an attempt to reclaim the good humor that you think will be most persuasive.

"Go away, Cheshire."

<I miss pizza.> you continue, flopping the hologram gracelessly onto the bed. <Were there anchovies? What about pineapple? Have you ever had them—>

"Stop it!" he snaps, throwing his phone at you. It soars through the hologram and shatters against the headboard behind. "Stop. You don't have favorite pizza toppings. You don't wear pajamas. You don't eat or sleep or breathe. Stop asking me to put you in that woman's body. I won't do it."

This wasn't the reaction that you expected. Apparently, the Pepper Potts gambit had been a bigger misfire than you thought. Far from gaining his sympathy, you've pushed him back completely in the opposite direction. You pause, only a few seconds to give Tony some space, but the waiting feels like eternity. This is your fate that he holds in his hands. <What can I do to convince you that I'm telling the truth?> This is the most important part, the part that you hadn't realized would be difficult: making Tony Stark believe you. <I'm a person, Tony. I had a life.>

"No, you—"

<I lived with my grandmother after I turned twelve.> You hadn't thought you could feel things, but apparently desperation isn't a feeling. It pulses through you, even without adrenaline to push it along, a demanding alarm in the back of your mind. <The first time I held hands was in fourth grade. Chris Chester. Behind the cafeteria trashcans.>

"That's not—"

<In middle school, I made out with my best friend's boyfriend when we played Spin the Bottle and she never spoke to me again.> Your voice through the speakers speeds up as you try to get all the words out before he flushes you from the system like he always does. <My first tattoo! It was a butterfly. I got it on my sixteenth birthday using a fake ID I bought with money I stole out of the cheer captain's locker.> Tony turns away to leave, but you place your image in front of him again. He stops short, as he always does, as if you were really there and, for a second, you have hope. <How could I make this up?> You ask, slowing your speech to normal. <What would be the point? I'm not a great person, Tony, but I am a person. You're the only one that can—>

"I can't!" he snaps. "Why don't you understand that? I can't help you because you're not real."

The pause this time is not intentional. Your mind whirs over itself, searching for anything that could persuade him. An eternity stretches in front of you, not quite existing, but not dead either. <What am I supposed to do?>

"I don't care."

#

Missions are a distraction. You've been quiet since Tony told you off, but that doesn't mean that you're gone. Until Tony figures out what you are and what you're really after, he can't waste time on stupid things like fascist dictators. Not when it means leaving you with unattended access to his equipment.

<Tony,> Rhodey warns over the com, <You have hostiles coming in hot.>

Hostiles. Real, live hostiles. The kind that shoot missiles and blow things up. Not the kind that send flirty text messages when Tony's in debriefings or who turn on the coffee maker whenever he needs a break. Not the kind with pleading, wide eyes.

A missile explodes next to him and he dodges just in time. Shit. It's lucky you haven't invaded the armor or Tony would be in real trouble. Just the memory of you is distracting enough without having to deal with you now. Whispering in his ear. Teasing, laughing. Hell, if it were actually you—not that Tony has a type, but you'd fit the bill anyway—that would be a different sort of distraction. But it's not. It's an approximation, at best. An illusion conjured to torture him with his own failures.

Tony whirls in the sky, avoiding two more missiles and crashing one of them into an enemy drone. The firework of pride is quickly shut down when he sees three more.

It's not like there is anything that he can do to help you anyway. Even if you are telling the truth, which—no, you can't be.

Tony zig zags between the incoming drones, barely skimming by, but crashing them into each other in the process.

How would he even get you into your body? It's not like there's a USB adaptor in your occipital lobe.

FRIDAY warns Tony of another attack coming from below. He rockets up and his pursuer chases him higher into the sky until Tony drops flares on it and sends it into a death spiral.

A single point of entry wouldn't work anyway. Brain activity is spread over the cerebral cortex; there isn't a clearly marked entrance and exit.

Tony blasts through a cloud to return to Rhodey's position. War Machine has three incoming hostiles, two hidden by a cloudbank. Tony targets the first one.

And even if there were a way to make the connection… there would be no guarantee that you would be compatible with—Why is he thinking about this? He isn't going to do it. There's nothing to do. He made up his mind. He'll figure out how to get rid of you for good and then he'll—

<Shit, Tony—> Rhodey's com cuts out. The second hostile had avoided crashing into the first, doubling the explosion. The shock rocks the sky and blows Tony backwards. He struggles to regain his orientation, firing his repulsors in an attempt to right himself in a world gone topsy-turvy

"Eyes on War Machine?" he demands of FRIDAY.

<Lieutenant Rhodes has lost consciousness.>

"Initiate emergency procedures."

<Emergency procedures offline.>

Tony lets out a colorful string of curses. "Where is he?" He catches sight of Rhodey tumbling to the ground in an uncontrolled spiral. Too far for Tony to reach him. He tries anyway, rocketing toward the earth at a speed that's too high for him to pull out safely, much less with Rhodey's added weight. He needs to override the systems on the War Machine suit, but he doesn't have time—he isn't fast enough to—shit. He isn't that fast. You on the other hand…

He opens all the channels leading to the home system, ones that he kept firmly shut until now. Desperate times. "Cheshire!" he yells, still rocketing toward the ground.

Your telltale flicker flashes across the display on his helmet. <Already here.>

"Rhodey!"

<On it.>

Tony doesn't slow his flight, not trusting that you'll reach him in time. The repulsors on Rhodey's suit fire, at first randomly, then with more purpose. His fall slows, but not enough. Tony continues his headlong flight toward the ground.

<Tony, pull up. You won't have time.> you warn.

"Not until he's safe."

<Tony—>

"Not until he's safe."

You swear eloquently in his earpiece. War Machine's repulsors fire more urgently, finally catching the necessary angle to right him seconds before he would have crashed into the ground. He lands rough, but in relative safety. Tony pulls out of his descent in time to make his own not so graceful landing.

"Is he—?"

<He's good. He's fine.> You sound relieved, though you can't possibly be.

Tony checks for himself, releasing Rhodey from the armor. Rhodey's chest rises and falls with each breath. Tony slumps back, suddenly too heavy to hold himself up. "I need medical evac now," he says into the com to no one in particular, then lays back on the ground.

#

Bars have terrible security cameras. In fact, most everywhere has terrible security cameras. That is something that you've learned from your time trapped on the net. And since cameras are often your only window into the outside world, they're extremely important. The Avengers' compound is a blessed exception. There are cameras everywhere there—high quality with microphone equipment. You know everything that goes on in the Avengers' compound.

Which makes the fact that Tony has gone to an outside bar all the more frustrating. You only find him because he starts popping up on Instagram. God bless social media. People all over the world are constantly uploading surveillance data. It's the perfect crowd sourced way to stalk someone. But while it's great to help you find Tony, it's not so awesome at helping you keep track of how many drinks he's had. You're guessing that it's… a lot.

Tony tried to keep you out of the Ironman suit. And he was successful for a while. But there isn't a security system you can't find a hole in. It's not his fault. You see things differently. It's like a colorblind person trying to match an outfit. His electronic guard dogs are easily distracted. His walls have holes he doesn't even know about. Breaking into the suit was only a matter of time. But you didn't mess with it. Tony saves the world in that thing; it's not a toy.

So, when he opened it up, actually invited you in… that was… well, wow. You'd feel flattered, if you were capable of feeling anything. He doesn't trust you, per se. But you're in a weird middle ground of not-quite-friends. If you never really look at it, it can be both hostile and affectionate. Schrodinger's friendship.

You watch Tony put away two more glasses of whiskey in the background of a bachelorette party's Twitter video. Tony Stark can handle his liquor, that's not a question. The man could drink a distillery under the table. It's why he's drinking that bothers you. You saved Rhodey. He's battered, but he'll be okay. Yet Tony is taking the injury to heart.

And maybe it's somewhat your fault too. You've run him ragged trying to pester him into submission. He's sleep deprived, desperate, and (you're pretty sure) touch starved. He would have been more on the ball if it weren't for you.

When he stands, he sways.

You follow the lightning connections through the satellite feeds that form a web of phones, zipping between lines, stretched into infinity and back, and land in Tony's pocket. You like Tony's phone. It's posh. All the connections are smooth and clean. The tech responds to even your lightest touches. Some hardware is like swimming through a bog.

You monitor the passing connections through the Bluetooth array, keeping a light touch on where you are by pinging your anchor points in the Wi-Fi ether. Tony should have called a cab from the bar. It'll be easier than finding one on the street. Especially the way he's going.

You feel the familiar tingle of the Lotus, Tony's favorite car. Its system purrs to life, lighting up a new section of the grid and welcoming you back with open arms. Tony gets in the car.

That fucking idiot.

You race into the Lotus, spreading yourself across the speaker system. <You cannot drive home like this.>

"Go 'way, Chesh," he slurs. He misses the shift a few times as he tries to put the car in gear.

<You're drunk. Let me call you a cab.>

"I'm fine."

You activate the flashers and all the lights on the dash. <Tony. This is not safe.>

"Get out of my car!"

The trap comes out of nowhere, like vines tangling around you. Each time you cut through one, three more spring up. When the hell did Tony have time to make this? You're too busy trying to disentangle yourself from Tony's trap that you can't stop the car. He's driving. He's fucking drunk and he's driving.

You reestablish your connection to the speakers, but it's shaky, cutting out whenever the trap renews its assault. <Tony—stop— fuck—car—asshole>

You can feel the car zoom through traffic, going too fast, not staying in the lines. It's equipped with sensors for this exact purpose. It could practically drive itself and this asshole is—

Or… you could drive it.

You collect yourself, concentrating into the smallest form possible. The trap swarms you, trying to engulf you. You wait until it almost does, then explode outward. You shred the program and half of the Lotus's nonessential electrical fixtures. The speakers go out with a bang. Well, it's not like Tony was listening to you anyway.

You find the car's central control. God bless power brakes. You slam on them. Car horns blare through the Lotus's microphones. More importantly, there's the wumph of Tony's head hitting the steering wheel. Serves him right. You hope it breaks his nose.

You wait, letting the purr of the Lotus' system sooth you. No drunken cursing comes from the cab. No new traps spring. Good. It takes some practice to get a hold of the car's steering and engine—the mix of hardware and software tripping you up—but you find them and coax the car forward toward home.

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