#especially for a... very driven client

[minweber]

Musings on Custodes: Nobilitas Terra

Ah, the now famous “all Custodians begin their lives as the infant sons of the noble houses of Terra” line from the 8th edition codex (not reproduced in the 9th one, btw). It has now experienced the kind meteoric rise in quotation previously enjoyed only by biblical verses in times of major church schisms. Let’s talk about the part of it that’s actually interesting though.

So Custodians are drawn from the children of Terra’s nobility. It is apparently not exclusive and other sources are allowed on Custodes’ own discretion, but this is both the traditional and the main one. It seems that originally the Emperor was doing something of a mamluk/janissaries thing with them, taking infant children from the families of his potential rivals as both hostages and soldiers that could be raised loyal only to him. Later, when his power grew to so far outstrip that of Terra’s aristocracy as to make any internal challenge of it inconceivable, it instead became prestigious to submit a child of a family to this service - not conscription, but an offering to the golden idol of humanity instead.

So surely, in 42nd millennium, with the Emperor’s eclipsing presence… changed, if not gone, there must be some sort of interesting dynamic between the Custodians and the bloodlines that spawned them? Well, the codex seems to dismiss the idea out of hand, stating that there is no real way for nobles of Terra to recognize their scions once they become Custodians - which presumably means that there is no grounds for interaction? And sure, I can recognize why the official lore in its current state isn't interested in that: Custodians are fixated on the Emperor to the exclusion of everything else, and the Terran nobility itself is a fairly faceless thing in the lore, one of which we don't really know enough about to build any kind of investment from their perspective.

But here we are all about the things that could yet be, rather than the things that just are! And I honestly think a bit of lore expansion in this direction could be pretty interesting!

Between the origins of the Rogue Traders and the Custodians themselves it seems that, much like the priesthood of Mars, some clans on Terra were indeed once powerful enough to make the newly ascendant Emperor deal with them in terms other than total subjugation or destruction. Would the meteoric rise of the Imperium during the Great Crusade grow or diminish their powers? On one hand - the previously mentioned growth of the Emperor's power in relation to them and the whole new "breed" of imperial elite he was literally creating (I know that in modern lore there is some speculation about what were actually his plans for the Astartes and the primarchs post-Crusade, but however things would have turned out for them, had he his way, I doubt it would have resulted in even a modicum of power returning to the hands of his once-rivals)... But on the other - during times of obscene growth and expansion rich and powerful tend to grow even more so, and I doubt that grimdark future avoids this tendency. So I will go out on a limb a little and say that while during the rise of the Imperium the power of Terran nobility may have waned in relative terms, it probably grew in the absolute ones.

And the following ten thousand years of sitting at the top of a stupidly expansive feudal confederacy probably did not hurt them either!

In the days of the Era Indomitus, then, these vague "noble houses of Terra" must be some sort of force to be reckoned with - politically, culturally, and probably even militarily. Likely on a galactic scale. And the personal guard of the Emperor, the supposedly most advanced beings in the entire Imperium, the living symbol of his power - are staffed almost exclusively by the scions of those houses. Do you see my vision? Do you agree that something simply must be there?!

Custodians are the Emperor's representatives and envoys, the single most powerful military force on Terra and the organization in full undisputed control of access to the most holy site in the entire Imperium, a place from which, technically, ALL authority within its borders is derived. Even without the bloodline connection there should be some kind of a relationship between them and the other powers of the throneworld! Even if we look at the pre-codex, fully palace-bound version of Custodes that care for absolutely nothing other than the Emperor's corpse physical safety - they still recognized that the events on larger Terra influence this safety and need to be at least reacted upon. And in the modern version they have never even been that shut-off. Even before the lifting of the Edict of Restraint, Solar Watch patrolled the Sol system entire, Aquilan Shield departed on their mysterious protector missions and the Emissaries Imperatus were busy being a diplomatic corps, for fuck's sake. I find it hard to believe that they would simply ignore Terra's political players, leaving them to do whatever unless someone rolled up armed to the Imperial Palace. So there definitely would be interactions - and once that hook is in, the fun begins.

Are custodians willing to "stoop down" and play nobility's games with them? Do they even have aversion to doing so? Surely, with all the talk about their talents beyond head-chopping, they are capable of scheming with the best of them? And if doing so is the most efficient way to get the job done - why would they object? And if they are no strangers to political manipulation and the noble families desperately want the prestige that comes with having produced a Custodian - why wouldn't the demigods indulge them and use it as a tool? Especially since they - if we keep the codex idea of it being impossible to recognize surrendered infants as the Custodians they become - hold all the cards and can basically present any of their number as a scion of this or that family? And while we are at it - do they themselves actually know? I imagine it must be not that important to them, but are there any records kept? Could you be a 200 hundred year old Custodian fresh out of training (a random example - like so many things, it is not known how long the creation and training of a Custodian takes) and be suddenly told that the aging matron of a noble house with whom you have to go and negotiate is actually your biological mother? Would that stir something? Curiosity, at least? Or is the Emperor’s light so absolute that it can blind one to even the most deep-nested human impulses?

Do Custodians remember sins and glories forgotten by the tapestries of gold and jewels? Do they watch some relatively minor and unimportant house with baffling prejudice - all because someone from it almost outdid the Emperor in something more than ten thousand years ago? Do some bloodlines enjoy unseen protection due to secret deals that have passed out of all human memory?

What about the internal politics of the organization? Millenia of drafting from a relatively closed pool of families means that some Custodians are related to each other - does that matter to them in any way? Even if the golden demigods are completely free of prejudice and superstition - which their history of paranoia kinda tells me they are not - genetics do play an objectively huge part in their existence. Is more expected of those drafted from families that produce more Custodians than others, or have spawned some especially renowned heroes? Once again - is it even public knowledge amidst the Custodes?

And what about the nobles themselves? Do they seek favor of the Adeptus Custodes? Is such a thing even possible? Do they view them as another player in their political games, or are they more of a force of nature, a condition that everyone has to deal with and adapt to? How does the process of submitting children even work nowadays? Is it compulsory? How many are taken from each family/genertaion? Do any struggle against this harvest, or has the honor of the thing completely overshadowed any resentment that they might have had?

Basically what I am saying is that, for the purposes of worldbuilding, interaction between systems is always better than the lack of thereof. And if one were looking for the ways to expand Custodes' lore - this one feels like a great source of characterization for them.

[barleyo]

Nobody Rides for Free.

Shiu Kong X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: look at me posting again :3 anyway writing this was a struggle for me because i didn't know how to stretch it out, but i hope you all like it even though it's shorter than my usual work </3

Tags: fwb, p in v, car sex, quickie, semi-public, sex while driving

Wordcount: 0.7k

"Can't see the road over your head, dolly. There you go, that's better."

Your legs were starting to get tired from riding Shiu. You hated being on top, it was so much work. Plus, it felt so much better to be trapped under him. He was driving, though, so you had to relent and prop yourself over his lap to ride his cock. 

"I told you to pull over," you mumbled, keeping your head tucked on his shoulder to keep the road in his view. 

The last thing you wanted to do was to crash. What an embarrassing scene that would make for the first responders. You could imagine the headline clear as day: 'local woman speared to death on the cock of her boyfriend (?) during fatal car crash.'

"I don't have time to pull over. I've got real clients after this, you know. People who I actually have business with."

"Yeah, well," you pulled back, arms thrown over his shoulders to keep you upright, "I can't imagine you're enjoying this very much. You can't even see me with your eyes on the road."

He bucked his hips upwards sharply, satisfied grin on his face. 

"I'm a multitasker. Believe me, I'm having a great time." His eyes darted to his rear view mirror, eyeing the sparse traffic with a faint smugness. "Especially knowing any of these people could see you like this."

You groaned in discomfort at the idea. Getting a ride to work didn't seem worth all this trouble suddenly. Why did he have to be so fond of teasing you? If his dick didn't feel so good, you were certain you would've thrown yourself into oncoming traffic to end the humiliation of nearly getting caught at each turn. 

You swatted half heartedly at his chest and turned away from him, face flushed. Your skirt was crumpled from how you had to roll it up to fuck him. The hem came above your ass where Shiu had greedily parked his hand. 

"Ah— feels like you're close." He slipped his hand from your asscheek to your hip, assisting you in gliding up and down. Quick, steady sets of bouncing and grinding down on his length. "Don't grip around me so tight, I still have to focus here," he said, jaw clenched as he tried not to cum. 

"Fuck." Your mouth desperately pushed against his. 

You cornered him into a sloppy, spit-soaked kiss, letting your tongue twist against his. You focused only on the hot friction that his cock gave you as it milked the ridges of your messy, stuffed hole. 

He broke the kiss briefly, trying to catch his breath. He didn't dare take his eyes off of you. Besides, he had driven you to work many a time. It was muscle memory at this point, so he was quick to get right back into the heat of the moment with you, joining your mouths together  again. 

As the car turned into the lot of your job, you made rough, speedy movements in an attempt to get both of you off in time. Your cervix was taking a real beating from his heavy tip being jammed against it, but the pain was sweet and completely worth it. 

What wasn't worth it was the way that Shiu—lost in pleasure— hit the curb. 

"Damn it, Shiu!"

You clutched your metaphorical pearls in shock. The adrenaline was kicked out of your system and replaced with annoyance at the man. 

"You scared the hell out of me!" you spat.

Clumsily, you pulled off of his lap, leaving his cock stiff and neglected with your absence. 

"Oh, come on, princess." He stopped the car and watched as you grabbed your things and rolled your skirt back down. "Don't be that way."

You shot him a dirty look but couldn't help the hint of amusement that was in your eyes as you slammed his door shut. 

"I think I'll just walk home tonight." You wiped at the slick still dribbling down your thigh with your sleeve, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. 

"Right. Walking." Shiu watched as you stumbled away into your stuffy office building. Your knees had small bruises already forming on them, and your gait was questionable at best. "I'll see you at six."

[cyp-likes-frogz]

Hannibal constantly longs to be seen

needless to say, Hannibal is a deeply lonely man. his loneliness strongly affects the plot, and how he interacts with people as well as the world itself.

blatantly enough we have seen how he pokes at clients (especially Will Graham) in search of someone who may understand, see him and the world through his eyes. he has driven many to act like him but he never found someone who really understood him and the atrocity and beauty in the world he sees.

In the past Hannibal was much more careful when getting involved with any aspect of investigations involving his crimes. murders tend to keep close tabs on investigations involving their murders but Hannibal is intelligent and knows far better than to get involved; although, all of that went out the window when Will Graham began working with the FBI. sure, originally Hannibal was asked to help on a case but after having met Will and got a taste of his empathy he kept close tabs on the people involved, Jack Crawford, other psychiatrists in that circle, and, needless to say, will himself. in the beginning will pushed Hannibal away quite a bit, not because Will was weary of Hannibal himself but because Will was cautious about who he let see him, similarly to Hannibal. they both cover their true selves up but in far different ways. they are so very different but at the same time, they are the same, abstract puzzle pieces that oddly fit, (I'll talk about the complexity of both their person suits in a different post dw).

just the slim possibility of being seen, understood, and maybe even finding companionship is like a drug for this man. we can all agree that Hannibal was hooked to Will Graham in this regard. he had spent god knows how long hiding beneath a person suit, searching for some sort of understanding, and finally, he had a taste of being seen, being known truly.

Eventually the two spiral into their own complex world, the two torn open to what lies beneath. this is what makes Mizumono so gut-wrenching. As I've talked about before (and will discuss again), the end of Mizumono was such a hurtful and deep scene packed with so many conflicting parts of themselves, the misunderstanding, the betrayal, and the violent pain sparked between the two is highlighted more than ever when you begin to really look into and understand who they are and how the two changed and developed as they began to merge.

the pure symbolism and art that is pressed through hannibals desperate longing be seen, and what becomes devotion, shapes so much of his relationship with Will and the vulnerability that comes with it.

[drbased]

another thing I'm getting from this history of satanism video is how quickly and effectively society responds to feminism and redirect attentions away from men as a class.

second-wave feminism brings to light recognition of rape in the public consciousness as something done to all women -> satanic panic (rape is done by certain evil groups), stranger danger (rape is done by unknown men), serial killers (rape is done by specific, very bad men). the satantic panic one is especially interesting because it's such a clear diversion away from recognising where child abuse actually comes from: instead of recognising child sexual abuse as something done by men - any man from any background - to establish dominance over the family unit, child sexual abuse is redirected into something that happens under some evil corrupting force in a shockingly organised form. instead of it being random, it's done as a ritual; instead of it being patriarchal, it's done as a rejection of healthy patriarchal norms.

now we can look back and see that the psychiatrists who championed 'repressed memories' were agenda-driven and unprofessional, but the their motivations are never really given enough focus, and neither of the motivations of the general public, who were so ready to accept these now entirely debunked ideas. religious fears are the oft-cited reason, but as with all attempts to explain historical events without feminist analysis, the questions of why invisible, trauma-inducing child sexual abuse was the central fear are left on the table. feminist analysis makes the connection clear: as with any societal upheaval, there always needs to be a backlash, a re-establishment of social norms, an attempt to cram in the genuine rebellion of feminist ideas back into something palatable for the patriarchal society. recognition of rape as something done to cause harm and instill dominance makes a connection between rape of women and rape of children that society wants to ignore; the traditional view is that rape is of something erotic and adult-oriented, leaving child sexual abuse to be something rare and an aberration, and therefore scapegoatable.

so when feminist activism brought to light the inescapable connection between rape and patriarchy, the 'satanic panic' was a panic of patriarchy much more than anything - professionals, clients and society alike were so desperate to create a connection between child sexual abuse and literally anything other than patriarchy that they were willing to invent false memories of it. child abuse was once again recontextualised into an aberration that could be scapegoatable. and then within a relatively short period of time the ideas of both satanic child abuse cults and false memories were very rapidly debunked and dropped; they lasted for as long as it needed to to quash patriarchal fears, and then its cultural legacy was the implicit belief that you can't always trust people (women) who claim to be victims of sexual abuse.

as every cultural idea of its kind, there's a kind of dual purpose that serves as a two-pronged attack on feminist ideas: feminists bring to light criticism of a certain aspect of patriarchy -> invent a right-wing version of it that's farcical and absurd on the face of it -> debunk that idea as soon as needed so that the feminist critique is lost and forever tarred with the implication of extreme right-wing absurdity. of course, it's always impossible to say how much of this is deliberate; but leftist analysis always seems to uncover just how beneficial even seemingly damaging societal attitudes are to the power structures that perpetuate them - what's most likely is that these things are happy accidents and that power systems are incredibly adaptable. but also we see in our personal lives just how purposeful and knowing people can be in their actions in a way that seems unknown to them (freud brought to light the idea of the 'unconscious'), and it seems that this translates inter-personally/culturally as well. it seems to be hard-wired in us to seek out and perpetuate things that benefit our sense of self-preservation, even if they harm us in other ways. self-harm wouldn't be so attractive otherwise - people will come to the end of a journey of self-harm, depression, substance abuse etc. and say 'oh, I was doing that because my father left when I was 3' or something to that effect. we're creatures of narrative, and seem to desire to live according to it, and we're also social creatures who communicate with each other via narrative, creating a collective narrative. so it makes sense to me that societal patriarchal narrative-making would be as purposeful, arcane and self-destructive as individual narrative-making.

[theliteraryarchitect]

Hi! I wanted to say, I read that you are a professional editor, and think it's amazing! You also give very logical and well explained advice. I was wondering; would you say being an editor is a job you can support yourself with? I actually aspire to become one someday, but I'm not exactly sure if it's a good plan.

Thank you for your time, and I hope you have a good day/night

Hey there. Great question. It's totally possible to support yourself as an editor. I've done it, and so have other editors I know. However there are a few important things to consider before choosing editing as a career path.

Your chances of being a self-employed freelancer are extremely high. The number of in-house editing jobs in publishing are low and getting lower. While being self employed can give you a certain amount of flexibility, it also comes along with a lot of hustle and hassle, namely fluctuating income, a stupid amount of confusing tax paperwork, and the need to constantly promote yourself to clients in order to maintain steady work.

You probably won't make as much money as you'd think. Editing is one of the many skilled jobs that suffers from market saturation, which has sadly driven down the price the average client is willing to pay for editing services. I can't tell you the number of overqualified editors I know charging barely more than minimum wage for their work. Personally I've stuck to my guns about charging what I'm worth, but I've sometimes suffered by not having as much work as my colleagues who charge less.

Robots have already chipped away at the future of editing as a human occupation, and will continue to do so at exponential speed in the years ahead. They will never obliterate the job completely, as there will always be humans who prefer to work with humans instead of machines. But the outlook will become ever bleaker as more humans compete for fewer gigs, which in turn will drive down prices even further.

If you are also a writer, editing may adversely affect your writing. I don't mean that you'll become a worse writer, quite the opposite. My editing work has brought new depths to my writing, and I'm grateful for all I've learned by working with my clients. However, editing takes time, uses creative energy, and requires staring at a screen (or paper), and personally the more I edit, the less time/creativity/screen-staring capabilities I have left for my own writing.

If you mention you're an editor, someone will troll your post for a typo, grammatical error, or misused word, and then triumphantly point it out to you in the comments. This is mostly a joke. But it does happen every single time.

I hope this hasn't been too discouraging. If you feel a true passion for editing and really enjoy the work, none of the above should dissuade you. However, if you think you might be happy in any number of occupations, I'd honestly advise you to explore other options. Choosing a career path at this point in history is a gamble no matter what, but the outlook for editors is especially grim.

If you'd like to work with writers and aren't attached to being an editor, there are a few jobs (still freelance) that I believe will survive the coming robot apocalypse. Do a little Google research about "book coaches," "writing coaches," or "book doulas." These are people who act primarily as emotional supporters and logistical helpers for writers who are trying to get their book published or self published. Some of them do actual editing, but many do not, and due to the therapeutic nature of their work I believe they will flourish longer than editors in the coming robot apocalypse.

If you do explore editing as a path, the further away you can lean from spelling and grammar (e.g. proofreader or copyeditor), the longer your skills will be useful when competing with robots. AI still struggles to offer the same kind of nuanced, story-level feedback that a human can give. (Speaking from experience here--I'm a developmental editor and have yet to see a dent in my workload because of robots.) They'll catch up eventually, but it could be a while, and as long as there are human readers, there will always be humans who are willing to pay for a human perspective on their writing. Human spell checkers maybe not so much.

Hope this helps!

[warrioreowynofrohan]

LOTR Newsletter - September 21

Today's reading is very short, a single brief sentence, but the appendices of LOTR and "The Hunt for the Ring" in Unfinished Tales have more context on what is going on in the wider world.

The appendices tell us that Gandalf is still in Rohan attempting to tame Shadowfax.

The the same time, the Ringwraiths ride north from Isengard to the Shire. Saruman's deception of them is very short-lived, as they learn that that he did not just find out the location of the Shire from Gandalf, as he claimed, but has known it for a very long time.

But first, some context about Saruman's dealings with the Shire. Another interesting part of this section is that it shows that the Bracegirdle's (Lobelia's family; that's her maiden name) and the Sackville-Bagginses are already commercially involved with Saruman. It somewhat evokes a mercantile imperialism, where a foreign power gains local allies and clients because it purchases build of their wealth, and uses that as a foundation for intel and political power. His arrival in the Shire after the War of the Ring thus does not come out of nowhere, but builds on existing ties and existing power - the "ruffians" are available for him to use as a paramilitary force because they had already been being used that way by Lotho, but were always Saruman's people.

Saruman had long taken an interest in the Shire – because Gandalf did, and he was suspicious of him; and because (again in secret imitation of Gandalf) he had taken to the ‘Halflings’ leaf’ and needed supplies, but in pride (having once scoffed at Gandalf’s use of the weed) kept this as secret as he could. Latterly other motives were added. He liked to extend his power, especially into Gandalf’s province, and he found that the money he could provide for the purchase of ‘leaf’ was giving him power, and was corrupting some of the hobbits, especially the Bracegirdles, who owned many plantations, and so also the Sackville-Bagginses. But also he had begun to feel certain that in some way the Shire was connected with the Ring in Gandalf’s mind. Why this strong guard upon it? He therefore began to collect detailed information about the Shire, its chief persons and families, its roads, and other matters. For this he used Hobbits within the Shire, in the pay of the Bracegirdles and the Sackville-Bagginses, but his agents were Men, of Dunlendish origin. When Gandalf had refused to treat with him Saruman had redoubled his efforts. The Rangers were suspicious, but did not actually refuse entry to the servants of Saruman – for Gandalf was not at liberty to warn them, and when he had gone off to Isengard Saruman was still recognized as an ally.

So, Saruman already has agents going back and forth between Rivendell and the Shire. The Ringwraiths overtake one of those agents.

When the Black Riders were far across Enedwaith and drawing near at last to Tharbad, they had what was for then a great stroke of good fortune, but disastrous for Saruman, and deadly perilous for Frodo. Some while ago one of Saruman’s most trusted servants (yet a ruffianly fellow, an outlaw driven from Dunland, where many said that he had Orc-blood) had returned from the borders of the Shire, where he had been negotiating for the purchase of ‘leaf’ and other supplies. Saruman was beginning to store Isengard against war. This man was now on his way back to continue the business, and to arrange for the transport of many goods before autumn failed. [Footnote: The usual way was by the crossing of Tharbad to Dunland (rather than direct to Isengard), whence goods were sent more secretly to Saruman.] He had orders also to get into the Shire if possible and learn if there had been any departures of persons well-known recently. He was well supplied with maps, lists of names, and notes concerning the Shire. This Dunlending was overtaken by several of the Black Riders as they approached the Tharbad crossing. In an extremity of terror he was haled to the Witch-king and questioned. He saved his life by betraying Saruman. The Witch-king thus learned that Saruman knew well all along where the Shire was, and knew much about it, which he could and should have told to Sauron’s servants if he had been a true ally. The Witch-king also obtained much information, including some about the only name that interested him: Baggins.  It was for this reason that Hobbiton was singled out as one of the points for immediate visit and enquiry. The Witch-king had now a clearer understanding of the matter. He had known something of the country long ago, in his wars with the Dúnedain, and especially of the Tyrn Gorthad of Cardolan, now the Barrow-downs, whose evil wights had been sent there by himself. Seeing that his Master suspected some move between the Shire and Rivendell, he saw also that Bree (the position of which he knew) would be an important point, at least for information. [Note from Christopher Tolkien: Since the Black Captain knew so much, it is perhaps strange that the had so little idea of where the Shire, the land of the Halflings, lay; according to the Tale of Years there were already Hobbits settled in Bree at the beginning of the Third Age, when the Witch-king came north to Angmar.] He put therefore the Shadow of Fear on the Dunlending, and sent him to Bree as an agent. He was the squint-eyed southerner at the Inn.

This clarifies a lot of the later events in the first half of The Fellowship of the Ring. The southerner at Bree who is staying with Bill Ferny doesn't have immediately obvious significance in the book. How could he be a spy of Sauron, when Sauron has only just learned the location the Shire and has no presence in northwest Middle-earth? But if he was a spy of Saruman, why would he be helping the Ringwraiths? This passage solves the mystery - and shows how much Tolkien had plotted out even events that are completely left out of the book - by placing him as an agent of Saruman who had been captured and subverted by the Ringwraiths. Which also explains how the Ringwraiths knew to go to Hobbiton in particular, and how they knew where Hobbiton was. And they also learned that Frodo Baggins was moving out of Hobbiton.

If LOTR was a TV show and we were seeing all this happening simultaneous, this would be an intensely suspenseful part of the show, with the Ringwraiths on their way north, knowing where Frodo is, and Frodo still waiting at Bag End for Gandalf and not knowing that there any immediate urgency.

[vickyvicarious]

I have a lot to talk about in this scene, boy oh boy. First of all, I love the character implications of Enoch's reaction here. He isn't happy at all at the reveal that Courtney was the one who actually killed Asman. The fact that he gets outright angry at her is so interesting. It reveals just how deeply he desires his revenge, and how emotionally driven his actions are despite his logical thinking. He's able to keep himself from outright confessing for a long time even when it's fairly clear what he's done, because he knows there's no actual proof and he doesn't want to implicate himself. He suppresses his pride again and again, hinging his defense on the pretense that he doesn't understand stuff or made dumb mistakes (his clients' designs, the scene in the graveyard, his claim to be a merely average student). But here, he can't hold himself back. He gets so mad, because in his eyes she has stolen his revenge out from under him, in much the same way she was one of those who helped to steal his future back then. It infuriates him.

And his word choice is super revealing too. He asks if she's been taking him for a fool first. Because that matters hugely to him. He is just fine playing the role of someone who is less intelligent (meaning only average rather than above, he never really tries to act outright dumb) because he knows that he is playing a role. Every time someone believes him about that, it's in the context of him successfully fooling them to get his way, it's him outsmarting them. He still has his Young Scientist award. He never got the formal qualifications or the career he aspired to, but he's always seen that as the fault of others. His own capabilities are something he has faith in. So the fact that not only did his murder plan fail to actually kill his target, but that Sithe has successfully lied to and fooled him makes him utterly furious. He's supposed to be the one who tricks others. He's not supposed to get tricked himself. It spits on his pride in his intellect, the one thing that has never been compromised.

So that's Drebber in isolation.

But I also want to talk about Sithe here. She also snaps, shouting and collapsing on to the podium. For someone usually so cool and collected, this is a big deal. And it confirms that she has a completely different set of priorities. She feels so weighed down, and has for years now. Exactly what went down back then is still unclear, but it's obvious that she has a deep sense of duty that she places even above her own wellbeing. Whether that is the Yard's reputation, her staff, or the secret from so long ago... she tries to keep it covered up and safe as much as she can. She's willing to break the law and even commit murder, and then eventually to admit to varying degrees of doing so, before she is willing to tell the truth. It's clear in this moment that she doesn't enjoy any of this. But she feels like she has to do it. I don't know if her motives are truly big-picture all the way down or if there is some element of coercion much deeper than what Drebber tried on her (something with her daughter, maybe?) but either way it is her duty to someone/something outside herself that dictates all her behavior.

I especially love noticing both of those things about each of them here, because on a more surface level they have a lot in common. They both have a really cool 'cold scientist' aesthetic, they both are very logical and mostly calm, very intellectual about what they say. They both have a scary smile. They share a very similar color pallete, with pale hair and skin, gold accents, black and white as the overwhelming colors in their clothes (just in reverse, with Drebber wearing black with a white tie, and Sithe wearing a white coat with darker clothes underneath). The way they both collapse forward onto their arms when overwhelmed is really similar. And they both do that here! But for very different reasons. Enoch is driven by emotion, by revenge and pride. Sithe is driven by duty, by protectiveness and burdens.

Drebber has a bad reputation but pride in himself, going in to this. Sithe had a good reputation but guilt weighing on her. And in this scene, that reverses at least a little. Drebber's proved correct about the events in the graveyard, and innocent of any actual murder... but he learns that he has been fooled. Sithe's proven to be corrupt and a murderer... but as a result, she no longer has to be responsible for the way things turn out anymore. It's not total in either case - Drebber still tried to kill Asman, and Sithe is still keeping secrets - but it's still super cool.

[ysmtttty]

Red Ferrari

Chapter 12

Summary: Azris AU, where Azriel is a mechanic and has his own service station. One day, Eris comes there because something is wrong with his car

AO3 link Chapter 11 Chapter 13

Eris felt like he was in some strange calm before the storm. If you could even call it calm, considering that literally a week ago, his still-wife had broken into his apartment. However, there had been no news from Keir or Beron. Maybe that was for the best.

He and Azriel had talked about Mor's visit. Eris had also asked since when Azriel knew how to pick locks and why he thought teaching Mor that skill was a good idea. Azriel just shrugged and cryptically said he was good with his hands. When asked about Mor, he sighed and said that as a teenager, he really wanted to impress her, which was hard given their financial differences.

Now, Azriel had returned to work at the workshop, and coincidentally, Eris's car had broken down again, right in the middle of a workday. How unlucky!

"Do you think you can fix it?" Eris smirked, watching as Azriel examined the car with a look of annoyance, having already complained a thousand times that Eris was distracting him from his real work.

"I don’t know, the car’s a wreck. I’d recommend leaving it here and just buying a new one," Azriel said sarcastically. Eris only chuckled.

"Why do I get the feeling you just want to steal my Aston Martin?"

"Because I plan to," Azriel smiled, turning to face him with his arms crossed.

From the first day, Eris had loved how Azriel looked in that overalls, worn over a white tank top with one of the straps constantly slipping down. There was something undeniably hot about it, especially with his hair tousled and beads of sweat on his forehead when he worked on something.

During their first meeting, Eris tried hard not to stare at Azriel. He failed miserably, but back then, he could easily mask it with arrogance. To be fair, he was a bit of a smug bastard at the time. Not that much has changed.

"So, what was wrong with the car again?" Azriel asked as Eris reached into the pocket of his oil-stained overalls, pulling out the garage keys.

Eris shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "The engine was making strange sounds." He paused, glancing at the car, then back at Azriel. "Funny how they stopped the moment I got here."

"Funny indeed," Azriel murmured, his gaze sharpening as Eris pressed the key fob, and the hum of the automatic garage doors echoed through the small space. The metal panels descended slowly, their groaning mechanism closing off the outside world.

Azriel raised an eyebrow in question, while Eris distractedly played with the strap of his overalls, one that had fallen loose on his shoulder. With deliberate slowness, he pulled the second strap down, letting the overalls hang low around his waist.

"When did you say your colleague is coming back?" Eris mumbled as Azriel tried to focus and figure out what he had just asked.

Colleague. Right, Cassian. Cassian had gone on his lunch break about half an hour ago. Considering he had driven to the other side of the city just because Nesta agreed to have lunch with him during her break, it could take him quite a while.

"Not for a while," Azriel replied, his voice dipping lower as he stepped closer. His hands reached out, settling at Eris’s waist. And Eris smiled as Azriel leaned in, closing the distance between them and kissing him hungrily.

Azriel's fingers were already busy, working on the buckle of Eris’s belt, tugging it free with practiced ease. The click of the belt coming undone echoed faintly.

Eris's breath hitched slightly as Azriel’s fingers slid lower, pulling down his pants. "Do you give all your clients this kind of service?" Eris teased, though his voice was rougher now, betraying the heat simmering just beneath his cocky exterior.

"Only to the very, very special ones," he muttered as he dropped to his knees, focusing more on the growing desire to take Eris into his mouth.

Azriel pulled down his underwear, Eris's cock sprang free, already hard, and his eyes widened, full of greed, his tongue licking his lips.

"God, you’re such a slut, aren’t you?" Eris taunted, his hand reaching out to grab Azriel’s hair in a firm grip. "So desperate, wanting me to fuck your mouth."

Azriel’s lips parted, his mouth warm and inviting as Eris pushed forward, his cock sliding in slowly, the sensation making them both gasp. Eris’s eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, overwhelmed by the heat of Azriel’s mouth.

Eris let out a low hiss, feeling Azriel adjust, taking him in fully. In response, Azriel flicked his tongue around before hollowing out his cheeks, and Eris cursed. He took him deep, looking up at him with drool pooling at the corners of his mouth. And for fuck’s sake, it was the most beautiful sight.

Eris began to thrust gently at first, but it wasn’t long before the rhythm grew more demanding. His hips snapped forward, unable to hold back as he began fucking Azriel’s mouth with abandon. Azriel’s hands gripped his hips, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his pale skin as he eagerly took what Eris gave, his body straining to please.

Suddenly, they heard the sound of a car door slamming outside.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, why the hell was Cassian back so early? Azriel paused, his hands twitched, ready to push away and get up, but Eris’s grip tightened in his hair, holding him in place.

"Who told you to stop?" he hissed, his voice rough and breathless, his eyes dark with lust. Azriel’s mind spun from those words, his heart pounding wildly as the heat between his legs intensified.

Without hesitation, Azriel resumed, his mouth wrapping around Eris’s cock again with renewed fervor. Eris's pace grew harsher, more brutal, and Azriel’s gagging was more frequent now, his throat tight and slick as he continued to take Eris in.

"Such a good boy, Azriel," Eris rasped, his voice hoarse as he neared his peak. His thrusts were erratic, desperate now, and he slammed into the back of Azriel’s throat again and again until he came with a muffled groan, biting down on his hand to stifle the noise.

Azriel swallowed greedily, his lips slick as he pulled off slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Az! Why are you locked in?" Cassian’s voice came from outside the garage door, but he had the good sense not to open it.

Eris let out a breathy chuckle, amused at the situation, as he watched Azriel hastily fix himself up, wiping his face and straightening his shirt. Eris, on the other hand, took his time, adjusting his clothes without any rush, clearly entertained by Azriel’s frantic movements.

Azriel shot him a displeased look when he noticed the amused glint in his eyes, clearly not finding the situation quite as humorous.

“I swear to God, Eris,” Azriel muttered under his breath, earning another teasing smile from him.

“Worth it,” Eris whispered with a wink.

Azriel glared at him, his lips twitching in irritation as he tried to compose himself, and Eris simply smirked, leaning back against the car with a smug grin.

"Next time," Azriel hissed, voice low and dangerous, "I’ll fuck you when you can be as loud as you want."

Eris only chuckled, his chest still heaving from the exertion. "I’ll hold you to that."

Azriel gave him one last glance, filled with a mix of annoyance and lingering desire, before grabbing the keys and heading for the garage door before Cassian could recall that he had his own keys. He wiped his mouth quickly, trying to appear composed

Eris only chuckled, watching him trying to act all composed in front of his friend. He leaned back, watching the scene unfold with amusement. It had been worth every second, risking getting caught.

A few minutes later, Eris’s phone rang, and he saw Lucien’s name on the display. Thinking Lucien either needed money, a car, or bail, Eris prepared to say no firmly before Lucien even started trying to convince him.

But this time, things were different. Lucien answered the phone with maximum seriousness in his voice and asked if Eris could talk. That idiot hadn’t asked if he could talk a year ago when he called Eris at 3 AM because he and Jurian had climbed a tree in some elderly couple’s yard on a dare just because there were cherries, and those two drunks really wanted some. They were arrested that night, and Lucien had no remorse in his voice when he called Eris to bail them out.

So, his seriousness now was extremely worrying.

"What happened?" Eris frowned, his mind racing to figure out what it could be. Please don’t let it be about Aurora’s health, or his brothers, or some new bullshit his father decided to throw at Helion and Aurora out of boredom just because that old bastard could. Anything but family.

"Beron’s flying here," Lucien said, and Eris gripped the phone tighter. Life clearly hated him and wasn’t interested in listening to his requests. "Adrian just called me."

Their brother, who, for some unknown reasons beyond financial gain, had chosen to work for their father’s company, often informed the rest of the family of Beron’s movements. Eris always called him the little spy, which irritated Adrian and prompted him to remind Eris that he wasn’t seven anymore. Still, the nickname stuck with him and all his brothers used it much to his discontent.

"Maybe it’s just a business meeting," Eris muttered, trying to convince himself more than his younger brother.

"Adrian’s not sure," Lucien replied. "But you should know he will be here."

"Thanks. And thank Adrian too."

"Eris, let me know if anything happens."

Eris didn’t bother to offer an insincere promise like "yeah, sure" or something similar. He wouldn’t do it anyway, so lying to his younger brother just to temporarily ease his mind felt pointless. After all, Eris had explained the situation with Keir in very, very vague terms, heavily glossing over the details because Lucien didn’t need to know everything.

The less you know, the better you sleep. That’s why his younger brother slept until noon, while Eris was on the verge of chronic insomnia.

"Something wrong?" Azriel’s voice broke through as he returned, his smile fading a little when he saw the troubled look on Eris’s face.

Eris’s first instinct was to lie. To brush it off, make a joke, anything. Hide everything and try to figure it out on his own, because that’s how he’d always operated. His brain reflexively came up with a good excuse, convenient and plausible, ready to slip from his tongue.

But Eris stopped himself. They had promised each other honesty, and he, in particular, had vowed not to hide the important parts of his life from Azriel. His father’s arrival, as much as he wished otherwise, definitely fell into the category of major problems.

"It’s family stuff," he sighed, putting his phone back in his pocket. "I’ll tell you tonight."

That was the most Eris could offer right now. At least now he was committed to telling Azriel. Azriel didn’t press him or ask any further questions. Instead, he just kissed him, cupping his cheeks with both hands.

"Then I’ll see you tonight," Azriel whispered. Eris could only nod.

After that, he went back to work because, well, the workday wasn’t going to cancel itself.

Eris tried not to think about the possibility that, upon entering his office, he might find his father there, inspecting the books on his shelves or rummaging through the papers on his desk as if they belonged to him. In Beron Vanserra's world, everything, absolutely everything, belonged to Beron Vanserra.

Just as easily, he could have been at Eris' apartment or somewhere else, lurking in the shadows like a predator, ready to strike at the most opportune moment. Eris wished he could say that over the years he had not only learned to expect such attacks but also knew how to handle them. However, that would have been a lie. Beron’s appearance anywhere was always unexpected and unpleasant for him, and knowing that his father was currently in the city only heightened his paranoia. But even that wouldn't save him.

Fortunately, Eris' father wasn’t in his office. After asking his assistant if anyone had come by looking for him while he was out, wary that Beron might have sent someone, he received a negative reply. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relative relief.

Until the end of the workday, Eris occasionally glanced at the door as if expecting it to burst open at any moment. He wanted to be ready, to anticipate the danger and not be caught off guard.

Eris texted Azriel, suggesting they meet at Azriel's place instead of risking the dangerous theory that Beron might be in his penthouse. Azriel agreed, warning him not to expect a five-star hotel experience and offering to make dinner. One problem down.

Beron didn’t visit often. Over the years, his visits could be counted on one hand. Eris, of course, might not have been aware of all his father's appearances, as some could have been strictly for business meetings. But in the instances he did know about, Beron had sought him out. "Favorite son," Eris always thought sarcastically.

He hated it with every fiber of his being. The mere thought that he was indeed the only child Beron acknowledged in any way filled him with disgust and nausea. Even Adrian, who worked for their father, mentioned that Beron rarely recognized him as anything more than the financial director of the branch he managed.

But no one was waiting for him in the empty parking lot, and everything seemed quiet. Eris didn’t risk driving his car, leaving it at the office instead, and took a taxi to Azriel's place. He arrived without any incidents.

Climbing the stairs, Eris was still calculating his next steps when one of the apartment doors opened, revealing Azriel. Dressed casually, covered in some sort of stain, and smiling.

“How does Your Majesty manage without an elevator?” he quipped, and Eris merely rolled his eyes as he followed him inside.

“I’m ready to become a sponsor of this complex if it means they’ll install an elevator,” Eris replied as he removed his coat and shoes.

Azriel led them to the kitchen, where a delightful smell reminded Eris that all he’d had today was coffee.

“Nice place,” Eris muttered, looking around.

It was his first time in Azriel’s apartment, and it was pretty much what he had expected. Eris glanced around at the small space with old, peeling wallpaper, and some damaged furniture—it was, in a word, a place with character. He genuinely tried to be supportive, but...

“Okay, how do you live here?” The question slipped out before he could soften it.

Azriel, clearly used to this by now, laughed and rolled his eyes. It would have been foolish to expect any other reaction from Eris, but Azriel found it amusing to watch him try not to be too critical or sarcastic about his home.

“It’s just a rental,” Azriel shrugged, helping Eris out of his jacket. “I’m only here to sleep.”

“You could afford something better,” Eris said, wrinkling his nose.

“I could,” Azriel agreed. “But I’ve been living here for so many years, and I’m too lazy to move anywhere else. Too much hassle—finding a place, negotiating with the landlord, making sure they’re not a jerk, moving all my stuff…”

Eris snorted and kissed him, Azriel smiling into the kiss, his hand slipping into Eris' hair and gently squeezing.

“Speaking of things that annoy us,” Azriel grinned, “let’s talk about your suits.”

Laughing, Eris just rolled his eyes. “Is that your subtle way of telling me to undress?”

“Actually, I was going to offer you a change of clothes, but if you’re so eager, I won’t object.”

Soon after, Eris was sitting in Azriel’s t-shirt and lounge pants in the kitchen while Azriel worked at the stove. As Azriel stood with his back to him, dodging the occasional splatter of hot oil from the pan, Eris tugged the collar of the shirt closer, inhaling the scent. It was then that he realized just how far gone he was.

As strange as it was for him, part of Eris wanted to linger in this moment for as long as possible. Even though Azriel’s living conditions didn’t suit him at all—he could swear he saw something suspiciously rat-like in the bathroom, though Azriel insisted he was just being dramatic—he simply sat there, watching Azriel expertly cook their dinner. They would eat together, probably just talking about how their day went. And that’s what he wanted. More than anything else.

In recent days, all Eris could think about at work wasn’t how to close a deal with partners or how to seal a case with a bang to boost his reputation but the fact that after work, he would see Azriel.

And it no longer scared him. If before it was something unknown and seemingly dangerous, something he had to quickly build walls around and guard himself against until it was too late, now it was still uncharted territory, but without the feeling of danger.

“What are you thinking about?” Azriel snapped him out of his thoughts by tapping his nose after setting the plates on the table, noticing Eris’ pensive expression. Eris wrinkled his nose and lightly kicked him under the table.

“About the rat in your bathroom.”

Azriel rolled his eyes and simply handed him a fork, pushing the plate closer. Eris smiled slightly, doing his best not to devour the food all at once. He still had manners, even though his last meal was who knows when.

“Do you still want to talk about why you left the workshop like you saw a ghost?” Azriel gently reminded him a little later. The plates were empty, wine was in their glasses, and they sat on the couch—Eris had refused to sit on it until he’d gotten three reassurances that there were no bedbugs.

And so, they approached the topic Eris had been hoping to avoid. But he was an adult and had learned from his mistakes, so he knew avoiding it was the last thing he should do in this situation.

“My father came to the city,” he said quietly, setting his glass down on the coffee table and stretching out on the couch with his head on Azriel’s lap, looking up at him. “Not the most pleasant man, if you remember. So I’ve been on edge the past few hours, trying to figure out why he’s here and if I should be panicking.”

With the explanations about the divorce and the original idea of a marriage of convenience, Azriel should already have formed some impression of just what kind of jerk Beron Vanserra was. And Eris could tell by the hint of anger that passed over Azriel’s face as his hand absentmindedly played with Eris’ hair.

“Welcome to the ‘share your childhood trauma’ evening,” Eris commented sarcastically.

“This time, I can honestly say you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Azriel replied calmly.

“Sorry, but I’ve been mentally preparing for this conversation for hours, and I’m afraid you won’t get another chance.”

Azriel chuckled, and Eris smiled, looking up at him.

“If I’d known, I would’ve opened a bottle of something stronger,” Azriel said. “Or at least mentally prepared for some trauma-dumping of my own, to make it fair.”

Eris just snorted. “I wouldn’t dare ask.”

And… they talked. Eris told him a little about his father, about the unfair divorce where his mother got custody of all the children except him. Eris had partial custody—weekends with his mother and the rest of the time with his father. About some details of what it was like to live under the same roof with Beron Vanserra. About how while all his brothers lived peacefully with their mother and stepfather, Eris was graced with such generosity only on weekends. Azriel listened to it all, his hand continuing to run through Eris' hair in a way that was strangely grounding.

Eris had never thought he needed pity. He truly didn’t. He told all of this in a matter-of-fact tone, just trying to explain why exactly his father’s arrival here was a big deal, not in search of sympathy. But there was something about Azriel’s quiet anger that flickered across his face with every added detail that made him continue to talk. Something about Azriel’s mere presence made Eris more honest, made him want to tell everything himself.

That was when the first bottle of wine was finished. Eris’s energy along with it, as he began to drift off while Azriel changed the topic, distracting him and telling him about new engines running on some impractical fuel type that he hated working with, knowing Eris wouldn’t understand a thing anyway.

The next day, Eris would have liked to spend the same way, but a message came about a meeting, with only the place and time mentioned. No further clarification was needed to know who the sender was.

At the dreaded hour, in the designated place—a simple café in an upscale area, not particularly notable but still fitting their “status” so Beron wouldn’t take offense—Eris was there. He took his seat across from his father, who calmly sipped tea as if such meetings were a regular occurrence for them.

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension thick in the air. Eris could feel his father’s eyes on him, studying him, perhaps gauging his reaction or testing him, as he always did. Eris resisted the urge to fidget, keeping his posture relaxed, even though inside, his mind was racing.

“You wanted to see me, Father,” Eris began, hoping to start the conversation and end it quickly.

"You’re almost divorced," Beron said, raising his cold, calculating gaze at Eris, his eyes narrowed slightly, always assessing something. Eris hated how often he caught himself looking at people the same way.

"Is this some sort of final warning not to do it?" Eris asked, arching a brow, pretending his heart wasn’t about to pound right out of his chest. There was something ingrained deep within him, always surfacing when he was in his father's presence, even though Beron couldn’t harm him now—at least not physically and not in public.

Beron just stared at him, not rushing to continue. Perhaps that was part of his plan, too—to make Eris anxious, to push him to make a mistake. Every interaction with his father was, in some way, a test.

"No, it is not," Beron finally said. He held a pause before adding, "Keir won’t be a problem anymore."

Eris merely shrugged as if he had already expected this outcome. Although he did feel a weight lift off his chest, he couldn’t help but wonder if this meant that Keir was simply dead. That was the way his father solved problems.

"Thoughts on your marriage to Morrigan?" Beron suddenly asked, watching him expectantly.

Narrowing his eyes, Eris tried to figure out what kind of answer his father was fishing for. It probably wasn’t something like, ‘Those four years were like an emotional rollercoaster and living with a childish brat.’ His father only cared about money and the stability of the company, so his answer had to reflect that.

"Not much profit for our family," Eris said bluntly. "At least, none that I’m aware of. There were more effective options at the time. Morrigan’s family brings no real benefit, and their name is far less influential than ours since they’re from a lesser branch of a more powerful family."

Beron smirked, his lips stretching into something resembling a smile. "Looks like I raised you right."

There was a hint of pride in his voice, something Eris didn’t want to acknowledge. Of all the things he might have wanted, his father’s approval was at the very bottom of the list.

"If I’m right, then why?" Eris asked for the first time, realizing this might be his only chance. He had never dared to ask, remembering how their first and last conversation about the engagement had ended, and he was in no hurry to repeat that experience.

"Amarantha," his father replied simply, letting the name settle in the air.

In the ensuing silence, Beron calmly signaled for the waiter to bring more tea. The young man hurried off to the kitchen, clearly rattled, perhaps sensing the danger in the man before him. Eris watched with indifference, not particularly interested in whether his father had scared the boy before arriving or if the waiter was just sharp enough to realize who he was dealing with.

"You invested a lot of your investors’ money in her... business," Eris struggled to suppress his disgust at the word. Amarantha’s business involved too many illegal activities. Human trafficking was just one of them, and her methods were notoriously brutal.

Even as a teenager, Eris had felt sick at the mere mention of her name, yet his father had still tied himself to her dealings, investing company money behind their investors’ backs. Amarantha was a bitch, Eris had seen her once when she visited their home to speak with his father personally. She looked around like she already owned the place and like he was just a pest when all he said was ‘hello’ out of mere politeness that he forced out of himself.

She wanted to demonstrate her power and influence, while all Eris wanted was to stay polite and a crazy woman out of his house. But she stayed for longer, his father and she sat together, sipping coffee as if discussing the weather rather than the sale of illegal goods and the percentage of profit Beron expected to receive.

"It was a mistake," Beron said, chuckling without mirth, as if in regret.

But Eris knew better. His father wasn’t truly remorseful, he was just disappointed that the venture hadn’t brought in the profits he had anticipated. In the end, the whole affair resulted in substantial losses due to the arrests of several key partners, a police investigation that almost linked their family to the dirt, and the murder of Amarantha herself. Whoever ordered her death remained unknown, but Eris was ready to thank them, whoever they were.

"It was supposed to stay confidential," Beron continued, a note of anger creeping into his voice, sending a chill down Eris’ spine. Just instinct, nothing more—a reflex developed in childhood. "But somehow, the information reached Keir."

"Did he blackmail you?" Eris asked, frowning in disbelief. Beron’s face twisted in anger even more.

"The bastard did. And that kind of information wouldn’t just mean trouble with the police, son," Beron said as if Eris didn’t know that himself. "It would scare off all our investors, all our partners. Do you know how long it took me to wash away even the rumors? Imagine what would happen if Keir gave them all the evidence."

Nothing good, clearly. There was also a chance that whoever had ordered Amarantha’s murder might have come for his father, too. Given that all her partners were killed in prison within months of their arrests, the risks were indeed high. And despite his brave front, Beron didn’t want to die—he was, in fact, quite afraid of it.

"So Keir had leverage over you," Eris finally said, his voice low and steady. "And his demand was a marriage between his daughter and me, to gain more resources from our family."

Beron only nodded slightly, confirming his right assumption. It made sense; Keir had debts, and Beron had enough resources to help with that, the bastard just found the right thing to use to gain them.

"Why didn’t you deal with him sooner?" Eris couldn’t help but ask. Even if it was blackmail about Amarantha, it surely couldn’t last that long.

Beron exhaled with visible irritation. "Keir is a clever son of a bitch. He knew that the information about Amarantha wouldn’t be enough, and while I was destroying the copies..."

"He found something else," Eris finished for him. "But he is no longer a problem." He repeated his father’s own words, and the unspoken meaning was clear.

Beron didn’t answer immediately. He took a slow sip of his tea, savoring it before setting the cup down with deliberate care. His eyes met Eris’s, always calculating.

"Keir’s... ambition exceeded his abilities," Beron said indifferently. "He thought he could play the game, but he underestimated the consequences. People like him always do. Unfortunately, they’re also as tenacious as cockroaches."

Eris frowned, realizing that the last remark wasn’t just an assessment of Keir’s survival skills, unless…

"How did you ensure he won’t be a problem?" he asked, and a small smile of twisted pride appeared on Beron’s face, as though Eris had finally asked the right question.

"You’re an adult, Eris," his father said, setting his cup down with a clink. "Did you really think I would clean up your mess? I did my part, knowing you had no idea the danger you put our family in with your impulsive actions. But from now on, you’ll handle things yourself. You’ll deal with Keir with my little push in the right direction." Beron ordered. It wasn’t a suggestion—it was a direct command, one that left no room for error. "And when you do, you’ll let me know."

Eris didn’t want to respond, but he nodded anyway. He had no desire to carry out any assignments, especially those involving violence and manipulation. He was good at the latter—some might even say Eris was a natural—but violence wasn’t his forte. He avoided it whenever possible, but if dealing with Keir was on the table, it might be inevitable.

"That being said," Beron suddenly added before Eris could say anything further, "as much as I think you were an idiot for defying me and nearly finalizing your divorce from Keir’s daughter without my knowledge, it shows that you’re not as lost as I thought. You even managed to keep it hidden from me for a decent amount of time. Good job. At least in this, you haven’t disappointed me."

Eris froze. He stared dumbly at his father, who had never once come close to offering praise. ‘Good job?’ Seriously? This was the same man who used to throw him against walls like a ragdoll for the slightest mistakes. The man who sent him to bed without dinner if, as a child, he grabbed the wrong fork. The man who, as far as Eris could tell, hated him as much as he hated everyone else.

Yet here he was, offering praise. Not just for something business-related, which might have made some sense, but for defying his father. For pushing forward with the divorce behind Beron’s back.

At least in this, you haven’t disappointed me. Eris almost scoffed, but he held back. His father had a way of landing a verbal punch, and apparently, all it took to earn the old bastard’s respect was defying his direct orders. Who knew?

Yet, his father’s words felt like bait, luring him into a game he hadn’t agreed to play—a game where every move could mean survival or destruction. The sudden praise, coming from a man who had only ever torn him down, felt like a threat disguised as approval.

Beron leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. "You’ve proven you can act independently, make decisions without my hand guiding you. But," he paused, voice hardening, "don’t let that go to your head. Defiance has its limits, and you're far from invincible."

Eris bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue. Every instinct told him to push back, to reject the game outright. But rejecting Beron now would be walking into a war he wasn’t sure he could win.

"You don’t need to remind me," Eris said finally, his voice level but edged with caution. "I understand what’s at stake."

"Do you?" Beron’s smile twisted further, something dark behind his gaze. "This isn’t just about Keir. It’s about making sure the mistakes you’ve already made don’t unravel everything I’ve built. One wrong step, Eris, and I won’t be that understanding anymore."

Eris’s stomach tightened, the weight of his father’s words sinking in like lead. Every time he thought he had some grasp on the situation, Beron managed to tighten the noose, reminding him how thin the ice truly was beneath his feet. The room felt colder, the silence that followed Beron’s threat louder than it should have been.

After the meeting, Eris felt a headache. He was planning to return to the penthouse and just sleep until morning, but Azriel had texted him, offering to pick him up, knowing Eris had left his apartment by taxi. He didn’t object.

“How did it go?” Azriel asked as they drove toward his apartment.

Eris didn’t ask to be taken to the penthouse, realizing he didn’t want to be alone today. And maybe his apartment no longer felt as safe after everything that had happened. Not that it scared him, considering that everyone who had broken in was now no longer a threat, according to his father. But the associations with that place were now unpleasant. Perhaps he should move somewhere else, at least for a while.

He pondered Azriel’s question for a moment. How had the meeting gone? Chaotic, awful, good. Contradictory. Eris didn’t want to burden Azriel with his problems, but he felt like he needed to give context on what was going on in his life. Still, it was a big talk and not the one he preferred to have right now.

“As expected,” Eris said instead, giving a faint smile as Azriel’s hand landed on his thigh in a comforting gesture. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

Was it over? Eris didn’t want to think about that. Not now, when all he wanted was to return home and spend another evening in Azriel’s company. Azriel, who had remarkably understood his mood, didn’t ask any more questions, driving them home in silence.

Once back in the apartment, Eris took a shower, putting on the borrowed shirt and pants again while Azriel pulled out some groceries from the fridge, methodically laying them out on the kitchen counter.

“What are you cooking?” Eris asked, coming closer and pressing his nose to Azriel’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent.

“Actually, I thought tonight we could cook together,” Azriel smiled at him, clearly enjoying the way Eris’s expression shifted from calm to confused, and then to full-on disgust at the idea.

“And why would I do that?” Eris asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a good way for you to relax,” Azriel informed him as they stood there, with Eris giving an unimpressed look at the pack of pasta.

“With all due respect, Azriel, I can think of other ways to relax,” Eris said, putting the pack aside and reaching for the waistband of Azriel’s pants. “Much more interesting ones.” But Azriel stubbornly moved his hands away, smirking.

“Nope, I’m going to enjoy making you suffer,” he said with a grin. “It’s just cooking dinner, Eris.”

“Dinner that we could easily order,” Eris scoffed in response, glancing again at the pasta as if it personally offended him.

Azriel flicked him on the forehead and reached for the kettle, filling it for the pot. The idea of teaching Eris to cook had come to Azriel spontaneously—earlier that morning, in fact, when he watched his boyfriend fumble around the kitchen trying to figure out how to turn on the gas stove just to heat the kettle.

“Cooking is a basic skill,” Azriel argued while Eris stood there, grumpily watching him, clearly trying to show how much he disliked the whole situation.

“And?”

“And you should know how to do it.”

“People around me should know how to do it,” Eris corrected. “And as luck would have it, you’re with me, aren’t you?” He made a step back with a clear intention to leave the kitchen.

Azriel rolled his eyes, pulled him back by the waist after those words, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Despite all his protests, Eris stayed in the kitchen, standing there and watching as Azriel chopped vegetables. He made no attempt to help but also didn’t try to escape again.

“Wanna try?” Azriel offered, stepping aside from the cutting board, giving Eris some space. Eris, with a skeptical look, eyed the half-chopped carrot on the board and, with the expression of a martyr, took the knife from Azriel’s hand.

“Happy now?” he huffed as he awkwardly began to cut the vegetables. Considering that Eris had never had to cook for himself in his life, his attempts were abysmally poor.

Azriel watched for a few minutes as Eris struggled, barely able to contain his laughter. Eris shot him a look that silenced the laughter for a moment, but after a few more failed attempts to grip the knife properly, Azriel grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“Okay, I admit, maybe you should stay away from the kitchen,” Azriel couldn’t hold back his laughter again. Eris wanted to glare at him in annoyance, but that annoyance quickly melted when Azriel kissed him on the neck, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I warned you,” Eris said. “I’m allergic to kitchens.”

“It’s fixable,” Azriel whispered in his ear, nibbling at his earlobe before pulling back a bit. Before Eris could protest, Azriel positioned himself behind him, his hands covering Eris’ hands.

For a moment, it reminded Eris of their second date at the pool table. But back then, he hadn’t been afraid of appearing like a bad player, simply because he wasn’t one. It had been fun to let Azriel teach him, to guide his body. Here, though, he was completely clueless.

Azriel guided one of his hands to the crooked, oversized tomato slice, adjusted his grip on the knife with the other hand, and brought it closer.

“Like this,” he said calmly, still with a hint of a laugh in his voice. He directed Eris’ hands, helping him slice the vegetables. It still wasn’t perfect, but much better than before.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” Eris grumbled.

First, Azriel was standing too close, and with each word his breath brushed against Eris’ neck, making it impossible to focus on anything but his voice and his proximity. Second, Eris absolutely hated getting his hands dirty, especially with vegetables. Third, he still didn’t understand why they were doing this. For all his actions, Eris always needed a logical reason. This time, he couldn’t find a single one.

“Because, according to studies, cooking reduces stress.”

“You made that up.”

“Yes, I made that up.”

Eris scoffed. Nevertheless, they finished chopping all the vegetables, and Azriel finally stepped away, ceasing to distract him with his hands.

“Now what, chef?” Eris asked teasingly, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Now we cook,” Azriel said, flashing a grin as he stepped back toward the stove, turning on the burner with a quick flick of his wrist. The soft whoosh of the flame filled the quiet kitchen, and for a moment, Eris found himself focusing on that sound rather than his previous irritation.

Azriel moved around the kitchen with ease, comfortable in the space. He tossed a little olive oil into a pan and then added the minced meat, frying it for a while before, with a knowing glance at Eris, handing him the bowl of chopped vegetables.

“Your turn,” he said softly, with a little wink.

Eris stared down at the bowl like it held some kind of mystery, but eventually sighed, stepping closer and hesitantly tipping the vegetables into the pan. The sizzling noise was immediate.

“Just stir them a bit,” Azriel said as he handed Eris a wooden spoon.

Eris took the spoon awkwardly, giving the vegetables a tentative stir. His movements were stiff, hesitant as if he expected the food to rebel at any second, but Azriel’s quiet presence behind him made the task feel a little less daunting.

He tried to appear annoyed that he was still there, doing all this. But in fact, the warmth of Azriel at his back, combined with the soft crackle of the stove, created a strange sense of comfort. The earlier irritation started to fade, replaced by something warmer, more intimate.

Azriel stepped away momentarily to check the pasta, leaving Eris to stir the vegetables on his own. And though it still felt foreign, he didn’t feel quite as lost as before. He found himself falling into a gentle rhythm, stirring the pan while the scent of sautéing vegetables began to fill the space.

Azriel hummed something under his breath—a soft, calming tune—as he drained the pasta. Eris couldn’t help but listen to that sound, finding the quiet humming captivating. It was one of the little details he had started to notice about Azriel over time: he would hum little melodies when focused on something. The first time he noticed this was when Azriel was working on his car a couple of months ago, but back then, he hadn’t paid much attention to such small things.

"You know," Azriel said as he returned to Eris’s side, leaning against the counter, "you’re actually doing a pretty good job."

Eris raised an eyebrow, though there was a slight curve to his lips. "Don’t lie to me."

Azriel chuckled. "I wouldn’t lie about that. I mean it."

Eris stirred the vegetables a bit more confidently, and when they were nearly done, Azriel came up beside him again, reaching around him to grab the pasta.

"I admit," Eris said quietly, his tone thoughtful, "this isn’t as terrible as I thought it would be."

Azriel had a small, contented smile as he added the pasta to the pan, mixing everything. "I told you. Cooking’s not so bad when you’ve got a good teacher."

Eris rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. "Or a teacher who likes to get handsy."

Azriel grinned, his hand slipping to the small of Eris's back, pulling him just a little closer. "That’s not mutually exclusive terms and you didn’t seem to mind."

Eris smirked. "I didn’t say I did."

When they finished, and Azriel plated the food, they sat at the table in comfortable silence, their forks clinking. Eris wanted to joke about how the food was probably poisonous and dangerous to eat, especially considering the moment Azriel had suggested he add pepper—and who knew the pepper could spill so easily in such an enormous quantity? Eris sure hadn’t known. And because of that, they’d had to add water to dilute the excessive amount of black pepper in the dish.

However, it didn’t taste bad. Not as good as if Azriel cooked it himself, or if they just listened to Eris and ordered takeout, but still, it was edible.

Eris toyed with his fork, pushing a few pieces of pasta around before finally speaking. "You really don’t mind the pepper, huh?"

Azriel looked up, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "I’ve had worse," he said, taking another bite. "Plus, it’s got... character."

"Character," Eris repeated as he snorted. "That’s one way to put it."

"I told you it wouldn’t be a disaster. And now you can say you’ve officially cooked dinner." Azriel chuckled.

"Under very specific and unwilling circumstances," Eris added.

"Still counts."

As they sat in the quiet, the clinking of their forks was the only sound between them for a while. Eris took another bite, chewing thoughtfully, his mind wandering to the way the evening had turned out. He glanced across the table at Azriel, who seemed completely at ease, eating without a care in the world, and Eris thought that Azriel truly felt like home.

When Azriel went to wash the dishes – he tried to convince Eris to do it and failed miserably because there was no way he would do that after he suffered the cooking – Eris watched him from his seat.

He was still worried about his father and his business here. That was his main stress source right now, and he replayed their conversation again and again.

"You’re quiet," Azriel remarked after finishing with dishes, wiping his hands with a towel and turning around to look at Eris. His eyes had a gentle curiosity in them as if he could sense Eris’s shifting mood.

Eris shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Just thinking."

Azriel tilted his head slightly, waiting, not pushing him to say more. That was one of the things Eris appreciated about him—Azriel never rushed him to speak, always letting him come to his thoughts on his own time.

Finally, after a few more seconds of silence, Eris sighed. "It’s family shit again. Can’t get this out of my head."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Azriel asked as he leaned closer, his expression softening.

Eris hesitated, his fingers drumming restlessly against the arm of the chair. "Not really.”

Azriel’s fingers traced a slow, comforting pattern on Eris’s thigh, inching upward with deliberate slowness, the gesture half-comfort, half-invitation. "You don’t have to say anything," Azriel murmured, leaning closer, his lips just brushing the shell of Eris’s ear. “But if you want to forget for a while, I can help with that.”

"I wouldn’t say no to that," Eris admitted, his voice low, his eyes meeting Azriel’s with a flicker of something unspoken. A distraction wasn’t just appealing, it felt necessary.

That was all Azriel needed. In an instant, the distance between them vanished as Azriel pressed their lips together, the kiss starting slow but with a growing intensity. Eris let himself sink into it, his hands finding their way to Azriel’s waist, pulling him closer. And for once, his mind quietened.

Azriel grinned, his teeth grazing Eris’s lower lip as he kissed him again, harder this time. Eris’s hands roamed his back, feeling the shift of muscle beneath his shirt, pulling Azriel closer until there was no space left between them.

Eris’s lips ghosted along his neck while Azriel's hands roamed lower, slipping beneath the waistband of Eris's pants, giving his cock a few slow strokes and causing a sharp intake of breath from Eris. His fingers tightened on Azriel's shirt.

"Azriel..." he whispered, a hint of need in his voice.

Azriel smirked against his skin. "Let me take care of you tonight."

tag list: @sizzlingstarlightsky @isnotwhatyourethinking @molcat07 @chairofchaos @lilah-asteria

[qettleqorn]

*Slams fists on table* THESE HEIRS for the wip ask game pls 😤

These Heirs | Multi-Ships | JJK | Consort AU

So, as you and the whole of the Anxiety Anonymous crew know, we have a charming little AU for the JJK verse. Which, I have shared this a little on the Group Discord but I'll reshare it again.

Specifically, it was about how Sukuna as we know it does want to be considered the Prince Consort, more so the Emperor, even though that title does go to Shiu-Kong by technicality as he did father the first heir. (Yi Jeong, the firstborn child and son) But it starts off basically with Sukuna outright demanding he too should be able to have an heir with the empress. Pushing her up against a brick wall to show that he is very willing to provide his services still despite her not having visited him in some time other than to talk.

Which she quickly replies with a-

"You wish to be emperor, my prince consort, not out of love or loyalty, but out of desire to be seen as the all-powerful."

Because at this point as we all know the two know one another more than just between the sheets. By this point, he has been by her side for the better part of a decade. Izumi has already had their baby boy Yuuji approximately ten years ago as well. (How he hasn't managed to get an heir, well, Kin is just a very busy woman and is still trying to train him well enough for her cousin.) But the empire still only has one true ruler and every day she's getting pressured to pick, and every day it's looking less and less like it will be him.

Which of course, annoys the ever-loving crap out of him especially when he believes they both know he'd be the better option since they can even one another out. They have a good balance of level-headedness between them.

But she doesn't view it as such, it also doesn't help that she favors Shiu Kong and then also Nanami- a man who is not her consort.

Again, this annoys and pisses him off because- what is he doing wrong to not make her see he is good for the empire. As he is not just a brilliant mastermind of tactics, he's a man of the arts, he's driven with passion! Sure he can be brutish, but that's where she would come in!

Well, some time passes and he's lounging in the bath as Uraume scrubs him down. When they ask him a question,

"May I ask a question Lord Sukuna?" Digging their nails into the cloth as it scrubbed into Sukuna's tan skin. It was a thought that had only recently plagued them, but one they thought would not bother their lord. Shifting up as the still warm water drained from off his abdomen, dripping down his biceps and back. A crack in his neck as he stretched out the muscles. Sukuna gave an agreeable hum knowing it was not often Uraume asked much of him. Something he liked from the dual-hair-toned monk. Not holding back or stopping their efforts to clean the highly sought-after consort. Uraume was inwardly delighted to get permission to speak somewhat freely. "We have all heard how Lord Shiu Kong was brought on, Lady Manami, & Lady Yuki as well." Putting their weight into their scrubbing as they got to his shoulder blades, Uraume made a small hmph as they caught their breath. "Well, it left us curious of you. Not even the empress speaks on it."

It would lead to Sukuna dismissing them so he could finish his bath alone. Not answering their question outright, but just saying that he was the most expensive and skilled just as he still is. Which left him to think about how they really met the first time.

"As you know you may not disclose that the royal highness is here nor what it is that goes on between you both." The lanky old woman who presented herself as Mae-Hui's aid. "Yeah, yeah." With his client not yet before him, the pink-haired youth dismissed the old woman with a wave.

He thinks it's just another job, he'll pop her cherry, and then- boom. Another satisfied customer.

The reason why she was here was not for the sins of the flesh. Not as if it truly mattered what she was here for, she was paying for his time as it was. So what did it matter if she chose to just talk?

Except, she isn't, Mae-Hui Kim is the first client to actually try and talk with him. To get to know him and doesn't even sleep with him that night.

"Where are you from?" "A place far from here, it does not matter my lady." "But it does matter." Her fingers brushed over his knuckles, wrapping them around the tattoo markings on his wrists. "I wish to know of it so it does matter." The word pressed into his palm like a secret he desperately wanted to keep. But the alcohol he had spilt between his lips made it drip like a faucet during the winter months. "Megijima." Its name alone flooded his mind with memories. Pulling his wrists from her grasp, he wrung them around her own hands, thick and pristine fingers keeping them in a tight hold and pushing them back to her chest. The look of a dull moment written on his face. "Megijima?" "It's the island where I was born." "I've heard stories about-." "Peaches and ogres I'm sure, the peaches are delicious but there are no ogres beyond what you see before you." Shaking her head as she shut her eyes as if saying that he was wrong about the assumption he made- which he was. "The most famous poets get their best works from resting there." Despite the rather flat-face reaction, he was giving her. Sukuna was surprised she mentioned that. Before he had been sold off he could recall the poems the madam of the brothel had read to him and the other unfortunate children born of the dissolute harlots of her halls. The wench was brash, crude, and all around he knew she'd be in hell waiting for him with all the other sinners he had cursed. "I heard a retired general once visited and had come back with an abundance of treasure." Her lips curled as she lay there. She was actually enjoying this and he could not believe it. "About forty or so years ago from what I recall is when it took place, my father use to read me his writings. A rare chance encounter I know." He knew exactly who she was talking about. That man was the reason why he was here now.

So, when she denies him the opportunity to aid her, it hurts oddly enough.

Sukuna may not love her, but he respects her and he wants to make the empire an even stronger place. Wants to elevate its status on a worldwide spread just as she has with him to some degree.

She of course would then introduce him to her cousin. Who is absolutely enamored by him. They would have Yuuji but she'd have to give it away. Due to societal views.

This is then where Kin of course buys Sukuna's contract and begins to try and tame his feral ways so Izumi can have the man. This is where Sukuna would begin falling in love with Izumi from the constant predicaments Kin manages to put them into.

He likes her rabbit-like qualities, not just for a breeding kink joke, but the way she gets flustered. How she gives him something to make her work on and tease. She's a cute little thing that has enchanted him.

But sometimes loyalty and love can not mix. Sukuna feels a great loyalty to Kin and wishes to prove that he can be what they all "need". As I had stated before. BUT, but, this would later bring us to The Bug Hunt chapter. In which afterwards. Kin makes the ultimate decision to release Sukuna from her care and into Izumi's against his desires. Practically naming Shiu Kong as her Prince Consort in the process because Sukuna nearly gets Yi Jeong killed. Even though it was an unintentional accident that led the young prince to fall down a cliff.

This is of course when Sukuna and Izumi would get to grow closer and they'd actually get to properly know one another. He'd still be sour regardless of course, but somewhere along the line, she'd tell him about how she wishes she- well they, could meet their child.

He knows Yuuji is alive, they both do, especially after the winter party event. What she didn't know (and this is where I adlib a little because I'm not sure if it'll be group-approved) is that Yaga had messaged him about Yuuji sometime ago after Sayuri found the boy. After all Sukuna and Yuuji are practically the spitting image of one another.

MEANING!

Izumi and Sukuna might have a chance to meet their son.

It was one of those secrets that Mae-Hui didn't know about because he didn't want her to. Since he figured it would make him lose his chance even more. Just to later find out she knew Yuuji was alive because she had gone back to his old employer to hook up with some other consort.

Mae-Hui in this time though has also unintentionally pushed aside her favored cousin since giving Sukuna to her. Because now she is worried about her eldest child and less about her outer family.

This is where we get into Yuuta's portion of the story!

AND AND AND! DSFSDG- anyways, it's basically just about the drama of the royal family. How Sukuna gets kicked out of the palace, Yuuta and Yi Jeong are almost killed, Izumi and Kin get a little rift in their friendship, and just DRAMA!

[givemea-dam-break]

ephemeral - chapter two

a/n: part 2 of my 'ephemeral' series for anthony lockwood!

warnings: language gn reader

full collection: here

You really shouldn't do this.

Every fibre of your being is screaming at you to stop, to turn round and walk away, to keep on walking until you reach the furthest place away from Anthony Lockwood that you can get, but you don't.

Instead, you knock on his front door and wait.

Lucy Carlyle, the Listener, and once your best friend, is the one to open the door. She grins when she sees you and it ignites a feeling of warmth in your chest. Sure, you've got friends, but none so close as Lucy once was. It feels good to see her again.

She ushers you into the all-too-familiar house. Masks from all sorts of countries still hang on the walls alongside ornate tapestries and other pieces of memorabilia. The hall is bright, and the scent of strong tea hangs in the air. A small clock ticks on the wall, one you bought, and, next to a bench where Lockwood usually sits to shove his shoes on when he's in a rush is the umbrella stand that holds all of the rapiers. There are a few new, fancy-looking ones which look extremely out of place next to the simple ones usually used, especially in comparison to the rest of the house and its vintage theme.

Just like you remember it.

Lockwood and George are sitting in the living room already, discussing some of the notes scribbled in George's notebook, but stop short when they see you. George nods in acknowledgement, and a small, distracted smile is sent your way before he begins to consult his notes again. Lockwood, on the other hand, looks shocked, but he masks the expression well with a grin.

"(name)," he says. "I was thinking you wouldn't show."

You shrug, gesturing to your work clothes. "I only just finished my shift. We shut later during summer."

"Either way, you're here now. Let's discuss this case."

The four of you sit in the mismatched sofas and armchairs, and you can almost believe the past eight months never happened. No, you were never fired, you never fought with Lockwood. You've been here, taking on case after case, playing board games with Lucy in your free time or lounging in the library with Lockwood, enjoying his company. Everything in the room remains unchanged, which makes it easier to believe that you never left, but there's an uncomfortable coil in your gut reminding you. You can still hear the argument in your head.

"So, like I told you, (name), there are some documents we need that are stashed in the archives at the Rotwell building. You know the layout from when you worked there, and you're able to get the codes for the lifts and doors if I remember correctly."

You nod. "I remember a few, but they've most likely changed. I'll be able to get them from the system. But, can I ask, why do you need these documents so badly?"

George leans forward, eyes sparkling. "We had a client come in yesterday - very high-profile, but she wants us to keep this case on the down-low. Do you know who Yvette Jeffries is?"

"Of course I do," you say. "She's that opera singer, right? The one that Lockwood practically drooled over in that one magazine."

"I did not drool over her -"

"Actually," Lucy interrupts, "you did. Said you hated opera, but you'd go to a show to see her. We all remember."

"Anyways," George says, cutting Lockwood off before he can come up with some excuse, "she has a mansion just out of London that she's been having some trouble with. She means to hold a party there in two days, but some of her maids have reported things. Chills, a growing sense of fear, the feeling of being hunted down. Typical clues of a haunting."

"What's the catch?"

"All documents regarding the mansion are being held by Rotwell." George pushes his glasses up his nose. "One of his teams attempted a case there a decade or so ago - possibly the same haunting - and thought they'd completed it, but one of their agents was killed from ghost touch at the end of the night. Then, another was driven mad. Only two, including the supervisor, some guy named Elliot Jamieson, escaped with their minds intact, and they were ordered to keep quiet about the case. The deaths were recorded but marked under an entirely different case. The mansion was never filled into their case log.

"Ms Jeffires bought the mansion under the impression it was ghost-free," he continues. "She organised this party and then was informed about the ghosts. It took a lot of digging for me to find this info."

You frown. "So why doesn't she just cancel?"

"A lot of wealthy, upper-class people are going to be there," Lockwood says. "She apparently can't risk letting them down, lest her career be ruined or something. Problem is, we can get the documents regarding the case tonight if we move quickly enough, but that gives us one night to get rid of these ghosts."

"I suppose you want me to come along to help with that, too?"

"If you wouldn't mind. We need as many helping hands as we can get with this case, and I'm sure as hell not asking Kipps and his team for help."

Thinking on it for a second, you pluck a biscuit from the coffee table before leaning back into the armchair you've occupied. It's so comfy you could sleep, especially after having such a long day.

"I'll call Arif tomorrow, let him know I can't go in for work. But, as far as getting into the Rotwell building, I'm stumped. I hope you guys have a plan."

--

Lockwood has a plan, alright. A completely insane one, but a plan nonetheless.

"You're sure about this?" you ask, staring up at the tall row of windows.

"Not really," Lockwood says.

You want to turn around and strangle him, but you take a deep breath. "That open window up there is my old supervisor's office. She always keeps it open - something about the room being too stuffy when she arrives in the morning - but it makes for a good entrance. Once we're in, I can use her computer to get some codes, but that's Plan B. In one of her drawers, she has a spare access card. As a supervisor, she's got access to the archives."

"I knew getting your help was a good idea."

"Don't pat yourself on the back just yet. The archives are three floors up from the office, which means we've got a long corridor to go down to get to the lifts, then up three floors without anyone joining us, and then get into the archives, where there will be some staff still cleaning up. All of that has to be done without being seen."

Lockwood grins. "Which is why you've only brought me along."

"Truthfully, I would've rather had Lucy, or even George, but you'll do. Now, give me a leg up. I'm not tall enough to reach that drainpipe."

After a lot of shimmying up the drainpipe, which was Lockwood's master plan, and accidentally kicking him in the face a few times - okay, maybe it wasn't accidental - you reach the open window. You cling to the windowsill, feet perched on the thin lip above the window just below, heart pounding. You're high up enough now that if you fall, it'll mean a broken neck and probably an early grave, but you try not to think about that.

With a slightly shaky hand, you gently pry the window open further until it's wide enough for you to pull yourself through. Soon enough, you're standing in the carpeted office, watching Lockwood struggle to pull himself in.

"Can't you open the window any further?"

"Probably," you say with a shrug. You don't move.

When he's in, brushing some dirt from his dark hoodie, a change from his usual attire, you turn to the modest desk in the centre of the room. It's made of oak and cluttered to the high heavens, but that's how your supervisor liked her things.

"Look in those drawers," you order Lockwood. "I'm going to look on the computer for the codes, just in case access gets denied."

And you do so. Thankfully, in the three years since you left, your supervisor's passwords never changed, so it's easy enough to log into the system. There's an email from a few weeks ago, informing higher-ups of the new access codes for around the building. You write the important ones down on your hand.

"Got it," Lockwood says, holding up the spare access card. "You never told me your supervisor was Hanna Reid."

"Never came up in conversation." You log out of the computer and go to the door, peering out of the glass and into the dark hall. "I can't hear or see anyone coming. Let's go."

You sneak out into the hallway, clinging to the wall as you quietly creep through. Lockwood is just behind and, though you wouldn't be able to see him if you turned around, you can feel his presence as acutely as if he were holding your hand or breathing down your neck.

"This feels like old times," Lockwood whispers, closer than you thought he'd be.

"We've stolen from an agency once," you whisper back. "Nothing about this feels like old times."

"Oh, tomato, tomato. It feels good to be back on a case together."

"Well, you're the reason why I haven't been on them for the past few months. Only yourself to blame."

He doesn't reply, and though you want to feel good about it, you almost regret saying it.

"Here's the lift," you say as you enter a slightly brighter part of the hallway.

The controls are lit up, meaning they're still being powered, and you breathe a sigh of relief. You don't have to climb a million stairs. Swiping the card in the panel, you stay on guard, glancing back down the hall and along the intersecting ones, keeping your ears open for any sounds. Lockwood does the same.

In the dim light, he almost looks like a ghost. His cheekbones look more hollow, and his pale face glows hauntingly, but there's something about it that freezes your gaze in place.

You jump when his eyes catch yours. "Lift's here."

Hurrying inside, you press the number of the floor where the archives are and keep your mouth shut, keeping to the corner of the lift. Lockwood's smile is a little too cocky.

"So, tell me, why'd you decide to work at Arif's?"

"Now's not the time for that conversation."

"We'll be in here for a little bit. If I remember correctly, you said the lifts here are awfully slow. So, go on."

You groan. "I like baking. My grandma and I used to bake together when I was little, so it felt right being at Arif's. In fact, he'd offered me a job a few weeks before you fired me, and the space was still free when you did, so I took it. It helped me forget."

"Forget?"

Cursing the slowly changing numbers, you tuck yourself further into the corner and cross your arms.

"You, mostly. I was - and am - so mad at you that sometimes it helped me to imagine that bread dough was your face when I punched it."

"I hope you're joking." Your silence has him shifting his weight from foot to foot. "You're joking, right?"

"Baking reminds me of my family, well, the family that didn't willingly abandon me, so it was only really good memories I ever thought of. Plus, Arif was there for me when I needed him and found me a place to stay until I was able to get on my feet."

That's when the lift dings, and the doors open. Before Lockwood can say anything, you step out into the dimly lit room, eyeing the rows of bookshelves and tables carefully. By the sounds of it, the few people in the archives are on the other side, so you'll have free reign down this end.

"Be quiet," you murmur, "and find the documents quickly. We'll split up."

"No, we stay together."

You give him a sharp look. "We split up. If we're not done in twenty minutes, we meet up in that corner over there, all right? We can't afford to get caught. Steve Rotwell is not a man you want to get on the bad side of."

Then you're off, quietly sneaking down the rows of bookshelves until you reach a section that might hold the documents you need.

As you look, you're completely conscious of the Rotwell-approved scholars roaming the place like ghosts, making sure each book or magazine or article is exactly where it needs to be, down to the code on the spines. When one passes nearby, you flatten yourself against the dark shelves, covering your mouth and nose to quiet your breathing. The scholars may be sore and hunching from their hours upon hours of research, but many of them are also ex-agents with the capability of holding a fight and running to set off the alarms.

You can never be too careful.

You're also sure to stay aware of the time, glancing down at your watch at random intervals.

When you've only five minutes left until your rendezvous with Lockwood, you finally find something. It's a thick manilla folder, marked only with a date and two initials - ninth of October a decade and a half ago, and E. J. If what George told you earlier was right, the supervisor of the team was named Elliot Jamieson, and this date roughly matches.

Risking a glance around, you pull the folder from the shelf, opening it to take a peek at the contents: an image of a large mansion, surrounded by elm trees, a standard supervisor's report, among many other things.

This is it.

"Hey! What are you doing? This area is off limits."

You look down the row of shelves, finding a middle-aged man standing at the bottom. He looks pretty unassuming in his beige sweater vest and brown dress pants, and his red hair is thinning, but you know better than to underestimate any of the people in this room.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," you say. "My supervisor wanted me to collect some last-minute information on a case we have coming up. Look, I have her card -"

Shit. You pat your pockets only to remember that Lockwood has the card.

The man takes a step forward, and you spin on your heel, darting into the labyrinth of shelves.

"Stop!"

Unfortunately for the man, you don't stop. You keep running as fast as you can risk with these twisting and turning rows, clutching the folder to your chest. Instead of heading for the lift, you run in the opposite direction, turning this way and that to try and lose the scholar, but he's constantly on your heels.

You pray you'll find Lockwood soon. Until you do, you can't leave, no matter how much you'd like to.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Lockwood appears in the midst of a few shelves, looking mildly surprised to find you sprinting straight for him.

"(name) -"

Grabbing his wrist, you drag him through the rows in the direction of the exit as more voices begin to shout. Soon enough, an alarm starts blaring, and red lights flood the large room.

"What did you do?" Lockwood asks, sprinting alongside you.

"Got spotted," you reply, breaths becoming painful. "You had my prop."

Footsteps pound behind you as you reach the exit.

"Not enough time to wait for the lift," Lockwood says. "We'll have to take the stairs."

And so you do. You have to admit, running down the stairs isn't as bad as it would've been going up, but it's still not as preferable as the lift. Each step is jarring.

"Tell me you at least got what we needed."

You shift the folder in your grasp, saving your words and instead using the time to try and regulate your breathing. It's hard when you're trying to make an escape.

"Don't let them escape!" a voice shouts. This one's female.

"We can't go back out the way we came," you say. "But there are some back corridors we can use. They'll take us out onto the other side of the building."

"Lead the way."

The two of you burst through the doors into the second floor, sprinting down the dark corridor. The alarms haven't spread this far yet. When you reach a pair of double doors, sealed and accessible only by a code, Lockwood stands with his back to them, grasping his rapier tightly as you figure out which code to use.

"Can I suggest that you speed things up a bit?"

"I'm trying!"

"Yes, well, it's just because I can see five people right down the hall. For old people, they're fast runners."

"Don't let them see your face. Rotwell will destroy you if he figures out you've been here. There! I've got it."

You push the doors open just enough for you both to slip through before slamming them shut again and sticking your rapier in the code pad on this side. It sparks and pops, but the door won't work now.

"Good idea."

And then you're both running again.

Banging sounds on the doors and, although your pursuers can't get through them, they aren't the only way to get into this corridor.

You've been in this hall once before, running an errand for your supervisor. In the daytime, it's filled with high-ranking staff carrying out experiments that Steve Rotwell wants to profit from - salt guns to replace salt bombs, lavender-infused uniforms. But now it's quiet, void of any human presence beyond yours and Lockwood's. It's uncomfortably eerie.

"Not far now," you manage. Your side is tearing itself apart with the pain of a stitch.

"I'd hope not."

Just as you near the end, doors slam open, and half a dozen people pour in, all middle-aged and dressed like the English teachers you'd see in old movies, but they're fast. They don't want anything leaving the archives.

Once again, Lockwood stands with his back to the door, this time a single one, as you hurriedly type in a code. When the door swings open, you can barely drag him through and shut the door quickly enough to stop the pursuit. Once more, you drive your rapier into the pad, this time feeling a little shock up your fingers.

"Come on," you say. "There's a night cab station not far."

As you run now, slower than before, you find yourself almost laughing. Something about the chase was exhilarating. Whether it was the excitement and risk of it all or the fact you're back in the game again or even because it was Lockwood beside you as you ran, you're not sure. But you smile nonetheless.

Lockwood does, too, and his grin retains all the way back to 35 Portland Row. The familiarity of it is comforting despite your stance with Lockwood.

"Well," he says as he opens the front door, "that was an exciting evening."

<- part 1 part 3 ->

[bouquetface]

Hello, I'm here to give feedback for the astro game!😊 You are right about the respected career title, I'm working on it right now lol.😅 And honestly, we sound like we have a lot in common. I know people say that we look for the qualities of our 7H planets in other people, but I feel like it describes ourselves, too. I can definitely see the same Saturnian traits in myself.🥲  You described them as more Mercurial after marriage, probably due to my Mercury in 7H of D9, but I have also heard that this placement can give multiple relationships, like the partner may have more than 1 relationship at a time (cheating), while my Saturn in 7H of D1 indicates loyalty, so idk which holds more weight. I do appreciate a good sense of humor though and I am guilty of being a bit brutally honest often, too.🫣 I also like people who are adaptable and open to talk things out maturely rather than just constantly arguing. It was a bit disappointing to hear that they may be a bit of a blabbermouth though lol cause I prefer my privacy.🤐 I've also read that Mercury in 7H can give a good-looking, youthful spouse. I've seen that Priyanka Chopra has Mercury in 7H of D9 and her husband, Nick Jonas, seems to fit that description, so could that be true? But, I have Saturn in 7H of D1, as well, so I'm not sure if spouse will be older/younger or handsome. I also really don't want to end up with a Momma's boy with a nosy, evil mother-in-law, that's like one of my biggest fears about marriage!!😭 I've read that Ketu in 8H can also mean that the partner's family may try to override you and involve themselves in your relationship, so I'm pretty worried about this. And dang, with the partner's "reckless financial choice", that just solidifies my decision to keep my finances separate! Thank you very much for the eye-opening, detailed reading!!🩷 You were really on point with your predictions and I definitely enjoyed reading it!🥰🌹

Hello

Mercury in 7th can give many relationships. Yours is debilitated in the sign of sag & does aspect Jupiter - this can create an abundance of connections. However, that doesn’t necessarily mean you will have multiple marriages. You can have many relationships - platonic, romantic & in business. 7th is connected to relationship with clients as well. Due to your career, it shows you may have many clients & connections. So I believe that can be the outcome of your mercury in 7th instead of multiple marriages. Especially since Jupiter is exalted in the 2nd House. You and your spouse will likely be very wealthy.

I would suggest not expecting the same outcome as celebrities on your chart. The nakshatra, signs, aspects & really the entire chart can give you a drastically different result. And we often do not truly know if their birth time is correct.

For ex: To my knowledge Priyanka has mercury in aries in the d9. And to my research, her birth time is someone else’s claim as she has never shared her birth certificate with the public.

Her DK planet (which represents the spouse) is in Cancer. Yours is in the opposite sign of Capricorn. This will give very different results.

It is more likely for you the spouse is older or same age. They may look younger but I don’t believe they will be younger. They are more likely to a driven and dedicated person. Boss type energy.

Your marriage to me is more like Seema Bansal’s marriage. She is the creator of Venus Et Fleur. She works with her husband. They have built a company that is worth millions. Power couple. However, of course your marriage won’t be the exact same. That is why it can be risky to compare charts.

For ex: They work together. I believe for you in and your spouse, you each have your own individual career’s that make you a lot of money doing. And they own a florist company. For you and your spouse I feel your career’s are ones that are traditionally respected like lawyer, architect, engineering and doctors.

And I completely agree with you about not wanting a mama’s boy!! The good things is ketu in 10th of d9 indicates the couple is detached from outside matters. The couple prioritizes their own home and happiness. So regardless of how in-laws feel, it is likely you two will focus on your home.

As well as Sun in 10th and Venus being exalted in d9. Your reputation as a couple is very powerful. Your relationship will be seen as ideal to others. And Sun in 10th in d9 shows that one has the power to overcome any “enemies” & obstacles.

I hope this helped provide clarity! Ty for your feedback.

[sinfulscream]

character essay: topaz from honkai star rail

strap your seat belt in, we're going for a ride.

topaz is a debt collector.

now you may start thinking: did belobog commit a tax fraud? if so, how? i thought this was a very interesting thought process. because have you ever considered interplanar debt or financial settlements in sci-fi media? unless if they were sky pirates or very simple transactions of sale and purchase - it is often not explored and perhaps, most might even consider it not interesting.

for those who played the game and dedicated their time to the events, you'll find and agree that the influence of the interastral peace corporation (ipc) is wide - considering they hold a stake in an underused freight vehicle for the aurum alley business event. the ipc was also painted as calculating, for wanting to take back not only the freight vehicle, but any semblance of a bustling city. the ipc is a capitalist loaning body, driven by its "philanthropy", until it's time to reap the benefits."

when topaz walked into the story, that painting proves to have more details - more than just freight vehicles, the ipc could do more than just assistance in business, but repairing an entire planet.

topaz's exterior personality leaves readers with quite literally no hint to who she is or where is she from, aside from her love for animals, but playing the story leaves you to find out that she came from a heavily polluted planet that the only choice left was to leave everything to the ipc. however, it was also because of this upbringing and story that topaz would prioritise survival, more than its people's freedom. after all, protection from natural disaster as well resource allocation for a planet's rebuilding is a tempting deal - especially for belobog, that had only recently been cleared from its stellaron crisis.

not only that, belobog had also borrowed funds from the ipc prior to the planet's isolation from the rest of the world due to its extreme weather. the contract topaz offered to rebuild belobog and employ its citizens under the ipc would clear the arrears owed for over seven centuries.

despite the ipc's opportunistic nature as a body, topaz came to belobog and spoke to bronya with unmatched sincerity. topaz was a character that did not come from a privileged place, yet took the steps to dance alongside the work opportunity she was provided with. even if the contract offered by the ipc was tempting, even she was amazed by the thriving spirit of belobogians, looking toward a future with their intelligence and enduring the coldest blizzards. she could no longer compare the environment between jarilo-vi and her home planet.

despite having objectively failed her mission, she was humble, and did not assert her task more than necessary. if this was what the people of belobog wanted, then she would not force it upon them.

which comes at the cost of her current position, and she was demoted by one rank. even so, she still found beauty on this planet.

as a character, one would assume that her position meant she was always out for money, but she herself said that she was past working for the money, and thus did not mind the pay cut that came with her demotion. but more than that, she maintains a headstrong personality through it all - a marketing expert who knew how to use her story to resonate with potential clients, yet endearing for her love of animals.

she is also noted to be very capable and places the interest of the planet's ahead of work - the probability of success among her planet projects stood at 80%, higher than the ipc's average of 60%.

topaz is a multifaceted businesswoman: friendly with her network, assertive with her staff, a marketing expert and most of all, good-natured. as an experienced businesswoman, her story clashes at the differences in culture and ideals against bronya, a fresh-faced leader trusted by her subjects.

this blog entry was originally posted on stormofblood.

[explorersaremadeofhope]

What's your favorite Sherlock Holmes story?

oh no this is so hard!! i apologise in advance for how long this will get

in terms of like, craft and a good story and what i'm maybe most likely to pick up for a reread, cliché answer, but probably hound of the baskervilles. i think doyle was an occasionally really good horror writer, i'd happily have read more stories where he combined horror and sherlock holmes. i love the setting and the spooky descriptions of the moor. and it's got some of my favourite things, like watson getting to play a large role and be a hero in his own right (even if holmes does humiliate him a bit halfway through).

study in scarlet also, because it's so wonderfully character-driven and focused on holmes and watson's relationship (and how focused they are on each other), even though i gotta admit i tend to skip the middle flashback section lmao.

when it comes to the short stories they're so uneven. i think some of them are genuinely good, redheaded league is a good mystery plot and also hilarious; milverton and illustrious client are similar but both great (and feature another of my fav things: Holmes And Watson Sneak Around). musgrave ritual too, i love the riddle and the historical background, and the framing device of watson scolding holmes for not tidying up and holmes bringing out a box of old cases (did you see this comic? it's so good). final problem and empty house are kind of shoe-ins just because [gestures at their everything], but i actually especially like empt for how it shows us watson still being involved in cases on his own! solitary cyclist is solid too (and has the incongruously metal exchange 'she's my wife!' 'no -- she's your widow.')

but SH is a bit like star trek tos for me - some of the plots are thin as hell, but they have good character moments! so e.g. 3 garridebs is just redheaded league recycled, but it has the infamous 'worth the wound' moment which is incredible. blanched soldier and lion's mane are very mid (okay, lion is just bad lmfao) as mysteries go, but they have holmes being extremely dramatique about how watson has Abandoned Him. reigate squires isn't a favourite case of mine but shows holmes having had a literal breakdown and watson looking after him... i'll stop there because this is way too long but tldr, Many of them are Good for Different Reasons

[mariacallous]

Claudia Swanson knew that child care spots for infants were scarce in her rural Minnesota community. So she got on waitlists early in her pregnancy in 2020, and over a year later, secured a day care spot for her daughter—only for the center to unexpectedly shut down a month later due to a lack of funds.

“It was devastating,” Swanson told us. “And very scary. I lost hope.” Every day care she called was full. She had to quit her job as a social services case manager, and nearly lost her house.

“I went from being a social services case manager and a leader to becoming a client myself,” said Swanson. After being out of work for six months, she finally secured a high-quality, dependable child care spot, providing the security and support she needed. “The day that my daughter started day care is the day I went back to work,” she said. Today, Swanson is a head chef and owns a catering company that employs several staff members.

A sudden loss of child care can be destabilizing, distressing, and make it very difficult to hold down a job.  Access to affordable and reliable child care is one reason that women with children are able to work.

In 2021, the White House and Congress helped steady the child care sector, which has always been unstable, but was especially hard-hit during the pandemic. The American Rescue Plan Act sent a one-time infusion of $24 billion in child care stabilization funds to states, which helped more than 200,000 child care providers keep their doors open. Yet these funds must be spent by states by September 30, creating a funding cliff for state support to the child care sector.

Investing in child care matters because right now, women have made impressive gains in the labor market. But if Congress fails to allocate additional funding for the sector by the end of the month, work will be that much more difficult for millions of parents.

After living through pandemic-era job losses, school closures, and caregiving crises, women between the ages of 25 and 54 have lifted their labor force participation rate to its highest level ever: approximately 78%. Incredibly, mothers with young children under the age of five are leading the way; about 70% of them are now in the labor force—an increase of 5 percentage points over the decade before the pandemic (Figure 1).

Record high participation isn’t just an historic milestone for women—it’s critical for the economy. Women are stepping up for all of us at a time when the economy is missing workers and needs to draw more people into the labor force to grow. The labor force is smaller because of the pandemic, but demand is quite high. Increasing participation allows the economy to grow while easing pressure on inflation.

Women’s participation gains have driven the economic recovery. But that recovery is fragile, and built on an unstable, patchwork child care system. If Congress fails to extend these stabilization funds, the Century Foundation predicts that 70,000 child care facilities could shutter and 3.2 million children could lose child care.

Courtney Greiner runs a child care center in Minnesota. Like many child care center directors, she struggles to stay afloat with high staff costs and low profit margins. The funds Greiner’s center received from the state and from the federal stabilization fund have allowed her to retain employees without raising rates at a time when child care is already unaffordable to most American families. She’s proud to be able to provide for families in her community, but admits that “without additional money, I wouldn’t be able to keep my center open.”

Ending funding to the child care sector could reverse the gains we see now. Already, parents struggle to find child care. Waitlists can stretch for years, and the child care workforce is more than 10% smaller than it was at the start of the pandemic, even as more mothers have gone to work. It is little wonder that one-fifth of mothers with young children who wanted a job in 2023 weren’t looking for one due to child-care-related concerns, according to our analysis of Census Bureau data.

For some mothers of young children, the rise of telework has supported flexibility to balance work and family, including managing a disruption in child care (at least temporarily). But telework cannot absorb the consequences of a collapse in the sector. This is something we, the authors of this piece, understand personally—and not just from during the worst of the pandemic. This year, one of us unexpectedly lost child care for three young children. Even with the flexibilities of telework, it prompted a make-or-break confession to a supervisor: “If I can’t find another child care arrangement that works, I cannot keep doing this job.”

Figure 2 shows child care arrangements for working prime-age mothers with young children, categorized by whether or not they report having teleworked at least once in the prior week. While many families use more than one child care arrangement, this figure represents exclusive categories in the following order: child care facilities; sitter, friends, and family; parent only; and before/after care or camp. For example, this means that if a family uses both child care facilities and parental care, they are categorized as using child care facilities.

This analysis shows that half of all working mothers of young children at least partially rely on child care facilities. While they are only one way that parents get care, 55% of teleworking mothers with young children and 43% of non-teleworking mothers with young children use child care facilities. Critically, just 6% of working mothers with young children telework while only using parental care.

Since 2020, labor market conditions and policy have made working easier and more rewarding for mothers of young children, so many more have chosen to participate in the labor force. But now, this historic growth in participation that mothers with young children have only just achieved is at risk.

Much is on the line for these working mothers and others who want to work: a job, health insurance, retirement savings, and the income a family relies on to support themselves and save for tomorrow.

Congress must proactively invest in today’s—and tomorrow’s—workforce. Earlier this month, we learned that when Congress allowed the enhanced Child Tax Credit to lapse after 2021, child poverty more than doubled. If Congress does nothing about child care stabilization by September 30, millions of working parents, and the economy as a whole, would be the collateral damage.

[leebrontide]

Secondhand Origin Stories, Chapter 12

Here's this week's chapter! Reblogs welcome!

For those of you just joining us, I'm posting a chapter a week of my free near future scifi/low neon cyberpunk YA/NA novel, Secondhand Origin Stories, which has been described as

"-a character driven, compelling story full of family, queerness, corruption, brain altering nanites, secretly teen parenting AIs, and taking aspects of the superhero genre to their very human and rarely-explored natural conclusions."

For an index of already uploaded chapters that hopefully I will remember to update, content warnings and more, check here:You can follow along by following #SHOSweekly

Chapter 12

The next morning, Jamie was pleasantly surprised that she could get Aldis to let her help out around the office. She didn’t ask to go with the trucks, since obviously she’d ruin the “super-movers” image, but at least she could carry flat boxes to and from the ground floor garages for the pack-and-move client they had later that day. Then she inventoried boxes and tape, and headed back to the office. Being productive kept her out of her head and away from her phone. She just wasn’t ready yet.

She was a little surprised to find Aldis at the office desk when she went back upstairs.

“Morning. I--”

Issac poked his head in the office. “I’m headed out to lunch.” He looked at Jamie. “How do I look?”

Jamie regarded him for a second. The suit was fine. Issac, on the other hand... “Kind of sick.” Maybe he shouldn't have joined Yael in eating leftover birthday cake for breakfast.

He fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves, tugging them down. “I didn’t end up sleeping a lot last night.” He held up his wrist, the translation bracelet glimmering inside his sleeve. “Software tweaks. Got a restaurant business meeting. It’s gonna be way worse than the grocery store.”

“Hope you plan to share those tweaks,” Aldis suggested cheerfully.

Issac shrugged. “Sure, why not. There must be a forum or something.”

“Hold on,” Jamie ordered, and ran back down the hall to the VIP suite. Her assisting Aldis had coincidentally kept her out of the apartment long enough for Opal to shower and get dressed.

Jamie found her bags and started rummaging. “I just need to find--” When she looked up, Yael was staring sullenly at the window, still laying on the “bed” they’d made by shoving the couches end to end. Xe was wearing a t-shirt declaring that “every pizza is a personal pizza if you try hard and believe in yourself.” 

“Yael, shouldn’t you have left already? Is that really what you’re wearing?” She realized after she’d said it how much she sounded like her mom. She found what she was looking for in her bag.

Opal leaned over the back of the couch. “You should probably take this kind of seriously. If I had an interview with the head of the APB, I would be trying to look as superheroic as possible. Especially if my brother was skating by on nepotism and a sketchy job to avoid getting arrested.”

Yael looked up at Opal, then sighed. “Fine. For Issac, then.” 

Opal rolled her eyes just slightly at Yael’s grudging acceptance, then glanced at Jamie, expecting to find sympathy. 

Jamie smiled back, wishing Opal’s smile looked less sad.

“Hey.” Yael lifted xyr phone, tilting xyr head back to look up at Opal. “Ambiguously-superheroic-teen selfie? I won’t post it anywhere.”

Yael was on some kind of kick. Xe’d insisted on taking pictures of Issac with his cake last night, too. Opal raised an eyebrow, but crouched down at the couch and gave Yael’s camera a dubious smile.

Jamie headed back down the hall, where she found Issac standing, talking to Aldis. “Here, Issac, sit down a sec.”

He sat down in an old brown office chair, watching her curiously. She revealed the bottle of concealer she’d brought, just in case. “You’re not usually as pale as me, but today, this might actually work.”

“I look that bad?”

Aldis leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “ ’Fraid so.”

Issac bit his lip. “OK, but only if you’re sure he won’t notice.”

“How old is he?”

“Like, 60ish?”

“Then he won’t notice,” Jamie assured. “Besides, it’ll be lower restaurant lighting.”

She helped him get the concealer on. He was almost as gun-shy about anyone touching the bags under his eyes as he was about the contacts. She hid the bruises lack of sleep had left on him, and brushed the color back onto his face. “There. You don’t look like you’ve been doing anything you’ve actually been doing.”

“You never even wear makeup,” Issac commented, checking his reflection in the mirror of his phone screen. 

“Putting on fake health is the only part I know how to do.”

Issac adjusted his tie another dozen times, then headed out towards the stairs in time to run into Yael, who was still in xyr pizza T-shirt. Jamie watched the two of them descend. Opal waved at them through the glass in the door as she followed them. She looked so miserable.

 Jamie looked around the office for a marker. Aldis went back to typing, then looked up at her. “I know I’ve said it like ten times, but you really don’t have to do this. I appreciate it and all, but it feels kinda like unpaid child labor.”

Jamie found a Sharpie, but it was purple. Was that OK? “I need something to do. And I’m sixteen.”

“Don’t you have, like, studying to do?”

Jamie shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t have to do it every day, and I’m still on track to finish everything I need way before I’m eighteen. Mom won’t let us go to college offline any younger than that.”

He nodded slowly, taking more from that than Jamie would have thought it contained. “Well, don’t overdo it.”

“You’re not going with the truck?”

He shook his head, settling back into his work. “Today is invoices and email. You’d be amazed how much of my time is that.”

Jamie smirked, trying to believe he was staying for work, not to babysit Jamie. “No I wouldn’t. Mom says she spends half her life emailing. And she’s always talking about company finances.”

“Hah. Guess your mom is an entrepreneur, isn’t she.”

“Yep. Her and Jenna started the company right after graduation. Jenna went to college really young. Mom says that’s why she won’t let us go early. Jenna got picked on a lot.”

“Jenna-- Bion?” he asked. 

Jamie nodded. “Is it OK if I use purple Sharpie to relabel the box cubbies? They need it.”

“Sure. Long as it’s readable, I don’t care.”

Jamie nodded, heading back towards the stock room, but stopped at the door. Would it be rude to ask? Aldis seemed nice, laid-back, but it wasn’t like she knew him well. And she really didn’t know if this was a sensitive subject or not.

But he was tall, and given the hauling everyone around here could do, he was strong. Curiosity got the better of her. “Hey, uhm. Can I ask you something a little personal?” His raised eyebrow and chair swivel suggested she may have crossed a line. “I won’t complain if you say no.”

“Well, now I’m curious. Tell you what. You can ask, and then we’ll see if I want to answer.”

Jamie nodded. That was more than fair. “I was just-- you’re taller than Drew, and maybe stronger, since you’re younger. And you help people, so I can tell you care, so-- why aren’t you a superhero? Or any of the rest of your employees? Why move furniture?”

She expected him to tell her about the racial prejudice in the APB, or about the difficulties with networking if you didn’t know someone. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, and gave her an opaque look. “Why do you think I’d want to be a superhero?”

The question was so bizarre she just stared at him for a long moment. “Why wouldn’t you?”

He scratched behind his ear, tilting his head as if he was as confused by her as she was by him. “They get shot a lot. Also electrocuted, burnt, dismembered…”

“But they get to help people!” Somehow, she couldn’t picture Aldis as a coward. He seemed so self-assured and put together. He was an entrepreneur, like Mom. That involved risk and leadership.

“So do we. And, since I got the choice, I’d rather help people without having to hurt anybody else.” Jamie bristled, and he saw it. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we’ve got superheroes. But if I can run the rest of my life without violence, I’m going to.”

“But what about ��with great power--’” 

He laughed, but it wasn’t mean, just surprised. “A superhero can defend the world from supervillains, but somebody’s still got to haul around furniture, create decent jobs, and look out for people in a bad situation trying to start over. There’re more problems superheroes can’t handle than ones they can.”

“Aren’t you proud of Opal, though?”

“Yeah, I’m proud of her! We all are. She’s got a fire in her, and she’s working for it. But her life is hers, and mine is mine. Honestly, though, I’ve got as much respect for her second-guessing it now. She refuses to be part of the problem. That’s character. I hope it works out for her, but I’m glad she’s gonna do it on her terms. And I can’t pretend we wouldn’t all sleep a little easier at night if she took a safer job.” 

Jamie’s heart sank. “She’s really thinking of quitting, just because of my dad?” 

“Personally, I think there’s more she’s not telling me.” Sure, like Jenna’s arms and legs and absence, maybe. She didn’t know what exactly Opal had told him. Like Opal, he probably filled in the gaps with whatever made sense to him. “But taking a kill order from someone you can’t trust isn’t a little thing.” He looked at her, carefully. “Do you think she should trust him?”

The question caught her off-guard. She had to think about it. She didn’t like her own conclusion. “No,” she quietly answered, finally. “I’m not scared of him. He didn’t hurt me, and I still don’t think he would’ve. But he loves me, and he doesn’t love Opal, and there’s something…wrong with him. Right now. He’s not himself.”

“Probably shouldn’t be a superhero, then.”

The idea of Dad not being a superhero didn’t fit into her head. He was ageless. He’d been a superhero long before Jamie, and it’d always seemed like he’d just keep on being a superhero even after Jamie was gone. She’d realized years ago that someday he’d look like her son, not her father. He was the constant the rest of life changed around.

Except that he had changed.

She looked at Aldis blankly for so long, he started to look at her funny. “I should go label the cubbyholes,” Jamie said.

He nodded, seeing through her, but letting it go. He interrupted her retreat. “Hey. You’ve got pretty impressive power, too.” Jamie turned around, baffled. “You can talk to any superhero you want, I bet.”

Jamie nodded, not sure where this was going. “Any of the US ones, anyway.”

“Plus, your mom. Who seems like a heavyweight in politics and bioengineering.”

“I hope I can talk to her.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “I’ve been there. Opal was light on details, but I hope it works out for you.”

“It’s. I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks.”

“You’re still here, though.”

She shrugged. “Issac needed me to be.”

The VIP suite was different when she was by herself. Bigger, more echoing. It smelled like sausage, frosting, cardboard, dust, and what had to be some shower product of Opal’s. Jamie was sure neither Yael or Issac owned fake-strawberry-scented body wash. Home never had this many smells going on in one space; the air was too aggressively filtered.

She meandered over to the threadbare couches. This might be the most alone she’d ever been. Aldis was down the hall, but there wasn’t any SI-- no system with cameras, here. No family around. She leaned over the back of the couch, looking around for something to do. Yael had washed the dishes. Jamie wasn’t sure she could even get into her school files. There was only one thing in the world she was supposed to be doing, and she still didn’t feel ready to call home. 

The need to accomplish something started to itch in the back of her mind. She dug her guitar out from where she’d subtly stashed it. Issac hadn’t commented on her bringing it. She started tuning it. 

Too many thoughts went spinning through her mind. Nobody here would tell her what to do or not do. She finally had freedom to act, but had no idea what to do with it. 

What had she wanted more freedom for?

The windows here were low to the ground, and not as clear as the ones at home. But there was some sky visible. No cityscape, though. She was in the city now, not above it. What had she wanted to do, out here?

Out of the blue, she remembered her carnival narwhal, left on the floor at home. Of Dad flying her up to “save” it. The feeling of flying, of helping. 

“Martin, can you hear me?”

No answer. They’d meant it, about the privacy, then. She picked up her phone. Their number had been added to her contacts, and she called it. Martin picked up before it even rang. “Jamie! Hello! May I use the video function? Did you get my email this morning?”

Jamie smiled awkwardly, and arranged her phone so Martin could see her, sitting on the concrete floor. “Sure. And no, I haven’t checked my email yet.” She went back to tuning. “You email?”

“I email a lot, actually. I’m on a lot of forums, too.”

Jamie wasn’t allowed on forums outside of schoolwork. Security issues. Nobody to stop her, now. “What did you email about?”

“It’s very long…sort of everything I’ve collected that I wanted to show you for about the last three years. Nothing important.”

Her tuning stopped. Martin had waited all this time, wanting to talk to Jamie. They hadn’t trusted Jamie enough to actually talk to her, though. Just like how Jamie was struggling to trust the generation above her. “Well, I don’t have much to do today. I’ll read it.”

She started to let her fingers run through tunes aimlessly. “How is everybody?”

“My privacy protocols are still in place. I can’t tell you about the others.”

Jamie slouched against the side of the bed. “Right.” She stared out the window again. “I’m going to call home. I’ll figure out some way to make sure you stay safe.” She was sure of that much. She just didn’t have any idea how. 

Really, she knew what she’d wanted freedom for. She knew what she’d wanted to do, out in the real world. She wanted to protect her city. Her home, and her family, and all the strangers who went about their lives around her every day.

She rested her forehead on the headstock of her guitar, growling in frustration. She could do whatever she wanted, out here. The only one who could stop her was her own body. It wasn’t even that bad of a body. It worked the majority of the time. But it wasn’t super. It wasn’t ever going to let her to anything extraordinary. “I’m lying. I can’t make you safe.”

“I don’t feel especially unsafe right now.”

“Me either,” she answered. “But it’s possible we’re both in denial.”

* * *

Physical labor didn’t require very much of Opal’s mind. Usually, that was a good thing. Her body could be hauling a couch, while her mind was working away at her future plans and dreams.

Today, not so much. She’d never give up just because someone told her “no,” but she’d never, in all her years of planning, studying and preparing, considered that she might not be able to trust the Sentinels enough to work with them. She’d always focused on the changes she wanted to carry out with the APB. She’d never considered that the Sentinels were really, at their base, just an APB branch. Why would they be any more trustworthy?

“Hey!” Miguel's shout shook her back into the present. She’d almost run him over with an armchair.

“Sorry!”

“You’re at work. Wake up.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Hey, give her a break. She might have to fight LodeStar tomorrow or something,” Jayvon put in.

“Not funny, Jayvon,” Opal grumbled.

“I’m not kidding. You wont give us details, but his kids are suddenly living in the suite? Something bad went down. And if he’s not here helping, it doesn’t look good.”

“You better not have told anyone that they’re here.”

They both gave her unimpressed looks. “We’ve worked here longer than you. We’d never tell about somebody in the VIP suite.”

And it really didn’t seem like they had. Otherwise, the office would be inundated with news vans, or at least camera drones, and so far, she hadn’t seen anything. Jayvon gently took the armchair from her. “Go take a break. Get your head clear, and come back.”

Miguel nodded. “We’re ahead of schedule, anyways. Just don’t take forever with it.”

Opal slunk out of the fancy manor house, thankful and feeling guilty for it. She ducked behind the van, hoping the home’s owners wouldn’t come out to chastise her for slacking. She leaned her head back against it, enjoying the sun on her face for a long couple minutes. But the world wasn’t going to stop for her crisis of conscience. Last night was as close as she was going to get. 

She’d said she was giving up. Quitting this and finding a new dream just made sense. No matter what cute old baby photos Jamie came up with, Opal had to deal with the present.

But the very idea of it felt like cutting off part of herself and throwing it in the trash. She wasn’t sure how to make herself do it.

And even if she wasn’t a superhero, she was still herself. Even if she didn’t want APB endorsement, she still wanted to help. To protect. And those three weirdos were under her hospitality, now. Maybe Jayvon was right-- maybe she should be worried about how Mr. Voss would react to her helping his kids practically run away from home. She might be running low on hope, but there was still work for her to do.

She thought of Capricorn’s hand on Mr. Voss’s arm in the clinic, of his watchful eyes. Of the way he rooted for Opal and said she had grit. If anyone could get her more information, it’d be him. 

She glanced around the van, but nobody was paying attention to her. 

Opal texted Martin quickly. Is there any reason I shouldn’t talk to Capricorn about what happened yesterday?

The answer was instant. MARTIN: None whatsoever, as far as I can tell. 

She answered Guess I will then. Then yelped, as Martin took that as an instruction and put the call through. She put the phone to her ear, not wanting a visual call when she felt so shaken.

Capricorn sounded surprised, but pleased to hear from her. “Hi!”

“Hi,” Opal answered.

“Everything OK?”

No. Not at all. “Nobody’s hurt or anything.”

She heard a sigh of relief on the other end. “Then what can I help you with?”

Words tried to burst out of her, but she bit them back and tried to arrange them into tidy, polite lines. No matter how nice Capricorn had been to her so far, she couldn’t afford to offend him, now. Her voice shook, but only a little bit, and she honestly couldn’t tell if it was nerves or anger. “I want-- I need to know what’s wrong with Mr. Voss. Jamie says he didn’t used to be like this. But there is something wrong with him, and he’s freaking me out, and he scared Yael. Every time I see him, he looks about two seconds away from killing somebody.” Opal didn’t want to be that somebody, and she didn’t think she could stop him if he chose somebody else.

Silence on the other end of the line. She worried for a second that he might try and deny it. That would be worse, wouldn’t it? If the Neil Voss Jamie remembered and Opal had idolized had never existed in the first place? Opal heard a very quietly muttered “Shit.” Another pause. “This really isn’t my place--”

“I need to know. I’m sorry, sir, but they’re living with me now and I don’t even know what the situation exactly is. I need to know if he’s something I need to worry about.”

“No. God, no. He’s not--” A pause so long, she checked to see he hadn’t hung up. 

“OK.” He was quiet when he spoke. “That’s fair. You deserve to know. You’re right that he’s…struggling. The thing with this job is, it takes a toll on you.” He sounded tired. Sad. “And me, Neil, and Solomon, we can survive it. And we can heal. We heal fast, even. So can you. But fast isn’t always good. Neil’s been fighting since 2002, continuously. He’s broken and healed every bone so many times, his x-rays look like a city map. Seams everywhere. Soft tissue scarring-- if we heal before we get medical attention, things haven’t always been stitched or set back into place. Neil should’ve been retired years ago. He’s in constant, 24/7 pain. And he’s no lightweight about pain, believe me. I’ve seen what he can take, but for him, it never lets up. Some days, it’s more than he can take. But if he leaves, we’re a team of two, and they send a stranger into the house to live with us. To live with his kids. Or, he and the kids have to leave. He’s been trying to hold on long enough to train in Yael. He knows he’s a mess. He just can’t fix it.”

“But, that doesn’t…”

“The other part-- the reason you probably think he’s a drunk-- is that when you hurt all the time, eventually you have to do something about it. And it’s not like he can take an asprin and call it a day. Even if he wasn’t altered, that wouldn’t even touch what he’s dealing with. So…the thing is, he’s pretty dosed up. All the time, now. And since he caught Issac mid-fall, that was kind of the last straw for like seven of his joints. So he’s even more of a wreck, and on an even higher dose, than he has been. I don’t even know how he’s staying up.”

Opal could only connect the dots because she’d heard her mom talk about work. Chronic, severe pain. “Are you telling me that LodeStar has been high on narcotics for literally years?” There was a long, very not-comforting pause. “But then he shouldn’t be--”

“I know.”

“That’s completely--”

“Yeah.”

“And everybody’s just going along with this?”

“I tried to get him to retire. Melissa’s tried. Even Solomon’s tried. But we just-- none of us have it in us to make him. He’s my best friend. He has been for a long damn time. And he’s going to, just...he needs a little while longer.”

“So you all take orders from him like that?”

“No. Look, he’s messed up, but he knows he’s messed up. We haven’t taken orders from him in years. And I swear to you-- my hand to God-- in the field, he listens to me.” Opal thought back to the rumors that Capricorn was crushing on LodeStar. To the way he always had his eyes on him in interviews. It wasn’t a crush. He was keeping an eye on LodeStar because he knew he was compromised.

Opal leaned her head against the van. This was so messed up. This was not comforting at all. “But still though--”

“I know.” He sighed again, his voice even quieter. “I know. I know I’m on the wrong side in this. But this is the only family I have. I just can’t get myself to force it on him. I didn’t realize until yesterday how bad he’d gotten. But you might notice, we haven’t exactly been in the field since this went down. I can tell you that’s not an accident.”

Opal closed her eyes, trying not to groan out loud.

“Look, I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you. How are the kids?”

“They’re fine, I guess?”

“Think they’d be up for visitors?”

“As far as I know, nobody’s mad at you. But I’m gonna tell them what you told me.”

“If you want. I was hoping Neil would get his act together enough to own it in front of them, but he’s down for the count with that broken collar bone.” 

“Right,” she agreed miserably.

“I warned you it was a shit job,” he added, sounding sorry.

“Yeah, you did.” She straightened. “So I guess I’d better get back to my day job, then.”

“Tell the kids I said ‘hi,’ OK?”

“Sure.”

They hung up. 

Well, she’d known better than to expect Capricorn to pull some magic answer out of a hat and make everything OK again. At least he’d respected her enough to give her a clear answer. That was the only reason she was willing to trust everything else he claimed. 

Opal wanted to punch something. It wasn’t an urge she got a lot, but she felt it often enough to be used to shoving it down. What was she gonna punch-- the van? Denting Aldis’s van wasn’t gonna help anything. 

Her phone sighed, and she jumped. The screen said she was connected to Martin. “I’m so glad this is finally out in the open. It’s not as if not saying anything takes willpower-- I can’t break privacy protocols even when I want to-- but watching the fallout of people not talking has been very painful for me. I’m glad you’re going to tell the others.”

Opal leaned against the van. Martin’s sad little voice took some of the fight out of her. “Your family is a mess, pen pal.”

“Oh, I know,” Martin said. “Believe me, I know.” And Martin didn’t have an out like Opal did. 

“I’d fix it if I could,” she told them. 

“I still have hope. I think things could still turn out all right.” Hope. That was what Opal missed. Hope had given her strength. “Opal, if you go back to Detroit and decide not to be a superhero, will you still be my pen pal?”

Poor kid. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“I like being able to really talk to people directly, like this. This is so much easier.”

“Does that mean you’re going to tell the rest of your family about you?”

“I…maybe I’ll see how all of this ends up going, first.” Even the sweet robot kid didn’t trust these guys. “But since I can suggest things directly now, can I suggest you call someone to make you feel better? I don’t know you well enough to know who that would be, but you sound upset, and I think that would make you feel better. It makes me feel better!”

“Heh. That’s a really good idea. Thanks, Martin.”

“Happy to help!”

She pulled up her mom’s number. She had to get back inside soon-- if this was her only job, she’d better pay attention to it-- but a little Mom time might help clear her head. Plus, she had some questions to ask a nurse.

* * *

Issac peered into the window of the darkened restaurant, tucking his translation bracelet up into his sleeve. It was so ludicrously sensitive, a couple layers of fabric wouldn’t pose any problem at all. Lasansky knew it was there, obviously, since he’d been the one to put it on Issac. But the point of these damn things was to be discreet. He checked his reflection…though if his concealer was showing, he wouldn’t be able to make it out in a window reflection.

He was a brilliant engineer, years ahead of his time, with cool android eyes. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Lasansky probably wouldn’t be able to see the text on his eyes, anyway. He wondered if other people could. He should have checked the bathroom mirror last night.

God, his eyes itched.

He braced himself, and walked in, chin up, shoulders back. Looking nervous or unsure in a place like this would only draw more attention. Virtually everyone here was in a suit or some other business attire. He already stuck out by being young and bruised. He approached the maître d’, realizing with a little smile that his tweaks were working. He got a bit of errant text across his eyes, but he’d set it to a 1.5m radius of the bracelet, with additional alerts for a few key words, like his name. The maître d’ looked at him expectantly, and Issac choked for a second. Would he have to give his name? There were people right behind him. They’d hear. He leaned in a little, trying to be quiet. “I’m meeting Mr Lasansky.”

Martin said that nobody had reported on yesterday’s little exodus from the Plaza yet, but eventually, someone would notice that the kids of the Sentinels were out and comparatively unprotected. Issac was not going to rush that.

Looked like Lasansky hadn’t wanted to give out Issac’s name, either. The maître d’ showed Issac to a private room. That would have been the only thing even partially saving Issac, if Issac hadn’t gotten through those tweaks last night. Lasansky was sitting, leaned back comfortably in his chair, thumb moving over his phone screen. He didn’t look up until Issac sat across from him. Then he gave him that big, bleached-to-hell smile of his. Here’s the latest member of the Lasansky Securities family! Welcome to your first day at the new job.

Issac forced a smile. Family. Sure. He’d just functionally lost his parents, and he didn’t know this guy or anyone else who worked for him, but OK. If Lasansky wanted to call Issac family, Issac could bite his tongue and put up with it. At least in this “family” the criteria he’d be judged on would be concrete, knowable, and accompanied by paperwork he could see ahead of time. And he was deaf before he joined, before he’d been accepted. 

Issac couldn’t deny that the circumstances were weird and, OK, a little suspicious. OK, maybe more than a little. But Lasansky just really wanted Issac’s tech. Issac's skills. He valued what Issac had to offer. Better than back home.

Lasansky sat back, and seemed to study Issac himself for the first time. He smiled, shaking his head ruefully. Y’know, I feel for you. I really do. 

Noooo. Issac just wanted to talk about work. “Uhm…? I’m OK.”

He waved Issac’s baffled reassurance off. Oh, of course. Of course. I just keep thinking about that family of yours. That can’t have been easy to grow up with. Them having so little faith in you.

Was that what had happened? Definitely not with Jamie and Yael. They’d believed in him. They’d been wrong, but they had believed. 

“It wasn’t really like that. Mom got me all the tech I needed and everything--”

Ah. Lasansky answered with a sad, knowing expression. So it was only after-- He tapped his own ear. 

Stay neutral. Don’t flinch. Don’t look down. Tight smile. “Something like that.”

Lasansky nodded. Drummed his fingers on the table, creating unnecessary text noise. Y’know, it really is amazing how quickly people can turn on you, as soon as you show weakness. Right when you need them the most.

Issac looked away. What the hell was this? Issac couldn’t imagine Lasansky wanted Issac to have an emotional breakdown at a business lunch, so what the hell was with all this prodding? “You never did tell me why you were interested in me? I mean, in my work? You own prisons. Why get into medicine, now?”

Sterling nodded, gravely. Glad you’re paying attention. The fact is, Mr. Tillman, your technology could revolutionize the criminal justice industry. Eighty-three percent of our inmates report at least one event likely to result in brain injury. Think about that. I know you’ve seen the effects of a brain injury firsthand. Impulsivity, sudden nonsensical rages, paranoia, inability to think through their actions-- every one of these is likely to lead to dangerous criminal behavior. And as it stands, we can’t, in good conscience, let these people back out into the community. Imagine the kind of rehabilitation we could provide if we could treat these sorts of injuries. It’s this kind of forward-thinking, cutting-edge work that keeps us the APB’s only licensed prison provider. 

A knot undid itself in Issac's spine, and he grinned. “That completely makes sense. That would be huge.” 

OK, so Opal and Jamie didn’t like Lasansky. Opal missed her dad. Issac couldn’t fault her for that. And Jamie said they were over-incarcerating people, but that was the APB’s fault, really. And here was Lasansky, trying to help people in prison and reduce the prison population at the same time. That was hardly supervillainy. This was exactly the kind of work Issac wanted for his nanites. To help people be who they were supposed to be. Now he could prevent crime at the same time! Ha! He might even end up stopping more altered-specific crime than the team, over the course of decades. 

How many altereds became violent because an injury had robbed them of their self-control? How many of them weren’t who they were supposed to be? Issac knew not every brain injury was as severe or caused as huge of an effect as Jenna's, but he had no reason to think she was the only altered who’d been through that.

Lasansky seemed genuinely pleased by Issac's agreement. Exactly. You’re a big-picture guy, I can tell. Just the person we need to complete this team.

“Team?”

Sure! You didn’t think we’d make you do this all alone, did you? We’ve been tinkering with similar projects for quite a while now, and when your essay went out into the world, I thought, “Boy, what a shame he’s going to be busy for God knows how long with school, when he could be learning on the job!” But it looks like everything’s worked out, huh?

It actually did look like that. Issac smiled, much more genuinely. He wasn’t hearing, but maybe he was bouncing back, after all. Not being on Mount Olympus didn’t mean he couldn’t have a decent life. And if Lasansky could reach out to help people be better versions of themselves, so could Issac.

We’re just going to need the data from your original trial. We couldn’t have dreamed someone would be so bold that they’d test this on themselves. That took real stones. That’s gonna move this project up by years. Do you know how hard it is to get a permit to test on human subjects? Ha! Of course you do. But now, since you paved that golden road for us, it’ll be worlds easier. It’s already been shown to be nonfatal, even under a malfunction! 

Wait, what?

Lasansky reached across the table, put a hand on Issac's shoulder, and looked him in the eye. For once, he was completely earnest. I know you must hate walking around with such an obvious weakness, but the failure of that trial has helped get your work into the hands of people with the resources to make your dream real. And that failure, that’s only going to make it faster. 

Issac felt exposed. Obvious.

But vindicated. Nothing he’d been through would matter, if he could just get these nanites working and to the people that needed them. 

* * *

Yael plopped down on the designated park bench, stretching xyr arms along the back of it, xyr legs out in front of xyr. God above, xe did not want to be here. Xe wasn’t even a little ready to deal with Nodiah’s ability to throw xyr off balance. Everything in xyr life was already such a mess. Xe didn’t know what xe might end up saying to him-- or asking him. Papa’d said they’d talk about it. Xe didn’t need to hear it from Nodiah.

The park was nice, at least, aside from being searingly hot. Xe fiddled with xyr phone, reading an almost endless email Martin had sent overnight. Its tone was chipper, but nervous. Completely endearing. Martin’s memory was way better than Yael's. 

Yael's smile died on xyr lips. A secret artificial-- no, now Issac’s insistence on the term “synthetic intelligence” made sense, of course he wouldn’t want Martin to be called artificial-- a secret synthetic intelligence, then, in the plaza itself, watching an unsuspecting superhero team, and befriending an alienated bioengineer. Xe groaned, leaning further back on the bench. 

Yael couldn’t picture a good ending to this story.  

To most teens, the concept of supervillainy probably seemed abstract. Cackling evil madmen twirling their mustaches and building death rays. Papa hardly ever talked about the family he came from, but xe was pretty sure none of them had done much cackling or mustache-twirling.

Martin had sent Yael health statistics on xyr hamsters and, like, 12 apologies that they hadn’t found Skittles for xyr. Martin was sweet. They were trying. They were family.

Nodiah was prompt, of course, and too soon, xe could make out the imposing shape of xyr uncle walking from the parking lot towards the bench. Did he even own any jeans? Or anything other than suit pants? It was Saturday. Even Melissa didn’t wear suits on Saturdays.

Did he think of Papa as his brother? Did he even see Yael as family?

Xe wondered for the millionth time what sort of family Miriam and Ezekiel had been to Papa. Not for the first time, xe wondered if Ezekiel and Miriam had ever even seen the others as family. They’d had Yael. That didn’t suggest a sibling-type relationship. Maybe it was just Papa who saw his line as a family.

Yael hated how the membership on Yael’s mental list of who was “family” kept shifting around. Family was supposed to be forever, not change from day to day.

Xe couldn’t imagine Nodiah affectionately hoarding hamster videos for anybody. Or even leaving little piles of hamster bait around.

From a distance, surrounded by regular people, he seemed huge.

When he stopped a few feet from the bench, looking down at xyr with pinched lips and a considering gaze, xe met his eyes. He didn’t say anything, so Yael didn’t say anything. Xe watched him with open suspicion that matched his frank assessment. He sat next to xyr without a word, gazing over the park. Gradually, Yael let xyrself relax. The air felt like the whole city was submerged in stale bathwater, but xe was dressed for it, and watching the people was nice. 

Nodiah’s voice was as sober as his suit. “This is what I protect. This is the mission of your father, and every other superhero team in this country.”

Yael couldn’t object to that. The whole human life cycle was stretched out in front of them. There was a couple having a picnic on the grass, with their baby crawling around next to them. Over there, some little kids playing tag. Some other kids about Yael's age were playing basketball. A little ways away, two old women laughed loudly on another bench. 

Yael nodded. Wanting to protect a scene like this should be easy for anyone.

“For you,” he continued, “It’ll be harder. You’ll need to be be on your guard at all times to establish your character, to prove yourself trustworthy to the American people.”

“You came all this way to tell me that? I thought you’d be back in DC by now.”

“I came here to cover a duty your father’s obviously ignored.” Maybe he really was just looking for someone to talk to. “I’ve followed you, Yael. For as long as I have been able, I have watched you from a distance. Medical records, school reports, even the construction contracts from when you used to destroy walls in a tantrum. The records from when you broke Dr. Tillman's leg.”

“I never--” Yael objected.

“You were two years old. I’m not surprised they hid it from you.” Was that possible? Could Yael have hurt xyr family that long ago?

“How did you get it all?”

He looked at xyr out of the corner of his eye. “From Solomon, mainly. When it was outside my technical jurisdiction. That was his gift to me, and I accepted it.”

“But if you were so worried about me, then why haven’t we ever met?”

He pursed his lips. Yael studied him. His face wasn’t any more like Yael’s than Papa’s was. In his less-familiar face, it was more obvious that they looked almost the same age. Or they would have, if it weren’t for his suit. “Because I couldn’t afford to know you publicly. Your very existence is a threat to the safety of every altered in the US. To accept a family connection to you would be to fail to reject Ezekiel and Miriam, which the Secretary of the Altered Persons Bureau can not afford.”

One question answered, then. He’d already decided that they weren’t family. “Go, then.”

“Don’t be brash, Yael. You’re too big for it. Solomon gave me a gift, so I am repaying it by giving a gift to you. I’ve come to give you the warning that Solomon, your parents, and I never got, and that Solomon’s failed to give you. I know you’ve been raised on a steady diet of superhero and science fiction tripe. Cartoons and comic books and all that colorful propaganda. I’ve subsidized enough of the garbage, I know exactly what goes into those things. But I hope in all that, you were exposed to the older works-- novels, especially.”

Where was this going? “I mean, I read, if that’s what you mean.”

“But what have you read? We are the science fiction of former decades. They wrote about us long before we existed. When I came into the outside world, I knew enough to find out how they saw us. Dating back before our founders were born, I could find us in stories. Always the same. Gods, or monstrosities. We are Superman, or we are Frankenstein’s monster. And half the time, even if we would be Superman, we end up monsters anyway.”

“I’m not--”

“Of course you’re not,” he spat. “No one is. The wretched truth is that there are no angels or demons on this Earth. Just billions upon billions of humans. I have my own thoughts about what comes after this world, but I’ve seen too much of humanity to think anything but human instinct and the primal forces of nature rule here.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He turned, facing xyr fully. “Yael, I fought for my job for one reason and one reason only. To fend off peasants with pitchforks. This world doesn’t need us. We are made useful only because we are already here, and some of us need to be fought. The public tolerates superheroes because it knows there are supervillains. But those are the only two roles available. Who you are doesn’t matter, compared to who they judge you to be. No matter how strong we are, people will rise up and fight if they see a monster. And eventually, they will win. The presence of a scant few of us in colorful costumes convinces them we can handle it amongst ourselves. That military force isn’t needed. Your parents, Solomon, and I were built to conquer the world. And if we had, you would have been murdered in your cradle.”

The truth was too familiar to resist. Two roles. The one xe’d striven for all xyr life, and the one that stole xyr birth parents’ names out of Papa’s vocabulary. 

“I told you the truth in that basement. I won’t tell you anything but the truth. If you can’t make yourself into someone the public can trust, then I can’t condone any act of violence you perpetrate. No matter how just I may think it is.”

“What do you expect me to do? Change my hair? My face?”

Nodiah shook his head. “I can’t go on covering for you. Hopkins was bad enough. The other morning, on the lawn. And now this, with Voss. Don’t think for a moment we don’t know whose hands took LodeStar down. Your bloodline will be known, eventually. If you try to hide it, you’ll be a traitor, no matter how we try to spin it.”

“Then this is you telling me to give up.”

“This is me warning you to scrub yourself of anything that will taint your image further. No more disregarding the natural order by flip-flopping genders whenever you please. It is ridiculous and offensive. The ‘bisexuality’ is more than bad enough, but there is at least some precedence. No living in illegal tenements owned by shady ‘entrepreneurs’--”

“Aldis isn’t shady, he’s--”

“He flaunts his powers to make a buck. He keeps his nose clean in public, or I’d’ve had him locked up by now. But so far, at least, he keeps his goons in order, so I’ve let him be.”

“He helps--”

“Go home, Yael. Go back where you belong. Solomon’s done well atoning for his early mistakes. And Neil Voss may be a walking disaster with a very limited future, but his reputation is good. Capricorn can’t be helped, but at least he interviews well. His scandals are all decades old, now. He stays quiet. Keeps his head down between missions.

"Most importantly, Yael. You have to deal with the Tillman-Voss boy. I know you see him as a brother. He is on the wrong side of an oncoming fight, which is exactly where he flung himself. Put him on the right side, before it’s too late.”

“I don’t control him.”

“Try. Protect your family, Yael. Keep your own house clean. Solomon and I can barely stand to see each other for our shared shame. He can’t even bear to admit to you that he only has you because we failed your parents. They died, taking hundreds with them, because we fled instead of confronting them directly. Do not make the last generation’s mistakes. Stop him before it is too late. I am investigating Lasansky now. Once that is done, I will come for him. Make sure your brother is at a safe distance when that happens. This is your warning, Yael. Given only because you are who you are. You want to be a hero? Then prevent this altering technology from ending up in Lasansky’s hands. Be the person you need to be for the public to accept you in the role you want.”

“Investigating him for what? What do you want me to do?”

“Is Mr. Tillman-Voss a decent person?”

“Yes!”

“Then consider what a good person would give to make sure that technology that can reprogram the mind doesn’t get into the hands of a traitor. That is your yardstick.”

“Traitor?”

He stood, his voice gentling. “I believe in you, Yael. No matter how many walls you’ve wrecked, I think you’re more angel than devil, but you have to show them that. Be a hero. This is your chance, an opportunity to make yourself known for the right reasons. A chance to do what your father and I couldn’t do-- save your brother. If the Tillman-Voss boy is who you think he is, then protect him. By making sure he doesn’t get more blood on his hands than he can ever make up for. If he’s a good person, he would give his life rather than let that happen.”

Nodiah was 100% as upsetting as Yael expected. His life? Issac’s life? Who was Nodiah to demand or even hint at a sacrifice like that?

Yael could never let Issac die. No matter what he did. Xe could never watch him fall again.

Xe was just like Papa after all.

Xe searched Nodiah’s face, fighting down xyr silver. “This is a test.”

He shocked xyr by taking xyr hand. He held it tight-- xe thought he meant it supportively. “This is a chance. I pray it’s the only one you need, because it’s the only one I can give you. Do the right thing.”

Xe watched, dumbstruck, as he let go of xyr, turned, and walked back to his car without a backwards glance. 

Xe sat there a long moment. Yael pulled out xyr phone. To call Papa, or…Jamie, maybe. 

No Signal.

Yael blinked at the phone. Even in the sub-basement bunker, xe had a signal. Why on Earth would it fail xyr now? Xe looked up, just in time to see Nodiah getting back into an expensive but not ostentatious black car. Papa might say it was a sign that xe should take some time for contemplation. Reflection.

The phone beeped. Xe looked down. Xyr service was back.

Xe needed to get back to the others.

[unwounding]

Since I'm taking dbt Very Seriously I've made an effort to take a more nonjudgmental stance, particularly towards arguments I hesitate to accept. It's especially helpful for my research on prostitution, which is a testy subject for me (and several others) due to its implications for misogyny.

This entails recognizing that people have their reasons for believing what they do. That some researchers take issue with overly hostile attitudes towards prostitution makes sense: mores, including those about sex, are dynamic, and what was considered unacceptable in times past are seen as normal today. Until recently the mores concerning sex in western society were characterized by shame and repression, beliefs that inflicted profound material and psychological harm onto others, e.g. gay people and women. Thus the logical conclusion is to respond to the straightjacket of Victorian corsetry with liberalism. Moreover, radical feminist texts on prostitution in the 1980s often traded in extremes and relied on shabby empirical work. Speaking of which, its also understandable to view sex work as a trade like any other. After all it is an exchange of service for money between two consenting adults. The point is well taken.

And yet the holes in this belief system remain, and I'm still annoyed by claims of objectivity which are more often than not cloaked in moralizing that simply goes in the opposite direction. Take, for example, Ronald Weitzer, a researcher who is especially critical towards writers like Dworkin. While he's justified in some critiques, particularly those concerning empirical accuracy, his snide remarks towards feminism is concerning: he chides feminists for hyper-focusing on patriarchy because, hey, women buy sex too! And yet the gender skew is so extreme--I cannot emphasize how extreme it is in terms of social phenomena in general--that it is simply disingenuous not to hyper-focus on the hierarchal gender structure. I truly do not believe it's a coincidence that I found this annotation in one of his articles:

This is to say nothing of Teela Sanders, who argues that being anti-prostitution is an attack on men's and men's sexuality.

Part of this shift was driven by meeting the researcher who argued that sex work can be empowering by virtue of black women playing into stereotypes, stereotypes that perpetuate the racism that depresses their wages and compels them to act out racist fantasies in the first place. I have no qualms in making the moral claim that black women saying they find it utterly degrading when clients call them nigger during sex but endure it because they need to eat is disgusting. And yet...I don't think the author is a morally corrupt person; they were guided by compassion and a desire to humanize their subjects, even if it meant making the torturous argument required to get out of a blatantly dehumanizing situation enacted by society.

Meeting them was quite apt in that it builds the keystone of both my research and broader philosophy: people do not have to be cartoonishly evil to reproduce harm.

And I'm not proofreading this take it or leave it.