#how to dispose of computer monitors

[salthusiast]

Violent Love Language

No Goggles Mark x GDA Agent Female Reader

Summary: After being sent on a quick mission by Cecil, you catch the attention of one of the variants.

Word Count: 6.4k

Invincible Masterlist

Warnings: Violence and blood. Also death (nobody important don’t worry).

“What is going on?!” You hear Cecil’s voice appear behind you. He must really like that teleporter. 

“It appears that multiple versions of Invincible have entered our dimension.” You say, clearing your stack of papers. You know Cecil is going to make you work for that paycheck today.

“No shit, many are we talking?” He asks.

“Sixteen, sir.” You reply, attempting to pull up any cameras you can access on your computer. You pull up the ones from the prison and see some weird Mohawk version of Invincible.

“Huh, well, that’s not what I expected.” You blink, taken aback briefly by the difference.

“It doesn’t matter what he looks like. We need to figure out how to stop them. Get every superhero on the planet out there.” Cecil commands.

You nod, getting ready to notify all the teams Cecil has at his disposal, which is a lot.

“Donald, come with me,” Cecil says, walking toward the door before pausing at the door and calling your name. 

You whip your head toward him, confused if you heard him correctly, “Yes, you come too.” He snaps.

You don’t want to piss him off more than he already is. You can’t imagine that dealing with a crisis like this is very fun. You’re stressed out with your current position, so you can’t imagine being the GDA director. 

“Everybody else, make sure that at least some heroes are trying to stop every single Invincible,” Cecil calls out before turning back toward the door, you and Donald following suit.

“I called you for a special mission. I tried to keep it on the down low as much as possible. However, with current circumstances, I need a favor.” The three of you continue to walk down the hallway. 

You start to feel a little anxious, “Whatever you need, sir. Will it be dangerous?” You ask.

He doesn’t immediately respond, “Usually no, but right now potentially.” He sighs. “I am trusting you with this job. It could potentially save millions of lives if you’re successful.”

Geez, no pressure. You feel yourself start to sweat, “If it saves lives, it is worth it. What is it you need me to do, sir?” You ask.

Cecil brings you to a new room, “You’re going to be looking for a black suitcase. In that suitcase, there will be about twenty small devices in there. They’re experimental, but hypothetically, they should be useful in dealing with Viltrumites. They’re portable versions of the chips that we implanted into Mark. They have a working radius of around fifty miles out.” 

You gape at him; you can't help but feel bad for Mark. You don’t know him personally, but he seems to be a good person. Cecil had made these intending to stop this dimension’s Mark, not other ones.

“Judge all you want about it, but it’s our best hope,” Cecil says, grabbing a watch-looking device. You recognize it immediately.

“Sir, where exactly is this located?” You ask, putting on the device.

Cecil looks at you solemnly, “Guardians HQ. If you’re lucky, you can find it and be in and out in five minutes. However, realistically, you’re going to have to pass all the security checks, which require everybody here to approve.” He sighs.

“I won’t lie, kid. There’s a large chance one of these Invincible variants will be there. If that’s the case, we’ll try and get you out of there. We’ll be monitoring from here.” Cecil gestures between himself and Donald.

You nod, “Yeah,” You take a deep breath, “Okay. Wait, so I get to use the teleporter?” You ask, feeling a little excited.

“Yes, you should just be going there and back,” Cecil explains, motioning for Donald to get everything ready.

“This isn’t coming out of my paycheck right…” You admire the watch. It looks simple, but you know this is very expensive. Cecil stares at you unamused. 

“Uh, okay, I’m ready. How does this— OH MY GOODNESS-” You feel yourself stumble as you land in Guardians HQ.

“Woah…” You look around, you haven’t been here before, not being a superhero. “Damn, really wish he gave me some idea of where it could be.” You mumble to yourself.

You look around the vast room, noticing a large desk. “Guess I’ll start here.” You rummage around briefly, not seeing anything catch your eye.

You spend the next ten minutes just trying to find the suitcase. Was Cecil trying to get you killed? He could’ve at least pointed you in the right direction.

Eventually, you find a door; there isn’t anything special about it. You go to see if you can open it. You try to twist the handle, failing miserably. “Oh, come on.” You groan.

You look at the screen on the door handle’s keypad, which requires higher security access. 

You turn around the room, “Uhh, if you guys can hear me, could you maybe unlock the door?” You point at it, feeling stupid.

Suddenly, a loud crash resonates in the room. You immediately try to find cover, but you’re standing out in the open. 

“Ah damn, I thought they’d be here.” You hear Invincible say, but you know it’s not the one you know. 

You slowly try and inch away out of sight. Maybe you’ll get lucky and he won’t see you?

“Cecil, I know you’re watching.” Not Mark announces in a sing-song tone. “Here! Let me get rid of all these cameras for you.” 

You watch as this Mark variant destroys every camera. Damn, you were relying on those. 

You try and see if there are any differences between this Mark and the one you know. He seems to have the older costume. Other than that, there doesn’t appear to be any differences in it. 

You squint, trying to see. Oh, no goggles, that's a choice.

Just as you try and find a spot to cover, you hear him laugh loudly, “Oh, ho! Look who we have here!” He calls your name out. You stiffen. How does he know you?

“It really is you! Damn, I started to actually miss you. I killed you in my world, you were a reallll challenge.” He floats just above you. You feel a little pathetic crouched down beneath him.

“Is that so?” You counter, feigning confidence. Cecil, where are you? You take a quick glance at the watch, hoping it'll activate, but it doesn't.

“Oh yeah, for sure! I was so sad when I killed you. I got you to scream for hours. You lasted so long. It was soooo cool.” He gestures excitedly. You nod as if interested. Keep him busy, somebody’s gotta come eventually.

“How nice.” You reply sarcastically. Not Mark nods enthusiastically, not noticing the sarcasm.

I still remember what you sounded like. “God, I can’t believe I get a second opportunity to do it.” He lands right in front of you.

“Woah, uh, maybe take a step back.” You step back, creating distance. You feel unnerved by the wide grin on his face.

“Oooh, setting up the match, huh? We’re getting serious. Okay, okay, I’ll play along!” He gets into a fighting stance. You stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

“For somebody who seemed to enjoy torturing me so much, I’m surprised I’m only the second version to have the honor to fight you.” You can feel yourself start to sweat. You are running out of ways to stall him.

“I know. I mean, I wanted to conquer other dimensions,” He waves a hand casually, “but this is fun too.”

You see a shift in the lighting above. You subtly glance up, finally somebody’s here. You can’t tell who it is, but you can see it’s not an Invincible. 

“Hmm.. yes, fun.” You reply uninterested. “You know what else is fun?” You ask, moving closer.

He starts to grin wider, getting into a more serious position, “What?”

You push him down the stairs, catching him off guard. You got lucky there. If he wanted to resist that, he definitely could’ve. You see the Guardians descend from the ceiling, restraining him.

You look towards the open door, which was locked earlier. You run towards it.

“Hey! AGH!” You hear him get hit. “DUDE IT WAS A ONE V ONE! RESPECT THE MATCH!” You hear him yell across the room. Ha.

You grab the suitcase waiting in the room, watching as the Guardians attempt to knock him unconscious. 

You frown, “You guys need him alive or something?” You ask, watching them beat down on Not Mark.

“Yeah, Cecil thinks he’s our best shot at getting answers.” You hear Darkwing reply. You nod, “Alright then. Not my business.” You start to walk away, “Wait, before I leave, can I do something?"

All the Guardians look at each other, “Sorry, it’ll just take a moment.” You set the suitcase down, taking a heel off your foot. 

You throw it as hard as you can at Not Mark, hitting him dead in the eye. “Hey! What’d you do that for?!” He frowns pettishly.

You grab the suitcase, picking it up again. You adjust yourself before looking him dead in the eye with a straight face, “Fun.” 

You turn around to walk away from the Guardians, feeling the odd sensation of being teleported once again.

All the Guardians watch, flabbergasted. “She’s got guts.” Darkwing breaks it, amused. Immortal nods, “Let’s just knock this guy out. There’s still more out there.” 

Not Mark remains on the floor, awestruck. How did this human come in here, trick him into an ambush, and then have the audacity to hit him? His eyes linger on where you teleported away. 

It was at this moment that he decided he would meet you again.

---------------------------

“That was a bold move, kid.” You hear Cecil’s voice. You look up, still nauseous from the teleportation, and his arms are crossed.

“He killed another version of me.” You justify, handing him the suitcase. “Even if I don’t have super strength to beat him up, I wanted to at least hit him for what he did. I would’ve slapped him, but I’m not stupid enough to go into neck snapping range.”

“Whatever," He sighs, "it’s done now. We’ll try and send these out with some teams. They should at least reduce the damage that could be done.” Cecil says, opening the suitcases. He grabs one of the devices.

“What about Mark, sir?” Donald asks, frowning. 

“If you can get in contact with him, tell him to get off the planet. Otherwise, it’s a small price to pay for the greater good. He’ll recover, humanity may not.” Cecil replies. Donald nods and goes back to typing.

Cecil turns toward you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Good work, kid. Sorry that you had to deal with that.”

You shrug, “It’s okay, he didn’t actually get the chance to do anything.” You reply. “What are you planning on doing with him? Are you sure you can restrain him?” You ask, frowning.

“We’re planning on implanting the same chip that Mark had into him. Don’t worry, we have a plan for what to do with him. We might be able to extract some answers out of him eventually.” Cecil sighs. “I don’t even know if we’ll be able to rehabilitate him.” He shakes his head. 

You know this is what Cecil does. While you may find some moral issues in using villains, you know this is how he works. There’s nothing you can do to change that.

You nod, “It’s worth a shot, sir.” You reply. “If we can have two Invincibles out there, that’d be a huge advantage.” 

“Yeah, that’s if he will change. These variants seem pretty set in their ways.” Cecil watches Donald work. “One step at a time. We need to get answers out of him first.” 

You nod, “Probably a good idea.” 

Cecil turns back to you before dismissing you back to your desk, “Thank you for your help.”

You nod, “Of course, sir. Call me anytime.”

—

“You sure he won’t wake up?” Darkwing asks, looking nervously at the body of the unconscious Invincible slung over Immortal’s back.

Duplikate walks up next to them, “I doubt it. If he does, Cecil told us he has a backup. We can also knock him out again.”

“We were lucky. If he wasn’t caught off guard, then we would not have knocked him out. He would’ve killed us all.” Darkwing responds solemnly.

Immortal slides the variant into the special cell that Cecil told them to put him in.

“Thank you, Guardians.” A scientist comes up to them, locking the special prison cell. “You needn’t worry about him escaping. You are free to go.” He smiles. 

The Guardians nod before rushing out of the Pentagon. Cecil walks into the room. “Is he up yet?” He asks.

The scientist shakes his head, “No, sir. We expect he’ll wake up in the next few minutes, though.” He taps his pen on the clipboard. 

“Good, all safety measures have been checked, yes?” Cecil asks. The scientist nods, “Yes, sir. He will not be escaping.” He responds. The two watch as the Invincible starts to stir.

“Agh, my head… Hey, where am I?” He looks around before making eye contact with Cecil. “You seriously think that I can’t escape this?” He sounds amused. He slowly stands up, walking up to the front of his cell. 

“Perhaps, but you will regret your attempts,” Cecil replies, his voice betraying nothing. 

The Invincible variant laughs, taking off his mask. “You had me knocked out, why not kill me?” He puts his finger through the mask and spins it.

“You aren’t in a position to be asking questions.” Cecil narrows his eyes.

The variant suddenly slams into the front of the cell where Cecil and the scientist stand. The scientist flinches back, but Cecil remains still.

“You truly think. I can’t kill you right now?” He laughs. “All it takes is— ARGH!!” He immediately falls down onto the ground, gripping his head. 

Cecil presses the button once again, cutting out the noise playing in the Invincible’s ear. “Like I said, you’re not in a position to be asking questions.” The variant looks up at him, the amused smile gone from his face.

"Now tell me why you’re here,” Cecil demands. 

The variant wipes the blood from his suit, “I’m not tellin’ you shit.” He smears the blood on his fingers to the ground. Suddenly, he says your name, the smile returning to his face.

“What?” Cecil asks, confused. “How do you know her?” He asks.

“Does it matter?” The variant rolls his eyes. “Where is she? I want to talk to her.”

“Sorry to say, we can’t do that.” Cecil didn’t sound very sorry.

The variant clicks his tongue, “Damn, guess you’re not getting a word out of me then.” He leans against the wall smugly.

“You can rot in this cell then,” Cecil replies.

The variant snaps and then does finger guns, “Oooh, so you see, that won’t work.” He laughs loudly. “I mean you’ll die eventually. I have centuries to escape, and trust me...” 

He leans towards the wall, placing his hands against it, “It will not take me a century to escape. You’re lucky if you last a week.” He pushes away from the wall, pacing in his room.

“Now, if you want answers. Bring her. It’s a win-win. I get the girl, you get your answers!” He grins widely, as if that’s a very fair deal.

Cecil sighs.

--------------------------

“Uh, what is it you need, sir?” You ask your boss over the phone. 

“It appears that the Invincible variant we captured refuses to answer any questions,” Cecil responds, annoyed, looking over toward the variant, who is grinning with two giant thumbs up.

“Okay..?” You respond, not liking where this is headed.

“I hate to involve you again, kid, but he will only answer questions if you are there,” Cecil replies exasperated.

You are frozen for a moment; this monster almost killed you. Why on Earth could he possibly want to talk to you?

“..Which cell is he in?” You eventually concede. You can hear Cecil sigh in relief. 

“Thank you, he’s in cell two hundred forty-three,” Cecil informs you. 

“I’ll be there in a minute.” You tell him before you hang up. 

You grab all your stuff and begin your long trek to the special prison Cecil has. It’s supposed to be able to withstand anything, but after seeing Omni-Man take a nuke, you aren’t certain.

You eventually get down to that level, and the security asks for your identification. You scan your card before walking in. You see Cecil and Donald standing at the end of the row.

You slowly approach, “There she is! I was wondering if you were gonna show!” You hear Not Mark (at this point, that’s his new name) call. 

“How long do I need to be here for?” You whisper to Cecil. 

“Long enough to figure out why they’re here and who sent them,” Cecil responds, matching your volume.

“You got your wish, now can you answer our questions?” Cecil asks, crossing his arms.

“Mmmm, I don’t know.” He looks at you and frowns. “I thought it was just gonna be me and her.” He looks disappointedly at Cecil.

You and Cecil share a look, you nod at each other, before he looks down shaking his head. “Everybody out! You get ten minutes with her, nothing more.” He states before the area clears out.

You shift uncomfortably, he is just watching you. He seems content just to stare at you. 

“What?” You ask, feeling scrutinized by his stare. He looks up at you, “You’re amazing.” He replies breathless.

You raise an eyebrow, “I’m amazing. After you told me that the other version of me you tortured was one of the best things you’ve done? Hate to break it to you, but I am just a normal person.” You cross your arms, looking at him. “I think you’ve noticed that already.”

He nods, “Of course I have. She was strong, sure, but you. You played me like a fool. When you hit me with that shoe at the end? Way to leave a guy with a cliffhanger.” He mockingly swoons.

You look at him unimpressed. “Very funny. Now we don’t have much time, so please just cooperate and answer these questions. It saves us both trouble.”

He nods enthusiastically, “Of course. What do you want to know?” He sits on the ground, criss cross, looking up at you like you hung the moon.

You ignore his gaze, “Why are you here?” You ask.

“Well… You see, I got into a fight with the Guardians. Oooh, I was so looking forward to actually fighting them. Instead, I met you.” He rests his elbows on his knees, holding his face with his hands.

“I was so enraptured by your presence that I got caught off guard.” He holds his hands out. “Now, I’m in prison.”

You look at him, glaring. “You know what I meant.”

He frowns, “Not big on jokes? We were chatting perfectly fine earlier.” He says to himself. You exhale annoyed.

“Sheesh, just playing! Okay, so this guy, right? He promised me the most fun dimensions for me to take over.” He shifts his weight onto his side. 

“What was his name?” You ask. 

“Angstrom Levy.” He says, and you freeze. “Oh, you’ve met?” He asks.

“Not personally, but I’ve heard stories.” You look down. “What exactly did he ask you all to do?” You ask.

“Eh, something about making everyone here fear Invincible. It seemed like he just wanted chaos, which I didn’t mind one bit.” He holds his hands up in surrender.

“How long are you guys meant to do this for?” You ask.

He shrugs, “Until he says stop, I guess.” 

“And when would that be?” You walk up closer to his cell. He stands up, meeting your gaze. His eyes glance down at your lips.

“I…” He stares at your face, “have no idea.”

You frown, “Helpful.”

“I try to be.” He grins.

You shake your head, rubbing your temples. This is way above your paygrade. “So, let me get this straight: Angstrom Levy brought over a dozen different versions of yourself,” He nods, “and he just told you guys to ‘cause chaos.” 

“Sounds about right.” He starts spinning his mask with his fingers again.

“And in return, he’d give you dimensions to conquer?” You frown.

“Yeeep.” 

“So you have no idea why he wants you guys to cause chaos?” You lean up against the cell. He leans against his cell, too, mirroring your action.

“To be honest, I didn’t particularly care.” He taps his finger against the cell. “But, I do know the me of this dimension did something to piss him off.”

You think back to the whole incident with the Mauler Twins and the other incident where Mark almost killed him. “Oh.” You respond.

“‘Oh?’” He quotes. “You gonna share with the class?” 

“I thought I was the one asking questions.” You look at him.

“And I answered! Come on, throw me a bone here, will you?” He grins at you, looking far more innocent than you know him to be.

You look at him unimpressed. 

“Please?! Come on. There’s nothing fun around here. You’re my only source of entertainment right now.” He leans against the wall dramatically.

“Glad to know I’m contributing to your lack of entertainment.” You respond, detached.

“Aha! There she is! I was wondering if you left all your personality back where we met.” He snaps his fingers and does finger guns at you.

You look at him blankly. “Cecil will be back any moment now.” You begin to walk away.

“Wait, wait!” He calls out, and you pause.

“Will you come and visit me?” He asks, giving you false puppy dog eyes. You know if he wasn’t in that cell, he’d probably kill you.

You scoff but find yourself smiling, “Why, so I can be a source of entertainment for you?” You ask, walking back to his cell. He walks up to where you are, and you both stare each other down.

“Perhaps.” He grins.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t look like you’re getting answers out of him.” Cecil walks in. You immediately distance yourself from the cell, breaking eye contact with Not Mark. He doesn’t move from where you two had your little staring competition.

“Forgive me, sir.” You look away from him, slightly embarrassed. “I did get answers, though.” You consciously ignore Not Mark, who is waving at you both to try and get your attention.

“We heard,” Cecil responds dryly, he does sound a bit amused though. He puts his hand on your shoulder, “Thanks for your assistance. Sorry we had to bring you out again for.. him.” You both turn to look at Not Mark, who grins innocently.

“Yeah, no problem.” You say, feeling as if it were very much a problem.

“Wait, Cecil, is she allowed to visit me?” Not Mark asks, butting into your conversation.

“That’s up to her.” Cecil says, at the same time you say, “It’s prohibited.”

You look at Cecil, distressed. “What? It pays to be in his good graces.” Cecil whispers to you.

“Yeah? What’s his good graces? Not breaking out and killing everyone?” You respond frustrated. Cecil raises an eyebrow before looking over at Not Mark. “Fair enough.” You sigh despondently.

“I can hear you two.” Not Mark comments helpfully.

You look at Cecil, and he nods. “You can head back now.”

You nod, “Thank you, sir.” You start to walk away, ignoring Not Mark’s cries of “Wait!” and “Don’t go!”

You walk past the security, giving a nod of acknowledgement. You walk into the elevator.

Once you arrive on the floor, you were supposed to be on (before all of that happened). You sit down at your desk, grabbing your stack of papers you threw aside earlier. 

“How are the Guardians doing, or all the teams for that matter?” You ask your coworker, Bryan, casually.

He groans. “We’ve already seen at least three be eliminated or seriously injured.”

“Teams? Like they killed off entire teams?” You ask, shocked.

He nods, “Yep. Down and out.” He types frantically on his keyboard.

“…Have we managed to kill any of the Invincibles at all?” You ask hesitantly, unsure if you want to know the answer. 

“At the moment? Four.” He responds.

“Oh, that’s more than I expected.” You look around the panicked room. Every person around you is frantically working. Crazy to think that not even 10 minutes ago you were talking to one of those Invincibles while everybody up here was stressing.

“Did you find out any valuable info from the one we captured?” Bryan asks.

“Not much. Levy sent him.” You start to log in to your computer.

“Levy? As in Angstrom Levy?” He asks, flabbergasted.

“Yep.” You pop your lips. “Turns out Mark didn’t kill him.” 

“From what I heard, there was no way anybody could survive that.” 

“Well, apparently he did. He wants revenge on Mark, I think.” You respond.

“Great, so he brought sixteen different Invincibles in order to kill our Invincible.” He sighs, pausing in his typing.

“Eh, basically. Apparently, they won’t stop causing damage until told to by Levy himself.” You tell him. “The captured one didn’t even know when that’d be.”

“Oh, so they could go on until they destroy the world?” Bryan laughs humorlessly.

“Yeah. I have no idea when—”

A loud crash resounds in the room. You and Bryan whip your heads around, looking at the giant hole in the ceiling. You look and see an Invincible floating over the rubble. 

You quickly glance at Bryan before you both scurry out of the room. You start to run out when…

“HOLY SHIT!” You hear him yell. You turn around to look at him, narrowly missing the body that was flung inches in front of your face.

You stare in horror, watching as employee after employee is murdered. You begin to run again. 

“Ugh damn it…” You frantically yank your heels off your feet. You run off to the exit. You, Bryan, and a few other coworkers manage to escape that room, but you can still hear the screams from where the crash was.

“Where is Cecil?!” Somebody asks. You shake your head. “Probably dealing with the other one we captured.” You groan. This Invincible is probably here to break that one out of prison.

“Let’s go, it’s safer in the halls than it is here.” You look at the remaining people, who nod. You start to run out again before the wall on your left explodes. 

“Other way, other way!” You yell, panicked. You push back against the remaining people. They start to head in the other direction. 

“Are all of you guys okay?” You ask. Out of the thirty of you in that room, seven (including you) made it.

“We should’ve just let him go.” You hear a coworker mumble, and everybody turns to look at them. “What? Am I wrong? This never would have happened if we didn’t keep that other one hostage.” You hear some murmurs of agreement.

“We don’t know that. The Pentagon might’ve been a target regardless of the Invincible we kept.” You frown, shaking your head. 

“Yeah? Well, we can’t be too sure, can we? How about we find out, huh?” The worker pushes past you all, heading back into the original room.

“What are they doing?” Bryan asks. You all watch as they run to their death.

Suddenly, static cuts in from the PA speakers: “Cell two hundred and forty-three is open.”

You all sit in silence for a bit before some people in your group begin to sob. 

The door the worker ran into earlier opens, and you all watch as a head rolls through the door. It is the head of that worker.

You all look up in horror. The Invincible variant crushes the head of the worker before looking up. 

You, being in the back, turn in the opposite direction. You think you’ll take your chances with random exploding walls over that. Bryan notices, and you motion him to be quiet, and duck so that the variant doesn’t see you two escape.

You both crouch, walking in the other direction. The group is still back there facing off against that Invincible. Do you feel bad for leaving them there? Yes, but you can’t dwell on it. It’s either all of you die, or some of you die. 

You don’t even hear the screams of them, just the wet slap of their bodies hitting the blood-soaked floor. You flinch, knowing that you two are now in plain view.

“Bryan, Bryan, we have to ru—” You turn to look at your friend, but pause in horror. The variant stabbed his hand right through him. You cup your hands up to your mouth, holding back a sob. You look at the variant before attempting to sprint away. You feel yourself get slammed into the wall, and you let out a soft “Oof!”

You look up in fear, the Invincible’s goggles block you from seeing his eyes. You can feel the tears roll down your face at this point. You don’t say anything, just stare at him silently as he raises his hand to strike you down.

Suddenly, you’re thrown to the ground, out of the Invincible’s grip. You look up.

“Dude, what are you doing here? God, you ruined my whole plan.” Not Mark pouts petulantly.

“I wasn’t aware you were here.” The other Mark replies.

“Well?” He does jazz hands. “I am! Now get out.” 

“Sure, whatever, just let me kill the human first. Angstrom said kill as many as possible.

Within an instant, Not Mark tackles the other one, sending a cloud of dust throughout the entire area. You cough, watching in both awe and horror. You attempt to stand up, but feel a sharp pain in your leg.

“Agh… shit.” You whimper, an action that seems to catch Not Mark’s attention. Within a millisecond, he’s in front of you, “Do you trust me?” He asks.

You blink at him, feeling the gust of wind from him speeding towards you. “Absolutely not!” You suck in air from the pain.

He grins, “Great.” He then grabs you bridal style before blasting into the air.

“OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” You attempt to yell over the rushing wind. You feel yourself suffocating, unable to breathe with the high speed and rushing wind.

“Aw shit, forgot humans can’t breathe when I move this fast. You think you can last a little longer?” You hear him ask. You try and nod, but can barely move against the strong force. 

Eventually, you come to a stop, he places you down gently on the ground. “Do not move. Go inside that building, I’ll be back shortly.” He points to a relatively run down looking building.

“What?! Where did you drop me off-” You watch him speed off back into the sky. “Unbelievable!” You yell out to nobody. Who is going to believe this happened to you today? Nobody! 

“I’m not waiting here, asshole.” You grumble to yourself.

--------------------------

You sigh, waiting inside the building.

“How long is his definition of ‘shortly'? It’s been days.” You lean your elbows on your knees. 

Luckily, despite its run down appearance the place Not Mark dropped you off at has running water and food. 

It took you a while to actually try and consume any of it, but you decided that you didn’t want to die in the middle of nowhere. You’ll take your chances. Worst-case scenario, Cecil pays for your healthcare. He is the one who put you in this situation anyway.

Suddenly, the door gets thrown open. You jump back into the corner of the room you’re in. You hear Not Mark call your name.

“Hellooo? Anybody here?” You hear him approach you before looking directly at you. “There she is!” He walks up to you.

You grimace in disgust, looking at him. He’s covered from head to toe in blood. 

“What’s wrong?” He frowns. “Do I have something on my face?” He asks.

You look him up and down again, “Blood.” You respond disgustedly.

He blinks, confused, “You don’t like the blood? I thought you’d like it.” He looks at the ground as if trying to figure out a puzzle. “I’ll be right back.” He zooms out of the room, the door shutting itself behind him.

You look at the spot he was just at, unimpressed. Suddenly, the door opens again, and his suit is clean. You furrow your eyebrows, “How’d you clean it?” You ask.

“Flew to space and back. It comes off.” He mentions casually, as if that’s normal. “Anyway, ready to head home?” He grins, looking at you, holding his arms out ready to carry you. 

You look at him, suspicious.

He rolls his eyes, “Oh come onnnn. If I wanted to kill you, I could’ve done that way earlier.” He raises a hand and waves it back. At your horrified expression, he elaborates, “I mean like… You know what I mean. I don’t want you dead. I kinda went out of my way to make sure you didn’t die.” 

You nod, “Oh, yeah, okay… So I should just let you whisk me to who knows where.” You feign calmness.

“I mean, yeah.” He shrugs before grinning widely. “OOH, unless you want to give me your address.”

You stare at him, trying to discern whether he is serious. He stares back, smiling, looking like a dog begging for a treat. 

“No!”

“Worth a shot.” He sighs dejectedly. 

He carries you back, flying a lot slower this time, but still fast enough where you can’t bring yourself to talk in fear of choking on air or on a bug.

You feel him gaze at you a couple of times and pointedly ignore his stare. Suddenly, he pauses, slowing to a stop mid-air. “What’s wrong?” You ask, panic growing. 

You see him groan before throwing out some earpiece in his ear. “Oh, they didn’t take that out when you entered the Pentagon?”

“I don't know, I should be asking you that.” He leans down to your ear. “Hold on tight.” He whispers.

“What? OH MY—” You see him attack something. It explodes in the air. You both watch the debris fall onto the earth.

“What was that?” You ask, unsure if you want to know the answer. 

“Angstrom.” He says, pulling you closer before flying back where he was originally headed. 

You go the rest of the flight in silence. It wasn’t like you could talk if you wanted to. The wind made it difficult.

“Andddd we’re here. Wow, we really did a number on this place.” You look down, seeing half the Pentagon decimated. 

Out of nowhere, ReAnimen jump up into the sky. Not Mark drops you out of surprise. You feel yourself fall, closing your eyes and bracing for the impact. God, was this finally it? After everything you survived today?

A pair of arms catch you, and you open your eyes to see the singular red light of a ReAniman. You try to lean back away from the undead creature. You know they work for Cecil, but it doesn’t mean that you have to like them.

“Oh, good you’re alive. How’d you live?” Cecil asks. You feel yourself questioning for a moment if he is actually happy to see you alive. You turn toward Not Mark. He is fighting the ReAnimen. 

“Woahh, I never fought these guys in my world. They’re kinda fun.” He slams five of them using the body of one he already killed. “I killed you before you got the chance to create them, but man, Cecil. Good stuff.” He hovers over them.

“He saved me.” You tell Cecil, not exactly sounding enthusiastic.

He raises an eyebrow, “From the other one that came?” He asks, you nod.

“Hm…” He pauses, looking at the ground before pointing at you suddenly.

“What?” You whisper.

All the ReAnimen slowly turn their heads toward you. “Wait, Cecil, what are you doing?” You ask, panic growing. He looks at you coldly. “Cecil…” You try again.

Not Mark, noticing the lack of new opponents looks down. He spots you getting circled before he immediately dives in and lands right behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” He asks coldly. The grin on his face from the fight earlier is nowhere to be seen.

Cecil suddenly holds his hand up, and all the ReAnimen halt. “I see.” He says to himself. He says your name, “I apologize for my actions just now. I just had to…” He looks at Not Mark, “test something.” 

You look at Not Mark and then Cecil. “Please tell me you aren’t thinking what I’m thinking.” You look at Cecil in disbelief.

“What is it?” Not Mark asks right behind you. You step forward to create some distance between you two, and he steps forward to compensate.

“Say, how about you work for the GDA, Mark?” 

You and Not Mark both gape at Cecil before both of you simultaneously cry out:

“Are you SERIOUS?!”

“Oooh.” Not Mark laughs loudly. “Yeah, absolutely not. Why would I ever work for you?”

Cecil looks at you, his eyes seem sympathetic, yet unapologetic. “You can work with her.” 

So now here you are. Watching an evil version of Invincible shake hands with Cecil Stedman. The deciding factor? Getting to work with you. Truly, you’d feel flattered if it were anybody else.

“Soooo we’ll be in contact?” Not Mark grins at you, leaning into your personal space. You step away from him, but he follows.

“Kill yourself.” You deadpan. 

He smiles wider, and you know he heard it. “Now, is that how you talk to the person who saved your life? Oh, and your new coworker.” He removes his mask.

You feel your eye twitch. Is this seriously your life now?

“Why the long face?” He mocks your traumatized expression before breaking character and laughing loudly. “Come on, let’s get to work!” He floats up, flying in circles around you in the air like a hyperactive dog. 

“This is my life now.” You tell yourself, Not Mark nods because of course he heard you.

“Our life now.” He grins at you. 

You groan.

Quick A/N: Yes, yes, I'll get back to writing for Viltrumite Mark. Unless you guys want more of this. Either way Viltrumite Mark pt 3 is up next :D

[valeriehalla]

I have gotten a lot of messages saying that they really love the presentation of CURSE/KISS/CUTE. Often the commenter in question can’t say what exactly it is about the formatting that they appreciate, but that it just reads well and looks good. Well!!! Allow me to bare my wealth of secret knowledge for you once and for all:

I sorta just did some research into book typography...?

Here’s something you should know about web development, alright: typography on the web is really, really bad. The tools we have at our disposal—HTML and CSS—are incredibly powerful, but they are set up to fight you every step of the way towards Good Typography. When you know what you’re looking for, you can fix all the common issues quickly and easily. But it’s not easy to know what to look for, because

problematic typography is overwhelmingly the norm on the web, and

good typography is invisible.

Here’s a screenshot from CURSE/KISS/CUTE episode 0:

Now, I don’t want this post to come across as prescriptive. It is not my intention to tell you, “This is what good typography looks like, so follow my lead exactly.” I made a lot of choices with the typography of my web novel: many of those choices would not make sense in other contexts. What I want to convey to you is what those choices are, so that you will know they’re available to be made.

I mentioned that the web “fights you” when it comes to good typography. What do I mean by that? Well, check this out:

This is how that passage of text renders “by default.” In other words, this is how a web browser would render that text without any input from me about what styles to apply. It kind of sucks ass! But it also looks pretty familiar, right? This is not that far off from how a lot of websites—even websites full of prose (looking at you, AO3)—render text.

I think the most illustrative thing to do here would be to walk you through my thought process and show you, step by step, what decisions I made to turn this unstyled text into the styled version you see in the novel.

So, first things first:

1. We have got to shrink that text column.

Computer monitors... are wide. They are wider than they are tall. They are so wide, and they have so many pixels. This means you can fit a lot of characters on them. If you wanted, you could just have a wall of characters from the left side of the screen all the way to the right side. Talk about efficient!!

You should never, ever, ever do this.

This is one choice that I actually will make a prescriptive statement about, because it’s supported by quite a lot of research: fairly narrow text columns are more legible. Specifically, research seems to support the idea that a width in the range of 50 to 70 characters per line is the most comfortable for people to read*. Every font is different, so it takes a little doing to turn that “characters” figure into a pixel measurement; I went with 512 CSS pixels for the maximum width of my text column:

Isn’t that just so much nicer to read already?

*A commenter reminds me that I’d be remiss not to point out that the research on column width legibility isn’t completely conclusive. You do want to limit the width of your text columns, but going over the 70 character-per-line recommendation isn’t necessarily the end of the world, and you might have good reasons to do so. I did not: as mentioned, one of my goals was to mimic book-style typography, and books by nature have fairly restrained column widths, on account of they’re books.

2. Picking a font.

I’m not going to give you the blow-by-blow on how I decided what font to use. The short story is that I asked some designers, and one of the recommendations I got was the free font Crimson Pro, which I took a liking to immediately:

It’s just an all-around attractive serif font, but one thing I really like about it for use in a novel is its highly-visible quotation marks. They’re just kinda jumbo! They’re real big! Easy to see! In a novel, those things aren’t just ornamentation. It makes a great deal of practical sense for them to stand out just a bit. It also has a fairly large x-height, unlike a lot of the more traditional options, which is good for legibility on a computer screen.

3. Adjusting the line-height

Web browsers default to a line-height of about 1.2em, which, as you can probably tell, is quite cramped. If you go and Google “optimal line height for legibility”, you’ll get a number of results right off the bat suggesting 1.5em. Sounds good! Let’s do that:

Well... hmm. That’s definitely an improvement, but between you and me, it actually looks a bit too spacey to my eyes. I wonder why?

I’ll cut to the chase: the 1.5em recommendation makes some assumptions about the font you’re using. In Arial, the letter “A” is about 0.6em tall; in Crimson Pro, it’s about 0.5em. That means that there’s no one-size-fits-all solution to spacing your lines, because different fonts have different amounts of empty space baked in. How annoying!

Let me tell you something about the kind of nerd I am. When I had this realization, I grabbed some books off my shelf and pulled out a literal micrometer. I started measuring the line-heights against various font features to see if there were any patterns I could spot in professional typesetting. Here’s what I found:

Almost every book on my shelf spaces lines such that the distance between one baseline and the next is about three times the x-height. How cool is that? I clapped my hands like a seal when I put this together.

Adjusting the line-height to match what I observed in the wild gives us this:

It’s a subtle difference, but to my eyes it feels just right. It’s almost like magic!

4. Paragraph spacing...

Let’s address the elephant in the room. Probably the most controversial choice I made with CURSE/KISS/CUTE’s typography was to opt for book-style paragraph indentation rather than web-style paragraph spacing—like so:

I did this for a few reasons:

It’s what I’m used to. I’ve read a lot of books, and this is just the way that books are formatted. I think for something aspiring to the title of “novel”, there’s value in making it look the way a reader probably expects a novel to look.

A novel has a lot of paragraph breaks in it. A paragraph in, say, an encyclopedia entry might go on for half a page or more; whereas it is unusual for a paragraph in a modern work of narrative prose to run for more than a handful of sentences, especially in any scene with dialogue. Because paragraph breaks are so common, spacing between paragraphs in a novel results in a lot of wasted space. Also, subjectively speaking, the additional space seems to me to lend an undue amount of weight to paragraph breaks. I’m just starting a new thought; there’s no need for a 21-gun salute, you know?

Having said that, here are some good reasons you might decide not to do paragraph indentation anyway:

Doing it right requires a bit of extra legwork. Notice how the very first paragraph in the image above has no indentation. That’s because it’s the start of a new section, and the first paragraph in a section traditionally goes unindented. This is an easy detail to miss, and it can be difficult to wrangle CSS into doing it for you automatically.

Web users don’t expect it. For the first decade of the web’s existence, there was no good way to do paragraph indentation; by the time CSS rolled around and made it easy, paragraph spacing had already become the norm. And while CURSE/KISS/CUTE may be a novel, it is also, specifically, a web novel!

But it’s my house and I get to make the rules, so I went with indentation. Incidentally, there seems to be a dire lack of research into the question of whether indentation or spacing is more legible for readers—but the data that does exist appears inconclusive at best. So, the choice really does come down to vibes.

5. The tragedy of justification.

You’ll note that one way in which I did not make my web novel look like a paper novel is the text alignment. It’s un-justified: the right margin is ripsaw-ragged.

This is because it is not possible to justify text on the web.

Oh, you can try. Look right here: there’s a CSS property for it and everything. Just turn on “text-align: justify” and...

Nightmare! The interword spacing on that first line is almost as wide as the indentation!

Reader, I’m afraid that your web browser is simply too dumb. That’s not the browser’s fault: robust algorithms for justifying text without creating these distractingly huge gaps between words have existed for many decades, and modern computers are powerful enough to run them in real time with little performance impact. It’s just, uh—nobody has ever bothered to implement them into web browsers. It is the damnedest thing.

I tried, I really did. You can mitigate this problem a bit if you enable automatic hyphenation, but browsers are unfortunately also kind of dumb at hyphenating. Firefox, for example, will refuse to hyphenate any word containing a capital letter, so any sentence with a lot of proper nouns in it is a lost cause. I tried manually inserting soft hyphens with a text preprocessor I wrote myself, but still these overjustified lines plagued me: when the text column narrows, for example on a phone, even hyphens can’t save you. The line-breaking algorithm is simply too naïve to optimize for well-justified text, and that’s not something you can fix as a web developer.

As a result, my heavy-hearted recommendation is to never use text justification. It’s just too distracting.

6. And then some extra stuff just for me

I added drop-caps because it looks neat and I made the ellipses spacier because I think it looks good when it, uh, when they are spacier. I think that looks pretty good that’s just my opinion though.

That’s all! Hope you learned something bye!!!

[pastelghoul]

hello! I love your connor work :) I just finished my first play through of DBH and I’m in love with Connor 😭 could I possibly request a scenario? Maybe one where reader is a detective working a case with him at the DPD and since he’s this advanced prototype and doesn’t need food/warmth and everything they feel a bit like.. inadequate as a human compared to him? And how he would make them feel better? Sorry this is a long ask 😅 love your work and hope you’re having a lovely day!!

Only Human - Connor x Reader

More than happy to! Had a lot of fun writing this one - Imagine Connor comforting you after feeling inadequate working alongside him on a case

“___? Are you alright?” Connor asked, peeking over your desk at your slouched form; one hand supported your chin as the other clung loosely onto a pen, your eyes drooping shut. Whatever you had been writing on the sticky note now had a large pen-strike through it.

“Huh? Sorry, i dozed off.” You said, squinting at the clock on your computer. It read 12:38 am in small, white letters. Honestly, you were exhausted. This case was your top priority however, solving it had the chance to land you a promotion you desperately needed.

Of course, you were no Hank Anderson. That promotion was just wishful thinking. Looking over at Connor, you sighed. You certainly were no android, either. You watched as he typed away, eyes scanning the screen intently as he worked on the case.

The ability to never tire, what a blessing. All the things you could get done if you never needed to rest; You’d tidy your desk, for starters. The mess of documents and files scattered across your desk, not to mention the near-overflowing trashcan resting at your feet.

Compared to Connor, who’s desk was neat and tidy save for a succulent, a photo frame of the three of you (with Hank and you five beers deep) and a sticky note taped to his monitor. Craning your neck as you hunched across the desk, you narrowed your eyes at what it said.

dipshit

Gavin. Reaching across the desk you ripped the sticky note from the monitor, Connor quirking a brow as you did so.

“I’m sorry ___, did I do something to upset you? Would you rather I’d let you sleep?” Connor asked, watching as you scrunched up the note and threw it in the trash.

“No Connor, it’s fine. I’m gonna head home and get some sleep. Goodnight.” You waved as you made your way out of the station.

You awoke to a loud knocking on your front door. Looking over at your alarm clock, your eyes widened as you realised you had overslept. Shit, shit, shitshitshit, Hank’s gonna have my ass for this!

Dashing to get dressed and find your shoes, you almost ran headfirst into a firm chest. Looking up in bewilderment at the android stood in your living room, you cursed under your breath.

“Connor? How did you get inside?” Connor held up a small, silver key - you’d entirely forgotten you’d given him your spare. “Oh, right. I was just about to leave, uh-“ Connor quirked a brow, looking you up and down.

“Your shirt is on backwards.” Connor mused, smirking as you grabbed at your collar to indeed be greeted by the sizing tag. “You also seem to be missing your pants.”

“Give me a minute, I just woke up!” You grumbled, pushing past Connor to make a coffee. Your heart sunk as the machine groaned to life, only to come to a shuddering death moments later. Fuck me backwards with a chainsaw, can’t even get a coffee without something going wrong.

This was not starting out to be a good day. You turned around to see Connor sitting across from you, perched patiently at your kitchen island, hands resting in his lap.

“I brought you a coffee, you had a late night last night. I thought you might’ve slept in considering the state you were in when you left the station last night.” The android pushed a brown disposable cup towards you, steam dancing welcomingly from the hole in the lid.

“Thanks Connor.” You offered a half smile, taking the beverage and sipping it as you made your way back to fix your clothes. As you were changing, a muffled voice arose from the kitchen; at first you thought Connor was talking to himself, however upon walking out you realised it was a news report.

“Detroit Police are reportedly expecting a brand new line of android detectives, the first prototype currently running a probationary period to decide…” you slunk quietly back to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed as your hands cradled your head.

By all accounts, you loved working with Connor. He was an amazing partner and friend, and an even better detective. The problem was he was too efficient.

Connor couldn’t fall asleep working on cases, he didn’t get tired so there was no need to rest. He was available 24/7, never late, always on time to the millisecond. He certainly didn’t need to drink coffee or eat to keep his energy up.

Connor was the prime example of a perfect being, in every sense of the word. He left you looking like burnt toast. Tears stung your eyes; not sad tears, rather unadulterated frustration.

Fuck…

“___? What’s wrong? Did I get the wrong coffee?” Connor asked, peeking in hesitantly through the doorway. You scoffed at the absurdity of the question. The coffee was perfect. Everything he did was perfect, yet you couldn’t even wake up on time. Wiping your arm across your eyes, you forced a smile.

“No, no the coffee is fine. I’m ok, just overwhelmed by the case is all.” Connor tilted his head as he analysed you, coming to sit beside you. The bed sunk with his weight, the thrown sheets ruffling against his movement.

“I’ve been proven to have excellent listening skills.” Connor nudged you gently. “Talk to me, please.” You sighed, resting your head on Connor’s shoulder.

“Everything you do is perfect, Connor.”

“I don’t understand, are you saying I’m too efficient at my job?” Connor asked as his LED spun amber circles upon his temple.

“No, not that - well actually, kind of. Just listen.” You stammered, pinching the bridge of your nose in thought. “You don’t make mistakes. You don’t get tired or hungry, or hell even need bathroom breaks. Every move you make is efficient and calculated.”

Connor looked down at you, watching as you caught a stray tear with your finger. He sat in silence, listening as you vented your pent-up frustration to him.

“I’m only human.” You raised a hand, looking at how fragile the human form really was. “I could never be as good of a detective as you are.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Connor stated, resting his hand on yours. You noticed how much larger than your own hand his was, how realistic his pores were, the tips of his fingernails flawlessly sculpted - a faultless imitation of life itself.

“I may be incredibly efficient, but there is one thing i lack.” Connor met your tired gaze. “Emotions.” You scoffed, the irony of the situation hitting you.

“Connor, I am sitting here crying to you about how inadequate I feel, and you try to tell me these same emotions somehow make me better?” Connor gripped your hand tighter, not once breaking eye contact.

“You can feel so many things, ___. You can laugh, cry, fall in love…” Connor paused, finally looking away. “Without emotion, you’re just another soulless machine.”

“Connor…” you started, however words failed you as you found yourself unable to grasp the right thing to say. Instead, Connor wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer against him in a comforting embrace.

“You have the freedom to choose what you want to do, where you want to go, be who you want to be. Androids don’t get that choice. We’re built to serve one single purpose in life then dismantled once that purpose is fulfilled.”

“I never thought about it like that…” You confessed as you leaned into Connor, taking in his words as the two of you now sat in silence. It was a while before either of you spoke again, taking it upon yourself to break the peaceful quiet.

“Thanks for the coffee and uh, coming over. Talking about this really helped.” You mumbled the last part, a subtle hue of embarrassment painting your cheeks; working with Hank, neither of you ever really talked about your feelings. Connor smiled in response, patting your head. You leaned away, raising a brow at him.

“I heard it was a comforting gesture. Gavin said so. You rolled your eyes, leaning back into Connor.

“Remind me to kick Gav’s ass when I see him next.”

“Of course, detective.” Connor mused, entwining his fingers with yours.

Want more? Check out my Masterlist <3

[kagecreep]

Midnight Burns (VxMC)

(KillerChat)

Description: You have trouble sleeping. V calls you at midnight, and a few little secrets slip out from both your lips.

Two requests mixed together: V who's weak for compliments & a MC who loves V's voice.

Notes: this takes place b4 you meet irl (: i gave you a lil username just for funsies and to make it a little easier to read WC: 3.2k

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Despite all your best efforts, the dawn had forgotten your name. Your sleep began early in the morning, before sunrise, and slept a scant 4 hours. Fortunately, being in an online server with people around the world, there was always someone to keep you company. Unfortunately that server happened to be filled with murderers; for better or worse, they were more welcoming than anyone else you knew, and you were assured that turning to them would bring nothing but comfort.

Tonight, however, no one was online. You scrolled up and down the different chats mindlessly, your head leaning heavily into your palm. You could write, but opening the blank page was more of a taunt than a call to productivity. Nothing was on your mind. You needed more inspiration from your latest muse before continuing with your next part of the story. To your disappointment, V was not online.

With a sigh, you left your computer on your desk, and left downstairs to fetch something to eat. You returned to your room quickly with an old bowl of pasta in hand, crawling back into your chair. 

You squinted at the bright screen, scrolling through the server channels and members one last time before vowing to work on your book. Upon seeing a notification, however, your vow was promptly tossed out the window, and you clicked into your chat with K9.

<K9> [23:00] Good evening. I know it is late, however I was hoping you could spare some time to answer a few of my questions.

You blinked several times, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you typed in your response.

<scaredevil> [23:12] yeah, i'm not doing anything. whats up? you want to call? <K9> [23:12] That would be preferrable.  Thank you for indulging me. 

Not a second later and he was calling you. You quickly brushed your hair with your fingers and accepted, sitting up a little straighter in your chair.

"Midnight calls, hm?" You said before he could speak. "Some of the other server members might think we're up to something."

"None of the other server members are able to see our private calls," he said flatly.

"Goreboy is,"  you said.

He grunted––obviously dissatisfied with that truth.

"You raise a good point. Perhaps I shall set up our own private server––remove goreboy from the equation altogether," he said, knitting his fingers together beneath his chin.

"A server just for us? Sounds intimate," you said, grinning as you leaned in.

A soft, dark blush crept onto his face.

"Nonsense. It's simply a matter of privacy. Do you not resent the idea of being monitored, as I do?"

"I do... but not really enough to do anything about it. I don't know much about coding, anyway," you said, leaning on your palm. "Besides, we live in a surveillance state."

"All the more reason to protect yourself," he said, his eyes narrowing. "You must be skilled at disposing of bodies to be so careless in hiding your identity."

You shrugged. You had tried many times to tell him, both in humorous and serious tones, that you were not a serial killer. He never listened, insistent that his gut instinct was never wrong. Some part of you found it amusing, but at least his vehement search for you allowed you to spend some time with him, even if it was filled with both vague and direct threats on your life.

"Before we start with questions... how are you feeling tonight?" He asked.

"Tired," you said, tapping your fingers against your cheek.

"Have you not been sleeping well?"

"Not really."

He nodded softly.

"I understand. I, too, have many a night where sleep evades my grasp. Can you do anything about it? Do you have medicines?" He asked in a softer tone, leaning in.

"Yeah, but they don't tend to work." You glanced up at him. "Why do you care?"

He stuttered for a moment, hands falling out of sight of the camera.

"It is... important to lead a balanced life. That way I will be the one to take you down––not some useless meandering cop or your own poorly-managed lifestyle," he said.

"Sounds... intimate," you said with a lazy smile.

He hesitated, lips parted and eyes darting to the side and back to you as he contemplated your words and his own response. 

"I... hesitate to admit this, but my vendetta is... personal, when it comes to you. I cannot figure you out. I suppose nothing is more alluring than a mystery," he said, once more folding his fingers together beneath his chin and leaning in.

"I've told you before," you chuckled, "I'm no mystery. I'm a writer."

"Yes, so you've said, and with all due respect, I do not believe it. Now if you don't mind, I would like you to answer my questions," he said.

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

"My first question. What is your favourite time of day?"

A grip creeped across your lips, devolving into giggles.

"Your questions have such a sweet facade," you said, shaking your head. "How is knowing my favourite time of day going to help you catch me?"

"Answer the question, please," he said, sighing roughly.

"Fine." You paused, biting back your smile. "I love the dawn."

"The dawn?" He repeated, eyes widening. "Interesting. You are not often online during those hours."

"I'm usually asleep then."

"Then... how is it your favourite time of day?"

"Oh, you know," you said, grunting as you stretched back in your chair, "it's a beautiful time. Renewal, quiet, and peace. My body just... doesn't... well, to be honest, I usually end up falling asleep just before dawn. Dawn hath abandoned me, and visits me no longer."

"I see."

You weren't sure if he believed you or not. You supposed it didn't matter. Before he could ask his next question, you spoke first.

"What's your favourite time of day?" You asked.

Again his eyes widened imperceptibly, taken aback by the reciprocation.

"I do not see how that is important," he said.

"You know my favourite, why can't I know yours? I already told you I'm no good at hacking, or finding people. I'm just curious," you said, shrugging.

"For all I know, that could have been a lie. But... I suppose it is only fair. I prefer the night. The vermin come out of the filth and reveal their nature, and I await them in the dark," he said, his eyes narrowing. 

He glanced up from the intensity of his thoughts and found you beaming across the screen. He raised a single brow.

"What are you smiling about?" He asked roughly.

"Nothing, I just..."

What were you smiling about? You thought for a moment. It could be any number of things, really––his voice, his manner of speaking, the intensity of his conviction. Each of these things melted you a little bit, and the fluffy covers of your bed suddenly didn't seem so unfriendly.

"... I like the way you talk. Your words. Your voice. It's very... pretty," you murmured.

He froze, his face quickly turning a deep shade of red.

"Y -" he choked on his own breath. "R... really?"

"Yeah," you sighed. "It's a shame you use it to threaten me."

He blinked several times, glancing to the side.

"W - well... I suppose... I could hold off on my search, for tonight," he said, his eyes returning to you. "If that would please you."

You smiled. The juxtaposition of him attempting to please you and promising to kill you at the same time––it tingled inside you. A wonderfully chaotic rush.

"I don't think you'd lose much by taking a break for now," you chuckled softly.

He wouldn't lose anything because he had nothing to gain. You hid nothing. Except your name, of course.

"Then... what would you like to talk about?" He asked hesitantly.

"Mmm... I don't know," you hummed, staring in a somewhat dreamy trance at your screen. "I just like spending time with you."

You weren't sure how much more of this V could take. You could practically feel the heat of his blush through the computer, and you drank in each micro-expression––the widening eyes, twitching lips, fidgeting fingers––with absurd delight.

"You... are incredibly odd," he finally stuttered out, unable to meet your eye, even through the camera.

"Is it odd to find you endearing and beautiful?"

Now you had gone too far. He hadn't even replied and you were melting with embarrassment just watching him react to your words, as though it flowed off him in such excess that it somehow reached you.

"I - it is, um, quite odd," he eventually said, staring at his keyboard.

Despite going too far, you couldn't help yourself, and dug your trench even deeper.

"Sorry," you said. "I can't help it. Even if you are planning to kill me, I can't deny... nor should I, really, that you're very handsome. And I enjoy your company. I might even tell you my address so you can be the last thing I see before I die."

He slammed his fingers against the keyboard, and with a panicked expression, hung up.

You stared at your chat for a whole minute, eyes wide from his sudden reaction. Slowly you leaned forward and began to type.

<scaredevil> [23:21] did i do something wrong?

It took him several more minutes to reply, and he took a long while to type out his message.

<K9> [23:27] No.  I apologize for ending our call so abruptly. I was... suddenly busy. <scaredevil> [23:27] you're not a very good liar, you know <K9> [23:27] ... I suppose there's no avoiding it then.  As much as I am disinclined to admit it, I was very flattered by your comments. A little too flattered.

You stared at the screen. What did he mean?

<scaredevil> [23:28] were you like..... taking a cold shower....? <K9> [23:29] I was not. I spent my time away tending to one of my rabbits. As a bonus, the activity aided in calming me. I have no affinity for cold showers anyway.

You debated your next message for a moment, heart racing as you sent it.

<scaredevil> [23:29] can we call again? <K9> [23:29] I do not believe that is a good idea.

Your heart deflated in your chest.

<scaredevil> [23:30] why not? :( <K9> [23:30] I am worried you will return to your previous barrage of compliments. ... It is not a good idea. <scaredevil> [23:30] please v? i love hearing your voice

Nothing. The marker to show his typing didn't even appear.

<scaredevil> [23:31] im sorry for pushing you i really am i didn't mean to offend you i just wanted to express a little how i felt fuck i'll stop

You curled up in your desk chair, legs to your chest, and hid your face in your knees. How embarrassing. A deep, cold, and breaking sensation crackled through your ribs.

The computer dinged, and your head shot up.

<K9> [23:38] You did not offend me. I am simply... unaccustomed to people thinking of me in such a way. It has not ever occurred before.

You quickly began to type a response.

<scaredevil> [23:38] never? thats hard to believe <K9> [23:38] Is it? I am not the most sociable of creatures. Nor am I approachable. Most would consider me imposing, or even menacing. I am not sure I have ever been called handsome, much less... beautiful. <scaredevil> [23:38] is it weird that i feel kinda accomplished to be your first? i have a little award no one else will ever have <K9> [23:38] Not the most fantastic of accomplishments, but I will not deny you your feelings on the matter. <scaredevil> [23:38] thanks :) not to freak you out again but you're sweet <K9> [23:39] Another compliment. ... Thank you.

You drummed the edge of your keyboard with your fingertips, biting at your lip. Exhaustion freely visited you but rarely came with the comfort of sleep; V's voice, the deep, dulcet tones, was a ready substitute. When he kept his words soft and yielding, you could even hear sleep knocking at your distant door. It was a lot to ask, especially after freaking him out so much, but the desperation within you was clawing. Regret would make you bleed if you didn't at least ask.

<scaredevil> [23:41] i know this is a little odd you don't have to say yes, but well to be honest, your voice has a calming effect on me. i was hoping maybe you could help me fall asleep... please. <K9> [23:42] ... Your request is strange, but... acceptable. I will aid you. <scaredevil> [23:42] that's very kind of you <K9> [23:42] Kindness is a trait I strive to exemplify in my life. But thank you. You are the first person in the server to take note of it.

A moment later and he was requesting to call you. You hurried over to bed, carrying your laptop over, and jumped beneath the covers before answering. There was barely enough time to settle your head into your pillow before the call loaded.

He let out some quiet grunting noise upon seeing you, raising his brow.

"You are... already in bed," he said slowly.

Oh, that deep, amber voice, you thought to yourself dreamily. You decided not to inform him of your delight in hearing him.

"Of course I am," you said, hiding half your face behind your blankets. "I'm not going to sleep at my desk.

"I would think not. I was... just not expecting you to already be... in bed."

You giggled, shying further into your covers.

"Are you comfortable?" He asked softly.

You nodded.

"Good," he said in a somewhat stiff tone, giving a curt nod. "If it's... not too much to ask, I would like to see your face. Consider it a favour in return for helping you to fall asleep."

It was a fair request, though you felt some embarrassment at the idea of him being able to fully see you as you drifted off to sleep. Still, with a creeping blush you lowered your blanket, revealing your face squished into your pillow. A subtle but surely there smile warmed V's expression.

"Ah, there you are," he said, leaning in, his hands lax beneath his chin. "If we are being honest tonight, I will admit you are quite beautiful, as well. A light in the dim wake of reality."

You chuckled, attempting poorly to hide your blushing face in your pillow. But your eyes remained on your screen, entranced with him.

"Charming words," you said.

"And yet speaking nothing but the truth. Now please, tell me––how can I be of service to you?"

It was your turn now to flush, to be filled with a warmth that urged you to run far away just to compose yourself. A hundred different things whirled through your head; would he really do anything for you if you simply asked with a sweet 'please' at the end? Surely not. Logically there was some limit. But your imagination knew no such word.

"You can talk about anything," you said, wishing you could hide your face again. "You can even read me a story if you fancy it."

"Anything?" He asked, raising his brow. "Are you sure?"

"Of course."

He thought for a moment, then suddenly stood, disappearing out of the camera's sight for a couple minutes. You thought to call out but decided against it, and patiently waited for him to return. 

He reappeared with a book in hand, opening it on the desk in front of him. It was a small book––barely the size of his hand––and coloured in pale earthy tones, though the title remained obscured from your vision.

"This is a collection of Persian poetry," he said, smoothing out the pages. "I... sometimes read it when I am in need of relaxation. Though at times the prose can be... quite stimulating to the intellect. I hope that, as I do, you will find it calming."

Poetry at midnight. Poetry with V, at midnight, in your bed, as he would slowly watch you sleep. 

There were worse ways to die.

With your heart pounding as intensely as it was, sleep was the furthest thing from your mind and desires––but you had asked for his help, and he had so kindly acquiesced, so you did your best to settle into the covers and slow your racing heart.

He turned a few pages, and you watched with fluttering eyes.

"Ah. Here is a poet I much admire. A mystic Sufi from the 8th century... a woman. Rabia al Basri. Let us begin."

He spoke slowly, with emphasis, with quiet adoration for the artwork of words––the intertwining taste of writer and experience, combined into a painting of poetry.

I have loved Thee with two loves - a selfish love and a love that is worthy of Thee. As for the love which is selfish, Therein I occupy myself with Thee, to the exclusion of all others. But in the love which is worthy of Thee, Thou dost raise the veil that I may see Thee. Yet is the praise not mine in this or that, But the praise is to Thee in both that and this.

"Here is another one, by Rumi. Another mystic from the 13th century," he said.

The Friend comes into my body looking for the center, unable to find it, draws a blade, strikes anywhere.

There is a light seed grain inside. You fill it with yourself, or it dies.

I am caught in this curling energy, your hair! Whoever is calm and sensible is insane.

Do you think I know what I am doing? That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself? As much as a pen knows what it is writing, or the ball can guess where it is going next.

We have a huge barrel of wine, but no cups. That is fine with us. Every morning, we glow and in the evening we glow again.

They say there is no future for us. They are right. Which is fine with us.

Slowly you drifted away, eyes drifting shut, mind drifting off, as sleep melted into your skin like a warm rose oil. The depth of his voice, the luxuriant taste, imbued itself into your dreams. He spoke only a few more poems before you were gone, your eyes firmly closed and lips softly parted.

He closed the book quietly and set it aside. For a few minutes unbeknownst to your consciousness he watched you, eyes darting across your features as sparks of his own wandering mind came about. He wondered, though he didn't mean to, what your skin would feel like beneath his fingers. How warm your body would be beneath a shared blanket. The thought was inappropriate, and he quickly dismissed it.

He did, however, allow himself one last indulgence.

You were not his love. You had done nothing of the sort to indicate comfort in being referred to as such. But given your kindness––your gentle amiability––he was assured you were much beloved of someone.

"Good night, beloved," he murmured, lingering for a moment more, before ending the call.

Your computer quietly turned itself off.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Cozened Indigo - Part One

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of murder, dark themes. Word count: ~4k

Summary: Unhappy with the assignment she has been given to work on for the Duskendale Gazette, she opts to pursue her own story, not quite realising what she's getting herself into.

Author's note: I have put my journalism degree to use here, to ensure as much accuracy as possible. However, as Westeros is a fictional place, I have warped certain laws and regulations regarding court reporting for the purpose of the story. Please suspend your disbelief for the sake of a fictional tale. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Chewing the end of her pen, she leans closer to the computer monitor as her eyes scan the Reuters website almost frantically.

Aemond Targaryen, son of late billionaire, Viserys Targaryen, charged for the murder of his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon. Case pending trial.

Nervous excitement swirls in her gut, as she leans back in her uncomfortable, creaky office chair. This is the first mention she has seen of such a scandal, unsurprising considering how high profile the Targaryen family are in Westeros. They’ll have worked hard to cover this up, however, with a court case imminent, the news is now public knowledge.

She knows that every media outlet from Dorne to Eastwatch will be all over this, but it will be nothing beyond surface level detail, the most basic of coverage. None of them will be able to get the family to talk, but she can, that is her specialty – was her specialty.

Essos Fraudster Glorified by White Cloak Magazine.

The headline passes through her mind like a stormcloud, a dirty mark upon her career that she can never scrub out. She had been duped, it was an honest mistake, but it had cost her dearly.

When whisperings began regarding an oligarch from Essos having shady business dealings in King’s Landing, she had set out to investigate, feeling it was a story worth telling. To her surprise, he had agreed to an interview, and she had been spun a tale of a man born into tremendous wealth, who was now looking to give back by setting up charitable foundations across Westeros.

She had done her due diligence, followed up on all of the sources at her disposal. Every phone call she made checked out, verifying his claims, and so the glossy double page spread had run in White Cloak Magazine, painting a picture of a misunderstood, altruistic individual who just wanted to share his wealth.

It had been the crowning achievement of her journalistic career, until two days later when the Blackwater Post had run their own story, utterly destroying hers. The oligarch was in fact guilty of tax evasion and money laundering, the charities he had founded mere fronts, empty shell corporations and hedge funds used to hide large sums of money that were never intended to be donated. The sources he had provided to back his claims had all been disreputable business associates of his, posing as bankers, accountants and employees.

He was jailed for his crimes and White Cloak was made a laughing stock for the piece they had run. As the person who had written it, it was her head that was placed upon the chopping block, a blunder of such enormity could not be overlooked.

Her humiliation had felt as though it would swallow her whole. She ought to have been more thorough in her research, but hindsight always possesses more clarity than what is right in front of you. She had considered just giving up and pursuing a different career path entirely, yet despite the shame that shrouded her, she had known that the urge to write would never leave her, an insatiable itch that must be scratched.

For a year she had looked for another job, had applied to just about every magazine and newspaper that existed in Westeros. If she had to relocate to Dorne, The Reach, or even The North then she’d do it for the sake of her career. Unfortunately, the blemish on her record was well known, and nowhere reputable would touch her.

That was until the Duskendale Gazette had taken a chance on her. The pet project of Royce Baratheon, it is a small, localised publication, a far cry from the nationwide reach of the high end White Cloak, but they were willing to hire her, the salary covers her rent, and it means not having to move away from King’s Landing.

For the last eighteen months she has occupied a desk in a darkened corner of the Duskendale Gazette’s offices, lovingly nicknamed “The Wall” by those that sit there - a place where writers at the end of their careers or close to retirement are sent to die.

It has been a slow, painful death, covering everything from disputes over fishing permits in Blackwater Bay to the implementation of a one way traffic system in Rosby. Discovering the news regarding Aemond Targaryen feels like the shot of adrenaline that her career needs to bring it back to life, provided he’s willing to speak to her – provided she can get sign off to write the story in the first place.

She sets down the biro she has been gnawing on and looks at the time on her computer. 9.02am. Glancing over her shoulder towards the big, glass walled meeting room that sits at the centre of the newsroom, she can see that Royce, along with the other editors and department heads are settling around the table, preparing to plan the next round of commissions.

Anxiously biting her lip, she considers her options. It would look bad to just walk in uninvited, however, if she doesn’t ask now then she’ll never get to do it. This is a story worth writing, surely they’d see that? Abruptly, she stands up, drawing in a steadying breath.

Fuck it, I’m going in.

She knocks at the door, not awaiting an answer before pushing it open. The men around the table furrow their brows, falling silent as they turn to look at her.

Royce shuffles the papers in front of him, sighing in irritation. “We’re in the middle of a meeting.”

Undeterred, in spite of the way her heart thunders in her chest, she steps further into the room towards the head of the table where he sits. “I know and that’s why I’m here. I saw on Reuters this morning that Aemond Targaryen has been charged with the murder of his nephew. I–”

“You won’t be covering that,” Royce interrupts, standing from his seat and lifting a sheet of paper from the pile. “I’m putting you on the upcoming curfew that’s to be implemented in Flea Bottom.”

“Royce, please, there’s something here, I know there is,” she presses, attempting to push down the anger that simmers hotly under her skin at his dismissal. “This could be huge for us.”

“You’ll write the story you’re assigned,” he insists, thrusting the paper towards her, “the last thing we need is a profile of some spoiled aristocrat, especially from someone with your track record.”

There it is. Someone with your track record.

“Just give me a chance–”

“You will write what I’ve commissioned, and be grateful you’re getting anything at all.”

“So you’re just going to ignore this?”

“We’ll place a court reporter on it once it goes to trial, but that is not your concern. Focus on your own assignment.”

She turns on her heel, storming back to her desk. Her skin burns with humiliation, tears blurring her vision as she sits down, slapping the commission sheet down next to her keyboard. Drawing in a steadying breath, she scrubs her hands over her face in an attempt to calm herself.

Scanning the assignment she’s been given, she scoffs. A curfew enforced by King’s Landing Constabulary as a means to curb the violent and drunken behaviour that’s rife in Flea Bottom. It's a soulless story, she knows she’ll be expected to simply present the facts, alongside a media ready quote from the police force, instead of addressing the rampant poverty in the area that is the catalyst for such problems. The final product will be better used as ad space.

It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, and wanting to prove Royce wrong, she decides to press ahead with the story that she wants to write anyway. Opening her internet browser, she searches the Targaryen name, presented with hundreds of links and articles regarding the family.

There is nothing she doesn’t already know; they’re from old money, own most of the banking and legal services from here to Oldtown and there is a rift that divides Viserys’ second wife, Alicent, and her children from his first daughter, Rhaenyra, and her family.

The remaining patriarch of the family, Otto Hightower, owns a law firm called Red Keep Solicitors which is based in the centre of King’s Landing. A good enough place to start for her background research. Scanning the office to ensure no one’s looking, she stuffs her assignment sheet into her bag and slips out unnoticed.

As she steps out of the taxi that has pulled up outside of the high rise office block, she is surprised by the lack of media presence. She had assumed that with the information that leaked this morning, there would be a line of news station vans parked along the pavement, with journalists all clamouring to get a vox pop from someone from either the Hightower or Targaryen family. Besides a steady flow of traffic down the street, it’s dead. Whoever is working to keep the media away is doing an exceptional job. For once, she is thankful she works for a small, local newspaper; no notoriety means being able to fly under the radar.

The polished black marble of the foyer floor causes each of her footsteps to echo around the lofty reception. The space is modern and minimalist; the reception desk placed at the far wall, the motif of a castle with the company name emblazoned across the wall behind it. A forest green, crushed velvet sofa sits off to the side, serving as the waiting area.

“Good morning,” the young woman seated behind the desk greets her. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Otto Hightower,” she says, smiling politely. The less she gives away, the less likely she is to be turned away.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m afraid not. I was hoping he might be able to squeeze me in for a quick consultation?” She asks hopefully.

“Hmm,” the receptionist’s eyes narrow, regarding her with suspicion, before she taps delicately at the keyboard of her computer. “I’m afraid Mr. Hightower is fully booked for today. Can I take a message?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll wait,” she replies, keeping her tone light, attempting to appear casual. She moves to the sofa, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other. She ignores the receptionist, who is now eyeing her intently.

Plucking her mobile out of her bag, she pretends to look busy as the woman behind the desk picks up the phone and speaks in a hushed tone into the receiver, clearly alerting whoever is on the other end to her presence.

Thirty minutes tick by in uncomfortable silence, during which she has checked just about every app on her smartphone and read through most of her emails. Her head snaps up upon hearing the elevator ding. As the doors slide open she sees a tall, much older, bearded man step out. There is no mistaking that this is Otto Hightower.

Jumping to her feet, she follows him as he walks quickly past her, out of the building.

“Mr. Hightower, might I have a moment of your time?”

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even turn to look back at her, his tone clipped as he tells her “I have no interest in speaking to the press.”

Undeterred, she lengthens her strides to keep up with him. “I understand your concern, but I’m not here to drag anyone’s name through the mud. I’d just like to understand more about what happened with your grandson.”

“No comment,” he says flatly, pulling open the rear door of a sleek, black Mercedes that pulls up to the curb and climbing in.

Before she has the opportunity to say anything else, he’s slamming the door closed and the car is pulling away.

She groans in frustration, walking back towards the entrance of Red Keep solicitors and leaning against the wall. She isn’t ready to give up, not when she’s had a small taste of what it’s like to work on something she actually cares about again. This is just a minor setback, she’ll find someone willing to speak to her. For now, she just needs to get back to the office and plan what the next step of her strategy will be. Pulling out her phone, she opens the taxi app, preparing to head back.

“You’re as subtle as a sledgehammer.”

The quiet voice pulls her attention away from her screen and she glances over her shoulder to be met by a dark, curly haired man, leaning heavily on a cane, an orthopedic shoe on his left foot.

“Excuse me?”

“You couldn’t really have believed that showing up here unannounced would get you an interview, surely?”

She scowls. “And who might you be?”

“Larys Strong,” he replies, eyes never leaving hers.

She turns fully to face him. “And how do you know what will or won’t get me an interview?”

His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles, eyes moving slowly from her head to her feet and back up again. It unnerves her and she can feel herself involuntarily shrinking away from him. 

“It’s my job to know. The Hightowers are keen to prevent any unwanted…whispers from occurring, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“So, no one from the family would be willing to speak with me?”

“Absolutely not. But I might be.”

“You? How would you be able to help me?”

His eyes seem to glitter, almost malevolently, as he stares at her. It sends a shiver up her spine.

“Oh, I provide all kinds of help to all kinds of people.”

He produces a business card from his inside pocket, handing it to her.

Larys Strong, Harrenhal Associates.

She gives a quiet thanks, fishing around in her bag and handing him one of her own. He glances at it quickly, before slipping it into the pocket from which he’d taken his own.

“Come by my office around seven this evening,” he tells her. “I’m sure we have much to talk about.”

Watching in stunned silence as he turns and shuffles back inside the entrance of Red Keep Solicitors, she knows she should feel excited – she finally has her in, dubious as it may be – however, she cannot shake the feeling that she has just unwittingly stepped into the midst of something sinister.

She whiles away the remainder of the day back at the Duskendale Gazette, ensuring she knows everything there is to know about the Targaryen and Hightower families – at least everything that’s publicly available anyway. She also looks into Larys Strong; there’s little to be found about him, but what she is able to dig up is impressive. He’s a solicitor, and has seemingly never lost a case for any of the clients he’s defended. She has an eerie feeling that the means through which he achieves this are far from ethical.

By the time seven o’ clock rolls around, she’s stood outside of a dingy brick building, located off of the Street of Silk. It does not even come close to the grandiosity of Red Keep Solicitors, without even so much as a sign to indicate it’s a place of business.

Ignoring the voice at the back of her mind that screams at her to turn and run, she presses the buzzer, pulling the door open as it’s released and making her way up the rickety wooden staircase to the top floor.

The room is dimly lit, small and stuffy, worn out carpet lines the floor, complete with furnishings that are likely older than she is. What strikes her as most odd is the abundance of flowers, there’s a vase on every flat surface and they look strangely out of place, a lurid splash of brightness against their darkened surroundings. She wrinkles her nose, the cloying scent of patchouli is overpowering. It’s either being used to cover up the odour of something else or is a misguided attempt to suggest opulence, but instead comes across as tacky.

Larys hovers in the doorway to his own personal office, watching her as she takes in her surroundings.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he eventually says. “I appreciate that an out of hours visit is less than ideal, but I’m sure you understand the need for discretion.”

She nods, nerves swirling in her gut at the sudden realisation that no one knows that she’s here.

“My secretary has left for the day, so please leave your phone and any recording devices on her desk. I trust you realise that anything discussed this evening is strictly off of the record?”

“Understood,” she replies, deciding to just leave her entire bag on the desk as she follows Larys into his office.

It’s even smaller and more cramped than the tiny space that serves as the reception area. Overstuffed shelves of books line the walls, and the room’s only illumination is a lamp which sits upon the desk.

Larys settles into a leather armchair behind it, gesturing for her to take the seat on the other side.

“Can I ask what your involvement with the Targaryen family is?” She finally asks, once settled across from him.

He sits back, fingers moving absentmindedly over the grip of his cane. “I provide counsel to them. I will be acting as Aemond’s legal defense in the upcoming trial.”

She raises her eyebrows in shock. It’s surprising to know a family as wealthy as the Targaryens would be willing to trust such a delicate matter with someone who operates their business out of a seedy back alley. “You? Why?”

He huffs a humourless laugh, upturning the palm of his free hand. “Who else would? No one from Red Keep Solicitors could represent him, it would be a conflict of interest. And besides, I get results, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, I do, as I’m sure you know all about me. Which leads me to my next question, if the Targaryens don’t want the media involved in this then why have you agreed to speak with me?”

Larys is silent for a moment, fingers stroking delicately over the petals of a red flower that sits within a vase upon his desk. “My reasons are twofold,” he says, finally looking up at her. “First, both sides of the family have come to a mutual agreement that neither one will talk to the press. I feel that is a mistake. Aemond needs all the help he can get. I don’t necessarily mean starting a media circus to report upon his every move and dig into his past, just one reputable source to give him a leg up while he’s at a disadvantage. Second, I have chosen you because I’m aware of your past…indiscretions. The future of your career rests upon this, so I know you will treat it with the due diligence it deserves.”

She scoffs in disbelief, running a hand through her hair. “The guy’s been charged with murder, how much care could he possibly need?”

“The prosecution will be pushing for a sentence for murder, yes. I’ll be arguing for a lesser sentence of manslaughter.”

“So, he didn’t mean to do it?”

“I think it’s better said in his own words.”

“You can arrange an interview with him?”

“I can arrange a visit for you to speak with him where he’s currently being remanded in custody, at Dragonstone Prison, yes.”

She attempts to remain neutral as her excitement bubbles unrestrained internally. “When is the trial?”

“In three weeks, so we have to act swiftly. I believe this concludes our discussion. I shall be in touch regarding your visitation.”

She is taken aback by the abrupt ending to their conversation, rising slowly from her seat as she leaves his office and collects her bag. It’s unnerving that even as she descends the staircase she can still feel his presence, the sweet, heady aroma clinging to her clothes like an invisible fog.

True to his word, Larys gets her her visit, and two days later she sits in the ferry terminal for Dragonstone Prison. Having had her identification checked, and her details input onto the system, she is issued a number and has to wait for it to be called before she can board.

The wait is agonising, and a full hour passes before she is called forward, scrambling to her feet towards the boarding area. The grey waters are choppy, causing the ferry to rock slightly on its short journey across the Gullet, until the craggy isle that houses the criminals of Westeros comes into view. The high, cement walls of Dragonston Prison are imposing and bleak against the skyline.

Disembarking the ferry, she is guided through the visitors’ entrance and searched, her personal effects rifled through as she walks through a metal detector, and her electronic devices taken away, to be returned to her upon her departure. Her identification is checked once more, and her details input onto the system again. She is told to take a seat, her name will be called when it’s time for her visitation to begin.

The hard seat is uncomfortable, and without the distraction of her phone she is left to stare at the clock on the wall. Its relentless ticking is maddening, the minutes feeling as though they crawl past. So absorbed in watching it, she jumps when her name is finally called, struggling to compose herself as she’s ushered through into the visitation area.

A series of tables and plastic chairs make up the startling white windowless room, and she is led to one in the far corner. Unsure of what to do, she simply stands beside her seat, awaiting the man she is to meet.

From the photos she has seen, Aemond cuts an imposing figure, dressed all in black. She hopes that the softness of the grey prison uniform will render him less intimidating. However, those thoughts are dashed the moment she sees him walk slowly through the door on the opposite side of the room.

He is in no rush, his steps are methodical, unhurried, a predator stalking its prey as he moves towards her. The photographs do not do justice to his height, long and lithe, he towers over her, and she feels herself holding her breath as she takes in the sharpness of his features. His long, platinum hair is pulled back into an immaculately styled ponytail, giving her an unhindered view of his chiseled jaw, aquiline nose and prominent cheekbones, though spoiled slightly by the ragged, angry looking scar that runs the length of the left side of his face. The eye within the socket sits milky and lifeless, but it does little to lessen the intensity of the brilliant blue of his right.

She notices the slightest dilation of his pupil as he stares unblinkingly at her, making her heart race as the cold sweat of fear prickles the back of her neck. So preoccupied with simply getting her story, it has not occurred to her until now that she would be face to face with a killer.

Certain he senses her fright, she sees his lips twitch with the faintest of smirks. The fact that it does not reach his eye makes her blood run cold.

Part two || Series masterlist

[denim-mixtapes]

Nothin' but a Good Time - [1/?]

Wealthy!Steve Harrington x Fem!Stripper!Reader Rating: Eventually E, this chapter contains no smut yet but mentions drug and alcohol use and strip clubs. Words: 3.7k

AO3

It's 1996 and Steve Harrington has found himself, somehow, with the fancy office job and lush apartment and more than enough disposable income to spend on booze and drugs and one night stands to distract himself from how much he HATES his scummy corporate law job and too-big, too-empty apartment. You, after years of saving, begging cheapskates and creeps for tips as a waitress by day and dancing for bigger tips from bigger creeps after dark, finally afford yourself the opportunity to move into the fancy downtown apartment of your dreams. When you move in next door to Steve Harrington, there's no way of knowing if you've just met the next great love(r) of your life or the biggest pain in your ass you'll ever know. It's entirely possible that it could be both.

November, 1996 – Steve

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

A faint rhythm builds from behind the door of Steve Harrington’s office, slow, steady, louder and louder until eventually the sound is muffled and interrupted by a low groan. 

“Fuck!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Just outside the door, his secretary is left aghast, wondering when she missed the arrival of this midday rendezvous and exactly when Harrington had become so daring. Sure, she’s seen her fair share of interns and lower level assistants escorted into his office after late stressful nights or the occasional holiday party, but he’s never been so brave as to interrupt the work day for a bit of afternoon delight. The kid may be a little dense sometimes, but he isn’t that dumb. 

Usually Harrington is by the book, strictly on schedule and often working through lunch to stay on the boss’ good side. So the fact that he’s running late to a meeting in favor of a roll in the hay, well, she is shocked to say the least. 

Corralling all of her bravery into one swift motion, she knocks on the door and is surprised to hear his, “come in,” right away. Maybe a little haggard and hushed in one breath, but immediate nonetheless. Needless to say, the stout woman is nervous about what she’ll find on the other side of the door when she opens it. 

What she finds, however, is nothing more than a slightly rumpled version of Steve Harrington. Tie undone, sleeves of his collared shirt shoved up to the elbows, and his glasses placed gingerly on the desk beside him. His hair is a riot from where he was just repeatedly banging his forehead against the desk, sporting a wide swath of plump red skin above his eyebrows as evidence of the act. No, she hadn’t walked in on anything indecent, only the culmination of stress and burnout on her young boss. 

“Sorry for the noise, Linda,” he breathes, scrubbing a palm over one tired eye and down his cheek. “I just– there’s no elaborate explanation here. It’s just been a day.” He types something quickly into the computer before him and then presses the power button on the boxy monitor, turning to give her his full attention with his hands folded on the desk in front of him. “What can I do for you?”

She mirrors his posture, fingers laced together but hanging limp at her midsection, “I was just wondering if I should call Mr. Greene and inform him you won’t be able to make it to the 3 o’clock partner meeting.”  

Eyeing the clock on the wall beside him, Steve’s eyes widen to saucers and his chair scrapes loudly against hardwood floor as he stands up in a haste, collecting paperwork and wayward supplies into his briefcase as he does. “Shit.” His brows knit in a gesture of apology for his language, but Linda simply chuckles and steps out of his way. “Sorry, sorry! Thank you, Lin!” 

—

No matter how hard he tries to act the part of a corporate bigwig asshole, Steve is convinced he may never get the hang of it. If he were to be honest, he isn’t entirely sure how he made it this far. Truthfully, he’s hanging on by the skin of his teeth and the Harrington name. 

After a year of hopping from minimum wage job to minimum wage job, he finally broke down and listened to his father’s demands. Just get the damn degree, Steven, he’d said, I have a job all ready to be laid at your feet, all you have to do is pull your head out of your ass and get the degree. So he did. He sucked it up, used the influence of his family name and a bit more of the Harrington fortune to attend the most prestigious law school he never would have been able to get into with his academic record alone. When he graduated, as promised, he was offered a position just above entry level with a 401k and a more than generous benefits package. He wasn’t sure how many strings his father had to pull or how much bribing it took, but he landed this cushy job that got him out of his childhood home and into an apartment of his own, something that he’s sure benefited not only himself, but also the parents who were clearly sick of putting him up well past 18. Over the better half of the last decade, he took ‘Fake it till you make it’ to heart and managed to charm his way up the corporate ladder, and now here he is: pushing thirty with a private corner office, the title of junior partner, representing corporations he didn’t care much for and working under senior lawyers he liked even less…but this job pays more than generously. It affords him luxuries like the latest new apartment with more square footage than he knows what to do with and the city view from his living room window. It affords him as many trips out to Massachusetts to visit Robin and Nancy as he’d like, stunning suits and flashy watches he never could have dreamed of affording when he worked at Family video and refused his family fortune. And then there’s the extravagant gifts for said family that make up for his absence at Christmas dinner.

This job is draining, but it’s purchased his peace, in a way, so he does what he has to do to make it worth it.

Lately, what he has to do to make it worth it is party until he forgets how much he hates it. 

If he had to recall the names of everyone in his apartment at this moment, he would fail. There’s faces he recognizes, sure, people from work and their friends he’s seen at many other parties. Clark from down the hall, who always manages to have the best coke, is in the corner making friends, and Eddie is around here somewhere peddling his own stash…but between the thumping bass and raucous laughter and the blur of lights, there’s about 25 to 30 other people he doesn’t recognize. When a bottle is thrust into his periphery, he gladly takes a swig, drowning the worry of strangers in his apartment and the stress from the day at work with amber liquor. 

Clark beckons him over to the mirrored coffee table where he’s set up shop, offering a rolled twenty with one hand and clapping Steve’s shoulder in a shallow gesture of friendship.

Fuck it, it’s Friday. 

November, 1996 – You

Dropping one last box at the foot of the doorman’s desk, you sigh and brush cardboard dust from your hands. The two men from the moving company just went upstairs with the last of your large furniture and are set to take off when they return to ground level, having only been paid through 11 AM. So you managed to unload the back of your car and the rest of the boxes from the moving truck into the lobby, promising the doorman – whose name you swear you’ll memorize soon – that it will all be out of the way momentarily. He graciously offered to make sure nobody messed with it in the meantime. 

It’s hard to even wrap your head around the fact that you’re moving into an apartment with a doorman in the heart of the city at all, let alone one within walking distance of your diner waitress job, and close enough to a bus route to the club where you danced. You’ll have to remember to pay your grandma a visit in her new nursing home and thank her for keeping her rent-controlled lease and illegally subletting it to you. Just another thing to add to your overflowing calendar. 

When you make it up to your shiny new apartment on the ninth floor, you say your goodbyes to the movers who are on their way out, sign the appropriate paperwork for them, and drop off your armload of boxes before heading back down. 

It takes quite a few trips on your own, but after another half hour, you exit the elevator in the lobby to see only three boxes remain and heave another sigh of relief. The end is in sight, and by the grace of whichever God is looking out for you, you might even be able to sneak in a nap before work tonight. You bend over to pick up one of the last few boxes of your belongings and suddenly feel the all too familiar prickling heat of someone’s intense stare. Rolling your shoulders, you let go of the cardboard handles and stand to turn and face whoever is continuing to stare.

Behind you, leaning one hip against the front desk, is exactly the kind of man you would expect to live in a building like this. Slightly older than you, but not by much, tall and lean, but the sleeves of his tight white tee shirt show off the perfect sculpt of his bicep. The man is etched in sleep, draped in it like the blankets he surely just crawled out of, the fluffy length of his hair sticking out in every direction, pushed up and out of his face by round wire-framed glasses. He smiles in a way that feels friendly, but has the sly kind of charm behind it that makes you want to shy from it. 

“You know,” he says, grinning wide, “I know I had a hard time waking up today, but something tells me I might still be dreaming, pretty thing like you moving into my building.” 

You want to scoff at his comment, knowing exactly how you must look right now. Sweat drying on your skin, messy bun practically falling out of its hold, sporting a plain black tank top and a pair of your ex’s old basketball shorts rolled at the waist. You manage to hold back the scoff, but do roll your eyes with a soft smile at your new neighbor. “Cute, you use that line often?” 

His sharp jaw ticks, but his smile softens around a friendly laugh as he rubs tiredly at one eye. “Can’t say I do,” then, dropping the hand in favor of offering it to you to shake, “I’m Steve, need a hand with these?” 

Accepting his secondary offer and shaking his hand, you smile in return and introduce yourself, but decline the first. “Thank you, but I’m sure you were headed somewhere. Don’t let me keep you from your plans.” 

“Nonsense.” When he shakes his head, there’s a pinch to his forehead, eyes slamming shut at the motion, but he recovers quickly and hides the pain. This man is clearly fighting a monster hangover, and yet he insists. “I was just going to pick up some coffee. It can wait.” Without waiting for you to agree, he takes the smallest box and stacks it atop another, picking them both up and tacking on, “lead the way.” 

You decide there’s no arguing with him, so you grab the last remaining box and head back to the elevator, punching the 9 button once inside. 

“No way,” he says in disbelief, “ninth floor?” 

“Mhm,” you mumble softly, “9C.” 

Your eyes are drawn to the crinkle around his eyes when he laughs again despite the dark circles below, the two moles just below his cheekbone that dance when he smiles. Damn it, he really is pretty. 

“I’m in 9B, right next door! You’re moving into Ms. Ruth’s old place?” 

There’s practically a lightbulb above your head when you make the connection, and in comical time with it, the elevator dings, signaling your arrival. “Oh, so you’re the Steve Grandma warned me about!”

All color drains from his face. “W-what did she say?” 

Steve follows you down the hall to your front door, and you can’t help but giggle at his change in demeanor. Both of you set the boxes down just inside your front room and you turn to him with a hand on your hip. “Just that you’re too handsome for your own good and a habitual flirt. Both of which I’m finding to be true already.” 

“Oh, well,” not only does his color return, but his cheeks pink noticeably. He gives a small nod that tips his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and sends a tuft of hair curling into his face – he couldn’t have choreographed it better if he tried. With an exaggerated wink, he continues, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.” 

You scoff, “sure, sure,” and lightly push his shoulder out toward the hallway. “Thanks for your help.” 

He strides down the hall back to the elevator and points at his own front door as he passes it. “Anytime…and you know where to find me if you need anything. You know, cup of sugar, little company. Whatever.” 

With a shake of your head and the elevator doors closing around him, you punctuate, “bye, Steve.” 

—

Later the same night, in the dressing room before your shift, you’re practically glowing from the long afternoon nap you allowed yourself in place of unpacking. You did your makeup at home – never really did care to leave your expensive products in the locker room, no matter how much you trust the other girls –  so all you have left to do is get changed. There’s a lounge just outside the locker rooms for the dancers and bar staff. It isn’t much, a cracked and peeling old leather couch, a few folding chairs around a card table, and a kitchenette for snacks and drinks, but it serves its purpose. After changing into your first outfit of the night, a bedazzled fishnet body suit over a metallic hot pink matching set, you practically bounce into the lounge and land gracefully on one end of the couch, heels in hand. 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” comes a sleepy voice from the kitchenette where Eddie Munson, club security, resident dealer, and occasional fill-in DJ, makes his routine evening coffee. 

“Didn’t you hear?” One of the other dancers, Charity – though you’re not sure her real name, stage names only even back here, that’s the rule – asks, draping herself onto the other end of the couch. She pokes at your thigh with the toe of her heel and scrunches her button nose in your direction. “Honey here is fancy now, moved into that luxurious new apartment of hers today.” 

“It’s true,” you boast with a dramatic lean into the couch, lazing, a cat to sunbathe under the fluorescent lights and clutching at pretend pearls, “I am one with the fat cats, now.” 

“The fat cats living off their granny’s handouts, maybe,” Says Felicity, the club manager, through a playful snort as she enters the room. 

You concede, “yeah fine, I could never afford this place if it wasn’t for her subletting it to me, but it’s all a part of my master plan.” 

Eddie settles into one of the folding chairs, propping his feet up on the armrest of the couch beside you. “Master plan? Do go on.” 

“You know,” you swat at the heavy, thick-soled boots before leaning forward to don your shoes and look up at him over your shoulder flirtatiously, “find a rich, hot man who can afford to live in the building and make him fall in love with me.” 

“Solid plan, how’s that working out for you so far?” Charity laughs playfully. 

It’s quiet for a moment as you contemplate the question. You were joking, of course, but when she asked the first thought that came to mind was of your interaction with Steve. It could be nothing, after all Grandma Ruth did warn you that her next door neighbor is a major flirt and for all you know that’s how he interacts with every woman he meets – maybe even every man, you don’t judge. On the other hand, it could be something. You never know.

“Well, actually there was this guy–” 

You’re interrupted by one of the bartenders leaning in the doorway. “Eddie, we’re about to open, need you at the door!” 

On his way out the door, Eddie twists his mess of curls up into a bunch atop his head and as a goodbye, says, “fill me in later, ladies, duty calls.”

—

The next time you see Steve, it’s under wildly different circumstances. For him, anyway. 

You’re still sweaty and worn out after a long morning shift at the diner and the walk home under blazing July sun. Your fifties-style uniform wrinkled and stained with sticky syrup and dried milkshake from the bratty kid who “accidentally” dumped it on you in passing. Your apron is slung over your arm carelessly and you have just let your hair loose from its scrunchie when you entered the building so you have no idea how wild it actually looks. 

Steve, however, is nothing short of stunning when you run into him at the mailboxes. He’s sporting a navy blue suit that fits him so well it must be tailored, still slightly disheveled at the end of his workday but clean cut and endlessly handsome despite it. There’s a dusting of five o’clock shadow along his sharp jaw, and his glasses are perched low on the tip of his nose as he sorts through the small stack of bills before tucking them into the inside pocket of his blazer. When he looks up and meets your eye, he visibly brightens.

“Well hi, neighbor,“ he greets with a warm grin dimpling his cheeks. He leans with one arm above your head against the wall of mailboxes and looks softly down his nose at you. “How’re you settling in?” 

Shifting the strap of your bag up higher onto your shoulder, you try to cover up the stains, once again shying under his attention. You’re more than used to attention from men, used to their intense stares and acute observation, but only when you have prepared for it. When your makeup is done to perfection and you’re fresh and clean as a whistle. Not now. Not smelling of fryer grease and pancakes and the sweat of a hard day’s work, with melted makeup and dried mascara flakes accentuating the bags under your eyes. You finally answer, “alright I guess. I’ve been working a lot lately so there hasn’t been much time for settling, but I’ll get there eventually.” 

He scrutinizes your outfit with a playful sneer. ���I can imagine how hard it is, having to commute back to the fifties every time you have a shift.” He reaches out to untuck the collar of your dress that folded itself inward on your walk, smoothing it down with a caress of the thumb. “This suits you, by the way. ‘S cute.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, swatting his arm away with the apron in hand. “It pays the bills and I’m good at it. I wouldn’t have chosen it, otherwise.” 

Without ceremony, you both start walking to the elevator, step in step as if this was routine, as if you’ve been doing together for years. He presses the elevator button and shakes his head as you wait for the doors to open. “Does it, though?”

Swallowing your offense, you give him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?” 

Together you step into the elevators, and Steve holds out an arm to make sure the doors don’t close on you as you pass through. An unnecessary gesture, as the doors don’t close if they detect motion, but it’s appreciated nonetheless. 

“Not that I’m judging, because I am not, I just find it a little hard to believe that you can afford this place as just a waitress. What else have you got up your sleeve?” 

The elevator once again signals your arrival with an overhead ding, and you just shrug as you brush past him toward your door. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

—

Working two jobs to keep up with your discounted rent is tough. You’ve never been ashamed of either job, both of them honest work and both of them something you’re good at and damn proud of, but there’s no denying that it’s tough sometimes. 

The late hours at the club, though not every day, followed by an early wakeup call for the breakfast shift at the diner often called for little to no sleep, trudging into the building well past three AM with only enough time to shower and fall into bed for two hours before the alarm went off again at 5:30. But you made it work. Naps in the middle of the day and strategically planning which days you went into the club, you always made it work. Which means on the off nights you choose not to go into the club, you value your time and the opportunity to go to bed before midnight. 

It’s a rare Saturday night that you choose to stay home a few weeks after your move. Usually Fridays and Saturdays are your biggest tip nights so it’s rare that you skip, but it had been a particularly rough day at the diner and you have to go in even earlier than usual tomorrow to cover the overnight server’s vacation, so you decide it isn’t worth the added stress. You’ll just take a nice relaxing bath, maybe watch a movie on cable, and get to bed early.

Only, ever since Steve got home, there’s been a constant flow of people outside your front door, trailing from the elevator to Steve’s, some knocking, some letting themselves right in with a slam of the front door, most of them shouting. Their voices echoed off the walls and floated through the crack under your door. You wrote it off as a simple get-together and hoped it would die down soon, but to no such luck. The swell of voices and bass heavy music and generic party ambiance only grew louder as the night went on, and here you are. 

It’s two AM, your alarm is supposed to go off in just over an hour, and you’re wide awake, no, kept awake by the thumping of the party music on the other side of your shared wall and the boisterous laughter of Steve’s guests. 

You try not to be annoyed, really. Sure, it’s well past midnight, but it’s also Saturday, and you’re no square. Obviously people can have a good time and enjoy their weekend, but God, it’s so hard to not let the noise get to you, your anger bubbling just under your skin the longer the ruckus keeps you awake. 

Angrily shoving a pillow over your face, clamping it around your ears, you make note to say something to Steve the next time you see him. 

[mammalsofaction]

Lunch Break

Rating: M

Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Add tags: Human Perry, mute Perry, Professor Time timeline, AYA CATU and MML s2 compliant, established relationship, they're married y'all, concerns about Dakota and Cavendish being fired, inadvisable sex locations for anyone but especially 55+year old men

---

Perry has mixed feelings about the Clock Tower.

It was not, actually, to be fair. Named the Clock Tower. It was actually the Time Industries Headquarters. But everyone, including Perry and Heinz himself, called it the Clock Tower. It's a clever enough play on words, and they were both dads, at heart. 

It sat in the very middle of the Tri-State Area, a gleaming tower of titanium, gold and glass. It was largely sterile, cold and white, to match current aesthetics, and parts that weren't were gold or purple. It was beautiful, majestic, grand. On some days, it reminded Perry of the Stark Towers from New York, though he doubts their entrances were flanked by 10 feet tall marble statues of it's owner and founder. 

(And on others, it reminded him of a castle in black and vile green, on a separate yet parallel Quantum Plane manned by a twisted tyrant with a face both beloved and unfamiliar.

On those days, he had Heinz come visit him instead. They were both too old to be courting nightmares.)

We digress. While Perry's tastes may not generally align, love begged for compromises. Heinz would not be Heinz, if he did not demand for bigger, better, shinier, for bolder. In every universe and timeline, he is the same--Heinz was born for greatness, and he made sure everyone knew it. 

In the lobby, both people and bots made way for him. He'd preferred if they didn't, but Carl had laughed at him once, said that Perry had always carried an aura to him that  demanded respect. Larger than life. They would have made way for him even if they didn't (and within these walls, they all clearly did) know who he was. 

"Good morning, Perry the Platypus." Chirped N.O.R.M, in that familiar, cheerful sounding boom as he approached the reception desk. Heinz had been loath to dispose of his very first successful robot, even as the gradual progression of technology began to far exceed the capabilities of his initial body. He had the rust bucket stored lovingly somewhere deep within the basement of the building, Perry is sure: but the rest of his sentience, and computed consciousness was hooked to the entirety of Time Industries, making him their artificial eyes and ears all throughout every property on the globe, and some where there weren't. A gesture of pride and trust that had not gone unnoticed; it only took them 20 years and the development of time travel, but Heinz was finally proud of AI “son”.

Of course, the unfortunate side effects of keeping an AI that was so familiar with their history were names and labels so ingrained that they couldn't quite be re-programmed and removed. Perry had no complaints, and he knows Heinz feels at least a little bit of affection for them. How, despite everything, some things remained the same. 

Perry pats N.O.R.M's monitor affectionately, and pointed up. N.O.R.M beeps. "Ah! You are here to visit Dad." 

Perry chuckles, and signs freely, knowing that N.O.R.M would be able to read him. I am. Is he busy? 

The AI whirred in the approximation of a laugh. "Never too busy for you, Perry the Platypus! And it is almost Muffin Time. I have informed him of your arrival. Do you need me to carry those for you?" 

Perry looked down at his baggage; a folder and a take-away bag of take-out he had practically forgotten he was carrying. He thinks, and shakes his head. N.O.R.M beeps curiously, but complies with an easy, "As you wish, Perry the Platypus." 

The elevator empties as he is about to climb on, and Perry catches the eye of Dr Aloise Alpaca--one of his three chosen B.O.T.T council members in charge of domestic judicial matters. Aloise startles, and Perry raises an eyebrow. Instead of answering, the alpaca bows hurriedly, and clops away with the rest of the crowd. Perry hums, but slips in quickly before the doors of the elevator closes, and Perry slaps his watch to the chip Reader so N.O.R.M could grant him access to the penthouse. 

From outside, the top of the clocktower was simultaneously reminiscent of DEI as it was of Big Bertha, the old pride and joy of Jefferson County. The roof was a bulletproof dome of glass that could be retracted into an open space plan for the telescope and other large machinery that lets in natural light by day, and an unobstructed view of the stars by night. Four analog style clocks faced four cardinal directions, 3 of which portraying the timezones of each of Time Industries' major headquarters (Tri-State Area, USA; Greenwich in London, England; and the Null Island), and one, incomprehensible and erratic, which does not follow any sort of timezone known at all to man. 

When Perry steps out into the Penthouse, he finds his husband staring out the eastern clock, a one-way glass window looking out into Danville. The light of the late noonday sun paints him in strips of yellow and blue, bringing out the whites of his hair (more salt than pepper, now) and making him glow. 

He'd brought Melissa up here, once. Now Nicholson, not Chase. She'd said the backlight makes him look like an angel. She couldn't figure out why the comment had made Perry laugh as hard as it did. 

Heinz turns at the sound of Perry chuckling at the memory, his tired expression blooming into that wide, familiar smile that grows even wider as Perry circles around the imposing glass and mahogany desk to plant a sweet kiss on Heinz's lips. 

"Good to see you too, Schnuckiputzi." He said softly, and rolls his chair to the side to allow Perry to sit on the edge of the desk. "Ah, you  came here to cheer me up." He continues when he sees Perry put down the take-out bag, but sours when Perry pointedly takes out and waves the folder that had been tucked underneath his armpit. 

Read the rest on Ao3

Bad news. Perry signs importantly. Heinz groans, rolling his seat back close to his deak so that he is tucked between the vee of Perry's legs. Perry pats his hair sympathetically.

[decks-writing-blog]

Whatever the Fuck Benrey is: Chapter Nine: Can't Hurt

Chapter One

Previous Chapter

~

Benrey read whatever he could find online, searching specifically for weird and interesting stuff, until Gordon fell asleep on the other end, his soft snoring coming through the phone. He then read a little more just in case. Gordon had sounded awfully shaken after all. A not unfamiliar quality to his voice, he’d been that shaken or worse during much of their trip through Black Mesa together, but… Benrey now knew how fragile he was. And he’d decided Gordon was his pet so it was his responsibility to make it better.

Eventually he had to call it good enough though as he didn’t know when the hotel manager was likely to return and he needed to be gone before then. So he closed the web browser and shut the computer down, making sure to turn the monitor off as well.

“’Kay, uh, gotta get off the computer now before I get caught. I’ll call you later or text… I don’t know, whatever I feel like. Doesn’t really matter ‘cause you can’t hear me anyway. Bye.” He hung up and started back for his room.

~

He waited until the sun was fully up before pulling his phone off charge again. Gordon hadn’t texted. Not surprising, he’d have heard the ping but he was starting to get restless. Playing games was great and all but… no multiplayer games or anyone to chat with while playing was less fun. Something else to do again for a little while would be welcome.

‘awake yet?’ he sent to Gordon.

He stared at he screen for five minutes before giving up; apparently the answer was ‘no’. Maybe a good thing… unless Gordon was having another nightmare. Perhaps Benrey should’ve gone back with him. He’d thought about it but during the first trip nothing dangerous had happened and then on the car ride back, all the nosy, annoying, bothersome questions had convinced him not to. But if Gordon’s mind was an enemy… it couldn’t kill him though, could it? So it was probably fine.

Pocketing the phone, Benrey turned his attention to the window. Lifting the closed curtains, he stepped under them so he could look out and see if anyone was around. … No one seemed to be so he grabbed his new camera before walking through the wall, putting him out back behind the hotel.

It was warmer out here already, the pleasant desert heat starting to set in. He’d never given his enjoyment of warmth and heat much thought, they just felt nice, but perhaps Gordon was correct and he was cold-blooded; didn’t produce much heat of his own. Did that matter? … No, but it was kind of interesting.

Shaking off that thought, he started making his way around to the front of the building so he could follow the sidewalk. It would perhaps lead to somewhere interesting, right? Upon reaching it, he slowed his pace a little. He had nowhere to be, nothing to do, and no one coming to bring him back to the Black Mesa facility.

He fiddled with the camera, turning it on. Gordon had called it cheap when getting it for him but it was far from a shitty disposable one. It had digital display, making it feel fancy to Benrey. As he walked along he snapped a photo of anything that caught his eye. Roadkill, the way the sunlight glistened off the jagged edges of a broken window, what at first look like more roadkill but upon zooming in was actually just an old boot that had been run over a few times, and other such things. A lot of it wasn’t really that interesting but he’d never been in Tuefort unsupervised for more an hour or two before.

People passed him, going both ways. The sidewalks were bare enough that his slow pace didn’t bother anyone enough to bump him or tell him to go faster. No one paid any attention to him whatsoever. If he tried to talk to any of them, they’d brush him off, say they were too busy. He’d need a cop uniform if he wanted anyone to heed him. … Gordon had stressed he not cause problems though and borrowing a cop uniform to join their ranks, even for a little while, would undoubtedly cause some. Especially since cops were a lot like the military, right? They liked to shoot things. Getting shot if he got caught trying to sneak in would likely call attention because of the whole healing, not human thing – which Gordon would probably classify as a problem – and he was expressly forbidden from shooting back if he could even get a gun.

What if he did it anyway though? Or if he was breaking the rules, what if he did something properly fun? Like steal a car. He’d never driven in real life before but he could probably figure it out. A car chase with the police had to be even more fun if it was real, right? Not that something being fun in a video game necessarily made it fun in real life but it sure seemed like the kind of thing that would be.

There was car parked on the side of the road ahead. An old rusted blue pickup truck that if video games were anything to go by would probably be pretty slow and clunky to handle. So not exactly the fastest chase but for a first time might be good. He slowed to a stop as he reached it. It was empty, its owner nowhere in immediate evidence

Normally, he’d have just phased through the door and tried to figure out how to steal it from there. It seemed as if it might be fun so why not go for it? But if he did, Gordon would be mad. Not that making him mad was a big issue or anything but… it would mean no PS3 for sure. And Gordon might start hating him again. Not a huge deal but he was just starting to like Benrey and ruining that would be lame.

Also, Gordon might do more than just start hating him again. He might change his mind about keeping him secret from the rest of the scientists. Some or all of whom might decide to try to get Benrey back into Black Mesa’s custody, Gordon may even assist them in such an endeavor. With a car, Benrey could theoretically escape and evade any such attempt much easier than on foot. He could drive out of Tuefort and go anywhere in the world; lose them so thoroughly they had no hope of ever catching up. But that would mean no more Gordon or Tommy or the rest of the Science Team unless they came with him. Tommy was the only one who might and that was a big ‘might’. Probably he’d be alone, possibly for a long time. No one to play games with if he ever did get a console and TV of his own somehow.

And so, he lifted the camera and snapped a photo of the truck before turning away and resuming walking down the sidewalk. Following the rules wasn’t all bad anyway. He was always telling Gordon to follow them, mostly just for fun now that he wasn’t a security guard anymore. So Gordon doing the same to him was justified.

As if blessed by resisting the urge to stop behaving, his phone pinged in his pocket. Putting his camera away, he pulled it out instead. Gordon had responded. ‘I am now. Good morning.’

Not wanting to attempt texting and walking – he’d seen people on TV doing so walk into poles a few too many times to risk such an embarrassment himself – he continued walking until he found a bench he could sit on while he typed out his reply. ‘not gonna ask if im still behaving’

‘No. I trust you. Don’t betray that trust or no PS3 for you.’

Benrey had made the right choice for sure; Gordon trusted him now. Neat! ‘sleep well no more nightmares?’

‘None that I remember.’ Not a ‘no’ though or any kind of confirmation that the rest of his night had been good. ‘Thanks for last night. I appreciate it. Do you think we could have a phone call before I go to sleep tonight?’

‘sure’

‘Thanks. Talk to you then. I need to go eat breakfast.’

Well, now Benrey had something interesting to do later. Not until tonight though. … Bubby was supposed to come back to Tuefort today, right? Benrey closed his text chat with Gordon and scrolled until he found Bubby’s number.

‘hang out when u get back to 2fort play games maybe?’

It was only a few seconds before the answer came. ‘No’

Seems getting back on Gordon’s good side didn’t mean he was back on everyone’s. Not surprising but still…‘:(’ He put his phone away and resumed walking.

Not even five minutes went by before his phone buzzed again. It was Bubby. ‘Fine. We can hang out. I got nothing better to do anyway.’

‘sweet text me when u get here’

***

With the half the survivors off on their rescue mission deeper into the facility and a few more dropped off at the hospital, there were only a few of them left to begin the salvaging of resources, research documents, experiments, computers – even the damaged ones, as long as the hard drive was intact or other parts that could be sold or reused elsewhere – and anything worth taking in general. A small enough number that even Breen was all but forced to bodily help as well. Gordon’s single hand gave him the perfect excuse to drift between assisting Dr. Coomer and Tommy instead of going off on his own like everyone else was doing.

Most of the work involved breaking into the living spaces not marked as belonging to any of the known survivors. They were looking for bits of experiments brought home, research papers, or anything else related to the work done by the scientists of Black Mesa. A lot of scientific advancement had taken place here, some of it with the potential to be pretty big, anything that could be salvaged would likely be worth the effort. At Gordon’s suggestion, they were also collecting personal artifacts to send to families who’d lost loved ones. Which added a whole new layer of work; putting things into boxes marked with the appropriate person’s name.

Naturally, going into unexplored rooms revealed more bodies. Well into the process of liquefying, some were genuinely hard to tell if they were human or alien. After last night’s nightmare, that was even more unsettling than it otherwise would’ve been. Gordon used his missing hand as an excuse to not be the one to drag them to new body pile in the center area to be burned once they were all done here. That left him to search those rooms alone and sadly, the smell didn’t leave with the body. Somehow, he managed to not vomit until the third such room.

By the time his body gave on heaving his guts up, allowing him to straighten, darkness danced at the edges of his vision. He swayed as he left the corner and stumbled out of the room. The smell seemed to follow him, closing the door helped only a little. With a groan he leaned his back against the wall next to and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Surely a break was warranted.

He pulled out his phone and pushed it open. ‘Hey.’ he texted Benrey because he hadn’t closed their chat.

‘yo’ came the answer a short time later.

‘What you up to?’

‘hanging with bubby u?’

Perhaps Gordon should be worried about that given what happened the last time Benrey and Bubby got buddy-buddy. But he’d moved past that with Bubby a while ago now and seemingly Benrey now too somehow. ‘Taking a break.’ He wanted to talk more but what could he say to continue the conversation? And Benrey had just confessed to being busy hanging out with Bubby so all he added before hitting ‘send’ was, ‘Don’t have much time though. Talk to you later.’

‘k’

Gordon was sort of starting to not be bothered by how bad his texting was. Enough so that reading back over their prior conversations was somewhat comforting. Not as much as more conversation would’ve been but enough to keep him sane until Dr. Coomer announced his return with a classic, “Hello Gordon!”

Putting his phone away, Gordon looked up at him. “Hello Dr. Coomer.”

“Did you find anything in the room while I was disposing of the corpse?” His voice was chipper as always… or not always, but most of the time. Was he really chipper or was it something else making him speak like that? Some kind of speech impediment that effected his tone? He definitely had some kind of speech something going on so… maybe. Regardless he certainly didn’t seem bothered.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Not lose your mind.”

“Well, it helps that my mind is in my brain which is inside my steal-plated skull.” He tapped the side of his head. “That makes it quite hard to lose. Have you lost yours? I could help you find it. What does it look like?”

Seemingly Gordon had indeed lost his mind because it had been his idea to come back here to help any survivors they could and he’d volunteered to help with this too. Why had he done that? He could’ve just let it be, not come back to help anyone because he was already out. Surely he couldn’t have been blamed for such; he owed no one any more than he’d already given. But here he was… and he was about to get up and continue, wasn’t he? The research was important but more than that was taking care of the bodies. Burning them in a big heap wasn’t the best funeral but it was far better than letting them continue to rot alone. And their loved ones deserved closure in the form of whatever could be gotten to them alongside the news. Breen hadn’t been planning to do the latter until Gordon had pressed him to, making Gordon’s presence valuable.

And so with a heavy sigh, he stood. “Nah, I’m sure my mind will turn up on its own eventually. For now, let’s go back in here and finish searching it for stuff.” Before Dr. Coomer could answer, he turned and headed back in.

~

Despite their plans and best efforts, they were unable to finish going through the whole living area in a single day. Gordon could perhaps still leave on the morrow, let the rest of them to finish the job. Tempting but he should at least finish making sure people who’d lost loved ones would be getting what they could of said loved one’s possessions. It was the only thing left he could do.

And so after exchanging greetings during the promise pre-bed phone call with Benrey… “Also, I’m probably gonna be staying another day.”

“Why?”

“Gotta finish with this area then most of us are heading back to town. Except for Breen,” at Gordon’s suggestion because he was the head of Black Mesa and thus should stick around until everyone else was out, “and a few others waiting for the rescue team.” After that would come the long arduous process of sending teams down to save what all they could to bring back from the other areas of the facility since it’d be a long time before it was operational again and some of it would be needed at wherever their temporary setup ended up being. Not to mention, hiring the people to even start fixing it couldn’t start until as much of the top secret stuff was removed as possible.

“Lame.”

Lifting his coffee half way to his lips, Gordon paused to look down on the phone, currently on speaker and resting on the couch’s armrest. It was a bit precarious with how close to the edge it had to be to allow the charging cable to reach it but as long as he was careful not to bump it, it should be fine. “Why’s that lame?” He hadn’t expected Benrey to care much.

“It’s boring and your rules are dumb, making it more boring.”

“You got plenty of video games though.”

“Yeah, no online games though and no one to play with. Bubby’s worse at Melee than you and you only got one hand. He doesn’t even like it, said it wasn’t ‘very fun’ don’t know what I see in it.”

“Well… sorry. I’m sure you’ll survive though.”

“Barely.”

“Just uh… continue to behave, please.”

“I will, I will… only ‘cause you promised to buy me a PS3 though so you better keep your promise.”

“Well, when I do head back, Breen’s lending me the company card to rent a space to store all the stuff we’ve already recovered and to rent a building to start setting the lab up in if I can find a good one. And uh… we’re kinda owed something nice, right?”

“Ooh, naughty. Gonna steal some money, huh? I could report you for that. But uh… I ain’t a security guard anymore so… I guess I can look the other way. Just once, only ‘cause I want it real bad.”

“It ain’t stealing. He’s lending me the card and I’m like basically second in command of the company now anyway. I’m calling multiple shots on this salvage operation so… I probably won’t do it but it’s a fun thought, huh?”

“Boo! Lame. Gordon Goody-two-shoes-man over here being a big loser. I finally let you steal something and you chicken out.”

Gordon chuckled hard enough to almost spill his coffee. He had to lean forward and put it back on the coffee table in front of him. “Don’t worry, man, I’ll still get you a PS3, soon as I can, I promise. Gotta worry about getting a more permanent place to stay first though which is gonna be expensive because … duh. But soon as I get back, I’ll play more Melee with you or whatever you wanna play, ‘kay?” That actually sounded like a good time.

“Yeah, ‘kay.”

“Now, uh, in the meantime…” He paused to retrieve his coffee cup, giving him a bit more time to figure out how to word this. He hadn’t given it as much thought as he should’ve before calling. Benrey had given him a good opening angle though. “You said that uh… you like playing games with people. Obviously we can’t over the phone but maybe uh… you play something and talk to me while you do, read the text and stuff, maybe talk to me about it a bit? It wouldn’t exactly be hanging out, watching you play something, but it’d still be less lonely, right?” And more importantly would keep him on the phone with Gordon for potentially a long time, hopefully even all night, if he was willing.

“Don’t you gotta go to sleep soon?”

“Nah, skipping a night of sleep won’t hurt.” Or at least not as much as the nightmares he’d likely have should he attempt to sleep. He’d spent the day rooting through dead people’s stuff and occasionally coming across the dead people themselves, after last night’s nightmare, that was bound to make getting good sleep impossible. So really, not trying to sleep was likely to be more restful in the end.

“Really? You sure? ‘Cause uh… don’t humans sleep every night?”

“Usually, yeah but only because not doing so makes us kinda tired. One night isn’t a big deal though so since you’re like… bored and lonely, hanging out over the phone should help, right?”

“Oh, okay.” Benrey, as expected, didn’t need much convincing. And staying up apparently wouldn’t do him any harm either, making it a win-win. Having a non-human friend was fantastic. “I haven’t started Wind Waker yet so I’ll do that one.”

“Sounds good.” Gordon finally took a sip of his coffee. Brewed as strong as he could bear it, he winced a little at the taste but he’d likely get used to it long before the night was through because it was going to be a long one. Benrey should help make it bearable though.

~

Doing the same stuff as the day prior but this time after a night of no sleep was both harder in some ways and easier in others. Harder in all the ways staying up all night made everything harder; trouble focusing, mild headache, general overall ucky lethargic feeling. Easier in that, emotions and thoughts dulled by exhaustion were harder to stir into despair even upon discovering another forgotten body behind a locked door.

Even when it got up to start shambling towards him he didn’t feel as bothered as he should. Instead he raised his gun hand and riddled it and the headcrab controlling it full of holes. His gun hand wasn’t as loud as normal guns but that didn’t mean it wasn’t loud.

“Wow, that uh… woke me up a bit, I think,” he said over the ringing in his ears as he watched the headcrab zombie fall.

“Fine shooting, Gordon!” Dr. Coomer said, patting him on the shoulder before stepping forward to bend down and grab the corpse’s wrist. “I will drag this to the corpse pile now while you continue our search.”

“’Kay, see you in a bit.” The adrenaline had been the exact thing he needed. He was doing just fine.

They finally finished a few hours after lunch, just a bit too late in the day to justify going back to Tuefort today. Instead Gordon sat down with the rest of the group again. While they all set to chatting, he folded his arms into a pillow for his head on the table in front of him. Surely a quick nap while everyone’s conversation floated over him would be fine. If the nap lasted long enough maybe he wouldn’t even need to go to bed proper tonight… wouldn’t that be nice?

~

Gordon woke with a jolt, his heart racing, his breath fast. Despite that, the dream was already starting to fade from his mind, leaving nothing clear in his memory other than that his dreams had conjured the mass of rotting flesh again. He could almost still smell it even now… no not almost, could.

The headcrab zombie he’d killed had been close enough that some of its gore had splashed on him when he’d shot it. Tired, he hadn’t changed his clothes, especially since a shower wasn’t available; this part of the facility had run out of reserve water yesterday. There wasn’t enough to be overpowering but it did make his stomach churn with nausea.

Shaking his head, he reached over to the nightstand, fumbling along it until he found his glasses. The clock read 11:35pm. Dr. Coomer must’ve brought him to bed, either immediately or once bed time rolled around. His nap had lasted a while. … It didn’t leave him well rested by any means, especially since he’d still had nightmare but it had helped a little anyway.

With a groan he dragged himself out of bed and over to the light switch so he could see well enough to change clothes into something that didn’t have the smell of death clinging to it. Once done, as was becoming habit – whether good or bad was hard to tell – he checked his phone. Benrey had texted several times since their last exchange.

‘yo want to do another call before bed?’ ‘u good?’ ‘tomy said u fell asleep at table wierd place to fall asleep but ok’ Each was about an hour apart, according to their time stamps.

Having been off charge all day, the battery was running low so Gordon wondered back out the living room area to retrieve the charger, bringing it back to his room to plug in while he sat down on the bed to reply. ‘Yeah, exhausting work so took a nap, lasted longer than I thought.’ Should he apologize for worrying Benrey. That’s the vibe he’d got from the texts but… it was hard to tell for sure with just words on a screen. Much more likely, Benrey was bored and thus looking to converse to pass the time. Probably best not to assume anything. ‘You keeping yourself entertained?’

Perhaps lending credence to the idea that Benrey had been worried by Gordon’s lack of response, his reply came swift. ‘sort of im bored call?’ He was saying he was bored though so probably just that. There was no reason he should care enough to be worried.

As Benrey had done to him, instead of responding, Gordon pushed the keyboard back in place, allowing him to call. The charging cable meant that he had to keep it on speaker as it couldn’t reach to his face comfortably but he’d likely have to set it so eventually away like he’d done before.

“How often do you need to sleep anyway?” he asked as soon as Benrey picked up. How many nights in a row could he depend on Benrey to keep him company while everyone else was asleep?

“Uh… like once a week or every other week if I’m really not in the mood. Humans gotta sleep more than that, right?”

“Yeah, we gotta sleep uh… most nights, missing a night here or there is fine though, not an issue at all.” And he didn’t need to mention the whole eight to nine hours thing. Not that Benrey would care but if he told Tommy or Dr. Coomer that Gordon was intentionally not sleeping as much as was recommended, they might try to bother him about it. And then he’d have to explain he wouldn’t be able to sleep well anyway so might as well try to avoid the nightmares via not sleeping until the was too exhausted for them. … Or maybe they wouldn’t care either. Gordon was the only normal human in the group, the weakest among them by far. Why would any of them care about how fragile he was?

“But uh…” he continued before the pause could carry on for too long, “that means, the other night, when you were here and joined me in bed you, um, didn’t need to, right? You just… wanted to?”

“Yeah, bro, you’re warm, it’s nice. Won’t happen again.”

“Nah, it’s fine, you can… I mean, uh… it was nice. So you know, if um… again wouldn’t be bad if you wanted to and… stuff. Only if you want to though… or um… uh…” He shouldn’t have brought it up but if Benrey were physically here right now it would’ve been really fucking nice. So it was probably a good thing he wasn’t because Gordon’s desperate loneliness was pathetic and he really needed to get over it. Especially if it was making the thought of cuddling Benrey of all people sound appealing. Not that it had been bad, just he shouldn’t want to do it again. But could he really be blamed whilst in Black Mesa, the source of his nightmares? Once out, surely it would be better.

“Uh… maybe. Let’s talk ‘bout something else, huh?”

“Yeah, good idea.” Anything would do as long as he wasn’t alone in this horrid little room. He’d go back to Tuefort tomorrow, in the same car as Tommy or Dr. Coomer, didn’t matter which, and then things would go back to being good.

Next Chapter

[zehglitch]

The Fallen Angel

Ezephr's Backstory

— 1

Content Warnings: Human experimentation, child experimentation, kidnapping, violence, toying with people, mentions of death, mentioned abuse/starvation, mentions of children killing each other, dehumanization

Chapter 1 — The Lab

Computers beeped, vast containers full of strange liquid bubbled, and people scribbled notes. These were the only sounds taking up the research facility, the head doctor there to receive their new supplies. The firm, confident steps of the doctor created a new sound that echoed around the room, all eyes turning to him. His sharp eyes studied the line of ‘products’ they'd just finished gathering. Children. Most were babies hardly old enough to go without their mother’s milk, the majority seeming to be human. He frowned with his distaste of their samples and his eyes skipped to the others. “Humans? You couldn't get us a single dragon? Or even a demon?”

The cloaked team that had stolen the children away stared in silence, knowing better than to speak. Only a single one of them stepped forward. “Sir, we collected as many as we could from each continent. We found an elf child, as well as an angel. That is why--” The man was cut off when the doctor raised a hand for silence.

He quirked a brow. “An angel? Are you certain the parents are nowhere to be found? The last thing we need is a flock.” He wandered down the line again until he found the young angel. Brightly colored hair and the purest wings…it was perfect.

The man bowed. “It was discovered with a single angel present, a woman. They seemed to be fleeing from somewhere.”

“And the woman?”

“She has been disposed of, sir.” Silence fell upon the room, and yet the doctor grinned, reaching out and lightly touching the baby in front of him.

His smile was dark. “Well done. But not good enough. A single gold star among stones is far from the quality of many raw diamonds. The addition of the elf aside from the angel is the only reason you still have your heart.” He sent a glare their way before lightly tapping the edge of the basket. “Now then, transport the items to the nursery. Do we have a nursemaid available? Perhaps one that we can keep away from sharp objects, this time?” He scowled at his staff, watching the cowards flinch away from him with an air of satisfaction.

The cloaked group began to collect the children and followed the guidance of the other doctors and staff. “We do have a girl, sir.” One of the men who had been silent approached the doctor, dropping onto his knee. “There was a young wolf critter that saw us. We judged her wolf nature would assist in taking care of many children at once, we apologize for making a decision without prior approval.”

This made the doctor hum, then immediately strike the man, watching as just his head moved. “Making your own decision deserves punishment, but your judgement was correct. This time. Take her to the room, be certain there are enough supplies. Oh, and, go back out. Scout for the possible targets we can claim in five years.” In five years, these children would graduate from the nursery and move on to the next stage. He wasn't all that pleased with the quality this year, but it was better than not getting enough. The doctor had to pause to look at the number of children. Around twenty…and only two were useful. Despicable.

He turned away, heading to the monitors and studying the data of their current children. “Is there a test subject worth acknowledging?” From the way they all looked away, he doubted it. A frown etched his brow and he sighed, fixing his lab coat. “Very well. I suppose the one I had my eye on has also hit a lull. How disappointing.” He didn't miss how the researchers he hired shivered in unison. Rather, he found a sort of twisted pleasure in having so much sway over someone.

The doctor was a smug man at times, but that wasn't the biggest problem with him. A brilliant man that discovered a way to interfere with magiveins to create new magic and reinforce one’s physical strength. Except he experimented solely on sentient beings, never with animals. He called it animal cruelty while displaying a twisted grin and ordering children be captured instead. The man could be violent every now and then, but most of his energy went into studying his test subjects and determining if the method worked.

Then there was the pit. A child that disappointed him fighting against one he has hopes for? That man reveled in the activity. Currently, he had his eyes on the infant angel, drawing his attention away from the wraith that had begun to show promise. The wraith wasn’t improving anymore, so he no longer cared. He was watching his cloaked men transfer the products to the new room, debating if he should get involved this time as well. The test subject seemed to respond positively if they believed there was a familial relationship…perhaps he should indulge in a game.

☾︎☀︎︎☽︎

This batch of children proved to be both promising and worthless at the same time. The female critter was at least useful. Being of the canis lupus family made her capable of managing so many of them, even providing the bonus she wouldn't resort to suicide. Wolves take care of their pack after all. He was pleased with this, but the best result so far was the angel. The boy, X1, had a knack for healing incantations and he was hardly three years old--not to mention they had never taught these children spells. It was fascinating.

The elf, X4, often huddled in a corner as far from him as possible when he visited to play father. She would always have such a wide eyed stare, as if she already knew his true nature and intentions. Nothing he did convinced her he was friendly…intelligence. That was a bonus and better than the angel. So far the angel had suspicious glances, but would always move on like nothing had happened. Foolish. A habit that would become a weakness to exploit by others…it wasn't perfected yet. He had to create the perfect being.

Or else there was no reason to have targeted the dragons.

☾︎☀︎︎☽︎

No difference. The children were about to turn five and they still behaved in the same manner. Perhaps a wolf wasn't the best suited after all, she kept them too protected. No matter…they were always moved after turning five. His attention left this batch quickly with the lack of improvement, turning back to the wraith. The child was almost ten and had attacked one of the demon children in a brawl over food. They won. He was impressed, though a bit dissatisfied. Why was the demon still alive? They had to go for the kill.

He sat behind the one way glass, observing all rooms at once using the nearby camera monitors. Wrong. All of it was wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG! The doctor tapped the table, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hand with a rather deep scowl. None of them were satisfactory. He may need to start putting them in the pit again…he had no need for the ones that lose anyway. That demon was useless to him now, no other way to put it. And yet that ridiculous wraith wouldn't kill! He growled to himself and studied the caged areas.

The children were moved to cages often when they weren't good enough for his goal. He had some that were almost adults…if they didn't show results soon, he may need to put them down. That or he could add them to his cloaked men…their gender and race be forgotten, they would simply live to obey him and gather him new subjects. At least that way they actually had a use. The man watched all of them for many hours and still came up with no answer. Very well. He would simply force a result…extreme duress could trigger a response.

Decidedly content with that idea, he searched for someone to apply it to. His eyes landed on the new batch of five year olds. They were used to the comfortable environment of that plain white room, and he never failed to notice that the elf and angel both began to behave differently if he wasn't present in the room. This group…they were young enough to have potential. All he had to do is move them to cages immediately rather than the larger room. Perfect. His grin didn't reach his eyes in the semi-dark room. His plan was set.

☾︎☀︎︎☽︎

It was difficult for the boy, pretending to not notice the creeping chill down his spine whenever ‘father’ came home. The only name he knew was X1, like the strange mark on the back of his neck. ‘Mother’ always fussed over those marks, and he knew he had one too. Why would his siblings have it, and not him? He was always extra careful to keep his wings close to himself so his brothers and sisters wouldn't hurt them again, but it didn't always work. X1 really liked his sister, X4. She was so nice to his wings and mother said she was older too. He liked having a big sister.

X1 was sitting on one of the three couches, watching his siblings play with the soft, harmless toys they were provided. He was ready to help if someone tripped again, but he was otherwise left out when others played. All they wanted to do was play with his wings and got upset if he said no. It…also felt like he thought differently than they did. His siblings were loud, messy, and went wild when father visited. Father…he didn’t like father. Father looked at them funny, it didn't feel the same as how mother did. He wasn't sure why he knew that.

He shifted, wrapping his wings around his body and sighing in thought. This was boring. Movement drew his attention and he watched his mother as she sat beside him. She was smiling. X1 just stared at her when she ruffled his hair, loosening his wings somewhat. “Well? Are you just going to watch them again today?” Idly, he wondered why his mother looked so different from them. She was covered in fur and her face was shaped different…she had a tail and funny ears too. He leaned into her touch anyway, looking around for X4.

“Mother? Why are we different?” Her hand froze momentarily before sliding again as she tried to come up with an answer.

She tilted her head curiously. “I don't think we are? We're the same.” She lightly poked his nose. “We both have a nose.” She waved her finger in front of his eyes, “We both have eyes.” Then she smiled and her hand slipped down his head to his neck, lightly tickling him. He immediately made a strangled noise and squirmed, laughing with a grin--albeit quietly. “We’re both ticklish.” She kept going until he started batting at her and other kids wanted attention too.

He slipped away when they got crowded, flapping his wings awkwardly as he stumbled. X1 had never learned how to fly yet, though his wings were still a bit too soft to fly with. He watched his mother get swarmed, tucking his wings closer to himself at the sight. That would be unpleasant to be in. A hand touched his shoulder and his wings snapped right back out with a yelp. He spun around with wide eyes to see X4 smiling at him. She didn't speak, but she did reach over and poke his nose with one of her characteristic grins.

He blinked, then tried to return a smile, shuffling his wings to keep them safe, wary of the crowd of children nearby. “Hey…” She lightly grabbed his arm, an action she’d done many times before, pulling him away to her usual corner. His wings fluttered when she yanked him to sit down with her, plopping down a tad roughly before crossing his legs. X4 gave him a questioning look and he immediately avoided her gaze. “I'm fine.” Her pointed look definitely doubted him. “It’s just…why are we here? Different? Why does father feel so scary?”

He looked at his hands, then the floor, lost in thought. Her frail hand entered his vision, tapping the floor for his attention before reaching up and setting it on his head. She was always so quiet. As far as X1 had seen, she rarely said anything. She communicated with her eyes and hand gestures. He’d heard his name once or twice from her, but he didn't really need her to speak. All he knew, is that when she gave him her gentle, calming smile, he felt safe. Mother had the same smile, but she only gave it when father visited. He didn't like that.

He hadn't moved, so of course, X4 chose to bend down and look up at him with a pout. X1 flinched back, then smiled. “I’m okay, I promise.” His worrying didn’t do them any good, their home was happy and he only had to help anyone if they fell wrong. He felt her start ruffling his hair and he closed his eyes, shuffling over so lean against his sister. She continued to pet his head, but her hand eventually slipped down to brush through his white feathers. He flexed his wings, but otherwise leaned into the contact happily.

The two of them sat there in a comfortable silence, leaving the wild crowd of their siblings as a fading noise in the background. Even though none of them knew how little they had, or how strange their life was, they felt like this was perfect. They were never hungry, they had toys and friends to play with, a family, and safety. Their mother was playing with the other children, and they both knew that, but neither wanted to move. Why would they? X1 fully relaxed against his older sister, trusting her to protect his delicate wings as he drifted off.

☾︎☀︎︎☽︎

His peace didn't last long. The last thing he knew, he'd been cuddled with his sister, the next he was being woken up by a rough voice and someone clinging to him. What he saw when opening his eyes made him freeze up, stealing his voice while filling him with a new kind of confusion. There were people in dark clothes, their faces hidden, pulling his siblings out of the room without a word. The children were shouting and screaming, his mother was pinned and had something around her mouth. Why was she making a sound he'd never heard before?

The most shocking part was how his gentle sister grabbed his head and shoved it against her chest, pinning him and trying to block his vision. Her voice came out weakly, even holding a strange note as if the language was new to her, “No…X1…” Why was she shaking? Then he finally registered pressure around his wings, causing him to automatically try and pull them free. Pain bloomed through his wings and down his spine, drawing a muffled scream out of him. What happened? Where was he? Why were these people here?

His sister only held him tighter when he tried to squirm free--he wanted to see what was wrong with his wings, but she wasn't letting him. He attempted pushing her away, but before he could, big hands grabbed him and the two were pulled apart harshly. Despite being desperate to look behind him at his wings moments before, his eyes were glued to the tearful face of his favorite sister, watching her resist the strange person even when she was put over their shoulder. He reached a hand towards her, their fingers brushing, but never close enough.

It was too late, as they were fully separated, his wings not moving, and everyone being taken. X1 struggled only briefly, then just went limp when all his movements only caused pain to flare down his back. They were walking somewhere, the walls strangely silver and very long, but the only sounds were these people’s steps and the crying of children. Eventually, he chanced moving calmly to see if he was allowed to look at his wings…and they didn’t stop him. Finding that out, he followed through with it and spared a glance.

His wings were bound by something, a rope stretching across them in just the right way that he couldn't feel it unless he tried to move them. That was better than what he thought happened, actually. As some calm settled over him, he began to process what was going on, observing his surroundings. Alright. So for some reason, all of them were being moved and their mother was still at home. Where was father? Did he do this? Probably. The young angel readjusted in the uncomfortable grip and stared at his crying sister worriedly. What now?

They group walked for a while, stopping when they reached a strange area that nearly made his feathers poof. It smelled weird, as if water went bad here…he didn't know the correct words for it. There were others here, however all of them were older than him and his siblings. Where were they? He stiffed when the dark clothed people began to toss his siblings into these things, separating everyone by a certain number in each one. He kept track of X4 closely, but stayed quiet and obedient. They only got hurt if they resisted anyway.

He yelped when he was finally thrown into one, tumbling over the rough ground and feeling his skin tear from the impact. When it finally stopped he curled into himself, but made no sound. He simply bit his lip, lay there for a minute as he waited for the strange people to leave, and listened. Everyone was getting hurt…he could feel it. They were taken from their home and their mother, but why? Maybe this was why he never felt happy when father was home, he might have done this. Worse, he was pretty sure they weren't going to free his wings.

Finally, their steps faded and it was replaced by the sounds of laughter from their new rough reality. He pushed himself up and began to use healing magic on his own wounds before truly looking around. Already, he could see those older kids messing with his siblings, the other ones visible from his own even though he couldn't possibly reach them. In his, there were…two of the other noisy siblings, and his sister. He stiffened when he realized she wasn't moving, scrambling to get to her and ignoring the older kids that were already messing with the others.

He touched her hesitantly, shaking her while activating his magic. “X4! O-open your eyes!” He was scared, his wings were cramping, and she wasn't responding. At the same time, he could see she was breathing and hear the laughter nearby over his actions. Ignoring all of them, he tried sitting beside her, lifting half her body so he could hold her safely. She was heavy to him, but he didn't even care. He just wanted to keep her away from the weird people in here with them--she didn’t deserve this. Her wounds were healing, but they were still trapped.

—

Masterpost

Backstory Master

Next Chapter

[demifiendrsa]

Valve has released a 25th anniversary update for Half-Life.

Half-Life is free to own on Steam until November 20, 2023 10AM PT / 1PM ET.

Overview

BRAND NEW INTERVIEWS WITH THE HL1 DEV TEAM!

We got the band back together to celebrate this anniversary, and we invited the fine people at Secret Tape to film it all happening. Getting together after all this time was the perfect opportunity to revisit the game as it existed in its earliest forms, and to talk about how and why it eventually took shape the way it did. Check out the film to see what it was like to be a part of the team, way back then.

THE 25TH ANNIVERSARY UPDATE FOR HALF-LIFE INCLUDES:

HALF-LIFE UPLINK

Originally released as a CD exclusive for magazines and hardware manufacturers, this mini-campaign was built by the Half-Life team right after the game went gold. As this was many people's first experience with Half-Life, we thought it was finally time to bundle it with the main game—no sound card purchase necessary.

4 NEW MULTIPLAYER MAPS

Built by Valve level designers, these new maps push the limits of what's possible in the Half-Life engine.

CONTAMINATION

Two-foot-thick steel doors block off access to this contaminated waste facility, which has questionable scientific goals at best. Strap on a gluon gun and roast all intruders.

POOL PARTY

Enjoy a relaxing stay at this abandoned Xen outpost built around a cluster of soothing healing pools free-floating in space. How do you breathe here? It doesn't matter!

DISPOSAL

Processing Area 3, a massive radioactive waste plant gone quiet. Tons of room for you and your colleagues to do experiments with a Tau Cannon or some hand grenades.

ROCKET FRENZY

The creaking weight of this decaying orbital satellite launch facility somehow feels familiar… If we could switch on the oxygen lines, power, and fuel, we might just be able to light this candle.

UPDATED GRAPHICS SETTINGS

Play the game the way it looked in 1998, but on a modern monitor.

Widescreen field of view!

Option to disable texture smoothing on the GL renderer!

Lighting fixes including the long-lost GL Overbright support!

Software rendering on Linux! Crisp colors, animated water, and unfiltered textures!

CONTROLLER AND STEAM NETWORKING SUPPORT

A proper gamepad config out of the box!

Added support for Steam Networking! Invite your friends or join games instantly with no fuss.

STEAM DECK SUPPORT!

We finally put our game through our own “Verified” tests, and... we failed super hard. So we fixed it! After re-testing the game, Half-Life gets to officially wear the green checkmark.

Now you can play Half-Life on the best handheld gaming computer in the world in glorious 800p with improved controls and UI.

UI SCALING SUPPORT FOR HIGHER RESOLUTIONS

The entire UI has been reworked to scale at larger screen sizes. We built most of this stuff for 640x480 CRTs and apparently some of you have upgraded since then.

RESTORED CONTENT

We brought back the classic Valve logo video with its iconic music and reskinned the menu to match the 1998 build.

IVAN THE SPACE BIKER AND PROTO-BARNEY

After all this time we finally shipped the original heroes from the alpha builds of Half-Life, available as multiplayer skins!

AS WELL AS THESE RARELY-SEEN EXTRAS!

In 1999, Valve released a CD called Half-Life: Further Data at retail stores, and we're finally including much of that content.

THREE MULTIPLAYER MAPS

Double Cross

Rust Mill

Xen DM

TWO MP PLAYER MODELS

The Half-Life: Further Data CD also included some multiplayer skins made by the original team; we've brought back this incredible skeleton (now with tintable eyes!) and fan-favorite Too Much Coffee Man.

DOZENS OF SPRAYS

While playing a bunch of multiplayer matches we kept wanting more sprays... So we grabbed several megabytes of them from the Further Data release!

BUG FIXES AND CHANGE NOTES

New Content

Now Verified on the Steam Deck (and our native Linux runtime has been set as the default).

Half-Life: Uplink — the original standalone Half-Life demo — has been added to the game, and is accessible through the "New Game" menu.

Added four all-new Half-Life Deathmatch maps: contamination, pool_party, disposal, and rocket_frenzy

Added three old Half-Life Deathmatch maps formerly available only on the "Half-Life: Further Data" CD: doublecross, rust_mill, xen_dm.

Added Ivan the Space Biker, Prototype Barney, Skeleton, and Too Much Coffee Man as player models to Half-Life Deathmatch.

Added dozens of new sprays formerly available only on the "Half-Life: Further Data" CD.

Added support for Steam Networking, allowing easy multiplayer via Steam's Join Game and Invite features.

Added support for Steam Friends Rich Presence, allowing your friends to follow your journey through Black Mesa.

Nostalgia

Brought back the original Valve Intro video. Can be skipped with the "-novid" launch command.

Updated main menu to a design inspired by the game's original 1998 main menu.

Changed the default models to the original (non "HD") models.

Gameplay Changes

Improved physics for throwing grenades.

Improved randomness for initial spawn points in multiplayer.

Improved satchel charge controls: primary fire now always throws a new satchel, and secondary fire always detonates.

Fixed push-able entity movement being based on framerate.

Fixed players with high framerates freezing in place on death in multiplayer.

Fixed some cases where the player could get stuck in place on level transitions.

Fixed some cases where characters would interrupt important dialogue with their "greetings" dialogue.

Fixed weapon view-bob angles.

Fixed red barrels at the start of Surface Tension not launching as intended.

Fixed Snarks attacking FL_WORLDBRUSH entities (such as func_walls).

Fixed players sometimes failing to deploy a snark while crouching and looking down.

Fixed certain convars ("pausable" and "sv_maxspeed") being set to incorrect values when entering a singleplayer game after a multiplayer game.

Fixed singleplayer auto-aim setting being changed when entering a multiplayer game that disallows auto-aim.

Fixed the flashlight HUD showing empty after loading a savegame.

Fixed rockets in CONTENTS_SKY not always detonating.

Fixed incorrect bullet impact sounds for NPCs.

Fixed gauss gun making a loud static noise if it was charged across level transitions.

Fixed a crash in mods that display keybinds in their UI.

Fixed singleplayer weapons not auto-switching away when exhausted (grenades / snarks / satchels / etc)

Fixed interpolation artifacts when animated models are moved by other entities.

Fixed some buffer overflow exploits.

UI Changes

Main-menu background and buttons have been reskinned, and now scale based upon screen resolution without stretching, supporting background image layouts up to 3840x1600.

In-Game HUD now uses double or triple sized sprites when playing at higher resolutions.

UI dialogs and in-game fonts now scale to improve readability at high screen resolutions.

In-Game HUD HEV suit display has been shifted to the left of the screen, and no longer changes position at larger screen resolutions.

Added an "Enable texture filtering" setting.

Added an "Allow widescreen Field of View" setting to correct non-anamorphic FOVs, for widescreen and ultrawide displays.

Re-organized all the Settings screens to improve legibility, and support controller navigation.

Updated the Pause menu to be aware of the current gameplay mode.

The default server name and multiplayer player name are now based on the player's Steam Persona.

The Steam platform menu has been removed, now that all its features are in Steam itself.

Fixed application icon rendering incorrectly when using the software renderer.

Fixed player and spray images not updating their coloring on the settings screen.

Removed the now very unnecessary "Low video quality. Helps with slower video cards." setting.

Input Changes

Improved support for keyboard and controller navigation everywhere.

Added "Lower Input Latency" option: Synchronizes the CPU and GPU to reduce the time between input and display output.

Fixed issues that caused jerky mouse / joystick input.

(We basically rewrote it all - if you've got a custom Steam Input controller configuration, you should rebuild it from our newly published Official Configuration).

Multiplayer Balancing

Increased the 357 damage from 40 → 50.

Hive Hand reload time has been reduced from 0.5s → 0.3s per shot, and it will be selected at higher priority than the pistol on pickup.

MP5 now always starts it with full ammo when picked up.

Players no longer drop empty weapons, and any that are dropped are reloaded by what's in the dying player's backpack.

Improved client-side prediction to reduce "ghost shots". Like Counter-Strike, consider hitboxes and not just bounding boxes for hits on the client.

Fixed network predicted crowbar swing damage being incorrect.

Rendering

Added supported for UI Sprites and Texture files larger than 256x256.

Added support for UI Font special render modes: "blur" and "additive".

Added setting to turn off texture filtering when using the OpenGL renderer.

Default resolution is now based on the resolution of the desktop, instead of a 640x480 window.

Default gamma has been decreased from 2.5 → 2.2, now that we aren't all playing on CRTs.

Software renderer will now correctly filter out incompatible resolutions, unless there is only 1 resolution available on the display.

Restored OpenGL overbright support.

Fixed fullscreen software renderer crashing on systems that don't support 16-bit color.

Fixed software renderer being stretched when using widescreen resolutions.

Fixed skyboxes and sky color incorrectly carrying over when transitioning maps in multiplayer.

Fixed the game appearing too dark after modifying video settings.

Fixed MSAA in windowed mode.

Fixed mipmap rendering on studio models.

Fixed gluon gun sprite rendering in multiplayer.

Fixed gluon gun sinusoidal noise being incorrect.

Various optimizations to support the newly increased engine limits.

OpenGL optimizations for the Steam Deck.

Engine Improvements for Mod Makers

Increased maximum limit of dynamic sound channels from 8 → 32.

Increased maximum limit of sentences in the sentences.txt file from 1536 → 2048.

Increased maximum number of entities (MAX_EDICTS) from 900 → 1200.

Increased MAX_PACKET_ENTITIES increased from 256 → 1024.

Increased MAX_GLTEXTURES from 4800 → 10000.

Increased software renderer geometry limits: max spans 3000 → 6000, max surfaces 2000 → 4000, and max edges 7200 → 14400.

Cycler and func_button entities can now be the entity target for scripted_sentence entities, and are allowed to speak in multiplayer.

Incorporated func_vehicle entity support from Counter-Strike, for mod-makers to use. Full SDK update will come later, but level designers can use it now.

Native Linux Build

Added support for the software renderer.

Improved font rendering.

Many stability and behavior fixes.

Other

Localization files updated.

Miscellaneous security fixes.

Notes

The previous version of the game has been archived to a publicly visible Beta branch named "steam_legacy", with the description "Pre-25th Anniversary Build." If a mod or feature is behaving in an unexpected way, you may need to run this archived build until the issue is resolved in the default build.

We now consider this anniversary version of Half Life to be the definitive version, and the one we'll continue to support going forward. Therefore, we'll be reducing the visibility of Half Life: Source on the Steam Store. We know Half-Life: Source's assets are still being used by the Source engine community, so it'll remain available, but we'll be encouraging new Half-Life players to play this version instead.

WALLPAPERS

Celebrate 25 years of Half-life by decorating your desktop and mobile phone.

[podracerbarrelroll]

Thinking of that post about parents who relentlessly track their kids' cell phone location and internet history and every move in the name of keeping them 'safe' without their knowledge or consent. Also about the article I read awhile back about the developing social expectation that parents not let children go anywhere alone (which I couldn't find, but this one is more recent and similar).

For one thing. In the United States, violent crime has decreased since the 1990s and drug use among teenagers has gone down overall since the 1970s (skip to the charts on page 161 if you want to click through them). The world is not actually more dangerous today than it was when Gen Xers or older Millennials were kids.

But I'm sure there are parents out there who think that any chance of bad things happening means they must keep as close an eye on their kids as possible or they're bad parents. Not using every tool at their disposal makes them irresponsible, and tracking phones is just what you do today because the technology is available.

To these people, I would like to say:

How would you have felt about your parents listening in on all your conversations on the house phone and routinely going through your room and reading any diary or journal you kept? My parents did that, and I can guarantee you that it did not feel good, and I am still (in my early 30s) extremely protective and possessive of my things and hate anyone touching my phone or computer without my permission for any reason.

Yes, your kid might do drugs, and they might be a victim of violent crime. Tracking their every move does not necessarily prevent that. However, it does make it more likely they will leave their phone at their friends' house when they're sneaking out to go to a party they didn't tell you about and then they don't have that phone to call you for help. It also makes it more likely that if something does happen, they will not go to you for help or tell you about it for fear of getting into trouble.

Parental monitoring works best when parents have good, open, and caring relationships with their teens. Teens are more willing to talk to their parents if they think their parents can be trusted, have useful advice to offer, and are open and available to listen and talk. Teens who are satisfied with their relationships with their parents tend to be more willing to follow the rules. Not by, y'know, subjecting them to your own personal surveillance state.

Children are not perpetual children. They are future adults and need to develop the very necessary skills of learning how to make their own decisions. Not allowing this is how you end up calling your adult children's college professors because they've fallen behind in classes, because you've created a risk-averse, conflict-averse adult with no idea how to manage their own schedule. (This is also how you get accidental conservatives obsessed with following the 'rules', but the other post describes that better.)

On that note, you cannot control your children their whole lives. They will eventually grow up and move out when they're eighteen or twenty or twenty-five if you insist on them living with you through college. If you've never let them go to a party or have a single alcoholic drink, how the fuck do you expect them to know moderation when they're older and the consequences for fucking up are worse?

Conversely, you may get a kid that grows up, leaves, and doesn't talk to you at all. My parents literally told me that I didn't have a right to privacy because I was their child and living with them. While I do still talk to my parents, I purposely put physical and emotional distance between them and myself when I left for college, and I do not and have never gone to them for life advice or for comfort when I'm having a hard time.

And finally. Consider finding out, ten or fifteen years from now, that your child is dating someone who tracks their cell phone location at all times, goes through their phone and computer at random, and restricts where they go and who they spend time with, perhaps because this person pays more of the bills. If you've shown your child that surveillance and isolation is love, how the fuck are they gonna recognize the hallmark signs of an abusive relationship?

Even my parents expected me to get to school and back by myself, either by walking or taking the bus, from the time I was in kindergarten. I spent a lot of non-school weekdays at the public library from the time I was in middle school. So, when I left for college and moved to a new town, I knew how to take the bus by myself and how to navigate an urban area without the advantage of a car and how to deal with being around other people in public. The idea of gen Z kids lacking even that experience is a fucking shame.

[eldritch-nightmare]

hi- been lurking on your blog for a while lol_ I really like the way you write!!

so I got a really bad (not bad at all I just like the exaggeration) cold and

can I pls PLS have Zalgo taking care of a sick reader who gets petty af when sick & doesn't rest, resulting in him getting sicker ? ty !!

this is silly I know but idc I need fluff in my trying times </3

a/n: aw, thanks! i hope you feel better soon! kinda assuming you want male reader based on the pronouns used in the request so i apologize if you didn't.

zalgo taking care of a sick male!reader who doesn't take care of himself.

warnings: lazari is mentioned bc i refuse to accept the fact that zalgo is a deadbeat dad, very brief mention of murder it isn't important, mention of vomit, uh... mentions of eyes, it's actually all very tame and light.

He does not understand anything about sickness in general. What do you mean you're sick? No. You can't be. He's terrible at taking care of things.

Fully under the assumption that you'll be taking care of yourself because he doesn't know the first thing about caring for others. He's already trying his best by being a dad and your 'boyfriend', as the mortals would call it.

Lazari also never gets sick due to the whole 'daughter of Zalgo' thing so like... he literally has no idea how human sicknesses and diseases work, it's a mystery to him.

So he isn't immediately worried when he sees you not resting, simply because he just assumes that's what all humans do. His perception of human behavior is heavily based on how you behave.

However, once he sees that you're taking a while to get better, Zalgo definitely starts to piece two and two together and realizes that, no, humans most certainly should not be walking around and working while they are sick. His human is just stubborn.

Precious, while you look rather handsome like this, perhaps it would be best if you sat down and rested for a bit.

He'll try to be nice about it because he's a good boyfriend for someone so evil but if you continue refusing care, he won't hesitate to force it upon you. He won't feel bad about it either, because he's doing this for you.

While he won't possess you, per se, he will definitely influence you if you make this harder than it has to be.

He understands that your sickness is common amongst mortals so he isn't going to force you to go to a doctor to receive care. He'll only do that if you get worse, but you're in his care! And he's not going to do anything that'll make your condition worse.

Once he decides that he'll have to care for you himself, it's a full day of research for him. He can't just go in blind, no, what if he accidentally gives you something that'll make you worse? And he takes the research very seriously.

Personally, I imagine him wearing librarian glasses and slowly typing on a really old computer while chewing on some gum but realistically he probably just... possesses some poor soul and uses their body long enough to learn what he needs to know before disposing of them.

Now that he's acquired all the knowledge he needed to know, he actually does a rather good job at caring for you.

He won't be disgusted or anything if you throw up or anything like that either because I mean... he has seen much grosser things so a little human being sick doesn't bother him at all.

He makes sure you're hydrated and he makes sure you take medication when you need to. He can't cook to save his life but he can influence people to cook for you so! He'll just randomly show up with neatly packed food for you. He won't lie to you if you ask where the food came from. I mean, you know that he's not a good guy. He's not even human. You signed up for this, so you shouldn't be surprised.

Eyes. Eyes everywhere. When he can't be there physically, he always makes sure a part of him is left behind so he can monitor your condition to make sure you're actually resting when he's gone.

And on the very, very rare occasion where he can't monitor your condition himself, he'll leave Lazari with you. She can't get sick, and she knows more about human care than Zalgo does, so.

He'll be very relieved once you're better. No offense, he's just not that good at being, well, good.

[disease-danger-darkness-silence]

Amazon Affiliate Listicle, but with my ADHD and propensity for swearing

So I'mma do a listicle of Amazon affiliate links just like every other place is doing for Prime Days.

I'm just gonna tell you ahead of time that I'm doing it for money and the sense of incredulity I feel about... Amazon as a whole.

🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

A Backbone, probably the most ridiculous gaming accessory I've ever seen. Yes, I'd like to use my phone as a controller for $35 more than a normal PS5 controller costs and have almost no other functionality!

I am ALL ABOUT BIDET ATTACHMENTS, okay, but this brand is so fucking overpriced. I'm not paying $77 to launch high-powdered water up my chocolate starfish, and I'm definitely not paying the normal $110. I WILL say that I've used this brand and it was good, but... Dudes. It's a stream of water to make wiping your ass easier. How much is that actually worth? This is a much better price for the exact same functions.

When I saw this set of movies, I didn't see that it was James Bond. Daniel Craig is wearing like a sweater, but I also didn't realize it was Daniel Craig. All I saw was CRAIG. This is, for some reason, absolutely fucking hilarious to me.

Instant Pot for $65, need I say more?

Okay I'm not even joking, this is just a pretty fucking decent price ($84) for a 1.5 TB microSD card.

If you have a 3D resin printer, today is the day to stock up: AnyCubic has some really good resin deals going on! I personally love the plant-based resin, but I've heard amazing things about their water-washable stuff. I wanna try the ultra-tough resin, though. (Note: this is UV resin so you don't have to actually use it in a 3D printer. You can use it in a mold too.)

Let's spend $50 to make a single cup of coffee at a time when I can make better coffee using a disposable tea bag. 🙄 The hatred I have for single-use coffee makers knows no bounds.

What you do is take about two regular spoons full of coffee grounds (another half a spoon if you like it harsh, half a spoon less if you like it light), put them in the tea bag. Put any other spices and flavorings you like in the bag too. Close it, and tie it closed really well (I wrap the strings around the top of the bag and tie them again when I've tied it.) steep for 5 minutes in a mug full of hot water (doesn't matter how it got hot), and then add milk or creamer depending on your preference. It will have less of an acidic bite and a better flavor profile.

I'm super into the idea of bleaching my tooth enamel until it rots away and my teeth are super white but extremely sensitive! Give it to me, Crest! Yeah Daddy!

If you DO want the tooth-brightening shit, you'll probably want to invest in a few tubes of Sensodyne. Trust me.

Oh, you eat Tide pods? Cool, cool, if you Wan a be like 2021 about it. I'm a dishwasher pod kid. Snack time.

OK no sarcasm, this shit will clean your washing machine so fuckin good. My daughter gave me some and suddenly none of us smell like Satan's asshole anymore. Fucking amazing.

Okay look, if you wanna get special pimple patches, go ahead, they're on sale today and they DO work, but they're just hydrocolloidal bandages. I get the regular ones bc I can cut them to shape.

Okay fullstop, I love the power mops Swiffer makes and this is a GREAT deal. Anyone wanna buy me a new mop? 😂

Oh shit, they have Naked mini-palettes for 40% off. That's $21 omg why am I a poor with expensive makeup taste??? WHY? (They also have the Stila liquid eyeliner on sale somewhere.)

Yes, sir? I'd like the biggest, widest computer monitor to ever exist. I'm a gamer, you see. A thousand dollars today, you say? What a deal! I'm a gamer! (Look, I have a gaming computer and a pretty big monitor but there's a fkn limit, Samsung. There's a line and you've crossed it.)

I almost didn't click on the "pet products" tab because I miss Ziva SO MUCH. But I do love pampering my pets. In that vein, WHO WANTS TO BUY A SHOCK COLLAR?

If you've ever needed 900 poop-scooping mini garbage bags... Today is your day. Time to shine.

Aw fuck, I found a pretty damn good deal on a cat tree.

If you don't have a 3D printer, you have to buy Settlers of Catan like a peon and it's on sale today.

I'm actually disappointed in myself how much I want this.

TICKET TO RIDE FOR UNDER $40.

If you wanna train your pet to talk these things are on sale.

For the low, low price of $98, you too can let your child kill themselves by improperly using a Zipline kit.

EXPLODING KITTENS FOR $10 AND I MEAN THE GAME NOT ACTUAL KITTENS BUT I GUESS HE HAS A SHOW NAMED THAT TOO?

As a general rule Raven and I don't buy Nerf products because they're owned by Hasbro and we're boycotting them because of the whole Pinkertons thing. Plus, in the world of foam dart guns they're actually doing the worst when it comes to innovation and performance. But! We will get them on clearance or secondhand. I consider Prime Day to be clearance, so have this multipack for a kid's party that I wish I'd had for Raven's birthday party last month.

Also, this translucent blaster.

I love this style of shorts (although I got the viral tiktok ones) but omg this one has POCKETS.

Today I discovered that there is a brand called THE GYM PEOPLE and they make really boring clothes.

Hey plus-sized ladies! Want yet another ugly beige bra? Look no further!

I have one of these mandolin slicers. Highly recommend.

Get your kids used to corporate surveillance with an Amazon Echo made just for them!

THESE ARE THE ONLY PENS I USE.

Amazon putting these under "off to college" is absolutely fucking hilarious to me.

I'm actually really bummed I don't have the money to get this Samsung Galaxy Tab.

Amazon knows what's up when it comes to kids: a five-pack of identical pants. I think it's for uniforms but like. Let's be real, kids just go through clothes like that.

Every time I see a Skullcandy product, I remember when I was at a Skullcandy booth at the Warped Tour and I asked the booth babe how they compared to Sennheiser or even Audio-Technica. She looked at me, and in a snooty voice, said, "I've never even heard of Sennheiser before."

[askthechronoverse]

The last of four short stories I have written for supplemental purposes. Takes place after everything else I've written so far.

The clicking of a keyboard was the only sound that could be heard in the sterile and clinical lab. A lone figure was the source of the oddly melodic sounds, her paws orange barely visible and her expression stern and focused. Her tail swayed to the rhythm of her typing as she made music with her large computer. Her music was visual, displayed on the monitor as various graphs, charts, and figures. Most of it would make no sense to a passerby, save for the images of two people. One was a man with wild dark brown hair who's eyes reflected a deep, almost spiritual tiredness. The other had dark grey hair that was adorned with a simple grey pillbox hat. His expression was neutral, almost bland. The fox tapped a mouse with an impatient paw, clicking into a diagnostic screen for a Project Daffodil. She clicked her tongue as she went over the diagnostics, a smirk slowly sliding onto her face. It was working. She should have guessed it would: doing this kind of task was just a normal occurrence for a scientific mind like hers.

She took her paw off of her mouse and sauntered to a small, nearby capsule. The capsule was smooth and black, several different kinds of tubes and wires making it look like a baby kraken in the dim light. The fox tapped the glass with her paw, the blackness parting to reveal something moving in water. She shook her head, ear twitching at the rapid movement. It was almost time, but her special project had to be patient for just a little longer. Perfection takes time, after all. She shuffled over to the console again and grabbed a jar. The jar had only two objects in it: a dim grey heart and a bright green heart. Both seemed to glow softly, ebbing in time with each other. She watched this dance for a moment, smiling at how coordinated it all was.

She looked back at the capsule, seeing the movement once again. The end was near. She could take her time with this, however. She had so much to prepare first, so much to do before the time finally came.

A soft hum made the fox sigh. She glanced back at the two hearts. The memory of gathering the samples was vivid as she looked back. They were symbols of pure love, created when the two men on her large monitor kissed for the first time as a married couple. She had been studying what she can do with these totems for a long time and this was the best thing she could think of doing. Grabbing the jar, the fox headed once more to the capsule, opening a small hatch. She carefully put both hearts into the hatch, closing it quickly.

Now to wait, the worst part of the process. She went back to the monitor and watched the screen. After what felt like an eternity, an alert flashed on her screen. The end was here. She typed some commands in the keyboard and rushed to the capsule, which was already open on her approach. A long cry cut through the evening air, coming from a bundle wrapped in soft, blue fabric with yellow stars creating a cartoony nebula in the open container. The fox peeked in to see the result of her careful testing.

"Success," was all she uttered as she picked up the noisy bundle. "Now. Normally I would dispose of you, but you are special." The fox bounced, the noise stopping in due time. "Let's not wake the castle. We'll go for a walk." She held the bundle in her arms and shuffled out the door, a small square robot following behind her.

The fox passed through the town, which was clearly getting ready for Halloween. Posters advertised a costume party for Halloween night. Leaves playfully circled her feet as she walked toward the woods, the smell of nature in fall making her nose crinkle. Nature. She wasn't a fan of nature. Why did they have to live so far into the woods? Oh well. It didn't matter, she supposed. She wasn't going to be there long. She'd just have to distract herself with mathematical equations and calculations for her next major experiment.

While the fox made her trek, the man with tired eyes was busy in the kitchen. He whistled a song he'd thought he'd forgotten as he mixed a white, creamy liquid in a pot.

"Hey, babe? We goin' to the party? I know ya gotta go, but are we goin'?" He grabbed a cutting board and waited for a reply. He soon got one from the grey haired man, who floated over to the maplewood bar and watched the other work.

"I would love nothing more than for you to go, my beloved. We could do a themed costume, if it isn't too late for that." His bright smile was the most expression he was giving, as his voice gave nothing in that department. "Would it be too late to attempt that?"

"Nah, it's never too late to beat Brock and Frown for the best couple costume award. They were stiff competition last year, but we just needta be clever ta beat them. Ya got something' in mind?" As Rex spoke, he began to chop some carrots and potatoes.

"We could dress up as the characters from that movie I showed you the other day. I'm surprised you stayed awake until the end. I know you prefer action films to period pieces." Richard floated behind his boyfriend, willing his feet to touch the wood flooring. Rex turned around and leaned down to kiss him softly.

"I almost did, babe. But, we can do that. Am I gonna be Lady Pemblebrick or Lord Bricklebottom? I should have time to grab some very period accurate pieces after work tomorrow." He turned back to the pot, adding some herbs to the stew.

"You know I look better in a corset, but you have her passion and hair type. If we want to win, you will need to tame that cowlick of yours, but if I'm Lord Bricklebottom, we can easily win." There was a twinkle in Richard's eye as he spoke, his voice still monotone. He floated to the counter, perching there with crossed legs.

"I find it hard to say no to you, babe. I'll even wear the heels. We gotta win this year. It's gettin' embarrassing to get beaten by those two!"

A loud knock from the front door crashed through the banter, Richard sighing softly as he floated toward the door to open it. Just before he reached the door, it swung open with sizable force. This startled both occupants of the cabin, a green exclamation mark appearing over Rex's head.

"Oh! Doctor Fox! Did you walk all this way? It's supposed to start raining soon." Richard saw that Doctor Fox and the robot were already wet and the rain was coming down heavily. "Come in. You'll get a cold."

"It's not me you should be worrying about." The words ominously hung in the air as she entered the cabin, the bundle she held close to her chest starting to stir.

"Who else would we worry about, Doc? The robot?" Rex went back to the pot on the stove. "We should have enough stew for ya if ya wanna stay a while." Doctor Fox sat at the counter, Richard once again perching on it.

"I was just planning on dropping something off and leaving." She put the bundle down on the counter and started to leave. She didn't get far before Richard picked it up and unwrapped it to reveal a round little face, dark eyes staring up at him with a blank calmness. His heart stopped as he stared back at the thing. He whistled for Rex to turn around, which he did. He walked over to his husband and was handed the bundl with shaking hands.

"What... what is..." Richard spoke breathlessly. "Why us?"

"It's a girl and she's yours, genetically speaking. I wanted to see if your DNA would be compatible, since you still have traces of your brickness and Rex is something else altogether. It worked." She looked at the couple for a sign of a possible compliment, but all she got was a shaking Richard and a Rex on the verge of tears. "You could thank me or something, guys."

"... Our daughter? This is our daughter?" Rex swallowed, eyes solely on the little girl. She made fussy little sounds, squirming a little.

"Doctor Fox, you should have said something first. We don't have room in this cabin for a third person and we both work. One of us will need to take time off to take care of her until she is out of infant-" Richard looked around and saw that Doctor Fox had left. He shook his head. "Rex, what are we going to do?"

"Rich. We can do this. I can renovate the cabin and I can afford to take time off." Rex held the child close to him, almost afraid she was going to vanish if he let go.

"Rex. You just got the Royal Chrononauts off the ground and financially viable a year ago. You can't afford to lose that momentum." Richard urged, worry and fear framing the monotone in his voice.

"You and I both know ya ain't gonna be the one to stop working for that long. I can afford it. Besides, the one picking up my slack would be the exact person who put us in this... amazing position." The tears continued to flow as Rex walked to the couch and grabbed a clean blanket and rewrapped the baby in it. "We get back at her for throwing this on us, I finally get time off work that isn't for some science talk or to visit Emmet and we get to... to start a family." Rex moved back to his husband, who had taken the stew off the burner.

"...You know, you can tell she's our little girl. She has your eyes." Richard floated by Rex's side, watching the little girl fuss in her tight wrappings.

“Well yeah. She has one of your eyes too. Two different colors.” Rex chuckled as he loosened the blanket a little for her. 

 "If you're ready, I'll be as well.” Richard whispered. “I do recall that Lady Pemblebrick and Lord Bricklebottom had a child at the end of the novel the film was based on. We may have to just compete for best group costume this year.

[airisvapes]

How long does a 12000 puff disposable vape last？

How long can 12,000 puffs of disposable vape be used?

Factors affecting the usage time of 12,000 puffs of disposable vapes

Actual usage time for a 12,000 puff disposable vape may vary based on several factors. The following are the main aspects to consider:

1.Average number of cigarettes smoked per day

The number of cigarettes smoked per day is one of the main factors that determines the duration of use. Here’s a rough estimate:

Light user: If you are a light user and smoke about 100 puffs a day, your vape will last about 120 days (about four months)

Moderate Users: For moderate users who smoke around 200 puffs per day, vapes can be used for approximately 60 days (approximately two months).

Heavy Users: Heavy users may smoke 400 or more puffs per day, so their vapes will last approximately 30 days (approximately one month)

However, this is usually only the time that vapes can be smoked under the best conditions. In fact, it will be limited by many different factors (some users may finish them in a week, and some can use them for a month, so advertising campaigns usually require Mainly based on personal actual situation)

2.Duration of each hit

The length and intensity of each bite also play a key role. Longer, deeper puffs use more e-liquid and battery. If you take short, fast puffs, you’ll probably get closer to the advertised 12,000 puffs. Conversely, if your puffs are longer and stronger, you may find that your disposable vape lasts longer.

3.Efficiency of disposable vape

Not all disposable vapes are created equal. The efficiency of the device, including the rate at which e-liquid is consumed and battery performance, will affect the actual number of puffs. High-quality equipment is more likely to achieve the advertised number of puffs.

4.Usage habits

Your personal usage habits, such as how often you smoke and whether you smoke continuously or intermittently, will affect usage time. Smoking continuously and at regular intervals throughout the day results in different consumption rates.

Maximize the use time of disposable vapes

To maximize the use time of a 12,000 puff disposable vape, consider the following suggestions:

Monitor your usage: Record the number of puffs you take each day. Paying attention to your usage can help manage and extend the life of your vape.

Keep your puffs consistent: Try to keep your puffs consistent in length and intensity. This helps to accurately estimate disposable vape usage time.

Store properly: When not in use, make sure to store your disposable vape in a cool, dry place. Extreme temperatures can affect battery life and e-liquid quality.

Product recommendation: AirisAlpha20k

The first disposable vape with dual charging ports & ultra-high-definition touch screen; three suction modes can be switched.

1.Intelligent full-color touch screen: ultra-large screen display, full-screen touch, click to switch between three suction modes, a variety of different animated interfaces, increase the sense of human-computer interaction, and intelligently monitor fuel and power consumption

2.Brand new (Airis Pure Core 3.0): more intelligent, supporting stronger power output, bringing the purest atomization experience:

(Interactive large screen, dual mesh coil intelligent switching, real-time display of fuel and electricity, faster response to ignition, short circuit protection, low battery protection, charging protection, stable power output)

3.Double mesh coil, three mode switching design:

Light mode: Dual mesh coils heat at the same time, 15W output power, can pump about 20,000 puffs, suitable for entry-level user experience

Smooth mode: Dual mesh coils heat at the same time, 20W output power, more explosive power, about 15,000 puffs, suitable for users to experience light lung suction.

4.The appearance of the product has a mechanical line texture design and dark and cool colors, showing high-end luxury and a sense of technology.

5.Compatible with Type-C and Apple Lightning dual charging port design (Dual Charge), convenient charging

In conclusion

The 12,000-shot disposable vape offers an amazing amount of usage time, but actual duration depends on your personal usage habits. By understanding and managing the factors that affect puff count, you can better predict and extend the life of your device. Whether you’re a light, moderate or heavy user, knowing expected usage times can enhance your vaping experience and help you get the most out of 12,000 disposable vape.

[thebookkeepersrus-blogs]

What is a Bookkeeper’s Role in HIPAA-Compliant Businesses?

Healthcare organizations are expected to save and maintain lives, but as businesses, they must be HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act) compliant. This is required for healthcare businesses in the United States, a legal requirement designed to protect the privacy and security of patient’s personal health information (PHI).

HIPAA compliance creates a framework for safeguarding sensitive health information for a reliable healthcare ecosystem that can only be promoted by trustworthy professionals.

These professionals in businesses like the top bookkeepers play a crucial role in protecting businesses by utilizing their expertise and ethical practices. Here are some ways in which reliable bookkeepers help and support HIPAA-compliant businesses:

Security

To protect financial records and PHI from unauthorized access, theft, or breaches, bookkeepers must implement appropriate security measures.  This includes utilizing secure computer systems, encrypted data storage, and password protection for financial software and databases.

Confidentiality

When handling financial records containing protected health information (PHI), bookkeepers must maintain strict confidentiality. Any individually identifiable health information, such as medical records, payment information, and insurance information, is considered PHI. Bookkeepers should ensure that access to such information is limited to authorized personnel only.

Record Retention and Disposal

Bookkeepers should adhere to HIPAA guidelines for the retention and disposal of financial records that contain PHI.  These guidelines specify the minimum retention period for different types of records and the secure destruction methods for disposing of sensitive information.

Monitoring and Auditing

Bookkeepers may be involved in auditing and monitoring financial transactions to ensure HIPAA compliance. This includes reviewing financial records on a regular basis, identifying any discrepancies or irregularities, and reporting any suspected violations to appropriate personnel.

Training and Awareness

Bookkeepers should receive HIPAA training and be aware of the specific requirements for financial transactions and record-keeping. They must understand the significance of maintaining PHI privacy and security, as well as how to deal with any potential breaches or incidents.

Business Associate Agreements (BAAs)

Under HIPAA regulations, bookkeepers who work with HIPAA-compliant businesses may be considered business associates. Any entity that performs services on behalf of a covered entity (such as a healthcare provider) and has access to PHI is considered a business associate. Bookkeepers should have a signed BAA with the covered entity outlining their responsibilities and obligations in terms of PHI protection.

The Bottomline

Overall compliance with HIPAA is a collaborative effort that involves numerous stakeholders, including healthcare providers, covered entities, and business associates. 

Just like any other industry, efficient bookkeeping in healthcare is an essential component for effortless accounting processes to efficiently run a business. Hence it is a must to entrust a healthcare system’s finances only to trustworthy bookkeepers for long-term success. 

So if you are a healthcare business owner or a healthcare business manager now is the time to get started! Learn how! Schedule a call now!