#might miss a post this week depending on how well studying goes

[amberlynnmurdock]

Blind Faith

Chapter 3: Temperance 

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Chapter Summary: You get private self-defense lessons from the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, who you call Mike now.

A/N: The POV switches a bit frequently in this chapter, between Matt and the reader. I tried to make it as clear as possible. Basically, if you see Matt's name when he's with the reader, it's from his POV. But if it's just described as "he" then it's the Reader's POV. Thanks to all for the kudos you've left on this so far <3 this fic is in its beginning stages but I am really excited to see it through. Enjoy! P.S. This entire series takes place after Season 3 of Daredevil, but Matt kept the black suit.

Chapter 2 here

Hell’s Kitchen

8:00 AM

You hated mornings.

You specifically hated mornings when you were hungover. Your phone alarm woke you up obnoxiously. Groaning, you slammed your finger on the button to shut it off, worried it might wake your friends.

The bright 8 AM sky of Hell’s Kitchen shone directly in your face. No amount of blankets covering your eyes could keep the darkness inside, and you forced yourself to wake up knowing your sleep was well over. You stretched in bed and reached for your phone again on your bedside table.

You scrolled through your notifications.

The Daily Bulletin posted a new article about new restaurants coming to Hell’s Kitchen this summer. You scrolled through mindlessly as you tried to stay awake. You had a few emails from professors, wishing you a happy graduation and good luck to prospective law students. You remembered your job searching app and that you had one new message from one of the firms you applied to.

Nelson and Murdock: 1 view, 1 new message.

You clicked open the message:

Hi __,

Thank you so much for applying to be our new legal assistant. Of all the applications we received, your resume stood out the most to us at Nelson & Murdock. We’d love to have you come in for an interview next week. Does Thursday at 4:00 PM work? We look forward to seeing you.

Sincerely,

Karen Page

Office Manager at Nelson & Murdock

You couldn’t help but smile at Ms. Page’s message. Finally! I get to have some experience working in the legal field before applying for Columbia Law.

You quickly typed out your message:

Dear Ms. Page,

Thank you so much for reaching out! Of course, I would love to come in for an interview. Thursday at 4:00 PM is perfect. Thanks so much for your consideration.

Regards,

___

You added the interview to your calendar and immediately texted your friends’ group chat the exciting news.

Hell’s Kitchen

8:30 PM

You wanted to go out with your friends, but you had other plans for tonight.

“I can’t believe __ is skipping out on tonight!” Hannah exclaimed as she was getting ready in the bathroom. You looked up from the LSAT book in your lap from the couch and mustered up the most convincing shrug.

“If I want to be a successful lawyer, I’ve got to get into law school first. Columbia, no less. That means studying for this Godforsaken test,” you held up the textbook in your hand and clumsily dropped it in your lap.

“Oh, you’ve got the whole summer to study,” Emily pried, dabbing her lipstick on.

“Better start now, then,” you retorted. The truth was, you were absolutely not going to get any studying done tonight. But it was unlike you to decline a night out with your friends, so you used the LSAT as your excuse. You had other plans… of course, if your savior decided to actually show. Who knows? Maybe vigilantes also played games like every guy you’ve ever met at NYU.

“Well, we’ll miss you,” Bella said as she walked out of her room. You smiled at her.

“The bright side is if you guys need me to pick you up, I’ll be sober to do so!” You tried to reason with them.

“True, though we may crash at Ben’s place. Depends how the night goes,” Hannah explained. You nodded, thinking that might be preferable, but you didn’t say so.

You waited patiently, hiding behind your textbook for your friends to leave for the night. Luckily, they decided to get dinner before going out. You would’ve been jealous had you actually needed to study, but the thought of seeing your savior was too exciting to be jealous about anything else.

As soon as they locked the door, you hopped up from the couch and changed out of your pajamas and into a relaxing outfit of leggings, a sports bra, and a hoodie.

It was 9:30—only thirty minutes until your secret meeting with the man in the mask on the rooftop of your apartment building.

Office of Nelson & Murdock

Earlier that day

“Okay, who’s ready to hit up Josie’s tonight?! Karen, Matt?” Foggy Nelson cheered as he slammed his hands on the conference table. Karen Page laughed in her seat as she leaned back in her chair. Her strawberry blonde hair was pushed to one side of her neck.

Matt Murdock suppressed a smile and paused the case file he was just listening to on his Orbit reader.

“I might be inclined,” Karen thought, leaning forward on her desk. “It would be nice to have a drink after coming in to work on a Saturday…”

“Oooh, yeah,” Foggy squinted his face, “sorry about that. I mean, it’s a good thing we’re getting a lot of clients but at the same time, we don’t have enough people here to talk to all of them,” Foggy explained. And then, he remembered something. “Hey, did that applicant ever reply to your message?”

“Oh!” Karen pointed a finger, “Let me check. Ahh, okay! Yes, wow, she did. Uhh, so she’ll be coming in for an interview next Thursday. I just calendared it.”

“Yes!�� Foggy put his hands into fists. “Karen, I trust your judgment, unless you want Matt or I to sit in on the interview.”

“Either works. Whoever’s available, I guess,” Karen nodded.

“Cool. So, Josie’s tonight? Matt?”

Matt shook his head.

“I’ve got plans,” he simply said, a smirk on his face. Foggy rolled his eyes.

“Come on, man,” Foggy begged, “you can’t take one night off?”

“I—I can’t,” Matt answered, “I promise next time I’ll join you guys. But not tonight.”

Karen sighed. Matt knew neither of them was pleased with his nighttime activities as they called it, but they’d be happy to know that wasn’t entirely what he was up to tonight—then again, he’s not sure they’d be happy to hear what else he had planned. That was a secret he wouldn’t tell.

“Just let us know if you’ll need us, okay?” Karen asked. Matt nodded.

“Of course,” he said.

“Alright well, guess we’ll hit up Marci to join us,” Foggy suggested.

“Matt, we trust you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured them.

“Well then, I’m going to get a head start on Josie’s martinis. Karen, let’s get outta here.”

Hell’s Kitchen

10:00 PM

You stood by the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the people who walked the streets. You never came up here at all. Sometimes, you and your friends would take pictures up here, but that was it. Being up here alone felt different—it felt like a hideaway. There you were, watching as stores began to close, and bars began to open up. You could see the lights from Times Square in the distance. You shivered when a cool breeze passed.

And then you were startled by something—a thud, somewhere around the back of the rooftop access. You turned around in defense mode, waiting to confirm the identity of what the noise was.

Then, he appeared. Out of the black, into the soft light that reflected from midtown. His black shirt hugged him so tightly, you could see the outline of his muscles on his chest, his abs… his arms. His face was of course covered by the mask, but you saw his lips and the light stubble he had. His hands were wrapped in rope, like a boxer's. He wore black pants and boots to match.

“I wasn’t sure if you would come,” you decided to speak first as you walked toward him. You stopped after a few feet. The man in the mask walked toward the edge of the roof and sat on the edge, facing you.

“I keep my promises,” he replied. “It’s the Catholicism.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, “you’re Catholic? And you act outside of the law? Seems like a subjective way of justifying things.”

“I don’t think about it too much,” he responded with a shrug. You eyed him suspiciously.

“So, before we begin,” you cleared your throat to keep the mood light, but truthfully he was making you nervous, for some reason. He had a smirk on his face you wanted to wipe off. “Why did you agree to come here and teach me how to defend myself?”

He was quiet for a few moments.

“You had a convincing argument, from what I remember,” he said.

“That can’t be enough to come out of your way and onto the rooftop of my apartment. Surely, you have more important things to do. So, why did you come? And don’t say it’s because of religion, because that’s bullshit.”

“Maybe I wanted to,” he returned. Your heart pounded when he said this. You were thankful it was dark out, or else he might’ve seen your blush. “And you know, it’s important you know how to defend yourself.”

“Hmm,” was all you said. You pressed your lips together. “Do you give all the girls you’ve saved before private self-defense lessons?”

He laughed. You liked how his laugh sounded.

“You’re my first student,” he said in a low voice.

“So, what should I call you? In my head, I’ve been calling you my savior.”

He smiled, then he got a bit serious.

“Call me Mike,” Mike said.

“Well then, Mike,” you walked closer to him so you were no more than a foot away. You crossed your arms and tilted your head. “I’m a quick learner.”

Mike pushed himself off from where he leaned, so the space between you shrunk even more.

“I don’t doubt that.”

~~~

“Show me what you’d do if someone were to approach you in front of you,” Mike ordered, placing his hands on his hips. You squinted your eyes at him, thinking.

“I’d try to do this,” you began as Mike pretended to “attack” you. You took your arms and tried to hit him away, but he grabbed you by your forearms and steadied you from losing your balance.

“That’s how they can get a hold on you, as I do now,” Mike explained, with a sly grin on his face. “Instead, you want to make sure you move both your arms to one side and do a swiping motion, so they can’t grab you. Try again.”

He got back into position as you did. You braced yourself as he came to you, holding up his arms. You did exactly what he said before, and moved your arms in a swiping motion, gently hitting his arms away.

“Don’t be afraid to hurt me when we do this. I want you to fully grasp how you’d handle yourself, God forbid, you ever had to,” Mike stated. “One more time.”

You repeated your stance as before, and this time, you aggressively swiped his arms away, feeling your forearm clash against his.

“Good girl,” he smiled in satisfaction. Your heart was pounding again in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was from his comment, or that self-defense training was like a workout. You huffed as you caught your breath.

“And what if they anticipate that? What next?” You asked, genuinely curious. Mike thought for a moment before answering.

“Then you have to use your legs,” he replied. “Let’s try that. Give me your arms,” he held up his hands. You raised your arms, and like slow motion, he wrapped his fingers around you, pulling you closer to him. You gasped at the contact. The tip of your nose barely touched his.

“Listen carefully,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve got your arms. You’re going to want to slip from under, using your whole weight.”

You nodded your head, understanding him. His grip on your arms tightened. You took a deep breath and then plunged, slipping out of his grasp.

“Now stop!” He halted. “Raise your right leg and try to kick my shoulder.”

“I don’t know if I can stretch that much,” you stressed.

“You can. This is life or death. Just try it,” he urged you.

You raised and kicked your right leg, hitting his shoulder and using the weight to push him away. He nodded and clapped his hands.

“Exactly that,” Mike smiled.

“I need a water,” you uttered, “I don’t know how you do this every night. Do you need a water?”

“I could use a water,” Mike answered.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Trotting down the rooftop access stairs, you hurried for two water bottles from the fridge. You glanced at the clock—11:30 PM. Sheesh. Time flies when you’re learning self-defense.

Upon entering the roof again, you were confused to not find Mike where you left him. You scanned the roof, looking for him. Did he leave?

Suddenly, a dark figure came charging at you. You dropped the water bottles and immediately went into defense mode, realizing it was Mike. You thought fast and swiped his arms immediately, swaying him to the side.

“That was a test,” Mike said out of breath.

“Jesus!” You exclaimed, “You scared me!”

“That’s how fast an attacker will be. Out of nowhere, and just like that,” Mike explained.

You shook your head, picking up the water bottles from where you dropped them. You handed one to Mike.

“Let’s take a break, shall we?”

~~~

Matt contemplated coming tonight.

There was something wrong about why he chose to come to you, to fulfill his promise. When he started his activities, he told himself he’d never get attached to the people he saved—never get emotionally involved. He would strictly leave it to business: stop the criminals, and save the innocent person. But for some reason, with you, he couldn’t let go.

The second time he saved you was a complete accident…fate, as you had said. He was in a completely different part of town, and you so happened to be in the same area. He remembers hearing your voice, dignified, yelling at that punk kid to leave that innocent girl alone. He recognized your voice immediately. Matt’s hearing was so sensitive, even after hearing someone’s voice once, he could pick it out in an entire crowd. He liked that you talked to him; that you weren’t afraid of him in his suit.

And still, he wasn’t sure if coming tonight was a good idea. Because he knows he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from coming again.

And now, here was, on your rooftop, sharing a bottle of water with you. He sat against the wall, knees pulled up. You sat next to him with your legs in front of you.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” You suddenly asked in a soft voice. Matt tilted his head to listen to your body. You were calm now. You weren’t when he first showed up. Your heart was beating steady. She feels safe. She is safe. He could smell a lingering scent of your perfume on your skin. It smelled like black cherry and vanilla.

“Of what?” Matt asked in return.

“You know,” you shrugged, “expecting to be everyone’s savior.”

Matt shook his head, “not really. It’s easy to not get tired when you’ve accepted this as your purpose.”

“It’s your purpose, to bear the burden of other people’s situations?”

Matt laughed, despite himself. “Maybe.”

“Well, if you ever need someone to share that burden with—I’m right here,” you told him. “Even though I don’t actually know who you are.”

He smiled a little. “It’s better that way.”

“Is it?” You questioned. “I mean, you could literally be anyone. You might be one of my professors and I might not even know it. Actually, I’d hate that. I take it back,” you shook your head. Matt laughed again.

“I promise I’m not one of your professors.”

“Phew,” you said. “Well, who are you?”

“A New Yorker, like you.”

“I guess that counts,” you smiled. “How old are you?”

“Oh, come on,” Matt sighed.

“What? These are valid questions. I won’t figure out who you are, but I can know basic information. Can I guess? You’re definitely older than me.”

Another reason why this felt wrong. He wasn’t that much older than you—about seven years.

“I’m not that old,” Matt argued. You laughed.

“I didn’t say you were, Mike.”

“Let’s try another defense technique,” Matt said, changing the subject. He stood up from sitting and held out his hand for you. You grabbed it and he pulled you up. He let his hand linger in your touch before he let go again.

“Okay,” he said, “turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around,” Matt repeated. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered. Matt listened to you closely. You weren’t lying. You turned around.

“Do you mind if I…get close?”

It was your turn to pause. “No.”

“Okay,” Matt took a deep breath. He listened to you closely again, and using his senses, he took you in. He knew your hair was down. He slowly raised his hand and moved your hair to one side, revealing a part of your neck. He felt your goosebumps rise at his touch. You shivered. Matt pretended not to notice. He placed both his hands on either side of your waist, bringing you snug against him, so your back was against his chest. You felt warm against him, and delicate. He slid his arms underneath yours so he rested at your collarbone. He was completely holding you against him now.

“You okay?” He whispered in your ear. You took a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” you said in a small voice.

“Someone could come up from behind you, and grab you like this,” he held you tighter for emphasis. “Similar to before if they got hold of your arms, you have to slide out from underneath. And kick back, too.”

“Okay,” you said in understanding. “Let me try.”

Matt anticipated your moves. He felt your muscles tense as you braced yourself to slide down. And you did, quickly. You exited his restraint, and he didn’t feel warm anymore.

“Good,” Matt said, “exactly.”

You caught your breath. “Can we do it again?”

Matt nodded, motioning for you to come to him.

You slid easily back against him, like putting on a glove. It was like your body melted against his, the way you sunk back into position. You rested your head in the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath.

Matt could feel every muscle you had relax when you did this. It was then he slipped his arms under you again, holding you tightly—but not in the way he instructed before, a different way. He held you tighter against him and touched his covered nose on your temple. He took a deep breath, and instantly, like inhaling a drug, you filled his senses to the max. Your fragrance was intoxicating. He listened to your heartbeat slowly pick up its pace until it was pounding against your chest. He heard you take your own deep breath, as you sunk even more into his body.

It took everything in him to practice self-restraint. He repeated Bible verses in his head, the longer he held you.

A man without self-control is like a city broken into and left without walls. Proverbs 25:28.

“Ready,” Matt whispered.

~~~

You slipped out of his grasp, and you were almost successful, but he held onto your right hand. Mike kept holding on, and suddenly, you were pulled right back into his grasp. This time, facing him, you collided flush against his chest.

He was breathing heavily, and God did you wish you could see his face underneath that mask. His mouth was slightly parted, and you were breathing heavily. You felt Mike’s strong arms snake around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His nose gently touched yours. You felt his hand run up the length of your spine before it rested on the back of your neck. And then, his lips were on yours.

The kiss… you felt his stubble tickle your face, but you didn’t care. His lips crashed into yours, which you accepted gracefully. His lips were soft, but his kiss was rough. Needy. Curious. It was intoxicating, being kissed like that. The closest thing to describing it was like a brand new day. It was like exploring a new universe, where only the two of you existed. Yeah, that’s what it felt like right now. You weren’t in New York City, on your rooftop anymore. It was you and him sharing this kiss, with no one else to see. In secret. His head tilted to the side to take more of you in. You breathed in sharply, desperate for more.

And then, he pulled back and rested his forehead against yours.

“Was that your plan all along?” You asked suspiciously.

“No,” Mike answered. “It wasn’t.”

“Good,” you said, “because that’d be messed up.”

Mike laughed.

“I fear we are way past messed up now, sweetheart.”

Hell’s Kitchen

1:00 AM

Your friends stumbled into the apartment. You were on the couch, LSAT textbook in your hand. You kept reading and re-reading the same paragraph over and over. Your mind kept replaying your moment with Mike, just an hour ago.

“There’s our girl,” Hannah walked in the living room, plopping on the couch next to you. Bella made a beeline for the fridge and Emily sat on the floor, turning the TV on.

“How’d studying go?” Hannah asked drunkenly.

You sighed and closed your textbook.

“Terrible,” you answered with a knowing smile, “I’m in deep trouble for this test.”

[prestonmonterey]

TLT UPDATE!! BEFORE I GO TO BED

(gods im so tired...)

@vincentaureliuslin @tatsumisheep3

no photos today so heres my cat :P

OPENING NIGHT!!! it went super well!!!!! (i think)

it was PA night so the understudys were percy and annabeth and they killed it!!!!!! :DDDD

also my director gave me a compliment today so im in a good mood (it was somethin along the lines of "you finally did a good job as cerberus" but ill take what i can get...) (i still have beef with him but.. whatever....)

its crazy how fast this show is going and that itll all be over after sunday,, but also i am SO tired bc we literally spend more time at school than at home this week :(

also getting a lotta acne bc im not used to wearing this much make up every day :P

but hey at least ill get to rest a teeny bit on the weekend (just in the morning TwT bc we have matinees)

also my parents and some of my friends are comin tomorrow so they BETTER FUCKIN BUY ME CANDY (i really really really want candygrams... one of the stage managers got like 4 boxes of candy i am so jealous...)

also also also we did the legacy robe last night before preview night and my friend (and mother /ij) got it :DDDD very happy for her

um um um i felt like i had more to say but idk this is already a lot and i cant remember things im kinda tired :P

oh i finally got my camper necklace!!! the beads were missing for like a week but they were just on the table in the costuming room... anyway my friend made it for me during tech class bc shes so so sooo sweet <3 (while i was in math trying to force my friend to study... *stares at neeks* /aff) i got four beads that kinda almost make the ace flag!! (black for tech, silver for the fall play, light blue for this show, and purple for my grade)

idk if i explained it before but all of our necklaces represent how much theater we've done,,, bc its kinda like how long we've been at camp. theres a bead for each grade based on our class colors, and the tlt bead, so everyone gets at least 2. theres also beads for each of the past musicals and plays at school, and a black bead if youve done tech, and a white bead if youve done leadership :D some of the seniors have like most of their necklace filled because of how many shows theyve done

heres another cat pic to keep you engaged and reading this /hj

also also also many many thanks to my wonderful actor and tech friends i would not survive without them (especially thanks to tech bc they have to put up with us actors... /hj) its poseidon's actors first show i think and they have a LOT of quick changes so their section of the rack is,,, kind of a mess. also the lamp for the oracle scene has broken multiple times i think already... and i already left my make up bag out yesterday and my watch in the cubbies today TwT we are a hot mess

my graphic design teacher was acting today :D (the farmer in drive is a teacher role, and they switch out every night) and i love him being so absolutely perplexed by the energy circle before show :333

also i remembered to put setting powder on for the first time,,, and... i forgot that my mom is SO much paler than me TwT (i was very washed out...) so ill probably stick to spray for the rest of the week :P

sorry i really am rambling tonight...

ok i will probably hopefully do at least one more update after strike on sunday!! (depending on how tired i am,, i might just curl up on the floor and sleep after the sunday show actually...) unless something goes horribly wrong,,, then ill probably post about it too

good night!! i need to collapse in bed and try to save up enough energy for tomorrows show :3

have a wonderful day/night and remember to hydrate! (or you'll die straight...)

[therealvinelle]

Do you think police/ FBI have ever been close to tracking a missing persons case to Volterra?

Relevant post.

It depends entirely on how much care Heidi takes to cover her tracks. The Guide says her victims don't know where they're going, so we know they can't give anyone any indication of where they went, and Heidi uses private means of transportation so the flight records are bound to be forged (as you don't write the names of all the people you're taking to be murdered down on the passenger list).

To backtrack a bit, we'll do case studies.

John Doe wins a competition

John Doe won a competition, and delightedly told his sister he'd be going for an all included vacation in Alsace for two weeks. When she asked what sort of competition this had been, if this could really be legit, he assured her he'd spoken to a lady about it and she seemed completely reliable, this was all very above board.

He leaves for the airport, and she never hears from him again. Not a phone call, no post cards, and when she tries to get in touch with him there's nothing.

At first she thinks he probably just forgot to call her, or else he's having phone trouble. Europe is far away, after all. Jane decides not to worry about it.

Then the two weeks are up, and John doesn't return.

At this point, Jane goes to the police and tells them her brother is missing. You see, he won a competition and went to France, and that's the last anyone has seen of him.

The police look into his credit card records, no withdrawals have been made. No calls from his phone, no logins at any of his accounts. They go to his house, and (provided Jane can provide a list of items she knew he owned. If not, they might not realize anything is gone at all) find he packed some of his clothes and the suitcase is gone. Everything else is there, though, electronics, family heirlooms, photographs, memorabilia, and so on.

They check the flight records, and find John Doe never caught a flight, not to Francen or to anywhere else. (And if Heidi is very diligent, she tells people to commute to the airport so the police won't wonder why John Doe bothered to drive to the airport (or the dock, or wherever. The woman does have a yacht) and abandoned his car there when he wasn't getting on a flight. Better, and more suggestive, to leave it at home.

... As it is, given that she's using a private jet, Heidi just needs a landing strip. John Doe never went to the airport at all, and the police never find his car.)

John Doe is ruled a suicide, and it's assumed he lied to spare his sister's feelings. The case is closed.

Jane Doe gets a job offer

Two days after his girlfriend Jane went to her exciting job opportunity in Cairo, John can't take her radio silence any longer. He goes to the police, and explains to them how his girlfriend received a job offer out of the blue, she'd never applied to it but it paid really well, would be great for her career, and she couldn't really afford to say no. So, she left to at the very least do the job interview. The company was paying her travel bills, and worst case scenario, she doesn't take the job and spends a weekend in Cairo on the company's expense. There are worse fates.

John hadn't been thrilled about it, but the woman who'd approached Jane had apparently been very proper, very put together and professional, so he trusted Jane's judgement.

Well, it's been two days now, and Jane isn't answering any of her calls.

The police look into this, and I think Heidi might just let there be flight records for this one. Jane did get to Cairo (and was taken to Volterra from there).

And no one has heard from her since.

The police start sweating, and alert Interpol that there's a young woman lured to an airport in a foreign country by someone willing to pay for her plane ticket.

Jane is never found, and it is assumed she's been trafficked.

In conclusion

"What was the point of these case studies, Vinelle" you may ask, and it's that people will always search for the easiest explanation available.

Depending on what information Heidi leaves people with (did person A get to the airport, did person B actually leave the country, did person C get asked to keep their job interview a secret and just slip out for a weekend), it'll either seem obvious what happened to a person, or it'll be a mystery where the police can't quite figure out what happened.

If the police think they know what happened, no further investigation is held. It's only if it's the latter, if the pieces of the puzzle don't quite satisfy them, that they decide to look closer. Going from there, if they don't realize the missing person was taken out of the country they never track them to Volterra. If they do, then you're looking at the case being transferred to Interpol who have already have a metric ton of missing people to track down.

More worryingly, some time may have passed from our missing person being taken to Volterra to Interpol starting their search. First, someone had to report them missing. Could have happened immediately after, but given the thing all of Heidi's victims have in common is that they're leaving their homes voluntarily, the people around them will need a day or two, if not weeks, before reporting them missing.

Then you have the local/domestic police investigation, which could take anything from days to months (I don't know how police process their cases), until finally the case is transferred to Interpol.

In the best case scenario, John Doe was reported missing right away and the police immediately realized this was a case for Interpol. Interpol is on the ball and on the look after only a few days.

They are, however, going to search in whichever part of the world John Doe went missing in. John Doe said he was going trekking in Machu Picchu, that means they're searching in Peru, not in Italy.

Assuming that John Doe was going to Europe, though, Interpol's one chance at getting any intel on what happened to him is if anybody who saw him sees that he's missing. Which I'll caveat is... not likely, considering Heidi likely shuttles her victims straight to the Volturi palace. John Doe doesn't get the chance to chat with the locals or do any shopping (god forbid, that way his bank records show he was in Tuscany), anybody seeing him would have to spot him passing and then remember his face well enough to feel confident it's the guy they saw when they see his missing person poster. That in turn makes any identifications of John Doe unreliable in the eyes of Interpol, and they conclude it's a false tip.

Tracking a missing person's case to Volterra would require a lot of contrived circumstances, bad luck, and oversight on Heidi's part. I don't think it's impossible, nothing ever is, but I think it's highly unlikely to happen.

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

"I think that lots of things that I thought were possible before that was posted, don’t seem possible now." This is really interesting to me, because I've been following you a while and I never really felt that I knew what you think was possible re Harry and gender?

From what I have seen and read, Harry has never expressed a nuanced interest in this topic more than "everybody should be kind to everybody, and that includes women". Even worse, there have been terrible, terrible takes last year. For me, the whole Pleasing nonsense is way worse than the Pilates stuff - is he seriously selling anti aging crap to teenagers??? And the way he talked about queer films? That still makes me so angry, to the point that I'd prefer not to have Harry speaking on politics, gender and social issues at all.

To me, the missing "there, there" is really important in this context, because I also think that he is closeted. 25 years ago, when I was 18 years old, I was absolutely okay with everybody thinking that my parents might be abusive rather than people knowing that I was getting love bites from another girl. Mindboggling now. I've always had a good relationship with my parents, knew even then that they would be fine with me being a lesbian and I didn't live in a conservative environment at all. Still the fear of being forced out of the closet made me oblivious to everything else around me, it paralyzed me and I had no space for thinking about collective social issues.

Obviously Harry's situation is very different, but I see myself (and a lot of my queer friends) in him waffling nonsense and making bad choices (subjectively 'bad' to me at least) from a frightening closet. When he talked about his panic about being perceived as "somebody who has sex" or "people seeing how he kisses", it was really painful to me, like him playing Tom was painful to me, too. I hope therapy goes well for him if he wants that.

Being a 'new, meterosexual' man, who is sexy but also detached, might be a kind of compromise for Harry. Which it obviously isn't, and that is why people are missing the 'there, there' at a closer look. It is lacking authenticity, which I've seen mentioned in the media for the first time this year. My guess is that Harry and his team are aware of it and playing for time (3-5 more fat years?) but what do I know...

Of course nobody is forcing him to endorse the Pilates studio, but maybe it's something like "Harry, we'll give a short clip to the pilates study so you can have a three week holiday with your partner safely, is that alright?". 18 year old me would have said yes and not asked more questions, I'd just been happy to have three weeks without fearing to be dragged out of the closet. Might sound dramatic, but to me Harry's anxiety is palpable a lot of the time in the way he treats his body and, more lately, the things he says (which, again, might be wrong and 100% projection on my part).

Making his choices under circumstances he doesn't choose from when he was 16 years old is a lot. Maintaining a closet is a lot, even if you're not a popstar with millions of eyes on you, hundreds of peoples' livelyhood depending on you, and a partner who is in a similar but also very different position. It's a lot and I feel for Harry.

--

Sorry for this novel, I just love to read your thoughts and am checking obsessively if you reply to my anons. Lately I've saved them so that I might re-read my own thoughts later, like a diary. Strange but I guess there are stranger things on the internet ; )

Thanks for your thoughts anon - it's so awesome to hear that asking anons helps you process stuff. I'm going to respond to a couple of different things in here, but if there's something that you're super interested in that I miss.

That's a great starting point - what did I used to think was possible when it comes to Harry and gender. To focus a little bit on the politics of it - so his response to gender in society - not just as it relates to him - I think there are a wide variety of options. To give one example - he could have a visceral aversion to statements that 'men are like this and women are like this'. He could also have a political understanding that statements that men are one way and women are another are quite harmful. I think it's unlikely that he would go even further and feeling like it's important that he's part of changing that, but I wouldn't have said it's impossible. He also could not really have any thoughts about it all - when he sees a sentence like 'It's not just for girls, it separates the men from the boys' - he could just think 'that sounds reasonable'

Obviously now I think the possibilities cluster much more strongly around 'that sounds reasonable', but before the interview any of those could have been true.

*******

I'm so sorry to hear about your experiences and the way that they have shaped you. I'm so glad to hear that things are better from you and you have a good relationship with your parents. I hope you are kind to your younger self - her anxiety was a reasonable response to the world she

I totally agree that Harry's anxiety is palpable in a lot of what he does and how he interacts with the world. I think the 'people will know how I kiss' comment is an excellent example as are much of the other things you mention.

But in this case, I think understanding this through the lens of the closet doesn't bring any insight. In particular, in the way that you frame it - as if someone is giving this clip so that he can have time with his partner - there's absolutely no reason to believe that's true. Harry can have three week holidays with his partner without anyone knowing (wealth buys you that). The idea that this video would be seen to directly matter by Harry, or anyone working for him, doesn't make any sense with how we've seen him navigating the closet

That doesn't mean that there's not some connection. Anxiety works in mysterious ways and there could be all sorts of things going on for Harry. But I think imagining a straight forward 'he's doing this because he's anxious that otherwise he'll be outed' - is an over simplification that probably reveals more about your anxiety than Harry's.

********

I do agree that Harry's closet is central to the question of 'is there a there there'. I remember listening to the Harry episode of Popcast - and it felt like they were dancing around the possibility of him being closeted - but I don't think they were - I think they were just describing the gaps they saw.

But I think it's easy for fans to assume that the feeling that there's no there there is entirely caused by the closet. I think it's far more complicated than that - because I think it's also something about Harry that enables him to be such a successful blank space - and that wouldn't suddenly change when he was out.

In particular, I don't think the fact that we're both 'no Harry, speak less about politics' would necessarily change just because he was out (there are plenty of out queer musicians who have said cringe things now and in the past). I think he'd probably be a little more articulate if he wasn't so afraid, but only a little. I think the way that he's unwilling to be clear about whether he's talking about himself or the world is shaped by the closet, but that doesn't mean that he would disappear. I think he could build up a centre, if he came out, but I don't think it's inevitable that he would.

**********

I've been really frustrated by the silence in response to that statement and that's led to me responding with the boldest, brashest version of what I think.

So here's another way of expressing the same idea. What if Harry did support the message of that video? What if it did reflect part of his worldview?

There are other explanations - but the fact that he agreed with something that he put his image to is always going to be the most likely one. And I think it's worth Harry's fans, particularly those who argue about what he's really like or talk as if they know what he's like, sitting with that possibility. And either including that view in what Harry might be like, or accepting that what they're talking about is not what Harry is like, but who they want him to be.

[lrialthewriter]

Future Extra: Studying the Past

Word Count: 2,500

Note: This happens DECADES after the ending of the story, and will give hints to what could happen on Reign of Voices, please keep that in mind. This part of the story will be a recurring thing that I might post every now and then.

Fawn ran across the halls and managed to get to her class hall on time, sitting at the back of the angled room before catching her breath. She's really lazy when it comes to preparing to go to her classes and sometimes she would intentionally miss it as long as she’s attending enough times. However, this course is a different case as they have found themselves fascinated with the subject, which goes through the history of humanity. While history itself is really tiring to go through, the last few lessons have tackled the Era of Prosperity.

Just as Fawn started to open up her bag to review their notes from the last meeting, professor Terry walked into the big classroom, all the students had shushed down and began preparing their pens, papers and laptops for the upcoming lecture. They were immediately greeted by the usual cheery mood that the professor has but instead of projecting their usual slide presentations, they took their marker and started to write something.

‘History Paper Project’

Professor Terry looked at the entire class and smiled, “Good day my dear students, as much as I would love to talk about our recent past and walk you through the history, I have decided to make this the final project of your class,” a lot of murmuring have started in the room, while some sounded really worried, Fawn herself felt excited by the idea.

“Fear not,” the professor continued, making the class go quiet again, “as long as you pass what you have found out, regardless of how common or detailed the information you had with regards to the topic, I will pass you in my class. Think of it as some sort of reward for sitting through some history lessons you can find online, though of course efforts will definitely be rewarded, but we will talk about the topic of your paper,” and with that, professor Terry has written more things at the board.

‘Era of Prosperity’

“Any part! Want to focus on one of the two wars? Or do you want to dig deeper on the history of our first Council? Do what you want as long as it’s on the times new roman, font size 12, double spaced, you know the drill by now.” The professor laughed as he wrote those details on the board, “You want to go by group? You want to go solo? Be my guest, just make sure that you write your names in the group.” This made some students start to look around the class and even type out messages through their laptop.

“Well if you have any questions, you can ask now or email me later. Other than that we would not be having any classes for the rest of the semester, our last meeting will be the deadline of this paper, so about… two months? Now, onto the questions.” After Professor Terry finished, a couple of students raised their hands.

“What type of sources can we use?”

“Any, as long as you have proof that is reliable, don’t forget to use APA 22th edition for it”

“How formal does the paper have to be?”

“You wouldn’t be defending it, however I want it written in an orderly manner, introduction, separation of data depending if you are taking different points of view or going through a sequence of events. I just want it to look formal and definitely have no subjective writings on it.”

“Can I partner with someone from a different section but is a student under your name for this course?”

“Email me their names before you start for me to check on them, but yes as long as you inform me at most 2 weeks before the deadline”

Fawn was the last one to get called on to ask her question, “What was the reward if we actually put the effort into this project?”

Professor Terry grinned, “That is a good question! The Regalient University of Innovation would actually be the one providing it, though they refuse to tell the professors themselves what the reward would be, they have mentioned that the Council is involved.” A lot of mumbling has happened within the room.

“The Council are alumni of the school right?” One student blurted out.

“You are correct! Even the former Supere Fuantei have learned their major in our mother university, That can be a full on paper on itself,” Professor Terry laughed, “That does remind me, if any of you needed a proof that you would need some information for educational purposes, email me so I can ask the university to help you out. Apparently they will give the students whatever is necessary to help for this project, so don’t hesitate to email me about it.”

“No limits huh…” Fawn mumbled to herself as she wrote that info down before going through her phone and messaging Jace, ‘hey r u in the class rn?’

Her phone immediately vibrated upon sending the message, ‘yeah I am, also yes we can pair up’, making Fawn chuckle at the idea of Jace already writing out a message to ask her.

“Very well, if there are no further questions, class dismissed. Email me or meet me at the faculty every Wednesday if ever you need help with the project.” And with that the professor left while everyone else started to pack up and leave.

Fawn giggled at the idea of being able to research a lot of things for the paper, while they aren’t too interested in actually claiming the winner over the best paper, they still wanted to give it a shot. She texted Jace to meet her at their usual place before bolting out, they want to get some library books before everyone else gets the idea.

==============================================

Jace arrived at the cafe he and Fawn frequent over, while it’s close to the campus, it is somewhat of a hidden treasure due to how unknown it was for a good amount of students. Besides, a lot of the students would have preferred staying in the campus or one of the more luxury cafes nearer. This does make the cafe really calm to stay through for study sessions, which Jace assumed they would be doing in here once Fawn arrived. The duo have studied, drawn and even slept in this place so they were basically regulars at this rate. As soon as Jace entered the cafe, the owner and bartender of the cafe, a friendly old man named Nilson, waved at him and started to prepare something behind the counter.

“Hey well if it isn’t Jace! You want the usual?” Nilson smiled, which makes Jace shake his head given he can see that Nilson is preparing the drink already.

“Well, you are already preparing it already, so I might as well, oh and prepare Fawn’s favorite as well, they are just currently getting something done but they should be here in a moment.” Jace said, making Nilson give a thumbs up as he also started working on a second drink.

As Jace walked towards a table by the corner of the cafe, Fawn bursted out of the door with a lot of books on hand. He immediately went to help her out, with Fawn mumbling a quick thanks, before they walked to the table where they dropped a lot of the books they had on-hand.

“Oh thank you so much Jace! I’m sorry I didn’t ask for help earlier, I just got too excited and bolted out to get the books as fast as possible.” Fawn explained while catching her breath, letting her head rest on the table as she does so. “I have so much ideas for our paper”

“I can tell,” Jace laughed nervously as she looked at the books that she brought with her, all of the books were connected to the Council one way or another apart from two of them. "Club album 2024… Alumni 2025 and 2028… These are like, nearly 6 decades ago! How did you got these?" He asked as he started to flip through the pages of the Club album.

"Well, Prof. Terry did said we are allowed to ask the university for help, I approached him as soon as he left the class hall and asked if he could help me retrieve some books from the restricted section!" Fawn explained as she sat upright and took the Alumni book "They were also kind enough to let me drag it out of the university, though if we damage them it is a great trouble." She then pulled out a set of documents, "I don't really like scaring you, but I'll just say I can get expelled if these books are heavily damaged."

"Expelled?!? Are these the only copies left???" Jaze asked in fear, RUI doesn't like expelling their students nor is very strict about the restricted section of their library, so to hear that makes him fear for Fawn.

"Not really and they have digital copies too, but they told me that these are the copies specifically for the Literature club–" Fawn said as she pointed at the Alumni albums "–and this one is for the Art Club," Fawn said as she pointed on the Club Album. "Why those specific clubs? I don't know either, frankly I am terrified of holding them on the way here." Fawn said, shrugging as Nilson walked up to them with their drinks in hand.

"Hey fellas, I see that there are a lot of books here. I'll just put your drinks on this other table here–" Nilson then went to drag a nearby small table beside the bigger table the duo was using and placed their drinks there "–there ya go, I heard something along the lines of 'expulsion on damage' so I'll just assume y'all don't want that, right?"

"Y-yeah!" Jace answered, "Thanks for the drinks"

"Anytime, these ones and some snacks are on the house. Seems like both of you will be on a nose dive into those books" Nilson said, laughing as he turned around to go back to his station, "Have fun reading!"

"Oohhboy okay, time to see why they specifically gave you the one for the art club…" Jace gulped as he started actually skimming through the club album, there were definitely far less clubs available back then but it was still plenty enough that it took a while to find the Art Club section, "No fucking away."

"What is it?? Did you discover something??" Fawn jumped over and looked at the page he's in.

'Perlad Hiro, Club President'

The two stared in awe at the information in front of them. There it was, the leader of the Supera Council back when he was just around the same age as them, staring right back at them with a gentle smile on his face.

"Holy shit," Fawn said as she then went to whip out her phone and search for the oldest image of their Leader. Upon finding one she then went to put it side by side with the college photo.

The image of Supere Hiro that Fawn showed was one of his first public portraits right after he was previously put on the second seat back when the Supera Council was just created. The serious face almost sent chills to both of them compared to his college photo where he looked so friendly and welcoming, seemingly content and proud to be featured as the president of the club. Meanwhile Supere Hiro was known to be extremely strict for the first few years after the Resistance war had ended, and his controlling demeanor definitely leaked out of his portrait.

However, the one that stood out the most for both of them was the difference in his glare. While his college picture has so much glow, enthusiasm and warmth in his eyes, his portrait as a newly seated leader has a glare of its own yet it felt empty. It was almost as if his soul was sucked out of his body as he doesn't seem to focus to anything that was happening in front of him

This made Jace take out his tablet and search through newer photos of the Leader. Supere Hiro himself is almost turning 90 at this time, however due to how fast medical advances were, the average lifespan of 90 back in the 2020s has doubled by the 2080s. Looking at the newer images for the Council, they still looked like they were just in their early 40s. Jace zoomed in to Supere Hiro and saw that he had the focus in his eyes once again, like how it was when he was at college.

"He looked so… different" Fawn said as she looked at the pictures between her phone and the album. "The wars probably dented him hard…" she sighed and sat down, taking out her holographic computer and turning it on and started setting up documents to jot down some notes.

"I mean, he ended up needing to hold leadership so early as well, I'm surprised he isn't so scarred" Jace shrugged as he went to place his tablet right beside the album and as he was about to say something, he saw something neatly written on the page, right under the Leader's portrait.

'Proud of you Per

-Sai'

"W-wait" Jace nudged Fawn to look at the page, "is THIS why they specifically handed us this copy???"

Fawn smiled so wide, "oh my fucking god that HAS to be from the former Leader holy shit," she started to make squealing noises, the thought of discovering how close the two Council leaders were is giving her so much hope for the project, "they are definitely not beating the allegations and historical theories that they used to have a relationship before the government overturn" she laughed as she started to type out on her computer.

"Wait, I have a theory." Jace said as he then started to look for a different club in the album and it even threw him off more as he somewhat violently shook Fawn.

"Wh-wha woah calm the shit do- holy fucking shit what?!" She gasped seeing the club album opened up to the Literature club's officers.

'Saimin Fuantei, Club President'

"What the fuck how come we never learned these." Fawn said as she admired the portrait of their deceased former Council Leader, who looked vastly different with his short ponytail and much more calming stature.

"Well, we ARE learning right now, aren't we?" Jace said, grinning as he looked at the other piles of books on the table.

Fawn shook her head,"Well you better be taking down notes, I think we are onto something here," she said as she started a new document for the project. "Hmm… how about tentatively we focus on what we can find about the connection of our Council leaders before they have taken their seats?" She asked while scratching her head.

Jace nodded, "I feel like the librarians were setting this up on us…"

[evilichu]

it's been a really long time since the last time i posted anything on this blog. like, really long. 2023 i think. maybe i should do an update but i have other things in my mind right now and i need to write them down just to clear my head.

topics -- self esteem issues, my relationship, college.

self esteem issues: i have let myself go. i don't even know what to say other than that. i'm very aware that i have a troubled relationship with food and weight in general, but it's been hitting me really hard lately; not because i've been restricting but the opposite. since i'm stressed i look for comfort in food and i can feel my belly growing bigger and my clothes feeling smaller. i'm getting so much fatter and i can barely look at myself in the mirror anymore. it's so fucking disgusting. but i can't stop eating, it's all i ever do. it's just so comforting, until i'm done eating and the realizations sets in and i wanna die. it's affecting my social anxiety as well, since i feel disgusting and look disgusting i obviously don't want anyone to see how bad i look. anytime i'm out i'm sure everyone can tell that i look a lot fatter than i used to and that i'm disgusting. i don't even wanna weigh myself in fear of the numbers that it might show me. god. anyway. that's topic one.

my relationship: my ex and i got back together. maybe some day i'll make a whole post about it but for now that's it. my attachment issues have resurrected because of it. i don't wanna blame the relationship in itself, but i did feel a shift in my mental health as soon as we went back together. we've been together almost a month now and things changed rather quickly. as time goes on he is getting more and more used to being with me and he's becoming less romantic. i'm aware that relationships lowkey work like that, you get used to the person but it doesn't mean you love them less. but i'm not like that at all, i think. i think about him all the fucking time even after a month and i wanna tell him i love him all the time and how pretty he is and all of that, and the only thing stopping me is that i think it would annoy him. i feel like it's unfair in some way, he started being so sweet and attentive with me and making me feel loved just to drop the act in like two weeks and now i can't even complain cuz he is "too busy". weren't you "too busy" two weeks ago too? it's not like you got a new job or promotion, you're doing the same thing but two weeks ago you'd take a minute to text me how much you miss me and now you simply don't. AND I KNOW! I KNOW THIS IS SUCH A NON-ISSUE! but that's what i mean, the attachment issues. if i wasn't so emotionally invested in every single little thing, if my entire mood didn't depend on three words written in a message app, then i would be absolutely fine. but i care, i care so fucking much and i feel so abandoned all the time. and i've been crying so much. and i'm putting too much pressure on him and i can't stop thinking that he's gonna dump me any day now. which, fair enough, but I CANNOT STOP. ugh.

college: i'm in college now and i'm a failure. i had never expected to be this bad at studying and it's affecting my pride so much. i can't focus for shit and i procrastinate so much it's embarrassing. i don't even know why i thought i could do this. i have my first real exam tomorrow and i am not ready at all and i can't study. i don't know what am i going to do. it's crazy.

i've been so angry at myself for all of these reasons that i am genuinely thinking of cutting again. i just can't take it. i don't wanna disappoint anyone, least of all my therapist (the only person i wouldn't be able to lie to) but i don't know what to do. i am so fucking angry that i can't do anything right and i'm fucking my own life up: my weight, my relationship, my career, i can't do it right. i feel like i do deserve the punishment.

but you know, that's my mental health for you.

[dailysmalljobs]

Mindfulness meditation can boost your career and help you get a job. Guardian Careers

New Post has been published on https://dailysmalljobs.com/mindfulness-meditation-can-boost-your-career-and-help-you-get-a-job-guardian-careers/

Mindfulness meditation can boost your career and help you get a job. Guardian Careers

lLike yoga before it, mindfulness is the latest Eastern practice to go thoroughly mainstream in the West. class is Offered by the NHS and for mental well-being Teaching at school It helps students to stay calm and concentrate on their studies. So what can it offer in the workplace and can it help your career?

Geelong Thubten was a Tibetan Buddhist monk For over 20 years. He teaches monthly classes at Google’s headquarters in Dublin and says there are three ways mindfulness can help you at work.

pressure reduction

Mindfulness became popular in the West when University of Massachusetts professor Dr Jon Kabat-Zinn adapted Eastern meditation methods into stress reduction programs. For the chronically ill. Thobten says it does more than just help people manage their stress — it changes how they deal with it. “You’re going for a deeper approach,” he says, “because you want to take the mind off stressful thoughts.”

Mindfulness does more than help people manage stress—it changes how they deal with it, Thobten says. Photo: Tony Bartholomew

But in a high-octane work environment, a newsroom or a stock exchange, for example, is there any benefit to stress? “This adrenaline can get people going,” Thobten says. “But the problem is that if you’re on it, you’re flooding your body with stress hormones all day long, and you Get tired, age quickly and get sickit gains people, but it is very short-lived.”

mental clarity

Stress at work has been shown to reduce mental capacity. And Thobten claims that people who practice mindfulness can achieve more than adrenaline-junkies. Because they are more aware and “don’t miss a beat”.

A 2011 study Among HR workers, it was found that those who took an eight-week mindfulness meditation course were less likely to switch between jobs and showed improved memory. Regular exercise “brings a greater sense of focus, non-distraction and concentration,” says Thubten — all things that will improve work performance. “I think it’s very important to bring that aspect into it,” she says, “because focusing on stress is negative, and some people don’t even want to admit they’re stressed.”

Compassion and empathy

“Compassion and empathy are very important for all the conflict, judgment and resentment that goes on in the workplace,” explains Thobten. “If you can engage in meditation practice and learn how to develop a more positive attitude toward others, it has amazing benefits.”

A sense of tolerance and non-prejudice is essential to working in any workplace.

Geelong Thubten

Can too much empathy dull a competitive edge that might be necessary to get ahead? “It’s a really interesting question,” Thubten said. “It depends on how you define compassion. If we think of compassion as a pushover, of course it won’t work, but the kind of compassion we talk about in Buddhism is a deep understanding of others.

“A sense of tolerance and non-prejudice is essential to doing well in any workplace. If we’re going through our workdays feeling resentful of our colleagues, our bosses, our clients, and we don’t know how to let go, then our lives are a mess.”

The key to this approach is to have compassion for yourself as well. “People in the Western world are so self-judgmental, so hard on themselves, and meditation is an amazing tool for developing self-acceptance, a sense of inner peace.”

That sense of self-acceptance can help people when they’re job hunting and during the interview process. “Mindfulness definitely makes people more confident, makes them more comfortable in their own skin,” says Thobten. “They learn how to be more in control of the present moment and they come out better.”

How much meditation do you need to experience the benefits? Thubten recommends 15-20 minutes a day, but also to integrate it into everyday life. “I teach techniques that my students can do at their desks, in meetings or on the tube home. All the while you can learn to connect with the present moment and reduce stress.”

Mindfulness is currently undergoing a surge in popularity with countless articles in the media extolling the benefits of the practice and apps such as headspace A promise to help us pause and be present no matter how busy we are.

There has been some criticism of the mainstreaming of the practice, dubbed “McMindfulness” – a modified package divorced from its spiritual roots, Thubten is generally very happy that mindfulness is so popular and so accepted, but has concerns about people who are not well trained, offering classes for money. He does not accept money for his work, but asks the organizations he teaches to donate to his charity. “I don’t mind if people make a living out of it, but if they do it as a way to get rich, it loses its heart,” he says.

Mindfulness meditation has one Proven ability to reduce anxiety And people are there to help Greater power of concentration, but Thobten says the main benefit it can bring to your career is that it makes you a nicer person. “If you’re kind to people, you get along better with them,” he says. “And when you meet people you do good in the world. They will reward you and your career will go well.

Funded by Career Inspiration Hub Parenting jobs, all content is editorially independent except for pieces labeled “brought to you”. Find out more here,

Looking for a job? Browse Parenting jobs Or sign up Guardian Careers For latest job vacancies and career advice

#Mindfulness #meditation #boost #career #job #Guardian #Careers

[papergirllife]

First Love

Lucas Wong / Yukhei

"They say first love is a special experience that one would always hold a special place in your heart. Wong Yukhei was your first love in high school, but along the way, you had to say goodbye to him in order for him to achieve his dream of becoming a star in Korea. Yet fate and destiny plays its role in paving the two of you an intersection once more, will the two of you and up together at the very end?"

Warnings : smut, unprotected sex, mild angst, a child (pregnancy not described), tooth rotting fluff (all in that order, kinda)

A/N : this is one of my most heavily devoted works I've ever written, so please, of you're comfortable, drop a feedback to tell me if you guys like this writing style, thank you!

Lucas Wong of NCT and most importantly his own fixed unit, Wayv, the man who garners attention and love wherever he goes, that dazzling smile is sure to be captured by numerous cameras of awaiting fans.

But to you, Lucas was never Lucas, to you he was Yukhei, and more significantly, your ex from high school. Yukhei was your first love, you remember when the two of you had first met in Year 9, Yukhei was known for being a class clown and more of a klutz, girls would always have a soft spot for him even if they didn't like him in that way.

Yukhei was your desk mate for Year 10, the thing got you on your nerves about him was that he never took group assignments seriously, and was never at school on time, his uniform was wrinkly from rushing out of his house to catch the bus and always had a stationary missing, which means he had to borrow yours.

You never hated him, hate is a strong word, things were very neutral with him, most times, he unintentionally annoys you, but he'd always make up to you by bringing you a small bottle of apple juice the next day. The only time the two of you really fought was when he had not spoken up when his friends snatched your book away from yours to copy you off, brushing it off as a small matter.

You were quite an immature person back then, and no one can blame you, you were just a teenager, and being said that, you had refused to lend Yukhei a ruler when the math teacher did a pop quiz, so he had to use the dust pan as no one, other than you that is, brings an extra ruler.

It's not your fault, you thought back then, he shouldn't have depended on you to bring his share of stationaries. The next day, you walked into class to see his group of friends waiting at your desk to apologize to you, and as for Yukhei, he had yet again brought you a bottle of apple juice, with the addition of your favourite bar of Cadbury.

It was only in Year 11 when Yukhei had confessed to you, saying that all those annoying things he did to you were just to catch your attention, of all the girls he could've liked, he chose the one who was the most unattainable, go figure.

The next year, when the two of you were looking to apply to the same college, Yukhei broke the news to you that he'd be packing his bags for Korea, that the audition he had joined just for fun accepted him as a trainee in a large entertainment company in Korea that everyone in Hong Kong knows, SM.

At first you didn't approve of his decision, that his education was important as well, that he had a life here, with you. But Yukhei had given very valid reasons to you, that he wouldn't have passed the college entrance exams if it weren't for your tuitions until late at night in the public library, that he didn't really have an interest in studying. His most valid reason was that he didn't want to take a toll on you when you’re in college, he can't have you sacrifice your sleep and attention for him just to have him attain passing grades.

So you let him go, saying your last farewell to him at the airport as his girlfriend and ex girlfriend.

That was the last time you saw him, choosing to not stay in contact with him as you poured your soul into university life, studying like your life depends on it, you had a few boyfriends here and there, nothing serious, nothing that made you felt like your first love. Maybe you had trouble moving on, or maybe it was just stress, you thought back then, shrugging the thought off casually before diverting your attention else where, this cycle carried on until you came out to work.

Fast forwarding to March of 2019, you had unintentionally came across of a news online that Yukhei had finally been placed in his own fixed unit that would be promoting and performing in Chinese, which isn’t surprising, even the Thai member, Ten, was of Chinese heritage. What made your eyes widen was the fact that they were coming to Hong Kong.

At the day of the fan meet, you had took the day off from your boring low paying job at the law firm, so much for studying your ass off for bar exams, you’re just filing on a daily basis.

Before the day of the fan meet, you had lived off of instant cup noodles for a few weeks just to buy the album and their light stick. When you first listened to the album, you were proud of Yukhei’s rapping skills, you still recall the days when he’d struggle with his mandarin oral tests, the teachers there must be much better than you for him to improve so much, smiling fondly at the old memories.

You waved the light stick and sang along just like the other fans beside you, mesmerised by the performance that the boys are putting up, but your eyes were mostly on Yukhei, you would’ve never thought the once clumsy giant like him would dance as fluidly, executing the moves just as well as the other smaller sized members.

You watch as Yukhei introduces himself and his non Cantonese members in his mother tongue, a feeling of familiarity settling into your mind.

You are quite a confident person, but queuing up to the long table where Yukhei sat at the corner was nerve wrecking to you, what would he say to you? Would he recognise you? It hasn't been that long, but the two of you had done some changes to your looks.

The other members had greeted you with a friendly smile and a few casual questions like have you eaten, but they seem a bit taken aback by the lack of fan girl attitude that most of the fans in front of you had.

When you had got to Yukhei, he had dropped his marker on the floor, his head ducked out of sight to retrieve it, but when he came up to apologise, the words were stuck in his throat, as his eyes opened as wide as saucers. He coughed to mask the surprise on his face.

“Hi, how are you?” He asked as he took your album into his hands, scribbling something down.

“Good, how have you been?” although his hair is coloured, his eyes had contacts, and he wasn't in his messy uniform, the smile on his face never changed.

“Great, it's nice to see you,” to other fans and the staff beside him, they might think it's just one of the standard answers, but you knew Yukhei like the back of your hand, registering the twinkle in his eyes.

Soon, he had placed the album back into your hands, your fingers grazing gently as tiny sparks flew up your tips, eyes never breaking contact until the staff tells you to leave.

When you had sat down at a nearby cafe to get a cup of coffee, you took out your album and flipped to the page where Lucas had written something.

‘Hilton hotel, 9pm,' and his number under it.

At nine sharp, you waited by the hotel’s sitting area, not many people at that time as usually stores in Hong Kong open rather late, patiently you waited for Yukhei. Just as you were scrolling through posts on Instagram, a tall figure approached you.

A call of your name rolled off his tongue naturally, a wave of nostalgia hitting the both of you.

“I bought you a little something before I got here,” you said as you stood up, letting him guide you to the elevators.

“What is it?” Yukhei lets out a flustered laugh, scratching the back of his nape when he realised he didn't get you anything in return.

“Roast goose and Cha Siew, are they still your favourite?” you asked, hoping his taste hasn’t changed over the years.

“Yeah, man, I remember how we'd always get quarter of both after school at Uncle Chan’s,” Yukhei said, remembering how the boss of the restaurant had hung a photo of two of you on the wall, deeming the two of you his most loyal lovebirds.

“This is from Uncle Chan’s,” you told him as you followed him into his room, looking around, expecting him to be rooming with someone.

“Don't worry, I told Yang Yang to sleep with Ten for the night,” Yukhei said when he saw you looking for someone.

“Oh, that's really nice of him,” you said as you set out the food, the smell of Hong Kong's famous delicacies wafting in the air.

“Man, I really missed this,” Yukhei said as he pulls the arm chair that was a few feet away close to the desk, directing you into it and situating himself in the not so comfortable wooden chair.

“I missed this too,” you said mindlessly, eyes avoiding his before you ate a piece of meat.

“I missed you too,” Lucas confessed, yes there are many pretty girls in his industry, and Korea itself, but no one would be able to replace you, you were his rock all his life, other than his family of course, it's hard to build a connection with someone just as strong when things between the two of you never really ended, in a way.

Leaving on too good terms and without much closure for both of you kept one another thinking of each other. The two of you know, that after tonight, things would go back to normal, Yukhei would be Wayv’s Lucas, and you’d remain as his past, there would never be an outcome from whatever happens tonight.

So when the two of you were recalling memories and troubles the two of you got in school on the oh so comfortable bed, you couldn't help it, hooking a leg over Yukhei’s waist, just like how it started at the night of the graduation party, the night where the two of you lost your virginities to each other.

“I’d be gone tomorrow, we shouldn’t, I shouldn't do this to you,” Yukhei said, a firm believer that it's always the girl that is on the losing side, like he's taking an advantage of you, ever the gentleman.

“I want this for myself, Yukhei, it's not like it's our first time,” you said, trying to convince him.

“I still feel guilty about our first time, I left a few months later after that night, and tomorrow would be the same, I'll be leaving you once more,” Yukhei said as his big hands caressed your cheeks, eyes wide like a puppy, pupils reflecting an image of you, a perfect representation of his universe, you.

“I don't care, I’ve moved on from you as your girlfriend all those years ago, moving on from you after tonight won't be a challenge for me,” you said in a firm tone, one that Yukhei knows all too well, he knows you won't give up when you sound like this.

He could possibly break two hearts if he chooses to act on his impulses, but he missed this, he missed you, and so he threw all caution out of the window when he smashed his lips desperately against yours, chewing on your bottom lip with little force, it was something that would easily get you worked up back then, and to his delight, it still worked, letting him dominate the kiss easily, he let his tongue slid in your mouth, tasting the beer the two of you had just now with a mixture of strawberry lip gloss, you were still using the Nivea one you used all those years ago, this only fuelled his desire for you, his hands leaving your cheeks to locate your waist, pulling you closer to him.

When you were out of air, you broke off the kiss, reaching the hem of your shirt to pull it off, then waiting a few seconds for Yukhei to admire the red lace on your skin before unclasping your bra, letting your blossoms free, all the while as Yukhei looks on, like he was in a trance.

“I missed these,” he commented before taking a mound into his mouth, sucking on your nipple diligently while his other hand comes up to roll it in between the pads of his fingers, the pleasure from the action making you throw your head back, a slip of his name in between your whimpers.

You let Yukhei push you back, letting you fall onto his bed, you felt his hands wander up your skirt, his huge hands around your thighs, squeezing the flesh in his palms, feeling you, but stopped when he reached the hem of your panties, detaching himself from your chest, looking at you for confirmation.

You nodded at him, putting your hand over his to guide him higher, stopping at the curve of your cheek, pushing his hand beneath the clothe, dangerously close to your core, heck he could even feel your arousal already, eyes rolling back at the thought of getting you so worked up.

“Take it off, but you can leave the skirt, for old time’s sake,” you said.

Yukhei looked at you, confused at what you’re trying to say, until he realised you were wearing a pleated checkered skirt, just like the ones you wore back in high school, memories of the two of you sneaking around, having a quickie with your skirt flipped up immediately made blood rush southwards at the thought.

“Fuck, you expected this to happen?” Yukhei asked, shaking his head in disbelief, he was always the troublemaker at school, but oh how the tables have turned now.

“Didn't you?” you asked before getting up to put yourself in a doggy position, shaking your butt, taunting him.

Yukhei chuckled to himself before doing as you say, taking off your panties to reveal your slick covered pussy, dripping wet for him on display.

Yukhei spreads you open by pulling your cheeks apart to lick a stripe up your slit, making you shudder at the warm muscle that was intruding but very much welcomed.

Yukhei allowed himself to fully stuff his face there, inserting his tongue into your core, thrusting the wet muscle at a moderate pace before adding a finger to the mix, then two, stretching you open to let his tongue delve deeper inside, he then adds a third finger, the fullness finally hitting you, soon he did a come hither movement once he had located your sweet spot, his tongue and fingers rubbing against the roof of your walls deliciously, you would’ve lost your balance if it weren't for his hand supporting you by your left hip.

The constant pleasure that Yukhei so willingly inflicted upon you would've soon come to an euphoric end if he hadn’t halted all movement, pulling out his tongue and his fingers, which made you whine his name pathetically, something you wouldn't have done if it weren't for the fact that your mind was reduced to a ball full of cotton.

“Chill, I worked you up so I wouldn't hurt you with my dick,” Yukhei said as he positions himself at your entrance, his hand coming up to your face to tilt your head to his direction, zeroing on your lust filled eyes and the plump of your lips, swollen because of him.

“Are you sure you want this?” Yukhei asks you one last time.

“Yes, please,” you said, pushing yourself back to lightly grind on his length, a little bit of your arousal getting onto his cock, his dick getting so hard it's starting to hurt.

“Ever so eager, aren't you?” Lucas said before biting his lip at the sight.

“Just put it in!” you whined, tired of his teasing.

“Okay, okay,” Yukhei said before bracing himself for your tight walls, he's never nervous when it comes to others, but you? You always held a special place in his heart.

Yukhei spreads your cheeks once more before aligning himself to slip in an inch, eyebrows furrowing at how tight you were, he could tell you were clenching up, just like you did the first time when you were nervous.

So he bends down to your back, placing gentle kisses along your right shoulder blade.

“Don’t tense up, there’s nothing to be nervous about, we did this before remember?” Yukhei said in his most gentle tone ever, you nodded your head at his words, adjusting yourself to let yourself lose in the comfort of his touch, reminding yourself that although it's been a long time since you had someone as big as him, you’ll be fine in his hands.

Once Yukhei felt yourself unclench, he pushes in furthermore, you felt yourself arching your back to allow him to fit himself easier, before he comes to a halt, you felt so full, you haven't felt this way in such a long time, it was somewhat overwhelming, but it's the most complete feeling ever, a feeling you've never felt with any other.

The initial stretch was slightly painful of course, but the pain soon turned into pleasure, and being the gentleman Yukhei is, waited for you despite the huge urge to move, waiting for your green light.

When you told him he could move, he felt like the gates of heaven just opened, pulling out slightly to give you a shallow thrust, just to test the waters.

Even with that experimental thrust, you felt like you had a taste of heaven, eager to drown yourself in this new found pleasure that you were once so familiar with.

Yukhei grasped his large hands onto your hips, setting a moderate pace, still restraining himself from snapping his hips, but from how much slick you were dripping, soon you'd be begging for more.

Once you felt yourself familiarise with his big cock, the pace that Yukhei had set wasn’t enough, you wanted him to let loose, you wanted him to rail you, be damned if you can’t walk tomorrow.

So in the midst of all the pleasure, you let out two desperate words breathlessly, “ruin me”.

Yukhei had to do a double take, pausing his movements entirely just to check if that was his mind messing with him or it was really you, but one look at your desperate face, revealed to him that was in fact your words.

Yukhei allowed the animalistic side of him to take over, holding onto your hips that would sure leave bruises the next day, but you didn’t mind, not when you felt a sudden surge of pleasure coursing through your body. He angled your body higher, arching your back for easier access, thrusting harder and faster.

You could only submit yourself to him as your toes curled and your fingers dig into the linen sheets, you’re sure if his members were next door, they'd be able to hear every single sound you make, the sound of your ass cheeks clapping against Yukhei’s hips and your high pitched moans were flowing freely, but you didn't care, not when this could be the last time you'd ever be with Yukhei.

Soon, you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your legs were trying their best not to fail you, and you could tell your arms were getting sore from propping yourself up as the cord in your abdomen threatened to snap, you panted out the word ‘close’, and Yukhei immediately understood, fucking into you at an inhuman pace, you could feel yourself losing your mind as spit drips from your mouth, sanity slowly slipping away from you as you felt your impending orgasm, it started from the tip of your toes, your body convulsing as you screamed his name, succumbing into the pleasure, your core bursting, the strongest orgasm you've ever felt, making your whole body sag in defeat as you let Yukhei help you ride out your orgasm.

Just when you thought it was all over, Yukhei gently flipped you over, and that’s when you realised he hasn’t cum, so you lifted your legs higher to let him enter you once again, he was using you like his personal doll, and you love it a little bit too much to be considered normal, you struggled to keep your eyes open as you fought through the slight pain from the overstimulation, hearing Yukhei’s mumble of appreciation and endearments.

“Can you give me one more, babe? Just one more,” Yukhei said before circling his fingers around your clit, making your eyes snap open when you realise he wants you to cum once more, your hands coming up to push his hand away, but his other hand grasped onto yours.

“Just one more, please,” Yukhei begged with those puppy eyes of his, and how could you say no?

So you stopped struggling, nodding your head at his request before he quickens the pace of his hips and the ministrations on your clit.

Soon, you could feel Yukhei’s cock swelling inside you before he let out a groan of your name, thrusting in one last hard thrust before he painted your walls white, his lips capturing yours to silent you as you came once more, your nails digging into his shoulders, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt Yukhei ride out both your highs.

Once he was done, Yukhei crashed onto the bed beside you, his arms wrapping around yours, kissing your lips to distract you as he pulled out, hopping into the attached bathroom to bring out two towels, taking off your skirt before he gently cleans you up, when he was done he wiped the juices you left on him, your eyes growing big when you knew it was from when you squirted on him.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise I squirted,” you mumbled behind the hands that you had covering your embarrassed face.

Yukhei laughed at the cute sight, throwing the towel aside before climbing into bed again, removing your hands away from your face, kissing you deeply before looking at you in the eye.

“I loved it,” he said before pulling you closer, and almost instantly, you were lulled to sleep by the beating of his heart.

When you woke up, Yukhei was still snoring beside you, sleeping like a baby, you gently removed his hand from your waist, stepping out of the bed before gathering your clothes, putting them on, smoothing out the creases of your skirt.

Walking to the door, you glanced around once more at the sight of him, your heavy heart begging you to stay, to talk, and so you walked over to the night stand, ripping a piece of paper of the note pad and grabbing the pen next to it.

‘Goodbye and thank you for everything.’

You placed the piece of paper beside him on his pillow before kissing his forehead as a parting gift, closing the door as softly as you could when you left.

You knew this was the right thing to do, you made this decision once when he left for Korea the first time, you can't be in his way this time around, not when he's this far into his career, you can’t be selfish, he belongs on this path, he deserves it and you’re not going to take it away from him, you've stood on the side-lines all this time, he shed the limelight on you for one night, and that's all you should have, he's better off without you.

Yukhei felt himself grow cold when he couldn't feel the warmth of your body, jerking up to check if you were in the bathroom, only to find the door wide open, the room empty.

That's when he had spotted the piece of paper with your goodbye message, his heart clenching in pain, crashing onto the bed once more.

He didn't know what to expect, you had sent him off once, and now you left him without saying goodbye. He thought he could at least say goodbye.

Pushing his thoughts away, he gathered his things, packing up to leave for Korea.

His members could tell something was terribly off, they thought he was just in it for a casual hook up, but his expression tells otherwise.

The usual cheerful Yukhei was nowhere to be found, which meant Yang Yang and Hendery had to keep the mood light throughout the journey home, everyone knew to not say anything, only speaking when crucial.

It took Yukhei quite a while for him to get back to his goofy self, but even then, Kun, being the most observant one, saw a tightness in his smile, a faraway look in his eyes, whoever he had seen that night must've meant a lot to him, but he dare not to press, he knows Yukhei would open up when he's ready.

It was a normal Tuesday night when he had received a request to face time from you, without thinking much of it, excited to hear from you, he accepted, your beautiful face coming into view as he got comfortable on his bed.

“Hey, this is unexpected,” Yukhei said, not knowing what else to say.

“Yukhei, there’s something I need to tell you,” you said, eyes avoiding his.

“Yeah, what's up?” he asked, rubbing his nape, a habit he does whenever he's nervous.

“I'm um, I’m pregnant,” you said, choosing to not beat around the bush.

You could see Yukhei's face pale when he processed your words. Is it his? It's definitely his, it's almost a month since the two of you slept together, unless you slept with someone else?

“It's mine?” a dumb question, but he needs to know for sure.

“Yeah,” you said before the two of you come to a piercing silence.

“You could get an abortion, maybe?” Yukhei suggested after contemplating in his head, there’s no way he could be in the child’s life, and that's the best option for your sake, raising a child in Hong Kong is the most expensive thing to do, equivalent to buying a house there.

“I decided to keep it, Yukhei,” you said, glancing up to see the disbelief on his face.

“You can’t, you know I can't be there for you and you’re still so new in your job, you can't risk your life for this!” Yukhei said, not comprehending on why you'd do this to yourself.

“I already decided, Yukhei, and I don't expect you to take responsibility, this is my choice,” you said as tears threatened to flow.

“That isn't fair, it's not fair for the child! A child needs its father! You don't know what you're doing! Being a single mum is next to impossible in Hong Kong! You're putting the child in a horrible situation just for your selfishness!” Yukhei said before pushing his hair back, the feeling of an impending headache forming.

“How dare you say that?! I’ll raise this child perfectly on my own, I was just calling you to inform you of it, but since you don't want anything to do with it or me, I guess this is goodbye and don't call me anymore, I won't change my mind,” you said before your face disappeared from his phone screen.

Yukhei tried calling you immediately after, a day later, several weeks later, but you never picked up. Then he started stressing about his career, what would happen if someone were to find out? But he knows you as a person, and being a tell-tale is not one of your characteristics, yeah, he can just act like nothing happened, like he had never received this call.

He knows he's running away from his problems, but what other choice does he have?

Fast forwarding to July of 2021, Yukhei is home after his filming of the popular Chinese reality show in China, Keep Running, he feels at ease when he sees his family, finally reuniting with them, but only for a short two weeks time, before he has to leave for Korea once more.

It was a Friday night when his friends from home took him out for a drink, he was not so familiar with the clubbing scene in Hong Kong, but with the knowledge he has of this area, he knows many rich and young people often here, just like the girl kissing up his neck now, her soft hands running up the expanse of his thigh, getting dangerously close to where he wants her to be.

Yet Yukhei doesn’t remember her name, was it Candy? Apple? Some sort of name that had to do with food, he just remembered that she told him that she was an up and coming model, or trying to be anyways.

Just as she suggested to go to some hotel, Yukhei suggested for a quickie in the bathroom first, and so here he is now, being pushed to the door of a stall, her hands trying to unbuckle his belt.

Yukhei reached the back of his pocket for his wallet, opening it, looking for the condom he had placed there, but cursed when he realised he must've dropped it when he paid for drinks.

He told her to go back out and wait for him to get some, leaving the club and the musky smoke filled place behind him, the summer breeze blowing his hair all over, he brings the hood of his jacket up as he scans for a nearby convenience store, locating one at the street across.

When he got in, the scent of curry immediately greeted him, it was your favourite food, everyday after school, no doubt you'll drag him into one of these shops, just to share a bowl of curry fish balls, one of the most famous snacks here in Hong Kong.

He pushed the thought away, trudging to the aisle that was on the most right, where the condoms were at, hidden away from children. He took a box and made his way to the counter, opening his wallet to take out a few notes.

The cashier turned her back from stocking the cigarette shelf, scanning the box wordlessly.

“That would be 30,” she said when she looked up, but her hand immediately dropped the box when she saw who it was, and that's when Yukhei truly opened his eyes to see who it was, at first he was just miffed not knowing why the cashier froze, then he sees you, in the worn out 7 Eleven uniform, was you, the last person he’d be expecting.

“Why are you here? What happened to your job at the law firm? Why...” Yukhei didn't know how to ask, he didn't know if he deserved the right to ask, yet there's so many questions he had swarming in his head. Where is his child? Did you abort it in the end? Did you give it up for adoption? Were you fired from your job because of it?

“It's my shift right now, and you seem to be getting lucky tonight,” you said stiffly, holding up the box for him to see, sliding it across the counter

“It's for my friend actually,” Yukhei said, eyes avoiding yours, but immediately looking at you straight in the eyes, remembering how you use to be able to see right through him whenever he didn't do the revision work you've given him.

“Right,” you said, resisting to roll your eyes.

“You haven't answered me, why are you working here instead of the law firm?” Yukhei pressed.

You sigh at his persistence, not knowing what to say to humour him, so you didn't say anything, getting back to rearranging the shelves.

Yukhei bit his lip, not knowing what to say to you, but a million questions in his head, desperate for answers.

“Please leave if you're done with your purchases,” you said, you had a long day, and the thought of entertaining him was not something you want to add on your plate.

Yukhei looked around the store once more, grabbing a bowl of instant noodles from the shelf before making his way once more to the cashier.

“I’d like to have this here,” Yukhei said before pulling out some spare change from just now.

“Yukhei, what are you trying to do?” you asked in an exasperated tone, there's no point making small talk when there's no way the two of you would ever cross in each other’s lives ever again.

“I'm hungry, I want to eat noodles,” which wasn’t really a lie, all the alcohol he drank before gave him an appetite.

You sighed, turning your back to him, soundlessly waited for the water to boil before pouring it into the cup, sealing the top for it to cook. As you worked, Yukhei was having déjà vu, this was an all too familiar sight, nights at the convenience store studying till late at night in groups, you'd always share noodles with him as you taught him some dumb math formula that no one uses in their life after school.

He takes his bowl of noodles, opting to sit at the place closest to the counter, just looking at you, eating as slow as humanly possible.

When it was around three, you received a call.

“Hello?”

“...”

“You think you have a stomach ache? Celine jia is asleep? Okay, mama’s coming home okay?” you said frantically before shutting off the stove of the food at the counter, running to the back for a pack of meds, depositing some money into the register. You looked at Yukhei, frozen at his seat, cursing at yourself for not going into the back room before picking up the call.

“You need to go, I have something to deal with,” you said as you grabbed your bag, turning off all the switches in one go, making the place pitch black other than the lights from the lamp posts outside.

“Is that my child?” Yukhei asked, he can't allow himself to act like it never happened before, he ran away once, it's time to man up and shoulder on his responsibilities.

“No I fucked another guy before you and it's his child,” you deadpanned.

You walked down the street to flag for a taxi that is always parked there to get their club goer customers, Yukhei hot on your heels, you turned back to look at him questioningly.

“This is none of your concern, don’t follow me,” you said in a rather seething tone, you didn't mean to sound like that, but if he's going to be in the way of your child, then he’s not a friend.

“That's my child too, I want to know how they are, I have a right to do so, you studied law, you should know,” Yukhei retorted in the most friendly way possible, he knows he's in the wrong, but he wants to ensure his child’s safety.

“For fuck’s sake,” you cursed aloud before stepping into the taxi, leaving the door open for him.

You told the driver your address, sitting back to think of what's the problem, the kindergarten shouldn't be the culprit, it's a school with a good reputation, which also burns a hole in your wallet, but you don't mind, and it's not like you have much of a choice, education is deadly expensive here.

About 20 minutes later, you've reached home.

“That'll be 150, miss,” the driver said.

“What?!”

“Fares are different after midnight, miss,” the driver reminded you.

Before you could check if you had enough money on you, Yukhei paid for it wordlessly.

You got out of the car, rushing into the building and running up the stairs as quick as you can, unlocking the door, jabbing the keys into the rusty lock.

Taking off your shoes before you made your way to your room, spotting your son crouched in the corner of your bed, hands around his stomach.

“Hey, mama's home, I'll get you a glass of water to take your medicine okay?” you said before hurrying out, Yukhei passing you a glass of water at the kitchen.

“Thanks,” you mumbled before making your way back inside.

You open the package and passed you son a tablet, but looking at the size, you knew he’d panic to swallow something this big, so you broke it in half, telling him to drink a big gulp of water to wash it down and it'll be fine.

All the while, Yukhei was watching with wonder leaning by the door frame, even in the dim lights and the fact that he's still quite young, he could still identify his eyes on his son, the strong genes in his family, his father and brother all had those eyes, this boy is most definitely his.

The boy diligently does as you told him, taking a big gulp of water, so obedient, and from the way the two of you communicate, very mature for his age, nothing like the usual three year old.

When he was done, he noticed Yukhei’s presence, tugging your sleeve to whisper into your ear, eyes trained on him.

“That's a friend of mine, love, be polite, say hi to Yukhei gogo,” you urged.

Yukhei took this as a sign to get closer to his son, squatting down to meet his eye.

“You’re a handsome boy, what's your name? I’m Yukhei and I’m 22 this year, how about you?” Yukhei asked as he reached out his hand for the little boy to shake.

“I’m Wenghei, 3 years old. Why have I never seen you before gogo?” the child asks, looking at him with curious eyes, he's met some of your friends, but he's definitely haven't met him before, most people aren't as tall here, or not in his mother's circle anyways.

“Get some rest, love,” you said, tucking him into bed.

“Okay,” he said, a yawn coming out from his mouth.

You closed the door behind you, directing Yukhei to the small living room area, serving him a glass of water.

You walked to the trash bin, opening the lid to check its contents, a scowl on your face when you saw the root of your son’s stomach ache when you spot the plastic container that contained the two day old pizza from the freezer. Your roommate, Celine, must’ve gave him some as dinner, usually you'd leave some money for Celine to buy him dinner, but she must've been tight on money again, trying to find ways to squeeze in some spare change, you've warned her of her spending habits, always splurging on albums of her favourite stars, which reminds you.

“You have to go, I’m living with a roommate and I'm sure she's going to recognise you,” you said, a hand gesturing at the door.

“Wait, did you find out why he had a stomach ache?” Yukhei asked.

“Yeah, he ate something he shouldn't have for dinner, you have to go, I need some rest for tomorrow,” you said, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“Do you have anything on tomorrow? Can I see you, perhaps?” Yukhei asked, he didn't know what he wanted to talk about, but he just had to see you again.

“I’m tutoring a student at a coffee shop tomorrow, you can come right after,” you said, thinking that he just wants to know more about his son.

“Okay, goodnight then,” Yukhei said awkwardly as he walks towards the door.

“Goodnight,” you said, feeling a weight on your chest, dreading tomorrow’s meeting.

When Yukhei arrived at the café, he could see you sitting at the way back, a teenage girl sitting in front of you, back facing him, he sipped on his latte, observing you silently.

Your hair is much longer than it had been in high school, the bag hung by your chair very much worn out, and your eye bags were heavier than on days where Yukhei would stay up to prepare for promotions.

Soon, the student was packing up, leaving the table, Yukhei took this as a sign to move to your table. You had stood up to greet him, and that's when he saw, you had lost lots of weight, and he's not meaning it in a fitness way, he recognised the jeans you are wearing, you had these even back then, they used to be a perfect fit for you, that's why they were your favourite, but now, you were wearing a belt to hold it together, and still he could see how loose it was.

“Hey, you didn't order anything?” Yukhei asked, noting that the cup of coffee he saw just now belonged to your student.

“I got a coffee in my flask, cheaper that way,” you said as you packed up your stationaries.

“What did you have for breakfast? How about I order you a piece of cake?” Yukhei suggested, looking back to see what they have today.

“It's alright, I'm not hungry, why don't we get straight to the point? What is it you want to ask about Wenghei?” you asked, noting the time on your watch, you have to leave around noon to fetch your son from pre school.

“I, how about you? Why did you leave the firm? And how’s your parents?” Yukhei started off.

“Well, they said I would’ve been an embarrassment to the firm, you know, pregnant and unmarried, so they told me to leave, it's not like filing could be done with a big weight in my stomach, so I did as they said. Now I tutor kids English and work the night shift at the convenience store, and as for my parents, they kicked me out,” you said, laying down the cards, no point avoiding his questions, especially not when you're in a hurry.

Yukhei nodded at your words, registering the fact that he had a fault in ruining your hot shot lawyer dreams and completely destroyed your sensitive relationship with your parents, how is he ever going to forgive himself?

“I’m sorry,” Yukhei said, he didn't know what else to say, how could he make it up to you and your son? Will you let him even if he could?

“Don't be, this is on the both of us, are you going to ask about the share custody stuff? If so, I don't think we should continue this conversation, Wenghei doesn’t know who you are, and maybe that's the best case scenario, what point would be made if he knew you were his father but you're not in our lives? It'll break his heart. You've seen him now, maybe you can reconnect with him when he's older, I think you should just say goodbye before you go, if you want,” you said, saying these harsh words aloud wasn’t easy, you’re not entirely a cold hearted bitch, but it's for the best that your son didn’t know about his father, no one wants to know the fact that their father abandoned them twice, some truths are better to be untold.

“Can I see him one last time, maybe tonight? For dinner? I'm leaving in two days,” Yukhei said in a defeated tone.

“Yeah, sure, I'll take the shift off tonight,” you said, eyes avoiding his, you could just tell he’d have those sad puppy eyes on his face right now, you don't need anymore guilt in your heart.

“Hey man, where were you?” Jackson asked Yukhei, who was waiting for him at the harbour, they were going to Macau for a day trip today, his friend isn't late for the boat, but they did schedule to meet 15 minutes earlier.

“Something came up, and I need to head back around 7, there’s some people I need to see,” Yukhei said as they boarded the boat.

“So that leaves us 5 hours, should be enough,” Jackson said, checking his watch.

“I’m sorry about this, man, it just came up suddenly,” Yukhei said as they took their seats, apologetic because they have been talking about this trip for a long time now.

“It's okay, dude, but what's up? You look really stressed,” Jackson asked, taking in Yukhei's clenched jaw and furrowed brows, a stark contrast from his usually carefree expression.

“It's a long story,” Yukhei said as he mindlessly watches the sea from the little window of his seat.

“Well, if you don't mind, this is a 45 minutes journey, maybe we'll be able to find a solution together, what are friends for am I right?” Jackson offered, he wouldn't press his friend if he didn't want to tell him about it, but the two of them have been close ever since going on knowing brothers, coming from the same home country and everything.

And so Yukhei, for the first time, told his friend his long love story.

“You know, I think I have a solution for you, but let me ask you one thing first, do you still love her?” Jackson asked as he ate his pork chop bun, Macau’s famous local snack.

Yukhei pondered over his friend’s question, yes the two of you agreed to break up, but all the girls he dated after you, all had similar features or personality traits to you, he had dismissed it as just a type, but now that he had seen you again, he realised that the hole in his heart was always emptied for you, you were the missing puzzle piece all along.

“You don't even have to answer me, your face tells all man,” Jackson said, an oily finger wagging at the direction of his face.

“Yeah, I think I do,” Yukhei said with a sigh, “but even if I still love her, that doesn’t mean she loves me back, and what if we do love each other? We're living oceans apart,” Yukhei said in a defeated tone.

“Now here comes my solution, so you said she got fired from her law firm and is now tutoring kids and doing the night shift at 7 E, and got kicked out by her shitty parents, so she really doesn't have anything else here for her other than her son, why don't you suggest get to move with you? To Korea? It'll be way easier for the two of you to raise your son, even if the two of you don't get back together, I mean, at least you'll be able to financially support them, that is what you're willing to do right?” Jackson asked, hoping that his friend would uptake his part of the child support.

“Yeah, of course I want that, I just don't know what she'll say, or if she'd be willing, she doesn't speak the language and it's an entirely different environment,” Yukhei said, thinking back the days where he had a tough time adjusting.

“From what you told me, she sounds like a tough nut, but of course, this is all up to you, but just so you know, I would really like to be his godfather, and as for your doubts of her love towards you, she did name him after you, isn't it the same Hei?” Jackson said with a hearty chuckle, he could just imagine the fun they'll have together, he was always fond of children.

“Yeah, I’ll persuade her on this,” Yukhei said, he could already feel himself getting nervous for tonight’s dinner, it can’t be that much of a coincidence that his son’s last name resembled his right? Or is he and Jackson just being delusional?

“Now that's my buddy, now come on, finish your food so that we’ll make it in time for the next batch of Portuguese egg tarts, I remember they have a fresh batch around 4,” Jackson said, mouth salivating at the thought of more food.

When you arrived at the restaurant, it was fancier than what you had expected, feeling underdressed among the rich elite of Hong Kong in your old dress that you wear for every special occasion.

You asked if there was a reservation under your name, since Yukhei said he had it booked under you, and almost immediately, since not that many people can afford places like these, the waiter led you in.

“Mama, what is this place? We've never ate here before,” your son asked you.

“It's a French cuisine restaurant, we’re meeting gogo here, remember him? Or were you too sick that day?” you said as you placed him on the baby chair you had requested for.

“Yeah, I remember,” your son said as he looks around in awe, registering the pretty chandeliers that look so sparkly.

When the waiter handed you a menu, someone had joined your table, his hoodie pulled up so no one would recognise him, pulling it down when he saw that there wasn't any other customers around.

“Sorry, am I late?” Yukhei asked with a sheepish smile, a hand lifting up to check the time.

“No, we’re just early, say hi to Yukhei gogo, love,” you directed the last part to your son, patting his little hand to get his attention, smiling immediately when he lands on the tall figure.

“Gogo, you're here,” your son said excitedly, making grabby hands at him, letting his father carry him with a large smile on his face.

“Hey, buddy, don't you look excited to see me?” Yukhei said before blowing raspberry at his neck, making the young boy giggle.

What you didn't expect was to see someone coming up behind Yukhei, a little bit shorter and smaller in built, but when he pulled his hoodie down, you instantly recognised who it was.

“Jackson Wang?” you asked, blinking your eyes a few times to see if you were hallucinating.

“Hey, it’s nice to finally meet you, you look lovely tonight, and you must be little Wenghei, aren't you adorable, how about Jackson gogo take you out to buy toys, huh? I saw a big toy store just across the street, but only if your ma says yes of course,” Jackson said, giving you a side eye to Yukhei.

“Yeah, sure,” you said, it's not like the Jackson Wang is going to kidnap your son right?

“Don’t worry, I’ll watch him with my life,” Jackson said as Yukhei passes his son over to him, leaving the restaurant with his hood up once more.

“Is there something you'd like to say?” you asked Yukhei after he had taken the seat across you his hands were shaking slightly as he holds up the menu.

“I... I still love you. And I know I must sound like a jerk to you, hell I’d go back in time just to hit myself for running away, I'm really sorry for that. What I did was inexcusable, my career just stabilised at that time, and I was under immense stress from SM, you have every right to be mad at me, but I want to be apart of your life again, apart of Wenghei’s life as well, if you could let me have this second chance, I'll do anything to make the both of you happy,” Yukhei said in one breath, reciting what he had practised over and over again with Jackson in the car.

“Yukhei, I,” you were lost for words, you thought you were saying goodbye once more, that Yukhei and you would always end up in goodbyes, but now here he is, saying he loves you.

“Yukhei, you can't just say you love me for the sake of our son, and neither would you need to take responsibility for him, I chose to have him, and as for love, we can never be together, you’re an international super star now, and you're living in Korea, I don't think I have the energy to be in a long distance relationship with you, that would take a toll on Wenghei too, how am I going to explain to him that his father is in another country? He’ll always question your love for him and I don't want that,” you said, trying to hold in the tears that had built up in your eyes, your throat closing up, the cold facade you built for yourself crumbling down before his eyes.

“You can move to Korea, both of you, we can be a family,” Yukhei pleaded, his hands reaching forward to hold yours, his eyes searching yours.

“We can’t, what if we break up? What if your so called love for me, is just something you feel as a result of our child? You can't uproot the two of us when there's so many uncertainties, especially our emotions,” you said, you don't want either of you to be stuck in a relationship for the sake of raising a child, no one would be happy in the end.

“Love, you don't understand, I've never had a serious relationship after you, I tried, I really did, but I’d always think of you instead, how badly I wanted you instead of someone who reminds me of you, the thing is, I’ve always loved you, and I think you still love me too, or you wouldn't have named our son after me, am I right?” Yukhei hoped, why else would you come up with that name right?

Damn it, you thought to yourself, he saw right through you, maybe you shouldn't have named your son after him.

You looked at him and looked away, darn those puppy eyes, you’re sure you’re crying now, and Yukhei reaching over to wipe away your tears just confirmed it.

“I love you, it's always been you, only you,” Yukhei confessed.

“I, I love you too, Yukhei, and I was never mad at you for running away from us, I know how tough that industry is, but what if your fans find out about us?” you asked, slightly worried that he might lose it like last time.

“Then so be it, true fans would stay,” he said in an affirmative tone, reassuring you.

“You promise?” you asked, holding out your pinky, it would’ve been a funny sight to see if anyone saw the two of you now, crying and smiling at the same time.

“I promise,” Yukhei said before hooking his own pinky to connect with yours.

“If you leave us, Wong Yukhei, I’ll murder you in your sleep,” you said as threatening as you could sound.

“I plan to see our son grow up, so I'll value my life,” Yukhei said in utmost sincerity before grabbing a napkin to wipe away all your tears, you’re glad that you didn't wear any mascara today.

Just when Yukhei wiped away the tears in his eyes, Jackson was back with your bubbly child, his arm had bags digging into his flesh.

“Oh my god, that's too much, Wenghei why did you get so many, this is Jackson gogo’s hard earned money,” you said, lecturing your son.

“It's okay, he's an angel, this was all on me, and I guess things went well?” Jackson asked, eyes darting to your connected hands.

“Yeah,” you said, the biggest smile you had on your face.

“That's great to hear, I always wanted to be an uncle, now if you’ll excuse me, I don't think I should crash this family reunion any longer,” Jackson said giving his best friend a hug before leaving.

“So... What do you like to eat Wenghei? How about we get crème brulé,” Yukhei asked, pointing at the menu with childlike eyes, reminding you of the days where he’d get ice cream with you, splitting it on half for you to share.

“Sounds delicious.”

You let Yukhei order everything, sharing between the three of you while the three of you talked, Yukhei mostly directed the questions at his child, asking about his interests, his favourites of everything, ranging from colour to ice cream, eager to make up for loss time.

“How about we talk about where you'll be staying?” Yukhei asked after ordering dessert.

“Oh, I don't know what I'll be able to afford, I'll probably get another convenience store job again, so the rent can't be too high,” you said, dreading the thought of needing to learn a new language quickly for a job.

“Hey, you don't need to work anymore, nor pay rent, I already looked it up, there's an empty unit in our condo, the soundproofing might be a bit lacking, but that wouldn't be a problem if you don't sing in the shower like Dejun, we had a few noise complaints because of him,” Yukhei said, laughing at the fond times he had at the dorms.

“Yukhei, I know housing is really expensive there, are you sure you want to do this?” you asked once more, you don't want him to resent the financial burden the two of you would add onto him.

“What did I say to you just now? I said what I meant, I want the two of you to be in my life, forever. And don't worry about money, I saved up plenty and there’s many more jobs coming up for me, and moving out of the dorms would be the next step of adulthood to me, and we’ll get to spend so much more time together, right Wenghei?” Yukhei asked, pinching your son’s chubby cheeks teasingly.

“We’ll be living together, Yukhei gogo?” your son asked, a confused expression on his face, he had his attention trained on some pink fong video, something about dinosaurs.

“Yeah, Wenghei, we’ll be moving out of our little room, are you excited? We're going to a new country. Remember the dramas I watched with you? Korea has that big outdoor theme park you said you always wanted to go, and snow, you'll get to make snowmen during the winter,” you persuaded, hoping he won’t fuss too much about the move.

“Really? There’s snow in Korea?” your son asked, excited about the winter scene he’ll get finally see in real life.

“Yeah, real snow, not the bubbles in Disney land, are you excited?”

“Yeah, is Jackson gogo going to stay with us too?” your son asked, eyes darting to his new goodies before looking at you expectantly.

“Well, Jackson gogo has his own house and we have ours, but we can always visit him,” Yukhei explained.

“Hehe, okay,” your son said before getting distracted by the crème brulé set in front of him, digging in immediately.

“When do you want us to make the move?” you asked, thinking of all the things you have to pack, which isn't a lot, but you might have to courier some of your clothes over first.

“Whenever you want, I'll get our home ready as soon as possible, is there anything you need in the house? Other than the basics of course,” Yukhei asked, uncertain of any needs you have as a woman or maybe for your son.

“Can we have a study room for Wenghei? With a desk and shelves? We love to read, and he'll need a proper desk when he's older,” you asked, hoping it wasn't too much.

“Yeah, sure, I'll be sure to get it done,” Yukhei said, noting it down into his phone.

“But it's no rush on the study room part, he's just three after all, before I go, I have to apply visas for both of us,” you said, dreading the thought of filling up paperwork, you haven't done much of that ever since you left the law firm.

“Call me if you need any help on that, I'm sure my manager knows how to,” Yukhei said.

“You’re going to tell your company about us?” you asked, knowing how strict Korean entertainment companies are.

“They can't let me go just because of having my own family, they didn't let Jongdae, my senior, go, so we’ll be fine, I promise,” Yukhei said, reaching a hand over to hold yours reassuringly, his eyes looking into yours, filled with love and adoration.

“Okay, now how about we walk around the complex until 10? Wenghei doesn't have school tomorrow,” you suggested.

“Yeah, sure, we could even stay out later if you want,” Yukhei said enthusiastically, getting up slightly to call for the bill.

“You have a flight to catch tomorrow,” you reminded him in your motherly voice, which you regretted almost instantly, cursing yourself, reminding yourself to act more like an actual 22 year old, but Yukhei didn't say anything about it, hiding his smile by nodding deeply, almost like a bow.

“Okay, I just wanted to spend more time with the two of you,” Yukhei said, stopping when he saw the waiter coming back with the credit card machine, paying with just a glance at the bill.

The three of you spent your remaining time shopping and at the arcade, playing games with your son, Yukhei had insisted on getting you a new pair of sneakers, but you shot him down when he wanted to buy more stuff, especially toys for Wenghei.

“You can buy him toys when we’re there, it'll cost even more to ship more stuff over, and there's a risk of damaging the toys as well,” you said.

But of course your son threw a fit at the shop, all for some legos.

“Hey, buddy, I'll buy you lots the next time I see you, okay? I'll buy you one that's even bigger than this,” Yukhei said, squatting down next to his son, and even then he wasn't eye level with him, sometimes you forget how tall Yukhei actually is until you see a scene like this, or when you stand really close to him.

When it was 10pm, painful goodbyes were exchanged with a promise of face timing everyday, your son cried, and held onto his father dearly, and you haven't even told him Yukhei was his dad, but their bond is evident.

Yukhei held onto you and your son until his taxi came, and you waved until you couldn't see the taillights.

It's been a month since that fateful reunion, and Yukhei has squeezed in face times, calls, and texts in between schedules, giving you and your son time despite his busy career.

His company wasn’t too happy about it of course, but was somewhat glad that you weren't one to babble your business to gossip outlets.

You're now packing your things, one last time, you've been to the post office multiple times before to courier out your stuff to Korea, and every time a box reached his address, Yukhei would take a photo of it, telling you the stuff arrived safely.

Progress on your new home was quick, since it was already a fully furnished unit, Yukhei only needed to buy some furniture and things that cater to your son’s needs, he even picked out a pre school that teaches mandarin, perfect for your son’s adjustment in such a foreign country.

Tomorrow you'd be flying to Korea, a new country, a new start, but there was something clouding your mind, something you've been dreading, but today is the day you’ll tell him.

“Wenghei, can you come to mama for a second?” you asked, soon hearing your son’s tiny footsteps nearing you.

“Yes, mama?” your son asked, a hand around his precious teddy.

“There's something I need to tell you,” you said holding him close to you, letting him sit onto your lap.

“Remember how you asked me why you didn't have a baba while all your other classmates did?” you asked, trying to word it as nicely as possible.

“You said my baba had a really big responsibility, that he couldn't see us because of it, that he'll come back when he's free,” your son answered you, struggling to remember more details.

“Yes, good job, Wenghei, your memorising skills are getting better. Well, your baba is actually Yukhei gogo, he’s back now, and we can finally be a family again,” you said before holding in a breath, not knowing how he’ll react.

“Baba is Yukhei gogo? That's why we’re going to Korea?” your son asked, confusion written on his face.

“Yeah, do you like that he's your baba?” you asked, this could be the most important question ever.

“Yeah, mama, do you love baba? Does baba love you as much as I do?” your son asked, which very much surprised you, but expecting this sort of maturity from him.

“Yes, we love each other, and both of us love you as much too,” you said with a pinch of his chubby cheeks.

“Do we ever have to be separated from baba again?” your son asked, scared of losing his newfound father.

“No, never again, and can you do me one favour, Wenghei? I think the next time when you see your baba, you should run up to him and say hi baba, he’ll be very happy to hear you call him that,” you suggested, imagining the look on Yukhei’s face.

Your son giggled at the thought of making his father happy, agreeing immediately.

“Okay, now go to sleep, it's going to be your first time flying tomorrow,” you said, ushering him onto the bed.

“Okay, goodnight, mama,” your son said to you, just like he did every other night, he seemed to have accepted it very easily, maybe it was due to his age, but some day he might ask his father about his departure personally when he understands more, but that’s a hardship that’s reserved for another day.

The flight was relatively short, though it was rather hard for Wenghei at the start because of the pressure he had experienced in his ears, the crying and whining got you plenty of dirty looks from passengers around you, but you paid no mind to it, you’ve been through worst so this is nothing that can faze you.

When you got there, you saw a lady holding up a plaque with your name on it, her phone in her hand, checking all the moms who came out of the same lane as you.

She had a friendly smile on her face when she saw you, introducing herself in mandarin, being one of Wayv’s staff, a trusted one, according to Yukhei.

She talked to you about Yukhei in general, even giving your son a bar of mini KitKat, praising him for being brave on the flight after she had asked you how was your flight.

Around half an hour later, you've reached your new home, a nice looking condominium that looked about a few years old.

Unloading took quite some time, even with the help of the staff, but what surprised you was the person who was waiting for you inside the lobby.

“You're here!” you said surprised at the sight of the giant.

“Yeah, I am, wanted to give you a surprise, sorry I couldn't be outside, some crazy fans camp outside, can’t let them bring you and Wenghei any harm,” Yukhei said as he carried Wenghei, spinning in a small circle, looking at him with full of love.

“I understand, don't worry, I'm not a teenager girl anymore,” you said as you checked out the place, the sitting area had a couch set and free WiFi, this is a 180 from the living conditions in Hong Kong.

“Baba, did you miss me?” your son asked when he had stopped giggling from his father’s spins, which instantly ceased to a halt, eyes growing as wide as saucers.

“What did you call me? Say it again,” Yukhei said with the biggest smile on his face, all of his teeth were showing.

“Mama said you were my Baba,” Wenghei said like it was as simple as two plus two.

“Yeah... I am your baba, and you're my son,” Yukhei said before holding his son even closer, you could even see the tears at the corner of his eyes.

“Why don't we go see our new home Wenghei?” you suggested, seeing that some people have came out from the lifts, typical going to work hours.

You walked a feet away from Yukhei, not wanting to draw attention, holding onto the lift for Yukhei to bring all your luggage in.

Once you were at your level, you started loosening up, noticing that no one was around.

“This is my members’ unit,” Yukhei said pointing at a door, “And this is ours,” Yukhei said before opening the door for you, welcoming you into a warmly decorated home, every piece of furniture was placed and chose to accommodate your child, all the corners were covered with this e rubber safety stickers.

He showed you into Wenghei's room where the bed had all his favourite characters in the form of a plushie, his bed was soft when you sat down on it, and the blanket he had picked out was a soft fleece material, perfect for the cold weather.

Your son was going around every corner, awing at everything his father had gotten him, especially the Lego sets that were on his desk.

“Thank you, it's beautiful, his room,” you said when Yukhei wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him, god how much you've missed his warmth.

“Go take a look at your room,” Yukhei said before pulling your hand into the direction of the master bedroom, welcoming you into a room with a king size bed and silk linen sheets, an aesthetic looking vanity that you've always wanted as a teenager, now as well of course, and a little reading corner just for you by the window.

“It's all I've ever wanted,” you said in disbelief, not knowing how could Yukhei pull this off in such a short time.

“You like it? I got some help from my members, especially Kun for the kitchen, you should check it out afterwards, you always wanted a big kitchen area,” Yukhei said as you laid on the bed, giving your stiff body a rest from the journey.

“Lay down with me for a while, I’m a bit tired from the flight,” you said, making grabby hands at him.

“Nah, I shouldn’t, this is your bed,” Yukhei said, looking flustered.

“Wong Yukhei, I’ve had your child and now you're acting all innocent?” you asked in an accusing tone, playing with him, which made him lay down next to you immediately, he didn't like getting you angry, thinking back all those days when you had lectured him just like that when he forgot to do his homework.

“You want me to sleep here?” Yukhei asked carefully, observing your expressions.

“This is our bedroom, where else do you want to sleep?” you asked, but was promptly cut off by Yukhei's lips on yours, smiling as he kissed you, gentle but expressing all his love for you, a hand lingering on your back, guiding you closer than him.

Many mistakes that had to be made had guided you here, but you've never regretted, for if it wasn't for the hardships and the crossroads, you wouldn't have found a home with the man you'll cross oceans for.

The end.

[ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole]

Stories of Paris

I have no self control this week and have just finished this wip I'll update 2 days on the trot (mainly as I've become word blind and can't see the words for the letters). This is a flux occurrence and is likely to never happen again unless it's like a month with 2 full moons and the stars have aligned wonky and theres a north wind blowing and Fae stuff like that....

Will eventually post on AO3 when like the tech sprites are feeling nice to me and the gremlins have disappeared.

Masterlist

Part One Part Two

...................................................................................

Alfred checked in on his small charge, making sure he was still asleep, before heading to his own room. The last couple of months had been hard. Much harder for young master Bruce but still hard. He had lost his employers, who were closer to friends really. He'd become an unexpected full time guardian on top of a full time workload of running a manor house, which he was originally employed for. Gone were his fortnightly day off. His evenings to himself to meet up with friends, his whole life was turned upside down and he was grieving.

As much as he adored Master Bruce he wanted, no that's not right, he needed a break to grieve too. Grieve the loss of his friends, the loss of his freedom, the loss of his own life expectations.

Once he reached his own personal sanctuary he got out his personal phone and dialed the one person who got him. She may have been a foreign agent but she had taken him under her wing, looked after him and treated him like a son before they both retired (for different reasons). She was like a mother to him after he lost his own. She was always a grounding rock. It was this point, in his early 30's he needed someone to talk to this overwhelming, unexpected, humongous responsibility he'd stumbled upon.

"Ciao?"

"Gina, Are free to talk?"

"Alfie darling!!! Of course I am free to talk to you! I'll always make time for you darling! How are you doing stateside? The family in your charge still treating you well? Or do they need to be dropped so you can come adventuring with me?"

Suppressing a stifled sob Alfred tried to answer Gina's questions.

"They, they died Gina. The couple. The… the Wayne's were murdered in front of their son… They left me in charge of looking after him. I'm his guardian… I've looked after him for 2… 2 months..."

The stifled sob broke loose. After 2 months of being in complete control over all the emotions in favour of protecting and supporting Master Bruce he finally let them all out.

".... Shhhh shhh, there there il mio piccolo… Let those tears flow. Don't hold it in. Let those feelings out… "

Alfred sat in his room allowing himself to crack with Gina providing soothing words to him. After a while the sobs died down and he recomposed himself.

"Are you feeling better Alfie sweetie?"

"... Yes …"

"How often do you get your own space? Time to care about yourself? When was the last time you had a 'you' day?"

"... Before, before all this I would have days and time to see friends. Now, it's all about Master Bruce. He needs someone. He's just lost his parents. I can't abandon him as well.''

"So not for 2 months then. Hmmmm… you need to get a babysitter and make time and days for yourself"

"I don't trust anyone in Gotham Gina to look after Master Bruce. I've built a network up but not a 'child friendly one'."

"Good thing then I have the perfect candidate for you. My granddaughter is in Gotham as part of a study program or something like that. My little fairy is good with bambini. And it would benefit us having someone we trust to physically check in with her too. Being an ocean away makes it hard for us to check she is actually ok and not what she is presenting to a screen or phone."

"That, that might work Gina. How old is she? I know you wouldn't suggest it if she wasn't suitable…"

"Currently 17 but soon to be 18 and planning to stay Gotham way for a while. She seems to adore the architecture."

"That… .this might work. Could you check with her that she is happy to do this and we can arrange a meeting to see how it goes. It will be dependent on how well she connects with Master Bruce as to what happens next."

"Sounds like a plan Alfie! You're a strong resourceful man Alfie. You'll get through this. Do call me again if you need anything. And I do mean anything! Also be certain I'll be visiting in the nearish future to check on you and the lad.

Now go to sleep and I'll have a chat with my little fairy to see what we can do. You're not on your own in this son. Rest now and I will be in contact soon."

"Thank you Gina. For everything. Just being able to talk to someone has been a huge help. I'll go rest now. Bye"

"Bye Alfie"

After hanging up the phone Alfred took a deep breath and for the first time in a long time he felt he could finally breathe. Gina had never led him wrong before. Having someone to watch Master Bruce even for a few hours would allow him the space to set up a new network and reconnect with people. The overwhelming task would become manageable. Hopefully Gina's granddaughter would be willing and that Master Bruce liked her.

With those thoughts in mind Alfred finally turned in for the night.

…………………………………………………………..

Bruce continued to stare at the teen in his living room. It was an unexpected guest in his eyes. Alfred had informed him of a visitor, an old friend's granddaughter who was studying in Gotham, and Alfred's friend wanted him to check up on her. So Alfred had invited her to the manor. That was all fine. What he didn't get is why HE needed to be about. He didn't want company, he wanted his parents back. He wanted that man who destroyed his life brought to justice. He wanted to do research not listening to some inane talk. He wanted to be left alone to wallow. And maybe have Alfred about too for quiet company and provide tea and snacks. Not this stranger in his home.

As he stared (glared) at the girl he lost focus on the ongoing conversation she was having with Alfred to sulk.

He was drawn out of his musing when he saw the girl out down the cup she was drinking from and gave Alfred a hug. She whispered something to Alfred and much to Bruce's amazement, Alfred's whole being seemed to loose some of the tenseness it held. A glimmer of a spark he once held seems to re-enter his being.

"*cough* Right Miss Marinette. I can tell you are related to your Grandmother. Gina holds a magic way with words too."

"It's ok Monsieur Pennyworth. I learnt a lot about how words have power and how they can affect people under Hawkmoth's rein. Nonna helped me refine the skill."

"Hawkmoth? Miss Marinette could you explain further?"

"Yes, he was a supervillain. He held the power to manipulate people with negative emotions and turn them into temporary villains which Paris superheros had to defeat.

It was exhausting to live through. Watching what you said and how it could affect others. Keeping your own emotions in check. Nonna was a great help in learning to read body language so I could preempt and defuse situations before Hawkmoth could attack."

The girl, Marinette, went back to drinking her tea as if what she said was common knowledge and that having super heros was a normal thing.

It sparked Bruce's interest. The 8 year old boy adored comics telling granduese stories of adventures. This Marinette may not be as awful as he originally thought. She had experience of heroes and what they could do. In the small boy's head, he needed to get as much information as humanly possible from her. She might know how they came to be. How they got their powers. She knew about justice and how to take down bad guys indirectly. That meant joining in the conversation so she might come again.

"Thank you for coming round Miss Marinette. Are you sure I can not interest you into staying for dinner?"

"No, thank you Monsieur Pennyworth, for having me. I would have loved to stay for dinner, Nonna tells tales of your fabulous culinary skills, I must however decline. The family I am staying with is expecting me back soon.

It was a pleasure to meet you though. And you Monsieur Wayne."

Bruce was drawn out of his thoughts of superheroing and taking down bad guys. His information source was leaving. He needed to keep her here somehow. Or get her return.

"It was nice to meet you too Marinette. Would you like to come round and visit Alfred again?"

Alfred looked at the young master in surprise, the young boy had appeared to show no interest and huge distrust of Miss Marinette, but apparently looks are deceiving. Somehow she had won the boys interest and he wanted her to return. Gina was right about the girl, she was talented and seemed to know how to work her audience especially children. Maybe, just maybe Gina's idea would work.

"I would be delighted to visit again Monsieur Wayne. Monsieur Pennyworth has my details. I'm sure we can arrange another occasion to meet."

"If you would like to follow me Miss Marinette, I will escort you to the door."

…………………………………………………………..

"Gina"

"Alfie!!! How are you? It's good to hear from you!"

"I am well thank you. Much better than when we last spoke. I must say though, thank you! Your idea has been perfect. Your granddaughter has been amazing. She completely worked her magic with Master Bruce."

"Mmmm hmmm"

"She has got him talking. Not much. But he isn't as wallowy as he was before we met her. She got him kneading bread. And basically got him to beat his frustrations into it. The kitchen was a disaster from it all but he seems happier."

"YOU sound happier darling too!! The kneading thing likely comes from my Tom. He got my fairy doing that a lot under Hawkmoths rein. Baking for her has become a way to process/deal with her emotions. The nasty fella. I'm glad he is all done and dusted for my fairy. He left his mark on her."

"I can honestly see a way forward now Gina. Thank you. Bruce and I, we will get there. But back to your comment, Left his Mark? Did Miss Marinette get hurt? Has she an injury that I need to be aware of. Every time I've seen her she seems well, with the occasional spacey moments. She seems to navigate a conversation well to avoid topics that cause her too many anxieties."

"Not physically that I am aware of. Emotionally it has taken its toll. She is good at masking and misdirecting emotions as you've probably seen and noted. She's grieving too. She's left Paris as it has too many memories for the moment."

"I see.... I can see how that is likely helping her and Master Bruce connect. Thank you Gina, truly. Our little family has hope now that your fairy has arrived. We will see if we can also watch out and help her."

…………………………………………………………..

Had Bruce realised at the time that Marinette's original visit was an informal interview to see if he connected with her, Bruce may have paid a bit more attention. He might have noticed if had paid attention but that's neither here nor there. In his unfocused state he had somehow agreed to her becoming his babysitter. And as much as he protested to Alfred that he was perfectly capable of looking after himself. The small fire he created in the kitchen when he tried to make toast (this time) shortly before his declaration destroyed his argument.

The bonus was that with each occasion Marinette babysat him he was learning more and more about superheros (and got freshly baked treats). And she knew a lot about both.

"Mon poussin, shall we go bake some cookies before Alfred returns?"

"Ummm… I might have been err banned from the kitchen since you last visited Mari."

"Banned mon chéri? Why on earth were you banned?"

"I tried to make the cookies we made last time for Alfred as a surprise. The fire this time was much bigger than normal"

"Are you banned from baking or just being in the kitchen? I kinda need to know what rule we're about to bend"

"Bend? And errrr baking and kitchen. Alfred said 'Young master. Please can you refrain from attempting to bake and using the kitchen equipment. You are banned until I see fit that it is safe for you to learn again'"

Bruce caught a glint of mischief entering Marinette's eye and a smirk grew upon her face.

"Perfect!!! You're banned from the equipment for baking. I'll use the equipment then and you can still be in the kitchen then. Bending is working with the rules and looking for where they are flexible and looking for loopholes. Alfred for example according to you said baking. Well baking is different from cooking. So technically you could cook. Though as it's Alfred I'd probably give it a miss."

"Yeah, I don't fancy getting on the wrong side of Alfred."

The pair started to walk to the kitchen to bake with Marinette leading.

"The Parisian's superheros used that technique a lot. The police there weren't particularly welcoming in the beginning so they followed the rules the police set out and twisted them to work best in their interest. It's something you see business people do too. Something I'm sure you'll encounter when you're older sadly."

"How did they get their names? Paris's superheros"

Marinette smiled ruefully as she got the ingredients out for cookies.

"I told you that I was friends with a blogger at the time"

"Uh-huh" Bruce nodded.

"For the most part she named them. I believe, from what I remember her saying, is that Chat Noir introduced himself as that, but Ladybug, she focused on the task at hand and ignored the media for the most part at the beginning and they named her. The blogger from what I recall named her and then created the blog 'the ladyblog' as a pun on the name. Lesson to learn there is that if a hero doesn't want to be named by the media they should have a name ready to provide and introduce themselves with. Winning the media and public over made the job easier from what I could tell"

"And what made them superheros Mari?"

"They had powers mon poussin. Police, firepeople, doctors and nurses. They are all hero's fighting to protect others everyday. All within the law. These superheros had powers. They had magic."

Bruce looked at Marinette in awe.

"Magic?"

"A curse and a blessing, magic is Bruce" Marinette in such a serious way that was so out of character it startled Bruce.

"There are so many types of magic out there Bruce. For the most part it's benevolent, neither good nor evil just existing in balance. Old magic though. Old magic tends to come at a cost. Yes it can help but there is always something required to balance it out. A negative payment. Hawkmoth, he used the magic in a negative way and it cost him his family. His life as well.. Ladybug and Chat Noir they both had to use their powers to balance the other one out."

Bruce absorbed the information like a sponge. He loved when Marinette forgot his age and just spoke her thoughts. Her memories. He was learning so much from her about these heroes when she drifted to narrate the past. Superheroes. If Alfred let him he was going to look this blog up on his computer later.

With such melancholy Marinette continued.

"Hawkmoth turned out to be my friend's dad. His dad was awful so it wasn't a huge surprise. But, his misuse of the magic caused the death of my friend to balance it all out. Magic isn't inherently bad, it's the side effects that people forget about and neglect to think."

Marinette let out a big sigh.

"These cookies are going to taste sour with this sad mood growing. Mon poussin, what superpower would you want if you could have one?"

She enquired trying to lighten the mood about the past as she put the cookies into the oven to cook.

Bruce mulled over the question.

"I'm not sure Mari. What you said about magic and powers seems like a bad idea. If I had a superpower, what would it cost me? I don't want to lose Alfred or you. I'd want to do it without powers''

*Chuckling* "Oh mon poussin. That's what you got from what I've said. Mon chéri, you won't lose us. You're family now"

Marinette stated before booping his nose with a floury finger.

"But you said people were heroes without powers Mari! I wanna be like that."

"So a secret ninja hero with lots of gadgets then."

Matinette giggled at the boys antics "Remember secret identities are key. No-one but your selected trusted support network can ever know them so you are all protected as well."

"Hmmm ok Mari that's good advice"

They both sat in silence after that. Marinette, still trying to recover from the memories of losing Adrien, Bruce pondering what Mari had said.

"How'd you train to be a ninja Mari?"

"Hmmm ninja training I guess Bruce."

"What's that though"

"I guess ninjas train in martial arts, gymnastics and stuff like that. Maybe in weapons. I don't really know Bruce. I've never met a ninja before."

Marinette smiled at the small boy. He reminded her of Manon with all the questions on heroes and Alya with her obsession in her teens. She never remembered being so fascinated with them but many of the children she had babysat especially in Paris had a huge fascination with them. It was times like this she missed Paris and her family there. Nonna recommending her to Alfred was a stroke of luck. Bless Tikki. She was starting to feel like she had a family over here now too.

Bruce mulled over the information Mari had given. Maybe he would get Alfred to sign up for martial arts lessons. That would help towards getting skilled enough to bring justice, even if it didn't bring his parents back.

When Alfred returned back to the manor, he found the pair giggling in the kitchen. Cookies cooling on the side as the pair pretended to do silly ninja moves while watching ninja warrior clips on Miss Marinette's phone. Alfred smiled to himself while craftily snapping a photo of the pair. Miss Marinette was an excellent babysitter and was slowly bringing happiness back into the manor. Bruce's sour moods from grief definitely improved with her presence.

Gina's recommendation was perfect.

…………………………………………………………..

Marinette had almost become a permanent feature in Bruce's life. She was round at least once a fortnight. Sometimes once a week and had been for the last 9 months and he had grown to see her as almost an Aunt or cousin or something more than a babysitter. She was becoming family. He desperately missed his parents still but having Mari and Alfred he didn't feel quite as alone on the bad days.

The pair were both doing homework in the garden while Alfred was out when Mari's phone rang. She switched to another language on answering. Bruce paused from his work and watched. He didn't know the language and felt left out not knowing what was being said. He would ask Alfred to sign him up for language lessons when he returns. The martial art lessons were awesome in the boys eyes. Language lessons would help connect more with Marinette. And help in spying and his secret hero training.

Watching her though she seemed to flit through a range of emotions in quick succession which were a blur to interpret before they went. They disappeared from her face. He couldn't read what she was thinking or feeling. Bruce knew he was fairly good at reading adults. It was helpful to avoid getting into trouble at school (and with Alfred). It was amazing and scary to not be able to do so with Mari.

"Mari…?" Bruce gently asked when the call had ended "How'd you do that?"

"Hmmm.. do what mon poussin"

"Hide your feelings. How'd you do that?"

"Hide them?" Marinette mused over what Bruce was meaning. "I didn't really hide them mon chéri. I just sifted through them as I felt them and checked if they were helpful to me or not. If it wasn't helpful I parked to deal with it at a later date so I could focus on the call with a clear head. Given who I was talking to, getting upset, angry or frustrated wouldn't benefit me at all. Why do you ask?"

"Can you teach me?!" Bruce demanded with enthusiasm. To be able to be able to do that would be so cool. To do it in games with peers and hide what he was feeling and therefore thinking would be awesome.

Marinette laughed at her temporary charges determination.

"It takes time and patience to learn mon poussin. And I started by learning to meditate and recognising my own emotions. Learning what I'm truly feeling and working out what I need to do to process it.

If we complete our homework soon I'll teach you some basic mediation and we can go from there if you like?"

"Yes!! But don't have to do homework first….. can't we skip it pleeeeeeease"

Marinette just raised her eyebrow, in a very Alfred manner, at the boy who ducked his head in return.

Much to Alfred's surprise he came home to find the pair sitting in the garden as Miss Marinette took Master Bruce through a guided meditation. He hoped that this may be the start of Bruce starting to openly process his grief.

Next

[fortunatelyfresco]

A Holistic Integration of Type 1 Narcolepsy into the Reading of Moist von Lipwig

Literary Interpretation, Disability, and Finding Yourself Between the Lines

As it goes, "I wrote this for me, but you can read it if you want." It might be a fun ride for anyone who is very interested in Moist von Lipwig, or narcolepsy, or both, and/or anyone who enjoys collecting small details from within a body of work and arranging them into threads that are supportable by the text, without being actually suggested by it.

Personally, I find it very interesting to read the meta behind different headcanons, and see how creators can unintentionally write a character who fits certain criteria. There are only so many traits, after all, and some of them tend to travel in groups! Humans are pattern seekers, etc etc.

The first step of reading Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic is wanting to read Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic. Being narcoleptic myself and relating heavily to Moist, this step was very easy. I invite you to take my hand and come along, at least briefly, if you were interested enough to click the readmore.

Once you have taken that step, things start falling into place. At least they do if you're intimately familiar with narcolepsy, or if you first learn about it in detail through, for instance, a Tumblr post with an agenda :)

I'll break this down symptom by symptom, citing only the ones I both have personal experience with and see textual support for.

I'll be using OverDrive's search function to catalogue "evidence" in (the American editions of) Going Postal, Making Money, and Raising Steam, so I might miss passages that don't use certain keywords.

Please take any statements along the lines of "being narcoleptic means X" with a huge grain of salt. Sometimes it's just more succinct. Narcolepsy can manifest in many different ways, and is still being actively studied. Don't base your entire understanding of it on a fandom essay I wrote to cope with the crushing pressures of capitalism. I have not even fully read the scientific studies linked here as sources.

Here we go! Spoilers abound.

I. Excessive Daytime Sleepiness (EDS) and sleep attacks.

Being narcoleptic means (salt now, please) that your brain does not get adequate rest while you sleep, no matter how much you sleep. This is because of a disturbance in the order and length of REM and NREM sleep phases. This leads to constant exhaustion. Some sources describe narcoleptic EDS as "comparable to [the sleepiness] experienced by a healthy individual who has been sleep-deprived continuously for 48–72 hours."

(Source.)

Sleep attacks can come on gradually or suddenly. In my case, I become irritable and easily overwhelmed, and nothing matters except finding a place to lie down. A more severe attack, under the right circumstances, can put me to sleep while I'm actively trying to stay awake and engaged.

Moist refers to 6:45 am as "still nighttime." He is "allergic to the concept of two seven o'clocks in one day" and is "not good at early mornings," and the narration even cites this as "one of the advantages of a life of crime; you didn't have to get up until other people had got the streets aired."

In Going Postal, he repeatedly falls asleep at his desk. I can only find two instances, but the first one describes it as having happened "again," so it happens at least three times over the course of one week. Both of the times I found were after Mr. Pump cleared his apartment, giving him access to a bed, and I can't find any reference to the fire destroying it—just that his office is "missing the whole of one wall." His presumably wooden desk is still intact, even, just "charred."

There's also no build-up either time. No direct narration of the time right before he falls asleep, just retroactive accounting for it.

Which is primarily a function of stories not showing us every boring second, and secondarily one of the smaller ways we're shown Moist being overwhelmed and racing to keep up with himself, but tertiarily it's a great set dressing if you've already decided he's narcoleptic. Sometimes sleep is just a thing that happens, without any deliberate transition. Sometimes you sit down to catch your breath or get some paperwork done, and wake up several hours later.

I've found only one example in GP of Moist waking up in his actual bed at the post office: the morning after being possessed by all the undelivered letters. Presumably either they put him there, or Mr. Pump did.

There are two points in Making Money where Moist, in an effort to be a comforting and/or guiding hand, advises people to get some sleep. First Owlswick Jenkins, and then one of the clerks (Robert) who is worried about Mr. Bent.

I take the optimistic view that this is Moist genuinely caring about these people, not just trying to get them to do what he wants. He has always done some combination of those things (GP opens with him having befriended his jailers, after all), but there's definitely a thread of him learning to treat both himself and those around him more like real people. (See also.)

Looking at this thread through narcolepsy-colored lenses, you get Moist perhaps drawing from his own experiences in an effort to be helpful. In Owlswick or Robert's position, what is something he would want to hear from the man currently in charge of his fate, or at least his job? "Get some sleep."

If we accept this as a pattern, it culminates in Raising Steam, when Moist starts to worry about "Dick Simnel and his band of overworked engineers," fixating particularly on their lack of sleep.

What sleep they got was in sleeping bags, curled up on carriage seats, eating but not eating well, just driven by their watches and their desire to keep the train going.

[...]

"People are going to die if we push them any further," he said to Dick. "You lot would rather work than sleep!"

[...]

The young man swayed in front of him and Moist's tone became gentle. "And I see now that part of my job is to tell you that you need some rest. You've run out of steam, Dick. Look, we're well on the way to Uberwald now, and while it's daylight and we're out of the mountains it's going to be the least risky time to run with minimum crew. We're all going to need our wits about us when we get near the pass. Surely you can take some rest?"

Simnel blinked as if he'd not seen Moist the first time, and said, "Yes, you're right."

And Moist could hear the slurring in the young man's speech, caught him before he fell and dragged him into a sleeping compartment, put him to bed, and noted that the engineer didn't so much fall asleep as somehow flow into it.

Moist then recruits Vimes to help him talk the rest of the engineers into getting some rest. The two of them briefly commiserate about people not realizing how important it is.

"I have to teach that to young coppers. Treasure a night's rest, I always say. Take a nap whenever you can."

"Very good."

II. Insomnia.

This is a lesser-known but very common symptom of narcolepsy. Or a comorbidity, depending on how you look at it. It seems counterintuitive if narcolepsy has been presented to you as "sleeping all the time," but it makes sense once you know it's really a matter of disruption in the brain's ability to regulate sleep cycles.

The case for this symptom is flimsier, and I fully admit I'm just reading my own experience into it. But here are two excerpts from Going Postal that I find quite suitable for my sleepy agenda:

1. "A man of affairs such as he had to learn to sleep in all kinds of situations, often while mobs were looking for him a wall's thickness away."

I latched hard onto this detail the first time I read GP.

At my worst, I could not get more than a couple hours of sleep in my bed. I kept taking naps in the bath because it was one of the few places I could sleep. It seemed to fulfill some of the criteria (isolation, temperature control, etc) that my brain demanded in exchange for playing nice.

We're told over and over again, throughout Moist's books, that he functions best under pressure.

(Brief aside: This is often cited as a reason to interpret Moist as having ADHD, which I'm also fully on board with. Not coincidentally, narcolepsy and ADHD share a few symptoms, have a notable comorbidity rate, and are treated with some of the same medications. Source.)

So again, if you're already inclined to read Moist as narcoleptic, the following is an easy jump:

"Moist thinks he's good at sleeping in strange places under strange circumstances. This is because A) his basis for comparison is a disordered attempt to sleep in normal places under normal circumstances, B) something about danger satisfies his brain into running more smoothly, and C) he's a resourceful person who is 'not given to introspection,' and so is less likely to wonder why his body demands sleep at strange times and more likely to focus on finding a place for that sleep to happen, and chalk this up later as a skill."

And returning briefly to EDS: Why would someone like Moist waste time finding a safe place to sleep while people are actively trying to kill him? At the beginning of GP, he leaves Vetinari's office and immediately goes on the run. In multiple books, when he feels threatened, his brain instinctively launches into complex escape plans. We see him successfully blend into an Ankh-Morpork crowd at least once after becoming a public figure.

So why bother? After all, a safe place to sleep is also a safe place to change clothes, or at least remove whatever distinguishing features he's given himself. Why wouldn't he just become someone else and leave town immediately?

The obvious answer is that sometimes things just happen, and an author doesn't need to know or explain every single detail of a character's past.

I would suggest, though, that one of those things might be Moist reaching a point where sleep is just not optional. A point where he not only doesn't, but can't, care about anything else. Where he is too tired to think straight, too tired to talk his way out of trouble, too tired to even contemplate the long journey from one town to the next.

2. "Moist knew he ought to get some sleep, but he had to be there, too, alive and sparkling."

Sometimes (especially in combination with underlying mental health issues) narcoleptic sleep deprivation can bypass everything I've described so far, and lead straight into a manic state. You won't necessarily find that on Google, but it's been my experience.

That's obviously not what the text is implying. "Alive and sparkling" is just a very relatable description. And we do often see Moist getting away from himself, speaking without thinking, making absurd promises that he justifies immediately afterwards as Just Part Of Being Him, always raising the stakes.

And here are a couple of excerpts from Raising Steam that could be interpreted as Moist being a light sleeper, AKA struggling to get deep sleep:

1. "And slowly Moist shut down, although a part of him was always listening to the rhythm of the rails, listening in his sleep, like a sailor listening to the sounds of the sea."

2. "All Moist's life he'd managed to find a way of sleeping in just about every circumstance and, besides, the guard's van was somehow the hub of the train; and although he didn't know how he did it, he always managed to sleep with half of one ear open."

Moist is exactly the kind of opportunist to see that as a useful tool, isn't he?

III. Hypnagogic and Hypnopompic Hallucinations.

These are hallucinations that come on as you're falling asleep or waking up. They can also happen during REM intrusions while you're awake. My most memorable ones include piano notes, someone calling my name, being trapped in the waves of a large body of water, and a huge truck going over a guard rail and tumbling down a hill. These are often, but not always, accompanied by sleep paralysis (and sleep paralysis is often, but not always, accompanied by hallucinations).

In GP, Moist casually cites his own hallucinations as proof that what is happening at the post office is not one.

"They're all alive! And angry! They talk! It was not a hallucination! I've had hallucinations and they don't hurt!"

Obviously that's not true for everyone, but it's true for Moist, and he has enough experience that he immediately recognizes the difference.

At one point while awake, Moist "[snaps] out of a dream of chandeliers" to realize someone has approached him to talk, while he was busy having visions of what the post office used to look like/could look like again.

Now, that's cheating, because we're probably supposed to assume it's a side effect of being possessed, but... I'm putting it here anyway.

There is also perhaps a case to be made for the tendency of Moist's internal monologue to lapse into extremely specific and prolonged hypotheticals. The lines between hallucinations, waking dreams, and "regular" daydreams have always been very blurry to me. I'm especially curious about the example at the end of Going Postal, which goes like this:

"Look, I know what I'm like," he said. "I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. I just wanted to prove to myself I'm not like Gilt. More than a hammer, you understand? But I'm still a fraud by trade. I thought you knew that. I can fake sincerity so well that even I can't tell. I mess with people's heads—"

"You're fooling no one but yourself," said Miss Dearheart, and reached for his hand.

Moist shook her off, and ran out of the building, out of the city, and back to his old life, or lives, always moving on, selling glass as diamond, but somehow it just didn't seem to work anymore, the flair wasn't there, the fun had dropped out of it, even the cards didn't seem to work for him, the money ran out, and one winter in some inn that was no more than a slum he turned his face to the wall—

And an angel appeared.

"What just happened?" said Miss Dearheart.

Perhaps you do get two...

"Only a passing thought," said Moist.

In-universe... what is Adora reacting to? What did just happen? The fact that these incidents are not isolated to Going Postal is a point against it being some sort of literal timeline divergence caused by The Spirit Of The Post.

So maybe Moist visibly zoned out. Maybe he had some kind of minor but noticeable cataplexy attack (more on those later) as part of a REM intrusion, brought on by the intense emotions he's currently struggling with.

IV. Vivid Dreams.

Again, at least some of this is probably supposed to be part of the possession, but I've been professionally projecting myself onto the surreal dreams of magically afflicted characters for years. Do try this at home.

1. "Moist dreamed of bottled wizards, all shouting his name. In the best tradition of awaking from a nightmare, the voices gradually became one voice, which turned out to be the voice of Mr. Pump, who was shaking him."

2. Moist is uneasy about the Smoking Gnu's plan, and then he has an extremely detailed dream about the Grand Trunk burning down.

This culminates in "Moist awoke, the Grand Trunk burning in his head," followed by a paragraph of him thinking things through and starting to form his own alternative plan, followed immediately by "Moist awoke. He was at his desk, and someone had put a pillow under his head."

So he fell asleep at his desk, woke up from a vivid nightmare, was awake just long enough for a coherent train of thought, and then passed back out. Which once again is not "proof" of anything, but fits the predetermined interpretation like a glove.

V. Cataplexy.

Cataplexy is a sudden loss of muscle control, usually triggered by strong emotions. This is thought to be a facet of REM intrusion—waking instances of the atonia that is meant to stop us from acting out our dreams.

The most well-known manifestation is laughter making your knees buckle, but it's not always that severe. My own attacks range from facial twitching, usually when I'm angry or otherwise extremely upset, to all-over weakness/immobilization and near-collapse when I laugh. My knees have fully buckled once or twice.

This is the biggest stretch. This is the one that is absolutely only there if you've already decided to read entire novels between the lines. It's also not even necessary for the broader headcanon; plenty of people have narcolepsy without cataplexy (or such mild cataplexy that it's never noticeable, or very delayed onset, etc).

However. I am doing this for fun. So I want him to have it. It's also become a major part of how I imagine Moist engaging with emotion, and I'd like to make a case for that.

There are a few scattered references to Moist's legs shaking, or being unsteady, or outright giving way, but there's usually an external physical reason, and/or enough psychological shock to justify it without a medical condition.

The most compelling example I've found so far comes from Moist and Adora's conversation about people expecting Moist to deliver letters to the gods.

"I never promised to—"

"You promised to when you sold them the stamps!"

Moist almost fell off his chair. She'd wielded the sentence like a fist.

"And it'll give them hope," she added, rather more quietly.

"False hope," said Moist, struggling upright.

"Almost fell off his chair" at first sounds like casual hyperbole, but then "struggling upright" implies it was a bit more literal. It's also an accurate description of me recovering from my more severe attacks, supporting myself on a wall or my spouse, or pushing myself up if I've fallen over in bed.

That happens to me multiple times per day, by the way. It doesn't bother me, and I didn't realize there was anything unusual about it for a long time. I barely think about it, except to fondly note that my spouse is good at making me laugh.

Which is to say, even severe cataplexy is not always noticeable or debilitating. Sometimes it absolutely is! It can be downright dangerous, depending on where you are, what you're doing, and whether you have any other conditions it might exacerbate. I don't want to undermine that.

I am just hell-bent on justifying the idea that this fictional character could have repeated attacks throughout the canonical narrative that are so routine they don't merit an explanation, or even a description. Especially for someone who is used to hiding his few distinguishing features behind false ones that are much more memorable. (See also.)

(That link goes to my own fanfic. Sorry.)

On the milder side, between Going Postal and Making Money, there are three instances of Moist's mouth "dropping open" when he's shocked, upset, confused, or some combination of the three. This is the kind of thing that shows up a lot in fiction, but rarely happens so literally in real life.

(There's technically a fourth instance, but I'm not counting it because it seems to be a deliberate choice on his part to convey surprise.)

And then there's laughter. Or rather, there isn't. I could be missing something, but I've searched all three books for instances of laughter and various synonyms (not counting spoken "Ha!"s), and what I've come up with is:

Moist laughs once in Going Postal, when he receives the assignment for the race to Genua.

Two packages were handed over. Moist undid his, and burst out laughing.

There's also an instance earlier in the book where Moist nearly "burst[s] out laughing."

I find the specifics here interesting, and, for our purposes, fortuitous. Cataplexy is complicated and presents differently for everyone. In my case, when laughter triggers an attack, one of the effects (which is sometimes also a cause) is that I laugh very hard, with little or no control. "Burst out laughing" is quite apt.

Let's move on to Making Money, and start with a quick tangent:

Mr. Bent explains that he has no sense of humor due to a medical condition, and that he isn't upset about this and doesn't understand why people feel sorry for him.

Moist immediately starts in with "Have you tried—" before getting cut off by the frustrated Bent.

Out-of-universe, "Have you tried" is such a well-known refrain to anyone with an incurable condition, I'm not at all surprised to find it in a book written by someone who had at least begun the process that would lead to a diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's. And Pratchett has certainly never shied away from portraying ignorance in his protagonists.

In-universe, it feels a little odd. Moist's tongue runs away from him all the time, but usually in the form of making ridiculous claims or impossible promises. Moist's entire stock-in-trade is People Skills, and it feels strange for him to make this kind of mistake immediately after being told Mr. Bent is not looking for solutions.

But if one were reading with, for instance, the idea in mind that Moist himself has an incurable condition related to laughter and is enthusiastic about, but still relatively new to, the practice of drawing on his own experiences to help people... it is easy to imagine the gears in his head turning the wrong way, superimposing those experiences over the tail end of Mr. Bent's explanation. Disabled people are not immune to these well-meaning pitfalls.

There is another Mr. Bent moment that I want to discuss, but we'll circle back around to it later.

I found two instances of Moist himself laughing in MM.

1. "He said it with a laugh, to lighten the mood a little."

This is deliberate laughter, employed as a social tactic. A polite chuckle, probably. Not the sort of thing that generally triggers cataplexy.

2. "Moist started to laugh, and stopped at the sight of her grave expression."

The first and only involuntary laugh in MM. It doesn't always trigger attacks...

Which brings us to Raising Steam. Compared to the first two books, Moist laughs a lot here. I count nine instances. Two of them are "burst out laughing"s, a couple include him as part of a group, some of it comes off as deliberate, and some of it doesn't.

I've always seen a lot of... rage in Raising Steam. Combing through it for laughter, I realized Moist's emotions in general are much closer to the surface here, and he's much less concerned about letting people see them. He laughs with friends and acquaintances, he cries in front of strangers, he shouts at Harry King, he has that entire conversation with Dick that boils down to "I'm very worried about you," etc.

Opinions vary wildly and sharply on Raising Steam. I have my own hangups with it, as I do with most books in the series. (Every time I make a new Discworld post, Tumblr passive-aggressively suggests the tag "my kingdom for a discworld character who is normal about women and other species.")

But I like this particular change in Moist, and I choose to see it as character development. He's trading in the professional detachment of a conman for the ability to grow into himself as a person and make meaningful connections.

So, what does that have to do with cataplexy? A lot.

I don't want to get too maudlin, so I'll just say I have plenty of personal experience with emotional repression masking cataplexy symptoms. And so, I believe, does the version of Moist we've put together over the course of this post.

Which brings us back to Making Money, and Mr. Bent. He says something about Moist that I find very interesting: "I do not trust those who laugh too easily."

Unless I've missed something, at that point in the book, Moist has never actually laughed in front of him. And Mr. Bent is a man who pays very close attention to details.

So, what is the in-universe explanation for this? I'd like to propose that Moist is very skilled at seeming to laugh, without actually laughing. He smiles, he's friendly, and he makes other people laugh, which is another thing Bent dislikes about him. He gives the impression of being someone who laughs a lot. (He certainly left that impression on me; I was very surprised by the lack of examples in the first two books.)

Even staying strictly within the bounds of canon, it's easy to imagine why this might have become part of Moist's camouflage in his previous life. He wasn't looking to get attached to anyone, and he didn't want anyone getting inside his head. Engaging with people genuinely enough to laugh at their jokes would run counter to both of those things, but some of his personas still needed to come off as friendly and sociable.

Still working within the canon, it makes sense to assume he's similarly distanced himself from emotion in general. He sits in a cell for several weeks without truly believing he's going to die. He's bewildered when Mr. Pump points out that his schemes have hurt innocent people. He has no idea what to do with his feelings for Adora. Etc.

Interpreting Moist as having cataplexy adds an extra element of danger. Moist thrives on danger, but there's a difference between the thrill of a con and the threat of sudden, uncontrollable displays of vulnerability. And so it becomes even easier to see him stifling his own emotional capacity.*

We meet Moist at a moment of great upheaval. He is forcibly removed from his cocoon of false identities, and pushed out into the world as himself. And we are shown and told throughout Going Postal that he does not know how to be himself. (See also.)

He is repeatedly stymied by his own emotions. He gets tongue-tied and confused around Adora, he snaps at Mr. Pump, he lashes out at Mr. Groat, he gets lost in school flashbacks when he meets Miss Maccalariat. This thread continues in Making Money, where the sudden reappearance of Cribbins immediately rattles him into making an uncharacteristic mistake.

I called him Cribbins! Just then! I called him Cribbins! Did he tell me his name? Did he notice? He must have noticed!

Later in the same book, Moist misses a crucial opportunity to run damage control on the bank's public image... because he's excited to see Adora.

The Moist of GP and MM is not used to feeling things so deeply. It throws him off his game. I'm not at all suggesting cataplexy is the only (or even primary) reason for that, but I do think there's room for it on both sides of the cause and effect equation.

With or without the cataplexy, I find Moist's relative emotional openness in Raising Steam... really nice. (It's a work in progress. He's still getting a handle on anger.)

Cataplexy just adds another dimension. A physical manifestation of emotional vulnerability, which would have been especially untenable for a teenager on the run. Just one more facet of the real, human, fallible Moist von Lipwig who spent years buried beneath Albert Spangler and all the rest.

Another piece of himself that Moist is growing to understand and accept, as he learns to more comfortably be himself.

The Moist of Going Postal runs into a burning building to save lives without fully understanding why he wants to, and justifies it on the fly as an essential part of the role he's trying to play.

The Moist of Raising Steam mindlessly throws himself under a train to save two children, and then blows up at Harry King about the lack of safety regulations. Freshly traumatized by the murder of several railway workers and his own violent, vengeful response to it, he still offers, in the face of Harry's own grief, to be the one to inform their families. On a long and dangerous journey with plenty of moving parts to think about, he worries about Dick Simnel and the other engineers, and pushes them to take better care of themselves.

He also meets a bunch of kids who nearly derailed a train as part of a childish scheme. His admonishment is startlingly vivid.

"Can you imagine a railway accident? The screaming of the rails and the people inside and the explosion that scythes the countryside around when the boiler bursts? And you, little girl, and your little friends, would have done all that. Killed a trainload of people."

[...]

"I'll square this with the engine driver, but if I was you I'd get my pencil and turn any clever ideas you have like this into a book or two. Those penny dreadfuls are all the rage in the railway bookshops."

Maybe what he is also saying, between the lines, is:

I left home at 14 and began a life of smoke and mirrors. I was empty inside, and I thought everyone else was, too. It was all fun and games, and then a man made of clay told me I was killing people. Nip it in the bud, child. Write books.

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

*There are studies suggesting that in addition to deliberately employed "tricks," people with cataplexy may experience physiological reactions in the brain meant to inhibit laughter. (Source 1, Source 2.)

Most of the information here is way over my head, but that second link also says "one region of the brain called the zona incerta (meaning 'zone of uncertainty') was only activated during laughter in people with narcolepsy, not in controls. Research on the zona incerta in animals suggests that it also helps to control fear-associated behavior."

The linked article about that (https://www.nature.com/articles/s41467-018-03581-6) is also over my head, but I would certainly describe Moist von Lipwig as having unusual fear responses.**

**Narcolepsy is a fun roller-coaster ride of constant scientific discoveries about exactly which parts of your brain are paying too much attention, not paying enough attention, or trying to eat each other.

[felassan]

DA4 Lead Producer Scylla Costa’s BIG Festival talk, “Challenges of Dragon Age production during the pandemic”, can currently be rewatched on YouTube here starting roughly at timestamp 8:57:02 after a lil presenter blurb/intro. It’s 1 hour long. When it was streamed live, there was an English translation ‘voiceover’. There isn’t in this vid, however I want to post the link for Portuguese speakers, and also it’s neat for everyone to be able to see all the slides he presented with for themselves in context.

I don’t know if an English-language version will get put up so I’m sharing the notes I took during the talk below, in case anyone’s interested and because I might as well since I wrote them. The rest of this post is under a cut due to length.

Edit: Found a place to re-watch the English version of the talk

(Quick note: I didn’t note down everything, mostly things that caught my interest, so this isn’t exhaustive, and when I was watching I was real tired, so pls bear that in mind and don’t take these notes as bullet-proof 100% accurate gospel or direct quotes. If you watched it and think I’ve written down something wrong/misunderstood, let me know and I’ll fix. Also if you’re a Portuguese speaker and I’ve gotten something incorrect or missed something important etc, again just let me know.) **

** Edit: I’ve now gone through my notes while watching the talk again. I’ve filled in some of the gaps (although they still don’t cover everything said) and so forth, and now I’m no longer worried about there being possible errors in this post.

-----

For some context, this slide contained the breakdown of the talk’s structure. Bear in mind there are other slides present in the talk than the ones I’ve posted here, I didn’t include caps of all of them, just ones which were of note to me.

In the talk, chief Producer Scylla goes over challenges of DA4 production during the pandemic. He discusses the adaptations - necessary skills and learning from remote work - and he ponders on the future of teamwork.

After the launch of ME3 he became a producer, all his MMO and other experience helped a lot. He was on DAI for 3 years and MEA for 9 months, then Anthem. Today, on DA4, Scylla and another Lead Producer were the heads of the whole project, and there is his boss is the Executive Producer Christian Dailey. 

^ the usual AAA game development cycle (brief introduction)

AAA games are games that are launched for several platforms simultaneously. 

In BioWare’s case, the pre-production phase of the game development cycle can have from 5 - 30 people, and up to almost 60 people when they’re just about to go through the gate to production. 

In the pre-production phase, they go through the game’s concepts and prototypes and start developing systems. They seek the game’s concept and focus, and its key features. They do lots of market research. In the case of BioWare, all their games are strong in narrative, so they have lots of tools related to game narratives and supporting the development of a narrative (cinematic design, dialogue system etc) that get focused on in this phase. Other parts of the team such as writers and cinematic design need these systems to do their own roles. 

In BioWare’s case, the pre-production phase through to launch can take 4 - 6 years, but it does depend on the size of the team during development.

With regards to Dragon Age 4, they were coming close to the time when they would shift from pre-production to the production stage when the pandemic hit.

During the production phase is when the development of content and features takes place, with the systems mostly already existing from the pre-production phase. A few new systems may be developed in this phase. In the production phase is when things start escalating, and the team really starts growing, to like 2- or 3-fold the prior pre-production phase size. 

(DA4 is currently in the production phase.)

In the alpha phase, features have to be fully implemented and systems all have to be running / working. All the game features should already be in the game by now. They test from pre-production onwards, but this phase is when they run heavy technical tests with lots of players trying to play at the same time. In the beta phase, the idea is that you should now have full content and that now you’re balancing it and running more and lots of different tests with players before launch. There are final tweaks and then the final launch, when in the weeks prior to launch, all the different business units and areas e.g. marketing team, technology team, publishing team, get together once a day and all of the game’s issues are reported and brought to the table to be prioritized. Then they decide the next steps re: these issues (this is known as ‘the war room’).

After the launch there are usually patches like day zero patches and other patches, this being standard industry practise. The last stage is the new content stage where there are DLCs and a game with more content.

On March 12th 2020, the team gathered to review the DA4 story in the new office. Everyone was very excited. (They had spent over 10 years in their last building and had noticed that with the team growing they needed more space. In August 2019 they found the new studio in the city center.)

Anyway that evening, they got an email from the CEO which contained instructions and said that due to the pandemic, they should from now all start working remotely. They had known that this happening was a possibility so they had been planning on how to have all the devs working from home, but initially less than 50% of the devs were able to work from home successfully/efficiently due to various issues e.g. you need a VPN to be able to log in remotely to do your job normally, varying home office setups. The day after this, the office was basically deserted, except for Scylla, the IT infrastructure people and one or two odd devs.

Scylla was part of the team that was working on allowing the devs to work from home. They first started looking at the short-term changes they needed to make to allow this.

“First, take care of our developers”. 

When the pandemic first hit, their and Scylla’s [as Lead Producer] first priority was to look after the devs. Many of them are parents (schools and day-cares were shut, children were studying from home), others have relatives living with them, others have other personal circumstances which of course need to be taken into account when it comes to assessing what needs to be taken into consideration for this new scenario. So, they looked at each dev on a case-by-case basis in order to evaluate, speaking to each one and asking them what they could do to support them.

One of the first changes/adaptations they could implement was flexible working hours and flexibility around deadlines. Generally speaking the devs got a lot of support, EA was really good and really supported the devs especially in the first months of the pandemic (and they are still supporting them). Initially not all devs had suitable office spaces at home, some were working from the living room from laptops or at the kitchen table. The whole covid situation basically just happened over night and nobody was really ready to deal with that change. So their first step was to enable their devs to work remotely. As a producer, Scylla’s main task is to communicate with the team such as via a number of daily meetings. He doesn’t depend so much on powerful hardware.

“Enable developers to work remotely”.

This slide shows some of a BioWare audio team. Different teams have varying and specific needs in order to do their jobs and therefore in order to do them remotely. For example, the audio team need good-quality speakers and amplifiers, while the lighting and art teams need other specific equipment such as tablets and large screens. So there was a lot of work they had to do to go through each dev to understand their individual needs and what needed to be done for them. ‘Could they download the builds? Did they have the right performance [tech-wise]? Could they submit their changelists, their codes to the server?’

Some devs needed a more powerful internet connection as it would take 6-8 hours to download a build (some devs live rurally). Some needed a lot of cable, as they were working far away from their routers (sometimes up to 50m). As time went by things got better and better. 

The chair devs work from is also important; a kitchen able chair etc is not suitable to sit in for long-term desk work, possibly leading to health issues like back ache and blood circulation problems in the legs.

Every 3 months they had money given to help devs buy new mice, keyboards, monitors - anything they needed really in order for their office setting at home to be improved. For a while, because lots of people [generally, in society] were needing and buying them, it was quite hard to buy things like webcams and microphones.

On mid- and long-term changes:

In terms of DA, we have to look at this from 2 perspectives, the change in the personal and the professional environments. 

As a consequence of working from home, people tend to be less active during the day (even in an office, you go between meeting rooms, up and down stairs etc). Physical activity supports life quality and therefore work quality. Scylla noticed that he began to feel listless and such, and found that he needed to change his routine that he had initially developed when he started working from home, for example; having a normal start time (as in, have a semblance of structure in your day as if you were still working in the office site), get dressed at the normal time, not having meetings over lunch etc. This wasn’t just him, lots of other devs encountered this and had this experience too. Devs which adapted faster had better productivity and became more productive faster.

Scylla bought a stand-up desk which he can raise up and down, and at meetings he would be delivering a talk while standing or even while walking on a treadmill. Other devs also got stand-up desks. He tracked his body’s data on a Fitbit. These sorts of things helped improve physical and mental wellbeing. Other devs did similar things, like starting going out for jogs or began practising yoga. Essentially, everyone needed to make changes to their daily routine in comparison to what they had been doing prior to the pandemic. 

The pandemic has been a thing for over a year now. In their location, every couple of weeks a new restriction is put into place or a rule is changed, and every two weeks there’s a new thing that you can and can’t do. Scylla also started moving around his property. He worked on his desk, fixed it up and painted - taking up a new hobby. Other devs picked up new hobbies too. These are good ways to be active and also to be somewhere else, i.e. to break up the working day and not be spending it all in one home office-type location. Scylla found that when he made these sorts of changes to his routine to improve his lifestyle, the data output by his Fitbit as indicators of his health/wellbeing etc improved, e.g. number of steps taken in a day, heartbeats per minute while at rest. As stated many of the other devs went through a similar process.

On the professional side of things:

They had to improve remote delivery of builds. Accessing things from home as a dev requires a VPN. They need to download a build every day and then upload it to the server after making their changes to the game. They had to work with infrastructure and research other tech, such as streaming tech to allow remote console access, in order to better facilitate this process. For remote access, they also had to work on adapting communications channels.

“Adapting channels of communication.”

In this slide, the team are working on the storyboards. Before you can implement motion capture & performance capture, you have to ‘run the storyboards’ like this. These are small illustrating drawings which reflect the drafts and are meant to quickly reflect the intention of the scenes that are to be built. Before the pandemic, the team would go to meeting rooms like this, sit down, talk and interact in person. After the pandemic, the question became ‘How do you do this over Zoom?’ You can, but it’s not quite the same; it’s harder to see peoples’ expressions, some people are embarrassed speaking over Zoom etc. Therefore they had to adapt their communications systems, and unlearn the ways in which they developed before in order to relearn and learn new ways of communicating.

Slack was a tool that they adopted on this front. Communications channels can be confusing on Slack, so there was a need to develop structure. For example, how quickly should someone reply (as a recommended convention for the purposes of work)? They had to define the process/procedures for the channels so it was clear for the team as a whole how it would all flow (this is important especially if you have a team with say 30 people or as a whole hundreds of people). Before the pandemic, they had stand-up meetings where they’d go around in a circle every morning and talk about their activities - what they’re going to be working on, any roadblocks they had encountered etc. The question arose ‘How do you replace these?’ They ended up doing Slack messages at a certain time of day and updating their statuses with some details on what they’re working on and color-coding (green - fine, yellow - need help, red - busy/blocked out).

Another issue that they faced was unforeseen - the number of meetings that devs were having really shot through the roof. When there wasn’t a good structure of communications channels, any conversation would become a meeting. Everybody began scheduling meetings left and right, and at the end of the day they would have little time left in which to actually work on their to-do lists. Hence, they had to work with the team to really analyze and be very pragmatic. ‘Which meetings needed to happen? Which didn’t? Is a specific meeting really necessary? Which meetings should be recurring? What can be done over Slack?’ This guideline had to be given to the team to help, and it improved things a lot. The number of meetings decreased a lot and they got more effective. For example, by making sure to set an agenda for meetings beforehand, and by having meeting notes (then a dev who didn’t really need to be at a meeting could skip attending and just quickly review the notes output after instead). They also decreased the standard length of meeting times from the default Outlook blocks of 1 hour and 30 mins to 55 mins and 25 mins respectively. This 5 minute change gave devs time for things like bio breaks (also 4 hours in a row at a computer in a home office with one meeting after another just isn’t good for a person).

“Adapting p-cap and mocap”.

On content:

From a content point of view, the most difficult thing in terms of the pandemic was adapting p-cap and mocap (performance capture and motion capture). They hire actors and it’s a large studio. The pandemic meant big limits to what they could and couldn’t do. The actors had to be masked and 5 meters apart in distance (although it doesn’t look like it in some of these shots due to angles). Also there could be no other person around in the studio - only the actors. The directors instead would ‘patch’ in remotely on big screens (you can see this in the second photo in the top right). 

Before the pandemic, they felt that they wouldn’t be able to do p-cap or mocap properly remotely, as the directors would usually stand right next to actors giving guidance on their performance. The techs would also usually be near. But they adapted! The keyword is adapting, changing process. It’s harder and it’s different, but it is possible, and people start rethinking what is possible. What was said to be impossible before now is possible.

P-cap differs to mocap in that it also captures voice and facial expressions.

On the future of work after covid:

There will probably be more working from home and more flexibility for workers e.g. being able to work say 3 out of 5 days from home. It does depend on what a dev’s specific job is however. For example, the audio engineers require lots of specialist equipment and said equipment is of higher quality and quantity in the office. So, depending on role, devs might be working more often or less often from home.

Another development is that lots of devs are moving house. In lockdown etc people started reassessing what’s most important in life. Some are moving further away from the studio to get a cheaper rent or for example couples who both needed an office space to work from home from but their current place only had one area. Others are moving closer to nature for a better quality of life, and still others have other different reasons for doing so. Over 10 devs that he knows in fact have recently moved, including Scylla himself.

The pandemic changed certain skills being used by people on a daily basis. Scylla used as an example of this one of his soft skills, being able to tell from looking/interacting in-person with someone if they are stressed out. Obviously it’s less easy to tell if someone is stressed out when you’re remote, so you adapt different ways of checking in with people in the new situation. To continue carrying out his role as Lead Producer, he began checking in with his team pro-actively on the new comms channels and asking how they were doing.

Also, now that companies are more open to working remotely, there is going to be increased competition for hiring devs. They saw both sides of this coin at BioWare. They were able to hire devs from many places that they couldn’t hire from before e.g. Montreal, Vancouver, the US, as there’s less need for devs to relocate to Edmonton or Austin. This opens up opportunities to hire really intelligent and skilled people that they would not have had access to before.

Question and answer segment:

The pre-production phase has been concluded. They’re in the production phase.

They are not giving out a lot of details yet but Scylla is really excited as a big fan of the whole series. He thinks that with DA4, they will have the opportunity/possibility to launch the best story out of all DA games. He feels that the characters they’re making are amazing. He’s dying to say more but can’t. 

When you work from home you need to keep your team as productive as possible. During the pandemic, when people started working from home, they noticed that some people became more productive and some people became less productive. They were analyzing it on a case-by-case basis so as not to make assumptions. They were interested in seeing what they could do to help. At the beginning of the pandemic, they were looking at the devs as people and seeing what they needed.

Production of DA4 still needed to continue during the pandemic because they want to be able to launch the game.

This slide shows a writer. Writing is an example of a role which is more able to work from home easily.

Their productivity did go down in the first month of the pandemic. After adaptations, some people then became more productive than they were before (this was role and personal situation-dependent, examples of this being artists and coders who were able to art and code at home without being interrupted, thereby being able to produce more). Covid has affected productivity in general, but this is part of our new reality. They have adapted and adjusted some deadlines. They have enough data (Scylla LOVES data) now to understand how long it will take them/how long they’ll need to launch the game. They have always had historical data for this purpose, but they’re doing more of this sort of thing now to ensure that they are doing things at the right time.

Remote hiring opens up the door to more talent joining, so if someone has talent geography will hold them back less. Some companies though may choose not to hire people from other countries due to labor issues, cumbersome legal aspects, time zones. But even in such cases there are activities for example that can be carried out while the rest of the team is asleep such as testing or working on the build, or there are cases where those companies still will want to hire a specifically/highly talented person even in spite of the potential legal aspects and so on.

On mental health: People were affected. There is the mental, physical and social impacts of the pandemic situation on people. EA supported them during the pandemic in terms of their mental wellbeing, there are specific companies (services offered, speaking to a therapist) that they can contact if they need something or help. EA had always been good at supporting them with this sort of thing but this has improved further during the pandemic. Another change was that they could/can take a couple of days off if they needed/need to because of the pandemic e.g. to take care of children, who were obviously not at school at the time. As a producer he had to be very mindful of all of this. How much they were monitoring peoples’ wellbeing really went up during the pandemic.

A question that was asked - in terms of DA4′s storybeats, is there anything in there that they decided to change due to the pandemic as it wouldn’t be sensitive or appropriate to include anymore, for example a plague plotline or something? Scylla’s answer is that DA and ME are games in which they try to have narratives that are relatable, which include things which people will identify with, so that players understand what characters are going through etc. Nothing in DA4′s plotline/storybeats has been changed (in the frame of this question, relating to the pandemic), as it didn’t have anything in it that could be specifically or a directly connected to a pandemic-type situation or anything. Of course the DA story has Blights and the Taint, but these are different & fantastical things and existed long before the pandemic situation. So this wasn’t the case with DA4 and there was no need to change anything, but this has happened to other games where they decided to change a storyline due to a strong correlation with something in the real world.

There were then concluding/closing remarks. The message he wants to send is that a crisis will always spark opportunities. Look at a crisis and try to see how you can grow.

-----

[☕ found this post interesting or useful? my ko-fi is here if you feel inclined. thank you 🙏]

[chocolvte]

NCT IMAGINE.

. . you’re jeno’s “mom friend” even though you’re younger than he is

author’s note — this post was requested but i am unable to find the ask atm.

listen to you’re the one by kaytranada and syd

this would be SUCH a good friendship. but also so interesting because everyone sees jeno as the older, bigger one. you’re very soft and sweet, so most people think that you’re kind of a pushover or super innocent.

but in reality, jeno depends on you a lot. he knows that you give the best advice and you always know what to do when he needs help.

like when he twisted his ankle the day before a show case, you were the one to help him wrap and ice it so that he could still perform.

despite what everyone else thinks at first glance, jeno knows that his life would probably fall apart without you. even when you’re separated, like when he goes on tour, he still calls you all the time.

you bake him cookies and reassure him when he’s being too hard on himself. and jeno always makes sure you know how much he loves you.

there’s never been anything romantic between you before, even though you do almost everything together, from coffee dates where he pretends to be helping you study to late afternoon practices where he practices dream’s new choreo and you sit in a corner and listen to music or watch him when you think he’s not paying attention.

sometimes you fall asleep in your little corner and jeno carries you home on his back. the jostling wakes you up sometimes and you always complain that he shouldn’t do that (“it’s bad for your back, jeno!”) but he just smacks you gently on the arm and tells you to let him take care of you for once.

but the only real bump in your relationship was when you were first starting to be friends and the other boys didn’t really understand your friendship yet. you brought him lunch (a cute little bento box that you put together yourself) and you were so excited to drop it off.

(because yes, maybe your heart jumped a teeny tiny bit every time you looked at him.)

jeno beamed when he saw what you made for him. he looked so genuinely happy that he pressed a kiss to your cheek. your heart felt like it was going to burst inside your chest.

to this day, that moment stands alone in your memories like a sparkly pink bubble, popped a second later by haechan and jaemin wandering over, water bottles in hand.

“hi, y/n,” jaemin smiled, throwing an arm around your shoulders while haechan investigated the bento box jeno was holding.

as soon as he realized what you made, haechan couldn’t help teasing the two of you for it. he didn’t mean any harm, but it was mean, the way that he picked apart what you made and teased jeno for smiling so big when he saw it. it made the happy bubble in your chest feel like a balloon deflating.

and to make matters worse, the look on jeno’s face hardened, and he shoved the box back at you, pushing away from hyuck and jaemin to get back to practicing.

you cried on your way home, not caring if people were looking at you funny. hyuck’s words really hurt, but it was jeno refusing to stand up for you which really crushed you.

a week went by without either of you saying a word to each other. you went to class and he went to practice, neither of you talking. you thought it was mutual until one night when you were curled up on your couch watching ‘food wars’ jeno’s name lit up your phone with a text.

from jeno — hi 👉🏻👈🏻

from y/n — hi

from jeno — can we talk?

from y/n — about what

from jeno — you know about what. i’m coming over.

minutes later, you were opening your door to a tall dark haired boy who looked like he might have been crying. you wanted so badly to be angry, but seeing him like that melted away.

you and jeno sat on opposite ends of your couch, two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table. jeno chewed on his bottom lip.

“i missed you,” he admitted. you pulled your knees up to your chest anxiously. “seriously.”

suddenly, you felt like you might cry. you wanted to be angry, but you just felt frustrated tears welling up, the lump in your throat keeping all the words you wanted to say inside.

jeno noticed the second you started tearing up and he closed the distance between you instantly, pulling you into a hug.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered against your hair, tucking your head under his chin. “i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. i was just embarrassed because they were making fun of me.”

“i worked—,” you choked, tears really starting to fall now. “i worked so hard on that lunch.”

“i know,” jeno bit his bottom lip, almost wanting to laugh. he felt so guilty. “i know, y/n. i’m really sorry.”

it took more cuddles and lots more tearful apologies, but eventually you and jeno made up. it was like a weight being lifted off of your chest.

jeno brought you with him to practice the next day and proudly shared a bento box with you for lunch. hyuck and jaemin both apologized, hyuck looking especially guilty. it took lots of boba and sweet compliments, but you forgave them too (eventually).

[southslates]

leave our lovers / ao3 / 2209 words / one-shot / post-canon / kanej / rated T / tw major character death & suicide attempt

He had been waiting at the docks.

He always was. The routine was that she’d pull up and he’d wait on the docks and then she would try to sneak up on him, but he’d see her and pull away. And then they’d hold hands, or hug, or kiss on the cheek. Depending on the year.

It’d been six years. Kaz thought he might be able to manage the lips today. He’d practiced, thought through the moment, the motions. He would do it—he would kiss the love of his life as she returned today, and he’d feel peace. Her last letter had come a week ago and she’d told him that she wasn’t sure how many journeys she had left at sea. She’d done her work cleaning the oceans out of slavers and set up a network of ships that were doing the job as well. Perhaps just another year or two, she’d written, and then I will spend my time with my family and in Kerch, of course.

It had been an opening. That was what Inej had written; what she had meant was commitment. She had told him I am going to stay with you and not leave you. She had told him I am never yours but I will keep coming back. She had listed out plans about what she would do with the children she collected on her travels, the schools and orphanages she wanted to run under the Dregs’ protections. She’d not even questioned his support.

Kaz and Inej were partners, after all. Sometimes he felt as though he’d left the beating part of his cold heart out on the ocean with her. When she came back he felt as though he was reunited with his soul.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to see the fluttering of red in her cheeks, he wanted to hear that magical laugh as she pulled back from him; she’d ask really Kaz, you’re doing this here, or perhaps, I love you.

He’d never said the words but he wanted to. He wasn’t a seventeen-year-old kid anymore—he wanted a future. He was pulling the Dregs into a legitimate business, he was ruling the Slat and half the Financial District. He was in good books with the Fjerdan and Ravkan governments. This country was his. He wanted to be hers.

Her ship rounded the horizon and his breath caught.

It was minutes later that Kaz realized something was wrong. There was a somber look about the crew on deck. Inej normally wasn’t on top, but quite a few of her hands were, and none were. He ran scenarios through his mind and tried to wonder what could have occurred—perhaps the ship was slightly wrecked? The Wraith looked fine to him, but he was no sailor. He hated the sea.

The boat docked. He held his cane carefully out and turned a cold-eye to Specht. “What’s occurred?”

“Sir . . .” Specht choked. He looked right into Kaz’s eyes—nobody ever did that. “Sir . . .”

Something terrible, dark, indescribable—something like Jordie—fell into the pits of Kaz’s stomach. “Specht?” he croaked in his rasp.

Inej had usually attempted to sneak up on him by this time. He could see her. Ever since that first night at the Menagerie he’d always been able to feel her, thrumming around him, comforting. He couldn’t feel her.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Specht choked. “I’m so, so sorry.”

On the ship’s deck, two of the burly hands pulled a body—clothed in cotton, wrapped in sheets—out from below deck.

Kaz could make out a braid.

Kaz turned and walked away.

When was the last time Kaz Brekker had cried?

Perhaps about Jordie, all those years ago. All those fucking years ago. And now the Reaper’s Barge was streaming down his face. He went back to the Slat and dragged himself up all of the stairs—his newest office was Per Haskell’s, on the bottom floor, but he still kept the one in the attic. It was their room. He picked the door open and then opened it and slid against it and looked at the window.

He could see her there, feeding the crows. Laughing, smiling, facing him. Come on, Kaz. I know they’ll love you. Living things hate me. I don’t hate you. Thank you, darling. She’d been magic. He’d felt it all drain from him—money, vengeance, Jordie’s voice. He’d been surrounded by nothing but her.

Kaz sat against his door and he didn’t move. He cried. He’d made his bed in this room for her last night. The cabinet at the side had some of her clothes. He had her toothbrush. They hadn’t made it that far but they’d been able to sleep in a bed across from each other, holding hands, waking up to see each other.

He'd never kissed her.

He’d never told her he loved her.

And now she was—

Kaz got up. He walked to his desk and took out a pen and a piece of paper and he wrote to Nina. He didn’t know what he was asking for. Can you come? Can you give me one more chance? Can I—

He threw it into the trash. He swallowed. He knew Nina couldn’t bring back the dead. He needed to tell Inej that he loved her. What if she hadn’t known? Why hadn’t he told her before? You are so weak, Kaz Brekker. What kind of man couldn’t tell his girl what she meant to him? And now she was gone.

Now everything was gone. Something knocked at his door. Someone called for him. Jesper or Wylan. Kaz could only see hazily. His locks would hold them. He reached for his safe and pulled out a stack of letters. I think the Slat gets cold, she’d written, wouldn’t your leg fare better in another part of town? She’d written: do you think we could stay in another district, Kaz? Do you think we could ever be more than Dirtyhands and his Wraith?

“Yes,” he said aloud. He had never spoken to Jordie’s ghost, nor his father’s or mother’s. This felt the same and different. He wondered if she was here with him. Would she be with him?

Jesper was pounding at his door. “Kaz!”

He read the letter. He read the letter a thousand times. He soaked up everything. I think I’ve grown a fondness for paintings from Shu Han. They have such an interesting quality to them. He’d stolen one from a mercher’s house two days ago. It was rolled up under his bed. The opposite of Heleen, if you will. There’s so much terrible in the world. I haven’t kept in much contact with Zoya. Let me know how she is when you get back, of course. I miss your terrible stew. Do you think we could visit Ravka next summer? I think if all goes well I’ll have three months at home.

She’d signed off: Yours, Inej.

Kaz read the letter a thousand times, a million. He read it until those words were imprinted in his mind. Then he threw it out his window and watched it fall. Then he fell.

“You need to tell her parents,” Wylan said gently. Kaz sat still. He felt glassy. He hadn’t moved in hours. “We can push off the ceremony till they come. She said she wanted to be cremated and then placed into Fifth Harbor."

Kaz’s voice did not creak. “She said?”

Wylan nodded. Then he handed Kaz a piece of paper, something limp, a page broken off a map. “Specht said this was for you. They didn’t open it.”

Kaz took it and kept staring forward. Wylan took in a deep breath. “I’d ask if you’re okay.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I can only imagine. What do you need?”

“Merchlings to leave me alone.”

Wylan left the study and turned to look at him with a sad frown. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kaz. It’s not what she would have wanted.”

Kaz Brekker always had a reason. It was how he’d built the Slat from nothing.

Kaz Rietveld no longer had a reason.

I coddle my grudges, Kaz thought. He was in his room. He stared into the mirror and then at his hands. They were ungloved, pale and clean and dirty. I treat them with respect and let them have minds of their own. I let justice right itself.

He could almost see a face in the mirror, behind him, cloaked. He wanted to turn to her, to see Inej. She wasn’t coming back. Why did you leave me here? a part of him thought. I’m alone. What do I do now?

He had nobody left. Not that he wanted anybody. He looked into the mirror and saw something else behind him. He was not alone.

Death serves no man, Jordie had said. Kaz had proved him wrong, or thought he had.

“I won,” he said into the mirror, at the ghost behind him who wasn’t there. “Greed bows to me, and death will too. I won. There has to be a way. If I won then, I can find a way now. You’re with me. Let her be with me.”

“I am not her. That wasn’t the fight. You know it.”

Some part of Kaz had always known that he would come out of his youth unscathed. He could say that in retrospect, but he genuinely felt it—luck, risks, the cards were on his side of the game. He didn’t believe in gods, but perhaps something—someone—had been watching over him. Or perhaps he’d truly mastered the art of thinking ten steps before everyone else, of trading in information. Perhaps he was human and it was all his mind. But Dirtyhands could not bring back the dead.

“Yes it was,” he said. The shade behind him laughed. Jordie was always so cruel to him.

“Oh, no,” it crooned. “You have not won. You will be alone always and then you will die. Death serves no man, Kaz Rietveld.”

Inej’s parents came. Kaz didn’t talk to them. He had no words to say. He watched her cremation from a roof.

He had the paper in his pocket. He hadn’t read it. If he was to open it, it would be the end. There would be no coming back.

He opened it. It had four words. He closed it and tucked it into his shirt’s pocket. His breath caught for a final time. He jumped off the roof and his knee buckled. He had been next to this same building when he’d heard Inej’s cries and gone to pick her up six years ago. He’d called her an investment. He choked. He saw Inej’s parents release her into the ocean. He went back to the Slat.

Kaz Rietveld no longer had a reason. He ignored Anika and Pim. He went to his room and sat at his window. He reached under his bed and threw the Shu painting out of the window. He made sure Inej’s side of the bed was neat. He opened his cabinet’s left drawer and took out two loaves of bread. He tossed those outside of the window too.

Do you believe in magic, Kaz? It’s all just tricks. You know that, I know that. I don’t think it’s all tricks. You’re not normal, Kaz. The way you do it—it isn’t normal. Don’t tell me you think that I’ve got magic hands? Kaz! Inej. Come here. That night he’d unbraided her hair. He’d laid her down to sleep. She’d kissed his cheek.

Six months and I’ll be seeing you again. Tell me you’ll miss me. I’ll miss you. Oh, progress? There’s no reason to hide truths. No games, Inej. I’ll miss you too. Once a week? Once a week. Write in more detail, too. I know more happens to you than you say. Jesper writes to me too, you know. Get some sleep, Wraith. Wake me up before you go.

She hadn’t. He’d slept to her hand in his. He looked to his bed now. If he closed his eyes he could see her. He looked at the crows. He thought about magic.

He unlocked his desk and took out a pistol. She’d had it made for him in Novyi Zem. There were crows embedded onto it. He’d never used it.

Kaz Rietveld no longer had a reason. He closed his eyes and pressed the pistol to one side of his head.

I think I’d like to live somewhere else. Wouldn’t it be nice? To escape the city and spend my old age in the countryside? I think I’ll die young. And I think you’ll cheat death. Living is what’s hard, Kaz. Remember that.

Do you believe in magic? I think you’re magic. I think we’re magic.

“I love you,” he whispered. When he opened his eyes she wasn’t there. “I’ll be there for you.”

He almost pressed the trigger. He didn’t press the trigger. He went to his desk and sat down. He pulled out four words from his pocket.

Kaz. Live for me.

He put the pistol away. He swallowed. He held Sankt Petyr to his chest and prayed to whatever god would grant her good fortune.

[gesternchen]

Just randomly reviewing scenes from the movies no one remembers now. This week: Avatar (2009).

It’s not like everyone forgot James Cameron’s Avatar. Since we’re still getting some footage from behind the scenes of the sequel and news about the cast, at least someone takes pains to remind themselves of this cinematic experience from the year of 2009. It’s already been 84 (just kidding, 11) years and I’m still looking forward to at least watching the teaser (fun fact: I was 11 when Avatar came out, I’m 22 now). I even bought the Darkhorse comic book on Tsu’Tey’s backstory to, you know, investigate one of my favorite characters a little bit better (spoiler: the backstory wasn’t very much eventful but I noticed a nice detail there which I may talk about briefly a bit later).

Throughout the years Avatar has received a lot of backlash and more or less justified criticism, mainly for the plot and its problematic packaging. I believe, it depends on the perspective one watches a movie from. Of course, I wouldn’t call it an absolute gem of exciting storytelling, even though I truly enjoy it, as in majority its twists are undeniably predictable. However, I always disagreed with people saying relations in Avatar aren’t deep at all. Well, romance between Jake and Neytiri, which, let’s be honest, except for the scene of telling the truth, went too smoothly, and this is why I strongly believe clash of interests is inevitable in sequels. Their interaction remained the key one for the whole movie, and nothing is bad about that, people enjoy a nice lovestory, so do I. But 11 years after I’d like to focus on the disturbing conflict everyone prefers to ignore for some reason when recalling Avatar. For me it’s always been Jake versus Colonel Quaritch.

You guys may have already guessed which scenes I wanna talk about. Those really important ones that I consider climactic to the pace of narration. And what is more about them, they give us crucial details in character development and actors’ play to think through. The main message: Quaritch knew it was coming.

Let me firstly touch upon the scene of short conversation between Jake and Quaritch prior to Sully presumably leaving Pandora. While Jake is awating Quaritch in a large empty hall, he hardly seems to be calm about the talk, every nerve in his body is trembling, but why?

The way Jake’s drumming his fingers on the table makes me wonder if he’s okay.

Then Colonel enters the hall, grabs a chair and reminds that it had been more than two weeks since he got the latest report on how the misson was going. He knows, Sully is questioning reality, and no, he’s not ‘doubting his resolve’. He knows, the right moment to ‘terminate the mission’ is missed. He knows, he lost Jake. He knows, he’s talking to the deserter. Yet Quaritch speaks indifferent. He praises Jake’s effort and rewards him for that. With real legs he promised to him when they first talked. Quaritch hoped they’d trigger the realization in Jake. Which doesn’t happen. How sad he looks when Jake openly refuses to accept the reward.

In just one sequence Stephen’s face demonstrates the shift of all four feelings Quaritch goes through: dissatisfaction, melancholy, shame, disgust.

Quaritch sensed the moment when Jake expressed superiority to the mankind. Jake grasped that Quaritch knew everything, he played with fire, and that’s why he felt anxiety. And it lasted all the way until Quaritch stepped back for leaving the hall. But did Colonel really surrender? I doubt that.

The tension between them both feels electric, so it’s explainable why Jake’s transient smile is so awkward. Sam then heavily staring straight at Colonel's back suggests that up until now Jake regarded Quaritch as his enemy. The enemy he knew he would not be able to defeat.

I remember when watching this scene, I couldn’t get myself the answer to one question. The question was: which report did Quaritch refer to? ‘That report from two weeks ago’, but such information wasn’t satisfactory for me. To be honest, this small discovery became the actual reason why I decided to type this study. Let’s assume that this particular report which Quaritch mentioned was the videolog where Jake confessed that Omaticaya wouldn’t leave the Hometree. Here’s why.

The general audience is used to perceiving Quaritch as a cruel short-tempered military man who just waits for the starting pistol’s shot to destroy everything in sight. Again, nothing is wrong about this, the fact that his character was simply meant to be a generic personification of such type doesn’t leave us with any alternative impression of him. Let’s say, if he was given the order to ignite the operation of the Hometree’s destruction to screw the tribe out of the site, he would absolutely go for it (and so he does). He’s a man of his word after all. Let’s also say, if he was pissed off by Jake’s betrayal, he would transport himself to the mountain site in a blink of an eye, turn off the link and put Jake in jail right after the talk in the hall. Instead, Quaritch decided to wait and give Jake the last chance. Jake preffered unearthly wings to those more tangible, so Quaritch chose not to cut them so abruptly.

We’re moving to the next scene, taking place right before a toned down fight between Tsu’Tey and Jake (I’m saying so, because it’s actually one of the deleted scenes that got edited out of the final cut, and believe me, the pressure between two rivals there is way too intense). Quaritch is watching the record of Jake destroying bulldozer’s lenses with a stone. After that Jake’s face is zoomed and we watch Selfridge get frustrated, Quaritch looks pretty annoyed as well but doesn’t seem to be much surprised. What he’s feeling, is bitter disappointment in himself and knowing that he totally failed to persuade Jake to change his mind.

Just observe Stephen Lang’s performance here. He absolutely nails cold-eyed look, the fire burning slow inside of him is so palpable, and guess what, in a flash he flies off the handle.

Now, shall we check the ultimate scene, preceding the destruction of the Hometree. Though Grace versus Parker juxtaposition is central to this scene, the last time Quaritch confronting Jake face to face in his human body is essential to consider for making things clear.

When it comes to revealing to Selfridge the vainness of further negotiations with Omaticaya, isn’t it just interesting how fast Quaritch manages to find the correct videolog? It literally takes him not more than a couple of swipes to produce the proof. Here is why: he’s already watched the record and is completely aware of the Jake’s values having deteriorated.

You can tell, Jake knew he was under control, but he would rather like to ingnore this fact. His pathetic glance at Quaritch, who’s almost impending above his head, causes to think Jake would guess that Colonel could have watched this videolog. Rather, it was a mutual secret between the two of them until a turning point. But the moment of truth came, and Jake didn’t change his mind. Quaritch made sure of that and finally it was his time to triumph.

So how was it even possible to assume Quaritch may have watched the videolog I’ve been talking about for so long? Well, my explanation may be too easy to believe, but still: we can tell by Jake’s appearance and the date of the record that it is the vlog we need.

This telltale videolog was recorded 16 minutes after the another one, when Jake says that he’s uncertain, who he is anymore (LST abbreviation stands for Local Standard Time). Jake might have suddenly felt depressed and hopeless and got back to the camera while being too emotionally instable, and so must have forgotten to delete the final record.

I have one more note for you. If you check the videolog library Quaritch is swiping through, you’ll see that the latest important record, which he actually needs, is made in the interior of the mountain site block and dates back to August, 13. Other recent vlogs’ covers look nothing like Site 26 sequence. Jake may not have done any of these records at the mountain site. I still wonder though where those three or four ensuing videologs were recorded, the location seems to be red lighted, which means it isn’t blue lighting at Site 26. I may even assume he recorded some pieces at Hell’s Gate. Why would I think so? Probably because in those two scenes (dialog with Quaritch and confession at Parker’s office) Jake looks ten times better than before, he gained some weight at least and doesn’t resemble a living sceleton.

Selfridge gave Jake an hour to relocate the tribe, while gunships led by Colonel’s Dragon were already on full alert. Quaritch had no doubt that Jake’s peacekeeping mission would fail. He knew it from the beginning. Hence he sounds so sarcastic seeing Sully’s avatar tied.

Now Quaritch sipping his villain’s morning coffee tasting like fresh genocide doesn’t feel so cringy: he’s celebrating his victory over Jake (still I should agree with critisism on this point, it really is a stupid cliche and wasn’t intended to carry a deep meaning).

Now I should admit, it’s been a long journey to run this investigation and bring it to light by finally posting it. It took me around a day to collect my thoughts and express them by means of more or less readable English. Just would like to make a little side note: English is not my native, so I promise I did my best! Thanks to James Cameron for making a movie, which woke me up in the middle of the night to start reflecting, and to all the fans out there who still exist and remember this movie and so can read this essay. @avatarmovies I found your blog not so long ago and you guys say you enjoy headcanons (and movie reviews probably?..), so it would be nice if you reblogged this but I’m not insisting!!

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 9

MANY Thanks to @raspberrydreamclouds who designed this cover as a gift! ☝

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Completed.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Lacey)

Word count: 8.3k

Warnings: Dark themes, smut, fluff and angst. Unprotected sex, hints of stalking, violence, swearing, sexual mentions, slight gore, choking, death.   

A/N: Okay, this chapter is long, it was hard to write, you guys may never speak to me again after this. So I’ll just post it now, and turn off my phone and hide beneath the blanket with excessive anxiety. Thanks @agniavateira for editing my work and being my muse.💖 

As always, comments and feedback are more than welcome 💖💕

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Lacey

~*~

Have you paid the ferryman?

~*~

The cool light of fluorescent doesn’t do the honeyed gold of her hair justice. 

Doe eyes meet him, a striking green. Pure, like freshly-cut grass on a spring morning. The navy-coloured suit she wears counters the sunny shade of her slightly curly hair. She sports mid-length tassels, cut neatly just above her shoulders. She looks like she had it done this morning by the looks of it . 

“Hartmann, Lacey.”

Sitting at his desk with a pen pressed to his lips, the CIA agent observes her while ignoring the small hand in front of him. A tall, fit man in his late 20’s, face clean-shaven, hair like pure chocolate, combed neatly to the side but for a large rogue curl that falls on his brow. He collects it between his fingers and attempts to tuck it back in place.

“I don’t do partners, sweetcheeks.” he retorts after a short glance and turns away from the young agent, returning to his computer to browse a file he was just reading before she interrupted him.

An amused sigh passes through her plump lips as she shakes her head with sheer disbelief. “Do you have it any more cliche than that?” 

“I might, depending how long you are going to loom over there, princess.” August shoots back and slightly adjusts the tie around his shirt collar, not bothering to face the young woman again. It’s obvious what this is: a muzzler, or rather a babysitter in the form of a really good-looking girl. 

He fights the temptation to take another gander at the way her hair frames the apples of her rosy cheeks. 

“But since you’re already here, how about you fulfil your purpose in life and get me a cup of coffee? Double espresso, no sugar.”

August shoots her a look, observing her immediate reaction. Lacey’s green eyes widen, her mouth slightly opens. She rubs her knuckle between the soft pads of her fingers while thinking of what could be a suitable response to his disrespectful request.

I guess Erica didn’t bother prepping her.

Sloane, the heartless lioness. She leered at him with that sour look on her face since the day he stepped into the building. He swears the woman must have slices of lemons hidden in her panties. There is not even a drop of respect in those dark eyes whenever he sits in her office. Nor does she harbour any trust in his performance on the field. 

It all just worsened thanks to Ukraine. 

The explosion in the old Soviet power plant killed dozens of innocent lives at the cost of one. Though that man was responsible for the death of thousands, if not more. 

If you want to tear down a building, you better use a fucking hammer.

That cunt should thank him and promote him. 

“Nothing but daddy’s boy.” That’s what she sees in him. He might as well be another dead CIA agent like his father, then. Erased from memory, his great achievements discredited. At least he doesn’t have a family to throw to the dogs so they can rip them to shreds.

Oh Sloane, if only you knew half of the shit that goes beneath that stuck-up nose of yours.

Releasing another deep sigh, Lacey slumps to the seat in front of him, crossing her long legs together and leaning back in her chair while grabbing the folder on her desk. Her lips clamp together tightly, trying to hide the saltiness on her face. Long lashes curtain her eyes which pretend to read through the file. August rolls his eyes with annoyance, trying to ignore her existence and continue working his way through a case he’s been reading before she interrupted him. 

Yet every now and then his storm-touched eyes peer at the naive-looking woman, observing her and trying to determine how long will she last.

~*~

Is this hell?

~*~

That dusting of freckles on her nose and the fresh shimmer in her eyes give out much softness, yet she is anything but weak. Lacey Hartmann is a shield-maiden of some sort. For 2 months she withstood August’s “boot camp,” meaning she appeared unaffected by his cold demeanour.

At times there is even a hint of a smile hiding beneath that peach shade lipstick when August challenges her with an obscene dark joke. A hint of amusement tints the green of her irises, but she never dares to admit it. 

Too coy, almost chaste, yet iron-willed. 

August finds her behaviour borderline masochistic as he continues to prize her with nothing but arctic affection. Even so, she always listens when he speaks, her eyes open with pure intent, a fertile green field in her glance. 

Something spikes at the marrow of his bones, intrigue or so. Trivial thoughts find themselves latching into the tunnels of his complicated mind. His CIA brain begins to note her morning routine. A glacial stare registers the vanilla latte she drinks almost religiously every morning at 9, with two teaspoons of sugar. Lacey has a sweet tooth, it seems. She never misses dessert at the cantine and he once caught her bending the rules and sneaking candies back from their previous mission at eastern Europe.

He also noticed how when she is nervous, she twirls a finger in her hair with agitation and chews her plump lips. 

Blue is another point of interest. The colour seems to be dominant in her attire and accessories for some cryptic reason, though. not obsessively. She wears black or grey but then ties a silk scarf the shade of the sky around her delicate throat. When she is having a bad hair day, it’s the red pencil suit that draws attention to her body instead. The combination is horrifying when she sits in front of him holding her favourite mug which is glittery cerulean. 

He begins to wonder about her life outside of the headquarters. Her file rested in his apartment for weeks yet only recently he found himself bored enough to peek inside and read about her personal life. No husband is listed under her marital state, yet he wonders if a woman as attractive as Lacey has a man waiting for her at home. Someone kind, he imagines, and pitiful. She looks like a woman lacking a strong man in her life. 

“Are you going to finish that?” 

August’s brows furrow as she cuts into his adventurous trails of thought. His glassy eyes pierce at her as she sits in front of him at the cantine, sharing a lunch table. He hardly speaks during lunch anyway, and only listens to her musings with the usual sulk on his face. 

Lacey appears slightly frightened when she sees his menacing expression, yet her fright melts into a soft blush and a coy grin, in an attempt to pacify him. He nudges the plate with a slice of chocolate cake in her direction. 

“No, go ahead.” he watches as she digs her fork into it with excitement, her eyes shutting with near orgasmic pleasure as the chocolate melts on her tongue.  

His mind continues to wander, offering him possible imaginary visions of her personal life while she mumbles something in the background about the cake being outrageous. 

Her home address would be in that file too. 

It’s nothing but idle curiosity, after all.

~*~

You don’t believe in hell.

~*~

It’s been over 6 months of enduring her by his side. August imagined she’d run off crying to Sloane 2 days after being forced into this partnership, but she keeps a vow of secrecy, even when he bends a guideline or two during missions or violates nearly every HR policy. At first, she would warn him about his behaviour, but now she just calls it “The Walker Way”. 

It almost feels like he has a partner in crime. 

They arrived in Sicily a night ago, their mission is to locate and capture a millionaire-turned-terrorist and bring him in for questioning. It’s a  high profile target, which means the CIA spared no expense providing them with the finest hotel suites and fancy attire to attend a gallery opening. An informant suggested the suspect might be doing his bidding at the same mansion. 

Lacey meets August at the hotel’s main parking lot, wearing a cornflower blue mermaid-cut gown. Threads of silver adorn the outlines of her cleavage and little pieces of sparkling glitter draw his attention to her bust. He doesn’t attempt to hide the way his eyes fixate on her breasts. Beaming at the pale pink fat of her bosom before his gaze finally wanders to meet her face, giving her his regular cocky stance.

Is she wearing a bra underneath?

“You look handsome,” Lacey compliments, swallowing a complaint about the obvious way he objectified her. “We look as if we’ve matched colours.” The royal blue three-piece suit brings out the ocean in his eyes and she allows herself to dwell in the calm water as she glances back, offering him a smile.

Stoic, he ignores her praises, studying her face quietly. The shade on her lips is not the usual one; it’s darker, making her look more vamping. He doesn’t like it, her natural appearance is sweet and supple, and this colour clashes with her complexion and the concept of her in his mind.

The unnerving silence between them greatly challenges her. The need to crack the autumn evening air with some sort of dialogue pans in her chest. 

“Are you…” Lacey begins speaking when her eyes squint at the region of his mouth. “...growing a moustache?” Bold fingers reach up, ghosting over his upper lip where a few days’ stubble seems to grow longer than the rest on his jaw. August cocks his eyebrow as the tips of her fingers almost touch his mouth. She notices his disapproval and pulls her hand away apologetically.

“For the mission, I thought it might make me look older.” 

An amused smile cracks on her face, her cheeks rounding up to perfect blushing circles. “The real Mrs. Walker would be mortified.”  

August scoffs, rolling his eyes at the notion before turning away to watch the cars that pass by. His hand rests on his chest, straightening the vest underneath his suit and stretches the muscles of his back. A timid-blowing zephyr caresses his face; his Adam apple rises and drops dryly in his throat.

“Is there a…”

“Oh c’mon, Hartmann! You know the answer to the question, don’t act stupid and play small talk with me, it’s not your style.” 

Lacey’s lips press shut together, her green eyes dropping to the floor. She knows the only Mrs. Walker is his mother, and Madeleine has been gone for a couple of years now. Everything is in his file, allowing her to learn about the “mundane life” August Walker leads, or at least the ones he allows her to see through her CIA spectacles. 

It was an obligation to do the same with her. His old man once told him to learn who he’s dealing with before opening his “goddamn mouth.” That’s all there is to it, and his curiosity if he has to admit it.

Lacey Hartmann lives alone with her cat, Sir Podrick, on Hampshire St 457 on flat number 45. A magazine two-room apartment, picture-perfect, tidy to the point of OCD. She has an older sister but they rarely see each other. On her free weekends, she loves to watch romantic comedies while drinking hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows. 

He often wonders if her sweet tooth is compensating for something missing in her life. Yet there is never a man in her apartment.

Sometimes she dances in front of the window, especially after a hard day at the office. He can’t tell which music is playing in her headphones, but the way she moves her body makes him believe it’s something upbeat and cheerful. 

The images of her bedroom window vanish as a slightly irritating thought peaks in his mind at her comment. Mrs. Walker. A hiss of violent air shoots from his nostrils. 

Relationships were not something he cared to pursue. Life had other offerings. 

Besides, the women he liked were too tender and he was too rough. So, his conquests never lasted more than a night. 

Agitated, he pulls his sleeve to look at his Rolex, muttering something obscene under his breath which makes Lacey shift uncomfortably on her feet. The driver should have arrived by now. Every car that parks at the pebbled road bears disappointment, dropping off more honeymooners and rich, older married couples. 

A soft smile breaks on Lacey’s painted lips while she stares at August who’s facing the driveway with his fists clenched at the sides of his body.

“Well, since we’re stuck here waiting for a ride, you better entertain me.” Lacey speaks with grace, not a hint of nervousness or fright in her voice. She learnt how to deal with August and his tantrums by now. 

August remains silent, his sight never breaking from the driveway and the alley of palm trees that pave the path. 

“Or I guess we can stare at the big full moon,” she says to herself, lifting her eyes to the clear sky.

August stares back at the golden-haired woman, her long lashes fluttering gently as she counts the stars in her mind. A naive glint sparks her eyes as she’s captivated by her own fascination. The pale blue of the moon reflects on her milky skin, making her look like a siren in her beautiful dress.

“Yeah, it’s lovely,” he says in his deep voice. 

*~*

And even if it existed, hell wouldn’t have you.

*~*

The expo is held at a royal mansion of some sort. A large Sicilian palace that is owned by an ageing millionaire. Golden floral embellishments spread across the azure velvet walls, shimmering at the lights of the crystal chandeliers which dangle in the halls.   

Various ancient trinkets are placed in glass cubes. Crudely-made bows and arrows that were carved from cheap wood by a half-brain neanderthal are offered for the price of 200,000,000 Euros.    

Ridiculous.

Keen on finding their target, both August and Lacey decide to split up upon their arrival, planning their strategy ahead by protocol. August is the striking image of professionalism tonight, stretching his gaze around the large hallway. He has been this way for the last several missions, working by the book, making sure to perform as clean as possible, whatever that means in CIA terms. 

He even managed to win a word of praise from Sloane, who still can’t stand the very sight of his face. But at least she ceased from eating his head at the conclusion of every mission. 

And Lacey seems to appreciate it, too. 

The brooding man spends the night pretending to be enthralled by the exhibition and its boring guests who continually attempt to strike pointless conversations with him. As part of his task, he only speaks with those who seem to be an asset and brushes others away by answering in fluent Italian, pretending to not understand a word in English while smiling at them politely. 

Blending in, the young agent stands by one of the bars, leaning onto the marble counter and enjoying some type of strawberries-in-cream dessert which was offered to him by a tall,  abnormally attractive waitress who’s been walking around with a silver tray. 

Lacey would love this fruit-pudding thingy, he muses as his fingers brush through the mid-length stubble above his lip. His eyes carefully scan the room for any group of men in their late 30s for a clue or a sign. 

The sound of a woman’s laughter chips away his attention like a siren’s call.

So that’s how she sounds like when she laughs. 

Grabbing a glass of champagne, he steps forward on the black carpeted floor, following the cheerful voice as it rolls delightfully in his ears. Storm clouds gather in his eyes. The siren is behaving unprofessionally to the point of being offensive. A tall glass of half-empty Lambrusco hangs between her slender fingers while her head falls back; her hand rests on her chest, trying to contain her laughter. 

She is the centre of attention to a group of famished men. 

August frowns with disapproval. She’s supposed to act drunk, not get buzzed. Standing at the large pathway, he watches how she smiles widely, mouth gaping, small dimples peeking at the corner of her lips. The honey of her hair makes her stand out in a room of dark beauties, the shade of her dress an anchor for any travelling eyes.

He takes an irritated sip from his champagne, swallowing the sparkly liquid, trying to ignore the bells of laughter which begin to sound like an insult, meant to provoke him. His piercing eyes search for the target in the room, focusing on the task on hand and being the professional his father urged him to be. 

Yet as if magnetized, his glare returns to her.  

For a moment there he nearly forgets that she is a CIA agent. The men around her flirt nearly barbarically, their mouths salivating with predatory hunger. Is she too pure to understand their intentions? The vultures are waiting to tear her limb by limb. Possibly hoping she will be drunk enough to be dragged by one of them.

The storm inside him rages. Thoughts of her being tainted by one of these hideous men enter his mind and poison bubbles in his throat, drowning him in anger.

He puts his champagne flute on the tray of one of the hostesses who passes by. He fixes his tie over his neck and swallows hard. His strides are confident and charismatic as he marches into their circle abruptly, reaching an arm over to Lacey. 

“Sweetheart, here you are. Come see this piece, you’re going to love it.” hee speaks with contained anger, his baritone loud and clear, roaring through his puffed chest and squared shoulders.

Lacey turns to smile at him as he latches his fingers around her forearm, rescuing her by pulling her away from the predators with as much elegance he can muster at his current aggravated mood.

“Are you fucking drunk, Hartmann? What’s wrong with you?! We have a dangerous man to catch.” He whispers angry and low in her ear, carrying her toward an open terrace where they can discuss and re-strategize the mission.

The cool breeze caresses their faces, tenderly running through their hair as they approach the open air. The young woman continues to giggle as August’s fingers tickle beneath her armpit while he takes her to stand next to the large renaissance modules that hide them from the guests of the event. He lets go of her forearm, looking down at her with a scowl.

“Relax, I was trying to make it look convincing with these decadent, empty idiots.” she attempts to pacify him, looking up into his eyes, her head reaching just beneath his square chin. 

“Isn’t it ridiculous?”

“What is?”

“The way they sell these artefacts on such a high price when it was created by a primitive creature who ate his own fleas,” she mocks with a mischievous smile. “This is the end of human culture, this capitalistic point of view.”

A cold shiver crawls at August’s spine as he hears her speaking of his ideals. He had never seen her this way before. 

So opinionated, so bold. 

Has she been reading my mind?

They have never been this physically close, he can smell the lupines on her skin and the Lambrusco on her breath. Lacey’s amused grin begins to relax somewhat, her eyes now staring at something with stark fascination.

“You have a brown spot in one of your eyes.”

August brow furrows even deeper, dark lines forming between his thick eyebrows as the woman ogles him in a bizarre way. His blood thickens as the pleasant wind brushes at his face.

“Sectoral heterochromia, I was born with it.”

“It’s beautiful,” she answers with an enchanted glare, batting her lashes and moving further to study the shape of his flaw. Her feet arch to the tip of her toes, reaching higher to his face. August remains still, watching as if within a haze when her lips crash onto his. 

Chills spiral through his nerves, his eyes wide open as her soft lips press into his in a long, chaste kiss. There is a small hum in her voice, painted lashes look like black curved trails as her eyes shut with an enchantment. For a second he can feel her body press into his, her breasts grinding at his broad chest. She slowly detaches from him, opening her eyes and falling flat on her feet.

Alarm spills onto her face, her hand covering her mouth with guilt as panic surges. August stares back without a sign of emotion on his arctic face.

“I’m so sorry!” She calls out in utter embarrassment, moving away from him by a step.

His breath grows rigid, his mind a war. In an instant, he pulls her wrist away from her face and claims her into his grasp, kissing her earnestly, even violently. Lacey’s moans melt into his mouth, her body crashing into his, writhing as her lips gape, accepting his insidious tongue. 

She tastes like sugar.

August slams her against the wall, growling as her hands roam down his body and messing his outfit. A fervent stir tingles at his groin and the way she squeezes the muscles of his behind and tries to shove her hands under his trousers does nothing to relax his racing heart. Depraved, his hand pushes between her legs, trying to cup her heat through the tight dress, yet it cages her legs too tightly. 

“I want you out of this fucking dress.” August growls, breaking the passionate kiss to breath hot and heavy in her ear. 

“Then take me back to the hotel.” she retorts breathlessly, grinding her pelvis into the growing hardness in his groin.

“We can’t, the mission.”

Lacey emits a frustrated huff, sounding as if she’s meaning to beg as her body constantly pushes into his in a snakelike dance. “Forget about him, he’s not here, we’ll do it the Walker way.”

There is nothing in this world strong enough to convince him otherwise as those big doe eyes peer at him with admiration and a sense of need he never received from any woman before. It wasn’t like the women who begged him to fuck them as he tormented and delayed their release.

For the first time in his life, he felt purely wanted.

~*~

The ride back to the hotel is the most dreadful experience he had to endure in his life. Both Lacey and he sit at each side of the car, avoiding eye contact whilst their organs throb with aching need. She keeps her fingers laced together while the driver listens to some old Italian love song and sings along the tunes on the radio. August attempts to avoid drowning into his thoughts but the idea of having her tonight makes the blood pool hot in his loins.

They hardly make it into her room. Exploiting every moment left in solitude to make out like horny teenagers. Whenever a hotel staff member or a guest passes by, they break away from one another in the most obvious manner.

As they finally arrive at the suite, August kicks the door shut with his foot and preys at her, his talons reaching for her face, his thumb wiping off whatever remains of her lipstick before kissing her again. 

“I don’t like this, it isn’t you.” he states in between invigorated kisses while Lacey battles to take off his clothes, pushing the blazer off his shoulders and then working the buttons of his vest and shirt with lust guiding her fingers. She ignores his remark, answering with another breathless kiss instead while moving to fumble with his belt.

Their feet kick at one another as August leads them toward the king-size bed, fondling the curves of her body through the terrible prison that is her dress. His long legs nearly lose their balance as she successfully unzips his trousers and finds him fully erect and pulsating in her small hand. 

Logic turns to steam at the manipulation of her hands. His gasps resonate through the length of his throat, giving in to the whispers of his heart. How long yearned for her, wanting to keep her in the birdcage of his vision. 

Lacey, so bold yet so sweet.   

With the swiftness of his hands, he turns her around, tugging at the zipper of her dress while dotting her collarbone with possessive nibbles. Her naked figure unveils to him as a flower opens to the sunlight of spring.

Left in nothing but her baby-blue lace underwear, she steps out of her dress and moves to face the large naked man, pacing back as he sneaks toward her like a direwolf. The look on her face is admirable. Drenched of fear and desire at once, feeding his natural dominance.

“August…” she whispers his name. Her lips quiver at the sight of his broad form, appreciating every sinew, every muscle. August reaches to hold his cock as the blood stirs into it with rage, wanting to be inside this angel, to taint her and mark every piece of skin. 

“I don’t have a condom.” he warns, licking his lips as she slides her underwear down her long, creamy legs. Her mound is completely waxed, just the way he wants it. Pure.  

“I’m clean and protected.”

Inviting him into her mysteries, Lacey offers him a devoted stare and reaches her delicate hand toward him. No clarity is left in his mind; desire clouds every rational thought, every self-preservation instinct. He ignores her hand and lunges at her like a predator.

They fall into a sea of silken sheets together, August covering her body with his, giving no care of how his weight crushes her. His hands hold her wrists pinned to the mattress as he pushes her smooth thighs apart with his knees.

Lacey’s moans are mesmerizing as he sinks himself into her wonders. Singing her pleasure at him like a true siren. An overwhelmed groan breaks from his own lips as the wetness of her flesh encloses around his cock, sucking him from within with an embrace of lust. Soft and delicate, she writhes against his crude, rugged body and he thrusts inside her with teetering grunts, taking her with sheer, primal dominance. 

She feels different, like no other woman he ever had before. Completely submissive to his darkest desires. Her body opens to him, like a precious, heavenly nymph and he takes what he wants. Deeper and deeper, drowning into her womb, never wanting to stop, invigorated by the way her hands clutch at his body with the same desperation that is in his chest.

For three days, they never leave the suite. Lost in a carnal euphoria that makes both of them forget the existence of the outer world.

~*~

Oh, hell indeed exists, it’s on the earth you walked your entire life.

~*~

The delicious aroma of crispy, caramelized bacon and fluffy pancakes tickles his senses to wake up. Salty and sweet, the scent draws him to sit upon the bed that’s slightly too small for his wide frame. A drowsy smirk crawls onto his face. This scent is his second favourite thing to wake up to.  

Locating his cobalt trunks on the floor, he hauls himself out of her bed, pulls them on and tries to tame the messy bundle of curls on his head while he walks to find her in the kitchen. The bacon sizzles on the pan as Lacey stands next to the stove in his buttoned-up shirt. She is flipping an impossible quantity of pancakes and frying strips of bacon in another pan. 

Her rounded ass peeks at him with every shift her body makes.

August sneaks behind her with the skill of a CIA agent, looming closer and wrapping his arms around her torso, his chin resting on the top of her head, while his hungry eyes feast on the pancakes and amber bacon.

Lacey flinches in his grip, he can feel her heart jump for a moment before she relaxes into his embrace, lips melting into a wide smirk as August rocks her from side to side.

“Morning,” she hums delightfully. “Go sit, there is freshly brewed coffee waiting for you.”

August drops a kiss on the top of her head, a low growl of serenity climbing up his throat. “You’re a dream, princess.”

And you’re all mine. 

With a wisp of unwillingness, he detaches from her and walks to the table, where Lacey’s favourite mug of coffee awaits him with steam rising from within. His eyes are a calm sea sparkling at the sunrise as he looks at her with admiration. 

Everything about her tips him across the edges of sanity; the way she smiles at his horrible dark jokes, the way she listens to everything he says with devotion and appeal, the way she speaks about her ideals and sees him like no person ever did before.

Lacey turns her head and sneaks a small glance at him, giving a smile and a wink before returning to the stove.

It took 5 months to admit to himself that he likes this, that he enjoyed being here, with her and her stupid cat, or in every distant location in the world. It didn’t matter if they were in Afghanistan or Paris, as long as he got to listen to her breathing in her slumber. That night in Sicily wasn’t just mindless sex. It was a union of two souls. They spent the night talking and while he was reluctant to open up-as he still is-he was stunned to find out just how much this woman shared similar points of views.

Though she never says it specifically, Lacey wants to watch the world burn. 

He hasn't even told her about his idea, not yet. It’s probably too soon anyway as he only started formulating his intention a couple of months ago. A part of him still fears how she may react if she finds out he’s been selling CIA secrets and dealing weapons right beneath Sloane’s nose. 

“I hope you’re hungry,”

Lacey calls out as she places two large plates of pancakes and bacon on the table and walks quickly to get the maple syrup from the counter. Sir Podrick jumps on the table as she puts the syrup next to the plates. Aggravated, August shoos the cat away and reaches to grab the woman's forearm, forcing her into his lap possessively.

“You know I am, princess.” he murmurs as he kisses her shoulder and then her lips, before grabbing a piece of pancake and some bacon with his fork and nibbling it deliciously. Lacey remains on his lap, grabbing a stripe of bacon from his plate and chewing on it with a pleasant moan before directing her gaze to August.

“How long do you think we can keep this a secret?” she asks, slight concern appearing on her face. August swallows the remaining pancake in his mouth and sips some coffee to clear his throat. His fingers thread through the gold of her hair, combing the large waves repeatedly.

“I don’t want them to take you away from me.”

His voice is nearly that of a child.

The agency’s protocol won’t allow partners to be in a relationship due to an incredible conflict of interest. “Sloane would lose her shit if she’d find out this entire time we’ve been doing this.” He chuckles dryly and shoves another piece of pancake into his mouth while still looking at Lacey. The first morning rays shine through the wide-open window, basking her face with a shimmering summer glow. 

“We can run away,” she teases. “Buy a yacht, tell Erica to go fuck herself and sail the sea.”

August smirks, his hand descending to the small of her back as images of embarking to the great unknown with her fill his chest with euphoric bliss. 

A daydream, perhaps in the future, after mankind is free.  

“I think she’s beginning to warm up to me though.” 

“Well, she did start calling you The Hammer after the last mission.” Lacey answers and grabs the mug from August’s side, stealing a mischievous sip. “If only they knew it has a different meaning to some of us.”

August crooks his eyebrow up at Lacey and wipes his moustache clean. His hands reach to tickle the sides of her belly, causing her to let go of the mug before he snatches it back. Her giggles make his heart feel at ease, something he’ll never dare to tell or show her. 

Asserting his dominance by only giving as much. 

“Why did you join the agency in the first place? You never told me.” she wraps her arms around his shoulders, the green of her eyes appearing yellow at the ray of sunlight that beams on her face.

His gaze falls upon the table, staring at the remnants of the pancakes while licking his teeth. Thoughts of his past begin to echo in the chasm of his mind. 

The day his mom fell to her knees and let out a banshee-like howl of agony at the empty ceiling as two agents came into their house.

He was 13, and from that moment on, he was all alone in a cold, ravenous world. 

“I wanted to die for the government, just like my father.” he spits out, thinking of how his life turned over one autumn morning. A tall, lanky boy who couldn’t even comfort his mother as she tore off tufts of her hair. 

August didn’t even cry, not since then.  

The curious look on Lacey’s face fades into sadness, compassion welling on her now golden-green irises. “You never told me how he died.” 

A muscle twitches in his cheek, his eyebrows knitting together as anger begins to slightly boil his blood. “Like all heroes, forgotten. I don’t know how, it was during a mission in Moscow. Nothing in his files but a mention on an accident, no details other than that.” 

“Is that why you have such small faith in the government?” Lacey asks innocently, referring to their pillow-talk. The ones they have while she presses her soft cheek to his chest and draws invisible circles onto his chest.  

The lump in his throat dries as he remembers the weeks that followed after his father was gone. They were thrown to the dogs to be gnawed at. No compensation, no financial support, and no one to comfort young August. 

His mother couldn’t even look at him anymore. Those blue soulful eyes, the cleft of his chin, and even the shape of his nose were inherited from his father. 

The most pain August has ever endured was when someone he loved was unable to look at him anymore.  

Madeleine was a loyal housewife from the midwest who never took a real job. Arthur provided for them. While he wasn’t the warmest father, he kept his family close, taking them with him on his trips, unless they were too dangerous. 

By the time August was seven, he’s already been to all continents. 

After his father’s death, both the money and his mother withered away. Having no experience in anything but waiting tables, Madeleine couldn't support her own child and perhaps she didn’t want to. The boy was a painful memory of what she lost. 

The last he remembers of her, she dragged him with her to church and went on her knees as August sat on the bench. She prayed and cried out to God until her knees bled and her eyes rimmed red from the tears she wept.

But God never answered.

That week, social services arrived at their door. He never saw her since that day and needless to say, no one wanted a hostile 13-year-old boy. 

August turns his face to stare at Lacey, examining her round, freckled face and her plump, pink lips. They make her look like a renaissance painting of an angel. At times, he’s afraid that his rage will tarnish her, swallow the light of her spirit. Yet he can never hold back, fucking her so roughly, she hurts for days. His instincts drive him to spill all his fury into her cavities. To offer all the spite and hurt that poisoned his soul, as if it will cleanse him. 

And for a few seconds, he is sanctified. Coming inside her makes him feel complete in every sense of the word.   

The soft purring of Lacey’s cat grounds him to reality. The chubby ginger cat rubs around his leg affectionately, his yellow diamond eyes staring at August. 

“Let’s not talk about it, anymore,” he replies in a somewhat final tone.

Lacey nods at him, giving him a look full of understanding. Her fingers reach behind his ear, stroking the soft chocolate curls and tucking them back. “Okay, Aug. But we really need to talk about that!” 

Her fingers move to point at his thick moustache, her eyes narrowing with disdain. 

August strokes his moustache with his thumb and index finger and lets them slide down the stubble of his square chin. “You don’t like it?”

Lacey shakes her head with protest, trying her best to appear irritated. “No.”  

Princess is so cute when she pretends to be angry.

August offers her a smug smirk in return, grabbing the last remaining piece of bacon from his plate and sliding it whole into his mouth. “Too bad, it stays.” he answers with his mouth full, grease smearing on the corners of his lips. “It makes me look dangerous and you love it.”

“No, you look like pornstar.”

“I’d fuck you like one.” he answers with a dark glint in his eyes. In a sudden movement, he places both hands on Lacey’s waist and stands up with her in his grip. The woman squeals with surprise as he flings her over his shoulder with little to no effort and stings her ass with a sharp slap.

“Do you want it here, sweetheart, or in the bedroom?” he asks and bites the fat of her behind. Lacey cries out in pain, her legs kicking the air.

He loves to hear her laugh, just as much as he loves to hear her scream.

*~*

If hell is on earth, then what does it make you?

*~*

Like a creature dwelling in the darkness, he sits in the bleak hours of the night, fingers stroking the keys as if he’s a composer, conducting his symphony of destruction. The flesh of his lips chafe at the lack of sleep and insufficient fluids, yet he gives no care. 

This will be his legacy, his gift to the world, his gift to her.

The pale teal light of the screen flickers lightly on his weary corneas. It’s nothing but pixels, black on white, five blocks of paragraphs for now, but the raw power in words proceeds beyond any other weapon known to mankind. So pure, so cataclysmic. 

Just like an atomic reaction.

She will see through his eyes soon. The potential, the greater good. All her words of breaking the system, about dreaming of a better world. A sweet, naive girl with a mind fed with agenda. It was as if they were threaded into one another’s life, destined to be. 

The paving of a new world has already begun. They call themselves the apostles, a group of no more than 12 people, men and women of science and power. Their identities are unknown among one another. It matters very little, the seeds have been sown into the earth. Small acts of terror, biological and chemical incidents around selected locations around the globe, just enough to test the waters. 

Greatness from small beginnings.

It will take time, yet he is patient, and his little angel of destruction will be by his side once the time is right. All mankind will be reunited in peace after the earth will shudder beneath their feet.

~*~

Does it make you a monster?

~*~

Something sharp prods his mind to wake up. A nightmare, whispering toxic words in the darkness. He hears a vague ruffle in the webbed darkness of the night and he blindly reaches his palm to stroke her and finds himself abandoned. There is a knot in his gut and a storm brewing in his mind. Carefully and silently, he reaches for the loaded gun in his nightstand and slips out of bed. 

Pale blue and humming, a soft light invites him to follow to the office next to his bedroom. His heart drums heavily in his chest, his face falling as his vision becomes clear. Bright pink winks through the molten mixture of shadow and light. She hovers over his open computer, spreading files and paper plans over the surface of his desk, all the while holding her digital camera, violating his secrets.

Whatever is in his chest shrieks and bleeds with misery.

“Would be more efficient if you’d switch the light on.”

The woman jumps as she hears his voice and a heavy flood of bright light showers her crimes as August flicks the switch on. She straightens up, as stiff as a frozen tree. Unable to face him right away, her face remains hidden from him. August can see the spasm of her legs beneath her nightdress.

“What are you doing?” August asks, his voice low and menacing, eyes travelling from the Nikon camera that hangs from her hand to his secret scribbles as they lay on his desk, right next to his open manifest. 

“Look at me.” he demands, stern and composed as he can. 

Lacey turns slowly to peer at him, her lips aquiver, eyes shining with guilt. The only sound from her is the shudder of her breath that rushes through her heaving chest. 

The hurt must have blinded his thoughts. He doesn’t remember aiming his gun at her head, it’s only when he sees the woman’s surrendering gesture does he register his actions.

Taking a deep breath, he lowers his gun and places it carefully on the floor. His hands splay in the air, disarmed, offering a truce as he stretches to stand straight. 

“Was I…” he swallows the dryness in his throat and licks his lips. 

It would take a real fool to be so blind to see what was in front of him the whole time. 

“I was your mission?”

Lacey remains quiet, her eyes refusing to meet his. Tears glide down the apples of her rosy cheeks. 

“Tell me the truth Lacey, please. I just want to understand.” The threat in his voice turns soft, becoming nearly a plea as he takes one step forward, watching the woman flinch and step back, her behind colliding with the desk.

The woman weeping in front of him is a trained CIA agent, yet the despair in her eyes shows no signs of panning struggle. The only way out of this room is through him, a man who is nearly twice her size and knows her every move.

“Erica suspected you’re the one who is leaking secrets, so she sent me…”

That’s why she inquired so much, wanted to hear his thoughts, to sleep at his home despite his reluctance. He agreed for the first time tonight, unaware of her insidious intentions. 

Did you really think you deserve this?

August scoffs, his heart clenching painfully in his battered lungs. 

He was wrong. There is something more painful than having someone you love never look back at you. 

“Did she tell you to sleep with me?”

Lacey’s gaze drops to the floor in silence; her answer is nothing but a pathetic sniffle as she pinches her nose.

Bile rises in his throat as he sees shame on her face, so obvious, so obscene. Her purity was false. 

There was nothing sweet or innocent about her, she was nothing but a whore.

“Answer me!!!” he rumbles, more beast than man. 

Lacey jumps and sobs with panic, nodding her head at him with her confession.  “Ye..Yes… any means possible.”

Running his palm through his face and groaning with frustration, the young CIA agent exhales hoarsely. He takes another small step towards her, gradually closing the distance between them, watching his shadow loom on her porcelain skin.

Lacey’s eyes widen with panic. Her ankles kick back the wooden legs of the desk, her hands scattering August’s belongings. White sheets of paper fly down to the floor, ink smudged by tears.

“Stay away,” she warns.

“Does she know? Did you tell her or anyone else at the agency?” he ignores her pathetic threats, taking another step closer. Her floral scent fills his nostrils, nearly triggering his instinct to claim her lips. His gaze softens with an ocean of mercy as she shakes in front of him so violently, breaking into tears of grief. 

Delicate fingers cup her jaw, sliding across the slick moistness of her tears as he tilts her chin up. “Please, tell me the truth.” 

Lacey lifts her gaze to meet his, her eyes puffy and red, her plump lips swollen. She wipes her nose with the back of her palm. “I had nothing to report, until now.”

His grasp tightens around her chin, forcing her head back to look at the text flickering on the monitor. “All this talk about a better world, I thought this is what you wanted.”

She snaps her head back to glare at him, eyes narrowing with disgust and anxiety. “You thought I’d like this?! This is sick!”

August’s nostrils flare yet he gives a gentle nod of understanding and hushes her sudden surge of stress. His hand caresses her round, damp face. The thick pads of his thumbs wipe the salty tears away from her skin and his body presses into hers. 

Even a tremoring mess, she is still so soft and warm. 

“Did you ever love me?” 

His lips are merely an inch from her temples as he whispers. His large hand slides down her cheek, stroking down her jaw and descending further below her chin.  

Unable to muster another lie, she remains silent, aware of the fact that the sand in the hourglass has all but diminished, along with her chances of survival.

Words are unnecessary. The truth speaks loudly in her eyes, the poisonous infidelity was always there all along. Struck by her angelic beauty he was too blind to see, leeching onto false heaven, a childish fantasy of love that never existed.

Small spots of blood begin to form in her wide-open eyes as his long fingers lock around her thin neck, squeezing with intensifying force. Tighter, harder. His name remains caged in her throat as she fights for the air she thinks she deserves. 

“No, you didn’t.” August whispers, his vision beginning to blur. “You never did.”

Strangled yips of pain wheeze through her mouth. Struggling frantically while August hardly even bats an eyelid, staring at her with no emotion on his face. Desperate arms reach out to both heaven and hell, her body squirms and her eyes plead for August to let go. 

Begging for her life.

Something breaks inside her throat. Her last breath follows, a short gasp, frozen in her body for eternity as both her heart and her eyes become still. 

August glances at her pale skin, her gaping lips stained violet, her bloodied eyes glassy, returning his broken reflection.

Sorrowful tears roll down the lines of his face as his heart pumps with pain black as tar. A loud gasp of agony rips from him, shuddering across his entire existence as the very base of his soul chars in his chest. Broken, he falls to his knees with Lacey cradled in his arms, his hand stroking her dull hair and her blue cheeks while husky cries of anguish come through his throat.

All emotions end. An empty abyss claims the spot where his soul once laid. The only thing left to him now is pure, undistilled hatred.

~*~

I am the one who reigns in hell.

~*~

Black cold liquid seeps into weary lungs. Skeletal hands caress his face unkindly, the thin bones, so hard and frozen as they travel down his grey cheeks. No grace is given to him, no redemption. This was nothing but a dream of a life. 

As tar oozes from his throat, her voice continues to call for him. 

His last memories are of Erica, sitting on her throne of lies, swallowing his accusations while peering at him through her dark eyes. Face filled with guilt, oh, she didn't have a clue. Everyone believed Lacey Hartmann was the double agent this entire time. Angelic eyes hiding dark secrets. He planted the evidence in her house, in her computer, sparing his manifest of course. Just enough to tarnish her name forever. 

A painful wheeze splits his throat. Iron tinged his tongue. 

The promotion was won right after the body was cremated. A fine medal given for having his life put at risk.  

Glory and fame won over the woman you loved.

I never loved her. She was a lying whore, she betrayed me.

But you did love me, August. 

Blood spills through his mouth as he coughs. His blue eyes shoot open, peering at a great hole in the ceiling and the dust that floats calmly in the chill air of night. The pain sears his shoulder, throbbing furiously to remind him there is still blood running through his veins. He grunts as he clutches at the gaping wound, trying to hold onto the blood that still remains in his wretched heart. 

Run and hide, little Ingvild

I am no one but Lucifer himself. 

I will have my vengeance.  

__________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible franchise or August Walker

[artxyra]

Another DC TA Marinette Story

*So the other version is strictly a one-shot drabble post while this one might, and I repeat might have more than two parts. 

Part 1: Welcome to Gotham 

Part 1 (here) | Part 2 | 

Marinette’s having a bad day. It started with her waking up late, breaking her five-day streak of waking up early. She nearly fell on her way down the stairs, thankfully she remained unharmed. Then she was late coming to class, but that mainly due to poor time management decisions. Only for her to then realize that she’s no longer a student, but the teacher assistant for Mme. Bustier’s class. 

“Look Mme. Bustier, Marinette’s late again.” Lila points out, as the graduate rolls her eyes and takes her place in the back of the classroom. 

“That’s enough, Lila.” Caline scolds, before turning her focus to her teaching assistant. “Is everything alright, Marinette?” She asks. 

Marinette nods and pulls out a folder filled with paperwork that needs to be grade. The class continues as follows. Caline spoke about the upcoming projects about the American lifestyle in specific cities. Marinette would finish the paperwork, pull out her laptop, and take a few notes on class’ behaviors. 

Everything seemed fine, but that crashed when Lila thought it would be a great idea to once again open her big mouth. 

“Mme. Bustier, I cannot do this project as [insert overly used lie here].” She pouts. 

“Girl, I can help you. She did say that we can do it as a group project.” Alya interjects with a smile. 

Lila ever with the dramatics, “Oh Alya, you can’t be serious. I don’t want you doing all the work.” 

Marinette could feel her phone buzz in her pocket. She pulls it out to see that it was a message from Gotham’s Prince. She smiles and opens the notification. 

Gotham’s Prince: Did you sleep well, Angel?

Gotham’s Fashion Sense: It was good until it wasn’t. 

Gotham’s Prince: What do you mean?

Gotham’s Fashion Sense: You’re not with me. 

Gotham’s Prince: Well, soon I will be. 

Gotham’s Fashion Sense: And I’m counting down the days. 

Marinette looks up from her phone and sees that her former classmates are staring at her. She shrugs and places her phone in her pocket.  

“What city do you plan on doing, Marinette?” Alix shouts out catching the attention of both Caline and Marinette. The teacher and her assistant lock eyes before the former curtly nod. 

“Gotham.” Marinette murmurs, gathering her supplies to neatly present them later. 

“I actually visit Gotham, you know.” Lila states, “If you need any help, I’ll gladly give information to you.”  

Marinette scoffs and forces a smile towards the pathological liar, “Thank you, Rossi, you will be my last resort.”

Lila once again started the dramatics by crying her eyes out. It is amazing how that liar can still be able to cry with the amount she has done. 

It wasn’t long before the class was over. Marinette walks over to the front desk and hands Caline the stack of graded assignments.

“Thank you, Marinette,” Caline says, accepting the assignments. 

“I want to tell you in advance that I’ll be joining my boyfriend in a couple of days. Do you think that you’ll need me during that time?” 

Caline thinks for a moment then she shakes her head, “I don’t believe so, Marinette. Thank you for the heads up in advance. How are your studies going?” 

Marinette smiles, “They’re going great, my business classes are helping me in running my freelancing business. And I already finished my fashion assignments earlier this week.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Caline opens the door for the two of them to exit through. Marinette walks out first with a quick curtsy to the gesture. 

Marinette’s phone buzzes again. 

Gotham’s Prince:  You are the only person that my brother will listen too, call them. 

Gotham’s Fashion Sense: Why? 

Gotham’s Fashion Sense: What did they do now? 

She didn’t receive an answer. Shrugging, Marinette places her phone in her back pocket and make a beeline to the main entrance. 

“I’m sure whatever charm you have over Mme. Bustier, will be gone before you know it,” Lila whispers into the graduate’s ear. Marinette rolls her eyes and continues to walk away. Unbeknown to Lila, it was a smirk that presented on the teen’s face rather than a pout. 

“That was very brave of you, Marinette.” Tikki complements when the two are alone. 

Marinette turns to her kwami and smiles, “I have way better things to do than to let some phony ruin my day. Besides what she does will indeed hurt her at the end.” 

“Marinette…” Tikki sighs with a giggle at the end. 

“What? You know that it’s true. As long as the class doesn’t know that I actually graduated last quarter, anything that she throws at me will be seen as an assault.” 

“You’ve been spending to much time with Jason, haven’t you?” Tikki wonders. 

“Only on the weekends, Tikki.” Her chosen jokes before catching the sight of a certain blonde model. 

“Hey, Manette,” Adrien Agreste greets, running over to the graduate.  

“Hey, Adrien, how was your photoshoot?” 

“It could have been better if Lu was there, but I rather suffer in silence and get comforted later.”

“That’s...good to hear.” Marinette’s eyes narrowed unsure of her reply. “Have you thought about the city assignment?” 

Adrien shakes his head. “Honestly, I have no clue. I was planning on doing Smallville, but I don’t know.” He looks to Marinette with kitten eyes, “Are you really doing Gotham?” 

Marinette nods only to lean against a nearby wall. 

“I figure that would be easier to do since I’ve been there and all.” She admits, holding her arms against her chest. 

“Great, Gorilla is here.” Adrien groans. 

“He’s more of a guardian than anyone else,” Marinette states, spotting the large bodyguard and pushing herself off the wall. 

Adrien sighs and wishes the fashion designer a farewell before heading over to Gorilla. Marinette smiles softly seeing how much the model has changed since entering the public school system. Of how he has grown since becoming Chat Noir, granted they did have their ups and downs but once he finally accepted his being, everything has been smooth sailing. 

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

Gotham’s Prince: Check Twitter.  

Marinette’s eyebrow raises at the message and she opens up her Twitter app. 

Dick Grayson @theflyinggrayson Grumpy-pants here is missing his GF

Below shows a picture of Damian Wayne looking at his phone with what appears to be a sad look on his face. 

A chuckle escapes her mouth. 

Manette @GothamsFashionSense  Thanks for the laugh @theflyinggrayson, I pretty sure that you all miss me.

 Marinette then adds a cute kitten gif relating to the post. 

Gotham’s Prince: What the hell, Angel! 

Gotham’s Fashion Sense: You asked and I delivered

Marinette places her phone back into her back pocket and walks in the direction of her family’s bakery.

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

“What do you mean you won’t be able to come?” Caline Bustier asks her assistant in the middle of a meeting. Marinette bites her lower lip and looks between the principal and the full-time teacher. 

“What I mean is that I’ll be overseas staying with my boyfriend’s family around that time. At the very least tell where you’re having the class exchange at and I can make plans around that.” Marinette informs the two with arms cross and an irritated look on her face.

“The exchange is with Gotham Academy, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng.”   

Marinette’s eyes bug out. Her whole demeanor changes. “No,” She denies. 

“Will that be a problem, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng?” The principal asks slightly concern for the alumna’s wellbeing. 

Marinette straightens herself out. “No, in fact, I will already in Gotham. If something does come up, I will only be a phone call away. Will I get there in time that will depend on what I am doing at the moment.” 

Caline’s face brightens, she’s not going to be alone with the class in Gotham. “That’s great news to hear, Marinette.” 

“Yes, I’m sure. The trip is in a month, correct?” 

“Yes, and the exchange will last for about four weeks. Mme. Bustier will only be there to oversee the program and class if something were to go array. They will be living in housing provided by the school as we’ll do the same to their students.” The principal states. 

Marinette nods, “Is that everything or do I need to fill out any paperwork allowing me to supervise the class while at Gotham Academy?” 

“I do have the paperwork here for you to fill to get access into the building. Other than that you--well we should be fine. I will inform you if anything has changed.” 

“Thank you, Principal De La Fontaine.” Marinette exits the office with a smirk on her face.  

Ever since the akuma has begun showing up in France, the Paris school board officials declared Principal Damocles unfit to be a principal and opted for De La Fontaine to oversee college and lycee of the Dupont schools seeing as they are short-staffed. Marinette was able to take the Baccalauréat after pleading to her parents. Thankfully, she was able to pass on her first try and even convinced the school to allow her to be a teaching assistant until the end of the school year. 

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

“I’m telling you Dami, I have everything ready and pack for my trip to see you.” Marinette states into the phone. She sighs and switches shoulders as she is placing the final set of clothes into her suitcase. On the other side of the phone, Damian said something that causes her to roll her eyes. “Damian I will end this call; besides, you know that I would call you if something goes wrong. I’ll see you in two days. Je t'aime.” Marinette ends the call before she couldn’t find it in her to blow up her international data even more. 

 Marinette throws herself onto her chaise sighing, “Tikki, should I take the miraculous box with me or ask Kaalki to open up a portal?” She wonders as her flying ladybug kwami hovers beside her. 

Tikki, munching on a cookie, says, “Marinette would it even matter. You use Kaalki every time you go to Gotham. It’s a miracle that you’re parents haven’t caught on yet.” 

“You say miracle, I say luck.” Marinette plays, “Besides making it look like I go to the airport has covered my quick trips pretty darn well.” 

“Well, what are we going to do about Hawkmoth?”   

“I’m giving Luka and Kagami their miraculous for when the class goes to Gotham as Adrien will most likely be joining them. Hopefully, Hawkmoth doesn’t do anything drastic while we’re gone.” Marinette sighs and kicks herself over to lay on her back. 

Tikki could only smile at how far her chosen has come. From the unsure thirteen-year-old to the now strong level-headed seventeen-year-old woman. Ever since Fu’s amnesia, Marinette has done a great job of making sure that everything regarding the miraculous box is kept secret and safe. She created a box similar to her diary box to protect the miraculous box. 

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

After giving Luka and Kagami their miraculous, she (as Ladybug) informed them that she will be once again going on a vacation overseas. The two wished their friend farewell with the promise of calling her when Hawkmoth attacks.

“I expect details on the proposal when I get back,” Marinette demands, pointing at Luka causing him to blush thinking about a certain cat-themed hero. 

“You’ll give a heart attack if you keep saying things like that, Manette.” 

“I know,” Marinette beams. 

The group of three hugs each other before parting ways. 

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

Gotham’s air may have never been clean as crimes happen all the time, but to Marinette, it was like a second home. She loves returning back to Gotham since she met the Wayne family, which was completely by accident. Well, it wasn’t much of an accident it was through Jagged Stone that they met; however, it was by accident how she met Damian. 

“Angel! You’re here...finally.” Damian greets his lover of two and a half years. Marinette giggles and runs into his arms. She misses the feeling of his body warmth and well just him in general. Just don’t tell the others that.  

“Of course, I’m here and now you’re stuck with me for two months.” 

Damian is taken back, “What happened to being here for two weeks?” 

“A class exchange with Gotham Academy. As the TA of the class selected, I was roped into joining them on their journey to hell.” 

Damian curtly nods his head and wraps his arms around her torso. He kisses her cheek causing the Paris native to blush.

Manette @GothamsFashionSense Look’s who’s back in action. Can’t wait to spend time with you all. 

In the attachment is a photo of Marinette posing in front of the Wayne Enterprises with a smile reaching her eyes. Comments flood the designer’s notifications to the point she had to turn them off. The majority of the comments were from the same people, the entirety of the Bat-family.  

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

“Jay-Jay, I swear if you play a prank on me, you’ll receive no cookies for the rest of the week,” Marinette growls, exiting the guest bedroom--well it’s really hers, but won’t admit it.

“Todd, it’s too early for this.” Damian groans, coming from behind the designer in a personalize pajama design set. 

Jason stares at the two in shock and teasingly asks with a mock sense of seriousness, “Did you at least used protection?” 

Marinette’s jaw drops as murderous intent rolls off Damian. 

“I’m gonna kill you, Todd!” Damian screeches, pulling a katana out from miraculous knows where and chase at the laughing anti-hero. Marinette stood frozen as a rosy pink color spreads across her cheeks. 

“Why would Master Damian and Master Jason be running down the halls, Miss Marinette?” Alfred wonders, appearing in front of the designer. 

Marinette shakes her head and gives the butler a cheeky smile, “Jay-Jay being inappropriate. I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually kills Jason today.” 

Alfred sighs and tells her that breakfast should be done in a moment. Marinette happily nods then returns back to her room to get change. 

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

“What do you mean that Marinette isn’t coming to class?” Chloe shrieks, when Adrien announced that Marinette had left for a trip yesterday. The entire class could only focus their ears on the two blondes for gossip. 

“It’s like I said, Mari, said she’ll be gone for a couple of weeks. She didn’t say where and all I know is that Mme. B let her off the presentation assignment.” 

Chloe scoffs then huffs at the newfound information. “Well, that will explain why Lu and Gami showed up last night instead of her.” 

“I’m sure she’ll give us a call when she settles in,” Adrien adds on just as Mme. Bustier walks into the classroom with a stack of papers in hand. 

“Good evening class.” She greets, setting the stack down on her desk. “As you all know, our class was selected for a class exchange with our American partners. These are your permission slips to sign and date for the trip. If there is any question, please do not hesitate to contact me.” 

“How long will we be gone for?” Alya asks raising her hand without being called on. 

“The program will last for four weeks. What you learn during the exchange will count as a credit to graduate.” The teacher smiles. “Are there any other questions?” 

No one else raises their hands. Caline smiles at this and begins to hand out the permission slips. 

“Have these all turned in by the end of this week.” 

“What about, Marinette?” Surprisingly, this question didn’t come from the protect Marinette squad but instead Juleka, who is usually quiet in the class. 

Caline is taken back, “Marinette will be joining us for this exchange. We have already contacted her parents. Are there any other questions?” 

The room goes silent. Caline nods and turns on the projector. “Today we will be going over your presentation assignment. The only person excused is Marinette as she has completed hers in advance.” 

Of course, the class blows up at that declaration. 

 “What, why does she get special treatment?” Alya’s voice booms through the classroom. “If you one it should be Lila!” 

“Alya, calm down, the reason why Marinette did her assignment is that she won’t be with us these coming weeks. If you have an issue with that take that up with her. Now please, can I continue with my lesson.” Caline could feel a headache coming. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to mention Marinette’s presentation and just use it as a template for the others to follow. 

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

Manette @GothamsFashionSense    Been in town for two days and these idiots are still the same. Mar’i, honey, you the best!

Below the tweet is an attached image of Marinette sitting in the middle with Mar’i Grayson on her lap laughing as Damian appears to be yelling at Jason, Tim’s head smack-down on the table a coffee cup in hand. Dick behind them all with Kori’s arm wrapped around his torso. 

Marinette laughs at the impending struggle Damian has in an attempt to once again harm Jason. She plays with the young toddler on her arms as Mar’i tries to take a scoop of the leftover ice cream. Marinette bounces the young Grayson in her lap and feeds a scoop of ice cream. 

“It’s so nice to have you back, Nette. Mar’i miss her Auntie.” 

Marinette chuckles brushing off the comment, “Mar’i has several other Aunts, how could she miss me? Beside’s I’m not even a Wayne.” 

Kori raises an eyebrow and Dick coughs up a “Yet.” before turning away as if he didn’t spill anything important. 

“Pardon?” Marinette wonders turning her attention to the older Grayson. 

“It’s nothing Bluebird, just a cough that is all.” Marinette purses her lips before deciding to let it go to play with Mar’i. 

Mar’i squeals in delight as Marinette plays with her stomach.

Damian watches from the corner of his eye. A smile sneaks it’s way up onto his face. 

“Wake up, Replacement.” Jason say as he kicks Tim’s leg. 

Tim’s arms grab the nearest coffee cup and drinks from it. He bounces back up with sleep still in his eyes. 

“Tim, you need sleep.” Marinette states. 

“Look whose talking. When’s the last time you slept?” Tim counters, knowing that they would have battles on who can stay up the longest without rest. They’re pretty much tied for first. 

Marinette was about to open her mouth, but one glance at Damian told her otherwise.

“Angel, when was the last time you slept--I mean actually slept?” Damian asks, appearing behind her. He kisses her cheek. She blushes and leans her head into his chest. 

“I’m fine, my prince. I actually slept well last night.” She answers before whispering, “Being next to you and all.”  

Jason oohs but quickly moves to evade the punch that Damian was about to throw. Marinette laughs and pushes away the mess that Mar’i created on the table. What a normal evening with the Wayne’s. 

“So, Bluebird, how are your studies going? I hear that you have a big project coming up soon.” Jason asks, taking a seat across the designer. 

Marinette chuckles, “They’re going great and that big project you supposedly heard about is nearly done, but it’s not for a class.” She teases. 

“Do we at least get to see it? C’mon Bluebird, help your brother out.” 

“Damian doesn’t even know about it.” Marinette narrows her eyes at her boyfriend. Damian chokes on his drink and looks away. “Jay-Jay you will be the first to know.” 

“Hey, what about me?” Mar’i’s voice asks looking up to her aunt. 

“The second person, Jay-Jay, you will be the second.” The designer corrects herself before snuggling the younger Grayson in her arms. Mar’i giggles.

Jason scoffs, but he has to agree that seeing Marinette and Mar’i acting all cute and stuff was a miraculous sight to see. 

Dick Grayson  @theflyinggrayson The two Maris in one place 

Attach is a photo of Marinette holding Mar’i outside the ice parlor smiling at one another with Damian off to the side looking longingly at Marinette. Comments from the surrounding BatFamily, Dick’s followers and co-workers flood the comments section. 

----------

Two weeks of pure and utter bliss. Too bad, it had to end seeing as the worst class at Dupont Public schools in Paris is coming to Gotham Academy the next day or so. Marinette’s mentally preparing herself to the slaughter of comments that will be coming her way. 

“Mme. Bustier, I can assure you that I will check with the academy this afternoon about the arrangement. You can worry about preparing the class for this trip.” Marinette speaks into the phone. 

Damian waits for the call to end to sweep in and be the caring boyfriend. He kisses her cheek and holds her. 

“These next four weeks are going to be hectic. I just know it..” Marinette mumbles to him. Damian huffs tightening his grip. 

“Thank you, Dami.” Marinette pauses, “I really needed that.” 

“Of course, Angel.” They kiss. “Do you need any help?” 

Marinette shakes her head. 

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

Back in Paris, the class gathers at Dupont for departure. Parents came and went saying goodbye to their teens and wish them the best. Lila’s already trying to spin a story that focuses on her and this time she really trying hard to spin her web deeper than ever 

“It’s been forever since I’ve been in Gotham, you know. The last time I was there, it was for a Wayne Gala and my Damibear asked me out. It was so magical. I was dress is this sunset like gown and he was matching me. You know, when I told him that I was coming, he practically jumped with joy…” 

Adrien and Chloe could only wince at the sound of her voice and eluded lie. Everyone in their right mind would know that Damian Wayne has been in a relationship with this girl under the username GothamsFashionSense as the Wayne family tweet about her a lot. Along with that, she look eerie similar to Marinette but with black hair and pink lowlights.  

“I can’t wait to see their faces when the cat jumps out of the bag. Oh, how her empire will crumble to nothing.” Chloe admits to, reapplying her lip-gloss.

“Well, I just hope this all ends before graduation. Do you think Mari will be joining us on the flight or something?” Adrien wonders as he watches Luka say his goodbyes to his sister. 

Chloe shrugs and looks at Kagami, who’s coming their way. 

“‘Gami,” Chloe greets hugging the Japanese fencer. 

“Hey Bee, and hello to you too Adrien.” 

Adrien curtly nods to Kagami. Luka walks over to them and stands behind the blonde model. No one but the two women in front of them notices the interlocking of their hands. 

“You think you can live without your model for a couple of weeks?” Chloe hints with a smirk on her face. 

Luka sarcastically laughs, “Yes, I’m sure Bee.  Though the real question is can you last without your dragon for four weeks.”

Chloe scoffs as Kagami laughs pulling her girlfriend closer to her. 

It wasn’t long before Mme. Bustier called for the class to get onto the bus. The couple gave their significant others a quick kiss or in Adrien’s and Luka’s case a hand tightening before heading off. Oh what they shall await when they reach Gotham. 

~Part 2

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