#not a vague at anyone just something ive been mulling over for a bit

[snailsnfriends]

I'm thinking over the ctommy finale some more and meta that's been written by myself and others in the past and the two don't necessarily add up. in the past, we've allowed tommy to make bad decisions or judgements. exile, bedrock bros and tommy's treatment of wilbur post revival are all good examples of this. tommy couldn't be held as liable for his poor actions or thought processes because he was struggling, either in the moment or as a whole. I don't think the events of the finale should be seen differently. tommy was placed in a situation where he knew that he was going to die, surrounded by people who have betrayed him or killed him in the past. he accepted his death, but it was the final option. and realistically, if he was in the right headspace to accept death, something he feared, he clearly wasn't in the right headspace at all. he knew that his friend was going to have to be the one to kill him. the one adult who was in his life with any sort of consistency was gone. it's very clear that tommy was under a lot of stress before their plan was even enacted; he was not all of a sudden better once he talked over his plan with tubbo. he was just more confident.

this isn't to say that you can't criticize the finale or be super upset with it. I agree that it wasn't all that great and was pretty cheap. I think it should've gone differently. I think tommy and tubbo deserved a happy ending. but I don't think tommy's decision to apologize to dream, or, really, his decision to apologize for all of their deaths, should be super heavily scrutinized from a character perspective. like any other time he's been under stress, he made poor decisions and judgements that would not have been made if he was under more merciful circumstances. the strain he was put under should be taken into account more when it comes to his actions during the finale.

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Epilogue

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.7k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

The first couple of weeks following the incident that had taken my long-lost mother from me was misery in its purest form. Link and I didn’t speak, not even by phone, during that whole stretch of time. In fact, I could rarely bring myself to answer the phone at all. The memory was still too vivid, the wounds still too fresh.

He’d gotten off scot-free in the end as he’d been deemed to have acted in the defence of others—namely, of me. It wasn’t long before I learned of his plea, that if I hadn’t come along quietly, I would have suffered the same fate that he’d brought upon her, and they had believed him. How I felt about this was still something I was struggling to wrap my endlessly pounding head around.

As dark and deep as this seemingly bottomless pit of despair that I’d found myself plummeting down was, however, someone did eventually toss a rope down for me. The time I spent apart from Link gave me the opportunity to properly reconcile with those whom I myself had wronged: Auntie Purah and Paya. The former and I found comfort in our mutual grieving, and even as Paya had never really known my mother well enough to mourn her loss (though, arguably, it seemed no one had ever truly known her), she was more gracious and understanding than I or anyone else would have been, which only made me regret even more deeply my past transgressions toward her.

One day, during one of our continual conversations, she shifted to the topic of the Yiga leader’s executioner. How she could even think of him at a time like this was beyond me, but I digressed. I told her everything from start to finish. It was the first time I’d allowed myself to talk to anyone about it at length. As I spoke, she listened calmly and carefully. Despite what I’d have liked to believe, she had always been the more levelheaded one out of the two of us, save for when it came to discussing things about herself.

By the time I finished, I’d begun bouncing my still healing ankle back and forth, which I’d crossed over my other leg to keep it from touching the ground. I didn’t stop even after I noticed what I was doing.

“It’s painfully clear to see how conflicted you are about all this.” Coming to sit beside me on the sofa in the Sheikahs’ sitting room, Paya placed an affectionate palm on my thigh, bringing its restless jittering to a halt. “I understand how hard this must be for you. But the way I see it, there’s only one question you need ask yourself at the end of the day.”

Whatever she was about to say, it wouldn’t be an easy pill to swallow, would it? I straightened my posture. “And what would that be?”

“Between the two of them, who do you think was the better person?”

She was looking me dead in the eyes, her hand still resting upon my leg. I uncrossed them.

I’d never thought to compare the two before. What reason would I have had to do so? But now that she’d mentioned it, I hadn’t realized how few memories I even had left of my mother, and the ones that remained were blurry and vague beyond any hope of being recovered. If only she hadn’t left me with the Sheikahs all those years ago, maybe I could have remembered more clearly what kind of person she had been.

On the other hand, Link had always been there for me. Even during the times when circumstances had driven us apart, the thought of him was what had kept my flame burning strong and hot throughout each arctic day, and what had protected me from myself, keeping me from doing the irreparable. He had stayed by my side to the bitter end.

No matter how I’d reflected back on that day previously, the sight of his steely, focused stare and the sound of his crazed breaths, short and sharp, had been ever dominant. But now, I recalled the way those eyes had then glazed over with unadulterated horror. How his arms had shivered as they’d clung to my broken form and how they’d continue to cling for what would feel like millennia until the rest of his unit would finally stumble upon the scene.

My stepsister-of-sorts gave my leg a soft squeeze as I looked back at her with a tremor in my lip. “He s...saved me,” I whimpered. “Didn’t he?”

After a month apart, I made plans with Link for a night out on the pier, where we would celebrate the end of the Organization. The ice cream I’d promised him was at the top of my list of priorities for the evening. Tonight was a dessert-first night anyway, I’d decided. From there, we went and found ourselves a bite to eat at a seafood restaurant within walking distance. I’d hoped eating with him would feel like old times, but he hardly spoke a word throughout the whole meal. I tried lightening the mood with some banter, but this proved ineffective when he brushed off everything I said with mere one or two-word replies.

It wasn’t until I’d gotten us both a bit of something to drink that he finally broke the silence. “Have you...” he started, but lost the confidence to continue.

I perked up at the sound of his voice, wanting to hear more of it. “Have I...?”

“A-Ah...” His fingers poked at the copious amount of chips piled onto his plate next to the practically untouched fillet of fried fish. “I was just wondering if you’ve thought about what you’re going to do now, since...you know...you’re not a detective anymore.”

“Ah, right. That.” I took another sip of my drink, its contents long having fled my memory. “Actually, my auntie talked about it with me and she said she’d consider letting me inherit the company once I’ve acquired the proper education. So to answer your question, I’m thinking about going to school for engineering.”

His brows rose. “Oh! My, that’s—” He cleared his throat. “That’s brilliant. I’m happy for you.”

I thanked him with a hesitant grin, then asked, “How about you? Do you plan to stay on with the force, or...?”

“Ahh, well...” What little there’d been of an upward turn in his lips vanished. “I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. It’s something I’ve been mulling over for a while now. Whether to stay on and honour my father’s work, or...whatever other options are available, I suppose.”

“Do you want to hear what I think?” He raised his head. “I think you should do whatever you think would make you happiest. That’s what you’re father would have wanted, I’m sure.”

This finally, finally, got a real, unsubdued smile out of him. And I intended to milk that smile for all it was worth.

After dinner, I dragged him back down to the arcade on the pier, where I managed to ring a few laughs out of him while we were still a bit tipsy. We steered clear of the toy gun target-type games, favouring other stands like the ring toss where he won me a plush frog that I could only just get my arms all the way around. His aim was spectacular, especially for someone who wasn’t entirely sober. Not only that, but I could never have imagined how sweet and charming he would be like this. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though we’d gone back in time again. That, or the light from the setting sun was playing tricks on me.

But by the end of the evening, he’d reverted back to that quiet, reclusive version of himself that I’d quickly grown to detest. We were out on the docks now, facing the sea. The breeze carried a mist of saltwater within its bows. I breathed it in, soaking up the feeling of it hitting me softly and coolly in the face. A hint of pink in my partner’s cheeks caught my eye, and I wondered whether it was the cocktails or my arms, which were currently wound about his waist from behind.

“Beautiful sunset,” I tried, hoping I could get him to spare me a glance at least. “Isn’t it?” But to no avail. He only continued to gaze westward at the rippling flames reflected in the water. “Hey...” Before I knew what I was doing, my palm had found the warmth of his cheek, and there was hardly an inch or two of distance between the tips of our noses. Without giving myself time to think, I tilted my head, leaned in, and started to close my eyes.

But when I realized he wasn’t doing the same, I halted. On the contrary, he’d been leaning back and away from my advances, his back so rigid and shoulders so stiff it were as though he would sprout wings and bolt were I to make any sudden moves.

“What’s wrong?”

A harsh, jagged exhale. “Zelda, I just can’t—” He grabbed both my wrists and wrenched my arms off of him. “I’m sorry. We can’t do this.” He was bent over the railing, arms folded in on each other. “Not now,” he said, dwindling, “after I’ve gone and...murdered your only family.” A weary chuckle shook him by the shoulders before he raked his hands through his wind-tousled hair.

I fell into quiet thought for a moment. Then, taking a long, thorough breath, I placed a feather-light set of fingertips atop his own. “That woman was never my family.” I’d made up my mind. Figuratively or otherwise, my real mother had moved on a long time ago. And it was time I did the same.

Link must have seen the resolve in my eyes or heard it in my voice, because now he was looking back at me openly, his body turned to face me. Though there was still an air of uncertainty lingering about him as he ran the crease of his cuff between his fingers again and again. But when I brought my arms around him and held him close, he sank into my lips, returning my embrace at long last. A lone pair of tears fell from my eyes the moment they fluttered closed—a culmination of all past ordeals—and as they fell, I couldn’t help but smile.

[rockinthebeastmode]

Mini-Fic Preview: Cocoon

A/N: hiya! so this is from a lil fizzy oneshot ive been mulling over—nothing romantic of course, theyre just mates! but here’s the opening scene ive come up with, might make changes in the final version but i figured i had to give yall a lil something until I get back to my regularly scheduled fics 😅 lemme know whatcha think! also apologies if the grammar/everything isnt great, im posting from my phone bc my laptop refuses to work 😁 hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

You can find the rest of my fics here.

@mmfdfanfic @eveerez @i-dream-of-emus @lilaviolet @laurielau @hey1tskat1e @tinakegg @kneekeyta @likeashootingstarfades @girl-looking-out-window @stinemarine@lurkernolonger @crystalgiddings1993 @milllott @milymargot @vivammfd @finn-nelson-for-the-win @ifinallyknow @isthistherightwayround @believethaticanandiwill @paisleystuff @arathewallflower @whatthefuckisthisfuckingfuckery

Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tag list and if I missed anyone :)

Mini-Fic Preview: Cocoon

Finn’s eyes blinked open to the blazing sun coming through his window. His head pounding, he groaned as he tried to wake fully, his mouth dry and an unpleasant taste on his tongue.

He sat up gingerly, squinting against the brightness and rubbing his temples. Checking his watch on the bedside table, he groaned again and fell back against the pillows heavily.

Last night was a terrible blur, flashes of the rave playing behind his closed eyes. The only thing coming in crystal clear was Rae and Archie and he reckoned after seeing that living nightmare, he’d quickly found Chop for a pill to try and burn it from his mind. If the lingering red lipstick on his mouth was any indication, he made out with Chloe sometime after but everything else was black. He could only imagine how the debrief would go.

His stomach churned at the thought but as much as he wanted to hide away from the gang and skip it, it had been *his idea. There was no backing out now.

Despite how fucked he felt, a masochistic urge to see Rae overruled and he rolled out of bed and into the hall. He yawned into his fist as he entered the loo and started the shower.

He was keen to find out where the others had ended up. He vaguely remembered Izzy disappearing shortly after he got high and wondered if she’d even show up at the chippy.

Iz could take care of herself, he was certain of that. He’d known her his whole life, not only because Stamford was so damn small but for the little known fact of them being second cousins. Sure, she wasn’t a Nelson but she might as well as been with all the family events they suffered through together.

The front doorbell chimed as Finn toweled off and he hastily wrapped it around his waist, rushing into his room to throw on clothes. He started down the stairs, a smile forming as a distinctive knock sounded loudly and he quickly opened the door.

“Hiya,” Izzy attempted a bright smile but it was a bit faded, her usual cheer dialed back.


Finn didn’t answer, hugging her around the waist and she embraced him back tightly, arms around his neck.

“Alright?” he asked as she stepped inside. At her nod, he continued gruffly, “Where’ve you been?”

“Soz, mum,” she replied, sticking her tongue out at him and brushing past him, “Is Gary home?”

Finn rolled his eyes as he closed the door.

“Naw, he’s at work.”

Izzy squeezed his arm with a knowing smile and went towards the kitchen, tugging him after her.

“I’ll make some tea,” she offered, “We’ll have a chat.”

[unproduciblesmackdown]

hey man your comic stuff?? fucking amazing do you have any tips for a novice child artist such as myself

hmm!!! thats a good question if i have any advice at all…i dont really draw things in comic form that often because of how slow i am…its a whole project for me lol

also natch im just an amateur at all of this vs people who like…pay attention to how to do things really well and/or draw comics on a regular schedule &/or get paid for it and all. so seeing this i was immediately trying to think of like, advice ive seen from random professionals on twitter & stuff & i’ve tried to moreso shake it down to the stuff I’M actually doing when i draw a comic. which is a bit tricky because of my small sample size & the fact that i dont have any kind of consistent process or technique unifying all the comic-type stuff i draw

like sometimes its just a few floating sequential drawings and other times is definitely more like, really thinking of it in terms of how i’m going to structure it in Comic Form & use the format to adjust my presentation of whatever idea i have

like i know ppl whose Job (officially or just by their own standards) to do a bunch of comics pages will do a script of scenes to decide what goes on what page and sort dialogue / action into panels & describe how things will look etc…and then do like maybe really rough layout pre-sketches, then the first rough sketch for a page, an optional more cleaned up sketch layer on top of that, and then the final lineart

i sorrrt of do a version of that, in that i am generally sitting on a Comic Idea for a while before i even start getting into the business of thinking through how it’ll actually work. i have to make sure that im “committed” enough to the idea to wanna make more than one drawing for it, and that i think i have at least a vague notion of how i could put it into a comic. sometimes i DO end up just putting the notion into a single drawing or condensing it into like, 2-3 lil floating drawings or w/e. coz a lot of the times the idea starts out really vague, often with one “moment” that serves as the whole inspiration & that i then try to build a scene/sequence around….a lot of the details beyond that can be really vague in my mind, like the setting or dialogue or who’s involved or what happens or the pacing or extra events or etc…basically Everything is real amorphous for a while

so yea step 1 is me having this one idea and trying to decide if building a scene around it would be a better way to present it vs just having one drawing, & if i think i can actually effectively carry it out….which is in reality even less fancy than it sounds…i just sit on an idea for a while & never get around to actually focusing on it / putting down any of the thoughts abt it that im formulating. but the upshot of me putting it off for forever is that i do end up with a kind of mental script / layout for a comic before i start it…..but even the extensiveness / format of these unwritten scripts varies a lot for me

like, a few times when i have made something that’s maybe longer than just one page &/or something ive been mulling over for an extra long amt of time (which tends to be stuff that is starting out w/ heavier than usual ideas) i’ll like, actually write down what happens page by page, even plan out specific panels, maybe even put down a few rough sketches of certain parts. i’ll have the Main Moment which is the idea that started the whole thing in the first place, but what tends to happen is i’ll come up w other moments that i think could lead up to / frame / follow the main moment, and i pretty much just decide how they all fit into one cohesive piece. so what my “rough drafts” look like for these more extensively planned ones—still really not that exhaustive, i only put things to paper when im basically done enough w my ideas to be just about ready to start actually making them—can vary in their actual formats (e.g. simple chronological bullet points of events, a few drawings, a rough sketch of how the whole thing might look), the core of it is basically just me finding a way to nail down how i’m going to arrange the Moments i have and how i’m going to lead one into the other…….like for things with enough pages / panels, i’ll tend to focus on which Moment will end each page &/or each line of panels, then have an idea of which other Moments i’ll need to put on which of those pages, and kinda figure out how to pace things

again that all sounds like maybe i have a real process…..I Do Not

im kinda lucky in that i think i have a decent sense for composition without having to struggle over it too much. so a lot of times i can leave a lot of that up to be felt out as im actually doing the rough lineart for the first time. i also often don’t nail down panel arrangement that carefully & also make it up as i go along a bit, which is probably not something anyone should emulate. someone was saying something about how some certain page layout of like, 3-something-something panel rows looks best, i dont know. i’m guessing, as with all things, nobody can say “always do this / never do that,” but i think staggering odd/even numbers of panels in each row is always a good guess. just makes it easier for them to read more distinctly at least, surely

sometimes i DO think about certain panels when i wanna frame a certain “shot” in a very specific way. but im just kind of doing whatever. i know vague rules like that wide shots / negative space slows down the pace, vs tightly cropped / small panels / packed w a lot of visual info tends to read as a faster pace, more chaotic. i dont quite go too wild about that sort of thing tho, because for me as a reader, a lot of times really tight shots that are like cutting between 5000 different angles rly fast all in a row, sometimes it is absolutely unreadable to me, as in i do not understand the visual info at all. it feels like the equivalent of how action movie editing keeps hanging on to the “incoherency = intensity” vs just me tuning out until the scene is over & missing details b/c i just am not getting anything out of it

thats not much of a factor for me coz i dont really ever do things with extended sequences of movement / action or whatever. i’ll keep things in one place. i’ll like to do smaller, “quicker” panels moreso to like, show simultaneousish details / to extend one moment…..occasionally i do Big Panels for a moment of higher intensity / impact too. btw putting a High Intensity moment in a super tiny panel is always really funny for the contrast of it all. i dont think ive ever done it, but it is

ummm…….also planning where your speech bubbles will go is good. i dont do that enough, but i should. most of the reason i dont have a more proper, organized process to anything i draw is that i just dont have the focus / patience to slow down for More Planning vs just going ahead and drawing it. jokes on me, since some quick vague planning can make it a lot easier on yourself vs just diving in and struggling w something for ages

uhhh also since im not that fantastic or mindful of panel layout? sometimes i’ll make a point of just having uniform rectangle panels of the same size/shape, so i only have to really worry about the layout within the frame. this is mostly good obv for things with not that much shift in pacing throughout it or action or whatever…you lose the advantage of how panel sizes can affect the tone of a shot or something & probably cant get that detailed in ur drawings but that is often Fine By Me

when i do use the uniform rectangle structure though, i kinda have to focus more on each individual panel, vs like, knowing ok, these three moments are going on this page, i have a vague idea of what’ll connect them, just make up the individual panels as you go along. this does mean that i have to kinda think more about what justifies each panel….how its different from the ones before & after it or how i might want it to be similar to “hold” a shot for a beat or w/e or draw focus to a small movement, what’s actually going into each panel, if i can/should condense two panels into one, etc. its still a lot of playing it by ear, i dont have solid rules of how i think i should do it each time

even when i do have a like whole plan for something im drawing i’ll often make more changes as im actually making it. sometimes its deciding something would be more effective, sometimes it’s just “hey this would work too & be easier,” and thats definitely fine. nobody knows the change you made, and Easier isn’t necessarily Worse anyways. convenience is good where you can get it

ive also definitely had specific comic artists formatting/framing styles in mind when i specifically wanted to use that while drawing my own stuff. like the way i’ll draw maybe a kind of horror vibe (more diagonal lines / “fractured” panels than i’d normally use, quick tiny shots of different smaller details, that kinda stuff) is gonna be different from when its a calm & quiet tone. where i dont really get too creative with the panels really & keep them pretty steady

and then that one time i did a largely nonsequential sort of panel collage b/c the marge simpson anime gave me great inspiration for how to combine & present a bunch of vague notions i had floating around all into one page. it was a good accomplishment & thats unsurprising because the inspiration i was using was That Good. thank god we can all benefit from each others good ideas and knowledge & work & all that. it does help to jump on a feeling of “wow what a cool comic i wish i could make something like that.” just go ahead and make something like that…

ummm this is all on the technical side-ish still but i dont really know what to say abt the kind of stuff that makes me wanna draw a comic in the first place vs just putting the idea into a regular single drawing…usually it Is kind of a more nuanced moment that i think would be better presented within some amount of context and buildup and all that. i basically exclusively draw emotions….and sometimes theyre better shown with some amount of action/dialogue, or at least a few different shots or something. i dont know if this area is helpful information or anything anyone would benefit from knowing about, or even if i have anything to say about it…is it all self evident maybe? idk! i do think i communicate emotions best through comics…not that each one is “here is my mood!” or talking about me at all, but i was for example trying to communicate about an abstract emotion, i think i can draw about it better than talk or write about it or anything. i DO sometimes draw more directly from my own specific feelings/experiences for things, but mostly when i think it can be relevant…i cant really do anything all that directly autobiographical, even casual diary comics or whatever. thats what my text posts are for… but i have been interested in how to convert these huge emotional issues that i’ve been v familiar with into a few pages or panels and how to present its impact in the simplest, straightforward ways i can manage…sometimes i think its worked for sure…..i feel like i gave a more Relatable sense to a certain experience by putting it in comic form than any of the times ive discussed it as a personal thing at length via text. like i said i communicate best via comics probably, despite not drawing them all that much coz im too damn slow lmao

speaking of, i’ve kind of been like “what a waste” abt the fact that i dont have like, a proper approach or regular strategy to thinking up comics before i draw them, but i think theres something actually okay to be taken from that lol……just that i know if i got too caught up in trying to plan it all out perfectly before getting into actually drawing it, i’d be making it into a bigger project and slowing myself down even more & i’d risk dropping it partway through or just never getting started at all. so if i have a less than perfect end result, at least i have an end result, and ive finally got that one idea out of my head in some way. and i feel like some of my comics do work out decently enough….a good handful of times ive been surprised w how well some ppl receive them

so i think it is good to just go ahead and dive in. i did that once w an idea i’d been sitting on for like half a year, and i think it turned out good enough. i just knew i could easily spend months and months more turning over all the details, which might make it Better, but would also mean that yknow, i’d never actually get around to making it b/c of feeling like it had to be ideal. so i simplified it a bit, used a uniform panel layout, did little drawings, and just got it drawn out in an afternoon or two. and now at least it exists lol. and ive sort of come back to the same idea in a way…if i feel like it turns out i wanna elaborate on something more, i can just make another pic/comic built on the same theme, who’s gonna care or stop me

i also try to focus on what lines are/aren’t necessary to avoid things being confusing or just pointlessly cluttery….this isnt a big issue b/c i dont often bother w bgs. dont emulate that either lol…….but im not doing any Serious art so its no big deal to me if im not “good” or not progressing as spectacularly as i might. i dont need my drawing abilities to be that amazing here. but bgs still serve a purpose beyond being a “skill” or whatever so im trying to include them more, aka occasionally, at all. still hardly ever. but sometimes you at least need like one halfassed establishing shot yknow. anyways

mmm this has all been kinda vague and i’m trying to think if there’s anything more specific i could/should talk about!! i dont know. i dont have a good perspective on what its like to look at my art while not being me lol & what ppl might think or what stands out to them or whatever. rip

sorry this is so long, i dont really have ppl wanting to know abt my Processes or drawing thoughts or whatever so i’m kinda jumping at the chance to talk about this sort of stuff after having been actually prompted to. but i dont know if i’ve said anything at all!! i dont know if any of it has been helpful

“tldr; i dont really know what im doing, but go ahead and jump into actually making them as opposed to feeling like youre ready / you know the best way to make a page, because nobodys ever ready or can say This Is The Best Possible Version so just go ahead and use whatever process feels like it makes your life easier, while still actually making the damn comic” is my whole thing, i guess

i dunno, if there was some specific thing you wanted to know abt that i didnt talk about / talk about well here, feel free to ask me to specify because i totally will, which is both an invitation and a warning obviously

sorry this is so long everybody…….writing an essay & by the end of it not being sure if ive given any info at all is part of my whole Thing

[dj-syrup]

The Unnamed, Episode 01x01: Pilot

I’ve never done this before, and I don’t know what I’m doing in a lot of this. If I get stuff wrong, please tell me.

I would like it noted that while I am part of the LGTBQIAP+ community, and while I am on that spectrum, I haven’t been for very long. There are things I don’t understand yet. Please don’t judge me too hard.

All of my posts for this series will be tagged as both #the unnamed and #social justice special forces.

Of course, the only way I know of to make sure you see every episode is to either come to my page once a week, or follow my blog. Your choice. Either way.

Anyway. Enjoy...

"You know, it scares me every time you leave."

Caleb turned away from the door and looked Josh, his partner, in the eye.

"I'll be safe," Caleb replied. "Don't worry about me. Worry about you."

"Are you ever going to tell me what it is you do for work?"

"No, I'm not. You worry enough as it is."

They kiss, and Caleb leaves, a quiet, worn expression on his face. Josh would never know what his boyfriend did for a living, and that was as it should be.

That was as it had to be.

Caleb climbed into his car, started the engine, and left. He followed the coastal roads up the Eastern seaboard, plying his route from his New York suburb into the crowded heart of New York City. The perks of having a wealthy employer (more to the point, a wealthy employer who didn't mind sharing his money with his employees) included being able to drive your own car to work, and being able to park it too. Most ordinary people rode the bus or the subway or some other form of public transit, but being able to drive was a luxury that only the rich could usually afford.

Mr. Caleb Donnelly was not rich, at least not by the usual metrics like net value or available liquid assets. His employment contract spelled out that anything he needed would be provided to him. Furthermore, if Caleb wanted something, all he had to do was ask for it, within reason.

He didn't usually ask. He had what he needed, and that was enough.

The office looked very much like any other: desks, computers, cubicle walls. Nothing strange or out of the ordinary, except that it was completely empty. No-one worked in this office, with the obvious exception of the one messy desk in the corner.

That was Caleb's desk.

This is where he came, every weekday. It was boring. It was a paycheck, kind of, but it was boring.

As Caleb approached his desk, he noticed an something odd; there was a white envelope, made of expensive paper, with his name engraved on it in flowing italic script.

Caleb opened it.

Dear Mr. Donnelly. Your services are no longer required here, for I have need of you elsewhere. There is a helicopter on the roof of this building waiting to take you to your next assignment.

It is a matter of some urgency. Do not delay. Do not call anyone. Do not talk to anyone.

Sincerely, your employer.

A helicopter.

Caleb sunk into his chair. This was most unusual.

"Whatever," he muttered to himself. "It's not the craziest thing I've done."

The pilot wasn't talking. Of course, he was a little busy trying to get a civilian helicopter through a thunderstorm. He was a little occupied.

"Are you sure you can't tell me where we're going?" Caleb yelled over the storm.

"No, sir. I'm under direct orders from the boss to not tell you."

Caleb rollded his eyes. Yes sir. No sir. Three bags full sir. This whole "not knowing where I'm going" bit was getting old.

Time passed.

Before he knew it, the wind died down outside and gave place to steady, beating rain. The copter was losing altitude, and headed toward a landing pad in a New England forest.

Sir Patrick Stewart was waiting for the helicopter, holding the umbrella from a Rolls-Royce.

Caleb stood there, in the rain, stunned for a moment. Sir Patrick Stewart, in the flesh, waiting for him.

"Come inside, before you catch cold. Nasty bit of weather we're having here."

Caleb obliged.

Inside, wherever it was, was a wonderful place. It looked like a production floor, except that there was no assembly line; just vast amounts of computers, milling and manufacturing machines, welders, the whole nine yards. And everywhere, there were people, all of them busy, all of them working on something.

"I see you've found my inventing studios." Stewart had piped up. "This is where the tools that you will be using are made. I have some of the best minds in the business here, poached from all the prime companies: Google, Tesla, Intel, Dassault Systemes, the whole set."

"What exactly do you have me doing?" Caleb asked.

"I'm getting to that. Let's make our way to one of the conference rooms."

They walked to the back of the invention floor, up a couple flights of stairs, and into a mostly bare conference room. The whiteboard contained a long list of calculations, including a fair number of Greek characters (as well as some that Caleb had never seen before.)

Stewart pushed a button at the top of the whiteboard and the contents vanished.

"I keep telling my engineers that they need to erase their boards before leaving the room." Stewart looked back at Caleb's vaguely stunned expression. "It's an e-ink board. They're not commerically viable, at least, not yet, but they are incredibly useful. One of my people from Amazon figured it out." He paused for a second, letting Caleb collect himself. "You're probably wondering what you're doing here."

"Yep."

"Sit down. This is going to take some explaining.”

Caleb sat. Stewart followed suit.

"One of the places that I recruit people from is the US Government. The people at the FBI and the CIA have higher mental and emotional standards than I do, and so if someone is fired for emotional or mental reasons, I'll arrange to interview them."

Caleb nodded, but with a wrinkled expression on his face. He wasn't sure what the point here was.

"I noticed a pattern, though: there were a lot of people who left the government because they were no longer welcome there. Some of them were gay. Some of them were bisexual. Transgender people in particular were at risk. They weren't pushed out, per se, but they were unwelcome, and people were unkind to them, and when they were offered a way out they took it."

"Sir, I'm gay," Caleb responded. "I was one of those people."

"Two things, Caleb. First of all, as long as you work with me, my name is Mr. Stewart. I have a knighthood. That's pretty cool. But I don't insist on being talked up to. Always speak your mind around here.

"Second, I'm gay. I knew you were gay when I hired you. I also know that you left the SEALS because your crewmates weren't comfortable with you around."

"I felt that, in order to win the conflicts out there, there had to be peace between us. I was disturbing that peace. So I left."

"A noble aspiration, to be sure, but ultimately not always true. Some of the people I work with best are the ones I spend the most time arguing with. They force me to strengthen my arguments, and they weed out my poor logic."

"True."

They sat in silence for a moment, both of them mulling over their respective thoughts.

"Well," said Mr. Stewart. "It's time that you met your teammates." He turned toward the door, to open it, and then paused. "But don't worry about introducing yourself -- they already know who you are." He opened the door.

Great, thought Mr. Donnelly.

A tall, Asian woman walked through the door. She was strong, her arms and legs toned with the kind of muscle that came from real-world practice, not time lifting weights. Her wrists were punctuated by matched scars, circling her arms like a pair of bracelets. Her face, while untouched by scar or blemish, told a tale of too many days being strong, and not too many days with enough to eat.

"This is Ms. Zhi Ling, long range tactics. Shotgun mics, sniper rifles, tin-can Wi-Fi antennaes, the whole set."

Caleb attempted to formulate a pleasantry, but failed, This woman could turn him inside out without thinking twice about it, and Caleb knew it.

She didn't bother with niceties either.

"You've seen women like me, haven't you?" she started. "In movies? Wearing skintight clothes and throwing hook kicks in heels? I'm not one of those people. If I want you dead, you'll be dead and you'll never see it coming."

Mr. Stewart cleared his throat and then turned back toward the door. Apparently he didn't see her statement as an issue.

"Ms. Sydney Port, logistics."

Mr. Stewart had opened his mouth to say more, but Ms. Port picked up where he hadn't left off and continued.

"My job is to keep all these crazy people grounded. They need to get somewhere? I find a way to get them there." She extended a hand to Mr. Donnelly. The hand was thin, lithe; clearly not accustomed to physical work. Her clothing, while not opulent, was well-considered and tasteful.

He shook it. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he said. And it was. Ms. Port seemed like a very solid, practical beaver of a woman, shoehorned into a lightweight frame.

She sat down, across the table from Ms. Ling.

A projector clicked on in the conference room, putting a Skype video feed up on the wall. A man smiled back from the feed. He was probably around 25, with a scraggly beard and unkempt hair. Despite his grubby appearance, his eyes glinted with intelligence, making it clear that he saw and understood deeply.

Mr. Stewart sighed and put his head in his hand.

"Mr. Thomas, we've had this conversation before. I need you to actually physically come down here."

Mr. Thomas' smile disappeared. "Do I have to?"

"Yes, you do."

"Okay. I'll be there in a second."

Mr. Stewart sighed again and turned back to Caleb. "That was Mr. Brandon Thomas. He used to work for DARPA's computer science division, before he got kicked out for editing his personnel record without permission. He's kind of high maintenance; I had to talk him out of a caffeine IV a while back, for instance. As far as hacking and computer programming and all that jazz goes, though, there's no-one better."

Mr. Thomas came in and took a seat, putting his 48-ounce coffee mug on the table in front of him, along with two laptops.

"You can keep going, you know. I've got stuff to work on and I'll keep an ear on the conversation."

Mr. Stewart rolled his eyes and continued the introductions.

That is to say, he meant to continue the introductions, but the next person didn't show up for 20 minutes.

"I'm sorry everyone, I was watching a turtle eating watermelon and lost track of time."

For twenty minutes?" Mr. Stewart had a hint of sarcasm and a bit of steel in his voice.

"That and I didn't want to come. People make me nervous."

"Mr. Donnelly, this is the last member of your team, Ms. Alex Winn. Ms. Winn is a master researcher and analyst. If there's a pattern or a precedent, she'll find it.

Ms. Winn seemed comfortable above all, at least in a physical sense. She was dressed in soft clothes that prioritized feel over form: sweat pants and a t-shirt that was a size too big for her. She had a comfortable build too; she didn't worry about eating chocolate too late at night. She was heavyset, but not overweight.

"Now that we're all here, let's have a chat."

Ling threw a venomous glance at Winn.

"Some of my researchers have located a gay conversion facility with a reputation for cruelty. I need you to go in and blow the place wide open. I want proof of every human rights violation you can spot. This place needs to go out of business, permanently, but I can't do that without proof for the courts.

"Mr. Donnelly, we're having you pose as a gay man who has decided that being gay is just too much work. We'll implant you with a bone conduction communication device, so that we can hear you and you can hear us.

"Ms. Ling will be on the other side of a nearby hill, using an array of surveillance devices to keep an eye on whatever is going on inside. Ordinarily we wouldn't risk sending someone in, but the way the building is built we can't see perfectly clearly.

"While Mr. Donnelly and Ms. Ling are on the ground, Winn and Port will be running logistics and analysis. Thomas will be attempting to hack into their security systems, although I don't have much hope there. He'll also be prepping for your next mission.

"You all clear on your assignments?"

Everyone nodded, except Thomas, whose nod lagged a bit behind the others.

"Sounds good. Donnelly, Ling, you have a plane to catch."

"Ouch!" yelped Mr. Donnelly as a tech inserted his bone conduction headset into his head. "You told me that wouldn't hurt."

"I'm sorry, sir, I probably miscalculated your anesthetic dosage."

Donnelly and Ling were on a plane, halfway to their target in the Deep South. Mr. Donnelly rubbed his face and waited for the stinging sensation to fade.

He turned to Ling.

"Do you make that little speech to every new recruit that you work with?"

"Only to the ones that look like they might come on to me too hard. Being a lesbian is hard enough; being a beautiful, troubled Asian lesbian is even harder."

"You needn't have bothered; you're not exactly my type."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm gay."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence, neither quite sure where to go with that.

"Mr. Stewart said that you were fragile, a statement that I don't understand. Can you shed some light on the topic?"

It was a statement, an observation that struck Donnelly as odd. Fragile... what was that supposed to mean?

"I've been out of action for a while. I'm a little out of shape, I haven't been to a shooting range in ages... That's probably what he meant."

Ling nodded.

"I first saw action as part of a resistance cell in China," started Ling. Sensing a long story, Donnelly sat down and turned his chair to face her.

"My group was working toward a free China -- a China free of censors, free of bondage, free of the fear that comes when people just disappear in the middle of the night.

"None of us knew the real names of any of the others, and we all wore masks or shrouds when we met in person. We planned attacks against installations, humiliated the Red Army during parades... We once sabotaged a number of tanks the night before a parade, so that they would stop in the middle of the parade and not start again. We did our best to poke holes in the public perception of the government -- all seeing, all knowing.

"Then one by one, my crew started disappearing. As the weeks went by, fewer and fewer people showed up to meetings, until the rest of us decided to break up the cell and try to get out of the country. I went back to my parents, explained what had happened, and asked for help. They were proud of me, but they were scared, and so they gave me some money and told me to figure it out myself.

"I took a train to the southern border and escaped to Vietnam.

"Once I got there, I started looking for work. Vietnam was too close. I needed to get further awau. I had heard of America, and I started looking at once for a way to get here.

"Along the way, I got picked up by some thugs who sold me to a human trafficking ring. After a few hellish days in chains, I pulled and tore at my chains so hard that I completely wore through the skin and muscle on my wrists. That's where I got my scars."

Donnelly remembered seeing scars around her wrists, and had wondered where they came from. Now he knew.

"I escaped by killing one of the clients of the trafficking ring. I then took the key from his pocket, picked my locks with the wire from his glasses, and made a run for it. Stowed away on a cargo ship and ended up in San Francisco. Three years and a handful of gigs later, I got noticed by Mr. Stewart. He promised me a stable paycheck, a place to live, and a guarantee that I would never have to break the law again.

"And now I'm here."

Donnelly gave a low whistle. "That's some story."

"It's my story."

There was a click from the intercom and the pilot's voice sounded. "We're coming in for a landing -- buckle up."

They did.

"I'll be on a hillside about half a mile to the south," said Ling. "If you're in trouble, tap three times on your jawbone, and I'll come in and get you."

Donnelly thanked her.

If only things would be that simple.

"How are things going?" Mr. Stewart asked.

"Things are fine. The electroshock therapy is a bit painful, and the daily exorcisms are a bit much, but the group meetings aren't so bad.

"The food is awful."

"I'm sorry to hear that -- do you want me to drop a steak and some baked potatoes to you?"

"That won't be necessary -- I'll get over it."

Donnelly looked over his shoulder.

"I have to go. Private time is incredibly limited. I have a lot of time where there's no-one else in my room, but everything except the bathrooms are on a CCTV setup."

"Ok. Pay attention. Take notes. Get names from the staff, and pass them on to Ling. We'll dig up whatever we can find."

"Sounds good. Donnelly out."

The line went quiet.

This place was a mess. Everyone on staff kept intoning that this was done in love, but it was hard to believe when they strapped you into a tank full of water and ran electricity through it. Knowing the human psyche as well as Donnelly did, it was clear that a number of these people took a grim, sadistic pleasure in their work.

Donnelly kept getting names. Jim Douglas. Jeremy Bonzo. Zach Blaine.

He talked to people who claimed to counselors, but who had no real credentials and spent most of their sessions intentionally causing mental anguish.

He spent time in a room outfitted with strobe lights, surrounded by staff screaming at him, telling him that he was going to hell for being gay, commanding the demons that were controlling him and making him gay to come out.

The group meetings were painful in their own way. Donnelly was placed with a group of men that were near his age and social standing, who spent hours upon hours telling him of how much better it was being straight.

Things got worse on the third day.

"Hi Caleb. My name is Joseph, and I'm one of the administrators here."

"Hi Joseph," said Caleb. "Do you have a last name?"

"See, Caleb, I wanted to talk to you about that. Let's go to my office."

They went to his office, and Joseph locked the door behind them. Locked it with a key on the inside, so that Caleb couldn't get out.

"We don't like people who ask to many questions around here. You're not here to ask us questions; you're here to move on, to make a change. You don't need to know my name to accomplish what you want to here.

"For the next 24 hours, we will be placing you in solitary confinement."

"What if I don't want to go into solitary confinement?"

"Then we will sedate you and place you there anyway."

He went willingly.

Caleb woke from a deep sleep to Winn's voice in his ear.

"Wake up, Donnelly. Wake up!"

It had been several days since solitary confinement, and Donnelly was finally getting used to things. The staff didn't want him comfortable, and they continued to find ways to make him miserable, but he had made a friend of misery. He knew what he was doing, and he made piece with his lot for the time being.

"Wake up, Caleb! Crying out loud..."

"I'm awake, I'm awake. What's up?"

"We're almost ready to get you out of there, but there's one more thing that we need you to do first."

"K, what is it?"

"We need some of the computer records from the center. We've dropped a flash drive from a drone into the compound. You need to go find it, get into the administration offices, plug it into one of the computers, and do a couple of things to the computer. Then, once we have the files, we'll send some people in there to pull you out. Clear?"

"As mud."

"Get going, then -- you need to find that flash drive before the guards do."

The drive wasn't hard to find. The drone had dropped it in the northeast corner of the interior yard, and, made of metal, it shone in the light of the full moon. The administration offices also weren't hard to get into, at least not for someone of Caleb's considerable skills. This wasn't much harder than anything he'd had to do while working with his SEAL team; the security systems were adequate, but nothing special.

Once he was inside he tapped his mic and asked for the next set of instructions. The USB stick was actually a cellular modem, so that the home team could work on the computer from a distance without worrying about the internal internet security. Donnelly dug around the office until he found a sticky note with a password on it, under the mousepad; he signed in using the password, inserted the flash drive into a port on the back of the computer, and got to work.

He was almost finished when he heard the security sirens go off. He hit the last button, turned off the screen, and ducked under the desk.

The security team knew exactly where to find him, and it suddenly dawned on him: he hadn't gotten to a secure location before talking on his mic. He had what appeared to be a very involved conversation with himself, while being watched on CCTV by a security guard. They had then allowed him to access their office, get into their computer, and start working on it.

It was very bad.

Joseph, the administrator from earlier, was the one who rolled out of bed to take control of the situation.

"We have two options, Caleb. You can either tell me who you really are, and what you're really doing here, or we can stick you in cold storage until you are ready to talk.

"And before you decide, here's another bit of information. We found your friend, the Asian, up on that nearby hill where she has been keeping track of you. You have no friends, no help. You <i>will</i> tell us what you're doing, or you will never leave this compound."

Caleb's training snapped into play.

"My name is Caleb Donnelly, I have no rank, I have no serial number, and I am giving you no further information."

"So be it."

Joseph opened his office door and gestured for two of the guards to come in. He then opened his closet and pulled out a collapsible wheelchair with restraints. The guards forced Donnelly into the chair, and Joseph cinced the restraints down hard. He was then wheeled into the basement, where they had a room outfitted in a way similar to a morgue. They strapped him to one of the drawers, and then closed and locked the drawer shut.

He was restrained, locked up, inside a space not much larger than a coffin. He was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. In a space this small, his body heat would make the already-warm space unbearably hot.

He had no guarantee of food.

He had no guarantee of water.

He knew that there was a team coming in, but he didn't know when, and there was no-one listening on the other end of his phone now. Ling had been his link to the outside world, and she was probably in a similar pickle (if not worse).

And so Caleb Donnelly did the only thing he could -- he screamed, and he pounded the table as hard as he could, until the bruises on his hands were too painful to continue.

"We have to get them out of there now." Winn was insistent.

"I know, we're working on it," Mr. Stewart replied. "You've listened to the tapes; you know that things went sideways."

"Don't abandon them. I'll go in myself if I have to."

"I won't."

"I can't."