#been in Drawing mode and I’ve been slow with emails

[dunyun-rings]

my take on the romanceable guys from Harvest Moon: Another Wonderful Life! I didn’t change anything about Rock bc I don’t know that much about him 🙊 but I wanted to finally add him to the trio and post them

#had the other two drawings sitting around for a while #Rock was a cool down after comm work yesterday #everyone waiting on an update will hear back from me very soon!! #been in Drawing mode and I’ve been slow with emails #harvest moon #a wonderful life #another wonderful life #hm awl #hm anwl #Rock #Marlin #Gustafa #my art

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Tracing Time

Monday, 15:18

Song: The Neighbourhood - Reflections

The clock at the front of the lecture hall is too far away for Sander to actually hear its ticking, but it feels like it’s louder than the tapping of his pen where he’s drumming it against his notebook. This is propped open with only a few lines of actual notes and a lot of doodles, with a quick, ragged sketch of Robbe on the bottom half of the page. Sander sighs quietly to himself as he fails his futile attempt to listen to the professor, and goes back to the drawing to add on some extra shading and more careful detail.

This is so much easier to get caught up in. Time disappears when it comes to art or Robbe, so combining the two is similar to falling into a black hole. The gravity of it is so strong, making it impossible for Sander to escape as time stops and everything else ceases to exist. He gets eaten up in it, lost until the point where everything whites out but the scratch of pen on paper and the familiar shape of Robbe’s eyes. There is no talking or ticking to make him want to peel his skin off (or at least fidget about in his chair).

It’s not the best plan, however, because he zones out a little too completely. He doesn’t realise that the class has ended until a girl clears her throat next to him, standing in the aisle and waiting to get past. Sander whips his gaze around and notices his other classmates already filing out of the room.

He flushes, muttering an apology as he quickly gets to his feet and presses back to let the girl and her friend slip past him. She glances down at his notebook as she passes and her lips quirk in a knowing smile, but she merely says, “Cute. Nice work on the lips.”

Sander’s blush deepens, but he returns her smile and manages to thank her quietly before she slips away. Her friend raises her brows and smirks at him, but doesn’t say anything as she follows. He lets out a breath and slumps back against his now folded-up chair, taking a moment to collect himself. He snatches up his bag and hastily stows away his belongings, only taking time to carefully close the notebook and tuck it in between the others in his bag. He trots down the steps and almost makes it to the door without any further embarrassment, and then the professor is calling his name.

Lars Coomans isn’t Sander’s favourite professor, only because he teaches art theory rather than anything practical. Sander doesn’t mind learning about history when he finds the subject interesting, but that only happens about twelve percent of the time. (Again, this isn’t Lars’ fault.) The man is not his favourite professor, but he might be one of his favourite people. He’s a tall man in his late forties with a tiny bald patch on the right side of his head and a soft voice. He’s relatively laid back and certainly kind.

For this reason, Sander doesn’t even feel the need to groan as he hangs back, even while the last stragglers shoot him curious looks on the way out. Lars waits until they’ve left to smile at Sander and lean back against his desk, head tilted as he considers his student.

Now, Sander begins to feel a bit nervous.

“How are you, Sander?”

The question is kind, careful, and it baffles him. He knows that all of his professors are aware of his illness, but none of them make a habit of checking up on him. They’re aware, from when he misses a week or two of classes or, on the rare occasion, needs to ask for an extension on an assignment. They’re aware, but beyond that, it doesn’t come up. No one makes a fuss about it and he’s grateful. And maybe Lars isn’t, either, maybe it’s just his kindness sprouting in the start of the conversation, nothing more than a mere courtesy. But the searching way he’s looking at Sander makes him hesitant, and he clasps his right hand around his left wrist and shifts on his feet before clearing his throat. He decides to take the casual route. “I’m fine, how are you?”

Lars seems to relax, lips quirking further for a moment before he shakes his head and waves a hand. “Oh, good, good, thank you. No, I’m not trying to be nosy, I just ask because you didn’t submit your assignment before noon today.”

Sander blinks. “Sorry?”

“The papers that were due this morning?” Lars blinks back, tilting his head. When Sander continues to stare at him blankly, he offers, “On the renaissance?”

Oh. Sander’s mouth opens and closes for a moment before he finds his voice. “But that’s not due until Friday evening?” It comes out as a question as his brow furrows in confusion. He’s sure the two assignments weren’t due in one day, and he frequently checks his calendar. He’s lost, and he’s beginning to panic slightly.

“No, it was due today,” Lars says softly, searching again as he crosses his legs at the ankles and taps the edge of his desk. “Daems has an assignment due on Friday, I believe, you have him, don’t you?”

Realisation hits abruptly. “Fuck,” he breathes, raising a hand to cover his face. “Shit, sorry. I don’t know—I must have mixed the dates, put the classes in wrong.” Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But Lars just nods, his whole posture softening in understanding. “Alright,” he sighs. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up, it’s an easy mistake. Can you get it to me by the end of the day?”

Sander swallows. “I haven’t started it,” he admits. He’d started doing the research, but he didn’t even have enough of that yet. He would be lucky to finish that by the end of the day, never mind the paper itself.

“Okay, well, you thought you had until Friday.” Lars rubs a hand over his chin and finally just shakes his head. “Alright. I’ll put you down for an extension until the time you thought it was due. And at least you don’t have the other one to worry about now, since I’m assuming that means you submitted it this morning.”

Relief flows through Sander in streams, but the banks are prickled. He purses his lips tightly and squeezes his wrist. “Lars, I just fucked up. I don’t have a good excuse, I don't want any pity.”

“No,” Lars immediately protests, pushing away from his desk to stand closer to Sander. “It’s nothing of the sort. No pity, or special treatment. You explained you made a mistake and I’ve no reason not to trust you.” He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re one of the best students here, Sander. I know because I pass that work of yours on the street every day. Even someone that good has to slip up sometimes, hm?”

Sander can only stare at him, feeling his cheeks warm again. He ducks his head, embarrassed at the compliment and the thought of his professor seeing the magnitude of his sappy love on a regular basis.

Lars only chuckles, bumping Sander’s shoulder. “I know I’m teasing, but I mean it. You’ve never even asked me for an extension before. I know you weren’t just slacking off. It feels bad, I know, but it’s not a big deal, kid. Just brush it off and then get it done, alright?”

Sander considers him. Then with a deep breath, he nods and murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Don’t stress.” Lars squeezes his shoulder, then waves him away. “Come find me or email me if you have any questions, okay? Now go on, no need to hang around an old man any longer.”

Sander huffs, but offers him one last nod and grateful smile before making his way out. As soon as he’s passed through the door, he falters in his step and his eyes close, anger towards himself returning with a vengeance. How could he have made such a stupid mistake? How has it taken this long for that to happen?

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment, willing the frustration away. It doesn’t work entirely, but he manages a few slow breaths and collects himself enough to leave. He doesn’t think too much about where he’s going, just follows the feeling and lets his feet carry him to his bike, then pedal automatically through the streets.

The garage comes into view, and Sander tucks his bike away before rapping his knuckles against the door, not having to think about the familiar knock beyond muscle memory. His feet are tapping on the ground, and he does his best to shake the nerves out of his skin as he waits.

He’s not in full panic mode yet, not really. The only thoughts he can conjure are more swears and variations of stupid, stupid, stupid. He needs something distracting enough to quiet these rants down, but mindless enough that he can attempt to sort his thoughts out.

This is part of the reason he can’t go to Robbe, no matter how much he wants to. Robbe will be too kind. Too soothing. He’s the only one ever able to fully drown out Sander’s thoughts enough so that he stops being unkind to himself.

He doesn’t want that, at the moment. He thinks he deserves this more.

This being the frustration that leads him to bang the rhythmic code on the door once more when he doesn’t get an answer.

“Woah,” a familiar voice interrupts. “You’re not usually the kind who breaks in by knocking the place down.”

Sander turns slowly on his heel to face Adi. The man (as Sander considers him, because he is actually three years older and holds genuine wisdom on occasion) is staring him down in amusement. Quite literally staring down, as he has a good few inches on Sander, but he often leans back and slouches his shoulders to make up for it. He’s only about as tall as Jens, really, but he’s broader and looks overall bigger and more intimidating.

Robbe might be tiny next to him, and Sander might find it adorable, but Robbe is also completely unfazed because of long-time exposure to Jens.

Which is only mildly disappointing. (Robbe is extra adorable when he’s both dwarfed and flustered.)

“Sorry,” Sander says sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t think that there might not be anyone here. I should’ve texted you first.”

Adi just huffs and moves to open the door, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, that would’ve been easier on your hands.” His own light-brown hand is slender and quick as he unlocks the door, movements as automatically familiar as Sander’s when he’s drawing.

They don’t speak even as they make it inside. Adi traipses around quietly to turn on lights and check up on everything, weaving between trucks, and Sander moves through to the back of the room to the piece he’s been working on. He throws his bag down and immediately crouches to examine his paint cans, eyes flickering between them and his work as he debates where to pick up again. Adi joins him after a moment, but still hangs back, leaning against the wall behind Sander silently.

Sander thinks this is probably why Adi might actually be his best friend, because he has known Adi even longer than his group from the Academy and Adi understands him just as well as Lucas.

“I fucked up,” Sander says eventually, so quietly he’s unsure if Adi hears him over the spray of the can. He’s ready to repeat himself in the responding silence, but then Adi is standing at his side.

Adi tilts his head. “Not with Robbe.”

“No,” Sander agrees, and finds some relief in it. At least it isn’t Robbe.

“Another friend?”

“School.”

“Oh. Bad?”

Sander lets his hand fall to his side and sighs. Adi is calm and curious but not comforting, nothing more than a steady presence next to him. It allows Sander to reorder his thoughts into something he can actually articulate. “No, it’s not even a problem, really. I just made a mistake and it’s pissing me off.”

“But it’s not a disaster?” Adi tilts his head further.

“Probably not.” When Adi only continues to stand and look, he heaves another sigh. “I mixed up the dates for two assignments and submitted the wrong one today, meaning I missed the actual deadline for the other. But he’s just giving me that time as an extension, because apparently I’m a good student. Can you fucking believe that?”

Adi’s lips finally quirk, his amusement returning at Sander’s incredulous, exasperated exclamation. “No, I can’t, actually. But then again you’re kinda art obsessed, so maybe.”

This time Sander blows out a breath that can’t really be considered a sigh, with the farting noise that accidentally accompanies it. He wipes a hand over his mouth as if it will erase the sound while Adi barks a laugh.

“So you’re just pissed because your brain did you dirty,” Adi summarises.

Sander grimaces, but nods. “And wondering how it’s taken this long for me to fuck up like that.”

“Maybe because you’re not a fuck-up.” Adi raises a brow pointedly, but Sander simply waves him off. The sentiment is kind, but it doesn’t change the fact that he fucked up. Then Adi adds, “And anyone can get their wires crossed like that. You’re not that unique.”

It draws a snort out of Sander against his will. It doesn’t matter that he knows what Adi is really trying to say, hears the reassurance and reminder tucked within the words; the blatant dry tone it comes out in startles him enough to set it off. Adi’s forming grin doesn’t match it and makes it easier for Sander to see through him, but he’ll let him away with it this once.

He knocks his paint can against Adi’s shoulder. “Thanks.” It’s much more clearly genuine than Adi had been, and more than Sander expected himself to give, but he does feel better and he appreciates it. It doesn’t matter that ‘thanks’ is as difficult as ‘sorry’; that just means Adi will know he means it.

Sander is sure of it when Adi simply nods in response, turning to examine Sander’s artwork rather than put pressure on him to figure out his expression. He watches on as Sander gets back to work, and eventually shifts to lean back against the wall. “Things are good with Robbe, then?”

“Yeah, always.” Sander smiles, unbidden, at the simple mention. He doesn’t feel the need to be embarrassed about it, even when Adi huffs.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow,” he notes, and Sander pauses. “Any special plans?”

Sander stays still for a moment, and then shrugs, putting his arm into motion again. He hasn’t thought about it. He might have been avoiding thinking about it. “Unless it’s a surprise. I know I’ll see Robbe, but that’s it. I do that everyday.”

“You not hanging out with all of them? What about Gilles and his gang, and Lucas and whoever?”

Sander’s mouth twitches, but he quickly schools it away. “I’ll see the guys at uni and maybe Lucas if we go to the flat or I pick Robbe up at school.”

He can just see Adi in his peripheral, and catches his thoughtful nod and careful bite of the lip. “Right, right. You ever planning on bringing him here again?”

“Robbe?” Sander asks, just to be a little shit.

“Fuck, no. I love him, I do, but he’s hardly an artist. Nah, Lucas.”

Sander brings Lucas at least twice a month, and Adi knows it. “They’re all busy with school. Final year and all that.”

“Yeah, but he’s applying to the Academy right? So, technically, this is like studying.”

“Do you want to see Lucas again, Adi?” Sander asks, mustering as much mock-astonishment into his tone as he can.

He receives a scoff for his efforts. “You know it’s not like that, you fucking asshole.”

“Good, because you know, he has a boyfriend, Adi.”

“Who happens to be Robbe’s best friend and your kind-of friend, yeah, yeah, I know. I also happen to be straight, dickhead.” He cocks his head at Sander and his lips slip into a smirk. “While you also have a boyfriend, and you’re whipped as hell for him, and yet look who you still came running to to kiss your boo-boos.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Sander says this time, tossing the now-empty spray can at him. Adi dodges with a startled noise followed by his low, booming laughter, and Sander just shakes his head and marvels at his quiet mind.

~^~

previous/next

#wtfock #sobbe #sander driesen #sander season #tracing time

[numba99]

The Arrangement Part 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary:  You’re an aspiring model in NYC who is offered an opportunity of a lifetime - an arranged relationship with a famous Ranger. Things start out rough and are further complicated by the fact you’re already in a relationship. Will you be able to figure things out or will it all end in disaster? Word Count:2,655

Warnings: None! sorry this took so long lol

The next morning you woke up the couch. In your emotional stupor, you somehow managed to pull yourself up to sit, despite the protest of your achy muscles. You blinked hard, trying - and failing - to get the sleep out of your eyes.

You couldn’t believe what happened last night. You had a feeling that this whole thing would blow up with Eric eventually. but you never thought it would happen like that. Everything happened to fast it felt like a blur. The one thing that did stand out was Mika’s words. It felt like a knife to the chest all over again thinking of him saying he never wanted to see you again.

You partly felt like you deserved it. What you said to him was awful. You don’t even know why you said it. Everything has been so crazy you went into self-defense autopilot and ended up fucking up something you really wanted.

All you wanted to do was mope all day, but apparently Alice had other plans. Your stomach lurched when her number flashed across your phone. She told you you needed to get down to the agency immediately. She wouldn’t say why, but she did not sound happy.

Your heart was thudding as you got ready. You looked in the mirror before leaving,red puffy eyes staring back at you. You weren’t at all happy with how you looked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You walked briskly through the city, wanting to get whatever Alice was going to talk to you about over with. With each block closer you got, your nerves grew. Your mind wandered to worst case scenarios, wondering if you could be fired. Standing outside Alice’s office, you took one last deep breath before opening the door.

Three head’s whipped around: Alice’s, Mika’s, and an unfamiliar man in a suit. You stood there awkwardly for a second, half considering turning around and sprinting away, before taking the open seat next to Mika. Alice and the suited man stood behind her desk, making you feel like a kid getting in trouble with the principle.

“Y/n this is Steve, he works for Mika’s team’s legal team,” Alice explained. Your heart stopped. If the legal team was here, you must be in some deep shit. “We called both of you in today because someone by the name of Eric Holmes came in and told us some pretty troubling things.” You stole look at Mika, to see his reaction, but he was only staring blankly ahead.

“Ms. Y/L/N, Eric said he was your boyfriend and he told us that you told him your relationship with Mika was a publicity stunt. You’re aware that is in direct violation of the contract you signed, yes?” Steve questioned you. You stared wide-eyed, feeling like a deer in headlights. Eric was an asshole, but you couldn’t believe he was actually trying to destroy everything you worked for. You opened your mouth to respond, but your words got caught in your throat.

“It was me,” Mika answered for you. All eyes fell on him, yours being the most surprised. “I was helping y/n with her bags and Eric ambushed us at her apartment. If I hadn’t said anything, he would have gone nuts.”

“Are you sure about that? Because he told us specifically that it was y/n and that she told him the two of you slept together, which is a violation of both of your contracts,” Steve pressed on.

“Of course he would say that, he’s an asshole just trying to get his ex in trouble. The dude swung at me and pushed her, clearly he’s not trustworthy,” Mika replied.

“Then why are there pictures of you and y/n kissing?” Alice jumped in.

Mika shrugged casually. “I’ve kissed people during publicity relationships before. I thought I was supposed to. I misunderstood.” The two of them eyed him skeptically, then turned their attention to you.

“Is this true?” Steve asked. You looked at Mika, who nodded, telling you it was okay to go along with it.

“He’s right,” you agreed, “Eric’s crazy, he was probably just trying to hurt me.”

“You’re going to need to cut contact with him,” Steve instructed.

“That will not be a problem,” you replied, more than happy to never see him again.

“And the two of you are going to have to be more careful when you’re out on the last couple dates. No more kissing,” Steve continued.

“That definitely won’t be a problem,” Mika muttered. You kept a poker face as best as you could, trying to ignore how that stung. After a few more reminders of how we were supposed to behave, we were set free. Mika left without a word, but you caught up with him in the lobby.

“Mika wait,” you called after him, wanting a chance to explain yourself.

He sighed, reluctantly turning around. “What?”

You froze, suddenly feeling nervous in front of him. “I- uh I just wanted to thank you for- for saving my ass in there,” you stumbled.

“You’ve got a lot more to lose than I do,” Mika shrugged.

“Right, well I really appreciate that,” you replied awkwardly. He could have easily thrown you under the bus, but he didn’t.

“Sure,” Mika replied halfheartedly.

“About everything that happened yesterday, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-” Mika put his hand up, cutting you off.

“I’ve been thinking and you’re right y/n,” He began, “We’ve caused problems in each other’s lives. I was never the type to cheat, yet I knowingly slept with someone who had a boyfriend. I don’t want to be that person. Let’s just get through these last couple dates and then we can move on with our lives.”

His words weren’t necessarily mean, but they felt so harsh. So final. “Okay,” was all you could bring yourself to say. With that, Mika left and you were alone again. You sulked back to your apartment, ready to return to your moping.

As much as you wanted to do nothing, you decided you had to check your email, something you hadn’t done in a few days. Just because you personal life was going to shit didn’t mean your professional life had to. You scrolled through a bunch of spam when suddenly your heart stopped. You had an email from Gucci.

You clicked it immediately, finding an invitation to a casting call for their New York Fashion week show. You wanted to jump up and scream with joy. You’ve wanted to do something like that since you started modeling and you couldn’t believe you may actually have a chance.

For a second you wondered if you should even take it. Was it right to take an opportunity from Mika after everything that happened? Part of you felt bad, but you reasoned that you should get something good out of this mess. If you landed this, it could change your world. You weren’t about to let a stupid mistake get in the way.

A few days later you were walking towards the building where the Gucci casting call was taking place. You tried to calm your nerves with slow breaths, knowing Gucci wouldn’t be looking for someone who wasn’t confident. You walked into the waiting, surrounded by other beautiful girls. You sat in one of the only empty seats, getting yourself in the zone.

When your name was called, you took a final deep breath and got into your work mode. The creative director of the fashion show flipped through the photos you bought and complimented much of your work, boosting your confidence.

Now it was time for your walk. This was the scariest part. You were pretty confident in your runway walk abilities, but all it could take was a bump in the floor to throw you off. Nevertheless, you killed the walk and you felt like she was impressed.

The woman told you that in about a week or so she would be making calls about who was walking for the show. Although you wouldn’t know for sure, you felt like you left a really good impression and had a decent chance of getting a spot in the show. As you walked out of the building, you felt the best you did in a couple days. However, there was a cloud hanging over your joy. All you wanted to do was call Mika and tell him how well it went, but you couldn’t.

Whatever, you thought, you’re going to try the best to enjoy this little high you were on. You treated yourself to your favorite coffee drink, then picked up some cookie mix. By the time you got back to your apartment, you couldn’t wait to start baking and draw up a bath to relax in. However, Alice had other plans.

When you saw her name on your phone you considered ignoring it and pretending like you didn’t see it. However, after the shit that happened the other day, you weren’t trying to get yourself in more trouble.

Alice told you that tonight you had to go out to a fancy restaurant tonight. The exact opposite of what you wanted to do. Not that it mattered to her.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you said to the cookies, as you reluctantly put them away. You retreated to your room, now needing to get ready to spend a night with someone who barely wanted to look at you. Fun.

The only dress you felt was nice enough for the occasion was a silky black one you bought awhile back. It was one of those slinky dresses that seemed to just fall on your body and hit you in all the right places. Ironically, you purchased it with the intention of wearing it on an anniversary date with Eric, but that definitely wasn’t going to be happening. Nevertheless, it was a a sexy dress and shouldn’t to waste. If you didn’t feel good, you wanted to at least look good.

Fred’s ‘here’ text came way too soon. You braced yourself for an awkward car ride, but when you opened the door, Mika was not there.

“He wanted to go separately,” Fred explained noticing your confused expression.

“Oh,” was all you could manage, slumping down into your seat.

“I may be out of place for asking, but is everything alright with you and Mika? You seemed so happy the other day,” he questioned.

You sighed. “I messed up. I said something stupid and hurt him and now I’ve ruined everything.”

“Do you like him, y/n? I mean like do you really, really like him?” Fred asked.

“Yes,” you answered without having to think about it, “I do. But I don’t know if that matters now. After what I said I doubt he feels the same anymore.”

“Y/n, I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you. He’s head over heals crazy for you. The feelings behind that kind of look doesn’t go away over one stupid fight. If you like him like you say you do, you need to let him know. Love’s not easy, but it’s the most amazing thing when you get it right. And I think you and Mika could have something beautiful if you’re willing to fight for it,” Fred stated.

“Thank you Fred,” you replied, biting back tears, “I really needed to hear that.”

“Of course,” Fred replied, “I’ve driven a lot people around over the years. A lot of people who’ve said they’re in love, but don’t have anything between them. You and Mika have something special and I would hate to see that end.”

“I swear you’re more like a therapist than a driver,” you laughed, grateful you had someone to talk to.

“Just doing my job,” Fred smiled as he pulled up to the restaurant. “Now go in here and get your man.”

You flung your arms around Fred from the backseat, hugging him the best you could. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you gushed, before hopping out of the car. You felt a million times more confident than you did before.

However, that didn’t last too terribly long. Seeing Mika, especially dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, took a bit over your nerve away. Nothing like an insanely attractive man to mess up for confidence.

“Hey,” you said quietly, taking a seat across from him.

“Hey,” Mika replied with no enthusiasm. You fell into an awkward silence. You tried to think in your head how you wanted to say this. Or if he would even let you say it. He cut you off when you tried to apologize the other day. Maybe he didn’t care and wouldn’t want to listen.

The waiter came and filled the silence. You and Mika both absentmindedly ordered something, clearly not very interested in food at the moment. And then the silence returned. It was crushing. You couldn’t stand it any longer so you decided it was now or never.

“Mika, I need to talk to you and I- I need you to just listen, okay?” you tried sounding confident, but you weren’t sure it was convincing.

“Okay,” Mika replied with a sigh. Here goes nothing.

“What happened with Eric,” you began trying to find the words, “What I said, it couldn’t be further from the truth. I was scared and upset and I let my stupid emotions speak for me. You haven’t made my life worse, you’ve made it so much better. I’ve only known you for a few weeks, but they’ve been some of the happiest I’ve had and I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you. If you really want nothing to do with me, then fine. I’ll go on the last date and never bother you again. But if you feel anything for me, let me show you I mean what I’m saying. Tell me there is something left fighting for, and I swear I will fight for you with everything I have in me.”

You were slightly breathless from all the words that just fell out of your mouth. You were proud of yourself for making it through he whole thing without crying, though. Mika looked at you with a face that was hard to read, and you wondered if you made a fool of yourself.

Suddenly, Mika’s hand slipped over yours. A small graced his face. “Of course there is something to fight for. There always will be with you.”

“Seriously? You meant it?” You couldn’t believe your ears.

“Absolutely,” He confirmed, “You’ve been under a crazy amount of stress, especially after Eric pushed you like that. I shouldn’t have let my anger get the best of me the way I did. I’m sorry I said those things and made you feel like I didn’t care about you.”

“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head, “I deserved that.”

“But you didn’t,” Mika replied, “I should have been more understanding to what you were going through. You had it a lot worse than me.”

“It’s okay, Mika. I just want to out that behind us,” you told him.

“I would be more than happy to leave that behind,” Mika agreed. “I just want to focus on a future with you.”

“Are they going to let us be together?” you asked nervously. As much as you and Mika wanted to be together, the contracts would always put that in jeopardy.

“Nothing they do is going to stop me from being with you,” Mika stated with certainty.

“What do you think they’ll do to us?” you asked, scared of what could happen. Would they really take everything from you? The lawyer Steve seemed pretty damn serious.

“Don’t worry about that now, love. We have each other right now and that’s what matters,” Mika assured you. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing it softly. You smiled knowing he was right. Everything else didn’t matter in that moment because for now, you were safe with him.

#m zibanejad #The Arrangement #mika zibanejad imagine #mika zibanejad smut #mika zibanejad fanfic #new york rangers imagine #new york rangers smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines

[familyvisionis2020]

Day 6 - The Drive Home

Today was the last day of tour. I wake up in the morning feeling guilty because I have a groggy memory of waking up around 8 to go to the bathroom, Paul was waiting to go, but when the person came out I just fronted him (a word I just now remember from elementary school, cut in line, but southern), used the bathroom and went back to bed. Rude. I am wiping the cold from my eye, taking in the undecorated walls of the apartment, and Jeremy comes from down the hall and says ‘Did you get the memo? Louisville cancelled. Tour’s over.” I said ‘fuck’ and processed it. I feel sad for Jeremy and John and Kabir because I know they wanted to play this last show in Kentucky. It’s not that I didn’t, but also for the last three months and for especially the last month I have been feeling a tremendous amount of anxiety about this tour, about feeling out-of-control, about being away from loved ones at home, about being available to show up for people in my life, about completing regular routines of hygiene and spirituality and task completion that make me feel boring and comfortable, both. Touring stirs up dredges of the tea leaves that I had let settle into a fine filmy sediment at the bottom of me. I manufactured a jello mold two years ago and poured myself into it: regular 9-5 in the legal field as a means and precursor to law school, then diligent study for 3 years, then a professional career, abandoning the party life, abandoning trespassing in abandoned buildings, abondoning the luxury of resentment and unproductive time, trying to cool and firm into something reliable, serviceable, dependable, available, a resource people could draw from for once, rather than a leech or slug. And when I go on tour I take that jello mold out of the fridge and it holds its shape but also it warms and the longer I’m out the more liquidy it gets and sloshes over the sides and so forth. So I’m ambivalent because I like what I have to offer to this band, I like the physical process of drumming and expressing myself in the context of music and being a member of a band, but also I feel like I’ve kind of chilled enough and it’s time to settle down. And I’m at a way different point in my life than the other guys in the band it seems like, for the most part. So anyways all this to contextualize the fact that the news of tour ending even earlier than early honestly makes me feel relieved, if not happy, and so then I work to temper that boosted mood for the sake of grim decorum befitting a tour taken before its time. 

All our stuff is locked in the venue from last night and we learn we won’t be able to pick it up until 1pm and so we have about 4 hours to kill in the apartment. Phillip puts on a pot of coffee that will turn out to be some of the wateriest on record, but still, a super kind gesture, and then he also puts on The Wire on HBO Go and we just settle in on the couch and watch for awhile. Some of the scenes are familiar, there’s something seductive about this show, and it brings me back to the precise moment of Summer of 2013 right before I moved to Philadelphia right after I got evicted from the squat/music venue I had been living in that winter and spring, I watched all episodes of The Wire on DVD on Matt Martin’s couch at 3 Pomroy and felt deeply depressed. It ranks up there with when I watched all released episodes of The Office in bed in the winter of 2009 after my girlfriend broke up with me, in terms of memorably devestating life phases offset by the amniotic fluid of full-series of TV. So we watch The Wire and I find myself not too inclined to sit and watch and I want to write so I sit at my laptop on the table nearby and write an email to a female (sorry) but I actually do and its purpose is to make her smile and bring some levity and play and purple prose to a moment in her life that, from how she tells it to me, is just so heavy, nightmares and waking horror and a future that feels like it hangs by a thread. so I’m glad to spend time showing up for her in this small way rather than watching The Wire, and also I write yesterday’s blog post, another activity that feels sort of like a pittance but also like: doing-writing is something I have been putting off, in phases and seasons, for my entire adult life, because to me nothing ever matters enough to write about, or if it does my perspective is deficient, or my research inadequate, or my skill incommensurate with the subject matter, or it won’t properly reflect my feelings, or any number of self-sabotaging excuses to not do this thing I so love doing, and love sharing. So for me, writing this blog is a very meaningful and special act of reclamation of a personal mode of expression that constitutes a break in my winter’s depression and what feels like a new phase of happiness, of believing-i-have-a-future, of feeling more authoratative and qualified to know and describe my own experience in a lifetime marred and dampened by dissociation, oblivion, amnesia, and fugue. So it feels like nourishment to get some paragraphs done and to move slow through my days, get them onto the page.

The Wire grows tiresome at some point and Jeremy fires up the PS4 and then the PS3 looking for games but none are multiplayer and so eventually he settles on Skyrim and starts from a new file. Me personally I love watching let’s plays and this is as good as TV. There was a moment last tour when we were in this strange small town in Connecticut called Torrington (the town all touring bands are required to go to, we also joked), in this town Jeremy was describing the sort of surrealness he experienced there and he said he felt like the townspeople in Torrington were like NPCs in a FPS RPG like Skyrim wherein you would go up to people and press A to talk, say ‘What news?” and that I thought was really funny then, I like his sense of humor. Really Kabir and Jeremy and Royal represent this sort of humor that is to me equal parts razor wit, cleverness, timing, accents, absurdity, and broad conceptual placticity, all for the most part very clean too, never or at least rarely blue (you’re gonna inevitably make a D’s nuts joke and that’s just that). And during happy times I am so grateful to be nearby this humor and during less happy times I get self conscious about how great their humor is and how I sometimes feel like I don’t measure up. But that feeling doesn’t weigh for long. Skyrim is fun to watch, it kills some time, we all take turns trying to kill wolves with swords before Jeremy finally does it, there’s a dragon, we loot corpses, discuss Bloodborne and Dark Souls and comparable games. A lot of the main media activity in this group is discussing how a given media relates to another media, Kabir and Jeremy and John know it seems like everything between the three of them when it comes to record labels, band narratives, artist’s hometowns, etc. So we play Skyrim for awhile, and then eventually it’s time to go to the venue and we drive back to The Salty Nut, load in all our gear, do a final sweep, and say our goodbyes and thankyous to Phillip. We return to the Bandido place one last time for one last round of free local Taco Bell which we absolutely scarf and are very vocally grateful to the people for giving it to us for free again, it’s clear they really put effort into being hospitable to touring bands here, at least through Phillip. His band, Thomas Function, was signed on Fat Possum Records, which also had bigger indie acts like Jay Reatard (who Phillip tells a story about him demanding $50,000 in cash for a show fee to feed his coke and heroin habit, Reatard died at age 29 from cocaine toxicity with alcohol also), The Black Keys, Andrew Bird, Wavves and Soccer Mommy, but which Kabir postulates has most of its success due to having signed octogenarian southern blues legends like R.L. Burnside and King Ernest and raking in royalties from what Kabir speculates is due to poor management of the estates of these dead leagends who each had more than a dozen children. It’s truly fascinating for me to hear how deep and complex the analysis of music these guys have is. When I feel insecure, which is often, I tend to veneer these sorts of expertises and shibboleths among music-heads as snobby, elitist, exclusionary, petty and asinine. But I think most of that comes from a fear that I lack the insight, cognitive absorbency, and passionate research skills to collate and catalog data about artists in the way these people do, the way my bandmates do. I feel inspired to take time to dig deeper into the musicans I love, to make them real to me, to get a sense of their story, their lived experience, for the sake of corroding the mediation between us somewhat, or at least polishing the media membrane. 

I volunteer to drive for the first half of what will end up being about a 10-hour drive back from Huntsville to Chapel Hill. We go to a Whole Foods in Huntsville upon Kabir’s insistence where I purchase a nootropic snakeoil energy affair in beverage form, Kabir gets hot coffee and a La Colombe Draft can of latte, Jeremy gets a kombucha made from yerba mate (“best of both worlds” he says), John black coffee as per, and Kabir also buys a slice of Tres Leches cake in a clear plastic to-go clamshell: “they can take away my tour, but they can’t take away my tres leches.” Later he’s eating it in the van and he accidentally spills some on himself and he says “shit…spilled some on myself. oh good, it was only one leche” which to me is so funny and perfect humor and just like kind of a paragon of the kind of joke I so treasure from this friend group. Another is when Jeremy and Kabir are recalling a favorite running joke from two tours ago, wherein they were in Philly, home to the famous Schuykill River (pronounced skoo-kill, at least when i lived there, at least around the non-indigenous people i knew), and while there they would affect this blaring Brooklyn accent, deployed heavily on this trip as well for basically any purpose, but back then they would say “UGH MY SKOYKL IS KILLING ME” like Schuykill was lombago or sciatica and also would say “YEAH LET ME GET A KWATA POUND OF SKOYKL ON RYE” like it was a deli meat, and they laughed and laughed. Also they liked doing rhyming jokes like last night there was a chair nearby the combo amp Tired Frontier was going to use for their set and Kabir goes ‘amp on the chair, tone everywhere’ and then I say ‘amp on the ground, makes a bad sound’ and then I tell Jeremy later how Kabir would put me in good spirits whenever I was describing to someone how my LSAT score is very competitive but my checkered past makes the acceptance process a little less than straightforward, and Kabir would see I was getting kinda down and anxious, and he would say ‘You gotta break the law before you make the law,’ and we all laugh and I love that, the function of humor as balm, salve. I want to wield my humor like that.

The drive back is fine, some sprinkles, nothing major, clear traffic for the most part, I feel like I have a good command of the van, keep it around 75 for most of the trip, feel smoth and confident switching lanes, passing, etc. We do another two NYT Wednesday classic crosswords together, Kabir is getting probably 40% of the clues, me maybe 30% Jeremy and John the other 30%, Kabir will just to YEAHHHHHHHH after getting a clue and I start doing that too after Jeremy says “X down, ‘on the table’ 15 letters,” and I say UPFORDISCUSSION after only a couple seconds and it fits and is correct and I feel like a damn genius and we’re all laughing and kind of praising each other half-jokingly for being strong beautiful geniuses who also we know songs. This is a great passtime and the drive flies by and before I know it we’re in Western NC just outside of Asheville and we make a stop to refuel the tank and get dinner. We decide on a Waffle House across the street, not wanting to venture too deep into Asheville for something healthier and better because of the time and money it would likely eat up, Kabir says that FEMA uses the closing of Waffle Houses as a bellweather to indicate the severity of a given natural disaster. We go inside, the waitress says ‘ya’ll aren’t from around here are you?’ in a way that I take to be hostile and I suggest that to the guys and they seem like maybe slightly offput but not very much and we decide not to abort and I later feel foolish because I think I am doing this thing where I become excessively vigilant or sensitive to a perceived slight to a friend who is brown for the putative purpose of interceding on their behalf against racism but what’s actually happening is if someone was racist to them they could just stand up for themselves and make their own call regarding their own comfort or lack thereof and I would do better to act less motivated by white guilt when avoidable. That passes, it’s fine, we eat hash browns and waffles and eggs and grits and toast and cover everything in tobasco and tip well and get back on the road, John takes over for the final stretch. 

I return a call from Marty and catch him up about tour being cancelled and we discuss our fears and hysteria and cancellations and reaction and so forth. Marty remarks that he is a gravedigger during the plague, which is the best possible job to have. It’s not a joke because he actually drives a backhoe working for a cemetary and digs actual graves, super weird and eminently punk/goth and kind of a curiosity but really perfect for the lead singer of one of the South’s premiere punk bands, especially after his being fired from the swish cafe he worked at in Richmond before that. I love Marty and catching up and it feels good to hear his voice. After I get off the phone it sort of becomes campfire spooky story time in the van with everyone proffering their take on the panic, market failure, the likelihood of Capitalism as a superstructure to require perpetual growth even at the peril or death of its working class, the superior response to covid that South Korea and Norway seem to have mounted, a lot of fear of financial insecurity. Eventually this digresses to talk of touring, and the guys discuss all manner of various routes throught the South, Midwest, Northeast, plains states, PNW, Mexico City, Jeremy says ‘I can get us a show in Colombia’ which he can, Argentina or Venezuela through a mutual friend, then Europe so long as the label foots the bill for the plane ticket, then Japan, setting up camp on Honshu would make it easy to hit TOkyo, Kyoto, Osaka and Nagoya no problem, except where exactly are people playing shows? there’s gotta be somewhere all these Japanese Noise and Hardcore bands are getting gigs, and then from there of course it’s not hard to get to Australia, John knows a band there, and they go all around the world and this is stressing me out a little bit, only because I wonder about how much they think I would be involved or want to go on such a theoretical tour, and the answer is I don’t 100% know. Part of me wants to say this is my last tour, lean all the way in to law school and leave behind this chapter. Part of me feels like it’s better not to make a hard and fast statement like that because what if the economy collapses and for some reason school is a no-go but being in the band becomes the most plausible source of income or something. I get anxious and psych myself out and quiet down and feel foolish and wish to be home. I fantasize about my future life of stability, but I second guess myself because I just don’t know for sure how my life will be, and want to be careful to work toward the goals I think will be the most fulfilling, self-actualizing, spiritually nourishing, healthy for me; I also want to not forsake the friendships and bonds I’ve forged in these weird intimate moments in the van with the guys. I have the wherewithal to know that nobody is requiring me to make a decision right this second, and that as time passes it’s likely that the best course of action will be revealed one way or another if I can keep from panicking. So I watch videos of the 2019 Classic Tetris World Championships on my phone, eat two candy bars, watch videos of a streamer named Wumbotize play the latest Tetris game, Tetris Effect (2018, PS4, PC), and am pleasantly awed by how crazily far the skill curve of that game has shot up. I have some time ahead of me that is completely free, which is so nice. Before I know it I’m back home in my clean apartment which is tidy like a tetris field at the beginning of a new game and I get into my bed and lay down flat and if my bed is the well than the line of me clears and the well is clean, smooth, primed, for whatever falls tomorrow. 

[bazwillendinflames]

Here I Am, Pry Me Open (Norkus)

When Markus visits Washington, leaving North behind as his second-in-command, she finds herself desperate for her best friend to return. Finding herself comforted by an old human story of connection, she waits for him to return. Or, the story of the red string of fate, as shown by a pining North desperate to pull Markus back to her.

Read on Ao3 

North can’t stand human cliches. She can’t stand most humans at all, truthfully, but something about their little collection of sayings irk her. They’re misleadingly optimistic phrases for a species that have brought nothing but destruction and hate for as long as she can remember. (And there’s so much more she can’t but if she could, North knows she’d be furious about that too.)

But, there’s one story, one little saying, that she likes a little. The red string of fate. It’s old and almost sweet (as if she’d use the word sweet ) and a strange comfort as she watches Markus walk away out the window of a dusty church. He turns for a moment, finds her somehow, smiles one last time and North could have swore she felt a tug on an invisible string linking them together.

Despite all the shit she’ll get for it later, she smiles back at him, waves goodbye, ignoring the urge to pull him back to her on string no one else could see.

Androids didn’t sleep - they either go on standby mode or recharge mode - neither are needed every night the way humans rest. But, on the first night Markus spends travelling to Washington, North is restless.

She kept imagining an endless cord of red unravelling between them as he got further and further away; it was the furthurest they had ever been apart before.

It was a big step for deviants - Markus was allowed in the human section of a plane for one - the Washington negotiations were key if they wanted to follow up on the equality they had fought for nation wide.

Despite this, there was a selfish part of North that wanted Markus to stay. Washington was unfamiliar territory. He was smart and diplomatic (and calm : something she’d always be jealous of) but she couldn’t bring herself to trust the human politicians to look past their prejudices to see that.

Even with so much talk of peace, North couldn’t help but worry he was flying into a trap. With him hundreds of miles away, she couldn’t have his back like she usually did.

North pulled on the invisible string on her fingertip, hoping it wouldn’t snap in the ever-growing space between them.

    “It has been confirmed that deviant leader, a rare RK-200 model by the name of Markus, has arrived in Washington earlier this morning. With the situation in Detroit still tense, the negotiations between human and deviant representatives are more important than ever. Now, to our Washington correspondent.”

North crossed her arms, watching the blurry footage of Markus being escorted from the airport whilst journalists crowded around shouting questions.

“North?”

Ignoring the obvious concern in Josh’s voice, she frowned at the tablet. “He looks like a right idiot in that outfit. I mean, seriously, a suit?”

“He probably felt like it would help him fit in with the humans,” Simon replied from behind her.

“Markus shouldn’t have to fit in. His long grey coat would work better. Makes him look like a real rebel.”

“I think you’re the rebel in your relationship.”   

She frowned at the implications of the word relationship (it was, god forbid the curse of human cliches, complicated).

“North, you’ve been watching the news all morning. The talks don’t even start till tomorrow.” Josh caught Simon’s eye and they exchanged some kind of worried look, before he continued, “it’s helping you.”

“I’m just keeping an eye on things.”

“Markus put in charge of operations,” Josh added, never one to back down from anything.

“I can multitask.”

“You can’t keep an eye on the news and Jericho.”

Josh made a grab for the tablet. “Come help us sort out supplies.”

“Please,” Simon added.

“What kind of supplies?”

“Medical.”

“Boring.” Still North got up to follow them. “But, I’m checking the news again in an hour.”

They walked through the Church together, back to the friendly teasing she was used to.

The red string of fate didn’t always have to be romantic. North imagined a trio of strings tangled in the space between the three of them: companions for life. She also imagined two more strings connected to Markus in Washington, maybe not as tight or well monitored. But, always present if you knew where to look.

    The string of fate was red because it was human story. It was supposed to represent a heart string. By that logic, for androids it should be a blue string, for blue blood connecting blue hearts.

But North loved red. It was the colour of flames burning elastic underwear, the colour of broken code, the colour of artificial blush she never worked out how to turn off that only Markus’ soft words sparked.

So, their strong of fate was red. And now it was like an endless loop that stretched to Washington and back, threading back through the place on the tablet where Markus’ heart was.

For most of the androids at Jericho (despite the gossip), the meeting between Markus and North could be seen as a weekly update about their cause. For those who could visual the red link between them, it was clearly more.

“I want to have at least one signed treaty before I come back,” Markus continued, “I need something solid to prove we are moving forward.”

“How long do you think that will take?”

“A while. Washington isn’t as forward thinking as they wanted us to believe. They still look at me like I’m some kind of liberated toaster.” Markus laughed at his own joke. “But, there’s some progress. As long as they don’t think it’ll cost too much, we might come out with something.”

“If anyone can convince them, it’s you.”

There was a moment before he replied, the connection was flickering in and out.

“I hope so.” He leaves forward. “How are you?”

“Jericho is still running. We’ve been organising the new medical unit-“

“No, I asked about you . Obviously I care about Jericho. But I care about you too, North. So, tell me how you are, all the little things.”

“Okay, I feel…” feeling was part of being deviant but it wasn’t easy to talk about, usually she just showed him, “overworked. I’ve been managing the Jericho emails and it gave me a lag when I logged in. I don’t get how you do it.”

“Well, I type in the password-“

North laughed, for the first time since Markus had left. “Okay, idiot.”

He was smiling at her.

No, more like… he was looking at her like was something precious. She was the source of his smile, that much North was certain of.

“What?”

“Nothing, the screen froze that’s all.”

“Damnit, stupid computer. Was I pulling a stupid face?”

“No, you just looked really happy for a moment. It was-” Markus shook his head, looking at her in the insufferable fond way, “anyway, you said you were feeling overworked?”

They kept talking until the signal finally died and left North staring at a black screen.

The endless string of fate knitting them together was stretched out again and when she put her hand to her chest, she could have sworn she felt it tugging on her heart.

    Androids didn’t sleep but whenever North recharged, she never felt safe to do so unless she was with someone to watch over her. She hadn’t realised how used to that person being Markus she had gotten until his trip.

Despite the fact North’s energy levels were in the red, she was still yet to recharge. Instead, she paced around Markus’ office, trying her best to avoid looking at the plush airchair she usually recharged herself on. The door may be locked but North couldn’t quite bring herself to sit and put herself into recharge mode.

It was embarrassing to admit that the reason she had always gone to Markus’ office was because he made her feel safe . He made everyone feel safe, which was why so many androids looked up to him.

But, sometimes it seemed like he had a special kind of safety he reserved for her. The kind of kinship from bringing freedom to their people side by side, now carried over to her recharging in his office, knowing he’d never leave her there vulnerable and alone.

Androids didn’t sleep but they dreamt (maybe just deviants dreamt) and when North she dreamt, it was with Markus watching over her, like an angel.

Now, as she put herself on recharge mode without him, it felt like she was missing a key part in her routine.

(Truthfully, she was missing him.)

    “Confirmation that congress are drawing up an agreement with the androids, as represented by deviant leader Markus, suggests the previous silence towards policy about androids may be broken. President Warren is still yet to make any press statements about the deviants since they revolted in 2038 but it seems like congress's plans suggests a change in policy. Speculation on exactly what rights deviants will be granted is yet to be confirmed. Back to you Josh.”

“I knew he could do it.”

“It seems like diplomacy works after all,” Josh replied, a little slyly.

Ignoring his jab, North turned her attention back to the news.

“I need something solid to prove we are moving forward.”

North wasn’t going to admit it, but part of her excitement was more selfish than about progress for the deviants cause. If Markus could make a deal, pass an act, make his mark, he’d come back to Detroit victorious.

He’d come back to her, shorten the stretch of string connecting them.

He’d come back to her and she’d feel safe again.

    Human congress took long enough to pass acts as it was but the human protest at anything to do with android rights slowed it down further. (How Josh could justify any kind of peace with people who had defended their imprisonment for over a decade was a mystery to her. Who were petitioning to get Markus kicked out of Washington. North had woken up due to the cruelty of a single human man. She hadn’t closed her eyes since.)

Markus, to his credit, never shouted back. He looked almost regal, with his calm walking, head held high. There was something admirable about it really, North would have snapped after a single comment and blown something up. (Exactly why she was left behind.)

“He kinda looks like a rock star,” Simon muttered, glancing to check Josh hadn’t heard. (If she and Markus were complicated, Simon and Josh were just idiots. If it wasn’t so fun to tease them, she’d intervene.)

“He looks better than that,” North replies. Simon looked up and they shared a brief nod of understanding. Markus was… well there was something about him that meant they weren’t alone in thinking of him as some kind of hero. Heroes were always attractive to people. North would hate that kind of attention, although she was aware some of the androids must look at her in the same way.

Most of Jericho looked at Markus like he was made of gold or something. And, somehow, he chose her to intertwine the string connecting their artificial hearts. If she looked at him like he was golden, Markus looked at her like she was equally precious. (Precious was different to delicate. She appreciated that.)

    Another month crawled past and North started to feel more confident in her temporary position as Jericho’s leader. She called Markus for advice weekly (although the topic always wandered away from that.) Still, she was happy to return to second-in-command as soon as Markus had sent the message he was coming back. It was exclusive - a whole three days before the news ran headlines on the Android Work Visa Act - but her joy at progress was overshadowed greatly by the news that Markus was booking a flight back to Detroit.

(That was how much she liked him. Before, she was willing to die for their cause. Now, she wanted to survive for a life with Markus.)

She crowded in the projector room, between Josh and Simon, watching the live press coverage.

“Markus, Markus!” They yelled eagerly.

“Total rockstar,” Simon muttered. She elbowed him.

“Will this act take work away from humans?”

“Not at all. There’s been a huge need for people to take up the roles left unoccupied since we got our freedom. Now, we can work together to keep our cities clean and supported.”

North grinned; he was wearing the long grey coat, the back of it flying in the wind like the rebel leader he was.

    “You’ve done your hair.”

“Shut up Simon.”

North pushed back a loose curl behind her ear, suddenly self conscious. She may have twisted her hair back into a carefully styled bun for Markus’ return but she had hoped no one would actually notice. It would probably only further Jericho’s gossip circles.

Markus’ flight had landed an hour ago and she was with the office door open. It made her feel like some kind of housewife.

“No, it’s nice.”

“Stop pulling that face.”

“You’re not even looking at me.”

She shut off the tablet and turned around. Simon may be wearing a neutral smile now but she could sense the smugness underneath. (And after she hadn’t mentioned that Josh wore his sweater in last week's meeting. Traiter.)

“Lucy wanted your help. She’s in the conference room.”

“We only use that for emergency meetings.” North pulled on her jacket. “Is it an emergency?”

Simon shrugged. “She just messaged me for your help. You know you’re Lucy’s favourite, right?”

“As I should be.”

    The conference room was in the basement of the Church, a location mostly chosen as it was insulated by thick walls.

“Lucy?” she called, pushing the door behind her, “Lucy?”

“Not quite.”

North turned around at the familiar voice. It was the first time in months she had heard it in person. “Markus?”

“Hey.”

“You- how did you get in without me noticing?”

“Back exit. I needed some time to recover before everyone questioned me on my trip.”

“I might question you on your trip.”

“Oh,” Markus smirked, “sure. Do you want to know about negotiations or policy first?”

She laughed, still half-convinced she was glitching or something.

Markus moved towards her so they were standing an arms reach away.

“I’m not going to say I missed you.”

“I was going to say I missed you.”

North chuckled despite herself. “Okay, I did miss you.”

“Wait,” Markus pulled a small package from his pocket. It had been wrapped in Washington newspaper. “I got you something.”

“I hope it’s a bomb.”

“North.”

“Joking.” She unwrapped it carefully, finding a little glass dome in her hands. “A snow globe.”

“It’s the Washington monument. I didn’t get to see much of the city but-”

“I’ve always wanted a snow globe.”

“I know,” Markus said, “You said it was one of the few human traditions you found cute. Like a tiny world to rule.”

“That was months ago.”

“I can’t forget anything. And… I wanted to get you something. Take it as proof that I was thinking of you.”

North put it down on the table, watching a glittery snow storm fall around a tiny Washington. “I don’t have anything to prove I was missing you.”

“I know,” Markus said, moving his hand to his heart, “I know.”

Just like that, North was reminded of her own heart and the string connecting them, now shorter than an arm's length after months of being stretched out of shape. When Markus touched his heart, he seemed to shorten it further, pulling them closer and closer together, until North was looking up at him.

She had kissed Markus before but it was the same day that Jericho sank and they fought and won their freedom. They hadn’t done it since, even if they stood side by side eyeday.

Now, they were standing chest to chest. The last of the red string faded away as North leant up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

#dbh #detroit become human #markus dbh #north dbh #norkus

[dancingoddess]

I once used the opening line of Sound of Silence to describe my life with anxiety during a Bell "Let's Talk" Day.

"Hello darkness my old friend", refering to me saying hello to my anxiety showing up when it does.

"I've come to talk to you again", my anxiety says back to me, giving my fears a voice in my head, usually drowning out logic or anything else.

I can't remember a time when I didn't have anxiety. As a young child, I would worry about all sorts of things. Being liked, what others thought, etc. My mother would tell me I worry too much, that if I didn't stop worrying, I would give myself an ulcer. So far, my mother has been wrong, no ulcers for me, but my almost constant state of worrying at times has manifested other health issues. Migraines. Insomnia. GERD. The inability to voice my thoughts, chief amongst other things.

I know that others might see me as aloof, because of my shyness. Maybe lazy when I try to do a day of self care. Or they see my inability to make a choice, when inside I worry which choice is the "right" one. If they could see the war inside me, the internal struggle I have with the inner demons over the small and the huge things in my life, maybe they could begin to understand. Or, maybe not.

To give a bit of background on my current bout of anxiety, the biggest cause of me being anxious is my family. People see on the outside a friendly, nice family, one that always smiles, has a listening ear, active in the community, and helps out. For me, I see people who make me feel like an outsider. If I didn't look like them, you'd swear that I wasn't related, and that I might be an enemy. At family gatherings, I feel like the black sleep, not privy to inside jokes, or I'm the person they joke about. At some point of any gathering, I'm usually in some bathroom, crying my eyes out over something said about me. I come out of the bathroom, like nothing happened, but inside, the little anxious me wonders just how long it will be before I'm either back in there, crying again, or how much longer I can be there before I can go back home.

I've tried not going to family events, using work, or illness as an excuse, but the guilt I feel after, either beating myself up at not seeing my dad, or my sister's telling me they missed seeing me, feeds the anxiety in me just as much as it would should I go.

Anytime I know that there is an upcoming family thing to go to, I go through a week of panic attacks, weird behavior and interrupted sleep patterns. Following said event, you can find me feeling drained, as it takes a lot out of me, and wanting to be alone.

The last time I saw them was Thanksgiving. On most holidays we celebrate birthdays alongside whatever holiday it is. I took my boyfriend out, because I hoped that they might be nice, try to get to know him, and maybe not pick on me so much, plus the added bonus of having him there. Instead, I was treated to another round of pick on the black sheep, followed by them not even trying to engage him much in conversation. As much as I wanted to spend time with my nieces, and see my dad a bit, at the first opportunity we had, we left, saying we would return the next day before going back home. The next day, I just couldn't force myself to visit with them, so we left for his family's dinner. I got an email stating how disappointed they were in me not coming back, but I knew if I tried, it would have left me wanting to stay home from his family gathering, and wallow in my anxiety.

Anxiety reared it's head recently after receiving an email from my younger sister, saying that they were making plans for this coming weekend, Easter. They would be coming out to visit, and hoped to celebrate with everyone, as Christmas had been a bust with me not going out there. What I got from it was that they were coming out, because I can't seem to make it out there, and that I couldn't use having only one day off as an excuse to not go and see them all. They live a few hours away, so it takes time and planning to get out there.

When I broached the topic with my boyfriend, he said in not so many words, that I should go visit at least for my dad's sake, as he is older and has a limited amount of time left for happy days. I asked him to come with me, seeing that we've been together long enough and serious enough to go to mutual family events, and he didn't seem keen on going. He said something to the sort of how he doesn't seem to feel like he's welcome there. While I get that, I don't feel welcome in my own family, it actually hurt to know he didn't want to go. Not because he doesn't like them, but because it felt like he was more than willing to let me face it alone, which makes me feel so alone. I may not always feel comfortable at his own family events, but I go, because it's for him.

My anxiety got the best of me on Monday, two days after the email. It was a day off, and I had two errands to do; visit my dad, and look into the car repairs I need. The day before I did the other running around I needed to do in order for my day to be free to do these two things. I dropped off my boyfriend at his work, and came home to get ready. I had to prepare some of the gifts I needed to take with me that day, but I couldn't find things I needed to do that. And then I just couldn't get myself to get ready. To shower, to get dressed, to do anything. The idea of seeing my dad was daunting. The idea of getting a big bill for the car was scary. The idea of going out and talking to others wasn't appealing in the least. The first panic attack hit, and there I was, crying alone.

Anytime I started thinking about going, I broke down.

I. Just. Couldn't. Get. Myself. Going.

Eventually it was time to get ready to pick my boyfriend up, so I let him know I had some panic attacks and that I was gonna pick him up.

His words to me were, "I see."

Really?

I left to pick him up. Downtown. During rush hour traffic. Driving in heavy traffic always sets me on edge. People drive too slow. Others try to cut. Pedistrian traffic. I start getting closer to his work, and notice that I'm early; it can take him a few minutes to get to the doors, and where I pick him up I can't wait there for him, so I do a square around the block to kill time. He's still not at the doors when I get there, so I have to do another round, only this time I turn the wrong way, and ended up taking longer than normal picking him up. I could feel the buzz of my phone in my pocket, and the panic of being late make tears fall down my face.

I got stuck behind a bus, more tears.

By the time I got to his work, I was in full silent panic mode. I don't like drawing attention to my tears, so I stayed silent, unsure that I would be fit to drove if I didn't. He didn't say anything as I drove all the way home. Several times, I fought tears, but a few escaped. He may have noticed, he might not have.

He hasn't said anything since.

When we got home, I saw the message he sent. I texted back, stating what happened, but no reply.

I let him have his space, unsure if he was pissed at me, or just pissed in general. As I went to bed last night, I could almost feel a rage coming from him, so I went to bed, choking back tears.

He has still not said anything, no text, no nothing.

When I mentioned this to a friend, how I'm in panic mode from having to deal with family, and now having to deal with a silent partner, they said to try to talk to him. I've sent messages via text. They go unanswered. I've said a few things here and there, no response in person.

All the while, my body and my brain are a silent war. My brain, if you can imagine has a few shouting voices, arguing to be heard. There's the voice not unlike Shia Labeouf, saying "Do it", and trying to motivate me to say something. Anything. Then there is the voice, not unlike a friend of the family that says I'll never amount to anything. That one is constantly there, nothing new. The next one is me trying to think of ways to talk to him, and imagining any possible outcome, and what I'd say to them. Think of Dr Strange in Infinity War, who saw so many possibilities of outcomes, only instead of viewing them in a blink of an eye, I see them all day, and all night.

The last one is the most quiet, but the most heard. It reminds me of my younger sisters voice, stating that it's too late, don't bother, that I'm not good enough, that he's only around to use me, like all the others. That I'll be alone forever.

That voice, is my dark friend. My anxiety. It keeps me frozen in place. It cuts my voice from speaking, because I'm afraid it's right.

I know that most people might think that I should fight, and say something, but when it comes to the fear and fight response, the fight has been mentally beaten out of me years ago, from those who have come before. Maybe my inner voice is wrong, but it's been so long ingrained in me that I can't just shut it down anymore. It's a habit I'd like to break, but I will admit it's not one I can break alone.

Work has been an absolute chore, and a Haven this week. Trying not to panic and failing, but at least I have purpose. I have to be cheerful for those I talk to, and have to be focused on each call.

As the weekend approaches, I dread going to my family thing alone, because I know he doesn't want to be there with me. I dread going to his family thing, not just because he's not talking to me, but that I don't feel entirely welcome. I dread having to put a happy outside on, while I'm feeling like I'm dying inside.

And all the meanwhile, there's a fifth and final voice starting to say that maybe I've had a good run of life, and that it's time to take my final bows.

Hello darkness, my old friend, I see you've brought another friend.

[punkpuns]

Answering Asks Again

Hi there, I’ve built up a bit of a backlog on asks so here are a whole bunch of them answered.

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Friend I’m sorry I got to you late - but maybe that’ll help, at school you should have a selection of thrift shops around where other students have been donating stuff as they’ve moved off campus and that’s a goldmine. I’d say hit the thrift shops, find some stuff you think looks good and is comfortable, and shop only on half-off days. If there’s nothing that quite looks like you want it to, mod it.

And look, tossing out everything you’ve got and starting fresh is pretty wasteful - maybe see if there’s someone in your dorm who would be down to trade? Maybe you could set up a facebook clothing swap event for people on campus? Use it as an excuse to get to know people. Or mod the clothes you’ve got - khakis and a polo can be turned into cutoffs and a tanktop pretty easily, and a stencil plus some acrylic paint from the art supply section of the campus bookstore can make you some pretty awesome custom stuff, you can dye even the most pastel of sundresses black.

Experiment, figure out what you like. Start slow and add one piece at a time - maybe stovepipe jeans aren’t your thing so buying four pairs would be a mistake. Maybe you only want to wear yoga pants and I salute you, but that’s up to you to figure out.

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This feels a little bit trollish because I’m having trouble envisioning an adult who works in a law office and in local politics but hasn’t figured out how to dress in a way they want to or hasn’t figured out whether or not they should.

I’m going to assume you’re young in which case I’m going to actually recommend that you don’t bring much of your style to work for one reason: optics are important.

If you’re involved in local government, work at a law office, and are a punk it stands to reason that you’re pretty politically active and motivated to make changes in the world, and it sounds like you’re uniquely positioned to do so! But here’s the thing: the last time I went to talk to the city council and a group of us showed up in black the local paper called us “kids” and “extras from a Depeche Mode video.” I now own a mousey brown skirt suit and a wig to go talk to the city council.

It’s great to express yourself, it’s less great if expressing yourself prevents you from achieving your goals or making the changes you want to see in the world. It’s really easy to pigeonhole punks as slacktivist poseurs who masturbate to Richard Spencer punching remixes and never vote and that’s because a lot of punks live up to that image.

So I guess what my real advice is is feel out your office, maybe you can get away with skull earrings or a grommeted wristband for your watch but keep your hair to neutral colors if it’s going to get you fired. Activists need attorneys and paralegals and local city councils on our side so there’s value in sucking it up and dealing with the system until you’ve got uplifted enough voices to change it.

Unless you work at, like, the Exxon law offices or with a prosecutor or something. In which case ? why? would you be here? of all places?

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Okay the true punk answer is wear whatever you’re comfortable in. Nobody should care what you’re wearing and if they do they’re an asshole.

That said I understand why it can be uncomfortable to stand out in a crowd - a dark pair of pants, a tee shirt, and a hoodie (if it’s cold enough for one) should be physically comfortable and won’t make you stand out like a sore thumb. Wear comfortable shoes that are thick enough to protect your feet in case you get stepped on, make sure your jeans have enough pockets that you don’t have to carry a purse.

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ALWAYS. If you want in on this donate $10 to the ACLU, RAICES, a local abortion fund, Planned Parenthood, or the United Way Flint Water Fund. Any of these groups will email you a receipt for your donation. Screenshot that receipt and send it to me through tumblr messenger along with a picture of whoever you want illustrated, if you want to see them as a punk, goth, or metalhead, and the names of their 3 favorite bands and I will get an illustration back to you (1 figure only, waist up, grays, no background).

If you donate more I’ll do a more detailed illustration. Here’s an example of one that I did for one of my college professors:

She donated $100. I’ve got limited time to draw so if you want a drawing like that one ^^^ message me first and make sure I’ve got my schedule clear enough for it.

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Boy howdy do I ever:

https://www.ocweekly.com/five-native-american-bands-to-give-thanks-for-6596916/

https://www.pastemagazine.com/articles/2016/09/8-artists-exploding-the-concept-of-native-american.html

http://remezcla.com/lists/music/los-angeles-latinx-punk-bands/

http://tanyatagaq.com/

http://www.toiletovhell.com/here-are-some-indigenousnative-metal-bands-to-help-you-celebrate-columbus-day/

http://remezcla.com/features/music/the-ogs-goth-playlist/

http://www.dazeddigital.com/music/article/38098/1/photos-from-la-s-latinx-metal-scene

https://www.mixcloud.com/LovelyMetalhead/lovely-talks-heavy-episode-25-black-and-metal/

http://lord-kitschener.tumblr.com/post/158978645618/so-goth-i-was-born-black

https://www.racked.com/2017/10/23/16492192/black-goth-girls

http://coilhouse.net/2012/09/i-am-so-goth-i-was-born-black/

http://www.dazeddigital.com/music/article/28372/1/why-is-the-history-of-punk-music-so-white

http://diningwithdana.tumblr.com/post/115035345741/pocs-in-gothdarkindustrial-music-hey-fab-bats

http://www.dazeddigital.com/music/article/28419/1/the-black-punk-pioneers-who-made-music-history

http://www.post-punk.com/goth-so-white-black-representation-in-the-post-punk-scene/

As to whether I’ve got any comics in particular about race in the goth/punk/metal scene, I’ve touched on it here and there and discussed why racism doesn’t belong in the scene but I’ve never gone in depth about the people of color who have been erased from the history, but I would very much like to and I have some notes that I’m collecting to do so.

#ask

[hillywooddestiel]

The Retreat- Chapter 8

Characters: CEO!Bucky x reader

Warnings: language, angst, things get a little steamy *nudge nudge wink wink*

Word count: 1.5k

Series description: Y/N Y/L/N: determined business woman, sought after by most businesses, creative visionary for advertising. She has it all. Or so she thinks. Life has a way of kicking you sideways when you least expect it, want it or are in anyway prepared for it. Numerous times. How can Y/N remain from cracking under the pressure when her career isn’t the only thing on the line and everything isn’t all that it seems?

A/N: THURSDAY IS TR DAY! Happy Thursday everyone and always, here’s another chapter of The Retreat. Enjoy xx Marvel Masterlist  Series Masterlist

Story:

Working late. One of the many ways my friends can describe me. I’m forever in my office after everyone else has long gone home, Wanda included. I know, I know, I’m marketing manager. I should be used to the long hours and the demanding workload and the incessant stream of emails. I shouldn’t really complain: the pay is fantastic and I adore what I do. And I’m good at it. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I wasn’t. Back in College, I was a freshman and Bucky was in his senior year. He was helping me with my minor in business, being a business major himself while I was a graphics major. A few years later, he contacted me and asked if I wanted to be involved in his new venture and (being the poor, freshly graduated, twenty something year old that I was) I agreed. I was hired because I was the best in my class.

Leaning back in my desk chair, I stretch my arms above my head, giving the muscles since much needed exercise. Ish. The only illumination in my office is from the computer screen which can’t be at all good for my eyes but I’m saving on electricity and the monsters in the dark don’t scare me! My printer sounds extremely loud in the otherwise silent office, whirring away like a low flying plane on a sunny day. I collect the papers into a folder and slip back into my heels. Professional mode activate.

Motion activated lights flicker on in the hallway as I approach them, the elevator dinging as it arrives before me. I push the button for the 25th floor and take a deep breath- this will be my first time seeing Mr Barnes since the trip.

His office is dark, like mine, the cityscape a twinkling sight to behold at this time of night. The door to his office is open allowing the glow of warm light to infiltrate the rest of the floor. Hesitantly and nervously, I tap on the door frame and enter.

“Mr Barnes, I have the files you wanted.” I offer them from across his huge desk. He’s sat in his office chair, his computer glowing brightly. He’s wearing just a blue button down shirt with the top few buttons undone, tie and blazer discarded on one of the grey chairs by his coffee table. He looks overworked and there is stubble on his face from more than a few days of not shaving. But he doesn’t look bad. No Y/N, you need to stop thinking like that.

“Thank you. Can you look at these for a sec?” He asks, standing up from his seat and spreading papers across his desk.

“Um… sure.” I go around to his side of the table, focusing on the documents and not the enticing scent of his Chanel cologne.

“The artists you contacted have come back with some design ideas and I need your creative eye.” I continue to only look at the table and not at him. Some of the designs are colourful, some are very minimalist, some have an excess of lights for what I presume is disco mode. These artists clearly aren’t all well rehearsed in the business of working for a client. Newbies.

“No… Definitely not this one… This one’s a maybe but I would ask for it to be redrawn, it’s very amateurish… No… God no… Maybe but it’s a little boring… No… This one could work…” I sift through the pile, plucking out the ones that I think have potential. This device is going to be revolutionary so it’s design must be as well.

I look over my chosen designs again, picking up a pen and adding a couple of notes. All the while, Mr Barnes hasn’t taken his eyes off of me. I get that weird feeling of when you just know that somebody is staring at you. When I snap my head upwards, I lock eyes with him. He’s focused, his steely eyes lost in mine. He’s also gotten closer; his body right next to mine and his face so close I can feel his every breath. Up this close, he’s even more handsome and I can see every little detail. He has crow’s feet crinkling the corners of his eyes, not uncommon in men his age, giving him a look of maturity and it’s safe to say it’s got me breathing harder. His irises are less grey, I can see it now, they’re sparkling blue. Like aquamarine with a splash of green. They shift from side to side, something easily missed from a distance but I don’t think we could be any closer right now. How long have we been staring at each other now?

The tension is palpable. Like I could reach out and grab it, tell it to kindly fuck off. It’s filling me with butterflies and I don’t like it. Mr Barnes is my boss, this is wrong… and yet… it feels just…

It feels right.

Instinctively, I swipe my tongue across my bottom lip and swallow hard, my eyes flicking dangerously to Mr Barnes’s own lips and back to his eyes. In that second, something switches. It’s as though somebody pressed the on switch.

“I don’t know about you Y/N but,” Bucky starts, his voice husky and low, “I’m far from drunk right now.”

“Bucky-” I barely get to speak before the magnets of attraction draw us together.

His hands immediately go to touch me, one holding my waist and the other tangled in my hair. His touch sends sparks across my skin. I pull him closer, running my fingers through his short dark locks. There’s nothing slow and steady about this kiss: it’s all pent up frustrations, neediness and pure passion. Our lips meld and work in tandem, neither of us seeming to get enough of one another. I can’t believe this is happening- again! And I’m not drunk, I am so not drunk. This is real. And it’s amazing. In a surprise twist, Bucky slides his hands to my waist and lifts me onto the desk making me squeal. In return, I tug on his hair a little earning a loud groan. It spurs me on and before I know it, my hands are fiddling with the buttons of Bucky’s shirt and-

“Incoming call from Thor Odinson.” Oh for fuck’s sake!

At the announcement from Mr Barnes’s AI assistant, we jump apart like we just gave each other an electric shock. I jump off the desk while he pushes to answer the call.

“Mr Odinson, what is it?” He asks, sounding a little exasperated. “Sorry to call so late but I’ve heard word from a friend of mine at Stark Industries. They know we’re working on a home assistant so they’re pushing for an earlier deadline.”

“What?! How did they find out?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t told. But this means that we’ll have to move forward faster as well. If we want to come out with ours first.”

“Right. We’ll have a meeting in the morning. Thank you.”

“Don’t you want to talk this through-”

“I’m a little busy at the moment but we’ll be able to discuss this all tomorrow. Keep an eye on your inbox.” Mr Barnes ends the call and sighs, turning to look at me. I straightened my clothes and fixed my hair while he was busy talking.

“I should probably… uh…” I gesture to the open doorway, stepping slowly towards it.

“Um… you don’t have to-”

“No, I have… stuff to do and uh… other stuff to do so…” I shuffle out awkwardly, walking away much faster once I’m out of his sight. Time for home I think.

How did I do that? I kissed my boss. Again! Why do I keep doing that? I’m a HR nightmare. But I wanted it to happen; I definitely wasn’t going to stop it. If it weren’t for the phone ringing, I would probably still be at the office on that table (or at Mr Barnes’s apartment). I need help, professional help.

Finally home, I slam the door (sorry neighbours) and slump down against it to the floor with a thump. If past me could see myself in this moment, she would be shaking her head and tutting at me disapprovingly. I’d say I need wine but if sober Y/N can make poor decisions on her own, I really should stay away from alcohol permanently. My phone beeps and steals my attention.

Nat- We still on for coffee tomorrow? x

Me- Of course xx

Nat- Great. See you there x

Me- Looking forward to it xx

I couldn’t tell Nat. Could I? She wouldn’t tell a soul but she’d be super judgemental. No, I can’t tell her. I need her advice though and badly. First world problems, huh?

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #ceo!bucky #ceo!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #ceo!au #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #mcu #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #avengers x reader #avengers au #marvel au #marvel ceo au #ceo!marvel #marvel series #seriess #wattpad #sebastian stan

[say-alittleprayer]

From the beginning to the end

I’ve always been an average student. Yet, in God’s kindness, I’ve been able to get into otherwise unlikely academic courses, not once but twice.

ONE:

My score for O Levels was average. It wasn’t good enough for a diploma in Psychology & Community Services at Polytechnic; I was a point short. But still, God provided and I was able to enter it based on other merits. Side note: I actually went into Psychology with an interest in Speech Therapy. 

I went through the effort to submit an application, prepared and went for an interview only to forgo the opportunity and instead enrolled myself into Junior College. I remember deciding not to go ahead with it mainly because it was the ‘risky’ option. Junior College was what seemed to be a more traditional option – an option that would increase one’s chances of entering university.

Almost three months into Junior College, I changed my mind. I realised how it was not going to work out for me; If I had stayed any longer, I am almost certain that I would have failed in my first year. My parents were extremely supportive of my decision and so, we rang up the Polytechnic. They told me that there weren’t any spots left but they were willing to make an exception because they had previously offered me a spot.  

TWO:

My score/GPA for my diploma was average. It wasn’t good enough for the more prestigious local universities. Even if it was, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to continue with Psychology. I was also considering Social Work and Nursing at that time.

I started knowing more about therapy related jobs during my diploma internship. And I was a lot more interested in what the therapists were doing. I learned about Occupational Therapy and a dear sister-in-christ made arrangements for me to do an observational attachment.

I looked it up and thought maybe but the chances were quite low. There was a diploma course available but it was only for those who went to Junior College and who had completed their A levels. There was no degree available at that time and so, my only option was to study Occupational Therapy overseas. But there was no way my parents could afford the hefty insane marked up international student costs.

And that’s how the idea of applying for a scholarship came about. Never in my life did I see myself as a scholar. As I’ve said earlier, I’ve always been an average student. But there were no alternatives except to work and save up in order to fund myself, which would take many years. The requirements of the scholarship included a diploma with merit or equivalent. I tried for the scholarship with my average GPA; I didn’t obtain a diploma with merit.

In God’s kindness, I was offered the interview. An admin staff then sent out a mass email to all the interviewees asking for a copy of our academic transcripts and other relevant documents. Lo and behold, I clicked reply to all and sent everyone all my important documents. *slow clap* A kind acquaintance who studied in the same Polytechnic replied to my email and told me about this embarrassing mistake. Oh, can you imagine the horror.

On the day of my interview, I found out that I was the last one for the day. Everyone before me went in for what seems to be a really long time. The girl before me went in and some time had passed. I needed to use the bathroom and I thought there’ll be time for that but just as I was about done, one of the staff came in and told me it was my turn. What timing! I washed my hands and wanted to wipe them off with paper towels but there was none. And then I remember thinking to myself that the hand dryer would take too long. And also, it would seem unprofessional to walk in with hand prints on my dress. So, I decided not to dry my hands and not shake hands with those on the panel. Side note: Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure they would have been understanding if I took a little longer. I think I was just in a panic mode at that time.

During the interview, everything seemed to go smoothly until one of the interviewers stopped me midway and said something along the lines of: “I think I have to stop you there. We have to respect the differences between Physiotherapy and Occupational Therapy.” Yet another horror.

After the interview, I walked out and the staff who called me in said: “wow, that was quick”. My interview only took at most 15 minutes. I went home and I think I cried telling my family what happened – the interview was a traumatizing experience. Side note: Now that I think about it, maybe the interview only took 15 minutes because I was the last person for the day.

The next morning, I received a call and yes, God has once again showed me his loving kindness. Yes, I was shocked. Yes, I squealed a little. Yes, I cried happy tears :’) but only after the phone call ended. I was holding back during the phone call; I pretended to be composed when in fact, all I was thinking was: How can this be true? Is this real? Side note: Now that I think about it, why did I pretend when it was indeed a happy news to be celebrated.

So yes, a year after the happy news, I packed my luggage and started my four year journey in Perth.

FOUR YEARS:

Four years on, it’s time I pack my bags and return to my island home that is Singapore. It has been an incredible four years and I’ve grown to love Perth more and more and very much. I am eternally grateful for the blessed opportunity to study overseas. I definitely learned more than what I thought I came for.

I’ve always been quite lukewarm with my relationship with God. It’s there but not quite - you could classify it as non-existent before I moved to Perth. My god was more of a feeling. Yet, the true and living God was gracious and in His kindness, I’ve been enjoying huge and wonderful privileges. There were challenges and lessons learned but my journey from the beginning to the end has mostly been smooth sailing.

From an older post I wrote (and I decided to put it here because still relevant):

I chose to study in Perth partly because it is quiet and peaceful city, which I thought I could maybe make good use of to draw closer to God. However, some part of me also felt that I might drift away from Him because … lazy… lazy to find a church… lazy to go to church… (and got no parents hehe) (add on: I was thinking if I have been going to church only because my parents were and maybe it was just part of my routine). But I am so thankful I found UCI (UniChurch International). It didn’t take me long to settle down in the church, where I really feel encouraged to keep growing and learning His word. I also feel very encouraged by the love and care the brothers and sisters have for one another, and I have learned so much from everyone.

All of these, to Him I owe. And so, I pray that I will never forget but instead, always remember in my heart who God is – how great and holy is he, how loving, gracious and kind is he. I pray that I will always remember all that he has done for me – all that was mentioned before and more importantly, that God sent his Son, Jesus Christ, into the world who died in our place, took our punishment and brought forgiveness. Thank God that Jesus did not stay dead. God raised Jesus to life again as the ruler of the world. Jesus has conquered death, now gives new life and will return to judge.

Oh how great it is to have such an awesome God! Thank God for how He has revealed himself to me through his Son and his precious word.

Four years on, it is difficult to say goodbye to what has been one of my greatest experience by far. But I thank God for all these and to Him be the glory. 

I have also been extremely blessed by all the wonderful people I’ve met throughout my four years in Perth. Thank you to all my dear friends, classmates, brothers and sisters in Christ xx

#textreflection

[weekendsinmaine]

Today is the first official day of summer. It always feels anticlimactic. Our weather has been teasing summer for awhile now. The warmer days arrived earlier breaking up the cooler and often much damper days of spring. It always happens slowly. An unexpected day or two where temperatures climb higher than expected. A gently reminder to hang on because warmer days are coming.

We have four seasons in Maine. Some people say five. They count spring twice. The warmer days of early spring when everything reawakens. And, the much maligned mud season. I only count spring once. Maybe because it’s actually my least least favorite season. The mosquitoes dominate these milder months and as the snow retreats it leaves everything brown and anemic until finally a burst of green improves the palette.

I think our four seasons are a gift. I love them all even if spring comes in last. Since I haven’t ventured out much yet for summer given our current pandemic, below are a few pictures from summer’s past.

  What do I love about each season?

Fall brings a welcome crispness and return to routine after the late nights and long weekends of summer. The trees erupt in reds, yellows and orange drawing in tourists and locals alike. Sweaters and long sleeves provide a cozy barrier to the cooler weather.

Winter is usually the season that most people cite as the reason Maine’s not for them. But, not me. There is the silent, contemplative pace in winter. Life slows down. You have time to think. Sure, shoveling back to back snow storms and navigating icy roads is a challenge, but nothing compares to the beauty of the snow covered landscape. Some of most amazing trails I’ve ever hiked have been in those cold, isolated months. I even blogged about winter in my 2018 A to Z Blogging Challenge. Although even I’ll admit that winter probably overstays her welcome by about a month.

Spring may not be my favorite season but there are still moments that I enjoy: seeing the first few buds break through the ground or watching the last of the snow disappear. Snow is beautiful when it first arrives but gets dirty and dreary towards the end. There are some pretty days tucked into the brown of spring. Unfortunately, most of our time is spent in project mode. It’s our working season. Ironically, having to self-isolate gave us plenty of time to get through the to-do list this year. It was even a nice distraction.

Summers in Maine are perfect. Jim Gaffigan has a comedy bit in one of his stand up specials about performing a show in Bangor, Maine in February. I think it was February. It was definitely winter. The punchline is that everyone he meets keeps saying “you have to come back in the summer”; “it’s amazing here in the summer”. I understand the sentiment. Our summers are spectacular.

Summer is the yin to winter’s yang. The pace can feel ironically fast for a season known as having lazy days. It is often frantic and hurried as we try to squeeze everything on our “must do” list into a few short months. It’s a sprint from one perfect moment to the next.

Because each season is so short, we fully appreciate those perfect summer days. We know to savor and enjoy each precious, brief moment. I think that’s the real gift of our seasons.

While things are slowly opening up again, we’re still navigating through this ongoing pandemic so in many ways summer will be a little different this year. But, in others, it will be exactly the same.

What is on your summer fun list this year?

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  Happy first day of summer! #summer #firstdayofsummer Check out my latest blog post... Today is the first official day of summer. It always feels anticlimactic. Our weather has been teasing summer for awhile now.

#fall #seasons #spring #summer #winter

[sending-the-message]

In The City Of Meatbot-Powered Killers (part 8) by molotok_c_518

Table of Contents

Part 7

(WARNING: Due to the graphic nature of this series, reader discretion is strongly advised. Contains cannibalism, strong language, violence, and a mention of suicide.)

A bit of dark web wizardry to fill in the gaps...

Video footage from a Reaper drone, designated RB-4, on station over [REDACTED]:

A Chinook twin-rotor cargo helicopter comes in from the south, towing a huge crate underneath, roughly the size of an industrail AC unit. After some fancy piloting, it manages to set down the crate with minimal swinging. The sides drop, revealing a pile of beef sides, enough meat to start a Texas-style barbecue for 1000 guests, give or take.

Immediately, a swarm of little stick figures, like ants at a picnic, converge on the beef. They nearly trample the small know of people at the site that have been eating each other for the past several days.

The frenzy goes on for about a half hour.

Suddenly, the focus of the video shifts upwards, to an incoming A-10. It comes in low and slow, and drops...something... from underneath.

RB-4 tracks the dropped item... a canister? a bomb?... all the way to the pile of beef and bot-ridden.

Just before it would hit, it explodes, throwing fire in every direction. The little bug-people right underneath are incinerated immediately; others take longer.

Like the downtown attack, some of the infested run like hell away from the flames; many, many more run towards them, throwing themselves on the pyre, in defiance of survival instinct.

RB-4: God... damn... that's gonna need some serious brain-bleach to scrub that shit away. Good hit, sir.

A-10 Pilot MAJ {Brown}, call sign "Anvil": Roger, RB-4.Feels fucked-up to be dropping on US civvies.

RB-4: They ain't exactly human anymore, sir. Some Ebola shit or something.

Anvil: So I heard. Do you actually believe the White House on that?

At that moment, a burning man breaks loose and begins running towards a long, two-story building in the background.

RB-4: It may not be Ebola, but... we Chair Force guys have seen some serious shit, sir. One of my buddies just checked out... ate his sidearm.

Anvil: Fuck... condolences.

RB-4: Thank you, s... whoa!

The burning man reaches the building. He slams his fists against a door, and the whole top of the building explodes.

Anvil: Shit! Shit! Shit! We were supposed to be careful not to hit that complex!

RB-4: The explosion was from inside, sir. Glass all blasted outwards.

Anvil: Gas leak? Triggered by the burning idiot?

RB-4: Unknown, sir. I will say it doesn't look like anything you could have anticipated.

Anvil: ...fuck.

RB-4: Hope you brought marshmallows, sir,

We ran.

The double doors opened on a wider tunnel, brightly lit, that ran for 1000 feet, terminating in another set of doors. It was deserted.

Halfway down the tunnel, my email reached the phones. The whole tunnel shook like Richter's best wet dream, and we were thrown to the tunnel floor.

"I... I think I overdid it," I muttered.

We got back to our feet and ran for it again.

{Jane} was a bit faster than me. As a result, she hit the doors a few steps ahead of me, and got ambushed by the four infested on the other side.

She yelled as she was dragged to the floor, but managed to get the machete into the head of the first one as she fought. It jumped back screaming.

I got there a few seconds later, and slammed the axe into the head of another one, throwing it back into a wall. Another swing removed the top of a third one's skull.

This gave {Jane} enough room to slam the last one into the first one, and the two went down in a tangle of limbs and a spray of meatbots from the head wound of the first infested.

The second one had recovered enough to come charging at me. I swung upwards, taking it in the gut with the poll of the axe and putting that spike right into its ribs. Intestines unraveled and spilled on the ground; the last infested jumped on them and began to devour them while the badly wounded one tried to shove him off.

"C'mon!" I said, grabbing {Jane}'s arm and dragging her to her feet, then propelling her to our right, and another tunnel.

The lights had flickered a few times as we fought. Now that we were free, they threatened to go out as we escaped.

Another infested came out of an alcove to our right. {Jane} took it high, lopping its head off with one clean stroke.

"A little further up, we take a left," she panted. "It will take us across campus."

"Are you hurt at all?"

"No. Looks like they couldn't get a grip or bite on me."

"Okay. If you are, let me know... I brought some more anti-bots with me."

She stopped. "Wait... you have more of those things?!? And you're willing to actually use them on us?"

"Well... yeah. I mean, that's how I recovered you in the first place, and kept myself from getting infested when you attacked me."

{Jane} grabbed me by the lapels and slammed me into the wall. "DO NOT PUT THOSE THINGS IN ME," she growled. "If I get ridden again, just burn me."

"Okay, okay," I whispered. "I get it."

I didn't, really. I also didn't mention that she might still have some dormant counter-bots in her system.

See, the actual programming called for a short "maintenance" period, where several classes of 'bot would go into "sleep mode," as it were, awaiting the chemical trigger to awaken (wounds, cancer, etc.). After a while, they would run out of fuel, deactivate entirely, and get flushed.

Sometimes, ignorance is the best policy.

We set off again, taking that left and charging into increasingly more dimly-lit sections of tunnel. We got hit a few more times, but it seemed like they had all gone above-ground and joined the cannibal bonfire.

Then a familiar smell hit me: raw meat, unwashed bodies, spoiled flesh, blood, cake frosting.

"Stop," I said.

{Jane} looked at me funny. "What?"

"There's an orgy of infested ahead."

I could hear it now, too: That squishy, slithering, chewing sound.

"Is there a way out of these tunnels and back to the surface from here?"

"Just around that corner ahead of us. Probably through the orgy."

"Backtrack?"

"We'll be out in the open, visible to any recon drones, for about a half mile."

"Fuck."

"We can take them," {Jane} said confidently. She swung the machete like a pro now.

"No. We try to get around them. A few, we can deal with... more than 20 or 30, and we could end up like them."

{Jane} looked me in the eye: a hard stare, more than a little bit homicidal. "Maybe I should push you in. Serve you right for making them like that."

"I thought we were past this."

"...wait..."

"...what?"

The sounds had stopped.

"Uh-oh."

"Run through them," {Jane} mumbled, swinging the machete.

"Wait..."

"NOW."

And she charged.

"Fuck." I hefted the axe and followed.

Around the corner was a knot of infested, slowly disentangling themselves from each other as they heard {Jane} running around the outskirts of them. She was swinging at limbs that reached out to her, lopping them off, as other hands reached out to grab the newly liberated snacks.

I followed at a bit of a distance (I deemed it unsafe to get that close to an angry woman with a big knife), kicking severed hands into the pile, swinging at any arms that got too close.

One hand reached out and grabbed her pants leg, and she went down hard. I chopped into its wrist, and the hand flew across the tunnel into the wall, tangling in a small nest of cables.

I ran past, grabbing her by the collar and hauling her up. She limped on, and I supported her weight as we passed the feeding frenzy.

"To our right. Up those stairs. I think it's the chem building."

"I thought we were going to the dorms."

"No. Mall."

We slammed through a door. The stairwell beyond was empty and dark, and utterly silent once the echoes of our abrupt entrance faded.

I lugged her up the stairs. She weighed a bit more than she had when I rescued her, but I felt it was wise not to mention that.

"Why are we going back to the mall?"

"Food. Shelter. Real clothes." She gestured at the mish-mash of men's clothes I had scrounged up for her. "Hair dye, so I can go blonde again and hide the grey."

"What grey?"

"Plus, we have a plausible story to tell the Army if they roll through asking survivors how they kept from getting infested: 'We locked ourselves in the mall and stayed put.'"

"You know that most of them will have seen Dawn of the Dead, so they'll know it's reasonable..."

"Right."

"I just came from the mall, though. Locked myself in there after Bobby and his wife got taken in."

"You mean Ricky."

"No, Kentucky Bobby."

"It was Ricky. Bobby was the one that was always in the bathroom."

"Really?"

"Are we going to the mall or not."

"Car."

"There's a lot full of them."

"No keys."

"I can hotwire one. My ex taught me. It's apparently a big thing in Russia to know how to steal a car."

"I've never heard that."

"You have now."

I sighed. "Let's go, then. I duct-taped a latch on the south side. We can get in there. Also, we should snag an electric or hybrid. Quieter. Won't draw as many."

"Let's roll."

She seemed a little better on her feet as we climbed the stairs to the first floor and went out into the bright, late-summer sunshine. I didn't comment on it, figuring she'd put it down to just twisting her ankle.

Outside, the way was clear, right up to the cars in the parking lot. A good half-mile walk.

Right out in plain view of any drones or satellite coverage.

"They'll see us if we go out there," I said.

"They'll be distracted by that," she said, pointing back at a pair of thick columns of black smoke.

"Good point."

RB-4: This is RB-4 to RQZ Six.

RQZ: This is Six, go ahead.

RB-4: Sir, it appears that our target has been heavily compromised. Seems that there was some kind of gas leak at objective 2, and it... well, it exploded. Sir.

RQZ: Can you confirm casualties from up there?

RB-4: Negative, sir.

RQZ: I would hate to have lost our best chance at curing this damned thing.

RB-4: Is it that bad, sir?

RQZ: Officially, it's contained.

RB-4: ...officially, sir?

RQZ: Unofficially, we may have a few isolated cases in an outlying suburb.

911 (dispatcher, just outside [REDACTED]): 911, what's your emergency?

Man: Help, my wife's gone fuckin' bonkers!

911: Where are you?

Man: I'm in my house, at [ADDRESS]. My wife brought home a stray dog, nice animal, collar and everything... it bit her, and she started... well, eating everything (BANG BANG BANG in the background) in the house.

Woman: LET ME IN, JERRY. I JUST WANT TO TALK!

Man: You already stabbed me with a fork, Ethyl, I'm not falling for it.

911: Officers en route, sir, stay on the line.

BANG BANG BANG

Woman: JUST OPEN THE DOOR, JERRY, WE CAN WORK THIS OUT.

Man: You've got rabies or something... I'm just getting you an ambulance.

Woman: I DON'T NEED A FUCKING AMBULANCE! YOU WILL IF YOU DON'T OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!!!

911: Where is the dog now?

Man: She ate it.

911: I... see. Hold for a moment, please.

Man: Wait...

bang bang bang

Woman: Honey, I'm sorry. Just come out and we can have a nice dinner.

CRASH!

Man: Fuck, Ethyl, how did you... AHHHHH!!! THAT FUCKING HURT!!!

The car we managed to snag was a Honda hybrid. Silent as the grave. {Jane} drove.

We went out the north entrance of the campus. Along the way, we saw sporadic knots of infested laying very still, with only a cursory glance at us as we drove by.

"Probably almost starved to death," {Jane} muttered.

"Yeah," I said.

"So you're just... letting the Army kill them all?"

This again.

"Yes. Better that than put the nanobots in the hands of anyone else."

"And you're okay with that?"

"No. I'm not. It hurts that I can't cure them. It would take more than I believe we have to cure them all. Plus, they did... things. We've seen them burn themselves to death rather than run from the fire. It's a good probability that most of these people would prefer to die."

{Jane} navigated to the entrance of [REDACTED] Mall and drove to the back side, where I had taped the door open.

She shut off the car, and stared out the window for a moment.

"I still need to figure you out. I'm not sure I totally trust you."

"Okay..."

"I know these... things... can affect the brain. They made me okay with killing and eating people. How do I know that you didn't program them to make me follow and obey you?"

"I wouldn't... couldn't... do that. How about, I take one end of the mall, you take the other..."

"Okay."

"If we stick together, we can get out of this. It's entirely up to you."

"Okay."

"Go think on it. Get real clothes. Get whatever food you want. I'll be in the electronics store."

An hour later, and I'm hiding in a mall bathroom with a fire axe. Again.

One last step, and we can be free of [REDACTED], out of the quarantine zone, and on our way.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

[biofunmy]

Give your iPhone a makeover with these 13 tips

CLOSE

Using a few iPhone tips, you may not need the newest version because your phone still works well. USA TODAY

Apple is hosting its customary September product unveiling for the news media next week signaling the imminent arrival of the newest iPhones. But the latest hardware is only part of the story, and not the biggest part at that if you plan to sit out this next buying cycle and instead focus on what you could to do to add features and breathe new life into your current iPhone. 

The way to do that is to install iOS 13 when it is officially released in the next few weeks, since this freshest version of Apple’s free mobile operating system is compatible with models dating as far back as 2015’s iPhone 6s and 6s Plus.

Some of the coming features that have claimed a fair bit of early attention include an optional darker design aesthetic, the promise of faster speeds and better privacy and security, “look around” Maps, a swipe-able QuickPath keyboard, a Photos app makeover with new editing tools for video, and – one I’m particularly excited about – the ability to automatically dispatch incoming calls from robocallers or other unknown numbers directly to voicemail without ringing your phone.

Apple has revamped the look of its Photos app in iOS 13. (Photo: Apple)

But there’s a lot of other new features that are more under the radar, though for some of the iPhone faithful anyway, no less helpful to have around. And taken as a whole iOS 13 represents a pretty vast upgrade, and I see little risk in installing the software when it is available. 

I’ve been running beta versions most of the summer and for the most part like the changes I’ve seen. 

With that, here are 13 features or tips that might make your new or older iPhone more useful or productive.

1. Finding a lost iPhone

Apple has long offered a feature called Find My iPhone which can help you track and retrieve a lost device remotely, provided your missing handset is connected to the Internet and picked up by a Good Samaritan willing to arrange a return. Find My iPhone is now part of a newly revamped and named Find My app that also incorporates what had been a separate Find Friends app. Anyway, you may now have a puncher’s chance of finding the lost phone even if your device is not connected to Wi-Fi or cellular. How so? The phone can emit Bluetooth signals that may be detected by other iPhones in the vicinity, which can then relay the lost device’s location.

Battery settings in iOS 13. (Photo: Edward C. Baig)

2. Optimized battery charging

Nobody wants a battery that poops out too soon. If you flip on the optimized battery charge feature added with iOS 13 – head to Settings then Battery Health – the iPhone is supposed to learn from your daily charging routine over time so that it can wait to finish charging above the 80% level until you need to use it. This is supposed to slow the battery aging process.

You can switch Wi-Fi networks within Control Center in iOS 13. (Photo: Edward C. Baig)

3. A more controllable Control Center

Control Center is the handy toolbox of controls and tools: screen brightness, calculator, flashlight, music player, Do Not Disturb, airplane mode and more. You summon it by swiping down from the upper right portion of the screen on the iPhone X or later models or by swiping up from the bottom on older iPhones, all without having to dig deeper into the iPhone settings.  With iOS 13, Apple has improved it. Most useful of all: You’ll no longer have to go to settings to scan for and switch Wi-Fi networks or Bluetooth connections. Instead, press down on the section of the Control Center with such wireless settings to change your network or Bluetooth devices right then and there.

Employees are planted with chips: Wisconsin workers embedded with microchips

4. Moving the cursor 

On the surface, this is a small change, but I’m all in. You can move the cursor more quickly and with more precision by simply dragging it to where you want it to be on a line. You won’t have to tap and hold the screen and drag the magnifier loupe that was previously required. It’s gone.

5. Three-finger shortcuts 

If you take three fingers and swipe from right to the left on the screen you can “Undo” the last thing you did. Swiping from left to right instead, adds back what you just took away. You can also Undo by double-tapping on the screen with three fingers. I find these gestures much simpler than shaking the iPhone to initiate Undo and Redo commands, which by the way you can still do. Apple’s three-finger monte in iOS 13 doesn’t end there. For example, you can pinch up with three fingers to quickly copy, pinch up with three fingers two times to cut, and pinch down with three fingers to paste.

6. Block unwanted Mail senders

Welcome addition: You can have all the mail sent by a particular sender blocked and routed to trash. Select the address and choose “Block this Contact.” This works across all your Apple devices.

7. Mute Mail notifications threads

You were once an active participant in an email thread but no longer so, and find the ongoing notifications that keep piping up a pain. Apple’s solution is to let you mute such notifications. From the Mail app inbox, swipe part of the way from right to left across a message that represents the thread and tap More. Then tap Mute from the pop-up menu that appears (or Unmute should you eventually choose to rejoin the conversation). 

In iOS 13, Apple has added easier ways to format email. (Photo: Apple)

8. Easier formatting in Mail 

iOS 13 makes it much simpler to dress up and format your email messages. Start composing a message and select some text. A new format bar appears above the keyboard letting you bold, italicize, or underline text or add a strikethrough. Available controls also let you can change fonts, colors, text size. And you can more easily add photos, drawings or attachments too.

Safari lets you apply controls to specific sites as part of iOS 13. (Photo: Edward C. Baig)

9. Per site website controls

Inside the Safari browser, you can now make specific choices for specific websites. That is you can allow a given site to access the phone’s camera, microphone and location or refuse such access. You can also determine for individual sites whether Safari will automatically display the “desktop” or mobile-optimized version of the sites (assuming there’s more than one such view). Or choose whether articles will appear in a reader-friendly mode that strips out ads.

10. File downloads in Safari

Apple’s Safari web browser in iOS 13 now includes a helpful download manager. Just tap on a link in the browser and (by default) the file will be downloaded onto iCloud Drive. Changes to your downloads folder will sync across all your iCloud devices.

11. Do Not Disturb While Driving 

It’s been a couple of years since Apple added the Do Not Disturb While Driving feature to help you avoid distractions when you take the wheel. In iOS 13, Apple will let you automatically activate the feature in CarPlay. What’s more, the company says it will no longer turn on the feature when you’re riding as a passenger in public transit. The iPhone has often thought I was driving when in fact I was a passenger on a bus. 

Apple has improved Screen Time in IOS 13. (Photo: Apple)

12. ‘One more minute’ in Screen Time

Introduced last year, Apple’s Screen Time tools provide valuable insight into how much and where you (and the kids) are spending time on the phone, and it offers some tools to help you all go on a digital diet. It remains to be seen how effective this will prove to be, but among the improvements coming to Screen Time in iOS 13, is the ability to request one more minute to wrap up what you’re doing and save your work before an app limit you’ve established kicks in. While you’re at it, you now have more control about the limits you do set. For instance, you can combine app limits for specific apps, apps categories or websites. Be forewarned: Your kids may not be happy.

Voice Control settings inside iOS 13. (Photo: Edward C. Baig)

13. Voice control

Though Voice Control is found under the numerous accessibility tools and options Apple provides, anyone might choose to use it from time to time. For instance, you can use your voice to swipe, pinch, zoom, or perform other gestures. Or you might talk aloud to open apps by name, adjust the volume of the phone, tap buttons, take a screenshot, dictate or edit text and more. Get started by tapping on Settings, then Accessibility, then Voice Control. Or ask Siri to turn Voice Control on or off.

Email: [email protected]; Follow @edbaig on Twitter.

Baig is coauthor of iPhone For Dummies, an independent work published by Wiley.

Read or Share this story: https://www.usatoday.com/story/tech/columnist/baig/2019/09/03/ios-13-hidden-ways-get-most-out-your-iphone/2165746001/

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[winchester-with-wings]

Shattered Beginnings, Part 1 / (Second Chances series)

A Bruce Wayne x child!Reader fic by my sister, @faithtrustandpixiedust95 !

 *I did not write this* My awesome sister did!

Summary: Bruce Wayne faces the Joker when the mayhem he’s caused on a bridge involves your 6 year-old self.

Word Count: 2975

Warnings: trauma, car accidents, Joker threatens a child (typical! lol)

A/N: My sister emailed this to me in the middle of the night with this message: 

Will you read this and let me know what you think? I wrote it all by myself based off of a dream I had. Be nice, I don't know how to write like you. Love you sissy! Sammy

I’m so freaking psyched for this fanfic and we’re breaking it into two parts! Her first ever fanfic was more than 6k words! That’s awesome! So keep in mind that she wrote this and I did not. There’s no guarantee that she’ll continue writing fanfiction but she’s really happy with this one, which is why I’m posting it for her (with her permission). Your reactions to this story will definitely reach her though!

Additional Author’s Note: This is written in both the Reader’s and Bruce Wayne’s POV. Bruce’s pov uses the “you” perspective as well.

*I couldn’t resist using this gif lol*

Reader’s POV:

Staring out into the night, you’re remembering. Remembering the things you didn’t want to, the things you did want, and the things you had no control over remembering. All you could think of is how much and how fast your life had changed in the blink of an eye, for the worse and for the better, although who was the judge of that? You didn’t know.

Looking up at the stars, you close your eyes, but instead of seeing black, a blurry glimpse of the past appears instead. Suddenly you’re 6 years old again and you’re slowly opening your eyes in the backseat of your parent’s car after being jolted forward by the result of a crash.  You’re not quite sure how to react, all you know is that your ears are ringing, your heart is racing, and you’re scared.

Everything seems to be moving in slow motion, your reaction time is delayed and you don’t quite have control of your body; you don’t know what is going on. You look out of the shattered window and you see several other cars had slammed into the semi-truck that had jackknifed on one of the several suspension bridges that littered Gotham’s transportation network. The semi had wrecked in a way that it was blocking all lanes of traffic and had knocked out and snapped several cables that were part of the bridge’s structure. The cab of the truck was slightly dangling over the edge of the bridge; looking as if it could slip into the water far below if someone nudged it.

As the ringing in your ears begins to die down, you start hearing car horns blaring and several people screaming out in pain. None of the cars had had time to react to the semi jackknifing in the middle of traffic; as a result some were completely demolished from the high-speed impact. You look around and see smoke slowly rising from the heat of the cars that had crumpled, at one point you noticed that a sedan had been turned into a convertible when the canopy of the car got sheered away from the body after coming into contact with the trailer of the semi.

While you heard screams in the distance, you didn’t see any people to put the voices to. All you noticed was that the screams were all far away, which made you realize something was very wrong. Your parents hadn’t turned around from the front seat to check if you were all right. In fact, your parents hadn’t moved at all since you had come to. A surge of panic rushed over your small frame and suddenly you became very tense.

“Mama….Daddy? Are you ok?” you asked, a small whimper accompanying the weak question. You look at the driver’s and passenger seat and you see your parents aren’t moving. You scream their names, suddenly crying very aggressively. You start thrashing in the back seat of the car, trying to move to get to your parents, but you stop when a sharp pain radiates up your left arm.

Bruce’s POV:

Of all days to be driving the Aston Martin! You were on your way into the office crossing Sails Bridge into Gotham’s downtown district when you saw a semi, two or so cars ahead of you lose control and taillights breaking in front of you. Even with reflexes like yours, you weren’t able to stop in time. You had, rather unforgivingly, slammed into the back of the car in front of you. The airbags had been triggered and you were slowly sitting up and reaching your hand up to the bridge of your nose where you felt blood dripping down. A raging headache soon followed once you started to get your bearings.

You observed the scene in front of you. It was a pretty grim sight; the semi had caused a lot of damage to the bridge and to the dozens of cars that had been in the path of the rogue vehicle. You slowly got out of your sports car and slightly stumbled when you decided to try and take a step. You leaned against the hood of your car to regain your composure.

You walked to the car behind yours that hadn’t had quite as rough of an impact. When you got to the driver’s side window, you saw a teenager sitting with a look of shock on his face. It didn’t look like he believed quite what he was seeing. He kept rubbing his eyes and slapping his cheek to try and knock some sense into himself. It wasn’t until you spoke up that he jumped out of his daze.

“Are you okay?” Was all you could ask the young man.

“Yeah, I think so. Sorry about your car, dude.”

You were Bruce Wayne, you weren’t used to being addressed as dude, but you ignored it.

“It’s okay, I’ve got 3 more at home,” you half-joked, trying to ease the young man’s obvious panic and tension that was starting to set in, “You should dial 9-1-1. I’m going to go around to the other cars and check on people. Tell the police what happened and that there’s a lot of people involved.”

All the boy could do was nod, looking up at you from his seat. You started to walk to the other cars in the wreckage to see if you could help anyone as you heard the boy start to talk on the phone.

You had visited 2 other cars and you were in the middle of coaching a woman on how to help her husband’s injuries until the ambulances came when you heard it.

That shuddering laugh, the one with little humor or mercy in it; you looked towards the semi and through the smoke from the cars you saw a lanky man in a purple suit with what looked like green hair. You’d known as soon as you saw him that the laugh belonged to him. He was waltzing around in between all the cars laughing, looking for someone to further terrorize. The air he had about him as he walked around such a grizzly scene disturbed you, he acted as if all this was a game.

It took all your self-restraint to not go into “Batman-mode”. You were in public as Bruce Wayne in the middle of the day. You couldn’t do anything, but try to be a good-Samaritan and help out the victims of the crash. You refocused your attention on the couple you were helping and you told them to try and get out of the car and retreat further away from the crash. You knew if anything more was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be good.

You crouched near the car and silently watched the Joker as he was looking for a play-toy.  You didn’t take your eyes off of him while you dialed Alfred on your phone, putting an earpiece into your left ear.

You kept your voice low, “Alfred, there’s been an accident on the Sails Bridge. I have a feeling the Joker might be to blame for it.”

“Why is that Master Bruce?” he asked with an intrigued curiosity in his voice.

“Because I’m watching him walk around the wreckage like he’s shopping for his next suit. He’s admiring his work so far.”

“Do you think he is trying to draw the Batman out?” Alfred asked.

“Possibly. Whatever his plan is, it’s not good. The police aren’t going to make it here in time to deal with him with all the traffic the wreck has caused. Not to mention the time it’s going to take the ambulances to get to all the people involved. If he escalates the situation, things could go south real quick.” You were still crouched, hiding behind a car trying to figure out what you could do to save these people without revealing your identity. That’s when it clicked.

“Alfred, can you autopilot the Batplane to the bridge from the cave?”

Alfred had picked up on your idea once you said it, “Yes, sir I can. I will notify Arkham on their new guest.”

You smirked at Alfred’s remark when you heard the screaming of a little girl. The Joker had picked up on the shrill noise and started to saunter over to the source.

You moved to the cover of another car that was closer to him, still crouching you tried to get a better view of what he was doing.

He was jimmying the backdoor of a car that had taken a lot of damage from the accident.

It was the car in front of yours. You cursed yourself for not going to check on those people, before talking to the boy in the car behind him. The people in front of you had obviously been hurt from the looks of their car; it was mangled at the front and the back where your car had severely rear-ended them.

The screaming of the little girl got quieter and once the door had been open, the screaming stopped altogether.

Your felt waves of anger rush over you when you saw the Joker’s hand pull on the arm of a little girl, dragging her from the car.

Your POV:

Time had finally caught up and was now moving at a much faster pace. Once the pain in your arm made itself known, it was all you could focus on. Your arm was pinned between the side of the car and the driver’s seat. It must’ve gotten pinned at the height of the impact. You unbuckled your seatbelt, still crying and screaming a little bit, you were now on the floor of the car trying to unpin your arm.

It was painful; you had stopped screaming in concern for you parents and were now screaming in pain trying to free your arm. You had just gotten it free when you saw a silhouette of someone coming up to your car door. Sitting on the floor of the car, cradling your arm, all you could see out of the window was green hair until a face came into sight.

Accompanying the hair was a white face with soulless brown eyes, cherry-red lips and yellow teeth in the scariest grin you’ve ever seen. It was the clown you had seen on the news. Your parents hadn’t fully explained the dangers of Gotham to you because they thought you were too young. All you knew was that he was a scary clown that didn’t belong at the circus with the elephants. You knew from the news that he meant bad news.

Your crying turned from painful sobs to whimpers of fear now. You saw the crazed look in his eye as he wiggled the door open. You tried to climb over to the other side of the car but the clown’s hand had already grabbed hold of your injured arm and had started yanking you out of the car.

You were overwhelmed with fear and pain at the same time; you didn’t know what to do. Your 6-year-old strength was nothing compared to his. Any kind of fight you tried to put up was comical to him and he just giggled in the most haunting way.

“Why so serious?!” he shrieked in a frightening snarl.

Bruce’s POV:

He was pulling the little girl around the crash sight, screaming the phrase over and over while she was crying and trying to scramble away with all her might.

“Why so serious?!” Each time he said it, his voice raised and his tone pitched in a way that only a psychopath’s could.

He finally stopped and yanked the girl hard and leaned down close to her face, “Why are you crying, little one? Don’t you want to have fun?”

The little girl just sniveled. “You know, I have a plan for you, little one. I’m waiting for a friend to show up and I think you might help me get his attention,” he started mumbling to himself as he continued to drag the little girl around.

Other people in the wreck had heard and seen the Joker and what he was doing, if they were able to, they were running away from the wreckage to put as much space between them and the monster who had caused the accident. Everyone was running past you, but you held your ground. In fact, you had crept closer to the crazy clown’s position. How were you going to save this poor child?

At this point, the police and ambulance sirens weren’t too far off and 2 different news helicopters were now flying above the bridge covering the scene. The Joker was getting exactly what he wanted…well, not exactly.

He wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of interacting with Batman. Instead, he was going to interact with you, Bruce Wayne: billionaire, playboy philanthropist.

The Joker had made his way closer to the edge of the bridge where the cables had snapped and there was an opening to the water below. He still had the girl in a tight grip when he started yelling at the helicopters and their news cameras.

“Good evening Gotham! I have a special show for you today. As you can see, you missed the first act,” he gestured to the wreck that had left the bridge a mess, “If you had gotten here sooner, you would’ve been able to see the carnage that my lovely truck produced.”

You could see the Joker puffing his chest out in pride as he addressed the cameras. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. You had just about had enough.

“You see, Gotham, I’m trying to get my bestie’s attention! But the old Bat has yet to show,” he exaggerates the pout on his face playing to the cameras all the while the girl is still in his grasp. “So this little one,” he nearly lifts her off the ground by her arm and the girl screams in obvious pain, “Shut it, you little brat! This little one is going to help me draw out Batsy. If he doesn’t show up soon, bad things are going to happen.”

A wicked grin crosses his face as he pulls the little girl and whips her around to the other side of him so that she is just about to dangle over the edge of the bridge.

You stand up, catching the Joker off-guard; he didn’t know anyone else was near him. The Joker makes eye contact with you and all you can say is, “Don’t!”

The Joker just stares at you for a second with a look of confusion and then it turns into one of recognition. “Bruce Wayne,” he yells, “Since when did Gotham’s Playboy care about kids?”

You take step closer to the two, “Since when is torturing children part of your charade?” you goad him.

You’re stalling. You know Alfred has the Batplane close, he’s been keeping you updated on the status, but it’s not close enough.

“Let the girl go, Joker. I’m sure Batman is on his way.”

“Oh yeah, Pretty Boy? And what makes you so sure?”

“Well, look at the mess you’ve made,” gesturing towards the wreck, you look at the helicopters above you, they’re getting everything, “He could be stuck in traffic!”

The Joker laughs at this, he has his full attention on you.

“Plus you’ve got the news covering this live right now, I’m sure he is tuned in, making sure you don’t do anything stupid. The girl just makes it look like you’re desperate. She doesn’t need to be involved in this.”

The Joker takes offense to that, “Brucey…I know what you’re doing…”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“You’re trying to make yourself look better than me! ‘Gotham’s Playboy, Bruce Wayne, outshines the Batman, saving little girl from the Joker.’ You’re trying to steal my show,” he mocks, that same psychotic grin on his face as if he is truly enjoying the playful banter.

You take another step or two closer, “Now why would I want that? I don’t even have to try to get a headline in the news. I’m Bruce Wayne, headlines come with the name! Just let her go, Joker, let her go back to her parents.”

Alfred talks into your earpiece, “The Batplane is five minutes out, sir.”

Your brow furrows slightly knowing you won’t be able to keep the Joker’s attention that long before he does something to the girl. You’re trying to think.

The Joker’s voice goes from light-hearted banter to a fearsome snarl, “Bruce, this little girl means nothing. I want the Batman! Plus, the girl’s parents are dead! They died in the crash! Just what Gotham needs, another orphan, just like you!”

You see the little girl's expression falter. She’s no longer scared; she just looks like she is purely in shock. The Joker’s words settle in and you know the face she makes, it’s the same one you made when your parents died; a look of disbelief.

Joker pulls her, and you, out of this trance as he violently jerks her arm, causing her pain. You can see him go back to his ‘light-hearted’ persona.

"Bruce, I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna throw this little girl off the bridge and I just know what’s going to happen after that!” There’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice almost like he’s bored, “The Batman, being who he is, won’t let this little girl fall to her death. He’ll save her and fly up onto the bridge out of nowhere surprising us all!” He says it all so matter-of-factly, like it’s something he’s seen happen time and again.

You’re taking small steps closer to the girl when the Joker notices your movement. A wide grin crosses his face as he throws the little girl over the edge.

PART TWO

Tagging: @readerlucy @fantastic-fantasy-fanfics​  @wonderlandforthemisfits​ @autoblocked​ @talesoftheimpala​ @mrsbarry-allen-1031​​ @gryffindorable713​ @therealcap​ @team-barry​ @lilyoflothlorien​ @littlemiss-annoying​ @whoopxd​  @shadowpriestess6​ @overlyobsethed​ @so-get-this-i-need-pie​ @castihelloboys​ @cheering-you-on​ @beautiful-and-strange​ @gracehappyfeet​ @havingfunenjoyinglife​ @xo-raven-xo​ @odr-dc​ @sleepingalong @faithtrustandpixiedust95 @thedoctor-and-her-fallenangles @thecacklingtauren

#Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne x Reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne x oc #Batman #Batman x Reader #Batman x oc #Joker #my posts #my sister #Sam's Fanfics #Justice League #batman vs joker #batdad #Young Justice

[egyptiansapphiredragons]

DSOD fic (old ciel12, hope it came out OK)

for egyptiansapphiredragons.

inspired by DSOD.

Kaiba winced as he sipped his coffee, the liquid still too hot. He had never had the patience to wait until it was safer to drink, but he needed the hit of extra energy most mornings.

The current situation was another test of his patience. The Solid Vision System had been fined-tuned long ago for all the types of materials Duel Monsters would require - everything from a dragon’s scales to the porcelain horns of unicorns and monsters.

But human hair? Irises that gave the illusion of life? The dozens of tiny mannerisms that made up a person?

They took a little longer to render.

He’d already winced down one cup of coffee and was halfway to pouring another just for something to do other than stare at the progress bar when his computer chimed.

Seto turned and watched as the central computer shone a blue light into the centre of the simulation zone. The mesh of the form appeared first - a blue skeleton of lines and points that created edges, and the edges created the rough shape of a person.

Next the textures were rendered - the familiar blue jacket, the excessive number of belts, the eyes and hair.

Within the space of a minute a holographic version of the Game King stood staring.

Kaiba frowned. He was still completing early tests so he didn’t expect perfection, but there was several things that he could immediately tell were wrong.

Something was off about the hair. It wasn’t…wild enough? That must be it. Or the computer didn’t know how to reconcile that bizarre change from black to red.

And the outfit - he should have spotted it before, but the other Yugi - Atem - didn’t wear it in such a tame fashion.

The resulting effect was a hologram looking more like Yugi, and that was no good.

Kaiba was startled from his thoughts by his AI. He’d left it running while he worked so it could compare the quality of the human simulation to the usual Duel Monsters, photos and other references.

“Master Kaiba, might I suggest saving this under your demonstration drive?” it asked. “Comparison to the standard of other holograms and resource files suggest that this result provides a satisfactory imitation of a human.”

“No. The result is subpar, especially for the simulation of a duelist.” Kaiba brought up the render again, scanning the specifications. “You know we don’t settle for anything less than perfection.”

“Are there any problem areas you would like me to highlight? The hair again, for example?”

“The hair is a problem, but…” Kaiba went to refill his coffee, making the AI wait as punishment for its cheek. “I want you to narrow the references you use. Find footage of Yugi Mutou from within duels only. No public appearances, and no photographs unless I’ve approved of them. Focus on tournaments only. You can trash any practice or casual duels recorded at Kaibaland after…”

He searched his personal inbox, found the email Yugi had sent him about their trip to Egypt. Since he didn’t give out his personal address, the only reason it had reached him at all was because Mokuba had seen it and passed it on to him. Actually, Mokuba had been such a pest about the trip that in the end Seto had gone with him. He could hardly have let his brother run off to another continent without proper supervision, after all.

There was the date. “7th March, this year.”

The AI paused in a way Kaiba recognised that it was firing some subroutine especially designed to nitpick and disagree with him. He had designed that subroutine, of course, but he wished he could improve the machine’s voice recognition so it would know when not to bother arguing.

“Parameters are in place. Are you sure about applying this filter? There are more recent choices available, and these would make a duelist feel that they were duelling against Yugi Mutou more effectively…”

Kaiba tapped at the keyboard, interrupting its monologue. “I’m saving this current setting for use at Kaibaland. But since duellists may want to relive the famous tournaments, I think it only right to represent the entirety of a duelling career. From now on, let’s keep the new file as a ‘Classic’ mode under my personal drive.”

The AI gave its approval sound. “All immediate tasks at hand have been cleared. Your sign-in hours suggest you have taken significant overtime recently. Might I suggest an early evening for improved productivity tomorrow?”

Kaiba pinched his nose. The machine had been asking him that question nearly every day. “No, I’m staying. And from now on, make an exception: don’t go asking those pointless questions to me.”

He wondered idly if Mokuba had tampered with the settings to take a stricter observation of his work habits. How long had it been since they’d had dinner together?

He texted Isono to see if Mokuba would be home that evening, and got back to work.

YGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGO

Kaiba had turned off the automated assistant so he could work in peace. The render was finally looking halfway decent - the new filter for the machine to learn from had seen to that - and Seto compiled the program.

Since the last tests Seto had tampered with the rendering process so he didn’t have to see the layering of the mesh and then the textures if he didn’t want to. It was more efficient this way, he had decided, after noticing how long he’d been staring at the wall each time while waiting for the render to complete.

The light faded and Seto looked across the room to Atem.

The King of Games met his eye, and smirked.

Kaiba approached the simulation zone. He examined the hologram for a moment before asking, “Who are you?”

The hologram paused. “Yugi Mutou.”

Seto shook his head. “Wrong. In front of me, you answer to Atem.”

“Understood.”

Kaiba pinched his nose. “What sources did you use to build your speech dictionary?” When Atem stared at him, Kaiba held up a hand and crossed to his computer. “Hold on. I’m making you the point of control for the learning algorithms.”

Atem tipped his head to one side and folded his arms. “Do you not have a computerised assistant for that?” He ignored Atem, transferring control to the interface behind the hologram. “There. Now, do you see the dictionaries?”

“Yes. They are default dictionaries, used by the Duel Server when giving instructions in practice duels.”

Kaiba gave an impatient grunt. He’d figured as much. “Throw it out. Keep hold of Yes and No, and trash the rest. Got that?”

“…Yes.”

“Good. Now, use the existing film footage from Battle City to redefine your speech dictionary. Have you got that?”

“Yes.”

“How long will it take?”

Atem frowned and Kaiba remembered he’d just told him to throw out the dictionary.“I - never mind, I can check myself-”

He started to move back to the computer when Atem held up four fingers, then ten fingers.

“Forty minutes?”

The hologram nodded, giving him a smile that was mostly a smirk. Kaiba sighed, crossed the room and sank down into his chair. “Let me know when you’re done.”

He had barely started checking his emails when a shadow fell over him. The hologram had followed him, and stood stopped at the very edge of the simulation zone. Kaiba clicked his tongue. He looked up, making no attempt to hide his annoyance. “What? Do you have a question?”

“Yes.”

Kaiba looked down at the pen he was tapping in his hand. “Can you write?” he asked, not looking at the hologram.

“No.”

Kaiba blew out his breath. Sometimes he thought he was crazy to give his machines enough personality to vex him. “Then if you haven’t the words for whatever you wanted to ask, get back to the task.”

He carried on his work, but the hologram didn’t move. Eventually he looked up again, intent on shooing the hologram away.

The hologram was staring at him, an oddly sad look on its face. Seto was suddenly reminded of Battle City, his words to the other Yugi -

‘Can you trample your friends on the way to your destiny?’

Seto had never seen that look on the other Yugi’s face before. He’d seen fear, on occasion. (He’d been the cause of that fear, once…) He’d seen him on the verge of defeat. But he hadn’t seen sadness before. And to think that the cause of it on that day had been that worthless dog?

Seto could understand Atem’s duelling strategies well enough, but what went on in that spiky head of his was another issue entirely.

Kaiba realised he’d been watching the hologram watch him while he reminisced. He snapped to attention and looked down at his screen. “You’re a distraction. Go wait in the zone and tell me when you’re done.”

The hologram almost looked to be scowling as it backed off.

YGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGO

It took another few evenings of work, but finally he had gotten the practice duel he wanted. He’d been waiting so long for a decent opponent to play against that it seemed he’d gotten rusty, as he made a few foolish errors.

Or maybe that was just a sign that he had the rival he needed.

Atem smirked as his combo brought both Dark Magician and Dark Magician Girl onto the field, and used a magic card to bring down one of his dragons. Kaiba smirked. That dragon was part of a trap he’d been setting up, and now it was gone. Wasn’t it just so frustrating to have an opponent who could slow him down like this?

“My turn!” He drew, chuckling at his selection. He’d never been so in tune with his deck as he had recently. Little wonder. His company was enjoying total dominance not just of the market, but of Domino. This was his city, and this was his duel. “You better be ready for this, Atem!” He managed to improvise a new strategy and bring out Blue Eyes Ultimate in one turn.

He attacked and sure enough, Atem had a trap card ready.

“Negate Attack! Too bad, Kaiba.”

Kaiba scoffed. “So you bought yourself one turn. Little good it’ll do you.” But as he glanced up at the monitors above, he saw his own heart rate was racing a mile a minute.

Whether Atem noticed or not, he couldn’t say, but the smaller duelist gave a knowing look in response. “Draw! First, I sacrifice Dark Magician Girl to summon Catapult Turtle!”

Kaiba frowned. That was a trade down to begin with. Was he planning something using the monster’s type?

“Next, I use Catapult Turtle’s effect and sacrifice Dark Magician to deal direct damage to your life points!” Atem held up another card, a victorious smile on his face. “And with this card, that damage will be doubled, taking your Life Points - ”

“Cease,” Kaiba growled.

The hologram stopped dead. Seto took off his duel disk and threw it on his desk, disabling the duel as he did so. “What the hell was that?”

The hologram stared, puzzled. “The best move, Kaiba.”

“That is not what I meant.” Kaiba gripped his nose, feeling the starts of a migraine coming on. “Why would you sacrifice both Dark Magician and Dark Magician Girl on the same turn just to attempt to deal me piercing damage?”

The hologram frowned. “With that piercing damage, you would have lost significant life. My next play was Swords of Revealing Light, which would have prevented you - ”

“I know what the card does. I want to know why you didn’t try something else.”

“This was the most logical choice.”

Kaiba almost laughed. “What makes you think your play style should value logic more than anything else?”

The hologram folded its arms. “Records indicate that Yugi Mutou’s duels have always turned impromptu tactics into a long-game strategy. When this is not possible, the most logical option -”

“Enough!” Kaiba barked. “Take a look over the duel data again. This time, pay attention to behaviours surrounding tributes and damage-dealing. Don’t let me see you tribute monsters that way again, or I’ll throw you out as the cheap imitation you are!”

But the hologram didn’t flinch, merely raised an eyebrow. “I can only follow the instructions you give me, exactly as you give them. But allow me to fill in the gaps.”

And he turned his back on Seto, moving to the centre of the room before beginning the data analysis.

Seto stared. When had the cheap copy gotten so cocky? It ought to know its place.

He caught himself, noting he felt distinctly… odd. His heart rate was elevated, his fists clenched. He actually wanted to yell, which he hadn’t done in a long time. Nowadays executives that wasted his time in board meetings earned a withering look from him, and that was enough.

It stopped him cold when he realised he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this angry.

He glared over at the hologram, and was startled to see it looking back at him.

Seto folded his arms, and scowled. “What are waiting for?”

Atem didn’t answer him. He just turned away.

YGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGO

“You’re taking the whole evening off?” Mokuba had gone to the dining table, school books already laid out as if he’d expected his brother to only stay for dinner.

“I can do that on occasion.” Seto had had the wall knocked out a while ago, so that one of the many sitting rooms of the mansion joined onto the dining room. It made talking to his brother on his rare evenings off a little easier. He relaxed into the sofa, body aching from so many hours sitting in his lab chair in his office chair. If he kept up the evening work, he’d have to have a better chair moved into the room. He dropped his head into the comfortable leather, shutting his eyes.

“So…we can have some time together later?”

Seto cracked an eye open. “Sure. We can even order takeout, as soon as your homework is done.”

Mokuba brightened, and went back to scribbling busily.

They were silent for a time. Seto allowed himself to stretch out on the couch, and he lay half-watching the TV with the sound off so as not to disturb Mokuba. Footage from the latest tournament in America was playing. Kaiba had attended the opening ceremony and planned to visit to give out the prize to the winner, but otherwise he’d been too busy with his work with Duel Links to care. They had reached the semifinals now, and Seto could tell already that the participants were inexperienced.

The latest generation appeared obsessed with overreliance on combos that paid off immediately. There was hardly a speck of skill between them. Occasionally he’d see a duelist imitating either himself or Atem (or sometimes they even imitated the deadbeat, which always made him laugh), but usually they never understood the strategies behind the decks well enough to be true contenders. He’d have to focus the next card releases around encouraging young duelists to actually think about strategy…

He was almost dozing off to the coverage when half time was suddenly called. Apparently it was some anniversary of Pegasus’ murder, since they appeared to be taking a moment to pay tribute to him. Seto scoffed and flipped the channel.

“Hey, Seto?”

Seto looked over at Mokuba, but his eyes were still on his work. Seto breathed a soft sigh of relief. He hadn’t seen his former captor on the TV.

“Yeah?”

Mokuba fidgeted for a few moments. “You’ve been working a lot - in the evenings, I mean. Are you doing something new?” When Seto paused, he quickly added, “If it’s a secret, I can wait.”

Seto sat up. “Of course it’s not a secret.” He wanted to tell Mokuba that there were no secrets between them, but that hadn’t always been true when they were growing up, especially when he first took over Kaiba Corp. But at any rate, there was no reason to keep this a secret. “I’m building another hologram. One that can actually give me a challenge.”

“You mean that new one of Yugi? Some of our beta testers have been struggling to defeat him.”

Because they’re amateurs who couldn’t beat a watered-down Atem if they tried, Seto thought. But he just shook his head. “Not exactly, Mokuba. It’s… someone else.”

“Oh, you mean the Pharaoh?” Mokuba said, unpeturbed. He chuckled at the look of momentary shock on Seto’s face. “Who else could it be? He’s the only person who was ever able to beat you, apart from Pegasus.”

“He’s the only one who beat me fairly. Pegasus was a charlatan relying on cheap tricks.” Seto shifted his weight.

Mokuba didn’t seem bothered by the mention of Pegasus, he just shifted forward in his seat. “Can I see?”

Seto turned his eyes back to the television. “What? The hologram?”

“Yeah.” Mokuba’s voice was quiet. There was the soft sound of him setting his pen down on the table. “I didn’t know him altogether well, but I’d like to think that we were friends.”

Seto stared at the TV, not speaking. For some reason his jaw had gone tight. He knew what he should be doing, but somehow he couldn’t force out a single word.

The silence had stretched on long enough to become uncomfortable when Kaiba laid back down on the couch, folding his arms. “Not yet. It’s not done.”

Mokuba went back to his homework. Seto was almost drifting off, thinking his brother had dropped the subject when Mokuba said quietly, “Seems like we haven’t seen the others much since he left.”

Kaiba’s go-to response was normally a snarky comment about how that was a good thing, since the group’s constant natter wore on his nerves. But Mokuba’s tone gave him pause. When Seto looked back at his brother, he realised there was an odd look there. It wasn’t exactly sadness - Seto was sure he’d recognise that.

But whatever it was, it made Mokuba look suddenly older.

YGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGO

Kaiba frowned as he walked into the lab that evening. Atem was perched on the desk, already waiting for him.

“How’d you-”

“You gave control of the program to me.” Atem crossed his arms and shrugged. “I didn’t feel like processing the data in sleep mode.”

Kaiba didn’t answer, just crossed the room to the coffee machine. When he saw there was nothing in it, he cursed.

Atem chuckled softly. “In a fine mood today, are we?”

Kaiba had his coffee mug in his hand, staring at it like it had let him down by being empty. He set it down, not looking at his impertinent creation. “Have you finished processing the data yet?”

“Of course.”

“Then are you ready to duel?”

“No. There are contradictions within the data that need to be resolved.”

“What conflicts?” Kaiba set his coffee mug down and fixed the hologram with a hard stare. Atem didn’t answer, just kep staring straight ahead. “What duel are you processing from?”

“…The Battle City semi-finals.”

Seto crossed his arms. “…What about that duel indicates a contradiction?”

“There are cards within the deck during Battle City that were not strategically sound choices.”

“Like what?”

“Red Eyes Black Dragon. It doesn’t fit with the theme of the rest of the deck.”

Kaiba snorted. “That card’s never a strategically sound choice. As a power card, it pales next to Blue Eyes, and as a support card, it’s long since been outmoded.”

“Yet it came in useful during that duel.” Atem turned to look at him. It almost looked like he was smirking. “It’s strange. Don’t you think?”

Kaiba folded his arms, giving Atem a hard look. “Let me guess. This is the part where you remind me how it was friendship that helped you win, and it’s because I didn’t have that that of course I lost?”

He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but there was no sense taking it back now. That duel had been the worst defeat of his life, and Atem’s pep talk afterward hadn’t exactly lessened the blow.

But Atem didn’t snap back like he expected. He seemed to be staring at some point far in the distance. “You remember the last card play, right?”

Kaiba didn’t answer, but he didn’t disagree.

“You tried to match me, strength for strength, because that’s what YOU would have done. But I didn’t beat you with raw strength.”

Seto said nothing.

“All I really wanted then was for you to consider that there might be another way.” Atem looked him dead in the eye. “What you’ve done, with the theme park? It’s very commendable.”

Seto swallowed. “How’d you know about that?”

Atem stared at him. “I accessed the data in the mainframe.”

Kaiba stared back. He found himself stammering, a bad habit he’d been beaten out of as a child. “The - the mainframe. Right. Of course you did.” He turned away, pinching his nose. “You know what? You go ahead and keep learning, I… I need coffee.”

YGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGOYGO

A few days past, and each time Kaiba found himself calling off their practice duels. It gave him new appreciation for all the human decision making processes that existed that it was hard for machines to replicate, but it also frustrated him. Some days it felt the only things keeping him sane were the meals he managed to have with Mokuba, and the progress he was making on Duel Links.

Then one morning he walked in to find Atem sitting on his desk. The smaller duelist had his head tilted back and stared up to the sky. Kaiba was about to ask if he thought the owned the place when he noticed something was terribly off.

Atem’s eyes were blank, and staring.

“Atem.” Kaiba marched across the room. “Answer me!”

He got close enough to stand face to face, but there was no response. Weirder still, he could see gold lights moving across his eyes. The lights in the office flickered above their heads.

A second later, he blinked, and seemed to regain focus.

“Kaiba.” He smiled, his voice proud and strong. “Back to duel again?”

“What in the hell was that?”

“I was missing information. So I found an uplink to fill in the blanks. And now I have a perfect replica of every strategy, nuance and characteristic of my deck, up to date from the end of Battle City. If I can get more power, I can get the rest of the missing information.”

He looked so proud of himself, Kaiba had to chuckle in spite of himself. “Oh really? And where did you find the missing information?”

Atem just smiled. “I extended your network to the dimension I needed, and read the data matching the signature I created.”

Kaiba’s grin dropped off his face. “What?”

Atem’s smile just got broader. He slid off the desk and walked over to the whiteboard that was filled with Kaiba’s scrawled notes. “See, you already have masses of power. With a little more refinement you can create a canon, if you can call it that, and extend your available network to the next logical point.”

Kaiba watched as Atem roughed out pseudo code on the board. His heart had begun to pound in his ears as he grasped the implications of what Atem was saying. “And you can - you can make a link to that access point?”

Atem tilted is head to one side, thinking. “In a manner of speaking. I can find the matching signature and read data, but I cannot open a link. That would require more power, and a more advanced approach than my own.”

Kaiba approached him, trying to ignore his racing heart and mind. “Answer me something. What is a true duelist?”

Atem didn’t even hesitate. “A true duelist understands their goals, faces their fears and acknowledges their weaknesses. They duel with pride and with honour, and they live authentically. They meet other duelists as rivals and comrades. There is no line that separates them.”

Kaiba said nothing for a time. Then, very slowly, a smirk spread across his face. “I think you and I’ve got some work to do.” @moophinz @arcatsk @hiramiyugioh @evexe-n Y'ALL, LOOK AT THIS, IT’S PERFECT

#submit #submission #yu gi oh! #fanfic #fanfiction #atem #seto kaiba #yami yugi #mokuba #dark side of dimensions #darkside of dimensions #dsod #new movie #gaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh #i love this #omggggggg #ciel you're such a good writer #i love the hologram so much #and kaiba is so on point 👌👌👌 #aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh #i want to fangirl about it so much i can't #mokie being melancholic.... #omgggg #i love how the hologram was the one to sparkle the cannon idea #dear god i adore this #i love you ❤ #;w; #aw man i wanted to let out all my thoughts about this #but i can't man #not in the tags

[wfitvacations]

Digital detox retreats don’t work, but here’s why you should hike unplugged

Escaping digital life isn’t healthy, research says

While it seems like the healthiest of ideas to unplug from electronics for a week or more, the reality is, it’s pretty stressful. Time goes faster than ever these days, and you’ve got obligations and stuff to reply to. Right?

Hi, I’m Cat, I’m the owner of West Coast Fitness Vacations, a wellness retreat in B.C., Canada that specializes in outdoor fitness and weight loss. Our health retreat is modern, results focused and setup for today’s woman whose juggling 97 things at the same time.

In this article: 

Why digital detoxes are stupid

What the heck is a digital cleanse?

The better solution for digital detox retreats

Finding the unplugged balance

Some apps to help you be healthier with usage

Being without your phone is a luxury these days, which is why, as a luxury fitness retreat, we invite our guests to do just that – but only during program hours. As we disconnect digitally, we reconnect with our self, people, nature, and the world in front of us.

VANCOUVER ISLAND RESIDENTIAL WEIGHT LOSS CAMP (BIGGEST LOSER STYLE) – 1-4 MONTHS

Whistler Fitness Vacations takes guests on this gorgeous hiking trail, Half Note on Whistler Mountain.

Life Hacker agrees – unplugging simply doesn’t work.

In this awesome article they say:

During the food/juice type of detox, the allure is that you’ll feel so great you won’t even miss the junk food; you’ll eat cucumbers for breakfast every day for the rest of your life now that you’ve pushed the reset button. But there’s no equivalent way to return from a digital detox. You can turn off most of your notifications, and get in the habit of putting your phone down more often, but it’s not like you can actually live a phone-free life.

QUICK NOTE: 1/ The title of this blog says to hike unplugged, but definitely bring your phone on hikes for safety. Oh, and hike within the cell range, always. There’s nothing glamorous about falling down a hill onto a logging road, only to discover you’ve sprained your ankle really badly (and can’t call anyone to pick you up). 2/ The research that says digital detoxes aren’t healthy is here and here 🙂 

Digital detoxes are as stupid as juice fasts

I firmly believe that going completely offline is nothing less than anxiety inducing.

My program is setup to be a part-time digital detox that supports participants in developing a healthier relationship with their mobile devices. Phones are not the enemy, and just like yo-yo dieting, extreme rules from other wellness retreats to ‘unplug to reconnect’ is, in my opinion, promoting extreme behavior.

READ: Digital detoxing is the tech equivalent of a juice cleanse—and neither of them work

I’m proud to promote balance. Balance and harmony without the extremes… that’s how I roll. Just like I won’t tell a weight loss retreat client to ‘never eat chocolate’ I wouldn’t enforce a ‘never have your phone’ policy in Whistler. It just doesn’t make sense, and frankly, I don’t know what the digital detox retreats all over the internet are thinking.

Promoting all or nothing behavior is setting up for an unsustainable relationship with technology. And this is likely to trickle over into all-or-nothing diet or exercise mentality. I’m not buying the benefits of digital detox retreats, bottom line.

7 GREAT REASONS WHY A WELLNESS STAYCATION IN CANADA IS MORE ENTICING (THAN EVER)

How our fitness vacations unplug in Whistler

Many of our customers choose a weight loss retreat with us partly because of the digital detox component during scheduled program hours. It’s nice to go on a hike where the other participants aren’t ‘on the scroll’ while walking over rocks, or chatting on their phone. Sometimes you can feel like you’re between everyones conversation with other people on group travel, and it’s hard to find the right moment to jump in and get to know them.

Besides the anti-social factor, it’s also a safety precaution that we request customers not to use ear buds for any reason – even for music. This is because the guides might need to shout out to them at anytime, whether it be wildlife, fallen rocks, or a crew of fast bikers coming in less than 2 seconds.

How it works is from the morning start (9am) until lunchtime (11.30am) your phones are on flight mode, unless you’ve got an emergency that you’re monitoring. I mean let’s face it, if you’re waiting for news from your fathers oncologist, you’re not going to enjoy the hike being blocked from the news.

At lunch you can – of course – session on your phone, and then from 12-2pm it’s digital detox time again. Then from 2pm onwards, it’s all yours to do as you please. You are, after all, an adult.

So what about photos?

We’re one of the few weight loss retreats in Canada where the fitness guides leading your day also double up as photographers. I provide staff with iphones for this task. Nearly all the images on this site were taken by our guides. They’re not professional grade, but definitely good enough for you to leave the photos to us.

We airdrop every week, or everyday if you want – it’s nice to have group photos of the best view points from your day. Of course, if there’s a special photo or view that you’d like to take with your own phone, you can – but only occasionally.

There’s also no cameras allowed during program hours because we’re a fitness retreat and the guided cardio adventures are required to keep a training pace. If we stop infrequently throughout the trails for various guests to take photos of choosing, then it turns more into a leisurely tourism tour. Can’t have that!

My phone was on flight mode while traveling through Bolivia. I didn’t pay data, and could connect whenever there was wifi for facetime etc.

I’ve been unplugged on my travels, and it really bugged me.

I’m not addicted to my phone, but I do enjoy being a good daughter, partner, friend and human. If someone wants to get hold of me, its 2020 and they damn well should be able to, no matter where I am in the world. I want to be that person for them. After a while when people drop off the response game, the out-reacher stops outreaching. I don’t want ‘my people’ to wonder if I’ll be there for them.

Unplug from technology and swap virtual tweets for the sound of real birdsong – even for one hike. You’ll find a restored sense of wellness.

With many of us spending the majority of our day scrolling down our smart phones or responding to emails, it is difficult to fully switch off and relax. This over-exposure to technology can leave us feeling disconnected to the present. This can lead to feeling stressed and overwhelmed; affecting sleep, focus and even our relationships with others.

I think that telling someone not to do something is a surefire way to make them want to do the opposite. I’ve always found the straight up digital detox retreats quite limiting, especially if you’re there for a few weeks.

Finding your highlight reel

Giving yourself the gift of an outdoor fitness vacation is saying YES to reconnecting with your healthier, happier self. Whistler Fitness Vacations is one of the many personal coaching retreats with outdoor fitness activity that’s also supported with personal development. Our life coach led workshops guide you towards clearing your mind and thinking more holistically.

You’re surrounded by incredible scenery – why not put your phone down and look up? Be in the moment, rather than watching others instagram stories and highlight reel. Embrace your own highlight reel and you’ll return home not only fitter, but also rejuvenated mentally. Experiencing the world at a slower pace, leaving behind the virtual, is nothing short of liberating!

DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU CAN LIVE AT A WEIGHT LOSS RESORT FOR 2-6 MONTHS?

What is a digital cleanse?

A digital cleanse helps us detox bad tech habits that infringe on our lives so we can regain more presence. Did you know that Americans spend up to 11 hours a day looking at screens and gadgets like the computer, cell phone, TV and video games? – Ashley Stern

Fit getaways are the perfect time to move your focus towards your fitness, away from your phone. Schedule unplugging – you don’t need to go completely off grid. Just give yourself a few boundaries, start slow such as going to the bathroom without your phone, or a workout. Log-off 60 minutes before bed, buy an old school battery powered alarm clock so you can go tech free in the bedroom.

Minimize social media, finish the conversations you’re having on various threads and don’t post any new ones before you step away. If you post and ghost, there’ll be more pull drawing you back into the phone before you’re ready. It’s refreshing to interact with the world around you in real time, which is basically the draw of digital detox retreats.

Not a phone in sight! Whistler Fitness Vacations strength training sessions, with full focus 🙂

Unplug for an afternoon, to experience a slower pace

Get back to nature with a hike through the landscape or explore the coast by kayak on excursions that will surely thrill your senses. Whistler Fitness Vacations is a restorative trip that includes all kinds of outdoor activity; hiking, biking, kayaking and fitness classes.

You’ll become a great cook, and have soulful discussions with the other guests – if you’re open to it. But not if you’re on your cell phone, without letting an email or text pass you by, always having half conversations until the next ping.

Giving yourself permission to switch off and be unavailable for 6-8 hours per day is a challenge for some, but so worth it. It’s such a gift to give yourself, the ability to switch off so that your mind can be calm.

Letting go of your digital addiction will infinitely support healing from adrenal burnout, and poor sleep. When switching off, you’ll get into the pattern of improved emotional balance. You might also reevaluate your relationship with digital phones, ipads and computers.

DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU CAN LIVE AT A WEIGHT LOSS RESORT FOR 2-6 MONTHS?

Get to know the other guests at Whistler Fitness Vacations – we unplug only during program hours.

Digital detox retreats make you want to binge

Binge on your phone that is. Going without your phone cold turkey is equivalent in human behaviour to going on a nasty juice fast. As soon as you leave the unplugged retreat, you’re overwhelmed with 200+ messages and notifications, with even more pressure to catch up.

Fad dieting and fasts don’t create life long change, and nor does abstinence from your phone. That’s why Whistler Fitness Vacations is so different with the space we create for our guests.

They have the freedom to use their phone before 8am and after 2pm… and at noon. In turn, they gain deepened sense of self without the pressures of digital life.

For those addicted to social media, they’re reminded how likeable they are in person, not just online. Social skills are also boosted, and insight is gained on how to stay grounded with your phone usage.

WEST COAST FITNESS VACATIONS – OUR SAFETY PLAN FOR REOPENING

As the owner of West Coast Fitness Vacations, I’m reachable pretty much anytime. Click here to get in touch!

Plugging into life

Your phone is toxic to your relationships. You should put it down. Turn it off often. Agreed? So how come you haven’t done it? Yeah. Me neither. – Denise Brodey

At one point, not too long ago, I’d catch every.single.notification. I felt owned by pings, and judged by silence. One by one as they rolled in, jumping to (pretty much obey my phone) like a dog not wanting to miss a cookie opportunity. 

And in my quiet times I noticed that this world of screen everything, human experiences in my day were starting to feel like a luxury. (I think there’s a lot of us who feel that way).

Balance is the goal, not abstinence – digital detox retreats can teach us that, if setup the right way.

In the end, it’s all about human connection. Digital and physical, they’re both important.

SUMMARY

Career goals include real words, human handshakes, your business network saying your name on the phone, a customer call that ends in gratitude.

We don’t need to join digital detox retreats to find a healthy relationship with technology.

We have powerful influencers like Thrive Global (engaging us through the screen ironically) to have less screen time. They promote a life less digital in a fresh and cool way.

Research is conclusive that phone addition is really a thing. People are taking note of that. Here are 7 scary things you didn’t know about cell phone addiction.

It’s becoming socially unacceptable to be on your phone when face-to-face with someone who is talking with you. Need help? There’s an app for that.

Everyone knows not to sleep with your phone, or have that dreaded neon light in bed. Here’s what the studies say.

Today’s a great day to go for a hike in the forest, with your phone turned off until you need it. If you feel like you’re on your phone too much, activate screen time. That’s a tracker that lets you know how much time you spend each day. Strive to find balanced, healthy ways to manage your technology, similar to what you do with your diet and exercise.

The post Digital detox retreats don’t work, but here’s why you should hike unplugged appeared first on West Coast Fitness Vacations.

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[marilynngmesalo]

Best Android smartphones of 2018

Best Android smartphones of 2018 Best Android smartphones of 2018 https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

If you’re an iPhone user, you probably believe the iPhone XS Max is the best smartphone of 2018 and if you’re an Android user you probably refuse to believe it.

So as not to start a major fight on which OS is better, here’s a list of the best Android smartphones of 2018 available in Canada.

BEST BUDGET PHONES

When it comes to budget phones, it’s hard to outdo Motorola. It’s a solid company with a proven track record for making good-quality hardware for even its entry-level devices.

First, there’s the ulta-low-cost Moto E5 Play, which can be can be purchased directly from Motorola’s website for only $179.99. It has a 5.2-inch 720p display, an 8 MP rear camera (5 MP selfie camera), 2 GB of RAM and a 16 GB of storage (with a microSD card slot). If you need something quick and dirty, this is a great option.

If you’re looking for a little more performance but still want something economical, there’s also check out the Moto G line.

Both the Moto G6 and G6 Play were released in Canada this year and can be bought unlocked for $349.99 and $224.99, respectively. While these phones aren’t going to blow your mind, they do offer modest upgrades over the E series. Both of these phones have 5.7-inch LCD displays but the G6 Play is 720p while the G6 is 1,080p. Like the E5, both G series phones have 2 GB of RAM and the G6 Play shares the same storage and processor as well. The G6, on the other hand, has a faster 1.8 GHz octa-core processor and 32 GB of storage. They also both have better cameras than the E5 — the G6 has a dual-lens 12 MP and 5 MP rear camera while the G6 Play has a 13 MP one. While they’re not going to blow your mind

BEST MID-TIER PHONE

If you’re looking to get a good quality mid-range phone, your best bet is likely the LG G7 One. Part of the Android One line, which runs on a clean install of Android unencumbered by manufacturer software that could slow down the device. The clean install also means it will get updates sooner than later. While it came with Android Oreo (8.0), the G7 One has already been updated to Pie (9.0) and Google guarantees it will be updated to Android Q (10.0?) when it launches sometime in the new year.

It has an extremely bright 19.5:9 6.1-inch QHD+ (1,440×3,120) LCD display and very clear and full DTS:X-3D surround sound. The phone’s 16 MP main and 8 MP front-facing cameras take reasonably good photos in well-lit locations. The 32 GB phone runs on a 1.9 GHz octa-core CPU and 4 GB of RAM and will cost you between $799 (Rogers) and $899.99 without a contract, depending on the wireless provider. (In contrast, Apple’s budget iPhone XR, which has a much lower resolution  — 1,792×828 — but comes with at least 64 GB of  storage starts at $1,029.)

BEST SMARTPHONE FOR BUSINESS

If you often find yourself on your phone sending emails, texts or taking notes, whether for work or personal life, it might be time to switch back to BlackBerry. The Waterloo, Ont., company used to be king of the business world and while it fell behind pace in the past decade, the new BlackBerry KEY2 is worth a look.

It may feel strange to use a physical keyboard again but you will quickly adjust and, if you’re like me, you’ll be able to type much faster than on a full touchscreen. The QWERTY keyboard doubles as a trackpad and you can set up key shortcuts to launch apps, access settings, message contacts and so on.

The phone also comes with BlackBerry’s DTEK privacy controls and other security software. It has a 12 MP dual-lens camera and a 8 MP front-facing one which is certainly an improvement over past BlackBerrys. The KEY2 is primarily a business device and you’ll want a second personal phone, if you’re a camera bug, or plan to watch a lot of videos on it. The KEY2 has a 4.5-inch (1,620×1080) screen. The image quality is good but the 3:2 aspect ratio makes the display almost square so both HD and SD videos have black bars.

The 2.2 GHz octa-core phone comes with 6 GB of RAM and 64 GB of storage (with a card slot) and can be purchased unlocked from Rogers for $799. Its sister phone, BlackBerry KEY2 LE (with scaled-back specs), can be picked up at Amazon.ca for $598.82.

BEST PHONE FOR MEDIA

Most high-end phones offer good audio and video playback, but the Asus ROG phone stands out.

Designed for gaming, the 2.8 GHz octa-core Asus ROG phone has a beautiful 6.1-inch AMOLED display with a 2,160×1,080-pixel resolution has a great image. With 8 GB of RAM and a 90 Hz refresh rate, games and videos run smoothly.

But it’s the audio that really puts this phone over the top. The phone has dual front-facing speakers that offer 192 kHz/24-bit audio and DTS:X virtual 7.1-channel audio. And the maximum volume is insane. Not only is the volume level loud enough to fill a room, there’s barely any distortion. I mean, it’s not a full-on stereo system but it’s arguably as good as, if not better than, streaming music through a Google Home speaker.

Add in all the crazy accessories (sold separately), from various docks with extra ports, to one with a second screen and additional speakers, and you have one Hell of a media device. The 128 GB phone can be bought unlocked at Best Buy for $1,199.99.

BEST PHABLET

If you like larger phones, you can’t go wrong with the Samsung Note9. The 161.9 x 76.4 x 8.8 mm phone features a beautiful 6.4-inch 1,440×2,960-pixel Super AMOLED display. This is a higher resolution than the iPhone XS Max, despite Apple’s flagship device sporting a 6.5-inch display. While it doesn’t have quite as impressive sound as the Asus ROG phone, the stereo speakers still offer great audio.

The Note9’s stylus, the S Pen, also sees improvements. Like with last year’s Note8, the Note9 has stylus-specific apps, for writing, drawing, sending messages and so on. But now the stylus can also be used as a remote to control apps on the phone.

Despite being only 12 MP, the Note9’s main camera takes great photos even in low-light situations. Its 8 MP selfie camera also takes good quality photos.

Samsung also improved its virtual desktop experience DeX, which no longer needs a separate dock to run. You simply plug the Note9 into a monitor and you can use it like a PC.

The phone is extremely fast too. It uses on an octa-core processor with a clockspeed of up to 2.8 GHz. The Note9 comes with either 128 GB of storage and 6 GB of RAM for $1,149.99 or 512 GB/8 GB for $1479.99.

BEST OVERALL

Despite the bad press it has received after the arrest of its chief financial officer in Vancouver, the title for top smartphone of 2018 belongs to Huawei. The flagship Huawei Mate20 Pro has a sleek design and greater versatility functionality than pretty much all the other phones on the market.

The phone has a triple-lens camera system going from ultra-wide angle to telephoto that will make photography lovers drool: an ultra-wide-angle 20 MP lens with a focal length equivalent to 16 mm on a 35 mm camera, a 27mm 40 MP (wide-angle) and a 80 mm 8 MP (telephoto) lens. (The front-facing camera is 24 MP). With, the ultra-wide-angle you can shoot a subject as close as 2.5 cm from the lens and accentuate the depth of the image and the telephoto does an incredible job of magnifying the image without pixellating it. The camera’s built-in AI to detect scene settings works a lot better than on other phones I’ve tried. It is one the best, if not the best, phones for night photography. (Some tech reviewers argue the Google Pixel 3 does a marginally better job here.)

In addition to this, the phone has a beautiful 6.39-inch (1,440×3,120) OLED display which is the highest resolution of any of the phone mentioned here. It has a whopping 4,200 mAh battery that can charge other phones wirelessly. Like the Samsung Galaxy Note9, Huawei includes desktop mode that activates when you plug it into an external monitor. It has a fast 2.6 GHz octacore processor, 6 GB of RAM and 128 GB of storage, with a nano-memory card to allow for an additional 256 GB. And it has a bunch of other features, including various sensors. It sells at most of the major wireless providers but Rogers and Fido have the best price for it unlocked at $1,119.99.

And if you’re worried about your phone spying on you while you’re on the toilet, or secretly making trade deals in Iran on your behalf when you leave the room to get a sandwich, just remember no matter what phone you buy, it will probably have parts from China.

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