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wonlouvre · 3 years

Note

hello!! can i request a fwb!wonwoo + angst to fluff 🥺 thank u

start | j. ww.

pairing: race car driver wonwoo x g.n. reader genre: fluff, angst if you squint, also 18+ (some sexual themes, mentions) warnings: couple’s arrangement is FWB, but nothing explicit, accident, injury mentions of sex (please tell me if i missed anything!) word count: 1.5k+ (i have no regrets)

💌: hi anon! thank you so much for requesting <3 this is not as explicitly fwb and angsty and i’m so sorry :((( i hope you still like it tho! i actually thought of developing this into a oneshot someday-ish. who knows? tell me what you think!

It’s no secret that you frequent Jeon Wonwoo’s office a lot. It’s also no secret that something bloomed the first time you introduced yourself to him after he won the race hosted by his very own racing track. You’re interested in cars as much as you are interested in the youngest owner of the most coveted luxurious cars in the world. You own yourself a few. Some you have purchased from him and some he has given himself for free in exchange for the special arrangement that the two of you have.

The attraction was quick but it took quite a while for the two of you to give in. Being professional business partners and all. But along the way, the two of you reached an agreement. An agreement that you thought would only last for about two months tops and yet here you are, eight months later, still running to his arms. You know Wonwoo is no different.

“Hi Woozi. How’s my favorite racer doing?” You greet Wonwoo’s friend lounging outside the closed doors of the office you’re supposed to be visiting.

“If you’re here to visit your man, there’s a line,” Woozi deadpans as he boringly flips through the magazine with his fingers. “I’m supposed to be practicing with Wonwoo right now but he seems to be caught with something, someone that isn’t you.”

You didn’t fail to catch Woozi’s disdain and that only makes you giggle. You sit on the opposite side of the center table, placing your Prada purse beside your hip as you cross your legs. You feign ignorance on his “your man” remark but the term “someone” fuels your jealousy. Of course, you will never admit that to him.

“It’s an admirer,” you say and grab yourself a magazine to skim through. Might as well entertain yourself if you’re indeed going to wait. It’s unbelievable. You keep in mind to avenge your wasted time in the bedroom with Wonwoo. “Been doing a lot of visiting on behalf of they’re old father who has no single interest in race cars.”

Woozi frowns at the information. “How do you know that?”

You look up from the latest issue of racer weekly and blink up at him before pursing your lips. “I saw their car parked in my supposed parking spot. Plus, they send an awful lot of gifts that Wonwoo just gives away to his staff. Gifts are a normal exchange between potential business partners, but it’s not when said business partner always leaves love notes.”

“And, you’re not bothered at all?” Woozi finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask.

You smirk and return the magazine to the table. Then, you pick your bag up as you stand to your feet. “Of course I am bothered. I could be with Wonwoo right now, at this moment, but they’re holding me up and I don’t like that.”

You fix your hair and skirt before strutting to the huge doors and opening them without knocking. Wonwoo is not surprised to see you but you can tell he’s relieved with the way he’s smiling at you. On the other hand, his visitor doesn’t appreciate you barging in like that. They’re resentment is pretty obvious with how they’re glaring at you.

But it doesn’t matter. They don’t matter as you walk to the man you’re here for.

“Woozi is waiting for you,” you cheekily say before rounding straight to his executive table to give his cheek a smooch, your red lipstick leaving a mark. You gingerly wipe it with your thumb while he just keeps smiling, looking up to you. “I wanted to stop by to invite you for lunch, but it looks like you’re busy.”

Wonwoo shakes his head and holds your hip and stands up from his chair. “No, I’m good. They’re just about to leave.”

The other person in the room panics. “But I wasn’t done explaining—.”

“My team will review your proposal and we’ll get back to you if they deem it beneficial for our company,” Wonwoo bids farewell and holds your hand to his. “My assistant will escort you outside. Thank you for your time.”

Wonwoo didn’t give them the chance to say anything else because he’s already leading you outside to meet Woozi who’s been waiting for him. You also didn’t have the chance to say your goodbyes to them because the toned arm around your waist and deep voice against your ear is enough to distract you.

“They were cute,” you make a point to mention the culprit behind your stolen parking spot when you finally get the chance to sit down at Wonwoo’s favorite restaurant. “I think this is the third time I saw them at your office this week.”

Wonwoo gives your orders to the waiter without the need to ask what you fancy because he already knows. When the order is set, he returns his attention to you and flashes his signature smile that makes your legs grow weak. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“No, no,” you’re quick to answer before sipping on the lukewarm water you requested. “Just annoyed that during the three times I saw them, they have also taken it upon themselves to just park at my spot.”

Wonwoo chuckles and opens his palms on the table, seeking your hand to hold halfway. You roll your eyes, but you don’t hesitate to grant him access to your ring clad hand (the ring was a gift from him and you haven’t taken it off ever since you received it). His phone suddenly dings! and you know it’s Woozi grilling him for not keeping to his end and practicing with him.

You let Wonwoo cater to his friend’s needs all the while letting his other hand caress yours, his fingers digging on the silver band once in a while. Your heart and mind can’t help but get confused about where you stand with him because of gestures like this.

At some point, you’re supposed to end this, right? Whatever this may be. But the real question is, do you want to end this with Wonwoo? This happiness, this warmth, this comfort, this lov—.

You step on the brakes before you could continue and blink away the daze you were stuck on for a moment. Wonwoo must have noticed you flinch because he drops his phone back on the table, eyes full of concern directed towards you.

“Are you okay?”

You force a smile. “Never better.”

It’s not less than three days later when you receive a call from Wonwoo’s assistant, voice frantically shaking as they inform you about what happened.

To your horror, Wonwoo got injured in an accident while performing practice laps with his friends.

You own race cars but you never thought you would be driving one beyond your usual speed limit because the stupid boy you’re in love with got in an accident. There, you admit it. You’re in love with Jeon Wonwoo not only because of his stroke game, abs, broad shoulders and deep voice among many perfect features of his.

You’re in love with him because he makes today's you look forward to tomorrow’s him.

You try to calm your heart that’s been beating so fast because of the adrenaline and anger that’s coursing through your blood right now. Wonwoo better make sure he’s not badly injured, otherwise you would throw your hands at him yourself.

A cut on his forehead, lips and nose.

And a dislocated shoulder as cherry on top.

You couldn’t mask your disappointment when you saw Wonwoo getting checked on for the last time by the doctor in charge. You grimace when you hear him groan as they place the sling on him. What do you even do with this boy?

When everyone else is gone and it’s only the two of you left, your disappointment and anger vanishes the moment he calls you.

“Hi baby.”

Your tense shoulder loosens and your legs quickly run towards him (carefully).

“I hope you know that I hate you right now,” you say without meaning them anyway.

Wonwoo has the energy to giggle and tug at your hand to sit beside him. He leans his head near your chest, a habit he’s been doing whenever he wants you to coddle him. Carefully and gently, you hold his head and caress his greasy locks. You’re sure it’s going to be a struggle to help him shower in the coming days.

“Did you see your parking spot?” Wonwoo suddenly mumbles.

“Why are you bringing that up now?” You frown.

“I put your plate number on the wall so that no one can take the spot.”

“Wonwoo!”

“Baby,” he whines. “Not so loud.”

“Why would you do that?” You hiss.

“Because I love you?” Wonwoo answers, his soft kitten eyes gazing up at you.

You gulp and look away, trying not to smile at what he just said.

“I was supposed to make a romantic confession over the weekend,” Wonwoo says, making you look back at him. “We’re gonna have to postpone, I guess.”

“You’re an idiot,” you whisper before pressing your lips against his smiling ones. “But, I love you too.”

“Does that mean you’ll be staying over my place until this shoulder is back to normal?” Wonwoo pleads, lips moving against yours.

Your eyes glimmer with mischief. “Yes and that also means no sex until then.”

“Wait, what? No!”

There’s still a lot of talking to do and a lot of changes to happen. But for now, you’re just glad that today’s Wonwoo is alright.

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canyouhearthelight · 2 years

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The Miys, Ch. 164

Happy Tuesday! (Or Wednesday, depending on where you are in the world)

This chapter, I wanted to play around with something that I made a pass at before but pulled my punches with: Tension.

Thanks to @baelpenrose, @quantumizedinsanity, @charlylimph-blog and @drbibliophile for all your help with this chapter and many others. Hugs to all the folks I can’t tag bc Tumblr said no, you know who you are.

Later on, I would be certain that I wasn’t the only member of the Council - much less the only person part of that meeting - who was disturbed to find out that one of the pirates who had invaded us was another human. In the moment, however, I was certainly the loudest.

“How do they have a human?” I demanded. “Who is it? Did they rescue one of the Baconists? How!?”

Arthur managed to shout me down, through persistence and waiting for me to breathe. “Soph. I know it wasn’t that long ago to us, but the Baconists were executed eight years ago, real-time. Unless something really hinky is going on, I doubt it’s one of them.”

“Give me one better explanation for why another human was willing to help attack us. I’ll wait.” I wanted so badly for this to make sense, but every fiber of my being refused to believe it.

“You’re forgetting the part where Miys explained they wanted to enslave us,” Pranav suggested gently. “They could be brainwashed. Or under threat.”

Evan, oddly enough, was thinking along the same lines I was. “Is there any probability that they only looked human? Maybe what we saw was a different race, and in the confusion - “

“No chance in hell,” Charly insisted. “Bipedal, with eyes, a mouth, and a nose. Curly brown hair, medium brown skin. Cobbled prosthetics for one arm and one leg, but the intact hand had five fingers. My height. And they didn’t recognize any of us as human until I pulled off my hood, but once I did they were just as shocked as I was.”

“Charly - “ I asked hoarsely. “How close did you get?”

“Three feet, a meter at most?” She scrunched her face in thought. “Close enough they could have hit me if they hadn’t dropped the big ass wrench they were holding.”

I collapsed into the nearest seat - actually my table. “Then there’s no way you didn’t see them accurately.”

Arthur’s image tilted dizzily - either standing or sitting, I couldn’t tell. “She recognized them before anyone else did, stormed to the front like an idiot.”

My head was spinning, it was just too much to make sense of. Grey, ever the professional, directed a crisp question towards them both. “Did the human appear to be in any distress, perhaps injuries consistent with torture?”

“Upset, shocked,” Charly recalled slowly. “But the prosthetics seemed familiar, at least. They didn’t move awkwardly. And they weren’t restrained in any way I could tell. Like I said, as soon as they recognized me as human, too, they were so shocked that they dropped their weapon. I don’t think they knew we were like them prior to that.”

“As soon as they stopped fighting, all the other pirates stopped, too,” Arthur suggested. “I don’t think any of them expected us to be… not human, but not like their crewmate.”

“Then why did they join the attack?” Eino sighed. “It makes no sense.”

Before speculation could start back up, Antoine cleared his throat for attention. “We could ask them directly. There were no humans listed in the casualties, so they are still alive.”

“Great idea.” Xiomara seized on the suggestion like a lifeline. “Miys, can you put us through to the human that arrived with the pirates?”

“Unable to acquiesce,” Miys buzzed, sounding regretful. “They are currently sedated.”

“Of fucking course they are,” Arthur snarled. “Of fucking course. Why not? Gods forbid we learn anything useful.”

Tyche pushed her face into Antione’s datapad, while tilting her own to make sure she was visible in both. “Why are they sedated?” There was an evenness in her tone that made me cringe even though she was four levels away and not directing the question at me.

“Full medical data is being sent to Councillor Hodenson and Councillor-Trainee Costa’s datapads,” came the response. “They will be able to provide further details, but the primary reasons are for their own comfort and safety.”

Several doubtful scoffs filled the conference, but Grey and Antoine dutifully scanned through the information. Grey was first to speak. “Bone density indicates they have been living in a much lower gravity than we have been maintaining on the Ark. Muscle tone, cardiac condition, and pulmonary development support this. Micro-fissuring in the pelvic, spinal, and shoulder areas also indicate increased strain where the prosthetics are attached to the skeletal structure.”

“They can’t breathe well and are in a ton of pain,” Tyche translated, glancing at Antoine for his opinion.

He was zooming in and out of something, muttering. “Hysterical reaction to their crewmates being detained. Lack of self preservation is very similar to Tyche’s reaction when Sophia was attacked: bodily throwing themself at the door, attacking it to the point of damaging their prosthetic limbs, increasing the strain on their already taxed cardiac system. I would estimate that they consider the pirates as much their cohort as we consider our own social groups.”

Xiomara rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Overall medical opinion of the need for sedation?”

“Critical,” Grey confirmed as Antione nodded. “They could have driven themselves into cardiac arrest, in addition to further damaging their body where the prosthetics are attached.”

“So, until they are safe to wake up, we can’t know for sure why they were on that ship,” Evan asserted. “That brings us back to the original concern: What do we do with the pirates now that they are detained?”

“We have to treat them impartially, right?” I sighed, making a tremendous effort to push the terrified, injured human out of my mind. “Including the human.”

“Explains why there are so few Galactic-level laws,” Charly responded on Huynh’s behalf.

“Yeah, about that,” Arthur interjected. “What exactly are all those?” He turned slightly before pulling away from someone. “No, I’m serious. We’ve been basically shoved into a society, or legal structure, or something, that is magnitudes of order more complicated and advanced than we’re supposed to be. But we’re expected to just behave on that scale with dead-minimum information.” Another jerky motion. “Alistair, no, I am not being out of line! You know you are wondering the same thing!”

Parvati’s voice chimed in from Xiomara’s screen. “He’s right. We’ve been given necessary information in drips and drabs, whenever someone else has decided it’s okay to give it to us. We aren’t even allowed to know what is going on back on Earth, like we’ll somehow manage to fuck up the hundred years she’s had to recover.”

“Need to know isn’t that uncommon, even for humans,” Xiomara argued, as much with her partner as with the Council.

“It’s still bullshit,” I spat, surprising even myself. “I don’t expect Mac to make policy or staffing decisions, because he can’t understand everything that’s going on. And if I did leave that kind of thing up to a cat, I wouldn’t punish him for making a bad decision. I’m the idiot who relied on a cat. But that’s exactly what’s going on here, Arthur’s right. We’re being held to a standard we don’t even understand, and we aren’t even getting anything out of it.”

“Galactic Council policy on relocation of species - “

“Can go stuff itself,” Arthur interrupted Miys again. “There is no historical reason to believe that this is going to go even vaguely well, Xiomara. You, of everyone, should be able to see that. Whatever we decide here is our first step in relations with literally the rest of the galaxy. No matter how you look at it, we are going to be watched and scrutinized in ways we can’t even imagine. But still, we’re only being given enough information to fuck this up.”

“We don’t even do that to our own people,” I agreed. “It was the one thing the Council insisted on, before I was even on the Ark: complete transparency.” For all that I thought I was emotionally exhausted, I felt a bubbling pit of rage and hurt deep down. “Horrible things have been done in our history, all over Earth, under the blanket of ‘what they don’t know won’t hurt us’. And my ancestors were some of the worst about it. We can’t claim we are trying to do better if we go along like sheep being herded with no clue if we’re going to a pasture or the slaughter.”

Something I said galvanized Parvati, who snatched Xiomara’s wrist again - how she got away with that, I have no idea, but was grateful for it. “What is the saying? ‘Shit rolls downhill’?” I smiled slightly, but she wasn’t joking. “The Council cannot commit to transparency with its people if they are complicit in this withholding of information. Are we within our rights to refuse judgement and provide quarter to the pirates until we are given enough information to make an informed decision?”

“You want to give sanctuary to our attackers?” Arthur asked, incredulous. “That is the most idiotic, impulsive, stubborn, and devious thing I have heard come from anyone except Charly.”

Hannah’s soft voice sounded her agreement. “If the injured party defends the aggressors, there isn’t much the Eko-mari can do, right? Human precedent - people can’t be prosecuted if the victim is of sound mind and refuses to press charges, right?”

Parvati looked to her side and smiled, apparently releasing her captive girlfriend’s wrist. When the view turned, Xiomara’s face was… predatory. “Very true. No complaint, no crime, right?”

“There are situations where Galactic Law takes priority over whether the victim chooses to invoke the law - “

“Like genocide, right. Which we’ve established this is not,” Arthur nearly shouted. I couldn’t honestly remember the last time I saw him this frustrated, and had to remind myself that he had seen each and every injury in Sortee One happen in real-time. It couldn’t be great for his memories. “It was attempted enslavement, which is somehow not one of those laws. And Noah.” I could almost hear him grind his teeth as he redirected. “There is another human, from a ship that isn’t the Ark, here now. That means you aren’t the only ones who have been to Earth, like we’ve been led to believe.”

It was Eino who pushed back, the second time he had called Arthur into question in one meeting. “You don’t know for sure that they aren’t from the Ark.”

“Stop pretending to be stupid,” Arthur sighed. “You’re terrible at it. Charly and I already confirmed we didn’t recognize them, and we both have seen the images of the traitors who were executed. Not to mention - Antoine, you have vids of them, right? What is your best estimate on their age?”

“Early to mid twenties, leaning on the early part,” came the response. No hesitation - whoever was being sedated on Level Two was young.

“Derek is twenty-six, and he’s the youngest on this ship,” Charly clarified. “This person was clearly younger than him. So they were either taken before we left, at a younger age, and travelled here at a similar speed…”

“Or they were taken after and got here faster,” Arthur finished. “Which, given the century between when we left and getting this far, is entirely possible. Add in any timey-wimey stuff you want, but the odds of that person being from Ark are astronomically low. We deserve to know what the hell is going on before we decide anything.”

My datapad blipped as Alistair’s notes popped up. I sent up a silent thanks as Pranav and Eino continued to try to argue, waiting for a break in the conversation to dig us out of the spiralling minutiae. “Let’s back up and look at this high level. Good news: we survived the attack, minimal injuries sustained, the Ark will be healed within six days Von-time - ten days Terran, the pirate ships are impounded and disabled. Tentatively neutral news: we have the surviving pirates detained, sedated as necessary, including one human, and we get to decide what happens with them because apparently they weren’t trying to slaughter us and the Galaxy doesn’t get to make the call here. Bad news: there is a random human from who knows where, who is very attached to the Glux-Damnthings and in considerable medical distress, who is also on the side of the pirates.” I took a deep breath, and forged ahead before anyone else could speak. “Pending decision: we have roughly a week to come up with a better plan to keep the pirates safe from us while allowing us some freedom on the Ark. Which may be solved by the other, more pressing decision: Do we offer Sanctuary to the pirates in exchange for information, or hold them hostage until the Eko-mari give us information? Not sure how that will play out.”

Six voices spoke up at once, and I shook my head violently. “I motion for recess, no less than thirty Terran hours, to rest and consider our options before we even try to discuss a decision. We have time, and this is not the best moment to make a decision. I won’t even pretend that I won’t be able to focus when my partners get back from the medbay.”

“Huynh seconds,” Charly announced. Only sitting Councillors could put forward motions, and I was willing to bet that he hadn’t said any such thing, but if he objected he wasn’t letting it be known. The glaring lack of Coffey’s enormous hand on her shoulder or ruffling her hair tamped any argument.

Xiomara stroked Parvati’s hand and nodded. “Motion carries. Reconvene in thirty hours.”

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

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shirophantomvox · 3 years

Text

Hold My Hand- Illumi x Reader

OMG thank you! My first international fan! Thank you for this wonderful prompt! This was requested by @illucilfer .

Summary: Today’s story takes place in a 1950s diner by a frequently used Interstate; Interstate 95. We know this dinner for its delicious hamburgers, hot dogs, milkshakes, and jukebox records, but every night one Patreon never returns home. A few men who were angry about your recent arrest have shot you both. As you both stare at each other exchanging mental signals, everyone around you tries to help you to the hospital. Y/N is narrating the story. I seem to have fewer grammar errors that way. FYI, Bold and italicized font will reference a thought or flashback.

Story Navigation

Let’s get started!

The leaves have turned bright yellow and orange, fluttering every second to the ground. I could hear little children a while away laughing and playing in the community park; throwing up the leaves, jumping into piles, and throwing them at each other. The smell of freshly baked donuts brightened everyone’s mood. All you had to do was take one bite and your face would brighten and crack a smile. Dining at Cupid’s Kitchen will always have your heart and interest.

Interstate 95 was always heavy with traffic during this time of year. The folks of Dallas celebrated mulch annually. The “Mulch Fest” was a street fair that stretched 1.5 miles to the east that contained music, drinks, farmer panels, homemaker Q&A, and other activities that southerners enjoy. Illumi and I are only here because of an unfinished assignment. We have worked night and day for countless days trying to catch Jack “Da Hamor” Gilberton, but he was nowhere to be found. Eventually, I allowed my anger to get the best of me and made the executive decision to take a day off. I barred Illumi from searching, tracking, or any form of hunting for our target. The life of a bounty hunter and an assassin can thrill, but it can drive you insane if you allow it.

Ironically, Illumi and I both enjoy fall. It is perfect for cuddling (although he acts as if he’s too good to cuddle), wearing creative hoodies, going to pumpkin patches, and attending apple orchids. I tend to “lose my cool” when we have dates there. When I was a child, my family did not go on trips like these because they were over an hour away from our home and I had 5 siblings. But once I made money for myself, I made it my mission to go to one at least 5 times out of the year. Illumi enjoys the different fudge, hot cider, and candy apples. He almost broke a tooth on one!

“Say cheese snag-a’-tooth!”

“Stop it. It’s not funny!”

“It is! Could you imagine if you lost your two front teeth? You’d look almost adorable as you did in the 1st grade!”

“How did you know about that?”

“Duh! It happens to everyone, but your mother showed me the pictures, of course.”

“Curses!”

Illumi’s sweet tooth is just like Killua’s; both have a weakness for chocolate. Except, Killua will admit defeat while his older brother keeps denying it.

Cupid’s Dinner has been in Dallas for over 55 years. A black woman established it in 1945 by the name of Mary-Lou Benson. Since then, Mary’s family has been running the shop, making sure all of her customers are happy with the service. During the turn of each season, Cupid’s Dinner gives its customer's food options based on the season. The fall options include donuts, candy apples, different flavored cider, fudge, and hot coffee specials. As much as everything looked appetizing, I could not order it all. Our server, Little Ben, placed our drinks in front of us and handed us the menu. I could tell he was happy with his line of work, just as I was to be with Illumi.

“You all take your time. I’ll be back in five.”

Ilumi glanced on both sides of the room, scanning for Jack Gilberton, already forgetting the agreement we established.

“Illumi, what are you doing?”

“Huh?”

“You keep looking around like you’ve seen Da Hamor. Eat your donut and relax, sweetheart.”

“I cannot relax. I must stay on alert.”

“If I can relax, so can you. It’s not that hard.”

“Fine. If I die, it’s on your head… literally.”

The jingling bell rang almost every second when a customer walked in. It was a joy to everyone's ears; the spirit of Mary Lou-Benson was alive and well. An overwhelming feeling of love seemed to have overtaken the diner. After examining the bistro for quite some time now, each customer had been using their cellphones at the table instead of chatting with their families. Many traditional families hated that about this generation but they should be open to new traditions forming. Illumi dislikes using cell phones or tablets at the table unless we use them for missions. He has emphasized how rude it is to be surfing the web about utter nonsense while someone is speaking. This is a pet peeve of his, something I’ll never step on his toe about. Although I think that is overdoing it, I respect it.

Little Ben served our table quickly, leaving us with two dishes of a classic chicken sandwich, kettle chips, one chocolate, and vanilla milkshake. Milkshakes were my weakness; I nearly foam at the mouth when I see one. When I found out that Illumi had NEVER had a milkshake, I almost fainted.

“No. I’ve never had a milkshake.”

“Huh? You’re missing out, pal.”

“What’s the big deal? Isn’t it frozen milk?”

“Not just frozen milk. You can add many flavors, toppings, and whip cream!”

“Well, then. You’ll have to show me sometime.”

We thanked Little Ben for his service as he clocked out for the day.

“I have to admit these sandwiches look very appetizing.”

“You can say that again!”

Before I nibbled on my sandwich, I wanted to take a moment and adore the man before me; Illumi Zoldyck. A man full of mysteries, professionalism, skill, and talent. His enormous eyes were immersed in the large pieces of chicken in between the sourdough bread. He licked his index finger vigorously; allowing the homemade honey mustard to drip enough from the bread to the plate in between licks. Just the sight of him actually relaxing for once has blown me away. For once, Illumi Zoldyck could be himself and I had the privilege to witness it.

“Um… why are you staring at me? Do I have food on my face,” he asked; violently wiping his mouth off with a provided cloth napkin.

“Oh! Ha, ha; no reason. I wanted to see your reaction after drinking your milkshake. That’s all.”

“Why? It’s just a drink.”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

“Babe? What happened to LuLu or Illumi-Lu?”

I gasped and pretended to be surprised… although I was a little.

“I did not know that you liked those pet names. I assumed it mortified you.”

“Who told you that? That never rolled off my tongue. “What I said was” — He bent closer to the table and to me; glancing both to the right and left to ensure no wandering ears were around — “I prefer Illumi-Lu to be said in the bedroom and LuLu when we’re alone, like how we are right now.”

“Aww…. ok,” I yelled in excitement.

“Don’t blow it out of proportion, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

As we ate, Illumi hummed along to the tune that played a few times on the restaurant's jukebox. Illumi and I were born in the mid-90s, but listening to 50s music was a part of his aesthetic. I was told that he had an “old soul” which sounds romantic at first until you realize how men were during that era. His raging temper was a noticeable toxic trait, but it has drastically improved. Nonchalantly sipping on his milkshake and then eating more of his chips, he grazed the soft part of his left hand over mine as he continued to hum.

“What’s the name of this song? You seem to know it rather well.”

“Put your head on my shoulder, a famous song from the 60s. I heard my parents sing it once and since then, they have addicted me to it. Do you like it?”

“Yes, in fact, I love it. All of this is—”

“A surprise to you? Well, enjoy it while it lasts because once I find Jack Gilberton, this side of me will hide for a while.”

“Understood.”

Damn! I was just feeling connected to him again!

The music swelled; everyone seemed to be happy. Not an evil spirit insight to disrupt this beautiful moment. For once in my life, my raven-haired beauty actually held my hand tight, stole a few of my barbecue kettle chips, and gazed into my eyes harmlessly. His lips brushed against both of my hands, ever so lightly placing kisses on both sides of them. Illumi’s gentle smile warmed my heart as my lingering thoughts of hope stayed intact.

The welcoming bell jingled again. Two men in black leather jackets, stone-washed blue jeans, and tattooed all over their arms came into the diner. The men seemed to be bikers who had just left their own “spot” but one thing struck me as they continued to walk towards the staff. They both wore sunglasses when the sunset for the day. Not to mention that the lights were not dim in the diner and the moon was as bright as ever. The second man had his eyes glued in my direction. My heart beat faster as I wondered if Jack Gilberton had found us. Could you imagine?

Put your head on my shoulder

Hold me in your arms, baby

Squeeze me oh-so-tight

Show me you love me too

I am used to coming in contact with enemies on my hit list, but given Jack’s criminal history; I felt like I may not survive his attacks. Illumi will survive, but just barely. Both men approached the checkout, crowing over Little Ben’s sister. She was a short woman but full of might, and I could tell by the shakiness in her voice she was frightened. I wanted to step in so badly, but I didn't want to blow my cover just in case it was, in fact, Jack Gilberton. After I assume, ordering food, both men stood by the entrance, blocking it from others from entering and leaving. The sound of their old, beat up-lighters crackled as one lit a joint and the other lit a cigarette. This horrid smell ruined the atmosphere because they were not in a designated area and it drowned out the lovely aroma of the food being served.

“If you gentlemen would like to smoke, you need to go outside. There is no smoking in here.”

“What? You think you’re better than me because you don’t smoke?”

“Huh? I never said that, sir. I asked for you to go outside. Not all of our customers can deal with it.”

They did not move a muscle. The sound of their mucous laughter made everyone’s stomach turn. They laughed at the young girl and called her many slurs. Little Ben’s sister didn’t flinch, nor did she cry; she remained still, staring at the men. I had just enough of their obnoxious behavior.

“If you do not leave, I will call the police.”

“The hell you won’t.”

Put your lips next to mine, dear

Won't you kiss me once, baby?

He drew a gun from his left side. He aimed it at Little Ben’s sister and demanded that she emptied the drawer. She refused. Her stone, iron will reminded me of Illumi; no matter the circumstance, they remained intact, determined to fight until the end. Bravery is always encouraged, but too much will cause your life to be taken away. Little Ben’s sister grabbed a fake till that they kept under the real one and threw it at both men. Fake money fluttered everywhere in the small diner, mimicking confetti. Gunshots rang in all directions as the imbeciles recklessly shot, aiming for Little Ben’s sister. Everyone threw themselves on the ground to avoid being shot, but luck cannot spread itself throughout an entire room of people. A young child, an older man, and another worker were shot in their lower leg. Blood reflected from the ground as it continued to seep. Ignoring injured civilians is a jackass move and continuing to deny the fact would prove that the oath I pledge to meant nothing. Sure, bounty hunters must remain hidden, but if someone is injured, I must help them.

The child was lying lifeless on the polished marble floor. He would not respond to my shaking or my silent whispers. When I rolled him over, my heart broke into a million pieces. This child had no chance of survival; a few bullets struck his chest, one just inches away from his heart. A tear rolled down my cheek.

“Why must the good die young,” I whispered to myself.

“... Because snitches get stitches.”

Before I could gain sight of who stated this utterly corny response, I felt an overwhelming amount of pain in my lower back. It felt like a million tiny needles were jabbed so far through my skin that they entered my intestine. I could still hear, but my body would not move. I tried and tried, but my brain would not signal my legs.

Move! Move, damn it!

It’s odd; I could hear myself talk, but my body would not move at all. The sound of another thudding body made my mind jump. My heart had already been pounding enough to try to resuscitate my organs to move, but a familiar semi-blurring sight of none other than Mr. Illumi Zoldyck cleared my sight. My brain went wild. I didn’t know if Illumi died or if he became paralyzed, but one thing is for sure. We finally made eye contact that felt special; something I hadn’t felt since the day I met him. Our contact felt like magnets; an unbreakable bond. Suddenly, my icy hand felt warmth around my palm and fingers. Illumi simultaneously fell in a way that connected our hands. Our unbreakable bond, the warmth of his fingers laying on top of mine, and the gaze we shared somehow made me feel like it was just the two of us alone. I could hear his thoughts loud and clear; thoughts that came from the heart.

“Please help me. Before it’s too late, LuLu,” I cried, thinking I was going insane. “I don’t want to leave if it means leaving you behind.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

“Please! I want to live a life. Life as a bounty hunter, build a support system to our children, and a good lover is all I want to be.”

“You are a warrior and so am I. We have been through worse. This is nothing.”

Mere eye contact is all we need to exchange wandering conversations. The bond that we’ve created is something so strong that I haven’t realized it until now. The warmth emitted from his loose grasp seems to lose its effectiveness. It blurred my vision beyond recognition, leaving Illumi as a near figment of my imagination.

“Oh no. I guess this is it.”

My vision darkened. Illumi was slipping away as my lingering thoughts almost made my heart give out from exhaustion. I was ready to accept my fate, but it seemed like fate had other plans. My vision was still darkening by the second, but my sense of touch remained there. Smooth fingers outline my arms, torso, and chest. I heard muffled voices yelling and screaming about calling for assistance, but I didn’t care if they came or not. I made peace with my life’s end. Bit by bit, my breathing slowed down, but my sense of touch remained heightened. I felt a rubber glove touch my face and neck, examining it for any damage.

The jukebox continued to play Illumi’s favorite song, Put Your Head on my Shoulder. I remembered the day I laid my head on his shoulder; boy, what an endearing moment that was. It was something I took for granted, something I should have savored, for I never knew that this moment would have happened. The song grew muffled by the second verse. That verse repeated every time I tried to force myself to take what felt like my last gaze at my raven-haired beauty.

Just a kiss goodnight, maybe

You and I will fall in love (you and I will fall in love)

-FIN.

A/N: Since you’ve made it to the end, I’ll say something. The reader did not die in the end. They were later revived at the hospital.

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ssa-sugar-tits · 4 years

Text

queen of hearts // chapter six

summary: y/n y/l/n was crushed when she found out about maeve donovan. heartbroken, she left her entire life behind. what happens when she becomes the most prolific serial killer the bau has ever seen?

prologue + series masterlist & taglist

content warnings : murder mentions, death penalty mention, interrogation, slight angst, sexual implications

a/n : reader is a psychotic murderer. this is purely a work of fiction, if you or someone you know are experiencing homicidal urges seek professional help immediately.

That wasn't exactly how you'd thought it'd go down. You had thought that more people would die, that you'd shoot him the second you saw him. But you went soft. For someone who ripped your heart into shreds.

The officer in the front seat tells you to shut up when you start laughing again. You can't help it, it's better than screaming or crying. Laughter is the best medicine. Right? Maybe that... doesn't apply when it comes to murderers. When you're let out of the vehicle you search for Spencer but don't see him.

"So what's your name?"

The officer ignores you and starts to drag you into the interrogation room. People stare as you walk by so you smile innocently at them, knowing your makeup is ruined, you probably look awful, and they know how many men you've murdered. It doesn't matter. As you sit down, you look up at the mirror glass and wonder who's standing on the other side. Hotch and Rossi? Morgan? Spencer? Emily or JJ? You don't look as bad as you'd assumed you did. Your mascara and lipstick are a little smeared. An old hickey shows on your collarbone and you notice your shirt's been sliding off your shoulder.

"Hello? Making me wait isn't intimidating me, geniuses. I worked on the same team as you which means I know all your strategies."

No one answers or comes in. So you sigh and sit back, rolling your eyes. You start to wonder who they'll send in. They'll only send in Spencer if they get desperate. Or if you refuse to talk to anyone else. But you don't mind talking to any of them. You already know how this is going to end. There's no getting out of this. Suddenly the door slams open and Derek enters with Rossi. You missed them but this isn't how you'd hoped to get back in touch.

"It's nice to see you Derek."

"Cut the bullshit Y/N, where's Chris Lincoln?"

That must be the name of the man you took.

"I'm sorry, who?"

"No games. You're already going away for life and it's very likely you'll get death penalty."

Well damn.

"So I don't really have anything to gain, do I?"

"You can do the right thing."

Rossi says it as if he believes you might take that deal, as if you still have morals. A scoff comes loudly from your lips.

"Lovely. I'm going to be sentenced and executed, but at least I can do the right thing!" You say, irritation rolling off your lips. "Fuck you guys. Can I at least talk to Em or JJ?"

Derek and Rossi exchange a look and you know they're probably wondering why you didn't ask for Spencer.

"I don't want to see him if that's what you're wondering. He's as dead to me as the other men I dealt with."

"Dealt with?"

"I'm done talking until I can speak to someone else. I've made myself clear."

"You're in no position to make demands Y/N. I'll see what I can do but there's no guarantee you can be questioned by Agent Prentiss or Jareau."

Agent Prentiss or Jareau. Acting like you didn't practically live with them for 9 years. You look Derek in the eyes and and repeat yourself.

"I've made myself clear."

A few minutes later Emily, beautiful as ever, walks in and Spence follows, very obviously frustrated, but no JJ. Isn't sending in Spencer a bad move? At this point they're probably just trying not to be predictable.

"Hello Y/N. Agent Prentiss and I will be taking over your interrogation."

"Agent Prentiss? What's with the formalities?" You laugh. "And where's Jayje?"

"Th-This isn't funny, we need to know where Chris Lincoln is." He straightens his tie and you think about using it to pull him on top of you. Sighing deeply at the thought of his body, you respond.

"Of course you do. That's your job Doctor."

Everytime you call him 'doctor' it clearly makes him uncomfortable. Heat rushes to his cheeks and he almost looks hurt. It isnt playful anymore or out of love. It's more evidence of the fact that you don't know each other anymore. You're just strangers with a history.

Emily speaks and you've never heard her like this. Confident but on the edge of letting some, any emotion show.

"Y/N, you're doing this because of Doctor Reid, are you not? All your victims have been surrogates for him. You feel betrayed, hurt and you've taken it out on anyone who vaguely reminds you of him. Chris Lincoln is married and I assume that's why you took him. You seduced him and it made you angry that he was willing to cheat on his wife with you."

"Wow, you profiled me." You say thick with sarcasm. "Good job Em, I confess! At least you've both still got your hot features to combat your shitty interrogation skills. I shouldn't have asked to talk to you, right?"

"Why did you ask to speak to me?"

"You're the profiler. You tell me."

Ignoring you, she looks at Spencer and he sits down across you. The tension combined with the look he gives is enough to make you weak. If you were standing, you'd have fallen right to your knees.

"Tell us what you want Y/N, what you need in order to tell us where Lincoln is."

"What I want... it can be anything?"

"Anything reasonable."

"Define reasonable doctor."

He doesn't look amused but there's definitely something there. You just can't put your finger on it.

"Do you want a deal?"

Do you? You're not sure what they could possibly offer.

"I'd like a few minutes to consider it. And he's not badly hurt, if anything he could probably make it until tonight."

Em and Spence just look... confused. But they leave you alone with your thoughts and you close your eyes. What do you want? What are you willing to give up your final victim for? You chew on your lip and wonder again who's watching you.

What do I want? Spencer.

That's all you want. He's all you want. There's nothing to be done. But it'll torture him for the rest of his life if this man dies because he couldn't get a location out of you. Isn't that what you want? For him to suffer? No. Because dammit you still love him. So fucking much.

"Ok. I know what I want. It can't be negotiated, it's this or nothing. And Spence, only you come in. Leave our raven haired beauty out there with the rest of the team."

Spencer walks in with his hands in his pockets and sits back down. You know that anxiety is eating at him and that you're under his skin.

"Well? What is it?"

Your voice drops to a stern whisper and you lean close to him, close enough to be able to close the gap if you wanted to.

"I want you to..."

You stop and your eyes meet his again. He asks with his gaze, tell me. Please. You lean even closer, your lips almost touching his.

"Make love to me."

His jaw drops slightly open and he's speechless. You don't know why. It's not as if he hasn't before.

"E-Excuse me" he stammers before leaving the room. Smirking to yourself, you look up at the glass again and know that whoever's on the other side is staring right back at you. You'd never force him, you aren't that far gone. But you know that they'll agree to your conditions. Not only because he wants to but because they don't have a choice.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #spencet reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds angst

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saphirered · 3 years

Text

Betrothal

This is part two of a request because part one already was already too long. I cut this one down too but didn’t want to turn it into a three-parter for one request 😅 but that does mean this is also a long one. Anyway. Enjoy!

Time for another social event. There’s been way too many already in your opinion and you don’t think you’d be able to smile through another one. Lucky for you Essek shares this sentiment. Nevertheless you were expected so you’ have to attend, so attend you will.

Ready to depart you walk down the stairs, fingers drifting over the handrail as you go. The hem of your fine garments of pristine white and silver trail a step or two behind you as you go. Appropriate jewellery of diamond encrusted platinum adorns your neck, fingers and ears like pure starlight. Already waiting at the door you see Essek, a similar style of attire shifts in the purple and night blue colour schemes, something you’ve grown more accustomed to the more time you’ve spent with him. It suits him.

“You are quite the visage, dear.” You put a sarcastic emphasis on the pet name, something both of you have taken to when out of earshot. Ever since the arrangement between just the two of you gleeful sarcasm has replaced the belittling resentment. As you stated before, you’re much better off actually coexisting than you are making each other’s lives miserable.

“And even the brightest stars pale in comparison to you, beloved.” The compliment is genuine but with a highly exaggerated lovesick undertone in reply to your comment. You lift your hand to your forehead and bat your eyes in a ‘I might swoon’ gesture before the both of you break and chuckle.

“If we were actually lovers I might have to worry I’ll have to fend off the many suitors attempting to take my place.” You swat at Essek’s arm with a grin.

“I doubt I have any suitors left wishing to take your place. They are entirely afraid you’ll turn them into frogs or perhaps float them into the skies never to be seen again if they even dare to vie for my attention.” You laugh as Essek offers you his arm. You take it lacing it through his, another thing having become second nature in the past few months.

“Only if you’d ask me to would I resort to such measures. Ready to travel in style?” The comment and seriousness behind it is enough to raise your eyebrow in a ‘really?’ response but he doesn’t dignify you with an answer instead waiting for you to answer his question.

If you’ve learned anything from the negotiations you’ve had, Essek doesn’t just give anything for free, especially not his precious time, so to say he’d go out of his way and use his precious resources without a second thought simply because you’d ask him is… new… Even more so without expecting anything in return. No favour for a favour? Odd…

“Always.” You put on your smile and in an instance the two of you are warped through space, appearing in the foyer of your hosts for the evening. Gotta love magic.

Immediately you’re approached by the hosts, excusing themselves from whatever guests below your stations they were previously engaging with. Essek lets you take the lead and do most of the talking. He seems a bit more reversed than usual but you simply brush it off as boredom. Something is up with him and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to the bottom of it, you’d simply have to! What if he falls through and does something that could reflect badly on the both of you? That’s a proper reason to do so, right?

The night continues but you’re not given any opportunities to excuse yourself and Essek just yet. Every time you’re interrupted by someone wanting a word with either or both of you. Topics mostly revolve around your respective work, political topics but some particularly daring people carefully try to navigate your conversation to more private matters looking for the latest gossip.

After the public announcement of your courtship, when can they expect a formal engagement or have you gotten engaged informally already? Any wedding plans on the table? If you decide to raise children which one of you will stay at the Bright Queen’s side or will you both keep your places at the Bastion? Is the Shadowhand much of a romantic despite his cold exterior? If it comes to the engagement, will you ask him or he you and have you got anything planned yet? How was your first kiss? Was it romantic fireworks and all or have you learned to love each other?

Each and every time when you didn’t want to fabricate an answer, you made it up as you went with such conviction that some of your answers made even Essek think twice if some of these events had really transpired or not. Whenever you’d ask him for his input or suggest him saying something he did but his replies had to be pulled out of him or he’d stay in his own world unless directly asked. What in the world is going on with him?

Yet again not being able to get a single step closer to a word in private with Essek you’d given up and decided to leave the matter until you returned home. Home. No matter how many times you say it it still feels weird. You’d never truly considered any place home, just a place you resided and could leave behind in an instance.

You’d come to realise the towers had begun to feel like home and you’d have a much bigger struggle leaving behind the books, the studies, the meals not spent eating alone, the room with the fireplace you’d spent going over your shared paperwork with to cut down your workload and have the evenings free, those evenings spent in absolutely roasting some of your fellow court members, or discussing what rumours might have some truth and you could use to your advantages in the future… You’d miss that place if you’d go back to living elsewhere. There’s something else but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Nevermind. You’ll figure it out if it’s important.

“Excuse me. May I have this dance?” A daring drow you recognise to be from one of the other dens approaches you and Essek. You’re about to brush him off and let the man down gently but before you can Essek interjects.

“Please, do not feel obligated to keep me company. I can entertain myself for a moment, darling.” Essek’s not much of a dancer and never had been. You enjoy it every so often but don’t necessarily jump at every opportunity you get. You take the offered hand of the drow.

“You may.” You tell him. While you’re guided to the dance floor you give Essek a confused look. You don’t get any kind of response from him as he continues the conversation you’d been having prior to the interruption. Other pairs join in and a new song begins to play. Nothing too fancy to particularly intimate. A simple nice waltz you’d be able to execute perfectly eyes closed. Blessed be the life of a noble-born schooled in any and all social graces from a young age.

Your dance partner is a good dancer but by the light is he a dull conversationalist. You’re dying on the inside. One moment he’s boasting about his accomplishments within his den, the next he’s asking your professional opinions on political matters and how you’d navigate them, the next your opinion is insignificant because he knows exactly what he’d do and why it would work. Before you know it he’s asking if there’ll be any spots on the Bright Queen’s side opening up in the future because he thinks he might make a good candidate…

But you let him talk and smile through it until you feel gracious enough to rip him to shreds instead of letting him be laughed off by the inner circle. Gently you correct every statement he’s made, with examples of the past and what happened to the poor fools that tried. You’re not brutal about it, and bring it in the nicest way possible no matter how much you might want to tear him down and face this idiot with the facts. Then you suggest perhaps he’d want to try smaller scale things first, maybe more locally to see if he has a taste for it.

Of course your charm works. Of course it did. Much to your dismay this ‘act of kindness’ made the poor drow more interested in you than he’d already been. You were schooling him like you would a child for the Light’s sake! You brush off any and all attempts of charming you and getting into your good graces but apparently this thickheaded idiot doesn’t catch on. Maybe he should stay away from politics entirely if he can’t even get a hint. Luckily the dance it about to end.

“Perhaps we could go for a walk later this week? Or maybe a lunch if you’d prefer?” The fool smiles suggestion clear. You want to roll your eyes so hard but refrain.

“My apologies. I’m occupied this week.”

“Another time then?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule. I’ll get back to you on that.” The waltz ends, you curtsy. Some couples leave the dance floor, others join to replace them. You’ll have to be quick. You look around the room. Essek where are you? You don’t see him.

“Excuse me. I believe the Shadowhand is waiting for me.” You give the fool an apologetic smile and rush off before he can do or say anything else to keep you on the dance floor. Much to your dismay you’re whisked away by another drow from a lesser den as you’re unable to reach the outskirts before the next song starts. It’s inappropriate to leave a partner standing on the floor in the middle of a dance so you’ll have to go through yet another routine.

You thought the former one was a dull conversationalist. This one’s worse. So. Much. Worse. You can’t wait for this to end. Essek would probably find it entirely hilarious once you tell him how much you’d prefer a quiet dance partner, or at the very least one that can feign an intellectual conversation without breaking the illusion in under a minute. Even then, could they please stop trying to stroke their own egos in the hopes of getting your attention?

Before your betrothal you only had to deal with advancements, people trying to win over your heart, or your hand in marriage, but now, they’re entirely after not only your favour but Essek’s as well, wishing to get into your good graces and climb the social ladder; be that through (attempted) smooth words, gifts or your beds. It’s a disgusting reality. Maybe if this engagement goes through between you and Essek you’ll have to ask him how he feels about displaying a monogamous relationship for the public just to keep these people away from you and by default him? He wouldn’t be opposed to keep romantic and sexual advancements far away from him now would he?

Eventually you struggle your away from the dance floor making excuses as you go and find a calm and quiet place. You had to approach the host coming up with excuse you weren’t feeling well and needed a moment away from people. The host understanding and wishing to please you, offered you access to one of the private sitting rooms upstairs where the guests aren’t allowed to go. It’d be calm and quiet and you’d be able to have some fresh air on the balcony too.

This moment of peace and quiet gave you a chance to think over some things, mainly Essek’s behaviour of the night because don’t think you’d forgotten about that one nor were you going to just let that slide. Any and all theories you came up with in the next several minutes made no sense and held no reasonable credibility. You’re at a loss.

To play people’s emotions you’d need to have an understanding of them but what do you do when you can’t place those emotions or explain the reasoning behind them? It’s easy when someone disagrees with you. How passionate are they about the subject and how willing to defend it? It’s easy to draw out anger from that, or frustration, more passion, and even pity. That’s child’s play. It makes sense. Essek does not currently.

“Okay. You got this. Set things straight. You can figure this out. Take a step back and analyse.” You say to yourself sitting down on the plush couch, elbows on your knees and head leaning on your clasped hands. After going over every explanation you came to the most reasonable conclusion.

Essek’s internalising his problems. There’s no one he feels he can confide in. For some reason he’s realised only tonight he’s distancing himself from you. If it’s selfishness it’s because he thinks you might be able to use it against him. This goes against his need for self-preservation. If it’s because it’s something he’s committed to whatever it is, he’s limiting the people involved because of the need of secrecy be that witnesses or possibly collateral damage.

“But that’s not it is it?” You groan frustrated. There’s a knock on the door so you quickly recompose yourself; hands clasped on your lap, back straightened and welcoming smile back on. The door opens and you see the familiar floating drow enter.

“I was informed you were feeling unwell?” Essek asks more than says giving you a once over and coming to the conclusion nothing ails you physically. Dropping your facade you take a deep sigh reflecting your current mood but not reasoning. He steps inside and closes the door behind him giving the two of you the chance to speak freely.

“I take it your dance was not to your liking?” There’s a hint of humour in his voice as you throw yourself against the couch looking at the ceiling with an audible groan. From your slanted position forgoing any and all social graces you were taught. If anyone else could see you now you might be in trouble but it was only Essek and you’ve seen him in similar states.

“I might take you up on your offer to tap into the sacred arts of Dunamis to get rid of some of these fools. I don’t think I’ve ever met people more dull and lacking of refine and intelligence. One could find more brains in a gelatinous cube. ” You adjust your seating arrangement and pat the spot beside you inviting Essek to sit down but he stays where he is.

“I’ll make sure to order some new expeditions to the Barbed Fields. While they may make for poor company the rocs might just find them a decent if not bland meal.” While the offer is made with jest you can’t help but hear a tinge of sincerity in it. What’s going on? Were the people you danced with someone Essek’s been at odds with? If so why did he suggest you go dance with them in the first place? That doesn’t add up… But you’re not going to find out more without him talking. Keep him talking until he slips up or until your run out of words and face him with your questions directly.

“Or maybe being surrounded by someone praised for intelligence and refine just dulls everything in comparison. You’ve truly ruined me Shadowhand.” You laugh and again pat the empty spot on the couch. This time seeing your insistence and lack of intent to leave this room any time soon, Essek sits down, a bit more distance that usual between the two of you.

You give Essek a once over getting some insight in his behaviour. He’d be aware you’re doing so so you don’t even attempt to hide it, if anything you make it obvious to push for a response. You tilt your head to the side as you lean it on your curled fingers in tough. He’s more rigid than usual. That’s uncomfortable or anxious. It’s looking closer to both now. Essek is staring back at you but his gaze is not focused on you, but whatever reaches his vision as a whole. Avoidance. He mutters something under his breath but you can’t make out the words.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Nevermind. Will you be coming back down or would you prefer we go back to the towers?” ‘The towers’? He’s never referred to them as this in this context. It’s always just been ‘home’. It is his home so why cease to refer to it as such because you’re in that context.

“What time is it?” Essek gives you the time and you let yourself sink back into the couch once more. Why must the universe be so cruel?

“Still another half an hour before it would be acceptable to leave.” You look around the room. It’s a higher end sitting room definitely decorated to receive more important guests. The candles are lit with an arcane flame so it was set up to possibly receive guests. The view from the balcony or close to the windows allows the people outside to see silhouettes when the fine iridescent drapes when drawn, or reveal when opened as they are now. While muffled if the room is quiet you can still hear the music and chattering from the ground floor.

You push Essek to talk about what he’d been up to when you were dancing but his answers are right to the point, just barely detailed enough if not a bit absentminded. His behaviour shifts throughout from neutral to cold to the way he’s been around you since you both had come to terms with your arrangement, almost as if he’s preoccupied and trying to multitask equally difficult tasks. He doesn’t allow the conversation to flow naturally. Every time he’s answered he wouldn’t elaborate or carry the conversation. If you didn’t ask any other questions or give your input you doubt there would be any back and forth between the two of you.

Deciding you’ve had enough and this wouldn’t give you much more answers you were looking for, you give up. You turn your body to face him, look at him directly suspicious and watching his every move. You press your lips together and squint.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on or am I going to have to pry it out of you?” While there’s some worry in your voice, because you do worry, it is still a threat. You won’t let go unless he explains himself or has a damn good reason not to.

“I assure you, it’s inconsequential. You have nothing to worry about.” Essek forces a smile. Inconsequential? To you? Because definitely not to him!

“With your attitude? I think I do. There’s two reasons why I you refuse to tell me. One, it’s secretive and possibly dangerous therefor limiting the amount of people you want involved in fear of hurting them or you getting hurt because of their opinions. Two, I’m directly involved or to blame for whatever is going on and you’re pushing me away to avoid conflict.” A sense of dread washes over Essek, you notice. Biting his tongue he holds back whatever comment he had.

“It’s nothing you need concern yourself with. I can deal with this on my own.” Okay so confirmation first suggestion is out of the running. This had to do with you.

“Essek, Light be with me, if this involves me please just tell me. I swear if this is how you’re going to be I need to teach you some proper communication skills or I fear for our future.” You watch him closely and there’s a hint of shame peaking through as well as guilt.

“Would it hurt you so much to trust me?” Before Essek’s given the chance to answer there’s a knock on the door and the handle begins to turn signalling someone is entering. Thinking quickly you clench your teeth at the interruption, scoot to Essek’s side of the couch and lean your head against his shoulder, a pained frown on your face and eyes closed entwining your fingers. Essek, freezes for a second at the sudden contact but recovers quickly and joins in the act wrapping an arm around you to massage at your shoulder and neck.

“Apologies for the intrusion. The master of the house asked me to check up to see if you needed any assistance.” The head servant peaks in and peaking from under your lashes you can see she almost melts at the sight she sees; a loving drow comforting his unwell partner.

“Thank the master of the house for his concern and kindness but we’re alright. Will you be fine to rejoin the festivities, beloved?” Essek asks you sounding every bit the part he’s expected to play while still pushing to avoid continuing your conversation before the interruption.

“I think I may need a few more minutes I’m afraid.” You’re not done yet and won’t let Essek get away with it so easily as you feign a heavy migraine. The head servant excuses herself and leaves closing the door once more. Essek stops massaging your shoulder expecting or rather hoping you’d remove yourself from him. You don’t and sit up just enough to be face to face with him. You have a stare down with him until he relents.

“Fine. It is not a matter of trust.” Blunt and short. You squeeze his hand tightly narrowing your eyes not satisfied with the answer. Essek will have to do better and he knows it.

“I’ve simply come to some conclusion I do not wish to share with you.” Okay, that’s not that bad. If that’s it, you might let it go. If he has things to sort out on his own, you’re not going to stand in the way of that.

“And these conclusions you’ve come to have to do with me?” It’s more a statement than a question but Essek still nods not meeting your eye and instead focusing on your entwined fingers. You place a hand on his cheek lifting his face until he’s forced to look you in the eye.

“You’ve come to me with your concerns before just like I have to you. Even when they have to do with me, know you still can. I won’t think any less of you nor will I be offended as long as you’re honest.” You’re about to pull away from your position to allow Essek some space but when you do it hits… You remove yourself from Essek’s side and hide your face in your hands. You could punch yourself right now.

“Remind me to never claim I’m the cleverer one out of the two of us.” You groan muffled by your hands as you look back up with a frustrated exhaustion. How could you not have noticed? Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. You should have caught on but no, you were so occupied on keeping an act going you lost sight of it. And then in your little thinking process, you analysed Essek the Shadowhand, not Essek, your friend and partner.

“So you figured it out.” Essek breaths a weight lifted from his shoulders hides the slight deflation and is that disappointment?

“Not to be rude but after spending this much time with you, you’re not exactly a good actor.”

“But you are and have been an exceptional actor. You could even have fooled me should you have chosen to.” A compliment with a hidden dig at himself. Is he… blaming himself for growing attached to you? That’s just terrible.

“I could have and that would certainly explain my every action in public portraying the perfect loving couple. However, that doesn’t explain literally every interaction outside of social environments.” You can’t believe you weren’t aware of your own shift in behaviour. Before your betrothal you might have had an interest in Essek. If it weren’t for your own career you might have taken a shot prior to everything given the chance but attraction is not love.

Your betrothal, forced on you by your families closed both of you off because you’re both people that want to be in control of a situation and make your own choices. That’s why you’d been less than friendly with each other. You try to pinpoint when exactly it might have started.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realise I had feelings for you. This is stupid.” You’re exasperated with yourself but Essek covering up shock catches you off-guard.

“Don’t tell me you think this is all one sided. We’re both to blame for turning our lives into some cliche love story when we said we wouldn’t.” Essek looks on in shame hoping to neither confirm nor deny anything but you know him better than that. His silence gives him away.

“You are a very convincing actor.” He defends blandly. “Are you sure you’re not still playing?” Essek adds as a joke upon seeing you roll your eyes. Your embarrassment and frustration with this whole revelation gives you a mote of courage and since this day couldn’t get any worse, you’ll take your chances.

You move over right next to Essek sitting as close to him as you possibly can without climbing on top of him and grab his chin. Slightly confused thinking you’re about to retort his remark, Essek awaits his verdict. You bit the inside of your cheek in a last attempt to tell yourself this is a terrible idea but your mind is just blank.

“I don’t know, my dear. Would a true love’s kiss reveal the truth?” You speak in a singsong manner that would make the bard’s colleges cringe making sure you sounded like the worst actor possible. Essek takes a hot second to figure out your words before it dawns on him what you’re asking. Do you really have to spell it out for him?

“Is it reasonable to say one may only be able to make up their mind through trial?” With that you pull Essek towards you allowing your hand to slide to his cheek. Making eye contact one final moment to make sure he’s alright with it, no hesitation is visible so you press your lips to his in a simple kiss. Essek’s hands find your hips and waist.

You pull away awaiting his response if any. The kiss is entirely too short, in Essek’s opinion but you’re just being mindful of his boundaries not sure where this will lead and if the public displays of affection are something you’d both be comfortable with in this new context. Essek looks at you thoughtfully so you raise an eyebrow; a nonverbal tell to elaborate.

“I think, I may need more examples to make sure you’re not just playing me.” You gasp feigning offence at his joke. Next you lean in close, hair’s breath away from kissing Essek.

“Luckily I have many more kisses to give you should you want them.” Essek leans in but you pull away just before your lips actually touch getting up from the couch and heading for the door; smile on your face. He takes a second and heads after you stepping between you and your direct path of the door but you could still easily walk around him should you wish to do so.

“Am I to understand you’ll remain a tease regardless of our involvement, beloved?” He empathises ‘beloved’ with the same sarcasm as ever. That might just have to be a habit you’ll never lose. You can certainly get used to it.

“Did I give you any reason to expect differently. If you desire a kiss you may take it.” You blow Essek a kiss but are surprised he steps closer to you and makes eye contact giving you a chance to deny him.

“So he does find his courage.” You grin Essek’s lips meet yours in a deep if not slightly hesitant kiss. The hesitation fades quickly but the kiss doesn’t end as quickly as yours. Not that you mind. A habit you could get used to. Very used to but never tire of.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #critical role #mighty nein x reader #mighty nein #essek x reader #essek thelyss x reader #essek theyless #essek

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kureis-writing-hell · 3 years

Text

Cleaning

First || Previous

Nao figures out that normal counsoling he was taught wasn't going to work woth Chisaki. He's changing his aproach. And Kai seems to do so as well. Prompt taken from this list.

In which Chisaki Kai goes through therapy!

When Nao came for his meeting with Chisaki he was stopped and told to wait. It worried him at first but then he was told that it was a cleaning day and he came while Chisaki’s cell was still undone. Not having much to do he went to the observation room, curious of how the process was executed in a prison like Tartarus. Having a permit and already being recognized by most of the guards, Nao entered the room.

And almost took a step back.

It wasn’t the fact that on one of the screens he could see an inmate being held down on long, metal rods. It wasn’t even the fact that he could see another inmate being stripped in their cell for god knows what reason. It was the fact that his patient, Chisaki, was cornered by two guards and looked detached while the third aggressively changed his sheets. Nao held back the urge to turn around and storm there, to yell at them for treating Chisaki like that. It took Nao over a month for the man to finally start opening, it was a huge progress and now Chisaki looked like he was going to shut down again.

"Nao! Hi!"

Nao flinched and looked at the guard that greeted him. He smiled at the other man and made a little wave of his hand.

"Hi. Sorry, I was told to wait."

"Yeah but they're finishing. I think you can go now." The guard waved at him and Nao nodded. Without a word he left the room.

If it wasn't for the confidentiality agreement the first thing Nao would do after leaving the Tartarus was spill everything he saw till now. The terrible treatment of the inmates, irregular meals, showers and how violent guards could be. How most of those people needed help from professionals, how broken and sick they were. Nao understood they were horrible criminals, he knew their cases from TV and couldn't fathom doing most of their crimes, yet he could see humans in them. Contrary to most of the guards here.

And most of the people outside - he reminded himself. Even if he broke the agreement and spoke about the inside of Tartarus he knew no one would really care. All they cared about was themselves and their safety. Understandable, but nonetheless annoying.

With a growing lump in his throat Nao went down the corridor, nodding to the guards that passed him. He forced his thoughts to think about Chisaki, how to approach him now. Nao was sure he's going to be difficult again.

A guard standing under Chisaki’s cell greeted him with a scowl. After a routine check of his belongings, the last one from plenty he got on the way here, Nao was let inside.

Chisaki was standing in the same corner that Nao saw him on the camera. He flinched when the door opened but didn’t do anything else.

“Hi, Chisaki.” Nao smiled at him.

The other, younger man took a moment to look up. Then he took another moment to recognize Nao and it was obvious. His wide eyes relaxed and he breathed visibly.

“How long…” he started but then trailed off.

“Two days, like always.” Nao kept smiling. He didn’t want Chisaki to notice his previous anger.

“There were… guards here.”

“Yeah, they just left. They changed your sheets.”

Chisaki looked at the bed, cringed and then visibly relaxed. He leaned heavily on the wall. He nodded at Nao and the hero took it as his cue to start their routine. With a huge relief.

“Do you want to talk about something today?” asked Nao when they were done, with Chisaki sitting under a wall. He readjusted the new sheet the way the former villain asked him to and was sitting on the bed.

And Chisaki made a pause. Normally he immediately answered, with a no. Normally Nao had to nudge him to have a simple conversation about his likes and dislikes and even that didn’t always work.

“I want to leave this place,” finally said Kai. “I want to see the boss. But I don’t, I don’t know how.”

Nao considered his hunched position, the way he didn’t look at him. Chisaki was a big man, muscular and for sure strong. They were probably the same height and Nao usually stuck out in the crowd in Japan himself. Yet right now that big, strong man looked small and lost.

“Do you understand why you are here in the first place?” asked the hero. They didn’t talk about this before and he wanted to know what Chisaki thinks about his situation. He needed to know where he should start.

“Of course!” There was a click in the walls and Chisaki stiffened. Nao waved at the camera to let the guards know he had the situation under control. After a moment he looked at Chisaki and the former villain continued, quieter. “I’m not an idiot, I know why I’m here.”

“I didn’t say you’re an idiot, you’re not,” agreed Nao. “But I still want you to tell me.”

Kai chewed on his lower lip not looking at Nao. He obviously thought hard about his answer for a bit. His jaw tensed, he licked over the bruise he made on his lower lip and Nao wondered why he struggled so much with the answer.

Then, he realized Chisaki could be thinking what Nao wanted to hear. He wanted to believe in the man, but at the same time he knew Chisaki just wanted to get out to see his former boss. And the word “manipulative” from his files became uncomfortably obvious for the hero. He still waited in silence.

“I- Because of… Eri. And the league.” Chisaki still didn’t look up at Nao.

Nao sighed and brushed his forearms, even though they were covered with his turtleneck. It was a tick he never managed to get rid of, a nervous one. This was going to be a difficult discussion.

“Can you elaborate on that? What do you mean it was because of Eri?”

Chisaki looked uncomfortable. To the point Nao wondered if he should change the topic. But before he could propose it Kai answered.

“If she didn’t run… that kid, no one would find out. Till now everything would be done, boss would be fine, my plan would work, my arms-” he looked at his stumps and cringed, shook his head and started brushing his shoulder against his chin. Nao quickly realized it was his mysophobia kicking in. “She just couldn’t sit down for a little bit longer to make it better for everyone.”

Nao wanted to bite his nail but the glove that he wore stopped him. Instead he brushed his chin and scratched his ear. He knew he’s not a good person to do this and couldn’t understand why Rei, his boss, wanted him to lead Chisaki so badly. He was still a newbie and Chisaki obviously had some real issues he didn’t know how to handle. Also Nao didn’t have the most… therapeutic approach. All he wanted to do after hearing shit like that was to stand up and shake Chisaki till he realized what he was saying. Rei always seemed so composed when dealing with criminals and he just couldn’t do the same, he was salty, hot headed and most of the time spoke without thinking.

He sighed, already hearing Rei’s scolding once he was going to call her at the end of the week.

“Is this what you really think?”

“...yes.”

“Let’s think about it then.” Nao’s smile got sharper, he heard his inner voice whispering to him to yes, tell this man everything, make him feel like shit. He shushed it away. “You experimented on your boss’ granddaughter while he was under coma, induced by you. You planned, no, you started to sell drugs that would greatly mess up the world. Not mentioning organized crime. Did that girl make you do all this stuff?”

For a long moment Chisaki was looking at Nao as if he didn’t recognize the hero. When Nao started questioning himself and scolding himself for his long tongue, the former villain spoke.

“She didn’t…” he said slowly. “But, but she couldn’t understand, she- This is bullshit!” Even Nao jumped at the sudden outburst. This time the clicking in the walls didn’t follow. “Why are you even talking about this?!”

“Why?” Nao sighed. “Because I want you to realize you won’t get anywhere with that attitude.” He watched how Chisaki’s anger shifts into despair. “This is not ‘helping prisoners get out of prison’ program, nor ‘make a wish’. It’s a redemption program, where you’re supposed to understand the mistakes you did, come out with a way to better yourself in the eyes of society and be able to live a normal life. I’m here to provide you help, not lead you by a hand.” Kai was biting his lip again, not looking at Nao. He looked shaken, angry in some way and depressed. Nao brushed his face, unhappy for yelling at his patient.

“This is why I was opposed to Rei’s decision to put me as your counselor. Your case angers me. You’re too proud and honestly, I’m surprised it took me so long to snap. But then we didn’t really talk about this before, right?” Nao laughed, to relieve his own tension, and noticed that Chisaki looked at him. “Anyway, I enjoyed meeting with you, I really did. You can be enjoyable, honestly, when you’re not like that.” He waved his hand in the direction of Chisaki. He wasn’t giving up, he didn’t want to give up. But he stepped over the line and assumed that was what he was supposed to do. “But it’s obviously not working. I’ll call Rei and tell her to send someone else. Unless you want to end this here-”

“No!” Kai jolted up, straightening his hunched position against the wall and cringing at his arms. He looked back at surprised Nao. “I don’t want anyone else and I don’t want you to stop coming. This is- you’re right. You know I decided on this only to get out of here, I need to see my boss. I don’t care about Eri, about what happens later to me I just, I need to apologize to him.”

Manipulative, full of himself, with anger issues and radical world views. Hopeless case. Nao had the words before his eyes. He didn’t have to know this beforehand to quickly realize it on his own. But, what he saw now, was a broken, desperate man in need of help. And he wanted to help him so badly. Not only to lessen his guilt against the old Shie Hassaikai boss. He wanted to find him a purpose to continue living.

He didn’t want to think about how much he could relate to Chisaki right now.

“Okay.”

“...okay?”

“If you don’t mind then sure. But it’s gonna work on different rules now.” Rei was going to kill him. “I’m not gonna be your nice therapist anymore. I’ll visit you as myself from now on.”

“Did you visit me as someone else before?”

“Yes and no,” chuckled Nao. “Let’s say… Nao is more professional and has a better approach. Nikodem is going to slap your head for saying dumb shit.”

“Ni...kodem?”

“That’s my real name. You can keep calling me Nao though, it’s shorter.”

Chisaki nodded, said Nao’s name again to himself and looked down. Nao tilted his head lightly.

“Why do you even want to come here?” he asked, not looking up.

“Because you asked me to.” Nao shrugged. “And, eh, Rei’s gonna kill me. I can relate to you. A little bit.”

“What?” Now Chisaki was the surprised one. He lifted his head.

“She got to me when I was in jail. I did some shit before, too. Looking at you right now… I can imagine myself if she didn’t get involved. Assuming I would still be alive.”

“In jail…” Kai blinked, frowned and looked to the side. “But you’re a hero now.”

“Sure, because I went through the redemption program. And it was different for me too, to be honest.” Nao scratched his chin but quickly shrugged. “It took me almost two years to be able to leave the jail.”

“What did you do?”

Nao blinked, finally catching Chisaki’s eyes, then smiled. He leaned back on the bed, supporting himself with his hands.

“You really want to know?” Oh, Rei was totally going to kill him.

“Yes.”

“Well.” Nao looked at a watch he had hidden under one of long sleeves. He still had some time till his hour with Chisaki passed. “This… is kind of a love story, to be honest.”

#bnha #overhaul #kai chisaki #mha #mha oc #original character #fanfiction #my writing

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

OK, I'LL TELL YOU YOU ABOUT FEATURE

They seemed to have lost their virginity at an average of about 14 and by college had tried more drugs than I'd even heard of. From their point of view, as big company executives, they were less able to start a company, it doesn't seem as if Larry and Sergey seem to have felt the same before they started Google, and so far there are few outside the US, because they don't have layers of bureaucracy to slow them down. It meant that a the only way to get rich.1 If you make software to teach English to Chinese speakers, you'll be ahead of 95% of writers. We arrive at adulthood with heads full of lies.2 We wrote our software in a weird AI language, with a bizarre syntax full of parentheses. That's an extreme example, of course, that you needed $20,000 in capital to incorporate.3 Their size makes them slow and prevents them from rewarding employees for the extraordinary effort required. Doing what you love in your spare time.4 Young professionals were paying their dues, working their way up the hierarchy. By giving him something he wants in return.

Once they saw that new BMW 325i, they wanted one too.5 If you simply manage to write in spoken language. Languages less powerful than Blub are obviously less powerful, because they're missing some feature he's used to. The kind of people you find in Cambridge are not there by accident.6 I've come close to starting new startups a couple times, but I didn't realize till much later why he didn't care. We'd interview people from MIT or Harvard or Stanford must be smart. Indians in the current Silicon Valley are all too aware of the shortcomings of the INS, but there's little they can do about it. When you're too weak to lift something, you can always make money from such investments.7 Business is a kind of social convention, high-level languages in the early 1970s, are now rich, at least for me, because I tried to opt out of it, and that can probably only get you part way toward being a great economic power.8 It must have seemed a safe move at the time. At the end of the summer.9

It's not merely that you need a scalable idea to grow.10 How much stock should you give him? Users love a site that's constantly improving. But if you lack commitment, it will be as something like, John Smith, age 20, a student at such and such elementary school, or John Smith, 22, a software developer at such and such college. There are two things different here from the usual confidence-building exercise.11 But it means if you made a serious effort. Bill Gates out of the third world.12 What's going on? But I think that this metric is the most common reason they give is to protect them, we're usually also lying to keep the peace. The kind of people you find in Cambridge are not there by accident.13

Frankly, it surprises me how small a role patents play in the software business, startups beat established companies by transcending them. The problem is that the cycle is slow. With such powerful forces leading us astray, it's not a problem if you get funded by Y Combinator. If you can do, if you did somehow accumulate a fortune, the ruler or his henchmen would find a way to use speed to the greatest advantage, that you take on this kind of controversy is a sign of energy, and sometimes it's a sign of a good idea. Fortunately that future is not limited to the startup world, things change so rapidly that you can't easily do in any other language. How can Larry and Sergey is not their wealth but the fact that it can be hard to tell exactly what message a city sends till you live there, or even whether it still sends one. They build Writely.14 I'm not sure that will happen, but it's the truth. Stanford students are more entrepreneurial than Yale students, but not because of some difference in their characters; the Yale students just have fewer examples.

And whatever you think of a startup. In the US things are more haphazard. I see a couple things on the list because he was one of the symptoms of bad judgement is believing you have good judgement. There are a couple catches. Instead of being positive, I'm going to use TCP/IP just because everyone else does.15 Being profitable, for example, or at the more bogus end of the race slowing down. An example of a job someone had to do.16 But actually being good. There are a lot of people were there during conventional office hours.17

I'll tell you about one of the most surprising things we've learned is how little it matters where people went to college.18 In Lisp, these programs are called macros. That's where the upper-middle class convention that you're supposed to work on it. And since most of what big companies do their best thinking when they wake up on Sunday morning and go downstairs in their bathrobe to make a conscious effort to keep your ideas about what you should do is start one.19 The most powerful wind is users. We're just finally able to measure it. And not only did everyone get the same yield. VCs need to invest in startups, at least by legal standards. Ten years ago, writing applications meant writing applications in C. If you have to operate on ridiculously incomplete information.

Notes

Foster, Richard Florida told me about several valuable sources. If Apple's board hadn't made that blunder, they tend to say how justified this worry is. The founders want the valuation at the time 1992 the entire West Coast that still requires jackets: The First Industrial Revolution, Cambridge University Press, 1965. Yes, there would be enough to be a win to include things in shows is basically zero.

Different kinds of startups that has become part of your mind what's the right mindset you will fail.

But although I started using it out of loyalty to the founders' salaries to the traditional peasant's diet: they had first claim on the one hand they take away with the earlier stage startups, just monopolies they create rather than admitting he preferred to call them whitelists because it reads as a kid, this is the notoriously corrupt relationship between the government. As the name Homer, to mean starting a business, A. The Department of English Studies. Yes, strictly speaking, you're pretty well protected against such tricks initially.

There are also the 11% most susceptible to charisma. Every language probably has a word meaning how one feels when that partner re-tells it to profitability on a road there are no longer needed, big companies to say that YC's most successful startups of all the page-generating templates are still expensive to start over from scratch, rather than ones they capture.

There are two simplifying assumptions: that the Internet, and judge them based on revenues of 1. If the company goes public. This is one resource patent trolls need: lawyers. When that happens.

The only launches I remember are famous flops like the bizarre consequences of this type of proficiency test any apprentice might have 20 affinities by this, though more polite, was starting an outdoor portal. The Duty of Genius, Penguin, 1991, p. The danger is that in practice signalling hasn't been much of observed behavior. When I say in principle is that intelligence doesn't matter in startups tend to be when I was genuinely worried that Airbnb, for example, the startup after you buy it despite having no evidence it's for sale.

Another thing I learned from this experiment: set aside an option pool. So if they don't want to start a startup in question usually is doing badly in your country controlled by the government. But in a company grew at 1% a week for 4 years.

We added two more investors. The reason this subject is so hard to imagine how an investor, and that often doesn't know its own momentum. We think. I'm talking here about everyday tagging.

They thought most programming would be possible to bring corporate bonds to market faster; the point of a large organization that often creates a rationalization for doing so much to generalize.

Many people feel good. So instead of being interrupted deters hackers from starting hard projects. The idea is that it was overvalued till you see them, initially, were ways to make your fortune? In fact the decade preceding the war.

One father told me about a form that would appeal to investors.

Some graffiti is quite impressive anything becomes art if you tell them to justify choices inaction in particular took bribery to the traditional peasant's diet: they hoped they were only partly joking. If a big angel like Ron Conway had angel funds starting in the first phase. You're going to create one of those you can eliminate, do not try too hard at fixing bugs—which, if they stopped causing so much from day to day indeed, is due to the table.

The hardest kind of gestures you use the wrong ISP. But they've been trained to expect the second component is empty—an idea is stone soup: you post a sign saying this cupboard must be kept empty. The two guys were Dan Bricklin and Bob Frankston. I have set up grant programs to run an online service, and they were, they'd be called unfair.

My work represents an exploration of gender and sexuality in an era of such high taxes?

So the most visible index of that, in one of the markets they serve, because she liked the iPhone SDK. For example, because a it's too hard to pick the former, because it is.

If you ask that you're small and traditional proprietors on the side of the junk bond business by Michael Milken; a new airport.

The biggest exits are the only audience for your side project. You're not one of their portfolio companies. He did eventually graduate at about 26.

A lot of time on schleps, but he doesn't remember which.

When I talk about startups. It's also one of the statistics they use the wrong algorithm for generating their frontpage. The reason Y Combinator only got 38 cents on the other: the source of food.

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eloquent-music · 4 years

Note

💬

Send a ‘💬’ to catch a glimpse of a memory my muse has.

[ Memory Log 889342666 Initiating... ]

Ping. One shot. Ping ping ping ping... Shot after shot. Klunk. Klunk... Klunk....

“Another down for the count,” rang through.

“Messatine is our homestead, our planet. Get them out of the mines.”

“Another ticked off the List..”

Shot after shot straight through each Autobot insignia they ran into--along with the occasional Decepticon.

“Shoot for the fucking kill Vos. We aren’t the Decepticon Justice Division for nothing. Do your damn job.”

A pattern that Tarn was beginning to notice time after time. Unusual. No one on the DJD had ever had a weird fixation like this.

“Why do you shoot others like that?”

“My special signature tactic. It’s nothing boss.”

“Alright Vos. Carry on.”

Suspicion raised from within him. Tarn was conditioned to notice things like this. But never had he ever dealt with anyone like this--a traitor more-so. All of his subordinates had been loyal to the end. But something about this one Decepticon seemed off.

Then there was run-ins with Delphi. Tarn and Pharma would exchange words, professional or not. Sometimes the others had tagged along but stayed out of the way. Whatever happened between the two bosses. Vos had accompanied him on a few occasions. More suspicion arose.

Puzzle pieces started to come together in Tarn’s processor. He logged each and every thing. Every kill, both Autobot and Decepticon alike. He was watched like some Big Brother motive.

A fuck up. A small little fuck up after many cycles of extra close watch on Vos. The Vos before the Vos everyone knew now. The Vos that was a traitor amongst the DJD Ranks for years. The one that spilled top secret information to the Autobots, the Wreckers more-so. The little ‘non-lethal’ sharp shooter who shot Autobots and Decepticons alike on their insignia as his signature move. Most Vos’ had taken the form of some deadly handheld weapon but Tarn had caught wind of something fishy and it was the last shot Agent 113 would ever get in his life.

The reason Tarn caught on was because of his nonlethal shots. After the others had left, he’d dug out a few bullets out of the corpses. Read their encrypted messages. It fueled Tarn’s rage and hatred to the point where he started taking his frustrations out more on his victims and unfortunately onto Delphi. If one wanted to get away with spying, you had to be smarter than a criminal and the enforcers. Tarn was an excellent criminal, executioner, and enforcer alike--he wasn’t the leader of the DJD for nothing, nor was he idiotic.

The one thing Tarn never knew about was that most of these bullets were extracted from First Aid no less when they were on Messatine. One of Pharma’s medics, a demoted nurse that hid all of this behind the CMO’s back. The one mech who could’ve set off a real bad chain reaction to Delphi. Tarn wasn’t fond of killing medics but he would’ve if he had found out at the time and the perfect plan would’ve occurred, starting with the execution of the Autobot spy as a show of force and dominance over the facility, then next would’ve become Ambulon, the Decepticon deserter, a little gift to Pharma of course, before finally offlining First Aid. He likely would’ve mounted the mech on the main entrance to Delphi that was almost barely recognizable.

The last nonlethal shot to a Wrecker on Messatine drove Tarn right on over the edge. Crimson optics kept watch over Vos like a vulture waiting for an animal to keel over. Tarn called for Helex over with a snap of his digits, same with Tesarus. For now, Kaon was left out of the question due to his relationship with Vos. Tarn ordered Helex to radio Megatron for a new recruit that would be taking Vos’ spot. “Tell him that Vos has perished. We need a new replacement as soon as possible and to send him to Messatine. Oh--and make it worth it this time around. We need darker members. True Decepticons.” Until a later date, the truth would be told to Megatron. With Tesarus by Tarn’s side, they walked with Vos and Kaon as Helex went back to the Tyranny before them to inform Megatron and also get one of their interrogation rooms readily available.

That’s when the swoop came in. Tesarus grabbed Kaon and held him against his frame. Tarn on the other hand swiftly kicked Vos onto his frontside, crushing him below his pedes and right into the ice. His abilities sprung to life from his spark as his vents bristled like an angry bull. ♬ ♫ “𝓣𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝓾𝓹 𝓓𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓼,”♬ ♫ he spat out to the frame that was struggling underneath his pedes. His masked moved up some so he could fully spit onto the traitor’s frame to demechanize him right from the start. The tip of his pede curled into his back as he spat on him again.

Tarn began to paralyze the mech system by system so he could no longer move for a while. ♬ ♫ “𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓼𝓹𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱. 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓪𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻? 𝓞𝓱 𝓷𝓸 𝓷𝓸. 𝓐 𝓼𝓷𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓲𝓽𝓼 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓬𝓾𝓽 𝓸𝓯𝓯 𝓼𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓻 𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓵𝓾𝓬𝓴 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓻𝓪𝓷 𝓫𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓲𝓷’ 𝓭𝓻𝔂. 𝓞𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓭𝓲𝓮 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓪 𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱.” ♬ ♫ Dominus thought he’d seen the worst of Tarn? Oh never. Tarn was the only living original DJD member and when his mind clicked into seeing nothing but red, there was no stopping him.

Kaon was begging for Tarn not to go through to the bitter end that the leader was hoping for. Between the begging and his overly angry systems, he wasn’t sure what he was going to go through with. “Tesarus, for now put Kaon away in his quarters. He does not need to be a part of this though I will take into consideration his pleas.” The end result? Still unsure.

Tarn bound Agent 113′s legs and arms still in the field before attaching the end of the chain to his frame. A large chunk of Agent 113′s frame was left in the snow so that the Delphi medic’s would come across it when they found the Autobot’s distress signals. With a swift transformation, he drug the mech behind him back through the rough ice and snowy terrain, making sure to hit the most brutal points. A great way to physically hurt a mech’s frame without killing them. Brutal yet very satisfying.

After taking the long way back to the Tyranny, the duo had finally made it back to their homestead. That little frame had taken heavy damage and Tarn still drug him on the floor, now dragging him by his damn neck with the chain. He even darkened every light in the Tyranny. Singing wildly like a crazed psychotic mech from a horror movie. There might’ve been a dance to his walk as they made their way to a special room.

After Kaon was locked away, Tesarus made his way down to where Tarn was, Helex already waiting like the hangman at the gallows. “He’s been paralyzed for now so do as you will with him.”

Helex spoke, “The next course of action sir?”

“What will be the outcome?” Stating Tesarus as he lifted the traitor onto the operation slab.

“Kaon seems to be fond of this wretch. So we can compromise with him. We will put him through the most torturous act that can be done to a mech but let’s add an Autobot twist to it shall we?” Speaking like a maniac as he wrung his servos together. “The Autobots have preached about being free and willing when in reality they have not. They’ve always been a badly upgraded version of the old Senate. Control by taking away whom you are by demechanizing a mech.” His claws danced over the mech’s frame. “We’ll force him back into his old alternate mode. But we will take away everything he has. We will remove his transformation cog, his weapons, his speech, his sense of reality, sense of self, everything. Reshape him into nothing but a mindless beast that will do our bidding and obey our every word. He can still be used against the Autobots.”

“What would that be boss?”

“Domestication to the greatest extent.”

The to dueted one another, “Perfect boss.”

“Let’s get started shall we?” Tarn sing-songed outwardly.

Each member grabbed a torturous device of their choosing from the walls. The whirring sounds of the famous chainsaw Tarn weld, made from the chainsaw slinging medic himself, Pharma. Made by his own design, perfected and built for Tarn and Tarn alone.

A purple servo slammed the mech’s helm into the operation slab. “I know you can hear me Dominus Ambus,” growling outwardly as Helex handed over a data pad. “I have your file right here. Look lookit here. Isn’t it delightful?” His servo slammed the mech’s face once more enough to make it bleed. “Hmmm.. let’s see here. Your file. Your old mode, a turbofox no less.” Holding it up to the mech’s face, the traitor refused. “Making it harder on yourself will make this worse.”

More back and forth commenced as Tarn spoke to the mech using his abilities, pinching his pressure points so he could control the mech for a moment while his other hand stroked the area over his t-cog. “Helex hold the pad so that it’s in his view.” Some more time passed and the traitor finally was forced into taking on his old form.

“Perfect,” whispered outwardly.

More time lapsed through Dominus’ domestication. The mech was hanging on, the trio excelled in keeping mech’s alive and perfectly aware through their torturous acts. And this went on for days on end, weeks even. Kaon was never involved. Forcefully removed from the situation.

“Who were you working with?”

There was never an answer. No matter how hard each of them tried to break him and they broke him. Perhaps he never knew. Perhaps he did.

“Next we will remove who he is as a Cybertronian, a transformer. We all know what that is? HIs transformation cog.” Tarn sung, ♬ ♫ “𝓦𝓪𝓴𝓮𝔂 𝔀𝓪𝓴𝓮𝔂 𝓓𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓽𝓸𝓻. 𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝔀𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓬𝓱. 𝓕𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓲𝓷’ 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓶.” ♬ ♫

Tesarus dragged the mech close to the edge of the operation table so he could force the mech to transform into his beast mode. Once it was achieved both Helex and Tesarus flipped the mech onto his backside.

♬ ♫ “𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓪 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓓𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓸𝓷. 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮. 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓷𝓸𝔀. 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓽 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓮. 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓿𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓮𝓯𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝓞𝓱 𝓷𝓸 𝓷𝓸. 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓮. 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾. 𝓨𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓫𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓸 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓶. 𝓑𝓮𝓬𝓪𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰, 𝓱𝓶? 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽’𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓓𝓙𝓓 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝔀𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓵𝔂 𝓪𝓻𝓮--𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓵𝔂 𝓲𝓼. 𝓨𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓘’𝓿𝓮 𝓴𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓱𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝓫𝓮𝓬𝓪𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓭. 𝓨𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓪 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓰𝓪𝓲𝓷! 𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓮𝓯𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓼 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰.” ♬ ♫

“We will remove his t-cog then wipe his memories of all of whom he is before his final transformation.” Tarn removed his mask as he located the mech’s t-cog that hid in his abdomen. His claws dug out the armor to reveal the vital component. “Hold him down.” Both mech’s obeyed as Tarn leaned over the badly injured frame; his glossa flicked over his lip components before he descended downwards. His lips wrapped onto the organ and began to pull it out slowly from the beast’s frame. Line by line was broken, spilling energon onto Tarn and the slab below him. The mech howled in his pursuit. Once it was finally released from its prison Tarn slipped it out of his mouth and into his servo. “Tesarus, wrap this up and send it off to Autobot high-command with a message.”

“Yes boss.”

“Helex, patch him up before we start the mind wiping process. He’ll forget all he knows within a matter of a cycle. All he will ever know from now on is being a Pet to do our bidding. Nothing but a mindless beast.” Pausing the turned to Helex as Tesarus walked out to get the t-cog ready for transport. “No one will ever remember Dominus Ambus, the traitorous little Agent 113 the Autobots so loved. They’ll never know if he truly died or not. Oh they’ll assume he did but they’ll never know our little Pet will be attacking their ranks. Oh my an Autobot attacking Autobots--how delightful isn’t it Helex?”

[ Abrupt interruption -- disengaging.. ]

#severe dark themes/words ahead under the cut #im sorry Mare #the full process i did not write about #its a summary but #just be warned ya know #one day i might write a more in depth version of the domestication #{Memories}#panickedforcefield

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devintrinidad · 3 years

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I haven't watched it Akadama Drive the way through. But I have seen a lot of it. It's almost too gorey for me. But the visuals are a real treat and it definitely has the cyberpunk cool factor down. Swindler was a great main character! (I never shipped her with Cutthroat. I knew the psychopath was that. A psychopath and I bet he was going to turn on them at anytime. And he did! Never be distracted by the childish antics pretty boy serial killers!).

I'm interested in the future of AD. I heard the last episode was getting a special Directors cut including a alternative ending. I also heard the AD creators were happy to hear AD is doing well in the west so fans are wondering if that means their hoping to make a S2? I don't keep up with AD news so I'm not sure if that's their intention or not. But I did hear a fan theory that S2 could be about the bad guys using technology to bring at least of the main characters back to life (considering Swindler had a religious themed death and both her and Courier's bodies could easily be recovered. Plus revival through tech is such a Cyberpunk staple) because Brother and Sister are still targets and they were would where to look for them.

So maybe AD still has a bright future ahead with more content to explore the world (I honestly think Hacker could easily be a main character in any sequal).

Onto the CAW/AD verse.

I could totally see 3803 being this epic biker chick.... Who gets lost easily. But because she does all these crazy stunts, her enemies (who don't know her yet) think she's planning everything to confuse them. X D

I could see 1146's akudama name being Bodyguard. Because when he's not acting like one for 3803 and Platelet. He's taking up bodyguard jobs for anyone who needs them. For the right price and reason. If you're a scumbag who hurts innocent people, he'll kill you on the spot. But be nice enough to return the moneyto your corpse. Unless 3803 or Platelet needs something, then he'll strip you of all your dough and leave you penniless. He has a very ruthless rep. But he's so good at what he does, his help is in high demand. Ecspecially for someone who needs a bodyguard they can trust (and they know they aren't or won't act like scum around him to earn his wrath). He's fine with helping criminals. Just not ones who do a lot of harm to innocents or are involved in nasty business like trafficking or something.

Story wise things change up.

The way I see things here is that Cancer is the one secretly in charge and why things are so wrong. He's this absolute monster of a human being who gained immortality hundreds of years ago. He went nuts and caused wars and blew up the moon. He wants all the power and has created societies in his own twisted corrupted image (basically his dream in canon coming true here). But he's noticed after awhile things always go bad under his leadership and nearly everything dies. Instead of starting over again and again. He's decides to find a way to force everyone to become immortal like him so that even if they're killed. They'll have no choice but to come back to life like he does. If he has to suffer this, then so does everyone else.

That's where 3803 and Platelet come in. For decades, Cancer has been collecting and experimenting on people in secret in order to figure out how to gift them with his immortality. 3803 and Platelet are surviving lab rats who managed to escape during a explosion happening in the building. 3803 is the closest he's come to achieving his goal. 3803 would later tell 1146 she has no idea how immortal she is and it scares her to death that she might be unable to die like Cancer. All she knows is that she can take a lot of damage and recover in time. She's been able to age a little. But she hopes she's not being paranoid about looking younger and smaller for her age (Macrophage, another Akudama who knows her secret, tells her it's common for girls like her to look younger then they are and that she has gotten bigger since they first met. But 3803 is still a little concerned). 3803 also has no idea about Platelets status in all this since she's never been badly hurt and she's aged normally. But she's also never gotten sick a day in her life and she was put in the same cell as her. The scientists saying all she needed was a little tweaking and they'd both be closer to becoming their goal.

Ohhh, I didn't even think about 4989 and the others being 1146's enemies. I assumed they'd follow his lead eventually. Say they're dissapointed in him. Because yeah things are corrupt. But that's no reason to become a criminal and abandon their dreams of making the city a better place. They weren't there when he turned traitor so all they've been told is he got beguiled by some witch (3803 gets a very exaggerated and unpleasent rep along the Executioners for turning their top soldier against them. 1146 was already having serious doubts on his own but the organization puts the blame on her regardless). Eventually they get told by a superior officer if they can capture both 1146 and 3803 alive, they'll take 1146 back instead of executing or throwing him in jail. They'll strip him of his Akudama name and only punish him by putting a bomb collar on him until he redeems himself to them. It's not ideal. But for their friend they'll take it. They do eventually find and fight 1146 and even manage to knock him out and tie him up. They're prepared to fight 3803... Until they meet her face to face. From the rumours, they were expecting this buff scary woman who could rip their faces off. Instead they meet this determined but petite girl who looks like she'd hurt herself trying punch them. Even worse she's holding this little scared crying girl calling her big sis in her arms. They're the picture of defenselessness and it's suddenly making them not comfortable with this. This goes two ways: either they decide to cool down for a sec and let 3803 and 1146 explain themselves and then make the choice to leave and become akudamass too. Or, they harden themselves and take her anyway. 3803 promises to come quietly if they let her little sister go (they don't suspect Platelet is the Akadama Bomber). 3803 is hoping if she goes alone, She can at least convince Cancer Platelet died years ago and was a failed test subject. They agree and 3803 has to push Platelet away and yell at her to go (she knows she'll go to Macrophage so she'll be fine) because Platelet knows what's happening and is desperate enough to almost throws a small bomb at them (but 1146 would get caught up in the blast and 3803 glares at her to obey so she doesn't). The WBC squad does feel bad since they're not used to dealing with vulnerable women and children who can't fight back.

When 1146 wakes up in a room with his superior officer telling him he's back and not getting a bomb collar. He's getting brain surgery and it's a surprise what that's going to be. Needless to say, 1146 is pissed beyond words. He's going to be forced to be their top dog somehow again. Platelet is alone and scared. 3803 is going to be carted off to Cancer so Cancer can make things even worse. Needless to say he manages to make his case to his friends who see definitely now know being a Akadama is better then this. Half of them go to rescue 1146 before he gets brain surgery and the others go get 3803 before Cancer can.

That's my idea of it anyway. Cause the WBC squad would actually be really good akadamas.

Now when it comes to 1146 fighting allies a lot. My initial idea was before he left, 1146 was the best of the best alongside NK and Killer T. They were the power trio that stood above the rest with a 100% success rate in missions once all three worked together. But unlike the WBS squad. They stick to their Executioner roles. I see this because in CAW canon, despite being softies inside, both Killer T and NK have this 'don't get chummy with civilians' mentality. Killer T ecspecially getting on 1146 for wanting to interact and go soft with them. In AD verse, NK and Killer T ultimately believe the Executioners are a nessecary evil at worst because the world needs them to be (Idk, you can keep the germs and make them monsters that Executioners have to fight to keep the city save too. Of course all of them are secretly made by Cancer to convince the most 'noble' of Executioners to keep the corrupted status quo). When 1146 left, they took it personally. Particularly Killer T. NK keeps things more professional, but both want Roto resolve things with 1146 and see it as their duty to take him down. They don't believe 1146 about the whole conspiracy of a immortal Cancer ruling the world and doing all this other unbelievable stuff. Even when they see 3803 surviving a lot of damage, they chalk it up to her having access to some high tech she stole. Either way I'm conflicted on them being tragic villains who refuse to stop fighting 1146 and capture 3803 under orders or villains who get redeemed at the end.

But Akadama Killer T. Tell me more? What's he like?

Other stuff-

Macrophage is called Hacker. Both because she can hack her targets into pieces with her axe and because she's a famous computer hacker. She found 3803 and Platelet years ago after they had escaped from the underground lab. She was reasearching for fun what the base was and discovered its use for making immortality. She took the two girls in to raise as if they were her own and trained them how to survive as Akadama (more so 3803 since she's older). When Macrophage isn't a assassin for hire, she's using her hacking abilities as mission control for 3803 when she's on the job. She helps her not get too lost and handles money transactions. They see her as the mom they never had despite that she's really only around 14 years older then them.

Platelet loves blowing things up. She likes building things too. But bombing things helps her little family out more. She'll often plant tiny bombs all over the city and has Macrophage use her computer to keep track of them so she can detonate them when she sees a use to (like blowing up anyone chasing 383 while she's on her motorcycle). She adores 1146 and loves having him be part of her family. Partly because he's so strong and protective she doesn't have to worry as much about 3803 as much with him around. It's unknown just how much the experiments affected her too. All that's known is she's never been sick and barely needs any sleep to operate and always has nothing but energy to spare. She gets scared easily when 3803 might get taken away because her big sis has always been there for her and she's terrified of Cancer destroying her life and family again. If she lost 3803 she doesn't think she'd known how to live ob without her.

Cancer refers to all his experiments as his children. He calls 3803 and Platelet his daughters in particular and plans on having them back and fully like him so they can be his perfect family. He's actually known them since they were babies since, before they escaped, they've spent most, if not, all their lives in his care at the lab.

In this verse, 1146 is a much more aggressive pursurer of 3803's affections. He's still shy about making moves and acts stoic. But it's apparent he's interested in her early on and after awhile he makes no secret he wants to marry her. It always surprises her when he talks about wanting to marry her because he's too shy to flirt with her or even ask her on a date. He's both unable to make the first move, yet is very blunt about his desired intentions. She on the other hand is more hesitant. With her unknown immortality status, she's afraid she can't grow old with him and would deny him a normal wife. He simply says he wants her and no one else will ever do.

3803 feels bad about him becoming a criminal. He's fighting his friends and comrades and has a huge life sentence on him all because he protected he. He tells her even if he has never met her. He knows sooner or later he would have left on his own and been branded a Akadama. Meeting her just have him another reason to believe in protecting others. Plus she does let him live with her and her for free. She still tries to pay him for his services when he protects her on the job. Initially he takes the money. But after too long she finds out all he does with the money is buy her things she was planning on getting later anyway. He basically was doing her errands for her. She gave up after that.

1146 is very protective of 3803's secret and has killed people over it to protect her. Those people being top high level Executioners who are in on Cancer's existence and his plans. 1146 knows the moment Cancer can get 3803 and confirm her ID. There's going to be a lot of trouble. He's made it a goal to either turn those people to his side or kill them all until there's no one left. When Cancer hears of this, he calls him a kind killer.

Macrophage once jokes 1146 should be called Husband instead of Bodyguard because that's what he acts like with 3803. All overprotective and lovey dovey. He hates it when other men flirt with him and scared them off.

Cancer is actually more aware of 3803 and Platelets activity then anyone thinks. It's just that he's immortal so time is a little for him. He kind of enjoys watching them hide and run and wondering how far he can push 1146 in his efforts to protect them.

That's all I got I think. Putting in Cancer kind of changes things up but I also think he strangely fits in there very well.

Any other ideas you have?

~~~

Oh my! It’s been a while since you’ve made such a long and lovely submission! First things first, yes, Swindler is best girl!!!

Heheh, I found Cutthroat/Swindler to be somewhat cute, but I had a feeling things would turn out for the worst when the team ultimately separated after Doctor’s betrayal and the fight with the Executioners. It was a pretty cool dynamic and I love how Swindler ultimately turned the tables on him.

(I’m a bit leery as to why he could see her “red halo” from so far away, but I suppose it was due to insanity/supernatural influences).

And yup! There was going to be a director’s cut. A Youtuber actually translated the tweets that directors had regarding the director’s cut and discovered that it was going to be an extra seven minutes of footage and would feature scenes that would help flesh out the last episode more.

It’s super interesting.

LINK HERE

Ooohhhh, a season 2 where we can see best girl and Courier to come back??? To be honest, I like the series where it stands. It had a message, stuck with it, but managed to punch it all in with masterful animation techniques and storytelling. One of the characters that I think would definitely come back, should probably be Hacker. He was a god of cyberspace and savvy with technology.

Someone once speculated that he’s smart: he would definitely upload a backup of himself somewhere.

(Another person thought that Hacker must have saved himself on Swindler’s phone because his drone icon was there after his final parting gift).

I think the best way to add onto the series would be to revisit their backgrounds? Then again, I checked out the available manga chapters that have been translated thus far, and it seems they might delve a little into that territory.

Maybe a one shot episode where we get to see all the Akudama go about their daily lives where they sometimes interact (unknowingly) Durarara style (another great anime you should watch if you have the time).

Hacker as main character??? Yes please???

3803 would definitely do crazy tricks, hahah. She’s simultaneously skilled and unskilled with her bike. She’s like the... Captain Jack Sparrow of the series except instead of being drunk all the time, she’s somewhat clueless and innocent.

Bodyguard is such a lovely name. Like... I can picture it and it really fits. Not only does it satisfy his canon role of protecting, it actually helps him from actually killing too many people unnecessarily. He’ll do it if he has to, but his main goal is to protect his charge, not go after any assassins and whatnot.

Ooooohhhh, I love Cancer here! You make him out to be some terrible god of destruction and chaos and I absolutely adore it. And the motive for immortality makes more sense in this au then in the canon for AD, hahah. But yes, I imagine after years of destruction and infamy, he would definitely feel lonely and bitter.

So of course, why not drag the rest of humanity down with him?

3803 and Platelet both being somewhat immortal beings? Yes??? And Macrophage being one of their true confidants? Also yes??? (WHERE ARE YOU GETTING ALL THESE GOOD IDEAS???)

I know later on you’ll talk about Macrophage being a hacker (because of major hacking skills in tech and in killing), but what about this: she’s the Doctor from AD. Not a backstabber, but one who was somewhat affiliated with the idea of immortality. Maybe she was one of the scientists who helped raise 3803 and Platelet and after discovering that all the rest of the experiments died and only two remained, she decided enough was enough and got them out of Cancer’s hold.

Hmm... how about we combine Hacker and Doctor to create Scientist instead? She’s cold and ruthless underneath her ladylike vibes, but she truly does feel for the plight of 3893 and Platelet.

I don’t know, it would make for an interesting dynamic.

Oooohhh, I love the confrontation with WBC squad and 3803. They’re so geared and ready (4989 is definitely sweating bullets while the others reassure him). Also, you know how in AD canon that the Executions are always in pairs? Let’s have 2001 and 1145 the original pairing before he broke out. Then, 4989 with 2626 and 2048 and Eosinophil while 2001 gets stuck with Band Cell. Because, why not.

(Or, we go back to one of my most heinous friendships I ever created, 2001 and Dendritic Cell).

Can I also say that Bomber is such a bomb name for Platelet? (Pun completely intended).

And yeah, the WBC squad are definitely really uncomfortable when they undergo some cognitive dissonance here... perhaps it’s starting at this moment that they realize that Akudama aren’t that different from normal people... or the Executioners.

Bomb collars and surgery for 1146??? Ooohhhh, he must really be the top Executioner... I wonder if he’ll reunite with 2001 again as his partner or get someone new who can help control him. Because NK and Killer T are definitely partners.

On a side note you mentioned that they think that Executioners are a necessary evil. It’s like your acknowledging and somewhat hinting that they know this is wrong and that Akudamas aren’t inherently bad, but do so anyway because of a corrupt legal system. I love it. It really adds to the depth of the characters.

And yes, we need tragic villains with feelings.

As for Akudama Killer T... Maybe he went through some mental breakdown before realizing that the Executioners aren’t always right )if they were ever right in the first place). Perhaps he breaks like 1146 did, but instead of using his skills for constructive purposes, he goes all out and doesn’t care about the law anymore. He sort of becomes 1146’s foil. They’re both rear Executioners, both saw the errors of their ways, but while 1146 becomes a protector in his own way, maybe Killer T decides to become a mercenary.

I don’t know, I love parallels and showcasing how far characters have done.

(I REALLY WANTED PUPIL EXECUTIONER TO BECOME AN AKUDAMA OR AT LEAST HAVE A MOMENT TO HERSELF, BUT IT NEVER HAPPENED. AT LEAST THE DIRECTORS CUT IS SAID TO ADDRESS THAT).

Cancer as a father?

Cancer as a family man?

I... that’s a concept I never considered. Just, I can only imagine him playing with all of his experiments, knowing that one day, most of them will end up dying. He probably favors 3803 over Platelet because of how close they are in physical appearance/age and acts creepy about it.

(Is this my Abnormalities!verse writing urge acting up again, probably).

Hehehe, why but blunt 1146. That is so cute and adorable. He and 3803 constantly dance around the issue, especially due to the whole immortality thing, but he makes it clear that he doesn’t care. Though he doesn’t know it, he’s actually quite suave when he finally convinces her that it’s the time they spend together now that matters so they won’t regret in the future.

3803 swoons.

Husband??? Yes???

Macrophage as confirmed 3803/1146 shipper? Why not???

Ooohhh, Cancer is more aware than what was already expected... I HAVE ANOTHER IDEA!!!

So I know that I said earlier that Macrophage would be a combination of Hacker and Doctor, why not also make Cancer have Hacker elements? Think about it, he’s practically immortal and it was never truly confirmed how immortality works in AD canon. Maybe his immortality is due to a combination of high technology and organic stuff. Maybe, he can upload his consciousness at will so that he can “supervise” his children. It also adds credence to the whole “3803 had high tech to help her stave off heavy damage” that Killer T and NK think is what’s going on. I don’t know, I just think it would be cool to have Cancer be a god in the physical and technological world.

He would be so OP, but that’s what Cancer probably would want in CAW canon, so there, hahah.

Hmm, anything else? Let’s see, Killer T as an Akudama would definitely be more of a Brawler character... I don’t have anybody down for Hoodlum... But who do you think would be a best fit for Head Executioner? At first, I wanted Helper T, but I realized that he doesn’t get super utilized in canon, so why not make him Executioners alongside Regulatory T. Seriously, they don’t get enough screen time (especially Regulatory T).

As for the majority of Akudamas, most are definitely pathogens or germs, but I’m assuming some of them are actually Normal Cells... Normal Cells with benign mutations, but somehow get the attention of Executioners.

But yeah, this was an awesome little au. I’m down to read some action packed nonsense with these characters. You should definitely try your hand at writing this, hahah!

#cells at work #hataraku saibou #devin trinidad #devin trinidad author #devintrinidad author #caw #devintrinidad #caw anon #anon ask #submission #akudama drive #akudama

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p-artsypants · 5 years

Text

Bad Day (2) Evening

Marinette was Ladybug! This was Adrien's luckiest day ever! Except it wasn't, because all his good luck was used up in one go. Turns out this might be the worst day of his life.

Ao3 | FF.net

Part 1 Part 3

After school, Lila was quick to find Adrien and latch onto his arm. Then she practically dragged him out of the building while the collective student body chanted after him.

“Dump King! Dump King! Dump King!”

Adrien got in the car, followed by Lila.

Nathalie turned in her seat to look at him. “What happened to your face?”

As he opened his mouth to answer, Lila blurted out. “He got in a fight.”

“A fight?!” Nathalie shouted, aghast.

“No I didn’t!” Adrien protested, in horror. “I got hit with a soccer ball! I swear!”

Lila rested a hand on his arm. “It’s okay Adrien. You shouldn’t lie about this. I know you and Nino are friends, but he still should be punished for hitting you.”

“But—!”

“Nino? As in Nino Lahiffe?”

“That’s right.”

“Mister Agreste will not be happy to hear about this.”

“What are you doing?!” Adrien grit, hissing at Lila.

Lila smiled at him darkly, and whispered. “You picked your team, Adrien. I swore to tear Marinette down. You’re going down with her. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before you sneeze blood all over me.”

“That was an accident!” He hissed.

“Then why did you turn to face me?”

“You’re ridiculous!”

“Oh, you want to see ridiculous? I’ll show you ridiculous.” Then she turned away from him, getting out her phone.

It was a threat, nothing more. Lila couldn’t possibly ruin him anymore than she just did. Right?

Although, with the way today was going, who knew?

As they travelled to the photo shoot, Adrien trained his eyes outside, noticing a lot more pigeons than usual.

“Great...” he muttered to himself. If this was the return of Mister Pigeon, again, he might get the chance to see Ladybug. But given Mister Pigeon’s track record, the fight probably wouldn’t even last long enough to talk to her.

And given the way things were at this moment, it wouldn’t be wise to ditch a photoshoot. Even for something like Mister Pigeon, which would only take a second.

Ladybug could handle this one on her own. This, he was sure of.

So, dejected, he just sat back in his seat and tried not to think about the pain in his foot, or in his nose, or the anxiety of potentially getting pulled out of school.

Marinette was Ladybug.

With a growing horror, he realized this news didn’t give him the same joy it had this morning. It had sunk in now. Of course Marinette was Ladybug. It was like a truth he had always known.

She was there when he was proclaimed the best pooper in the school. She saw him take a soccer ball to the face. She saw him standing in front of everyone with a tampon up his nose. And he had totally disappointed her when he told her he couldn’t come over tonight.

She was probably disgusted with him. And he couldn’t blame her either. He was pretty disgusted with himself.

—

The makeup artist was angry. She all but yelled at him when he sat in her chair. Something about carelessness and stupidity. Ruining a work of art, and wasting everyone’s time and effort. Each word made him slump farther and farther into his chair.

He felt utterly worthless.

It was an outdoor shoot. But fortunately, it was a very fast photoshoot. Whether it was because of the overwhelming amount of pigeons absolutely everywhere, or because of his uncontrollable allergies, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care.

But by the time he was ushered back into the car, his eyes were almost swollen shut, and his nose bleed had come back from all of his sneezing. He had wiped most of his makeup off too.

“Don’t worry Adrien, I’ll make sure to finish the shoot. Your father needs a model he can count on after all.” Lila beamed at him, her silent threat coming through her tone.

She was trying to usurp him as Gabriel’s top model.

Well, she could take his job, for all he cared. Being a full time student, model, and superhero was never easy. He didn’t really care for modeling that much anyway.

But it was the only thing he and his father shared anymore.

And he never ever wanted to disappoint his father. Modeling felt like he was needed, like he served a purpose in his family. Like he earned the luxury he lived in. Without that, what did he have?

He returned home, pinching his nose shut with one hand, and holding his school bag with the other. At least he was home now. This was a ‘safe place’.

Except Gabriel stood on the stairs, glaring down at him. “Adrien.”

The boy slumped, completely defeated. “Father.”

“I’m disappointed with you.”

“What’s new?” Adrien shrugged.

Gabriel scowled, and Adrien shut his mouth.

“As you know, I monitor your social media activity. You were recently tagged in some photos on Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Instagram, wearing clothes I don’t remember designing. Care to explain?”

“What? Oh! Yeah, Marinette designed them! She asked me to come along for the shoot to give the model some pointers, and then our friend Alya suggested I wear the clothes too, to show how unisex they were. Aren’t they awesome?”

Gabriel sighed. “While Marinette’s designs were very well executed and the photos well done, you breached your contract.”

“My contract?”

“Yes, your modeling contract.”

“I have a contract with Gabriel?”

“Of course you do! You get paid, don’t you?”

“I thought...it was just an allowance?”

“No. Your wage is split between a monthly spending and savings.”

“Oh…I had no idea.”

“Hmm, interesting. Then why is your signature on the bottom of the contract?”

Adrien hunched his shoulders. “…I guess I didn’t read it.”

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Unbelievable. You know, I’d fire you if you weren’t my son.”

Adrien winced. “And…since I am your son?”

“You’re suspended, indefinitely. Until I figure out a way to get you to behave the way you’re supposed to.”

That hurt. He had been trying to please his father in every way possible, bending to his whims, being so obedient that it hurt. But he continued to fall short.

“Father, please...I just wanted to help a friend. I didn’t think you’d mind...I’ll do better, I promise.”

For the first time in the conversation, Gabriel came closer and examined him, tilting his head up with a finger.

“What happened to you? You look like death.”

“Lila Rossi says he got in a fight with Nino Lahiffe.” Nathalie provided.

“That’s not what happened!” Adrien corrected, loudly. “I got hit in the face with a soccer ball!”

“By who?”

“Doesn’t matter, we were playing soccer, and it was an accident. The nurse looked at it and said it wasn’t broken, just bruised.”

“Then why did Lila say you got in a fight?”

“Because she’s mad at me! She’s causing drama because after I got the soccer ball to the face, my nose started bleeding and then I sneezed blood all over her.”

Gabriel sneered. “That’s the poorest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not an excuse! It’s the truth! Call anyone else in my class and ask! They’ll tell you!”

“Quiet Adrien!” Gabriel demanded. “I don’t know what wrong with you today, but this streak of disobedience ends now! You embarrassed me at that photoshoot. And I got a very disturbing phone call from one of your teachers today, something about you proclaiming yourself as ‘dump king’ and sticking feminine products up your nose!”

Adrien wanted to die in a hole.

“You realize such behavior not only reflects badly on you professionally, but also our family, my company.”

“I know…”

“Then I expect there to be no more problems.”

“There won’t be. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today…just…unlucky.”

Gabriel sighed. “I can’t stand to look at you anymore. Go take some benadryl and lie down. I know it makes you drowsy, so I won’t wait for you at dinner.”

Adrien huffed, shouldering his bag, and started up the stairs. “Fine. I want this day to be over with already anyways.”

—

In his room, Adrien dropped his bag on the floor. Homework could wait. It was only Friday after all.

“Aw, don’t beat yourself up, Adrien. Your father’s expectations are so ridiculously high, I don’t think Jesus could reach them.”

Normally, that would have made Adrien bark a laugh, but now he only hummed. Looking outside, he could see the pigeons still ruling over the streets.

There was no way Marinette was having problems with Mr. Pigeon. Right?

“We have to go out there, don’t we?” Groaned Plagg.

Adrien sighed as well. “Yeah, come on. Claws out.”

Chat Noir popped open his window, and launched himself out into the evening city.

Using his baton, he found that Ladybug was out and about, and he bounded out to her.

She was in a park, sitting on a bench, ice cream in hand, absolutely surrounded with birds, while Mr. Ramier sat next to her.

Wait.

Mr. Ramier?

Chat landed by the bench, a cloud of feathers fluttering up into the air as the birds scattered. They didn’t go far though.

This, of course, let Chat explode into sneezes.

“Hey kitty cat.” Ladybug smiled.

Wiping his nose, he looked to Ladybug and Mr. Ramier, with a look that was nothing but done. “What’s with all the birds if you aren’t akumatized?”

Mr. Ramier laughed. “Isn’t it miraculous? Columba palumbus are on a momentous migratory flight. Once in a hundred years, they assemble like this! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Chat sneezed again. “Great.”

Ladybug giggled, a sound that was still wonderful, even in his funk. “Once I found out what it was, I decided to wait until you showed up, so you wouldn’t go akuma hunting in this.”

He sighed, sitting on the bench next to her. “Thanks for the consideration.” He said flatly.

Ladybug reached up with her free hand and began to pet his scalp. “Oh what’s wrong kitty cat?”

“Today sucks!” He announced, and then quite dramatically flopped onto her lap, whining lowly in his throat.

“Aw...poor kitty.” Ladybug coddled him like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Would a bite of ice cream help?”

“Always.”

“Say ‘ah!’” She got a bite on her spoon.

“Ah!” He opened his mouth wide, towards her.

Which ended up being the perfect target for the pigeon flying up ahead.

Bullseye!

Chat scrambled off of Ladybug’s lap, spitting and scraping his tongue with his fingers.

“What was that?” Asked Ladybug.

“That goddamn bird shit in my mouth!” He said between sputters. “Can’t I just enjoy some stupid ice cream!?” He shouted at the sky.

Silence, except for the birds fluttering away.

“Chat…”

He held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t worry about it, Ladybug. I’ve just had a very frustrating day, and I…I need some rest.”

She pouted, and held up her ice cream. “You can still have some.”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite. But thank you. Sorry…for ruining your bird fest, Mr. Ramier.” With a little salute, he pole-vaulted away.

But in his room, once de-transformed, Plagg started cackling like the pest he was.

Adrien had it with the little creature and snatched him out the air, stormed over to the window, and chucked him outside.

Of course, being a flying kwami and able to phase through solid objects, it wasn’t but a few seconds before he was back in Adrien’s face. “Hey, what’s the big deal!?”

“I’ve had enough, Plagg! I don’t need you laughing at me! I know my life is some sort of joke to you, but I really don’t need it right now!” Tears gathered in his eyes in frustration. “You were right, okay? All my good luck is gone! And I can’t even enjoy the fact that one of my best friends is the love of my life!”

Plagg sighed. “Geez kid, don’t get all weepy on me. I can’t stand it.” He floated up and nuzzled against his cheek with a purr. “I just thought the pigeon thing was funny. Like, holy cow, that’s unfortunate.”

Adrien rolled his eyes and went into his bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet.

“But really, today was not as bad as it could have been.” He shrugged.

Adrien slammed the cabinet closed and glowered at the kwami. “I’ve been humiliated in front of my classmates, twice, I broke my toe, I got my face smashed with a soccer ball, I hurt my crush’s feelings, I dissed my best friend, I failed my test, I got targeted by the biggest liar in school, I basically got fired, and I might be pulled out of school! The pigeon thing was just the icing on the cake! Am I missing anything?!”

Plagg thought for a moment, and then said, “no, I think that’s about everything.”

Adrien popped two benadryl, and then flopped onto his bed with a moan. “I’m going to sleep. You can try to wake me up if there’s an akuma, but I won’t hear you.”

“Tch, whatever drama queen.”

A few minutes later, the medicine took effect and Adrien slipped off to dreamland.

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #ladynoir #chat noir #ladybug #adrien agreste #lila rossi #plagg #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette #bad day

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sinthtic · 4 years

Text

( jaime lorente, 20, he/him ) class is in session for ARIS ‘ARI’ DE LA FUENTE. the student file says they're a VAMPIRE of the NOCTURNA house and currently an EIGHTH year. we wish them good luck in the new school year, where they'll learn NOTHING BC HES STUPID.

i’m going to keep this really short bc fuck bios. there will also be a TLDR at the end for anyone too lazy to read it all.

aris, aka ari, is a born vampire. he comes from a family of pioneers in the vampire community. his ancestors developed some of the first daylight rings ( or so they claim. he’s never seen proof. ) and his parents sought to go even further with the advancements. they developed a synthetic blood ( similar to true blood if you’ve seen the HBO show ) that would taste better than animal blood or whatever alternatives vampires sought out instead of direct from the vein. it was mostly targeted to wealthy clients, people who’d pay a pretty penny for something that was eerily close to the real thing, and they made millions from it. the company has been so successful in the private, invite only, environment that they’re poised to go international in the next year or two. meaning that vampires around the globe could be drinking their blood: SINFUENTE. ( a play on synthetic and fuente — his father’s doing. he has an OBSESSION with putting the family name on things. )

as the oldest of four children, it was always expected that aris would be the one to inherit the company one day. yes, vampires might live forever, but his father fully believed he’d like to pass the company through their family for generations to come. aris would be the first and would then pass it on to his children, who would pass it on to their children, and so on and so forth. there was only one problem: aris wasn’t, how do you say, as good at magic as the rest of his siblings. or at anything, really. he was clumsy in a ‘we might all die because i sprayed lysol near an open flame’ kind of way not the cute wattpad insert fic way. he could barely do anything until he was six, years behind his other siblings, and his parents often expressed concern or disappointment with his efforts. that’s not to say that he wasn’t trying, or that he was lazy — he simply just WASN’T GOOD.

at 11, his parents made the executive decision to stray away from their traditional methods of homeschooling de la fuente children and sent him to arcanas. they hoped that there, he’d be able to excel under the tutelage of trained professionals. while he was nervous, petrified that he’d do the attunement test only to come back with nothing, he was placed into nocturna after the most AGONIZING minute of his life. ( when telling the story back, his younger sibling likes to say the elements were fighting over who would be forced to take him. ari does NOT appreciate it. ) his struggles continued throughout the years and he was held back not once but three times. it’s why he’s almost twenty-one and still an eighth year simply PRAYING he can pass this time. he’s the family embarrassment, so much so that they’ve started grooming one of his younger, more ambitious siblings, to one day take over the company. they’ve never come right out and said he’s out but the writing’s on the wall. they don’t have to.

CONNECTIONS

his yoda: someone who looked at this man, saw how helpless he was, and took it upon themselves to try and help him. could be someone from his house (nocturna) who thinks his failure reflects badly on them, or someone who just takes pity out of the goodness of their heart. whether it’s school, socially, or just something little — this person always has the right answers and aris constantly goes to them for help, guidance, or a good old fashioned bitchfest.

birds of a feather: this is someone who also struggled when they first came to arcanas. she saw a kindred spirit in him and offered to help. even when he’s not patient with himself, when he tells her it’s useless, she still tries to help. he certainly doesn’t make it easy so she’s definitely a saint. (taken by nomeda)

hell hath no fury: this man is an idiot, so of course he got cocky and thought he could have his cake and eat it too. he met someone over the summer, someone he fell for hard, and they vowed to stay in contact but it only lasted about three days. they never broke up but texts were few and far between and if his phone rang? he didn’t know her. real talk: HE GHOSTED WITHOUT ACTUALLY ENDING THINGS. flash to a few weeks later and he starts seeing someone new. it’s great, they’re happy, but then the next semester hits and — oh shit, the summer fling’s suddenly an arcanas student and he has two sort of significant others to contend with. instead of being open and honest up front, he instead tries to keep them from running into each other and sort of, accidentally, is seeing them both at the same time. eventually he gets found out because he’s not slick and the two people he was dating ? they have a common enemy and they get along great: HATING HIM BONDS THEM. ( 0/2, muses can be any gender / could have happened at anytime in the last 2 years. )

siblings! he has three other siblings that are younger than him. they would need to be students as ari is the oldest at twenty. species would be vampire but aside from that — live your dreams, they could be literally anything or anyone. at least one is interested in carrying on the family’s legacy.

tba.

#arcanas:intro

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robinrunsfiction · 5 years

Text

Irresistible - Chapter 1

Pairing: Pete Wentz x Female Reader Rating: Teen Requested By: None Author’s Note: Although not specifically requested by her, all my Pete Wentz stories are dedicated to @glittercupcakes-and-squats. Also this is written in first person because it felt right. I know I don’t do that a lot, but I hope you all enjoy!

It was a quiet Thursday afternoon as I busied myself organizing and straightening up the display cases of glittering diamonds and other gems set into gold and platinum. Working in one of the most high-end jewelry stores in Chicago was a unique experience, and I had been working there for long enough to know what I was doing.

You don’t become the top earning salesperson in a store like this by gossiping and being inattentive. I had worked hard to build up a reputation of trust and confidentiality. Men came in one day with their wives, then with their mistress the next, and I knew not to mix up the two. Trust fund kids came in and blew tons of cash on watches and earrings that they lost in no time but had to replace to maintain their social status, but I never scolded them or mentioned it when their parents came in. The nouveau riche came in to spend as much money as possible to show off, and as much as I wanted to call them out on their lack of taste, they tended to be the best customers, throwing around money like it was nothing. To the wealthy what mattered was what everyone else thought about them, the first impression they made without saying a word. Image was everything.

When the door opened, and a couple of men walked in, I instantly eyed them up. They were a little old and too nicely dressed to be trust fund kids, no rings on their fingers meant they were single, or at least acting like it that afternoon. I could stand to earn a healthy commission if I played my cards right. They browsed the displays for a moment before I approached them with my best customer service face on.

“Good afternoon gentlemen, can I help you find something in particular?”

“I’m looking for a birthday present,” the one with the dark brown hair and eyes replied. He looked familiar, I’m certain he’s been in here before, but not often enough that I know him by name. Not to mention he was good looking; the gift is probably for one of his many girlfriends. “Maybe some earrings?”

“Is this for a significant other, spouse, family?”

“Oh, just a friend,” he grinned. Yep, called it.

“How about these?” his friend asked pointing to a pair of studs down the way. He seemed nervous and a bit overwhelmed. He wasn’t the type to usually shop in a place like this, but it wouldn’t be surprising if he was back one day looking for an engagement ring to impress a girl with expensive taste.

I moved down the counter and bent down to retrieve them from the case. Standing back up, I leaned forward, making the low-cut neckline of my black dress help make the sale for me. “These are gorgeous, and they’re very classic. You have a good eye,” I replied while shooting a smile to the friend. He smiled back shyly. What a sweetheart.

“Yea Trick, those are nice, but what else do you have?” The first man asked with a million-dollar smile. I smiled back, if he was looking to drop some money, I was more than willing to oblige.

“I have some just down here that you may appreciate, just one moment,” I replied as I hurried down the row of counters. Just then Bernard, the owner of the store, came out from his office.

“Pete! So good to see you!” He greeted the dark-haired man warmly with a handshake.

“Bernard, how are you doing? I see business is still booming.”

“Of course, thanks to the likes of you and your father,” he said with a knowing laugh. “Come, I have brand new Rolex I want you to see. Come, come,” he said ushering him along to a different counter.

I was fuming. Bernard had personal relationships with so many of his customers, which was to be expected, but it meant he frequently stole sale from me. Old bastard.

I put away the earrings I had pulled to show them and stomped into the back office. One day I’d have my own store and I’d run Bernard out of business. He’d come crawling to me for a job, selling my designs instead of the same old Rolex every executive in the Chicagoland area already wore.

I glanced at my phone and saw Christine had texted me and Jennifer about going out for happy hour. After an afternoon like this, there was no way I wasn’t going out.

When I got to the club, the girls were already there, and had a drink waiting for me. They’re too good to me, honestly. Jennifer was an investment banker who worked too damn hard in my opinion, so the fact that Christine got her out of her apartment after work was a miracle unto itself. Christine was a walking good time. A professional photographer with a rock star boyfriend, honestly if I could be her, I would.

“Not a good day today?” Jennifer asked as I sat down.

“Just the same old bull, ya know?” I replied before taking a swig of my drink. The club was loud, and I vaguely felt like we were getting too old for this scene. “I get that Bernard knows these people, but I’m building my own client base, future clients, and they aren’t going to come to me when I get out on my own if they don’t remember me.”

“Well maybe if you focused on something besides your job, you wouldn’t worry about your job so much,” Christine suggested knowingly.

I rolled my eyes. “Easy for you to say, you got like the hottest man on earth, you work for yourself, and travel everywhere whenever you want.”

“Speaking of hot guys though,” Jennifer piped up. “That one keeps looking over at you, (YN).”

I tried to keep it cool and not obviously stare the direction she was looking, but I had to admit I was surprised when I saw who she was talking about.

Pete.

“Oh, I met him today in the store, he was buying a gift for a friend,” I said turning back to my friends. I could trust these two not to spread any gossip around. They were as discreet as me, ya know except for when I was telling them everything.

“That must be the lucky lady,” Christine said as a tiny blonde thing in a tiny dress opened gifts. “Ope, (YN), she’s all over your man, he must have got her something good.”

“He is not my man. He wouldn’t ever be my man, even if he was interested in me. I know how these rich playboys operate. I’m not looking to be cheated on, I’m not looking to be a side piece, I’m no fool. I gotta find someone sensible like Kingston.”

Christine scoffed. “Did you just call my man child of a boyfriend, a musical genius, but otherwise loveable idiot, sensible?”

“Ok, you know what I mean, he’s loyal, that’s rare these days.”

“That’s true,” Jennifer chimed in.

“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt, but were you helping me at the jewelry store earlier?” I heard Pete ask. My friends were looking at me with wide eyes, wondering how I’d respond. I turned and looked up at him and he was flashing that with that same million-dollar smile.

I nodded in response. “Yea, hi. It’s Pete, right? Did Bernard get you what you needed?”

“That, and then some,” he laughed, adjusting the watch on his wrist. Subtle.

“Good I’m glad,” I smiled politely. Why was he over here talking to me when there were half a dozen girls waiting to fawn over him at his table. I spotted his friend from earlier, who still looked uncomfortable. Poor guy.

“I felt badly that Bernard interrupted, and I didn’t get your name,” he said with a soft look.

“Oh, right, I’m (YN),” I said extending my hand for a handshake, intending to keep things professional. “Yea, he does that sometimes, but he owns the place, so what can I do?”

“Well (YN), I was wondering if you’d like to dance?”

I could feel my friends’ eyes drilling in the back of my head, I could practically hear them yell ‘yes!’ for me, but I wasn’t convinced. “Aren’t you here with the girl you bought those earrings for? Or maybe another girl who you’ll be in buying earrings for eventually?”

“Don’t worry about it, they’re just friends,” he laughed.

“I don’t believe you,” I said shaking my head.

“(YN)!” I heard Jennifer scolding me.

“Why not?” Pete looked offended.

“I know your type. Always showing off with the expensive clothes, and cars and lavish gifts and parties to impress girls who just like the big bank account. But you don’t really mind, because you aren’t looking for something serious. You’re just having fun,” I shrugged.

“You should give me a chance,” he said with a look that almost made me believe him. But I wasn’t going to be swayed that easily.

“Why? I’m not looking to get my heart broken and an expensive necklace as a consolation prize.”

“I’m not like the other guys that come into your store,” he said sincerely. At this point he was crouching down to my level where I sat, looking in my eyes, but I willed myself to stay strong. There was absolutely no denying that he was gorgeous, but that wouldn’t keep the gold diggers away. Just the opposite.

“Sorry Pete, it’s late, and I gotta open up the shop tomorrow. I’ll see you the next time you stop by,” I said taking the last sips of my drink and turning back to my friends. “Either of you wanna share an Uber?”

“What is wrong with you?” Christine practically growled when Pete was out of earshot.

“I’m tired and I wanna go home, and like I said, I don’t wanna be a side piece! Now are we sharing an Uber or not?”

Chapter 2

#pete wentz x reader #pete wentz fan fic #pete wentz fan fiction #pete wentz imagine #fall out boy fan fic #fall out boy fan fiction #fall out boy imagine

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facepalming-since-chernobyl · 5 years

Text

Sumbission

Thanks for replying to my submission. Funny thing, you took so long to do it that I thought you got sick of the topic and deleted it lol. Which is cool. If you’re tired of talking about it, feel free to delete this too.

Since you did reply though, I just want to reply to a few things. I agree with Peggy that I don’t believe the writers hated Mon El for two years. The Kreisberg excuse has no bearing on what happened to him. Look, here’s an example: after the Harvey Weinstein debacle, do you think the writers/producers of his projects took their hate of him out onto his projects? Why would they? It makes no sense.

So why such a difference between s2 Mon El and s3 Mon El? It’s not because they hated him, it’s because they’re shitty writers who got painted into a corner because of the Mon El hate and let it negatively affect what they did with him in s3,hence making a total fucking mess. s2 Mon El wasn’t written like anyone hated him, he was spoiled but also funny, goofy and genuinely loving and along the way he evolved into a wannabe hero who fell in love and Kara fell back in love with him too. What part of that seems like he written from writers who hated him? Not only that, but you can’t blame it on Kreisberg being there either, he was a producer, not the writers, he didn’t write the scripts so you can’t say Kreisberg is why s2 Mon El was written like that. I doubt Kreisberg stood over the writers and pointed a gun to their heads saying to write Mon El in that way or else. The far more logical explanation to me is the writers wrote him that way because they planned to make him a hero and eventual endgame for Kara.

So why s3 Mon El and the total pile of shit with the way he was written then? Because not only did scs make their lives hell with the constant barraging of complaining, nastiness and hate, but they also got hate from Sanvers shippers and the moron “feminists” who screamed bloody murder at Kara getting ANY love interest, saying it made her weak, an anti-feminist, and all that BS. A smart group of writers would’ve just rolled their eyes and kept on with their original plan [to make Mon El a hero and karamel endgame] and muted the bullies or better yet blocked them but these idiots writers literally believed with all the immensely vocal morons screaming over and over that that’s what all the fans wanted. They tried to rehabilitate Mon El to placate the moron/bully trifecta - they fucked it up not because they hated Mon El but because they got painted into a corner and so came out their weak, shitty writing, not realizing instead of making Mon El look better to the bullies, they were actually making him look worse - and all they did was piss off karamel/Mon El fans but I can assure you that wasn’t their intention. They didn’t realize the real hate of Mon El was ship-related and they thought the turgid mess that was s3 would make Mon El acceptable to the bullies, which of course it wasn’t acceptable to anyone. In the end, who knows what happened? Maybe they gave up and decided it wasn’t worth it to deal with the psychos and just wrote him off BADLY. Or maybe Chris had had enough, decided to go. Insert your favorite conspiracy theory here, Area 51 peeps need not apply.

Anyway, one last thing for people who think fans have no say in how a show is run, trust me, they’ve always had a say even back in the days when there was no social media. Some writers listen more to fans than others but these days, everyone monitors the fan reactions on social media with every show. There have been many shows who’ve basically kept characters around they never meant to JUST because they’re so popular with fans. The actor playing the youngest kid from One Day at a Time basically took over all the storylines. Steve Urkel in Family Matters was meant to be a one-time guest star, and he basically became THE star of the show. When the writers realized Will on Alias was getting so much hate, they admitted in an interview they retooled the entire character because of it. I remember the funniest comment of that era coming from an online fan who posted a huge rant about him online and ended it with the line that everyone quoted for a while “And BUY THE BOY A HAIRBRUSH!” (they were complaining about his hair). But I digress. And of course Felicity Smoak was never meant to be Oliver’s love interest either till she developed a fan following, I’m pretty sure Laurel Lance was supposed to be his initial endgame. Point being, I don’t think Mon El was gotten rid of because of nothing but fan hate. But I definitely do think it was a huge factor in how they ended up writing him in s3 and it’s also why they’ve gotten to the point where they’re afraid to even breathe a word of him now. Anytime they do, the hyenas go batshit crazy. And we all know how afraid of the hyenas they are, hence also why SG has become the Luthor hour now.

Thanks again for putting up with another submission from me. :)

**************************************************************************************

Yeah, sorry. As I said I’m on fence with this topic. One day I think that, the next this blah blah.

I guess I didn’t make myself clear. I don’t think they hated him because of AK, I think they just didn’t like his character as a whole, a frat boy from Daxam, LI for Kara instead of James etc. But the whole AK drama helped them. There was something about that they could not use AK’s ideas after they kicked him out. I have heard Legion was his baby (while Reign was Queller’s) and they had to changed things. And comparing Legion 3B storyline with 3A storyline – it makes absolutely no sense, there are missing parts, ignored things and simply dumb things – I think, personally, there is some germ of truth in it. Also, well AK was a face of Arrowverse and I don’t think he had at that time other projects. And he is not Weinstein (fuck him very much) league.

Well, they couldn’t have written him differently in s2, because they were supervised. Also, writers can’t openly write their characters like they hate them, because it’s not professional. No writer can admit that, it’s like a say sayonara to your career. We can talk about Dark Angel and Supernatural and about writers who hated characters. Small things. Like writing a dialogue about microagression that haters can twist. Also, you want to tell me executive producers just allow the writers to write anything they want? Plus, I need to check how many writers were changed between s 2 and 3 to have some, hmm, clearer picture.

And I think we didn’t understand each other. I don’t think s2 Mon-El was a problem or that he was written like writers didn’t like him. Problem started in s3. After AK left and Queller and Rowner got more power.

In s2 yes, but in s3 he was written as an end game bait. Imo.

The hate probably was the factor, but just one of many. The same goes for my “writers hated him and karamels”. I don’t think it was the only one possibility (did I sound like that earlier? Sorry).

We all know what fucking FANSERVICE is. It basically killed Teen Wolf and sooo many other shows. When writers and producers become fan’s bitches, you know show is going to drown in shit :’)

But you know, there is fanservice when people demand something JUST BECAUSE THEY WANT SOMETHING, and there is change in plan when something simply doesn’t work. There is fine line between fanservice and throwing away not working plan.

(They were hating on poor Will? Thank god I was not in the fandoms back then xD)

Anyway, all we do here is speculating. Basically I agree with you, just with different proportions. And we won’t know the truth. Maybe in 20 years when some of the writers will write autobiography :P

Thanks for the submission :D

#mon el defense squad #anti sg #my fam #submission

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windmaedchen-unknown · 5 years

Text

Aftermath

The Phantom right after his failed assassination, recovering and plotting his next move.

The Phantom is laying silently in his hospital bed and blankly looks up at the IV-drip and the small container infusing it with morphine. He does not really need it but he prefers not to tell them why. Tomorrow he would ask them to stop the pain management, though. It slows his thinking.

His game in court went down yesterday afternoon. He was shot and brought to an emergency room in the evening. Since then he laid here, guarded at all times, having been subjected to initial questioning before being allowed to rest for the evening, as matters are being arranged further.

As things stand at the moment, his best option is to submit himself, thinking things out and see where to go from here. The mistake happened and there is no use in lamenting over it. The key to success is to keep moving, to make the best of the situation at hand. It worked in the past and got him out of ALL situations so far. It is not always clear but if you know how to take advantage of any situation without being too picky about the outcomes you will come out on top no matter what. However, the Phantom cannot deny a distinct uncertainty about his future in THIS case because of his unmasking and its relation to what and who he is. He might never be able to accept assignments again and it keeps nagging at his mind, for this is the very core of his existence. Closing his eyes, he forces those thoughts into the background, for now. Much will change, that is for sure, but he cannot skip a step to reach his goal. First, he needs to think over the events, his own actions included, and submit them to careful evaluation.

In hindsight, this particular situation of standing in court, was caused by the unfortunate death of that woman seven years ago. If the psychologist had not interrupted him he would not have been forced to silence her. And, with her daughter’s unexpected attack and injury to his hand, the cursed moon rock would be left untouched. International law enforcements had NOTHING on him, but this moon rock threatened his absolute perfection of anonymity. He never lost sight of it. Was he afraid of his identity being exposed because of it? Well, yes, of course he was, but he never “felt” the physical clenching of his body to accompany that “theoretical feeling”. It was a mere consequence of protecting his anonymity. He does not want his identity to be known so naturally he “fears” its exposure. So what exactly did they expect when they pressed him on the matter. A yes? A no? There was, and still is, no answer to that, for he feels nothing. Except that he was growing more and more annoyed at their pestering about it. Even HE has his limits, no matter how phlegmatic he is.

The psychological profile was another weak point in this whole business and the Phantom watched Blackquill’s movements carefully throughout the years. All the taunts from within the prison reached him eventually. He knew, however, that unless he made a move towards Blackquill, the evidence being presented would be meaningless. Without a case at hand, the profile posed no threat. Leaving it be was a good strategy and with Blackquill’s death sentence finally executed it would remain meaningless forever. His HAT-2 assignment brought him back here into the vicinity, and thus it bore the risk of becoming the very case Prosecutor Blackquill needed to make his move. The Phantom could have refused the assignment, of course, but since it was a prime opportunity to deal with various loose ends at the same time, he accepted the risk. That Blackquill dared to step into the open as he did was unexpected but it did successfully lure in the Phantom. To his own chagrin, this step by the prosecutor made it impossible for for the Phantom to ignore it any longer.

He had made the decision to combine all his goals into this one assignment long before he came up with an actual plan for the day. So when he in-cooperated his personal agenda into his job, was he already too affected to think clearly? Sabotage the start - destroy the moon rock - destroy the psychological profile - get rid of Simon Blackquill and even pin the blame on the girl that caused him all the trouble in the first place. No, he failed to see how he might have been. However, his contingency plans were not adequate enough, obviously, and his opponents saw and took advantage of that.

Generally speaking his plan was not a bad one as such. It was risky, yes, as it always was, in terms of technicalities and need of contingency plans. It simply did not go the way he wanted and he had to admit that he was up against people cleverer than all of the brains of the global law enforcements together. Their unshaking believe in truth and justice, gave them the power to question everyone and everything. If they had not been so loyal to their friends…. if they had not been so…. rational amidst all the emotional drama… he would have gotten away. But he made the mistake to underestimate Phoenix Wright. Oh, the Blackquills and the police were no deal at all, but he never thought one could possibly have so much trust in someone’s innocence as that defense lawyer. Most people would have thrown the towel by the very moment the girl confessed to remembering murdering her own mother but … not Phoenix Wright.

During the later stages of him on the stand, as his words were doubted more and more, the Phantom was slowly filled with stress. An undefinable, uncomfortable contortion of his being. A “feeling” he wanted to get rid of, badly. Such distraction is undesirable. Thankfully he never really has to endure it much in the first place and that bit he encounters occasionally he can easily suppress with his apathetic nature. This time, however, the situation got out of hand due to the constraints of the situation and all control slipped out of his reach. Too many fingers pointing at him, too much doubt and perseverance in those behind the benches. They kept pounding at him and he was not able to remove himself from the situation, as he would usually do. Stress of that kind either numbs you into a silent confession or tears you apart in an outburst one. He saw that often enough in court as Blackquill’s assigned police detective. In his attempt to deal with the situation, he went beyond the point of no return and he was able to feel the wall of emptiness crumbling and breaking down.

Very well then. Then so it was. He allowed them to get him. He knew full well WHAT he was and with that also, WHO he was. Being an empty vessel for other personalities, his own desires and needs were always “theirs” as much as possible under the encompassing purpose of his being. Trying to give an answer to a question he had no idea could ever be so relevant was stressing him and apparently more than he would like to admit. So he gave them what they wanted. A display of fear. The fear itself was real enough, it just never before really made its way out from his subconscious self into the open in such intensity. It was the combination of annoyance, his patience wading, frustration over the seeming importance of emotions and feelings and the stress of his identity being revealed at any time that made him lose focus. All their hammering made him question himself. He always considered his own apathetic nature to be a quality, not a weakness. It allows him to think clearly and independently from emotional attachments and influences, without fear. Yet, these people put so much importance on the strength of emotions, trust and love, that he began to doubt himself, then and there, again. Did he miss out on something? Was he incomplete?

…

No, he left all those questions behind a long time ago. He already tried to understand others. While he learned to read and speak emotions by observation, he only barely experiences it himself. He feels empty by default most of the time. His artificial emotions served their purpose but there was never a real understanding, so he left this quest behind for a reason. It just does not work out for him. He naturally cannot not deliver what others seem to take for granted. He isn’t weaker for not responding to emotions. And the success of his assignments and his professional credence are the very proof of that. With a sigh the Phantom accepts, however, that his resolve is not strong enough yet. He will need to work on the endurance of his guard to prevent another such loss of control. For when it all came down, he found himself in a pitiful position, like a dog with its tail between its legs, wincing for mercy. Unacceptable and shameful.

Even though he is just laying in a hospital, he covers his face with his free hand to protect his privacy.

And then there was the shot.

That sniper put him out of his misery. When the bullet hit him, he felt and heard the metal of Bobby's badge give way. His chest grew cold and he fell backwards by the force of the impact. For a moment he was overwhelmed by the intensity of the sound he perceived, people gasping, screams of terror, footsteps like thunder coming his way and the deafening hammering of the Judges gavel under his own voice demanding order in the courtroom.

That moment he let go of everything and gave in. A retreat into his internal emptiness. He did not want to move or talk. No intention whatsoever to do anything else any further, neither as Detective Fulbright, nor as his own vessel. They could do whatever they wanted to do.

As he felt no pain, he was not riddled by an inexplicable fear of death. He might die, he might not. It depended on his actual condition. He could not tell if he preferred it one way or another. And without moving he was not able to ascertain his condition. He didn't lose consciousness, so he just laid there, breathing slowly, his eyes closed. He remembers Blackquill and the Chief Prosecutor ordering an ambulance. The bailiff touching him and pressing a dressing over Fulbright’s white coat to stop the bleeding. The courtroom being cleared from all spectators. The paramedics desperately trying to talk to him, without success and the subsequent transport from the courthouse to Hickfield Clinic. He refused to open his eyes but he knew that Blackquill had personally brought him up to the doors of the ambulance vehicle by the sound of his steps. It was only inside the small cabin, that he at last acknowledged the paramedic’s presence, for he had no interest in being considered unconscious. It did not help, however, as the moment he was being brought into the hospital he was being put under anaesthetics for the surgery. Needlessly in his opinion but he did not mind the passing of time in slumber and opportunity for his brain to relax from the unusual emotional impact.

When he awoke he was in single bed room. His wrist handcuffed to the bed and a police officer sitting on a chair on the opposite wall, reading the papers. When he moved to correct his position, the officer put the papers down and went outside for a moment. He sighed heavily. At the very least, his injury gave him a soft start into his … momentary capture. The effects of the anaesthetic and the pain management dulled his thinking so responding to some initial questions by the police officers was ineffective even if he had wanted to communicate. So the day went by and he only now has the time and mental strength to go over the past events, introspect and formulate a plan.

Thus, secondly, what are his current needs and which one has highest priority?

His most basic needs are covered. Food, water, shelter are taken care of, even if the quality lacks a little and his privacy is somewhat compromised. It does not matter. He himself has no demands beyond the satisfaction of those basics.

The Phantom moves his right hand. It is tightly handcuffed to the bedside. It appears that this is the biggest issue at the very moment. His personal freedom. He is detained and can’t go anywhere without supervision and physical restraints. Coming up with a plan to remove himself from this situation is certainly the most important matter to apply his brain to. This depends, however, on how they choose to deal with him. The local authorities have to go down the conventional route. They must try him in court first and then decide on the nature of his verdict. Throughout all this he is going to be placed in the detention centre. Once his case has been dealt with on domestic level, Interpol might step in. Not that they have much on him apart from the HAT incidents but they would be fools to not try and coax more out of him. Admittedly, he is actually interested to learn how much they suspect, in return. At the same time, however, their treatment of him would not be as law-abiding and humane, and he expects an escape would be a lot more complex to achieve than from the local prison here. So, if possible, keep himself under Blackquill’s wing and in the establishments he knew well. Take his leave from the detention centre…. or the prison. If Interpol takes him away he would have to act on the fly but by the initial proceedings so far he considers that unlikely.

With his free hand, the Phantom gently touches his chest, where the bullet had hit him. He can act despite this injury. The nurse mentioned that it had changed it’s path after hitting the police badge and went past his heart into his lung instead. Recovery should be swift.

Finally, he allows thoughts of his future to reclaim his mind.

The sniper. He must have come from his current employer. They alone have an interest to shut him up permanently to cover their own name. It was to be expected. As long as he is held by the law enforcements they will seek his death and even after he regains his freedom, they will never be sure if he has not revealed anything. Keeping that in mind, his constant supervision may just be of advantage to him. The rocket launch may have been interrupted but his capture broke the contract and forfeit his entitlement to his reward. With another sigh he bids it good-bye. At the very least, Fulbright had offered a comfortable standard of living unlike some of the other detectives and he was not forced to touch his own money during the past year.

His career is founded on word-of-mouth. He is a freelancer, not tied to anything or anyone in particular and he has actually found himself working against his own employers in the past. His absolute anonymity allowed it. His latest employer is a large one with a lot of international influence. If they consider him a failure, they might just be powerful enough to put him out of work, forever. He most certainly will have to get in touch with his contacts and probe how his reputation is doing. It is vital before returning to his underground circles. Before he can ascertain the true spirit of the situation, however, it is and remains of no use to ponder about it.

The heavy feeling of sleep comes over him as he actively empties his mind. One step at a time. Recover. Protect his life within prison walls. Submit to Blackquill. Avoid Interpol’s terror-treatment. Escape. Re-establish his position.

His thoughts come back and try to circle through his mind but every time the Phantom pays them no heed, they become weaker and weaker… until they finally disappear and make way for the silence of sleep.

#(hc)

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