#;( and i just sent an almost final draft to my supervisor to check it )

[bitemescftly]

i’m taking a tiny break from writing my masters thesis :) anyone around to do some random plots? write some cuteness or filth? maybe do some random asks or memes?

#;( im not dead i promise ) #;( i have to finish my thesis by monday evening ) #;( and i just sent an almost final draft to my supervisor to check it ) #;( so while he does that - im here ! ) #;( hit me up with thingsss <3 ) #;( drown anna in loveeee )

[neuvillette]

Paperwork - FrUK Fic (18+ish)

During the industrial boom in England, someone in particular has been working himself to the bone.

Fuck... There it was again, that near-painful pang in his ribs from thinking about that bastard. That arrogant prick had whispered to him so closely that day so long ago that the memory of the hot breath from his lips still seemed to be lingering on his ears-- or was that just his own fiery blush? Either way, it wasn't going anywhere. Whenever he was alone his thoughts would instantly crack back to that insufferable shit. How his lips were so plush and too naturally red to be decent... How those blue eyes drifted lazily along wherever they pleased, often up and down his body. How he hoped that they one day would look back at him so pleadingly, begging for something almost too shameful to fulfill. He knew approximately how the man looked under his clothes, since he was prone to low cut shirts, high hems, translucent fabric. He had a tight waist and broad shoulders, he had hips that almost could be considered too wide, ones that would probably be good to hold onto tightly and grip red marks into. His chest, like much of his body, was soft, not flabby exactly, but plush enough to squeeze and nibble at. Fuck, FUCK, that pang came again, searing through his chest as he battled to think of something else. He had work to get done, and a lot of it. These kinds of thoughts were not only immoral but incredibly inconvenient, and the toll they took on his body meant he had to go through an arduous process to relieve himself, if only for a little while. His teeth all pressed down together as his jaw clenched, he could feel the pressure all throughout his face as he tried to just get on with it. There wasn't that much paperwork left, right? Just a bit more. A small distraction would do him some good. He only realised he was tapping his mostly-dry dip pen against his desk when he noticed how the rhythm was starting to seep elsewhere into his mind; tap tap tap, thrusts against a document, against something soft, warm, moans echoing in arches over the staccato beat, and--- He dropped the pen unceremoniously onto his desk, caked-on ink splattering down as he pressed his forehead into his hand. He had been slipping too hard recently. His bosses hadn’t been pleased with his work as of late; though he had been toiling during similar hours and put in the same effort he always had, they said he needed to rise up to meet changing standards. He used to do work with his hands, but that wasn’t needed anymore. He used to be their guard dog, or at least their work horse. For everything it was, at least the action of his youth was invigorating. At least he wasn’t monitored, and had time to do things for himself, instead of being their tool all hours of the day. He had time to work with his hands, his hands. To create things that were valuable, that were helpful to the, to his, people around him. Now he was… well. He was expendable. But not so expendable that they would waste his capacity to do paperwork. Industry was booming, one couldn’t just expect to stand by with what had been accepted in the past. Labour was becoming more standardised, more efficient, more impersonal… Not that he had ever been the most personable chap. While he enjoyed working with his hands, making things one by one, the gritty way, the difficult way, he made efforts to internalise what they had said to him. They needed his mind, his edge, to work on this stuff. That’s what he was for, after all; not forging swords, not stringing bows, not tilling soil or growing things; but intellectual, gentlemanly, removed work. Detached, necessary, proper. It suited him, he tried to tell himself. He wasn’t one easily inclined to the personable, nor to saccharine slop… Not when communicating with others, anyhow. Buried and smeared while being hidden amongst mounds of paperwork were brief scribbles of poetry, of sketches of mistily reimagined silhouettes, flowing romantic prose incapable of coming out through his own halting speech, of faintly grasped memories of torrid expressions he needed to recall through flowing strokes of a figure, but those all were secrets even he wasn’t meant to have access to. Shameful, that’s what it was. Inefficient, ineffective, and shameful. An outlet for his needs to make something, perhaps, but… Certainly they sated other desires as well.

The distance between them should have helped; should have given him time to correct and corral his feelings, mold them back into form briskly, scaldingly, sharply--as one does when shaping copper. Instead he had gone too soft, too half-hearted, and his self-inflicted blows to his psyche had been too gentle. The metal of his desire had set and crisped up before he could steer himself back on track, and now he had to re-anneal, to subject himself back to fiery disavowal and guilt before the exacting measures of self-restraint would be effective. Yes, he quite liked that idea. He couldn’t have his metallurgy back but he could certainly think of his rehabilitation as such. He had forged many a sword, an arrow tip, an axe, before. His personality would be the same. Scalded and quenched and hammered into shape. And with his skill he could tap incessantly, exactingly, forcefully thrusting against the teasingly giving metal and-- blast it, again! It was achingly difficult to ignore. The distance only seemed to make his delinquent misgivings have more courage to rise up again out of turn. When he was face to face with those capricious blue eyes long enough to remember the wretched personality that tagged along with them it was easier to keep his goal in mind, but the longer he went without a glimpse of the sour man himself, the more alluring the rest of it seemed. Had they even written letters? Well, he hadn’t sent any. He had received a fair handful until they had run dry. He had almost convinced himself that he was glad of it. A few lines in the others flowery script were too laden with implications to be safe; he had already resigned himself to the idea of his correspondence being read at his supervisor’s discretion, so it was best if the letters wasted away entirely rather than risk the uncovery by his betters of whatever hintingly depraved thing would find itself penned inside a perfumed envelope. Near the end of their dispatchment, the notes had gotten quite irritated it seemed, demanding reply. His excuse for his silence was that he simply didn’t have time to dally on such things, but in truth he wanted to show himself that he could deny the temptation. It was easy to tell himself that he had enough to worry about with dozens of signatures to scrawl, appeals and drafts to write, documents and proposals to uncritically approve. With considerable effort, he plucked the intricately carved ivory dip pen off of the desk before blotting it back into his blue-glass inkwell. Just a few more of these documents and he’d be able to wallow in his own home instead of his suffocating office. The half-hearted, half-present signatures left a streaky trail of black as his newly inkstained hand trailed across the page, though the final few letters were jaggedly interrupted with a rapping at the office door.

“Yes, sir, I’ve already said I would finish them by today,” his calling tone was harsh but clearly deferent; he was a lively one, but part of being a man was knowing his duty and thusly his place. Even so, he didn’t bother glancing up from his efforts to correct the broken signing at the tail end of the page as the door slowly opened, creaking unceremoniously.

“If it’s really necessary I can work past my contractual hour, though I must note that your well-intentioned checkings-in aren’t conducive to getting any actual work done.” This comment was much more pointed, though not so much so as to be crossing a line. Still, the silent presence above his desk, looming, made him rethink his words for a slight moment before he got the better of himself. No need to look up as if they can dole out some sort of punishment! To you, of all people! No, you’re working together under the same sense of duty… Right? Keep your head down and show them your dedication and vigour. If they’ve got a problem they can bloody well deal with it, that’s not something that’s important enough to interrupt this work.

« Ah. Scribbling pen names has stopped you from writing back ? You are a much more petulant boy than before, their puppy-dog training is not working on you. » The two sentences were connected not in theme but in the rolling, keen tone they were carried by. The former was a lazy observation and the latter was crafted solely to rile him up. The door quietly shut behind, and there was a graceful and soundless moment afterwards. In a second of skillful self-control, he did not drop the pen but instead cooly placed its nib back into its proper receptacle, as much as he was inclined to throw it at his guest. For a flitting pause, a scorching rage surged through him. What about no reply hadn’t gotten through that dense skull, and what made him think, after it all, that he could flicker back in, no doubt impermanently, just to ruin all his progress, and--

God he needed to see him.

He would not ever, never, let him know that.

“As spineless and will-less as ever, then, Bonnefoy. Resolute enough to travel across the channel to be a nuisance but not enough to do any work or get any admirable aims in life.” Fuck, that hadn’t enough venom, it was transparent and flimsy. Traceable. He made sure his glower was deep enough to offset what he was certain was too-soft a rebuttal. It hadn’t done enough, though.

« So you have missed me ! Yes, you know, I do enjoy to come here and to anger you. » A quick beat passed.

« You know I had to come and-- mmm… scorn you for ungentlemanly not replying to my letters. » Well, it seemed he was being equally as transparent. He almost shivered. It was one thing to have his feelings discovered, but if they both were in agreement over what was happening, it was much more difficult to steer away from what was coming.

“Scold. You mean scold.” He added curtly, taking his pen back up as he glanced back down at his paperwork. He had been staring at his face up until then, he just realised. Blue eyes as infuriating as ever, that new obnoxious french hairstyle, the unneeded tightness in the waist and legs of the waistcoat and trousers, the volatile expression of something genuine.

“Your english still hasn’t improved.” He continued with a comment he knew would be ignored, but he needed to get it out there. Keep up the guise of nagging conversation.

« Your office is so away from the rest in here. Isolated like always. And no windows, a prison ! Poor little sad Englishman, and of course no time to write letters, not one bit. » They were talking by, not to, each other, though they were saying the same things. He had decided to sit upon the edge of the bureau, clearly an excuse to stir up some fabricated bile for their equally as convincing argument.

“I’m working upon this desk, thank you! And I’ve been working for months now. You were not invited and are not wanted; you’ve found your way in and can find your way out. Good day, Bonnefoy.” His pulse was hammering now, if only he could direct it at that copper-- beat his will into place, keep it straight and unmarred, stay determined. The Frenchman was simply smiling away with that look of acute, cutting, though well-intended observation. He was not going to leave on his own. With a return of the pen to its place, he stood, making an attempt to usher his unwelcome guest out. Francis rose as well, and as he did so the Englishman made no further attempt to get to his office door. Instead they stood together, steadfast.

« Say hello to me. It’s been so long, and I want to hear it and you want to say it. Just hello. » It was a tender plea as much as it was a command. The fool really thought he was entitled to it, but only in the way two who have known each other a long time are entitled to hear the news of someone’s workday or what dreams filled their last night’s sleep. They weren’t touching, but they could. His own face was beet red as he decided whether or not he should deny the request, angry and upset at more than the situation and himself. It was boiling over, the tapping beats in his chest and throat weren’t subsiding. He had to do something. He wished he had a bloody window so he could toss the intruder out of it, grasp him by his ruffled collar and throw him out the door, or against a wall, or over his desk, or--

“You-- I can’t believe you--” He was cut off by a look, and maybe Francis had moved forward slightly with his deep gaze, bridged the gap a little to make it easier, but maybe he hadn’t, and maybe he had grabbed at the nicely pressed wool jacket of his own accord, pulled at the stupidly styled french coif to reach for a kiss, to stumble into the wall behind them all on his own. He certainly was the one pressing them together, at least preliminarily. Bonnefoy, having planned something along these lines, was quick to fill in the needed friction after a blink.

« That’s-- hmm… one way to say hello. » The teasing tone was almost enough to make him stop entirely and snap him out of it, possibly stear himself back onto a more proper path, but Francis was smiling again and it was just too earnest as he craned his neck back in anticipation to be kissed there. They both knew this was the only hello he’d be able to manage. Any further acknowledgement of a budding warmth between them beyond the physical was more than he could honestly bear. For now, the more openly flagrant refusal of the two to meet gentlemanly expectations would have to be their letters that were few and far between, punctuated by occasional tysts like this, though the sentiment always lingered, and he was afraid it was growing. He had a period in his youth, with no supervision on open seas, when he didn’t hold himself to such a high standard in these matters. It had taken a fair amount of diligence to push himself back on track, but now--... Well, he could feel himself slipping again, but this time he knew better. Somehow the refutation of his desires of it all made it all the more difficult to deny. But Francis wasn’t giving him much pause to think more deeply about these things, and the wretched glint in his eye made it seem like he knew just what was on his mind. Why did he always know!? It hurt, to be so well understood in a shame the other refused to acknowledge. When had Francis ever been shameful of anything? He pretended to be, but only to be irritating. Every so often when they’d do this, he’d resort to saying such horrible things about how he relished his sanctity being soiled when they both knew perfectly well that no such thing was ever there in the first place. Francis made no signs to do so tonight, not as impatient hands were fiddling with buttons and edging him over to sit back on top of the desk. That pansy French fashion was great for enticing the eye but by god, the buttons! Warm, manicured hands met his and Bonneyfoy grinned.

« You do not need to open my shirt. » What a stupid assumption.

“Just because I don’t-- stop that! I can do it on my own, you’re not making it any easier. I could just rip the damn thing if you prefer-- I don’t have to but. Well, I get to,” His huff was met with an expression that looked sickeningly soft. Was this not injustice enough? To acquiesce to desire, but now his carnal lusts were being interpreted as tenderness! Maybe it was a bit of that, but blast it, Francis could at least pretend he didn’t know. It wasn’t like this was something special for him, anyway. That fop was getting it on with anything that moved and looked his way, and now Francis was lording it over him that he liked him! He was probably smug, pleased that he had ordained to come down and give him the pleasure of a single, solitary fuck while he was off cavorting with--

« Please, let me. You’re tense, I can help. » There he went with that tenderness again, too visceral to be faked. The beat in time of the two sharing a glance was raw and it shut him up quite well. Francis kept chatting as he placed the Englishman’s hands under his shirt as he nimbly undid his own buttons. The other was content to grab about underneath as he waited.

« You need to learn to say no to them. Get more time away. They make you feel worse inside, and that is not very handsome at all. » And there he went with the sap. It was easy to slide his hands around to the small of Francis’s back and hold him steady as he kissed him to shut the man up. Surprisingly, Francis pushed him away to finish opening his buttons. The Englishman did not appreciate that.

« Despair is becoming on you, but even you need to be patient. I’m not going anywhere. » They both knew that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t complaining when Francis plucked his own cold hands out of the back of the Frenchman’s trousers and placed them on the man's freshly revealed chest. He could feel Francis shiver under him, his own hands were much colder than the other’s hot skin. A moment of impulse made him squeeze possibly a bit more roughly than he should have, and Francis did that little gasping moan of his he always did. It had  been so long that he hardly remembered it anymore, but it was quite the experience to hear it again. The more he groped the chest, the tighter the legs around his waist would get. Oh, his poor paperwork, it was only slightly out of the way of being crushed and pushed about… Maybe he could move it before they got on with it all, it would only take a--

That familiar warm hand grabbed his jaw tightly and pulled his gaze back away from the documents on his desk, the both of them pausing only for a moment before they kissed again and all thought of paperwork was forgotten in favour of instant gratification. He could feel Francis smile triumphantly as he kept up his slightly desperate grabbing and squeezing, his hips starting to move up against the open legs resting on his desk. It was rather ungraceful, Francis’s legs snaked tight around him as he pressed their bodies together. In the one moment before he would no longer be able to resist himself, a clutching shock of guilt crackled through his chest. Unbeknownst to him, his face contorted slightly, a grimace of pain and reconsideration. Francis didn’t see, or, at least, didn’t pause. Instead, the hot, slender fingers that still held his jaw were keeping the pair kissing as a rhythm not dissimilar to one that the Englishman was familiar with was hammered out against the solid office desk. If only he could say he forgot the expectations of his bosses and the world at large for those moments, but he couldn’t. His will was stronger, however. At least, his will when combined with his desires. Besides, it was difficult to pause when his pervasive nuisance was sitting its fat arse on his desk, when they were clutched and and hugging together as tightly as his wax seals pressed to his paperwork that was currently watching the display. His hands were suddenly disordered-- after months, years even, of writing when told to, shaking hands properly, adjusting ties, now they had free reign to fly wherever they fancied. Tangled in bouncing blond locks one moment, then back squeezing his partner’s chest, then slipped down the back of the loosened trousers upon his bureau. There wasn’t much time until the nonsensical French interjections fizzled into dripping moans, and even less of a beat until a quicker, tense breath of air joined in. Chests still together, their hearts raced. He was the first to pull away and face the wall with a few curses as Francis was left sitting. Realising the fruitlessness of any attempt to clean himself there, he circled around to tend to the ever-patient papers awaiting his return as he dutifully stacked them in his carrying case.

“I should be going, then. These need finishing. Ta.” Miraculously, he found the coldness he had been attempting to muster up upon his companion’s arrival, though it was a tad too late. Francis wasn’t altogether pleased with the change in tone, although he understood the haste required after their torrid encounter.

« But I need a-- Angleterre, you-- ! » His shirt unbuttoned and tousled, and his trousers hanging off of his hips, Francis slipped to place himself in front of the door.

« You are bringing me to your flat, or your kennel, or wherever it is they keep you when you aren’t here. »

“Not if you’re going to speak French, I won’t.” A raised eyebrow came with the easy, chilled reply.

« Do not get smart with me. » Francis shot back, deft fingers working to button his shirt and press down his clothing as swiftly and naturally as bird preening itself. The other’s stern expression and eyes looking elsewhere told him as much as he needed to know. He softened, if only slightly.

« Look, I’m just as presentable as you. It’s a business trip, would that make you feel better ? I won’t bother you as you do your paperwork. I’ll even make you tea and something real to eat as you finish up. Hein ? »

Another few beats between them, and, ever the gentleman, he opened the door for Francis after giving them both a once-over.

“We’ll need to be quick, alright? These pants are already uncomf--... Go.” He gestured briskly out the door, and followed after the other man who seemed far more pleased with himself and the situation. What was he doing? Why was he-- well, that didn’t matter. All he had to worry about was getting back to his own room and not being seen by anyone in so disheveled a state… Besides, Francis seemed to be making no effort to be inconspicuous-- loudly asking for directions to his living arrangements because it had just been so long since he had seen them, and in French, no less. Though determined not to look at him, what made it worse was that he could just sense that sickening grin creeping up Francis’s face, spreading more and more by the minute. If only he had just remembered how irritating and inconvenient, unprofessional and repulsive the Frenchman was… Being apart for so long made him more alluring when he really knew what the bastard was like. If he had been prepared, why, he wouldn’t be bounding after him, through dirty, smoggy streets; his heart racing, his stern glare only slightly beating out the flutter in his chest and the small twitch at the corner of his lips. Incorrigible.

#fruk #ukfr #england/france #france/england #hetalia fic #hetalia fanfiction

[dianaagron]

untitled unfinished doctors au

fandom: digimon pairing: mimi/taichi word count: 5k of glorious basically unrevised drafts summary: digimonless au where everyone is a doctor and they’re in their 30s cause that’s fun warnings: it has sex in it because apparently other than finishing stuff i’m also unable to not write mature bits in them additional: but it’s been sitting in my computer for years and it’s so long so i might as well share what i have cause at least this way i won’t feel like i completely wasted 5k of writing you know 

hello friends i’m alive and sad so i thought why not make everyone else sad as well with this piece i started writing like three summers ago and never finished because i’m unable to write a chaptered story and my mind has an attention span of 12 days after which my creativity just goes blank. happy new year tho! 

Looking out of the only window in the small room she shares with one other fellow neurosurgeon of the National Center for Global Health and Medicine Hospital, Tachikawa Mimi sees a clear blue sky painted with just enough fluffy clouds to make her feel lighter after pulling her third all nighter of the week.

The desk calendar is still telling her that it’s July, and if it wasn’t for her mobile phone lighting up on its own and showing her the date, she would’ve still believed that sunny, summer day belonged to the previous month. As it turns out, it wasn’t just her phone coming to life on its own, but as distracted as she was (between the lack of sleep and the clouds) she hadn’t noticed someone was calling her.

“Is there an emergency?” She asks, a little worried, phone propped between her ear and her left shoulder to be able to get the white coat she’d left resting on the small couch on the opposite side of the room.

“No, I was just checking if you were still here.” The deep voice coming from her phone explains. She grabs the coat, and fiddles with it until she finds the badge (she almost curses when she spots it in between the two cushions of the couch).

“Yeah, I’m in the office.” She replies, with her half-whiny tone she’s sure he’s grown accustomed to by now.

“I can see that.”

Mimi’s hand flies to her chest, the sudden noise of his voice behind her startling her and making her drop her phone to the floor. This time she curses out loud, not bothering to turn to him until she checks that the phone is still intact (thank god her mother sent her that pink rubber case last month); when she does, he’s scratching the back of his head, waiting for her acknowledgement.

“Sorry.” He tries, an apologetic smile masking what she knows is complete, utter fear of an outburst. It’s funny, because she is the fellow, and not him. She thinks she might as well just spare him for today, so she turns around, making her long hair flow in the air and meeting his eyes with a bright smile, surprising him.

“Did you know it’s August?” She absentmindedly asks him while wearing the white coat at last.

“How long has it been since you last slept in your bed?” His tone is worried, but she’s already walked past him and out of the door of the studio, and she doesn’t look back to check how his dark brows are furrowed and his arms crossed against his chest. She knows all that, and she also knows he’s going to follow her out on the corridor and down on the first floor, up until they reach the cafeteria.

“I can tell the head supervisor a word, you know.” He doesn’t ask, and she only mumbles a “mmh” in response.

Grabbing two trays from the stack, she keeps one for herself and shoves - a little too hard, and on purpose - the other to him.

“You should really get something other than coffee.” He tries again and this time as they wait for the order she has already placed. She turns around to face him, honey irises staring into a pair of grey ones, completely blank.

“Jyou,” she starts, voice so promising that his brows shoot up in amazement, “don’t dad me.”

Jyou’s facial expression falls in what Mimi has taken a habit of calling the ‘staring into the void mode’, which is one of the three common reactions she gets when they talk (she keeps track).

“Then you might as well just refer to me as Doctor Kido if you don’t want me to be considerate of you.”

He’s pouting, and she giggles. That’s the Jyou she knows, the Jyou she’s known for more than half of her life. Mimi grabs the coffee, now waiting for her on the counter, and the chamomile, placing both of them on her own tray and moving fast to the self service area with sugar and spices. Soy milk, two shakes of sugar and many of cinnamon after, Mimi meets her attending supervisor at the table on the far left, the one near the window. It’s their favorite, and she can’t remember ever having sat on another table.

“You know,” she starts, mixing her coffee before closing the cup with the plastic lid, “you should step up your game a little. That chamomile isn’t going to bring the chicks to your yard.”

He frowns, and she stares at him until he feels the urge to fix his glasses on the crook of his nose. That’s how she knows she’s won, again.

“Who even puts cinnamon in their coffee?” He pouts, again, and even if he didn’t intend the retort to come out as a question she answers him nonetheless, which she knows is a way to annoy him and make him wish he had just kept his mouth shut, for once.

“It’s perfectly normal, you know? You wouldn’t have the option of getting coffee with cinnamon syrup if people didn’t like it, and what can you do if the cafeteria of the place where you’re employed doesn’t include flavors? You add powdered cinnamon, that’s what you do.” Mimi takes a sip of her drink, savoring it with her eyes closed even after she puts the cup down on the table again. When she opens her eyes, Jyou is holding his cheeks with his hands, stretching the skin of his face downwards in the Jyou Kido certified basic reaction number two: The Scream, a painting by Norwegian expressionist Edvard Munch (yes, art was her favorite subject back in the day, that decade and a half ago, more or less). “Besides, you’re glad you have me as your fellow. The whole hospital knows I’m the prettiest one.”

Jyou breathes out loudly, and then grimaces before gulping down his chamomile as if he was gulping down his sorrows.

-

Jyou’s sitting on the metal bench just a couple of feet away from Mimi’s open locker where she’s hanging the white coat, now replaced by the blue scrubs. She walks to him, sitting next to him and mimicking his hand movements, thoroughly massaging the insides of her palms, not bothering to turn to him.

“Sora asked me if we want to get some drinks later. They’re meeting at The Island at eleven.”

“Who’s them?” Mimi wonders out loud, curious. The three of them - herself, Jyou and Sora, who had been one of Jyou’s best friend since med school - usually tried to meet at least once a week at the cocktail bar not far from NCGM, a cute place popular among the doctors of their hospital. Yes, there had been times when other friends tagged along, but that “they” wasn’t so easy to figure out, given the number of mutual colleagues the three of them shared.

Jyou shrugs, unable to give her an actual answer.

“I have no idea. It’ll probably be just us and her colleague in cardio - you know, that one whom you said looked like a lizard. She said you can tell Koushiro and Miyako about it, if you want.”

Typical Sora, Mimi thinks, always trying to look out for others. She makes the mental note of sending a text in the group chat she shares with her ex classmates, and then she stands up, holding out a hand for Jyou to grab, helping him to sit up and walk to the operating room.

-

As it turns out, it wasn’t the lizard colleague Sora brought to the little gathering, but a much younger guy none of them had ever met. The young man, messy blonde hair half hidden by a baseball cap worn backwards, is sitting next to Sora, laughing fondly when Mimi and Jyou, with Miyako and Koushiro, sit down at the table they had reserved.

“You’ve made it!” Is Sora’s delighted comment as Mimi plops down on the chair across from her, feeling the weight of the accumulated tiredness of a week of all-nighters and naps on the uncomfortable couch of her studio finally down on her shoulders. She lets her head rest on the wooden table, arms left hanging down and swinging.

“I’m exhausted.” She lets out as her last dying breath.

Miyako hops down on the spot to her left, stretching her arm to reach Mimi’s hair, moving a wavy lock away from the eyes of her friend to check if she had fallen asleep as soon as she’d hit the wooden surface.

“Hi exhausted -” the voice belonging to the young man speaks up, and the beginning of the joke is all it takes for Mimi to come to life again, raise her head as well as her hand, surfacing from behind the table, to shoot a dangerous look to the newcomer and try to stop him before he can say “ - I’m Takeru.”

Takeru smiles, his eyes curving into two cute half moons, and Mimi’s head falls back to the table with a loud noise.

“Damn.” Miyako comments, arms crossing over her chest and eyes checking out Takeru, looking clueless there right next to Sora. “I didn’t think anyone else under their forties would ever dare to pull a dad joke.” She grabs one of the open beer bottles in the center of the table and lifts it up in Takeru’s direction. “Impressing. I’ve only ever seen Taichi look cool with a dad joke up until now.”

The younger one raises his brows, visibly pleased by the unexpected compliment coming from Miyako. “Why, thank you.” He replies, lifting his own glass to exchange the unspoken toast between the two of them.

“Yagami tells dad jokes?” Jyou asks, a little incredulous. Miyako nods while still sipping down her beer.

“Mmmh. Pretty often. Turns out the patients like it. Makes him look goofy.”

Mimi opens an eye, sneaking a look at her friend explaining. “Who’s Yagami?” She asks weakly, but curious nonetheless, still half lost in the conversation. She tries to sit up, feeling her head hurt as soon as she comes to an almost standing position with her back, so much she has to hold her forehead with her hand to put some pressure on it and relieve the momentary pain.

“Yagami from Trauma and Emergency.” It’s Jyou who replies her, but Miyako who specifies. “I’m his fellow.”

“Aaaah.” Mimi finally understands, turning to face Sora right across the table. “The hot one.”

Sora nods, a finger pointing in her direction in a sign of understanding. They had seen him in the cafeteria a couple of times, or walking through the corridors to get to the Trauma and Emergency Center, and she remembers Mimi’s open remarks about the width of his biceps.

“Is he single?” Mimi asks, now turning to Miyako. On the other side of the purple haired girl, Koushiro shakes his head incredulous. “Really.”

Mimi shoots him a look, showing him a grimace. “Yes, really.”

MIyako shrugs, holding out her hands on each side of her as to push back her two friends.

“How would I know? I’m his fellow, not his trustee.”

Mimi nudges her waist, glancing maliciously at her. “You call him Taichi.”

Miyako scoots left, getting out of Mimi’s reach only to find Koushiro, on that side, already showing her a mischievous grin that mirrors the one of his best friend, and he’s ready to attack. “Does Taichi let all the fellows call him that?” And again, Mimi, “Does Taichi like it when you call him that?” And Miyako has to slam down her now empty beer bottle on the table, so hard that Jyou is already halfway through the panicking mode as he foresees the bottle being broken into hundreds of tiny little pieces of glass, scattered everywhere in the bar, resulting in a lifelong ban from The Island impending on them. And Jyou doesn’t want that.

The glass of the bottle doesn’t crack, but the noise is loud enough to make the group - and the entire place - go silent for a couple of slow, embarrassing seconds. Sora mutters an “Incredibly sorry”, or something along those lines, and it’s Miyako the first one to break the ice again, wanting to have the last word.

“I’m his fellow.” She starts, talking fast with her lips drawn into a thin line, eyes moving quickly from Mimi on her right to Koushiro on her left to not give them the opportunity to stop her once more. “I’m well past the crush stage, believe me, after you see his eating habits during break everyone would be past it.” Miyako stares in front of her lost in her thoughts, before turning one last time to Mimi, and looking a great deal more calm, to add: “Besides, he’s more of your type.”

Mimi just stares at her.

“My type?” She asks, unsure.

It’s Koushiro the one to answer her, butting in the conversation he was not long before a part of. “You know, buff.”

“Hunky.” Sora continues.

“Remember the body builder?” Jyou adds turning from Sora to Miyako and Koushiro. Koushiro points at him, his eyes going wide. Then, he oppresses a snort only because of the look Mimi flashes him.

“How do you all even know my type?” Mimi demands, an octave higher. Miyako shrugs back, clearly not impressed by how offended her friend is pretending to be.

“We all know each other’s type. It’s, like, basic knowledge. Jyou’s type is the down-to-earth woman that can take care of him (here, Jyou grimaces, turning away the bottle he’s holding in a defeated manner), Sora wants the family oriented and -”

Miyako’s explanation is cut short by Takeru, who’s now fixing the hair free from his cap, turning to Sora as fast as a lightning bolt and putting a hand on her shoulder, shaking her lightly to turn her attention to him.

“You like family oriented guys?” He asks her directly.

Sora starts with a “Well…”, but it’s Mimi who replies, confirming Miyako’s statement. “She does.”

Takeru’s eyes widen together with his smile, and the rest of the table is left wondering how exactly can Sora’s taste in men bring so much joy to a guy much younger than her as Takeru.

“Do you want me to introduce you to my brother? I’ve been trying to hook him up with someone for years but he just doesn’t want to hear it.”

Takeru’s smile is expectant, and Sora has to blink a couple of times before coming to the conclusion that one of the residents in cardiology that she’s in charge of just offered her a possible date. But Mimi is faster than her again, and before Sora can remember how to make her vocal cords work again, she’s already asking the important question to Takeru.

“Who’s your brother? Do you have a picture of him?”

Takeru nods, taking out his phone from the pocket of the jeans he’s wearing.

“Do you know Doctor Ishida? He works at the hospital as well.” He lets out casually while unlocking the phone.

Sora’s eyes widen as she turns to Mimi, and at the same time Miyako’s hand flies to Mimi’s shoulder, shaking her with force. The reply to Takeru’s answer comes in unison from the three women, taking the clueless resident by surprise.

“The god?”

Takeru looks up from his phone, startled.

“Doctor Ishida from oncology?” Jyou comes to their aid, and Takeru nods. Then Koushiro wonders: “Ishida is family oriented? I’d never tell.”

“Is that what he goes by now?” He chuckles. “I know, he gives off that vampire vibe sometimes. But he’s actually nice.”

“One of the few associates with some logic.” Jyou comments.

“So,” Takeru turns to Sora again, showing her the lit screen of his phone, “do you want his number?”

-

Nightshifts can be quite endearing, if you ask her. Sure, she’d rather be home snuggling her favorite pillow as she lies down on her own, oh-so-comfortable bed (or, as a variation, as she is being laid down on her own, oh-so-comfortable bed), but night duty is not too terrible when the hospital offers those Oscar-worthy performances.

Like this couple who’s yelling at each other as they wait in the hall, the man laying on the stretcher and the woman beside him hitting him repeatedly with her purse, and the first aid doctors pleading her to stop just as many times as she releases her frustration at - as Mimi had guessed he was - her husband. On the other side of the man, another woman is standing, her own hands stroking her arms crossed over the chest; everything about her screams “uncomfortable”, and the sight does nothing but fuel the entertainment of the row of employees behind the front acceptation desk.

“What’s going on?”

A male doctor approaches the bunch, but Mimi doesn’t turn to check who it is, afraid she’ll miss a turn of events from the show unfolding before her eyes. She does answer him nonetheless, though, as everybody else seems too interested in what’s happening to reply.

“Are you asking for the medical report or the facts?”

“Whatever’s more fun.” Replies the doctor. Mimi grins, and she notices with the corner of her eyes the secretary who had been standing next to her making space for the doctor, and the latter bending his back and resting his elbows on the desk to enjoy the show more comfortably.

“Dude broke his weenie during an encounter with his girlfriend. They had to call his wife. He’ll probably need two operations if she keeps hitting him like that.” Mimi explains, trying to stay cool as she reveals what the party had gathered up until then.

“Her bag seems heavy.” A resident behind her adds, and she thoughtfully nods.

“Ouch. That’s harsh.” The doctor comments.

“I mean, it’s understandable.” Mimi points out, her shoulders raising and then dropping again. She feels the man beside her turn his head to her, but she keeps her gaze fixed on the wife who’s now yelling something along the lines of “I would too if I were twenty! It’s you who should’ve kept it in your pants!”.

“Been cheated on?” He asks Mimi.

“I was the other woman.” She admits easily, without putting too much weight on it.

“Impressive.” He replies. When Mimi turns her head to the right where he’s placed next to her, her eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise.

There are three things she notices, in the following order. First, his face is relaxed, and he’s offering a smile different from those ones she’s used to get whenever the news of her having been the lover of a taken man slips out (God, if she’s so over those). Second, he’s closer to her than she’d expected; he’s still laying his forearms on the surface of the desk, hands collected, but his head is tilted to her side not far from her, and Mimi quickly wonders about how tall he can be, if even bent down he’s still at her eye level. Third, and most importantly, she realizes who exactly he is.

“Wanna go get coffee?”

And just like that, at 1:05 am of a heated August night Taichi Yagami is offering a way out of her night shift, and in all honesty Mimi is not really sure she can say yes, but that doesn’t stop her from turning around and leading the way to the cafeteria on the other side of the building (when she gets home, in the morning, she tells herself that everyone was gathered at the front desk anyway, so it wasn’t like they’d notice her missing).

As it turns out, Yagami Taichi of the Trauma and Emergency Center ("aspiring head of the department") had been an associate at NCGM for a couple of years already, though he was not much older than Mimi, with only a two years difference. Mimi had lightly bowed when he had properly introduced himself, reminding herself that he was an actual surgeon, and she was still a fellow, and as unused to good custom as she was, the image of Jyou scolding her had been too clear in her mind to skip formalities. But then Doctor Yagami had waved his hand so hurriedly to stop her from bending further that she had to go for the good, old, western way, offering her hand and waiting for him to squeeze it.

"I have a feeling we're a little past the formal stage, with you telling me about your past choices and all that." His comment had earned an earnest chuckle from her, and he had payed it back with a smirk of his own before adding an "I'm not judging" as he had turned to get the two coffees they had ordered.

"Didn't think you would." She had answered.

Mimi had observed him ask for their drinks in a charming way, different from how she'd seen other men flirt with employees in bars. He had been offering a bright smile with his requests, and it felt like his voice was genuinely interested when he had asked how it was going or said the usual thank you after getting the coffees. And there she was now, sitting next to him on one of the benches in the backyard just out of the cafeteria, sipping her cinnamon flavored coffee at past 1am with a doctor of a higher rank that up until that morning she had been labelling as "the hot one".

She had found talking to Doctor Yagami as easy as conversing with every other of her old time friends, and there, under the stars of that heated night, as he was telling her about how this one time a fifteen year old patient had developed this huge crush on him during the time she had spent in the hospital recovering, Mimi had thought that that patient was pretty relatable.

Yagami Taichi was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. With his tanned skin and longish hair pulled back in a casual way, now that Mimi had the opportunity to watch him from a close perspective he was handsome in a particular way, with his kind brown eyes and dimples showing whenever he laughed. But, above everything else, it had been his straightforwardness and openness to attract Mimi closer to him as they had been sipping their respective coffees, how he’d casually touched her shoulder after a joke, or how his leg had moved to graze hers as he had asked for a question about her hair she doesn’t really remember now.

And there she is, asking herself how long she'll be able to last sitting there like that - their knees casually touching as he keeps a strand of her hair between his fingers - before this all becomes uncomfortable. But then, she's surprised to realize that instead of uneasiness, she's feeling that sudden rush of excitement through her body, starting from the spot where his warm leg is touching hers, to the tips of her fingers.

And maybe he's thinking the same, because when their eyes meet he lets her hair go only to bring his hand to her cheek, sliding down until he's cupping her neck and his thumb is moving cautiously over her earlobe, causing her breathing to become more irregular, and her eyes to lower on his lips.

The thought of how inappropriate this whole thing is doesn’t even cross her mind as he brings her face closer to his own, and she's actually the one to dive in and close the distance between them to find out his lips are soft, and just right, and when he parts them his tongue is sweet and warm and she can taste the coffee they had been sipping until only minutes before.

He does something with his tongue that makes her want more and then she's grabbing his white coat with both of her hands to bring his whole body closer, because his mouth is not enough anymore. He complies, and she feels his right hand tightening its grip on the back of her neck, and the other one traveling over her leg and up, up, up, until she feels pressure right where she really needs him.

"Where's your office?" She breathes between one kiss and the next, and it takes her all she’s got to do so and not let the urge of laying down on that bench get the best of her.

"Trauma and Emergency is too crowded at night." He barely manages to give her a coherent answer, and Mimi is quick to reply: "Neurosurgery isn't."

His lips are on hers again just as soon as she turns around after locking the door of her office behind her, and then he's pinning her between himself and the door, her small body covered by his slightly bent one. She swings one leg around his hips to give him the clue, and readily he takes it and picks her up only to stumble through a desk and a pile of boxes before making it to the couch.

"Do you have condoms?" She asks him when she's sitting on top of him, one shoulder of her white coat together with the one of her dress down her arm showing her bare skin, and she sees him fixing her naked spot and squeezing her bottom before trying to reply.

"I really didn't think I'd be doing this at work." It comes out with a somewhat apologetic tone, but Mimi is more concentrated on the way he's looking at her, his eyes burning and fingers sliding to her front to deepen into her. She moans, half biting her bottom lip, letting her head fall and rest on his shoulder, hiding her face on the crook of his neck and kissing him in that spot as he lightly bites the skin of her shoulder.

"I should have a couple in my purse." She manages to say with some difficulty, distracted by how he in thrusting inside her with his fingers. And, unable to part from her, he lifts himself and her from the couch to reach for the bag sitting on the desk on the other side of the room.

He lays her on the desk, moving the stack of papers and other objects his mind is not quick enough to recognize on the side, and he starts kissing her cheek and her ear, traveling down to her neck. With the hand that is not holding the hair on the back of his head, she blindly looks for the condoms in the inside pocket of her purse.

Then there is not enough to time to do things properly, to get rid of their clothing or to move back on the couch to be more comfortable. All she feels is anticipation and electricity running through her veins, and she only registers him kneeling down to bother with removing her underwear only with his teeth before he sinks himself inside her, and she clings to him with all her body.

-

The last week of August brings with itself a slightly cooler wind, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity Mimi is able to leave the windows open in each room she stops by. With the end of the month comes the end of some of the doctors’ vacations, and the pace at the hospital seems to slowly go back to its normal state. She spends her days between the hospital, The Island and - finally - her flat, staying by Jyou for the most time, catching up with Sora during those breaks they share, dropping by the Laboratory to check if Koushiro is feeding himself properly, and making sure she doesn’t visit Miyako during her work hours.

Not that she’s ever wondered around the Trauma and Emergency Center that often, ever. She and Miyako had made the pact of trying to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible during work hours ever since her younger friend had started her fellowship, and the reason behind it had been quite simple: they were both very talkative people, and being good friends as they were it wasn’t hard to find ways to waste time. In addition to that, they also used to share an apartment up until Miyako had moved back with one of her sisters the previous fall, when her other sister had gotten married and moved out.

Miyako leaving the flat had been quite disrupting back then. Mimi remembers a time when she’d needed her friend’s presence after a date turned particularly wrong, and found emptiness in what used to be her room. Granted - she still had Koushiro with her, and as her best friend he had been there for her during all those so called emergencies when Miyako couldn’t teleport herself from one side of town to the other, but Mimi had come to the conclusion, one day, than more than Miyako’s mere presence, she missed the flat dynamic that there had been for many years between herself, Koushiro and Miyako.

And now, roughly one year later, Miyako’s room is still free, and Mimi and Koushiro still reject an average of 1.5 flatmate applications a week because even though they have no intention of letting anyone other than their former flatmate in, they still keep the notice of a room up for rent out. Which doesn’t make sense, as Mimi’s heard so many times form Jyou, but that didn’t mind. She’d found her safe haven in that shared apartment with Koushiro, and while she had always been the right girl for an adventure, now she was at a time in her life that asked for stability, calm, and a sense of belonging.

(All of which she doesn’t have, or at least she doesn’t feel so, as if she’s hanging in there even if there aren’t storms around her. She feels like she’s still, and everything else moves around her, and in everything, she doesn’t feel the need of taking action. She simply doesn’t feel.)

“So I’ve heard —“

There’s a look of pure horror in Mimi’s eyes when she looks up from the tray full of empty dishes of what had been her lunch to find Takeru’s beaming eyes. In a split second, she wonders just how fast gossip can travel between the walls of that stupid hospital, also trying to figure out a way to disagree and change topics almost immediately.

“— that you’re trying to find a new housemate.”

A sigh leaves Mimi’s rosy lips and it’s then that she takes in the scene unfolding before her eyes: Takeru - in contrary to what she believed - isn’t alone. There’s another guy right next to him, propped on the chair in front of her as he’s trying to climb it in a funny sort of way. His hair’s so spiky she wonders if that’s a way he likes to style it or that’s just the way it is - much like Koushiro, that no matter how many products she decides to try on him, his hair won’t flatten.

“Trying is a big word.” She simply comments, resolving into pouring herself the last drops of soda there’s left in the can into the empty glass.

#digimon #michi #mimi tachikawa #taichi yagami #digisafe #what even are the tags the kids use these days lmao #it's actually quite amusing seeing just how much i've outgrown this place #but at the same time i wish i was as creative as i was a couple of years ago #oh well #clara writes #and is retreating into her cave in 3... 2... 1

[brbjustdying]

Leena / Jay - 10/03/2021

They stood on the bridge, looking at the boats lazily making their way to the sea. 

"Do you think he's in one of them?" 

"I think he took the train, but since you think that's so impossible, here we are. I really hope he's there or I'm gonna beat your ass."

"He hates the noise of trains. Boats are perfect! No noise, nice movement to put you to sleep, if something goes wrong the next stop is days away."

She rubbed her temple. They were gonna fail. There was no way around it. She was convinced that their target didn't take the boat, it was too easy to just be thrown overboard and frown if someone found him out. He may hate the noise, but the train was fast, went far, and if he was discovered they would tried to arrest him, at which point he could run away. 

And to think she was supposed to work with this idiot for the next three years. 

He had potential, he really did, but once he had decided something was so solution he could never look into anything else, and they kept losing their targets and failing their simulations. 

She was tired of this. He kept watching every boat that went under the bridge, as if he somewhat could see through the decks of them, which he couldn't. The target wouldn't just be waving at them on the deck. 

"Fine. Keep looking at the ships, relax, have fun, whatever. The train leaves in 20 minutes, and I'm gonna find our guys."

"Leena we're not supposed to be separated!" 

"Yeah well I've been listening to you for weeks and we fail every time, so I'm going to do this my way. Fuck you."

She stormed off, climbing the stairs that lead to the main street, at the end of which was the train station. It was a 5 minute journey if she ran fast, and that would give her 15 minutes to search the train and warn the authorities,telling them a made up story. She'd already decided it would be about a possible child going missing, since that always made everyone jump to help them. She hated using it though. 

As she ran, she could already hear the supervisor screaming at her about the fact that she shouldn't have left her partner alone, that they had failed this simulation just for that reason even if they found the guy, that this was unacceptable. She'd already requested another partner. Many times. It was obvious they weren't made to work together. Jay wanted her to have blind faith in him, even if that didn't lead them to any success so far. She wanted him to just consider other options once the first one was obviously not right. But he always refused, and they always failed. There was no way out of this situation. 

She reached the train station in six minutes, out of breath and sweaty, immediately noticed by a guard.

"Can I help you madam?" 

"Yes, yes. There's this man, he took a boy in my village. A little boy, 5 years at most. We think he's going to leave with the train. Please can you help me find him?" 

And so they did. 

And once her hand grabbed the man's collar, marking their first ever success, she decided that she might as well work alone. 

*

"He stabbed you? Leena, that's really dangerous!" 

She only glared at him, letting the doctor stitch her wound without complaining. She was really a badass. 

And she was terribly angry. At him. 

Once the doctor was done, she thanked them politely, even giving them a smile. But when her eyes landed on him again, Jay wished he could turn into a beetle and run away. 

"Listen to me. Since we started sorting together we didn't have any success. Do you know why?" 

"Because-" 

"Because you chose one of the options we have, and decide it's the right one. And whether it is or not, you actually don't care. What you do care about is that this is what you chose, and you won't change your mind. Every time, you've been wrong. And every time I've been dragged along, not doing anything except listen to your theories that don't even fit with the person we're looking for. So now I'm going to request another partner, and you're going to do the same. We just don't work together and I'm done losing time following you around while you babble about whatever you decided was today's theory."

She didn't wait for an answer. She probably didn't want one anyway. So she just shot him another mean look, and left the room. 

Well, this had gone about as well as expected. 

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to decide what he would do. 

He didn't want another partner. She was amazing, smart, and fun to be around. They had to find a way to work together. Because if not, he'd just get kicked out. But it didn’t seem likely to happen any time soon. They just clashed so badly every time something was at stakes. 

"Guess it's meant to be."

Slowly, he made his way towards the administration building, ignoring people he passed on the way even when they greeted him. What good was it anyway, he'd be fired before the end of the day. 

When he reached the front desk, Leena was already there, angrily complaining at Johan, the receptionist. 

"Look, I've made many complaints already and they always get lost or something, so I want to actually talk to someone, not just write a paper."

"I’m sorry I can’t -“

“Hi Johan, can’t believe my partners' complaints have been disappearing like that.”

Johan gave him a bright smile. They’d been friends for years, getting along easily and understanding the other without words. She always made sure that his requests were processed quickly and that any interaction with bosses was nice. She couldn’t protect him from everything though.

“Jay! How are you? It’s been a while since I saw you around.”

Next to him, Lena was fuming, unhappy that she was being ignored. She had a tendency to do that.

“I know, been really busy. Can you push her message to Tim along with mine?”

They both looked at him in surprise.

“Jay… You know it’s your last chance. They… hanged their minds.”

“What do you mean?”

Leena probably felt the seriousness of the situation, because she didn’t interrupt again.

“They want to transfer you. To the same department as Den.”

“No.”

“I know, I told them that it was-”

“I won’t go, and they can do fuck all about it. I changed my mind, actually I’m going to resign. Effective right now, can you draft the paper and send it to my number? I’ll send it back tonight.”

He turned on his heels sharply and left the room, Johan’s calls being ignored.

“Uh, what just happened?”

“He resigned. I guess. Anyway, guess you don’t need to put in a request anymore. You’ll be assigned a new partner in the next three days. Anything else?”

Johan’s demeanor had become cold, almost angry, and Leena suddenly realized that she’d been the one causing all of this. 

Maybe she should have tried harder to get along with him after all. 

*

She didn’t expect to see him again, especially not the next day.

Johan had requested that she come and give her a paper, something for insurances purposes, since she did get stabbed. 

When she reached the administration building, she could hear the screaming from outside. 

It was Jay’s voice, and he seemed furious. 

She quickly made her way to the front desk, handing the paper to Johan. 

“Hi. I hope this is the right thing. The lady was confused when I asked for that form.”

Johan didn’t even try to answer, taking a look at the paper and nodding. 

“This has been going for long? It must be hell.”

“I’m used to it. It’s always the same with those two.”

“Uh…”

Finally the other girl looked up from the papers on her desk. 

“Anything else?”

“No I just… It’s stupid but I feel like it’s my fault. I just… We really don’t work together but I still feel bad.”

“Well. Not going to say you should, but he’s going to get send to the 41st division so, you probably should.”

“What?” 

The 41st always had the reputation of being the worst division. The one created last, and where most of the dirty work got done. 

“Yeah. They’ve been trying to get him to go for a while now. I’m glad it only took you being stabbed and not brutally killed but I wish he didn’t have to go. It’s not good for him, it left him as an empty shell last time. Then he transferred and it got better.” 

Only took me being stabbed?

“Wait. Wait wait wait. You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, right?”

“What? You didn’t know?” 

The door opened suddenly, banging against the wall, and Jay walked out, almost literally fuming. 

The man behind him, one of the bosses that she’d only seen a couple times at conferences and events, stood with a satisfied smile on his face. And also the one who was supposed to supervise her file and know everything about her. 

Oh hell no.

She might not like JAy, but he had the personality of a puppy, a literal sunshine. Going to the 41st would kill him. And she still felt bad. 

Time to do something. 

Plastering on her most customer-service smile, she walked to the man, giving a little wave to Jay.

“Hi, director Morris? It’s a pleasure to see you. I’m glad to see you’ve been taking good care of my partner! I was just looking for him, we have a lot to discuss. Jay, did you get the note I sent you about new strategies? It was a little late. I don’t know if I entered your number correctly.”

She winked at him discreetly, making sure the other man didn’t see it. Hopefully Johan would help cover for her, since she seemed to be a friend of Jay. 

“Huh, I’ll check.”

Good, play along.

“Miss Hark. It’s a surprise to see you here, I thought you put in a request to switch partners?”

“Really? It must be a mistake, the last time I did that was when you paired me with Olivia. How’s she doing by the way?”

“She’s great, she’s doing great. Got transferred again, to Egypt this time. She enjoys it a lot, and still thanks you for your help.”

“I’m glad, could I talk to you in private for a couple minutes? If your schedule allows it of course.”

“It’s no problem for you Miss Hark. Come in.”

He let her walk into his office, which she did proudly, holding her head high and thinking of the next few steps. 

Her mom wasn’t going to like this. Jay better buy her one of those good ass cupcakes he brought once. 

“Have a sit. What can I do for you today?”

“Thank you. Well. As you know, I’ve been training with Jay for a couple weeks now. It’s been going exceptionally bad, and we failed every trial except for the one yesterday. I tried everything, and he always stood his ground. So I want to request making him my permanent partner, as well as moving to type two missions.”

“With a single success?”

He looked at her like she’d grown a second head.

“Well, I don’t need to remind you of my stats, do I? He’s proven that he can stand me, and I’m sure that today’s session will prove just how great of a team we can make.”

We better pull this off or we’re so fired.

“I’m intrigued. See, the council has plans for Jay, different from what you’re offering. But I do miss one of my top agents being off duty for so long. If you think he can do it, I’m willing to give you the chance, and talk to the council about this.”

“Wonderful. Well, training is starting in only forty minutes, so I’ll leave now. I hope I won’t have to take another trainee again, it would really be a waste of time.”

They exchanged polite goodbyes, and she left, closing the door after her. 

Jay was leaning against Johan’s desk, both of them talking quietly. 

“Hey, what did you tell him? Is he still mad?”

“He’s not, training in forty, we better rock this or he’ll crush us both to ashes.”

Jay wiggled his eyebrows at Johan, who smiled, and followed Leena, who was already walking towards the exit. 

“Soooo wanna tell me what happened? I resigned so I’m not supposed to train with you.”

“From what I understand, he didn’t let you. What’s your power?”

“Pff, as if I was gonna tell you.”

She stopped abruptly, and he took a couple more steps before turning around. 

When he turned, he realized how mean the look on her face was. 

“Look, either we work together and actually succeed today, we both don’t get fired and actually move to actual missions, or we keep doing what we’ve been doing for three weeks and fail. Also, I would have loved to know that the council was trying to get you into the 41st. I don’t care, but if they’re willing to sacrifice me for it then yeah, I do care.”

He had the decency to look away.

“I didn’t think they’d go this far. I thought they would give up if I just did nothing and kept failing. I didn’t want to drag you into it, but it wasn’t like I could do much. I didn’t know Johan lost your request for another partner.”

“My power is that whatever injury is on me I can transfer it to other people. So I got stabbed and then so did he. If you’ve been pretending to be dumb this whole time, I hope you’re actually competent, because I am and I’m also super bored.”

Telling someone what your power was tended to be pretty personal, but she never cared. At least people didn’t try to hurt her knowing she could send it right back to them. It was a very useful power when working such a job. 

“You’re… Wait really? Why were you so mad yesterday then?”

“Because it was so obvious! We could have solved this in five minutes and moved on to something more useful. But you kept watching the ships as if one of them held the answer to all your questions and I was so annoyed. Anyway. You better do good today, because I’m tired of waiting around.”

They started walking again, the atmosphere a little more relaxed. 

She made him promise to buy her an entire box of delicious cupcakes with the salary she had just won him, and they changed into the suits the costum person had left for them in the room. 

As the door opened, the hologram taking shape in front of them, she remembered her earlier question.

“Still don’t wanna tell me your power?” she asked quietly. 

He tilted his head so that his hat hid his eyes in the shade, and smiled.

“Precognition.” 

#writing #my writing #writing practice #fantasy #powers #superpowers

[kinetic-elaboration]

August 30: Sudden Accomplishment

I was very accomplished today, but at the cost of giving up any pretense of having a life, even a dorky and introverted life, outside of work and miscellaneous adult responsibilities.

I was so fucking tired in the morning...so tired that I’m not entirely sure I actually woke up, ever (my alarm woke me up in the middle of dreams, which is always disorienting and hard to recover from), and what I actually experienced as “being awake” was just a thin layer of caffeine applied to a nominally conscious body. Regardless, a combination of annoyance and, from around 10 on, the aforementioned caffeine sped me on to do a whole bunch of shit that I’d been putting off FORever.

The annoyance came from my desire to pay my rent, due on Friday so a semi-urgent task, which was complicated by the new management’s website. I had to set up an account but it wouldn’t accept my name. birthday, and email as correct. And it just put me over the edge to feel like I wasn’t getting these simple details right, like was I mistyping my own name??? (I was not.) And when I tried to call, no one picked up. Repeatedly. So I somehow translated this into “I’ll show you, landlords, I’ll do all this annoying stuff and I’ll be accomplished, even though you’re thwarting me in this simple task! How do you like THAT?” Which doesn’t make sense but sometimes you just gotta be in that mood in order to tackle certain things in the world, so I acknowledged and took advantage of it.

Unfortunately, ambition did not come with competence because I also made so many dumbass mistakes today that I felt like I would have been better off accomplishing nothing, just hiding under the covers all day so as not to be a burden to the world. For example, I confused the South Eastern Reporter for the Supreme Court Reporter, which is particularly embarrassing given that I actually have a JD and thus know that they are not even remotely the same thing, even though, in my defense, the advances are almost identical in terms of size/shape/appearance. Also I did this in front of my boss. Also when asked I did not have the latest advance, even though it had arrived that day, because I’d forgotten to check the mail on the law school side. To be fair, it wasn’t sorted when I came over initially but really I should have checked again after 15 minutes or so and I just forgot. (Too busy being accomplished!!!) Or, for another example, I asked the woman who puts together Law Review for the last three issues, even though there was only one more issue, and they published the exact same number of issues they’ve been publishing since the beginning of time. And 6 and 8 are not the same number. Still, I would not have needed to ask again had she responded to my first request like 3 weeks ago so there is that.

These mistakes are all embarrassing and make me question everything about myself and my perception of the world but the thing is that stuff DID get done. Awkwardly, but it did.

Work stuff accomplished included:

Helped a Law Review cite checker get the latest Supreme Court Reporter update. As said, this was way more complicated than it needed to be, but hey, he got it at the end of the day and as someone who’s done cite checks and who knows how important those advances can be, I did feel happy that I helped. (Also, I never explained my mistake to him so he thinks I’m super on the ball for getting it to him the next day, when he’d previously thought that was impossible, so there’s that.)

Got the library’s copies of the last Law Review, published at the beginning of the summer and kept all the way one floor below me, finally delivered to my freaking office, after asking twice. The thing is, I should probably just show up and be like “WHERE ARE THEY” periodically but the publication schedule is unpredictable and the journals are SUPPOSED to get brought up to me when they come out, without prompting, AND the specialty journals, of which there are four, always do. So the delay is mostly caused by LR forgetting about me + me being too shy to aggressively create awkward work situations over and over by asking for my fucking stuff. But whatever I got them for now.

Figured out the mystery of a Career Services withdrawal that has been plaguing me for at least a week. Is it one copy? Is it two? Is it two from two different years? The catalogue should tell you but all the data was corrupted when we transferred so who knows! Now it’s sorted out.

Finally sorted out the discards from the Faculty Support Center, which have been sitting on my shelf for so long they had basically blended into the landscape. I mean I’m surprised they hadn’t literally melded into the metal. I was told they were lowest priority so I treated them as such. But it’s so nice to get them away from me: two of them were sent to reference (one to replace a missing book, which I also dealt with) and two were withdrawn and free shelf-ed.

Drafted an email to a professor asking him to give us a third copy of the latest update to his book. I didn’t send it only because I’d been making so many dumbass mistakes I feared I’d left in a glaring typo or some other obvious awkwardness, but I can look at it with fresh eyes tomorrow and send it.

Started the cancellation sheet for a title that is no longer in print, apparently, since I got the email about it today.

Usual mail and UPS stuff, plus got the official OK from my supervisor re: my fall vacation plans and talked a bit about journal with my student helper.

Helped the director unpack an amp.

Organized the bindery stuff so I can work on it tomorrow.

Plus, though this isn’t a work accomplished, I finally--FINALLY--set up a freaking appointment to get new glasses, which I should have done months ago but I’ve just been putting it off for forever for no real discernible reason. It’s for tomorrow, which is somewhat sooner than I expected, but at least then it will be (mostly) over with. Leaving only the process of actually getting my new eyewear and then the unrelated but in-the-same-category process of seeing a dentist, which I’ve been putting off for even longer because I’m only semi-aware of where the office is and also I miss my old dentist and also I’m afraid of the state of my teeth, a problem that only compounds itself exponentially with time. BUT. Dumb adult problems for another day. I’m still proud of myself for the eye thing.

The I’m-a-real-adult-really fun didn’t stop after work. I picked up some milk and then when I got back to the apartments I stopped in at the office to get my account set up. Apparently literally everyone in the whole complex had the same issue I had because when you set up a new account, your information has to match their information, and I thought that info was just pulled from, I dunno, my lease or the air, but actually you have to have it entered manually and apparently in person. SO. Did that. Tomorrow I’ll set it up for real, hopefully painlessly, and pay my rent.

Then at home, instead of collapsing, I was responsible and washed dishes, made tomorrow’s lunch, took a shower. I was done at 6:15, spent some time browsing tumblr because it puts me into a nice lull, and then decided I was too useless to do anything but nap.

I ended up napping until quarter to 10. Over three hours.

So now I’m finishing dinner and then I guess I’ll go back to sleep. I have a very slight headache and I’m...not really tired, but I feel like my whole self has been dulled. Tomorrow is a very long day because my optometrist appointment is at 5. I will probably not get home until around 7. I hope my nap + a decent-ish night’s sleep will provide me with the necessary energy but somehow I’m not optimistic. I will probably have to drag myself through Friday by my fingernails. At least then it’s a three-day weekend, and after that, a month of me taking time off here and there, and hopefully getting more dumb things out of the way, and hopefully fall coming, and other nice things.

#the year 2017 #2017: rl #or a very long post about how you can be almost 30 w a masters level degree and still so crippled #by dumbass anxiety and self doubt and laziness #that even simple tasks are beyond you #if i were 17 and reading this i'd be like well it never gets any better or easier and maturity is an illusion #life is just perpetual flailing around

[arielyinyeeyapsresearchjour-blog]

Research Reflection 7: Post Research Scope Visit

Hi everyone! I am back in lovely Melbourne, sitting here in the quiet thinking and gathering my thoughts over the last few days since my return from the Penang -Singapore leg. Lots to think about, lots of researchers, practitioners and academics (or former academics) met, lots of discussions and advice provided, and most importantly -in keeping with the theme of my archival research a lot was revealed and indicated to me during my trip to the National Archives of Singapore (NAS). 

(Disclaimer: This is not an excuse but I did not feel comfortable or mentally ready / prepared to write and reflect ‘openly’ during my time in Singapore as I was overtly aware of surveillance and notions (or rather cautions) of ‘being watched. Note to self: to aim for reflection every Friday)

1. National Archives of Singapore

This trip was not as productive and access was not as open as I’d hoped. It was a very different experience from the British National Archives (BNA). Protection of data appeared to be on a whole other level. In the BNA, the documents were protected but a sense was given to the readers (or researchers) that reading, access and visual documentation (e.g. taking pictures) were allowed and even encouraged as staff did their best to facilitate this. This was the inverse in the NAS. To start with more than half the documents I requested on the first day were listed but ‘unable to be accessed’ as they required ‘additional clearance from respective governmental agencies’ (it was mostly the MHA for mine). I was then asked to put a request and sign forms that declared my research topic, title, projected end date, intentions with publications and encouraged to disclose how I would use the data provided in NAS in my research / publications. It was almost implicit that the state wished to vet drafts of my publication for their ‘approval’ or ‘copywrite’ actions may be taken as a result of my use of their data. 

The second thing I noted and took issue with was the hyper-surveillance state the archives were in. Singapore has already been classified a ‘police’ state and ‘surveillance state’ by several social and political commentators / journalists. This evidence of this in its social and cultural fabric is reflected in ‘equal’ form in the physical environment with CCTVs, videos surveillance live feeds, signs that security and video surveillance is being conducted on explicit display and security desks at every train, building and residential flat entry and exit, lifts, stairwells etc. This was taken to a whole other level as i felt ‘watched’ in this ‘panoptic’-like room where researchers were asked to sit in with data being loaded on to provided laptops and desktops for viewing. The room was circular and in the middle of the library floor with glass windows / doors and swipe access was only provided to staff. There were also cameras at each section of the room. The data I requested for was loaded on to two special laptops on a separate desk on the room. No laptops, no cameras or any recording / digital devices were allowed there. Just a pencil and notepad. Archivists also checked in on me to encourage me to inform them how I might use the data. There was also a one-hour restriction for viewing each file -they ranged from 100+ to 300+ pages long. 

The final nail in this coffin that ‘seals’ the data access ‘doorway’ would be the constant disclaimer of copywrite and licensing issues that protects the data. Almost indicating that ‘even if you manage to get a hold of this data / information, you would not be protected and able to use this due to tightening legal discourse’ 

I spent a total of 3 days in NAS (perhaps two full days to be precise) as most of my visits did not last long and were brief due to all the events described above. The trip ended with me cancelling my requests for documents that required ‘additional clearance’ from respective governmental agencies.

On a more personal, I have to say I do not hold any of this against any staff members in the archives as they were merely doing their jobs and did their best to assist me. Another governmental official I met with told me in passing that ‘no one is willing to put their head on the chopping board for you, unless something else is guaranteed here.’ And I am afraid whatever that bargaining power might be, I am unable to offer almost none of it at this stage. 

2. Research meetings in Singapore

Fortunately, my schedule cleared up due to the inability to access data. This provided me with more time to take up meetings in Singapore with respective academics, researchers, officials and stakeholders. My meetings were largely supportive, productive and informative. I have been inspired and encouraged to pursue my project albeit with some well-intended and well-founded advice from experience scholars about possible revisions I am considering to make to:

1. Timeline

2. Scope

3. Data -interviews or archives? 

4. ‘Pains’ and ‘strength’

The third is still and I suspect will be an ongoing struggle for myself over the next three years as I decide whether to rely on documentary analysis or interview data for my thesis. I am currently going back and forth between this, and deliberating and consulting this with my supervisors.

Pains and strength are the other considerations I have to make throughout this journey -even after my thesis is done, especially as I consider what to do with this project. I can think of no better way to summarise this than the quotes that still resound in my head after two notable individuals have mentioned this to me as they took the time to mentor me and advice me on this project and my career. 

“We need good-hearted and well-intending scholars to pursue this and produce such knowledge. This is not a question for you, my question is whether you are strong enough to keep swimming against the current, this tide that will keep coming for you in already uncertain waters.”

“My question for you are not so much about this project -we can always keep talking about this throughout -you have our support. What is more important is Why are you doing this? What are your goals? And how much Pain are you willing to endure?” (This individual says this in the context of their own pain endured publicly and socially on many levels as their integrity was brought to question by people in power. They took it upon themselves too warn me, speak to me and make me aware of the pains in my future that not just myself, but my family has to endure should I continue to see this through)

My response: This is not about me or my pain, my goals are to assist in social justice and telling stories that need to be heard and speaking through my (sadly more privileged space) in hopes that redress can be provided to individuals who have endured immense amount of suffering under structures of power, some of whom still feel rendered helpless and live in anguish even after ‘release’. Freedom here, is now shifted to being this ‘state of mind’,  one that may not be achievable for many -even if they were not directly impacted.

3. South-East Asian Scholars not Scholars in the ‘South’ (colour, culture, and race)

This summarises conversations I had with ‘other’ scholars I met  in Penang. We bonded on ‘solidarity’ that we are people of colour in this field. These scholars (who now kindly call themselves my colleagues, peers and friends ) were / are inspiring as they continue to pave the way in friendly criticisms of theories such as the global south that are still problematic as they stem from an undeniably privileged, ‘white’ perspective. They encouraged me to look for not just Asian, but South-East Asian scholarship that is applicable and speaks to structures of power within social, political and cultural contexts. This is a point and a struggle that I have been making and it was good to hear that and speak to them about this, and be made aware of such scholarship in Malaysia, as I have often spoken about (possibly written about) my ability to represent these ‘truths’, especially coming from a ‘western’ educational background / perspective. I have been sent some readings and found some good scholarship around this (although not all of it is translated - my colleagues are now assisting me in obtaining translated readings and manuscripts). I am hopeful that I will be able to integrate this into my thesis in time for confirmation.

#highered researchlife research fieldwork academicreflection