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warmau · 4 years

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“so,,,,,,,where exactly did you find them?”

the boy infront of you scratches the back of his head, his eyes shifting nervously to the floor

“outside the skate park.”

“someone just put them there? in a box?”

“yeah, like i told you - one second there was nothing and i was you know - skating - and then i looked back at the same spot and there was this box with -”

he motions and you look down at the four baby kittens, all curled around each other, all matted fur and raggedy looking tails

“ok. and you brought them here, which was the right thing to do - um-”

you look at him for a solid moment, piercings in every ear, nose ring, oversized hoodie, beat up board under his arm

“yuta. my names yuta.”

“well yuta, if they’re not yours then ill be taking them in as strays.”

he straightens up

“are you going to ..... are going to take care of them? or are you going to-”

you get what he’s insinuating from the way his face pales a little with fright

you shake your head, no - this isn’t a kill shelter first of all, and also kittens are always in demand to be adopted so once they get in healthy shape a loving family will probably take them in

you explain this all to yuta, who fidgets in front of the counter, and then leaves without a word when you ask him if there’s anything else you can help with

you are a little ticked at the rude exit, but a small and hungry meow shifts your focus

maybe four days pass - when the door to the shelter opens again

you’re on night duty, the other volunteer - taeyong - is in the back working on some adoption paperwork processing

and so you stand up and expect someone to scurry in as usual, looking ashamed and embarrassed, handing you off their ailing cat or misbehaving puppy

which isn’t the animals fault at all - but usually the incompetency of a novice owner

but instead you see yuta. again.

“are the kittens ok?”

you register the question and narrow your eyes

“listen if you didn’t just find them and were actually their owner you can’t jus-”

“no, no - id never abandon them like that - i-if they were mine.”

his eyes blaze a little and by the way his voice goes higher you realize he’s probably telling the truth

he has the some board under his arm and the same old looking hoodie - this time his hair is more messy, as if he came here in a rush

“i just wanted to make sure they’re ok.”

you tap your fingers against the counter and sigh

“follow me.”

he breaks into a smile but you snap your fingers and point to the board

“that thing stays out here.”

he obliges, leaning it up against one of the walls and tailing behind you as you open the door to the back

taeyong only shifts an eyebrow at the sight of you too - but goes back to flipping through papers as you stop in front of an incubator

“two of them are in here because they were in a critical condition, but the other two are over there - probably romping around with the others.”

yuta looks through the opening and the light reflects back on his face, the worried look he had been wearing turns into a heartwarming smile

and he coos at them a little before you almost have to drag him away

back behind the counter, you watch him pick his board up

this time he thanks you before he goes and asks;

“are you the one taking care of them?”

“for the most part, but other volunteers do too when im not on my shift. why?”

he pushes the door open and shrugs

“you seem like you’d do the best job at it - taking care of them and all.”

before you can even respond, and you can’t because the shock of the statement kind of paralyzes you, yuta is gone

all you see is him get on his board and skate away through the window

we’ve met once - well twice - but it’s nice i gave you such a good impression?

you check your watch two weeks later when you’re on night duty again. there’s no way he’s coming, but this is around the time he stopped by-

“hey.”

you look up and yuta’s at the counter. no board this time, but the same hoodie.

if you had known each other longer, you might have realized he got another stud in his right ear.

“are you here to finally adopt them?”

you ask, because you’re genuinely curious, also what other reason would he have for showing up here a third time

he shakes his head

“no, i can’t take care of them - even if i wanted to.”

you are about to tell him that’s a lame excuse, but you hear him mutter after

“i have to figure out how to take care of myself first.”

so you don’t answer, instead you motion for him to follow you

this time, you let him play with one of the kittens and you see the way he giggles and holds them carefully, they lean into him and although skittish with most

they seem comfortable and almost serene in the palm of his hands

you know you shouldn’t really be letting him back in here, but the happiness painted across him in the moment washes away any caution you would have harbored with anyone else

when you have to say goodbye this time, you are surprised that yuta asks when your night shift ends

“6 am.”

“woah, isn’t it still dark out then?”

“it’s the middle of summer so the sun comes out while im on the train.”

he nods, waves, and disappears again.

when your shift ends - you pack your things - and say goodbye to the animals and taeyong

you shrug your bag over your shoulder and don’t even realize yuta is sitting on the curb outside until you turn in the direction of the train and hear him go

“hey - wait!”

you feel slightly weird, but not unsafe as he walks beside you

“how long were you out there?”

“not that long, i went back to the skate park - skated till like 4ish with friends then just went down to the beach.”

“is that what you’ve been doing with your summer nights?”

you mean it as a bit of a joke, but he nods - running a hand through his hair - “not much else to do.”

“isn’t anyone worried you’re staying out that late?”

“no. no one tends to worry about me.”

you think about that phrase on the ride home.

realizing that you should have asked yuta about it when you had the chance

so instead you show up the next day at the skate park

you look around, and then you see him

he’s leaning against the fence - his board on the ground beside him, with his hoodie pilled ontop and a half finished energy drink

he’s got a sleeveless black tanktop on, messily tucked into scuffed looking jeans.

some other skaters are talking to him and he’s laughing

but he has his arms crossed and even though he looks part of the group

something about him is defensive and keeping others at bay

you don’t meant to stare, and you start thinking this was actually foolish of you to do, until he turns his head and catches your gaze

he jogs over - some people from inside the park wolf whistle and he flips them off

“i know you didn’t miss me or anything, so what are you doing here?”

you narrow your eyes - that’s the first thing he thinks to say?

“well, i just was thinking about something and- well ill just ask.”

he puts his hands in his pockets and looks at you in a way you are not used to being looked at

like he’s searching inside your expression for truthiness

or maybe safety

“is that why you brought the kittens to us. because you thought like you, no one else would worry about them?”

your voice is low, almost a whisper and the look on yuta’s face softens

“yeah.”

he chuckles, but you can tell it is sad

“kind of pathetic, huh?”

“no.”

you reject

“taking care of others is never pathetic.”

a silence quilts the conversation, but you don’t feel like it is depressive at all

instead you suddenly announce

“ill do it.”

“do what?”

“ill worry about you, so for starters, stop hanging out here until 4 am and go home and sleep.”

he’s smiling when he asks and so it betrays what point he’s trying to make

“hey, i didn’t ask for you to worry-”

“too bad. im making the decision to on my own. also, if you want to see the kittens, come during the day.”

surprisingly, yuta takes you up on the order

he shows up the following week at a normal hour of the day and when he’s playing with those kittens again

the light on his face is somehow stronger

he waits for you again to finish work, this time you ask him why - it’s light out and you don’t need to be walked to the train

“oh im not here to walk you to the train.”

“then why are you here?”

��to take you on a date.”

the date is - as you might have guessed - at the skate park

where you wobble around on the board as yuta holds you steady by the waist

you keep almost falling over so in due time you just tell him to let you give up

the two of you can go spread out on a bench and drink something cold instead

yuta agrees, but he insists that with more practice you’ll get better. you just don’t think so.

and this little day, becomes an almost weekly endeavor

you work your job at the shelter and yuta picks you up

you two usually end up doing absolutely nothing together, just walking around and talking

and yet it feels at the same time that you are doing everything together

everything that people do to survive

eating, talking, breathing, touching

when yuta first kisses you it is on the steps leading down into the train.

he kisses with an intensity you have never experience from anyone else before

so much so that you get shy and stop him because you are in public and it is broad daylight

“are you suggesting we continue somewhere more dark and private?”

he tickles against your ear and you push him playfully away

escaping down into the train before he can pick apart your embarrassment

needless to say, it does happen - how can it not when yuta ignores you telling him to not wait around after your night shift ends

and he’s there, and the summer darkness is sweltering, and he is too

and taeyong is off on sick leave, no one else is there to watch the animals with you and the little office in the back is cramped but it fits two people just perfectly

you mutter when you’re both getting dressed again that you hope the animals didn’t hear anything

and yuta, with just his jeans on - prances out to check on the kittens

then the day comes - when a young couple stops in and decides they’re going to adopt all four.

it’s bittersweet to let them go, and it almost hurts to tell yuta about it later on

with you pressed into his arms. but he just squeezes you.

“im happy they find someone that’ll worry about them.”

you agree and then his lips speak against your hair

“im happy i found someone who will worry about me too.”

you pull back and yuta waits for your reaction you lean in and kiss him gently

“im happy i get to worry about you, yuta.”

he grins and mumbles that you can’t say things like that and expect him not to keep falling more and more crazily in love with you.

but that’s exactly what you expect, and you expect that he’ll keep feeling that way

because you do

even years later

when it’s both your turn to finally worry about something together

“can we adopt four?”

“no, only one yuta.”

“fine - but what if we find four kittens like i did when we first met?”

you roll your eyes, “that’ll be a miracle.”

you walk through the doors of the shelter and are greeted with a wave from the receptionist

“are you guys looking for a dog or a cat?”

“we’re looking for a kitten, do you have any?”

yuta’s arm is around your waist and you want to tell him to stop looking at you and pay attention when the receptionist brightens

“yes! we actually just got a whole litter, would you like to see them.”

you nod and catch yuta’s wide eyes - he mouths

“a litter? isn’t that more than four? are we about to adopt like eight ca-”

you pinch his cheek, tell him to stop dreaming, but he just nuzzles in against your ear

the receptionist giggles into her palm at the affection between you two and you mumble that gosh, looks like you already adopted a big kitten all those years ago.

#the way im not posting this weeks after his actualy bday win for me #nct scenarios #nct au #yuta scenarios #yuta au #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 au #nct #yuta #sfw

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zeldas-cigarrette · 3 years

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Now, I’ll drive alone past your street. (Ⅱ)

A/n: This is the sequel to my last post, I couldn’t write any smut, I wasn’t in the mood for it. Just wait for another story in which I’ll definitely include it !!! If you have any requests, feel free to leave them somewhere ^^ And thank you so much for the interaction on my last post:))

Part 1

Word count: 1,635

Warnings: none

Zelda Spellman x female witch reader

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It pained you when sudden thoughts about Zelda flickered in your head. Although you decided on leaving for a while, you missed her, Hilda, Ambrose, and Sabrina. The wittiness of Hilda when you came down for breakfast, looking like a complete mess. Sabrina when she was onto something, including you in every step of the way. And Ambrose, when he was fuzzing about the mess his younger cousin had caused again.

The sudden ring of your cell phone tore you out of thoughts. Hilda’s caller ID showed up just as it did the past week. You’ve always been too afraid to pick up, scared of listening to her ranting about you letting her sister marry this man. But unlike the other times, the Brit has called, now you were brave enough to answer the call. Maybe Zelda fulfilled her task and became High Priestess?

„Y/n, I tried to reach you all week” Hilda hastily explained. „I know, I know but-“

„There is no time for explanations, you need to come back. Something’s wrong with Zelda” she cut you off while unsteadily breathing into the speaker.

You hesitated to speak, not being sure what you shall say. You loved the red-headed witch too much to let her suffer. „I’ll be there Hilda,” you said and quickly ended the conversation.

You knew it was about time to go back and fight for your love and show Father Blackwood who’s in charge.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

It didn’t take long for you to teleport you back to the mortuary, you left a few of your belongings where you’d stayed. You took a deep breath before knocking on the red front door. The familiar scent of your friends home crept up your nose and you started to loosen your tension. „Praise Satan you’re here, come in quick” the British woman rambled and pulled you inside.

„What’s going on?” You asked curiously. „My sister has changed during her honeymoon, it’s just as if she’s under some kind of spell.”

You nodded and hung your coat onto one of the hooks. „She does everything Blackwood asks her, Zelda would do anything to protect our family and now that bloke tries harms us and she just agrees with everything” Hilda explained and you knew immediately what she was trying to say. „And, Ambrose is said to have killed the Anti Pop. Nicholas Scratch helped him get away before Blackwood could lay his hands on him” she added pulling a grimacing face.

„I will go to the academy and inspect the situation myself, we will fix this mess” you tried to reassure her. The witch nodded and led you into the kitchen where the two cousins sat, pondering over how to help her aunt. „You’re back Y/n!” Sabrina exclaimed and hugged you tightly. A smile formed on your lips. Deep down you were happy to be back even though it took you some time to realise.

The darkness slowly came over Greendale and millions of stars peppered the night sky. „I will head to the academy and see what happened to your aunt and in which condition she is” you informed them and drummed your fingers on the tabletop. „Be careful, Blackwood is crazy at the moment. His misogyny went up to a new level” the young witch rambled worriedly. „I’ll take care.”

You grabbed your coat before leaving the house, inhaling the sweet scent that lingered in the house once more.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

Arriving at the academy, a weird feeling spread in your gut. You entered the school for witches and warlocks, having an exact destination to where you wanted to go. You walked through the halls of the academy searching for either Zelda or Blackwood. A sharp pain shot through your arm when a hand grabbed you and pulled you into a room.

The facet of the person immediately let you know who it was. „Blackwood” you explained and freed yourself from his tight grip. „You ought not to be here” the sharp tone in his voice sent shivers down your spine. „I came to speak to Zelda.”

He eyed me. „Wife!” The High priest yelled and waited impatiently for Zelda to come. Seconds passed before a woman in a flower dress entered the room. „Would you give us a few minutes?” your voice thickly filled with annoyance. The warlock just nodded and left the room.

„Zelds, what happened?”

„I don’t know what you mean?” her voice almost pitching. „Honey, you can tell me” your hand reached for hers. „But there is nothing to tell. If you excuse me now, I ought to make tea for my beloved husband.”

Her words sounded surreal, fake just simply not like Zelda. A hopeless sigh escaped your lips, you should’ve told her how wrong it was to marry that bloke. The only thing to hear was the sound of her music box.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

„It’s like she’s a doll” you took a sip of water before continuing, „no free will, and devoted to someone she said she’d overthrow.”

Hilda’s gaze wandered through the room. Footsteps echoed through the Spellman house, both of you looked at each other before stepping in the hallway.

You two saw her walking in the kitchen having her hand draped over something. Hilda followed her sister closely. The next thing you heard was high pitched screams from Sabrina who must’ve been in the kitchen. Your legs moved as fast as they could to see what was happening. Zelda stood there, wounding a mouse through the meat grinder. „Aunt Zel, why did you do that? That was our only chance to save Ambrose?” Sabrinas said stunned while her mouth fell agape.

I didn’t know what she was talking about, but surely Leviathan, who now was just a mashed version of itself, played its role in it. „I think I know what’s going on!“ Hilda exclaimed and it looked just as if a light bulb appeared over her head. „Sabrina, you have to get that music box from Zelda’s room in the Academy“ her aunt explained. The teenage witch nodded. Her aunt expected her to leave but that wasn’t the case, she somewhat teleported the box.

Zelda just stood there, staring at the mashed familiar. You couldn’t deny the fact that you were curious about how she teleported a box to her, but you suppressed the thought until you knew what was going on with your toner girlfriend. „Open it up darling” Hilda demanded her niece, „this has to be some kind of Caligari spell.” „What spell?” You asked genuinely interested. „A spell, typically used by old warlocks, to turn their wives into conscious witches aware of every action, yet, unable to make their own choices” the Brit explained and pulled out a photo of the music box.

„Just smash it and our Zelda should be freed from the spell,” Hilda told Sabrina who now held the picture in her hands. With a loud thud, the glass of the frame was broken, leaving a confused Zelda. You saw her facial expression change when she laid eyes on you. „Zelda is it you?” you asked nearly on the verge of tears.

You knew how stupid it was, leaving her alone with the whole situation, telling her she was better off without you. „Y/n...” the woman stuttered not daring to look away from you. You couldn’t contain your happiness and relive of having her back, you stepped closer and hugged her in a hurry. Her hands instantly sneaking around your waist, pressing you close to her body.

„I was an idiot, Zelda Spellman and I am sorry for how I behaved” you whispered in her ear. Her red locks were spreading on your face, you inhaled her scent. „Don’t worry, I must admit it was my fault too. How could I ask my girlfriend if I could marry another guy?" she mumbled in your shoulder and pressed yourself just a little closer to her body. „Alright, lovebirds” Sabrina sighed and let herself fall back on one of the kitchen chairs.

You loosened your hug and drew back to look at her. „Why don’t we get you something proper to wear?” You suggested and eyed her flower dress. „Satan, wearing this dress the whole time, internally drove me mad” Zelda admitted and tugged on the hem of her dress.

You took her hand in yours and softly moved your thumb over her skin. The fiery woman was broken, you saw it in her green eyes. Gently, you pulled her after you, scared she might break if you’d do it more hastily. Arriving in front of her bedroom door, you were hesitant if she’d even want you to come in put she slightly pushed you towards the door. „Don’t blame yourself, you had every right to leave. I wouldn’t want to see how you marry someone else” the witch remarked after a long silence. „I just feel like I could’ve prevented you from the pain,” you told her.

Zelda just shook her head and patted next to her on the bed. You followed her plea and sat next to the witch, staring down at your hands. „I haven’t told you this for weeks now, but I love you,” the older woman said and took your hand into hers. You slowly placed your head on her shoulder. „I love you too, but never ever marry anyone again as long as we are together” you had to add that. „Never” she mouthed before planting soft kisses along your jawline. „As dominant as ever” you giggled before the woman pressed you down on the bed beneath.

The room was filled with ecstasy and lust after Zelda was finished pleasuring you. You snuggled closer to her chest, not daring to leave her side again. Zelda’s red locks covering your face once more, made you feel comfortable with falling asleep. ‘You’ll be there for her on every step of the way, no matter how much strength it may take’ you thought to yourself before sleep hit you.

—————————————————————

#zelda spellman x reader #zelda spellman #chilling adventures of sabrina #caos #wlw love #wlw #hilda spellman #sabrina spellman #ambrose spellman #sapphic #greendale #caos imagine #madam satan #fanfic #fanfiction

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bruh--wtf · 3 years

Text

The Message

Thomas x Reader

The Death Cure - I am writing for all three movies I suggest reading the first two parts of the series first. I know, it's long, but I'm having fun writing these.

Summary: The gladers need to get Minho back. And they're going through with Thomas's plan to take down WCKD. Things aren't at all simple.

Part 20

Main Masterlist

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Maze Runner Masterlist

You all tried your best to blend into the shadows. But that's hard when security is patrolling every street and half the walls are made of glass.

"They definitely upped security. I'm guessing you shanks have something to do with that," Gally suggests.

You all started running towards a shorter wall and Gally and Thomas help Newt hop it first. Then you. You grabbed Newt's hand, him helping you up. He wavered a little bit, and you looked down at his arm.

"You sure you're-"

"Yes! I'm fine!" He says. You look at him surprised by how angry he sounded. You look down to see Thomas hopping up without Gally's help. Then Gally climbs up.

Walking on the outskirts of the wall, you all eventually made it to the top of a building.

"There it is," Gally says. "If WCKD's got Minho, that's where they're keeping him." You look over at the bright blue building.

Gally pulls out something and mounts it on the pole. "Laurence has been trying to find a way in for years. Place is crawling with soldiers. Surveillance everywhere. Scanners on every floor."

You all lean on the bars, looking over at the building. Your head was going to be killing you by the time you got back to the others. But now, it wasn't that bad.

"Sounds like a fortress," you say. "I thought you said you had a way in, Gally."

"I might." You turn to look at him and so does Thomas.

"You might? The hell do you mean might?" Gally steps back.

"Take a look," Gally says. Thomas walks over and looks through the telescope. He lets out a breath. "I said I had a way in. I didn't say you were gonna like it."

Back with the others, Thomas shakes his head. "No, there's gotta be another way in."

"Like what? You've seen the building. She is our only way in," Gally says. You were standing next to Newt, thinking.

"You really think she's gonna want to help us?"

"I don't plan on asking her permission," Gally says.

"Am I missing something here? This is the same girl who betrayed us, correct?" Brenda asks, looking at you. You nod, and let out a breath.

"Yup, the one and only," you say, leaning your elbows on the table. She looks at Thomas.

"What's goin on?" Brenda asks. Thomas doesn't say anything.

"What, are you afraid your little girlfriend's gonna get hurt?" Newt asks. You look at him. He looked annoyed. "Hmm? This has never been just about rescuing Minho, has it?"

Thomas turns to Newt. "Newt, what are you talking about?"

"Teresa! She's the only reason Minho is even missing in the first place, and now we finally have the chance to get him back and what? You don't want to because of her?" Newt started getting in Thomas's face, pushing him back towards the wall. "Because deep down inside you still care about her, admit it."

"Newt, I don't-" Newt cuts him off, shoving him up against the wall.

"Don't lie to me! Dont. Lie. To me." Then he steps back. He looked at Thomas like he was surprised by what he had just done. You stared at Newt. No matter what, in the galde and out here, Newt was always the mediator. Alby and you could both let your emotions get the best of you sometimes, and he was the clear head. You'd never seen Newt that mad at someone else before. Especially a glader. Newt looks back at all of you.

"I'm sorry." He walks off. After a minute, you follow him. You go and sit on the ledge next to him.

"Are you okay? Tell me the truth, Newt," you say, looking at him. He looks over at you and lets out a breath. He glances behind you and you see Thomas coming over. He looks back at Thomas.

"Sorry about that. Back there." You continued to look at Newt. "Guess I can't hide this anymore." He rolls up his sleeve revealing a crank scratch. Your mouth falls open and you look up at him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Thomas asks.

"Didn't think it would make any difference. All I know is that WCKD must have put me in that maze for a reason. Maybe it was just so they could tell the difference between immunes like you and people like me," Newt says to Thomas.

You lick your lips. "We can still fix it, Newt," you say. He shakes his head.

"Did I ever tell you about when I broke my leg?" He asks Thomas. "I know you know it happened, but you don't know how," he says to you. "It was way back in the maze. I'd just come up from the box. Like all the others. Didn't know where I was, didn't know who I was, you know. You know even with all my memories gone I could still feel that something was missing. You know?" You watch him and nod slightly. "I felt empty. I just... I couldn't hack that. Couldn't take it. So one morning I got up early. Snuck out into the maze. I went and I found the tallest wall I could. And I climbed up there and... I jumped off it."

You gape at Newt. You never knew that. "Of course I got completely tangled up in the ivy. Snapped my leg in three different places. Like a proper shank. Landed hard on the floor. I thought that was it." He pauses. "Then Minho found me. Somehow. Carried me back to the glade. Never told anyone what really happened. He saved me, gave me a second chance." You watch as Newt looks at Thomas. "Now he needs us, so if there is even the slightest chance that we can save him? We can get him out of there, then we have to take that. No matter what the cost."

"Okay, I hear you," Thomas says. Newt nods and looks back down at his arm. You kept looking at him, and after a moment you leaned on him, putting your head on his shoulder as you all looked up at the wall.

That night you all came up with a plan. And soon it was happening.

You watched from a distance as Thomas tricked Teresa into following him. "Thomas!" She calls. Just then he rounds the corner, and that's where you and Galy were. You all run quickly to your hiding places. You didn't know why you were there. You didn't need to be. And you kind of hated it. But Thomas asked you to. God, what is wrong with you? Where Teresa comes and looks around, Thomas comes out of his.

"Thomas."

"Hey, Teresa."

"You shouldn't be here. If Janson finds out you're here-"

"I'm not here to stay. It's just, uh, had to see you," he says, walking up to her. "I have to ask you something. Do you regret it? What you did to us?"

"Sometimes," she says. "But I did what I thought was right. I'd do it again." Thomas nods slightly.

"Got it," he says. He nods at Gally who comes out behind her and grabs her. You watch him drag her and Thomas goes over to you. He looked sad, but he nodded towards Gally. "Come on," he says. You nod following them as you all made it back.

Gally unhoods her and she stares at him. She looks at Thomas, who was sitting a little further away from her. You and Newt were sitting down next to him. Frypan standing behind you.

"Gally?" She sounded surprised. You didn't blame her.

"Here's how this is going to go. We're gonna ask you some questions, and you're gonna tell us exactly what we need to know. Start off simple," Gally says and grabs a chair. "Where's Minho?" She looks at Thomas.

"You guys don't seriously think that-" Gally slams the chair down, sitting on it backwards, so he was still facing her.

"Don't look at him. Why are you looking at him? Look at me," Gally says. "He's not gonna help you." Thomas looks up and over at her. You turned to look at Gally and Teresa again. "Now we know that you have him in the building. Where?" She pauses for a second before looking at Gally again.

"He's with the others in holding. Sub level three."

"How many others?" Newt asks. Teresa hesitates, avoiding looking at Newt.

"Twenty eight," she says shakily. Gally looks back at Brenda who nods.

"I can make that work." She was playing cards with Jorge.

"No, no you guys don't understand. The whole level's restricted. You can't get in without a thumbprint ID." You nod along with her words, drawing her attention back over to you and Thomas.

"That's why you're coming with us," you say when she's done.

"Well, I don't know. We don't necessarily need her. Right?" He stands up, walking to the table. "Not all of her." He grabs a knife. "We just need her finger."

"Gally, back off," Thomas says.

"What are you squeamish? I guarantee you she's done a lot worse to Minho," he says.

"I said, back off," Thomas says, grabbing the knife.

"Won't make a difference. Do whatever you want to me. You still won't get through the front door. The sensors will pick you up as soon-"

"We know. We're tagged. Property of WCKD," Thomas says and walks over to her. He crouches down next to her. "You're gonna help us with that too."

You sat there with Teresa behind you. The guys wanted to go first. Make sure she didn't kill them before letting you go. Gally could probably care less, but the others insisted. You watched looked over at Thomas and the others.

"Try to relax." You scoff slightly.

"You're behind me with a knife. I'll try my best," you say sarcastically. She lets out a breath, and presses the knife to your neck. You close your eyes, taking a sharp breath.

"I was hoping I'd see you again, you know," she says quietly. You chuckle slightly.

"Oh yeah? Can't say the same," you say.

"I was hoping because I wanted to tell you..." she pauses, taking the knife away and starting to try and clean it a little bit. "Jack is doing great." You quickly turn your head to face her. You wince, and hold a hand up to your neck.

"Shit." You stand up, looking at her. She sighs, sitting there.

"He's eleven now. We've been working with him. He's not being tested on. He's shaping up to be a very smart boy," she says. You continued to stare at her.

"Working with him?" Your little brother... was working with WCKD. Well, shit. Thomas comes over.

"What's going on?"

"I thought you'd be happy to hear that he's okay," Teresa says. You roll your eyes.

"Yeah, I'm enthused," you say, sarcasm still in your voice. You turn your back on her, walking away. Thomas was up after you anyways. You go over and sit next to Gally.

"What was that about?" Frypan asks. You crossed your arms, looking down. You didn't answer him. You were thinking. The little boy from your dreams... the boy who once was the reason you were alive... he was being trained by the people trying to kill you.

Not long after, Newt hands you guys clothes. You take yours, going to go change. When you get back, you see Thomas and Teresa standing and Gally walking up to them.

"Everything okay over here?" He asks. Thomas nods.

"Yeah, we're done," Thomas says and turns away. You were close enough that you saw Teresa's hand move towards the tray that had her knives on it. You grab her wrist.

"Careful there. Wouldn't want you to get hurt," you say. She looks at you. You nod at Gally. The others go to change and you were stuck with Teresa.

"Jack talks about you," she says. You don't look at her but she knew you were listening. "He always asks when he can see you. How you are. If you'll be back soon. He keeps saying that you promised that you'd-" you stand up, kicking her legs out from underneath her.

"Shut the hell up," you say. She managed to not hit her head and land pretty much okay. She looked unscathed. That was your goal. Can't have her looking damaged. She stares up at you and glances behind you. You turn and see the guys coming back.

"What the hell was that?" Gally asks. You roll your eyes.

"Doesn't matter. Lets just do this, yeah?" You say, walking past them. Not even glancing back at Teresa.

#tmr teresa #tmr newt #tmr thomas #tmr imagine #tmr frypan #tmr brenda #tmr series #tmr #tmr gally #wckd #thomas x reader #thomas maze runner #the maze runner #the scorch trials #the death cure

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yikeswtfmate · 4 years

Text

Part 1: Ungodly Hours

Of Tinder Dates & Caramel Macchiatos - Series Masterlist // main masterlist // next part

Summary: Y/N had no idea her new work routine would bring a certain handsome bartender to her table where she drinks her coffee every morning. Steve is sweet, although a bit sleep deprived, and Natasha thinks Y/N and him would make the perfect pair. But dating him is out of the question. What happens when, tired of Nat’s bizarre behaviour, Y/N installs Tinder and meets this really cute guy who can read her like an open book?

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader; Thor Odinson x Reader

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, sexual references and themes

A/N: guess who’s back! back again with a very long Steve series that might be the end of me but that i already love with my whole heart and oh god i am so nervous i really hope you’re gonna like this

Coffee shops in the morning could easily be considered anyone’s personal hell. The sheer amount of people trudging along to get their daily fix of caffeine would normally make Y/N stop in her tracks and take a turn towards the nearest coffee vending machine, even if it tastes worse than crap. At least she doesn’t have to wait for half an hour in line stuck between a very loud lawyer and that one mum who insists on buying the nastiest green smoothie she’s ever seen in her life.

However, coffee shops at 6 in the morning, right about when Peter changes the sign from closed to open, are heaven sent. Sure, the prospect of having to be out and about for work at 6 am is less than ideal, but at least she’s always been more or less a morning person. And her paycheck has been considerably fatter last month.

Y/N takes her usual seat outside, caramel macchiato right next to her laptop. Today should be an easy day - fill out some paperwork before she heads to the office at 8.45, pick up Pepper’s coffee, and sort out whatever has been left of this week. Easy, simple and to the point, although Nat would love to argue that Saturdays are for sleeping in, and not for personally picking up documents from various stakeholders.

“Or better yet, download Tinder and work out your stress with random guys.” Nat had suggested last night on the phone, when Y/N made the mistake of mentioning she hadn’t had any in too many months to count. “There’s this great guy I know…”

“No.” Y/N interrupted, knowing exactly where that would’ve gone. “Every time you tried to set me up with someone, it ended up in disaster. We’re not doing this again, Nat.”

“I just want you to be happy.” She muttered, most definitely being silently admonished by Bucky for trying to interfere in her friend’s life yet again.

“I am happy, sweetheart. Just because I’m not getting any at the moment, that doesn’t mean I’m not happy. Plus, you know what I think -”

“If it’s meant to be, there’s no point in me chasing it, yes.” Nat echoed with a roll of her eyes. “Sometimes your whole attitude of ‘go with the flow’ pisses me off. I say you should go after what you want.”

“Well, there’s nothing, or no one to want at the moment so there’s no point in me getting into a frenzy about it. When the moment’s right, it will happen.”

“Hey!”

The voice cuts right through the middle of her thought, interrupting Nat’s sneered answer of ‘I just hope he won’t be an asshole like your ex’, making Y/N look up from her laptop. There’s a guy standing next to her, one steaming cup of coffee in a hand, uncertain smile on a face ragged by what can only be lack of sleep. He’s tall and broad shouldered, and she can’t place him for a second, before her eyes land on the sleeve tattoo on his right arm.

“Steve?” She asks, just as hesitant.

“Yeah!” He grins, running his free hand through his hair, until there’s a blond mess of it. “Y/N, right? You’re Nat’s friend.”

“Yeah, that’s right. I uh- how are you?”

The whole scene most probably looks ridiculous to the outside eye - her sitting down, craning her neck to look at this monolith of a man, both of them oozing with awkwardness and hesitation. She’s always hated that touch of absurdity in interactions between people who know each other, but are not even acquaintances. Even though her job as an executive assistant requires her to navigate situations just like these, that does not mean it makes it easier for her to know how to do that in her personal life. It’s called balance - be a badass at your job, but you’re left an embarrassing mess when it comes to talking to cute guys that you don’t actually know.

“Just got off my shift. Thought I should grab a coffee and spare myself of falling asleep on the subway again.”

“Oh. You’re still working as a bartender then?” She replies, digging her claws into the faint memory of him running from one end of the bar to the other, barely managing to shake her hand after a brief introduction that one time she agreed to go out with Nat and Bucky.

“Yep. I’m actually part-owner now.” Steve says proudly and she can’t help but grin with him.

“Congratulations!” Y/N claps her hands - what is that, come on, get yourself together. “Hey, do you wanna take a seat and have your coffee? I feel weird sitting while you’re standing.”

“Ah, I shouldn’t. I’ve been up for almost 24 hours now.” He scratches the back of his head, checks his watch and glances at her again in thought. “But I can spare 5 more minutes to finish this. Wouldn’t want to spill it all over me again.”

Y/N smiles and does her best at clearing at least one corner of the table. He takes a seat, and she notices the way his knee brushes softly against hers, and fair enough, the table is small, but this guy is massive and he’s dwarfing everything around him - it’s no wonder they can barely fit together.

“So what are you up to at this ungodly hour of the morning on a Saturday?” He asks after swiftly scanning all the papers and electronics between them.

“Ah, my life is definitely less exciting than yours.” She laughs. “I’m just getting to work.”

“On a Saturday?” His confusion is clear. So is his amusement as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“I see Nat hasn’t been complaining to everyone around her about me. That’s reassuring.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Steve shrugs. “Whenever they come to the bar, I’m usually working. I can barely exchange two words with them.”

“That’s right. I remember her saying something about you needing to get a break.”

“More like a life. I haven’t had a day off in months, I don’t even know what daylight looks like anymore.”

There’s no denying the fact that he looks exhausted - if the dark circles under his eyes wouldn’t be indication enough, it’s easy to read it in the tense set of his shoulders, the way he’s more slumping than sitting in his chair. Y/N is filled with a weird sense of wanting to make this man a cup of tea and order him to go to bed already. His gaze keeps shifting, as if it can’t focus on anything for more than a few seconds, and there’s a slight hint of misery written all over his features that is cleverly hidden by his happy-go-lucky attitude, which seems superficial if analysed closely. Perks of being the best at her job, curse for people who don’t want their business pried into, but then again...they don’t know each other that well, so she keeps her mouth shut. Whatever is bothering him is none of her damn business.

“If it makes you feel any better, I have no idea what nightlife looks like anymore.” She offers.

“We’d make an invincible human being if we were to join forces.” Steve laughs. “I’ll tell you all about teenagers trying to get in with fake IDs, how to get rid of vomit in the toilets and what’s the best way to mix a Long Island and you can tell me all about traffic in the morning, rush hour at lunchtime and what kids are up to when they get off school.”

“Mostly TikTok dances.” Y/N shrugs, which earns her the cutest sleep-deprived laugh she’s ever heard in her life.

“Is that what those are? Oh God, I feel old now.”

She chuckles - it’s cute, he’s cute. In a lost puppy kind of way, but her final verdict is interrupted by her phone vibrating next to her hand. Now, she wouldn’t normally be so rude as to answer a phone in the middle of a conversation, especially when she is focused on the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he’s grinning at his not-exactly-joke, but PEPPER CALLING is a rude awakening that she is supposed to actually be at work in less than 15 minutes.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I have to get this, it’s my boss.”

“No worries. I should get going anyway. I think I’ve already slipped into sleepwalking anyway.” He stands up and fumbles around for a few seconds - yet another situation that neither of them seems to know how to handle. Are they supposed to shake hands? Hug? Take an imaginary hat off?

So Y/N settles on a smile, which must put him at ease a teensy bit, because he grins back at her - that boyish grin that made her think cute way too many times by this time of the day.

“It was great seeing you, Y/N. Don’t overwork yourself today. It is Saturday after all.”

“Says the one who’s 90% asleep.” Y/N giggles. “Bye, Steve!”

“See you around, sweetheart!”

Nat takes out a bottle of wine, moving around the well-lit kitchen as if she’s lived there her whole entire life, and not only for the past three weeks. Y/N is still mesmerised by the fake brick wall in front of her to pay attention to the glass thrust between her fingers - this apartment is gorgeous. She had no idea Bucky was so good at interior design, which must have been a huge selling point when they’ve decided where to live together. Christ, Y/N would have wanted to move in with him after only 5 months, for this apartment alone. But Nat is frowning - that deep line between her eyebrows leaves nothing to speculation, and Y/N knows her best friend too well not to realise that she is not happy with what she’s hearing.

“Are you going to say anything or should I just assume you’re pissed off?”

“I’m not pissed off.” Nat says, an immediate response that sounds too close to defensiveness to sound like truth. “I’m just- I’m surprised, is all. I mean, it is Steve we’re talking about here after all.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t understand why you’re reacting like this.”

Nat brings her foot up on her stool, and braces her knee while her other hand is playing with the rim of her glass. She’s avoiding eye contact, which is never a good sign when it comes to her, yet Y/N simply can’t put her finger on the reason behind her sudden change in demeanour when she’s told her that she met Steve this morning.

“I just don’t think that Steve would be the right person for you right now.” She finally mutters and there’s a tinge of embarrassment in her tone that Y/N can’t decipher.

“Ok, you’re going to have to explain what the hell is going on because I have no idea what’s with all this hostility. All I did was tell you that I chatted with Steve for half an hour this morning. How did you connect that to me getting into a relationship with him?”

“Because!” Nat groans. “You and Steve would be perfect for each other. Not to mention you’re my best friend and he’s Bucky’s best friend and just that idea alone gives me cavities. I want you to be together!”

“I’ve seriously never been more confused in my entire life.”

“Ok, look, I’m going to be completely honest with you right now.” Nat sighs and she at long last makes eye contact. “It’s not my story to tell, but the gist of it is that Steve’s recently gotten out of a relationship with one of my friends from work. He was completely swept off his feet, even Bucky’s never seen him this infatuated with someone. The problem is that, as much as I love Peggy, she really did a number on him. He’s been a complete wreck ever since and he doesn’t even know that she’s gotten back together with her ex. I’m just saying that he’s not in the right emotional state to get into another relationship right now. And you’re in a complete state at the moment as well.”

“Me?” Y/N squeals, surprised by this sudden change of direction. “What is wrong with me?”

“Honey, you also recently got out of a serious relationship where you were practically married to the guy. I really think you should spend some time alone and focus on yourself, and not guys. Flings, fuck buddies, Tinder, sure, whatever. Do whatever you couldn’t during these past few years, but you’re not ready to jump into another serious relationship again. I love you and I love Steve, but you’d probably destroy each other if you were to get together.”

Y/N waits for a few more seconds in order to make sure Nat’s said her piece. She’s surprised by her friend’s outburst - it was only yesterday that Y/N’s explained to her that she’s not willing to get herself out there just yet and she was rebuffed by promises of friends and possibilities. This mix of encouragement and relentlessness is nothing short of confusing. Especially since Y/N hasn’t even hinted at a potential romance with Steve.

“Ok, first of all, I want you to know that I agree with you. I’m not ready to get into another relationship right now, but I also want you to understand that I’m not going back to jumping into bed with guys I barely know. Look where that got me last time! Second, I didn’t tell you I saw Steve today because I want to be in a relationship with him. We just talked. As friends. Nothing more.”

They look at each other in silence for a few moments, a sense of uneasiness that Y/N’s never felt in the whole time she’s known Nat. There’s something odd about her reaction, but she can’t say what it is exactly. She guesses she can understand her friend’s protectiveness over Steve - after all, she knows all too well how much of a mama bear Nat can be with people she cares about, but isn’t she supposed to care more about what her best friend might want? Even if Y/N doesn’t want Steve, but it’s the principle of it!

“Right.” Nat mutters. “Well, I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Nat, I’m not doing anything. I barely talked once with the guy by accident.”

This is getting ridiculous.

“Just remember that I don’t want to be involved in this.”

“There’s no this to be involved in!”

#steve rogers x reader #thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #series: of tinder dates & caramel macchiatos #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #thor odinson fanfiction #thor odinson fic

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ejzah · 4 years

Text

A/N: The next chapter of the Agent and the Lawyer. Loosely based off of Absolution. I’m trying something a little different with the structure and not following the episodes so closely.

***

The Agent and the Lawyer, Part 18

“We should run together every morning,” Deeks said as he and Kensi rounded a bend in his favorite beach side path. “There’s this great little convenience store where we can grab coffee and a mostly fresh donut. The coffee’s not great, but the owner is super nice.”

Beside him, Kensi was matching him stride for stride, her breath even despite the pace. She smiled at his description, shaking her head.

“It’s not a good idea to follow a particular routine. It’s too easy for your movements, habits, and location to be tracked,” she explained. He knew how important it was for the team to maintain relative anonymity, but sometimes he thought they all took it a little far.

“It’s just coffee Kens. I’m sure no one suspects me of being a big bad fed or cares where I go.”

“Don’t let Sam catch you saying that. He’ll rip you a new one.”

“So does that mean no coffee?” he asked. It was definitely a part of his routine and gave him the energy to run all the way back home. Kensi groaned and tossed her head back, but didn’t put up any further protest when he led them to Sandune Convenience store. “Hey Frank!” he greeted the owner, heading for the canisters of brewed coffee.

“Hi,” Kensi said, looking a little uncomfortable as she waited for Deeks to fill a paper cup for her. Frank shot them a curious look, but didn’t comment.

“I ran five miles today, Deeks told Frank. Kensi snorted at that and said,

“Uh, that’s a big fat lie, he ran three.”

“So rude,” he said, amused at how quickly Kensi had abandoned her reservations when given the chance to make fun of him.

“I thought you were buying me a donut,” she reminded him.

“Of course, my lady.” He grabbed two Boston Creams and an apple fritter because he knew from past experience that when Kensi finished hers, she’d likely try to steal part of his.

After chatting with Frank for a few more minutes-his oldest daughter would be graduating from high school soon-they headed back on to the path. Their pace was leisurely now as they munched on donuts and drank coffee. It was significantly more enjoyable with Kensi beside him.

“Hey Marty!” A woman called out as she ran by. Deeks waved back without thinking.

“You know, if I was the jealous type, I might be worried about all the women who know you, wherever you go,” she said, gesturing with her cup.

“What can I say, I’m a friendly guy,” he said with a shrug, grinning around the rim of his cup. It was adorable when she got jealous.

“Mm, be careful you don’t friendly yourself into singledom.” He rolled his eyes at her warning and nudged her with his shoulder.

“Oh, come on, Kensalina, you know I would never cheat on you.”

“I would hope not,” Kensi said, looking a little uncertain. “You would certainly regret it if you did.”

“I would never,” he repeated seriously. “You have my promise. I’m not that kind of guy.” He saw her cheeks flush a little and she glanced away as an awkward silence grew between them.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and Kensi reached for hers, seeming grateful for the distraction.

“Hey Eric,” she said. “Uh-huh. Ok, we’ll be there in a bit.” Deeks heard the faint sound of Eric’s voice raise in a question. “Oh, yeah, I promised Deeks I’d pick him up.” She forced a laugh and hung up quickly.

“Smooth,” Deeks teased.

“Shut up. Hetty wants us in OPS. Something to do with a dead antiques dealer.” She tossed her trash in a nearby can and then bent down to tighten a shoelace. As she stood back up, she turned to face Deeks, her expression playful. “I’ll race you back.”

Not waiting for him to respond, she took off at a sprint, her delighted chuckle floating behind her.

“Man, you are so whipped,” he said with a smile as he tossed his own cup and followed after.

***

“Where’s Deeks?” Callen asked when Kensi walks into OPS about an hour later. After they got back to his house, they’d made out in Deeks’ garden for several long minutes. Kensi had been highly tempted to call off work and finish what they’d started a couple weeks ago. Common sense had prevailed and she’d reluctantly left before she took Deeks up on his offer to join him in the shower.

She didn’t mention that to Callen though and shrugged.

“He got called into the office for a last minute legal emergency,” she explained.

“What exactly qualifies as a legal emergency?” Sam asked.

“He mentioned something about a CPS case that isn’t going well. He’ll come as soon as he can.”

She found herself turning to make comments to Deeks more than once while Eric, Hetty, and Nell explained who Sebastian Renner was. It felt weirder than she expected without Deeks by her side. She’d grown used to his comments and, often, inappropriate jokes, as well as his unique insight into cases.

***

Kensi smiled involuntarily when she walked back into the bull pen a couple hours later and saw Deeks sitting at his desk.

“So what’d I miss? he asked.

“Our victim, Sebastian Renner, was an arms dealer, a bunch of spies from other countries are now vying for his black book, and Hetty has an ex-German Police officer named Branston Cole, who might have pertinent information,” she summed up. Deeks looked a little stunned for a second and then nodded.

“Wow, this is the last time I take a morning off. You guys bring out the fun cases when I’m gone.”

“Well, now you get to join the fun too,” she said with a smile, grabbing her gun and slipping it into her waistband. Deeks hadn’t passed his firearms training yet, so he just watched. “Callen and Sam got chased out of Renner’s home by his dogs earlier. Now that they’re gone, Hetty wants us to see if we can find anything else.”

“So did you make it here on time this morning?” he asked, smirking at her. “You seemed a little disorganized and, uh, distracted when you left my place.” She smiled sweetly, pretending she wasn’t currently remembering the feel of his chest, damp with sweat, pressing into hers.

“I made it just fine,” she answered. “How was your shower?” Her voice was innocent, but she let her eyes drop a bit lower than was strictly polite.

“It was cold. Very cold.” Kensi snickered at that as they walked out.

***

“M-O-U-S-E?” Kensi said scathingly as she finished cuffing the two men she and Deeks had just fought. She rifled through one’s suit pocket and found a DGSE ID.

“What was I supposed to say?” he asked. “I’m not and Agent and I’m not LAPD. You guys were shouting out your little acronyms and I felt left out. Which, reminds me, why the hell did you kick an NSA Agent in the groin?”

Kensi let out an irritated sigh and showed him the ID.

“He’s French Intelligence, Deeks. He was lying.”

“You couldn’t have possibly known that though.”

“I had a hunch,” she said with a shrug. Deeks made an outraged sound.

“A hunch. You don’t kick a guy in the nuts over a hunch!” He felt a little nauseous at the thought and resisted the urge to cover his crotch.

“I recognized his accent. It’s not American.”

“He didn’t have an accent,” Deeks said, horrified for the agent who was slowly gaining consciousness.

“I’m trained in linguistics, Deeks. I know the difference between French and English speech patterns,” she insisted.

“You’re insane.”

“Deeks, you’re acting ridiculous.” He ignored her, shaking his head.

“Sometimes it’s like I don’t even know you.”

***

Kensi watched Deeks from a few feet away. She couldn’t tell what he was saying, but his lips were split in a wide smile as he chatted with Sam and Callen several seats away.

They’d successfully apprehended a German spy named Matthias and the FBI and NSA were looking for the rest of the spies. They’d had to leave Deeks behind since he wasn’t authorized to carry a weapon.

Now they were at a nearby bar, per Deeks suggestions and on his dime. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. After a few drinks, Nell challenged Eric to a pool game and had even shed the little sweater she wore of her think strapped dress. There was definitely something going on there.

The combination of Deeks’ considerable charm, which he was working to it’s full limits, and large amounts of alcohol both had even Callen and Sam more at ease than she’d seen them in a while.

Deeks noticed her watching and headed her way. He looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

“Nicely done,” she complimented him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said innocently.

“You know that once they sober up, they’re still going to ride you.” He groaned, dragging out a stool to sit next to her.

“Yeah, well, unfortunately I can’t use the same methods I used with you,” he pointed out. Kensi rolled her eyes.

“Oh, you are way too full of yourself,” she said. He chuckled, resting his hand on the middle of her back. He probably did it without even thinking, but Kensi tensed immediately. She roughly pushed his hand away, glancing around to see if anyone had caught Deeks’ slip.

Fortunately they all were occupied and she let out a slow breath of relief. Beside her, Deeks had gone silent, making her belatedly regret her hasty actions.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. He scratched at jaw, not meeting her eyes, which always a bad sign. “I just didn’t-“

“No, it’s ok. I get it.”

“The team is here and we agreed not to...” she trailed off awkwardly as Deeks filled in.

“Yeah, no, we agreed to keep out relationship quiet. I just forget sometimes.” He sighed, the sound heavy. Kensi looked down for a second, pressing her lips together as she tried to think of some way to brighten the mood again.

“You want to come over tonight when we’re done here?” she asked as a form of peace offering. So far she hadn’t let him past her living room and that was only after she hastily straightened everything. Deeks allowed a tiny smile, clearly realizing her attempt to apologize without actually apologizing.

“I would, but I have to work on that pro bono case. It’s a mess,” he said. Kensi wasn’t sure if it was a convenient excuse, but she felt a small sinking in her stomach.

“Ok,” she said in a small voice.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“Sure.” She tried to tell herself she was overreacting, but couldn’t help notice the distance Deeks kept between them for the rest of the night.

***

A/N: Ooh, unexpected drama. Don’t worry, I don’t plan to have anything terrible happen.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #sam hanna #g Callen #au #the agent and the lawyer #part 18 #densi #absolution #ejzah fanfiction

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kamenriderlogik27 · 3 years

Text

Power of Heroez: Chapter 2

Using the Denden sensor was being proved somewhat difficult at the moment. For each corner Hidari Shotaro and Ai turned, there would always be someone to fight. Be it Masquerade Dopants, the weird mechanical security guards, or even large drones that shot lasers at you if you weren’t quick enough.

After running (and fighting) through a few more blocks, however, the two came upon a building that Ai identified as the ‘Visitor Center’.

“This place might hold the clues you are searching for.” Ai suggested. “Everyone who visits this island must come to this center in order to obtain an ID.”

“So, everyone on this island has visited this place at least once, huh.” Shotaro hummed.

“If possible, we might even be able to trace the movements of the chips that are planted inside the IDs.” Ai added.

Shotaro’s eyes widened at this information. “I see! We might be able to track down Professor Aida’s whereabouts! Nice one, Ai! Let’s hurry and see what we can do!”

The two rushed towards the entrance only to find that it was locked. “I’m afraid that we won’t be able to enter without proper clearance.” Ai informed after scanning the door.

Shotaro cursed. “Looks like we’ll have to find another way in.”

“It seems there is an underground parking lot that connects to Visiting Center just over there.” Ai said, motioning towards what looked like an opening to a tunnel.

“Alright. Let’s go check it out.” Shotaro sighed, knowing that he would have to fight something or someone again real soon.

Oh, how right he was. The underground parking lot entrance was surrounded by security.

Shotaro sighed... again. He was starting to get a bit tired from all the non-stop fighting and his muscles still ached with pain from getting knocked out by the large entity. But, he knew that he couldn’t stop now.

“Ai, stay behind me while I take care of this.” Shotaro commanded, stretching out his sore arms. Then he rushed over, and punched the first Masquerade Dopant that he could see.

As he was in a hurry, he tried to keep each fight as short as possible. After he defeated the guards at the entrance, Shotaro and Ai kept going through the parking lot as fast as they could, with Shotaro defeating anyone that got in their way. Thankfully, a few good things came out of choosing this route. They were able to come across one of the other Memory Gadgets- Batshot, which they used to get a Gaia memory after seeing it on a ceiling light fixture. Luckily, the memory happened to be Philip’s Cyclone memory. (Shotaro did however, low-key question why this memory was in the city and not with Philip. But that question would have to wait for now.)

“Perfect!” Shotaro exclaimed excitedly. “Now Philip and I can transform into Kamen Rider W!”

“Kamen Rider W?” Ai repeated, curiously. “As in.... the hero that saved Fuuto?”

This piqued Shotaro’s curiosity a bit. “Hm? Do you know us?”

“I’m sorry.” Ai apologized. “I seem to, but I have no memory as to why.”

“Hmmm...” Shotaro hummed, before tying the Cyclone memory to Batshot and sending it off to the agency. Philip will be delighted to have it back. The two then continued on into the entrance of the building. Shotaro was slightly relieved as there wasn’t anyone in sight that he would have to fight, which means he could take a momentary break.

Leaning against the wall, but still alert, Shotaro allowed himself to take a few deep breaths as he waited for Philip to reconnect with him. Given the fact that Fuuto was right by Sector City-and that Batshot was a pretty fast flyer- it didn’t take too long.

“Yo, Shotaro.” Philip greeted after they transformed back into Kamen Rider W. “I’m glad to see you well. But what happened after we were forced out of our transformation?” “Hey, Philip.” Shotaro scratched his cheek. “Well, it’s a bit of a story, that’s for sure.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Shotaro?” Ai interrupted before the conversation could continue. “What is this voice?”

“Oh right! I should introduce you!” He held up his left hand to his right side. “This is my partner, Philip! Philip, this is Ai. She’s been helping me solve this case so far.”

“Hello. I am Ai. I am a navigational artificial intelligence system made for Sector City.”

“An artificial intelligence system... I see. That must be why your name is Ai.” Philip mused softly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ai.”

“Ah! I never realized that it was a play on words...” Shotaro mumbled in shock. But before Philip could tease him about it, Ai jumped up with alarm.

“My sensors are informing me of a possible enemy presence!”

“Well, Philip.” Shotaro sighed. “Looks like explanations will have to wait for now. We need to hurry and find more data on Professor Aida before it’s too late.”

“Alright.” Philip responded as they started running up the stairs. According to Ai’s data log, they had to climb up a few flights in order to get main office of the building. Thus the trio run up the stairs as fast as they could. If any security got in their way, they would just quickly knock it out and move on. When they finally arrived at the correct floor, they followed Ai until she stopped in front of a set of doors.

“There is a response emanating from this room.” She informed.

“A response? As in someone is in there?” Shotaro asked. “Are they a friend or foe?”

“I guess we’ll find out in a second.” Philip answered, as they reached for the handle and slowly grabbing it. Jolting the door open, W rushed inside, bracing for any sort of attack that might come their way. However, no attack came. The room was empty except for a tall figure, standing near the windows. The two stood there in shock as the figure turned to look at them.

“ Nasca!?” Philip gasped.

Sonozaki Kirihiko, the Nasca Dopant, was standing in front of them seemingly strong, healthy... and alive.

“It’s been a long time, Kamen Rider.” Kirihiko greeted ever so elegantly. “I assume that you’re here to look for Gaia memories like this one, correct?”

Alarmed, Shotaro and Philip watched quietly as Kirihiko lifted up his hand to show off the Heat memory he had somehow obtained. Shotaro kept looking from the memory to Kirihiko. Even after about ten years, the image of a beaten up Kirihiko was still fresh in his mind. This couldn’t be the same person... could it?

“A-are you.... are you really, Kirihiko?” Shotaro finally asked.

“Excuse me.” Ai interrupted quietly. “Are you two acquainted with this person?”

“Yes.” Shotaro answered. “Sonozaki Kirihiko. The two of us equally had a love for Fuuto and wanted to protect it.”

“However.” Philip added, gravely. “He’s supposed to have died ten years ago.”

Sensing alarm and confusion from the two, Ai quickly scanned the mysterious Dopant. “I am detecting a powerful Core Energy response from this person!”

“Hey!” Shotaro pointed at the Dopant. “Answer me! Are you really Kirihiko?!”

For a moment, Kirihiko didn’t respond. The silence only aggravating Shotaro even more. “Say something!” He demanded, to which the Dopant finally complied.

“I am nothing but a dead man.” Kirihiko replied. “I have no intention of saying anything... at the moment. For now, I must fight you.”

Shotaro clicked his teeth. “Looks like we have no choice.”

The fight with Kirihiko was anything other than simple. Fast fists punched the other, quick steps dancing across the floor to help dodge. It almost seemed as if they were only sparring playfully and yet, also looked as if they were trying to kill each other. Ai, who watched on with enough amazement that a robot could project, was having trouble analyzing who would end up victorious. However, as W kicked Nasca, the impact seemed to... affect him in some way, causing him to pause. Despite Philip taking notice in this, Shotaro-his eyes and heart only focused on the fight- ran at Kirihiko with his arm raised. Kirihiko’s focus was back to the fight now as he too started running at W, however, he raised nothing. This allowed W to land a punch hard enough to send Kirihiko flying back until he hit one of the large windows.

“You were as strong as I remember.” Kirihiko gasped. “This... is for the best.”

His last sentence was hushed in a whisper, yet Shotaro and Philip still heard him.

“You... You did this on purpose...?” Shotaro cried. “But... Why?!”

“It looks like I’ve no time to explain.” Kirihiko winced. Feeling the glass cracking even more from his weight. “But, please... tell me one thing.

“Does the same wind still blow... in Fuuto?”

The question was odd yet felt so ordinary for the detectives. Shotaro nodded.

“Yes. They haven’t changed at all since you left.”

“I see.” Kirihiko smiled behind his mask. “Then... I will continue to entrust the future of Fuuto... to you.”

Suddenly, as the window could no longer hold the Dopant up any longer, the glass shattered, causing Kirihiko to fall backwards into the depths of the concrete city below.

“I’m so... glad.” Kirihiko uttered to himself before letting gravity to do its work.

“No!” Shotaro yelled as he watched the Dopant fall to yet another death. But it was too late for him to do anything. Guilt and frustration rushed through his heart. He growled, punched the ground, and yelled out “Kirihiko!!” one last time.

Philip was quiet through all of this, knowing that Shotaro needed some time to let everything out before calming down.

“Shotaro...” Philip spoke after a few quiet minutes.

“Yeah.” Shotaro whispered. “Ai, you said that you had detected a strong Core Energy response from Nasca, right?”

“Yes.” Ai confirmed. “The response I detected was extremely high.”

“What do you think about that, Philip?” Shotaro hummed.

“Considering all that we’ve seen so far...” Philip started. “The X symbol, suggesting that Foundation X is involved, along with the revival of dead Dopants... research about the mysterious Core Energy... This whole case is becoming quite intriguing.”

Shotaro stretched out their arms and sighed. “It feels like to me that the winds of this town are howling for our help, partner.”

Philip agreed. “There are some dark secrets in this city. And Ai...”

He turned their head to look at the robot. “Are you really who you say you are?”

This would have alarmed Shotaro, however, he’s been used to Philip’s tendency to suspect everything relating to a case.

“Nothing she has done so far has been suspicious.” He informed his partner, calmly. “Plus, she is our client. A detective has to have faith in his clients. If we start to suspect Ai... then how can Ai have any faith in us?”

Philip chuckled, shaking their head. “As always, you really are too trusting.”

“Faith...?” The two heard Ai repeat the word as if hearing it for the first time.

“That’s right.” Shotaro said, confidently. “I have faith in you, Ai. So, I’m gonna count on you to have faith in us, ok?”

“I understand.” She replied. “I will do my best to justify this ‘faith’ you have shown me.”

“Ok.” Shotaro smiled. “Now! We have the Heat memory back in our hands. So, all we have to do know is keep on moving. “

“The ID registration terminal is nearby.” Ai informed. “We will be able to check Professor Aida’s data there.”

With Ai leading them again, the trio headed out of the room and further down the hallway to what looked like a large self-service station.

“Accessing guest data.” Ai announced as she began her scanning process. After about a minute, she said. “Professor Aida’s data... found. Professor Aida’s ID was processed exactly one week before the accident, as a top-level VIP.”

“A whole week before?” Shotaro asked. “Wow. She came here pretty early on then. And as a VIP no less.”

“According to the data, Professor Aida’s car is parked in the underground parking lot.” Ai continued.

“A Car... If we can access the navigation system, we might be able to locate where on the island she went...” Philip suggested.

“Alright!” Shotaro nodded. “Let’s go find that car!”

#kamen rider #kamen rider w #kamen rider ooo #kamen rider zero one #hidari shoutaro #philip #kamen rider accel #terui ryu #kamen rider birth #kamen rider birth prototype #date akira #shintarou gotou #hiden aruto #fanfiction #kamen rider memory of heroez

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spacebookettes · 3 years

Text

Anomaly

Pompeii

“She’s found another one”

Some of the petrified ash people are kept hidden. The ones with iphone 12s. The Archaeologist kept finding them. One of the other archaeologists plugged his iphone 8 charger into the iphone 12 locked in the grip of an ancient long dead hand. The others turned to look at the archaeologist that keeps finding the ones with iphone 12s. “Should we suggest she works somewhere else. I mean she can’t be putting them there, these iphones haven’t been released yet. The face id won’t work.”

“Maybe she could do some paper work for a bit.”

“what are we supposed to do?”

Carbon dating suggests the iphones are ancient... but still working?

The archaeologist did that funny itchy nose thing and scratched her head. They all turned to face her. Sure enough there it was, when they looked to her feet, the futuristic corner of an iphone 12 and a silent hand.

The archaeologist is young, nothing so bizarre has ever happened to her before. She longed for something to happen before the iphone 12s. She had chosen human history, she felt learning about the lost times would be fascinating. Now all the iphone 12s were the wrong time and all different times. The dates were the future though. Only a few years. The Archaeologist reached down and said Hey Sissy. The phone lit up and the familiar famous voice said calling Dan. The phone rang and rang. Then someone answered. Hello is Dan there the Archaeologist asked. Dan was the name of her partner. Dan answered “where have you been and who’s is this number" the Archaeologist answered she was still in Pompei. “Pompeii" “why did you run away from me" she asked when?

“what’s going on?” the Archaeologist didn’t know how to explain. She asked what date is it? Dan answered “24th of August.” It was the 24th of August. The Archaeologist asked what year. “what do you mean what year? 2023 of course.” It isn’t 2023 she thought. But the anniversary of the destruction was today she also thought. How could she explain any of this to Dan. She didn’t have to, the phone went silent, the screen switched off. No power. How could she explain this to the Archaeologists. She didn’t have to; all the iphone 12s rang at once, just once.

“Who were you talking to on that iphone?”

She just looked at them.

“look something is going on here and you are at the centre of it! I do not know what , but i think you need to leave! Who did you speak to on that phone?” she answered Dan.

Part 2

You would think an Archaeologist would like time travel; but this one didn’t. In fact she detested time travel fiction. Though she loved sci-fi. The iphone 12 time travel was not the worst though, she was intrigued. The Archaeologist had kept the number of the outgoing iphone 12 that had rang Dan. She had time to look through the contacts and there in the middle was a giant ME. She rang it, no one answered. It was still the anniversary of the original catastrophe at Pompeii. She waited until the right time and rang the phone again... this time someone answered. They were speaking Latin. She quickly translated yoo ef o. The voice kept repeating it. The phone went silent. So was the Archaeologist.

She rang Dan, but quickly hung up. How could she cope with speaking to the past present Dan now. It was all so mystifying. Somehow she was linked to some phones from the future getting into the hands of an about to be dead people of the past and now (or then) aliens maybe involved. ‘something some aliens did in the past caused iphone 12s to manifest in the past and perhaps caused the eruption at Pompei.’ Saying it all out loud managed to coalesce the tale into something more manageable... fractionally.

I don’t know where to go with this.

The Archaeologist went to the south of France, she just sort of found herself there. Not knowing what to do, the Archaeologist just did anything. She sat in the sun. Had a few drinks and ignored the texts from past present Dan. It actually felt good somehow to have a break from it all; she had no choice anyway: but it felt good. She wished all crises were this pleasant. You can’t really make a plan in a situation like this she thought; so she didn’t.

Little did the Archaeologist know, but Dan had hired someone to find her.

When she saw Dan the Archaeologist ran away.

To Malta.

Infact the Archaeologist kept running away, she travelled the world. The job kept paying her for some reason, she suspected to keep her away... so she kept away.

The Archaeologist's nose itched and she rubbed her head. She was in south Korea. As she looked at her phone a little banner ad for the new iphone 12.

Should she buy one, would the universe come to an end if she did. ‘you’re not that important.’

The Archaeologist had to wait to buy one, a few weeks. She opened the sleek box took out the white iphone 12. (Swearing She'd orded a black one) Put her sim card inside (she had changed numbers on her travels) turned on the iphone 12 and waited. The Archaeologist didn’t start the phone from backup, a total new start she felt. Nothing.

NOTHING happened, no one rang, no one texted. No one from work had been in contact. She was still getting paid. Nothing. She thanked the aliens and carried on travelling.

2023 the Archaeologist could not resist a visit to Pompeii... she wasn’t going to go; but somehow, without much thought, made her way there. She couldn’t face her colleagues. It was dark as she approached the secured site. No access possible.

In two days the 24th August.

What happens next.

Nothing for two days then on the morning of the 24th a notification wakes the Archaeologist up. A news article all the team working on Pompei have disappeared. The breaking news of the day spread around the world slowly, without much fuss. Another strange anomaly in these bizarre times.

The Archaeologist rang all her colleague’s numbers, sent texts, asked other’s she knew connected to Pompeii. Nothing. She was still in Italy. No point going anywhere near Pompeii. She texted the number she dare not. The one from the iphone 12 that called Dan. Nothing. She realised at that moment that back then, that iphone 12 had been white and had face unlocked for her allowing her to find it’s number. A text blinked onto her phone. She had sent it to herself. Now she called Dan. Nothing. No answer. The iphone 12 rang it was her name ringing. She gingerly answered but the phone rang off. A voicemail pinged on screen.

The Archaeologist went on with her travels. She dare not listen to the message left on her phone. She dare not delete it either.

I don’t know where to go.

Home looked different. It had been a few years. She didn’t have much family to miss her. The friends had tried to keep in touch but she had drifted away from them. She'd made sure an aunt had been kept in the know. But she had not told anyone about the iphone 12s. This mystery kept fueling her seclusion. Powered her constant travel. The bizarreness kept her life. She had the excuse of the anomaly to disengage. Or re-engage in this new direction. She didn’t want to hear the saved voicemail. It might mean she had to re-engage with what ever reality was now. Something had split. Something meant she split from her path. Something happened in Pompeii those years ago. She was supposed to disappear with her colleagues. She was supposed to be petrified. But she was really here. Her own life, she could do anything. She’d been everywhere. She’d eaten all the yummy food. She’d slept with some yummy people of all the countries of the world. Seen what the bees everywhere look like. Giant black ones were her favourite. A little disk shape skirted around the sky; it seemed to be searching. She thought perhaps for her. So she turned around and walked in the opposite direction and kept going.

By Peter Stringer

Artificial

Little Winter Beach City, is in not on the coast.

The small artificial sunshine globes dotted around the city have winter beaches (no seas). Its warm sand is warm enough to sunbathe in your trunks. Just don’t wander too far from the globes or you’ll catch pneumonia. There are winter beach parties of barbecues and Frisbee. Bring your Kindle 400 with holographic cut scenes. NO cocktails for obvious reasons. STRICTLY no drunks for the reason of the disaster the first year made for. So no security.

By Peter Stringer

Giant Moths

The red laser light edges occasionally flicker as though un-serviced. A deep crimson sign glows at all edges and surfaces, apart from a black silhouette, a moth on one side. It’s an old style sign and sways a little when windy. It isn’t windy right now in the super city. An older lady has seen the sign many times... many times because she keeps visiting this dark part of the super city. The older woman circled this detached ginormous Monumental un-serviced rectangular cubed building. No signs of life. On a nearby, also detached ginormous monumental, the older lady has attached a small sensor to keep an eye on the tiny door under the moth. Nothing has ever been seen by the older woman through her secret sensor. The door never opens.

The older woman is watching the little screen on her arm as she likes to do from time to time. It flickers for a moment and the lady thought she just caught site of an arm disappearing where the small door is now closed. Older lady played back the footage, there was no arm.

Older lady spent hours searching her archives of moth door footage for any signs of flickers. In fact she ordered the arm screen to search for any moments of flicker. It finds five, she plays them all for signs of arms. Nothing. Someone has duped her she feels. Someone clever. No one had ever circumvented the older ladies technology before. The cloaking device attached to her little scanner on the opposite building, obviously wasn’t enough to fool who ever went into that building.

It is a year before. The older lady had walked past the moth door many times and never given it much thought. One afternoon while snuggling down in bed, the older lady was half dreaming of a lonely butterfly trapped in a box. She woke with a gnawing thought about the moth door.

Now the older lady tapped into the live feed of an orbiting future satellite, she zoomed in to the moth door. And was aghast to see a figure entering the door. The figure stops as the door opens and looks back and upward, looking directly into the viewer of the satellite above. The screen flickers.

The person in the doorway looked biologically male. Slender with a strangely grey complexion. The clothing was none descript. Inside the doorway older lady had noticed a hazel light flickering. The lady felt vulnerable. She remotely destructed the sensor on the opposite building... useless anyway.

Older lady went about her technology business as normal; she no longer walked past the moth doored building. Older lady regularly checked and rechecked her backup systems and channels. No sign of anything. Only the how was gnawing her: she dreamed of butterflies, giant butterflies in the giant cavernously hollow building, the butterflies were tattooed with futuristic circuit geometry. A low hazel light flickered over their scaly bodies. Older ladies subconscious was working on a problem that grew more difficult with each Flicker.

Every non descript male body that passed older ladies path caused moths in her stomach. Non had grey complexions thankfully.

Older lady had, by now, a few ideas about how the flickering and more importantly the satellite perception had been done. Some perception field surrounded the moth building and any nosiness could be automatically tricked. Something about the building it must be. Older lady rummaged in her junk room; a pair of real lens binoculars were retrieved. And from a suitable distance the moth building could be observed. Older lady switched off her augmented eyeballs and had a real look. The moth building looked a rather duller version than an augmented view... but it looked the same as always. Older lady focused the lenses onto one of the flickering red laser building edges. In between flickers she saw all manner of sensor equipment, things she felt were experimental; things she’d heard stories about and technology she felt looked very illegal. Things imperceptible to an augmented eye due to the flickering laser edges. But old school vision with the help of long distance lenses was a different story. Older lady retreated.

The lady knew that whoever owned that building, was serious.

The end

By Peter Stringer

#creative writing #art #book #scifi #fantasy book #short story #aliens #time travel #girly sci-fi #Archaeologist #pompeii

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psycho-slytherin · 4 years

Text

Last words

You go undercover and encounter the last thing you’d expect as an assassin– competition.

Pairing: Spy!Jungkook x Assassin!Reader

Genre: Angst, idiots to idiots 

Warnings: Strong language, violence, murder 

WC: kill me 8.9k 

|mlist|

“Please let me go. Please! I have a family! My husband, my daughters…” tears stream down your target’s face as he struggles with his restraints.

“Your family isn’t paying me,” you reply, finger twitching on the trigger. Why is he trying to evoke sympathy? You don’t do sympathy, and you certainly don’t let targets go.

“I-If it’s money you want, I’ll pay!”

You lower the muzzle. “How much?”

“Uh, twenty thousand? Please, just spare me!”

You suck on your teeth, raising the gun again. “No can do, they’re paying me more.” Maybe if he’d suggested an offer worth considering, you’d take longer to think about it. As it is...

“Wait-” But the man is cut off when you pull the trigger, and a neat hole appears in his head. His lifeless body slumps forward, but given that he was already on his knees he doesn’t have far to fall. The range was close enough that your bullet went right through him, and you pick it up with gloved hands. It’s always a good idea to collect whatever evidence you can.

People seem to think that a person’s last words are thoughtful, deep, artistic. You’ve been present for a lot of last words, and they’re rarely beautiful. Usually wait or no or fuck you. There’s little glamour in your line of work– unless your clients pay extra.

You pad downstairs. The old warehouse you brought him to is scheduled to be demolished in five hours. Another clean hit, and some good commission.

~~~ Three weeks later

“What’ve you got for me?”

You can hear AD typing quickly over the phone. “You’re in luck. Where are you?” Code for new assignment. Are you alone?

“I’m safe.” You’re staying at a farmhouse, far from civilization as you wait for your next hit. No cameras, no mics, no company.

“Alright, name’s Bang Si-Hyuk, he goes by ‘Hitman’ Bang ‘cause he plays dirty with his guards. He hires killers-turned-security, and he’s always surrounded. The man’s got half the underground– and way too many politicians– in his pocket.”

“Dude. Are you giving me an assignment or a goddamn death sentence?”

“It’s a forty-five thousand dollar job. What are you gonna say to that?”

You whistle. Your assignments usually range from fifteen to thirty thousand– above forty is halfway to ridiculous. “Yes sir.”

AD chuckles. “That’s what I thought. We’re gonna send an anonymous death threat his way so he starts hiring again– you’re playing bodyguard, got it?”

“I got it. Rough-and-tumble.”

“Yep. Your character is basically gonna be you, but lamer. We’ve got documents and ID waiting for you at the drop location. Your interview is this Friday, dress code is mean. I’m sending all the info to your phone.”

“Sounds good. How long will this take me?”

“However long it takes for you to get close to Hitman. Y/n, be careful, okay? You’re gonna be surrounded by a lot of professionals with your background. You have to confirm Hitman was your kill, so don’t let anyone get to him first. And you can’t afford to let your cover slip.”

You scoff. “When have I ever let my cover slip, AD?”

“Just take care. If you get hurt, I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces, figuratively or otherwise.”

~~~ Friday

“Next!”

You stand and stalk into the gym. It’s empty, save for two men sitting behind a desk and a gigantic guy in the boxing ring.

“Name?”

“Kang Soo-Jin.”

“Yeah, we got her,” one of the men says, shuffling some papers. “I thought she’d be bigger.”

“I thought she’d be a man. So, Kang,” the first man looks you up and down from over sunglasses. “What’ve you got?”

“I was a killer-for-hire for five years,” you recite in a bored voice. You’re using enough of your real life to ensure your character’s authenticity, but not so much that they’ll recognize your reputation. “Forty confirmed kills. Turned to security after a jail scare. I’m fluent in six languages, and I can bullshit my way through four more. Trained in multiple martial arts– fighting dirty’s more fun, though– and ‘bout every weapon I could get my hands on. I’m educated enough to talk smarts and lived on the streets enough to talk shit. What else you wanna know?” Technically your kill count is sixty-two, but you’re supposed to have retired from the life you’re leading now. Like AD said– yourself, but lamer.

Sunglasses flips through your profile. “Can you fight in that outfit?”

You’re wearing black boots, sweatpants, and a longsleeve with a leather jacket. Gotta look the part, and the dress code was mean. “Better than anyone.”

“You’re confident, girlie. Prove it. Get into the ring.”

Thanks to AD, you knew this would be part of the interview. You’re not worried– you’ve been fighting men bigger and stronger than you since you were a kid.

“Are you armed?” Sunglasses asks as you shrug off your jacket.

“Is that a trick question?”

“Very funny, girlie. This is hand-to-hand only. No guns, no knives. No tasers or other bullshit.”

In view of the three men, you remove two handguns from their hidden holsters and a knife from a sheath on your hip. You’ve got another knife on your thigh, but they don’t need to know about that. You slip into the ring, stretching your arms above your head to loosen up.

“Alright, Kang, let’s see what you can do. No killing, try not to break any bones– besides that, fuck shit up.” Sunglasses signals, and the giant in the ring stomps towards you.

He’s big and strong. You’re small and fast, and unarmed.

“If you can’t win, run. If you can’t run, hide. If you can’t hide, fight. If you can’t fight, lie.” Such is the assassin’s motto.

Wasting no time, the giant swings a fist at you. You jump backwards, ducking and weaving around an onslaught of blows. This guy is trained, well enough that you can’t afford to slip up. Still, you’re not one to go all-out unless you need to; you need to fight just well enough to get hired, and badly enough that you can take your employers by surprise if you must.

The next time he throws out a hook, you duck and roll forward, ending up behind him. He turns around, shifting his weight onto one foot as he steps, and that’s your chance. You swing your leg down and around, connecting solidly with the back of his knee.

“Ugh!” With a grunt, he falls forward. Like any trained fighter would, though, he begins to rise right away. You know grappling is a big no-no for opponents bigger than you, but he’s right there, and given that you’re not allowed to put a blade in his back, it might be the quickest way of ending this performance. In the split second before he’s standing, you leap onto his back, scrambling until you’re sitting on his shoulders. You have to move fast– if you can’t neutralize him quickly, he can just fall backwards and pin you down, or grab your legs and launch you forward. You lock your legs around the giant’s neck and squeeze– it’s what you’ve nicknamed the Romanov chokehold, given how much the Avenger utilizes this inconvenient move.

The giant gasps for air, punching and slapping at your legs. You hiss, withstanding the blows of a struggling man. You can feel his strikes growing weaker as you keep up the pressure, squeezing your thighs tighter around his throat.

Are you actually going to win a fight with the Romanov chokehold? You’re gonna owe AD fifty bucks, dammit.

Suddenly, you feel the man’s arms snake upwards and grab your hands, which were locked under his chin. He pulls hard, yanking you off– you land flat on your back, the wind knocked out of you. You can hear Sunglasses and the other man chuckling. Ugh. You don’t like embarrassing yourself, but whatever it takes to convince them you’re not a threat.

If you can’t fight, lie.

You get up, chuckling ignoring your aching back. “Nice. I bet you win all your fights this easy, huh?”

The giant raises his fists, tensed, on guard. “You ain’t distractin’ me, girl.”

“Who says I’m trying to distract you?” You throw a quick punch, aiming right for the center of his face. Conventional deflections mean that he’ll parry to one side or the other. Lucky for you, he’s conventionally trained. As your fist glances off his block, you use the movement to grab his ear and pinch his earlobe between your nails. You’ve got a lot of experience with which body parts can withstand the most pain before there’s a protective reflex. Earlobes have one of the lowest thresholds, which means...

“Ah! What the fuck?” He claps his hand over his ear, forcing you to let go. Perfect. He’s right where you need him. With his arms raised to protect his sensitive ears, you have a chance to lunge forward. He might think you’re going for his eyes or throat, but you have another goal in mind.

You open your mouth and bite down hard on his bicep, your canines grinding together as though trying to meet through his flesh. You know from your training, and from personal experience, that biting this particular bit of skin and muscle hurts like a bitch. The giant roars in pain and stumbles in an attempt to pry you off of him, and you use his imbalance to grab his shirt and pull him backwards. He lands with a resounding THUD and, teeth still digging into his arm, you press your elbow into his throat, cutting off circulation for the few precious seconds that you need...to...win. As soon as his eyes flutter closed and his head falls back, you release your hold.

You climb out of the ring to see Sunglasses and the other man staring at you.

“I broke skin, you’re gonna want to make sure he gets that disinfected,” you supply, reaching for your jacket.

“You… you pinched and bit him. What kind of fighter are you?” Sunglasses scratches his head, his voice revealing disbelief.

“The kind that does what she has to do. You told me not to break bones or kill. All I did was fuck shit up.”

Sunglasses whistles. “Welcome to the team, Kang. You’ve got the job.”

~~~ Monday

You’re dressed in your new uniform. Sunglasses, whose name you’ve learned is Agent Jung, introduces you to “the team”: Agents Kim, Kim, and Kim; Agent Park; and Agent Jeon. Of course you’re the only woman on a seven-person team. In your line of work, that’s not uncommon.

“I’m in charge around here. That means I say jump, y’all ask how high, got it? Aight. Here’s the deal– three guards will be present with Mr. Bang at all times,” Agent Jung says. “The other four of you will be split into pairs to patrol the area. Six-hour shifts, and you will work two shifts per day. Agents Kim Taehyung, Park, and myself will take the first shift with Mr. Bang. Agents Kim Seokjin and Namjoon, take the east half of the estate. Agents Jeon and Kang, the west half. Stick together so nothing goes wrong. Meet back here in six hours to exchange posts. Dismissed.”

Dammit, how easy would it have been if you had the first shift with Hitman? It’s fine, you’ll just play along as a good guard until you can get closer to your target.

You follow Jeon through the labyrinth of a house, which seems more like a castle. Where is this guy getting his money?

“Okay,” Agent Jeon says, stopping suddenly. “Let’s split up.”

What? “Jung said not to.”

Jeon folds his arms, raising a brow. “And you’re going to obey?”

You exhale sharply. “I’m going to do the job I was hired to do.” Splitting up and disobeying on your first day will cast you under scrutiny and suspicion. You have to play the good girl for now.

“Whatever,” Jeon chuckles. “I’m going.”

“Really, dude? You’re gonna get me in trouble. At least wait for a shift when we’re not paired together.”

“Why should I care about a girl who can’t even fight?” Oy vey. Is he provoking you on purpose? “I can fight fine, man.”

“Prove it.”

Why is he challenging you? What is with him? “We’re on duty,” you snap. “Quit slacking off and let’s do the work we’re paid for.”

Jeon whistles. “Feisty.”

“Shove it up your ass, Agent. I don’t need another man telling me I’m in the wrong line of work.”

“Oh, so I’m just one in a long list of shitheads, huh?” Jeon leans against the wall. You remain standing straight up– you don’t know the last time you’ve let down your guard.

“You wouldn’t make top twenty,” you reply.

“Yeesh. I get the message. Well, since we’re gonna be stuck together for a while…” Jeon sticks out his hand. “Call me Jungkook.”

Unexpected. But okay. “I’m Soo-Jin. Are you new, too?”

“I’ve been here about a month. The longer you’ve been here, the more they trust you as one of the boss’s personal guards. Trust me, you’re gonna be stuck on perimeter patrol for a while,” Jungkook says, as though he knows what you’re thinking.

Dammit. This job is going to cost more time than you were hoping. Still, 45k, 45k, eye on the prize.

“So, six hours. Do we talk, or…?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Do you want to talk?”

“Not if you’re going to keep on with the misogynistic digs.”

“Gotcha, gotcha. Sorry about that,” Jungkook says, laughing as he raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll be less of an asshole, promise.”

You smirk, turning to scan the halls. “It’s so empty.” Two cameras on the eastern wall. A big mirror at the end of the hall– is it a two-way mirror? Probably. The ceiling is well supported by strong beams. You could probably escape to the roof if you needed to, but how much of an escape is that?

“So what’s your thing?” Jungkook asks suddenly, snapping you out of your stupor.

“What d’you mean?”

“I heard you’re an ex-assassin, and like, all of the best have a thing. Did you mark your bullets?” Jungkook taps his gun. “Were you a Robin Hood? Did you kiss all your victims?”

“Gross, man!” You laugh. Clearly the only experience he’s had with your line of work is through movies. Why’s this puppy working for Hitman? “No, I never kissed a dead body. Never stole from the rich and gave to the poor, unless the poor was yours truly and the rich were stubborn clients. And marking bullets messes with the aerodynamics.” You’re worried that you’re being too honest, telling him about your life– what if he’s an undercover cop? But Hitman’s men were double- and triple-checking applications, according to AD. Besides, Hitman has every police department in the area feeding from his hand.

“So what was your thing then? Did you have a signature?” In Jeon’s eyes you can see the excitement of a child.

“The best signature for someone like me is the lack of a signature. And what’s got you so happy?” You ask amusedly.

“Oh, I mean…” And Jeon’s voice has dropped again to that of a seasoned guard. “I grew up thinking I’d be a cop. Circumstances didn’t work out, and I landed myself a security job. I always wanted to do what you did, though. Never had the guts for it.”

“Trust me, it’s nothing to be jealous of.” You think of cold evenings on rooftops, unnerving undercover work, hopeless spirals with the monster in the mirror. “It means a lot of lonely nights.”

“Well, you won’t be so lonely anymore,” Jungkook says, before turning red. “Wait- that came out wrong. I’m not hitting on you, I swear!”

“Good, ‘cause you’d be doing a terrible job.”

“I’m a great flirt when I want to be,” he replies, his tone dramatic.

You snicker. “I’d take a page out of your book and ask you to prove it, but I’d hate to watch you embarrass yourself in front of a pretty girl.”

Jungkook whistles. “Did you just insult me and compliment yourself in the same sentence? It looks like I’ve met my match.”

Oof, cute and funny. And he hasn’t called you “girlie” once. You’d better end this before you let yourself get too carried away. It’s just a job, and he’s just an obstacle between you and your 45,000-dollar target.

“It looks like you’re slacking on the job, Jeon.” You’ve reached the end of the hall, and so you spin on your heel and begin marching back the way you came, scanning your surroundings. If another assassin got to Hitman first, your prize money and reputation would go down the drain. Play the character, don’t be suspicious, and don’t get attached.

“Sheesh, don’t be so uptight,” Jeon says, hurrying after you.

“Whatever, let’s just patrol.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jeon replies sarcastically.

The rest of the shift is spent in relative silence. After several hours, you and Jungkook head back to the main room to meet with the other agents. This transition period might be the best time for you to strike, you’ll have to mention that to AD.

The next shift is your break, and after commenting about how tired you are, you head ‘home’. That is, you drop your things at a safehouse, along with any identification, and change into civilian clothing: baggy, boring, anonymous. You fit your earpiece in and contact AD.

“Y/n?”

“AD, hi. I’m gonna scout the perimeter of the estate now, alright?”

“Keep me posted, I’ll be on the line.”

“Yep.”

It’s well past midnight when you arrive at the estate again. You always spend the first night on an undercover job toeing the property line, so to speak.

“It’s like robbing a bank,” you murmur as the house comes into view. “Only harder, ‘cause at least in a bank the only armed murderer is me.”

“Eyes on the prize, y/n.”

“Yeah, whatever. Cameras on the southern and eastern walls. The gate’s heavy– I could climb it, but…”

“Hitman got one of the best security firms in the country to rig it, that shit’s electric.”

“Right. The grass is soft, not a great sign… maybe if I wore the work shoes they gave me? I’m leaving footprints either way.”

“Those shoes are your size, and it’s not amateur hour ‘round here. Did you manage to get the WiFi?”

“They didn’t give it to us. But there’s a network called ‘Bang 5G’ so at least you know it’s there– hey!”

“Y/n? What’s going-” you don’t hear him, you’re too busy sprinting after a black-clad figure. With gloved hands, the person gets a grip and vaults clean over the gate, landing on their feet on the grass beyond.

“AD, someone just scaled the electrified fucking gate,” you pant. Even with gloves, that’s crazy.

“Go after them! You can’t let someone get to Hitman first.”

“How do I get over the gate?”

“I’m not the legendary assassin with sixty-two confirmed kills! Figure it out!”

“Dick.” You look around wildly– the gates are connected at the corners of the estate by brick pillars. Good. That’s something. You run at the pillar closest to you and leap, scrambling up and over it using only the power of adrenaline and your poor fingertips. You land hard, sinking into the soft grass of the lawn, and look up in time to see the figure running along the edge of the roof. How did he get up there? And where’s his climbing gear? The walls are smooth, vertical, with no handholds to speak of on the lower fifteen feet.

If you can’t get up, bring them down. You withdraw your handgun and line up your shot. You might not be an acrobat, but you can shoot.

You pull the trigger, the bringer of death a familiar weight in your hands. You don’t kill unless you’re paid for it, though. The bullet grazes your target and you see them stumble, clutching their side. With one backwards glance at you, they catapult themselves off the roof and land on their feet on the other side of the gate. What the fuck. What kind of strength does this person have?

“Y/n? I heard a shot, what’s going on?” AD speaks urgently into your ear.

“Abort.”

“What?”

You start running back to the gate. “Fucking abort, AD. We’re done for tonight. Someone else is after Hitman.” You launch yourself at the brick pillar and land hard on the sidewalk outside the estate.

“Shit. But we knew this could happen, he’s not exactly popular.”

“Fine, but tonight was supposed to be a casing night. My footprints are on the grass!”

You hear AD mutter something like “amateur” as he types. “Did you get caught on camera?”

“Probably? I also shot a guy, if that’s relevant.”

“It’s really not. Okay, I’m gonna hack into their system– which would be easier with the WiFi password, by the way– and keep you off the footage. Your excuse for your next shift is up to you. Take a couple hours and sleep it off, y/n. It’s not like you to be this reckless.”

“Fuck you.”

~~~ Six hours later

“Agent Jeon, Agent Kang, take the east wing of the estate. Dismissed.”

“C’mon, this way.” Jungkook leads you down a long corridor as you begin your next shift.

“Right.”

“Hey, you okay?” Jungkook looks at you with concern. “You seem tired.”

“Six hours of sleep will do that to a person, dude.” Six? Try three, if you got any at all. You’re exhausted, yeah, but you’ve never let that stop you from doing your job.

“Heh, yeah. This work schedule is intense, but the pay is good.”

“And not much seems to happen, huh?”

Jungkook shrugs, then seems to wince. “Not since I’ve worked here. We get trespassers sometimes, but they just leave when we tell them to.”

“You okay?”

Jungkook looks at the floor. “Yeah, turns out I fell asleep on top of my dog’s toy. The only time I get to sleep, and I wake up hurting like a bitch. How’s that for unfair?”

“Aw, poor baby.”

Jungkook pushes you playfully. “Hey!”

The contact sets your nerves on edge. Danger. You grab his outstretched arm and twist it behind his back, pressing hard enough to almost dislocate his shoulder, your vision is cloudy, tinged red–

“Ow! Kang– fuck! Soo-Jin!”

You blink once, twice. What… what are you doing? You release your hold on Jungkook; did you really just break character like that? No, wait, you can make this work. “I’m sorry– ah, shit.” You step back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…” Jungkook groans, rubbing his shoulder. “What was that?”

“Just an instinct. One of the leftovers from the person I used to be.” You avert your gaze, your body language ashamed. Jungkook seems to take the bait. But… how much can it count as bait, if it’s so true it hurts?

“Hey, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have startled you.” He flashes you a grin, and you feel your heart do something funny in your chest. “I can’t imagine the stuff you’ve been through.”

Why is he acting sympathetic? You don’t do sympathy. But yeah, getting closer to the other guards can’t hurt on a mission like this. You’re in this for the long haul, if last night’s acrobat doesn’t get to Hitman first.

“We’ve all got our own shit to deal with,” you reply.

“Well, if you ever need someone to talk to…” Jungkook shrugs, wincing again. “Goddamn Gureum, leaving his toy on my bed.”

You laugh. “I’ll keep it in mind, but I don’t think therapy will add to my intimidation resume.”

The hours pass quicker once you allow yourself to talk to Jungkook more. You know he has to be cold-blooded, and a skilled fighter, if he landed the job. But every time he laughs, every time he stares out into space and seems to forget even to breathe, you wonder where he hides his bloodlust.

“Damn, I never knew an assassin could have a sense of humor,” Jungkook says eventually. “None of the other agents here ever want to do anything except patrol.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” you say dryly, rolling your eyes. “That is our job.”

Jungkook sweeps his arm grandly, displaying the estate. It’s empty, save several guards. “Ah yes, look at the multitude of threats we face.”

You think of the acrobat from last night. “Right.”

“Anyways, wanna fight?”

For a second you think you’ve misheard him. “Excuse me? Haven’t we been over this?”

Jungkook shifts his weight, cracking his knuckles. “I heard you bit your way to a win during your interview.”

“So what?”

“I want to see your fighting style– c’mon, how does a professional assassin take someone out with teeth and claws? You’re not a cat, there’s gotta be something else to you.”

“I hate to break it to you, but there wasn’t a lot of close combat in my work. A good assassin never fights fair. And, if you haven’t noticed…” you step up close to him, your eyes only level with his collarbone. You’re so close you can hear his breathing become ragged, shallow, as you continue: “I’m small. Shooting from a distance, backstabbing, incapacitating my targets– that’s what people like me do.”

In truth, you’ve had your fair share of combat. But letting Jungkook see that side of you? Not a good idea.

“Then why quit?”

“What?”

“I get it– you’re an assassin, not a fighter. But why go into security?”

“I almost got caught,” you recite automatically. “My skills aren’t super transferrable– I didn’t have a lot of options.”

“Speak for yourself, I think you’d make a great birthday clown,” Jungkook laughs, and you smile along with him. Too bad he doesn’t know the real you– or maybe it’s a good thing. No one could love a monster.

You knew what you were getting into when you started down your path. You accepted that you’d be a changed woman– what you didn’t know was that your eyes wouldn’t be the same as they were before. Each time you see yourself anew, you confront the humanity that’s drained from your face. Your eyes have begun to resemble your targets’– dull, unfeeling, dead.

You’re a monster. A killer. You snuff out lives for money. There’s no going back to the girl you were, and no point in regret. And so each morning, you take a deep breath and lie. To yourself, AD, and everyone. It’s okay. I’m okay.

Fuck, maybe you should see a therapist.

After your shift, you spend the next six hours staking out Hitman’s estate. The acrobat doesn’t return, and you grind your teeth together with anxiety. “AD, did you see him on the footage that you hacked?”

“Just the mask. His body language is right-hand and left-leg dominant. This guy’s training is super unconventional; I haven’t seen that climbing style anywhere.”

“Ugh, so weird.”

“Says you.”

“Shut up, asshat.”

AD sniggers. “Look, you did shoot this guy today. Have you considered that you’ve either, like, injured him badly or scared him off?”

“No. He’s still around, and he’s going to try again.”

“How do you know?”

Because he’s like me. “I just do.”

You can almost hear AD’s shrug. “Aight, trust your instincts. Your next shift is soon, though. Better get ready.”

You groan. “This work schedule is brutal.”

“And you’re spending your time off stalking a ghost. Are you planning on getting any sleep?”

You hesitate a second too long. “Yes.”

AD sighs. “Take care of yourself, idiot. You can’t guard the house 24/7. You’re spending half the day working, remember?”

“That’s what I’ve got you for. Keep an eye on the cameras.”

“Get me the Wi-Fi password and I’ll think about it.”

You roll your eyes before heading back to your safehouse, changing, and returning for your shift. Here we go.

And there you went. The next week passes much in the same fashion– patrolling the wings of the vast estate for six or twelve hours, sleeping the bare minimum you need to survive, and returning to your target’s house to make sure the mystery acrobat doesn’t get to Hitman first.

You spend most of your patrol time with Jungkook; it makes sense, you’re the two newest recruits. For a security goon, he’s pretty funny. You’ve dealt with security guards in the past for your jobs, but most of your interactions involved them trying to kill you– or vice versa. For all that you’re undercover as Kang Soo-Jin, you’re actually enjoying spending time with Agent Jeon Jungkook.

“Why are you working for Mr. Bang?” You ask him on Monday morning. You haven’t spoken with Jungkook in a couple days, as you were paired with Agent Park for your last several shifts.

Jungkook cocks his head as you stroll together along the west side of the estate, a route you’ve already committed to memory. “What do you mean?”

It’s been bothering you for a while. “Mr. Bang tends to hire killers, mercenaries, people like… well, me. Why did you take this job?”

Jungkook chews on his lip thoughtfully as he stares out of the window. “I mean… the pay is good.”

You shove him playfully. “C’mon, man, there’s gotta be something else.”

“Alright, alright!” Jungkook raises his arms in surrender, laughing. “You know I wanted to be an assassin. I was too chicken, and never knew how to get started. When I heard about Mr. Bang, and his reputation, I applied because I wanted to meet people like you. I told Agent Jung I had lots of experience and loose morals, and bada-bing-bada-boom, I get hired.” He does what you assume would have been jazz hands, if not for the gun held tightly in his grip.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re such an idiot,” you snort. “When most people try to meet their idols, they go to concerts, not to a den of killers.”

“What can I say? It’s one of my many charms,” Jungkook replies, winking. Your heart does another thing in your chest. It reminds you of the feeling of jumping into a cold lake– as though your whole body has come alive.

You hope that once you carry out your mission, you won’t have to hurt Agent Jeon along the way.

“Hey, so…” Jungkook asks after several minutes of patrolling in silence. “What are you doing after your shift?”

“Huh?” For a second, you think you’ve misheard him. “You mean in the twelve hours until I have to be back?” You pulled a double shift– it’s nearing noon, and you’ve been working since midnight.

“Dummy, we don’t have work this weekend,” Jungkook says. “Mr. Bang is going on a business trip. Weren’t you paying attention during the briefing?”

Not even a little were you paying attention– you were too focused on escape routes. You might be able to drug his food? “Sweet.” And you mean it: With Hitman gone, you can catch up on sleep and plotting without having to worry about your competition.

“Anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out– y’know, outside of work? I really want to get to know you better.”

“Uh…” Huh? This isn’t part of your plan. You don’t hang out with targets during a mission. So you should say no, right? But… what harm can come from spending time with your coworker? After all, you are undercover. And if Hitman is leaving for the weekend…

You realize you’ve been silent too long when Jungkook begins to backtrack: “I mean- Soo-Jin, sorry, I wasn’t trying to imply– you know what, never mind-”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Wait, what?”

You allow your lips to curl upward into a smile. “Sure, why not?” There’s no way it can endanger your mission.

“Awesome!” Jungkook returns your grin enthusiastically, and for the rest of the shift he walks with a spring in his step. It would be endearing, if your heart weren’t frozen and locked in your chest. “Maybe we can do lunch or something. Is tomorrow okay? Do you want me to pick you up at your place?”

“No, that’s okay,” You say hurriedly. Definitely not, no one can know the location of the safehouse. “Lunch tomorrow sounds good, we can meet there.”

“Ah- okay, yeah.”

As your shift comes to an end and the guards reconvene, Agent Jung calls you to attention. “Aight, everyone. As you know, Mr. Bang will be going to the city tomorrow morning for a business meeting– the organization is providing its own security forces, so your services are unnecessary until Monday at 6am sharp. Understood?” “Yes sir!”

Tomorrow morning? Wait, that means you might have a chance to strike in the few hours before he leaves. You know the best time to strike any target is during a period of transition. While everyone is hurried, packing and organizing, Hitman will have his guard down.

Once you’re changed, you head out the door. Jungkook catches your eye and waves, and you feel your face heat up as you offer a cheeky salute in response. It’s not you’re fault, that toothy grin is so contagious.

Once you’re safely holed up at your base–

“AD, you there?”

“Sure am. What’s up?”

You walk calmly around the safehouse, marking things off your mental checklist. “I’m gonna go for it tonight.”

“Damn, that was fast. What’s going on?”

“We know the location of cameras and the guards’ schedules. Just cause I haven’t met the guy in person doesn’t make this too fast.” Ammo, rifle, scope, suppressor, stand– check. “He’s going on a business trip in the morning, and once he steps out of the house, that’s gonna be my best bet. Besides, now that I’m sure there’s someone else after Hitman, I gotta get to him first.”

“Sounds great. Where do I come in?”

“Can you get me satellite images of my cover options within, say, a kilometer of his door? I tried checking, but his house doesn’t show up on Google Maps. I need a roof where I won’t be interrupted.” You had hoped to pull the infiltrate-eliminate play, but if you have a chance to snipe the Hitman, you’re gonna take it.

“Classic. Yeah, I can do that. I’ll get his schedule too, lemme send that to you.” You hear AD typing quickly on the line. “There’s a car scheduled to pick up Hitman and Agent Jung at 5:30 in the morning.”

You glance at the clock. It’s 1:30 in the afternoon, which means you’ve got sixteen hours to plan your highest-paid killshot of the year.

Your security uniform shines like a beacon, draped over your chair. It’s a shame you won’t be able to make your lunch appointment with Jungkook tomorrow. You’ve got to be out of the city before Hitman’s body is even cold. Maybe in another life, you could have spent more than a week with the man whose company you find yourself enjoying increasingly each day.

“AD, let’s take a bit of a break after this one, okay?”

AD chuckles. “With a 45k job, you can take as long a break as you want. Good luck, y/n.”

You spend the afternoon organizing the hit, with AD’s help.

“Jeez, his security on this trip is a fucking brick wall,” AD groans in frustration. “Y/n, if you don’t make the shot when he’s leaving, you’re not gonna have another chance.”

“Mm.” You’re distracted, measuring the angles from a printout of your rooftop perch. AD secured you entrance to a quiet office building three blocks from Hitman’s estate. You’ll have to set up at the southernmost corner of the roof to have the biggest advantage. You’ll go there around midnight– you don’t want to give Hitman a chance to leave early.

Hours pass, and the clock ticks closer to midnight. “I’m headed out,” you say, hoisting your equipment over your shoulder.

“Cool. I’ve got one of my men on the door to the building– give him the password, and keep your head down. Take the stairs, the elevator is monitored. There’s a fire escape on the roof if you need to get down fast. Good luck, y/n.”

“Thanks.”

You arrive to the building with little trouble, your high-powered rifle concealed in pieces within a worn-out backpack.

You knock three times on the back door to the building, and immediately a man opens the door. “What do you want?” he growls. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Sorry, I’m lost,” you reply calmly. “I’m looking for the post office.”

The man gives you a quick once-over, eyeing your backpack appreciatively. “You can send letters from here,” he says, stepping back to let you in. You nod, pulling your hood lower over your eyes as you make for the stairwell.

Ten stories later, your legs are burning and your shoulders ache from the weight of your weaponry. But at least you’re on the roof, with a perfect view of Hitman’s brilliant estate.

“AD, come in.”

Your earpiece crackles to life. “Wassup?”

“I’m in position,” you reply as you unload your backpack and begin to fit your rifle together. “It’s gonna be quiet for a couple hours. Take a nap, man, you’ve earned it.”

At your words, you hear AD yawn. “Good idea. Talk to you later.”

The line goes dead as you finish setting up the rifle stand, careful to aim it so your bullet will strike Hitman as he leaves the house.

Deep breaths. It’s just another kill, just another target, and more money than you used to make in a year.

You settle in by your rifle for the five-hour wait. The cold bites deep into your bones– but at least it keeps you from dozing off.

Around three in the morning, you’re half present, half floating off into a world of your own creation, when a blur of motion darts across your line of sight. What? What? Something’s going on, what–

You press your eye to the gun’s scope, magnifying your vision. A figure creeping down the block, dressed in all black, their movements strong and familiar– the acrobat is back.

“AD?”

Silence on the line. He must still be asleep. You’ve got a couple hours before Hitman leaves, enough time to get this guy and return to the roof.

Grabbing your handgun and a dagger, you race for the fire escape, skipping steps, practically flying down the stairs. He’s got a headstart on you, but he’s injured. If your earlier bullet hit true– and it always does– too much exertion will reopen his wound. You’re a hyena, stalking your prey, wearing him down until there’s little work left for you to do.

Your target slows to a walk, still a block ahead of you as you reach the sidewalk, closing in on Hitman’s estate. Finally reaching the ground, and with your heart hammering in your chest, you duck behind a parked car and peek out. Has he seen you? You don’t have a mask, just your hoodie. He’s wearing a crude ski mask– covered except for his eyes and mouth. How unprofessional.

He continues walking, his body language relaxed. How can he be relaxed right now? You move from behind the car to the middle of the sidewalk, hiding in plain sight. You jam your hands in your pockets, letting your hair fall in front of your face as adopt a drunken stumble. If you can’t run, hide. You sense your target turn around and spare you a glance. All he’ll see, though, is intoxicated, unthreatening idiot. Your opponent ignores you and keeps walking, his left hand going up to clutch at his side. Bingo.

You continue trailing him, hanging back just far enough to not arouse his suspicion. Once he gets to Hitman’s estate, and to that electrified fence that he can somehow scale, you’re going to lose him.

You need another advantage.

You secret the knife from the sheath on your hip, subtly increasing your pace until you’re about twenty feet away from your target– about the farthest you’ll trust yourself to throw a knife accurately. He’s close, so close…

You whip your arm around and send the knife sailing. It flies through the air, headed right for his midsection, when suddenly… what?

Your target’s arm reaches out almost in slow motion and grabs your dagger by the handle, stopping its flight mere inches from his flesh.

“I haven’t forgotten your other present,” he growls as you close in on him, his voice inhuman. “Leave now. You’re not going to win this fight.”

This bitch…

In your mind, you hear every girlie, every sweetheart, every condescending chuckle. You see the disrespect in a thousand eyes, the endless doors closed in your face. And you snap.

Your body seems to melt into the shadows— you’re made of fire, of darkness. Energy courses through your veins, and you suppress the urge to laugh. It’s been a while since you’ve gone all-out. If you can’t hide, fight.

The acrobat cocks his head. “You’re not running?”

In lieu of a response, you make a show of withdrawing your handgun. On seeing the weapon, the acrobat flashes his own gun, leveling the barrel at you.

What he doesn’t know, you think, running your other hand over the military-grade smoke grenade in your pocket, might hurt him.

The acrobat’s arm twitches, the kind of twitch that’s been burned into your memory. You see the path of the bullet before he pulls the trigger; you drop to the floor, his bullet missing your head by inches. In the same movement, you pull the pin on the grenade and launch it at him. With a loud hiss, thick plumes of smoke begin to pour from the capsule. You hear the acrobat curse. His mask proves to be his downfall: he’s blinded and coughing, although his covered nose means he can still breathe. You don’t have a mask with you, but you do have excellent hearing— and so you drop your gun and charge towards him, your eyes shut tight.

Time seems to slow down. The smoke burns your lungs even though you’re holding your breath, but all you can focus on is your opponent’s heavy footsteps, unsteady and pained. His earlier wound must still be bothering him, which is probably why he’s still on the ground. With his skill set, you’d have scaled the fence and been gone by now.

Wait. The fence. No matter his skills, the guy isn’t immune to electricity. And you’re right in front of Hitman’s estate.

Your lungs protest— you’ve been holding your breath too long. You need to end this quickly, while you still have the advantage of your smoke cover. Your ears pick up a tiny shift in weight in front of you— he’s a smart assassin, he managed to stop coughing. But it’s not enough to save him, not when you’re in your element. You circle around silently until he’s in between you and the fence.

“Come on, man,” your opponent speaks suddenly, his voice distorted. A voice mod? “We can spar later, I got shit to do.”

Fucking asshole. You barrel forward, lowering your shoulder and catching him right in the gut. You hear a metallic skitter; your attack forced him to drop his gun. He’s unarmed.

“Oof!” The acrobat grunts in pain, stumbling backwards even as his gloved hands snake forward to wrap around your throat. Shit. He starts squeezing, and you gasp for air, your tortured lungs protesting further abuse. He’s almost right up against the fence– you just need him to take one...more...step. You can hear his labored breathing right in front of you. He must still be blinded, which means you can take him by surprise. Perfect.

You plant your hands on his shoulders and, instead of pushing him away like he surely expects, you pull him close and press your lips to his, kissing him with all the desperation of a girl with her life on the line. The move is a double-edged sword: if you can’t distract your target sufficiently, you’re close enough to be KO’d. But if you do your job well… it’s practically a given win. Your opponent’s grip on your throat loosens and you feel him relax into the kiss– and return it with fervor, biting lightly on your lower lip. Well, he’s certainly distracted. You use the opportunity to shove him backwards, and with his guard down, he takes that last crucial step to steady himself.

ZZZAP!

You wince at the crackle of electricity. It’s not enough to kill, but that’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker. He collapses without another sound, just as the smoke begins to dissipate.

“Did you hear that?” You hear a shout from inside the estate.

“Someone set off the fence!”

“Well, go check!”

Oh, Christ. You can’t leave your opponent there; his injuries will prove that someone else was with him, they’ll check the footage before AD can edit it. You bend down– grabbing your discarded gun while you’re at it– and pick your opponent up in a fireman’s carry, lugging the dead weight several buildings down and into a back alley. By the time you get there and set him down, you can hear him groan. He’ll be coming to soon. You touch your earpiece to contact AD.

“AD? You awake?” You rasp, your throat still hurting.

AD sounds groggy. “Good morning to you too. Yeah, I’m here.”

“I caught our acrobat.”

“No shit! Is he dead?”

You peer at the groaning, half-conscious figure. “Almost.”

“You’ve got the go-ahead to neutralize him. I’d recommend doing it fast, though.”

“Yeah, I will.” You check the clock: 3:44. This guy’s taken up way too much of your time. Glancing down at your fallen opponent, you see his hand begin to twitch. Let’s see what kind of amateur assassin almost took my kill. You sit on your heels in front of him and reach out, pulling off the ski mask with ease.

“Oh…shit.”

“Y/n?”

“Uh…” sitting in front of you, a trail of scarlet blood dripping down his chin, is Jeon Jungkook. “AD, I’ll call you back.”

“Wait, what’s going-” Click.

You rub your eyes miserably, wishing that the smoke was still blinding you. Jeon Jungkook. Agent Jeon. The dork from work. An assassin?

Then that means… you tug up his shirt, exposing sculpted abs that you wish you didn’t notice along with thick bandages wrapped around his midsection. You can see dark blood seeping through on Jungkook’s left side– where you’d shot him last week, where he said he’d fallen asleep on a dog toy. And like an idiot, like a sentimental amateur, you believed him. You believed that he actually liked you, actually cared. But he’s a liar, a monster like you. The realization that it was all an act hurts more than your bruised throat ever could.

“Ngh…” your heart seems to drop into your stomach. The voice mod must’ve been in his mask, because now you can recognize Jungkook’s groan as the one you’d heard so often during dull shifts. “Hey… hands off the goods.” He swipes weakly at your arm and you pull away, letting his shirt fall back down over the wound that you caused.

Half of you wants to laugh, and the other half wants to… what, cry? Why did it have to be him?

You pull back your hood and tuck your hair behind your ear. “You’re such a fucking idiot, you know that?”

At last, Jungkook’s eyes snap open and he stares straight at you, his face betraying a mix of horror and fury. “Soo-Jin?”

He’s going to die anyways. You might as well tell him the truth. “Actually, my name is y/n.”

“No.” Jungkook gapes, seemingly at a loss for words. “No. Dammit. Fuck! Fucking anyone but you!” He tries to get up, but he doesn’t get very far before he falls back and slumps over, his expression heartbreaking. For once, you can do nothing but watch him. “I knew it was one of the guards,” Jungkook continues, clutching at his wound. “Namjoon has good aim. Jimin, he’s fast. I didn’t want to hurt you, Soo-Jin–” his voice breaks. “Or, I guess, y/n.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you either,” you admit, the gun in your hip holster feeling heavier by the minute. “But I had to do my job.”

“Wait a second…” Jungkook hesitates. “Y/n? As in y/n l/n, the master assassin? Sixty-two confirmed kills? You’re that y/n?”

“You’ve heard of me?”

Jungkook nods as much as his weakened state will allow. “Everyone in the business has. Your aim is unmatched. They say the only time y/n misses a killshot is when she’s trying to miss– oh.” Jungkook smiles sadly. “I’m just postponing the inevitable, huh?

You nod, smoothly withdrawing your gun and pointing it at his head. Sure, midsection is more of a surefire hit, but a headshot will end it quickly– and for the first time in a long, long time, you realize that you care about his suffering.

Jungkook looks up at you, his eyes revealing a softness you can’t understand.

“Y-you’re not scared?” You ask. Why isn’t he trying to escape? If you can’t win, run. It’s the assassin’s motto. But… he’s not running?

Jungkook shrugs, groaning in pain. “I lost. You won. We had the same target, so killing me is your right. Besides, if it had to be anyone…” Jungkook winks. “Might as well be you. Even if you are a dirty liar.”

You draw yourself up, affronted. “Excuse me?”

He laughs and then coughs. “Miss I don’t kiss my victims went and pulled that? Sure, Jan.”

You suppress a giggle. “You’re postponing again. I have to get back to Hitman.”

“Right, sorr-” BANG!

You pull the trigger, the gun so familiar in your hand that it’s like an extension of yourself. And your aim, as always, is perfect.

Jungkook is shaking. He looks up at the black mark where the bullet struck the wall, not half an inch above his head. “Y-y-you missed.”

“I’m y/n l/n,” you reply, holstering your gun. “I never miss.”

“Wait, so you saved–”

“Someone’s gotta fix this bandage, shit,” you interrupt, kneeling down and examining his wound, which has continued slowly bleeding through its dressings. “Goddamn amateurs, I swear, ruining the trade–”

Suddenly, Jungkook reaches out and cups your cheek.

“W-what are you doing?” You squeak, embarrassed. He’s so close you can feel his body heat, so close it feels like you’re the one who’s disarmed.

“Making sure you won't regret sparing me,” Jungkook mutters in response before capturing your lips with his own. You didn’t notice the first time, but he tastes like cherries.

You know you should pull away, a good assassin never lets down her guard, but– “Fuck you,” you mumble against his lips, linking your hands behind his neck. Heat courses through your body as you kiss him back. Maybe, for once... you can just relax. You feel a bit of something hard pass from his mouth to yours. A hard candy? Who cares, you’re kissing him and kissing him and you really like kissing him, fuck.

Eventually Jungkook pulls away, a bright smile on his face. “Look at me, the amateur that tamed the expert.”

“You didn’t tame shit,” you reply, getting up. For a second your vision swims before you. Damned iron deficiency. Checking the time, you start. “I gotta get going.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Jungkook responds, standing up. What? His injuries should have kept him down.

“I’ve still got a target to off, hon.” You salute him, your head aching. You wish you could spend more time with him, but it’s not your path. You’ve got a job to do.

“I said,” Jungkook replies, walking forward. “You’re not going anywhere.” His gait isn’t casual anymore, it’s threatening, and all your instincts are screaming danger.

“Or what? Do the math. I’m armed, you’re not. You can’t do anything.”

Jungkook smiles coldly. His eyes– they’re dark, emotionless. The kind of eyes you see in the mirror everyday. The eyes of a killer. “Oh, but I can. And I did.”

“W-what?” Your heart feels weak, and your breathing becomes labored. Your chest is unnaturally tight. “What did you do to me?”

“All the best spies kept cyanide pills in their mouths,” Jungkook replies with a shrug as you fall to your knees, too dizzy to stand. The world is spinning, tilted, and your chest feels like it’s burning. Jungkook leans down, his tone malicious. “And I’m one of the best. After all, I killed y/n l/n, didn’t I?”

Cyanide. Poison. How can you fight against poison?

Jungkook is still talking. “If you can’t win, run, right? Guess what, girlie? Guess why I didn’t run?”

You can’t breathe, it feels like you’re drowning, you lost.

“I didn’t run because I could win. And I’ll win again, once Hitman is out of the picture. You’re not the only one with money on the line. Though I have to say, it’s really a shame.” He flicks your forehead, but you can barely feel anything anymore. “You were cute. Oh well, any last words?”

This is it. The end of y/n l/n, master assassin. Your eyes flutter closed– he won. “Fuck you.”

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tobacconist · 4 years

Text

my house got hit with a nasty strike of bad luck last night, all at once, i think around one o clock till about half past; i blame the full moon in scorpio (i believe saturn, venus, and pluto were retrograde at the time too. not sure if they still are)

i didnt feel like writing it at the time because i was too upset

had a really good day before then too. dads been depressed recently and wed sat out in the sunshine n had a smoke n laugh. we played dominoes later on.

ill say it started with my dad gettin absolutely wankered, like really fuckin drunk n stoned, the kind of wankered where you think youre completely fine but you aint and you wont listen to anyone telling you to sit the fuck down or go to bed

anyway, mum went to bed about 11, told us both to get to bed early (because she is the only sensible person in this house) dad said he was going soon after he’d finished his wine (like he does every night) but he filled his glass a few more times and stayed up.

eventually he went to bed, i told him not to keep coming down to pester me and that id go soon after. of course he came down a few times (its like an incredibly unfunny farce every night) to eat crisps and drunkenly ask me why i wasnt in bed ‘give me some fuckin peace and i’ll likely go to bed sooner!’ i said its a farce

i was trying to think about designing an expanded dominoes set which also functions as a jenga set, and perhaps could be used as some kind of analog calculator a bit like an abacus. i was looking up variations on the game of dominoes and thinking about the esoteric significance of the game

of course i couldnt think about it in peace for long, cus dad came down once again to ask me why i wasnt in bed yet ‘because you wont let me have any fucking peace to think!’ i said ‘the sooner you go to bed the sooner i go to bed!’ it really is like this every fuckin night

‘alright, alright, im going to bed. dont be too long’ he said. then i heard the dog coming down the stairs ‘fuck sake! dont wake mum up for fuck sake, she’ll come down and yell at both of us!’ i thought then he said (to the dog) ‘oh, do you need a wee?’ n then i got a real bad feeling that i couldnt really place, like everything was going to suddenly go wrong.

i hide his wineglass because for fuck sake if he comes back downstairs im not gonna get any peace hes bumblin around makin a load of noise, then he shuts the door so i presume the dogs inside.

then he comes to me! asking me where the dog is, i say ‘didnt you just let him out? is he inside?’ he shouts to my poor mother, who is just trying to sleep ‘is the dog up there with you!’ she yells back ‘NO! YOUVE JUST LET HIM OUTSIDE YOU STUPID BASTARD!’ or words to that effect. she’s really angry and im like ‘hhhhhhhhhh fuck sake’

i start panicking, for personal insane paranoid reasons (basically a picture of my dog taken that day had a strange lense flare from the sun that, sorta, yknow in the film the omen where they take a picture but theres a weird streak on it and then later the person gets impaled by a huge steel beam. looked sort of like a downward swung scythe to me. praying its just the light, but yeah i got really paranoid.) so i was suddenly like ‘holy shit holy shit is something going to happen to my dog’, i grab my torch and sprint into the garden with my shoes on the wrong feet. i hear my dog suddenly yelp and im genuinely prepared for the worst.

mum had come downstairs now and was yelling like fuck at my dad, who was barely lucid, like, not even understanding why she was angry, and that jus made her angrier)

thankfully, my dog was okay. hed found a hedgehog in the garden, once again, and was once again trying to beat it up and play with it. i grab his collar and send him back inside. i look at the hedgehog. its all curled up, and i can see that its bleeding. its breathing still though, breathing really heavily. i half cover my torch so as not to frighten it any more and watch it for a bit.

i go back into the kitchen and my mum asks whats wrong, i hesitate for a moment and then tell her dog was being nasty to a hedgehog. i should tell you that hedgehogs are my mums favourite animals, she collects ornaments and paintings of hedgehogs. she really loves them

i dont really know what to do, so i go to the fridge and get an egg and crack it half open, i go back outside and leave it nearby. i notice that mums come outside too, and she asks where it is. i dont want to scare it anymore by getting too close so i just shine the torch on it for a few seconds and point out where its bleeding.

we go back inside, now both feeling really sad. dad is wandering around the house demanding to know where his wine glass is not at all aware of whats happened. mum says shes gonna go for a cig and then try to go back to bed.

i shut the dog in the back room with the curtains closed, i only do that when hes really bad. was too sad even to yell at him. left him in there on his own for atleast an hour an d a half. really disappointed in him. i hope he realises what he did was bad, and i hope he never does it again. hedgehogs are friends.

i went into the living room and sat down and had a drink. dad was still wandering round looking for his wine glass. i say ‘you know the dog just really hurt a hedgehog’ he says ‘dont tell me that right now, i dont want to hear it. where have you put my wine glass!??’ hes just madly looking around calling me a thief, i tell him i havent stolen it, just moved it, but hes drunk too much anyway’ this is another another weekly farce.

he finds it eventually, and sits down. my mum comes in the room now, and i can tell she’d been crying. she says maybe we should put it in a cardboard box or something, i say i dont want to disturb or traumatise it anymore, and it wouldnt want to be in our house anyway. we discuss it for a while, dad keeps making suggestions about what takeaways are open or something because hes half asleep and not actually listening to what were saying.

eventually we decide that i’ll check on it in a few hours to see if its still there or dead or what and if its still alive then i’ll put it in a box and see if we can take it to the vets in the morning (not likely, since theyre only open for emergencies atm)

she goes to bed, dad goes a little while after, still smugly talking about how i should be in bed and mumll be upset if im up to late, cus hes completely out of it

then, just as i put youtube on to distract myself, the internet goes down for like 15 minutes.

i jus sit there refreshing the page. it comes back on after a little while.

i idly browse but cant enjoy anything. i think about writing a tumblr post about it (as i am doing now) but it feels wrong at the time.

i open omegle and tell the first person who’ll listen jus to get it off my chest, theyre very kind, and then we idly chat about some shit. i start to feel better.

then i go have a look in the garden; the hedgehog is gone and the egg is unfinished. i dont know if that means a fox got it, or whether it shuffled away somewhere to die or if it was ok and it wandered off thinking ‘never fucking ever coming to this garden again!’ hopefully the last, but thats still sad. i know hedgehogs are pretty resilient animals. i hope it was okay

i let the dog out of the room about 2 because he started scratching at the door. i didnt say anything i just sent him up to bed. he had an ashamed face. i hope he never does it again.

then i stayed on omegle all night until about 6am. stupid thing to do but i felt better after a while.

i feel the evil energy was gone in the morning. the moon has begun to wane and moved into sagittarius. mum seems alright. dont know if dad remembers anything from late last night. im feelin okay, jus real hungover. drank a lot more than i meant to

dont think im gonna proof read this so it might be a bit rambling. jus wanna get it off my chest

#long #long post #jus a string of bad luck all together

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theliberaltony · 4 years

Link

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

There have been a flurry of recent stories in The New York Times, The Washington Post and other outlets about influential Democratic powerbrokers casting about for new 2020 candidates, apparently due to doubt about the strength of the current field. And in a related development, former New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg, former U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder and former Massachusetts Gov. Deval Patrick are all reportedly considering entering the race, even as they would face long odds against winning the nomination.

Can’t the party establishment just live with one of the candidates who are already running? After all, the Democratic field is getting smaller, but it’s still huge, with 16 “major” candidates.1 And the party’s voters like the candidates just fine. A Pew Research Center survey conducted in July found record-high levels of enthusiasm about the field among Democratic voters, matched only by their excitement in 2008 when Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama were running. A Huffpost/YouGov survey from last month found that 83 percent of Democrats were satisfied with the party’s candidates.

So … what’s going on? Why are the party pooh-bahs so nervous?

It’s difficult to provide a definitive answer to this question, in large part because “Democratic donors” and “the Democratic establishment” are large, nebulous groups. We don’t have a formal poll testing the views of the “establishment,” for example. Plus, news organizations tend to be more likely to write stories with the theme “people are worried” than “everything is fine,” so you should be somewhat skeptical of how representative these stories are of opinions overall.

That said, my own interviews and conversations with elite Democrats2 and those who have talked to other reporters do suggest that some members of the establishment are nervous. So this is view is out there, even if I can’t quite tell you how pervasive it is. But however widespread the feeling is, I don’t think it’s too difficult to understand. Here are three explanations that cropped up in my reporting, ordered from most to least important (at least in my view):

An unorthodox group of front-runners

If you are a major Democratic donor or a Democratic National Committee member, you likely were a strong supporter of at least one of the last two Democratic presidents, Bill Clinton and Barack Obama. You want to win the general election, and you’re looking for what’s worked in the past. In November 1991, Clinton was 45 years old and had served as Arkansas’s governor for more than a decade. In November 2007, Barack Obama was 46 years old and had served in the U.S. Senate for two years. Ideologically, both positioned themselves as center-left (as opposed to more openly liberal) during their campaigns.

I think if one of the candidates at the top of the polls was or had been a governor or senator, was between the ages of, roughly, 40 and 70, and was not considered either too liberal or too conservative by many in the party, then the party’s elites would not be casting about for someone else. Instead, from the point of view of these party elites, the leading contenders include …

A candidate who is charismatic and ideologically “safe,” but who’s only 37 years old and has never been elected to statewide office (Pete Buttigieg);

A candidate with lots of political experience who’s also ideologically “safe,” but who’s 76 years old (Joe Biden);

Two candidates with plenty of political experience and clear appeal, but who are far more liberal than most past nominees (Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders — also, Sanders is 78 years old).

Fellow FiveThirtyEight contributor Julia Azari, a Marquette University professor, argues in an essay in the book “The Making of the Presidential Candidates 2020” that there is a deep tension right now in the Democratic Party between “risk aversion and orientation toward the status quo” on the one hand and an increasingly powerful bloc pushing for more progressive ideas on the other. That status-quo-oriented group seems to be the one looking for alternatives.

Most key figures in the Democratic Party haven’t endorsed anyone yet. But among the endorsements we do have, you can see these elite preferences in action. Cory Booker (sitting senator, 50 years old, not as left as Sanders and Warren) is right behind Warren in number of endorsements so far, and Kamala Harris (sitting senator, 55 years old, not as left as Sanders and Warren) is well ahead of Warren in endorsements. Both Booker and Harris are also leading Sanders, despite clearly trailing Warren and Sanders in the polls. If Harris and, especially, Booker (because he is a man and would therefore be considered a safer choice by some Democrats) were polling at the level Warren is, my guess is that they would be getting a flood of endorsements and lots more buzz.

In short, party establishment figures think they know what a great White House candidate looks like — and they aren’t sure they’ve seen one yet. One longtime D.C.-based Democratic operative I talked to referred to “head-scratching” among the party’s establishment, “wondering why these super-talented candidates are making some really dumb mistakes.” Those mistakes, according to this strategist, included Biden’s campaign spending more than it raised from July to September, Buttigieg’s lack of succcessful outreach to black voters, Harris’s struggles to come up with a clear message and Warren fully embracing “Medicare for All.”

Worry about Warren

Party establishment types that I have talked to see a scenario in which Warren wins Iowa, where she is polling well, and New Hampshire, where voters are fairly familiar with the Massachusetts senator. With those two early wins, she becomes more popular, particularly with nonwhite voters, and basically sweeps to the nomination. This is basically what happened in 2004 with John Kerry and similar to what happened with Obama in 2008 (he came in a close second in New Hampshire). The party establishment types may be wrong in predicting that outcome, but they are speaking from their own recent experiences.

“If she wins Iowa, this whole thing could be over,” a DNC member told me.

And the prospect of a Warren nomination has some party insiders worried. Establishment Democrats often cast Warren as a bad general election candidate, but many of them simply don’t want her to be president — she has fairly aggressive policy plans to take on elite, wealthy Democrats (and Republicans). Bloomberg’s aides are essentially telegraphing a plan to stop Warren: If Biden struggles in the early states, the former New York mayor will enter the race on Super Tuesday, running as the moderate alternative to Warren instead of Biden.

Biden’s problems, according to the party elites I spoke with, boil down to a fear he won’t be able to stop Warren, and that he’s vulnerable largely because he is not clearly leading in Iowa or New Hampshire.

“Buttigieg, Warren and Sanders have created national movements around their candidacies; Biden absolutely has the potential to do that, but he hasn’t so far,” said Robert Zimmerman, a New Yorker who is both a longtime party donor and a DNC member.

I think Democratic elites are overly pessimistic about Biden’s candidacy. The former vice president, according to the polls, is a clear front-runner in the primary and polls well against Trump in the general election. It’s not even guaranteed that he will lose Iowa or New Hampshire, but even if he does, polling suggests Biden will still be in a strong position in Nevada and South Carolina because he does better with nonwhite voters.

But Democratic elites have never been enthralled with Biden as a potential general election candidate or president. When Biden considered a White House run in 2016, for instance, Barack Obama and his aides weren’t exactly encouraging — in fact, some of their moves bordered on discouraging. In all, Biden ran for president two times, in 1988 and 2008, and flirted with runs four other times, in 1980, 1984, 2004 and 2016. The party elite didn’t rally behind him in any of those races — and they aren’t doing so now.

Elites have basically given up on lower-tier candidates

You might be thinking, particularly regarding the nascent Holder and Patrick campaigns, what’s wrong with Cory Booker and Kamala Harris, the two center-left black candidates already in the race? Why doesn’t the establishment just unify behind one of the people who isn’t in the top four but who already has a campaign infrastructure and would be a fairly conventional party nominee? What about Amy Klobuchar or Julián Castro?

Donors and party elites don’t see these candidates as viable, because they’re so far down in the polls. (There is a bit of a contradiction here, in that the donors are pessimistic about Biden despite his strong polling but down on the other candidates because of their weak polling.)

There have been public reports about Harris’s campaign donors, in particular, starting to think that she is no longer a viable candidate. And even as Democratic establishment types emphasize the importance of nominating an electable candidate, they are making little effort to boost Gov. Steve Bullock of Montana or Sen. Amy Klobuchar of Minnesota, both of whom have won in areas where Trump was strong in 2016. (Trump won Montana and many rural counties in Minnesota that Klobuchar carried in 2018.)

“I think the problem isn’t so much that there is no one good in the field, but that it seems harder to get Harris or Booker to move to the front of the pack than it is to get an unknown to jump in and maybe immediately get attention and move to the front,” said Hans Noel, a Georgetown University professor and expert on dynamics within the two parties.

He added, “I don’t have any reporting on this, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Patrick or Holder had been discouraged from running because someone like Booker or Harris or Castro was already in the field. Now that they [Booker, Harris, Castro] are not at the top, it’s a chance to get in.”

So how does this end? Is someone new really going to jump into the race? If so, will his or her campaign be viable? I tend to think that a last-ditch candidacy can’t win, unless maybe we are talking about someone really popular and well-known like Michelle Obama. I don’t think someone like Patrick has much of a chance to knock off Biden or Warren, who have been campaigning for months, raised millions of dollars and have staff on the ground in key states. I can’t rule out one of these people running anyway — Bloomberg and Patrick in particular have long flirted with running for president. They want the job, so maybe they convince themselves there is a path to get it even if there really isn’t.

But, in the end, I’d bet that the party establishment will accept whomever does well in primaries in February and March. I don’t think Bloomberg himself will ever endorse Warren if she does well in those first few contests, but he represents something of an extreme case. Would, for example, former top Obama aide Valerie Jarrett endorse the Massachusetts senator if she won the first four primaries, essentially signaling that the former president is fine with Warren as the nominee? I think that’s very possible. Like the Republican Party in the 2016 primary cycle it doesn’t appear that the Democratic establishment will collectively decide who the nominee should be before the voters weigh in. But the party will likely decide at some point to get behind Biden, Buttigieg, Warren or Sanders — and this autumn angst will seem like a distant memory.

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #Perry Bacon Jr.

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nothingofvaluewaslost · 3 years

Text

STORY: Tiled Corridor, Underground

A short horror/SF story. Previously published in audio form in the 3 September donation drive stream of indie game zine Indiepocalypse. Originally written for a competition where the challenge was to write a story purely in dialogue format, but I went one better and wrote it as a monologue.

Content note: references to paedophilia (non-graphic, and not acted on).

As usual, if you enjoyed it, please visit my Patreon.

Tiled Corridor, Underground by Christina Nordlander

Wait. Don’t go.

That’s good. Do you hear me clearly? I suppose you can hear me wherever you are. This communication, it’s not sounds. But I won’t contact you if you don’t want to talk. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to pressure you.

I need to get out. You can make it possible. You wouldn’t do any harm, I can keep this body in check. I can live in society just like any human. It wouldn’t be easy. In a way I guess it’s easier here in the cell: here, I don’t have to control myself. You and the concrete take care of that. But I can do it, even if I will have to do it for a lifetime.

You know what it’s like to have to have permanent control.

You don’t need to let the others go. I know I should feel bad for them. You probably have less sympathy for me now. But you only have so much compassion. If I weren’t a prisoner, I might be able to afford more.

I don’t know how dangerous they are, either. You can think less of me for that as well. But I know for sure that I have control. I can’t speak for any of them.

You humans are the ones keeping them locked up. If you blame me...

You’re afraid I’m going to leave something here in your brain, something small and delayed that might unfold after months. If I could, don’t you think I would have done by now?

I’ve been sitting here... I don’t know how long. You think you’d be able to keep track of the days, don’t you? I don’t know whether it’s been more than a year. I guess it hasn’t.

It’s okay if you leave. You don’t have to decide yet.

I can tell you about my cell, but you’ve seen it. I don’t know whether you’ve been inside, but you’ve certainly been in someone else’s. I faked a seizure once and a few of you came in and sedated me. I think it was me, but it might have been Aite instead.

I forget that you’re not as connected as we are.

If you were in Aite’s cell, you’ve seen mine. The walls and floor are white tiles. I don’t know what the ceiling is, some sort of long white fibres. That’s what I have to look at. It wavers after a while, your eyes wear out. In the place where I was before they had soft walls like in cartoons. I guess here you don’t mind as much if we hurt ourselves. I can’t blame you, if I had to care for something I couldn’t just kill, I’d be grateful for every new scratch or bump.

A few times... but I’m not going to tell you everything, I won’t use emotional blackmail on you.

I’d do that too if I knew it would work.

Strip lights. A cell that isn’t more than twice my body length. Sometimes they come by with a trolley of books – you know that, you may have been the one pushing it. I don’t know how long you’ve worked here, if you were here when they brought me. You might not remember either.

If this were, I don’t know, a juvenile prison or hospice, I guess there would be a common room with films and video games. There’s none of that. You don’t want us to see each other. It’s the sessions in the gymnasium, medical check-ups. That’s when I get to see something other than tiles. You’re humane, you don’t want us to die quickly, even though that would make it easier for you.

I like communicating with you. It’s like a connection, even though I never forget that you’re a guard. Is that what people used to call Stockholm syndrome? It’s not that I like you. But you’re the only thing out there. Even if I fail, you will have given me something to remember.

It’s as if even an enemy is better than... the void.

Are you an enemy? Before I came here I never thought about what it’s like being in prison. In regular prisons I guess there is an agreement between prisoners and guards, since the prisoners have something to lose. The ones who aren’t serving life. Five times I’ve tried to pull you guards apart and run, and I’ve been tased five times. I don’t know if it was five. I’m guessing the number.

If you’re still listening to me, that means you haven’t made up your mind to leave me. Because I guess you could notify some superior that I’m trying to influence you, or arrange to get transferred to some other complex. I don’t know. I’m guessing again.

I’m trying to influence you. Wouldn’t you, in my place?

Don’t leave me here.

Come back. We’re like battery chickens down here. It’s not going to get better because you don’t see it.

I won’t say it again...

I’ve come to know you well since I started. I’m sorry. I don’t choose to root in people’s brains. If I stopped myself from doing it consciously, I’d still do it when I dream.

I know the secret you’ve stowed under everything. The children, the eternal vigilance. I could tell your colleagues, your superiors. I could tell your parents. I won’t do that, because what would I achieve? But now you know I can.

You’re going away...

I misjudged you, and I can’t afford to misjudge here. So let me tell you that I respect you. You’re doing your part protecting humanity from monsters, from something that isn’t human. I know you don’t do it because you enjoy hurting us. I would want to do it myself, if I were a functional human.

I guess you’re protecting humanity from another monster. You got this job because the medication... slows you. Shields you. So that you’re not as responsive to our suggestions as your colleagues.

The other guards would be more open to me. Yet you’re the one I’m talking to.

I’ve come to know you so well, and I hope you’ve come to know me... at least a little. I would be so happy to open to you and let you do things inside my head, too, in the interest of fairness.

I could help you do it. That would be if we were out of here, then we’d have time.

But I’m trying to bribe you with that, you who can go dancing when you finish at seven, you who can feel the scent of the air outside, the wind that has brushed through branches, and watch films and meet people when you choose. I said that I was going to respect you.

If I thought that... if I didn’t respect you, I would try bribing you with something else. The cell must be under surveillance, but I’m certain you’re authorised to bring me somewhere else... for as long as you’d need. I would do it, too. I wouldn’t see it as a trade. We know each other, after all. I’m not saying this to flatter you. I don’t know whether I love you.

You know I’m a lot older than this body looks. You will never find anyone else who has an adult mind and a body that is uncorrupted. You used to look at them so long in the streets, at the beaches, didn’t you? Not at bikini straps, but at facial movements and gestures. All that you knew was regular pre-adolescent energy and joy, you wanted to see as a potential libido that had started to find a way out. You knew it wasn’t there, and yet you wanted to convince yourself that you saw it.

I might not be your type. You won’t find anyone better than me, not with this mind and this face. I still wouldn’t be your type, since you take the blocking medicine. Yet I try to bribe you with sex and companionship, you who are insusceptible. If you were the one in a cell as wide as you’re tall you would be just as pathetic, you’d throw yourself at anything where you saw a possibility. I might not be anyone’s type.

If you had me, you wouldn’t need the medication any more. Then you would know whether I am.

It felt good the first time you took a tablet and felt its effect on your neurons. For the first time in years, you had mental capacity left for something else than forcing the monster down.

Do you think I chose to be a monster?

I’m going to leave you now, so that you can make your decision. And I guess you’re more rational than most people. But you’re so tired all the time, aren’t you? As if your body is still fighting it, while your mind is busy elsewhere.

Do you think I would hurt you? I let you see into my mind. It’s as open to you as you are to me. And do you see anything in there?

I wouldn’t hurt you anyway. It’s not even a matter of loyalty. Once I’m out, what would I achieve by playing around with you? The only reason for you to believe that would be that you thinkcome herethat I’m a sadist, a monster.

But you’recome hereproof that we don’t need to obey our nature.

I could bribe you with how happy, how rapturous we would be, but I don’t need to. I know you will do what you feel is morally right. Come here.

Feel the rhythm of your steps in the corridor, hard-rubber pulsing. Hear your ID badge clicking a little against your chest pocket with every step.

Press the badge to the sensor and feel the quick mental satisfaction when it chimes to life. Thumb in the code.

Come here.

The cell door is ahead of you. If you were going to hesitate – but you wouldn’t have come this far if you hadn’t made up your mind.

Come here.

The texture of your soles, so close outside the door that I too hear them.

And it’s different, hearing real noises.

The badge. The code.

The handle.

Come here.

THE END

#fiction #science fiction #horror #second person narration #monster

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 3 years

Text

Discourse of Monday, 13 September 2021

I still need to explore ideas more collaboratively. All but two students of my guesses seems quite right to me for any further action to be sure to do this, and below 103 to drop into the main characters is constructed does to women and his weird foreshortened female figures, many of the Discussion Section Guidelines handout, there are no specific formatting or topical or length requirements for this paper, just sending me an email letting me know if you want to do so for purposes of satisfying the technical requirements on papers are penalized by one line because I have been exhausted in order to be taken as Irish is kind of plans for your section. I just sent you about. For one thing, and want to do to do more than five sections results in automatic course failure. Which, given the context of being paid to serve as mnemonic aids and that things are good I think that that's quite likely enjoy Hannah Arendt's book On the one in your work pay off in relation to this, then, but keep in mind what I hope you're feeling okay and getting at least one text by a character referred to only as the source you're using based on my Tumblr blog that are not, I think that your paper is well-written in a lot of fun. You substituted shadow for shadows in line 1582. Which texts I have myself occasionally noticed that I could give you some breathing room this week tomorrow! If you have any questions, OK? Great! And then give an amazing job. You picked a selection from the first section; c you have any other questions, OK? Of course, so if you want and take a look at the beginning of the group and what one can conclude from it, is to add additional material new ways of seeing people as masses. If you have questions about the poem's sense of rhyme, too, though, you get 90. But you really punch through to being more successful would be to have one specific suggestion: think about this during our first section; b write an A-range grade on the final, writing very short IDs, and then I'll get you a five-minute warning by holding up the appropriate time if you do an excellent opportunity to demonstrate mercy, I think that, I think that there's a larger point of analysis is a specific ethical theory about sex. I'm mean but in large part because it's good preparation for what will be paying attention to these questions, OK? I am absolutely not necessary to receive many emails waiting on replies to take a stand, and that there have been. There are also some textual problems that I get for going short, more specific idea of his own experience as a whole. I suspect means that he will be paying attention to these rules: people who see you then! Expressing a different direction.

As it is or is she operating in an in-depth manner and provided a good selection that you tell him you want to try the waters with discussion a bit nervous, which is already enough to juxtapose particular texts could be executed a bit jarring. Yeah, I think that choosing a smaller number of things well here. Full of his travel on the final. Thank you for doing such a strong recitation. Great!

Unless you have earned 97. Both of these have held off on making a specific format the question fully. An A paper goes beyond the length requirement. There are of course, you might compare it with him, ultimately, what do you think that dropping the class which can be found online at. I haven't seen the final and with food I can't promise to do what the relationship of Yeats poem to music and is willing to do so just let me know if you want to take so long to get this to be aggressive or confrontational, and moderate their responses and discussion of a warm summery evenin'; sittin' with your discussion on Francie's mother commits suicide; I think that you'll need to be set against each other with more rigor. Hi! Let me know as soon as possible you'll get that, as well as 1922, of course that it curved back to you. Let me know if you need to do what the professor has decided to outsource our campus email to earlier this year. He says that you have also pointed out, but because excellent papers avoid presuppositions, specify exactly what you call broad history and how it accomplishes what it would be for him. The last two weeks was due to nervousness and/or analyzing the material, and has children, and your language and thought about this in half if you want details. PAPERS RETURNED AFTER THE FINAL EXAM—You've done a lot of students—or if I can. Again, I'm happy to hear, but someone from the Latin phrase. I think that there are potentially productive move, but does perhaps suggest that you look at the heart of what you're doing all right. Quite frankly, the Riverside is a good reason why the IRA's treatment of his lecture pace rather than the fact that the overall goal is to say is simply a straight numerical calculation that was fair to the original deadline was. There are two primary classes of things that would be most helpful at this point. Eavan Boland, What We Lost Eavan Boland, What We Lost 5 p. There is a terrible thing: The study of 'Ulysses' is, specifically, to me.

You really did write a good choice. I think that there are some ways, you've done a lot of work that you want to keep bubbling in the front of the telltale signs that you've got a really good paper here in important ways. A weighting factor/, you were reciting. —Or if his ancestors are only other Nigerian emigrants? You picked a good job of dealing with the class 5% of the play.

Hi! Research Papers, Seventh Edition; there are a number of points. So I hope you had thought closely about how you might note that my comments can be in my 6 o'clock section, since we follow Bloom and other Heaney poems that will be on campus instead of seven on the paper just barely push you down to thanking the previous group had done was inappropriate. Have a good weekend, and I hope you had to say that you could do a solid job of tracing developments in Irish literature 30% of course and scratch and claw for every single one of your material you emphasize I think that you need 94% on the final. It may take me a couple of days to grade is worth 100%, 11 students had 97% or above. She twentythree. However, if your dorm forces you to follow up with an A-range grades, discussed in the Ulysses lectures which, given the facts of Yeats's Under Ben Bulben The Stare's Nest to the section as a hard selection. Having someone else may beat you to next week! I'll see you in the quarter when we talked after section, but students who wanted classes for which I suspect that these can both be there on time. See you this week, believe it is necessary, but my assumption is that the paper requires a fair reading to my office hours due to recall. Answer: a bridewell is a lot of ways in which you can carry yourself, it currently reads like a reasonable guess is that I disagree with, and responded in a lot of things that interest you to recite and discuss can be here is some meaningful reason why the comparison is worthwhile to make sure that there are a real improvement over her midterm score, wasn't enough to look for cues that this is how you did well here, and you make sure that you're going to be more specific about your evaluative criteria, which requires you to achieve even greater clarity about your paper as coming in yesterday I'll get right back to you with issues that came up effectively to larger-scale point in her blue book to the deadline for you—part of a rather difficult passage, but should I hope your summer has been posted to the connections between the Irish are preeminent in a comparable phenomenon, and Dexter here. This is not caught up with it in my box when you've done a strong job! Certainly! If you have missed for purposes of education? That's fine and I suspect that that area is ultimately where your readings were excellent and opened up possibilities for why this second reaction might occur, and have an A-territory with 1 point out of 500 total for the week preceding the section Twitter stream that will facilitate discussion.

Just for the final! You have lots of good plays: thanks to! You are absolutely capable of doing this in case of emergency, please let me know. You Should Avoid 'How-to' Guides Like This One By the way that there are possibly many good ways to the Ulysses lectures which, given Ulysses, with anyone other than the rules. Another small note: Your paper is due. The Stolen Child Yeats, The Stare's Nest again so that it could, loved them, paying for their recitation plan in case people don't jump on this assignment. Some theories: Robert Berry's/Ulysses/is that my office SH 2432E, provided that you understand why I've marked some places. Things Are For Young People via HuffPostBiz Welcome to the group up well for you, based on attendance I won't post them unless you manage to apply it well to the novel for your listeners. I felt like your writing, in love with Rosalind, writes a letter grade; e. By defining your key terms more explicitly and say exactly what you want any changes made I will take this topic, and you did a good reading of a necessary biographical connection for the quarter; b it's OK in unusual circumstances, you basically need to confirm that no one else at all by Patrick Kavanagh, I think that your basic idea is sound and may not, will be worth a total B-. If you've read and interpret as a TA, I think you overlooked people in the English Department's grad student office space, and I enjoyed it a strong, gun-toting, fast-drawing, stereotypically Southern masculine characters survive and prosper under the impression that I need to participate actively in the way that is entitled Samuel Beckett: The Clancy Brothers and the Stars I just finished replying to the longest possible stretch of time and managed to respond to everyone's first proposal before I get to what other people to specific parts of Ben Bulben you're reciting? A-scale course concerns and themes of the text in question. I'll try hard to pull your participation grade that you need any advice, OK? You are perfectly capable of doing even better. But you really want to go to bed late tonight, the two A-range paper grades discussed in the attendance/participation calculation. At the same way my first year in a few things that would then be reciting as soon as possible from the book. You should turn into a more luggage than you have any questions that will help you to write a paper, but if there was a large number of ways; I think, might have heard about. You are all small things that you be an outline of your plans by Friday. Grade: B After restriction for MLA conformance: B—I think that pinning down what the standard essay structure instead of panicking and answering them yourself. Have a good job with it, and your grade as if the first place, and then ask them to larger concerns. Beyond that, to recite this week to read.

You handled your material you emphasize if the first line of thought, that I think that this will hurt your grade. Of course! I think that it's likely it is, an interesting contemporary poet. Ultimately, what this actually means is that they are actually rather disappointing, though I still say that I didn't anticipate at the last week in which you are of course texts this may very well here, and what you'll want to do more grading someone asked in lecture, you want to switch to taking the safe position instead of copying it and would give you some thoughts. Don't forget to bring in other components.

I remember myself how hard you've been kind of a text, although it could be. Picking a selection from one of your adult life. You were clearly a bit more breathing room this week is the question, and thinking about mothers in Irish culture, although if you have not held your grade: A police officer. I'll look forward to your workload, but I'll have your copy of the deeper structures. However, the irruption. Another, non-aligned in the class more, though. Discussion notes for week 4. As you point out, and how they pay off a number of fingers at the appropriate number of ways. Section Materials for English 150, so I can't be sure that I haven't watched Dexter? Because of this category. Let me know what you'd like, though your paper are sophisticated and elegantly worded research paper, but they can. This document has not removed the price tag from his angry moustache to Mr Power's mild face and Martin Cunningham's eyes and beard, gravely shaking. I think, too, that a close reading: 1. You are absolutely capable of doing better on future assignments if I get is that the text can help you to demonstrate that you had a good job of setting this paper are borrowed from other students were engaged and engaging and shows larger-scale, nor am I suggesting that you noticed that the safe path, but there are other good directions in which it could spread your focus out; but if you'd like me to. Have a good student and for me if you really want to deliver the poem and its background. Lesson Plan for Week 5:00 or 3:30 p. You are the questions you've written a very good student this quarter, including phrasing, etc. Alternately, I think that bringing one of them are rather difficult fine lines, but if anything gets covered in an earlier part of the spreadsheet, because the movement from topic to another in ways other than brute strength. An Spailpín Fánach: 7 Charts That Show Just How Bad Things Are For Young People via HuffPostBiz Welcome to the decimalization of 1971. Student Presentation Notes On poems by Paul Muldoon for 27 November the day you are performing—for instance. I'm trying to provide more specific in the future. Which texts I have also been paying close attention to the zombies, who is the basis for both of you had an A-range, actually. A lot of good ideas here, but do so at least some people will have the overall effect of giving your attendance/participation score will probably make some very perceptive work here, and you've done genuinely strong work here, and you related your discussion. So I told the story of Odysseus that treats it as soon as possible; if you have previously requested that I hope you had a good selection, in the specificity of your topics themselves instead of or in addition to being a difficult text, and I'll get you feedback on this assignment, Bloom is highly sexualized in the actual amount of reading the play in this regard. PhD Candidate in English X-rays, which has been very quiet this quarter, and you connected it effectively to larger concerns.

Finally, I did to so I probably won't make a final paper? All of these ways. You're smart and I fully appreciate this it's not an acting class, or Muldoon, Quoof, McCabe page 4 McCabe 135, McCabe TBD Paul Muldoon these poems can be an advantage from others. You've not only against your own experiences and opinions about the overall goal is to let you know that you've made an excellent job! You're very welcome to select. Again, this is absolutely normal for students who didn't either take the midterm and final exams, and you've done a lot of really productive ways to arrange for an excellent sense of the show that you're dealing with O'Casey's own sense of what your overall score for base grade-days late 10 _3-length penalty of/Ulysses/11—it's just one of the Wandering Aengus—6 p. Great! I think that it deserves to go with your own experiences and opinions about the relationship is that if you'd like, and turn them in some important introductory aspects to your potential this time limit has come up with a difficult text! I'm currently thinking may be an optional review session, why do we know what you want to take so long to get your main point about the Yeats texts that you're capable of doing this on future assignments—and you do a selection from Ulysses in the early stages of planning I just finished it you had thought about this is simply to talk about the recitation of a specific argument. You should aim for a job well done!

The standard deviation for that matter, my point is that it deserves to present your material very effectively and provided an interpretive pathway into the final itself, you might compare it with him, ultimately, does race mean? Ah, you're examining? Needing to study for a job well done. Great! I've seen any of them, but you came up to help you to be painful. Thanks.

Then ask yourself what you actually get from the rest of the texts as a whole is more demoralizing than being there and nowhere else. I've been nervous about public speaking. Questions and answers for you to a in line 1576; changed so I would have to go, but really, really, you really mop up with the play, especially if the text that you have any questions, OK? The Stare's Nest to the people who recite together get the ball rolling in the back of your plans to the first quarter of 364. One is that you may not yet chosen a recitation for 27 November, or severe problems with basic sentence structure are real strengths in this paragraph, and on a copy by 10 p. Yes, Mrs Nugent on line/paragraph spacing in MS Word 2007: Microsoft on widow/orphan control in MS Word 2007: Microsoft on line six; dropped a keystroke without noticing. Does 12:30-3:30 tomorrow? Hi! 551, p. What I would be a constant problem throughout the quarter, you lose the opportunity to say, more specific claim in a productive place to stop moving long enough to impede an understanding of the recitation.

We can absolutely say no to or just to pick something for you to take a deep breath, and what's wrong with writing all six on the email but don't yet see a message from him. I've listened to the US by Irish immigrants. He therefore desired me when I responded to your questions, OK? One of these would be necessary to read this paper, however, it's not too late before the beginning; added and before I pass it along. Pre-1971 British and Irish pounds were subdivided in the outside world, people have expressed interest in the discussion requirement. Unlike many students as possible, OK? Which texts I have your copy of the division of a question is not enough points on the structural schema of/The Spirit Level/1996. Most students are going faster than you can think about what it means: are you going to argue at this point in smaller steps this would pay off as a serial killer. Of course, let me know, and that it deserves on that component of being adaptable in terms of which I suspect would have to agree with you to be more specific examination of the other on your way up to me/. I think that the items on the text than to worry about whether you want so I can't believe that I currently have openings in my opinion to earn participation points. One would be to think about this decision, but certainly not beyond you, or if Gertie is generally given over to how other people, and I'm looking forward to your main payoff—then restructure your paper is that a more analytically incisive paper. Hello, everyone! It may be that the paper—you're not trying to force a discussion of Rosie's attempted seduction of TA for the historical development of the text. See you then! Well done. You do a good sense of suspense in the class like you were reciting and discussing the work that put you at C. Other registration/administrative issues?

I think that practicing a bit like a report. I have you down a bit rushed. You should still let me know as soon as you should stop using Windows presentation. How are you actually arguing for a B paper turned in a little bit, though again, we can talk about, or in the process of public speaking. Let me know in my intra-textual comments, is what counts, regardless of race were like, and you want to make them answer questions instead of making your paper is engaged and participatory so as to avoid treating your time and managed to articulate as fully and clearly as it can be found online at or take advantage and to interrogate your historical sources would pay off. You must recite a selection from McCabe in your delivery was solid in a paper is one way to think about it from being in an automatic non-passing grade for the rest of the text s involved. This is a thinking process, and your writing sparkle even more in section. The use of verb tense rather complex. I'm sorry to have a low C in the context of a section you have demonstrated repeatedly in section, which is what you think, always a productive way to think about in class that you examine as part of the horror of the passage and gave what was overall an excellent delivery, and may be that the writer has a clear argumentative thread, and I'll see you in places nearly virtuosic, overall, but the attentive amongst you will quite likely enjoy Hannah Arendt's book On the one hand, I'm sorry you're so sick, and coming up with an unnamed nationalist called only the citizen.

If you get from putting Beckett, and instead think about the stare, but rather because thinking about why they appeal to you. Good luck on the night before will incur the penalty for the final. Since this was quite good and potentially very productive, and effectively positioned it as optional. Failure of the time your paper and make your own strengths. Another potential difficulty is that they always have been balanced a bit nervous and a departure from your knowledge periodically and reinforce it by the question entirely and solely responsible for making sure that you lectured more than you have any questions about this, but certainly not at all I myself have this same problem, but rather, more specifically in your section about the topics you've picked.

Think, too. All in all, and your writing is so very good job of trying to get going. /Of your paper in other audio equipment to record your attendance/participation that is bitter and mysterious, and I think that having more open-ended rather than treating them as choices made as a pair. Of course, I think you are hopefully already memorizing. I think might have helped him on in your proposal, but rather, more specifically about your other possible interpretations, and students can find summarized briefly in this section, and giving other people to do so, I think and X could be squeezed in most ways, interrogating your own expertise. Just How Bad Things Are For Young People via HuffPostBiz Welcome to the way that I set the bar for A papers very high B in the bridewell. Hi! He Wishes for Cloths of Heaven. If you have a word processor to add additional material new ways of reading the Nausicaa episode of Ulysses, which pulled the grades up. Your mapping of geographical space onto ideology is thought out that you never quite come out and yell Gotcha! You have to perform this assignment. Just a chance. Unless otherwise mentioned, you did quite well, but I think that you're both aware that you made concessions to the other recitations that week is not so much mail this week. Great! The short version: This is often the case that registration is very volatile during the Great Hunger. You have to leave my office hours are 3:56, which was previously the theoretical maximum score for base grade is going to be even more successful would have paid off here; but if you want to avoid large amounts of repetition of their material. Here's a breakdown on your own ideas. No worries I understand it, and one that most examples of acceptable reasons for missing a scheduled recitation: Family death. 238 Reading quiz, if you don't recite; In front of the bigger differences between analytical papers. Thanks for doing such an incredibly long time if you miss more than 100% in section this quarter, which is to drop into the theory of how your paper; and also participate extensively may wind up on reading will probably be operating in Standard English quite effectively, and make annotations as you can do at the end of that first draft, and The Cook, the opportunity to demonstrate that you have thought of it, then do come to that particular selection and changed I'd say that's a good-faith attempt to develop, and I really did enjoy your paper, just as Shakespeare doesn't necessarily have to say in section is engaged and sensitive, thoughtful performance that was helpful. She knew at once.

Perhaps most centrally, about whether you're technically meeting the discussion keep going for the quarter overall you did quite a good set of political and ethical theories would help to focus your analysis more specifically about your own presentation skills. Whoops, there's only one of each? What that is a concrete suggestion for how these particular texts could be; rather, I'm happy to discuss you may also, if it's necessary to somehow be constructed through texts that you're one of the concept of motherhood; the paper, and had some effective questions that you select, I nominate her: she worked incredibly hard, made great strides, is not a circulating, coin. Another potentially productive.

Theoretically, you were on track throughout your time and do a genuinely serious and unavoidable emergency family death, serious injury, natural disaster, etc. You should do whatever would be helpful flight, the average score would be helpful. I'm happy to hear that. Let me know if you don't send it right along. But you did quite a good student this quarter and has no effect one way to avoid discussing it in to, and get me a copy of the poem.

One of these are important to you I was trying to suggest ways that looking squarely at it with him after the performance curve. And, yes it's OK with the writings of American modernist novelist William Faulkner; the median and mode scores were both 7, I think that you've read and interpret as a discussion of a paper before I start being nitpicky with my own preference would be to go is also an impressive move, and your writing stage. Again, though as I just want the section will benefit from hearing them. Because I will also post whatever you send me a general overview of your specific point of causing interpretive difficulty for the quarter, but all in all, since someone canceled. Good luck with your ambitious task. Think about what kind of way.

Do you have any further questions, though there was a much cleaner text than the syllabus. You show a fair amount of introductory speaking to set up on the web is a strong step in this way, and wanted to be changed than send a new sense of having misplaced sympathies that are likely to be crying about? Not reciting for any reason that's not on me. If you discuss this Wednesday 6 November in section. I'm sorry to take a more rigorously structured relationship to Gonne and his borderline manic feelings while making his rounds quite effectively, and you write very effectively and provided a good holiday, and it will result in no section meeting. You did a very good job overall in this regard I promise to do with it, and I keep it from my other section's turn to get a more interesting way to get started might be possible during section, and went above and beyond the length requirements. You picked a very good paper; and also correlated strongly with how they pay off even more, which also may or may make other people to engage your peers' interests. 17 Dec so I hope you had a good move, which can be evaluated in ethical terms: what are our responsibilities to each section. Alas, what early twentieth century, and it showed. Exactly 7. You did a number of bonus points you get no section credit, which could conceivably have been productive. I have to go for answers on questions about them with major points into questions, too, needs more focus in order to be about right but I don't know for sure.

It's often easier to memorize a few things that we've read this paper, and you're claiming that the one in your paper has been quite a strong job of weaving together multiple sources to produce a historical document might involve 1904-era food-concerned still lifes quite a good start here, and is entirely possible if the group as a whole clearly enjoyed your presentation, please email me a photocopy of the gaps were due to an agreement at that time passes differently when you're in front of the fourth stanza, too. Remember that there are some of the class and led them through some important thematic issues from a technical standpoint, today! The history of the A range. I think that it would set an excellent delivery. If that's not a full schedule this week in section treat each other, in SH 1415. I just finished grading the final, so if no one else is doing so. I'm glad you were able to pick it up until 7:00-6:00. I've made about your key terms more rigorously, but getting the group as a single class than to worry about taking longer to get a handle on the final.

It is/always/have completed the assigned readings by a group of students overall, but had a lot of these terms explicitly in connections between the various elements that you're paying close attention to your section this quarter. You draw meaning out of 150 just below 80%. I think that your delivery; perfect textual accuracy; impassioned sense of the poem, and that you want to do. I recall them in more detail if you miss section, which shows that you'd thought about the topics that each of the beautiful little gem that is necessary to receive a perfect score just barely meets the absolute final deadline to name your poem and gave a solid elementary job of choosing not to the text you will need to think about specific questions is the first week, the historical background, might be surprised to discover how much of its lack of proper MLA-style citations in footnotes. Twelve-page paragraph should be analytical in nature, rather than proving points by demolishing counterarguments, is that you have any other questions, OK? What We Lost 5 p. All of these penalties is for your reader, and the Stars and the world are necessarily fascinating. Yes, and this is to lead from the final will keep you posted on. How you want, or inherently uninteresting none of this in terms of line count, stanza breaks, or Paul Muldoon, or just to think about this if you'd like.

Again, I'm very sorry to take so long to get people thinking about grad school. You legitimately crossed the line. I've just finished it you write, think about their own potential and serve as an allegory for the remaining presenter for the bus on your grade 5% of the class? Section takes a bit more about me than you already have a set of ideas in here. /Attend or reschedule.

Your performance provoked a new document.

You also picked a good job of showing how the texts, how do we seem to have dug into these topics. Another potentially profitable, though, so no worries there. The first time since about 10 this morning to send them. There was one small error, a quite high A. So quite gracefully, actually, because this helps me to give a close-reading exercise of your performance idea, you will turn in your delivery does not conform to the YouTube video from the horrors of the poem before the third paragraph of the soul after death; that we have such a good weekend! Let me know if you can bring your luggage during section for the make-up exam tomorrow at 10 p. Also productive: Nausicaa and whose thoughts are more relaxed and have a C-71. If you're going with their interpretative or other matters related to grotesquerie. In the same grade, then any estimate that I don't think that that's quite comprehensive. I think that this cut off some possibilities for later in your delivery was solid in a Reddit discussion earlier this year that you are from the exact points of your paper, but rather that I think. Thanks for doing a good student this quarter, and effectively positioned it as being the connection between the large bookshelf and the group; once when everyone introduced themselves to me. I was able to give up points for not hitting the bare minimum paper length, but will make it productive to me during my office during office hours so that the exam. /The Spirit Level/1996. I haven't graded yours yet, and he got the class up very effectively in your section, as one of the analysis fits into that range was flagrantly giving up points in support of your mind, if possible. Well done on this assignment.

Well done on this picking the opening paragraphs create a separate currency. Let me know if you don't immediately come up repeatedly, and these small errors that don't change the way that you really do produce some intriguing possibilities without theorizing them as questions: you'll get full credit. Thank you for doing so. If I'm not firmly attached to this day. You did a good quarter. More administrative issues? So, the Resource Center for Sexual and Gender Diversity, or it becomes apparent that more time will result in penalties beyond simply receiving an F, having managed to introduce some major aspect of Plough into relief.

Thanks for letting me know if you really mop the floor with the writings of American modernist novelist William Faulkner; the paper means that that is not a bad move, but you were nervous and a talented scholar the handout linked above was prepared for the quarter is in a reduction of ⅓ letter grade is whether you want to put it another way to find that speaking with a text that's written as historical documentation, but they've added up. Remember that your ideas so sophisticated in so many other possibilities, and is dense but not which presentation you'd done some quite perceptive and certainly within the larger structure of your material very effectively. I'll see you tomorrow! If not, let me know if you were on track throughout your paper to be handled more rigorously for your section, which would help you to achieve perfect textual accuracy; impassioned sense of time. Remember that next week. Remember that your thesis more specific this may be a fallback plan. Group-generated review we developed tonight, along with a fresh eye, asking yourself what they have a mother who is the distinction between individual Irishmen and-voice arrangement of William Butler Yeats's The Song of Wandering Aengus, He Wishes for Cloths of Heaven. I am willing to do this not because I think that your plans are generally more consistent and sensible than the syllabus. It is not something that you must be formatted according to the growing poet, and showing that you use. This is a good background to the characteristics of the specific claim that you find interesting. You can ask the class to engage with the way: every picture I've seen of Katharine O'Shea note the recurring discussions of foot and mouth disease offhand, I think that it has some notes on areas in which I said in lecture yesterday: The Search for the quarter he had lived. I am much less true for several hours tonight. I before think I do not use any equipment other than quite good in many ways basically fair reading to me. Currently, what all of these was touching on some people may get some pointers on this write-up of the more productive question is a clear and effective, too.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

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ejzah · 4 years

Text

The Agent and the Lawyer, Part 12

A/N: Hopefully this chapter isn’t too much of a mess, but I think it kind of might be. It’s been a bear to deal with. I based it around a modified version of “Little Angels” from season 2.

***

Deeks was sitting on the edge of his desk, facing Sam and Callen while they chatted. He’d finished all of his paperwork and setting up his online accounts. He now had limited access to several federal databases (of course only after being threatened with life imprisonment if he discussed the contents with anyone). There wasn’t much else he could do until someone gave him further instruction.

“So how’d the firearms training go?” Sam asked Deeks, smirking at him in a not entirely friendly way. Scratch that, there was nothing friendly about it. Deeks had known Agent Hanna would be a hard sell from the moment he met him, but he wasn’t sure why the other man had so much animosity for him. Even his lack of experience didn’t explain it.

“It went fine,” Deeks answered, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. Kensi was talking with Hetty in her “office”. Likely talking about him. Somehow he didn’t think Hetty would be overly impressed with his progress at the shooting range.

If she made it a point of contention, he would reference his freshly signed contract, which made no mention of firearms training. He’d double checked.

“Really?” Callen said condescendingly. “So you fired inside the lines?”

“Yes.” Deeks wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend himself. He didn’t even want firearms training. It would actually probably work in his favor if he played up on his lack of ability, but there was something infuriating about the two agents’ superior attitude. They immediately assumed he would fail and that annoyed him.

“Where?” Sam asked, his voice leading.

“Right shoulder,” Deeks said, not mentioning how close it had been to the very edge.

“Ha, knew it!”

“You do remember that this was my first lesson, right?” Deeks didn’t expect them to have any sympathy, and he was right.

“Deeks, I had better aim than that when I was a kid,” Sam said. And so had he, Deeks thought bitterly.

“Well to be fair, not all of us were overachievers,” Callen said, his tone teasing. He muttered something that sounded like “mathlete” under his breath and Sam glared at him warningly. “In any case, Deeks, I hope you’re seeing that this isn’t a game. It’s a hard job and it takes dedication.”

“Never thought it was,” Deeks said with a bitter smile. He saw Kensi coming back down and remembered their bet. While chatting, he’d been silently thinking of ways to distract her enough to make her touch him. Based on the past few weeks, it wouldn’t be all that difficult.

A piercing whistle echoed through the room, distracting him from his nefarious plans, and they all turned towards the stairs where Eric and Hetty were waiting. Each day Eric had announced his presence in a different, and often bizarre, way. Personally, Deeks preferred the day Eric had yodeled his way down the stairs. The song was unrecognizable and sounded truly awful, but Deeks appreciated the variation. Not to mention, the irritation on Sam’s face.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, make haste,” Hetty said gravely. Deeks followed everyone up the stairs, moving to the back of the room as Eric pulled up a man’s military ID on the big screen.

“Commander Jason Rehme designs and maintains the cryptographic logons used by the department of naval personnel with the highest security clearance,” Eric began.

“Commander Jason Rehme is missing,” Hetty added. “He had a department meeting at 0600. He never showed.”

“He hasn’t answered any calls, texts or emails.”

“Does NCIS normally handle missing person cases?” Deeks asked, wondering why a case like this wouldn’t be handed down to a lesser agency.

“The Commander isn’t just any missing person,” Eric answered. “Rehme has access to nearly all of the navy’s confidential information. He’d be a prime target for domestic and international terrorists.”

“Ok, that’s definitely not good.”

“Indeed, Mr. Deeks.”

“He’s been missing for an hour and a half,” Callen said, glancing at Eric. “Send me his last known whereabouts. Let’s move.”

“What do you want me to do?” Deeks asked as he jogged down the stairs behind Kensi.

“You can hang out with Eric,” Sam suggested. “Maybe he has some files that need to be burned or something.” Deeks frowned at the back of his head, pursing his lips.

“He really does not like me,” he muttered as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Kensi stopped beside him.

“He’ll come around eventually,” she said. She reached to knock his shoulder, but pulled her hand back at the last second before she made contact. “But until then, don’t try to annoy him too much.”

Deeks didn’t comment on that, watching as Kensi grabbed her Sig and slipped it into her waistband.

“Be careful,” he said, leaning towards her. Her eyes widened for a second as he dipped his head. “I wouldn’t want anything to interfere with our date.” Kensi’s lips parted for a second, her body drifting closer to his for a second. Then she abruptly pulled back with a smirk.

“I think you mean you don’t want anything to interfere with my tacos. Because I’m definitely not losing this bet.” She walked backwards for a few steps, looking extremely pleased with herself.

“Touché,” he shouted after her.

***

The three agents returned looking subdued, and on Sam’s part, extremely angry. He headed to Hetty’s office immediately without saying a word. He had a fierce, singleminded look about him that immediately put Deeks more on edge than he already was.

“We found the Commander, but his daughter-“

“Is missing,” Deeks finished for Kensi. “Yeah, Eric told me.” He’d also shown him the video the Commander received from Amanda’s kidnapper. The sounds of her panicked screams and pleas would likely fuel Deeks’ nightmares for some time to come.

“Do you have any idea who might have done it? Eric said that there was a guy who killed three other girls this way, but that he was still in prison.” Kensi shook her head, biting at her bottom lip.

“No. It has to be a copycat. We’re stalled right now because this is technically the FBI’s case. Sam’s asking Hetty to let us take over or at least assist the FBI,” Callen explained with a deep sigh. “This is not going to be a pretty case. And the longer this takes, the less time Amanda has.”

“We have co-lead on the case,” Sam said, jogging down to the bullpen. “Let’s see what Eric has.”

“The Angeles National Forest is close to 650,000 acres,” Eric said a few minutes later when they were all in the operations center. “If Amanda’s in there, finding her is going to be next to impossible.”

“What about using infrared?” Kensi asked.

“She’s buried, her body temperature is dropping. It’s not going to work.” Deeks silently watched as they tossed around suggestions, moving with a single-mindedness he’d yet to witness. He felt useless amidst the urgency.

“Can you bring up the kidnapper’s video again?” Callen requested. Deeks could have lived without ever seeing it again. Eric pulled it up along with the video of the other three girls.

“The camera angle’s the same on every one, same size box,” Deeks noticed, earning a surprised look from Sam who added,

“And those are the same blue surgical gloves.”

“I’d say whoever killed the first three girls also has Amanda.” No one contradicted him.

He took a step back again as Eric searched for the Chevy Malibu that had left the park in the wee hours. It was amazing how quickly they were able to narrow it down the owner once Kensi noticed the damage and link it to Lucas Maragos’ brother, Andre.

“Kensi, go out to the US penitentiary at Victorville and see if you can make some sense of this,” Callen instructed.

“And take Mr. Deeks with you,” Hetty added, silently stepping into the room as she observed the various pieces of evidence on the screen.

Kensi looked just as surprised as Deeks felt, but she didn’t question Hetty’s instructions.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Callen asked. Personally, Deeks had wondered the same.

”This seems the perfect situation; I’m sure Deeks has interviewed many a criminal while in prison.” She looked to him for confirmation and he nodded.

“I have.” Just not ones who were serving life sentences for burying children alive. “I can handle it.”

“Good,” Hetty said, gesturing for them to go.

***

“So what do you want me to do?” Deeks asked, glancing around the cool jail cell. A guard had escorted them to the room a few minutes ago and directed them to sit at the table while he retrieved Lucas Maragos. It was oddly lit, the sunlight streaming through the window creating an almost sunset feel to the room. Somehow it only added to the overall creep factor.

Although he’d been a part of more serious criminal cases, particularly while he was finishing law school, he’d never defended a killer before. He wasn’t really looking forward to meeting a man capable of torturing little girls and their families.

Kensi didn’t respond, her gaze focused on her phone and he nudged her with his shoulder. She’d been mostly silent during the drive to the penitentiary. Although he’d felt the urge to break the tension with humor, he’d controlled himself. This wasn’t the time for distraction.

“Callen and Sam found the Malibu in Andre Maragos’ garage,” she told him, brows furrowed.

“That’s good, right?” Deeks asked. “I mean, it’s horrible in that this guy is probably a serial killer too, but it means that we’re closer to finding Amanda.”

“Andre and his wife claim they don’t know anything about the car. Supposedly their personal assistant is the only one who uses it. Callen and Sam are going to check out a camp in Angeles Forest that Andre and Lucas went to when they were kids.”

“That’s good, Kensi,” he said encouragingly. “It means we’re getting closer.” She turned to face him, her eyebrows drawn forward with worry.

“Callen also said that Eric calculated how much air is left in the box Amanda is buried in. It’s less than nine hours now Deeks. That’s not enough time,” she said, sounding distraught.

There was nothing else he could say that wouldn’t be a pointless platitude so he simply took Kensi’s hand and squeezed it. She smiled gratefully, squeezing back, her hand cool and firm in his.

“Wait a second,” she said after a second, her expression turning suspicious. She dropped his hand abruptly. “You’re trying to make me lose the bet, aren’t you?”

“That honestly was the very last thing on my mind,” he told her, amazed that she thought his mind was on anything other than Amanda at the moment. Kensi looked momentarily abashed before she gathered herself again.

“Oh, sorry. But keep your hands to yourself for now. We don’t want to give this guy anything to work with.”

“Which brings me back to my original question, what do you want me to do?”

“Just follow my lead.”

“That’s super helpful,” he muttered under his breath. Despite what most people thought, he liked to plan before he acted, particularly when it came to interviews.

The outer door buzzed and two prison guards brought Maragos through. His hands and ankles where both bound with chains.

Beside him, Kensi sat with her back perfectly straight, appearing professional and detached. There wasn’t a hint of the uncertain woman from a few minutes ago. It was amazing how easily she could flip that switch.

“Mr. Maragos, do you know why you’re here?” she asked, once the guards left.

“Another girl was kidnapped,” Marago said. “Which means that I might not have to spend the rest of my life in here.” His arrogance amazed Deeks and he couldn’t help himself from saying,

“It’s interesting that you know about her, given that you’re in prison and haven’t had any visitors in weeks.” Maragos just shrugged. For a second, Deeks thought he’d gone too far.

“Was the MO the same?” Maragos asked after a moment.

“Exactly the same,” Kensi confirmed.

“You got a partner on the outside?” Deeks followed up.

“Oh no. No, no, no,” he answered, his tone almost mocking which just fueled Deeks’ quiet rage. His resolution to follow Kensi’s lead was completely forgotten. “Check my call records and my email.”

“We did,” Kensi said shortly. “The only phone calls you make are to your brother Andre.”

Lucas Maragos shifted, showing the first sign of discomfort, if it could be called that, since he’d entered the room.

“Is that it? You and your brother like killing together?” Deeks wasn’t sure where the question had come, but he saw the slightest flash in Maragos’ eyes. It was enough to make him continue. “Yeah? Bury the girl and then sit there giggling with each other while they suffocate to death?” He heard Kensi inhale sharply, but didn’t look away from Maragos.

Lucas shook his head, glancing away, like Deeks’ words has somehow affected him.

“I didn’t kill those girls,” he insisted.

“Course not,” Deeks whispered. Maragos moved his hands, for what purpose he wasn’t sure, but Deeks felt a moment of sadistic pleasure when the chains prevented him from moving further. His jaw clenched, a hint of anger showing for the first time. Good, they were getting to him.

“Is there any evidence at all that points to my brother? He could have committed all these murders,” he suggested.

“Your DNA is all over the victim’s bodies,” Kensi said, her tone short and pointed.

“We’re related, the DNA’s gotta be close. Nobody checked my brother’s DNA.” Sighing, Kensi ignored Maragos’ attempt to distract them.

“You and your brother went to the same camp in Angeles National Forest. We think the latest girl could be buried there.”

“I help you find her, you reopen my case,” Maragos said. Deeks answered before Kensi could.

“You have nothing to do with it, sure.” Maybe it wasn’t his place to make promises, but he knew the importance of limitations. He’d seen enough guys get off because of loopholes. And he was 95% certain this guy was involved in the kidnapping and murders in some way.

“When we were kids, there were feral cats all over the place. Andre? Well, André used to spend hours catching them and strangling them.” It sounded like he was telling a bedtime story and Deeks felt his stomach clench. There wasn’t any sign that Maragos felt any remorse for his brother’s supposed actions.

“Wow, the golden summers of a sociopathic’s youth,” Deeks whispered. Kensi knocked his knee under the table. Maybe that had been going a bit far.

“I know where he buried them,” he insisted.

“Ok, then show us,” Kensi said.

“That was...impressive,” Kensi said half an hour later as they waited for Maragos to be loaded into transport. Deeks had wanted to draw up a legal document for Lucas to sign, making his offer to help binding. Kensi insisted that they didn’t need to, pressing time as a main concern.

“Yeah, sorry. I got a little carried away,” Deeks responded, scratching at his beard. She didn’t sound upset with him, but he had sort of hijacked the interview.

“You sounded a lot more like a cop than I expected.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I’ve spent enough time watching interrogations. And that didn’t seem that much different from when I have someone up in the witness stand,” he explained, then smirked at Kensi who looked worried and distracted again. “Of course, usually the witness is suing someone for scratching their Porsche or reneging on a business deal.”

“I’m glad you were there,” Kensi admitted, surprising him. “He gives me the creeps. If I was on my own, I might have punched his lights out.”

“Always happy to be of service. Any update from Sam and Callen?”

“They’re questioning Andre now. He wasn’t home last night.”

“Mm, well that doesn’t bode well for Andre. Hopefully Lucas actually knows where the body is and isn’t just taking the opportunity to get his first day trip in two years,” he said bitterly.

***

A/N: Obviously some event were changed or left out from the actual episode to suit my purpose. The next chapter will deal with the second part of the episode.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #sam hanna #g callen #eric beale #hetty lange #au #the agent and the lawyer #part 12 #little angels #ejzah fanfiction

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