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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

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Steal Your Heart (Part 1)

When the calling card of the infamous Knave of Hearts arrives, he’ll rob his victims blind of their most treasured items on the appointed date. Enter ace detective Yuu accompanied by rookie cop Deuce Spade, both seeking to apprehend the Knave and bring him to justice.

Will they succeed, or will the phantom thief steal their valuables--and their hearts--first?

This was originally meant to be one fic, but it was getting to be WAY too long. I decided to split it in half and release this part now and the second part (which I am still working on!) later. This first part focuses more on Yuu and Deuce; the second part will be more Yuu and Ace.

(Please note: there are slight romantic implications in the form of an Ace/Yuu/Deuce love triangle, but those elements could also be interpreted as platonic or as just playful teasing with no additional meaning. It’s all in the eyes of the reader!)

Imagine this...

The police station’s waiting room was a familiar sight.

With time, the shiny checkered floor had grown matte, marred with scratches and scuffs from the boots that crossed it on a daily basis. Someone had taken to attempt to pretty up the otherwise dull space by hanging out abstract paintings on the cream-colored walls, and a vase of white roses dripping with red paint at the check-in desk. There was as even a glass tank which housed a small family of colorful hedgehogs.

Maybe they were meant to be welcoming—but really, they were more clashing than anything. Certainly not a fit for the stiff atmosphere of the station.

Still the fluorescent lightbulbs buzzed faintly, flickering in and out on occasion. The sound distracted from the old television mounted in a corner to entertain guests. It seemed to play commercials on a loop more often than it played actual shows. Currently, an Olympus Corp. branded tablet was being toted as the next big technological marvel—though the TV’s audio was fuzzy at best, and the image half static.

A coffee table pushed to the wall, stacked with a new stash of magazines. Whoever updated the reading materials—most likely the friendly senior officer with orange waves for hair—was into the latest trends, often selecting fashion magazines with high gloss finishes. A dangerously beautiful man graced the covers of many of them, dressed in the hottest summertime styles while looking the part of an untouchable ice queen.

As usual, the station was scented with coffee and tea, the beverages of choice for many officers burning the midnight oil or working overtime. The chief demanded it at times to meet deadlines and goals—he was such a stickler for them—and the caffeine helped those under him stay sane as they went about their duties.

In the afternoons, most were either out on lunch or on patrol, lessening the foot traffic at HQ. There was only one man in uniform, seated behind the desk and filing some papers.

Yuu shifted in their own chair, adjusting the rim of the baseball cap upon their head. They were suited in an inconspicuous jacket and sneakers, fingers toying with a badge in a pocket, hidden out of view. To the common man, they were a jogger--but one flash of their lilac gemstone bound to a black and white striped ribbon, and there would be no doubt as to what their true identity was.

The smell of coffee and tea grew stronger, and Yuu glanced up from behind the bill of their hat.

The bespectacled man from behind the fro

nt desk had approached. He had a sheepish smile, bearing a paper cup filled with hot brown liquid and a napkin with a donut laid upon it. Bright pink icing dusted with sugared violet petals crowned the golden fried pastry.

“Detective.”

“Mr. Clover.” Yuu nodded—a terse, polite greeting. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Please, just ‘Trey’ is fine.” He offered the treats, which they readily accepted. “Sorry for calling you in on such short notice. I’m sure you’re busy juggling your other cases—but I think I speak for the entire department when I say we’re thankful that you were able to make it.”

“No worries, I’m used to it in this line of work,” Yuu replied. “It must be something pretty urgent this time around. The Chief sounded frantic over the phone.”

Trey rubbed at his chin, grasping for the right words. “Let’s just say he’s not in the best of moods right now. You’ll need that sugar to get through this in one piece.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Just trying to avoid any trouble. You’d better finish them before you step into his office. You know how he hates it when there are crumbs or spills in there.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Yuu gave a joking salute before starting to pack away at their snack. The drink was the instant kind, and practically scalding, but it was easy to tell that the donut was homemade. The pastry, flaky on the outside and fluffy on the inside, dusted with sugar granules and sweet icing. “Wouldn’t want the Chief to be blowing a fuse again.”

“No, definitely not. He’s done too much of that lately.” Trey carefully eyed Yuu’s donut, now only half of it left. “Oh, but be sure to brush your teeth a thorough cleaning tonight, or I might have some problems with you. Cavities and staining are real dangers, you know.”

“Are you Assistant Chief of Police or my dental hygienist?” Yuu took a generous swig, then a bite just as big. “You worry too much about everything.”

“Ahahah… Do I? It’s a habit, I guess. Comes with the job.”

“That stressful, huh?”

“Well, I do what I can to smooth things over. Hopefully you can too. It’s been difficult on our department with the Chief all rattled up about the… situation.” He stopped himself. “I’m sure you’ll hear all about it from him.”

So the case is top-secret, Yuu concluded with the last of their donut. Not to be discussed in the public.

They ran their tongue across the length of their mouth, lapping up the remains of sugary residue. “I understand. The details are not to leave his office.”

“You catch on quickly. No wonder why the Chief thinks so highly of your abilities.”

“Flattery’s a part of your tool kit as well, Trey?”

He raised his eyebrows. “… You’ve worked long enough with us to figure these things out. Nothing gets by you, it seems.”

“UGIGIGIGIGGGGHHHH!!”

The remainder of Yuu’s drink sloshed around in its cup, set into motion by the bloodcurdling scream.

A familiar man with orange waves erupted from the chief’s office, hurriedly slamming the door shut behind him. His typically relaxed features were arranged in panic, his hair frazzled.

“How did trying to calm him work out, Cater?” Trey inquired half-heartedly. It was a courtesy more than genuine curiosity.

“What do you think?” the senior officer groaned, sinking where he stood.

Yuu quickly finished their drink, tossing their trash—the evidence they had been there—away and then stood, adjusting their jacket. “That sounds like it’s my cue.”

“Yeah, it is.” Trey sighed, frowning. “He’s in a tough spot right. Be kind to him, will you? That’s all I ask.”

“You got it.” Yuu tipped their baseball cap as they passed the officer. “Thank you for the pick-me-up. I’ll be seeing you, then. Officer Diamond—get some rest.”

“Good luck.”

“You’ll need it, Yuu-chan! Brace yourself.”

The Police Chief was a small but serious man.

His character came through in his office space: books on law and order neatly arranged on shelves, papers and files alphabetically organized in their cabinets, and pens evenly spaced apart and arranged in rows. A crystal vase with deep red roses was poised beside his writing implements. A plate polished to a fine shine was propped up at his desk, reading: Riddle Rosehearts, Chief of Police.

Perched imposingly despite his short stature in his seat, he impatiently tapped a finger on an arm. Riddle’s face was a telltale red and veiny, proof of his earlier outburst, but was beginning to cool into a faint, smooth pink.

There was already another man in the office, sitting across from the Police Chief. He was pale and jittery in a suit the color of the night and sewn with blue sequins and glitter. A top hat rested upon his raven locks, the brim of it shading his hauntingly golden eyes.

Yuu removed their hat and, keeping it to their chest, gave a shallow bow as they entered. “Sir.”

One move out of line, one hair out of place, and they suspected he, in his volatile and vulnerable state, would explode anew.

“Welcome, Detective. I’m glad you could join us today.” Every word was a gruff puff of air, a leash with which to wrest control of his rage. Riddle gestured to the empty chair beside the nervous man. “Sit.”

Yuu obeyed, sinking into the seat offered. They casted a glance at the stranger adjacent to them, who was fiddling with his velvet-lined gloves.

“Mr. Crowley, this is the independent detective from Stray Cat Investigations that I had previously mentioned to you. The force has collaborated with them for a number of difficult cases in the past. Their wit and strategic skills have made them an invaluable asset. I thought it prudent to have them return to join us for your case as well.

“Yuu, meet Dire Crowley. He is the esteemed director and curator for the Sage’s Island Museum, and he’s come to us with his woes.”

“Hello, Mr. Crowley,” Yuu said politely. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He responded with a tired attempt at a smile. “Yes, you too.”

“Now that we’re all acquainted with one another...” Riddle produced a file from beneath his desk and placed it before himself. “Do you care to explain, or shall I?”

“I-I’ll elaborate!” Crowley crowed. He picked at a collection of keys belted to his waist, glistening gold under artificial lights. “The Sage’s Island Museum is planning a new exhibition on the Great Seven. As part of the exhibit, we are having many priceless artifacts flown in from all over Twisted Wonderland. We have donations from even Briar Valley’s royal family!!

“There will also be a great number of important VIP guests present for the grand opening of the exhibit. Royalty, wealthy benefactors, important diplomats, businessmen, celebrities... All individuals who wish to see their history on display! This is very important, you see!! M-My reputation--er, I mean, the museum’s reputation--is on the line here!!”

“Right.” Yuu nodded as they parsed through the information. “I’m following what you’re putting down. And where does your problem arise, Mr. Crowley?”

“Ah, now that,” Riddle smirked, “is the question of the hour.”

He opened his file, pulling out...

A single playing card, its back facing Yuu.

“I trust you’ve been keeping up with the news?”

“As any good detective would. There have been several robberies lately. Terrible, really.” Yuu’s expression clouded with concentration. “Hmm... but if it’s a potential robbery that you’re concerned about, Mr. Crowley... Doesn’t the Sage’s Island Museum boast a state-of-the-art security system from Olympus Corp.? I doubt the average thief would be able to bypass it.”

“That’s just the trouble,” Crowley loudly lamented.

“We are dealing with no ordinary thief,” Riddle clarified.

“It’s not?”

“No. Far from it.” The Police Chief exhaled sharply. “The string of robberies from before--they’re connected by a single thread, perpetuated by the same lone culprit. And now that scoundrel intends to continue his crime spree.”

“I’ve never heard of this before.”

“You shouldn’t have. It was a top-secret operation within my force since the first of its kind.”

“Why am I being told of it now?”

“Because, loathe as I am to admit it, the culprit has managed to outwit us and elude capture each and every time, He employs a bag of cheap parlor tricks and smoke and mirrors like the coward he is,” Riddle confessed begrudgingly. The blue-grey of his eyes were steely and stubborn. “A case as important as this needs the additional man—and brain—power, Detective.”

He placed the playing card down and slid it toward the detective. “This arrived in the morning at Mr. Crowley’s desk, the same as all the prior robberies. It gave him quite the fright. He rushed all the way to the station to beg for our assistance.”

“This is...” Yuu gingerly turned the card over, revealing a message scrawled on the other side in bright red gel ink. Each letter was big and bubbly, bursting with cheek and pomp.

Their heart jumped.

To the Old Crow that safeguards the Museum,

Heyo~

Your pockets look a lil’ heavy there, so I’ll help you out. (Aren’t I so kind?) Three days from now, I’ll claim one of your most prized treasures at the stroke of midnight.

Stand back and watch as I perform the greatest magic trick you’ll ever see... and make the portrait of the Queen of Hearts vanish before your very eyes. It’ll be a show-stopper!!

Until then,

Phantom Thief Knave of Hearts <3

P.S. Send the cops my regards, they can’t catch me lol (especially when their teapot tyrant’s patience is in SHORT supply geddit)

“They’re just flat-out announcing what their intentions are,” Yuu realized. They were half impressed, half shocked at the gall. “You said all of the victims received messages like this?”

“Calling cards, yes.” The fury had returned to Riddle’s features, causing his voice to spike and strain. “It’s infuriating!! What does he get off on, misappropriating magic as cheap parlor tricks for crime, writing notes in such a cocksure manner, taunting us to pursue him?!

“Not only is he poking fun at my height and committing a crime, but for mere SPORT?! For the THRILL of it?! He’s making a mockery of the good people of this island and of my men and our efforts to secure the peace!!”

The Police Chief slammed a fist down on his desk, rattling his glass vase and setting his perfectly straight pens askew. Crowley shrunk back in fear. “That Knave of Hearts...!! He must be stopped at all costs!!”

“Y-Yes, absolutely!!” Crowley chimed in. “For my--er, I mean, for the museum’s sake, this criminal must be put behind bars!! That’s why I’ve come to you, my good people!

“My taxpayer dollars help fund the police force, so I’ve come to collect on what its promise to protect and to serve the community!! Well, here’s the community at your doorstep asking you to protect and to serve!!”

“That’s why you want to put me on this case,” Yuu concluded, clasping the calling card to their racing heart. “To prevent this from going down tonight.”

“And furthermore,” Riddle added, “to investigate the identity of this so-called phantom thief once the museum is safely secured.”

“That’s a tall order, sir.”

“You’ll have access to our force’s resources, and to my officers. You will assist in overseeing this operation, with maps and outlines of the museum’s security detail from Mr. Crowley. We’ll cooperate to create a plan of attack to apprehend the Knave.”

“You misunderstand me. I never said I wouldn’t take the job,” Yuu coolly informed the Chief. Their mouth cocked upwards with confidence. “I’m always up for a challenge.”

“Oh, blessed day!! From the very bottom of my oh-so-generous heart, thank you very much!!” Crowley cried tearfully.

For the first time the entire briefing, Riddle smiled back at Yuu. “Hmph. That’s what I like to hear. Happy to be working with you again, Detective.”

“Likewise, Chief.”

The sun had already set when Yuu exited the station, the stars blinking into existence. Several hours had been spent picking the museum curator’s brain with a fine-toothed comb, looking over layouts, and memorizing security detail. The information had been well-stocked, and now came the time to let it marinate and bloom into plans.

Stuffing their hands in their pockets, Yuu shuffled down the sidewalk and past rows of parked vehicles. Ahead, neon lights flashed in and out, and the trains rattled on their well-worn tracks, buses and cars honking at each other, the chatter of street vendors filling the air.

And something different than the usual tonight.

The city never slept, always buzzed with energy. Yuu had become accustomed to its sights and sounds, finding them even comforting. Their best ideas were conceived against the hum of the cityscape. It was just soft enough to not fully distract, but just noticeable enough to tug at their thoughts for long enough to stray into new territories and concepts.

Light from lonely streetlamps created tears in the darkness, illuminating the path to their favorite downtown thinking spot: the Mostro Lounge. A good (albeit overpriced) drink would chase away their tiredness.

Yuu continued with that promise in mind, every step catlike. First quick, next slow, then quick, moderate, slow, quick, slow, quick, moderate. Their speed, ever alternating.

Their ears strained against the sounds of the city, slowly parsing through the individual elements.

Trains, buses, cars, chatter… and the soft footsteps masked by them. Footsteps which matched Yuu’s pace.

There was no mistaking it now.

I’m being followed.

They didn’t look to see who it was—the first rule of tailing a target was to never alert them to your awareness. Yuu would know (as oftentimes they were the one in the position of tailer).

They cast their eyes across the street, which was busy with bodies. Once Yuu merged with the crowd, they could easily shake off their stalker.

Their feet picked up their pace again, hurrying to the crosswalk. It was a glaring red, advising pedestrians to stop.

Shoot, Yuu cursed.

They felt a presence step up beside them. From the corner of their eye, they could make out a dark form--clothes. Yuu pretended to check the time on their phone, and glimpsed him in the reflection.

He was in a hoodie, with the hood pulled up and head down to conceal his features. His hands, too, were out of sight, a sea of baggy fabric hiding identifying features, save for his frame. Lanky, but reasonably packed with muscle to keep up with Yuu.

The man shifted, and his sight grazed theirs. His eyes were hard and icy, a silent threat.

Yuu quickly focused on the crosswalk light. Their heartbeat became as loud as the surrounding sounds. Screeching above the vehicles, shouting from the rooftops. THA-THUMP, THA-THUMP, THA-THUMP.

At last, the light turned from red to white.

Walk.

They started--and so did he.

“Excuse me.” A hand came upon their shoulder. The other pulled at something with a sinister glint. “Do you have a second?”

No walking, Yuu corrected themselves. Run!!

They sprinted down the crosswalk, jostling pedestrians with a hasty “sorry!” thrown back at them. As Yuu weaved through the crowd as fast as they could, they could not completely shunt out the man after them.

“Hey, please wait!! Where are you going?! C-Come back, I need to talk to you!”

His voice carried above the others. People jolted back, the crowd parting to make way for the man to charge forth. His volume swelled louder and louder as he gained on them.

Towering apartments seemed to bear down on Yuu. Their windows, glaring.

A shop. Find a shop and get inside!!

Yuu pumped their arms, pleaded for their legs to move more efficiently.

Again, a weight fell upon their shoulder. It was a clamp, fingers biting Yuu’s skin through their jacket as they dug in and held firm.

The other hand wielded the same shining object that it had before. Yuu looked more closely this time, and the unease in them dissipated. It was not the pointed tip of a knife, but the glint of a familiar officer’s badge wreathed in golden roses.

The man tore off his hood with a sigh--though Yuu noticed that he wasn’t one bit out of breath. Navy bangs fell across his forehead, his eyes a peacock green-blue, much friendlier under the streetlamps than the crosswalk signs.

He smiled at Yuu as though he were greeting an old friend. His grip turned into a tender squeeze. “I finally caught up with you!”

The detective awkwardly pulled away, confusion scrawled on their face. “Um... Sorry, who are you? I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“Oh! Uh...” The man jumped, retracting his hand. “That’s because we haven’t! Er, not officially anyway, but I’ve heard a lot about you!!”

Yuu pointed to his badge. “That. You’re an officer?”

“Yessir!” The man offered the proof of his identity and stiffly saluted. “Officer Deuce Spade, sir!! I’m a new recruit...!! I just joined the force a few weeks ago!”

Yuu mustered a faint smile. The darned fool was going to give them away. “... Am I in trouble, officer?”

“Nossir! Not at all!” His entire face shone with eagerness, earnest, and a slightly nervous energy. Maybe Yuu would have found it adorable (in the same way that a child trying hard was adorable), were he not blasting your occupation to the public. “Why would you be in trouble, sir?! You’re working with...”

“Okaaay, that’s enough out of you!” Yuu slapped a hand over Deuce’s mouth, silencing him.

Curious onlookers murmured amongst themselves. Some had taken to halt and full-on gawk. Children pointed, adult narrowing their eyes with suspicion.

Yuu frowned, removing their hand to shoo pedestrians away. “Nothing to see here, folks. Just a misunderstanding. Move along, Wonder Boy and I can settle this ourselves.”

“Wonder Boy?” Deuce, in a daze, pointed to himself. “Is that... me?”

“Who else would I be talking about?” Yuu folded their arms. “I assume you’re free now?”

“I am, sir! I was just let off my shift a little while ago, sir!”

“First, drop the ‘sir’. It’s giving me a headache,” Yuu instructed. “Second, if you’re free, then you’ll be joining me for a drink and a chat. We have things to discuss--chief among them being why you were following me.”

Ring-a-ling!

A bell sounded as the door to the Mostro Lounge swung open. Deuce stepped into a new world, Yuu at his side.

The interior itself was dim, but glass lights fastened in the shape of jellyfish projected swimming incandescent lights in purple, blue, and pink. Velvet booths lined one half of the eatery, the other, a glossy bar with tall, narrow stools, the shelves behind it healthily stocked with bottles in jeweled tones. Strangers poised with drink took residence in most of the seats.

The entire back wall had been repurposed into a massive aquarium teeming with aquatic plants and exotic creatures. Seaweed and coral gently swayed to the rhythm of the smooth jazz floating through the lounge, fish frolicking among them.

“Whoooa,” Deuce gasped, craning his head to drink in every detail. “I’ve never been to a place as classy as this. It looks so expensive. You think my salary’s enough to cover at least an appetizer?”

“Hang on tight to your wallet,” Yuu warned. “This place will squeeze you for every thaumark you’re worth and then some—and they won’t feel a bit of remorse about it.”

The detective raised an arm, flagging a nearby waiter.

Their uniform was simple yet sleek: dark dress pants, a white bow tie, spotless gloves, and a cummerbund and suspenders over a lavender button-up shirt. It allowed for slight variation—one waiter skidded by with his shirt buttoned as low as food safety regulations deemed safe. Another jotted down orders with a jacket thrown over his shoulders and a pair of glasses tucked into the crevice of his buttons.

The waiter Yuu called out to approached like a shark fin cutting through still water, neatly bowing to greet their waiting customers. He was prim and proper compared to the other servers, not a button out of place.

When he raised his head, Deuce marveled at his mismatched olive and gold irises, the teal of his hair marred by a stripe of black. Three diamond-shaped scales dangled from his left ear, as sharp as his eyes.

“I bid you welcome to the Mostro Lounge, honored guests,” the waiter said smoothly. He gaze immediately cut to Deuce. “I see you’ve brought a friend with you, today, Yuu-san. How delightfully rare.”

“Acquaintance. We just met outside under… less than ideal circumstances.”

“Oya, how quick you were to seize on that chance encounter. I may even deem you a bigger opportunist than our dear manager.”

“… Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Deuce inquired.

“Perhaps you will find the answer to your question, should you act as a patron at our establishment for long enough.”

“Quit toying with him, Jade. You know what we’re here for,” Yuu grumbled. “My usual.”

“If that is what you wish. And for this gentleman acquaintance of yours?”

“Just ice water is fine, sir!”

Jade maintained his polite smile. “Very well. One glass of ice cold water for you. I will bring you a menu as well, in case you begin to feel peckish late into the night.”

“Oh, thanks!”

“Right this way then.” Jade gestured for the two to follow him.

“He’s upselling you, you know,” Yuu pointed out under their breath. “Hoping that you’ll buy something when presented with the opportunity to spend.”

“E-Eh, he is?! I didn’t even realize…”

“Fufufu. Please, do not let your worries consume you. You have come to relax, correct? We at the Mostro Lounge ask that you put your fins and your feet up and enjoy yourself while the night is still young.”

They were escorted to two empty stools in a (relatively) quiet corner of the bar. The glass jellyfish lights were clustered in the center of the main dining area, leaving the corner like a slice of dark, uncharted waters. Jass music and conversation filtered into a muffled melody.

Yuu plopped down with relief, followed by an apprehensive Deuce. He slowly sank into the cushy seat.

“I will be right back with your drinks. If you will excuse me.” With another bow, Jade rounded the bar and rolled up his sleeves—the transition from waiter to bartender. Presenting his back to the duo, he set to plucking bottles off of the shelves.

Deuce blinked. He still hadn’t taken to fully processing his new surroundings. “Are we really going kick back and have drinks when there’s a serial thief on the loose?”

“We can’t talk about that in public, or risk blowing my cover. It’s safe to talk here,” Yuu reassured him. “What happens in the Mostro Lounge stays in the Mostro Lounge. Say what you want about the slimy staff, but they know how to keep their patrons’ secrets. Client confidentiality and all.”

The young officer brightened. “Ooooh, I get it!”

“… You’re not the sharpest tool in the shed,” Yuu remarked bluntly. They slipped off their baseball cap, letting loose their hair. “So? Let’s have it.”

“Have what?”

“Your reason for following me.”

“Oh!! That.” Deuce nervously scratched at the back of his neck. “That’s kind of…”

The detective drummed their fingers on the polished counter. Methodical, deliberate. “You mentioned that you recently joined the force. However, only senior officials in the police department and myself were privy to this operation. How did you come to learn about it?”

Deuce stiffened, thrown off his beat (if he had any to begin with). “Th-That’s…!”

“I’m asking you a question, Mr. Spade. Please answer me truthfully.”

“I… um… Truth is, I…” Deuce stared at his lap, unable to meet the detective’s eyes. “I might have eavesdropped when I returned from my patrol shift…”

“Go on,” Yuu coaxed.

“There was a report I had to submit to the Chief, but it sounded like he was busy in his office. It’s hard to not notice him when he raises his voice, sir. I decided to wait outside until he was done, and… well, I got curious.”

“Wasn’t Assistant Chief Clover also present? He just let you do that without a single protest?”

“Assistant Chief Clover was very nice to me! He laughed a little and said ‘make sure you don’t get caught with your hand in the cookie jar’!”

Darn it, Trey!! You could’ve been a LITTLE stricter with this guy…! Yuu groaned, massaging the bridge of their nose. “Okay, I think I’m starting to get a better picture of what went down. You followed me wanting to learn more about the operation.”

Like a curious child chasing after a white rabbit. Still immature, still wondering, and still way over their head.

“Yes, but that’s not all!” Deuce insisted. He abruptly stood from the table. “There’s an even more important reason than just satisfying my curiosity, sir!”

Yuu quirked an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“I had to talk to you—without the Chief around. I had to. That’s why I followed you in secret.” The officer nibbled his lower lip, as if biting back something harsh and bitter from coming up.

“Out with it, Mr. Spade.”

“Pardon the intrusion,” Jade coolly interjected. His tone was nonchalant but his bemused smile was a telltale sign that he was relishing in every second of the hot gossip. “Your beverages.”

He slid two glasses between Yuu and Deuce before departing. One was tall and slim—a highball—loaded with carbonated water and fruity gummies. Yellow for jeweled pineapples, red for ruby berries, green for frozen mint, black for floral cacao, and blue from pure azure salt. It was Yuu’s usual, the famed Mystery Drink. The other glass was, by comparison, an ordinary drink of water, a single large, clear cube of ice floating in it.

A bead of sweat ran down Deuce’s jawline. Condensation forming and racing on his glass of water.

Suddenly, the officer slapped both hands on the counter, slamming his face down upon its surface. His navy hair splayed, forehead touching the table in a display of humility.

Yuu almost spilled their drink. “What are you doing?”

“I’m begging you, sir!! P-Please put me on the mission!!” Deuce pleaded, his voice shaky but resolute. “I… I want to help catch the Knave of Hearts too!!”

“If that’s all you wanted, why ask me? Go through the proper channels to…”

“I can’t!! The Chief would never allow it.” His expression creased with shame. “He says rookies need to work their way up from meter maid to working on cases.”

“He’s right. You need to grow into these things, not rush in head-first in a burst of passion.” Yuu made to take a sip of their drink—but the officer’s fist collided with the counter, the liquid inside the glass sloshing overboard. Seltzer water splashed onto their pant leg, leaving a sticky wet spot on a thigh.

“P-Please reconsider! I know how to handle myself in a fight! I’m fast, I could easily catch up with him if it’s a race on foot!”

“Look,” the detective said irritably, “I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish here. Fact is, no matter how much you ask, I wouldn’t want to take you on for this case. You’re too green behind the ears—and sorry, but I just don’t see you as an asset.

“You may be strong and quick on your feet, but it’ll take more than strength and speed to catch the Knave of Hearts. There’s a reason he hasn’t been caught yet.” Yuu tapped at their temple. “It’s this. He’s got smarts, and we need to combat that with smarts of our own.”

“I-I can be smart!! I can try to, at least! Please, just let me try…!!”

Frustrated, Yuu scrutinized the young man again. Their eyes roaming, searching, for detail wrong, a hair out of place.

Years of sleuthing had built up a great amount of cynicism and distrust in the detective. How many times had they pulled back the curtain, revealing the ugly truths hidden out of plain sight? How many bruised egos--both clients and coworkers--had they encountered? People seeking status or to feed their own pride.

Yet when they looked at Deuce, none of that ugliness or ego came through. Here was someone who stubbornly stared right back at Yuu, unwilling to back down, even when his dignity lay in tatters on the floor the instant he prostrated himself.

Another selfish bid for recognition? They ventured, toying with the idea. Maybe personal ambition, looking to climb up in the world.

“... One reason,” Yuu said, holding up an index finger. “Give me one good reason why I should take you on. Convince me.”

Deuce recoiled--as though even he hadn’t expected to have made it this far, or to be taken seriously at all. His brows creased with effort as he racked the recesses of his mind to find the right phrasing.

A second later, he let out a piercing shout.

“GAAAAAAAAH!!”

With a grunt, Deuce grasped his cup of ice water and lifted it to his lips. He hammered the drink in a single swig, releasing a satisfied hoot. The liquid courage had revived the man, returning the spark to him.

In a voice as clear as the drink he had just downed, Deuce said, “It’s for my mom. She’s just about the sweetest, most hard-working person I know.”

He hung his head and slammed his empty cup down, shaking the entire table.

“She raised me as a single parent. Mom never once complained, only wanted the best life for me.” Deuce glared into his glass, speaking with scorn and anger--not at others, but for himself. “And how did I repay her? I... turned to delinquency.

“I acted out because I wasn’t man enough to do the mature thing and work on myself!! She blamed herself for my stupid decisions! I made mom worry for me so, so much...”

Plip, plip.

Deuce faltered, letting quiet tears dribble down his cheeks and landing on the cube of ice left in his glass. Once they made contact with the frozen block, it was impossible to tell what was water and what was salt.

“I swore to myself that I would turn my life around... to show mom that it’s not her fault, that she did all she could to raised someone who could contribute to society!! So I studied really hard at the police academy, and even though my grades were crappy, I managed to graduate...!!”

He choked up, a concoction of fiery passion infused in his stuttering words. “I can finally be that model officer and make a change in the community! But I haven’t done a damn thing...! I just play meter maid while bad guys are out there running free, when I could be out there making this city a safer place for mom and everyone that lives here...!!”

The noises of the lounge seemed to fade into a stoic silence around Deuce. His declaration reverberated loudly. “I have to do this. I need to do this.”

He bowed again, his forehead pressed hard against the surface of the table. The single word he uttered was hoarse, desperate.

“Please.”

Deuce pried himself up almost painfully. The eyes were aquamarine, wet with hot tears. Something shone through them in shades of blue and green, priceless as any treasure: an honesty that burned like an eternal flame.

Yuu startled, striken by a single, haunting revelation: He’s telling the truth.

“... I don’t think I’ve met someone like you before,” they said cryptically. “I don’t doubt your story—but as touching as it is, I don’t know if...”

Hesitation reared its head, and Yuu forced themselves to look away. Couldn’t bear to see him, that wide-eyed sincerity.

Emotion clashing with their sound logic. Two things that shouldn’t have belonged together colliding.

Wait... things that don’t belong together? Things I didn’t expect, surprises and twists to the tale...

A ex-delinquent turned into a policeman. A selfishness turned selfless. An anticipated lie turned into a truth. Something there that hadn’t been before.

The detective’s mind raced, quickly outpacing the words leaving their mouth. A solution which subverted expectations, a trap laced with honey for a man with sticky fingers.

That’s it. We’ll pull a trick of our own.

“Okay, I’ve changed my mind,” Yuu abruptly announced. “You’re in on this operation, Mr. Spade.”

“R-Really?!” Deuce’s face nearly tore in half, his volume revving up like a motorcycle engine. “You mean it?!”

“I do.”

Yuu took a cool sip of their Mystery Drink. Flavors from all over Twisted Wonderland cascaded over their tongue—a triumphant, fleeting pleasure.

They set their glass down and bent over, gripping Deuce by the strings of his hoodie. Yuu tugged, bringing the policeman lurching forward.

His clammy forehead against theirs. Centimeters away, his eyes widened. A flushed heat climbed to his cheeks, his voice set in a stammer.

“S-Sir, what are we...”

“You’ll have to follow my instructions very carefully,” Yuu replied with a devious grin. “Listen up, rookie: cuz you’re going to be the star of this show. Here’s the plan...”

The ambience of the lounge drowned out Yuu’s whispers. From afar, their words could only be read through the shapes of their mouth, the increasingly confused and alarmed expressions that Deuce pulled.

Jade observed them patiently, chuckling to himself. “My, my, it seems like our genius detective has found yet another solution.”

CLATTER, CLATTER!!

A tray piled high with empty plates and dishes was slammed down. Jade’s twin peered around the stack, leaning lazily against the bar.

“Eeeh, but I bet against them this time.”

“Playing the contrarian runs its risks.” Jade picked up a glass, staring at his brother through it. The golden orb called his left eye was clear as a topaz. “As for myself, I’m excited to see how this plays out.”

PLAP.

A notepad came down on the table as a third waiter joined them.

“Both of you need to stop gossiping and get back to work,” their manager chided, sliding the notepad—scrawled with fresh orders—to Jade. “Leave the customers to tend to their own business. We’ll soon know the outcome.”

[To be continued...]

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grapementos · 11 months

Text

perseverance

aged up bakugo x reader

pt. 3 to this

numerous panic attacks had ensued since you were discharged from the hospital, but not all of them reached their final stages like the first had.

you’d grown better at grounding yourself and having some semblance of control over your anxiousness. slowly but surely, you felt the pain ebbing away.

it would never be gone completely, you knew, and every day you questioned the possibility of things being different.

what if katsuki hadn’t quit being a hero? what if he’d proposed just as he’d planned to? would your wedding have been beautiful? your marriage successful and healthy?

there were so many what ifs that hurt your heart just to think about.

yet, all you did was think about it—in the best, healthiest way.

you set aside your pride and fears and confided not only in your friends, but in a therapist. you had sessions weekly, and every time you walked out of the office, you felt a little lighter.

for the first time, you understood that it was okay to still love katsuki, to still want to be with him. in fact, they initially expressed how they wished the two of you had tried couples therapy before everything went south.

that was another what if that hurt.

you were always the more rational, levelheaded one. why hadn’t you thought of it, encouraged it? would it have made a difference? those thoughts kept you awake at night, haunting your mind and mocking you with images of a perfect life with katsuki. the life you could've had.

those thoughts were bumps in your path to recovery. it was only through those thoughts, however, that you learned that the road wasn't linear. you had amazing days when you felt strong and independent, days when you'd feel like you were in a colgate commercial. other days, you wanted to set your apartment on fire and disappear. you wanted to scream until your voice was gone, vocal chords torn to shreds. some days, you just wanted everything to stop.

through the good and the bad, you were able to persevere through the challenging navigation of a breakup. still, you granted yourself permission to still love him. to be in love with him. that love would never just vanish, you'd realized a few months into your journey. it dulled, flickered, and faded, but never vanished.

you'd found that implementing a routine in your daily life had greatly improved your overall mental health.

this morning, you turned on the news as you made yourself breakfast--a meal you forced yourself to consume, no matter how little it was.

as you grabbed what you needed from the cupboards, a name in the news had you pausing everything.

"...following his spontaneous philanthropic streak, former hero dynamight announces that he will be hosting a tell-all session at our local library. there, he intends to, quote, 'make amends with those i might have hurt with my words, actions, or lack thereof...' well, you heard it here. don't miss a valiant display of heroic vulnerability today at noon. in other news..."

you gaped at the tv, the glass bowl slipping from your suddenly clammy fingers.

philanthropic streak? where had you been?

the sound of the glass breaking reached your ears a whole minute after it hit the ground, snapping you out of your dumbfounded stupor.

"shit," you cursed, crouching down to pick up the pieces.

no, don't even think about it.

you looked at the clock, reading 8 as the time. plenty of time for you to get dressed and go.

no.

you could easily make it in time and sit in the back, just to see him and hear what he had to say.

no.

you'd wear something inconspicuous and hide in the back, just being silent. and then you'd leave, after ten minutes.

no.

every no carried a little bit of yes at the end of it, forcefully dragging you out of the kitchen and into the bathroom for a shower. it was closure, you argued to yourself, closure that you desperately needed.

it's going to be excuses, nothing but lies.

dark clothes are the best choice, you decided, anxiously changing into something you deemed inconspicuous. just ten minutes, it was all you needed.

don't throw all your progress away for ten minutes.

you stared at the mirror, trying to find a single good reason to stay home. yet, every thought in your mind convinced you that this, this is what you needed. you needed to hear him express his regret, his remorse to other people. people who once trusted and supported him in his endeavors, only to be woefully let down by his bouts of anger.

this will just make you hurt more. don't do this.

you discarded every invasive voice in the back of your brain and found yourself at the library come noon, hidden behind a bookshelf. you browsed the shelves with unseeing eyes, thoughts drowned out by the low murmur of the large crowd seated in front of the small stage in the center.

the library was home to many plays around the city, which you found ironic. would this be another display of dramatism and lies?

just as you found a book with a flattering cover, the mic whined with a little feedback.

"sorry about that."

you knew the voice, but the genuineness was foreign to you. you peeked over the row of books, your blood running cold as you saw katsuki sitting meekly on a chair on the stage.

"hello, everyone. i'm, uh, i'm bakugo katsuki, but most of you might know me as dynamight," he began, scanning the crowd, "a lot of you might not be fond of me based, um, based on my time as a hero."

many voices mumbled in agreement at that, which made him laugh, just the slightest. it made your chest swell with pride he didn't deserve.

"and i really don't blame you. i carried a lot of my immaturity from high school into adulthood. my biggest problem was that i saw heroism as a means to an end, a," he motioned with his hands, trying to find the words, "a stepping stone to being 'the best'--whatever that means. and i got lost in my obsession with my image."

you listened intently, at least half sure that you were listening to a complete stranger talk. the katsuki you knew had nowhere near this much humility.

"with that being said, my first apology goes to you, the people of this beloved city. you deserved someone who had your best interest at heart, and i'm sorry that couldn't be me. but, rest assured, i am very familiar with the current top ten and can say with confidence that they are the heroes you deserve."

you found yourself tearing up at his words, so awestruck by the complete 360 in his persona.

the crowd cheered at his words, as pleasantly surprised with his chanage as you were.

"thank you," he chuckled when the crowd quieted down, "next, i'd like to apologize to my friends and family. they definitely got some of the worst of it. for years, they suggested therapy for the anger that i just couldn't seem to control. and for years, brushed them off, over and over again. i insisted that my anger was fuel for my quirk, when in reality, it was detrimental. dangerous. so, mom, dad, all my friends, i'm sorry it took me so long to take your advice. thank you for standing by me."

you werent sure if the session was being broadcasted, but you sure hope it was. kirishima, mina, sero, and denki deserved to hear it. more than that, you were shocked to discover that he'd also been in therapy. so he really meant it..

another round of applause.

"last, and most important," he sucked in a sharp breath, "i'd like to apologize to the love of my life."

you stilled, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over your head. no, no way.

"i spent three amazing years with the only person i could ever see myself loving. they were the most patient, the most kind person you could ever imagine. they stood by me during every slandering headline, every angry episode, every single ugly moment. they were there."

you covered your mouth and crouched down to the floor, squeezing you eyes shut. no, hell no, you refused to cry.

he exhaled shakily, rubbing a sweaty palm against his jeans, "they were devoted to me, to us. i'd be nothing without their impact on my life, and i've done the worst job at showing it. i," he stammered, scrunching his eyebrows together, "i ruined what we had, and i've never regret anything more. i know all the philanthropy and therapy and apologies in the world can never take back my insensitivity, but i will never stop being sorry, and i swear i'll grow every day."

you had to clamp your hand harder over your mouth to prevent any sniffles or sobs from escaping and alerting everyone to your presence. his words were so genuine, so wholehearted that you knew he truly had changed.

"i'll love them forever, regardless of if they hate me. with that love, i'll destroy any semblance of the douchebag-asshole-monster i used to be." he smiled out to the crowd as a final goodbye, "thank you, everyone. you don't owe me your forgiveness, but i hope you'll consider forgiving me one day."

people clapped, whistled, cheered for him as he turned off the mic.

meanwhile, your heart was racing. you didn't have a single coherent thought in your mind other than the fact that he loved you. he loves you.

he wasn't begging or crying this time, his acts weren't out of desperation. he was completely and totally vulnerable in front of a group of people that he didn't even know included you.

as people flooded out of the library, you shakily pushed yourself to your feet. what now? how could you possibly be expected to walk all the way to your car and drive home in this state of mind?

with a quick breathing technique your therapist taught you, you calmed down enough to get your hands to stop trembling.

katsuki had started helping the security guards pick up and stack the chairs, making small talk with them as they cleaned up the area.

you wiped at your cheeks, hoping they weren't too blotchy. with a quiet breath, you silently crept away from behind the bookshelf and toward the exit.

unfortunately, your far-from ninja-like skills couldn't get past the years of hero instincts engraved in every muscle fiber of katsuki's body.

"y/n?"

you froze, shoulders tensing as you slowly turned around.

"hey, bakugo," you cleared your throat, averting your eyes, "that was, uh, that was nice of you. good job."

there was something undetectable in his face, something you couldn't put your finger on, "oh, thanks, i-" he stepped closer, but stopped when he sensed your hesitance, "i didn't expect to see you here."

"i didn't expect to be here." you said honestly, fidgeting with your fingers, "but i should, uh, probably get going."

he opened and shut his mouth a few times before he sighed and nodded, "okay. but i really meant it, you know? everything i said."

fuck, you were going to cry again. you didn't want to, not in front of him.

"i know." you nodded, "i don't.. hate you, you know? we both had issues that we chose to resolve separately."

"i just wish," he sighed, looking for the words, "i wish that was't the case."

you couldn't hold in your tears anymore, a few cascading down your cheek, but you quickly wiped them away.

"i know." you swallowed hard, trying to prevent your voice from doing that embarrassing, high-pitched crack, "i do too."

he opened his arms, offering a hug and you just couldn't say no. the space was so perfectly carved for you.

you hugged him tight, burying your face into his shoulder.

"i'm so sorry, y/n. i'm sorry for everything." he whispered into your hair, his voice wet with tears, "i never deserved you."

you just cried harder, knuckles white as you gripped onto the back of his shirt. you wanted to speak, to reassure him that it wasn't completely his fault, but you couldn't pause for a breath long enough to say a single word.

instead, the two of you dropped to the ground, arms wrapped around each other with a desperation that you only feel for each other. a once-in-a-lifetime desperation.

the two of you cried and held each other, and somehow you knew everything was going to be okay.

and this concludes the triology! thank you for the overwhelming support on this series that wasn't even meant to be a series!

taglist: @blackout-ice-biohazard @survivorofmath @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory @odessa-is-my-queen @firesmokeandashes @valentineshiftz @sil-ver-shadow @echosfadve

#my.archive.¥#anime #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #angst #drabble #y/n #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakusquad #katsuki bakugo x reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #grapeflop$

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swappingbryn · 7 months

Text

It Was Never Enough

There was no doubt, Justin had gone through drastic changes over the years. From his squeaky clean image as a barely legal new comer to the pseudo thug tough guy he is today. But few people know the (main one of many) reason for his change was actually due to his poor financial management, coupled with gambling.

Few people recognize that many of his tattoos were the result of lost bets with friends or private auctions with fans to select tattoos (with an extra premium on special places). As a way to hide those tattoos, he had to get more just to make them look normal.

As soon as his popularity skyrocketed after turning 21, as more and more money came rolling in, his spending increased, quickly outpacing his earnings. By 25, he had no choice but to churn out more music because he had taken massive advances from the studio and had to pay them back.

And his money problems only got worse when he got married. He refused to curb his spending and refused to let his wife know how bad their situation was. Despite hemorrhaging money, he still threw it around. He even chartered a plane for a week to bring them on vacation for $100,000, a two hour car ride away, when first class tickets on a commercial plane round trip would have only been $1,000 total.

Live Shows

Finally his financial manager put his foot down and made Justin cut spending slightly and find new income streams, which resulted in private live shows for high paying clients. But it was never enough. After even private shows (with increasingly provocative content) wasn’t enough, his finance manager came to him with a possible solution, renting out his body.

Justin was reluctant but gave in when he saw how much high profile people were renting for. He once again (stupidly) refused to be represented at the meeting, choosing to represent himself. He felt like he had reached an amazing deal and thought he’d be debt free in no time, not realizing how bad his situation was. This poor (obscenely wealthy) guy was paying him $100,000 per day to use his body, until Justin was debt free.

After the swap, Justin saw his body walking out of the building thinking how he’d be himself again in no time. The only problem was Justin was so in debt that even at $100,000 per day, $3,000,000 month, $36,500,000 per year, it would take at least five years to repay what was owed. His former finance manager came up to his now old, obese body and told him “I can’t believe you accepted that offer, it will take years to repay at this rate.” Justin was astounded, he fought and raged. After a month of his new prison cell of a body he even set up a meeting with the agency and demanded the swap end. They were very polite and said “of course, we can end the swap right away,” “oh thank god, when can we do this?” “Immediately sir, as soon as the payment clears, the swap will occur.” Justin was confused, “what payment?” “Sir, the contract you signed, the contract you negotiated, specified that the swap would only end when the debt was repaid. Until that time, only the new Mr. Bieber can decide to break the agreement by agreeing to accept what has been paid already as payment in full. I take it you are not ready to make payment now?” Justin was forced out of the office as he tried to fight.

Justin tried to FaceTime his body, and when it connected, he saw it was smoking a cigar. Justin started to yell again but the call disconnected. He tried to call back but was greeted by an error message. Then a call came in from an unknown number, “Hey MITCH, sorry bro, but I don’t want you calling me directly. I just blocked you from MY phone. This is a pay phone, I didn’t know these still existed haha. Don’t try to contact me until you’re ready to pay me everything you owe to swap back. I don’t have time to deal with you.” And the number disconnected.

Month after money, he watched his balance owed decline slowly. He owed so much that even the astronomical payments mostly covered interest. It took 15 years to finally be repaid. Justin’s body was not past his prime and had lost most of its earnings potential.

@mr2swap

#submission #request

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gatheringbones · 8 months

Text

[“Both the US and UK typically tie domestic workers’ visas to a specific employer. As a result, a staggering 80 per cent of migrant domestic workers entering the US find that they have been deceived about their contract, and 78 per cent have had employers threaten them with deportation if they complain. In the UK, these ‘tied visas’ were only introduced – by Prime Minister Theresa May, who was home secretary at the time – in 2012, so it is possible to see their effect very clearly. Migrant domestic workers who entered the UK after 2012 on a tied visa are twice as likely to be physically abused by their employers as those who arrived on a visa that gave them the right to change employers. Compared to migrant domestic workers on the previous, more flexible form of visa, those on tied visas are substantially more likely to be underpaid, assaulted, and overworked, to be expected to sleep on the floor, and to have their passports confiscated by their employers. Punitive immigration law produces harm.

However, much mainstream trafficking discourse characterises the abuse of migrants and people selling sex as the work of individual bad actors, external to and independent of state actions and political choices. Sometimes this discourse works not only to obscure the role of the state but to absolve it. One feminist commentator, for example, writes of the sex trade that ‘criminalisation doesn’t rape and beat women. Men do’. From this, we might conclude that changing the law is pointless because, what makes women vulnerable is simply men. This may feel true for women who do not have to contend with immigration law, police, or the constant fear of deportation, but we can see from the results of tied visas that the legal context – including migration law – is heavily implicated in producing vulnerability and harm.

For undocumented migrant workers looking to challenge bad workplace conditions, penalties do not stop at deportation; instead, these workers face criminalisation if they are discovered. In the UK, someone convicted of ‘illegal working’ can face up to fifty-one weeks in prison, an unlimited fine, and the prospect of their earnings being confiscated as the ‘proceeds of crime’. This increases undocumented people’s justified fear of state authorities and makes them even less able to report labour abuses. Such laws therefore heighten their vulnerability and directly push them into exploitative working environments, thereby creating a supply of highly vulnerable, ripe-for-abuse workers. Increasingly, border enforcement is infiltrating new areas of civic life. Landlords are now expected to check tenants’ immigration status before renting to them; proposals have been floated to freeze or close the bank accounts of undocumented people, and a documentation check was introduced in England when accessing both healthcare and education, as part of an explicit ‘hostile environment’ policy (although both have been challenged by migrants’ rights organisers, including in court). The UK devotes far more resources to policing migration than it does to preventing the exploitation of workers. Researcher Bridget Anderson notes that ‘the [National Minimum Wage] had 93 compliance officers in 2009 and the Gangmasters Licensing Authority [which works to protect vulnerable and exploited workers] had 25 inspectors … The proposed number of UK Border Agency Staff for Local Immigration teams … is 7,500.’

This is the context in which commercial sex frequently occurs. Undocumented or insecurely documented people are enmeshed within a punitive, state-enforced infrastructure of deportability, disposability, and precarity. Any work they do – whether it is at a restaurant, construction site, cannabis farm, nail bar, or brothel – carries a risk of being detained, jailed, or deported. In any work they do, they will be unable to assert labour rights. Even renting a home or accessing healthcare can be difficult. All this makes undocumented people more dependent on those who can help them – such as the people they paid to helped them cross the border, or an unscrupulous employer. It should therefore be no surprise that some undocumented migrants are pushed into sex work by those they rely on, or that some enter into it even if the working conditions are exploitative or abusive.”]

molly smith, juno mac, from revolting prostitutes: the fight for sex workers’ rights, 2018

#molly smith #juno mac #currently reading #history stuff #cw rape

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epithetical · 5 months

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2024 UPDATE (OFFICIAL)

Hey, everyone. Longtime no talk. Despite being weirdly active on this account, I haven't really made any textposts since high school. So I've decided to fix this by giving a gigantic update post about my very busy 2023. If you're new and don't know anything about me, or knew me as a teen and are wondering what I'm up to now: buckle up.

TL;DR:

Dropped out of art school. Released an award-nominated(???) dating sim, ValiDate. Killed the Golden Girls Take Manhattan DX. Conquered Jaw Explosion Disease. Hung out with some friends. (Also, a lot of NDA shit that I can’t talk about.)

ART-SCHOOL DROPOUT

From 2021 to 2022, I was attending a prestigious and overly-expensive art school for their (brand new!) game design program. When I first graduated from high school, this college was my dream choice, and coming off the success of my early game dev career, it seemed like a perfect opportunity to polish my skills while I kept working on the side. My first commercial game was still in development, but we were feeling comfortable, and I felt like getting greedy.

Pride before the fall. Full Icarus mode. You know how it goes.

The school itself was…alright. Satellite campus, mid-pandemic, hybrid learning. Close enough to commute comfortably, classes just long enough for masks to not give me a headache, and the handful of remote courses helped keep my medical problems at bay. Problems that the school was a little unequipped to help with, though the disability office did their best. I had to drop a class because my body, at the time, couldn’t handle eight hours of classes without some Crazy Side Effects.

(Keep in mind that every class was, minimum, four hours. And I had to take at least five a semester. Each class also saw me make an entire game from scratch. My body was already at its limit.)

If you knew me in high school, you’re probably waiting for the shoe to drop: I was, famously, the worst at academics. Never did homework, rarely finished projects, slept through first period at least once a week. Surprise, though: I was fucking great at this. My GPA doubled. Turns out that going to school for a discipline you already have a career in, and are kinda obsessed with, kinda does wonders for you. Unfortunately, I picked the worst time to care about school, since my commercial game’s release was the same exact night that my five school games were due.

TL;DR, I didn’t sleep for a week, almost fucked both up, and got burnout so bad that I couldn’t do anything for a calendar year. So I dropped out! Now, about a year of job hunting later (the game’s industry is imploding right now, and the only studios that considered me were… questionable, to say the least), the expensive art school wants me back. So badly. Turns out the whole school is so broke and understaffed right now that they’re basically chomping at the bit for that tuition money. Got a week to decide. Jury’s still out.

VALIDATE POST-MORTEM

So, if you couldn’t tell from the above section, we released a game in 2022! I was supposed to write a post-mortem for it, but… burnout from the above, combined with general “post-release depression,” and I didn’t feel like touching it.

Part of me still doesn’t!

Yet I kinda think the feeling of me not wanting to talk about ValiDate is still worth discussing, so here we go:

For those of you that aren’t aware, I was a head dev on ValiDate, a dating sim that released in 2022. Volume 1 (of 3) did, anyway.

Did a lot of music, did a lot of writing, created some characters people really care about, created some characters people really want to fuck, made a couple Tweets that my boss hated, got accused of being reverse racist a few times. It was truly one of the most exciting and rewarding experiences of my life. And, yes, we’re still working on Vol. 2 behind the scenes.

That’s actually the reason why it’s kinda hard to talk about Vol. 1!

It was my first commercial game, my first publicly released game, and I think there’s always gonna be a… natural embarrassment toward your first “real” project. Combine that with my natural “if you stare at me for too long, I will kill myself” tendencies, and the game’s release was a special type of torture. It’s one thing to watch people play through a game that you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into, knowing full well that they might hate it (or just misunderstand it), but shit gets so much worse when you know that you could have done better.

It’s a very special kind of psychological torture to have creative decisions you feel were mistakes, things you half-assed because of burnout or deadlines, or things you did wrong because you just didn’t know any better! The embarrassment was overwhelming, so I just… dipped for a while. Didn’t watch gameplay or read reviews, didn’t do much of anything.

Took me a while to realize that me being embarrassed about the project isn’t because ValiDate was bad or anything. I was embarrassed because it was an incredible learning opportunity for me. The amount that I picked up on game design, community management, leadership, marketing, pitching, porting, etc. in two years is more than any school could teach you in four. Volume 1 was a game made by amateurs, still wet behind the ears, trying to build something from grassroots.

But Volume 2 is a game-ass game.

And having done all the work we have on Vol. 2 (which, while I can’t talk about it publicly, is a lot!), looking back at our first release feels like… revisiting your awkward middle school photos. Sometimes it’s hard to not feel contempt for who you were when your biggest struggle was becoming, but learning to choke down that shame? It taught me to feel grateful for the you of yesterday, who clawed their way through uncertainty so that you, today, can stand on sturdier ground. Growing up is embarrassing, and it turns out you keep doing it well into your twenties! Sucks.

For the past few days, Dani and I have been watching a Twitch streamer play through Volume 1. We’ve been so deep in planning for the future that we figured, hey, may as well revisit the past. Detached from all that embarrassment of becoming, I gotta admit: we made a fun little dating sim. People like it. Hell, I like it. Sure, I know all of its flaws and shortcuts, and I have my fair share of critiques… but fact of the matter is, if I have a problem with something, I can just fix it.

Admittedly, In the past, that attitude of mine has actually been more of a problem than a solution. “I can fix this myself!” is all fine and good when you’re a solo dev trying to throw something together, but it turns out taking on excess responsibility in a collaborative setting is a way to make shit suck for you and your team. During the Kickstarter demo era, I was literally on every team besides art. Writing, programming, music, I got my fingers in all those pies. It was fun to me, and more importantly, it was sustainable.

Until it wasn’t.

Volume 1 coinciding with my tenure at [art school], using a (finicky and, frankly, shitty) new game engine, being much larger in scope, introducing minigames (which, surprise, I was team lead on)... I pretty much killed myself trying to get it all done. Honestly, I blame half of our day-one bugfixes on me specifically. Every single one of them was an oversight made because I was pulling the classic “I’m unmedicated so crunching is the only way I can feel alive” type shit.

Except for the OST. That one sucked because art school sucks all the joy out of creating.

Happy to say that our workflow for Volume 2 has been much more sustainable for me, even if I’ve officially broken my “no art” rule for it. Yeah, turns out I’m finally making use of that animation major. Sucks.

Self reflection over. Except for one last note:

If you’ve followed ValiDate, played our demo, donated to the Kickstarter, replied to our Tweets, played our second demo, bought our game, or just talked about us to a friend… I am so, so grateful. Beyond what words could possibly describe. It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember become a game developer, and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you guys. Vd8 wasn’t what I expected the cornerstone of my career to be, but honestly? I couldn’t have asked for a better one. We have Vriska in our game. How many people can possibly say that?

And to those of you still waiting for Volume 2:

You haven’t seen anything yet.

GAYMING AWARDS

Speaking of ValiDate… Did you hear we were nominated for some Gayming Awards last year? We were!

Three other head Vd8 devs (Dani: Production, Alexis: Art, Cam: Code) flew out to beautiful New York City for the award show last March, which was actually our first time actually meeting up IRL. Really funny how I’ve known Dani since I was fifteen, but here we were, a decade later, finally meeting face to face. She’s so much taller in person. I’m still taller, but barely.

Meeting up with internet friends is one thing (and more on that later!), but meeting up with internet coworkers? It’s interesting. This was the first moment that ValiDate felt “real,” seeing as it was suddenly important enough to give us comp’d flights and a hotel room, but more than that: the people I’ve been working with for years exist? We’re all hanging out together? We’re wandering through Manhattan all day? We’re eating the most disgusting food at Junior’s in Times Square? We’re trying to figure out what this mystery liquid is? How much did this food cost again? (Seriously, my onion rings were 90% dough and 10% onion.)

While I won’t bore you with the minutiae—I think my friends would prefer the privacy anyway—the entire trip to NYC was fun, exhausting, and a dream-come-true.

Except for that goddamn award show. Jesus CHRIST, what a trainwreck.

No, I’m not saying that just because we lost. We did lose, though. (Personally, I was fine with it, but I also had to travel the least distance to get there. So…) I’m saying that because the entire Gayming Awards industrial complex was, uh, kinda busted this year?

So imagine, you’re us: bunch of twenty-somethings on your Sex and the City shit. Big award show tonight, formal attire. We’re talking high heels, long dresses, full suits, the whole nine yards. Now what do you do in Manhattan? Walk. Sure, we weren’t walking in formal attire the entire time, but it was still a good five blocks to the award center where—wait, what do you mean they relocated the ceremony? The hall they rented is closed for mysterious reasons? Where the hell are we doing the award show?

If you answered “the drag bar where the afterparty was supposed to take place,” congrats, here’s $20. Way further away from our hotel, which meant more walking, and also a way smaller venue with a lot less… formality, let’s say. But we’re young gay people, we don’t care about formalities, who gives a shit! As long as it can seat all of us, then—oh there’s no seating. Ohhhh. Oh! Okay.

I’ll admit, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. There were a handful of couches, VIPs only. Realizing quickly that, oh shit, we’re VIPs, we managed to snag some front-seat couches before any of the pesky old people could. (We’re young! We deserve to sit! You’ve had your entire lives to sit, established games industry people! Let the new generation have a turn!) Unfortunately, when I got up to cash in my free-drink voucher, my seat was stolen by some white lady.

So I sat on the floor.

March 2023. You, sitting at home, have decided to tune into the Gayming Awards “live” on Twitch, curious to see what Britain’s premiere gayming magazine had to say about, uh, esports.

This is important to you.

Fortunately, this year you’re watching a decently shot and scripted award show filmed in a (noticeably claustrophobic) little bar, complete with charming presenters (many of whom are local drag queens) and a myriad of corporate sponsors. You can hardly tell that the entire show was uprooted and moved hours prior!

Yet, for some reason, whenever the cameras cut to the audience… There’s some large man, right in front of the crowd, slumped down on the floor as if he’s bleeding out. With every award given, his clapping grows weaker. The more the camera cuts to him, the more life drains from his body, as if his existence itself is anathema to “gayming.”

Imagine, for a moment, that this man is nominated for an award.

Imagine that he, after a lifetime of potassium deficiency, has been teetering on the edge of a Charlie Horse Reckoning for hours.

Imagine that the microsecond that his game’s name is called as a nominee, the Reckoning begins.

Now imagine a world where he wins that award.

A world where he is forced to stand—from his corpse’s rightful place on the ground!—in front of his peers and superiors, pretending as if he’s not afflicted with a life-ending muscle cramp.

So, yeah. I was pretty fine with losing.

Later, we ditched the “afterparty” to drink at Applebees. (Turns out “green tea shots” don’t have any green tea in ‘em?)

EULOGY FOR THE GOLDEN GIRLS TAKE MANHATTAN DX

Big announcement! I was a team lead on The Golden Girls Take Manhattan DX, a certified Tumblr Gold™ fan-project (by the immortal Grawly) about the eponymous Gold Girls in a Persona-esque parody game!

Slightly bigger announcement! The game got cancelled. Sorry.

Feels a little weird talking about this, since the year-ish I spent working on the game passed in the blink of an eye, and I’m not going to lie and say that I was an instrumental piece of the team or whatever. I was lucky enough to lead a very talented team, and to play with some very fun devtools, but the game was definitely more important to me than I was to it. (Grawly, if by some off-chance you’re reading this, please click off now. You can peek back in at the Jaw Explosion Disease subheader. I promise I’m very nice and respectful.)

I was in high school when I was first made aware of TGGTMDX. My friend group was very into Persona (in the pre-P5 days), and one of our favorite video subgenres was “videogame UI on top of sitcom scenes.” It didn’t take us long to stumble onto early-build footage of TGGTMDX on Tumblr, and what spawned was a years-long fascination. I’d even consider it one of my many… game dev awakenings? The idea that the only thing stopping me from making “American Persona”—one of my many white whales—was commitment to the bit. Just one of the many things that fueled my teenaged suicidal overconfidence.

Speaking of suicidal overconfidence, about a decade later, I was invited to work on the game! Coming fresh off ValiDate, I was desperate for a chance to make a real portfolio piece (visual novels, while popular, will never get you a job), and this sort of opportunity only presents itself once in a lifetime. Fulfilling a teenage dream while furthering your career? What could possibly go wrong!

That makes it seem like there was some explosive drama behind the scenes that ruined everything. Sorry to say that most game cancellations aren’t that exciting, and that this game’s death was by a thousand microscopic cuts. Most of which are not my place to talk about: this game wasn’t my baby, and cancelling it wasn’t my choice to make! Many people worked on this for much, much longer than I even knew how to code, and they deserve to have their feelings prioritized. Whenever that post mortem gets published, I’ll be the first to reblog it, trust me.

Instead, I’d prefer to talk a little about this as being my first real “loss” as a game dev. Certainly not my first project to go under, and I’ve had my fair share of shelved prototypes, but something about this cancellation was… different. Working on your dream project is all fun and games until you feel partially responsible for it dying, y’know? It felt Sisyphean at a point, like trying to dig a hole in the sand with a pitchfork. I would work at the game, and work at the game, but nothing I did felt like it made a dent.

Part of me knew I wasn’t giving it my all, between the school-based burnout (above), jaw explosion disease (below), and ValiDate (omnipresent), it’s not like I could’ve afforded to put more of myself into it. Besides, I was literally a team lead, half my job was telling other people what to do. But the spectre of “you’re not doing enough” was hard to shake. Even when all these other responsibilities ebbed and I could afford to give this game my all, the difference felt minimal.

We spend a lot of time pitying Sisyphus for having to push that boulder uphill over and over, but none of us ask ourselves “could we even move that big fucking rock in the first place?” Apparently, I couldn’t.

I wasn’t the only one that felt that way, it turned out. In fact, pretty much all the friends I made on the project felt the same. If there’s any “real” reason why the project got cancelled, it’s that. No big falling out, Disney didn’t give us a cease and desist, no secret rebrand going on in the background. Just a bunch of lads getting sick of pushing a boulder. Hell, Grawly’s been doing it for a decade. Let him rest.

Not too much rest, though: we’re already working on a different game together (Date Knight: check it out if you haven’t!), and some of us ex-Golden Girls devs have some ideas for what else we can cook up.

For money, this time.

JAW EXPLOSION DISEASE

Probably the biggest “development” of 2023 was my sudden horrible nerve pain in July, which started as a sinus infection on the left side of my face, and soon became a horrific jaw pain. Long after my sinus infection healed, the jaw pain remained, which is a pretty bad hand to draw when a considerable portion of your day is spent “talking,” or “eating.” So, for the back half of 2023, I didn’t do much of either.

Instead, I had to take a considerable amount of ibuprofen, visit one doctor, three dentists, two hospitals, and four oral surgeons to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. The dentists discovered an exposed nerve, caused by wisdom tooth removal complications (sick!), the oral surgeons went “okay, we can fix that,” got me all numbed up. But it turns out that my left jaw is immune to local anesthesia! Thinking this was an infection, they kept putting me on antibiotics over and over in the hopes that it’d suddenly work. Took a note from my childhood dentist explaining that, “no, he’s always been like this” to find a surgeon willing to put me all the way under. (And then, the first time they tried, I woke up in the middle anyway! I got a full refund on the copay, at least.)

Ultimately, I found a very nice surgeon in December that treated me same-day, and did it perfectly, but the damage to my liver from all that ibuprofen was… bad. But it turns out that livers just… regenerate naturally? So, give it a few months, I’ll be at 100%. Hopefully.

OOMFCON

Hilariously, six months after we met up for the Gayming Awards, Dani and Alexis found their way back to NYC for a little combination meet-up/vacation we affectionately titled “Oomfcon 2023.” This time, with bonus friends! Our entire friend server, whose name I’ve been advised not to post publicly, had rented an AirBnB for anyone willing to drop everything and go to Brooklyn.

It took about a year of planning (mostly by Alexis) to get us all out there, but Jesus Christ, it actually worked.

Admittedly I’m a bit hesitant to talk at length about “taking a vacation”—even though I’m already… from here?—but it really was the highlight of my year. First for actually happening, when most friend groups I’ve had would have written the idea off as a pipedream, but mostly for being a really good time. A lot of walking, a lot of talking, a lot of drinking, a lot of dining. (This was during Jaw Explosion Disease, so you can imagine how my body took most of that.)

To Dani, Alexis, Miles, Haven, Grim, Xtine, and Ty: thanks for coming up here! The city is a lot more boring without you guys in it. I promise to have less health issues when we do this again!

And to everyone else outside the groupchat that I met and bored with my job hunt stories: Nice meeting you guys! Sorry that fate decided every single one of you is forced to keep in touch with me. (And I didn’t even get the shitty corporate job!)

#save.#this is a lot longer than i wanted it to be; but i had a lot to say.#turns out i actually have a lot of tumblr followers. so. time to actually engage with them.

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junglxqueen · 2 years

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The Verstappen Devil - In between [01]

Word count: 3k A/N: Long time no see my Loves! So these are a new section of the story that I don´t consider good enough to be a chapter, nor important enough but add a details to the story. Thank you for waiting!

If the plane they had to take was a normal commercial one, they would have certainly been doomed, having to wait another three or four hours for the next one to depart. Totally messing up their already tight schedule.

If that happened their PR managers would’ve had their heads hanging from the ceiling.

Luckily for them that wasn’t the case and after a call from Seb (and never ending scolding from his part), he had the goodwill to talk with the pilots and convince them to make the arrangements and delay their flight (needless to say he wasn’t happy either).

They sped down the Swiss’ streets like the good race drivers they are, doing their best to reach their destination as soon as possible and somehow appaliate the German’s anger. That however, wasn’t the wisest decision they’ve ever made and it wasn't long before they earned the attention of some good police officer that quickly pulled them aside and almost gave them this huge ticket for speeding in the city.

Fortunately for them (and to Y/N annoyance), the good guy recognized the one that had a ‘Schumacher’ on his last name and started freaking out, dripping excitement on the two of them.

So after a “Can your girlfriend take a picture of us?” (she wanted to throw the phone at his face) and a warning to not to speed again (which they did not obey), the good guy let them leave, picking up his phone to make a call as soon as they were out of sight.

“Mom, you would not believe who I just met.”

Inside of the car, Mick’s smirk could not be erased from his face. The sight of a very irritated Y/N and the (for him) hilarious whines dropping out of her lips was something incredibly entertaining for him.

As soon as they reached their destination, they took their bags and ran through the huge airport as if their life depended on it (and in a certain way it did), arriving at the jet exactly two hours later and oh boy let me tell you, Seb was mad mad.

Considering the fact that the older German is a very perfectionist guy and loves to have everything planned down to the last minute, it’s only understandable for him to be this mad for this huge retardement. He scolded the kids for almost thirty minutes (for them it felt like an eternity), only stopping when he felt like he ran out of words to say. The young ones didn’t dare to interrupt him, they knew they had it coming. So with their head downs they took the scolding and profusely apologized when he finally stopped.

After that it all went smoothly (more or less).

They slept for most of the flight, Y/N immediately taking her spot next to her dad and hugging his arm, sharing some sweet father and daughter time and finally recovering those lost hours of sleep. Mick sat next to them and, for the first time in three days, he didn’t have nightmares. But he did have other stuff running non-stop around his mind. For example: that good police officer and his choice of words to describe Y/N and how none of them had bothered to correct him, barely registering the mistake. How he may or may not have gotten a little rush inside of him by the title or how that sunrise they shared under the three felt a little bit too much intimate than they’re used to.

He was confused, especially because he couldn’t let this stuff go. Those things were such little things, but why couldn’t he stop thinking about them?

They enjoyed the rest of the time chatting away, playing cards and eating some of the snacks on the plane. And as soon as they set foot on Spanish lands, all hell broke loose.

Alice, her loyal performance coach, was already there waiting for her alongside Seb’s and Mick’s. They dragged the three of them in different directions. Given their retardment, they were forced to accommodate the drivers’ activities all on top of each other. Which meant that for the rest of the day they were running around like monkeys on a circle, barely having time to rest between one thing and another.

However, if you asked Mick or Y/N if their small getaway was worth all the hustle, they would’ve answered something along the lines of “Every single second of it” (Let’s just not ask Seb).

If Mick was honest to himself, he needed that escape as much as she did.

You’ll see, the last three months have been crazy tiring; the races, the preparations, the training, the expectations, and the drama, oh gosh the drama. Please, never underestimate how mentally draining it can be to be another person’ emotional support.

Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t complain. He loves to be there for her, be the receiving end of her trust and confidence, be her confident and closest advisor and lend a helping hand on whatever he can. It’s an honour really.

Again, don’t get him wrong. By any means this doesn’t mean that he wants to take away her psychologist’ job. No, Jake can keep that one. That poor man has his hands full with the mess that Jos’ has done and honestly, so far it’s doing an amazing job pulling the pieces back together. Mick can clearly remember how bad it was when she first started and it’s amazing how much she had progressed so far, it kinda makes him proud.

It’s just that he really likes knowing that she feels safe with him, that she feels free able to open up and be vulnerable with him.

It’s the same thing the other way around. Y/N has been there for him since he could remember, been there through the rough (huge) patches of life and was one of the few people that was there to help him out to get on his feet again. But… there’s some things that he can’t quite share with her.

Especially the things that have been running through his mind the last 48 hours.

So, like a psychologist needs its own psychologist from time to time an emotional support person needs their own emotional support person from time to time.

That’s how our dear Mick decided to call his best friend and planned a very much needed guy’s night out for that friday.

On another note, little Vettel found herself in for a very unpleasant surprise regarding the occurrences from the last race. Turns out that the public did not calm down as it was expected, instead after Seb and Jos’ incident the fire was fed once again and Y/N and Max were thrown right back at the center of the storm. That led Alice and Max’ PR manager to decide that damage control was very much in need and they were going to do it in the form of a Press conference.

She really tried to get out of it, pleaded Ali to have mercy on her and let her do it in any other way. She could even write a declaration or film an apology video if it was needed but a press conference alone with Max wasn’t at all something that she was looking forward to.

How her pleas fell deff to her ears, she turned to her dad only to be met with a closed road as well. He himself had to face the consequences of his actions along with Lewis in their own press conference. They were supposed to clear the air and apologize for their behaviour but if the German was sure of one thing is that an apology wasn’t something they were going to get out of his lips.

Instead, he was going to rely on the power of words and make it sound as if he was sorry without ever saying those words and truthfully admitting the blame in this whole thing. If he felt risky he may as well add some spice to it with a hidden truth behind well planned words and a kind tone. He was really good at that and that’s something Y/N wished she had learned from him.

In order to get the young Vettel ready for the ‘peace offering’ (as Y/N liked to call it), Alice had given her a list of possible questions so she could prepare herself, practice her best fake smile and mentally prepare for what is to come.

That’s why she spent most of her Thursday morning, re-reading the questions in her hotel mini kitchen with a freshly brewed coffee cup on her hand and a review show of the latest race playing on the TV as background noise.

“I sincerely apologize- no, I don’t. I feel terrible about- no, that doesn’t sound right. I feel like the outcome…” She mutters for herself, leaning on the counter as she tries to find the correct words to say. Her eyes flickering from time to time to the TV screen that showed the highlights of Italy.

She liked to watch the reviews, she felt as if it was something necessary for her. She liked to see what went wrong, what others did right, what she missed, what she could adopt from other drivers and what could she fix (although this time she didn’t need a review program to tell her what she did wrong).

Her attention was captivated when she recognized her car on the screen and quickly turned the volume up to hear what they had to say.

“But let’s go back a little bit to qualy day, we can’t skip past this Ted. This accident had everyone jumping on their seats and it’s been everywhere since then. Max’s and Y/N’s names were in everyone’s mouth for the whole week. What do you think about this, Ted?”

She sets the cards aside and takes a sip of her coffee, curious to hear what the hosts think about her. One thing was to hear from fans or friends, another completely different was to hear from the mouths of professional sports journalists and she really wanted to know if in their opinion she screwed up or not.

“Certainly it’s unprecedented, isn’t it? I can’t think of an accident like this one on the top of my head. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed such a deliberated and calculated incident in all my career.”

“I actually don’t think there is one, really it’s unprecedented, especially considering the factors that led to it. What is it that we know so far from Max’s mechanical issues?”

“There were two main problems. One: Max radio was out, he was completely alone on the track, not being able to communicate with his team. That isn’t ideal in any case but it isn’t unheard of, sometimes drivers have problems like this. It would’ve been just fine if it wasn’t for the next issue.”

A video of Lewis’s and Max’s small crash replayed on their screen and Ted pointed at a specific spot on the Red Bull car.

“Right… there.”

“Look at that! That's when Max’s brakes blew up. How did we miss that?” Tim exclaimed in amazement.

“It’s easy to, you can barely see it. At first I myself thought that it was just a mere aggressive approach from Max’s side when he was trying to get Vettel’s position. After all, I didn’t see him try to pull over or stop at any moment.”

“That 's right! He didn’t try to stop, didn’t he? I don’t recall him making any stress signals. But there was someone that realized something was wrong, and the most unexpected one must I say.”

“No, really. What is wrong with that guy? He 's erratic.”

Y/N cringed at her own voice replaying on the TV, she never liked to hear her voice back, not in videos, audios and even less on the radio coms.

“Vettel sees that something is wrong after almost contacting him for a third time, so what does she do?”

“Right, let me add something in here before we explain her next move. Here she had the upper hand. She had the pace and the very real possibility to move one position up. She was this close to Lewis, and it would’ve been her first podium in qualy of the year.”

“That’s what makes it more-” Her phone ringing startles her, Alice’s name shining on the screen. Y/N stands up right and picks the mobile up as she goes to wash her empty coffee up.

“Ali, Hi.”

“ Y/N, good to know you are awake. I’ll be in your room in 5 minutes, we have to run.” The woman says in her typical rushed tone. Sometimes the young Vettel worries about her, Y/N may be the race driver but it seemed as if Alice lived her life full on throttle. There are occasions when she had to make Alice take obligatory breaks and some other times she took upon herself the task to teach the older woman to enjoy the small things in life and, unironically, step on the brakes from time to time.

“‘I’ve been up since six.” She complains, offended by her automatic assumption of her being lazy.

“Yeah, sure love. See you in a bit.” The call cuts short before she could answer and she throws her attention back to the TV.

“But look at here, these were the corners that were coming next for the young Verstappen. These were definitely big danger zones and as we can see, several drivers had already had nasty problems in those corners in the past.”

“So you say it was worth it then? according to these scenarios that you’ve run through, there was some real danger that justified her to risk it like this?”

“Definitely, it still surprises me that Max kept racing anyway but it’s even more surprising that she had the guts to pull such a move. Can you imagine if something went wrong?”

“Oh, so many things could’ve gone wrong. Which makes me think, was this a calculated risk? Did she know what she was doing or was this just a reckless move that by some stroke of luck went right?”

Y/N buffed at the commentary as she goes to gather her stuff. Of course she calculated it, who do they think she is?

“One thing I know is that the teams weren’t happy about this at all. Can you imagine? Double the amount of work to repair the damages, the expenses, the back of the grid positions and the argument they had afterwards. That fight certainly did nothing good for their public images.”

She rolled her eyes, did she know about having to make it up to them. She certainly was paying the price of being a good samaritan. Y/N still doesn’t think it’s fair the amount of punishments that she got. She did it to help someone out! Was that that big of a sin? What was her crime really?

“Tell me about it! They even threw gloves at each other! Look at that, one… two… three.”

The images of the fight replayed and she couldn’t hide the smirk that formed on her lips. Now for that one she may deserve a punishment or two but gosh she certainly did not regret it.

“You’ve got to admit it Ted, those flying gloves hold something of humor in them. It’s a bit funny, isn’t it?”

“It definitely is.” She answers for herself before the knock on the door lets her know that it’s time to leave. Walking out of the hotel bedroom she greets Alice and closes the door behind her, not bothering to turn off the TV.

“But let’s be honest Tim, what do you think about the whole thing?”

“Setting aside the obvious issues that both teams had to face afterwards, I think that it was something admirable of what she did. You have to remember Ted, this is not just any other normal driver. This is Y/N Vettel and Max Verstappen. There’s some obvious tension going on here since the arrival of a young girl to the grid and I could even dare to go over the top and call them sworn enemies. And the fact that she decided to hang her possible first podium of the season to help Verstappen out, it’s really admirable.”

“Right? That was what impressed me as well. But it’s really interesting to see this rivalry play out. It’s curious because Max is well positioned, we can say that he is a big contender for the title this year and to see him feeling threatened almost by this just arrived driver that is not even in a competitive position it’s certainly curious, it almost makes you wonder if there’s something behind that we don’t know about.”

“I agree with you Ted, I think that maybe there’s some history there that we haven’t heard of yet. However, without digging deeper and to sum it up, the ruthless hunter had mercy on her prey. If she cared enough to sacrifice her very possible spot on the podium that way for him, do you think it’s safe to say that our favourite Devil is warming up to Mad Max?”

“I don’t know Ted, I think it’s too soon to tell. Especially taking into consideration the argument that they had afterwards, it’s giving me mixed signals so I’ll say that we have to wait and see. I honestly loved to see it. It showed a facet of the Verstappen Devil that I did not think she had in her. I also think that this accident is one of those rare occasions when the sport gives you an example of humanity, solidarity and caring. Which is amazing to see in such a ruthless competition and definitely it’s something to cherish, I don’t think we’ll be seeing something like this again any time soon.” A/N: Honestly, this was the part that I was stuck with for forever now. I wasn't sure of posting it but I wanted to stay true to my word. If you have any feedbacks or ideas, feel free to drop them down. It's always nice to read from you. See you soon darlings! 💕

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#F1 #aston martin f1 #f1 x reader #max verstappen #sebastian vettel #mick schumacher #sebastian vettel x reader #max verstappen x reader #f1 fic #mick schumacher x reader #fanfic #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #f1 imagine

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fatehbaz · 9 months

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Guided by international authorities, the Turkish state [...] set sails to a path of massive creative destruction in 1980. Social forces that could negotiate or resist this route were crushed. They have been trying to reorganize ever since [...]. The roots of Turkey’s financial and ecological destruction were in the policy packages of two World Bank figures: Turgut Özal and Kemal Derviş. [...] 1980 was a crucial turning point. World Bank-imposed economic decisions [...] lowered wages [...] while opening the gates to more systematic – and now commercialized – urban plunder. [...] Turgut Özal, the engineer-turned-economist who brought the World Bank’s neoliberal turn to Turkey, served as prime minister and then president between 1983 and 1993. Even though he sparred with Kenan Evren (the NATO-trained counter-guerilla officer who led the junta of 1980-1983) over the issue of military-civilian balances, the two had a unified agenda: commodification of everything including housing, the abolition of social rights, and the crushing of unions. [...]

[T]he model they implemented shaped Turkey from head to toe. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, [...] [s]mall to medium sized housing acted as a replacement for secure jobs. This amounted to a Ponzi scheme [...]. [I]nstead of creating one to two story buildings as happened up until the 1970s, both construction workers and contractors built 4-story squatter units, with the intention of collecting rent from the units not inhabited by the original occupier. In other words, the newcomers to the cities now shifted part of the cost of the neoliberal package to the newer-comers from the countryside. [...] [T]he consequences of quick and cheap housing (not just for neighborhoods but for the entire society) were not yet well-understood [...]. We still don’t know what ratio of the buildings that were destroyed during the 2023 earthquake were built in the 1980s and 1990s, but they (and therefore, the social-political actors behind them) certainly share a huge part of the blame. [...]

---

The 1999 earthquake changed this.

The direct links between the quality of buildings and the unusually high number of deaths during the Gölcük earthquake opened everybody’s eyes – or so it seemed, back then. [...] The AKP of 2002, voted in partially as a reaction to the poor governmental response to the 1999 earthquake, had a vast popular mandate to enforce the new regulations. [...] But they weren’t enforced. [...] The increasing central regulation under the AKP was not for safety, as promised by the party. The AKP rather streamlined the wealth creation through cheap buildings, roads, and other infrastructure. In other words, urban rents and profits were centralized and concentrated at the top [...].

After this point, the shoddy construction was not a side effect, but a central choice.

The top-down reason for this [...] was a conscious strategy of wealth concentration. [...] [C]heap housing continued to substitute for high wages and secure jobs, as it did throughout the 1980s and 1990s. In other words, shoddy buildings were what an impoverished people could afford. And in the meantime, they were employed in passing jobs in construction and related sectors, further embedding their lives in the systematic creation of cheap housing, as part of a much more massive, and state organized, production of profit-oriented construction spree when compared to 1980-1999. [...]

[T]his path was devised by the World Bank, but the AKP rendered it much more rapacious. [...] Millions still couldn’t afford any decent housing, and now (further de-unionized in the 2000s) they couldn’t even afford units in these poorly constructed (but now giant, instead of 4-story) buildings. The new World Bank policy package (the Derviş rather than the Özal version) had a solution to this too: Household debt. Ordinary people started to live an apparently more comfortable life, thanks to mortgages and credit card debt.

But, as now they say in Turkey, they were buying not chic lives but tombstones. [...]

---

The links between Gezi [2013] and the Maraş earthquake [2023; over 59,000 deaths] are both structural and intimately personal. [...] The same individuals and associations that were active in the Gezi Uprising were and are involved in earthquake preparation and post-earthquake relief. [...] Urban rights, anti-extraction, and environmental movements flourished in Turkey after the 1980s. [...] The devastation caused by February 6 [2023] is yet another wakeup call. Ecologists, feminists, socialists, labor unions [...] [have] been organizing mutual aid once again. Self-organization has become a constant topic of discussion [...].[C]olonialism, racism, capitalism, and ecology are not separate issues. They are all intertwined. [...] Kurds and Alevis undertook impressive aid efforts in the earthquake-affected regions, despite explicit attempts by the government to thwart their relief campaigns. [...] Several associations and movements which we saw on Gezi’s stage – from the Chamber of Architects to the ever-growing multiplicity of feminist and LGBTQ organizations – have been providing the most basic necessities, whereas the neoliberal state has sunk so deep [...] that it has started to sell basic necessities in the earthquake region.

---

All text above by: Cihan Tugal. "From the Gezi Uprising to the 2023 Earthquake: Charting Turkey's Ecological Destruction and Reconstruction". Jadaliyya. 7 April 2023. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

#ecology #imperial #colonial #abolition #carceral #indigenous #multispecies

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coochiequeens · 2 months

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Yes it's form a conservative source. But it's one of the few articles that doesn't focus on reproductive purchasers who felt entitled to a child.

by Emma Waters, @EMLWATERS

Olivia Maurel was 30 years old when an ancestry DNA test confirmed what she had known all along: she is the product of a costly commercial surrogacy contract. In Olivia’s case, the woman that her parents paid to gestate and birth Olivia is also her biological mother.

In a recent article with Daily Mail, Olivia shared how “becoming a parent myself — entirely naturally, in my mid-20s — has only crystallized my view. The sacred bond between mother and baby is, I feel, something that should never be tampered with.” After going viral for her testimony before the parliament of the Czech Republic, Olivia now campaigns for the universal abolition of surrogacy.

In the United States, only three states prohibit or do not enforce commercial surrogacy contracts. One of the states, Michigan, is poised to overturn their ban on surrogacy-for-pay through a nine-bill “Access to Fertility Healthcare Package.” Legislators are tying their efforts to the national conversation on in vitro fertilization in hopes of garnering additional support. I detail the concerns with this legislation in detail here, but suffice it to say it undermines motherhood by reducing the intimate relationship between a woman and the child she carries to a highly-lucrative rental agreement.

Several well-respected researchers and pundits claim that surrogacy does not harm children. Yet we know very little about its long-term impact on a child’s psychological well-being.

Most of those who assert that surrogacy is psychologically harmless rely on a longitudinal study by Susan Golombok, Professor Emerita of Family Research, and former Director of the Centre for Family Research at the University of Cambridge. She is the author of We Are Family (2020), a synthesis of 40 years of research on non-traditional family structures—same-sex, single parent by choice, and the use of all forms of assisted reproductive technology, including third-party conception. She concludes that such arrangements pose no additional harm and can benefit children.

Professor Golombok’s “Families Created Through Surrogacy” study began in 2003 and assessed parental and child psychological adjustment at ages 1, 2, 3, 7, 10, and 14. The impact of this single longitudinal study on both public opinion and policy cannot be overstated. To date, it is the only study that specifically examines the surrogate-born child’s psychological adjustment, as well as the only study to do so over an extended period. It is also the only research on child psychological well-being that policymakers in New York used to argue for the legalization of commercial surrogacy.

Professor Golombok’s sample of surrogacy families comes from the General Register Office of the United Kingdom for National Statistics (ONS) and from the UK’s “Childlessness Overcome Through Surrogacy” (COTS) agency. The original sample included 42 surrogate-born children but declined to a mere 28 children by age 14. The study relied on a group of families formed through egg donation and children born of natural conception to serve as the comparison groups.

With such a small sample size, and some families participating inconsistently year-to-year, the study itself runs the risk of selection bias and non-representative outcomes. The study lumps both children born through gestational surrogacy and traditional surrogacy together, too. This means some surrogates are both the genetic mother and the child's gestational mother.

Additionally, only altruistic surrogacy is legal in the UK, so these arrangements do not involve surrogates who legally receive an additional sum of money, beyond generous reimbursements. For context, surrogacy-for-pay brings in an additional $25,000 to $70,000 in the United States, which may affect how a child views his or her conception, gestation, and birth.

In each study, the scholars rely on the mother’s own assessment of the child’s well-being. It is not until age 14 when scholars begin to directly ask children questions to assess their self-esteem.

Overall, Professor Golombok concludes that children born from surrogacy agreements of any sort do as well, if not better, psychologically than their natural-born peers.

For ages 1, 2, and 3, Professor Golombok finds that parents in surrogacy families showed “greater warmth and attachment-related behavior” than natural-conception parents. One explanation for this, as Professor Golombok’s notes, is that “parents of children born in this way [may] make a greater attempt than parents of naturally conceived children to present their families in the best possible light.” Such a bias seems likely, given that parents may feel the subconscious desire to justify their uncommon path to parenthood.

By age 7, both surrogate-born children and donor-conceived children in the control group were doing noticeably worse than their natural-born counterparts. This is the point when many children learned of their biological or gestational origins. The scholars note that this corresponds with adoption literature as the period in a child’s life when they begin to comprehend the loss of one or both biological parents. What goes unnoted, however, is that unlike adoption, surrogacy is the intentional creation of a child for the express purpose of removing the child from his or her gestational and/or biological parent(s).

Beginning at age 10, scholars report that the child’s psychological adjustment returns to a relatively normal state compared to the natural-born children, but the study itself reports little data compared to previous papers. By age 14, when the study concludes, the remaining 28 children seem to fare about the same as natural-born children, despite slightly more psychological problems reported.

Despite these methodological limitations, Professor Golombok’s data from this longitudinal study remains the basis of child psychological adjustment research on surrogacy. Examples of this may be found in prominent pieces such as Vanessa Brown Calder's review of surrogacy at the Cato Institute or Cremieux Recueil's widely shared Substack with Aporia Magazine. Their conclusions that surrogacy confers “no harm” to the psychological well-being of the child are premature, to say the least.

In Calder’s article, she cites three studies in her discussion on the psychological well-being of surrogate-born children. A quick review of each study shows that these authors rely solely on Professor Golombok’s longitudinal study data to draw their conclusions.

In Recueil’s Substack, "Surrogacy: Looking for Harm," he primarily relies on Golombok’s work to claim that “psychological harm appears to be minimal.” Again, this statement is premature and formed on limited data primarily from her longitudinal study. The other five citations in the “Psychological Outcomes for Kids” section tell us little about the psychological well-being of surrogate-born children.

Recueil twice cites “Are the Children Alright? A Systematic Review of Psychological Adjustment of Children Conceived by Assisted Reproductive Technologies,” from 2022. Of the 11 studies that examine the intersection between surrogacy and child psychological outcomes, they fall into three categories:

the longitudinal study by Professor Golombok

child outcomes compared with other children born from assisted reproductive technology, not compared with natural-born children

studies that examine the impact of non-traditional parenting types, such as lesbian mothers or gay fathers, on the well-being of the child. The impact of surrogacy is not directly assessed; it is simply mentioned as a requirement for male-to-male family formation. Of these three categories, the only studies that directly address the claims that Recueil makes are the research of Professor Golombok, which he already cited before these additional studies.

Hence, the widespread claim that surrogacy does not harm the psychological well-being of children primarily relies on a single longitudinal study of 42-to-28 surrogate-born children by the intended mother’s own assessment. That’s it.

This isn’t to say we should discard Professor Golombok’s study. But honest scholars and lawmakers should be far more modest in claiming that surrogacy does not harm the psychological well-being of children.

The most accurate conclusion regarding the psychological adjustment of surrogate-born children is that we do not have enough data to draw a conclusion either way, especially not in favor of surrogacy itself. When the well-being of children is at stake, lawmakers and researchers should employ the utmost scrutiny before advocating for any form of childbearing.

Children rightly desire to please their parents, and there are few conversations more complicated than questioning the method one’s parents chose to bring one into the world. There is reason to believe that many surrogate-born children will not have the emotional or mental maturity to understand their conception and gestation until they are much older.

There is a huge difference between no harm and no known harm. Regardless of one’s stance on surrogacy, we should be able to agree that we need more data and reporting requirements to enable researchers to assess the impact of surrogacy contracts on the well-being of children. In my view, a single six-part longitudinal study does not justify this practice.

Emma Waters is a Senior Research Associate for the Richard and Helen DeVos Center for Life, Religion and Family at The Heritage Foundation.

#Anti surrogacy sunday #Surrogacy exploits women #Babies are not commodities #Surrogacy is human trafficking #michigan #Access to Fertility Healthcare Package #General Register Office of the United Kingdom for National Statistics (ONS)#Childlessness Overcome Through Surrogacy” (COTS)#Surrogacy is the intentional creation of a child for the express purpose of removing the child from his or her gestational and/or biologica #Small sample size for a study #The results are based on answers given by a biased parent #We need more studies before experts can say weather or not surrogacy impacts children #There is a huge difference between no harm and no known harm

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officerchoicewhiskey · 2 years

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Apni smoothness se ramp ko career ka runway banao. officer's Choice commonly known as OC, is an Indian whisky brand which is owned by Allied Blenders & Distillers. Officer's Choice Whiskey, one of the largest consumer brands in the country.

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disco-elysium-via-polls · 3 days

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🎵 Bookstore

Looks like Guillaume le Million... that hair poster.

PLAISANCE - "Hello again, esteemed officer," she keeps reciting like a robot. "And welcome to Crime, Romance, and Biographies of Famous People."

3. "Plaisance, I have something to tell you... I've found the actual source of doom."

PLAISANCE - "What do you mean the *actual* source?" She clutches her pendant anxiously. "Are you talking about the... *Third Presence*?"

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] - She remembers. Good.

"Yes, the Presence, the Entity, the malicious Energy -- however you may want to call it…"

"My investigation has led me to discover a two-millimetre entroponetic hole in reality. That's the source of doom -- both in the commercial area *and* in Martinaise."

PLAISANCE - "She Who Has Many Names..." she nods solemnly. "I imagine things must be rather bleak for you to return to me. Tell me, what have you found?"

"My investigation has led me to discover a two-millimetre entroponetic hole in reality. That's the source of doom -- both in the commercial area *and* in Martinaise."

PLAISANCE - "A... a what?"

"A tiny hole... in reality. It may be connected with pale, an origin point of sorts. It would explain why historically so many things have ended in failure here in Martinaise."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Ma'am -- what he's saying is true. We found an entroponetic anomaly in the Small Pinewood Church down the coast. I don't mean to be an alarmist -- and more research *is* needed -- but... it's not looking good."

PLAISANCE - "But... but... *that's* not in any of the ancient texts! How am I supposed to protect my bookstore from *that*?!"

"You can't protect it -- not against *pale*. Close up the shop and try to get as far away from this thing as possible."

"You can protect it with hope, by refusing to give up. That's what people have done in the past -- by building a church, a place of worship around this thing."

"You'll have to find your own answer. I've spent too long on this quest as it is."

PLAISANCE - "You're *right*, officer. I mustn't lose faith -- especially now that Annette is finally settling in at school and making friends." She looks at her daughter, quietly studying in the corner of the shop. "No, we can't just leave!"

"Besides, didn't I have some Seolite hope catchers around here somewhere...? I must find them; everything will be alright if I can just find them."

"Thank you for your help, in any case. You're welcome back here anytime."

Task complete: Inform Plaisance about the Source of Doom

+10 XP

3. "Farewell for now, book peddler!" [Leave.]

You know, since we're here, and we already have more money than we can possibly spend...

MOUNTAIN OF BOARD GAMES - A small mountain of colourful board game boxes. There are numerous types of games for all ages. A lot of shelf space seems to be taken up by Wirrâl-related merchandise.

4. "I want to buy the *Suzerainty* game."

PLAISANCE - "Wonderful choice, sir." She smiles at you. "A wholesome *family* game."

4. "I want to buy the *Wirrâl* game."

PLAISANCE - "If you say so." She gives you a curious glance. "But you better stay away from those immoral occult rituals."

4. [Leave.]

BOARD GAME "SUZERAINTY"

A civilization-building board game where you get to choose a nation and set off to colonise and exploit other cultures. A star-shaped note on the box proclaims the game now includes a completely new "Genocide" option.

>INTERACT

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - In your hands you hold a brand new copy of the game 'Suzerainty'. It's snugly wrapped in a skin of plastic...

The cover features a charming illustration depicting a mass of grinning labourers loading goods onto a ship while a richly dressed administrator oversees their work.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - The exact location and time period are left deliberately vague, but it's clearly meant to represent the economic relationship between the Revacholian Suzerainty and its many vassals.

Shake the box.

Remove the plastic wrap.

[Leave it perfect and undisturbed.]

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - The box has a nice heft to it. You hear the rattle of individual wooden tokens and feel their weight shifting back and forth...

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - What treasures wait in store for you?

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - Even before you open it, you can tell that this will be a meaty game of grand strategy and complex player interactions.

2. Remove the plastic wrap.

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - The plastic wrap rips off as easily as a bodice in a tawdry historical romance.

Open the box.

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - There's a hiss as the lid slides off. Inside you find a thick, full-colour rulebook and more than a dozen pouches of various wooden components.

PERCEPTION (SMELL) [Medium: Success] - Ahhh! Savour that new board game smell! A mix of wood, paper, and ink, all wrapped in the sweet must of cardboard.

Read the rulebook.

Examine the components.

"Hey, Kim, wanna play?"

[Put the game away.]

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - 'Welcome to Suzerainty: A game of economic strategy for the whole family!' The rulebook is sumptuously illustrated and thick as a Graadian novel.

'Economic strategy'? More like rapacious plunder and exploitation.

Keep reading.

+1 Communism

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - The colourful illustrations depict cheerful workers picking apricots, hauling marble sculptures out of crumbling temples, and harvesting a strange, magenta-leafed plant. Everyone is smiling.

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - You begin to suspect there may be a *political* agenda to this so-called 'family game'. Only one way to find out...

Keep reading.

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - The instructions are opaque at first, and introduce many concepts you're not familiar with. Fortunately, there are many diagrams and examples throughout...

You soon figure out the basic conceit: Each player represents an administrator for the *Suzerain of Revachol*. Your objective is to increase the suzerain's wealth and renown by accumulating *victory points*.

How do you accumulate victory points?

Fuck the suzerain, what about *my* wealth and renown?

I've read enough. (Put the rulebook away.)

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - There is no path to wealth and renown but through the suzerain. As one of the suzerain's trusted administrators, your very function is the glorification of Revachol...

That's where the suzerain's vassals come in. The game features four vassal nations, each one home to an economically important resource...

Each turn the player collects resources from vassals where they've placed workers. They may then rearrange their workers, fulfil contracts for coin and bonuses, or build structures back in Revachol...

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - As you leaf through the pages, your eye catches on a sidebar labelled 'ADVICE FOR BEGINNERS'.

Read the advice.

Ignore it. Just tell me how the winner is determined.

REACTION SPEED - "Remember, there are many paths to victory in *Suzerainty*, but successful players will find *one* strategy and commit to it wholeheartedly."

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success]- Boring, boring, BORING. Tear up this rulebook and commit some old-school atrocities!

How is the winner determined?

Isn't there any way to invade or commit atrocities or anything fun like that?

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - Suzerainty is a family game. The only 'atrocities' you'll be committing are against the social standing of your rival administrators, as you bring in ever more resources and power for the suzerain. Speaking of...

The actual scoring system appears infinitely complex, with a series of tables and appendices required to compute each player's final victory point total. You skip that part for now.

2. Examine the components.

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - You open up a number of pouches containing wooden tokens. There are also several punchboards with other cardboard components that will need to be punched out before you can play.

Punch out the cardboard pieces, one by one.

Check out the wooden tokens.

Put the components away.

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - Each cardboard token makes a satisfying *chhhk* as you pop it out. Soon a neat pile of cardboard coins and counters has accumulated before you.

KIM KITSURAGI - "What, you're not going to offer to let *me* punch any of them out?"

2. Check out the wooden tokens.

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - In addition to the worker and building tokens used by each player, there are also several piles of colourful resource tokens, each representing one of the game's four principal resources...

From the Empire of Safre: orange apricot tokens. From Ile Marat (the ancestral name of Iilmaraa): gray marble block tokens. From the Semenine Islands: white sacks of sugar tokens. And from Supramundi and Saramiriza: magenta tokens for unprocessed cocaine leaves.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Oh, those are nice." The lieutenant picks up a sugar token and admires it.

3. Put the components away.

SUZERAINTY: THE BOARD GAME - You hold the open game box before you.

3. "Hey, Kim, wanna play?"

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant looks over the rulebook before he sees something that makes his eyes go wide...

"Holy shit, the average playing time for this game is one to six hours…"

"I'm not sure we can afford to set aside *that* kind of time for a *game*."

EMPATHY [Formidable: Success] - So he says, but his gaze lingers a moment longer on the rulebook than is strictly necessary. He could *make* time, if he really wanted to.

This unlocks a Suggestion check to convince Kim to play the game, but let's not get stuck into that now.

4. [Put the game away.]

BOARD GAME "WIRRÂL"

A high-pasternal *fantastique populaire* board game, illustrated with bucolic vistas and featuring odd-looking humanoid creatures. It's the 3rd edition mega-setting supplements module and can't be played without the main game.

>INTERACT

WIRRÂL - Large letters on the front form a title: "Wirrâl." The colourful box is illustrated with bucolic vistas. The cover art also features odd-looking humanoids, some short, some taller, some with pointy ears, others with ephemeral wings.

Examine the box.

Open the box.

Put it away.

WIRRÂL - Text underneath the title, in smaller typeface, reads: "Third Edition, Mega-Setting Supplements Module." The side panel adds: "A sword and sorcery adventure board game. With new maps and miniatures."

Shake the box.

Look at the back.

Enough inspecting.

WIRRÂL - Mysterious things rattle inside. What could they be? Dice? Plastic miniatures? A fantastical alternate world full of magic and wonder?

None of that witless Man from Hjelmdall fascist dross hidden behind faux-realistic allegory. Wirrâl is no cliché-ridden apologia for colonial violence. Wirrâl is pure *imagination*.

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - Yes, the Wirrâl setting is known for its complicated system of political alignments. But if you're not into that you can just hack your way through dungeons in search of loot. That's what most people do.

2. Look at the back.

WIRRÂL - A blurb on the back reads: "Tired of the tedium and toil of modern life? Escape to Wirrâl! Leave behind isolas and nations with their petty squabbles. Discard electricity, magnets, and boring technological widgets..."

"Succumb to a world of high-Pasternal fantastique, unleash your imagination and create an adventure of endless possibilities. Discover the terrible secret threatening Wirrâl -- can your band of adventurers save the world?"

Yes, we're ready to take on this challenge.

I'm not sure I can handle all this responsibility.

Definitely not, it sounds too dangerous.

WIRRÂL - Man up, this is about having structured fun! All you have to do is read an intricate rulebook, study an assortment of maps, unfold the illustrated gameboard, and start rolling dice.

In no time you could be romping through grasslands with low-level characters, hunted by iyskel riders… or battling unspeakable monsters in endless dungeons fraught with danger and despair, conjuring up forceful maegics to aid your quest.

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - Don't forget heated arguments escalating to physical confrontation with your friends.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - And beer. Lots of beer.

DRAMA - And most importantly, never forget to rage-quit if the dice don't go your way!

2. Open the box.

WIRRÂL - You pry open the box. Inside you find a folded-up map, a small booklet, a 24-sided die, and a little plastic figurine.

Look at the map.

Look at the booklet.

Look at the die.

Look at the figurine.

Close the box.

WIRRÂL - A reprint of a crude hand-drawn map. The top left corner reads: 'Lands of Wirrâl.' The map features both small villages and mid-sized towns (with odd names), in addition to meadows, forests, hills, lakes and seas (also with odd names).

It doesn't seem to correspond with anything you've seen thus far. It's not a very helpful map.

2. Look at the booklet.

WIRRÂL - A quick guide to the maegical races of Wirrâl. Create your own hero choosing from any of these completely unique and fantastical backgrounds.

The options are, in order of importance: the welkin, the dweorgr, the humans, the faerie folk, and the pygmies.

Read about the welkin.

Put the booklet away.

WIRRÂL - The welkin -- tall, lithe and graceful, with long flowing hair and pointy ears. They're known for being powerful maegic users, but can also hold their own in a brawn-driven fight.

The welkin come with a variety of exciting sub-races: high welkin, forest welkin, lake welkin, and snow welkin. But if you're not feeling experimental -- a basic welkin will always do.

Read about the dweorgr.

Put the booklet away.

WIRRÂL - A grand race of industrious mountain people. They're short, stout and muscular, and enjoy digging for gold and other precious minerals. They're also well-versed in the art of combat, where they prefer to use axes and hammers.

The dweorgr also come in a few different sub-races: hill dweorgr, shield dweorgr, and dark dweorgr.

Read about the humans.

Put the booklet away.

WIRRÂL - They're just humans... what else is there to tell? They're average in all stats and jacks-of-all-trades.

Read about the faerie folk.

Put the booklet away.

WIRRÂL - A very small race of flying people, known for being mischievous, full of trickery. They often lure people into their maegical traps. There are no sub-races for the faeries.

Read about the pygmies.

Put the booklet away.

WIRRÂL - The least popular of the Wirrâl races, the pygmies are short, rotund and dim-witted. Pygmies live in small villages made of shoddy wooden dwellings. They spend most their days tilling the earth and smoking their pipes. There are no sub-races for the pygmies.

3. Look at the die.

WIRRÂL - It's made from some sort of wood and has been decorated with peculiar plant motifs.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - You don't know much about dice, but this one looks pretty damn fancy.

Level up!

4. Take the die.

Item gained: Standard Wirrâl Die

WIRRÂL - You place the die into your pocket. It's always good to have luck on your side.

3. Look at the figurine.

WIRRÂL - You see a man in ragged clothes wearing a lopsided hat and wielding some sort of a firearm.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Huh, interesting. A communard."

"A what?"

"What's so interesting about that?"

"That doesn't sound very Wirrâl-like."

KIM KITSURAGI - "A communard. One of the leftist revolutionaries in the Antecentennial Revolution."

2. "That doesn't sound very Wirrâl-like."

KIM KITSURAGI - "It is not. The communards are not a part of the game setting... I guess someone misplaced it during the packaging process."

"Does this mean we can't play?"

"Maybe someone should make a role-playing game set during the Revolution."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Hmm. Good luck finding people who'd want to play as communards."

4. Take the figurine.

WIRRÂL - You pick the figurine up by the base to meet your gaze. The little plastic man stares back at you, his face contorted into a disturbing shout. Then you pocket it.

Item gained: Figurine Set "Revolutionary"

3. Close the box.

STANDARD WIRRÂL DIE

This basic 24-sided role-playing die can be used to get results for several dice. It's made of East-Semenese Snakewood and embellished with plant motives. It reminds you of plain- and hill-welkins. NOTE! Look at the MAP tab in Journal to see which White Checks have opened.

This die is not actually useful to us at this point in the game.

FIGURINE SET "REVOLUTIONARY"

What a nice little figurine! A turn-of-the-century leftist revolutionary in ragged clothes. On his head lies a lopsided hat, seemingly an ushanka. In his hand he carries a little musket.

I guess we could also give this to Dolores Dei... if we ever figure out what that actually means.

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #harrier du bois #plaisance

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mariacallous · 9 days

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After decades of strategic drift and costly acquisition failures, the U.S. Navy is sailing straight into a storm it can’t avoid. Despite the Defense Department’s lip service about China being the “pacing challenge,” decades of deindustrialization and policymakers’ failure to prioritize among services and threats have left the Navy ill-equipped to endure a sustained high-intensity conflict in the Pacific. The United States is unable to keep pace with Chinese shipbuilding and will fall even further behind in the coming years. Where does that leave the U.S. Navy and the most critical U.S. foreign-policy imperative: deterring a war in the Pacific?

As evidenced by the Biden administration’s latest budget request, fiscal constraints are forcing the Navy to cut procurement requests, delay modernization programs, and retire ships early. The Navy’s budget for the 2025 fiscal year calls for decommissioning 19 ships—including three nuclear-powered attack submarines and four guided-missile cruisers—while procuring only six new vessels. The full scope of what military analysts have long warned would be the “Terrible ’20s” is now evident: The expensive upgrading of the U.S. nuclear triad, simultaneous modernization efforts across the services, and the constraint of rising government debt are compelling the Pentagon to make tough choices about what it can and cannot pay for.

Workforce shortages and supply chain issues are also limiting shipbuilding capacity. The defense industrial base is still struggling to recover from post-Cold War budget cuts that dramatically shrank U.S. defense manufacturing. The Navy needs more shipyard capacity, but finding enough qualified workers for the yards remains the biggest barrier to expanding production. The shipbuilding industry is struggling to attract talent, losing out to fast food restaurants that offer better pay and benefits for entry-level employees. At bottom, it is a lack of welders, not widgets, that must be overcome if the U.S. Navy is to grow its fleet.

Instead, the shipbuilding outlook is progressively worsening. An internal review ordered by Navy Secretary Carlos Del Toro in January found that major programs, including submarines and aircraft carriers, face lengthy delays. Even the Constellation-class frigates, touted as a quick adaptation of a proven European design, are delayed by three years.

As defense analyst David Alman outlined in a prize-winning essay for the U.S. Naval Institute’s Proceedings, the United States simply can’t win a warship race with China. The United States effectively gave up on commercial shipbuilding during the Reagan administration in the name of free trade. In the decades that followed, generous state subsidies helped China dominate commercial shipbuilding, and Beijing’s requirement that the sector be dual-use resulted in an industry that can shift to production and ship repair for the military during a conflict, much as U.S. shipyards did during World War II. The U.S. Office of Naval Intelligence estimates that China now has 232 times the shipbuilding capacity of the United States. China built almost half the world’s new ships in 2022, whereas U.S. shipyards produced just 0.13 percent.

Rebuilding the arsenal of democracy that anchored the U.S. victory at sea 80 years ago won’t happen overnight or cheaply—it is a generational project. The 20-year Shipyard Infrastructure Optimization Program aimed at upgrading dry docks, facilities, and equipment will end up costing well over the projected $21 billion. But the plan is only intended to maximize existing U.S. industrial capacity and won’t do much to close the enormous shipbuilding gap with China. That would require a reconstitution program on par with the series of maritime laws passed after World War I, which supported the expansion of an industrial base eventually capable of turning out thousands of carriers, destroyers, submarines, frigates, and cargo ships for the Atlantic and Pacific fleets.

Realizing that U.S. shipyards are stretched thin, policymakers have begun looking abroad. Del Toro encouraged South Korean companies to invest in U.S. naval shipping during a visit this year. Japan will likely begin performing repair and maintenance work on U.S. warships soon; India agreed to do so last year. These initiatives will alleviate the increasing maintenance backlog at U.S. facilities, but it would take a large share of the combined Japanese and South Korean shipyard capacity to fundamentally alter the growing disparity between the U.S. and Chinese fleet size in the Western Pacific.

Ships are not all comparable, of course. U.S. warships are heavier and more capable than China’s, although a dearth of logistics vessels and sealift capability are major concerns. Still, the current era of missile warfare has magnified the importance of fleet size.

Without enough ships to match the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Navy, what can the United States do to maintain conventional deterrence in the Pacific and prevent war? At least two big things: buy missiles and cut back on missions.

First, to manage risk in the short term, the Navy and the other services need to rapidly procure more munitions—focusing on weapons and capabilities, not the platforms that carry them.

The Russia-Ukraine war has military planners thinking less about short, quick conflicts and more about long wars and their vast need for materiel. What holds for depleted stocks of land-based artillery also holds for many of the weapons needed for a war at sea. A much-publicized 2023 wargame conducted by the Center for Strategic and International Studies found that the United States would run out of its entire inventory of the key Long Range Anti-Ship Missile within the first few days of a war over Taiwan. Ramping up the procurement and production of these munitions, as well as Joint Strike Missiles, Standoff Land Attack Missiles, and Harpoon missiles will enable U.S. airpower to help even the odds in the Pacific.

Anti-ship systems operated by the Army and Marines could also complement the other services’ firepower. However, the deployment of ground-based missiles will require allies’ consent. To date, no Asian allies of the United States have volunteered to permanently host U.S. missile batteries, due to political sensitivities and the fact that these countries already have such weapons of their own.

Innovation and creativity could further augment U.S. naval power. Retired U.S. Marine Col. T.X. Hammes, a fellow at the National Defense University, has urged the Navy to convert commercial container ships into warships capable of launching missiles, which would add a tremendous volume of firepower at a bargain price. These “missile merchants” would also require significantly less manpower than traditional warships do, a major consideration given the Navy’s struggle to fill existing billets.

Policymakers also need to make hard choices and limit naval deployments. Though the Navy is shrinking, its missions aren’t. A high operational tempo, manpower shortfalls, and an aging fleet are fueling a readiness crisis that is burning out sailors and ships.

Addressing the readiness crisis requires taking a hard look at which missions are essential for U.S. security and which aren’t. As former Deputy Defense Secretary Robert Work has written, since the fall of the Soviet Union, the Navy has spent 30 years prioritizing global presence over warfighting readiness. The deadly Pacific ship accidents in 2017 involving the USS Fitzgerald and USS John McCain were directly attributable to this unsustainable mania for global presence, according to a Navy review.

The preeminence of presence missions also has more subtle consequences. After 20 years of largely uncontested deployments to the Middle East, the U.S. Navy now has an opponent who shoots back: Yemen’s Houthis. But increased experience in missile and drone defense is outweighed by a deleterious drain on precision munitions. In the conflict with the Houthis, the Navy burned through more Tomahawk land attack missiles in one day than it purchased in all of 2023. Meanwhile, the Houthis can replace all equipment destroyed by U.S. attacks with just two shiploads from Iran, according to Gen. Michael Kurilla, the head of U.S. Central Command.

The costs of maintaining global presence are magnified by the state of Navy recruiting and retention. The service’s recruiting woes are undeniable. The Navy missed all of its recruiting goals in 2023, some by as much as 35 percent. The service projects a shortfall of 6,700 recruits this year, according to its chief personnel officer.

Like the rest of the all-volunteer force, unprecedented recruiting headwinds mean manpower shortages will remain a persistent challenge for the Navy. Absent any change in operational tempo, sailors will work harder, deploy more frequently, and leave the service in greater numbers—ensuring a downward spiral for both manning and readiness.

The United States can’t match the size of China’s fleet in the near or medium term. Deindustrialization, poor procurement choices, and a myopic fixation on the U.S. presence in the Middle East have seen to that. All that said, the U.S. Navy still retains several significant advantages in a potential conflict with China: submarine dominance, overall tonnage, blue-water experience, and support from capable allies. A major increase in joint munitions purchases and an end to the readiness drain of presence deployments to secondary theaters will enhance the Navy’s edge during the potential peak window for a Chinese move on Taiwan over the next decade. The alternative is grim. If conventional deterrence fails, it risks military defeat for the United States or something even more dangerous: nuclear confrontation between the world’s two superpowers.

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justforbooks · 4 months

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The director and producer Norman Jewison, who has died aged 97, had a career dedicated for the most part to making films that, while entertaining, included socio-political content. His visual flair, especially in the use of colour, spot-on casting and intelligent use of music, enabled him to raise sometimes thin stories into highly watchable films.

He hit the high spot critically and commercially with In the Heat of the Night (1967), which starred Sidney Poitier as a northern US city police detective temporarily held up in a small southern town and Rod Steiger as the local sheriff confronted with the murder of a wealthy industrialist. The detective mystery plot was perhaps mainly the vehicle for an enactment of racial prejudices and hostilities culminating in a grudging respect on both sides, but it worked well. The final scene, much of it improvised, in which the two men indulge in something approaching a personal conversation, was both moving and revealing.

The film won five Academy awards – for best picture, best adapted screenplay, best editing, best sound and, for Steiger, best actor – and gave Jewison the first of his three best director nominations; the others were for Fiddler on the Roof, his 1971 adaptation of the Broadway musical, and the romantic comedy Moonstruck (1987). In 1999 Jewison was the winner of the Irving G Thalberg memorial award from the academy for “a consistently high quality of motion picture production”.

The son of Dorothy (nee Weaver) and Percy Jewison, he was born and brought up in Toronto, Ontario, where his father ran a shop and post office. Educated at the Malvern Collegiate Institute, a Toronto high school, Jewison studied the piano and music theory at the Royal Conservatory in the city, and served in the Canadian navy during the second world war. On discharge, he went to the University of Toronto, paying his way by working at a variety of jobs, including driving a taxi and occasional acting.

After graduating with a bachelor of arts degree, in 1950 he set off with $140 on a tramp steamer to the UK, where he landed a job with the BBC, acting and writing scripts. On his return to Canada two years later, he joined the rapidly expanding television industry, producing and directing variety shows for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.

Jewison was spotted by the William Morris talent agency and invited to New York, where he signed with CBS and was given the unenviable task of rescuing the once successful show Your Hit Parade, which was by then displaying signs of terminal decline. He revamped the entire production and took it back to the top of the ratings. He directed episodes of the variety show Big Party and The Andy Williams Show, and specials for Judy Garland, Frank Sinatra, Harry Belafonte, Jackie Gleason and Danny Kaye.

On the Belafonte special, Jewison had white chains dangling above the stage, an image that displeased many southern TV stations, which refused to screen the show. This was the first indication of his stance on racism.

Success brought him to the notice of Tony Curtis, who had his own production company at Universal, and Jewison began a three-year contract with 40 Pounds of Trouble (1962), starring Curtis. This was followed by the likable but light Doris Day comedies The Thrill of It All (1963), Send Me No Flowers (1964) and The Art of Love (1965).

In 1965 he got out of his contract to make the first film of his choice, MGM’s The Cincinnati Kid, starring Steve McQueen (the Kid) and Edward G Robinson (the Man) and centring on a professional poker game between the old master and the young challenger. He took over the project from Sam Peckinpah, tore up the original script by Paddy Chayefsky and Ring Lardner, and commissioned Terry Southern, the result getting him noticed as a more than competent studio director.

In 1966 he made the beguiling but commercially unsuccessful comedy The Russians Are Coming, The Russians Are Coming, about a Russian submarine stranded off the coast of Cape Cod. This was at the height of the cold war and gained him a reputation for being a “Canadian pinko”, although it was nominated for a best picture Oscar.

In the Heat of the Night was followed by The Thomas Crown Affair (1968) in which McQueen and Faye Dunaway played thief and insurance investigator respectively and engaged in a chess game that evolved into one of the longest onscreen kisses, as the camera swirls around and around above their heads. The theme song, The Windmills of Your Mind, was a hit and the film a success.

Fiddler on the Roof, with a silk stocking placed by Jewison across the camera lens to provide an earth-toned quality, won Oscars for cinematography, music and sound, and a nomination for Chaim Topol in his signature role of Tevye.

Jesus Christ Superstar (1973), his adaptation of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s rock opera, and Rollerball (1975), starring James Caan, were followed by F.I.S.T. (1978), a tale of union corruption starring Sylvester Stallone as an idealistic young organiser who sells out, and And Justice for All (1979), starring Al Pacino, a deeply ironic portrayal of the legal world.

A Soldier’s Story (1985), based on the Pulitzer prize-winning play and including an early performance from Denzel Washington, dealt with black soldiers who risked their lives “in defence of a republic which didn’t even guarantee them their rights”, and some of whom had internalised the white man’s vision of them.

Moonstruck, a somewhat daft love story but a tremendous box office success and for the most part a critical one, won the Silver Bear and best director for Jewison at the Berlin film festival and was nominated for six Oscars, winning for best screenplay, best actress for Cher and best supporting actress for Olympia Dukakis.

Then came Other People’s Money (1991), a caustic and amusing comedy on the new world of corporate finance and takeovers, in which Danny DeVito played a money hungry vulture, made largely in response to Reagan’s era of deregulation, and The Hurricane (1999) in which Jewison again worked with Washington, who played the real life boxer Rubin “Hurricane” Carter, falsely convicted of a triple murder and imprisoned for years before the conviction was quashed. The latter film aroused controversy over its alleged manipulation of some facts and, despite its undoubted qualities, this fracas probably contributed to it being commercially disappointing.

In the early 1990s, Jewison had begun preparations for a film on the life of Malcolm X, and had secured Washington to play the title role, when Spike Lee gave his strongly expressed opinion that only a black film-maker could make this story. The two met, and Jewison handed over the film to Lee.

Jewison’s last film, The Statement (2003), starred Michael Caine as a Nazi war criminal on the run. He was also producer for films including The Landlord (1970), The Dogs of War (1980), Iceman (1984) and The January Man (1989).

He had returned to Canada in 1978, living on a ranch north of Toronto with his wife Dixie, whom he had married in 1953. There he reared Hereford cattle, grew tulips and produced his own-label maple syrup. In 1988 he founded the Canadian Centre for Advanced Film Studies, now known as the Canadian Film Centre, in Toronto.

He was a confirmed liberal, a man of integrity who turned in his coveted green card in protest at the Vietnam war and saw film not only as entertainment but also as a conduit for raising serious issues.

Dixie (Margaret Dixon) died in 2004. In 2010 he married Lynne St David, who survives him, as do two sons, Kevin and Michael, and a daughter, Jennifer, from his first marriage.

🔔 Norman Frederick Jewison, film director, producer and screenwriter, born 21 July 1926; died 20 January 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #norman jewison #in memoriam

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ikemen-translations · 3 months

Text

Morganatic Idol Prologue 3/10

MC: Ugh... I'm sleepy... I stayed up all night

(However, I managed to write the proposal by the deadline)

(All I have to do is submit this...!)

MC: Mori-san! I have created a proposal for a new commercial so please check it out

Mori: Oh, you made it too?

Mori flipped through the proposal I handed her

Mori: ... It's surprisingly well shaped

MC: Yes, I came up with my own idea to convey the charm of perfume to the fullest

MC: It's a big project that will be broadcast to the world but I would like to take on the challenge to improve my own abilities

Mori: ... that's right. Well, this time anyone can submit a project

Mori: But it's too late. It's better to submit it sooner rather than just before the deadline. All full-time employees did that

MC: I'm so sorry...

Mori: Well, that's fine. i'll submit this to the section manager

MC: Thank you!

(I put all my efforts into the proposal. I hope it goes well)

A few days have passed since then. There is a nervous and restless atmosphere within the company

(I wonder what happened to my project... I can't help but wonder... but for now I have no choice but to wait)

After the lunch break when I returned to the office, my team members were chatting in the corner of the room

FE1: I wonder whose project will be chosen?

FE2: It would be great if it was someone from our team. Maybe we could get closer to Exe

They were so absorbed talking that they didn't even notice my return

FE1: Come to think of it, MC-san also submitted a plan, right?

(!)

Mori: Yes, it was on the last minute

FE2: Is it because the Exes are the image characters after all?

FE3: I was so excited because I wanted to meet a super idol!

... My heart made a disgusting sound at the words I heard

FE1: There's no way a project created by a temporary employee with no experience would be selected, Eiko

Mori: Yeah, no matter how hard she try she can't beat us

MC: ...

(No, I didn't try my best because an idol was involved)

I grasp my palms tightly

(... But I have to be patient. It's true that I have no experience and these people and I are in very different positions)

I notice that the full-time girls looked down on me because I was a temporary worker

(It can't be helped...)

Even though I knew it in my head, I was filled with regret

(Let's get some air outside)

I quietly left the office to freshen up

Manager: Hey, Mori-kun!

Mori: Chief? What's wrong?

Manager: Your department's project will be used in the competition! It's a great honot to be chosen out of all the companies!

Manager: Look, this is it. It's the project you submitted just before the deadline

Mori: It's...!

Chief: The presentation will be giving soon. Please brush up on this project by then. Can you do it?

Mori: ...

FE1: Hey, hey, that plan...

Mori: Yes! Let's work together as a team!

Manager: You said it! Now, I'm going to go right away and report to the chief that you will be in charge

Mori: ...

FE1: That plan is.. MC's...

Mori: ... Our team submitted it, so it's our plan

Mori: It's impossible for a kid with no exprience to do such a big job. Isn't that right?

FE1: Oh, that's right

FE2: Yes, she is inexperienced after all

Mori: That's it. Come on, let's get to work. It's going to be busy!

A few days later. That day, the office was hectic since the morning

I was told only that we had a visitor and was sent shopping without any explanation

MC: Haa... I finally finished... It's heavy

I'm exhausted from carrying so many coffee pots and boxes of sweets

(Teito Hotel's high-class tea and sweets set and the cafe's most expensive hot coffee)

(Even though the company already has things for guests, why bother to prepare new ones? I wonder if there will be any special people coming today)

MC: Anyway, I have to get back to the office soon... Whaat!?

Suddenly, someone bumped into me from the side. My body staggered and I almost fell.

MC: Kyaa...!

I closed my eyes unconsciously

But... before I could fall to the ground, strong arms grabbed me

(... who?)

When I opened my eyes in fear...

Xeno: ...

What was in front of me were cold, emotionless eyes...

He has an overwhelming presence that cannot be mistaken

Exe Creed Xeno is staring at me

Previous / Next

#morganatic idol #translation #ikemen series #morganatic idol prologue #prologue

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downwiththeficness · 5 months

Text

Shadow and Veil-Chapter Thirty Five

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction. Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed. You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen eyes. This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence, and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.

Word Count: ~2,200

Start from the beginning Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Masterlist Read on AO3

Eva stood in the kitchen, waiting for a fresh pot of coffee to brew. It was almost lunchtime and she’d already taken her normal route around the neighborhood. There were no new job openings to inquire about, so she bought a piece of fruit from the vendor and wandered around until she got tired. Then, aware of the time, she headed home and turned on the next episode of Sergio and Maria’s story.

Luz had no idea that Sergio was struggling with the question of whether or not he would go through with marrying her. She spent most of the episode filling out invitations and looking for dresses. Maria, on the other hand, was drowning her sorrows in tequila with her best friend who was encouraging her to seek out her long lost love. All in all, Eva found it very entertaining.

The ring of the phone startled her during a commercial break. Eva picked it up with a tentative ‘hello?’

Horacio’s voice came through, “Eva, did I leave my lunch on the kitchen counter?”

Leaning around the doorway, she looked for it, “Yes, you did.”

“Would you mind bringing it to me?” He asked, “I would normally just get something here, but I was looking forward to the leftovers.”

Eva sympathized with him. If she hadn’t eaten every scrap of food on her plate, she would be looking forward to the leftovers, too. “I can do that,” she replied, already reaching for the phone book to call a cab. “You’re at your office today?”

“Sí,” then, “Gracias, Amorcita.”

Eva smiled wide even though he couldn’t see her, “You’re welcome. I’ll come right over.”

After hanging up with Horacio, Eva dialed a cab company and very carefully asked for a ride from her home to Horacio’s office. The person on the other side of the line didn’t seem bothered by her stilted speech and gave her a wait time of twenty minutes. It was plenty for Eva to get cleaned up and make herself presentable.

She knew that there was little that she could do about the fact that she stuck out in a crowd. Eva was a foreigner and too new to the country to effectively hide how American she was. She just had to try her best to make a good impression wherever she went, especially if she was going to Horacio’s office. As long as she was polished and polite to his coworkers, it probably wouldn’t matter too much that she was from an entirely different hemisphere.

She selected her outfit with care. Her sartorial choices were limited, but she had enough accessories to add a little flash here and there. After stepping into her heels, she put some money in a handbag and went to the kitchen to grab Horacio’s lunchbox.

The cab pulled into the driveway and Eva gave the address to the driver. Along the way, she attempted to memorize the route. It was further away than she’d been, aside from the first trip from the airport. The neat houses gave way to a highway flanked by trees until the car reached the outskirts of the city, proper.

Most of the buildings were uniform concrete with official looking signs. Eva made note of a medical center about half a block from where the cab eventually pulled to a stop. There was also a post office and general store. In the distance, Eva spotted a small park with children running through it.

She paid the driver and got out, smoothing her skirt nervously before climbing the steps to the front door. While she walked, Eva practiced the translation for ‘hello, I’m looking for my husband, Captain Carrillo’ in her head. The closer she got to the doors, the more nervous she became. When she cleared the stairs, Eva made herself stop and take a deep breath. She was just a wife dropping off lunch to her husband. No big deal.

Another fortifying breath and Eva breezed into the lobby as if she belonged there. She found a secretary who patiently listened to her inquiry. A moment later and she was standing in an elevator staring as a sticky note with short directions written on it. The doors opened and she stepped out, looking both ways to find an office number.

At the end of the hall, Eva dropped down a short set of stairs to an open floor littered with desks. The sound of people talking was muffled by the click of typewriters and the loud scratch of a fax machine printing in the corner. Eva paused at the base of the stairs so that she could scan the room for Horacio. It didn’t take her long to spot him.

Moving quickly through the spacious room, Horacio’s purposeful steps carried him alongside another officer. He was speaking to them in words she couldn’t hear, but the tone was clear: This is what I want, and this is how I want it. It was a tone that she knew intimately and just hearing it made her skin prickle.

Other officers noted Horacio’s approach long before he got there. Eva watched their bodies stiffen and move out of the way to let him through. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him part a crowd just by walking towards it and Eva had always assumed that it was a Diego thing. That the danger Diego represented was telegraphed so acutely that anyone could sense it.

Evidently, it was a Horacio thing.

Eva quickly calculated where he might be going and easily found her entry point when a group of officers scurried off down another hallway. She put herself in Horacio’s path and waited for him to spot her.

She waited about seven seconds.

Horacio locked eyes with her and the ambient sounds of the room dimmed. His mouth pulled up into a smile and he seemed to completely forget that he was speaking to someone. The even stride shortened and quickened as he made his way towards her. When he got close, both hands reached out to grasp her hips.

He kissed her cheek lightly, “You brought lunch?”

Eva held up his lunchbox, “I brought lunch.”

The officer he had been talking to stood off to the side, watching their interaction with interest. If the expression on his face was anything to go on, Eva thought seeing Horacio kiss someone in public was a rare event that would later result in gentle ribbing between them.

Horacio took the lunchbox from her and stepped to the side, “Eva, this is Officer Trujillo. Trujillo, this is my wife.”

Like the last time he introduced her, Eva’s heart fluttered at the way he said ‘my wife’. No hesitation. No stumbling over the word. No derision or sarcasm in his tone. Just a simple statement of unequivocal fact.

“Mrs. Carrillo,” the officer greeted, “its nice to finally meet you.”

Eva smiled, “Its nice to meet you, too. And, thank you for finding the house for us. We’re very grateful.”

Trujillo dipped his head in acknowledgment, “You’re welcome. Besides, what else was I supposed to do when I heard the Major went to America and got married without telling anyone.”

“Major?”

Horacio shifted on his feet, “Ah. I got promoted this morning. I was going to tell you when I got home.”

“That’s wonderful!” she gasped.

Trujillo stepped forward and slapped Horacio on the shoulder, “I’m looking forward to hearing how you managed to bring down that American doctor. We could use some new strategies.”

Eva felt her smile freeze in place.

Horacio, bless him, noticed, “I’ll let you know when I’ve scheduled the training. Right now, I’m going to have lunch.”

Trujillo waved him off with a grin and Horacio guided Eva away with a hand on the small of her back. They walked to an office that was in disarray. Boxes and filing cabinets were half opened. The desk was covered in accordion files that were bursting at the seams. On the far wall was a couch that had even more boxes stacked on top of it.

Horacio closed the door behind them, “Sorry about…”

Eva shook her head, “He doesn’t know. Its fine. Just caught me off guard.”

He looked at her a moment more before he seemed to accept her answer. Eva watched him walk around his desk and kneel down. The sound of rustling preceded the distinct chime of a microwave starting.

“So, new promotion and a new office?”

Head lifting so that he looked at her from just above the edge of his desk, Horacio replied, “Something like that. I’m supposed to head a task force to hunt down drug dealers.”

She huffed an amused laugh, “I’d say you have a head start on the job.”

He stood, “Yes. I think so.” A tilt of his head, “I doubt it will be nearly as exciting as playing a drug dealer. But, I’ll manage.”

Sauntering over to him, Eva said, “I wouldn’t toss Diego aside so quickly. You might need him back someday.”

There was something in his expression that flinched, but he covered it smoothly by pulling his mouth into a very Diego-like smirk, “I’m sure Diego would be thrilled to hear you think so highly of him.”

Eva turned her shoulders coyly and scrunched her face, “Have to say: When I first met him? Total asshole. But, he grew on me.”

Horacio took her hand and held it loosely, “You’re right. He was an asshole. But, he was efficient. And, I never would have met you without him.”

He was right. If Diego hadn’t stormed into her life, Eva would still be living in that stupid fucking house surrounded by pretty things and slowly dying inside.

“I’m glad I met him,” she murmured.

“Me, too.”

The microwave dinged. Horacio knelt down and carefully pulled the Tupperware from it and cleared off a space on his desk. He sat in a rolling chair and gestured for her to take on of the two chairs opposite.

“We’ll share,” he announced, picking up the fork.

Eva sat and leaned her elbows on the desk, “That’s very gracious of you.”

With a bright hum, Horacio passed her the fork so that she could take a bite, “I’m glad you liked the restaurant. We should go back soon.”

“We should,” she agreed, “We have a promotion to celebrate.”

“Its not a big deal.”

Eva pointed the fork at him, “It is a big deal. You said it, yourself. The whole point of going to Louisiana was so that you could get this promotion. And, look, here it is. You did it.”

Horacio took the fork from her, “I had help. Your help, actually.”

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, I was a big help while I had a complete mental breakdown and cried for, like, six months.”

“It wasn’t an easy situation.”

He had a point, but Eva refused to allow it, “And, I didn’t make it any easier.”

Horacio chewed thoughtfully, “I don’t need the promotion to be happy with what happened. I got something better.”

How was she supposed to argue with him when he was saying such sweet things? Eva shook her head ruefully, but let him have the win. He forked another bite into his mouth instead of gloating.

Eva’s gaze shifted to the mountain of files on his desk, “Are these your first cases, Major?”

Before he could answer, her eyes caught the familiar Ardent logo. She laid a hand on the file and looked at him in question.

“I,” he began in a long, drawn out syllable, “got an update faxed in from Javier. Its about the trial.”

Her chest clenched, “Oh?”

“The evidence we gathered was very, very good and the DA was suggesting a minimum sentence of twenty years.”

“That’s good, right?”

He nodded, “But, a few days ago, he fled. They’re not sure where he went—he covered his tracks pretty well.”

Eva couldn’t speak around the fear that began to bubble up from her stomach and into her throat. The food in her mouth suddenly felt like lead.

Horacio caught her attention, “He won’t get close to you. I’ve already flagged him at every airport in the country. That’s if he figures out that you’re here, which he won’t.”

She remembered the extra measures he took while they made their way to Colombia. Meticulously, Eva walked through them, looking for weaknesses that Josh might be able to exploit. They were few and far between, but they were there.

The best plan would be for the authorities to catch up with Josh and put him behind bars. But, where…?

“I know where he is,” she said.

Horacio’s brows rose, “You do?”

Eva nodded, “He’s in Mexico. Before everything went to shit, he said that he wanted to move the operation.”

Picking up a pen and notepad, Horacio began to write, “Did he say where in Mexico?”

She shook her head, “No, but I would look for manufacturing towns—places where he could create a new company and start over. Somewhere that he could export the product back into the US.”

He wrote down her words with bullet points and set down the pen, “What was that about not helping, again?”

#Shadow and Veil #Narcos #Horacio carrillo #carrillo #maurice compte #au #A/B/O dynamics

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