#wind* whoooooops >< !

[hwaitham]

good mornie everypaw (´ ꒳｀ ྀི) ⊹₊˚ෆ let us all b cute littl kittens w flowers on our backs for the day 🌸🐾 kneadin cookie dough on ur cheeks to make u smile ! pls hv a pleasant wednesday fwens !

#𓈒 ۫ 𝓹𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓲𝓮 𐂯 𝓹𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮𝓼 ₊⠀ೀ #i hope u all hv smth to smile abt today ! ! if u feel a gust of wing swoop past ur cheek jus kno dat is me dropping by to shower u w my wub #wind* whoooooops >< ! #todai is plushie wash day . . . n i am a bit anxious >< #i alwys sleep wif em on my bed but i wont hv dat tonite so . . aaa ‎๐·°(⋟﹏⋞)°·๐ #it will be scawy but it will also b OK ! :thumbsup: #n dey will all be sparkly shiny fluffy clean after so ! ! tht is something to look forward to 💭

[daddywright]

ok @eaglefairy this is one i know i WILL eventually finish, i promise. the premise? simple! a thief (kay) and her quarry (phoenix wright) 😉 the subtitle is 'the great yatagarasu steals mr. edgeworth a man' asdasdfads

When he receives the news that Kay Faraday will be consulting in Los Angeles for the next three months, his first reaction is one of pleasant surprise.

It has been nearly a year since they last reunited in Oslo—at a tech conference for forensics that had ended in a gruesome murder and a displeasure for snow storms that he will carry with him until his dying day—and he had been meaning to reach out to her more frequently than he had been.

He has kept abreast of her successes over the years with varying degrees of pride, interest, and mild concern, ever since she began her private investigation business. Frequently, he would catch wind of a case of hers on the international news cycle—a corrupt politician foiled in Madrid, a smuggling ring cracked in Milan—but most often he would receive an update through a spontaneous text at a heinous hour, disconcertingly short or overwhelmingly long depending on how her investigation was developing.

Many a night he has been jolted awake to the buzz of his cell on the night stand and squinted to read incomprehensible strings of suggestive emoticons or lengthy dissertations on the fallibility of Swiss museum security systems. Once or twice, he’d been pressed to send a message to Agent Lang or Franziska—whoever was closer in geography—to request they ensure a nonsensical message or two wasn’t an indicator of danger or life-threatening injury.

This evening, at least, her texts are legible. However, he thinks, eyes watering in the dark, her understanding of time zones has yet to improve.

02:31 i’m so excited! Ur gonna pick me up at the airport right????

02:32 i bet you still drive that ugly car ew bless ur heart

02:33 I CAN’TT WAIT TO SEE GUMMY <3

02:33 i still can’t believe he’s married now i mean i know i went to the wedding but STILL, our gummy...in love...isn’t love healing, edgeworth?

02:34 have you ever thought about getting married??

He straightens in bed at that, sighing, typing quickly before that train of thought can devolve into something trying for his sanity.

02:35 Kay. Please. It is 2:30AM. Refrain from texting me in the middle of the night unless it is an emergency, we’ve discussed this.

02:35 And yes, I will pick you up. Send me your flight itinerary.

02:36 whoooooops, forgot that time was real again. my b, mr. e.

02:36 and yayyyy! I finally get to meet all your work friends!

02:37 You’re coming to L.A. to investigate executive bank fraud, not fraternize with my employees.

02:38 i can do both ;) i have three whole months

That shouldn’t sound like a threat, and yet he feels disturbed.

02:39 Goodnight, Kay.

02:40 Goodnight Mr. Edgeworth!! See you tomorrow!! <3

He sighs, closing tired eyes, and sets the phone face down. Still as vivacious as ever. It will be good to see her again,he thinks, but hopefully she won’t provide too much of a distraction to his office or colleagues.

In retrospect, he will realize this was a fool’s hope. <<<

>>> “Heyyyy, Mr. Edgeworth.”

He glances up from his desk, eyebrow raised over the latest paperwork for the Jockhee case. “Kay,” he says shortly, noting the insouciant twist of her voice. “What are you doing here?”

She pouts, slipping around his desk to lean unabashed against the side of his office chair. “I come by to see you on your lunch break and you can’t even say hello.”

“It’s too early for lunch, and even if it were, I’ve my hands full today supervising a murder trial.” He lifts an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

She crosses her arms and plops down on the edge of his desk, ignoring his glower that she would consider it appropriate seating. “Why do I have to want something?” she asks casually, missing the mark of innocent by a mile.

“Kay, I am sincerely very busy. Out with it.”

Kay sighs, world-weary. “Fineee,” she groans. “I swear, you used to be more fun than this.”

“I’ve not become more or less ‘fun’--what I am is seven pages into a fifty-page summary report. So if you do not mind cutting to the chase, or saving social time for later—”

“I’ve been watching the murder trial,” she interrupts, and he blinks rapidly at her. Perhaps he underestimated her, and she actually came by in a professional capacity.

“You have?” He frowns beneath a wave of intrigue, stifled bluntly by concern. “It’s not connected to your investigation, is it?” He cannot see how the homicide of a radio host could be in any way connected to bank embezzlement and fraud, but he knows better than to rule anything out completely in this city.

“What? No, that’s almost wrapped up. I got a lead and I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to track him down this week, whenever he gets back from Prague—”

“Kay. If not in relation to your case, why are you spending your time in the courthouse?”

“I wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” she says breezily. “You know, with that man.”

Miles blinks at her. “With—” Abruptly, he feels his stomach drop. “I beg your pardon.”

“It’s him, right? Mr. Blue Suit? The defense attorney?”

“You’re watching the murder trial to observe Wright?”

“I mean, why not? I’ve heard so much about him, I just wanted to see the guy in action, you know?”

“How did you even know that—”

“C’mon,” she says, thumbing the side of her nose. “You said he was a defense attorney who “showed you the path”-- she waggles her gloved fingers, sending heat scorching into his face— “and that was like, forever ago, so he had to be a veteran attorney, and I know he sometimes comes by here—”

“And how do you know that?” he demands. His eyes narrow to slits. “Kay. Tell me you have not been following him—”

“I don’t need to follow him,” she hedges. “I just showed up at the trial and watched, like all the other weirdos who decide it’s a nice way to spend a Saturday.” She whistles. “You know, he’s pretty good. Kind of a clown sometimes, and sometimes puts his foot in his mouth, but he’s got that—justice streak, just like you. Moral fiber or whatever. He’s just...squishier.”

#ask game #my fic #my wips #narumitsu #when will kay return from the war #ace attorney #eaglefairy

[chain-unchained]

October 21

Damn pre-game nerves. Even after so many years of not playing the sport, Shane still got butterflies in his stomach any time he got near a gridball field. It had been a huge part of his college life, after all. But today, it wasn’t really the prospect of the game that had him so nervous.

“I’m so excited.” Ashe chimed, looking out the bus window as they rode towards Zuzu city. “I’ve never been to a gridball game before.”

“You haven’t?” It was almost hard to hear him over the general chatter in the bus; it wasn’t just them heading to the game, of course, and the rest of the bus was positively packed with other game-goers.

“Nope. We never really had the money for tickets or anything like that, not that we were hardcore fans or anything. We’d still watch the game on the TV, though.”

“Gotcha. I’m glad you’re excited for this then.”

It was Ashe’s 20th birthday present from Shane, this trip. It was something that Shane had agonized over for way too long, truth be told; as much as he wanted to get him something special, he couldn’t afford much, and there wasn’t anything really that Ashe wouldn’t be able to get or make for himself. This, though, this trip would get him away from the farm for a day and let him have Shane all to himself for a change. He figured that was one of the best gifts he could give to his boyfriend.

An hour and a half later, they fought their way through the crowd into the stadium and claimed their seats-- thanks to an old buddy of Shane’s, he’d managed to snag two right in the front row where all the action was. It was kind of hilarious watching Ashe’s head practically swiveling on his neck as he tried to look at everything at once.

The Tunnelers and the rival Ramhorns soon took the field, and it was even cuter to see Ashe getting so worked up and into the game. Of course, Shane was right there beside him, the pair of them whooping and cheering and jumping up and down with each goal and interception. Neither of them had any thoughts on their minds-- nothing about the farm, nothing about recovering, no Joja, no work, no past, no future. Only the game playing out before their eyes in that moment.

Come halftime, it wasn’t looking good for their team; the Tunnelers were down seven points and the Ramhorns were fighting hard to keep it that way. There was a fierce rivalry between the teams and their fans, and Shane saw more than a few arguments and even a fistfight break out on his way to the concession stand.

“Sheesh... people these days.” He muttered to himself, drinks and snacks in hand, as he watched the fistfight be broken up by security. That went double for the people he had to wind around to get back to the stands, all of whom seemed wholly oblivious to the fact that they were standing right in the way. He really hated crowds....

Finally, he made it back to their seats, somehow unscathed. “Sorry that took so long. Here, I got you another hot chocolate.”

“Aw, thanks~” Ashe was grateful for the beverage, reaching out to accept it with numb hands; seeing how red his fingers were, Shane instead set their drinks in their cupholders. He took the farmer’s hands into his own and brought them up to his mouth, gently blowing on them to warm the cold digits. “Th-that tickles...”

“You should have said you were cold, dork.” When his hands were warmed up a bit, Shane let them go and shrugged off his jacket. “Here.”

“Eh-- what about you?”

“I’ll be fine. I have enough fat to keep warm without it... There. Looks pretty good on you, actually. Maybe I should let you keep it.” Shane took his seat beside him and handed him the hot chocolate, then cracked into a can of soda for himself and dug into the chili cheese fries he’d also gotten for them to share. “.... Hey, so. I’ve been meaning to say...”

Ashe paused, a chili-loaded fry partway to his mouth, to give him his full attention.

“Thanks for sticking with me through everything... my anxiety, depression... you know... You’re a lot of things to me, but you’ve been a really good friend above everything else.”

It was gratitude that was way overdue, in his opinion. So many things in his life were different now, simply because this one person got it in his head to befriend him. There really weren’t words enough to properly express how he felt, but he tried his best, and the smile he got from Ashe in response made him smile too. “... So, what do you think about your first gridball game so far?”

“Hm...” Ashe took his time to eat a couple of fries before answering. “It’s been a lot of fun~ Honestly, back home’s going to seem  boring after this is over.”

“Really? I’m surprised. Thought you wanted to escape the noise of the city.” There was a pause as Shane took a gulp of soda to soothe his parched throat. “ I mean... Don't get me wrong, I totally understand. Life in Pelican Town can get pretty bland at times... okay, a lot of the time.” Another pause. “... Maybe we can come to the city again next month or something. Just to break up the monotony.”

“I think I’d like that.”

The game picked back up a few minutes later, and the Tunnelers were on the offensive. They were determined to close the lead the Ramhorns held over them, one point at a time. The air was thick with electric tension as the clock ticked down-- six points, then five, four, three, two, one...

With less than a minute left, they had the score tied. Shane was actually sweating despite not having his coat on anymore, perched on the edge of his seat and leaning forward with his hands tightly gripping the armrests. Strats were racing through his head like they used to back in his gridball days, his heart was pounding in his chest.

Thirty seconds left. The Ramhorns intercepted, but the Tunnelers quickly recovered and made one last push down the field. It was a battle for every foot, but they were going to fight it to the very last second. Five, four, three, two, one--

“GOOAAAAAL!!!”

The stands erupted with blues and greens as the Tunnelers scored, filling the air with joyful screams as their team anthem blared. Leaping up from his seat, Shane thrust his fists triumphantly towards the sky with a booming whoooooop. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Ashe by the arms and pulled him into an over the excited kiss. He could taste the hot chocolate and chili lingering on his boyfriend’s lips as he leaned into it, and the brief moment of ‘oh shit’ was over as he wrapped his arms around Shane’s neck.

It was definitely a great game. And the Tunnelers won, too.

#stardew #stardew valley #stardew shane #stardew valley shane #sdv #sdv shane #sdv farmer #sdv fanfic #sdv fanfiction #stardew valley fanfiction #I have no idea how sports work I'm so sorry

[sunshinetrappedinourhearts]

Nathmarc month day 11: “I love you.”

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16491026/chapters/38920409#workskin Whoooooop, I’m still behind one day, but hey, at least I’m still writing. :D  I hope to write two stories on one day soon, but I’m not sure if that’ll work out. If not, I’ll just finish one day late, lol.  I’m quite satistfied with this one. It practically wrote itself, since I planned something entirely different but suddenly this happened, gdi Marc. (Or Nath, tbh not sure whose fault it is. xD) @nathmarcnovember

The mountain of envelopes was staring at him, begging him to send them, finally letting them fulfil their long-awaited purpose. There were at least twenty of them. And the collection was still growing. Marc blamed his head full of words, his heart full of feelings he was unable to convey. If only he’d be able to hand them to the person whom they were addressed to…  He sighed and once again put the envelopes away, preparing to leave to meet up with Nathaniel.

They had agreed to meet at one of their usual spots along the Seine, it was a quiet spot, and comfortable to work during the summer. Hugging his notebook, Marc walked on the riverbanks, and his body felt a bit numb, small electric sparks teasing his arms and legs as he moved himself forward.

His mind was filled with his soft smile and the way his ocean eyes lighted up whenever he spoke about something he loved,  the way he hid them behind his bangs whenever he was shy, the way tiny glitters danced within them when he was drawing.

Marc wanted to tell him, he needed to say to him those three little words full of meaning, because he deserved them more than anyone in the world.

But.

What if he would hate it?

What if he frowned in disgust, what if he laughed and walked away, what if the light disappeared from his eyes of disbelief and anger.

What if he could never ever see him again because of those three words?

The sparks sank to his legs and he pushed them forward with difficulty, sighing as he felt his hopes leave him once again.

He couldn’t say it. He could never.

There was too much at risk.

‘Hey, Marc.’

The voice awoke him and he looked up only to see those ocean eyes he found so beautiful.

The sparks came back and he smiled. ‘Nathaniel.’

The artist boy smiled back at him. ‘You were lost in thought, huh? I saw you walking but you didn’t notice me at all. I guess that means you got ideas for our next chapter?’ He grinned at him, and they walked a little further until they reached the bench they always used.

Nathaniel sat down, taking out his sketchbook. Marc joined him.

‘Always,’ he said, opening his notebook, but a single paper flew away, blown away by the wind. At first, Marc was confused, until Nathaniel caught it, faster than him.

Flashes of memories came back to him, writing another poem, but forgetting to put it in an envelope far away from his favourite notebook.

Oh dear god, no, it was too soon, too-

Marc quickly grabbed the paper, and Nathaniel looked at him, blinking as he still hold onto it.

‘Marc…?”

The sparks were everywhere, his stomach, his hands as they trembled and his cheeks as they flushed red. He couldn’t look him in the eye.

‘Ah, erm…’

‘If you don’t want me to read it, that’s alright, you know,’ Nathaniel let go of the paper, pushing it into his hands. ‘Everyone has secrets. There are… also some drawings I… can’t show you.’

Those words confused Marc and it was too tempting to try and read his expression, so he looked up to try. But it was hard. Nathaniel smiled a bit, but his eyes were half hidden behind his hair, and he was scratching his face a little awkwardly. Marc found it… cute…

‘Well, uhm, let’s… trade then?’ The words were gone before he could consider them and calculate all the possible consequences, and he bit his lip as a thousand worst case scenarios ran through his mind.

Bad idea. Very, very bad idea. Nathaniel was probably talking about drawings he was insecure about, thinking Marc had something similar. But if he agreed and read the poem then-

‘Ah, I mean, uhm, forget that I don’t want to push you, haha, let’s uhm, carry on and discuss the new chapter, shall we? I have some ideas we can use about-’

‘Sure.’

Marc stopped talking. Breathed. The look in Nathaniel’s eyes was calm, yet determined, gentle yet serious. He had trouble averting his gaze.

Nathaniel smiled. ‘I’ll show you one of the drawings if you let me read the paper. It’s a fair trade, no? Besides, I trust you, and you trust me, right?’

Marc was frozen. The sunlight glittering down on Nathaniel’s face as he spoke was a bit enchanting, causing shimmers of light on his hair and cheeks. It made his eyes even more bright ocean blue than he remembered.

He didn’t know how to say no, so he nodded, even though every single sense of foreboding screamed at him from the inside of his mind, begging him to stop this nonsense.

But his body moved at his own as he handed the piece of paper to Nathaniel, who took it from him, but didn’t read yet.

‘Alright, I’ll turn around, okay?’ He handed him his sketchbook, his finger on a certain page. ‘It’s this page. Don’t look until you’ve turned around as well, okay? We’ll give it back to each other after five minutes. If that’s enough time for me to read. D-don’t say anything before that.’

He was fumbling with his hair, and Marc found it adorable. He nodded. ‘O-okay.’

He took the sketchbook from him, and took a deep breath, turning his back to him. Electric sparks back as they glided through his limbs.

Nathaniel would realize. He wasn’t stupid. Had never been stupid.

There was no way back now.

He just hoped the artist would believe him… and take him seriously…

He sighed. He just had to trust him. They knew each other for two years now. Nathaniel knew Marc would never make fun of him.

He absently let his index finger go over the side of Nathaniel’s sketchbook. How would he react…? He shouldn’t have done this, he shouldn’t have… It was a bad, bad idea and maybe this was just a bad dream and he needed to wake up and-

He closed his eyes. Opened them. Nothing.

Marc sighed and opened the sketchbook on the page the artist had marked.

And he blinked.

He couldn’t understand the green eyes that looked into his from the page, not the messy almost-black hair, not the slight hint of pink colouring the cheeks, nor the hands covered by fingerless gloves, one of them resting under the chin of the person Nathaniel had drawn.

This…

It…

Huh?

No matter how long he stared, and how many times he blinked, there seemed to be no doubt.

He was looking at himself.

‘Ah, Marc? I finished reading… You can… turn around now…’

Oh, no. He had almost forgotten. Nathaniel had read the poem. About ocean eyes and silky red hair, about elegant fingers making brushes and pencils dance and creating the most beautiful of scenes. About carefree, gentle smiles and a warm hand in his and how he wished to feel that warmth more often. About how he wished to see more and more of the small lights within his eyes and desired them to be looking at him the same way he looked at them.

He wanted to run and disappear and turn back time right there. But…

‘…Marc?’

He hadn’t noticed he’d turn around but with his eyes squeezed closed.

Carefully, little by little, he opened them, the sparks all gathering at the area where his heart was, forcing it to beat louder and louder as they caused the blood to rise to his cheeks.

Nathaniel was looking at him, a slight blush on his face as he hold the piece of paper tightly.

Marc stared back, unable to move, unable to speak, frozen solid.

The silent seconds seemed to pass at hours between them, and they finally spoke, both of them at the same time.

‘I-’

‘I-’

Marc blinked, Nathaniel did too, but he chuckled softly right after. It made Marc smile, the sparks in his chest calming down a little.

‘You go first,’ he said, fumbling with the strings of his hoodie as the tiny smile was still teasing his lips.

‘No way, you go,’ Nathaniel grinned.

Marc breathed. ‘I… I…’ He tried, but the words stuck. ‘Ugh. I… It… Ngh…’

Nathaniel just waited, smiling gently.

Marc closed his eyes. Exhaled. Opened them again. ‘I love you.’

He blinked, unsure whether he had really spoken the words out loud or if he had imagined them. To confirm, he glanced at the artist boy carefully.

His cheeks reddened and he was avoiding his gaze a little.

Oh.

Oh, great.

He had said them.

What would happen, would he yell, would he run, would he hate, would he disappear would he-

Nathaniel suddenly looked right into his eyes, and his heart skipped a beat.

‘I love you, too, Marc.’

He smiled. ‘Guess it made sense, huh?’ He pointed at his drawing, grinning.

Marc didn’t understand what was happening, and it felt like he was dreaming and watching himself as he answered. ‘W-well, for me, too, r-right?’ he nodded at the piece of paper Nathaniel was still holding.

Nathaniel moved a little closer to him. ‘Y-yeah. I… suspected it a little, but I was… too scared to believe…’

Marc moved a little closer as well, their legs touching slightly. ‘I couldn’t tell you… I was scared as well…’

Nathaniel smiled, reaching out, and Marc felt like he was on fire when his fingers softly touched his face.  ‘Marc… Can I… kiss you?’

Marc nodded and closed his eyes.

#nathmarc november #rainbow tomato #nathmarc #miraculous ladybug #marc anciel #nathaniel kurtzb #nathaniel x marc #marc x nathaniel #marcthaniel #fanfiction #my stuff

[anmousewrites]

Storm Warning Chapter 2

((... who is late. It is me. I was supposed to post this a little while ago. Whoooooops. Here you go!))

Oliver’s apartment was meticulously clean for a scavenger. He did have a junk room, but even that was organized and tidy. Three of the walls were shelves and the fourth was a big table with all of his tools. The window was almost permanently grimey, but he had scrubbed it hard until the dirt only stuck in the corners and some sunlight could still come through, whatever rays made it through the smog. He had an old radio he had cobbled together and he used it to catch whatever stations worked that day. He wasn’t picky with his music. Anything cheerful. He’d sit in his scrap room and clean pieces or tinker on things until they were sellable. It was probably his favourite part of the job. It was the quietest and safest part, certainly. Today was not a tinker day. Today was a salvage day. That meant that he was hurrying through the crowded streets of the city, his bag on his back and his head bent low, trying to stay inconspicuous. What he did was technically illegal. At least, it was illegal enough. Arguably, the scrap he worked with was old and discarded and should have been free for the taking. On the other hand, people got killed for a lot less these days and even if he didn’t die he was way too poor to even think about the legal system. Nope. NOPE. 

Better to be inconspicuous. And he mostly was. He was poor and dirty (because as soon as he left his apartment, it stuck to him) and his cloud of hair got all the frizzier in whatever heat and dirt there was at ground level. Spectra City was a huge, disgusting rat’s nest of a place with The Dimmet (usually just The Dim) as the center of it all. The apartment buildings were huge. The city had something stupid like one hundred million people in it, so the apartment buildings were almost cities unto themselves. Most had different stores and aid centers built right in, although Oliver wouldn’t go there unless his life depended on it because he’d probably leave with something worse than he went in with.   There were other neighbourhoods outside of The Dim that were maybe not less awful but differently awful. The rich kind of bad. Oliver stayed away from those places. Apartments tended to be nicer the higher up they were, and some buildings in those neighbourhoods were incredibly fancy. How many people to an apartment block in The Dim? Ten thousand? Fifteen thousand? Oliver had no idea. A lot. Too many, usually. Oliver lived in a dump, to be blunt. He was poor, he lived alone, and honestly he was surprised some days that his building was still standing. He had put a lot of work into his little unit, and it was tiny and ugly but it was his. And most importantly, he could afford it with his weird-ass job. Someone tried to pick a fight with a street vendor, and Oliver just ducked his head and walked a little faster. He was okay, maybe, in a fight. Against one guy. Depending on how big the guy was. But he was way better at running away. He knew the city, or at least this part of it, very well. He knew his building very well, at least until about halfway up. It was much easier to disappear into the shadows and the dust. As long as he was afraid, he was great at it. It was when he was comfortable that he got awkward and clumsy again. Oh well. It was a system that worked. He could be awkward in his own house. That’s basically what they were for, anyway. The junk heaps were easy to find once you knew the signs. They were never labeled and no streets led to them. They were just piles of trash, after all. Dark, hidden corners that housed acropolises of old technology. Oliver would find one and then pick it over for anything good to salvage. One pile could last months before he sifted through it enough to be sure that he took everything worthwhile. He had one such pile already discovered and all it took was some winding between a claustrophobic street market and the narrow, dark alleyways between apartment blocks. And he had to keep going down, of course. That’s the thing about cities that got so big. There was always stuff underneath. People just…forgot about stuff. Hell, sometimes they forgot about people. There was certainly once or twice where Oliver was sure he could have just not paid his rent and no one would have noticed. Of course, if he was wrong, he’d be kicked into the street in a heartbeat. There wasn’t enough room for everyone already. He cut through a fallen wall that dropped him down into what looked like an old parking garage under another apartment block. He knew the underside of the building better than the topside. If he got shot down here, he’d have a better chance dragging his ass all the way back to his own block to find help rather than figure out where the aid stations were up top. Better just to not get shot then, because no matter how that story ended, it kind of sucked. The lighting was basically shit, but he was pretty used to working in that kind of set-up. He had a light in his bag if he needed it, but seeing as that drew more attention he’d rather not even bother. A lot of the stuff was garbage, but even garbage was useful. He could always use more wire, right? So he dug around, squinted at things in the darkness, cut away parts and pieces that he needed. He’d stop every few minutes, listening. Nothing but rats and roaches in the dark. He was well past being worried about either of them. He worked until he got hungry. He could set his watch by his stomach. Actually had before, when it died in the middle of the day and he had to figure out when it was safe to leave. Stay out too late and it wouldn’t be the police that killed you. He had some food in his bag, a little metal lunchbox he had put together out of scrap. There wasn’t lots in it, but there was enough. An alarm on his watch told him when his time was up. It would take too long for him to notice the sun setting, he had learned that the hard way.  Oliver silenced the alarm and packed up as quickly as he could, shoving his work into his bag. He got a few good finds, but nothing special. Still, if he could pull that off every day, that would be great. You wouldn’t need great days if you didn’t have bad ones, right? He took the open street back. A lot of people had cleared out now that the sun was getting lower in the sky. He could have cut through the alleyways, it was faster, but Oliver stayed out of the shadows whenever other people were concerned. He wasn’t afraid of the dark, he was just afraid of them. People were, without a doubt, the scariest thing in the world. He didn’t stop until the creaking, unsteady elevator finally dropped him on to his floor. Normally he wouldn’t even hesitate until his door was locked behind him, but he spotted one of his neighbours struggling to carry her things. Mrs. Ahn had only one arm, two little toddlers and a rapidly ripping bag of food. Oliver scrambled with his own supplies and managed to grab the side of the bag that was trying to succumb to gravity. “Thank you!” She said, sounding a little harried. One of the kids stumbled and fell, but seeing as they weren’t very big it wasn’t a long fall. They just blinked up at Oliver and he looked down in time to notice that the kid only had one eye. He couldn’t remember if that was new or not. “Here, I got it. You get the door-” He managed, trying to take the bag from her without spilling every single one of its contents. He knew Mrs. Ahn a little. Sometimes he could hear the kids crying through the walls. He was a ways down, so he wasn’t sure if it was her kids. It didn’t bug him too much. Kids cried. He was sure that some of his machining made noise that was pretty damn annoying too, but nobody complained to him. It seemed only fair. There had been a Mr. Ahn, at one point. Oliver remembered him. Taller, dark hair. But Oliver hadn’t seen him around in a while. Maybe it was just circumstances. She got her door open, the kid still on their feet ran inside and she bent down to scoop the other one up. With them inside, she came back for her bag. He carefully tried to pass her things to her. She thanked him again, and he went off down the hall towards his own apartment. The hallways were wide but cluttered with other people’s junk. There had been a carpet, once, long before Oliver’s time. It still hung on in places but was mostly worn through down to the cement under it. His shoes, almost as worn as the floor, made no sound as he walked. There were some more people, either coming or going, and he waved and called out as necessary. He knew a lot of the people on his floor. Other scavengers and junk workers, factory people, cleaners, the list was endless. He tried to stay on good terms with his neighbours. It had helped him out more than once. There had been a shoot out on his floor a couple months ago. Oliver had not been in his apartment. But, he had sold one of the guys a hard drive and another one had bought a (minimally scratched) touchscreen from him. They let him through to get back into his house, where he pushed an empty book case against the door to hold it closed and laid low until he heard the cops come and clear everyone out. Y’know, hours after it had started. He didn’t get a lot of sleep that night. Or, to be fair, most of the nights after. It gave him a good fucking scare. But nothing that exciting happened now. He unlocked his door (both the key lock, and the two electronic keypads he had installed himself) and closed the door behind him. Time to get some dinner, and then maybe listen to the radio and clean up some of the salvage he got today. He thought about going to the bar, briefly, but decided against it. He was feeling a little raggedy and nervous, and you couldn’t pick up somebody if you were drinking just to steady your hand. Nah, he’d take it easy tonight, and maybe go out for a little tomorrow. The bar was a little drinks n’ karaoke place, and sure it was a little dangerous to get to but there were ways. Oliver went when he was feeling brave, because he liked it there. It was kinda a hotbed of bad shit, or at least illegal shit, but the people were nice and the music was perfectly terrible. Today was not a brave day, and that was alright. He flicked the light on, it stuttered for a minute before it found full brightness, and then he found himself something to eat. The food hadn’t gone bad yet. Y’know, it almost had, but he’d eaten worse. 

He turned the radio on, tuned it to something cheerful and was just about to get to work when, weirdly enough, his phone rang. Oliver’s cellphone was an unusual thing. He had built it out of various scrap bits, and patched it into the network so he’d have service without having to pay the bill. He couldn’t afford one, anyway. It was nothing like those currently on the market. The user interface was hilariously basic (he bought the program off a friend) and it had none of the web capability, visual calling or hard light technology that the new ones did. But it worked. And he could count the amount of people who had his number on one hand. Who could be calling him now? The caller ID only worked if he had the person in his contacts. That was always fine by him, he didn’t want to talk to anyone else. His screen flashed three letters. DAN. Oliver smiled and grabbed the phone. “Hey!” He said, excitedly. He hurried over and turned the radio off so he could hear his answer. “Hello?” Not Dan. A woman’s voice, inquisitive. “Hi. Can I help you?” Oliver’s tone switched over to something more professional. He tried to hide his disappointment. He hadn’t heard from Dan in a while and had just assumed he was busy. He was probably still busy. “Is this Oliver?” She asked. Who had his number and didn’t know who he was? Or, who was calling from Dan’s number? The whole situation was just so weird. He thought that maybe he had saved the number to his phone wrong, but they had been texting back and forth, too. What the hell? “Speaking.” He said simply. “This is Selene Violet. Does that name ring any bells?” Yeah, alarm bells. Still, that seemed rude and he didn’t say that out loud. Selene Violet was a name that was thrown around a lot in the media, so it had eventually worked its way into his knowledge. “You work for Highlight Tech, right?” It took him a while to remember the name. It was written on basically everything. It should have rolled right off his tongue. Why was the... The… What did she do again? Why was someone from HT calling him on Dan’s number? “Yes. I know this must be very strange, so I thank you for your patience. I just thought that it would be best to call and deliver the news myself. I think that so much of humanity is lost to technology today.” She spoke very evenly and politely and it did exactly nothing for his confusion. A cold sense of dread gathered in his chest like storm clouds. No matter what this call was about, it could not be anything good. “What news?” He asked. The words came slowly from his mouth. Something was wrong. Something was really fucking wrong. “Your friend. Dan? He was recently in my employ. There were only two numbers in his phone. One of them didn’t work, and the other led to you. We have no way to contact his family. We don’t know his legal name, or even where he was from.” Breathing was suddenly really hard, and Oliver thought he might faint. “What happened?” He asked. Panic had finally started to creep into his voice. “He’s-” Finally a hesitation, a break in her otherwise pleasant tone. “He passed away. You know, he had some issues. I don’t know the details, but I was told that things had not been very kind to him. He seems to have had some sort of…problem. He took his own life.” It didn’t feel like a punch to the stomach or anything that solid and sure. Instead, Oliver felt his strength run out of him. The news sank in and he wilted, the sight of his home swimming in his vision. “What about the others? Do they know?” Oliver wasn’t super tight with Dan’s friends, but he had met them. They were nice people. She hesitated and Oliver pressed a hand to his mouth, already knowing what was coming next. “They… His breakdown must have been awful. They’re…no longer with us.” She said. There was nothing. No tears. No real grief. Just shock and emptiness. Oliver was just overwhelmed with it. Not Dan. He had been so nice. Funny and honest. Oliver thought he was doing okay. And his friends! He knew what Selene was implying. He couldn’t believe it. “I’m sorry for having to be the one to bring you this news. I just didn’t feel right not telling anyone. You don’t have any way to contact his family, do you?” She asked. Dizzily, he shook his head before he realized she couldn’t see it. “No, no I… I don’t know where they are.” He managed. “I’m sorry. I… I’d really like to meet with you, if that was alright?” She asked him. The idea sounded bizarre but the weirdness of it barely registered. “I should have liked to tell you in person, and he has a few effects here that should really go to someone. I’m so sorry.” “Yeah, I-... Okay.” He would go. He didn’t know about the others, if they had family to care for them, but there was no one else to mourn Dan or to retrieve his things.  He felt he had to. Or, at least, that he should. “Do you know where the office is?” She asked. He did. Not right now, though. Right now he didn’t know a damn thing. “Yeah, it’s across town, by the... “ He gestured aimlessly. “Pharoah Park.” He finally managed to spit out. The skyscraper district. Rich people town. “Yes. Just walk right in the front door and talk to the front desk. Any time you feel you can, okay?” She said. “Mhm.” He agreed. Whenever he could. Maybe when he could feel his legs again. Oliver drew in a shaking breath. Dan. Gone. His friend. No, worse than that, actually. His acquaintance.They had barely started to be friends. It was all over so fast. “I’m sorry for your loss. I hope that I will get to see you in person.” She said. The end of the call. What else could she say? He was lucky he even got a call, honestly. “Have…have a good night.” He managed. Not what he meant, because that would be stupid and cruel but she didn’t say anything about it. He assumed that she understood his intent. She merely said goodbye and hung up the phone. He heard the call disconnect in his ear, and the arm holding the phone dropped. At some point, he had sunk to the floor and now he sat there with his phone in his lap. I’ll call you when I’m back in town, Dan had said. Oliver remembered how he had smiled when he said it. It looked like he was done waiting for the call.

#storm warning