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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

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Our Lady of the Underground || Morgan & Miriam

TIMING: Current/the Winter Solstice

PARTIES: @meflemming & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan Beck, dead witch walking, gathers her final sacrifice.

CONTAINS: Violence, mentions of torture, death

Morgan tried trolling the Magic Circle for gossip about who was getting into dark shit and doing experiments they probably shouldn’t, but everyone was more curious about why she had stopped coming by Amity Row and why she wouldn’t take them up on their drink offers. So Morgan left it to chance, or fate.When the day came, she loitered around outside some other bar, her lonely act not much of one at all, and waited for someone to ask twice for her company. Somehow, he took all her grimacing and turning away as signs of just being nervous and offered to get some air outside with her before she could come up with a good excuse.

And now he was bound and gagged and unconscious before the Devil’s Gullet, which just went to prove you really shouldn’t follow women who invited you for a late night stroll in the woods after dark. Fog rolled in thick, obscuring the line between solid ground and bottomless pit and stifling the sound of any life around them. Even the rest of the air felt suspended, hiding. Morgan tucked her jacket sleeves into the rubber kitchen gloves she put on to search pockets for anything dangerous or distinct enough to get them caught, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, except for some runestones and a tarot deck. Not enough to prove spellcaster one way or the other. Miriam would have to be okay with a certain level of ambiguity when it came to their mark; they both would. The maybe-spellcaster guy twitched, groaning, and Morgan jumped back. She knew they needed him awake if they were supposed to get any paint out of the situation, but that didn’t mean it was her preference. She cast a furtive glance Miriam’s way. Was this how things were supposed to go? Was she doing it right?

Taking in Morgan’s caution and overall appearance of being uncomfortable, Miriam made sure to appear steady, confident. And, truthfully? She was. This was her element, just as much as the leather shop was. They were in a good location for body disposal, the Gullet being a location she’d used frequently years ago on the occasions that she hadn’t wanted bodies immediately found. It would certainly serve their purpose well. Miriam had waited to feed a few days just for this, and she was starved. It didn’t help that her fangs had been coming out at random times. She figured that it had something to with the hunger, but it was curious, and more than a little annoying. She wanted this done as quickly and effectively as possible. So she pinned her curls up in a bun, put on a pair of gloves, and pulled her skinning knife out of her pocket. As the man started stirring, and Morgan cast a look in her direction, Miriam gave the small zombie a nod and walked up to the man, an easy, lopsided smile on her face. She patted him on the cheek gently. “Wake up, sweetness. Join us in the land of the living, won’t you?” Though, looking at Morgan and then realizing she was talking around a mouth full of fangs, Miriam rectified her statement. “Well, semi-living. Come on, now, eyes open. Let’s talk.” She ran the knife along his jawline, drawing out a thin line of blood. Best not to wait.

If Morgan just looked at the guy without looking at him, as if he were a set piece, or part of the atmospheric scenery. On your left, observe the ashy remnants of bone and suspiciously stained rocks. Further back, the creepy mist gets a little thick and likes to take the shape of malevolent spectres, and in the center, a human vessel for ritual bloodletting! Morgan took out her own knife and her Nalgene, unscrewing the lid and looking for an easy place to make this go quick, well, quickly enough. Not enough pain, then they’d just have to hurt someone else, and that wasn’t something she really wanted to put out into the world. She had made it this far without needing a do-over. She could get to the finish line and hand the blood to her exorcist and have something to show for these last four months.

The maybe-caster grunted with pain, starting to life. He looked around him wildly, straining his arms and screaming through his gag. Morgan looked around them and saw nothing and no one from one end of the mist to the other. “It’s okay to struggle,” she said gently. “The more the better. You should try to exert as much influence as you can over your situation. It will irritate your injuries, which is good for my purposes, but it might minimize the severity of any PTSD you develop after this too.”

He looked at her, shouting muffled cries of confusion and anger.

“I would prefer it if you survived this, but that’s going to depend on what kind of influence you try to exert. Please bear that in mind.” This would be the part where she made a cut, like a spigot into a tree, and let the material flow. But the man thrashed and Morgan, for all her practice with animals, struggled to make her incision so easily. Instead she came around behind him and wrapped her arms around, squeezing him with her full strength. She looked to Miriam for guidance again and nodded toward her Nalgene. “Please don’t waste anything,” she mumbled.

Watching impassively as Morgan talked to the man, Miriam stepped up again when Morgan moved behind him. “I’ve done this quite a bit,” she said, an easiness in her voice that didn’t match the intensity in her crimson eyes as she stared at the man. “Relax, darling.” She glanced at Morgan, then back at the man, smiling at him with sharp teeth. “Not you, darling. I don’t think you’re going to be able to relax much for this.” She got in the man’s face, pulling the deck of tarot cards out of his pocket. “This.” She threw them into the pit. “This is why you’re here. And for whatever she needs you for. You serve some purpose to her, at least. For me, you’re just a meal.” Then she grabbed the container that Morgan had brought and her knife, and she set to work.

According to Miriam’s research, back when she’d first realized the more pain meant that she was better fed for longer, the Chinese had perfected an art of torture called lingchi, or slow slicing. Some called it a death by a thousand cuts. It wasn’t dissimilar to flaying, and, the way she did it, it wasn’t as messy as skinning, though there was still quite a bit of mess that came with bleeding a person out. Miriam set to it, creating shallow incisions designed to elicit pain, starting on the man’s right arm. The wounds began to bleed, slowly, and the man began to scream against the pain of it. This would certainly be blood brought by suffering, Miriam thought, and the man was miserable, too, his pain and misery almost as familiar as blood on her tongue.

Morgan tried to shut her ears to the muffled cries of agony from the man in her arms. This was not going to be the first body she’d ever made, and for all she knew this guy who didn’t take the first ‘no’ for an answer had done something as bad as Cece’s coven friend to deserve being here. Maybe he’d earned this and she just didn’t know it.

Slowly, Morgan’s fingers grew slick with blood. Most was dripping into the Nalgene (slowly, so fucking slowly), but Morgan could sense it in how much more effort she had to put into holding him still. She’d encouraged struggle, encouraged anything to make this a little less terrible, but this was the price of torture. There was no room for mercy. No room for kindness. Miriam’s knife cut right through any ideas like that, shredding them along with the man’s skin. His cries grew throaty and desperate. He thrashed, messing Miriam’s handiwork, and groped blindly at Morgan’s clothes, like he could pull her into doing something different. “Y-you’re...you’re doing good…” she said faintly. This only made him scream louder, and it finally occurred to Morgan that all the affirmations in the world wouldn’t change what this must be like for him.

The phone rang in a short burst of sound: some anime sound effect Morgan vaguely recognized from Skylar’s recommendations but couldn’t place. She was sure she’d put it on silent when she took it, but apparently. “Shit, shit, shit...sorry…” She prised one bloody hand off the man’s anguished body and fished out the device. It was just some girl asking “u up?” And yet Morgan couldn’t help but stare at the lit up screen. There was a picture of a happy looking golden retriever being hugged by a kid in overalls on the lock screen, too messy to be a stock photo. Both of them couldn’t be his, right? “Mim, how much longer?” She asked, words wavering in her throat.

The poor bastard was quite miserable, as Miriam slowly sliced off pieces of his flesh and cut into him, but she still wasn’t satisfied. Not yet. It was a slow process, an agonizing process for both him and her, though she’d walk away from this encounter feeling full and sated, a smile on her lips. “Not much longer,” she told Morgan, the container filling up. She licked a bit of blood off the knife, grinning as the man in front of her whimpered. She set back to work. There was no need to take hours, and she could tell Morgan was probably getting uncomfortable with all of this blood and gore. Despite the name, slow slicing wasn’t a particularly long process. She only needed about half an hour, though she preferred longer, occasionally chatting and breaking bones. Not this time though. The man’s screams turned into whimpers, short, wretched little sounds in the back of his throat. Miriam didn’t know how a blood sacrifice was supposed to work, didn’t know if he was supposed to be louder for the full effect or whatever. She wasn’t the witch, wasn’t the one with the intimate know-how on all of this. Personally, she thought he could beg a bit, be a little louder. “There’s no one to hear you,” she told him, gently, next to his ear. “There’s no one that cares. So, please, by all means, continue screaming.”

The phone kept lighting up. There was no more weird anime sound to remind Morgan of Skylar or her dead student, who had at least been popular enough for the school club to turn out for her and make some memorial art of her as some magical girl character. But there was still the dog, dopey and excited and probably going to get shipped off to the pound after it had wandered the house going hungry, waiting for someone to come home that never would. The kid, definitely-definitely-definitely not his, but still tiny and happy and if this guy loved them enough to put them on his screen, they had to be important. And there was a group chat talking about a videogame release, a request for help with a calculus program on a tutoring app. And Morgan thought of the kids at Maxine Johnson’s funeral, and that clearing in the woods where she had begged that wolf to spare Deirdre, Ariana trembling her arms, the witch screaming in Cece’s house, the anguish on Deirdre’s face as she staggered home after a fucking week. The guy finally thrashed hard enough to get his gag loose, or looser, and he let out a scream that sounded so much like Morgan’s own. “Fucking fuck…” she whispered. The knife just cut deeper, scoring more holes into the universe, more loss. Nothing redistributed or balanced, it just spread, taking more and more, giving less and less.

“Stop!” Morgan’s hand shot out to Miriam’s wrist and pushed it away. “We need to stop now. You have to be full, he’s been screaming forever, this has to be over a-and this is...it’s done. This isn’t helping anything and it’s finished.” Her grip tightened. It was the only thing steady about her.

There wasn’t any enjoyment coming out of this, and she’d nearly been done, almost been willing to let this man and his annoying phone and his incessant whining leave with nothing more than a few bad feelings and some terrible scars, but Miriam still felt slighted at being told to stop. Stop, as if she had no self-control. Stop, as if she was a child to be scolded, being physically held back. This was a new low, even for Morgan. For all of her holier-than-thou attitude, she’d still agreed to Miriam’s help, had known going into this that it was just as much about Miriam getting a meal as it was about Morgan getting her blood sacrifice. And she’d commanded Miriam to stop? Put her hands on her in an attempt to make her. Miriam felt something inside her tighten and tighten and tighten as she looked down at the smaller woman, her teeth gritted. Something snapped, and Miriam relaxed.

Then, with her free hand, Miriam gripped the man by the shirt, pulled him close, and ripped his throat out with her teeth. Grin bloody, she shoved the container of blood towards Morgan, though she was controlled enough in her movements not to spill it. “There,” she said. “No more screaming. All done, sweetness.” She smacked her lips but didn’t wipe away the smear of blood that lingered on her chin. Miriam pulled herself away from Morgan and set about cleaning her knife, taking the gloves off of her hands and preparing to dispose of them.

“NO!” Morgan screamed and pulled the man back, but it was too late. Miriam bit, and his body flopped back, bleeding and lifeless. “What the fuck! That’s not what I wanted, that’s not--he would’ve been fine! I said stop to let him go, not to--! He didn’t even DO anything! He was no one! Tarot cards are just glorified mind tricks! Fucking---” Morgan’s screams broke with sobs. The mess of his throat was all over her hands now and Morgan couldn’t stand it. She got out from under him and edged away. She shook off as much as she could, but the blood stuck to her hands and made a home in her nail beds. “Fucking universe, I changed my mind, that’s it! Why couldn’t you…” Listen. Or see; see anything besides her own pain and want. But Morgan wasn’t even sure Miriam could see her right now. She was polishing her knife, like cutlery was really the thing that mattered right now. Morgan’s voice tapered off, shattering between horror and disbelief.

“Well, now he’s certainly no one at all, is he?” Miriam mused, though she swallowed hard, refused to look at Morgan at all. This was no place for regrets. She was not one to feel regrets. If she did, they would crash down around her so brilliantly, and she’d never get up again. She’d sooner be able to rip out her own throat than allow that to happen. “You’ll want to make sure the body goes over the side, and make sure there’s nothing plastic on him.” She looked over to the body. “Or I’ll do it myself, actually.” She finally looked at Morgan, scowling at the expression on the zombie’s face and refusing to let it feel small. She hadn’t buckled under the woman’s scolding before, and she wouldn’t do it this time, either. “I didn’t change my mind, and I wasn’t finished. That’s simply the way things are, sometimes. You got your blood. I got my meal. I think that both of us came out on top in this situation.” Certainly much better than him, she thought but didn’t say as she looked at the dead man on the ground.

“That’s not how things are! You don’t get to say that about something you did!” Morgan screamed. She pulled on Miriam, trying to make her look at her. She reached up and held her face, blood smearing all over it as she tried to get a grip. “You have choices, Mim! You have fucking choices. We all have choices! We don’t have to be like this, it’s too fucked. Look at me--no, really look at me Miriam and tell me that wasn’t so fucked and you don’t feel one bit better! Maybe you’re full, but better? Really?” She could barely see her for the tears streaming down her face. She’d waited too long to figure this out, and Miriam needed to eat no matter what, but this was reckless, this was just more unfairness and aching. Someone was going to miss that man and go looking and ache, wondering, and they’d never know that Morgan was the reason behind the worst day of their life and it would all just keep spreading. “Tell me you can feel how wrong this is.”

“That is exactly how things are, and if you’re foolish enough to not see that, then open your fucking eyes, Morgan!” Miriam snarled. She tried to pull away, but the little zombie was like a damn vice, forcing her to look and see. She did not want to. She did not care to. “I made a choice. A rash one, certainly, but it was my choice, and I stand by it. I do.” She looked Morgan in the eyes, red meeting blue like a clear warning sign. Did she feel better? No, not really, not much at all, but she’d never admit that, never give Morgan the satisfaction that she was spot on. If Morgan hadn’t pushed her, if she hadn’t literally grabbed her and forced Miriam’s hand, things might be different. She forced herself not to look away at the tears streaming down Morgan’s face, steadied her resolve and her feelings, her anger and her rage. She was angry that Morgan tried to stop her. She was upset over the thought that Morgan didn’t think she could stop herself. “None of that matters. It’s done now. I made a choice. It’s done now.”

“Because why!” Morgan demanded. “Because of your pride? Because I’m the one saying it? Because then you would actually have to do something different instead of just being so fucking scared? You are so terrified that things could be different, because it would mean you and everyone else has suffered for no good reason and it really was as shitty as it felt this whole time!” Her voice snapped and she cried again, though she no longer knew for who. “You could’ve stopped. We could’ve had someone do a memory charm, do something, so he wouldn’t tell about what happened. He could’ve been okay if you’d just stopped, Miriam…” Her hands fell and she backed away from the whole mess. “I really thought you were better than this.” But maybe she wasn’t. And hadn’t Miriam tried to tell her so this whole time. “Keep the blood,” she whispered. “I don’t want it. I need to fix something about this mess…”

“I am not scared!” Miriam screamed back, avoiding the questions because they did scare her. “Any part left of me that had anything to fear died before my heart even stopped. I’m not scared! I have never been scared.” She gritted her teeth so hard that the taste of blood in her mouth was less of that man’s and more of her own, the dead taste of it unsatisfying and bitter on her tongue. She felt prickles of tears in her own eyes, but she blinked them away, swallowed the taste of her own blood like bile. She would not cry. She wouldn’t. “But I didn’t. I didn’t, and playing around with what ifs and should haves and could haves does no one any good at all, darling. It simply doesn’t do any good.” She choked back a laugh. “I have been trying, so hard, to get you to see that I am, in fact, not better than these. I can’t be! I’m incapable!” She looked down at the container, disgusted with it and everything that it represented. She wasn’t disgusted with herself, though. No, she was not disgusted with herself. “I don’t want the fuckng blood, either. It was gotten for you.” She couldn��t imagine it’d taste alright, either. The man’s blood had turned sour the second it entered her mouth. She didn’t want it.

“Everyone is scared, you complete dumbass!” Morgan cried. She kicked the Nalgene over, letting the blood spill into the grass and drip down the sides of the hole in the earth. “But fine, you don’t want it--” She kicked it again. “There you go. Keep the bottle for the next time you get miserable.” She stood still, hands flexed. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do to Miriam, if she could shake more sense into her, fight her, or wipe the tears building so clearly in her eyes. But the exorcist was due in town tomorrow, and she needed to solve Constance another way before then. “You’re only incapable right now because you’re a fucking coward. But you know what? Mission accomplished! You win! You’re a monster and a liar, but it’s not because of the magic boogeyman universe that made you. It’s just you. Alone.” She stalked off into the trees, wiping the blood on her jeans and fumbling for her phone. She’d already ruined one person’s life, but maybe there was time to save Constance and whatever was left of herself.

“Fuck you!” Miriam screamed after Morgan’s receding figure, but there was little fight in it, nothing more than the petulant words of a child that she so desperately tried not to be. Because that’s all she was, wasn’t it? A child, one that found out the boy who teased her on the playground really was only teasing her and not simply pulling her pigtails because he liked her. She was a child, one that threw a fit every time she didn’t get her way. She was-- No, she was stronger than this, better than this, and she wouldn’t be reduced to anything less than she was by one tiny zombie who couldn’t keep her nose and her wretched moral compass out of other people’s lives. Miriam shook her head harshly, closing her eyes, not even realizing that tears were running down them and making rivets in the blood on her cheeks as she did. She thought about just kicking the bottle into the fucking hole, consequences be damned, but she didn’t. Instead, she continued cleaning up the mess. Determined not to get herself or Morgan caught. She didn’t watch the body disappear over the edge, just picked up the phone from where it had fallen out of the man’s pocket. There was a dog on the screen, a few messages. Miriam felt a pang in her chest and picked up a tarot card as well, stuffing them both in her pocket. She wiped away a few tears, sure that Theo was laughing at her in whatever corner of hell he’d slithered off to. In the distance, she could see eyes watching her. Fucking Wildes. “Do you like the mess I’ve made of myself?” she muttered, and, everything cleaned and packed up, she walked away.

#our lady of the underground #wr miriam #wr chatzy #wr miriam chatzy #wickedswriting

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girderednerve · 3 years

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i feel awful here's a list

1. i got to put together little "learn a new hobby" take-home kits at my library, from picking the hobbies and finding the supplies to making the flyers and stuffing the bags, and almost all of them have been picked up! nice to have a small, positive effect on people's lives

2. my partner is reading the new chris paolini sci-fi book and keeps summarizing it for me, which is fun. it has one very bad sex scene in it which was read to me in the most ridiculous voice, i died, i hope you're all jealous

3. aforementioned broth chicken and fandom cake!! fun times!! we are doing a bunch of different recipes out of the three fuchsia dunlop cookbooks we own and they are all so good. we are obsessed with fermented bean paste now. also i ordered the claire saffitz cookbook so maybe we'll have fun with that!

4. i got a backpack and it's great! it has a laptop sleeve and good internal pockets, plus water bottle mesh pockets on the side that fit my gay pride nalgene. it is olive green and it has a little captain america hand sanitizer my mom gave me clipped on the side. i so got a little bug-shaped flashlight that clips to the zipper pull and it rules

5. i am gonna call my brother soon! i miss my brother. he's cool now. also probably i'll call my mom on the phone and make her tell me about all the horses at the barn for forty minutes, i miss horses

6. i preordered winter's orbit. it's good to have things to anticipate. this is one of those times in which one really benefits from having a package to expect in the mail, if you know what i mean

i hope everyone else also has some small bright things to keep. fuckin a but everything is awful right now, love to all y'all

#pda like technically i guess #irredeemable whining #food mention /#meat /#i get so i just wanna rip the whole thing apart with my hands & my teeth. just all of it.#& of course i can't so what i have is love & solidarity #& this small silly list i guess. the bug light really is cool though #stay safe. stay safe.#feel compelled again to clarify that i Do say y'all in real life and it Is an affectation but i still come by it honestly

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pandjseetheworld · 3 years

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The Lost Coast

A year ago Pearce booked a “surprise” backpacking trip for me. When we decided we were taking this long honeymoon I convinced him to tell me what the surprise trip was so we could figure out if the surprise backpacking trip was still possible. Surprise!! It’s a 4 day backpacking trek along the California Coast! I was stoked!! And thought this would be the perfect trip to get us moving along with our travels and start us off on the right foot.

Preparation

After reading up on the trail it seemed we had some preparation to take on before heading out. We had to take into account; food and water, ticks/rattlesnakes & Loki, shuttle/transportation, tides, whatever sneaker waves were, and then there is the hike itself!

Food and Water

This was pretty easy because we already had a bunch of freeze dried meals, snacks, and bagged oatmeal from previous camp trips so we just threw in what we had in a bag and called it a day. My mom and I also went to REI to buy a few extra meals and snacks so we had some for our car ride as well (just in case, easy road meals!). For water, there are a bunch of creeks along the trail so all we needed were our nalgenes and a water purifier and we were set. Well, we also needed the jet oil and food but we had already had all that from previous camp trips so food/water was simple to prepare.

Loki/ Ticks & Rattlesnakes

To make sure Loki was ready we had to buy booties because the terrain is rough on his feet. Now, I may be a crazy dog mom BUT I wouldn’t buy him shoes unless it was completely necessary. For the majority of the 24 miles, we were walking on black coarse sand. The sand is so rough that it is known to irritates in between the dog paw pads and make it hard for them to walk. There are also certain areas of the trek where you are walking on big sharp rocks that could tear a dogs feet up. So, we bought Loki booties and my gossssh they are the cutest things ever!! It took some training but he is pretty good with them and doen’t whimper when I put them on him. He definitely needed to training to get used to them so don’t go buying them and think WHOOOO I’m ready! No, it takes time! (And now that I write this post hiking, the booties gave poor Loki blisters and chaffed his dew claw. A week before hiking Loki had to get surgery to get his left dew claw removed from fracturing it somehow, I think it was from the booties but regardless Loki was a week post operation when we did this hike. He is a freaking trooper but the booties are not something I would recommend unless completely necessary or if your pup doesn’t have front dew claws).

Next, my littler sister and her husband got Loki a hiking backpack (THANK YOU) so he could feel like a true hiker. He was able to carry 2 days worth of food and some little odds and ends. Again, I had to train him up for this; first I got him comfortable with the pack and slowly added more and more weight. It took some hikes but he eventually started to like his backpack and while hiking he was super cute and knew when we got him in his pack it was time to walk. We made sure to take his pack off immediately when we got to a rest spot or our actual destination.

TICKS, yuck!!! After reading a bunch of articles, websites, and blogs on this hike everyone mentioned that the ticks were really bad. Gross! So we went above and beyond for protection. Loki got on strong ticks meds, topical tick medication, tick spray, and I even got him organic tick shampoo. Yes, it was probably overboard but it paid off. We took off like 10-20 ticks and they were all dead, so that made me feel pretty good. For us, we sprayed our shoes, hiking pants, packs, and tents with Sawyer Premium Insect Repellent. We had to spray our gear down, let it dry for 2 hour, flip the gear, and spray the other sides and wait. It was a process but Pearce and I didn’t have any ticks!! What a freaking relief!

On to my next enemy, the rattlesnake! Woof! We spoke with Pearce’s co-worker who had done the trail before and he said there were a ton of rattlesnakes!! After living in Cali for 5 years and being a hiker, I always ask more knowledgeable people what to do if a snake bites you and you ALWAYS get a different answer; turniquet, suck out the venom, get comfy while someone goes for help, elevate, use Benadryl, ice or don’t ice?! I’m still not entirely sure what we would have done if one of us got bit by a rattlesnake but thankfully the weather was on our side and we didn’t have to worry about it. It was 60 and foggy most days (Minute a few sunny hours in the afternoon) so we didn’t have to worry about snakes. If it were sunny and 70 I could imagine this have being a much bigger issue. But since it wasn’t, I’ll move on.

Shuttle/Transportation

To start the Lost Coast Hike you need to be shuttled two hours North to Matthole where you begin the hike. If you don’t book a shuttle, you can swap keys with a fellow hiker but with everything we own in the car, I wasn’t going to chance that.

There are only 3 shuttles available

1. Bills Lost Coast Shuttle (707-442-1983) This is an elderly man who runs his own company and is super friendly - he didn’t have room for us and he doesn’t take dogs

2. Lost Coast Adventures (707 -986- 9895) This is a larger company but they charge the most and they charge a fee for dogs

3. Mendo Insider Tours (707-813- 0886) A smaller company that doesn’t charge for pets and is cheaper than Lost Coast Ad.

Tides & Sneaker Waves

We had to print out a tide chart because there were certain parts of the trail that are impassible at hightide. Pearce timed out when we could/couldn’t hike and it was super easy! Not a problemmmm!

Apparently there are these sneaky waves called “sneaker waves” that you have to be careful of. These waves will randomly pop up out of no where and creep 20 feet further than all the other waves. This can be an issue if you’re walking on the wet sand (better grip than the dry sand) and then BAM a wave that wipes you out! I kept a good eye on the waves the whole trip so no sneaker waves snuck up on us!!

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djsinquarantine · 4 years

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Tech House Taco Tuesday with Abco, By Team Awesome

Description: https://www.twitch.tv/abcomusic This stream was live on June 16th, 2020 at 5pm EST. During our study, viewership peaked at 232 and remained steady at around 200 for the majority of the stream. The description and the bots in the chat shared a lot of info about Abco and ways to support her including: some of her merch, her soundcloud page (https://soundcloud.com/abcomusic), her spotify playlist, (https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4tGqb8UqquHUQOePHQSf7N?si=ct6lP73ZSTuD2uKxYBlqFA) and an encouragement to reach out to Twitch in order to help Abco get a partnership with Twitch. In this stream, all money raised through tips, subscriptions, gift subscriptions, bits and merch will be donated to the LGBTQ Freedom Fund, a bail fund for incarcerated Black LGBTQ people. Abco will be donating to a different Black-led organization every Tuesday for the next few weeks.

Visual Experience: There was quite a bit happening visually with the stream: Abco was, for the most part, the central focus of the video stream on Twitch and emotes would float across the stream as she played. Video of her would sometimes cut to crazy colorful and geometric graphics that a number of viewers made positive note of. Frank asked Abco whether the visuals were tailored to the stream, and Abco mentioned that she had bought a pack of visual DJ loops and edited the color and shape of some of them, but has been reusing them in multiple streams. For most of the stream, the top left corner displayed chat messages in real-time while the top right was a dog cam and featured their dog laying on the dog bed suspended in a space of cool visuals. Occasionally, when someone would send a “bit emote” or would “cheer,” all paid Twitch-specific features, it would also display across the screen with the viewer’s display name. The very top right header was dedicated to the current time while the top left header displayed Abco’s social media links, all @abcomusic. Her camera angle looked down on her from above, so it allowed us to see her setup and equipment clearly, and it almost felt like being up in the booth with her.

Below the video stream on the Twitch page, there were links to leave a tip, follow Abco on various social media and to buy merch. The chat also had a lot going on visually: most people participated by sharing Twitch emotes. On Twitch, a selection of emotes are free to use, and for this stream, Twitch unlocked their pride emotes, which included heart flag designs for the various identities within the LGBTQ community, including the gay, lesbian, trans and bisexual pride flag emotes. There were also a number of exclusive subscriber-only emotes many users shared, including a rainbow discoball and emotes that looked like Abco’s dogs. Abco’s merchandise and branding is very much centered around her dogs, and it was quirky in an incredible likeable way. She also felt very relatable with her glass of red wine.

Sonic Experience: The stream was largely dedicated to Techno House mixes. Abco played her own original mixes of songs, most of them unrecognizable, save for one which chat participants mentioned used a Duran Duran sample. Other songs incorporated talking tracks. Overall, the music was high-energy dance music that drew influence from 80s synth pop, techno, 90s Eurodance and even R&B. The abco bot dropped links to Abco’s soundcloud where you can listen to her original mixes and well as her Spotify page.

Soundcloud:https://soundcloud.com/abcomusic

Spotify: https://spoti.fi/2VuXsxH

Technology: Unlike in past streams, Abco’s stream had a detailed list of the equipment in her DJ setup as well as the equipment used for the stream itself. The setup included:

Pioneer DJ DDJ 1000 (CDJ controller / mixer)

2x XDJ-1000 MK2 (CDJs)

Audio Technica LP120 (Turntable)

Aiaiai DJ Preset TMA-2 Headphones

Macbook Air 2019

KRK Rokit5 (Speaker)

The equipment they used for streaming included a Powerspec gaming monitor, which Abco used to watch the comments, respond the questions, and thank users for donations / bits, a Canon EOS M200 which recorded the stream, a Logitech stream webcam to stream their dog and themselves on Zoom and the Scarlett 2i2 usb interface. Although the stream was mainly on Twitch, Abco used a number of other streaming platforms to share her work.

Social Experience: Holding the attention of a steady 180+ users, the chat was very active and fast-paced throughout the stream. This stream was very focused on raising money for the LGBTQ freedom fund, a bail fund for black LGBTQ incarcerated people. Because of this, it can be reasoned that the stream viewers were members of the LGBT community or allies. Chat participants were very interested in the music and the genres of music that Abco likes to play. In the middle of a flurry of comments about loving a particular track, one user asked Abco about her favorite genre to play during evening sets. To further enhance the social experience, Abco had a monitor so they could keep track of the chat and responded to the user saying that she likes to play techno house for evening sets, but during the daytime prefers to play piano-heavy 90s house music. People were also generally very respectful, welcoming and helpful to one another. One user noted in the chat that they were a first-timer on Twitch and didn’t know how to send bits, and other users instructed them until they figured it out. When Sarah posted in the chat about being a student and wanting to send out a survey, users were nice about her request and suggested she post in the Discord chat to reach a wider audience.

When Courtney first tried to enter the Zoom room, she had difficulty turning her video on even though her microphone was still working. She entered in and out of the room, and that fixed the issue. Some participants, although they made it clear that they were relatively new to Zoom, offered to help her fix the issue and were really sympathetic to her having a little trouble. She found it very sweet. Oh yeah, the people in the Zoom room were also pretty drunk. At first, Courtney was shy, but she warmed up to them a bit after they started talking about home. We all started comparing drinks and shot glasses, while Courtney remarked about her Nalgene. One woman said she was “cute as f*ck” which was really flattering, and it was probably the best compliment ever. A few people were from Great Britain, so we talked about politics and explained the craziness that happened in our relative places. Our conclusion was, “Politicians are all muppets.”

Abco was connecting into the Zoom room and played the music from her stream into her microphone, so the audio was a little shaky from that perspective. Additionally, Courtney had trouble hearing people speak over her stream. At first, Courtney was kind of peeved by it, but then she realized that she usually has to talk over the music during in-person DJ sets anyway. She started to appreciate the memory of her at events with loud music in the past. Abco tells us in the chat how she can’t keep up with two chats and that’s why she hasn’t been active in the Zoom. Courtney saw how focused Abco was even though they generally give off a cool, relaxed vibe. All of us in the room understood how she was juggling multiple activities at once, and when she addressed us in a friendly way, it felt like we were in the VIP section of a club in a select room.

Frank also spent a few minutes in the Zoom call early on in the stream--although he didn’t turn on his mic or video as he was eating and thought it might be weird. He also found the people in the Zoom room to be very very nice and helpful, yet also funny and playful. When he first shared the link to the Google Doc survey, one user by the name of Fexcab said he would only fill out the survey if Frank shared his instagram handle so he could know what Frank looked like. Another individual in the Zoom room by the name of DJ Smark (who I believe was also a mod in the Twitch stream) would go on to encourage Frank to also share the survey in Abco’s Discord server as it was much bigger. He then gave Frank access to the Discord server. Sarah would end up beating Frank to sharing the survey on the Discord server, though. Users did many fun things including dancing to the music, showing themselves rolling around on roller skates (which Abco would go on to mention on her stream), showing themselves baking, and putting on funny hats. It was Frank’s first experience in a breakout Zoom room where the users turned on their mics to talk to one another.

Outside the Zoom room, the Twitch chat and the stream itself were fairly focused on the dogs--in some ways, the event seemed more focused on the dogs than Abco, at least to Frank. The stream employed the viewership points system that Twitch offers. In this system, viewers are awarded points for watching and engaging in the stream in exchange for certain prizes. In this case, prizes included making the dogcam the center of attention for the stream (4,000 points), getting Abco to give the dogs a treat (2,500 points), and getting Abco to pet the dogs (2,000 points). An interesting pattern in the chat was the strong support for the LGBTQIA+ community that primarily manifested itself in the spamming of pride emotes. This is likely largely due to the fact that Abco said that all of the proceeds from this particular stream would be donated to the LGBTQ Freedom Fund. Abco was certainly a significant catalyst for the chat’s high activity as well. She would regularly answer questions posted in the chat, and even share short anecdotes and opinions regarding topics that were brought up. For instance, at one point she talked about wanting to be a roller skating rink dj when she was younger and at another point she shared how she was drinking wine and asked if anyone else was as well.

Liveness: One aspect of the stream that Sarah felt brought about an aura of liveness was Abco’s interaction with the chat feed. Instead of there being a disconnect in the stream between DJ and viewer, Abco was able to re-create the two-way interaction that you would find in a live performance.

Courtney arrived later to the stream than Sarah and Frank, and she thinks that could have affected her sense of liveness. Although she felt socially engaged in the Zoom room and the chat, she believed her focus on gathering information removed her from the experience of being live this time around. It’s a rookie mistake!

Perhaps one aspect of the stream that especially added to its liveness is the dynamic and multi-layered social atmosphere and audience interaction. In particular, the Zoom room participants talking amongst themselves, and the audience having the ability to alter certain aspects of the stream through Twitch’s point system are experiences inherently tied to the stream’s present that reproductions (such as a recording) would fail to capture.

Individual Research Questions: Looking at Abco’s previous broadcasts, Courtney noticed that she wore a FEMME HOUSE t-shirt, which is an organization that LP Giobbi (a DJ that Courtney also listened to this week) founded to amplify the voices of women and non-binary DJs in the electronic music scene. Abco also played for Mesh Fest this past Saturday, a stream put on by Club Mesh, a female producer/DJ trio that are also closely tied to FEMME HOUSE. Courtney wanted to attend this stream but eventually was not able to. It’s interesting to see the connections in the community, especially when women are uplifting each other rather than putting each other down. This relates to Courtney’s inquiry about DIY culture – these women are giving themselves a voice through their online engagement, and this has allowed their message to reach new audiences.

There weren’t too many connections to Frank’s research questions in this stream: there weren’t any cases of people being rude or trolling in the chat that I noticed, and the music didn’t seem to have a noteworthy connection to the stream’s liveness. I suppose I can mention that that last fact might be noteworthy in itself. This might mean that, for some streams, users might show up because of the music but stay for the social atmosphere. In this particular stream, the Zoom room, the emotes, the dogs, and Abco’s interactions with chat messages and Zoom room participants may have been entertaining enough within themselves to make the music much less of a focus for the stream and audience.

This stream ties to the questions I had about livestreams and community organizing. In this instance, there is a great deal of momentum surrounding the BLM movement, and in the middle of pride month, LGBTQ people and allies are supporting the Black LGBTQ community, including in this stream. Abco pledged to donate all money from tips, subscriptions, bits and merch to a different Black-led organization every Tuesday for the duration of Pride month and this week, it focused on a bail fund for incarcerated Black LGBTQ individuals. Abco’s Tech House Taco Tuesday is one of many streams we have encountered over the last two weeks pledging funds to a Black-led organization, specifically to a bail fund, indicating the widespread support for an end to mass-incarceration and policing.

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dashielldeveron · 6 years

Text

A Prologue in Venom

Part One of the Viper AU: a Mob!Tom Holland AU in which you are a political author, Tom’s personal lawyer, and eventually his consigliere.

Warnings: violence, swears, the law.

Summary: an introduction to the ongoing AU of you working for the mob tirelessly out of your innate sense of justice and thirst for the mob boss. You have an incredible mentor who is pushing you down a path of crime in order to do the right thing. Your mentor forgot 1) to mention that your new employer is so fucking charismatic and 2) that you’re a dramatic little bitch.

From: Tracey Prine To: [email protected] Subject: article attached

Thought you might want to see this. You’ve made the papers for your real job for once, although your name still isn’t mentioned—but I expect you enjoy that. It’s all over the news stations, and NPR is currently airing the story. Congratulations. There’s a nice quotation from Polson near the bottom that you’ll get a kick out of.

Additionally, I’m going to need your piece on the refugee crisis within twelve hours if it’s going to be published this week.

Thanks, t.

[attachment]

FALSELY ACCUSED, JULIA LAURENS ACQUITTED

In the late afternoon of October 17, the protracted trial of Julia Laurens came to a sudden end in light of new evidence. Laurens, on trial for the murder of Moira Herrington, daughter of celebrated actors Jay and Melissa Herrington, walks as an innocent woman this morning.

As Moira’s violin teacher, Laurens would have had access to the Herrington residence during lessons on Mondays, but, it turns out, she was not the only one. It seemed like an open-and-shut case when Moira’s body, dismembered, was found in various black bags in Laurens’s garbage bins, along with the ice pick used to gouge out Moira’s eyes under the seat in Laurens’s vehicle on the day Laurens was stopped on the route from the Herrington residence. Laurens had said that she had driven to the lesson without being able to find Moira and was returning home, but the body had already been discovered.

However, as the defence exposed, all supposed evidence was a plant by perpetrator Johnson Mays, a colleague of Laurens who had a secret, unhealthy obsession with the underage Moira. Mays, a mechanic, had attended the weekly game night at Laurens’s apartment on Sunday and had sabotaged Laurens’s car and planted an ice pick similar to the one used. With this setup, Mays would have time to commit the murder during the scheduled violin lesson, while Laurens would have to attend to her car.

You kicked your feet up on the coffee table and flicked through the article. Fucking yes. You’d made national news for being a lawyer, for once. You were the one who’d done the intricate research to discover Mays’s connections, and when Dr. Prine gave you leave, you had driven upstate to investigate Mays’s house under warrant, posing as a general lackey. You had felt the need to see his place with your own eyes, and you had struck gold: not only had you found the real ice pick in his wood pile, but you had found one of Moira’s contacts stuck to the back of his freezer. Her fucking contact. When the lab reports came back, complete with the drop of blood on the ice pick matching Moira’s, you forwarded everything to Dr. Prine, and she sent it to her attorney acting defence in the trial. Mays wasn’t even a player in the game before you, and now the rightful murderer was going to jail. An innocent woman walks free because of you.

Justice felt fantastic. Your work being in the national headlines felt a little better.

You scanned the rest of the article until you reached the quotation Dr. Prine had told you about.

…Out of the clamouring press following the trial, only this was squeezed from a fuming Prosecutor James Polson: “I [redacted] had them. Whoever dug up the dirt on Mays, they’re a [redacted] viper, sinking their fangs into the status quo and letting their venom spread.”

Grinning, you took another bite of Ben and Jerry’s, straight out of the carton. Dr. Prine was right. You were going to have to find a hard copy of the Times so that you could post this on your bedroom wall. You had to bite your lip you were smiling so hard.

You set your ice cream on the coffee table and lay back on the couch to compose a response to Dr. Prine, but you called her instead. As your phone rang, you kicked back and stared at the ceiling fan, its pull making small circles as the blades spun.

“Dr. Prine,” you said when she picked up, “Holy fuck! Holy fuck!”

“Congratulations,” she said, her smile coming through over the phone, “I’m proud of you. You did some really solid work.”

“I didn’t think this would happen! I saved someone’s life! Julia Laurens can go to fucking Hobby Lobby, and no one will accost her. It’s my fault, and she doesn’t even know me,” you said, sitting up to grab your ice cream again.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Well, yeah,” you said thickly through a chunk of frozen brownie, “It is. I wish I could tell my mother, though, but it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Is she still doing all right?”

You swallowed, choking a bit to get it down. “Yeah. How’s work for you?”

“The freshman students write the worst papers I’ve ever seen,” said Dr. Prine with a clattering in the background, “Damn, I just—hold on. Dropped the binders.” A door creaked shut on her end, and Dr. Prine spoke more loudly after. “I miss your work. It was nice grading it, since I didn’t have to mark it up much. These kids can’t even handle a mock trial yet. I worry for your generation.”

“Don’t worry. We’re all just tired,” you said, “Speaking of my work, I’ve almost finished the refugee piece. Once I get a solid closing statement, I’ll send it your way.”

“Well, don’t procrastinate. Your deadline’s soon. You got anything lined up this evening?”

Scrunching your eyes shut, you winced. “Don’t remind me. Polson’s got me doing menial work again. Something totally useless with spreadsheets and the expenses of the fucking break room and secretarial offices. If he knew what I was capable of—”

“If he knew you worked against him in the Laurens trial? I know,” said Dr. Prine, her voice softening, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something. It’s your ticket out of Polson’s firm. I’ve found a place where your talents would be…much more appreciated. You could start within the week.”

“Say more right now.”

***

2,132.

2,132 rejections via mass email, starting in your second year of law school. All from different firms that didn’t want you. Rounds upon rounds of interviews, competing with your friends and total strangers who held themselves like they were Croesus, reaching the final interview, only to get rejection emails three days later from firms you would have quite literally killed people to work for. Years of working for and studying under Dr. Prine, editing her national law journal, diligently dotting the is of her excruciating cases late into the night. Getting a taste of the allure of wealth and entrenched power, and never having it want you outside of the knowledge that you were her student. All of it—from the cases you and she never could crack and stood outside in the rain pulling your hair out over, to the parts of your life you missed out on, like your best friend’s wedding and your mother’s last birthday before you started growing apart—leading up to this: walking into a high-rise building with mirror-like windows in the middle of Manhattan and staring up at an embossed, brass nameplate on a door that read Harrison Osterfield.

The next chapter in your life, and it sank like a stone in your stomach. You raised your fist to knock, but before you could, someone snatched it away.

“Ripley,” said the bony man maybe a decade older than you, pulling on his collar and dropping your hand, “and you’re not getting my first name. We’ve got to get upstairs before they see you. No time to lose. I’m the lawyer you’re replacing.”

Glancing back at Osterfield’s door, you followed behind Ripley up a few floors (the elevator was too risky, he told you.) and into a crusty, windowless office with water damage dripping in a back corner. After closing the door, he sat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk (one leg was propped up by a book) and gestured for you to do the same.

“You’re Dr. Prine’s student, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you said, sinking into the leather, “She also told me that you’d be waiting for me, but considering this business belongs to a Mr. Thomas Holland, one would think I’d be meeting him on my first day.”

Ripley pulled a leg into his lap, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. “With any luck, you won’t have any direct interactions with him. Nasty man in a nasty business.”

“Being in an IT consulting company can’t be that bad,” you said, head snapping towards a bucket against the wall once water dripped into it from the ceiling. “What’s with the, uh…?” You nodded your head towards the leak.

“They shoved me down here while the real office is getting renovated, or so they say. Doesn’t matter,” said Ripley, “You and I have a lot of work to do. You’re one of Dr. Prine’s. So am I. They’re working me to death here, and apparently you’re a masochistic workaholic. I need to get out, and this is—well, what we’re about to do is going to be easiest for everyone in this room.”

You tapped your fingers against the split leather, each landing with a dull thum. “Why do I get the feeling this is going to be needlessly complicated?”

“Please, trust me, or at least trust Dr. Prine,” he said, untwisting the cap of a nalgene from his desk, “It was her idea. I can call her up, if you want.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Shaking your head, you said, “I’ve already seen your credentials. Dr. Prine gave me more information on you than I need to know, Jerome Ripley. I know you’re trustworthy. What’s the plan?”

“I hear you’re into anonymity.”

You always were a dramatic little bitch, so you agreed to the plan: you and Ripley would collaborate on the job until you knew much more of the rope of Osseous Enterprises, and Ripley would fade out as you took on the job by yourself. The plan was sketchy, and everything reeked of ulterior motives. You found yourself addressing stranger and stranger things sent to you in the emails (a lousy lawyer@osseous, how lame) right up until you opened an email from Holland before Ripley could get to it.

Inside were photographs of a human skeleton with the flesh freshly ripped off of it, and that lay to the side of the bones. Boss shot him through the neck, it was labelled, Had me skin it. Wants you to send it along to H. Jones in Queens and cover the death. Victim lived in… And then addresses, social security, et al.

You were supposed to cover up a murder. A murder committed by—oh, um. Hm. You didn’t sign up for this.

Ripley walked into the office right as Dr. Prine picked up on your phone call, and he slapped the phone out of your hands.

Both of them talked you through. The mafia. You were working for the mafia. Not the whole thing, obviously, but you were working for the most prestigious mob family in—fuck, they covered multiple countries, but their base was right here in New York, in the very fucking building you’d been working in for a month—oh, fuck. Were you in the mob? No, you had to be inducted, and to be inducted, you had to be trusted, or at least, even fucking noticed. Osseous Enterprises was a front corporation for Holland’s dealings in the mob, even though it made a lot of money—but significantly less than what was officially recorded. No wonder Ripley was taking certain tasks. He was easing you into it, letting you deal with the surface level shit before you really knew what you were getting into (an aside: this explained why Dr. Prine seemingly sent you to work in business when you specialised in criminal law).

It took hours and hours of skype calls with Dr. Prine and talking with Ripley outside of work to convince you to stay. Dr. Prine appealed to your better nature, damn it, and talked about how even though Holland worked selfishly, he confronted people and solved problems the government was too scared to commit to. All she had to do was talk up your innate sense of justice, and you started changing your mind, albeit with extreme reluctance, especially with the threat of returning to Polson’s firm. Not to mention your first paycheque had your head spinning, and that didn’t hurt your cause.

So, you worked for the mob, and no one knew you did, not even the mob. If Holland knew Ripley were leaving, Ripley would have a knife in his back within the next minute. It was safer for Ripley to phase out, with you proving your worth secretly, until you deemed it time to reveal yourself, after Ripley left.

“It’d be odd if all areas of your life were perfect in tandem,” Dr. Prine would remind you, and you’d affectionately flip her off and get back to writing your next Epiales piece. Deadlines were always too soon.

***

The Epiales project was the only thing going for you right now, aside from the sudden income from Holland. It began your final semester of law school, when you shouldn’t have been taking on anything new at all. You had written, quite frankly, a fucking astonishing article on modern feminism as it functions in the government and in law, and Dr. Prine had featured it in her law journal. You hadn’t wanted recognition, because your views differed drastically from your family’s, and you didn’t want your peers making fun of you, either. You’d decided on Epiales as your penname, because, even though you wanted to follow in the footsteps of political authors throughout history, you couldn’t find a Greek philosopher whose views you agreed with. So, you went with the personification of nightmares, just because it’d be your family’s worst nightmare if they knew you were this politically different from them.

Just as a joke.

But then, the New York Times had bought your article from Dr. Prine and published it on the front page. Eventually, through repetitions of this and an endless string of emails, you had a monthly feature in the fucking New York Times, so long as the article was original to their newspaper and not a republished one from the law journal. They conceded to your continued posting to the Epiales website on the basis that you posted online after they began selling that day’s edition. You didn’t care. You were in the New York Times, for Christ’s sake.

And no one knew it was you. You were completely safe, from hecklers, from your family, from disgusting men threatening to ruin your life and/or end it. You had taken too many precautions. Hell, if someone tried to trace your IP address, it’d relocate to the middle of a sulphur pit in Yellowstone.

Through a series of accidents, you garnered respect.

***

The day you should have been waiting for comments to roll in for your latest instalment on the refugee crisis, Tom Holland needed his lawyer present at a tennis match in the Hamptons. Holland intended to ensure political ties with Senator Hernandez, whose daughter was playing in the tennis tournament. A sizable crowd at a public outing, all distracted and getting steadily drunk? Holland could make his move easily.

Thus there you stood under the scant shade of a pine tree in the ninety-seven-degree heat, sweating through your jet-black blazer, sucking on a piece of ice, and damning Tom Holland to his grave. You glared daggers into the back of his pretty head as he leant against the railing of the pavilion, laughing with the crowd and swirling an old fashioned in his palm against the muted sounds of rackets hitting the ball in the background. When Harrison bent in to whisper to Holland, Tom took off his amber-tinted sunglasses and cleaned them on the inside of his suit jacket, and once finished, he nodded and started weaving his way through the spectators.

Holland wanted his lawyer here yet wasn’t doing anything worthwhile, you thought bitterly. You were too good for him, really, because you’d planted yourself near Senator Hernandez’s bench as he watched his daughter. While Holland flirted, you were eavesdropping and sweating your fucking skin off.

Near the end of the second set, you caved and shrugged off your blazer when you caught the latter half of something Hernandez was saying: “—read it? It’s brilliant. Next time Congress is in session, I’m bringing in that Epiales article.”

Your jaw dropped, and so did the ice from your mouth. Your blazer hung limp from one hand, and you steadied yourself against the tree, your high heels sinking into the earth. Fumbling around for your phone, you barely had time to get to Dr. Prine’s contact entry before someone gently nudged your arm from behind with a glass tumbler, condensation sticking to your skin.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else but here,” said Tom Holland, his voice hot in your ear, while he’s standing a little too close for comfort and holding out an old fashioned identical to his, “I can offer a distraction, at the least.”

You don’t drink, but you took what was offered. “Am I that transparent?”

“Like glass, sweetheart. What’s bothering you?” He leant against the tree trunk, slumping a little, and tapped his index finger against his tumbler.

“Afraid I’ve been dragged here for work.”

“On a Saturday?”

You met his gaze, completely fixated on you through the amber sunglasses. “My boss is a bit of an ass.”

“Sounds like it,” Tom said, cracking a grin, “Forcing you to come to some silly tennis match on the hottest day of the month and flat-out ignoring you.”

“It’s better than putting me in a sundress and having me on his arm.” Like Polson did once that summer. You had kicked his ass, verbally, about it, but since he threatened to smear your name through the mud for the rest of your life, which he was capable of doing, it had to be done. “At least I’m here for a reason, supposedly.”

“Who treats his employees like that? Wouldn’t dream of it.” Tom brought his glass to his mouth as his eyes flicked up and down your body, taking his time about it. “Though I’d put you in a green sundress. Something that shows off your shoulders.”

“And I’d put you in navy, in something with a high neckline. Anything to accentuate those pretty-boy cheekbones you’ve got,” you said.

At this, he ran his tongue over his lower lip, pushed off the tree, and took a step closer to you. He may be enjoying it now, but this motherfucker would regret this conversation in about five minutes. To be honest, you were enjoying it a little too much. To have someone as powerful, confident, and attractive (the grey tweed suit buttoned over a tight, white button-down was doing things to you) as Tom was having his complete, unadulterated attention on you? It was a taste of something you denied yourself. But no matter how fast his charisma held you, it was time to wrap it up. You planned to work for this man a long time.

“Listen,” said Tom, “Why don’t I give you a tour of the country club?” He trailed two fingers from your wrist over the back of your hand to take your drink. “It’s not much, but we’ll get you into some air conditioning. We could find a place to talk without anyone overhearing, if you like.”

You rolled your shoulders back, and for the first time, you began to smile. “Hardly professional, Holland. To think I expected better of you.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Shouldn’t you be giving this attention to Senator Hernandez’s daughter? It’ll be easier to get to him through her.”

And there it was: his face hardened, his eyebrows furrowing and lips puckering very slightly, the brief clenching of his jaw and the flush around the tops of his ears—the face your opponents got in court when your research that would pack the case into a tight box was brought to the stand. “Who are you?” Tom asked flatly.

“You’re going to have to work for that information, Holland,” you said, “Be careful about how you respond. As much as you should like to, you can’t make a scene with so many witnesses.”

“I own all of these people,” he said through his teeth.

“Go ahead, then,” you said, and you clasped your hand behind your back, waiting.

After a beat, Tom sighed exasperatedly and grabbed you by the wrist to pull you somewhere, but before he could take two steps, you yanked yourself out of his grasp. He didn’t even bother looking over his shoulder. “Are you going to follow me?”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

He turned his head enough to look you in the eye. “You’re going to talk.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You appear to know who I am. Use your imagination.” He jerked his head towards the country club’s restaurant, not far from the tennis courts. “C’mon.”

Death sounded good at all occasions for you, but since someone needed to feed your cat this evening, now wouldn’t be the best time to die. Not to mention you still had half a croissant left over from that morning, and you couldn’t let that go to waste. You followed behind Tom at a couple of paces, checking to ensure no one was watching you leave, because it sure looked like you were sneaking off to give him a blowjob behind the ice machine.

He made you go first once you reached the stairs to the upper storey restaurant, and he cornered you at the far end of the balcony, trapping you against the iron railing with the metal pressing into your back and his hands planted on either side of you. Tom stood close enough that you had to lean backwards a little over the railing, and you had to grip the railing just inside of his hands to stay upright.

His mouth twitched. “Why are you here?”

Your gaze flashed from his lips to his eyes. “I’m here to supervise the contract you’re making with Senator Hernandez, and I’m ensuring that he does sign it.”

“And why’s that?” When he jerked forward in an attempt to make you lose your balance, you stifled a cough at the wave of the oversaturated cologne that hit you.

“Like I said, my boss is a bit of an ass.”

“Damn it,” Tom said, breaking eye contact for the first time. Freshly determined, he moved closer, his hipbones poking into you with one hand gripping your waist. “Who’d be stupid enough to provoke me? Who do you work for? Fletcher? The Fratellis?”

“You,” you said, and you left your lips pursed as he flinched away from you and bent over the back of a wrought-iron chair, pressing his fist to his mouth.

“I’m your lawyer,” you said, stifling a smile, “I wrote the Hernandez contract. I’ve also been managing your affairs for some time now, specifically covering your tracks for fucking murder—”

“What’d you do to Ripley?” Tom straightened up and removed his sunglasses. He tucked them over his collar.

“Ripley’s gone,” you said, “of his own free will. Or of his will, at least, since he wasn’t free to leave under your—”

“Where is he now?”

“Sorry. Privileged information. What matters is that Ripley’s gone completely off-grid so that you can’t find him. Even I’m not able to reach him.” You tentatively slid from your corner along the railing nearer to the chair he had propped a foot on. “I’ve been working for you for over a month now. You really should keep better tabs on your employees—though, I suspect, that’ll be part of my job soon.”

Tom snapped his fingers twice. “Name.”

“Paul McCartney.”

He narrowed his eyes, his nose wrinkling in the process, and said, “Your name.”

You didn’t hesitate in saying it, a first for you, and as he mouthed the syllables slowly, you said, “And don’t bother looking me up. I don’t have any social media, nor do I have an online presence at all.” Under your real name, that is. “You can find me in a list of interns for a certain renown professor, but I’m about to give you that information, anyway.”

Tom stared up at you, a curl dangling in front of his eyes. “A freely given piece of personal information?” His fingertips pressed above his left lapel. “I’m touched,” he said, his voice dark.

“My mentor for the better part of my life now,” you said, stepping closer to drag the back of your hand over the iron pattern in Tom’s chair (he jolted backwards, just barely, but you caught it), “has been Tracey Prine.”

He tilted his head, and his jaw hung open slightly, his tongue lingering on the edge of his top incisors before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. “No, she hasn’t.”

“Want me to call her?” You dug your phone out of your pocket and unlocked it to her contact entry, just where it had been before Tom started talking to you. Your thumb waited above the call button for his decision, but whatever. Fuck with him. You pressed it anyway and put it on speaker.

It rang twice before she picked up, and at the sound of her voice stating your name and telling you she’s got a class in two minutes and to check on the Times (you didn’t react to that part), Tom inhaled sharply and straightened his shoulders.

“Not much, Dr. Prine, but I’m here with my employer,” you say, the phone lying flat in your palm between you and Tom, whose gaze flickered from it to you.

“Tell Mr. Holland I appreciate his work ethic and that he should value yours to no end,” she said, “I’ve got to go. Tonight?”

“Tonight,” you said, and you hung up on her.

“What’s…?” When you shook your head, he held out his hand. “Let me see your texts.” He swore under his breath as he scrolled through them, going through months and months of casework for notable trials, and he read the attachments you had sent recently. “Lab work, blood results. An ice pi—holy shit,” Tom said, the hand with the phone falling limply to his lap, “The Laurens trial. You.” The corner of his mouth twitched before breaking into a smirk. “You’re the one that solved everything. You’re that viper.”

Oh, my fuck; he’s heard of you. Tom Holland has heard about you. He’s familiar with your work. Oh, holy fuck. You held it all in for the moment, but if you made it home alive, you were going to marathon Star Wars and call in for takeaway. “That I am,” you said coolly, accepting your phone when he offered it, “and what does that mean for you, Mr. Holland?”

Any evidence of doubt about him evaporated, and his charisma returned almost instantly. He was smiling now, his teeth on display, and he leant towards you. “I want you at my side, Viper,” he said, his hands dangerously close to yours on the back of the iron chair, “I want you to do for me what you did for Laurens. Exclusively. I’ll be your only client. I want you to tear apart my enemies and pick their bones clean. I want you to be merciless, and I want you to be mine.”

That’s a lot of subtext you’ll be thinking about in the shower later. But show nothing; be nothing. “You want an awful lot.”

Tom took a deep breath and moved to sit on the wrought-iron table. “That’s why I’m giving you an out,” he said, crossing his arms loosely, “before you’re in. Because once you’re in, you can’t leave. I’ll make sure of that.”

You took a moment before clasping your hands behind your back and taking a step around the chair towards him. “I want my privacy.”

“I can’t guarantee that. I’ve got to keep a close eye on you, since Ripley slithered away,” he said, “You’re a shot in the dark despite your accomplishments.”

“You will guarantee it,” you said, leaning against the table with the iron pattern pressing into your palm, “Addresses, bank accounts, social security, everything that I don’t give you.”

Tom shook his head. “I can’t—”

“You will. It’s all I’m asking. I’ll be covering your dirty work from the world, so why can’t I hide mine?” It was your turn to be too close, for your breath to be hot against his skin as you said softly into his ear, “Tell me, Holland: are you afraid of the dark?”

tags: @presidentbttrflyfreak @magstorrn @imstarwarstrashokay @infamous-webhead @starksparker @starksmile @pparkerwrites @softspideys @spidereyhes @bi-writes @iron-spiderr @laurfangirl424 @wheremyotpat @valar--m0rghulis @upsidedownparker @hollandroos

#tom holland #fic #tom holland/reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #mob tom #mob!tom #mob!tom holland #mob au #DASH IT ALL #viper au

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kafkasgods · 3 years

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faaya shah BOT 10/19/2020 There were a lot of ways to go about the wallet in Faaya’s bag. She could have thrown it away. Could have pilfered it. Could have had someone else return it. She really didn’t have any intention of doing what she was doing now. But after Phobos had visited her, Faaya felt inclined to do the exact opposite of what he would have liked. It was the small, spiteful victories that helped her tolerate Phobos being right with the overall picture. But regardless, that was how Faaya found herself on the other side of 105 at the Gray, hoping she wasn’t being presumptuous in assuming Audrey was home at this hour in the morning. Faaya had just gotten off work, so she figured she’d swing by.

@Audrey Ngo October 20, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 10/20/2020 Audrey had absolutely nothing to do today and was consequently about to crawl out of her skin. She wasn’t quite up to interacting with the town-- something about the streets of Epinieos made her feel positively hateful, so she took to the woods. She’d run for she didn’t know how long, but when she made it back to her apartment, she was sweat-soaked and not in any better of a mood.

Which is way she was surprised to see Faaya there, waiting. Audrey almost faltered, hesitating half a stride before continuing on her approach. Don’t shit where you eat, don’t crumble where you live into ruins just because someone you don’t like at all shows up at your door.

“Did someone like, post my address on Craiglist?” she asked hollowly, brows raising in impatience as she looked between Faaya and the apartment. Annoyance buzzed, insistent, in the back of her mind. “If you’re looking for a second round, I don’t think I have it in me today.” ( @Faaya Shah ) October 22, 2020

faaya shah BOT 10/22/2020 Unexpectedly, Audrey was hesitant upon seeing Faaya and there wasn’t much Faaya could do to alleviate it. “No, but you left it in a crater.” Flashing the wallet at the other woman for a light of understanding, she held it out. “It’s entirely possible I overreacted to something I should be well-used to now. I’m not asking for forgiveness, but if you’re not looking to try and kick my ass again, I can lift your ban at the Grapevine.”

@Audrey Ngo October 23, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 10/23/2020 "Oh." Audrey felt a blush starting in her ears, and sheepishly accepted both her wallet and the olive branch Faaya offered. "It's kinda sad I didn't even notice I lost it, huh?"

She nudged her apartment door open, which she'd left unlocked. It was easier than lugging her keys along on her run. Her head tilted, indicating Faaya could enter her apartment, if she so chose. "I appreciate it. My cousin was pretty dead set on us showing up and making a scene, but she talked herself out of it, thank gods."

Audrey moved as she spoke, fetching two glasses of water from the sink. They were sorely mismatched in size, but she offered Faaya the larger one in her own gesture of goodwill. ( @Faaya Shah ) October 24, 2020

faaya shah BOT 10/24/2020 When Audrey gestured for Faaya to go in, it took her a moment to register the invitation. A little surprised, she entered, warily. She didn’t expect Audrey to do anything untoward, but with a naturally suspicious nature, Faaya was always careful with the unexpected. “If I were you, I wouldn’t tell me her name. I’d hate to lose more business.” The uncaring tone in her voice said differently.

Faaya kept her eyes on Audrey, not looking around the apartment. She wasn’t nosy and it’d be rude. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the water. “You throw a mean punch. Though, I have to ask, has reacting on instinct worked out well?” It wasn’t something she ever did, but of course, she was tempted every now and again.

@Audrey Ngo

audrey ngo BOT 10/24/2020 Audrey shook her head, inhaling her glass of water and replacing it before really speaking. “You know her, she’s really just like that, but it’s all good.” Her shoulders lifted and dropped as she finished her second glass. She should probably dig up some of her gear from the Hunt and start bringing her own nalgene, but that seemed like a pain. Especially with Faaya standing in her house just as prim and competent as she did within the Grapevine.

“As for me, I would say it’s got a fifty-fifty shot of turning out alright. Sorry about your face,” she added as a bit of an afterthought, knowing full well that if she had to craft a proper apology, it wouldn’t sound nearly as sincere. “And your concrete. Just... not really my place to cause a scene. I’ll be on my best behavior next time.” As she spoke, she finally sank into her futon, legs lifting on the back and leaving plenty of room for Faaya to sit, even though she doubted the nightclub manager would. ( @Faaya Shah )

faaya shah BOT 10/24/2020 There wasn’t any need to press for more. If someone else wanted to come swinging, she’d deal with it then. Faaya wasn’t thirsty, but despite most people’s impression of her, she wasn’t rude. Drinking about half the cup, placed it back down on the nearby table. “Thank you,” she said of the apology. It wasn’t necessary, but apologizes took pride and she wasn’t going to spit on Audrey’s. “It might be a headache to deal with, but we’re getting a nicer exterior, so it’s not so bad.”

Audrey seemed to relax as they continued talking and Faaya, who really hadn’t been intending to stay long, found herself taking up the invitation of taking a seat. She guessed it was because it wasn’t like she had anywhere else to be. “Really. It’s less of a headache than the bouncers I have to deal with.”

@Audrey Ngo October 26, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 10/26/2020 Twisting so she was in her preferred position-- upside down with her legs hanging over the back-- Audrey turned her head slightly to keep Faaya in her line of sight. She found she didn’t mind the company. She didn’t even get goosebumps when the child of Phobos sat relatively close. “Yeah? I bet. Not one of them escorted me out, they looked like real knuckledraggers. Really, this issue between us is all their fault.” ( @Faaya Shah ) October 29, 2020

faaya shah BOT 10/29/2020 Faaya snorted at the comment. “Seamus is still kind of a kid and Dayn’s an ex, so it’s not great.” Really, saying it out like that, Faaya wondered what their last manager had been thinking. What they needed was older and more experienced muscle. “But I didn’t hire them and as much as I’d like, I also don’t have just cause to fire them.” She let out a short sigh. “That reminds me I need to find someone for next weekend. I really should have made Dayn look for a replacement.” Even if she was mostly talking to herself, she didn’t want the conversation to be entirely her so she waved her hand brushing it off. “What about you, what do you do?”

@Audrey Ngo November 4, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 11/04/2020 “well, last i checked you weren’t allowed to date your boss, so maybe you can use conflict of interest to get rid of dayn,” audrey suggested. seamus she didn’t know so much about, but she could work on that. it felt good to help faaya with her problems, somewhat. more of an apology through action than through weak words.

“i work at the thrift store. as thrilling as that is,” she continued. then the single, frantic hamster in her brain started spinning on its wheel, and a lightbulb went off. audrey sat up suddenly, probably startling faaya with the swift motion. “let me work the door for you this weekend! i’ve got credentials, we can summon artemis tonight, if you want.” ( @Faaya Shah ) November 5, 2020

faaya shah BOT 11/05/2020 “That’s true, but he doesn’t really stay in jobs very long, so I’m better off waiting it out,” Faaya shrugged lightly. Though Faaya let the threat of being fired hang in the air like a suspended guillotine, she wasn’t one to do it ruthlessly. Yet. The first firing she’d do would have to be someone who would make a lesson to the rest of her staff. Until she met someone willing to push her that far, it just wasn’t a possibility at the moment.

Finding out where Audrey worked a little bit of a surprise. Faaya had been to the thrift store and the quaint place seemed ill-suited to Audrey. Though, she guessed it was retail and a person really needed a fearful backbone to deal with it.

It was in the middle of that thought when Audrey moved quickly in her peripheral vision and Faaya just as abruptly scooted back, giving the woman her full attention. Sudden changes required new suspicious eyes. At least until Audrey made her case clear and Faaya relaxed. “Oh. You want to work for me?” Faaya had just been touching on the idea of older and more experienced muscle and the other didn’t exactly inspire that. At least upon first glance.

Faaya hummed, looking over the immortal Hunter of Artemis, who gave a mean right hook. Faaya was already convinced and willing to try Audrey out, but she would be lying if she said she’d never been curious about the Goddess of the Hunt, so jumping at the opportunity, she asked for the reference. “Sure, summon Artemis.”

@Audrey Ngo November 7, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 11/07/2020 * tw weapon mention * already firing on all cylinders, audrey glanced out her window, gauging the sun as it set behind the trees to the back of her building. “honestly, let’s do it now. hope you don’t mind getting your shoes muddy,” she mused, jumping to her feet and stepping into her gym shoes once again. figuring faaya just wanted to see artemis magic in action. it had been a burning curiosity of her own, so she didn’t look back as she headed towards the treeline.

wandering between the trees, audrey found a nice mossy spot and knelt on the ground, nodding slightly to show faaya she should do the same. bowing her head, audrey began to whisper a prayer to summon artemis. her memory had not failed her there, atleast, as she finished the prayer without stumbling over any of the greek words.

her head didn’t lift until her artemis-gifted bow and quiver materialized in her upraised palms. an impossibly large white stag, seemingly backlit with moonlight, stood in the clearing, liquid dark eyes examining her and faaya. “hey, cery,” she greeted artemis’ companion familiarly. “thanks for coming so fast!”

the stag somehow managed a look of benign amusement. “what is it you require of the goddess, audrey?”

“uh, my brother wanted me to ask for a tiger to ride through the streets, but that’s not a requirement,” she continued quickly. then she followed the cerynitian hind’s gaze to faaya. “oh! and this is faaya, she’s considering me for a position as a bouncer at the local club, which you’ve got to admit is much more suited to my personality than my current place of employment. i just needed a good reference for being strong and dependable.”

“if you were not strong and dependable, audrey, you would not be a very valuable part of the hunt.”

audrey raised her brows at faaya in an i told you so gesture. then she nudged her future employer. “any other questions?” ( @Faaya Shah ) November 9, 2020

faaya shah BOT 11/09/2020 Glancing down at her suede shoes, Faaya really didn’t want to get them dirty. It was only recently that she was able to afford the lifestyle she cultivated for herself and she liked taking care of her things. But there was no backing out meeting Artemis over a pair of shoes, so she resigned herself to following Audrey into the forest quietly like a shadow. Faaya’s only business for the moment was to observe.

It was only when there was a sudden heavy presence did Faaya lift her head, and instinctively, she let a barrier of intimidation surround herself. One that insinuated Faaya was not helpless and a being of fear herself. The stag was beautiful, but she knew to be cautious. Audrey, however, was in her element and it was no sooner that her recommendation was backed up. Faaya couldn't help, but have some distaste upon not being addressed personally. Either way, Faaya didn’t have much questions for the stag. She’d wanted to see the process first-hand, but she had no business with the Hunt. Still, she would look foolish without at least a single question. “If Audrey is so capable, what was the reason she was sent back to Epineios?”

@Audrey Ngo November 12, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 11/12/2020 audrey felt a prickle of annoyance at the other’s question, whipping her head over to squint at faaya. she thought they were cool now, and they probably were, but the tone still rankled. the hunt was not hades’ good graces. audrey actually cared about artemis’ opinion. turning back to cery, she was equally surprised to see the stag’s gaze was locked on faaya, unwavering.

“so you do wish to speak, daughter of phobos,” it noted. “it seemed, with your immediate defense, you wished to be left alone. like a hedgehog that curls away from anything that frightens it, i was content to let you be.” its head inclined once, antlers indicating audrey. she felt a little like she was being sent to the principal’s office.

“audrey volunteered to keep an eye on the town in the goddess’ name. she is perhaps stronger than many demigods, with blessings both from hades and artemis. that being said, she is a bit more ornery than most, so the goddess deigned that a small sabbatical might temper one of the hunt’s youngest member’s instincts somewhat. would she suit your purpose, faaya shah?”

audrey felt the back of her neck heat. when she spoke the words tumbled over each other in her embarrassment. “well, that’s a glowing review, cery. maybe don’t put her on the spot like that.” ( @Faaya Shah ) November 15, 2020

faaya shah BOT 11/15/2020 Upon the thrown away comment, Faaya narrowed her eyes at it. Truthfully, it was hard to tell whether or not she liked the stag. Clearly, it was mocking her, but there was also an appreciation for its wit. She chose to ignore it, allowing the divine animal to speak its truth.

Frankly, the review was promising and the job Faaya had seemed perfect for Audrey. Audrey already possessed better qualities than her current bouncers in her opinion, and in return, working under Faaya would be putting Audrey’s temperament to the test. Faaya replied leveled, “By your word, she does. So I suppose this is a good opportunity to judge the quality your lady Artemis keeps. I should hope not to be disappointed. Send her my and my father’s regards and appreciation.”

Breaking eye contact with the stag for the first time, she turned to Audrey. “You wanna start earlier? I need to train you before you take next weekend’s shift alone.”

@Audrey Ngo November 21, 2020

audrey ngo BOT 11/21/2020 so she got the job, but audrey still felt, keenly, the sense of indignation that came with being talked over. atleast she could focus on faaya’s invitation to distract herself from the feeling she knew would pass after a moment. “yeah, say the word. the thrift store closes before your evening rush even really starts.”

turning back to the cerynitian hind, the ethereal beast guessed her line of thought. “you will not be receiving a tiger from the goddess, audrey. but we are glad to see you find more suitable employment, and seeking peace where there was once animosity. i am going to take my leave now.” the great white stag bowed low to them both, and was gone the next instant.

audrey’s head dipped in silent prayer to the goddess, thanking her for the counsel. when audrey was finished, she pushed up off the ground, brushing dirt from her knees with one hand and offering faaya the other. “if that doesn’t go to show you that all the gods can be pretentious, what would?” she asked casually. “though cery is pretty to look at, atleast.” ( @Faaya Shah )

faaya shah BOT 11/21/2020 emulating audrey in what looked to be a prayer, faaya did the same, whether or not she was meant to. better to be safe than sorry. audrey offered her a hand and faaya took it, pulling up and brushing any lingering dirt off. she was glad to note her shoes weren’t entirely ruined, though there was still the trek back. “that’s true.” she agreed. somehow, she preferred phobo’s lack of mannerisms. “we can start you two days from now, if that works. bring some i.d.” faaya didn’t wait for audrey as she started walking back. “i will say, i’d be glad to finally have a decent employee if this works out, audrey.” she turned her head back to offer audrey a small smile over her shoulder. @Audrey Ngo

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