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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 years

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We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Lots of shouting, if you never learned about the Russian Revolution then here's your mini crash course, references to historical stuff like violence and disease, Kroshka the mule emerges as the only emotionally stable character.

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

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I wake up feeling harder, as if sleeping on the ground with all its stones and cool indifference has taught my spine to straighten, to endure. This is a welcome revelation. I will need to be resilient, for my family and for myself. I also wake determined to set things right with my rescuer. I am a perfectly charming person, Mother and Papa have always said so; I’m not painfully shy like Olga, or aloof like Tati, or rather dull like Maria, and I certainly don’t run around putting frogs in people’s shoes like Anastasia. I make for excellent company. Surely Ben will realize this and we will become inseparable travel companions.

Outside in the overcast brisk morning air, Ben is already busy tacking the mule. He glances over and tosses me an apple. It bounces out of my floundering hands and rolls off into the woods. This is not an auspicious start to the day.

“You’ll still have to eat that,” Ben says. “There’s no extra food. I was only able to ask for as much as I could justify needing myself.”

“Right.” I go fetch the apple—rummaging around in leaves and sticks and shrubs—and take a bite, even though it’s bruised and definitely tastes like dirt. I beam at Ben triumphantly. I am tough! I am daring! I am enchanting! I can pull my own weight on this journey!

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the mule’s thick brown neck and smiles fondly at her. “How are we feeling this morning, Kroshka? Hmm? Who’s a lovely mule? Who’s going to take us all the way to the Trans-Siberian Railroad without even one measly word of complaint? That’s right, you are! Yes you are!” He lands a smacking kiss on the velvety grey fur of her muzzle.

I attempt polite conversation; more than that, I endeavor to learn about my dashing yet evasive rescuer. “So, tell me Ben, have you worked for Sir Buchanan long?”

“Four years,” Ben replies curtly.

“And you are…” I think of his notebook. “A…writer of some sort for him…?”

“I’m his press attaché.”

“Ah.” I recognize the French word for ‘attach,’ but not its meaning in the context of employment with an ambassador. “I can’t say I know what that entails.”

“I handle Sir Buchanan’s relations with the Russian newspapers. Drafting statements and briefing him on local opinions and the like. And since his health has declined, I find myself delivering some of his particularly confidential correspondence.”

“Oh, I see. And he could spare you for this mission? It seems like a burden that would be better carried by a man with military or exploratory experience.”

“My Russian is passable. And I can tolerate rougher conditions than most.” He points to a pile of clothes he’s laid out on a tree stump. “Those are for you. There’s a stream out that way.” He flicks a thumb towards the east. “Get ready however you need to, but be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I examine the clothing: plain and practical undergarments, a heavy wool sweater, stockings, boots, and something unexpected. I hold them up with clammy hands. “These are…” I swallow noisily. “Trousers.”

“Yes. They’re travel attire. Comfortable and easy to maneuver in if we need to move quickly.”

“I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“I thought you were amenable to a…a…what did you call it? An adventure. A grand adventure.” He says this melodramatically, like there’s some humor in it. Like he’s mocking me.

“I suppose I am,” I mutter, still scrutinizing the trousers.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminds me sternly. Then he begins to disassemble the tent.

I trudge off through the woods until I find the stream. I clean myself with ice-cold water, drink it down until my teeth ache, change out of my nightgown and into these strange new clothes—Trousers! Mother would lock me in church for a month!—and gaze up into the cloudy, pastel blue sky that peeks between the fingers of the trees. It is very still here, and cold, and deathly quiet. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone, without Mother or Papa or my siblings or servants or guards within shouting distance. There is none that I can remember; perhaps there is none at all. Out here in the Siberian wilderness I feel unmoored from civilization, diminutive, vulnerable, peculiarly inconsequential. I decide I don’t like being alone. By the time I return to our campsite, Ben is ready and waiting beside the loaded cart. His right hand is resting on a clunky metal monster with ‘Olivetti’ written on it.

“I’m a press attaché,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re a typist.”

“A what?”

“You work for Sir Buchanan’s office as a typist. That’s our story, anyway. You came along to assist me during my audience with the former tsar, and now we’re traveling back to Sir Buchanan’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg. So if anyone happens to ask, that’s what you are to tell them. Oh, and you’re British. Your English sounds clean enough.”

“Alright,” I reply, still gaping at the metal monster like a black box with gnashing fangs. “But what is that?”

Ben’s jaw falls open. “You don’t…?” Then he rubs his forehead, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ. You’ve never used a typewriter. Of course you haven’t. Great. Fantastic.”

“We always write by hand. My penmanship is flawless, Mother saw to that.” She’s still battling with Anastasia, but that’s a war that may go on as long as the one between the sun and the moon.

“Okay. Okay. This works out, actually. Because I’m not going to entertain you all day. So here is your assignment.” Ben slaps the back of what he tells me is a typewriter, and then waves for me to come closer. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a British passport. Every line is filled out except for the name. He slides the paper into the machine and makes some bewildering adjustments. “So, you insert the paper, set the carriage—that’s this roller-type piece here—and type.” He taps forcefully on the keys until two words appear in the blank reserved for the passport holder’s name: Lana Brinkley.

“That’s me?” I ask doubtfully.

Ben smirks, amused. “That’s you.”

“So you could have given me a better name if you wanted to!”

“But then how would you learn humility?” He removes the fraudulent passport, shakes the paper until it dries, folds it into a neat little square, and slips it back into his coat pocket. “If you’re typing a longer message, the typewriter will ding when you’ve reached the end of each line. Then you use the lever to move the paper down, reset the carriage, and resume typing.”

I nod, but without much confidence. This seems complicated.

“You said you wanted a carriage,” Ben teases.

“Yes, one with magnificent draft horses and velvet seats and preferably no less than two servants. Not…whatever that is.”

“Well, if you’re going to pass for a typist, I’m afraid you must learn to type.” He finds me a stack of blank paper in his collection of bags and trunks, and then climbs into the front of the cart as I get into the back. The trousers, I hate to admit to myself, do make it easier to move around, although I’m not sure I approve of how much they accentuate the shape of my body. The thought of Ben looking at me in them gives me a plunging sort of feeling that is half-mortification and half-thrill…not that he has exhibited any interest at all. “Before we go any farther, do you have anything with you that I don’t know about?”

He means things like the heirlooms I have squirreled away in the large steamer trunk: the jewels sewn into my dress, the photograph. I can sense that he wouldn’t want me to have them, although I’m not sure why. In any case, I have no intention of giving them up. The jewels are the only thing of value that I have to trade if we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The photograph is the only string left that connects me back to my family, my home. “No,” I reply primly.

“Good.” He whistles at the mule and she tugs us through the trees and out onto the dirt road that leads, eventually, to the train station. As we ride joltingly along, the creaky cart wheels bumping over every rock and mound and muddy trough, I practice my typing: very slowly at first, and with only my index fingers. I read aloud as I go, gradually picking up speed.

“There once was a German princess born in the Duchy of Hesse. She was very beautiful but very shy. She had a wonderful talent for playing piano, but would run and hide if anyone asked her to perform in public. One day, when she was attending the wedding of her sister, the princess met a prince from a distant kingdom. They were only children, but they instantly knew they had found true love. They snuck off together and carved their names into a window pane. Over the years, each conspired to marry the other. They refused many suitors and wrote each other hundreds of letters. His family did not approve of the princess’s religion and lack of charisma; her family did not approve of the prince’s distant and troubled nation. But at last it became apparent to all that no earthly forces could keep the couple apart. Ten years after their first meeting, the prince and princess were finally married. And they lived joyously and peacefully in each other’s service for the rest of their days.”

Ben lights one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. The smoke doesn’t bother me; on the contrary, it reminds me of Papa smoking his pipe in his study, in the garden, as he read to us by the fireplace, as he danced with Mother in ballrooms back when she could still dance. It reminds me of home. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever give Shakespeare a run for his money, but I’ll admit I’m marginally entertained.”

I smile to myself, sentimental warmth rising in my face. “It’s Papa and Mother’s story.”

“Huh. I didn’t know your people were allowed to marry for love.”

By ‘your people,’ he seems to mean royalty, and there is some derision in his deep voice. “Well, surely duty must come first. But when love can accompany it, that’s a happy coincidence.”

“And what if duty compels you to marry a man who is, say, cruel? Or dreadfully boring? Or in love with another woman? Or who closely resembles a mole-rat?”

I resume my typing with a new exercise. For each letter of the alphabet, I type a French word that begins with it. “I don’t think that sort of thing happens very often.”

“But if it did.”

I shrug, not especially enjoying this topic of discussion. “Then duty comes first, as I said. But I believe most royal couples are perfectly content. At least nine out of every ten.”

“That many!” Ben marvels sarcastically. “Have you ever considered that your own personal experience, as pleasant as it may be, could be coloring your perception of how the world works?”

I ignore him and continue my typing. Attaché for A, bisou for B, croissant for C, doux for D…

After a moment, Ben says: “You aren’t going to regale me with another fairytale? I’m devastated.”

“I’m busy practicing my French now. Please don’t intrude.”

“You speak French as well as Russian and English?” He sounds impressed; for a split second anyway, just long enough for me to catch it like a firefly in my fist.

“And Italian, and Latin. And I’ve just started on Japanese.”

“But no German? That seems like it would be an easier beast to slay.”

“I’ve always purposefully avoided learning it, even though Mother’s family is German. I never envisioned myself marrying a German. I figured Maria could take that bullet. She doesn’t care, she’d marry anyone who could give her a castle and ten babies and a bulldog or two. I would say she was a milkmaid in a past life, but Mother’s heart would stop dead if she thought I subscribed to reincarnation.”

“Not fond of Germans?” Ben asks. “Well, who can blame you. Half the world isn’t fond of them at the moment.”

“I suppose they weren’t so awful before the Great War. But they’re rather boorish, aren’t they? They always sound like they’re angry. Like someone just stole their horse and they’re screaming at them from the front porch to come back or else.” I smile dreamily as I type. “I’ve always fancied the thought of marrying a prince from a glamorous, romantic kingdom. Maybe Italy or Greece. There has even been talk of me marrying Uncle George’s eldest son David. He’s rather beguiling. Tall and slim. Clear blue eyes like a lake. And he’s going to be the king of the British Empire one day, you know. We could holiday together in beautiful, sunny colonies like the Bahamas.”

“You’re still as important as all that? Important enough to make a marriage of that political significance, I mean.” Ben glances back at me and lifts one thick, dark, inquisitive eyebrow. “Seeing as your family doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

This is an insensitive thing for him to say. I frown down at the typewriter. “A wife almost always assumes the kingdom of her husband, so why should she require her own? She needs only sound breeding and a suitable temperament. And besides, we might yet return one day.”

Ben twists all the way around to stare at me, the reigns falling out of his hands. Fortunately, the mule seems to know her own way around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It has been a brutal few years. The Great War, the supply shortages, the bad harvests…the people are frustrated, and understandably so. They lashed out blindly, at those who didn’t deserve it, at us. But the dust will clear. And when it does, I think the Russian people will come to their senses and realize that they want us back. That they need us.”

“Are you insane?” Ben snaps. “Are you utterly brainless? What’s floating around in that skull besides fiction and languages you’ll never use once you’re married off to some prince who only sees you as a broodmare?”

“How dare you! You can’t speak to me like this—!”

“For years, for a bloody decade, Sir Buchanan warned your father about what was coming. He tried to get him to moderate his views, to give the people more voice in government, to stop murdering them when they protested. And when none of that worked and the end was apparent, Sir Buchanan tried to convince your father to abdicate long before he did. Don’t you understand?! None of this needed to happen! Your family could have fled to Britain years ago, before the animosity against your father spread like wildfire across the globe, and Russia could have established their own parliament like Britain’s and negotiated a peace treaty to stay out of the war and none of us would be here now if not for your father’s selfish, pointless obstinacy—!”

“My father is a good man,” I choke out as hot, furious tears burn in my eyes.

“And he was a terrible ruler!” Ben shoots back like artillery. “He ordered protesters to be butchered, he sent untrained boys to die in some other country’s war, he clung to the throne for no one’s benefit but his own—”

“And what about my benefit?” I demand, still weeping, feeling monstrously like a child. “What about my mother’s and my sisters’ and Alexei’s? He must have feared for our futures if we were dethroned and left without any resources, any security, anyplace to call home—”

“He did you no favors,” Ben says harshly. “Half the country—the country that you obviously have not even a rudimentary understanding of—are moderates scrambling to secure the Provisional Government and disentangle themselves from the war while still somehow preserving their dignity and that of the millions of dead soldiers Russia has already laid on the altar. The other half are trying to instigate a wholesale communist revolution. There is no one, no one, who wants the tsar back. And you better pray to God that the communists don’t manage to seize power before King George gets your family out, or your father just might be guillotined on the steps of Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

I bolt to my feet unsteadily, grip the side of the lurching cart, and leap out onto the dirt road.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ben shouts after me.

I take off sprinting down the road, the wind whipping my face, sobbing as I run beneath the shadows of trees until my lungs are columns of flames and my legs feel wobbly and boneless. I can hear the pounding of the mule’s hooves approaching, the hurtling of wooden wheels, the slapping of leather reins. I am forced to slow to a vigorous march as my body betrays me, wheezing and aching and as ineffectual as a woman is so often assumed to be. The salacious trousers have come in handy once again. Who would have guessed.

Ben pulls up alongside me, reining in the mule to match my pace. “Hey! Get back in the cart!”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way to the railroad station.”

“It’s 200 more kilometers!”

“See you there.”

Now Ben jumps out of the cart. The mule, perplexed but not rattled, comes to a halt and waits in the middle of the road with her long ears angled in opposite directions. Ben rushes in front of me and leans down until we’re at eye-level, breathing heavily. I can smell smoke on him, and something else too: maybe cologne, maybe soap, maybe aftershave, maybe just the scent of a man in his prime. His lips are pink and full and soft-looking, I notice, as if for the first time. His cheeks are irritated and red from the wind; the ruthlessness of the climate here doesn’t agree with him. It is the only way in which I am stronger than he is. His green eyes are wide and blazing. “Get. In. The. Cart.”

“No,” I whisper, tears all over my face.

“You can’t just run off like that,” he pleads, less angry now. “Where are you going to go? There’s nothing out here except trees and…I don’t know…probably bears and wolves and maybe even Siberian tigers. You can’t get ripped apart by wild animals. Don’t you want to make it to London? To argue for your family’s liberation? They could find no fiercer advocate than you, of that I am convinced.”

“How would you possibly protect me from a bear?”

Ben unbuttons his coat and pulls up his white wool sweater to show me a pistol tucked into the holster clipped to his belt. “Just in case,” he says, smirking crookedly, lowering his sweater again. “Now I am keeping no secrets from you, and you are harboring none from me. We’re even.”

I nod, sniffling, thinking of my jewels and photograph hidden in the steamer trunk. My words are so strained I can barely hear them myself, my hands are trembling; hell, I’m trembling all over. The possibility is unimaginable. “Do you really think they’re going to kill Papa?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t,” he replies gently. “I think the Provisional Government will be able to keep the communists in check for now. I think they will leap at the opportunity to ship the former tsar off to Britain without the potential controversy of a trial and execution. And I also think we should get back in the cart and keep moving now.”

“I’m sorry your boss gave you this assignment and now you have to risk your life for a family that you evidently hate,” I lash out like a cornered animal, hissing and brandishing its glinting claws. “For a grand duchess that you hate. This must be an awful inconvenience for you.”

“It’s rather more complicated than that,” Ben says. “There’s some opportunity in it as well.”

Of course: his leather-bound notebook full of observations, his scrawled recollections to one day build into a famed article about our journey. An article full of what he truly thinks about me. I feel suddenly, violently nauseous. I feel horrified.

What happened to the grand adventure that I imagined? Where did it go?

And all at once, I can’t even remember how I pictured this journey unfolding; I can’t conjure up some rose-colored vision of me and Ben falling into an effortless friendship, flirting lightly and innocently, discovering new corners of the earth together, parting ways in London as lifelong confidants. Now I can only see Papa as he murmurs folktales older than Christianity with candlelight dancing on his smiling face, as he chases me and my sisters around the gardens with outstretched arms and sparkling eyes, as he carries Alexei from one room to the next when my brother’s joints are inflamed and excruciating and useless, as he never unburdens his mind to his wife or children but spends long afternoons chopping wood as the sun sinks into the west and the lines in his pale face grow deeper.

He couldn’t be responsible for bloodshed, for mercilessness. He’s not that kind of man. He’s never been that kind of man.

“We really should keep moving,” Ben prompts.

“Fine,” I fling back as I shove by him. I mop my tears away with the sleeve of my wool sweater, climb into the back of the wooden cart, and sit as far as I can from Ben with my bent knees hugged to my chest. I stare silently off into the forest as the mule drags us towards the Trans-Siberian Railroad, towards Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the Baltic Sea and London, towards the conclusion of this tenuous partnership and the redemption of my family. I am looking forward to soon never having to see Benjamin Hardy again, and yet I’m also not; and this is a difficult paradox to put into words of any language.

We don’t stop until it’s almost dusk. Ben hops down from the cart, leads the mule off the road by her bridle (and gives her an encouraging scratch on the forelock when she hesitates), and begins to set up camp in a small clearing encircled by heaps of frost grass. Dinner is loaves of bread again—even more tough and dry than yesterday—and metallic-tasting water from canteens. Dessert is a hand-rolled cigarette for Ben and a handful of honeyberries I found in the bushes for me. And when Ben grapples with the tent, I come over to help him with it just to prove I can.

Ben builds a fire, and we sit wordlessly on opposite sides of it with the reflections of flames in our eyes. Ben jots down today’s thoughts in his notebook, every so often glancing off into nowhere and tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen, biting his full lower lip absentmindedly as he sifts through the ocean of word in his head to fish out the right one. Meanwhile, I read my copy of Tarzan of the Apes. I stumble across a few English terms I don’t know—quixotic, cartography, constellations, ruminate—but I don’t ask Ben about them.

After a long time, when the moon and stars have emerged bright and ancient in the night sky, Ben closes his notebook and watches me. At first I ignore him. And then, eventually, I can’t anymore.

“What?” I ask irritably, keeping my place in Tarzan of the Apes with my pinky finger, which is nearly numb from the cold.

Ben’s words are calm, restrained, painstakingly chosen. Firelight is fierce and bloody on his face. “I had two infant brothers die of pneumonia, a perfectly preventable illness had they had access to good doctors and proper nutrition and a warm dry home, which they did not. I had a sister die in childbirth because there was no midwife available to attend to her. I have had friends come home from the war with limbs or half their faces missing, a fate which I myself am spared only because of my employment with Sir Buchanan. You have no idea what the world has been through while you were off playing board games and reading novels in greenhouses and lounging on lakeshores with your idyllic little family. You have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. And perhaps that’s not your fault, and it is unjust of me to resent you for it, and I must learn to temper this wrath I’ve been carrying around in my chest since childhood. But it’s still true.”

He stands, clutching his notebook with hands that are red from the savage Siberian wind, and vanishes into the tent.

#ben hardy fic #ben hardy x reader #borhap cast fic

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 50 - House of Cards

Title: Irreverent Pt. 50 - House of Cards

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~4K

A/N: Picking up after Chapter 48: Strings That Bind

Irreverent Series Masterlist

The most painful goodbyes are the ones left unsaid.

Officially the two of you were broken up.

Unofficially, your dresses were still hung up in your side of the closet. Smiling photographs of you, Aaron, and Jack still adorned the house. The scent of the spring meadow laundry detergent you bought still permeates his senses anytime he puts on fresh clothes. You persist in every nook and cranny of his life – in your handwritten grocery list on the fridge that he hasn't the heart to toss away, in the sass and eyerolls he gets from Jack to the heartwrenchingly sweet way he insists on being kissed good night exactly how you do it – once on the forehead, pause, then another for the long haul of the night, and in the way Aaron's mind wanders, unwantingly, to you and always you – thinking about you, wondering if you're alright, hoping to see you again soon.

That night when he'd arrived back home with Dave in tow, he'd found out from Jack that you'd visited him during lunch. You'd brought food for the two of you and you'd sat and ate with him and his friends. You'd watched him play before pulling him aside quickly and telling him that you'd be away for a while. Explaining that it would be hard for you to talk to him, but that you'd see him as soon as you were back. Aaron could imagine you'd also told Jack that you loved him, holding him close to you. It filled him with a small amount of confidence, knowing that you'd gone to see Jack and promised that you'd see him as soon as you were done with your assignment. It led credence to Rossi's assertion that whatever was going on had nothing to do with you and Aaron and everything to do with whatever you were doing with Easter for the project.

However, despite inherently knowing that it had been something else, being home without you – in the aftermath of having signed what had felt like his second set of divorce papers – wasn't the easiest of tasks. Two days after, he'd come home to the monthly crate of champagne that you'd never quite bothered to dissuade Cedric Kensington from sending your way. It was an agonizing reminder – you had not always been his. He'd ended up calling Prentiss and asking if she'd take it off of his hands, and she of course had jumped at the opportunity. She'd arrived in a whirlwind, greeting Jack with a quick kiss to the cheek and asking Aaron when he expected you back home. He was forced to simply shrug and say you hadn't said when you'd be available once more, deciding it was best to keep the full extent of what had transpired to himself and Dave, at least until they were able to learn more.

At various points during the days following, he debated making his way to McKinney's office. He took the elevator all the way up before talking himself out of it. You wouldn't appreciate interference with your professional life and this was hardly a qualifying emergency. On top of which, he would only be operating in the capacity of your partner. Which, in all technicality and as far as the Bureau was concerned, he no longer even was. He had absolutely no professional reasons to inquire about your whereabouts and the realization of it all – knowing exactly how tied his hands are – has him feeling distressingly unanchored.

You torment him. You are the plague that runs through him. Every unoccupied minute, you're at the forefront. That final interaction with you plays on a loop in his mind. He knows that something had happened, that something was wrong. Your entire demeanor had been distraught and pulled taut at the edges, your body sending warning signals to him despite your inability to voice your hardships. It plays over and over again in his mind's eye. How your own weight had seemed far too much to bear upon your frame. How the mere act of standing up had been a Herculean effort of its own. How you had flinched, cowering and shielding yourself from him when he'd reached out – as though his touch might cause you harm.

He knows now that he should've said something. Done something. He'd known. He had known that there was something the matter and despite knowing that so absolutely, he had elected to adhere to the professional boundaries the two of you had, allowing it to overrule his innate gut instinct that something was incredibly wrong.

The team had completed two cases in the span of a week and a half, during which it had been radio silence from you. No calls. No texts. At this point, he'd settle for a carrier pigeon.

Jack asked about you, however given that Aaron didn't have much to share, he was only able to reassure his son that you were alright (he hoped) and that you'd be home very soon.

*------------*

It was closing in on twelve days since Aaron had last seen or heard from you. The team was seated in the conference room as Garcia went through the list of consults that had been piling up. The team tried to stay on top of those in between active in-person cases, however things had fallen off with the last minute shuffle when Garcia had been suspended. She'd come back and had decided to take charge, using her downtime to reorganize and allocate everyone's time to each consult, ensuring that each case would have two pairs of eyes looking over it.

She was flipping through the cases one by one on the screen and everyone was volunteering to take whichever struck their interest. Aaron would look over all of them at the end, so he was paying close attention to each one as Garcia went through the case summaries.

As she transitions from a case in North Dakota to another in Arkansas, a loud alert appears on the screen along with everyone's work phones. A year ago, the Bureau had invested in the same alert system that many state and city governments used to send out community alerts. It helped get mass messages through quickly and prioritized any key threats. Aaron pulls out his own phone that is vibrating incessantly, to a message reading *TERROR ALERT: PHILADELPHIA, ONE BOMB CONFIRMED* on the screen.

Everyone looks up at him, and he's ready to dismiss it, turn focus back to the task at hand. The team hasn't been asked to weigh in and there are agents and local law enforcement in Philadelphia who will handle it. There's another loud alert, however, this time only on Garcia's computer, which is connected to the large screen. Her brow furrows as she turns away from him and to her computer, her fingers moving quickly as she investigates the reason behind the second alert.

Aaron follows her progress on the big screen, and sees her open a program with the entire team's internal Bureau profile. There's a red alert notification next to your name, which she clicks on. His heartrate picks up immediately as he watches with rapt attention. He can feel everyone else in the room tense, their eyes following the screen as well. It's quiet, the only sound coming from Garcia's computer running, the fans spinning loudly. There's a lag while the program appears to run and then he sees it automatically go to the newly opened case file for the Philadelphia terror case.

A video pops up on the screen. It appears to be from an internal security camera. A jazz club, from the looks of it. There's a singer on a stage and tables turned to face it. Couples are sat at each of the table. The camera pans slowly, giving a full view of the restaurant as all attention is towards the stage.

"Is that – ?"

Aaron starts at JJ's voice, having seen what she'd seen. There you were, seated at a table, dressed like you were out for a date. Your hair is done nicely, there's a jacket draped over your shoulders. You look better. Far better than the last time he'd seen you. He recognizes Easter sitting next to you, his arm casually thrown around your chair as you lean into his side slightly. Your faces are turned towards one another, a small smile on yours as the two of you whisper something to one another. Aaron looks up at Reid, who shakes his head. He can't make out what you're saying.

The camera keeps panning, and as you leave the frame, Aaron is harshly reminded of which case this video is tied to. It pans over the rest of the restaurant. Slowly. Silently. He can feel a growing tension in his body as his eyes stay firm on the screen. Daring it to confirm what he already fears. His breath starts to come in bursts as the camera pans to the end before turning once more, turning back towards where you'd been seated. Slowly. Too slowly. He needs to see you again. He needs to see your face again. His chest starts to constrict at the mounting realization of what's about to happen.

The camera continues to turn. He sees the singer. The other customers. There's a waiter carrying a tray full of drinks. Almost there. Almost back to you.

The screen goes black.

*------------*

Rossi and Morgan watch Hotch in his office as he takes yet another call, trying to get in touch with the field agent in charge of the Philadelphia case for what felt like the tenth time. He'd already spoken to the man once and had been told that they hadn't started excavation yet and it was impossible to tell how many bodies were buried underneath the rubble that hadn't been touched yet. All he had learned was that you weren't amongst the five individuals in the hospital.

Rossi had had to talk Hotch out of storming to Philadelphia himself. He couldn't do anything to help. On the off chance he did find you and you were alright, he'd get in the way of your assignment and risk blowing your cover. Him barging in wasn't the right call.

The mood within the team had ranged from tense to downright hysterics. Derek had had to take Penelope into another room with JJ following him. She'd been inconsolable, thinking back to the last interaction she'd had with you. Derek hadn't been able to fully comfort her and had left her with JJ so he could go figure out what to do next with Hotch.

He'd walked past the conference room where Prentiss was still sat with Reid. She'd been oddly quiet ever since and he knew she felt the same guilt he did. They'd both given you the cold shoulder when you'd appeared last time, and it had only been afterwards that they'd learned that it had been to bring over Penelope's reinstatement paperwork. That day, he'd caught a glimpse of you as you'd walked away towards the elevators and he couldn't help but notice that there was something off with the way you were carrying yourself. He knows how you move and it looked like you were compensating for something.

Hours pass as the team tries to distract themselves with the consults in lieu of having nothing better to do. Penelope had told Hotch that she had put out alerts for everything related to you - the video had been caught by her facial recognition software. She'd put out an alert for any mention of you, for your phone turning on, for Easter's phone turning on. Everything and anything she could think of. He'd thanked her robotically and Derek could tell what he was doing. He needed to distance himself if he was going to make it.

So Derek sat there with Rossi. Sat and waited as Hotch watched the phone, willing it to ring with any news of you.

*------------*

Aaron woke up from a fitful sleep to the sound of his phone dinging. Groggily, he goes to pick it up and sees Morgan's name on the screen followed by a message.

Meet at Rossi's ASAP.

His brow furrows as he looks at the time. It was only six in the morning, so for Morgan to be asking to meet at Dave's, it could only mean one thing. It had something to do with you.

He calls Mrs. Avery as he gets dressed, asking her if she could please come a little earlier to watch Jack. Something in his voice must've convinced her of the urgency of his need, and she's quick to agree. Thinking ahead, Aaron asks that she pack for a few days, just in case.

He doesn't bother with waking Jack up. He hadn't been able to hide his inner turmoil from his son at dinner the night prior, and Jack had picked up on the fact that something wasn't quite right. Aaron had been forced to lie to him and assure him that it was nothing. He didn't want to say anything to Jack. Not yet when nothing was confirmed.

There's this part of him that's convinced you're invincible. That nothing could possibly touch you. That part refuses to believe any of this is real. He's seen you take down grown men twice your size. He's seen you be held at gunpoint and still come out unscathed. Deep down, he knows that he's in denial of some sort. Refusing to believe in the possibility that you could be – .

He's felt the worried eyes of the entire team on him, and yet he knows that they're all on the same page as him. Nothing was confirmed. None of them will voice the awful prospect that maybe you hadn't gotten away. That maybe you're lying there, buried under bricks and concrete. That you're gone. That you're d–

Aaron won't.

He owes Jack that. He owes his son that.

His son does not deserve to lose another mother.

So, Aaron won't. As far as he is concerned, you are fine and you will be home soon, just as you promised Jack before you left. You will come home and the three of you will wake up together the next morning. He will kiss you good morning even as you squirm against him and beg for another five minutes, sleepily kissing him back despite that. You'll go downstairs and make pancakes and Aaron will swipe a blueberry as you swat his hand away. Jack will hoist himself up on the counter – another bad habit he's picked up from you – and he'll watch the cartoons playing on the living room television while ensuring that there are exactly the right number of blueberries in his pancakes. At some point, Aaron will put on one of the older records and the three of you will badly sing along to Elvis. You'll be back and the house will be full – of voices and music, yours and Jack's laughter, and that bright and bubbly feeling of being vibrantly alive. The feeling he only ever has around you.

*------------*

Aaron arrives at Rossi's place, pulling into the driveway behind Prentiss. Judging by the cars, it appeared most – if not all – of the team was already there. Reid still refused to drive so someone must've picked him up on the way. He makes a mental note to have you talk to Reid about the driving thing, since you'd had to get over that fear after your accident as well. He knew that had been a process.

Dave is quick to let him in upon his knock, leading him to the large living room where everyone is assembled. It appeared Garcia had set herself up at the dining table and she had a slew of machines running side by side.

"What's going on?" Aaron asks, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee that JJ hands him.

"We were waiting for you to get here. Garcia has something," Morgan answers, nodding back towards Garcia, who on second glance, looked like she hadn't slept whatsoever. Aaron felt for her and he nods, imploring her to take the lead.

"Sir, you might remember, back when Y/N was working with me, I taught her how to do a few things. We worked together a lot and I had her practice, on a private server," she explains hesitantly, as though trying to gauge his reaction before she went on. He knew the team was on edge and they're all waiting for him to break down. Frankly, he's surprised himself by how much he'd held it together, but knows that he's still operating from a place of refusal. Refusal to believe reality.

He nods, so she continues. "A couple hours ago, an email appeared in my private server. From me."

"From you?" His eyebrows rise up in question.

"Yes sir. The only other person who's ever been inside this server besides myself, is Y/N. She's the only one with access. The email wasn't actually sent today. It was sent a couple of weeks ago, but it appeared today, as if someone had stopped hiding it."

"That's possible?" Prentiss asks, her face mirroring Aaron's in confusion.

"Yes. Essentially it was being suppressed by a program that's on a timed manual cycle. As long as someone logged in and ran the action to suppress, the email stayed hidden. Once no one was running the job, the email was no longer hidden and I could see it."

"What's in the email?" Aaron asks, a sense of foreboding creeping in. If you had indeed set it up, it meant that you'd missed your last check-in to suppress the email.

"It's a backdoor, sir. Into the Project Atlantis server. Y/N set it up so that it looks like she's the one entering and looking around at the files and not me, so no alarms will go off."

"She left a backdoor open on a timed cycle in case she didn't check-in, to alert us. We have to assume that it's a signal for us to intervene." Aaron turns, oddly heartened by Morgan's assertion, and nods along. You didn't do things like this without innate purpose.

"What've you found so far?" he asks, moving to stand and walk over to Garcia's side.

She pivots the screen so he can see and also moves to project it onto the large television screen in the center of the living room. "Not much yet, there's far too much material to go through. In summary, I've gathered that Project Atlantis was geared towards keeping ex NATO spooks safe - CIA, Interpol, MI6, those kinds. They'd get new covers and would be safe to resume a normal civilian life. Sort of like witness protection for retired spies. A few years ago, every few months some of them started to go missing. Y/N was part of the task force trying to figure out who was leaking the names and locations and trying to figure out who is going after them. I'm printing out all the files for the good doctor to read through."

Aaron nods, following along. It would figure that this would be the sort of assignment you're on. From the sound of it, you're on a witch hunt. There's a leak that you're trying to plug.

"That's good work, thank you Garcia."

"Of course, sir. I also found something else while I was poking around in the Atlantis servers. There's a partitioned section that I don't think Y/N was ever in. It appears to be someone's private server within the server."

"Likely Easter's," Rossi injects, his face still set grimly.

"Yes sir. Once I break into that, we might know some more. Maybe more than Y/N knew, if he wasn't forthcoming about everything with her."

"If they suspected a leak, neither one of them would fully trust the other," Prentiss speculated from her spot perched on the arm of the sofa, mug of coffee precariously balanced beside her.

"There's a chance they thought each other was the leak," Reid postulates, tipping back in the chair he's seated in, in a manner entirely reminiscent of you.

Aaron agrees with them both, before considering the graver implications of you sending this to Garcia's private server. "Since Y/N sent this to the private server, we have to assume she thinks she and the team are being watched in some capacity. That there is someone on the inside of the Bureau who could also be the mole."

The team looks at him, their faces sober as everyone realizes that, as of now, they're operating outside the confines of the Bureau. None of this is sanctioned. All of it is grounds to be fired or charged.

"None of you have to – "

"Hotch, none of us are going anywhere," Morgan cuts him off, already knowing where he was going. "Y/N doesn't just matter to you. Right now, we don't know where she is, but we know that she left something for us for a reason. We're going to follow through on that. She'd do it for any one of us."

Aaron can only nod as he looks around the room at the rest of them agreeing with Morgan. They were all just as much your family as he was.

"I'm in!" Garcia's excited voice breaks the somber camaraderie of the room, drawing everyone's attention back to the screen as Reid gets up to grab the papers being spit out by the printer.

They watch as she sifts through the files, quickly identifying most as duplicates of the Atlantis server, before coming across a larger folder with videos. Scrolling through, the thumbnail images appear to be brightly lit training videos. He can make out images of you and Easter sparring together as she moves through the files.

The thumbnail at the end catches his eye, however. It is darker than the rest, and Aaron is quick to ask Garcia to open that one.

"It looks like it was uploaded about two weeks ago," Garcia says, working to open the video and project it onto the television. Aaron quickly does the math in his head – two weeks prior would put it right before he last saw you. The team moves to the main area, with only Garcia and Reid remaining at the dining table.

Garcia hits play on the video and a darkened room becomes visible. The hair on the back of his neck stands on edge almost immediately.

"What is this, a snuff film?" Dave questions, leaning further towards the screen, his brows raised in alarm.

Prentiss scoffs, her eyes full of worry. "Wouldn't put it past him. He was always a bit of a weirdo when it came to that stuff."

"You speaking from personal experience?" Morgan looks at her, his eyebrows raised, arms crossed across his chest.

"Gross, never," she responds, rolling her eyes.

Aaron remains turned towards the screen. There's a low hanging yellow light above a desk where a man stands and in the center of the room, tied to a chair, is a horrifyingly familiar figure.

"Please tell me that isn't – " Garcia's voice trembles as she voices what was coursing through all of their minds.

It was you.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #irreverentseries #hotch x you #hotch x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

Text

Chapter 45

Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Nie XuanYu has one task.

It is a simple task, and a boring one to boot. He is to monitor a single Jin Sect disciple for the entirety of the Gifting Ceremony. Young Master Nie has informed him that this particular Jin Sect disciple will also need to be closely followed throughout the day, as a detailed report of all his movements must be given to the Nie Sect Leader before the banquet starts.

So far, observing the Jin Sect disciple has been as thrilling as watching the trees grow. The boy has gone nowhere on his own, preferring to remain in the company of other disciples. Still, Nie XuanYu has gathered a few bits of information that may or may not be relevant.

The Jin Sect disciple has a penchant for sweets. All day long, the boy has been reaching into his sleeves for pieces of candy, an action that seems almost unconscious. XuanYu has never seen a person eat that many sweets in such a short time, and thinks that this cannot possibly be healthy.

Also, this disciple may prefer to spend his time among the other disciples, but Nie XuanYu does not think that the boy is very well liked among them. While the rest exhibit the type of closeness natural among disciples who have spent years training together, XuanYu’s charge appears to have only one friend, a small, delicate boy, whose sweet smile and gentle manners set him apart from the rest.

Had XuanYu not been tasked with watching the Jin disciple closely, he likely would have never noticed the two boys interact. Even now, they stood apart, a dozen disciples between them. Despite the appearances, however, XuanYu has caught them glancing at each other often, every time a set of minuscule expressions and raised eyebrows giving away their silent communication.

XuanYu does not understand why the two boys would not just speak to each other, face to face, if they had something to say. He thinks that one of them must be of significantly lower rank. Or maybe, their relationship consists of more than friendship, and they feel pressured to keep it a secret. XuanYu does not know the rules and hierarchies that govern the Jin Sect, nor does he care to know. Any sect where one must hide their innermost thoughts and feelings in order to belong, is not a sect worth belonging to, in his opinion.

If Nie XuanYu wanted to be friends with someone, there is not a force in the world, Sect Leader Nie included, that could pressure him to give up that friendship for some stupid sect rule. But he would not be surprised if things were different for the Jin. It stands to reason that such a useless sect would have equally as useless rules.

If one of the boys is lower in rank, the boy he has been tasked to watch must be the one. Nie XuanYu is certain of this. He had spent his early childhood on the streets, brawling with boys twice his size, and begging for scraps of food. He is painfully familiar with the attitude and bearing of those like himself, boys who had learned to fight tooth and nail to survive another day in the world. There is an arrogance in this disciple’s posture that is not likely to be rooted in his actual skills or worth. It is an armor, meant to discourage conflict before it occurs. The boy is a dog that growls often, so others would know that he is always ready to fight. Whether or not he is capable of fighting, XuanYu cannot guess.

He thinks it is unlikely he will get to fight anyone today. The Gifting Ceremony is long and tedious, an endless procession of gifts that XuanYu does not get to see from his remote position near the entry arch. Nie XiuYa and Nie ZhuYi have joined him in solidarity, although neither understands why XuanYu has been banished to such an unfavorable location. Both are excited for the banquet, where they intend to divert a few jars of wine, and get pleasantly drunk in the Imperial gardens. Nie XuanYu, the mastermind of the stealing-the-wine plan, will not be able to join them.

He has wondered, more than once, if the Young Master Nie had caught wind of their plans. Nie HuaiSang rarely ever expresses disapproval or censure, regardless of the type of mischief the Nie Sect disciples carry out. But if he had decided to express his disapproval, this is precisely the type of punishment that Nie HuaiSang would dispense. Nothing difficult or painful, but so unbearably tedious, that it would surpass every other possible punishment by a large margin. Given a choice between having to watch the Jin Sect disciple, his stupid sweets and his ridiculous silent conversations, and having to swear never to steal or drink again, Nie XuanYu is prepared to become the most respectable disciple the Nie Sect has ever seen.

“What is that?” Nie ZhuYi whispers, “Do you feel that?”

Nie XuanYu does not grace his words with a response. The others are always feeling things that XuanYu cannot, and this has become a tightly suppressed cause of irritation. No, he cannot feel an attack coming before his eyes can perceive the threat. He cannot feel the saber spirit guiding his every thrust. No matter how hard he practices, how much he learns, how often he meditates, his spiritual power will always be average at best. It is not a lack that gives him grief, but it does cause a certain amount of annoyance when the others insist on bringing it up.

“What--“ Nie XiuYa says, his voice high, “What is that?”

Nie XuanYu had been watching the Jin Sect disciple, but XiuYa’s tone is sufficiently alarming to divert his attention. He means only to scan the hall for the source of their attention, before returning to the task at hand, but the sight of the Emperor wrapped in coils of black smoke is so staggering, that he forgets, for long moments, why he is not among the other disciples, all of them now scrambling in panic.

The Emperor is under attack. Next to the Jiang Sect, the shield that protects the Emperor, the Nie Sect is the first line of offense, the living sword in the Emperor’s hand. XuanYu is clutching his own saber and stepping forward before his mind has fully caught up with the rest of him.

Surely, the ridiculous task he has been assigned is no longer a priority. Surely, he is needed somewhere else.

Still, before moving any further, he glances at the Jin Sect disciple again.

The boy is smiling.

The rest of the Jin Sect disciples are milling around in panic, Young Master Jin attempting to keep them from any impulsive action. He looks to be on the verge of panic himself, however, and the Jin Sect Leader is no more composed than his flock of disciples. But the Jin Sect disciple that XuanYu had been watching is not panicking at all. His smile is small but feral, reminding XuanYu of the sharp-toothed hounds he has had to fight for every scrap of meat, who nearly cost him an arm more times than he cares to remember.

By then, Nie XiuYa and Nie ZhuYi have gotten their senses back, and make to rush past him, to join the others. Struggling to keep the Jin Sect disciple in his sights through the pandemonium, XuanYu latches onto them tightly, pulling them back. ZhuYi, always the more impulsive of the two, nearly pulls his shoulder out of its socket, trying to storm the dais regardless of XuanYu’s grip.

“Stop struggling,” XuanYu snaps, “I need you here.”

A swarm of Fan Sect disciples obscures his sight of the boy for a moment, and XuanYu curses under his breath. Clearly, the boy has something to do with this. Clearly, this is why XuanYu has been told to watch him. But why has he not been given any further instructions? What is he to do now?

The Fan Sect disciples disperse and the boy is gone.

XuanYu swears again, his eyes frantically searching the hall, cursing every bright yellow Jin Sect uniform that draws his eye.

There. The small side entrance that leads to the meeting hall. Ordinarily, it would be guarded, but in the mayhem, the Imperial guards have scattered in every direction, providing more of an obstacle than any significant assistance. Not for the first time, Nie XuanYu finds himself thinking that the Imperial guards are far inferior to Nie Sect members.

He does not see the boy’s face, only his gold-clad backside as he slips through the entrance, but XuanYu had been staring at that backside for close to five hours now. He would recognize it half-blind.

“Come on,” he pulls on ZhuYi and XiuYa, “quickly.”

“Where are we going?” XiuYa exclaims, “The Emperor is in danger.”

XuanYu smiles, a grin as feral as the Jin boy’s had been,

“We are going to hunt.”

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #a small chapter from nie xuanyu's pov

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myfavoriteskdramas · 3 years

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So guys, I've wanted to do this kind of list since a lot of time ago, of the kdramas that from my point of view are underrated, and I think more people who loves kdramas should give them a chance and watch them, so here is the first part:

1. Hogu's love aka Fool's love.

Ho Goo has a twin sister Ho Gyeong. He has tried to pass the civil service examination, but has failed for 7 years. He also has never dated in his life. One day, he meets Do Hee. She was the most popular girl back in his high school days. She is a member of the national swimming team and has a burning desire to win. She also talks like one of the guys. They spend the night together, but the next morning he finds a baby next next to him and Do Hee is gone. After Ho Goo meets Do Hee again, he becomes involved in a complicated romantic relationship and a dangerous friendship.

Link where you can watch it: https://dramacool.so/drama-detail/hogoos-love

2. The tale of nokdu aka Mung bean chronicles (one of my faves).

Jeon Nok Du is a man with extraordinary ambition to experience the big, wide world. With looks, brains, and athletic abilities, he is the epitome of perfection. After being swept up in an incident, he disguises himself as a woman to join a mysterious all-woman community and meets Dong Dong Joo.

Dong Dong Joo is a prickly gisaeng trainee. Along with her fiery personality, she is clumsy, has absolutely no sense of rhythm, and is tone-deaf, which makes all of her peers look after her. However, she is skilled with her hands as she can make anything if given the right tools. Unable to stand injustice, she speaks her mind.

Due to this fact, Jeon Nok Du ends up saving Dong Dong Joo from a dangerous situation. After that, she suddenly becomes Jeon Nok Du’s adopted daughter and he decides to live in the widow village for 1 year.

Link where you can watch it:

Is on Viki but you can watch it in this link too https://dramacool.so/drama-detail/mung-bean-chronicles

3. Clean with passion for now.

Jang Sun Gyeol has wealth and good looks but suffers from severe mysophobia. He is obsessed with cleaning and even owns his own cleaning company. However, he meets a carefree and untidy girl named Gil Oh Sol after she enters his company as a new employee.

Oh Sol has worked all sorts of part-time jobs while striving for a full-time job and does not have the luxury to date or be clean. She gave up on being neat after facing the tough reality of the world and is known for always wearing her trademark tracksuit. But she has a bright personality and does not mind getting dirty. With the help of Oh Sol, Sun Gyeol faces his mysophobia and also falls in love with her.

Link where you can watch it: https://dramacool.so/drama-detail/clean-with-passion-for-now

4. Live up to your name aka Deserving of the name.

Heo Im, who is born in a concubine family in Joseon era and has very outstanding medical skill, is frustrated about his career as he fails to climb to higher positions in the government because of his background. By accident, he travels through time to modern Seoul 400 years later and meets modern doctor Yeon Gyung. Thinking that Heo Im is weird, she hopes to get rid of Heo Im but instead, they travel back to Joseon together again.

Link where you can watch it:

Is on netflix, but you can watch it too in this link https://dramacool.so/drama-detail/deserving-of-the-name

5. Live On (Just finished one or two weeks ago) if you want to watch a short kdrama, this one it only has 8 episodes.

Live On” is set to be a romance story that follows the lives of Baek Ho Rang (Jung Da Bin), who is at the top of food chain at her high school where being trendy and popular brings higher social status, and Go Eun Taek (Minhyun), a perfectionist who is the head of the broadcasting club. Baek Ho Rang joins the broadcasting club in order get help from Go Eun Taek in uncovering the identity of a mysterious figure who is trying to bring to light parts of her past she wants to keep hidden.Baek Ho Rang immediately shot up to social media star status because of her beautiful looks and is one of the most popular girls at Seo Hyun High School. Despite being at the top of the social pyramid, she only has one true friend as she believes she is the center of the universe and looks down on others. Meanwhile, Go Eun Taek is in charge of the school’s broadcasting club and is someone who is sensitive, detail oriented, can sometimes be irritable, and plans everything out perfectly. Though he is strict and inflexible when it comes to his leadership, he never shies away from any task that is given to him and is loved by his fellow students.

Link where you can watch it:

Is on Viki but also you can watch it in this link

https://dramacool.so/drama-detail/live-on-2020

6. Dinner Mate.

This drama is about a young woman going through a rough breakup with a longtime boyfriend she’s still in love with, and a young man who’s a serial dater and kind of tired of relationships. They both like to eat out but dislike having to go to nice restaurants alone, and they happen to meet while waiting to be seated at a restaurant, each of them alone. The hostess mistakes them for a couple and offers them a couple special, which prompts them to sit together and end up having dinner together. After their first unexpected meeting, they meet and have dinner together weekly. That’s how they strike up an unusual friendship where they get together just to eat out, and over multiple dinners, they open up to each other about their relationship troubles and grow closer.

Link where you can watch it:

https://dramacool.so/drama-detail/dinner-mate

7. Oh my venus.

This is a drama about two Childhood friends meet again in their adulthood and find themselves making a bet on a “diet challenge”. The story focuses on their journey of searching for love and health.

Kang Joo Eun meets Kim Yeong Ho, who agrees to be her personal trainer to help her get healthier. As they work on her physical transformation, they both discover they have feelings for each other. As they grow closer, they heal each other's emotional wounds and fall in love.

Link where you can watch it:

Is on Viki but here's the link too

https://dramacool.so/drama-detail/oh-my-venus

8. Cheat on me if you can ( Is still on emission, there's only two episodes left).

For her work, best-selling crime author Yeo Joo researches how to make a murder look like an accidental death. Next to her is her younger husband, Woo Sung, who is a family man and works as a divorce lawyer. Woo Sung still thinks he's a sexy, attractive partner, and lives on with his wonderful marriage life. However, lately, Yeo Joo, who would rather be a widow than a divorcee, starts finding some of his behavior suspicious. Could he be cheating on her? Could Woo Sung possibly be enjoying a thrilling affair behind her back? Yeo Joo tells it straight: If he cheats, he will die.

Link where you can watch it:

Is on Viki but also here's the link https://dramacool.so/drama-detail/if-you-cheat-you-die

9. The beauty inside (one of my faves).

Han Se Kye is a top actress, also known as a troublemaker, with many rumors around her. To others, her life appears as a mystery, when in fact she is faced with a strange occurrence where she must change into a different body and new identity for one week a month. She encounters Seo Do Jae, a brilliant man who is an executive at an airline company. He seems to have it all: a perfect appearance, knowledge, and a good job; but he has a secret too. He suffers from Prosopagnosia, the inability to recognize faces. However, he manages to hide this from the world, every day he makes an effort to remember people by their personalities.

Seo Do Jae's life begins to change when he meets Han Se Kye. She is the only person whose face he can recognize. But with Han Se Kye's constant disappearance and change how long can she keep her secret?.

Link where you can watch it:

https://dramacool.so/drama-detail/the-beauty-inside-korean-drama

10. Royal secret inspector aka Secret royal agent (is on emission now, there's a few episodes left).

Set towards the end of the Joseon era, Sung Yi-Gyeom placed first in the state examination and he now works at the Hongmungwan (administrative and research department). He doesn't have a goal or ambition for his life. One day, Sung Yi-Gyeom is caught gambling. As punishment, he is assigned to work as a secret royal inspector. His job is to eradicate illegal acts and corruption by public officers. He carries out his new job with the help of Hong Da-In and Park Chun-Sam. Hong Da-In is a female inspector and solves cases with Sung Yi-Gyeom. Park Chun-Sam is Sung Yi-Gyeom’s servant. Park Chun-Sam is talkative, affectionate, and tearful.

Meanwhile, Sung Yi-Beom is Sung Yi-Gyeom’s younger stepbrother. His father is a nobleman, but his mother is a slave. Due to his mother's low social status, his father does not accept him as his real son and he is barred from having certain opportunities. He opposes his older stepbrother Sung Yi-Gyeom.

Link where you can watch it:

https://dramacool.so/drama-detail/new-secret-royal-inspector

#myfavoriteskdramas #kdrama #kdramadaily #kdramaedit #my edit #**mine #kdramas #jtbc live on #oh my venus kbs #dinner mate mbc #live up to your name tvn #the tale of nokdu kbs #hogu's love tvn #cheat on me if you can kbs #clean with passion for now jtbc #royal secret agent kbs #the beauty inside jtbc #kdramas underrated part 1

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route22ny · 3 years

Link

Inside DC’s Secret Covid Morgue

Written by Luke Mullins

April 21, 2020—The clerics have been sworn to secrecy. On this warm morning, they’ve come to a vast and empty parking lot, instructed not to tell anyone of its location. The pitch of asphalt is unusually secure, hidden behind a 12-foot chain-link fence that’s been swathed in sheets of black tarp to prevent anyone from peering through. At the front gate, armed soldiers stand guard.

Inside, large trailers are arranged behind tented canopies and banks of lights. Metal ramps are affixed to each trailer so that stretchers can be wheeled in. The interior walls of the trailers are lined with seven rows of metallic shelving, sturdy enough to support thousands of pounds. The temperature is 24 degrees.

The clergymen gather with a handful of city officials in front of the canopies. They form a circle, each six feet apart from the next.

Reverend Andre Towner of Covenant Baptist United Church of Christ.

Imam Talib Shareef of Nation’s Mosque.

Rabbi Shmuel Herzfeld of Ohev Sholom–The National Synagogue.

Dr. Donell Harvin, a top official at DC’s homeland-security department.

Kimberly Lassiter, a supervisor at the medical examiner’s office.

And Dr. Roger Mitchell, the chief medical examiner himself.

Wearing masks and rubber gloves, they bow their heads. Tomorrow, the first body will be sent here. Today, a blessing.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

One by one, the clerics offer prayers, solemn exhortations for strength and humility, courage and dignity, resonating above the grinding hum of the trailers. Imam Shareef invokes the victims—“Their deaths,” he says, “are not to be in vain.” Reverend Towner prays for the workers, that their bodies will be protected from the virus, that their minds stay healthy during the difficult days ahead. Rabbi Herzfeld stresses the righteousness of the mission. “In Judaism,” he tells the group, “we believe that the greatest kindness is to care for the dead.”

***

It’s an ominous time in the nation’s capital. Several miles away, federal officials are dismissing warnings about the deadly airborne pathogen that has exploded out of Asia. Their unwillingness to act has impelled local governments across the country to launch their own scattered efforts to prevent Covid-19 from decimating their communities. In the District of Columbia, where African Americans make up 46 percent of the population, the task is especially urgent, given the virus’s disproportionately cruel impact on people of color.

Over the previous month, the city has been locked down as panicked residents watch their leaders navigate a 100-year crisis in real time. Mayor Muriel Bowser shuttered businesses. The DC Council pushed through legislation to extend unemployment benefits. Health-department officials opened testing sites and implored residents to wear masks and keep their distance. But away from public view, a weightier matter has come to preoccupy a little-known but essential corner of the bureaucracy: the caretakers of the dead.

“There’s not going to be a parade for you guys. You’re not going to get discounts or big thank-you signs. The work we do, we do in silence.”

It’s a problem of space. As Drs. Mitchell and Harvin prepared for the pandemic, they realized that the city’s morgue didn’t have the capacity to handle the surge of fatalities that the virus would leave behind. And so, over the previous few weeks, they hustled to secure the land, equipment, and manpower necessary to build an additional facility.

The clergy who led prayers on the day the field morgue opened were there to make sure the space didn’t violate the tenets of their three distinct faiths, and to consecrate the site as one. Then the work began. Over the next two and a half months, Harvin, who describes himself as the “general in charge of the death troops,” and his top deputy, Lassiter, who has recovered bodies throughout DC for more than two decades, will oversee the makeshift mortuary. By the time the spring surge is through, 404 Covid victims will have passed through the site.

Still, through it all, almost no one in the city will have any idea the Covid morgue exists. The work is carried out in strict secrecy; staffers are instructed not to disclose the site’s location or tell anyone what takes place there, not even their own family members. A mistake—such as a body being released to the wrong family—would be humiliating for the mayor and the city. News footage of workers moving the dead could upset victims’ families, opening new wounds, or lure gawkers to the site. As much as anything else, though, the silence reflects the professional ethos of those who perform this work for a living. While they’re dispatched to every hurricane and school shooting, their efforts take place entirely behind the scenes. They are the first responders you never see.

The District of Columbua invited an imam, a rabbi, and a minister to consecrate the morgue.

***

“There’s not going to be a parade for you guys,” Harvin tells each new set of workers to arrive at the Covid morgue. “You’re not going to get discounts or big [thank-you] signs. The work we do, we do in silence. Not even the family members of the victims will know what we do. There’s a pride in that. There’s a silent pride in that,” he says. “You’re taking care of someone’s grandmother, grandfather, husband, daughter, son, and that’s a higher calling.” When it’s all over, they’ll return to their previous jobs or assignments and no one will ever know what they’ve done here. “It’s a heavy burden,” Harvin says. “It’s a very heavy burden.

“[But] the world is watching,” he assures them, “whether they see us or not.”

***

Donell Harvin is 48 years old, with a sturdy build and flecks of gray in his goatee. He’s married to a physician and has four daughters. He lives in Howard County and spends most of the year looking forward to his annual scuba-diving trip.

Over the last 30 years, Harvin has been an eyewitness to some of America’s darkest moments. As an EMT, he responded to the World Trade Center when it was bombed in 1993; after joining the New York Fire Department, he was there when the towers were destroyed in 2001. As a deputy director in New York’s medical examiner’s office, he led the effort to identify victims of Hurricane Sandy. And in 2012, at the request of Connecticut officials, Harvin assisted with forensics after the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary.

His path from first responder to frontline bureaucrat began in the Bronx, where he spent his teenage years. After dropping out of high school, he got a GED and then a college scholarship from the Children’s Aid Society, enlisting as a paramedic. Though he loved the work, as a young father he began to worry about his safety. He was caught in shootouts while tending to accident victims and lost colleagues in ambulance crashes. On 9/11, his wife and daughters saw him on TV, racing away from the rubble, and then didn’t hear from him for 24 hours. Upon seeing their faces when he finally got home, he knew it was time for a change.

Harvin went back to school and earned a master’s in emergency management. Landing a position with New York’s chief medical examiner, he became an expert in mass-fatality management—the grim business of identifying and processing victims of large-scale tragedies. He also came to know Mitchell, and the two worked together on Sandy Hook. Two years later, when Mitchell was hired as DC’s chief medical examiner, he recruited Harvin.

Donell Harvin, who was at Ground Zero on 9/11, helped devise DC’s Covid death-handling protocols.

***

Their immediate task in the District was to turn around an office plagued by mismanagement. But an equally important project loomed. The previous year, Washington had been shaken by tragedy when a mentally disturbed government contractor gunned down 12 people at the Navy Yard. Although the medical examiner’s office had properly managed those deaths, officials realized that a larger or more complex disaster would have overwhelmed its capabilities. The city needed a mass-fatality division robust enough to absorb the kind of tragedy that Harvin and Mitchell hoped Washington would never face. They went about building it—securing federal funds, adding staff, and running mass-casualty drills.

By early 2020, Harvin had been in Washington six years. He’d since left Mitchell’s office and finished a PhD in public health. He was teaching at Georgetown and had become chief of homeland security and intelligence at DC’s homeland-security agency. But the imminent arrival of Covid meant the District was facing the catastrophe he and Mitchell had trained for, the biggest mass-fatality event in the city’s history.

On March 2, Harvin went to DC’s Emergency Operations Center for the first day of formal briefings about how the city would navigate the pandemic. Halfway through the morning, he found a quiet spot in the hallway and placed a call to his mother. “This is going to be bad,” he said.

***

The city morgue is located at 401 E Street, Southwest. In any given year, only a fraction of the fatalities that occur in DC pass through the facility. When a person dies of natural causes at a hospital, nursing home, or hospice, a physician will typically sign the death certificate and release the body to a funeral home. It’s usually only those who die alone or in unnatural or suspicious circumstances whose bodies go to the morgue, where medical examiners determine the cause and manner of their death.

Initially, Harvin and Mitchell planned to use this same approach for the pandemic, relying on hospitals—where the bulk of virus-related deaths would take place—to serve as de facto Covid morgues. But they quickly revised their thinking. For one thing, little was known about how contagious the disease might be postmortem. Would storing victims at hospitals risk infecting staff? At the same time, Harvin learned from former colleagues in New York—which was being ravaged by the virus—that hospitals were too overwhelmed to manage the bodies properly. The result was an appalling spectacle: forklifts carrying pallet-loads of bodies outside hospitals, decedents stacked on top of one another in trailers. At one point, police discovered nearly 100 rotting corpses in unrefrigerated U-Hauls parked by a Brooklyn funeral home. As the funeral home’s owner told the New York Times, “I ran out of space.”

The city handles the body of every Covid fatality, a process meant to ensure victims don’t pile up at overwhelmed hospitals, as in New York. Above, an autopsy room and viewing area at the city morgue.

***

The truth is that all mass-fatality events carry the potential for this type of disgrace. Amid the chaos of a calamity, victims get misidentified. Morgues fill up. “We saw that with Hurricane Katrina—bodies just left out there,” Harvin says. “And that’s a stain on our society.”

So Harvin and Mitchell made a decision that would set them apart from most coroners and medical examiners in the country. Instead of depending on the hospital system, the chief medical examiner’s office would assume responsibility. Every single person who dies of Covid in DC would be sent to Harvin and Mitchell’s team—a protocol that remains in place today.

By studying the mortality rate and projecting infection levels for the city, the men estimated that as many as 3,500 residents could perish in the pandemic. Or one in every 200. Putting aside the magnitude of the suffering, the math presented a serious logistical problem: The city morgue had an official capacity of only 205. The solution was apparent—they would have to build the Covid morgue.

Harvin immediately began acquiring the materials he’d need. He ordered six refrigerated trailers. He borrowed mobile light towers for nighttime work and generators for power. He acquired PPE, Porta-Potties, drinking water, 500 gallons of hand sanitizer, and heavy-duty body bags specially designed for mass tragedies, 4,000 in all. For families who couldn’t afford funerals, the District agreed to pay for cremations. And to prevent a backlog of fatalities, the city shortened the time it would hold unclaimed bodies before they could be cremated, from 30 to 15 days.

The truth is that all mass-fatality events carry the potential for disgrace. Amid the chaos of a calamity, victims get misidentified. Morgues fill up.

Meanwhile, Harvin combed the local and federal bureaucracy in search of an additional 30 workers—to volunteer. The Army agreed to detail members of its mortuary-affairs unit, which had operated similar morgues in combat zones. A trade association found out-of-state funeral directors who wanted to pitch in. DC’s Medical Reserve Corps, a group of volunteers willing to assist in health-related emergencies, provided workers. The DC Guard and the Air National Guard sent personnel.

As he rushed to get things in place, the virus was already spreading through Washington. Harvin felt the same sense of foreboding he’d experienced six years earlier when he was waiting for Hurricane Sandy to make landfall. “It’s like a slow-moving train,” he says. “You know it’s coming and you can’t stop it.”

***

While Harvin was acquiring equipment and manpower, his top lieutenant, Kim Lassiter, spent two days driving around the District, scouting possible sites for the morgue. At her last stop, she got out of her car and peered through the fence. The property had everything. It was city-owned land—a parking lot for DC employees, empty because staffers were now working from home. It was large enough for the trailers, and it could be secured with tarps and guards. Most important, the site was inconspicuous: You could drive right past it and not realize it was there. “This is perfect,” Lassiter thought.

Lassiter, a 54-year-old grandmother with a soft smile, is the second-longest-tenured medical examiner’s employee, with nearly a quarter century on the job. In the 1990s, she lifted the victims of gang wars off street corners and washed the blood from their wounds at the morgue. In 2002, she used x-rays to identify the remains of Chandra Levy, the 24-year-old intern whose murder had become the subject of national fascination when it was alleged she’d been dating a married congressman around the time of her disappearance. And in 2008, Lassiter carried the remains of four children—ages 5, 6, 11, and 17—from the house where they’d been decomposing for seven months, after their mother, Banita Jacks, became convinced they’d been possessed by demons and killed them.

Lassiter came to the work by way of her own personal tragedy. She grew up in a housing project in Prince George’s County, with five brothers and sisters. Her father wasn’t around, and her mother, who worked in healthcare, struggled to do it all on her own. She eventually fell victim to drug use. It was up to Lassiter—the eldest of the children—to run the household. She cut class three days a week to watch her siblings. At 12, she got a summer job to support the family. Even after she graduated from high school and entered the workforce, there were periods when she would drop everything to nurse her mother through the various chemical fogs and illnesses that encumber the life of an addict.

In 1987, when Lassiter was 21, her mother passed away. Lassiter was called to the hospital. A nurse escorted her to the elevator, and they rode down to the basement. There, in a frigid room, Lassiter found her mother lying motionless on a stretcher. Her eyes were still open. “I felt like,” Lassiter remembers, “she was waiting for me to show up.”

Kim Lassiter, a 25-year veteran of the medical examiner’s office, ran the Covid morgue day to day.

***

The nurse explained that her mother was being taken away for an autopsy. Lassiter didn’t know anything about the process, and the news frightened her. “If I could have gone with her through that,” she says, “I would have.”

Following the funeral, Lassiter obtained custody of her siblings, whom she supported through her job as a clerk at the US Department of Health and Human Services. A few years later, her life took an unexpected turn when she spotted an alarming story in the newspaper: The DC chief medical examiner’s office had released the wrong body to a grieving family. The incident sounded both outrageous and intriguing; more than anything, it reminded Lassiter—by then a mother herself—of when her mom had been sent to the morgue. She called the office, talked her way to a supervisor, and asked if she could help. She joined the office as a volunteer.

This was the late 1990s, and the agency was considerably smaller than it is today. Lassiter was quickly hired and eventually promoted, becoming one of seven technicians responsible for a full sweep of duties: fielding intake calls from police, snapping photographs at death scenes, transporting decedents to the morgue, and assisting with medical examinations and autopsies. She viewed the work not as some macabre responsibility but as an expression of love. While she hadn’t been able to care for her own mother after her death, she now looked after the deceased loved ones of others.

When arriving at a place of death, Lassiter is vigilant about wearing a blank facial expression, to acknowledge the gravity of the circumstances. She offers condolences, then completes her tasks—attaching the toe tag, placing the deceased into the body bag—at a diligent pace so as not to prolong the trauma of those looking on. Once an autopsy is complete, she uses tight, neat sutures to close the incisions. She then washes the stains from the body and wraps it in a crisp white sheet.

Occasionally, when working alone, Lassiter has found herself speaking out loud to the bodies. If she hits a pothole while driving someone to the morgue, she’ll apologize. I’m sorry. Upon entering the morgue’s cold-storage facility, she sometimes greets the people being kept there. Good morning. When examining a crime victim’s body—particularly when it’s a child’s—she often pledges to help get justice. I’ll do everything in my power to find the evidence needed to make whoever did this to you pay.

The hardest days are the ones when she finds herself face to face with someone she knows. One morning, as Lassiter was preparing for autopsies, she checked the manifest and saw a familiar name. It was an older woman, a friend of her mother’s who’d looked out for Lassiter as a child. She walked into the cold-storage room, slid the body out of its cabinet, and said goodbye. It was the only time she ever broke down crying at the morgue.

***

April 22, 2020—The day after the religious leaders consecrate the site, the Covid morgue begins to stir with workers in face shields, gloves, and white protective suits. It’s been six weeks since DC recorded its first case of Covid, and the death toll has exceeded the city morgue’s capacity. Now the first wave of bodies is arriving.

The process begins with a phone call. A hospital official, or sometimes a police officer, contacts the medical examiner’s office. Lassiter, who is chief of the transport unit, dispatches her team to the scene. Two workers, in full PPE, arrive in a black, unmarked van. They present paperwork for the physician’s signature. In the hospital’s morgue, they take custody of the body. Opening the body bag, they attach identification. They zip the bag closed and spray the outside with disinfectant, then place it into a second, heavy-duty body bag. They disinfect it again. The workers lift the decedent onto a stretcher and paste an identification tag onto the bag. They slide the stretcher into the back of the unmarked van.

Every body arriving at the Covid morgue is first accounted for at the intake tent, then transferred to a refrigerated trailer.

***

At the Covid morgue, the workers move the decedent onto a table in the intake tent. Here, they weigh the body, to help confirm identification, and enter the victim’s name into a computer. They wheel the decedent across the blacktop and up into one of the refrigerated trailers. Next, the transfer. If the victim is heavy, the workers—at least two, sometimes four—lift the body onto one of the lower shelves. If the person is light, they place the body on a higher shelf. The staff use internal coding—6D, 2A—to record the exact location. They exit the trailer, remove their protective suits, and put on fresh ones.

A victim typically remains at the Covid morgue a few days, rarely longer than a week. During that time, a separate team calls family members to help them through the paperwork. Once burial arrangements are made, the funeral director schedules a pickup. The workers wheel the victim out of cold storage and into a second tented canopy—the release tent. They again wipe down the outside of the body bag. They again spray it with disinfectant. The funeral director pulls up. They load the dead into the hearse.

***

Though it was difficult to find volunteers, Harvin had assembled what he called “a coalition of the willing.” The active-duty Army morticians and military reservists, the citizen volunteers, the funeral directors, along with medical-examiner staffers and UDC students. While many had backgrounds in mortuary services, others did not. “We had people,” Harvin says, “who had never touched a dead body before—never seen a dead body.”

When each new group of volunteers arrived, Harvin—“the general in charge of the death troops”—brought them together to discuss the effort. The victims had come to the Covid morgue after suffering lonely and terrifying deaths—hooked up to breathing tubes, surrounded by masked doctors and nurses. “These people often were dropped off at the hospital, and they couldn’t see their loved ones for two or three or four weeks,” he continued. “They expired around complete strangers.” The staff’s goal, Harvin told the troops, was to provide each person with a dignity in death that they didn’t experience during their last days of life.

The operation has depended on volunteers—students, funeral directors, military reservists with no prior training.

***

Then he turned it over to Lassiter, who ran the day-to-day operations. She instructed new volunteers how to implement the values Harvin had espoused. When carrying the deceased, move deliberately and with caution. Keep the body as horizontal as possible. Do not, under any circumstances, stack one on top of another. Check, double-check, and triple-check the manifest to make sure each victim is in the correct rack. And pay respect through your words. Lassiter never refers to the deceased as “corpses” or “cadavers” or “cases.” Instead, she calls them “my people.”

“That’s the only way I can get [the workers] to treat them the way they would treat someone that they love,” Lassiter says. “Because it makes them see how special these people are to me.”

***

Gerald Slater, 86, was a television executive at PBS and WETA.

Richard Paul Thornell, 83, was a Howard law-school professor who helped establish the Peace Corps’s first-ever program, in Ghana.

Jose Mardoqueo Reyes, 54, was a refugee of El Salvador’s civil war and a beloved internet-radio broadcaster.

Luevella Jackson, 87, was among the first female bus drivers in DC’s public-school system.

Samuel Shumaker III, 90, was an Army colonel who also taught English and creative writing at UDC.

Florence Gilkes, 97, was a loving wife and aunt, as well as a dedicated fan of the Washington Football Team.

Iraj Askarinam, 76, owned a restaurant in Adams Morgan, where he regularly provided free meals to the homeless. They called him “Mr. Spaghetti.”

***

By May, the pandemic’s bleakest days had arrived at the morgue. The daily influx of new decedents fluctuated—eight one day, 19 the next. As the volume swelled, the workers came face to face with the breadth of the city’s suffering. They began recognizing the last names of victims they’d been dispatched to retrieve, and it dawned on them that these were additional members of already devastated families. Payton McFadden, a UDC premed grad, describes the crushing duty of traveling to a DC hospital to collect the body of a Covid-positive baby: “We had went and gotten one of the [baby’s] family members one week prior. [Covid] was slowly but surely matriculating through the whole house.” In a searing example of the District’s racial inequality, 74 percent of the fatalities were Black. “I will never forget this as long as I live, ever,” Lassiter says. “It just took so many people at one time, so suddenly.”

A Chicago-area funeral director who asked to be identified only by her first name, Stacey, came to Washington to volunteer. She served in the medical examiner’s main office, calling families and guiding them through the process of finalizing death certificates and retrieving loved ones. On one occasion, she spoke with a man whose father was in the Covid morgue, and he dissolved into tears. The man explained that they’d been estranged for years. It was only recently that they’d finally begun speaking again. “We do help carry that burden of grief,” she says. “And it’s hard.” On another day, she had a series of conversations with a police officer whose mother was at the disaster morgue. When the officer suddenly stopped returning her calls, Stacey got hold of his wife, who told her he’d been hospitalized with Covid himself. Nearly a year later, she still wonders about him. “It is always in the back of my head,” she says. “I don’t know [if] he made it through.”

Routine tasks touched off bouts of anguish. A worker might spot a detail about a victim that resonated personally: a birthday shared with the worker’s daughter, the same last name as a best friend.

As the morgue’s lead official, Harvin was spending up to 12 hours a day at the site. “Everyone’s talking about Covid and fatalities, and it’s just numbers to them. We’re actually dealing with them,” he says. “I have a PhD and I’m in there putting on gloves and a [protective] suit and I’m helping the crews move bodies in and out of trailers. It’s visceral for us.”

The staff feared for their own safety. “The scariest thing was [potentially being] exposed ourselves,” says Denise Lyles, supervisor of the investigation unit. Lassiter grew terrified that she’d infect her family. “I have a husband that goes out and he works. I was concerned about him,” she says. “Grandchildren that are asthmatic, concerned about them.”

Routine tasks touched off bouts of anguish. While checking the manifest, a worker might spot a detail about a victim that resonated personally: a birthday shared with the worker’s daughter, the same last name as a best friend. Harvin and Lassiter did what they could to look out for their staff’s mental health. At the end of each day, Lassiter pulled people aside to see if anyone was experiencing symptoms of anxiety or depression, connecting them with counselors or chaplains. Over time, even veterans of the medical examiner’s office began struggling with the weight of their mission.

After several weeks at the site, Harvin found that when he returned home from work, he would drift into a haze. He had no appetite. He stopped engaging his wife in conversation. He passed entire evenings staring blankly into the television. “I don’t even know what I’m watching,” he recalls. “I had no motivation.”

Harvin, of course, had worked mass tragedy before. After hijackers flew the first plane into the World Trade Center, he approached the South Tower on foot. From two blocks away, he saw bodies falling from the sky and his entire body froze. He couldn’t take another step forward. Minutes later, there was a deafening sound and the tower disappeared into a cloud of gray debris. Out of the rubble came a speeding ambulance. Harvin jumped into the back along with dozens of other firefighters and cops. As they neared the North Tower, Harvin turned to one of them. “Doesn’t it look like this one’s leaning?” he said.

He spent the next two days at Ground Zero searching for survivors and recovering the dead. The experience was so traumatizing that he vowed never to return to the site. But he found the work at the Covid morgue even more emotionally taxing. “I survived September 11,” he says. “I didn’t know if I was going to survive this.”

“There were so many women. So many mothers there.”

While he was able to walk away from Ground Zero after the attack,the pandemic was taking new victims each day. Every time Harvin arrived at the Covid morgue, he confronted a fresh supply of misery, and there was no end in sight. “Your mind and your soul get worn down far long before you body [does],” he says. Recognizing that he was experiencing depression, he turned to colleagues at the homeland-security department and found solace in chatting with them virtually.

For Lassiter, the pain manifested not as psychological trauma but as profound sadness. The heartache was always there, growing more intense over time. May 9—Mother’s Day—was the hardest. It had always been a tough one, the day her own mother’s death was most painful. But there was an additional heaviness now; she couldn’t stop thinking about everyone at the Covid morgue. “There were so many women,” she says. “So many mothers there.”

Though she was scheduled to be off, Lassiter didn’t feel right staying home on that particular day. She left her house in Prince George’s County and made the 25-minute drive to the site. Arriving at the morgue, she put on a protective suit and greeted the workers. “What are you doing here?” they asked. “It’s Mother’s Day,”

“I know,” she replied, “but I came down because I wanted to really thank you for what you’re doing.” She understood that some of them were mothers themselves, and she appreciated them for spending the day at the site.

Lassiter walked over to the cold-storage trailers and turned to face her people. “Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms,” she said. As she returned to the car, she noticed a lightness of spirit.

“It felt kind of like a sign of relief,” she says. “Just to speak out. To let them know that someone cares.”

***

June 2020—As summer approaches, the pace at the Covid morgue begins to slow. Fewer victims are arriving; the number of bodies in the trailers is declining. By the end of the month, the volume is thin enough that it can be handled at the city morgue. Washington’s first wave of Covid has reached its conclusion.

It’s time for Harvin to shut down the disaster morgue, at least for now. But before doing so, he organizes a final ritual. On July 7, 2020, Rabbi Herzfeld, Reverend Towner, and Imam Shareef return to the site. They were present at the beginning, and Harvin wants them here today, too.

The faith leaders gather by the intake tent as a group of three dozen workers form concentric circles around them. They offer prayers of thanksgiving that the work is coming to an end. “It is at death that the earth receives its treasures,” says Imam Shareef. “And we want to honor the facility that now has allowed for individuals to be returned back to the earth.”

After the ceremony, Lassiter assembles the men and women on her team to thank them for their two and a half months of service. When she finishes, a soldier who was assigned to the site pulls a patch off his flak jacket and approaches her. “This patch has been around the world,” he tells Lassiter, “and I want you to have it.”

Though the pandemic rages on, Harvin and Lassiter can’t help but feel a certain triumph. They haven’t misidentified any bodies. None of their team has contracted Covid. They know they may be back. But in a dark and painful year, this is a good day.

Months later, Lassiter will remember it, the special pride she felt that despite dozens of workers toiling and thousands of pounds of equipment rumbling, despite 404 fatalities passing through, word of the Covid morgue never reached the public. Her colleagues hadn’t enlisted for accolades. They’d pressed through the fear and the grief in order to care for the innocent victims of a historic pandemic.

“It felt good,” Lassiter says. “Even if no one would ever know about it.”

It’s been nearly a year since the pandemic struck Washington. In the first four months of lockdown, the city lost three times as many jobs as it did during the 2008 recession. By July, small business revenue had been cut in half. Metrorail ridership has plunged by as much as 90 percent. Over the coming four years, the District is anticipating a budget gap of roughly $800 million. All told, more than 933,514 people in DC, Maryland, and Virginia have contracted the virus, and 15,148 have died.

Today, Covid fatalities are being processed at the city morgue in Southwest DC; although the number of deaths is once again elevated, it’s well below the peaks of last spring. At the disaster morgue, the light towers have been hauled away and the generators have gone silent. The trailers are resting on a deserted blacktop. Each day, thousands of cars pass right by the site, oblivious to what happened there. If they knew where to look, though, the drivers could see something that Harvin made sure to leave in place. The DC and US flags, rising above the fence.

***

This article appears in the March 2021 issue of Washingtonian.

#death #long reads #washington DC #covid-19 pandemic #luke mullins

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nefariouscryptid · 3 years

Text

Durante Timeline

May 2018: assault on Peter Durante. Frikoski and Durante partnership is off.

July 2018: assassination of Ivanoff Frikoski’s wife. SLATE members are laid off, Michelle Wilson is de promoted .

November 2018: Plethora Valentino finally returns home in shambles, Brian Valentino confronts Peter Durante and Jason Byrne. The idea of possible tension is brought to light.

December 2018: Under the radar due to lost job, Michelle Wilson contacts Ivan Frikoski and discusses idea to destroy the Durante empire. Idea escalates to Durante empire and any governments heavily associated such as U.S and other allies

January 2019: Plethora Valentino retires assassin job, put under government surveillance and signs non-disclosure documents prohibiting talk of his job or anything he knows, and will be treated as treason against any governments he has worked for and punishable by torture or death. No longer able to witness any suspicious behavior

Gwen Richman, in offers to redeem herself, is “befriended” by Michelle Wilson and assigned multiple tasks in spying on other SLATE generals and steal documents. She is to use her STEM courses as coverup and tools. In return she is given higher benefits among her peers

March 2019: Aj Richman finds out about Gwen and Michelle’s arrangement, is forced to join said arrangement. Job is to tamper with documents and jobs recruited on without getting caught. Is also given benefits

May 2019: Peter and Jason are alerted of another failed assassination commissioned by Japan, forced to discontinue treaties and associations. Adds to growing agitation among associates. Peter completely stops funding SLATE and cuts all ties from the organization.

July 2019: Gwen assassinates vice president of United States under SLATE orders in commission from an unnamed country. U.S government scrambles for explanation, initially puts blame on Durante. Serves as distraction for Ivan and Michelle to start gathering treaty documents from Durante specifically, gathering info on what to set up as broken rules. Peter proves that he has nothing to do with the assassination of the Vice President. Jason suggests that it has to do with the recent cut ties with Russia due to payments being both delayed and not paid in full at the set time between them and Durante. Peter and Jason investigate correspondents between Russia and America.

October 2019: increasing agitation between Anahii and Peter, resulting in a temporary breakup. Anahii moves out. Peter and Mr. Stanhope become increasingly agitated at each other due to Peter’s new careless attitude to everything that has occurred within the past few months. Stanhope informs American officials that Durante might not be as reliable as they thought due to new careless attitudes. It’s taken into consideration but nothing much comes from it

Cassandra Valentino is approached by Michelle Wilson and proposed to join the efforts in taking down Durante. Michelle used personal information such as mental state of her husband and increasing agitation amongst Durante and other powers as a sign of unsafe possibilities. Alarmed, Cassandra declines, afraid of getting caught or getting into something she doesn’t want to.

January 2020: Anahii Durante is abducted at a Gala, no where to be seen. Peter is alerted, and holds off on a search for her, afraid it is either a trap to compromise any men he might send, and out of general disinterest. Anahii is now in captivity of Ivan Frikoski, and forcefully married to him

February 2019: Cassandra finally informs her husbands of Michelle’s proposition. Still angered at the damage his husband had endured, Brian Valentino seeks after Michelle and takes up her proposition instead. Begins to gather info on politicians and governments distributing drugs to communities. Two birds with one stone, attack of Durante and Governments. Anahii refuses every advance Ivan makes towards her, failed to escape once, breaking both her arms in the process. Peter attempts suicide. Extremely alarmed, Jason forces Peter to go to therapy and take a break. Jason takes over work for the time being.

March 2019: Anahiis arms are removed, told that they were damaged beyond repair. Enraged and horrified, she attempts to kill Ivan, but is too weak to do so. She’s put in a private rehab center. Jason begins to start cracking down on suspicious activity in transactions and sees opened files on drug distribution on dates they shouldn’t have been opened. Jason contacts Brian and threatens to terminate him if he’s had anything to do with it. Alarmed, he assures he had nothing to do it. The Valentino family is now red flagged. Brian cuts off all ties with Michelle.

April 2019: Peter hires a new secretary Meredith to replace Anahii, Jason becomes increasingly jealous over time. Jason temporarily moves in with Peter. Anahii attempts escape once again and fails, is “executed” by Rosalina Frikoski on camera. Doesn’t work because Rosalina is a child and doesn’t wanna kill her so only ends up making a light gash. Ivan has a new found interest in Anahii, seeing she is able to handle pain like he is and heal at “remarkable” pace. Gwen gathers information on other de promoted officials of SLATE after the assassination and finds that most of them are now dead. Majority of them were killed at both request of the U.S and other governments involved with SLATE and Durante for security reasons and to prevent whistleblowers. Those who aren’t killed, like Michelle, are ones that still have jobs within SLATE.

May 2019: Michelle finds out Ivan kidnapped Anahii and is enraged. Ivan assures her that once Peter and Jason find out they’ll think this is the most they’ll do. Aj informs Michelle of a new commissioned assassination deal between England and SLATE. Plans to assassinate the Queen and blame in on North Korea in hopes of producing a new world war, effectively so England could invade the country and gain title of ending that reign. Eases tensions with the public and creates new senses of nationalism as well as increased military strength. Ivan leaks these documents to the public, completely severing SLATE ties from the U.K and causes the U.K and North Korean War. England scrambles for military help, and requests aid from Durante. Peter (back to work) and Jason supply high grade weapons and treaties for nuclear weapons. With the new war, Durante is distracted and redeeming itself.

June 2019: Ivan requests to meet Gwen and Aj, offers deal to get them away from their current lives and lead them to freedom and luxuries. Gwen declines, sensing that his proposition is bullshit. Aj considers, however its unknown if she took it or not. Regardless, she is never seen again. Peter is informed that Ivan has Anahii. Not wanting to send anyone after her due to their relationship issues and the fact they’re technically broken up, he does nothing. Anahii escapes for the final time, and is successful. She calls Peter on a pay phone, and he reluctantly sends men to get her. She is brought back to him and is shocked at her new appearance and what she went through. Reluctantly let’s her live with him until she finds a new place to live. They resume a “relationship” but Peter remains absent while Anahii is longing. Durante begins to keep closer eyes on Frikoski

September 2019: Meredith attempts to kill Peter in their home, breaking in despite every security measure. Unknown as to how. Anahii kills Meredith and call for someone to dispose of the body. Heartbroken and enraged to find they’ve been sleeping with each other, Anahii moves out for good, periodically taking her stuff and moving it into an unknown location.

November 2019: Peter is informed that a strain of COVID had been leaked in Wuhan, China and is requested for aid. He declines. This effectively forces China to break ties with North Korea to focus on COVID. North Korea loses the war and is dismantled. Becomes part of U.K. China no longer works with Durante and tensions increase. Michelle after studying the Durante security system during the time Meredith breaks in, goes to Brian for any information assuming he would know what kind of security he had. He refuses gives her details. Michelle threatens to expose and kill his entire family if he doesn’t resume helping her. He’s already too far in to start backing out now. He knows too much. Terrified, he gives her basic information, however is unaware she is taking notes on his home as well assuming that’s the basis knowledge he’s using. Ivan contacts Chinese officials and requests aid, specifically regarding any hackers and military in taking down Durante. They agree.

January 2020: Plethora Valentino comes out of retirement and is recruited once again as an assassin, and is informed to assassinate the President of the United States at request of the Afghanistan. Ivan and Michelle leaked these requests, however voided Plethora and other assassins names. The assassination is never carried out.

This contributed heavily to the already existing war between the countries, and threats of world war 3 arise. This also kept the U.S distracted and focusing on using their money and power on the military and new war. Heavy tensions spark between Durante and existing powers, everyone sensing low security on Durantes part. Any and all deals have been both temporarily and permanently discontinued. Durante finally heavily cracks down on any treasonous activity occurring. Cassandra notices that stocks are plummeting, not from any activity on her side. They quickly go back up. Still confused, she contacts her boss, who says to report it to Durante. Remembering her interaction with Michelle, wonders if this had anything to do with it. Still afraid of putting her family at risk, especially since they’re now red flagged, she doesn’t bring it up to Peter or Jason. They can’t have any more discrepancies tied to their family name.

February 2020: Anahii meets Jae-Hwa and they hit it off. Michelle abducts both Michael Rivera and Vanessa Saeed and force them to start a plan. They will go to Peter with “evidence” that both Ivan and Michelle have counted that state Michelle Wilson is the one responsible for all of the information leaks and compromised jobs (however they will not be able to trace to any correspondence with Ivan). This will cause both false comfort among Durante and Peter and Jason will send someone to kill her. They are to now create a crime scene, forging that an assassination has occurred. They are to spread her DNA via blood and any other body fluids and hair the spot in which she was “killed”. When Peter and Jason are to come to the scene, there will be no body because it was already disposed and cremated. They will walk in while cleaners are cleaning up the mess. Because recording assassinations is prohibited, all they need is to set up the scene in her home. Pictures are also now prohibited to prevent further leaking in any scenario. Michelle will have successfully faked her death. She will hide with Ivan from that point on. Whatever trouble they get into for disposing the body prior to Durantes orders is what they’re going to have to deal with. Better then dying if they didn’t comply.

May 2020: Anahii temporarily moves back in while Jae- Hwa finishes business with his family company and prepares for retirement. The two are not together yet but agree to move in with each other once everything is settled. Covid is now widespread. All correspondences between Durante and Government correspondences between other countries are delayed. Peter and Jason deal with their own feelings for each other in private, causing both to fall into some depression. Jason being worried Peter is going to attempt again, completely moves in with him.

Both begin working from home, begin to plan on assassinating Ivan. They both agree that with the radio silence from Ivan’s side after Anahii was rescued means danger. Gwen informs Michelle of possible tensions between Durante and Russia after coming across old documents regarding their break up and missed payments. Ivan contacts Russia and requests aid. They agree.

June 2020: Plethora and Cassandra find out about Brian’s correspondences between Michelle. Huge fight ensues. All three agree it’s now best that they just comply with Michelle after being threatened with death if they didn’t. Brian, terrified that he fucked up his marriage, passes out from stress. Wakes up and assured that he didn’t, but what the fuck Brian. All three don’t know the weight of what is going to happen because of their involvement. After some hate sex with Peter (both extremely drunk), Anahii moves out with Jae-Hwa, her now boyfriend. Peter figures out he’s gay.

July 2020: Plethora is informed that he will be assassinating Ivan when the time comes, because despite the last failed assassination he has an incredible record. Further stress between the Valentino family ensues. He accepts reluctantly, having their family already be red flagged from tampering on their jobs, denying will most likely result in either loss of power or death. The three desperately hide the correspondence from Michelle. Michelle successfully fakes her death. Peter and Jason are convinced, however expectedly pissed that the “body” was disposed of prior to their arrival at the scene. Both Michael and Vanessa are then killed to prevent whistleblowing by Ivan. Their deaths are unreported, covered up by them being fired by SLATE. Gwen is promoted and now no longer working with Michelle. Peter and Jason finally confess to each other and are now in a relationship. All attention to any treasonous behavior between any party is now ignored.

August 2020: after all info against neighboring countries, along with already obtained info between correspondences regarding sex trafficking, media, and organ trafficking with Ivan, aid from China and Russia, everything is set. Ivan and Michelle mark a date to kill Durante, the Valentino’s, and to leak all known data and take over the world. They begin recruiting soldiers under the radar, along with Ivan’s already existing militia

November 2020: Plans to assassinate Ivan continue. Peter and Jason get a surrogate for their child. They’re informed Anahii is 4 months pregnant immediately after. Anahii and Peter object to get an abortion, however Anahii does not want to care for the child. Peter and Jason agree to raise the child. They prepare for two kids. They begin to bundle up on security for their home and identities.

December 2020: Cassandra Valentino is pregnant. All tensions between Durante and Michelle seem to have dissipated due to the radio silence on both parties.

January 2021: the stock market crashes. America is sent into another Great Depression. American and allied powers are in financial shambles. Cassandra, petrified that this now confirms the beginning of the end, rushes to Peter and Jason and tells them everything. Enraged, they put the assassination of Ivan into full effect. They send Plethora out immediately, the job to be carried out as soon as he gets there. Brian and Cassandra scramble to boost security. Anahii is confronted at her home by Michelle, whom Anahii is shocked that is still alive, however delighted to see her friend. Michelle informs her of what is going to happen, and that she encourages Anahii to go under witness protection with her. Shocked, Anahii declines as she doesn’t want to get involved with any of this kind of thing ever again. She is also angered, realizing she now has to care for a child. However she doesn’t object, her hatred for Peter and Jason already brewed, they bid their farewell to each other.

End: Peter and Jason are assassinated. Ivan and Michelle’s forces break into the Valentino home, assassinating them as well. Their men are informed to preserve the fetus in Cassandra. Plethora Valentino is assassinated upon arrival where he was supposed to kill Ivan. The Whitehouse, Pentagon, and other American facilities are breached by both Ivan’s, Russia’s, and Chinas military. The same occurs amongst European, Middle Eastern, and other neighboring countries. The world is sent into a WW3. The Frikoski empire has begun.

(may be periodically updated. Not every event/change is included.)

#alex banters #my ocs #oc #ocs #original character #durante timeline #ref #my writing

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rockislandadultreads · 3 years

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Wartime Mysteries: a reading list

Billy Boyle by James R. Benn

Billy Boyle, a young Irish-American, cop from Boston has just made detective - with a little help from his cop relatives and friends - when World War II breaks out. His rabidly anti-English family calls on his mother's distant cousin, Mamie, married to a general, to wangle a staff job for him far from the fighting. But instead of a "safe, cushy" stateside assignment, he is ordered to London, still undergoing the Blitz. His "Uncle Ike" is Dwight D. Eisenhower, plucked from obscurity to command Army forces in Europe, and he wants Billy to be his personal investigator. Billy, who had never left Boston before he enlisted and was sent to Officer Candidate School, is not sure how good a detective he really is. But when Eisenhower asks Billy to undertake this task, he dutifully sets off for Beardsley Hall, where the Norwegian government in exile, led by King Haakon, is in residence. Accompanied by an aristocratic Polish officer in exile and a beautiful British WREN, his mission is to catch a spy who may have been planted there. A theft and two murders test Billy's investigative powers, as he comes to grips with the deadly demands of a war he never wanted any part of. To his own surprise - and that of others - Billy proves to be a better detective than any one expected.

The Shadow District by Arnaldur Indriðason, Victoria Cribb (Translation)

A deeply compassionate story of old crimes and their consequences, The Shadow District is the first in a thrilling new series by internationally bestselling author Arnaldur Indridason.

THE PAST In wartime Reykjavik, a young woman is found strangled in 'the shadow district', a rough and dangerous area of the city. An Icelandic detective and a member of the American military police are on the trail of a brutal killer.

THE PRESENT A 90-year-old man is discovered dead on his bed, smothered with his own pillow. Konrad, a former detective now bored with retirement, finds newspaper cuttings reporting the WWII shadow district murder the dead man’s home. It’s a crime that Konrad remembers, having grown up in the same neighborhood.

A MISSING LINK Why, after all this time, would an old crime resurface? Did the police arrest the wrong man? Will Konrad's link to the past help him solve the case and finally lay the ghosts of WWII Reykjavik to rest?

The Murder of Willie Lincoln by Burt Solomon

A historical fiction debut by an award-winning political journalist and Washington insider about the death of Abraham Lincoln’s son--was it illness or murder? Washington City, 1862: The United States lies in tatters, and there seems no end to the war. Abraham Lincoln, the legitimate President of the United States, is using all his will to keep his beloved land together. But Lincoln’s will and soul are tested when tragedy strikes the White House as Willie Lincoln, the love and shining light in the president’s heart, is taken by typhoid fever. But was this really the cause of his death? A message arrives, suggesting otherwise. Lincoln asks John Hay, his trusted aide—and almost a son—to investigate Willie’s death. Some see Hay as a gadfly--adventurous, incisive, lusty, reflective, skeptical, even cynical—but he loves the president and so seeks the truth behind the boy’s death. And so, as we follow Hay in his investigation, we are shown the loftiest and lowest corners of Washington City, from the president’s office and the gentleman’s dining room at Willard’s Hotel to the alley hovels, wartime hospitals, and the dome-less Capitol’s vermin-infested subbasement. We see the unfamiliar sides of a grief-stricken president, his hellcat of a wife, and their two surviving and suffering sons, and Hay matches wits with such luminaries as General McClellan, William Seward, and the indomitable detective Allan Pinkerton. What Hay discovers has the potential of not only destroying Lincoln, but a nation.

The Language of the Dead by Stephen Kelly

German bombers are arriving daily, seeking to crush England. But in a rural Hampshire village, things have remained fairly quiet—until an elderly loner, Will Blackwell, is brutally murdered. The method of his killing bears the hallmarks of the traditional vanquishing of a witch, and indeed, local legend claims that as a boy, Blackwell encountered a ghostly black dog sent from the devil, who struck a bargain for Blackwell’s soul. Not long after the murder, a young woman who is carrying the illegitimate child of a fighter pilot also is violently killed; then a local drunkard ends up in the race of an abandoned mill with the back of his head bashed in. As the Germans continue their relentless attack, Detective Inspector Thomas Lamb rushes to solve the crimes. Do the killer’s motivations lie in the murky regions of the occult?

#historical fiction #fiction #mystery #mysteries #books to read #reading recommendations #recommended reading #book recs #library #tbr #booklr #book list #reading list

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staryak4 · 3 years

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Building And Construction, Structure As Well As Maintenance Services.

Builder Depot

Content

What Concerning Companies Being Experts In Custom-made Construct?

Moving You Closer To Constructing Your Very Own House.

Introduction Of The Brand-new Tool Angel Service At Williams & Co.

' serviced structure stories' are shovel-ready tracts with planning approval, outlined and all set for building with access as well as utilities/services offered to the plot boundary. Some exclusive homebuilders just buy a story; others choose a 'covering' house, or they choose from a substantial menu of choices offered by developers/builders. The aim is to draw in brand-new participants right into the industry, and also offer focussed training to develop the qualified workforce required to build today's excellent quality brand-new houses. So whether you are developing residences available or rent, the fund provides up to 5 years money to fulfill the development prices of your project. HBF has created a close working partnership with the Welsh Federal government that enables us to directly influence arising national housing and also preparation policy. We on a regular basis attend a selection of Welsh Government forums, consisting of the Council for Economic Revival, which is chaired by the First Minister and supplies an important system for guaranteeing the WG is completely familiar with our problems.

What are the requirements for a loft conversion?

Is building regulations approval needed for a loft conversion?the structural strength of the new floor is sufficient. the stability of the structure (including the existing roof) is not endangered. safe escape from fire. safely designed stairs to the new floor. reasonable sound insulation between the conversion and the rooms below.

HBF is also straight associated with the local planning framework in ales and goes to all Citizen Growth Strategy Exams in behalf of the home building sector. We additionally work closely with a range of stakeholders and organisations on Technical matters, such as recommended modifications to developing policies as well as we hold routine Technical Forums for our membership. When find a builder fleet get a Sweetcroft Residence, you acquire into a different sort of homebuilding. We believe that once you have actually moved in to your new residence, you will wish to remain there for several years. So we construct high quality and also sustainability right into the project right from the start.

What Concerning Companies Being Experts In Customized Develop?

Once preparation is approved, we will certainly release you with a Supply just or Supply and also Erect agreement with a projected kit cost. We will wage producing thorough construction illustrations for incorporation in the entry to your neighborhood structure control division. An architectural engineer will be called for to create structures as well as on-site design.

Landing Page Builders Market Size 2021 Global Market , Analysis, Research, Business Growth and Forecast to 2024 Market Reports World - NeighborWebSJ

Landing Page Builders Market Size 2021 Global Market , Analysis, Research, Business Growth and Forecast to 2024 Market Reports World.

Posted: Tue, 19 Jan 2021 09:27:00 GMT [source]

We have gone to pains to stress to Federal government that it need to be utilizing its very own more accurate Net Additions to Real estate Stock numbers that reveal there were 217k web enhancements in 2016/17. There are numerous elements that will certainly add to the final rate of a self-build project. Eventually, the rate to construct a home will certainly be affected by the materials chosen, the scale of labour involved, the land you are building on, and many other components. try it now>> is essential to wellness of the UK economic situation. Rather apart from the social advantages that build up from a well housed populace, the house building industry adds ₤ 19.2 bn a year to the UK economic situation, sustains 600,000 work and also has a mostly domestic supply chain.

Relocating You Closer To Constructing Your Own Home.

In a couple of situations, positive groups of people have actually constructed homes jointly on bigger sites. Pocket Living is an exclusive designer being experts in building affordable houses for local very first time buyers who are evaluated of the free market and also can not access social housing. They are commonly first-time customers on low or center incomes who maintain local areas flourishing but are battling to remain in their area. The residences are not built to be marketed to abroad purchasers or as an investment, nor can the houses be purchased to be rented out. HBF, working with participants, wants to make certain that the public perception of the industry with the media, government as well as third parties is exact. Our industry photo work-streams are developed to inform all third parties concerning the facts of the sector and reveal realities as well as data that tell truth story of residence structure.

According to Ipsos Mori surveys appointed by NaCSBA between, one in four possible exclusive homebuilders suches as the concept of interacting en masse. This is when a group of people set themselves up as an organisation to obtain the building of a number of residences as a cumulative. There are many methods this can be done-- for instance, by creating their own advancement business, or by setting up as a housing co-operative, a co-housing organisation or as a real estate association. This is presently a small share of all exclusive homebuilding-- accountable for approximately 3 percent. This is when individuals commission the building and construction of their house from a developer/enabler, builder/contractor or plan firm. With 'custom construct' the residents usually don't do any of the physical building job but still make the crucial style choices. Specific percentages are not recognized yet based upon our understanding of the market, around a 60 percent of all private homebuilding is currently provided by doing this.

Intro Of The Brand-new Device Angel Service At Williams & Co.

We are therefore encouraged that this contribution might permit the charity to develop two risk-free as well as safe and secure homes for families that have never had that opportunity before. Though less than 10% of land in England has actually been developed, and only 1.1% established for residences themselves, the accessibility of developable land continues to be a key barrier to house building. You can plan ahead with self-confidence, understanding we'll climb to every obstacle to fulfill your relocating day.

There are thousands of aspects involved in home building, from the scale of the construct, to the layout, the materials and the ending up touches. For a really general estimate, it is easiest to consider the cost to build a residence per square foot, or more usually, the price per square metre. Simplifying like this, at the lower end of the spectrum, a brand-new construct residence may cost just ₤ 1,400 per square metre. At the top end of this range, you might be considering even more like ₤ 2,500, or perhaps ₤ 3,000 per square metre. A regular, typical rate to keep in mind is possibly around ₤ 1,800 per square metre.

Covid Break Out Hits Laing Orourkes Liverpool Hospital Task.

The FMB located even stronger assistance for exclusive homebuilding amongst its members with 89 percent saying that they see it as an advantage for their service. The FMB also ended that the stipulation of serviced plots was essential to scale up supply as well as create brand-new chances. The private homebuilding market has the possible to quicken supply, specifically where permissioned serviced building land is helped with, or where custom-made develop designers offer plan solutions and 'shell houses'. The polls also suggest that 1 in 50 are seeking to take details action to proceed their job in the following year (ie. the short term). The Ipsos Mori surveys likewise indicate people being more likely to support brand-new housebuilding in their area if personal homebuilding comprised a larger share of the new real estate advancements.

UP Builders Show, now with new name, being moved to Westwood Mall - ABC 10 News NOW

UP Builders Show, now with new name, being moved to Westwood Mall.

Posted: Thu, 14 Jan 2021 23:43:46 GMT [source]

Sweetcroft Homes is a family organization with over thirty years' experience of property advancement in Oxfordshire. We specialise in creating as well as building top quality homes using sustainable products and also methods to maximise ecological advantages. With such an exceptionally broad classification, it is very hard to put a basic rate on the price to develop a home.

Assigning a regional engineer, land surveyor or other building market expert can be very useful when self developing a home. They will act as your representative and can provide skilled assistance with the whole procedure. The NHBC discovered that 54 percent of smaller builders would favor to build even more residences for exclusive homebuilders.

Mark Jenkins, 51, from Caerphilly, ripped off greater than ₤ 1m from consumers in Cardiff, Merthyr Tydfil and locations of Bristol and also north Somerset over a two year duration.

He billed one family members virtually ₤ 17,000 for refurbishment work with their home - but actually only carried out a small amount of demolition as well as digging job worth simply a couple of hundred extra pounds.

The betting addict would overcharge clients, demand large amounts up front as down payments as well as frequently stop working to finish work.

Lee Slocombe, 37, from Pontypridd, defrauded his sufferers out of ₤ 43,000 after requesting even more money to complete his jobs.

He left customers half-finished renovations, often obtaining financings to full work, and suffering increased stress along with health issue.

#builders near me #builders in london #find a builder #trusted builders #builders merchants near me #reputable builders near me #general builders near me #trusted builders near me #local builders near me #building contractors near me #small builders near me #builders near me checkatrade #recommended local builders #checkatrade builders #local builders merchants

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jaerie · 4 years

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2019–It’s been quite a year. It went so fast, yet at the same time, I didn’t even remember some of these fics had been posted this year and not many moons before that! Thank you to everyone who read, commented, kudo’d, and supported me this year! Even the smallest things encouraged all the words in all the fics below. 😘

🎥 going live (E,15k,abo) Harry has only done this cam thing a handful of times when another camboy pops in to view his stream and unintentionally stirs things up a bit. Or Louis and Harry are both camboys for some extra cash and meet each other in an unconventional way

🧬 The Post-War BP (E,18k,abo) The eight year war has left the country's birthrate severely stunted with a lack of virile alphas left to bring it back up. To ensure the survival of the country, the government opens The Breeding Program where young omegas can apply to carry an alpha's child in exchange for benefits. Louis' family is struggling and the BP is one of the only ways to secure a roof over their heads. Harry was drafted at the age of eighteen and spent six years of his life defending a country he doesn't recognize when he returns home. The government made the bed but it's Harry that has to lie in it.

🏔 A Long Way From The Top (E,11k) Harry needed to find a purpose in life. Mount Everest wasn't the place he'd expected to find it, but he'd take what he could get. He also hadn't expected to come home with extra baggage.

🧊 Ready, baby? (E,1k) Harry gets an earring. Louis is the one to do it. Or a pain kink drabble.

🎒 whoops (M,1k) Louis was just trying to get revenge on Niall for the prank he pulled a few months ago. He didn't mean to find himself trapped in the closet while Niall's roommate, Harry, decides it's a self-love kind of night.

🍼 freaks from the internet (E,3k) Harry sells his breast milk to freaks on the internet. Louis turns out to be one of those freaks. He also happens to be Harry's ex.

👭 Sisterwives (E,33k,abo) This was it, the moment Louis had been waiting for his entire life. Giddy excitement bubbled up as he held hands and stared up at his soon-to-be alpha and husband and grinned. The ceremony was small and simple, but Louis didn’t mind. Fresh flowers pinned into his hair and a brand new outfit was all he needed to feel special in front of their few witnesses. It was just some members of his family and a few of the church elders in attendance as was customary for any marriage beyond the first wife within the faith. First wives were the ones to have elaborate weddings with the whole community involved. An alpha’s first wedding was a celebration of an their coming of age, his first steps into fulfilling God’s prophecy. There were many glories for an omega that came with being a first wife but also many responsibilities. Louis had never aspired to be a first wife or even a second. He wasn’t experienced enough to be the leader of an alpha’s many wives and children and he didn’t think he’d be up to the task. Louis was just fine in the position he was stepping into as the seventh. Or Louis thinks he's getting everything he's ever dreamed of. Harry helps him find what makes him truly happy.

🤱🏻 Challenging Nature: A Look Into Male Lactation (E,11k) Even taking into account all the bizarre things Harry has subjected himself to in the past for the sake of an article, Harry has received his strangest assignment yet. It comes up as a random misunderstanding in a meeting and builds into a conversation — can men breastfeed? Internet searches reveal documented cases of male lactation popping up at different times throughout history, but are any of them true? Can a man will himself into lactating? Harry has two months to make it happen.

🤏🏼 tiny exaggeration (E,4k,abo) Louis is frustrated that they've been dating for months and still haven't taken their relationship to the next level. Sometimes the foolishness of the past lingers in the present. Louis wants that to change.

👶🏼 The Time Is Now (M,1k) Louis is mid-one night stand when he finds out he's going to be an uncle in a matter of minutes.

🏨 100ft Away (E,2.5k) Harry opens Grindr for a hookup and ends up with more than he bargained for. It all works out in the end.

👽 enough tin foil for the apocalypse (G,1k) Louis comes home to a tin foil covered house and his boyfriend's secrets

🎵 Everything I need I get from you (M,10k,abo) In a world where music and sound are just as vital to health as food, Harry is stuck in a town that thinks professional music is a scam and a relationship he never wanted. One chance event changes his life.

🎶 Restless Lane (E,15k,abo) Louis had grown used to his boring life back in Mississippi as a stand-in father figure to his siblings. He never expected his childhood friend to show up on his lawn with the heat of summer or that he would remind Louis how much of himself he'd tucked away and neglected. He also never expected to find himself caught up in a tangled web of feelings or secrets that just might break him. Maybe he had never known Harry at all.

🏋🏻 you got what i need (E,3k) Harry loves his husband Louis, but his personal trainer Liam just gives him something he needs to start his day. Turns out Louis needs the same thing. Oddly enough, they get it from the same source.

🍆 the appointment (M,1k) Louis convinces Harry to make an appointment at a classy brothel. His appointment is with someone named Liam.

⚓️ Into Always (E,4k,abo) Harry finds his ex's knotting dildo and gets a little curious. Louis is more than willing to help out.

🍑 just remember that you did this (E,1.5k) Louis' heat inconveniently hits him at the beginning of his beach vacation. Harry volunteers to help him out but doesn't exactly tell Louis everything.

🐭 Cat & Mouse (E,2k) It's the one day out of the year that Harry doesn't have to hide and can be himself — at least he thought so. Louis is just a little more observant than he anticipated.

🔪 Tonight's the Night (E,21k) Tonight’s the night. The night Harry has been waiting for. Everything has been carefully planned, nothing left to chance, the scene set and waiting for their arrival. It’s time. Harry lives a double life. During the day he's Harry- trusty blood spatter analyst, at night his darkness comes out to play. So far he's been able to act his way through a normal life without drawing attention. What happens when that is no longer the case? Or a Dexter AU where Harry is Dexter, Liam is Doakes, Niall is Masuka and Gemma is Deb.

🏠 I Think You're Already Home (E,38k,abo) Seeing Louis Tomlinson today, it would be hard to guess that he was ever once a member of the world's most famous boyband. These days he doesn't even the leave his own house. The truth is he can't leave his own house. He can't even remember the last time just standing at an open door didn't send him into a debilitating panic attack. But, against his friend's advice, Louis is ready to add meaning to his life again. He's ready to start a family. So what if he doesn't have an omega? There are plenty of surrogacy services just waiting to help the rich and famous become parents. He just has to find the right one for the job.

🎄 Pretty, Pretty Lights (E,3k,abo) It's the first time Harry and Louis have been home for Christmas together since their parents got married. More importantly, it's the first time they've been home together since they'd presented. They meet up under the glowing lights of the Christmas tree.

👠 High Heels, Red Dress (E,15k) Louis answers the call when Pearl Harbor is attacked and there is no way around it. The United States is at war. Hiding his queer identity isn't so hard until he attracts the attention of a particular soldier. It's all lies and secrets until the war is finally over. Maybe then Louis can finally have his happy ending. It's up to fate to decide.

Buy me a coffee? https://ko-fi.com/jaerie

#my fics

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dragonkeeper19600 · 4 years

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Houseki no Kuni vs. Steven Universe

Context: I commented on a Houseki no Kuni video on YouTube agreeing there was no point in comparing Steven Universe and Houseki no Kuni, as a lot of marketers have done in the past, because Steven Universe is clearly better. A Houseki no Kuni fan derided my view and “challenged” me to explain. So, I found myself writing an essay. An actual essay. To explain what Steven Universe does right and what Houseki no Kuni does wrong. And, I stand by it enough that I want to repost it here.

So, here we go.

Let's talk character, shall we? Now, a lot of fans of Houseki no Kuni bring up the fact that comparisons to Steven Universe are mostly arbitrary, that despite being gemstone-based works, both have different rules, lore, characters, story, etc. All of which is totally fair and accurate. We shouldn't assume that two stories are the same or are even trying to accomplish the same thing because they both have a character named "Yellow Diamond" or "Padparadscha" in them. But, that said, there are a few story similarities the two works share. Both deal with a main character who undergoes an arc from an immature idealistic to someone much more mature and wiser. (Though, this is a storytelling convention unique to neither series.) Additionally, a major focus in both works is the main character's relationship to their main parental figure and role model. In Houseki no Kuni, this would be Adamant-Sensei. In Steven Universe, this is Steven's mother, Rose Quartz. Rose Quartz is deceased, of course, and Sensei is not, but for the most part the protagonists' relationship to these individuals is very similar. Both Phos and Steven go from idolizing these figures and seeing them as the epitome of what they themselves should aspire to to strongly reevaluating their previous hero-worship and coming face to face with all the hardship they've truly caused in the past. In this way, Phos and Steven can be said to through similar stories with similar lynchpins to start their journeys.

However, the moment you realize this crucial similarity is when the comparisons between the two arcs begin to crop up. And, in every way, Steven Universe is more dramatic, more focused, and has a better setup and payoff than Houseki no Kuni. And don't think I'm saying that Steven Universe is tonally darker than Houseki no Kuni because it isn't. That's not what I mean by "more dramatic." Dramatic doesn't refer in this case to scariness of subject matter or imagery, it refers to how strongly motivated the protagonist's decisions are. How badly do they need something and how are their decisions motivated by that need?

Let's start with Steven Universe. While Steven's goals. problems, and beliefs change a lot throughout the course of the series, there are two clear motivations that remain throughout his entire journey. They are:

1. Protect the Earth.

2. Who am I?

That's it. Everything Steven does can more or less be boiled down to those two things. The first problem represents the biggest physical source of conflict in the series. There are wild gem monsters roaming the Earth endangering the human population, many of the antagonists who come to Earth want in some way to harm the Earth. Keeping the planet and the human race safe is what motivates not only Steven but all his allies.

The second motivation deals with Steven navigating his identity as not only a gem hybrid but, perhaps even more crucially, as the only child and heir to someone he's been taught to believe was a great hero. His mother, Rose Quartz, protecting humanity from destruction. She led a rebellion against a tyrannical government to free other gems. Despite being an alien, she grew to love humanity and fell deeply in love with one human man in particular. She gave up her very life to have Steven. Etc., etc. From the beginning, Steven has been attempting to live up to his mother's legacy. In this way, Steven's second motivation, who am I, is even more important than the first because it is what drives him, and the rest of the Crystal Gems, toward the first goal. The reason they fight so hard to protect Earth is largely because of the precedent set by Rose Quartz. This is what changes wanting to protect the Earth because it's the right thing to do to needing to protect the Earth as a way to connect to Rose Quartz, someone they all love and long for. When you compare the two, wanting will always be less powerful than needing.

As the story goes on, Steven learns slowly but surely that the situation isn't as black and white as he'd thought. The monsters he'd been fighting are actually gems who underwent an involuntary transformation, most of the villains who attack humanity aren't doing it simply because of their wickedness but are directly reacting to what Rose Quartz has done. Their actions are the fallout of her actions, and a lot of the antagonists are motivated by very real and (as Steven discovers) justified hurt by what Rose Quartz did to them. Many of them are mourning people who were lost in the war she caused, several were emotionally wounded by her directly, including some among Steven's closest friends. Steven's view of his mother changes from sunny and worshipful to one of uncertainty and even resentment. But, through Steven's growing knowledge, wisdom, and attitude change, his goal of "Who am I?" remains unchanged. Because now, his goal changes from proving he's like his mother to proving he's not like his mother by becoming a better class of hero, one who heals instead of hurts. Though his quest of self-realization has changed from "I am the same," to "I am different," the core goals that motivate his thinking have not changed.

Now, keeping all of that in mind, Steven's needs and how the most important figure in his life informs those needs, let's go back to Houseki no Kuni. Phosphophyllite starts off the series in many ways the same position as Steven. He's the youngest gem, he's weak, he's inexperienced, and he's naive. He completely idolizes not only his Sensei but also the fighting skills of the other gems, wishing to be as strong as they are. The main difference in their situations is that while Steven started off the series being adored by the other gems, Phos mostly only irritates his people, but in all other ways, Phos and Steven start off in very similar places.

Phos's goal is also clearly established in the first episode/chapter of Houseki no Kuni: "I want to be valuable." Phos is constantly derided for being a worthless gem. With a hardness of only 3.5, useless in battle, and in general incompetent, Phos wants to prove that he can be useful, that he can be needed. So far so good. That's a strong motivation and a clear way forward for the story. The building blocks of Phos's arc have been put in place.

The problem, the big problem that drags the rest of Houseki no Kuni down, is the execution. The inciting incident (the thing that gets the plot started) in Houseki no Kuni is when Sensei hands Phos the notepad and tasks him with writing the encyclopedia. Immediately, there's an issue of timing. Phos may be the youngest gem, but the story clearly establishes that when the story starts, he's 300 years old. Why is Sensei only now asking him to do this? The fact that gems are immortal beings doesn't change how many days and seconds long 300 years is, which is a lot. Phos's attitude and desire to be useful aren't a new thing, so why did Sensei wait until he was 300 to give him something to do? Like, what was Phos doing all that time? And, if Sensei was content to let Phos carry on doing nothing for 300 years, why did he decide now was the time to give him a job? Just a whim? Sorry, but a whim is not enough. Sensei doesn't need the encyclopedia done. If he needed it, it would have been done hundreds if not thousands of years ago. But no, he comes up with this on the spot, as Phos is lying in a bag in pieces, presumably just to make Phos feel important.

But, okay, now Phos has been given a task. Finally. So, does Phos use this task to prove he can be useful? Does he strive to be the best writer/researcher he can be in the hopes that people will take him seriously? Does he even seem to care about the encyclopedia thing at all? Nope. His immediate reaction is to whine and complain that the encyclopedia assignment is not good enough. For the length of time that the encyclopedia remains a plot element (which is surprisingly little), Phos frequently expresses a lack of interest if not outright disdain for the project. Heck, even when Euclase tries to get him to investigate Ventricosus's shell, something he points out no other gem knows anything about and would be a huge discovery, Phos immediately tries to pass the task back to Euclase. They're outright asking him to do something important, something no one has ever done before, and he's not doing it.

Okay, that by itself wouldn't be so terrible because Phos finds another goal for himself in the form of Cinnabar. Early on, as Phos struggles to find a starting point for the encyclopedia, he talks to Cinnabar and discovers how bad his situation is. Cinnabar, too, carries on a task that he knows has no value (night patrol), he never interacts with anyone because the mercury constantly radiating off his body makes him a danger to everyone, and he's even more fragile than Phos with a hardness of only 2. Everything about Cinnabar's character seems designed to make him appear as the one person lowlier then Phos. Here is someone who could actually need Phos. Phos's vow to find him a better job (something only he can do) is a powerful moment because it shows how Phos is choosing to make himself valuable, by helping someone in a way no one else can.

So, then, Phos's bond with and desire to help Cinnabar is a big motivator in the story, right?

That's a hard no, as well. After Phos returns from the ocean, his desire to help Cinnabar becomes mostly an afterthought. As the story goes on, Cinnabar becomes less and less relevant. The manga rapidly approaches the point where Phos never thinks of Cinnabar at all. Late in the story, the other gems actually find a better job for Cinnabar without Phos, something which is humiliatingly easy for them to do. I get that Phos slowly forgetting Cinnabar is supposed to be a tragedy, symbolic of him losing himself as more pieces are broken off and replaced, but it doesn't read as tragic because I didn't like the person Phos was in the first place. He was whiney, incompetent, and showed an inability to follow basic directions despite being 300 fucking years old. So, his transformation was just from "asshole" to "different kind of asshole." Yeah, I don't care about that. I don't miss who Phos used to be, and I don't like who he is now, so his transformation doesn't affect me as either positive or negative. It's just kind of a thing that happens.

But, why does Phos change so much? What is it that made him so bitter, so jaded (but somehow no wiser or more competent)? Well, that would probably be the winter with Antarcticite and his quest to learn more about Sensei and his connections with the Lunarians. Antarcticite's shattering and capture marks the first major personality change in Phos. It's the beginning of his cynical outlook, and his desire to rescue Antarcticite is what compels him to investigate the Lunarians, which leads him to Sensei. Since the Lunarians and Sensei are much more the focus of the plot, I'm not sure why we wasted so much time with the encyclopedia and Cinnabar if the true inciting incident was Anarticite's shattering (halfway through the anime!) but whatever. So, now we have clear motivation, right? We have a clear need, right?

Not really. Because there's no reason Antarcticite's fate would lead to Phos being suspicious of Sensei. There isn't. I get why he would become more interested in the Lunarians, but why would that lead to growing hostility toward Sensei? Antarcticite's shattering wasn't Sensei's fault, and none of the other gems who have lost partners have a desire to blame or question Sensei, so why does Phos? Because he's just special or something? Phos discovers that all the other gems suspect something's up with Sensei and the Lunarians, but they've all agreed not to bring it up because they respect Sensei. Phos was just as devoted to Sensei as everyone else, so why can't he let it go? He doesn't grieve more than the others, he isn't any smarter than the others, so what? It gets even more muddled when he realizes Antarcticite also knew and didn't want Sensei investigated. So, Antarcticite, Phos's main source of grief who is supposedly so special to Phos and his main motivator doesn't want Phos to investigate Sensei, and Phos still can't let it go. There's a moment (which is featured in this very video), where Phos murmurs to himself that he "just wants to know the truth." Oh, he just "wants to know?" So, we're back into wanting instead of needing. Phos's quest for the truth, by his own admission, is a want and not a need. But, just wanting is not good enough. Wanting is not compelling, wanting is not interesting. He has to need the truth about Sensei.

Like, suppose the Winter Arc happened differently and Antarcticite's shattering was Sensei's fault? Like, Sensei does something or says something that leads to Antarcticite's shattering. The most extreme version of this is that Sensei shatters Antarcticite himself (something we've seen him do to Phos and other gems before) because Antarcticite accidentally discovered something about Sensei's connection to the Lunarians. And, suppose Phos was the only witness to this incident because it's winter and all the other gems are hibernating. And, let's further suppose that Phos tries to tell the other gems what happened when they wake up, but none of them believe him because Sensei is just so beloved. Now, Phos has a real reason not to go along with everyone's complacency, now Phos's quest for knowledge becomes a need instead of a want. Because now, it's not just curiosity driving him, he's compelled to seek justice for Antarcticite. And this goal sets Phos apart and makes him valuable in the way he always wanted because now he's the only one who will hold Sensei accountable, someone no one else is willing to do. And, this carries the same tragic irony that the actual story tries and fails to convey. In his desire for self-actualization, Phos has condemned himself to a lonely road no other gem would choose to walk and that he himself wouldn't have chosen at the start of the story.

But, that's not the version of the story we were given. Instead, it's curiosity that moves Phos, and as he loses more pieces of himself, the things that he used to care about, rescuing the other gems from the moon, fighting the Lunarians, helping Cinnabar, all fall away as Phos constantly gives up on his previous goals in pursuit of new ones. Again, I get that this is supposed to be tragic, but if the main character can't be bothered to care, then why should I? It's not helping that Pho's character arc is caused by (not symbolized by, caused by) physical changes that basically means he becomes brain-damaged every time he loses a body part. Instead of changing and growing organically, as Steven does, Phos is instead having his mind, memories, and personality reset after every arc. That's not growth or character development, that's just stat change.

I could go even deeper into the series and all of its problems: how the Lunarians' motivation is also a "want" instead of a "need," how the series uses Buddhist imagery and motifs to trick people into thinking the story is more profound than it really is, how the character designs for the gems make them all look like the same person wearing different wigs, and how many of the side character have one-note personalities as opposed to Steven Universe's complex characters and unique character designs, but when you get right down to it, Houseki no Kuni's main core issue is that there isn't a good enough reason for anything to happen. Steven Universe has clear emotions that drive the story forward. Houseki no Kuni does not.

When I was in sixth grade, my language arts teacher told us that a story was not just a collection of events. It's not just, "this happened, and then this happened, and then this happened." It's, "this happened because of this or this happened to complicate this." Steven Universe does that. Everything that happens is a consequence of what happened before. Houseki no Kuni just kind of has things happen. Why does Sensei give Phos the encyclopedia assignment? Just a whim. Why does Phos want to investigate Sensei? He's just curious. Why do the Lunarians want to pass to the next world? They just think it'd be nice. Why did Sensei reconstruct Phos after 220 years? Because Sensei is a dick.

In light of all this, I'm fully convinced that the reason Houseki no Kuni gained any kind of popularity at all is because of the art style of the anime. That's it. Because, when you really break it down, it doesn't have anything else going for it. Except the soundtrack, I guess. The soundtrack is nice.

#steven universe #houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #analysis #criticism #phos #sensei #cinnabar #rose quartz #antarcticite #lunarian #writing

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kchuarts · 3 years

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Flowers in Blood

A/N: BRUH I’M A MACHINE. I CAN’T STOP WRITING AND I’M JUST AS EXCITED AHHHHHH. Yeah, I’ve got a nice creative flow going right now

Summary: Pine has to live with the choice he made, what else could possibly go wrong!?

Warnings: Mention of drug usage

ALSO!! There is a transgender woman in here that is a bad guy, but please please please please do not read this as that as “I hate trans people”. I don’t hate trans people!!! I myself am non binary and just decided to add this type of character in because trans people don’t often get represented as frankly anything in any sort of way. So if you read it as a negative opinion, please understand that it is most definitely not!! Also, Pine is respectful of ALL women because trans women are women! <3

Taglist: @lucywrites02

Chapter 6: Poppy p.ii

The familiar and welcoming ambience of London filled Pine's senses as he stepped off the train. He couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that once he gave Angela the thumb drive, he would be back to smaller tasks. A sob took him out of his slightly dazed state as he saw Katie dashing out of his sight, an arm covering her face as she was undoubtedly crying. It was more than too late to apologize at this point and even if he did, Pine's apology wouldn't make a lick of sense. The first thing he would do after dropping the information off was to get wasted. Tonight seemed like a good enough time to choose alcohol as a means to drown out sorrows. Honestly, Jonathan was surprised at how he wasn't an alcoholic at this point. He reached into his pocket and pulled his pack of cigarettes out along with his lighter. Perhaps the nicotine helped to ease some of the pain.

Having gone through his third stick, Jonathan flicked the butt into the trash and exhaled the remnants of smoke as he made his way to Angela's office. It was awfully quiet going in and something occurred to Pine making him wonder if perhaps Katie already reported in. No, if that were the case then he would have gotten a text of sorts. He already knew his ass would be chewed for not calling back or giving a text to signal they made it safely to London. Pine crossed his fingers that would be the only issue he would be given grief over and not how he treated Katie.

Angela's lips pursed as she saw her best agent walk in, looking dejected. "What in the absolute FUCK happened?"

Pine held up his hand, grimacing "I can explain everything-"

The Director did not give him time to explain as she turned the TV on. A live news report was playing in an area nearby filled with fires and anti-government flags waving in the air. Of course some of the flags had the Poppy flower emblazoned onto the fabric proudly. Angela turned the TV off and turned to face Pine. "So am I to suspect that something went wrong? Because this should not be happening and I should have received news of Abbadon's arrest prior to the riots! Instead, I don’t hear a peep and the woman still walks free!" She shook her head, looking disappointed in Jonathan.

The agent took a deep breath in and sighed, placing the drive and note on his boss's desk. "It isn't Abbadon who is in charge. She shoved these in my pocket when we attended the gala. She is a single branch of something much bigger and told me to remember these names." He held up his hand, using his fingers to count them down. "Belladonna, Bloodroot, Daphne and Wisteria. We are already aware of Poppy and Wolfsbane. I am hoping what may possibly be on that thumb drive is all the information on the branches that we need to take them down." He placed his hand in his pants pocket and looked at the ground. Some part of him wished that Katie was here to tell of how clever she was at befriending Abbadon. Not only that but how she listened to her heart and managed to convince Pine that Abbadon was not who she said she was. That was her place to tell, not his.

"Where is Katie?" Angela set the paper and drive down. Her brow became laced with motherly concern and eyes shimmered at Jonathan. "Pine. Where is she?" Her tone turned angry. She knew something was off the minute Jonathan walked in without his assigned partner and she didn't like it one bit.

Pine shifted uncomfortably, "She's going back to the US. If she's smart enough, I think she's packing her bags right now."

SLAM!!

The impact of Angela's fists on her desk caused everyone in the room to jump. "Damn it, Pine!! What the fuck happened and what did you do!? I do not want any short, bullshit answers so you had better sit your ass down and start talking!! I'm gonna try to give her a call." She huffed at the tall man, fishing her phone from her purse. Her gaze snapped back at Jonathan who just stood there, struggling to find an excuse of sorts. "Well?! Go on then! Maybe I was right, you men are garbage." She noticed Rob look at her in shock and sighed loudly, "Ok you're not garbage, sweetheart. I'm talking about ones who won't fucking give me an answer on what the hell happened to Katelyn O'Connor!!"

"ALRIGHT!! I GET IT!!" Jonathan shouted from pent up guilt. "I-I… I told her to leave because I am afraid to lose her. Having a constant physical reminder of Cameron O'Connor and what happened to him at my damn side can do a real number. The last fucking thing I wanted was to start feeling something for her, come to terms with the past, earn her trust and forgiveness, only to have her killed!!" His tears that had built up betrayed him by slipping down his sharp cheeks. Pine leaned against a wall and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Angela, I can't lose her like I did Sophie. I had to lie through my teeth and call her a stupid rookie that lived in fantasy land! I had to make her think I hate her!" He walked over and placed his hands on Angela's desk. Tears dripped onto some of the paper work as they fell from his cheeks. "She is so smart though. She managed to prove me wrong about Abbadon and reveal who the real person in charge is. It's Abbadon's brother, Daniel. Without Katie, I don't know how I would have seen the truth otherwise." He finally grabbed a chair and sat down, crying softly into his hand. “I could never hate her which is exactly the reason why I am scared.”

Rob stared in shock at Pine as he witnessed his friend break down. Never before had he seen Jonathan Pine so distraught and defeated. He wanted to say something to perhaps lighten the mood, but could think of nothing.

Angela tossed her phone onto her desk and clicked her tongue. "Well, your asinine move probably worked considering she isn't answering my calls." She snatched the drive and paper, turning around to face her laptop and began tapping away. "You can go home now, Pine. I'll contact you when I've got something." She dismissed him, her tone cold.

Taking note of Angela's now toxic mood, Jonathan got up and left, slamming the door behind him. It wasn't the Director he was mad at, but himself. No matter how hard he tried to justify what he did was for Katie's safety, it just didn't sit right. He did it because he is afraid to fall in love and lose her like he did Sophie. That awful night still remained fresh in his mind, even after 7 years. He lost Cameron but due to war and it made him sick thinking of how disappointed his late friend would be knowing how his sister was treated. At last, Pine reached the building and was anxious to think of anything but his faults. He stops abruptly as he notices something on the ground; it's one of Katie's sneakers. Was she in that much of a hurry? Pine brushed it off and decided maybe he should stop by and drop it off in case she hadn't left. By the time he reached her floor, the atmosphere felt off. He didn't like it at all as it gave him the notion that something bad just happened. Could be the residual energy left from their fight three days ago, but it wasn't that. Jonathan's heart began to beat hard and was loud in his ears as he approached her door. With a shaken hand, he grabbed the handle and pushed it down. The door was unlocked, maybe she hadn't left yet? The only problem with this scenario was, not a rustle of frantic packing or footsteps could be heard.

"Katie?" He called out, entering her flat and shutting the door behind him gently. "Katie are you here?" He called out again, receiving no answer. Before he carried onward, Jonathan stepped in something slippery. It was rather dark in the flat and the liquid had a sort of odor to it. When he turned the light on, his stomach dropped as there had been a struggle. Furniture knocked over, sheets torn apart and blood splattered here and there. He whipped around and noticed that a trail of blood had been made going outside. "KATIE!? KATIE ANSWER ME!!" he tossed her shoe aside and frantically looked around her flat, searching high and low. "FUCK!! KATIE!?" Pine noticed her phone on the floor, the screen shattered. Underneath it was a note with sloppy handwriting that definitely was not Katie's.

If you find this, it may or may not be too late for the girl. We are certainly aware of what went on in Moscow and do not appreciate your interference. Consider this a warning and if you're smart enough, you'll pay a visit near London Bridge at 3PM sharp tomorrow. Perhaps Ms. O'Connor is still alive so this was our best shot at getting your attention. You will meet an associate of ours by the name of Joshua and we will know if you bring help. Let's say if we find you did bring back up, little Katie might have an accident that may or may not result in her accidental death. Do not keep us waiting, Pine.

-Anonymous Poppy

P.S.

Roper sends his regards~

In a sudden burst of rage, Pine crumpled the paper and tossed it as hard as he could against the wall. To make matters worse, not only did his eyes land upon a single Poppy but another flower among the Poppy family; bloodroot. Carefully he knelt down, picking the flowers up and noticed some blood drip from the petals. “Katie-” He spoke breathlessly, horrible dread crushing inside of his chest and making it hard to breathe. Tears resided in his blue eyes once again as he stared at the flowers covered in what more than likely was her own blood. “Hold on.” His voice cracked as he stood to his full height, making his way out of her flat with the flowers held tightly in his grasp. He wasted no time in getting himself ready; finally washing away the chill of Russia, dressing in inconspicuous clothing, making sure that his gun was loaded, combat knife sheathed and hidden, and his determination strong. One thing he did wonder was how in the hell Richard Roper managed to squirm his way back into the limelight. He knew that the smarmy crime lord had his ways and his charismatic ways unmatched, but after such a huge blow it was difficult to think of why he’d show his face again. Whatever the case was, it didn’t look good at all. Pine’s jaw clenched at the memory of how Roper had nearly killed Jed and subjected her to horrendous torture. His blue gaze focused hard at the window to the outside, stashing his pistol on his belt in it’s holster. He couldn’t let Angela know what happened or she’d cut all ties and force him to live a life of complete shame. Eventually, she would find out but if Jonathan could get to Katie in time, that was all that mattered to him. Getting her back home safe and alive was all he wanted. Pine shuddered slightly as an icy, invisible touch came over his hand and caused him to pull away in alarm. He looked at his hand, flexing his fingers and shaking his head. That was rather odd and had the agent thinking just for a moment that it could have been something trying to make contact with him.

"I wonder when he will show up!" A short and stocky man with shaggy black hair spun on his heel, getting irritated by the never ending rain. The time was 2:56PM the next day and the associate, Joshua, was already waiting with great impatience. He checked his watch and sighed through his large nose very aggressively, “Well this better not go all to pot. If he don’t show up within the next two seconds-”

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught the grubby man off guard and Pine walked out of the shadows, fury blazin in his baby blues. “Where is she?” He growled, making Joshua very aware of the advantage he had over him in stature. Pine’s hand shot out, grabbing the collar of the associate and getting in his putrid face. “WHERE IS THE GIRL!?” He was letting his anger fly off the handle and get the better of him.

Joshua held his hands up and grinned, “Tsk, tsk, tsk… I’d be smarter than that if I were you, Pine. Should anything happen to me” He tapped his ear piece, “All I have to do is say the magic word and your little friend will go POP just like the weasel!” He laughed, being shoved to the ground and scrambling back up, sneering at Pine. Black, malicious eyes darted from the gun holstered on Jonathan’s belt up to those rage driven blues. “I see you’ve got a little form of negotiation there. Too bad for you, that’s one of the terms you failed to recognize as help.” He waved two fingers and three goons appeared behind Jonathan, knocking him unconscious. “Such a pity this bloke is. Alright boys, take ‘em to the truck and get a move on. He’ll be seeing little Katie soon enough. Hope he likes the make over we’ve given ‘er!” He giggled heinously and rubbed his filthy hands together.

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Ice cold water was dumped over Jonathan, waking him from his state of unconsciousness and making him gasp despite the gag in his mouth. He shivered violently as the dark room he was in did not help make matters any better.

“Finally awake are we?” A woman… or man's voice spoke.

Jonathan’s eyes shot up to see a bony, feminine and masculine figure standing before him in dim light. His brows scrunched in confusion as he couldn’t quite make out if this person was male or female.

“What are you lookin’ at?” They frowned, kicking Jonathan across the face and scoffing. “How rude looking up a lady’s skirt! Haven’t you ever heard of someone who’s born in the wrong body? Of course not, you’re just another one of them transphobes! Why did I even bother to ask?” The woman huffed, her heels clacking on the concrete floor as she approached the bound agent. A pale, bony hand with long red nails snatched Jonathan’s jaw and deep brown eyes bore into his soul. “Mmm cute one you are. Too bad you ain’t my type and I hate men.” She smacked his cheek and stood back up, snapping her fingers. “Boys!! Hit the lights please!! I’d like to give our honored guest a look at his little girlfriend’s make over!”

Blinding lights caused Jonathan to shut his eyes tightly for a moment before adjusting to his surroundings. He was in a warehouse of some sort that was stacked with all sorts of packages and crates containing illegal drugs and paraphernalia. Upon closer inspection the woman, who he mistakenly misgendered on accident, had sported a black eye with other signs of a struggle. It appeared that Katie had indeed put up some sort of fight and did a good bit of damage as the woman also had a limp and nasty bruised ankle.

The woman scoffed and dropped her hands to her sides, “Bloody hell. Joshua can’t you hear a damn thing I tell you?! I said bring out the girl, not stand there and act like you’re stupid!!” She growled and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and raising a brow at Jonathan. “Oh my bad.” her heels clacked over to him and removed the gag but not the rope around his arms or legs. “Names Natalie Baylor, but you probably already knew that if you did your homework properly. Though, you know me by a different name, my dead name. Nathaniel Zayler? Remember that nasty little bloke? Army? No?” Natalie took a drag from her cigarette and shuddered, itching her dead veiny arm.

Now that she mentioned it, Pine did come across Nathaniel before but never got to truly know him. All he remembered was that Nathaniel Zayler was dishonorably discharged for multiple drug offenses and other vile deeds. “Nice to see you haven’t changed in terms of attitude. Sorry about misgendering you earlier, Natalie. I’m actually not a complete arrogant bigot.” Jonathan frowned and groaned, his face sore from the kick. “Just tell me what you want and release Katie. Please.” He winced as a headache also began to make itself known.

Natalie hummed in delight at Pine’s remembrance and apology. “You haven’t changed much either with your polite and respectable approach. Glad to see that some people at least show an ounce of consideration for a lady and NOT misgender her!!” Her hollow eyes widened around at the goons who cowered away in the shadows. “I’ll tell you what Pine, your little girlfriend showed the same amount of respect by putting on a show of agility.” Natalie took a drag from her stick and blew the smoke, looking around and noticing Joshua still standing against one of the crates, flirting with another man. “This is rubbish.” She growled and made her way over to her agent, putting her cigarette out on the back of his neck and grabbing him by the ear with her nails. “I thought I told you to get the god damn girl!! Do not make me remind you again or I’ll take away first dibs rights on the molly and Loveboat!!” She shoved the crony forward before turning her attention back to Pine. One thing that Natalie absolutely despised was being ignored and pretending as if she didn’t exist. “Anyway, as I was saying, little Katie showed that she wasn’t afraid to fight another woman and even begged to try her out. Feisty little fox she is.” The Mafia woman pulled out another stick and began to inhale the nicotine deeply.

“I can see that.” Jonathan growled and squirmed, noticing his gun was of course gone but his knife still strapped under his pants. “So are we gonna get on with what you’re gonna tell me you want from me or no? As lovely as you are, I’d prefer to move along and have Katie home safe.” He grunted as he began to move his arm, attempting to pop it out of place so he could pull it out of the binding. It would hurt like an absolute bitch, but if it meant getting Katie out then he’d pop all of his joints out of place.

Taking another inhale, Natalie sighed and took a seat on one of the crates. “You don’t want to reminisce about the time in the army? I mean, I can’t say I blame you entirely as we both have our reasons. Me with my ongoing issues and identity and you with… Oh wow! Katie O’Connor! Oh why didn’t I see it before!! That’s Cameron’s little sister isn’t she? I knew she looked familiar with those green eyes. Tsk, shame he had to go the way he did in chunks.” Natalie spoke nonchalantly and paid no mind to Jonathan’s reaction to how casually she spoke. “Anyways! So, here’s what’s gonna happen.” She slithered off the crate and clasped her hands together, grinning as Joshua finally brought a ghostly pale and beaten brunette girl out.

Jonathan’s heart sank at how bruised and battered Katie was. A nasty gash ran from her collar bone to her left shoulder, her lip was busted, nose more than likely broken, a dark bruise garnishing her cheek, rope burns around her throat and wrists and other small cuts. “You sick fuck.” He echoed his words of the past from when Roper showed him what he had done to Jed.

“Ah-ah!” Natalie scolded, waving her finger and grabbing the unconscious girl. “So. Because of your little stunt in Moscow, our business regulations have been heavily shifted over to our American branch and have caused a temporary shut down with our location. We are going to be without income from Belladonna for weeks because of the shit you pulled!! Because of this, Wisteria and Daphne will be livid with their lack of resources from us! All because you had to meddle in our affairs in Russia and cause us to lay low from authorities!” She hissed and tossed Katie to the ground in front of Pine. The skeletal woman grinned as she saw the ex soldier squirm towards Katie to the best of his ability. “She was fun to break and seems to carry a lot of hatred towards you. Wonder why that is? Oh right, you watched big brother blow to bits!!” Natalie laughed wickedly and stomped her feet excitedly like a child. Her shrill laughter ceased after a few moments and she leapt down from the small ledge she stood on. “Now, we’ve got a few options here. First one is that we kill you and the girl to get big bonuses from the higher ups. Second one is that you both walk out of here with your lives, but you help us get our end of the business rolling again. I can’t promise that Belladonna won’t come for your heads after that because they more than likely will, but at least you’ll be alive for a short while. Us Poppy seeds got business to do and Natalie Baylor needs her fix to keep her mind off her war crimes. I’m sure you of all people understand that, Pine.” She paced along, almost circling the pair like a vulture. “Third one is the least recommended but it’s the one where you permanently join us and we inform Belladonna AND Roper of your fidelity. If you go with this one and backstab us, then let’s just say I’ve got someone waiting outside sweet mother Angela’s building right now with something that’s more explosive than our riots.” Her rotted teeth gleamed in the flickering warehouse lights. Natalie snapped her fingers again, “Untie him but keep your guns on them. I’m going to give you five minutes to decide while I go get a fix of some smack. If you haven’t made up your mind by then, well I guess option number one is the automatic choice.” She shrugged and almost glided out like a ghost, shutting the door.

Once the restraints were cut, Pine rushed over to Katie and scooped her into his arms. He made a quick assessment of how badly hurt she was, noting the gash and broken nose. “Katie, I’m so sorry… Fuck, this is all my fault.” He swallowed back tears, pressing his forehead to hers and holding onto her with a death grip. There was no way in hell he would let them take her from his arms again. Her faint breathing gave him a bit of relief to know that she was still alive. Pine’s brain raced through the ideas, dismissing the first option of death. While the second option was the most reasonable, that would still put the both of them on Belladonna’s hitlist. Jonathan assumed that Belladonna was Daniel’s branch and the very head of the organization. Now that Richard Roper had seemingly made a come back and joined forces with Daniel Hasapis, made things all the more problematic. He was not about to make an alliance with that monstrous man ever again and left the second option as their only way out. Jonathan looked back down at Katie, pushing her bangs from her face and staring at her resting state. He had promised her that he would never let anything happen to her. That promise was broken and it had him panicking over if she would even look at him. Pine’s heart ached at the possibility of those beautiful green eyes never turning his way again. There was so much of Cameron that he saw in her, and it brought him comfort in knowing a piece of his dear friend still walked the earth. He couldn’t lose Cameron a second time… No, Katie was not Cameron. She was not her brother or his dear friend but a woman who had stolen his heart within the short amount of time they spent together. Jonathan had made the decision that he would walk until the ends of the world to make up for what he had done. Even if she lost any sort of attraction, he would never want to let her go from his life. All he wanted was her trust, happiness, and to see her blossom into the agent she was meant to be.

“Times up!!” Natalie came back in, her eyes black from the effects of the drug blowing her pupils out. She grinned as she saw Pine hold Katie closer to his body and found it endearing. “What’s your answer?” She walked down, squatting in front of them, that wicked smirk still plastered across her bony face.

Pine looked away from Natalie and down at Katie, his eyes full of emotion. “We’ll get your business rolling again.” He stated, then turning his attention to the skeletal woman in front of him. “But swear to me that when this is all done, you leave her out of this. You can do whatever you want to me but do not touch her.” His nostrils flared.

Natalie scratched her chin, musing over his words and then sticking her thin hand out. “You’ve got a deal, Pine. I’ll keep my word so long as you keep yours. Remember what I told you though, I cannot guarantee that Belladonna will leave either of you be once our arrangement has been said and done. You are free to go. Naturally, I suspected that you’d choose this option and have two of my men waiting outside your flat to deliver instructions on what is expected of you for the next three weeks or so. You also understand that you will not receive any benefit from this? That means no cash or any form of payment. Consider that I allowed you to walk with your lives as payment. Now get out.” Her smirk fell and she rose to her feet, waving her hand for the pair to be blind folded. “Oh, and one more thing before we depart! I will know if you make the choice to rat us out. I have eyes all over London so I recommend that you don’t try anything sticky. Toodles!”

Once Jonathan and Katie were blindfolded and driven to an unknown location, they were unceremoniously thrown out of the truck. As soon as the sounds of the car’s engine grew more distant, Pine ripped his blindfold off and huffed as they were placed in the middle of the woods. “Shit.” He growled as they had also kept his gun.

“OH HELL NO!!” Katie sat up right, eyes wide and wincing as she saw Jonathan Pine.

Pine’s expression fell, “Give me a chance to explain-” his vision was now focused on the barrel end of a gun pointed at his face and saw that Katie’s finger was right on the trigger.

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nvcl347 · 4 years

Text

G-man x Female Reader : Relapse

- Warning : Gore and death implicated/involved -

It had never forded his perception of thought that maybe, just maybe, his employers rehearsed over heedless courses of action in the timeless space of years he operated for their behalf. Their orders, although not evermore of his particular enthusiasm, were considered, respected and carried out promptly. A loyal employer of himself, whose dedication to bureaucracy seemed like it had more steadfast restraint upon his moral mindset that his candid authorities had over him. A man who’s motivated by his set of general faith greater than god’s direct order to him.

The oxidized alloy bars of the balcony railing caressed his ghostly digits like the texture alike to sandpaper, a cold touch equivalent to the sheath his own skin. Periodically, he would tap to the rhythm of a reserved tune, a pattern expressing itself through his fingers as they stroke against the metal substituted for piano keys. A discordant, bitter sigh of frustration imbued inside his lungs with a rise visible in his chest. His uncanny stare, always seeming to concentrate into a hidden cosmos of his reveries, masked the grand abundance of derived knowledge he studied at once in split moments he observed through the events taking place before him. The whos, whats, whens, wheres, whys, and hows all processed to him in milliseconds of time for every individual part of matter present in the vacancy around him.

Over and over again, the instant he advanced to the chamber’s balcony from above, it occurred to him that this subject’s present route was succumbing to be a failure. Nonetheless, he would be suspected under oath of himself to witness each and every one of her abortive endeavors from spring to death. A variation in route always traversing its way to the same road stop. No nooks to cut and no trenches to uncover.

The bounty of degrees she was killed manifested scenes of terminal circumstances he never had even seen a hire of his encounter before, who were prone to identical conditions as her. A sinister groundhog day altered for the worst. His employers ruled it was in his best interest to inquire of seeking out a replacement, not out of clemency, nor out of discontent, but rather in refining obligatory standards to their task. They argued that his hire has relapsed a task to unnecessary measures, and it should be taken into account that they beseech another who has it in the right chances to supplant without excessive trial and error. The arbitrary request was declined consequently, issuing himself to maintain the trails until her assignment went through as clear. He would not designate a hire a task he discerned that they couldn’t perform. A man neglecting god’s call to him, determined to seize the ambition he covets.

Ultimately, the course emerged to subsequently cast a source of a stream to his goal. The antlion guardian mourned its last cry of air as it raised its crest towering into the air. Its appendages stumbled over themselves as the brute arthropod lost its gain of balance, gracefully persuading its motionless head to the guidance of gravity’s heaving drag on its weight. Collapsing to its side, the beast gave way to the stillness of the room. It withstood the limp of a doll yet the flesh of a creature. It was her first time she’d succeeded in overcoming the colossal being in her countless series within the chamber. However, her method unfolded the grave cost of her own life in this field of endeavor she took this route.

A smug grin beamed over his withered, creased face, glaring his sight down from the balcony and towards her wounded form at the wall of the chamber. A grave, awaiting for its corpse to resurrect in time’s hold of appeal. It was a considerable advancement, but arrangements were still to be made in order to establish the utmost completion of his hire. A doorknob awaited her to the adjoining compartment just a few inches out of reach.

Compelling his way to the shallow floor of the chamber at a nonchalant pace, he approached the feeble, coping torso of his hire. He knead his palms together in weaving motions in the manner as an optical depiction of him accumulating his attention to his conveyance of words. An unpredictable turmoil of weather, with spontaneous periods of alleviation and striking storms formulating a spotty view of the scale that was his comprehensive intention for her. He flared the mouth of a grin that appeared to welcome her, yet opposing eyes that radiated an acumen of both her impending killer and grim reaper.

Her crude, life-striving beckons of air went to a standstill as the formal, defined taps of leather footwear overtook what was the only noise to be heard reverberating in the chamber, alike to a priest entering an empty chapel. Her head carefully raised from its grieving bow in order to meet her eyes with the source of the noise, unveiling her battered facial profile to a tall, governing figurehead walking to her living carcass. His administrative blue apparel stood out amongst the white palette which coated the chamber around them, pinching the lapels at his suit to perfect the presentation of himself. He proceeded to fix his stance at a position suitable for them to attain comprehensive glimpses of each other.

His eyebrows furrowed together at her imbrued, abhorrent display as his head ticked itself to his right shoulder. The flicker of green in his eyes seemed to unveil a sentiment of less pity, rather more satisfaction towards her collateral condition. Her nose wrinkled together as her mouth twitched to its side in utter bewilderment of the man who exhibited himself before her. At a glance, any form of company in the quarters of her area would have rapidly inducted her to starve them for any accessible aid, yet this man swelled something inside that implicated to her that he wasn’t there to treat her in the way she fancied for. Aching to speak, she sucked in a grimacing breath of air, taking in the smell of guts through her nostrils.

“... Who are you?” her voice was glutted and crippled, audibly clear that she cowered in between spoken words. Her hair fell out from her mouth and swayed to the sides of her forehead to join the web of strands that was her crown of death.

“Your terminal condition seems to address to me that the nature of my identity is the… least of your concerns, Ms. (L/N),” he spoke to her in an ambiguous, hitherto assured nature. A mellow chuckle followed his opaque introduction, shaking his head in mild amusement towards her trivial inquisition to him.

“I-- I’m rotting sick! I should be dead!” she fought out to him in agitation of his cryptic, verbose grammar. An aching toxin pricked in her thorax as she made every effort to converse to him, similar to a voiceless force seeking to discourage her of any vocal interaction possible.

“And against the odds of my employers, you’re not… ” he crept closer to her dismantled figure in a stalking fashion, holding fixed upkeep over his unearthly smile on his face in blissful pride of himself and his hire.

“This should be a celebration, my dear, not a time of fret-- but I do not disdain you of your… misplaced ignorance, hm?” he gave leverage to place himself at eye level with her, up close and personal with her comfort zone disregarded altogether. A being of no physical boundaries, yet most faithful to his mental principles beyond any breathing creature. He was her caretaker, reaching into the fenceless enclosure of an extrinsic creature to discard of her inflictions and arrange her environment back to where it once was.

“Ignorance? I… I don’t know you, I’ve never even met you!” she strived to drag herself away from his disturbingly close profile, reclining her head to the wall of the chamber as her limit. A harsh wince seethed through her teeth as her meager hint of movement pulsed a ripple of agony through to her core. A groan shrieked in her throat as her head hung down to view her fresh open wound, recoiling at the grisly spectacle. Her eyes wilted impelled tears like a dying rose, applying pressure to the scar with the palm of her hand. Nearly gagging on her own esophagus, she clenched her eyelids as the hand that she could hold to divert and alleviate the pain in her.

He surveyed with impassive enthusiasm at her repugnant effort, his face relaxing into a neutral expression. With a mellow, tame hum, he bestowed his right hand from its gentle slumber on the backbone of his vertebrae. In doing so, he peeled away at the cuff of his sleeve with precision in order to reduce the accumulation of creases in his permissive garb. Nearly twice in size, he tenderly rested his open palm upon her own. His firm clutch was diligent yet cold in the flesh, irradiating magnetic verdant energy. This cast of chartreuse power formulated a froth of anesthesia to the exposed wound, certainly not mending the damage-- however assuming its presence to be deemed bearable to withstand.

“You would find yourself to be correct towards the idea that you don’t know what I am. However, I must assure you that this is not the first time we have crossed paths before,” as his treatment submerged into her abdomen, he addressed her comments with loathsome, consistent eye contact at every syllable. He was keen to presently maintain his sentiment with a lingering, raucous inhale, forming a small stubble in his throat.

“It is only now that we have simply done so on the likewise level of… con-sciousness,” his lips twitched a smile through the ridges of his skin in ever such vague impressionism, though somehow so menacingly, fancying himself in his way of articulating what was an allusion to her solely not being dead upon his forthcoming.

His eyes briefly glimmered in a thawing blue-green tone, freeing her hand from his as the treatment was administered to its adequate essentiality. A crisp flutter of carbon released from her lungs she didn’t realize she was holding in for so long, stunned to the degree that she couldn’t possibly move her hand away from the numbed laceration it reclined on. The bitter rigor of his grasp seemed to never dissipate from her wrist despite the absence of his corporeal touch on her. It was a feeling that would cease to leave her in the lifetime he would continue to oversee her assignments. A chilling scar, signifying as his reminder to her of who she is now, who she once was, and who she will be.

“Consider this a small compensation on my behalf for your, partial victor, but I am afraid we are not done yet here,” he raised himself to the fullest of his professional posture, adjusting his collar and rolling back the cuff of his sleeve to his preferred origin.

“I don’t understand, I can just go… I can leave, whatever ‘imperfect victory’ you’re talking about I swear I can walk off,” she shook her head in disbelief as her breath steadied back to a pace it could find solace in again.

“My dear, I have simply taken the liberty of alleviating the lurid pain that is of your forthcoming departure. We will get back to work-- shortly,” every rasping of his voice ricketed the thump of her heart in hazardous treads, disregarding his humane appearance as an entirely unconventional anomaly in his inner flesh. His jaw crooked in defiance to his skull, swallowing a laugh as she shuddered in a timid uncertainty of what was taking place.

“You have accomplished in proving to my employers you have the potential I saw in you once before. I hold you in my highest regards, however, I expect of you to relay those standards to me… next time, Ms. (L/N),” his scouring speech came to a tender close as the last of life left in her eyes concentrated towards his own. Every nudge and trickle of muscle movement stiffened to solidity as her eyelids slowly brushed mid-way over her pupils as a blanket from the light. He was reasonably aware of when she was to pass as if he had a watch on his wrist counting the last breaths she had left in her. Now, all he examined was the same display he’d audited to countless occasions preceding. But this one was different. She was stronger, furnishing a dying breath that finally gave her time to converse to him for the brief time she could do so.

Straightening his tie once more, he advanced the chamber into the consecutive relapse. A familiar, refreshing gust cleansed air of the room to bless his lungs once more as the first thing to greet him inside. The muffled screech of a harrowing antlion guardian resounded from the walls of the nearby chamber to follow the rise in his chest of a discordant sigh, no longer decayed by the sense bitter of failure.

It was back to work.

#half life #gman #writing #g-man #gman x reader #x female reader #x reader #half life 2 #half life alyx #half life 1

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wolfhuntsmoon · 5 years

Text

Sarah Rogers and how Steve inherited ‘stubborn little shit’ from the womb

Okay, so I was noodling on Sarah after reading her Marvel wiki and some extraordinarily good posts about how EG Steve should have gone back to see his mum instead of Peggy etc and the timings of Steve’s early story struck me as... interesting.

Steve is born on 4th July 1918, before the end of WWI, meaning he would have been conceived in September or October of 1917 - that is, if he was born on time or only a few weeks premature. Which, given the tech and prognosis for preemies in the early 20th century, must have been the case because things were grim enough even if you weren’t born prematurely, for both baby and mother. If you were giving birth, you had a 6% chance of dying in Ireland in this period - roughly comparable with the rest of Europe but shockingly high by our standards. The odds were better if you were rich, but not by that much. Childbirth remained the leading cause of death for women worldwide until the late 1940s, remember. And kids fared no better. One in five children born in Dublin in this period died before their 5th birthday. Again, the figures would be better or worse depending on how well off you were, but even the richest still suffered appalling infant mortality rates.

Anyway, depressing history of women’s health aside, this means that Joseph Rogers, American solider, and her, must have been doing the do about then, and probably seeing each other on the regular before that, because believe you me, casual sex in the early 20th century was a big no no. Not to say it didn’t happen, but usually only via prostitution ESPECIALLY in Ireland, because the Catholic Church ruled supreme there even more than the British did and contact between the sexes was very restricted and frowned upon. Sex ed was nonexistent, and women knew that even a whiff of scandal about them was enough to ruin them, their entire family, and the rest of their life. It’s a hackneyed joke because it’s true: Ireland is small and everyone knows everyone. You would get found out and then suffer the consequences - sent to a mother and baby home if you were lucky, and those places were worse than prisons sometimes. That cultural context would carry over even if Sarah wasn’t actually in Ireland at the time.

So, likely they were married by then, because again: social ruin. The Marvel wiki says they were married, but not when. (I know nothing about the comics, I’m sorry) Soldiers and their sweethearts often married very quickly, and there are actually quite a few accounts of nurses falling in love and marrying the soldiers they tended. (More on this later) However, if she was widowed and could have the child respectably, why not return to Ireland? With, presumably, a support network that makes emigrating to America a worse, not better, prospect? This is the crux of my theory: Sarah Rogers was seen as an unmarried mother, and treated as such, because she married Joseph abroad, probably without permission, and when he died, had no social proof of the marriage. And in those days, unmarried mothers either: aborted in secret, had the baby concealed by the church where they were then taken and given up for adoption, or were cast out with nothing and ostracised if they decided to keep the baby. Sarah ending up in America strikes me as her taking the third option, and indeed the only option she could, to keep her baby.

But first: Joseph and Sarah need to meet in order to get down and dirty. How? He’s an American soldier who would never have set foot in Ireland in WWI - the British government kept their troops there, obviously, but the Americans were all put straight onto the continent or mainland Britain once they crossed the Atlantic from 1917 onwards (remember the US only joined in WWI in April 1917). In fact, the US wasn’t able to send significant numbers of troops to Europe until the following spring of 1918, because their army was so small and outmoded for trench warfare they basically had to send a lot of stuff over until they had enough trained bodies, which took about a year to organise. Based on this, if Joseph and Sarah were making baby Steve in September 1917, Joseph must have been in the regular US army before it entered the war, and likely in for quite a long time and experienced, to be sent over so soon. That experience would have been invaluable, meaning he never would have been assigned to stay in Ireland even if the US did send troops there. He would have been deployed straight onto the battlefield.

In which case, if Joseph never sets foot in Ireland, then how does he meet Sarah? Well, we’re told she’s a qualified nurse, and that was a solidly middle class job back then. You needed to have a good education, beyond primary level (which was all that was free for kids back then - you had to pay for secondary or tertiary level) and speak English well. In addition to that, your training to be a nurse took three years, and you weren’t paid or funded at all for those. So I don’t buy the theories that she emigrated to America only speaking Irish and totally penniless. Sarah most likely came from quite a well off family to become a nurse, although it’s not impossible she rose from much humbler circumstances as there were a number of scholarships and the like for the deserving poor set up by rich upper class ladies bored out of their minds drinking endless teas in salons who liked to do things like Help the Poor but only if they’re Pure and Mannerly. Qualified nurses were paid about £40/year in WWI by the British government, when your average domestic maid would have been earning about £20/year - quite a big difference.

Either way, Sarah, as a nurse, was exactly the kind of woman the British government was desperate to recruit by 1915-1916 when the true scale of modern attritional warfare became clear, and no longer pussyfooted around keeping women and their delicate sensibilities away from the battlefield. The Battle of the Somme between July-Nov 1916, for example, claimed the lives of over 20,000 British soldiers ON THE FIRST DAY. The British alone sustained over a million casualties (dead, missing or wounded) across the whole battle. They couldn’t afford to stay prudish. There were just too many casualties to deal with. They even opened up medical degrees to women without restrictions because they were so desperate! Which was a big part of the reason why Britiain introduced conscription for the first time in 1916, including in Ireland (which led to the Easter Rising and Irish War of Independence, hoo boy was that a mistake). Droves and droves of young women were recruited to fill all sorts of jobs while the men were away, but a large number also went overseas to the battlefields of Belgium and France. Sarah must have been one of them. If she was qualified beforehand, she would most likely have been sent to work in a field hospital abroad, because the voluntary members were mostly kept working as assistants on the British mainland. Lots of women joined these Voluntary Aid Detachments (VADs) at the start of the war to nurse wounded soldiers, but the military hated the idea of using them until they couldn’t cope in 1915. Even then, volunteers were only used for the more menial tasks. Professionals like Sarah were what was needed the most.

Now, I’ve said that she likely came from a middle class family, so money probably wasn’t a worry until after she got to America, later on. Why go, given the pay wasn’t significantly more than you’d earn as a nurse at home? Well, the rigid social hierarchy of the time broke down in some pretty major ways out there, and it was likely the only chance an unmarried woman would ever get to travel that wouldn’t immediately ruin her reputation. And if you accept more the idea she became a nurse via scholarship and was poor, the increase in pay working abroad would have been sorely appreciated. And we can also consider patriotism might play a role - not all Irish were rabidly anti-British before 1916. Indeed, many ordinary and middle class Irish only became ardently nationalist in the wake of the brutal repression following the 1916 Easter Rising. And more than that, many Irish, even if they disliked the British, disliked the idea of the Germans and Austrians-Hungarians winning the war even more. Personally, I think Sarah was an adventurer who seized her chance to escape the restrictive social confines of Ireland and didn’t once look back, even if her family disapproved.

I couldn’t find a birthdate for Sarah, or a maiden name to tell me where she might have hailed from (thanks, Marvel. Not.) But let’s say she was part of that first initial wave of volunteers who signed up in 1914 - because it was HUGE. It’s really difficult for us, so jaded now, to get into the mindset of people then, but they did sign up in huge numbers. Partly due to patriotism, partly because they thought the war would be over by Christmas, partly fear of being shamed for not ‘doing their bit’ - there were lots of reasons. But it’s very telling that the British government didn’t feel the need to introduce conscription for men until two years after the war broke out, and they never introduced a civilian equivalent. So Sarah would have been very familiar with the horrors of the battlefield and the war by the time fresh faced Joseph Rogers arrives on the scene in 1917.

How did they meet? Sarah would have most likely been working in a field hospital, overseeing a team of volunteers. Field hospitals were behind the front lines, but only by a few miles, and nurses were killed by enemy shelling and gas attacks. They were the first real point of medical care most soldiers would encounter after having bandages slapped on them at a dressing station in the trenches, before being carted off to the field hospital (if they survived the journey) by stretcher bearers, horses, or increasingly as the war continued, motorised ambulances. So Sarah and her ilk were lasses made of steel, honest to god. They were in the thick of the worst of it, men screaming and dying, and often afraid for their lives while they tried to care for them. A lot of those nurses developed PTSD (then called shell-shock) as a result. Jospeh is most likely to have met her if he was a wounded patient of hers brought in from the battlefield. But only lightly wounded - if he had been badly wounded he would have been shipped straight back to mainland Britain to convalesce as soon as he was stabilised, thwarting any budding romance.

We’re also told that Jospeh dies in a mustard gas attack. So this hospital trip must have been for something different - a broken bone perhaps, or a minor shrapnel wound that would see him off duty for a while but still stationed in the area and therefore able to court Sarah. Young people (Sarah must have been less than 28 because that was the cut off age for nurses to be recruited in 1915-1916) being young people, I imagine they fell in love, fell in to bed, and biology did its magic. The timescale on this is open to interpretation, because the ABSOLUTE earliest they could have met is May 1917 (travel time by ship from America to Europe took weeks during the war), and Steve must have been conceived by October, latest. Which is a pretty whirlwind romance, but not unusual for the time. The Germans first used mustard gas from July of 1917, but Joseph must survive up until September/October.

So, that cause of death as mustard gas? This is strange given how mustard gas was well known at the time to be the ‘best’ gas to have inflicted on you. It produced horrific blisters and burns, particularly on the inside of your throat and airways, but rarely killed. Chlorine and phosgene were MUCH deadlier. So Marvel saying this is more poor research, but let’s go with it - gas affecting you would make it that much more likely you’d be caught by machine gun or shellfire or any of the other myriad ways to die on a WWI battlefield. Here’s where things start to align quite nicely (well, badly for Sarah, but good for fic writers) as mustard gas was deployed by the Germans on a large scale between October 9th-12th to defend the Passchadaele Ridge from a joint British and French assault on the German defences. This was part of the second biggest battle of WWI, the Battle of Passchendaele, notorious for the seas of mud men had to slog through up to their waists, and one of the battles which, like the Somme, gave WWI generals such bad reputations. In three months the British lost 350,000 men and advanced just a few kilometres. They abandoned the battle on November 10th.

So, Joseph Rogers? Must have died between October 9-12th, well before Sarah realised she was pregnant even if Steve was conceived at the start of September. Likely he was caught in a mustard attack, started choking because he couldn’t get his gas mask on/hadn’t got it fitted properly, and then was killed by gun or shellfire after his initial injury. Mustard gas took time to affect the skin and membranes of the body, so if he fell while the gas was still around, it would have looked much worse by the time his body was identified and retrieved from the battlefield. The date, however, means Joseph died never knowing he was going to be a father (sad!), and Sarah, newly widowed, likely didn’t see any reason not to continue working as a distraction until she encountered the first signs of preganancy. The stiff upper lip thing was a real coping mechanism back then. She would have been kicked out as soon as anyone could tell, or she told them and got kicked out, because that was legal and expected then. Pregnant women were fired for being pregnant in any job, and the idea of a pregnant woman working in a theatre of war, as you can imagine, would have outraged everyone.

So, Sarah gets kicked out, has no job. She’s widowed and pregnant. But, the marriage would probably have taken place without her family’s permission (letters were pretty slow and heavily censored on the front lines, the timeframe likely wouldn’t allow for anything except a note telling them she married) and although she would have had a marriage certificate, turning up at home without a husband but with a baby from a military camp? Would have been a deep, deep scandal at the time. Particularly if Sarah came from a middle class family who would have been extremely conscious of their social position and the danger she and her baby posed to it. Catholic mores plus unsanctioned marriage plus Irish social structures equals daughter returning in disgrace to besmirch the family name in a way that is literally unthinkable at the time. Family therefore issues an ultimatum - come back and get rid of the baby and the marriage cert so you can be respectable, or don’t come back at all. I really cannot stress this enough - families would, and did, prefer to say the woman had died and never have any contact with them again, rather than accept an unmarried mother back into their house.

Sarah, being Sarah though, grits her teeth, spits in God’s eye, and packs her bags for the first steamship to New York. She was a lot better equipped than most to make the journey, with some savings from her salary and a profession she could rely on once she arrived. But it was still a recklessly brave thing to do because at this point in time the ENTIRE Atlantic was infested with German U-Boats who were doing their level best to sink any Allied or Allied associated ship they could get in their periscope sights. And they were terrifyingly effective in 1917, although by the end of the year when Sarah would have beeen sailing, countermeasures like the convoy system had greatly reduced this. But still scary as fuck, because by that point the German U-Boats were even sinking hospital ships - until then left alone by both sides.

She probably arrived in the US in January or February of 1918 - it would have taken time to arrange her travel and the journey itself took 3-4 weeks. Little Steven G Rogers came into the world on July 4th, 1918, without a clue as to the sacrifices his mother made to keep him and bring him to America, or the heartache she endured in the previous years. And that, my fellow nerds, is why Sarah Rogers is AWESOME and a sorely underused character and development point for Steve in the MCU. Because to do what she did, and to make it through took more than guts, it took sheer bloody-minded spite and stubbornness, and hey - who does that remind us of? Steve doesn’t grow up and get angry and fighty - no, he’s got that shit in his GENES from Sarah from the beginning.

EDIT: Part 2 is up! Consisting of Sarah’s journey and entry to America, plus how Very Not Good it was to be Irish whilst trying to do so.

#Sarah Rogers #IS AWESOME I WILL HEAR NO DISSENT IN THE RANKS #no seriously #the facts bear it out #fandom meta #captain america #backstory #character development #mcu #she was criminally underused #because you KNOW steve and bucky WORSHIPPED her #steve rogers #bucky barnes #joseph rogers #wwi #ireland #emigration

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 55

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @ocfairygodmother

They arrive in Mumbai at three thirty in the morning. Checking into a hotel just on the outskirts of the city; a simple and unassuming place owned by an ‘informant’ of Anil’s. An inside man with access to both Mahajan and the higher ups temporarily in charge of running his business and carrying out his dirty work. While their true identities are known only to the owner and a handful of his most trusted staff, they register under the fake names given to them prior to boarding the plane. There is to be no trail leading back to them and who they really are; using cash only for all purchases, given different cell phones with unlisted and untraceable numbers to communicate amongst each other with, signing the passenger manifesto before the flight with entirely different monikers. Assured that everything during their stay will be kept low key to avoid any suspicion from ‘the wrong crowd’; two guards in casual clothing assigned to the lobby, monitoring everyone that comes through the front doors. Granted use of the establishment’s personal conference room for all planning and strategic meetings, and for Yaz to set up his command post.

Anil’s money and influence are quite prominent; his dealings and interactions with those he comes across are always friendly, but remaining professional. He’s well liked. Respected. And perhaps more than a little feared. A man that presents himself as calm and level headed but whose tone and facial expressions never leave a doubt that he’s not to be crossed. There’s an edge to him; a grittiness just under the businessman in designer clothes and linen suits and silk ties that suggests a tough and checkered past. Tyler has done his research; digging up some of the truth behind Anil’s departure from Special Forces. It isn't as cut and dry as he led them to believe; it isn’t just vengeance for his brother that saw him and the military parting ways. Multiple complaints of ‘excessive force’ against apprehended criminals -most drug and human traffickers- leading to an honorary discharge and no access to a pension. He knows there’s more to it than that; through his own experience with the SASR and the tales of others who’d served in various branches of the military world wide. Most war machines and police forces turns a blind eye to roughening up -and even killing- more hardcore offenders like child molesters, traffickers, and terrorists. But the further he dug into Anil’s past, the most questions he walked away with. His search for the full story only led to heavily guarded military pages that even all the tricks Yaz had taught him over the years couldn’t get past.

He doubts it’s anything serious or scandalous. His money on involvement in missions kept under the radar and out of public knowledge; most likely involving top officials in the Indian government. He’s worked a handful of those jobs himself; everything kept on the down low, his true name and identity kept a secret; nothing more than a ghost or an urban legend behind a high profile assassination.

The room is far more spacious and inviting than the bland and sparsely furnished front lobby. Two queen sized beds and a large walk in closet, burgundy walls adorned with paintings encased in thick, highly polished gold frames, natural wood furniture and a small table with two chairs nestled in the corner by the balcony doors. It’s twelve stories up and he pauses momentarily to look out at the city in the distance; brightly lit skyscrapers and the glow of random lights in apartment buildings, the flashing red of stop signs. The last time he’d ventured to Mumbai, Millie had been just turned two and a half months old and they were a week and a half away from finding out they were having another baby; staying in Mahajan’s cold and pretentious mansion, discussing how they couldn’t -in good conscience- leave Ovi behind. They couldn’t -and wouldn’t- allow him to be raised in such a sterile and unloving environment; no one to protect him from his father’s enemies, never feeling the touch of someone who truly cared for him. It was inhumane; expecting any human to live like that, never mind a scared and impressionable kid.

They hadn’t even had a home themselves. A situation beyond their control making it impossible to return to that small, two bedroom apartment just outside of Sydney. But they’d made the best of it, taking Ovi with them when they’d headed for Colorado with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and whatever money was in their bank account.

For now, this is home; no telling just how long he’ll actually be there. All that really matters is that there’s a bed to sleep in and hot, running water, and a toilet that actually works. The rest is just window decoration; needless trimmings and frills that he’ll either never touch or even acknowledge. Living on the job is the best way to do things; no true comforts, nothing to distract you from the seriousness of the mission. And he thinks of Dhaka and how well things had done there, until they didn’t. That squalid hotel room with its dirty walls and cold water and view of the crowded and chaotic street. As desolate and dreary as it had been, for five days it seemed like a paradise. The outside world -and the job at hand- ceasing to exist the moment they locked themselves inside. It seems like forever ago. He’d been a different person then. So had she. Both fractured and damaged, bonding over their empty and meaningless lives.

He’s unsure if his exhaustion is mental or physical. Or if it’s perhaps a mix of both. But the five hours of restless and pain filled sleep he’d managed during the flight has done little to ease the head to toe weariness. Feeling as if his body is running on autopilot as he completes even the simplest of tasks; locking the door, toeing off his boots, placing his own stash of weapons and ammo and other tactical gear in the closet and securing them with a heavy chain and padlock. He feels numb. Empty. As if the emotional well has been bled dry and there’s just nothing left to give. The Tyler that existed before he stepped onto the plant almost gone; replaced by a darker, more savage and vengeful version. His finger longing for a trigger to pull; that long simmering rage finally reaching its boiling point. It's all he DOES feel now; the desperate seeking of revenge and carrying it out through whatever means necessary. Pushed to a near breaking point and determined into something useful; the feel of blood on his hands and the terrified, haunted look on another’s face as he stands over them and watches them die.

It should bother him. Wanting to kill. Enjoying the thought of it and knowing he’ll get satisfaction out of doing it. He’s never felt that before; a want and a need to take a life. Before killing had always been a means to an end; a way of securing his own survival. Now it’s a longing. A way of proving two things. That he’s more capable of chaos and violence than Mahajan ever expected, and that even a reformed and changed man will go to any length to protect what’s his.

It’s justified. The things he needs to do. And it will be easy. He won’t have a guilty conscience. He’ll experience no shame. No regret. No remorse. He’ll feel nothing but relief and satisfaction. And IF he manages to survive, he’ll go on with his life; not once thinking back to things he’d been forced to do in Mumbai.

He checks the time on his phone before tossing it onto the nightstand between the beds. With the four and a half hour time difference between India and Australia, it’s peak insanity time for getting the kids ready and out the door in time for the school bus. And just like that the feeling of emptiness...and nothingness...briefly lifts; a sudden tightening in his chest and throat and the bitter sting of tears. Actually missing -despite often grumbling about it- that morning routine; the race to get lunch pail paced and stuffed into backpacks, the madness that ensures when three kids all attempt to find missing shoes in the disaster that is the hall closet, often finishing Millie’s hair while standing in the driveway while the boys sit on the curb and watch YouTube videos on his phone. Those moments that most people would take for granted yet he always feels so lucky to even be experiencing. Almost seven years ago he’d been on the brink of death; only to be snatched back and given a second chance. To do something good with his life; one again be a husband and a father but this time get it right. Experience the ‘boring’ and the ‘mundane’ instead of nothing but danger and self sacrifice. Instead of taking jobs and checking into cheap, shitty hotels, spending his night on the couch with his wife; suffering through her love of reality television while they eat ice cream straight out of the carton.

THAT was supposed to be his life. It’s what they had planned on when they decided to uproot the kids and move back to Australia. Be just another ordinary family; just a mom and ad raising five kids and enjoying their own slice of paradise after years of stress and worry and fear brought on by the job. And he thought he’d be happy with that LIKE that. But the past always finds a way to sneak up on you; reminds you why you’d ever got into it in the first place and convinces you that you aren’t complete without it. The adrenaline, the fast pace, the unpredictability. He’d somehow let himself fall prey to all of that. Once again going back on every goddamn promised he’d made; ruining every good intention he’d started out with.

If one thing has accompanied him to Mumbai, it’s the guilt. It’s deep and it’s painful and it makes him feel physically ill. That he would ever willingly get back into the game when he has so much to lose. The job is draining. Soul crushing. An unfair existence to spouses and children. Yet he’d brought them into it. He’d gotten close enough to someone to trust them -with his life- and had fallen in love with them and had desperately hung on to her when everything should have been telling him to push her away. And then he’d brought kids into it. Innocent little beings that are totally dependent on him for their survival and who would be the ones to suffer if anything happens to happen.

It WAS selfish; his reasonings behind not forcing her out of his life and back to Colorado. IT was the first time since Austin...since he’d made the terrible decision he had...that he felt alive again. That he actually allowed himself to feel. Finding someone that was equally as broken and damaged; connecting with them through their experiences with the job and their tortured pasts and horrendous life choices. He hadn’t wanted to lose that. He hadn’t wanted to lose HER. Even though it should have been painfully clear that her life would have turned out so much better without him in it.

He forces those thoughts out of his mind. Concentrating instead on the pain inhabiting his body and the need for a hot shower. Maybe even something to eat. It’s been close to twenty hours since he last ate, and he can feel the pang of hunger that accompanies the guilt and regret and gnaws at his stomach. And he strips off his clothes as he heads for the bathroom. Letting them fall where they may, planning to gather them later; wincing at the agony that accompanies even the simple task of removing his shirt.

Like the sleeping quarters, the bathroom is spacious; clean and modern with its subway tiles and infinity tub and a glass enclosed shower. And the water is hot...almost punishing...when he stands underneath it; pressure pounding and stinging. A form of self flagellation; punishing himself for both the selfish choice he’d made almost seven years ago and for feeling that way in the first place. Eyes closed, chin dropped to his chest and his palms flat against the tiles. Losing the battle against the threatening tears; allowing them to trickle freely down his cheeks and the sides of his nose, the droplets mixing with the soapy water that gathers at his first before swirling down the drain. It’s the first and only time he’ll let this happen; the open expression of emotion, the loss of control. It can’t happen again. Not on this job. He can’t allow it to. Not when there’s so much to lose.

His body is still damp damp and a towel is wrapped tightly around his waist when the confusion first hits. Distinctly remembering where he’d dropped each item of clothing on his journey to the bathroom; shirt having been the last item abandoned, left just on the threshold. Yet it’s no longer there. The door is cracked open to allow some of the steam to escape, and he can hear the sound of the tv -a laugh track for some shitty sitcom- drifting through the suite. He knows for a fact that he didn’t turn it on. And that he’d shut the bathroom door long before stepping into the shower. It isn’t a threat; no one is going to break into his room and gather up his dirty clothes and watch some television before attempting to kill him. Yet he still moves cautiously towards the door; years of being in a job where you have to expect the unexpected. Bare feet quiet against the tiles and then the dark, plush carpet. A scowl spreading across his face when he rounds the corner of the wall that separates the sleeping area from the bathroom and finds Koen sprawled out in the middle of the spare bed; clad in just a pair of boxers, hands behind his head as he watches tv.

“Just what in the fuck are you doing?” Tyler asks.

Koen nods towards the television as a form of response.

“Why are you doing it here and not in your own room?”

“Figured you wouldn’t mind having a roomie.”

“Actually, I do mind. So…”

“I picked up after your lazy ass. Were you born in a barn? Or are you just too used to someone picking up after you?”

“Why are you here? And how the hell did you get in here?”

“Front desk gave me the spare key card. Everyone is bunkin’ together; I thought why not the two of us?”

“Have you ever thought I like being alone?”

“You spent way too many years being alone and miserable,” Koen reasons. “Now I know I ain’t as pretty as who you’re used to sharing a room with, but…” he looks up at Tyler limps past him. “...well holy shit…” he drawls, and issues a low whistle. “...I think I’m questioning my sexuality.”

Tyler doesn’t respond; dropping down onto the edge of the bed closest to the window and digging through the old army rucksack for a pair of sweats.

“I could tell you had a pretty good rig under all those clothes, but I didn’t think you looked like THAT. Now I see why she doesn’t leave you. Or is the real reason she doesn’t under the towel?”

Tyler smirks, then shoves his legs into the sweats, towel still around his waist when he stands and pulls them on the rest of the way.

“Don’t be shy on my account. Be proud of what the good Lord gave you. Must be something extra special if your ugly mug manages to keep such a good woman around. Ain’t you ever worried about breaking a tiny little thing like her in half?”

“Fuck off,” Tyler grumbles, then yanks the damp towel from around his waist and tosses it at his friend.

“Humble, are we? I already know what it looks like, remember? How many times did we have to piss standing next to each other when we were in Kandahar? I’d be lying if I said I wasn't a bit jealous. Still don’t understand how you don’t hurt her, though.”

“I’m not discussing my sex life with you.”

“Never shied away from it before. Used to tell Rata and I all about your lady ‘friends’ stashed all over the world.”

“Yeah? Well I’m not that guy anymore, am I. And this isn’t just some piece of ass. This is my wife. So if you don’t mind…”

“Easy, tiger, easy. I know how defensive you get when it comes to her. And I don’t blame you; I don’t hold the overprotectiveness thing against you. I mean she’s cute, she’s tiny, you’ve almost lost her a couple times already…”

“Thanks for reminding me for that,” Tyler snarls, snagging his phone off the nightstand. “As if I haven’t been thinking about that every second of every fucking day since this Mahajan shit started.”

“...but she’s a grown woman with children and she knows how to take care of herself.” Koen finishes. “Ever think of easing up on her a bit?”

“You ever think of fucking off?”

“All I'm saying is that you don’t need to worry about her so much. She’s more than capable of handling things; taking care of herself and those littles.”

“Not against someone like Mahajan she’s not. And why are you even here? I don’t need company.”

“Hell you don’t. You gonna call home? She’s probably worried about you.”

“Get off my ass and go back to your own room.”

Koen ignores him. “You know this place has twenty four hour room service? We’re a far cry from eating army rations, ain’t we? I took the liberty of ordering both of us a little something. They didn’t have vegemite for your steak,though. What kind of savage bastard does that to a steak?”

“The kind of savage bastard that might kill in your sleep if you don’t fuck off and leave him alone.”

“Nope. Can’t do it. You’re stuck with me. No getting rid of me. Unless you DO kill me.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Call home. I know you’re missing her. It’s okay to admit that; that you need to hear her voice. You’re a lucky bastard that you have a voice to call and help ground you. Don’t take shit like that for granted. Treat her right. ‘Cause there’s probably a lot of guys willing to take your place on her dance card.”

“How about you leave giving relationship advice to someone who is actually in a relationship?” Tyler retorts.

Koen smirks, then gives him the finger before he slides open the balcony door and steps outside.

****

“Job Tyler” is quick to assess his surroundings; considering what could go wrong and how he’d carry it off if he was the one targeting someone. If Mahajan’s people have been tipped off that he’s in Mumbai and they’re either keeping an eye on him or have been sent to take him out, the only way they could achieve it is from the apartment building to the right. It’s nothing but one story single family homes and empty lots in the other directions, and with his room being on the twelfth floor, there is no possible way even the best of snipers could manage a decent shot from that angle and distance. So instead of standing at the railing and possibly giving someone a chance at him, he stays behind the cement partition that separates his balcony from the one belonging to the room next door.

What a fucking way to live.

It’s nine in the morning in Australia; the kids will have already arrived at school leaving her with just Declan and Addie. It’s easier this way; not calling when the three oldest are around. It will only make things harder on them. And him.

She answers on the third thing; both dogs barking in the background, along with the faint sound of waves.

“Hey,” Esme greets, and her surprisingly cheerful voice brings a smile to his face. “I was wondering if you’d fallen asleep on me,”

“I wanted to wait until the kids were at school. Didn’t want to make things harder on them. They’re okay?”

“Better than they usually are when you leave. Millie and TJ are all about going on a trip and seeing where Ovi came from. Tanner…well you know Tanner...he’s so intuitive and so sensitive and he’s become so close to you since New Zealand. He’s having a hard time. But I knew he would. He’s so much like you. More than anyone...even you...realizes. He feels so deeply and so powerfully.”

“He’ll be alright.” Tyler assures her. “He’s got a pretty amazing mom loving on him.”

“I don't know how amazing she is. She puts herself at mediocre.”

“Well tell her she’s delusional and she’s a fucking rock star and her husband worships the ground she walks on.”

“Her husband sounds like a very smart man.”

He grins. “He has his moments. You okay? What’re you doing?”

“Declan and I are down at the water with Saju and Mac. Kyle’s in the house with Addie. I’m okay, I guess. I’ve been better. I feel...I don’t know...like I’m in some kind of daze or a fog. Like I’m just going through the motions. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. But are you? Okay?”

“Not really,” she admits. “It’s real now. Not something we just talk about or plan. It’s so real and I’m worried and I’m scared and I’m trying so hard not to be. And I miss you. Already.”

“I miss you, too. So much.”

“You usually wait a couple days before admitting it,” Esme teases, and he can’t help but smile.

“Well I’ve gotten used to being around you all the time. Six months of just being about you and my kids. Hits a little deeper now. A little harder. Being away from home.”

“I’d gotten used to you being around all the time, too. I know sometimes I bitched about it, but I really DID like it; having you here THAT much. And I like my brother, don’t get me wrong, and he’s a huge help, but he’s not you. It was weird waking up and you not being there. I’ve been spoiled, I guess. I took it...you…for granted. I hate myself for that.”

“Don’t, baby. Don’t ever feel like that. We’ve both done it. Not just you.”

“I did wake up to four little ones in the bed, though. I don’t know how they take up so much damn room. And Declan is freaking tall and so heavy!”

“Kid’s a tank. Gonna be six seven and weight three pounds and be solid as fuck.”

“Even with the red hair, he looks more like you every day. You have some seriously strong genes, Tyler Rake. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you really okay? Or…?”

“I’m okay now,” he says. “Now that I’m talking to you. I needed to hear your voice.”

“And you say you’re not sappy,” Esme chides. “There’s a lot of people here. That Anil has sent. It’s making me even MORE nervous. And they’re not subtle. They're armed. Heavily. And they’re not making an attempt to hide it.”

“How many?”

“A dozen so far. There’s two of them watching Declan and I right now. We DON’T need this. This isn’t helping.”

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Tyler reasons.

“Our kids aren’t stupid. They notice everything. And they’re going to notice them and they’re going to start asking questions and they’re going to get scared. Can’t you get them to scale it back? Just a little? I don’t want the kids stressed out. I’m stressed out enough for all of us.”

“I’ll talk to Anil,” he says. “See if he’ll tone things down.”

“The kids do not need to know what’s going on. You know what Millie gets like when she thinks too much about you going after bad guys. She gets anxious and panics and then we’ll have a six year old that will start sucking her thumb and wetting the bed again.”

“I’ll talk to him. You’re right; there’s no need for all of that.”

“Do you think something’s happened?” she asks. “That maybe the threats have gotten worse? Or maybe Mahajan’s people are on the move?”

“What I think is that you need to NOT think so much. I’ll take care of it. And you guys are leaving tomorrow, so…”

“I wish you could be there,” she sighs. “When we arrive.”

“So do I, baby. Nothing I wouldn’t give to be there. But…”

“I know. I know it’s not safe. It’s just me being selfish and wanting to see you. It must be really late. Or really early.”

“Almost five.”

“You should rest. You sound tired.”

“I am,” Tyler admits. “I’m going to have something to eat and then try and sleep. There’s nothing to do until early afternoon. Just a team meeting to go over shit. I’ll call later. After dinner, your time. So I can talk to the kids.”

“Okay. Take care of yourself, please. You NEED to.”

“I know. I’ll talk to you later. Give Declan and the baby a hug and a kiss from me. Tell them I love them.”

“I will. We love you. Your little peanut misses you most of all, I think. She wouldn’t settle for her feed this morning until I wrapped her in one of your t-shirts from the dirty laundry basket.”

Tears prick his eyes, but he manages to hold them back. “Why would you do that to my little peanut?” he teases. “Traumatize her like that? That thing probably stinks.”

“It smells like you. And that’s the best smell in the world. I miss you. So much. And I can’t wait to see you. I hope it’s sooner rather than later."

“I hope so, too. I miss you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Tyler. Take that with you, okay? Wherever you go, whatever you get mixed up in.”

“I will,” he promises. “Talk later.”

“Be safe. Please. Be smart. You’ve got this. I know you do. You’re strong and you’re tough and nothing Mahajan throws at you is too much.”

“You’re good for my ego, you know that?”

“I’m in your corner. No matter what. We’ll talk soon,”

“We will,” he confirms, then waits for her to disconnect the call before hanging up himself.

****

“Well?” Koen asks when he steps back into the room. “Everything good on the home front’?”

“Best it can be, I guess.”

“Felt good, didn't it? Being able to talk to her. Hearing her voice like that?”

Tyler smirks, dropping his cell onto the bedside table. “When the fuck did you get so sappy?”

“There was a time where I did love all my ex wives, you know. When I liked hearing their voices. Now all I feel is a cold chill if I hear even the slightest peep from those three hens. Nice seeing you this way. All head over heels, a fool in love for someone. Considering I know what you were like when you were with Sarah. Back when you THOUGHT you were in love.”

“Do we have to talk about her? Nothing good ever comes from talking about her.” He stretches out in the middle of the bed, pillows behind his back as he leans against the headboard. “When is the food showing up? I’m fucking starvin’.”

“Soon. And all I’m saying is that there’s a huge difference between the guy you were with Sarah and the guy you are with Esme. Back then, you thought you were in love. Now you really are. It’s written all over your damn face. Every time you look at her, it’s right there. How you feel. And you can’t tell me you don’t see the difference. FEEL the difference. Between the two.”

“Of course I do. It’s night and day.”

“You two are still so loved up on each other. I know I complain that it’s nauseating and annoying, but it’s actually really nice. Seeing you like that. Loving someone; them loving you. You deserved it. Finding that. Finding HER. It’s changed you. SHE’S changed you.”

“For good or…?”

“Of course for good, don’t be a dumb ass. She’s the best damn thing that’s ever happened to you. Her and those kids. She made you a daddy again. You ask me, she deserves you worshipping the ground she walks on. And you’re a good daddy. A damn good one.”

“I’m just doing whatever I can do to make up for the shitty I mess I made the first time around.”

Koen frowns. “Don’t do that, mate. Don’t compare those kids to what you lost. They’re not a replacement for Austin. Don’t talk like they are. And don’t treat them like they are. They deserve better than that. You did a crappy thing; we all do crappy things. But that’s a long time ago and you’re a different man now and them kids aren’t holding the past against you. You’re doing that all on your own. You have this uncanny ability to fuck your life up without even trying. Those kids don’t care who you were back then. Just who you are now.”

Tyler sighs. “You talk a lot of shit, you know that?”

“I’m talking the truth. You just hate hearing it for some reason. You hate when other peoples’ narratives don’t match your own. When they don’t see you as the shitty human you see yourself as. Knock that shit off. You’re better than you think.”

“Maybe,” Tyler agrees. “Maybe I am. But sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing. If I should have forced her to leave; when I woke up after Dhaka. If I should have found a way to get her to take off.”

Koen scowls. “You’re taking shit and you know it.”

“I was selfish. I wanted her to stay. I liked the way she made me feel. Not just the sex part of things. I mean everything. I liked having her around. I liked hearing her voice and seeing her smile. I liked how she looked at me. She didn’t look at me with pity or disgust. She looked at me like I was worth something. Like I wasn’t just a big fucking mess.”

“She saw the potential.” Koen reasons. “We all saw it. Just took her to get out of you.”

“But I kept her there for me. I didn’t think about what it would do to her; being mixed up with someone like me. And I should have. I should realized I’d only make her life a big fucking mess.”

“If she wanted to leave, she would have. You didn’t force her to stay.”

“I didn’t make her leave, either. And I should have. Especially after she found out about the baby.”

Koen’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck you going on about?”

“She would have been better going back to the States and having the baby on her own and never bothering with me again.”

“That’s horseshit and you know it! You really think you could have lived like that? Knowing you had a kid out there? Yet never knowing if it was a boy or a girl or even their name or what they looked like? You wouldn’t have been able to live like that; knowing you had blood out there So quit talking crazy. Look at that little girl. Think about her. How much she loves her daddy.”

“I’m a selfish fuck,” Tyler insists. “For getting married. Having kids. Dragging them all into this.”

“You didn’t drag anyone into anything,” Koen argues. “Esme stayed. She chose to be with you. And no matter what you could have said or done to push her away, it wouldn’t have worked. Her mind was made up. She wanted to be with you. For some fucking reason,”

“She deserves better than this. So do those kids.”

“Those kids wouldn’t even exist without you! They’re just as much yours as they are hers. You know what they deserve? They deserve to be on this earth. They have a mom and a dad that love them. That take damn good care of them. You know what’s selfish? You thinking FOR them. You’re their daddy. And you sit here talking about them like they’re mistakes?”

“I never said that.”

“You might as fucking well! You deserve a normal life. A wife and kids. People that love you no matter how big of a mess you think you are! And you know what? Fuck you for questioning that. Questioning their existence!”

“I never…”

“You’re the luckiest fucker I know,” Koen continues his rant. “I’ve seen you at your lowest. I’ve seen you in the gutter, practically. And this beautiful, selfless woman comes along and gives everything of herself to you. Gave up her old life to have a new one with you. And that’s how you think of her? Just to hell with the last seven years? To hell with five kids? All you think is ‘I should have pushed her away’? That’s what she gets after everything she’s done for you? Fuck you, mate. Guys would kill for what you have. Stop looking at what’s wrong and look at what’s right! You have a great life. That you deserve. So get your head out of your ass and appreciate it before someone comes along and does it for you. Yeah, you're a selfish prick, alright. Not even thinking about what pushing her away would have done to her and the baby she had in her belly. How none of those kids would even exist. THAT makes you a selfish prick.”

Silence descends on the room; Koen’s harsh words and accusations hanging heavily in the air. He’s right, of course. Even if Tyler hates to admit it, even to himself. Had he pushed her away, he would have spent the rest of his life drinking himself stupid and dwelling on what could have been and thoughts of what his kid turned out to be; what they looked like or what their name was. Did Esme give them his last name or did she just go with her? Was she with anyone? Did she ever think about him and those five days in Dhaka or did she hate him enough to never think of it...or him...again?

How would her life have turned out? Who would she have ended up with? Would she have been happy? Or would part of her always be back in Australia? His child serving as a bond that would always keep them connected. Millie would exist,but none of the others would. No TJ with his fiery temper but a propensity to love with his entire heart and soul. No Tanner with his dad’s old haircut and his huge emotions and his sensitive, old soul. No Declan with his red hair and his strong, solid build, so affectionate and loving. No Addie; impossibly tiny with a headful of dark hair and those enormous dark eyes. And that’s a reality he’d never want to face; a life without any of his kids.

“You love her, yeah?” Koen speaks up.

“Of course I do. With everything I am. Everything I have. What..?”

“You love her and that’s enough for her. And she loves you. Or she wouldn’t have stuck around after Dhaka or after any of the shitty times. She’s given herself willingly to you. Given you five kids and a damn good life. Don’t ever talk about her or those kids like that again, or I WILL beat you ass. Understand me?”

Tyler nods.

“No that we’ve got all that worked out,” Koen sighs. “Food’s gonna be here soon. You gonna eat?”

“I could definitely eat.”

“Gotta take care of yourself. You’re no good to anyone if you don’t. What do you wanna watch?” He gestures towards the tv with the remote. “Probably got some good adult channels on here.”

Tyler smirks. “I am not watching pron with you in the room.”

“I ain’t gonna like while you’re jerking off if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You’ve got issues, mate. Why are you so obsessed with my dick?”

“Gotta be a reason she sticks around, I figure. I’m just trying to piece together what it is. Something’s keeping her happy. Unless…” Koen’s eyes narrow. “...you’re a giver and not a taker, aren’t ya. You’re going above and beyond down yonder to get your woman happy.”

“I already told you; I’m not talking about my sex life with you.”

“That’s it, isn’t it. You’re spoiling her THAT way.”

“My wife has no complaints. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Atta boy! You’ve your priorities straight! You must be something right; she sticks around.”

“Have you ever thought maybe she just loves me? That’s all it is?”

“No doubt in my mind she does. But I’m proud of you; doing what it takes to make her happy. She reciprocating or..”

“Mate, we are not having this conversation.”

“Just give me a sign that she is. Some kind of hint. Give me a thumbs up if she’s doing her bit, too.”

Tyler smirks, then gives two thumbs up.

“You fucking bastard!” Koen snarls. “I don’t know whether to be jealous or you or hate you right now. Maybe a bit of both. No wonder you always got that goofy grin on your face whenever you’re around her. You’re getting yourself some. On a regular basis.”

“Probably get more in one week than you get in six months.”

“Now THAT’S harsh.”

Another silence descends on the room. This time far more comfortable. And Tyler lays his head back against the pillow behind him and closes his eyes. He feels better now. Slightly, at least. Koen’s tough love and hearing his wife’s voice and picturing her down at the water-with the sun capturing the natural red highlights in her dark tresses and that little burn she always gets on her nose and under her eyes- doing wonders to alleviate the guilt and regret. Loosening some of that tightness around his heart.

“You’ve got a good thing,” Koen says. “A good life. Don’t fuck it up.”

“I won’t,” Tyler vows.

But the confidence is lacking. It isn’t himself he doesn’t trust. He has the skills and the strength to complete the tasks at hand; his instincts and abilities strong. HE isn’t the problem. It’s everything...everyone...else around him. There’s no control over the situation . He’s at the mercy of his environment; unfamiliar surroundings working as a weakness. His kryptonite.

Mahajan holds all the cards. And it’s time to take them away.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #chris hemsworth character #extraction

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