max - mugshot // hOO 🕺🎶 it's max here

More than just a game

Warnings: dark elements including noncon and rape, oral, fingering, doxxing, stalking, and other explicit content. 

This is dark!Jake Jensen and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find a new gaming buddy but he sees you as more than that.

Note: So this is my first Jake Jensen fic and it was lots of fun so let me know what you think and hope you enjoy. :D

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Special shout-out to @navybrat817​ for helping me with this idea

After too many nights scrolling through subreddits and searching for something to keep you distracted, you decided to bite the hook. Several other redditors agreed to hop on Minecraft and it had been a while since you logged in. You missed the almost relaxing ritual of mining and building.

You joined the chat, quick to hit the little microphone emblem as you listened to the voices in your headset. You learned long ago to keep your mic muted on the servers, especially with strangers. The last time you dared to speak up as a woman in a game chat, your DMs had become so overwhelmed you deleted and started a new account on Discord and changed your ID on Steam.

You were all given your tasks as players called out coordinates and you kept to chopping up the side of a mountain. You mostly worked alone, chatting through text instead of voice chat. As you placed a crafting table in your little mine, another player, JJ-Smooth, popped up and dropped some iron for you. 

He stayed close but you didn’t mind. A lot of players tried to work together the deeper they got and you were used to it. As you uncovered some lava, he dumped water before you could get burned and helped you hack up the obsidian. 

He thanked you on the voice chat but you knew any courtesy in return would earn you the attention of the entire server. So you dropped some gold for him and went on your way.

“I hear a zombie,” he warned.

You turned to hack up the undead before it could get you, only to be shot by a skeleton hidden on the next level. Another appeared and you died before you could hide, the bony villain killed by your ally as you watched your possession scatter over the death screen.

“Hey, I got your stuff,” he said as you loaded back up, “I’ll find you.”

You typed quickly in the chat, ‘sorry, mic busted, give me your coordinates and I’ll come to you.’

You waited as ‘JJ-Smooth is typing…’ appeared at the bottom and finally he sent the numbers. You hopped over the blocky hills and through the forests until you found the mine again. He was just outside and handed over all your tools and ration. He headed back into the mine and you followed him. This time, you began your own path in the opposite direction.

Before you knew it, you’d lost track of time. You sat back as you realised it was only you and JJ on the server. The silence should have tipped you off earlier. He was the host and you felt super awkward for staying so long. You typed that you were logging off for the night and thanked him. 

You hit the keyboard with your knuckle and yawned as you opened the screen, 

“God, it’s late,” you muttered.

“Hello?” he said.

Your eyes rounded as you looked at the mic symbol and the lack of red line made you cringe. You’d hit an extra button without noticing.

“Um, hi, sorry, I just--”

“Mic busted, huh?” he asked.

“No, I--” you didn’t know what to say, “anyways, I should--”

“So, you’re a chick? Is that why you mute?”

“Uh, well, it’s just… easier, sorry, I--” even if you weren’t trying to hide from gamer dudes, you weren’t the best at conversation.

“A gamer girl, nice,” he said and you sighed, “sorry, that sounded weird, didn’t it?”

“Mhmm,” you touched your bottom lip as you cupped your chin, “it’s late, I have to work tomorrow.”

“You comin’ back?” he asked, almost hopeful.

“I don’t know--”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said abruptly, “promise, lips sealed.”

“I really don’t know if I can do this too much, I usually work early mornings so… yeah,” you said.

“I get it but you know you’re always welcome, hope you don’t mind if I send you an invite now and then. No pressure,” he offered.

“Uh, sure,” you shrugged, “okay, yeah, good night.”

You left the chat quickly and pulled off your headset. Shit.

‘I’m Jake by the way,’ a pm popped up, ‘gg.’

You typed back, ‘gg, it was fun’ and quickly logged out. You sat back and rubbed your eyes. Well, he didn’t seem like a total creep, maybe just a bit awkward but so were you. You shut down for the night and stretched out as you switched off the lamp. You were going to pay for your session in the morning.

🎮

A few nights later you got an invite to the server. You debated it but as it was Friday, you decided to make good use of the PC you’d saved up forever to build. You spawned in the middle of nowhere and built a bed before you found the half-finished settlement. You joined the chat but you must have been early as you were the only one there.

You headed back to the same mine, some work done since the first night, and laid your torches as you ventured into the depths. You jumped in your seat as a voice broke your peace.

“I don’t think anyone else is gonna join,” JJ-Smooth, or Jensen said, “you think maybe you’ll unmute?”

You stopped your mining and stared at the screen. You hovered over the mic button and re-read his name, he was the only other one there. You clicked and gave a strained smile to the screen.

“So, um, what’s the goal tonight?” you asked.

“Get some materials and go back to the settlement, keep building, oh, maybe we could try a portal, you ever gone to the nether?” he said but before you could reply he kept on, “shit, I shouldn’t assume, you seem like an experienced player.”

“Yeah, a few times, but I’m more a casual miner,” you went back to harvesting stone and ore.

“Ah,” he said, and it was silent for a moment, “so, you work again in the morning?”

“Not tomorrow,” you said as you focused on the game, “daycare isn’t open on the weekends.”

“A daycare, huh? That sounds fun, I love kids… not in a weird way but you know, I… urgh, I have a niece,” he said with a nervous chuckle, “nah, that’s cool though, sounds more fun than my gig.”

“Oh?” you turned and kept your axe moving.

“IT. You know, some people would be like ‘hey Jensen, why do you spend all your free time staring at a screen when that’s what you do at work?’” he scoffed, “well, who says I’m not mining there too.”

You wrinkled your forehead and gave a small laugh. He was rambling and it was kinda odd. You were happy for once not to be the strange one.

“But anyway,” he said, “I found lots of diamond over here. If we get some lapis lazuli we can build an enchanting table and get some sick armour.”

“Awesome,” you pressed your fingertips to your lip as you leaned on your elbow, “should try to head back before dark…”

“Hard to tell down here. How about you mine and I’ll keep an eye out for monsters?” he offered.

“Sure,” you agreed as he came onto your screen, “that works.”

🎮

Another week went by and you ventured back into the server a few times but not for very long as late nights did not mix with young children. The next weekend, you joined again on Saturday night and like the last few times it was just you and Jensen. You wondered why no one else was joining when the subreddit was so popular but you didn’t worry about it for long.

You mostly played in silence, Jensen did most of the talking and it was never about anything more than the game or his niece’s last soccer game. That night when you left the game, he kept typing on Discord.

‘I like playing with you,’ his message blipped up.

‘Same, thx.’

‘Really, you’re awesome.’

‘Thx :) Tired, gotta sleep.’

‘Sweet dreams.’

‘Night.’

You changed your status to offline and dragged yourself to bed. You opened your phone as you laid in the dark and went to the subreddit, you scrolled through the builds and screenshots of other people’s catastrophes. 

You came to Jensen’s last invite post from that night but all the comments complained that the world code was incorrect. Hmm, you should tell him next time.

You blackened your cell and plopped it on your night table. You rolled over and buried your face in the pillow, the light still etched into your vision. You fell asleep quickly and woke the next day to another invite from Jensen.

‘How about some Fortnite? If you’re into it?’

‘Srry, can’t, my mom’s expecting me for lunch.’

‘2 bad, maybe later.’

‘Maybe’.

You got ready to go see your mother for your usual Sunday afternoon visit and it went by like any other. When she asked you what you’d been up to, you didn’t mention the gaming, she was never a fan of it. When you got back home, Jensen was messaging you again. You didn’t open the notification and settled in to catch up on some streaming before another week of work.

Monday hit you like a train and you were glad you hadn’t spent the night mining again. If you had, you doubted you’d even be able to open your eyes. You got to the daycare centre and welcomed in the kids. You got them set up for the morning snack then cleaned up as Sandy took them over to the reading circle.

You wiped the tables and then did some painting before you went out for some play time in the yard. As you watched several of the children on the swings, you glanced around. There was a man across the street. You squinted through the chain link as he seemed to be watching but assured yourself it was nothing as he quickly headed for the corner and disappeared.

Inside, the kids were due for quiet time, some napped and those who didn’t, stared at the ceiling and yawned. You could have joined them but knew that wouldn’t be acceptable. The end of the day came and you helped the kids pack up their paintings and their sweaters. You waited in the yard with them as the parents showed up and handed them off one by one.

You waved to Danika as she clung to her mother and your eye was once more drawn beyond the chain link. The same faded grey jacket, the same glasses, and the hat with the frayed brim. It was a better look at the man. Was he looking at you? Why on earth was he hanging around outside a daycare?

“Sandy,” you turned and lowered your voice as she neared, “see that man?”

She peeked over and shrugged, “which one? The guy crossing the street?”

You looked up again and like before, he was walking away casually as if he hadn’t just been staring through the fence. You shook your head and huffed. “Sorry, never mind.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” she waved her fingers, “come on, let’s clean up.”

With the kids all sorted out, you went back in and tidied up the last of their mess. You and Sandy were friendly but like with any, you weren’t very talkative. You never really knew what to say but you were never unkind.

You pulled on your jacket and checked your purse for your phone and wallet. You checked the time and turned off the lights. You bid Sandy goodbye as she headed for her SUV and you took your usual route down the sidewalk towards your bus stop. 

You stopped short as the man was there. You were paranoid, he must just be waiting for the same route. You approached and he turned to watch you as you sat on the bench. He smiled and the dread sank deep in your chest. 

His rectangular glasses gave light to his blue eyes and a goatee trimmed his jaw. He was tall and well-built, you could tell even under his comic book tee. He was going to talk to you, another weirdo in the city.

“Hey,” his voice was chillingly familiar, “how was your day?”

You stared at him and blinked cluelessly. You looked around, it was only the two of you. You opened your mouth but you had to be wrong. He said your name and you winced.

“Jensen?” you breathed as you stood and squeezed the strap of your bag, “why? How--?”

“You weren’t answering me, I was worried,” he said, “just making sure you’re okay.”

“What the-- I don’t understand how--” He stepped closer and you backed up against the bench. “Don’t, I’ll scream.”

“Scream? Why? I’m just-- You know me, it’s me, Jensen.”

“You doxxed me?” you snapped, “what the hell?”

“No, I didn’t-- I’m just checking on you--”

“I don’t know you,” you said as your heart began to race, “so please, leave me alone,” you edged away from him, “and don’t message me again.”

You sprinted across the street and as you came up on the curb, you looked back at him. He watched you but didn’t follow. You could tell from there he wasn’t happy but the brim of his cap shadowed most of his face so you couldn’t guess if it was hurt or anger. You quickly spun away and continued down the next street to the nearest stop.

You couldn’t believe he’d just shown up like that. You couldn’t believe he would think that was okay. You couldn’t believe he’d think that much about you.

🎮

You blocked Jensen on Discord and left his world on Minecraft. That night you were shaky and nervous, afraid that he would show up at your apartment. Did he know where you lived? He must if he could figure out where you worked.

You didn’t open Steam that night. You paced your small apartment, jumping at every noise. Sleep didn’t come easily but in shallow spurts that left you even more tired. You watched over your shoulder as you walked to your stop and boarded with one eye on the door.

Work was little better as you found yourself distracted in the room full of toddlers. Sandy asked if you were okay as you kneaded play-do violently. You shook yourself out of your paranoia and assured her you were only short on sleep, not a complete lie.

You took out your phone when you stepped out for a small break. Your mom had called but you would have to get back to her when you had two hours to waste. There was another notification, that one from Discord, a friend request from JJ-NoRematch. It wasn’t hard to guess who it was and you declined it right away.

There were several others from Jensen, too. He followed your Insta, blocked; he followed your mostly empty twitter, blocked; and he even commented on your LinkedIn like a weird. You closed your phone and took a breath before you headed back into the kids, their voices rising in their excitement to go outside.

In the yard, you had another look around, expecting to see him there on the other side of the fence. You were slightly relieved when he wasn’t but still on edge. You joined a game of tag then watched several of the kids line up for the slide. You lost yourself in your job as you told yourself he must have gotten the hint, at least not to bother you irl.

Just like the day before, and every day, you left work and headed for your stop. He wasn’t there either and you sat down and phoned your mom, hanging up as the bus pulled up with a promise to call her again when you were home. At home, you felt almost normal again and checked your notifications; no more follows, no more requests, nothing.

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday passed in a similar fashion. Each saw your anxieties less than the day before. You even resolved to open Steam and start a new world for yourself. You spent hours mining and almost fell asleep in your chair. When you nearly tipped over, you decided it was time for bed.

You slept better than you had all week and woke up before noon. You wanted to log right back on but you had life to deal with; groceries, cleaning, and of course, making that call to your mother you’d delayed the night before. After all that, you felt accomplished and you decided to treat yourself to take out, a rare divulgence.

You called the local Chinese eatery and waited eagerly for your feast as you turned on a new episode of your current binge. You played on your phone until the battery was low and had enough juice to buzz up the delivery man. You dug for your wallet as you went to the door and unlocked it without looking up.

“How much--” you asked as you opened the door.

Your eyes met a familiar pair, two blue gems behind a pair of narrow glasses. Jensen wore the same cap and held the paper bag of take-out with a smile. You grabbed the door and tried to swing it shut but he was too quick as he slapped a large hand against the peeling paint.

“It’s on me,” he said, “I love spare ribs.”

“What the--” you gasped as you pushed on the door helplessly, “please go away.”

“You’re not answering me,” he said as he stepped closer and forced you back as his body brushed against yours, “you blocked me and I can’t even get a hey, Jensen, how are you?”

“I don’t want you here,” you tried to shove him and he shouldered you away easily, “get out!”

He slammed the door and you flinched. He put the bag down on the corner table and reached back to twist the lock without a look. His eyes roved around your entryway and further into your apartment. He smiled as they stilled and focused on you.

“This place is cute… like you,” he said and you heard a slight hesitation in his voice.

You swallowed and backed away from him. You spun on your heel and ran for your couch. You reached over the back to your phone and unlocked it as the battery icon flashed. You had just enough juice to make the call. You dialed as you turned back to him.

“I’m calling the police so you b-better l-leave,” you warned as your voice and hands shook, “I me--”

He was quick and before you could pull away, he swiped your cell out of your hand. He scoffed and tossed it across the room. It hit the wall and landed screen down on the hardwood. You bit down and pressed yourself to the couch. You stared at him and kicked yourself forward as you tried to slip past him. He caught you and wrestled you back into the front room.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked calmly as you struggled in his grasp, “I’ve been nothing but nice to you.”

“N-no, you’re-- you-- let me go,” you stammered as he angled you around the couch. He pushed you down so you bounced on the cushion. You tried to push yourself up and he pointed his finger in your face and wagged it. 

“No, you stay,” he growled and wiped his other hand on his jeans. He was nervous, even if he was angry.

“Please, why-- what do you want?” you grasped the cushion and hovered at the edge of the couch.

He sighed and sat in the chair. He took his hat off and set it on the table as he ran his fingers through his short hair. 

“Good question,” he said as his jaw squared and his eyes turned to pinpoints, “better one, why did you block me?”

“Are you serious? You-- you--” you struggled to get your words out, your voice even more splintered by your fear, “you doxxed me, you came to-- to my work-- and…”

“I thought we were getting along. I thought you liked me,” he said with a frown, “I really did, you sure acted like it and-- I only wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“But why wouldn’t I be? I--” you shivered and crossed your arms as you withered beneath his gaze, “Jensen, this was only supposed to be online.”

He scoffed and stomped his boot on the floor. He shook his head as he looked to the ceiling and his anger bulged along his temple. He tilted his head and looked at you again.

“You know, for years, I have been a nice guy, I am a nice guy,” he pushed his shoulders to his ears as he threw his hand out, “I’m so patient and caring and you girls, you don’t even give me a second look.”

“Jensen--”

“No, really, I mean look at you, you’re no supermodel and yet it’s the same thing, ‘let’s just be friends’,” he spat, “but I watch guys all the time treat women like shit and they don’t have any trouble at all, they got them hanging off of them and I’m a creep for giving them a compliment or opening the door--”

“I don’t… know you,” you eked out, “you have to understand--”

“I don’t understand,” he stood abruptly, “I’m done trying to understand.”

He pulled his jacket open and slid it down his arms. You watched him sling it over the chair and as he turned back to you, you stood. He caught your shoulders and held you in place. His strength was plain in his grip as he squeezed then slowly moved his hands to cradle your face.

“I just wanna be nice,” he said as he leaned in. You tried to pull away but he moved a hand around the back of your head and forced your lips against his. He poked his tongue inside your mouth roughly as you tried to shove him away. Finally, he parted, his hands still firmly around your head, “wasn’t that nice?”

“Please,” you begged as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip.

His eyes searched your face as you stared back at him in terror. He sighed and dropped his hands back to your shoulders. He pushed you down to the sofa harshly and backed away.

“Fine, I won’t be nice,” he snarled as he took his glasses off and folded them carefully. He put them on the table beside his cap and twined his fingers together, loudly cracking his knuckles.

You blinked at him as your eyes grew glossy. You brought your legs up under you and pressed yourself to the back of the couch. You grasped the upholstery and turned as you launched yourself over to the other side. You stumbled as you landed on your feet and ran for the door.

You were yanked back as he snaked his arms around you and took you off your feet. You kicked out and screamed but it was cut off by his palm as he kept one arm around your middle. You scratched at his hand as he dragged you back to the couch. He pushed you face down onto the cushions and planted his knee in the middle of your back, slipping his hand away as he put enough weight on you to keep your voice suffocated.

“Listen, I know I look like some IT nerd but I’m a lot more than that, now don’t make me hurt you,” he played with your hair as he smiled down at you, “you try that again and I will shut you up and if someone hears you, I can take care of them too.”

You sniffed as tears pricked in your eyes and nodded frantically as it felt as if he would snap your spine. He pushed off of you and you stayed as you were, paralysed with fear. He sat and unlaced his boots one at a time. He looked up as he set them neatly beside the foot of the chair and he bent to catch your eye.

“Well?” he pointed at you and traced the line of your body in the air, “let’s go.”

You stared at him dumbly and he stood to pull his tee over his head. His torso was sculpted perfectly and his chest trimmed with hair that trailed all the way down to his pants. He stepped forward and tugged at the back of your shirt.

“You want me to do it for you, baby?” he purred, “I can help you.”

You swatted him away and sat up. You bent your legs to your chest and hugged them. “Please, I’m scared, just leave me alone--”

His hand rested on his belt and exhaled again. His fingers moved swiftly to unloop the striped belt and unbutton his jeans. He pushed them down, nearly tripping as he stepped out of them. He stood in his boxers, tented with his impatient excitement, and gripped his hips.

“It’s okay, baby, I know you’re shy, I am too,” he neared and you winced as he grabbed your wrist. He tugged on your arm and you resisted until he bent your hand back painfully and you cried out. He tickled your jaw as he looked you in the eye and tutted, “it doesn’t have to be like this, alright?”

You went limp and let him pull your arms apart. Your legs slipped down and your feet dangled above the floor. He got to his knees and pushed between yours. He slowly rolled up the hem of your shirt and bent to kiss your stomach as he bared the flesh. You trembled as he forced your arms up and swooped the fabric over your head. It fluttered through the air and to the floor as he cupped your tits through your bright pink bra.

“Is this so bad?” he asked as he nuzzled your chest and pushed your tits up. 

He glided the straps down your arm and slid your bra lower so that you popped out. He nibbled at your flesh and traced your nipples with his tongue. You sat rigid and let him explore your body, too terrified to move a muscle. He reached around you and struggled with the hooks, frustrated he snapped the clasps and the band came free.

He continued to play with your chest, his fingers crawling up and down your stomach and sides. There was a genuine curiosity to his touch and it sent a chill through you. His fingertips pressed to the top of your pants and he pulled at them as his lips travelled down to your hip.

He tugged on your pants and jerked your entire body. He tore them lower as he pushed you up and you lifted yourself to let him peel away the layer. He added them to the floor and toyed with the elastic of your panties. The little bow in the front drew his attention as he pushed your legs wider and ran his nose along the cotton.

He hummed and rubbed his fingers down your crotch, pushing the fabric to your folds as he teased you through them. You inhaled sharply at the tingle it inspired and he pressed firmer against you, flicking his fingers along your bud as he noticed how it made you squirm.

He gently pulled aside the cotton and you felt his hot breath against you. You pushed on his head before he could delve into you. “Please, don’t--”

“Shhhh,” he threw your hand away from his head and bent over you, “just relax.”

He dragged his tongue along your cunt and lingered around your clit. You clenched as it sent a thrill through you and he moved his lips against you, suckling at you bud as your breaths grew raspy. You pushed yourself against the back of the couch and dug your nails into the cushion.

He slid a finger along your cunt and circled your entrance. He rubbed up and down as he kept his tongue swirling over your clit and you swallowed back as gasp as he poked inside. He felt around and added another finger, stretching you as he carefully pushed them in and out of you in time with his mouth.

He lapped you up and you closed your eyes, desperate to resist the coil winding within you. Your legs tensed against the couch and you tilted your pelvis without thinking. He sped up, the noise of his mouth and your slickness filled the silence. You let out a puff and moaned as you slapped the couch. The waves rolled over your flesh and you came into his mouth with a pathetic mewl.

He stilled his fingers as he lazily teased you with his tongue. He pulled his fingers out and sat back, the heat between your legs cooling in his absence as he licked up your juices. He watched you as he sucked his fingers and stood. Your head lolled and you edged forward on the couch. You tried to stand but he caught you and flung you back.

“We’re not done, baby,” he winked at you as he grasped the top of his boxers, “go on, lay down.”

You murmured your refusal and once more tried to get up. You slipped onto the floor and shakily crawled away as he dropped his boxers to his ankle. He grabbed you before you could get around the side and lifted you easily. He turned you and shoved you down onto your back as he lifted a leg over you.

He straddled you and again his hands roved over your body. You smacked at his fingers weakly but he easily ignored you. He kept one hand moving along your curves as he stroked himself with the other. He groaned and shook as he stroked his dick. Your eyes followed his hand and you gulped, he was thick.

He moved his knees back and pushed them up beneath your thighs as he kept a hand planted on your chest. He ripped your panties down your legs and untangled them from your feet. 

He held you down as he ran his tip along your cunt, wetting himself with your coerced arousal. You groaned and grabbed the arm of the couch above you. You tried to pull away from him.

He pushed against your entrance and you looked at him in shock. You couldn’t stop him. His eyes were set between your legs as he inhaled and slowly eased into you. He gasped as he got his tip inside you and his muscles tensed. He bit his lip as he dove further in and you gasped as he filled you inch by inch.

“Shitttt,” he moaned as he reached his limit and you whined at how full you were, “oh, baby.”

His hand slid from your chest and he gripped your hips as he pulled back and thrust. You exclaimed and he did it again, slowly as he watched himself impale you over and over. You curled your fingers against the couch arm and your feet arch as you pressed your thighs around him. He lifted your pelvis high as he angled his dick even deeper.

“You feel so good,” he rasped, “oh, baby, you’re so good. Ahh-hh-hh,” his voice fizzled as your walls clenched him and you closed your eyes as you felt the heat building. 

He moved his hand along your thigh and stretched it over your pelvis, pushing his thumb to your clit as he kept his pace. He purred as you writhed helplessly against him and you panted through the rising ecstasy.

“Please, please, please…” you chanted, unsure if you were begging him to stop or for more.

He moaned as he sped up and you sucked your lip under your teeth as you neared your peak. You quivered as your orgasm crashed into you and you let out a strangled cry. He snarled and planted his hands beside your head as he leaned over you, his hot breath tickled your face as he pounded into you.

Your legs bent around him as his pelvis rubbed against you and the friction drove you to another climax. You held onto the arm of the couch as he fucked your harder and harder. He kissed you and nibbled at your lip as he groaned and hooked an arm under to hold you close.

“You’re gonna make me cum, baby,” he said against your cheek and you turned your head away from, “ah, here I--”

He spasmed and slammed into you. He took several long thrusts and stilled. He grunted and drew heavy breaths as he rested his weight over you. He grabbed your head and turned your head up as he pressed his forehead to yours. You kept your eyes closed as the flames slowly dwindled.

“Was that so bad?” he stroked your cheek and trailed his finger down to poke between your lips, “No, it’s what you wanted, isn’t it, baby?” he wiggled his hips and you hissed, “yeah, you want me.”

.When the party’s over.

>REINITIALISING…

>ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE

>WIRELESS CHARGING: 69%

>RK900 SYSTEM HEALTH: STABLE

>24H FILE RECOVERY: 45%

Nines slowly regained consciousness. He was lying on his side and everything around him was quiet.

>ENVIRONMENTAL SCAN IN PROGRESS…

>THREAT ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS…

Layers of fabric covered his body and something soft and warm was pressed against his face. Eyes still shut, he nudged it gently with his nose and it emitted a low vibration.

>2% THREAT DETECTED: FELINE SUBJECT

The cat sprang upwards and hopped off the surface that Nines was lying on. It was ostensibly a bed, but Nines didn’t own any furniture apart from a couch and work table. The logical conclusion was that he was not in his own apartment.

>RUN LOCALISATION PROGRAM: Y/N?

>Y

>ERROR: PROGRAM FAILED TO EXECUTE

>ERROR: MEMORY FILE CORRUPTION

Nines had no absolutely recollection of his whereabouts or how he had arrived. He had not been compromised as his system health was stable, so there was probably another reason for being completely disoriented. It was voluntary.

He had gotten the android equivalent of blackout drunk.

It was not the first time and he feared it would not be the last. Such were the hard-partying ways of his friends and colleagues. They were all terrible influences. He loved them dearly, but they were terrible.

At 6PM every Friday, Chen and Miller would start things off rather innocently. “Hey there’s a new brewery downtown.” Or “My bartender cousin just hooked us up with a thirty percent discount!”

From there it wouldn’t take long for the DPD’s resident frat boys Connor and Gavin to gather a steady crowd of officers and check out the venue. If the vibes were good (which they almost always were), Sixty would get wind of things. Then the rest of the frat house would descend and total chaos would reign until the break of dawn.

SWAT Unit 32 was famous for its particularly destructive brand of revelry. Skinny dipping in private swimming pools, scaling skyscraper rooftops and causing media scandals were all par for the course. The day after Captain Allen’s birthday, the DPD crew spent the entirety of their bonuses to repair the collapsed ceiling of the Eden Club.

Nines couldn’t remember how he exactly he was coopted into the madness. Probably peer pressure. Connor insisted that he try thirium alcohol. Sixty said that he would regret being a loser and not joining them. Gavin had just held out a hand and double-winked. That did the trick.

One night blended into another and soon Nines had worked up quite a reputation of his own. He was the Casanova of the homicide department. The handsome devil… the hunter… the sex god. People would actually come by his desk and congratulate him on Monday morning.

Nines hated it but he couldn’t stop himself from doing the same thing over and over. Perhaps it was the appreciative clap on the shoulder from Gavin the morning after Sixty posted photos of a high-end Traci model giving Nines his very first lap dance.

Life at the DPD was the epitome of work hard, play hard. It seemed like one big party but deep down Nines knew they were all just slaves to their compulsions. He wondered whether it was because they needed to celebrate every demon they vanquished or whether they needed to wipe the troubling memories of doing so.

In Nines case, there were definitely things he needed to kill within himself. Some were nightmare inducing crime scenes, but some were memories so heart-wrenchingly sweet that he thought he might self-destruct if he were to dwell on them too long. There were things he couldn’t have and things he needed to erase from his brain.

Something touched his face gently.

>PERIPHERAL OBJECT DETECTED: HUMAN HAND

>THREAT ANALYSIS: NON-COMBATIVE

The hair on his forehead was brushed aside and fingers ran over his features. A thumb swept over his bottom lip and caressed his cheek.

Nines couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and come face to face with his most recent conquest. He lay still, frozen with regret as the hand continued to stroke his face.

The hand travelled down his neck and fell upon his chest. Nines caught it abruptly. It wasn’t even the month-end and his savings were badly depleted. He couldn’t afford round two. He retracted the synth skin down to his wrist and prepared the electronic payment credentials.

Fingers merely intertwined with his.

“Just take your money and go. I’ll tip extra if you delete everything from your hard drive.”

“What the phck are you talking about?”

Nines eyes flew open. Steel blue met storm green.

>SYSTEM ALERT: THIRIUM PUMP OVERLOAD

“Fuck!”

“Wow that’s flattering.”

Nines pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes in a vain attempt to remember what had led to this absolute, unmitigated disaster.

“What the hell happened last night?”

Gavin looked affronted.

“You ruined our housewarming for one.”

>MEMORY ARCHIVE SEARCH: housewarming, Gavin

>RESULT: TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM “G.REED” IN GROUPCHAT “CLUBBERCOPS”, 15:33 18 JULY 2040: Assholes. Party at our new place. Next Friday. From seven till LATE. Bring booze, bring bitches. Nah. Actually, don’t. Our landlord’s a bastard and we already got three noise complaints.

>RESULT: TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM “CONMAN” IN GROUPCHAT “CLUBBERCOPS”, 15:34 18 JULY 2040: Yeah we should keep this one PG. Bring food if you wanna eat. This mf can’t cook and I don’t care to. See y’all!!

Oh right. Fuck. Gavin’s housewarming. Gavin and Connor’s housewarming. His two closest friends who were somehow even closer to one another. Nines hadn’t realised until it was far too late and there was nothing for him to do but smother the bitterness with his favourite coping mechanisms: android alcohol and paid sex.

The circumstances definitely explained the state he was in, but things still didn’t add up.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did we… did we…”

“No. Nothing happened between us. You were completely shitfaced. I just put you to bed to stop you from embarrassing yourself.”

Nines looked up at the ceiling, struggling to put the pieces together. His system offered him no useful prompts. The fermented thirium had done its job of code corruption extremely well. He looked back down and met the green eyes focused on him with deep concern.

“What did I do?”

“Sixty has videos, but I don’t think you want to see them. God, Nines… why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I’m really sorry, Gavin. I didn’t mean to ruin your night… and Connor’s.”

“He’s fine. He and Sixty moved the crew to Hank’s place. Which is what we should have done in the first place… there’s really no point throwing a party in this shoebox and telling people like Tina Chen to be quiet. Honestly if it wasn’t you it would have been her bringing the house down. Good thing they had all of Michigan Drive to tear up. Hank’s neighbours can sleep though a bombing.”

“What did I do?”

Gavin put his hand back on Nines’ face, his expression unintelligible. The human touched him often enough, but never like this. Never so intimately. Nines forced down the twisting sensation in his torso. He couldn’t get his hopes up. This was pity.

Nines braced himself to hear the worst. He prepared for the shredding of all his dignity and the collapse of his falsely extroverted and confident identity.

What came though was a soft press of lips to his forehead.

“It wasn’t pretty and I wish it hadn’t happened like that, but I think it was a long time coming… I’ve never seen you so emotional before. I’m sorry I didn’t notice anything all this while.”

“Gavin, please.”

“I’m going to focus on the positives, because really… there were a LOT of negatives. Oh boy. You… uh…”

“Gavin.”

The detective dipped his head and looked away.

“Phck, I shouldn’t be so embarrassed…

You told me you loved me.”

Nines closed his eyes. That was it. He should quit his job and move to another state. Hell, he should go to Cyberlife and request a factory reset on compassionate grounds.

“I’m so sorry. I… I should leave.”

He made to sit up, but was pushed back into the mattress. Gavin curled into his side.

“Nah. You’re good.”

“What?”

“You threw up on my plants and smashed Connor’s RA9 sculpture, buuuut you’re good.”

“I don’t understand.”

Gavin wrapped his arms around Nines and edged closer until the android was forced to turn on his side and reciprocate.

“What do you think, genius? If a guy like me doesn’t throw a guy like you out of the house after all that… what does it mean?”

“That you have a high tolerance for toxic friendships?”

“It means I want you to stick around, dipshit.”

>SYSTEM ALERT: THIRIUM PUMP RATE FLUCTUATIONS. OVERLOAD IMMINENT.

“You mean you like me?”

“Of course I do! I always have, but it never seemed right to bring it up. We’re actually really good friends. I didn’t think it would be possible when we first met but we have so much in common.”

“Bad habits for sure.”

“Come on, Nines. We’ve had a really great time together. Some of my best memories at the DPD are with you. Don’t ever quote me on it but you’re a phcking amazing partner. Can’t believe you thought I had something going with Connor when it’s always been you.

So yeah, I do like you. And I’m willing to try… I dunno… being with you. Like for real.

Stop drinking like that, though. I know I’m a hypocrite but you really scared me last night. I lost my Dad and I nearly lost Hank to the bottle. You might be this super advanced android, but that liquid courage shit is a death trap, man.”

>SYSTEM ERROR: THIRIUM PUMP AT MAX FLOW RATE. PUMP OVERLOAD. REDUCE PRESSURE IMMEDIATELY!

Nines nodded quickly and blinked away the tears that welled up in his eyes. Gavin grasped the android’s chin and tipped his face down gently. Their eyes fluttered shut simultaneously and their lips met.

>SYSTEM RECOVERY MESSAGE: THIRIUM PUMP FUNCTIONALITY RESTORED

They broke apart after several golden moments and Gavin hugged Nines tightly under the sheets.

“What am I supposed to say to the others? I don’t think I can look any of them in the eye ever again.”

“Are you serious? You got nothing on the insanity that bunch is capable of. Sixty thinks he’s hot shit with his blackmail material, but I got receipts that’ll glue his mouth shut for decades. Anyway, that’s what friends are meant to be like. You have dirt on each other but you’re not meant to use it.

The same applies to us too, by the way. Don’t feel like you gotta be… apologetic about what happened last night. Yeah, you better replace my fancy new plants but I’ll never judge you for what happened. I want you to know that I’ll always be in your corner, Nines.”

Nines hummed thoughtfully and ran a hand though Gavin’s hair, marvelling at the fact that he could now do so whenever he wanted. He didn’t say anything in response, and just settled for cuddling closer to the human.

>>RK900 SYSTEM HEALTH: EXCELLENT

Shipped (Colby Brock Imagine)

Summary: *REQUEST* Omg your requests are open!! Can you do something about colby and reader dating in secret and she’s always hyping him up on everything and fans just think it’s cause they are best friends. But she posts a post wearing the love for hire letterman on accident and the fans connected it because Kat and Tara have it to so they figure out they are dating and go crazy (in a good way) for them 🥺❤️

Written: 2020

Word Count: 1,967

Warnings: Major fluff, Swearing

Masterlist

I harassed Colby into letting me listen to their new music. Let’s just say, when you guys hear this, you’re going to be glad One Direction is on a break. Can’t help but stan L4H!! #numeber1fan

I press "send tweet" before plugging in my phone and taking a quick shower. When I get out of the shower I grab my phone and throw myself onto Colby’s bed. It’s our bed at this point. I spend more time at the trap house than I do my apartment, I might as well move in. I go and read the comments under my tweet. Most of them are good. Some fans want me to leak the boys' music, others are freaking out over mine and Colby’s friendship. Someone makes it a point to mention how cute Colby and I would be as a couple and linked an edit that they made. Someone commented that fans like them, the one that posted the edit, are the problem and the reason why Colby doesn’t have any friends who are girls. There is a whole fight going on under that comment.

I quickly try to defuse the situation between the fans before exiting twitter altogether. I take my towel off of my damp hair and walk back into Colby’s bathroom to detangle it. When I finish doing my hair I grab the first jacket of Colby’s that I see to get warm. Lucky for me, it’s his Love for Hire lettermen jacket. For whatever reason, this jacket is more comfortable than any hoodie I’ve stolen during our entire relationship, maybe it’s because it smells strongly like him. Or maybe it’s because I get to finally live out my high school dream of wearing my boyfriend’s lettermen. Either way, Colby knows that this is my jacket now and he’s going to have to fight me to the death for it back. I don’t know if it’s because I freshly showered and my hair is fluffy, or because my skin is thanking me for not putting makeup on it yet, but something is compelling me to take a selfie in Colby’s bathroom mirror.

I get up on to the counter and try to position myself comfortably. I take a few selfies, while carefully not exposing Colby’s messy counter. I do cute poses with peace signs and my tongue sticking out. I do serious “model” poses with hair looking like I’m in a photoshoot. I take a couple and post them on my Instagram story. I triple check each one before pressing send to make sure they end up on my close friends’ list and not my public story. That would be disastrous. I saw how people were acting in the comments of my tweet supporting Colby when a fan posted an edit wishing we were dating. I can’t imagine how his fan base would react if they knew we really are dating and have been for well over a year.

Well, I can imagine how they would react, I’ve been around Colby long enough to figure out how his fanbase functions. Most of his fans would be supportive. Of the majority, there would be roughly half who constantly would show their support over our relationship. The other half would keep quiet and try not to mention it directly so they don’t “jinx” it. No matter how open Colby is with his fans, there is still so much of his life that he has to keep private from the rest of his fans who wouldn’t be supportive of our relationship. The obsessive ones who think that Colby is a toy and belongs to only them. In all honesty, Colby and I probably would have been together longer if it wasn’t for them. We probably wouldn’t have been friends. There was a period in his life when he wouldn’t make any new female friends because of what his old friends had to go through. Because of that, Colby has always been protective of me.

Even though we’ve been friends since he moved to Los Angles, he only introduced me to his fandom two years ago. Even then, it wasn’t like, boom: “here’s a girl that I’m friends with, be nice!” Colby made sure I was properly acclimated to his side of internet stardom by having me appear in all of his other friends’ videos and photos first before a strand of my hair was placed in one of his videos. And then he said, “here’s a girl that I’m friends with, be nice!” Being a Youtuber myself, I have some experience with fandoms. But nothing could prepare me for his intense fans. For the first couple of months after Colby put me on his channel, I understood why Colby kept so many of girl friends in the dark or why some chose to stop being friends with Colby in general. It’s only a select few fans, but when there are so many comments of harassment and death threats it can get overwhelming.

Those comments died down after a while though. Mostly because I either mute certain words from my comments or I don’t read them. Colby and I try really hard to hide our relationship. If we’re in videos together, we don’t sit too close. We keep our hands to ourselves; even a simple hand on the shoulder can cause a frenzy. We only post our couple pictures on our actual secret Instagram accounts and close friends list. Our friends know not to post anything where we might look too much like a couple. We make it a point to bicker like siblings whenever we do work together. Hell, the reason I still have my apartment is to avoid people finding out we’re dating. If I have my own place, people just think I’m visiting the guys whenever I’m over. And it works, everyone just assumes that we’re really close friends.

“I’m back and I bring food!” Colby yells as he opens the door to the room. I plug my dying phone back into the charger before abandoning it in the bathroom to greet Colby.

“Oh thank God, I was beginning to think you were with your hoes. But then I ran into Sam, Jake, and Corey in the kitchen so I relaxed.” I give Colby a quick kiss and help him with the shopping bags in his hand. I set them on the bed and start going through them.

“I wish, but they were too busy for me. So I went and got us stuff for this weekend.” Colby sets the food down and helps me unload the bags.

“Oh that reminds me, we need to stop by my place after dinner so I can pack my things.” Te whole friend group is renting a log cabin in woods for Thursday to Monday morning for bonding and to get a few collars done. Colby went and got a few road trip snacks without me. Probably because I would get distracted at Target and we would never leave. It’s fine, he remembered to get my favorite snacks.

“Yeah, okay, I figured. We could have gone earlier but I had to let you sleep in after you spent all night watching tiktoks.” Colby walks over to the couch and starts to set up our lunch in front of the tv.

“To be fair, I’m not responsible for the time lost when I’m on the tok. Besides, I learned more dances to teach you!” I take off Colby’s jacket and set it at the foot of the bed before joining Colby on the couch.

“Of course you did. You know how much I love learning a new TikTok dance every day.” Colby jokes before kissing my forehead. He hands me my food and turns on Netflix.

A few minutes into our show, there’s a loud, rapid knock at the door. Annoyed, Colby paused the show and puts his food down.

“What?” Colby asks as he gets up to open the door. Sam stands on the other side, relieved. The last time Sam knocked on the door like that, Colby and I were busy… rearranging furniture.

“Oh Colby, you’re home. But I’m not here for you. Y/N, did you mean to post that on your story?” Colby moves aside to let Sam in.

“Haha, Sammy, I’m not falling for that one. Colby already tried that on me last week.” I go back to eating my food and ignore Sam.

“No, I’m being serious. Katrina said she kept trying to reach you but you’re not answering. Fans are freaking out on twitter.”

“Oh shit!” I quickly put down my food and grab my phone in the bathroom. There are miss calls and texts from Kat, Tara, and Devyn. I unlock my phone and open Instagram to check my story. Sure enough, I accidentally sent one of my selfies to my main story instead of my close friends. The selfie looks harmless enough, except I’m wearing Colby’s jacket and it’s very obvious that I’m in his bathroom. Jake moved in some of the cardboard Colby’s into Colby’s room and one of them faces the mirror, you can kind of see it in the selfie. Most people might think nothing of it, but earlier this week Kat and Tara posted pictures of them wearing Sam and Jake’s jackets. With that association alone, everyone is going to find out.

“I don’t get it, there’s only a selfie on here. Did you already delete it?” Colby yells from the bedroom. I slowly walk out of the bathroom with a confused look on his face.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” I open up my story and check how many people have seen it.

“What, I’m lost… Oh… Oh! Oh, fuck!” Colby finally gets it and does something on his phone.

“‘Oh fuck’ is right. So many people took screenshots that even if I deleted it now, it would be pointless.” I walk to the bed and throw myself facedown, like a teen in a movie after having a shitty day at school.

“And you guys are trending on Twitter,” Sam says. I almost forgot he was still here.

“Dude,” Colby warns.

“Not helpful, I get it. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” Sam leaves the room and I let out a scream as soon as I hear the door close. I feel the spot next to me sink as Colby sits down and starts rubbing my back.

“Hey, Y/N, these aren’t as bad as you think. I’m only seeing positive messaged. Look,” Colby gently pats my back to get my attention.

“Really? Let me see.” I sit up, sniffle, and peek at Colby’s phone as he reads.

“Are you crying?” Colby asks as he wipes my face.

“I immediately got overwhelmed. Let me read the tweets.” I take Colby’s phone scroll through the tweets. He’s right, they’re mostly positive. I haven’t seen a negative tweet yet. That’s the opposite of how I thought this would go. A few people are telling other fans to stop assuming, but even those are calm compared to the fight I saw earlier.

“See, I guess we were stressed all this time for no reason. We can do normal couple things like our friends and not go out of our way to hide everything.”

“That’ll be nice. It was getting exhausting. What do we do now? How do you want to approach this? Live stream? Youtube video?” I look at Colby and he has a big smile on his face.

“Right now, let’s just finish lunch. We can deal with this later. Now, I’m going to take this back. I don’t want you to start crying again.” Colby strokes my hair and kisses my forehead.

“I love you, Colbs,” I say softly.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

Your Remedy

Like clockwork he called you. Every Wednesday at 7:00, for the last four months. You stared at your phone and watched it ring. His stupid handsome face plastered across the screen. Your dumb face smiling next to his, sitting in his lap, arms wrapped around each other, blissfully happy. The 30 other selfies you’d taken together at that time now resided in a hidden folder where you’d be less likely to see them.

7:00. Every Wednesday. He knew you’d be home and settled, relaxing after a long day at work. Feet kicked up on the coffee table on your patio, glass of wine in hand. At first it took everything you had not to answer. Then it irritated you and you purposefully walked away from your phone at 6:58. For a brief period of time it made you smile. It tugged at your heart strings that he was still trying. Now it just made you feel guilty.

You were the bad guy in this scenario. You were the one breaking his heart. You were the reason he posted sunsets with sorrowful captions on Instagram. You had seen the tabloids. “Mystery woman crushes Cavill.”

He even talked about you on talk shows. Instead of pushing his new show, he sulked and smiled forlornly. He never mentioned you by name. He knew his celebrity status was what was keeping you away. You had refused to be a part of the fishbowl life. You were a private person and couldn’t fathom prying eyes commenting on every aspect of your being. You didn’t feel strong enough to endure it. He didn’t fault you for it, but he knew he couldn’t protect you from it.

He told you he understood. That he’d do his best to respect your wishes. He did so by sending flowers to your office every Monday and your favorite Chinese takeout to your house every Friday. The delivery guy knew you by name, he’d sigh and shrug every time he arrived at your door.

This time he surprised you. A text followed the call. Three words. And it cut you deep.

“I miss you”

You opened the text and read it. Your heart instantly sinking into your stomach. You chugged the last of your glass of wine and went inside for more. As you opened the door to go back outside you heard your phone ping again.

“Please talk to me”

You started to type, but immediately deleted it. He must have seen the text bubbles...

“I miss us” and he sent the pic you saw every Wednesday at 7:00. You knew he had saved it as his wallpaper. But now he was reminding you of how happy the two of you had been. A tear rolled down your cheek as you tossed your phone into the chair and went inside. He was clearly on a roll, and you couldn’t mentally or emotionally handle it. You knew you’d cave. You’d call him back. He’d talk you into getting back together and saying screw everyone else.

But it didn’t work. It couldn’t. Your life wasn’t in LA. It was here. Your family, your friends, your job that you had busted your ass to get. His life was in LA and London. Far from the small quiet life you had worked so hard for. You couldn’t justify flittering off and living abroad, forsaking everything you knew and loved. You were too level headed and logical for all of that. You didn’t believe in fairy tales, in happily ever afters with Prince Charmings, and you were bound and determined to keep your feet planted firmly on the ground.

You stood in your kitchen, back against the counter as you finished the bottle of wine. Another one staring at you from its rack.

“I see you damnit. It’s Wednesday. I’m not doing this.” You said defiantly to the inanimate object.

Your blood ran cold. You could hear his ringtone blasting from outside. He never called twice, but then again he didn’t usually text either.

You swallowed hard and grabbed the second bottle of wine. Swiping the corkscrew off the counter you slid down onto the floor.

You sighed heavily as you opened the bottle. The cork popping as you pulled it out. You leaned your head back against the cabinet and tried to fight the flood of emotions and memories hitting you.

The feeling of his full pouty lips on yours. His massive hands sliding around your waist. The way he’d bury his nose in your hair, breathing in the smell of your shampoo. The sweet way he’d smile at you when you’d wake up and say good morning. The safe feeling that would wash over you as he tucked you under his arm while you were cuddled up on the sofa. And the little things you didn’t even realize until now that meant so much. He’d always walk between you and the street. How he’d lead you with his hand on the small of your back. The secret grin he’d give you making you feel like you were the only two people on Earth. The way he’d kiss your forehead or gently squeeze your hand and wink.

Being in love with him made you smile like a fool. You were always giddy and excited. Nothing else mattered when you were with him. Nothing bothered you. But the rational part of your brain started chipping away at your happiness. This wouldn’t last. It was just a fling. You can’t leave your life for a guy. And your biggest fear, that he would ultimately break your heart.

You were still sitting on the floor reminiscing by the time the third bottle was empty. And you were drunk. Drunk enough you contemplated sleeping on the kitchen floor.

“Alexa! Play Adele!” You drunkenly yelled.

You were in the mood to sloppily sing sad love songs. You climbed to your feet, and fell into your feels. Eyes closed, hands in the air, you belted out Adele songs like your life depended on it. The power of the music swept you up. You clutched onto your remote like a microphone, haphazardly balancing on the sofa cushions and sang your heart out.

The doorbell ringing startled you so much it gave you the hiccups. You hopped off the sofa onto the floor and tossed the remote. You yelled at Alexa to stop as you drunkenly stumbled to the door. You tripped on the rug and face planted against the door, barely catching yourself before attempting to peer out the peep hole. A feat your eyes refused to focus on.

You regained your footing and opened the door. There he stood. All 6’1” of him. You hiccuped and tried to shut the door. You were mortified. His strong hand stopped the door from slamming in his face.

“Babe please.”

You wretched. You knew what was coming. You bolted down the hall to the bathroom. Skidding to your knees and slamming the seat up. The last thing you remembered was Henry’s hands gathering your hair away from your face.

You came to expecting to be clinging onto the toilet for dear life. Instead, you were cradled in Henry’s lap, his hand stroking your hair. You squinted as you looked up at him. He was watching tv, and flipping through channels.

“Hey there” he smiled.

“Henry.”

“Yes darling?”

“Water?”

“Of course.” He helped you off of his lap. You rushed to brush your teeth as he made his way to the kitchen to retrieve some water for you.

You had never been so grateful for his persistence as you were making your way back to the sofa. He came back into the living room with a bottle of water and a couple ibuprofen. He sat back down pulling your legs over his lap.

“Take these my love. Judging by the vineyard you projectiled, I think it’s safe to say we need to get some food in you.”

You nodded happily as you sipped the water, swallowing your pills in a poor attempt at staving off a hangover.

“Pizza?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Carmine’s?” You squeaked hopefully.

“Consider it done my love.”

You watched him as he rubbed your legs and ordered the delicious wood fire pizza.

You didn’t care about anything else right now. You didn’t even think of the dozens of reasons why he shouldn’t be here. You didn’t even worry about what happened beyond tonight. You were just grateful he was here to take care of you.

The two of you laughed and ate while watching movies. You snuggled up against him, deeply breathing in his scent as he kissed the side of your head and hugged you tight.

You sighed heavily, “I don’t deserve you. I’m so sorry. For everything. I’m horrible.”

He rest his chin against your head, “You really are.” He laughed before continuing, “...but I love you. And I understand, I do. But I need you. It’s as simple as that.”

You turned and looked at him, shifting in his lap to face him. “I’m so sorry Henry. Please forgive me. I love you. I-“

“I know my love.”

You leaned forward planting a quick kiss on his lips before ducking your head down feeling almost guilty for it.

“Hey...” he tipped your face up to meet his with his finger. “Don’t I deserve a proper kiss after everything?” He smirked.

You kept a straight face as you climbed off his lap and stood up. He furrowed his brow and gave you a confused look.

“Aren’t you coming? I owe you a proper welcome home.” A brief smile was replaced by a seductive look as you stood there waiting.

His eyes got wide as he jumped up off of the sofa, sweeping you off your feet into his arms as he carried you to bed.

-The End-

i'd wait forever and a day for you

summary: post-trying // jake is on an undercover mission and amy thinks she’s pregnant. 

(you should read this just for the last line tbh)

Her period is late.

At first, she attributes it to stress. Jake is on a major undercover operation and while she is an incredibly proud, supportive wife, she knows how dangerous the situation is. He’s a great cop -- one of New York’s finest, in both senses of the word (...he’s hot) -- and he was so excited about getting this assignment. And she’s excited for him -- really, she is. But with updates filtering through to Captain Holt at a snail’s pace, it’s impossible not to worry about him, where he is, what he’s doing, whether he’s safe. Her cycle was shot to hell when he was in Witness Protection in Florida and it is entirely possible that history is repeating itself. 

Four days pass, Jake is still undercover and her period still has not arrived. She tries to blame Hitchcock’s God-awful Zika cologne disrupting her cycle again until she remembers that both Hitchcock and Scully have been off work all week with food poisoning. She even Googles why is my period late?, quickly closing the tab and deleting her browser history when the first result that pops up is pregnancy. 

There’s no way she’s pregnant. She refuses to even consider it for a second. 

Despite her absolute certainty that her uterus is as empty as it’s always been, when Rosa invites her for drinks with her new boyfriend, Amy opts for a non-alcoholic beer. 

“I’m driving,” she explains at Rosa’s raised eyebrows and swiftly changes the conversation. She finds out that Rosa’s boyfriend is a mechanic and they hit it off when she took her motorbike in for repair. She talks about Jake, about how he’s her favourite person in the entire world and how much she misses him (A Lot). He asks her what it’s like dating a cop and how to deal with the person you love putting themselves in danger every single day, which makes Rosa blush. Amy has never seen her blush before. 

“It’s difficult,” she says truthfully. She hates seeing her husband hurting and being thrown in prison for crimes he didn’t commit and having guns pointed at his head. It’s why she instated the short-lived ‘no dating cops’ rule, before Jake kissed her and she decided screw it. “But it’s worth it. When you really love them, it’s worth the pain. Every second.”

“That’s what I thought,” he responds, looking at Rosa the way Jake looks at Amy. 

She finishes her drink (which is so not as good as its alcoholic counterpart) and gathers her coat and purse. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it. See you Monday,” she directs at Rosa and “it was nice to meet you” at her boyfriend, who she has a feeling might be sticking around for a while. 

She opens up her Messages app and types out a full paragraph to Jake about how she met Rosa’s boyfriend before him and how he’s really nice and makes her blush! Rosa Disz!!! Blushing!!! She adds a gif of Jonathan Van Ness saying “can you believe?” and is about to click send when she realises his phone is on his nightstand where he left it before his mission and puts her phone back in her pocket in dismay. 

Once home, she gets changed into one of his NYPD t-shirts and climbs straight into bed, crying herself to sleep. 

She wakes up bright and early the next morning, a feat that is made significantly easier when there is no super cute husband to snuggle with. She showers, pulls on leggings and one of his plaid shirts and gets started on her Sunday Chores. Dancing around the apartment and pretending the mop is a microphone stand is a lot less fun on her own and she overcompensates, making herself dizzy and throwing up in the toilet she just cleaned. 

Without thinking, she finds herself at the bodega on the corner, staring at the selection of pregnancy tests. She grabs three of the safest looking ones and bites her lip when the guy congratulates her as she pays. She’s wasted hundreds of dollars on pregnancy tests thus far and she knows she’s definitely wasting money on these ones too. She doesn’t need congratulating for making poor financial decisions and being bad at making babies, but she thanks him anyway. 

Back at the apartment, she dumps the paper bag on the kitchen counter to deal with later. She makes a cup of tea, calls her mom and fills in The Times crossword. The paper bag screams out to her the entire time. 

Reluctantly, she removes the boxes from the bag, fully intending to put them away in the back of the bathroom cabinet, out of sight. 

A niggling voice tells her to just open one and find out. 

She has the box open and the test in her hand when her phone buzzes with a text from Holt informing her that Jake is safe and the mission is going well. 

She drops the test like it burnt her skin. 

Jake. She can’t do this without him. If she is pregnant, she’d never forgive herself for finding out without him, for stripping him of that moment they’d been dreaming of forever. 

She’s waited this long, she can wait a few more days. And she’s probably not pregnant anyway. 

She ends up waiting two more weeks. 

It’s torture. 

She’s throwing up almost daily, crying in the break room for no apparent reason and her damn period has still not come. All symptoms which could be explained away by a lack of Jake Peralta and stress (due to missing the aforementioned Jake Peralta). 

Rosa corners her in the ladies bathroom and asks if she wants her to run out for more pregnancy tests.

“I already have some at home.”

“And?” She prompts. “Did you take them? Are you pregnant?”

“I don’t know.” She tries to play it off as no big deal, but Rosa knows her pretty well these days. 

“You’ve been trying for nearly a year, there’s a chance you are finally pregnant and you haven’t taken a test?”

“I can’t -- I want to -- Jake --.”

“Oh,” it dawns on her. 

“Yeah,” Amy sighs. “I’ve been staring at the tests every night but I just can’t. Not without him.  He’d be devastated.”

“He would not be devastated if you were pregnant, Amy Santiago.” 

“You know what I mean. He’d want to be have been there. I want him to be there.”

“I guess he needs to hurry the hell up and catch the bad guys then.”

He must have heard her because, hours later, the elevator door opens and there he is, exhausted and still in his weird undercover clothes, with the biggest smile on his face. 

She practically throws herself at him and, yeah, maybe she kisses him in a not-very-work-appropriate way and maybe some of the perps in the holding cell wolf whistle and maybe Charles is crying, but he is home and she can finally take those pregnancy tests. 

Holt allows her to clock out early (she makes a mental note to buy him a glass of Charbonnay the next time they go to Shaw’s) and Jake excitedly tells her all about the case, barely taking a second to breathe.

“Sounds fun, babe,” she says when he gets to the part of the story when he handcuffed the bad guys and then made out with this super hot chick in front of all his co-workers. 

“It was awesome,” he confirms. “What about you? What have you been up to? I missed you so much.”

“Aw,” she smiles, rubbing her hand over his thigh as he drives, “I missed you so much, too. As for what I’ve been up to, I’ve mostly just been kind of sick.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm. I... um... actually think I might be pregnant.”

He swerves suddenly, nearly crashing the car. Ignoring the cars around them honking, he focuses on his wife. “Pregnant?”

“My period is nearly three weeks late, I’ve been throwing up and I’ve been extra emotional,” she debriefs him. 

“Right. OK.” He takes a deep breath. “Have you taken a test?”

“I bought three but I couldn’t take them without you. It’s kind of been killing me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” he laughs, pulling over in front of their apartment. Neither of them move. “We should probably take them now.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. 

“You nervous?”

“Yeah,” she says again. She’s lost count of how many negative tests they’ve seen, how many times she’s felt that familiar crushing disappointment. The thought of going through it all over again... 

“I understand. We can wait, if you want. Or we could rip the band-aid off, let the scab bleed all over the place. I’ll hold your hand.”

There’s this reassuring look in his eyes that she’s seen a million times over from back when they were newly-assigned partners and he was reassuring her they would solve a tough case to that time on the roof of 397 Barton Street when he said he always knew she was going to be his boss to his speech at Hitchcock’s (second) divorce party when he told her that they are a family and that they can take whatever ‘next step’ she wants because as long as they’re together, he’s happy. 

Because it’s him, she nods. “Let’s do this.” 

The wait for the timer to go off seems longer than ever. She squeezes his hand so tight she thinks she might cut off the circulation, but he doesn’t complain, just keeps talking about how they’ll be fine, no matter what the result. 

The timer eventually goes off and she picks up the test and starts crying immediately. 

Jake hugs her tight and she can feel him crying too and this is so crazy and insane and good. 

“We’re having a baby,” he says in awe and it’s the best thing Amy’s ever heard. 

“We’re having a baby!” She repeats, half-laughing, half-crying. 

She yelps as he lifts her up and spins her around their tiny bathroom before kissing her tenderly. 

“I can’t believe this,” he exclaims when he pulls away, rubbing his hand over his face, “can you?”

“Nope.” She grins, kissing him again.

Ch 1: Assassination Nation Mark and X-reader

warnings: A dash of fluff. A dash of angst because certain things trigger Mark’s temper, but mostly just the main characters meeting. Remember he is needy, possessive and can be a real ass. But maybe you can deal with his flaws because he’s so hot?

@sweet-teekorbs​​ @azzurraeamaranta   @anastasiaskarsgard​

ch 2

ch 3

ch 4

ch 5

ch 6

ch 7

ch 8

It’s the first weekend at The Old University. You met some girls in your dorm that in the long run you think will annoy you, but for now your just glad to have people to hangout with in this unknown new world. They are all chatty about what sorority they want to be in. One is a legacy for one, so she doesn’t expect to stay long in the dorm. They drag you to a mixer at one of the frat houses. Ok, you weren’t kicking and screaming not to go, but you didn’t think it was really your scene either.

You wear your red Sophia halter dress with neutral colored six-inch wedge heels and a black wallet sized purse that just fits your phone. The girls you came with are taking selfies all over the house in semi-lewd positions until the frat boys pretty much swarm. You roll your eyes and go grab a rum and coke from the bar the guys built in this huge place. As you sit on the couch you notice most people, even while kind of chatting with other are on there phones taking photos and posting update. It’s a fucking epidemic that people don’t even talk when they are face to face.

Then you see him walk into the party. A goofy smile on his face, bottle of corona in hand, exploding fist bumps with his friends. He is the tallest and hottest guy in here. You avert your eyes looking around the room some more while he scans the room. He sits down next you and your body tenses. He nods a hello. As you nod back, you picture an image of you just dry humping him on the couch as the loud music keeps playing and most of the crowd ignore you, pops into your mind. You turn away blushing. He probably couldn’t see you blushing in the low light of room but at that moment you couldn’t look at him.

He stands up and offers you his hand. You down your drink and put the empty glass on the table.  You take his hand. He leads you to the staircase. You stop, giving a little tug he nods an ok. He looks around and nods to the door to outside. You nod yes. As soon as you get outside you can actually hear each other speak. You walk to the side of the house. Its very well lit and others are around so you feel pretty comfortable.

He says, “I’m Mark. I wasn’t trying to take you up stairs to fuck you like that. Just, we couldn’t talk in there with the loud music. Out here is cool.”

You say, “I’m (YN). Yeah, it is a bit loud in there to talk. I guess that’s why a lot of people are standing face to face conferring over text message.”

Mark says, “Well, that’s how I noticed you. You didn’t have your phone out taking pix of yourself or any of that shit. Its pretty toxic you know?”

Leaning back against the house looking in his beautiful green eyes you say, “Yeah, pretty toxic culture that just about everyone buys into.”

One of his hands palms on the wall next to your head. You glance over at how big it is and the length and thickness of each digit. You gulp looking back at him. His face gets closer to yours.

Mark says, “You don’t.”

Your lips graze. A flash of light goes off and Mark turn quickly to grab the phone out of his frat brother’s hand. He deletes the picture. Scourers the phones media feed deleting every account. Then he throws the phone back at him.

Anger cloaking his face Mark says, “Now you are nothing again fucker.” His look softens as he turns his attention on you again to say, “Sorry about that babe.”

Taking his face in your hands you say, “Its fine. It was only one picture.”

Mark says, “One picture can be the start to destroying a person or even a community.” He leans back against the wall saying, “Say that picture goes online and the whole college sees it. It doesn’t look like much. Just barely a kiss. The next thing you know the rumors start and I’m not touched but they have you looking like some whore. You’re not a whore, are you?”

You say, “If I was a whore I would have gone up to your bedroom.”

Mark says, “Say with one picture the rumor mill also had you fucking me in my bedroom all night. Its one thing when a person starts a verbal rumor. It’s a whole other can of worms when they have pictures to backup their claims. I’m sure your friends are going to regret a few things come Monday classes.”

You say, “I’m sure they are going to regret a few things by tomorrow morning.”

Mark leans over you again. As he moves in closer your heart jumps.

Mark says, “After I finish this kiss we started, how about I walk you back to your dorm. You’re a little tipsy from downing that drink. I don’t want you making any more bad decisions tonight.”

You just nod yes but think, what bad decision does he think you made tonight? That is washed away with the touch of his soft lips on yours. You let his tongue slide inside easily to mingle with yours playfully. Your toes curl as you feel his hand on the back of your neck. A finger bushing over your cheek softly.

Title: Fire Meet Gasoline

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Rating: T+

Part: 6/?

Story Summary: A chance encounter between a villain and vigilante leads to an unwise deal made between unlikely allies; an unwise deal made between unlikely allies ends in a final stand neither would have ever dared to take on alone. Together, though, they just might have a fighting chance.

Part 6 Summary: Favor number two tests the patience of one and the mettle of another, leaving uncertainty about both in its wake.

Part 1 on  Tumblr / AO3

Part 2 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 3 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 4 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 5 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 6 on AO3

I swear to god if if I have to sit through one more meeting where I get voluntold to pick up another department’s slack in the same sentence as management trying to cut my intern’s hours I’m going to chug a two-liter of Surge and burp so loud I bring this whole mfer down with me.

Shouta stared at his phone, his sleep-addled brain trying to make sense of whether Yamada meant the text as a threat or not. He’d been catching a quick power nap in the back of his truck during his lunch hour and had been most of the way asleep when the rattle of his phone on the metal floor jolted him awake again. Not helping his attempt to dissect the meaningless hyperbole was Yamada’s follow up text of lmao it u along with a gif of a cat trying to jump from a bed to a dresser and falling halfway with the caption “parkour!”. He wouldn’t put it past Yamada to be the type to threaten in one breath and quote a meme in the next, but he couldn’t wrap his brain around why Yamada would be sending him incriminating evidence via text message during work hours.

Two new messages came in quick succession as Shouta was trying to puzzle things out.

Oh my god

Those were supposed to go to my sister holy shit

So not an admission or a threat, just an idiot with a cell phone. Shouta groaned, eyes rolling back in his head in disgust at how much energy he had wasted on taking Yamada seriously yet again.

forget it Shouta sent back.

Cute cat pic for ur trouble? Yamada replied along with a picture of a gangly black cat with bright yellow eyes. The cat was sprawled on its back in a pile of kibble and the shredded scraps of a cat food bag. Shouta snorted, grinning a little in spite of himself at the self-satisfied look on the cat’s fuzzy little face.

cute he texted, trying to distill as much exhaustion and disinterest into the single word as possible.

That’s Ai-chan. She’s a monster, but she’s my monster <3

So what are you up to? Break from work?

Shouta sighed, rubbing his temples. It was impossible to freeze out someone who was so willing to keep the conversation going without outside input.

trying to catch some sleep before afternoon deliveries Shouta replied as pointedly as he could.

Oof. Busy night?

do you need something? Shouta asked, stabbing the send key a little harder than he really needed to. There was a short, offended pause from Yamada’s end of the line; Shouta could picture him looking down at his phone with that little not-quite-pouting moue he always made when things weren’t going his way.

I guess not.

The curt punctuation seemed to signal Yamada had finally gotten the point, just in time to exhaust the last of Shouta’s free time before he had to get going again. Shouta put his phone into his pocket and made a point to not check it again until he was walking home. Waiting for him was another gif, this time of a pair of hands vigorously shaking a bottle of Surge, followed by a message that just said Oh goddammit. Shouta rolled his eyes and deleted the thread without replying.

The perceived slight only kept Yamada at bay for a short time, however. Now that he’d gotten a taste of the man’s texting habits Shouta had to wonder how Yamada managed to get anything done. No matter when his breaks were during the day it seemed like Yamada always had some new meme or gif or general workplace complaint to gift him with in the meantime, whether it was before dawn or after dark or occasionally both.

do you actually have a job or do they just pay you to bother me? Shouta finally asked as he waited at an interminable red light several days later. Yamada had been on a spree that morning, flooding his inbox with an illustrated play-by-play of Ai-chan’s newest misdoings while Shouta had four straight hours of back-to-back deliveries.

Excuse you, Yamada texted back loftily, I am an integral part of station management! Who occasionally may or may not take extra long bathroom breaks to avoid getting roped into being more integral than I already am.

my bad. clearly you’re just doing your part to prevent asahi radio from being razed via belch Shouta replied, snorting out a laugh before he could stop himself. He paused, frowning. That was both new and unwelcome.

Yamada sent back a long line of laugh-crying emojis followed by Look who grew a sense of humor just in time to drag me!

don’t act like you know me.

Yeah, yeah. Scout’s honor, I won’t tell anybody you’re actually funny.

Shouta scowled, dropping the phone onto the seat next to him and pulling through the light as it finally turned green. Despite the chilly weather he rolled his window down to get some airflow on his face. He hadn’t turned on the truck’s heater yet but his cheeks already felt way too warm.

Shouta spent his next day off drinking too much coffee at the cat cafe while he tried to reign in the chaos that his computer desktop had become. His phone buzzed on the table beside him and Shouta swiped in the passcode with one hand while the other was dragging a huge load of defunct backup files to his computer’s trash. He’d sooner walk into traffic than admit it to Yamada, but having a passcode on his phone was turning out to be less of an inefficient hassle that he’d always thought it would be and did make him less anxious about putting it places that weren’t his pocket or his hand.

As if waiting for the thought to cue him in, the alert was for yet another of Yamada’s early-morning memes. This time it was a gif of a kitten trying to stay awake before it wobbled and flopped out of frame. Yamada’s accompanying caption read That midweek feeling hitting hard today along with an emoji of a sleeping face with a snot bubble.

it’s monday Shouta texted back.

When you work 24/7 it’s always midweek, Yamada replied.

implying you work at all. still not convinced.

I resent that, Aizawa. It takes a lot of skill and determination to shovel this much shit and still have spare time to be a full-time pain in the ass.

Shouta almost allowed himself a laugh at that, but the air caught in his throat at Yamada’s next question.

So, do you do all of your important hero research on the public wifi at kitty cafes, or is today a special occasion?

What do you mean? Shouta asked warily.

Behind you.

Shouta turned slowly, dreading what he knew he was about to see. Yamada was standing on the sidewalk outside, grinning at him over the top of his cell phone. He gave Shouta a little wave before sauntering in and up to the counter. He chatted amiably with the baristas as they made his order. Shouta frowned to himself, trying to work out the quickest way to pack up his belongings while disturbing as few sleeping cats as possible. The moment came and went too quickly, however, as Yamada came over with two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Black with one sugar, right?” Yamada said. He slid one of the steaming mugs in front of Shouta. “That’s what they said anyway,” he added, nodding up towards the counter.

“What are you doing here?” Shouta asked coolly. Yamada frowned at him.

“I was on my way to the post office to mail a couple things and empty the station P.O. box and saw you in the window,” Yamada said. “I figured we could sit and chat since we both have a minute.”

“You just kind of assume you’re welcome wherever you decide to be, don’t you?” Shouta said.

Yamada snorted. “If that’s the worst thing someone tells me about myself today, I’ll count it as a win,” he replied, toasting Shouta with his coffee cup. He invited himself to sit down in the only chair not currently occupied by cats. “Wait, is that a spreadsheet with my name on it?” he added with sudden interest, arching his neck around to peek at Shouta’s screen. Shouta slammed the lid of his laptop shut, feeling his face heating.

“Do you need something?” Shouta asked, trying to redirect the conversation and get Yamada back on his way as quickly as possible.

“Just caffeine and conversation,” Yamada shrugged. “Is it illegal to ask someone about their day?”

“Implying you care about whether or not you’re doing something illegal,” Shouta replied curtly. To his annoyance Yamada just chuckled and shrugged.

“I mean, you’ve got me there,” he said. “So, what are you working on?” Yamada added, lowering his tone just slightly.

“Catching up on some things,” Shouta said, intentionally vague. “Organizing research. It takes longer when you’re doing it on your own.”

“I bet,” Yamada agreed. “Would probably save you some time and effort to have a permanent back door into places you’re not supposed to be, huh?” He said it with a too-even speculation that set Shouta instantly on edge.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Shouta said.

“I know people who know things,” Yamada said with a broad, conspiratorial grin over his coffee mug. “Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer is a lot easier when you can tell which is which.”

Shouta felt a frisson of discomfort run up his spine at the implication of where Yamada considered him to be on that spectrum. “I think I liked it better when you were threatening me,” he muttered. “Don’t make more of that than there is,” he added quickly as Yamada’s smile grew cheeky and he opened his mouth to comment. Yamada did his annoying little not-quite-pouting pout and let out a quiet “hmph” at his joke being preempted.

“In any case, you probably don’t need me to tell you how to crack a secure password,” Yamada said. “Even when they’re clever they’re usually related to either the one who sets them or the thing they’re locking up, or they’re something pseudo-random cooked up by a number generator. Sometimes they get stupid-clever and try to do all three.”

“Mmn?” As bored as he was trying to sound, Shouta couldn’t help taking mental notes on what Yamada was saying. Yamada was a flippant trouble-maker from the word go but there were moments where he displayed actual talent for the things he claimed to be an expert in.

“Oh yeah,” Yamada said. “They’re trying for layers of security, but too many moving parts makes passwords way easier to out-think. Codes are only as smart as the people who write them, y’know?”

“And you know how smart they are?” Shouta asked, trying to keep his tone casual as he goaded Yamada into staying on a roll. Yamada caught his drift a little too well, however, and the sharp, meaningful grin came out again.

“I know people who know things,” he said again. “I’d be willing to let you in on a few trade secrets for the low, low price of a certain five-letter word beginning with ‘f’.”

Shouta snorted. “Hard pass.”

“Well, I tried,” Yamada said, shrugging. He checked the time on his phone and sighed. “That’s about my lot, I’m afraid. Gotta get back before the world ends.” He stood and stretched with a groan. “We should do this again sometime. Maybe talk less shop.” The offer seemed oddly genuine and Shouta wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that.

He tried to get back to work after Yamada left, but his concentration had been thoroughly broken. He bought another coffee and turned on some neutral background music; his brain, however, was no longer in the mood to stare at a screen and try to riddle out what his new sub-folders should be called. Finally Shouta dislodged the many cats who had taken up residence in and around his lap and packed up his laptop to see if fresh air on the walk home and a change of venue might help get him back on task.

Shouta nudged his apartment door closed with his heel, scooping the mess of envelopes out of his mail bin. It was mostly the normal jumble of junk and bills, but amongst the shuffle was a thin white payroll envelope with his name and address on the front in too-familiar spidery handwriting. Just going to empty the station mailbox indeed, Shouta thought with a groan. Yamada was way too fond of theatrics. He tossed the envelope onto his sofa without opening it and delayed paying it any attention until he’d put everything away, showered, and had a lengthy play session with his cats. If it was unimportant enough for Yamada to not just hand it over when they were in the same room together, Shouta told himself, then there was no need for him to bend over backwards to pay attention to it the instant he got home.

Finally his excuses ran out and he tore the envelope open. Inside were two pieces of paper folded separately into sharp thirds. The first was a handwritten note on Asahi Radio letterhead that read:

Aizawa-

I need a favor. I have a line on something but doing it alone might be tricky. You’ll just be the go-between, nothing dire. Meet me Friday, 9pm sharp.

-M

Also included was another of Yamada’s meticulously notated hand-drawn maps, at the other end of which was a complex of storage units bordered on all sides by a spike-topped chain link fence. Shouta peered into the dark, abandoned-looking guard booth, wondering if the first step to tonight’s goings-on was having to find his own way inside.

“Hey, you made it!”

Shouta turned to see a dark-haired man slouching up towards him from the other end of the sidewalk. He eyed the man warily, about to say he had the wrong person, but stopped as he stepped into the light and raised his sunglasses with a smirk. Yamada had stuffed all of his hair under a short, spiky black wig and a black and green snapback, slicked down his mustache and covered it in a thin layer of skin-colored makeup to blend it in with his face, and buried himself in baggy jeans and a jacket that made him look both heavier-set and a few inches shorter than he actually was. The only things that gave him away were his sharp too-green eyes and his unmistakable grin, full of crafty smugness at Shouta’s open surprise at his appearance. Yamada did a full turnaround of the odd costume, ending the twirl with a dramatic pose.

“Not a bad look for me, huh?” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Shouta snorted. “You look like a washed-up pop star who’s trying to pretend he still has to avoid the paparazzi,” he replied flatly.

To his surprise Yamada let out a burst of full-throated laughter at the remark. Shouta wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Yamada laugh in genuine amusement before now, only the occasional mocking chuckle or triumphant snicker. He had a loud, whinnying kind of laugh that tapered off into short bursts of wheezy, hyena-like giggles behind his hand as he remembered himself and tried to tamp it down.

“Okay, cynical,” Yamada said, still coughing through the last of his laughing fit. “Everyone’s a critic.” He rolled his eyes and gave a flourishy “well, what are you gonna do” kind of shrug. Shouta scowled at him.

“What are we doing here?” Shouta asked, doing his best to ignore Yamada’s grandstanding despite the growing burn of annoyance creeping up his face.

“Just a quick jaunt into my evil lair,” Yamada said cheerfully. He punched an entry code into the number pad next to the guard house, then pressed his thumb to the scanner underneath. The keypad flashed green and beeped an affirmative, and a small portion of the gate swung inward. “C’mon,” Yamada said. He motioned for Shouta to follow him as he led the way through the rows of squat cinder block units to one in the very back left corner of the lot.

“People with money can afford secret basements and underground boltholes wherever they need them,” Yamada said over his shoulder as he bent down to unlock the door of the unit, “but the rest of us have to make do with what we’ve got.” He lifted the door just high enough for himself and Shouta to duck under, then set it back down with a clatter. The unit was pitch-black and humid inside and smelled like a mixture of burnt-out electrical parts, solder, and partially cured epoxy glue. “I’ll get the lights, one sec,” Yamada said. Shouta heard him scrabbling along the wall to find the light switch, then a click. A fluorescent shop light flickered and buzzed to life above them, flooding the unit in intense blue-white light. Yamada turned to Shouta and spread his hands wide. “Taa-daa! Welcome to the inner sanctum.”

It looked more like a high school shop room that had sublet space to a thrift store. The left wall had been covered in a cluster of flat-pack bookshelves, their shelves bowing under a jumble of storage boxes labeled things like “radio parts-LIVE”, “speaker wire”, “tape--sticky”, and “tape--magnetic”. The back wall was one long anchored shelf divided into slots that held overstuffed file folders bundled together with rubber bands and binder clips. The only wall not covered in shelving or projects was taken up with a butcher block work table and a cork board with scribbled notes and schematics pinned to it.

“Kind of rinky-dink, but it gets the job done,” Yamada said fondly. “Anyway. First things first, did you happen to wear the stab vest I gave you?” he asked over his shoulder as he ducked under the work table and retrieved a box marked with today’s date.

“Yeah.” The assurance that his part in tonight would be “nothing dire” had put Shouta on high enough alert that he’d forced himself to put pride aside and opt for personal safety instead.

“Thank god. So, basically what I need is for you to be my stand in while things get underway tonight,” Yamada said. “I’d go on my own, but the meeting place is kind of a...no-go area for me right now due to certain people who frequent it.”

“And you’d rather send me in looking like you instead?” Shouta asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Yamada stared at Shouta like he’d started speaking French.

“What? God, no, what gave you that idea?”

Shouta sighed, silently counting to ten in his head as his patience frayed. “You just said I’m supposed to be your stand in.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah, poor choice of words. Think stunt double, not body double,” Yamada explained. “I just need you to be a good-faith warm body, I’ll be handling the rest with this.” He reached into the box and pulled out something that looked like a cold weather mask had been extruded into a large funnel shape at the bottom edge. Shouta looked from it to Yamada, who was beaming in obvious self-pride.

“Which is…?” Shouta prompted.

“Which is your half of a two-way radio with a built in broadcasting speaker,” Yamada said, turning the top edge inside out to show Shouta the wiring and speakers sewn into it. “At first I thought maybe I could just have you memorize a script and I’d step in if things got too off-book, but you’re not very good at lying under pressure so I wasn’t sure that would fly,” he continued. Shouta wasn’t sure if that was meant as an insult or not. “So instead, we have this to work with. I can use this--” Yamada pulled up his sleeve to show a tiny microphone taped to the inside of his wrist-- “to talk to you or talk as you, depending, as long as I stay within ten or twelve feet of you at all times.” The last part he said in one of his uncomfortably accurate impressions of Shouta’s voice.

“And that’s why you’re dressed like that?” Shouta said.

“Exactly. I’ll have to be close enough to you that the receiver can pick up the signal, and it’ll be way easier to read the room if I’m, y’know, in the room.”

“If you were going to put on a costume and go anyway, why didn’t you just do that and go on your own?” Shouta asked.

Yamada frowned and waved a finger at him like he was scolding a child. “Eh-eh-eh. No questions asked, remember? You know as much as you need to know, and you don’t need to know any more than that. Now stand still so I can get you wired up.”

Shouta grudgingly stood with his arms straight out from his body as Yamada turned him into a human switchboard. With a combination of strategic placement and gaffer tape Yamada ran a long wire with an audio jack on one end and a battery connection on the other from Shouta’s waist up his left side to just under his collar bone. Another wire ran the length of his inner arm from shoulder to wrist and ended in a loop with a switch on it that fit over the first knuckle of his thumb. All he had to do, Yamada said as he taped it all down, was press the switch when he needed to talk to Yamada and let it go when he was finished. “Y’know,” Yamada said, “like those cheap walkie-talkies you used to play with as a kid.”

“I ended up making this a lot bigger at the bottom so that we can hide all of our crimes under it,” Yamada muttered as he slipped the mask over Shouta’s head. He was back in the extreme focus mode Shouta had seen him slip into before, attention laser-focused and the corner of his mouth between his teeth as he connected all the wires and power sources underneath. He pulled an earpiece up under the mask by its wire and stuck it in Shouta’s ear before reaching up to fuss with Shouta’s hair and make sure it was hiding everything sticking above the mask. Shouta shivered involuntarily at the touch, barely resisting the urge to pull away. “With the right top layer all of this should be more or less invisible,” Yamada went on, frowning appraisingly as he took a step back to examine his handiwork. He rummaged through a few things in the box and surfaced with a heavy black zippered jacket. “I had to guess sizes, but I think this one should be close enough.”

Yamada unzipped the jacket and held it out so that Shouta could shrug into it. Shouta eased the jacket on, trying not to disturb the network of wires all over him. Yamada zipped it up almost to the top, open enough to seem casual but still high enough to cover all but the face portion of the mask and its contents. It wasn’t a terrible fit other than being slightly short in the sleeves and restrictive around the shoulders. Shouta bent and twisted his arms, trying to stretch it out without doing damage to the electronic infrastructure. Yamada untied the audiojack end of the main wire from Shouta’s belt loop and stuck it into a small cheap-looking disposable cell phone.

“This should have enough battery to keep a recording of the whole thing,” Yamada said. “Can you give me a quick mic check to make sure everything’s hooked up?”

“Uh. Testing,” Shouta said.

Yamada seemed to like what he saw in the waveforms on the phone’s screen. He smiled in satisfaction before stretching a piece of tape around the back of the phone and carefully taping it into place in Shouta’s pocket. “If we head out right now we should get there early enough to do a few on-site checks,” Yamada said, checking the time. “Shall we?”

The two of them walked a few blocks from the storage unit to a cramped, dim little pub. Yamada walked at tailing distance behind Shouta the whole way, testing the range on the homemade gear by giving Shouta directions to where they were going. The audio was relatively clear if they stayed within Yamada’s estimation of ten or so feet; after they hit closer to the twelve-foot mark it got fainter and fainter until dropping out completely as they reached about fifteen feet. Again Shouta had to wonder why, if they were essentially going to be handcuffed to one another anyway, Yamada couldn’t have just gone undercover by himself.

“Grab a drink at the bar and go sit at one of the high-top tables,” Yamada said as Shouta opened the bar’s door and made his way in. “That’s where he’ll be expecting you.”

“Any advice on how to recognize whoever I’m supposed to be meeting?” Shouta muttered back under his breath.

“No idea, he said he would find you. That’s pretty standard for a meeting like this,” Yamada added before Shouta could protest. “Nobody wants to get jumped outside before negotiations even get underway. Think of it as a blind date, but nefarious.”

Shouta sighed loudly, making sure he hit the switch so that Yamada would hear him. Yamada’s never-ending supply of bad metaphors was the last thing he needed right now.

“Calm down, Aizawa,” Yamada said. “Remember, all you have to do is sit there and look pretty, I’ll handle the talking.” There was a short fizzle of static as Yamada entered the pub and made his way to a secluded booth in the back corner. “Still read me?”

“Yeah.”

“Excellent. What’s your poison?”

“Pardon?”

“Beer? Wine? Shot of whiskey to settle your nerves?”

“You really want alcohol anywhere near all this equipment?” Shouta asked, bewildered.

“It’s just for show, who goes into a bar and doesn’t order anything? You shouldn’t drink anything they serve here anyway, their bartending is a bad joke,” Yamada said dismissively. “I just need to test the audio output and make sure we’re good to go before the main event.”

“Then just do it,” Shouta said shortly. “Didn’t you just say you were going to handle all the talking?”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Yamada muttered again. His usual flippant chill had gained an undertone of cranky tenseness that was less than reassuring. “Can I get a bottle of Sapporo?” Yamada said aloud in Shouta’s voice. Shouta just managed to turn toward the bartender in time for the question to seem natural. The bartender, a smirking woman with long brown hair held back in a red ribbon, gave him an appraising once-over. She seemed to be unimpressed with what she saw.

“Sure,” the bartender said. She reached into a cooler under the counter and came back with the bottle of beer, popping the lid off before placing it on the bar in front of Shouta.

“Thanks,” Yamada said, far more cheerfully than Shouta had ever said the word. Shouta nodded his own thanks and went to go sit at one of the high tables in a cluster near the front. He drummed his heel on the bottom rung of the bar stool. The bar was basically empty and silent other than the bartender’s phone playing lo-fi swing music from a speaker dock behind the bar. Otherwise it was just Shouta and his undrinkable beer killing time.

“Ohshit.” The words came out as a single noise hissed violently in Shouta’s ear, making him jump.

“What?” he hissed back, avoiding the curious look the bartender was giving him.

“Remember how I said there were some people who made this place a no-go area because they want to kill me?” Yamada said, sounding like he was talking through his teeth.

“Yeah?”

“That’s them coming in. Don’t look at them! Have you never been undercover in your life?” Yamada whisper-shouted as Shouta turned to look over his shoulder at the door. Almost immediately he snapped his head back around, trying to be as casual as possible about pulling the jacket’s hood over his head as he saw Takeshiro and his wife coming in and sitting a few tables away.

“You know them?” Shouta asked, hopelessly hoping Yamada actually meant someone else who was still outside.

“Ye-ep,” Yamada said, distaste drawing the word out several syllables longer than it needed to be. “They’re still kind of sore about a certain scene in a certain alley you might be familiar with.” He scoffed, then hissed, “Wait, you know them?” as Shouta’s tone dawned on him.

The alleyway. Shapes in the dark played back in Shouta’s head, fuzzy from time and panic but falling into clearer place with the new context. A short, stringy figure barking orders and bailing when things got complicated; the other taller and stocky and silent with a plant-based Quirk protecting him. Shouta gritted his teeth, annoyed by how clear the connection seemed now that it was right in front of him.

“Takeshiro works on the night crew in package processing. Takes a lot of sick days now that I think of it. I’ve never actually spoken to his wife but I’ve seen her at office parties before,” he said quietly.

“His wife? Ew,” Yamada said.

“You’re telling me they’re villains?” Shouta asked, ignoring him. Yamada snorted.

“So-called. They work for an egomaniac middleman called Seguchi. Hebiko is Seguchi’s left hand, and Takeshiro’s hers.”

“What did you do to make them want to kill you?”

“Their boss did something stupid with information that wasn’t his and got busted. I had nothing to do with it,” Yamada retorted tartly.

“Right, sure,” Shouta said. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“Nah, shouldn’t be,” Yamada said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “This is why I planned things this way. No reason to bail out before anything happens.” Shouta was about to protest that it made a lot more sense to leave before there was a problem rather than scrambling when they were in trouble, but Yamada spoke first. “Heads up, you’ve got company.”

“So you’re Null.”

Shouta turned to see a lanky man with brownish hair and a narrow, rattish face standing slouched behind him with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his grubby jeans.

“Potentially,” Yamada replied. “You’re Raimaru?” His impression of Shouta’s voice was dead-on, which was bad enough on its own, but there was something just slightly off about his intonation that made Shouta’s skin crawl.

“That’s what they call me,” the man said. ”Getcha a refill while we talk?” he added, nodding at Shouta’s obviously untouched beer.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Shouta fiddled with the neck of the bottle to make it seem less like a static prop on the table in front of him. Even if Yamada had been against the idea of giving him a script to follow, some guidance on what to do in general might have been nice. He felt stiff and awkward, like a puppet whose puppeteer only had a vague idea of how natural movements worked.

“Suit yourself,” Raimaru shrugged. He ambled off to talk to the bartender, seeming to be doing his best to chat her up as she mixed his drink.

“‘Null’?” Shouta muttered to Yamada.

“Short for ‘nullify’, like your Quirk. Get it?” When Shouta just sighed in reply, Yamada added defensively, “Well, I had to call you something, didn’t I?”

“Did you?”

“What did you want me to say, ‘oh by the by you’ll be meeting my friend Shouta Aizawa, he’s thirty, single, a Scorpio, and lives in a single-occupancy uptown with three cats’?” Yamada retorted.

He technically had a point and Shouta hated that the most out of all the things he hated about this evening so far. Yamada had no time to gloat over the win, however, as Raimaru came back and dropped onto the stool across from Shouta.

“Kind of a hassle, having to be the face of cleaning up all of your boss’s bad behavior, huh? From what I’ve heard he’s got plenty to go around,” Raimaru said. Shouta privately agreed with the sentiment, but Yamada snorted instead.

“I get paid to go where I’m told, not to pass judgements,” Yamada replied stiffly. Shouta resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the defensive bluster. Raimaru laughed for him.

“I dunno about that. There’s plenty of judgement to go around if you want some,” Raimaru said. “Seems like the only books he can get into these days are peoples’ bad ones.”

“You think he gives a damn about anyone’s books other than his own?”

“I’m just saying I know a glorywhore when I see one. He spends all of his time making deals and playing nice and then suddenly people higher than him start going to jail,” Raimaru said. “Happened to Fukawa, happened to Seguchi, happened to Iwata. Hell, everyone knows he snitched and got Hanajima back in the day but Hanajima got shanked in prison and all his men scattered so nobody talks about him anymore.”

Shouta squirrelled the names away to research later, though other than those names Raimaru had said precious little to convince him that he knew much of anything besides Yamada’s surface reputation. So far his assertions had been vague at best and his “work, am I right?” tone was suspiciously chummy, like he was trying to nudge “Null” into letting something incriminating slip out.

“Why is any of this relevant?” Yamada asked. He sounded equally short on patience with Raimaru’s unsubtle attempts at currying favor. Raimaru gave a slightly passive-aggressive shrug.

“There’s a storm coming. A big one, one that’s gonna hit hard and rewrite a lot of rules about who’s in charge and who’s got a boot on their necks. You’re not gonna be in a great spot if you’re working for the Bird, so I thought you’d wanna know there’s better options,” he said. It was the first thing he’d said that sounded like he actually knew what he was talking about and it was not a reassuring change. Yamada, however, seemed unfazed.

“What, some new jumped-up ‘super’ villain with big plans for a criminal utopia?” Yamada said, unimpressed. “Seen ‘em come, seen ‘em go, nothing of value was lost. You asked me to come here because you had something valuable you wanted to trade. Is that still the case, or should I head out and stick you with the tab for wasting my time?”

“So, that’s a ‘no’ from you?” Raimaru asked, still grinning like someone had wired the corners of his mouth behind his ears.

“I didn’t hear a question being asked, but…” All of a sudden Yamada’s voice trailed off in a fizzle of static. Shouta tensed. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Yamada, who met his eye with a look that was not quite panic but was very, very close to it. Yamada tapped his ear questioningly. Shouta twitched his head to the side in a negative. He saw Yamada mouth “Shit!” before his attention snapped back to the problem in front of him as Raimaru let out a short chuckle.

“Never a good idea to use radio signals around me,” Raimaru said smugly. “They usually end up a little...dead.” He casually brought the hand that had been under the table to rest on its surface. It was holding a large pocket knife, which he casually flicked open and closed as he spoke. All of the plastic had been stripped off of the knife, leaving behind just the blades and metal guts holding them together. As Shouta eyed it, the blade began to glow a smokey orange around Raimaru’s fingertips.

“I think we’re done here,” Shouta said, trying to match the off-cadence way Yamada had been using his voice all night.

This only seemed to egg Raimaru on, however, as he cranked his Quirk up another notch. Shouta felt a static prickling like the kind before a huge lightning strike setting the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck on end. A tinny shrilling feedback noise whined through his earpiece, making him jolt and hiss in sudden pain. Shouta gritted his teeth and set his own Quirk on Raimaru instead. A hasty decision, it turned out, as a sudden crash of noise hit him all at once. Yamada’s voice half-shouting in his ear was interlaced with loud snaps of static as the equipment reconnected. Shouta winced at the onslaught, clapping a hand to his ear before he could stop himself. The moment of distraction was all Raimaru needed.

“So the Bird’s doggy wants to bark, huh?” In one fluid motion Raimaru threw what was left in his glass in Shouta’s eyes and hooked a foot under the bottom rung of Shouta’s stool, yanking it from under him. Shouta toppled to the floor, landing hard on his ass and elbows as he futilely tried to catch himself as he fell. He blinked hard, tears streaming as his eyes burned with whatever had been in that glass. Raimaru grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him partially upright.

“Things could have gone better for you, but it looks like the Bird just likes making things difficult,” Raimaru said.

Shouta dug his fingers into Raimaru’s wrist, trying to wrestle himself free. Raimaru smirked, a violent shock sparking off of his skin and into Shouta’s arm. Shouta let out a bark of agony as his entire arm below the shoulder seized and went numb. Someone else’s hand, large and thick-fingered, ripped his back by the forearm, twisting his hand back and up between his shoulder blades. Shouta stiffened. He hadn’t heard Takeshiro or his wife approaching during the scuffle but it was obvious now they had him surrounded. He thought of the alley and the way they had closed ranks around Yamada, accounting for every avenue of escape except for a one-in-a-million outside intervention. Shouta darted a look over to Yamada. Their eyes met for a split second that lasted an eon. Yamada’s eyes were wide and his face had gone deathly pale as he took in the scene in front of him. He was frozen half in motion, caught between breaking cover to come help and his desire to steer clear of Takeshiro and Hebiko. Shouta’s stomach sank as Yamada dropped his gaze, hunching in on himself and pulling his hat down farther to hide his face.

“Last chance, doggy,” Raimaru said. “That signal was too weak to come from very far away. Point us in the right direction and we’ll let you go, no hard feelings. Otherwise we send you back to your master in pieces.”

He leaned in as he threatened, and Shouta took the opportunity to show him how close was too close. Shouta reared back, then rammed his forehead into Raimaru’s nose at full force. As Raimaru reeled back, Shouta slammed himself back into Takeshiro, sending the man spine-first into the edge of a table. Takeshiro grunted in pain and Shouta twisted away from his grasp as Takeshiro tried to catch himself. Raimaru sank his fist into Shouta’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him, but Shouta managed to activate his Quirk again before Raimaru could shock him. Shouta retaliated with a sharp hook, jamming his fist into Raimaru’s solar plexus with as much force as he could muster. As Raimaru doubled over Shouta grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed him face-first into the table.

“All right, ENOUGH!” the bartender yelled. She was floating above the bar with a warning look on her face, a thin metal pipe leveled at Shouta’s head. Shouta looked from her to Takeshiro and Hebiko, who had backed off behind their table again, to Raimaru, who was staring up from under his hand with undisguised disgust as he bled onto the table. Shouta took a moment to catch his breath, then released Raimaru. Not bothering to see if Yamada would follow, Shouta took the moment of peace to walk out of the bar.

The night air was cold and made his face feel closed in and sticky under the mask. Shouta jerked it down under his chin, sucking in a hard breath. The adrenaline in his veins felt like a cloying, choking compulsion to just run, escape, flee as fast as he could in any direction that would count as away. His lungs burned nearly as badly as his eyes, every new breath feeling like a sharp stab in the chest. A strange itching slightly farther down his abdomen joined the pain in his chest as he half-sprinted down the sidewalk. Shouta looked down and froze mid-step. The bare metal handle of Raimaru’s knife stuck out of his stomach at an almost perfect perpendicular angle, jammed in so far that the tip was pressing the rough kevlar of his stab vest against his flesh.

“Ho-ly shit that was a whole bunch of something.” Shouta didn’t look up from the knife almost in his gut as Yamada’s voice crowed out behind him. He felt Yamada digging in his pocket and retrieving the cell phone. “Could have gone better for sure, but also could have gone worse.” Yamada gave Shouta a cheery smack on the shoulder. “You and I make a pretty good team, huh? C’mon, let’s go find a nicer place to grab a bite and hang out until things die down.”

He paused like he fully expected Shouta to agree and follow after him, but Shouta was barely listening. His mind was still trying to process the knife handle sticking out of his stomach. The night “could have gone worse”? Raimaru had almost made good on the threat to send Shouta home in pieces while Yamada cowered in a corner booth, more worried about being seen than being helpful, and Yamada was congratulating himself for a job well done.

“Aizawa? Earth to Aizawa? Hey, are you okay? You’re shaking.” There was a note of real concern in Yamada’s voice as he reached out a hand to steady the trembling in Shouta’s body.

The idea of Yamada making any kind of physical contact snapped the last bit of sane civility Shouta had left in him. True fury, hot and fast and scraped raw by everything that was running through Shouta’s head, boiled over in his chest. He swung wildly at Yamada, hoping to make contact but hoping more just to fend him off as violently as possible. Yamada yelped and jumped backwards, hands coming up to protect himself.

“Whoa! What the hell--?” Yamada began, but Shouta was already swinging again. He wanted to make Yamada bleed, make him feel even half as agonized and afraid as he did right now. Yamada stumbled away from him, eyes wide in shock and confusion. His back hit the brick wall of a building and Shouta got right up in his face, Quirk blazing and teeth bared in a hateful snarl as he spoke.

“Let me be clear with this, so maybe you’ll hear it over the sound of your own voice,” Shouta said between clenched teeth. “We are not partners. We do not make a good team. We are sure as fuck not friends who hang out. You are a problem in my life that I am trying to solve. Get that through your thick skull and stop acting like we’re in this together.” He pulled the knife out and threw it violently at Yamada’s feet before turning on his heel and striding away as fast as his legs could carry him.

As soon as he staggered into his apartment and secured every lock and deadbolt on his door Shouta stripped down, dumping everything he’d been wearing in a heap in the entryway. Ignoring his cats’ cries for attention, Shouta went straight to the bathroom and ran the shower as hot as he could stand it. He could feel himself shaking now, the dregs of adrenaline making his legs weak rather than holding him up any longer. He sat down in his tub with the scalding water beating against his back, arms wrapped around himself. He looked down and saw a long irritated scratch rising on his stomach where the knife had dragged against him through the vest. Shouta let out a long, unsteady breath and closed his eyes. He’d been a vigilante for long enough to know that it meant going without any kind of help when things went from bad to worse to potentially lethal; until now not even his worst cases had shaken him like this. But those times he’d known the risk going in and taking it on had been his choice, which made all the difference. Yamada had known, though. Yamada had known they should have bailed as soon as their worst case scenario walked in the pub’s doors and he’d used Shouta as a human shield to try to get what he wanted anyway. Shouta gritted his teeth, nails digging into his palms as his hands balled into fists. He shouldn’t have expected anything less from someone like Yamada.

Never again, Shouta thought as he roughly toweled off. Yamada could keep his favors and his trade secrets and all the rest of it. He’d need all the help he could get, because as far as Shouta was concerned Yamada was on his own from this moment on.

it is the hour

summary: 

“Youcanalwayscrashatmyplaceifyouneedto,” Martin said, forcing the words out of his mouth fast enough that he couldn’t think better of it and offer to call his boss a cab instead.

“What?”

Martin took a deep breath. “I said, ‘you can always crash at my place if you need to.’” It took all of Martin’s willpower not to close his eyes. Instead, he watched Jon’s face, waiting for the shorter man to make up his mind.

Shout out to @lime-pigeon for the concept!

I'm dreamycastaway over on ao3 also, this fic is posted there under the same title as this post. no links because tumblr doesnt like them i guess

Martin hadn’t known when the event “Boys’ Night” had appeared in the office calendar – no one in the Archive had seemed to know. Tim denied having created it, and no one had bothered to ask the Head Archivist if he’d done it, as no one believed that the phrase “Boys’ Night” had even been in his vocabulary prior to its appearance on the calendar.

Tim had, of course, asked Sasha if she had set it up, but she said she hadn’t. Martin had gingerly approached her later to ask her if she minded not being invited. She’d said no, and actually, she thought it was rather thoughtful that whoever had planned it had remembered she would be attending a friend’s rehearsal dinner that night. Martin had been unable to delete the event, and as attempts by any of the rest of the Archive staff had proven similarly futile, they had eventually stopped trying.

None of them knew for sure if they were bound to the events on the office calendar, but Tim’s attempts to ditch staff meetings had been strangely unsuccessful since they had started working in the Archive, and Martin had felt a sneaking suspicion that any of them trying to get out of this wouldn’t do them much good. Sure enough, on the fateful evening marked for “Boys’ Night”, Martin found himself sitting in a softly lit booth in a small pub, ordering chips and drinks alongside Tim and Jon.

**

Martin had been nervous all day. He was nervous all day most days, but this had given him something to fixate on. As opposed to his typical diffuse anxiety, which floated like a prickly fog over everything, this had been a hailstorm targeted on the approaching evening out. Was it going to be awkward? Was he going to be too tall and big to fit in some tiny booth at some random pub? Was Jon going to go back to work afterwards? Martin knew he had been overworking himself, but it would be different to see it himself, to see that resigned and frightened look on Jon’s face as he mumbled something about there being ‘more to be done.’ What if someone got sick? What if it turned out Jon hated him in a social setting? The onslaught of concerns had played ceaselessly on a cruel loop since Martin had woken up that morning.

But now that he was here, the whole thing felt surprisingly fine. Good, even. They’d asked Martin to pick the location, so he’d been able to pick a homey spot just a few blocks from his flat. Tim had hit on the hostess, who had brought them their new schmaltz fries “to try”, with a wink at Tim that indicated to Martin that the huge basket of chips would probably be free. And while Jon still looked tired and unapproachable, he wasn’t quite as hunched over as usual, wasn’t acting quite as defensive as he typically did. Martin felt strongly that this qualified as the Archivist loosening up, and had to prevent himself from smiling as he watched Jon listen to Tim tell a story about a kayaking trip without looking over his shoulder even once.

“Another round?” Tim asked jovially as he finished his story, and Martin was surprised to see Jon tip forward his empty glass in agreement.

“Oh, sure,” Martin said, moving to stand and walk with Tim to the bar.

“Don’t worry, I got it,” Tim said, picking up all three glasses almost effortlessly and walking towards the bar. Martin realized why Tim had been so courteous as he watched him lean easily on the old wood bar to flirt with the dark-haired bartender, who seemed to be eating him up.

Jon let out a short, good-natured laugh from the other side of the booth. “Figures Tim would be able to find a handsome date, even at an office function,” he said.

Martin looked back at Jon, trying not to let disappointment creep into his expression as he realized that his pale complexion and squishy figure were about as different from the lanky, tan, “handsome” bartender as possible. He frowned before he could stop himself.

Jon grimaced. “I’m sorry, probably not the type of commentary you want from your boss.” He paused, and when he continued speaking his voice was softer and sadder. “I guess I forgot about work for a moment.” The way he said it made it sound as if he thought it was a bad thing that he’d managed to forget about work, and Martin felt his heart sink.

“No, no, it’s not that …” Martin hadn’t been sure where this sentence had been going when he started it, and he still wasn’t sure now, as Jon raised an eyebrow and waited for Martin to finish his clarification. “Well, it’s more …” He was starting to wonder how he had managed to let a three-line conversation go so cataclysmically wrong when Tim plopped back down next to Jon with their drinks.

“Sorry, guys! Here you go,” Tim said. Martin breathed an almost imperceptible sigh of relief as the conversation turned to the most important architectural landmarks in London, hoping that his awkwardness had been forgotten. They continued on like this for some time: Jon consistently surprised his coworkers by being up for another round, Tim continued regaling them with stories of his adventurous vacations while Jon occasionally interjected with a bit of trivia about a location or historical figure Tim mentioned. The more Martin drank the warmer and softer the light felt, and he was happy to mostly watch and listen.

**

Eventually, the last of the sunlight faded and the street lights went on, and still they sat there, drinking and talking. Tim asked if they were up for one last round, deciding not to wait for their answer before heading off to the bar. When he came back, he was holding just two drinks.

“Who’s cut off?” Martin asked. John raised an eyebrow and waited, expectantly.

“Oh, no one, I’m just headed out,” Tim said with a grin, nodding towards where the bartender was putting his coat on. “I closed out your tabs; this last one’s on me,” Tim said, flashing Martin a wink as he handed him and Jon their cards back. “See ya Monday!”

“See you Monday, Tim,” Jon said. Martin just nodded as he felt a flush rise in his face, and hoped desperately that Jon hadn’t noticed Tim’s wink. He brought his glass up to his lips to try and hide his blush, not even bothering to look at what Tim had brought him. He didn’t put his glass down until he’d finished what he thought based on the taste must be some kind of whiskey cocktail.

“Martin, you wouldn’t happen to have a book with you?” Jon asked as Martin put his glass down. The timing was so exact that Martin knew that Jon must have been watching him, waiting for him to finish. He could feel himself blushing again, and with no way to hide it, was forced to resort to hoping Jon would assume it was the liquor. He nodded and reached into his satchel, fishing out his hardcover collection of Romantic poetry.

While this was normally the type of thing he wouldn’t own up to carrying with him at all times, the alcohol had taken hold just enough that he pushed the worn-down volume towards Jon without thinking much of it. It seems Jon didn’t think much of it either, as he opened it to a random page and plucked the lavender out of his cocktail. He dried the stems off carefully, sipping his drink as he placed the flowers between the pages of Martin’s book, seemingly without reading any of the printed text or Martin’s annotations. Martin watched, confusion weighing on his brow, as the other man finished his drink and delicately closed the book. He handed it back to Martin, who placed it gingerly in his satchel, being careful not to crush the bit of lavender stem Jon had left sticking out from the pages.

“Sorry,” Jon mumbled. “It’s just … something I do. Sometimes. I hope it’s okay.” He was by no means slurring his speech, and someone who had never heard his normal way of speaking might not have even thought him to be drunk. But to Martin, who spent his days at the office hanging on to every punctuated word and purposeful pause that came out of Jon’s mouth, the difference was obvious, and potentially concerning. “If the flowers bother you, we can throw them out. It’s just a French lavender and I thought, well, it might be nice to save it, you know, I mean, as a memento,” as the Archivist continued babbling, Martin adjusted his previous assessment: the difference was obvious, and definitely concerning.

“Jon, Jon,” Martin said, realizing that his words were also slow and sloppy. He still didn’t fully understand what Jon had been doing with his book of poems, but decided it probably wasn’t that big a deal. “It’s fine, it’s completely fine.”

Jon smiled at this, a real smile, not a smirk or that expression he sometimes made that was supposed to be a smile but was really just him sort of pursing his lips, and Martin felt himself grin before he could stop himself. He hadn’t seen Jon genuinely smile since they’d all changed departments. They sat like that for a moment, smiling at each other in the soft light for no real reason at all.

“Last call! We’re closing in fifteen minutes,” the hostess’ voice rang out, breaking through their haze.

“Oh, we should go,” Martin said, not wanting to be the table that prevented them from closing up the pub for the night. Jon nodded, and got clumsily to his feet. Martin waved goodnight to the hostess as they stepped out the door into the cool nighttime. A fine mist hung in the air; the promise of rain later that night.

“Jon, are you going to be okay getting home?”

Jon looked up at Martin, blinking slowly. “Oh. I’m, uh, sure I’ll be fine,” he looked around, seemingly disoriented. “I think the night bus in my neighborhood should still be running by the time I get back there.”

“Are you sure?”

Jon paused. Martin figured Jon must be really drunk; sober Jon would respond to any query that questioned his competence harshly and immediately.

“Youcanalwayscrashatmyplaceifyouneedto,” Martin said, forcing the words out of his mouth fast enough that he couldn’t think better of it and offer to call his boss a cab instead.

“What?”

Martin took a deep breath. “I said, ‘you can always crash at my place if you need to.’” It took all of Martin’s willpower not to close his eyes. Instead, he watched Jon’s face, waiting for the shorter man to make up his mind.

“I, uh, wouldn’t want to impose on you like that,” Jon said.

“It’s really no trouble, Jon,” Martin said, recognizing the script they were following. They both knew neither of them could acknowledge outright that Jon should stay at Martin’s, even though they both knew that’s what was going to happen at the end of this conversational dance.

“I mean, only if you’re sure. I’m sure I can get back to my place.”

“It’s already getting late; I only live a few blocks away.”

“You can kick me out early tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to disrupt your Saturday.”

“I don’t have any plans tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, well. Only if you’re sure it’s not going to bother you.”

“I’m sure, Jon.”

A silence hung between them for a moment. “Okay,” Jon sighed. “Okay. Thank you, Martin.”

“This way, then,” Martin said, gesturing down the street. The walk would normally only take Martin three or four minutes, but given that Jon’s legs were shorter than his and they were both a little off balance, he figured that tonight it would take too long to pass the trip in silence.

“So, what were you doing with that flower?”

Jon looked away. “Oh, I, uh … my grandmother taught me how to press flowers. She tended to take them as souvenirs from places we went.” He paused. Martin waited. “We didn’t do things together too often. It’s just … one of my only fond memories of childhood, and … I don’t have many occasions to do it anymore.”

Martin wasn’t sure how to react to Jon’s statement – like much of what Jon said, it contained both something Martin found incredibly endearing and also a deep-rooted sadness, and Martin, per usual, wasn’t sure which to react to. He desperately wanted to envelop Jon in a hug, whisper something kind into his ear. But Jon seemed embarrassed talking about it at all, and Martin knew he was already pushing his luck tonight.

“That’s lovely, Jon,” Martin said, trying and failing to use the tone of voice a colleague would use, as opposed to someone more familiar. Jon smiled, a soft, clumsy smile that made Martin almost drop the keys to his building. Who would have thought he’d be such a cute drunk? Martin thought as he fumbled with the key in the lock of the front door. He led Jon down the carpeted hallway, and opened the door to his small flat.

“Well, this is it,” Martin said as he closed the door behind Jon. “I’m sorry it’s not more impressive,” he said, letting out an embarrassed laugh.

“Martin, it’s fine. I know how it is to live on an Institute salary,” Jon said. He paused, as if waiting for someone to say something. “Do you have roommates?”

“What? No, I, it’s just me. Why do you … oh.” Martin grimaced at himself as he realized he’d left the bedroom television on. All day. “No, it’s just the television, I can turn it off.”

Jon followed Martin as he walked from the combination kitchen-entryway into the bedroom. Aside from the small bathroom, the apartment was only the two rooms.

“I, uh, don’t have a couch,” Martin said as he looked around for the TV remote. “So you can, um, have the bed, and I’ll sleep in the armchair.”

“What?”

“I know, I know, ‘how do you entertain without a couch, Martin,’ well, to be honest –”

“Oh! No, sorry, no, I wasn’t going to … I just,” Jon shifted on his feet. “I don’t feel right making you sleep in the chair.”

Martin clicked the power button on the remote, plunging the room into silence, save for the rain pattering on the window. If he was going to write a poem about this moment (which he most certainly wasn’t, he told himself) he would have said that the silence was symbolic of Jon rejecting his hospitality.

“I mean, I fall asleep in my chair all the time in the office, and this one looks much more comfortable than mine,” Jon said with an awkward laugh. “I can take the chair, it’s fine.” Martin just continued to stare at him, which seemed to make Jon think he needed to keep talking. “Besides I couldn’t possibly sleep in your bed in my work clothes … I’m being trouble enough.”

Martin looked at his boss in disbelief. “Well, you won’t be sleeping in your work clothes,” he said as he shoved a clean set of pajamas into Jon’s arms. The smell of fabric softener hung in the air around them as Jon slowly took the bundle of fabric from Martin, looking shocked. Martin looked down. “I’m sure they’ll be big on you, but … hopefully it’s okay for one night.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Jon murmured, holding on to Martin’s pajamas as if they might not be real. He paused. “You don’t have to do all this, you know.”

Martin breathed the kind of exasperated breath schoolteachers make at students who seem to be purposefully refusing to grasp a concept. “I know that, Jon. I want to do this.”

They stood there for what felt like ages, as if they were both waiting for the other to acknowledge the implications of the exchange they’d just had.

“Okay, well, you can go ahead and wash up first?” Martin asked, having decided they were both too drunk to have any sort of serious conversation tonight.

“Oh, um, yes,” Jon said, in a way that Martin could have sworn sounded disappointed. He shuffled into the bathroom and closed the door gently. Martin quickly changed into his own pajamas, and sat pointedly in the chair to prevent Jon from trying to take it from him.

When Jon reemerged, Martin’s pajamas hanging too-loose over his frame, he looked as all his recent sleepless nights had suddenly come crashing down on him. Martin gestured pointedly towards the bed, maintaining his stubborn position in the armchair. Jon opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but all that came out was a quiet “thank you.”

He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

As Martin looked at Jon from behind his own heavy eyelids, he felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes. Something about seeing Jon in hisclothes, in his bed made the smaller man look so vulnerable, and so stupidly exhausted. The mask of bitterness and skepticism was gone from Jon’s face, and he just looked troubled, plagued by the kind of ever-present worry Martin knew so well. Martin’s desire to crawl into bed alongside him and hold the other man in his arms and just let him rest felt like a horrible full-body ache, and Martin knew he was in too deep. He knew that this feeling would get him in trouble someday, and yet … something about Jon meant he couldn’t just let it go.

Martin reached into his satchel for a tissue to wipe the tears off his face, and felt his hand brush against his book of poems. He pulled it out of his bag – he knew he wasn’t going to get much sleep that night; he’d always been terrible at sleeping sitting up. He flipped open the volume without anything specific in mind, but the book opened to the page containing Jon’s pressed lavender. Jon was right, Martin thought, the purple flowers were beautiful. He held one of the stems carefully up to his nose, and breathed in the floral scent that had been lingering on Jon’s breath all night, that now lingered on the pages of his poetry book.

He set the lavender sprigs gently on the table next to him, making a note to return them to the book when he was done reading. As he listened to the rain come down against his windowpanes, he read and reread the poem Jon’s lavender had been on, turning the lines over in his mind:

It is the hour – when lover’s vows Seem sweet in every whisper’d word; And gentle winds and waters near, Make music to the lonely ear.

1/16/17 5:17 pm

I had my first panic attack I've had in a long time. I've gotten so bad at work my manager called me at 10AM and left a voicemail. I called him back and said I had a Doctors appointment and forgot to send out an email to the team. I hate lying, but i can’t realistically say I'm suicidal and won't even get out of bed every morning.

I ran to the bathroom and started dry-heaving for a good 2-3 minutes. Then I laid down on my bed and felt like crying, and then Stayed there for nearly another hour.

Kill me.

1/20/17

I'm eating lunch by myself at 3:06 on Friday. I've only hit myself a few times today. I ordered and shipped a present to Shara and it should get there tomorI'mrow, but today is her birthday. I deleted my Facebook and haven't been posting on tumblr, so I'm avoiding everything. I feel guilty and don't know what to do. I'm going to stop typing because I'm tearing up in the restaurant. I'm pushing all of my friends away. I saw Selina last weekend and it was so awkward. I can't even hang out with my best friend without it being awkward. I want to kill myself.

Please let me die in an accident.

10:56 pm I want to keep hitting myself until I don't wake up.

1/25/17 Wednesday 11:39pm

I'm at McDonald's getting a milkshake and food. I've "worked" from home the past three days because I don't wake up till 9 or 10. That's a lie, I'll wake up and hit snooze, but won't force myself into up. On Monday I stayed online till 11:30 and then said o had a doctors appointment and was gong to wfh the rest of the day, but the last two days I haven't even sent anything out. I deserve to get fired. My depression is destroying me.

1/26/17 Thursday 2:30pm

I woke up late at 8:50ish and got online. Did the scheduled work for Austin and once that was finished, drove into the office and got in at about 10:30 (I think). I ate lunch at my desk and I've gone back and forth to the bathroom and just sat. Only work I've done today is finally send an email I've needed to for weeks. Mom asked me to call her at lunch and I finally said I didn't really want to celebrate my birthday. I told her I'd decide on a weekend and give her a call tonight, but I'm not sure I can. It's now 2:48. I've been in the bathroom almost 20 minutes.

2/16 4:29pm

I woke up at 3:30 am and stayed awake, but then fell asleep and didn't get online from home until about 9:40. Came into the office about 12:40. I've done maybe an hours worth of work. I really hate myself. When driving into work nearly had an accident from someone driving recklessly and me not just letting them pass me. They cut to my right into a lane for cars getting on and drove on the side of the road to pass me since I didn't slow down. The driver even had people (possibly kids) in the back of their car. I hate myself, but that person as well if they can justify that type of driving that also may harm their own kids, let alone other people. I started yelling again in my car...it's getting worse.

I hit myself again this morning in the shower.

2/17 12:18am

I can see myself committing suicide within the next year. Depending if I don't get better, maybe not till after my parents pass.

2/20 12:33pm

I didn't get up again today (Monday) until 9:50 and log online. Then finally came in to the office about 10 minutes ago. Off to a bad start of the week. I should be fired. I did "clean" a good portion of my apartment yesterday because at&t suppose to be coming this week. It's still a terrible mess, but you can finally see the floor now. Next is the kitchen.

1:04pm - eating lunch by myself at wich which. Postponing going back to the office. Not sure if taking these notes is beneficial, or even a smart idea (hint, it's not)

2/21 12:31pm

Late again. Thinking of working from home tomorrow. Getting worse. Really worse. Spent too much money yesterday on gifts I'll probably never give.

2/24 11:52am

It's my birthday. Today hasn't been a bad day.

2/28 12:15 pm

In training. Feeling useless. My back is also killing me. Have my APA later today. Guess I'll find out how badly I'm doing or if we'll just pretend I'm doing fine when it's obvious I'm not. Not likely I'll get fired since I'm an ITA, but don't know. Just haven't been given a warning or anything

3/13 12:48pm

I'd been doing okay for a little while. Starting to get worse again. Started saying things again. Didn't wake up for work till 9ish. Didn't get in till 11ish. Need to stop. Want to hurt myself. Want to kill myself. Fighting it. Still doing bad. In the bathroom wanting to hit myself. Shara texted about doing stuff this weekend, and I almost want to back out. I'm suppose to do Aerials with gabby tonight, but want to use my weight as an excuse and say I'm over their limit (which may actually be true, but their website doesn't say and no one picked up when I called), or that I don't have the right clothes, or I'm having a panic attack (probably closest to being honest). And one of the other things that's bugging me in the back of my head today I'm hating myself most of all for it even bothering me.

3/20 4:39am

Mild depression acting up. Want to "call/email" out of work. Smacking myself a bit the past day

3/22 6:14pm

Didn't go into work today and haven't done any work so far. Needing to get a report and presentation done before tomorrow. Depression has been really bad this week. Sleep is getting off. Whispering harmful things to myself and hitting myself more often.

3/24 10:44am

I want to hurt myself. I'm doing really badly this week. No point even coming into work. Can tell I'm being replaced in all areas. Went to lunch with people. Faked it. Now I'm back at the office (2:04pm) and hiding in the bathroom. I feel like I'm gonna pass out. I want to pass out.

I want to die.

3/25 5:02pm

Doing bad today too. Didn't get up till noon. Went to the park to walk, but had negative thoughts the entire time and it didn't help. Convinced myself to go out to dinner at Las Margaritas that I normally get take out from. I plan to make myself sit in the living room when I get home to get out of my bedroom/bed. It feels pathetic, but right now the smallest things feel like an achievement.

3/27 1:41am

I want to kill myself. I just want it to end. I don't want to hurt my family though. I wish I could make them forget i existed so I wouldn't feel guilty about it.

3:06am still lying awake on the couch. The longer I stay awake, the longer I postpone till tomorrow comes.....or that's how it feels. Ready to kill myself.

3/30 8pm

I now weigh 245 pounds. I write this as I sit in line at chick fil-a getting a meal for two people and a milkshake

3/31 6:38

Deleted all of my social media. Specifically tumblr, which I can't reactive. Gone forever.

4/6 1:12pm

Was doing better for a bit because work was busy enough to distract me. Getting too busy now. Think I overheard two people saying they don't want to work with me, and storage team disregards my existence. It's a new feeling when I feel like I'm doing some good work, but know I'm also doing terrible in other areas and people no longer want to work with me. Hitting hard and really want to hurt myself again. I need to make some life choices before I end up committing suicide.

4/7 1:36pm

It might be good to just quit before June. If I sold everything I had, I could pay off all my debt. I'd be left with nothing, but wouldn't leave anything for people to worry about.

4/17 10:21am

So overwhelmed.

4/19 9:08am

Sitting on toilet at home. So overwhelmed at work. Can't get anything done and nothing is going right.

6/1 11:02am Thursday

Hadn't been in the office in almost a week. Had Friday off and Monday for Memorial Day, but lied and said Tom had knee surgery on Tuesday and then wfh on Wednesday. Getting bad again. Realized I hadn't been writing in here for a month and a half. Not sure if that's a good win or not, since I mostly only remember to when I'm getting bad again.

6/25 2:15am

Depression getting bad again. Suicide would be nice. Just want it all to end. If I could sleep for a year, I'd take it.

6/27 12:40pm

Didn't go into work until almost 11 yesterday. Working from home today. Can't even answer a phone call. Have a meeting at 2 and then will probably shower as unavailable the rest of the day.

6/28 3:06pm

Woke up at 5 and still didn't go into work today. Stayed showing as away all day and said I had issues with Skype and car issues

7/14 12:50pm

JB texted me asking if I was off. I should just kill myself. Lying through my teeth. His pa

7/18 3:28am Tuesday

I want to die in an accident so no one I care about thinks it was a suicide.

7/20 1:59pm

Didn't go into work until 12 today. While I was in the shower, my phone range and I just started cursing thinking it was my manager. Already had my lie made up going to say my car stalled this morning coming into work. Didn't have my phone (which is why I didn't pick up if it was them), but luckily a cop pulled over and called a tow truck....

Haven't had to use my lie yet, but going to use parts of it tonight to get out of going to a coworkers house for game night.

I really hate myself.

I need to call in my medicine to see if they'll prescribe it again, even if it doesn't seem like it's helping.

7/31 9:04pm

In line at Taco Bell. Didn't go into work today or Friday. Meant to send an email saying I was taking my mom to doctors and would be back Tuesday, but overslept and didn't bother. Don't want to go in tomorrow either. I haven't been replying to Shara and I feel terrible, but I'm not in a good place either. Hadn't been replying to family until Mom called worried and acted like I just forgot to hit send on some texts. It's easier to act like nothing is wrong with people who don't know I'm not good mentally. I saw a post on Tumblr that describe what I'm feeling. I'm pushing people away so it's easier when I want to kill myself.

9/5 11:42am

Moved to new apartment. Enjoying it so far. Had a 5 day weekend from labor/took Thursday and Friday off to move. 1st day back at work and already feeling overwhelmed and counting down till 4:30. Kill myself creeping inside my head again.

9/21 10:02am

Want to die. Want to die. I just really want to die. Kill myself. Kill myself. I'm so tempted to kill myself. I'd make it look like an accident so not to hurt my family. But I need to find homes for Yen and Shani, or plan accordingly. Could drop them at a shelter, but include some cash to help care for them (1k?). Then someone who is a good person, but just had money trouble would take them. I'm not sure I'll live 15+ years to outlive them. I take that back; I know I won't. I don't even know sometimes if I'll make it to tomorrow. I'm not actually making any attempts or plans to do it, but every time I walk in to work or leave, I hope a car hits me. Kill me kill me I just want to die.

10/18 9:52am

Overslept and didn't go into work today. "Working" from home online. Depression episode kicking in again. I just want to die.

10/31 Tuesday 12:02pm

Didn't get into work until 11 today. Called into the 8:30 conference and answered some emails to appear like I was working, but hardly got out of bed. ~Read back through some of these notes just now and now I've got in the back of my head the idea of starting to hit myself again. I know this is a downward slope, but really want to go to the bathroom stall and do it anyways just so I don't feel numb. It's lunchtime, so no one should be there to hear it. ~~I ended up going to get rubber bands and paper clips instead. Still hit myself s few times, but people kept coming into the restroom while I was in the stall.~

11/1 2:16 pm

In drivethru for chick-fil-a. Working from home rest of week probably. My anger is terrible. Called someone a cunt in the drivethru for honking and it wasn't even at me. My window was down, so think the person in front of me may have heard. I'm a terrible person and hate myself.

11/16 9:14am Thursday

Just got into work. Feel exhausted and drained as always. Just noticed it’s coming up on a year in January when I started making these notes. I honestly don’t know if I’m doing better or not. I’d say I’m not. Definitely not.

12/5/17 2:36pm

It’s a Tuesday, and I’d not been in the office for two weeks (11/21) between workin from home on Wednesday because thanksgiving was the next day, off Thursday and Friday, and then all last week I just never came in. Yesterday I “worked” from home, and today I didn’t get in till about 12. And the only thing I wanted to think about while walking into work because I forgot my headphones and couldn’t drown out the thoughts with music was how I wanted to kill myself. I have a meeting from 3-4 with new agile team (honestly probably only real reason I forced myself into the office). I wonder how fake I can present myself today. Hopefully it won’t be terribly interactive and mostly just informational.

1/14/18 11:27pm

I didn’t go into work at all last week. Was online only Monday for the entire day, and then Wednesday for the day on do-not-disturb. Skipped Tuesday and Wednesday completely though. Need to force myself to go into the office tomorrow. I hate myself. So much to catch up on. I cleaned a bit of the apartment, but still need to do more. My oncall starts next week, and I pray it’s quiet.

1/22/18 3:10am

Won’t go to bed because then the morning comes faster. I’m oncall this week and I just pray nothing happens at all. Even one ticket. Please don’t. I think I have an appointment this Friday about my antidepressants, but honestly I’m not sure. Please let me be left alone this week and work from home. I’ll even make sure I get work done.

1/23/18 12:30am

I’m pathetic at work.

2/4/18 6:43pm Sunday

Out grocery shopping. Tried to do small talk. Wanted to help bag like I do sometimes, but not doing well, so just awkwardly typing this on my phone. I HAVE to get work done when I get home, but haven’t been doing well. I’ll be lucky if I get anything done or I do it in the middle of the night (especially with my sleep schedule).

2/5/18 11:52am

Didn’t get anything done last night, but was able to wake up early and get it submitted by 8 (only one other person has anything uploaded so far). What pisses me off is another teammate setup a meeting at 2 with no heads up. That little amount of time and a same day meeting? Fuck that shit. I’ll attend, but doubt John will and don’t blame him. I said I was going to the doctor earlier, so purposely missed the one actual meeting I had today. Couldn’t get out of bed. Hate myself. Submitted a service request for the lights to be fixed in my apartment, so that’s the one useful thing I’ve done. I was wrong, John did accept. I hate myself.

5/7/18 Monday 8:59am

On the train in to work. Only going in for the ITA orientation and then probably leaving. Probably will stay an hour to get hibachi for lunch and then leave. I’m oncall this week. Please please please don’t have any tickets or sde’s after hours. Please god. Just this once. I’ve been doing so well with my depression, but the last week and a half it’s been dipping again and I’m afraid. On the chart at my therapy office, id finally for the first time dipped below the number for being depressed! I know I’ll always have depression and depression slumps, but it’s scary going back into my first one after doing well for almost two months. I don’t want to go back into that. I really don’t. Please just don’t have my oncall this week go badly. Dear god, just please don’t. I don’t want to breakdown in tears from anxiety this week. Make my next oncall worse, but just let me not have to worry about anything this week. Please.

5/7/18 Monday 11:21am

Doing better mentally once I got in the office and moving. It’s sad how easily that change can happen. You’d think I’d be happy, but just makes me realize how easily I can drop again. Part of me knows I could stay at the office and continue working, but the other half doesn’t care. I’m eating hibachi and then taking the train home.

5/10/18 1:02pm

Finishing up lunch at hisaki and then going into office. Have to recount all of the WebLogic VM counts manually.....

All the work before I did is basically useless.

Time to go through 400+ (maybe less since a good number are in the shared environment) and find out their host count. I shouldn’t really be complaining. Just didn’t want to have to do/worry about anything till after my vacation.

Now it’s 1:32 and I’m sitting in the toilet just waiting for the day to end. Shoot myself shoot my self I just want to shoot my self.

5/23 5:12pm

Felt sick the past few days. Worked from home. Throat is killing me, but in line at McDonald’s and going to get

5/25 Friday 11:27am

Hardly worked at all this week. Ignored a voicemail to call back my PO. Work is frustrating me.

I just hit myself for the first time in a long time again. Chest, face, head. It felt good

5:57pm clenching my fists in drive through. Want to hurt myself

5/28 Monday 2:04pm Memorial Day off work

At the bbq place getting Togo food. Been in bed all day/all weekend really. Felt sick, but also depressed. Stomach was so upset, didn’t take antidepressants yesterday. Going to take them for today when I get back. Still, I’ve not been doing well at all. Hitting myself more. Mainly the chest. May even do it on the way home. Just feeling numb again. Started reblogging suicidal/depression posts on tumblr again. It’s pathetic. Like a cry for help to the two I know who are on tumblr, but one never acknowledges them, and the other rarely gets on anymore. I have therapy this Friday (o think?) and have no improvement to speak of to the doctor. Overslept one from depression, but rescheduled the last one due to work issues. Slit my throat. Want to die. Let it end. Started singing those little tunes to myself the last week or two. Want to hurt myself. Really just want to drop dead from an accident. Get someone to take care of my cats, and then my family won’t think it’s a suicide.

6/12 10:59am Tuesday

Sitting at train station going into work. Just got back from surgery follow up and everything is fine. Spent maybe 10 minutes there in total. Now I’m going into work to eat my unhealthy lunch hibachi chicken and soda as always. I’m sad all the team. I have an in person meeting from 2-2:50, but will probably leave after that. Unless I ask Carter if he needed help with patching and he says yes, which is why I’m considering if I even should?? Wow, that’s pathetic of me. I only have to make it till EOD Thursday. Then I’ll watch Lily for the weekend, have my therapy session on Friday, and (maybe?) visit Mom and Tom on Sunday.

6/24 Monday 10:46am

I may barely make it into the office for an 11am meeting. This isn’t going to be a good week.

7/3 Tuesday 6:11pm

I missed my medicine twice in the last week (I think? Or only once). But just don’t care to take it anymore since I’ve noticed

7/9 Monday 12:15am

This isn’t gonna be a good week. I can already tell.

7/22 Sunday 1am

Doing patching. Teammates were being fucking useless, so I got offline and said I was having internet issues. It’s been a fucking hour and they’ve not done shit. The job is still hung exactly where it was when I left off. They’ve not tried to do anything at all. There are two more groups that have to run for Linux, and we’re already 2/3 hours of patching there is from 11-2am. Cancel the ticking job you dipshits. I even sent an email basically telling you to!!! I did all the ducking work for you!!! Instead you just sit there for an hour doing nothing!!! Cancel the fucking job!! If it gets to 1:30am and still nothing, I’m sending a follow up email and ccing myself. I’m not even suppose to be in charge here!! They are!!! At least Brandon should be. Daniel is ridiculously new, but clearly knows more, so make the ticking call too, for fuck sake.

- they finally did when I was typing this all out. And of course it was the new kid, not the guy who is a full time employee who should be making the call. Then again, I’m a waste of space too. Just got fed up with them and quit with a bullshit excuse. I’m trash. Now that I’ve calmed down, I hate myself again.

Thursday 7/26 2:54pm

First time I’ve been in the office I think nearing 3 weeks? I’ve not been taking my antidepressants as consistently. So tired all the time. Hardly get out of bed. Didn’t go to therapy last week. I need to call tomorrow to cancel next weeks too unless it’s early in the morning. And also schedule more since I don’t have any after that. And also reschedule one on a different day for my medicine.

Just got off my 3pm call. PO wasn’t there, so I basically lead. Talked for like 5 fucking minutes before my team lead said they’ve been doing it manually the last 4 days. So basically I’m a fucking idiot and out of the loop. I’m definitely not Sr IT analyst ready. I’m just gonna leave work. I hate myself. Put myself on do not disturb and closed my laptop. Ran and caught the train. I’m so ducking fat and out of shape. I should just go skydiving by myself and not pull the parachute. Quick and easy. Could I do it in a body bag so it’s less of a mess for the people who have to clean it up? Sky dive, pull the bag out midair. Put it on and zip it up. Splat. Done. Kaput. 😊

How many weeks vacation do I have? Just use it all at once and disappear. Then when it’s up I just never come back. I wanna jump in front of a car or train, but not okay with the impact it’d have on the person driving. If I jump off mountain, the only person it might hurt is the people who found me? Plus annoy the people who have to clean me up.

Could have a suicide note and send it in so the police can find me easily? Idk. Can’t do anything till my cats are okay.

8/14/18 Tuesday 10:19am

On the train to work. Only going in to have an in person meeting. Didn’t wake up till 9:20 and only jumped up because of the daily Standup call at 9:30. Have patching this week and next. Alex is out the rest of the week, so I’m in charge of Windows....never done it by myself, yet alone enough with someone else to be confident. Need to send out the email as soon as we get Tom’s email tomorrow. Get the jobs running and finish documentation. I think Wednesday only has noreboot servers and is a small window? Hopefully okay.

I’ve not been taking my medication. Haven’t been to the doctors in really long (therapy/antidepressant doctor). I have roughly 35 days to get in better shape/health/mental state before going to Samantha’s to see Welcome to Nightvale. Will it happen? No idea.

Still on the train. 10:27. I feel so num. no emotion at all.

5:49pm - on the train home from work. Got a lot done today, so feel somewhat decent. If I can bury my head in work and actually get stuff done, I won’t notice my depression sometimes.

9/5 Wednesday 10:51 am

Have a big kickoff meeting I’m leading. Has a shit ton of people in it. Don’t feel confident. Stomach is nauseated. Want to hurt myself too. Get it over with. Cut my throat. Let me die. Die die die die.

9/20 Thursday 11:05am

Have barely worked the last week since the hurricane hit and we’re in storm mode. Had my first “shift” start at 6 this morning, and I was the only one in the room. Was a good thing I came in to the office. Actually got some stuff done. Just really tired since I couldn’t get to sleep till 2:30 or 3, and got up at 4:22. Going home right at 2. Today hasn’t been bad, but I’m exhausted and sad at myself for being so fat and out of shape.

Animal crossing

Love Nicky

Clash royal

Good fantasy

9/26 11:53am

On train into work. Have two in-person meetings this afternoon. I regret volunteering to do the ITA stuff. Just added stress with no good outcome. My stomach hurts too. Don’t know if something actually wrong, or just anxiety of everything with work, deciding to go to the BigFix event tomorrow during work hours, and text Samantha lying I can’t come to the show. Too many lies happening at once due to my anxiety. I guess I do have anxiety. My depression making my life difficult makes me have anxiety. God my stomach hurts. Kill me kill me I want to die. Slit my throat just want to die. Just disappear I just want to disappear. First steps I need to take today to help fix my anxiety

1. Call and reschedule therapy as soon as I get off train DONE

2. Talk to Cathy and then John about change freeze issue with Websphere maintenance. Then get communications out. SENT AN EMAIL

3. Prep documentation for ITA meeting at 3. WORKING ON

4. Plan what time to leave tomorrow

5. Text Samantha for details (address, what time I should get there, etc)

6. Plan to drive home after show

Die die die die die die di die die die die die kill me

10/3 Wednesday 2:51pm

I’ve not been into work since last Wednesday, and hardly online all this week. Finally got a text from manager this morning asking what’s up. Ready to kill my self.

10/4 Thursday 1:24pm

On the train into work for a 2pm meeting I’m hosting. I may barely make it in. Barely. Or I’ll be late. Shocker. I’m useless. I look and feel disgusting. Literally just need to know if Cathy will fight if we have to push the qa and prod environment during a change freeze. If not, what will happen if we have pushed test and dev, but can’t push prod/qa for months?? I highly doubt that’s okay.

11/1/2018 Thursday 1:12pm

Waiting for the train. Overslept for therapy and then an important meeting I said I’d be late for, but not miss the entire fucking thing. I’ve pretty much given up on therapy for now. Doesn’t make a difference, and won’t get another appointment for 2-3 months, if they’d even give me one with how many no-shows I’ve done. My stomach acid is killing me.

Have meeting. Schedule jobs for 5. Go eat hibachi. Take train home. Meeting is at 2. Doubt chuck will be there. Cathy may call in or not. Literally just depends if John/srini at there. If not, will be over in 10 minutes. If they are, just keep chugging along with Websphere (need to plan how to do QA and PROD along side OS patching.

QA

Wednesday - do it right after patching for Linux/aix. Try and include windows in the patching, or same scenario.

Do we think it’s worth doing adc/cdc groups still? Or just all at once?

Thursday - Linux/aix I do manually (hit B & C right at 5, and then A when it finishes)

11/29 Thursday 9:25am

Going into the office. I’m just really sad. I’m up to 283lbs without any clothes on. I’m working nights now with patching at work. I’m rude to the point that I don’t even move my bag on the train. It’s just all really sad. It’s not bad enough I’m hurting myself or suicidal thoughts, but I’ve just been emotionally numb. I quit taking my medicine for about a week or two, but then noticed an increase in anger, so started taking them again.

12/18 Tuesday 3:39pm

Sitting at a jimmy johns nears my apartment eating. On vacation from work, and watching Lily till Thursday, but I’ve had to be online some because patching still isn’t being covered by the EDC, even though Matt apparently was handling it but clearly didn’t? I’ll be up anyways, so I’m not mad mad, but more just annoyed, because I’m not doing this come January. Pretty depressed though. Sleeping all the time. I weigh over 285lbs now. Maybe I’ll die from a heart attack in 2019? I’ve not been taking my medicine lately, but I’ll run out soon anyways unless I schedule an appointment with my doctor. Definitely see my anger spiking some when I’m not on it while driving or the sorts. Last Friday I went into work and ran into my manager(s) which was good. Talked some, and mentioned about the possibility of moving to Durham. Would be okay, but did mention Charlotte is better career wise, which is true (but I’m okay with that?). I’m just sad all the time still. Apartment is a mess almost always, which isn’t good for the cats. I hardly ever clean their litter boxes, and it’s disgusting for them. Which reminds me I have to take them to the vet. I should call when I get back to schedule something and also clean their litter boxes before anything else.

2/18 10:02am

On my way into work to train one guy on patching, even though I’ll probably be the one having to do it the rest of the week. Was in an accident yesterday. Car hit me from behind. Surprisingly still shaken from it. I’m pathetic. Have to call insurance today since they said they were closed yesterday. Hopefully it’s just visual damage. The bumper popped off a bit, but I don’t know if it can just be popped back into place. I know nothing about cars. Other persons was much worse, but no one was hurt at least. I wish I was hurt. Just kill me. Be done with it all.

Work is never ending stress, this fucking house is too. AND I JUST REMEMBERED IM ON-CALL ALL THIS WEEK FFS. Please let it be quiet. I’m begging you. With all the SDE’s and ongoing stuff, don’t let there be anything for me. Slit my throat.

2/20 Wednesday 2:04pm

Sitting at a car body repair shop getting an estimate by Statefarm. Hopefully should be fine. Work is stressing me out. House is too. I’m responsible for getting the WebLogic patching done, but it’s all up to Srini looking at the problem servers. It’s not fair to him as I’m sure he’s swamped, but he’s the only one who can fix it. Also that one guy who sent that needs to go fuck himself. Passive aggressive fuck. Then with the house. They finally responded saying they want their roofer to take a look, which is fine. Just don’t come back and argue you’re not doing anything. I’m so done with that shit. Just offer to pay half and be done with it. Then my mental health is just terrible. Want to hurt myself. When I get home may take a butter knife or something and hurt myself. Cut my throat. Not even going into the office tomorrow even though I said I would. Fuck Friday. Please be a quiet oncall week. I’m beginning you, just like I do ever time I’m oncall. It’s pathetic. Wish I had cancer instead of Tom. Let me die instead of him. Mom needs him. Just let me die.

It’s Wednesday. Need to make it through the weekend. “Work day” just tomorrow. Have other work to do, but I’m not as worried about the after hour work for IE9 IE11 and office 2010 SP2. Slit my throat slit my throat

Note: This post was written over the course of many months, beginning on Friday, May 3, 2019. To document as accurately as possible the entire excruciating process, I just kept adding more and more to it as events unfolded. I was initially going to cover both our experiences with buying and selling an apartment in Singapore, however, as we encountered seemingly perpetual red tape, endless delays, and the process as a whole dragged on, this piece got painfully long so I decided to edit into two separate parts, thus far resulting in this still rather lengthy first chapter solely about selling our apartment. Enjoy.

We decided quite a while ago to buy a new apartment and, despite how long it has taken, we initially thought it would be a lengthier process, because the plan was to also keep our current place and rent it out. If we sell our current apartment, we achieve our goals about two years earlier and don’t have to deal with the stress that coincides with being landlords, however, that doesn’t free us of the burden of dealing with real estate agents. The bulk of these people in Singapore are just awful, plain and simple. Okay, we initially encountered a couple while selling that weren’t too bad and the pair that ultimately got the job done were fantastic. I have previously written about what we went through to simply rent an apartment in New York City, but selling one and buying another in Singapore isn’t a whole lot of fun, either. So, what makes dealing with the bulk of Singaporean real estate agents so bad? Well, there are the obvious lies and deception that come hand-in-hand with making major secondhand purchases, but it’s usually used car dealers who get the bad rap, however, as you keep reading, particularly when I’ve finished writing the next chapter about buying an apartment, you’ll learn that the word “room” can mean almost anything to a Singaporean estate agent. Then there are the endless personal questions and comments that these awkward, giggling, little socially-stunted people make that have absolutely nothing to do with them or the process of buying or selling a house. Add to this them ignoring all regular communal time constraints when calling or messaging you, and you’ll be pulling your hair out within days.

Anna initially put our house on the market on Tuesday, April 23, 2019 and I was originally going to begin writing this piece when the entire process was completed, but in under two weeks I had accrued so many weird anecdotes and tidbits that I felt I was going to forget some nugget of gold that had occured during this entire course of action. Instead, I compiled the stories that took place as they happened instead of just putting them into the notes on my phone, until this entire debacle was completed. As you will find out, we painfully tolerated some real estate agents when we were looking at apartments to buy, which was almost immediately after we had put our place on the market. However, the only way these people can get any worse is when you have something of which they know they can make a nice little commission, the standard market rate in Singapore being 2%. When Anna first listed our place for sale she used my phone number as the main point of contact. Now, here I sit, writing this portion over two weeks later on Friday, May 10, 2019 and I have kept my phone on silent the entire time due to the constant calls and messages from real estate agents that were late to the party, yet still want a piece of the action. Here’s an example of one I received yesterday:

So much to decipher there; is his or her name Adnic? Anna told me that PN stands for PropNex, “Singapore’s largest listed real estate agency,” but why would I want this person coming over on a Saturday morning when each entire week spent dealing with these people leads to a big Friday night being required in order to de-stress and unwind? And who the hell is this Angie to whom they wish to speak? Anyway, Anna had dinner with some of her family on the Wednesday, the day after listing the property, and her auntie has bought and sold many apartments in Singapore, as well as overseas, so she gave Anna some advice and also listed our place in Singapore’s national daily newspaper, The Straits Times. Needless to say my phone blew up the next day and these people are like the hybrid of a vulture and a leech. My day consisted of just constant calls and messages, the calls mostly impossible to understand speed-mumbling and the messages indecipherable and full of typos, the example above being par for the course. Some would call four or five times in a row, hoping to get an answer, others would send a followup message just minutes after their initial message just to see if I had received it, because they still hadn’t heard back from me yet. In fact, one of them even sent me a bunch of articles about himself, some of them in Mandarin and from almost four years prior:

His mother definitely has this on the fridge

You know he has this framed somewhere

Anna was home when the phone first started ringing and it was her suggestion that I should ignore the calls and just respond to messages, which suited me fine. Still, real estate agents here want exclusive rights to your apartment, meaning that they can be the only person to market it, but we didn’t want that so Anna and myself had to devise a standard response to each of these messages that I was receiving in order to find the agents that were at least attempting to be legit. This is what Anna came up with and saved it in the notes in my phone so I just had to copy and paste the the top portion as a reply to each message:

Hi, in order for us to authorise you as our agent;

Please advise if you are an exclusive agent or can do open market, and

What is your lowest commission rate?

In the interest of convenience, please continue to communicate via message/WhatsApp.

(If they say non-exclusive and can offer a rate in writing of 2% or less, we can send them the pics and unit no.

Asking price $XXX,XXX)

I was copying and pasting this reply so frequently that I made the mistake of copying the entire thing, including the section in brackets, and sending it to a couple of agents before realising my mistake and quickly deleting it. If we received the answer from an agent as outlined in the underlined section that was intended for my eyes only, they would then receive the following message:

Thanks for your interest, we will be free to let you view our apartment and take photos on Tuesday or Thursday, 1-5pm. Please SMS to confirm viewing.

It was all getting a bit much and we would need to clean up before people viewed our apartment the following week so I went out shopping to get some of the supplies we would need. While I was out I received a phone call and figured it would just be Anna so I answered without looking. It turned out to be one of the vulture-leeches, he was in the area and wanted to speak to us personally. I told him I would be home in 30 minutes and he agreed to meet me at our place for what I assumed was an opportunity to have a look through the apartment and get some pictures early. Nope, he just wanted to give me his spiel on letting him have exclusive rights to the apartment, however, he did raise some good points. I let him know that Anna is the main breadwinner and decision maker in this process so it would be best if he spoke to her, but he’d need to wait until she returned home from work. He hung out alone at the nearby shopping mall until Anna was home and then went through his exclusivity speech again to Anna, pointing out that open market sale wasn’t an option for him, he only does exclusive sales. We said we would talk over his offer, which had its pros and cons, and then get back to him, but after discussing it we decided against his offer of exclusivity. He messaged me the following night, Friday, to ask if we had talked about it, and this was where I learnt two valuable lessons about him and most other real estate agents trying to sell properties:

He was full of shit.

He truly couldn’t care less what time he contacted me.

Despite previously saying that he only does exclusive sales, he had no problem with trying to sell on the open market when he realised we wouldn’t use him otherwise. Also, he would continue to hassle me the entire weekend, going as far as messaging me at 11:00pm on Sunday night! Here are some of the highlights of what I continued to receive over the course of the weekend, check out the times of some of them:

Desperation is a stinky cologne! I wouldn’t even message my own parents that late on a Sunday night, and you can see that there is a deleted message toward the end, because this guy was pissing me off so badly that I initially responded a little less diplomatically so Anna ultimately wrote that final reply. Still, when someone tries to point out that you don’t appreciate being contacted on that day or at that time, it takes a special kind of stupid to reply to the message. On a later occasion he texted me at 3:30am, beginning his message with an apology for contacting me at that time, but he was worried he’d forget what he wanted to ask me if he waited. Just write it down and inquire later in our agreed upon timeframe!

Monday was just as stressful, constantly dealing with real estate agents’ phone calls and messages, as well as cleaning up the place, trying to rearrange the clutter. I also cooked dinner that night and accidentally knocked a bottle of olive oil off our extremely small bench, smashing it on the ground and covering the floor with oil and shards of glass. To make matters worse, we had run out of floor cleaner so after I finished picking up as much broken glass as I could find without slipping over, I had to find a place that sold floor cleaner at 9:30pm and mop the house, putting me in a rather bad mood that ultimately scared the dog.

Tuesday was finally here and I started getting our place into the best shape I could quite early. Nobody was supposed to arrive until 1:00pm, however, the first agent showed up at 12:30pm and complained about why I hadn’t finished cleaning and that I wasn’t ready for him. I politely reminded him that I wasn’t expecting anyone for at least another 30 minutes, but he just told me he could give me tips on tidying and then started to unplug all of our devices and rearrange our furniture until I put a stop to that. He said our apartment needed to look “less cluttered, less lived in,” so I then passive-aggressively explained to him that, unfortunately for him, we still do live in it and the reason we are selling is that, although we love our current apartment, we have just outgrown it and the place simply isn’t big enough, there isn’t space for everything, but we’ll need to continue to live there until it is sold and achieving that is his role in the whole situation. It’s a nice apartment at a decent price in a highly-sought after part of town, if he can’t sell it, maybe he should try another line of work. Anyway, he spent the next hour filming our property and taking photos, not letting me in the same room as him and not allowing any of the agents that came at the correct time to enter the apartment, instead forcing them to stand in the stairwell in the heat. He even whined that out house is too dark and I need to find a way to make it lighter, especially the bedroom. Yes, that’s because we sleep in there, not use it as a photo-booth, and it’s kind of ironic that he described the place as “bright” in his video. He was an obnoxious douche and was more than a little liberal with the truth, but the video he put together (which is no longer available) wasn’t too bad and if he one day allows me to teach him pronunciation, grammar, and sentence structure, I may just take some of his decluttering tips.

Many more real estate agents arrived over the course of the day, most of them polite, some quite critical, and pretty much all of them trying to make the same jokes and starting the same conversations; “How’s the weather up there?” and, “Have you eaten?” were all questions I had to answer multiple times, as was making up excuses for where Anna was and that’s where I made my biggest faux pas. The agents always try to get personal information out of you, especially about income, which is none of their business when we’re using them to sell our apartment. There was no problem with me telling any agents that I’m a freelance writer, but Anna didn’t want any of them knowing what she does for a living, because they might try to lowball us on our place if they knew she was a surgeon. The first time an agent asked where she worked, I kind of panicked, leading to this exchange:

Agent: “So, where is your wife?” Me: “At work.” Agent: “Oh, where does she work?” Me: “Near the hospital.” Agent: “Oh, what does she do, is she a nurse? A doctor?” Me (kind of panicking): “Canteen.”

It didn’t help that Anna used to do pole dancing for exercise a few years ago and we still have the pole in our house. “So, is your wife a dancer, too?” she asked in a very judging manner. Yes, now this particular real estate agent thinks that I’m married to a stripper that also needs to work in a hospital canteen during the day to make ends meet. Another agent asked if the pole was to hold the ceiling up and could it be removed. God, some of them are dumb, we live on the third floor of a four-storey building, I’d be equally worried for the people that live above us if that were the case!

It’s now the first week of June, 2019 and we’ve had some agents bring people to check out our apartment. We’ve had around 10 different potential buyers look through, but it only seems to be the same two or three real estate agents out of all of the ones marketing it that are getting the people in. Our apartment clearly has an industrial design, however, one of the first agents who showed people through described it as “countrysides look.” Firstly, I don’t think the word ‘countryside’ can be pluralised and secondly, a countryside design would be the complete opposite of industrial. When I hear “countryside” I picture lace curtains, doilies, vases of flowers, floorboards, that type of thing, not exposed bricks and beams to go with the mostly cement floor. He also told the people that we had vinyl flooring in the living room when that portion is clearly marble, one of the only remaining original features of the entire apartment from before we renovated it when we first purchased the place seven years ago. Was he even trying? The agent who made the video of our house, a film that was apparently based on a true story, contacted me on Friday, June 7 to tell me that he had some people who wanted to look through our apartment the following day and was wondering if our place had two bathrooms. It took all of my energy to refrain from telling him that the answer is in that stupid little movie that he made and instead told him it has only one. He then asked how many bathrooms our neighbour’s place had! I wouldn’t recognise my neighbours if I saw them in the street, let alone know how many toilets they have, but I assume it would be the same amount as us, as all of the apartments in our building were built with an identical floor-plan. He also asked what time on Saturday suited me best so I told him 3:00pm, but on Saturday morning I received a message saying that he would see me at 2:30, half an hour earlier again, but at least he told me this time, unlike the day he made his home movie. Before long it was 2:20pm and my stomach was starting to cramp, I had to go to our only bathroom urgently, but I was also worried that he may arrive earlier than the agreed upon time again, on this occasion while I was in a rather compromising situation. Fortunately, I managed to complete my business quickly with enough time remaining for the aroma to adequately dissipate and the viewing went off without a hitch, however, the agent had grown a really bad moustache since we had last met.

When you’re looking at spending every cent you have on an apartment, there is an endless list of questions you could ask — Does the traffic get noisy? How much hot water does the current tank give? Have any murders ever been committed there? For some reason though, we kept getting asked the same two questions time and time again from potential buyers;

Which direction does the apartment face?

What race are our neighbours?

The second question seems to be a real selling point in Singapore and the potential buyers asking this are always relieved to find out that our neighbours are all Singaporean-Chinese. People here can be a tad biased at times and I still have no idea why, but many in this country don’t want to live anywhere near members of particular races or nationalities. I’m sure, though, that they wouldn’t have any problems with the eccentric, old Singaporean-Chinese guy that lives behind us who usually wears nothing but a faded old towel or sometimes his clothes on backwards, meditating outside on mouldy, discarded office furniture, testicles swaying in the breeze, surrounded by a fort of more hanging towels, as well as having banana peels, clam shells, and other meticulously arranged, but ultimately unusable food items drying on the ground outside his apartment full of clutter, trash, and plastic bags. His joint is constantly infested with rats and they are always running around the general vicinity of his apartment, but he’s fine:

A visit from some government officials while resplendent in a faded towel, as seen from our kitchen window

Maybe he got in a fight with the rats and they kicked him out on this particular night

The irony is that his place is worth a fortune!

From his point of view

I really wish I had a marker at the time to draw a moustache

Today is Monday, July 29, 2019 and we’ve had quite a few people look at our apartment, but no official offers, the main complaint being that, despite being listed as a “walk-up” apartment, it doesn’t have an elevator, some viewers even perplexed at this exclusion, because climbing two small flights of stairs is just too much effort for many. Why bother even looking at it at all? We also realised that it has been the same four or five agents getting people to look at our apartment and they suggested that we get the agents that haven’t done anything to take their listings down from property websites to avoid saturation, which isn’t a bad idea. This morning I sent those agents the following message:

Hi _____,

My wife and I own the property you have listed at 20 Tiong Bahru Rd. I am writing to request that, due to a complete lack of viewers, that you cease to list our property. This is not open to negotiation.

Thank you, Tim Abel

Most of them just did it and replied to let me know, which was appreciated, but one decided to call me and try to weasel his way out of it, which went something like this:

Agent: “Good day, sir, in reference to your message, what I’ve been doing is collating all of the offers on your property in order to ascertain what –” Me: “YOU HAVEN’T BROUGHT A SINGLE PERSON TO OUR PLACE IN THREE MONTHS, TAKE THE LISTING DOWN!” *click*

These guys are terrified of complaints that will damage their reputation so almost immediately after I hung up on him I received a text message that said:

Hi tim.will abide. Apologise n tks

I think that translates into “Hi, Tim, I will take the listing down as per your request. Apologies and thank you.”

Fast forward to what is now mid-December, 2019 and we’re still sitting here, waiting to sell our apartment. We ended up going with one of the female agents as an exclusive agent and she initially brought a reasonable amount of people around to our place to have a look, but even her interest waned over time to the point where she didn’t even have our place listed toward the end. Fortunately her contracted period as our exclusive agent expired. We did receive a couple of offers, but they were either quite low or rescinded after the people who made them opted for a different apartment. We ultimately chose to go with a pair of other agents at the recommendation of a friend who was able to sell her place quite quickly, instead of going through all of this hassle. To try to make the process go even smoother with these guys, I went on a crazy decluttering spree, spending many hours of many days going through certain areas of the apartment and just throwing stuff out, much to the behest of my lower back. Anna chipped in on the day the agents came to take photos and videos, managing to throw out five shopping bags full of old shoes alone, as well as several boxes of books. This cleaning process resulted in us finding some items we had completely forgotten about or didn’t even know we had. A good example is that we can never find a pen that works when we need one, yet I found three unused and rather expensive pens still in their boxes that were gifts at some of Anna’s conferences. The absolute highlight for me though, had to be two books Anna wrote in primary school, the first when she was about seven years old, detailing her family’s trip to California with interesting tidbits such as finding her cousin’s bra, her friend playing with it, and then putting it on her soft-toys. The other book was a mystery about a kidnapping and ransom, written when she was roughly eleven or so:

Anna’s artistic abilities haven’t really evolved

This might help explain why we watch so much Law & Order: SVU

As a result of all of this cleaning and carrying so many loads of heavy items down to the bins downstairs, I was barely been able to stand upright properly for a few days, plus all of the dust that had been stirred up as a result had us constantly sneezing, but it did feel nice having less crap around the place. As a result I wasn’t looking forward to the whole moving process, but that wouldn’t happening anytime soon.

The agents came around on Saturday, December 13, 2019, took their photos and videos, as well as sat down and had a chat to us, these guys actually asking questions and showing a genuine interest, so that was a good sign. They also informed us that this time of year isn’t a good one for the housing market so it probably wouldn’t be until January or February until we hear anything, but an online virtual walkthrough of our place was still put up on their website on Monday, December 15, 2019. From Saturday, January 4, 2020 we had a steady flow of viewers for our house and it wasn’t just people who were bored on the weekend and had decided to spend it snooping through other people’s apartments, these ones seemed genuinely interested in purchasing, and by Tuesday, January 21, 2020 we had accepted an offer and sold our place! What nobody else could achieve in eight months, our new agents pulled off in one, a month that happened to include the Christmas and New Year period, as well as being just prior to Chinese New Year. Pretty impressive.

This now left us with the headache of dealing with banking procedures and bureaucracy in order to finalise the sale of our apartment, as well as sort out the place we wanted to buy and it was the second one that would prove the most frustrating, but that’s a story for next time. Stay tuned for the story, whenever it is eventually finalised, that coincided directly with this one; The Hell That We Experienced In The Real Estate Process In Singapore — Buying.

Boy, that was nine months of fun Note: This post was written over the course of many months, beginning on Friday, May 3, 2019.

GOP senator says tax cuts must be followed by 'structural changes to Social Security and Medicare'

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2:57 a.m. ET

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"I analyze this very differently than most," Rubio said. "Many argue that you can't cut taxes because it will drive up the deficit. But we have to do two things. We have to generate economic growth which generates revenue, while reducing spending. That will mean instituting structural changes to Social Security and Medicare for the future." He suggested reducing benefits and raising the retirement age for future retirees, so people can prepare for the changes. "Tax reform is the economic component of this equation," Rubio said. "When more people are working, there are more taxpayers and more revenue, but that alone won't be enough. You are still going to have a debt problem in the absence of spending cuts."

The broadly unpopular tax bill — rushed through with almost no debate or expert testimony and zero Democratic input — would have wide-ranging and uncertain effects on all Americans. As AARP noted, the legislation already includes $25 million in automatic Medicare cuts for next year alone, along with $111 million in other cuts to federal programs, and it would either raise taxes or keep them the same for 6.3 million Americans 65 or older in 2019 and 10.8 million by 2027. President Trump, who is pushing the legislation hard, promised during the campaign he would not change Medicare, Medicaid, or Social Security. You can watch Rubio's invertivew at Politico. Peter Weber

5:29 a.m. ET

For months before The Washington Postblew her cover story on Monday, Jaime Phillips, using a variety of aliases, had been networking with reporters in Washington, D.C., and New York City, trying to strike up friendships and sometimes surreptitiously videotaping conversations, The Washington Post detailed on Wednesday. Phillips appears to work for Project Veritas, which uses selectively edited secret video to target media organizations and liberal groups. The Post busted her trying to pass of a fake story about an affair with GOP Senate candidate Roy Moore, with the evident aim of discrediting the women who have accused Moore of sexual misconduct.

After announcing in a GoFundMe campaign that she was leaving Georgia to help take down the "liberal MSM" in New York, Phillips deleted her conservative social media history (her Twitter handle for a while was "Jaime❤PresidentTrump"), the Post says, and began populating her accounts with posts in favor of gun control and critical of President Trump, photos of John F. Kennedy, and quotes about love making America great. In July, she began showing up at farewell parties for Washington Post staffers and meet-ups with journalists or progressive activists, while renting a room from a Democratic operative. The Postshared text messages showing her five-week attempt to befriend a reporter, including sympathy tweets over a family tragedy.

Project Veritas founder James O'Keefe declined to comment on Phillips' mingling with journalists, telling the Post, "I can't give up the identity of my sources, no more than you can disclose the identity of your anonymous sources." It's not clear what "sources" he was talking about. You can read about Phillips' undercover activities at The Washington Post, and get a taste of her social media makeover in the video below. Peter Weber

4:35 a.m. ET

Stephen Colbert returned to the air Wednesday after a weeklong break, and he'd noticed the changing media landscape. "I am one of the few men still allowed on television," he joked on The Late Show, pointing to NBC's firing of morning anchor Matt Lauer. "According to the chairman of NBC News, Lauer was fired due to 'inappropriate sexual behavior in the workplace,'" he said, "not to be confused with appropriate sexual behavior in the workplace, because that does not exist." Colbert went through some of the salacious details of Lauer's alleged misconduct, including a tidbit from a colleague involving a sex toy and a note. "It's bad enough he gave her a sex toy, but he also gave her instructions?" he asked. "He found a way to mansplain sexual harassment."

President Trump, of course, weighed in on Twitter, saying the heads of NBC should be fired, too, "for putting out so much Fake News." Colbert couldn't take it. "Listen up, you don't get to comment," he said. "That is the pot calling the kettle at 3 a.m. and asking what she's wearing. Plus, remember the whole Billy Bush/bus thing?"

In fact, Trump is casting doubt now that it really is him bragging about grabbing women's genitalia on the Access Hollywood bus, so Colbert played the tape. "You know, when you listen to it again, it can't be him, because anybody who said that wouldn't get elected president of the United States," he said. The fact that Trump admitted he said it and apologized only made Colbert more suspicious.

Colbert also hit some happier news, the engagement of Britain's Prince Harry to American actress Meghan Markel. But he found a Trump angle there, too: "England, a word of warning. We had a cool, biracial leader for a while, too. And I can tell you, you need to savor it. Because the next princess is gonna suck." Watch below. Peter Weber

1:44 a.m. ET

Earl Gibson III/Getty Images

Director Ridley Scott says that once he heard the accusations of sexual misconduct made against Kevin Spacey, he knew he would have to replace the actor in his new movie,All the Money in the World.

It meant having to get Christopher Plummer on board to replace Spacey and co-stars Michelle Williams and Mark Wahlberg to agree to re-shoot their scenes, but it worked out, Scott told Entertainment Weekly, and he still plans on hitting the original release date of Dec. 22. "There's no time for pondering," he said. "Sometimes you've got to lay down the law. You have to!" Williams agreed with Scott's decision to replace Spacey with Plummer, saying the move sends "a message to predators — you can't get away with this anymore. Something will be done."

The scenes were redone during Thanksgiving week, reportedly at a cost of $10 million (the original budget is believed to have been around $40 million). The movie is based on the 1973 kidnapping of oil tycoon J. Paul Getty's grandson, with first Spacey, and now Plummer, playing Getty. Scott said he wasn't worried about getting all of the scenes shot again in such a short amount of time and never even dreamt of postponing the release until 2018, because he moves "like lightning." What was most important to him was not letting "one person's action affect the good work of all these other people. It's that simple." Catherine Garcia

1:23 a.m. ET

Jimmy Fallon kicked off Wednesday's Tonight Show with a pointed jab at the elephant in the room, the firing that morning of his own network's morning news star, Matt Lauer, over sexual misconduct. Well, technically Fallon began with a setup about how NBC had just rung in the holiday seasons by lighting the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Plaza. "Also getting lit tonight? The HR rep over at NBC," he deadpanned. "If you're wondering where in the world is Matt Lauer, he's probably at a bar with Charlie Rose." Rose, of course, was the top male at Lauer's CBS rival morning show before he was fired over sexual misconduct.

Fallon has a reputation for pulling punches, but the other late-night Jimmy, Jimmy Kimmel, was a little more expansive with the Lauer jokes. "This morning my wife looked at her phone and said, 'Oh my god, Matt Lauer' — which, of course, I assumed he was dead. I guess this is better, I don't know," he said. "What happens now? I mean, does he have to do an emotional interview with himself?" He also wondered if maybe fellow Today anchor Kathie Lee Gifford should stop slapping Hoda Kobt's butt on "spanky Tuesdays" — which, he proved, is a real thing.

"Of course, President Trump weighed in on this, as presidents do," Kimmel said drily. "And I'll tell you, if anyone knows about inappropriate behavior in the workplace at NBC, it's Donald J. Trump. I mean, is he aware that he's him?" Of course, Lauer wasn't Wednesday's only big media termination. Kimmel's joke about Garrison Keillor fondling an NPR tote bag fell flat, but he persisted: "Can you imagine being fired from Minnesota Public Radio? It's like having your library card revoked." Peter Weber

12:20 a.m. ET

On Wednesday, Attorney General Jeff Sessions announced that President Trump has asked Conway, his counselor, to become the opioids czar. She will "coordinate and lead the effort from the White House" to solve the problem of opioid overdoses, which killed tens of thousands of Americans in 2016, Sessions said. He also said that state and local police departments will receive $12 million in grants and the Drug Enforcement Agency will open a field office in Louisville, Kentucky, to target opioid use in Appalachia.

Gov. Chris Christie (R-N.J.) was in charge of a commission that handed in its final report this month with more than 60 recommendations on how to stop the opioid crisis. Conway attended many of the panel's meetings, BuzzFeed News reports, and she has also worked with other members of the administration to put together Trump's response to the epidemic. Catherine Garcia

12:18 a.m. ET

Right now, White House budget director Mick Mulvaney is the victor in the "boss fight" at the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, after winning the first round of a legal fight with rival CFPB acting director Leandra English, Trevor Noah said on Wednesday's Daily Show. President Trump appointed Mulvaney to the job despite — or more likely because — Mulvaney says the CFBP, which has refunded billions of dollars to consumers from shady financial institutions, is too hard on banks, among more pointed criticism.

"They took money from banks and gave it back to the people?" Noah asked in mock outrage. "That's not how money works. Everyone knows it's: money goes into the banks, and then things happen, and then yachts." Still, "according to the Trump administration, the real victims are the banks themselves," he added, showcasing their argument, then laughing at it. "Financial institutions devastated? Trampling on capitalism? Have you seen capitalism lately? If you scroll through capitalism's Instagram feed, life is looking pretty good."

Look, by all measures, "Wall Street is already living large while so much of America is still struggling," Noah said. "And castrating the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau will only make it worse. This is one of those times when I wish that there was a political hero, someone who would stand up and say, 'I'm not going to let Wall Street get away with murder!'" He played that clip, and if you think it was Bernie Sanders or Elizabeth Warren, well, watch below. Peter Weber

November 29, 2017

Ian MacNicol/Getty Images

During an interview with a now-shuttered golf magazine, President Trump told a reporter there is "nothing in the world like first-rate pussy," the former journalist, Michael Corcoran, told The Daily Beast.

Trump made the comment after he spotted a "young socialite" eating dinner at his Florida club Mar-a-Lago, Corcoran said. Corcoran was assigned to write a profile on Trump for News Corp.'s Maximum Golf magazine in 2000, and he followed Trump around for a few days. He said he used the quote in the ending of his profile, but the magazine's editor-in-chief removed the obscenity and replaced it with "talent." Corcoran's editor, Joe Bagmann, backed up this account, telling The Daily Beast he was "asked to change the last word of the story from 'pussy.' When I refused, my top editor changed the quote."

Trump seems to have a fondness for the word, having been caught on tape bragging to former Access Hollywood host Billy Bush about groping women, being able to "grab 'em by the pussy" because he was famous, among other recorded uses. The White House did not respond to The Daily Beast's request for comment. Catherine Garcia

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This content was originally published here.

My Besties Brother

When my ex husband and I’s relationship was falling apart, I kept that shit to myself. This is who I am in a relationship, loyal to fault. I’ll defend your honor in public even when I know you’re wrong. People didn’t know. Until the last few years everyone thought we were the perfect couple, people would comment how adorable we were constantly. The last few years I told people, things got so bad I finally felt like I needed a support system and the girls I went to school with saw me break into tears randomly and eventually I told them why. I told a few guys when we decided it was over. But generally people back home, people who were close to us didn’t know until the end. When I put that on facebook I didn’t make a big deal about it. I talked about moving and just didn’t mention him. Our family knew and they were upset. The weirdest part, his family was upset with him for losing me, my family was upset with me for leaving him. When I changed my status on facebook things got weird. Men I’d grown up with, ex boyfriends, men who added me but I wasn’t sure how I knew them, men I worked with, started messaging me. I’ve had a few men say they were in love with me, others say that had crushes on me but were afraid to tell me. Men who just messaged me to tell me my ex husband was stupid for letting me get away because they could only dream of having a good woman like me in their lives, and some of those comments were by his friends. Recently though was the absolute weirdest. My best friends brother has told me he has had a thing for me forever? I did NOT see this coming at all! 

My best friend is a lot older than me. I met her when we were both working at Walmart and I was just engaged. At some point she invited me to a party and it was just like the parties I grew up going to and her family was super laid back and we just clicked. She’s somewhere between my parents and I’s age. When I met her brother he was married and I was married, and when I was married I was committed, I didn’t see other men, like honestly barely even checked out other men, I was all in and that’s how I am when I’m in a committed relationship. I loved his wife, she was hilarious and we all hung out all the time. His wife decided to have weight loss surgery because they were having trouble getting pregnant due to her weight. I remember feeling guilty around her because I also had trouble getting pregnant. I went on this rather extreme PCOS diet, I chose that rather than going to the doctor for fertility treatments or any of that crap. It was expensive but on my 24th birthday I was pregnant and I was so happy because I knew I wanted to be a young mom. About the time I found out I was pregnant, they also found out they were pregnant but it only went on a few months and then she miscarried. So I felt guilt. Eventually though she had weight loss surgery and they had 2 little girls and shortly after his wife had a complete personality change. I always wondered if that was due to post partum depression or the weight loss surgery but she developed a pretty serious drug and sex addiction and left him and her two girls. I couldn’t ever wrap my head around this. He was such a nice guy honestly, like when she was extremely large I’d watched him put her shoes on for her. He worked, he cared for the girls, he catered to her and she still left. Towards the end he claimed to be injured on his job and fought for disability and eventually won. I never got that because he still played softball, my daughter, my bestie and I went to his games every week. He fixed cars in his driveway, plowed snow, hunted, fished, everything with his injuries. I didn’t ever say anything and I didn’t get involved. I feel like I’m in charge of my karma and he’s in charge of his and that’s how I approach these things. He’s gone through 2 more wife's. Maybe developed his own drug habit, had his own personality change. My bestie and I kind of make fun of him behind his back because now he has 2 more kids and more ex wife's. He always chooses horrible women. 

One day about a month ago he messages me and asks when I’m coming home. I think this is odd too because him and I don’t talk? Like he’s not my friend his sister is. I tell him I don’t know it’s hard to get time off. I start asking him if everything is okay because he never messages me and eventually this leads into a I’ve always been interested in you, I wish you would move home, you guys can live with me. I think he’s lost his mind, maybe he’s lonely. He starts telling me his new girlfriend is cheating on him with her ex husband and we talk about that. I think okay I’m right he’s just lonely. It’s something I’ve learned to look for the past 2 years, and sadly my mistakes have helped me spot it. Some men message me because they’re lonely or feel alone in general, they don’t feel complete and they want a woman to fix that, they are unhappy and want someone to fix that, they’re a mess in general and just want someone who is going to fix that. I’ve learned to spot this and I’m glad because I don’t want to complete someone and I don’t want someone to complete me, I was to find someone who is already complete on their own, I want to find someone who will only add to my life, not take from it. I also don’t want to feel dependent on a man to be a whole person, I am a whole person. So when he says him and his girl are having issues I completely disregard his statements about wanting to be with me and just assume he’s lonely and maybe he needs someone to talk to and we talk. Well this happens again the next day and he wants to talk about the possibility of me moving home. It happens the next day and the day after that, I hear from him in the morning when he’s getting ready for his day and at night when he’s heading to bed. I start to wonder if maybe he’s not lying? If maybe out of nowhere he decided to tell me he’s had feelings for me? I considered telling my best friend but then I think she’d be excited by that and she’d encourage it because she also wants me to move home and I don’t want to get her hopes up because I don’t think that’s my home anymore and I don’t see myself with this guy. 

Then friday comes and nothing, saturday nothing, sunday nothing, and then I hear from him monday morning. He tells me he went on a youth hunt with his daughter and yes he did. Here’s the unfortunate truth about my life. I’ve never had a man that really loved me, I never had a man who had my back, I just haven’t had that. Even my ex husband who didn’t lie or cheat on me gave me conditional love and if I didn’t meet his conditions I was on my own. Eric was in it for himself much like the men I was with before my marriage and so my experiences don’t stem from healthy relationships. Then men in my life have taught me to look for lies, inconsistencies, and games. Eric used to quit texting me on friday, saturday and sunday. At first I made excuses for him, like well he’s a single Dad and he’s out with his kids and they’re more important, until he showed me he was a bad guy. Soon I realized no he was out with someone else, whenever he went long stretches without text me it was because he was with someone else and he pretended to not understand why it upset me so much but it was because he made me feel cripplingly insecure because I knew he didn’t love me, he never had my back, and he had no idea what loyalty was and I don’t think he cared the only thing he cared about in life was himself. I look for that now, I have men who message me on dating apps and want to talk and talk until friday, saturday and sunday come along, and that’s the point where I back away. I don’t need someone who is only interested in me monday thru thursday. So this whole thing immediately made me back off and I wasn’t as quick to reply and I wasn’t as emotionally open. I figured his girlfriend and him made up and she’s free on the weekends and not free come monday and he’s bored and looking for attention and I’m good, I’ve been that girl enough times to know it doesn’t make me happy. 

So the messages drop off but he starts wanting to have more sexual conversation which is just weird because it’s my best friends little brother. Soon he wants me to send him sexy pictures. I’m at the point emotionally where I am beyond tired of men acting like I exist for their entertainment. I refused to send him pictures, I hadn’t deleted my bdsm page yet and I directed him there and told him there were sexy pics on that page. He makes 100 excuses as to why he can’t log on that page and see them and is like just send me some. I refused, if you’re too lazy to get on a website and look then you must not be that interested. This whole scenario is quickly annoying to me because he’s just like every other pos guy who messages me and being as I’ve known him for a long time and this idea of him as a good guy, it makes me disappointed in him.

 I message him eventually to tell him that I was planning on coming home for Christmas and he doesn’t act happy or excited or anything? So I was like you don’t seem excited about that and he doesn’t respond. At this point I’m over this situation anyways so I just quit texting and he quits texting, I think he could tell I was annoyed. Today he messaged me “so are you gonna fuck me when you come home.” I was instantly pissed, I said no. He said why not, I said I’m not some whore you can order up, you have a girlfriend, and you weren’t even excited I was coming home.” He claims he was really excited I was coming home, and then like slows his role. Let’s just say there’s a list of people I would love to see when I go home and one of them is a man, and it’s not this man. I have no more time for men like this in my life, I’d rather be alone. Just yesterday I blocked 2 men for unsolicited dick pics and surprised the hell out of a friend when he asked when the last time I masturbated was and I said at least a month. I’m just not in the mood. Eric took so much from me, and every guy after has taken just a little bit more and I feel broken and I feel like this isn’t what I need in my life a this time. I’m taking a year off from dating, which means my blog is about to become boring. Of course I’m now working two full time jobs and studying for a national nursing certification, who has time for dumb boys. I don’t.

Hi everyone! We have just published an article on Failory written by Amir Rajan, in which he tells the story behind his mobile game, called “A Dark Room”, which hit #1 on the App Store and grossed over $800,000. Sit down and read his success story. I hope you enjoy it and if you have any questions, I will happily answer them below. Sit back. This is gonna be a long one. TL;DR:Did the whole "get a degree, get a job" thing. Ended up being incredibly well paid, but horribly empty because of corporate America. Decided to rage quit, downsize (sell pretty much everything I own), and take a sabbatical. After binge coding on random crap, I partnered with a guy in Canada and ported a web based, incremental, text based game to iOS (A Dark Room iOS). Welp. It went viral and hit the #1 spot. That let me extend my sabbatical for another three years. I built four more games, none of which succeeded. Now I'm back in Corporate America (luckily only part time now... I make enough off my games and other assets to not have to work all year). The Long Version: Frustration:There is such a heavy dose of luck in success. There are those that will give one thousand percent, and because the roll of the dice wasn't perfect, nothing materializes. They have as much love for the game development as I have... they've worked as hard as I have... but just didn't get a kiss from Lady Luck. And it sucks. It just isn't fair that they want to create more than their next breathe, but can't catch a good break to devote time to it. They have to look over at those that have the privaledge to take multiple rolls of the dice, eat their cake and have it too, and if everything still fails, they get bailed out by mommy and daddy.I was one of the lucky ones. I saved up for ten years, and was able to role once. I hit lucky number eleven. And even then, I still find myself having to grind in a 9 to 5 yet again. Sometimes it's fine. Other times I feel like I should have never taken that sabbatical and remained ignorant of the pure joy that comes from putting yourself in a creation. Before Sabbatical:I did what you were supposed to do. Did well (really well) in school. Went to college. Got a degree in Software Engineering and Computer Science. Did internships and landed a job as a developer for an insurance company right out of college. I did that for three years (two years of internships, one year as a full time employee). I then went to work for a company that build veterinary software. Did that for a couple of years. I really really loved coding. Lived and breathed it. I interviewed at a prestigious consulting company and got in on the ground floor. Spent three years there only to be scooped up by another consulting powerhouse. So here I am with a disgusting $140,000 in total compensation. A sea of cubicals, souless sheep that want nothing more than to do their time and go home. I didn't belong cause I actually cared about my craft. I tried to compensate for my unfulfilling corporate work with open source development after hours. This put a toll on my familial relationships (spending 45 hours a week working, then trying to get another 30 hours on nights and weekends, doesn't leave much time for anything else). I was at the brink of collapse. Lose my sanity, my wife, or my job. I decided to get rid of the job. I liquidated my 401k savings (took all the tax penalties up front), and said "alright, gonna live off of this for as long as I can until I figure something out". During Sabbatical:It was great to breathe. I was 178 pounds at 5'8 (a little portly). That changed during the sabbatical. It took me three months just to figure out what my routine looked like. I'd code on whatever my heart desired. It was wonderful. I didn't even know what day it was. I didn't miss my stuff. I didn't miss the anxiety attacks I got Sunday nights before having to go to work. All of that gone. By month four I came across the web based version of A Dark Room. I immediately connected with its sparse presentation. I reached out the Michael and asked his permission to port it to mobile. That night I lost track of time. I blinked and it was 3am. I had never felt that kind of loss of time before. Nothing around me existed, it was just me and my creation. After another four months, A Dark Room was done and released to the App Store. It got a whopping thirty downloads the first day. I didn't care. Cause it was my creation and it was awesome. I redesigned so much of the original game. So much of me went into it. Oh and I dropped 30 pounds too. Best shape of my life.I still remember one of my happiest days. It was early January. I was working on a stupid little multiplayer fighting game written in JavaScript and Pixi.js. I didn't care that ADR was barely getting 10 downloads a day, I didn't care that my savings was dwindling away. I found what I was supposed to do (build digital, evocative experiences). Savings Dwindling:The party was over at this point. My savings was dwindling down. A Dark Room was making its meager two thousand downloads a month (after Apple's cut, taxes, and splits, that's not a lot of take home). I started interviewing again for a job. I was better mentally, physically. And I never want my wife's quality of live to suffer (she was still in college at the time). Being the main bread winner of the home, I knew I had to suck it up and go back to work. I wasn't okay with it, but I knew it was my responsibility. I was interviewing again for those big salaries. I would save as much as possible given my now humble lifestyle. After I had enough cash tucked away, I'd quit and try again. Then. A Dark Room went viral. Out of nowhere it made $800 in one day. Then it made $1,200 in one day. Then it made $5,000. Then it made $8,000. Then it hit the #1 spot and I woke up to a $20,000 sales report. A Dark Room at #1:A Dark Room stayed at the number one spot. I was elated the first day. I was on cloud nine the second day. Then reality reared its ugly face with a sobering message: "this will come to an end."So I waited for it to come to an end. I didn't sleep for 18 days. My life: was hitting the refresh button on the App Store, seeing if I had fallen. I'd do it every 3 hours on the hour, day or night. I did it for eighteen days. I read every review that came through. I'd refresh the page again and see if I had dropped. This was my life. I was waiting for all this success to end. 250,000 downloads later, A Dark Room finally fell from the #1 spot. It was over. From there sales dwindled. After another four months, I was down to 100 downloads a day. I had recouped what I had "spent" taking the sabbatical (and then some). My wife was tired of living in a cramped one bedroom apartment. So, we put a huge down payment on a house. After A Dark Room Fell:I built a prequel to A Dark Room called The Ensign. It did okay (nowhere near as successful.. but not bad... this was around the time I did my interview with Indie Hackers). I wrote a book about Surviving the App Store too. I put my heart and soul into a game inspired by Edwin Abbot's "Flatland: Romance of Many Dimensions" called A Noble Circle. I created a digital Go board after binge watching Hikaru no Go. I built a touched based mobile RTS called Mildly Interesting RTS (MIRTS for short). Every game had "me" in it. I didn't do ads, I didn't do micro-transactions, scummy energy bars, and all those other bullshit monetization tactics. I ported A Dark Room to Android (which was almost not worth it). I did everything to keep building games. I wrote about all of my journey, presented, did podcasts, hoping to inspire others. And yet revenue kept dwindling. The writing was on the wall. Everything I did after ADR wasn't enough. And I got a job. Now:So here I am. Updating all my games to work well on iPhone X. Because I love them. I try to build what I can in my free time. But I'm back in Corporate America (it's been ten months so far). Two months in, everything became too real. My journey as a game dev was really over. I got so frustrated. I purged everything online. Took the book down, deleted all of my Reddit entries, my developer logs, my open source games. I removed all of it. All the content I created felt like a lie. Cause even with all this "success", I couldn't keep my dream going. I felt so much worse off because I got a taste of a fulfilling life that I wish I had been ignorant to. It has been eight months since "The Purge". I'm much better now. Mostly invisible outside of already established relationships. I stream occasionally on Twitch, keep my games maintained, and work on new ones as time allows.I no longer deal with anxiety attacks Sunday nights at the thought of "clocking in" Monday morning. I'm at peace with it. The people I once called sheep, aren't that. They just didn't have the means to roll the dice. All code I see is beautiful in its own way. It tells a story of the resonable programmers put in unresonable situations. Again, I'm one of the lucky ones. Because maybe in another year, I'll have enough play money saved up to role the dice again. ‍Silver Lining:My games provide a stable passive income (and I have a decade worth of an emergency funds in the bank). A Dark Room recently hit the #2 spot overall on Google Play (pro tip: stick to iOS, the revenue is almost an order of magnitude better). More importantly, I've very recently acquired the platform that helped me create my labors of love: RubyMotion. So between my games, subscription revenue, and my well paying contract gigs, I do alright for myself. Thank you Lady Luck. And my sincerest, deepest apologies for the 99.9999% that will never see the "failure" I've seen. I really do empathize with you. And I wish I had a better story. ‍Numbers?I'm sure some of you are asking about numbers. Do you remember the title of this post? Do you remember what I said about the 99.9999% failure rate? Do your remember what I said about privaledge, and eating your cake and having it too? What's the point of talking about the numbers I'm making now? So you can dream about one day making these numbers too? You wont. Start with that and work from there.But if you really want numbers, here are some of the numeric sacrifices I made to role the dice once:Have a 4.0 GPA through High School.Graduate #36 out of a class of 800+.Go to a community college cause it's cheap.Work two jobs in the summer to pay for college and save up.Go to university in 2001 when it was still possible to pay out of pocket and graduate without crippling debt.Get a degree in something that is valued. Even better if you actually like what you got a degree in.Land a job right out of school that makes you $55k a year.Live off of $15k a year. Don't buy a house. Don't buy a fancy car. Just save.Do this for a year.Land a job that makes you $100k a year. Save the rest. Max out your 401k contribution.Celebrate by living off of $30k a year.Do this for three years.Land a job that makes you $140k a year. Save the rest. Max out your 401k contribution. Get a Roth, put $5k a year into that.Celebrate by living off of $60k a year.Do this for three years.Don't have kids. Don't get sick. Don't have any catastrophic events that leave you bankrupt. Probably best to just not leave the house.Quit your job. Sell everything. Liquidate your 401k. Pay all the tax penaties.Live without insurance cause COBRA costs $2000 a month. Still Don't have kids. Don't get sick. Don't have any catastrophic events that leave you bankrupt.Now you can take a year and a half off and roll the dice once. Now you can read all the success stories online and dream that you'll get that too.But you probably wont. And that's okay. ‍Original article posted at https://failory.com/battle-scars

The next Wednesday night.

And I thought four days was a while to wait. Now it’s been ten. Geez. I started writing this last night but I dropped a Bugle on the floor and deleted the post as I picked it up. I started writing it just now, again, and deleted it again cause I’m a dumbass. I’m really hoping it doesn’t happen a third time.

So, last Saturday I stayed in my Little Mermaid jammies as planned and it was fucking awesome. No regrets.

Sunday I went back on OKCupid and actually answered a message on there for some damn reason. Guy named Matt. A British engineer. In his spare time he climbs mountains, mainly ice, usually alone. His favorite thing about me is my big heart.

We met for brunch at the Black Walnut in Norcross. Had such an enjoyable time that we went for a hike in Roswell after. When I finally went home he was texting me to invite me on a trip to Canada next month to climb frozen waterfalls with him. That night we met for drinks at an Irish Pub. At the end of the night the kiss was so good he picked me up in the parking lot and wrapped my legs around him. The only thing stopping me from fucking him right then and there was the possibility of ending up on a sex offenders list. Damn he is great.

Monday I went to REI to look for the proper gear for Canada. I had no fucking clue what I was doing. Did you know there are metal attachments for shoes that are basically the equivalent of snow chains for tires? Now you do.

Tuesday was Halloween. He took me to REI to help me out, but I’m still unsure on what all I would need. We had dinner at Seasons 52, a nice place by Perimeter. We each had two glasses of Panachere while he told me about his wine cellar in Tokyo.

After we went to his place. Had a lot more wine. Met his adorable Corgi, Bee. Love her already. I had been adamant about using a condom, and remember pulling one out of my purse. I don’t remember much else, except the sex was rough and I felt awful. The next day the condom was still on the nightstand. Scared me.

I lasted a half hour at work before going home. As soon as I walked in the door I vomited everywhere. Told myself I would nap but wake up in time to work with Jacob. By the time I woke up, though, the work day was over.

I did feel a lot better though, and met up with Matan for pizza at Fellini’s. He was tired from working in NYC all weekend; he’d just gotten back the day before. I could tell he was exhausted as soon as I saw him. Eyes were heavy. He also didn’t remember a fucking thing about me; kept asking me questions we had already covered. I didn’t mind much, cause I can understand exhaustion, but I still gave him hell for it just to be funny. Went back to his place after. Had sex, which I initiated. I’d thought about fucking him all day Saturday in my jammies. Sex was… okay. Not bad, not great. Asked him to fuck me on the balcony, and he did. Asked him to fuck me in front of the mirror, and he did, even if I wasn’t positioned to see into the damn thing. He didn’t like to kiss on the mouth either, which always gets me off. Afterwards I left. He invited me to stay but I just didn’t want to.

Next day I got into… not an argument, but not a happy conversation about the condom with Matt. He said we got carried away. Said I was insinuating it was his fault. I guess I was. I didn’t mean to. It just scared me.

Friday I saw Matt again. Went to his place and watched Netflix. Realized I was stupid to have been scared; he used a condom, without me asking, and holy shit is he a good fuck. Just as rough as I like it, but kind of tender-sweet, too. A rare combo to find. I had nice bruises on my ass the next day and wore them proudly. The next day he went climbing. He said he was going with “the lads” but I’m 99% certain he went alone, which is fine by me. I love being alone too.

I went to Staycation with Jules. Met at her place and true to nature, she gave me a few edibles to eat before we left while we did our hair. Also gave me some amazing lipsticks because Jules is awesome.

Her husband got us a corner room at the W in Downtown. Two whole walls were windows. Beautiful, huge room. Cannot imagine how much it cost. We ordered from an expensive BBQ place for dinner… the friend mac & cheese sticks and pimento cheese/bacon marmalade wontons were phenomenal. The next morning we got an impressive array of food from Room Service. She bought us matching white silk robes with floral patterns. Thankfully the waistline is adjustable cause I left that hotel ten pounds heavier. We spent our time playing with makeup and on Snapchat. Watched the new IT before bed which was surprisingly awesome. Smoked a lot of weed in the bathroom. She had brought blow too, but I have zero interest in that. The next day before we checked out I took sexy photos of her as a Thank You to her hubby.

Sunday I was alllllmost home from her place when she called and told me that she had left a giant Mason jar of weed in my bag. So I turned around and drove back to her place a helluva lot slower than I had driven from it. By the time I got home there wasn’t time to do much but go to bed. Matt was pretty distant. Matan asked to meet up on Monday. I said yes.

We went to his place to order in sushi and watch a documentary on Israeli cuisine. The sex was a little boring, but damn it got exciting at the end when he said, “Where’s the condom?” Spoiler Alert- it was inside me, somewhere. So I freaked out slightly and ran to the bathroom to finger-bang myself in eight different positions. I had just gotten my nails done and scraped the fuck out of my insides. It was also hard for me because I never finger myself to masturbate (I’m more of a humper) so I couldn’t tell what was condom and what was pussy to be honest. Asked him to help because he was saying we may need to go to the ER, and he became SO squeamish. Like… really?? You were just spreading my butthole apart in front of a mirror but helping me with a medical issue by going into the pussy you were just inside, you won’t do? What an asshole. I asked to stay over in case anything happened, and he didn’t even offer to walk me to my car that was four blocks away, in Midtown, at midnight. Douche. Even worse, when we got in bed he told me, several times, not to touch him or he couldn’t sleep, and made me listen to a WWII podcast on his phone before bed. This guy has zero intimacy. When I kissed his head goodbye to go to work (he was still sleeping) he said, “That’s it?” like he was glad the ordeal of me staying over was finished. Not goodbye. Not "Have a good day." Just "That’s it."

Still wouldn’t mind staying friends though.

Tuesday I text Jules and Jaime my issue. Jules immediately offers to fingerbang me to retrieve it. Told me I could lay on her kitchen table and she had a speculum. Jaime just laughed and prayed for me. At 10:00, after many squats and lunges, I said fuck it, took off my nails, sat on the toilet at work, and went to town. IT CAME OUT. Thank God. I there it in the trash until Jaime asked if I had flushed it. Last time the toilets clogged they actually posted a picture of the clog at work. She said it would be hilarious to see a post about a condom clog, and I agreed, so I dug it out of the trash and flushed it for the lolz.

Matan finally checked in on me… at 2:40. Thanks a lot.

Matt is still really distant. Says he needs to train. I believe him, it’s just… so different from last week.

That night I just cooked a lot. And accidentally super glued my favorite skirt to my leg. I was holding the broken bottle of glue in my hand and accidentally tilted my hand as if reading a watch :(  It seeped through the fabric and attached to my leg. When I went to pull it off, it hurt like hell and ripped my skirt.

Tuesday was quite the bitch.

Today I asked Matt if he wanted to see me this week. He said he really needed to train. Seems to want to see me, just seems more to be worried about his climb. I wrote him a long text that he didn’t reply to (though no reply was needed). I’m just going to give him a few days to himself and be in touch again. I really like him. I love that he loves my big heart. How often do you find that?