#and to some of you calling him ugly in some shape or form... so unnecessary. and even objectively untrue.

[tesb]

it has been incredibly fun to finally see live action thrawn portrayed by lars mikkelsen, but my god does it sour my mood and dampen my excitement when some users here on tumblr feel the need to comment negatively on what he looks like under my posts. i can see what you write in your reblogs, i can see what you write in the replies, and i can see what you tag them with.

lars is an incredibly talented 59 year old actor portraying an even older character. i sincerely hope i don’t have to see any body-shaming here any more, and when it comes to other complaints regarding thrawn’s appearance, i am asking you, please, to stop leaving negativity especially where your comments will be seen by creators. go make your own post to voice your opinions about what he looks like in live action, or go vent to a friend. it costs absolutely nothing to be considerate of other people on this platform.

[dovenymph]

a film by peter parker

authors note: this was inspired by another thinkerpete tweet that read "peter probably watches the bit from "a film by peter parker" where he's in the car with tony over and over when he misses him" and@peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology’s summer of love prompt list💛💛 also the video edit was made by me so please do not screen record/save and repost it even if you do credit me (also this is unedited so sorry for any typos, i’ll probably go through it sometime this week, i just wanted to post it first)

prompts used: 2. making the backyard/rooftop into a movie theater

my masterlist

warnings: mentions of tony’s death, other than that, nothing but fluff

word count: 3.9k

Peter hated the summer.

Peter hated not having anything to busy himself with; no homework, or academic decathlon, or seeing Ned everyday who could wrap him up in his graphic novel fan theories or the drama in his on and off relationship with Betty. It was petty drama and minor stimulation, but it was something to distract him momentarily. But now Ned was in Aruba with his parents for the entire month which meant Peter had to suffer through the scorching heat of Juy all by himself.

Peter knew he didn’t have to be alone each day, -Aunt May had spent many dinners trying to get him to join her at the movies or the mall, even offering to let him have free reign of the lego store (when he said no to that, she knew he was in worse shape than she thought)- he had a handful of trustworthy and dependable friends he could hang out with for the afternoon like MJ and Betty, or even Flash who had been uncharacteristically nice to Peter ever since he found out he was Spiderman; this having happened only a few weeks after Tony had died and Peter had let him in on his secret to console a sobbing Eugene who, honestly, seemed to be more broken up about the news than Peter was. But even with his expanding friend group, Peter had found the most his body could endure was the contents of his bedroom.

He tried to get back out there after Tony’s passing, he really did, but at the first Iron Man tribute he admired on patrol, his body completely shut down and he swung back home, tears dampening the material of the mask.

So a lonely summer was what Peter submitted himself too, and he’s come to terms with it. He’s rewatched his favorite old shows, started binging some new ones. He’s taken apart and put together his lego death star four times now, each time faster than the last. But he’s been particularly fond of staring out the window. His apartment complex was quite close to the building besides his and he could look down into the backyard everyone had to share. Peter’s building had one as well, but since he was pretty sure he was the only person under 35 who lived there, it went unused.

Next door, there was always a different activity occurring in order for the patrons to beat the heat, and Peter often thought about how easy it would be for him to just go downstairs and introduce himself, and ask to join. It’d really be as simple as that and he’d meet some new people, get a free lunch and a chance to swim in the plastic pool they set up; maybe they’d laugh at his jokes and clap when he did flips, but it was all just a maybe, just in his imagination because his brain never let him wander to far before squandering the idea of getting close to someone again, for if history has taught Peter anything, it's that anything he gets close to, is not meant to stay for long and will be soon snatched away from him in the cruelest of ways.

And this thought is what resigns him to slink back behind his window and pout the day away, as he was doing now, vision blurring as he stared at nothing.

“Hey!”

Peter jumped, his eyes focusing on the target of whoever pelted his window and they landed on your form, slumped against your open windowsill, chin resting on your hand as you gazed back at him.

“Can I help you?” Peter bit back after lifting his window half way, his tone unconsciously laced with annoyance. He really didn’t even notice it anymore since that’s how he’s been speaking to everyone in his life for months now, but when you flinched at his tone, guilt started to creep up his spine.

Before he could ever begin to stumble out an apology, you cut him off “Yeah, is there a reason you stare into my room everyday?”

Peter's face flushed red and he opened and closed his mouth like a fish. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken so bluntly towards him, and honestly, he liked it. He was getting tired of everyone walking on tiptoes around him, he just wanted things to go back to how they were, where he was just Peter Parker, your friendly neighborhood student.

“Or could you at least give me some money for some curtains if you just can’t give up the beautiful view of a concrete wall?”

“S-sorry, I- I didn’t even know you were there.”

Lie.

Peter knew you were there, he always knew when you were there.

Peter Parker isn’t a stalker, though! Sure, he’s gone through some fucked up shit on Earth and in space, so yeah, he wouldn’t call himself the most …sane person he knows, but he really wasn’t a creep. With your buildings being so close and your rooms directly across from one anothers, he was bound to notice you at some point.

And at some point he did. It was the first day of summer and Midtown let out at 12 instead of 3 to mark the occasion, so Peter had been mulling about in his room for quite some time already, thinking about how he heard all his classmates amazing summer plans and how the farthest he was going to go was probably the Thai restaurant down the street, and even that was a maybe. Peter sulked in silence until a couple hours later he heard a door slam closed, thumps from things being tossed on the ground, and a loud groan as he peeked through his windowsill at you who was currently flopped on the bed, window wide open without a care, scrolling on your phone.

At first, he was taken aback by your beauty, a small, small feeling of intrigue spiked his system, but it flew under the radar due to the seemingly everlasting dread that’s been weighing down on Peter's shoulders for months. But he couldn’t look away. You’d been doing nothing but looking at tiktoks mindlessly, occasionally cracking a half smile if a video was particularly amusing, but you still remained cemented to your mattress with no plans on moving anytime soon.

This brought comfort to Peter as he fished his phone out from the bottom of his bag and pulled up Ned’s messages and started to look through the media he sent him, almost two months worth of funny memes and videos that he hadn’t been bothered to look at, and he sat there along with you, aimlessly letting the time pass by. He enjoyed it, knowing he wasn’t really alone in his lazy and distracting behaviors because the pretty neighbor girl was doing just the same.

Ever since then, he’s just been …aware… of your coming and goings. He figured you had a summer job as every other day you were gone for a few hours, a solid shift. But on the days you were home, you also spent it mainly up in your room, every now and then, playing music from your record player, and if he was really lucky, you’d, unknowingly, give him a private concert as you sung out whichever niall horan or ariana grande song struck your fancy that day. He grew quite fond of the music, having added some of the regulars to his own playlist. And he enjoyed knowing you were right there, and he was right here; each of you living your lives, as uneventful as they may be, but you were together in some sort of way.

He’d never spoken to you, the ability of being able to just push his window up and call out to you at any time was what he liked, and each day he thought he’d do it but chickened out, and now it seemed like he’d have to make introductions whether he was ready or not.

“Mmm, right, so you haven’t seen me change or anything like that?” You asked and the content of your question and the inquisitive tone brought a flush to his cheeks.

“N-no! Of course not! I-I’d never do that, why would I even want to look at you? I mean! I don’t think you’re ugly or anything I… I just…”

Peter’s ramblings were cut off with your laugh as it bounced off the summer air and into his room. You were fully leaning out your open window now, and Peter had found himself in the same position, as if he was drawn to you.

“I was only joking with ya, but it's still nice to have the confirmation. I’m Y/N, your neighbor! Obviously.” You trailed off at the end, knowing that information was unnecessary since the boy next door obviously already knew that.

He was like no boy you’d ever seen before, only read about in books. He had a sweet disposition and inviting brown eyes that matched his soft chestnut hair. But he was built like a man, a strong jaw and strong arms. You’d seen him leaving his building everyday on your way to school, and when he’d get dropped off in a big black SUV during the late hours of the night, but he walked in the opposite direction or darted inside so fast,you never really got a chance to take him in.

“…Peter?” His tentative tone snapped you out of your daze and you realized he was introducing himself.

“Sorry, Peter! I- I… got distracted… by your… death star!” You let out, eyes focusing on the black and grey figure resting on his bed.

Peter felt his cheeks heat up as he moved to push it to the ground.

“That’s pretty cool! I finished the star wars series last summer.”

Peter’s eyes snapped up to yours and the friendly smile you were giving him along with the genuine interest in your tone seemed to break something inside him, snapped the band of hesitation that wrapped around his heart. “You did? For the first time?”

“Yeah! I know I’m like super late, but there’s like nine movies!”

Your laughs melded into one as you leaned out your respective windows and began talking about your favorite movie series. Peter was aware that this was unnatural for him. He had been more open to this stranger in the past few minutes than he had to his own Aunt in months and the same guilt from earlier crept up on him. But Peter was having a good time talking to you and he felt his insides turn in excitement when he realized you really had no idea who he was. He had a clean slate with you and he could make any first impression he wanted, well he hoped your first impression of him wasn’t that he was a peeping pervert, but we move, as MJ would say.

You were about to start telling Peter about this new dystopian novel you began reading when you heard a woman call out to him.

“Oh, that’s my Aunt May. She must be home from work. I- I should go say hello.” He explained, a sad look crossing his face that you didn’t quite understand.

You felt your own sadness wash over you, though. You didn’t want to stop talking to Peter either. “Yeah, of course!”

“But we can talk tomorrow right?” Peter asked, his tone laced with uncertainty.

“Oh well, I work double tomorrow… so I probably won’t be home ‘til late.” You said and the way the brown haired boys face visibly fell felt like a punch in the gut and you were scrambling for a reason to make him smile.

“B-but hey! I also get paid tomorrow so if you want, you can come over on saturday and we can have a movie night and we can order a shit ton of take out?”

“Come over to your place?” Peter asked, and he felt himsef involuntarily tense at the idea of leaving his room for the first time in weeks. It was safe in his room. But the pleading look on your face and hopefulness in your tone encouraged him to take the chance.

“I’d love to y/n.” Peter said with a soft smile and you smiled back shyly at him before closing your window and making your way out your room, making sure you were safe in the hall, away from his prying eyes to do a little happy dance.

Peter was unable to wipe the grin off his face as he walked out his room to greet his Aunt.

She heard his feet padding down the hall as she was setting out dinner, “Sorry its not ready yet, Petey, today’s been crazy, but I’ll get started now.” She rushed. Recently, she’s been hoping food’s the key to lift her poor nephews spirits, so each night she’ll either order or make something more fattening, cheesy, and delicious than the last.

“It’s alright May,” Peter let out easily as he turned the counter and placed a kiss on her cheek, “why don’t you let me cook tonight?”

May’s jaw dropped and she blinked a couple times. She could barely get two words out of Peter recently, and they were always either a meak thank you for dinner or an it was good when she asked about his day. She felt her eyes tear up at the slight sliver of her old Petey back.

“O-oh, really, you wanna cook?”

Peter ducked his head down at the ingredients in front of him to avoid looking in her eyes, his heart dropping at the glossiness that overtook them. He truly hadn’t realized how closed off he’d been. “Well, how about we do it together?” He began and the face splitting grin that spread across May’s face was all he needed to know he was taking a step in the right direction.

“G-good idea, honey. Can’t have the house burn down, can we?”

“Hey!”

May laughed and kissed Peter’s head as they began winding through the kitchen, making casual conversation. It was just like the old days, May thought. Before the wave of devastation drowned Peter as he lost a father figure, once again.

“So what did you do today, P? Do you know when Ned get’s back? I’m sure you’re both excited to see each other.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I am. I don’t know when he get’s back actually, but that’s okay-“

“I know you like your peace and quiet, I really do, but I do think it’ll be good for you to get out of the apartment for a little bit, see if Michelle is available. Oh! Or maybe that Lisa, Liz! I liked Liz, see if she’s available-“

“May! Its okay. I don’t need to hang out with Liz Allen,” Peter grumbled, “I- I made a new friend actually.”

May looked over at Peter in confusion since he hadn’t gone out or had anyone over in weeks, that she could remember; and Peter took her silence as an opportunity to continue.

“The neighbor.”

“Mrs. Wozniak?”

“No! Y/n, she lives in the next building over. And my room is right across from hers. We’re gonna hang out on saturday.”

“Oh?” May raised her brows at her nephew and bit back a smile, much to Peter’s chagrin. “Is she pretty?”

“And that’s relevant why?”

“I don’t know!!” May drawled and Peter just rolled his eyes and kept chopping the vegetables in front of him, the blush adorning his cheeks refusing to go down as he thought yes, yes she is.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

You yanked the door open as soon as you heard Peter’s knocks against it. He jumped back a bit, his arm still partially raised from when he knocked and you silently berated yourself for being so eager, but the spreading smile across his face made you feel not so bad.

“Oh, sorry, I was just-“

“It’s alright.” Peter replied with a soft smile, and you let yourself trace the golden flecks in his eyes before he cleared his throat, once again, snapping you out of a daze. You seemed to be in a dreamy state around him alot.

“Can I come in? I brought my Star Wars DVD collection by the way, I know you’ve seen them, but this one has the director's cut which I thought totally changed the course of the first trilogy!” Peter explained, rocking on the balls of his feet in excitement.

You bit your lip at the sight, his cuteness was rubbing off on you. “Yeah, that sounds great, but actually we aren’t gonna be watching in here.” You said, grabbing the bag of Chinese food and snacks and stepping out.

Peter’s face sputtered as you both walked to the stairs. He’d spent all day building up his courage to just go six feet from his building, there was no way he’d be able to go around the city with you for the fear of seeing something that’ll remind him of the avengers or crime.

“Y’alright?” You asked, noticing Peter’s stony silence as you walked down the last flight and made your way to the back gate.

“Yeah, sorry, I guess I’m just nervous. I haven’t really hung out with anyone new in a while, well, with anyone at all really.”

You smiled in sympathy, “I get you, I haven’t either. All my friends are out of town, so I’ve mostly just hung out in my room, too.”

“But you already knew that, don’t ya stalker?”

Peter rolled his eyes and shoved your arm as you laughed, glad you got his nerves out of his system. You unlocked the gate and lef Peter to the back garden.

“Woah..” Peter let out. There was a large white sheet hung up between two trees, and a projector set up on the table behind where a blanket lay, covered in a mess of pillows. The setting sun lit up by strung lightbulbs.

“You like? I figured since we both seemed to be home bodies, we could have the fun of the movie theatre, but here!”

Peter felt his heart swell at your words. You’d only known him for two days, and you already treated him with so much consideration and kindness. “I- I love it, y/n. This is amazing.”

He saw how you tucked your cheek into your shoulder in bashfulness and felt his spirits raise even higher. You were adorable.

“I’m glad you like it. I hope the projector works though, it took me forever to translate the instructions.”

Peter walked over to it and gave it a once over. “It seems fine to me, but I can always look at it if you want.”

“Oh yeah? You good with tech?”

“Good enough to get by. I needed it a lot while working with Mr. Stark” Peter began, forgetting that he wasn’t talking to an old friend.

“You worked with Tony Stark?!?”

“Oh.. oh yeah, only for a little! I was an intern.” He said quietly, beating himself up for even bringing up the topic of Tony. The last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of a pretty girl.

“Wow, that must’ve been amazing. You, you must miss him a lot then, huh?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled lifelessly. “Yeah I do.”

“But no matter, we’re here to have a good time right?”

“Yeah, yeah we are!” You grasped his hand and gave him a sympathetic squeeze -neither of you blind to the sparks that shot from the place your hands met- and got settled on the blanket.

Two and a half moves later, the sun had set and the two of you were sitting in the darkness, the only light coming from the flickering of the projector as the abandoned movie played. You and Peter were sitting cross legged, facing each other as he told you another story about working with the Avengers.

“Yeah, it was so crazy!! We were in this airport and he went from being like two inches tall to two hundred feet, it blew my mind. But it was okay though, because I had this idea-“

“Wait, wait, wait. You were there? Why?” You asked, loving every adventure filled anecdote he told you, but it wasn’t all adding up. For just an intern, he seemed incredibly close to Mr. Stark himself, but then again, you’d only known him for less than a week and you also wanted to go everywhere with him.

Peter worried his lip, thinking about how he could worm his way out of this one. Why would a teenage intern be at the Avengers civil war? He figured he could lie, or even just run away and buy black out curtains. Maybe he could convince Aunt May to switch rooms with him even. But you’d already brought so much light to his life in multiple aspects, and he thought, just maybe, you’d be able to bring light to that aspect of his life too.

“You know what, lemme just show you! Wait here, I’ll be back!”

Peter ran back down, his Chewbacca flash drive in hand, adrenaline running through his veins. He plugged it into your laptop and dug up a folder he hadn’t touched in almost eight months.

“What’s this?” You asked as he sat back down next to you.

“You’ll see.” He said, eyes glued to the screen in front of him.

A Film by Peter Parker, read the title as a compilation of videos featuring Peter, Happy, Aunt May, the Avengers, and Tony projected before you both.

Peter heard you gasp as the camera flashed to the suit, and saw, from the corner of his eye, how your head snapped towards his as he backspringed across the battleground. The film continued and neither of you could tear your eyes from the screen. Peter felt his eyes well up with tears as a scene with him and Tony talking to the camera began and he thought that watching this was a bad idea and he was about to turn around and turn it off when he felt your fingers intertwine with his.

He sucked in a sharp breath at the warmth you brought him and he squeezed back, his brain nearly malfunctioning at the speed in which he tried to memorize the feel of your hand in his. But his senses were overloaded as he picked up on your accelerated heartbeat.

The two of you continued to watch the video, neither moving even when it autostarted from the beginning, and this time you laughed outwardly at the funny parts, and asked him questions about why Happy didn’t seem to like him.

“What did you do to him Peter?”

“Nothing I swear!”

“Likely story.”

And he felt the steel blanket of grief fall off his shoulders. The feeling of intrigue and excitement for going back to life was no longer a small trail buried deep within him, but now a firecracker that ignited his insides and aurated off of him. Things were going to be alright, he was going to make it out this summer with more than just the memories from his bedroom, and he’d make it through whatever else life would throw at him, as long as he had you by his side.

Because you didn’t make his heart beat faster out of fear, you made him feel flustered and full of affection.

And you didn’t hold him roughly, with the intent to harm him; you held him delicately, and he could only wait to be able to hold your heart the same way.

[tagsecretsanta]

From @MissSquidTracy

to @scattergraph

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Gordon liked to think of himself as the fashionista of the family.

Sure, his Hawaiian shirts sometimes drew attention of the unwanted kind, but the aquanaut was a firm believer in using clothing as a means of non-verbal communication. John was living proof of this theory.

Unfortunately, all of the freedom associated with self-expression went down the toilet with a resounding ‘flush’ when tradition dictated your attire, even if only for a day.

“Seriously, grandma?” Alan grouched, his bottom lip poking out to form his signature pout when he spied the Tracy matriarch descending the stairs with an armful of colourful sweaters.

“Zip it, kid,” Sally rasped, her tone offering no room for negotiation, “This year marks the tenth anniversary of the Tracy Christmas Album, and I’ll not have your attitude souring the occasion.”

Scott and Virgil shared a look of mutual disgust as Sally handed them two hideously baggy and itchy looking jumpers.

“Don’t you two start as well,” Sally warned, yanking a loose thread off the sleeve of John’s before tossing it towards the redhead, “Anyone caught sulking will be in the kitchen with me for the rest of the afternoon. I’ve just finished a fresh batch of liver and onion stuffing and could use a taste tester.”

Five jumpers were yanked over five heads in perfect unison.

A nod from Sally affirmed her satisfaction with her grandson’s new-found cooperation.

Gordon grimaced and scratched absently as the coarse fibres tickled the soft skin of his neck. Posing for the annual Christmas album photograph was a tradition that stretched right back to their days on the ranch, yet he found himself becoming more disillusioned with it the older he got. Maybe it was the discomfort of wearing an unnecessary extra layer in Tracy Island’s heat. Maybe it was the disappointment of no longer having snow to wake up to on Christmas morning. Maybe it was the absence of his parents, and for the last three years, at least one of his brothers.

“Who’s on the roster for today?” Kayo asked, striding into the room and wordlessly scooping up the one remaining jumper that was equally as ugly as the abominations adorning the torsos of her male colleagues.

In an effort to preserve the family element of the season, Scott had devised a strategy where just one member of International Rescue acted as the primary point of contact for any rescue calls that came through on Christmas Day, be them sea, earth or space based. Last year, Virgil had volunteered and been called to Nigeria to deal with a flash flood. The year before, Kayo had drawn the short straw and ended up assisting with the evacuation of a small town in Chile when a nearby volcano blew it’s top. The year before, Gordon had helped clear away the debris caused by a three-way semi collision on one of Australia’s busiest highways. The aquanaut had been instrumental in ensuring three hundred people made it home in time for Christmas, despite it coming at the expense of his own.

Fairness dictated that Virgil, Kayo and Gordon were exempt from being called upon this Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Accordingly, the honour of being ATD (available to deploy) fell to Scott, John, and Alan to hash out.

One quick round of rock, paper, scissors later, and Scott found himself wondering what brothers three and five would look like with their heads shaved.

“Alright, scoot in!” Sally ordered, returning with Alan’s tablet which she held aloft in an attempt to get a good angle, “Scott and John, you two stand at the back. Gordon and Virgil, you kneel in front of your brothers. Kayo and Alan, I need you both to sit at the front. We’re going for a tiered approach this year.”

A healthy amount of shuffling ensued as each Tracy (plus Kayo) moved into position and tried desperately to make himself/herself look decent. Scott yanked on the hem of his jumper in an attempt to cover up his belt. Virgil tried to hoist his up so that he wasn’t rocking the off the shoulder look. John scrubbed at his nose as the acrylic material began to trigger one of his many allergies. Gordon fanned his face with a hand as sweat began to bead across his forehead. Alan tugged fruitlessly on sleeves that fell woefully short of his wrists, and Kayo demanded that Virgil tell her honestly whether the shape of her jumper made her look fat.

Sally was firmly of the opinion that jumpers had to be vomit-inducingly ugly in order to be ‘festive’. The designs adorning each of the six knitted atrocities in front of her offered indisputable visual evidence of this belief.

Scott was brandishing a bright blue snowman, while Virgil sported a dark green reindeer (complete with light-up antlers). John was the unwilling wearer of an orange gingerbread man, and Gordon was proudly modelling a yellow penguin (complete with a squeezable beak that sang Jingle Bells if you so much as looked at it). Alan appeared indifferent to the red elf plastered across his chest, and Kayo was trying to make the best of her rapidly unravelling black turtledoves.

“Smile!” Sally sang, her finger poised, “On the count of three, everybody say cheese! One…two…three!”

“CHEESE!”

Click.

Flash.

The end result was less than impressive. Scott had blinked at precisely the wrong moment. The grin plastered across Virgil’s face was nothing short of horrifying. John’s eyes were almost as red as his hair. Gordon was shamelessly modelling a chunk of leftover spinach in his right canine. Alan had twisted his head to peer at Virgil at the last second and was a blond and red blur…

Unsurprisingly, Kayo was the only one who’d managed to look straight at the camera and smile like a normal person. 

After reviewing her rather substandard snap and tutting in disapproval, Sally tightened her grip on the tablet and ushered her dispersing grandsons back into formation with a ‘shoo’ motion of her free hand, “Come on you lot, form up. Nobody leaves this room until we have a decent photo. How you boys can look so good in real life but so bad on canvas is beyond me. Your dad always said-“

The sudden departure of an elf wearing Tracy brought all dialogue to an abrupt halt.

“Sorry, grandma!” John yelled as he made a beeline for the stairs, the redness of his nose akin to Rudolph, “But this wool is giving me a nosebleed. You’ll have to take the next shot without me, or just make the one we have work. It might be for the best, as you know how Alan gets unforgivable gas whenever he’s forced to pose.”

The youngest Tracy let loose a honk of outrage, but was dutifully ignored as, one by one, his other brothers began to filter out of the lounge. Excuses of varying degrees of believability bounced off the walls as three more bodies scampered to freedom.

It took all of ten seconds for most of the lounge’s inhabitants to disperse, leaving Kayo and Alan alone with a somewhat disappointed looking Grandma Tracy.

“Oh well,” the Tracy matriarch sighed, reaching to pick up the blue snowman that had been ejected over the first floor bannister, “There’s always next year.”

Kayo smiled thinly and made a mental note to spend next Christmas with her father.

-x-

As well as being the family fashionista, Gordon was also a self-appointed expert in gift giving.

His affinity for making people smile helped tremendously, since it made the process of choosing something his recipient would find meaningful much easier. He wasn���t adverse to buying his brothers practical gifts that they could use in their everyday lives (the tea cosy he’d bought for John the Christmas of fifty four was still in active service), but he knew they had all of the utilitarian gadgets they could ever want or need, courtesy of Brains and their nine figure bank account.

Cue unicorn poo bath bombs, flamingo slippers, and personalised face cushions.

This year however, he’d outdone himself.

Unbeknownst to anyone outside of the family, Gordon was quite the expert on upcycling. He had a knack for seeing potential in things that other people had written off as trash (like Scott, for instance), and took great delight in working with his hands. 

It had taken several days, but he’d finally managed to relocate one of their dad’s old hoverbikes from the ranch to Tracy Island. It had taken up most of the room inside Thunderbird Four’s dry tube station, however he’d managed to offload it in the hanger and perform the desired modifcations in the (relative) privacy of Four’s module. 

Alan had stopped believing in Santa when he was seven. With Lucy dead and Jeff away for three quarters of the year, Scott had taken it upon himself to safeguard whatever remained of his youngest brother’s innocence. Every year on Christmas Eve, without fail, the eldest Tracy donned a red suit and beard and made a big (and often loud) show of depositing presents under the tree. Unfortunately, a rather heated debate one year over Santa’s handwriting (which looked suspiciously similar to Virgil’s), had culminated in the death of Alan’s wide-eyed belief.

Gordon had found the whole debacle rather heart-breaking. Sure, he’d been a year younger than Alan when he himself had stopped believing, but the process had been much gentler. He’d made the innocent mistake of asking John one year to help him with some basic calculations regarding the speed and size of Santa’s sleigh, however had ended up on the receiving end of a lecture from his redheaded brother on reindeer anatomy and wind resistance.

His belief had died peacefully in its sleep nine hours later. 

Still, having a belief squished verbally was a lot less harsh than having it squished visually. Poor Alan.

Gordon smiled to himself as he inspected his handiwork. He’d outfitted the storage compartment on the back of the red hoverbike he’d abducted to look like the back end of a sleigh. He’d toyed with the idea of enlisting the help of a couple of real life reindeer (or ponies) to act as draught animals, but had decided against it after reviewing the vaccination and transport requirements. 

Despite managing to complete the modifications inside Four’s module, Gordon had been forced to relocate his creation elsewhere when he and Virgil had been called away on an impromptu rescue involving a couple of unqualified divers. With his back against the wall, the aquanaut had picked the first alternative hiding place that had come into his head.

The roof.

As ridiculous as it sounded, the glass roof of Tracy Island’s lounge was anchored into numerous rocky outcroppings that, when utilised effectively, provided excellent cover. So long as nobody glanced up, of course.

A sigh of pride bubbled up Gordon’s diaphragm. He might not be able to reverse the damage caused by Virgil’s handwriting gaffe, but he could at least give his youngest brother a laugh and deliver his gifts in style instead.

So preoccupied was the aquanaut with buffing out an imaginary mark from the hoverbike’s bumper, that he failed to notice the Island’s automated weather system bark out the alarm for a storm warning.

Thankfully, John didn’t.

-x-

Scott had checked high and low.

And then high again, just to be sure.

The eldest Tracy was stumped. Gordon had somehow managed to vanish clean off the face of the earth.

Not that such a discovery would usually cause the eldest Tracy any concern (the aquanaut had a knack for evading capture), but Christmas lunch was due to be served any minute and they were one body short at the kitchen table.

“Gordon?” Scott called, shoving his head into the bathroom for what felt like the billionth time that hour. He’d tried calling the aquanaut’s phone, but had been sent to voicemail both times. His biometric tracker showed that he was still on the island, however couldn’t generate an exact location for him. EOS’s heat signature scans weren’t much better, courtesy of the wonky connection brought about by the oncoming storm. 

“I’m stumped,” Scott huffed, admitting defeat with a bemused shrug, “He’s gone. I’ve checked the hanger, the changing rooms, his room, the bathroom, and the gym. Nothing. It’s like he’s poofed into thin air.”

Virgil opened his mouth to reply, however was cut off by the arrival of John, whose expression was an expert blend of concern and flippancy. 

“I’ll give you three guesses as to his location,” the redhead began, “If you win, I’ll do your laundry for a week. If you lose, you have to eat my portion of grandma’s stuffing.”

Scott quickly did the math. It was a risk he was willing to take.

“Is he stuck inside his launch chute?”

“No.”

“Is he swimming in the lagoon?”

“No.”

“Is he hijacking Thunderbird One again?”

“No.”

….

“Well?” the eldest brother demanded, hands on hips. He had no interest in John drawing out his victory for any longer than necessary.

The redhead allowed a small smile to grace his face before gesturing with an index finger towards the ceiling.

Scott blinked as his blue gaze clapped onto a jean-clad butt scrabbling around atop the reinforced glass, oblivious to the small audience he’d amassed as he tried to evade the rapidly intensifying rain.

“The roof?” Scott honked, one hand fisting itself through his hair, “I take my eyes off him for two minutes, and he ends up on the roof?”

“Whoa, whoa!” a new voice piped up, it’s baritone depth failing to bring Scott any relief, “He’s where?!”

The eldest Tracy said nothing, opting instead to stab a finger upwards. Ever the cooperative one, Virgil cast his eyes in the desired direction, a small frown infecting his face as he did so.

“We should probably get him down,” the engineer announced, cringing when Gordon slipped on the now wet glass and starfished on his back, “He’s still wearing his Christmas jumper, and the blasted thing will short-circuit if it gets damp.”

A loud ‘thwack’ echoed around the lounge as Scott’s palm got itself well acquainted with his face.

-x-

John had never been one for big displays of emotion.

A polite smile or, in extreme cases, a shoulder pat were usually the preferred methods his brothers employed whenever they wanted to convey feelings of endearment towards him. 

Christmas was an exception, however, and it was without a shred of his usual awkwardness that the redhead enveloped his fish brother in a tight hug, the scent of singed fabric tickling his nostrils.

Virgil’s extraction of their younger brother hadn’t quite been quick enough, and it was with a suitable amount of humility that Gordon shuffled back into the safety and dryness of the lounge, a thin trail of smoke rising from the beak of his thoroughly soaked penguin jumper.

“How bad was it?” John queried, biting his cheek to keep his humour in check as he took in the static strands of hair atop Gordon’s head. The aquanaut looked as if he’d just stuck his finger inside a plug socket which, on reflection, wasn’t as much of an inaccurate analogy as the redhead had originally thought.

Gordon ignored his space brother in favour of slowly shuffling towards the staircase, an involuntary yelp escaping when his traitorous jumper suddenly gave off a stray spark.

Virgil snorted and flicked a hand through his hair to rid it of the rainwater it had collected, “Nothing to worry about on the health side of things, but man John, you should have seen it. He nearly took off like a firework.”

The redhead quirked an unimpressed brow, “Serves him right for skipping over the electrical safety briefings I sent down last week. You’d think he’d have a better understanding of how water and electricity don’t mix, what with his ‘Bird being the only one kitted out for aquatic reconnaissance.” 

  A shrug was offered by Virgil in lieu of a response, “I’m sure all will be revealed once he’s properly earthed himself. Meanwhile, I’d better get that hoverbike down before it crashes through the roof and lands on someone’s head. Can you send Scott up to help? I could use a couple of his grapples.”

John threw his brother a mock salute before breezing off towards the kitchen, only to stop when he caught sight of a familiar blue outline on one of the sofas.

“Be there in a minute!” Scott mumbled, his cheeks bulging like an oversized hamster as he chomped his way through an indulgent looking doughnut.

John felt his gaze darken as he took stock of the stray sprinkles in the corner of his eldest brother’s mouth, “Where did you get those?”

Scott held a finger up as he swallowed, thumping his chest when a stubborn piece of dough got lodged, “Mainland, to make up for grandma’s sprout and salmon tart. Help yourself, there’s plenty left. I’ve only had three.”

The lack of control Scott had when confronted with unhealthy snacks never failed to amaze his brothers.

“You want to take it easy,” Virgil warned, motioning with one hand to his waistline, “Too many of those could send you to an early grave.”

Scott flicked his hand dismissively and reached for a fourth doughnut.

“Don’t care. I won’t be the one carrying the coffin.”

- FIN -

[punkpoemprose]

I Love You Pumpkin- A Kristanna Week “Yellow” Fic

Universe: Modern AU Rating: G (It’s just fluff y’all) Length: 2826 Words

For day 3, yellow, I went with concepts of “harvest” and “joy” to make a little pumpkin farm date AU. I threatened to write one of these a while back after going on a pumpkin farm date with my boyfriend, but didn’t finish it for Halloween. I hope y’all will enjoy it anyway!

Anna took Kristoff's hand as he helped her out of his truck. He was, as always, the most courteous man she'd ever met. It was just in his nature, she thought, to take care of others. Since they'd started dating she'd truly come to notice and appreciate just how second nature it was for him to help. 

It was one of the things she loved most about him, his willingness to step up and support her. She was glad for it, because it coincided with a particular inability on his part to ever say no to her. She knew that it was silly to plan a whole day around going to a pumpkin farm meant for children without bringing any children along, and yet when she'd suggested it, he'd just smiled and nodded and let her make the arrangements appropriately. 

"I'm so excited!" 

She was barely able to contain her desire to bounce up and down in her seat when she spotted a little hand painted sign with the farm's name just ahead on the path leading away from the gravel parking lot. She hadn’t ever gone to a pumpkin farm, at least not that she could remember. Her family didn’t do many outings at all after Elsa got sick, and while she’d been reassured by many that she hadn’t missed out on much, she still felt that she had missed something.

Kristoff understood. He’d had all those childhood experiences that Anna craved, but he’d had them after turning eight, when his parents adopted him and strove to give him the childhood that every other normal kid had. He understood that while most people didn’t think a trip to the pumpkin farm was important, it was important to Anna. For him, she knew, that was enough a reason to take the half hour drive.

"I noticed," he teased, squeezing her hand a couple times as he swung the passenger side door shut, "You were bouncing your foot the whole way here. You only do that when you're nervous or excited and I figured my driving couldn't have been that bad, so it must just be the pumpkin farm anticipation."

Anna smirked, squeezing his hand back and rocking up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss against his cheek.

“You’re an excellent driver. I trust you completely. I don’t even grab onto the door like I do when Elsa drives.”

He grinned at the compliment and chuckled at the mention of her sister’s driving. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Elsa was a bit of a distracted driver, often too caught up in her own thoughts to notice someone in front of her braking until the last second.

She pressed close to his side as he led them toward the gravel path that led to the pumpkin farm. It was a warm afternoon for autumn, the morning had been frosty but the light breeze didn’t chill Anna in her flannel and bluejeans, nor did it seem to affect Kristoff. It carried on it the scent of popcorn and something sweet.

“I read on the website that they have a fudge house,” he said, either noticing the scent for himself or being somehow able to sense Anna’s mouth already watering, “Is that going to have to be our first stop, or?”

Anna shook her head as the many small buildings of the farm came into her view. She could see the sign posts just ahead pointing to the different attractions offered by the farm, among them being spooky displays, a haunted haywagon ride, a small family friendly corn maze, a barnyard, and of course, the pumpkin patch. Sprinkled between there were small shops selling snacks and small trinkets that Anna already knew she’d be picking up before they left. 

“Of course not. They have a barnyard, we have to start there.”

She felt Kristoff bump into her side playfully and rocked her hip over to bump him in return.

“Of course, how could I be so foolish. It’s not as if you’ve ever seen a chicken or pig or goat before.”

She had, on more than one occasion, visited his family’s small farm and while there petted their livestock and most recently spent time picking apples from their orchard. She hadn’t been raised in a large city, but she had been far enough into town that she hadn’t spent much time around animals as a child. Helping her collect eggs for his mother and bringing her to see their newest goat when it was newborn were other ways he’d tried to help fill in gaps for her. They were experiences she treasured, particularly the memory of him, hand over hand, helping her to bottle feed the small kid.

“I’ll have you know sir,” she said with mock annoyance, “That they have a mini horse.”

He lifted both hands in surrender, picking up hers with his as he did so, not releasing it even as he teased her.

“Well then, that changes everything.”

***

After the time spent speaking in a baby voice to the miniature horse, Anna brought Kristoff along with her to look into each and every little display set up on the property. They tossed coins into a witch’s cauldron in return for a wish, watched as a skeleton popped out of a steamer trunk, and spent some time listening to children speaking to a giant talking pumpkin, asking her questions about her life to which she promptly replied.

“You’d be great at that job,” Kristoff mentioned as an aside as they walked away from the children.

“Being the lady on the other end of the microphone in the pumpkin?”

“Well,” Kristoff offered, “I don’t think she’s actually in the pumpkin, I assume it’s an intercom situation, but yes. You’re great with kids and you’re smart so I think you’d come up with quick answers and keep the magic for them.”

Anna felt her heart skip at the compliment, but Kristoff carried on walking them toward the fudge house like it had been nothing to say something so kind. She often wondered whether he knew how much he affected her when he said things like that, or when he casually reached for her hand, or when he kissed her, even chastely. There were days where she thought she might catch fire under the warmth and multitude of his affections, and he never acted as if it were anything more than natural.

She sometimes imagined a future where he was like that with their kids, kind and loving, doling out praise and affection easily and with little pomp and circumstance. His free way of giving affection, even when he was cranky and acting gruff was one of her favorite things about him.

“I guess I should inquire for next season then if things don’t go well with my teaching job.”

He smirked and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek quickly as they walked behind a building out of the sight of prying eyes.

“They love you there, you’re the best third grade teacher they’ve ever had. I saw the crayon drawings on your fridge to prove it. I don’t expect you’ll need the job. Unless of course, you’re planning on buying enough fudge to fill my truck, because then you might want to think about it.” 

***

She didn’t buy enough fudge to fill his truck in the least, buying two large pieces, one for herself and one to give her sister if she didn’t eat it on the ride home. Kristoff had bought them both cider and doughnuts that they called an unhealthy pre-dinner snack before buying their tickets for the corn maze and hay wagon ride. 

The afternoon had dimmed down and night approached nearer, and while the corn maze hadn’t been much match for them, Kristoff being able to see the exit the whole time due to the way they’d cut the corn down shorter for the kids, the hayride proved to be quite fun. As they passed by different “haunts” on the path the tractor and wagon took, they worked together to spot little secrets or decorations that made the displays even more interesting.

Kristoff had been the one to notice a lightning rod in the woods behind Frankenstien’s monster, and Anna had been the one to tell him that one of the monster masks on the trees had been painted, scuffed up, and generally repurposed from a kid’s superhero costume. A scarecrow with glowing eyes caught Anna off guard, and Kristoff had taken the opportunity to pull her closer to his side as she jumped. 

While it wasn’t truly frightening, and while the air wasn’t quite cold yet, Anna had been happy to have the excuse to cuddle in close to him. Leaning her head against his shoulder as they chatted a bit more about the displays and discussed their thoughts on what pumpkin they should purchase before leaving.

***

“We have to get the ugly one Kris,” she said, purposefully giving him puppy dog eyes and sticking out her lower lip. 

Of course she knew that the theatrics were unnecessary and that he would consent to any pumpkin she chose, but it was all part of the fun. She had to convince him to love the oddly shaped, warty, off kilter pumpkin as much as she did.

“No one else will pick him, and he deserves a home for Halloween. It’s like the tree in Charlie Brown. It’s not such a bad little pumpkin.”

Looking directly at her, she saw him trying to hold a stone face. His eyes betrayed too much mirth though, for any real protest to be present in his thoughts. 

“Maybe,” he said with a sigh, a smile forming quickly on his lips as he cracked, “If we carve enough out of the one side, he’ll balance better. If not I’ll grab some shims and we’ll give him a support system to keep him standing up on the porch.”

She excitedly lifted the pumpkin from the ground at his approval and acted as if she didn’t watch his hands twitch as she carried the large gourd towards the checkout stand. Many others had caught her eye as they walked through the neat rows of pumpkins and squash, but this oddly shaped one had called to her. It was awkward to carry, and while Kristoff didn’t offer to take it from her as she hefted it along, she saw him in her periphery putting his hands into his pocket so as to not reach for it. 

“I’ll pay the man,” he said, clearly not being ready to watch the balancing act that would ensue if Anna were to hold the pumpkin in one arm and try to riffle through her purse with the other. 

She thought it might be funny to attempt it, if only to see his crabby side come out for a moment. He was never mean, of course, but he did sometimes grumble like an old man, and she often found it enjoyable to kiss the crankiness out of him.

It was a pastime of hers that she found he also enjoyed.

With the pumpkin paid for and their adventures concluded for the day, they set off for his truck once more, the sky getting darker by the minute, but still bright enough to see quite well by.

“So,” he asked as he loaded their pumpkin into the back of his truck, paying particular attention to ensuring that it would not roll despite its odd shape’s propensity to do so, “Was this the pumpkin farm experience of your dreams?”

Anna nodded, seeing the pumpkin successfully loaded, and turning to open the door to the truck.

“All that I could dream of and more,” she said, patting her purse where the remainder of her chocolate fudge, as well as her sister’s piece were located, “Thank you for coming with me. I had a great time.”

He stepped around to her side of the truck, offering her his hand as she stepped up to enter the cab, releasing it only when she was seated so that he could close the door behind her.

She watched from the passenger seat as he shoved his hands back into his pockets and walked around the truck to enter his side. 

There was a bit of an odd look on his face, like he was mulling something over in the short five step walk. His hand was still in his pocket when he opened the door with the other and climbed in, swinging it shut, a bit awkwardly, with the hand that was not in the pocket.

“I’m glad you had fun… I’d like to make everyday… no, that’s not it…”

He was mumbling a bit and Anna offered him a confused look and a tilt of her head. He wasn’t usually a man who started saying something and cut himself off unless he was still thinking about what he wanted to say, or unless he was trying to say something important.

“Anna, everyday I’m with you is an adventure. I never thought that I was the type of man who wanted to wake up to a surprise everyday, but I guess it’s no surprise that I love you, and if pumpkin farm dates and ugly gourds and small animals are what you love then I guess I love those things too. If you’ll let me, I want take you on adventures, and hold your hand for as long as we can.”

He pulled his hand from his pocket, and in the quickly dimming light of the afternoon turned evening, she saw a small shining ring in his large palm.

“Anna, what I want to ask you is… will you make me the happiest man alive and do me the honor of letting me call you my wife?”

***

The ring was beautiful and unique, the stone in the center being a beautiful yellow-orange, flanked on either side by smaller stones set into leaf-like shapes. Anna could hardly breathe, let alone speak, so for a moment she simply flapped her hands in surprise as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She nodded yes quickly, and managed to choke it out as he watched her with a shy smile.

“I’m sorry this wasn’t as special as I wanted it to be, but I’ve been trying to find the right time for weeks, and I tried to take you out to dinner last week but I got called into work and I wanted to do it with your sister there so you could have her and…”

Anna leaned across the console of his truck and wrapped her arms around him, the hug not quite as full as she wanted it to be with the separation. She kissed him fully on the lips when she got him close enough, stopping his apology in the middle as she showed him exactly how perfect he’d made the proposal, and every moment of every day before it since they’d met. 

They sat like that for a long while, pulling each other close and kissing and smiling and wiping away happy tears, until finally he slid the ring onto her finger and they were content to take a moment to breathe with their hands clasped atop the console.

“I was so nervous tonight,” he admitted, his thumb running along hers as he spoke.

She shot him a look of surprise, then laughed. 

“You didn’t seem nervous at all. You never seem nervous when we’re alone together.”

He smiled at her in return and shook his head, “I was checking my pocket every ten seconds for the ring and then I kept wondering everytime we did something. Is it the right time? Should I propose in front of the mini-horse or on the hayride?”

She couldn’t help but snort at the idea of being proposed to in front of a miniature pony. She probably would have loved it in the moment though, given it was Kristoff proposing.

“This was perfect. Just you and me, in your car, knowing that we’ll get to show all our friends and family later but just having the moment for ourselves. It was perfect.”

“Well, just so we don’t slight anyone… we could send the mini horse a wedding invite.”

She swatted him playfully and fell back into her seat, releasing his hand so that she could put on her seat belt.

“Or we could head to your parents house now and inform them… and maybe also the goat.”

“Do you want the goat in the wedding?”

“No,” she said, mentally making note to call her sister as soon as they were on the road and have her meet them at Kristoff’s parent’s place, “But if we have it on the farm it would be rude not to invite all the residents.”

She heard his laugh, rich and joyful, before she felt his arms wrap around her again, pulling her as close as possible for another kiss.

[se7enforse7en]

One — Great Tree Moon

synopsis: THE ALLURE OF DARKNESS WAS ATTRACTIVE TO THOSE STAINED IN THE LIGHT. Nyx Νύχτα grasped the idea long ago. The native to the empire had understood the balance between dark and light for too long. One couldn’t survive without the other. The darkness had stained her long ago while the light had barely reached out even in the light of day. Even now, as she was shrouded in darkness in the night. There was not a single soul who had only one within them. And while she had known that long ago, she found that lesson even more apparent in the company of the religious organization she's been aware of her whole life - the church of Seiros. Their influence had been felt all throughout Fodlan for quite some time. In that influence, stood the future of Fodlan nobility & lesser folk. The heads of Fhaerghus, The Empire, & The Ancestor Alliance are led into greatness by their time at the Monastery, a school meant to shape them into kings and queens. Hundreds of years of success have allowed boasting. However, in the year 1186, things don't go as easily. For Nyx Νύχτα, she's a part of an ugly score in a history she wished she never knew about.

pairings: multiple oc’s x multiple characters / mostly dimitri x oc / sylvain x oc / m!byleth x claude / f!byleth x edelgard

genre: angst, romance, drama

warnings: strong language, blood, death, basically over the top angst

parts: one / two / three / four / five

THE ALLURE OF DARKNESS WAS ATTRACTIVE TO THOSE STAINED IN THE LIGHT. Nyx Νύχτα grasped the idea long ago. The native to the empire had understood the balance between dark and light for too long. One couldn’t survive without the other. The darkness had stained her long ago while the light had barely reached out even in the light of day. Even now, as she was shrouded in darkness in the night.

She walked through the camp stationed in the woods, belonging to a certain Jeralt Eisner, The Blade Breaker. Her heeled boots created a pattern of quiet footsteps as she made a beeline for the man’s tent. Her cloak flowed around her, covering a majority of her figure. Her black but snug tunic was visible underneath, the arms being cut off for comfort. Her knuckles were adorned with fingerless gloves as her legs were hugged tight by her cotton but semi-gold laced pants. Her sword fit perfectly in it’s holder amongst her waist as the belt had been secured from long ago. Underneath her sheathed weapon, pieces of empire fabric had been tied around her waist with a gold trinket or two holding it in place. Over all of that had been an overcoat worthy of a rogue. It had contrasted the palette of her equipment with a glorious red & black lining apparent.

Her raven-like locks had been tied as a mod-long braid with somewhat intricate braid patterns. A braid in itself was found near the beginning of her locks to the back of it, making a braided circle of sorts. It had been a bit elaborate for the swordswoman but it had been functional for the time being. The tent’s flaps had been obstructed as she moved it aside, walking towards the twins she had been looking for.

The pair of dark bluenettes had their gazes on different maps, intently studying them. They had always been intense for their own good and perhaps their individual bad. Stepping further on, she alerted the two as they spared a slight glance in her direction. She slightly met their gazes quickly enough. “Byleth,” she called out to them both, not realizing they whipped their heads up simultaneously. “Eh, Aether?” She clarified awkwardly as Hemera, the other twin, had gone back to her intense study of the maps. “Where’s Jeralt? We need to talk, pronto.” She quipped a raised eyebrow at the armor clad boy as he thought about the last he had seen of his blonde father.

“I believe he was in the back of the tent over, Nyx.”

“Thanks,” she raised an obligatory hand as quick thanks before heading to the mentioned tent with motivation. As predicted, the blonde mercenary had been writing down a few things of his own. She could only assume it was some important document or something he’d only read. She smirked at his calm form, his eyes focused merely on his pen & quill. The candle near his face showed little way to his scars as well. “Still writing in that diary of yours?”

“You shouldn’t be sneaking up on people, kid.” His head shot up to her gaze as he stood up from his little writings. He bundled all the papers together, as to not have it so easily seen. “I thought you were coming next week for that village I told you about.”

“Well,” she reached into one of her several pockets for the pristine envelope. It had barely been touched so it’d contain it’s contents in a clean matter. “We need to talk about this.” His face morphed into confusion whilst she sighed. “Do not play dumb, Jeralt. You’re too old for that and I’m sure those wonder twins would delight in some secrets.” It had been clear the last few words had been in humor but even Jeralt could find it concerning.

“Maybe I just forgot about it for a moment?”

“Maybe.” She handed him the white envelope, sure to not crinkle it. His rough hands take hold of it. Opening it, his mind flooded with memories of writing the exact letter weeks beforehand. He sighs. He forgot just how pissed she was going to be at his most recent letter. “Mind explaining what the fuck you wrote?”

“Nyx—“

“‘There’s no more information,’ he says,” she mocks the older mercenary as recalls his exact words. “‘It will be fine,’ he says. No information, my ass!” Her eyes twitch in anger as he looks to the side, almost guilt ridden. “I know for a fact that there’s something you’re hiding.”

“What reason would I have to hide anything?”

‘Far too many,’ the voice rang in her mind. She scoffed at him as she thought on the voice she’d been too familiar with. His deep and firm voice held his usual tone of distrust. In her own mind, he slightly gritted his teeth as his smooth, golden brown skin felt aflame at the suspicions he held. He had his own qualms about Jeralt, the Blade Breaker or rather, Jeralt Eisner. They didn’t know much of him before his twins’ birth. It was natural to be suspicious. The only non-suspicious element was the twins, themselves. They felt. . . oddly familiar to them both and it was clear they held no unnecessary secrets. ‘He won’t say shit, especially if it concerns that pair.’

‘I know. We might as well be back at square one,’ she thought to herself, making sure not to voice her response to the voice she’d grown accustomed to. Narrowing her eyes, she crosses her arms. “If you don’t want to admit it, I have no safe way of getting it from you, anyways. I just hope whatever you’re hiding doesn’t harm those two.”

“We both share that hope, Nyx.” He sighed as he brought a hand to scratch the back of his head. He could still feel the woman’s glare upon him. He had his own reasons for his choices and he was sure nothing he did would be out in the open so soon. Too bad he couldn’t see the future. “Nonetheless, I need to know if you’re still willing to help for next week’s job.”

She laughed. He got right to business, even as she was pissed at the older man. The voice in her mind had an equally hearty laugh before settling in his hard throne. He stared forward with his golden but white tinted eyes. His black & white threaded hair fell behind him, allowing him to be at slight ease once more. Rolling her eyes, she raises her hands in a slumped manner to signal her defeat. “Fine. I won’t forget your little secrets or your wittle diary either, Eisner.”

“Hmph, I know—“ he began to chuckle before they heard the laboured breaths of his men. They came bustling in, undoubtedly tired with his armor weighing him down.

“S-Sir Jeralt!”

“What is it?” He had told his soldiers to not disturb him at many times of the night unless utterly necessary.

“T-T-There’s been an emergency, sir! Three kids. There’s bandits!”

‘Well, that’s intriguing.’

[mithrilwren]

Closed Hold

The long awaited next installment of the Shadowgast Figure Skating AU (inspired, as always, by the amazing art of @fiovske) is finally here! I don’t know if it’s cheating, since I was already planning to write this, but I’m also counting this as my submission for Day 7 of @essek-week because hey, it’s definitely an AU! :D You technically don’t have to read the first two works in the series - Inside Edge and 3 Turn - to enjoy this one, but some details may make more sense in context. Also, warning that things get a little NSFW by the end, in case that’s not everyone’s cup of tea! [Also on Ao3] [Find the whole series of one-shots in this AU here!]

(cw. implied past dub/con, chronic pain)

Essek never thought he’d find himself in a place where he could call sharing a hotel room with someone else ‘comfortable’. Yet here he is, sitting at a little table with his laptop open while Caleb slouches against the headboard, too engrossed in his novel to care for posture or dignity, Essek finds himself at ease in a way he didn’t know he was capable of - at least, not in another’s presence.

A bottle of wine sits open and half-finished by the tray on the nightstand, and every so often Caleb reaches over and takes a bit of carrot from the remains of Essek’s salad. He eats absentmindedly, the motion so regularly spaced that Essek can’t believe he’s aware of what he’s doing. He should find it disgusting, but not a single drop of dressing spills onto the sheets, and there’s something about the movement that’s almost mesmerizing in its steady, involuntary rhythm.

He almost wants to tell Caleb that they can order more food, if he’s still hungry. He doesn’t need to pick the scraps from Essek’s plate. But he knows enough now to say that the suggestion would be ill-advised - or rather, he knows enough now to say that he doesn’t know what Caleb’s reaction would be, and that is a good enough reason to be cautious. Slow steps have worked well for them in the last few months. There’s no reason to take unnecessary risks with something so delicate.

These evenings, where they share the same space - conversation - a good meal - are still difficult to come by. There are murmurings of renewed hostilities between the Dynasty and Empire, and orders from the Bright Queen to reduce contact while the situation cools, and fewer and fewer public spaces they could go where privacy would be assured. Essek is certain that some would find the idea of the two of them sneaking off to hotel rooms together, only to do nothing more illicit that talk the night away, an utterly unbelievable story. But truthfully, it’s only after long nights of competition that they find themselves in the same countries - much less the same cities - and neither has the energy for much else after so many hours at the rink.

And besides, this quiet time - where both are engrossed in their own worlds, but still close - it’s just as soothing as a calm bath, just as warm in his chest as a hot drink, and Essek wouldn’t trade it for any more exciting diversion.

Caleb stretches, the book’s spine knocking the top of the headboard as he curls backwards like a cat. As he settles once more, there’s an audible creak - not of the wooden bedframe, but of tendon against bone. Essek glances over again in time to catch a wince of pain in Caleb’s jaw, and his fingers pushing gingerly against the small of his back. Eventually, he flips on his stomach and resumes his reading.

“Are you alright? That sounded... unpleasant,” Essek says. Caleb doesn’t even look up from his book to reply.

“Sorry to bother you,” he says coolly, “I’ll try to keep it down.” A note of dry humour laces his voice, and as always, Essek’s heart lifts to hear it. They’ve gotten easier around each other, slowly but surely, and Caleb’s knife-sharp, often obscure wit is one of the greatest discoveries he’s made in the process.

Still, Essek’s concern isn’t assuaged. Caleb took a hard fall this evening - not so disastrous as to knock him out of the running, but ugly enough that Essek had ached in sympathy as Caleb picked himself up off the ice. If he isn’t bruised from calf to hip, which Essek quietly expects, he’s at least likely to have twisted something in his back from the awkward one-handed press he had to do, to get back on his feet in time for the next element.

“Did you stretch enough?” he asks. Caleb hums noncommittally, nose still pressed into his book, and Essek thinks back to the moments after Caleb’s routine finished. “I didn’t see Beau there this evening. Were resistance bands enough, or did someone else help you?” Again, there’s no answer except a grunt. Essek gets the sense he’s being purposefully ignored. “Caleb,” he says, more loudly. “Please tell me that you stretched.”

“Stop worrying,” Caleb says, flipping another page. “I did stretch.”

“Clearly not enough,” Essek chides, standing so he can better survey Caleb’s posture. Even prone on his stomach, he’s still favouring his right side. Not a good sign. “You need to take care of your body, or you’re going to injure yourself, permanently.”

Caleb shrugs. “I’m old, Essek - too old for this sport, according to most people. How much worse could it get?” A twinge of heat sparks in Essek’s stomach, something low but simmering to a boil, until his hands are clenched and his jaw clicks with the effort of not snapping.

“Worse,” he says, and at last, Caleb looks up. The rising frustration fades just as quickly as he clocks Caleb’s assessing gaze, and pivots to embarrassment at his own unguarded reaction.

They need to choose another subject, and soon is not quick enough.

“Just… will you let me help you? At least to work out the worst of it, before you fall asleep on that book and wake up with a cramp.”

Caleb’s eyes narrow. “You want to... help me stretch?”

Essek clucks his tongue at Caleb’s dubious tone. “I assure you, I’ve had many years of practice, and it’s always easier with a partner than with a band.”

Caleb’s gaze grows more distant, less like he’s looking at Essek, and more like he’s found a ghost at the edge of the room.

“...I know,” Caleb says, voice softer than before, but still, he doesn’t move from his place on the bed. Essek sits down on the other side, leaning closer, but not so close that his weight disturbs Caleb’s half of the sheets.

“Then let me help. It would set my mind at ease, at least.”

“Well,” says Caleb, with a small smile, still not quite meeting Essek’s eyes, “if it would set yours at ease… give me a few minutes.”

Caleb pushes himself up at last, closing the book while trailing a rather forlorn finger down its spine, as though saying a reluctant goodbye to an old friend. Then he walks to the hall between the two rooms of the suite, and begins jogging lightly in place.

Caleb’s warmup gives Essek plenty of time to consider his plan of action. He closely watches the muscles twist beneath Caleb’s long-sleeved tee and loose sweatpants, searching for a place to start. Pain in the lower back often stems from tightness of the hips, which is also one of the most difficult areas to stretch without help. Essek notices too that his shoulders still ride up to below his ears as he runs, creeping higher and higher with each footfall. That could use work, and maybe his obliques as well, if the side Caleb jarred today isn’t too bruised…

At last, Caleb finishes and returns, slightly more cherry-cheeked than before, but not huffing and puffing - just enough to get the muscles warm and limber.

“Show me what you usually do for cooldown,” Essek says, still seated on the bed, and Caleb launches into a series of standard stretches, ones that any skater has in their arsenal. Essek does notice the age difference between them as he watches, but not in a significant way. Caleb’s joints don’t bend with quite the same arc as they might have for a dancer ten years younger, but he’s still very flexible. His arabesque reaches past his head - though Essek notes a small tremor in the inside of his thigh as he holds the position, and there’s an unsteadiness there that concerns him. It could be hip tension, as he suspected before, but Essek worries-

But it’s one in a million chance, as it was for him. There’s no logical reason to believe the tremor is anything more than fatigue.

“That’s it,” Caleb says, rising back into a standing position after his final lunge. Essek presses his fingers to his lips, considering.

“Let’s start with your shoulders,” he suggests. “You have a good range of motion overall, but I’d like to loosen them up, the right one especially.”

He moves behind Caleb, bracing one hand on his left shoulder while placing a flat palm against the apple of the other, and begins to gently rock the joint in its socket.

It’s a position he’s quite accustomed to, having done the same for others on his team when he was far younger - back when he still had peers, rather than admirers. And yet, there’s something strangely more aware in coming back to the action as an adult. He feels the differences between his own body and Caleb’s keenly. Though Caleb is far from stocky - very few figure skaters are - the muscles beneath Essek’s hands are less lithe than his own. Broader, as though bred for a different purpose, and whittled down to their current lean shape. He wonders if Caleb grew up doing manual labour of some sort, a kind his body still remembers in form, if not in substance.

For the first few pushes it almost feels as though those muscles are getting tighter. Like Caleb is tensing, resisting the movement. Essek frowns.

“Breathe,” he instructs. Caleb, with effort, takes a deep breath, and the catching of the tendon finally releases with a soft click. The process goes much more smoothly after that, the joint sliding like butter in his palm by the end of the seventh rotation. He moves to the other side, and has no more issues.

As Essek steps away, Caleb swings his arms forward and back experimentally. “Better?”

“Much,” he says, smiling a surprised grin. “Thank you.” Essek nods.

“Of course.”

“Anything else?”

“Hips, I think, if that’s alright with you.”

He guides Caleb down to the floor and onto his back, and takes a position on his knees at his side. Though Caleb ordinarily has a few inches of height on him, from this position, he feels very high up. Caleb waits, motionless, as Essek hooks a hand under his knee and raises it up slowly, watching the microsmal twitches in Caleb’s expression for any sign of pain or discomfort as he pushes the leg up towards his chest. But Caleb’s eyes fall closed, and whatever resistance he had offered before, he lets Essek’s hands work now without any complaint, bodily or otherwise.

When he spies the first twinge in Caleb’s jaw, Essek slows his pace, but continues pressing, trusting his hands to feel when the resistance is too great. It’s a delicate balance; too little pressure, and the stretch does no good, but too much, and he risks injuring Caleb. He could strain muscles, even tear ligaments, if he’s not certain of how hard to push.

It requires a great deal of trust, he muses, to let someone do this for them. Since his days as a trainee, he has allowed few others to help him, unless they’ve proven themselves time and time again to understand the nuances of his own situation. Mirimm is one of the small number on that list, and his own mother, when she still had time for such things.

Who has Caleb - cautious, reserved Caleb - given such trust? He knows he’s seen Beau follow Caleb into the locker room at least once, so presumably her, but have there been others?

He presses one more inch. Caleb winces, but does not fight him. He remains perfectly still.

An awful, nauseating thought floats into Essek’s mind.

He lets the leg float gently down to the floor, bowing the knee out ever so slightly so that the joint has a chance to rotate, then removes his hands to his lap. Caleb cracks one eye open, looking up at Essek and raising an eyebrow, as if to say is something wrong?

Yes, Essek thinks, I’m afraid there might be.

“Caleb,” he says quietly. He does not want to ask this question. He must ask it. “Did… Did Ikithon ever-”

Both of Caleb’s eyes fly open.

“No,” Caleb says, the clipped syllable harsh, and it sounds believable, and Essek so wants to believe him. “Whatever you are thinking, no.”

Essek breathes out slowly. “Then this sort of thing-”

“I would not have done with him.” Caleb turns his head to the ceiling, staring up at the hospital-white plaster, and Essek is still very conscious of his height, so he leans back on his hands into an uncharacteristic slouch. “He was… he was not a hands-on sort of teacher, so to speak. He preferred to instruct, and trust the three of us to do as he asked.” Caleb falls silent for a moment. “With them, yes,” he says at last. “We did this sort of thing together, always.”

Astrid. Eodwulf. Names never to be forgotten, though Caleb has only spoken them aloud once. They are burned there, in Essek’s mind, along with every spare detail Caleb has told him of his past. He wishes, some nights, that he did not know. That he could exorcise the names from his memory, and the pain from Caleb’s as well. But at least the burden is shared between them now, and he has to believe that is better than the alternative.

Essek reaches out and pats Caleb’s ankle. “I’m sorry to bring it up,” he apologizes, and Caleb’s smile is acknowledging, and forgiving too. “Do you want to keep going?”

He’s gratified that Caleb seems to genuinely consider the question before answering. It gives him hope that he hasn’t, yet again, overstepped a line, one hidden beneath the layers of uncertainty between them he fears he’ll never fully unravel.

“I think so.” Caleb shifts his hips. “It was already feeling a little better.” He lifts his other leg, just slightly, and as Essek shifts around to take it in hand, he thinks again of trust. Of Caleb putting his body in his hands, believing he will treat it kindly, even when others have not. The warmth in his chest grows, and grows.

He presses down, and this time Caleb keeps his eyes open.

When Essek is satisfied that both hip flexors are as loose as they’re going to get without professional help, he asks Caleb to sit up, then kneels behind him. He leans his weight into the space between Caleb’s shoulder blades until Caleb bows, forehead touching his knees as he curls his arms beneath them. Already, Essek can see the difference in the fluidity of the movement from earlier, and he presses with his thumbs at various points of the lower back, pleased to discover that most of the tension there has been released. He guides Caleb back up, then prods at his upper back. The left side isn’t bad, but his right… Essek can barely go five inches without finding another knot.

This isn’t the result of a night or two of inadequate stretching after a competition. This is months, years worth of stress gnarled up beneath the skin and never adequately dealt with, if addressed at all. No wonder Caleb’s shoulders rise so high that the judges take off points for it. No wonder relaxing at all is a force of will. His body is wound so tightly that Essek barely needs to dig deeper than the surface to find the evidence.

“How long has it been since you’ve had a massage?” he asks, curious. Caleb’s incredulous little laugh ripples out beneath his palms.

“A very, very long time. That’s a kind of luxury I can’t usually afford.”

Essek wants to argue that it isn’t a luxury - that it is, in fact, essential to the proper functioning of a figure skater’s body. The benefits in terms of flexibility and mobility are incalculable. And yet, without sponsorships or other income, the calculation must be done.

How very far Caleb has managed to go, despite his lack of resources, continues to impress Essek, but scrappiness doesn’t equal a healthy body that will outlast the competitions to come.

“They have a spa here, downstairs,” Essek suggests. “It might be closed now, but I’m sure if I called the front desk-”

“No,” says Caleb, just as clipped, though his voice softens much more quickly than it did before. “Thank you. I don’t- it doesn’t appeal to me.”

“A massage?”

“The environment,” Caleb replies. “The table. All of it.” Essek doesn’t press for more details, sensing he’s hit upon another wall neither is eager to dismantle tonight. Caleb’s shoulders are already rising again beneath his hands. He smoothes them back down with his hands, not fully conscious of what he’s done until the motion is already complete.

“Would a bed be better?”

“What,” ask Caleb, glancing over at the bed, mere feet from where they currently sit on the carpet, “order up?” He chuckles again. “I think that you might have a harder time explaining that expense to your superiors than an extra plate of room service.”

“True.” It takes Essek far longer to offer the second suggestion, because even though he fully expects Caleb to refuse, he still has to work up the courage to speak it. “Or, I could try my hand?”

Caleb swivels, his face so close to Essek’s that his bangs tickle the tip of his nose. “...Oh?”

“I’m no professional, but I have some experience.” No need to explain more than that, about the hours spent frantically massaging his own legs in the bathroom, willing the cramps to release in time to make it onto the ice. He knows that he can coax a bitterly stubborn muscle into functioning, and Caleb’s would be far easier than his to manage.

And still, he’s nervous in the seconds after speaking - not for fear that he can’t do what he’s offered, but that Caleb will say no, and be upset or offended.

That he will say yes, and the place that leaves them.

“...Ok.”

Caleb stands, then turns back to Essek, who still kneels on the floor. His hands flutter nervously at the hemline of his shirt, first tugging up the fabric, and then letting it fall back down. “How do you- I’m not sure what the procedure is. What do you need me to do?”

Essek swallows, fighting down the lump of anxiety in his throat. He pushes himself to his feet, and tries hard to project his usual air of confidence, one he does not currently feel.

“It would be easiest if you took off your shirt - if you’re alright with that, of course. I have some oil in my bag.” He goes to fetch the bottle from the other room: massage is still an essential part of his travel regimine, and he keeps it with him at all times. By the time he returns to the bedroom, Caleb is still standing where he was before, but now barechested, clutching the discarded shirt in his hands. Essek pauses at the doorframe, momentarily caught off guard, then shakes himself and continues on.

“Lie on your front.” Caleb does, still watching Essek as he approaches from the corner of his eye, and the look in his eyes is apprehensive.

Essek can feel it too - the difference now. The tension in the air that wasn’t there before. What they did for the last fifteen minutes was accustomed. They’re both athletes, used to having their bodies maneuvered by others for very specific purposes. The practice of guided stretching, while still sensual in the more general sense, doesn’t carry the same implications for them as it might for those outside their world.

But as Essek sinks down onto the side of the bed, and as he ghosts his cool hand over Caleb’s skin and watches the goosebumps rise at his almost-touch… he realizes this is something different entirely, and that they’re both aware of it. Caleb turns his face into the mattress, out of embarrassment, maybe, Essek can’t quite tell, but he knows his own face is burning just as bright as the flush creeping down Caleb’s neck.

It’s intimate, to a degree that frightens Essek more than it excites him.

“A little closer,” he murmurs as he sets the bottle aside and warms a generous squeeze of oil between his palms. Caleb shuffles over far enough that their hips brush, and Essek leans forward and places his hands in the shallow plane between Caleb’s shoulders. The skin there is pale, and freckled, and he traces lines between the marks with his fingertips before running them down the length of Caleb’s spine with one smooth stroke.

Up and down, he moves his fingers through the hollow places of Caleb’s back lightly, not pressing yet. For now, his only aim is to warm the oil further, and to make sure Caleb is comfortable and relaxed. And that when he finally leans over and begins the massage in earnest, his heart will have calmed sufficiently that Caleb won’t be able to hear it beating through his skin.

It’s not as if they’ve never touched before. This is not their first kiss, nor even their first fumble in the dark. But it had been dark, those times. Here, in the dim glow of the lamps over each nightstand - here, in a hotel room only they share, with trays of food set aside and Caleb’s toothbrush by the bathroom sink - here, where he can’t pretend the depths of his feelings aren’t evident to anyone who would dare look - he can’t see Caleb’s face, but he can see his own hands, and what they’re doing, and how much he wants to keep doing it.

He wants this. He wants Caleb under his hands, breathing out slowly as Essek’s fingers find the hidden spots within him where pain festers, and begin to work in slow circles, drawing out gasps of discomfort as Essek presses deeper, and deeper, and deeper still. Caleb arches his back and he runs his other hand down his shoulder, comforting him in a way Essek wasn’t taught, but what he learned to do for himself, when his own agony became too great to bear. A muscle shudders beneath his knuckle, spasming involuntarily, and he watches chills run down the nape of Caleb’s neck: raised goosepimples of referred pain. He knows that sensation well. If one part aches, the whole of the body is affected. You might never be able to name the true source of the pain.

At last, the first knot loosens, and Essek eases off. Caleb visibly melts into the mattress as the pressure releases. “My apologies,” Essek whispers, and even so, his voice sounds too loud for the intimate space they’ve created in this room. “I’ll try to be gentler on the next one.”

“It’s alright,” mumbles Caleb. “I can take it.”

They’re not unaccustomed to pushing through pain, the two of them. One cannot be a figure skater and not learn how. One cannot have lived through what they have lived through, and not be an expert in the subject.

“Alright,” Essek says, “I’m starting again.”

He goes over each half of Caleb’s back in quadrants, feeling for the places where the muscles draw together and kneading the tension out. Each time, Caleb tenses, but as soon as the knot releases, his bones become looser, his body sinking deeper and deeper into the bed and his breath coming in slower intervals, and though at first every wince was followed by screwed-tight eyes and clenched fists, by the time Essek finds the last problem spot, his expression has slackened to something almost dreamlike.

“Caleb,” Essek murmurs. “Are you awake?”

“Mm,” Caleb hums. “Yes.” His voice is lower than Essek has ever heard it before.

“Shall I continue?”

Caleb hums again. “I wouldn’t complain.”

Essek smiles at that, adding a little more oil to his palms and returning to his earlier broad strokes. Caleb’s shoulder blades shift more freely under his hands now, the muscles relaxed and uninhibited. He raises the arm that lies closest to the bed’s edge experimentally, testing the range of motion and watching the way the shoulder glides easily in its socket. Encouraged by a tap on his side, Caleb shuffles a little more towards the bed’s edge, and Essek slides off it. He pulls Caleb’s wrist out until the ligaments are stretched to their fullest extent, then lays the arm back in place at his side. Ideally, he’d want to do the same for the other arm, but Caleb looks so peaceful now, half-asleep in the sheets, that Essek is reluctant to force him to reposition.

He’s not unaware of the scars exposed by their current situation, and no more so than in this moment, as he gazes down at the roughened brown and white patches in the space between wrist and elbow. He’s glimpsed them before, and he knows part of their story, can even guess at the rest. But not tonight. Not here. This isn’t the time for more questions. He doesn’t need to know more than that Caleb is with him, and that he trusts Essek enough to do this, despite his history.

Essek has caused his own share of hurt. He has done selfish things, with no other purpose than to advance his own career. He has been cruel, and uncaring, in order to achieve all he has in his life. But Caleb trusts him, and that is enough to make him desperate to live up to his expectations, unrealistic as they may be.

When he’s satisfied with the rest of the back, only the neck remains. Caleb’s hair is still pulled into the remnants of his elaborate show ponytail, but as usual, bits have begun to fall out. Essek sweeps aside what strands have caught in the oil, caught off guard by how soft it remains. Most skaters with hair as long as Caleb’s cake their hair in hairspray before competition, to prevent loose ends and flyaways. Even Essek’s hair, so carefully gelled at the beginning of the day, would likely crunch like fresh snow under another’s hands. But Caleb’s hair is loose, and just slightly curled at the ends, and for a moment, Essek’s mind flashes with a vision of pulling the tie fully free. Of running his fingernails against Caleb’s scalp, of feeling those auburn flames pour between his fingers, of leaning down and pressing his lips to the place below the ear where hair and skin meet and breathing deep of hotel soap and his own shampoo and Caleb-

He startles out of the daydream with a small hitch of breath. This is not what this is about, he reminds himself sternly. Essek panting after him like a schoolboy is not what Caleb needs. He may ache to try all things new and unexplored, all the things he never thought he would have the chance to experience, but he is, as always, in control of himself. He has to be, or it will all go wrong. In what way, he does not know; the things he fears are undefinable, but that does not make them less of a yoke around his neck.

Essek runs the pads of his thumbs along the spot where he’d just been imagining his own lips pressing, smoothing out a path to Caleb’s shoulders. He takes care not to let his other fingers encircle Caleb’s throat, and so they bat like moths around the empty air, without a place to land. Caleb arches up again, but this time the noise is pleased, rather than pained. Essek shifts his hips, reminding himself again that this is not the situation they’re in. That he cannot read too much into the sound. That he should never assume what Caleb has not explicitly agreed to.

There isn’t a part of the back before Essek left untouched by oil, though the lower parts are drying, leaving the skin tacky but still warm from friction. Essek does one last assessing stroke with the flat of his hands, and finds nothing remaining to fix. He sits back, and considers what to do next.

With Caleb on his stomach, there has been a safe screen of separation between the two until this point. Essek did not need to work hard to hide any reaction of his to the experience, other than in his voice. But there are still muscles on the front of Caleb’s shoulders to work, and an incomplete massage can be worse than no massage at all. He doesn’t want to leave anything tight enough to pull his back muscles out of alignment again.

But then Caleb may see him, and know.

Know what, again, he cannot say.

It takes a few taps on the shoulder to rouse Caleb from his comfortable state, and even then his words are slurred with pleasant doziness. “Do you need me to move?” he mumbles, before pressing his face back into the mattress.

“I’d like to finish your shoulders from the front, if that’s alright.” Caleb murmurs his assent, but makes no attempt to move from his current position. “You’ll… need to roll over. For me to continue.”

Caleb grumbles good-naturedly, but does manage to turn himself over, immediately flinging one hand over his eyes to block out the - thankfully, dim - light. Essek starts to reach for his wrist, meaning to maneuver it back down on the sheets, but after a moment of thinking, he instead reaches over and grabs a pillow from the other side of the bed. Essek tugs the pillowcase off and tosses the pillow itself to the floor, then folds the fabric neatly into a band, which he lays over Caleb’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Caleb murmurs, and another thrill goes through Essek’s body. He can see Caleb’s mouth moving now when he speaks, his lips that are slightly parted, soft and unconcerned as he breathes in and out, as his chest rises and falls with the same rhythm. Essek has never dared to look so long.

He chides himself again. Caleb is blind in his current state, and any unnecessary stares on Essek’s part are as good as leering in this context. This feeling, of towering over someone… it isn’t something to enjoy. He’s always relished the feeling of control, of being above the rest. But with Caleb, Essek is an equal, and so when he offers him control, Essek cannot take pride in having earned it. He can only fear betraying the trust he’s been given.

Essek starts again on the massage, letting the discomfort flow out of himself and into the motion of his hands. With every breath Caleb takes, his collarbone rises to meet Essek’s palms, and he bites the inside of his lip, and keeps his own breath steady, and his eyes focused on the task at hand. His body is a distraction, but one he is proficient at ignoring.

The front takes far less time than the back. Caleb is so loose by now that his muscles want to follow Essek’s lead, and do so without complaint. The only stir Caleb gives is when Essek’s hands stray too close to his windpipe, but even then it’s more a twitch than a flinch, and Caleb settles back down immediately into his previous boneless state once the fingers retreat.

Essek has kept his eyes in line until this point, but in a moment of weakness, he lets them wander down the expanse of Caleb’s chest - slim, but defined muscles, skin waxed smooth save for the trail of hair that runs past his navel, and there, yes - a bruise along his side, as ugly as Essek expected, but already beginning to yellow at the edges. He carefully avoids it as he runs his hands down Caleb’s sides, drawing trails of oil like paint strokes all the way to his hips, just shy of the band of his sweatpants. Caleb shivers, and that’s when Essek notices, though he tried so carefully not to put himself in the position to.

Caleb is hard. The bulge isn’t obscene, but noticeable, and impossible to ignore, once Essek makes the realization. His mouth goes dry, hands stuttering to a stop halfway back to Caleb’s shoulders.

Of course, he knew it was a possibility, that Caleb might be affected in the same way… touch is a powerful thing, even absent of desire, and he knows that Caleb does desire him, at least under some circumstances…

“Are we finished?” Caleb asks without moving his head, sounding regretful, but not displeased.

He must be aware of it. How could he not be, of his own state? But he hasn’t said anything. Hasn’t made any effort to hide it, or to call Essek’s attention to it, as though he’s simply unbothered whether Essek knows or not.

What courage that must be - to accept that others see you, without any shame.

He… he wants to find that courage as well.

Essek reaches up with one hand and removes the folded pillowcase from Caleb’s forehead. Bleary blue eyes squint up at him, half lidded against the light. The other hand, he moves to the sharp bone of Caleb’s hip, fingertips just skimming the edge of the bruise, and then the place where Caleb’s waistband pulls away from his skin. He waits until he’s sure Caleb is looking at him before he speaks.

“Do you want me to go lower?”

He brushes his fingertips again at Caleb’s waistband, so that his meaning is clear. And even still, he hesitates to do it, unsure he’ll be able to go through with the offer, regardless of Caleb’s reply.

He is still so uncertain, about so many things.

“...I wouldn’t complain,” Caleb says, echoing his previous words with a wry smile. It’s that smile, that humour, that utter expression of ease... he only realizes in hindsight, that that was the only thing that would have convinced him to move forward. The only way he would have been alright with it.

“A word, and I will stop.”

“I know.” Caleb’s eyes have already begun to drift closed again, but they open once more when Essek taps him on the shoulder.

“And still, I’ll say it again. A word.”

Caleb’s humoured smile shifts to something softer, almost fond, and he lifts one hand to cover Essek’s and pats it gently.

“I know my limits. You can trust me to say how much is too much. Right now, I am happy for more.”

“...Then I’m happy to give it.”

Moving to Caleb’s other side so he can recline on the bed as well rather than perch at the edge of it, Essek gathers what oil hasn’t yet dried on Caleb’s skin in one hand and reaches down past the waistband, fingers grazing through a thicket of coarse hair before settling on heated flesh. Essek draws Caleb out, grateful that his eyes are closed, so he can’t see the full extent of Essek’s embarrassment. His experiences prior to Caleb had been… limited - which is to say, non-existent - and even if this is not the first thing they’ve done together, he still finds himself impossibly shy, when it comes to it. For lack of anything else to concentrate on, he returns again to Caleb’s hair, leaning forward on one elbow to touch the tresses spooled across the pillow, as his other hand begins to move up and down.

Some of the curled tips are still damp with oil, but most of it is dry, and fans out in a beautiful array of red and copper highlights. He follows their path to the crown of Caleb’s head, where his bangs are swept to one side, not hanging over his eyes. Though his other hand is on Caleb, he’s still seized with the impossible, unfullfillable urge to touch. To be closer than they are, closer than they could ever possibly be. He threads his fingers into the hair around Caleb’s forehead, dragging his nails gently against the scalp, and Caleb tilts his head back into Essek’s hand.

Caleb’s lips part, but his breathing isn’t ragged or hurried. It’s still slow and relaxed, if a little heavier than before. His eyes are closed, but not held shut tight. His shoulders stay where they are, content to remain immovable after Essek’s ministrations, and his mouth still holds a little smile at the edges, and his face, a softness, like what Essek is doing is just another part of the massage.

The atmosphere isn’t even particularly erotic, Essek realizes, and realizes too that the lack of gravity in Caleb’s response is settling his own nerves. There are no shouts of ecstacy or scrambling hands, no open mouthed devouring kisses, or desperation, or even lust. Just… comfort. Just pleasure, without expectation of rapturous release. Just being together, in this way, because they want to be. Because it feels good to be.

Caleb’s shoulders only begin to tense near the end, and even then it’s easy to coax them back down, so that when the final moment comes it’s with a long, slow exhale, and a body more relaxed than before. Essek’s right hand stills, but his left keeps on stroking Caleb’s hair, until at last Caleb’s eyes open.

“I’m very tired,” is the first thing he says.

“I can tell,” Essek replies fondly, then lowers himself down to the mattress, so that they’re at eye level when Caleb turns his head to him.

“That was wonderful.” Caleb smirks. “You have been holding back your skills from me. What else are you hiding, I wonder.” Essek chuckles softly, and Caleb nudges forward and presses a tender kiss to his mouth. “I should treat you as well, hm?”

Caleb turns his body to Essek, reaching down between them to tease at the drawstring of Essek’s leggings before hooking his fingers into the waistband and beginning to slide them over-

Essek jerks to the side, catching Caleb’s hand before it can go any father.

The lights. The lights are still on, and Caleb will see-

“Essek?” Caleb asks, eyes confused.

“You should relax. You said you were tired,” Essek says, and Caleb shakes his head, and begins to move his hand again.

“I’m happy to-”

“Don’t.”

Caleb stops this time for good, and Essek sits up quickly, pulling at his waistband to make sure not a single inch of skin is showing.

“Essek-”

“I trusted you to know your limits. Trust me to know my own.”

There’s nothing but silence for as long as Essek can bear to look away, and when he finally turns to look at Caleb once more, he expects to find frustration in his eyes, or annoyance at Essek for having soured the mood.

Instead, Caleb’s expression is one of quiet understanding.

“Of course,” he says, and sits up too, so they’re at eye level again.

He wants to apologize, but can’t bring himself to, so he sits there, staring at the floor and saying nothing.

At last, Caleb gets off the bed.

“I should shower again, get cleaned off.”

Essek nods, eyes still on the carpet, until his vision fills with the sight of a kneeling Caleb, his face impossibly close.

“Thank you,” he says, “for telling me.” Caleb cups his chin and leans forward, kissing Essek gently on the cheek. The ice in his bloodstream begins to thaw, in slow waves. “Take some time for yourself. I’ll come to bed soon.”

Then he’s gone, and Essek stares off at the light from under the bathroom door for a good few minutes before folding over onto the mattress. The heat of Caleb’s body hasn’t yet faded, and Essek curls into the warm spot where he lay, and pulls the sheets over his shoulders.

He lets the tactile comforts that remain - the smell of oil, the warmth of the blankets, the sound of running water - seep into every part of him, and waits for Caleb to return.

[questionsonislam]

Some people state the following for Allah: “Does Allah want to prevent bad deeds like oppression, injustice and evil but cannot do it; in that case, He is weak. If he does not want to prevent, it means He has bad thoughts and watches oppression, injustice and evil without doing anything.” How should we answer the people who have such thoughts?

When Allah creates something, He creates them so that they will bring about good things. When we look at the order in the universe, we do not see any deficiency or irregularity; sane people that see the order in the universe cannot help glorifying the majesty of Allah.

However, people can transform those good things that were created in the universe to evil things through their own will.

For instance, the creation of fire is useful. However, if a person puts his hand into fire, it will be evil for that person. As a matter of fact, Allah created fire so that people would meet their needs. However, if a person puts his hand into fire with his own will, he cannot say, “Why did Allah create fire?”, “Why did the fire burn my hand?”, “Why did Allah allow it?” There are laws that Allah imposed on the universe. If you obey those laws, you will gain some advantages; if you disobey them, you will be harmed.

As for man, with the expression of the Quran, Allah created people so that they would worship Him; He ordered people to keep away from bad deeds, ugly deeds and naughtiness; He stated that He would punish those who do not obey Him with a severe torture and He warned people regarding all issues by sending more than one hundred thousand prophets.

However, people who do not fulfill their duty and do not heed those orders will suffer the consequences.

The reason why Allah does not prevent evil deeds directly is the fact that we are being tested in this world. This world is a place of testing; people are allowed to do good deeds and bad deeds. If those who do bad deeds and who make mistakes were intervened, the testing would be meaningless.

If roses were thrown on those who did good deeds and thorns were thrown on those who did bad deeds, the world would not be a testing place.

As for a person who suffers a misfortune, that misfortune will be beneficial for him in terms of its result. If he had sins, that misfortune would be atonement for his sins. If he had no sins, that misfortune would be atonement for the sins he would commit in the future. Besides, the misfortunes he suffers may be a means of entering Paradise for him. That is, Allah will treat a person who suffered misfortunes with mercy; the rewards that Allah gives will eliminate those misfortunes.

We sometimes misinterpret some incidents that are seemingly bad and object to them by asking why it happened because we do not know the real nature and the inside of the incidents. It is definitely not appropriate to ask for misfortunes. However, when it does happen, it is necessary to show patience and think of its reward by saying, “Both your troubles and your blessings are nice.” It is the high degree of slavery.

Not every misfortune is sorrowful; it is necessary not to regard each misfortune or each illness as a manifestation of sorrow.

The following is stated in a hadith:

“The greatest misfortunes come to prophets, then to saints and then to the other sincere people.” (see Munawi, Faydul-Qadir, 1/519, no: 1056; al-Hakim, al-Mustadrak, 3/343)

When we say misfortunes, we mean being tested through misfortunes. The outcomes of big tests are big. The questions asked in a test for recruiting officials and governors are not the same. The former is easier than the latter; and the outcome of the latter is more important than the former.

A wonderful statement regarding the issue is as follows:

“Everything about Divine Determining is good and beautiful. Even the evil that comes from it is good, and the ugliness is beautiful.” Sözler (Words)

Man should have a look at his body first. He should think of each one of his organs separately. Then, he should ask himself: The place, shape, size and duty of which organ is not arranged in the best way? Then, he should go to his own world of spirit and continue the same thought in the same realm. Is memory unnecessary or imagination? Is love extra or fear?

The body forms a whole with all of its organs and it becomes useful when it is so; similarly, the spirit is a whole with all of its feelings, emotions and faculties. It can only be useful when it is so. If you remove the mind and memory from the human spirit, it cannot function. If you remove the feeling of anxiety, man will be lazy; he will not work for the world or the hereafter. If you remove fear, he cannot protect his life. If he does not have the feeling of love, he will not take pleasure from anything.

Both the body and the spirit of man were arranged in a wise way. It is called the “visible qadar.” Similarly, all of the incidents that a person experiences throughout his life are regular and orderly. It is called the “spiritual qadar.” The visible qadar gives information about the spiritual qadar. All aspects of both of them are nice; except for the sins committed through the partial free will.

When we, as weak individuals, are astonished by the manifestations of the spiritual qadar that are outside our will, and falter and hesitate, we should look at the visible qadar and endless wisdoms in it. For instance, we should remember the merciful training in the uterus: The divine mercy and wisdom trained us in the best way and we were not aware of anything that was taking place.

Now, we are experiencing different manifestations of the same mercy.

We should learn from the hadith

“Having good thoughts about Allah is regarded as worshipping”; (see Abu Nuaym, Hilyatu'l Awliya, III/263)

and we should rely on the mercy of our Lord, who feeds and raises us and who arranges our life in the best way. We should evaluate all of the incidents that we experience as exam questions and we should look for a manifestation of mercy in the incidents that our soul does not like. The soul of a person does not want to go to school but wants to play games. However, the mind objects to it. It shows the soul the beautiful ranks in the future and dissuades it from games. That is, what is beautiful for the soul is not beautiful for the mind.

The heart is a completely different thing. If it is illuminated with belief, it sees everything and every incident as a manifestation of divine names. It attains the fact, “All of Allah’s names are beautiful and all of the manifestations of His names are beautiful, too.” No ugliness is in question for that fortunate person anymore.

Those who say “Both your troubles and your blessings are nice” are fortunate people who have attained that rank. Those people are the people who are defined as, “Allah loves them and the love Allah.”

In Risale-i Nur Collection, beauty is dealt with in two parts: “something that is beautiful itself” and “something that is beautiful in terms of its outcomes”. We can give some examples regarding this classification: The day is beautiful itself; the night has a different beauty. One evokes being awake the other being asleep. Is it not obvious that we need both?

On the other hand, the fruit itself is beautiful and the medicine is beautiful in terms of its outcomes.

The incidents that man experiences are like the night or the day. Health evokes the day and disease evokes the night. If it is considered that diseases atone for sins, that they show man that he is weak, that they remind him of his slavery and that they break off the relationship of the heart with the world, making it turn toward the Lord, it will be seen that diseases are bounties as great as health. Health is the feast day of the body and diseases are nutrition for the heart.

“Night and the day” are only a chain of the manifestations of “jalal and jamal” (majesty and beauty) that are continuously active in the universe. There are many other chains like the minus and plus poles of electricity, the black and white part of the eye, the red and white blood cells of the blood. We are surrounded by those binary systems in our inner world and outside; we benefit from them in different ways.

A Quranic verse regarding the issue is as follows:

“But it is possible that ye dislike a thing which is good for you, and that ye love a thing which is bad for you” (al-Baqara, 216)

The verse is related to jihad but its judgment is general. This verse attracts the attention to another binary system: War and peace. Peace is like the day; everybody likes it; war evokes the night. However, those who do not fight when it is necessary endanger their future and their generations are destroyed. Those who are martyred during wars attain the rank of saints and the worldly life that they lost is like the night compared to their new life.

Can you think of a misfortune worse than death? By informing us that there are good things behind the things that the soul dislikes, the verse offers consolation for the other troubles, diseases and disasters of the world.

A sacred hadith:

“My mercy has surpassed my wrath.” (see Ajluni,Kashful-Khafa, 1/448)

This sacred hadith is interpreted as follows:

“There are so many manifestations of Allah’s mercy behind each misfortune that His mercy surpasses the pains caused by each misfortune.”

Life is not even like a moment compared to eternity. If the diseases, misfortunes and troubles that we experience in this short life are good for our eternal life, there is no need to worry about them. Seventy or eighty years have no value compared to eternal life. All of the ephemeral misfortunes and troubles of this world are like nothing compared to the endless bliss.

However, the soul of man wants immediate pleasures; it does not look at the future. That area belongs to the mind and the heart. As we have mentioned, not every misfortune is sorrowful. The incidents that our soul does not like and that blacken our ephemeral world are either divine warnings that put us back to the right path or atonement for our sins; they make us suffer their consequences in this world, not leaving them to the hereafter. Or, they are means of turning man’s heart from the ephemeral life in the world to Allah and the hereafter.

On the other hand, misfortunes are a testing of patience; the reward of passing this test is great.

Lastly, they are divine punishments. General misfortunes may contain parts of all of them. They may be sorrow for some people, warning for some people and atonement for others...

The safest method for individual misfortunes should be as follows: If the misfortune affects us, we need to blame our own soul and then repent. If the misfortune affects other people, we should regard it as something that will cause them to improve themselves. Thus, we will improve and train our soul; and we will not think of bad things about other people.

[archiveddvrpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with BEAU RENAUD, who is TWENTY-NINE years old. He is often called BERTRAM and is NEUTRAL. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.

No one resides in Verona without having at least some idea as to who, exactly, Beau Renaud is. Anything he could desire or possess sits within his grasp, and he’s never had to reach further than an arm’s length away to get it. Two wealthy mothers and a bloodline that practically drooled money ensured power of that shape from the very beginning of his life. Even in Beau’s youth, they were certain that their boy with stars in his eyes and wit sharper than a knife’s edge would go far. After all, he had every RESOURCE at his disposal, from tutors to personal tailors as young as five, and he was a happy boy with a happy childhood. No strife plagued him, no worry crossed his mind. He excelled in his studies and in social circles, even during the years of his later education. One mother was of the opinion he’d become a philanthropist, like her. The other was surely convinced he’d pursue a medical route, as she was one of the top surgeons in Paris -- she’d always been his favorite. The both of them believed they’d see him climb towards the heavens and perch atop the throne there, and if the heavens needed a little MONEY to be convinced, they would happily pay their way. He would be the most influential man in France, cultured and refined, everything they’d raised him up to be. Not a son, necessarily, but a FIGUREHEAD: a golden statue of their own ambition.

But affluence without ambition is dangerous, and in Beau, it took a DEADLY form. He did well at work in Paris, but not remarkably, and any possible promotions he achieved were gained through money finding itself in places it shouldn’t have been. It was like this for years: when his mothers remarked it was about time he climb up the ladder, he went to his supervisors with another wad of cash and promises to buy them their dreams more than their own money already could. Discussions held over dinner with his friends and family were smothered with deceit, and money could only buy a certain amount of competition out, he realized, before it ran EMPTY. And it ran empty faster than he could have ever expected. Faced for the first time in his life with failure, judgment, and an all-too-real threat of scandal and blackmail from those he considered his peers, he did the only rational thing he could think of: BEG. He went to his mothers, simpering and sly, no less proud than he’d been the day he graduated. But he did not ask for their forgiveness. Instead, Beau inquired as to how far their trust, their adoration. and their money would go. No longer blinded by love but still wrapped around their son’s finger, his mothers agreed to help him... on one condition.

They explained to him that he was not meant for any sort of greatness or godliness, and that was fine. They still loved him; he simply wasn’t smart enough to use power in a MEANINGFUL manner, and that was the way of things for some. Their poor son, beautiful but no longer brimming with potential, would sit pretty at the side of a wealthy woman looking for a husband to increase her social standing. He would not settle into the throne of the heavens. Instead, he would stand BEHIND it, and be so radiant that all eyes would flock to its true occupant: his wife. They sent him off to Verona within a week of his sad confession, engaged to a woman he’d never met before, much less heard of. The slate wiped itself clean, and he settled into his newfound betrothal and occupation as the head of L’Arena, one of Verona’s favored methods in getting its news.

Old habits die hard, unfortunately, and it didn’t take long for Beau to familiarize himself the same song and dance of WEALTH once again. Equipped with his fiance’s funds and her apparent lack of care at what he did with them, weekly galas and parties were thrown without hesitation nor thought to just how high the price could get. He quickly became her socialite counterpart, and a powerful one at that. Many found themselves pressed to his shoulders just as they had in France, urging him to publish gossip and trite talk about their public enemies, and he took it all in stride, happy to be embraced in adoring but unloving arms once again. Those arms included that of the Capulets and Montagues -- both Damiano Montague and Cosimo Capulet have made it clear that every mistake he’s ever made will come to light should he so much as think about publishing their UGLY DEEDS towards each other in L’Arena. It is here that he finds himself poised above a pit of spikes: he has all the information Verona often begs for, but knows well enough that any action he takes will end with his head on a pike. And Beau, who’s only ever valued HIMSELF and his beauty over all else, will be the last one to let that happen.

DAPHNE ALLARD: Bride-To-Be. To say that Beau hates her would be unkind, but it’s unkinder still to say the truth. The fact of the matter is, Beau doesn’t think much of his fiancée at all. As of late he thinks of it as more of a business arrangement than anything else -- she does the business, he gets to reap the rewards, and in turn, she showers him with gold and gifts and other unnecessary trinkets he adores more than her. Strangely enough, in the near year since their engagement began, they haven’t had any sort of confrontation about it, but he’s noticed the air becoming chillier whenever they step into the same room without guests to warm them up. He has to wonder -- if he’s going to be married to this woman for the rest of his foreseeable life, just how much of this is going to be a performance? He’s always been a good actor, but a metaphorical cold war is no good for the stage. Their wedding is in November, and all of Verona’s press seems doting, but the clock is ticking.

PRIAM TARAVELLA: Ally. Being a self-professed neutral party in this war between the Montagues and Capulets means dancing their dance, matching their steps. With the Montagues it’s a little harder than he’d like to admit, but the Capulets make it so easy that Beau wonders if they’re even trying to make themselves unlikable in this day and age. This comes, in large part, to his newfound friendship with Priam, someone who refreshingly sees him as a person and not for the content of his wallets. Beau should know better than read into their little friendship anymore than what it is at the surface level: Priam is only being kind to ensure that the Capulets don’t end up on the front page of L’Arena, exposed to the world. Still, there’s something comforting about being able to have a conversation without wondering if your interlocutor is going to stab you in the throat.

BATTISTA TAHAN: Leash. The Montagues pose more of a threat in Beau’s mind than the Capulets do, if only because they choose to make their presence known. Beau’s met Battista on more than one occasion, and while Beau would love for them to just get along, Battista has apparently had other plans. Those plans include, apparently, giving Beau information dirty enough that he ended up getting sued for libel not long after. He was quick enough to wipe his hands clean of the business and pay any hurt feelings down to a minuscule amount, but he hasn’t forgotten just how Tahan played him like a cheap fiddle. Now any time he has to attend Montague affairs, he’s quick to pester and pick at any spaces Battista’s armor provides, looking for the tender flesh underneath.

LILLIAN WEN: Mischief. Lillian is as revered by Verona as he is, but the adoration she receives is at least justified. Beau doesn’t usually take it upon himself to meddle, as there are other, lesser individuals he can call upon when the time is right for that sort of thing. But with Lillian the curiosity is just too great; he’s been working at getting in her good graces almost tirelessly, if only to see if there’s any dirt to discover underneath. Their friendship is one that stems from being forced to attend the same parties one too many times, mutually understood glances from across the room; he’s only biding his time, waiting for something from her to slip. Maybe about that abhorrent fiance of hers, Cassian? Either way --- he can’t wait for blood to end up in the water.

Beau is portrayed by RICHARD MADDEN and was written by JULIE. He is OPEN.

[nicknederson]

you know what i want?

a nancy drew reboot of the old mysteries with a modern take similar to the first person perspective of the nancy drew diaries

so anyway i wrote the first chapter of secret of the old clock (edit: chapter two; chapter three; chapter four)

"Can you wash cashmere?"

“Nancy Drew.”

“Don’t yell at me. It was a joke, Bess Marvin.” Not a very good one, I’d admit. But lately, Bess was on edge about her cousin’s upcoming wedding. I could have cracked the best joke of the century and she would have told me she didn’t have time for humor because she had to focus on flower arrangements. I seriously couldn’t even remember what cousin was getting married. But I was being a good friend. Which is why I was here. At the department store. Picking out our rehearsal dinner outfits.

“Nancy, I cannot deal with this right now,” Bess said with enough dramatic flair to star in a school play. That was one of her new favorite words- cannot. I guess can't just wasn't cutting it anymore. "I have a bridesmaid dress fitting in about ten minutes and I'm pretty sure I gained about ten pounds so they're going to be making even more alterations to it!"

"Maybe stop eating your weight in chocolate-covered strawberries," I tried.

"Oh, what do you know?" Bess complained. "Just buy whatever off the rack and you can return it if I don't like it."

"Yeah, I can return it," I said about as dryly as I could manage. "Because I clearly don't have anything else to do with my life." I really didn't. “But Bess, I think you’re taking this a little too seriously. Laura-“

“Lily.”

“Lily probably doesn’t want you stressing this much about the wedding,” I said. “I mean, you’re a bridesmaid. Not the maid of honor.” I had more of my speech. All about how weddings were archaic and really just a means to trap women in a cycle of impossible standards and unnecessary self-punishment.

“Yeah, that’s great, Nancy. Get me something blue. It’ll match my eyes.” And then she hung up. Well, so much for my speech. It was a good one, too. George Fayne- Bess’s cousin who wasn’t the Lily side of the family and my other best friend- would have liked it. Unfortunately, George was up in the mountain for a summer sports camp and could be reached by pigeon more reliably than cell phone. And here I was- shopping for clothes at our sleepy town of River Heights’s only department store right back at home. No big summer plans or schemes of grandeur before school started again.

That said, I couldn't really complain. Summer was supposed to be the best thing in the world when you were sixteen and didn’t have much to do. Plus, I did need to do some shopping for new clothes, anyway. And I had the benefit of my dad being nice and footing the bill for me. I was originally supposed to get a job this summer- something underpaid, underappreciated, and with a silly uniform presumably in the form of a hat shaped like a hot dog-, but that didn’t happen. Simply put, I forgot. There were probably applications buried somewhere in my room.

I would pay my dad back, don’t get me wrong. But for the time being, I preferred the term ‘appreciated’ to ‘spoiled rotten’. Though that term could easily be applied to two girls I happened to spot talking to a sales associate one aisle over. The place that I picked to shop at wasn't exactly high-end, but it obviously wanted to be. And that was also a fitting description for the two girls.

"This is abhorrent," one of them was snarling at the poor sales rep. Both of them looked to be about my age, but this one just looked older. Maybe it was her greasy hair, maybe it was her major overbite- personally, I thought it was both. She was short, stout, and angry in contrast to the rather vapid-looking girl standing next to her with her eyes sort of glazed over. She was rail thin and sort of pretty if you looked at her from exactly the right angle. Potentially on a full moon with the planets properly aligned and an eyepatch over one eye to make her seem further away from you than she was. "Do you know who we are?"

I'll admit it- I was curious. I have this natural inclination to be nosy and it's gotten me into a few weird situations. But I love drama as much as I love intrigue so I was all ears for this conversation. Pretending to peruse a rack of ugly skirts nearby, I expertly eavesdropped on the conversation. "My apologies, Miss Topham," the sales rep sputtered out. "But I was helping someone else until just now and-"

"My sister and I are about to be very rich!" the stout girl spat. I don't think the tall skinny one knew how to use her mouth to form words. "And we will remember how awful your service is when that happens, do you hear me?"

I will also admit to another weakness of mine- I hate watching people get treated unfairly. It was what made me stick up for kids getting picked on on the playground since I could first walk two steps in front of me. And what was happening a few feet away from me definitely looked like bullying. So when the shorter sister sent the sales rep scurrying off to find something for her, I continued to pretend like the ugly skirts were actually the best thing I'd ever seen just to make sure they didn't do something else awful to the poor sales lady. It didn't take very long for them to do exactly that. "What is that?" the short one harped when the sales rep presented her with a dress. "Isabel, have you ever seen something more hideous?"

The dress wasn't bad. It was a cute powder blue slip that had tulle design near the top of it. It was something Bess might like- especially because it was blue. Still, the taller girl- Isabel- nodded fervently to her sister's claim. Keeping an amicable expression was clearly the sales rep's greatest achievement for the day. "Oh, but this is just in off the designers from Paris. It's haute couture." I wasn’t much of a fashion plate, but I could tell that probably wasn’t true. I wasn't going to fault her for trying. She probably made commission.

Still, the stout sister stuck her nose up at it like it were covered in dog poo. "I don't know what that means, but it certainly doesn't mean 'even mildly fashionable'," she threw out before snatching the dress away from the sales rep. "Go find us something else that doesn't make our eyes hurt."

I could tell by the sales rep momentary slip in composure that that was not her usual job. She practically slunk off to do the girl's bidding and didn't look too happy about it in the process. Meanwhile, Isabel peered at the dress with her big, dewy eyes while her sister held it up and sneered at it. "It's not too bad," she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear it from where I was lingering near the ugly cardigans. I don't know why they thought putting them next to the ugly skirts was a good arrangement. "Mama would like it." Isabel's voice was worse than her face- a high, reedy voice that sounded sort of like a kazoo that someone had left in the sandbox.

Her sister checked the price tag on the supposedly 'ugly dress' and scoffed. "It's too expensive. Daddy would throw a fit if we started spending all of old Crowley's money before we even got it." Now that was an interesting sentence. "But we can just make an adjustment." An even more interesting sentence. Coupled with the fact that she reached up one grubby hand to rip some of the tulle on the dress right off had me nearly drop my jaw in shock. "There," the squatter sister cooed, seemingly pleased with herself. She switched back to sour-faced a second later when the sales rep returned with an arm full of dresses. "We've changed our minds. We'll take this one." She pointed to the blue dress in her hands. "But we will not pay full price."

The sales rep looked like she'd just been punched. "But that's one of a kind!" she said, clearly flustered. "It's the only one in the store."

"Well, it's damaged," snapped the stout sister. Isabel just stood by blank-faced. I realized she kind of looked like a ferret. Her sister, on the other hand, was just a plain rat. "We want 25% off."

"But-" the sales rep couldn't even finish her sentence. I couldn't blame her.

"Where is your manager?" the stout sister trilled. "I demand to speak with him."

At that exact moment, a balding man walking by reeled around on his heel- face serious. "I'm the manager," he announced. "What seems to be the problem here?"

The sales rep went pale as the shorter girl peered at the bald man. "Your associate here just tried to sell us a damaged dress at full price," she insisted.

"No, I didn't!" the sales rep yelped. She snapped her mouth shut the moment her manager levelled her with a look. The 'how dare you be rude to this customer' look that every retail worker feared.

"I'm very sorry, miss," the manager said with a bow of his head. "We'll give you a discount if you'd still like the item. And we'll even pay for the damage to be repaired by a top quality seamstress."

From the looks of the dress, it didn't even deserve that much. But while Isabel had a rather self-satisfied look on her face, her sister didn't look like she was done. "One more thing," she said sweetly. Granted, her attempt at 'sweet' reminded me of black licorice that melted on a dirty sidewalk. "You should take the fee for the repair out of her salary." She pointed at the sales rep and the woman visibly looked ready to faint. "It's only fair."

The manager hesitated for a second before he nodded. "Of course-"

I'd had enough. With a funny little hop, I was over to the group in seconds. "Excuse me," I called out. I flashed a smile- hopefully not looking super awkward. "Yeah, hi, I was just over there and saw the whole thing. She-" I pointed to the sales rep, "Did not try to sell them a damaged dress. They-" I pointed to the two sisters who were giving me the evil eye. "Ripped it when she wasn't looking to try and get a discount."

I could tell I was the sales rep's new best friend. And that I was the Topham sisters' new worst enemy. "She's lying!" the short sister shouted. "I would never do something like that."

Figuring she'd say that, I grabbed her wrist- turning it to reveal some small blue strings of fabric on her palm. "You have some fabric on the hand you ripped it with," I provided fluidly. "And you'll see that there is also some on the floor by your feet. Not anywhere else on the floor- meaning that the dress was only ripped and losing threads right around here."

The girl jerked her hand back as her face went bright red. Her sister looked ready to bolt straight out the door. "I don't know who you think you are-"

"Given the evidence," the manager coughed, interrupting them. "I'm going to have to ask you pay for the full price of the dress you damaged."

The short sister looked like her face was going to explode. "I don't want it!" she shouted. Some other shoppers were starting to linger around the spectacle she was making the same way I had. And of course, the manager was quick to notice.

"I'm sorry, but you damaged the dress so you must buy it," he insisted. "And then I have to ask you to never set foot in my store again."

It seemed a little rash, but the short sister's reaction was worse. She straight up threw the dress onto the ground. "I won't buy that! You can't make me!" Then she stormed off- her sister trailing in her angry wake all the way to the door.

Once they were gone, the sales rep gave a sigh of relief. "I can't thank you enough," she told me. "The repair for that would have cut my pay more than half!"

I just stuck with smiling. "It's no problem," I assured her. "If anyone had been around to see how awful they were to you, they'd have done the same thing." That didn't seem to stop the sales rep from looking at me like I’d accessorized with a halo and matching wings that morning.

"Regardless," the manager spoke up, clearing his throat again. "We're still going to have to do something about this dress."

"Wait-" I reached forward a took a hold of the dress to take a look at the tab. "I'll take it."

The manager looked just as shocked as the sales rep did. "But it's damaged," the manager had to remind me.

"It's not too bad," I assured him. I touched some of the ruffles that the shorter Topham had ripped. "I could probably fix it myself."

"Well," the manager huffed. "At least let me give you a complimentary discount. Both for your help in exposing those two young ladies as crooks and for helping Loralei here."

I didn't argue. I just considered it a bonus. As Loralei rung me up with the 50% discount, I couldn't help, but poke my nose even further into other people's business. You know, as I'm wont to do. "Who were those girls anyway?" I asked. "I mean, did you know them?" I’d never seen them in school before over at River Heights High. After that display, I really didn’t want to.

I could tell by Loralei's face that she did. I could also tell she didn't really want to reveal that information. But I just waited patiently until she caved. Despite everything that had just happened, Loralei was still a sales rep- they loved to gossip about customers. "Those were the Tophams. They've been in here before. Ada and Isabel." Knowing that Isabel was the skinny one, I assumed Ada had to be the stout one. It was fitting because I had never heard of someone with a more unfortunate name. Very invocative of covered wagons and long trips overland with plenty of dysentery. "Don't get me wrong, they spend money when they're here so they're technically good customers. But what you just saw was pretty much the standard fare for dealing with those two."

I just nodded along like this was all news to me and I was a completely impartial party. "I think I heard them mention something about an... old man Crowley?" I had, in fact, heard that, but Loralei didn't need to know that.

At the mention of the name, her eyes went wide. "Oh, you're from around here, are you?" I nodded. "I’m from a town over- in Hayworth. It’s been the subject of debate around there for the last few months!" She paused to look around for other customers before leaning across the counter to elaborate. "See, Josiah Crowley was this eccentric old man who lived around here. He never really had a home- always stayed with relatives no matter how distant- but he was supposedly loaded up to the eyeballs. Well, the last family who got stuck with him was the Tophams- Richard and his wife Cora. And when Crowley passed away, they came forward with a will that gave all his properties, money, and stocks to them!" I made the appropriate face so that she knew I found this just as shocking as she did. "Normally, who cares about those sorts of things, but the Crowley will just struck so many people as strange. He wasn't really a big fan of the Tophams. Fact, they hated him up until they found out he was dying and they'd profit from it. But Crowley used to promise a lot of his other- much nicer- relatives that they'd live comfortably after his death." Loralei gave an unaffected shrug. "Those poor people will never see a dime. A few of them were even contesting the will."

"Really?" I didn't have to feign interest now. I was definitely interested in all this talk of a mysterious will. Hayworth was a little town off the side of a little town- that kind of drama was uncommon for such a sleepy place. And I could swear the name Crowley sounded familiar. Not just ‘two seconds ago when I asked about it’ familiar, but ‘I’ve heard it somewhere before, but didn’t pay too much attention to it’ familiar. "Do you think they stand a chance?"

Loralei gave me a level sort of look as the machine spat out a receipt. "I don't think so." She ripped the receipt off and handed it to me. My 'savings' happened to be in the triple digits and I was sure Bess would just love her new rehearsal dinner dress. "Crowley was a weirdo and not all there on a good day. Chances are, those Tophams coerced him into re-writing the will in their favor." She put a manicured finger to her lips. "But you didn't hear that from me."

I smiled back. "Of course not."

[mochisubak]

The time we shared (II)

Pairing: (Baekhyun x reader) + Jongin

Genre: angst/romance

Summary: The new exhibition called “The time we shared” left a huge impression on you. Mysterious author by the initials BBH seems to have some kind of connection with your fiancé - Jongin, who doesn’t appear to be happy with the knowledge of you trying to get to know the painter. With the grand opening of your own art gallery called Prive you’ve managed to ask Jongin to invite the author. Through the foggy memories and names ringing a bell in your head you try to remember the life before the accident.  

@nshitae @ayanechin-blog @khelmatic @dreizehnn @mochibaekhyunx @baekyeolbeom @baekfanapleintemps

Part I, Part II

The mud was cold and sticky, its oozing form was sweeping through your empty hands as you desperately searched for a piece of jewellery. It was probably worth more than you could imagine; you inwardly winced thinking about it so materialistically. Your knees sunk even deeper and the tips of your hair became wet from the ugly liquid. You were angry, angry at that unknown man who was oddly silent as he watched your nervous havoc but also you were angry at yourself. Your palm splashed a rather big amount of mud that went to your eyes. It burned as hell. Yelping you fell backwards and sighed. It wasn't your day. As usual. What was supposed to be a cheerful experience became a dark comedy. Even if your body screamed with adrenaline which you hadn't felt for so long, your troubled situation only worsened when you heard hooves stopping by. Turning your head to the sound you were met with the sight of the no named intruder on his horse, ready for the departure. Gathering your strength and irritation you shot up and took a snaffle of his mount in a gentle grip.

"Are you actually kidding me?" your brows furrowed as he pinched his nose. Both of you were trembling with anger. His horse nuzzled on your hand and with affection your returned that emotional gesture. "You are going back, leaving me behind?" His nostrils flared and he actually gave you a rather murderous stare. You shivered due to the fact that it was the first time he looked at you so differently.

"You are uninjured, your horse is perfectly fine. It was your engagement ring, not mine," he explained while putting emphasis on the engagement part of the sentence. Your irises found his and with a huff you stormed off in the opposite direction. What a jerk. He still hadn't moved, so you took a chance and broke a nearby branch and with a snap you threw it at him. The wooden stick hit his neck.

"Has anyone told you that you're an uptight bastard?" your scream was unnecessary, however strange feelings overcame your chest. It was as if you were burning up. Or maybe as if you were floating. You saw him observing your dirty person with a funny look on his perfect face. What? Perfect? Your thoughts were fazed due to the situation you were in.

"Many times," he softly exhaled while his gaze changed into a mellow one. "See you around, then" you watched as he galloped down the forest road. Massaging your face with hands full of mud, you shrieked into them in frustration. The fact that you've lost your ring wasn't bothering you as the thought of complete stranger ruining your fun. Adding to that an unanswered question about his identity only deepened your bitter mood. You probably looked like a crazy person, alone and covered in mud in the centre of road leading towards the stables. Shaking your head with resignation you went towards Moonlight who was peacefully nabbing at grass. After you jumped on his back you suddenly realized that you weren't even trying to find that damned ring. You didn't even like it so much. Yet, it was given to you by your fiancé. You should have been able to take care of such a precious gift. But it was gone.

Rushing your four legged friend to a steady run, your thoughts were focused on the previous meeting. Why were you so mad about? Why did you feel such a pull towards that person? Too many why's and not so many answers. After everything, it was a nice ride. You felt alive. That's what mattered.

*

When Jongin saw you he went into a shock. You could swear he became almost as white as the wall behind him. His pupils were shaking and his arms circled around your middle with too much affection that you had to pat his backs few times before he let you go. Well, he cared. That was obvious. Maybe you were too tired to fight him or even oppose to his commands but when he ordered you to take a long bath, you went for it. Taking off the dirty clothes you stopped by the mirror to make sure that the ugly creature staring back was in fact you. Your hair were covered in a mud, your cheeks were dirty and in few places you could spot small gashes from the branches. Your eyes shone like two focal points while you explored your creation. A bubbly sound of your giggle erupted in an empty bathroom, surprising even you. That happy moment felt so good, it almost tasted like cotton candy. You finally felt so light and young. Your fingers touched your parted lips and for a moment you could feel another pair of them kissing yours in a needy yet sweet way. Closing your eyes you tried to search for that memory, a hazy labyrinth with shadows dancing in your peripheral vision. There was that distinct scent which you associated with those lips from your daydream. A strong tinge of black sandal wood and vanilla.

When you opened your eyelids you saw your silly movements and with a sigh you moved closer to the bathtub. The water was lukewarm and pink from the mineral salt and bath bomb you bought in a vegan shop. When you were already sitting inside, your muscles relaxed. The memories. Were they real? Were they fake? Leaning against the marble rim you stared at the hanging lamp. Sometimes you had those dreams; dreams of things, words, smells that felt so real. They made you feel so calm and peaceful. You missed that feeling. They were like faint whispers of wind inside your skull.

Today you felt freedom. You were free. Riding through the forest, bathing in mud and arguing with a completely unknown person. It was probably the most exciting thing that has happened to you in a long time. Your eyes returned to your body and an empty ring finger. You didn't feel anything. You were like marble in which you were bathing. Closing your eyes you went underwater leaving reality in a crystal halo of liquid surrounding you.

*

For the past few days you were busy with the opening of Prive. You were the one who was in the charge of everything. DJ, checked. Food, checked. Guests, checked. Artists, checked. Your pen circled around last letter for a while. In the neat writing were written initials BBH. Jongin called you yesterday saying he had to leave to Hong Kong for a new client - before that he had promised to contact the painter. He wasn't happy. You argued about BBH almost every day. The name triggered your fiancé so much that it became almost a mystery to you. Massaging your temples you looked through the window. Autumn was in a full swing. Biting your lips you scrolled through your social media. Jongin has already landed in the other country and you felt as if he had lied to you about the artist. Gripping your mobile phone you decided to take the situation in your own hands. It was your art gallery after all. Looking at your contacts you stopped at the name which made you think of possibilities. You met Chanyeol through Jongin, before the accident and after hospitalization. He was a musician who worked on various projects. His connections were amazing because he was a social butterfly. Clicking green icon you've awaited for his answer. He picked up after two dials.

"Chanyeol? Hello, I hope I'm not disturbing," your tongue clicked when he grumbled his sleepy answer. "I'm sorry for waking you up. I have a request," he became all ears and you circled the table. "Do you happen to know the painter with initials BBH? I know you are kind of artistic yourself," you supplied with a mirth in your voice.

"BBH? Yes, he's a good guy. My friend actually," he rasped with a smile in his baritone. "Do you want his pieces at your opening?" his question hit the fan quicker than you expected.

"Yes. I would be delighted. However, please let me invite him to the opening as well. I shall thank him in person," you bit your lower lip with anticipation.

"Yeah, no problem. Does Jongin know?" the mention of your fiancé startled you.

"Kind of. He went overseas," you winced at your fake sadness. "Thank you, Chanyeol. You can drop any time you want, remember." He was the first to hang up with you. Sitting on the couch you glanced at the open planner staring back at you. It was perfect. Everything was going as you've wanted it to be. Tomorrow. Tomorrow you will start working on something that gave you the taste of independence. Prive.

Such a short word, holding so much emotions and questions.

*

The interior of your gallery was minimalistic and modern. White walls with silver decorations. The pieces of BBH collection were already hanged so when you saw them your heart almost burst in flames. They were beautiful. Perfect. Yes, they were like perfection. You didn't want to overdress so you decided on a dark burgundy dress with heart shaped neckline. It was hugging your breasts and waist but from there it was loose and ended before your knees. Playing with a necklace from your parents you roamed around the empty rooms to make sure everything was ready. Your up-do was classy yet you felt bare at the back of your neck. You didn't like to expose your nape and shoulders due to the scars adoring your skin. Sometimes you pretended to imagine them to be a lighting bolt because they were coming in every direction. Your hand stopped scratching onto them when you spotted a canvas full of yellow paint splashed onto line art of a couple. They were faceless and their palms were entwined. The yellow colour dripped through their hold and covered their features. Your eyes snapped to its name. "Craving you". Smile erupted on your lips. It made sense. It made so much sense. Absolutely genius. You heard people coming inside and with an exhale you were ready to welcome them all in your own bubble of happiness.

*

Tiredness. Bitterness. You weren't stranger to those feelings. Yet, when you looked at people staggering around your gallery with no purpose and fake adoration, you've had enough. Glancing at the watch on your wrist you were startled to find out that only three hours have passed. Jongin hasn’t been in touch with you at all. Since you've written to him about the missing ring he became more distant. Gulping on an almost empty goblet of red wine you winced at its taste. It was better than vodka or whiskey, however it didn't mean it tasted good. Your parents dropped to say congrats on the opening and left in a hurry due to their own projects. The blank faces surrounding you were like a tiny soldiers that children like to play. Circling red liquid inside the glass your focus landed on another painting. You felt so... Alone. Your ex friends were afraid to talk to you even after three years of recovering. It was as if another person had possessed you and they no longer knew who you were. Sometimes you felt like that too. Who were you after all? Touching rough tissue of your scars you winced remembering the pain of waking up to the blinding lights of hospital room.

"Have you liked my paintings so much that you've wished to have them at the opening?" you jumped at the voice coming from behind your back and with a quick reflex your head snapped towards the male. If you were more drunk you would have probably burst into a laughter seeing the man in front of you. Wearing a navy suit and sporting comma hair stood the person who rode into you last week. His lips curled at your realization and before you had a chance to overcome your shock, his extraordinary fingers appeared in front of you. "I'm Byun Baekhyun, the painter you've searched for," your eyes snapped to his hand and with a slow movement you shook his palm. There was a flicker of electric pulse coming down from the place you both touched. His skin was soft and warm. Blinking through various of emotions you regained your composure.

"I didn't imagine we would have met like that. And no, I'm not talking about today," your voice was breathy and covered in a genuine happiness. His irises widened and he almost took more steps towards you. "I was an awful brat back then. I'm terribly sorry for hitting you with the branch," he abruptly stopped and frowned at your words. The clogs in his mind were working as he took in your messy apology. His Adam's apple jumped few times before he sheepishly nodded at your awkward stance.

"It's nothing. I'm glad we didn't injury ourselves, it was dangerous thing to experience," his voice trembled but regained its strength at the end. You hummed at his explanation and invited him to come closer while leaning on the balustrade. Feeling his body next to you, your cheek found a solace on your empty palm. His eyes were cloudy and dark when he looked straight into yours. He had sharp jawline and beautiful lips. Especially when they closed around the rim of the glass. You blinked rapidly with a heat creeping onto your spine. He smirked as he spotted you lurking at his features.

"To be honest I'm really overwhelmed by this party," the truth slipped through your mounds without any problem. He arched his perfect brow at your lethargic behaviour. "These people," you murmured gesturing at the strangers below. "Do you think they care about paintings or techniques of putting an oil paint onto the canvas?" His terse giggle made you oddly calm. "Well, that's why I'm so done with it. Nevertheless, I'm truthfully thankful for your artwork. I love those pieces so much," your gaze wandered towards one of your many favourites.

"Have you seen them at the previous exhibition? At the museum of modern art?" he asked and stretched his shoulders. His black tresses softly adorned his forehead when he turned towards you.

"Yes. Your mind. I really like the way you're thinking," your goblet moved forward as he read your action and bumped his with yours.

"Then you're really perceptive," his smirk vanished in the burgundy liquid of his drink. "Do you often go riding?" he focused his hooded stare on strangers.

"Rarely," absent mindedly your hand touched scars on your back. "I had an accident three years ago," you eloped seeing his pained expression. He was hurting and you didn't know why. His almond irises shook when he glanced at the violated area of your soft tissue. "Chanyeol has already told you? I've lost my memory due to the impact of crashing into the tree," shrugging your stare dropped to his chest. He was looking at you with such a raw emotion that you almost felt trapped.

"Yeah, I've known," his whisper was soft, like a gust of the summer wind on a hot day. "It must have been hard to lose huge part of your life," his fingers slightly shook when he put the glass down.

"It was. Just a gaping hole," you've remembered waking up to people with faces you couldn't pin point. It was as if they were wearing masks preventing you from recalling their names. The agony of realizing that they were once close to you, that they were your parents and friends was almost unbearable. "It hurt much more than broken bones," you shot him nervous smile and turned left. "I wasn't even speeding so much. That night I mean. It was raining, there was a fog. I was crying, somebody was calling. Then... Nothing. Just a horrendous sound of metal scraping on the asphalt ground," those were your actual memories from before the tragedy. You knew that you were driving to someone; Jongin said you were driving home, your parents contradicted his words and told you that you were going to airport. Everyone had their own story to ease your mind. Now, you've wondered what was so important to you that you've lost all of common senses and rode in such an ugly weather, with a speed a little over the limit. Baekhyun took in your embarrassed posture with something akin to pity, however it was quickly replaced with mixture of agony and helplessness.

“How have you been?” his question did startle you because it sounded as if he was drowning and it was the last thing he could say before his inevitable death. The rawness and nakedness of his vowels and consonants made you tremble just so slightly. His irises were big and kind while looking at you with an utmost care. The rapid thoughts crossed your mind as you’ve searched for a proper answer. Truth was strange. Not because you were conflicted with your memories but due to the fact that you were unhappy. Just that.

“Frankly speaking, I’ve been living these past three years the way my family pictured my life to be,” ugliness of the reality hit you in the face. Almond eyes of the male in front of you searched through your mask to see any cracks. “I’m mostly tired. That’s all,” you eloped with difficulties yet with slow smile creeping through your parted lips.   

“Life is like a movie,” his voice said as he gently tipped the goblet onto the metal balustrade. “My paintings are like picture frames that I fill in with my own stories or sentiments. I think it’s a beautiful thing. To have memories solid, to have a proof of everything. Every person you’ve ever met or food you’ve eaten,” then he laughed and it was so... nostalgic that you’ve almost tripped over your own legs. The way he talked and carried himself was sort of familiar; as if you had seen all of this before. Nevertheless, the things he envisioned were so precious and extraordinary. He opened his mouth to say something more before a sudden arrival of Chanyeol.

“Hey, I see you both chickened out of the actual party,” his deep baritone boomed above you. You giggled at his confused expression as he saw how eager Baekhyun was to finish his monologue. “Let’s not get your panties in twist, Socrates. We have to go, Junmyeon called,” your frown deepened when a soft curse filled the air. A pat on your shoulder was a goodbye from the tall guest but the strange despair overcame your heart as you glanced at hunched form of the artist. His head was lowered as he stared at the floor for a few seconds before standing up.

“Are you going to leave?” you sounded so desperate that he had caught your odd inquiry with a subtle curve of his full lips. He voicelessly nodded and both of your gazes met in a mute understanding. A goodbye. A waterfall of emotions ran through your body as he silently walked beside you, got down the stairs and exited the gallery. It was just like a damned movie; when a main character is left behind and the hole inside her chest opens a little to much. Your wobbly knees shook as a very well known scent occupied your nostrils. Black sandal wood and vanilla. Your rationality finally came to an abrupt decision. Running down while exclaiming “Excuse me,” made your breathless as you pushed heavy door. The crisp air slapped your cheeks as your shaking pupils roamed around the parking lot. There was nervousness inside you, eating you alive because you were scared. You were terrified. That damned scent, the taste of the day dream kiss and a man associated with it. Your eyes spotted a bright orange car and not caring about your high heels you’ve jumped off the curb and sprinted towards it. Two males were getting in when you were able to stop.

“Baekhyun!” your scream tore the motionless night but also made him freeze. His brown orbs found yours in an unbelievable connection. You strode to his spot with puffs of your own breath turning into a tiny fog.

“What?” the halo of the nearby street light made his skin almost golden like. He bathed in that colour as he examined your face. Your heart was almost coming through your wind pipe.

“Have we met before?” there went nothing. The scent and that honey skin. And all too familiar feeling of saying goodbye.  

[demigodofhoolemere]

Saw Captain Marvel!

Spoiler free version: Amazing. It’s so so good to see Carol in live action, and I’m so happy they did her personality and her power set justice. Brie did an awesome job at bringing her to life, and I loved her journey (and I appreciated the nonlinear storytelling). The story was fantastic, and after a few years in a row of coming out of quite a few movies with various disappointments (largely regarding characterization issues or humor going overboard), it’s such a good feeling to not have my expectations dashed. All of the characters made me so happy, I love how real and human each one of them was. No unnecessary drama between the protagonists (unlike some people *cough*Avengers*cough*), just people who are genuinely friends, including unlikely ones. It’s certainly different from the origin story I’m used to, but I really enjoyed what they did. I’m also glad that adding something so big like this to the backstory of the MCU doesn’t shake things up too much; there are a few changes, but it didn’t come off as a retcon, at least not in the annoying way of most retcons. All in all, wonderful movie that left me crying happily, and also now leaves me looking suspiciously at my cat.

Spoiler filled commentary below

~~~

- CAROL. Just Carol. I can’t overstate how much I loved seeing her. I love watching her fly around and use her powers and beat people up. That’s been my jam since 2012 and I’m still living for it. This has been a long time coming and it feels like newly meeting an old friend. She deserves every ounce of praise she’s been getting. I’m also always grateful when tough female characters have a well-developed personality, because if her entire character is only about being tough, then I have difficulty investing because there’s nothing to connect with - unfortunately that kind of character is a dime a dozen these days because in the effort to prove that women can stand up on the same playing field as men, they often just get injected with masculinity and it ends there, which can be frustrating. For all of Marvel’s other flaws with how it treats some of the female characters, they always manage to churn out a genuine human being who does not come from a cookie cutter. Carol gets to have wonderful human emotions, a balance between positives and flaws, and strength that does not come only from her powers. She is determined, full of spirit and life, she knows anger and empathy in equal measure. Getting to know her and love her as a person is why it’s so much fun watching her kick butt. It wouldn’t be the same if kicking butt was her only defining trait. Because I care so much about her I actually ended up crying just watching her do her thing, since it meant so much to see on the big screen. She is a protector of people, and she has fun doing it.

- I appreciate that they got the mohawk look in there without actually giving her a mohawk. Best of both worlds. Also loved seeing a couple of her other comic costumes when they were playing with the color schemes.

- Between the opening logo and the cameo, many tears were shed over Stan Lee. Thanks for everything, man.

- Thoroughly enjoyed the 90s music, aesthetic, and technology. The soundtrack was great, the outfits were great, and I especially loved that people had to just sit around and wait for something to load. Some 90s realism for you right there.

- Carol’s relationships with Maria and Monica are so so sweet, and so human. I’ll never get enough female friendships. Of course, I really adored them individually as well - Maria is wonderful and Monica is adorable. And the way Monica looks up to Carol is very nice foreshadowing for her future, if that’s the road they go down (I know there are plans for Kamala, so I guess we’ll see where Monica fits in).

- Goose! I’m still getting used to not calling him Chewie, but whatever. Precious alien cat by any other name is just as precious. I loved the special effects for the mouth.

- I liked seeing a younger, less hardened Nick Fury. He was very different, but not so different that you can’t believe it’s what he could have been like a couple of decades ago, and you do see familiar aspects in regard to him being a good spy and being useful in the action. Also, VERY RELATABLE cat enthusiast, which gains him a lot of points. Having Goose be the reason for his eye does detract a bit from the mystery and drama of it, but it’s not something I’m gonna get worked up about (I’ve spent far too much energy getting worked up over other movies, this is minor in comparison). What I AM gonna get worked up about is knowing that he’s going to get progressively more and more hardened by the world and I want to protect him.

- PHIL 💗💗💗 Ugh, it’s been too long since we’ve seen Coulson (in the MCU but also in general since AoS is taking five thousand years to come back). I loved seeing him pre-Iron Man, just the young rookie agent who hasn’t been through the wringer yet (I want to protect him, too). Just as sweet as ever and I love him ignoring orders to do what his gut knew was right - it shows why Fury has always trusted him so much, and it certainly foreshadows many instances in AoS. I’ve missed him.

- Very good call to have the Supreme Intelligence take on someone’s form rather than showcase the ugly giant green head. I also appreciated that they still managed to shoutout to the ugly giant green head with the tendrils wrapping around the person interfacing.

- Jude Law played a very interesting Yon-Rogg. Enjoyable without being particularly likable. All of the Kree were done well, I thought. Definitely nailed it as a warrior race who seem to have little care about the consequences of what they do, and yet simultaneously do look out for their own. Also interesting to see Korath and Ronan pre-GOTG. And it’s an unimportant detail, but I loved when you see soldiers with the sort of fin-like shape on the top of the helmet, since I’m very used to seeing that.

- Did NOT expect to ever in my life care about Skrulls. After EMH I’ve always been anxious about seeing them in live action, because who the heck can you trust? Well, uh, them, apparently. And while it’s a change, I’m definitely not going to complain, since this lowers the chances of having to go through a Secret Invasion arc at some future point (I mean, it could still happen, I’m sure there are still Skrulls who are genuinely awful, but it’s nice not to feel like I have to worry about having trust issues in the future). I’m so happy they didn’t kill Talos or his family. It’s very interesting to see an angle where the ones you view as the bad guys are just victims of a war that they don’t want to be part of, which happens all the time in real life, so why not have good eggs among the Skrulls?

- Okay, my ONE gripe is Mar-Vell. Turning him into a woman really wasn’t necessary. I’d seen a rumor about it, so I went into the movie lowering my expectations on that front, so I’m definitely not as disappointed as I would have been if it had come as a surprise to me, but still. I know why they did it, and it’s the same reason the comics recently retconned Carol’s history to make her mom a Kree so that her powers would be a natural part of her instead of something she gained from Mar-Vell’s DNA - a man isn’t allowed to be significant to a woman’s backstory now. There’s feminism and then there’s doing everything possible to erase men from an equation, and I find that to be over the top. But to Marvel’s credit, they pulled it off well enough that I’m not anywhere close to being as upset as I could be about it (they also pulled it off with the Ancient One and Ghost, but that’s different for me since I really didn’t have any strong knowledge of or connection to those characters beforehand which makes it easier to accept - I’ve known and cared about Mar-Vell for years, so it does sting a bit that now we’ll never get to see him as he was). Overall, kind of annoying and if I could change it I would, but I’m getting used to changes like this (and it’s still not as bad as other things I’ve gotten annoyed with them over), so I’ll accept it and deal.

- Not a gripe but a question - what’s the timeline with the Tesseract now? Howard Stark found it, and then it was in SHIELD custody ever since and right up to The Avengers, so... did Lawson steal it at some point? What’s our in-universe explanation for this one? If they gave one I didn’t catch it.

- THE AVENGERS INITIATIVE. Way to get my waterworks going. It made me so emotional that I’m not really even upset that Jan still doesn’t get to be the one to give the name (at this point, after everything that’s been done to remove her from the narrative of the origins of the team, I really can’t expect anything else and I’ve made my peace). I don’t know if it’s just the nostalgia factor, or the fact that Endgame is coming up, but that part just made me lose it.

- The credits scene, ohhhhh boy. I immediately registered that it was Steve by his posture and I lost my mind even further. I’m gonna miss the crap out of that guy. And then Nat showed up, and Rhodey and Bruce, and I just... agdjshsjsh. I’m NOT prepared for that to be the next movie and I’m definitely not prepared to see it in only a month. Don’t get me started on the pager. CHILLS. And seeing Carol show up in the compound asking about Fury... I’m fragile. Someone please hold me.

[cienie-isengardu]

Through the Eyes of Reptile

The first time when Reptile heard about Erron Black, he was still loyal servant of Shao Kahn, and on Emperor's order, a trusted assistant of Shang Tsung as well. Syzoth's job have never been easy. Partially because no one liked to be spy on, and partially - if not usually - thanks  to monstrous shape of his face, the tailed body covered with a nauseated green husk and a smell that apparently was so horrible that no one wanted to be around him for longer that it was necessary. As far as Syzoth could remember, the smelly, ugly creature was how people called him since hatching from an egg. He had get used to it, more or less. Not really to the insults itself, but to be insulted at every turn.

People were always mean, it was in their nature to ridicule and torment those that didn’t fit into their concept of world. The reptilian warrior believed in that wholeheartedly, because it was easier to hate them than think that maybe they were right; that he really was just an ugly monster of long forgotten race. People liked to destroy the weak ones, but Syzoth wasn’t weak. He was the last of Zaterran race, the sole survivor while everyone else were merciless slaughtered or hunted down and sold as slaves who have worked to death, or were bred as a not so good but exotic food for the richest. Syzoth survived ages in Shao Kahn’s closest circle - if Emperor’s court didn’t kill him, then insults alone would not kill him either. He was survivor above everything else… but mockery hurted all the same.

And so, more often than not, he lived in the shadows, invisible yet watchful, always ready to protect his masters… or to strike them down, at the first sign of disloyalty to Emperor. Shao Kahn didn’t know mercy and so none of his inferiors did know it either. There was no use for friendship nor for affection in the court of the Emperor. Everyone was enemy, one way or another. Everyone wanted the power and prestige just for themselves. So hungry of Shao Kahn’s approval, of chance to prove their worth, of respect and awe. Syzoth wanted it no less than others. Being useful to Emperor was the only thing that kept him alive for all those long, miserable centuries. Syzoth was so useful, so trustworthy that he was given to Shang Tsung, as a skillful spy... and no less as pet.

The sorcerer from Earthrealm was a powerful being; cunning, confident, ruthless and ambitious man to be wary of. He was also old. Not like Edenian elders though - Shang Tsung’s body was wrinkled by age, sharp eyes almost as white as his long hair. The human looked fragile, especially when compared to Emperor’s other champions. So breakable in contrast to the four-armed Shokan prince Goro and noble born Sheeva or Kintaro who towered over him like a mountains; to the centaur Motaro, whose whole body was of the muscles as steel. Even to Edenian princess Kitana and her bodyguard, Jade - both beautiful and no less fast and deadly. Yet it was the Shang Tsung that Syzoth instinctively knew to be careful around. The man smelled of magic, dark and dangerous, and sharp like hidden blade only waiting to taste blood. Syzoth knew who the man really was, of course, but it was no less shocking to see the old fragile human to change in the blink of an eye into a youthful man with an acute smile, into black and yellow cobra whose beautiful scales glittered dangerously in the sun, into pretty woman that could break someone neck with her delicate hands, into  jaguar, so royal and mystic, into innocent child with big, bright eyes. Even into an ugly reptilian like him.

No gender, no race, no body shape was obstacle to the dark magic wielded by Shang Tsung. Knowledge of that made Syzoth both amazed and terrified. The old sorcerer could take any form, speak the human and monster languages alike, be whoever he wished to be, hidden in shadows and in plain sight, safely tucked under fragile and beautiful and coarse and monstrous look… and could even steal your soul - all memories and will and fears - if you weren’t careful around him. Shang Tsung indeed was a powerful sorcerer and shapeshifter Reptile had never met before.

Surprisingly for a human, the man was quite polite too. Even to Syzoth, what in itself was an alien concept not only to reptilian warrior but to everyone else as well. Syzoth didn’t understand humanoids too well but could tell easily when they disapproved of his natural smell. Shang Tsung was one of few people that did not call him smelly; even if reflexive disgust always showed on the man’s face, for a few seconds, until neutral expression didn’t camouflage grimace for good. The man did not speak about Reptile’s smell, did not shun away from him in disgust, like others always did. The nauseated green husk did not scare Shang Tsung either. Quite opposite, the sorcerer seemed to be interested in its color and shape and Reptile in itself. An unique creature of forgotten race to study and learn about, that Syzoth was among other things for the old fragile looking man.

Every once in awhile, Syzoth overheard Emperor’s champions and even simple household probing the sorcerer for reason why he bothered to be kind to smelly monster like him at all. The old man always smiled then - politely, of course, yet with some predatory sharpness hidden well under courtesy - and kept saying how look may be misleading.

In a way, it made a lot sense. Being underestimated had it own perks. Like Syzoth, Shang Tsung was really good at adapting and surviving no matter what.

Over the ages, Syzoth came to like working with Shang Tsung. They didn’t become friends - friendship was a foolish concept for the weak and desperate and none of them were either - yet they fell into comfortable symbiosis. The sorcerer provided the protection while Syzoth was his eyes and ears in the shadows. Reptile accompanied his new master almost everywhere. To flesh pits, a dark and smelly of blood and death place that brought solace for the sorcerer and yummy food for him, to courts of powerful kings and queens of all races united under Emperor’s regime, to all Earthrealm’s nooks and crannies, from secluded beautiful places to overpopulated, gloomy cities.

There, Syzoth met many of Shang Tsung’s favorite mercenaries. Most came from Lin Kuei assassin clan - and between them, man called Sub-Zero was the most favored one. Rightfully so, Syzoth admitted to himself bitterly, because the ice warrior was unlike the other assassins. Ruthless yet cunning, a natural born killer with unquestionable strive for perfection. The assassin had narrow, emotionless eyes and unnaturally pale, frosty skin and in humble opinion of Reptile, absolutely lacked social skills. In Lin Kuei gear or not, there was something about the man that always made Syzoth want to become invisible, to hide and hope to not draw to himself unnecessary attention. Sub-Zero smelled of cold heart, danger and indifferent death. And yet, sometimes, the self confident smirk was warmed by hint of amusement and curiosity, when Shang Tsung time and again called the assassin to do his bidding. The service of Lin Kuei of course always came with price - Syzoth knew very well how possesive Shang Tsung was about his precious, ancient scrolls and manuscripts full of mystery knowledge and secrets of martial art. How hard it was for him to part with them and yet every one of them was a small price to paid for service of Sub-Zero.

More often than not meeting between the cold-hearted killer and the ancient sorcerer felt to Syzoth less as bargaining about right price for needed murder or stealing important informations and more like… well, he didn’t have idea what. Shang Tsung and Sub-Zero seemed to love poking and pushing each other with little, unimportant yet somehow essential details. To seek the weakness in other, to exploit, to outsmart. Yet their meetings didn’t feel like rivalry - not like the one between Shang Tsung and the other sorcerer, Quan Chi, with whom rarely old man agreed on anything at all. Nor felt like there is any need of plotting and counterplotting in case of backstabbing. Their meeting felt… interesting; weird but somehow nice. Shang Tsung’s smell for sure told Syzoth he enjoyed them beyond pragmatic reasons.

But Sub-Zero had his own missions and orders to fulfill and sometimes he simply wasn’t interested in Shang Tsung’s additional requests. There were rules that Syzoth did not know nor understand, but ice assassin’s reasons were his own and the sorcerer didn’t push the matters, so Syzoth didn’t try that either. There were many other killers and mercenaries; Shang Tsung had a long list of those. The reptilian warrior met or at least heard of them all. It was his job to keep tabs on sorcerer’s doing, after all.

Erron Black was one of many assassins working for Shang Tsung over the years. The human himself didn’t make any big impression on Syzoth; just a man sticking to old days who loved money and shooting people more than anything else. Yet Reptile never questioned his master’s decisions, even if Shang Tsung seemed to like Earthrealm's mercenaries more than those from Outworld (Syzoth never spoke of that, but he always wondered if Shang Tsung, as human, felt so alone - and different - between the rest of Shao Kahn's servants; if working with people from his native realm made him feel a bit less lonely. If regular meetings with Sub-Zero were more for his own amusement than a real need of assassin service. It was too personal thing to ask, so Syzoth never have asked). At that time Erron Black was just a name for Syzoth so he didn't care about man's reputation - or life - at all.

There was tenth, the last Tournament to worry about. Earthrealm was about to cease to exist soon. Shang Tsung and Erron Black and the Lin Kuei were meant to be all but a relics of the past. Just like Syzoth was all his life. None of the men seemed to be bothered by that though.

[pass-the-bechdel]

Homicide: Life on the Street seasons 1-2 full review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

7.69% (one of thirteen).

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines?

20.58%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Zero.

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female? 

Five (season one episode three ‘Night of the Dead Living (16.66%), episode six ‘Three Men and Adena’ (11.11%), episode eight ‘And the Rocket’s Red Glare’ (15%), and episode nine ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’ (11.11%), plus season two episode one ‘See No Evil’ (12.5%)).

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Thirty. Five who appeared in more than one episode, one who appeared in at least half the episodes, and one who appeared in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Sixty-eight. Eighteen who appeared in more than one episode, nine who appeared in at least half the episodes, and five who appeared in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Surprisingly good, even progressive for a show from the early nineties. There are some very self-aware considerations of race, gender, and sexuality, and clear distinctions between what is considered ‘depraved’ and what is merely ‘alternative’ (distinctions which modern-day conservatives twenty-five years later seem to still be struggling with). The place where the hammer of judgment falls hardest is on any cop who allows personal prejudice to interfere with their work (average rating of 3.15).

General Season Quality:

Magnificent. To some fans, the first season is undoubtedly the best of the series, and it is certainly true that the show in that initial raw form achieved a beating heart of idiosyncratic realism that future seasons rarely - if ever - matched. That, really, is the highest praise one might levy; at its best, the show feels like reality. There have been many pale imitations of H:LOTS since its heyday, but no equals.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

I know, I didn’t do any individual episode posts. I didn’t accidentally publish this review without posting the other ones first: I decided not to write individual episode posts for this show. To be honest, I don’t love the decision, and if I ever do summary-posts-only for a show again, it’ll be under very special circumstances, because it’s really not ideal and there’s a good reason I chose the individual-episode-posts format for this blog in the first place. The only reason I’m pushing against my better judgment and doing summary-posts-only for this show is because, frankly, I think there are only maybe three people on tumblr who ever watched H:LOTS. This is possibly my favourite show in the world (top three, for sure), but it has been largely lost to the memory of history, and it’s also not generally in the habit of giving me a lot to talk about in the context of this blog, episode by episode. It has some good fodder - some fantastic fodder, even - but if I broke it down one episode at a time I fear I’d end up with a Hell of a lot of posts without a lot of content, and with even less of an interested audience. So, I’m gonna cut to the chase, and just do season summaries, touching on the good (and the bad) content in collective instead of stretched over 122 episode posts. My apologies to the three people who wish I would draw this out. 

Also worth noting as we segue into actually discussing the show: I’ve combo’d seasons one and two here because they’re only nine and four episodes long, respectively, and they are frequently packaged together (my DVDs put them all in one box). Sometimes the two seasons are actually labelled and sold as ‘season one’, and season three is consequently labelled ‘season two’, and so on, but I have avoided that unnecessary act of confusing streamlining to refer to them as they were intended and presented when they aired. There are immediate differences to be noted between the first nine episodes and the four that comprise season two: the beige colour-grading of the first season (sometimes so desaturated it almost looks like it’s in black and white) has been lifted to a more vibrant look, and the cases are a little more sensational/unusual than season one’s primarily drab and simple murders. That drab simplicity was what made the first season arguably the best, the key to its realism: murder is rarely an art, rarely complicated, rarely cleverly committed or cleverly covered up. Most of the cases in the first season are lifted directly from real-life cases depicted in journalist David Simon’s non-fiction novel Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets, the exploration of the Baltimore Homicide Department upon which the show is based. Sensationalism or strangeness are not often part of the first season because they are not often part of reality, and the show is about the job, not the cases. It’s about the life, the people who have to dig into the ugliness of murder, and the way they deal with that, the world that their work shapes around them. I’m not normally a fan of cop shows for the way they wallow in gratuitously sick ideas, always searching for a ‘hook’ to make the crime they depict interesting by being more awful, more grisly, more voyeuristic than anything you’ve seen before. In a word, more sensational. I’ve also made no secret on this blog of my sincere disdain for so-called ‘gritty realism’, because it is commonly wildly unrealistic, and just an excuse to tell stories about horrible people being horrible to each other while the show tries to insist that that’s just how people are. Homicide’s avoidance of sensationalist narratives and its reliance on realism-for-realism’s-sake allow it to avoid the common pitfalls of both cop shows and try-hard ‘gritty realism’. It was a shake-up of the standard tv formula that almost had the show axed after one season, and which led to that ridiculously tiny second season as the network grappled with a critically-acclaimed, Emmy-winning series that was just never designed to be a big ratings winner. What made Homicide great was also what the network slowly squeezed out of it over time as they tried to shape a more traditional cop show, and it’s why no matter which season a fan chooses as their favourite, you can pretty much guarantee they won’t choose the last one. But, we’ll get to that. For now: seasons one and two.

The obvious thing we have to talk about (it is why we’re here, after all) is the ladies. Or, the lady, singular. This is not a female-heavy show, but there is at least one solid reason for that: the presence of only one female homicide detective is not a piece of token inclusion for the show, it’s an accurate reflection of the dynamics of the real-life Baltimore Homicide Department at the time. It’s an important reality here, because it’s something which significantly impacts that single female detective’s life: Kay Howard, as a character, is forced to interact with the conspicuousness of her womanhood on a regular basis. To its credit, the writing does not define Howard by her gender and she is able to have a personality and be a detective first and foremost instead of being ‘the woman, who does woman things, handles woman cases, and talks about being a woman all the time while the male characters feel compelled also to mention her femaleness whenever they notice what a woman she is, which is always’. That said, her gender is something that Howard cannot escape from in her context, something which inevitably sets her apart. This is brought up in particularly notable ways in ‘A Dog and Pony Show’, the only episode that passes the Bechdel (and does so more than once), in which Howard comes down hard on young female officer Schanne. Howard’s partner Felton calls her on it, suggesting that she hates other women, and Howard insists that the reason she is tougher on women than on men is because she expects more from them. As the only female homicide detective in town, Howard feels a strong pressure to represent her gender with conduct beyond reproach, and she takes it as a personal slight when she encounters other women whom she perceives as letting the team down, or of being appointed to their positions to satisfy quotas rather than earning them through merit. Later in the same episode, Howard and Felton have an awkward moment when Felton says he’s not even remotely attracted to her, and Howard pushes him to be honest - not because she wants him to be interested, but because she’s offended by the thought that he has stripped her of her gender in his own mind in order to perceive her as ‘just one of the guys’. Howard’s relationship with her womanhood is rife with contradictions; she is both proud of it, and dogged by internalised misogyny. She wants to be recognised as a woman with merits, but she also doesn’t want her gender to hold sway over her career or be treated as notable. She wants to represent a strong example for other women, but she also hates the expectation. And despite herself, she still wants to believe she’s attractive to men and retaining a traditional feminine appeal, at the same time as dressing in masculine attire and forgoing most of the trappings of traditional femininity. She is caught in the web of imposed societal expectations vs her identity as an individual who cannot be so plainly defined, and she doesn’t want to conform, but she does want to belong. In similar or different forms, it’s an impossible situation that is awfully familiar.

Though she only ekes some Bechdel action out of the one episode, Howard does interact with other women variously, though they all either have no name, or they talk about men the whole time - there were a lot of almost-passes, and some of them very strong gender-relevant  interactions, too: Howard and the therapist Kerry Weston discuss Howard’s relationships with men in terms of dealing daily with crimes largely perpetrated by men and against men, and what that means for her in also trying to form romantic attachments to men (obviously, the conversation fails the Bechdel, but it is insightful observation of the position Howard is in as a heterosexual woman in a male-dominated field), and in ‘Night of the Dead Living’ (an all-around great episode for every character), Howard has a conversation with the (unfortunately nameless) cleaning lady about the lack of funding for medical research into women’s health issues and the relationship between that and the lack of women in congress (she also has multiple conversations with her sister Carrie over the phone in that episode, but those don’t pass the Bechdel either since we only hear Kay’s side). Being the only major female character around doesn’t completely define Howard’s character, nor does the show position her in complete isolation from other women in order to tell the story of her conspicuous womanhood; there’s a good balanced recognition of gender within the narrative, and though it doesn’t score well in the raw statistics, it does do nice things for the content rating and for the messages being communicated to the audience. The complexity of Howard’s relationship with her female identity has a sad, truthful ring about it, and it’s a reflection on society and its habit of treating women like they have to sink or swim on behalf of their entire gender. It’s good stuff.

As for the non-female portion of the show, i.e. the bulk of it: I’m still pretty impressed. I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t acknowledge the show’s honest and thorough representation of Baltimore as a predominantly black city, and the navigation of racial issues, tensions, and prejudices - both within and without the police force - factor significantly in the tapestry of the series (season two’s ‘See No Evil’ and ‘Black and Blue’ are prime examples). Another episode that I was particularly impressed with for its sensitive handling of content was ‘A Many Splendored Thing’, in which Bayliss and Pembleton investigate the erotic asphyxiation death of Angela Frandina, whose sexual habits are an affront to straight-laced Bayliss. Bayliss’ reactions to the particulars of Angela’s life - including working as a phone-sex operator, and frequenting a local BDSM club - range from hilarious oh-golly innocence to the decidedly un-funny taint of bigotry, as he implies that people who enjoy consensual but ‘dehumanising’ acts are sick in the head, and that Angela can’t have been a good person if she was a part of that lifestyle. Pembleton gives Bayliss a thorough wake-up call in a magnificent speech about virtues and vices, advising Bayliss to get his head out of his ass and stop pretending to live on some pure moral high-ground from which he cannot conceive of the natural variance in human behaviour. The only character who is really judged by the narrative is Bayliss, and his closed-mindedness is exposed as a dangerous precedent and declared unequivocally wrong. It’s a refreshing stance, especially for something which, in the early nineties, was even more of a poorly-represented fringe element than it is now. This episode and a few others also include measures of queer representation in an off-hand, judgment-free fashion, extremely notable in context since the AIDS epidemic was still in full-swing at the time. It’s pretty significant, for a show which is almost as old as I am. 

Other good things: the episode ‘Three Men and Adena’ in season one, aka the episode that single-handedly saved the series from the chopping block by being an Emmy-winning triumph of every possible element of film-making, and, oh, maybe objectively one of the single best episodes of television ever made. No big. Likewise, ‘Bop Gun’ in season two, which utilised the late Robin Williams in a gut-wrenching dramatic performance and consequently saved the series from the chopping block a second time, allowing it to finally start running full-length seasons as of season three. Respect, for the somewhat bizarre decision to use Ned Beatty’s Bolander - this guy:

- as the romantic contender for the series, warts and all as he variously self-sabotages and talks himself out of testing the waters of the dating pool for the first time since 1970; any thoughts of including romantic subplots for titillation are banished when you’ve got ‘The Big Man’ Bolander raging around, and thus those forays into awkward relationships are strictly character pieces, and all the better for it. And points, also, for healthy acts of support between men, toxic masculinity be gone; most notably, Crosetti with his recently-injured and bedridden friend Thormann, who is struggling to adjust to the changed world of his disabilities. Thormann is angry and despairing, declaring himself ‘not a man anymore’ after he loses control of his bowels in his bed; “It’s a natural thing that’s happening here,” Crosetti reassures, soothing Thormann’s embarrassment as he steps in to help his friend clean up, holding his hand and rubbing his back with the gentle patience of a parent. Crosetti was my first favourite character on this show, outstripped by others in the end, but beloved in his time. This review is going live on the 2nd of September for me, but it’s still September 1st in the USA, and therefore, the second anniversary of the death of Jon Polito, our dear Crosetti. This one’s for you, Jon.

Of course, there are a few little quibbles I can raise with the show, and it would be pointless for me to bother with any of this if I didn’t go ahead and raise them. Howard having a prior romantic entanglement with Tyron feels like a needless cliche, and perhaps one of those season two concessions meant to make things seem ‘sexier’; the show is better than that. Kerry Weston uses the example of female seagulls observed to form lesbian bonding pairs as an analogy for why ‘birds of a feather shouldn’t always flock together’, and it doesn’t feel like it’s intentionally homophobic, but it sure does come across that way anyway. Munch is a primarily comic-relief character, and good at it, but his volatile relationship with his girlfriend Felicia (who never appears onscreen) has disturbing shades about it that are never quite clear enough to be soundly condemned, and the general comedic attitude surrounding Munch and his delivery of any and all information regarding Felicia rubs me the wrong way. All things considered, these are pretty small-fry complaints (and almost completely contained within season two, jus’ sayin’), and in that sense they’re pretty reaffirming of the quality of the show as a whole. The characters are realistically flawed - sometimes very deeply flawed - but not horrible people, just struggling, just trying their best, sometimes ignorant of their ignorance, sometimes pushing back or lashing out in the wrong directions. They are forgivably flawed because they are realistic, and it makes them easy to engage with even when you disagree with them; the core humanity is eminently recognisable. It doesn’t seem like it should be hard to achieve that realism, and yet, here we are. Watching Homicide: Life on the Street, a show without equal, even decades after it began.

[stacy-randell]

2~The Missions

A little taste of Bucky

📷

After waking up and getting ready for the day you head out to the living-room to see everyone about ready to go. You enter the room and play (song above) knowing it would annoy everybody, especially Steve, since you play it before every mission.

Everybody groans while you sing along and march to the toaster.

"M'lady must you play this song every time we go out on a mission" Thor asked

You gasp putting your hand over your heart pretending to be wounded "Of course  I do . . . its tradition" you say.

********************************************************************************************

As everyone piles into the their designated jet you wish everyone good luck and threaten "Every single one of you better come back to me . . . or else" Everyone chuckled at your silly threat, knowing you were trying to lighten to mood.

You put your headphones in and blast (song above) to get you hyped up for the mission. Blocking out any unnecessary feelings so you can put all of your focus to finding and capturing Loki.

******************************************************************

Team 1~ Thor, Tony, Bruce, Natasha, Scott, Y/N, and along with some back up from the available and qualified SHIELD agents.

London~

Your POV

You arrive and start to search the area that the satellite showed a huge amount of energy in one place. It was mostly an empty plot of land with a few warehouses in the shape of a cube. We got too were the Bifrost left a burn patten in the ground. Taking in your surrounding, the first thing you noticed was how quiet it was.

"Brother, where are you " Thor's thoughts were too powerful to not read (considering he's a god) that you had trouble keeping them out.

Luckily for you, you were searching for a god so you let your guard down and searched for any powerful thoughts around you.

"Hello Brother" you hear from the north warehouse but you can't figure out if it was a thought or someone speaking

You turn to see Loki walking out of the north building with a small army of  about 15 Chitauri

📷

and Loki

You get Thors attention and he throws Mjölnir straight at him and everyone gets into their fighting stance's.

The hammer went right through him and you immediately knew that you would have to find him. So you teleport to the entrance and tell Thor over the comms that you're going to look for Loki. He agrees and you head to search the other buildings while the others fight off the ugly creatures.

You find the real Loki in the South building laughing at the fighting in front of him. You tell everyone that you got eyes on him and where you are. You start to make your way over to Loki trying to hide amongst the crates.

"I know you're there. . . show yourself " he said with a smirk

You curse under your breath teleporting in front of him.

He is startled but quickly regains his composure.

"Hello there" he looked you up and down

Disgusted you lunged at him trying to take him down. He sees you coming pulling out a knife, almost out of thin air ready to fight.  You read his mind and right before he goes to slash you, you teleport behind him grabbing his had other hand and pinning it behind his back.

"My my . . . Well aren't you something" he responds wincing from the pain you are inflicting on him.

Loki (shoot his shot) and took this moment to twist around somehow and kick you in the side, which made you loose your grip on him and he started to swing at you and a fight broke out. He was able to get a punch and he just so happened to hit my eye.

You winced at the pain but you knew it was going to start to turn black.

"If only they came willingly. . . this all would go by so easily" you thought

"If only it was that easy" Loki replied with a devilish smile on his face

This made you let your guard down, and asked shocked "You can read minds!!" while blocking his attempts to punch you.

"I guess my brother has failed to mention me any my many talents" he replied while getting some kicks and punches in your side. You knew that they were going to hurt the next few days.

He is actually able to get you to the ground pinning you on your back and while bringing a knife out he says "You are one exceptional creature. . . I would consider you for my team" smugly.

"Well do you want me or need me on your team. . .   besides all you have to do is ask" you say trying to get out of his grip and distract him.

He smiled wickedly and said "I want you on my team"

"So does everybody else" you then hook your legs around his waist and flip him so you're on top, taking him by surprise.

Luckily, Thor came just in time to grab him and secure him so he couldn't escape.

You knew he wasn't going to go anywhere so you glance outside to see that there are about 3 monster left and Thor had left the others to take care of the ones left.

"Thor. . .  you left them" you say dumbfounded

"Well I had to check on m'lady" he says sheepishly "Besides they have it in their hands"

"You know your lady had everything under control, but thanks for helping me Stud Muffin" you say blowing a kiss towards him

"Ugh I think I'm going to throw up" Loki said rolling his eyes

"You're just jealous that someone likes him and thought to give him a nickname" you snap back. You then get Loki into some restraints.

Making their way (downtown walking fast, faces past, and you're home now) back towards the jet already to go back to New York.

Everyone was injured in some form but not too badly

************************************************************

Team 2~ Steve, Clint, Sam, Wanda, Vision, and along with some back up from the available and qualified SHIELD agents.

~Germany~

Steve's POV~

We land and make our way to the base.

"There is about 2 guards for each entryway" Sam says

"And about 20 in the building" Vision added

"He has to be here then. They wouldn't have this many people guarding if he wasn't here" Steve said with hope lining his voice.

Steve ordered "Clint act as a sniper and backup. Sam you will be our eyes in the sky but don't hold back for help. Everyone else. . . you're with me. Stay on the comms and tell us when you have eyes on him so we can bring him home"

They all got in formation and started their attack.

After taking down the guards outside it was time to search every room. Once everyone said it was clear to move forward alarms started sounding and the guards came running at us. We kicked down doors and cleared the building, which felt like hours.

After going down so many corridors, hallways, and stairs we got to a long hallway. And at the end was a single door and with no luck with the other rooms Steve prayed that Bucky was in that room.

When Steve opened the door to the room, the first thing he saw was blood all over the room. It was filled with a half a dozen dead bodies scattered all over the place and in the middle of the massacre was a blue eyed, long haired individual sitting in a chair staring back at me.

"Bucky?" I asked in disbelief

📷

He just stared at Steve with no readable expression

Bucky lunged at Steve, but Steve was prepared so he moved and slammed Bucky against the wall.

Bucky fighting and struggling asked "Who the hell is Bucky. . .i-is that me?"

Steve who was also fighting and struggling replied sadly "My name is Steve Rodgers. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes but I called you Bucky. You were a former officer of the 107th Infantry Regiment and my best friend since we were children. . . do you recognize me "

"I r-recognize you. . . you're the man on the Bridge " he finally spoke, his face softened

Steve was relieved and let him go thinking "He knows me . . . or at least he remembers me"

"Come with us. . . we won't hurt you, we'll help you" extending his hand out

Bucky reaches out hesitating but finally takes his hand. Making their way (downtown walking fast, faces past, and we're home now) back towards the jet already to go back to New York.

Everyone was injured in some form but not too badly, which Steve was thankful for, hoping that was the case for the others. No one would be able to live without Y/N. You were the light in the darkness of everyone life.

As everyone sat in silence he looked towards Bucky who was just staring at everybody, stiff as a pencil. But who could blame him . . . who know what he went through.

*******************************************************************

Buckys POV

The alarms were going off and I was starting to panic because that could only mean one thing. . . They were going to need my "assistance". Knowing that they were going to make me go on another mission sooner or later.

I planned to escape and try to work out these images or whatever that come at random times. I hope they help me find out who and what I am.  I don't even know what I am.

6 guards came running in with guns talking about how there was intruders, which they believed was Steve something. I figured this could be my chance to escape and waited until they unlocked the restraints and lunged at the closest guard and then I blacked out.

When I finally came too I was sitting in the same chair and looked at my hands, which were covered in blood. As I was taking in the room and what I just did a guy with blond hair, in a tight looking costume, with a shield came bursting through the door. He looked like he recognized me but I didn't know him.

"Bucky?" said the man

I recognize this man as Captain America . . . this must be the Steve the guards were talking about

I lunged at him but the man as if expecting me to attack moved and he moved and slammed me against the wall.

The man who was also fighting and struggling replied sadly "My name is Steve Rodgers. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes but I called you Bucky. You were a former officer of the 107th Infantry Regiment and my best friend since we were children. . . do you recognize me "

"Come with us. . . we won't hurt you, we'll help you" extending his hand out

I hesitate but finally takes his hand.

When we exit the building I follow Steve to the jet and sit down taking everything in. I'm still not sure I can trust this man but what is their to lose.

*****************************************************************************

2 days later Back Home

Sam's POV~

We just got back to the tower and all was still in the house . . . but not for long

Steve was with Bucky at the garage near the helipad waiting for everyone to comeback from their mission and trying to make some form of conversation. Everyone else was relaxing in the living room tending to their wounds.

Once music (above) was suddenly blasting through the tower we all knew that Y/N was back from the mission, along with everyone else.

Tony informed us that they were successful in capturing Loki and were on their way back.

Everybody piled into the garage waiting for the incoming jet to land. Everyone was waiting to take the prisoner into a holding cell right away.

**********************************************************

Bucky's POV~

Steve and I were talking about what very little I remembered and trying to clarify on things. Such as, Steve is an Avenger, what ever that is, and so are the other people on the jet. They wanted to help me remember.

Apparently there were others that would be arriving soon so we were just sitting there. Though Steve was the one doing all the talking, since I wasn't really good at making conversation.

I was starting to zone Steve out and think about how sad and lonely i've been. And  how unworthy I am to even be in this grand and tech-savvy  tower with all the things I did and the possible other things I did without even knowing.

There was a helicopter coming in and when it landed a sudden loud sound (song above) came booming through the room and it caused me to grab the closest thing, a hammer, in order to protect myself.

Steve looked at me with wide eyes telling me its okay it's just music and that was Y/N letting everyone know that they are home. He slowly and cautiously grabbed the hammer out of my grip and placed it down.

Everybody piled into the garage waiting for the incoming jet to land.

I looked to see a (Y/H/C) girl dancing her way to Steve and everyone with an infectious smile on her face, it could have had me smiling too. She was really beautiful, but I did notice she had a black eye, even then it didn't take away from her beauty.

*******************************************************

Your POV~

As the tower came into my sights I asked FRIDAY to play "One Vision" by Queen (song above in Sam's POV) in the living room because that's where everyone is after a mission relaxing.

As we landed I then asked FRIDAY to play (song above) so I can make my entrance and let them know we were successful.

As I exited the jet I was making my way, too Steve and Bucky, singing into the knife I took from my boot and flipping it around a bit.

As I got closer to them I put my knife back and ran to Steve yelling "Babe I'm home!!!" as you jumped into his arms kissing his cheek and wincing at the hug.

"Hey Baby" he said immediately letting you go once he heard you wince and once he got a good look at you he saw the black eye.

"Are you ok I heard you wince and I can see your eye" Steve asked full of concern

"I'll tell you about it later. Why don't you introduce me to your cutie friend here?" Motioning towards Bucky

You knew all about him and what he has done but you wanted him to get a fresh start, and him doing something normal, even if it's just introducing himself.

Bucky stared back at the two of them. Confused, flattered, and scared he said "I-I'm James but I also go by Bucky. . .o-or so that's what I've been told" darting his eyes down.

You smiled extending your arm out to grab his metal hand but he saw and pulled his hand away. Trying to recover, he extended his flesh hand out and you took it in yours.

"Hello I'm Y/N and I pretty much go by anything. . . but don't take that as an invitation to call me cruel things" you chuckle.

Bucky just nods staring at you.

You call Clint  over with a sparkle in your eye since you came up with nickname he would probably hate but accept.

"Oh No . . . I know that look. What did you come up with know? DreamBoat? " he asked

You laugh "No, but I'll have to add that to my collection. How about you are my Sunshine and I can be your Angel"

He thinks about it for a few seconds and finally agrees

You practically squeal causing Bucky to give you a weird look and jumped to kiss Clint's cheek.

You yell "YES!! I FINALLY BROKE CLINT DOWN. HE FINALLY HAS A NICKNAME"

Everyone claps knowing how much of a big deal it is for Clint to agree to something he thought was unnecessary and childish.

As you were bowing, Bruce comes up and introduces himself to Bucky.

"Hey . . . it's nice to have you back love. I was missing you on the ride back. Not that I don't enjoy the other guys company" you kiss him on the cheek, causing him to blush.

You're so busy talking to people and making sure they are trying to make Bucky feel at ease you totally forgot you have a god in handcuffs, until Thor and Tony come walking in with him to take him to a cell.

They called you over and you said goodbye to everyone and followed behind them.

************************************************************

Buckys POV~

I was wondering if this girl and Steve were together not that she couldn't or anything, but considering she called him Babe and he Baby.

To say the least I was beyond confused when she was talking to Clint and Bruce and kissing both of them.

I had this feeling of envy almost, since this girl is going around calling people weird names and kissing them. He wanted that but he wasn't sure if he was allowed it.

I was really confused about everything, but I knew Y/N was just trying to make me feel at ease. When she spoke to everyone her eyes were always sparkling with happiness.

He almost felt jealous that this girl could feel this way and he was left to feel miserable. He just pushed her out of his mind and all of the feelings she brought up.

He looks to see a blond haired guy with a hammer and a guy in a red metal suit thing escorting a black haired guy in some weird looking handcuffs.

The Hammer guy called over for Y/N "M'lady we are in need of your assistance"

She responded "Hold on a second Stud Muffin. I'll be their in a bit my favorite"

She turned back to us saying she had to go but she'll see us later. The second she left there was this warmth that left with her. I wished she came back so I could feel that again.

*****************************************************************************

End of Chapter 2

I hope you like it and please feel free to leave suggestions and comments so I can improve. If you have any song requests for moods or feelings just let me know any i'll incorporate them into the story. Also if its annoying then let me know

[aguirreann1995]

Can Females Grow Taller After 16 Wonderful Cool Ideas

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Human Height Increase Upto What Age

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[dalyunministry]

Word Ministration

Topic: Waiting on God

By. Sister. Savita Manwan

🔥

Praise the Lord everyone! I welcome you all for today’s word ministration.

Let us pray: Gracious Father we come before thy throne in Jesus Name and we thank you for this moment you gave us to hear and learn from your word. Help us to understand your word and be blessed. In Jesus’ Name I pray…Amen.

▪Topic: Waiting on God

Isaiah 40:31

“But those who wait on the LORD Shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles, They shall run and not be weary, They shall walk and not faint”.

Four blessings of waiting on the Lord are given in this passage:

1. They will renew their strength

2. They will mount up on wings like eagles

3. They will run and not be weary

4. They will walk and not faint.

To obtain all of these blessings we must learn to wait upon the Lord, to trust upon Him, to look expectantly to the Lord, look patiently to Him.

Our fast paced society does not like the idea of waiting. We want everything now. Everything is instant. Everything is press button. You press a button, you get coffee/tea. And a few minutes held up at the traffic lights will cause restlessness.

Someone keeps us on hold or call waiting, we don’t like it, we become irritated, angry and frustrated because we don’t like waiting.

Even in our prayer life, we want instant answers from God. Our waiting may take days, weeks or even months but God says if we are willing to wait, he will grant us all these blessings mentioned in Isaiah 40:31.

The literal interpretation of the word “renew” is “exchange”. God says if we would just learn to wait on Him and hear His heart’s desires, we shall exchange our weaknesses for His divine strength, exchange our human frailties for divine enablement and exchange our human failures for God’s success and victory, if only we will wait upon the Lord.

▪They that wait upon the Lord are compared to an eagle.

The eagles when they grow a little old, their feathers begin to shed. Their eyes have grown weary. Their beaks have become blunt and their talons no more sharp and strong. The eagle which was once powerful has now lost his splendor.

1. And we see this eagle flying to a lofty location and find himself a rock to perch on. Here he faces the sun and focuses his eyes on the sun. He stops drinking and eating. He will be still and not give into distractions around him. Rain and snow will fall but the bird will not move. Storms will rage but he remains motionless. For days and weeks he is immovable. This is the act of fasting and waiting on the Lord.

As the sun shines upon his face, all the ugliness, blindness, deafness and bluntness begin to shed from that eagle. And we will see a naked eagle but that is not the end. That eagle does not give up. He waits and he waits…..for the time of renewal.

Just as the eagle flies to a lofty location, so should we find a place higher, closer to God and live in heavenly places with Christ.

The eagle finds himself a rock to perch on.

The Psalmist says in Psalm 27:5 –

For in the time of trouble

He shall hide me in His pavilion;

In the secret place of His tabernacle

He shall hide me;

He shall set me high upon a rock.

The eagle Christian must stand on that rock – Jesus Christ – a solid, immovable, steady, unchanging rock and there is a split in the rock where you can hide in.

Psalm 40:2 – “He also brought me up out of a horrible pit, Out of the miry clay,

And set my feet upon a rock, And established my steps”.

Jesus Christ is our firm foundation. The lord referred to himself as “the stone of Israel” and stated “He that buildeth upon this rock shall never fail”. Firm foundation of Jesus is what will give us the stability of our hearts and lives need now and into the future.

Jesus is the best foundation upon which to build a solid life.

2. Just as the eagle focuses its eyes on the sun in the like manner an eagle Christian must focus his eyes on Jesus, the sun of righteousness

Malachi 4:2 - But to you who fear My name; The Sun of Righteousness shall arise

With healing in His wings; And you shall go out And grow fat like stall-fed calves.

We need to revere, fear and worship the character of God who is holy and exalted.

Know that healing is in His wings – the ability and desire to heal us is a part of that character we worship.

Recognize, confess and turn from our uncleanness/sinfulness both in our actions and nature. Do so in the personal, family, church and national levels.

Let our desperation become faith with singularity of purpose – only God can heal and save, all health and salvation are from Him.

Visualize the Lord exalted and let Him touch you or the Lord passing by reach out and touch Him.

Other eagles hear its cry and come to aid. They fly overhead, scaring off predators and they bring food to their incapacitated friend. The eagle is not left alone to die.

The eagle needs help and is provided help by other eagles.They are not only fed but protected from predators.

While an eagle Christian is waiting, other believers God sends to our aid to provide with the food we need to survive.

God has put a hunger within us. He has put a thirst within us. As you hunger and thirst after God, your spiritual eyes will be developed and you will be able to see clearer and deeper into things of God. For every eagle Christian, their main course diet is the Word of God which is alive and full of power.

Paul says in 1 Corin. 10:3-4 – God intended for our inner man to draw strength from His word. Find your source of health and strength from the word of God.

4. During this period of waiting, as the eagle is physically weak, unable to fly, the predators try to attack it. Similarly, with the weak Christians. The devil is on the lookout for weak Christians to steal, kill and destroy. But if the eagle Christian is firmly grounded on Christ the solid rock and if his focus is on the sun of righteousness and if he is in fellowship of believers, seeking strength and vitality from God’s word – nothing can harm him.

5. And one day, new feathers begin to replace the old ones with a shine more brilliant. His beak is now sharpened. Now talons begin to grow. He becomes sharp sighted. His ears begin to clear. And there standing on the same rock is a renewed and dignified eagle. He has exchanged his weaknesses, failures, blindness and deafness for God’s newness and strength.

Psalm103:5 - “Who satisfies your mouth with good things, So that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s”.

He is standing on that rock (the rock Jesus Christ). He continues to focus his eyes on the sun (Son of Righteousness). He attunes his ears to the direction and speed of the wind (Move of the Holy Spirit). And when there is a sudden blowing of the wind (timing of the Holy Spirit) the eagle will give a loud cry, it is the cry of victory as he leaps off and soars with the wind.

Like it happens to the eagle, God makes us go through harsh trials of endurance and change. This is necessary to shape our Christian character and faith. In such time, we need to unite with the Lord by waiting upon Him. This unity renews our strength. We will run and not be weary, walk and not faint.

▪How to wait upon the Lord?

1. Let God be your only hope.

Jesus told the paralytic “Get up, pick up your mat and go home” (Math.9:6). This man had only 2 possessions - the clothes he wore and the mat. In Jesus day paralytic were left to beg in the street. This was their only way of survival. The mat on which this man begged was his only hope. He slept on it, rested on it and watched the world pass by. He was ordered to put away that mat and to put his hope in Jesus.

Jehoshaphat’s prayer (2 Chron.20:12)

O our God, will You not judge them? For we have no power against this great multitude that is coming against us; nor do we know what to do, but our eyes are upon You.” Their eyes were upon God for God was only their hope.

(Have you kept your hope in someone or something other than God?)

2. Be still and alone with God

Psalm 46:10a - Be still, and know that I am God.

Elijah was discouraged and stressed out and he sent his servant away. He walked to a cave in holy mountain Sinai. Obviously God wanted to renew His weak servant’s strength (1 Kings 19:1-9). God stirred up the nature. Yet God wasn’t there in the windstorm, earthquake or fire only in the stillness (1 Kings 19:10-13).

Elijah’s strength to serve God was renewed after his fresh encounter with God. God’s renewing after his fresh encounter with God. God’s renewing grace can be experienced only in isolation and stillness.

3. Submit to God’s sovereignty

Above or superior to all others/ supreme in power, rank or authority – God works in His own time and way (Isaiah55:8-9).

His sovereignty is expressed in our life in the form of His will. He always works all things towards a goal.

Some of us become flightless birds. We can’t take off. We’ve become earth bound. We gobble too much. We lose our vision and our spiritual heights. Our lives are in turbulence.

The very situation that you are facing right now could be a trial of endurance and change. God makes his children to walk through such times because it’s the only way to prepare you to meet God’s plan for your life. To take away what is unnecessary and shape up your character and attitudes.

But God never forsakes or leaves behind His children at these times of correction. He is with you because He wants to renew your strength at the end of the trial period.

Let us learn to wait upon the Lord. Let us spread our wings of faith to rise above the storms. Let us fall in love with Jesus.

May God touch our hearts and minds and may we capture the spirit of the eagle.

Amen.

God bless you all..

Thank you all for following the teaching.