#god but just imagine the flipside of not eating him - you have to make your home with your dad's body decomposing by the shore

[letsfluxshitup]

​Technoblade Learns How To Relax (now on ao3)

Tommy's face became more and more contemplative as he guided Quackity to the ravine dubbed Pogtopia. 

He led him down the winding stairs at a pace that had Quackity fumbling to keep up with. 

On the last step, Quackity stumbled, heading face first into the dirt before an arm caught him around the waist.

"I told you we needed the guard rails." A voice huffed from behind him.

Quackity thrashed violently, whipping around and ending up on the ground anyways, staring up at the Blade himself.

"Oh! Technoblade-- Mr. Blade, sir, I didn't see you there--" Quackity stuttered, scrambling to his feet. He slipped twice on the gravel before Tommy took pity on him and offered him a hand.

Quackity took it, allowing himself to be dragged up before slightly frantically brushing off his jacket. He scrubbed at the mounting flush on his face, refusing to be embarrassed, and waved away Tommy's concern.

Tommy broke the silence, abruptly clearing his throat.

"Right- anyways, I was just showing Big Q around. He’s with us now, you know." Tommy nodded self-assuredly, glancing between Quackity and Techno.

Techno just nodded, making a noise half agreement half dismissive.

"I'll be in the--" Techno started before Tommy interrupted him, fisting a hand in Techno's cape.

"He needs a room to stay in! We don't have enough, we're going to have to share. I was thinking he could stay with Wilbur but he's a little uh..." Tommy trailed off, scratched at his chin before gesturing vaguely. "You know?" 

"I know." Techno sighed, turning to face them. "He can stay with me."

"No that's-- that's not necessary, I can just-- I wouldn't want to inconvenience you--" Quackity started, praying the panic in his tone wasn't too noticeable.

Techno just gave him a leering smile, too much teeth and tusk to be considered anything other than threatening before Tommy smacked him.

"Quit messing with Big Q, he's an ally now, alright?" Tommy said, biting down on a laugh. 

Techno snorted before shoving him in retaliation for the smack and Quackity backed away quickly before he got dragged into the rough-housing.

Finally, Techno ended it, sitting on Tommy's back effectively pinning him to the ground. Tommy flailed wildly before whining out a childish 'uncle', and Techno released him. Tommy got one last jab in before sprinting off deeper into the ravine, laughter echoing off of the walls. 

Quackity wished he hadn't left, the stale air suffocating as Techno eyed him. 

"You like what you see?" Quackity blurted out, before slapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry-- I didn't-- that was an accident I didn't mean to say that, sorry." 

Techno just raised an eyebrow at him, and Quackity just knew he was laughing at him, on the inside at least.

Techno gestured in front of him, a silent request to start walking.

Techno followed close behind, managing to avoid stepping on his heels but still unbearably close. His hand was resting loosely on his sword, did he really expect Quackity to attack him here? In his base, all by himself?

Before he could think more about Techno's paranoid tendencies, like the fact that Techno hadn't turned his back to him once, they stopped at a simple wooden door.

The wood was pockmarked with arrow holes, centering around a makeshift bullseye on the door. Above the bullseye was a crude drawing of Techno, Techno's name carved into the door above it.

"Tommy decorated." Techno deadpanned, gesturing vaguely at the door's decorations. 

Quackity just nodded mutely, following Techno into his room.

The difference between the rest of the ravine and Techno's room was jarring, to say the least.

The floors were meticulously clean, a broom propped up in the corner. 

Everything was shoved to one side, except for the sole bed that was lodged in the far corner, the perfect vantage point to see the door and every part of the room. 

There weren't any nooks or crannies to hide in, everything flush against the wall and on ground level, too short to hide behind.

Every corner of the room was lit up, no shadows to lurk in, no area left in the dark. 

Techno's bed was frameless, mattress box directly on the floor. He wanted to make a teasing remark about being scared of the monsters under your bed but he swallowed it, all the details clicking into place.

Maybe it wasn't monsters but considering everything else, Techno must have considered the space under his bed a security risk. Part of him wanted to poke fun at his paranoia but another part just felt... Sad. 

Did Techno relax? Ever? He couldn't imagine what it must be like, constantly keeping your guard up.

Even now Techno had positioned himself with clear access to the door, and with Quackity at hand’s reach. Well, more accurately, at sword's reach.

Quackity cleared his throat, trying to interrupt the uncomfortable silence they'd settled into. Techno had just quietly watched him look around, and Quackity desperately wished he knew what he was thinking about. His face was as blank and impassive as always.

Finally, Techno spoke.

"Do I need to feed you?" Techno was eyeing him up again, as if he'd be able to tell if he was hungry or not just from looking.

"Uh-- well, I'm a little hungry, but if it's too much trouble don't worry about it, I'll be fine!" Quackity squeaked when Techno abruptly moved forward, hands curling around his shoulders as he nudged him back into a sitting position on a chest.

One of Techno's hands moved from his shoulder to his jaw, forcing his head back slightly.

This was it, Quackity thought, This is where he rips my throat out.

Instead of ripping his throat out, Techno made direct eye contact with him, which was, in Quackity's humble opinion, objectively worse.

Techno broke eye contact first, mouth opening like he was going to say something before his eyes caught on a shallow cut at the base of Quackity's neck.

He'd gotten it on the way to Pogtopia, a skeleton getting a lucky shot on him from the shadows. Thankfully it had barely nicked him, and he hadn't bothered patching it up.

Techno leaned closer to it, forcing Quackity's head farther back, his other hand moving to lightly thumb at it.

Quackity's heart kicked into overdrive, because hey, what the fuck, Technoblade had his sharp ass teeth inches away from his jugular, but he didn't move. 

After another uncomfortably long pause Quackity finally mustered up the courage to speak.

"Am I dying, Doc?" He blurted, twisting his head to try and see Techno's expression.

"Huh? Oh, no. You have a heart shaped mole on your neck." Techno huffed a laugh, warm breath ghosting across his neck and Quackity hadn't realized before how fucking cold it was in the ravine.

Techno moved away after that, and Quackity could breathe easier now that he was less worried about dying. 

Techno still hovered close, though, nearly nose to nose and without thinking Quackity spoke.

"Are we going to kiss?" He mentally slapped himself afterward, but Techno let out a loud snorting laugh as he moved away more. Quackity was slightly proud he'd gotten a genuine laugh from the man but was still absolutely mortified.

As Techno moved away from him to dig in a chest, Quackity mourned the loss of Techno's warmth. He wondered if it had something to do with being half piglin, or if he always naturally ran hot.

Irrationally, Quackity worried that he had a fever, before squashing that down because the piglin theory made a lot more sense than the Great Technoblade catching a cold.

Techno moved around the room quickly, plucking two bowls out of a chest and giving him a look that silently screamed stay there, before he left the room.

He was back minutes later, and he handed Quackity one of the bowls of soup.

Techno plopped on to the floor and without thinking Quackity slipped down to join him. Techno side eyed him, but rested his back against a chest and started eating.

Quackity ate quickly, the food burning his tongue, and if you asked him he'd have no idea what was in it. When he was finished he carefully placed the bowl next to him, and Techno eyed him expectantly.

"More?" Was all he said, and when Quackity shook his head, a muttered no thanks following, Techno shoved bread at him anyways.

"You don't have to eat it now, but it should stay good for a bit. If you want to keep it on you." Techno went back to his soup, expression once again impassive.

Quackity scooped the bread up, tucking it away into one of his bags. He wondered what made Techno give him extra, if worrying about where your next meal would come from was as inherent to him as it was to himself. 

--

Techno lay on his back, eyes closed and breathing even. He doubted Quackity would be able to tell if he was actually awake or not, but he also didn’t have a very good read on Quackity. It was the main reason he’d offered up his room to him, he wasn’t sure what Quackity was capable of so the closer to him the better. 

He didn't know if Quackity could hold his own in a fight, and what if they were invaded in the night? He’d rather be there to protect their weakest link than leave it to the hands of Wilbur or, God forbid, Tommy. Tommy was an adept fighter, sure, but he still hadn’t quite grasped defense over offense, something that would leave Quackity vulnerable.

On the flipside, what if Quackity was a spy? It’d be a lot more difficult to snoop around if Techno was there to watch over him. He was a light sleeper, and his door creaked louder than the others, something he’d never bothered to fix considering it alerted him whenever anyone entered or left. 

Quackity also wasn’t known for being particularly quiet, either. Techno was sure that if anything happened when he was asleep, Quackity’s loud panicking would wake him up instantly.

Speaking of his inability to be quiet, Techno listened to him roll over and shift again, his uncomfortable shuffling capturing Techno’s attention in the relative silence of the room. Techno tilted his head, looking at Quackity. He was curled up on the floor, on a thin mat that Tommy had produced from God knows where. He had the blanket stuffed around himself, shivering slightly. Techno hadn’t realized it had been that cold, his back was pressed against the wall behind him that was unnaturally warm due to the lava pool on the other side of it. 

“Quackity?” Techno said into the quiet of the room, voice hushed.

“Uh, yeah? What’s up?” Quackity’s voice was high pitched, a nervous titter to it. “Was I bothering you? I can leave--”

He’d moved to a sitting position as he spoke, his shoulders tense and looking ready to bolt. 

Techno sighed. Quackity being afraid of him was fun, but also very inconvenient. He gestured at Quackity, beckoning him closer.

Quackity shakily got to his feet, muttering under his breath, this is it, this is the end, this is where he kills me, curse my poor circulation, why do I get cold so easily. 

Quackity stopped next to the bed, and Techno lifted up the blanket with one hand and patted the bed next to him with the other. 

He stared blankly back at him, looking between the spot next to him and his face, expression quizzical. 

“Sleep with me,” Techno huffed, impatient.

“Woah, woah, woah, you seem like a really nice guy but c'mon isn’t this a bit--” Quackity stuttered, looking genuinely surprised and vaguely amused.

At least he doesn’t look afraid, Techno thought absently.

“Not like that. If you’re cold we can share, the bed’s big enough for the both of us.”

Quackity studied him again, rocking back and forth on his heels before letting out a sigh and shrug in the personification of fuck it, and slipping into the bed next to Technoblade.

Techno studied Quackity, frowning before scooting closer.

“Climb over me, the wall gives off heat. You’ll be warmer over there.” 

After a bit of fumbling and a push from Techno that was more of a drag, Quackity ended up on his other side. 

Techno squinted at him again, before dragging Quackity back into his chest. Quackity huffed, offended that Techno could manhandle him so easily. He wasn’t tiny, it was unfair how strong Techno was.  

Techno’s arms wrapped loosely around him, he hooked his head over his shoulder.

“Aw, I didn’t take you as the cuddling type,” Quackity teased, pressing his cold feet against whatever part of Techno they could reach.

Techno huffed again, and Quackity wondered how many emotions he could express with just a huff. 

“It’s not cuddling.” Techno readjusted his arms, absently rubbing warmth back into Quackity’s cold fingers, “It’s a tactical advantage.”

“Oh? Well, sorry to say, buddy, but your tactical advantage is crushing my wings.”

“Wings?” Techno echoed, abruptly pulling away. Quackity’s face scrunched in displeasure at the rush of cold air that met his back as Techno sat up to look down at him.

Quackity sat up too, unzipping his jacket. Techno eyed him warily for a second, before impatiently tugging at his jacket, trying to lean around him to get a look. A wing hit him in the face then, fluttering slightly before folding back against Quackity’s back. Quackity squeaked, looking terrified but desperately trying to hold back laughter.

“You need to groom your wings,” Techno finally said, after Quackity’s laughter faded.

“Hey, hey, you don’t just comment on a man’s wings!” Quackity’s voice pitched upwards, defensive as he crossed his arms and his wings puffed up slightly, only accentuating the issue. They were small, smaller than Philza’s certainly, and Techno doubted that Quackity could actually get any air time from them. 

They were kind of cute though, Techno thought. Objectively, of course.

“What if I spoon you--” Quackity started, only to be cut off by a petulant Technoblade.

“It wasn’t spooning. It was tactical. If someone came in here and saw me, they’d likely leave you alone. I doubt you made any friends when you defected from Manberg, and you’re kind of an easy target.” As if to accentuate his point he gestured vaguely at, well, all of Quackity, and Quackity’s wings puffed out again, expressive now that they weren’t trapped under a jacket.

“I resent that,” Quackity said in response, sticking his tongue out at him. 

“Alrighty, if you want a tactical advantage what if we hit 'em with one of these--” Quackity abruptly flopped across Techno, throwing an arm across his chest. Without thinking Techno’s arm came up, catching him across the throat and shoving him backwards against the wall.

“Sorry-- I didn’t mean that, sorry.” Techno pulled away quickly, straightening Quackity’s shirt and fixing his hair, hands dancing nervously across his chest.

“It’s alright,” Quackity rasped. “You’re a bit jumpy, that’s fine, we can work with that.”

Quackity waved away Techno’s mother henning, before slowly lowering himself against Techno’s side. 

“This alright?” He murmured, moving so he was laying across Techno’s chest, head on his collarbone. 

Techno curled an arm around Quackity’s waist in lieu of a response, careful to avoid his wings.

Quackity opened his mouth to comment on it, but Techno beat him to the punch.

“This isn’t cuddling. It’s a tactical advantage. Now you can’t sneak away without me knowing, how do we know that you aren’t a spy? I don’t know if I can trust you, yet.”

“You don’t trust me, buddy? We’re literally snuggling in your bed.” Quackity snorted.

“It’s not snuggling, it's a--”

“Tactical advantage, right, I know.” 

“Anyways, I know I could take you in a fight. You aren’t a threat to me.” Techno continued, as if Quackity hadn’t said anything. 

“You don’t know that--” Quackity started before Techno moved to make eye contact with him, a single eyebrow raised. “Ok, you’re probably right, but I think I could get, like, one lucky shot in, you know?”

“Sure,” Techno said dismissively, patting Quackity’s hip placatingly. His hand moved to rubbing up and down Quackity’s back and Quackity realized how tired he was. It’d been a long day, with a lot of running and the fighting with Schlatt took a lot out of him. 

Schlatt.

He was sure the man had already forgotten about him, labelled him a traitor and a coward, but Quackity couldn’t stop thinking. He tried to focus on Techno’s steady breathing, to ignore the rising memories from his earlier fight, but it was too much. He finally felt like he could think again, wasn’t panicking or in survival mode. Had he done the right thing? Had he made the right choice? 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a sharp tug to one of his feathers.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Techno murmured, smoothing the ruffled feathers back into place. “I’ll protect you from whatever’s got you all flustered, just go to sleep.”

Quackity huffed, but buried his face into Techno’s neck anyways, curling their legs together.

“Fine. Didn’t realize Grandpa had such an early bedtime,” Quackity mocked, earning him another warning tug on his feathers. He smothered his snort against Techno, before sighing out a quiet good night.

Techno just hummed, eyelids growing heavy, surprised that he was comfortable enough to sleep.

[juststrugglingwithstress]

Siblings in Writing

(edit: this was not supposed to be as mean/angry as it sounded! this is really just one type of sibling relationship, albeit a type of relationship i often see underrepresented in writing. my experiences are not everybody’s experiences, and i’m sorry for the parts of this post that make it sound that way. use whatever kind of sibling relationship you’d like--just make sure your siblings have fought (small or big disagreements) at least once!)

ANGRY INTRO

yall. PLEASE. NOT ALL SIBLINGS CALL EACH OTHER “sissy”, “sis”, OR “bro”.

I DON’T CARE HOW CLOSE THEY ARE. ANY AND EVER SIBLING PAIR HAS FOUGHT. and TWINS?? a lot of twins aren’t as close as you think they are. i know like 3 pairs of twins and usually they are TEARING EACH OTHER’S THROATS OUT.

me and my brother???? we have our nice moments where hes like “hey adele look at this thing i drew, do you like it? i don’t think i did a good job but--”

“i think it’s really cool”

but most of the time???????? he calls me bitch and i insult him TO THE MAX.

PLEASE EVEN IF THE SIBLING PAIR YOU ARE WRITING ABOUT IS CLOSE, THERE IS NO POSSIBLE WAY THEY ARE AS CLOSE AS YOU THINK THEY ARE.

younger siblings do things they would never, ever do with anybody else solely for the purpose of annoying their older sibling. older siblings, at times, will go into homicidal rage.

ALTERNATE GREETINGS:

“what’s up?” “go away” “no”

*silence*

“hey” “hi” *separate ways*

“hey full name other doesn’t usually use” “I literally hate you so much”

older: “NAMEEEEEEE! mom/dad/other wants you!” younger: “fuck off” older: “i’m going to break your nose” younger: “with mom/dad/other standing right there? yeah sure”

younger: “why are you here” older: “cause it’s my room, fuck nugget, get out”

older: “WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU IN MY ROOM” younger: “oof someone had a bad day” older: “IM GOING TO KILL YOU”

“i hate your face” “cool, i have food” “give me some”

“NAMMMMMMEEEEEEE! dinner’s ready!” “yeah yeah okay give me a second i’ll be right down”

“why did you have to come here?” “this is,,,, our house,,,,, that i too live in” “yeah but i was hoping you’d get run over by a bus” “why thank you, i was too”

MORE ABOUT TWINS

i dont care if you want your siblings to be close or whatever, do you know how INFURIATING it is to have a twin????? especially an IDENTICAL ONE???

if you have identical twins, they are going to hate each other’s guts for 3/4s (or more) of the time. having somebody who looks just like you, living in the same house as you, probably going to the same school as you, who has the same birthday as you, and most likely sleeps in/super close to the room you sleep in? actual hell. especially if they have a lot of the same interests/friends as you do. this experience is horror in it’s rawest form. nobody wants this. they want the “close, happy twins who do EVERYTHING together and have since they were born!!!”

IMAGINE A SIBLING RELATIONSHIP, BUT THEY LOOK J U S T  L I K E  Y O U AND ARE A L W A Y S  W I T H  Y O U.

remember what i said about hell?

(possibility: if the one identical twin is better at something or more liked than the other, it fuckin sucks. imagine this experience in the school halls: “eva???? what are you wearing???? oh my god, did your mom mix up your clothes with jasmine’s again? i feel sooo bad for you!!”

“actually this is... jasmine. eva has spanish right now.”

“oh. whatever.”

sucks, right?)

forcing that kind of relationship on your fictional twins is both unrealistic and tbh kind of scary.

now, twins who don’t look the same. everything i just said, but minus the appearance. yeah. i can see the shitshow now!

THE YOUNGER SIBLING DILEMMA

coming from an older sibling, younger siblings are satan.

they will:

annoy the older sibling at all costs

never do anything the older sibling says

“why does SHE/HE/THEY get to be in charge!!!!” whines the sibling who is literally four years younger and still can’t spell phone without replacing the “ph” with “f”

snitchin little bitches

older sibling: *flicks younger lightly on arm* younger sibling, tears of lies and deceit running down their face while they grin, knowing they will be believed: MOOOOOOOM NAME PUNCHED MEEEEEEEEEE

eat all the sweets

then they will blame it on the older sibling

literally, they will blame anything on the older sibling

watches an r-rated move -> name said it was alright!!!! (i most certainly DID NOT)

“MOOOOOOOOOOM NAME ISNT LETTING ME HANG OUT WITH HER FRIEEEEEENDDDDDDSSS” “YOU HAVE COME WITH US 16 TIMES THIS WEEK”

admittedly, they can be cool 1/324532 of the time. make sure to include these cool moments once in a blue moon bc sadly they do happen

POSSIBLY will feel like older gets more attention sometimes

DEFFINETLY feels like the older gets more freedom

OLDER SIBLINGS

i, as an older sibling, am biased. ill do my best tho

insults the younger sibling (SOMETIMES unfairly actually a lot unfairly)

ill add this to younger in a moment but on the flipside the younger sibling probably feels like the OLDER sibling gets more attention instead

takes out problems on sibling/family (to be fair when younger grows up they do this too)

“pshhhhhhhh, TRUST me, you do NOT want a sibling”

*to friend* “i literally hate him/her/them/other so much. i would kill him/her/them/other if i had the chance” “no you wouldn’t” “are you sure”

“nah man, you can’t talk shit about him/her/them/other, only I can talk shit about my sibling” *immediate fist fight/verbal decimation*

if a younger child is talking shit, they will be BLACKLISTED AND DESTROYED. probably more than is fair.

probably has hurt the younger sibling pretty badly at some point, most likely by accident but if it doesnt fit you storyline,,,, i have done despicable things

underestimates their strength when dealing with younger sibling

“WHY WONT YOU JUST FUCKING LISTEN TO ME” “YOURE NOT MOM” “YEAH BUT MOM PUT ME IN CHARGE DIPSHIT”

“i am not his/her/their/other parent, why do i have to do this”

younger sibling, to older: “son of a bitch” “we literally have the same mother”

“I SWEAR TO GOD CAN YOU EVEN DRESS YOURSELF???? CAN YOU???? CAN YOU????????????”

“haha ur scared of the daaaaaarrrrrrrk” older says, as their brain is in a panic about whether or not there’s a serial killer in the dark room waiting to kill them

so yeah. i have so many metas i need to write about so many things

[copias-thrall]

I really liked the Papa III x F! S/o where the s/o was a typical shy and cute introvert, but this huge dork with those closer to her. Would it be alright if I requested the same with our dear Papa Copia (god I’m so happy to call him papa now :) )

Of course, nonny! Let’s get some sweet Papa IV up in here.

(Reference Prompt here. 😊)

Copia notices you because of your quiet nature. There are lots of Siblings that are vying for his attention and favors…and then there you are: sitting quietly during mass and reading the hymn book.

(He doesn’t have to know that you’ve been reading the same page the whole time while you admire him from out of the corner of your eyes.)

Every time he looks out, all he sees is your quiet dignity, and it speaks to him on such a personal level. While he’s grown to enjoy and embrace the showmanship of the Ghost project, he’s not a natural extrovert. So, when he sees you existing in your subdued state, he can’t help but yearn to be right there with you.

He sees you reading your book in the quad on a nice day, and he immediately pictures himself with his head in your lap as you read to him. When he spies you daydreaming in the library, he imagines what it would be like to play footsie with you under the table. As he comes across you sweeping the halls with your headphones on, he pictures giving you a homemade mixtape to listen to while you work.

Really, he wants to worm his way into the rich inner life he knows you must have.

He never does anything about it, though—in his mind you’ve been perfectly clear about your indifference to him. And he’d rather not stammer through an invitation that you’re only going to reject.

The mess hall is always a sticking point for Copia. He loves the attention—he does; it amuses him to watch the Siblings fight over who acquires his meal and who gets sits next to him. He’s still a man with an ego, and he likes it to be stroked.

But.

Some days, the whole scene just gives him a headache. On days just after an important sermon, or when he’s just back from tour, or when he’s spent the morning on a stack of paper Imperator has given him, “ASAP now, please, Papa”—it’s simply too much for him to have to be On for his admirers.

On those days, he has his Ghouls create a distraction (and Dew is always more than happy to set a fire) so that he can get in and get out with no one noticing. Then, he tries to find a quiet, out of the way place to eat his food in peace.

And that’s how he encounters you cavorting about with your friends.

You're out on the grounds because it's a fine spring day, and he can't believe that his this reserved, demure Sister is running about and chasing her fellow sister with a worm! You're laughing—not a coy titter, but a full belly laugh after you make a ribald joke about Imperator and a Brother!

Copia gapes.

You have a secret side that only your intimates know about? Well! It’s a circle he desperately wants to be a part of! (Even if he’s contractually not allowed to jest about the Seestor.) 

He imagines your laugh ringing out in his quarters as you let his babies crawl all over you (someone who doesn’t mind worms surely wouldn’t mind rats, yes?), and how you'd make him laugh with your uncouth humor. He can almost taste the domesticity.

But…he decides to stay out of sight—he doesn't want to ruin the party (which he’s sadly come to realize that, as Papa, he does quite often just by virtue of his presence)—and that’s when he realizes he actually has a hope.

You’re lying back in the grass, watching the clouds roll by, and you say,

“Hey, that one looks like a rat,” to which your friend responds, “That’s just cuz you have Popia on the brain.”

“I do not!”

“You think he’s gOrGeOUs, you want to KisS him, you want hUG him,” he singsongs.

“Shut it!” you screech as your face flushes and you throw a balled up napkin at him. 

He blocks it easily, and you lie back down with a huff.

“Whatever. He doesn’t even know I’m alive.”

Embarrassingly, the conversation shifts to how you’ve done it to yourself and if you’d just look at Copia instead of doing your best impression of a church mouse, that would be a good start.

Your face burns the whole time. I mean, having his intense focus just on you? 

You shudder. 

Surely you’d combust.

Copia bites his fist.

He could…? Have you??

***

Perhaps any of the other Papas would have been on you like white on rice…but research has always been more Copia’s thing.

Which means he spends the next few weeks slinking about like a bad spy (seriously—he might as well have on Groucho Marx glasses) trying to figure out what all your favs and interests are. 

And the Siblings are beginning to talk about it.

“He was behind a column, and I thought he was a statue,” hisses one. “He moved, and it scared the crap out of me!”

“I saw him petting the potted plants in the west corridor like a weirdo,” whispers another. “I hope Primo doesn’t hear about it!”

“I went into the broom closet to get cleaning supplies, and when I pulled the light on, he was just…standing there!” laughs someone else. “I was too surprised to be startled. He just coughed and excused himself!”

The only weird thing to you is that you seem to be the only Sibling who hasn’t witnessed Copia being adorable odd.

You often sit by that pillar to read when it’s chilly outside, and that area in the west corridor is where you sweep. Heaven!—that broom closet is next to the wash station you use! How haven’t you seen him even once?

Dew thinks this is great fun. He’s been suggesting even more ridiculous schemes (that Swiss and he giggle about back in the Ghoul dorms) for Copia to “overhear” you and your party—which Copia is taking down in earnest.

Aether thinks Copia’s being a dumbass and guesses he and the girls will have to fix this mess. Cirrus thinks Copia just needs to learn the hard way (“He’s taking advice from Dew—how does he not know better?!”), but Cumulus agrees. The two of them coral Copia into the practice space where they firmly, but gently, tell him to stop pussyfooting around and just kiss the girl already!

Copia stutters out a series of awkward rat noises before simply nodding.

“I have been procrastinating, eh?”

“You can do it, Boss.”

“Who’s the best Papa!”

Copia straightens his posture. “I am.”

***

You’re staring out the window in the classroom—woolgathering instead of dusting—when you hear a quiet throat clear behind you. You nearly jump out of your skin and hurriedly turn to make your excuses.

What you’re expecting is Sister Imperator on one of her shadow runs—but what you see is a one (1) Papa in his casual blacks (that still seem vacuum-sealed onto him) looking at you with eyes full of mirth.

It’s with great effort that you yank your eyes from his thighs up to his face.

“Oh! Your Dark Excellency, sir! I-I-I…” you stutter before composing yourself. “If you need the room…?”

A smirk turns up one side of his lips as his white eye twinkles at you.

“It is you I wish to be seeing.”

You toss the duster to the side and smooth down your habit.

“M-me?”

“Sí.”

Did you do something wrong??

You worry nervously at the sides of your habit.

“I—” Copia starts, then suddenly looks unsure. He runs his hands over his head, smoothing his thick hair back into place.

He starts again, his speech clipped and formal.

“Would you do me the honor, Sister, of joining me for dinner?”

 “I—dinner?” Like a staff dinner? Or...?

Copia blinks at you.

“I am asking you on a date.”

You blink right back.

Just you and him? Alone… 

His face turns into lines of apprehension.

“Mi scusi—perhaps I am mistaken.”

He starts to back away, and you finally find your voice.

“Wait!”

When he stops, you gulp and take a deep breath.

“I would like that, Your Dark Excellency.”

A look of relief smooths his worried expression right before he smiles at you.

“Ah…‘Papa’ is fine, Sister.”

He takes his leave of you, closing the door behind him.

You manage to hold yourself together for another moment before you let out a loud whoop and jump up and down (and unbeknownst to you, Copia is standing just outside the door, beaming).

***

Dinner went over smashingly (literally—between the nervous energy of two of you, a plate, a goblet, and a wine bottle all ended up in pieces). Copia was the perfect mix between awkward rat man and smooth Papa, and you felt comfortable enough to engage easily in conversation with him. 

You’d been a little trepidatious about after dinner (Copia certainly had not absented himself from the pleasures afforded to a Papa), but the only thing you’d done in his quarters was to meet his rats.

He’d walked you back to your room, then asked if he could kiss you. It was just a press of his lips to yours as he’d cupped your cheek, but it had felt like a promise.

The two of you end up making a perfect couple, actually. Copia, of course, respects your quiet demeanor, but it’s more than that—he understands it. The only time he singles you out is when you need to be his date to a clergy function or Abbey party—and he always gives you forewarnings for those!

On the flipside, you and he have the high capacity to be total dorks. The two of you feed off each other's humor, often being the only two in the room cracking up as you wheeze half-uttered statements at each other while the rest of the gathered looks on with pained expressions.

But neither of you care. 

You finally have your Papa, and he’s made all of his imaginings with you a reality. 

[reyescarlos]

all through the night || a tarlos fic

❄️ @911giftexchange fic for @buckieys ❄️

happy holidays, sy! i'm wishing you a wonderful and prosperous new year. i hope this fic helps to usher in 2021 right!

word count: 5.2k || read on ao3

All through the night I'll be awake and I'll be with you All through the night This precious time when time is new

When Carlos envisioned winter in New York, his elaborate fantasies had somehow managed to eclipse the reality of what it might actually entail. He had enjoyed his brief stay, taking in the window displays along Fifth Avenue. It had long since been something he wanted to see for himself and the storefronts had more than delivered. But on the flipside of such a picturesque scene has come the downside of what heavy amounts of snow could mean.

It’s why he finds himself now planted in a too hard seat at JFK Airport, wondering how he’ll possibly fill his time now that his flight has been delayed until morning. Outside the blizzard rages on with no real end in sight and Carlos mulls over the merits of his decision to leave Texas in the New Year and make this city his home. This is a far cry from Austin. He’d once thought winter temperatures there could be bad but it’s been nothing compared to the arctic blast in the North.

He tries to keep busy with a book but his attention is split between the words before him and the cute guy across from him frantically digging inside his backpack, a phone teetering dangerously on his knee.

“God, where is that stupid thing,” the man mumbles to himself. “Come on charger, where are you?”

Carlos looks away, burying his head in his book to hide the smile that breaks out on his face. The guy is obviously peeved but Carlos can’t help but to find his muttering endearing. After another moment of fruitless searching on the stranger’s end, Carlos takes mercy on him.

“Here, you can borrow mine,” he says, unzipping his own backpack and fishing out his charger.

The man sighs in relief. “Thank you. I really appreciate it,” he replies, reaching over and taking the cord from Carlos.

He settles back and plugs it into the wall, the screen lighting up a moment later. Carlos smiles politely and gets back to reading, only to be interrupted.

“So, I take it you’re heading down to visit family before the new year comes, huh?” the stranger says.

Carlos looks up from his book, head tilting slightly. It hadn’t been expecting the man to strike up a conversation.

“Sorry, awkward small talk. I’ll let you get back to it,” he says, face scrunching as he gestures to the book in Carlos’ hands.

Carlos waves him off, bookmarking his page and closing it.

“No worries. We’re here all night so...plenty of time for that.” He licks his lips and drums his fingers against the front. “To answer your question though, no. Austin is actually my home so I’m just heading back.”

“Oh, cool. I’m going to see my dad. I thought he’d want to do the whole white Christmas, New York for the New Year thing but ever since he moved down to Austin last year, I think he’s gotten spoiled by the warmer weather.”

The man looks out of the window where the snow is swirling so heavily it’s hard to even see the sky or planes sitting idly on the tarmac.

“Guess I can’t exactly blame him.”

Carlos laughs. “It’s disgustingly cold here and all of that,” he says, gesturing to the storm, “doesn’t help. I don’t know how you guys manage.”

“You get used to it. I’ve only ever grown up with it so while I like to complain about the snow at times, I can’t picture this time of year without it. It’s been a few years since it’s been this bad though, I’ll admit.”

Carlos smiles a bit, looking out of the window briefly. “This is actually my first time experiencing snow. And the city was gracious enough to give me a blizzard to commemorate.”

The man smiles at this thoughtfully. He sits up, stretching his hand out across the aisle towards Carlos.

“I’m TK, by the way.”

Carlos touches his fingertips to his forehead before shaking TK’s hand.

“God, my mother would be so ashamed of my manners right now,” he laughs. “I’m Carlos. It’s nice to meet you.”

He lets go, his palm feeling extremely warm from TK’s touch. TK smiles at him, a slow grin that ultimately reveals his teeth. This man is very good looking, there’s no denying that. He’s got an easy way about him that makes Carlos feel comfortable in his presence as if they’re old friends catching up and not perfectly good strangers meeting for the first time.

TK’s phone buzzes, stealing his attention and Carlos is all too grateful for it. TK types something on the device for a few seconds before pausing.

“Sorry, excuse me for a second,” he says, putting his phone to his ear.

Carlos nods and gestures for him to go for it.

“Hey, Dad. I—,” TK starts out but stops short as his father speaks. “I bet it’s all over the news but I’m alright. Not looking forward to being stuck here overnight but,” he continues, his eyes landing on Carlos and away so quickly Carlos is sure he’s imagined it. “I guess there are worse ways to be trapped for a few hours.”

Carlos looks away then, cracking open his book again to keep himself occupied while TK chats with his father. He tries not to dwell heavily on TK’s look or what the implications of that glance could mean. It could’ve been a coincidence and nothing more. All the same, it doesn’t make his heart race any less to think that TK feels a spark too.

TK ends the call with a sigh, stretching out his legs before bouncing one of them. The gesture is distracting but endearing. For the second time, Carlos closes his book, this time putting it back into his bag for good as TK speaks to him again.

“Are you hungry? I could go for a bite.”

“I could eat,” Carlos says. He rises from his seat as TK does, both men dragging their carry-ons along with them.

They follow the winding path down from their gate, Carlos taking notice of all the fellow flyers now forced to wait out the storm. Some have taken to stretching out on the ground, laying on top of jackets like makeshift sleeping bags, others keeping busy with phones and tablets, hunched over in chairs.

Carlos isn’t looking forward to the uncomfortable sleep he’ll have tonight but as he looks over at TK, he wonders just how much rest he’ll actually manage to get. The guy is already proving himself to be a good way to pass the time and Carlos can’t say he wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to keep chatting with him.

As they approach the cluster of food stands, TK groans and it’s easy to see why. Many of the shops are already closed, no doubt the employees hurrying home before the worst of the storm kicked in. All that’s available now is Cinnabon but Carlos supposes that can suffice as dinner.

TK orders a hot chocolate and a classic roll while Carlos opts for a cold brew in addition to a roll as well. TK eyes the drink with raised brows.

“I’m fully committing to the cause of being awake until we board, apparently,” Carlos muses, pushing his straw through the lid and taking a sip. “Worth it.”

The two head to a nearby empty table, settling into their elevated seats before unloading their food. The scent coming off the baked goods is incredible and Carlos’ stomach suddenly feels desperate for a bite.

“So, Carlos, since we’ve nominated each other for the buddy system while we wait this storm out,” he jokes, “Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”

Carlos drums his fingers on the tabletop as he tries to decide what to share.

“Well, you already know that Austin is where I’m from but the whole reason I’m even here now is because I’m going to be moving to New York soon. I’ll be transferring next month.”

TK’s brows raise. “Seriously? That’s awesome. Do you mind if I ask what you do?”

“I’m a police officer. I’ve been with the Austin Police Department for a few years but I’ve been considering leaving Texas for a little while now and I’ve been exploring my options. For some reason my mind kept coming back to the idea of New York and I figured I should just take the chance and see what happens.”

TK laughs and shakes his head. “Oh man, well, we have something in common, more or less. I’m with the NYFD myself.”

Carlos holds up a hand. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re a firefighter?” he laughs.

TK puffs out his chest jokingly and nods with a grin on his face. “That’s right. Ladder 252.”

Carlos does his best to push the image of TK in uniform from mind but the picture is an appealing one. He can see it so clearly, the way he’d look in suspenders, not to mention full gear. It’s almost unfair just how much hotter the man becomes as if Carlos hasn’t spent this whole time finding him attractive. He picks up his drink again for something to do with his hands, swirling the straw inside of the cup.

“Small world. Outside of my own little bubble, I can’t say I casually meet many people who are first responders. We seem to be a pretty special breed to get into this line of work.”

TK laughs. “I fell into this because of my dad. He’s been a firefighter for years. He, uh, actually was on site during 9/11. I always thought he was incredible but knowing the full scope of what he and so many others did that day and for people in times of crisis, big and small in general, it just made me want to be like him.”

Carlos frowns, unsure of what to even say or think. “Your dad’s a hero.”

“I like to think so.” TK draws in a breath, squaring his shoulders. “Anyway, now he’s kicking ass down in Texas so, even though I miss him as my captain, I know he’s doing great work with his crew down there.”

Curiosity gets the better of Carlos as he asks, “What station is he with?”

“The 126,” TK replies, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

Carlos’ eyes widen. “Captain Owen Strand is your father?”

It makes sense the longer he looks at TK. Captain Strand is an attractive older guy and TK clearly got handed some solid genes. Still, it throws him for a loop to realize they have a legitimate connection to each other.

TK tilts his head to the side. “You know him? Shit, okay, wow, small world just got a whole hell of a lot smaller.”

“Unbelievable,” Carlos laughs in disbelief. “I don’t know him that well but we work together sometimes on calls. He’s amazing in the field and he’s really turned that station around.”

TK practically beams. “Guess this means we’ll be seeing each other again soon once we finally make it to Austin then.”

“Uh, yeah. I guess so. Assuming you don’t get sick of me before this night is through, that is.”

TK holds Carlos’ gaze for a moment and if it were anyone else, it would be unnerving but something in TK’s stare just sends a thrill through Carlos, excites him in a way no stranger has ever really gotten under his skin.

“I don’t see that happening,” he says plainly, as if this is an irrefutable fact and not something that’s truly subject to change.

Carlos doesn’t argue the point. He merely enjoys the next few hours, seeing just how easily TK’s theory pans out.

~*~*~

The contrast in weather between New York and Austin is one of the first things Carlos’ remarks on as he steps outside of Austin-Bergstrom. He’s never been more grateful for a forty degree afternoon. He’s kept Michelle updated about his new set time and he waits patiently outside of arrivals. Beside him now, TK types out a message on his phone before smiling over at him.

Carlos has had hours to get used to that look on TK’s face and yet he’s still brought up short. Last night and the early morning hours were spent talking to TK about everything imaginable, trading stories about crazy calls they’ve been on and even touching on personal things like their families. When they grew tired of talking, they watched movies on TK’s laptop, fighting off the urge to sleep for the mere sake of hanging out.

It isn’t rare for Carlos to become friendly with a person but this connection to TK feels different in a way he can’t quite parse.

By the time their flight boarded, Carlos knocked out for the entire length of the trip but it had been worth it in his eyes to stay up and take advantage of the uninterrupted time that stretched before him with TK. It was safe to say a bit of a crush had formed, as absurd as Carlos felt for it. TK was going to be in town for the next few days and that prospect was both thrilling and terrifying. If he could feel this close to TK in one night, there’s no telling what could happen in a few days.

Before he can get lost in that thought, Carlos sees Michelle as she pulls up to the curb, the trunk popping open.

“Are you good out here?”

“My dad’s coming in just a minute. I’ll be just fine,” TK muses as Carlos puts his carry-on inside and slams the trunk shut.

“Alright, well. You have my number now so text me whenever you’re free. I’ll show you a few places while you’re here.”

Carlos extends his hand but TK rolls his eyes jokingly and pulls him into a half hug instead.

“We’ve spent the night together, Carlos. I think we’re past handshakes now.”

Carlos’ face burns with TK’s wording but the man merely laughs.

“See you soon?”

Carlos just nods and finds the wherewithal to get inside of Michelle’s car. He waves after he buckles himself in, TK lifting a hand in response.

“Okay, who is that?” Michelle asks immediately, head turned to take in the sight of TK.

Carlos tips his head back against the seat. “You won’t believe the night I’ve had.”

~*~*~

Carlos has spent two days showing TK some of his favorite stomping grounds. TK relished in all that Austin had to offer and Carlos has been happy to see that their closeness from the unexpected overnight at the airport hadn’t been a fluke. If anything, these outings have only made Carlos feel closer to TK.

Michelle has been relentless in her teasing, finding it all too amusing that Carlos managed to cross paths with Captain Strand’s son of all people. She’d clung to his every word during the ride home from the airport as he filled her in on how he waited out the storm.

The 126 meets at their usual bar and Carlos is glad for this post-work gathering. It’s the perfect time to show TK what a real honky-tonk is like, further immersing him in the culture of the state his father now resides.

TK sits next to him at the table, the large group so packed in that his leg presses against Carlos’. It’s light but it’s enough to make the point of contact all Carlos can focus on even as everyone else at the table engages in conversations that overlap, laughing amongst themselves. He does his best to ignore it but it’s difficult not to take notice of each shift TK makes. Michelle keeps looking at him and Carlos, to the best of his abilities, avoids her gaze knowing that it’ll make it just that much more difficult to act as if he isn’t freaking out internally.

“I’m gonna get another. You want anything?” Carlos asks TK.

TK shakes his head. “No, I’m alright but thank you though.”

Carlos nods once and gets up, finding it much easier to breathe already now that he’s no longer sitting beside TK. Michelle catches his eye as he leaves from the table and he can hear her shoes as she follows behind him to the bar. She rests against the counter facing the room at large as Carlos gets the attention of the bartender and asks for another beer.

“You sure know how to pick them,” Michelle laughs at his side.

“Chelle,” he groans, shaking his head.

She merely laughs again, bumping her hip against his. “When did your life become a romantic comedy?”

“I must’ve missed the memo myself because this sure snuck up on me.”

The bartender sets a bottle down in front of him but Carlos doesn’t move. This little reprieve away from everyone but Michelle right now is welcome.

“I like him. He’s nice. Really cute too.”

“Oh, so you’ve noticed?” he deadpans, looking over his shoulder at TK.

He looks so at home here, hanging out and laughing with these people he’s, up until now, only known secondhand from his father’s work stories. TK is personable as ever, Carlos knows all too well. Had he not been swept away after one night in the man’s company?

“I think this is so great.”

“Funny, I think it’s the universe trying to mess with me.”

Michelle scoffs, finally turning to face the bar like him. “There are worse things in the world than a seemingly perfect guy practically falling into your lap. We should all be so lucky.”

Carlos casts the mental image aside, taking a sip of his drink. “The timing though. I can’t think about guys right now. I need to be figuring out my next set of moves for New York.”

“If those plans just so happen to include an attractive new friend…,” she trails off with a grin.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to screw this up because yeah, he is a new friend and we get along well, it’s a good feeling.”

“Do you like him?”

Carlos falters. “I barely even know the guy.”

“That’s not even remotely close to what I asked you.”

Carlos scratches at his forehead before letting out a sigh. “I do. Which hardly makes any sense at all. It’s only been a few days and yet I can’t stop thinking about him. That’s strange, isn’t it?”

Michelle shakes her head. “No, actually. I don’t think so. You guys had such a cute introduction to each other and you clearly hit it off. Some people just click and are meant to meet. The fact that you two had a connection to each other beforehand without even knowing it? I think there’s something to be said for that.”

“What, you think it’s fate or something?”

Michelle shrugs. “I wouldn’t rule it out. Your flight could have been a day earlier or even a few hours before his. On a plane filled with hundreds, you connected with him, Captain Strand’s son who just so happens to live in the city you’re about to move to. I think it’s worth seeing just how far it could go. If you ask me, you’ll wind up with a boyfriend in no time.”

Carlos mulls it over for a moment. He can admit he is in fact curious. It’s been a while since he’s felt this drawn to someone and with TK, it’s been as natural as breathing since they first met. The timing is less than ideal but it’s been so long since Carlos has felt this urge to get close to someone, since he’s felt safe enough to even open his mind and heart up to the possibility.

“Maybe you’re onto something.”

“One of these days you’ll learn to just accept my brilliance, no questions asked. But this will do for now.”

Carlos rolls his eyes but drapes an arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side and kissing her temple.

“I’m going moments like this with you,” he says.

Michelle sighs and pats his back. “I will too but we still have time on the clock, right? Let’s not think about that now.”

Carlos sighs, knowing she’s right. It just feels as if these moments are slipping through his fingers, the new year and all its changes lurking just around the corner.

~*~*~

As customary, the Ryder house is the staple for parties among the team and New Year’s Eve is no different. Carlos has lost track of how many times he’s sat on their couch or been treated for Grace’s incredible home-cooking. It’s always been a source of comfort for him, being surrounded by these colleagues who have become an extended family to him.

This time next year, he’ll be in another time zone, familiarized with a new group of people. Carlos knows he’s jumping the gun. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll be able to visit back home and that this collection of people will still love him as they do now.

Carlos looks around the living room, taking stock: Marjan blowing into a noise maker in Mateo’s face and bursting into laughter, Paul shaking his head and dropping his face into his palm. Over by the kitchen he sees Grace and Judd swaying to the music playing as Captain Strand takes Michelle’s hand and begins dancing alongside the other couple. It warms Carlos’ heart and breaks it too, seeing this all for what will be the last time with this city being home.

Suddenly the room feels too small and he finds himself heading for the door, grabbing his jacket off of the coat rack. It’s cold out but Carlos remembers just how bitter the weather in New York was. This is nothing compared to that. And it’s this thought that twists at his heart a bit more, one more reminder of how much his life is set to change sooner than he thinks he’s ready for.

The new year is biting at his heels and time is just slipping by. Logically he knows that he shouldn’t be outside now, that he would be wise to savor these memories with his Austin crew while they’re here rather than lament later. But it all feels like too much and the last thing he wants is to let his pensive mood be a dark cloud over a celebratory and joyous time.

Carlos keeps walking until he reaches the park nearby the Ryder household. Naturally it’s abandoned as everyone is tucked away inside their homes either enjoying a quiet night in or throwing parties like the Ryders. Carlos draws in a breath and takes a seat on one of the swings, his fingers clutching on to the links. He quickly stands up the second he hears footsteps approaching, a figure walking towards him.

“It’s just me,” comes TK’s voice and sure enough the man’s features come into focus the closer he gets until he’s settling into the swing beside Carlos.

“I saw you take off. I just wanted to check that you were okay.”

Carlos smiles a bit. “I appreciate it. I’m okay. I’m just...thinking about a lot right now.”

TK sways on his swing, letting a comfortable silence fall between them before he speaks.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Carlos’ heart and thoughts feel so heavy now, such a contrast to how lighthearted and hopeful this holiday is meant to be. But TK looks at him with such genuine care that he finds himself almost desperate to unburden himself a bit.

“Sometimes I wish I could just stop time, you know? But hell, it’s New Year’s Eve. What more proof do I need that life is always moving forward?”

Carlos sighs and rocks slightly back and forth.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a downer. You should head on back inside, have fun with the others.”

TK is silent beside him, long enough for Carlos to pull his gaze toward the other man. TK is eyeing him thoughtfully.

“You’re scared about what comes next. That’s totally normal. Moving away, starting a new life somewhere else, it’s a big step. A huge change.”

Carlos frowns as he nods. “I wish I could see the end, you know? I wish I could see if it’s all worth it, that I’m making the right choice.”

TK hums in thought. “Well, the best way out is through, right?”

“So you don’t think it’s a mistake to move out to New York?”

TK shrugs. “I don’t know you well enough to say one way or the other for sure. But no, I don’t think it is. I think the fact that you’re even considering it at all should tell you something about how you feel about where you are now.”

Carlos grows quiet, considering the man’s words. But TK isn’t done dishing out his opinion.

“You’ve got an amazing team here, there’s no denying that. It’s a real family, not to mention your actual family is here too. But—and mind you I’m super biased here— New York is an amazing place to be, to live. If you’re feeling restless in Austin, I think New York is the perfect alternative.”

Carlos laughs at this. “So, so biased,” he muses.

TK jokingly puffs up his chest. “Hey, it’s not my fault people have written songs about it and flock to it from all corners of the world,” he jokes. “And all of them, like you would, find home.”

A soft sigh escapes Carlos’ lips as he grips the chain link of the swing.

“That does actually sound pretty nice. I’d miss everyone here like crazy but maybe it’s time for something new? I don’t know. I keep waiting for something extraordinary to happen but nothing ever really changes around here. And there’s nothing wrong with that, of course. I just—“

“You’ve outgrown it,” TK says simply. “And there’s nothing wrong with that either.”

Carlos smiles at him and nods. “I suppose not, no.”

“At least you’ll come to the city knowing someone; you won’t be alone or completely starting from scratch.”

“You? You would take that on?”

TK rolls his eyes. “Of course me. You think I’d leave you high and dry? Damn, I know New Yorkers have a bit of a rep but jeez,” he teases.

Carlos laughs. “I only meant...you barely even know me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe so but I’d like to get to know you better. And if we’re gonna be calling the same city home, it’s kind of perfect. You get a new job, a new city, a new friend. Pretty sweet package, if you ask me.”

“You’ll be my tour guide then? You can take me to all the hot spots, Central Park and Times Square for starters.”

TK shakes his head in dismay. “God, Times Square,” he groans. “Hell on earth but sure, just for you I’d make the exception.”

“I’m honored,” Carlos says, placing a hand over his heart.

“As you should be. There aren’t many reasons I’d willingly go there so you should be patting yourself on the back right now.”

Carlos raises a brow. “But you’re thinking I’d be worth it?”

TK’s face grows serious. “In a lot of ways I’m thinking you would be, yes.”

Carlos' face flushes a bit and he looks away, down at his feet as he begins to kick out in earnest to start swinging.

Not for the first time since meeting TK he isn’t sure if there’s more to his words just below the surface, if he’s flirting or just being naturally charismatic. It shouldn’t matter either way, Carlos tells himself. Starting up a new relationship when so much in his life is already about to change doesn’t seem smart.

And yet it’s difficult to bear that in mind when he looks over and sees that TK is still watching him. The man smiles softly and follows Carlos' lead, swinging a bit.

In the distance Carlos can hear the rise in voices from houses where everyone is celebrating, just waiting to usher in the new year.

“One minute to go,” TK says, looking at the time on his watch and digging his feet into the ground to stop himself.

Carlos keeps going, breathing in the last dregs of this year before it’s gone with the tick of the clock. He looks up at the pinpricks of stars above, almost glistening in the clear sky. He closes his eyes, soaks in the moment, the last few seconds of this year winding down.

The New Years party goers can be heard shouting their countdown and beside him, TK joins in quietly as well.

10

9

8

7

Carlos opens his eyes once more and holds his breath as he upward, counting down the last few seconds in his head. This year is going, going...

3

2

1

Gone.

He exhales as shouts from the neighboring houses rent the air. He stops swinging then, digging his feet into the hard earth beneath him as he looks over at TK. Beside him the man’s face is flushed, the tip of his nose pink from the cold but his gaze is unrelenting as he leans forward.

Carlos’ body seems to move on its own accord, closing the distance between them as well. He doesn’t think about anything other than what TK’s lips will feel like and before he realizes it, he’s getting his answer.

It’s a chaste kiss, truly just a meeting of mouths in a gentle press but it warms Carlos from the center all the way through his entire body. TK’s lips are soft and warm despite the cold.

“Happy New Year, Carlos,” TK says softly.

Carlos doesn’t have the slightest clue of what the road ahead will look like exactly but it’s enough to know that in some capacity, TK is going to be a part of it. Be it as a friend or something more, it makes Carlos hopeful to see how life will unfold, what other surprises it may have in store.

Carlos stares at him for a moment and it seems as if TK and the whole world is holding its breath as they sit in silence together. This feeling in his chest is so unlike anything Carlos has experienced before. He likes to think things through, to anticipate at least three steps ahead but his future is such a blank slate that it’s truly anyone’s guess as to what will happen next. All he can do is control this present moment and as Carlos sees it, kissing TK is the only thing on his agenda for right now.

He leans in again and kisses the man once more, deeply this time, hand cradling the back of TK’s neck.

Maybe this is risky, maybe this will only complicate his life further when he settles in New York and has to figure out what this all means. But in this moment, that all feels like a lifetime away, a page from a chapter that hasn’t been written yet. There’s only the here and now with this beautiful man that fills him with possibilities.

[overdrivels]

TWtaH Notes

I’m finally free. It took three years and nearly 150k words, but I’m finally done. I can’t believe it. 

It started off as a simple idea and a simple premise: a chef!reader who, while knife sharpening, catches Hanzo’s attention. It then evolved into a full-fledged fic with a plot and plot twists. Originally, it was supposed to be around 10 chapters long, but then it grew out of control over the years as I tried to figure out how to end what I started. 

In addition to being a redemption fic, this was also an information dump fic. Since this is the very first slowburn I have ever finished and I have the feeling I won’t have much opportunity to do the same ever again--I don’t think any other fandom would give me the ability to showcase all these tidbits like Overwatch does--I literally threw as much knowledge as I could reasonably incorporate as possible.

About plot changes:

Most of the original plot points survived the writing process, some minor ones didn’t for plot related reasons, so this surprisingly went better than I thought it would. 

There was supposed to be another scene where Chef faced off against Reaper in chapter 20 or so, but upon reassessing Reaper’s character, I decided he wouldn’t do that, especially not against civilians or put himself in harm’s way just to say something to Chef. He wouldn’t even say anything to his family in the comics, what makes anyone think he’d do anything to someone he had even less of a personal relationship with?

There were supposed to be more scenes about Chef’s fencing, but I couldn’t fit it in and it ended up being a one-trick pony plot device. It wasn’t supposed to be that way, but that’s how it turned out. There was supposed to be a scene where Chef fights back against Talon during their infiltration of the Watchpoint.

There were points where Hanzo himself talked his way out of situations and forced me to change the plot. In the kitchen when he first meets Chef face-to-face, he wasn’t supposed to get the chef to forgive him which is the biggest plot deviation I’ve had and it forced me to reconsider large sections of the story. Honestly, I think it’s for the better though because I was really at a loss as to how to progress the original plot under those conditions.

I also wanted to emphasize that when Chef left, there was increased tension between the members. There was little commonality joining them all together except for the fact they all needed to eat. In order for some parties to work, you have to have your support characters, and in that case, it’d be Chef. But I seem to have bumbled through that bit and made it less impactful so if I ever got a chance to rewrite this, I’d probably stress this bit more.

Symmetra was supposed to have a much bigger role in this, somehow she fell to the wayside with that one plot change in the kitchen I mentioned before. On the flipside, Ana and McCree got a way bigger role than expected. 

One of the biggest plot changes was Hanzo hating peppers. Originally he was supposed to hate onions but I thought there was way too much onion in Japanese cuisine to omit them, so I thought of something that would seem more ‘childish’.

To be fair, I also don’t really like peppers all that much either. But I sure as hell love onions.

The proposal with the miso soup at the end, the plot twist where the chefs are the real treasure, and some other minor details have been there since the beginning of the idea’s conception. Things like Reaper trading Overwatch’s life for the tamale, the name of the restaurant, and Hanzo’s fight with Genji only came after the fic was being written. 

Real life:

Covid really took its toll on me since a lot of this fic revolved around food, tasting it, experiencing it, making it, etc. I lost a good portion of my taste and smell, and it’s not back 100% even months later, so a lot of what I begin to describe after a certain point is just based on memory. If a pre-pandemic world, I would have been running around the city, sampling foods and writing down my impressions, but with things as they were, it didn’t pan out that way.

I tried to stuff as many of my favorite foods (and not so favorite foods) here as much as possible. There were a lot of foods I omitted because there’s only so much I could fit in here. A companion compilation fic of the Overwatch characters eating their favorite foods or just eating food in general made by Chef sounds really appealing right now.

May, June, and July made me really want to expand the story and include things in the fic that would turn it ‘problematic’ or at least morally ambiguous. If I did that, this fic would never be finished. 

Characterization and development:

Junkrat and Roadhog are much more docile in this story than I would have headcanoned them simply because food security is life-changing. I really liked the idea of Roadhog using his farming skills and being less homicidal with the right environment. They both know food is sacred. 

Argus 20 is in reference to Argus Panoptes, the all-seeing many eyed giant from greek mythology. The 20 comes from “hindsight is 20-20” (but now 2020 has a very different connotation and I’m thinking it’s pretty fitting). The reason for this is because she oversaw a lot of what was happening especially in the front of house. It’s not mentioned in the story, but she oversaw things like purchasing the restaurant, setting up the dummy accounts, organizing and obfuscating the donations, etc.

In case there was any confusion, ‘Tanuja Deshmukh Singh’ is Asim’s deadname. When he left Overwatch and became Asim Singh, his family disowned him. He was then free to live as himself, but he never discarded his last name because he still wanted to be connected to his family in some vague way no matter how much they disliked or denied his existence.

Head Chef Richard has been in jail. His backstory is basically after firing his staff to protect them from the fall out, he basically told the press he fired them for insubordination and took the fall for the kitchens and got quietly arrested. He was sent to the same prison that Chef would end up at. He’s not a very honest man, I don’t think, but he’s a character who was molded by the story and its needs rather than being a pre-established OC. 

I kind of wanted to write the fic in a way where Argus and Asim weren’t bad guys but people who were forced to make difficult decisions because of the position they were put in by Chef and by Talon. Cause, you know, sometimes you do things to hurt people without realizing it.

I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to push another ship in the background. If you see hints of different pairings here and there, you may be seeing it right because I kept flip-flopping between chapters as to whether I wanted to or not, and if I decided I did, I kept changing the pairings.

Hanzo. Where do I even start with this guy? I had a really tough time trying to stick to one interpretation of his character. I kept reading other fics and going, “Yeah. Yeah! I want that!” But then it just became a huge mish-mash of characterizations until I wasn’t sure who he was anymore. But I clung onto the thought of “he’s the first son of an Asian household dealing with his spoiled brother” to help get me through it. It reminds me of that tweet that goes, “You think you can hurt me? I’m the eldest daughter in an asian family.” It was so relatable. Channeling eldest sibling in asian family vibes. 

Chef. It was so hard. It was so damn hard writing a faceless character for so many words. I can usually do it in a one-shot because I can get away with not mentioning stuff, but in a slowburn?? It’s so difficult. Multiple times I had to stop myself or revise things because there were characters talking about Chef and I didn’t want to make the dialogue unnatural by saying ‘chef’ ‘chef’ over and over again. There were other moments like Soldier carrying Chef out of the Cellar and I was like: “What if the reader is taller than Soldier?!” It was a struggle. The other struggle was characterization. There were so many in-story stressful moments that I wanted Chef to start crying at but the timing of it was so frequent that I had to nix most of them or risk making Chef unrelatable. 

lol i’ve made several pseudo-cameos in the story because I’m shameless. 

Miscellaneous:

Man, my style changed so many times throughout the story. At some point I ended up writing outlines made solely of dialogue and wrote the story around it. It was oddly distressing when I realized my words wouldn’t come out like they used to.  

This fic has seen me through a ridiculous amount of crap. I kind of wished I kept a journal or something because these past three years have been nuts. 

After this, I’ll probably retire from writing Overwatch and then go into my usual writing hibernation that spans about 4 years before I reemerge with an unquenchable thirst for something stupid. 

In my nearly 20 years of writing fanfic, this is the first slowburn I’ve ever completed. To be fair, the last time I even tried was like...over 10 years ago when mediaminer was still a thing and didn’t ban CYOAs.

This was also the longest single fic I’ve ever written. I have wirtten 200k in a year before but never for any single thing.

God, this was hard. I partially did it to prove that you don’t need to use placeholders like ‘Y/N’ and stuff like that and it was possible to write a slowburn with gender neutral stuff, but I had to cheat a bit. But it’s done. 

I’ve worked in the restaurant business for a few years but not as a chef. It wasn’t even high-end either. I wanted to talk about the work conditions because it’s pretty tough in the kitchens and the amount of drugs and vices people turn to and the conditions in which people come to work is nuts. 

I wanted to cover a lot of controversial topics to see if I could but it just didn’t fit in the story. I wanted to tap into things like social justice, racism, prejudices, political landscapes, and so on. Even within Overwatch, I’d imagine there’s a lot of tensions stemming from just basic ideologies. I wanted to see if I could write about both (or more) sides of challenging arguments and still remove the author’s opinions from the story, but I’d imagine that’ll bring its own complications. Last thing I wanted was to start a fight in the comments or something.

I almost made the crew travel to Asia with implications of a changed geo-political sphere from today. Like...the status of Taiwan would’ve been interesting to touch upon, but I didn’t feel like I had the knowledge to expand on it enough.

Almost every waking of my life, I have thought or worked on this fic. During meetings, during conferences, during client calls, while I’m on public transportation, in different countries. I don’t know what to do with myself now.

Anyway, if you have any questions or anything or just want to shout at me, inbox is open.. For now I’m just going to lament over the fact that Genshin Impact gives me motion sickness and I can’t play despite working so hard to roll Mona.

[apricops]

top five esoteric peter moore songs please

Half of these are on here because I think they’re actually clever and poignant and half of them are just on here because they’re hilarious to describe.

5. “A Cell for Salieri,” in which Peter Moore plays a fetus that doesn’t want to be pushed out into the world (I think).

Nine months afloat in a well Never seen much past the shell Never known heaven from hell Got rid of my tail halfway through

Nothing to worry my head Never’s a word never said Never know living from dead And hopeful that I never do

Safe and sound I’ll stay here I’ll hunker down Safe inside a cell

4. “The Living Room,” in which Peter Moore plays a US nationalist chud watching war coverage on TV news, living his petty fantasies vicariously through imperialist war. The line between the TV screen and his living room window start to blur, seeing “the terrorists” as both far away and right outside his room, and it ends with him sending his son off to war to further his fantasies. Parts of it are a bit on the nose, granted, but "just keep the sound of the mortar fire far from us” is such a killer opener. The fusion of heavy NIN-style industrial music with the sitar(?) emphasizes the disconnect of the protagonist.

I wish those assholes across the sea take Bob White hostage I wish those assholes on my TV take Bob White hostage Instead of people, good people, like me, good people

They’ll never take me, never let those assholes me They’ll never take me, long as I let you take my Charlie My Charlie boy, oh take good care of my boy Charlie, he’s a good kid, he’ll help you keep the trouble distant. But from the windows here in my room, just let me watch. In peace, inside my room, just let me watch. In one piece, in one piece, in peace.

3. “Cure of a Kiss,” in which Peter Moore plays a fairy tale princess who is glumly getting drunk with other fairy tale princesses after they missed their chance to kiss the frog and turn him back into a prince. The music snaps between relatively sparse guitar-and-drums inside the protagonist’s head, heavy electric guitar riffs when she drunkenly rants, and a floating xylophone(?) during the chorus as she imagines what could have been, playing with the disconnect between the happy ending and the roomful of runners-up.

Til two hours later we’re converted, convinced We’ve survived this cycle some sixty-six times since And each time we hanker for that first wave of bliss That rush, that sui generis, that primal pure kiss... ...but in the end, we just lose hope in hope itself, meanwhile Beauty’s gone to bathe in the pond she’s wading shoulder-deep in the mist Flirting with a frog on a frond, He’s waited all his life just for this, Waited for the wave of a wand, Waited for the cure of a kiss.

2. “Schizoid Astroplane,” in which Peter Moore plays the role of an alien who has just landed on earth and is attempting to introduce himself but can’t stop accidentally speaking in sexually aggressive double entendres. The vocals lurch around, making it feel “translated” and emphasizing the gap between the alien’s intended meaning and how he’s received.

Hey, girl! Your backyard’s tight, As runways go But I landed fine, allow me to introduce myself, I’m from that star there Don’t go callin’ the police Don’t shriek and run and hide I only come in peace Inviting you insi-i-i-ide My Schizoid Astroplane

1. “Holy Cow,” in which Peter Moore plays the role of a red-meat-loving racist who is unspeakably pissed off at a Hindu for refusing to eat beef. A significant number of people took the song on its face and assumed the band was a bunch of bigots despite the drummer being South Asian.

Well you believe it’s bad voodoo To even think to chew On the flesh of bovine Hey to us it tastes fine But it’s god to you!

Honorable mentions:

“Moon 69,” in which Peter Moore plays America gloating about the moon landing

Bailey tossed a rope around, now NASA reels it in But old folks say they staged it on a backlot of MGM Move over Mr. President, no more ticker-tape for you These boys been lunar after all, man, that golf ball really flew

“Cry for Sugar,” the flipside of Schizoid Astroplane, in which an alien arrives on earth and is immediately sexually assaulted.

See, every flick of his wrists was just a cry for sugar, and every lick of his lips meant “my throat is dry!” And every tic of his eye meant “Heavens help me!” And in an ice cream van they made our space-man cry.

“Mamther,” in which the lyrics are all just sounds that Peter Moore likes to make with his mouth.

[spirit-of-the-void]

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader) Chapter 4

Author’s notes: You guys are great, thanks as always for the support. A word of warning, this chapter has scenes with anxiety and panic. So if you have issues reading such things, there’s some caution there.

Chapter 4

You made it to the warehouse without incident, Griffon perched and ready on your shoulders and V walking in step with you as you went. The building had long been cleared out, dust settling on the floors and a set of doors broken off its hinges. You realized with some surprise that it was getting a lot cooler outside now that night was falling, probably due to it being the earlier days of summer. It was probably around sixty degrees when your group made it in, searching for a good place to sit and rest your weary bones. You leaned against a pillar as V sent Shadow to search around, eyes wandering over to abandoned crates and pallets left behind. Luckily, there were none of those husk-corpses in here—you appreciated that. They were far too macabre for you to sit and sleep next to.  

You closed your eyes as you waited, passing the seconds by humming a light tune. You could feel V’s gaze on you occasionally—you didn’t have to look at him to tell he was still worried. He kept tapping his cane lightly, sometimes in rhythm with the song you hummed. Griffon was sitting on V’s shoulders now, keeping an eye on you regardless. You felt bad, he was supposed to look after his master and was spending more time worrying about you. Although V didn’t seem to mind, or at least he hadn’t said anything yet about it. You hoped it wasn’t secretly bothering him, or at least you hoped that if it was, he’d say something and it could be worked through.

Regardless, Shadow came back moments later, announcing its presence with a low growl and a flick of its tail. V stood up from the pallets he found for you and he to sit on, holding out a hand to help you up again. Gratefully, you accepted it when lightheadedness hit you again. You would have summoned food to help, but that expended more energy. You would just have to rest and wait again, spend some time under the moon and recharge. The energy of the Void came back fairly quick, but after extending like you had your body had to repair some of the damage. You felt kind of bad, like you were holding back the group in some way. Mind you, the plan had already been to rest for the night, but you didn't like worrying others.  

Shadow lead your group into what looked to be an abandoned office of sorts. There was a desk with a long-forgotten laptop, a personal cot on the far side, half facing the door with two tables on their side.  There also seemed to be a mini fridge and what looked to be a coffee and snack station next to a utility closet. Much to your relief, there were a few candy bars and other things left behind to eat if hungry. As you sat down at the desk, V tested the light switch, letting out a soft noise of surprise when the lights still turned on. How this place still had power, you would never know—if you put any thought in you would have reasoned that there may have been backup generators or a remaining power grid still working somewhere. Instead, you tiredly laid your head on your arms, releasing a sigh now that you no longer had to stand.

Griffon landed on the desk next to your head, letting out a low snicker as you slowly looked at him, “Ohh you’re looking like shit there, Girlie. Didn’t your daddy ever tell you to stretch before working out?”

You let out a low, neutral hum, tapping your fingers on the desk as you replied, “I don’t remember my parents, so let’s go with no.” Not a lie. After selling your soul, a lot of your old memories were taken to help you cope with trauma. You only got back random bits and pieces at intervals undecided by you. The Deity only let you remember what he felt was appropriate at any given moment. Honestly, it didn't bother you. Making new memories along the way, looking forward and not back. At least...that’s what you were trying to do.

Griffon let out a low whistle, fluttering his tail as he tilted his head at you, “Shit, you may be more depressing than Shakespeare over there, toots. Got any more skeletons in the closet? Ever kill a guy? Witness murder? Were you left on a doorstep at a ripe age of a day old?”

You rose a single brow, saying in an amused tone, “You’ve got quite the imagination on you, Griffon.”

He snickered lightly, which made you smile a bit through the exhaustion. You liked the banter you and the bird could share, now at least where it was on friendly terms. You thought you saw V smirk as well in his pursuit to get the utility closet open, seeming to grow ever so slightly frustrated. You watched with quiet interest as he gestured to Shadow, the creature extending a single spike forward to break the lock. You giggled a bit, looking away before he could see you entering your final level of tired. Which happened to be insanity. You were getting tired to the point you were getting giggly, pressing your face into your arms with a low groan at yourself. Sleep was definitely a need now, but you were trying to will yourself to eat first.

Then there was the sleeping situation. There was a single cot in this room with one pillow. The idea of snuggling up to V after hanging out with him for a half a day wasn't the worst idea, but you didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. Intimacy with people you barely knew was kind of strange. And no matter how you tried to slice it, laying on a cot that small with a lanky man would be very up close and personal for knowing him for half a day. But there was that annoying, touch-starved part of your brain, aching for contact of any sort. You were pretty sure that wasn’t a good thing, considering your impulse control being what it was—mind you, your brain knew well enough not to touch people without permission.  

You were more so afraid of bursting into tears or something over small things. Or laughing fits.

“You should eat something,” V’s voice pulled you out of your musings, making your shoulders jerk as you looked up at him. He was still smiling, eyes dark in the dimly lit room as he tossed what looked to be a peanut bar at you, “You need to regain your strength in whatever way you can, right?”

You felt like he was mocking your food quotes from earlier. You frowned, eyeing the generic bar of food with skeptical eyes, “You should practice what you preach, pretty boy.”

Humoring you, he plucked another bar from the tray of snacks. Like a good boy.

Brow raised, he very obediently took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. You fought another laugh that threatened to burst out, opening your own snack with a shake of your head. You hoped he knew you were going to eat no matter what, but you were glad he was at least complying with your demands and eating himself. You looked at Griffon apologetically as you chewed the sweet and salty treat, realizing for the time being you couldn’t conjure up any snacks for him and Shadow. Did they need to eat, or was it just for the sake of enjoying food? You were pretty unsure on that, but you reminded yourself to ask at another time that wasn't then.  

You saw Shadow come out of the closet with a spare pillow in its mouth, staring at you with glowing red eyes. You let out a sigh of relief, finishing the food quickly. A pillow was definitely good enough for you—You had slept on the floor before. You were starting to feel less fatigued already, but you were still so tired that you were sure as soon as your head hit that pillow you would be dead to the world. On the flipside, you were sad this room had everything but a god damn shower. That’s what you were aching for the most, the feeling of hot water and good shampoo. Especially considering fighting left you feeling a little grimy and gross.

Giving Griffon’s beak a little pat, you stood up from the chair, stretching as far as your body would allow. The food was definitely helping, but sleep was a definite need. The dizziness was now gone, but the feeling of being stretched too thin was not. Some sleep would definitely help with that.

But much to your surprise, V was already taking the pillow from Shadow, putting it on the cot next to the already present one. You blinked, rubbing some of the tiredness from your eyes as he sat on the simple bed, removing his sandals. You felt some strange surprise upon seeing him remove the things—for some reason you expected them to keep his shoes on. Even more weird, seeing his feet without them felt very scandalous. Further proof you were losing your mind.  

“V,” You yawned, deciding to go with the flow and sitting on the other side of the cot to remove your own shoes, “Why do you wear sandals?”

He seemed amused by the question, tilting his head back to level his jade eyes at you as he replied, “Is that your foot fetish speaking?”

You huffed at that, crossing your arms over your chest, “It was a hand fetish, get it right.”  

“Ah yes, a hand fetish,” He chuckled at your response, lifting a hand so he could wiggle his fingers a bit. The action sent his ring glinting in the low light, seeming almost mesmerizing in your tired state, “And I apologize—I don’t wear the sandals for any particular reason.”

You let out a low, tired hum, pulling off a combat boot and tossing it to the other side of the room unceremoniously. You would keep the thigh highs on at least, since they covered your feet and kept them warm. Then again, you had slept in those boots before too.

“Do my questions bother you?” You asked, yawning again as you again debated where to finally lie yourself down. You’d spoon with the goth if he was cool with it, but guessing by Griffon’s taunts and jibes there would be no chance of not being made fun of the next day. Speaking of the bird, he was watching you both from across the room, eyes ever intent and filled with mirth. Like he was watching a play and the climax was about to unfold. You tried not to focus on him, instead waiting for V to answer your question.  

“I don’t believe I said that,” V replied in a low murmur, almost sultry, leaning back on his side and facing the door in one fluid motion, “More questions can be asked...tomorrow. For now, you can use some rest.”  

Your mind went racing at the implications of his actions, but out of your mouth came, “Aww no sweet poetry to help me slumber? No bed time stories?”You didn’t actual want either of those things, but your brain was trying to come up something witty to say.

He let out another low chuckle, hand sliding off the cot to pick his book off the floor, "Lie down and maybe we can compromise." His tone was so soft and lilting, coaxing and suggestive at the same time. How were you supposed to ignore a request like that?

His wiry frame took up exactly half of the cot, feet hanging off the edge slightly. His pretty black hair sure was a stark contrast to the pillow, and something about the sight of it sent your heart racing like a caged bird. You were a complete idiot, an easily excitable idiot. You didn’t want to make anything uncomfortable, but V seemed fine with the situation--either that or he was oblivious to it. You found yourself smiling, deciding to just go with the flow. Both of you seemed to be way to stubborn to ask the other about the sleeping situation, and if he was fine by it then so were you. The idea of him reading sweet poetry while you both shared a bed...maybe that was your true kink.

Willing your heartbeat to slow, you stretched once more, leaning to the side so your head hit the pillow of the cot. A sigh left you as soon as your face touched the cool fabric, tired body fully relieved now that you were horizontal. The energy of the Void settled to a low rumble, body instinctively curling up a bit as you wrapped your arms under the pillow. Thus, began recovery time, which you were desperately trying to focus on. That was short lived, considering any movement lead you to touching the goth behind you. Your back aligned with V’s as soon as you did, you immediately taking a deep breath to stop yourself from jerking away in surprise. Focus on sleep now, focus on feeling nervous at another time.  

You thought you head V let out a slow breath, his back relaxing ever so slightly against yours as the quiet seconds began to tick by. He flipped to a page in his book, a low hum coming from his mouth as he decided on what to read.  

When he spoke, his voice was soft and sultry, soothing to you in small space.  

“Oft when the summer sleeps among the trees,

Whispering faint murmurs to the scanty breeze,  

I walk the village round; if at her side  

A youth doth walk in stolen joy and pride—”

You recognized this poem. It was the same one he was speaking when you first saw him earlier in the day. It also ignited an older memory in you, one that made your body relax gently and eyes close. A memory of the sun flitting though bright green tree branches, of flower petals falling from blooming buds. Of laughter, the only laughter you could remember from that time. Sleep was already gripping you, heavy and heady as the Void’s embrace. Still V continued to quietly read, voice melodic and smooth.

“I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe,  

That made my love so high and me so low.”

You thought you heard Griffon chuckle very quietly, settling himself on the desk to rest for the night. The soft padding of Shadow’s feet followed, stopping near the door. You were sure if you looked, you’d see the big cat curled up to make sure no one and nothing came through. The guard for the night, one you were sure no one would mess with. In that moment you felt very safe and content, toes curling into the cot and letting the sleep V was bringing  slowly starting to take you over.

But as you fell asleep, your subconscious mind realized so many things. Things you were sure you’d feel things about upon waking, if you could remember them.

Had you put any thought into it, you would have realized V made sure earlier to put himself in harm's way to protect you.  

“O should she e'er prove false, his limbs I'd tear—”

Had you put thought into it, you would have realized he tried to put himself before you so you wouldn’t have to take the brunt of hitting the ground.  

“And throw all pity on the burning air—”

You would have realized he put himself on that side of the cot so he was facing the door—insuring that if anything burst through the door to attack, he’d get hit first, and not you.

“I'd curse bright fortune for my mixed lot—”

Had you put any thought into it, you would have realized he was just as lonely, touch-starved, and tired as you.

“And then I'd die in peace, and be forgot.”

But instead, sleep claimed you.

(V’s POV)

When he finished the final line of his poem, he could tell you were already asleep.  

Your breathing was slow and even behind him, shoulders brushing his with each breath. He turned slightly to look at you, making sure not to jostle the cot too much. You made very little sound during sleep, pale blonde hair spilling over the pillow in a sharp contrast to the black of his own. Like Ivory over ebony. V released a breath, closing the book quietly and setting it on the floor next to the cot. He found himself oddly content, and he couldn’t quite place why. He had known you for half a day, hours at most. Yet you already felt like you belonged to their little group, like a missing puzzle piece he wasn’t aware was missing. He pressed a hand to his head, thoughts drifting as he went over all that had happened.

For once in the past month, he had felt...relieved. Energized. Like he was...complete. Whenever you shared your energy with him, it removed so many layers of pain. He could never bring himself to ask you for it, especially after knowing you for such a short time. But you seemed happy, downright eager to help, to relieve his pain, to worry about him. No one had done that for him before, not in any of his memories.

The image of you, smiling and saying you would look out for him, left a hollow feeling in his chest. He closed his eyes, the realization of how much he craved in reality a heavy burden. The years of neglect had caught up with him, and even he wasn’t aware of the extent until now. No one ever worried if he was in pain, fatigued, or unhappy before. He was unsure how to handle it, what to do or say. Even before you shared your energy, there was something about you that made him feel incredibly light—you brought an optimism to an otherwise dismal situation, one he had been content with dealing with alone...until now.

Yet there was an uncertainty there. Until that moment, he had been driven in his task. Focused, yearning for the deed to be done. You, in just a day, made him forget for brief moments what he was meant to do. His focus waned, his inner torment forgotten in brief spurts of laughter, sometimes joy. The task still remained despite the small moments of peace; he knew that without doubt. The levity remained, and that was always important. But...how was he supposed to react when being around you made him feel...

He couldn’t think about that. But was he not allowed to find happiness wherever he could get it? He squeezed a hand to his chest at the thought, hating himself and all the thought implied. To do what he wished and still remain on the task...It didn’t just involve him anymore, not just his happiness. And that wasn’t fair.

He wasn’t sure what to do.

As if sensing his thoughts, Griffon let out a low snicker, causing V to open his eyes once more.

“Ohhh but you’ve got it bad too, dontcha lover boy?” He mused, sounding absolutely delighted, “You two have spent less than a day together, mere fucking hours, and look at how bad you are. Honestly what am I going to do with you?”

V tilted his gaze, a half smile on his lips as he replied, “You’re very presumptuous, Griffon.” He was, unfortunately, right about V. But as for you...he shouldn’t assume your kindness translated into attraction. And neither should V.

Griffon scoffed, shaking out his feathers as he flung back, “Don’t give me that bullshit, V. I know you too well, remember that,” He pointed a talon at your sleeping figure, eyes glinting the light in the room as he purred smugly, “You’re like a little boy with his first crush. Didn’t take you for the hopeless romantic type.”

“Griffon.” V’s voice held slight warning, eyes narrowing a bit on the bird.

“Loosen the jock strap, lover boy,” Griffon snickered, “Just pointing out the obvious. Why not go for it? Trust me my special eyes see all, I'd definitely be your wing man.” He let out a low chortle at his own joke, one that made V internally sigh.  

“You know why.” V replied simply, not elaborating or explaining. He didn’t have to—Griffon knew damn well what he meant.  

That made the bird pause, a few blessedly quiet moments ticking by while he thought over what V said.

“Well shit, if it's meant to happen it’ll happen, right?” Griffon finally spoke, voice very matter-of-fact, “Fate and all that sappy shit. No use fighting it, or avoiding it. That garbage just makes it worse.”

V let out a quiet laugh, determined not to wake you.

“Why, Griffon,” He said in mock surprised, “I didn’t take you for a believer of fate.”

The bird responded with a mere snort, head rolling back a little bit as he huffed, “Not really, but I do believe in humans and their stupid fucking chemistry. And hormones. If your bits are compatible with her bits then there’s no use running from—”

“Griffon.” V’s tone implied violence if the demon didn’t end that line of thought where it started. He definitely couldn’t think about that in that moment.

Griffon let out an amused hum, eyes practically twinkling with delight.

“Are you blushing, Shakespeare? I think you are,” He immediately backed down when V raised his book threateningly, with intent to throw, “Alright alright, jeez. Don’t get your panties in a twist there. I’m just spitting the truth at you, mister poet."

V closed his eyes again, trying to focus on sleep as he replied, “Our only truth is the task at hand, and the burden of completing it.” His thoughts could wait, the wondering could wait. In a way, what Griffon spoke was true. If things were meant to happen, they would—he knew there was no fighting that. That aching sense of grief he carried wouldn’t go away, like he was mourning something already that he hadn’t yet lost. He focused on the sound of you breathing again, trying to align his own breaths with yours. Griffon let out another low chuckle, almost akin to a sigh, and reached out with a claw to turn off the lights. Now in the dark and calm, V tried to will himself into a peaceful sleep, despite knowing he hadn’t had one in a long, long time.

And for once, he just might get one.

(Your POV)

“Pain is a reminder, one you should heed.”

Agony filled your lungs, filling you to the brim. You writhed, breathing glass shards that ripped apart your throat all the way down your chest. Your screaming made no sound, hands clawing at nothingness. Everything was nothingness. Your eyes saw the dark, skin so cold and body so numb. And yet you still felt pain, you felt it everywhere. You drifted in a sea of burning sand, and the sand was eating you alive. You hadn’t felt this pain a single day in your mortal life, not this physically. But somehow, this pain was welcome. Stripping away your torment, your memories, replacing it with fire and ash. And the cold, so very cold.  

His hands held your face, though you couldn’t see him. His breath smelled of the dark, of all the icy nothingness. You could feel it from everywhere. His nails dug into your skin, but his voice was so gentle.  

“Little sparrow, destined to sample the fruits of happiness,” He whispered in your ears, inside your head, your soul, “And to never be full of them.”

They took your happiness. It never stayed. It was always taken away.

You screamed silently again when the burn flared more, razing you to ash. Surely you were burning, this cold fire was burning you. You felt his hands on your neck, on your legs, on your arms. Each part of you touched was another part scorched. Razors cutting out from your own skin, yet you felt no blood. Your bones never broke, but throbbed with agony. You couldn’t remember anymore, didn’t want to remember anymore.

“Pain is a reminder that you are alive,” He whispered again, voice all that reached you in the sea of torment, “A reminder of the gift I have given you.”

You thrashed in his hands, wailing with fear and grief. Grief that had no weight, no meaning, no purpose. You couldn’t remember what you were mourning, but that grief was there. You wanted to be a clean slate. You decided on this pain, it was yours to keep—the truth, and an escape from that mortal pain.

This was your choice.

After all choices had been taken from you.

His lips brushed your ear, whispering those forsaken words to you, “You are overflowing with emotions in a glass too full.”

Were you? You could hardly remember anymore, couldn’t remember feeling pain twice as much, the loss twice as much, the ache twice as much.

“To fix you, I will remove your excess, and make the glass bigger.”

If your fate was only ever taste happiness, then have it snatched away, you would go kicking and screaming into the night. You accepted the pain and the burn, hands curling into fists as you let yourself submit. You were a mold meant to be shaped, a blank canvas to be painted on, a lost soul to be saved. A soul to be sold, damned in servitude for a taste of some ironic freedom from fate.

Eyes wide and staring, crying tears that refused to be shed, you stared into the Void.

And it stared back.

You awoke from your dream with a heavy gasp, one you immediately stifled with your own hands.

Your breaths were heaving in panic, eyes wide and searching the dark room as you sat up from the cot. It was still night. It was the same room you fell asleep in. You were safe.  

You desperately tried to will your breaths to slow, hands shaking as you brought them down from your mouth. The panic had begun to make them go numb, prickling like needles were gently piercing your skin. You had to calm down, it was just a dream. A long, broken memory from the past—something worth forgetting. You leaned forward and rested your head in your hands, wishing you knew what time it was in the night at the very least. A brief glance at V confirmed he was still asleep, and you thanked god for that at least. You tried to focus on grounding yourself in reality again, counting breaths, griping the cot so hard it hurt. Pain would remind you that you were awake.  

Pain is a reminder that you are alive.

You squeezed your eyes shut, desperate not to cry because you knew once it started you wouldn’t be able to stop. It had been a while since you had a dream like that, since you relived that memory. Of when you died, and were found in the Void. When he chose you, and gave you the gift of his “Blessing.” That was such a long time ago, something you were determined to bury and move on from. But it always returned, and always when you least expected it. Sending you spiraling back into vulnerability, into panic and anxiety. It was not welcome.

It was never welcome. But it always reminded you.

As you sat and tried to calm the racing panic, you heard the soft, familiar pap of footsteps. Shadow, you realized right away. You heard them approaching you, then saw their glowing eyes and pelt a moment later. You held your shaking hands in your lap, trying to calm yourself as they watched you with unblinking eyes and tail swishing back and forth. Barely visible in the dark, but you could see it. You couldn't focus on them in that moment, with each passing second the panic from your dream threatened to come back. You closed your eyes again, feeling tears burn and threatening to spill. You couldn’t cry, you refused. A sob was stuck in your throat, clawing for release, but you couldn’t wake up V. You wanted him to think you were strong. You wanted to be useful to him. Your nails dug into your wrist so hard you were sure you bled, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

Pain is a reminder.  

Just as you were afraid of breaking down, on the very cusp of bursting into tears, something surprised you.  

You heard the soft footfalls of Shadow drawing closer again, and a second later felt their breath on your fingers. Your eyes opened, a couple stray tears tracking down your cheeks as you met Shadow's gaze, the mighty beast letting out a soft noise at you as it leaned its head forward and let it plop softly onto your lap.  

You felt your breath catch in surprise, shaking hands stopping in their pursuit to hurt yourself and instead gently cupping the cat’s head, stroking over the soft feeling of its fur and ears. Shadow released a low huff, closing its eyes as you found your comfort in that moment. The feeling of its fur, the warmth it gave, and the solidity of its weight on your lap was enough to slowly start grounding you in reality. A soft smile formed on your lips, eyes have closed as you stroked Shadow’s snout to their ears, finding that satisfaction you had been craving all day with the cat. Strangely enough, you were glad they caved now, in this moment, right when you needed it most. A little joy, a little victory, made real and easy to cherish. Your heart rate began to slow, pain in your chest easing, and the shaking in your hands finally ceasing entirely.

As soon as the shaking left, Shadow began to purr. A low, deep rumble of sound as the cat rubbed its mighty head into your hands. You could have almost cried of happiness then, scratching both sides of its head and letting out a pleased sigh. This was a perfect way to forget, to remind you of what moment you were in. With Shadow’s help, the lingering dream settled to a dull roar, mind trying to focus on the soft feeling of Shadow’s fur.  

You heard the soft flap of wings a second later, the bed shifting slightly when the bird landed to your left. He was more visible in the dark, glowing with a light blue along his wings and beak. His eyes landed on you as well, voice uncharacteristically quiet in the small space, a welcome thing in that moment of vulnerability. You felt bad though—you hoped you hadn’t woken him up.

“You okay, girlie?” He whispered, tapping your shoulder with his beak.

You nodded at his question, continuing to stroke the panther’s head resting in your lap. Griffon’s concern was welcoming, and only sought to warm you further from the cold of the Void.

“I’m okay,” “You whispered back, quickly looking behind you to confirm V was still asleep. He looked...peaceful. And soft. Lips slightly parted, hair draping over his face and usual smiling expression gone. Replaced with a gentle expression of rest. You looked away before you lost yourself, letting out a slow, relieved breath as you continued, “It was a nightmare. That’s all.”

You were okay. You had to be. You had to be strong.

You heard Griffon shuffle closer, letting out a very quiet trill as he looked at Shadow indulging themselves quietly.

“Look who’s finally turned around,” He snickered, earning him a grunt from the mighty beast, “About time. And don’t mind Shakespeare, toots. He’s sleeping like the dead, probably ‘cause the dumb bastard never actually takes consistent, normal rests.”

You found yourself smiling in the dark at Griffon’s mocking. Somehow, it was just as comforting as Shadow’s purring.  

“I'm glad he’s resting,” You murmured, “He deserves rest.”

“So do you, girlie,” Griffon countered, leaning down and resting his head on your arm, “Go back to sleep. Don’t be a dumbass like the poet, I can’t deal with two dumbasses.”

You shook your head, but still yawned despite your best efforts. You were fucking exhausted; you couldn’t deny that. But you were scared of going back to sleep, scared of dreaming like that again. Although, in your experience, those things never happened in twos—you didn’t want to take that chance. Still, you could feel the exhaustion still there, your energy only half replenished by your short rest. If you stayed up, you’d be tired when you needed to be focused the next day. You couldn’t risk that either. Fear and necessity were splitting you in two, and you hated that quite a bit.

Griffon seemed to sense your racing thoughts, letting out an exasperated sigh as he shook out his feathers.

“How about this, toots?” He said in a tone that implied annoyance, but without any heat, “Me and the overgrown house cat will stay with you, how about that?”

You found yourself smiling again despite yourself, continuing to stroke Shadow's fur with both hands.

“This cot is pretty small,” Your voice sounded tiny, vulnerable. There was no hiding how much you actually wanted that to happen when you were that god damn obvious, “We can��t wake up V.”

Griffon scoffed, nudging your elbow with his beak, "We'll make it work. Now lie your ass down before I start squawking up and storm and purposely wake pretty boy up, see what he says.”

You couldn’t really argue with a threat like that, letting out a light sigh.  

Carefully, as not to jostle the cot, you lied back down, resting your head on the cool pillow. Shadow immediately huffed, hoping up on the bed right between your legs. You curled up a leg, letting the mighty cat rest its front half there on your thigh as the other half of its body curled around your feet and V’s. Its head snuffed in between your arms, beginning to purr again when you cradled them to your chest. They rolled onto their back a bit, paws curled against their chest akin to a normal house cat. They were so soft, so warm, and so very welcome. Sure, the bed was cramped, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Griffon contented himself with curling up on the pillow over your head. Beak resting by your face, tail wrapping around the top of V’s head. He let out a quiet, exasperated huff, wings tucked comfortably against his side as he watched you close your eyes, comfortable and contented. Your touch-starved, affection craving body had never been so relieved. The big cat cradled against your front, V back to back with you, and Griffon tucked against your head. If you thought you felt safe before, you felt downright invincible now. Protected, for once in your life, and happy enough that sleep could start to claim you again. V breathing behind you, Griffon above you, and Shadow purring below made a comforting chorus for your ears, washing away any traces of that dream and forcing restfulness.

As your concentration drifted again, you thought you heard Griffon sigh happily, mumbling without any anger.

“What am I gonna do with you two idiots?”

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18136193/chapters/42910745

Tagged: @silentwhispofhope @just-call-me-no-name @nightshadow4713 @slightlylunatic @efiicitia

[whipplefilter]

fanfic: An Adventure in Hyper-Local Food with Exotic Charm

Summary: Lightning finally breaks bread with his mishpocheh. Takes place Thanksgiving 2009. Harv POV.

(MY MAN HAAAAARV!!! 😘 😘 😘)

He cuts Chip off, as usual.

"Yo, I'm out--got a thing. Couple hours, though, and I'll meet all of you at Sandy's, okay?" Harv jabs at the elevator switch impatiently. "I'm about to go get in an elevator, man; Bluetooth's probably gonna cut out. No, it's not a woman! Jesus H Christ, You think I'd go on a date and then make plans with you schmucks? Harv don't play ball just to get to first base!"

He watches the floor indicators light up as the elevator makes its ascent to Harv's penthouse garage. Real freaking slowly. It started from B2, which freaking figures. "Yeah, happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Chip. It's not my mother. You think I'd take my mother to a nice dinner and then skulk off to Sandy's? What kind of hellhole did you crawl out of? I don't disrespect my mother like that. I'm having dinner with Lightning McQu-- Oh, go screw yourself, Chip. Choke on a lugnut."

Harv rolls into his elevator. Chip's still talking.

Harv sighs. "No, I don't think Lightning McQueen wants to join us at Sandy's, Chip. Chip--"

Harv sighs again. "Chip, he's dating a lawyer. So imma say it again: I don't think Lightning McQueen wants to join us at Sandy's. Keep your wax on, man. Y'know, you oughta be glad he's not coming. Girls like a pretty car, my man. If you and McQueen roll into a room?? That car sure ain't you. F'real now, I'm out--catch you on the flipside."

Harv snorts. McQueen dating a lawyer.

It's been what, four, five years now? And that never gets old.

Kid's growing up, though. He's the one who set the date, made the reservations, told Harv when to show up. Sure, Harv's running about an hour late, because love Lightning though he does, the kid's not yet in the tax bracket that deserves his punctuality. Harv's never had a client show quite so much initiative, though. It's kinda refreshing.

This will be the first time he and Lightning McQueen have ever met face to face.

--

Harv finds Lightning parked alone at the edge of the bar, sipping-- god knows what. Harv eyes the taps judgmentally. Microbrews. It's a gastropub, all black iron fixtures and bistro lights. Harv hates it. It's the kind of place the wannabe chic crowd puts up, farm-to-table menus and everything served with some kind of reduction. Boutique wines and over-inventive cocktails.

Lightning's extremely sober for someone who's been parked at a bar for--Harv checks the time--over an hour and a half. Heaven help him if this kid just spent all evening drinking water. "Hey hey, how'd the world's fastest racing machine end up in this dump?" Harv greets him convivially.

Lightning doesn't skip a beat, replies, "Had to lure the world's greatest agent out of the woodwork somehow!" His eyes go wide, though, like he can't quite believe Harv is real.

Within minutes, it's pretty clear the only reason they're at this godforsaken hipster pub is because Lightning genuinely thinks this is Harv's scene. It's certainly not Lightning's. As for Harv, he generally aims higher--or, if he's slumming it with the guys, significantly lower. Sandy's is a certain kind of seedy, after all. But this place, with its $20 appetizers and table service, is part of that dismal middle ground.

Harv flops his menu onto the table. He's just gonna ask for the chef's speciality. He can't imagine the chef here has one--if there are even chefs--but they seem gastropub-y enough to make one up.

Lightning's still scrutinizing his menu. His gaze flicks up to Harv, who's waiting expectantly. "I don't eat solid food very often," Lightning admits. "You know. Racecar."

Harv says something disarming. He's never had an awkward dinner in his life, and he doesn't particularly feel the threat of one now--bistro lights be damned. He settles into his usual easy pratter, half business, half whatever he feels like. It's a Thursday night; Harv's feeling pretty chill. And the more he talks, the more of his chill Lightning inherits. They've always worked well together. Harv's been giving Lightning the morning report for years--and generally around now, 9PM, because Harv hasn't been awake at 9AM in over a decade--and it's no different in person than over the phone.

That's a lie.

The waitress serves them both $20 salads. Sixteen different kinds of local lettuce, it boasted, and one of them radicchio. Harv doesn't trust radicchio. Lightning doesn't look like he's ever eaten sixteen leaves in one sitting.

"How's your girl?" Harv asks.

"My what? Oh, you mean--"

"The lawyer chick."

"Her name's Sally. And, uh, she's good."

"She doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving?" Harv nods around the pub. It's all singles tonight, well-dressed yuppies lured far from home by the city--or raised here, but too proud to return to the staid kitsch of home.

"We do. Actually, the whole town does. We--"

"But not tonight. Not this time," Harv establishes, well ahead of Lightning's explanations. This time, Lightning will not be sharing in whatever corn pone hi-jinks define the holiday in that little town of his. This time, Lightning flew all the way to the city to dine with Harv. Harv snorts. This kid.

"It was the only date your assistant said you were available." Lightning shrugs. "You're not putting me out, if that's what you're asking. I'll see them all tomorrow; it's no big deal."

It's not what Harv was asking, because that's not the sort of thing asks. But it's part of the difference between Lightning on the phone and Lightning across the table. Usually, Harv just hangs up for this part.

Generally, when Harv talks to Lightning, he runs the kid's lines along with his own. There's some alter-Lightning out there Harv taps into--that Lightning he knows from the media, that Lightning that he himself has helped create--and it's that Lightning he's on the phone with most of the time. Sure, he's had to make adjustments over the years, make the Lightning he's spinning to all the sponsors, all the news rags, track with the Lightning out there on the track, and the Lightning in the recording studio, but it's never actually been the kid who's in front of him now. Who's maybe not a kid anymore. He's got that girlfriend waiting for him back home, after all.

"How you holding up?" Harv asks suddenly.

That Doc Hudson, he'd passed sometime this year. Gotta be a few months ago now--maybe more than a few. If it sounds like Harv only just remembered this, it's because he has. He'd never met the man, after all.

Lightning seems surprised at the inquiry. He also seems extremely tired, Harv notices now, fatigue dragging at the corners of his mouth. Exhaustion isn't how Lightning makes his money; but it is what tends to happen when you fly clear across the country to eat a $20 salad. For the scantest moment, Harv imagines inviting him to Sandy's.

Harv doesn't wait for an answer--just keeps talking. Lightning clearly doesn't want to give one, and Harv's not really sure how he'd have to respond if he did.

They keep shooting the breeze, Lightning occasionally getting words in edgewise. Sometimes when Lightning talks, Harv finds himself imagining the hammering massage of tires against his trunk, his quarter-panels--rubber sauna-warm, Sandy's girls making lilting chatter he's not really listening to either.

Sometimes he listens, though. It's not even so much what Lightning says as the way he says it. When they'd first met, Lightning hadn't known a whole lot of conversation starters--and now, frankly, he still doesn't. Just thinks he does. Whatever floats his boat. But back then, he'd only been eager to please--or rather, eager to hear how much he'd pleased. He'd always known he was getting the job done, which is what Harv liked so much about him.

Lightning's confident now, too--confident that whatever he's saying matters. Something about old garages, museums, some project he's got for the off-season, who knows. But whether he's right or not, it's his own belief. It's not just something someone told him he believed. Harv can admire that.

"Are you enjoying your…" Lightning's not sure what it is. Neither is Harv--but he's got a plate of thin-cut something in front of him, a dainty curlicue of wasabi and floral-looking ginger. Some kind of sashimi fusion deal. Lightning's still waiting for the waitress to notice he's given up on his pile of leaves.

"There something special you wanted to talk about?" Harv asks, slurping fish. He can't imagine what; but hey, he can't imagine flying clear across the country just to talk to Lightning McQueen, so it's not like he's really trying to understand it all. Harv knows he's not being fired. His return on investment is just too good for Lightning to walk away from, and Harv knows everyone in the business--Lightning hasn't been shopping around. Contract's still got a year on it, but maybe Lightning's thinking ahead to the re-negotiations. Maybe thinking ahead is something he does now.

"Not really," says Lightning, and Harv's estimation of Lightning's business savvy handicaps obligingly. "I just-- We've been working together this whole time, you know? I feel like I'd regret it if I never had the chance to meet you face to face."

Harv laughs. "Plenty more chances, champ. You know Harv's always happy to rock it with you!"

Lightning laughs, too. It's the laugh of someone who finally understands the difference between a turn of phrase and an actual desire, and wants to let you know he's in on the joke. It's not bitter--turns out he's still a little eager to please. In this moment, Lightning looks extremely fulfilled.

Heck, if Harv had known breaking a little bread with the kid was gonna make him that happy, Harv'd have done him a solid a long time ago. Harv's the king of schmoozing--ain't no paint off his back. And he'd have chosen a better restaurant. Maybe he should take him to Sandy's.

But no. Harv's a quick read of guys when he's paying attention, and he knows Lightning's grown away from all that. They're very different, these days--him and Lightning.

Hadn't been that way in the beginning. Harv had been Harv and Lightning, he'd have followed. If Harv had tugged that leash at all, he'd have followed. And maybe Harv had tugged, just a little. That's sort of his style. He's hadn't been used to dealing with kids--still isn't. He's used to guys like him--guys like Chip, who respond to the invitations of others by raising them your own. This is probably why his sister screamed when he offered to babysit her puppies that one time.

Harv's glad Lightning found something different. He's proud of him, even; whatever Lightning's got going, it's been good to him.

Harv wonders if Lightning pities him. If Lightning makes a habit of making Thanksgiving plans with the solo flyers of the world, who've got their trunks full of hard cash and roomfuls of lonely ladies waiting to share it with them. And he snorts, because he knows that's a big hell no. Lightning's no saint to the solitary bachelor, dispensing favors. And Lightning knows Harv well enough to know that Harv's happy--this is his style, and he's blitzed to be living it.

This is personal. He'd just wanted to meet Harv. Just for a night.

"Sorry I never got a chance to meet your old man," says Harv, because he knows that's gotta be part of all this. It just is.

He says, "He sounded like one of the real ones."

"Yeah, he was," Lightning agrees, and he gets that look again--extreme fulfillment. Jesus, it's like Harv's never shown him basic decency before.

But then, maybe he hadn't. It's easy to forget about that part. Harv never makes calls unless he's multi-tasking something else, and he's always on the clock.

"You want dessert?" Harv asks. Harv's not much of a dessert man--if he's not licking it off the hood of a sports coupe, he's not sure he sees the point--but he's got a feeling Lightning is.

They talk for another hour, over a confection that involves rum cherries, latticed chocolate, and cream. It's difficult to eat.

For the first time, Harv wishes he and Lightning were buddies. But not really. What they've got is perfect; and for the good of both of them, they don't have more than one dinner's-worth of commonalities. Harv can't realistically envision spending any more time with Lightning than he already has.

Love the guy, don't get me wrong! he assures his inner monologue. But you know, it's like desserts. You don't need that much. They got a good thing going as is, and why mess with that?

Harv still feels guilty, though. Like he's gotta throw the kid a bone, make the trip worth his while. Make up for something, maybe. For what, he's not sure.

Lightning calls for the check. Harv realizes it's the first time he's ever been on the receiving end of a dinner.

"Hey," he says. "Me and the boys are goin' out a little later tonight. You're welcome to join, if you want, let us show you a good time, see the sights--y'know, that kinda thing." He winks licentiously.

Lightning thanks him for the offer, but he's got a red-eye to catch. He'll be back out west with the fam by dawn.

"Good for you, kid," Harv says, and means it. No bluster, no bravado.

They both smile.

Then Harv says, "Hey! Look sharp. Imma shoot you the schedule for Florida in a few weeks, all right? Say hi to your girl for me, tell her I got some stuff for her to review with you, get your pretty Hancock on 'em. Ciao, baby, g'night, I'm out!"

--

Weaving his way through the darkened streets to Sandy's, Harv watches the planes take off out of JFK. They rise up, head west, and they're on their way. They carve their way through the sky.

[bagelswrites]

Hello :) I'm curious : what are your favorite broships in BTS ?

Well this is just a MEAN question, now isn’t it? Next, you’re going to ask me which of my children* is my favorite, aren’t you? 

*siiiiiiiigh*

Every pairing in Bangtan is just fucking phenomenal and has mountains of evidence to back it up. It’s one of the great things about Bangtan. So while there are some I gravitate toward more than others, I love them All, and all for very different reasons. SO! Instead of answering the question you actually asked (because I am a rebel and easily distracted) I’m just going to tell you what I love about every pairing. Buckle up! (This is going to be a long one)

Going in age order because it’s just easier this way.

Yoonjin - The old dude roommates! Yoongi completely buys into Jin’s dad jokes and Jin puts Yoongi in his place. Their dynamic is so close to equal, but with this nice push and pull of Yoongi technically being the dongsaeng but Jin respecting Yoongi’s music abilities and near-deputy-leader status in the group. I mean, they push their beds together to watch movies. They’re the quiet bros who somehow manage to annoy the maknae line and I love it.

2seok - The world needs so much more 2seok in it. The way Hobi teaches Jin dance? The way Jin watches out for Hobi? The laughter between the two of them (anyone remember beat boxing in LA?) is so much fun. They also probably have secret meetings where they plot the best ways to embarrass the rest of the group at any given moment. They’re the goofy and underestimated bros who support one another.

Namjin - Listen. Namjin are married. Whether it’s platonic or romantic or simply comedic, they are bonded for life and I love it so much. Jin is Joon’s safe place. He seeks him out in stressful situations or in interviews, gravitating toward him like a moon around a planet. And Jin is just so fucking PROUD of Namjoon and supports his leadership. Joon said in his vlive this weekend that Jin’s twitter selfie gave him joy all day! They’re the parent bros who would still spend most of their spare time together even if there were no kids to take care of.

Jinmin - THESE TWO. How they manage to be gentle and savage at the same time, I have no idea. But God it’s fun to watch. Jimin laughs at every single one of Seokjin’s dad jokes. Jin DELIGHTS in making Jimin laugh. Jin enjoys feeding Jimin during Eat Jin and Jimin is so very happy to be there. The amount of Jinmin on the Wings Tour is actually kind of amazing – seems like Jimin is backstage during Awake every single night and I love it. They’re the Sass Bros who will likely try to feed you within an inch of your life.

Taejin - This is possibly the MOST hyung/dongsaeng relationship within the Jin pairings, amazingly enough. He’s still the hyung to all the others, but I see him treating Tae as his little brother maybe the most of the others. There’s lots of hair petting and chin scritching and back hugs. Then again, it’s probably a 50/50 split on who initiates those first. And Taehyung is ALWAYS coming to Seokjin’s defense, especially over the teasing of the other members, just like a good little brother. They also have like ZERO boundaries with each other – showering together, accidental kissing onstage, wiping frosting off Jin’s face and eating it right there on camera. They’re the overly affectionate actor bros who cannot take themselves too seriously.

Jinkook - My love for Jinkook goes back to predebut, when Kookie almost quit because he was so homesick and Jin made sure he felt loved and cared for. And now Seokjin screams at him “I raised you on my BACK” which is delightful. They also seem like they would prank the members together, given the opportunity (I’m thinking of the Eat Jin where Jin was screaming and Joon came in all worried and they both played dumb without even rehearsing it). Jungkook is Jin’s baby in a different way than the hyung/dongsaeng thing Jin’s got with Tae, but Kookie kind of babies him right back (and Jin is possibly at his silliest and “youngest” around Kook). They’re the snuggle bros who probably shouldn’t be left unsupervised.

Yoonseok - Okay. You know how I said I didn’t have favorites? Well, if I DID, it would be this one. Hoseok is afraid of nearly everything and whenever he’s scared, he goes straight to Yoongi. And Yoongi is never anything but patient and kind about it – and possibly the most tactile he ever is with anyone in those moments. He LIKES being this outlet for Hobi and never fails to pump him up before he has to do something scary. Their Sope stuff is just so funny and silly and amazing. Hoseok brings out the most joyous part of Yoongi, and Yoongi allows Hoseok to be himself. They’re the rapper bros who probably spend more time in the studio giggling together than actually getting work done. 

Sugamon - These two have been through some SHIT together and made it to the other side, bonded by fire. They know each other’s darkness and wounded places better than anyone else, but it’s only made them kinder and more gentle with one another. The way the interact on stage when one of them is rapping? Ooph. They support each other so well. I imagine their creative styles don’t always mesh, but they have worked so hard to find middle ground. Yoongi’s quiet caretaking and Namjoon’s propensity to get trapped in his own head are a perfect match sometimes. They’re the musical artist bros who will always have each other’s backs.

Yoonmin - “You know.” “I know.” UGH. These two are my bias and bias wrecker, so it’s only reasonable that I love this pairing. Plus, the sunshine/grump dynamic is always fun. Jimin can get away with shit that no other dongsaeng would even attempt. Yoongi is so whipped for him, I cannot believe it. They look out for one another in very specific ways. They’re the perfectionist bros who pull each other back from the brink at just the right moment. 

Taegi - Taehyung seeks Yoongi’s approval more than the other hyungs. Yoongi finds Taehyung charming and infuriating in equal measure. It’s more sunshine/grump dynamic, but it’s different. I have a feeling that, in the early days, Tae kind of exhausted Yoongi. But you can also see a deep bond and a fuckton of affection between the two of them. In group things where Tae is being ridiculous, you can almost always find Yoongi in the back with a hand over his own mouth or his lips pressed tight, trying not to lose it over how adorable Tae is. They’re the Daegu bros who’ve found the same rhythm.

Sugakookie - I think Yoongi is kind of stunned by Kookie and his abilities – he’s always one to unabashedly appreciate talent. And Kook, well, sometimes when he looks at Yoongi, I get the strangest vision of a toddler wearing a toolbelt so he can build stuff just like his dad. Their adorable recurring bit about the lamb skewers is sweet and brotherly and I love it. They’re the “sleep is for the weak, sleep is for a week” bros who probably need someone else to tell them both when to quit. 

Namseok - There is not enough Namseok in this world either (there’s not enough HOSEOK in this world, let alone Hoseok paired with another hyung, but that’s a different too-long post). Namjoon wants nothing more than to shove Hoseok into the spotlight where he belongs (they way he hyped Hobi’s intro and 1Verse and a million other things? My heart). And Hoseok may be a moodmaker with everyone, but he’s especially attuned to Namjoon’s mood – he can bring a gentle peace to Joon in the most turbulent times (I cannot stop thinking of them on Navy Pier in Chicago on Now 3, just a week after the threat in NYC). I think that Namjoon might be Hoseok’s quiet place, and Hoseok is a special kind of comfort to Joon.  They’re the 94 liner bros who need each other like air.

Jihope - We probably have the most “candid” footage of these two, both in volume and in actual honesty. They are always playing around with cameras together. Their friendship is easy and fun and incredibly supportive. They pester each other so much and cannot keep their hands to themselves. They help each other burn off excess energy backstage. They’re probably the most likely to take a joke too far but also the fastest to forgive each other. They’re the empath bros who help one another recharge. 

Vhope - The silliness between these two. Hobi indulges all of Tae’s random thoughts and Tae is more than happy to play with Hoseok when the mood strikes him. I’ve always said that in the Bangtan Family where Jin is the mom, Joon is the Dad, and Yoongi is the uncle/grandpa, that Hoseok is the noona who takes care of the kids when the actual adults are too tired. This is never more apparent than with Vhope. Jimin is the mom of the maknae line and Kook often refuses to be mothered (except by Jin and usually only on his terms), so Tae is the best and most willing outlet for Hobi’s cheek-pinching form of nurturing. They’re the skinship bros who have to be told a million times a day to calm down and shut up and they don’t actually care at all. 

Junghope - There’s something so comfortable and natural about these two together. They dance hard and play hard and aren’t afraid to ask each other for what they need. I especially think of the Bomb where Hoseok asks Kookie to pet his hair to help him sleep (which Kook indulges with a soft smile) and the episode of Bon Voyage where koala’s the hell out of him and plays with HIS hair. They’re more… equal(?) than any other pairing between the hung line and the maknae line, despite the age gap. It’s almost like age doesn’t matter to them. They’re the dance bros who can calm each other with just one touch.

Minjoon - Another not-picking-favorites favorite. Jimin looks at Namjoon like he hung he moon and Namjoon looks at Jimin like he IS the moon. If Jin is Joon’s Safe Place, then Jimin is his Home Base. He just melts whenever Jimin is involved. On the flipside, Jimin needs to be needed and Joon is able to drop the leader mantle and need Jimin *outloud.* In fact, I think there are times that Joon thinks he’s taking care of Jimin and Jimin is only letting him believe that because he knows Namjoon needed someone to take care of right then. They’re the over-thinker bros who always put the other first and, in so doing, manage to heal themselves.

Vmon - I would really like to know Tae’s IQ because I think it has to be nearly as high as Joon’s. Or maybe his intelligence and pattern-finding and out-of-the-box thinking can’t be measured in the same way. But no matter, these boys are both geniuses and their artistic interests follow the same unconventional path. They probably have really interesting conversations about the most random shit. Plus, Joon finds Taehyung stinking adorable and Taehyung wants to impress him all the time. They’re the artsy fashion bros who probably believe they care about the other more than is reciprocated because they both believe they’re simultaneously too much and no enough. 

Kookiemonster - Oh man, this relationship is defined by hero worship amped to eleven. But the funny thing is, it kiiiiind of flows both ways. I think Namjoon is just as impressed with Kook as Yoongi is. And, although he’d probably never admit it out loud, Joon positively thrives on the attention Kook gives him. And Jungkook wants nothing more than Namjoon’s attention. He chose BigHit out of all the other agencies scouting him BECAUSE OF Namjoon. But Nams is ceaselessly impressed by all the things that Jungkook can do and how hard he works and lets him know it. They’re the hero bros who make some of the best collabs.

Vmin - They’re two halves of the same whole, destined to be each other’s Person. They’re best friends and partners in crime and always game for whatever scheme the other has and unafraid to talk about the important and the mundane and everything in between. They’re the soulmate bros who will live next door to one another long after Bangtan and raise their kids side-by-side and turn into grumpy old men together, mark my words.

Jikook - Listen. I have many many things to say about Jikook and I’ve said most of them before. But in addition to those things, Jungkook looks startlingly similar to Jimin’s actual little brother and if you don’t think that impacts their dynamic, then you’re crazy. The push-pull between them that so many people interpret wrongly (and abusively more often than not) is mostly due to Jimin’s instinct to baby him and Jungkook’s desperate desire to prove himself. But their brotherhood bond is STRONG and irrefutable. They’re the peacock and bunny bros who laugh their way through very real and very useful competition.

Taekook - I cannot think of a better description than littermates. They are both PUPPIES with boundless energy and enthusiasm who love each other simply because they’re brothers and why WOULDN’T THEY? They’re the video-game playing, anime-watching, snack-time-turned-wrestling-match kind of friends and it’s simple and pure and occasionally violent but don’t for one second mistake that for shallow or temporary. They’re the bro-iest bros that ever bro-ed.

OH! And listen. I do not ever participate in ship wars (who the fuck even has TIME for that?), but there is one ship-related fight I’m always ready to have and it’s about SHIP NAMES. My god, people. It’s not Yoonkook. You have the opportunity (and fandom support) for the name SUGAKOOKIE and you choose Yoonkook? That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. The only ones I might be able to bend on are Sope and Sin, but even then… Boys, you were too late to that party and the names have already been decided by ARMY. Sorry. Taekook know what’s up, though. 

———

*I don’t technically have kids, but that’s really only a matter of biology and not affection because I’m a spare parent to two amazing and wonderful kiddos and I’m also an auntie-ish thing to about nine more (plus an actual biological auntie to two MORE), so I think the comment still stands. And I totally don’t pick favorites. Never. Not once. Not even on the days involving poop and tantrums. Nope. Never happened. And you can’t prove that it did.

[acdyson-blog]

What Life Are We Living-And Who Are We Living It For?

About a year or so ago I had been promoted for a couple of months to bridge a gap between a colleague leaving and another returning. Part of me had hoped that I wouldn’t be demoted once the other lady returned from maternity leave, I had worked so hard and managed to keep the team motivated during a challenging time! So, imagine my disappointment when my colleague returned but wasn’t up to doing her job. It was frustrating, doing her job and my own, and I did wonder at God was up to. Deep down, I knew that it was unfair for me to criticise someone who had been at home with her child, managing different challenges of her own, unfair (and illegal) for me not to step aside and give her a job back that I was only holding for her… But that is the thing with disappointment, sometimes logically we know we shouldn’t be upset but because we have put hope into something, we expect to see some return on that hope being fulfilled. I will sometimes (though less than I used to!) get a bit disheartened over my future because my present does not necessarily seem to line up to the expectation I had for my life at 28 years old. And I think personally, we see so many adverts, films, Instagram and Facebook that seem to tell us what we should be looking like and living like it can make comparison easy. Comparison is like the unhelpful version of inspiration. I mean inspiration motivates, pushes us forward, makes us aware of how much better we can be but comparison? Comparison seems to suggest to us all our flaws, what we lack, how much better or worse off we are than someone else. If it motivates us I wonder if it motivates out of our jealousy, insecurity, fear and doubt? On the flipside, the brilliant thing about inspiration is that it doesn’t matter what sort of person we’re looking at; whether it’s a millionaire with a rags-to-riches story, or the person who just seems to have such an amazing heart for people, inspiration takes so many forms and inspiration doesn’t cultivate envy the way comparison does. I used to be jealous every time someone would get engaged. What is so wrong with me? Why am I left behind? I would get disappointed when my own relationships would break down and even if I had every intention of saying ‘I do’ to some guy or other, my complete fixation in just getting married and being like my friends overrode God’s sensible, cautious whisper that perhaps this guy wasn’t right for me. I believe that as humans living in a consumerist society, we quickly forget the last wonderful thing he’s given us because we’ve moved onto the next thing on our tick list. I’ve got a spouse, brilliant, now I want a car! But I want a bigger house! I want, I want, I want…can be a mantra that dominates our prayer life indeed, someone recently said how we often want the things of God without wanting God himself and it didn’t just challenge me, it made me feel ashamed. The bible is full to the brim of promises; promises of God’s love, his protection over us, his strength, his generosity, his plans for our future. When I was young, I prayed for a horse. Every birthday and Christmas I wanted a horse. I never got one, but I did have a mum who sacrificed her time to take on a lot of hard jobs to pay for my riding lessons. Later, I had the opportunity to share a horse, free of charge and now, at 28 I don’t want my own horse as a grown woman however, God has blessed me with stables close to my house that contain some of the finest teachers in my county. Every month I enjoy a lesson and it brings me a lot of pleasure. So, what I have learned from that example especially is God always knows what is best. He knows the details as well as the bigger picture. Timing, especially for things we REALLY want, can be hard in the waiting. I wanted a pet for years, since I was small but my dad hated the idea of animals in the house. He was the immovable mountain. Yet after a lot of upheaval and years later, my mum decided to get a kitten. God fulfilled a desire, it took 25 years but it happened. God knew that if my mum had gone against my dad it would have caused a lot of unnecessary arguments. He knew that me and my brother wouldn’t have been responsible enough as children, who knows what other reasons there were but I can say I trust that God made a good call and delivered our little cat to us in His perfect timing. I know the examples I’ve given are perhaps nothing like what you’re hoping for but what I would encourage is that you remember firstly all that God has done for you. The other day in the car I swung out without looking and honestly it would have been a nasty accident for not only me, but others if there had been a driver on the right-hand side of me. Thankfully, the other lane was clear but if it hadn’t been? I would probably be severely injured at the very least. We often forget the goodness of God in our disappointment, sometimes that disappointment is heart-breaking and overwhelming when it is something we want so desperately be it a family member recovering from an illness, or a job when we have a family to support and bills to pay. There are some desires that override every thought because they mean so much to us. Imagine when they don’t happen. What then? I wanted (very much) for my father to leave the woman he had left my mother for, to come back home and make everything right again. I wanted my family restored yet instead, a year after he had left a good marriage for something quite disposable, he committed suicide. Although I wasn’t disappointed with God, I was SO angry with my father, and so beyond disappointed in the path he had chosen to take. My hopes had been well and truly shattered for ever regaining my father back in my life. But of all the promises in the bible, I don’t think one mentions how God will never let us feel any pain or never experience suffering. Job, Daniel, Sarah, Abraham, Paul, Naomi, Esther, David, Moses, Mary, oh the list is endless of Godly men and women who had difficult seasons to navigate in their lives. Sometimes we won’t get exactly what we want; the house might fall through, the cancer may come back, the baby we’re hoping may not appear, we get turned down for the job, the list of things that might not happen, or happen as we think they should is almost endless. That isn’t supposed to make anyone depressed. It’s more of a straight-up challenge. To myself especially. God promises us so much, we see time and time again how he comes through for us and delivers blessing after blessing but what about our promise to Him? To love Him first? To honour Him in our lives and give glory to His name? How often does God keep His promises, and how often do we fail to keep ours? No judgement, I have failed countless times. But when we proclaim ourselves Christians we are not called Alice-tians, Ben-tians, we are following Christ so surely it makes sense that we stop thinking so much about ourselves and more about the one we follow. The bible teaches us to; ‘Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.’ Proverbs 3:5. It is a real challenge and I am nowhere near being the selfless person I want to be but what hurts is recognising my love of Christ hinging on how quickly He’s giving me what I want, rather than because of who He is and what He has already suffered on my behalf. Our first commandment is; ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.’ Deuteronomy 6:5. The expectation from God is we put Him first yet I often fail in this pretty basic commandment when I get caught up with trying to get instant gratification from God. Disappointment is a natural response and in some ways good, it shows we care about whatever we desire however if we are not careful disappointment can turn into bitterness and take root within our hearts. That is not good for us; anger, cynicism and even completely turning from God can come from disappointment getting out of control. I believe the Devil is satisfied because he, being the father of lies, likes to exploit disappointment for all its worth. What better way to interfere than to find ways of reminding us when God didn’t apparently come through for us. What better way to cause a rift between ourselves and God by allowing us to compare ourselves and others? How can God love you when this has happened? If He loves you so much why is this not happening? It happened for them! These taunts can eat away at our soul, cause us to doubt who God is and out of some sort of deluded self-protection we will distance ourselves physically and spiritually. As John puts it; ‘He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies.’ John 8:44 I did this myself years ago. I had a really bad time at school, I didn’t have many friends and some of the friends I did have seemed to have more in common with bullies than friends. Feeling desperately lonely I would cry out to God regularly about my lack of friendship. I think without God I would have self-harmed or tried to take h own life, He kept something within me from doing those things but I know I would be dead today if He hadn’t. I had horrible thoughts about myself; I was fat, I was ugly, I had no value, gifts or talents so by the time I was in Sixth Form I became nastier mess. I had boyfriends, I had friends but it all felt hollow and superficial. Because I was hurt I hurt many others. So, you see, disappointment in my life had gotten a hold of me so badly that I let go of God and it wasn’t really until five or six years ago I finally got back on track. I had wobbles, sometimes I’ve gone back to my old ways but God has been merciful and picked me up again; ‘Though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the LORD upholds him with his hand.’ Psalm 37:24 Life is not how I pictured it but I can certainly say that God’s hand has been on my life. The things I so desired as a teenager I have as an adult; incredible girlfriends who I doubted could exist, a strong sense of purpose and of who I am in Christ. For Joel 2:25 says it this way ‘I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten-- the great locust and the young locust, the other locusts and the locust swarm -- my great army that I sent among you.’ The journey is far from over, I think it’s easier to be pessimistic than it is to be optimistic because I think optimism can be painful for us when we’ve been disappointed yet I refuse not to be optimistic, expectant and hopeful about the life God has for me. I can’t say that every desire I have will be fulfilled but God who is creative, wonderful and worthy of my praise forever, will come through for me, be there for me regardless of where life takes me. I know if I put my hope in God, not the things I want from God, I will never be disappointed. ‘Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart.’ Psalm 37:4. We need to think of our lives in their fullness, not just the here and now details (thought God cares about the details) but when we die will I be hung up on whether I got married like my friends did? Or will be I more concerned with how I treated the life God gave me? Will I be more concerned with giving an account of those I helped lead to Christ or whether or not I got a house of my own? It is SUPER challenging to not be selfish, I could give you a list of things I want so badly BUT do those things eclipse my passion to be the woman called me to me, or are they things that I can put to the side as I run my race.

[barrybadgerblog-blog]

Foldin Clothes and Stay(in) Gold: The Many Faces of Rap Craft Part I

J Cole.

Why do we listen to rap? We love bangers and hard beats which is why you would listen to Migos. Something deeper or weirder? Maybe Childish Gambino or Flying Lotus. Or maybe you just want to hear about killing people drugs and fighting so there’s 21 Savage or Lil Uzi Vert (if you’re feeling particularly light).

I’d argue they all come from the same vein of creation. Rap was created to release demons, tell stories, even punchlines all while rhyming or using beautiful figurative language.

That sounds great but do you know who the 2016 Freshman Class of XXL are? Like 8 of 10 of them are trap artists. Like those last two artists mentioned the other guys are Desiigner and Lil Yachty. Which is fine ya know? I like “Panda” and some Yachty songs but what sent me over the edge is a popular ranking site throughout the fucking list the authors wrote “Although they lack lyrical dexterity and diversity they make up for it in delivery.” WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. THAT’S THE FUCKIN’ POINT. I get XXL isn’t representative of rap music as a whole but my god man. I wouldn’t say I’m an old head because I love a lot of new stuff coming out right now but, I can distinguish what can be enjoyable, interesting and rewarding to a listener.

I heard 21 Savage’s album through and through because I really like “No Heart”. But it’s a goddamn sleeper hold. Like every song is I’m killing people and making drugs yeayeayea. “No Heart” has all of that but in that song he’s insane with his lyrics, the beats boom, he’s got energy and diversity of his words and flows that is seldom heard throughout the rest of it. 

Imagine taking all that manic energy into flows, lyrics, and verbosity. Then hook an IV straight to the vein with a syringe filled with a deep story. A message. THAT is “ 4 Yours Eyes Only”.

This is not the album that he promised at all. By releasing “Everbody Dies” and “False Prophets” I was expecting a feral, destroy every rapper album that everyone keeps trying. I hope eventually that album comes out. But, whether he used that to sell more copies of “4” or to surprise everyone, J Cole aimed for depth, feeling and to tell a story and he succeeded.

There are hardly any bangers (A major complaint from my friends on their first listen of the album) with the exception of “Neighbors” which will enrage you and want you to throw your fists in the air. Most of these songs are poetry with a simple beat attached. 

The opener “For Whom The Bell Tolls” is like knowing you’re about to crack open a great book. The jangling beat and the first line “I see the rain pourin’ down…” immediately feels like you’re in a storm in the amazon or at least a storm is coming. As the Cole quickly spits about not knowing whether if he wants to die and feeling like there is no where to hide, it feels claustrophobic. It’s a fantastic first song and already has depth and complexity.

“Immortal” is more of the usual J Cole, a swirling beat but not too hard and Cole talking about that world and greed around him. Not bad but I wanted more of the “Bell Tolls”. “Deja Vu”’s first 30 seconds are absolutely groan worthy, There was clearly a rush to get to the verses kinda like a kid shoveling down a few broccoli to eat his spaghetti. The verses are way more versatile, more clever and more concerned with not being able to talk to that girl which a strength that J Cole has. Again past that terrible “fingers in the sky if you want it” shit it’s not bad. 

“Ville Mentality” comes just when I thought “Bell” was a fluke. There’s a certain sense of floating around, a navel gazing atmosphere. How long can I go on being what society and everything around me is telling me to be? Then a little girl talks about how she missed her dad’s funeral. Weird. But, it seems to fit perfectly within the song. 

“She’s Mine” a beautiful, piano driven slam poetry session. I can see a spotlight on Cole, in a tux with his messy fro,  singing. rapping. talking all with a tear down his face looking out to a pitch black auditorium. Catch me I’ve fallen in love he says. I think I have too. With the song. With the earnest voice he carries as if he’s trying to shield a smile. With the thought of the girl, With the song again.

“Change” is another left turn. I imagine he is looking out right after “She’s Mine” and realizes there is an audience and he needs to say what’s on his chest. The song is about changing the views, mentality and personality of those involved in gang violence and tragedy of death in the black community. It’s preachy but at the same time Cole is clearly sticking true to a feeling that cannot be shaken off and needs to be expressed. It’s like politely listening to a friend having a panic attack. They need to get it out no matter how it sounds.

“Neighbors” has the line  “ My sixteen should’ve came with a coffin”. Fuck. 

“Foldin’ Clothes” has to be the cheesiest song Cole has ever written and I love it. The electric bass and slinky guitar makes it a great framework that even cheesy and incredibly simply borderline dumb chorus (wanting to do the right thing which feels better than the wrong thing) almost ok.  The shout outs to almond milk (!) will make you laugh, smile and think about your person. But then Cole surprises with the people being fake around him “N****s is the best actors”.

“She’s Mine II” returns to the sublime “She’s Mine” but what’s that? A baby crying? This is a different love. A protection rather than adoration. Teaching lessons while changing diapers. It’s odd but if it wasn’t Cole it wouldn’t work. I’ll dry your eyes, I never felt so alive, there is a God he coos. And I believe him.

At this point I was scattered. What the actual fuck is Cole on here. There’s children all over this album, death all over the album and the need for change. 

“4 Your Eyez Only” begins and I feel ready for an explanation. It’s a full confession and I hang on to every word. Switching perspectives, greedy thoughts, play my this tape for my daughter and let her know my life is on it. Fuck. Again, Cole is in control. I’m listening for each breath. Every line hurts. A whole 5 minutes of bawl your eyes out pain within a strong and steady performance. All the cooing, love notes are almost gone. It is steady focus, Cole’s slain friend using Cole as a vessel to talk to his daughter. It slides the whole album into place like solving a 1000 piece puzzle. 

An everyday tragedy locked forever in 40 minutes. 

It’s flooring, sobering and it left me a little speechless.

This is craft. To create atmosphere, emotions and incur thinking as soon as the album is done. This album and J Cole deserves respect, long bouts of thinking and multiple listens to full appreciate it and then do it again. It’s arduous and almost too painful but that attributes to the strength of music and when done with care and love even with it’s flaws can be a work of beauty. 

B+

- JarvTarv

And on the flipside of relatable, grounded craft is…