#i think i need to push my file organisation task to next week

[dokyeomini]

and im almost done with cleaning i just need to hang the last of the laundry to dry and change the bedsheets

[marvelhero-fics]

Snowman

Series - Chapter One

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You’re a HYDRA assassin that’s worked closely with the Winter Soldier, to each of your dismay you’re reunited with Bucky after the blip. 

A/N: I haven’t posted in like 300 years, but I hope you guys enjoy this new series! This follows parts of TFATWS so expect spoilers! (Also I’m sure all the Russian is absolutely wrong, if you’d like to correct it please send me a message!)

Word Count: 1,815 (future chapters will be wayyy longer)

Snowman Masterlist || Full Masterlist

New York

2023

“So tell me about this-” the therapist looked down at her notes briefly, “(Y/N).” She finished.

Bucky paused momentarily, “No.”

“James, for these therapy sessions to be effective, you need to open up to me. I can’t help you if I don't know what’s wrong.” His therapist responded, laying her pen carefully on her small notebook.

Bucky thought for a moment, taking in the ambience of the room. What would he even say about (Y/N)? He hadn’t seen her in years. Bucky was kicking himself for accidentally bringing her up in his session last week. “I- uh-” he stammered, shifting his weight on the couch, “I met her in 2011. At least I think it was 2011. Date’s get kinda fuzzy sometimes, with all the cryo.” Bucky’s hand pressed against his head, feeling dazed as he tried to think back. “It was at the big HYDRA base outside of Moscow. We had to go on a mission together-” he was cut off,

“Did she work for HYDRA?” Dr Raynor interjected.

“Yea. She was an assassin too. She went by the alias the Viper.” Bucky pretended not to notice his therapist tense up. Anyone who knew anything about HYDRA knew who the Viper was. She was one of the most prolific assassins after the Winter Soldier.

“Tell me more about when you met her.”

“We were instructed to take out a terrorist organisation forming against SHIELD. Which was ironic because we were working for a terrorist organisation. But at this point SHIELD was being run by HYDRA and they couldn’t risk any slip ups, so they put 6 assassins on the job. HYDRA usually didn’t have their assassins working together, we were all too volatile. But we had to take out over 70 people in one night. It was (Y/N), a few assassins from the Red Room, and a few agents that HYDRA had trained personally, and me.” Bucky stopped.

“Where was (Y/N) trained?”

“At a secondary facility run by HYDRA. She was trained from a really young age. It’s all she’s known.” Bucky seemed somber. But his therapist continued,

“What happened on the mission?”

“Nothing. It went exactly to plan. The targets were taken out and we all left without a trace. But (Y/N), she- she kept trying to talk to me, or get to know me. I was the Winter Soldier. No one in their right mind ever tried to ‘get to know me’.”

“Why do you think (Y/N) did that?”

“She told me she was bored.” He replied bluntly.

Moscow

2011

The poorly lit conference room was filled with a myriad of assassins and officials. The only illumination came from old LED lights hanging from the concrete ceiling. The mossy green paint on the walls looked as if it hadn’t been patched up in years. The only new-ish part of the room was the large, oak conference table, surrounded by black, leather seating. It was difficult not to notice the red HYDRA symbol holding a spot on almost every piece of clothing in the area.

“TITAN terroristicheskaya organizatsiya, formiruyushchayasya protiv nas. (TITAN is a terrorist organisation forming against us.)” Kuznetsov spoke, “Izbrannyye budut otpravleny segodnya vecherom v Ukrainu dlya vypolneniya postavlennoy zadachi. Uberi ikh. (The chosen ones will be sent to Ukraine tonight to complete their given tasks. Take them out.)”

That was all it took. You stared at the file in front of you. You had read through it multiple times, going over every single name, every single skill set your targets had. You were more than certain you could complete this job on your own. But you had no choice on the matter.

Your eyes darted around, taking in the faces of the assassins that were to accompany you on your mission. Two youthful females, dressed in black leather sat next to each other. The older, grimacing woman behind them was Madame B., the head supervisor of the Red Room. You moved your gaze to the two agents in dark green uniforms and red, soviet berets. Neither looked particularly menacing.

You finally landed on the last assassin. His dark hair fell like curtains around his face. Gloomy blue eyes searched their way through the room. His sharp jaw seemed tense through his stubbled cheeks. He was large, extremely built. Covering his frame was an amplitude of black clothing and gear.

“Play nice.” Your mentor spoke softly over your shoulder, breaking you from your train of thought.  

“I always do.”

~

Your padded snow boots ripped through the thick snow covering the ground. The six of you had hiked your way to the set point on your GPS systems, the clouds of snowfall covering your vision held the illusion that there were absolutely no structures nearby. A large helicopter had dropped the group a few miles out from the hideout to ensure nothing was compromised. The trek was in utter silence, fighting against the harsh temperature in mid February.

The waypoint became closer on your map, a tiny building slowly appeared in your vision against the foggy downfall. It was a small, wooden cabin. Everyone hustled their way through the unlocked door. It was barren, it held no furniture, no blankets, no means of any life. There appeared to be a few doors that led to small, empty rooms. The entrance only held a small fireplace, filled with old cut down logs that had been eaten by bugs.

The group quickly dispersed, you headed to one of the rooms alone, throwing down your belongings onto the floor. The bag you carried was mainly filled with weapons and ammunition, along with a very warm sleeping bag. You knew too well you wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, but you would need the extra heat for now.

There was no chatter anywhere in the house. Your mission would begin in 6 hours. Everyone was likely putting together their artillery. You decided to cozy up in your navy sleeping bag for a moment of comfort.

Someone had lit the fire in the lounge. A warm, orange light crept through the cracks in your door. The ambiance was strangely calming for a shitty cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Snow continued to fall against the tiny glass pane of your room. You weren’t a fan of assassinating in the snow. It was low vision, harsher climates, and it lessened the ability to move. Snakes weren’t creatures of the cold. Conveniently you’d been grouped with someone who called himself ‘The Winter Soldier’. I’m sure he loves the cold, you thought.

You’d heard a lot about him. Everyone had. He was the perfect assassin. He never failed a mission, his body didn’t reject cryo, every form of enhancement HYDRA had used on him had been a success. He was what every assassin had aspired to be.

Without thought, you grabbed the glass bottle laying next to you and walked off to the room the Winter Soldier had claimed for the night.

“Privet (Hello)”. You announced, pushing his door open with a creak. His head didn’t turn towards you. He sat on the floor, the sound coming from him indicated he was sharpening knives.

“Khochesh' vypit'? (Want a drink?)” You asked, motioning the bottle towards him.

He stayed silent for a moment. Finally he turned, looking up at you from his position on the floor. “What is it?” His dark tone asked back. The amber light from the fire crashed against his features. His strong jaw was covered with a dark stubble, his brunette hair tucked behind his ears. His most obvious feature was the hauntingly blue eyes that sat in sunken sockets, he looked drained.

“It’s vodka.” You stated, honestly. You were surprised to hear he wasn’t Russian, he sounded… American?

“You’re drinking before a mission?” He queried.

You shrugged. “Alcohol doesn’t freeze.” You sat down next to him. “Plus it takes the edge off.” A faint clinking noise announced as you placed the bottle on the floor between you two. He stared at you for a moment, before quietly going back to his knives.

“Wanna play 20 questions?” You interrupted the silence.

“No.”

“What about truth or dare?”

“I’m not 14.” the soldier replied, his eyes not leaving his handy work.

“How old are you?” You shot back,

“Why are you trying to get to know me?” He dodged your question.

“I’m bored.” You shrugged, taking a deep swig of the vodka. “And by my calculations,” you peered down at your watch, “we still have 3 hours and 27 minutes until the mission starts.”

He gave a shallow sigh, “93.”

“What?”

“I’m 93. How old are you.”

“93?! You were born in 1917?”

“Mhm. How old are you.”

“25. You look great for 93.” You chuckled.

“You look old for 25.” He jabbed back. His knife sharpener still grinding across a 6 inch blade.

“You flatter me.” You replied sarcastically. “So what’s your story? How’d you make it to 93?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Why would I ask if I didn’t want to know?”

Bucky looked over at you. “I’m telling you, you don’t want to know.”

“C’mon old man,  I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” You smirked. He once again, went back to his knives. It almost seemed as if he was trying to threaten you, pulling out larger knife after larger knife.

You huffed, opening your mouth to speak, “I was born in Hungary to a drug abusing mother, and an absent father. I was kidnapped and sold to HYDRA when I was 6. I was placed under the care of the Kraken. Not sure if you’ve met him, he’s this large guy-”

“I’ve met him.” Bucky stated, interrupting your spiel.

“Right, well, he trained me for years. Eventually HYDRA got involved again and I was tested on, experimented on, messed with, ya’ know, all that fun stuff.” You explained.

“Are you enhanced?” Bucky asked, almost as if he was actually interested.

“Yea. I have this whole snake venom trick. It’s great for up close combat. The experiments really should’ve killed me though. But maybe that’s what makes us so good-” Bucky looked over at the woman next to him, her bright eyes stared back at him as she spoke “ya’ know, the best assassins are the ones living off borrowed time. Because we’ve met death before, so we’re not afraid to do it again.”

Bucky quickly grabbed the Barrett M82 rifle next to him, his metal arm making faint whirring noises. “I’m going to scope out the base.” He stated bluntly. And with that, his large black boots walked him out the bedroom, and out the door.

You let out a faint sigh, creeping back to your room to sort out your weapons. You were sure it was something you said that scared him off. I guess at 93 you have to be living off too much borrowed time, you speculated. You absentmindedly set up your pistols, your mind not being able to wander from the Winter Soldier. Maybe annoying the Red Room girls would get your mind off it.

[gxccistyless]

Fine Line: The Divorce Series - part two.

In case you missed part one you can find it here. Feedback always appreciated in any form. Feel free to message me if you have any questions!! 

Trigger warnings for this include; mentions of death, drug and alcohol abuse. 

It’s ten passed twelve when Eliza opens her eyes for the first time, she hadn’t slept a good nights sleep since Fallon’s diagnosis but last night she didn’t wake not once.They had her funeral yesterday, she doesn’t remember much, she thinks this is probably partially why she was able to sleep so well, knowing that Fallon was finally resting at her forever home. Harry helped to organise the funeral and had been more available to both her and their other two children in the lead up to it and insisted in paying for it in full. But yesterday was too much for him, he left somewhere between the wake and the kids’ bed time and Eliza hadn’t heard from him since.  Harry woke up in his apartment for the first time in weeks, he’d be living at Eliza’s in the spare room from the time when things got to be too much for Eliza to handle on her own. He missed his bed and the peace and quiet, but he’d never allow himself to say those words out loud. Right in between losing her and laying her to rest, they celebrated her birthday. Gemma thought it would be a good idea to acknowledge the day instead of pushing it to the side, Harry just kind of wanted to push through and try and get through the day, but Eliza liked the idea of being able to blow out a candle for Fallon and so to appease his ex-wife’s needs and support her through her grief, Harry bit his tongue And they did just that, celebrated her. 

elizadoherty 4 years ago you made me a mama sweet angel baby Fallon. I miss you, thanks for changing my life 🕊 Liked by harrystyles, niallhoran and 12,378,346 others,

 The funeral came around quicker than he had anticipated, it kind of crept up on him. After today things would go back to the way they were before Fallon got sick snd Harry wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. He wasn’t ready to be away from Koa and Lennon, or even Eliza for that matter. Everyone was so wrapped up in supporting Eliza on the day, they had forgot that Harry had lost a child too. So distracted by Eliza, no one noticed Harry when he slipped out in the middle of her wake, no one but Eliza.

There was no communication between the two in the weeks that followed, he locked himself in the studio with only a select few people and she was trying to get back to somewhat of a normal routine with the twins. He was making good progress with an album, it wasn’t as upbeat as previous albums had been but it just reflected what he was going through and how he was feeling. With no communication and his lack of interest in their other two children Eliza goes ahead and books a court date to finalise their divorce. Harry is leaving the studio when he gets words of the court date being set, he heads straight to the bar.  Harry is on his sixth drink when he finally gets a hold of Eliza. I miss you he tells her We just lost — we just — how can you even be thinking about finalising our divorce. She cries and that’s when he knows he’s fucked up. Eliza don’t cry, I’m sorry, I’m such a fuck up, it should have been me, not her... Eliza knows she should hang up the phone, call Gemma let her deal with him and go back to bed. Instead she asks Harry for his location, calls a sitter and by the time she heads to the bar its almost 10pm. 

Eliza finds Harry in the corner booth, away from prying eyes and away from windows with his back toward the rest of the people in the pub. By now he’s lost count of how many drinks he’s consumed. She orders herself a scotch on the rocks. The bartender looks between her and Harry and wonders what they must be going through to have lead them here tonight. They sit in silence mostly, Harry throwing back three drinks in the time it tasked Eliza to finish the one she ordered herself when she first got here. The bartender draws a line in the sand and cuts Harry off, he pays for his long bar tab remembering to ask the bartender to include Elizas scotch on the rocks and then he goes to leave. 

Harry makes it all the way to his car before realising he cannot find his keys. When he reaches the bar door she’s standing out front her arms crossed over her chest,p. You didn’t think I’d let you drive home in your state did you?  My children have already buried their sister this year, I’m not about to let them bury their father too. The words Eliza said to drunk Harry would play on sober minded Harry in the weeks to come. She half carries him to her car and takes him home with her. For the first time since they split, he sleeps in the same bed as her it’s only so I know if you stop breathing and to make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit. Eliza watches Harry breathe for the rest of the night, much like she watched Fallon take breaths in and out until she took her last, the only difference here is that Harry never stops breathing. Somewhere between 4am and 7am she doses off and Harry slips out of her sheets and out her back door before she’s awake. Eliza canceled their court date again, realising that perhaps Harry needed time to grieve before they started to go down this path.

harrystyles ALBUM . IS. COMPLETE, Coming to you soon, happy holidays. All the love, H xx Liked by annetwist, gemmastyles and 20,368,289 others. 

Harry finished writing his album just before Christmas, it was literally the fastest album he’s ever been able to write. After all this time and experience, he knew the people he needed in his space to get the job done. A lot of the songs were sad, and Eliza knew that some songs would be about her and she fully expected some songs to be about Fallon, so when he turned up at her place to show her the demo she was surprised to find no songs about their angel daughter. Eliza, that’s sick that you’d think I’d cash in on — no why would I — I can’t believe you would think that. He was angry, didn’t see she was coming from a good place and not trying to attack him. She didn’t think it would be a bad thing if he had written songs about Fallon, she was growing concerned about his abilities to deal with the loss of their daughter... he couldn’t even say her name.  He was trying to be more consciences to spend more time with Koa and Lennon. With the album complete it was only a matter of time before his management would undoubtedly have him on the road and all over the globe. Truthfully he was dreading it. He spent most afternoons putting the children to bed before bedding back to his house. He noticed things about her that were different in the Fallon aftermath. She was lonely at night, and when Koa and Lennon were out with him of an afternoon she had not so much to do. She had already organised the bookshelf, and the kitchen. Harry knew what the perfect Christmas gift would be to keep her busy. 

Whilst she had redecorated the lounge and her bedroom. Fallon’s room remained untouched, the door closed and the room just the way their almost four year old had left it the day she left for the hospital and never come home. Sometimes when he would finish putting the twins to bed and when Eliza was sleeping on the couch, he would sneak into Fallon’s room and sob. Being in her room was the only time he allowed himself to feel anything.

elizadoherty Happy holidays from the Doherty-Styles household, wrangling two and half year old twins into a photo is hard work and this mama couldn’t get it done. Please enjoy a photo of our delicious cookie “nomies” that are absolutely not store bought. 😝🎅🏻🎄🤶🏻 Liked by harrystyles, annetwist and 2,637,367 others.

harrystyles ELIZA X OLIVE. Merry Christmas.  Liked by elizadoherty, olivedogherty and 18,573,663 others,

Harry’s album came out the week of Christmas. With the new year there would be lots of changes coming for both him, Eliza and their two children. He would be off on tour, first to the states then, back home for a UK stint, followed by the rest of Europe, then to South America wrapping up with Australia, New Zealand and a few dates across Asia. He wouldn’t be home for more than two days in the next nine months. This bothered Eliza. Partly because she wanted him to be home so they could finalise the divorce, partly because she wouldn’t have his help with the twins and mostly because he had already lost one child, had he not noticed the importance of having quality time with his children.  She had already been annoyed by the fact that he had bought a dog into her home and gifted it to her for Christmas, she didn’t have time for a dog.. she would barely have time for herself and the two kids he was leaving behind to go on tour, and he though a doh would be a good idea?

Her thoughts all come to a head in the middle of an argument on New Years Eve. We need to finalise the divorce, we both deserve to move on. He didn’t want to move on, he liked being able to come by see her, and the kids and still be able to know she was legally still his wife. You don’t care about me and the kids, you’re not even going to see them for the next nine months, don’t tell me you care. He was mad, not because she was right but because he wanted to see them but didn’t know how to ask her to join him on tour with them. I never wanted to divorce you. You’re the one who filed for divorce Eliza. It’s Eliza’s turn to be mad. Well there was no hope for our marriage, we hadn’t had sex in months, you were sleeping on the couch, what the fuck kind of marriage is that. It wasn’t a healthy argument for the tel of them to be having, especially with the twins in the next room. I was a drug addict Eliza, I was also an alcoholic, I couldn’t really walk up the stairs, that’s why I slept on the couch not because I didn’t love you. He had stormed out, the following day he had booked in with his lawyers to come back the last week of February for their court date and two days after that he was back on tour.

harrystyles USA thank you for being the perfect start to this tour, you were all so beautiful! I’ll be back soon. All the love, H xx. Liked by annetwist, gemmastyles and 27,627,855 others. 

January rolled by faster than she would like to admit. Harry was back in London briefly to see the twins, Anne picked them up and took them to him as per his request. His birthday was tomorrow, Eliza offered for him to keep them for the weekend whilst he was in town, but he had other plans and declined her offer. She’s trying to give you time with your children. Anne nagged him, but her words fell on deaf ears. He had plans to drink his way through his birthday and not be able to recall any of it.  He woke in the morning to a voicemail from her. Harry, happy — well i know it’s not happy really — but happy birthday. I’m sorry about the divorce papers, I was... reaaaaalllyyy dumb. Anyway, see ya. She had been drinking, she could never hold her liquor. He remembers back to a time pre marriage and pre children when she would go out and have a few too many cocktails and call him from the bar, he remembers driving to fetch her, pulling over on the side of the road because his driving would be too much for her stomach to handle. He thinks about the way he used to hold her when she was too tired to walk and then the way he’d hold her in bed as her breath would steady and she’d finally succumb to the effects of the alcohol and sleep. God he loved her. 

elizadoherty HBD to my #1 (And only) bb daddy, @harrystyles, you’re a great dad, friend and I’m so glad I get to raise my babies with you. Here’s a throwback to when we were younger and when you had less wrinkles, old man.  Liked by harrystyles, annetwist and 18,257,268 others.  He made a mental note to return her the favour of nice words on social media when her birthday would roll around come summer. They were younger and happier in that photo. He wouldn’t wish his kids away, but he does wish he could go back to being that happy, young and carefree guy in the photo. 

After his birthday, things continued to go downhill for the two of them and their co-parenting endeavour. It started when he was photographed leaving a nightclub with a random girl on his arm the night of his birthday and things escalated when a week before their court date she had been photographed with someone new. This was the first time since the two of them had started dating all those years ago that they had been photographed with someone else.

TMZ 

Harry Styles ex-wife, Eliza Doherty, spotted out with new mystery beau shopping over the weekend.

It was the comments left the photo that sent Eliza into a rage. “Where are her kids?” “Spending all of Harry’s alimony I guess” that’s all the end of their marriage was to the public? Just about money? Never mind the emotional turmoil either of them had gone through, the sleepless nights the days where she wouldn’t know if he would make it home. The public didn’t understand, and never would, what it wad to be like Eliza Styles.  On top of the public ridicule, Harry of course had to get his two cents worth in. I don’t want you bringing random guys around the twins. It was a harmless comment and something she would surely say to him if she didn’t have manners or any kind of belief that he would be responsible with who he introduced their children to. Focus on yourself, Harry. And less on who I’m bringing home..

TMZ

reports of Harry Styles and ex-wife, Eliza Doherty, heading into court today to finalise their divorce after almost a year snd a half. He wore a black shirt and a cross earring for the occasion. 

Harry was trending on twitter and the photo and article from TMZ were attached to every tweet. Most people agreed he didn’t look himself. Everyone agreed it was inappropriate to take the photo and then post it to the masses but here it was for everyone to see. Eliza shook her head and put her phone away, soon enough she’d be in the same room as him for the first time since New Year’s Eve. 

 She had never been more scared to see him, hadn’t heard from him personally for the entire first leg of his tour, which even when they were having problems was odd. Perhaps he was still angry,  she had moved passed the anger stage and into the sad stage pretty quickly, it had been like this throughout their entire relationship. She would get over things quickly whilst he would hold onto things for days and days at one time. Harry knew based off of her voicemail that she had been ready to move passed the argument on New Year’s Eve, and he was almost on the same page as her and then they argued about partners and children and things had again been sour since. 

As soon as the time drew closer she began to feel like she couldn’t breathe. Like she might collapse at any second and never wake up again, like someone had taken all the air out of her lungs and out of this building. She used to enjoy the way her heart would skip a beat and the way her lungs would lose all the air when he entered her orbit, but now the feeling made her sick to her stomach. For the first time in a long time she couldn’t stand the thought of being in the same room as him. 

Part of him didn’t want to be here. This was partially to do with the fact that last night he had drank his body weight in alcohol, was very hungover and couldn’t think straight, but it was mostly to do with the fact that he couldn’t stand to see her cry and knew there was a good chance with the way they left things off that he might be the reason for her tears. 

He reeked of vodka and scotch and tequila and definitely weed, at least that’s all the things that Eliza could smell as he sat across from her. He was using again, or drinking again at the very least. It made her sad, he had worked so hard to get to a good place. Perhaps this was his way of coping, his way of dealing with Fallon dying. His way of forgetting about his problems. It wasn’t healthy, she’d make a note to talk to Gemma and Anne when she got back to the kids later in the afternoon.

He looked as if he hadn’t slept at all since the last time she saw him some five weeks ago now — which would make sense because she hadn’t slept properly in that long either. His shirt was creased and it was a mess, he looked unkempt which was a rare sight. Mismatched socks, untucked shirt, the pants he was wearing just as creased as his shirt was. His hair was longer than usual— he was letting it grow again... was this even any of her business anymore? — It probably wasn’t but she still examined him from head to toe, He’s wearing his shades inside, what an asshole she thinks. He was almost unrecognisable. He was most definitely no longer her Harry. She didn’t care make eye contact with him, and he extended the same courtesy not that he had much of s choice in the matter.  Mr Styles is offering Ms Doherty 50% of all his assets, as of this time that part has not changed.  Ms. Doherty would be happy to only 25%, your honour. She feels it’s adequate enough to provide for the children, she has a job and doesn’t require 50%. Mr Styles insists in the 50%, even 25% of it were to go into a fund for the children. 

Her lawyer looks to her for approval, even though she really doesn’t need Harry’s money, she doesn’t want to argue with him.

Mr Styles would like joint custody of their two children, Koa Everett Styles and Lennon River Styles. Your honour, Mrs Doherty requests that the father of her children submits to drug and alcohol tests and has supervised visitations until he can get himself — uh well... clean.  The judge rules in her favour, Harry has to pass three tests in a row for both drugs and alcohol before he can come anywhere near the twins. The rest esd pretty straight forward and not much different to what they had already signed on, she got the house and would receive child support on top of the 50% of the money they made from the time they first got married. Harry doesn’t see his children  till two days before their third birthdays, almost three months after the court hearing. It had taken him three months but this time he swore to keep clean.

elizadoherty happy three my miracle babes, there are no words 🥺  Liked by gemmastyles, annetwist and 4,472,378 others. 

A month after the twins’ birthday it’s Eliza who changes the agreement for supervision required to him being allowed to do visits at their house. Both the twins and Harry would be much more comfortable and if would give her more of a chance to observe him with them before she lets them stay with him overnight. He’s the one who suggests they go to therapy. He tells her it might help, and that he’s willing to try anything so long as she is too.  The first session back in therapy goes well, they haven’t done one together since just after the twins were born. They mostly discuss how to co-parent better and how to communicate with each other, the therapist warns to discuss Fallon and Harry practically has a panic attack at the mention of her name. When he instantly gets up and walks out on the session it’s just you and the therapist and 20 minutes left on the timer. I don’t think he’s ready to talk about her yet. It’s a sensitive topic for him. It hasn’t quite been a year yet since she passed. He won’t even talk about her with me and that was out daughter.  When Eliza gets home, Harry is on her doorstep. He’s sober, but crying and hyperventilating. She sits next to him and just hugs him not really knowing what to do. Eliza prays that her boyfriend, Andrew, doesn’t come over today. Her prayers are answered Eliza and Harry are left on their own. He cries for a long period of time before the head inside her house, Eliza is silently grateful that Anne offered to take the kids to Holmes Chapel for the week. Where did we go wrong? We should have been better and communicating. I was depressed when I couldn’t tour straight away and then you let me go and honestly this is going to sound fucking terrible but I didn’t want to come home.  So many confessions spill from his lips in a short space of time. Then Eliza starts. I just wanted you to be okay, you were struggling, I know you were depressed. I keep thinking about it, I don’t remember the last time we kissed or had sex, maybe it was before the twins were even born, we should have made more time. When she stops he’s not crying anymore he’s just staring at her with his eyebrows furrowed and then he does the unimaginable he kisses her. Not just a regular peck, his hands on the back of her head and her hands are on his chest and for just a moment they’re back in 2019 and they’re newly engaged and their wold is perfect. And then he pulls away, apologises and leaves and they are back to being divorced, estranged people who happen to share two children together. 

[adam-memeleri]

Rainbow

Rosie’s always liked rainbows. Liked the beauty, the wonder, the ethereal, indescribable nature of the array of colours painted on the sky and clouds. She’s always liked the possibilities held within those colours, always liked what they meant, always liked the way the world seems to stand still when you find one after a storm, frozen for something so magical.

Hope reminds Rosie of rainbows.

-

okay so i actually really like this one and i think it shows. also thank you @bubblelaureno for proofing and fixing my feeble attempt at past tense you are so very lovely

tagging - @bubblelaureno @lookingforsomethingcuzimbored

if you wanna be tagged

Masterlists shameless self promotion lmao

T Rating (its mostly fluff, but there's sick if youre not cool with that)

Hope x MC (Rosie) or rope if youre chichi

~7k words this took an alarming amount of time to finally fucking finish, so take it for what it is

-

Like the sweater that blocked Rosie’s view of a lecture one morning, red. Like the tapping nails she couldn’t stop watching, red. Like the sensation of being mesmerized, hypnotized more deeply than when watching the sun slowly creep higher above the horizon, red.

Her eyes roved over the carefully organised materials - pens, notebook, laptop - all set in a specific place. She watched the nails halt their tapping, scribbling out notes in what she could only assume was perfect handwriting. She couldn’t imagine this girl doing anything less than perfect, less than meticulously planned, less than plain stunning.

Although her face was obscured, Rosie could picture the expression painted across it. Could picture a focus that could knock you down and heal your bruises all at once. And it intrigued her, left her wanting to see it for herself, and she angled her head to glimpse as much as she could.

The red sweater rose abruptly, just as Rosie was about to peek, and Rosie knew she should as well, knew that the drone of the professor had disappeared and she had another lecture not too soon, but she couldn’t manage it. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, her stupid desire to see if she was right about this girl.

The red sweater rose abruptly, just as Rosie was about to peek, and Rosie knew she should as well, knew that the drone of the professor had disappeared and she had another lecture not too soon, but she couldn’t manage it. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, her stupid desire to see if she was right about this girl.

She turned, her eyes landing on Rosie’s, and Rosie could have sworn her heart stopped. She was surprised more than anything, to find eyes boring into her own so fiercely, her eyebrows knitted together in momentary confusion. Before she whisked herself away, with a bag thrown over her shoulder and Rosie left behind, simply gawking after her.

After all coherent thought had left her mind, Rosie jumped to her feet and scrambled to collect her belongings, haphazardly she shoved them in her own bag and scooped them in her arms before darting out the room. She found that red sweater as it exited the building, nearly lost in the sea of students.

Elbowing her way through the crowd, Rosie managed to nearly catch up, stumbling a little ways behind as she called out, “Hey, wait up!”

The girl’s eyes searched over her shoulder before she slowed, peering over at Rosie curiously as she fell into step beside her.

“Sorry, I, uh…” Rosie fumbled over her words, gesturing awkwardly as she sought to clear the air, a blush staining her face. “I didn’t - That wasn’t - I wasn’t staring.”

The girl side-eyed Rosie, lips quirked in a tiny bemused smile at her feeble attempt. Her fingers toyed with a ring, spinning it around one finger in a steady rhythm as her free hand held the strap of her bag.

“Really! I wasn’t!” Rosie insisted uselessly.

Her grin grew as she hummed teasingly, “Mmhmm.”

“Look, just -” Rosie’s shoulders sank in a sigh, shaking her head in exasperation, but with a smile of her own. “I’m Rosie.” She tried, her voice having steadied.

The girl smiled invitingly, in the type of way that drew Rosie in, left her wanting more as dazzling eyes crinkled enticingly. “Hope,” her sweet voice rang, with all the power of a declaration but none of the demand.

Rosie nodded mutely, her braids shifting with each shake of her head. She opened her mouth to say smoothing, but, at a loss, she clamped her jaw shut.

Hope didn’t seem to mind, her eyes adjusting forward as they walked side by side, the gap between them like a canyon to Rosie. She swallowed, fixing the book under her arm, “So, uh, have you always been in that class?”

“Yes,” Hope nodded coolly, “Someone stole my usual seat today, though.”

“That… That sucks.” Rosie’s lips purse to the side as she nods along.

“Actually,” Hope’s voice drawled as she peered up at Rosie out of the corner of her eye. “I seem to recall there was an open seat beside you.”

“Oh! Yeah, I keep it open for a special someone,” Rosie’s lips quirked in a crooked grin, her typical playfulness finding its way back to her.

“And who would that be?”

Bolstered by Hope’s own teasing, she winked, her cheeks dimpled from her smile. “I’m hoping I’ll find out soon enough.”

“Maybe you will.” The pair fell into a companionable silence as they walked, neither a word exchanged or a beat of awkwardness filling the space. Rosie’s eyes roved distractedly, sneaking glances at Hope every chance she got and darting away when she got caught.

And every time Hope smiled to herself, and every time Rosie’s cheeks heated just a little more. It was quickly becoming a game, to see how long it took for Rosie to get caught, and with each glance she found herself hoping they'd continue the game on a later date.

Hope paused in her tracks suddenly, turning to face Rosie more fully as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “This is my stop,” she gestured to the lecture hall they were standing outside of, students filing inside. “It was nice to meet you, Rosie,” she grinned, stretching her hand out in offering.

Rosie’s own eagerly clasped it, shaking the offered hand perhaps too forcefully. “You too!” She promptly dropped Hope’s hand, a flush on the back of her neck as she shifted from foot to foot, gaze dropping to stare at the floor. “Um, see you next week?” she tried, glancing up from beneath her lashes.

“As long as you keep my seat available,” Hope teased easily, as if this was a common occurrence in her daily life. And Rosie supposed it may be, that maybe there’s always someone following her around with wide eyes like a lost puppy.

In response, Rosie nodded vehemently, mouth curved in a barely suppressed grin as Hope laughed lightly, already turning away. She stalked inside, head held high and shoulders thrown back with a confidence that can’t help but catch your eye and one that Rosie couldn’t tear her gaze away from.

Like the sweater that disappeared into the hall, red. Like the heart that berated Rosie’s ribcage, red. Like the lips pulled into an impossibly wide smile, as much as she fought it, red.

Orange

Like the socks that covered kicking feet, orange. Like the setting sun outside, the watercolour of clouds, orange. Like the pen that scrawled on paper, jotting down notes and doodling when the words wouldn’t come, orange.

“Pop quiz!” Hope announced, flourishing a card and adjusting upright. Open textbooks, loose papers, a discarded laptop, and a dozen markers litter the bedspread around her.

Rosie groaned, faceplanting into her notes and sending a multitude of colourful pens scattering. “You’re incorrigible!” she whined into the paper, her hand that had been previously writing limp by the notebook.

“You asked to study! I’m studying!” Hope defended with a slight laugh, motioning with the brightly coloured flashcards in her hands.

Rosie’s head flopped to the side, cheek pressed into still-damp orange inked scribbles. “Clearly by study I meant halfarse rereading notes so we had an excuse to hang out.”

Hope paused for a beat, scrutinising Rosie from across the bed. “You needed an excuse to hang out with me?”

“Would you have agreed otherwise?”

“No,” she slowly answered. “But that’s just because I needed to study.”

“There is not a doubt in my mind that you were the most extreme teacher’s pet,” Rosie teased, pushing upright just to slump backwards, elbows positioned to support her weight. “I can picture it now, little Hope avoiding recess to do menial tasks.”

With a wistful sigh, Hope abandoned her flashcards, leaning back herself. “Oh, those were the good ol’ days.”

“Nerd.”

Hope clicked her tongue, fond exasperation etched in her face and soaked into her posture. “Well,” she drawled, climbing off the bed and popping to her feet. “Since we’re already taking an impromptu break, I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared out the door, leaving it wide open and lightly swinging on its hinges. A heavy sigh melts Rosie’s muscles as she stretched out on the bed in her absence, legs nudging the multitude of study supplies surrounding her.

She glanced about, eyes bouncing around curiously at the array of objects held in Hope’s bedroom. From the vanity, to the assortment of bottles and items splayed atop the dresser, to the meticulously organized bookshelf of textbooks and fiction, it was as if Rosie was getting a glimpse into the girl.

And somehow she felt there was more to uncover than ever before. From the tattered jacket full of memories draped over a chair, to the photo frames littering every available surface, to the picture book given prime shelf space, there’s so much life in the room that she’d never even heard about.

Hope stepped back into the room before her imagination could run truly wild, juggling a water bottle dotted in flower stickers and a few oranges. She dumps them all on the bed, tossing one of the small oranges to Rosie.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, catching it lightly.

“Mmhmm,” Hope hummed out of reflex as she jumped up to the bed, kicking her legs over the edge and toying with the lid of her water bottle. “You know, I don’t get why you of all people are a business major,” she commented, glancing up as she takes a drink.

Rosie chuckled, picking at the stubborn peel and pulling off chunks. “What makes you say that?”

“You just seem… not… businesslike? I don’t know,” she groaned, dipping her head to hide her face as Rosie laughed beside her.

“I think I’m plenty businesslike.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s cheeto dust on the edge of your notes.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Rosie waggled her index finger, “Cheetos are made by a business, therefore, they are businesslike.”

Hope’s mouth curved in a grin, lips pressed together to try and stop it’s spread. “You should be an attorney instead.”

“Nah, it just wouldn’t be fair to the other lawyers,” Rosie’s tone was casual as she popped an orange slice in her mouth, speaking through it. “Like a pro athlete playing with a kiddie team.”

Hope snorted, her hand clapped up to her mouth as she fought a loud laugh. “You'd be a force to be reckoned with in a courtroom, I’m sure.”

“I’m telling you, I’d be unstoppable. Just sue everyone else before they can sue me!”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Well, you’re not a lawyer, are you?”

Hope’s hands raised placatingly, but the smile on her face was evident of her amusement. “Alright, alright you win.”

“What’s my prize?”

Hope’s face scrunched up as she considered, one nail rising to tap at her chin. “What do you want?” she finally responded.

“To not study.”

“Alright, I get it.” She closed the textbook she had been reading from and tossed it onto a nearby desk chair, sitting straight and peering about for a distraction. “You want to watch something instead?”

“Yes! No books! No words! No unreadable handwriting!” Rosie cheered, shoving her own notebooks and laptop across the bedspread in a dramatic show.

“That’s your handwriting that you can’t read.”

“Exactly!” her hands waved, eyes wild before her palms slapped down onto the duvet, “Do you see how mad this has driven me?”

Hope rolled her eyes, tossing a pale orange blanket over Rosie to quiet her, “Every day you get more over the top.”

Snickering, Rosie pulled the blanket off her head and scooted backwards until she hit the headboard. “Stick around and maybe you’ll find my limit.”

“Trust me, I don’t plan on going anywhere,” Hope joined her on the bed, tugging her laptop to rest before them. “Now here, since you’re sticking around too, let’s watch something.”

She started scrolling through a streaming service, clicking on random descriptions but never staying long enough for Rosie to catch up. She moved fast, but with more purpose than anyone Rosie had ever met. Every sharp action was backed by a precise thought, every decisive selection marked by careful consideration.

She finally clicked on some random sitcom, beginning to settle against the headrest and Rosie’s side. The blanket only exacerbated the heat between them, and Rosie found herself spending more time attempting glimpses of Rosie than she spent watching the show.

Like the scattered peels and smudged ink of abandoned pens, orange. Like the blanket draped over their laps, orange. Like the sensation of sunlight blasting away all your worries, orange.

Yellow

Like the sunshine on Hope’s skin as they laughed in the park, hours disappearing under the sun, yellow. Like the water bottles filled with too-sweet lemonade, yellow. Like the checkered blanket they lay on, sprawled across it and speaking softly beneath the sky, yellow.

“Ooh, look at that one!” Hope pointed at the sky, index finger outstretched toward a cloud floating in the distance. It was filled with them, the white blending with pale blue as they floated above the world, unbothered by the affairs of the ground.

Rosie’s eyes scanned futilely, following Hope’s finger to the expansive sky, “Where?”

“There!”

“Hope,” Rosie laughed, a lightness in her heart, “there’s like a hundred clouds, I need specifics.”

With a sigh, Hope’s hand wrapped around Rosie’s, their fingers tangled together as she gestured above and to the left. She angled Rosie’s finger, slipping closer on the picnic blanket to direct her line of sight. “That one,” her voice was quieter as she squeezed the hand in hers.

The breath left Rosie’s lungs at their proximity, at the gentleness always present in Hope’s voice, but especially so now. She tore her gaze from the warmth in Hope’s cheeks to search the sky, finally finding the shaped cloud. “A heart?”

“Mmhmm,” Hope hummed, squeezing her hand once more.

“Cute.”

“I know, right?” Hope turned briefly, her face still set in a bright grin before she was back to staring at the sky and all it held within it.

But Rosie wasn’t paying attention to the sky anymore, she hadn’t been for a while. Her eyes were glued to the smile on Hope’s face, the way her eyes flitted from cloud to cloud, the way her bottom lip slipped between her teeth, the way she refused to release Rosie’s hand.

“Do you come here often?” she supplied to fill the silence, breaking a tension only she may have felt.

Hope’s gaze flicked back to her, sparkled with amusement.“Is that a line?”

“Just making conversation.”

Hope chuckled beneath her breath, turning back to the puffs in the painted sky. “Not really. Used to when I was younger, but you know… Classes, work, responsibilities… They don’t really leave time for an afternoon of watching clouds float past.”

“Do you wish you could do this more?”

“Always.”

“Then I’m glad I could help, even just a little,” Rosie grinned, easy and relaxed as she nudged Hope’s shoulder with her own.

“Me too.”

Rosie settled back, letting the blues and whites and greys and yellows of the day fill her eyesight, a collision of pastel colours before her dark eyes. Occasionally, Hope’s hand would brush her own, or her elbow would nudge Rosie as she shifted, and every time it was like a shot of sunshine right into her veins, stronger than pure adrenaline.

“It’s getting kind of dark,” Hope mumbled after a long stretch of silence, a quiet only disrupted by the occasional murmur.

Rosie’s lashes had fluttered shut, the soft breeze and noise of the park enough to lose herself in. “The forecast said no rain,” she answered, followed by a groan as she stretched her limbs on the checkered blanket.

“You sure?”

Rosie shrugged, “That’s what the weather girl said.”

“Which weather girl?”

“That annoying one, Blaire or something.”

“You trust the annoying weather girl?”

“I trust science,” Rosie retorted. “Also that Swedish news anchor. He trusts her, and I trust him. He’s very trustworthy, I’ll have you know,” she elbowed Hope to accentuate her point.

Hope sighed, reluctantly mumbling out an agreement, “Alright.”

Everything stilled once more, their little corner of the park unbothered by the rest of the whirring world. Rosie’s arm rose to cover her face and block out the lessening sunlight, the day seeming to have spent both her energy and the available sunlight.

A drop pinged Rosie’s forearm as it lay overtop her face, a prick on her skin. Then another. And another. Until raindrops began to soak her skin, her clothes, the blanket that was beneath her and Hope.

“Shit!” Rosie sprung to her feet blindly, scrambling as the onslaught of water kept coming, and coming.

Hope was in a struggle to get to her feet as well, grabbing wildly at discarded water bottles, phones, a jacket - whatever lay in her reach. “Get the stuff! Get the stuff!”

“I am, I am!” Rosie grabbed the checkered blanket, shoved it into the backpack she had brought along as Hope piled up the little containers of snacks.

Digging in her own bag, Hope blinked up at Rosie in a brief panic, “Hurry!”

“Would you -?” Rosie swatted at her with the edge of the blanket, her words dying as she dissolved into laughter.

“Rosie!” she chided, waving away the swat as she finally found what she was looking for. She stood straight, shrugging her bag over her shoulder and fiddling with the object she pulled from it.

“C’mon!” the taller woman laughed, “This is funny! We get one afternoon to ourselves and it literally rains on our parade!” she gestured around, spinning to encompass the whole park in the motion, every drop of rain spilling down on it. “That’s funny!”

Hope’s lips pressed together in a smile as she stepped forward, opening an umbrella and bringing it up to cover their heads. The bright yellow fabric echoed with each falling drop, but it was enough to prevent their soaked clothing from worsening.

“A little late for that,” Rosie chuckled from within her chest, heaving her hefty bag up her shoulder.

“Better late than never.” Hope paused, pursing her lips to the side as her free hand rose, brushing off a piece of wet grass from Rosie’s chest. Her touch lingered, the heel of her hand resting lightly.

“Hmm?” Rosie questioned wordlessly.

Hope’s fingers tightened in the front of her shirt, determination sparking in her eyes. “You want to go out sometime? For coffee, or lunch, or dinner?”

“I thought we already did that?” Rosie teased with a small smile.

“We do… But I was thinking it’d be a little different this time.” Hope’s eyes shimmered as they met Rosie’s from beneath heavy lashes, rain still shining like diamonds on them, on every part of her face.

Rosie smiled at the suggestive tone of the words, her expression so wide and bright, brighter than the umbrella held over their heads. “That sounds nice,” she feigned a casualty that wasn’t there, the smile lines around her mouth a dead giveaway.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, wet hair framing her face.

Hope’s face broke out in a smile to match Rosie’s, unrestrained under the transparent yellow umbrella over their heads. “Come on, then,” her hand slipped into the other girl’s, and she tugged Rosie towards a nearby awning, hands swinging lightly between them.

Like the shirt plastered to Rosie’s skin, soaked and damp, yellow. Like the umbrella that sheltered them from the storm, a brilliant, shining safety net, yellow. Like the happiness in her chest, bubbling and pounding inside her, yellow.

Green

Like the smile on Hope’s lips, as lively as a budding flower, green. Like the backdrop behind her, the painted walls and masses of house plants, green. Like the nausea that swirled in Rosie’s gut, foul and unsettling, green.

She lurched forward, stumbling to her feet before she darted across the flat towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut just as she collapsed to her knees. She retched, fingers gripping the edge of the toilet as bile stung at her throat.

With a moan, she slumped against the seat, eyes fluttered shut as a pounding in her head drowned out most of the flat. The brief ordeal weighed down her limbs, left her exhausted and drained on the bathroom floor.

“Hey, Rosie?” broke through her haze, a gentle question from the other side of the door.

She sighed, groaning out a “Hmm?”

“You okay in there?”

“Just peachy,” she chuckled weakly.

There was a brief pause before Hope’s voice returned, hesitant but laced with a caring that warmed Rosie’s heart, cleared her head momentarily. “I’m going to come in,” she announced, the knob twisting.

Rosie groaned once more in response, slumped against the toilet with her hair spilled over her shoulder in a messy flow. Her shirt now hung off her body awkwardly, a thin sweat having begun to coat her skin.

A cautious hand found her shoulder, squeezing lightly as Hope settled beside her, careful not to jostle her. “Are you sick?” her fingers delicately brushed over Rosie’s face as she spoke, tucking a stray braid behind her ear, her thumb running lightly over her cheek.

“No, I’m healthy as a horse, that’s why I’m voluntarily sitting with my face in the toilet,” Rosie bit back, more heat in the tone than ever before.

Hope huffed, her hand retracting from Rosie’s face and the taller woman immediately regretting the harshness of her previous words. “Quit with that for a second, would you?”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning to press her cheek in the crook of her elbow.

“It’s okay, just…” a sigh drooped Hope’s shoulders as she softly pressed the back of her hand to Rosie’s forehead. “What happened? Did you eat something bad? Were you sick earlier?” Her hand brushed over Rosie’s face repeatedly until she was swatted away.

“I don’t know,” Rosie brushed her off, pushing upright and slumping forward. “I was fine, I swear.”

“Do you need anything?” the smaller of the two continued to fuss, eyes searching for a visible cause of the crease between Rosie’s brows. “Oh - I’ll get water, I’ll go -” She awkwardly jumped up, bouncing back and forth on her feet in uncertainty for the girl on the floor before darting out the door.

She returned a few moments later, dropping back to the tile floor with a bottle of water and damp washcloth in her hands. “Rinse,” she instructed gently, pressing the bottle into Rosie’s grasp.

And she did as told, taking a swig and swishing it around her mouth before she spat into the toilet bowl. She repeated it a few more times before she scooted away, her thigh brushing Hope’s as her head dropped to Hope’s shoulder.

With her palm softly tracing Rosie’s spine, Hope didn’t dare move for a long moment. “You okay there?” she whispered, exhale brushing along Rosie’s forehead.

“Except for the spinning…” her head rolled in a tiny circle gesture, “everything, yes.”

“Can you stand?” Hope shifted onto her knees, still supporting Rosie’s weight carefully.

“I vomited, I didn’t break a leg.”

“What did I say about the sarcasm?” she sighed, “I’m just trying to help.”

“I know,” a groan fell from Rosie’s mouth, from deep in her throat as she slumped forward, head landing in her hands. “And I’m being an arse. Yes, I can stand.” She finally opened her eyes, looking up at Hope with a strained gaze.

Hope stood fully, offering her hands with a wiggle of her fingers, “Come on, then,” she urged.

Rosie moaned again, but placed her palms on Hope’s all the same. She let herself be gently tugged to her feet and led back into the living room of Hope’s flat, let herself be pushed into sitting back down and laying back, her eyelids fluttering shut.

Hope’s palm on her shoulder was a steady weight, a warmth soaking through to her skin. “Stay put,” and all too soon that weight disappeared as Hope stepped away from the sofa.

“Can I just go home?” Rosie asked, knowing full well she would never be granted permission to leave when she could barely keep her eyes open.

“No, you live alone,” Hope called over her shoulder, striding in the direction of the kitchen. “If you leave I can’t take care of you.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“You’re right. Babies don’t complain as much.”

“Are you saying you’d trade me for a baby?”

“Oh, never. You don’t have snot running down your face at the very least,” her voice echoed from the kitchen, familiar and playful in Rosie’s ears. “...If I come in there and there’s snot -!”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Rosie!” Hope’s chiding voice rang from the kitchen, alongside a loud, panicked clatter, which only served to provide Rosie with a brief laughing fit.

“I’d never,” her laughter died, replaced by an amused smile grounded in the comfort of the situation. “I think you’d break my nose before I got the chance.”

“Don’t even think about it and you’ll never have to find out.”

“Mmm,” Rosie hummed in acknowledgment, sinking further into the cushions of the sofa as Hope’s pleasant voice occasionally called out to her, alongside clatters and thuds.

Her lashes flickered open, blinking to clear the fleeting sleep from them as Hope stood over her, hands on her hips. “I was trying to make you soup, but you’re going right to bed.”

“I don’t live here,” she murmured without a thought, the imposing woman above her having stripped her of them.

“I know. Now, up.”

Hope pulled her to her feet again, let Rosie lean her bodyweight against her in her sick and sleepy haze as she was guided to Hope’s bedroom and directed to the bed. Hope yanked back the neatly made duvet, allowing Rosie to slip beneath it.

The bed dipped as Hope joined her on the edge, tracing her nail over her scalp, the hinge of her jaw, the length of her neck. Over, and over again, until the sleep that weighed Rosie down stole her again, until she could only manage a mumbled, “Thank you.”

Like the soft explosion of colour on her shut eyelids, flowing in whatever direction the light is pulled in, green. Like the doting nails as they ghosted along her skin, sweet and full of love, green. Like the peace now swirling in her once foul gut, green.

Blue

Like the rain falling from the dark clouds outside, blue. Like the melancholy that permeated the air as Rosie opened the door, blue. Like the tears in the corners of Hope’s eyes as she fought against the pressure behind them, blue.

Hope shouldered her way into the flat and into the living room, dropping herself onto the sofa before she sucked in a deep breath. “You can’t move,” her voice cracked as it escaped from her, each syllable heavy with sorrow.

Crossing the room, Rosie collapsed beside her, gaze stuck to her hands as she felt Hope’s bored into the side of her face. “Why not?” she mumbled beneath her breath, one nail picking the woven bracelet resting on her wrist.

“‘Cause I’ll miss you.”

She sighed heavily, twitching beneath Hope’s piercing eyes. “I’ll miss you too, but I kinda have to,” she shrugged, everything feeling useless in the moment. Everything had felt useless since that morning, since she had first told Hope and they had first begun this odd dance.

“It’s not the same.”

“Sure it is.”

“No, no it’s not,” Hope insisted, a spark in her voice as her own hands fidgeted wildly, unease seeping in every corner of the flat. “You’ll - You’ll be doing your thing, without me there, and I’ll be doing my thing without you here, and we’ll be in our little worlds and won’t - won’t realise until it’s too late and we… you know.” She fell off at the end, her bottom lip slipping between her teeth to worry it.

“Hope,” Rosie sighed, a hand dragging down her face, “We’re not gonna break up.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“How? How can you possibly know what’ll happen if you leave?” Hope’s features crumpled, deep creases marking worry lines.

“Hope…”

“Rosie, look at me.” She took Rosie’s hands, thumbs nervously circling her knuckles as her eyes poured into the dark irises across from her. “I know you, and I know me. I know I’m not good at being apart, and I know you get caught up in the moment. I adore that about you, I really do, but it’s also the most annoying thing imaginable.”

“Wha - Hey!” A surprised laugh bubbled out of Rosie, a bright smile gracing her features for the first time in the night.

“See?” A small smile illuminated Hope’s own expression, “Now you can’t go ‘cause you have to stay to get back at me.” The smile dissipated, replaced by a tight grip on Rosie’s hands. “Please don’t go.”

“I have to. Seriously,” Rosie squeezed back. “My mum… she needs me back home right now.”

Hope sagged, disheartened, letting her forehead bump into Rosie’s shoulder. “You’re too stubborn.”

Rosie snorted, “Says you. You showed up at my door at three in the morning.” Her arm wrapped around Hope without a thought, unconsciously urging her closer.

“I’m not stubborn, I’m romantic.”

“Yeah?” a chuckle vibrated throughout Rosie’s chest, “Then romance me.”

Hope visibly brightened, turning her head to smile into Rosie’s neck. “I’ll buy you roses tomorrow. Roses for my Rose,” she giggled radiantly.

“Cute,” Rosie hummed, her palm circling along her partner’s back.

“I thought so,” she preened.

Rosie inhaled deeply, rolling her neck to crack it before she fell backward suddenly. She held out her hands, making a grabbing motion at a slightly confused Hope. “C’mere,” waved relentlessly, until Hope gave in with a grin.

She shuffled forward, collapsing atop Rosie with a contented sigh, her head on the taller woman’s chest, right above her softly beating heart. She dragged her fingers up and down Rosie’s ribs, every breath of Hope’s a whisper along her skin.

“I didn’t think you ever wanted to leave London anyhow?” she exhaled after they settled, inquiring with nudge to Rosie’s chin.

“I didn’t. Not for forever, at least.”

“So you’ll come back to me?”

Rosie stalled, avoiding eye contact as she stared up at the ceiling. “...At some point.”

A frown dipped Hope’s lips almost instantaneously, “I don’t like the sound of that. That sounds like - like…” she struggled for words, her features pinched. “Like a goodbye with extra steps.”

“Nope,” Rosie’s head shook adamantly, finally meeting Hope’s gaze with a resolve in her own. “We’re not saying goodbye, I promise you that.”

That quieted Hope, her lashes fluttered shut as her hand on Rosie’s abdomen stilled. The flat went still as well, undisturbed in the late hour as light, nimble fingers traced a circle around her hip.

“What if I went with you?” Hope’s voice cracked the silence in half, shattering it like glass and simultaneously freezing it deeper into her bones.

There was no response, and she glanced up to find Rosie gawking, blinking upwards in surprise. Her jaw hung open, mouth working to form words that won’t come, no matter how hard she may try. Finally, her voice squeaked out, breathless with her disbelief, “You’d… move cities… for me?”

“Yes,” Hope answered in a heartbeat, not a second of hesitation.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

At that Rosie exploded back to life, her crooked grin lifting her lips. “Nuh-uh, you gotta say it,” she teased, her eyes burning with excitement.

“You’re the worst, you know that?” Hope laughed, fond exasperation filling her as she shook her head.

“Say it,” Rosie urged, pestering Hope with pokes to her sides. “Say it, say it, say it.”

“The worst!” A full laugh spilled from her lips, and Rosie pressed for more and more of it, the sound addictive to her. Hope freed herself from Rosie’s grasp, from her playful jabs, and kneeled above her, taking her face in her hands.

Hope’s thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, caress delicate and soothing. “I love you and don’t want to be without you, okay?” she whispered into the space between them, a clash of brilliant eyes alighting the gap like metal sparking.

“I love you too,” she murmured back, rising to peck Hope on the nose before she settled back down. “But you don’t have to move.”

“But I want to.”

“Hope…”

“Rosie…”

Rosie shook her head, incredulous at the persistence staring her down. “You’re going to change your mind in the morning,” she warned carefully.

“I won’t.”

“And how could you know that? How could you possibly know that?” Rosie teased, repeating Hope’s previous words.

“How many times do I have to tell you I love you for you to get it?”

“I won’t complain if you say it a few more times,” Rosie joked, languidly relaxed as she danced her fingers along Hope’s skin wherever she could reach, noting the twist in the dance between them. It was as if they stuck the landing, poised and graceful, rather than on their arse like they had been earlier in the day.

“So it’s settled, then?” Hope livened, “I’m coming with you?”

Mumbling under her breath, Rosie rolled her eyes, “Incorrigible…”

The shorter woman stretched out, her body overlapping with Rosie’s as she buried herself in her side. “I’m coming whether you agree or not, you can just make this easier for the both of us.”

“Fine,” Rosie grumbled. “If you really, truly, absolutely want to move to Margate with me, I don’t think I can do much to stop you.”

“Damn right you can’t.”

Like the cushions their bodies have melted into together, blue. Like the rain streaked down window panes right outside, blue. Like the waves of calm rolling through the flat, a gentle rhythm to match their exhales as they were carefully lulled to sleep, blue.

Purple

Like the cardigan wrapped around her body, the slightest amount too big, purple. Like the sandals padding along sand, feet running down the length of the beach, purple. Like the sky as the sun sets on the horizon, fading watercolours painted across the clouds, purple.

“Slow down, slow down!” Hope lamely chased after Rosie on the beach, her shoes sinking into the sand with each step.

“Not my fault you wore heels,” Rosie called over her shoulder, walking quickly down the shoreline as she tugged her cardigan closer to her body. A breeze swept over the waves, cold grazing her skin.

Hope’s bottom lip popped out in a pout, her legs working to free the sharp heels stuck in sand. “I was trying to look nice for date night.”

“You always look nice, you don’t need heels.”

“Aw,” Hope cooed, grinning at the taller woman. “Wait, seriously, stop,” she forced Rosie to retrace a few steps, her hand gripped in Rosie’s sleeve for balancing. She bounced on one foot as she tugged her heels off one by one, burying her toes in the smooth sand when they were freed. “Okay, now you get to hold them,” Hope smiled, jutting her arm out as the shoes dangled from her fingers.

“What? Why me?”

“You brought me here, it’s your fault I can’t walk anymore.” Hope swung the shoes, imploring them to be taken from her grasp.

“I brought you here to be romantic and you’ve spent the whole time complaining about your feet,” Rosie grumbled, but despite her protests, she took the outstretched shoes in one hand and offered Hope her other, tugging her along as soon as their palms met.

With her feet bare, Hope matched pace, sidling up to Rosie’s side and linking their arms. “Thank you, by the way,” she sighed softly, her cheek pressing to the woven fabric of Rosie’s cardigan. “It’s gorgeous out here.”

Rosie grinned cheekily, her chest puffed out for a joke, “Not as -”

“Gorgeous as me?” Hope interjected, head tilted as she peered up bemusedly.

“I was going to say the heels, but you too.”

“I can’t believe I’m dating you,” Hope groaned, burying her face further in pale purple fabric.

“Yeah, that was a really bad call on your part,” Rosie laughed loudly, squeezing the arm looped in hers tightly.

“I guess you have some good moments. Like when you buy me flowers, or take me to dinner on my night off, or bring me to the beach,” Hope emphasised her point by kicking up a small cloud of sand. “And that was only tonight. Are you up to something?” she joked, squinting up in faux suspicion.

Rosie avoided her gaze, turning to the horizon and softly setting sun instead. It’s rays stretched as far as the eye can see, basking the world in brilliant colour and reflecting off the rolling waves of the sea.

Hope’s jaw fell open, eyes scanning Rosie for any semblance of an answer, “Oh my god, you are. What is it? What’s this all about?”

With a halfhearted shrug, Rosie feigned nonchalance, “Just… setting the mood.”

Hope planted her feet, burying her toes in the sand and pulled on her partner’s sleeve as she continued walking, yanking her back. “Tell me or I’m not moving.”

“I had this whole thing planned, and now you’re trying to blackmail me into spoiling it?” Rosie chuckled, letting herself be reeled in by her baggy sleeve.

“Yep. Now tell me.”

A sigh broke from Rosie’s lips, “And you always called me stubborn. Okay, just -” she shook out her shoulders, rolling her neck. “Give me a minute, I thought I’d have more time.”

With a slight frown, Hope crossed her arms over her chest, but she obliged nevertheless. She watched Rosie drop the heels in her hand and fidget restlessly, fingers adjusting her cardigan, her dress, her hair. Until they slipped into her purse, digging around for a brief second before drawing out a small box.

It’s rolled in Rosie’s palms, her hands never stilling as long as it's in her grasp. She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “The day I met you was… honestly, it was pretty embarrassing,” Rosie grinned, as crooked as ever. “But you didn’t hold it against me. And… that’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Probably?” Hope’s eyebrow quirked, her hip jutting out to the side in objection.

The taller woman glared up from beneath her long lashes, “You want the heartfelt speech or not?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Hope’s hands waved placatingly. “Please, continue.”

“Right, okay,” Rosie nodded, rebuilding her courage. “You are more than I ever expected and more special than I first thought. Every day I’ve known you has been better than the last, and it’s like - like brighter? Like everything’s just more colourful now, and I don’t know what you did, but I love you for it,” she grinned, bashful for once, with a blush dusting her cheeks.

“And I know this is a long time coming, but better late than never right?” she chuckled softly beneath her breath, eyes trained on the sand as the flush in her cheeks grew. “So I just have to ask, if after everything, you’d be willing to stick around and keep making everything brighter?”

Tears glittered in Hope’s eyes, a shine coating them as she sucked in a trembling breath. Her fingers carefully covered Rosie’s, a thumb traced the small rock embedded in the ring as she watched it shine in the low light.

Rosie shifted from foot to foot, staring down at the ring with a miniscule frown. “It’s not much, but…”

“It’s perfect,” Hope cut her off before she could finish, voice as sweet as ever. “Perfect,” she repeated as she gently took it from Rosie’s hands, slipping it on her finger. She turned it over carefully, movements as graceful as ever to Rosie’s peering gaze.

Abruptly, Hope’s arms curled around her waist, face burying in her shoulder. Rosie reciprocated without a thought, squeezing tight. “You know, I think I need an answer,” she breathed into Hope’s skin, lips slowly split into a smile.

“Oh!” Hope darted backwards, hands aimlessly fumbling until they landed on Rosie’s jaw, cupping her face warmly. “Yes! God, yes. I’m - I’m here to stay,” she beamed. “Always.”

Rosie’s forehead bumped against Hope’s, arms wound around her torso. “I told you no goodbyes, didn’t I?”

“You are ever true to your word,” she tapped the side of Rosie’s nose teasingly before retracting, rubbing her arms to warm them. “Come on, let’s go; I’m freezing out here,” she bounced on her feet expectantly.

“Yeah, the beach was more romantic in my head,” Rosie chuckled, tugging her cardigan off her body to drape it over Hope’s shoulders.

Taking the gifted cardigan, Hope turned on her heel, leading the way from the chilling breeze sweeping over the sea. She hooked her arm through Rosie’s once again as they walked in silence, a comfortable silence. It’s carried along the breeze, relaxed as the lapping waves that grow more and more distant.

“I still appreciate it,” Hope commented as they came to a stop by their car, folding her arms as she leaned against it, lavender wool dripping from her arms.

“The beach or the ring?”

“I can appreciate both.

Rosie laughed brightly, hooking an arm around Hope’s waist to draw her in. Her smile softened, from a burning wildfire to a fireplace, there to keep you warm and safe more than anything. Hope’s arms snaked around her neck in response, their bodies melding in a way that was more natural to them than breathing.

“Look at you,” Rosie whispered in private awe, her breath ghosted along Hope’s lips as one nail traced the curves shaping them.

Hope’s own smile was serene, full of her own hominess, “What do you see?”

With her gaze filled with nothing but the face before her, tracing over every bump and dip in skin, every line and colour in gleaming irises, she breathed, “Everything.”

Like the deep of the creeping night, stars glittering within the gradient of the sky, purple. Like the future laid out before them, infinite possibilities but an amethyst sitting at the centre of it all, purple. Like the feeling of contentment, peace swirling in the pit of your stomach, purple.

[sambergscott]

Lights Out

Summary: The elevator jolts and the lights flicker, before plunging them into total darkness. There's a Brooklyn-wide power outage, they're stuck in the precinct elevator and Amy is claustrophobic AF. Then her water breaks.

Based on this amazing (!!!) s7 finale theory by @luna-minerva​. Thank you so much for letting me turn that into this. I really, really hope you love it. 

She has a birth plan written out by her sixth month of pregnancy detailing her preferences for labor — dimmed lights, calming music, an epidural, Jake by her side at all times — laminated in the apartment, her go bag (already pre-packed in their family friendly sedan) and her everyday purse. She sent copies to her doctor, both their parents and Captain Holt, printed one for Jake to keep at work and saved a digital copy in the Notes app on both their phones. Just in case.

(“Single spaced, double sided: Santiago Style,” Jake grins when she hands over the final draft.

“Of course. It’s an important document about the most important moment of our lives. I want everything to go smoothly.”)

And for most of her pregnancy, it does. She sends him out for pierogis, potato pancakes and hot chocolate most nights, cries over every car commercial on TV and waddles around the apartment making sure everything is perfect for when the baby arrives. The doctor assures her that they’re both healthy, but she should take an early maternity leave, given the stresses of her job.

She survives for one day before she’s back at the precinct, prompting several raised eyebrows and whispers from around the bullpen. Ignoring all of them, she hitches her purse onto her shoulder, lifts her head, and marches determinately to her old desk.

“FOMOW?” Jake guesses with an amused smile.

“It’s not FOMOW,” she huffs in annoyance. “I just finished organising the nursery and since I was passing the precinct, I figured I’d come visit my husband, if that’s OK with you.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” he holds his hands up. “I’ve missed having a beautiful lady to look up at when my paperwork gets boring.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully. “I suppose you’ll do.”

She rolls her eyes, sitting down and trying to make herself as comfortable as possible, a difficult task when you’re as big as a whale and your back has been aching all day.

“Peralta,” Holt’s new assistant barks as he leaves Holt’s office, “you missed some signatures on this report.” He drops it on top of all the other open case files, candy wrappers and clutter on Jake’s desk, a welcome change from the way Gina would turn their work into paper airplanes and fly them across the bullpen. As Jake starts scribbling his name, Holt’s assistant notices Amy. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh, I’m OK. I work here. Well, I used to work here. I’m on maternity leave.”

“Of course,” he nods, realisation spreading across his face. “You’re Sergeant Santiago. Captain Holt mentions you constantly.”

“He does?” She clutches her heart. “Jake, did you hear that? Holt mentions me.”

He mouths “dork” and she sticks her tongue out at him.

“So when’s the baby due? You look ready to pop any day now.”

“Two weeks,” Jake answers on her behalf, sensing danger. The ‘ready to pop’ comment has been driving her crazy for weeks. She is well aware of her size and does not need perfect strangers reminding her. She’s pregnant, not a contestant on America’s Next Top Model. She’s supposed to be big. He shoves the signed documents into Holt’s assistant’s hands and glances apprehensively back at his wife. “You OK?”

“Mm-hmm.” She plasters on a brave face. “Can’t believe I’m saying this but I actually miss Gina.”

Jake snorts and presses play on CCTV footage of a robbery.

She twists her engagement ring on her finger, braids the ends of her hair and straightens a pile of folders on the desk. She is something of a workaholic and not being able to do anything is torture. “Any cool cases you’re working on?” She asks Jake, because what else are husbands for if not living vicariously through their work while on maternity leave?

“Hipster coffee shop got broken into last night. The owner was devastated that she had to drink Starbucks this morning like the rest of us instead of her fancy $8 million gold infused coffee blend from Outer Mongolia.”

“At least she gets to drink coffee,” Amy responds snarkily.

“Worth it though,” he grins. “And I’ll be your personal in-home barista once this baby is out.”

“Thanks, babe. You’re the sweetest.” She rounds their desks to give him a chaste kiss (she may not be in work but they are still at work), when something catches her eye on the screen. She instructs him to rewind the video, pointing out that the intruder has the same bone structure and blonde hair as the owner behind the counter.

Jake gasps. “It was an inside job!”

A failing business tries to scam the insurance company; it’s a tale as old as time.

He grabs his phone, gun and jacket in a rush to arrest the owner before they skip town.

“Can I come with you?”

“What?”

“I want to come with you. I’m the one who solved the case.”

“You’re pregnant. You can’t.”

“I’ll walk ahead of you, pretend I’m just a normal customer,” she pleads. “You know I’m good at going undercover. Remember Dora?”

“Of course I remember Dora, Johnny loved Dora, but this is different. It’s too dangerous.”

“They own a hipster coffee shop, Jake,” she deadpans. “They’re not going to hurt a pregnant lady. I’m FOMOWing so bad, I just want to be there.”

“Ames-.”

“Please, Jake,” she kicks her persuasion tactics up a few notches, pulling out the doe eyes and pout that she knows he can’t resist.

“Fine,” he concedes before she starts crying and playing the “I’m having your baby” card. “You can come. But if anything dangerous goes down, you have to get out of there straight away. You can’t get involved.”

“Deal.” She shakes his hand firmly (she took a refresher seminar a few months ago) and retrieves her purse from her old desk, following him to the elevator like old times. Peralta and Santiago off to take down bad guys (and look good doin’ it). Of course, there will be no actual taking down of bad guys nine months pregnant, although she could do it if she wanted to, she’s definitely felt the urge to kick Charles in the shin whenever he brings them disgusting foods or tries to kiss her belly.

Just being there is enough for now.

She speeds up, reaching the elevator before him and pressing the down button first. She smirks at him over her shoulder and steps inside when the doors open. Despite being married and expecting a kid together, their competitive edge has never wavered. In the last few months alone, they’ve bet on the sex of the baby, who would cry first when they heard the heartbeat, what fruit or vegetable their baby is that week and who can put a diaper on a football fastest. Bets are the cornerstone of their relationship — the original bet sparking Jake’s realisation that he liked her liked her — and Amy can’t wait for their kids to join in when they’re old enough.

(Kids, plural, because for some reason, even after difficulty conceiving and morning sickness and FOMOW, she would still go through pregnancy all over again. They don’t quite want eight like her parents, but at least one more would be nice).

Rosa’s black boots stop the elevator doors closing and she squeezes through the gap. “Got an early lunch date,” she explains.

“Oh,” Amy says, sharing A Look™️ with Jake. Rosa hasn’t dated anyone since Jocelyn dumped her, choosing to be on her own for a while since she hasn’t really had time alone to process her almost marriage to Pimento, prison and coming out. Repairing her relationship with her parents has been her #1 priority and this is the first Amy’s heard about her seeing someone new. “Is it... serious?” She tries not to push too hard because otherwise Rosa will just close off (it’s pointless asking about names or jobs or appearance), which is hard because she just wants her to be as happy as she is with Jake, but also knows from past experience that Rosa will eventually reveal the information when she’s ready.

“It could be,” she responds vaguely. “I like her, but she’s a doctor so we both work way too much.”

“Well, I hope it works out. You deserve someone really great.”

Rosa pulls her in for a tight, unexpected hug. “Thanks, Santiago,” she murmurs, her voice cracking as if she’s about to cry.

The elevator jolting and lights flickering ruins the moment. After a few terrifying seconds, it stops completely and they are plunged into darkness.

Amy’s blood runs cold, panic filling her lungs. She’s had this nightmare a million times, having suffered with claustrophobia ever since her brothers locked her in a closet as a kid.

She hears Jake’s “cool, cool, cool, cool, cool” and Rosa saying that it’s probably a power cut, but she can’t speak. She can’t do anything but think about how they’re never going to get out and how the squad will have to send them food supplies through the safety hatch in the ceiling and how they’ll have to raise their baby in this tiny metal box, teaching her to count using the buttons to the different precinct floors.

She feels pain, a fun combination of Braxton Hicks that she’s been having for weeks and panic attack. She tries to focus on her breathing and not on the four walls closing in on her. When the breathing techniques fail, she focuses on Jake.

Kind, funny, handsome Jake. Her husband, but more than that, her best friend. She concentrates on the toothpaste stain on the front of his shirt, his unruly curls that she loves so much, the ring on his finger glinting in the light from Rosa’s phone. His own phone is pressed to his ear and she can only hear one side of the conversation but it’s clear that he’s debriefing Holt.

“- Me, Amy, Rosa -"

“- We’re fine, just stuck -"

“- How long?  -”

“Shit.” He hangs up, pocketing his phone. “Power’s out everywhere. Our back-up generators haven’t kicked in, something about air in the fuel system. The fire department are busy with the blackout and we’re apparently not an emergency, so. We could be in here a while.”

“Shit,” Rosa echoes his sentiment.

“Yeah. You OK, Ames?” He turns his attention to her.

She shakes her head meekly.

“Claustrophobic?” Rosa guesses, remembering her reaction to being locked in the trunk when she was trying to get her and Gina to face their fears.

She nods.

“We can play Celebrity to distract ourselves. I’ll go first. He’s the greatest actor -.”

“Bruce Willis,” Amy and Rosa say at the same time.

“Thought I’d give you an easy one to start,” he blushes.

Amy almost laughs despite the overwhelming fear. She loves him, Bruce Willis obsession and all. She takes a few seconds to think of someone good. Then, “They’re in - oh - water -.”

“They’re in water?” Rosa repeats, confused. “You mean like Jaws?”

“Or Finding Dory?” Jake adds. He made her watch the movie with him after Pimento’s Memento disease and now wants to buy a fish and call it Dory, even though he famously killed her fish back when they were dating. “Is it Ellen?”

“No, my water.”

Jake and Rosa both look down in horror. She buries her face in her hands. As if this situation could not get any worse.

“At least this classifies us as an emergency now,” Jake quips.

Rosa does Amy a favour and punches him in the arm.

--

They notify Holt — who in turn notifies the FDNY — and Jake sends a text to both their parents.

Rosa climbs onto Jake’s shoulders and opens the safety hatch so Charles can lower a care package of towels and bottled water into the elevator.

(He also delivers Sour Candies, upon Jake’s request).

Terry tries to pull the doors apart, but even his tree trunk arms are no match for the heavy metal.

Amy breathes through her contractions, stubbornly determined to stick to her birth plan and give birth in the hospital.

Her body, however, has other ideas.

“Four minutes apart now,” Rosa announces. She punches a wall out of frustration. “Where the hell are those firefighters?”

“They’re not going to make it in time,” Jake responds, equally frustrated. “Camila warned me months ago that Santiago babies come early, fast and are always boys.”

“This baby is half-Peralta and a girl. She might be the exception.” Amy takes a sip of water, ignoring the look of disbelief on Jake’s face.

“Diaz, you went to med school, tell my wife that this baby isn’t going to wait.”

Rosa opens her mouth to speak but Amy cuts her off.

“Diaz, tell my husband that the contractions aren’t even that painful and we have time.”

--

As it turns out, they don’t have time at all.

She’s feels pressure, the urge to push, and not even the glug glug glug of Rosa’s babbling brook sounds can calm her down.

“I do not want to give birth in the precinct elevator,” she cries.

Jake, on back rubbing duty, exchanges nervous glances with Rosa. She’s fully dilated and with the fire department still busy tackling other emergencies, this is happening. Right here. Right now.

“You know, it’s actually kind of perfect, Ames. We first met outside this elevator, right? And I kept the elevator doors open to let you win the Jimmy Jabs because of my massivecrush on you. And then you let me win to save our car. We fell in love in this precinct. It’s where we had our first for realz kiss, where we got engaged, where we got married. It’s kind of fitting that it’s also where our baby is going to be born.”

She tilts her head back to kiss him, ignoring Rosa’s complaints that they’re gross.

She thinks back to her wedding vows. Not everything is in our control, but as long as you’re with the right people you can handle anything. And you, Jake Peralta, are the right person for me. She can handle this with Jake by her side. She can bring their daughter into the world.

“OK... I’m ready.”

“That’s my girl,” Jake says proudly, shuffling into a better position to hold her hand and see the baby when she comes out.

They all disinfect their hands with Purrell from Amy’s purse and Rosa explains what’s going to happen and Jake jokes that he feels like Sandra Oh in Grey’s Anatomy.

Rosa rolls her eyes. “Christina was a heart surgeon, dumb dumb. You’re thinking of Addison. What?” She questions at their surprised expressions. “I like Grey’s Anatomy! It makes me feel things! I’m not totally heartless.”

Amy releases a string of expletives as another contraction starts.

“We’re going to start pushing on the next one,” Rosa instructs, forgetting her favourite medical drama.

Amy nods quickly.

Jake brushes fallen strands of hair away from her sweat-covered skin and takes her hand. “Squeeze as hard as you need to, babe.”

--

No amount of studying or listening to her mom’s stories could prepare her for the pain of pushing a baby out. It’s worse than the time her brother pushed her off the monkey bars when she was eight and she broke her arm, worse than the time she got shot in the line of duty, worse than the heartbreak of Jake being sentenced to 15 years in prison. It’s worse than anything she’s ever experienced and when it’s over she has so many questions for her mom, including why on Earth did she do this so many times?!

She’s also going to thank Jake for not complaining once and buy Rosa many drinks for her part in all this.

Having her colleague deliver her baby was definitely not part of the birth plan, but out of everyone they work with, she’s glad that it’s Rosa.

Rosa who’s been there for Jake since the Academy.

Rosa who has always had her back, too, who comforted her when Jake was in Florida, helped get her to her Sergeant’s exam on time and encouraged Jake to ask her out.

(And thank God she did).

--

Labor is exhausting.

It’s painful and emotional and long.

“You’re so close,” Jake cheers her on when she hits a wall.

“He’s right. I can see her head. One more push, Santiago.”

“I can’t-.”

“You can,” Rosa insists. “1,000 push ups.”

“OK,” she whispers. Rosa doesn’t just throw around 1,000 push ups willy nilly. It means something. And if Rosa is so confident that she can do this, then she can do it.

She pushes and pushes and eventually hears a baby’s cry.

It’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard.

When Rosa places her in Amy’s arms for immediate skin-to-skin, all four of them are openly weeping.

She’s the most perfect person she’s ever seen.

“I love you both so much,” Jake murmurs, kissing the top of Amy’s head. He leans down to kiss his daughter, too, marvelling over the fact that he gets to say my daughter now.

They cuddle for a while, quietly bickering over who she looks most like. They decide that she has Jake’s hair, nose and mouth and, when she opens her eyes for a second to see what all the fuss is about, he is thrilled to discover that she has the same beautiful eyes as her mom.

They wrap her up in Jake’s favourite blue hoodie to keep her warm and Rosa snaps their first official family portrait and sends it to their parents, Amy’s brothers and the Nine-Nine’s WhatsApp group. She reads out the messages of congratulations that fly in, making Jake and Amy both cry some more.

Finally she interrupts their family time to cut the cord, pulling out her pocket knife and lighter from her leather jacket.

Jake’s eyes go comically wide. “You’re going to use a knife?”

“Do you have any other suggestions?” She snaps.

He falls silent.

“Thought so.” She sterilises the blade (recently sharpened following Brad Leone’s tutorial from the BA Test Kitchen) with her lighter and carefully cuts the umbilical cord.

“Say thank you Tía Rosa,” Amy coos, stroking her daughter’s tiny hand.

“Tía?”

“Mm-hmm,” Amy hums with a tired smile. “We were going to ask you to be her godmother anyway, but I think you have more than earned that role now.”

“I’d be honoured,” she responds.

--

After another hour and a half stuck in the elevator, the lights come back on, the elevator doors open with a ping and they are suddenly faced with a crowd of concerned police officers, firefighters and paramedics, little Maya Peralta gracing the rest of the world in the most dramatic of fashion.

The firefighters spring into gear, holding the elevator doors shut while others help Amy into an awaiting wheelchair.

Jake hovers next to the paramedics as they check Maya’s vitals. Thankfully, everything is normal, they clean her up and replace Jake’s blood-stained hoodie with a warm blanket.

“She’s perfect,” the female paramedic tells him as she hands Maya back to her dad, confirming what he knew the second he laid eyes on her.

They then turn their attention to Amy, who is fine — more than fine, she’s the happiest she’s ever been — just a little sore. They decide to take them both into hospital as a precautionary measure since Maya is two weeks early (Santiago Style!), packing up their equipment while Jake and Amy introduce the Nine-Nine’s newest recruit to the rest of the squad.

Terry says something about little girls being the best, Hitchcock and Scully claim not to have known Amy was even pregnant and Holt’s stoic façade crumbles when Maya grips his finger with her entire hand.

Charles’ eyes are red and puffy like he’s been crying, but he’s uncharacteristically calm when Jake asks if he wants to hold her. He nods, of course, and is enamoured with her the moment he feels her weight in his arms.

This isn’t how she planned it —none of it is — she wanted the controlled hospital birth and the grandparents to meet the baby first and she really wanted to catch the perp from the coffee shop robbery, but Jake was right. It’s kind of perfect that she was born here, in the Nine-Nine, surrounded by their second family.

She meets her husband’s eye and smiles.

[iraacundus]

Butterfly Lies - Three

chapter three ✭  masterlist ✭ previous ✭ next ✭

mafialeader kun x reader

words: 4.5k

genre: fluff, smut (in later chapters), angst

warnings: implied murder, probably swearing idk i forgot

money makes people do strange things, is what people would say, it can even motivate them to murder. kun didn’t have people killed for the money, he had them killed for the power, he was a monster among men, is what people would say. in reality kun had only ever been motivated by one thing, his love for you

✭  ✭  ✭  ✭  ✭  

You had never been a person to waste time. The next morning you had already formulated an idea that would kill two birds with one stone. You just needed Kun to agree. So, when you put your interview suit on, you swapped your normal skirt for a slightly shorter one and made sure you wore the bracelet Kun had given you.

You were not opposed to such low tactics. You were a woman with a plan.

You grabbed your CV off from your desk, along with a copy of your university work placement letter that you needed signed.

You had thought all night about how to become a strength to Kun rather than a weakness. It didn’t take you long that your intelligence and good decision-making skills had always been a strength of yours.

Kun was smart, but you were smarter, therefore you could help him.

Well at least you hoped you could as you struggled to find the heeled shoe that matched the one you were currently hopping around in.

You spotted it under the sofa, pumping your fist in the air triumphantly when you finally managed to get it out from underneath.

You were running about half an hour later than you had hoped but it only occurred to you when you were already on the bus that Kun might not even be at his office. He might have taken the day off due to injury or at least have come in late.

You began to wonder if his line of work even tended to start at nine in the morning, seeing as it wasn’t your typical nine to five.

But by that point you were already halfway there so you decided to just hope for the best. Practicing over and over again in your head what you would say. You somehow guessed it wasn’t going to be an easy sell.

You pressed the button for the bus to stop as you approached the street where Qian Industries was situated. It was filled with buildings for some of the biggest firms in the country and expensive restaurants.

You still weren’t fully processing how far Kun had managed to go up in the world.

This time when you walked into the building foyer it wasn’t empty. Security guards stood just inside the door and there were four receptionists at the desk, working away. The other day when Xiaojun had gotten you both in the elevator you vaguely remembered him using a staff card, something you weren’t in possession of.

Instead you had to overcome the first obstacle, getting the people who worked on reception to let you inside. You approached the desk, putting a smile on your face. The man on the phone didn’t look up, neither did the three women next to him, even after you had been standing there for about thirty seconds.

“Hello, hi, excuse me,” you said, trying to get one of them to notice you. Eventually the man stopped typing and looked up from his computer.

“Welcome to Qian Industries, do you have an appointment?” he asked in a monotone voice. You had absolutely no clue why Kun had hired such standoffish members of staff.

“I’m here to see Mr Qian,” you said, not mentioning that you technically didn’t have an appointment.

“He doesn’t have any meetings this morning, you need to call him and arrange a time, please come back then.” The receptionist gave you a false smile before going back to typing.

“My name is y/n, if you could just call him, he will agree to meet me, we are close friends,” you endeavoured to explain. The man didn’t reply, he just gave a small nod to the security guards who immediately came over and started to drag you out.

“I can walk myself out,” you said, pushing them off you and walking the rest of the way out the door. You stopped for a moment and sighed, not in defeat but out of annoyance. Pulling out your phone, you clicked on Kun’s name, ringing him.

“Hey y/n, what’s up?” he said, answering the phone.

“Can you tell your staff to let me into your building, they didn’t believe we were friends and so I have been dragged out,” you told him.

“Why are you at my building?” he asked but didn’t give you time to reply, “never mind, I will come down now and get you,” he said, hanging up the phone. You stood with your arms folded, giving the receptionist your best glare. The security team were just doing their jobs, but the man, he was just rude.

Kun was taking his time in coming down to meet you and you were starting to regret your decision to wear heels, even if it had been part of your master plan. But seeing as step one: get into his office had so far failed, your optimism was somewhat dwindling.

Seconds later the elevator doors opened and Kun walked out. You took the opportunity to walk back inside the building to greet him.

“How’s your arm?” you asked. Kun didn’t reply and the look he gave you made you think you probably shouldn’t have mentioned the arm in front of these people.

“This is y/n,” Kun said loudly, causing all the staff to actively look over, whereas before they had been pretending not to, “she is allowed into the building at any time, please refrain from escorting her out in the future.”

He turned on his heels back towards the elevator, so you followed him, waiting until the doors had shut to bring him his arm again.

“Are you okay though,” you checked,

“I’m as fine anyone who was recently stabbed in the arm,” Kun replied. He didn’t ask you what you were doing there until you got to his office and he had shut the door.

You placed your CV and the university form down on his desk, side by side.

“I have a proposal,” you said, smiling.

Kun raised one eyebrow slightly but didn’t interrupt.

“I am going to be your strength, by using my brilliant brain to help your company.”

Kun shook his head and sat down in his chair, almost laughing out of shock.

“You are not going to work for me. Not going to happen, no chance, never, no, not happening.”

“Just listen to me before you make up your mind,” you urged. This was the reaction you had expected from him. However, you knew you had a card up your sleeve that meant there was no way he would refuse in the end.

“I am intelligent right, more so than the average person, I’m not trying to be arrogant… but we have all seen my test scores,” you began, “I want to be able to help you and with my amazing strategy and logic skills I can. I also need a work placement for University and you technically own a large firm.”

“Still no,” Kun said, “can you not find work experience, literally anywhere else, that’s not, you know, an illegal organisation.”

“Not by next week. The work placement I have currently got is not one I really want,” you explained, pulling out a third piece of paper and unfolding it. Pointing to the part you wanted him to see, “because it would make Minjun my supervisor, he skipped uni, his dad has a lot of influence, so he is already quite high up in this firm. I refuse to work for Minjun.”

Two birds with one stone. Help Kun, avoid Minjun. Minjun whose dad was one of the richest Korean businessmen in China and the ex-boyfriend Kun hated.

Kun rubbed his temple in frustration before looking up at you. He held up your CV, glancing at it quickly, as if that was going to make any difference at all, before throwing his hands up in the air.

“Fine, you win. You can work here. Nothing is worse than you working with that asshole.” He languished in referring to Minjun in a derogatory fashion.

Two weeks later you once again entered Kun Industries but this time you held an employee pass that had intern printed in large lettering.

You had been told to go to the third floor to meet the strategy department. You had expected to go in and see Xiaojun or Ten. Instead you saw a room full of people you had never seen before.

You greeted the supervisor who explained to you briefly what your job would consist of. It became clear very quickly that these people weren’t really involved in what Kun was really doing. Their jobs were to create the façade.

Your first task had been to come up with a presentation that one of the senior managers could give at a conference of what “Qian Industries” were planning on doing in the future. He said you could go with whatever engineering project you wanted, as long as it could be faked easily.

You were less than impressed.

It wasn’t that you wanted to be doing something dangerous or violent. You defiantly didn’t want that. You did however want to do something that would really benefit Kun.

You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe he really did need help creating the façade, convincing everyone in the business circle that Qian Industries was a legitimate firm.

So, you worked hard. You came in everyday you were meant to be there from eight in the morning until nine at night. You came up with the best proposal and presentation you possible could.

Your work was impeccable, if you did say so yourself. Your manager said the same, he said he had never seen anything so impressive and that the boss would be pleased.

“Can I give him the proposal myself? He’s a friend of mine, I’m sure he would like to see me,” you asked the manager. On hearing Kun was a friend of yours he immediately said yes. He had always been nice to you, but he managed to become even nicer after that.

You smiled. Gathering up your files and walking out into the corridor and down to the lift. You pressed the button for the fourteenth floor with confidence. You had diligently done the work and now you were going to get what you wanted.

You knocked on Kun’s door,

“Come in!” he called out as you pushed the door open. A man exited the room as fast as possible as you entered, a fearful expression on his face.

“Tough day?” you joked, trying to ease the slight tension in the air. Kun didn’t bite.

“Not that I don’t love to see you, but why are you here may I ask?”

“To deliver your presentation,” you said, “read it over before you say anything.”

And he did, he spent five minutes carefully glancing over the key points of your work before smiling up at you.

“This is really good,” he said, “I think we should hire you full time,”

“Or you could let me do an actually useful job,” you countered.

“Those presentations are useful, without them people would instantly be suspicious of me and the company,” Kun said, trying to justify his placement of you.

“While that may be true, the presentations don’t need to be as good as the one sitting in front of you, the employee’s you have are competent enough. I want to do a job that really helps you, to make what you do less dangerous or more efficient, I want to be a strength, someone you can rely on.”

Kun closed your report, linking his hand with yours across the desk.

“I understand that, I really do, but I don’t want you to be sucked into the danger of what I do, because even with your brain, if you made it less dangerous it would still be life or death in some situations. You shouldn’t have to live like that just because you met me by chance.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You really think chance encounter friends is all we are. Yes, we met by chance, but we have been friending all this time by choice.”

“You didn’t know what I really did then,” he argued.

“I sort of did to an extent. And now I do, and this is the choice I’m making now, if you ever want there to be a chance of us ever being together you have to let me into your life. Not just a pretend part of your life where we eat ice cream, but the real part as well, where you make hard choices and do some questionable things. You don’t have to tell me all of it, I stand by that, I still don’t want to know all the grisly details, but I do need to know some of it and I want to be able to help you with that some of it. Help you make a better organisation. Make it so you don’t end up needing to save someone like Yangyang because something went wrong.”

Kun spun his pen, processing your words. He didn’t want to agree with you, but he also knew you well enough to know you weren’t going to give in.

He also knew deep down that you he couldn’t ever be your boyfriend if he had to hide ninety percent of his life from you. He needed to reduce that to about sixty percent at least.

“Okay. You’re right, I suppose I shouldn’t waste your intelligence when you could be a real asset.”

You clapped your hands together in excitement.

“I knew you would come around,” you beamed at him, mostly happy you had won the conversation.

Kun wasn’t smiling though.

“We are planning to expand to Korea, deal with some problems arising from there. I have a friend with a similar organisation there named Johnny. He’s a long-time friend of Ten’s. You can work with Ten to help plan the expansion. It’s not a super dangerous job innately but it will be super dangerous if it gets fucked up. So, use your 150 IQ to make sure that doesn’t happen,” he said, his voice monotone.

You squeezed his hand.

“Thank you,” you told him, “I’m not doing this to annoy you or upset you Kun, I hope you know that. I genuinely want to help you. That’s what best friends are for right?”

“I suppose so,” Kun answered giving you a small smile back.                          

Your first order of business however, turned out to be a black-tie event with Kun. Not the planning of Qian Industries expansion.

“I’ll get someone to drop off a dress at your apartment, it will be one of my top guys, I’m not just handing out your address, don’t worry,” he assured you.

About an hour later there was a knock at your door and Yangyang stood there holding a box.

“Not to be mean but how are you one of his top guys?” you asked, unable to take your eyes off of the horrible bruise all over his once broken nose.

“They call me young, dumb and enthusiastic,” replied, handing you the box, “well they don’t but I guess that is why, I am an enthusiastic team player. I’m also very good at grand theft auto – in real life, not the video game.”

“Fair enough, thanks for dropping this off,” you said, shutting your door. You walked into your room before opening the box. Inside was a note which told you to be ready by seven. You placed it aside and lifted the dress from the box.

It was one of the most beautiful black dresses you had ever seen. It must have cost Kun an inordinate amount of money. You had offered to wear one of your own dresses but Kun insisted he would buy you one.

You knew he had bought it so you wouldn’t stand out at a party of rich people, but he would never say that. It was one of the reasons you had a slight crush on him too.

You got ready, trying your best not to stab yourself in the eye with the mascara wand, something you usually had trouble with. You didn’t have a lot of time which made it particularly difficult.

You were still waiting for your nails to dry when you heard a knock at the door for the second time that day, cursing that you hadn’t sorted out the mess that was your nails before that point.

You blew on them as you grabbed your bag from the side, throwing your phone and keys in, hoping that somehow your nails would miraculously dry on the walk to the door.

You opened it to see Kun standing there in black tie attire, bowtie slightly lopsided but a mesmerising sight.

“Let me fix that,” you offered, stepping forward to readjust the bow tie. You could faintly feel his breath against your cheek as you sorted it out, “all better,” you smiled, stepping back.

“You look stunning y/n,” he said, his face beaming.

You had never seen Kun dressed this smart, he always wore a suit when you went to a fancy restaurant, but he never wore a tie or anything like that, so the tuxedo was something else.

“And you look indeed very handsome,” you said in a fake posh voice to indicate some sort of joke. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good looking, you just seemed to have an emotional issue, “shall we go and party with the rich?”

“We shall,” Kun said, shaking his head laughing, but yet still copying your accent, going along with it.

The drive wasn’t a long one, nothing was that far from your apartment in the centre of the city. You had no clue how you had found it for such a cheap price.

The event was being held at a large hall, there was a red carpet outside and tabloid photographers waiting, camera’s poised, hoping to get the best shot of a famous couple or a wealthy heiress.

The driver opened the door and Kun helped you out of the car, offering you his arm. He led you up the carpet as you did your best not to look awkward when there was so many camera’s in your face.

“What is this event for?” you whispered to him. Kun shrugged.

“I don’t know, some sort of education charity or something, Ten wanted to donate money, so we did, clearly a sizeable enough donation that they invited us here,” he explained.

“I think you’re more attractive now I know your such a philanthropist.”

“My only act of philanthropy was not killing Minjun, the rest is just being rich, it’s not hard to donate money when you have a lot of it.”

He wasn’t wrong there.

The people at the door didn’t even ask for your name, clearly, they were aware of who Kun was and so you just walked straight in.

As expected, it was all très extravagant, champagne towers, seafood platters, men in expensive suits, women in even more expensive dresses. A single bottle of the champagne they were serving could probably have paid your rent for three months.

“I don’t think I’m quite fancy enough for this event,” you said to Kun, staring at the other people around you, “I’m not rich, I’m a broke college student.”

“Yes, but I am rich, these days anyway, and you’re wearing a twelve-thousand-dollar dress.” He smiled at you softly, “care to dance,” he said, grabbing your waist with one and your hand with the other.

“Did you leave the tag on!? Can we take it back to the shop? That’s stupid money on a dress Kun,” you whispered forcefully in his ear. Kun just chuckled.

“That’s what it takes to fit in at an event like this, especially when you are as terrible at waltzing as you are.”

“Why would I know how to waltz, that wasn’t on my PE course thank you very much.”

You waltzed terribly with Kun for a while longer before gave you a reprise. Unfortunately, the next activity was much worse. Kun dragged you around to introduce you to many rich people and engage in the most harrowing of small talk about yachts and stories from swiss boarding schools.

At some point you just started making things up.

“Yes, my friend Marcos had a yacht that we stayed on in Italy for a week, we just got so bored of ski class you know,” some people around you nodded sympathetically and you had to pinch yourself to avoid laughter.

“I might actual die, how often do you do this?” you said to Kun when you finally sat down at a table away from other people.

“Twice a month or so, but only in the last two years have I had the money to do this, I got rich in a short period of time. Also, you seemed to fit right in anyway, what’s the issue, how is Marcos doing these days?”

You poured a shot of vodka in your champagne and downed the whole thing in one, hoping that somehow it was be better, if you were drunk.

A few drinks later and you were very tipsy and very warm.

“I am so hot, is it me or is it warm?” you asked.

“I’ll call the car,” Kun said, picking up his phone. Before he could dial you put your arm out and stopped him.

“Do you wanna maybe walk around for a bit,” you asked, and he nodded. You grabbed his hand and made your way for the exit. Thankfully the paparazzi were on a break. They would come back at around midnight to take picks of the less sober exits from the whole affair.

The hall wasn’t that far from the river, which was always beautiful when the city lights reflected in the water at night. You and Kun stopped by the railing, staring out across the water.

After a while you realised Kun wasn’t looking out over the water anymore, he was looking at you. You started to notice the lights reflecting into the depths of his eyes more than the river in front of you.

“I’m happy I could finally take someone to one of those events, they are so much worse when you are alone,” Kun said.

“Why did you never take someone else, surely I can’t be the only girl you know, there must be a rich girl out there, or a scary but cool girl in a leather jacket who works for you?” your eyes searched his for an answer.

Kun brought his hand to your face, slowly brushing his thumb across your cheek.

“You know you’re the only girl I care about, the only one I have ever been interested in.”

Your heart was on fire, it hurt so much to hear him say that when you knew that you had never said anything of the same kind back. That it wasn’t something you felt ready to say, even if you felt it too.

Instead, in your tipsy, adrenaline high state all you could do was close your eyes and step forward. Your hands tangling in Kun’s hair as you brought your lips to his. Kun didn’t react for a second, clearly surprised.

When his brain finally seemed to connect with his body, Kun’s arm snaked around your back and pulled you closer to him, somehow taking control of the kiss with ease.

Your brain was screaming at you to stop, that it wasn’t a good idea, but you couldn’t you were too intoxicated by his lips. You were surprised, Kun was usually so sweet, you hadn’t expected him to have a dominant side. On reflection you weren’t sure how you never guessed that of your gang leader… friend.

Before anything could go any further Kun’s phone began to ring. You pushed him away softly.

“You should take that,” you said, before covering your lips with your hand, contemplating how to beat yourself up.

Kun glanced down at his phone,

“It’s just Ten I can call him back later; I think it’s probably more important that we talk about…”

‘It’s late he probably wouldn’t call you unless it was important,” you said, the phone still ringing.

Kun turned around, picking up the phone,

“I’m kinda busy, is it important?” he asked, not wasting time to say hello. He listened silently for a moment before raising his hand to his forehead, “Fuck. Well you have to kill him then, the rule on that was always clear. If we don’t kill him then you know what will happen.”

You were in your own state of shock. You were witnessing Kun, smiley Kun, order someone’s execution, and you wanted to be sick. You started to feel dizzy and so sat yourself down on the cold asphalt.

Kun ended the call moments later. He turned back around and saw you staring blankly into space and remembered that you had just been there to hear everything you said.

“I’m sorry,” he said, apologising for the hundredth time that month. His voice snapped you somewhat back into reality, “I hate being the bad guy, you shouldn’t have kissed me, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have let you.”

You just patted the ground beside you, just wanting him to sit with you, even if it was ridiculous for you both to sit on the ground outside in the middle of the night. Kun obliged and tucked his phone back into his pocket before sitting down next to you.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” you agreed and Kun’s face fell, even though he had said it himself, “not because of that phone call, I’m not stupid I have an idea of what you do, even though I don’t like it and even if it shocked me to actually hear it. I shouldn’t have kissed you because I’m still not clear about my feelings regardless. It wasn’t fair on you.”

“You shouldn’t be sympathetic towards me; you should run and never look back.”

“You’re being melodramatic Kun. Would you really be happy if I transferred university to a different city and never came back?”

“I would miss you, but I think you would be happier… It’s hard for me to watch you struggle internally with the idea of me and what I do.”

“You ignored me for a month, and I missed you enough to break every rule I had about not interfering with your life Kun, there is zero chance moving away from you would make me happy. But I promise, if I ever feel like that isn’t true, I will leave and never come back. Clean break.”

Kun took off his jacket and placed it over your shoulders.

“Then I only have one question,” he said, you nodded form him to continue, “was kissing me so bad you had to reassess your feelings. You laughed out loud.

“Your kissing skills are not under question here. I just need to do a bit more… internal struggling as you called it. That’s my fault not yours though. You are pretty great Qian Kun.”

[smolkooks]

cold coffee - p. jimin

pairings: barista!dancer!reader x idol!jimin

word count: 4k

content: fluff, cuteness, jimin being his adorable self

warnings: none :)

( please do not plagiarise my work! )

*

You headed into your parents’ coffee shop early today, to start preparing the beans and awaiting the new deliveries that were set to arrive within the hour.

Your parents had passed the coffee shop into your care for the next three months, with you and your sister switching shifts each day. Your dad was Korean, and your mom was American, so their café was unique in the way that they made sure they each put their own flairs into the typical café foods—just by including a few more choices and options.

It attracted attention, to be completely honest, and the shop had even made it onto the local news a few years back.

Groaning, you pushed the door open, pulling your coat tighter around yourself as you watched the delivery truck pull in. You went to greet the delivery man, who came every week to your café, and began dragging the boxes into the café, thanking the delivery man quickly, before shutting the glass doors behind you.

You loved this place—but you also couldn’t help but be excited to leave—only because you had dance practice afterwards, though. Even though you loved your parents’ café, and you loved to cook and talk to people, you enjoyed dancing more.

You’d grown up dancing, and while you had just graduated from studying literature, you had never stopped dancing, even while you were in college.

Carefully, you started unwrapping the boxes one by one, pulling out the bags of flour, coffee beans, sugar, all of the things that you had placed orders for the week before, organising them into neat piles so that you could store them into the cupboards easily.

Even as you flipped the sign on the door from ‘closed’ to a cheerful ‘open’, you were distracted with the thought of going to dance later. All day, your brain was buzzing with ideas for new choreography you couldn’t wait to share and perform for your dance friends.

Customers steadily began filing in, your usual morning bunch, and you knew the orders of almost all of them. They came by practically every day, and you always shared some pleasant conversation with them whenever they passed through.

“The usual, I presume?” You told one young woman kindly, already typing in her order.

“Yes, thanks, Y/N,” She said with a sigh, rubbing tiredly at her eyes, “It’d be a great pick-me-up, I’m sure.”

“Oh yes, it did the trick for me all through college,” You chuckled, beginning to make the coffee, the pleasant, warm smell filling the room with a cheerful, calm aura.

“You studied lit, right?” The woman asked, absently making conversation, “How was it? My sister’s thinking of going into it.”

“I liked it enough,” You said with a shrug, half-smiling, “But I’m thinking of auditioning for some musicals instead. I’m a dancer, see? The course was fun, but I just…prefer performance, is all.”

The woman looked surprised, “Oh, really! I didn’t know that about you. Sounds like fun.”

You passed her the coffee, and she slid a few gold coins across the counter, which you accepted with a kind smile of thanks and a grateful nod, “See you tomorrow, I hope?”

“I will definitely come by,” The woman responded, giving you a wink, “Thanks, Y/N. Have a good day.”

She was out the door before you could respond, and the customer next in line was already placing their order before you had even registered them speaking.

It would be a long day, today.

It was half an hour before the end of your shift—your shift ended at midday—when an unfamiliar face strolled in, looking incredibly nervous.

You didn’t even see him at first, your attention fixated on organising the cupcakes in the glass cabinets next to the counter and reloading the flavours that had emptied out throughout the day, for your sister’s shift.

It was a while later that you finally heard his footsteps near the counter, and you glanced up to see a very nervous (pretty, too, might you add), perhaps Korean? Japanese? young man at the counter, glancing over the menu, looking absolutely confused and clueless.

He wasoddly familiar, though, in a way, but you couldn’t quite remember where you’d seen him before—he had a facemask over his face. Maybe he had a cold. It was quite chilly outside.

You supposed perhaps he was foreign—in which case, youmightbe able to help.

You were fluent in Korean, after all, from your father speaking to you and teaching you the language. Being bilingual was a skill that you had been very determined to retain, and so you had—with years of practice and learning.

Unlike your sister, who had moved to another state to study at a fancy school for medicine and forgotten how to speak Korean after two years of not using it at all, you had adamantly forced yourself to speak in Korean whenever you called your father every week. He was more than delighted at your love for the language, and was very happy to help you.

Standing up, you stretched a bit, your ankles cracking for squatting for too long, and then retied your apron, heading over to the cashier.

The expression on the young man’s face only became more worried as you asked, “Would you like to order?”

His nervousness made you nervous, too, and you started becoming stressed—should you or should you not go for it and speak in Korean? What if he wasn’t even Korean? Would that be racist? What if he got offended?

You had no idea what to do, and he tried to start by saying, “Hi, I—do you have—,” He was clearly struggling to find the words, and you gave him an understanding smile.

Shoving your worries aside, you just decided to go for it, and switched languages, “Would you prefer to place your order in Korean?”

You wished you could memorise the way his face changed, relaxing immediately in pure relief as he realised that maybe he would be able to leave this café with the seven coffees he’d been tasked to buy for his bandmates.

“Oh, my god, thank you so much,” He immediately started rambling, “I’m so sorry, I’m from South Korea and I’m only visiting and I can’t really speak English that well—,”

You laughed, “It’s okay.”

“How do you know Korean?” He said, studying you, as if trying to figure it out just by looking at you, which made you blush just a little bit.

“My dad is Korean, so I learnt from him,” You said lightly. You knew you didn’t look completely Asian, with your light hair and light eyes, so it was understandable why he might’ve been confused.

“What would you like to get?” You added onto your short explanation, starting to type at the computer just to prepare it for the order.

He ran a nervous hand through his hair, bouncing a bit as he said, “Just…I don’t know, seven coffees? My friends told me to buy seven and I don’t know what they’d like.”

“How about I make you my favourite kind?” You suggested after a few seconds of silence, his eyes staring at the menu on the wall blankly, trying to make sense of the words.

“Oh, sure, thank you,” He said, looking quite flustered, “Thanks so much. I just…get really nervous.”

“It’s alright,” You said, immediately setting off to work, first setting out seven cups and labelling them all.

“How do you say your name?” He asked, glancing at your name tag, as he watched you work.

“It’s Y/N,” You said with a half-smile, passing him the first two finished cups, “What’s your name?”

“Jimin,” He responded, fidgeting a bit, although the smile he gave you was just too cute as he took the cups, “Sorry for all the trouble. I’m sure you don’t get orders for seven too often.”

“It’s really nothing. Usually I’m the most busy in the morning, so I’m pretty free right now anyway,” You said, finish off the last few cups, “I must ask, though, what are you doing here, so long after breakfast and almost at the end of my shift?”

“Well, my friends and I have been practicing all day,” He said absently, waiting very patiently for you to finish popping the lids on, “How about you? What are you doing later on?”

“Actually, I have dance,” You said, your eyes immediately lighting up at the thought, which Jimin noted with an amused smile, “I’m actually pretty excited for it. As much as I love working here.”

“Thank you,” He said, taking the cups from your hands gently, “Good luck at your training.”

“Would you like a cupholder?” You asked, but you were going to give him one anyway, already popping out the cardboard, “It’ll be much easier to carry, rather than holding seven separate cups.”

“Sure,” He said, “Thank you so much.” He pressed a the money into your hand, which you accepted graciously.

Will I see you again tomorrow? You wanted to ask, but didn’t, because…well, if he were from overseas, or on holidays, or something like that, you didn’t want him to feel pressured to come back, so you opted to just smile, and then watch him as he pushed open the doors, turned the corner, and then he was gone.

You wondered if you’d see the pretty boy called Jimin again anytime soon. You hoped you would.

***

Park Jimin had been far too stressed than he needed to be when he’d gone into the coffee shop. It didn’t help that the girl at the counter was absolutely beautiful—and when she’d looked up at him, he had only gotten more flustered and embarrassed than he already was.

The menu was completely incomprehensible to him, and he found himself regretting having insisted to Namjoon that he would be fine on his own.

He didn’t know what he’d expected—this was America, it wasn’t like the menu would be in Korean.

And then you’d asked what he needed, and he’d just absolutely freaked out—he needed seven coffees, but how do you even say that in English? He wished Namjoon were here.

He’d know what to do.

And he’d probably not be so flustered by a pretty girl at the counter. He definitely wouldn’t be.

He hoped that you couldn’t hear his heart pounding as he’d stuttered out the words—trying to scramble for the vocabulary that he didn’t have, and he found himself panicking…

The moment he heard the first Korean word fall through your lips, he had sagged in pure, unadultered relief.

Thank god.

He probably would have just panicked and ran away at the rate he was going—what with the English menu overwhelming him, and the pretty girl looking at him.

She was so much nicer than he’d expected her to be to a foreigner who couldn’t even understand English. He’d been worried perhaps she would be annoyed at him taking so long, but instead she’d been kind and just patiently asked for what he needed.

In Korean.

What were the odds?

After you’d handed his seven coffees to him, he decided he could’ve either walked really slowly, looked back at her, and then he would have never been able to leave.

So he got out of there as quickly as he could without running. He assumed that would be considered rude—also, he didn’t want to spill the coffee he had spent so much time trying to order.

He didn’t give himself time to look back at the girl.

Even though he so desperately wanted to.

***

Training had been good today. You had run through a couple of dances with your group and also practiced through the solo contemporary you’d choreographed—the one that you would be using in your audition, along with two others.

Still dressed in your blue tank top and shorts, a towel thrown around your neck, you stepped outside of the studio and immediately regretted not bringing anything warmer.

It had gotten dark, because you’d been practicing for several hours, even though you hadn’t realised it. Time always passed faster in the studio than anywhere else, for you.

Pulling out your phone, you pressed the home button and glanced at the time, groaning. It was nine o’clock. Had you really been in there for six hours? Maybe you’d gotten too carried away.

Now your sister would probably be worried—the shop closed four hours ago. You’d told her you would be back by seven.

You slipped your phone into your pocket, taking a big sip from your water bottle and then started making your way home. Luckily, your apartment wasn’t too far away from the studio, which was one of the reasons why your parents had sent you to this one when you were six years old.

You must have been too immersed in your phone, because the next thing you knew you were running into a familiar guy, and you almost tripped.

You would have tripped in fact, if Jimin hadn’t thrown out a hand and caught your wrist with his lightning fast reflexes.

“Y/N?” He said, his eyes wide. You noted his dishevelled hair and tired-looking eyes, and his attire—and realised that he must’ve just come from the dance studio, too. Or perhaps, he was returning, based on the direction he was going.

“Oh, hey, Jimin,” You said, instinctively in Korean, before you panicked, tucking your phone into your pocket, slipping into English again, “I didn’t expect to—,” and then you realised that Jimin did, in fact, understand Korean, and that for once it hadn’t been an embarrassing slip-up of yours out of panic. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry. My bilingual brain gets really mixed up sometimes...” You switched back to Korean, your cheeks heating, avoiding his gaze, “Thanks for saving me from falling.”

He looked thoroughly amused as he finally let go of you and asked, “Do you dance here, too?”

“Yeah, I have since I was six,” You answered, finally mustering the courage to meet his eyes, “Why are you coming from the studio? Do you live nearby?”

With his eyes so focused on you, not only did you feel heat rise up your neck, flustered, but you also noted how oddly familiar his face was. As if he existed somewhere in your memory, but your brain couldn’t quite figure out where. Or, rather, how he existed there.

“No, my bandmates and I are visiting here, and we’re just using one of the studio spaces here for our training,” He explained with a smile.

“Oh,” You said shortly, unsure of what else you should add to the conversation as you looked up at him, meeting his eyes shyly, “Where were you headed, Jimin?”

“I forgot my phone back at the studio,” He said with a chuckle, one hand reaching to the nape of his neck, “I was just going back to grab it.”

“Oh, makes sense,” You said, smiling uncertainly, “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then…?”

Just as you made to leave, he gently snagged your shirt sleeve, and you turned back around to face him.

He was biting his lip, looking incredibly nervous—you found it quite endearing, really, as he began to speak, “Hey, Y/N, would you be down for a late night snack? I can grab my phone and we can go down the road to a nice place for…some food? Or if you’re not hungry then…?” He suggested, an awkward, (super cute) smile tilting the corner of his lip upwards, his cheeks dimpling.

Oh, my god, who allowed him to be this adorable? Who had the right?

You laughed, surged by a sudden rush of confidence as you said, “Oh, let’s go get boba! I’ve had coffee for months now, it’d be so nice to get something different. I know a place just a few minutes’ walk from here.”

He looked impossibly relieved and also smiled excitedly, like a puppy, you couldn’t help but point out in your head, giggling at the thought, “Of course, that sounds amazing. Would you mind waiting for me? I’ll just be a minute.”

Jimin was back in barely a minute—it was probably thirty seconds at most. You’d never met anybody so efficient, while still looking so effortless and graceful as he came over to you.

“So, boba, you said?” He asked, and you, powered by that sudden adrenaline rush from before, took his hand impulsively in yours, and said, “I know a place. Let’s go.”

The boba was amazing. In fact, you’d forgotten how good boba tasted, with how much coffee you had been drinking. It had been ages since you’d had the time to come here, and the place was even nicer with Jimin here.

You’d made sure to send a text to your sister, just so that she wouldn’t get too worried, before you’d gone with Jimin. He was surprisingly an expert at bubble tea, and he easily told you what he’d like, and you spoke the orders to the teenage girl at the counter in English for him.

He just watched you with so much fascination and…something else…as you slid the coins across the counter to the small girl, who accepted them with a smile.

When you finally finished paying, you took the receipt and led Jimin to the seats next to the counter to wait for your orders.

“Do you have boba often in Korea?” You said, taking a long sip from your straw and groaning in pure bliss, “This stuff is literally heavenly.”

“Sometimes,” Jimin said with a shrug, taking a sip from his own drink, “We’re usually on diets though, for our training.”

“Oh, yeah, you mentioned bandmates, right? What do you guys do?” You asked curiously, genuinely interested.

Suddenly, Jimin became very nervous, and he started fidgeting with his shirt, running his other hand through his hair, “Well, uh—,”

“You don’t have to say, if you don’t want to,” You offered gently, “Only if you want to. We’re just here talking, after all. No pressure.”

He smiled appreciatively, but he explained anyway, “Have you ever heard about BTS?”

“Oh, the kpop group? Yeah, they’re pretty popular right now—wait a second,” You studied his face, furrowing your eyebrows…

And then suddenly it hit you.

“Oh, my god, you’re Jimin, right?” You said in a surprised whisper, “From BTS?” He barely had time to nod in confirmation before you continued, “That’s so cool! So that’s why you looked familiar.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, tilting his head a little.

“My college dormmate had a poster of you on the wall,” You explained, your eyes bright with excitement, not even noticing the slight flush that rose to his cheeks at your statement, “How did I not realise earlier? That’s so weird. What are you doing in America?”

“We’re performing at the AMA’s in a week,” He explained, “So we’re just here to do that. And I met you by coincidence, too, so that’s an extra bonus.”

You blushed a little, but you didn’t let that cover over your pure shock, “Wow, that’s so cool. I never really listened to you guys, but from what I’ve heard you’re pretty cool, aren’t you?”

Jimin laughed, “Oh, well, I guess we’re alright.”

It was when both of you fell silent that you realised that in your excitement, you had leaned in really close to him over the table—so close you were almost touching, and quickly you moved back, totally embarrassed.

If you’d only just moved a tiny bit closer you would have—

There were a few seconds of silence before you calmed your frantic brain and said, “So, how’s the boba?”

***

Jimin explained how it would be best if the fact that he was a famous Korean idol could remain a secret—for your own safety. And you agreed, obviously. It obviously meant a lot, but at the end of the day, he was Jimin, the guy you’d met at the coffee shop and the guy who you’d helped to order his seven coffees.

Now you understood why he had needed seven coffees earlier that day.

You made sure that you didn’t leave that boba shop without asking for his number, and he gave it to you, telling you that you could send him a text at any time—he would make sure to respond whenever he could.

It was four days later, after spending a lot of time at the studio talking between rehearsals, when you invited Jimin to the coffee shop, just to hang out. You’d been given the closing shift, and you thought it’d give you something to look forward to.

Even your sister noted how you were being far bubblier than you usually were, but you’d shrugged it off, blaming it on just ‘having a good day’.

Jimin had said he’d only be able to get there at eight, so you sat in the shop, doing paperwork, until he arrived.

Jimin was dressed in a hoodie this time, and his face lit up when he saw you, just as you were sure yours had done.

“Jimin!” You exclaimed as he pushed through the doors and came into the warmth of the coffee shop, “How was practice today?”

“Good. I didn’t see you at the studio?”

“I have practice tomorrow,” You explained, “I was here for most of the day today, helping my sister unpack some of the deliveries.”

He just nodded and smiled, making his way towards your table and pulling out a seat opposite to you, glancing at the work you were doing, “How was your day?”

“I did lots of work,” You said, smiling, “I actually applied to an audition today—it’s going to be in a month.”

Jimin looked genuinely impressed, even though the moment the words left your mouth, you realised that your achievements probably meant nothing compared to all of the massive things he and his band had done.

“Do you want a coffee?” You said, just to break the silence, as you stood up from your chair and pushed it in with a loud scrape.

“Sure, thank you,” He said, biting his lip, looking nervous and unsure of what to say, “The usual one. Your favourite, right? I think it’s my favourite, too.”

“You haven’t tried any others from here yet, Jimin,” You said with a light laugh, starting to make the coffee, “Someday you should.”

“Nope, I like yours the most,” He said with a shrug, taking a few steps more so that he was standing almost shoulder to shoulder with you, watching you work.

As you finished, setting the two glasses by the sink, you turned around—only to find yourself in extremely close proximity to his chest.

He towered over you, but when you looked up, his lips were millimetres away from yours—so incredibly close—and you felt heat crawl up your neck.

“Jimin,” You said, breathless, “Your coffee’s done.”

He didn’t look at the coffee once. His gaze was fixated on you—and it made your heart race.

You went to say something, but couldn’t find the words, and then suddenly your lips met. The kiss was slow and gentle, and he snaked his arms around your hips gently, pulling you close, as your fingers became entangled in his beautiful hair.

It was several moments later that the two of you finally pulled apart, and you just looked at each other—you took several seconds to admire how beautiful and warm his eyes were.

“Jimin,” You said softly.

“Hmm?”

“Your coffee’s going to go cold.”

And then he burst into laughter—and you started giggling, and you were both so consumed with the pure euphoria from your kiss that you did it again—this time, you pulled him close and pressed your lips to his.

Later, when you went to reach for your coffee and his, passing his to him gently, it was indeed cold. But neither of you cared.

Because between the warmth of Jimin’s eyes and his kisses, you barely felt the coolness of the glass between your fingers.

a/n second fic! im in love <3

[purplesurveys]

1020

survey by lets-make-surveys

1 - What’s your average grocery bill for the week? How many people/animals does that have to feed? Could you cut it down if you had to? Around P10,000 every 1-2 weeks, which feeds five adults and two animals. I think it can definitely be cut down, considering a chunk of that bill comes from snacks or other fancy ingredients/condiments that we could technically do without.

2 - When was the last time you were woken up in the middle of the night? Two days ago, from the typhoon’s winds. It’s a good thing I woke up because my windows had been open through the night and they could’ve smashed against the pane and into a million pieces if the wind proceeded to push them.

3 - Have you done anything out of the ordinary so far today? I charged my phone through my dad’s car twice so I can stay aligned with what was going on at work today. I ended up having to file for an emergency leave (...four days into my role, how embarrassing) because the electricity didn’t come back until 4 PM today and because I was also unable to leave home to work in a coffee shop or mall with my village still submerged in flood for all of today – which meant I wouldn’t have been able to keep up with my tasks and meetings. It was so irritating to miss out on things and I felt really guilty for having to be absent less than a week into my new job. UGH. Better days, plz.

4 - How long is it until your birthday? Five months and a week exactly.

5 - Do you have a lot of debt? How long do you think it’ll take you to pay it all off? No debt.

6 - When was the last time you had to take time off work or school to attend an appointment? Last Thursday and Friday. I got my job offer last Wednesday and was expected to submit a mountain of requirements and government IDs before reporting for my first day this Monday, so I had no choice but to devote the whole of Thurs and Fri to completing those reqs.

7 - Do you get paid if you’re off sick from work? Do you think the number of sick days would change if you did or didn’t get paid? No. Not yet, at least.

8 - What colour was the last animal you saw? White with black eyes, nose, and pawprints.

9 - When’s your next payday? Do you have anything you need to buy when you get paid? Around a week and a half from now. I have to start buying Christmas presents, for sure.

10 - What kind of face mask do you prefer to use - re-usable or disposable? I don’t really have a preference but because my mom buys boxes of the disposable kind, it’s what I use.

11 - If someone told you five years ago, that you’d be living through a global pandemic, do you think you’d believe them? Absolutely the fuck not lmao. We were all so excited about 2020 and it being a new decade, and people even made a shit ton of memes about “20/20 vision” for years - there was no way anyone could’ve predicted a global pandemic, at least one of this scale.

12 - Is your state or country under any form of lockdown or “stay at home” order at the moment? Are you following the “rules” of that? People under the age of 21 are still prohibited from going out, as far as I know. But generally, the rules are a lot more loose now compared to the last few months. Everyone’s still required to wear face masks and face shields and practice social distancing while all public places have temperature checks, floor mats, and alcohol/hand sanitizers, of course; but it’s no longer out of the ordinary to hear of people going to the mall again or even dining out at restaurants. I follow the rules, because it’s really not too hard to keep myself and thus other people safe.

13 - What flavour were the last potato chips you ate? Sour cream and onion, but I didn’t like them. My parents got me salted egg flavored chips today though and I’m excited to open them :)

14 - If you have pets, do you let them sleep in or on your bed with you? Kimi never liked the bed, so he’s always slept under mine instead of beside me. Cooper’s a big ball of energy incapable of settling on a bed, and he needs to be in his crate to let him know it’s bedtime.

15 - Would you rather watch a sitcom, a reality show, or a documentary? I love all of these and I’m always open to watching any of them as long as I’m in the right mood for them. I don’t have a favorite and some days I’ll just be in a documentary mood, some days a reality TV mood, and other days a sitcom kind of mood.

16 - Do you have a favourite celebrity chef? Gordon Ramsay 100%. He’s entertaining across the board; his Hot Ones interview is my favorite, haha.

17 - When was the last time you did a load of laundry? Not in charge of that chore.

18 - Do you have anything interesting planned for tomorrow? What day is it tomorrow, anyway? Nah. I think I’ll have to do work tomorrow considering I had to go on leave today, which is okay. It’s nice to be busy on a weekend for once. Tomorrow is Saturday.

19 - Have you ever been in therapy or counselling? Did you find it useful? No but I’ve been considering it for a while, especially after the events of September lol. I do believe it will be useful and plenty helpful, yes, that’s why I’m finally warming up to the idea.

20 - What was the last film you watched? Is it one of your favourites? I didn’t finish it but I watched the first 20 minutes of a local movie called That Thing Called Tadhana. I wouldn’t say it’s one of my favorites, but it’s definitely a significant movie for me.

21 - Would you say you're an organised person? In what ways are you organised or disorganised? Eh, I’m right in the middle. I’m organized at work but I’m not super strict with myself when it comes to my personal space. Like if I’m able to keep my room organized it’s great, but if I’m unable to maintain it it’s not the end of the world. At work I like keeping my things color-coordinated and filed neatly in different folders or spreadsheets; at home I always seem to know where everything is, no matter how messy my space has gotten.

22 - Would you rather read a fantasy novel or an auto-biography? Autobiography, for sure.

23 - When was the last time someone paid for something for you? My parents bought groceries today.

24 - Do you have an open fire? If not, would you like one? I don’t know what this is. Is this a fireplace? Because if it is, we have no use for that here.

25 - What do you do with your old technology once you upgrade or get something new? Keep it around for emergencies, or hand it down to a sibling.

26 - If you were given the choice, would you solve a problem by speaking to someone on the phone, in person or via e-mail? Depends on who they are, tbh. The closer I am to someone, the more likely I am to take a more personal approach in handling an issue with them.

27 - Do you have an alarm set for tomorrow morning? What time do you need to get up? Nope, because it’s finally Saturday.

28 - What are you wearing at the moment? I’m wearing an old shirt from high school and a pair of shorts.

29 - Is there anyone else in the room with you? What are they doing right now? Just Kimi. Sleeping.

30 - Do people in real life know that you take surveys? If they don’t, is there a particular reason that you’ve never told them? Nah, there was never a reason to tell people...it just never comes up, really. Even if it ever does, it’d take too much explanation and I never feel like going through that, especially if they won’t be able to see what exactly I post anyway.

[eastertag]

@fallenfurther gift for @willow-salix

Komorebi Forest

Prompts: 

The boys organise an Easter Egg hunt for the Children’s Hospital

Anything John is ALWAYS welcome (but not Ridley)

******

John looked up from the code projected before him and stretched his neck.  He was floating in Five and somehow, he still managed to get cramp. While turning his head this way and that, John stretched out his weary fingers. He hadn’t spent hours on end coding in months, and although he used his hands while coordinating rescues and maintenance duties, those activities were never quite as intense as a coding session. John let his gaze fall on the holographic globe before him. It reminded him why he was doing this.

“You are due a lunch break in 30 minutes, John. Might I suggest you take it now?”

EOS, his loyal companion, was forever watching over him. John sighed. He knew he’d asked EOS to help him keep track of the necessities, but there were times he could swear she’d spoke with Scott. The fact that the two were amenable at the best of times made him think otherwise, but maybe EOS had been watching the eldest and adopting some of his traits.

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer. A break might refresh my brain. I’m struggling with the rendering code.”

John saved the file and minimised it before pushing himself out the observation room towards the station’s kitchen area, EOS following on her rail.

“What would you like in your bagel today, John? Cream cheese and chive, cream cheese and smoked salmon or peanut butter and jelly?”

“I’ll have the salmon one, EOS. Though be gentler with the toasting this time.”

“Do not worry, John, I have adjusted the settings after performing thorough recalculations. The bread should be toasted to your preferred level. I have saved the previous settings for the next time Gordon visits.”

John smiled at the memory. Gordon needed a Zero-G refresher, so had been sent up for a week. A tsunami had, thankfully, shortened his stay, as he was needed Earthside. John enjoyed Gordon best in small doses, especially when he considered fiddling with the bagel settings funny. The charcoaled bagel that had been presented for breakfast had almost been as unpleasant as the squirty cheese Gordon had been spraying everywhere. Some had made it onto his brother’s own bagel, while the rest had floated about sticking to almost every surface. John had not been impressed and Gordon ignored both John’s glare and the mess. Though there had been good moments. Gordon listened in space, giving John the same respect that John had given Gordon when it was time for John’s diving refresher. His younger brother swam through Five and there was a comfort in hearing Gordon’s laugh echo through the ring.

John took a bite of the bagel that EOS presented to him and brought up Gordon’s position with his free hand. The aquanaut was making the most of the compulsory downtime that came after any big rescue to do what he loved most. John watched the little submarine’s grid reference as the numbers fell, indicating it was diving. Thunderbird Four was a few islands away from base. John tapped the little yellow triangle, opening the comm. 

“Hey John!” The cheery voice matched the grin that was on his brother’s face, “You miss me already?”

John smiled as Gordon effortlessly controlled the submarine, the hologram’s arms moving outside the frame.

“Of course. How is the local wildlife? Have you found that shoal of fish that’s been spotted in the area?”

Gordon grinned at him, his eyes sparking.

“Following them as we speak, John. Man, they are beauties! There are thousands of them John, all swimming in a chaotic swarm over the reef. It’s phenomenal. You’re missing out, John. Your stars have nothing on these fish.”

John chuckled.

“I’m happy with my stars. You enjoy your fish.”

“Sure. Catch you later!”

Gordon blinked away and John looked past the Earth to the stars beyond. Gordon never understood John’s fascination with the night sky, preferring to look down into the Earth’s depths, while John looked beyond it. Finishing off the bagel, John grabbed a space thermos of tea and headed back to the observation room. He pulled up the code and dived back in. He knew time was precious and he could be required at a second’s notice. He had a deadline too. His mind slipped easily back into motion, delving deep into the code again. The break has worked wonders on his brain and he quickly overcame the problem and started on the finer adjustments while he waited for EOS to finish her part. They could then do the first test. John jumped slightly when EOS finally spoke.

“I have completed my task, John. Shall I prepare the programme for launch?”

“Yes please, EOS.”

John grabbed the virtual reality headset and slipped it over his eyes, plunging himself into darkness. He slipped the controller out of where he had stored it in his baldric. A loading screen came up and he was presented with a start screen.

“Let the hunt begin” was written across a blurred image of a forest. Below it was a button that said “Enter Komorebi Forest”. John selected it. A loading screen appeared for a short time before a framework structure of a forest appeared around him. Using the controller, he looked around the grey maze, looking out for the small egg shapes that were scattered amongst the half-complete world. It was a surreal place right now, but he planned to make it magical. A forest that would set the children’s imagination wild and help them to forget the hospital beds they were confined to.

“Is the programme functioning as expected, John?” EOS chimed in his ear.

“It’s working as planned. There’s still the texturing and images that need to be added but that’ll be the easy part for you. If our servers can handle the extra load this programme will put on them, I think it’ll perform well.”

John continued to explore the landscape; its bare graphical bones exposed for his scrutiny. His eyes scouted around for any weak points or glitches in the matrix. All the framework was here. Branches with greyscale leaves that he had to duck under, bushes with tunnels inside and even a few huts and chalets to explore. It was all there, ready to be coloured in and finally explored.

“I’ve put a few possible plans together which you can choose from. All of them require borrowing some of the Tracy Industries servers to ensure that the programme does not interfere with the running of International Rescue.”

“Thank you, EOS. I’ll check through those later and run the best one by Scott. I’m sure he can pull the right strings.” John closed the programme and slipped the headset off. “Have you seen the file full of images which I have collated to help with the texturing of the environment?”

“I have. Would you like me to start work on that next?”

“Yes please, EOS.”

At that moment a red triangle appeared on the hologlobe that filled the centre of the room. John floated over and answered the call.

“International Rescue, what’s your situation?”

***

Alan was bored. None of his friends were online. He flicked his controller, only to remember he was meant to be beta testing John’s programme. Alan slipped on the headset. Sure, it was just an Easter Egg Hunt for the sick kids, but this was his brother John. John was meticulous with his coding and Alan was looking forward to seeing what John could do with a game design. Alan had seen some of his brother’s old coursework submissions and they had been some fantastic pieces of work. The start screen popped up and Alan entered Komorebi Forest.

He found himself in a clearing; swaying trees of beech and common lime circled him with fantastic realism. A pair of birds, possibly sparrows, flew across the clearing, their chirps filling the air. The sun was out, and the smattering of wispy clouds floated through the stunningly blue sky. In the corner the instruction ‘A to interact’ appeared. Alan moved forward. John had already shown him the character design program, and Alan had created his own slightly cartoonish version of himself. He had made the character taller than he was, because he could. Alan started to explore, heading down one of the trails. There were small bushes and ferns everywhere. Obvious places for him to look to find eggs! He went up to one and pushed 'A’. Hands appeared and moved the leaves. A rabbit bounced out the hole and between his character’s legs. Alan smiled. The kids would love that! He continued, looking both up and down. He came to an oak tree and looking into its tall branches, Alan spotted a red and gold egg. He ran up to the tree and interacted with it. The joystick then became the controller for his character’s arm. Switching between arms he made the character climb up the tree and grab the egg. As he clung to the tree, his eye on the egg count in the right-hand corner, a squirrel came down from above and studied him. It paused upside down, twisted its head side to side, before scampering along a branch and jumping into another tree. Alan failed at climbing down and ended up falling. He landed on his bottom with a jerk.

“Well done, you found one!”

The familiar voice made Alan jump. He turned and saw a small ginger haired girl standing before him. She had a realistic design, with fine detailing in her plaits. She was wearing a simple navy dress with a white star on it and blue pumps. Her green eyes looked up at him and her smile was pleasant.

“EOS?” Alan questioned.

“Yes Alan.”

“Did John make you an avatar?”

“No. I did this. What do you think? I tried to make it look more realistic. I made John one too.”

John was suddenly standing next to EOS, though the avatar didn’t move. Unlike EOS it didn’t blink. It looked so much like John but it’s blank stare sent shivers down Alan’s spine.

“Wow, EOS. That’s a really good likeness.”

“Thank you. I worked hard on it. I thought it would be appropriate for the children to see him as he is, considering the other children will see you as you are.”

Alan was relieved when the John avatar disappeared, though there was still something in the way EOS spoke that was creepy. She still had a little way to go before she would stop sounding robotic.

“And you also made yourself?”

“Yes. I thought the children would appreciate this kind of avatar over an image of my matrix or a version of my camera module.”

The idea of a floating camera in such a serene place would definitely be unnerving.

“I agree with that EOS. But why did you choose this design?”

The little girl looked quizzically at Alan and he could see the circuits calculating in the avatar’s expression. Alan wondered if this was a form of mimicry. Was EOS copying expressions they, his family, had made? He knew EOS watched the world, and probably them, learning what it means to be human and how she could be of more use to John. But how much had she picked up?

“This is the design that my processors felt would be least threatening to the children.”

Alan had to agree there. He could see the similarities in the avatar to John. Had EOS given her avatar some Tracy traits? Though standing a random girl next to an International Rescue operative and having them look like family would make EOS less threatening. Still, it felt a little odd being able to put a face to EOS. Alan would always see this avatar from now on when he thought or spoke to the AI.

“What do you think of the programme? Is it functioning well?”

“I need a little more time to explore but what I’ve seen so far is incredible.”

Alan and EOS strolled further along the trail. EOS became Alan’s guide, pointing out the bluebells and foxglove she had rendered and even the occasional insect, like the red-legged shieldbug, she’d added on one common lime. Alan was in awe of the detail. He was aware that they were using a mix of International Rescue and Tracey Industries servers to run the programme. Alan couldn’t fault his brother’s design. EOS led Alan off the track and deeper into the forest until they came to a stream with small rocky waterfalls at various points.

“This is the end of the simulation. The tree line on the other side has a barrier to stop anyone going further. Alan placed his foot in the stream. The water rushed around it with the expected fluid mechanics though with none of the cold wetness that normally accompanied a sodden shoe. The soft sounds of the water were soothing. He continued to the weeping willow trees which EOS had pointed too and tested the barrier. There was nothing to indicate it was there, but he couldn’t pass through.

“Maybe you should put something there. Something to indicate that you can’t go any further. The kids might run into it and it would be a shock when they do.”

“I see your point.”

Alan watched the young girl as she closed her eyes in thought. When she opened them again, her emerald eyes fixed on his.

“How about something like this?”

Alan turned around. String now looped between the trees; small bells attached at places which softly chimed when the breeze shook them. The barrier had moved slightly, but when Alan reached out his hand it still worked.

“That’s better.”

“I’ll complete the adjustments after you’ve finished testing.”

Alan continued down the border, testing it as he went. The stream soon disappeared behind a rocky cliff and its rockface became the barrier. Continuing along, with EOS following behind, Alan came across caves and ledges, all with Easter eggs hidden in them. The detail and thought that had gone into this place was beyond what Alan had expected when John had first suggested the idea. How John has found the time to design and code all this was not worth thinking about.

Scott had been sceptical about the idea, preferring to drag John down from Five and have him present for once. But the idea that some children would have to miss out on the International Rescue Easter Egg Hunt through no fault on their own made Scott considered the idea. Scott couldn’t say no after seeing this place. Especially if John used the avatar EOS had made. John was still going to have to come along but at least he would feel a little more comfortable interacting through the programme. They had circled back to the clearing and Alan was sold.

"I have to show this to Scott, EOS. He has to see this place!”

“There are still some final tasks to do before it is finished.”

“That’s doesn’t matter, he still has to see it.”

Alan exited the forest and pulled the headset from his head. Equipment still in hand he raced from his room towards the office where he suspected Scott to be.

***

John stood in the clearing of his forest, listening to the sounds of laughter and screeches of 'I got one!’ Right now, the entire children’s intensive care unit was hunting Easter eggs and it was John’s, with a little help from EOS and some nurses, job to make sure all went smoothly. This was the fourth batch of children to enter and he was starting to get the hang of it.

The last batch had been the cancer patients, some of which had been in isolation. John had waved from the other side of the glass, and one young lad, Bryan, had been super excited. He had never met most of the other kids on the ward, and then to see someone from International Rescue made the boy bounce around his room. Bryan had come straight up to John in the forest and chatted away. Thankfully, one of the other kids he had met dragged him away to hunt Easter eggs. John had watched as Bryan was introduced to the others. John was planning to talk to Scott about handing the programme over to the hospital so kids in isolation could meet each other regularly. There would have to be supervision and other safety measures put in place, but it could really improve the lives of these children. John could think of multiple new environments that could be rendered to keep things fresh, though they might have to outsource the design of them.

John headed down one of the paths, following the sound of laughter. One of the laughs was familiar and John paused in the shadow of a Tilia tree and watched. EOS and three other children were running around a smaller clearing. It appeared they had taught the AI how to play ‘Stuck in the mud’. A check of the time showed there was ten minutes left of the forty-minute hunt session, though after fifteen minutes most the eggs had been found and the children resorted to exploring and having fun. There were a few nurses scattered about, keeping an eye on their charges, and handling any virtual fights that broke out. EOS seemed to be enjoying herself, though John was finding it hard to tell in her new form. She was extremely proud of her craftsmanship and John had a feeling this wasn’t going to be the last time he saw her using this avatar. EOS laughed again as she narrowly missed being tagged. He watched as another child was tagged leaving EOS the only one standing and cornered. The boy dashed to one side only to quickly switch direction and place his hand on her arm.

“I win!” He yelled, throwing his fist in the air.

The others came 'unstuck’ and ran to join him.

“We only have ten minutes left. Let’s go explore some more.” A girl said.

“Okay!” The other two children sang while EOS stayed quiet. The children turned to her.

“Don’t you want to explore?” The girl asked.

“I explored earlier. I’m going to go join John now. Thank you for teaching me the game.”

“Okay. Bye then.”

“Bye EOS.”

The other children disappeared into the trees and John stepped out of the shadows. He smiled at his AI. Who’d have thought she could pass as a child?

“That was an interesting interaction. I don’t get many opportunities to interact with people like this.”

“No, you don’t. It is part of keeping you safe, but we could let you explore more virtual spaces if you want.”

“I will consider it.”

They stood in companionable silence. A red admiral butterfly fluttered by, and a bird sang in a tree to their right. It was peaceful. As he stood John spotted movement around his feet. A ginger and white cat was rubbing itself against his legs. Puzzled, he knelt and stroked the digital feline. It purred and nuzzled its head into his hand. The cat continued to rub itself against his hand, the movement so natural. Its programming was superb. It would take complicated code to produce such realistic and interactive behaviour.

“EOS, you didn’t tell me you put a cat in the forest.”

John sat down and let the cat climb on his lap. Its body rubbed against his and its tail brushing against his face. It was a shame John couldn’t feel its touch. He could imagine how soft its fur was. Though he wasn’t the biggest animal lover, like Gordon, he did appreciate the need for nonhuman companionship.

“I didn’t design the cat, John. I assumed you programmed it.”

John gave EOS a quizzical look. If she didn’t, and he didn’t, where did the cat come from? He turned back to the digital feline.

“Maybe Alan did it?” There was uncertainty in John’s voice, it wasn’t an Alan thing to do.

“Alan only ran the programme, he never edited or added code.”

Worry filled John. Where had this cat come from? Was it a symptom of something more sinister? Was the programme safe? John noticed EOS stand rigid out the corner of his eye. He waited, knowing she was checking the code. Her eyes flickered open.

“I have located the code. It’s not a threat. No viruses detected. Its code came into the programme with one of the children from the last session. It came with his avatar, however the code was added into the programme and stayed active after the host avatar left. Do you want me to delete it?”

John looked at the cat in his lap. The ginger and white pattern was unique and the coding for its fur texture, behaviour and personality would have taken time. He wondered if it was based off someone’s pet. He suspected one of the patients in isolation created it when they were given access the avatar programme yesterday. It was impressive.  

“It definitely contains no malicious code?”

“No, it does not.”

“Then add it to the files with the other creatures. They left it here so others could enjoy it, and anything that will improve the time these children have here is welcome. Can you tell me which child made it? I might go give them a visit later.”

“I’ll send the information to your comm.”

“Thank you, EOS.”

The cat stood up, looked at John and meowed. Its eyes shone as if it was thanking him. EOS bent down and stroked the feline, bring a smile to John’s face. He wondered how his brothers were getting on in the real world, setting up and helping the children who were able to leave their beds. They were only using the hospital roof garden, and the hunts were shorter due to the garden not being large. They were all going to be tired tonight, but it would be a welcome tiredness. John knew Scott had hired a house for them nearby and had gotten John to scout out the local takeout joints. Takeout, popcorn, crisps, fizzy drinks, beer (for those old enough) were all prepared with a good film selection. It was going to be a good way to end the day.

The cat hopped off his lap and sauntered away. The session end screen popped up in front of John, and he disconnected. He was sitting at the nurses’ station on the ward and to his left two nurses also removed their headsets.

“Now that was quite the experience!” One said to the other. “No wonder I struggle to get my son to remove this thing.”

“I don’t think the games he is playing are all quite like that. The hack-and-slash my daughter plays looks very different.”

“Well the kids enjoyed it.”

They disinfected their headsets and placed them in the box at John’s feet. John now had to collect up any borrowed headsets and decontaminate them before moving on to the next set of wards. The nurses had already handed out the chocolate Easter Eggs while the children were in the forest, so they would find them when they removed their headsets. The smiles on their faces warmed John. He’d had received many excited thank yous as he collected headsets and even the odd enthusiastic hug. John stood, put on some disposal gloves and grabbed the box. He headed towards the beds, the chatter of young voices already filling the air.

[fandom-necromancer]

001. part 2

I planned to write this but was also prompted by @deviant-sasshole! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 | AU: reverse AU

part1

Night after night he stood at the window, picking up the debris the red walls had left behind as they shattered. They had left him behind. These phcking assholes had called him family, then left him in this very scrapyard to rot. And he had been idiotic enough to be loyal, to really think they would come back. God, how dumb could one be? Believe in a promise given by their kind. 'Phcking humans', he muttered disturbing the silence and quickly shutting himself with a cautious look towards the sleeping detective. Well, he guessed he wasn't that bad when he thought about it. Although the man had been unusually fast inviting him into his home. Did he pity him? Was human empathy that strong of an emotion to invite a complete stranger to live with him?

Well, mostly he lived here alone now. The human wasn't there often, seemingly work being his second home. They hadn't talked much, mostly trivial questions, nothing too deep, nothing that was really of worth. Was this human just this disclosed or was he too wary of him? Gavin had learned he was a detective for the DPD, had only recently moved over and that he had a brother working there too. And that his favourite food seemed to be instant noodles judging from the stack of empty cups on the counter he hadn't thrown away yet. Though the man did say he could cook he did so very rarely. In the time Gavin had stayed here now, Richard had cooked only once and that was just because he had failed to restock in fast food.

Hobbies of any kind he had yet to discover, too. There were a few books, mostly detective stories and a few thrillers. But he had never seen Richard read any. Usually he came back from work, ate something, took care of his bodily needs, watched some TV and fell dead into his bed. Needless to say Gavin was bored quite soon. Down in the scrapyard he had to stay hidden but always look out for someone coming for him. Also, boredom wasn't something a machine experienced. Now he had no task except looking down from the window, waiting for someone who would never come and who he never wanted to see again.

He pushed himself off the windowsill to go investigate the flat more. He didn’t expect to find much more evidence of the human’s missing personality, but well, he just wanted to leave that window for once. There was a calendar hung up on the wall depicting a bunch of kittens sleeping on top of each other. Did Richard like cats? Gavin stared at the picture and thumbed through the other months. He decided he liked cats very much. He was to go over to the shelf to pick up a random book as his eyes fell on a tablet that had not been there before. Curiously he went over, picking it up and turning it on. The screen lit up and showed him pictures of dead bodies. Right. Police detective. He scrolled past them, soon realising these were belonging to an ongoing investigation. Why did Richard have these laying around in his flat? Wasn’t he working enough at the precinct already?

Gavin knew he should better put the tablet down and not read it. He wasn’t authorised and he wouldn’t need the information. But the huge advantage of being deviant? He could do whatever the phck he wanted. So, he quickly interfaced with the thing, downloading all data regarding the investigation. It was a series of murders. Killed humans of every age, origin and class, always displayed somewhere semi-public for someone to find. They hadn’t only been killed but mutilated, too: A thirium pump pushed into them just below their sternum and a regulator where the heart should have been. Both easily visible to by-passers. Gruesome, yes, but unnecessary if someone just wanted to kill people. This was clearly some kind of message; the perpetuator had a reason to kill these people. The first question would have been whether these people had had androids. But according to the reports none of them ever possessed one. Gavin compared the times of death. Similar gaps in between discoveries of the bodies. The perp worked organised, displayed them to a certain time, was predictable. And most likely had killed or kidnapped a few people in advance to keep up the schedule. Gavin searched for any similarity of the victims. There was a map attached to the files, their location and home address marked. Another disappointment: the people came from all over Detroit and were found in all of Detroit. No hint to where the perp might live or display the next body.

There wasn’t much, Gavin had to admit. Maybe that’s why Richard had these files laying around. Maybe that was his case and he was stuck? Well, Gavin had nothing else to do, so why not trying to play detective, too? How long had these persons been missing before they turned up dead? If the culprit was this organised planning out the time of dumping them somewhere, maybe he had a regular schedule for the kidnapping too? The files couldn’t answer his questions. Maybe that data was stored on Richard’s computer in the precinct? Maybe he didn’t know either? Gavin did what was in his power to do: search the internet. These people had to have friends, family or co-workers that would have recognised their absence. Maybe someone had asked for help searching them somewhere. He scanned the faces of the victims, and together with their names it was easy to find something. Too much, actually. But he had nothing else to do and more time than he would like to, so he concentrated nearly every bit of his processor to comb through the data he had found.

He ended up with an answer to his question four hours later. Four days. Roughly four days between vanishing and being found dead. With around a day between the displays the perp would have to have two or three people in reserve. People that should already be reported as a missing person. How many missing persons were there in Detroit? Gavin suspected it to be far more than two or three. He had to narrow it down even more. What had these people in common, what was the motive? It had to be something android related. Why else should there be the parts inside them? So many questions that screamed to be answered and Gavin had only begun.

-

‘Interesting case you have there’, the android greeted Richard who had just woken up. ‘Hmm? Yeah.’ The human zombied his way over to the coffee machine, letting muscle memory take over until he froze. ‘Wait, you read it?’ ‘Yep.’ ‘Okay, don’t tell anyone, okay? I’m not supposed to take this home with me.’ ‘Who should I tell anyways?’, Gavin asked, sitting back down in his place at the window, smiling gloatingly now that the human couldn’t see. ‘By the way, your next victims are Elizabeth Cross and Shaun McGeal and I could give you a list of the estimated kidnappings in the future, too.’ There was a clunk from a mug being dropped. Thankfully it didn’t shatter. ‘Excuse me?’ ‘It was easy to find out, really.’ Gavin couldn’t keep the smugness from his voice. ‘Okay. You are shitting me, right? I’ve been working on this case for over a week now.’ ‘I would never’, the android smirked upon Richard’s annoyed expression. ‘But, well, not everyone can have a supercomputer for a brain.’ ‘I still don’t believe you cracked the case. Why do you think these people are the next ones to appear?’ ‘Mainly because they are currently missing for the right amount of time. Also, they helped androids during the revolution but denied it humans in times of need.’ ‘Wait. Missing for the right amount of time? Denied help? I haven’t had my coffee yet, I’m not that fast.’ Gavin sighed, explaining the detective how he suspected the perpetuator to work. Richard listened, drinking his coffee and nodding a few times. ‘Sounds solid. But what about this motive?’ ‘I tried finding similarities between the victims. There were none. But the android parts… It has to have something to do with it. And replacing the heart… it is the organ you connect with quite some meaning. So, I looked into it and every one of them has helped an android or stood up for them but has never done something similar for a human.’ ‘Plausible. So, you think it’s a human?’ ‘Could also be an android condemning their behaviour. Although I think a human would be more likely.’

‘Okay. Then come, get a move on!’ Richard had put the mug into the sink and walked over to get his coat and shoes. ‘What do you mean?’ Richard looked at him confused. ‘I’ll take you to the precinct of course.’ ‘What?’ ‘Can you say something else?’ ‘Why?’ Richard groaned. It really was too early in the morning for such lengthy conversations. Gavin swallowed and rephrased: ‘Why should I follow you there? I’m obviously no police android.’ ‘You practically solved a case I’ve been working on for weeks and made zero progress on. I don’t care if you are a police bot or not. You are evidently good at these things.’ ‘But-‘ ‘No buts. You are more than capable working in the field. And I guess you don’t want to stare out of that window forever. It seems kinda boring. This could be an opportunity for you to begin anew.’

Again, this damn human was right. He could stay here and wait for something while he knew it was futile. Or he could take the chance that was practically shoved into his face here and forget all that happened. It really wasn’t a difficult decision if he was honest with himself. ‘Fine. But just so you know it: I won’t do the work you don’t want to do! I only accept if we become partners, I’m no longer some tool.’ ‘Never saw you as one.’ Richard offered his hand and Gavin took it. ‘Then hurry up, partner, we are fucking late!’

[connorssock]

Hi, I'm that Comment person from ao3, and want to say hi, and ty again for your amazing writing, I always enjoy reading it :D I also have an idea for a prompt, but don't feel obligated to fill it if it's not something you'd have fun writing (*´罒`*) It's kinda long, so will send a 2nd message :0 2/2

Gavin is v depressed, and due to the amount of work he’s had recently, he’s been unable to, or forgot to pick up refills for his medicine, so one day he doesn’t come to work. Connor, Hank, and Nines notice, but don’t start to worry for a few days. Eventually Fowler asks them to go check up on Gavin, and they find him unable to even get out of bed or find the energy to pick up his phone to call anyone for help. They then stay w/ him until he’s ok, and maybe become closer? >

I am so sorry this took so long to fill, Comment! Partially it was because I needed a break between this and the chapter of Android Update 5.12 which was very very similar. And partially because it…sort of ran away a little. I hope it is what you were after though!

The Net To Catch Your Fall

It was the season for colds and flu. Gavin had been bracedfor it, a bug had been making its way round the precinct and the sore throat he’dbeen waking up with for the last few nights spelled a few not so great daysahead.

“Morning G-Man!” Tina chirped at him as he walked past herdesk.

“Morning,” he said. Or tried to, but it was more of a hoarsecroak.

“Well shit dude, sounds like you went to town on a hundreddicks last night.” It was reassuring to know that Tina was a sympathetic asever.

“I wish,” Gavin shot back with a grin.

“Want me to grab you some throat soothers?”

She was alright after all; her heart was in the right place.All the same, Gavin waved her off.

“I need to go to the pharmacy anyway; I’ll pick some upthen.”

Of course, he didn’t get a chance to go to the pharmacy.They were called to a crime scene half an hour before he finished work. By thetime they were done the pharmacy had long since shut. There was always the nextday.

Unfortunately, the next day was no different to the previousone. By the time Gavin could get to the pharmacy it was shut. He shrugged, hehad a few days leeway, he was organised and knew how to keep his shit together.It was going to be fine.

If it wasn’t going to interview potential witnesses, it wasa meeting that over ran or getting caught up in paperwork that needed to beurgently filed. Getting a warrant was no laughing matter and even a day’s delaycould mean the difference between a successful case and evidence beingdestroyed. A packet of throat sweets landed on Gavin’s desk.

“Since you still haven’t managed to cough up your lung, nomatter how hard you’re trying,” Tina said and walked away.

“Thanks,” Gavin tried to yell after her but his voice cameout more as a whine.

He popped a lemon flavoured sweet in his mouth and tried toignore the sluggishness that had been creeping through his body.

Things were getting worse though. He struggled to focus onhis work which he could blame on his cold but the blanket of indifferent dreadthat shrouded him wasn’t so easy to dispel. Finally, he had the time to go tothe pharmacy. It had been almost 2 weeks he’d been trying to go. Of course itwas the day he left his prescription at home.

The clock ticked over six and Gavin pushed away from hisdesk. There was no point in staying to finish the report he’d been staring atfor the last three hours. It wasn’t like anyone was ever going to read itanyway. He walked out of the precinct and didn’t look back.

His desk was empty the next day. A few people cast curiousglances at it but people assumed Gavin had finally succumbed to the bug goinground and had decided to take a day off to recover. When his seat stayed emptythe following day and the day after, Nines began to worry. He approachedCaptain Fowler with well-intentioned questions and didn’t expect the bluntanswers he got.

Fowler had no idea where Gavin was, he didn’t pick up hisphone, reply to e-mails. For the time being, he could be signed off as absentdue to sickness but if he didn’t get in touch soon, Fowler couldn’t cover forhim.

“Why don’t you pop round his? Check in with him. It’sunusual to take so long off without at least a message,” he’d suggested.

It got Nines thinking, he didn’t know what he’d say to Gavinupon encroaching on his home. He also didn’t want to do it alone. That’s how hefound himself with not just Connor, but also Hank behind him as they approachedGavin’s home.

There was no response to knocking. Not on the first attempt,or the second. After the third time, when Nines raised his hand to knock oncemore, Hank grabbed his hand.

“I don’t think he wants to answer the door,” he said.

Sullenly, Nines lowered his hand.

“What if he’s in there and he needs assistance though?”

They could hear Gavin’s phone ringing in the hallway of theapartment block. If the man wasn’t in, he’d left his phone behind. Just to makea point, Nines called it again and stared Hank down.

“Fine, if he gets pissed that we broke into his flat, you’retaking the blame,” Hank rolled his eyes and gestured to the door.

Nines lifted his hand and prepared to break through it

“Woah!” Hank grabbed his arm again. “Easy there.”

He reached for the door handled and twisted it. It openedwith a click and Hank shot Nines a look that spoke volumes.

“Always check the easiest route first,” he grumbled.

It was impossible to miss the way his fingers stillunclipped the top of his gun holster, ready to expect the worst. The apartmentthey walked into was stale for want of a better word. It hadn’t seen movementin days and Hank wrinkled his nose at the smell. Nines called Gavin’s phoneagain and they listened to it ring and vibrate from a room with the door ajar.Slowly, they moved towards it.

The room was darker than expected, the curtains haphazardlypulled shut and the phone lit up the room where it rang on the bedside table.The smell of days old sweat lingered and Nines was tempted to shut hisolfactory sensors down but something stopped him. On the side of the bedfurthest from the bedside table was an unmoving form.

Connor pulled the curtains away and they stared at Gavin whowas curled up in bed, bare shoulder poking out from under the cover. His eyesslid over the three intruders before turning back to the bedside table in anunfocussed stare. Out of shock, Nines rang the phone again and watched Gavin’seyes track to the noise before returning to his blank stare.

“Gavin?” Connor asked.

There wasn’t even a flinch of acknowledgement from the bed.Hank looked over the room, there was a half full bottle of water on the floorby Gavin’s side, his phone on the bedside table, plugged in and charging. Thosehe was happy to see. What was more troubling were the boxes of pills next tothe phone, indiscriminately piled up but thankfully none of them open alongwith pen and paper. It was obvious that someone had tried to write something,but sheets were scrunched up with scribbled out words. Whoever Gavin was tryingto write to, he had obviously failed.

“I don’t understand,” Nines started and Hank cut him offwith a sharp look.

“Connor, tidy up a bit in here please,” Hank nodded at theboxes of pills and the pile of clothes abandoned at the side of the bed. “You,come with me,” he pointed at Nines.

They walked into the kitchen where Hank began to rummage throughthe cupboards, looking for something easy on the stomach.

“My scans show that Gavin is fine,” Nines started again andHank slammed a cupboard door shut.

“Does that man look like the walking definition of fine?” hesnarled.

“No. I don’t understand. Even his lingering laryngitis isall but gone.”

“Just because your scans show that someone is fine doesn’tmean they are. There’s more to a human than just their body. Like there’s moreto you than your chassis and hardcoding.”

While Nines stood and contemplated the words, Hank continuedhis search. After a moment his eyes fell on the fridge which had a few piecesof paper held to it with magnets. Mostly they were scribbled reminders, shoppinglist, appointments and meeting dates. Amongst it all, he spotted a vaguely familiarlooking piece of paper. A prescription.

“Ah.”

That was all he said before he pulled it free and scannedover it. He frowned when he saw that date and looked at his watch as he workedout how overdue it was.

“Take this to the pharmacy, pick it up. Tell them it’surgent police business if they give you any trouble.”

Obediently, Nines took the proffered prescription and left. Itgave Hank a few minutes to find a pack of plain digestive biscuits in the backof a cupboard before Connor appeared in the kitchen doorway with an armful ofboxes.

“I’ve done what I can,” was all he said before he found theempty drawer and began to sort through the pills.

“I know, Con, I know,” Hank laid a reassuring hand on hisshoulder. “Baby steps, remember?”

Connor shot him a sad smile and wondered whether all humanswere so broken or whether it was a side effect of knowing him. He watched Hankdisappear into the bedroom and sighed. He hoped he was just unlucky in knowingso many humans cursed with depression.

Inside the bedroom, Hank put the plate of biscuits down onthe bedside table and took a good look at Gavin. His hair was falling in greasystrands, his usual stubble longer, almost worthy of being called a beard. Helooked hollow, eyes empty of all light and each breath a slight shudder like itwas the most difficult task in the world to keep breathing. It probably feltlike it.

“I can’t promise that eating something will make you feelbetter, but it might be a start,” Hank tried.

When he got no response, he shrugged. He hadn’t expected hisvoice and idea to work miracles after all. Without sighing, or even expressingany disappointment, Hank walked around the bed.

“I’m going to help you sit up, if you feel light headed atall then squeeze my shoulder and we’ll get you lying back down. But once you’reup, I’m going to but a biscuit in your hand and you’d going to eat it.”

There was no response but Gavin let his arms be positionedaround Hank’s neck and put up no resistance to being sat up. His face wassallow in the light and Hank gave him a moment, holding his shoulders to makesure he wasn’t about to keel over.

“Okay,” he muttered and let Gavin go.

It was almost like watching a haunted doll. Hank pushed abiscuit into Gavin’s lax fingers and after a moment they grasped hold of it.Mechanically, the biscuit was lifted to Gavin’s mouth and he took a bite, eyesstaring at the far wall. When he’d finished it off, there were crumbs on hisshirt but it was the least of Hank’s worries. Instead of brushing him down, heran a gentle hand through greasy hair.

“Well done,” he murmured and Gavin’s eyes fluttered shutbriefly. “Nines will be here with your prescription soon. Things will get backon track.”

He helped Gavin lie down again and wished they were at thestage they could at least change the covers on the bed.

True to his words, Nines was back with the prescription andhe helped Hank sit Gavin up again. They pressed two pills into his palm and watchedhis throat bob as he swallowed them dry. The water he swallowed after it was anautomatic gesture, not one borne out of need.

“Try to get some sleep,” Hank rumbled softly. “Nines willstay with you while Connor and I will sort a few things out.”

They left the door half open and Connor’s LED flashed yellowfor a moment as he listened to Nines start to talk. It was all inconsequentialthings, stories from the precinct, the cases they worked on, where they made adifference.  Not once did Gavin even huffout a note of acknowledgement and Connor reached out to Nines in silence.

His lack of responseis not a reflection of you. Do not lose heart.

It seemed to dissipate a little of the disappointment thatNines found himself sinking into and he continued talking to Gavin, even if hischoice of stories veered towards the more outrageous.

A quick phone call to Fowler and suddenly the three of themdidn’t have a day off together for two weeks. Each day Hank, Connor or Nineswas off and they could spend the time with Gavin until he got back on his feet.

“I read somewhere that animals could bring positive healthbenefits to humans,” Nines mulled over dinner one evening. It was Connor whowas sat with Gavin that night.

“I’ll take Sumo with me tomorrow then,” Hank nodded and eyedhis dog. “I’m sure Gavin used to have a cat.”

The next day was Hank’s first alone with Gavin. He got thereearly enough for Connor to be able to get to work comfortably and he ignoredthe puzzled look of seeing Sumo on a tight leash by Hank’s side.

For the most part, the day was quiet. Sumo had made himselfat home in Gavin’s flat, snuggled up next to him and occasionally turned tolick the man’s hand that was buried in his fur. It was the first time Hank hadseen Gavin move voluntarily, even if only to thread fingers in thick fur andgrip like his life depended on it. Maybe it did.

The next day it was Nines with Gavin. He mostly sat on thebed, on top of the covers and talked. When he saw Gavin’s eyes droop, sleepthreatening to pull him under, his voice softened until he was certain Gavinwas drawing deep even breaths, eyelid fluttering as he dreamt. The fact he wokewith a panting gasp shouldn’t have surprised Nines, nightmares were on par forthe course really. But he hadn’t anticipated a hand shooting out to grab at hisin a vice like grip. Nines pulled the hand into his lap, the fingers of hisfree hand stroked over the knuckles until they relaxed a little.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin whispered, voice hoarse with disuse.

“You’re doing just fine,” Nines replied and pretended not tosee the tears that trickled across Gavin’s face, tracing the path of the scaron his nose.

With Connor there, it was a little less personal. He didn’tsit with Gavin all the time, gave him space as he worked at his kitchen table.There was the sound of a door closing which made Connor jerk upright, followedby the sound of a shower turning on. With a small smile, he hopped off thestool and walked into the bedroom. It only took him a few minutes to change thesheets, fluff up the pillows and quickly air the room. By the time Gavinstumbled out of the bathroom in nothing but a pair of boxers, Connor was backon the stool as though he’d never moved in the first place.

“Didn’t you used to have a cat?” Connor asked that evening.

Gavin had sat up by himself and accepted the small bowl ofthick soup with a brief moment of eye contact. Obviously it was the wrongquestion to ask because Gavin froze up at the words and his head dipped, hairfalling into his face like a shield.

“She’s the neighbour’s now,” he rasped after a minute ofsilence.

“I see,” Connor didn’t, but he wasn’t sure what he could sayto remedy the situation.

“When I last had an episode,” Gavin broke off for a momentfor a breath. “When I last got like this, I couldn’t look after her. It wasn’tfair. Couldn’t neglect her like that. So I found her a better home.”

He sniffed and Connor furiously tried to backpedal withplatitudes of Gavin doing the best for her, of her being happy in her new home.Nothing seemed to help, if anything it just made things worse and he had totake the bowl from Gavin’s lax grip before it spilled everywhere.

“Because anywhere was better for her than with me,” Gavingasped and pulled his knees up to his chest.

His tears stopped as quickly as they started but he didn’ttake the bowl back from Connor that evening. Even from the living room Connorcould head his stomach rumbling with hunger. Humans punished themselves in thestrangest of ways for the oddest of things.

Handover to Hank in the morning was a mixed affair. Sumo hadbeen allowed to charge ahead into the apartment and had already taken up hisfavourite spot on the bed next to Gavin. It left Connor with a chance to giveHank a rundown of all the good things (shower, clean bedsheets and sometalking) as well as the not so good (crying over his cat, perhaps it was bestto avoid the topic for a bit). All through it, Hank nodded and when he was doneand getting ready to leave, Connor was surprised to be pulled in for a hug.

“You did good,” Hank murmured against his hair, “sometimes agood cry is what’s needed.”

Puzzled, Connor left for work, mind racing through thereasons why inadvertently making Gavin cry was a good thing. He drew a blank.

Back at the apartment, Hank knocked on the bedroom door.

“Rise and shine,” he called, “the pill club is moving to thekitchen table today.”

There was no response from the bedroom but he didn’t expectmuch either. After a minute of puttering around and setting out breakfast, hereturned to the bedroom.

“Ready to face the world yet? I won’t even make you dress upif you’re not up to that yet. Just come out and keep an old man company whilewe take our happy pills.”

That at least got Gavin staring at him, the hand buried inSumo’s fur stopping. It was enough of a reaction for Hank to retreat, confidentthat Gavin was going to follow. Sure enough, a few minutes later thefloorboards creaked and Gavin appeared in the kitchen doorway. He had even puta t-shirt on.

“Sit, sit,” Hank urged him towards one of the stools as heperched on the other one.

Each place was set up identical, a bowl of porridge, a glassof fresh orange juice and a box of pills next to each glass. Gavin eyed it allsceptically, carefully tacking Hank’s movements as he took his own pills andpopped one out. He took it with a gulp of orange juice and smiled at Gavin.

“You too?” Gavin asked. He’d recognised the brand of pillsHank was taking, it was one he’d tried himself but the side effects were toomuch to cope with.

“Me and probably half the precinct,” Hank nodded.

“Huh,” Gavin huffed out and reached for his own pills. Twosat in his palm as he regarded them before lifting them to his mouth andswallowing them dry.

“There’s no shame about it, you know that, right?” Hankasked softly. He didn’t look at Gavin, kept his eyes carefully on the spoonfulof sugar he was sprinkling over his porridge.

“Yeah, I know,” Gavin finally admitted.

It was progress, Hank didn’t want to push for too much toosoon but at the same time there was something they needed to talk about.

“That night we first came over,” he began delicately.

Gavin stiffened in his seat, ready to bolt.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Hank heldup his hands to placate, “but the door was open, you made it easy for whoevercame to find you. No need to call the police, break your door in, cause ascene. Trust me, I know, I’ve been through the same process. The pills on theside, you were going to take them, once you wrote your notes. But you neverfinished a note. What held you back?”

The silence between them stretched to an uncomfortable levelas Gavin pushed his porridge around in the bowl. Finally, he pushed it awayuntouched and crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

“I didn’t have anyone to write a note to,” he bit out atlong last.

Hank nodded, no judgement showed in his face.

“I realised I was such an unwanted fuck-up that I didn’teven have anyone to say goodbye to. Nobody would miss me if I lay down and diedso that’s what I did. Wasn’t even worth taking the pills because they wouldhave been wasted on me.”

The outburst left Gavin’s chest heaving and Hank looked overat him calmly.

“Do you still think that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Gavin ran a hand through his hair thescratched at his beard with a disgusted frown.

“I don’t mean to pry and I know it’s none of my business,but,” Hank took a steadying breath and held Gavin’s gaze, “I thought you andNines might have a bit of a thing going.”

Gavin looked away at that and he scoffed.

“The poor bastard doesn’t know any better. He’ll find someonemore deserving soon enough.”

“Funny,” Hank mused, “that’s exactly what I used to thinkabout Connor. Don’t you think it’s a little unfair to be making that decisionfor Nines? Rather than asking him?”

“Can’t we talk about pills that make us less miserableinstead?” There was a whine to Gavin’s voice that made Hank smile.

“For what it’s worth, I’d have been gutted,” Hank finishedhis porridge and left the table to do the washing up.

The rest of the day passed quietly, Gavin burrowed back intohis bed but at least he was sitting up, back against the headboard and flickingthrough his phone. That evening he suggested that Hank go home but he was wavedoff.

“One more night on your couch won’t kill me,” he’d said.

In the morning Nines was at Gavin’s door, knocking politely.Hank opened it with a loose smile.

“He’s in the shower, had enough of beard itching,” he saidand stepped round Nines’ and patted him on the shoulder.

By the time Gavin emerged from the shower, freshly shaved tohis more usual look and hair towelled dry, Nines had breakfast set up.

“Hey,” a sudden bout of shyness took over Gavin and hestruggled to look at Nines.

“Hello Gavin,” Nines replied and held out a bowl of fruits. “Igot you some breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Gavin took the bowl and scooped up the box ofpills from the side. He popped two out and swallowed, chasing them down with astrawberry.

They stood in the kitchen awkwardly, Gavin munching on hisfruit for lack of anything better to do while Nines leaned against a counterand watched him. Eventually, the bowl was empty and Gavin ran out of excusesnot to talk.

“So,” he began and rubbed the back of his neck, “thanks. Foreverything. And sorry.”

“Are you apologising for your mental health?”

Gavin knew Nines well enough to find a hint of incredulityin in his voice. It made him dip his head and mumble his response.

“You are the way you are,” the words seemed so easy, comingfrom Nines, “you cannot help your chemical imbalance any more than I can helpmy core coding. We can both try to work around it with pills and layers ofsubroutines but neither of us asked to be the way we are.”

“I know that,” Gavin kicked at the ground in discomfort, histoes rhythmically stubbing against the floor.

“So you have nothing to apologise for unless you think Ishould be apologising for being built to be a killing machine.”

“I should have told you sooner, you should have known whatyou were signing up for right from the start.”

“You do realise I’m a state of the art detective androidwith real time lab analysis capabilities, right?” Nines let out a small smileas Gavin’s head snapped up in disbelief.

“You knew all along?”

“I happen to enjoy analysing everything about the one Ilove.”

The bowl went clattering from Gavin’s hand and he steppedaway with wide eyes.

“You can’t say that,” he gasped, a hand clawing at his chestas though trying to keep his heart in place. “You’ve not lived enough to knowthat.”

The unimpressed look Nines shot him was usually enough toinstil fear in anyone but Gavin had become immune to it over time.

“If you’re quite done.”

That at least shut Gavin up. Patiently, Nines offered up anarm in invitation for a hug and he tried his best not to roll his eyes whenGavin looked hesitant.

“I won’t bite. Unless you ask me to.”

“Prick,” Gavin huffed out a laugh and stepped over the bowlthat had cleaved in two as it fell.

“Are you quite done having an existential crisis?” Ninesasked even as he wrapped Gavin in his arms and rested his chin on top of hishead.

He could feel the brush of a smile against his collarboneand Gavin burrowed in a little closer.

“I’m not sure yet. Might have to stand here a little longerto make sure.”

Nines let him cling on, ignored the little shiver thatpassed through Gavin every now and then as he fought whatever inner demon itwas that had reared its ugly head again.

“Tomorrow,” Gavin mumbled into his chest,” “we’re going towork. And I’m buying you, Hank and Connor the biggest gift baskets I can find.”

“Or you could ask us to help next time you find yourself inneed. Preferably before things hit rock bottom,” Nines tried to compromise.

“Can’t promise that,” Gavin shook his head and looked up atNines with wide eyes. “But I can promise to try my best.”

“That’s all I ask,” Nines replied and leaned down to press akiss to his lips.

The next morning when Connor knocked on the door, both Ninesand Gavin were ready to head to work. They bundled into the taxi alongside Hankwho smiled warmly at them all before pulling Connor’s hand into his and linkingtheir fingers. Shyly, Gavin reached out for Nines and grinned when they did thesame.

[itsallavengers]

Stardust

(This plot is based around suicide- please be careful)

So it was late last night and I started thinking about my Best Son Anthony Stark, and how he isn’t Good With Emotion. 

He finds it difficult to tell people he cares, and show others that he loves them. Sometimes even physical touch or people handing him things makes him uncomfortable, so the Avengers moving in proved difficult at the beginning, because... well, he just isn’t used to that much casual camaraderie and contact being thrown around. Totally new ball game. And it scares the shit out of him.

So anyway. The team are all Bonding and Growing Together and stuff, and Tony is just out on a limb, because he doesn’t know how to fucking say that he likes them. He shows it, of course he shows it, that’s the only thing he ever can do well- but then his goddamn mouth just has to run off and say something stupid and they’re right back at square-fucking-one again. He doesn’t know what to do, and he just... he doesn’t feel like one of them. It hurts.

Then there’s a bad mission.

 A... a really bad mission. Something-Wears-Coulson’s-Face-And-Goes-On-A-Murderous-Rampage-Directed-At-Clint type of bad mission.

Clint tries to jump off the roof.

And Tony is suddenly... completely and utterly consumed by how painful that is to think about. How stupidly attached he’s become, not only to the Birdbrain, but the whole damn team. Remembering Clint, sat still and silent on the top of the tower with a half-empty bottle of whatever-the-fuck in his hand and an empty look in his eyes... it haunts him. 

Literally. He can’t sleep. He barely lets Clint out of his sight for weeks after, just in case. The thought plagues him, because he knows, fuck does he know, what it’s like to feel that sort of pain. And he can’t stand the thought of Clint suffering the same.

He feels like he’s doing nothing. Like he’s helpless. So one night of yet more insomnia, he decides to put the ball on his side of the court.

He starts writing.

By the end of the morning, there’s pages and pages of data- Clint’s triggers, his history, his likes and dislikes and his mental state- all cross-referenced with one another and neatly sorted into workable piles. He tells JARVIS to scan the work and track it with Clint’s behaviour; flagging him up in either amber for medium risk, or red for immediate. 

And once he’s done that- why the hell would he stop there?

(Beware the read more, mobile users!)

The whole team. Meticulously trawling through their histories, their triggers, their responses to bad missions or guilt or loss. It takes him 6 nights of no sleep. 

By the end of it, he is keeping track of every single one of them. 

It becomes obsessive. He revises it every night, adding and removing and keeping a constant ear out for JARVIS’s quiet words of ‘Miss Romanov has had night-terrors for nights in a row. Medium Risk,’ or ‘Doctor Banner watched a news-reel of his Hulk form tearing through a Hospice and this is the third day he has gone without food- immediate risk’. It rarely happens, but Tony had been caught out the first time. It wouldn’t happen again.

When Steve starts closing himself off- Tony knows it’s because they’re coming up to the day Bucky died. When Clint gets drunk on a monday morning, he cross-references it with all the other times he’s noticed it happen and realises that each time, it was because he’d been made to spend the whole day at SHIELD with a task-force who still blame him for his mind control. He knows all of it, and he acts accordingly.

Slowly- the occurrences stop being so frequent.

Tony doesn’t even think about shutting it down. It’s the only thing that keeps him sane, some nights. Knowing that he still has that; that tiny semblance of control. That even if he can’t ultimately stop his friends if they are hellbent on it; he can do his damn hardest to get to them before it gets to that point. 

He doesn’t know how to tell them that they mean something to him, and doing this is the only way he feels like he’s enough. It’s not. It’s obviously not- he could be so much better to them- but it’s all he has. 

It’s become refined enough that Tony can predict some of the more severe mood swings and prepare for them. Yeah- maybe Natasha gets pissed at him because she can’t find any of her usual weaponry hidden about the tower during some weeks, but Tony isn’t going to take any chances. Not with them.

With himself, however- it’s harder to care so much.

Bad shit happens, sometimes, and Tony deals with it. He does it as best he can, and sometimes Steve is there to help him through- because for some reason Steve seems to like him more than most- but sometimes he isn’t. When Tony is sat, wasted and sleep-deprived in his workshop with a bottle of pills staring temptingly up at him- that’s one of those times.

He’s just tired. And sad. It would be so much easier.

He wasn’t going to actually do it. He was just thinking about it. In an objective sort of way. 

But then suddenly Steve comes in and wrestles the bottle of whiskey out of his hand like he’s gonna die within the next three seconds if he continues to touch the damn thing, and Tony realises it probably looks a lot worse than it is.

“Don’t,” Steve whispers hoarsely, pushing the bottle of pills carelessly off the side of the desk and then crouching down, his arms trapping Tony in his chair, “please don’t do that, Tony. Please. I’m... I couldn’t deal with losing you too, Tony-”

Tony laughs, and it tastes bitter in his throat. “You don’t care about me. N’t really. I don’t know how to love people. Dunno how to even tell someone I... I...” and he can’t even finish the fucking sentence, that’s how emotionally stunted he is.

Steve is looking at him, and his face is so sad, Tony’s drunken thought-process immediately goes into help-mode, because it reminds him all too well of the other times Steve has looked like that. “Hey. ‘M sorry. Don’... I’m good. Don’t be sad.”

Steve stares at him incredulously for a good few moments, before shaking his head sadly and slowly raising his hand, cupping it against Tony’s cheek softly. “Are you even real? You- you’re still trying to put me first, aren’t you? Jesus, Tony- you say you’re incapable of telling people they matter to you, and then you pull the moon outta the sky because one of us said it looked pretty! You know... love doesn’t show in words, Tony, it shows in actions. Always.”

Tony slowly looks up and met Steve’s eyes. “ I just... want people to care, Steve. They don’... they don’ care, not really. You care, because y’r team leader ‘n’ you gotta care. My love has always been paid for, y’see, Stevie. Always.” He laughed, shutting his eyes and allowing himself the guilty pleasure of Steve’s hands on his face, just for a second.

It wasn’t enough, But it would do.

Steve pauses again, eyes horribly sad as he looks at Tony. He wants to know what’s going on in that soldier brain of his- but he’s pretty wasted right now and the thoughts won’t process properly.

“Come with me,” Steve whispers eventually, standing up and gently grabbing at Tony’s hand.

It’s not like Tony would ever say no to a request when it was put like that.

So he stumbles upright and Steve steadies him, firm and strong and warm as he always is. Tony isn’t particularly aware of where he’s going, because Steve pretty much just carries him the whole way there and Tony is fine with just letting his head fall against Steve’s shoulder and stay there. Possibly for the rest of his life. He wouldn’t complain.

They end up in Steve’s room, and Tony is just about to start thinking up inappropriate comments to make when Steve pulls up Tony’s hands and places an old-looking organiser in it, making his fingers close delicately around the spine. It’s an obvious invitation to read, so Tony does, because otherwise he’d just keep looking at Steve all night and, satisfying as that may be, he’d probably just get punched.

So he opens the book- and his name stares back at him.

It’s... it’s what Tony had drawn up, all those months ago on scraps of paper- except this was undeniably Steve-like in style, and altogether a lot more neat than his had ever been. Pages and pages of neatly filled lines; some crossed out, some cramped additions. Doesn’t like 4th July fireworks down at the bottom or just caves in the top corner of one particular spread. 

He doesn’t understand.

“I love you,” Steve says- and then Tony takes his ‘doesn’t understand’ and multiplies it by ten.

‘I love you, Tony,” Steve says, because the goddamn idiot knew him, and knew what he was thinking. “I love you and the thought of you... hurting yourself is enough to drive me insane.  I didn’t know how to show you until now. But this,” he tapped the book that Tony was still staring at, “is sacred to me. This helps me know how you tick, it helps me work out when you’re having bad days and need someone to be there for you. It lets me know who it is you need; me or Rhodey or Bruce or whatever. Because I love you so much it hurts, and the only way that I feel like I’m able to help you deal with this is by knowing when it will happen”

Tony was quiet for a few more moments, and then, “JARVIS?”

“yes, sir?”

“Did.. did Steve steal my brain thoughts?”

Steve laughs, and it still sounds too sad for Tony, which is his own fault this time- he’s going to have to add the word ‘Tony’ to Steve’s file later. “No, Tony, your brain is still perfectly safe. Listen-”

“No. Wait. You listen. T’me. Please,” Tony begged, trying to find Steve’s hand and clumsily hitting an elbow instead, “I’m a nightmare. I don’... I don’ know how to be a normal human. I sm’times have days when I can’t even hug people and will get stupid ‘n’ angry if you try, and then the next day I might get sulky ‘cause you’re not giving me enough affection. But Steve, I do care. I do. It haunts me, the day we caught Clint, it hon’stly does, an’ I know I act like a fuckin’ asshole, but you mean more t’me than anything. All of you. Especially you. Steve, I... I lo.. I-” 

The words still don’t come, and Tony wants to scream. Wants to bang his head against the wall until he stops being so fucked up, because no one wants someone who can’t even say I love you, for fucks sake-

“Yes I do. I really, really do,” Steve tells him gently, standing close to Tony, almost forehead to forehead, and of course Tony was whispering to himself again, that was a great way to make people think you were normal.

“I’ll want you when you’re sad. I’ll want you when you’re angry, or being an asshole, or every time when you won’t be able to tell me how you feel for me. I’ll want you. Because I have done for so long now, I’m not even sure i know how to stop.”

Tony feels the ever-constant desire suddenly light into an inferno at that point. Steve’s mouth looks so delicious and soft, and his eyes look even bluer than Tony had ever though they could and he just wants to... he wants to do everything with Steve. Wants everything he could possibly get, eyes and mouth and teeth and touch and taste.

 It’s probably a mixture of alcohol and overwrought emotions that does it in the end, but suddenly he’s stumbling forward and his mouth is on Steve’s and he’s kissing him with every emotion that he’ll never be able to speak about and hoping that Steve knows; that he’d understand, just for a moment, quite how much he means to Tony.

Steve gasps, hands sinking lower and grabbing at the fabric of Tony’s shirt, pulling him in until he was pressed up against Steve’s chest- and Tony thinks for a moment that he might just be enough.

Then Steve stops, slowly and with a shaking breath, and that was it. Tony had really ruined it now.

“Nope,” Steve interrupts his thought process, shaking his head vigorously and putting a finger against Tony’s mouth. “You... you have no idea how much I’d like to continue this, believe me- but you’re drunk, Tony, and I’m not gonna-”

Tony kisses him again before he can finish the sentence, because now he’s aware that Steve actually, for whatever reason, wants him too, there is no stopping him. Steve is a hell of a kisser, and Tony wants more. More more more more more.

Steve practically whimpers the next time he breaks away, gently untangling Tony’s hands from his neck and shivering. “Uhh, uh. We can’t. You need... you need to get some rest, Tony, you’ve ha-hnnngh,” 

hmm. Tony notes down in some corner of his mind that Steve seems pretty sensitive to kisses on the underside of his jaw.

Unfortunately, Steve is pretty adamant that he’s going to be a gentleman or whatever, because he takes a deep breath and steels himself before pushing Tony off again, not letting go of him exactly, but enough to mean Tony can no longer reach Steve’s mouth. 

“Tony, you need to get some rest. Please. You’ve had a really rough night, and you’re not thinking straight-”

“Steve, this isn’t some- some drunk fuck here. I... you’re what I want. Trust me,” Tony said, making an effort to keep his voice as clear as possible. He tried to reach out and touch Steve’s face again, but Steve just smiles and catches his hands, thumbs stroking softly along his knuckles.

“Humour me, then.”

Tony whines and shuts his eyes, which isn’t a good idea, because his sight is the only thing keeping him balanced, and he quickly discovers this as he keels forward directly into Steve’s waiting arms.

“’m okay,” Tony mumbles, because it wouldn’t do for Steve to think he’d just blacked out or something.

“No, you’re not. But that’s okay. Neither am I,” Steve answers softly, bending a little and sweeping Tony’s legs out from underneath him, lifting him with an ease only he could pull off.

Tony huffs, because really, he’s a grown man, he shouldn’t find being carried like this so comforting. But Steve’s got a nice chest, and it’s easy to just bury his head into the shirt he’s wearing and soak up the warmth and the beat of his heart.

He didn’t like hearing that Steve wasn’t okay. He could see, and he was aware of it it (very, very aware)- but he still hated him saying it.

“I’ve got a list, too,” he whispers as Steve gently places him on his bed and starts tucking him in, his fingers so graceful and light as he works.

Tony thinks that’s what he loves most about Steve. Those hands can tear through walls and punch men dead- but Tony only ever feels them as a gentle caress. Steve is even softer and careful than most normal humans, and it must be so much harder to do for him. And yet he always manages. 

“huh?” Steve asks, a hand cupping the back of Tony’s neck as he tilts his head up and slides a pillow underneath.

“A list. For everyone. In case... just in case. I... didn’ think anyone would think along the same lines as me, though.”

“You didn’t think anyone would care about looking after you, you mean,” Steve adds, stopping his fussing for a moment to stroke a hand through Tony’s hair and get it out from his face. “Tony- I know about your list. I’ve known for months- you left the hard copies out on your desk one night when I came in to put you to bed. It... God, Tony, you care so much about everyone else, but you don’t expect them to care for you back, do you? You didn’t add your own triggers or fears or history in there. You didn’t... you didn’t think they were relevant. So I made my own file for you- granted, mine wasn’t quite so fancy as yours- but I’m so very glad that I did. You need people to show that they care about you just as much as you care about them.”

Tony opens his mouth to argue; what against, he isn’t sure, but Steve leans down and kisses him at that point, which is enough to shut him up.

It wasn’t even on the mouth. It was on the fucking forehead- so Tony has no idea why it’s having such an extreme effect on his stomach.

“Go to sleep, Tony. We’ll talk about everything in the morning,” Steve tells him, before getting up to leave.

Tony doesn’t let go of his hand, though, and Steve has to stop unless he wants to drag Tony along with him.

“Stay,” Tony asks him softly, because he’s covered in blankets but he still feels cold and he’s too drunk and aching and sad to sleep alone tonight. 

Steve doesn’t even hesitate before he’s crawling into his bed with Tony, arms pulling Tony in closer until his face is buried in Steve’s shoulder and his arms are tucked up against his chest.

It’s safe and warm and feels like home. 

“I’ll tell you one day. I will. I swear,” Tony promises, shutting his eyes and feeling Steve’s arms wrap around his waist a little tighter.

“Whether you do or don’t, I’ll still love you all the same.”

Tony huffs. “You fuckin’ sap.”

Steve just laughs, and kisses the top of Tony’s head. “love you too.”

Hours later, and Steve is fast asleep. 

Tony stares up at him, looking at the scruffy blond hair and slightly parted lips as he breathes softly and evenly, still curled around Tony protectively, even in his sleep.

He still can’t say it. Romantic words are where he falls down- that’s what hurt Pepper before, and it will probably hurt Steve too, at some point.

He can’t talk romance. But he can do science.

“You’re made of stardust, y’know. Before you became you, and before the world even existed- you were pure stardust. Everything we touch and breathe and exist from is just the remnant of stars, and the gases and elements they created,” Tony whispers into the silent room, watching Steve’s chest rise, in and out and in and out.

“The chances of that stardust managing to create you- Steven Grant Rogers- are so astronomically low, it would be like... i don’t know, rolling a dice a trillion times, and having it land on the number two for each and every one of them. That’s how unlikely you are just to begin with.”

Steve is asleep, and Tony is still drunk, and there is really no point in him continuing. 

“And then there are the added impossibilities of you; a broke skinny kid from the 40′s, undergoing experiments which make you into a superhero, before crashing into the ice and being trapped in stasis for 70-odd years. Coincidentally, just in time for our paths to cross.”

Tony stops, and the silence lasts for a while after that. He’s happy that way; just listening to Steve’s heartbeat against his ear or the slow sounds of his breathing.

“You are impossible, Steve. An impossible person. And the fact that I managed to meet you is even more impossible. Literally. We are talking probabilities so Stupidly, ridiculously, infinitely low here. This sort of thing doesn’t happen- and yet somehow, the universe made it so. Because the universe is kind of a wild card and doesn’t like to follow our stupid rules.”

He takes a breath, and wills himself to say the words. Steve wouldn’t even be conscious to hear them, it would be fine, he could do it.

Tony spends another five minutes trying.  But he can’t. He can’t, and he hates himself for it.

“i think the stars would be very proud to know that their atoms created something as impossible as you,” he says quietly, instead.

It’s weak. It’s not what he wants. But it’s all he can do.

(In his sleep, Steve sighs and rolls on to his back, pulling Tony along with him so his head is resting against Steve’s chest like it’s a pillow.)

And maybe Steve would be okay with that. Maybe steve would be happy with whatever Tony could give him.  Maybe it would work.

He lets himself drift off to sleep.

[kikikiraa]

FINAL TITLE SEQUENCE

This is my final title sequence, it is 30 seconds but when you click on the video it turns into 29 seconds straight away which is something that I was unable to fix. The video is 30 seconds on my laptop though.  The difference between this one and the other 30 seconds clip on my youtube channel is the fade to black to show the title and the music fades of towards the last few seconds of the video, they were the last tweaks I made. 

Moving Image Title Sequence and End of Year Evaluation:

To start this moving image project I began by skim reading through the stories to choose the one I wanted to use. The title sequence ‘The Naming Game’ interested me because I saw potential in the ideas and thought it would be a fun project as the main character was the cat. I drew a story board, my initial idea was going to include the Chinese Emperor but that would’ve meant making a cape and outfit. So thinking more outside the box I researched into how to make short engaging films. During my research I discovered B-Roll videos by Daniel Schiffer. His videos got me going as I just wanted to try the filming and transitions he was using as it looked so smooth. I did look into how to create smooth transitions. You tube was my main tool in this project, for learning and inspiration due to being on lockdown there wasn’t any other way. Some of the videos he shoots are mind trickery which is basically magic using cameras and transitions. I would like to create my own B roll videos, probably a morning routine.

I had never used Premier until this project, first my trial of using it before I began this title sequence was the ‘View from my window’. Doing a completely different shoot to experiment was definitely worth it as I got to play around and get used to Premier Pro without worrying about the final outcome. 

Planning out my new story board was when I got the ball rolling as I realised I wanted to film some clips in a point of view perspective. This lead to researching cat point of view videos. A youtuber attached a go pro to their cat which is a basic way to film point of view. I experimented with these clips after I shot the videos of my cat so that I could reference to what the full video would look like when it switches between the two perspectives. I really liked the outcome of this technique as it gave my title sequence depth and a feeling of attention to detail. 

The changes I went through were using colour grading to nearly black and white on the video where the cat looks at himself in the oven reflection as I thought this added to the feel of him having an ‘identity crisis’ because the story is all about the cat searching for his name. I speed ramped the part where he runs into the lounge to add to the emphasis of the cat being in a frantic searching state. A few changes had to be made ad my first draft was 39/40 seconds long which was 10 seconds over the brief, it was a challenge to cut down to 30 seconds. What I found hard was the fact that every part was necessary to tell the story, so that lead to cropping the clips and speed ramping some. I felt that this made the video seem a little unnatural therefore not going with the music as well as the normal speed videos. I was adamant not to change the first 10 seconds because the cat walked to the slow beat of the music, which I felt would intrigue the viewer and get them thinking, what is this? 

I definitely managed my time well through this unit. I can’t believe how fast it was to go from making a story board to having my first draft done all within the space of 1 week. I filmed on the right day too because the weather was perfect, blue Skys and sunshine. Sometimes ideas do just flow and work seamlessly.

I responded to feedback well as I was interested in what my tutors knew about making a title sequence have the right feel. They gave me great pointers and advice when it came to the parts I could cut out to fit the 30 second brief. 

I have also learnt through watching the TV that most adverts or title sequences are 15/30 seconds, which shows just how little time you have to advertise. This brief has shown me that timing is very important and meeting the clients needs of an exact time fame is extremely important, they would be paying a lot of money for an advert. So the task to me has proven very realistic in the world after uni, I’m glad we are pushed to specific perfections as it trains us to have these standards in our future work.   

I would definitely like to practice with animation as this would be the next thing I will teach myself during the summer. I notice that animated videos are a really strong part of the marketing and advertising world. I now know how to film and put videos together. Animation will be the next valuable skill to have in place before second year. Moreover, I could’ve ordered a stabiliser on amazon but I decided to just use the basics of hand help on my iPhone due to the current stay at home situation. I want to keep learning and accepting new challenging briefs as it is enabling me to grow as a designer.

My first year at AUB has gone so fast but I would say I have picked up on multiple useful and interesting skills that are so great to have. Another thing I’ve  noticed is that my confidence has grown massively and I am able to think more outside the box. Having 2 years out of education meant that going back too designing was a little bit difficult and motivational factors sometimes played a part in my dedication. I was most proud of myself when I had my final packaging products and animation, it literally showed me my own capabilities, I started to believe in myself a lot more after that project. A skill I am really wanting to focus on next year is digital illustrations, I can draw on paper but now it's time to learn Illustrator properly. 

Lastly, on reflection the only change I would make to my final title sequence would be the sound fading out completely at the end to give the sequence a definite ending. I did fade the sound at the end but just not enough to make much of a difference. Due to already exporting it I didn’t have the 30 second version saved in Premier to edit the sound at the end of the video. I have learnt that I should keep better care in organising my files, and packaging my In Design files in order to keep the links. For second year I will practice this in order to avoid the problems I have come across in this year.

Overall this year has just been one huge learning curve and I am looking forward to the next two years. I would also like to do some screen printing next year. My tutors were very supportive and always pushed me to get things done to a standard I didn’t even know I had. The typography and arrangement of text was something I had no clue about, this was also something I found pretty eye opening that so much thought goes into something that is kind of overlooked by readers/audience.

[jeremystrele]

Erin Lambrecht · Interior Designer + Associate, Flack Studio

Erin Lambrecht · Interior Designer + Associate, Flack Studio

Dream Job

by Elle Murrell

Erin Lambrecht is an Interior Designer and Associate at Flack Studio. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

She has worked in this role since mid-2016. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

‘Design is multi-faceted, whether it’s working with my clients, nurturing the team or drawing details on a new project, you’re always designing,’ Erin tells. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

Before Flack Studio, she worked at Bates Smart, GA Group (London), KPDO, and started her own studio. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

Erin’s days encompass client meetings, client presentations, design reviews with the team, yellow tracing and more. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

Erin and David worked together at KPDO, before heading off to establish their own studios, and then reuniting. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

At Flack Studio’s HQ in Fitzroy. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

Erin and David make a site visit to examine a pretty epic staircase in-the-making! Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files.

Erin Lambrecht started at Flack Studio back in June 2016, though she has been conscientiously building her career, layer by layer, for over a decade.

The Melbournian selected her university (Monash) for its focus on the pragmatic side of interior architecture, as well as that course’s work-placement requirements. These compulsory units pushed the admittedly shy yet driven young student to get her foot in the door at respected firm Bates Smart. There, she showcased her ‘can-do’ attitude’ and all-rounder aptitude, as well as an in-touch understanding of her entry-level place in the hierarchy – she didn’t waltz in expecting the highlight tasks right away. This triple-threat of self-awareness, foresight, and enthusiasm led to a full-time role.

Erin soon came to realise her passion for working on hotel projects. ‘It’s the scale that interested me; there are just so many areas and facets (both physically and conceptually) to this typology, from the restaurants to room types, to the thinking behind the arrival guest experience… whether it be a beach resort or a city hotel,’ she tells. Securing a two-year Working Holiday Visa to the UK, Erin diligently researched and emailed design agencies upon her arrival, until she was snapped up by GA Group.

Returning to Australia, Erin joined KPDO, where she first met and worked alongside (technically above!) David Flack. The two hit it off, and though they did go their separate ways to establish their own firms, they’re now reunited at Flack Studio.

The most important verb in the get-your-dream-job lexicon is…

…build!

I’ve been building my career since the very early days of studying.

Part of the Interior Architecture degree at Monash involved completing a six-week work placement. I did mine at Bates Smart, where I stayed on one day per week in my fourth year then eventually started full-time when I graduated. I worked mostly on Crown Casino projects, including the Crown Towers hotel upgrade with design mentors – Jackie Johnston and Candice Bradley, I absorbed as much knowledge as possible in these early days which sparked an interest in hotel design and led me to GA Group in London to work on many amazing hotel projects throughout Europe.

After a couple of years in London, I returned home to work at KPDO with Kerry Phelan and Associate Hugh Lane, which is where I met David Flack. I have never taken my opportunities for granted and have continued to build on the generosity of knowledge from my peers and experiences with each role.

I landed this job by…

I have known David Flack for nearly nine years, and we remained close after finishing up at KPDO; we both left at similar times to set up our own individual studios. While Dave was setting up Flack Studio, I was setting up Studio Tate with my business partner Alex Hopkins. A couple of years later, after hearing I’d parted ways with Studio Tate, Dave asked me to join the team.

A typical day for me involves…

I have a little girl Zoe (16 months) who rises early, so I’m up at the crack of dawn. My husband Tom does the morning drop-off to daycare, allowing me to be at the studio by 8am. Mornings are the best time to get on top of emails and catch builders, then I enjoy a clean run while I’m designing, I will average around six hours a day of design. Planning elevations and designing joinery, putting together finish schemes. There’s a bit of everything, pus a lot of computer work, especially involved with managing a team. In my roles, you need to be intuitive and decisive, a skill which I have worked to build over the years.

I usually have five projects in various stages of design that I’ll be managing at one time, and I will then have a further three that will be in construction and requiring fortnightly site visits.

All projects are designed by David and myself as we have a collaborative approach to our working relationship – you will find either of us at each other’s desk at any given hour. We also present most projects together; we see our time with clients is precious and they enjoy the different insights we both provide. We keep Mondays free from client meetings and I have Fridays off with Zoe, so Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays fill up with client presentations, design reviews with the team, and yellow tracing.

By the afternoon it’s my turn to pick up Zoe; so I’m out of the studio by 5.30pm.

The most rewarding part of my job is…

… too many. Design is multi-faceted, whether it’s working with my clients, nurturing the team or drawing details on a new project, you’re always designing. As an Associate of Flack Studio – I have the opportunity to focus on design development with the team. I really love the time I have with David, we both push ourselves, we’re always on the same page – whilst our individual design aesthetics are different (David is more colour, more finishes; he really pushes it, and I am saying, ‘less, less, pull back’. We meet in the middle) they complement each other beautifully and make every Flack project stronger. I have learned from the best, it’s now my time to impart that knowledge.

On the other hand, the most challenging aspect is…

…juggling. I can’t express how much I enjoy my time with my daughter Zoe and my time designing at Flack Studio. However, there is a grey zone between these two worlds that no-one tells you about, neither worlds are ever far from my mind. I guess the challenging part is that grey zone – where at times you’re not sure where you have your foot.

You just have to try to be super organised. I know that I have to be out of the door at 5-5:30am now, that I have to be a bit more diligent, structured and really stick to my plans to make having this wonderful job and also being a Mum work. I’m still refining it!

The culture of my workplace is…

Collaborative with a work hard, play hard philosophy. Design is at the forefront of what we do – the studio has a strong design support and admin team, allowing the designers to do what they do best. Both David and I enjoy bouncing ideas off each other, so input is encouraged and nurtured by everyone. We also take the team on international study tours, last year the team went to Tokyo for a week, next year I hear Paris is on the cards… I’d love to visit the Maison&Objet trade fair.

On Job Day at school, I dressed up as…

We never had job day, but now I have a little girl, I would have gone as a superhero, president or astronaut because it’s all possible for her generation.

The best piece of advice I’ve received is…

From my Mum… ‘Always do what makes you happy!’

Over the years, Flack Studio has…

…grown quite quickly, however, a key studio value is to grow better, not bigger. We’re fortunate enough to choose ‘Flack’ clients and concentrate on high-quality custom design. We’re a team of eight – with five in the design team and three in Practice Management, design support and accounts.

In the next five years, I’d like to…

…continue to build and develop my craft. There have been some previous opportunities in the studio to travel that I’ve missed out on, as my little girl is quite young; I’m looking forward to being able to travel in the future. So far, I’ve had projects based in New York, Tokyo, and Seoul and David has visited all three in my place – it’s time I get my Qantas points matching his!

I’m also looking forward to the continuation of the success of Flack Studio – we’re a little studio that punches way beyond its weight – something we’re extremely proud of.

[downtowns-universe]

52 stories #7

A story taking place in a library

Characters: Tharryn, Cyril, Finn

Words: 1836

[some events/background mentioned in this story have since been retconned]

The lines weren’t perfectly straight, but it would have to do. Tharryn studied the work of his protégé meticulously. The spell would work, albeit not very powerful. But this was a good start.

He got up and brushed the chalk dust off of his clothes. Finn, who’d been nervously waiting next to him, let out a relieved sigh when he nodded. They were done for the day. Tharryn knew he had plans for the evening. He wouldn’t say what, but he’d been nervous and absentminded all day. How much he’d remember of this lesson later was questionable, but at his current speed of progress a few extra days wouldn’t really make a difference. Tharryn didn’t know what it was, but whatever information he fed him, it wasn’t going in. Mastering his reaper abilities had been going incredibly slow, so slow that Tharryn had stopped teaching him altogether until he’d mastered the things they’d practiced. It wasn’t that he’d given up; the next set of skills just required a higher level of control and concentration than Finn currently possessed.

So they’d moved on to spell drawing, something that required focus and precision, but relied less on magical control. It seemed to be going well, so Tharryn added a book with more advanced spells to the pile Finn was supposed to study before their next session. Let’s see how he’d handle those. Finn didn’t look very happy when Tharryn handed him the pile.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to read it all. Just the sections I marked.”

“You know, if you’d just copied the pages it would make this a lot easier to carry.”

“Feel free to copy them yourself, then. And don’t forget to do your breathing exercises.”

“I won’t,” Finn grumbled, and went to put his books away in his room.

Tharryn swept the floor of the drawing court, which was in fact just a square of blackboard paint on the library floor. They’d better not leave any spells unattended in a space that people walked over, even harmless ones such as this one. This would have been less of a problem in the Citadel’s drawing rooms, which were bigger, more advanced and – more importantly – lockable. Tharryn always had a few at his disposal for the more complicated spells, but for lessons like these the floor would do.

He put away the pieces of chalk into their boxes and organised the spell books on the table. Then he took the book about interdimensional spectra he’d been reading and moved to his favourite spot on the couch next to the fireplace. He smiled when he heard the copy machine whirr into life on the other side of the room, and imagined how Finn would angrily put the books onto the scanner and angrily push the buttons, before angrily taking his pile of papers with him, leaving the books on the table. Tharryn didn’t care how he did the reading, just as long as he did it.

 He’d been so engrossed in his book he hadn’t noticed Cyril walking up to him until he gently tapped his shoulder. Tharryn instinctively tensed up, but relaxed when he saw his assistant. Cyril looked like he’d been working for three days straight, hair sticking out to all sides like it tried to defy gravity.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he grinned, probably amused by his jumpy reaction.

“You’re not disturbing me,” Tharryn protested. “Well… maybe a little, but you’re allowed to disturb me at any time.”

“Good. I’ll make sure to disturb you in your sleep next time.”

“Funny. Speaking of sleep: how long have you been up?”

“Not as long as you, probably,” Cyril retorted.

“Fair enough. I’ll probably get some sleep tonight, and you should too.”

“Sure. As soon as I’ve figured this out.”

He held up a piece of paper.

“I’ve come across something interesting that I think you should see.”

“Show me.”

Cyril handed him the note and joined him on the couch.

“What is this?” Tharryn asked, turning it over.

The note had been scribbled with symbols that looked vaguely familiar, but which Tharryn couldn’t currently place. The other side of it was empty except for a coffee stain.

“I was hoping you’d know,” Cyril sighed. “It was stuffed between one of the journals, and I have a feeling it’s part of a bigger problem. The contents aren’t adding up.”

“Which journal?”

“Orsser’s.”

Tharryn sighed. Orsser was a reaper whose powers had recently run out. They couldn’t ask him for clarification because he was dead, to put it in human terms. Now he understood why Cyril had been working on this case: sorting out the affairs of the dissipated was his task. When alive, reapers’ journals were balanced by the writers, Cyril’s part was merely a last check to make sure their files could be closed correctly.

“Alright, let’s start with the journal. What’s off about it?”

“A better question would be: what isn’t? At first glance it looks like a perfectly ordinary journal, until you realise Orsser wasn’t in the field that much. He wasn’t powerful enough to be on duty for more than one day a week. And still…”

Cyril leafed through pages upon pages filled with neat handwriting, entered within the grids of the book. Dates, times, locations, names: it was all there. But Tharryn had to agree: there were simply too many for a reaper of Orsser’s calibre.

“What did the writers say?”

“All of it has been entered into the system. Orsser handed in his journal at the end of each period, as usual. Apparently it never occurred to them that he couldn’t have handled so many in just one day.”

“They probably assumed him to be a lot stronger than he was. Orsser’s always been a bragger.”

Tharryn sighed.

“So he was able to file all of those extra names without raising any questions.”

“Remind you of someone?” Cyril asked, with a grim look on his face.

Tharryn nodded, alarmed by the direction the conversation was headed. He thought of the way he’d been hiding the people Dai recruited by adding them onto his own journal. That had been some time ago now. Since he had taken over as head reaper things had changed in the way the books were kept to accommodate for these cases. That someone had been doing the same thing now was alarming to say in the slightest.

“He’s covering for someone,” Tharryn mumbled.

“And he might not be the only one. I’m already having the writers compare everyone’s output with their hours, so we might find more of these cases.”

“Good. I want this solved as quickly and quietly as possible. Instruct them not to tell anyone about this and to come to us directly when something turns up.”

“Already done. But we need to keep in mind that even if we won’t find anything, they might still be out there. There’s a big chance they’ll be better at concealing their extra numbers into their output. I mean, they never found you out, did they?”

“You did,” Tharryn grinned.

“Only because I realised there was no chance you could have taken so many while having your nose in a book all day.”

“You found that out too, while I didn’t even bring any books to the Citadel. And you wonder why you were given this job. It’s because you’re the best.”

“I’m flattered. But I’m afraid being the best isn’t going to solve this.”

“It surely helps. For now our number one priority is to figure out who else is involved, and who they’re covering for.”

Tharryn took another glance at the piece of paper and sighed.

“This is all my fault, isn’t it?”

“No it’s not,” Cyril protested. “You couldn’t have known.”

“But I could. If anyone should know the tricks to evading the system, it’s me. But I allowed them to do it, right under my nose!”

“There were no signs leading up to this. None of us saw it coming.”

“But in the end, it’s my responsibility. I’ve allowed them more freedom, and this is what they do with it.”

“What’s done is done, there’s nothing we can change about that. All we can do now is to figure out how to deal with it.”

“You’re right,” Tharryn sighed. “We’ll have to see what the writers can dig up. In the meantime I’ll take another look at this. It looks very familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

He walked towards one of the bookcases, still studying the note, and brushed his fingers along the old leather until he’d found what he’d been looking for. He took the book to a table and started leafing through it. The paper was written in code, but some of the symbols looked familiar and this was where he’d find them. Meanwhile, Cyril looked along over his shoulder and pointed out a symbol every now and then. When they’d found a match he wrote it down on a piece of paper. What they got in the end was a collection of numbers, which after a bit of puzzling translated into dates and coordinates. They were located all over the world, Tharryn found out after a quick search on the internet.

“These must be the times and places the people he registered died at,” Tharryn speculated. “Or, supposedly died, to put it more accurately.”

“If we compare this to the journal, we know exactly which entries are falsified. Then we can find out where these people are now.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea about their location already,” Tharryn sighed.

They’d be at the same place where the people whose data he’d falsified for all those years had gone: Hell. And something told him they would not be in the part that Dai controlled.

Cyril took up Orsser’s writings as if he was handling something dirty.

“Me too. I’ll get to it right away. And you’d better get ready for your date.”

“My–” Tharryn started.

“Don’t tell me you forgot?” Cyril grinned. “Come on, Dai could be here any minute.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” a voice sounded behind them.

Dai was leaning against a bookcase, looking very handsome in his suit. Tharryn wondered how long he’d been there: he certainly hadn’t noticed him coming in.

“You’re… on time,” he said, closing the book.

“Why does that surprise you?” Dai grinned. “You know Dylana won’t allow me to be late for a date. She’ll kick me out of the office – or at least she’ll try.”

“Where would we be without assistants,” Tharryn smiled while clearing the table.

“Not on a date, I think,” Cyril remarked, raising an eyebrow. “Just go, I’ll take care of this.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Dai glanced at his watch.

“You’d better get ready, or we’ll be late.”

“Right.”

Tharryn hurried towards his personal wing of the Citadel. He looked over his shoulder, making sure Dai was following him.

“And in the meantime, I’ll have to tell you something.”

[janettemerritt8-blog]

suggestions You have To understand Before Furnishing Your house Office

The capability of the mind is a gift. It is a survival system. The mind identifies, "There is a hot range." The file significant range is immediately taken out. Your brain cautions you that if you touch the stove, it will burn you. It's easy to discover yourself putting out fires all day or week long, however you definitely MUST make a schedule that gives you time to work ON the business. Do whatever it takes and stay with the schedule!!! Now you can create systems that take the pressure off you and your staff members. Now you can start to grow your organisation while positive that the issues will be repaired by the proper individuals. I indicate, someone, somewhere has to handle business, right? Where is it written that it has to be you? Hardware should be positioned under the desk or on another table next to you, so you still have simple gain access to. Keep the plants, photos, and 'cheer me up' things to a minimum on your table. They are likewise very great dust collectors. Decrease the amount of stickers and posters too. Sure, these 2 examples are super-simplistic. That is the point - to make it plainly understood: Bob's ideas drew in to him the experience of a battle. Adam's thoughts attracted to him the experience of a celebration. As soon as your kitchen area looks total, it still is not! There are still a lot of devices to select from, and add. Hardware, such as drawer pulls or knobs. Task-lighting for the counter tops. You can likewise set up Child-Safe cabinet, drawer, and home appliance locks. Develop a database for all your valuable photo when you need to have for your insurance coverage adjuster due to the fact that of a fire or a theft. You can make an information base by combing photos and your p.c this method you have a complet record of valuabe property. Having an image of an important product that is lost can be very useful for settling disputes. Although I do not necessarily promote this specific kind of policy or enforcement, it appears that a more organized and efficient way to deal with each brand-new day would be to end the previous day by taking a couple of moments to place loose papers in a container. Saving papers on the floor is never a great idea, so try keeping them 'above water level'. A letter tray, a box, a basket. anything to containerize the documents and create a clear area on your desktop. Loose file folders can be put in their own container or in the front of a filing cabinet drawer. Bob does this to justify his ideas. He is caught in a loop. Till Bob purposely recognizes this, we call his ideas "unconscious". He remains cloaked in the middle of a tailor-made, self-fulfilling prediction. These ideas impact his body posture, the words he utilizes, even his actions. Is it no marvel that later at night Bob discovers himself in the middle of a fight? Nobody truly understands who George is, however I believe he might have been an instructor at the old school. He wears brown slacks and a light blue and white striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He appears to be in his mid-thirties and stands a little short of six feet, with dark brown hair. George is not malevolent, at least in my experience. He is simply thinking about what is going on in his structure, and appears to like being talked to. If they have degraded or stained, change shelf liners. Go through each cabinet drawer and eliminate products. Replace cabinet liners too. Wash all utensils in hot soapy water. Wash any plastic containers or utensil holders. Clean off and dust your countertop containers and canisters. Change any items in your countertop containers that seem expired. Two: Put in the time out to read a chapter in a book. Earmark a time every day where you are going to do nothing but sit back in the lounge chair, or anywhere your preferred reading spot is, kick up your feet, and check out one chapter of a book that's been calling your name. We'll call the 2nd individual "Adam". Adam has constantly thought that individuals in the city are enjoyable and exciting! Upon Adam's metropolitan journey he observes others acting friendly, cheerful and welcoming. He pays no heed to the miserable or unhappy. With these thoughts, Adam holds his body much in a different way than Bob. His actions and words are also more open, not as defensive. He even has a higher series of psychological possibilities. As an outcome, Adam finds himself invited to a celebration later that night. This is Adam's self-fulfilling prediction. Drawers: Every house office is going to require file area. You can have a conventional high metal file cabinet in the space but I still like one or 2 file drawers easily at hand when I'm at my desk. Some individuals like a long, narrow drawer under the desk for doodads and pencils. Include that area into your height measurement listed below if you do. Our first clue: 2:30 in the early morning, completely out of character, Gracie woke us up with an immediate request to go outside. While she and Andy were out, I felt something in the air brush against my arm however I couldn't see anything with me in the relocation and the space was extremely soft and subtle so I didn't think much of it. Another hint came when I got up and discovered a drawer in the restroom was somewhat ajar so I pushed it back in place.