#last year i was excluded this year following a pattern of ‘’no one has sat near me or talked to me in class all year with the exception of

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Inexperienced (S.R.)

Summary: Virgin!Reader has a secret no one expected, least of all Spencer.

Request: The reader is an overtly confident, social butterfly but has a secret… she’s still a virgin in every way, and it really bothers her. She’s also afraid to make the moves on her crush, Spencer, because of her inexperience. A/N: This is about Reader getting her first kiss. Check out the sequel linked at the end! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Fluff (for Part 1) Content Warning: Embarrassment, truth or dare (game), playful teasing, confessions, first kiss, kissing Word Count: 3.5k

MASTERLIST

I’d always tried to tell the truth. Ever since I was a young girl, I found even the whitest of lies to be a little too guilt inducing to be worth it.

In fact, there had been times I’d even questioned whether my truth was, unbeknownst to me, a lie. Because of that, it had certainly been an odd experience to perform my lie detector test when I first applied for the FBI.

Over the recent years, however, I’d perfected my ability to lie — about most things, anyway.

There had been one exception. A very handsome exception who was sat beside me fiddling with the buttons on his cardigan.

Spencer Reid, my team partner of choice and the love of my life.

He just didn’t know about that second part yet.

But of course, my friends had been very aware of my feelings for the BAU’s boy genius, as well as the fact I was absolutely petrified of him finding out. So, as I sat in the comfort of Emily’s apartment, surrounded by my friends and playing a lighthearted game, I thought I would be safe.

“Truth,” I said with confidence. 

I had been very, very wrong.

“Again?! Really?!” Penelope groaned.

Emily was quick to follow, with her fingers and eyebrows raised, “That is the fourth truths in a row. Seventh—if you include Spencer’s.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a record,” JJ confirmed.

The conversation was bouncing so quickly, with each of them having perfected predicting each other’s next sentence. It was a well-oiled team, after all.

But Spencer broke pattern, butting in between quick quips to ask, “Why are we including mine?”

“I mean, by all means,” I shouted with a smile, “feel free to skip me!”

Penelope saw the easy out she’d given be and obstinately refused.

“No way. Nu-uh. If you’re going to be a party pooper, I’m going to make you pay!”

The rest of the team — including Luke this time but excluding Spencer — let out a harmony of “oooohs” in response to the threat.

“I’m ready,” I dared.

I should’ve known better than to dare.

“Do you think I’m bluffing?” she balked.

I really should’ve known better.

“You tell me, Pen-el-o-pe.”

“Okay, Miss Profiler, fine! Then my truth question to you is…”

I had been so cocky, so sure that Penelope wouldn’t dare take advantage of an innocent crush. But once she’d started, with an ever-escalating pitch until her breath ran out, I knew that I was sorely mistaken.

Penelope had a twinkle in her eye and a sickly-sweet smile on her face as she asked calmly, “Why won’t you tell boy wonder over here how you feel?”

The whole team devolved into chaos within a second. The peanut gallery was loud, but the heartbeat in my ears was even louder.

“Pfft, what?” I scoffed.

I hadn’t meant to look at him. Really, it was the last thing I’d wanted to do. But my brain couldn’t resist following her finger until she pointed directly at the boy to my right.

Spencer looked at me, also. We both stared at each other for a second with confusion and — more notably — embarrassment plastered all over our faces.

I wondered which part of it embarrassed him. I’d hoped it had been the attention, but the quiet voice in my head assured me that it was me that he found embarrassing.

“What? Spencer?” I asked.

As soon as I said his name, I watched one side of his lip twitch into a smile. It made my stomach fully flip, and I looked away as quickly as I could. Of course, that just put my attention back on the group currently laughing at how we were the perfect pair of obvious and oblivious.

“Uh-yeah,” Penelope snickered.

“What are you talking about? We’re friends. He knows that,” I stated so matter-of-factly that it almost sounded fake.

We were friends. I just wanted a little more than… friends.

I turned to the man in question again, but this time, his smile was different. It was lopsided and half-hearted, and it made me feel even worse for putting the spotlight on him.

“Right?” I asked him.

For a second, Spencer looked like he wanted to say something. But then he just cleared his throat.

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “We’re friends.”

Just friends.

JJ, the typical mother of the group, had tried her best not to laugh. However, after four glasses of wine and no intentions of driving home that night, JJ’s lips had gotten loose.

“Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?” she slurred in a feigned whisper to the woman beside her.

Emily was less inebriated than the others, it seemed. At least, that seemed to be the simplest answer for why she sighed and waved her hand in an attempt to quiet the group.

“You guys, we better stop or they’re never going to admit it.”

Her attempt failed, however, courtesy of Penelope’s number one fan.

“Yeah, right,” Luke laughed, “I give it a week. Maybe a month.”

Everything was going so fast that it felt like my brain was running in slow motion. I’d been there before. In that loud, suffocating moment where I wanted to say anything to stop the ridicule.

‘These are my friends,’ I reminded myself, ‘they’re just poking fun.’

They were good people. They just didn’t realize that in their banter, they’d stumbled into my greatest insecurity. It wasn’t entirely their fault. I’d never told them.

I’d never told them that the reason I didn’t want to confront my feelings was because it was the first time that I’d really felt like this. For most of my life, I’d convinced myself that the right time was never coming for me.

But then I met Spencer. I met him and it seemed like waiting hadn’t been a mistake, but cosmic design.

I thought Spencer had been like me. I thought it wouldn’t be humiliating to tell him that I’d never actually been kissed, much less…

I thought he was like me. It had only taken one poorly timed joke about his ex-girlfriends before I realized that I had been wrong. It only took one polaroid, one story about the time he sucked face with a serial killer for me to realize that Spencer Reid — bona fide nerd, multiple graduate, scrawny, clueless Spencer Reid — was so far out of my fucking league.

The thought of him learning all of this now, in front of all of our friends, was a little too much to handle. Like the monster in the Tell-Tale Heart, my paranoia grew until I was about ready to confess. The truth was going to come out. I couldn’t lie to him.

My breathing picked up and I felt the wine rising in my throat. No matter how hard I swallowed it, my eyes still started to feel with tears.

‘Not now,’ I begged, ‘Not like this.’

“Dare!” Spencer yelled.

Again, the group descended into chaos. This time, it was quieter. This time, the whispers and snickers were aimed towards the man who’d just done what was least expected of him.

“I-I pick dare,” Spencer repeated, “I’ll go.”

Any relief I’d felt was so, so short lived, though. Because not even a second after he’d finished his sentence, Luke spoke.

“Oh, now you’re brave? Alright, then, white knight, I dare you to kiss her.”

Spencer looked at me, and my eyes shut tightly enough to free a few of the droplets that had gathered on the edge.

I wanted to shout, to say anything at all. But ultimately, it wouldn’t take the pain away. No matter how quickly they began to pick up on the shifted tone, the damage was already done.

Before anyone could say a word to make it any worse – or worse, try to apologize – I’d stood from my seat and bolted out of the room. Just as I turned the corner into the guest bedroom, however, I’d heard a familiar voice calling my name as he followed.

Spencer hadn’t been able to stop me, though.

I shut the door and tried to catch my breath. I tried to shake off the anxiety and shame that had led me to the empty room in the first place.

I wouldn’t be alone for nearly long enough.

Spencer, knowing he was the very last person I’d wanted to see in that moment, only gave me a few seconds of silence before his voice could be heard on the other side of the door.

“Hey, are you alright?”

I stepped away from it like I would be able to hide. When I didn’t answer, though, he became bolder. The doorknob turned slowly, and before I could say no, the light from the hallway was peeking through into the room.

“I’m so sorry—" he started.

“Go away!” I shouted back while frantically wiping tears off my face.

I refused to turn around. I was too scared. Too scared of the pity on his face and my propensity for telling the truth. I was so scared that if I opened my mouth to say anything but a beg for him to leave, I would say something so much harder to forgive.

But his stubbornness was part of the reason why I’d loved him in the first place. I couldn’t fault him for only shutting the door after he’d stepped inside. I couldn’t hate him for reaching out and holding my wrist like it would shatter on impact.

If I could hate him for caring about me, this would be so much easier.

“I’m really sorry,” he whispered. He had nothing to apologize for. Still, I felt how much he’d meant it. I could feel the hesitation and trembling in his thumb as he strokes the underside of my wrist.

He never stopped long enough to count my pulse — not even for the card counting savant. There was nothing nefarious. Nothing stopping me from lying to him if I wanted to.

With my back still to him, he stepped closer. I could hear his regret in shaky breath when he said, “I should’ve told them to stop.”

“No, I’m sorry,” I answered immediately. My treacherous body turned to face him and more. My wrist twisted until it was so easy for him to lace our fingers together.

The words flowed from me so easily as long as I didn’t look him in the eyes.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m not mad at you or anything, I just… I don’t know.”

From my peripherals, I saw how Spencer tilted his head and shoulders down to meet my shrunken figure. Without saying anything, he managed to make me look up at him.

With tears in my eyes and my bottom lip firmly between my teeth, Spencer looked at me and managed to make me feel beautiful.

“If you’re worried about hurting my feelings, I just want you to know that it’s totally okay if you don’t… want to kiss me,” he said.

It almost sounded like a lie.

“I completely understand and I would never want you to do anything that makes you even remotely uncomfortable and—“

“Spencer, that’s not the problem.”

Of all the possible rejections he’d expected, that apparently hadn’t been one of them. The boy genius was caught so off guard that he didn’t even know how to reply. His body relaxed, but his jaw remained tense as he tried to run through what possibilities he had failed to account for.

Coming up short, he was forced to ask the question I’d been dreading.

“So… what is?”

“This is humiliating,” I mumbled mostly to myself.

“Why?” he asked.

I looked into eyes that always made me smile and I felt my heart stop. In fact, time itself seemed to stop. The clocks on the walls got louder and slower, like a countdown to the end of something.

Spencer looked terrified, like he was waiting for something horrible. If the voice in my head was to be believed, I guess he was, in a way.

Something would change if I told him the truth. I couldn’t know what or how, but I knew that nothing would be the same.

But… maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Maybe… it could be better.

“I didn’t want you to kiss me because I…”

I could have lied to him.

I just didn’t want to.

“I really want you to kiss me,” I said. “Just… not like this.”

Spencer’s hand went slack in mine. In a way, he’d let go without actually letting go. Just a gentle shift of his fingers from desperation to shock.

Spencer didn’t pull away. He mostly just… stood there, with his mouth hung open and his mind working slower than it ever had before. But my mind was racing, and my lips felt inclined to follow the train of thought that was now racing down the tracks.

“I want you to kiss me because you want to kiss me. Not because of a stupid dare.”

“Oh,” he said with a shaky exhale.

That was all he’d given me to work with. In a way, it was a blessing, because it didn’t sound enough like an outright rejection for me to stop my loose lips from continuing to spill the contents of my heart in front of him.

“I just wanted… if you kissed me, I wanted it to be more special than that. I wanted it to mean something.”

Like a light switch had flipped on in his brain, Spencer jolted back to his usual energy. That frantic, curious kid trapped in a man’s body was so quick to figure it out.

“Wait, have you never kissed anyone before?” he theorized.

And yeah, he was right, but he didn’t have to say it.

“Freaking profilers,” I grumbled, pulling my hand away from his to cross my arms firmly against my chest. I turned ever-so-slightly away from him before deciding, “You know what? Never mind, I don’t want you to kiss me anymore.”

A bold lie.

Spencer didn’t believe me nor let me get too far. With both hands on my shoulders, he quickly turned me back to him.

“Wait! Wait, is that why you were embarrassed?”

My lips puckered to stop my heart from letting anything else out. My eyes avoided his, no matter how insistent and inviting he was. I pursed my lips tightly enough together that Spencer could hear the answer in the body language.

And with the sweetest, shyest smile I’ve ever seen, he whispered back, “(Y/n) that’s… that’s really sweet.”

It was just so genuine. I was no good at telling when someone was lying, but I had been very experienced in telling the truth.

I knew he had meant it. I just didn’t know why. But in the spirit of truth telling, I decided to simply ask.

“How is that sweet?”

“You want me to be your first kiss,” he said. With incredulity in every part of his expression, he chuckled, “I’m flattered you think so highly of me.”

“I don’t know why, seeing as no one else was interested,” I grumbled.

Spencer did not appreciate the self-deprecating humor. In fact, he was very quick to disprove its contents.

“I promise you that there have been people that wanted to kiss you,” he assured me. Then, with a brief pause after he realized the web he’d gotten himself stuck in, Spencer gave me his own admission.

 “You’re, uh… you’re looking at one of them.”

In that moment, between our lopsided smiles and white flags, I realized how silly this had all been. I wondered for a brief second how this could have gone so differently, how we had wasted so much time obstinately refusing to admit what we both felt out of fear of losing one another.

But we never would have. Still, as I reached out and embraced him without the heavy weight of that burden on my back, I didn’t regret waiting.

In fact, it almost seemed like that was how it had always been meant to be.

“Thanks, Spencer,” I said into his shirt. “Sorry I was weird.”

He just laughed, holding me even closer than I’d ever thought possible as he promised, “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

And I knew that he’d meant it. There wasn’t a lie to be found.

Leaving the room after that had been so easy. The world had changed for us so quickly in a matter of minutes that I’d almost forgotten no one else knew what was going on. But I suppose the disruption had been enough of a punishment for their meddling.

I couldn’t hate them when Spencer’s hand was in mine. I couldn’t fault them at all for giving us that push — no matter how humiliating it had been — because in the end, I had everything I could ever ask for. I had everything I needed.

The rest of the night was like it always was. No one said a word about the way Spencer never let his hand leave me in some way, shape, or form. No one even mentioned the fact that our longing stares had changed to something else.

Everyone just had fun, knowing that they had been right about Mrs. Obvious and Mr. Oblivious.

As the night wound down, I found myself dreading leaving. Not only because Spencer had been the designated driver — and a terrible driver, at that — but because that meant he would have to leave.

When he parked the car in my driveway, I thought of what I could do to prolong the inevitable. I hadn’t been expecting him to be quite as much of the gentleman as he was, but I wasn’t going to complain when he hopped out of the driver’s side and ran over to open my door for me.

The walk to my door was silent and felt like forever. I almost wanted to invite him in, but I knew what his answer would be. It had been late, and a lot had happened. I was sure we both agreed that it was alright to take it slow.

I mean, look how long it had taken to get us there.

Once we arrived at my door, Spencer let go of my hand. He still stayed just as close, though. From mere inches away, he looked down at me with an affection so blatant it made my cheeks burn.

I was about to open my mouth to say goodnight when I decided that I had something better to ask, instead.

“Truth or dare?”

Spencer smiled. He swayed even closer, backing me against the entrance and whispering his answer inches from my lips.

“Dare.”

I knew he could feel the way my breath shook. He could see how my eyelids began fluttering shut before I’d given him his instruction.

That wouldn’t stop me, though.  

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Spencer’s hands touched me first. He cradled my face before pressing his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes, unsure if I could handle the yearning in his eyes. I didn’t know what to expect, so I just stood patiently, counting the quick beats of my heart, and feeling the warmth of his breath fanning over my lips.

But then, just before I thought he would kiss me, he moved. Spencer tilted my head down and quickly pressed a gentle, chaste kiss against my forehead.

Even that innocent touch lit my body on fire. I opened my eyes, surprised to find that he wasn’t finished yet. I giggled as his kisses continued — one on each cheek before the quickest on the tip of my nose.

I laughed, a sound filled with excitement and my love for that silly boy. Spencer pulled away then, and I almost had the chance to be disappointed.

But then he kissed me. Without any hesitation, no moment of anticipation, he pulled my body forward while simultaneously pushing it back. He kissed me with soft lips and gentle hands.

Eventually, I had the sense to kiss him back. I knew it would be shier and less practiced, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he smiled against my lips once he felt it. He continued his attempts to kiss me until our smiles and laughter were too much to keep it up.

When he stepped back and away then, I felt no disappointment. I felt nothing resembling anything bad, and Spencer seemed equally satisfied.

He still felt the need to explain himself, though. Just in case.

“Not because of the dare,” he said with a shrug and a smile, “Just because I wanted to.”

Then, with the complete lack of grace that I’d loved him for, he stumbled back down the stairs with an awkward wave.

“Goodnight,” he said before I returned it with a promise.

“Until next time.”

I had a feeling we'd have even more fun with that one.

To be continued...

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[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch46: Just A Formality

Intro: Emmy gets into a spot of trouble at school, which leads the family to make a joint decision that will change their lives forever. And together with their friends they celebrate Jamie’s birthday, will a little surprise for Emmy too. 

Warnings: Bad Language words. Slight angst (teenagers) and Steve being a very overprotective dad…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: Yeah, I love this chapter. I hope you all do too. And thank @angrybirdcr​ for the edit...it mushed my insides!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 45

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

 February 2021

“So what do you think?” Rhodey asked as he stood, arms folded, looking at the screen. Natasha was stood next to him, nervously chewing on her nail and Steve was looking at the rather gory photos that they had been sent through from the Mexican Authorities.

“Is it definitely him?” Steve sighed, looking at the screen again. In a million years he would never have expected Barton to be capable of such out and out gore and violence, but then again the man had lost his entire family- wife and three kids. Steve wasn’t sure how he would react should anything happen to Katie, Emmy or Jamie.

“Yeah.” Nat sighed, pressing another button. This time it flipped to some CCTV footage of the incident. They three of them watched as Clint took down six gang members, brutally, and with a final swipe of the samurai sword he was holding almost severed one man’s head completely from its shoulders. “Same MO, same fight pattern, and the facial recognition software caught him about five miles north of this town less than two hours before this happened.” “He’s getting more and more vicious.” Rhodey spoke. “I suppose we should be grateful in a way he’s taking down people that we should be stopping but how long till someone gets caught in the cross fire?” “Clint wouldn’t-” Natasha began but Steve cut her off.

“Once I would agree with you.” he sighed, looking at her “But now, well, Nat, he’s…” “Lost it.” Rhodey concluded

“So would you if you’d seen your wife and kids turn to dust.” Nat’s voice was fierce as she turned to look at him.

“I know.” Rhodey held his hands up “I can’t even imagine what he went through.”

Steve looked at Nat, recognising the pensive look on her face. “What you thinking?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m gonna fly out to Mexico. Rhodey, can you come with me? We’ll see if we can dig anything up?” Rhodey nodded. Steve was about to offer his services too, but then his phone started ringing.

“Hey beautiful.” He greeted Katie, but instead of the usual response of either hello handsome or soldier, he was met with an exasperated sigh.

“Emmy’s Principal has just called me.” She groaned “She’s been in a fight.”

Steve frowned. “Really? What for?” “No idea. He didn’t say much other than he’s excluding her for a week and wants us to go collect her as soon as we can. Thing is, I have a call in twenty with the Health Authorities, President Ellis has asked me to give them some guidance on how we regrouped at SI, and I can try and rearrange but if I can’t it means she’s gonna be sat outside the office for at least an hour and a half. Is there any chance you-”

“I got, course I’ll go. I’m done here anyway so you do what you need to do and we’ll see you at home.”

“Thank you.” She sighed “Between this and Jamie screaming blue murder when I dropped him in at the Day Care this morning It hasn’t really been the spectacular return to work I was hoping for.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “He didn’t take it well then?” “No.” Her voice cracked “God, Steve, Leaving him there whilst he was screaming, fuck, it broke my heart.” Steve took a sigh and walked a little further away from Rhodey and Natasha, dropping his voice. “Honey, he’ll be fine. You know what he’s like. Ten minutes after you left he will have forgotten why he’s so upset and will have settled.”

“I know, I just, well Mom and Dad used to palm me and Tony off on our Nannies all the time and-”

“This is completely different.” Steve cut her off. “First off, you’re leaving him for what, five hours a day, maximum. Second off, he’s being watched at a crèche, twenty floors down from where you are, in the same building so you can see him whenever you want.”

“I was advised by the Staff not to do that today.” She sniffed. “It could unsettle him more.”

“I’m sure they know what they’re talking about.” Steve soothed her gently “Look, try not to worry. Jamie will be fine, I’ll go sort Emmy out and we’ll see you at home this evening okay?” “My hero.” she said and Steve smiled.

“Love you, see you later.”

Cutting the call he turned to Rhodey and Nat who were still looking at the screen. Walking back towards them he picked up his jacket where he had tossed it over the back of a chair, reaching for his keys at the same time.

“Guys, I gotta go.” He informed them and they looked up. “Emmy’s in trouble at school and I need to head in and see the Principal.”

“Trouble?” Nat frowned.

“Fighting.” Steve rolled his eyes as Nat and Rhodey exchanged a glance, Nat smirking slightly. Steve gave an exasperated sigh. “What?”

“Nothing.” Nat grinned. “Just don’t punch the Principal in the face…”

*****

It took Steve little over thirty minutes to reach the school. He may have broken a few speeding laws on the way, but Katie was right, it was too easy to do in the Camero. To be honest, it was pretty easy to do in the new Audi they had bought just before Christmas too, but Katie had that as it was easier to get Jamie’s seat and stroller in. The Camero was not child friendly, at all, but she had insisted on keeping it as a second car, despite Steve’s protests that they didn’t need it.

With an easy tug he pulled open the doors to the reception of the school and strode inside. The woman behind the desk handed him a visitor’s pass and led him down to the office as he brushed a piece of fluff off the front of his long sleeved blue top. Steve followed the white haired lady through the corridors in silence until he reached the office and spotted Emmy was sat outside it, slumped in a chair. At the sight of her father she jumped up and ran into his arms, crying.

“Hey,” He looked down as he smoothed her dark, ebony hair out of her face, cupping her face gently in one large hand. “What’s going on, Em?” “He started it.” She sniffed. “He was saying things, about you and mom and that my birth parents and that…that…”

She was starting to have a panic attack, Steve could see that instantly. She’d suffered from them a lot when she had first started to live with them and he knew that if he didn’t help her get it under control now it would escalate.

“Deep breaths.” He spoke gently, steering her back to a chair. She sat down and he tilted her head with his hand so that she was looking at him. “Count to ten, just like we practiced ok?”

She gripped onto his forearms, her eyes screwing shut as she took deep inhales and exhales, counting along as she did. By the time she got to seven she’d managed to ground herself again, and Steve encouraged her for the remaining three numbers, them just reaching ten as the door to the office at the end of the corridor opened.

“Mr Rogers.”

 Steve stood up to greet the Principal, John Stevenson, who he had met once before when they had enrolled Emmy into the school. He was a tall, lean man with round glasses and a kind face, but an air of authority perfect for that of a headmaster “Mr Stevenson.” Steve smiled, shaking his hand “I don’t mean to be rude, but could you give me a second with my daughter please? I want to hear her side of the story and then I’ll be right with you.”

“Of course,” the man nodded, giving him and Emmy a little smile. “Just come in when you’re ready.”

Once the door to his office was shut, Steve sat on the spare seat next to Emmy. “So you wanna tell me what happened. Who ya been fightin’ with?”

“A boy a grade above. And I wasn’t fighting. Not really, I mean I hit him but he fell over, he didn’t hit me back.” Steve bit his lip. “Seems the stuff your mom and Auntie Nat taught you came in handy, huh?”

Emmy shrugged.

“What did you hit him for?”

“Because he’s a jerk and a bully” Emmy’s hands were wringing together. “He was picking on a few of the kids who lost their parents all through last year and then last month when I told him to shut up, he decided to start on me”

Steve took a deep breath “What was he saying?”

“The usual, stuff like ‘you don’t have a real family’, said that you and mom only look after me because you feel guilty that the Avengers fucked, sorry, messed up.” She glanced up at Steve, but he merely arched an eyebrow, letting the curse word slide. “And he says that once I’m old enough you’ll throw me out, and then he called me a, and I quote ‘fucking orphan rat’.” She shrugged. “Sso I punched him.”

“Alright.” Steve took a deep breath, his jaw ticking as he supressed the feeling of annoyance and anger that had flooded his system at Emmy’s explanation. “We’ll unpack all that when we get home, with your mom.”

“Are you mad?” Emmy blinked up at him, her eyes wide.

“Well, punching him probably wasn’t the best way to deal with the situation.” Steve sighed, and instantly his wife’s voice popped into his head at how hypocritical he felt. 

“Hello Kettle, this is Steve Rogers, you’re black…”

“But if what you’re telling me is true-“   “It is Dad I swear!”

“Then no, I’m not mad. At you.” He gave her a small smile. “But I’m mad as hell he said those horrible things to you though.” He looked at Emmy as she smiled softly. “Now, I best go speak to your principal. I won’t be long, and then we’ll go home and talk properly okay?”

She nodded and Steve dropped a kiss to her head as he stood up and walked to the door. Rapping on it twice, he pulled it open and stepped inside the room, shutting it behind him. Principal Stevenson stood up, shook his hand before gesturing down at the chairs on the opposite side of his desk.

“So did she tell you what happened?” The man asked, leaning back slightly in his chair.

Steve nodded. “She said that a boy, I didn’t get his name…” “Josh Gemmil.” “Yes, well, she told me that this Josh had been picking on a few kids and when he started on her, she didn’t take kindly to it. And to be frank, I can’t say I blame her. The things he was saying to Emmy were disgusting.” “Yeah, and that may be the case.” Mr Stevenson sighed heavily, “but the issue is, Mr Rogers, we have a strict zero tolerance to violence policy, so, given Emmy did punch him in front of pretty much the entire school in the yard, I’ve no alternative but to suspend her for a week.” “Are you suspending him?” Steve asked.

“Sorry?” The man opposite Steve frowned. “I’m not…” “The boy who Emmy punched. Are you suspending him for what he said?”

“No-one has corroborated her story, well, other than Brooke and I know how close they are so she could be-” “Woah, hold up.” Steve interrupted, holding his hand up to cut that man off as a flash of anger surged through his chest. “Are you insinuating Emmy is lying?” “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” “So if she’s telling the truth, then surely the boy deserves punishment as well. Emmy isn’t the only person he’s been saying things to.”

“She’s the only person who has punched him.” “That may be, but either way-.”

“Mr Rogers,” the Principal sighed, cutting him off,  “for what it’s worth Josh’s parents will be coming in later and I will be consulting them about his behaviour, but unfortunately Emmy has broken his nose.” “Well, I’d like to say I’m sorry about that but I’m not.” Steve was too far gone now to be rational, his instinct to protect his daughter had well and truly kicked in and the guy in front of him was really pissing him off. “I don’t like bullies,” he continued, levelling the man with a look and he visibly recoiled back into his seat, “and I’m not gonna punish my daughter for standing up to one. If you deem it fit to suspend her then fine, that is your prerogative, and of course I will tell her that violence is not acceptable, but I would expect some level of punishment to be extended to the boy in question and not just her.”

The Principal nodded. “Mr Rogers, I can assure you, if it was up to me I wouldn’t be suspending her at all, but my hands are tied by the governors and policies. I make an exception here, I have to do it for others and before you know it…” he trailed off. Steve took a deep breath, he could understand that perfectly, didn’t make it any easier for him to swallow though. “But that’s why the suspension is only for a week and not the two.”

Steve nodded. “Okay, do I need to sign anything or…”

“No.” the Principal shook his head. “Emmy has her log on to Workspace, her class notes and homework will be detailed on there as usual so she doesn’t miss out. If there is anything she doesn’t understand or needs help with, she can catch up when she gets back. She’s a very, smart kid so I’m not too concerned about that aspect of things.” Steve nodded, and stood up. He took a deep breath and stepped back into the corridor to find Brooke was sat with Emmy now, her arm round her best friend.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” Steve asked, shooting the red head a look.

“Hey Mr R, don’t sweat it. Told em I was going to the bathroom.” Brooke shrugged and Steve rolled his eys.

“Well scoot before you get into trouble too.” He gestured with his head to the doors that led back to the reception area.

“Can Brooke come over later?” Emmy asked, timidly, “Or am I grounded?”

Steve took a deep breath “Not tonight, we need to have a chat. But over the weekend then, sure.” “’kay.” Emmy nodded, standing up. She reached for her rucksack but Steve took it from her, carrying it in his right hand, his left gently between Emmy’s shoulder blades as he steered her towards the exit. As they walked into the reception, Emmy stopped dead and he heard Brooke who was walking along at his other side mutter an ‘uh-oh’.

“This her?” A short, squat woman with a very short hair cut was stood a few feet in front of him, a boy by her side, a few inches taller than her, dressed in a bloodied T-shirt glared at Emmy and nodded. Instantly Steve moved forward a step so he was level with his daughter, his hand dropping to her shoulder.

“Your daughter broke my son’s nose.” The woman glared up at him.

“So I understand.” Steve nodded. “She has been suspended and we’ll be dealing with it appropriately.”

“You know, kids like her, they shouldn’t be-”

“Kids like her?” Steve blinked at the woman, and shook his head. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” Steve’s voice was low. “So, please, explain.”

“I mean with violent and aggressive tendencies, they should be locked up not in a school with normal kids-” “Woah, now hang on.” Steve held his hand up as he looked at the woman. “Your son isn’t exactly innocent in all this.” “I don’t see your daughter with blood all over her shirt. He didn’t hit her…” “I would hope not, seeing as he’s a boy and half a foot taller than her.” He shot back and the woman’s mouth snapped shut. Steve turned to Emmy and handed her the backpack and his keys. “Go and get in the car, sweetheart, I’ll be with you in a minute.” Emmy glanced up at him, one look on his face told her he wasn’t to be argued with, and she nodded and took them from him, before leaving.

His attention then turned to the teenager and woman and he folded his arms across his chest, glaring at them both. The boy had a sharp face, slicked back blonde hair and for some reason he reminded Steve of a younger Gilmore Hodge. Which was never a good thing. He looked at the woman and spoke again, his voice level but full of that Captain Authority he could never help turning on in situations like this.

“Your son said some very nasty things to my daughter, and in normal circumstances he should be apologising. However, given what happened I suggest we leave it at that and they agree to stay away from one another in the future.” “Him apologise?” The woman practically shrieked. “She punched him, if anything she’s the one that should be saying sorry.” Steve gave a huff of a laugh “I can assure you that won’t be happening. Besides,” he turned to the boy, “do you really want an apology from a ‘fucking orphan rat’?”

He heard a snigger followed by a mumble of “mic drop…” to his right and turned to see Brooke was still there.

“What are-” he shot her a look, pointing towards the class rooms, “-scoot.” “Later Mr R.” Brooke shot him a salute and he raised an eyebrow as she headed off back to wherever she should have been in the first place.

“Did you say that?” The woman had rounded on her son.

“No…I swear.” “He said he didn’t.” Steve shook his head, his hands dropping to the buckle of his belt. “I’m not interested in whether he admits it or not. Fact of the matter is I believe my daughter and according to her and her friend, Emmy isn’t the first kid he’s picked on but I’m sure as hell hoping she’s gonna be the last, especially now he’s had a punch in the face to make him consider the consequences of his actions.” His lips quirked a little at the side as he delivered his final line. “I’d hate for him to get antoher.” “How dare you threaten him?” The woman was now talking in that high a pitch it was making Steve’s ears hurt.

“That isn’t a threat.” Steve shook his head “Merely an observation. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He turned to the door when the woman spluttered after him “You know, we do know where you live. That big, fancy house in Clinton Hill.” “Then by all means feel free to call round later.” Steve laughed as he turned to grin at the woman of her shoulder. “But I really don’t fancy your chances against my wife.” ****** “He said WHAT?” Katie spluttered once Steve had explained what had gone on. “The little fucking shit!” “His mother wasn’t much better either.” Steve shook his head as he raised Jamie up higher in the air above him, the tot screaming with laughter. “She threatened to come round later.” “I’ll kick her fucking ass!” Katie folded her arms across her chest and a wry smile crossed Steve’s face as he brought Jamie back down to his chest.

“Yeah I told her I didn’t fancy her chances.”

“Where’s Emmy now?” Katie asked.

“In her room, she said she wanted to be alone for a bit.”

Katie pondered for a moment, before she moved and walked out of the kitchen, calling up the stairs, “Emmy? Can you come down for a minute please?”

Katie came back into the kitchen and it wasn’t long before Emmy appeared, her eyes red. Katie sighed and pulled her into a hug.

“I’m sorry, I just, ” Emmy sniffed. “He was so rude and…” “Sweetie, we’re not mad.” Katie shook her head, steering the girl across the hall “We just want to talk to you, about what he said,” she gestured at one of the seats by the breakfast bar, “sit.”

Emmy did as she was told and Steve placed Jamie in the pack and play at the corner of the room. There was a minute or so silence before Katie slid a mug of hot chocolate, containing marshmallows and cream across the counter to Emmy, then passed Steve a coffee, picking up her own drink before she rounded the counter and sat on a stool next to Emmy, Steve staying where he was, the base of his back leaning against the worktop opposite them.

“So your dad told me what happened.” Katie began “And we want to talk to you about what that little jerk said to you.”

“I shouldn’t have let him get to me.” Emmy shrugged “I know what he was saying was crap but…” “If your dad had a dollar for every time he had reacted to something he shouldn’t have done he’d be richer than Tony.” Katie smiled and Steve gave a scoff.

“You’re a fine one to talk.” He raised an eyebrow at his wife and she grinned.

“And as for throwing you out once you’re old enough,” Katie shook her head, “you’re with us for as long as you wanna be. And then even when you don’t want to be, and you move out, we’ll be keeping tabs on you, annoying you, like Tony does to me.”

Emmy smiled and wiped at her eyes.

“You said he’s been picking on you for a while?” Steve asked “What made you snap today?” Emmy shrugged “I guess I was just fed up with it and when he was laughing about my name on my test paper, and he called me an orphan rat I saw red.” Katie took a deep breath, she was furious but before she could say anything Steve spoke, a frown creasing his brow.

“What do you mean he was laughing at your name?” “My surname.” Emmy shrugged “On stuff like the register and things at school its Rogers but on my official test papers for my grades it has to be McKellen, because Rogers isn’t my real name. And he was laughing saying that I didn’t belong anywhere.” Steve and Katie locked eyes and Steve was the first one to break away.

“Does it bother you, that your name isn’t Rogers?”

“Not normally.” She shrugged

“What if we made it so?” Katie asked.

“What, like change it legally?” “That’s one way of doing it.” Steve shrugged.  “The other is we adopt you.” Katie looked at her husband and smiled. This was something they’d mentioned in passing to one another a few times but never really talked about in any detail as, well, to them things were fine as they were. But now, well, it just felt right. The next step for them all. Making her status as their daughter official.

“Adopt me?” Emmy’s voice was a whisper.

“Yeah.” Katie nodded. “Look, Em, as far as we’re concerned you’re already our daughter, and not just a foster one either. It’s merely a formality. But it’s up to you.” “Do you want to think about it?” Steve asked.

“No.” Emmy shook her head as she looked up tears in her eyes. “No, I don’t want to think about it. I’d love it, I really would.” Katie smiled as the girl threw her arms round her shoulders and began to sob. Steve put his mug down on the counter next to him and strode round to wrap his large arms around both his girls until a loud screech form the corner of the room made them all look up. Jamie was stood gripping the side of his play pen, clearly disgruntled at being left out of the hug.

“Alright pal, point taken.” Steve picked him up and carried him back to where Emmy was now wiping her eyes. He handed the tot to his older sister and Katie grinned.

“Family hug?” She opened her arms and Emmy laughed, as the four of them snuggled together in a huddle.

*****

March 2021

Despite Steve’s best attempts to ignore it, there was something in what that little shit had said to Emmy that had really bothered him.  The Avengers fucked up. It wasn’t an alien thought, he often found himself thinking back to how they had failed but he normally shook himself out of it. They’d done the best they could, they simply hadn’t stood a chance.

The thing was, not all of the public saw that. On more than one occasion the remaining Avengers had all experienced some kind of vitriol from the public, Natasha still receiving hate mail for them all at the compound. Whilst people he met understood, it was always the ones that didn’t which stuck in Steve’s mind, but he’d never had anything more than the odd whispered insult or dirty look come his way, that was until a few day’s after Jamie’s first birthday.

He was in the store with Emmy, picking up a few bits and pieces for the family gathering they were having to celebrate Jamie turning one and he could feel someone’s eyes on him, which wasn’t unusual. What was unusual, however, was the tap on the shoulder her received as he tossed a few items from the list Katie had given him into the trolley.

“I thought it was you.”

Steve turned to see a dark haired man, the same height as him looking back.

“Can I help you?” Steve asked politely.

The man snorted “I thought at one point, yeah, but you didn’t, this…us…what the world is now, it’s all your fault.” Steve took a deep breath, and spotted Emmy returning to the aisle he was in with an armful of snacks he had sent her for.

“Sir-” Steve began, trying to placate the man but before he could do anything the guy had punched him straight in the face. It wasn’t a hard blow, but Steve hadn’t been expecting it. Or the subsequent blows for that matter.

He was vaguely aware Emmy was screaming, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a security guard hurrying towards him. Before he reached them, Emmy had kicked the man hard in the shin and was shouting at him, as he hopped on his good leg. Steve doubled over, the ringing in his ears subsiding as he pinched at his nose which was streaming blood.

“Oh my God.” A female voice said “Billy, what…” she looked up at Steve and paled “Captain, oh God, I’m so sorry…he’s…” Steve waved away another member of the public who had come to help, insisting he was fine. Taking a deep breath he looked up and saw the man was now crying, his head buried into his wife’s shoulders.

“We…we lost our son.” The lady continued, with a choked voice. “He hasn’t dealt with it so well.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve bowed his head, it was all he could think to say.

“It isn’t you fault” The lady shook her head. “And he doesn’t think that, not really, it’s just we never got a proper explanation, you know, bar official government statements. No real help to come to terms with anything.” “That doesn’t mean he can just punch the crap outta my dad!” Emmy blazed, indignantly and Steve lay a hand on her shoulder. “Emmy.” He shook his head gently before he turned to the woman. “I’m sorry that no one was there for you and I’m sorry that we couldn’t do more. But we tried.” The last three words were almost a plea to her, trying to make her understand they had tried, boy did they try. She cast him another sad look before she led her husband away.

“You ok?” Steve looked down at his daughter.

“Me?” She frowned “What about you?” “Had worse.” Steve mumbled, gently touching his nose “Let’s get out stuff and get home before it starts to set. I don’t fancy having to re-break it.”

**** Katie was sat smiling as Natasha was holding Jamie up, his hands curled round her fingers as she guided him round the living room.

“Won’t be long until he’s doing this himself.” The red head smiled, and Katie grinned.

“He’s growing so fast.” 

“Think you’ll have another?” Nat looked at her.

Katie shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, Steve would have a football team full if I let him but, who knows.”

Nat smiled and Katie’s attention turned back to her son who was toddling in front of his Auntie. He was looking more and more like his father each day and was now a substantial little chunk who was pretty strong and robust too. Small bumps and knocks didn’t seem to phase him at all, and the other day he’d been playing with a tonka truck and had fallen onto it, flattening it completely. He’d screamed blue murder, more over the fact his toy was broken than he had been hurt, but it had made both his parents realise that he was definitely half Super Soldier and wasn’t inheriting any of Steve’s pre-serum ailments, much to Steve’s relief.

Their attention was taken as all three of them heard the car pull up the gravel drive and Jamie gave an excited giggle and started moving his legs even faster at the sound, understanding it to mean his father was back. Smiling to herself, Katie watched as he giggled and started trying to run to the door, and when it opened she looked up fully expecting Steve to grin and swoop his boy up into his arms, except what greeted her made her hand fly up to her mouth. His shirt was covered with blood and his nose was out of shape.

“Shit.” Katie stood up and headed straight to him, gently reaching up to slide a finger to his face, tilting it so she could see. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine sweetheart” he said gently.

“What the hell happened?” Nat asked as she picked Jamie up, who was still squirming to get to his father, completely nonplussed by what was going on.

“Some guy in the store punched him.” Emmy explained, and Katie looked at her daughter, whose eyes were swollen, she’d been crying.

“What? Why?” she frowned. “Em, can you grab me an ice pack out the freezer?” Steve asked before she could answer, she was upset enough as it was and he didn’t want her seeing or hearing what was coming next. She nodded and headed off.

“Steve.” Katie watched as he sat down on the sofa, shaking his head.

“Just reset it before it starts to heal anymore.” He grumbled. “Quickly before she gets back.”

Katie sat next to him and reached out gently. He grit his teeth as she snapped his nose back into place. Across the room Nat flinched at the crunching noise it made.

“Fuck.” Steve cursed softly before laying his head back against the cushions of the couch steadying his breathing as his eyes began to water from the pain. He knew it would heal quickly but that didn’t stop it hurting like hell.

“You gonna tell us what happened?” Katie asked, looking at him.

“Some guy at the store recognised me and started screaming that it was all our fault, the Snap, and hit me.”

“Must have been a pretty hard swing.” Nat said gently, bouncing Jamie up and down, distracting him with the Cap teddy bear she had grabbed off the floor. Jamie grinned at the bear and grabbed it, sticking the ear of it into his mouth.

“He didn’t just hit you once, Dad.” Emmy said gently as she returned, passing him the ice pack.

“How many times was it?” Katie frowned.

“Four ,maybe.” he shrugged

“Try Six” Emmy muttered.

“Six?!” Katie’s voice grew loud

“And you just let him?” Nat’s snorted. “What else could I do Nat?” Steve sighed, “I couldn’t hit him back…” “Yes, you damned well could!” Katie seethed. “Fuck!”

“Language.” Steve chastised playfully. “Besides, wasn’t really going to hit him once Em had kicked him in the shin.”

“You kicked him?” Katie looked at Emmy who shrugged.

“He was screaming and punching so I kicked him, real hard, and then told him that he was an asshole, and everyone had lost, and that he should try fighting Thanos in a field in Wakanda himself if he could do any better…” “Then the guy’s wife appeared.” Steve sighed, pressing the ice pack to his face.

“Yeah, she was nice.” Emmy nodded. “Said they had lost their son and she was so sorry.” “But they’d never really had a chance to ask questions or had an explanation other than what the Government had said.” Steve’s voice was muffled slightly from the pack. “But it got me thinking in the car about how many other people out there like that.” “So we had an idea.” Emmy nodded “Support groups.” “Support groups?” Katie frowned.

“Yeah, we have them at school.” Emmy said “Somewhere for people to go and talk about their issues and feelings.” “That’s actually not a bad idea.” Nat mused and Steve nodded.

“I know. Surprised we didn’t think of it sooner.”

“Well we’ve had other things on our minds.” Katie popped a shoulder, gently.

“I’m gonna help.” Emmy smiled. “We’re gonna brainstorm ideas later after the party.”

“Yeah, on that, do me a favour and no one mention this to Tony when he gets here.” Steve groaned as he stood up, ice pack still on his nose. “I’m going to get cleaned up.”

Leaving Emmy to watch Jamie, Nat and Katie unloaded the car and took the supplies to the kitchen. Steve showered quickly and came back to help them, and it wasn’t long before the food was sorted, Katie’s ability to cook how easily she did never ceased to amaze Steve. Before long the gang arrived and Morgan toddled in, holding Tony’s hand before he let go and she bee-lined for Emmy who was sat on the living room floor where she had been sat looking at a book with Jamie.

“Hey Moo!” Emmy grinned at the younger girl who sat with a soft thud next to her, leaning into her older cousin for a hug.

Tony watched them for a short while before he asked if Emmy was okay and then headed into the kitchen to find Pepper already clutching a glass of champagne. Katie handed him a beer as she pulled him into a hug and he shook Steve’s hand.

“You’re in the same room as usual.” Katie looked at him. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted Moo in with you guys or not so there’s the travel cot in there or she can have the room over from you…” “She can stay with us.” Tony nodded, taking a pull from his beer.

“Where is she?”  Natasha asked.

“With Emmy. She adores that kid.”

“Have you told her the paperwork has been finalised?” Pepper asked looking at Katie and Steve who both shook their head.

“No, we’re gonna surprise her with that later.” Katie smiled.

“We got her a little something.” Tony swallowed his beer. “You know, just to welcome her officially to the mad house.” “What is it?” Steve asked suspiciously.

“Nothing Iron Man or Tony Stark related.” Pepper looked at Steve. “I promise.” Tony shrugged. “Spoil sport.” The five adults all headed into the large living room, Jamie grinned up at his uncle and crawled over to him. Tony swung him up in the air and smiled, that is until Jamie head-butted him by accident.

“Oww…shhhhhhhhugar!” The billionaire corrected his curse before wincing. “Man, Rogers, this kid has your knuckle head.” Steve smirked. “He’s still half Stark.”

“Mind you, you should be grateful he doesn’t take after his mom. She was a horror.” “Was not.” Katie shot back indignantly. “Kiddo, you were a pain in the ass.” Tony sniggered. “You stuck bread in the VCR. Dad hit the roof.” “I thought it was a toaster.” Katie shrugged as the room laughed. “Mind you, not like we have to worry about that now seeing as VCRs went out in the stone age.” “Was that an age joke?” Tony smirked. “Do I have to respond with one about your husband or…” Steve rolled his eyes “Go ahead, be original.” “You know you’re almost as sarcastic as she is now.” Nat but in, pointing at Katie who grinned before she looked at Tony.

“You remember what dad used to say?”

“Sarcasm is a measure of potential,” Tony imitated their father’s voice. “And if that’s true…” “You’ll be a great man someday.” Katie finished, the two of them laughing.

Despite the crappy start to the day, it was a nice afternoon surrounded by their family. They drank, ate and eventually it was time for the cake which Katie and Steve were excited about, for good reason. Katie placed it down on the coffee table in the middle of the lounge, complete with candles. For the first time the group got a look at it, and Steve heard Emmy gasp. Half the large cake was iced in blue, the other half was lilac and across the top the word ‘Happy’ spanned both halves, before the next line read birth on the blue side and adoption on the other, before the word day sat underneath.

Emmy glanced up at her parents, her eyes filling with tears. “You mean…” Steve grinned and handed her the envelope he’d retrieved from the kitchen, which she took in shaking hands. “Signed, sealed, done. You’re officially a Rogers, Em.”

“Poor thing.” Tony mumbled, earning himself a slap round the back of the head from Natasha.

Together the Rogers’ children blew out their candles (well, Katie blowing Jamie’s out on his behalf before the boy could grab one of them and burn himself) and then Emmy turned to look at Steve and Katie before throwing herself forwards, her arms round both their waists. Steve’s arm fell to her back and he pressed a kiss to Katie’s cheek before Tony stepped forward and handed Emmy a small gift bag.

“It’s just a little something.” He smiled. “Just to say welcome to the family, officially we mean, because you’re already part of the…” He rolled his eyes as Emmy blinked up at him. “Just take it, kid.”

Emmy took the bag and opened it, her eyes widening as she looked at the box, emblazoned with the word Pandora. Katie peered down as Emmy opened it and smiled at the charm bracelet which was inside. It held charms, the letters EJR for her initials, Emily Jayne Rogers.

“Thank you.” She whispered before she gave Tony a hug, then Pepper. She stepped back and turned around, her eyes brimming with tears. “This is the best day ever!”

And despite the shitty start to it in the store, Steve was inclined to agree it hadn’t been that bad at all.

Chapter 47

 **Original Posting**

[amydancepants-peralta]

44 or 52 pls! :)

Hi anon!  I tossed up over the two for a bit there, but here goes!  

Here is 52: “I thought you knew.” 💕

☀️ The sun feels warm on Amy’s skin, and as a refreshingly cool breeze rushes through her hair she finds it next to impossible not to break out into a grin.  Today was turning out to be a pretty great day.

Given that over the years the Santiago family have spread themselves out over various states and cities, it has always been considered a sizeable task to get more two or more members in the same place and the same time - major family events excluded.  Perhaps that was why today felt particularly special; an impromptu gathering in the park leading to three of her brothers (and their extended family) occupying a decent amount of space in a park thirty minutes drive from her and Jake’s apartment.  

The infectious giggles of two of Amy’s cousins, Maria and Eddie, bubble up to her ears as they zoom past, far too intent on winning their game of chase to acknowledge their tia as their tiny feet kick up blades of grass.  Their father, Luis, stands over to Amy’s right, manning the grill and holding his ground in a relatively level-headed disagreement with David about the ‘right way’ to barbecue the meat they were serving with lunch.  To her left, her sister-in-law Clarissa teaches her and Andrew’s daughter how to play patty cake.  The relaxed joviality that can only be brought about by the gathering of loved ones is floating in the air around them, and Amy is endlessly thankful that both she and Jake had the chance to join in today.

Six months have passed since the birth of their daughter - since, in one evening, Amy had experienced both excruciating pain and an abundance of elation, all within five short hours - and it felt like both yesterday and a million years ago, all at the same time.  

It had been an interesting few months to begin with (babies, she had quickly learned, are not interested in following any schedules you may have put together, no matter how meticulous they may be); and it was only in the last ten or so weeks that the three of them had finally been able to figure out a routine.  Finally, their little girl was starting to sleep through the night, and she and Jake have learned to adjust to their new normal (which always seems to be changing; but if there is anyone that has taught Amy Santiago to expect the unexpected, it’s Jake Peralta).  

None of it has been easy - most of the great things in life rarely were - but she would do it all again in a nanosecond, just for the sheer joy of hearing her daughter’s laugh for the first time.  

Today, Amy stands amongst family with freshly cut hair (thanks largely to her husband taking an extra day off yesterday, pushing her out their front door with a declaration that today is Amy Day), wearing one of her favourite dresses and lending out a helping hand as she talks to other adults about topics other than teething and feeding schedules, and it all feels kind of amazing.  

A stray breeze grabs a hold of a pile of napkins that had been sitting at the table, throwing them carelessly over the surrounding grass, and Amy scrambles quickly - desperate to catch them before they fall victim to the trampling feet of her many nieces and nephews.  It turns out to be an almost impossible task, excusing herself with a polite smile as she moves too close for comfort towards other people’s gatherings, snatching up the items as quickly as possible so that she can make a hasty exit.  

It’s as she moves to grab the last offender that Amy manages to overhear a conversation, the guilt at eavesdropping only temporary as she picks up on the topic.  There are two women to her left, both of whom were nursing what looked to be wine coolers in plastic cups, and one woman’s focus was on something (or rather, someone) in the distance before her.

“Ohmygodokay, Jenna … don’t look right away, but I’ve totally just found the hottest guy at this park.”  There’s a pause, and then the voice continues.  “I told you not to look right away!”

“Okay, okay - relax Rachel!” was the snarky reply, following up quickly with an “Okay, damn!”

Still keeping her head bowed, Amy’s wedding ring set sparkles in the sunlight as she reaches out to grab the last napkin, and it’s taking all of her restraint not to straighten up and look in the direction the women were facing.

“See?  I told you I’d found the winner.”

“Mmmhmm, yep.”

“The height, the smile, the baby sling strapped around him … you know, I’ve never really been big on plaid, but on this guy it totally works.”

“It really does.”

It’s the mention of the plaid pattern that finally piques Amy’s curiosity, and she swivels her head as she stands, raising her free hand above her eyes to shield them from the sun as she studies the scene before her.

And honestly, the gossiping girls behind her were not wrong.

The hottest guy in the park was definitely walking towards them; and with an overwhelming surge of pride Amy notices that the hot guy is, in fact, her husband.  He’s wearing the eco-friendly sunglasses she bought him for Christmas, and has their baby daughter safely strapped to his chest care of the sling that Gina had given Amy at her baby shower, and he’s honestly never looked hotter.  

Returning from Diaper Duty - a role he shares equally with his wife without a single complaint, a fact that makes her love him all the more - Jake grins over at Amy when he notices her looking, lifting their daughter’s hand in a tiny wave as she moves towards the two of them.  

“Hey babe,” he says as Amy nears him, lifting his index finger to his lips in a shhh motion as they fall into step together.  “Sorry it took me so long.  Bubba took a little longer than normal to settle, so she and I just kinda hung out for a little bit over by the flower beds, and then she totally zonked out.”

Craning her neck, Amy looks over at the tiny sleeping bundle resting against Jake’s chest, and she cannot help but feel her heart smile at the sight.  “My god she’s adorable.”

“Ugh, I know right?  Like, obviously we were going to make a cute baby.  But this?  It’s like a whole other level of cuteness.  I literally cannot handle it.”

Slowing down her pace, Amy waits until she and Jake are standing on the outskirts of their family gathering before leaning in for another look, this time leaving a gentle kiss against the hat that sat on top of their daughter’s head.  (Truly, there was no way anyone could have prepared her for how endearingly tiny all of their little girl’s clothing would turn out to be.  Tiny hats!  Teeny tiny socks!  Ruffle covered bottoms!  It was all too much, and yet never enough.)  

“Here,”  Jake offers, revealing a plucked daisy; the white petals looking far too small inside his crazily sexy hands.  “We picked this for you.”

With her eyebrows raised in surprise, Amy looks up at Jake with a smile, taking the tiny flower and tucking into the juncture of her ear and hairline.  “You two … are just the sweetest,” she mumbles, grabbing Jake’s hand and bringing it up to leave a kiss against his wedding ring.  He grins in return, resting his hand against her lower back when she frees it, leading Amy gently towards the rest of the guests as lunch begins to be served.  

*

It’s over an hour before Jake and Amy find themselves with a chance to pull away from the others, tidying up the remnants of lunch before standing off to the side and watching their cousins negotiate one last round of playtime before the drive home. 

Resting her head against Jake’s shoulder as his right arm wraps around hers, Amy lets out a contented sigh.  Apart from a brief moment of activity where she’d demanded a bottle, their baby girl had spent the majority of the afternoon asleep against her father’s chest.  Knowing that she was comfortable and safe, while she and Jake sat together with family and caught up on each other’s lives, had relaxed Amy to no end.  

Smiling up at Jake’s phone as he whips it out to take a selfie, Amy nods in approval at the resulting image before remembering the conversation she’d heard earlier.

“You are totally the flavour of the day, by the way.”

Turning his head to the right, Jake studies Amy’s face for a moment before furrowing his brow, replying with a confused “Huh?”

Nodding her chin towards the other women in the park, one side of Amy’s mouth slides upwards into a amused grin.  “Just before you got back from diaper duty, I happened to overhear a couple of girls talking.  And they totally declared you to be the hottest dad around.”  Turning her body towards his, Amy reaches out to toy with the lining of the unbuttoned plaid that he’d thrown over the top of his shirt today.  “I, of course, could not agree more.”  

Shrugging his shoulders, Jake pauses as the information sinks in, then shakes his head.  “Hottest dad, huh?”

Pulling away slightly, Amy looks at him in surprise.  “I thought you knew?”

Jake cocks his head to the side, and she smiles before continuing.  “You’ve had the biggest smile on your face all afternoon, Peralta.  It’s practically stealing the sun’s job, it’s so bright.”

Her husband laughs at the comparison, his left hand reaching out to cradle their daughter’s head as his chest bounces repeatedly.  “Ames,” he responds, letting his right hand slide down Amy’s back before grabbing her left, “I’m out at the park with family on a long weekend off.  I’ve got my baby girl all snuggled up safe and sound, and my gorgeous wife is walking around in the same pink dress I remember peeling off her body on the first day of our honeymoon.  Life is pretty damn good today.  It’s no wonder I’m smiling.”

Amy’s heart stutters a little at Jake’s statement, her bottom lip curling up at the sweet nature of the man she loves.  How she managed to get this lucky, she’ll never understand.  Pushing herself up to her tippy toes, she cranes her neck up towards Jake and pushes a quick kiss against his lips.  “Good save, babe.”

“Not a save so much as it is the truth,”  Jake counters, leaning back down for another kiss.  “I’m the luckiest man alive right now, and that is the only thing I know.”

Cupping his cheek in her hand, Amy matches Jake’s smile with her own.  “I love you, babe.”

“I love you, too.”  Dipping his head, Jake kisses her once more, then pulls away quickly.  “Wait.  Does this mean … I’m a dilf?”

Twisting her mouth to one side, Amy pretends to consider the obviously correct title before nodding.  “It totally does.  But … only if that means that I’m a milf in return.”

Jake’s forehead leans against hers, and he holds Amy’s gaze as he winks, lowering his voice so that only she can hear his reply.  “I think the events from two nights ago will confirm that is most definitely the case.”

Amy feels the blush begin at the tips of her ears, flooding her cheeks before she has a chance to control it, and Jake chuckles softly at her reaction, running his hand soothingly up and down her back as she rests her head against his shoulder again.  Peeking down at their daughter, Amy takes in the fact that she’s still sleeping and whispers “Your daddy is always finding ways to make mama blush, bubba.  We’ve gotta figure out some ways to counter-attack.”

“Oh, please.  She had me wrapped around her little finger, exactly zero point two seconds after she was born.”

Chuckling softly, Amy nods in agreement.  “Same.  If only she knew the power she has over us.”

A minute snuffle comes out of their daughter’s mouth as if in response, her perfect little lips bunching up into a tiny pout as she nestles closer to Jake’s shirt.  There’s a tiny trail of drool left behind, and like two totally enamoured parents, they both find themselves smiling at the result.  

“Oh yeah, she totally knows.”

Nodding again, Amy wraps her free arm around Jake’s waist, closing her eyes briefly and breathing in the scent of his cologne as she lets the last of the day’s sunlight soak into her skin.  

Truly, this was turning out to be an amazing day.  And she had the strongest instinct that there were a thousand more great days, just like this one, waiting for them in the future.  But the future could wait - because she had everything she needed, right here in her arms.  

[crocoguile]

first lines

rules: list the first line of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). see if there are any  patterns, choose your favorite opening line, and then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Gott tagged by @tilltheendwilliwrite

alright you are getting these fast and dirty and in no particular order and these are excluding several fandoms and if the title (if it even has one) doesn’t link somewhere it’s currently unposted

1 - If you had told Darcy when she signed on to be Jane Foster’s Official Gremlin for a semester for the college credits that she’s meet and tase a god, she’d have snorted and asked you where you got the good greens you were toking on.

2 - “his car shot flames” Pepper might have been running a fever when she woke up that morning in her hotel room.

3 - Visiting Hours (from the Biokinetic uiniverse that’s currently being rewritten) Steve isn’t terribly surprised at the idea of Howard being a terrible father.

4 - It’s Not Home Without You There (also biokineticverse) Jane, when Heimdall fetches them, punches the Watcher square in the face.

5 - Of Marksmanship (What Even Is Thor?) (also from biokineticverse) Thor is often boiled down to a simple man: food and fighting.

6 - Varying Degrees Of Sexual Acceptance  “Oh, sorry to just barge in like this to a public area and all. Feel free to keep going though.”

7 - Misstep (old username but still mine) Pepper is mortified when one misstep, despite her careful, certain stride, sends her Bambi-ing across the sidewalk outside a business that she’d just settled a software deal with.

8 - Sunday Mornings Are For Belief (also  from my old username) Darcy is a fan of music.

9 -  Maggie groaned as she shuffled into the sunlight living room of her little house and took in the chaos of everywhere but the loveseat where Steve was sat in a pair of well fitting jeans and a sweater that she had finished knitting and gifted to him half a year before when the trees were the color of fire and the air in her neighborhood smelled like bread and cinnamon and woodsmoke.

10 -  “Oh, that’s dangerous.”

11 -  Bucky had no desire to go to war again.

12 - “this isn't gonna be done until the fourth anniversary is it jfc” the tentative working title of a fic for my wife @mama-dubh Siobhan dragged her hands down her face as her feet carried her through the open floorplan to the kitchen in search of the high-grade caffiene she could hear percolating in the coffee machine.

13 - “science bros crack treated seriously” Steve really didn’t trust a damn thing that Tony and Bruce were up to.

14 - The Taste Of Death’s Kiss; Prologue “Oh, fuck you…” Bucky grumbles as he runs down the alley to crash elbow first through a security door of some swanky office building downtown.

15 -  It feels like being smashed against the glassy black coasts of shattered obsidian.

16 -  "What's that..." Jaskier pauses inside Geralt's tiny, shithole apartment's front door and stares at the enormous electric blue monstrosity that is suction-cupped to the floor in front of the most unnecessary door he's ever seen, holding it open. “uhm... there?”

17 - untiled bucky criminal mins xover au Bucky leaned back in the big leather office chair as he sank into it, a small thermos in his hands.

18 - “stardew valley thingomadingo ‘fantasy au’” The first time Paul sees the thing, he’s fishing in the dead of winter and the Glacierfish gets off his line because he’s distracted.

19 - There Is Pleasure In A Certain Amount Of Exposure (also the old username...) The game is simple. There are a few rules, and they are all easy enough to follow.

20 - With My Every Breath, I Give You This Promise (also that old username) The first thought in Bucky’s head on his and Darcy’s wedding day goes something like, Buchanan, even with an increased metabolism, you are not immune to the morning breath that comes with drinking that hard.

patterns? marvel. smut or crack are my specialties apparently. i really like bucky barnes. i write a lot of female ofcs bc i know m/f or canon characters in slash pairings are what get hits... and if i’m writing a trans character it’s geralt.

Gonna tag... @anotherdayforchaosfay @poisonousbuttercup and any fic writers in my followership if you see this you gotta <3 (that way i can get tagged and go read ur stuff o 3o)

[raendown]

Chapter: 3/9 Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3815 Rated: M Summary: Walking patrol around a university for mages probably sounded like a wild time but Tobirama has never found it all that exciting. He’s not even technically supposed to be here. When responding to a tripped alarm becomes a desperate attempt to stay alive, however, excitement is the last thing on his mind. All he’s ever wanted is a quiet life alone with his books until he finds himself bound to Uchiha Madara in the most impossible way and finally learns to think about more than just himself - in a way.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 3

By the time Madara woke up Tobirama was certain he had a complete mental list of all the possible challenges they might be facing in the days ahead of them. The second that Madara became aware of the world again he realized that there was one significant thing he had failed to even consider as an option.

“He’s cold.” The thought occurred to him so suddenly he hardly realized he’d spoken out loud until Tsunade looked over from the bed of another unconscious patient she was tending to.

“Really? And how would you know?” she asked.

“We can feel it,” he said with a note of wonder in his voice. And it was true, dawning in the back of his mind was the vague sensation that his second body – and that right there was a whole new can of worms – was chilly. Tobirama yanked the blanket off his own mattress and pulled it over on to the other as best he could. As soon as he did so he felt the aimless gratitude of a sleepy mind that finds warmth without being conscious enough to understand its source.

Madara’s fingers tightened around his briefly, no signs of trying to get away. The closer he drew to actual consciousness the more Tobirama felt his sense of self blurring around the edges. What Madara felt he could feel and what Madara was thinking danced along the edges of his own thoughts, just close enough that he could push himself in to them if he so desired. Out of habit he asked himself why the hell he would want to know what Madara was thinking and almost immediately he berated himself for being a stuck up prick. Tobirama frowned.

“Well we don’t like that,” he murmured.

Relaying the same revelations to Madara as had been given to him upon waking turned out to be somewhat anticlimactic. Able to latch on to Tobirama’s calm state and subconsciously already aware of these things, he took the news with no more than a light frown and a distracted hum.

Having him awake also came with the unexpected boon of solving Tobirama’s ‘royal we’ problem as they both recovered their unconscious sense of self. The less they leaned towards that diaphanous line between their minds the more they were able to think in the singular. It was harder when they strayed towards each other, naturally trying to slide together as one person, but Hashirama was good enough to point out when they began to speak in ‘we’ and ‘us’ to warn them what was happening.

Other problems arose rather quickly when it came time to decide where they should stay for the foreseeable future. Obviously both of them wanted to stay in the comfort and familiarity of their own rooms – and even more interestingly they each yearned for both places at the same time, feeding off of each other’s desires until it was impossible to tell which of them wanted what. In the end Hashirama flipped a coin and shuffled them off to Tobirama’s rooms.

Something none of them, as reasonable and intellectual adults, thought to consider was what hundreds of students might take away from seeing their professor and the infamous forever-but-technically-not-a-student walking through the hallways hand in hand. It took several waggled eyebrows and over a dozen outbursts of whispering before mortification shot through their bodies as though the thought had occurred to them at exactly the same time. Letting go was a non-option, however, so they did their best to close their ears to the fast moving gossip about a teacher-student relationship, despite the fact that Tobirama only technically qualified as a student because Hashirama let him stay there without forcing him to become a professor.

If he hadn’t enrolled in any classes for the last three years and he refused the teaching positions every time they were offered to him then he needed some sort of excuse to stay. He’d have been kicked out by the Board of Magical Education a long time ago if he weren’t related to the Headmaster.

Of all the small mercies they didn’t expect, Tobirama’s quarters were at least closer since they were located in a quiet corridor just passed the student dormitories but a floor below where the professors resided. Twin sighs of relief escaped their lips once they had a solid door closed between them and the rest of the world. As one they turned to survey the room before them with a critical eye.

To Tobirama it looked like home, familiar books stacked in patterns that would look like nonsense to anyone else but made sense to him and him alone, ingredients for his elixirs balanced on every surface and summoning crystals dotted in random places, the occasional personal touch present in the form of one of Hashirama’s sculptures and that sword he once wrestled from a basilisk. Even the dust sprinkled deliberately in certain places to mark whether his things had been messed with was a sight for sore eyes. Were he alone he would have taken a deep breath and allowed himself to sink in to the knowledge awaiting him.

But he wasn’t alone. He was held back from diving headfirst in to the closest tome he could reach by the sheer exasperation he could feel drifting over through his link to Madara. Apparently his companion found this level of chaos to be stifling instead of inspiring, their bodies tensing with minor claustrophobia. Tobirama wrinkled his nose. It had taken a long time to organize his belongings properly and he was loathe to disturb them now.

“Shall we go through to the other rooms?” he asked.

With no one else living near him and his unique status as perpetual researcher he had quite a lot more space to spread himself out than most others in the university. Madara held his arms close to his body so as not to upset any of the carefully stacked books around them and Tobirama was almost knocked off his feet when he realized why, that Madara was feeding in to his reverence for his possessions and probably unconsciously treating them like they were his own. Fascinating. That was definitely something they would need to explore.

The next room over was much more tidy and excluded any strategically placed dust, much to Madara’s obvious relief. This was where he most often came to read, although the compartmentalizing part of his brain refused to see it as a place to store anything and so the tomes he read from went back in to the other room when not in use. He wasn’t at all surprised to see Madara’s attention hone in on his favorite chair.

“We can’t both sit in it,” he muttered dryly.

“Right. Well we shouldn’t both have to do anything. I mean, I’m not saying…”

Madara trailed off but Tobirama waved him onwards impatiently, already aware of what he was trying to say. Awkward as it was to admit, it was obvious that neither of them were willing to even think of the option to separate entirely. Their cores had merged so completely it wasn’t likely anything could separate them even if they wanted that. Even other magical folk wouldn’t truly be able to understand what they were going through. The only way Tobirama could think to describe it would be to say that they now only had one soul to share between their two bodies and it was as thrilling to think about as it was terrifying. All the hatred that he had once carried for the man at his side had been replaced with nothing more than the natural and instinctive desire to stay whole, uninjured, just as any other human would want.

“Anyway. I’m not saying that. But it would be much more convenient if we didn’t have to be leashed together all the time. You will agree, I think, that your darling niece only wanted us to stay in the infirmary for the rest of the day because she wanted to see what would happen the first time one of us had to piss.”

“She’s always had a very strange sense of humor,” Tobirama mused.

“I don’t like being the butt of a joke.”

“But you make such a nice butt.” As soon as the words were out they both paused, Tobirama’s jaw snapping shut. He had the distinct impression that he’d been trying to say two things at once there and only one of those points had originated from himself.

Letting the moment slide, Madara cleared his throat. “Whatever. Let’s just see what happens with this because I really don’t want to take you to the bathroom with me.”

“As much as the very thought horrifies me as well, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea just yet. Even while unconscious our reactions to separation were worrisome.” Tobirama twisted his mouth to one side in thought. A moment later he frowned because he’d never made that expression before in his life and Madara was mirroring it back at him. “Never mind. Perhaps you’re right.”

“Oh? So y-”

“Don’t. You wouldn’t let me say ‘I told you so’ before, what makes you think I’ll let you say it now?”

Madara pouted but conceded the point.

Ignoring the squashy armchair they both wanted to sit in, they stepped over to the couch instead and sat together to think over how to go about this little experiment, trying to convince themselves and each other that they actually wanted to do it. Privacy would indeed be nice in certain situations but the draw to stay together went beyond instinctual. It was primal. Eventually it was Tobirama pointing out that letting go of each other’s hands didn’t mean they had to completely separate, just that it would be nice to have access to their own limbs. Madara agreed with relief obvious in his eyes.

“Yes, right, so if I touch you somewhere else then we should be fine.”

“Exactly.” Tobirama nodded decisively.

He waited until Madara had shuffled across the seat cushions to press their hips together before very slowly and very carefully unfolding one finger at a time. Both of them tensed as they edged their palms apart only to relax when absolutely nothing happened. Evidently they had been worried over nothing. Feeling a little ridiculous that they had let themselves get so worked up about this, Tobirama huffed and moved to get off the couch.

Immediately he fell to his knees with his head cradled in both hands, unable to process the sheer agony ripping through his body. No words could ever possibly describe the pain, his very soul itself torn in to pieces and every one of those pieces burning, tearing, grinding, shattering, all at once. His mind screamed until he couldn’t tell whether the sound was coming from his own throat or from behind him and he had no idea how to stop it until suddenly the world fell quiet again.

Madara’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly, was the only thing anchoring him to the earth in that moment. Panting like he’d run for several miles, Tobirama fell back in to the man’s knees and marveled that he’d managed to avoid falling off the couch too in his lunge to bring them together again.

“Right,” he whispered. “So that didn’t work.”

“Clearly not!” Underneath the attempt at a good snarl Madara sounded just as breathless as him despite the sparks lingering in his hair.

“New plan: you’re just going to have to suck it up and piss where I can hear you. Disgusting but necessary, it seems.” Tobirama ran one hand through his hair and settled further between Madara’s knees.

Then he jolted to one side and almost separated them again when the man shifted in place to harp down at him. “What kind of scientist are you? You’re not supposed to give up after one experiment!”

“I’m not a scientist, Madara. That is a non-magical word and I think we’ll both agree you don’t want me to prove I have magic right now. I am, first and foremost, a scholar. We had an idea and it ended with great pain. My new idea is maybe not feeling that amount of pain again in the near future!” He would have jabbed an elbow backwards in to the idiot behind him if he weren’t so comfortable in his current position.

He was a little amazed when Madara failed to offer some sort of comeback and for a moment he entertained the incredible notion that he’d actually won the fight that easily. Then he felt thoughts not his own pressing in against him and frowned as he danced around the edges of the muddled confusion and uncertainty his companion was experiencing.

“Was it something I said?”

“Did you just call me by my name?” Madara asked, wiping away the humorous grin trying to form on Tobirama’s face.

“Sweet spirits I did. You’ve infected me. You don’t think of yourself as a pea-brained bastard so now I can’t either! This is intolerable!”

“Hey!”

Offense suffused his entire mind, so strong was Madara’s reaction, and Tobirama heaved a sigh of irritation. “Among other things that are also intolerable. I have to pee.”

Madara shuddered.

The next few days were dotted with similar experiments, most of which ended in exactly the same mixture of pain and desperation to reunite. When Hashirama stopped by to check on them they absolutely refused to answer any questions about what was ‘really so bad’ about being stuck together. Apparently certain parts of their situation hadn’t occurred to their Headmaster and neither of them were really jumping at the chance to explain it to him.

On the fourth day they had a breakthrough at last, though neither of them realized it at first. Being forced to sleep in the same bed had led to all sorts of things they both agreed to never speak of and waking up with Madara’s head tucked under Tobirama’s chin, warm and solid and perfectly shaped like he was meant to fit there, was far from the first one. It even took a few minutes for both of them to work their way out of the haze that always fell over their collective consciousness whenever they were wrapped up too tightly, minds working together in such harmony it was difficult to remember why they shouldn’t.

They both came back to themselves at the same time and, upon realizing the compromising position they were in, gave matching grunts of disgust and rolled away in opposite directions.

“I never cuddle,” Madara insisted. “This is your doing.”

“You can’t lie to me, remember? I can feel it when you lie.”

“Ugh, fine, but I would never cuddle with the likes of you! Even if you are somehow me now…sort of. This whole thing still hurts my brain when I try to think about it.”

Tobirama sniffed. He was on the verge of some sort of acerbic comment about how little Madara’s brain ever worked but held back, rather upset by the fact that he now knew how untrue that was. Having free tickets in to each other’s heads had led to all sorts of insights, chief among them being that Madara wasn’t nearly as stupid as Tobirama always assumed and that Tobirama wasn’t half as unfeeling as he preferred the world to think.

Such revelations had been uncomfortable on both sides and were quickly added to the ever-growing pile of things they agreed not to talk about. At least on that they were in accord.

Instead of the snarky comment he’d been gearing up for Tobirama sat up and stretched his arms above his head. There was no pretending his thoughts had been headed anywhere else but he did have enough dignity not to bring it up and start an unnecessary fight. Only after he’d brought his arms back down, one of them scratching at his chest, did he realize that his head was…oddly quiet. Where he would normally feel irritation or some other form of thought process from his companion there was a strange and worrisome sort of vacancy.

“How did you do that?” Madara demanded in a breathy voice.

“I’m not sure what I even did,” Tobirama admitted. When he looked down, however, he could see right away what the man was referring to.

They weren’t touching anymore. Still tucked in to the same bed, their bodies were a mere couple of inches apart with no physical contact at any point and yet there were no signs of pain. Madara slowly pushed himself up to rest on his elbows while Tobirama tried to work out how he felt about this.

“Unexpected,” he said. “Convenient, though. It will probably be good for us to get a bit of distance.”

“Right, yes. Good for us.” Madara cleared his throat and refused to let their eyes meet. Looking away, Tobirama pretended he didn’t understand why.

“Well, it looks like we’ll be able to go about things a little differently today.”

Swinging his legs out, he made to get up and walk over to the dresser to pull out a fresh set of clothing, his first idea being that it would be nice to finally shower alone without someone standing just outside the curtain with their eyes closed, hand pressed against his back so he could wash his hair. Those plans were thrown out the window when he stood up and immediately collapsed as an all too familiar pain washed over him. From the mattress above him he could hear Madara whine.

Just as he had been all the other times they attempted to separate Tobirama was immediately filled with an all-consuming need to get back to his other half. Everything in the world felt wrong as he forced his body on to its knees so he could crawl back on to the mattress and reach across it the find Madara’s hand. The moment their skin connected they both gasped with relief.

“Alright. Nothing really so different.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious,” Madara snarled.

“You are absolutely welcome. Happy to have provided my services.”

“Facetious,” the man hissed.

Tobirama stared up at the ceiling and held on tighter to the hand grasping at his own. “Sometimes,” he agreed.

“But you weren’t touching me! We were fine!”

“I think it’s best if we take things slowly. Think of it like a new muscle that we need to stretch little by little until we learn the really flexible moves.” He grinned at the wave of prudish disgust from his partner, proud of himself for working an innuendo in to such a serious conversation.

“Just for that I’m sending a note to Hashirama that I’ll be attending my own class today.”

Shooting upright in the bed, Tobirama looked down at the other man with outrage twisting his expression. “You most certainly will not!”

“Well I need to get back to my job sometime or eventually they’ll stop paying me.” Madara struggled upright as well. “So far we’ve stayed holed up in your rooms so that you can get lost in your research and the only contact we’ve had with the outside world has been your relatives. I’m going mad! You’re not the only one who would like to get back a bit of normalcy!”

Brows pulled down so far they nearly overshadowed his eyes, Tobirama hoped his glare at least balanced out the abrupt shock he was probably giving off in waves. The last few days had been sprinkled with a number of discovering about each other and he faced each one of them with a vague sense of betrayal. How dare Madara slowly grow more human in his eyes? What made it worse was being forced to recognize that he was being selfish and inconsiderate – and actually care about it. He very much did not appreciate being forced to see things from Madara’s point of view.

Chief among the reactions lingering just behind that malleable wall between their conscious minds was the sadness and longing that came from not seeing someone for too long; Madara missed his students, apparently. Tobirama had always assumed that his nemesis took a teaching job because it was easy and secure and it provided living quarters as well. Finding out that he actually liked his job sort of threw half of Tobirama’s impressions of the man out of whack.

Madara was supposed to hate kids so that Tobirama could hate him in return. It was irritating to find out the opposite was true and find himself ever so slightly endeared to a man he’d always disliked.

“No classes,” Tobirama grumbled at last. “But I guess we can get out of here for a little while. Where else do you want to go?”

“Literally anywhere but here. I want to see something other than these walls. We could have lunch with you brother or something, I guess.” Shuffling around, Madara pulled them both off the bed and headed for the bathroom so he could perform his morning ablutions. Tobirama hissed at him.

“One would think you’d gotten tired of him too.”

Madara conceded that point. While neither of them had overly large social circles and they were used to seeing a lot of Hashirama, they were also both used to having other people around occasionally to break up the madness a bit. Seeing anyone else would be a relief after dealing with only him and each other for so long. The only problem was that there really wasn’t anyone else in the castle that either of them were very interested in going to visit.

“What if we went to the library?” Madara asked suddenly. Hand reaching for his toothbrush, Tobirama paused like he’d seen a ray of hope.

“The library?”

“Yeah, it’s perfect. I can put out word that I’m willing to work with any students who need it and you can do your…whatever it is you do with your books. Make love to them with your eyes or something.” He snickered at his own terrible joke.

Rather than reprimand him Tobirama nodded slowly.

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“Wait, seriously? You’re not going to fight me on an idea I came up with? Even a little?” Madara hummed thoughtfully. “Strangely I’m a little disappointed.”

Tobirama snorted and refused to comment. He didn’t want to piss the man off and ruin this chance to go visit his favorite place in the whole world. Whatever other problems existed in his life they always had a way of not mattering as soon as he stepped in to that glorious haven, the home of all knowledge, books as far as the eye can see and all of them patiently waiting for his attention. Maybe the day hadn’t started off as well as he’d thought but it was certainly looking up now.

[something-fanfiction-ie]

The Confession

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: Hmm, you feel betrayed.

A/N: So, this came out a lot fast than Daughters To Wed because I was writing it in my head last night at work. Plus I dreamt about it so it’s out first. I’ve included a few Kissing Booth and To All the Boys references so if you don’t get them, I’m sorry. Although, I hope you get some of them??? Anyways, here is part two to The Contract. I hope you all enjoy! Thank you for the comments and everything, they fill me with absolute joy. Keep it up! ♥️

| The Contract |

___

The whole house was quiet as you laid in bed. You were spread spread eagle across your mattress, staring at the ceiling and tracing patterns that weren’t really there with your eyes. 

A glance at the clock confirmed that you should most definitely be asleep, but to fall asleep, your brain would have to stop. Your brain would only stop if you’d had a much more normal day. Normal days consisted of school, Harry, a glance or two at Tom, dinner (sometimes with the Hollands, sometimes with your own family), homework, and then sleep.

Normal days did not consist of an agreement to fake a relationship with your best friend’s older brother to help him get his girlfriend back. Especially when you only agreed to fake date him because you’ve had a crush on him since you suggested that he be the daddy and you be the mommy while playing house at the ripe old ages of five and eight. 

Of course, the answer had been a firm, “No,” followed by the more popular suggestion of tag. You had been the only one to disagree.

You sat up in your bed, ditching the trip down memory lane so that you could glare at the picture of you and Harry sitting on your nightstand. In the picture, you’re both nine years old and wearing bathing suits. Both of you are drenched to the bone, framed by the evening lake sun, and missing teeth that you helped each other pull out just days prior to the summer holiday.

“Traitor.” You hiss at the ten year old Harry, narrowing your eyes before flopping back onto your back.

The moment Tom left the booth to head to his house, you grabbed for your phone and pulled up Harry’s contact information so fast that you should have had Guinness World Record Officials there to record it in history.

EMERGENCY! I NEED YOU NOW!

As an after thought you send,

Be discreet

Harry is in your booth within thirty minutes, assuring you that only Sam knows where he has truly gone to. Because whatever you tell Harry, you also tell Sam. They’re twins and all of the Holland siblings are close anyways. It’s an unspoken rule that, should you ask for Harry’s confidence, you are not including Sam into the group of those who must not be told.

Only one thing could keep Harry from telling Sam what was about to come out of your mouth and you mad sure it was the first thing you did before you said anything else.

“Tom doesn’t know you’re with me?” You whisper, glancing at the people around you.

“Tom- I- Tom? No. (Y/N), what is this about?” He furrows his brows and you make direct eye contact, never breaking your stare as you move your extended pinky to the middle of the table.

“No Sam?” Harry’s eyes widen. Of all the things you’ve told him over the years, this would only be the second time that you have invoked the pinky and excluded Sam from the fold.

The only other time you had used the pinky finger was when you were sixteen and accidentally ran over your neighbor’s cat. He died, you cried, and Harry promised to never tell Sam because Sam had a tendency to pick on you over things you were sensitive about.

Plus, you felt horrible about it. It was somewhat traumatizing. You still dropped to your hands and knees to check for animals under your car before you backed out of any driveway.

“Just you and I.” Harry loops his pinky around yours. He doesn’t let go as you tell him the story, rehashing every detail of your meeting with his brother. You even go so far as to pull your copy of the contract out of your pocket.

You insisted upon making a clean copy for your own possession.

“You’re dating Tom?” He looks up at you from beneath his eyelashes, using his unoccupied hand to hold the paper down. “My brother, Tom.”

“Fake dating.” You pause. “But yes.”

To your surprise, Harry looks deflated after you stress the ‘fake’ in the phrase ‘fake dating.’ He takes a sip of your drink, the one that has been refilled nearly twelve times within the last hour and a half. Poor waitress. You mentally remind yourself to leave her a really good tip for taking up one of her tables for so long to attend to your stupid drama.

“What?”

“I just,” Harry sighs, “I think you guys should actually date.” You purposefully squeeze your pinky around his as tight as you can, glaring.

“Don’t act like you don’t like him that way.” He teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I don’t.” Again with the lies. Harry hums in response, an incredulous look on his face.

Just as you had said to Tom early, this is your best friend in the entire world.

“Love, listen to me. Tom needs someone like you. Tom deserves someone like you. He has been with Elle and has been taking her bullshit for far too long. He’s a good person-“

“He broke my arm.”

“He was an eleven year old boy being annoyed by his eight year old brother and his brother’s best friend. You deserved it at the time, plus Tom has repayed you ten times over ever since.” Harry waits for you to say something else, seeming very pleased when he has sufficiently quieted you.

“I love Tom. I love you. I am glad that you learned something from Elle Evans, keeping Noah from Lee was the worst decision she ever made. Poor life choices. I just wish you had learned something from Lara Jean.” With that, Harry unloops your fingers and stands from his spot.

You stare up at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish stuck on land. He says something about seeing you tomorrow, that he loves you and he’s glad you told him, and then he is gone.

“Traitor.” You his once more, climbing up to the top of your bed and burrowing into the blankets like they could protect you from the world. And for a while they do, you dream of nothing for a few short hours.

Then your brain turns back on.

Peering outside your bedroom window, which has somehow moved upstairs, you see a dark gray Jeep pull onto the curb of your house.

You only have to wonder who it is for a beat of a second before the driver door opens and Tom’s head pops over the roof.

He crosses his arms on the hardtop and flashes you a cocky smile that could explode ovaries all over the globe. Running out of your room, you rocket down the stares, catapulting yourself around the banister and exploding out of the front door with a wave to your dad.

“Good morning, girlfriend.” You can’t help the smile or the butterflies that follow that word from his lips.

“Good morning, Tom.” Except you don’t say Tom. You specifically think the name, can visualize the spelling and everything, but instead the name that you say is, ‘Peter.’

Your steps falter as you look up at him. It’s still Tom. Still the same brown eyes and chestnut curls, the same ears that poke out just a little, and the same misdirection of hair on his left eyebrow.

“Are you alright?” And then everything is different.

You’re under a tree, Tom sitting next to you on the table. He’s wearing a navy sweatshirt with yellow writing. It’s a giant ‘A’ with lacrosse sticks crossing through it, layered with the silhouette of a greyhound. ‘Adler High Lacrosse.’

“Just for like a month or two.” He shrugs, his hands buried deep into the pocket of his hoodie.

“Why?” The words are out of your mouth before you can think them. You sound like a recording being played from a tape.

“Well, I am glad you asked. You see, Elle and I, we kind of broke up and she was always pretty insecure about you so I thought that maybe you would pretend to date me so she would get all jealous and want to get back together with me...?” You don’t know why, but you knew he was going to say that.

Somehow, the moment you asked him for a reason why, you knew it was because of Elle.

“(Y/N)?” It’s like in the movies where the person is staring into space in some sort of daze, seeing one thing, and then when they are pulled back to reality everything is different.

One moment you’re at the picnic table under the tree, and the next you’re on a field. There is a piece of paper in your hand, or more specifically, a letter. The overwhelming feeling is determination, but underneath it, the real you is terrified. The you that isn’t dreaming is pulling at the back of dream you’s shirt and begging the dream you to give her the letter.

“Let me rewrite it! He doesn’t want to read the letter of a thirteen year old. Please!”

“Hey.” Tom calls, standing in front of a goal that he’s just pushed back.

“Hi. I have to tell you something.”

[thewritewolf]

True Sight - Chapter 1

I’ve been too busy to finish the August Fluff Month prompts, with most of my spare writing time being devoted to my main fanfic - True Sight. I don’t like going without posts for too long, so I decided that I’d post the first thousand words of the True Sight chapters. To get us started, I’ll have the first two thousand words up.

If you like it, then I encourage you to read the full chapters on AO3 - I post a new chapter each Friday.

Enjoy!

“Ladybug, look out!”

Marinette didn't have time to look back as the black-clad form of Chat Noir barreled into her. A thrown car sailed over their prone forms, crashing nearby. They scrambled to their feet in preparation of the next attack from the riled up akuma – a tow truck driver who had suffered one too many screaming citizens that day. Now he terrorizes Paris as the Tow-rrible Demolisher!

She made an effort to keep her heavy breathing under control in an attempt to look less exhausted than she felt. The fight had been going on for three hours now and they'd each already had at least four transformations. This needed to end.

“Lucky charm!” Marinette called out once again for the power of creation. She winced. She could hear her voice getting hoarse from all the yelling she had done today - warning Chat Noir, shooing off citizens, calling on her powers; it was all getting taxing. “A wheel lock? How am I supposed to – oh, right.” The lower half of the akuma had taken the form of a tow truck, its hook swinging wildly for more ammunition. What else would she have used it on?

Chat Noir jumped past her. He shouted to the enemy, “I can't believe it. Hawkmoth finally found someone even worse at fighting than him!” The Tow-rrible Demolisher roared in fury as he tracked the feline hero's erratic movements. Whispering thanks, she charged towards the villain, securing the lock onto his front wheel. “He's stuck! Hit him now!” Marinette called out, wrapping her yo-yo around the monstrous enemy and pulling while Chat Noir's extended staff slammed into his side. Just as the Demolisher clattered to the ground, her partner smashed the chains and tossed the tow hook to Marinette, who shattered it in her hands.

“Bye bye, little butterfly.” Soon, the city was set back to normal, but she was no less exhausted. A quick glance at the hunched frame of her black-clad partner confirmed he wasn't feeling too great either. Their fist bump lacked any enthusiasm and they wearily watched reporters funnel out of the safety of nearby buildings. She exchanged a glance with Chat. His eyes darted between her and the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

------------------------------------------------------------

Four hours later they met up for patrol on the Eiffel Tower, having let their kwamis rest before transforming again that day.

“As much as I enjoy the time with you, my lady, these fights are becoming too much.” Chat got straight to the point as he sat down next to her.

Skipping the banter since you're late? She thought to herself. She remembered his (many) complaints about an uncooperative kwami throughout their year of partnership and allowed herself a fleeting smile as she imagined Chat bargaining with a tiny floating kwami to meet with her. It disappeared as she remembered the aches in her muscles from the fight earlier that day.

“I can't argue with that. I don't know how Hawkmoth is doing it, but these akuma have only gotten stronger.” Perhaps he is getting more familiar with his miraculous, just as Chat and I are? Marinette thought back to the last five fights – all in the last week. She was glad for the restoring powers of her miraculous, otherwise Paris might have already been leveled.

“There hasn't been any super-villain tough enough to beat us, but I definitely don't want to rely on my luck in the next fight.” Chat's gaze stayed fixed on a point in the distance, clearly thinking about the numerous close calls that day.

“Don't worry, kitty, I have enough luck for the both of us.” Marinette bumped shoulders with Chat, hoping to break him out of his thoughts. She took stock of their options to meet the challenge ahead of them. Not that there were many, of course. Catching Hawkmoth was ideal, but they weren't any closer to finding him than they were after defeating Stoneheart.

Her thoughts wandered to Master Fu, and the wisdom he had dispensed in the past. Not to mention those abilities he had unlocked. “The potions that Master Fu made us are great and all but if the fights are going to last so long, their powers will wear off way before the akuma is cleansed.”

“If there were magic potions in that book, do you think that he might have found anything else in there? Maybe spells to make us even stronger? Faster? More dashingly handsome? Although, I don't think if you'd be able to resist me at that point.” Chat Noir stopped himself here to flex.

Marinette rolled her eyes, but allowed herself a giggle. She was about to say expecting magic spells to solve their problem was ridiculous, but at this point she wasn't sure. It was certainly worth checking out. Nothing would be lost if they stopped by to ask.

Chat was disappointed when Ladybug pulled away from him and said, “You know, you might be onto something there, chaton. Lets see what Master Fu has to say about all this. Even if he doesn't have any spells, he might have advice for us.”

------------------------------------------------------------

It was the first time they'd both gone to Master Fu's store at the same time, and also the first time they had visited him while transformed. Still, Marinette wouldn't reveal her identity to Chat Noir over something so small.

If Master Fu was surprised at their late night appearance, he did not show it. Instead, he waved them in with a wide smile. He disappeared and a few moments later he returned with hot tea for them. Ladybug and Chat Noir accepted, and sat down at his table. They started to relate the difficulty of their recent fights, often talking over each other in their excitement.

“...an entire city block, wrecked! Thankfully all civilians had fled at that point...”

“Teeth the size of my leg! It took bites out of the cars as if they were a croissant!”

“...I swear I still can't get the smell out of my hair...”

Marinette tilted her head at that last one while Chat continued on with the rest of the villains of the week. Yeah the sewer monster was gross, but he had to be joking. Surely even smells are covered by the restoration wave?

Master Fu absorbed their stories as he put his hand to his beard. “Of course, Hawkmoth's minions have been growing ever more fearsome and monstrous. While you have risen admirably to your heroic roles, it is difficult to prepare for an enemy whose powers – and sudden appearances – are unpredictable. I am glad you came. I have been working hard to find any mysteries still in the book, and I may have discovered something of great importance.”

He walked over to his electronic copy of the book, soon followed by the superhero duo looking over his shoulders. He flicked through the pages till he found one with all seven miraculous surrounding the strange text of the guardians. “I am still struggling with deciphering the ceremonial text describing this spell, but from what I understand it is designed to empower the chosen in times of great need. Fortuitously, it requires the recipients to be present for the casting. Hawkmoth will be excluded.”

He picked up the electronic notepad and carried it into a darkened room, motioning for Ladybug and Chat Noir to follow. Instead of reaching for the light switch, as Marinette expected, he went to light a number of candles arrayed around the room. She heard Chat Noir gasp lightly. Right, he had night vision. As the tiny flames began pushing back the darkness, Marinette could take in the room's decor.

A double-layered circle had been drawn in a silvery powder, with very angular markings, all straight lines and right angles, carved between the two circles. They were just as meaningless to Marinette as the guardian alphabet was, and they were clearly different, but she could see similarities. They were harsher, less elegant. They felt... ancient and rough. Maybe these markings came first? Marinette theorized while waiting.

Master Fu finished by lighting candles at seven focal points in the circle. When he finished, the fires of the candles took on a different color, one for each candle: Red, black, orange, yellow, purple, green, and blue. The entire effect was a hypnotic pattern that drew the eyes toward the circle. Moments passed before Master Fu cleared his throat and asked, “Young ones? Did you hear me?”

The effect was broken. She heard Chat cough nervously as she shook her head to clear her mind. The old man was watching them expectantly. Marinette pointedly cleared her throat before speaking. “No, we were distracted by the ritual circle.” That was a guess on her part – both that Chat was as distracted as she was, and that all this was a part of the spell.

Her guess must have been right, since Chat didn't disagree with her when he responded. “So, what do we have to do? Say the magic words and then we'll be feline stronger than before?” He grinned at his own pun, waiting on Master Fu's confirmation.

Instead, the old Chinese man – who she noticed wore a faint smile at Chat's pun, much to her dismay – shook his head and gestured to the open space in the center of the circle. “Most of the spell is simply getting the runes correct – which, judging based on the colored flames, they are. All that needs to be done is for the chosen who seek the blessing to step in the circle.” He pointed at the inner circle which would be just large enough to hold the both of them. If they stood back to back. “Then I will sound the gong, and the ritual will be complete.” He caught her staring at the small size of the circle. “I'm sorry for the cramped space, Ladybug. Silver powder is unfortunately expensive and my supplies were low.”

She gasped at the implied cost and hurriedly said, “Oh, it’s fine, Master Fu! Chat and I are no strangers to close encounters.” She elbowed the cat with the suggestively waggling eyebrows next to her as Master Fu stepped out of the room. Marinette looked up at Chat Noir, who was rubbing his side, and met his bright green eyes. She saw uncertainty hiding behind his bravado.

“Don't worry, kitty” She cooed, patting his head. “I'm here to protect you from the spooky magic if you're scared.”

This seemed to set him at ease as he retorted, “Oh, don't worry about me, my lady. Black cats and witchcraft go together purrfectly.

“Whenever you are ready, young ones.” They turned back to see Master Fu had returned with a small gong in hand.

They nodded to each other, eyes now set with determination. They stepped into the circle – a tight fit, as expected – only to be startled as all but two of the seven candles went out: The black flame and the red flame. The gong began to sound and the other candles arrayed around the room went out, but their light remained. Small motes of illumination gathered onto the heroes and they shifted their weight nervously.

It feels like I'm being watched, Marinette thought, but the lights are beautiful regardless.

As the motes touched the heroes, they shifted color from the pale white they were originally into red (if touching Ladybug) or black (if they landed on Chat Noir). The room took on an ominous appearance as it was bathed in red light, the echoing of the gong beginning to have the same hypnotic draw from earlier. Once all the motes landed, the two remaining candles were snuffed out. A crescendo was felt somewhere beyond the five senses, and Marinette closed her eyes...

------------------------------------------------------------  

The last echoes of the gong left her mind. She opened her eyes, greeted by the worried face of Master Fu. Behind her, Chat Noir groaned. They had fallen to a sitting position, backs still against each other. She turned her head and said, “Feeling any different, Chat?”

“A bit fuzzy – I certainly wouldn't call myself the cat's meow right now. You?”

“I feel a headache coming on. What went wrong?” This last question was addressed to Master Fu. His downcast expression shifting from concern for his charges into doubt.

“The spell was successful, but nothing seems to be any different for you two. Go home, rest on it. I will look over the ritual again, perhaps there is something that I missed. Perhaps the answer will reveal itself to us, in time.”

They said their goodbyes after putting themselves back together. No sooner had Marinette detransformed back home than she was getting changed. Tikki had already fallen asleep when Marinette collapsed onto her bed, out like a candle the moment she hit the pillow.

------------------------------------------------------------

A darkened shadow appeared from midair a few feet off the ground. If anyone had been nearby they would have heard a metallic clang as the stranger hit the ground kneeling. He gasped, as if emerging from a dive underwater. One knee on the ground, a cloak obscuring his form, the figure rose to his feet and took stock of the area he was in.

Despite glaring at the skies for several minutes, he could not see any stars. While it was clearly night, and the moon was new, the city was illuminated. He stepped out of the alley, eyes widening inside his metal helmet as it took in the sights of Paris at night. He considered his options, adjusting the sword in its sheath at his hip. He remained shrouded in the shadows - he would find a hidden, abandoned place and rest until the sun came up.

Then, he would find the bearers of the cat and ladybug miraculous.

[driftwork]

Ten or Twelve years more or less and a woman in a hat flies from Tokyo to London... (1)

They know little or perhaps even nothing about what they are doing. The research they did not do would horrify them for days and months afterwards.  This  is Seo, leaving meetings, and heading towards the airport, to travel from one continent to another... This is the long month long moment when they completed the becoming major from gangsters to capitalists. She already understands herself, themselves as normal and define every difference from this as divergent from the norm. By the end of these hat stories she will be a normal woman of the state. She already is of course, but at this moment when she is leaving meetings and heading to the airport, to travel across continents,  she doesn’t know this. The transition did not mean that they were any less criminal at the end of the transition than at the beginning.  Everything that happened before this is excluded. At this starting moment  she and the world thought of her only as an upper class woman. An owner. There is no need for a preamble, after months of negotiation, analysis and the establishment of the prototypes. The draft documents are signed. The criminals watched the Chinese get into their car and stood in the doorway as they drove off, out of the drive and along the bay road. The cars headlights fading across the bay, the arc of the road, the shoreline and the cliffs of the nature reserves... She will be spend  a still unknown number of days in London. She is sitting in the plane, she has taken off her hat,  charcoal grey with colourful icons and chevrons.  my first mother said if I wore this hat, I should be certain to get off with the right sort of  man, Well, look where I am now, on a desert island, here I am now leaving Tokyo, my second mother may be causing me to die, wearing this hat... The first class cabin is mostly shades of grey and blue, the surrounds of the seats are beige, Neutral colours that hide the complex machinery from casual view. They fly out of Tokyo and are already cruising northwards. northwards.  Her two companions are already asleep. They are all exhausted after the last few days. She should be, but is living on her nerves.  The woman knows that neither her sister nor the man she lives with have left the locality in which they live for years.  Though she knows more about their everyday activities now than when she had first flown to London to see her, still they remain almost invisible.  The reason why they are visible at all does not  occur to her. This may seem unimportant in this story of a woman travelling from Tokyo to London, accompanied by the only two people she really trusts and loves in the world, but still, since, the purpose of the passage from Tokyo to London is to beg forgiveness and ask for favors it seems important to acknowledge how little she understood of what motivates her sister to stay constrained, imprisoned in one place rather than to vanish. So here we are its a nice day in September,  autumn will be approaching by the time she arrives in London and she is desperately hoping that the winter that follows doesn't end up with a long line of dead people stretching between London and Tokyo. Whilst at this moment the true scale of the disaster she is trying to avert is unknown to her, she will grow to understand this over the next few months.  She will wonder at the hubris of the person she was on the plane, imagining that she and her sister are still related in some way. She is laying in the half light, wishing she could sleep but instead is looking at the pale grey ceiling of the plane, the soft led daylights casting gentle shadows beneath the overhead lockers. The essential hum of machinery at 10,000 metres.  In/on/at the stopover in Frankfurt they will carry out a final check on the European finances, and to brief them  on the project they are about to be involved in.  On the plane they offered her a drink, over the sea flying northwards,  she took a glass of white wine, some water and some fruit juice.  They left the menus with her. She fell asleep somewhere over the coast of Russia and had stress dreams of chairs, flying, falling, horrible felt dresses which recognized as being her sisters, and worst of all being chased though a city, or is that a woods,  the office unfolding before her as she runs. She used to dream of having a child and a partner who stayed at home looking after the child. But these dreams had ended long ago.  Though she had begun to have occasional thoughts of having a child with the man asleep in the adjacent seat. She cannot imagine how anyone could think of them as capable of such things. She is dressed in jeans and a linen jacket over a soft grey tee shirt with multiple folds in the arms and across her chest. When she takes off the jacket to eat later the attendants will not be able to see the single headed dragon tattoo on her body.  The attendants rightly guessed that she and her two travelling companions are "senior business people"  but they mis-assume that the men are more important than the woman. Patriarchal fantasies are omnipresent in this world.  As she began to wake up she was aware that Sik was looking at her, holding her arm.  Are you OK he asked.  I dreamt of having a child again she said. Looking at her tired and stressed face. he said before he could stop himself. <We should, I would like that.> She realized he meant it. They ordered food from the menu,  more liquids to drink.  a peculiarly flavoured Ice cream for dessert. That's disgusting he told the attendant, can I have some more ?  She looked at the agendas for the next days meetings,  at the newspapers that were full of discussions of irrelevant political evasions, and some useful discussion of how to change Bourgeois property law in Japan...  She suddenly remembered that she hadn't brought any presents with her for the children and others. I left them at home she said to them.  I brought some for the children  - and I've brought a couple of birthday presents for Osaka, Sik added.  What did you get her ?  A mint 1923 Shklovsky A Sentimental Journey - first edition., and a 1929 edition...  She sighed,  Yukio said that they were her third memory, but she thought they were her first memory... Well at least something worked out she thought.  Sorry I didn't mean to forget she said to them.  Hours pass.  Yukio and Sik are playing go, she cannot tell who is winning. She reviews the business section and is surprised to see a note about Kwarbarti's property buying.   She wondered what it was that was making her feel more relaxed. She puts her hand on his shoulder,  Are you serious she asks. Yes I am. OK. It makes no difference, night or day, the shadows won't fade away.  Hours pass,  His hand has been resting on her on her body for an hour.  She left it there whilst watching an anodyne  HK action film, her unconscious thinks she would have killed them without speaking. People speak too much in movies whilst they hold guns.  She thought of the videos of Park  running across Tokyo. We should have financed a movie she thought.  The co-pilot announced they would be landing in two hours. and that something or other would be served.  She took her travel bag and went for a shower and a change of  underwear. The plane  eventually  began to descend,  they drank tea.  Talked about the hotel they staying in.  Tomorrow.  Frankfurt, the city and its suburbs  rose up to greet them as they  descended to the airport. They were very easy and quite charming  the attendants said of them. A message arrived during the descent,  There is a chauffeur waiting for you, Ms Seo at the exit.  (I put on my Hat, I button my coat, Life's little duties, precisely, at the very least, were finite to me) The familiar airport didn't look as grey and mechanical  as it usually did. Once she had looked  at pictures of the anonymous rich at global meetings in magazines,  curiously over the decade she no longer cared. The landscape greeted the wheels of the plane.

None of the names, places  and languages in this vignette are accurate. The events, sex and gender however are.

This is Seo leaving the plane, wearing her hat,  carrying hand luggage, going through the emigration desks speaking to them about why they had come. Afterwards collecting collecting the luggage from the conveyor belt and wheeling it through customs. Outside  they found the chauffeur  waiting with a sign that said  (Ms Seo and party.)  The driver took them from the airport to the hotel.  The three of them sat in the rear of the limousine  and discussed what to do in the evening.  They were staying in the Sofitel. It had the usual things that global hotels have,  restaurants, cafes, bars, a pool and gymnasium,  room services, suites, laundry services and shopping services. They had two suites next to one another.  Seo and Sik's  suite was neutral, soft browns and beige, engineered wooden floor over soundproofing and concrete, with  multi-coloured rugs. Yukio's was about the same size but slightly more colourful, a themed suite based around a mixture of Korean and Chinese colours and patterns. The hotel during the week was full of business travelers who always seemed to wanted to go somewhere.  In the evening  the three of them would sit down at the table in the restaurant and drinking, they would discuss  how they should brief the hedge fund people and venture capitalist investors about the project.  A day may not be enough in which case you should stay with them whilst they are doing the evaluation. She said looking at Yukio.  That's... Sik added, if we need to stay in London you should fly back to Tokyo to keep things running. Yukio looked between them.  Are you thinking of running ?  Sik nodded and Seo smiled at him. Only if we must,  the two of us might be able to follow a line of flight and escape the bullets. I know you can't do that Yukio, also at least one of us must survive this, and it should be you. Sik waved the waitress over and ordered three vodka martinis.  Could you not die please, I would miss you.  Yukio said finally, accepting the inevitable.  Eventually, a little drunk, she goes upstairs and puts on the TV, finding an IP channel with South East Asian dramas on with a choice of English or German subtitles. She finds a drama about prosecutors and their corruption and lets it run in the background, the actors are a mixture of pretty young things and serious older ones. She looks at the contraceptives in the bathroom and wonders what to do. Whilst the drama  plays in the background, she checks the weather  for tomorrow which seems to suggest it will be good weather for meetings. When she leaves the hotel she leaves the contraception in the wastebin in the bathroom... [Here the meetings that take place from eight in the morning until six in the evening  are deleted]

They know little or perhaps even nothing about what they are doing...

[hyatoro]

Unsui from eyeshield. For the last few months a girl (or gender neutral person) has been showing up to the team's games and any practices she can get to. But disappears before anyone can talk to her. Everyone assumes she's her for agon, but at the end she admits she admires unsui's hard work. Can I have something for when he realizes the girl that's been watching all the team's games is here for him and not his brother?

I got carried away and it got long. Sorry. Also it’s not proof-read.

Shinryuji Naga never really had open practices, but one time you saw a man with dreadlocks bring two obviously unassociated women into the place. You got curious, especially because it was an all-boys school well known for its American football, and decided to tag along at an unnoticeable distance. (Honestly Agon was just distracted by the two pretty ladies he had by his side.) You followed them to some training grounds and found a bunch of guys working out.

You were instantly taken with Unsui. Maybe it was the air around him, or the way he worked so hard, or even his muscles. Well, no. His muscles were definitely a factor.

And just as you found yourself there you were noticed by the other members.

“Is that a girl?” Everybody whipped their heads around to look, excluding Unsui. “A GIRL?!”

You knew that was your cue to escape and so you did exactly that. Letting out a small ‘eep!’ you bolted. You were too far from them and the school had too many rooms for them to search, which aided in your escape.

This pattern of showing up during their practices went on for about a month before you slipped up, getting too comfortable and too close to their training grounds. You tried to run, but one member that had been getting water stopped you before you could get far. They led you to a seat on the side bench as they waited for the rest of the team to come closer. Unsui was the only one that continued with his training.

“So this is the girl that’s been spying on our practices?” Sendoda, their coach said. You were quick to pick up their names.

“S-Spying? No, I’m just a curious bystander!”

“Bystander? Are you sure you’re not spying for another school? Not that’d matter,” he said.

“No! I just got curious about what goes on behind the scenes in Kanto’s best American football school!”

“Wait a second! She might be here for someone!” Yamabushi pointed out, although it was with a hint of gloom cause he knew even if you were, it wasn’t for him.

The light blush that bloomed on your cheeks exposed you.

“Wait another second, she is!” Ikkyu yelled, pointing at the color on your face, although it would match his own. “Oh, sorry!” he quickly apologized for pointing a finger at a lady and put his hand down.

The team broke out into guesses as to who you were here for while you sat there with your face in your hands, hunched over your knees.

“It’s probably Agon,” Ikkyu said. The rest of the team nodded in agreement.

The coach was pretty entertained as well since he asked, “Well is it?”

You sat back up straight and shook your head.

“Well who is it?” Yamabushi asked.

The heat came back to your face instantly as you pointed to Unsui, who just stopped training to see what was going on, the other hand covering half of your face.

The whole team bursted in unison.

“YOU’RE HERE FOR UNSUI(ME)?!”

The boys immediately started complaining to him.

“Why is such a pretty girl here for you?”

“Where did you meet her you sly dog? I thought your head was stuck in training and American football!”

“Why are girls not coming for me?”

“It’s cause you look like an old man, Yamabushi-senpai!”

“Shut up! Like you’re one to talk!”

“Unsui how’d you get a cute girl?”

Within all the commotion you slipped away from them, not noticing that Unsui had tagged along as well.

Once you were back outside you slowed and took a quick glance back, only to find Unsui close on your tail. Too flustered to run anymore you just stood there as he approached.

The two of you stood in front of each other without words for a solid minute before Unsui spoke.

“U-Um… Can I ask why you were watching me specifically?”

Well. There was no going back at this point. What’s the worst what could happen? You embarrass yourself in front of a guy you’ll probably hardly see on the streets?

“I admire you and your hard work. I mean, the first time I snuck in was because I wanted to know what an all-boys school was like, then I caught a glimpse of the team training. But more importantly, I saw you.” Your hand was rubbing the back of your neck as you slowly told your story. “I guess I was kind of drawn to you?”

Unsui couldn’t help but blush. “O-Oh…” He may have been one of the more sensible ones, but he obviously didn’t have as much experience talking to girls as his younger twin.

“Can I a-ask for your name?”

You blinked a few times before meeting his gaze. “Y-Yeah, it’s [Name]. And uh… Sorry about interrupting your practice.”

He smiled at that. “Don’t worry about it. If they lose their focus over some random girl then they need more work anyway. Wait! Not that you’re ‘some random girl’, just that you know it’s an all-boys school so they’re not used to- and well- I mean-”

You chuckled at his attempt to save himself and told him to take it easy. “It’s okay. I wasn’t offended at all. And I don’t know when the best time to ask this is, but Kongo-san-”

“Ah- Just call me Unsui. It’ll be easier to tell apart from my brother.” Is what he says, but his racing heart said that he just wanted to hear her say his name.

“U-U-Unsui-san.”

“Yes?”

“Can I have your number?” you whispered, face hiding behind the phone you just pulled out.

In his seventeen years of living he had never gotten so red in the face. The dumbfounded look on his face was nothing compared to the chaos raging in his mind and the sporadic rhythms his heart was beating to.

“Y-Y-YES!” he shouted, only to realize he was too loud. “I-I mean yes you can have my number.”

While he fumbled with your phone to punch in and quintuple check that his number was right, you indulged yourself to observing his face at a much closer distance than what you were used to for the past month. God, he was so cute.

[type-a-nomad]

ah, to be young.  Alternative Title: sometimes I’m a little crazy but only when there are no consequences whatsoever.

It’s March 23 and I don’t understand how the world is turning so fast that the days are just spinning by.  The thing that’s really drawing my attention to the days passing is that Tim is leaving very soon.  For me, he is kind of the person that sets the energy for this place.  He has been here longer than almost anyone and it shows.  He works as a kind of center for people.  A role model.  An example of the kind of person who volunteers at SAVE.  He was supposed to leave in a couple weeks, but things changed a bit and he decided to leave early to go visit friends in Germany on his way home.  It’s going to be a very sad goodbye, especially because the end of his stay here came as a bit of a surprise.   In terms of interesting things that have happened in the last few days, there haven't been that many.  We have had a lot of issues here with protests and riots in the townships that shut down our projects because it’s either too dangerous for us to be there or too dangerous to get the kids in and out.  It means I’ve had a lot of free time because project has been cancelled for two days already and could possibly be continued next week if the pattern of rioting continues.  Generally, what happens is there is a protest because of lack of resources and lack of understanding between the government and the people in the township.  Then, during the riots, people drink a lot.  The next day everyone is still drunk and the destruction continues.  The following day there are no protests, but the day after people start drinking again and the whole thing repeats itself.

One thing I’m very tired of here is drama and gossip. I’m in house 22 and it is getting so bad and generally stressful for me that I want to ask to be moved just so i don't have to think about that energy anymore.  The current issue has to do with Danni (again).  Basically, she was drunk on a beach and got in a fight with another drunk girl who went and told Robyn and Shannon that she feels threatened and now it’s a whole drama and Danni wants to leave the program and is a perpetually dangerous move.  She’s honestly a bully and it scares me to deal with her because she has no problem being mean to people.   Usually, bullies root their anger in their own insecurities and lash out at people because it makes them feel better about themselves.  Danni isn't this way.  She’s confident and sure of herself and doesn’t attack people for no reason, she just is amazingly aggressive if you push her buttons.  And, she has a lot of buttons.  She has very long toes, they’re easy to step on.  I’m scared of her, especially because a lot of my friends live in Dunbar and she has been obviously irritated and cold to me since I’ve been hanging out with her “group” less and less.  I have no problem standing up for other people’s rights and morals, but when it comes to person situations for me, I avoid confrontation at all costs.  Confrontation stresses me out and, even if the person in question doesn’t actually matter to me in any other situation, my brain has a real problem with thinking that people are upset with me.  I am tired of this feeling like middle school and I have an entire 3 weeks left, so I am just going to walk over to reception and say my problem and hopefully they transfer me (fingers crossed super hard). The people I actually like are at Dunbar anyways.  The only downside to Dunbar is that the wifi is horrible, but who cares.  I didn't come to Africa for good wifi.   Excluding that negative energy, I had a really really nice weekend.  I spent most of my time eating and dancing.  On Friday, I went to Big Bay and sat around on the beach with a smoothie with my friends.  The water was absolutely freezing and I loved it.  That night, we went out dancing and I had a fantastic time.  One thing I notice whenever I’m in public and music is playing is how obnoxiously bad pop music has become.  On one hand, there’s a brilliance to it.  People have found a formula that you can follow perfectly and get your song on the radio.  Further, they’re figured out that people don’t mind if all of your songs sound the same and only have about 20 repeating lyrics in them.  On the other hand, I have to listen to the shît these people are making and it drives me crazy.  The pop music industry rakes in millions of dollars a year.  There are actually talented artists that this money could be going to who give a shît about their composition and hooks and time signature and have actually done their research and turned on their brain before stepping up to a microphone.  In my eyes, it’s incredibly insulting that people listen to Selena Gomez or over people who make their own beats and have original thoughts that they then turn into music that actually sounds good and complex, even if you don’t understand the lyrics (e.g. Shoos Off, Kyle Bent, the Roots, Bleachers, Soccer Mommy, Mos Def, Samuel Larson, M.I.A, Abhi the Nomad, BROCKHAMPTON, just to name a few).  That being said, I can dance to anything that remotely resembles “music” if I really want to.  After we all got back, I sat with my friend Lucy in the kitchen drinking tea until 5am.  I felt like such a *youth*. We talked about life and why we came to South Africa.   I think I came here to travel and do good, but mainly to isolate myself from the familiar.  I wanted to see if I could find calm within myself and balance that with the ambition I already access easily.  It’s easy to feel calm and satisfied with where you are and stay there.  It’s hard to stay calm while still learning and improving.  That was the goal.  I think, with every day that passes, I get closer to realizing that goal.  I am becoming more sure of myself and my capabilities.  Further, my values are clarifying.  I am passionate about fighting for people who are in situations that make it very hard for them to have a voice.  That is to say, if you are poor African-American in Oakland, being an activist and arguing with people about causes like Black Lives Matter is most likely not the first on your list of priorities.  Safety and security are first.  If you feel like even law enforcement is a threat to you, why the hell would you have time to try and improve that situation— you’re just looking to survive it.  I think it’s too much to ask those people who are focusing on survival to try and make their general situation better on top of fighting their personal battle, whether emotional or physical, every day.  There are incredible people out there who are doing both, and that blows my mind.  Moreover, because I don’t have to go through a situation with that intensity, I think there is a certain responsibility that comes with, entirely by chance, being born into a situation as comfortable as mine.  That responsibility is to fight for and help those who were, entirely by chance, born into a less comfortable situation.   I will fight tooth and nail for those people.  I feel deeply that it’s my duty, because my own shît is generally taken care of.  I get to go to University and study something I love.  I feel comfortable calling 911 for help.  I get to marry somebody I love without worrying about the legal and social consequences.  I can kiss my boyfriend in public without others being offended and grossed out by my display of affection.  I don’t have to think about my race and how it affects my life.  I can open my fridge and choose something I want to eat from multiple options of food.   This brings me to another point: the privilege of diversity.  Until I started living alone, I didn't realize how luxurious variety is.  To have enough wiggle room in your life that you can do different things every weekend or night.  To have enough wiggle room in your bank account that you can buy two different kinds of bread and cereals at the supermarket without worrying about wasting food I can’t afford to.  When I live on my own, I eat the same thing for breakfast every day.  When I go back home to Berkeley, I get to choose whether I want granola or Honey Nut Cheerios, and that blows my mind.  When I go back home, Honey Nut Cheerios encapsulate luxury for me, and that’s not something I will ever fail to appreciate ever again.   On Saturday, I was functioning on 3 hours of sleep and my body went into full survival mode.  It was brilliant because I felt 100% fine, sort of how people who are about to die supposedly feel right after a car crash.  Like I had a pole shoved through my abdomen, but was walking around and saying that everything is peachy keen, because it felt that way.  I was invited by my new friends Leis and Tanya (both super cool girls who live at Dunbar, unfortunately Leis leaves at the end of the week) to go to the Old Biscuit Mill.  Because I felt totally fine, I pulled on some clothes and went.  I had the best steak sandwich of my entire life and it was fantastic.  Even though it was 11am and I had gotten no sleep, I still got my favorite watermelon mojito.  To justify this to myself I kept in mind that they put very little alcohol in it, it’s my favorite drink in the whole world, and it’s only sold on Saturdays (when the Mill is open) in Cape Town, South Africa.  Might as well capitalize on the opportunity.  After a few hours the other girls were super tired, even though I felt great, we decided it was time to go home.  Before we called the uber to go back, I asked if we could stop in this artsy jewelry shop that looked really cool.  When we were poking around in the store, we noticed they did piercings there.  I asked if I could get some new piercings, but the woman who was working at the register said she needed to get her boss to com in for that and that would take at least an hour and a half.  Now that I was in the piercing mindset, I turned to my friends and told them about a piercing studio in the city center that I had heard about.  For some reason, this really appealed to a group of absolutely exhausted 20-year-old women.  We got into the uber and went straight there.  

Today, was Sunday.  I hiked a mountain up to a cave on the other side of Table Mountain called Elephant’s Eye.  It overlooks the Cape Flats, which is gang land and the crime and murder rates are off of the charts.   It was absolutely gorgeous.  The walk up and down were a bit treacherous because it is way less popular than other tourist-y hiking spots, so it’s not as well groomed and the rocks have sand everywhere around them so everything is very slippery.  After the hike, I went into Muizenberg, which is like the cool surfer cousin in the family of the Cape Flats.  I had an amazing burger with lots of cheese on it, fries, and a chai latte.  After I had fully started my food coma, I took an uber home and started writing exactly what you’re reading now.  For dinner, I went over to Dunbar to get takeout with my friends because I’m super exhausted from the bad vibes in house 22.  It’s to the point where I genuinely don’t want Danni to be in the room when I get home.  

While I was hanging out at Dunbar, Tim turned to me and said “I have some bad news”.  Immediately I panicked, because the last time he had “bad news” he told me he was leaving over a month earlier than expected.  Also, whenever there is “bad news”, I get a feeling that I’m about to get in trouble.  I get kinda nervous and say “alright what’s up”, and then he has the NERVE to say “I’ll tell you later”.  I’m sorry EXCUSE ME?? Why the hell would you tell me that I don’t get to hear bad news NOW.  I was irritated to say the least.  I might do yoga, but patience still is not a particularly strong aspect of my personality.  When he finally tells me, it turns out he was messing with me the entire time.  The news was that he extended his flight and is now leaving on April 9th (my baby sister’s birthday!!!!).  This was the best thing that I had heard all day and I did a happy dance for several minutes.  Things are getting complex here, but I think that’s natural when you start living somewhere— the more you engage the more details and complicated things get.  I can handle it.

things I need to work on:

not eating so poorly ALL THE TIME.  I really need to teach myself that ramen and grilled cheese is not sufficient for breakfast and lunch. learn more kids’ names. plan a road trip get back to doing yoga every morning and just getting more exercise in general.

things i’ve been doing well:

enjoying life here going to the beach lots creating space in my mind. planning for university and this summer when I have time

- Q

[lemonadetyler]

Couldn’t Wait (Tyler x Reader)

- Smut

- High school student oneshot type thing idk

- Happy sinning :)

“I want to go home,” you tell your best friend.

“It’s the first day. We literally have gone to two periods,” she replies.

“I don’t care. I’m a senior and I’m ready to graduate and get out of Columbus,”

“And be with Tyler?” she smirks at you.

“Hey! Keep your voice down, no one is supposed to know about our relationship,” you whisper.

“It’s okay, no one heard. When was the last time you saw him?” she asks.

“He came back two months ago when they had a two-week break. He should be flying in tomorrow now that the tour’s done,” you explain.

“What’s going to happen to you two once high school is over?” she asks.

“Hopefully, we can tell the world about us and stop sneaking around Columbus,” you say as the bell rings.

“Shit. I got to go but I’ll see you at lunch.” she tells you before rushing off.

It’s hard to take being away from Tyler for so long. You wouldn’t have even met with if you never snuck into the bar. He didn’t know you were 17 when you met. You fell in love and now you’re paying the price.

You walk into your third-period music class and take the seat you had sat in for all your previous years of high school. The teacher, Mr. Barcodi, was practically family after all the time you had spent in his class. During your rough patches, you were eating lunch in his room. He was someone you would actually miss once your final year comes to an end. Mr. Barcodi walks out of his office and begins to speak, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Okay! I see lots of familiar faces! I’m excited for this year a lot and we’re going to be doing some amazing stuff,” Mr. Barcodi finishes.

“I thought to get everyone ready for the year we could have a great start to the year so I really lucked out and pulled some strings to get us an amazing guest speaker,” Mr. Barcodi finishes but it was too late, he lost you. Tyler Joseph, in the flesh, is walking out of Mr. Barcodi’s office and to the front of the room, joining Mr. Barcodi.

“Tyler, would you like to take it from here?”

“Yeah, so I just came to talk about music and all that jazz,” Tyler begins as he glances around the room.

“It’s really more than just the notes you guys see on the page. Music can do something to you,” Tyler says as he meets your gaze and smiles before breaking it, causing you to blush.

You aren’t sure what Tyler said. You’re too dazed by the fact that he’s really here to pay attention and register what he’s saying.

“You okay?” Mr. Barcodi asks you, hand on your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry Mr. B.,” you answer.

“I really wanted to give you a chance to talk to Tyler. I know you like Twenty One Pilots and really think you all could have some important discussions. You are my star student after all,” he smiles at you.

“I’d love to!” You reply, maybe a bit too eager.

“Why don’t you two go into a practice room for the last twenty minutes of class while I pass out papers. Soak up every minute of it,” he directs you and all you can do is return a nod in response.

Mr. Barcodi walks over and speaks with Tyler before Tyler walks over to you and follows you to a practice room down a hallway that connects all the music rooms to each other.

Tyler shuts the door behind you to signal that the practice room is in use and that’s it. You can’t take it anymore. You connect your lips in a steamy kiss before he quickly pulls away.

“I missed you so much but are there cameras in here?” Tyler asks you.

“None,” you reply and Tyler is back on you. He runs his hands through your hair and slowly moves his tongue to trace patterns on yours.

“Stop leaving me for so long,” you mumble when you both pull away for a breath.

“Come with me on tour,” he replies before gently placing his lips back on yours. His hands are working their way to your face and he’s trailing kisses down your face, not leaving a single part of you untouched. He pulls your hair to the other side of your face, leaving your neck exposed and begins to work his magic, nibbling on the special spot you love.

“Tyler,” you say as a moan escapes your lips.

“We can’t do this right now,” you finish but he isn’t budging.

“Tyler, seriously. Why are you ever here?” you speak sternly, pulling away.

“Glad you’re excited to see me,” he replies.

“You know what I meant,” you say.

“I might have run into your teacher and got recognized at the airport and might have thought it’d be a great way to surpise you,” he grins.

“Ty, that’s adorable, but we cannot do this right now,” you tell him.

“Babe, do you hear that? There’s instruments coming from all directions. We’re behind three doors to any classroom and this door is locked with no windows. No one is going to hear us,” he tells you.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.

“Come on, let me make you feel good,” he pleads and you give in, throwing your arms back around him.

“There’s my girl. I missed this,” he smiles and grazes his teeth back over your neck. He keeps kissing and sucking on your neck, surely leaving bruises, as he works his way down to your collarbone. His hands are moving your t-shirt to allow better access to you but soon he is just tugging it over your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers as he slides the straps of your bra off your shoulders. Kisses are being flooded on your breasts, but he has yet to tug on your nipples like you love and it’s driving you crazy. He bites down on one of your breasts, leaving a marking for sure, and you cry out.

“Tyler, I can’t take this. We have to stop before I lose it,” you beg.

“We don’t have to stop,” he tells you but you cut him off.

“Tyler,” you sigh. You want him but this is so risky.

“Give me two minutes and I’ll change your mind,” he says and before you can answer he has you picked up and slammed against a wall with your hands pinned above your head.

He slides your bra down a bit and pulls out your breasts, cupping them with hands and even squeezing them a bit.

“I missed these perfect titties,” he tells you as he begins to suck on your nipple, teasing you with his teeth. He sucks your nipples raw until they are engorged and you can’t take it anymore. He lightly bites down, forcing you to moan out and crumble beneath him. He holds you up, keeping you in place as he ever - so - lightly moves his hips against you, lighting a fire in you.

“Stop teasing,” you huff out.

“Anything for my princess,” he replied and picks you up, laying you down across 2 desks that had been placed in the room. He yanks your jeans off and delicately pulls down your underwear to reveal your dripping core.

“Are you this wet for me?” Tyler asks you once he has lowered his head to you and all you can do is nod your head us with his hot breathing on your clit.

He kisses all around your thighs, causing goosebumps to appear all down your legs. As he moves his way up your legs, closer and closer to your bikini line, you squirm under his touch, trying to get closer to him.

“Patience, babygirl,” he tells you as he kisses your stomach and all around the inside of your bikini line. Slowly, he leaves a trail of kisses down your pussy, intentionally excluding your clit. He inserts his tongue into you and begins to work on you before pulling out to replace his tongue with his finger.

“You like that? When I finger fuck you?” he asks you.

“I love it,” you breathe out to him in between your moans.

He traces his tongue all down your pussy before swiping it over your sweet spot.

“More, Tyler. That feel’s so good,” you beg. Tyler proceeds to eat you out and with one sharp jab of his tongue, you’re nearly at your climax.

“Don’t stop,” you yell and reach down to pull his head closer to your pussy, trying as hard as you can to get as close to him as you can. Tyler is licking your pussy and you’re shaking under his touch. He sucks on your clit until you can’t breathe. You rock your hips back and forth, aching for your release.

“Ty,” you moan.

“Let me come,” you demand and Tyler begins to flick his tongue back and forth on your clit, pushing you over the edge. You buck your hips up and squeeze your thighs around Tyler’s head. You ride out your wave, moaning your boyfriend’s name the entire time.

Tyler releases his grip on you and tugs his clothes off as you catch your breath, still lying on the desks. When he comes back to you, you reach out for his cock but he grabs your hand and stops you short.

“This is about you,” he tells you. Tyler grabs hold of your hips and pulls you to the edge of the desks. Kissing all over your stomach before he spreads your legs to give him access to your needy pussy. Tyler places his cock right on your entrance and glides it up and down, driving you insane, making you wetter and wetter as time goes on.

“Ready?” He asks you.

“Please,” you respond and he wastes no time before slowly pushing into you. You conform to his size and shiver once he gets all the way inside of you. He begins to move back and forth at an achingly slow pace. The only noises in the room are your whimpers and the sound of his cock gliding in and out of your dripping pussy.

“Come on, Ty. Don’t hold back,” you tell him and he responds by adjusting and forcibly pushing into you. Back and forth, your bodies clap together.

“H-harder, Ty,” you choke out and Tyler begins to slam into you. You remove one of his hands from your hips and place it on your tit, letting him tweak your nipples as he fucks you. After a few moments of pulling on your nipples, he moves his hand to your clit and begins to rub fast circles into you.

“Right there!” You scream as he plunges into you and his hand brings you close.

“Fuck, babygirl,” Tyler hisses as he bites his lip, staring down at you while he owns you.

“I’m almost there,” he tells you and after he forces himself into you one more time he spills his load into you.

“Come for me, baby,” he tells you and with his words your orgasm releases.

“Tyler!” you moan as you come, crumbling beneath him as he continues to pump into you. With every movement he makes, lightning explodes within you, leaving you in ecstasy.

Once done catching your breath, Tyler picks you up and has you wrap your legs around his waist. He plants a big, sloppy kiss on you with his reddened lips.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, Ty.”

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

After a crowded and lengthy contest for the Democratic presidential nomination, the party fell in line on Super Tuesday, effectively choosing Joe Biden as the best nominee for the 2020 election. But it would be a stretch to conclude that he was the best competitor in that contest.

His debate performances in 2019 and early 2020 were uneven and punctuated with awkward gaffes. He changed stances on some high-profile issues. And he’s never been a particularly distinguished public speaker or fundraiser. Also, unlike other candidates, such as Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren and Pete Buttigieg, Biden lacked a passionate following.

So how did he end up defeating everyone else?

If we want to understand how Biden won the nomination, we first need to understand the Democratic Party in the aftermath of the 2016 election. Biden won the 2020 nomination, arguably, because of the way Democrats interpreted Hillary Clinton’s loss four years ago.

As detailed in my upcoming book, “Learning from Loss: The Democrats 2016-2020,” one of the most consistent and consequential lessons from my conversations with Democratic activists, Democratic National Committee members, officeholders, and other party insiders, was a post-election narrative that blamed Clinton’s loss on her use of “identity politics.”

That’s obviously a loaded term, but I am using it to refer to Clinton’s outreach to women, people of color, the LGBTQIA community, and other marginalized groups during her 2016 campaign. According to many think pieces published shortly after the election, this is why Clinton lost. The argument went that by talking about race and identity bluntly, Clinton excluded working-class white people from a party they’d previously embraced. In turn, they responded by voting for a candidate who was very explicitly courting them: Donald Trump.

Of course, “identity politics” wasn’t the only explanation for the surprisingly close results of the 2016 election. A number of other theories propagated too, including that Clinton campaigned poorly or in the wrong places, that the party’s messaging was deficient, and that Russia and other outside actors tipped the scales for Trump. “She should’ve gone to Wisconsin,” “Bernie would’ve won,” etc., were all common post-election refrains. These sorts of narratives are common when a party loses, and, in many ways, are ultimately healthy in helping a party decide how to move forward from loss.

An important caveat to these explanations, however, is that they often aren’t based on very much hard data. That is, just because a candidate had a certain message and lost doesn’t mean that the candidate lost because of that message. In fact, we know that most campaign decisions have pretty modest effects, if any, on actual voting outcomes.

Politicians and parties still crave these narratives, though, especially when they lose. Winning, explains political scientist Marjorie Hershey, has a “fairly blunt, conservatizing effect on campaigners.” As long as they’re winning, they’re going to assume that whatever they’re doing is right, and they’ll continue to do it. Conversely, Hershey argues, those who lose an election will be very open to making changes the next time around, figuring that at least one of the actions they took last time was responsible for their loss.

To understand how these explanations of the 2016 election sat with Democratic Party insiders, I spoke with 65 Democratic activists — including party leaders and staff, campaign workers and donors — in Iowa, New Hampshire, Nevada, South Carolina and Washington, D.C. on a regular basis.1 And over the course of these conversations, a pattern emerged: Nearly a third of the party activists I spoke with cited “identity politics” as one reason for Clinton’s loss.2

Now, this doesn’t mean this was the only explanation they gave. In fact, more activists said that the campaign messaging and strategy were defective, or that Clinton herself was to blame. A separate study I conducted of newspaper coverage in the wake of the 2016 election found that about a third of news stories and op-eds argued that Clinton lost because of her focus on identity politics.

This is significant because post-election narratives are one way a losing party can reassess its strategy. If a party believes, for instance, that Clinton lost because she was a bad candidate or because her campaign was flawed, it can pick a different candidate or improve its campaign tactics without needing to dramatically rethink what the party stands for. But believing Clinton lost because of identity politics is a much harder pill to swallow. Namely, because accepting that means undermining something many Democrats believe in — the importance of promoting diversity and enhancing the power of underrepresented groups.

There’s a long history of this narrative being used to explain loss within the modern Democratic Party, too. Pretty much any time it has lost at the presidential level, a substantial segment of the party is quick to blame its focus on diversity, and, in turn, urges the party to refocus on working-class white voters, who have been part of the Democratic coalition since the New Deal. After Walter Mondale’s loss to Ronald Reagan in 1984, for example, Tennessee’s Democratic Party chair said, “The perception is that we are the party that can’t say no, that caters to special interests and that does not have the interests of the middle class at heart.” A national Democratic leader complained about the emphasis the party placed on Black voters, lamenting that “White Protestant male Democrats are an endangered species.” The post-2016 environment was no exception, with Democratic leaders warning the party not to abandon the white working class.

Even the Democratic activists and insiders I spoke with who strongly support the party’s historical role in advancing underrepresented groups emerged from the 2016 election frightened and confused by its results. As one New Hampshire activist — a lifelong feminist — told me in early 2017, “Based on what happened with Hillary, I think we now need to nominate a man.” She added, “[Former President] Barack Obama is an incredibly strong man. He can’t do what he did and not be a strong man. But he didn’t project raging masculinity, and I think you kind of have to do that [to go up against Trump]. I hate to say that … I’m gonna get kicked out of the women’s club.”

Biden, then, was in many ways a logical choice for a party in this condition.

Surveys among Democratic voters and activists repeatedly showed that, even when they didn’t see Biden as their top candidate, they saw him as the most electable, and overall, they prioritized electability to a far greater degree than they had in recent elections.

Biden was also, in some ways, a relatively easy choice for party insiders — he was broadly popular among the party’s voters, performed well in general election matchup polls, was closely tied to the Obama administration as its former VP, and was one of the only candidates who received widespread support from Black voters. But, at the end of the day, Biden also represented a safe choice for a party that had tried something new in 2016 and, in the eyes of many, had been punished for it.

[leycaria-blog]

Lloyd of the Dance

IT’S CHRIIIIIIIIIIIISTMAAAS! Like hell it is. Personally, I think there should a blanket ban on all Christmas products and advertising until the first of December. Anyone caught violating it would be suspended upside down in a chimney until Christmas Day as penance. Of course I’m excluding advent calendars, but I think of them as advent products rather than Christmas products, and banning them until December makes them very difficult to use properly. Regardless, I think I’ve made the point that I maintain a steadfast attitude of Bah Humbug until the twenty-fifth is actually in sight, so you can imagine my outrage as the Christmas adverts started coming out of the woodwork.

I’ll start with a bizarre and disgusting advert that, to be honest, has nothing to do with Christmas. Yesterday I had the misfortune of watching Oasis’ new advert for a product they aren’t selling. They’re following on from that bizarre and disgusting thing a couple of years ago where an advert had two pretend strangers kiss for the first time in front of a video camera. I can’t even remember what it was advertising, but the clinical aura and the sense of unease it imbued in the viewer was difficult to forget, and in a bid not to be forgotten Oasis has gone for the same thing. Two strangers are asked to drink from a single Oasis bottle with a cap at both ends, one which isn’t even a real product. Surprisingly enough, this results in hesitant scenes, mostly culminating in both gagging and spraying a mixture of saliva and Oasis juice drink all over the room and each other. Unpleasant doesn’t quite cover it. I don’t even know what it was trying to say, that Oasis is so good you’ll be willing to ingest someone else’s putrid, curry flavoured mouth gunk just for a sip? I’ve no idea who though this advert might have been a good idea, because it really isn’t. I’ve never really tried Oasis, and I’m certainly not going to now that I’ve permanently associated it with the image of two people spitting on each other.

Of course, the Oasis advert is just trying to tie in to the current fashion in advertising, that of seeming friendly and promoting social unity or whatever. In theory, I don’t have a problem with people trying to bring a little more love and understanding into the world, but when the message is being put across by a multinational cooperation I start to lose my faith in whether it’s actually genuine. While the advert remains disgusting, I get the principle of bringing people together. However, when this is being said by Coca-Cola, who on a fundamental level couldn’t care less about togetherness provided people keep buying their cans of liquid sugar, my natural cynicism kicks in and I start seeing such adverts as little more than an attempt to sell more drinks by associating them with something that people want at that moment in time, which is all an advert really is, if you think about it. Usually I wouldn’t care, like when they use Star Wars to advertise toothbrushes or whatever Star Wars is advertising at the moment, but I do think that the world could stand to be a little more united so the thought of massive companies pretending to care just to make themselves even richer genuinely angers me.

In my eyes, banks are the worst offenders. I’m aware that I’ve had this little rant before, but I was out of ideas for this week so I’m doing it again. The bloody Lloyds adverts have been around for a while now, with their new slogan, ‘By your side’, which makes me want to wretch. I mean, they’re all crap, but the mental health one angers me so much I try to avoid it whenever I can. It’s a good advert. It makes an excellent point about mental health and recognising it, which I suppose isn’t surprising when you consider that it was made with Mental Health UK. If this was just an advert promoting mental health awareness I would fully support its broadcast, but I just can’t for the simple principle that it was made by a BANK. Banks are not ‘by your side’. Banks are the wretched monoliths which tower above capitalism like volcanoes, just waiting to burst and pour rock and fire down on the poor people below. Banks are businesses. They can dress themselves anyway they want, put silly hats on or wrap themselves in sheep’s wool but the fact remains, they don’t care about you. They don’t care about your family, your health or your mental health. It makes no difference to them whether you live or die or are sold into slavery providing you keep giving them money. I’m well aware that there’s probably a significant number of people in the UK suffering from mental health problems because of Lloyds’ bringing them to financial or physical ruin. They don’t care about people, they care about profit, so pretending to have such noble goal doesn’t endear them to me, it just drives my ire as they profane something so worthy of respect. I suppose the slogan isn’t too inaccurate after all. If you sign any contract with Lloyds, they will be by your side for life. They’ll follow wherever you go, keeping to the shadows and just biding their time, waiting until either the world destroys you or they do so they can siphon off whatever’s left of your life as profit. By your side indeed.

All right, now you know quite how angry I am at the moment, let’s finally hit Christmas. John Lewis! Ever since that incredibly trite advert a few years ago with the boy and the baked beans the world has been watching your Christmas advert, and they’ve been going downhill from what wasn’t a high summit in the first place. This year they decided to cut all ties and do nothing to do with Christmas or John Lewis, instead showing a two minute trailer for an upcoming Elton John biopic. The implication is that if you buy something like a piano from John Lewis for Christmas, the recipient may then metamorphose into Elton John. It’s completely ludicrous. John Lewis only started selling pianos this year, just to get their advert to make sense. You get the feeling that they booked Elton John for the job then just sat back and watched a Flog It marathon. “Ought we try to write something for this year’s Christmas advert?”                                         “Nah. We’ve got Elton John.” I find it hard to believe that the planning of the advert went any other way. It’s a film about Elton John. That’s it. They end with the tagline – ‘Some gifts are more than just gifts’, which is true, but ignores the fact that 99.99% of gifts are. They certainly are if they come from John Lewis, they even have a section of their website labelled ‘Gifts’. I’m not even going to touch on how clicking that brings you to a rather sexist page for ‘Gifts for her’ and ‘Gifts for him’. I don’t think my poor laptop would survive.

Sainsbury’s! Oh no, just because John Lewis’ efforts were pitiful doesn’t mean you’re getting away with it. Sainsbury’s decided to copy John Lewis’ advert from earlier this year, the one with the school production, only they changed the song from Bohemian Rhapsody to the New Radicals’ You Get What You Give, which when you listen to the lyrics seems an interesting choice. It followed that pattern we saw in Love Actually and those dire Nativity films, where the school nativity becomes an amazing festival of music and amazing costumes that stirs the soul. In many ways it just seems mocking to actual parents who have to go to real nativity productions, which are inevitably just half an hour of four year olds with dish cloths on their head wandering about among other four year wearing bad cow suits and singing simple songs very quietly. To be fair, I’m only talking about the final number of the nativity in Love Actually where the girl comes out and sings All I Want for Christmas is You. The rest is more true to life, and the finale is played for comic effect. Just to be clear, I LIKE that film. My word, you’re unlikely to ever hear me say that in this column again.

Having said that, I actually don’t mind Tesco’s advert. It does what it needs to, shows lots of attractive food and just generally gives a sense of festive relaxation. It’s not a master class in film making, it isn’t going to shatter the earth, but it’s certainly the best offering so far. It does what was asked of it. Oh yes. You’ve seen it coming haven’t you. I’m getting ready. In less than one sentence I’m now going to segue into The Apprentice! The link of course being that Jackie and Khadija completely failed to do what was asked of them in the hairdresser’s courtyard during this week’s gardening task. Rather than jet wash the place as requested, they poured water on the floor and then brushed all of the dirt that had lifted from under the plant pots into the centre. It was not a good showing. They are ridiculously lucky that their team won. Khadija didn’t even seem to understand how a leaf blower works, and I don’t mean the mechanics of it, I mean that it blows leaves. I’ve no idea how long she spent in that courtyard blowing leaves around, but given that there was nowhere for the leaves to go, the fact that she tried at all indicates a condemnable fault in reason. Did she think that a leaf blower blew leaves out of existence? Then Jasmine and Sabrina claimed to have renovated a rooftop by painting odd planks of a bench yellow and dotting Homebase plants about in their sale pots. I hope they at least took the prices off.

To be honest, I don’t think that Kayode deserved to be fired. There were people on the other team who were far more deserving. However, he did dress up in a daffodil hood and call himself the sunflower guy, which is difficult to ignore, and he had a howler in the pitch last week, even though it wasn’t explicitly his fault. So farewell Kayode. You weren’t useless, but you were rubbish.

[thevalorieclark]

Arrested Development S4 Remix, Audience, and Artistic Integrity

I only learned about the remix of season 4 of Arrested Development last weekend, which obviously means the Netflix algorithm is failing me. But as soon as I had a few free hours, I sat down and watched it. For those not familiar, Arrested Development moved to Netflix in 2013 after Fox cancelled it in 2006. With the new platform and the intervening years, the show decided to try a new set up: Rather than the wacky family ensemble comedy it had been for the first three seasons, season 4 split up the family into 15 rashomon-style episodes that each followed one member across the length of the season. It came out to mixed reviews--it’s an interesting way of doing television, something that I had only seen done in movies, or in stand-alone tv episodes. It was like the Gob of the series--ultimately the same as the rest of the family but wacky in a different way, a little confused, and always trying a bigger and better stunt. 

I was one of the people who fell off the AD wagon sometime during the original season 4. Again, I thought it was an interesting way of doing television, but ultimately less funny than the show I went in wanting to watch. I will say right off the bat that the remix is funnier, to me. I think the story, which happens over several months, is better told linearly, rather than several months covered over and over again from different points of view. The show seems to have finally abandoned the idea of Michael as the moral compass. If anyone, George Michael seems to be being set up to be the moral compass for season 5. Lindsey is still shallow and easily swayed, Tobias goes totally off the rails, and there seems to be some uncomfortable linking of femininity with weakness in George as the season progresses, something I want to consider further later.   

More immediately though, this season raised questions for me about artistic integrity. I know that that’s a scoffed at phrase in Hollywood, the joke of the naive. And for all that the idea of artistic integrity makes us feel good (who wouldn’t feel good, creating only what they wanted/felt called to create, and being able to stand up and defend it?) there’s a long tradition of artists creating art for patrons, i.e. people who could pay for that art. And they did it the way their patrons wanted, which is why we have paintings like the infamous one of Henry VIII with his adult children. You know, the one done while he was married to his sixth wife Catherine Parr but excluded her in favor of his deceased third wife, Jane Seymour. (Rude.) It also includes a healthy looking Henry VIII with a huge dick, when in reality he would have been hugely overweight, probably didn’t have a dick the size of his head, and could barely walk because of a series of oozing sores on his legs. (photo cred.)

My point here is: Artists have a long tradition of taking commissions, of making the art that people ask them to make. For money. Even if it doesn’t represent reality, personally repulses them, or makes them feel dirty.

So, the original season 4. It was paid for by Netflix, in turn paid for by viewers, checking that patron box. It took some creative artistic risks, checking that artistic integrity box. It got mixed reviews, which is true of any artistic endeavor. Why redo it? 

Well, to guarantee a season 5. Creator Mitch Hurwitz recut the show himself, making it more like the original seasons. He has said publicly he did it to try to make money, to better set up the show for syndication. He also said he did it to “pursue a comedic experiment to see if new jokes and a new perspective would emerge” in the remix. Considering that the remix literally resets to the old pattern and the original season 4 was an obvious experiment, this line seems like a glib nod to artistic integrity, a poor attempt to save face. 

Considering this, while watching the new, funnier, better version, made me wonder: Which choice was the wrong one, season 4 or the remix? Neither? Both? Will Hurwitz have regrets later down the line about abandoning his creative experiment and returning to the tried and true formula? Or will he be so busy rolling in the money his now easy-to-syndicate-show will bring him to care? 

What about the cast? Presumably they knew about the structural experiment up front, and either they were excited about it or paid to be excited about it in interviews. It’s their art too. Does that matter here? It’s known some were upset about not being paid again for the remix, which has since been resolved, but how much of that is just about money and how much of that is disappointment about the changes? Is this just another bullshit story of the director/creator thinking (wrongly) that a production is only theirs, and doesn’t belong to everyone else involved?

On the other hand--did the original season 4 only not work only because we all expected the same structure of the first three seasons? Could rashomon-style storytelling have worked for Arrested Development if they had started that in season 1? If we’re doing experiments with recutting shows entirely after the fact, is there value in at least considering recutting seasons 1-3 to be rashomon-style? Could we get two versions of Arrested Development? There’s an artistic experiment, allowing both to exist simultaneously, allowing viewers--patrons--to decide which they like better. In a way, doesn’t that give the creator the most control? Maybe the unknown artist painting Henry VIII’s family kept a now-lost version that included Catherine Parr. Maybe, somewhere in the Netflix vaults, exists the original season 4, unwanted but still valuable. 

I’d like to see both seasons 4 side by side. Maybe Henry VIII would have liked a portrait with Catherine Parr, in the end. Maybe we would have gotten used to the season 4 experiment, eventually. Maybe, ahem, it would have syndicated just fine. 

[doorrepcal33169]

Different continents, different data science

Regardless of country or culture, any solid data science plan needs to address veracity, storage, analysis, and use.

Over the last four years, I’ve had conversations about data science, machine learning, ethics, and the law on several continents. This has included startups, big companies, governments, academics, and nonprofits. And over that time, some patterns are starting to emerge.

Figure 1. This was last year, and I didn’t have location services turned on all the time. Screenshot by Alistair Croll.

I’m going to be making some sweeping generalizations in this post. Everyone is different; every circumstance is somehow unique. But in digging into these patterns with colleagues, friends, and audiences both at home and abroad, they reflect many of the concerns of those cultures.

Briefly: in China, they worry about the veracity of the data. In Europe, they worry about the storage and analysis. And in North America, they worry about unintended consequences of acting on it.

Let me dig into those a bit more, and explain how I think external factors influence each.

Data veracity

If you don’t trust your data, everything you build atop it is a house of cards. When I’ve spoken about Lean Analytics or data science and critical thinking in China, many of the questions are about knowing whether the data is real or genuine.

China is a country in transition. A recent talk by Xi Jinping outlined a plan in which the country creates things first, rather than copying. They want to produce the best students, rather than send them abroad. They’re transitioning from a culture of mimicry and cheap copies to one of leadership and innovation. Just look at their policies on electric cars, or their planned cities, or the dominance of Wechat as a ubiquitous payment system.

When I was in Paris a few years ago, I visited Les Galleries Lafayette, an over-the-top mall whose gold decor and outlandish ornamentation is a paeon to all things commercial. Outside one of the high-end retail outlets was a long queue of Chinese tourists, being let in to buy a purse a few at a time.

As each person completed their purchase, they’d pause at the exit and take a picture of themselves with their new-found luxury item, in front of the store logo. I asked the busdriver what was going on. “They want proof it’s the real,” he replied.

Proof it’s the real.

In a country with a history of copying, where data is conflated with propaganda and competition is relatively unregulated, it’s no wonder veracity is in question.

There are many things a data analyst can do to test whether data is real. One of the most interesting is Benford’s Law, which states that natural data of many kinds follows a power curve. In a random sample of that data, there will be more numbers beginning with a one than a two, more with a two than a three, and so on. It seems like a magic trick, but it’s been used to expose fraud in many fascinating cases.

There are also promising technologies that distribute trust, tamper-evident sensors, and so on.

But in an era of fake news and truthiness—which is only going to get worse as we start to create fiction indistinguishable from the truth—knowing you’re starting with what’s real is the first step in modern critical thinking.

Storage and Analysis

At a cloud computing event in D.C. several years ago, I sat at dinner with a French diplomat. Part of the EU parliament, he was in charge of data privacy. “Do you know why the French hate traffic cameras?” he asked me. “Because we can overlook a smudge of lipstick or a whiff of cologne on our partners’ shirts. But we can’t ignore a photograph of them in a car with a lover.”

Indeed, the French amended the laws regarding traffic camera evidence, only sending a photo when a dispute occurs. As he pointed out, “French society functions in the gray areas of legality. Data is too black and white.”

Another European speaker at a separate event talked about data privacy laws, and how information must be protected from the government itself, even when the government stores it. A member of the audience challenged him on this, to which he replied, “you’re from America. You haven’t had tanks roll in, take all the records on citizens, find the Jews, and round them up.” Close borders and the echoes of war inform data storage policy in Europe.

The arrival of GDPR in Europe—with wide-ranging effects beyond, given the global nature of most large companies—is in part an attempt by Europe to exert some control over the technical nation-states. GAFAM (Google, Amazon, Facebook, Apple, and Microsoft) are all U.S. companies; the only close competitors are Baidu, Alibaba, and Tencent—all Chinese. If populations made nations, these would be some of the biggest countries on earth, and Europe doesn’t even have an embassy. GDPR forces these firms to answer the door when Europe comes knocking.

But at the same time, GDPR is a reflection of European concerns, informed by history and culture, of how data should be used, and the fact that we should be its stewards, not the other way around. Nobody should know more about us than we do.

Unintended consequences

The Sloan Foundation’s Daniel Goroff worked on energy nudge policy for the federal government, trying to convince people to consume less electricity, particularly during the warmer months when air conditioning use skyrockets.

Social scientists know that you can use peer pressure to encourage behaviours. For example, if you ask someone to re-use the towel in their hotel room, there’s a certain likelihood they will. But if you tell them that other guests re-use their towels, they’re about 25% more likely to do so.

Applying this kind of policy to energy conservation makes sense, so utilities send letters to their customers showing them how they’re doing on energy conservation compared to their neighbours, congratulating the frugal and showing the wasteful they can do better.

The problem is, this doesn’t always work. It turns out that if you tell a democrat/liberal they’re consuming more than others, they’ll reduce their consumption as you’d hoped. But if you tell a republican/conservative they’re consuming less, they will increase their consumption so they get their fair share.

Political insight aside, this is a critical lesson: knowing what the data tells you isn’t the same as using it to produce the intended outcome. Markets and humans are dynamic, responding to change. When Orbitz tasked an algorithm with maximizing revenues, it offered more expensive hotel rooms to Macbook users. When Amazon rolled out Prime in Boston based on purchase history, its data model excluded areas where minorities lived.

Unintended consequences are hard to predict. The U.S. is a litigious society, where many laws are created on precedent and shaped by cases that make their way through the courts. This leads to seemingly ridiculous warnings on packaging (so people don’t eat laundry pods, for example.)

Figure 2. Easy to misinterpret. Photo by Alistair Croll.

Liability matters. Companies I’ve spoken to in North America trust their data—perhaps too much. They worry less about using clouds to process private data, or about whether a particular merge is ethical.

But they worry a lot about the consequences of acting on it.

Three parts, one whole

As I said in the outset, this is a very subjective view of the patterns I’ve seen across countries. The plural of anecdote is not data; caveat emptor. But I’ve fielded literally hundreds of questions from audiences both overseas and online; this led me to ask people in each country whether my feelings could be explained by cultural, technical, political, or economic factors.

The reality is, any solid data science plan needs to worry about veracity, storage, analysis, and use. There are plenty of ways cognitive bias, technical error, or the wrong model can undermine the way data is put to use. Critical thinking at every stage of the process is the best answer, regardless of country or culture.

Continue reading Different continents, different data science.

from FEED 10 TECHNOLOGY http://ift.tt/2FwCwM7

[csemntwinl3x0a1]

Different continents, different data science

Different continents, different data science

Regardless of country or culture, any solid data science plan needs to address veracity, storage, analysis, and use.

Over the last four years, I’ve had conversations about data science, machine learning, ethics, and the law on several continents. This has included startups, big companies, governments, academics, and nonprofits. And over that time, some patterns are starting to emerge.

Figure 1. This was last year, and I didn’t have location services turned on all the time. Screenshot by Alistair Croll.

I’m going to be making some sweeping generalizations in this post. Everyone is different; every circumstance is somehow unique. But in digging into these patterns with colleagues, friends, and audiences both at home and abroad, they reflect many of the concerns of those cultures.

Briefly: in China, they worry about the veracity of the data. In Europe, they worry about the storage and analysis. And in North America, they worry about unintended consequences of acting on it.

Let me dig into those a bit more, and explain how I think external factors influence each.

Data veracity

If you don’t trust your data, everything you build atop it is a house of cards. When I’ve spoken about Lean Analytics or data science and critical thinking in China, many of the questions are about knowing whether the data is real or genuine.

China is a country in transition. A recent talk by Xi Jinping outlined a plan in which the country creates things first, rather than copying. They want to produce the best students, rather than send them abroad. They’re transitioning from a culture of mimicry and cheap copies to one of leadership and innovation. Just look at their policies on electric cars, or their planned cities, or the dominance of Wechat as a ubiquitous payment system.

When I was in Paris a few years ago, I visited Les Galleries Lafayette, an over-the-top mall whose gold decor and outlandish ornamentation is a paeon to all things commercial. Outside one of the high-end retail outlets was a long queue of Chinese tourists, being let in to buy a purse a few at a time.

As each person completed their purchase, they’d pause at the exit and take a picture of themselves with their new-found luxury item, in front of the store logo. I asked the busdriver what was going on. “They want proof it’s the real,” he replied.

Proof it’s the real.

In a country with a history of copying, where data is conflated with propaganda and competition is relatively unregulated, it’s no wonder veracity is in question.

There are many things a data analyst can do to test whether data is real. One of the most interesting is Benford’s Law, which states that natural data of many kinds follows a power curve. In a random sample of that data, there will be more numbers beginning with a one than a two, more with a two than a three, and so on. It seems like a magic trick, but it’s been used to expose fraud in many fascinating cases.

There are also promising technologies that distribute trust, tamper-evident sensors, and so on.

But in an era of fake news and truthiness—which is only going to get worse as we start to create fiction indistinguishable from the truth—knowing you’re starting with what’s real is the first step in modern critical thinking.

Storage and Analysis

At a cloud computing event in D.C. several years ago, I sat at dinner with a French diplomat. Part of the EU parliament, he was in charge of data privacy. “Do you know why the French hate traffic cameras?” he asked me. “Because we can overlook a smudge of lipstick or a whiff of cologne on our partners’ shirts. But we can’t ignore a photograph of them in a car with a lover.”

Indeed, the French amended the laws regarding traffic camera evidence, only sending a photo when a dispute occurs. As he pointed out, “French society functions in the gray areas of legality. Data is too black and white.”

Another European speaker at a separate event talked about data privacy laws, and how information must be protected from the government itself, even when the government stores it. A member of the audience challenged him on this, to which he replied, “you’re from America. You haven’t had tanks roll in, take all the records on citizens, find the Jews, and round them up.” Close borders and the echoes of war inform data storage policy in Europe.

The arrival of GDPR in Europe—with wide-ranging effects beyond, given the global nature of most large companies—is in part an attempt by Europe to exert some control over the technical nation-states. GAFAM (Google, Amazon, Facebook, Apple, and Microsoft) are all U.S. companies; the only close competitors are Baidu, Alibaba, and Tencent—all Chinese. If populations made nations, these would be some of the biggest countries on earth, and Europe doesn’t even have an embassy. GDPR forces these firms to answer the door when Europe comes knocking.

But at the same time, GDPR is a reflection of European concerns, informed by history and culture, of how data should be used, and the fact that we should be its stewards, not the other way around. Nobody should know more about us than we do.

Unintended consequences

The Sloan Foundation’s Daniel Goroff worked on energy nudge policy for the federal government, trying to convince people to consume less electricity, particularly during the warmer months when air conditioning use skyrockets.

Social scientists know that you can use peer pressure to encourage behaviours. For example, if you ask someone to re-use the towel in their hotel room, there’s a certain likelihood they will. But if you tell them that other guests re-use their towels, they’re about 25% more likely to do so.

Applying this kind of policy to energy conservation makes sense, so utilities send letters to their customers showing them how they’re doing on energy conservation compared to their neighbours, congratulating the frugal and showing the wasteful they can do better.

The problem is, this doesn’t always work. It turns out that if you tell a democrat/liberal they’re consuming more than others, they’ll reduce their consumption as you’d hoped. But if you tell a republican/conservative they’re consuming less, they will increase their consumption so they get their fair share.

Political insight aside, this is a critical lesson: knowing what the data tells you isn’t the same as using it to produce the intended outcome. Markets and humans are dynamic, responding to change. When Orbitz tasked an algorithm with maximizing revenues, it offered more expensive hotel rooms to Macbook users. When Amazon rolled out Prime in Boston based on purchase history, its data model excluded areas where minorities lived.

Unintended consequences are hard to predict. The U.S. is a litigious society, where many laws are created on precedent and shaped by cases that make their way through the courts. This leads to seemingly ridiculous warnings on packaging (so people don’t eat laundry pods, for example.)

Figure 2. Easy to misinterpret. Photo by Alistair Croll.

Liability matters. Companies I’ve spoken to in North America trust their data—perhaps too much. They worry less about using clouds to process private data, or about whether a particular merge is ethical.

But they worry a lot about the consequences of acting on it.

Three parts, one whole

As I said in the outset, this is a very subjective view of the patterns I’ve seen across countries. The plural of anecdote is not data; caveat emptor. But I’ve fielded literally hundreds of questions from audiences both overseas and online; this led me to ask people in each country whether my feelings could be explained by cultural, technical, political, or economic factors.

The reality is, any solid data science plan needs to worry about veracity, storage, analysis, and use. There are plenty of ways cognitive bias, technical error, or the wrong model can undermine the way data is put to use. Critical thinking at every stage of the process is the best answer, regardless of country or culture.

Continue reading Different continents, different data science.

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