#surprise surprise its another waters family post. very shocking i know/s

[haunted-xander]

I think about that scene in the Ocular where Ryne suggests she fuse with Minfilia properly so so much. It manages to very clearly demonstrate exactly what is wrong with her & Thancred's current dynamic.

First of all: Minfilia. The ghost of Minfilia is constantly haunting them both, it's the root of Thancred's grief and reticence as he doesn't want to lose her again, but nor does he want to lose Ryne. And for Ryne, she's the source of the constant objectification she's been subjected to her entire life, proof of her worthlessness as an individual person. The scene has the existance of Minfilia be the main point of tension, being that this whole plan will decide once and for all if she comes back or not.

And secondly: The complete lack of communication and, as a result, massive misunderstandings. Thancred says everything but the things he should, never telling Ryne anything regarding how he actually views or feels about her, be it in regards to Minfilia, or as her own individual person. And Ryne in turn assumes so much about how Thancred DOES view and feel about her, believing without a doubt that he wishes she was gone just so Minfilia could return.

This scene is the first and only place were Ryne actually confronts him about this, directly telling him 'I know you haven't told me anything because you thought it best for me'. She also says she thought it the best at first too, meaning that the sentiment she repeats throughout shb of 'I wish he'd just say he hates me' is a (relatively) more recent thing. What she has wrong, however, is that she actually doesn't know Thancred's true feelings like she claims. And when she says she does, Thancred immediately tells her 'No. No you do not', all while never actually saying anything to indicate what he actually feels (his ability to avoid voicing is feelings is almost impressive at this point. Also very depressing).

And the cherry on top is that the one who actually manage to grasp and voice the truth in this interaction is fucking Emet-Selch. Mr. I-dont-even-consider-you-alive is the one who is open about the feelings involved. Emet-fucking-Selch. Thancred gets so pissed off about it, too(tbf he gets pissed off at everything Emet does but, ya know).

And then he storms out and Ryne, who isn't looking at anyone let alone Thancred, doesn't really see his full reaction to Emet's words and therefore still hasn't quite grasped what Thancred is actually feeling, the poor girl.

[kanene-yaaay]

Go to Sleep

Kanene’s note: Gosh, having a schedule is weird. I just wanna post everything I already wrote and ramble non stop about it asdfgtyujkigfdo. XD

Well, this was suppose to be a drabble, but it’s very long so sdftyujikgfred. I hope you like it!

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders from the serie Sanders Sides.

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic. If you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!! ^w^)b

* This is Lee!Virgil with Ler!Roman. Around 1.500 words.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Listen a bit to the birds today. Changing the way you think is not a bad thing. Drink water, sleep, eat and love!

[~*~]

Roman growled, missing by a few inches the button of his thunderous, infuriating alarm before finally hitting it. Staring and blinking lazily at the numbers his brain struggled to discern and recognize, only to confirm it was really time to wake up and start the day. He grabbed his pillow and squeezed it with all the strength he could muster, rolling from one side to other on the mattress, trying to wake up his body as quick as his mind and almost falling from the bed a reasonable number of times during the process.

 He got up, yawing, stretching and humming as the first lyrics of the day stuck on his head, hand rubbing at his eyes as he followed the kitchen’s direction with slow steps and tired sways on the beat of the song.

 Two dark, wide eyes stared right back at him, their owner completely frozen on the spot with his hand inside the cabinet, probably already holding some sort of a snack. Roman also stopped mid-step, gears running inside his mind, gaze locked on the other, his brow progressively furrowing.

“Virgil,” he began, voice slightly hoarse “What the heckty heck are you doing up? It’s barely seven in the morning!” Virgil only stared back, slowly closing the cabinet’s door, as if afraid the movement would startle the other. Roman proceeded to get some eggs and other cold ingredients from the refrigerator for the breakfast, his words growing more awake and vivid as they spilled with no filter or whatsoever from his lips. “You got an early shift again or something? Those are absolutely hellish. A bunch of people exhausted, tired and glaring at you as if you are the holder of all their problems and their solutions can only be achieved by being insufferable pieces of- Urg. I can’t believe they would give you one right after you got the night one. Damn, I didn’t even see you arriving here yesterday!”

 He turned his attention back at the other, looking for a kind of frustration in the place of the still startled, wide gaze which continued to be directed at him. Virgil nodded slowly, stepping away and putting some physical distance between him and the confusion on Roman’s features.

 Then, between the strings of sleepiness that clouded his brain, it clicked.

 Suddenly more details on the other’s behavior started to become clearer: the way Virgil’s hair was messier than his usual ““style”” (Roman scoffed mentally, thinking that if he rolled his eyes any harder they would never come back to his normal place again), his wary, yes, but way too much slow movements, the way he seemed to be unable to stop blinking at every millisecond and, above it all, the final piece of the puzzle.

 Virgil wasn’t wearing his pajamas.

 “YOU DIDN’T!” Roman gasped, as if Virgil’s life choices were a personal attack. “YOU DIDN’T GET ANY SLEEP LAST NIGHT!!” A turn of heels and he was again fixating his glare on the other, his free hand accusingly pointing in his direction, receiving an annoyed hiss as immediate answer.

 “Shut up!” Virgil snarled, practically growling back at him. “It’s fucking seven am don’t be so freaking loud.”

 “Don’t change the subject! Why didn’t you go to sleep?”

 The one being questioned just snorted, half amused. “Bold of you to assume I’d ever sleep in my whole life.”

 “That is it.” Virgil didn’t even have the time to wonder the meaning of his friend’s sentence before the aforementioned picked him up, resulting to a not very contained shriek escaping from his lips and his hands not much gracefully – or gently, although since they were keen on just jumping on each other out of nowhere to play fight Princey would be fine - meeting his friend’s face.

 “Roman! What the he-”

 “Did you just SLAP me? My beautiful face?! Before my own beautiful eyes??” Virgil Storm always got, even if he would never admit this out loud, surprised with Roman’s capacity of doing a series of offended incoherent noises which evolved to words before being carefully metamorphosed in weird noises all over again, and in the end still managing to form comprehensible sentences. His surprise did nothing to quell the grumpy snark immediately flying from lips, though.

 “And I’m going to do it again if you don’t let me go in this exact instant.”

 “You go and try to help and that is the acknowledgement you get,” The one wearing pajamas with little crows printed on it huffed, mumbling in a lower tone as he noticed the sharp gaze being thrown in his direction. “fucking unbelievable.”

 “I still can hear you, Princey. You’re literally carrying me.”

 “I sTiLL cAn HeAr yOu-OW! Ow! Ow!” The sentence was interrupted when the sleep deprived one punched Roman’s shoulder. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

 “Let me fucking gAAH!” In a way his wish was granted, one could say as they watched his protest being cut as Storm was impolitely tossed on his bed, Roman quickly following his friend on the mattress, arms hugging him from behind, and physically preventing him from escaping his current soft predicament. “Prince, you’re dead.”

 “Shhh, no talking. We’re sleeping.”

 “We are not. You are being a pain in ass and I am about to defenestrate you.” Despite his fervent protests, his sharp, flaming glare began to lose its heat, his body not doing any actual effort to free himself from the other’s – strong, good - grip, muscles starting to relax against the great warmth involving him in a comfortable and secure blanket.

 “Sure, sure, mister Grumpy Pants, you can do that when you wake up.” He tightened a bit his hold around Virgil, yet being the most careful as possible, actively ignoring the annoyed hiss his friend gave him. His hoodie was really fluffy at the touch, slightly remembering his stuffed animals he frequently hugged to sleep.

 For a moment, everything was pleasantly quiet. The one with smudged makeup, since he hadn’t time to get it off before being trapped by his roommate and best friend, felt the tiredness becoming sleepiness as the seconds went by.

 …That was until an electric sensation shot across his spine, leading him to almost jump in the same place 

 “S-stop nuzzling me!”

 “Hm? Oh sorry.” Virgil pressed his lips tightly closed, preventing the wobbly giggles to escape as Roman speaks, not realizing how close his mouth was from the base of his neck, every breath sending tickly shocks across every nerve. “You’re just too much sooooft.”

 Roman opened an eye when realized that no snark remark from the other followed his words, the figure in his arms shaking too much to be asleep. A frown painted his feature as he readjusted the position of his hands, trying to get a bit more of balance to look at Virgil’s face when suddenly a high-pitched yelp escaped, cutting the air and immediately catching their attention.

 “Did you just squeal?” He questioned as his glare assumed a playful shine seeing a blush spread on his now frozen friend.

 “It was NOT a squeal! It was a yelp.” Virgil’s words came so fast that they almost tripped on themselves. Roman snorted, a smile taking over his face. “Get off me!” and, in the moment the one wearing a hoodie tried to pry his hand from the spot on his right side where it was resting, the pieces finally clicked in the right place and his smile quickly submerged, giving space to a smirk.

 ‘No WAY Doctor Doom and Gloom is ticklish!’

 However, the red lover only blinked as the true personification of innocence and naiveness, his hand firm in its place, fingers starting to slowly move, light pokes being delivered on the sensitive skin. “But why that, Knight Mare? It’s cold and all I could ever want is just to hug my bestest friend!”

 “You already hugged me, now go aWAY!” His voice trembled in the last second, the exact moment his thumb experimentally scratched the spot right under the lowest ribs, leading a surprised squeak to leave Virgil’s mouth.

 They both stared at each other, gleaming, filling their wide eyes.

 “No.” Virgil said, trying to squirm away but finding himself stuck between Prince and the wall. Roman didn’t even attempt to hide his smug grin, anymore. This was going to be so much fun

 “Don’t you dare! Don’t you freaking dare!!” His friend only laid down again, now carefully, yet firmly, pulling him one more time against his chest, growling playfully. Years and years fighting for the Tickle Monster title on his family, battles and battles against Remus only sharpening his skills, which showed by the way his fingers seemed to find every single weak spot on Virgil’s skin, wiggles, scribbles, pokes and scratching exploring everywhere. “No! Nononono! You fucker, you moron, you bitch, you-” A few chuckles cut his curses as he one wearing pajamas squeezed his side a couple of times, the tip of his fingers also teasing his ticklish stomach. “Roman!!”

 “No, no, my so dear, so ticklish, friend. Roman is no longer here, this is…” He paused for a dramatic effect, basically beaming at the giggly giggles and wiggly wiggles from the other. He shoved his face on his neck, the next words vibrating almost as bad as the spidering on his ribs. “The Tickle Monster!!”

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Affirmations” - Oneshot

“Affirmations” - Oneshot

My Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Malcolm Bright x Reader

Word Count: 1,365

Key: Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color Chunks or lines of text that are in italics means that it's (Y/N)’s thoughts.

Warnings: None that I can think of. Please let me know if I missed anything.

Summary: While attempting his morning routine, Malcolm finds a surprise.

Author’s Note: I literally wrote this in two hours and then decided to immediately post it. So I’m sorry if it’s messy or anything! 

I came up with this idea thanks to the Prodigal son twitter actually. They tweet out daily affirmations and they kind of help me some days when I need good words. Today they helped me with my thoughts and helped come up with this idea.

This was not beta-read, so please let me know if there are any errors! 

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

~~~~~~~~

It was another semi-restful night for Malcolm. He had been getting more than his average 2-4 hours of sleep a night thanks to your relationship. Neither of you knew exactly how it helped him sleep, but you both were thankful for it. Malcolm had mentioned that people had begun noticing the bags under his eyes not being so dark. 

Even his mother commented, but she had no idea that you were the reason. She had no idea that you even existed in Malcolm’s life. Malcolm wanted to keep you a secret until “it felt right to tell her.” 

As Malcolm came into the kitchen of his apartment, he saw you pouring some coffee into your thermos. You were already dressed, so he knew he wouldn’t be able to enjoy the morning with you. Malcolm lazily walked next to you and kissed your cheek.

“Good morning, sleepy!” You poke before smiling at him, meeting his lips for a quick kiss, then passing him a mug of coffee. He goes to sit on the other side of the kitchen island while you fix up a lunch to take to work.

“Good morning, darling. Early meeting?”

“Sadly. It's with that insufferable couple that has been taking their sweet time making a decision on whether or not they want to hire me or Walter.” You heard Malcolm choke on his coffee causing you to quickly turn around concerned. 

“Wait. They’re choosing between you and Walter? The man that dresses like a toddler and can barely handle one client, let alone two?” You were a bit shocked that he remembered your past comments on your coworker, but you smiled and chuckled at the accuracy.

“And now you know why I think this couple is insufferable.” Malcolm let out a snigger as he took another sip of his coffee and you packed the last of your stuff. He saw you almost ready and stood to walk you to the door, something he always did whenever you had to leave before him.

“I should be home a bit early tonight. I don’t have too much to do after this meeting. But I’ll keep you updated.” Malcolm grabbed your coat as you two walked towards the door. He held it out for you to slip your arms through. You thanked him with a kiss and he reached for the door. 

As you were walking through the threshold, you turned back around.

“Please try to eat something before you go out. There are some overnight oats in the fridge, or maybe try to make some eggs? Something to make sure you don’t die from stupidity.”

“You do know that there are other stupid ways I could die that don’t involve my lack of appetite, right?” You knew Malcolm was half-joking through that smile on his face, but you knew there was some truth behind it. You couldn’t help but shoot a slightly parental look at him.

“And I would like to keep ‘dying from starvation’ off that list of stupid ways to die. Eat. I’ll text you when I leave the office. Love you!” You waved as you walked out to try and catch the bus. Malcolm chuckled and made his way back inside, stopping nearby the birdcage in the main room.

“What should we try to stomach today, Sunshine?” 

As per your request, Malcolm spent the next 10 or so minutes making some eggs and toast. Simple, shouldn’t upset his stomach too much.

Malcolm set down his plate and second cup of coffee on the kitchen island, getting ready to start his routine. As he sat down, he pulled his pill container and his box of daily affirmations closer. As he brought the box closer, he noticed something different: The top card wasn’t in the typical type font that he knew. Instead, it was handwritten. He read it out loud before trying to figure out whose handwriting it was.

“I am the architect of my life; I build its foundation and choose its contents. -(Y/N/N)”

Malcolm couldn’t help but smile wide when he realized that it was your handwriting You had even doodled a small heart in the corner. 

Looking back at the box of affirmations, he saw that some of the cards were now just a smidge taller than the others, most likely marking where you had put in your own affirmations for him to read. He almost picked out the odd ones to read them, but he decided against it.

Before he could think much further, the very familiar voice of Jessica Whitly rang through the door. Malcolm flipped the card upside down on the counter and took a bite out of his toast, not wanting to have her find out about you just yet. Inviting herself in and filling up a glass of water, she started pouring her stream of consciousness out to the slightly annoyed ears of Malcolm.

“Malcolm, dear! I think I may have been able to work my magic and get you a date! One of the ambassadors for the company I met with yesterday has this beautiful daughter! I really think the two of you would hit it off very well if you would just take a night off and give it a chance!”

“Good morning to you too, Mother. I thought I told you, I don’t need help with dating. I’ve got it under control.” Jessica just sighed, the plate of food in front of him catching her eye.

“Wait- Are you actually eating a meal?”

“Well, I was until you interrupted.” Malcolm’s phone chimed next to him. All he read was Gil’s name and the word “homicide” and he was hooked. “And before there was a triple homicide in a botanical garden.” 

Jessica couldn’t help but scowl slightly in disgust. She still didn’t understand why her son would willingly surround himself with death like this, but if it kept him close, she accepted it. Malcolm stood to usher her to the door when she noticed the card slightly hidden under his breakfast plate.

“You know, you could have just told me that you had a girlfriend from the beginning,” Jessica said cooly as she looked Malcolm in the eye.

“What are you talking about?” Malcolm tried to play dumb, Jessica just raised an eyebrow in response and turned to walk out the door. 

“I want to meet her. How does dinner Thursday night sound? I’ll invite Ainsley too. I’m sure she would love to meet this (Y/N) girl. I’ll send you the details later.” And with that, she was out the door, leaving Malcolm slightly dumbfounded. 

How the hell did she find out about you? None of your stuff was out for her to see that you were occasionally staying with him. There wasn’t any lingering scent of your perfume that he could tell. There definitely weren’t any pictures of the two of you in this part of the apartment. So how did she figure it out?

Still confused, Malcolm turned back to try and have another few bites of his breakfast when he saw it. The evidence. 

You had written on the back of the card:

“I know these are cliche and maybe not the best affirmations, but I wanted to help shake things up a bit! Maybe make you smile a bit more! Love you!  

-- (Y/N)”

Malcolm chortled as he ran his hands up his face and through his hair and sighed. 

He knew it wasn’t going to be too awful introducing you to his mother and Ainsley, and he really did love you. But he couldn’t help but be nervous at the thought of an infamous Whitly family dinner as your first interaction with both of them. 

He took another bite of food when Gil texted him the address of the crime scene. Shaking his head slightly in an attempt to shake away the thought, Malcolm took his medications and reread both sides of today’s affirmation, finding a pure smile to form over his face. With that smile still there, he turned to get dressed for the day, talking to his bird as he walked away from his half-eaten breakfast.

“Well, this week is just turning out to be all kinds of fun, isn’t it, Sunshine?”

[dustedmagazine]

Ian Mathers’ 2020: We’re stuck inside our own machines

I’ve had a song I loved in high school and haven’t thought much about since stuck in my head. The song “Apparitions” by the Matthew Good Band is a fine example of the alt rock of the late 90s; if you grew up then but somewhere down in the states (or elsewhere) instead of my southern Ontario you may well have your regional equivalents, and like this one they may not resonate terribly strongly outside of their time and place. It popped back into my head after a long time recently and of course 2020 has changed it a little. A song that as a teen I felt keenly as about loneliness (albeit also about how technology can feed into that) of course now plays on my nerves as another small piece of art about the way that most of us (those scared and/or responsible anyway) have only that relatively narrow, technologically mediated connection to the people we love. All of us, artists and listeners alike, are trying to fit our feelings and art and selves down these little connections, with some success.

On a personal level, 2020 wound up being stressful in ways we couldn’t have predicted even after the pandemic hit. In circumstances that could have seen governments on this continent support those unable to work (and those who shouldn’t have to), support those workers who are truly essential, support workers and renters and even landlords and small businesses, instead we got a near-total abeyance of those governments using the resources we provide them with to save any of us. On a personal level my wife and I were lucky enough to be able to work from home (not that it didn’t come with its own forms of stress, and now that I’m off until January I have several work/stress-related illnesses to recover from) but still saw friends and loved ones lose good, used-to-be-sustainable livings overnight, saw family businesses succumb to a near-total absence of effective government support after months of trying to keep above water, etc.

It is probably no surprise that this is not a situation conducive to listening to music, let alone writing about it; I have deliberately and happily kept busy on behind the scenes stuff at Dusted that I could still manage but looking, at the end of the year, at the amount I managed to actually create is demoralizing if not at all shocking. I’m not sure I think next year will be ‘better’ in many important ways, although at our job there is a growing feeling among coworkers that next year has to have some work/life balance because 2020 was, maybe more than anything else, unsustainable.

That’s not to say I didn’t spend a lot of time and emotion on music this year, and if nothing else constant sleep deprivation, stress, and panic meant I was probably open to being deeply moved by all sorts of art even more than normally (it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even read a sad or moving twitter thread out loud to my wife without getting teary, which is kind of… nice?). Funnily enough the band that did the most to keep me sane didn’t really put out anything in 2020. Personal favorite, Low, instead started, in early April, getting on Instagram with something they called on whim “It’s Friday I’m in Low.” With one brief break they have now done by my count at least 35 shows (catalogued here, by the way), every Friday at about 4 my time.

Admittedly it’s easier for Low to pull this off than some bands, since the 2/3 of the trio that sing are a married couple (they’ve had a couple of socially-distanced backyard shows with bassist Steve Garrington, but he’s mostly been isolating elsewhere). These shows have seen the band’s Alan Sparhawk take a mid-set break to do follow-up phone interviews with the acts featured in the COVID-curtailed touring bands series Vansplainingthat they started on YouTube, or just to give a tour round their vegetable garden and talk tips. It’s seen Alan and Mimi Parker draw on their impressive, 25+ year body of work (averaging 4-5 songs a set, I don’t think they’ve repeated themselves yet) and talk a bit between songs about pandemics, politics, song choices, and whether Alan should grab his bike helmet this time.

They’re not the only musicians out there speaking love and sanity (and playing music) into the strange digital interzone filled with hate and disinformation where we’ve all been forced to gather while locked down, but they were and the most consistent and steady signal being emitted each week. No matter how tired I was from work or what new symptoms I’d developed or what horrific thing I read into the news, even if I had to take an emergency nap while it was actually airing, every Friday the show was there. Once things do return to something more like normal, it’s one of the few things I’ll unambiguously miss about this weird-ass year.

So if that makes an argument for Low as my band of the year (admittedly again… it’s not like Double Negative has aged poorly, either), that does a disservice to those 2020 records I did connect with; even if there are still literally dozens I have to go through, many of which I expect to love, my top picks this year (if as unrankable by me as always) hit me as hard as any top pick in recent years did. So here I present a quick and informal top 5, which the rest of my top 20 following in alphabetical order. Here’s hoping for more time and space in 2021 for music, and even more than that, for more support for those who need it from those who could have been providing it all this time. (The Matthew Good Band, incidentally, always did best with their ballads. “Strange Days” is another I’ve had in my head these days; the image of moving “backwards, into a wall of fire” has stuck with me since the 90s and it’s never felt more grimly appropriate.)

Greet Death — New Hell

New Hell by Greet Death

This one is, in some sense, cheating; it came out November 2019. But that just means it’s the latest winner of my personal Torres Prize for Ian Being Late to the Party (so named because becoming slightly obsessed with Torres’ Sprinter just after I sent in my 2015 list was the first time I noticed that one of my favorite records of each year tends to get picked up by me just after I call it quits on the year, no matter how long I try to wait). This very doom and gloom slowcore/metal/(whatever, just know it’s heavy) trio at first felt very much like my beloved Cloakroom (whose Time Well has also won a Torres Prize) but sure enough nuances revealed themselves. Back in February it felt almost a little too negative, but then the rest of 2020 happened. And the extended burns of “You’re Gonna Hate What You’ve Done” and the title track remain searing.

Holy Fuck — Deleter

Probably the record I’ve been trying to write about the longest in 2020, and the one I’m most disappointed in myself that I just couldn’t get the requisite paragraphs together. It’s a wonderful effort from the consistently great Toronto resolutely human-created (and —mediated) dance music quartet, one that both feels like a summation of everything they do well, and with the addition of some outside voices (including strong turns from the singers of both Hot Chip and Liars) a step forward at the same time.

Spanish Love Songs — Brave Faces Everyone

Brave Faces Everyone by Spanish Love Songs

As the year got worse, this roar of defiance only got more crucial for me to hear every so often; I was a big enough fan of it, even after writing it up for Dusted, that when they solicited fan footage for a subsequent music video you may just be able to get a glimpse of me in it. (I’m the one in a “No Tories” t-shirt.) My punk rock-loving twin brother was the one who introduced me to Spanish Love Songs and we were supposed to spend an evening in June screaming along to them live in a packed, sweaty room. I need that in my life again.

Julianna Barwick — Healing Is a Miracle

Healing Is A Miracle by Julianna Barwick

It’s a sign of what 2020 has been like here that even just this album title leaves bruises, and while I privately worried Barwick would have a hard time following up 2016’s sublime Will (probably my favorite record that year), it seems that continuing to take whatever downtime she needs to keep focusing and refining her particular muse has once again yielded amazing results. Anyone who thinks they know what a Barwick track sounds like should really check out, say, “Flowers”, but much of this record absolutely sounds like Barwick, just even better than before. She also boasted my wife and I's favorite streaming concert of 2020, an absolutely gorgeous rendition of this album with Mary Lattimore showing up.

Phoebe Bridgers — Punisher

Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers

I joked on Twitter recently that I have far too nice a dad (and far too good a relationship with him) to be as obsessed as I am with Phoebe Bridgers’ “Kyoto”, but here we are. Like most of her generation, Bridgers’ social media presence ranges from shit-posting to inscrutable, but even though things are often just as hard to figure out in her beautiful songs (as they often are in life), there’s an emotional clarity to them that can just grab you deep down. Couple that with seriously impressive songcraft and the progress from her already astounding debut Stranger in the Alps and more than anyone else in 2020 I’m excited to see just where the hell Phoebe Bridgers is going to go, because it feels like she’s talented and hardworking enough to go just about anywhere and drag a lot of our hearts with her.

Other Favorites

Aidan Baker & Gareth Davis — Invisible Cities II

Anastasia Minster — Father

Deftones — Ohms

Hum — Inlet

Kelly Lee Owens — Inner Song

Mesarthim — The Degenerate Era

Perfume Genius — Set My Heart On Fire Immediately

Protomartyr — Ultimate Success Today

Rachel Kiel — Dream Logic

The Ridiculous Trio — The Ridiculous Trio Plays the Stooges

Sam Amidon — Sam Amidon

Shabason, Krgovich & Harris — Philadelphia

Stars Like Fleas — DWARS Session: Live on Radio VPRO

Well Yells — We Mirror the Dead

Yves Tumour — Heaven to a Tortured Mind

Five Reissues/Compilations/etc.

Aix Em Klemm — Aix Em Klemm

Bardo Pond — Adrop/Circuit VIII

Charles Curtis — Performances & Recordings 1998-2018

Coil — Musick to Play in the Dark

Hot Chip — LateNightTales

Ian Mathers

[soobiniebaby]

Angels & Devils Part VI : Slow Down

Tomorrow x Together Fanfiction

~ p a r t s : main post || prologue || part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || part 5 || part 6 || part 7 || part 8 || part 9 || part 10 || part 11 || part 12 || part 13 || part 14 || part 15 || part 16 || part 17 ~ p a i r i n g : love triangle involving choi soobin and choi yeonjun ~ g e n r e : high school au | some social media au | some fluff & angst | childhood friends | love triangle ~ l a n g u a g e : English ~ w a r n i n g : contains swearing, alcohol, kissing (?) and may contain mature themes (angst, etc.) ~ a / n : This will be my first fanfic (go easy on me pls) and i’m just writing this as I go along, so bear with me juseyo The setting (place/country) of the story is up to the reader’s interpretation ~ s u m m a r y : What should she choose? Han Baby: the new girl with a troubled past MO Academy: her new high school Choi Soobin: student council president, member of the Ecosave club, volunteer at the Humane Treatment of Animals, member of the Honor Society, a vocalist in the Jazzed club, the school’s all around golden boy Choi Yeonjun: leader of the Dance club, star of the Jazzed club, the school’s it boy with a bad rep 5 best friends, 1 new girl, 1 childhood friendship, 1 epic love triangle? What will this school year bring?

B’s night was starting to turn hazy as she tried to lose herself in the madness of the party.

After her dare had finished, the people at the circle had already moved on from the game and started mixing in with the rest of the party. B was dragged away by the girls to play beer pong with some of their friends, while Yeonjun was dragged away by the boys to start a dance battle in the middle of the patio. Once their 7 minutes were over, the 2 of them never got another second alone again.

And Yeonjun’s question was left hanging in the air, occupying all the space in B’s head, which she tried to drown away with alcohol.

As drunk as she was, she just couldn’t get Yeonjun out of her mind. It was like his words were swimming laps through her alcohol-filled brain. Finally, she took out her phone and started texting, knowing that she’d probably end up regretting it the next day.

The rest of the night started to feel like a blur. She had played 3 rounds of beer pong, someone had suggested that every time someone mentioned school they would have to take a shot, Kai had pulled her away from the girls and dragged her with him to the dance floor by the pool even though they were both way too drunk to do much other than jump and sway their bodies and hold onto each other for support. At one point, she remembers Soobin walking out into the backyard with a big cake as Taehyun and Beomgyu stayed by his side, holding water guns and randomly spraying cold water into the crowd as they made their way to where B and Kai were standing, everyone starting to sing one big chorus of Happy Birthday.

As the 3 boys with the cake and water guns reach Kai and B, the crowd sings one more time until Kai finally blows the candles out, which is then followed by cheers from around 200 drunk teenagers. Just as the cheers start to die down, Kai surprises everyone by grabbing a fistful of cake and flinging it in a random direction, as it ended up landing directly on Beomgyu’s shirt.

Beomgyu looks down at his ruined shirt and back up at the birthday boy, who was too busy laughing his ass off to notice that Beomgyu was holding the water gun in his direction as he let it spray.

Kai’s laughs start to turn into horrified screams as he gets sprayed with cold water. He grabs B by the shoulders and attempts to shield his body with hers, even though he was more than a whole foot taller than her. With Beomgyu targeting Kai’s chest and B being much shorter than the intended target, the water ended up spraying her right in the face.

She sputters in shock, unable to dodge due to Kai’s tight grip on her shoulders. Beomgyu puts the gun down as he realizes that he just sprayed her face. He looks at her, horrified, as he says “Oh god, I’m so sorry B! I was supposed to just spray Hyuka cause he flung cake at me.”

She wipes the water from her face before giving him a suspiciously sweet smile. “It’s all good, Gyu.” she says, as she takes a small step forward, closer to Soobin and the cake in his hands.

“Really?” Beomgyu asks, looking nervous.

B’s smile widens as she reaches a hand towards the cake. “No.” she says, as out of seemingly nowhere, she flings a piece of cake in Beomgyu’s direction. However, in her drunken state, she misses and ends up hitting Soobin squarely in the face.

He stands there completely still, eyes shut and lips pursed, as Kai starts to screech with laughter and Beomgyu attempts not to laugh, with Taehyun just watching everything unfold amusedly.

Now it’s B’s turn to look horrified as she steps towards Soobin and stands on her tiptoes, trying to wipe the cake and frosting from his face. “Soobin! Oh my god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that at all. That was supposed to be for Gyu.”

“It’s okay.” He tries and fails to say due to the heavy amount of cake on his face, as she continues to wipe bits of it off his face, being careful not to get any frosting on his shirt or his hair. She cups his face in her hands and uses her thumbs to gently wipe the frosting away from his eyes.

Once he opens his eyes, he’s surprised to see how close she was standing to him. She was standing on the tips of her toes so that the top of her head would reach his nose instead of below his shoulders. She had her neck outstretched as she was looking up at him, her face full of concern, her palms on his cheeks and her thumbs resting on his cheekbones. When she sees his eyes open, her frown instantly lifts into a smile, and as her smile widens, Soobin could feel his heart rate quicken and his face go red. If it was out of embarrassment, drunkenness or something else, he wasn’t quite sure yet.

“Yay, there you are! Sorry again, for flinging cake in your face.” B says, standing back on her heels and retracting her hands from his warm face.

“Uh, it’s fine. Don’t even mention it.” Soobin says, struggling to put together coherent thoughts.

There’s a beat of silence as the insanity dies down before Taehyun decides to surprise everyone by grabbing a fistful of cake, shouting “Hyuka, catch!” and flinging it in Kai’s direction. Kai screams and manages to swat the piece of cake away with his arm, only for it to land on top of B’s head.

B could feel her face heat up as she turns around, a low rumble coming from her throat, and she faces Kai with a deranged look on her face. Kai gulps, recognizing the rare look. It was her look of death, which he hadn’t seen in over 13 years.

“Hue. Ning. Kai.” she says quietly, annunciating every syllable. Kai smiles sheepishly and attempts to apologize, but then B lets out a playful roar as she tackles him, and they both fall into the swimming pool.

The crowd erupts in cheers and laughter again as B attempts to wrestle Kai in the pool, which she fails to do so since they end up falling into the part of the pool that was 6 feet deep. She ended up clinging on to her tall best friend like a cat trying to claw its way up a tree.

“Tyun, why did you fling cake at Hyuka?” Beomgyu asks as everyone watches the 2 childhood friends struggle in the pool. “I mean don’t get me wrong I loved that you did it, it was awesome, but why?”

Taehyun shrugs as he says. “Guess I just wanted to be part of the fun. It was worth it. Too bad Yeonjun had to leave early, he would’ve loved it too.”

“Yeah, too bad.” Soobin says, the remaining frosting on his face was starting to feel uncomfortably sticky. “I think I’m gonna wash this frosting off and get changed. You guys good?”

Taehyun nods. “Yeah, I’ll stay here, watch the party die down. People are already starting to leave, so it shouldn’t be long now.”

Beomgyu puts an arm around Taehyun’s shoulders. “Same here. There wasn’t much frosting on the piece of cake that Hyuka hit me with, so I think my shirt will survive.” he says, as he looks down at his barely soiled shirt.

Soobin nods and hands the cake over to Taehyun before turning around to make his way into the house. Before he gets too far, he feels a soaked pair of arms wrap themselves around his torso from behind and start to rub his stomach, so now not only did he have sticky cake on his face, but also a wet shirt and a violated stomach.

“Soobinie, help me.” Kai says from behind him. Soobin turns around and sees Kai pouting and B following him, both soaked from their squabble in the pool.

He laughs at the sight of them, soaked and shivering, before saying “Alright, follow me.” and the 3 of them make their way into the house.

•°•

“Wow Soobin, your house is amazing!” B says, as the 2 of them follow Soobin into his huge house, through the backdoor into the kitchen, to the foyer, up the grand staircase, and through endless doors and hallways. “And you live here alone?”

Soobin nods. “Yep, no family members. I keep insisting that the help occupy some of the guest rooms up here instead of hiding out in the maid’s quarters, but they don’t seem to think it’s a good idea.”

“Well it does seem pretty lonely, having to live up here all by yourself.” B remarks, eyes wandering the halls. The house had a very modern feel to it and was very minimalistic.

“Don’t worry Soobinie, Hueningkai will come visit you everyday from now on!” Kai slurs, his arms still around Soobin’s torso. The older boy was practically dragging the birthday boy through the house.

Soobin laughs. “No need for that Hueningie.” he says, mimicking him. “Hosting this party was pretty fun, it’s nice to see other people around here.”

They stop when they reach a door at the end of the hallway. Soobin props the drunk boy against his body as he turns the doorknob. “Here we are. Uh, please take off your shoes and put leave them by the door if you can.”

Soobin leads them into the room, calling out “Alexa, turn lights on dim to 50%” as dim light fills the room, kicking off his shoes and putting them on the shoe rack right by the bedroom door before dumping Kai into a bean bag on the floor close to his entertainment system, which included a TV, some big speakers, and loads of videogames and gaming consoles.

“Wow, your room is huge. If I lived here, I’d probably never get bored.” B says, kicking off her black sneakers before twirling around the room as she looks around in amazement.

“I said it gets lonely, but I wouldn’t say it gets boring.” Soobin says as he wanders into his bathroom in search of towels. “And are you sure that’s a good idea? Won’t you feel dizzy?” he remarks as he walks back into the bedroom, watching her twirl around.

“I can’t help it!” B exclaims, putting her arms out as she continues to twirl around. “I feel so light and buzzy and—”

“Drenched and freezing cold?” he interrupts, holding out a towel towards her.

She twirls towards him then, attempting to grab the towel from his hand as she does so, but instead she loses her balance and ends up collapsing on a bean bag next to the one Kai was currently passed out on, the towel she attempted to grab landed on top of her, covering the whole upper half of her body.

“B! Are you okay?” Soobin calls out, rushing to her side and tossing the 2 towels on their passed out friend before kneeling by B’s side.

B waves an arm in the air above her in an attempt to get the towel off, but instead she ends up whacking Soobin up his chin, which he responds to with an “Ouchie, B what—”

Upon realizing that she had accidentally troubled Soobin for the second time that night, B sits straight up, not realizing just how close Soobin was as the top of her head ends up colliding with the bottom of his chin.

“Ouch! B what are you—?” he exclaims again, eyes squeeze shut as he tries to endure the pain, his hand rubbing his chin.

B’s eyes widen as she realizes that she hurt him yet again. “Soobin! Oh my god, I am so so so sorry! I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve apologized to you tonight, but I just can’t help it, I’m sorry. I’m not usually this clumsy, I think I’m just really drunk, I—” B starts to ramble on in panic, sitting up and attempting to comfort him, cupping his face in her hands for the second time that night as she tilts his chin up, trying to assess for any damage.

Soobin, surprised by her sudden close proximity, couldn’t help but sit there frozen, trying to will himself to say something, anything, instead of just staring at her and feeling the warmth of her hands on his face as she focused solely on his chin.

“Oh gosh, I think that’ll form a small bruise. I should go down to get some ice.” B says, pulling her hands away. As she starts to stand up, Soobin snaps out of it and immediately stands up, saying “I’ve got ice in the mini fridge right by my bed. I’ll get it.” and off he went to the other side of the room, where the bed and the entrance to the bathroom were.

“You have a mini fridge by your bed? Wow, that’s actually a genius idea.” B remarks as Soobin returns to her side with a few ice cubes wrapped in a face towel.

“It’s probably my favorite thing about this room.” he agrees. “By the way, I’m fine. No need to apologize, it doesn’t even hurt that much.”

B raises a brow as she grabs the ice from his hands and hold it up to his chin, which he tries not to noticeably wince to.

“Seriously, I’m fine. I’ve got this.” he insists, trying to take the ice from her hand but he ends up just cupping her hand in his, suddenly highly aware of just how small her hands were compared to his.

B pulls her hand away from the ice pack reluctantly. “Alright, if you say so. I’m still sorry though.”

Soobin laughs softly. “Wow, you’re stubborn, you know that?”

“I am very aware of that fact, yes. It’s how I get what I want.” she says, shrugging. She grabs the towel that caused the soon-to-be bruise on Soobin’s cheek and starts rubbing it against her face and hair. “Thanks for this, by the way. This is a very nice towel. Very soft, very warm, very absorbent. 10/10, would highly recommend.”

Soobin laughs out loud. “You’re so weird! And you’re welcome. You want to change out of your wet clothes, by the way? I can lend you a shirt if you want, or I think my sister still left some of her clothes in her room if you’d prefer that.”

B shakes her head violently. “No need for that, you’ve already done so much and I’ve already caused you so much trouble tonight. You just sit right there.”

“Are you sure? I can at least lend you a jacket to help stop you from shivering?” he offers, full of concern.

She sighs, knowing it would probably be a good idea. “Alright, I’ll give it back to you ASAP.”

He nods and stands up, once again walking over to the other side of the bedroom, rummaging through his wardrobe before returning to her side. He offers her his plain gray hoodie with single black stripes along the arms, which she gratefully accepts.

She finishes rubbing the towel against her wet clothes, drying her arms, legs and feet before putting on his hoodie, which smelled strongly of baby powder and vanilla. Soobin’s scent. B grabs another towel and kneels over her best friend then, who was passed out cold.

“Wow, I’ve never seen Ningning this drunk before. I wonder if he’ll remember any of this tomorrow.” she says, as she begins to rub the towel against his hair.

“I don’t think I have, either. We usually only drink when we’re celebrating something, and we only throw big parties for birthdays and other special occasions. It’s the first time we let him get this wasted, though.” Soobin says.

Just then, Soobin hears his phone ringing. He fishes it out of his pocket and checks the caller ID.

“It’s Yeonjun.” he says, pleasantly surprised. He smiles as he answers the call. “Hey, Yeonjun. What’s up?”

B turns away as Soobin talks to Yeonjun on the phone, focusing on Kai and rubbing the towel on his wet clothes. Just then, her hands freeze in place as she remembers the onslaught of drunk texts she sent out earlier that night. She quickly crawls to her purse, which was on the bean bag she fell into, and checks her phone in horror, re-reading the messages she sent.

“B’s here with me, right now.” Soobin says, which immediately catches B’s attention. She looks up at Soobin then, wondering what the 2 boys were talking about.

“Yeah, she and Hyuka had a little fun in the pool. I really wish you could’ve stayed, you missed so much.” Soobin says fondly. “I bet if you had stayed, you would have ended up with cake in your face too.”

“I said I was sorry about that.” B says quietly, pouting at Soobin, which causes him to laugh. He covers the bottom of his phone with his hand as he tells her “And I forgive you.” before uncovering his phone and saying “Yeah, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow during clean up.”

“Clean up?” B mouths at him.

Soobin covers his phone again as he explains, “Yeah, the guys all agreed to come over tomorrow at 10 AM to help with cleaning up, though most of them will probably be too hung over to really help out. You wanna come? It’ll just be us 5, plus you if you wanna.”

B nods. “Sure thing, I’ll try to be here as early as possible.”

Soobin smiles before turning his attention back to his phone. “Oh, B says she wants to come over for clean up tomorrow.”

B focuses on Kai again, knowing it was pointless to try to dry his clothes. His pullover and jeans were too thick and heavy to dry with just a towel. Instead, she tries shove the towel under his pullover and wraps it around his torso so that the cold water wouldn’t be touching his back or chest.

“You wanna talk to her? Sure, hang on.” Soobin says, reaching his phone out to B. “Yeonjun wants to say hi.”

She smiles as she takes the phone, and Soobin takes B’s spot in front of Kai. “Hi, Yeonjun.”

“Hey Baby, how are you feeling? Are you still drunk?” he asks.

B’s face begins to heat up, knowing he was referring to the drunk texts she sent earlier. “Yeah, no, I’m fine now. A quick dip in the pool sobered me up a bit.” she says sheepishly. “Sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to.”

She hears him chuckle through the phone. “No way, they say drunk thoughts produce honest words, or something like that. So, you think I’m cute?”

She felt like her face was burning up now, and prays that Soobin wouldn’t notice. She quickly looks over at him and sees that he’s managed to get Kai out of his wet pullover and into a dry shirt, and he had a pair of clean blue jeans by his side ready to be worn. He was in the process of trying to pull off the younger boy’s pants when his eyes meet hers, and there’s a beat of silence as they realize how awkward the sight of Soobin taking Kai’s jeans off was.

“It’s not what it looks like! I’m just getting him into warm clothes!” Soobin says defensively as B turns away, giggling.

“What’s so funny?” Yeonjun asks.

“Oh nothing, Soobin’s just trying to get Ningning into some dry clothes.” she says.

“Ah, I can imagine how that would be funny.” he says, chuckling. “By the way, how will you get home?”

“Oh, I was thinking I could call for a cab with Taehyun or something since we live in the same building.” B says.

“That’s good, where’s Tyun right now?”

“Uh, I think we left him with Gyu before we came inside? I’ll text him in a bit, I should probably head home soon anyway.” B replies.

“Alright alright, I’ll check in with Tyun and Gyu as well. Goodnight, Baby.” Yeonjun says.

“Night, Yeonjun.” she responds, before handing the phone back to Soobin, who had successfully gotten Kai changed into dry clothes.

As Soobin takes the phone, B crawls back to Kai’s side, running her fingers through his hair to check if his hair was already dry. She pulls out her phone and sends Taehyun a text.

She frowns, staring at the screen, as she notices that the boys’ contact names and photos had been changed.

“What the heck? Who did this with to my phone?” she wonders out loud.

“Oh, Hyuka messed with your contacts and spammed your camera roll with random pictures while you were in the shed with Yeonjun.” Soobin answers, his phone in his hand as his call with Yeonjun finishes.

“You know, I was starting to feel a bit guilty about tackling him into the pool, but I have 0 regrets now.” B says, hitting Kai’s arm playfully, which was met with no reaction. “Wow, he’s really out cold. How will he get home?”

“Ah, he can sleep here. Anyone who’s too drunk and can’t make it home on their own is welcome to sleep over, though most people usually end up sober by the end of the night or catch a ride with sober friends.” Soobin explains. “It’s how house parties around here usually work.”

B nods. “I see I see. Well, I’ve texted Tyun and he says he’s good to go. I’ll just call for a cab and we’ll be on our way.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you guys home? Or I could ask one of my family’s drivers to take you, since I don’t trust myself enough to drive with alcohol in my system.” Soobin offers.

B shakes her head. “No, I couldn’t. I don’t want to put you through any more trouble than I already have tonight.”

“I insist. You and Tyun are 2 of my closest friends, so I wouldn’t mind at all. I’ll just let the driver know and he’ll be ready to drop you off. I have to stay here and watch over everyone.” Soobin insists.

Sensing that Soobin wouldn’t let her off the hook, she finally agrees. “Alright, thanks, Soobin. You’re the best.” she says, smiling at him gratefully.

He smiles back at her warmly. “No problem.”

•°•

B wakes up in bed the next day due to the sound of her phone being spammed with text messages. She rolls over in bed is instantly hit with a wave of dizziness.

She groans as she reaches for the glass of water she prepared in advance on her night stand, taking small sips of it until her mouth didn’t feel like it was lined with chalk anymore.

She puts the glass down and grabs the bottle of Gatorade she left in advance as well, trying to drink as much of it as she could, hoping that the electrolytes from the energy drink would replenish her body’s needs.

Finally, she grabs her phone and checks her messages only to see that it was from the boys.

Soobin smiles to himself as he puts his phone down and stares down at the 2 boys passed out on his bedroom floor. He had gotten used to taking care of his friends whenever they’ve had a little too much to drink, but he knew that having them pass out in the bean bags on his bedroom floor was the easiest part. Once they’d wake up with inevitable hangovers, he knew that it would be harder for him to nurse them back to sobriety. He was hoping that there would be no vomit this time, though at least he could ask for help from his household staff if any vomit would be present.

With the rest of the group on the way to his house, Soobin figured it was time to face the horror of dealing with the 2 hungover boys. He kneels down and says, as loudly and brightly as possible “Huningie! Beomie! Rise and shine!” while putting one hand on each boy’s thighs and shaking them as furiously and as violently as he could.

The 2 boys instantly start to groan dramatically, Hueningkai burying his face in Beomgyu’s chest and the latter covering his ears with his hands.

Soobin repeats the procedure until Beomgyu finally snaps, randomly kicking his legs in the direction of the noise and sitting up, eyes squeezed shut as they adjusted to the light flooding into Soobin’s bedroom.

“Jesus fucking hell, Choi. Why are you torturing me?” Beomgyu says, his voice cracking as dryness burns his throat, his head throbbing from dehydration.

Soobin smiles widely at him, glad to get a reaction out of him. “Good morning to you too, Choi.” He hands Beomgyu a bottle of Gatorade, which the boy accepts as he desperately downs it all. “B and the boys are on their way here for clean up, so you and Hyuka have to get up soon.” he says.

Beomgyu wipes his mouth as he finishes the last of the Gatorade, blinking his eyes until the room stopped spinning. “Ah yeah, clean up. Almost forgot about that.” he says, his voice still hoarse. “I didn’t know B was coming, though. I thought we were gonna practice for our Club Recruitment performance?”

Soobin’s mouth drops open a bit as he realizes that he completely forgot about their final rehearsal. They were set to perform a special number that Monday for club recruitment day, and they had agreed to have their final rehearsals on Saturday afternoon, which was today.

“Oh wow, now that I forgot about.” Soobin admits. “I was actually the one who invited B to join us for clean up, I completely forgot that we would be rehearsing this afternoon.”

Beomgyu shrugs. “She can watch us practice, I wouldn’t mind, and I’m pretty sure the other guys wouldn’t really mind either. We’re having rehearsals here anyway, so she can just hang around if she wants to.”

Soobin nods. “Yeah, I guess. I didn’t get to tell her that we’d be rehearsing later though. I hope she won’t mind.” he says, suddenly overthinking the whole thing.

“I’m sure she won’t, don’t sweat it.” Beomgyu says, noticing how worried Soobin looked. “Actually, why are you sweating it? You seem really worried.”

“I’m not sweating it.” Soobin says defensively. “I just—I’m used to performing on stage in front of faceless audience members. I’m not used to performing with someone watching right there in the room?”

“Soobin, are you…shy?” Beomgyu asks.

Soobin starts to feel his face heat up. “Kind of, I guess? When we rehearse for performances, it’s always just us and the other club members. I guess the thought of 1 person watching from such a close proximity just makes me feel different.”

“Aw, it’s okay Binnie. You always look great when you perform, and I’m sure B’s not the kind who would judge or criticize.” Beomgyu says comfortingly. “I don’t get why you’re getting all shy anyway, it’s just B.”

“Yeah, it’s just B.” Soobin says to himself. Why was he getting so worked up over it?

“My head’s pounding like crazy, jeez.” Beomgyu says suddenly, groaning as he grabs his head. “What time is it?”

Soobin looks at the clock on his desk as he answers “It’s 10:03.”

Beomgyu chuckles. “Ah yeah, we were supposed to meet up at 10AM. Shit, I didn’t mean to get so drunk, I was trying to avoid a hangover. Please tell me that there will be breakfast waiting for us downstairs.”

“Breakfast? Always. The sooner we get Hyuka up and running, the sooner we can eat. C’mon, help me.” Soobin pleads, which Beomgyu gamely accepts.

The 2 boys kneel over on each side of their unconscious friend, looking at each other as they prepare to wake him up.

“On the count of 3.” Soobin says, and Beomgyu nods. “1…2…3!”

The 2 boys put both of their hands on Hueningkai’s arms and legs, as they shout “Rise and shine, Hueningkai!” and violently shake him awake.

Hueningkai shoots up screaming in panic, then slowly lies back down, while groaning and holding his head, as the 2 boys roar with laughter.

“I hate you.” Hueningkai groans, his palms squeezing into his temples.

“We love you too!” the 2 boys respond cheerfully.

•°•

“Is it just me, or does Soobin’s house look a little different in the daytime?” B asks Taehyun as they step out of the cab and walk up to the front door of Soobin’s house.

“What do you mean?” Taehyun asks, before ringing the doorbell.

“I guess it looks less like a spoiled rich kid’s party mansion and just more…cold?”

Taehyun raises a brow at B, confused. “Cold?”

“Not cold like in a bad way.” B says, trying to explain express her thoughts. “More like, it looks like the house of a lonely bachelor or something.”

Taehyun looks up at the house again and says “Yeah, I guess I see what you mean.” just as the front doors open in front of them and they’re greeted by Soobin himself.

“Tyun! B! You’re here!” Soobin says cheerfully, looking nothing like the lonely bachelor one would picture living in the house. “Come in, everyone else is already here.” he says, letting them in and closing the door behind them. They follow him down the hallway until they reach the dining room.

Beomgyu, Yeonjun, and Kai were all seated at the round table, which looked like it could fit at least 12 people, and was full of an extravagant breakfast menu that looked like they could be props for a tea party scene in a movie about royals. The dining room had glass doors and windows that overlooked the entire side garden of the house, where B and Kai had passed through the night before to get to the backyard.

Beomgyu looked much better than he did in the picture Soobin had sent to the group earlier, almost like he wasn’t hungover, as he was stuffing his face with food. Yeonjun was sitting back in his seat, his phone on the table, as he sipped out of a teacup. Kai, however, was wearing a pair of sunglasses and had his face resting on his hands, his elbows up on the table and food untouched.

“Good morning, everyone! Wow this food looks amazing!” B says in awe as she and Taehyun take their seats between Kai and Soobin.

“Baba? Is that you?” Kai croaks, his voice still hoarse.

“Yup, the one and only. How you feeling, Ninging? Did the birthday boy party too hardy last night?” B asks teasingly.

Kai groans, covering his ears with his hands. “Ugh, shut up. Your voice sounds like it’s searing into my brain.”

“Well good morning to you, too.” B says, leaning over to ruffle his hair teasingly.

“Gyu, you’re looking better. How are you feeling?” Taehyun asks as he begins to fill his plate with food.

“I’m feeling good. The hangover wasn’t too bad, I think it would’ve been a lot worse if you hadn’t made me chug all that water before you dumped me in Soobin’s room last night.” Beomgyu says, recalling how Taehyun practically drowned him with drinking water before he passed out.

Taehyun laughs pleasantly. “That’s good to hear. It was for your own good, you know.”

“Yeah, I honestly thought you were trying to kill me last night, but now I know you were just trying to save me. Thanks, Tyunnie.” Beomgyu says in a teasingly cute way.

“Don’t mention it.” Taehyun says, laughing again.

“Too bad I had to leave early last night, sounds like the party really began right after I left.” Yeonjun remarks.

“It was pretty fun, but there were good moments while you were still there too!” Soobin says, taking his seat between Yeonjun and Taehyun. “Remember, you gave me that lap dance? I thought I was gonna burst from embarrassment.” he recalls, cringing at the memory.

“Shut up, you know you liked it, Soob. You’re welcome, by the way.” Yeonjun says teasingly, watching as Soobin’s face started to turn red again.

“Let’s not forget those 7 minutes between you and B, I’m sure that was fun.” Beomgyu remarks, looking back and forth between the 2 of them. “What did you guys do for 7 minutes?” he asks curiously.

“Uh-huh, we agreed that whatever happened in the shed stays in the shed.” B says, sticking her tongue out at Beomgyu. She was hoping that everything that had happened in the shed would be locked away forever, and that she wouldn’t have to face Yeonjun alone again.

“You’re the one who said that, and technically I never agreed to it.” Yeonjun says slyly, with a cheeky grin on his face.

B’s mouth hangs open in an O, and Kai seemingly reanimates back to life as he sits straight up, whips his sunglasses off, and exclaims “What did you do to my best friend?!” looking at Yeonjun suspiciously.

“No no, nothing like that, get your mind out of the gutter, Hyuka.” Yeonjun says, putting his hands up in front of him defensively. “We just talked, it was all innocent, I swear.”

“Yeah, don’t worry Ningning it was nothing like that at all!” B says as well, flustered that Kai would think like that. “We just talked. Really.”

Kai remains suspicious, looking at the 2 back and forth. “Alright, what did you talk about then? Is there anything I should know about?”

“No! Nothing at all. We just talked like the 2 friends that we are. Plus, we had an agreement that nothing would leave the 4 walls of that shed.” B says, her face starting to flush red. She looks at Yeonjun pleadingly, hoping that he would help her out.

Yeonjun nods. “Yup. Just talked. Like the 2 friends that we are. Nothing will leave the 4 walls of that shed.” he said, repeating what she said.

Kai glares at the 2 of them for a bit longer before finally letting it go. “Alright, let’s say I believe you. But if there’s something I should know about that you’re not telling me, I better not hear it from someone else.” he says pointedly at his best friend.

“Yes, I promise.” B says, crossing her fingers under the table. Technically speaking, there really wasn’t anything to tell him yet. Yeonjun had asked her out, she never got to respond, and the question would forever be locked away in the shed, never to be spoken of beyond those 4 walls. It wasn’t like she was dating anyone or anything, so there wasn’t anything that Kai needed to know about.

They move on from the topic then, their discussions ranging from the amount of clean up they had to do to do the rehearsals they would have that afternoon.

“Oh, I didn’t know you guys were performing this Monday! Are you all members of the Jazzed club?” B says excitedly.

Taehyun nods. “Yeah, I think we were all drawn to it from the start. The club mostly focuses on music, such as singing, writing, producing, playing instruments, and even performing which sometimes requires some dancing. But to make the Club Recruitment showcase more interesting, we decided to incorporate a little bit of rap to our performance as well, which is a bit of a challenge.”

“Oh my gosh, I could hardly imagine the 5 of you singing and dancing together, but rapping? That is definitely something I’d wanna see.” she says, getting more excited by the minute. “Can I watch you guys rehearse? Please, pretty please?” she asks, giving puppy dog eyes at everyone around the table.

They all look at Soobin to see his response, and he just nods cheerfully. “Yeah sure, why not? We’ll be starting rehearsals at 1PM, just here in one of the rooms. You’re welcome to stay if you want to.”

B grins, giddy with excitement. “Yay, thank you so much! I can’t wait to see what you guys have put together. I’m sure everyone will love it.”

As everyone finishes up with their brunch, their empty dishes being taken away one by one, B excuses herself from the table to go to the bathroom.

“The nearest bathroom is down the hall, the first door on the right.” Soobin says, directing her.

She quickly makes her way to the bathroom then, trying to be as quick and clean as she could. As she finishes and closes the door behind her, she’s surprised to see someone waiting outside.

“Yeonjun, jeez! You scared me.” B says, feeling her heartrate pick up.

“Why would you be scared?” Yeonjun asks, chuckling. “C’mon, come with me for a moment. I just wanted to show you something.” he says, grabbing her hand and pulling her with him.

B let him pull her, praying that he couldn’t feel her pulse racing through her wrist.

He leads her down the hall, passing by the doors of the dining hall and straight to the kitchen, which led to the backyard.

“Where are we going?” she asks him, shielding her eyes with one hand as the sunlight poured down on them out by the pool.

“I think I left something in the shed last night, I was hoping you could help me with it.” he simply says, leading the way to the shed.

He opens the door and steps inside, pulling her in with him. The heavy door closes behind them, and they find themselves in the dim light of the shed once again. She notes that while last night it was pitch black, this time there was at least a little bit of light, just enough so that B could make out the outline of everything in the shed.

B starts to look around the shed, her eyes struggling to adjust from the searing brightness to the dim light. “Alright, so what did you leave here? What are we looking for? Is it a wallet? A ring?” she asks as she looks at the ground, trying to spot what he might have left behind.

“We’re not here to look for anything.” Yeonjun begins slowly. B looks at him, confused.

“So what is it? You said you left something here last night, right?” she asks.

“I left a question, and I was hoping you could help me with the answer.” Yeonjun reveals, looking at her intently. “You said last night that whatever happens in this shed stays in this shed, so here we are, back in the said shed.”

She could hear her heart pounding through her ears as she forces herself to meet his gaze. She couldn’t escape it now, especially since they were in the shed. Even though she already knew what he was going to say, she asks “Alright, so what’s the question?”

He smiles at her then, amused. He knew that she knew what he was talking about.

“Baby, will you go out with me?”

She holds her breath, knowing she wouldn’t be able to avoid this forever. Technically, she had the whole night to think about what she would answer, but now that the moment was actually here again, her thoughts were scrambled.

She counts her breaths, 1 2 3, before exhaling and giving him her answer.

“No.”

[grrlinthefireplace]

Hey so I’ve been seeing you post a lot about La Casa de Papel recently. What exactly is it? It looks kinda interesting.

Thank you so much for asking!

I am delighted beyond reason to have the opportunity to tell you - and by extension the entire world - why this show has cleared my skin, watered my crops, and legitimately healed my soul after this particularly soul-crushing season of Grimdark White Man Television almost broke me as a human being.

I will attempt to keep this as spoiler-free as I possibly can, because this is a show that should be experienced in the moment, but in a nutshell, La Casa de Papel is a heist show set in present-day Madrid which follows both a found family of thieves who rob the Royal Mint of Spain, and the law enforcement officials on the outside who are chasing them.

If that is enough for you, go right to your TV or computer, fire up the ol’ Netflix, and don’t waste any more time.

If, however, you need a little more, here are the top five things I flail about to every single person in my life to convince them they need to start watching this show like immediately and then come back and tell me all about it.

For visual flair, we’ll intersperse them with some gifs of ladies, because I know my audience.

5. character driving plot > plot driving character.

You know that infuriating thing lazy TV writers do where, in order to to hurry up and get to the big explosion or battle scene or dragon attack or whatever, which is the only bit they really care about, they handwave away the whole concept of motivation and make some character do something that any halfway-attentive viewer will immediately clock that they would never actually do?

There is none of that bullshit here.

In its simplest form, the plot of La Casa de Papel is as follows: a brilliant criminal mastermind devises a heist which cannot possibly go wrong, and then we proceed to watch all the ways in which it goes wrong.

This is a fantastic setup for an action story, made even more breathlessly exciting by strategic use of my favorite heist movie plot device (as perfected by Ocean’s Eleven): namely, “scene where it looks like our crime heroes have been outsmarted and are now threatened by a completely unforeseen disaster” immediately followed by “flashback to the team prepping for the heist where we learn that of course they prepared for this exact scenario.”

But from time to time, things do actually go wrong (as they must, or else there would be no story); and, when they do, it is never because you can tell a writer just wanted to write a scene where bullets go flying, and didn’t care how he got there. These characters are so clear, their behavior so consistent, that when gasp-worthy plot twists happen, they happen because of course that character, in this exact scenario, would do that exact thing.

I’m telling you, I came to this show for a ship (more on that in a minute) and I stayed for a swooning, heart-eyes writer crush on the impeccably-designed plot structure and characterization.

4. High stakes, low gore.

Tone-wise, on a sliding scale of Heist Film Intensity where a really fluffy episode of Leverage is a 1, Reservoir Dogs is a 10, and the Ocean’s franchise is somewhere in the 3-4 range, I would place La Casa at a 5 or a 6, which is perfect for me. I love action, suspense, drama and adventure, but I hate gratuitous violence (especially when it’s pointless and masturbatory and doesn’t contribute anything to the plot) and have a very low tolerance for blood and gore. So I kept waiting for the story to eventually take a hard left turn into Tarantino Land, until eventually it was all just one huge pile of dead bodies, and was genuinely surprised when it didn’t.

This is how I learned just how badly my brain has been fucked up by lazy showrunners who think shock deaths are the only way to raise stakes. During the first season of this show, before I had figured out that it was a Flawless Gem of Television Which So Far Has Not Once Disappointed Me, there were probably a dozen moments where I was absolutely convinced that some character was about to be gruesomely killed for shock value … and I was wrong every single time.

Reader, it was fucking wild.

Every single time I was convinced that person A was going to shoot person B in the head because blah blah maximum angst over here in this part of the story and then it will motivate person C to do this other thing, the show did the hard work of finding a smarter, more unexpected direction to take that character’s story. That means that when deaths do come along - and there are a couple - they feel genuinely earned, and they matter deeply to the story and to us.

3. I would die for these women.

This show loves women. Like it truly, authentically, uncompromisingly loves women in all our fucked-up messy glorious complexity. There are no “types” or cliches here; no one is forced to be only one thing. Fuck your one-dimensional Strong Female Characters, lazy writers.

For one thing, on many shows you might be lucky if you get maybe one mom who is given a personality and a story outside of motherhood. Often, on shows written by men, the fact of her motherhood diminishes her strength or her agency. On this show, nearly every one of the central female characters is both a mom and an action hero simultaneously. Seriously. By season 3 there are four different battle moms. They’re all different, they’re not all on the same side, they have different perspectives, and their role as mother impacts the story differently, but that’s the joy of having a whole lot of different kinds of women - no one has to be everything to everyone.

These women are complicated. They laugh, they cry, they crack dirty jokes, they get laid, they have babies, they fight, they make mistakes, they fall in love, they grow. Men pull sexist shit and they shut it the fuck down. Some of them have love stories, some of them don’t, but they are never defined by or triangulated around relationships with men. They get to have relationships with each other. All of them are excellent at their jobs.

Tokyo is the kind of hot mess antihero protagonist we’ve been watching middle-aged white men play for decades.

Allison is such a realistic teenage girl it’s genuinely painful to watch.

Monica has one of the best arcs I’ve ever seen on television, this is not a drill.

Alicia is terrifying. (A pregnant black ops interrogator! ON WHAT OTHER FUCKING SHOW!?!??)

Nairobi is unlike any other character you’ve seen on TV before; she’s got a little bit of Parker from Leverage, a little bit of Raven Reyes from The 100, but she’s entirely her own creature and you will fall in love with her instantly.

And Raquel. Oh, my love, my angel, my hero, Inspector Raquel Murillo. Love of my goddamn life. A fierce, kickass hostage negotiator swimming upstream against a tide of workplace misogyny who sometimes has to make the frustrating little male-appeasing compromises we all have to make to get through the workday. A beautiful, sexy, powerful heroine over 40 whose femininity isn’t diminished based on some bullshit notion that, for example, pairing your tough-bitch suit and gun holster with red toenails and a lacy blouse detracts from your strength. A loving mom and daughter who has to juggle raising a small child and caring for an aging parent with the stress of, you know, trying to stop the biggest robbery in the history of Spain. A domestic violence survivor (TW for those who need it; nothing is ever shown onscreen, but it’s discussed several times) who is given the space to discuss the things that have happened to her and how she has worked through them with such dignity, accuracy and respect that you can tell the writers did their homework.

This is a show where you can tell there are women in the writers’ room.

2. The Professor and Raquel. I don’t want to spoil a single thing for you here except to say that I myself was lured into this show by the promise of electric sexual chemistry between a criminal mastermind and the police inspector hunting him down, and my God I was not disappointed.

1. Love.

This show came into my life at a period where I was so weary of cynicism on television - so fucking furious at showrunners who dangle hope in front of us and then crush it, who only care about building anything if they can tear it down later, who treat love and fun and joy and hope and family and happiness like they’re intellectually lesser than grimdark nihilism with no soul - that I was honestly kind of broken by it. I was just so. fucking. tired. Tired of “the way we show this heroine is strong is to kill off her love interest.” Tired of “sorry but all this rape and murder is NECESSARY because of REALISM” (particularly rich when coming from shows featuring evil A.I.’s or dragons and ice zombies). Tired of getting invested in relationships - whether ships or friends or found families - only to realize that the show I was watching was always going to sacrifice character to force plot mechanics into place, and those relationships were never going to get the kind of care and focus I wanted them to get.

But that is not this show.

The single most revolutionary thing, to me, about La Casa de Papel - the thing that sets it apart from every other rollercoaster action thrill ride on television - is that every single thread of the plot is tied to love.

Every.

Single.

One.

Love of all different shapes and sizes - parents and children, friendships, doomed crushes (straight and queer), toxic exes, blossoming romances, siblings - and over it all, a deep, deep love for humanity.

The thing I said before, about how when things go wrong they go wrong in character-driven ways? It’s this. Love is why everything on this show happens. Love is what makes children want to live up to their parents and what makes parents fight to leave a better world for their children. Love is why deaths have stakes. Love is why we spend so much screentime lingering on small moments another show might ignore, like all the thieves at heist camp sitting down every night to have dinner together and argue about paella techniques. Love is what causes chaos in the middle of the heist; when there’s one person in the room you care about more than the others, you can get distracted and take your eye off the ball. Love is how your enemies can get to you, by leveraging or blackmailing the people who matter most, knowing that you’ll crack if they’re in danger. Love, gone wrong, causes toxic men to develop possessive and controlling behavior towards women. Love is how the Professor gets the idea for the heist in the first place. The plan is flawless on paper, but it doesn’t account for the human variable, and over and over again we see that relationships and connection and sex and family and love cause people to behave in unpredictable ways and throw the whole plan into chaos, which is what makes for a dynamic and compelling story.

How refreshing to see a show simply refuse to grant the oft-repeated premise that a show cannot have both high-octane thrills, and a big soft squishy heart, at the same time.

ANYWAY, I’VE TAKEN UP ENOUGH OF YOUR VALUABLE TV-WATCHING TIME, GO JUMP ON BOARD THIS TRAIN AND COME SCREAM ABOUT IDEALISTIC SPANISH ROBIN HOODS WITH ME, AND LET THE GOOD SHIP SERQUEL INTO YOUR LIFE, YOU WON’T BE SORRY

THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK

[megalony]

Scan picture

This is my first Matt Murdock/ Daredevil imagine I am posting on here, I hope you all enjoy it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @rogahs-drowse

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Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a sigh, Matt pressed the circular rim of the coffee cup to his lips as he tapped the walking stick in his other hand against the edge of the door frame in front of him. He had just about created a mental picture of the office like he had done for his apartment but they had only been in the office for a week now. He didn't want to get ahead of himself and think he knew where everything was and then walk into the wall.

He also had to remember to use the stick when he was in the office because both Karen and Foggy expected it of him. They would find it rather odd if he suddenly walked around like he could see which he could virtually do when he was at home.

Walking through the open doorway from the small cupboard-like room they were using as a makeshift kitchen, Matt turned left and then left again to go through another doorway into the space he was using as his office.

The lawyer had heard Karen stating how the walls were a very bland cream shade that looked rather mouldy and dusty mustard. From what Matt remembered, that didn't sound like a very appealing colour but the bright side was it didn't affect him. The office could be painted black or in rainbow colours and Matt would be the only one who wouldn't care.

Matt knew that him and Foggy going this alone would mean the business would be pretty slow for a while but this seemed just a bit too slow for him to handle. They were spending these few days drinking pints of coffee and simply chatting when they should be working on cases and getting justice for those who deserved it.

The moment he sat down he found himself tilting his head to the side to try and concentrate on the new sounds that he could hear. He heard the sound of the main door to the office building being opened as the hinges were old and caused a certain grounding noise to appear. He could hear footsteps that weren't heavy but weren't very light either, they were more padded and firm but the person was pushing off their toes like they were stepping on springs.

He waited and listened to the patterns of the feet, trying to determine if it was someone they knew or if it was a new client. Part of him hoping it was going to be a new client because they needed the income and the reputation. Yet he doubted that it would be a client, they hadn't exactly gotten themselves that well known yet, most clients seemed to have been pushed their way so far.

A smile found its way onto Matt's features when the person got closer, their footsteps now on the wooden steps that led to their office. He heard the familiar groaning of the floorboard third from the top meaning they were extremely close now. Close enough that Matt could smell the signature perfume that flooded his apartment, a perfume that wasn't roses and daisies or something toxic and eye-watering like a lot of women's perfume that he smelt. It was one that was slightly more masculine than feminine but one that he knew his wife adored, one that he rather liked himself and smelt every day she applied it.

Matt pushed himself to his feet when he heard the office door being pushed open rather lightly in the way that (Y/n) did. He knew she would be looking around the door making sure she had the right office and that there were no clients that were stealing their attention so she wasn't intruding on anything.

Foggy brushed a strand of dark golden hair behind his ear as he smiled at seeing (Y/n) walking into the office. He hadn't seen her for a while now, since before he and Matt bought the office and got it ready and the business all set up. It was nice to have a familiar face around, to see someone he had known since university.

He smiled as his eyes drifted between (Y/n)'s eyes and the bag in her hand that she was carrying. It gave the impression that held within the plastic bag was a gift which reminded Foggy that she had confided in him about getting some kind of surprise for Matt. But she wouldn't confess as to what the surprise was which made Foggy feel like a child desperate to know what their Christmas present was, even though it wasn't for him.

"Busy I see." (Y/n) stated with a smile causing Foggy to roll his eyes at her in a playful manner.

"Extremely, but I think we have some time to spare for you." Foggy responded as his eyes drifted to the right to check that Matt knew she had arrived. Not knowing Matt had heard her footsteps since she came into the building. Seeing that his friend was already on his feet and walking over to them.

"Can we help you?" Karen asked kindly, unsure who was currently with them in the office and how Foggy seemed to be in connection with her. 

Karen's eagle eyes had already spotted the silver wedding ring settled on Matt's ring finger but she hadn't inquired into his private life. She hadn't known either of the men for very long, having only just started to work for them so she didn't think it was her place to ask about his marriage or his private life just yet.

Her eyes fell to Matt when he reached a cautious hand out and found her elbow, his touch very light and gentle as he had a calming but still happy smile on his features.

"It's alright Karen, she's not a client. This is my wife (Y/n), (Y/n) this is Karen." He introduced the pair as Karen let out a small 'oh' in realisation. A smile taking over her features at the news although Foggy could already see the rather shocked look on her face as her eyes couldn't seem to divert from looking at (Y/n)'s stomach. Matt hadn't said anything to Karen about his private life and therefore had not told her he was expecting a child.

But the moment he had found out, Foggy had been the first person he had told since he was unable to contain his excitement about the news. Foggy was really the only family Matt had apart from (Y/n) and so he was the only person Matt had to share this news with.

(Y/n) sent a warm smile in Karen's direction before she moved over to Matt, wrapping her arms around his neck as she felt his arms enclosing around her middle. She was careful not to hit him with the bag in her hand as Matt had already set down the white plastic walking stick, not really needing it for the time being and not wanting to hit his wife with it by mistake. They both heard two footsteps retreating signalling that Foggy and Karen were leaving them for a few moments.

Pulling back, Matt rested one hand to the side of her face before leaning to capture her lips in a kiss.

The lawyer hated that he didn't know what she looked like because he knew his imagination was never going to live up to the reality he was not allowed to see. He could only come up with a rough sketch in his mind and it was never going to be enough but he was never going to get more. He could trace his hands over her features and find out the shape of her face, her nose, if her chin was pointed or not and the shape of her lips.

Yet Foggy always told him she was beautiful, wondering how he always managed to get with 'the hot ones'. (Y/n) knew how Matt felt upset at the fact he wouldn't be able to see their child, creating an image in his head was never the same as being able to see them with his own eyes and there was nothing she could do about it which in turn saddened her.

"How are you, and what's in the bag?" He questioned, pulling back slightly to rest his forehead against her own. He could hear the bag behind him rustle around slightly and press to his back making him wonder what she had brought. He knew it couldn't be food because there would have been some kind of scent. He could smell a mixture of things but he couldn't make out exactly what it was and he knew for sure it was not food.

"I'm okay. I got you a present, I think you'll like it." Pulling back, (Y/n) unwrapped her arms from him and held the bag out to him. Smiling at the curious expression on his features as he slowly took the bag from her before he reached his hand out and traced his fingers over the wall to get back to his office. Hearing her footsteps showing that she was following him.

Matt grasped the top of the leather chair behind the desk and pulled it out so he could slowly sit down, placing the bag on the desk before turning his head in (Y/n)'s direction when she stood beside him. He relaxed when he felt her hand resting on his shoulder as he knew she was waiting to see his reaction to her surprise. He felt ever so slightly panicked because he was good with dates and remembering special occasions. Today was not his birthday, it wasn't any kind of event and it wasn't their anniversary or anything like that so he had no reason to be given a gift.

"What's it for?"

"Can I not get you a gift for the sake of it?" She questioned gently, a sense of teasing to her tone as she was essentially giving his own words back to him. The times Matt had given her something like this without a reason he simply told her he was her husband and therefore could get her something without there being any reasoning behind it or a sense of bargaining or bribing.

"Alright." He smiled before turning his attention back to the bag resting in front of him.

Matt reached a cautious hand inside of the bag, feeling a cardboard box smoothing against his palm making him even more curious as to what the present was. He carefully took hold of the box and eased it from the bag, his eyes narrowing behind the darkened red glasses when he felt that there was some weight to the box.

The scent of plastic and plaster from some kind of mould or a shaping solution flooded his nose.

Was it an ornament? But (Y/n) knew Matt had no use for ornaments, when they moved in together she was the one who had the little nicnacs and ornaments and objects. Matt had essentials and nothing else because pictures and statues and even cards or normal books were no use to him.

Setting the box down on the table, Matt felt around it before feeling that the lid was loose and not taped down or secured. He slowly lifted the lid off and placed it to his side on the desk so he could find out what was in the box that was heightening his curiosity and wonder like he was suddenly a child again. Reaching his steady but nervous hands into the box, Matt scrunched up a handful of bustling tissue paper which (Y/n) kindly took from him and placed into the plastic bag out of the way.

She could feel her heart jumping in her chest as she could see what was in the box, now desperately hoping that Matt liked it when he realised what it was.

With a deep breath, Matt slowly started to run his fingertips over the contents of the box which he found out was a plastic mould of something. He felt his heart suddenly beating rapidly against his ribs as his breath found itself caught in his lungs, unable to go anywhere. His mind couldn't seem to comprehend the image his fingertips were now creating for his mind.

He slowly took the object out of the cardboard box, being gentle as not to drop it as he set it down on the desk. Continuing to run his fingertips over the object, pressing a little harder and pressing his palms against it as he felt afraid that it might break under the slightest bit of pressure.

Matt felt the smoothness of hardened plastic that had been moulded into a perfectly sculptured design specifically for his hands to create a picture in his head since his eyes hadn't been able to see this image before. Matt's hands started to shake as he slowly took his glasses from resting on his nose so he could rub at his now watering eyes as he didn't know what to think.

"Matt?" (Y/n) questioned quietly, not exactly knowing what to think when she noticed the tears. Reaching over she gently brushed a tear from his cheek with the pad of her thumb, stopping when Matt's hand enclosed around her own. He held her hand tightly as he turned so he was facing her before he wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her closer so he could press his lips to her baby bump. The tears still falling from his eyes yet the smile on his face was uncomprehendable.

"Thank you."

(Y/n) moved her hand to the back of his neck, gently caressing the skin there as she felt another kiss being pressed to her stomach.

"What did you get?" Foggy questioned as he walked into the small space Matt was using for his own office and desk.

The blond quickly realised he seemed to have walked in on a moment but when he saw the tears in Matt's eyes he felt panicked as he tried to determine whether they were happy or sad tears. When (Y/n) nodded for him to come in, Foggy moved over and peered at the desk to see what the present was that (Y/n) had been so excited about getting for Matt.

Foggy felt tears already welling in his own eyes at the present.

There on the desk was a mould of their baby from the scan photo Foggy remembered (Y/n) showing him a few weeks back. The face and the hands were pressing out of a rectangle mould so that Matt could run his hands over them and feel his baby's features and hands so he could work out an image of them in his head.

(Y/n) had decided to get this when she realised how saddened Matt had been when they were at the scan because the only thing he could hear was the heartbeat. He had noticed how (Y/n) had felt ecstatic and uplifted from seeing the scan photo and he knew Foggy had been happy too but all Matt got was a heartbeat he could already hear whenever he was around (Y/n). It was a sound that managed to always calm him down and it was the last thing he heard before he went to sleep.

But to be able to form a mental picture like this was something that was completely different for Matt and it was exactly what he had been thinking about for the past few weeks. This way he had a scan of his own for himself.

"Oh wow, (Y/n)... that's amazing." Foggy stated in awe, tracing his own fingers over the image that warmed his heart as Karen felt like crying when she saw it.

"I thought you could use a scan picture of your own." (Y/n) whispered quietly, feeling Matt interlocking their fingers together as he leaned into her. More tears falling from his eyes as this is exactly what he needed.

[kittystargen3]

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13523059/1/The-Skywalker-Tale-A-Legacy-Restored

I’ve posted chapter 5 today.  please read chapter 1 below and go to one of the links above to read more.

Chapter 1: Making a Stand, a Precious Birth

One day on the planet D'Qar in the Ileenium system, an old man was dragged out of a shuttle by an irate looking bluish ghost.

"Bring out the General!" The ghost shouted at a stunned looking pilot. Though the ghost had a young form, his eyes were much older.

General Leia Organa had sensed something as soon as the shuttle landed on her new Resistance base, and she walked into the hanger looking for them. "Han," she said in shock when she saw the old man.

"Princess," He was unharmed, except maybe for his pride, but he dusted himself off the same. His eyes then danced towards the bluish ghost in the room.

When Leia met his ghostly eyes, hers were filled with terror.

"Honey, I'm home." said the ghost of Anakin Skywalker innocently.

"What are you doing here!" Leia shouted angrily. She lifted up her cane and gave it a swing, straight through his ghostly appearance.

Though it could obviously do no damage, Anakin backed up a step and held out a hand defensively. "I know I have a lot of sins to live down, and I haven't been the best father, but I thought you'd both want to hear what I have to say. I found a way to save our Ben."

"Don't..." Leia was near tears.

"It's all thanks to you anyway!" Han shouted.

"It's not..." Leia started.

"Well, he didn't inherit his dark side tendencies from my side of the family." Han turned accusingly towards Anakin.

Anakin thought back to the day young Ben was born. As a ghost you'd expect things to go smoothly into the after life, only Anakin had bonds with both Luke and Leia that only grew stronger with his death. Whenever one was in pain, whether it be of the heart or body, he felt it too.

"Anakin! What's wrong?" Obi-Wan reached out.

"Pain. I'm in so much pain," Anakin cried. After a little while the pain receded, and Anakin felt well again. Some time later, Anakin gasped in pain again. Several former Jedi were now gathered around him, worried looks on everyone's faces. They mumbled between themselves, but no one suggested anything to help.

"Come, lets go see the Auctor." Obi-Wan helped Anakin up after the pain stopped again.

"Do you think something happened to them? The war is over, isn't it?" Anakin fretted.

Obi-Wan's face had an amused expression. "Hmm, Leia was expecting, last we checked on them. It's been seven minutes. She's getting close."

"You really think?" Anakin jumped up and ran with Obi-Wan the rest of the way.

The Auctor inhabited a workshop in the other relm. Its walls were lined with bookshelves, and in the middle of the room was a large still and numerous bottles.

As Anakin ran into the room he startled a creature, perched on the Auctor's shoulders. The creature jumped down and the bottle the Auctor had been holding fell down with it in a crash. It spilled a black oily liquid on the floor.

"Ooh, Why did you have to do that!" The Auctor growled.

"We do apologize for our haste," Obi-Wan placated.

"It wasn't our fault," Anakin defended. "The creature..." Anakin pointed to where it sat now, across the room, on a book which was opened on a stand.

"Creature… He's a monkey. Comes from a planet in a galaxy far, far away." The Auctor reached out his arm and the monkey jumped back over to him. "He has feelings too, that's right, and their hurt." The monkey rubbed his head into the Auctor's finger as he cooed.

Anakin thought he saw a trace of the black oily substance on the book when the monkey jumped off, but in another second it was gone.

"And this is the dark side of Palpatine's soul. I've been distilling it for a whole year. Filtering out the light side bits, there wasn't much in the man." The Auctor fretted, while cleaning up the black puddle. On the table, still attached to the machine was another vial with a few drops of blue liquid. "What do you want, anyways?"

Anakin moved to answer, but was struck down by another shooting pain. "Aah, I think it's getting worse."

"Breathe boy, remember to breathe." Obi-Wan put his hands on Anakin.

"Ooh, I see," The Auctor waved to the book on the stand. "Go ahead. Do your Jedi thing and access the relm of the living." As Anakin walked up to the book, The Auctor turned to Obi-Wan "You know I miss the good old days, when you jedi would die, and then leave me alone. That whole no attachments thing had it's advantages. Now you guys are constantly running in here and interfering with my work. I never get anything done anymore." He motioned wildly with his hands as he spoke.

"Hey, it's not working." Anakin looked up alarmed.

The Auctor stepped closer to the book. "You've got the wrong page there, don't you. That skill of yours doesn't allow for time travel." He started to page through the book. "And look, you've gotten creases in the pages too."

"I'm sure my padawan wishes to apologize," Obi-Wan said with a forced nod to Anakin.

"It wasn't me, it was the Monkey." Anakin said under his breath. Obi-Wan gave another forced nod, and Anakin complied. "I'm sorry."

"It's no problem. I'll apply a steamed press to the pages later. No permanent damage done. There, this is today's page." The Auctor pointed to the open book.

"We thank you very much," Obi-Wan said as Anakin projected himself into our relm.

He arrived in a hallway in a hospital in Hanna City, Chandrila. He walked towards a room where he heard voices.

"Oh, Han. I had to be there. It was the signing of the Galactic Concordance. You know how much work I've, we've all put in to get to this point," said Leia.

"You're nine months pregnant!" Han sounded upset. "I had to get the call from these boys that you were being taken here by ambulance. I nearly had a heart attack. You can't tell me it was so urgent that she be there."

"Her signature as an official witness to the signing was necessary to make the concordance a legitimate legal document." recited Sondiv Sella, an adviser and one of the two 'boys' Han had referred to earlier.

"Really?" Han eyed both men suspiciously.

"No, not really." The other, Sinjir Rath Velus, eyed the floor nervously. "Though her status does add to the legitimacy of the document."

"I was there by Mon Mothma's request, and I wouldn't have had it any other way." Leia said in a voice meant to close the argument. "Besides I didn't know I was going into labor till the signing was underway."

"Just when did this all start?" asked Han.

"This morning it started with a backache. But then I'm nine months pregnant. A backache is no surprise. When Mon Mothma was applying her signature, my water broke. By that time I had no choice, I had to wait until the signings were finished. Oooh…" Han ran over to hold Leia's hand, but she batted him away. "Water, I need water."

Meanwhile Obi-Wan came up to Anakin in the hallway. "Come, let's give them some privacy. This way is the waiting room."

Anakin and Obi-Wan followed the two advisers as they made their way out of the hospital room.

"Father…" Luke's eyes were wide as he greeted them in the waiting room.

Anakin was then gripped by another bout of pain as Leia, in the other room likely had another contraction.

"He's going through sympathy pains, I'm afraid," explained Obi-Wan. "I'm glad Leia made it here in time. I understand it was touch and go for a while."

Beside Luke the large Wookiee, Chewbacca, growled a question at Luke.

"It's my father, and Ben Kenobi." He turned back to Obi-Wan. "Not really serious. Just that Mon Mothma opted to call an ambulance to fly her to the hospital to be safest. Han reacted as, well Han, when he heard. I imagine he's making far bigger deal out of it than he needs to."

Anakin couldn't remember any more of the conversation between Obi-Wan, Luke, and the Wookiee if he tried. The next thing he remembered was the strongest of painful bouts ending and a nurse-droid coming out some time later and announcing Leia had given birth to a healthy baby boy.

Luke and Chewbacca moved to go visit with the new mother and father. Anakin began to follow them, when Obi-Wan stopped him. "We're gonna let Luke go in first. Let him explain our visit to them."

So Anakin waited… and he waited… until he got an idea. "Can't I just go incorporeal. I'll be really quiet. They won't even know I'm watching. Pp-please," Anakin begged.

Obi-Wan sighed, and fretted. "Ok, fine. But stay incorporeal until Luke says it's alright.

"Yesss!" Anakin seemed to vanish from our relm as he continued to project himself, but without a physical appearance.

As he entered the room, Anakin headed straight for the bassinet. Inside lay a baby boy, with dark hair, large ears, and his mother's eyes. Anakin reached over the infant, enveloped in those innocent eyes. As he did so, the baby cooed and reached to grab for Anakin's hand. Though he was still incorporeal, infants are often sensitive to such things. Especially force sensitive infants.

"No!" Leia's voice was firm.

"But Leia…," Luke pleaded.

"No, I won't have him anywhere near my boy. You may say he's changed, but you just don't change from that type of monster. No!" Leia's voice broke.

"He became a force ghost at the end. It wouldn't have worked if he still..."

"Come on..." Han interrupted Luke when Leia began to cry.

Anakin listened to his son plead his case and he felt immense guilt. His children shouldn't be arguing for his sake. He resigned himself to what he'd have to do, and turned again to stroke at the face of his grandson one last time. As he pulled away the infant began to cry.

"Stop." Anakin said to Luke, as he became corporeal again. "If it is what you wish, I will leave and have no part in the child's upbringing."

Leia jumped. Han stepped forward with his arms crossed. "It's what we wish," Leia said. Her voice did not waver.

Anakin nodded, the turned to Han. "Take care of them, or you will be seeing me again." As Anakin turned to leave our relm Obi-Wan stood next to the infant with a look of sympathy in his eyes.

Obi-Wan stayed to watch the infant, who lay sleeping in his bassinet. A nurse started to coo Leia into resting after ushering Han and Luke out of the room. Leia looked up at Obi-Wan and whispered "Ben."

When the nurse looked up, all she saw was the child, for Obi-Wan had faded from our relm.

Later that day, when the nurse got Leia up and prepared to nurse, she handed the baby to Leia saying, "Here's Baby Ben."

"Ben!" Leia looked at the nurse in shock.

"Earlier, when you were napping, you called him that. I thought..." she defended herself.

"Little Ben. I like the name." Han said.

Leia smiled, as she remembered Obi-Wan, Ben Kenobi. "Our only hope… Sounds fitting."

Anakin watched these events in silence.

Back in the present, Anakin waved his hands to placate Leia and Han. "Since he was born, I've respected your wishes. You said don't interfere, and I hadn't. I hadn't interfered in his life. But I also said to take care of them, or you will be hearing from me again…"

Han shifted, his arms subconsciously preparing for a fight.

"This isn't about you and me anymore. It's about my grandson. And with the current situation as it is, you can't argue me away this time." Anakin's mouth closed in a rigid line. His hands moved to his hips. "Not this time."

[madamhatter]

ACT ???. BACKSTAGE your name is.....

Note: headcanon dump. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  several smaller ones drafted, decided against spam, and then bunched some together. 

got only another thing, a drabble, which it’ll come out soon enough..! had it for ~3 days and isn’t as long as this post. 

plumeria.

“And a good morning to you too.” Before the sun greeted the sky, Sophie Hatter had been minding herself to conversation with a newly made friend. Her hand briskly brushes against their cool form to then patting it affectionately. Turns out that her friend was much taller than her, which is quite a shock for how younger they were. Not surprising when she was talking to a blossoming plumeria tree. 

After the events in ACT I, SCENE I, and a great amount of guilt (which she easily crumbles under), Sophie ended up using a good portion of her earned bits from that week to purchase the plumeria she enchanted. The tree has been reserved to live comfortably on top of the apartment complex she lives in, which makes it an interesting sight. 

She has already constructed a large box (3.5 feet width), filled it with dirt, and transferred the tree into its happy new home. She thankfully did as her magic is, in simple terms, is very reactive. Not needing direct commands, or specific words/chants to use it, her own vocals can impact quite a bit. In this case, it’s the fact that the tree that had once fit in a pot was now already taking on a healthier size. It is has quite visible around the block as it’s already ~6 ft and can grow up to 20 ft. At this rate, it may happen exponentially. 

If it sounds like the tree is alone, don’t worry! One of the major projects Sophie had when she (recently) moved into her apartment was to create A) a reliable source of food and B) connections. So, there is a community garden on the rooftop as well, not taking up the entirety of the space (but could, depending on what’s wanted by the complex residents). She acts as the head gardener and spends a good portion up there to tend to vegetables, flowers, and the tree. Anyone in the apartment complex may freely tend to the garden (and take from it).

consumption/charity.

With her only stable income coming from her work as the Vermilion Detective Agency’s housekeeper, and her past history of her family’s ‘bread winner,’ she has spent scrupulous time organizing and budgeting out most weeks in advance. Considering Simeon’s work, which is high risk and high reward, that is not usually counted. She anticipates that there’ll be 'dry periods’ when there might not be available work or she’ll be decommissioned due to injuries sustained from her last job. In her opinion, it’s best to work in assuming conditions are worst than they are, which mean certain sacrifices are made.

For this headcanon, we’ll focus on food consumption. Sophie has notoriously bad health concerns when it comes to herself. This includes missing out on meals and not keeping track of what she has eaten. She is an avid baker and cook from being her family’s provider, but this doesn’t mean she makes things for herself. Honestly, the shame of her skills is that even if she could create as much, she A) can’t enjoy it/rationalizes that isn’t for her pleasure/source, and, in the case of food, B) not able to indulge. Sophie has a major case of “food intolerances” because of the limited availability (and variety) of foods in her childhood. 

All this in mind, Sophie tends to have extra ingredients available or a selection of them that she wouldn’t normally eat. (or can’t eat). There’s the fear that it’ll expire and she would’ve wasted money, so she pretty much returned to old habits: assume a bigger household. 

Sophie, essentially, has cooked larger meals and offered them out in her apartment. It originally didn’t start like this. She already offered meals already to those in the apartment complex out of compassion. She comes from a relatively small community and it’s always been integral to participate and support those around you; they can be as much as family to you, if you decide to make them so. But, back to topic. Considering how little she’s actually using, she isn’t wanting anything to go to waste

Want a plate in Sophie’s apartment? The first step would be you’d need to live close to her district, or in her district, and heard it by word of mouth (or from the source herself). She can’t go the extra mile and create new locations to serve food. Maybe in local spots, but she is still someone who’s living in poverty. The second step would be to know when. The best way to know? See if the plumeria tree is blossomed. 

It blossoms and closes according to when visits the garden. Its a part of her obligations to visit the roof-top garden everyday for about 1~4 times (when she wakes up, when she leaves, when she returns, and when she’s retiring for the day). It can be more times. Again, her speech leaves impact, and given how she speaks to the tree, the flower scan either be opened or closed. If it’s opened, she’s been at the apartment and hasn’t left. If they’re closed, she’s either (trying) to sleep or she’s left the apartment. The flowers aren’t always opened, which doesn’t necessarily reflect that she hasn’t visited. She’s possibly busy/stressed about something, rushing to get things done, or isn’t in the particular mood. 

Then again, if someone crashed in and is ridiculously malnourished or mentions they haven’t eaten (or lies about it), she will rush into that kitchen faster than they can blink. It’s always been a part of her character to be a ‘people-pleaser’ to some angle, usually seen as compassion. ..Add in the fact that her guilt can be used against her effectively and the person might not even be trying. 

rambling below. wasn’t proof-read. just me going. 

..Now that I think about it, this act itself is coping to the internalized and externalized exile she’s facing. She’s completely removed from her family unit (sisters), the one thing that kept her going, and her home and history has been destroyed. It’s already of her to genuinely fear loneliness and the inevitable ‘uselessness’ she will be because all she’s worked for has always been to benefit/aid her sisters. 

She believes the worth she actually feels good about ( read: the one time feels happy when she’s being used/taken advantage of) will expire as soon as her sisters don’t need her anymore. She spent her life being used and gotten used to it because she, as a child, *agreed/accepted* her shit fate in lieu that she’d be used to help/nurture/do everything for her sisters’ happiness/stability/etc. That is literally the reason why she rolls with it. Just for them. 

In her eyes, she’s *very* close to the point where her life is going to really have no purpose because she has reconstructed herself for her sisters-. and there’s the fact that if she successfully raised them and ensured them everything they need, they wouldn’t need her. she’ll be obsolete and she knows that. and it’s just a countdown until she’s truly useless, which then means she’ll be lonely because there’s no desirability/use to her. in her head, that’s how relationships work with her and has been the standard since she was a kid. 

providing to people is her life’s obligation because of how she’s been molded to see herself as.

This is a way to get some company and placate the terror of isolation she believes she is fated for. She might’ve reconstructed and gained control of her fate. But, there are certain things your life is barred to because what you perceive to happen/it to be. Basically, self-fulfillment prophecy. 

She still has that gap because of her own internalization, repression, and other co-morbid beliefs, trauma, etc.. She hasn’t gotten to that point, or is she avoiding it? She can physically and emotionally adapt well, but mental adaptation is the harder thing to do. 

It doesn’t help this is the idiot who doesn’t ask for help or admit to these things. Then there’s the problem of her not wanting to be alone, but she pushes relationships away because her feelings towards them are ‘this isn’t going to last and I shouldn’t get comfortable’ and ‘my relationships exist only for exchange in that I need to give and the person has to receive, or else something’s wrong.’  

this can go on, but, nah - this is going to get too off-topic.

tldr: she’s a dumbass who craves intimacy and company like everyone else but rejects most human desires/wants because she wasn’t treated like a proper human and normalized it for herself. sophie believes her relationships are based on ulterior motive + her needing to provide because that what she thought is normal for her. 

budgeting ( + peek into psyche )

Financial stability hadn’t been a staple of Sophie’s life. Emptied pockets and urgency had been, however, persistent conditions by which she coordinated herself and handling between the family shop and her family’s needs. Electricity was all too new in the valley, running water was a commodity that could’ve been easily revoked and it was harder to regain, warmth was at an all-time best whenever the Hatter sisters trio huddled together, and food was as much of a surprise for Sophie with each passing day. As she’s gotten older, she saw less of these impending fears, if only because she placed herself immediately into the workforce. No pay she made was her own, her stepmother pocketed it, but it was thankfully used for the family....with what little was left after Fanny did whatever she wanted with it.

However, those yesterdays were swallowed by a veil of smoke and ember, far too thick to navigate and too hard to breathe in. Instead of a family of the five remaining Hatters, all it was now in Sophie’s estranged life was herself in Topaxi. Her sisters were fortunately in apprenticeships in the empire and Fanny was recently remarried to some rich man -- to whom she never met properly as they gotten engaged and eloped during her disappearance. Even if she spent countless days in a cramped apartment, watching the paint chip away on her ceiling and only in the company of flowers and hats, she was still stubborn to fall on her oldest habit. Every pinch of money she made in her numerous jobs were budgeted with such precision that more than 60% of the funds were mailed out and sent to her sisters at the end of every month.

With the legally questionable yet financially beneficial jobs, it made things much easier to support her family. Her own safety, sanity, and security, however, weren’t priorities. Not that they did matter, anyways, since the importance of a job was customer satisfaction and a successful transaction.

Simeon stirs from their momentary silence, shaking their head at the sound of talk before them. It’d been another arrangement to do another one of those jobs, and it was becoming a routine that they weren’t at all fond of. Morals and better judgement rallied to put a stop in engaging and profiting from this field of world, but those wouldn’t produce anything worthy for her sisters to live off on. It didn’t matter what the self thought and wanted, what mattered was the others.

“Uhuh.” Don’t act as if you were originally listening.

misc.

Given her origins in [REDACTED], particular the location in the country, much of the advancements in Topaxi and in many countries weren’t available for her. She hasn’t ever needed to own a phone (or had one in her house home). There are certain things that are needing to get used to. One of the major points for this is that Sophie’s inadequacy with technology (even if it’s not ‘modern’ to our standards) does impact her. This does include a vehement dislike towards cars, which didn’t exist in the valley where she grew up in. She will pretty much refuse to enter one and would prefer handling foot traffic and relying on her knowledge to find barely-traveled routes. It isn’t necessarily labeled as a phobia, but she does have a great unease inside cars and tends to shimmy to the side, gripping the seat cushion. She would continue conversation but her inputs are not as verbose. She will not look out of the windows and try to keep herself distracted.   The only other time this reaction can be invoked if she’s shoved into any medical facility -- which spikes her anxiety. But, in that particular case, her hostility will appear and it’s not something that really, really comes out easily. 

Knowledge in obscure, if not concerning, topics happens to be ever true in this version than in her usual incarnation. Outside of what her canon establishes in understanding demonology, curses, and contracting, there is the additional compact of her understanding human anatomy. It’s, admittedly, something that doesn’t come out normally and this is mainly discussing the different systems that govern the body. She will share her techniques and skills when it comes to tending/first aid, and the information will out come, but it’s much more friendlier for normal people. It can easily have its tune changed.  Genuinely speaking, the application of this knowledge goes into explaining the limitations of the body and reactions that the body will have if certain bones, organs, etc. are damaged, removed, etc. If we need to go further in, this does include things like dissection and such.  Example of how it’ll be approached, here:   “Here.” Sophie tapped her finger to an image dedicated to the spinal cord as the image listed off the nerves associated with the system, injuries one could get, the name of each vertebrate, etc. “Theoretically,” she turned to Natsume, assuming he was paying attention and not returning to the devil spawns he called his cats.  “If you look at the top, you have the cervical vertebrae.” Sophie gently poked  Natsume’s spine with the tip of her scarred fingertips. “C6 is one of the points where you’d need to get in order to start the process. An injury here could be as harmless as you could expect but there’ll be paralysis from the neck downwards. It is very vital. Something like a hairline fracture could work if the person isn’t looking.” Just imagine it to get into more uncomfortable detail. Why does she know this? Good question.

Sophie’s been formerly cursed as an old woman like in canon. and, weirdly, embraced it faster than any person should’ve. It still impacts her in ways, but spoilers :). The main point is that she falls into the habit of speaking much older than she is. Doesn’t matter if you’re two years older, twice her age, or the one responsible for making the universe, she will refer to you as ‘young,’ among other things, and use titles of endearment.  As a reminder, she is 20 years old, physically that age and actually that age. It is weird but we’re rolling with it. 

Sophie can most likely outdrink you. 

Can make you a sweater. a cap too. 

Can lift quite well! Listen, she’s not ripped, but she can pick up above her weight (in terms of people). If she can’t completely pick you, she’ll drag you. 

ACHIEVEMENT: end notes. ☆ Read over one of Sophie’s extras.

UNLOCKED: ☆ encyclopedic oddity - Shorter GCD for ‘encyclopedic oddity,’ ability in which Sophie spills out strange and off-hand facts/accounts. May also ask her for facts please don’t ☆ the cratchit to your scrooge - sophie may be hired to take on accounting/budgeting work. just as the title suggests, she can also be paid horribly for this job.  ☆ home is where your favorite plate is - chance encounter to gain ‘full stomach’ buff when entering (or barging into) sophie’s apartment. the first question i ask is, how did you manage- ☆ you’re out of touch - sophie gains debuff, ‘you’re out of touch,’ and has lowered resistance to electronics and certain forms of technology.

[amydancepants-peralta]

dtf (desiring thorough fornication)

Just a little one-shot that came about from this post.  🤷‍♀️🙊  Totally/relatively safe for work (aka, not as smutty as my others!)

To be fair, when her day had started out, Amy Santiago hadn’t had any intention of sleeping with Jake Peralta.

He had, in fact, been a total stranger - merely the nameless man who’d sat next to her, on her late night (not quite red eye, but late enough) flight from San Fransisco to New York.  She hadn’t even realised his presence, save for a casual glance to her right when he sat down. 

Okay, maybe she observed how great his smile was.  But that’s nothing.

(And okay, YES, she may have picked up on the fact that he had GREAT upper arms.  But that’s ALL, okay?.)

But then, their plane had taxied out to the runway, and turned right back around again.  She, amongst all the others on the flight, had sat and stared in shocked silence as the ground crew had eventually come back on board, announcing through the PA that ATC had declared it an AOG, which for Amy, led to WTF and IDK.  

She’d remained relatively quiet as everyone had shuffled off the plane, dejected nature palpable as they all grabbed their belongings and walked back up the aerobridge.  Hadn’t even noticed, to be honest, that the same man had been beside her the entire time.  

And that, my friends, is when Amy’s day had stopped making sense.

She’d stood in the middle of the slowly emptying gate area, hands on her hips, blinking in confusion as a small man with slicked back hair named Charles told her once again that there had been a clerical error.  And that because the plane they were supposed to be taking to New York didn’t have any crew to fly it for another ten hours, the airline was putting everyone into hotels for the night - except in Amy’s case, she was sharing her room with someone named Jake Peralta, because this ‘clerical error’ had put the two of them down as a couple.  With the added bonus information that the holiday season they were flying in meant that the hotel had literally zero other rooms on offer.  

She should have been grateful, she supposed, that the greasy-skinned man with foul body odour that she’d passed on the way out of the plane hadn’t had a surname that started with P, Q, R or S - thereby making him the victim of this clerical error.  Nor the young woman with too-big hair that didn’t seem to understand the concept of putting her phone down for just a few minutes.  Instead, she’d been paired up with a relatively nice-looking guy; taller than her (not that it is much of a challenge), friendlier than her, and owner of that surprisingly contagious smile.  

He had been sitting at the edge of the gate, one leg crossed over the other, ankle resting against knee, when the gate agent Charles had called out his name, beckoning him to come over to where Amy stood.  His eyebrows had raised in surprise when the situation was briefly explained to him, and as Charles was approached by another (angrier) disrupted passenger, he had turned towards Amy with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Well, I guess we’ve got ourselves a little bit of a situation here, huh?”

His relaxed response was admirable, if not a little frustrating, but Amy was tired, and all out of arguments.  So when he’d shrugged again, gesturing towards the exit and suggesting that they just get to the hotel and see what they could fix there, she’d agreed with little hesitation.

He had certainly given everything he could to try and resolve the situation in the lobby.  He’d spoken to about five different reception staff, four other passengers and even one doorman.  But despite all his best efforts, one fact still remained the same - if Jake and Amy wanted a hotel room tonight, they were going to have to share a bed.

His eyes had lit up with a solution as they travelled in the elevator, breaking the awkward silence with the declaration that it was simple, really - double hotel beds are always just two singles pushed together, and they would just have to seperate the bases once they got to the room.  A celebratory fist pump, followed by I don’t know why nobody has suggested that - I am the smartest man alive! 

A grand plan, indeed - that had quickly fallen to pieces as they stood in the middle of the room, bedsheets strewn onto the floor around them, staring blankly at the very big mattress that sat attached to the very big mattress base.  There was not a single in sight (apart of course, from the two people in the room).

He’d let out a frustrated groan at the sight, hands running through his hair as the exhaustion and irritation of the day seemed to hit him all at once, and in an instant Amy felt herself relax.  She hadn’t been over-reacting:  this was a terrible, awkward situation, and there was nothing they could do about it.  

The tail of a necktie had been sticking out of his pants pocket, and as Amy picked up the bedsheets and began remaking the bed, she’d asked him about it, desperate to know a little more about this mysterious stranger that she was about to share a room with.

He’d lifted up from the other side of the bed, tucking in the sheets dutifully with the ease of somebody who had been trained well from an early age.  Told her that he had been in San Fransisco for work - that he was a detective for the 9-9 in Brooklyn, taking the late flight home after his conference ended so that he could be ready for work in the morning.  All of which had been a pleasant surprise for Amy, quickly explaining that she was in the NYPD as well, and that she had just made Detective but hadn’t been given her new posting as yet.  She had been in San Fransisco to celebrate her promotion with her family, and was incredibly eager to return to work in the morning and find out whether she could stay at her current 8-4, or if she would be transferring.

His eyes had shone brighter when she announced her new role, and with a devious wink he’d gestured towards the mini-bar, declaring that such great news needed a proper celebration.  And Amy knew that she shouldn’t have done it - those little bottles of delicious liquor, as adorable as they were, cost the earth, and there was no way the airline was going to cover it.  But it had been the longest day, and she was going to be sharing a bed with a complete stranger, and she deserved this, damnit.  

And the rest of it was a little bit of a blur … but here she was, crosslegged on a hotel bed, wearing a plaid shirt that wasn’t hers, while its owner sang tunelessly in the adjoining shower.  

She counts three condom wrappers on the beige carpet floor, and blushes at the memory.  Her ability to be prepared for every scenario had never let her down, and today had been no exception.  Turns out, even with his lax attitude, Jake had also been one to be prepared for such situations.  And so.  Yeah.  Three condom wrappers.

Nothing about today had made sense.  This wasn’t something that happened logically.   And it made even less sense, how much she wanted to push open the door that wasn’t fully closed, throw off the shirt, and join him for round four.  

“Hey, Ames!” He called out from the bathroom.  ‘Amy’ had turned into ‘Ames’ somewhere along the way during Round Two, and she found herself not minding in the slightest.  “They’ve got the real fancy stuff in this bathroom!  You’ve gotta smell this lotion, it literally smells like summer vacation.”

She laughs at the notion, but is also kind of intrigued at what he considers a summer vacation to smell like, so she pushes herself off the bed, feet padding against the soft carpet as she makes her way towards the bathroom.  Briefly, she notices her panties are over near the base of the floor lamp, and makes a mental note to grab them later.  

He smiles at her as she walks in, skin still moist from the shower and glistening a little as the ceiling lights catch the droplets of water on his skin.  The towel wrapped around his waist hangs low and she bites her bottom lip in temptation.  She knows now what lay beneath that towel … and the four drinks in her system were not helping.  At all.  

Catching her eye he winks, offering her the bottle of lotion as his smile turns cheeky.  He was right - it did smell like summer vacation.  Like warm nights and sandy feet, delicious cocktails and afternoon naps.   She smiles up at him, leaning her waist against the bathroom counter as he watches her sniff the bottle again, eyes turning dark as they roam her body, taking in his plaid shirt she had only bothered to button in two places.

His hands reach for her, warm fingers gripping the bottom of her ass before lifting her onto the counter, and she lifts her head up to kiss him, already thirsty for another taste despite how much their tongues had already duelled throughout the night.  

It was the early hours of the morning, and sleep had become a forgotten second priority.  As both of their hands begin to roam each other’s bodies, Amy remembers the survey form the airline had given her just before leaving the airport - the one that she had initially been ready to fill with a careful mixture of scathing remarks and acknowledgements that safety is important but so are clerical details.  

His towel falls to the floor, followed shortly after by a plaid shirt, and her legs wrap around his waist.  

Maybe, she thinks, a little error now and then couldn’t really hurt.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Kira

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: Not much. Just characters coming together.

Warnings: Representation of anxiety, curse word(s).

Word count: Sometimes I feel like my mind teases me irrespective of the setting around us. It’d be like, oh you’re sitting in your office, too bad if we had a new fic idea, right? riiiight? *deep inhale*

MASTERLIST in bio, my love

CHAPTER 1: The End

Everything moves in slow motion. The water coming down the silver faucet. The gasp escaping your lungs. The whimper being born in the heart of your heated throat. The water dripping down your nose into the spotless white sink. Your hands running across your face mixing the tears with the tap water over your skin. Everything moves at a snail’s pace. Everything except your heartbeat and your shallow breaths. One, you start counting, trying to trick your brain into taking in one long gulp of air while your moist eyes close themselves for the fear of losing your balance. Two. Your trembling hands grab the edges of the ceramic sink to ground you. Three. You bend your knees and get close to the outer space shade of black tiles beneath your grey block heels.

Four. You start to whisper to yourself. It's okay. You're okay. Remember. Just try to remember. Five. Your eyes open and look at the objects around you to recount them inside your head. Faucet. Hand towel. Mirror. Hand dryer. Purse. Phone. Six. You get up and pick the hand towel from the pile neatly stacked beside the sink to pat your face dry, pressuring your shaking fingers hard into the fabric pressing onto your skin. Seven. You whisper the list you just made out loud to your reflection in the mirror. Eight. You clench and unclench your hands, repeating the ritual till you can no longer feel the shiver as evidently as before. Nine. You pick up your brown-rimmed glasses and put them on, adjusting them over the bridge of your nose using the help of your reflection. Ten. You straighten your back and square up your shoulders, smoothening the rebellious hair strands over your head back till the bun. Breathe. Tugging your royal blue blouse to get rid of the wrinkles, you swipe off some invisible dust bunnies away from the fabric before picking your grey purse. Your eyes lock for a moment with your reflection's, creating a minuscule swerve of a latent pain rising somewhere behind those pupils. And just at the speed at which they met, they look away from the mirror to walk towards the door. The click of the washroom door alerts your body and you move out into the gallery of this glass building, mingling into the crowd going about their daily lives. Everyone who walks by is in suits. Monotones. Nothing lighter than a plain white, nothing darker than an abyss black and nothing more colourful than the stainless steel grey. The walls wear the same shades as the concrete they were made with. The massive beams running to the top at the entrance add a bright hue of white to the structure. The reception desk right by the wall whose corner you came out of is decorated in black. You almost feel out of place in your blue before your mind realises that you actually are. "Miss Kira?" The receptionist with fiery ombre soft curls running till her shoulder calls out to you as you approach her, "Miss Donatella will see you now." You try to pass her a smile but hurt your muscles in the process. Taking the yellow guest ID you follow the receptionist's instructions to go the twentieth floor. Between the ground level and floor twenty, half a minute of silence is a rare opportunistic gift that your mind takes to breathe away the episode in the washroom before the ding echoes around the elevator covered in mirrors on all sides. You step inside the destined floor and just one thought crosses your mind. Why am I still surprised? The walls here are the same as any other part of the building. Concrete. Naked. Dull? And where there aren't any walls, there is glass frosted to a level desired by someone who wants to keep their private sections of the offices private indeed. The absence of any footfall in this part of the building makes the clack of your heels louder than supposed to be. The corridor seems deserted and you really cannot tell if any human is breathing on the other side of that glass. It feels like an eternal walk through a cement maze till you finally spot the glass door marked Conference Hall C and turn the handle. A blonde, pale woman- paler than what you're accustomed to seeing usually- sits behind a grey table huge enough to accommodate a buffet for a family of twelve. She smiles at you and asks you to come in. Now that is a surprise. Not the smile. Not the setting. The fact that she is wearing beige in the world of grayscale is what shocks you a little. "You must be Kira..." a raspy voice greets you from her raspberry painted lips before turning towards the file to look for the last name. "Just Kira, please," you respond, stopping by the lone chair that stands on your end next to the table in this hall, "and you must be Miss Donatella." She nods and passes just a hint of a smile before requesting you to sit down. The air around her smells of lavenders. You don't like lavenders; not recently. Maybe it's this premeditated thought that sets a tiny itch in your nose as you sit down. Donatella opens a white file with your name on it. "So," she begins as she shifts in her comfortable black swivel chair and you know she's crossing her legs under that table, "Miss Kira, you have an impressive resume." You try to smile better this time. You are forced to. This woman practically holds the cards to some very important, life-changing events in your life right this moment in this room. "I have to say," Donatella raises her brows in a little grim speculation while eyeing the contents of the file, "it is so impressive that you should not be applying for the post of an assistant." Pressing the pulsation in your lips you take in a lungful. "My academic qualifications are elements of education that I deemed necessary on my way, Miss Donatella, if their degree of complexity is your concern. Now, as far as my application for the portfolio of an assistant goes, I'd say my qualifications along with my extracurriculars are actually one good example of me being able to handle multitasking, work decently under pressure and get the results on time." You can see Donatella's lips curve up a little before she plants her fingers over her lips, trying to cover whatever positive emotion she is feeling while her other hand sifts through the pages scrutinize your life as seen on those pieces of paper. "It says here you worked at Rein Industries for six months," Donatella bends her voice in a question. "That was a mandatory internship I did during my college course," you reply, feeling your ears heat up. You do not realise when you left thumb starts to move along the right wrist, trying to feel the bone beneath your skin. "They didn't present you with an offer?" "They did. I had to decline for some personal reasons." "Must be some reason," Donatella quips, her hand resting on her chin while her mix of grey and honey eyes look right at you, "because you do not have any work experience for an entire year after that. Which...was last year." The movement of your thumb does not stop. The smile plastered on your lips stretches a little as you look down at your hands for a second before meeting her calculating gaze. "I, unfortunately, had some health issues last year. Hence, the little gap in my resume. If I had joined any company at that point of time I'm sure you understand how that would have affected not only mine but the company's performance as well." "Why Sun Corp?" Donatella does not even wait for you to breathe out the last word when the question drops on you and you realise your fingers digging into the skin of your palms right on time. "It's hardly been a year and Sun Corp has been expanding throughout the country with its extended subsidiaries. That's unlike any private corporation I have seen." "And this is what attracted you?" You can almost hear Donatella's scoff. "I wasn't finished yet, Miss Donatella," you mention before continuing, not waiting for her brows to retain their composure, "Sun Corp has been working within third world countries just like ours and unlike any other multinational company, which basically want a monopoly with a huge profit margin, it has been working on the grass root level with a comparatively low but evidently stable profit index. And the reason this corporation has been having one successful industrial arm after another is that someone in here knows exactly what the population needs in our country." You pause for a moment to let the air around you ease the heat flurrying through your body. Donatella takes that one moment to glance at her phone, moving it little to make it light up. "Now unlike other companies who are content in fulfilling the bare minimum required of their corporate social responsibility and hiring agencies to research on how to market their product to the general public, Sun Corp's management has been using its resources on actually finding the necessity and working on building the bridges hereafter...with the people who actually are in need of those bridges." The silence that follows is satisfactory for one side and shifty for the other. "All you have given me till now is pretty much a really generic reason though I must say you seem to have done some homework, if not all," Donatella is quick to remark before scribbling something down on your file. "Twelve per cent." "Excuse me?" You inhale before repeating the figure. "Twelve per cent. That was the increase in the yield of crops when my family took up Sun Farms' aid. I'm sure it does not seem like much to someone who doesn't have a background in agriculture but it helped pay for my sibling's tuition so there's that. Now, this is the twelve per cent that I know. I haven't included the percentage of sales that increased by word of mouth publicity after that. And considering how environmentally conscious and cautious my family is about the chemicals going into their crops, I can assure you the word-of-mouth thing was huge." The image of your grandfather going on about the better health of the mustard growing in the vast field brings the first genuine smile on your face today. But Donatella, on the other hand, seems unphased. The silver watch on her wrist peeks from inside her cuffs- reflecting the soft golden lights of the room right into your eyes- when she sits up and close to the table, throwing a quick look at her phone. Her elbows barely rest on the table; as if she's preventing herself from being at ease. "And that is the only reason you are here. Out of a sense of-" she raises her hands a little with a light shrug- "gratitude. Is that so?" "I am here because this company seems to have farsightedness, Miss Donatella. Not regarding what it needs to do to stay in the game but regarding what the people would want now and in the near future. And I feel that it forces you to believe in some kind of a direct or indirect moral compass that comes with the corporation's work," you are quick to answer. Donatella's chuckle is like the one that comes out of actors portraying the Victorian era aristocracy to show the restraint the women would be put through even when having fun. Why it reminds you of those actors is something you find both amusing and confusing in that instant. "Moral compass." Donatella's mutter is more for herself than for you, spewing the words out in mockery. "I have to say, sweetheart," she shakes her head while her brows try to imitate an emotion of sympathy, "this was good. Really good. The first such answer I have heard but, really? Are you sure?" Now you are really confused. "I beg your pardon ma'am?" You try not let the pricks of fear show over your face, your thumb digging into your wrist for some reason unknown to your consciousness. Donatella intwines her fingers together as her honey and grey fixate on you. "How many interviews do you think I've taken for this position? Hm? Ten thousand applications came in for just this post. The post of being the assistant to the company's founder. Out of those ten thousand, two hundred people were shortlisted for the interview. And even in those two hundred candidates was barely a person who actually wanted to apply for the post." You feel the space between your brows get heavier with every passing second. "If they didn't want the post then why did they apply?" "For the same reason you did, young lady. They all want to get close to the man himself," she declares before muttering, "Cheapskates." "Excuse me?" You can almost see her roll her eyes at you. "Oh don't give me that look," she huffs tiringly with a wave of her hand, "a pretty girl like you giving up all of this hard work of so many degrees just so you can satiate your desire to meet him. Some of you even have the audacity to think of getting into his pants. Take my advice and get out of here. Girls like you have a better chance of stalking him on the internet than getting to even kiss the floor Mr Odinson walks on." The next few seconds are filled with the ticking of the watch on Donatella's wrist. The ringing in your ears is mind-numbing for the first ten seconds before it transforms into something else. An ember of rage lights up somewhere inside you, heating up a spot right in the centre of your chest. Your thumb rubs the back of your palm through the silence before coming to an abrupt stop with the one long breath you take in. "I am flattered Miss Donatella, that you think I'm pretty," you begin, with just a hint of a smile this time, "And also surprised, because you are being so straightforward with...what you think about me." You abruptly push your chair forward to keep your arms on the table, openly offending Donatella, who gasps at your guts to do so. "But it does make me wonder that almost all one hundred and ninety-nine people might actually be having evidence to get you fired before you leave this company, ma'am." Donatella blinks, faster than she'd supposed to, as her one leg that had so comfortably been resting on the other goes down. "Ex-" "You should be more wary of...people who want to get into his pants, that's what you said, right? Be wary of such people discreetly taking pictures of your boss while you make deals with his rivals behind his back, Donatella. Because I can assure that these people have a drive more intense than the number of zeros you were offered on your paychecks to leave Sun Corp." The stoic and cold demeanour she had been maintaining till now starts to crumble bit by bit. "Don't make accusations you cannot prove, Kira," she nearly hisses. "Don't make judgments you cannot justify, Donatella," you softly throw the words her way. "And I'm not making this up, something which was just proved from your facial expressions. The entire Instagram has proof of your meeting with some private military corp that's been trying to find a way to enter the country through some other businesses." The fear in Donatella's distant gaze is hard to miss. But you barely feel any empathy for her. Picking up your purse from the floor you begin to get up but pause. "Oh and one more thing, Donatella DeMorgeaux Bellasario-" you tap your finger on the smooth steel table surface- "your boss hates it when anyone addresses him as Odinson. At least his assistant should be aware of that," you enunciate before getting up, looking at that lingering rage in your reflection in the mirror covering the wall next to you before going for the door you entered from. "How do you know all this? What are you, some kind of a-" "No, I'm not a spy Donatella," you spew at her from the door, irritation brewing up over your features, never looking back at the woman, "just like you said, I did my homework." "Bitch," you mutter under your breath before exiting the room. Donatella sits there, her hands covering the creeping disbelief over her face. Behind the mirror, you had caught your reflection in, a pair of emerald eyes glisten in the filtered light entering the darkness they are engulfed in. Having seen the entire thing unfold in front of them, they turn towards a camera resting in a corner of the dark space near the ceiling, a smirk glimmering through those green eyes showered in the soft foreign golden light. "Be careful, Balder," the man in the black suit warns the blonde guy with a soft face, "you so much as put a scratch on anything in this house, I'll make you pay it from your pocket." The blonde looks at the man in command. Balder cannot help but feel both scared and excited to look at him, his dark skin reflecting the blue sky outside with such flawlessness. As if that wasn't enough, the weight in the British voice is enough to make any manly man weak in his knees. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Balder apologises softly before carefully planting the miniature camera behind the book stack, his pale nimble fingers working carefully with the rosewood he had drilled to make way for the device. The man in the suit walks around the tiny studio apartment space, taking in the citrus smell of a body spray that was used in this space this morning. The bedroom is a five-step walk from the main door that opens into the living room-cum-open kitchen-cum-study. A violet coloured quilt lies on the bed in a mess, half-covering a Bulbasaur plushie. His long gloved fingers trace the edge of the headboard to collect the dust over the latex for examination. "José," he speaks without looking away from the dust bunnies over his fingertips, "put one on the headboard too." "Yes sir," comes another voice as a tall dusky man dressed in a cleaner's uniform walks into the bedroom space. The huge, calculated steps walk back into the living room, hands resting inside his pant pockets. "All the cameras and listening devices are in position, sir," the olive-skinned woman sitting on the carpeted floor with a laptop in her hand declares as she types away some codes on her screen, "we're going live in three, two, one." A press of a button later, the screen floods with Balder and José's faces- adjusting the cameras- along with the man's back to the one device planted above the apartment door. "Good work, Torra," the man announces, "now route that feed to my account and remove the access from yours and anyone else's. Make it a level seven clearance feed." "Ooh! They must someone really important we're spying on. Yes, sir," woman quips happily before typing in a serial number and pressing enter, allowing the screen to show the rerouting before going blank. "Mission accomplished." Within the next five minutes, the apartment sees the two men and woman trickle out of its space as if they were never there. The man in the suit takes one last look around before he eyes land on the nine figures resting on the side table near the door. The nine protagonists of One Piece sit there facing the kitchen opposite to where they stand. The man looks at them all in some deep thought, his honey eyes lingering for some time on one figure before moving over to the next, before he takes one hand out of his pocket and moves the figure of the woman with long black hair to face his direction. Content with his work, he walks out of the apartment, allowing the silence before his arrival to take back its place as gracefully as he had. The walk back to your place is heavy and slow. The noise from the passing subway train behind you does not help the piercing pain going in and out of your throbbing head. Picking up a sandwich and fresh juice from the local deli you stop by the twenty-four seven store to grab a bottle of Jägermeister. It is only when you've reached the front of your building do you take an effort to conceal the liquor bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag inside your purse. The walls might only have ears, but the old women living around your place had heightened senses when it came to young single people living in their vicinity. Your building's elevator feels like a good change from the mirrored one you had been trapped in on your way in and out of the building today. The chime is welcomed too as you step out on your floor, your keys ready to open the door and lock yourself in your comfort zone. Your neighbour- a young man a year or two older than you- tries to wave your way and before he can even blurt out your name, you have bolted the door and thrown the keys into their designated bowl on the side table. Keeping your purse down on the carpet gently, you take in one long breath. "Breathe," you whisper to yourself. "Just breathe. Forget everything else. Right now, just breathe. Please." Your eyes take in the familiar soft space. The kitchen, The Tempest lying on the two-person dining table, your quilt still the same mess you had left in the morning. The oil painting of a sunflower hanging on the wall you are leaning over, your One Piece figures sitting right next to you on the table. Luffy, Brook, Zoro, Franky, Nami, Chopper, Sanji and Robin. A blank minute passes as you stand there, frozen in time, looking at the figures in a confused daze. And then something dawns on you. Your hand, with a life of its own, moves to turn Robin towards the direction she usually faces before coming back to your side. A cold prickle passes through your spine as your eyes go about the familiar space with a scrutinizing gaze shrouding the fear behind those eyes. Someone was here, your mind sets off all the alarms in one go. And this time, when it actually seems appropriate to feel the panic erode you, you stand there breathing normally. No shivers. No sweats. The vibration and loud chime of your phone makes you jump where you stand eventually. Your fingers take out the device from your pant pockets to click it open. Another chime comes. A message from your bank stating the recent deposit that had been made into your account. Another message congratulating you on getting the position of Assistant to the founder and head of Sun Corp, requesting you to join the post tomorrow. Donatella clicks her phone close and places a grey file on an oakwood desk before walking out of the lavish office space and into a room with a fire pit separating the space into a lounge area and a living room with its length. The clack of her pencil heels stops as her eyes catch the figure standing by the glass wall that opens to the view of the city beneath and mountains beyond them. "I have narrowed down some candidates to come as my replacement," she speaks in the direction of the figure, never bothering to close the distance between them, "but I still need to go through another batch tomorrow." The figure stands there. Still. Like an old tree. Donatella can feel a tiny chill rise up somewhere inside her, which she tried to suppress as she shifts her eyes away, her hands coming together in front of her while her shoulders move a little to shake away a lingering stiffness. "Burn them." A soft voice- like a warm brandy laced with honey going down your throat, heating it up in ways unknown- commands the room. "I'm sorry?" Donatella fears her ears didn't catch that right. The figure's shoulders finally shift a little but the pale arms exposed through folded up black sleeves do not move away, the hands resting inside the pant pockets. "I said burn them," the voice says again. "Why?" "Because none of those letters spells out Kira." An arrow seems to have pierced Donatella's chest as her eyes go wide before her entire body tries to find its composure. The fact that the figure doesn't move still amplifies the fear crawling over her skin. "I-I think-" "Pack your things and never show your face within a hundred meters of my empire. You're fired." The voice never rises. Not once. The delicate smoothness lingers throughout the words even when the threat is delivered. Donatella brings her rage over features, about to spit some words into the ice-like air surrounding her. "Before you say something you'll regret I suggest you look at the table in front of you, Donatella." And she does. All the heavy rage folded in her wrinkles disappearing within a flash, replaced by nothing but mortal fear as the photographs on table show her meeting with an unknown man before displaying her in a compromising position in high-resolution grayscale. "Mr Odinson, I-" The head turns a little in her direction, making her cracked voice stop at once. Even with a distance of at least twenty feet between them, she can see the green embers burn from where they stand. And before she knows it, her lungs are trying to find air to breathe. "I'm sorry Mr Loki, sir," are her last words before she hurriedly walks out of the space that has been chilled to the core by that one traumatising side glare. It's done. The man in the black suit closes his phone and walks across the length of the dark room that has nothing in the name of lights except for the endless skylight revealing the infinite stars above him and the twelve screens lit up on the wall he is walking towards. Grabbing the top of the swivel chair, he sits down before pulling up two screens on the monitors in front of him. His hand goes in the pocket of his jacket to take out two marbles with hues of orange, golden, fiery red and black trapped in them, seemingly similar to a pair of golden eyes. And like a ritual known to his hands, he starts moving them around in his fingers while his eyes are fixated on the two figures on those separate screens, considerably apart, sitting inside the space of their homes, eyeing the alcohol bottles sitting next to them. One of them shifts their gaze away to look at the phone in their hand before closing it and moving out of the camera's view. A chime comes on this side. The man takes out his phone to see the message displayed on the screen. Thank you, Heimdall. He looks back at the screen and clicks a key on the keyboard to reveal Loki's figure laying down on the bed. The other screen shows you under your quilt, your back halfway down the bed and halfway supported by the soft headboard, looking at the Jager bottle resting by your bedside before you turn off the lights and take off your glasses, throwing them in the little space between the empty pillow next to your head and the headboard. Heimdall watches neither of the figures closes their eyes, just lying in there on their beds in the dead of the night, waiting for some distant memory to either kill them with dried out tear ducts or tire them enough to put them to sleep.

(I don’t know where I thought I’d be going with this but it’s here.)

TAGLIST

Permanent

@magiclolipopqueen @choke-me-sweet-pea @smexylemony @hazzastyles2471 @lokis-lady-death @lokixme @l0kisbitch @tarithenurse @joyofbebbanburg @itheoneofmanyfandomsi @nalokoniloki @fuckidontknow @qualitynerdwasteland @cryinglots @unipanda1006 @literalangels @meganlikesfandoms @kcd15 Loki @avenging-blackwidow @yzssie

@wishrains @ultraslytherwin @loki-the-fox @awkward-dr-strang3rman @royaldork @arianna-17-11 @uranusismyfavoriteplanette @marvelrose @gotta-get-back-to-johnlock @moonlightprime @keepingupwiththelaufeysons @writingpromptsstuff @auroraborialis15 @marvel-cinematic-universe0123 @henloamkitty @alexakeyloveloki @markusstraya

(tags are open. Lemme know how you found this chapter and if you’d like to read more of this AU)

[solastia]

Faith | 6

Chapters:  [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 2,600 (short, but good)

Genre & Warnings: Angst, fluff. Smut free chapter. 

Notes: One more official chapter left. Maybe a Namjoon POV if y’all want it. I might be able to be talked into drabbles if you’re nice. 

Silence. 

That’s all you’d heard from Namjoon for the past week. He wasn’t answering the calls or texts you’d sent, although you knew that he’d at least read them. There hadn’t been any sightings of him on the gossip channels either. It was like he’d disappeared, but you knew he was probably at his Mom’s or the hotel. You’d considered trying to stop by the room, but you’d envisioned horrible enough scenarios to talk yourself out of that. You also knew that appearing at his Mom’s when even his family didn’t know about Faith would just make the situation worse. So you backed off. You knew he’d come to talk to you when he was ready. 

Still, the waiting was not easy. 

Even knowing that Namjoon would never do something like snatch Faith away, you still thanked the powers that be for you having a job in a daycare where you were able to keep an eye on her at all times. Even if Namjoon himself wouldn’t do it, there were still plenty of people around him that very well could. 

You were so upset with yourself. All of this could have been avoided if you had been less of a coward and trusted him a little more. At the same time, you were still a little happy he’d gotten to fulfill his dream and live his little rich and famous lifestyle without baggage. At least now, if he forgave you at least, you’d be able to go forward without worrying about him thinking he’d missed out on anything.

You sigh wearily, reminding yourself to buck up and focus on work. Snacktime was not a good time for self-reflection. 

“Come on, Monkey.” You pick up Faith and strap her in booster chair next to you, setting out her apples and cheese. She munches away, happily unaware of the drama happening in her life. God, you hope Namjoon chooses to at least want to see Faith. This little girl would be so blessed to have a father like him. 

Your phone vibrates, and you take the chance to look at it, quirking an eyebrow when you see that it’s from Keisha’s Instagram. She’d followed you last week, no doubt to try and keep tabs on you, and you’d followed her right back to show you weren’t afraid. You don’t know why you bothered to check the update right now other than morbid curiosity. It was probably just yet another selfie that was 75% boob. 

The picture is of her in a familiar looking bed, the sheets drawn up to just barely cover her, but low enough to tell she wasn’t wearing anything under it. She was grinning smugly into the camera. You inhaled sharply when you realized that she wasn’t alone. It was just the back of him, but there was Namjoon. He was shirtless and turned away from her, most likely asleep, but the implications were clear. And by Keisha’s expression and the fact that she posted such a photo publicly, she wanted you to see it. 

Message received. 

The rest of your day went by in somewhat of a blur. You finished work and drove home. Took the dog for a walk around the complex. Fed and bathed Faith. Got her to bed and asleep with minimal fuss. When everything else was done you sprawled across the couch and stared at the television. You couldn’t focus enough to watch anything, but it was better than silence. Snoop jumped up and settled between your legs, staring up at you with a gaze that suspiciously looked like sympathy. Great, even the dog knew you sucked. 

Just as you’re about to give in to your exhaustion and doze off, a knock sounded at your door. The pattern was familiar, and you couldn’t help a quick fond smile over how music was so ingrained into his soul even his knocking was a catchy beat. You release a tense breath before unlocking the door and open it to reveal a very rumpled looking Namjoon. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi. You wanna come in?”

“Sure. Cool.”

You open the door wider to allow him to come inside, cringing inwardly at the awkward beginning. Still, at least he was here. 

Snoop made his presence known, jumping all over Namjoon and knocking him over onto the couch. 

“Hey there, little man. Jesus, you’ve gotten a little chubby, huh? Mom’s been feeding you well?” Namjoon chuckled as Snoop rolled onto his back and demanded belly rubs on his admittedly bigger than usual tummy. Although that could be blamed on Faith, who thought it was hilarious to throw her lunch on the ground for him to eat. 

Namjoon sighed, patting Snoop one last time before turning to you. 

“Is she asleep?” 

“Yeah. I try to have her in bed by eight every night.”

He nods, looking nervously at his hands. 

“That’s good. I’d like to see her, but this makes it easier to...talk.” Namjoon ruffles his hair and sinks into the couch a bit. “I don’t even know where to start.” 

“I can at least start by saying sorry. I know it can’t erase anything, but I truly am sorry. I made a decision that affected you without your knowledge, and that was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have let my fears of what might happen influence me.”

You plop onto the other side of Snoop, grateful for the little buffer to help calm your nerves. Namjoon thinly smiles at you before nodding. 

“Thank you. I’m still hurt, and it’s probably going to be hard for me to trust you like I used to, at least for a while. But, I had a lot of time to think this past week, and I think I understand your reasoning. I don’t think that would have happened with us, though. You were my whole world, and you having my child would have made me the happiest person alive. It would have just motivated me to work harder. I’m probably always going to be a little upset with you for the time I lost with her, I’m not going to lie, but I think we can move past this. I want to try.” 

Your stare at Namjoon in shock, hope trying desperately to fight its way into your heart. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m mean I’m as in as I ever was. I want you, all of you. I want to marry you and be a father to my child. Maybe give you a few more.” 

You blush wildly, the image everything you’d ever dreamed. But...

“What about...I thought you’d gotten back with Keisha?”

“Oh, you mean that picture? Naw, she got someone to give her a key to my hotel room and posed while I was asleep. Creepy as hell. Told her that too. And now thanks to Trey, I don’t have to deal with her at all anymore.” 

“How so?” 

“Trey was getting ready to release his debut album. He’s really talented, and I’m really excited for him. Apparently, he offered to give her a verse and let her be in his MV. She dropped me so fast it was hilarious. She got off the phone with him and said, “Sorry, Nam Nams. This could be it for me, you know. It’s been real.” Then she just waltzed off. I mean, I knew she didn’t have any actual feelings for me, so it’s not that much of a surprise. I’m just sorry for Trey because now his debut’s success is reliant on her not fucking up.” 

“So, just like that? She’s gone? Seems...I don’t know. A little anticlimactic,” you frown. The woman you’d met seemed like she’d fight until the end. 

“Babe, this is real life, not the movies. Did you expect her to melt after throwing water on her? Or, what was that one lifetime movie you made me watch? The sister drugged the husband until she was knocked up or something and then she tried to kill the wife?” Namjoon chuckled, looking at you fondly. 

“Yeah, okay. I got it,” you roll your eyes, before taking a deep breath as you felt some of your burdens fall right off your shoulders. That was at least one worry done. It still seemed too good to be true, but maybe Namjoon was right, and you just watched too much damn television. 

“She went where there was the most chance for her to get famous. That’s all I was for her, and I knew that.” Namjoon shrugged. 

The silence that followed was pleasant now, comfortable. Snoop reveled in the attention as the two of you pet him while you collected your thoughts. 

“So what now?” Namjoon finally asked softly. You glance up and meet his eyes, eyes that were surprisingly full of hope and want. God, you did not deserve this man. 

“I think that should be up to you. I’m the one that messed up here, so I will take whatever you can give,” you tell him hesitantly. You wanted to tell him you wanted everything, all of it, your entire soul belonged to him. But you’d lost the right to demand anything. You’d happily do whatever he wanted. 

“We’ll take it slow at first then? Date a little, get to know Faith. I still have a couple weeks here that we can use to figure things out. I’d like to eventually let my family meet Faith. I kinda already blurted out her existence to them the other day. They are excited about her.”

“That sounds reasonable,” you nod. Fuck, his family probably hated you now. It was such a shame because you adored them. 

“So...how much touching is allowed when one is taking it slow?”

You gape at Namjoon, surprised to find him wearing that look. The look that was so filled with dark promise and love. You wanted to weep because you’d thought you’d never see it again. 

“Once again, up to you,” you responded, your voice thick with unshed tears. 

“Cool. Get your ass over here and cuddle me then,” Namjoon smirked and gently pushed Snoop off the couch, hauling you closer so you were draped on top of him. He wrapped his arms around you, practically crushing you to his chest. The both of you released contented sighs as you just relaxed and enjoyed each other, watching the television silently. 

“Are you staying the night?” You finally ask after about a half hour, knowing you needed to ask now as you were dangerously close to falling asleep. 

“If that’s alright. I’d like to meet Faith in the morning.” 

“That sounds good. Cuddle in the bed then? I’m too old to sleep on the couch.” 

“Yeah,” Namjoon says quietly, but with a little soft smile that showed off one of his dimples. 

You jump up and hold your hand out to him, pulling him into the room and the exact bed that you’d once shared. His snores soon brought you the best nights sleep you’d had in that bed since he’d left.

You were finally awakened when the sun was hitting you right in the face. That struck you as odd for a moment, but you couldn’t remember why. 

You kept your eyes closed but slowly sat up, stretching your arms and arching your back. You managed to crack your eyes open a bit and looked around, your mind finally starting to catch up with you. 

The sun in your face was weird because it had been so long since Faith had let you sleep past six. It was always dark when you started your day. Which led to you realizing that Faith was not in her crib and you didn’t hear her. 

Namjoon wasn’t in your bed either. 

You shot up and jogged out of the bedroom in a panic, not really sure what it was you feared yet, only to freeze once the dining room comes into view. 

Faith is in her high chair, giggling and covered in different colored globs of food. Namjoon is sitting in front of her, also covered in food, but making up some rap about the wonders of fruits that she seems to enjoy enough to open her mouth for another bite. 

“Good morning,” you snort as you grab some wipes out of the nearby diaper bag and stalk towards the pair. 

Namjoon is absolutely beaming as he smiles at you, and Faith smacks her lips in demand for a kiss, which you give her after wiping her face a bit. 

“Morning, babe. She woke up a few hours ago, and I wanted to let you sleep in. I think she likes me. Aside from our battle to figure out what baby food she likes. Which, we decided that the peas suck.”

You laugh and eyeball the chucks of hardening green stuff all over his shirt. 

“I can see that. You have to trick her. Give her a toy to distract her then shove a spoonful in there.”

“That’s sneaky but smart.” Namjoon chuckles then waves another spoonful of applesauce towards Faith, who accepts it without a fight.

“She also let me change her diaper. I think I put it on wrong, but so far she doesn’t seem to mind. Wasn’t as gross as I thought it would be.” Namjoon bounced happily as he told you all of his accomplishments. You sneak a peek towards Faith’s seat, and sure enough, the diaper is on backward. 

You snort and bump him with your hip. “You wanna see gross, you should have seen her newborn diapers. I thought I’d killed her when black stuff came out of her. Didn’t read about that happening beforehand,” Namjoon’s look of horror made you giggle, and you walked towards the kitchen to start your coffee. 

That was already made. And also surrounded by four open containers of baby food, obviously rejected.

You shake your head fondly and make yourself a cup before leaning with your back against the counter, watching the two.

You wanted to cry because it was so perfect. Namjoon was so very happy just being able to do something as simple as feed his daughter, so proud of himself. He was so good with her and she seemed to like him just as much. That you’d nearly messed things up so much that you would have never gotten see how cute they were together made you want to sob.  

“She’s probably going to need a bath because we both have peas and weird pasta stuff dripping off of us. I can take care of it if you want? I promise not to break her,” Namjoon asks earnestly, watching you with big eyes as Faith further dirties herself with the unattended spoon of applesauce. 

You laugh and wave him towards the bathroom. 

“Have at it, handsome. I’ll make breakfast. Waffles okay?” 

“Yeah, that sounds great.” 

Namjoon picks up Faith and comes over to kiss your cheek. The vision of two adorable dimpled smiles shining down on you with happiness fills your heart with joy. 

[chicklette]

Final (full) chapter of my ode to @frostbitebakery’s flawless art.  I made the story.  The glory belongs to her.

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3

When Bucky is thirty-two, he recognizes that probably won’t ever move on with his life, and he’s making his peace with it.  He runs cold - colder than any warm blooded man has a right to, and he has terrible dreams now - dreams where he’s trapped in ice or lost in the snow, dreams where everything around him is an eerie shade of blue.

He gets it - his soulmate froze to death in the space of a week, lost to the Atlantic, never to be found again.  It’s horrible.  When Bucky thinks about it, it’s horrible.

So he knows that’s why he’s having the dreams.  Doesn’t make it okay, but he understands at least.

And maybe the world needed someone to truly mourn Steve Rogers, actual human being, versus mourning the loss of Captain America.  Bucky doesn’t know the reasons, he just knows that he’s fallen flat every time he’s tried to move on, and he’s done with trying.  He loves Steve, and he always will.  There are plenty of folks who never move on from losing their soulmate.

Still, idle hands all that.  

So he spends a lot of time at the center with Sam.  At present, he leads one of the groups on new loss and grief, and another on making the choice not to date.  He’s comfortable with his choices.  He knows his family would like to see him at least try dating again, but Bucky can’t seem to convince himself that dating would be fair to anyone, not the way things are now.  

He’s made his peace with his lot in life.

Bucky heads home from work, having upgraded to a third-floor walk up with two actual rooms and plenty of windows for natural light.  As he opens the door, there’s a chirrup and Binx comes hurtling toward him, a little black ball of fuzz with great green eyes.

“Hello,” Bucky says, bending down to meet her little headbutt.  She meows more and more, and Bucky answers.  He tells her about the new  nano tech that Tony Stark has invented, and how excited he is to play with it, and Binx, well, he imagines she’s telling him about a bird that landed on the balcony, or maybe the fierce battle she had with her toy mouse.  

“Tell me all about it,” Bucky says, and Binx meows, meeps, and chirrups, leaving Bucky feeling delighted.  He refills her food bowl and checks her water fountain, and she follows along, never letting Bucky out of her sight.  

When he’s done, they go to the living room, where Bucky pulls out her toy basket and and sits down to play with her.  When she’s had enough, Binx crawls into Bucky’s lap, rolls over to show her belly and purrs.

In truth, Bucky credits a lot of his recovery - because that’s what it feels like, so that’s what he calls it - to Binx.  By the time Sam found him in that alley, he’d been wracked with sobs, trying hard not to shake too much, so that he didn’t disturb the cat. When Sam gently pulled Bucky to his feet, Bucky set the cat down and tried to walk away, but Binx wasn’t having it.  She leaped up into Bucky’s arms, sat herself on his shoulder and purred very loudly into his ear.

“Looks like you got yourself a cat, man,” Sam said.

“I don’t...I - Yeah.  I guess so.” (It should be noted that he did post fliers and ads, and he took her to a vet to see if she had a chip.  He wasn’t going to just steal someone’s cat, geez, Sam.)

Since then, even on days when all Bucky wants to do is lay in bed and feel sorry for himself, he still has to get up to take care of Binx.  The first time she woke him from a nightmare by laying on his chest and purring loudly, Bucky chalked it up to coincidence.  However, after it happened three, four, five times, he began to think that maybe there was something there.  

Regardless, he adores the little black cat, and she seems to love him right back.

He’s watching her leap through the air, going after a feathered mouse that Bucky was launching.  Most of the time she’d catch it and bring it back for him to throw again.  It’s a fun game, but his mind is wandering toward dinner when the phone rings.

Bucky considers letting it go to voicemail when he doesn’t recognize the number, but then remembers that he’d given his number out to a couple of guys at group, so he answers.

“Barnes,” he says.

“Mr. Barnes?  This is Phil Coulson.  We have - that is, there’s a - would it be possible for you to come to our headquarters?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“There’s been - I’m sorry, I can’t explain more over the phone.”

A moment later, there’s a knock on Bucky’s door.  Answering, he finds a big man in a nice suit looking at him from behind sunglasses and holding up a badge.  The ID says SHIELD.  

“Agent Coulson sent me,” the man says. “We’re ready to transport you to HQ.”

“Did you - there’s a guy here,” Bucky says.

“Oh, oh excellent.  Rodney will accompany you.”

“What the hell is going on?” Bucky asks.

There’s a quiet pause on the phone, and Coulson speaks again.  “I’m sorry,” he starts.  “I can’t tell you anything over the phone.  Your line isn’t secure.  If you’ll come to headquarters, I’ll explain everything, but please, come now?”

Bucky’s feeling suspicious, but also - God - is it hopeful?  He’s feeling hopeful?  Whatever it is, it’s unexpected.

He wants to say no.  He has no doubt that whatever is going on is going to set his recovery back, no question about it.  

But he also knows that if he doesn’t go, the curiosity will plague him.  He’s fucked either way.

Locking up, Bucky follows Rodney out into the hall.  When Bucky heads to the staircase, Rodney taps his arm.  

“This way, please, Mr. Barnes.  We have a helicopter the roof.”

“A helicopter,” he repeats, stunned.  

With a touch to Bucky’s elbow, Rodney reminds him that they need to get moving.  Bucky follows him up the staircase.  

Bucky’s not sure what’s going on, and as he wonders, he realizes he’s getting warm.  True, he’s walking up several flights of stairs, but then, he does that every day anyway.  When he grabs the banister, his fingers tingle with warmth.  

“What the…?”  He stops, touches his fingers to his face, and he feels warm all over, warmer than he’s felt in years now.

“Oh, god,” he says, holding tight to the banister, then leaning against the wall.  “Oh, god.  You found his body, didn’t you?”

.

As the helicopter lands at SHIELD headquarters, Bucky watches as Phil Coulson crosses the landing pad to meet them.

As soon as the door’s open and the headphones are off, Bucky’s in his face.  

“You found his body.  Is that why I’m here?  You found...you found….”  Taking another steadying breath, Bucky leans down, hands on his knees.  

“Mr. Barnes, please, if you would just come with me.”

Coulson places a steadying hand on Bucky’s arm, and Bucky straightens and follows him, head spinning. The SHIELD office are neat and spacious.  When they get on the elevator, Bucky’s surprised when it greets him.

“Barnes, James Buchanan.  Welcome to SHIELD.”

Bucky gives Phil a questioning look, but Phil just smiles his Mona Lisa smile.  

“Mr. Coulson, all due respect, but what the hell is going on?”

“Just a few more minutes,” he says, and then leans forward as the elevator requests a retinal scan.

“Security level seven access denied.  This floor is for authorized personnel only,” the elevator says.  “Mr. Barnes is not authorized.”

“Override protocols,” Coulson says.  “Authority: Fury, Nicholas J.”

There’s a pause before the elevator says, “Protocol override approved by Fury, Nicholas J.”

Just then, the elevator doors open and Bucky is taken into a small conference room with a very large screen. There are a couple of other people at the table:  a beautiful woman with her dark hair up in a twist and a quiet aura of strength; a black man in a leather trench coat with a patch over one eye, and a redhead who looks like...it’s just that she kind of looks like….

“Holy shit you’re the Black Widow,” Bucky says, unable to contain himself.

He leans back against the door, trying to steady himself.  Whatever is going on, it’s big.  There is no way they’re gonna let him in a room with the Black Widow of all people if it isn’t something big.

“Have a seat,” the black man says.  The brunette woman tosses a file folder his way, and Bucky takes it, opening it to see a stack of papers littered with little yellow “sign here” post-its.  He looks up at Coulson.

“Mr. Barnes, this is Director Fury,” Coulson says, indicating the man with the patch, “Maria Hill, and, I believe you recognized Miss Natalia Romanova.”

“Mr. Barnes,” Fury says, and Bucky finds himself straightening up at the sound, like a kid caught daydreaming in class.  “The information that we are about to share with you is highly classified.”  

Bucky nods.  “Go on.”

Two hours later, Bucky’s still in a state of shock.  What they’re talking about isn’t possible, but he’s looking at the proof: Steve Rogers lays in a hospital bed, his breathing deep and even.  

He’s dressed in soft pants and a t-shirt that’s maybe just a little too small.  Bucky doesn’t want to think about someone handling him - dressing or undressing him, not while he was so vulnerable.

He’s - Christ, he’s beautiful.  

His long lashes lay against his cheek, tipped in blonde so light they almost disappear.  There’s color in his face, his cheeks are a little flushed, his bottom lip is plump and red.  Bucky wonders whether the room is too warm for Steve, but Bucky feels fine, so he lets it go.  Otherwise, Steve’s skin is pale, but not unnaturally so.

Fury asked Bucky if he felt anything different, anything strange.  The doctors said they couldn’t detect any brain damage, but they also couldn’t believe that anyone could survive for as long as Steve had without it.

Bucky doesn’t know what to expect.  He’s trying to think of how to introduce himself when Steve’s breathing picks up.  

He watches as Steve comes awake, blinking once, twice, before sitting up and looking around.

The room is modern but sparse.  Director Fury suggested mocking the room up to look like it was still 1945, but Bucky rejected the idea.  Steve’s a smart man.  Any pretense will impair their trust from the beginning.

Steve’s looking down at himself, then around the room again, before his eyes land on Bucky.

He stares, squinting a little and looking confused.  Bucky’s just about to say something when Steve speaks.

“Bucky?”

Bucky can’t fight the smile, or the tears that wet his eyes on hearing Steve say his name.  “You know me?” he asks.

“You’re Bucky.  You’re...how do I know you?”

Nodding, Bucky looks away, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.  

“Where am I?” Steve asks, and this one, Bucky can answer.

“New York - Manhattan actually.  In a SHIELD facility.  Ahm, I guess you used to know it as the SSR? They’re not called that anymore, now they’re SHIELD, and don’t ask me what that stands for, because, buddy I have no idea.”

Steve takes a deep breath, then takes another look around.  Bucky watches as Steve notices the decor, the materials that everything is made of.  His eyes flick over the keypad entry to the next room, then flick back, studying it for a moment.

He turns to look at Bucky again.  “When am I?”

Dipping his head down, Bucky scratches the back of his neck.  It’s not that he feels sorry for Steve, but Christ, how the hell is he supposed to explain this?

“What do you last remember?”

Steve sits up straighter and presses his lips flat, and it’s that fight me stance that Bucky is so, so fond of.

“The Valkyrie.  I had to bring her down.”  His words are resolute.

Bucky nods.  “We thought you went down in the ocean.  They searched -- god, Howard Stark never gave up searching. But it turns out you went down over Greenland.  They think that the heat from the plane melted the snow, until it sank down into the ice, and the next snowfall covered it up.  Then global warming came and the permafrost finally shifted enough to bring the plane back up to the surface.”

“How long?” Steve asks.  “How long was I down there?”  Steve’s squaring off again, his tone a little bit angry and Bucky can’t help but see the spitfire kid he grew up laid over the righteous man in front of him.

“Alright,” Bucky says, holding his hands up and not even fighting the fond smile taking over his face.  “Okay.  You,” and this part is hard.  This part is so hard.  “You’ve been gone for almost seventy years.”  

Bucky’s not sure, but he thinks his voice trembles a little at the end.  He feels something like a sob rising in his chest, a feeling of overwhelming sorrow, decades lost, but that can’t be right because if it is, that means...that means….

“Oh, God,” Bucky says, .  “Is that you?  Jesus, Steve.” He brings a hand up to rub at his chest, right over his heart.  “Steve, I’m so sorry.”

Steve looks alarmed, like he’s going to bolt, and Bucky gets his head together long enough to do the thing he was brought here to do.  The thing that no one else in the world could do.  He gathers up everything he feels for Steve, all of the affection, all of the hard-won peace that he’s found, his acceptance that he’d never know Steve, but that he’d love him all the same.  For the rest of his life, he’d love him all the same.  

He takes that ball of emotion and he pushes it into the Steve-shaped space in his heart, in his mind.

Steve gasps, and bodily sways back from Bucky, eyes growing wide. “You’re- how?”

Bucky stands and approaches Steve, reaching his hand out, moving so slow.  Steve watches as Bucky nears, his expression inscrutable.

As gently as he can, Bucky brings his hand to Steve’s, brushing the tips of his fingers over the back of Steve’s hand.  

He’s holding his breath, and Steve is, too.

The moment they touch, it’s -- it’s nothing Bucky’s ever felt before.  All the years of hurting, of loneliness, all of the times that he’d longed for Steve, ached for him, all of that disappears.  Instead, he’s filled with all of the other stuff, the good stuff.  He’s filled with the moments of watching Steve grow up, his fondness turning to affection, turning to love.  He’s left with the pride he felt at what a good, decent man Steve became, he’s left with his acceptance of a life without Steve, quietly loving him, his whole life through.

Steve’s eyes widen, and he reaches out, taking Bucky’s hand in his.  Bucky wants to use the connection to push all of his love, all of his strength into Steve, but instead he’s hit with Steve’s feelings, and nothing could have prepared him for that.

He feels Steve, lonely, scared, and cold, and then he feels when that shifts.  He feels Steve’s curiosity, his excitement.  He’d waited so long for his soulmate, and somehow, there Bucky was.  He watched as Bucky grew up, through Bucky’s angry years, and his attempts to say good-bye, his attempts to move on, and then through his hard-won peace.  Steve got all of that, loved all of that.

“How…?” Steve asks.  

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, looking down at their entwined fingers.  “I don’t really care.”

Reaching up with his other hand, Steve strokes his fingers along Bucky’s jaw, tilting his face up toward Steve’s.  Bucky’s eyes flutter closed for a moment.

When people talk about meeting their soulmate, they talk about how it feels like home, how they just knew.  

None of them ever talk about the absolute absence of pain, of fear, of doubt.  

This isn’t coming home.  

This is safety and comfort, admiration and affection, and the softest stirrings of lust.  This is certainty he didn’t know could exist, and all of it bubbling along a current of joy that sings through Bucky’s entire being.

This is love.  

“I didn’t think you existed,” Steve says.

“I never thought this could happen,” Bucky replies.  

He reaches out, puts a hand on Steve’s hip, and a moment later, Steve is pulling him forward, into his space.  His eyes are bright blue, and in them, Bucky sees everything he’s ever wanted.  

Steve’s fingers are holding tight to Bucky’s shirt, Bucky’s hand.  

“I’ve waited my whole life for you,” Bucky says, squeezing Steve’s hip.  “My whole life.”

Steve smiles.  It’s small but it’s grateful.  Hopeful.  

Leaning down he presses a soft kiss to Bucky’s lips, before pulling him into his arms and holding him tight.  

Bucky nestles his head into the crook of Steve’s neck, breathing him in, and he smells exactly the way Bucky always thought he would. This is the part that feels like home.

Bucky and Steve are finally home.

A/N:  This is the last full chapter, but I am writing a little epilogue that will go up at some point this weekend when I have actual time to write again.  This will eventually post to AO3.

Thank you all for going on this ride with me. You have been nothing short of amazing, and I have LOVED getting to know some of you. 

Last but not least, thank you to @frostbitebakery who is as kind and generous as she is talented.  Go peep her art and give her some love.  She deserves every bit of it.  

[silversablinovaallday]

Keys

SableXPeter

Find it on archive here!

Left with no-where else to turn and the overwhelming emotions of a recent breakup trying to keep him down; Peter runs to his newfound safe house with his favourite violent mercenary. Somethings get a little out of hand at first. 

 He called twice before the receiving end picked up and Sable barked out a sharp, “what?”

“Sorry to bug you. I know you don't like me very much but can I ask for a favour?”

“Oh, it’s you Spider-man.” The hostility in her voice seemed to dampen; though her attention was still away from him. “My apologies, I was sure you were going to be one of my men again even after I called for complete radio silence.”

He was about to begin questioning her when she spoke again, “favour? What is it you wanted?”

“Oh, right. I was just- no it’s dumb. I’ll deal with it later. Is there something I can help you with? I’m already suited up and ready to go.”

“I am on my way back to my apartment. Can you meet me there and we can discuss whatever it is you need?”

“About that,” Peter said, staring down at her front door from above. “I’m already here. I was actually hoping I could come in but you didn't answer when I knocked.”

The line went dead without a response. She did that a lot so it was hard to tell when she was done talking with him, in a fight, or just plain angry with him. Hoping for the best; he stayed put on top of the opposing building’s roof.

He tried to distract himself and not let his mind wander back to MJ. He played a few games on his phone and responded to a few messages left by fans on his social media account. Of course; most of his time was spent attempting to avoid the sexually explicit posts from his fans; some of which he knew personally. Flash Thompson was fairly bad for that. He couldn’t imagine what his face would look like if Peter ever revealed his true identity, but that would never happen anyway as far as he was concerned.

With his attention engrossed in his phone, he almost missed a cry of distress in the distance. When his senses fully came to him; he was up and running towards the sound before he could process what was happening.

He made quick work of it. A few webs here and there and the would-be robbers were down for the count. The woman was shaken but otherwise unharmed. “T-Thank you Spiderman. If you hadn’t shown up-”

“Don't worry about that. Your friendly neighbourhood Spidey will always be here. Would you like me to walk you home?”

“I-I couldn't ask you to do that. You’ve already done enough.”

Though she couldn't see it, he was grinning widely under the mask as he shooed away the thought. “Nonsense. It's no trouble. I'm waiting for someone anyway.” She didn't respond right away so he continued, “if it helps, I’d actually prefer walking you home to make sure you're safe.”

“Then yes, please. I’d like that.”

He picked her purse off the ground and handed it to her. She lead the way down the busy streets towards her apartment. Of course, they had to stop a few times for the people who wanted pictures or high fives from their favourite masked vigilante; as well as a few undeserved threats and criticisms that Spidey played off with a few quips.

It was a nice walk otherwise, and quick at that. Her building was only a few streets away after all. She thanked him once more as they said their goodbyes before he could lift himself off of the ground with a carefully placed web.

“Another job well done Spiderman,” he said to himself; almost laughing. It had been a long time since his usual brand of spider-themed justice was this simple. Post-Devils Breath, Sable, and MJ in Symkaria. He shook his head, trying not to think about it.

His suit’s built-in phone rang. It was Sable. “Hey Sable,” he answered.

“Where are you? I thought you were waiting for me?”

“Got caught up with some late afternoon butt-kicking. I’m on my way back right now.” As he approached her building, he noticed an open window on the second floor. “Speaking of, INCOMING!”

He landed gracefully on the other side of the window without touching the frame at all. “Impressive ri-” He was face to face with the business end of a pistol. “Whoops! Bad idea!”

“You idiot! You startled me! I could have killed you!”

She didn’t shoot; thankfully, but instead threw the entire pistol straight at his face. He wished he could say he dodged, but the unexpected attack made him leap towards the blunt object instead of out of its way. “Ow! I’m sorry, that was my fault. My fault. My bad.”

His vision came back to him as he rubbed his temple. “S-Sable?” She stood before him with blood trickling down her front and dripping from loose fabric onto the tile floor of the bathroom. “What happened?!”

“It doesn't matter. Wait in the family area while I dress my wounds”.

“I’ll help.”

“I do not require assistance.”

“It looks bad. Please, it’s the least I could do after all you’ve done for me recently. FYI I’m calling the whole Devils Breath thing and then you saving me as us being even.”

She seemed to be weighing her options in her head before she finally sighed out a, “very well.”

Most of the visible blood seemed to be coming from long rips her clothing; and only when she started peeling off her jacket, did he truly see the extent of the damage. There were gashes all over her body; from what, he wasn’t exactly sure. The inside of her coat was soaked in blood and sweat and her body suit was worse. On the plus side, he was sure they were not life-threatening and all of the blood he was seeing was just an accumulation of both hers and whomever she had been in combat with.

She never was one to lose a fight.

However; that only worried him further. Who was she fighting with? Are they still alive? More importantly; how long had she been like this? Were her wounds already infected?

“You should take off the,” he looked her up and down. “Shirt? Armour? Whatever that is off. So I can dress the wounds of course! Not because of, well, um.”

“I know why. You do not have to be so immature about it.” She tried to reach the zipper on the back but pulled away; gasping involuntarily at the pain. “My shoulder is dislocated. You need to push it back into place.”

“I don’t think I should do that.”

“Fine, I will do it myself.”

“No! No, I’ll help. I’ve done it before… usually on myself too. Sit down and I’ll see what I can do.”

She followed his instructions; putting the lid down on the toilet and took a seat. Peter pulled his mask off and crouched in front of her. “Look away and tell me what happened.”

“You do not have to baby me. Just do it.”

“Tell me what happened anyway.”

“Hammerheads men. There were more than anticipated. After they bombed my ship I chased them.”

“I remember,” Peter said; lightly gripping her dislocated arm.

“Do not patronize me.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing as well. You sound like a broken record.”

“Sorry. Oops, I mean sor- you know what? Just continue, please.”

“Well as I was chasing them down I put a tracker on them. Similar to the one I put on your suit when I was not sure about your loyalty.” Peter nodded, not wanting to weigh in again. “I brought the remainder of my men left here in America that were not hospitalized after the attack.

“It did not go well. They were in far greater numbers than I would have ever thought and with stronger weaponry. As horrible as my machinery is, it does not compare to what they have created from it. I do not understand how they could have-” She let out a painful, startled gasp and kicked the trash can at her feet to the other wall as Peter finally forced her bones back into place.

The look of pain and shock took a few long seconds to fade from her features; but when it did, she let out a relieved sigh. “Much better. Thank you.”

“No problem. Rest your arm and let me do the work. Where’s your first aid kit?”

“Under the sink.”

He opened the cupboard a shuffled through it. There were surprisingly normal things in there. He wasn't entirely sure what he had expected, but hair care products and tampons were not exactly it. It didn’t take him long to find the very used medical kit tucked away in one corner.

He started running some cloths under the slowly warming tap water. “Okay I need to, you know. Can you turn away for a second so I can get at the zipper easier?” She nodded and turned towards the door away from him. Being careful not to catch her hair; he unzipped her body suit and helped her pull the straps down over her arms fo it was bunched up at her waist.

Peter blushed a bright red against his better judgement when he saw her bra. He knew it from the last time he had been in her apartment. The one he accidentally grabbed. The very same one he couldn't help himself from thinking about every now and again in the two days since it had happened. The only difference being the blood now painting most of it.

Before things could get more awkward, he set off to work on her injuries. Once the excess blood was washed away, things began to look more manageable. It definitely wasn’t all her blood. Good and bad news he supposed.

It wasn’t long before all of her more obvious wounds were taken care of and Peter could start to relax. “Better?” he asked.

���Much. You have my thanks Spider.”

“You know, that’s actually something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” He started cleaning up the discarded bandage wrappers and bloodied rags around the bathroom floor; trying to busy himself with small tasks to avoid eye contact with the woman getting dressed beside him. “Can you not call me that? Mostly my enemies call me ‘Spider’ as well as one very upsetting ex-girlfriend.

I wouldn’t really call you my enemy anymore so I was hoping we could upgrade my nickname to something a little more friendly. Like maybe Spidey, or Spiderman, or when I’m not wearing a mask you could call me Peter.”

“I believe I can do that, Peter.”

It almost surprised him to hear her so freely say his real name. Of course, it always sent a jolt of anxiety through him when someone said his name for fear of civilians hearing it. “T-Thanks. I prefer that much better.”

“I am going to shower now. You have my permission to stay downstairs until I am out. You never did tell me why you were here in the first place.”

“Oh yeah. I guess it slipped my mind after everything that happened. Listen,” he hushed his voice. “I don’t know the extent of what happened so I don’t want to just leave you and have you get light headed or something and fall in the shower. I'm not trying to be weird or gross or anything. I’d just prefer to know you're safe.”

Though he never said it out loud, he was silently praying that she wouldn't be offended or angry, or worse; think of him as a pervert.

She thankfully nodded. “Yes,” she agreed. “That is a good idea. Stand outside the door and should I begin to feel any worse than I already do; I will call you.”

“Oh. Wow, I wasn't expecting that. Thanks. I’ll let you get your clothes together and stuff.”

She rifled through her dresser drawers in the attached bedroom and shuffled back to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. The water started almost immediately. “Oh be careful of your bandages,” Peter called through the door. “I used the waterproof ones but you still should keep them out of the water as much as you can.”

She didn’t answer so he sat on the floor with his back on the door. “Come on you gotta talk to me so I know you’re ok.”

He had to strain his ears to hear it; even with his superior senses, but on the other side of the door, with water attempting to drown it out, was ever so soft humming. It was sweet and melodic. Nothing like he had ever heard from her before.

He stayed quiet, closing his eyes and resting his head on the door just to listen a little closer. To focus on each bar and let it lull him into a feeling of security. He really did feel safer with her around now that she was on his side.

Peter was suddenly aware of how tired he was. He probably hadn't slept more than a couple hours since MJ returned. And he couldn't say he slept regularly before that either. He was up most nights worrying about her or distracting himself from worrying about her with Spidey work.

He was just starting to doze off when he heard, “Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to tell me about why you were here anytime soon, or are you going to make me guess?”

“I don't know anymore, Sable. I have to admit, I’m a little embarrassed.”

“Aren't you always embarrassed? You should be.”

“Okay, rude.”

Her soft giggle was stifled by the door.

“Fine, fine. I was actually going to ask; if it’s not to much trouble of course, If I could spend a couple of nights here. Even just one would be great if you don't mind.”

The water was shut off and her voice became much clearer, “what happened to your apartment?”

“Well, you see.” She sighed, already anticipating whatever stupid story he was about to attempt to explain. “I had an apartment after Devil's Breath but me and my landlord didn’t exactly get along. And by that I mean, he thought I was pushing drugs. He knew I didn’t have a stable job and I couldn’t exactly say that I worked for you. That just leads to so many more questions. So he was suspicious of where I was getting money; not to mention that I always was coming and going at weird times; always tired and usually with bruised knuckles or cuts all over my body.

“Honestly to me that doesn't exactly scream ‘drug dealer,’ but I guess I deal with them more than him. So he basically just kicked me out for no reason. I’d love to call him out on it but I also don't need cops trailing me in my personal life.

“It didn't really matter to me either because MJ was really happy to have me move in with her. I only had a few things anyway. Not much time to shop as Spiderman and even less as Peter. So I just stayed at her place with the occasional dinners with a good family I know. I knew this kids dad. Worked with him until…”

He trailed off, looking down at his blood covered suit. His throat got tighter and his heart sank a little.

“That’s not important now,” she assured him.

“Right. Anyway,” he sniffled. “MJ kicked me out yesterday. She said some things and I think it’s over for real this time.”

“I see.”

Peter sighed and rose from the floor on exhausted legs and turned towards the door. “You can say no. Don’t feel like I’m pressuring you or anything. I didn’t tell you that so you’d feel bad. I just thought I’d ask.”

The bathroom door swung open and Sable stepped past him; her long silver housecoat swaying behind her as she went. She seemed in better spirits than before, which was definitely a plus for Peter. Still not mad at him.

“Very well. You may stay, though you will have to stay on the couch downstairs. Do you have any additional clothes?”

“Funny story about that actually. I forgot what roof I stuck them too. So as of right now. No. No, I don’t.”

“You will have to get some tomorrow while we clean your suit. I’m not going to let you soil my furniture with weeks of sweat and blood. Here,” she handed him some clothes.

“I’m not sure this is my style. I like a little splash of colour. A nice red and blue perhaps?”

“Just change.”

“You're the boss.”

He found himself in the bathroom without another option than what she had given him. Silk camisole top with a bit of lace around the neckline and some very plain grey sweatpants.

“I am rocking this outfit don't you think?” Peter asked, walking back out. He was suddenly blinded by a flash of light as she took a picture with what he assumed was her own Sable brand of cellphone.

“I am very impressed you are not embarrassed. The men in my country would be offended at the thought of wearing something so feminine.”

“Well, I am a proud man. A little lace doesn't scare me. I'm just glad you liked it.”

“I do. It will be here for you when you need it; should you ever need it again. I am not sure how regular of an occurrence this will be but it is here for you. As are these.”

She held out her hand and in her palm were a set of keys. “Are these to your apartment?” She nodded. “You really think it's a good idea to let me start making house calls?”

“Just for times like these. When you are tired with nowhere else to be. Now rest well. We have work to do tomorrow. Hammerheads men must be stopped, even if it’s just the two of us against all of them.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Goodnight. They won't see what hit ‘em tomorrow.”

“No, they will not. Goodnight, Peter.” She closed the bedroom door behind him as he walked out.

[lavender-lotion]

You Are Whatever a Moon Has Always Meant

Explicit | Chris Argent/Peter Hale | Post-Season/Series 03, Past Relationship(s), Mates, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Bittersweet, Porn with Feelings, Anal Fingering, Barebacking, Top Peter Hale, Bottom Chris Argent, Cuddling & Snuggling | 3,447

“Against my better judgment, I am here to collect you,” Peter told him. His voice was cool and uncaring, exactly what he wanted, and he made sure to keep his face a blank mask.

Christopher snorted, the sound anything but pleasant, and took another swing from his tumbler. “S'not your job.”

Peter was quiet for a moment, caught up in staring at Christopher's beard and the way it was shot with the grey. The lines around his eyes seemed to be etched deeper than they ever had been before, and his eyes were dark, empty in a way Peter had never seen on him. He took a breath and told himself that it wasn't weakness if it was only them. “You're my mate, Christopher.”

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The bar stunk, and it burned Peter's nose the moment he stepped through the door, an obnoxious bell jingling above his head. Peter was not surprised, but the stench of nicotine and stale liquor was stronger than he would have expected. The interior of the bar was no better than the exterior, and Peter shouldn't have expected any more from a place as littered with cigarette buts as the front of this place had been.

Peter turned up his nose, disgust rolling through his stomach as he looked around. He had only stepped inside because he had recognized the Tahoe and he knew exactly who the van belonged to. Now that he was inside, having to breathe through his mouth else the smell of piss make him gag, he was questioning his decision. Which also shouldn't have surprised him, seeing as he always questioned his decisions when it came to Christopher Argent.

It only took him a moment to spot the other man, and Peter's eyes skipped over his broad shoulders and trim waist. He pushed aside any appreciation he may have felt, too busy telling himself that he was annoyed. Besides, he did not appreciate the way Christopher's arms looked in his t-shirt. That was just ridiculous. Peter started towards the bar Christopher was sat at, keeping his eyes from wandering even as his senses took in the other...unsavoury occupants scattered about the place.

Peter stepped up to the bar stool Christopher was sat at, warring with himself for making such a foolish decision, and he stood there until he was acknowledged. When Christopher spoke, the slur in his voice was far worse than Peter had expected for the time of evening. “What do'u'wan, Pe'er?”

“Against my better judgment, I am here to collect you,” Peter told him. His voice was cool and uncaring, exactly what he wanted, and he made sure to keep his face a blank mask.

Christopher snorted, the sound anything but pleasant, and took another swing from his tumbler. “S'not your job.”

Peter was quiet for a moment, caught up in staring at Christopher's beard and the way it was shot with the grey. The lines around his eyes seemed to be etched deeper than they ever had been before, and his eyes were dark, empty in a way Peter had never seen on him. He took a breath and told himself that it wasn't weakness if it was only them. “You're my mate, Christopher.”

“That isn't fair,” Christopher said, his voice slower and steadier than it had been only a moment before and when he looked up, his eyes were hardened by something Peter didn't want to name but knew too well.

“Come on now, my car is idling,” it wasn't true, but Peter didn't know what to do with how Christopher was watching him.

Peter placed a bill down on the bar, definitely more than was needed to cover how much the other man had drunk, and he motioned for Christopher to stand up. The other man ignored him, staring at the cash until the bartender came and collected it, nodding his head towards Peter.

Finally, Christopher stood on unsteady feet and Peter reached out to steady him on instinct, forcing himself to keep his hands where they were and not pull them back like he wanted to.

“I'ave money,” Christopher stated, even patting his front pocket where Peter could see the outline of his wallet through too-tight jeans.

“I know,” Peter told him, letting Christopher lean against him as they walked out of the bar together. Underneath the bitter scent of grief, Christopher smelled just as sweet as Peter remembered from their youth, and he had to suddenly blink back a burning in his eyes.

“Stop cour'ing me,” Christopher mumbled and Peter barked out a laugh that hurt.

“Trust me, darling, that was not a show of courtship.”

Christopher said nothing, to which Peter was grateful, and he led them to his car silently. His wolf was pacing under his skin, feeling raw. Peter felt it too, the way Christopher's very presence was already getting to him, burrowing inside his skin and making him feel unsettled. He hated it, hated that Christopher still had so much power over him after so many years. Hell, it had been decades and the other man could still make Peter feel like he was nothing more than a godforsaken teenager.

“What're yo’oing, Pe'er?” Christopher asked him, his voice a husky slur of words that made Peter feel more than he would admit to himself.

“I'm taking you home, Christopher,” Peter told him with a tired sigh.

He had to help Christopher down into his car, holding him steady and guiding him into the seat. Peter heard the interested skip in Christopher's heart when he leaned over him to buckle his seat belt but he ignored it. He slammed the door, rounding the car and climbing into his side as anger bubbled under his skin.

Peter had no idea what the hell he was doing. He should have kept driving, should have left Christopher to rot in the damn bar. If he was going to drink himself stupid in a useless attempt at drowning out his grief, he should have to deal with the fallout. It was like Christopher had said: this wasn't Peter's job. Christopher wasn't Peter's responsibility and he hadn't been for years, for decades.

But, like Peter had said: Christopher was his mate and that would never change. No matter how strained the mate bond was, no matter how long Peter's wolf spent mourning the loss of its mate, the bond would always be there; brittle and malnourished and burning, simmering under Peter's skin and reminding him that something was always missing, that he would never be whole without Christopher loving him.

Peter would be loath to admit it, but what hurt the most, what made him want to claw his way out of his own skin if only to get the ache to stop, was that Christopher knew. Christopher had always known; known that the fastest way to kill a werewolf was to kill its mate, that without one, the other would quickly die—most likely at its own hand. Christopher had known, and he still left, carelessly tearing Peter's heart out of his chest as he did so.

The drive to Christopher's house was done in silence. Peter said nothing as he drove through Beacon Hills, the town looking nothing like he remembered. Sometimes he would find something that had changed during the six years he spent comatose and it would shock him into a panic that was wholly unwelcome. Driving through town with Christopher in his passenger seat made him feel much the same: he felt uneasy and unsettled, his skin too tight around his bones.

He pushed it away, focusing on the task at hand as he parked in Christopher's driveway. He kept his silence as he got Christopher out of the car and up the drive, supporting him with a hand on the small of Christopher's back up the patio steps and to the front door.

“Give me your keys,” Peter said, holding out his hand and waiting for Christopher to hand them over. It took far longer than it should have and Peter stood there, impatiently tapping his foot against the porch wood.

When Christopher finally handed them over, Peter wasted no time in getting the front door open. He turned the alarm off on autopilot, not even realizing that he had known the code until he found Christopher staring at him. Peter bristled, the hairs on the back standing on end as he ignored the unwanted feeling that was beginning to climb up his throat.

“You need a glass of water,” Peter told him, making his way to the kitchen if only to get away from the emotion in Christopher's eyes.

“What're you doing, Peter?” Christopher asked, and he sounded far better than he had when Peter first picked him up. He trailed into the kitchen as Peter was filling a glass from the tap, and he looked lost.

Peter told himself it didn't hurt.

“What are you doing, Christopher? Don't tell me this has become a regular occurrence for you.”

“You don't understand—”

“Don't you dare say I don't understand what it feels like,” Peter snarled, cutting Christopher off, his top lip pulling back to expose his fangs even as his eyes flashed electric blue. He pushed Christopher with human strength, but he didn't feel any pleasure when Christopher fell back against the wall. “You know what I lost and we both know whose fault that was.”

“That wasn't my fault,” Christopher said, and his voice sounded as dangerous as his eyes looked.

“Oh, fuck you, Christopher. You can claim innocence if it makes you feel better, but your sister burned my family alive!” Peter spat, stalking forward until he was once again in Christopher’s face.

“I wasn't even in the damn state!” Christopher yelled, getting his hands between them to shove Peter back.

He growled, snapping his teeth as he caged Christopher against the wall. He tasted like the whisky he had been drinking and Peter pressed even closer, holding Christopher against the wall with his weight. His lip stung when Christopher bit into it, hands leaving bruises that would heal in minutes along his hips. Peter kissed back with just as much anger, forcing his way into Christopher's mouth.

Peter moaned, pressing their hips together to find Christopher already hard. He rolled his body, dragging their lengths together as he panted into the other man’s mouth. The kiss was messy, too much tongue and too much saliva, a harsh clash of their teeth as they met each other with enough force that it hurt.

Sucking on Christopher's tongue, Peter pushed his hands under the man’s shirt, enjoying the feel of softened muscle under his hands. He trailed his hands higher, getting distracted by the way Christopher's body hair tickled his palms. Christopher had always been bigger, always a few inches taller with shoulders that were just a touch broader, but now they were much more evenly matched.

“Peter,” Christopher moaned, and while the voice was deeper than it should have been the tone was intimately familiar. Peter bent, not breaking the kiss as he got his hands under Christopher's thighs and he lifted, sliding his hands to hold the man up by his ass.

Christopher ground forward, rolling his hips in a way that felt like sin, and Peter tightened his hold. He stumbled backwards, his hip hitting the island and he grunted. Christopher laughed, sounding like it was shocked out of him, and he moved his hands from where they had been gripping Peter’s shoulders to cup his face.

His fingers were gentle when they traced over the hair of his goatee. All Peter could focus on was the pounding of their hearts and the heady mix of their arousal. His scenes were full of Christopher, his scent and his taste and the feel of him in his arms. It was all Peter could focus on and it felt like he was going to drown in at all.

He wasn’t even sure he would mind.

“Take me to bed, Hale,” Christopher told him, staring down at him with eyes full of emotion, filled with so much that Peter was scared to look away.

“Only because you asked nicely, Argent,” Peter whispered back, the words ripping at his heart as he parroted back the too-familiar exchange.

While Peter had never before been in this house, it didn’t take him long to find the master bedroom. Christopher’s scent was just as strong as the stench of grief, and he wrinkled his nose as he opened up the door. Still, he focused on the task at hand, throwing Christopher onto the bed and climbing on after him.

He wasted no time in pressing the other man down into the mattress, covering him with his bulk to keep him in place. Peter licked into his mouth, growling approvingly when Christopher opened up for him. Christopher spread his legs, giving Peter more room and he rolled his hips forward, dragging a moan from them both.

Christopher's hands were clumsy as they pulled at Peter’s shirt, tugging on the hem but not doing anything to get it off. Peter grunted in response to the whining noise Christopher made, but he still sat up on his knees to take his shirt off. He got caught up in looking, staring down at the way Christopher was laid out for him.

He was just as beautiful as he had always been, twenty years older and worn down by a life he had never asked for nor deserved. Peter took a claw down his shirt, cutting it in half and letting the sides fall to the bed. His chest was dusted with hair, curling strands of black and grey that trailed down his torso in patches.

Peter dipped down to follow the road with his tongue, letting himself get distracted by the pretty noises Christopher made when he focused on his nipples. Peter skipped his hands up Christopher’s sides, tickling up and down his ribs as he continued to bite and suck at his chest, pulling up bruises just to prove to himself that this was all real.

Christopher wiggled under him, and Peter moaned when calloused hands slid down his sides. He tucked his fingers into the waistband of Peter’s pants and fiddled with the button until Peter once again pulled back to take them off. Christopher's were next, and the man laughed when they got caught up around his feet.

Peter stared at the way Christopher’s eyes wrinkled, the way the laugh pulled at his face. He was breathless, staring down at Christopher as the other stared up at him, too much between them for this to be anything other than painful. A groan slipped out of his mouth when Christopher arched his back, and he watched as the man reached into his bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube.

“Peter,” Christopher said softly, his voice hardly more than a whisper, and Peter nodded.

He bent down, kissing Christopher gentler than he ever had, gentler than he could have known how as a teenager. Each swipe of their tongues was an apology for something neither of them had ever wanted to happen, and they fit together so well, too well, for two people who were never supposed to be together.

“Like this,” Christopher told him, spreading his legs and making room for Peter between them. He said nothing about the smell of salt in the air, not even sure which one of them it came from.

Peter nodded at the request and poured lube into his hand, letting it warm as he dragged his other palm up and down Christopher’s thigh. Peter was on his knees, Christopher’s legs on either side of him, spread obscenely wide. He pulled him closer, resting Christopher’s ass on his knees for better leverage, using his free hand to push Christopher’s leg back.

His rim, when Peter circled it with his finger, was tight. He made a soft rumbling noise in his chest, doing his best to soothe Christopher’s obvious nerves. It worked and the man relaxed, just enough that Peter was able to push his finger inside. He waited for Christopher’s breathing to slow down before he moved his hand, twisting his finger as he moved it in and out, waiting until he could easily thrust in before adding another.

Christopher grunted under him, hips twitching as he spread his legs even further apart. Peter pushed his second finger in, slowly stretching Christopher open as he scissored his fingers, twisting his wrist as he pumped them in and out. He was warm around Peter’s fingers, his ass holding him tightly.

Peter knew that Christopher had always liked it fast, liked to feel Peter stretching him open and making room for himself inside of him, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to fuck him yet. He poured out more lube, rubbing circles into Christopher's prostate with his fingertips, and as the man was humping the air he slipped in another finger.

He cried out, and Peter leaned down to swallow up his moan. Peter stretched him slowly, carefully, not even thinking of moving forward until his fingers were sliding easily in and out of Christopher's ass. He tugged on his rim just to get a reaction, loving the way Christopher was flushed beneath him, the way he was panting as he held his legs open, staring up at Peter through dark eyes.

“Do you have—”

“Just you,” Christopher told him, and he said so much more than just those two words. He nodded his head, fucking Christopher with his fingers for a few more, long minutes.

Finally, he pulled his fingers out, getting distracted by petting Christopher's rim, slipping his fingers just inside to tease him. Christopher mewled and moaned, making such pretty noises as Peter continued to tease him. The other man was covered in a sheen of sweat and all Peter could smell was them, the way that their scents had long since blended together.

“Peter,” Christopher said, begged, and Peter replaced his fingers with the head of his cock, flushed red and peaking out from his foreskin with how hard it was. He rubbed it against the wet slide of Christopher’s furrowed hole, a shudder going through him as he got ready to push in.

Slowly, so slowly that his wolf was snapping unhappily under his skin, Peter pushed in. He held himself steady, growling when Christopher’s body gave way and he sunk in, letting himself fall forward. He held himself up with one hand, the other rubbing soft circles into Christopher's thigh as he continued to push forward, making small thrusts until he was fully seated.

They both groaned in unison and Peter knew he wasn’t going to last, and he would be embarrassed about it if Christopher wasn’ close toot. He could smell the salty tang of Christopher’s precome, and he trailed his hand higher to ghost over his dick, skipping his fingers up its length even as he rolled his hips.

Christopher was so tight, too tight, and it had been so long since Peter had last done this with anyone. His wolf was itching under his skin, wanting him to fuck harder and faster, and he had to hold himself back from leaning down and biting, claiming Christopher as his own for everyone to see.

“Fuck,” Peter swore, clamping his eyes shut as he tried to keep down his shift, too overwhelmed by how good it all felt to fully rein in his control. Fangs caught on his bottom lip and he snapped his hips forward, dropping his head to Christopher’s chest when his arm gave out.

Christopher's arms wrapped around his back, his nails scratching over Peter’s skin, digging in hard enough that Peter shivered. He swore, rolling his hips on his next thrust, finally wrapping a hand around Christopher’s cock to work at getting him off.

Neither of them lasted much longer. Peter came first, growling through his release as he shook and shook and shook, spilling into Christopher with small, aborted thrusts of his hips. Christopher's hands were warm along his back, keeping Peter grounded and he came soon after, spilling over Peter’s fist and shooting his release between their bodies.

Peter dropped the rest of his weight, rolling to the side and groaning along with Christopher as his cock slipped free. His head was pillowed on Christopher's peck, the man’s arm still wrapped around him and keeping him held close. They were both breathing deeply, their hearts pounding together and Peter let the smell of their release roll over him, sinking into a comfortable headspace.

“Don't leave,” Chris asked, his voice slurred with exhaustion. He sounded fucked out and Peter let pride build in his chest at bringing his mate so much pleasure.

“I’ve never left you,” Peter told him, and fair or not it was the truth. He settled deeper into the bed, curling up tighter against Christopher’s chest, letting the man wrap him up in his arms. Peter took a deep breath, pulling in the way his and Christopher's scents had blended together, and he tried to commit it to memory.

He settled in to sleep, ignoring the hollow pit in his stomach and the way his heart still felt like it was being ripped apart. Peter hadn’t lied when he said he never left Christopher, and only the morning would tell if Christopher would leave him again.

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[dwardjspring]

Dave Garland. R.I.P

It was a Sunday Morning in New Zealand. I woke to messages from Mirka and Viv and I couldn’t believe what they said. No… That couldn’t be. I couldn’t really believe what they said. I chose to push it aside and went for my normal Sunday morning swim in the lake, with the club. I was out for over an hour and a quarter. Long swim. People were wondering where I’d gone. And all I could think about was Dave the whole time out there, the water flowing around me like moving through time and memories. 

Since then I’ve read online in the MTB press and various pages and peoples posts of Dave's passing. The word ’legend’ is often used and I think apt in the world of mountain bike suspension tuning and DH race set up. It’s fair to say he knew everything there was to know and more importantly, how to deliver it effectively. ‘Mercurial’ would be another fair use word of his knowledge in that dark art.

Dave left behind his wife Mirka. They had been married 4 years or so. Not long. And his daughter Niva. Now 21.

I read Niva’s post on her Facebook timeline later that same Sunday morning - of her feelings for her Dad and how she could have acted differently towards him.

There have been a number of eulogies for Dave, particularly this one by Si Paton, but so too, I want to say something from myself about my good friend Dave. This is my story of Dave. Written from my perspective. I’ve written it because I need to write it.

Dave arrived into my life in 1999 brought into Grip DH Mountain Bike magazine prior to Issue One whilst we were still in the planning stage by Editor Jerry Dyer, whom I’d headhunted from Dirt Magazine. Jerry ‘HAD’ to have a technical editor and Dave was it. So I hired him, not that I think I had any say in the matter! Those were fantastic days at the Air Publications office in the middle of Worcester. We had a real buzz going with all the magazines functioning out of that top floor on Trinity Street. Viv Jenkins, whom I had known since 1990, or even a little earlier, through snowboarding, arrived at the offices not long after Dave, rustled up by Ad Manager Wendy as she needed more help in the advertising department, what with five publications pumping. Dave and Viv took a shine to each other. They both had a BMX background. On a night out on The Shambles with the whole crew in tow Dave and Viv hooked up. That very first connection, on that particular night resulted in Niva nine months later. It was as simple as that. A one time moment with an ongoing expected commitment once the pregnancy became clear, which I don’t think Dave or Viv were really ready for.

It turned out to be a tumultuous time for all of us at Air Publications because over that next nine months a great deal happened. Dave and Viv ended up living in our house for about a month. They’d given up their house with other Air Pub staffers and they were working for free as we were trying to find a buyer for the publishing business as it had hit some rocky ground. We thought we could rescue the business, but we couldn’t. The short version was the breakdown of Air Publications, the loss of all our jobs and the dissipation of a lot of action sports potential. But that’s another story…

Dave was particular. He was a details sort of guy. When Grip was doing studio photo shoots of the DH bikes, everything had to be perfect. The backdrop, the lighting, the bike and its arrangement (of course). But I mean perfect. He created the studio in a grimy area downstairs, which we weren’t actually renting but it was a forgotten area, doing nothing, so he and Jerry commandeered it. Dave made me buy all the backdrops and lighting equipment, because of course it had to be perfect. The photographer we ‘HAD’ to use (Jerry Dyer catch phrase), Paul Bliss, also had to deliver, which he always did anyway being just as particular as Dave. The outcome of all that perfection and graphic design deliberation over minutiae was Grip DH Mountain Bike magazine. You may not have even heard of it as we only managed three issues. Dave wrote, but writing was not his forté, but the content of what he was writing was standout. It was different. It elevated the magazine. He just needed some editing help. He had the vision on where DH MTB should go from where it was at that time, and he was every bit the magazine editor alongside Jerry. Grip eclipsed Dirt magazine, the established market leader for DH at the time, and between ‘them’ and ‘us’ there was a fair bit of rivalry. Funnily enough, after Grip folded, Dirt started to take on the look and feel Grip had crafted and the direction the industry needed to move towards. Dave had every part in that.

Dave and Viv had to make decisions and for them it involved moving to Chamonix in France to be in the heart of the European snowboard scene but importantly for Dave, a blossoming mountain bike community over the summer months. They went there to make a go of it, prior to the birth of their baby, because they really did love each other. Dave started at Zero G shop and started increasing the bike activity angle of the store.

Niva famously arrived early on the 1st January 2000, the first child of the new millennium to be born in Chamonix, France. One of life's little surprises that has always stuck with me. But it was hard for them both - Dave and Viv. No family around, little support in a foreign land, a language barrier, struggling to get by financially. He worked hard. And did long hours. Very long hours. I talked a lot with him regularly, visited the store a few times and the small flat in Cham where they lived. In 2000 I was also coincidentally working in France for Regis Rolland at A Snowboards. Dave told me things weren’t particularly good between him and Viv because of all these life pressures. I think he spent so long at the store as an escape. But Viv, now with a baby to take care of, was finding it harder. Isolated, no money, no Dave who was off ‘promoting’ the store, you know, having beers, shooting shit with the boys, riding bikes. Well, he just was not around...

One day towards the end of summer in 2000 from recollection, Dave got back from being away at a race, went home to their tiny flat to find Viv and Niva were gone. Gone. Nothing there. The place was empty. Everything was gone. They’d up and left. I don’t know the exact details here but Viv had taken Niva and left back to Liverpool.

That day or the very next day I just so happened to be collecting my bag from the Geneva airport arrivals carousel. There's about six carousels all laid out in a row. One of the end walls is entirely made of glass so people waiting in the arrivals hall on land side can see the incoming people fresh off their flight getting their bags. I was waiting, looking out through the glass looking for my pick up, and there was Dave looking right at me! I don’t know who was more surprised, me or him, but I quickly saw he was distraught. He told me what had happened. He had driven to Geneva to pick up his brother or relation, or maybe it was his mum, I can’t remember now, but he was not in a good way. We made a bunch of phone calls on my phone to people back in the UK trying to track Viv down, to find out where Viv may have gone. Dave didn’t know what to do, or what to do with himself. He was pacing around backwards and forwards in worry and frustration and a sort of anger. He realised he’d fucked up. He told me that.

Very soon after, Dave moved back to the UK to Chester in an effort to be close to Viv and his baby daughter Niva. He was making the effort. He’d packed it all in at the shop and left behind all that he had been trying to do. That was not the actions of a man who didn’t care. And from this period, with Dave back in the UK in Chester, with his estranged partner and daughter Niva not far away in Liverpool, this was when Stendec was born. Dave and I started Stendec together.

Dave had realised and understood that mountain bike suspension servicing and tuning was fast becoming ‘a thing’. And that it was only going to grow. His knowledge of this thing was from ‘source’. He seemed to have the source code, the alchemist's stone, from which all knowledge derived to put it in a way you may understand. He had the Gold. The know-how to turn lead into gold. He just ‘knew’ what to do with suspension. But he needed help with the set up, the creation of the company, the accounts, the finance, the day to day boring systems in order for Stendec to function. That was my role.

Do you know where the word Stendec came from? It was the last message sent by an aeroplane as it was flying over the Andes at the end of the 1940’s through thick clouds before it crashed into a mountainside. The morse code message was S.T.E.N.D.E.C. No one knows what it meant. There are conspiracy theories based on it. But essentially no one knows what it meant because it doesn’t mean anything. It could be anything we needed it to be. Dave had been mulling it over for ages, the name, and he loved the whole story behind that word, so that’s what it was. He came up with that name for the company.

In fact he loved coming up with words to describe a new product. ‘Black Box Technology’, ‘Tuning in a Box’, ‘The Shock Footprint’. He helped me with names for the A Snowboards 2001/02 range I was working on. He really wanted me to call one of the boards ‘The Vocoder’ - “voice code your ride”. He very nearly got his wish.

We had a small industrial unit upstairs in a building very close to Chester town centre. Dave signed for it at the end of March 2001. We’d go for sandwiches round the corner at lunch time. For a cider or beer or two (or four) after work. I’d drive up from Worcester for two or three days each week in my Citroen BX Turbo. It blew up on one occasion leaving me limping off the motorway. I can’t remember any more but I think I gave the car to him when I left for New Zealand. We’d plan the business, we’d work out what the race season was going to be and plan to be at as many races as possible. Pagey would drop by. So funny. Products were created talking in the workshop, drinking our cider/beers. The range of exclusive oils, the brake fluids, the silicon spray, the grease, the springs. That all came from Dave, he did all the sourcing work, and with the oils for instance, got the oil chemist to come up with a slightly different concoction to Dave’s requirements. Back then there were, like, ten different oil weights we needed, and each of them could be combined to create mid weight oils to be perfect in the forks and shocks. The marketing words around it all came from me, and we had the special genius of Ian Roxburgh as the packaging and logo designer. Ian was the long time senior graphic designer on all of the magazines of Air publications. I remember Dave saying we needed to make springs, so we went off on a factory visit to the spring factory in Birmingham he’d found watching them being made. Coiled, heated, tempered, the ends ground, the Stendec logo printed on the coil of each spring...  It was all expensive, all those products. I don’t know if we really made any money, but hell, it was a fantastic brand all backed up by Daves race knowledge and ‘source’ code. It all added to the whole. It was greater than the sum of its parts that’s for sure. The springs eventually ended up being produced by Eibach and Dave even found a supplier of the elusive Titanium Spring. So cool.

Dave's knowledge was as much a hindrance as a benefit. When I was up in Chester in the workshop I was supposed to answer the phone to allow Dave the time to actually service the forks and shocks before dispatching them back out the door. But of course the phone would go and nobody wanted to talk with me, because one, they didn’t know who I was and two, I didn’t know shit (well, not the correct shit), they just wanted to talk with Dave. The true fountain of knowledge. So we quickly found we needed systems to allow Dave to work and talk.

During all this, Dave connected with Giant Bikes and proposed to them that Stendec be awarded the contract to run the Giant Bikes Dealer Demo program, and through that we had our first employee, Pete Crump. It was a fairly crammed itinerary and Pete would be up and down the country in a very big van demo-ing Giant Bikes to the shops of the UK. That happened for two or three years I think. And Michelin tyres. So many tyres, oh my god ...

I had by this time, March 2002, moved to New Zealand to live with my wife of the time, one daughter and a baby boy, but during the first five years of living in NZ I’d be back to the UK so much, still working in the snowboard industry and going to stay with Dave. I was practically commuting. Dave had moved to North Wales and bought the farmhouse based off the back of the ‘business’, but to be honest I don’t know how he managed to pull that off as there was barely enough to feed Dave let alone a mortgage. I certainly didn’t see any return of my startup funds. Through this period, which I think was a tough time mentally for Dave, it seemed a little hand to mouth for him at times. I was not on the scene any more for day to day contact.

Dave didn’t know where Niva was or what she was doing. Not really. He really dropped out of her life. I don’t know if that was because he just couldn’t be bothered or it was simply too difficult for him. Things just stacked against him as a man and a father. He wasn’t good at providing financial support. Not really. I saw that. Viv picked that up, but too, the impression I got from Dave was Viv didn’t make it easy for him to see Niva. There were a lot of road blocks put in place. I know there are two sides to every story and I don’t know Viv’s story I admit. I only know what Dave told me and he could be, at times, frugal with the full story. But from my own subsequent experience it seemed hard for Dave to see his daughter. I felt Dave wasn’t trying very hard anymore to make an effort. But I sort of think he gave up trying because it was simply too hard for him because of the external circumstances. I have gaps of time where I am not aware of what may or may not have occurred between the three of them as Niva grew older and into a young woman. But overall I never really fully understood that. I’m sorry. I cannot judge.

As I read on Niva’s Facebook post on the day Dave died, and as Niva’s mothers friend so wisely stated in one of the replies, all Niva’s disclosures were not about her own failings. Niva did nothing wrong. The parents' difficulties were not about her. It was the way the dice rolled for her. It's easy to have perfect vision looking backward about what you should have / could have done, about decisions you could have made, about a relationship you could have had. As Niva said, her future dreams, those she thought she would enjoy at some point in the future with her dad, it turns out were nothing other than fantasy. They will never be. A tough but realistic observation on her part, I thought, when I read it. When Niva was about 13 or so, I remember how things were from Dave's perspective and how he relayed it to me, things were not so good between himself and Niva through that adolescent period. Again, I know he did try but I think over that period, although he had made some headway with Niva, it went slightly awry. So subsequently, I think he gave up even trying to try. That’s my own personal observation.

Dave came out to NZ with his friend Kellie in 2004 or so. They stayed for a few days on a big country wide tour. Again, we had lots of discussions but eventually, over the fullness of time (one of Dave’s favourite sayings), we just slowed down our talks. We talked less and less over the years, a function of being out of sight, thus out of mind. I watched as the Stendec brand became Dave’s vehicle. Even though technically it was 50% mine, really it was all Dave’s. I was his initial helping hand. Watching Dave from the other side of the world via RedBull TV, I’d watch all the World Cup DH’s religiously. I’d see Dave doing what he did so well, spannering for household names now - to make them household names, and felt real pride to see him at that level. That's where he was meant to be.

I was surprised when I saw Dave got married! I didn’t know he was seeing anyone. I didn’t ask as to why. It was a slightly grey period when I was not up to play on what was what.  Friend Kellie just wasn’t around any more. Mirka appeared out of nowhere, it seemed, but too, she really seemed to have brightened his day. Mirka gave Dave some zest again. I saw it written large through the ether. I could feel it. The evolution of the springs into the standalone brand Super Alloy Racing and how Mirka deals with that has been tremendous to watch at a high level, primarily through the Enduro World Series. And then equally it seemed, out of nowhere, Dave created Stendec Data Acquisition. I just thought ‘brilliant’. What a thing to do. Such a lot of detail and thought and understanding had to go into that creation and Dave could see too, as he always did, that it had to be relevant to the biker in the street. I was surprised to see it, but at the same time, not surprised at all it had come out of Dave's brain. Of course it did.

I think Dave was a real character of a person. A strong driver within his art. The term ‘artist’ I think would also be a fair label for him. One of a kind. Generous. Knowledgeable. But so too, flawed like we all are to some extent. He thought long and hard about it all. Just a tiny bit broken, not quite complete -  Niva was always there but not there. I don’t think that ever sat well with him. Dave was really hit by not being able to see his daughter properly over the years, right back from that initial shock departure, and he really cared, and I think it's important for Niva to read and hear this from someone who spent time with him, just how much he did care. Though he wasn't the best perhaps at showing it, or trying to reach out. 

I feel too I missed the boat in talking more with Dave these past years. He was hard to get a hold of especially with his non-compliance of social media and stuff, but we both could have tried harder. I certainly could have. Now it's too late. I’m sad about that. There’s still things to do and talks I still wanted to have with Dave. I feel some responsibility for not doing it. There’s a lesson there for us all.

Dave Garland -  1967 - Nov 28th 2020 - Rest in Peace

Top photo: Dave featured on a poster in the centre of the first Stendec catalog. He was a pretty handy rider.

Addendum:

I found this whilst hunting… The last paragraph says a lot about Dave’s support for his riders and friends riding.

-----Original Message-----

From: Dave. Garland [mailto:dave.garland@stendec-xxxxx.com]

Sent: 14 February 2003 20:54

To: rob.war@xxxx.com

Subject: madison stuff

Hi Rob here's the list of stuff we could really do with to help the season along.

10x Mavic 521 32h cd

4x mavic 321 32h cd

5x dura ace ss rear mechs

5x ultegra 12-27 9speed cassettes

4x DT swiss blk comp spokes 258

6x DT swiss blk comp spokes 260

2x DT swiss blk comp spokes 262

4x xt 9speed rh shifters

2x sp40 gear housing

20x teflon gear inner wire

that's it. its about £500 worth

I got the new crowns and they look the bollox, Romic's sending full factory

shocks in about two weeks.

CALENDER.

STENDEC/MICHELIN SUPER SERIES; MARCH 29/30

DRAGON RD 1/2                    APRIL5/6

SDA RND 1                      12/13 APRIL

MAXXIS CUP RND2                23-27 APRIL

NPS RND1                       3 / 4

SDA RND2                       10/11 MAY

NPS2                           24/25 MAY

WC RND1                        29MAY-2ND JUNE

WC RND2                        10-13 JUNE

NPS RND3                       21/22 JUNE

SDA CHAMPS                     4-6 JULY FORT WILL

DRAGON 8/9                     9/10 AUG

NPS NAT CHAMPS                 25-27 JULY

STENDEC/MICH                   2/3 AUG BALA LAKE NWALES

NPSRND 4                       16/17 AUG

EURO CHAMPS                    21-24 AUG

WORLDS LAGANO                  4-7 SEPT

WC 5                           11-14 SEPT

NPS 5                          20/21 SEPT

DRAGON 12/13                   4/5 OCT

THIS IS THE TIME TABLE.

I know it might seem alot but as you know we got things at stake this year, Ian is looking for big things this year, from you especialy. I will give you support like you aint seen, just give a 100% back and we'll go places. for you i think you have to get used to winning races again, dont matter what series it is A WIN IS A WIN and when you get used to winning you want to win everything.

We have the strongest team in briton this year and the best supported so everyone's gotta pull their weight.

speak soon

Dave