#the last time I wrote anything that wasn’t for an assessment was 10 years ago

[jpegjade]

The Blind Date - Spencer

Request: I'd love one where the reader has dated around with no success (terrible tindr dates, disappointing connections through work, etc). Somehow her and Spence cross ways and go out. He treats her really well and looks at her like she's his world. Shes been dying to have a good man look at her like she's precious and melts at it 🥰

hey hi hello! im working though my requests lists faster than i thought lmao. i do have some ideas that i’ll work through but if you have an idea, my asks are still open. 

Warnings: if you hate dad!spencer, then you will hate part of this. But this is fluffy tbh. 

“Hey babe, look what I found!” You said, flipping through a stack of polaroids hidden away in another pointless stack of papers and other items. 

It was time to clean out the attic since all those dusty boxes were really filling up the space. It had been your dream to build a cave up there just for yourself, away from both your husband and your three kids. 

Spencer climbed up the stairs, squinting to see where you were as his eyes adjusted to the terrible lighting.

 “What did you find? Aside from Asbestos and lung disease… Are you sure you want to build something in here? I can’t imagine it being comfortable considering the way the house is made. There’s nothing to cool you down in the summer months and who knows how winter will fare here.” Spencer looked deeply concerned. 

“Spence, honey, would you come and look at this?” You held up the first ever picture you took of him, your first date written on the back of it in metallic sharpie with the words “I really like him…” in your handwriting. 

“‘I really like him?’ What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer asked, bending over to look over your shoulder at the photo. In the photo, Spencer was giving the most awkward smile, one hand in the air in a semi-wave motion. He looked like his mom asked him for a photo and he was just doing it to make her happy. 

“I wrote this on our first date… I wasn’t even sure about going on the date before that night…” 

**10 years ago**

“Just one date.” JJ said. “You don’t have to love him but I know you’ll like him.” 

Your friend was insistent that she could set you up on the perfect blind date but you weren’t convinced. You went on so many different Bumble dates, had Tinder hook-ups, and even accepted John from marketing’s proposition to take you on a date last week. It ended in you faking food poisoning and having JJ pick you up from the restaurant because you didn’t have the heart to tell him that you didn’t want to hear about his mom’s weird growth that she needed to get checked out. He was supposed to be showing you pictures when you got back to the table but you knew that was going to definitely give you food poisoning. 

“JJ, if this goes south, I’m just going to swear off dating for a while.” You said, agreeing over the phone. 

“Great. He’ll pick you up at 5 pm for dinner and a horror movie tonight.” JJ said, hanging up before you could protest. 

A horror movie for a first date? What did she expect from you? You knew this wasn’t going to go well but you promised her that you would try. 

He was 15 minutes late. He kept you waiting for 15 minutes and for what? He better have a good explanation. In a huff, you swung your front door open to see if his car was even outside and you came face to face with a messy haired brunette with his arm raised to knock. 

“Hi.” He said, arm still frozen in the air. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“What kind of medical doctor shows up late to a first date?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Well, you see, I’m not that kind of doctor but that’s a common assumption. I have three Ph.Ds so you can say I’m more of a specialist in scholarly knowledge and I get to put it into practice with my job as a profiler at the FBI, which is how I got here. Not being in the FBI, per say, but being in the FBI with JJ. As to why I’m late, I was given information that I blindly followed from this other agent, Derek Morgan, which I probably should not have followed.” 

You noticed that Dr. Spencer Reid hadn’t taken a single breath until now. 

“Was that advice to piss me off before you even met me, Doctor not a doctor?” You said, still annoyed. 

You knew JJ had talked about Spencer before when you guys met for breakfast or girls’ night out. You didn’t think about what he looked like until now, though. He was pretty but not so pretty that he knew it. It was more like an understated thing. 

“He said that pissing you off in the beginning would give me a better chance of being able to woo you with my charm and charisma, to quote him exactly. I now realize the flaw in my thinking was that he would be correct and misunderstanding that he was kidding because JJ didn’t tell me you would be so beautiful and while I have a genius IQ, I’ve been told that I lack the social skills needed to accurately assess a situation where I have a beautiful woman staring at me like you want to punch me but also intrigued at the sight of me.” Spencer stopped and realized he still had his arm in the air and dropped it by his side. 

You stared at him quietly. You weren’t sure what to make of him but you did know that you were getting hungry. Your stomach growled loudly. 

“You’re a talker.” You said. “I appreciate that.” 

You turned to lock up the front door before dropping your keys in your bag. Walking to the car, he opened the door for you before you could put your arm out. You looked over at him, stunned. Other guys you “dated” didn’t do anything like that. Yeah, it was a simple thing but it was something that mattered at least a little bit to you.

“Wait.” You said, pulling a small Polaroid camera out of your bag. “Smile for the camera.” 

Spencer smiled, showing all of his teeth, and raised his hand in a wave. You hoped to god that wasn’t his real smile as you snapped the picture. The polaroid came out nicely, his face well lit, and you noticed that in the light, his purple shirt looked nice with the black skinny tie and black pants. 

“I like him” You wrote on the back of the polaroid in metallic marker before getting in the car.

The rest of the night was a breeze. Dinner was filled with intelligent conversation and responses beyond what any of your Tinder “Dates” could comprehend. He ordered the nicest wine on the menu and you nearly choked on your water. So he had money, check. That meant he wasn’t attempting to live off his friends’ couches like the last guy you went on a date with. He let you order whatever you wanted and didn’t care about how much or how little you ate. He didn’t make snide comments about how you should “slow down on the wine.” He didn’t want to make you run out of the building. He made you want more. Of him, of the night, of him. Oh and him. 

The movie was filled with jumpscares and things that were generally uncomfortable to watch but Spencer remained unphased. In fact, he nervously slipped his hand into yours about 20 minutes into the movie and you stayed like that the whole time. When you got particularly scared, he would talk to you in your ear and tell you about the inaccuracies of what was happening, straightening out the facts. As if any of the movie was logical, he kept talking to you like everything could make sense, and it calmed you down. You even found yourself leaning into him by the end of the night. 

When he took you home, that was a bittersweet ending to something you hoped would blossom. 

“Do you...” You started. 

“Can I...” He said at the same time. 

Mumbling a chorus of “you first,” you paused long enough for him to say it. 

“I enjoyed spending time with you tonight. When JJ said it was a blind date with her friend, I didn’t think I would enjoy it as much as I did. I don’t have the best luck with people so I thought I might mess this up too. I can only hope you had as much fun as I had...” He trailed off. 

“I did.” You said a little too quickly. “I mean... I enjoyed your company tonight.” 

There was a weird pause and you waited for him to do it but he kept staring at you. You had to do it, you decided. So you did. You kissed him. And at first he was tentative but then he really got into it. 

“Okay, wow.” You said, finally breaking away. “Do you want to come in? I don’t really want this to end...” You said. 

“Yes.” 

****** 

Spencer was sitting on the floor next to you as you recounted your thoughts on that night to him. Sure, he remembered it but he didn’t remember it like you remembered it and that was what kept him intrigued. 

“Y/n,” Spencer said, looking over at you. “I was 15 minutes late because I was standing at the door practicing my opening line.” 

You looked back at him and you knew the look he was giving you, the one he had given you every time you saw him since that first night. He was staring at you like you were the only thing that mattered. 

“What had you planned to say?” You asked, completely curious. 

“Baby, are you on fire? Because you’ve got me all hot.” He said, looking down at his hand, which you suddenly noticed was holding yours. You were so caught up in telling the story that you didn’t realize what was happening around you. 

You burst out laughing. “Spencer, that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard you say.” 

He smiled and looked up at you through his glasses. When your laughter finally died down, you were able to concentrate on him again. He was staring at you in that weird way again. Ever since your first date, he always gave you that look. 

“What?” You said, still smiling. 

“Nothing in particular.” He said, looking over at the staircase. Your 7-year-old was climbing up the stairs. 

“Mommy? Daddy? What’s going on? Did daddy tell a funny joke?” She asked, walking over to sit in her father’s lap. 

You looked over at them as she got comfortable. He kissed the top of her head and went back to staring at you. 

“Yes but it’s a joke you won’t get until you’re much older. And one you won’t hear until you’re much older, if ever.” You said poking her belly. 

“Hey, why don’t we go fix lunch?” Spencer said, putting your daughter back on her feet and standing up. 

“That sounds good.” You said, thinking about how hungry you were. 

Standing up, Spencer stopped you for a second while your daughter climbed down. 

“Can we come back up here once the kids are asleep and go through more of those photos? I remember each one you’ve taken of me but I want to know why. You never explain, even now.” He pulled you into a tight hug. 

“Sure. I have enough stories to fill hours of dates.” 

“You know I loved you since that first photo, right?” He said, kissing your cheek. 

“Really? You’ll have to tell me about your version of some of the dates one day.”

_____________

Okay we had a flashback sequence for this one. i tried to keep it simple so there wasn’t a lot of flashing back and forth. I wanted to make that as long as possible bc idk if anyone wants more, honestly. 

ANYWAY HELLO im so sorry for my longass one-shots

Tags: 

@winchestertardis

@ancailinaerach

[lilikags]

When Mom Tricks Come Handy

ೃ‧₊› a b o u t  t h i s  p o s t° ➮ Pairing: Kenma Kozume x fem! reader ➮ Series: Back to Me ➮ Tags: fluff, royal au, reincarnation au ➮ Part: 6 ➮ Word Count: 2962

--Your POV--

This was just like a job interview. You were dressed up in something nice, and you came prepared to show yourself off to your "employer". Of course, this would obviously last much longer than a job interview, but you could just think of it as an extended one. It was just about the same nervousness, the same confidence you had when you applied for a job during your third year of high school.

The moment you entered the room where you met the Queen, most of the confidence hid away somewhere in you and humbleness stepped forward in its place, sitting on top of your feelings of nervousness's lap. You looked down at the marble freshly polished floor, the carefully painted ceiling, the intricately carved patterns on the walls...

"It's a pleasure to see you, Lady (l/n)," her majesty started off. She had entered the room without you knowing, which startled you. Oh gosh, I need to start paying more attention to my surroundings. "Ah, yes, it's quite a pleasure to see you as well, your majesty," you greeted the empress along with a small curtsy. Her majesty always started with light greetings, promptly followed by a short and straightforward talk. You had talked to her a few times before, and she was definitely an intense person. "As you know, if we are on the same page, I have called you here to give you the details of the first test," she started, and you nodded. "I will have you manage the Archon Palace in the North for an entire month. I will visit you every so often, so please be prepared to greet me. You are to be assessed based on your skills in managing the palace both during events and on a daily basis. I have an informant who will inform me of the details. Your test will start when you arrive at the palace and end exactly a month after. That is all."

You quickly thanked the queen and curtsied, then was escorted out of the room by a servant, who led you to your carriage. You were going home to pack your things and get ready for the test. You hopped into the carriage and sighed, thinking about what you were going to do.

The test was like an open notebook test, used to only assess the application of the knowledge studied. You were definitely nervous; you had never done anything on this scale and it was very new to you. Your mother managed all the household affairs for you, since you had quit studying it a long time ago. But you did manage to go over it over the last few months of cramming, and you could probably relate it to some skills you saw at night.

The (y/n) in your dreams had at least basic skills to survive on her own. Of course, she was taught how to cook and clean and make the place all tidy and presentable. Well, you figured you would use those tips later when you managed the castle, so you wrote down a list of what you could remember and placed it with some other important documents you planned on bringing.

You wanted to pack your things yourself. There was just something special about it; perhaps it gave you the right temporary goodbye to your home that you needed. Or maybe you just wanted to do it because that girl always did it herself, but this is what you wanted to do and you were going to do it. It was definitely weird though, in other people's eyes. Anyone of your status would just tell their servants to get the things they needed and get on their way, unless they were hiding something. Well, you guessed you were hiding something, but it wasn't even in the baggage anyways.

You bid your parents a short goodbye as you left for the northern palace, and you slept to the bumps of the road as you made your way there. As soon as you arrived at the palace, you really knew it was really meant to be a long assessment, not some 10-minute pop quiz. The place was a mess- well, it still functioned, but it was still a mess. There was not an ounce of organization to be seen and you instantly wondered who had been in charge of the place before you arrived.

You were escorted to your room; it was actually quite nice. After all, this was a palace. It was made for the royal family, who always lived in such luxury. It was clean enough; the place looked clean and simple, with it just being very clean. That was one thing you liked about this palace, it was clean. There was no dust laying around, no rodents running around, no random stuff sitting around. It was clean and simple, in contrast to the elaborate paintings on the walls and ceilings; you'd have to fix that.

After taking the day to settle in, you familiarized yourself with the place and the staff. You had one of the butlers show you around, taking you to every place on the map you wished to see. It kinda felt like busy work, but it's not like you could back down now. All that cramming was for this, so you were going to do it. You attempted to speak to the staff, have a nice conversation with them, but nobody bothered to answer respectfully. They gave the shortest answers possible and continued working while you were talking to them. Well, they must be dedicated to their job- or perhaps they were told to act this way, who knows.

At the end of the day, the place was still pretty new to you, but it didn't feel completely foreign anymore. You were able to assess the situation, and in the morning, you'd tell them what they needed to fix up on- and it was a lot.

The next morning, you got up as the sun rose and you changed into something you had brought from home. It wasn't too fancy, but still presentable enough for the staff. Honestly, you wanted to wear (your comfort clothes) but you had appearances to keep up. Anyways, after getting ready, you headed towards your new office space. It was pretty nice, you had to say- especially the chair. It was comfier than any of the chairs you had at home, which was awesome. You then wrote out your entire script for what you were going to say to them. You weren't always up for "public speaking", but you were in the mood to get things done, so you were going to get things done. Simple as that.

Then, you decided to set up your simple system. Yes, you were going to make a system for these employees. Having good employees was one thing, but managing them was another. If you have good employees, but no organization, no sense of community, everything's going to be all over the place and nothing will get done. Well, that's what managers are for, right?

You ordered for the things that needed to be brought to be brought and called all of the servants over. You held your short script that you had made earlier this morning and took a deep breath as everyone piled in.

"Good morning, everyone. I have called this meeting to inform you of the new changes, which will start in three days, as I have supplies that need to be sent here. Now, as I was walking around the palace, I noticed many things about organization that need to be addressed immediately. I understand that it is very different than what you have been previously doing, and I hope you understand how this makes the process of doing your work much more manageable and efficient," you started. You looked at the faces of the servants. Some of them were intrigued, others looking away and not caring at all.

"First of all, I would like to address some of the organization issues you have here. Everything is all over the place, so I would like you to organize them. First, keep things in one place. Every time something is used, it is to be put back in the same place when it is finished being used. Next, I would like to invest in making the storage rooms much nicer. I saw them yesterday, and they are horrendous. I have just ordered some baskets; use them to organize the items in the storage rooms. Label them as well, so that everyone knows what basket is for which items. I will have Cain (the butler) handle the baskets," you explained, knowing this seemed pretty new to them. No one was particularly happy, as things were changing to something a bit different, and that was expected. As long as they did their job properly and followed the rules, everything would be fine.

"Next, I would like to introduce a new system. By my office, there will be a large board, where you can sign up for the tasks that need to be done that day. There will not be a set number of tasks you need to complete, but you must all complete everything by the day. I will also assign a leader to each group of servants, who will write me a report every 3 days on the work everyone has been doing. It does not need to be long, but make it a bit detailed; it just helps me make sure everything has been done well." You heard some sighs, and you knew full well it was more work for them, but you couldn't be going around all day and staring at them doing their work.

So, you put the system to work, and when the baskets and things arrived, you looked over everything. Honestly, there wasn't much to do then, if all the reports were all good. Well, that gave you time to plan for the decorations for when the queen would come visit, and so you spent your time doing that.

You researched different popular themes for the palace and selected one you thought her highness might like, though it required the place to be clean. There were way too many items in this palace, for sure. Of course, you could throw away many of them, but that would be such a waste. You could already think of uses for many of them. So, you decided to buy more baskets and hide them in plain sight. That way, you could keep them, and her highness wouldn't have a clue. It wouldn't hurt her if she doesn't know.

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐒𐐚 ° ˚ ₒ ∞

Long days, always. Living in this place was lonely. Sure, there were tons of servants around, but you never felt much of a connection with them. You needed someone you trusted, someone you knew and someone who knew you. The first person you thought of was Kenma, but you weren't allowed to correspond with him during this time. The Queen would think you were trying to cheat, even if she read what was inside the letters. After all, you hadn't tried to prepare for years, and suddenly you're trying when you find out you're the prince's soulmate.

You were just about to go to bed. It was about midnight, a bit late, but not really. You were tired from dealing with all the servants; there was a huge fuss about a maid breaking an expensive vase. All of them in the room pointed fingers at each other, and after listening to everyone's stories, it was so clear that everyone was lying about something. No one's story matched up with the another's, so obviously everyone was twisting it for their own sake. You decided that you didn't like any of the girls in the group and seriously considered just firing the whole lot of them and hiring new ones. Well, in the end, you just let it all go with a warning. All that was really damaged was the vase; that could definitely be replaced. It wasn't like your budget was too tight; actually it was quite good. The only thing that concerned you was their attitude. These people really need to understand that they can be replaced...

It was about 4 in the morning when you woke up. Cain, the head butler, was literally the only one considerate and pleasant enough to talk to, but he really had to wake you up at 4 in the morning. You only had about 4 hours of sleep; your brain was still taking a vacation and it was truly difficult to force it back out.

As you exited your room in your nightgown, as it was still the middle of the night, you saw Alania, one of the better maids, with a candle outside the door. She led you to the office, where Cain was waiting.

"I apologize for interrupting your rest, Lady (l/n), but her highness has arrived. Please get ready to greet her," Cain explained. "I-" you said in surprise. "Thank you for telling me. I shall prepare right away."

Your brain flew back to your brain, luckily, and you were pretty alert now. Your gait quickened, as your thoughts raced through your mind. You ordered for the place to be quickly prettied up; there were still a few things that shouldn't be left in the open, and you told them to hold small things in baskets which were placed as decoration and large things in the storage rooms. It didn't need to be neat; the place just needed to be presentable.

As the place was being fixed up, you had yourself fixed up. It was much harder in the night, but Alania was skilled and made you look presentable in a matter of minutes. Since you were finished before some parts of the palace were cleaned up, you decided to keep her highness in the cleaner parts as the other parts not yet fully fixed up were worked on.

So, you went to greet her highness at the front of the palace and welcomed her. You apologized for being a few minutes late, though that really wasn't too uncommon. Nonetheless, you were just being respectful. You led her to a waiting room, where you talked and had some tea. You wondered when you could go back to getting your sleep, but it's not like you could leave her highness by herself; that would be extremely rude in this society. Casual did not exist, and that was such a shame.

After a while, her highness decided to retire for the night, and you had a room prepared for her. You led her to her room, then once she had closed her door, you started back to your room. It started as a walk, but as the desire to just get back in bed increased, it turned into a faster walk to a run. You sped up the stairs into your room, where Alania had been waiting for you.

You sighed as you slowed down, getting into a chair so that Alania could take off your makeup and accessories for you. They were so fancy you didn't even know how they worked, so you just let her. She got them off in no time and you changed into your pajamas as soon as they were off and flopped onto your bed. You were very tired by this time, and you instantly fell asleep as soon as you got comfortable.

The next morning, you weren't awoken by anyone. You expected someone to inform you that her highness was awake, but you figured she wasn't awake either. She probably didn't get any sleep until she got to the palace, so it made sense.

Alania knocked on your room when she came by a few minutes later, suggesting a dress for you to wear. You had instructed her to get you whatever dress for you to wear for the time you were in this palace, and she was great at it. You changed into the dress and had her fix up your hair and add on some accessories. Once you were all ready to go, you closed your bedroom door and started to the dining hall.

As you sat at the table, you realized it would be rude to eat without her highness, so you decided to wait as you read a novel you had brought with you, just in case you needed it. It would help pass the time, and it could be used as a conversation starter.

After some time, you heard the steps of a pair of heels entering the room, and her highness appeared. You greeted her as she sat across from you, and breakfast was served. You had small talk with her, making sure to always be respectful. Since you were asked, you showed her around the palace and told her some stories of things that you had to take care of. Gossip was always something women in high society talked about, even the Queen herself.

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐒𐐚 ° ˚ ₒ ∞

You shuffled around the place, bidding your goodbyes to everyone as you hopped into your ride home. It has been a long month... and it was time to go home. You wondered about your results; they'd be released in a couple of weeks. You stared out the window, falling asleep on your way home.

『••✎••』 Extra Info * ˚ ✦ ⇢ If you haven’t read the other parts, find them here! 

A/N: Hey guys! It's been a while haha. I actually made it longer than I thought I would. Honestly I rushed the ending a bit bc I'm lAzY but eh whatever welp I'll see you next time and that's hopefully soon! Love y'all! <3333

[graphicabyss]

?人 NEWS

I wrote an enormous post, or rather an essay, concerning NEWS, Tegoshi, and everything that went through my mind in the past month. Honestly, it’s mostly my way of coping, getting it out of my system and sorting out my thoughts and feelings. But I decided to also post it here for those who might want to read.

It was a long time coming. The rumours were lurking around for years and a month ago they bloomed. And yet, the full realization is yet to dawn on me. When something devastating happens, our mind tends to shake off the pain by either exonerating the beloved person who hurt us, or blaming them and distancing away from them. It's really hard to stay objective. But I'll try.

Coming into this fandom, I prepared myself for disappointment. Once I was a TVXQ fan. You know, the 5-nin TVXQ that was going to be "together forever" and all that. So I wowed never to get that invested in a pop band. When NEWS came along, I tried not to get too attached. I knew it would hurt me, sooner of later. And for awhile, it worked. But, as years went by, I knew I lost the battle. We humans need to cling to something. Thus, nearly 7 years have passed.

To me, Tegoshi has always been a key component. He was the one that led me to NEWS. Or rather, how pretty he looked in a dress. Tegoshi always kept me interested. Sometimes he excited, sometimes he annoyed, but he was never ever boring. He was made of contradictions, both in words and in actions. Nothing ever adds up with him. He made me want to understand him but I could never quite grasp it. Thinking about it now, perhaps it was because he doesn't really understand himself either.

In these years, I had several crisis points where I considered leaving the fandom, all caused by something shitty Tegoshi said or did. But every time I bounced back. Of course, I didn't do it for him. I did it for myself. However, his selfishness has always been offset by his kindness. The last time was him crying at the end of Neverland tour and how sorry he looked. Till the end, I wanted to believe that his common sense and loyalty won't let him do something reckless and stupid. Yet, here we are. The interview he gave to Bunshun led me to believe that he would do the right thing. He said he would show his gratitude to JE and would definitely make his fans happy but now it's the furthest thing from the truth. The fandom is disappointed, confused, angry.

Some people say to get over it, that Tegoshi was meant to leave or some shit. But I think those people fundamentally misunderstand the heart of the problem. It's not that he left that infuriated the fandom. It's how and when he left. Most fans would support his decision to leave if the transition was done properly. He owed us that much. A proper apology. A proper gratitude. A proper farewell. The announcement had me in disbelief. I expected him to at least finish the contract, do the Story Tour, no matter how long it takes, and show the members, staff and the fans the respect they deserve. To cut it short feels like a violation. At the very least, we need a closure. The last goodbye. The last concert. The last something. He just left JE after 17 years like it was nothing.

More than anything, what he did seems so stupid. He had it so fucking good. He was always in the spotlight, both on stage and in TV shows. The other members did most of the offscreen work allowing him to shine. He was supported by endlessly patient members and staff. He had the freedom to choose and all the work he wanted for each of his passions - ItteQ, Soccer Earth, OpenRec. And he had fans that always supported him, no matter how many scandals he had.

What was so important that he had to give up on all the amazing benefits he had? To betray all this trust? And on top of it, at a time like this? When all world is going through so much shit? When the fans need moral support more than ever? What were the "dreams" that he talked about?

The ability to rant on Twitter? Making duckface selfies? Fucking around? Assembling a shitty rock band? Performing with strippers? Some kind of unique business opportunity? He talked for years about wanting to perform overseas or hosting fan events but right now these things are offlimit anyway. Why couldn't he at the very least explain his decision properly? Just that alone will definitely hurt his further career in the long run. The press-conference lasted 2 hours but it answered none of the questions that really mattered and there was no remorse. Though at this point, I can't trust anything he says anyway. He created his Twitter account the the evening it all went down and didn't bother explaining himself. He just jumped off the ship and let other people deal with the damage.

Even now, it all seems like some kind of bad dream. Then again, all of the 2020 does.

When I first saw "手越退社" trending on Twitter back in May I felt like I was spinning into a downward spiral, like all air was sucked out of me. And it wasn't the "oh, no! what will the band do?" I never went to a NEWS concert and never brought any merch. To me, it wasn't really the feelings of a fan whose band faces a crisis but rather that of an entrepreneur who invested too much money into one asset and watched it plummet.

Fandom stuff is a currency that can devalue in a blink of an eye. Its valuable as long as its core message is intact. This is why I can't stand people being petty over scans or videos. I share when I can knowing it will make someone happy because I know that tomorrow that someone might move on. When I stumble upon old closed journals with password-protected downloads they feel like ancient abandoned temples. The treasures in them turned to dust.

4nin NEWS were based on unity, the combination of 4 unique characters. Four components, each of them essential. Now that concept failed. It's like standing in front of a collapsed building. I try to assess the damage. How much of it can I salvage? Repurpose? How much is lost and needs to be cleaned up? Should I even bother?

What do I do with hundreds of live performances and TV shows, in HD, lovingly downloaded and stored?

What to make of thousands of scans, magazines, pamphlets, almost each image edited and sorted? Thousands more stored neatly in folders, waiting to be posted. Countless screens and gifs.

What of the member ai fanvideos that gained over 100k on Youtube bringing joy to so many people? I already got the first heartbroken comment saying "we won't ever see them like that again, will we?"

What to make of my unfinished stories? Honestly, it's one of the things I'm most proud in my entire life. Now their future is uncertain.

Do I take down the poster on my wall? The CDs on my shelf? Soon I will have to looks at my enormous stash and decide for each item. Things that once brought joy now cause pain.

NEWS weren't selling music, they were selling ideas and dreams. The cute band photos now cause hurt and anger. The uplifting songs about unity won't be convincing. All the concerts lost their charm.

Am I being too dramatic? Probably. Perhaps the issue itself may seem trivial to an outsider but our grief is real.

Tegoshi keeps saying he loves NEWS and adores the members. But to me, loving is doing everything you can to avoid hurting the ones you love. Perhaps he means it, but that love will never compare to the love he has for himself. Despite what he says, I doubt we'll even see them together again and I'm not even sure I want to. I knew apart from Koyashige, the members aren't really that close personally. Tegoshi is shallow and seeks popularity more than anything. I'm sure than now he'll hang out with even shadier characters than before. The members used to provide him with the much needed tough love. Now, with nothing and noone holding him back, he'll give in to his overblown ego.

I'm not sure how I feel about NEWS continuing as 3. I mean, I support their decision and that's probably what most fans want but to me, I don't know if it'll work out that well. They were already a band with a lot of luggage and now, just like in 2011, they are a band that induces pity. They would have to rearrange so much to try and fill this huge gaping hole. Not to mention they will struggle vocally. No songs, no choreography can be unaltered. It might be better to go on within the agency doing their own things. But then that would just mean Tegoshi was indispensable and all the work they put in will be wasted. The Story must be competed.

In the past week I went through various stages of grief. The anger was strong and so was disbelief. Now it's finally subsiding, giving way to acceptance. It won't come soon but I'll let all the emotions run their course. The fact is Tegoshi remains very entertaining and the temptation to keep following him and rant about him is strong. I probably wouldn't even fight it if he were to leave with at least a shred of dignity. But with the way things are, I refuse to support him in any way. And I will at least try to phase him out as much as I can as I realize that even my anger is playing into his hands as he wants nothing more than attention, good or bad. Instead, I'll try to focus on those who do deserve support.

I'm not yet sure how to proceed with the blog and everything else but I'll take my time and figure it out. The truth is Tegoshi was one of the two major things that have kept me here for so long. And no, the second reason is not Shige. It's the people. Out of all the fandoms I've been in over the years this one really felt like home. I met so many amazing people here, even though many of them have since moved on. I felt accepted and appreciated.

This week has been an emotional roller-coaster. But today I feel fine. I have a dozen reasons to be depressed. But I'm not miserable right now because of the fandom. I've had about 10 people write to me within several days. Some of them I haven't talked to in months, some I've never talked to before, and some from other fandoms. They reached out to share their thoughts and feelings, and I appreciate it so much. I felt less alone. I felt a sense of solidarity, a sisterhood. Many agreed with me and it was touching but even more touching were the people who didn't necessarily agree with me and still wanted to hear what I had to say.

Perhaps it's patronizing but I feel like right now the best I can do is stay connected and go through this together. If I can help others, through informing, making someone smile, or supporting emotionally, it's all worth it.

[schrijverr]

I Wrote My Own Deliverance

Chapter 5 out of 10

Alexander Hamilton is reborn as Alex Hambleton. He is desperate not to make the same mistakes twice, but it seems he is stuck in the narrative, unable to get out. Familiar faces pop up all around him as he attempts to keep his previous life a secret and write himself out of the story.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none, but tell me if I missed anything or if you want me to tag something!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Washington’s project had been the last one before his finals for this semester, which meant that after the finals week he would be done with this year. His first year so far had been a success, he was on his way, the first steps had been set.

The last few weeks went by in a blur as he worked through stacks of books, typed thousands of words and worked himself to the bone only to collapse at the end of his finals, ready to sleep for the rest of time.

Sadly that was not in the cards and the campus would be closing over the summer break, leaving Alex without a place to stay if he didn’t start looking soon.

It was still playing heavily on his mind when he got a text from an unknown number: Martha wants to celebrate your successes this year. If you are free for dinner this Sunday. - G.Wash

His shoulders felt lighter as he excitedly typed out a reply: Tell her I would love to come over and see her again. A. Ham

He usually didn’t sign off his texts, but he was willing to do as Washington did to make the man more comfortable and it reminded him of times when he signed all letters like that. From love letters to slam dunks in the media to grievous notes to surviving family members.

Sunday crept up on him and soon he found himself in his nicest pair of clothing on the steps of a big house as he nervously knocked at the door. Washington had been cool about his decision, but Mama M had always been scarier and he wasn’t sure what would happen when she saw him again.

The door was opened by a beautiful woman with a kind smile, who asked: “Alexander?”

A smile split his face as he replied: “Mama M, it’s good to see your face.”

Immediately he was pulled through the door as Mama M wrapped him up into her arms, before patting him down and telling him he needed to eat more and was he sleeping alright?

When her assessment of him was done, she turned stern and berated: “Now, young man, what were you thinking? I would love to hear how you came to the conclusion you did and broke Eliza’s heart, she was always such a kind young woman.”

He’d seen it coming, but the words were still like a stab in his chest. He had never really forgiven himself for what he had done, even if Eliza had. The Reynolds Pamphlet was the biggest burden he carried and the reason he wanted to prove himself.

Last time he had proven himself worthy of the History Books, this time he would also prove himself worthy of kindness.

“I messed up, Mama M.” he decided on honesty, “I made a mistake and I’m taking this second chance at life to do better, but yeah, I messed up big time and I honestly have no excuses.”

Mama M gave him one more look, before her features softened again: “That was the best answer you could have given, dear. Now, come in. I made beef and I have some vanilla ice cream, are those still your favorites?”

“You know me so well.” Alex smiled as he followed her farther into her home, looking at the pictures on the walls and the old-fashioned décor.

“I see you passed her grilling.” it was very strange to see Washington, former President of the United States of America and now prestigious Professor, in jeans and a Tshirt.

“It would seem so, sir.” Alex grinned back.

“Good then you can go set the table.” Washington smiled.

The dinner was nice. It felt only weeks ago when he had last sat there, even though it was centuries in a different home, surrounded by different faces of the same people. It was familiar in a new way, how he rambled about his classes and Mama M talked about the law firm she worked at, making Alex ask even more questions.

Slowly the conversation turned to the past and the too short retirement Washington had gotten to enjoy. He sighed: “Ah well, life goes as it goes. And Martha and I still go to Virginia each year over the holiday, so it’s not all for naught.”

“That sounds great, sir.” Alex said, then he mused, “I should be looking for somewhere to stay this holiday too, but everything is just so expensive and finding an extra job is hard. Though, I suppose there are quite a few homeless shelters in the city, I’ll figure something out.”

“You have nowhere to stay?” Mama M said, sounding more distressed than Alex had thought.

He quickly backtracked: “No- well, yes, but also don’t worry about it, Mama M. I didn’t mean to say that, just thinking. I’ll manage, really, nothing new.”

Alex was absolutely not helping his case, but he was panicking, so he cut himself some slack.

“You can stay with us, come to Virginia.” she offered, still slightly horrified, “We don’t mind and I’m not leaving you to fend for yourself out there for an entire summer.”

“That is really kind of you, but, uhm-” he shot a helpless look to Washington, who just held his hands up in surrender as he left Alex on his own, “I have a job,” yeah that worked and wasn’t even a lie, “and I really need it, I can’t take time off and traveling from Virginia to my job each day with public transport is going to be too expensive and takes too much time. I really, really appreciate the offer, Mama M, but I really can’t.”

“And what if you stayed here and had the car.” she countered.

“Mama M, I can’t-”

He hadn’t thought of a good argument, but luckily Washington stepped in: “And how will we get to Virginia then, Martha. It’s very sweet you want to help, but Alexander is an adult, he can make his own choices.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

“Hey!”

Alex got ignored by the two others who were having a staring match. Martha raised a brow and said: “He could drive us to Virginia, stayed the weekend then drive back by himself and come to pick us up at the end of our holiday?”

“Martha...” was all Washington said as a grin formed on Mama Ms face. She pleasantly smiled: “So that’s settled then. Alex you’re staying here. We still need a cat sitter for Hammy.”

Swallowing heavily Alex accepted, he knew better than to argue with Mama M when she had made up her mind, especially when Washington agreed, reluctant as it might be. Instead he smiled and sincerely replied: “Really, thank you so much, ma’am. You truly are a wonderful woman. Also, Hammy? Please tell me I don’t have another cat-counterpart, Mama M.”

“I do try, you charmer.” she patted his cheek, before rising to clear the table, “And, cat-you really is a sweetheart, you’ll like him.”

Alex jumped up to help her, trailing after her like a puppy as she switched topics to the latest essay for his blog.

[slippinmickeys]

Release Valve (1/10)

This is the first fic I wrote when I came back to the fandom last year--it had been almost 20 years since I’d written my last X-Files fanfic. I plan to release it here, one chapter per day. 

This takes place directly after Fight the Future, and goes AU after that -- meaning S6 and on do not exist in this universe. I do have a sequel planned, but have not yet had the time to sit down and write it. 

It had been five months since Antarctica, and he could still feel the sharp cut of cold air in his nose, the crunch of snow under his cheek as Scully held him close, half his clothes gone, half himself protecting her. It was August in DC, the air hot and thick with car exhaust and pollen, the humidity at 100%, and there were still times he thought he might never be warm again. He leaned back in his chair at his seemingly permanent temporary desk in the BCU bullpen and picked up his phone, bored. Muscle memory dialed the number for him and she picked up before the second ring. “Mulder, I have a class starting in less than ten minutes,” she said, without so much as a hello. “You know this.” He sighed into the receiver. “I’m bored,” he said. “Yeah,” she replied, the touch of frustration gone from her voice, replaced with a casual empathy. “Me too.” “Want to get lunch later?” “I can’t,” she said, then added, “Skinner’s assistant called me this morning. I have a meeting with him at 1:30.” “Today?” He asked, incredulity creeping in. “Yes, Mulder. Today. Listen, I’ve got to go, I’ve got students coming in. I’ll call you after class.” She hung up without saying goodbye. He tipped his chair back as he hung up the receiver and looked up to a familiar hulk approaching his desk. “Agent Mulder,” Skinner said, giving him an assessing look. “Sir?” “I’d like you to come by my office at 1:30.” “Today?” Mulder said, once again. Boredom turned him peevish. “You have somewhere else to be?” “No, sir.” At that Skinner nodded and stalked off. So. Both he and Scully had been called in. This was either really good, or really bad.

When he came into the anteroom outside Skinner’s office, Scully was already there waiting and there was a maintenance worker in the process of removing Skinner’s name tag from the door. He and Scully shared a look of raised eyebrows and he plopped down next to her on the couch with a touch of petulance, the wind coming out of his sails. Maybe this wasn’t a good news meeting after all. At that moment a young agent came walking in, nodding at Kimberly.

“I’m supposed to see him at 1:30?” He said to her. He had a short, choppy haircut and thick preppy glasses. He pulled at his tie like he wasn’t used to wearing it as Kimberly directed him to a chair opposite Mulder and Scully. He plopped down and gave the armrests a little drum, clearly not a kid who was used to sitting still. Skinner popped his head out of his door then. “Agents?” He said expectantly. All three stood up and Skinner turned to the third man. “Stone?” “Yessir?” “Give us a minute.” “Yessir.” He plopped back down. Mulder and Scully exchanged another look and followed Skinner into his office. “I have some news,” he said once they were all settled. “The OPR recommendation finally came down.” “Don’t keep us hanging,” Mulder said, trying to keep the glibness out of his voice. “The X-Files are being reopened,” he said. “I’m sensing a ‘but,’” Scully said, leaning forward. “Less of a ‘but,’” Skinner went on, “more of an ‘and.’” “And?” Said Mulder. Skinner looked at them a moment without saying anything. Assessing or deciding, Mulder couldn’t quite figure out. “Your budget has increased,” He finally said. “You’ll have two more full-time agents assigned to the unit.” Scully’s face fell, and Mulder leaned back. “Not to sound ungrateful,” Mulder said, holding up a hand, “but our recent experience working with other agents on cases associated with the X-Files has not gone all that great.” He remembers the five o’clock shadow scrape of Krycek kissing his cheek. Shoving Spender into a wall. The latent smell of cigarette smoke and a basement full of ash. Skinner leaned back. “I’ve been promoted,” he said, looking at each of them in turn. “To Deputy Director. I’ve been given authority to shape and oversee the X-Files unit.” Skinner let that sink in a moment before going on, his tone indicating that this wasn’t a negotiation. “Agent Mulder will be the X-Files SAC. You’ll be giving the orders to the agents under you and will have hiring and firing approval.” Mulder shot a look at Scully. “What about Agent Scully, sir?” “Quantico has requested she stay on there to teach.” Mulder opened his mouth to protest, but Skinner raised a calming hand. “Technically, she would be an instructor in residence at Quantico, but assigned to the X-Files as official consult. Able to take leave from teaching whenever needed in the field or at the Hoover.” He gave Scully a pointed look. “The decision is obviously hers. Quantico wants her, but so do I.” “So do I,” said Mulder quietly. Scully tucked her chin to her chest, her eyes to the floor. Neither of them had been quite expecting this. Skinner leaned back and gave them a moment. “I thought you’d be pleased,” he finally said. Scully looked at Mulder. “I can’t speak for Agent Mulder,” she finally said. “You can,” Mulder said with confidence. Off his look, she continued. “But I’d like nothing more than to continue our work.” “Great,” said Skinner, “It’s done, then.” He rose. Mulder made to get up too, but Scully spoke. “Sir,” she said, “what about the X-Files? The actual files, sir. The ones destroyed in the fire?” Skinner resumed his seat. “Kimberly had begun digitizing them months ago,” he said, off of Mulder’s surprised look. “She was able to save most of them to a secure server. She said the only ones she hadn’t gotten to were those from the last year or two.” Scully looked at Mulder. “I should have those on my computer,” she said to Mulder, “you should too. After the most recent Executive Order, we’ve been required to keep digital copies of all reports since almost that long ago.” “My laptop was in my office when it burned,” Mulder said flatly. “If I’m not mistaken, yours was, too.” Scully gave a pinched look and Skinner once again stood. “About that,” he said, walking to his office door and gesturing outside. The young agent who’d been outside waiting walked in and Skinner pointed him to an empty chair around his conference table. “This is Agent Stone,” he said, “He works in Computer Sciences and Crimes – he’s been working to restore the destroyed computer units from your office.” Off a surprised look from the X-Files agents, Stone shrugged. “Standard procedure. Evidence conservation and protection.” “Were you able to save any of our work?” Mulder asked. Stone looked at him. “I was able to save all of it,” he said. “And I want in.” XxXxXxXxX “I don’t understand,” Scully said at last. Skinner nodded his head at the young agent. “He’s here for a job interview. He’d like to be one of your two new X-Files agents.” Stone sat up, animated. “I’ve obviously read all the files on your computers,” he said, “and when I was done with those, I read all the digitized files.” He looked at them both keenly. “I’ve read every single X-File. It’s fascinating work. I want to do it. I want in.” Scully raised an eyebrow. “You’ve read every file on a secure server?” “I, uh, may have hacked it,” he said, momentarily sheepish. He nodded toward Skinner. “I came to the Assistant Director with my concerns on just how secure it is. I can help you with that. I can help with a lot. I know I’m pretty green, but I’ve read your files back to front and I know I can help you.” Skinner looked to Mulder. “Your discretion,” he said. “Your unit.” Mulder appraised the young agent for a moment and turned to Skinner. “I’ll want a full background check. If there’s so much as a hint of Morley smoke anywhere in this kid’s past, he’s gone. He doesn’t come near the X-Files OR our computers. If he passes that,” he turned to look at Stone, “trial basis. As short or long as I see fit. This isn’t a tenured position.” Stone sat up straight, smiling. “Yes, right. Sweet. Awesome. Yes.” XxXxXxXxX These men. These men who would do anything for a hairsbreadth of power. She’d been kidnapped, micro chipped, infected with a malignancy. They’d taken her ova and her career and the love of her life more than once. She couldn’t watch the news without seeing their malevolent machinations in every third disaster. Don’t even get her started on Colony Collapse. If she could kill every one of them and film it, she’s convinced snuff would become her kink. But maybe… Maybe they had a chance now. To bring down the Syndicate. To bring down the Smoking Man. Cautious optimism was still a pretty generous name to put to it, but she finally felt if not a sense of hope, at least not the Sisyphean doom and gloom from months before. She looked over her glass of wine at Mulder. He’d shown up, energized, practically bouncing up and down at her door, bearing pizza and Chianti. “I’m surprised you didn’t put up more of a fight on Stone,” she said. Mulder shrugged. “Maybe it was the high of getting the X-Files back, but I also don’t want to look a gift Skinner in the mouth, if you know what I mean.” “I know what you mean.” The terms of getting back the X-Files was best case scenario. It was probably too good to be true. “He seems young,” she added. “He IS young,” Mulder said, “I went over his file this afternoon. Graduated at 20 from MIT and recruited straight out of graduation. He’s only been a full agent in the Bureau a little over two years.” “Any field experience?” “None.” “Oh boy.” Scully took another swig. “What he lacks in experience, he makes up for in enthusiasm,” Mulder said. “I’m hoping I can train him up my way.” “The suits are gonna just love that,” she deadpanned, and Mulder smiled. He leaned back on her couch and fished an errant piece of pineapple from his shirt collar. “How you can eat that on pizza, I’ll never understand,” Scully said, standing and bussing their plates back to the kitchen. Instead of taking the bait, Mulder blew out a sigh, his mind elsewhere. “I don’t even know where to start on finding someone for the other position,” he said. “If we’re not careful and don’t do it our way, we’re going to end up with another fucking Krycek.” Scully winced and made her way back to the couch, tucking her feet under her on the other end. She tried not to look at the space by her door where Melissa died. “I may be able to help with that,” she said. “Oh yeah?” Mulder leaned forward. “I have a student,” she started. “Not another baby agent, Scully,” Mulder said, “we don’t have the budget for a nanny.” “She’s new to the Bureau, yes,” Scully went on, “but was a beat cop and made detective extremely fast. Ten years with the LAPD before she went Fed. She’s smart, Mulder. She asks all the right questions.” She waited a beat. “She reminds me of you.” “Devastatingly handsome and hard to love?” Scully tucked her chin to her chest, not meeting his eyes. She made a decision then, hard and fast. “I’ve never found it hard to love you,” she said quietly. XxXxXxXxX There it was. They hadn’t talked at all about what happened in Mulder’s hallway before Antarctica. Mulder wasn’t even sure she remembered it and it had been too awkward to ask. “Scully,” he said. She still hadn’t looked up, so he reached out a finger and swept it gently down her leg. She looked toward him and rested her cheek on her knee. “You deserve to know,” she said, “after everything we’ve been through.” Her voice was husky. His pulse started to race. His finger was still on her leg and he fought the urge to skim it higher. “You know, if you’re officially stationed at Quantico, it’s not fraternization,” he said. He wasn’t sure if he came off glib or flirtatious. He wasn’t sure of anything. Scully reached for her wine and took a measured sip. “Are you coming on to me?” She said. Flirtatious. Jesus. His throat bobbed. “I’m coming over with wine more often, is what I’m doing,” he said, reaching for his own glass to cover for his nerves. “En vino veritas?” Scully said. “The veritas has always been our problem, Scully. Maybe the vino is the solution.” XxXxXxXxX “Mulder,” she said, rising up on her knees. She reached up and ran a hand lightly over his cheek. She’d never just come right out and said how she felt about him. Before the bee thing in his hallway, a surveillance chat about root beer and iced tea was as close as they’d come. Enough, she thought. She wanted to kiss him, but the timing didn’t seem right. This was too profound a moment for them. She knew if she kissed him, she’d be outside herself instantly and right now she didn’t want to miss a thing. He seemed to push into her hand slightly, leaning into her touch. His eyes never left hers. His cheek was sandpapery under her fingers and she remembered that fingertips have more nerve endings that most places on the body. Most. “Let’s get our unit put together,” she said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.” Almost six years of ghost hunting, she thought, and flashed on the industrial smell of hospital sheets, the acrid tang of gunpowder. Mulder loping off on his knight’s quest to find his sister, Scully the squire at his side. He was six feet of rumpled suits and taut muscles and she’d fallen in love with him years ago. Hopelessly, stupidly, embarrassingly in love with him. He cracked bad jokes on stakeouts and mumbled her name in his sleep – of course she wasn’t going anywhere. XxXxXxXxX She leaned forward and gave him a lingering kiss on his cheek. He tried not to let his disappointment show. “Yeah,” he said, his voice husky, too. “Yeah.” He leaned back, banking the fire on the moment. She grabbed the glass out of his hand, which he hadn’t realized was empty, and took the rest of their meal detritus into the kitchen. He rose. “Send me the file on your candidate, would you?” He said, making his way to her door. He took his time putting on his coat and lingered in the doorway. She came over slowly and stood in front of him, close. “Scully?” He said, his hand on the doorknob. He leaned forward so their foreheads were almost touching. He needed to say it before he lost his nerve. “I love you, too.” He practically ran outside then, his blood thrumming. It took everything he had not to crow triumphantly at the moon. XxXxXxXxX Jasmine Isaacs. 36 years old. African American. California native. Highly decorated detective with a great solve rate. Single, no children. The kid thing grabbed Mulder by the collar first thing. It was good to have no kids. Just another thing to use against you. He leaned back in his chair and blew out a sigh, his thoughts turning depressive. What a fucking way to think, he thought. That children -- most people’s high point--were just another tool in the arsenal of the Consortium. The basement office felt different. The smell of paint fumes still permeated the space. It was a different shade of grey than the last one, off by just a touch, which grabbed Mulder’s eye every time it strayed from the file in front of him. He’d gotten a new I Want To Believe poster from the same place on K Street where he’d gotten the first one, a throwback to a simpler time. They’d done a bit of work on the office in the refurbish – got rid of the wall leading to the annex and managed to squeeze three small desktops into the space. He thought Scully’s should be bigger than the other two and considered clearing off a different area to make it more senior looking. She had her own office at Quantico and it was probably twice the size of the entire basement. Good, he thought. She deserved that. He turned back to the candidate’s file in front of him. She looked promising. Had a high solve rate. Nothing in her background suggested an ulterior motive, nor highlighted a weakness the Consortium could exploit. So far, so good. If Scully wanted her, so did he. Stone seemed into the paranormal shit. Isaacs could be the level-headed counterpart. He wanted to get them both into a room and see what happened. Isaacs graduated from Quantico next week. Scully walked in then, the smell of the street still on her clothes. Hot dog vendors and fresh air, the amniotic petrichor of the Potomac. He could hear the elevator doors close as she sloughed off her coat. “How goes it?” She said as a greeting. He flipped the file closed and casually tossed it on his desk. “What a time to be alive,” he said.

[urflowersdied]

junebug

Long time no see! I’ve had a really rough past few months regarding finding the motivation and creativity to write, but I’ve been really wanting to get back into it. I wrote this piece in January of last year - 2019 - but left it to rot in my Google Drive... It’s not the best piece of writing, I’d say, but I feel the need to just put it up so that I hopefully can move on and post a more recent piece of writing soon-ish. Quarantine is boring me to the brink. Hope you’re all well and can get some enjoyment out of this! x

He had never cared for an animal on his own before, but Harry was convinced that every pet owner gained some sort of extrasensory perception - or rather, a sixth sense - upon deciding to house a little creature. With previous family cats, or even the hamster that his sister had convinced their parents to adopt when he was about 4 years old, his mother had handled all of the arising problems herself, usually trying to keep her children out of the sad aspects of living with a pet. Therefore, 23-year-old Harry didn’t have any pre-existing experience with spotting illness in animals, yet when he woke up one morning and saw Juniper - his little Jack Russell Terrier - not already impatiently sitting by her bowl, tail wagging about, that he sensed something was... off.

Now, two days later and Juniper still refusing to move about more than absolutely necessary (usually she would join him on his morning runs, zoom around his apartment after tennis balls and properly beg him to take her on another walk when he got in from lectures and classes), an immensely worried Harry knew he had to take action. The only issue was that veterinarian visits weren’t exactly easily affordable on a student budget. Sure, he could always contact his mother and request a little support, but he was well aware of her current financial situation and had previously made the decision to help her out rather than ask for money.

It seemed as though the stars aligned for him when he brought up his struggles to Adam, who often spared him an ear to let him vent about various issues. He had been Harry’s friend ever since they found themselves seated next to each other in the introductory lecture to their Psychology degree. In their two and a half years of friendship Adam had offered lots of (sometimes unsolicited) advice to Harry, which had rarely been useful. But this time around, Adam’s proposition might have the actual potential of leading towards a useful solution for his problem.

“Do you remember that girl David used to date? I think���. Emelie? Erica? Can’t really remember. Anyways, one time at pre-drinks I got into conversation with her - wanted to know who was silly enough to go out with that git. She told me she was studying to become a vet! Can you believe? She seemed really smart so I don’t really know what she was doing with… Not that important, actually. Few weeks later Sarah’s cat wasn’t feeling great and apparently she came by to do a check-up for free. Think I’d be able to get you her number if you wanna give that a shot!”

So here he was, stood in his kitchen at 7 am, waiting for this vet student to reply to the text message he’d sent her. Turns out Adam got the name wrong during their conversation and apparently she was actually called Emma, but that wasn’t really of any importance to him. What was important, instead, was that she would get back to Harry as quickly as possible. He was eyeing his little pup nervously, having just spent an exhausting night alongside her, and even though he knew it wasn’t really proper etiquette to contact someone before at least 8 in the morning, he really couldn’t help himself. Hopefully this Emma would be able to fulfill the high praises Adam, and upon inquiry their friend Sarah as well, had sung about her.

It seemed as though she was off to a good start, because no more than 10 minutes later he was alerted of a new text message through the bell-noise of his phone. Harry had been crouched next to Juniper, who seemed to currently prefer residing in the dog bed he had placed in the living room, but quickly shot up and slid towards the device on the kitchen counter.

“Hello Harry! Yes, this is Emma! I could come by and take a look at your pup after classes, which would be around 5. Would that work for you? I don’t want to promise that I’ll be able to do much, but I can definitely tell you what other steps you should take. Send me your address and let me know if that time works for you! x Emma”

_______________________________________________

The light succession of knocks on his front door startled Harry. He had gotten in about an hour ago, after attending two lectures which he hadn’t completely focused on. While waiting for who he was hoping he would dub “saviour” by the end of her visit Harry had busied himself with cleaning the place up and doting on his poor doggo.

As he pulled the door open, some information lodged itself into place in his head. How could he have not made the link before? She had attended some pre-drinks and various night out’s on the arm of David, a tosser that was - sadly, really - the roommate of one of Harry’s better friends. He had never been fond of David, but remembers the moment distinctly in which he had laid eyes upon this girl now standing in front of him.

Remembers how his heart had beaten a little faster, because she truly looked like the sweetest girl around. Remembers how she had shot everyone the kindest smile as she was being introduced. Remembers how he had been convinced she must be mad and incredibly naive, for he knew no other reason why she would hang around his asshole acquaintance.

“Oh, hi! I figured it was you, but wasn’t entirely sure!” Her voice pulled Harry out of his little daydream. He felt a little taken aback, but reciprocated her enthusiastic smile and tone of voice while greeting her.

“Hey! What a surprise, didn’t know you were studying to be a vet. Thank you for stopping by, Emma.”

She toed off her shoes, discarded her winter jacket on the coat rack by the door and turned back towards him. He pretended to not notice the small once-over she gave him, for the sake of not making her uncomfortable before she just did him and his dog a huge favour. “So, where’s your pup? Juniper, is it?” Harry immediately led her towards the living room. Upon catching sight of the miserable looking animal, Emma, seemingly not being able to hold back, let out a tiny coo and immediately moved towards her.

“I’m honestly not really sure what happened. One day she was fine, coming on runs with me and going ballistic in the flat and then the next she was barely able to get up. I’ve never really cared for a dog myself before so I didn’t really know if she was just in a mood or hurt, but her situation didn’t really improve so…” Harry trailed off, keeping his eyes fixed on his dog as Emma lowered herself to the ground. The extreme amount of nervous energy coursing through his body almost made him want to chuckle. If this was how badly an ill dog affected him, how would he be able to deal with his own children in the future?

Hovering a hand over the dog’s head, Emma addressed Harry. “Are you alright with me touching her?” The young man hummed in agreement, willing to do just about everything at this point. “As I already mentioned in my text, I can’t really promise I’m gonna be able to help. I also just wanna let you know that I’ve obviously not finished my degree yet, so I’m not a legit veterinary yet. So I really need you to be aware of that. I won’t do anything that I’m not one hundred percent sure of, but I can definitely give you an assessment of her situation, at the very least.”

Harry was aware of this. It was also the information that his friend Sarah had given him. Emma was still at university, therefore not a licensed vet yet, but apparently extremely careful and trustworthy. And because taking at least a look at some other student’s sick animals was a great way to put all her training into practice, she did these sort of check ups for free. He appreciated Emma’s reiteration of this disclaimer though, and immediately let her know that he was alright with the situation.

And to be honest, had he not previously been made aware that she was still in the process of getting her degree, he probably would not have noticed any difference between her and the fully fledged veterinarian that had come round to his mother’s house a few times when he was younger. Emma had an extremely calm aura surrounding her, which put Juniper - who had been jittery every time Harry approached her - at ease quite quickly.

The next few moments introduced a concentrated silence to Harry’s living room. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself as her hands softly reached out towards different parts of Juniper’s little body, so he started gnawing on his lips and continuously shifting his weight from one leg onto the other and back. This seemed to amuse the girl on his living room floor, because she took a second to let her gaze move from the intense focus on the animal towards its agitated owner. “How about you sit down on the couch? Think you being stationary might help calm the pup down a little bit.”

So that’s what Harry did. Took a seat on the cushioning and waited for any potential questions he knew she was bound to ask him. When Emma spoke up after a few more moments, the questions she asked seemed pretty standard to him. How old was Juniper? What did she weigh? How often would he usually take her out on a walk? Did she still eat like usually? What was her behaviour like when she wasn’t feeling poorly? He answered every question she posed to the best of his abilities, but couldn’t really help and inquire himself after a while: “What do you reckon is the problem, then?”

She gracefully angled her body towards Harry’s sitting form. That was something he had been noticing the entire time she had conducted the little examination - Emma exuded grace and tranquility. She had only directed the most delicate of touches and softest words towards Juniper, and even though she had not made any sort of body contact with Harry, he had also felt immensely soothed simply by her presence. He wondered if that was just her natural demeanor or a way of handling herself she had acquired during her veterinary training. “From what you’ve been telling me about her being really energetic and playful usually, just like any Jack Russell Terrier really, I’d say it’s very likely she had some zoomies and hurt herself during. Looks and feels to me like there’s a little issue in the back of her vertebrae.”

Emma’s explanation made a lot of sense to Harry. Juniper was a very lively dog and often had little bursts of energy that she released by dashing in and out of every room in his small flat, jumping on various pieces of furniture and gliding around the wooden floors. It was likely that she had been a little overzealous and one point and gotten herself hurt without him noticing, even though that made him feel a little inadequate as a pet owner. “And… so… what happens now?”

With a few light pats on the top of Juniper’s head Emma parted from the animal and got back on her feet. “Well… Gotta be honest here, I don’t feel comfortable doing an osteopathic procedure on my own because I haven’t really mastered that training yet, but you’re in luck.” Harry motioned for her to follow him and the two of them stepped into the kitchen. He wanted to let his dog rest a little bit, and because he was sure animals understood the human language more than they let on, he located their conversation about her health to another room. “My dad’s got an animal osteopathy clinic up in Manchester. He’s supposed to be coming down to London for dinner tomorrow anyway, so if I butter him up well enough he’d probably be happy to take a detour before that and do a little session on Juniper.” After taking a little glance at Harry’s increasingly worried face - because he hadn’t ever really been aware that there were osteopaths specialised in animal care and also would any of this this hurt his pup even more? - Emma quickly added: “And don’t worry about paying him. He owes me a favour for helping out in the clinic for free during busy weekends.”

Harry hadn’t planned to tear up, he really hadn’t. Such a reaction wasn’t usually in the cards for him - sure, compared to his friends he was quite the emotional fella, but he was studying to be a psychologist and usually had his wits about him - but the gratitude he felt towards this tiny helper, who had just randomly appeared in his and his dog’s life, was indescribable. Here stood this gentle young woman, who had made time in her probably super busy and hectic student schedule to take a closer look at his dog because he struggled to afford a real vet visit, and who had miraculously calmed Juniper, who had been nervous and in pain, down seemingly by just entering the building, and now she was offering him her dad’s osteopathic services, also free of charge? How could he possibly hold it together in the face of such kindness?

Apparently, his depiction of emotion was a little surprising to Emma. With widened eyes she observed as he tried to get a grip, seemingly not really knowing how to approach this man who she had only spoken to a couple of brief times.”Sorry, sorry. That’s… Yeah, that’d be amazing. I’ve just been really stressed about this and you’re being really nice and just… thank you, really. Sorry.” Harry shot her an appreciative smile while willing the moisture in his eyes to subside quicker.

Catching a glimpse of the digital clock on his microwave, Emma let out a surprised noise and made a move towards the front door. “You’re alright, don’t worry about it. I’ll text you early tomorrow to figure out what time would be good for you, yeah? I’ve got to dash now, though. Got a paper to finish for this class of mine”, she said as she tucked her feet back into the black boots she had entered his flat in.

The last thing she said to Harry as they parted ways for the night made his cheeks light up with a rosy glow. Because he really had tried to clean his living space up well enough before she arrived earlier, wanting to seem put-together and rational for this (as he then had believed) stranger. It seemed as though he either hadn’t done a good enough job or Emma had, in addition to all of her other attributes he had taken notice of, a keen eye for observations. “Oh yeah, I think it’s super endearing that you’re willing to sleep on your couch to make her more comfortable. You seem like a great owner, don’t stress about it.”

________________________________________________

The shrieking laughter of his friends still reached Harry, even as he distanced himself from them and closed the door that connected Adam’s living room to his kitchen. He hadn’t really been in the mood to get hammered tonight, much less to make an appearance at some random bloke’s birthday party, but here he stood anyways. Already empty wine glass in his left hand, waiting for everyone’s intoxication levels to rise so that they could make their way out. The sooner Harry and his mates got to that celebration, the sooner it would be acceptable for him to duck out and return to the safe, warm, and especially calm confines of his flat.

Harry really didn’t pay attention to his surroundings as he was scavenging various shelves for the bottle of wine Adam had shooed him off of the comfortable armchair for. Adam was always a keen but awful host. He didn’t have any quarrels about their group of friends hanging out at his little apartment, but would make everyone else in attendance tend to any arising hosting duties - like sticking your head into the deep unknown of his cluttered cupboards to locate a new bottle of red. When a charming giggle erupted from behind him, a startled Harry turned around immediately. As his gaze fell upon his current favorite person in the world - yes, he was aware that he had a knack for dramatising - the alarmed heartbeat in his chest declined towards a way slower thud. “Don’t scare me like that.” He raised his hand to his chest theatrically in an attempt to garner a repeat of that wonderfully melodic giggle, and succeeded. After a few short seconds of exchanging glances and smiles, a thought crossed his mind: “Not to sound rude, but what are you doing here?”

Emma took a step closer to him and grabbed one of the long-stemmed wine glasses that had been placed on the kitchen counter by Sarah earlier in the evening. “Honestly, not completely sure. Adam - he’s your friend, right? - texted me out of the blue and so did Sarah. Said that even though I’m, and I quote, ‘thankfully’ not seeing David anymore I’m still invited to hang out with the gang so… Here I am, I guess.” The bright smile which appeared on her face was almost enough to lessen the annoyance rising up Harry’s throat. Almost.

No matter how hard he tried to keep mum, the endeared exclamations about his new acquaintance just broke past the barrier his lips had tried to keep aloft. Sitting in another early morning lecture, Adam had asked how the meeting with “little miss doctor” had gone - because of course that nosy shit was going to pester him about it - and Harry just… erupted. Had entertained his friend’s digs for information and explained how much of a calming effect the vet-in-training had supplied not only to his dog but him as well. How (pleasantly) surprised he had been to learn that he actually kind of knew the woman that appeared by his front door. And Harry didn’t really regret bringing Adam up to speed on that first meeting - he had arranged it, had he not? -, but rather he was embarrassed by his retelling of the following evening.

Emma and her dad had knocked on his door shortly after 6, excuses spilling from the woman’s lips about her class had run late and the older man slightly eyeing up Harry from behind his daughter’s body blocking the doorway. After a few initial moments of awkwardness, which Harry wasn’t really sure of why they had arisen, the trio moved towards Juniper’s sleepy figure, still located in the living room.

While her father went to work on his new patient - and now Harry was aware from whom the girl standing next to him had inherited her vast amount of calmness - Emma turned towards its owner. “She’ll be back to knocking into all your furniture during her zoomies in no time.” And man, had Harry felt assured by these softly spoken words.

During the whole procedure Harry fought a little battle in his mind. He didn’t really know this girl at all, did he? Hadn’t interacted much with Emma other than run-ins with her latched onto David’s arm - he had thought about that relationship quite a lot the previous night and he really could not come to a logical conclusion as to how that had established itself, but he was grateful that she seemed to have seen the light and dumped him a while back - and her visit to his sick dog which had taken place a mere 25 hours back. Yet she had displayed such an openness to him, that he just felt incredibly indebted to her.

He had wanted to repay her in some way, and perhaps selfishly use that opportunity to spend more time in her enchanting presence, but with her father there he could not find the right words to extend her a casual dinner invitation. And exactly this sentiment had Harry really hung up when he described the events of the past two days to Adam. Harry had wanted to ask Emma out, but in the end just couldn’t gather up the courage and he felt his chance had now passed. Juniper felt a lot better and there was no need to seek Emma’s veterinary advice.

Turns out, Harry’s friends weren’t as complacent as him and had decided to take matters into their own hands, inviting her to their get-together not purely out of kindness but also to create another opportunity for their friend to get off his arse and ask the sweet girl out already. And Harry was grateful, for sure, he just wasn’t prepared. He would have appreciated a little head’s up.

As it currently stood though, the evening was shaping itself up to becoming intriguing.

[anerdinallherglory]

Approaching Sun (23)

Author's Note: Hey guys! Summer is flying by and I am already having to start planning for the next school year and attend summer trainings. Keep me in your thoughts because I am hoping my second year of teaching will be much better than the first! Good news is that despite all of this, I am hoping to have another chapter coming your way before the end of summer. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter as it focuses more on the heroine of the story!

P.S. This chapter is tightly adapted to the Naruto light novels. Read up on them here and here.

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22

Chapter 23: Separate Missions

When Sakura Haruno had been dismissed from the Kazekage's council room, she had immediately followed Kankuro to the Sunagakure hospital on the east side of the village. They had not been busy, but when Sakura had been kindly announced, the staff smiled in recognition and escorted her straight to the Children's hospital at her request.

Sakura saw several patients, but none of them had bodily injuries or illnesses to attend to; in their cases, it was their minds and mental well-being that Sakura was assessing. When meeting their first patient, a child named Isao, the head medics insisted on observing her interactions with the child despite the fact that she had modeled this process for them before. It was the first time the kunoichi had sat down with a child since the incident with her patient, Emiko, back in Konoha. It was still a fresh wound for Sakura, but because of that, she took her time examining the child in front of her.

"What's your name?" she asked him, pulling up and reviewing his chart which listed the child's background, symptoms of behavior, as well as his trauma record. There was only one pattern of concerning behavior: frequent night terror episodes. The trauma? The only thing listed was the death of the child's mother.

The child mumbled his name shyly in response, ducking his head, to which Sakura tried to give him a reassuring smile.

Sakura quickly identified all that had been done to rule out any physical ailments or causes that might be the source of the night terrors. A sleep study had been conducted in which heartrate, blood pressure, and breathing had been monitored. After a few more dead ends, the referral information said that the determining factor might be stress.

His mother's death was two years ago, during the Shinobi World War, in fact. Was the child still experiencing stress from her death or was it something more than that? Sakura would have to conduct a formal interview with him in order to figure out what exactly might be the stressor in this child's life.

Sakura began to ask him questions about his life, how old he was, how he was doing at school, who did he live with, where did he live. What she learned from these types of questions was that Isao was an 11 year old boy who lived with his father and seemed to be a fairly happy child despite his mother's passing. He was one of the top students in his class, had a close group of friends, and lived in a household with considerable means.

Sakura switched to the more specific questions in regard to his condition.

"Isao," Sakura smiled again at the young boy, "do you have any dreams during your night terrors?"

Isao looked up towards his hairline in thought for a quick second, but then returned her questions with a confident and mature, "Not that I recall."

Sakura recorded what she could and sent the child home with a promise to see him the following day.

After he departed, Sakura turned to the head medic—a man named Mako that Sakura had worked closely with before—who had remained standing close by and said, "I need to speak to the physician who referred him; there has to be more to this that I can use."

"Right away miss," Mako responded, leaving to retrieve the physician.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

After repeating the process with a few other children, Mako informed her that the most recent adolescent would be the last of their patients for a while. Sakura was then escorted to the greenhouse that she had once visited before so that she could find some helpful herbs for Isao to help him sleep. She also wanted to do a quick session for Mako and his team about what she was discovering with chakra-applied medicine.

When arriving, she quickly came up with a draught for Isao and recreated the burn solvent that she had invented in the leaf to treat the burn victims of Chino's human bombs. Sakura had always been fascinated with how well the Sunagakure hospital was able to recreate an environment such as the greenhouse for most medicinal plants that weren't native to the land.

As she wrote down the ingredients for both medicines, Kankuro walked in with a casual wave. "Came by to check on you. I just finished preparing your rooms. I'll show you where they are as soon as you are finished up here."

"Thank you Kankuro," she smiled politely, "I think I'll be here for quite some time still and I don't want you to have to wait up."

Offering him the same pen she used to write down the burn solvent's ingredients, Kankuro drew her a quick little map on the back of her paper. "It's just to the right of the hospital. Take a right here at the corner and it's the little inn next to it. The manager's name is Chie; she'll take care of you."

She bowed to him, holding the piece of paper gratefully. "Thanks again."

"I'll be off now, but I'll come again before the night is over. Let us know if you need anything else."

She assured him she'd see him later and suddenly felt bad that he felt like he needed to babysit her. She knew that he was just being a good host, much like Shikamaru did for Temari when she had stayed in the Leaf Village at one point, but Sakura still felt it was unnecessary.

After Kankuro's departure, Mako had quickly returned everyone to the subject at hand by exchanging a brief joke in regard to chakra-applied medicine. Catching the very end of it, Sakura explained, "With this medicine, maybe sunburns won't be so much of an issue here." She laughed along with the others and her insecurities left as Kankuro walked out the door.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Kankuro was true to his word and checked on her once more before the sun began to fall beneath the walls of Sunagakure. She waited until dark to make the small trek to her quarters and once again made sure that no one was following her before she entered the inn. Sakura could hear Sasuke's disapproving cluck already if someone else happened to make an appearance in the middle of the night because of her carelessness.

"Welcome," the elderly inn-keeper announced, quickly meeting her at the door, "I am so sorry dear, but all of our rooms are full."

"Oh," the pink-haired ninja exclaimed embarrassingly. There must have been some sort of mistake then. "You're not Chie? I must have the wrong inn," she told the woman, rubbing the back of her head as she looked down at the little hand-drawn map in her hands. "Can you help me find the correct one? Lord Gaara…"

"The Kazekage?!" the woman exclaimed, rushing forward and pulling the map from her hands. After a minute of observing it more closely, the inn-keeper cocked a head at her in second thought. "What is your name, miss?"

Feeling slightly awkward, Sakura smiled as politely as she could. Why was it that she was experiencing moments like this frequently at hotels?

"Haruno, Sakura," she answered plainly, almost telling the woman to forget it all together, instead. But the name sparked recognition in the woman's face, and her eyes grew wide as she began to apologize for her confusion.

"Yes, this way, ma'am," she gestured for Sakura to follow. The situation was explained to her as they walked, all while the woman wrung her hands nervously. "I only have one room for you and your teammate. He insisted that it was fine, but I would be more than happy to arrange for you to have another room miss."

Hadn't the lady just said that all the rooms were full? Sakura paused as she processed slowly what this woman was saying. Chie was explaining that there was only one room for the both of them. Her and Sasuke were going to be sharing a room? And he had said that it was FINE? Sakura's inner-self was both screaming and panicking.

Sure enough, the lady spoke true and Sakura arrived at the end of the very long hallway on the top floor, and surveyed the single, unoccupied, spacious room with two beds. "Again, I am so sorry for my mistake," the woman bowed, and Sakura waved her hands in polite dismissal.

After Chie left, Sakura shut the door and placed her back against it with an exhale. She wasn't so sure if she shouldn't follow the woman and ask for a separate room after all. What was Kankuro thinking giving them the same room? And then Sasuke agreeing to it? Sure, they had stayed together back in Tanigakure, but that was because there were strange ninja after them. Maybe that's why Sasuke agreed to this; maybe he thought this was still considered enemy territory.

Sakura laughed a little when she saw how far away Sasuke had separated the two beds from one another. She could still see the outline of where it had been hours before, just a few feet away from the companion bed. She only recognized it as Sasuke's because his clothing was neatly folded and put to the side of it; the lack of his shirtless-self wandering the room's corridors let Sakura know that he was currently out.

Walking to the opposite side of the dim room, Sakura glanced down at her own bed which was currently occupied by a tray of food and fresh clothes. In response, her stomach growled, and she quickly removed the tray, snagging a few Sunagakure's famous biscuits from it. Sakura was even more excited about the new set of clean clothes. When she and Sasuke had fallen through the time-space dimension after they were attacked, Sakura had left behind her small bag of belongings. This meant the only thing she currently possessed were the dirty clothes on her back.

She quickly washed and changed into them. The beige trousers were exactly her size and fit her like a glove down to her ankles. She was amazed at how great of a guess the staff must have made in order to find them. The simple white tunic fit her a little looser, draped low with sleeves that fell just above her elbows. Sakura tucked the front of the shirt into her pants to give herself more shape and smiled at this version of herself dressed in Sunagakure fashion. Although she preferred her own style of red and white, Sakura thought this was a decent change. To finish the look, Sakura tested out braiding back her damp hair to keep the Sand Village winds from tearing at it. She quickly untangled it once she was sure she had the process of the plait in memory.

Sakura sat cross-legged on her bed, half-tempted but far too shy to pull Sasuke's bed back over to its original spot and blame it on Chie. She'd give him the distance he so obviously wanted even if it went against her own heart's desires. Even when Sasuke was with her, sometimes it seemed he was still very far away.

After several late-night hours of watching the starry sky out the window beside her bed, Sakura realized suddenly that she was waiting on Sasuke to return. And at this very same moment, Sakura made a heartbreaking connection. His clothes had been left behind because Sasuke had left to continue his mission in the desert; Sasuke hadn't cared if they shared a room because he hadn't planned on staying in it.

Sakura recalled her words to Sasuke when she had confronted him back in Konoha about accompanying him on his journey: "I'm a Jonin, now. I have my own mission to fulfill along the way."

And then she also remembered what she had said to Gaara earlier that morning when he asked about her "separate" mission: "I am hoping to check in on Sunagakure's own mental health clinic, as well as share some of my own medical findings with your hospital's doctors, if I may. I would also like to assist in any way medically during our time here."

Yes, she had made it clear to both Sasuke and Gaara about having separate missions but having separate missions didn't mean that Sakura wanted to be… well, separated. Sakura reasoned with herself that this was impractical of her. How else was it supposed to work? But she still felt frustrated. Shouldn't he have at least came and told her he was leaving? Couldn't Sasuke have mentioned when he'd be back, so she wasn't waiting on him? Maybe that had always been her problem.

She fell asleep to the memory of her apartment, the smell of tea, and his monotoned voice telling her, "I want you to stop waiting for me, Sakura."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sasuke stood ankle-deep in sand and focused on his breathing. It was evening now, and the setting, burning sun was a halo of orange fire against his shadowy figure. He breathed in the heat. Inhaled. Exhaled. Once. Twice, and then again. In his mind's eye, Sasuke pictured Kaguya's desert dimension and pretended he was inhaling the heat of that domain instead. This would be Sasuke's first attempt to teleport to any dimension directly without going through the core dimension where he had taken Sakura. It was connected to all of the other dimensions and was the bridge to all of them. But this had been Sasuke's goal for some time: to bypass the core dimension all together and cut his chakra use in half and decrease the time he spent there recovering afterwards.

Summoning the chakra to his Rinnegan, Sasuke exhaled the heat in his lungs as he opened the black rift before him. Pain instantly began in his temples as he reached forward with his chakra to push beyond the core dimension. He searched for the familiar desert, feeding the dojutsu more chakra in hopes of reaching it. More. It needed more, and he grudgingly gave it. Come on, he growled internally, reaching deep into his reserves.

Just then, an image of white sand appeared on the other side of the spinning portal and Sasuke immediately lunged for it. The Uchiha dove and the hot air around him abruptly vanished as pain pulsed like lightning in the back of his skull and behind his Rinnegan. Sasuke dropped to his knees at the sudden loss of chakra that evaporated from him. He knelt in the red dirt of the core dimension and felt the sensation of a vacuum as he lost hold of the sand dimension.

"Damn it!" he cursed and slammed his fist into the ground as a memorable weakness came over him. He knelt his forehead into the soil and let go of the jutsu altogether. He focused on his breathing once more, this time just trying to get as much oxygen as this cursed, airless dimension would allow him to have.

Sasuke had been so close to reaching it, but just couldn't supply enough chakra. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to amass the cost it would take in energy to do what Kaguya had been able to do so easily. Sasuke knew he shouldn't be disappointed since this was his first try at it. And besides, he had helped defeat the mother of chakra. If anyone could copy Kaguya's travel between dimensions, it would be him. Sasuke had to because the village depended on him to do so; he had to keep the future bright.

Sasuke frowned when he suddenly realized that he didn't have enough chakra left to return to his own dimension; he had used up too much trying to stretch the jutsu. He had thought this would happen, had even anticipated it and accepted it. But as Sasuke rolled onto his back and breathed heavily, looking towards where the portal had been milliseconds before, he felt disheartened. He wouldn't be going back to Suna to find Sakura tonight, then. Sasuke would have to recover here for a night or two before he could go back.

Despite having a talk with himself about Sakura's well-being on his journey here, Sasuke contemplated it again now. She would be fine. His pink-haired teammate was more than capable of taking care of herself; she didn't have to prove that to him anymore. Besides, Kankuro was looking out for her if not Gaara. She was busy with her own duties anyway. As long as she rested, she would be fine. Sasuke closed his eyes and let the sand-filled air brush against his face. She would be fine.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sakura was not fine for several reasons. The first was that she had been running off of only a few hours of sleep. How was she supposed to get any of the rest she needed if the kunoichi spent the night wondering about Sasuke? Sakura had tossed half the night in anger and the other half in worry. She knew that Sasuke lived in this exact same situation for two years without her worrying about him. Maybe it had been the encounter with the ninja back in Tanigakure, that still had Sakura's nerves on edge. The two of them hadn't met their pursuers since, but Sakura was still concerned about the confrontation and had never discovered the motive behind their attack. The identities of the ninja still remained a mystery as well. Her major concern was the fact that they had meant to do Sasuke harm first by breaching his room while the Uchiha had been asleep in hers. They came to hers next, Sakura rationalized, only because Sasuke had been absent. Were they really after Sasuke, or was the entire occurrence completely random because they were foreign leaf shinobi? If they were after Sasuke, how long would it take for them to track him down while he was alone in the desert, awayfrom the village and away from her? These were the thoughts that resurfaced in Sakura's mind all night, and she only managed a little sleep because she ended up reminding herself that Sasuke was one of the strongest ninja in the world, and that if anyone was after him, he would easily handle the situation and deal with the enemy on his own.

The second reason why Sakura was not fine, was because they were unable to locate her patient, Isao. After his first appointment with her, Sakura had developed a medicine that would help Isao sleep more soundly throughout the night to help with his night terrors. When his appointment time came first thing in the morning, he didn't show. One of the staff members had walked down to his father's house and had not found anyone home. It was evening now, and Isao had still not made an appearance. Sakura finally settled with writing Isao's father a note explaining her wish to see the boy and having the same staff member take it and leave it at their house.

Despite not seeing Isao, Sakura's schedule was full. Everyone in the village expressed a desire to be seen by the pink-haired medic, either because they believed in her advanced abilities or because they wanted to be included in the rare event. Sakura used their curiosity against them and was able to quickly give them a full exam as well as create detailed medical records for the majority of Sunagakure's citizens.

When Kankuro came to check on her, Sakura embarrassingly assured him that she was more than fine despite the workload. She was in the middle of organizing these records when Kankuro reminded her to make time to see the sunset while she was here. She had briefly mentioned it to him when they had first arrived, and it seemed he still remembered their conversation.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Yes, I was able to catch glimpses of it yesterday. I imagine I'll have some time left to do so once I've finished up here."

Kankuro nodded in response and said, "You are doing so much here. Take time for yourself, too."

"Oh, I will!" she promised again as he exited the building, wondering why he was emphasizing this point to her. Sakura had too much on her plate tonight such as finish the records, go over what new information she learned from Isao's referral, as well as check on the patients that stayed overnight at the children's medic clinic. She even considered staying with them overnight since she assumed Sasuke wouldn't be back any time soon; she honestly didn't know how long her teammate would be away. A couple of days? Weeks? She prayed it wasn't so. Sakura rose her chin and faced her work confidently. If she had any hope whatsoever of one day loving this man and having him love her in return, then she had better get used to this. Sasuke Uchiha would return eventually.

[mysteriomanifesto]

The straw that breaks the camel’s back (1 / 2)

          Having slunk back to the deserted office space, Quentin notes the remnants of party streamers and empty red party cups on some of the workstations ( sloppy ), the developer having missed out on his team’s holiday revelries in favour of working remotely from his makeshift ‘home’ before begrudgingly accepting the invitation to the party at Avengers Tower. A folded green crown consisting of flimsy tissue paper had been placed at his personal workspace ( a consolation prize ), digits taking a hold of it to bemusedly place it upon his head ( regardless of his disinclination, he needed a bit of holiday cheer ).

                    Pensively turning it over in his hand, the encrypted drive provided by Stark is inserted into the computer, the engineer settling into the office chair as caution inevitably sets in - booting up a sandboxing environment to isolate the device, the machine is disconnected from the rest of his work network ( suspicion was a terrible thing ). Dexterous fingertips glide over the keyboard and Beck begins breezing through the multitude of digital barriers that had been setup on the device, teasing breadcrumbs seemingly laid out for the developer in a manner that only he would be able to progress through, clues that echo a number of old memories during his time at Stark Industries. He would pause to reminisce but the man’s too busy enjoying the challenge at hand, each one eliciting a broadening of his smug smile until---

          A 12 minute media file is his final prize, its date of creation and modification set to Christmas Day 2017 - a curious eye casts over the title ( AC/DC - Shoot to Thrill ) before pressing play, an inward groan arising as the heavy guitars inevitably assault his senses ( he hated the aging band with a passion ). A few boredom inducing seconds pass during which the engineer considers pausing the video when the music fades, colour emerging onto a blank screen as a familiar voice candidly addresses him.

                    “Hi...” Tony faces straight into the camera, a lopsided grin coupled with a raise of his dark brow.

          Despite the men’s awkward conversation within the last few hours burdened by avoidant gazes and terse words, for a moment ( no matter how brief ) Quentin feels as if the futurist is addressing him directly with such familiarity for the first time in years. He rambles for a short period, telltale signs of anxiety hidden behind overcompensating extroverted gestures and speech patterns ( Quentin knows when Tony's nervous ), but Beck doesn't mind, finding his uneasy expression evolving into a hint of a smile - there’s a distinct swell of emotion which he had convinced himself into thinking that he no longer possessed ( fondness was a tricky thing, given their circumstances ). And then things start to get interesting...

                    “...you’ve been looking for something. I don’t know if it’s a purpose or if it’s just some guidance but I know that you were. Nobody told me… it’s just the type of person you always were. Ambitious, driven and determined to be the best...”

          Quentin stills, the complimentary words echoing assessments of the engineer over the years from a range of mentors spanning from primary school all the way up to post-grad days. However, they were often conversely counterbalanced with negative traits that he was told to work on ( egotistical, lacking empathy, hostile when challenged... ). But there's no sign of that here, instead the brunet enjoying the sensation of having his ego stroked, basking in the reverence that he always craves ( it’s what he deserves ).

                    "...you know how much of an impression you made on my life? Regardless of the work you did for my company, but also the person you are. The type of personality you have is truly captivating and ever since that day we parted ways… there was one thing that stuck with me...”

          There’s an uncomfortable pause as Tony’s expression falls, the man reciting a few key familiar sentences that see blue eyes despondently lowering in recollection.

                    “This means everything to me. I’ve given my best years to its development. I sacrificed weddings, funerals and Bar Mitzvahs. But that doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?"

          Beck bites down on his inner cheek as his own words from after the MIT demo are reflected back to him, swallowing down any undesirable sense of remorse. It wasn't his proudest moment, the man having completely lost control as impulses ran into overdrive to give the billionaire a piece of his mind, supposed negligence perceived amidst heightened paranoia. Years may have passed but Beck didn't regret doing so at the expense of their working relationship - sometimes it was best to get everything out in the open to know the true intention and feelings of others ( no matter how painfully disappointing ).

                     " ...the mere fact that you thought of me as this heartless, self-centred person. I struggled with that idea for a really long time. Not only did it strike a chord, but it also made me feel like I was truly becoming my father…" 

          Quentin's brain switches off for a moment, attention diverting to a nearby bottle of nondescript amber beverage which had been idly left there ( it might be tequila? ). If this segment of the video was going to turn into another guilt-driven digression of Tony's about Howard Stark, the brunet wouldn't be above skipping it ( he doesn't care, it's boring, get over it - he had problems with his own father but he doesn’t bitch about it all the time, not repeatedly using the broken relationship as an excuse for the decisions he makes in his life - have some accountability for fuck’s sake ). Unscrewing the cap and taking a tentative sip, Beck's features twist in shuddering distaste ( yep, definitely tequila ), soon taking another swig to help take the edge off. Good timing too as the other man's self-aware spiel about the senior Stark finally draws to an end, segueing into something of more intrigue.

                    “...nobody knows about this... This was under strict supervision… On this operating system you opened, there’s only one more file. It’s a quarter of the code you wrote for your illusion technology prototype… giving you the code is going against everything my company’s lawyers swear against---"

          The video is abruptly paused with a flick of Beck’s wrist, the unwanted distraction of the bottle pushed to one side, the emergence of a second hidden file drawing his primary attention. Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s the revelation ( or perhaps a combination of both ), but Quentin can feel his heart pounding against his temples, his breath quickening as blue eyes frantically scan the reams of code embedded in the system just for him. Based on what he sees, it doesn’t feel like a quarter of the code ( considerably less ), disjointed syntax missing vital elements to tie is altogether - he notes the header comments present for each section of painstakingly prolonged algorithms ( PROPERTY OF STARK INDUSTRIES ), copyright and authorship continually stripping and omitting Beck from the list of accredited developers regardless of the futurist’s words of placation. Quentin’s fist firmly clenches around the ergonomic mouse being used at the terminal, audible strain suddenly evident as one of the embedded buttons pops out of place.

                    “But I can’t hold onto something that was never truly mine. It might be a quarter, but that’s a start, right? I’ve fought tooth and nail to get everything back to you and I was told only under extreme circumstances would they allow it… So, the day I die, you get everything you’ve worked for, back. Could be tomorrow, could be in 10 years. But on that day you can have everything back. If this is not what you wanted from me---”

          Quentin had stopped listening several sentences ago, an eerie blankness to his expression that sees him slowly blink, soon stopping the video entirely - desperately scrolling back to the beginning, he watches it again. Twice. Thrice. More time is divulged poking and prodding at the inner workings of the encrypted device for hours to come ( maybe he had missed something? ), hoping to find something else that would ease this growing disquiet sensation. There’s nothing else, the man forgetting to breathe at regular intervals in his steadily flourishing rage, a pocket of air trapped at the back of his throat as his visage grows increasingly incensed.

                    Taking a hold of his phone to delve into his list of contacts while adjusting his headset, Beck’s thinly veiled resolve completely crumbles and something finally snaps.

[ PART 2 ]

[wesleyhill]

The Innocent One

A homily on Psalm 112 preached at Wheaton College, Wheaton, Illinois on September 20, 2019

Psalm 112

 1 Hallelujah! Happy are they who fear the Lord * and have great delight in his commandments!

2 Their descendants will be mighty in the land; * the generation of the upright will be blessed.

3 Wealth and riches will be in their house, * and their righteousness will last for ever.

4 Light shines in the darkness for the upright; * the righteous are merciful and full of compassion.

5 It is good for them to be generous in lending * and to manage their affairs with justice.

6 For they will never be shaken; * the righteous will be kept in everlasting remembrance.

7 They will not be afraid of any evil rumors; * their heart is right; they put their trust in the Lord.

8 Their heart is established and will not shrink, * until they see their desire upon their enemies.

9 They have given freely to the poor, * and their righteousness stands fast for ever; they will hold up their head with honor.

10 The wicked will see it and be angry; they will gnash their teeth and pine away; * the desires of the wicked will perish.

A few years ago, the Episcopal priest and professor Lauren Winner wrote about how difficult it had been for her to pray the Psalms. “I must admit,” she said, “I have never much liked the psalms, they have never prayed easy to me.”

It is, of course, absurd to offer this kind of jejune, self-referential assessment — what does it matter whether I like the Psalter or not, and how, really, can I find the psalms (which are, after all, both time-tested poetry and also the prayer book of the Jewish people, which is to say among other people the prayer book of Jesus) dull, but in fact I have found them dull for many years and mostly an occasion for woolgathering.

I had to look up “woolgathering,” which isn’t a word I use. It means “indulgence in idle daydreaming.” Winner is saying that hearing or saying the Psalms makes her eyes glaze over.

I can’t say that’s been my experience exactly, but I have had my own difficulties with the Psalms over the years, particularly ones like the psalm set for us today. Psalm 112 is the sort of psalm that readers of Scripture refer to a “psalm of innocence.” It’s about the goodness, the righteousness, the innocence of the one praying it. “Happy are they who fear the Lord,” the psalm begins, and we’re meant to agree and, it would seem, to recognize ourselves as those who fear the Lord and experience the happiness that comes with doing so. “Light shines in the darkness for the upright,” the psalm continues; “the righteous are merciful and full of compassion.” And again, I think we’re meant to see ourselves in these phrases. Anyone who takes this psalm as her or his own prayer is meant to be able to identify with the “upright” and “the righteous.”

The psalm ends with a contrast between us who are praying it and other people who are unrighteous. “[T]he righteous will be kept in everlasting remembrance,” it says, while the wicked ones “will gnash their teeth and pine away; the desires of the wicked will perish.” And that’s where the psalm ends.

For many years of my Christian life, I have struggled to pray psalms like this. I remember being in high school and beginning to study the Bible seriously for the first time in my life and encountering a psalm like Psalm 18, another one of the “psalms of innocence.” Here is how part of it goes:

The LORD rewarded me because of my righteous dealing; because my hands were clean he rewarded me;

For I have kept the ways of the LORD and have not offended against my God;

For all his judgments are before my eyes, and his decrees I have not put away from me;

For I have been blameless with him and have kept myself from iniquity;

Therefore the LORD rewarded me according to my righteous dealing, because of the cleanness of my hands in his sight.

I recall reading that at about age 16, when it seemed like I was the worst version of myself I’d ever encountered — when anger or rage or lust or pride or selfishness seemed to lurk around every corner of my psyche — and I saw no way to pray this psalm with any integrity. My hands weren’t clean. I hadn’t kept the ways of the LORD. I most certainly had not been blameless nor had I managed to keep myself from iniquity.

Those feelings were still there when I came to this campus as a freshman. I remember waking up early in my room in Fischer dorm and reading the Bible and feeling such a keen sense of unworthiness, of failure at living a godly Christian existence. No doubt a big part of this was the product of having grown up in a legalistic church environment, but I’m sure that wasn’t all of it — because every Christian tradition, whether Catholic or Anabaptist or anywhere in between, has its ways of reminding us that we all fall short of the glory of God, every day, all the time. The confession of sin that my tradition gives me to say every morning includes these lines: “We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.” And when you internalize that message, it can be hard to know what to do with a psalm like the one we’ve heard this morning. Can we, as the sinners we know ourselves to be, pray it? Should we?

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the theologian who became a martyr in Nazi Germany, wrote a tiny little devotional book about the Psalms called The Prayerbook of the Bible. In it he has a brief chapter about the “psalms of innocence” that gave me a breakthrough when I first read it, years ago now.

What Bonhoeffer, following St. Augustine and Martin Luther and others, emphasizes in his book is that, before the psalms belong to us to pray, they are first and foremost the prayers of — and prayers about — Jesus Christ. Jesus is the one whose voice we hear when we read the psalms. Jesus is the main character we encounter when we read the psalms. Tradition says that Israel’s greatest king, David, authored most of the psalms, and Jesus, as great David’s greater heir, takes the psalms on his lips and makes them his own, orients them toward himself.

The translation we used this morning was a gender inclusive one, in which the singular references and pronouns were converted to plurals. That makes good sense in a setting for liturgical prayer, but listen again to Psalm 112 as I read it in Peter Levi’s translation, which uses the original Hebrew singular forms. See if you can see Jesus Christ in the words of the psalm:

Praise God. I bless the man who fears God, who has pleasure in his law: his seed will be mighty on the earth, the upright generation will be blessed. His house will have riches and precious things, and his justice will continue for ever. Light for the just has risen in the darkness, which is good and merciful and upright. The good man is decent and generous, he furthers his affairs rightly. He will never be shifted, the just man will be remembered for ever. He will not fear wicked talk, his heart is strong and he trusts God: his heart is fixed, he is not afraid, he will see the shame of his persecutors. He scattered his goods and gave to the destitute, his uprightness continues for ever, his head shall be gloriously lifted up. The wicked man shall see it and be sorry, he shall grind his teeth and wither, the wicked man’s wishes will come to nothing.

According to Dietrich Bonhoeffer, this is a psalm that belongs to and is about Jesus Christ before it belongs to you or me or is about us. Jesus is “the man who fears God,” who takes pleasure in God’s law. Jesus is the one whose justice will endure forever. Jesus is the one whose heart is strong, who trusts God and will not be afraid. Jesus is the one who saw the shame of his persecutors when he rose from the dead, triumphing over hell and the grave and leading captivity captive. Jesus is the innocent one who scattered his goods and gave to the destitute. Jesus is the one whose head was lifted up and crowned with glory and honor as he took his seat at the Father’s right hand.

But Bonhoeffer wants us to see that, insofar as Psalm 112 is about Jesus, it is also and because of that about us too, because through our baptism into Jesus’s death and resurrection, we have been united to him — as in a marriage — so that everything he is and has and does is ours as well. Bonhoeffer says it this way:

It is characteristic of the faith of the Christian that through God’s grace and the merit of Jesus Christ he [or she] has become entirely justified and guiltless in God’s eyes, so that “there is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). And it is characteristic of the prayer of the Christian to hold fast to this innocence and justification which has come to him [or her], appealing to God’s word and thanking him for it. So not only are we permitted, but directly obligated… to pray in all humiliation and certainty: “I was blameless before him and I kept myself from guilt” (Psalm 18:23); “If thou testest me thou wilt find no wickedness in me” (Psalm 17:3). With such a prayer we stand in the center of the New Testament, in the community of the cross of Jesus Christ.

If your spirituality is anything like mine, this can be a hard word to accept, particularly, perhaps, at a place like Wheaton. The spiritual lives you think your fellow students are leading can seem like an ideal you could never hope to attain. The life your church expects of you can feel impossible to embody. Your conscience accuses you of never measuring up. Your GPA reminds you that you’re not quite good enough. Your search history on your browser tells you you are definitely not “pure.” Your body tells you you aren’t fit or attractive enough. With all these voices vying for your attention, how can you pray with the psalmist, “Happy are they who fear the LORD” and ever think that that happiness is meant to include you?

But if Bonhoeffer is right, we are not only permitted — we are commanded — to pray the psalms of innocence. Not because of our own track record or spiritual prowess but because Jesus Christ has made us one with himself. We are innocent because God says so. God’s Word has come to us in Jesus Christ, and it is a word of promise. God has spoken his judgment over us, and this is the decree: There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. Jesus has become for us wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption. From now on, we dare not give our conscience the last word. We must not give any credence to the accusations of our Enemy. We dare not trust the verdict of any other voice but his. The risen Lord, who is alive among us, commands us to call upon him, the LORD our righteousness, and to hold our heads high and proclaim to any who would condemn us,

Jesu, thy blood and righteousness My beauty are, my glorious dress; Midst flaming worlds, in these arrayed, With joy shall I lift up my head.

When you lift up your head like that, you will see the love that Jesus has called you to share in — and to share with others, with your neighbor, even with your enemy. We need not live for our innocence, to try to attain it (because it’s already ours by gift), but we can now live from it. We can live out of it, we can live it out — we can live in the freedom of the innocence that has become ours in Jesus Christ. We are now liberated to love, to serve, to scatter our goods and give to the destitute, just as Jesus has freely given to us.

Amen.

[alexafaie-asd]

Just some me rambling stuff.

Did some colouring for the first time in ages. Was kinda inspired by seeing some artists on youtube who I follow doing stuff for Inktober and drawing isn’t something I’m good at (and practising it isn’t something I enjoy so...) so I thought to colour in with stuff that could be classed as “ink” at least loosely. Nothing fancy, just some of the pages from a daily colouring calender I got in 2016 which I had planned to do each day, but just like everything I try I managed to keep to the “schedule” for like a week or two at the most before it collapsed and then I felt bad about not finishing it. So of course I got a more complicated colouring calender the next year because I never fucking learn.

Anyway... had a bit of sort of fun maybe colouring in a couple of pictures.

I’ve been feeling a little bit bleugh the past few days since however long ago Thursday was (I don’t know what day it is right now). I got the response from the PIP people about my Mandatory Reconsideration. I spent absolutely ages writing up the letter to explain just how the assessor had misrepresented what I said or just outright ignored my difficulties, pointed out the inaccuracies with the factual stuff (as opposed to anything that could be considered to be that word that means “different people might see it different ways”) and also explained how their failure to treat my difficulties as real was discrimination against my particular disabilities (they’re so called hidden/invisible ones like mental health issues) especially with how they used “high functioning” to claim that I can’t struggle with the things which they agreed I struggled with last time I got assessed and nothing has changed since then except that I have an extra diagnosis now.

Their response was rude, blamed the length of time it took on me even though most of the time was taken up by me waiting on them responding, giving me the face to face appointment date etc. And in response to me telling them how stressful the frequent reassessment periods are and how much anxiety they provoke & how they worsen my conditions, they said “Although the health Professional has recommended a 2 year review period, as you are no longer entitled to PIP then there is no review period required.”  Previously I was awarded PIP at the appeals stage because they found my doctors note that they claimed didn’t arrive in the post until then, even though we sent it recorded delivery and we knew for a fact that it was signed for less than a week after it was sent out. Without the doctor’s note they had tried to say that I didn’t qualify, but with the doctor’s evidence I suddenly did. In this letter they are saying that as the findings of the current assessment are “so different” than that of what was decided at appeals before, they’re using the more recent assessment as they believe its a more “accurate” reflection of my condition and so “supersedes” the previous findings. Except the assessor this time made HUGE mistakes and that’s what I wrote in to explain. But they are treating the assessor’s report as medical evidence even though she was a nurse with no training other than the 10 day course they send them on (and I’ve seen the information for autism - the PDF they are given as recommended reading but not required, is outdated from the early 90s and still uses terms which are no longer in use diagnostically). They are placing more weight on her interpretation of what my difficulties are than the actual medical specialists who have dealt with me personally.

My boyfriend phoned up to complain and ask to start the appeals process (they didn’t include the information on how to appeal in with my letter and the whole letter was written as if I wouldn’t even try and should be glad I no longer qualify as if I’m suddenly not disabled because they say I’m fine). He asked how even with the information and corrections we sent in, they still came to the same conclusion, most of which was a direct copy and paste from the original assessment report. It turns out that because we had complaints about the assessor’s report, they went back to ATOS to get a new person there to look over my case. “So why did they find the same thing with the new/corrected info given to them?” my boyfriend asked. They had even repeated the bit on how I apparently “was not offered alternative treatments or therapy, suggesting you don’t need them” even though we pointed out that in the letter we had originally sent in to them, the people I saw at the multidisciplinary assessment after my autism diagnoses had written that there were two other meds I could try for my bipolar disorder and that they had put in a recommendation, sent to my GP, that I be referred to one on one talking therapy. He said that surely they must have seen us point that out in the letter I sent in asking for the mandatory reconsideration. And it turns out that none of that information was sent to ATOS. So the new person at ATOS only saw what the first person at ATOS wrote about me and came to the same conclusion. When we pointed out that it is the PIP team who are meant to balance things out, they just deflected all the blame to ATOS and said the matter was “out of their hands” as ATOS is a third party organisation so they don’t have any control over what they do. BUT THEY CHOSE TO EMPLOY THEM TO DO THE ASSESSMENTS!! So yeah, they do have control over what ATOS do and are entirely responsible for any outcome if they choose to base the entire thing on what one person who met the claimant for less than 2hrs has to say about what the claimant struggles with.

Its ridiculous! How the hell did they think it was ok to totally ignore what I sent in other than to belittle me when I expressed how stressed and anxious the whole process made me and how demeaning it felt. Their response was just to demean me some more. When asked what provisions there were at the appeals stage (which involves standing up in court in front of three judges who are total strangers) for people who are autistic and struggle in social situations, especially with speaking in public, and they said that they had no idea whatsoever, but as far as they knew there wasn’t anything special. And that we’d have to contact the courts directly. Not that we have any of those details because nothing was included in with the letter they sent. They couldn’t even get the page numbers correct at the bottom of the pages. The last page was numbered Page 7 of 4. Yes that’s right, there were seven pages out of four. How did they manage to break an autofiling section of a document like that? They take that little care with these assessments they can’t even get the documents to be constructed correctly.

When I got the letter I just totally dissociated from everything I would have been feeling. And so its been a rough few days as bits and pieces of emotion have been popping through and washing over me in waves of feeling really shitty. I’m trying hard not to think about the whole appeals process because I know it scares me shitless and I can’t do anything about it now anyway. But its just so hard to cope with people just dismissing my difficulties. Its ridiculous because the criteria have not changed. In fact they got in trouble with the courts for being biased against people with mental health issues as their disability (focussing only on whether a person could physically do a thing and ignoring their criteria of “requires prompting”) and so were made to make changes to discriminate less. Obviously the major fines and telling off did fuck all. Its just so frustrating because my difficulties haven’t changed (unless they’ve got worse) and previously I was deemed to be entitled, so why should that have changed just because I now have an extra diagnosis that even better explains the problems I have? Like previously they tried to claim that bipolar disorder didn’t cause the particular difficulties I have, so I missed out on points in one area. However now I also have the autism diagnosis, that category I was denied points in before is now the only category that scored any points. So its like they are totally ignoring that I have more than one thing going on, and that previously I was still autistic so if I was entitled then, I should be now!

When we pointed out how they were being discriminatory in my letter, they responded not by apologising for what I felt was discrimination, but by telling me that the “Gray Report” concluded that the “Health Professionals” (from ATOS who do the assessments) are trained to a sufficient degree to do the assessments without bias. So I’m there pointing out bias and being told “no, that can’t have happened, this report we had done says there’s no problem.” Except I have looked it up and Paul Gray, responsible for the reports actually wanted changes like making the assessment report results sent out immediately to claimants, but the government is refusing to do so. So how exactly are they meeting what his report asks of them? They aren’t! The Gray Report says that they need to do more to gain the trust of claimants because they are currently so inconsistent that is confusing at best and detrimental at worst. Like his entire report is basically “some of these changes are positive, but there is so much more that needs to be done such as x, y, and z” and the government has said “ah that means we are perfect and doing no wrong.” Like his report didn’t even look at the assessors in great detail. It just says that they should be trained to an adequate level, not that they are. And that they should be unbiased, again not that they are. So why quote that report at me?

Just.... urgghhh. I’m so sick and tired of having to fight past what I’m sensibly able to do just to get what feels like nowhere. Like they even wrote in response to me saying that my executive dysfunction is so bad that if the washing up needs to be done, and I can’t cope with all the steps required to do that, then I don’t have anything clean with which to prepare and cook food and therefore won’t eat. They wrote that those things are “outside the scope of the assessment criteria” and so won’t be considered as evidence. So because I can’t clean the house and can’t then cook the food, that’s ignored as a reason why I don’t eat the food. I must therefore be able to cope with preparing and eating food unaided all the time. How stupid is that? I also wrote how my sensory sensitivities affect my ability to wash and to brush my teeth, so I’ll go days without brushing my teeth when I can’t cope with those feels (or am too depressed) and they said “brushing teeth isn’t covered under bathing, so we won’t consider that”. Like they are both forms of personal hygiene. Arguably keeping your teeth clean is a MAJORLY IMPORTANT thing which can impact your health in so many ways (like you can die from an infected tooth, or from a gum infection). But it can’t be used to build up a bigger picture about how far reaching my disabilities are?

And they said that the section on being able to communicate only counts if you can physically speak and physically hear what is being said to you. So my sensory processing disorder which affects how my brain perceives auditory information and how it therefore responds to said auditory information? Doesn’t count. So the times when I can’t tell what is being said because there is a fan making noise in the background? Doesn’t count. The times when there are multiple people talking and I can’t pick out the one important conversation and everything blurs into one droning sound that is overwhelming and causes me to avoid social gatherings that involve many people? Doesn’t count. My inability to tell what tone of voice I’m speaking with and inability to correctly modulate my tone of voice appropriately so I fail to communicate effectively due to it? Doesn’t count. My sensory overload causing me to shut down and go nonverbal for long periods of time so I can’t verbally communicate? Doesn’t count. Apparently. Even though in the criteria available online on the government website for how they are meant to assess disabilities for the different categories, it really should count. But all they mean is “are you deaf and dumb”? (Sorry for the old derogatory terms, but that is literally all they seem to think counts and the way they seem to be approaching this).

And just I have all these feels and they are not nice feels. And I’m trying to remain strong and positive, and trying to remember that I’m trying to want to exist. But its so so hard. And just reminds me how much I hate my life and how I hate how noone (in the “noone” kind of way, obviously some people) seems to care how I feel and how I struggle. And it really doesn’t keep me away from feeling suicidal. :(

[jmkitsune]

So like last night I found a project I started back in like November/December last year, I wanted to “novelize” the batman arkham games while...tweaking the story a bit to flow better in some places (I love the series over all but there were parts I felt...needed help)

so I guess that counts as a fan fiction

I was told a few weeks ago by steph when I was having issues with my views on my writing ability that I need to not make some BIG project but I need to try something...smaller, I guess this would count maybe

so I’m just gonna put the first section I wrote below the cut

I haven’t finished the project, I got like 140ish pages but yea

I’m stating this AGAIN because I know SOMEONE will say it if this is read- YES I did try to novelize/write the Arkham Game series as a prose vs a script so no its not some “you’re ripping off the games” 

...that was the point, I wanted to see if I could take it and retell it in this format and see if it came out as good.

The last will and testament of the deceased, Thomas Wayne: In the event of my death, I hereby declare that all my worldly possessions pass to my son, Bruce Wayne. Bruce, I ask that you honor the Wayne family legacy, and commit yourself to the improvement of Gotham City, its institutions, and its citizens. Please, be strong. You are young, but destined for great things. Make the most of your opportunities. Use them to give back to a city that has given us so much, to change the lives of millions of people. Do not be frivolous with this wealth. Please, do not waste it all on fast cars, and outrageous clothes, and the pursuit of a destructive lifestyle. Invest in Gotham. Treat its people like family. Watch over them and use this money to safeguard them from forces beyond their control. My deepest regret is I will not see you grow into the good man I know you will become. And finally, my son, I ask that you never abandon this city to fate. We have lived through dark days, and no doubt there are more to come. But it is the good and great men who stand up for Gotham when others turn and run. In death, I will love you forever. Your father, Thomas."

—Thomas Wayne

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

The cave was dark, damp and cold which was normal. However there was a bitter extra coldness tonight, colder than most nights, it was Christmas eve and the sun had been set for hours now, the snow outside had been falling for hours. As the elevator carrying it's occupant reached the bottom and opened its doors, a large collection of screeches and flapping echoed throughout the cavernous space. The colony of bats screamed as this person disturbed their slumber and awoken them with his large machinery. They tore through the cave, flying every which way until after a few moments descending deeper into the depths of the cave far from sight and sound. Only echoes of their cries and flapping remained for a short time. The occupant stepped out of the elevator with purpose, a stern and almost rage filled expression on his face. The height of his persona felt increased only by the shadow he cast as he strut through the tunnels towards a much larger, open cave filled with lights and equipment. The far side of the cave was a large waterfall, pouring down and blocking an opening in and out of the system that this man had made his base of operations. The large space was filled with computers and machinery on one floor; and in the center, a platform with a black as night flying craft.

The body suit on the man covered him from neck to toe. Made of a tight weave that protected his body from the cold that filled the cave and the outside as well, he also wore heavy armored boots. This man stood 6'0 and was built sturdy. Not massive but stocky enough that you knew he could throw a punch, though outside this dark cave he never gave the impression of that. An angry man, he never seemed to do anything about his anger in public. He couldn't, he had an image to maintain.

Bruce Wayne made his way to the series of monitors and computers, patching into the local news stations and the Police radio bandwidth. As the different frequencies and channels came into focus one monitor displayed News crews attending a press conference at Black Gate Penitentiary. A decorated officer on the screen at the podium was heard mid speech.

"...knowing tonight, we put to rest one of Gotham's most heinous and relentless killers of our time- Julian Gregory Day."

One of the reporters in the crowd spoke next to the assessment.

"Commissioner Loeb!, Commissioner Loeb – any comment on rumors circulating that it wasn't actually the GCPD who found, apprehended and delivered Mr. Day to custody?" He asked, his voice a little evident of the cold weather over at Blackgate, but strong and convicted in this line of questioning none the less. At this the Commissioner left the podium and a man in his early to mid thirties stepping up to replace him, his glasses fogging a bit from the temperature, the man had auburn hair and signs of facial hair forming on his face. He wore a GCPD jacket over a Policeman's uniform and bullet proof vest, he must have been on assignment before arriving or he felt better to prepare for anything tonight at Blackgate.

"There is no such thing as a bat-man!" Captain James Gordon spat in response to the question. His hand pointing to enunciate each syllable for the crowd. Which of course got a buzz from the reporters. All of them shouting Captain Gordon, over and over trying to garner his attention to ask follow up questions. Camera flashes created a strobe effect on the screen as Bruce half paid attention while looking over at another screen and filtering the sound to that monitor instead of the news.

"All Units, all units, Code 10 at Blackgate Prison! Communication is Down. Possible 2-11." A woman's voice filtered through on the Police Scanner. Behind Bruce, an older man, dressed in a nicely pressed tuxedo, carrying a dome covered silver dinner tray quietly entered the cave and watched and listened to the sight before him as he made his way to a table where he softly lay the dinner tray carefully next to a brass framed photo. A black and white family photo of a slightly middle aged man, his beautiful wife and young son. The three looked happy, and the young boy's smile was ear to ear, teeth shining on his face and a sense of prosperity came from the photo as it reflected off the surface of the tray next to it. The older man gazed for a half second at the photo before returning his attention to his master. Alfred Pennyworth, never too thrilled with Bruce's decisions to take up this crusade, gave his undying support regardless because he had served this family for as long as he had. Raising Master Wayne since his parents' death Alfred couldn't help but wonder what the late Thomas and Martha would think of their boy tonight.

Gone was that smiling happy boy, and replaced by a hurt and angry young man. At 28 time had barely tempered his scars. Only inflamed them. Taking a multi year journey around the world, learning many forms of Asian martial arts. Bruce would travel to China, Japan, Thailand, eventually winding up in Korea. In North Korea he found a secret Korean castle, where he would meet the Martial arts Master: Kirigi. The master would take Bruce in as a servant while he trained with his other students in TokagureRyu and other Shinobi.

Knowing an art similar to Japanese Ninjutsu, Kirigi trained Bruce in the ways of the shadow warrior. Learning how to use the shadows, devoting himself to a single ideal and in that devotion learn patience, develop agility, master deception, partake in theatrics and utilize the power to fight 600 men. But most of all Kirigi instructed Wayne in the method of using fear. Two years ago Bruce had returned from this trip and filled in Alfred of his success under Kirigi and how this meant he could begin his crusade to save Gotham. It was then he took up the cowl as Batman.

"Delta 6-4 Enroute" a mans voice broke Alfred's concentration on those memories, reminding him that Master Wayne needed him in the now, tonight was a sordid one. Being Christmas Eve, Alfred had hoped that Bruce would stay in tonight, be a normal billionaire playboy for the cameras on Christmas, however for another year, he shooed away reporters wanting interviews with the young rich industrialist and instead took up his only focus- the mission.

"Dispatch 5-9. Confirm code 10- this a break out?" Another man came through the radio.

"Suspect identified as Black Mask. Repeat: Code 10 suspect is Black Mask. All Units at Blackgate. Code 6 Code 6. Commissioner Loeb being held captive. Repeat. Commissioner is 701." The woman's voice repeated with urgency. On one of the monitors in front of Bruce a file had opened and revealed many pictures of a man in a white pinstriped suit wearing a black skull mask, all with information filtering in along with the photos. Bruce had collected as much information on this man as he could. Black Mask- the alias for a one Roman Sionis. Alfred's gaze followed as Bruce crossed the space from his computers to a spot on the platform they stood on as it raised from the floor, a glass case with metal framing. Inside spun something Alfred had grown accustomed to seeing, and sometimes repairing when Master Wayne was too overzealous on his night's out. The tailored suit of the vigilante. The mantle Bruce claimed after returning home from his trip abroad. The mask he wore to enact his mission to save and protect Gotham, his home.

The Batsuit was black and gray, an armored and caped body armor he could wear to hide his face and protect himself from the scourge of Gotham's dark underbelly. Bulletproof, knife-proof, however the suit did lack in some flexibility leaving Bruce forced to have stiffer movements and have to be deliberate in his actions. For now it suited him well, protected him and struck fear in those who saw it before he beat them into unconsciousness. Designed to withstand or significantly reduce the impact of bullets, the armor up til this point has allowed Batman to barely flinch when shot, causing a psychological strike in those attacking him, fearing that the urban myth that was batman- was impervious to bullets.

Suiting up, and going from the public figure of Bruce Wayne to the legend that was spreading in the city. The enigmatic shadow that struck out and launched a violent onslaught on those who would dare commit crimes in the city. Someone who was the reason thugs collective breathed sighs of relief upon the rising of the sun each morning. Batman. Gathering his equipment as well, a grappling hook gun, a collection of shuriken that were in the shape of bats, and other assorted equipment donned his large belt at his waist. When he was fully equipped with his gadgets and ready to go, he slowly reached back into the container where his suit was housed to lift the cowl and bring it to his face. Sliding it down and over Bruce Wayne's profile snuffing him out for the night. Awakening the other- the Batman to his next patrol. The night had begun and Batman was needed.

The large craft in the center of the cave roared to life as Batman pressed a series of keys on one of his gauntlets. Lifting itself from the ground with loud engines the VTOL hovered in wait for it's pilot to embark them in their starry night flight across the Gotham skyline. Batman marched towards it, his cape billowing behind him wildly as the engine's caused a powerful draft from their force. Batman could just barely make out Alfred's voice behind him.

"You do realize it is Christmas Eve, sir?" The butler called, his arms out and making a hopeful gesture that he could assuage the Bat into taking the night off. However this hope dashed as Batman climbed into the control seat of the jet and rose into the craft, doing last moment system checks of his vehicle. Alfred resigned his hopes and made his way across the platforms to retrieve the dinner tray he had originally came down to the cave with. Knowing he'd better leave it upstairs in the kitchen so that if Master Wayne returned hungry he could heat up his dinner. Alfred Pennyworth would die on the spot the day he served anyone a cold Christmas Eve dinner.

The Batwing rose higher in the cave, it's wings folding down, extending to their full length in readiness to exit it's lair, Batman inside gripped the controls tightly and focused his vision on the horizon line as the Batwing faced the waterfall and screamed out of the cave at an intense high speed. The waterfall barely breaking under the Batwing's trespassing on it's path downward. Batman piloted his craft at top speed to reach Blackgate as soon as possible.

[secretgamergirl]

I’d like to talk about Graham for a little bit.

About a month and a half ago, this thing just sort of spontaneously happened that was on the order of the old Jerry Lewis telethons, raising an absolutely jaw-dropping amount of money for an organization called Mermaids, which is great and absolutely deserves to have it. I should clarify before anything further too that I’m using “spontaneously happened” here only to mean absolutely nobody involved had any possible idea that it was going to become the huge thing it became, not that it didn’t do so because of a lot of really impressive work, mainly from Casey Explosion and Dan Olson who both ended up playing producer as guests started hopping in and did phenomenal jobs they can’t get enough credit for.

I am, of course, quite thrilled to see how well that went, particularly since just something like a week prior I’d independently tried to start a charity drive for Mermaids which was... decidedly unsuccessful. And I came oddly close to getting properly involved in this one, because around the time it was at the $1000 mark, “guests” were mainly just people I’m personally friends with and haven’t talked to in a while, I was talking about joining in, but the timing of me getting hold of a microphone and a quiet room and guest coordination shook out weird and I lost my place in line to like, Chelsea Manning and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who I will freely admit were bigger donation draws than me talking to old friends and sharing info about trans charities and transphobic groups trying to undermine them would have been.

One thing I’d have liked to have brought up is the other thing that made the whole event a bit bittersweet, personally. The whole thing was explicitly advertised as existing purely to spite one Graham Linehan, who rather infamously had spearheaded an initiative to undermine funding for Mermaids because these days he is a cartoon villain and defunding a children’s charity was the sort of thing he’s all about now. And I’m saying “now” and “these days” because I have kind of a weird history with Graham. Once upon a time, he was my biggest fan.

No, really. If you don’t believe me, go do a quick twitter search for him mentioning me. It’s a bit surreal to look back on. It was weird to live through at the time too. He started following me at a point where I had something like 10 other twitter followers, and was just super super pumped about literally everything I was writing about, you know, the rise of this group of transphobic fascists weaponizing twitter mobs. I’d start writing something and he’d just pop up in my DMs. Which... OK now it’s weird because I’m the last person the arguable king of all transphobes should be following, but at the time it was also weird because he hadn’t gotten into that and was this famous TV writer.

So first of all, it just sends a chill down my spine any time I see him talking about having trans friends who like him just fine and wondering if he’s still trying to count me there. Because I mean, the last time I actually talked to him it was pretty damn civil. Mainly because I was trying to make a calm rational case explaining that he’d just linked horrifyingly bigoted propaganda out, but I could see him grasping for that straw.

Those prior interactions color the whole thing for me in a really tragic light though. Usually, when you see someone who did a thing you enjoy(ed) tear their face off and reveal a disgusting monster, you get to go “ugh, I can’t believe I never picked up on what a creep this person was the whole time!” but... I personally don’t have that luxury here. At the point I knew him, I can actually say he was a decent, caring guy, willing to stick his neck out in a big big way for worthy causes. He promoted the hell out of everything I wrote for a while, and elevated the voices of a ton of other trans women and other marginalized people under attack from nazis. He really went all in with a pretty big media platform against that crap at a time where it wasn’t especially popular or safe to do so, and he campaigned about as hard as was humanly possible to repeal Ireland’s abortion ban, sharing some really horrifying personal stories which I’d probably still dig out when trying to argue the subject if it wouldn’t be giving oxygen to such a huge bigot. And for whatever it’s worth, that infamous I.T. Crowd episode? Some 6 years after the fact he really was self-conscious about that still, and just sort of... approaching every trans woman he knew one by one to try to explain where he was coming from with it. Which of course is not at all the same thing as apologizing for it, but presumably had he stayed that course, he’d have maybe grabbed some sensitivity readers before the next such bit went to air.

So yeah. My honest assessment of where he was at in late 2014 through early 2015 there is... well-intentioned guy with some blind spots legitimately trying to be a better person and work towards some general trans allyship...

... and then he just suddenly pulled this complete 180, and it’s one of the most chilling things I’ve ever seen. From my perspective, it was like being in a zombie movie where someone gets bit. First they’re fine, then you see a big ol’ red flag (I don’t recall whether the first such was him going to bat for the serial abuser creep we just finally kicked out of tabletop or him linking a post on freaking 4th wave now), and you have this little window of maybe we can cut off the infection before it spreads, and that fails and suddenly you’ve just got this shambling monster wearing the face of a former ally in the fight against them. I suppose a more grounded metaphor would be like comparing it to someone you know joining a cult. every value they had is suddenly gone and they’re just removing themselves from all their old circles to hang out exclusively with these dangerous creeps.

I can’t stress enough that this isn’t me saying “there’s still good in him.” Dude’s out there getting the police showing up at his door because he won’t stop harassing random women and literally organizing letter-writing campaigns to cut the funding to a charity that keeps marginalized children from killing themselves. That is way too far over the cliff to entertain any notion of someone ever crawling back. No my point in all this that moral consistency isn’t anywhere near as solid as people like to tell themselves it is. People can go from vehement anti-fascism to full on fascist over a single conversation with the right recruiter on the right day and there’s really nothing you can do about it but hope you recognize it before your denial starts to amplify the damage.

At least I sure as hell hope there’s nothing else you can do about it because again, this guy was literally my biggest fan before he suddenly flipped, and I don’t want to have to second guess myself about what part of me saying “fascism is bad and trans people don’t deserve this sort of harassment” was sufficiently unclear that a guy hanging on my every word for like a year could get all backwards.

This really isn’t a story with a feel-good moral at the end. I mean, the best spin I can put on it is, moral compasses can break, so be sure to pull yours out regularly and double check that it’s still pointing north, don’t just follow the person ahead of you and assume theirs is working? Make sure you’re familiar with a definition of fascism that doesn’t rely on what costumes someone’s wearing? Bear in mind that the oppressed minority turning out to be the real bullies is just not a thing that happens? Just... don’t ever be like Graham here.

[angeltriestoblog]

On-brand stories from my childhood

I remember this tweet going around a few months ago, soliciting people’s most on-brand stories from their childhood, things they’ve done or words they’ve said as a kid that sum up who they are at present. I wanted to participate so bad when I first saw it on my timeline, but I knew that being the eccentric, one-of-a-kind kid I was, it would take me a long period of reminiscing (and more tweets in a thread than anyone would bother to read) to put down everything worth noting. So, here it is: 10 of the weirdest, Most Angel experiences from my youth, for the lack of a way to put it, accompanied by photos of baby me because let’s face it, they make everything better.

ONE: When I was about four, my parents took me to a building very near our house to have my IQ checked. They had an inkling that I was a gifted child, and wanted to confirm it with a professional. So, I was escorted into an office, and subjected to interrogation to assess my competence in several areas of giftedness - much to my dismay, since all I wanted was to get that interview over and done with so I could read books in the library next door. There was this one part where the person in charge of me was trying to test my kinesthetic abilities by getting me to follow this aerobics routine that she was making me do. “Step step one, step step two,” she was saying while stomping to the right and stomping right back in place. I told her I didn’t want to do it, because I didn’t want to look like a fool.

TWO: I had this knack for correcting teachers. As a kid, I was hyperfixated on learning all the countries in the world and their respective capitals, with the help of this flash cards set that I got from Toy Kingdom. So when there was this time that my Filipino teacher had said that there were only two countries in the world with names that started with the letter Q, five year old Angel was very quick to correct her. “Miss Melissa, there’s only one country that starts with the letter Q! It’s Qatar!” I told her. She replied, “No! Quebec is a country, too!” This argument persisted for a bit until she made us do a seatwork, which gave her the opportunity to leave us to go to the computer room for a bit (since cellphones weren’t given Internet capability back in 2006). She returned and told me, “Angel, tama ka nga. Di pala bansa yung Quebec, hehe.”

THREE: It’s become common knowledge to everyone in my life that I wrote books growing up, but my body of work extended way beyond my very inventive fiction (alternatively called, me putting my own twist on the fairytales I read growing up) and creative non-fiction (me telling everyone how my day, half true-to-life, accurate detail and half-imagination). I remember going through the family laptop one day, and coming across the corporate profile of my uncle’s company, where my dad was working at the time as the technical assistant to the president. Being the child I was who wanted to emulate everything her father was doing, I wanted to make a copy of my own too but I was unfortunately unemployed. Thankfully, I took matters into my own hands and made up a company of my own, which I aptly named Pamper and Pretty. Excuse the fatal grammar error, but I was six and was yet to be familiarized with what parallelism in writing actually was. I drafted a whole corporate profile, complete with the list of my employees along with their corresponding duties and responsibilities, as well as a list of all our products and services.

And of course, how could I forget my professional resume?

FOUR: I even looked far into the future and prepared a spiel for when we’d be looking for new employees, as well as a list of rules and regulations to follow if ever anyone would pass our grueling hiring process. My favorite is rule #26, which goes “Drug pushers are not allowed in the store.”

FIVE: While we’re on the topic of business, I guess it’s worth boasting that I was able to sit in a meeting my mom had back in the day with the rest of the members of the Systems and Methods division, and I was asked to take the minutes for a change. I’m aware I’m making absolutely no sense, but after much inferring, I guess it revolves mainly around IT, monitoring procedures and AARs.

SIX: I was a proponent for self-help at a very young age too, creating a list of five rules to live by, which I referred to as my “straight line project”. For which reason, I have absolutely no clue. One part reads: “Always watch out for a kid bullying some one so you can save the person being fought, then do the same thing that the bully kid did to your friend like for example when they are fighting in a swimming pool that the bully is trying to push your friend, you should save your friend and push the bully kid to the pool.” I advised. Turns out I had an attitude and a knack for retributive justice from the very start.

SEVEN: I also found a couple of letters I addressed to Santa as the Christmas season approached, where I requested everything from “world peace” to the entire Diary of A Wimpy Kid series. Talk about being a versatile queen! My favorite of the bunch was the last one I made, where I included directions and a sketch to get to our new house, because we had moved residences earlier that year. I just didn’t want Santa to get lost, and sneak in my old house only to find out that I was no longer there.

(Fortunately, my mom was able to print out all those files I had saved to the family computer before I promptly infected it with a virus that wiped out its entire memory. The lengths seven year old Angel would go just to download Young Guns by Wham! from Limewire.)

EIGHT: I was elected as class president multiple times in grade school, which you would think would mold me into becoming an active student leader. But, my term was constantly shrouded in controversy. I was always tasked to write down the list of noisy students on the blackboard, I’m not exactly sure if this qualifies as public humiliation but I wasn’t concerned with that at the time and did everything I could to fulfill my duty. A classmate of mine was singing a High School Musical song at the top of her lungs, and I asked her to stop. Usually, that does the trick and sends the noisemaker back to their seat but she ran out of the room and brought her mom upstairs because she got upset.

NINE: I also rode on a classmate’s bag, which resulted in her mom going upstairs (I have no idea why their moms spent the entire day in the waiting room on the first floor too, man) and scolding me, saying that her daughter’s bag is not a pony. I was also accused of calling my classmate stupid because she was only Top 7 out of all the students in class, while I was Top 1, which was false by the way since “stupid” was considered a curse word in our household until I was 10. Perhaps the best scuffle I got myself into was because I had checked my classmate’s homework with red crayon and put several drawings of hearts and stars, as well as reassuring comments along the lines of “Great job!” and “Congratulations!” around his perfect score. His father literally had me sent to the principal’s office. Parents then had way too much time on their hands, I swear to God.

TEN: If we don’t take into consideration the whole fiasco that involved my Teletubbies stuffed toy*, my first brush with “love” happened when I was in kindergarten. I had a crush on one of my classmates named Kevin, who is the scrawny little boy that you see beside me in the pictures below. I don’t remember anything else about him, not even his surname, and I haven’t heard of nor seen him since our pre-school graduation ceremony. All I have to remember him by are these photos, and a video that my mom took of both of us where he was seen flapping his arms around and making weird facial expressions, while I would squirm out of kilig in response. Weird. The worst part of it all? I didn’t even like him because he was cute or funny or nice to me: it’s just because he was named after my favorite Backstreet Boy.

(*In case anyone's curious, up until I was about three years old, my parents and I lived in Malabon with my maternal grandmother, who was tasked with taking care of me while my mom and dad were both at work. She was fond of watching Filipino teleseryes while taking care of me: they often had their fair share of kissing scenes, but I was practically a baby at the time who wasn’t capable of processing or remembering the things she was seeing on TV. Or so they thought. My mom said she had walked on two year old me making out with my cousin’s Teletubbies stuffed toy one time. She then promptly asked my lola if they could keep me as far away from the television as possible once Pangako Sa’Yo came on. Can’t blame her for that, honestly.)

That’s all I can think of right now, but I know there’s plenty more where that came from. Hope everyone is having a fruitful Holy Week celebration. Wishing you nothing but love and light, always always always.

Angel

[zenruption]

Seattle’s Smokey Brights: The Only Band in the Building

by: The World’s Luckiest Music Lover, Brian Mckay

Over the Treefort weekend, I had the pleasure to meet and watch the Smokey Brights on more than one occasion. This is a band that is more than just a simple concert review. They are worthy of their story and what lies ahead being known. That story that is represented in their songs and stage presence. It is a band I intend to follow and anxiously await their upcoming album. Judging from the crowd’s response, I am not alone in this assessment.

Fronted by Ryan Devlin (guitar and vocals) and Kim West (keys and vocals) and accompanied by Nick Krivchenia (drums) and Luke Logan (bass). The band’s story is compelling. As a couple, Ryan and Kim bring their synergy and strong love to the stage in both their harmonies and stage interaction.

The band was officially born out of necessity, due to some very underfunded bank accounts, insufficient for gift giving, going into the Christmas season as a couple. The incredibly talented Nick, came along via Ohio from a family of musicians. Grooving away Luke, is via Alaska with a background of singing folk songs with his family and is a great third for an always perfect harmony.

You can see a slight punk, influence pulled into a signature Seattle sound with, what can only be described, as their own genre. While comfortably in the alt rock category, it’s obvious that Smokey Brights will take whatever they feel or find interesting and make something new and totally their own out of it.

Again, it is the experiences that shape this band and probably my best candidate to interlace a review, pictures, video, and an interview all mixed together. Considering their amazing mixture, I hope they like it.

Interview conducted Saturday, September 25th at Neurolux

So el Korah tonight is so retro cool that it’s awesome. The sound is really good and the time you play is kind of after main stage…

Kim: Dude, I’m stoked.

Ryan: I feel really honored we got moved to that slot. Eric (a Treefort founder) was out at the Neurolux show about a month ago and we were going to play Humpin’ Hannah’s at 10 and that ended up not working out as a venue for Treefort so they bumped us over to el Korah, which is a bigger room, great slot and I am just swelling with gratitude that he trusts us enough to put us in that spot.

 Indeed, el Korah ended up being the perfect spot for Smokey Brights to play. Having had the honor of playing the first concert at the Record Exchange in 18 months on Thursday, a 9.30 pm slot at el Korah on a Saturday turned out to be an absolute perfect fit.

For a Treefort with smaller crowds due to COVID, the room was the busiest I had seen it during Treefort. The first thing you notice of Smokey Brights is an energetic, open crowd that immediately jumps in with both feet. Check it out:

 So, I’ve always gotta ask, what do you think of Boise?

Kim: We love Boise. Big fans. Big Fans!

Nick: Boise loves us back.

Ryan: Boise is a live music town with venues and great people and a great history of bands and we can drive to it from Seattle, which makes it Valhalla for a West Coast musician. It’s amazing.

Boise showed Smokey Brights its love at both the el Korah and Hideout stage performances. Dancing was common, as was extensive cheering. The one time that I heard the crowd just singing along with the band at Treefort was the Hideout crowd singing to the I Love You but Damn chorus as the band closed out the set. Our photographer, Greg, said, “I don’t really know the song but feel compelled to sing along.”

Smokey Brights brought their amazing energy and Boise responded, “We love it!”

 On your song, I Love You but Damn, I think, wasn’t it that song you mention Reno and then it also looks like you’re going to Reno soon..

Ryan: In less than a week we’ll be in Reno.

So, can I assume you kind of like Reno too?

Ryan and Kim: We do like Reno. (with laughs from Nick and Luke)

Ryan: Reno is like scrappy. I grew up in Seattle and Tacoma and like my friend that grew up in Tacoma with me, he’s always like, “Reno is just Tacoma with gambling.” And that is what it feels like to me. There’s kind of a blue collarness to it. Kind of a punk rock fuck it attitude, but it’s also like their working hard to make it cooland kind of a good hang place.

Kim: It’s like the dirtier, more scrappy version of Vegas.

Ryan: I want to hang out in Brooklyn, not Manhattan or Oakland and not San Francisco and I want to hang out in…

Kim and Ryan in unison: Reno and not Vegas.

 This is a great way to define Smokey Brights. Everyone’s band with an affinity for all the punks that have come and gone. Ryan’s punk past is alive in every show and strongly influences his amazing talents on the guitar.

If you are in Reno for the Offbeat Music Festival on Friday, October 1st, check them out at 7pm. Having once lived in Reno, they fit the place so well and will light it up. After watching much of the Freakout Records lineup on Sunday, I’m thinking that watching Smokey Brights and the rest of the bands on November 11 in Seattle could be amazing.

So, what have you guys mostly been up to during COVID?

Ryan: Writing.

Luke: Staying busy. Writing, Rehearsing. You couldn’t get in front of crowds but we could be with each other so we kept working looking forward to the time we could put on a good show.

 You’ll notice that most of the bands here have albums coming out. In fact, a couple came out this weekend. A lot of people, like, they wrote a lot during the pandemic but their whole tone was impacted by it. Esme Patterson last night, who is amazing, really had some songs that reflected a lot of loneliness and were written during the pandemic. How do you guys think it impacted your writing for the next album?

Kim: It definitely impacted our writing.

Ryan: For this record, which is not out yet… and I tease it too much because it could be another year but like, even when we’re not writing about the sensation of going through this diminished life, I feel like that tonality pokes through. We’ve got a song, it might be called, I’m Not Through this Yet. Kim sings it and like the first lines are “I’m not through this yet, can I learn to love this mess, can I reassemble myself from the parts that I have left”. And like, every time Kim sings that, that feels like the state that a lot of us are in right now.

 I really love the song 72. That is spectacular.

Kim: Thank you.

I also love, I Love You but Damn, was amazing and what was it, Save Us Sarah was spectacular.

Ryan: Right on! There’s three songs you can get into.

So, Unity…

Kim: That’s coming out in October.

So, tell me about that one.

Kim: So, Unity and Honey Eye are two songs we recorded. They are coming out October 29th. And they are two songs we recorded during I Love You but Damn, and they didn’t quite fit on that record but they fit really well together and so we just sort of held on to them and decided to release them this fall, which feels like a really good moment for them. They are really about kind of just working together and giving a shit. You Know. And the chorus of Honey Eye is “I wanna rock the world with you, before it splits in two, don’t know what else to do”. That’s kind of a thesis statement for, I feel like, doing anything right now intentionally. Who knows what the hell the future holds because as we have all seen with the traumatic events we have lived through the last 20 years, nothing’s guaranteed.  It’s been insane, all you can do is do as good as you can and be as intentional as you can and be as kind as you can and give a shit while there’s still shits to give.

  Smokey Brights are the embodiment of a band that gives a shit. You can sense the caring for each other and the cohesion of the group as a whole. Most importantly, they give a shit about their crowds and no show will ever be neglected, no crowd will ever leave less than completely fulfilled.

 I Love You but Damn, was obviously kind of your tour song.

Everyone: yeah, yeah

Like, did you guys all kind of write that together?

Ryan: I mean, Kim and I co-write lyrically everything to the point where when we get done with a record, it’d be very difficult to use a highlighter pen and say who did this one.

Kim: And the songs are definitely like, it’s the unit that makes the song a song and the arrangements and…

Nick: Production wise, we came into the studio not knowing what were going to play really besides the chordal structure.

Ryan: Well, we knew the cords and the melody.

Nick: Andy the producer kind of like plugged in a drum beat and said, “Okay, play to this”.

 So, was that right after tour because it kind of reflects that weariness and loneliness?

Ryan: I mean, that one is specifically, that one’s kind of coming from my point of view. It’s talking about the first couple months when Kim and I started dating. How many years ago? 13?

Kim: Yep

Ryan: 13 years ago. And I was touring in punk bands and I was on tour in a van 3 out of the first 6 months we were dating. You know. We would be on again, off again. I’d come back into town and things would be good and then go back on tour and we’d break up and it was just like, we are touring in an old junky Dodge van that would break down too. And just like coming to some realizations that I might be in love with this person I might need to treat myself better. I might need to think of my life in a different way.

That’s a big chunk of romantic love is recognizing that someone cares about you. You should probably keep yourself in okay condition too.

 I Love You but Damn closed out the Hideout set for Smokey Brights and closed out their Treefort. Watch the fans and you’ll see why they need to become a Treefort staple and Boise regulars.

   So you’ve been together since about ’13?

Kim: So we started… I guess the vague conception of Smokey Brights began about 2011, which was when we recorded a demo in our original bassist’s mom’s house in Olympia. We put out our first recorded a couple years later in 2014. I would say it was kind of 2016 when Luke joined the band and we just got really intentional that this is what we want to do. This is what we want to be when we grow up. And we want to tour and we want to play live and we made our minds up for that to happen.

I really feel like, you know, Smokey Brights has been a band in the sense we are now since 2016.

 Okay last question. Do you think that Seattle needs to bring back the Sonics?

Everyone: Yes!

Ryan: Bring our Sonics back!

 About the title: So why are Smokey Brights the only band in the building? Watch the crowd. When they are playing, that crowd might even think they are the only band in the world.

I loved meeting them, look forward to more shows, and couldn’t recommend catching this band more.

Look out for their two new songs, Unity and Honey Eye, on October 29th and a new album, umm well, sometime.

Thank you Smokey Brights for helping make Treefort the best festival anywhere.

[threenorth]

TW; 3 weeks. Featuring months before.

Everything and Anything extremely triggering.

This is because i saw your video and it crushed me so if you wanted to see my year a bit more before this wrecking ball smashed..

28 days.

Sooooooooo hell on earth raganrock...

January I moved cities by February I started my new job in March i started getting my life sorted gym and all the things i couldn't like new glasses and new shoes and orophedics for my very flat feet. I remembered my old goals..

Go to university.

Get a good tech job.

Move to San Francisco.

Marry the girl.

I got the first two then it hit me my San Francisco was to be closer to you... Then marry you every goal i made was centred around you...

I started thinking how best to retalk to you but i thought id explore this later in the second half of April closer to May for that day we had in May years ago...

But it was the start of April it's a new month and it's Monday things were going good overall but the jenga game began... i hit new goals at the gym i can lift more than zero i was hitting 5's on my arms and 10s on my legs oh yeah small steps... so i decided to go out for a drink that week...

Friday April 9th i thought id make a song about the time I was loosing myself for the first time and repick up song writing again it's been a couple of years since I've put pen to page. That night I had been bullied in a bar, I herd you speak to me in a way you never had and i freaked out.

You told me to run.. Run fraz-run...

It it scared the living shit out of me but i knew i had to run and i disosated almost hit by a car but that didn't matter to me just to run from my past.

I got home alive but destroyed. I decided to research where you might be on social media and I looked on my instagram post to find your still tagged on that awful rock. I told you I don't think i was reday because i wanted to research more about how to be freinds with someone that you would do anything for...everything I read said i was still in love and i guess i was, it said i was in greif for the years prior and that probably was true. And ultimately I booked to see my doctor in the meantime.. I decided it was best i told you to Ingore me as I started feeling the truma of that night wasn't going away I felt the gun shot in my brain like the day i knew i had leave from you per say... I felt every laugh i herd brought me back to my childhood...

I asked my doctor for a mental referral my doctor said he would and gave me a pill to try help me sleep at night's with axeinty and depression all he can diagnose me with..i started drinking on the Fridays so one of those nights and some flashes of light in my eyes and everything came back to me. I should of called an abluance but i told myself i can do this.. I started feeling like I could die at any moment and you wouldn't know anything... Just that i told you to leave. In the meantime i got a cynical psychologist to help before my full assessment and he told me to write..so Write i did but i put it in the wrong places, i wanted you to know that i was thinking of you even when i said to Ingore me... I couldn't stop thinking about you... even the faintest laugh in the office sent me back to that bar where I was bullied and back to when i was a mere boy again everyday was hell and I couldn't do any thing about it so I thought this would hold me... one night on a fender bender i got a flashback from flickering lights and i told myself everything things seemed okay again I didn't feel the game of jenga had already begun before i noticed it started. I was told to wait and i was beginning to loose my hope... I wrote and and i wrote i fucking wrote to my fingers bled because that was the only relief he was trying to teach me mindfulness this was around the time second truma of seeing a lady being beaten up on the street and i could of been seconds earlier i might of helped more but i stood up to her whatever and told him to get the fuck lost i didn't care if i was beaten up because i don't like bully's i don't care who they are... I tried to shake off my truma but I was good but I remembered it because that's what i do... i had all my truma i bottled up and it started to unwind it's self... I tried to push though it again but this time after bottling 23/24 years of abuse and truma it couldn't fit... I went to the dentist and got two cavities to find the taste of blood in my mouth sending me through hell... But in my pain I felt your arm in my hand telling me everything will be okay and I remembered that awful trailer truma... I still hung on to keeping head strong but jenga doesn't wait for anyone and I was getting closer to worse.

As the days became weeks...the day got closer...i started loosing my mind... I ended up finding my emgercy folder on my computer about you in search of my old folder of you and my song lyrics of many years ago and my playlists i made you... I told myself I couldn't call this number now or never but I couldn't force myself to delete it either.

I told myself this was for emgercies... Little did I know what was coming next.

I remembered calling the emergency number i had for you because i wanted to hear your voice... Your voice it calms my seas and the tiktoks on repeat, the worse one was your poetry as it was the only bit of you that speaks to me in ways other things didn't. I don't remember much but... I made calls to people some you probably herd but the others you probably might hear that i tried to call a shelter and ask their pricing i was going to try to find out how to protect you even from me...

Around this time We had a delta lockdown, (I'm in Auck so level 3 atm) my weak 25mg pill couldn't save me from everything hanging on by that one last few blocks... i accepted my fate, i was felt i was due to die and i knew my time was running up...I had a breakdown on my way to get my injection while in the at risk group mental and physically yet i walked out of my house to get the injection and at the same time might as well risk my little bit of sanity i had to get my 25mg ap. I got my ap and poped one fast... About an hour later I then got my injection and felt nothing... Nothing at all No needle truma or no physical pain at all? I didn't feel a thing.... This scared the living shit out of me but i told myself it's the start of a new chapter... In the meantime I felt the burn... that i was on fire.. I've felt this before but it was gone in seconds this was constantly getting worse and i didn't know if i should go into the cold shower or what so i called an abluance. I called for an abluance they didn't want to come because i had mental health problems because of Asamtha with covid is pretty game over... I can only use 62 percent of my lungs anyway... They calmed me down and i went back to normality i thought but at work they told me to take it easy and i put my favourite album on ai and that tore me apart in ways I've never had it do it before... I poped my pills but it was to late i was about to topple. I started feeling good again but that's how the drug tricks you into normality... My polar opposite now i felt my death this was it I'm at peace i will die and that will be it, i ruined everything i made peace i was due to die my last words would be in my letters to you and how much i loved you.

I left because it was the only way i saw you becoming happy without me, i didn't see the signs you knew it but my demise never left I've been chronicaly depressed since 17... I wrote my last words out maybe one day yourd knock on the door to where i lived to find out i died. I called for an abluance on the second time they finally came out... August 28th...

I went to hospital, they had taken my blood i requested not to have a nerve block I wanted to see if I could feel anything i didn't feel it...I couldn't feel anything anymore I use to be super sensitive to pain now I'm thinking I'm the high pain torlance but I didn't have anything sharp to test my theory... And a promise to a girl never to self harm again. They wrote their notes was dismissed out from ed because i wasn't harm to myself or others with violence or self harm... Because i kept my promise never to self harm again since i kept my promise with you i never met a redline crisis in their opinion and were confused by my symptoms.

I started getting reday for my birthday trip to Auck which ultimately then became the time i might need to look how to store my stuff while I'm up here for medical..

I had to packup the little I could to come back to Auckland and now also sacrifice my apartment my work has been kind to me but i am spending 1700 on someone packing up my 3m x 4m box.

I want to send you money to help your endo but then all my savings had taken a hit too...

I sent $100 I sent the little i could risk to afford currently... I thought you knew it was me, the wallpaper of the stars of your blog... And the tfios... and then birthday wish from someone unknown to me made me confirm what i thought you knew... So i told you it was me... Then you typed out that message and it broke me... I wanted to come out to tell you that i was there to help but I forgot what you said before and that hit me and jenga collpase had happened....

I started my last letters... Many things were said but..

One is to that guy... I told him that if knew the girl i knew for 2 years while he had 6 years that i knew it didn't have to be a big ring, it could even be a pawn shop ring i told him to marry you.

all my words don't work... My brain is in fragments... And now all i do is the wrong thing...

it appears you do maybe read these.

I won't be writing here. I can't put more pressure on you, you already have enough to deal with but you want to know what kept me going it was the day I'd make you smile like i use to. But life doesn't go to plan... Or the one you might think...

All my plans led me to how I'd buy a log cabin and give you it and go back to my hole. Then i remembered that it was you and my log cabin i wanted all these years I've suffered without any help. Just to see you smile...

Everything i tried to do with all that i could was for you even if you didn't know it i know it, you only knew a bit of me... I never let anyone in not even you and the time i did i wanted you to know that i too am changing... But my plans for you...every single one to get back to my best even if it appears i never had that ever but everything was for the girl i loved...

Now we're going around the darkside of the moon.. I'm still waiting for a psych to drug me and help me to walk on my feet... Things are rocky here for the first time as i fight on because i know this soon will pass and we're getting closer to the day i will be me again... The punches keep coming but i can take them all... As i battle my first battles in your last battles when the light is dim... My secerts are everywhere if you notice my words... In my mental rambles on rk2 i talk breifly about grounding, and a totem but my shield protects me before it hits my core... I can do this all day.

I fight everyday because of my compass i hold close...

I am confused about many things..

but... I look in my mind where I see a girl, i see a log cabin in the woods coming home to her after being destroyed to rebuild myself again... In my log cabin cooking and watching art making art but I felt at ease that everything was going to be okay... This will be okay and am now closer to the day it would be okay .. But days became months and years... And the more i tried to remember her words to keep me to my goals... In my hard dark days of disoatision and psychosis my walls that look like her face... I wait to dream and drift off into my sleep i see the day i come home to my woodcabin and, she whispers to me...

She once told me,

everything will be okay.

He whispers,

Everything will be okay.

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

Time: Chapter 10

Summary: Soulmate!AU/Reincarnation!AU. Female!Reader lives in a world where alien invasions and hordes of death robots occur and past lives and soulmates are very real. Like most people, she gets brief glimpses of her past. although a person’s past lives and their current life may have little to nothing in common, soul mates tend to transfer between lives, the core of a person staying the same throughout the eons. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader, Steve Rogers x Female!Reader Warnings: Language, angst, fluff Word Count: ~5,510 A/N: I think I wrote a sitcom on accident. Oh well. This chapter is 15% Steve fluff, 20% angst, and 65% Team Cap banter.

Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

You looked inside of yourself, trying to assess the damage. You were shocked to find nothing there. You felt nothing.

Bucky hadn’t broken your heart, he’d obliterated it.

You hadn’t realized you’d fallen asleep until Wanda’s quiet voice woke you from the doorway.

“We have to leave, Steve. We’ve been here too long as is,” she said, apologetic.

“I know, Wanda. Just a little long-”

“You’re leaving? Now?” you asked, alarmed, as you sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. It had gotten dark out while you’d been asleep. Light had been streaming in through your windows, filling your room with a warm glow when you’d first come in, but now shadows painted the walls of the neighboring buildings. It was dusk.

Steve looked down at you and frowned, regret clear on his face. “Sorry, darling. We can’t stay any place too long, least of all New York. This was only supposed to be a quick stop, anyway,” he said as he began untangling himself from the blankets and sheets.

“Please don’t go,” you whispered. You needed to reach out for him, make him stop, but your body wasn’t listening to your orders.

Something in your voice made him freeze. He pulled his arm from around you and cupped your chin with his fingers. “I can’t take you with me, (Y/N). It’s too dangerous,” he said, sorrow clear in his voice. This close, you could see the flecks of green in his captivating blue eyes.

You shook your head stubbornly, jaw set. “I want to go with you, Stevie. It’s my choice. I was in New York and D.C. I watched the videos of Sokovia. I know the kind of danger you get into. I don’t care,” you said as you took his hands in yours. You squeezed his fingers hard, willing him to understand. He didn’t seem convinced and opened his mouth to say something else, but you spoke before he could say anything.

“I can’t lose you, too. Not after everything that’s happened. I know you understand that. Please, Stevie,” you whispered, tears filling your eyes.

His face twisted in sadness. That had been a low blow and you knew it. Steve had dealt with your and Bucky’s deaths once before. His best friend and soul mate both gone before thirty, and he’d watched both times; you’d died from disease and Bucky had plummeted from that train in the mountains. He still probably blamed himself for Bucky.

Steve glanced at Wanda, who stood in the doorway, question clear on his face.

She looked between you and Steve before she sighed and shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “I don’t care what you decide; It’s really your decision anyway. Just choose quickly,” she said, then walked back towards your sitting room.

“It’ll be dangerous,” he said, turning back to you. “I don’t know if I can keep you safe,” he said softly, worry clear in his voice. He wished you’d stay. You’d be safer here, without him. But he knew how much you had to be hurting right now. He didn’t have it in him to leave you alone.

“I know,” you said, lip quirking into a tentative half smile as a tear slipped down your cheek. He gently wiped it away with his thumb and kissed you on the forehead.

“Get packed. We’ll leave in fifteen,” he said, finally extracting himself from the bed.

“Ten, Steve!” came Wanda’s voice from the living room.

“Ten, then. Need any help?” he said, extending his hand to help you up. You took it gladly, his warm, well-worn hand helping to keep you grounded. Now that you knew he wasn’t going to leave you, your heart felt lighter, even just a little bit.

You shook your head as you hopped off the bed, swaying slightly. His hand came down to steady you and he eyed you with concern. “I’m mostly packed already. Never really unpacked, actually,” you explained, trying to ignore the way he looked at you as though you were about to break.

“Alright, if you’re sure, I’ll be out in the sitting room with Wanda,” he said, giving you a peck on the cheek, which made you blush. He gave you a melancholy smile as he walked out of the room and went to join Wanda on your squishy couch.

Nine and a half minutes later you walked into your sitting room, bulging duffel slung over your shoulder, a dirty manila folder clutched at your side in your free hand. Wanda and Steve were already standing by the door. Steve smiled at you, taking your bag wordlessly. “Thanks,” you said, giving him a small smile.

“Are we ready?” Wanda asked, raising an eyebrow at you and Steve.

“I have one last thing to do. You guys go ahead, I’ll be right behind you,” you said, opening the door for them.

Steve seemed unsure and didn’t immediately follow Wanda down the stairs.

“It’s fine, Stevie. I’ll only be a minute, I promise,” you said as you clutched the manila folder to your chest.

He studied you for a moment before he nodded his head. “Alright, get outside as soon as possible. Wanda seemed nervous, which makes me nervous,” he said. You nodded in agreement, and he gave you one last smile before he closed the door. You could hear the stairs creaking under his weight as you opened up the manila folder in your hands and placed it on the small table next to your door. You grabbed the pen off the table and quickly flicked through the documents, signing your name and initialing wherever it told you to. With one last flourish of your pen you snapped the folder closed and grabbed the keys to your apartment. You yanked the door open and bounded down the stairs. You weren’t sure if it was luck or not, but Dean was in the back, likely getting ready to close down for the night.

“Dean!” you said, jogging up to him.

“Hey, what’s up, (Y/N)? When did you get back?” he asked, looking from you to the staircase that led to your apartment then back to you. He spotted the manila folder in your hands and the look of confusion on his face only grew.

“Doesn’t matter,” you said as you grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the nearest counter. You pulled out your pen and opened the manila folder. “Sign this here and here and initial here, here, and here,” you said, marking the spots you mentioned with x’s.

“What’s this all about, (Y/N)?” he asked, glancing from you to the papers.

“Trust me, please, Dean. I don’t have time to explain,” you said, desperate. You didn’t know how long Steve and Wanda would wait.

“Alright, alright,” he said, quickly filling out the paperwork.

You beamed up at him. “The cafe and apartment are yours now, Dean. For real, this time. The apartment’s been paid for till the end of the year,” you said. The look of delighted shock on his face was something you’d never forget.

“What? Wait, (Y/N)- What-!” he tried to get your attention, but you were already headed through the door to the cafe’s main room.

“Take good care of my damn cafe, Dean!” you yelled back to him. “You too, Tali, Kate!” you said, waving to them as you opened the door. Not understanding the situation they happily waved back, promising they would with yes, ma’am!’s.

You stepped through the door, Dean hot on your heels, but when he stepped through the doorway and blinked against the light of the sun, it was like you’d vanished from right in front of him. He looked up and down the sidewalk in alarm, but you were nowhere to be found. A car came down the street and something about it caught Dean’s attention. He glanced at it and he swore he saw you waving at him through the back window, index finger over your lips in a conspiratorial smile. He also thought he saw Captain America throw him a salute from the seat beside yours in the back. Was that the Scarlet Witch driving?

Dean blinked rapidly, but, just like you had a moment ago, the car seemed to vanish; there one minute and gone the next.

“I trust Captain America,” came your voice in his memories. You’d said that a few days ago when he’d insulted the Winter Soldier and the Captain.

“Oh, you sly bitch,” he said, grinning. “You could have at least introduced me,” he said, laughing as he turned back to the cafe. His cafe. “Can’t even tell anyone that Captain America was in the damn place,” he groaned quietly, resigning himself to the fact that telling people Steve had been there would only cause problems. “Stay safe, Boss,” he whispered, throwing one last glance over his shoulder before he went back inside.

You made it out of the city and began traveling west. Steve dozed quietly in the seat next to you and you briefly considered joining him in his napping endeavors, but decided to try to get to know the other person in the car a little better, instead. You carefully clamored towards the passenger seat up front, deftly avoiding bumping Steve’s outstretched legs. Wanda watched you with amusement as you not-so-gracefully plopped down into the seat next to her.

“Hi,” you said lamely. You were careful to speak quietly so you wouldn’t wake Steve.

“Hi,” she said, smirking at you.

“Where are we headed?” you asked, peering at the road ahead of you. You were out of the big city now, so trees and residential areas lined the freeway.

“We’re meeting up with the rest of the guys, then we’re headed somewhere safe... Well, safer,” she informed you.

“’The rest of the guys’?” you asked, confused.

“Ah, yeah. The rest of the pariahs on the run from the combined might of the world’s governments. Scott, Sam, and Clint,” she said, ticking them off on her fingers.

“Clint is Hawkeye, right? And Sam is the Falcon?” you asked.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she said, smiling at you.

“I have no idea which one Scott is, though,” you said, racking your brain for a face to place the name to.

“New addition as of a few days ago. His alias is Ant-Man,” she said. You snorted and she grinned at you. “Yeah, I agree, not the best name, but he’s not someone to mess with. He can make himself so tiny he could kill you and you’d never see him coming... or he could make himself one hundred feet tall and squish you under his foot. Plus, he’s a good guy,” she said, chuckling at your stricken expression.

“Right, don’t cross Ant-Man. Got it,” you said, sighing as you leaned back in the seat.

She bit back a laugh, glancing into the back seat to make sure your conversation hadn’t woken Steve up. “No, they’re all softies. They’re excited to meet you, in fact. It’s not often Steve throws tactical logic to the wayside. There’s always a good reason for it, though,” she said, smiling softly at you. You felt your cheeks heat and looked out the window in lieu of facing her.

“We’re almost to the exit,” Steve said suddenly. You jumped at his deep voice, not expecting it.

“I know, I know. Stop backseat driving, grandpa,” Wanda said, turning on her blinker to merge into the right lane.

“Hey, I just want to make sure we don’t miss the exit. We don’t have time to turn around if we miss it,” he said leaning forward between the front seats. You turned to look at him and he smiled at you, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and you could tell he was trying to gauge how you were feeling. Not willing to disappoint him, you put on a brave smile.

“And whose fault is that?” Wanda asked, rolling her eyes as she turned off the freeway.

Steve winced slightly and turned to give Wanda an apologetic smile. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry about that,” he said amicably.

“Apology accepted,” she said, smirking at him. “They said they’d meet us at the Waffle House, right?” she asked, peering at the freeway sign that directed travelers to the nearest food and lodging.

“Yeah. Looks like it’s a left at the light,” Steve said, ducking his head to look at the sign through the windshield.

A few minutes later you pulled into the Waffle House parking lot. A few cars were parked here and there, but Wanda pulled up next to a large nondescript black SUV.

“Why is it always the large black SUV’s? Don’t you people realize they’re conspicuous in that they’re always thought to be inconspicuous?” you asked, looking at Wanda and Steve in exasperation.

Wanda laughed and Steve opened the door and hopped out, opening yours before you had the chance. Ever the gentleman, your Stevie.

“Actually, that’s our ride,” Steve said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder and you laughed.

“Nice one, Stevie,” you said, walking over to the black SUV.

“Uh, (Y/N)... I wasn’t joking,” Steve said, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Though I wish he was,” Wanda said, grimacing at the monstrosity Steve had pointed at.

Across the parking lot was an ugly, decrepit yellow and white van straight out of the mid 70′s. The paint was peeling at the bottom and you could tell from here the current paint job was hiding countless ones before it. You could still barely make out giant, loopy flowers all over the sides.

“Well, I suppose I’d never expect to find an Avenger in there,” you admitted, glaring at the van as though it had killed your dog.

Steve grabbed your bag out of the trunk of the car and together you, he, and Wanda walked over to the vehicular eyesore. Steve knocked on the double side doors, glancing around as he did so. You glanced over your shoulder, too, suddenly aware you were with the world’s most wanted people on earth. This wasn’t how you expected today to go.

“Password?” came a voice from inside, the source of which you could see moving behind the bright orange curtains that seemed to be on every window but the front three. The person who said it seemed to be going for a Gandalf-esque voice.

“Scott, is that you? Open up,” Steve said, shifting uncomfortably as he threw another look over his shoulder.

“Incorrect, try again,” said the voice again.

“Scott, it’s me, Wanda, and-” Steve began

“Man what are you doing? Open the damn door,” said a different voice.

“Hey, it could be a-” the voice’s protests stopped abruptly as the door swung open, squeaking horrifically.

“Shit, I need to oil that thing,” one of the men behind the door said. You recognized his voice as the one asking for a password.

“Man, you need to do a lot of things to this rust bucket. Maybe get your head checked while you’re at it, too, Tic-Tac,” said the second man.

“Scott. Sam,” Steve said in greeting, tossing the bag to the second man, who threw it behind him into the back of the van.

“Oh, hey, Cap. Wanda. You must be (Y/N). I’m Scott, AKA Ant-Man,” the first guy said, nodding his head in greeting. You nodded back, smiling slightly. You recognized the other Man as the Falcon; Sam Wilson.

“Move over, Scott,” Wanda said as she clambered into the van.

Your eyes adjusted to the dim light inside and you laughed out loud. It was covered from top to bottom in atrocious orange shag carpet. Only the front two seats remained. The rest had been gutted to make room for a huge, equally orange and atrocious couch. A smaller loveseat behind the driver’s seat faced backwards. It was, at least, not orange. It was, instead, a hideous, stained zebra stripe pattern.

“You guys are running from the world government in a shaggin wagon?” you asked, hand clamped over your mouth in an attempt to stifle your giggles as you climbed into the van.

“Yeah, well, it was all we could get on short notice,” came a voice from the driver’s seat. “I’m Clint, by the way,” he said, extending a hand to you. You hunched over so your head wouldn’t hit the ceiling and shook his hand.

“I know. Nice to meet you, Hawkeye,” you said, winking at him. He beamed back at you.

“See? She knows who I am,” he said, inexplicably proud.

“Yes, we’re all very happy for you, Clint,” Wanda said, rolling her eyes as she sat down in the passenger seat. “Are you still upset about what T’Challa said?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“No,” he said obstinately. He was clearly still upset.

“It’s okay, Clint. I still don’t think anyone on their team knows who I am,” Scott said, shooting Clint a commiserative look in the rear-view mirror.

“Thanks, Scott,” Clint said, grinning. “Are we all ready?” he asked as Steve hopped in after you and closed the doors.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” Steve said, taking a seat on the bright orange couch. The van jolted as it came to life. The engine didn’t sound healthy and you wondered for a second if it would explode, but Clint shifted gears and soon it was rolling out of the Waffle House parking lot towards the main street.

You took a seat next to Steve on the couch, not entirely comfortable around the others yet. They seemed nice, just like Wanda said, but you weren’t up to snuff yet after everything that had happened today. You weren’t sure you ever would be, but Steve’s presence offered you some relative safety. There was a short scuffle for the Zebra seat, which Scott lost. Sam plopped down in it, looking superior as Scott sat dejectedly down on the floor.

“Better luck next time, Tic-Tac,” Sam said, shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“You say that, but I’m pretty sure those stains should be considered bio hazards,” Scott said, smirking up at Sam, who suddenly looked much less pleased with himself.

“Sorry for showing up so late,” Steve said, scratching the back of his neck guiltily.

“Don’t sweat it Steve. You still had a half hour to spare,” Sam said, throwing his friend a grin.

“Yeah, and now it’s obvious why you arrived so much later than we expected,” Clint said from the driver’s seat. You saw him glance at you and Steve and wink to the blond beside you. You glanced at Steve out of the corner of your eye and smiled. His cheeks were distinctly tinged pink.

“Gear safe in the back?” Steve asked, glancing over his shoulder, eager for a change of topic.

“Yup, loaded it all myself,” Clint said as he turned onto the freeway. “Did you stay out of sight in New York?” he asked, glancing at Steve and Wanda.

“Define ‘out of sight’,” Wanda said, grimacing.

“Really, guys?” Clint asked, exasperated.

“Wanda made sure no one noticed us,” Steve said defensively.

“Do her powers work on street cameras now, too?” Clint asked.

“Well I short-circuited the ones I noticed. But no, I can’t guarantee I fried all of them. It’s why I made sure Steve didn’t dawdle any longer than necessary,” Wanda explained.

“Well, what’s done is done. We’ll just have to hope Tony and Nat still like us enough to keep the government off our trail long enough for us to get underground,” Clint said as he cajoled the van into a legal freeway speed.

“Sorry,” you said quietly.

“Hey, now. This isn’t your fault. It’s that big blond idiot next to you’s,” Sam said as he crossed his arms and smirked at Steve.

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve said sarcastically, grinning back at Sam.

“No problem, man,” Sam said, toothy grin lighting up his whole face.

“How far out are we?” Scott asked Clint from where he laid on the floor.

“If you ask me ‘are we there yet?’ I swear I’ll kick you out of this car while it’s speeding down the freeway,” Clint threatened.

Wanda snorted. “Does it count as speeding if we’re only going-” a pause as she checked the speedometer “- fifty-three?”

“Yeah, I think I’d probably survive that. It might not even hurt,” Scott said, brows furrowed as he, presumably, played the situation out in his head.

“Not the point, Scott,” Clint said, sighing.

“Looks like we’re about eight hours out,” Wanda said, looking up from the road map you’d only just noticed.

“A physical map? Why are you traveling so low tech?” you asked, eyebrow quirked.

“Oh, right. Can I see your phone?” Steve said, holding out a hand.

“Which one?” you asked, pulling them both out of your pockets.

“Both, actually,” Steve said as he took them from you and threw them up to Wanda, who caught them with her powers. She rolled down the window with one of her hands and you enjoyed the fresh air for about .3 seconds before Wanda crushed both of your phones and threw them out of the window into the roadside brush.

“What-” you began, shocked.

“Tracking devices, built in GPS, all that shit,” Scott said. Sam nodded along as he spoke.

“Yeah, but why my-” you began again.

“There’s a chance there’s footage of you with us. Of your own accord. Can’t risk your phones being tracked,” Wanda said, smiling apologetically at you as she rolled up the window.

You let out a long sigh, wiping a hand over your face in exasperation. “Fine, fine. I understand,” you said as you leaned back into the lumpy orange couch.

“Hey, how did you find Steve in Berlin, anyway?” Sam asked, leaning forward to stare at you.

You squirmed at the sudden attention as everyone but Clint turned to look at you. Even Steve looked at you expectantly.

“Well, uh, you see- that’s a funny story-”

An hour later you’d told them about everything that had happened to you starting from the Battle of New York. You made them promise to keep their questions till the end.

“You mean you fought off those Chitauri bastards with two teenage baristas?” Clint asked, clearly impressed.

“And a small army’s worth of ammo,” you said, embarrassed.

“Huh,” Scott said eloquently, looking at you with newfound respect.

“You were the one who found Steve on the riverbank in D.C. after everything had gone to shit?” Sam asked.

“I just stumbled onto him by accident,” you said, cheeks heating as you remembered him latching onto you as though he was still drowning. You realized now the man you’d seen leaving the clearing was Bucky. Steve seemed to sense your tempestuous emotions because he reached over to hold your hand in his. The gesture wasn’t something the rest of the team missed, but they didn’t say anything.

Instead, Scott spoke up. “Wait you really didn’t know you’d been hanging out with the Winter Soldier? His face was plastered all over the news,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I, ah, don’t watch the news much. I was pretty busy moving during the time the news about D.C. was airing.” You had more to say, but you couldn’t do it. Even thinking about Bucky was starting to bring back that dark feeling in your heart. You squeezed Steve’s hand. It was, once again, the only thing keeping you grounded. He realized you were starting to spiral so he pulled you into his lap, hugging you to his chest.

If you were able to see anything but Steve’s broad chest you would’ve seen the matching looks of surprise on Scott and Sam’s faces. Wanda had already seen Steve act like that around you, so she wasn’t surprised, and Clint nodded his head as though a question he had had just been answered.

“Wanna take a nap, Dollface?” he asked, the nickname he and Bucky used for Rosie slipping out.

If you noticed, you didn’t show it. You nodded, cheek rubbing against his chest. He smiled and cradled you in his arms as he stood, careful not to hit his head on the van’s low ceiling, and placed you gently down on the couch. You reached out and grabbed his hand, pleading with your eyes for him to stay within reach, not wanting to say it aloud around so many strangers. He smiled sadly down at you and sat in front of the couch and leaned up against it. He sat close to your head, slightly blocking your face from view of the others. You threw an arm over his shoulder and he reached up and held onto your hand, rubbing your palm gently with his thumb.

You fell asleep more quickly than you thought you would. Your mind seemed to choose to knock itself out rather than have another breakdown and you didn’t feel like fighting it on its choice, the gentle sway of the van helping to lull you to sleep.

Steve’s POV

Steve didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know you’d fallen asleep. Your grip on his hand had loosened and your breathing had evened out, but he continued to rub your palm gently.

“There’s more, isn’t there? Stuff she left out?” Sam asked quietly, eyeing the way you and Steve sat together.

Steve let out a sigh. “Yeah, there is,” he said quietly, not wanting to wake you.

“Wanna start with... this?” Sam asked, gesturing to the two of you.

Steve sighed, glancing back at you before he gently released your hand. You frowned a little in your sleep but otherwise didn’t stir. Steve pulled back his left sleeve and held it out for the others to see.

“Your... brand? RAF? What does that have to do with anything? Those aren’t even her initials,” Scott said, brows furrowing in confusion.

“No, they’re not... but they were,” he said, frowning. Comprehension dawned on Scott, Sam, and even Wanda’s face from where she sat in the front seat, listening in on the conversation.

“You mean she’s the reincarnation of this RAF?” Sam asked, stunned.

“Rose Alice Foster was her name back then. We met when we were five. I knew the second I saw her she was my soul mate. Still, we didn’t show each other our brands right away. We were both scared they might not match, y’know? But when we were eight Rosie convinced me, and, sure enough, they matched.

“She loved reading. She’d read while I’d draw. Bucky would join us sometimes and read comics. She loved lilacs and hated celery. She was fascinated by cars and technology; it was her dream to meet Howard Stark,” he said, his gaze eighty years in the past as he reminisced.

After a moment his gaze darkened. “She was always kind of unwell. She had a lot of health problems, like I did, back before the serum. But hers were worse, and by thirteen she had trouble going outside. She couldn’t go to school anymore for risk of catching something and getting even sicker. By fourteen she was in the hospital year-round. For two years I watched as she lost the fight to the diseases that ate away at her until she finally passed in her sleep the day after her sixteenth birthday. Her family, Bucky, and I had had a get-together in her hospital room for her birthday. She didn’t even have the energy to blow out the candles on her cake. Bucky and I did it for her. Her parents had smiled as they cried, not wanting to make her sad, too,” he said, staring at the ground. Eighty years hadn’t done anything to soften the pain of that time.

There was a long pause. “Jesus, Steve, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge all of that up,” Sam said, voice solemn.

“It’s alright, Sam. I know you didn’t,” Steve said, giving Sam a sad half smile.

“There’s still more, isn’t there?” Wanda said, eyes searching Steve’s.

Steve let out a year’s worth of sighs. “Yeah, there is,” he said.

“You don’t have to-” Scott began but Steve shook his head.

“But I should. I think it’s better you guys understand what’s going on so you don’t say anything to set her off accidentally, but I think it’s too painful and fresh for her to say it herself,” he said, taking a deep breath. His team members frowned, but they trusted his decision.

“Back when we were ten or so I was staying over at Bucky’s house. In the middle of the night I woke up to Bucky hitting me in his sleep. I moved his arm off of me but not before I noticed his soul brand. I’d never seen Bucky’s brand because he just told me what it said, instead. I remember he told me it was ‘HRL.’ That was a lie. On Bucky’s left wrist was an exact copy of the letters on my wrist,” Steve said.

The was a collective gasp from the others. “I’ve... never heard about that happening before,” Wanda said, raising an eyebrow at Steve.

“Me neither,” Scott said, confused.

“I hadn’t either at the time. I never said anything to him about it. I didn’t want to lose my best friend. I didn’t want Rosie to lose hers, either. Bucky meant as much to us as we meant to him, I think. Still, a part of me always wondered why he never cut us out of his life. It must have been painful. A lesser man would have been broken by it, I think. But not Bucky. He was with me, no matter what happened. Always there to help me, especially after Rosie passed. He was the only other one who understood how much she meant to me,” Steve said, glancing back at you. He smiled softly and brushed a piece of hair out of your face. Your frown lessened slightly as you slept.

“Hell, I think I owe that stupid tin man an apology... and a beer,” Sam said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Steve nearly let out a chuckle at that. “If I knew all it took to get you two on good terms was to tell you about our tragic pasts I would have sat you down for story time a long time ago, Sam,” Steve said, smirking.

“Oh shut up, Steve,” Sam said, smiling, and turned his head away, waving a hand dismissively.

“She wasn’t just hanging out with him in Bucharest, was she?” Scott asked from his spot on the ground. Sam gave him a swift kick in the side. “Ow! Dude!” he protested.

Sam gave him a distinct what the fuck gesture, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

After a second they both turned their attention back to Steve, who stared at the ground. After a moment he shook his head slowly, mouth pulled in a tight line.

“Man, you’re not even mad at him, are you?” asked Sam resignedly.

“How could I be? He loved her just as much as I did. Should I hate him for falling in love with her again? Should I hate her for falling in love with him?” Steve asked, heart heavy.

After a moment Sam let out a long sigh. “Fine, fine. I still don’t like it, though,” he said, crossing his arms.

Steve opened his mouth to respond, but Clint cut him off. “We’re getting off at this exit for food and supplies. We could really use your girl’s help, Steve. She’s much less conspicuous than us,” Clint said, glancing at your sleeping form in the rear-view  mirror.

“No, I’m not putting her in danger like that,” Steve said obstinately. Something in his voice roused you from your sleep. You let out a small noise of discontent as you sat up, rubbing sleep from your eyes. You stretched, grimacing. There was a horrible crick in your neck.

“Wuzz goin’ on?” you asked eloquently, glancing around the van.

“Mornin’ sleeping beauty,” Sam said cheerily. Scott gave you a little wave which you returned absentmindedly.

“Wanna go shopping?” Clint asked from the front seat.

“Clint,” Steve said, warning clear in his voice.

“Shopping? For what?” you asked, glancing between Clint and Steve.

“Food and supplies, mostly,” Clint said, smiling.

“Clint-” Steve began again.

“It’s a shopping trip, Steve. Not a mission to break into the Pentagon. It’ll be okay,” Clint argued as he pulled off of the freeway.

“If anything happens, we’re better equipped to deal with it,” Steve argued.

“Wait, I have an idea that’ll make everyone happy,” Scott piped up from the ground.

“Well, let’s hear it, Tic-Tac,” Sam said, eager to end the bickering.

Chapter 11

This series is finished, but if you want to be tagged in my other fics, check out this post! Sorry, but responses to this post asking to be tagged will be ignored, so send me an ask or like one of the taglist posts!

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