#a predictable one too but I STILL WANT YOU MORE THAN MATT NO SHADE

[bluesidez]

MY BEE HAS DONE IT ONCE AGAIN.

WE’RE SO BACK!!!

dear reader - chapter 9

summary: Miguel took the reader’s love and friendship for granted. Something he learns reading her column, when it’s too late…Or is it?

ship: miguel o'hara x f!reader // matt murdock x reader

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Chapter 9

It was a Saturday night and, to everyone’s surprise, including his own, Miguel O’Hara was at home. And alone. He couldn’t even remember the last time it happened. There always was a party, a bar somewhere, a date. And you. The closest he had to quiet Saturday nights in the past few years were your movie nights. 

You’d organize the whole thing perfectly: there was a theme for the night and the movies and snacks had to follow it accordingly. Sylvester Stallone night? Get ready to watch as many Rocky movies as you can. Molly Ringwald night? Get the tissues, you’ll pretend not to cry during Pretty in Pink and Miguel will do the same with The Breakfast Club. 

It was mostly just the two of you at his place, laying on his couch — a very comfortable one, since Miguel actually took your opinion into consideration when buying it —, talking during the movies, eventually trying your best to not let the other fall asleep. 

As he scrolled through Netflix trying to choose something to watch, Miguel thought about how much he missed those impromptu movie nights. He used to pretend to be annoyed by you quoting the lines or telling him gossip about the actors on screen, but he actually loved it. That was when you were the most comfortable, just being your most authentic self. 

Miguel hadn’t stopped to examine those memories so far. He just assumed it would always be there. That you would always be there. 

That was kind of stupid of him to think. Of course at some point you’d meet someone and your priorities would change. There were a few times in the past when he wondered why you weren’t going out and having dates. He just assumed you were picky — as you should be. But now he knows the truth.

That made him revisit the past. What your movie nights would’ve been like if Miguel knew you were in love with him? He wasn’t sure of how he would react to that without you leaving for a month and him finding out about your column. 

Your writing was another thing Miguel had never given much thought. He knew you did it for work, but didn’t care to ask about or look into. Out of everything, that was one of his biggest regrets. When he started reading your column, he realized how much writing was a part of your identity — and if he didn’t know that, did he know you at all? 

Miguel was so captivated by your work that he read all of your columns in one night, coming back to one or another every now and then. It was fascinating learning about this other side of you, the way you were bold, funny and kind, even when facing sadness. His heart was full of regret, but also some longing. Now that he knew all of that new information about you, he was curious to learn more. From you though. As much as Miguel loved the column, there was something in him that was burning his desire to hang out with you again, pay close attention to everything you say or do. It wasn’t like he was in love with you. At least, that’s what he told himself. He was just…curious.

There wasn’t an easy way to do that, though. Things were sort of weird between the two of you. After the night of the blackout, that ended with you leaving his place to meet Matt, you didn’t really talk. Unlike other times, you didn’t break the ice and restarted the communication with him. That was what he was used to. It had been a couple of weeks and you hadn’t contacted him at all.

Neither had Miguel. He kept checking his phone, waiting for a text, but didn’t take any action. Lyla wouldn’t stop telling him he should be the one to go after you, but he always found something else to do: more work, more meetings, more time at the gym, even though it was clear there was something else on his mind. 

It didn’t sit well with him the thought of you spending your Saturday night with Matt. Miguel didn’t know the guy, just enough to know he was perfect boyfriend material — Pav’s words, not his. Apparently, the man did everything: saved the poor and the innocent with his practice, was fit and very good at boxing, he was smooth as fuck (Hobie’s words) and, on top of it all, Matt Murdock was blind. How does one compete with that? 

Not that Miguel wants to compete or anything. Once again, he was just…curious. His words.

There was nothing to watch on Netflix. He searched for his guilty pleasure, instead:

Dear reader,

Please tell me if I’m crazy or not, but whenever I get to experience good things, I can’t relax. Do you ever feel this way? It’s like something bad is waiting for me right around the corner and I must be ready to handle it. I guess I’m just so used to handling tough situations, I don’t really know how to just live and enjoy the good ones. 

Being human is wild. You might spend your entire life looking for something and, when you finally find it, it isn’t what you thought or correspond to the expectations you created around it. 

I remember watching this video of a talk Tavi Gevinson from Rookie gave at an australian university. She became famous at 13 for sharing her several irreverent looks on her blog. That made her be noticed by the fashion industry and, not long after, she was sitting in the front row at incredible fashion runaways. It was something Tavi, like so many girls, dreamed of. Except, actually being at those places wasn’t as fun as she thought. She said she had more fun looking through fashion magazines in her childhood bedroom. 

That leads me to the question: is what you want the most what you actually need?

There are no wrong answers. I have no idea of what my answer would be. One can feel so many things all at once. It can be hard to act according to reason depending on the circumstances.

Take Love is Blind, for instance. Those people are confined with a bunch of strangers, competing for the same matches, without any access to the outside world. I have the feeling just taking their phones away would already make them spiral, so imagine all these restrictions at the same time. Plus all the alcohol the producers probably give them. It’s vulnerable and isolating, so no wonder the participants are telling how much they love each other on the first “date”.

Nine out of ten times, watching the couples leaving that bubble together to face real life is brutal. Nothing is what it seems. Nor are people. That you wanted the most, might not be the right fit for you. 

Yes, I know it’s just a reality show, but what does one do after realizing all that? Asking for a friend. 

Really, I’d love to know your opinions. Please write back telling me what you think.

Talk to you soon. Until then, never take advice from someone who’s falling apart.

Love, 

The writer

***

Matt Murdock was perfect. Sweet, kind and extremely hot type of perfect. He loved his neighborhood and, in turn, was loved by his neighbors. Not to mention his law firm was always on the news, bringing down the powerful to give justice to the little guy. 

All of that to say, Matt Murdock was a busy guy.

The two of you had been planning another fancy date for a few weeks. Things had been even crazier lately: the blackout caused all sorts of problems across the city, creating a high demand for lawyers. Which meant Matt had been working non stop.

His commitment with the law and making sure that people wouldn’t be taken advantage of was something you really admired about him. He cared for his clients and wanted the best for the city. So, whenever you were out with him, you had to make sure you were “on”.

On Saturday night, you and Matt had plans to order take out and listen to some podcasts — the two of you loved binging true crime ones. But it was 10pm, two hours later than the time he was supposed to be at your place. You had spent the day cleaning it, washing the sheets and towels with the type of detergent you saw at his place, since Matt was really sensitive about textures and smells, and taking care of yourself, scrubbing your body, doing a nice face mask, the whole deal.

In his defense, Matt did call you a little after 8pm letting you know he would be late. He was also very apologetic about it, which you appreciated. You tried your best not to be irritated, which made you feel guilty, as if you were a monster for wanting a little more from Matt when other people needed him. It wasn’t like you were his girlfriend or anything. That topic has never come up.

You hadn’t heard from him since, but also didn’t want to be that girl who keeps calling him when she knows he’s busy. And God, you were starving. You did eat a few chips while you waited, just enough to calm your stomach without making you lose your appetite. That had been about an hour ago.

Your phone started ringing. 

“Hey, sweetheart”, said Matt.

“Hi, Matt”, you try to use your calmest, most comprehensive voice. “How are you holding up?”

“There is still so much to do”, he sighs. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to your place. I’m so sorry.”

You felt like you were about to cry.

“That’s okay, Matty, I understand.”

“I was thinking that maybe you could meet me here at the office…There is a 24 hour chinese restaurant down the street, we could have dinner there and I’ll come back to work after. How does that sound?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

“You won’t be interrupting anything. I need a break and I miss you, it works out perfectly”, he said, with some pep in his voice.

You melted a little. Matt Murdock had the power to disarm you just like that.

“Okay, I’ll call a cab and meet you there soon.”

“Can’t wait, sweetheart.”

***

Dinner with Matt was nice and quick. Soon enough you were in another cab, this time going home. 

You had a good time. It’s always good when Matt is around, you are able to focus on spending quality time with him instead of doubting yourself and creating crazy theories in your head. Distance, in your case, didn’t make the heart grow fonder, just more insecure. And you hated it.

You hated feeling like that. Back when you were crying over Miguel, you thought that experiencing reciprocal love would fix everything. Clearly, you were wrong. Apparently this shit was going to follow you for the rest of your life. Great. 

When you got home, you took your shoes and earrings off, then threw yourself on the couch. You closed your eyes and sighed, your body relaxing with all the comfort you surround yourself with. That’s how you envisioned that night: you, Matt and lots of cuddles. 

Before you start to feel about yourself once more, your phone vibrated. 

gweny 👻: this is past me asking you to tell future me all about your date!!!

you: I’m already back at home. he had a lot of work to do 🙁

gweny 👻: i thought you were staying in

gweny 👻: so sorry, love, are you ok though?

you: I’m fine

gweny 👻: which means youre not 👀

you: 🙄

gweny 👻: wanna talk about it?

you: not really

you: how about you? how is your night going?

gweny 👻: came to a concert with pav and hobie

gweny 👻: hobie swore by this new band

you: I’m guessing they sucked

gweny 👻: it was just loud noises and the vocalist screaming

gweny 👻: not even in a heavy metal type of way, it was just bad

gweny 👻: but of course no one is saying shit, one of the guys is the son of the owner of this shithole

you: not fucking nepotism

gweny 👻: i hate it here

you: is there anyone cute at least?

Gwen didn’t answer, which means there was someone worth her time. She was so good at meeting new people, showing herself to them. So brave. Or rather, fearless. It was fascinating watching her going through life. 

You made a mental note to make dinner plans with Gwen the next week.

Getting up from the couch to bed, you were cold and all you really wanted was to roll into the blanket as if you were a burrito, only your head catching outside air. 

Once the lights were all out and you got into position, you grabbed your phone one last time to check if Gwen had sent you any more messages. 

Nothing from her. You scroll through your texts and then open the spam tab, which you always ignored. There was one unread message on the top. It was from Miguel, sent just an hour ago. 

Why was he texting you on a Saturday night? Didn’t he have a date or some woman’s life to ruin?

Curiosity gets the best of you and that leads you to unblock his number. His text then went to your inbox.

migs 😡: just wanted to let u know that I watched that movie u like so much

migs 😡: the one with the redhead that time travels inside a closet

migs 😡: gotta say I really tried to give it a chance, cariño

migs 😡: but the science didn’t check out

migs 😡: you know how much I hate when it happens

You let out a laugh under the covers. It was like you could hear his voice complaining about how the movie wasn’t realistic. Miguel was a man of science, it really bothered him not being able to understand how things happened. It drove you crazy for years, until you decided to only watch the so-called “realistic” films when you were with him.

It was impossible not to feel a little boost of energy going through your body. It didn’t know you were getting over him, so it just reacted as it would before. The smile on your face, though, would be a bit harder to explain. 

migs 😡: please send another rec

migs 😡: need to clean my palate

Annoying stubborn man. You were not responding. 

But, maybe you could troll him, that would be fun. That would distract you from the fact it’s a saturday night and Miguel is watching a movie you talked about God knows when. Or texting you when he could be texting anyone. 

You needed to chill. Those messages don’t change anything.

you: in the heights

There were so many reasons he would hate it: first, it was a musical, which he despises, second, it had scenes that defied science, like a couple walking on a building’s wall, and third, he hated Lin Manuel Miranda. Whenever you asked him why, Miguel would just mumble words in spanish. You think once you heard him saying something like “he’s fucking everywhere”, but you weren’t sure. 

migs 😡: so she talks

migs 😡: and she unblocked me 

migs 😡: gracias

you: you keep complaining about my favorite movies and I’ll block you again really quickly

migs 😡: why so mad cariño

migs 😡: I come in piece

migs 😡: peace***

you: not mad just cautious

migs 😡: why cautious 

you: cuz you’re texting me late at night and you’ve never done that before

migs 😡: I prefer texting during business hours

you: oh pls

migs 😡: you go to bed earlier than my grandma

you: obviously not since I’m talking to you rn

migs 😡: but I bet an empanada u r fighting against sleep

You were. You really were.

you: you know nothing

you: answer me

migs 😡: what mi cariño

you: dont mi cariño me

migs 😡: so salty

you: 🙄

you: answer me pendejo

migs 😡: what

migs 😡: I forgot the question

migs 😡: fr

you: why are you texting me 

you: at this ungodly hour

The three dots on screen showed Miguel was typing. Whatever it was, he kept typing, stopping and then going back, as if he was writing and then deleting his text. It made you a little nervous, knowing he was taking so long just to answer your question.

After a couple minutes, you can’t handle your anxiety anymore and got up from bed. In the bathroom, you took your sweet time brushing your teeth and flossing. Next, you went to the kitchen and grabbed yourself a glass of water and stared at the city view at the window. 

You told yourself that you’re not going to let Miguel O’Hara confuse you or your feelings. He was probably just feeling lonely and you were his last resource, the person that would be available to him, even after weeks of silence. Maybe a sign saying STUPID is hanging from your neck, because you fell right into it. 

It’s also kind of cruel on his part. Almost like he knows you’re happy with Matt and your attention is on him and not Miguel. And Miguel can be very territorial and charming. Once he has your attention, he will get bored and move on with his life. You’ve seen it happen too many times. 

No, you couldn’t feel excited or nervous about talking to him. Hope was what destroyed you last time. And you couldn’t repeat your mistakes. You owned it to yourself.

You wait a few minutes before going back to the room. You sat on the bed, took a deep breath and checked your phone for new texts. One from Miguel. 

migs 😡: because i miss u

Oh, well, you were fucked.

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<< chapter 8

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masterlist

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taglist

@boobsbeesbongos @sassypotatomoose @bluesidez

@miss-canon-event @mattsgirlsworld @the-witheredroses

@spicydonut25 @ohara-whore @atenceladusiaawfytbwb

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Dear readers,

It's been a while, but I'm still here. These past months I've been working on my post grad thesis, which left very little headspace for any additional writing. Now that it's done, I won't disappear for too long, promise!

I missed writing these two. How do you feel about the character development in this chapter? Please tell me in the comments.

Thank you so much for the love you've showed this story 🩷 I really appreciate it.

Read my other fics:

💌 a very good idea (Miguel O'Hara x reader)

💌Santi's journal (Santiago Garcia x reader)

💌 now that we don't talk (Poe Dameron x reader)

💌 Listen to the 'dear reader' playlist — new songs added for each chapter.

💌 I'm also on ao3

Take care of yourselves!

Love, The writer

[asclepius-erebus]

Nevarro

Title: Personal Eden (Ongoing)

Chapter 3: Nevarro

Rating: Mature (17+)

Word Count: 4.3k

TW: mentions of abuse (lmk if I should include any more!)

The next day, as anticipated, you land on Nevarro, where upon disembarking a flurry of droids scurry up to the ship.

“Hey!” Mando yells, paralyzing all the droids, “No droids!”

You learn that the baby is not in fact Mando’s, but a foundling he’d taken up first as a quarry but then adopted. You’re not sure what’s so special about this child, but for it to have a bounty over it’s head before it can intelligibly speak seemed cruel enough, and you don’t ask any further questions.

You also learned that Mando is a man of few words. He tends to keep his responses curt and to-the-point; and never straying away from the subject of conversation. From your observation, he has not gone onto tangents or disclosed any new information, willingly, that did not immediately pertain to the topic. It made it even more difficult for you to learn anything new about him, his character, humors, and appearance. He is a complete mystery, and yet you find him fascinating all the while he continues to intimidate with both his outward appearance, and lack of openness.

The day on Nevarro is grey despite the sky being totally clear. The landscape isn’t strikingly beautiful like some of the other planets you’ve been on with Malsifer. It’s gritty, dusty, and terribly suffocating. The air feels dense and warm, that kind that made you feel sticky and uncomfortable. The sky is a dull blue, but blue nontheless.

Since joining Mando on his ship, he’d allowed you the time to wash off the caked on makeup from the other night, some of which you’d cried off, like your ruby red lips. It was a nice color, you were fond of how well it complimented your skin and the shape of your lips- but it had overstayed its time on your face and it was time for it to go.

However, upon stepping onto the rough planet, you realize how out of place you appear to be. Not only is the green alien child perched on your hip and babbling to himself, but you’re still dressed in what Mando had rescued you in a few days ago. The wispy fabrics fluttered in the subtle warm breezes, carrying with them the muted but bright colors of an oceanside sunset of lavender, magenta, and gold. You felt exposed among the muted and dark colors that Mando and his child limited themselves to, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Mando’s child begins to fuss, deciding that he wanted to meander around in the dirt as Mando took a few steps towards an unfamiliar man. The man is of a darker complexion, though his beard and hair suggests he is of a wiser age, and extended a friendly hand to shake. They must already know each other.  

The child giggles and laughs, grasping and tossing any rocks he finds on the ground. You crouch to his level, structuring his play by tossing him back the rocks he’d thrown. From this, he giggles excitedly.

~~

“Greef.” Mando greets the aging man, Greef Karga, approaching him at the opening to the city, densely lined with clay houses and open markets. It teems with a unique variety of inhabitants and passersby- like Mando, who does not stand out in the crowd as obviously as the brightly colored dresses his new acquaintance was dressed in. That, was something he’d address soon enough.

“Mando.” Greef smiles, eyes lighting up upon seeing the familiar helmet, “How are you old friend?”

Mando looks over his shoulder at his companions before returning his attention to Greef, “Surprised to be back. What are you doing out here?” He asks with a tired sigh.

Greef raises an inquisitive eyebrow, “I’m just as surprised to see you out here… Tying up a few loose ends. Who’s your new friend?”

Mando hooks his gloved fingers at the top of his chest plate, resting his arms casually over himself and relieving some of the weight of the Beskar on his shoulders, “That’s who I’m here to find some information about. She’s one of Malsifer’s.”

“Malsifer?” Greef’s eyes widen, “What is she? A quarry?”

Mando’s helmet shakes, “No, Malsifer was. Malsifer had an indentured servant situation and I need to know more about her… Anything would be useful, but especially any bank records.” Mando says quietly, sliding a small note with the name of his newest crewmate scribbled onto it.

Greef looks down at the note inquisitively, “Malsifer, huh? Doesn’t surprise me… He always rubbed me the wrong way… Though I’m not surprised that his luck, or lack of it, finally caught up to him.”

“She’s got no where to go. Is there any way you can find out anything about her that’s useful…?”

Greef looks between Mando and the cooing child and woman behind him, and then down at the name on the note, “Get back to me in an hour or two.”

~~

Mando turns to wave yourself and the baby to his side, the man with whom he was conversing with turning away and headed into the city.

“What was that about?” You ask, the baby occupying itself with a metal ball he’s produced from his bundle of clothing.

“Business.” He says briefly.

Business. You think to yourself, the most colorful response I’ve gotten since I boarded.

With the baby balanced on your hip, Mando navigates you both through the streets of a busy marketplace. Vendors line the streets and advertise their products and produce, crafts, and other items for sale, all ranging in complexity and beauty that you admire from a distance. The baby on your hip is thoroughly entertained with all the sights, sounds, and colors, teething on a pastry he managed to swipe off a vendor when they weren’t looking.

Of course you attract some attention. Not only did it not help that the baby you tote clearly is not yours, but your impractical and fluttering dresses had other passerby step and trip on them as you went- sending you a few gross side-eyes and raised eyebrows. You clutch what you can in your hands as you follow Mando’s glistening helmet through the crowd.

He approaches a stand fluttering with colorful fabrics, handcrafted designs embroidered to the hems of cloaks, dresses, and shirts. They’re all so pretty and wonderful to look at.

Mando begins a conversation with a middle aged woman at the stand in her native language, her weathered face and dark eyes glancing at you from time to time as Mando continues to explain something to her. She raises her hand and counts on her fingers as she explains something to him in response, Mando filling her palm with a few coins. Pleased, she nods and produces a neatly folded up wad of fabric. She extends it towards you with a forced but friendly smile.

“Something to cover yourself with for now…” Mando explains, “Later, on the ship, I can find you some clothes.”

Accepting the folded fabric, you briefly study its particular shade of purple. It’s dark and neutral, almost barely detectably purple should someone care enough and stare long enough at you. You unfold it to find an opening, and you slip it over your head, a hood catching on you as the rest of the fabric settles on your shoulders and over your torso. The baby gets caught in it too, but frees himself with a shake of his enormous head. It is a cloak, the fabric feeling pleasurably heavy on your figure and comfortable on your bare shoulders. It feels protective and warm, but breathable and completely functional as an everyday garment. Not only does it feel well, but it conceals you much better amongst everyone else.  

“I buy my cloaks off her.” Mando responds simply, the first time he’s shared a new fact about himself, “She’s also going to find you a pair of shoes.”

He’s right. Perhaps the pair of sandals tied at your ankles aren’t the best fit for a shoe to be blundering around planets with. It was certainly enough for the occasions you accompanied Malsifer to meeting his clients, and the extent of your time out in the elements was limited to barely nothing. Malsifer concerned himself more with whether you appeared to his liking and aesthetics.

The older woman returns, producing a short pair of dark brown leather boots of a matte finish. They are simple and easy to slip on, with no intricate buckles, zippers, or ties. They hug your feet comfortably and accomplishes all the criteria necessary for being a practical piece of footwear.

Mando glances around and hands the woman a few extra coins, nodding in thanks as she accepts them and waves kindly at the child on your hip.

“Thank you.” You tell Mando as the three of you walk away from the stand of fluttering fabrics. He doesn’t react, at least as far as you can observe from the faceless helmet that you looked at when speaking to him.

“We have some time before we meet up with Greef again.” Mando says, ignoring what you’d said, “We can-“

“-Take a look around.” You interrupt, your curiosity about the rest of the market piqued. Surely there were other useful and interesting things the three of you can look at other than the four metal walls of Mando’s ship.

Mando agrees, but you’re not necessarily sure if it was from acquiescence or genuine concurrence.

It is difficult to read him, you’ve noticed it bothering you, without any facial expressions and other visual cues to clue you into his mood. His body language was often also very grey and difficult to deduce. This is unlike what you’ve relied on in the past to understand and predict other people’s behaviors. Malsifer was an individual very prone to giving himself way via his expressions and tone of voice, which made it easier to clue you into how you should respond, if at all. It’s natural to rely on social cues in order to know how to respond to a given situation, but with Mando, it feels quite the contrary.

He strolls with you at a relaxed pace, his hand firmly placed on the hilt of his blaster he keeps attached to his waist.  

Your eyes flicker between his helmet and his hand. You’d seen him use his blaster with deadly precision, it drove you to tears to see the barrel trained at the space between your eyes. You hadn’t heard of stormtroopers being as accurate, and you question what he is, and what he represents. You can already deduce that he’s a bounty hunter, why else would he be looking for quarry? But why the child? Why the armor? And why the ship you’d finally observed to be very Old Republic.

“Mando-“ You begin to ask curiously…“Can I ask you a question?”… cautiously.

“Sure.” He says simply, his helmet turning to observe a long blaster rifle on display at a vendor.

“Where are you from?”

Mando’s helmet continues to follow the long rifle as he walks away, “No where. I was a foundling.”

“A foundling from where?” You ask again. “Who found you?”

“I don’t remember.” He says dryly, his gaze returning forward as he scans the vendors again till something catches his eye… visor.

“So then what’s with the armor?”

He stops midstride, and you sense that you’ve either said something wrong or insulted him in some way.

Your cheeks immediately feel like their burning despite the chill that raced down your spine. You blink back a million-and-one thoughts and possibilities on how he might respond. Was he mad? Dumbfounded? Absolutely furious? It’s too hard to tell. By the way he’d stopped and now turned his head towards you, your hands clench into a fist- not prepared to strike, but to brace.

He chuckles. He chuckles. Warmly, softly, and bemusedly, his modulated blitheness is musical and so incredibly comforting. You’re not sure how you should react. It’s not the reaction you’d braced yourself for. After all, you’d insulted him, didn’t you?

“You mean to tell me that you’ve never seen Mandalorian armor before?” He asks, resuming the slow pace he took beside you.

You shake your head, looking down at the ground as you resume walking a few paces behind him. The child, unbothered, continues to chew on the pastry and inquisitively looks between yourself and Mando.

“I’m surprised Malsifer never let you see one.” He says, “No wonder you seemed pretty scared when I was there.”

You’d kept your gaze down at your feet as you walked, feeling ashamed to ask a dumb question in the first place. Of course you knew what a Mandalorian was, but you’d only ever read about them in flimsi books you’d managed to smuggle in and out of Malsifer’s library. They seem downright fictional, down to their very demeanors of being militant and mute. It didn’t help that the only information accessible to you came in bound flimsi books that in itself was probably older than yourself or Malsifer’s combined existence. You’d never seen their armor, at least not the kind that Mando was sporting in pure Beskar and with a helmet that looked too much like a storm trooper’s. You’d sooner expect he was an ex-trooper, or someone who simply stole or bought their armor.

“It was terrifying.” You admit softly, “You, pointing a blaster in my face. Doesn’t help that you’ve got all that armor.”

You see his boots stop moving and turn towards you. You still keep your gaze down, distracting your hands with the child’s robes as the crumbs of his treat fell from his face.

“Look at me.” He says sternly, and you obey, looking up into his visor, “You need to… unlearn whatever this is.”

You chew your lip, intimidated by his presence so close and so powerful over you. You fight yourself and your nervous glances away from the glare of his visor.  

“I don’t know what Malsifer put you through, but here, with us… none of it.” He continues, “Can’t have you walking behind me like some shadow, not with my kid.” He takes a step back from you and turns away, but stops.

His shoulders drop and his demeanor softens, “You were walking next to me.” He says, awaiting for you meet him at his side, “You were saying…”

Meeting up with him, the child in your arms coos and reaches out to Mando, who scoops him up from your grasp and you hide your arms under the cloak. He is right, it’s different with Mando and his kid. This is an equal playing field where you’re a part of a cohort of other individuals just like you. Of course, Mando is the leader, he provides, flies, and protects. The new dynamic is refreshing, but old habits are hard to beat. Which isn’t a natural nor healthy response. But neither was being caned across your knees and shins if you didn’t do so.

Mando stops at a vendor selling a wide assortment of things. They all seem extremely random, from switchboards to datatapes to bacta kits. Perhaps these are things the vendor was able to scavenge off broken ships and droids, this isn’t the first time you’d seen scrap collectors try to sell off what they can’t trade at a refinery. You’ve heard of such beings called Jawas who are infamous for such scavenging, but you also know that they’re not entirely open to the idea of selling what they find.

Mando strikes up a conversation with the vendor, a tall and slender specimen with small black eyes and three digits on each of their four arms. They’re haggling, is what you can assume, as Mando shakes his head and points to a well-stocked bacta kit on the table. The vendor insists on a certain price, counting it off on his palms before accepting a deal with Mando’s budget. He swipes the bacta off the table, and tosses it.

You catch it and immediately hide it under your cloak. Mando notices, walking away from the vendor saying, “Keep that there, don’t want him noticing he let me take the wrong one.”

His dry friendliness is welcoming, it made you feel like you were walking with a friend rather than a tank. The child giddily had finished his snack and entertained himself with his metal ball, which now you’d deduced was from a switch or lever, likely coming from the cockpit of the ship.  

“So… your armor. Mandalorian?” You ask, keeping pace with him.

He nods, “Mandalorian.”

You think back to what you’d read about in the flimsis, “If I recall correctly, some Mandalorians choose to keep their helmets on? Or do all of you have to wear it all the time?”

Mando nods, “When I swore to the creed, I swore to keep my identity secret. It’s part of our code.”

“So ‘Mando’ isn’t your real name?” You ask.

“No.”

“So what is your name?”

“Mando.”

You furrow your brows, not wanting to press further. You admire the devotion, despite it frustrating you further. You wanted to learn more of him, but now you know that such learning can no longer pertain to his appearance, and you must now learn his character. Though it wasn’t the only thing weighing on your curiosity, you’ve already begun building his profile.

Like you’d learned during your time in hyperspace that he is a man of not-so-many words. He isn’t aptly good at beginning a conversation, and usually such conversations are limited to small talk on the basis of his work and ship… But that had been debunked when he disclosed that he gets his cloaks from the woman at the colorful stand, and joked to you about the bacta-kit hidden away under your cloak. You hope he will reveal more of himself to you with time. You’re patient enough for that.

You respect that his physical appearance as an extension of his anonymity. It’s not the only instance where you’ve experienced the sort of veiling that came with particular religions, cultural identities, and personal choices. It will be up to him to disclose what he wants and when- it would be rude of you to pester. It’s not your place.  

The three of you walk leisurely, stopping occasionally to look at something interesting at a stall before returning into the direction of the ship. In the distance, you observe the man from earlier standing and waiting for you, Greef, you remember Mando mentioning the name.

Mando hands you the child back into your arms, “Get back on the ship.” He instructs, and you nod, the baby beginning to doze off to sleep in your arms.

~~

“What did you find?” Mando asks taking a few steps towards Greef and out of earshot from his new crewmate.

Greef’s usually friendly smile is thin, “I found one result for her name, one that appears on an obituary. According to the systems, she’s technically dead.”

Mando exhales sharply, disappointed, and curiously tipping his head to the side, “So, what? How long has she been ‘dead’?”

“Five years.” Greef says bleakly, “And she has no digital footprints anywhere. No record of her ever even having an account to hold credits, or receipts from anywhere that she’s spent credits.”  

Mando looks back in the direction of his ship, watching you board the Razor Crest with the child in your arms, how tenderly you hold his head and attend to his sleepy babbling. This is unfortunate news, that Mando would need to tell you sooner rather than later.

“I don’t know what to do with her.” Mando admits quietly, your silhouette disappearing in the ship.

Greef clears his throat, “I know this is none of my business, but the baby seems to like her, it’s pretty obvious… Until she can figure things out on her own, she can stick around, learn a thing or two, and you’ll have someone who can take care of the kid when you have jobs.”

Mando nods, “This isn’t the first time Malsifer faked someone’s death just to drain their accounts?”

“It’s also not the first time he’s trapped pretty young girls into being his personal assistants.” Greef says, raising an eyebrow in Mando’s direction.

“He abused them.” Mando says, “If it wasn’t for their money, what else did he need them for?”

Greef shrugs, folding his arms across his chest, “Malsifer seemed like the controlling type… He liked being in control of anything and everything important to him which is money and power. I don’t think she was a part of anything more sinister, but I certainly wouldn’t rule it out.”

“I’ll find that out more when she feels like talking. Right now… I don’t know what to do with her.” Mando crosses his arms.

Greef looks back at the ship behind Mando and back to his visor, “Let her stay until she can figure something out for herself. She can be useful while you work, keep the ship and the kid safe while you’re out…”

Mando nods again in agreement, “It’s my only option right now. Thank you… for your help.”

Greef smiles, “Anytime, old friend.”

--

Mando appears on the ship shortly after you’d put the child to sleep in his shiny egg-like crib. He’d tired himself out from the morning shopping and was happily full of whatever pastry took him the entire walk to eat.

You’d put the bacta pack in the bacta kit soldered on the metal of ship and managed to clear out some of the dust that had blown into the hull while the door was open. You’d observed Mando’s ship to not only be Old Republic but also just old in general. Though it is in excellent flying condition for its age, it lacked in amenities that more modern ships had like touch-pads instead of buttons and actually finished floors and walls. Either Mando is a man of old fashion, or simply too preoccupied to take care of his ship like others do.

He is quiet, walking up and down the hull checking lights, buttons, datapads, and other things. While he did that, you patiently sit on the familiar wedge prepared to strap into the metal wall and prepare for take-off. Your hands occupy themselves with the hang nails that plague your fingers.

You see, from the corner of your eye, something tan and grey. Looking up, it was Mando, handing off to you a pile of clothing he’d gathered in his quiet pacing around the hull.

“Thank you.” You say softly, standing to get to the fresher.

Mando nods, “Meet me in the cockpit, we need to talk.” And he turns before you can ask any questions. He disappears up the ladder.

The cockpit? You think to yourself curiously, what in the worlds does he want to talk about?

The mirror in the fresher is just reflective enough to call itself a mirror. It clearly once existed as a piece of scrap that Mando had repurposed to decorate the blank wall above the sink. But it fulfilled its purpose in reflecting back the visage of yourself you present every day.

Today, you look tired.

Dark circles around your eyes hint at some much needed deep sleep and the tired squint you gave to yourself only emphasizes this.

You look at the clothing Mando handed to you, consisting of a large white shirt and some pants that definitely needed to be tailored to accommodate your height and lack of… lower… masculine features. These are clearly articles of clothing Mando has no use for, and you’re thankful for them despite Mando’s somewhat apparent reluctance.

You undo yourself from your dress, somewhat sad to see the magical colors fall to the floor in a wispy heap. This was healthy though, a transition into a different person. After all, you’re fulfilling the prophecy you’d begun to brainstorm the first night aboard the ship: a change of clothes.

The shirt is square, harsh but hemmed edges of fabric for sleeves, a collar, and buttons to secure said collar closed. It sat rather high on your neck, so you keep the first two buttons undone, one side of the collar falling open to reveal the raw edge of the hem. The sleeves were of a comfortable length, also squared off with a button for cuff-links that you undo and gently fold up your forearm.

Looking back up at yourself in the mirror, you look like a little girl trying on her father’s clothes. It’s clear that they’re too big, but you make do with tucking and folding where you can. But the broad and structured shoulders the shirt gave you made you feel… bigger? Something about it made you feel more robust.

The pants are… another story. Of course they sat a little low on your hips and were too loose around the area where you lacked the facilities of a man. But the utilities of having so many pockets and places to stow away small items brought you some small joy as you cuff the pants around your ankles and tuck the shirt into them.

You style your hair simply up, anything to keep it away from your face and off your shoulders till it’s time to wash and you think what to do about them then.

Looking back into the crusty mirror, though your eyes see themselves, a whole new person has taken shape behind them. It felt foreign to you to appear so fresh-faced, neutral, and unassuming in a world where Malsifer demanded you always looked your best as an extension of himself and his appearance. That usually translated in wearing makeup on a near-daily basis, and extravagant colorful gowns to even the most casual of events.

The dress is a pastel mess on the floor of the fresher, and looking down at it, you feel a twinge of guilt for having to abandon it. It’s pretty…

You bundle it up and head out from the fresher.

You walk quietly across the hull, your bare feet making light patting noises as you went. Sitting at the wedge in the wall, you ditch the dress behind you and slip on your boots again before standing up, and head towards the cockpit like Mando told you to.

[wrenhyperfixates]

Of All the Places

Chapter 8

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: Washing up in a small town in Oklahoma was definitely not part of Loki’s plan when he came to conquer Midgard. There is one good thing about it, though: No one recognizes him as the one who just wreaked havoc in New York. So, Loki plans to recover from the battle and move on with his life. The only problem? He’s not sure he can leave you. Chapter Summary: The town comes together to help a family hit particularly bad by the tornado. A conversation with you helps Loki come to a decision. Chapter Warnings: a lot of mutual pining A/N: I’m really excited about this story now. There’s some great things coming up! Any predictions about where I’m going with this? I’d love to hear them! Updates every Friday. Enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant​ @lunarmoon8​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​ @marvelousdaydreams​ @parkastoria​ @lokistan​

✥ Start at Beginning ✥ | ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Disclaimer: Gif not mine 

You and your family had been pretty lucky in the aftermath of the tornado, but unfortunately the same could not be said for your neighbors. The family at the next farm over, the Campbells, whole barn had been blown away. Thankfully, they didn’t suffer any physical injuries, but the wound to their bank account had been decent. That’s why a bunch of people from town were pitching in to help them. In fact, they were preparing for a barn raising at the very minute, something Loki had never even imagined existed before. Actually, the whole idea of a close-knit community like this had never really occurred to him. When he was young, he wasn’t really allowed out into the streets of Asgard, and when he was old enough to decide that for himself, he’d lost his interest.

“You ready, son?” Papa asked, clapping Loki on the back.

“Indeed,” he replied, putting his hair in a low bun to keep it out of his face during the work. “Would it be odd if I said I was a little excited?”

“It is surprisingly fun,” John laughed. “But we’re actually supposed to be trying to talk you out this. You still need to take it easy. ‘Doctor’s orders.’”

He nodded in your direction where you were talking with your friends. Even though you seemed happy, you kept throwing little worried glances at Loki. The whole ordeal with tornado was nearly a week ago, but it seemed to have made you nervous for Loki’s health again. He would have thought that his agility and speed would have reassured you, but it actually did the opposite. You kept insisting that he may have re-injured something and not even noticed. You sent another nervous look his way, but your gaze lingered a little longer, noticing his hairstyle. Half the reason he ever wore it this way was because of how much you obviously liked it.

Mr. and Mrs. Campbell made a little speech thanking everyone for coming out, and then the work began. It was slow moving at first, what with having to get the main supports up soundly and all, but soon the pace picked up. By the time they were working on the roof, Loki could feel the energy of the mortals around him had dropped considerably. Being the god that he was, though, he was tireless enough to finish the barn on his own. Of course, he couldn’t tell anyone that, especially when Papa kept insisting he take a break.

All the girls, and a few guys too, were marveling over Loki’s uncanny strength. He was by no means the most ripped man there, but he was certainly the strongest. Everyone was impressed by just how much he could lift, and he delighted in the general shock the crowd had. And now that he’d shown just how strong he was, people had certainly started paying attention to his muscles, which were there, mind you, but just too lean to notice at first glance. He didn’t much care for any of those stares, though, unless they coming from you. Alas, you’d left a little while ago to help Ana with Matt. Now, however, you were coming back, and Loki redoubled his efforts to show off. Especially because it seemed that Denzel had the same idea. Loki couldn’t even think that man’s name without rolling his eyes.

“Hey,” you said, walking up to Loki and offering him some trail mix, a Midgardian snack he was surprisingly fond of. “I thought you might need some refreshments. Have you eaten anything all day?”

“Do not worry. I have been taking care of myself,” he replied, setting down a pile of wood. “Still, you have my thanks, darling.”

“No problem.” You looked down at your feet as you kicked a rock, building up the confidence to say your next sentence. “I, uh, I really like your hair like that, by the way. It looks good.”

Loki’s face took a crimson shade yet again, and he couldn’t help but smile. The effect you had on him always made him feel a wild mix of emotions. On the one hand, the reaction bothered him to no end. On the other, he was just used to it at his point.

“Is that so,” he said as if he hadn’t already figured it out. “Perhaps I should wear it this way more often then.”

“Oh! You don’t have to. I mean, of course you can if you want to. But I didn’t mean that you had to or anything. Wear it how you like it.” He smirked at your flustered babbling. “Ana, Matt! Can we have some of that water?”

He chuckled at how you had to call them over to save you from your embarrassment, something he found rather adorable. Now that he’d admitted his feelings to himself, he kept finding little things about you to obsess over. Today, it was apparently how cute you are when you’re nervous.

“You really should drink more, being out in the heat all day like this,” you told him, going back into doctor mode.

“What would I do without you,” he teased.

“Loki!” Matt cheered upon reaching him. “I wanna help build too!”

“Now, now Matt. What did mommy say?” Ana asked the boy.

“Mommy said no,” he replied with a little frown. “But Loki didn’t say no!”

“I am sorry, little one. You must listen to your mother,” Loki said, picking the child up. “One day when you are bigger and stronger you will get to help.”

“But will you still be here, Loki?”

The boy’s question gave him a pause. Would he still be there? Did he want to be? It was impossible to answer that first question, considering he couldn’t see the future. Plus, he was in constant danger of being found out and having to run. But that second question he knew the answer to. Something about this small town had charmed him, and being asked right now, he would say he never wanted to leave. He wondered if he would always feel that way, though. Looking into your eyes, he was pretty sure he would.

“I truly do not know, but I would very much like to be.”

“Yay!” Matt exclaimed, throwing his tiny arms around Loki.

Ana chuckled at the child’s excitement while you smiled warmly at Loki. Even though he’d already told you how he felt about this place, your eyes went wide at the fact he’d so boldly declare it to everyone. He only wished he could be so bold when it came to declaring his feelings for you.

Soon, he was back at work helping to build the barn. Unfortunately, John and Papa were up on the roof, and Loki knew very few other people there. So, when Denzel struck up a conversation with him, there was nothing he could do to avoid it.

“So,” Denzel said, “You been seeing a doctor about this memory loss of yours. ‘Cause, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned, but I’m a-”

“Doctor,” Loki cut him off, gritting his teeth. “Yes, I know. It has been mentioned. Several times. But what kind of doctor, may I ask?”

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “I’m a pediatrician.”

“I see. A noble profession, indeed. Though I am guessing you are not the best equipped to handle my amnesia, hmm?”

“No, I guess not. But I could definitely recommend someone.”

“I do appreciate it,” Loki confessed, though he suspected there were underlying reasons for Denzel’s concern. Namely, having Loki out of the way so he could get to you easier. “But everything is alright for now. I shall let you know if the situation changes.”

“Ok then.”

They lapsed into silence as they picked up more wood for construction, Denzel seeming a little shocked by just how much Loki was able to carry. Which definitely wasn’t even more than he had previously been taking just to intimidate the man.

“Hey, listen,” Denzel said while they helped work to make the walls, nodding in your direction. “Guy to guy, have they mentioned me at all?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact they have. I do not think you will like it, though.”

“That bad, huh?”

“I am afraid so.”

“Well, I guess that just means I’ve gotta work twice as hard to show them how serious I am about wanting them back.”

“Yes, I do suppose- Wait! No,” Loki said, not having expected that to be his answer. “I do not think that is in your best interest.”

“Oh, really? Are you sure you don’t think it’s in your best interest?”

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

“So then you’re fine with me asking them out?”

“Only if you are fine with being rejected.”

They stood glaring at each other until they were able to move to work on separate sections. Loki was desperately trying to not feel so jealous and anxious. After all, you’d explicitly said that you did not want to be with Denzel, but there was still that little bit of uncertainty. Perhaps you’d changed your mind and decided to give him a second chance.

“You alright there, son?” Papa asked, coming down from the roof.

“You better not pass out,” John added, following close behind. “You know we’re going to be the ones who get in trouble if you do.”

“I assure you, I am fine,” Loki replied, trying not to sound too sad. He was failing. “You need not worry.”

“Oh, I bet I know what this is about. I saw you talking with Denzel.”

“No, nope,” Loki shushed, putting up a finger. “Go no further, please.”

“Ok, fine, whatever you say. Just thought you might want to know that the Campbell’s are planning a little thank you party tonight. It would be the perfect chance to tell a certain someone how you feel.”

“Reckon you ever went to a barn dance in your past life?” Papa asked.

Loki’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. He’d never heard of anything like it on Asgard, though he could fathom what it was due to the rather self-explanatory name. It was a thrilling prospect to go to it, considering he’d only ever been to uptight, boring balls. As a child, he’d stir up some mischief to make things more interesting, but he’d always get a serious scolding from his father. Not to mention Thor was the center of attention more often than not.

“I do not believe I would have, though I am looking forward to the opportunity now,” Loki shared as they set back work again.

The rest of the day went much the same, and though he didn’t get to spend as much time with you as he would have liked, Loki had quite a bit of fun with John and Papa. His attachment to you all was rather dangerous, as was the fact that he cared it was. At least he was able to mask his emotions, much like he was so adept at doing before this whole ordeal.

By dinnertime, the barn was completed and only a select few remained to help set up for the party. Your family, however, went the short distance back home to freshen up after helping out all day. Well, Matt didn’t help much. Instead he just romped and played, though it could be argued he helped by brightening everyone’s day. Regardless, after changing your clothes you were all ready to set out again. Loki did a double take as he walked out onto the porch; you looked more beautiful than ever before. He always thought you looked amazing, but standing there in the fading light of day, it struck him anew.

“You know, Loki,” John said, putting his hands on the god’s shoulders and speaking low enough that you couldn’t hear him. “A friendly word of advice, you should just go for it.”

“But-”

“No more ‘buts’ mister,” Ana reprimanded as she walked up and passed her son to her husband. “I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, but you two need to stop being oblivious dorks and make a move already. No offense.”

“None taken, I suppose,” he said, though it wasn’t wholly true. Him an oblivious dork? Nonsense, not the God of Mischief. “Though I still must insist that I do not know to what any of you are referring. Hypothetically, if I did, do you really believe I have a chance?”

“Yes. And a very good one at that.”

They left Loki mull over his thoughts. When they passed you, you finally turned around and saw Loki standing there, his now loose hair slightly wavy from having been up all day. He was frozen like stone under your tender gaze, afraid of his emotions and unable to take what Ana and John had said to heart. It wasn’t until your smile faltered a little at his expressionless trance that he was able to move out of the doorway.

“My darling, I hope you know how radiant you look this evening,” he told you, a light blush coating his cheeks, still so pale even after so many days out in the sun.

“It’s nothing special, really,” you said with a nervous laugh. “But thank you all the same.”

“My pleasure.”

His fingers brushed against yours and on instinct you intertwined them. He brought your hand to his mouth, lips ghosting over your knuckles, reminding him of that day when he apologized to you. He’d performed the same action back then. With time and perspective, he realized that was the day he was pushed completely off the edge and into love with you. You took a step closer, your bodies nearly pressed against each other. The warmth radiating off of you gave the frost giant a pause, your hands still clasped together, now semi-awkwardly hovering near his head.

“Hey Loki,” you began as he quirked an eyebrow to urge you on. You took a deep breath, gathering your courage and leaning in. “I... I... I-”

“I suppose we should be on our way now,” Mama announced, coming out of the house.

You sheepishly broke apart and agreed with her, your small group heading over to your neighbor’s. Upon arrival, Loki noted how it was even more lively than earlier, which was really saying something. It seemed that everyone who came by during the day to help with the build was back now, and the whole place was a hubbub of activity. Your friends were quick to whisk you away into the thick of it, and seeing as how everyone else had left before you, Loki was now left alone with Mama.

“You can go if you want,” she said. “I’m not much for crowds.”

“I must confess, I am not either.”

“I see.”

Despite having come to some kind of agreement, the air between them was still tense. The past week had been filled with a lot of throat clearing and stiff conversation. Somehow, he preferred the snippy and snide remarks from the woman. They were, at least, a lot less gawky than what their interactions were now. Thankfully, they were saved from the stilted small talk by food. As it turned out, they were both quite a fan of apple pie, and Mrs. Campbell made a mighty good one.

Eventually, Papa sought them out in the crowd and did a bit of a double take to see them amicably chatting. He ushered them inside to where you and the rest of your family were standing just as the dancing was about to begin.

“Pardon me, darlin’,” Denzel said, tapping you on the shoulder. He bowed down a little and put out his hand as Loki rolled his eyes. “May I have this dance?”

“Oh! I would love to, really, but I already promised Loki,” you said turning to him. “Shall we then?”

“We shall,” Loki replied, beaming.

Of course, the two of you had not planned on dancing together, but he was preening under the lie you’d told to your ex. The fact that you chose him completely unprompted made his heart grow wings and soar above the clouds. As for the dance, it was easy enough to follow the caller’s directions. This was the first time Loki had ever danced so causally, but his nimble feet, which were much more accustomed to waltzes and other Asgardian dances, were able to catch on rather quickly. It didn’t take him long to determine the square dance was his favorite one of the night.

After a couple more hours of dancing and avoiding Denzel, you and Loki snuck off, not before making a quick stop to thank your hosts, of course. The two of you went to your own family’s barn and climbed up to the loft, settling down in the plushy blankets and pillows you kept up there for chilly nights such as this. The conversation stayed light for a while, but it inevitably took a turn toward more serious topics.

“I was asking around today,” you said. “I’m so sorry, Loki, but no one had any clue who you were.”

“It is ok, do not concern yourself with this. If I did not know any better, I would say you were trying to get rid of me.”

“I’m really not, I swear,” you said, chewing your bottom lip, though Loki had been fully teasing. “No one is anymore, really.”

“Are you sure about that?” he inquired, thinking of Denzel.

“Why did someone say something to you?”

“No. It is like I said, do not worry.”

You hummed in acknowledgement as you snuggled further into his side, desperate to keep the cold away. He put his arms around you and squeezed you tighter, saying a little heating enchantment in his head.

“You know, I think James would’ve liked you,” you decided, eyelids beginning to droop.

“Perhaps. But...”

“Yes?”

“But there is still so much we do not know about me. What if have done something terrible?”

“While I’m sure you haven’t, let’s say you did do something you’re not proud of,” you indulged him. “The only thing stopping us from having a present we can enjoy and a future we can love, is a past we can’t forget.”

“Well, I do not remember, anyway. But what if it is really bad?”

“All I mean is, you have to be able to forgive. To let go.”

He could hear in your tone that you were thinking of your brother. As much as he did not want to admit it, Loki would have been upset had Thor died. He could only imagine the pain you felt when you’d heard the news. But he supposed you were able to forgive whoever it was whose irresponsibility had led to James’s death. It was yet another thing to admire about you, for sure.

“I suppose you are right.”

“Yeah, I am,” you agreed, finally letting your tired head drop and nuzzling into his shoulder.

He brought you down to a more comfortable position, laying down with your head on his chest, letting his heart beat wildly in your ear. Lying awake, he thought back to what he’d said earlier about wanting to stay forever. Lingering in the back of his mind was always the knowledge that he most likely would not be able to. If he were, though, would he still want to? A large part of himself still wanted to loathe the domestic simplicity of this life. In a way, being so far removed from everything, living high up in palace towers, was easier. Still, he could not find it in himself to dislike this quaint town with charming people. Plus, there was you.

The little sigh of contentment that you made as he hugged you closer let him completely make up his mind. This was where he wanted to stay, this is what he wanted, and he’d do everything he could to make sure he got to keep it.

“Sleep well, my darling,” he whispered, placing a small kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well.”

[rokutouxei]

only this wonder remains

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark isaac newton/reader | gen | 2948 | [ao3]

or: the 5 times isaac tried to understand, and the one time he realized he didn’t have to. 

for my beloved friend @pathofcomets!

happiest, happiest, happiest birthday to the absolute kindest and most loving and most encouraging person i have ever met in my entire life! i may or may not have reread your isaac fics a billion times to get him quite like you like, and if i missed, at least enjoy the fact that um, i’m having apples today in (the both of) your honor? te iubesc, mama: thank you for joining me in this stupid crazy journey that is 19th century france with vampires.

--

(one)

isaac newton likes things set into order.

math, math is great—math is numbers and patterns and those things make sense and the order is there. physics too: everything in the universe has a set structure, and it’s all just figuring out what that structure is and what it entails. isaac newton likes things in neat rows in color-coded, labeled, square boxes in his mind.

and that is everything you aren’t.

which is why isaac doesn’t quite understand how he’s fallen in love with you so fast. emotionally, yes, sure, emotions, are, he supposes, a thing, but rationally? he doesn’t understand it. where he likes predictability, you are anything but. you are new dishes being served during dinners. you are excited squealing as you’re reading a book. you are catching his hedgehog (very nervously) from its hiding nook, after it was chased by the exponentially larger dogs. you are songs he’s never heard, songs from centuries in the future. you are wide eyes and open arms and isaac doesn’t understand.

but he adores it.

appreciates it.

the day after you’d decided to stay in the mansion, and the door had stayed shut throughout the rest of the fateful, crescent-moon night, vincent takes home with him a basketful of apple strudels, gifted to him by the lovely baker downtown.

you aren’t able to get one before dinner, but just right around midnight, you remember they are there. with a sudden burst of excitement, you pull at isaac’s sleeve until he accompanies you downstairs. your eyes shine like crystals in the kitchen light as you bite into the sweet bread—and isaac… isaac doesn’t know what to do with the warmth that fills him at the sight of it.

you turn to him quickly, offering him a bite. “you like apples, don’t you?”

the sound of dazai’s and arthur’s voices compound in his head, every single apple joke thrown at his direction over the past what-feels-like-a-million-years echoing in the caverns of his skull, taunting him.

but he doesn’t mind.

he doesn’t know why he doesn’t mind being unfolded like this, but he doesn’t.

he takes a bite of the strudel and sighs at the sweetness.

“it’s delicious.”

-

(two)

he tries, he absolutely tries his damnedest to sound nonchalant, but he fails. rather miserably, too. he’s still standing at the doorway of your room, hesitating to enter even when you’d already opened the door for him.

“where are you going?”

you finish twirling a lock of hair into place, before turning away from the mirror and toward him. “ah, comte’s taking me out dress shopping.”

again, he hears you nearly say; but then why are you still going? “don’t you have enough clothes?”

securing your earrings into place, you sit up from your dresser chair to approach him. “‘the most important of the labours of a high society woman in this late 19th century,’” you begin, “‘is to look beautiful.’ … that’s what le comte always tells me.”

“labours that you already fulfil,” isaac notes. the sudden admission makes you flush, so you pull him by the wrist and guide him toward the bed. now seated next to each other, you entangle your fingers with his.

“we’ll be back before dusk,” you try to appease him. “i’ll ask comte if we can do a detour at that bakery with the strudels we like.”

for a moment, isaac is silent; his hand twitches in yours as he considers. of course, he knows that comte means no harm. if anything, the worst is that comte is quite overbearing with how gracious he is at times. there’s no reason to be feeling this way, to be even doubting, he just wanted to ask if you wanted to come with him to the university library—he has to pick up a book he forgot to borrow, and maybe, just maybe, he was thinking of a picnic while you’re already out in the city, that’s all, you can always do that some time else, and so why is he—

he groans. by jove, why is this so hard. he turns and presses his face into the junction of your shoulder and neck; the fabric of your dress is in the way of the thrum of your pulse, but not quite thick enough so he still feels your warmth.

you laugh like it tickles, and he’s about to straighten up when you take his face in your small hands, holding him at eye level to you, your gaze so beautifully clear and bright. it’s as if no matter how hard he tries, with you he is see-through.

“i’ll make it up to you,” you say, pressing a little kiss at the corner of his lip, “…tonight.”

all at once, he doesn’t understand why the sour, sour feeling in his chest suddenly tastes so sweet.

-

(three)

you were radiant.

that was, to say the least. isaac wasn’t knowledgeable about fashion, not a bit. sure, he can vaguely tell what an “average” outfit is (cue the several lengthy discussions to alleviate confusion when sebastian had kindly gifted you with a few items of clothing to wear around the mansion that were, say, anachronistic) but trends and styles are beyond him. to him, if the clothes can protect him from the elements, they are enough, and doing their job.  

but seeing you out there in the ball room? made him realize that maybe… maybe that wasn’t the only point after all.

he’s wearing the most fashionable get-up for the night (because, alas, comte would not let a single one of his residents leave without the best of suits) and yet he feels so… underdressed, looking at you.

which is probably just about right, considering this is the party to celebrate your first year spent at the mansion.

(the first of many, he hopes.)

isaac returns to memorizing the details of your outfit. a beautiful silk gown in this sort of matte gold, embellished with swathes of intricate lace. the cut of the dress is made to accentuate your best features, and oh, the low scoop of the neckline, revealing your shoulders, emphasizing the milky skin beneath, maybe, a place to sink his teeth…

you’re off to a corner of the ballroom across him, engaged in discussion with mozart and theo while you’re holding a glass of alcohol. (he knows you enough to be nearly entirely sure it’s probably a non-alcoholic drink in your glass, just the right shade to seem like so.) mozart says something that makes you laugh, hand flying to your mouth.

(isaac seethes inwardly, wonders what the pianist could have said.)

theo makes eye contact with isaac across the room, and isaac quickly turns away from the man’s pointed smile. and because he does, he doesn’t get to prepare himself for when you inevitably approach him—having been goaded by theo—bumping isaac’s shoulders lightly.

he takes half a second to curse that wily little brother-obsessed man.

“won’t the great professor ayscough honor me with a dance?”

he doesn’t understand why, doesn’t understand why allows this—for him to be tossed and turned in a surge of emotions and thoughts and things he really hadn’t bothered to consider in the past, for him to be oh so irrevocably twined around your finger.

“what makes you think you can do this to my poor heart?” he whispers, and your laugh—oh, your laugh, fills him to the very core.

-

(four)

a part of him curses napoleon for saying it; another part of him thanks him.

the three of you were on your way back to the mansion after an afternoon teaching the kids in the city at the usual spot when napoleon had—rather absentmindedly, almost as if off-handedly—mentioned that the kids seemed to be more… obedient when you were around. you’d raised an eyebrow at him, explaining that you’re actually rather, say, awkward with kids. napoleon had shrugged the comment off, going on a tangent that they seemed to be more likely to follow instructions when it was you who’d call them out, as compared to him and isaac.

and then, the heaviest words in the world.

“maybe it’s because you’re like a mother to them.”

it was too early. you and isaac had never thought of kids and—you’d never really thought of anything, rather. there was only the now, and isaac found himself rather enjoying the pace. should he have discussed this with you already? was this of utmost importance? what if you didn’t want kids with him? what if you did? what does it mean—to do that? what changes? what stays? what—

“pfft,” you chuckle. “that’s only because the two of you are more like cheeky older brothers than teachers, you brats.”

after the corresponding laughter, the conversation soon swerved to other things. but isaac couldn’t leave it at that. instead, it lingered and clawed at his brain for the following days to no end, always making its presence known at the back of his mind whenever he’s thought it’s past him. he hadn’t thought of bringing it up to you because, again, it seemed like you’d taken the entire thing in stride, as you always do, with the grace and wisdom of someone literally beyond his time…

but most importantly, because he didn’t feel like he was ready to hear the answer quite yet.

alas, the universe does not wait for one to be ready for things.

the next time the three of you are downtown, you’re humming as you produce a little jar full of homemade candy as a reward for the children’s hard work of studying. (isaac huffs a little; it’s just calculus, it’s not so bad.) the enthusiastic children rush toward you, and you gently get to their level, squatting down and handing them two candies each.

isaac… is stuck into place, watching intently as you greet each child; you know them by name, know their nicknames; you match the candy appropriately to their favorite flavors, pat them on the head, ruffle their hair, pinch their cheek gently. you compliment the little flowers the girl has put in her hair, enthuse about how the three rag-tag boys look stronger than ever.

and isaac—well, he doesn’t understand why he knows but he knows: this, this is what happiness is.

your smile, the star-like shimmer in your eyes, the sound of your laughter intermingling with those of the children the both of you (!) are raising to be dreamers and thinkers of the future.

isaac is helpless; no science can explain this; unable to do anything but allow you to knock him to his knees like a beam of sunlight shot through the prism of his heart.

flooding his world in a spectrum of colors.

-

(five)

on one night you don’t feel entirely upright, you confide your deepest fears to isaac. these were fears he’d thought were to be expected—fears that made sense—but he hadn’t realized were actually hiding in your shadows. worries and frets about the uprooting from home, the time and the place of your existence. the weight of the knowledge of what comes in the future, the foresight of it. the instability—the unsureness.

isaac does not know what to do with all this. he cradles every word in his hands, holds them so carefully like they will shatter, feels each shaky intake of your breath sink underneath his skin like some sort of warning, some sort of premonition.

of the one day you might have to let her go.

of the one day you might have to do the right thing.

of the one day it will hurt.

of the one day. and you will never understand why.

but isaac is no longer afraid of them.

(he doesn’t know why yet, but he will soon.)

instead, he holds you in his arms in the silver glow of the moonlight, until your shaking stops. until you feel gravity settle you back onto the bed, just like all that isaac had written of it. until you press your face into his chest and sigh deeply. until your exhales feel lighter, like you’ve expelled all the thick fog that rested between your bones.

and isaac… isaac doesn’t know if he should ask, if he has the right to ask, if asking will make a difference, but the part of him that constantly wants to be able to understand things makes him, so he asks—

“what made you stay?”

and the answer is so simple, it’s rather silly how he doesn’t understand.

“because i have you.”

-

(+ one)

long before he had met saint-germain and had hidden away in the count’s mansion for silence, isaac newton was, ultimately, just a mere human: one that tried to make sense of the world around him, set them into categories and definitions that were easy to understand, and thus use. but a human nonetheless. and hundreds of years back, long before the turn of the century in paris, france, in the arms of the only woman he feels like he has ever truly known to really love, there was a little fairy tale he believed in: one that they’d called the philosopher’s stone.

a stone of ridiculous, preposterous qualities. it could turn simple metals into gold and silver. it could heal all and any sort of illness. it could make someone live longer. it could turn crystals into precious stones. it could revive the dead. it could make you immortal.

just by its mere existence, it could give someone the power to turn one thing into something entirely different.

and now, with the scientific development of the late 19th century—and even further, far into the future where you’ve come (he’d asked)—there is still no philosopher’s stone. the facts are in: it is not real, and centuries spent attempting to create this enchanted thing have led to not a single step toward proving its existence. it’s a powerful thing that is too great, it just isn’t allowed to exist.

that was what isaac thought, except as of late.

because maybe… maybe the power is already in human hands.

after all, what else would have given you the ability to make him like this? how else to explain all the miracles you’ve done: to fill the parts of him that used to be hollow; to heal him of the wounds he’d been putting aside; to revive the portions of his heart that he thought—and he’d kept—long dead?

to turn him into gold?

it is morning now, just past sunrise of september 1st, and you’re lying next to him on his bed, still fast asleep. just the sound of your even breathing fills him with a breathless joy it makes him feel rather stupid. the sheer fabric of your nightgown is not enough to hide the pink, red parts where he’d kissed and marked you last night. he wants to run his fingers through your hair, but doesn’t, lest he wakes you up.

he’d pledged his humanity aside for silence, and a space to think, and oh, have you given it to him.

this is what peace feels like, he thinks.

gently, he takes out of its hiding spot a rectangular box. opens it and takes out its contents: a pair of earrings (which he’ll give you later), and a lovely golden necklace studded with pearls; little flowers and suns down to the middle, where a hefty ruby glimmers deep blood red.

just like a philosopher’s stone.

he tries not to wake you, when he strings his little gift around your neck, but the movements jostle you, and just as he clasps it closed at your nape, you wake.

you turn to face your lover with “good morning” halfway out your lips when you feel the cool of the necklace on your bare skin. you look down at the intricate piece of jewelry, the smile uncontrollable on your sweet, still sleep-hazy face.

“isaac—”

“la mulţi ani,” he says—or, well, tries to say, as his tongue curves awkwardly around the words. he does sound rather close though: he must have practiced, and practiced, and practiced.

“thank you,” you say, sitting up to face him properly. “it’s beautiful. i’ll treasure this.”

isaac’s brain is on high speed—i’m glad she liked it, i was worrying, what if she didn’t like the design, then what about the earrings, should i have given her a ring instead? no a ring is too early, this necklace is just right, also fashionable for the times. i asked comte about it—it was so damned embarrassing but i asked him, and—but he silences it, quiets it down by taking her hand in his, presses a kiss on the knuckles gently with his lips.

and, as he always has been, and always is, and always will be—he stumbles for words, clumsily trying to make sense of the thunder-lightning rumbling in his chest, how he’s supposed to say thank you for all that you have given him, all that you have made him.

so instead, he presses your hand against his warm cheek that is a fresh apple red.

“my favorite merișor,” you tease, brushing the stray hair off his face before pulling him into a gentle, warm embrace. and, well, he’d wanted to ask what that meant, but he quickly realizes it doesn’t matter, as he tucks the unfamiliar syllables of your language in his heart.

it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t understand.

and maybe, just maybe, there are things that he never will really comprehend.

but it’s okay.

he can be that merișor.

as long as he is yours, he can be anything.

--------

[title came from could i love you any more by jason mraz & reneé dominique]

[thxngam]

sorry for asking 4 recs lol and idk if these even exist but any seaborn admin fic?

This is so so so fun lmao please keep asking!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6802981--Forgiveness by Avon7: an interlude between President Bartlet (again, I never know what tf to call him. Jed? Bartlet? President?) and Sam as Sam begins to run for office. Reminiscent of the infamous Hartsfield’s Landing conversation with more feeeeelllliiiinnnngggsss. It’s written in second person but I actually really like that here

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558515--Not Unspectacular Things by @augendz: samjosh being utter morons in the west wing when sam is president lol. Donna’s also here for a dosage of sanity and extra fun lmao, literally my go to comfort fic! i’m also a sucker for my ships being seen by a third person for some reason because i crave ~outsider validation~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491976--Living Broken by Avon7: a small interlude between josh and sam (in case you haven’t noticed, nonplatonic sam and josh is their names pushed together--samjosh--and platonic, brotp sam and josh is their names with an and--sam and josh) about Rosslyn and how far they’ve come since their Bartlet days. It’s very short, and Sam’s presidency is not emphasized at all, but it’s a sweet moment and makes me think of Rosslyn like I was there lmao, though I very very obviously was not

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5950648--Learning How to Fly by Avon7: Sam right before his inauguration. Sam obviously is a mess from the show (remember in s4 when Sam gets told about Horton Wilde’s 3rd heart attack and he has a whole thing and he tells that woman “yeah, I do that” in regards to having a mini derailment? I have never related more to a character than i have then) and this is a poetic tribute to my favorite dumpster fire lmao

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3798937--Jump Off A Cliff by hystericalselcouth: another Jed and Sam interlude as Sam starts to run. Very very cute--this one isn’t in 2nd person, so if you didn’t read the other one I rec’d because of that, I highly suggest this one. I mean, even if you read the other one, read this one bc I am nothing if not predictable and I will read the same three regurgitations of plot and still be ridiculously happy at the end of each

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407673--Driving the Future by AndreaLyn: not specifically taking place in the Seaborn Admin (I honestly have not found many fics taking place in the seaborn admin, mostly stuff leading to it) but actually in the Bartlet years. It’s Leo and Josh realizing that they have the next president in their midst, and that Josh is going to get him there. I love this one so so so much, so definitely read this one!!

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11600002/1/Legacy--Legacy on FF.net by Every Shade of Blue: Such a good fic, I did cry even though I don’t actually know these people lmao. It’s Sam as President and then the passing of all his friends? Idk just read it (TW for death, but like, peaceful old age death)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11454501/1/Key-Square--Key Square on FF.net by Every Shade of Blue: the start of the seaborn campaign! chronicles josh trying to get sam to run with lovely interludes from leo from beyond the grave and matt santos being exasperated with his CoS lol

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834969--Don’t Judge a Book By Its Title by Lily_Padd_23: a very very cute slice of life of samjosh as sam preps for his presidential run. it’s not heavy on the fact that he’s running, but it’s definitely a point. Also, this author is a samjosh quuuueeeeennnnn, they’ve definitely written other stuff to check out (including another seaborn admin oneshot that i’m not linking here but is totally worth reading on AO3)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11769843/1/Seaborn-for-America--Seaborn for America on FF.net by Every Shade of Blue: as the title obviously suggests it goes on this list, but it was also on my ultimate favorites list! it’s election night at the seaborn HQ, feat. toby and josh being the best cheerleaders our boy could get lmao

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27012235/chapters/65941642--Uncharted Territory by @octothorpetopus​: one of my favorite fics! santos may be a little ooc, but maybe not bc we never did see his presidency and if he backed up his talk the way we did with bartlet. either way, i love this fic so so so much, and idk if it’s still being actively updated, but even if it’s never updated again, what’s there is definitely worth reading

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18642241--Dream Sweet Dreams For Me by supernatural_mondler: the kind of fic that will make you need to fan your face. soft presidential samjosh being sleepy. will make your heart grow three sizes in your chest

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489576--Proud by supernatural_mondler: a pride fic feat. samjosh! it’s like 3 different scenarios but the last one is seaborn admin and i’m so soft for samjosh and being proud of their sexualities

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18712819--Takes the Biscuit by Nemainofthewater: remember what I said about sam being a mess? this fic is all my heart has ever wanted in regard to that particular character trait, and i love it even more with sam as the president!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18513007--I’ll Look After You, Like I’ve Never Done Before by supernatural_mondler: another fic with presidential sleepy boyos! this time it’s a sick fic too, so double whammy on the fluff lol

https://archiveofourown.org/works/686945--Seaborn for America by Speranza: so so so funny and so so so good! josh convinces sam to run and my god, i just wish this could happen irl

that’s all i got! not as much as the other two lists i made but certainly not insubstantial lol. i hope you try all these fics out, and as always, feel free to go surfing through my bookmarks on AO3 under thangam! there’s like 200+ bookmarks that i’m always rereading <3

(also nonnie please keeping asking for recs. this is so so so fun :) ) 

[mamabearcatfanfics]

More Than Words - One

“Please, please, please, please, please Kagome!”

She looked up from her laptop to roll her eyes at the dark haired man leaning over her desk, his violet eyes beseeching, hands together as if in prayer.

“You would think by now Miroku, that you of all people would know that when a lady says no, she means no”, she said dryly, dropping her attention back to the computer screen in front of her. It was boring work, but if everything wasn’t just so, the tender documents could be rejected, and she really didn’t want to open that can of worms with her project manager.

“But Kagome”, he continued pleading. “She’s amazing, gorgeous, an angel!” His eyes misted over as he gazed off into the middle distance. “I think it’s her. I think I’ve finally found the love of my life.” Kagome snorted, and his eyes flicked back to hers. “You don’t believe me?” he said with a wounded expression.

“Miroku”, Kagome sighed, “you probably spoke to her for a maximum of what, two minutes, tops? And that was to order coffee. How is this girl any different from the temp secretary you took out on a date after the office Christmas party three weeks ago? Or that girl you abandoned me for last Friday night when we went out to karaoke? I’m not going to hound some poor woman minding her own business into giving you her number just because you have the unfortunate habit of falling for every pretty face you see!”

Miroku shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. This was different. When my fingers touched hers, it was, like, I don’t know, a spiritual connection.” He sighed, leaning against Kagome’s desk, his hand over his heart. “She owns me, body and soul.”

“Oh my god Miroku,” Kagome chortled, pushing his hip off her desk. “If you were any cheesier I’d need to run out and buy wine and crackers! You do realise that you sound like someone out of one of those trashy romance movies on daytime TV? Next you’ll be writing sonnets and saying you were struck by Cupid’s arrow.” She got up from her desk to move over to the filing cabinet, rifling through the files. “I still don’t see why I need to be involved anyway - just ask her for her number herself if you’re so desperate!”

Miroku sighed, hanging his head despondently. “I’ve been banned. By her guard dog.” Kagome looked at him questioningly. “The barista.”

“You got banned from a café by the barista? What on earth did you do!?” She held up her hands, the file in them covering her view of Miroku as he opened his mouth to explain. “No, don’t tell me, on second thoughts, I don’t want to know!”

“Kagome, I’m begging you! Just talk to her. If she doesn’t want to give her number to me, I’ll admit defeat. I just need to know! What if I did all your filing for the next week?”

Kagome shook her head. “No way! I’ve only just got all my files back in order from when you meddled with my stuff when I was on leave.”

“I’ll walk your dog.”

“I have a cat.”

“I’ll do your tax return for you.”

“I’d like to stay out of prison, thanks very much.”

“I’ll, I’ll… “ Miroku looked around the office, as if searching for inspiration, his eyes alighting on Kagome’s much loved pink coffee cup, sitting empty and forlorn on her desk. “I’ll buy you coffee for the next month!”

Kagome stared him. “You’re offering to buy me coffee for a whole month?” He nodded. “And this is whether she gives me her number or not?” Miroku nodded again. Kagome bumped the filing cabinet drawer shut with her hip, then placed the folders on her desk, turning back to him with a gleeful expression on her face.

Miroku’s face fell when he realised exactly how much that this might cost him in monetary terms. Kagome loved her coffee; she was rarely seen without her favourite coffee mug in her hand. And she did a lot of overtime, often working back late at the office, weekends too when a tender was due.

Kagome grinned even wider and slapped him on the shoulder. “Miroku, my lovestruck friend, you’ve got yourself a deal!”

 ☕💘☕

 Kagome walked towards the tiny hole in the wall coffee shop a few blocks away from the office. It was literally only a door and a window wide, the exterior painted in matte black, with a white awning shading the customers waiting outside in the hot Australian summer sun. The business name adorned the glass window, a simple red circle with black text in a strong block font - Black Dog Coffee.

There was a line of people heading out the door waiting patiently, some chatting quietly, but most looking down at their phones. As she got further forward in the line, she was amused to notice that everyone followed the same pattern – a step towards the woman taking orders, stating their name and order and paying, then two steps to the left while they waited for their coffee. The woman at the cash register didn’t take another order until the first one had been filled, yet no one complained. That was kind of odd, but the line was moving fairly swiftly, so she guessed it worked, even though it wasn’t how cafés usually took their coffee orders. It was hard to see what was going on from her position in the line, stuck behind a tall guy in a business suit. She decided to look up reviews for the coffee shop online while she was waiting.

‘This coffee is the absolute bomb, but don’t piss off the barista!’

‘Was recommended to me by a friend. Coffee is amazing.’

‘Kinda weird. They only sell coffee, roast their own beans I think. The barista is something else!’

‘Would wait in line all day for this coffee!!’

‘Worst experience ever. Got BANNED because I tried to order more than five things. And they have no food, just coffee. WTF! Pretty sure the barista was in the yakuza – that guy has tatts for days! 0/10 would recommend.’

‘Follow the ordering protocol and you’ll be sweet – best coffee in the downtown financial district.’

‘OMG – best coffee EVER! I’m now a daily customer.’

Hmmm. She tried to peer around the tall guy in front of her, but she couldn’t see anything; the afternoon sun was reflecting off the glass covered office building nearby, getting in her eyes and making her squint. She fanned her face with her hand. Man it was hot. You could fry an egg out here on the cement. She hoped the coffee was worth the freckles she was probably getting on her nose right now. The tall guy stepped forward to make his order, and she caught a glimpse of the woman behind the cash register.  

Long glossy brown hair with thick bangs, and a bright smile. Her brown eyes, highlighted by bright pink eyeshadow, sparkled with warmth; she was giving her total attention to the current person she was engaging with. She wasn’t much taller than Kagome herself and the tight black t-shirt she was wearing with the name Sango embroidered on the pocket accentuated her generous curves.

Kagome sighed. Miroku was nothing if not predictable – he loved curvy ladies. But how was she going to ask for this woman’s number without causing a disruption – everyone seemed to be on board with the ordering system, and if the coffee was as good as the reviews promised there was no way she was going to get herself banned from coming back.

She glanced down to the time on her phone, and then to the opening hours printed on the tiny shop window. It was almost closing time. Maybe if she hung back for a little while and caught the woman after they’d shut up shop? She groaned internally, trying not to think of the work still waiting for her on her desk. She should have held out for two months of coffee.

The tall man stepped to the side. Crap, she needed to order.

“Good afternoon ma’am. What would you like?” The woman’s smile was wide and welcoming.

“Uh, a large latte please, no sugar”, Kagome said, holding up her credit card ready to tap payment.

“Name please?”

“Kagome. That’s K – A…”

“That’s okay, I know how to spell it.” Kagome watched with interest as the woman wrote her name on the coffee lid in curving characters. Was that hirigana? She vaguely recognised it was her name being written from the two terms of Japanese she did in high school. A grunt came from her left, and she realised with a little start that she was meant to move to one side.

She stood in front of the gleaming commercial espresso machine, eyes closing as she savoured the rich coffee aroma. It smelt amazing, rich and full. Not burnt. It was a little hard to see the barista; her view was blocked by towers of takeaway coffee cups in various sizes. But those reviews that mentioned him had made her curious now. She stepped to the side a little more. Ah, there he was.

He was taller than her - she guessed she’d come up to just above his shoulder, but then she wasn’t exactly tall herself at 5’2”. He had long dark hair, looped back in a low ponytail, with a choppy fringe and slightly longer forelocks  on either side of his face, tanned skin that was complemented by the white collarless t-shirt he wore under a denim apron. His expression as he looked downward to make the coffee was stern, but she didn’t see what he had to be so grumpy about. Maybe he was just hot? Maybe he just took his job very seriously? He moved out from behind the coffee machine and her eyes widened at the sight of his forearms, revealed by the shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows. They were covered in tattoos from the wrist; dark sleeves of swirling black water flowing up his arms, broken only by pink and red cherry blossoms, with a hint of green and yellow. Then he looked up.

His eyes. They were hazel, for want of a better description, but such a light hazel that they almost looked golden. With the late afternoon sun behind her, lighting his face, they almost sparkled like citrine quartz. He placed the lid on her coffee, then set it down in front of her.

“Kagome.”

He’d pronounced her name right. Ka-goh-meh. She was so used to the way most Australians butchered her Japanese name, a way for her parents to honour her Japanese grandfather, that she was immune to its mispronunciation, but he’d said it just right. Just. Right. His voice was deep and a little husky. He made that small grunting noise in the back of his throat again, his strong dark brows lowering a little, and she realised in embarrassment that she was staring at him.

“Uh, yes, I’m sorry, yeah that’s me! I’m Kagome.” Idiot. Of course he knew that, it’s not like there was anyone else standing right in front of him waiting! She reached out for her coffee where he’d placed it on the edge of the counter, and then backed away, pink cheeked, as another person stepped to the side to wait for their coffee.

She moved to stand in front of the shop next door, taking out her phone for something to do while she waited for closing time, slowly sipping her coffee, which was glorious by the way. But she couldn’t give herself over fully to her enjoyment of the taste, unable to control her wandering eyes.

‘Oh my god, he’s gorgeous! I’ve never seen anyone with eyes that colour before. And that’s so much ink on his arms - that must have hurt like a bitch! I never would have picked that a guy would get cherry blossom sleeves, but they don’t look girly on him at all - the exact opposite really. I wonder if they go all the way up his arms? God, now I’m imagining him with his shirt off - bad girl, Kagome! Maybe the cherry blossoms are a cultural thing? I think he’s Japanese, and I’m pretty sure that’s my name in hirigana on the coffee lid, but I don’t want to make an assumption just based on that and his looks. I wonder what he’s thinking about? He doesn’t look unhappy or angry exactly, just… determined? Maybe he just has resting bitch face.’ She snorted a little at that thought, then sighed. ‘His movements are so graceful and fluid, it’s like watching someone do tai chi or something. Oh, he has such nice hands - strong fingers. I could watch him make coffee aaaaall day.’

She gazed dreamily, sipping at her coffee slowly, the phone in her hand forgotten. Golden eyes suddenly met hers, one eyebrow raised in a puzzled expression. ‘Oh shit, he’s looking this way. He’s noticed that I’m looking at him. Abort! Abort! Oh fuck… This is all your fault Miroku!’

She turned tail and fled, almost running back to the office. The reviews had been right. The hot coffee was amazing, but the hot barista? Yeah, he was definitely something else. She knew she would be back first thing in the morning to get another coffee. And it wasn’t just because the coffee was amazing and that he was beautiful to look at. There was something about him. She wanted to get to know him better.

Miroku was waiting for her out the front of their office building. “So, did you get it?” he asked eagerly.

“What?”

“Did you get her number. Sango’s number?”

“Uh…” Shit. She’d been so flustered when he had suddenly looked up and met her gaze that she’d turned tail and fled without remembering why she was waiting there in the first place. Damn. Heat washed across her cheeks, and she flicked her gaze away from Miroku’s.

“Our calm and collected Kagome blushing? Oh, there must be a good story behind this – do tell!”

“No story. You’ve ordered coffee from there before – I didn’t want to do anything to upset the system and get banned like you did! There just wasn’t an opportunity today – I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Miroku poked her in the ribs. “But surely that wouldn’t make you blush Kags! C’mon, spill.”

“There’s nothing to tell!” she spluttered.

Suddenly Miroku burst out laughing. “Oh ho ho, I get it. You were so busy perving at the guard dog making the coffee that you forgot what you were there for.”

“Shut. Up.”

Miroku grinned at her. “Aw, little Kagome finally got a crush on someone. Were you struck by Cupid’s arrow?” he teased, throwing the phrase she’d used before back at her with a note of triumph in his voice. Kagome squirmed under his knowing gaze, and he chuckled. “Looks like Cupid’s been pretty busy with his arrows around that coffee shop, huh?”

Kagome made a growling noise in the back of her throat, then the corners of her lips curled up in a knowing smile. She blinked at him innocently, raising her takeaway cup.

“You may be right Miroku. You may be right. And I’m thinking the best way to get to know him will be to buy coffee. Lots of coffee. I hope you’re ready to pay up, buddy!” She sipped her coffee and patted him on his suddenly slumping shoulders as she walked past him into the foyer of the building and back to her desk full of filing, savouring every last drop.

  ☕💘☕

 Inuyasha pondered as he polished the already gleaming coffee maker. Sango had just left for the day, after balancing the till, and he was doing a final clean up, ensuring everything would be ready for 7am opening.

That girl. Kagome. She’d been staring at him. Usually that made him feel intensely uncomfortable. Growing up in an orphanage had internalised that being stared at was a bad thing, because pain caused by kids much larger and stronger than him usually followed close behind. That was until he’d been there so long that he was the large and strong one, handing out punches to anyone picking on the tiny ones. But he hadn’t got that uncomfortable feeling from her when she’d stared.

He knew he was considered attractive by some people. But her looking at him hadn’t given him that slimy creepy feeling that being ogled purely for looks gave him either. She had looked at him like he was a puzzle she wanted to work out.

He tried to picture her in his mind’s eye, but all he really remembered was dark shining hair like a corvid’s wing, and very blue eyes. She’d been small too, very petite. He rolled her name around in his head, as it tugged on a memory, and he suddenly thought of the rhyming game from his childhood about a bird caught in a cage. It was fitting – her mannerisms reminded him of a little bird - a wren, with bright inquisitive eyes. And when he’d looked up at her and caught her staring, she’d flapped her wings in fright and flown away. He chuckled. He hoped she wasn’t caught in a cage of some sort. No one deserved that.

He shut off the lights to the tiny shop, and walked into the studio behind it, flopping down on his bed with his laptop, ready to spend another evening struggling through his online English class. A little orange fluffball of a kitten jumped on to his lap, trying to sit on the keys, and he pushed it off.

“Shippou! Dame!”

The kitten settled down next to his thigh, snuggling against him and purring, and he turned his attention back to the screen. It was hard, learning a language this way, but he was determined. He had escaped his own cage, and he was never going back.

☕💘☕

PART TWO

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

secret son part 3

A/N: please let me know what you think! If anyone has any requests please send them to me! 

Summary: Matt is performing for his schools talent show, which Myra will also be present for.  

It’s excruciatingly hot in the car, sweat dripping down Richie’s face making his body feel clam and gross, while he’s almost panting like a dog. It’s not summer yet, but it’s June and that means that it is summer in Richie’s mind, but even he hadn’t been able to predict this type of weather. 

The sun is shining scorching hot, burning almost anything she touches, not a giving way to even a slight breeze, and it fucking shows. Normally, the trip from their house to Matt’s school is only a half-hour, but today, it seems all the odds are stacked against them.

Everyone collective decided to go on a trip this weekend apparently, causing a blockage of cars as far as Richie can see it, and they were late to begin with. Eddie’s gripping the steering wheel between his fingers like a vice, vibrating and his face a dark shade of bloody red, but that might not have anything to do with the heat. For a moment, his mouth turns into a sneer again, opening his mouth to yell at the drives before them, but then he shakes his head and takes a few deep breathes.

Richie contemplates calling Myra again, to let her know that they’ll be late so she can let Matt know, but that will most likely send her into another tirade, and that is the last thing they need right now. As they stop for the third time in 3 meters, Richie vows to buy Matthew a phone, whether it be against Eddie’s wishes or not.

The twenty-first annual middle school talent show is hosting its show tonight, and Matt had asked Richie and Eddie to show up. They said yes, of course, both of them more than excited to see their son perform on stage, even if the show itself will just be a bunch of middle-schoolers, dancing and parading.

Their son, a voice repeats in his head. Not deter by the atmosphere hanging around him and his boyfriend, Richie’s heartstrings pull together, making Richie feel breathless for a second. Cause that’s what Matt is to him now, his son. Maybe not biologically, but in every way that it counts.

Matt called his pops a few times as a joke whenever Richie would mirror Eddie’s ministration, like warning him to be careful in the park, or not to go with strangers, a testimony to how many times he had overheard Eddie say it, and a habit developed from there.

Sure, Matt still calls him; ‘Richie’ sometimes, mostly when Myra is around, or when they’re taking playful jabs at each other, but all in all, Richie has become pops. The name suits him, Eddie told him, but it still seems a little unreal to Richie, that he trashmouth Tozier, is a dad to a wonderful kid. Said kid also wants to spend as much time with him as possible, spending every week and weekend with them, expect a weekend every two weeks with his mother.

That’s a fair deal in Richie’s books, considering that it was Matt who wanted the arrangement to be like that, but Myra had to audacity of claiming that Richie poisoned his mind against her, and that he was the one manipulating Matt to make these claims. He hadn’t expected her to forfeit like that straight away, but he also hadn’t expected her to do everything she could to make Matt have to go to her. She fought Eddie for full custody, ignoring all of her sons own pleas to her.

She lost, but the whole thing resulted in Eddie being more aggravated to her, for trying to take away his son, whereas before, he was content to leave her be as long as she didn’t interfere in his life.

‘Motherfucker’, Eddie mumbles under his breath angrily, a grunt-like sound originating from him as he watches the car in front of them skid to a halt again, his face turning more sour by the minute.

Experience has taught Richie that he best lets Eddie rage inside his mind for a little way, at least until he has inwardly yelled at everyone and everything in his mind, before attempting to talk him down.

They’ve both gotten much better at that, both Eddie and Richie. Richie so he can stop his motormouth running a mile a minute, spouting out whatever comes to mind to stop the situation from exacerbating, usually leading to the situating exacerbating, and Eddie has accumulated hos behavior, not lashing out at people who don’t deserve it.

‘Hey fucker,’ Eddie seethes when they reach a crossroad, a car coming in from the left and cutting them off, even though that won’t make him get to his destination any faster, the flow of traffic still blocked like Eddies mom’s underwear.

‘Was that so worth it asshole? What you gonna do now? Speed away?’

Richie places his hand on Eddie’s arm that’s still wrapped around the gear stick that’s off no use, rubbing what he hopes are comforting circles on his upper arm.

Eddie’s eyes turn to his, a sigh escaping him as he takes his hand of he wheel, one of them interlocking with Richie’s hand.

‘You’re right, you’re right Rich. But I don’t wanna be late to my sons performance. You know how Myra is going to have him agitated, and I wish we could be there to calm him down.’

Richie does know, which is why it sucked balls that Matt was going over to her house this weekend of all times. Compromising had been no use, Myra kept insisting that it was her time and they weren’t going to take that away from here, even when Eddie promised her that Matt could go the weekend after.

A call from Matt’s teacher had informed them that Matt was in fact not present during rehearsals on Friday after school, and that told Richie and Eddie all they needed to know.

Contacting Matt was off no use, since he had no phone and Myra refused to let them interact with one another. Again, Richie made a mental note to gift Matt an iPhone or something alike, and no one was stopping him.

‘I know Eds, but that guy is not responsible for that. Stop reacting to other people in daily life like you do during our sexy times.’

The punch to his arm is hard, but he sniggers regardless.  

Taking another peek out the window told Richie they were getting nowhere, so he exhaled harshly, preparing himself for the worst.

‘Okay, do your best Eds, give it to the speeding brake like I gave it to your mom every night.’

Richie expects a retort back, an angry fuck you maybe, or a middle finger, but instead he is gifted the sight of speechless Eddie, his mouth open in shock.

‘You’re serious?’ He asks, even though Eddie has already made up his mind, and is fastly shifting into speed gremlin mode.

With his head thrown back, Richie releases a loud groan, rumbling from all the way in his chest. ‘Yes, now hurry up before I regret it, lay it all on me Jesus.’

A menacing smirk that threatens to overtake every other feature in Eddie’s face, Eddie presses a short kiss to his mouth, pulling back before Richie even has a chance to reciprocate, and speeds off to the emergency lane on their right side.

Eddie is a monster while driving, which is why it’s Richie that drives most of the time, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The clocks ticks on unforgivably, striking three pm exact when Richie looks at it, and let that be the exact time when the show is supposed to start.

They’re too late to wish Matt good luck, but at the very least he’ll see both of them in the audience in their designated seats, right next to Myra. If he doesn’t, Richie fears that he might panic.

Driving on the emergency line is highly illegal, but Eddie brushes that aside as he propels his way to the parking lot.

It takes the barely five minutes after that. They got honked at countless of times, but they made it on time, so Richie counts it as a win anyway. Jumping out of the car before it has even come to a complete stop is dangerous, but discarded on the side when they rush inside the school.

The show has started, but Matt was not the first one on, thankfully, so all they’ve missed is the speech that the principal always gives at the beginning of these kind of events, and a kid who thinks she can play the flute, but really all she’s doing in blowing air into the instrument.

Richie claps animatedly anyway, her moment over when they get in, since he knows what it feels like to be laughed at for something you like the do, and she’s also a kid, so she deserves a pass.

Eddie claps too, snorting when he sees the absolute ridiculous movements his boyfriend is making.

‘What the hell are you doing Rich?’

‘I’m just granting this little girl what you and the rest of the losers deprived me off. Validation for my talents.’ Eddie whips around lightning fast, his laugh loud and uninhabited while he raises his middle finger to Richie.

‘Do those talents include humor?’ While they’re talking, both of them carefully tiptoe around other parents and grand-parents, trying to find a way to get to their seats. He nearly steps on someone toes, offering them a short apology and hopes they except it, but he is too busy avoiding every one else to see if they’re angry or not.

‘Well yes of course Edward. You as young lad should have seen the absolute hidden potential that was harvesting in me.’

Eddie laughs so loud that his knees nearly buckle, several people shushing him even though there’s no one left on stage, and they’re waiting for the next person to make an appearance.

‘Oh please, you’re still not funny now what makes you think you were then?’

In their haste, the knowledge that they would have to spend the entire late afternoon with Eddie ex-wife had disappeared off into the background, but then Richie makes eye contact with her, and it back with much vigor.

Richie wants to slouch, dread already pulling him down towards the ground, but he refuses to let Myra drag him down, and he has Eddie with him anyway, so it’s not that bad.

As soon as their eyes meet, Myra, like a cliche, turns her nose up and looks away, acting as if she is the one that is ashamed of them. There are two empty seats next to her, who will be occupied in a second by them, but Richie still searches for another vacant spot, without luck.

It’s ridiculous anyway, since the seat were granted two weeks before today. It’s a mystery to Richie who organized the seating arrangements, but man did they fuck up bad.

Eddie, who is walking in front of him, reaches out to grab Richie’s hand, squeezing two times for strength and asking Richie for protection, despite him not needing any. His not fearful of his former wife, but she gets under his skin, and not in the good way that Richie can, make him struggle to remain his composer.

Remorsefully, Richie says goodbye to his sanity, a polite and cheerful face covering him like a mask, even when all he really wants to do is yell in her face.

He stills Eddie by placing two of his large hands against his arms, effectively stopping him from walking any further, and moves to stand closest to her.

Someone else has made his way on stage, this time the kid is dancing, and his music is loud enough that Richie can speak in a normal voice, which still means he has to keep it down.

He ploughs down in the middle seat, right in between Myra and where Eddie will be in a second, like a wall between the two of them. Eddie shoots him a grateful smile, sitting down in his chair much more gracefully than Richie, with his hands in his lap.

‘Hello Myra,’ Richie greets her, to establish to her that they were not planning on being rude to her. If anyone was going to start a ruckus, it would be her.

‘Richard’, she greets, followed by ‘Edward.’

Hearing his full name sound absolutely ridiculous to Richie, but he ignores to avoid creating an argument, god knows Myra only needed one slam word and she would blow off.

‘Myra’, Eddie too nods at Myra, Richie bites his lips to stop himself from making a fool of the situation, but by the knowing look in Eddie’s eyes, he knows that Eddie knows what he wanted to say.

After the boy, there are two more children, then a group, and then a little girl comes up. Boredom is starting to take it’s toll on Richie, who can’t sit still if it could help save his life, so his knew has been insistently bouncing since the dancing act.

Eddie helps somewhat by hooking his leg under Richie’s, their ankles linked while his hand plays with the bracelet on Eddie’s wrist, made by Matt when he was being babysit by Ben and Bev.

The girl is shaking all the way through her body, the microphone she’s holding swaying dangerously. Her face is ashen white, and she looks about two seconds away from vomiting, which Richie can relate too. Being on stage is scary, especially when you’re that young, a pang of sympathy for the girl embracing him in it’s warm hold.

The song she has chosen to sing was let it go from frozen, but she only made it past 1/4 of the song, when she forgets her lines and makes up her own lyrics.

The lyrics do not make any sense, she’s mostly naming things she can see, ranging from things like curtains, to teachers, the mortification on her face revealing how embarrassed she is.

It’s that that makes Richie stand up resolutely when the final note dies out, leaping to his feet to applaud her as much and as loud as he can.

‘This is I folks, the best act of the night. Nothing can top this. The way that she improvised is a talent that is rarely seen in anyone ever before.’ Richie whoops, preening when other parents join in on the applause, and the little girls face lits up like a Christmas tree.

He’s only half kidding. He’s going to find Matt the best no matter what, call it a part of fatherhood, but the girl was really inventive, and she did not give up. Besides, seeing the tears in her eyes blinked away is enough to make Richie smile in delight.

When everything dies down and he retrieves his seat again, a woman taps him on the shoulder. She’s holding a camera in her hands that she puts away and grins.

‘Thank you. That was my daughter, I can’t tell you how happy this will have made her.’

Richie is touched, but he also can’t take credit for something he has nothing to do with.

‘It was all your daughter ma’am, she’s a natural.’ Eddie presses a kiss to his cheek, conveying what he’s not saying out loud; ‘I’m proud of you.’

‘Are you always like this?’ Myra inquirers curt, her face stuck in a permanent sneer. Eddie tenses beside him, but he won’t allow her to ruin the afternoon before they have even seen the person they came for.

‘What do you mean Sonia?’

‘My name is Myra.’

‘Same difference. Am I always this awesome and funny and caring towards others?’ He’s not being serious, but to Myra that doesn’t matter. She opens her mouth to say something else, but Richie has already turned his back sideways to here, his entire being focused on Eddie when the latter taps on his arm.

Eddie is staring at the stage however, and when Richie follows his gaze, he sees why. It’s now Matt’s turn, the boy scorching over every head in room, until he finally spots Eddie, Richie and Myra and grins from ear to ear.

He never told Eddie nor Richie what his act would be about, saying that it was supposed to be a surprise, so Richie has no idea what to expect.

His clothes, a yellow t-shirt with a cat on it, and blue jeans that look a bit to dirty to be knew does not seem like something Myra would have let him wear. If anything, Richie was expecting to see  him in something not unlike a suit.

His suspicion is conformed when he hears Myra complain next to him. ‘That’s not what I dressed him in.’

‘Hi, my name is Matt, and today I’m going to be telling you a bunch of jokes my pops taught me.’

Even though Richie will adamantly deny it, and Eddie will confirm it to anyone who asks, Richie starts crying.

He hasn’t even heard any of the jokes, but he already loves them and he loves him.

‘Jean goes on a walk with grandma in the park’, Matt begins his story, ‘and on the way back from the park, he sees a banana peel. When he goes to pick it up, his grandma tells him that he can’t do that, because everything that’s on the ground is dirty and he shouldn’t touch it. Two days later, Jean and his grandma go back to the park, and his grandma trips over the banana peel. When jean’s grandma asks him to help her up, Jean says that he can’t do that, because everything that’s on the ground is dirty, and he can’t touch it.

It’s not even that funny, but Richie loses his shit regardless. The laughter pours out of him relentlessly, making him shake from trying to hold it in.

When Matt thanks the audience for listening, indicating that his act has come to an end, Richie still can’t stop cackling. Eddie is in the same state as him, holding his stomach like it’s hurting and actual tears stream down his cheeks. They’re a stark contrast to Myra, who’s sour look has only worsened, and is just clapping politely like the rest of the parents.

Matt has never been prouder of himself, bowing once and then waving while he gets of the stage, just like Richie does.

When he gets himself under control, a few children later, Myra is has yet to stop her dead glare which is pointed his way.

‘Pops? He calls you that? You are not his father, you’re nothing but filth that has corrupted my Eddie bear and my son. A boy should spend more time with his mother, not with a confused father he thinks his’, she chokes over the words. ‘gay.’

Richie is stricken, hurt despite him knowing that that is just the person Myra is. A hurt emotion that he tries to keep under wraps at all times peaks it’s head up from the darkest part of his soul, but before it has any chance to come up and out, his head is turned, and Eddie connects their lips.

It’s a bit messy, Eddie having knocked his lips on the first area he could find, causing the kiss to be a little off balance, while he brushes at the nap of Richie’s neck. Richie replies by setting his arm on top of Eddie thigh, not high, just above the knee.

They’re in the same position as they were in when they shared their first kiss, and it makes Richie a little dizzy with love and devotion.

Eddie pulls back first, chuckling when he sees the hazy look Richie’s eyes have, and then steels his expression to address Myra.

‘I’m not confused. I’m gay, and yes Matt calls Richie pops, because he wants too, not because we asked him too. Why don’t you wake up Myra? Neither Richie not I are trying to replace you. You’re his mom, no one can do that, but if you continue to be disregard him, he might not be as friendly in the future.’

Then, Eddie stands, pulling Richie up with him, who still dreamily is unaware off what’s happening, his brain not being up to speed yet.

‘Come on Dickwad, pull you head out of your ass, we’ll wait outside until Matt comes.’

He shifts his gaze to Myra; ‘I’ll see you in two weeks.’

Outside, Richie laughs breathlessly. ‘I can’t believe you just did that in front of all these people.’

It’s still insanely warm, but it gets ever warmer when Eddie leans up, and presses his forehead to Richie’s.

Suddenly, Richie is transported back to many summers ago, when Eddie and him were still kids and they had yet to confess their feeling for one another. They shared a moment like that one too, where it was so hot yet they still huddled together.

Richie had thought then that that would be the peak of his life, smelling the scent of warm water and grass, and Eddie colon that stuck to every piece of clothes item he was wearing.

He was wrong, adding Matt to the equation, made it only better.

They must have been there for a long time, but Richie was unaware of that, until he heard Matt call out to them.

‘Dad, Pops, I missed you.’

He leaps into Eddie’s awaiting arms, just small enough for Eddie be able pick him up, while Richie envelops both of them in his arms.

‘We missed you too bud.’ We’ve missed you our entire lives.

[faedawayyy]

I FUCKING LOVE THIS ALBUM AND THE MEANING OF THE SONGS ARE ALREADY SO CEMENTED IN MY HEAD. PLS. 

THE CONCEPT OF JUSTICE IN DALLAS’S CASE IS LIKE, GIVING JUSTICE TO THE STORIES AND MOMENTS HE’S LIVED THROUGH. usually, he is very quick to be harsh and talk negatively of things and people but actually, he has a deeper perspective but is too scared to show it or at least he has been in the past. i think i’m trying to develop him in a new direction (ish). he isn’t a saint but i think he’s definitely ready for newer chapters. 

2 MUCH “Don't wanna fall asleep, I'd rather fall in love 'Cause eternity with you ain't long enough Two seconds without you's like two months And that's too much” a song about all of his relationships. i feel like this is definitely how dallas feels with ALL of his relationships, whether he claims to love or hate them now. he definitely admires people and puts them on pedalstals and he’s his own biggest enemy because if he could verbalise his feelings properly, people would probably feel more valued by him. the chorus definitely points to how he feels like he knows every romantic relationship he has will be over. they all just feel like ticking time bombs and deep down he thinks he’ll end up alone. 

DESERVE YOU  I feel like I don't deserve you tonight It's in the way that you hold me I don't deserve you tonight It's in the things that you show me I need you, don't let me go”  a song for charlie. she’s his best friend and this is definitely a platonic song. she’s the one friend (girl, anyway) that’s stood by him and not criticised him or patronised him, but also hasn’t made things messy by blurring the lines between them. he knows he doesn’t appreciate her enough but he’s also massively worried about disappointing her/not living up to the person she seems to think he can be if he tries. she was the person who was there at his very lowest. it’s about him feeling fully accepted by her too.

AS I AM  “Sometimes, I don't know why you love me Sometimes, I don't know why you care Take me with the good and the ugly Say, "I'm not goin' anywhere" his real fans. the ones who he sees constantly defending him and sticking up for him, despite all of the shit that he’s put them through lmao because he’s definitely not made it easy to support him but he is genuinely grateful (as much as he moans about fancons and being bothered). 

OFF MY FACE  “'Cause I'm off my face, in love with you I'm out my head, so into you And I don't know how you do it But I'm forever ruined by you” soraya. it’s a love song but also a play on his battle with drugs and how his addiction came in between them. the song lines definitely go back and forth between a stereotypical love song (for her) and a more toxic love song (for the drugs) and how he couldn’t bring himself to part with them for her. 

HOLY  “On God Runnin' to the altar like a track star Can't wait another second 'Cause the way you hold me, hold me, hold me, hold me, hold me Feels so holy” charlie, disney, ruby, adrian, matt, evan, basically all of his close friends. the song is pretty self-explanatory. 

UNSTABLE  “I tried to scare you, scare you away Showed you the door, you adored me anyway When I was broken in pieces You were my peace of mind, you were my peace of mind.” a lot of these songs are going to be about coming to terms with the truth about his relationship with soraya and realising that he was the problem, because he’s always found it easier to point at anything else. 

MLK INTERLUDE  “You died when you refused to stand up for right You died when you refused to stand up for truth You died when you refused to stand up for justice for all of his faults, dallas has ALWAYS spoken up about bigger social issues. especially racial inequality. i think he’d put this on here for ally-ship purposes but also to remind people that there are bigger problems than trying to decode what each song is about. i think the speech itself connects to him because there are SO MANY people at st judes who villainise him lmao and run their mouths about how bad he is, but then stay quiet for shit that actually matters. so i guess its kinda shade to them too. 

DIE FOR YOU  “Pain and passion, my desire You're the right now and what will be You know I would die for you The rest of my life for you” ZARA. zara is the only girl he’s been linked to that has made him meet his match. she always gave him the energy he gave her and that was a first for him, bc he was so used to having the upper-hand. it’s a song about feeling like he’s been pulled out of the rut and the mess he ended up in with soraya x julian and everything else. 

HOLD ON  “Painting stars up on your ceiling 'Cause you wish that you could find some feeling, yeah, you You know you can call me if you need someone” ruby. he saw how hurt she was after her break-up and he’d been there. they weirdly fell back together after so many years and he didn’t want to see her fall into the heartbreak with ros that she did with soraya.

SOMEBODY  “Yeah, everybody needs somebody (Everybody needs somebody) Somebody to wake up to when everyone's gone So if you need me, then you got me (If you need me, then you got me) I'll be the shoulder you cry on” charlie, again, but this time saying he’ll be the best friend to her that she’s been to him. 

GHOST  “If I can't be close to you I'll settle for the ghost of you I miss you more than life  And if you can't be next to me Your memory is ecstasy I miss you more than life” the very last song he’s wrote about soraya. i think he knows deep down that they’re not getting back together but he is deeply in love with her & she is the love of his life, and i feel like he takes comfort in knowing that he’s significant to her too. 

PEACHES  “I got my peaches out in Georgia (Oh, yeah, shit) I get my weed from California (That's that shit) I took my chick up to the North, yeah (Bad-ass bitch) I get my light right from the source, yeah (Yeah, that's it)” nothing LMAO 

LOVE YOU DIFFERENT  “There’s beauty on your lips I drown with every kiss I'm not used to this There's nothing I won’t give Don't like makin' promises Just remember this” his relationship with gigi. i think now that he’s away from it and well over it, he sees it more for what it is and the fact that empty promises and trying to be more than they wanted to be kinda ruined them. i feel like this song was written in past tense because they’re obviously not in love any more. 

LOVED BY YOU  “It's still your love I'm always looking for It's just the way I'm wired Whether I'm wrong or right I've only got one thing on my mind” EVERYONE. i think at his core, dallas is desperate to be loved by people and the reason he pushes people away is because he doesn’t think they’re ever going to. it addresses the people around him, his fans, music academies. he acts like he wants no approval but it’s really the opposite. 

ANYONE “You say that I won't lose you, but you can't predict the future So just hold on like you will never let go Yeah, if you ever move on without me I need to make sure you know that...” soraya

LONELY “Everybody knows my past now Like my house was always made of glass And maybe that's the price you pay For the money and fame at an early age And everybody saw me sick And it felt like no one gave a shit They criticized the things I did as an idiot kid”

growing up

[welllpthisishappening]

Waiting for Puck Drop

The ice is new. The headlines haven’t been written yet. The skates are all a little sharper. Because it’s the start of the season and that means fresh slates and unbroken white boards and cheering from a variety of suites and seats and toasted drinks. It’s time to win again. 

Or: five season openers, three different teams and almost too much fluff. 

---

Word Count: Like just under 6K Rating: There’s kissing.  AN: Happy hockey season, everyone! This is the year, babe! It’s not, really, but I’ve got high hopes of a Wild Card berth and Chris Kreider hasn’t cut his hair yet, so things are looking up. This is, as advertised, fluff on fluff on fluff and it is my birthday, so I do what I want. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

“Is the window offending you personally, then?” Emma glanced over her shoulder. “You think you’re very funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m passably entertaining,” Killian grinned, leaning against the open doorway to their room and that really wasn’t fair. Partially because he was doing that ankle-crossing thing and partially because there were still drops of water falling down the side of his neck from the shower he’d presumably just taken and—

“Where are your pants?” Emma groaned. That was stupid. The whole thing whole thing was patently and absolutely stupid. And it hadn’t really been like that when she was pregnant with Matt. The leg thing. The thigh thing. The almost questionable awareness of every single shift of every single muscle whenever Killian took a step forward. She was a disaster. 

She hoped she didn’t embarrass herself during the game. 

David would never let her hear the end of it. 

And Killian’s grin very quickly turned into a smirk. She was going to roll her eyes into the back of her head. 

Maybe then she wouldn’t be so focused on how hard it was raining. 

On opening night. 

With all that blue carpet. 

The tents would be fine. The tents were always fine. It would be totally and completely fine and—

“Seriously, why are you not wearing pants?” 

Killian’s tongue shifted, brushing over the front of his teeth until the end of it settled in the corner of his lips and Emma hoped her face wasn’t as warm as it felt. That wasn’t fair either. She was vaguely hormonal. 

And it was raining. 

He couldn’t tease her while it was raining. 

On opening night. 

“Probably because I did just get out of the shower—” “—Well, that’s obvious. I just…” Emma gave a half-hearted shrug, digging the heel of her hand into the small of her back and that didn’t do much to help the ache there, but she hadn’t really expected it to either and it was only a matter of time before the nearly three-year-old at the other end of the hall started wreaking havoc. 

On opening night. 

Emma couldn’t remember the last time Matt had agreed to wear anything that wasn’t team merch. He’d slept in a jersey every night for the last week. 

“Oh, don’t do that,” Emma grumbled, Killian’s soft chuckle echoing between her ears when he crossed the room. He tugged her hand away from her shirt, a quick kiss to the bend of her knuckles, but then his knuckles were taking over and whatever noise she made was unlike anything she’d ever done before. 

In, like, her whole life. 

Her head dropped back, crashing into Killian’s collarbone with a soft thump. He laughed again, free hand coming around to circle her stomach and trail across the bottom of her shirt and he was doing it on purpose. 

She was positive. 

“Is this supposed to be a distraction?”

Killian hummed, nosing at the side of her neck. “Something like that. It’s not really raining that hard, you know.” “Practice that a few more times and then get back to me.” “You have planned for this. With several different caveats for a variety of weather problems. We’ve done it in the rain before.” “Have we?” He nipped at her skin. “You’re something of a menace, you know that?”

“I’m stressed out,” Emma corrected, and that wasn’t the right thing to say because he was an overprotective weirdo and there was so much yellow Gatorade in her office refrigerator. Every single person on the team had bought her yellow Gatorade. 

Daily. It was nice. 

Maybe she and Killian could hang out sans pants for a little while longer. 

“That’s kind of the last thing we should be aiming for,” Killian mumbled. “This is—” “—We should probably stop having kids in the middle of the season, is really what it is.” “Multiple kids, huh?” “Look who’s being a menace now,” Emma muttered, turning her back on the rain so she could sling her arms over Killian’s shoulders. That wasn’t particularly easy. She was dangerously close to unwieldy at this point. 

And turning around meant she could see his goddamn thighs again. 

“I know it’ll be fine,” Emma continued, “Mer’s been on rain watch for the last week and we knew this was going to happen. There are tents and plans and people will be pissed that they all can’t get under those same tents, but none of that will matter if you guys win.” “Winning was the plan.” Emma’s smile stretched across her face, some of the inexplicable nerves and frustration about semi-predictable weather patterns settling just a bit. “I know it was. Which is equally stupid and attractive and—” “—Is that a compliment?” “Your thighs are also exceptionally dumb.”

“Doesn’t sound like a compliment.” “It’s honestly worse with just the boxers on.” “We’ve got to set some ground rules for compliments, Swan.” Emma scoffed, but the smirk gained power as soon as Killian’s eyebrows arched as well and—there was a crash in the kitchen. That sounded suspiciously like a puck slamming into the wall. “There it is,” Emma muttered, forehead dropping back to Killian’s chest. 

He kissed her hair. 

“He’s been trying to imitate a very specific type of one-timer.” “That one-timer wouldn’t happen to belong to you, would it?” Emma asked knowingly.

“You keep making all these sweeping accusations, love,” Killian laughed, rolling his shoulder so she had to glance up and that was the most dumb. Peak dumb. As if she was the reason he wanted to win. And shoot one-timers. 

She hoped it never changed. 

She didn’t expect it to. 

“That’s not an answer,” Emma said. The puck slammed into the wall again. “If you don’t put pants on at some point I’m going to kiss you very hard.” “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She groaned again — or possibly just growled, it was getting difficult to tell — ignoring her back and the swell of her stomach and Killian’s smile was obvious as soon as Emma’s mouth caught his. His arm found its way back around her middle, fingers working their way under her shirt almost immediately and it was the same as it always was and entirely different  because it was a new season and another chance to win and that one-timer had led to several goals during the preseason. 

The blue carpet would be fine. 

Neither one of them pulled apart when they heard the footsteps. 

And Matt hardly slowed down — even when he slammed into the back of Killian’s thighs. He was already talking a mile-a-minute, the word goal shouted more than once in quick succession and that was probably for the best because he absolutely did not notice when Emma gasped. 

As soon as Killian’s teeth grazed her lower lip. 

She leaned back, not quite able to scowl — particularly when his eyes went that particular shade of blue. Or when he picked up their kid. Who was still wearing an oversized jersey. 

“What did we say about shooting at the wall, kid?” Killian asked. Matt scrunched his nose. “Huh, c’mon there was a whole discussion about this.” “Mattie,” Emma prodded, tugging on the back of his jersey. 

Her phone was ringing somewhere. 

“Don’t shoot at the wall,” Matt grumbled. 

“Well, at least some of it stuck,” Killian laughed. “So let’s try and do exactly that for at least the next few hours, ok?” More grumbling. Emma tugged her lips behind her teeth. 

And the carpet was, in fact, as fine as Emma only half expected it to be — a walkie talkie strapped to her hip and Matt sitting with Mr. and Mrs. Vankald and the team suite was packed by the time she got upstairs, a sea of blue and white and— “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom,” Matt chanted, sprinting forward and she barely ducked down quickly enough to prevent a disaster. 

“Mattie, Mattie, Mattie. Did you see Dad before?” He nodded enthusiastically, chin bumping with Emma’s shoulder in the process and her eyes darted towards a clearly entertained Henry. Wearing his own Jones jersey. “Nearly jumped off the bleachers, but—oh damn.” Emma didn’t bother to say anything about that, head snapping towards the ice and the nerves made a glorious return, flying up the back of her throat and settling on the tip of her tongue. Flying was an almost appropriate word. 

She held Matt a little tighter. He didn’t appreciate that. 

He was also trying to look at the ice. And the blue streak moving up it. 

Vancouver had dumped it into the zone — a poor attempt at a change that backfired almost immediately because Killian had split a pair of just-on-the-ice defenders. The puck landed on his stick almost as soon as he crossed the blue line and Emma wasn’t even sure if she was breathing anymore, eyes going wide and a little dry and she could dimly hear Roland screaming something. It did not sound like it was in English. 

Mary Margaret was absolutely jumping up and down. 

Emma couldn’t seem to move. 

One of the Canucks defenders did their best to catch up, but Killian’s eyes were already focused on the goal. He stuck his stick out, Killian’s left arm coming up to ward him off and that was stupid too because it was all lower-body strength and more thoughts about his thighs and—

“Technically, it wasn’t a one-timer,” Killian grinned, hours later and slumped in the corner of a booth in the restaurant with a sleeping Matt draped over his chest. 

Emma threw her whole head back when it laughed. “What are you talking about technically? That wasn’t even close to a one-timer.” “You act like you’re not impressed.” “Has anyone ever told you that you may have a future in this whole hockey-playing thing?” “Once or twice.” “And you’re very fast.” “Well, I’m trying to show off for this girl I know.”

“Girl, huh?” “I’ve got the biggest crush on her.” She blushed again. 

“Do we have to be here for this?” Will yelled, Roland’s head lolling on his shoulder. Killian’s eyebrows jumped. “Also, I’d like some credit for that pass.” “You moved the puck from behind the net,” Regina reasoned. “That’s the most basic thing a defender could do,” “Yeah, but I knew Cap was fast.” Killian didn’t stop staring at Emma — even when he clamored back to his feet, Matt clinging to his side and the whole thing was oddly and delightfully cyclical. “C’mon, love,” he muttered. “Let’s get out of here.”

He blinked awake, senses returning slowly because it was the middle of the night and Killian desperately needed to sleep. 

Before the season started. 

Tomorrow. Today, maybe. He wasn’t really sure what time it was, actually. 

The noise got louder — a not-so-soft creak and the telltale sound of springs shifting and...he strained his ears. A cabinet opening. More than once. 

Killian sighed, doing his best to move as quietly as possible, but Emma still shifted as soon as he stood up and her hair was everywhere. It made his heart thud erratically in his chest, an emotion he couldn’t quite come to terms with because this was the end, but it was going to be good or better and it had to be both of those of those things and the cabinet opened again. 

Only to close just as quickly. 

“Are we being robbed?” Emma mumbled into her pillow. 

“Nah, I think there is a scavenger out there, though.” “You want me to go?”

“I’ll take care of it, Swan.” “You need to sleep. There’s games tomorrow.” “Only one that I’m aware of.” “God, you’re annoying.” He chuckled, bending to kiss her temple and that only got her to squirm again, burrowing further under blankets with one side of her mouth obviously tugged up. “That’s the sentiment I’m going for, obviously. Go back to sleep, love. I won’t be that long.”

Emma made another noise — low and content and it wasn’t really cold in the apartment, but Killian swore his whole soul got warmer at the sound, padding out of their bedroom and into the kitchen to find exactly what he expected. 

Peggy. Standing on the counter. With more than one cabinet open. 

“What do you think you’re doing out her, Margaret?” She didn’t startle — and Killian hadn’t expected her to, a mess of curly hair that fell over her shoulders and flew across her forehead when she snapped around. And he knew he shouldn’t smile when she scrunched her nose or huffed softly, but both moves were only a little ridiculous at whatever time it actually was. 

There was a bag of cookies in her hand. 

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing, huh? What’s that you’re holding onto, then?” “Cookies.” Killian blinked. More than once. He hadn’t expected that. Maybe he was dreaming. That would have made more sense. “And what are you planning on doing with the cookies in the middle of the night when you should be asleep?” “I’m not tired.” “That’s not an answer.” “I’m not though,” Peggy said, and he needed to do something besides blink. But there was a distinct hitch in her voice and a slight wobble to her left knee when she kept standing on top of the counter. “I—MD was looking at games today and I can help too!” Not a dream, then. 

And it only took him a few seconds to understand, Killian’s soul experiencing a slightly different wave of emotion while he crossed the linoleum floor in the kitchen. Peggy didn’t drop the cookies when he hauled her into his arms, burying her face and her hair into the side of his neck. Her legs curled around his middle. 

There weren’t any tears. No shaking limbs or quivering body. Nothing, really. Just a heavy silence that a kid shouldn’t have understood. 

Killian kind of wanted some cookies too now. 

“C’mere, let’s sit down,” he muttered, trying to keep his balance on the short journey back to the vaguely creaky couch. Peggy didn’t move her legs. 

That made it more difficult to sit down. 

And avoid crushing the cookies. 

“What if you just closed your eyes right here?” Peggy’s nose scrunch got more...scrunched. 

“Pegs,” Killian continued, “you’re not going to be able to scout if you’re tired, it’s—”

He took a deep breath, nosing at her cheek and kissing anywhere he could reach. It was selfish and a little greedy, but coming back for two extra seasons also felt a bit like that, had been lauded and applauded in equal measure on nearly every morning talk show in the greater Tri-State area. 

WFAN called him desperate. 

He might have been. He wanted his kids to see him win. 

He wanted his kids to win. And celebrate with cookies. Maybe at a more appropriate time.

Peggy tilted her head up — wide eyes and hair everywhere and there was some joke about a false start on the faceoff that only kind of made sense because Killian wasn’t sure what his pulse was doing, but it might have been racing and he was a pushover. 

She grinned. 

“We are going to watch one period,” Killian started, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on and he was only slightly hopeful that there were in fact still games saved there. “And then you are going back to sleep, you hear me?” Nothing. “Margaret, I am—” “—What game?” “I don’t know,” Killian mumbled. “Pick one.” She pulled the remote out of his hand, twisting against him and one of her knees must have been made of titanium. He gasped and groaned and the whole thing was kind of a mess, but in a way that was oddly charming and maybe not quite desperate. 

She picked a game from last March. 

Against Pittsburgh. 

“Here, at least move your legs,” Killian shifted, bringing Peggy with him and it was a little harder to do this when she wasn’t a baby, but there also wasn’t much room on the couch and only a few strands of her hair got close to his mouth when she pressed her cheek to his shirt.

He kissed the top of her head. 

“Why didn’t you shoot?” Killian hummed, not sure when his eyes had started to flutter closed. 

“You should have shot,” Peggy said, matter of factly. Her chin was digging into his chest. “You could have.” “Yeah?” Peggy nodded, fabric twisting under her and Killian wasn’t all that surprised to find that his not-quite five-year-old was almost painfully right. “Huh,” he muttered as the replay showed again. “You’re very smart you know that?” She nearly fell off the couch when she tried to grab the cookies. 

“No, no, no, it is—we agreed to one period of hockey and you falling back asleep, we are not doing the sugar rush right now” “But, Dad—” “—What part of that was confusing?” “They’re good, though.” “I’ve got no doubt that they’re excellent cookies, but you need to go back to sleep, Margaret, so unless you want to sleep through the game later—” “—I want to watch the game!” Her voice rose, only to have her lips clamp shut as soon as Killian narrowed his eyes. The Penguins had just scored. He hoped that wasn’t a sign. 

“You’re going to miss Rook check this guy,” Killian mumbled, not entirely parental, but it was a good hit and Peggy’s head snapped around so quickly he nearly got hair in his eyes. She’d started cheering under her breath. 

That have been more endearing than anything else that had happened yet, soft encouragements for a months-old-game and her hands bumped Killian’s side when they scored. Like she was fist pumping. 

And he had every intention of going back to bed. He did. But Killian hadn’t ever figured out what time it was or how, exactly, Peggy had managed to get on top of the counter, but then there was a quiet laugh and sunlight peeking through curtains and Emma smiled as soon as his eyes opened. Again. 

“Took a little longer than you expected, didn’t it?” “What time is it?” “Like eight o’clock.” “Ah, damn. That can’t be good for my back.” “Probably not,” Emma agreed, a flash in her eyes and her smile widened when she tugged on the back of Peggy’s shirt. “Babe, you’ve got to get up, so Dad can get ready, ok?” Peggy made a noise oddly similar to the one Emma had a few hours earlier — and maybe a little desperation wasn’t all that bad. Maybe it was good inspiration. “You’ve got to shoot later, Dad,” she muttered, still curled against Killian’s chest. 

He tightened his arms around her. 

“That sounds like a plan.”

“So, we’re going to be cool about this, right?” Emma narrowed her eyes, and orange was not a good color. For anyone. At anytime. Regina must have bought jerseys in bulk. 

They looked like a massive sun or something, wandering through Nationwide Arena with enough nervous energy that it was probably doing damage to the ozone. 

“I don’t think so,” Killian muttered, answering Will’s question. His eyes kept darting towards Robin — who didn’t appear to be breathing. Or blinking. “Is he—do you think he’s suddenly turned to stone or something?” “He’s moving,” Emma reasoned. “And still capable of hearing, as strange as that may sound,” Robin said. “Also people don’t just turn into stone, that’s impractical. You need to have, like, offended a god or something.” “I’m sorry, what?” Ruby cackled. Her phone was already out. She might not have ever put it away. “I think he’s suggesting that only ancient gods could turn someone into stone, which, first of all, that’s not correct, and second of all, if we’re going to get this existential, it should probably be on video because Scarlett’s Instagram could use a little spice and—”

“—Stop hacking into my social media accounts, Lucas,” Will cried, Belle’s shoulders shaking when she did her best not to laugh. 

It did not really work. 

And Regina couldn’t seem to stop wringing her fingers together. 

Henry sighed, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling of a rather large suite in Columbus. He took a few steps forward, tugging her hands apart and wrapping his own fingers around hers and Mary Margaret might have audibly aw’ed. 

Ariel definitely did, at least. 

“This is nerve-wracking,” she added. “How are we not better prepared for this? Just like—on principle or something?” “It means we’re old,” David reasoned. He’d already dropped back into one of the plush chairs behind them, grabbing what, at first glance, appeared to be a drink menu. “That’s a lot for anyone to cope with.” “Plus, orange is just—” “Yeah?” Regina asked archly, and Henry’s snicker was far too loud. 

Ariel didn’t say anything else. 

“So,” David drawled, “should we do shots or just straight champagne, you think?” “It’s your toast,” Emma pointed out.

“You want me to toast?” “Don’t be an idiot.” “You really have this fantastic way of complimenting people, love,” Killian chuckled, more than a few groans from fellow adults and their own kids when his lips landed just behind her ear. 

She shivered. 

It probably looked even more absurd in head to toe orange. 

“Maybe we should do shots,” Ruby muttered. Robin had started pacing again. And it wasn’t that they were unprepared per se for one of their kids to play professional hockey, but it did feel like some kind of monumental moment. 

Because Roland Locksley was making his NHL debut. 

Emma hummed. “That might not be a bad idea, honestly.” “I’m not drinking straight vodka though.” “Lucas, do you know what a shot is?” Will asked, tugging the menu out of David’s grip. “But seriously no vodka, I can’t—” “—Memories of Stanley Cups past, Scarlet?” Killian muttered. 

Belle rolled her eyes. “Oh, that’s not playing fair and you know it.” “Can I have a shot?” Chris asked, twisting around Emma’s side and every adult in a twenty-foot radius shouted no in surround sound. His eyes widened. “It was just a question, that’s—” “—If we get vodka, you can have some of my cranberry juice,” Ruby reasoned. 

“Oh my God, Lucas, stop it,” Killian growled. She stuck her tongue out. “Seriously, we’re not doing shots of vodka,” Will yelled, and Emma wasn't surprised that the whole had dissolved into farce rather quickly. 

Someone was laughing on Ruby’s phone. It sounded suspiciously like Liam. 

“What about tequila,” Mary Margaret suggested. “That’s appropriately degenerate and—” “—Is that the mindset we’re going for?” Robin mumbled. 

“Did I not hear you bet with Scarlet how quickly you thought your kid was going to score in this arena where they actually set off a canon?” Something about stone, Emma was sure. 

And it was almost alarming how loud Regina’s laugh was. 

She threw her whole head back, far too much orange and LOCKSLEY plastered across her back, an arm around her middle and, eventually, tears in the corners of her eyes. 

They weren’t the last tears anyone in that suite would shed. 

“I will bet that both Rol and Killian flinch at the canon because Columbus’ top line really is good and will score early, but then Rol will score his first NHL goal, so we win,” she announced, laughter hanging from the edge of word. 

Emma glanced at Killian. 

He grinned. 

“How much you want to bet?” He lost twenty bucks. 

In the second period. When the Blue Jackets scored. 

They both flinched. 

And it took some time for the rest of the bet to play out — after the speech and they all had to order their own drinks, and regulation and there was so much open ice in overtime, quick shifts and a puck on Roland’s stick and someone mumbled oh shit as soon as the light went off. 

It was definitely Chris. 

Emma would deal with that later. After she came to terms with the goal. Because the goal was—well, oh shit, made sense. 

It was a quick give-and-go, Roland trailing behind a teammate and the puck had barely landed on his stick before his wrists were moving — Killian’s God, look at him handle sounding impossibly loud in Emma’s ears —and all three defenders converged on him. None of them came close to stopping him. 

Emma had no idea how he managed to get the puck up too, shooting just over the goalie’s left pad. And there was no cannon, just disgruntled noises of disappointed fans, but the cheering in that one, questionably large suite probably set a record. 

They toasted again. 

It felt appropriate.  

 “Dad, do you think I’m going to run away or something?” Killian made a noise in the back of his throat, not pulling his eyes away from the ice and his lungs hurt. All of him kind of ached, but that also felt far too melodramatic and he was excited. He was. He was also a nervous wreck. 

Chris rolled his shoulder, clearly trying to get rid of Killian’s vice-like grip. “I’m not moving, so I don’t—you keep trying to yank on my shirt.” Killian’s knuckles cracked when he let go. 

“Shit, sorry kid, that’s—oh, don’t tell your mom I said that.”

Chris laughed, lips quirking down in a far-too-serious expression for an eight-year-old, but that same eight-year-old probably knew more about the Boston University hockey team than anyone else in the entire world and— “He’s totally going to score.” “You think?” Killian asked. “Don’t you?” “I want him to score. It’d be cool if he did.” “Did you?” “Did I what?” “Score in your first game.” Killian resisted the urge to move his hand again. And not for the first time he realized that the kid in front of him had a slightly different childhood than the kid who would, eventually, get on the ice and very likely score. If only because he took forty-seven shots every game. 

Give or take. 

He was suddenly even more glad that Chris was there. 

“I didn’t actually,” Killian said, tugging on the back of Chris’ shirt and he only grumbled a little bit when they both collapsed into the nearest chair. “I got two penalties, tried to cross-check some kid from—” He clicked his tongue, trying to remember the name of the team. “The University of British Columbia.”

“Was that a real game?” “I’m pretty sure it was, yeah. The penalty minutes were very real at least.” “Doesn’t sound like a real team.” “And you sound like you’re going to offend an entire Canadian province,” Killian laughed, doing his best to redistribute some of Chris’ weight on his thighs. “I wasn’t worried you were going to run away,” he added. “That’s—I’m a little nervous, you know.” “Yeah, I know.” “Do you just?” Chris nodded, as if it were obvious and Killian supposed it kind of was. He could hear Emma Facetime’ing Roland on the other side of the suite. There wasn’t that much room — although Ruby had apparently done her best to get them the most amount of space, until Matt caught wind of the plan and put his foot down. 

Or some other cliche. 

He didn’t want an audience. He just wanted to play. His words. So it was only them, Emma decked out in head to toe red and Peggy with a pair of twenties painted on either one of her cheeks and Killian trying very hard not to dislocate Chris’ shoulder before puck drop. 

Of Matt’s first college game. 

“I probably should be doing a better job of hiding that, huh?” Killian quipped, but that only got Chris to twist his eyebrows in a far too familiar manner. 

“Why?” “Some big, important dad reason.” Chris’s head fell when he laughed, slinging his legs over the arm of the chair. 

“You’re not doing much to make me feel better, kid,” Killian chided. He rapped his knuckles against Chris’ back when he didn’t stop laughing, the sound ricocheting off walls and directly into the locker room at Wells Fargo Arena and Killian hadn’t even taken his phone out yet. 

He was sure there were several thousand text messages. 

“Matt was nervous too.” “Did he tell you that?” Chris made a noise somewhere between an agreement and the desperate desire not to give up his brother or post curfew phone calls. “I, uh—well I had some ideas.” “Ideas? About what?” “How he could score.”

He didn’t laugh. And he didn’t really want to laugh. Was far too stunned and admittedly a little overwhelmed and slightly thankful that Emma was still on the phone because Killian was only seventy-six percent confident that he wasn’t about to dissolve into tears.

“What’d you come up with?” Chris beamed. “Well, Matt’s super fast, right? And he takes all those shots, but I was looking up stuff about—that one defender who’s got a really weird name.” “I didn’t look up the roster.” “Ok, well,” Chris continued undeterred, “he’s got a weird name and he’s been on the team for a really long time, but he gets caught skating back a lot and I really think Matt should just skate by him.” “That’s it?” “What else do you want him to do?” “That’s a fair point,” Killian admitted. “How exactly did you find film for the Mount Royal University men’s hockey team?” “I asked Aunt Gina.” “Ah, of course.” “She called someone.” “Yuh huh.” “That guy’s got a really weird name, Dad. And he’s a bad defender.” “Which is worse, do you think?” “He doesn’t know how to skate,” Chris said, as if that was that and it kind of was. Because Chris hadn’t grown up on the road or with postseason schedules, but he’d still grown up on the ice and watched his brother take forty-seven shots per game. 

Give or take. “You’re right, Matt’s totally going to score,” Killian nodded. The force of Chris’ smile helped silence a few of the lingering nerves and still the metaphorical butterfly wings. And they didn’t lapse into quite-perfect silence, Emma’s voice reaching across the suite and Peggy’s fingers flew over the screen of her own phone, but a thought kept nagging at the back of Killian’s brain and— “Were you a little nervous too?” Chris swallowed. “No.”

“You want to try that again?” “Kind of?” “Kind of.” “Dad,” Chris groaned, slamming his forehead into Killian’s collarbone. He didn’t flinch. “I just—well, Matt was excited, but I—” “Oh.” Chris grit his teeth, another expression an eight-year-old shouldn’t have made because it was almost too obvious how much that same eight-year-old missed his older brother and believed, more than just about anyone, that his older brother was the greatest hockey player to ever step on any ice. 

Anywhere. 

Even against the Mount Royal University men’s hockey team. 

“I love you a lot, you know that?” Killian asked. 

Chris gagged. “Like—just a totally ridiculous Dad appropriate amount.” Chris stuck his tongue out. 

And that got Killian to laugh, twisting around his son so he could tighten his hold and pull him against his chest and that only ended with what felt like a questionable number of wayward knees, but then Chris was laughing too and Emma’s fingers carded through Killian’s hair. 

“What do you think, kid?” she asked. “Score on first shift or second?” “Second,” Chris answered, out of breath. “He’s way too nervous to score first shift.”

He was right. Figured. 

His phone kept dinging in his locker. 

Matt could hear it, soft pings of updates and promises that it would be fine, and he knew it would be fine, had done this plenty of times now, but something felt different and shifted somehow and the footsteps that moved into the locker room were a little surprising. 

Mom smiled at him. 

“Hey,” she muttered, a jersey on and Matt briefly wondered if anyone even stopped them anymore. There must have been security protocol they were breaking. “You ok?” “Do you think I’m not?” “Answering with a question is a tried and true Matthew David deflection technique.” “It’s kind of a wordy title.” “What are you nervous about?” Matt shrugged — not sure he actually had an answer that wasn’t entirely embarrassing, but he couldn’t seem to get away from his locker and his neck didn’t seem all that interested in participating with the rest of his body. His head drooped when Mom walked forward, hair brushing the front of her stomach and her soft laugh when her fingers scratched the back of his neck was nearly comforting. 

“You’re still just a good at winning faceoffs as ever, Mattie.” “That’s not really what I’m worried about.” “Yeah, I know.” And he knew she did. A lifetime behind the glass and watching games and faceoffs and how different it had been through the years. After. After moments and milestones and Cup wins and they were going to unfurl another banner, but the way his stomach kept twisting made it difficult to be excited for any of that. 

Because— “Are they down there yet?” Mom hummed. “Dad definitely cried.” “When? Just now?” “Nah, the very first time we brought you. Totally cried and could not even begin to cope with those oversized headphones and—” “—Well, they’re questionably adorable, that’s why.” “Exactly. So. Focus on that, huh? And winning the opening faceoff.” “Who’d you bet?” “The better question is who didn’t I bet?” Matt chuckled, a shuddering breath and slightly more-human internal organs. He was still having difficulty balancing on his skates. “That does suggest that people are betting against me, though, so...I’m not sure the pep talk really hit the mark.” “Your brother and sister bought half of the team store for your daughter.” “God.” “Rol keeps threatening to buy a stick.” “He’s not as funny as he thinks.” “And you don’t have to be nervous,” Mom added, a quick kiss to his cheek that didn’t really belong in a locker room. “Seriously, though, win the faceoff.” “I’ll see what I can do.” Matt’s skates didn’t skid when he got on the ice — the roar of the Garden in his ears and possibly timing up with his pulse, practice shots and eyes scanning the glass, looking for...his breath caught. And soared out of him at the same time. It was honestly impressive. 

They were right there, a few feet in front of him — a smile on Claire's face and impossibly large, bright blue headphones over Celine’s ears and both Peggy and Chris were holding identical, hand-written signs. “Win the faceoff, MD,” Peggy shouted. 

He rolled his eyes, skating close enough to the glass that his erratic breath fogged it and it took some balancing to shake his glove off. He rapped his knuckles and Celine didn’t quite squirm, but her eyes definitely moved his direction and Matt wasn’t sure what noise he made. 

“Hey, love,” he muttered, and eventually he would realize what he’d said. He hoped Dad never found out. That would have been too much. “We’re going to win, huh?” “At least the opening faceoff,” Chris grumbled. "What do you think, babe?” Matt asked, glancing at Claire. Her smile got bigger. 

“I think I win thirty-two bucks from Lizzie if you win every faceoff in the third period. So keep that in mind later, ok?” “I love you.” “Win the faceoffs in the third period and then we’ll talk.” Matt laughed, stick under his arm glove back on his hand and— He won the opening faceoff. 

And Claire got thirty-two bucks. 

[peterstanslizzie]

Re-watching Lizzie Mcguire: Episode 1.28 (Lizzie and Kate’s Excellent Adventure)

I wish we got to see more of this unexpected friendship

- We find out that Lizzie has the flu and had to miss a day of school. Gordo and Miranda greets Lizzie in her room with a stack full of books for her homework. It’s middle school, not college; That’s too many books.

I feel like I’ve seen this pic everywhere

- Lizzie asks her friends about what she’d miss in Mrs. Stebel’s Social Studies class and they give each other a strange look. Their teacher instructed the class to work in pairs to do a book report on a country and its native dish. Since Lizzie was absent, Gordo and Miranda naturally paired up, leaving Lizzie out of the picture.

- Well, it turns out that Lizzie is paired with her frenemy Kate Sanders, who was also absent from school. And as you can guess, Lizzie did not take to this news too well:

Let it all out girl...just let it all out

We get it; Lizzie and Kate don’t like each other. What’s new?

- The next morning, Lizzie is dreading going back to school since she’s forced to work with Kate and even considers calling in sick for an extra day. Her mom, Jo already knows about the whole Kate Sanders situation because Kate’s mom called in last night. Did Kate’s mom ever appeared on the show? I can’t recall. 

- Anyways, Jo insists that Lizzie should suck it up and deal with Kate being her project partner. On top of that, Matt’s adding fuel to the already raging fire by throwing his two-cents into the discussion. I’m now back to being annoyed with him after somewhat liking him last episode. 

- In school, Lizzie is complaining about the country that was assigned to her, Latvia and how the signature over there is jellied meat, which is called Aspic (after doing a quick Google search). 

- Kate and her crew walk up to Lizzie and Kate establishes some ground rules with Lizzie i.e. spending as little time together as possible, not being seen in public and not making jellied meat. Lizzie accepts her conditions and they also agree to meet at Lizzie’s house after school. 

It all seems like it’s going to work out but Lizzie still needs to let some steam out

Kate and Lizzie Working Together

- That evening after school, Lizzie is on the phone with Miranda, who’s with Gordo to work on their project on Mexico. 

Well, it’s mostly Gordo doing the ground work. Miranda’s more focused on jumping...

- The doorbell of Lizzie’s house rings and it’s probably Kate outside. Lizzie is still mad at Miranda for not covering for her. What does she want for Miranda to do exactly? If Kate’s the only other person absent in class, it makes sense for the two absent students to get paired. And if Lizzie and Miranda pair up, Gordo wouldn’t have anyone but Kate to partner with. 

- Kate’s in the kitchen talking to Jo and they’re awkwardly trying to make small talk. As soon as Lizzie steps into the kitchen, Jo quickly scurries on out of there because it seems like she doesn’t like Kate either lol. 

This stare-down between the two of them is even more awkward

- But things take a turn when they both agree that their friends are lousy for not picking them as their partner for the project. And it’s so cute how they laughed at the same time. As time went on, they seem to be getting along well due to being on the same page when it comes to Latvian food. 

Do y’all see this interaction? It’s so rare; It’s like watching a dog walk on its hind legs (I had to include a Mean Girls reference)

- Even Jo notices them getting along like old times. But as soon as Kate realises this, she quickly excuses herself and they say bye to each other awkwardly. I wish they could go back to being good friends because I don’t like the idea that popular kids can’t be friends with the non-popular kids. I mean, I don’t think they even got to that place after the Lizzie Mcguire Movie. 

A Broken Friendship

- The next morning, Miranda and Gordo ask Lizzie how things went with Kate to which she tells them it was alright. Not only that, she tells them that she and Kate are going to work together after school at the Digital Bean even though one of Kate’s earlier demands is that they are not to be seen in public together.

- At the Digital Bean, Lizzie and Kate are researching on what their dish should be and they decide to make Alexandertorte, which is a pastry dessert that has raspberry jam inside. 

Nice contrast

- Gordo and Miranda followed by Claire and her other crew members then stop by to throw shade at Kate and Lizzie respectively. But Claire was way worse than Lizzie’s friends; She even bragged about being able to work with Ethan over Kate. 

- They then start prepping in Lizzie’s kitchen to make their torte dish. Things start a little rocky at first but when they start talking about old memories from the time they were best friends, they begin to open up to each other again. Basically, they were talking about Kate’s 9th Birthday party and how Kate really loved a Baby Spice shirt that was given to her by Lizzie and she couldn’t wait to try it on. It’s kinda sad that they used to be that close. 

- All of a sudden, Matt runs into the kitchen with his blindfolds on and bumps into Kate who was carrying an egg carton; This, of course causes the eggs to drop to the ground. But it’s all okay because luckily, it was only a few eggs. 

The Queens of Falling

- This is when it gets kind of juicy; They finally talk about the reason why they’re suddenly not friends anymore. Before this, we were told that it’s because Kate developed really quickly and got a bra, which made her popular. I guess that’s still true but it’s also because she went away to camp and there, she had made new friends, whom might or might not have influenced her to treat her old friends badly. 

I got so many feels from this moment. Like I’ve said before, I just love the way they smile at each other; It’s so endearing. 

Possibilities

Look at them, working together as one and everything

- Next, we see them giving their report on Latvia in front of the class and they did a great job. After completing their presentation, their friends come over to throw unnecessary shade again and basically act as if Lizzie and Kate did not get along fine when they clearly did. 

- I think this is the moment where I really questioned ‘What Would Happen’ if the writers had decided to change the outcome of this episode since Lizzie and Kate went back to hating on each other just to please their friends. I actually envisioned the other alternative to be Lizzie and Kate standing up to their friends and basically letting them know the truth, which is they are actually back to being friends. But that’s not the case with what happened in this episode but still, I think the other possibility I mentioned could be a really powerful moment for this show. 

BUT we did get this moment, which tells the audience that Kate and Lizzie actually like each other deep down inside. It’s just that with the way middle school and its social groups are set up, it doesn’t allow them to publicly be friends. Well, who cares? But unfortunately, that’s just how school is; It’s full of petty drama.

B-Plot: Matt’s Psychic Y’all *Rolls Eyes

- In Matt’s school (we finally see him in school after spending so many episodes away from the place), he and his friend, Oscar are having lunch together and Matt is able to predict that their substitute Math teacher has on big red clown shoes before they even saw her. Matt concludes that he is psychic. And here I go, going back to not caring about Matt’s storyline again lol. 

- They set up a ‘Psychic Readings’ booth in the backyard and Matt gives predictions to three different kids, which seem vague and ludicrous at first but it turns out that all his predictions came true:

The predictions are as follows: Buying an expensive gift, getting a haircut and going on a long trip

- Similar to majority of Matt’s storylines, his one-off interests, which in this case is his psychic ability starts getting out of hand as he now thinks he is able to predict every single event, regardless of how insignificant it may be. Jo doesn’t buy it for one second but his dad sure does as he asks him to predict the next day’s lottery numbers. 

- Matt even predicted that Jo was going to send him to his room and later on, she would try to convince Sam that he’s not psychic. That was actually kind of cool but I guess it’s because he knows his parents very well. 

- Jo is very adamant on proving to both Matt and Sam that Matt isn’t really psychic and administers a test to help with that. And look, Matt answers the question correctly! If Jo is going out of her way to do all of that, I have to think that she low-key thinks that Matt is psychic, no? 

- Anyways, his antics finally end once he randomly realises he cannot read other people’s minds anymore. Oh well, too bad...goodbye.

Overall Thoughts

- This is easily one of my favourite episodes of the entire series. We finally get to see something fresh and new that we’ve never seen before on this show and that is Lizzie and Kate getting along as friends. 

- In Kate’s earliest appearance on this show, she was introduced as the mean, popular girl who was actually Lizzie’s best friend in elementary school up until she became popular. Since then, their old friendship wasn’t really touched upon at all till now. I love how they gave us a deep insight into their past memories as childhood friends and how she, Lizzie and Miranda were really close with one another back then. 

- This episode alone really makes me hope that Ashlie Brillault (the actress who plays Kate) will consider coming back to guest star in the Lizzie Mcguire revival series next year but I highly doubt it since she’s now an attorney. But honestly, I’d be okay if they mention to us that Lizzie and Kate are still friends in adulthood; That would make me pretty satisfied with Kate’s overall story arc. 

[in-defense-of-the-horror]

Creepy Window

You know how when you live with someone you develop these sort of household jokes? The kind of stuff that wouldn’t really be funny to anyone else because they simply weren’t there and the premise doesn’t really hold up when you try to explain it? Growing up “creepy window” was the inside joke that my father and I shared.

 My childhood home was a bit odd in design. It wasn’t very big but there were two stories and a basement – plenty enough room for just my father and I. The top story was fairly normal, two bedrooms a couple linen closets and a bathroom. The floor plan downstairs however was incredibly open. This meant that unless you were in the little half-bath or we had the library closed off (something we only ever did in the winter) you could essentially see into any room from any other room. More importantly to the story, you could see the dining room windows on the north-facing wall from virtually anywhere on the first floor.

 There were three windows on that wall. They were large but also high up which let a lot of natural light into the home without sacrificing privacy in that area, something that I’m sure was intentional with the design. The windows were all identical, which I guess is what made the situation so funny. We were sitting on the couch in the living room getting a movie set up when my dad said “hey, look out creepy window.” We had never discussed the window before, but when he said that I knew right where to look; the dining room window on the far left.

 It wasn’t that the window itself was creepy; it looked exactly like the other two after all. I had never really associated that word with it until Dad said something, but I had on a subconscious level realized that something about the window was off. It caught the light in such a way that was different than any of the other windows. This was especially noticeable at sunrise and sunset; the sky would appear to be two radically different colors from that window than from the two beside it.

That day when we first talked about it, for example, the sky was a shade of deep blue when viewed from all of the windows except that one, from which it appeared to be almost lilac. We had been staying in the house for about a year at this point and this wasn’t the first instance of something like that happening. I was only twelve and I guess I just hadn’t thought about why that window always seemed so strange until someone else pointed it out.

 What my dad found amusing more than the pink tint out of that one spot, was the fact that both of us had apparently at separate times noticed the bizarre, almost unnatural quality that the coloring had right there. He used the phrase “creepy window” expecting to puzzle me but instead, I had immediately been drawn to the place he’d been referring to. Thus the joke of creepy window was born.

 When we were done laughing about it he did the parent thing and took the teaching opportunity to explain to me about how the angle of light can affect our perception of color. I eagerly accepted the explanation for something that had been lightly nagging at the back of my mind for awhile by then. My curiosity was, for the time being, satiated and life went about as normal.

From that point we would often crack jokes about the window, pointing it out when we noticed a substantial difference in the light and making up crazy alternative explanations. These theories ranged from alien technology to radiation effects, to the supernatural and covered just about everything between. When we had guests sometimes one of us would casually bring up creepy window, leaving the other to explain the situation as best we could. One thing that other people seemed to have in common was that they found creepy window to be more “creepy” than “funny” or amusing like my father and I did. I guess in the time we had spent living there we had just gotten used to it, to the point where it no longer seemed so abnormal.

Gradually, over the years, I began to suspect that there might actually be something wrong, or dare I say, creepy, about creepy window. I started noticing things aside from the lighting that just didn’t quite line up with reality as I knew it.

 The first thing was that I never saw animals outside of creepy window. I first noticed this one day while looking for my cat. He had snuck out through the fence to sunbathe on my neighbors back porch, something he did often. That was one of the first things that I checked, only I couldn’t see him through the window. I went outside and sure enough, there he was right in the middle of the porch. I figured he had just gotten there which is why I hadn’t seen him, but after I wrangled him back inside I started to think about it. As far as I could remember I had never seen him or any other pets through that window. No birds or squirrels or anything either. Since cats, birds and squirrels aren’t creatures that are well-known for posing, I had no real way to validate this, but as time wore on I continued to not see animals through the window.

 With my interest in the situation renewed, I began to actively check the view from out of creepy window on a regular basis. It wasn’t exactly an obsession, but it did become part of my daily routine. A few months passed without me witnessing anything exceptional, and I had begun to relax some. Then it rained.

 It was late fall in Ohio, so it’s not like it was a rainy season or anything, but neither was it unheard of. I was in the dining room doing my homework when I glanced up. There was no sign of rainfall outside creepy window. I stood up and walked around some, trying to get a better view or find an angle to look at that gave me better visibility, but no matter where I stood I couldn’t see the rain. It was falling fast in big drops and that was a fact that I could easily confirm by looking out any other window in the house. I spent the better part of an hour that night fixated on the situation, but I could find no explanation.

 Of course, that was the same night where Dad had to work late, and by the time I saw him the next morning at breakfast the rain had stopped and I had nothing to show him. I held my tongue, but waited for another storm. A few weeks later the skies were cloudy and overcast and sure enough, when it began sprinkling, there was still no sign of water outside creepy window. I pointed it out, trying to sound casual.

Dad laughed it off. “That’s creepy window for you,” was all he said. The situation had already become too much of a joke to concern him, I realized. I did my best to let it go. I thought that if my father wasn’t worried about the totally random views from that window that I didn’t need to be worried about them either. If I had learned anything from my years living in that house and looking out that window, it was that it doesn’t take a lot for our perception of something to become wildly skewed.

I actually ended up doing a science project on the whole thing for school one year. I obviously omitted the term “creepy window” to get it approved by my teacher and keep my classmates from mocking me. I can vaguely recall titling the paper something obnoxiously long in the hopes that my teacher would find it more sophisticated. I thought that was exceedingly clever, but my peers found it pretentious and in retrospect, I don’t blame them.

I don’t remember the paper very well but I do remember the rest of the project. I kept a “Light Refraction Log” to document the way that light can affect color. I got a few disposable cameras and every day for two weeks I would wait until sunset and take three pictures of my dining room windows. One would should the world from outside the middle window, one would should the light from creepy window, and one would show all three windows together to prove that the first two were taken at the same time. I didn’t want to risk failing the project because my teacher thought I playing an elaborate prank.

 I didn’t include it in my paper, but I began to notice a pattern in the photos that made me believe the view might not be as random as I had thought. The sky color from the pictures taken through creepy window one day would almost perfectly match the sky color from the pictures taken from the normal windows the day after. It was almost like there was a 24 hour preview into the next day. If my teacher noticed it she didn’t say anything and I felt no need to point it out.

The idea that the window was somehow showing me the future seemed absolutely ridiculous to me, even with as young as I was and the amount of evidence I had leading me to that conclusion. I went back and forth about what to do with the information. Part of me desperately wanted to tell my dad in the hopes that he would have a more rational explanation for me – like he had the night when we had first discussed creepy window.  I was afraid though, in case he didn’t take my concerns – or me – seriously. What scared me even more than that was the idea that he would take it seriously and I’d find out that something really was wrong.

 I started keeping a closer eye on the window. There were days when I’d see moisture on the glass and I’d feel my entire body go cold. The next day it would never fail to rain, which would always leave me with a sense of dread. It was days like that, when I had been able to accurately predict the weather, that I almost broke my silence on the subject, but I never did. Creepy window was just some dumb, inside joke.  I felt like it would be safer if it just stayed that way.

You’d never believe just how easy it is for adults to forget things that seemed important to them as children. Creepy window was something that alternated between the coolest thing ever and utterly terrifying, but it was something that was always relevant to me growing up. It seemed life changing, like the kind of thing I’d never be free from. Then I grew up. I moved out, went to college, got a job and an apartment and just like that, creepy window ceased to matter. On the rare occasions I thought about it, it was just a fading memory of an inside joke that I had let myself get spooked by in my earlier teenage years. My dad and I had other things to talk about when he’d call and eventually I didn’t think about it at all.

Yesterday I came back to town to visit him, however. I dragged my bags up to my old room and got settled in. I spent some time reminiscing before I came down to let him know I was ready to head out for dinner. Near the bottom of the stairs I glanced up and saw out creepy window for the first time in years. Memories of the thing and my ongoing suspicions about it hit me hard and it was all I could do not to scream as I looked out into the red, fiery oblivion that was waiting for me just beyond the glass.

~~~

Inspired by a true story.

Art Credit: "View From Creepy Window” by Coffeenoir

[broken-endings]

since I vented about all my disappointments in vld season 4 last night. More than once.

Without rereading them to try to reignite them again

I’m going to list all the things I LOVED in the second half of season-3-slash-4*. Ignoring all the things I said last night

cuz lets be real there was some really awesome stuff mixed into just 6 episodes

(*2nd half of season 3 slash 4=season 4)

Like 

Matt. I kinda wanted him to just STAY at the castle. I really didn’t know what kind of characterization to expect, even though I know a lot of the fandom was already characterizing him. But he was just a pleasant surprise. He wasn’t a remake of any of the other types of characters we already have. He was this unique quirky, super smart goof who wears his heart on his sleeve. I love that he got such a HUGE “goo goo” eyes crush thing on Allura. And that classic anime “super detailed closeup with dramatic shading and a twinkle in the eye” It overshadows ANY interest Lance has shown in Allura. And seeing Pidge SHOW HIM EVERYTHING was one of my fave scenes. It was so fast and funny and ugh. Some fanfic writers predicted him and pidge’s relationship to a tee.

OH AND PIDGE BEING MATT’S NAME FOR HER. i remember people making meta posts about their reunion and matt being like “who the fuck is pidge” THIS IS SO MUCH BETTER. cuz really. how else would there be a reasonable explanation for pidge’s name?

Keith. I wish we got more screentime. The dropoff in his appearances happened so quick. But it totally makes sense for his character that he’d pull away. He found the blades, and didn’t want to lead voltron. Even though it hasn’t been talked about since, it’s the only connection he has to his mother. I loved the idea of him going with them. I JUST WANTED AN EPISODE ABOUT THAT. I wanted a whole episode of him being off with them, maybe intercut with castle of lions shenanigans. 

Haggar. I wish we got to see more of her too! All her little moments were really interesting. Like looking at her own reflection, and doing more and more things on her own cuz she kinda DOES know better than Zarkon.

LANCE lance. LANCE. His flair and showmanship was just perfect with all the performances. AND THEY HAD HIM FUCKING DOING THAT ACROBATIC, CIRCUS, RIBBON/POLE-like DANCING. LIKE THAT SHIT IS CANON MAN.

I think Keith’s pulling away made it easier for Lance to shine. I think Lance unconsciously puts himself at odds with Keith even when he might not want to. Even with them being a little closer in season 3.

PLEASE TELL ME YOU SAW THE STARFOX REFERENCE. In the last battle with the rebels. There was that fucking DOG/FOX who was leading and there was a frog-looking dude who got blown up. Like, they were not being subtle there.

Allura playing Keith. and me forever holding onto the fact that “oh lance flirts with allura. allura is playing keith. lance flirting with allura now means lance flirting with keith.” i can be juvenile no matter how old I get.

Coran and Allura learning where milkshakes come from

Farmer Lance and his love for his cow. I want to see if he’s formed any kind of relationship with the Red Lion. His treatment of Kaltenecker feels a lot like his treatment of Blue. How’s he treat red? Is red fussy with him? I wanna know!!

GROUP HUG. i feel like there was a distinct lack of emotional affection in the first half of season 3 slash 4. Everybody pouncing on Keith is just what he needed.

RIP NARTI. man. I’ll never forgive Lotor for that. She may not have talked but I really liked her. I was also really glad that the other generals cared enough about each other to support each other and not forgive Lotor. I wasn’t sure if Axca would side with the other two, but I was so glad when she shot Lotor, saying “For Narti” I’m getting chills just writing that.

Matt mentioned other realities. I NEED MATT AND SLAV TO INTERACT. CAN YOU IMAGINE???

It was a nice surprise to see Rolo and Nyma as rebels. It makes sense.

Coran’s plea for help when he was struggling against that brain worm also including a star wars reference “help me obi wan kenobi, you’re my only hope.”

I thought the three generals were going to show up and save the guys cuz Axca said “there’s still one option left” for what they could do.

but no it was lotor. just what the fuck is he trying to do? From my ranting last night I’m completely drained and have no brain power left to theorize where the story could go from here with Lotor wanting to “have a chat”

I think that’s most of my good feels from the second half of season-3-slash-4

[vaanibct]

Movement and Motion

Day 42 (10-10-17)

Firstly, I just want to say that I’m very happy. Today we had planned to do a prototype test of our sound and visuals in a closed space with our classmates, and indeed we did. While Kelvin and Simon were setting up the code for the Kinect and the audio, Shades and I talked to Miranda regarding the progress of our Project. She was very helpful, in terms of suggesting that we make a list of everything we need to start / finish for the Project, as well as recommending that we use a Clothing Rack for the screen - (stretching it using velcro).  This is because we are rethinking how we wan the screen to be presented. I thought this was actually a pretty cool idea but we’d need to find the rack in the right size, which may be quite difficult, but we’ll be on a lookout for anything suitable.

Matt was in charge of the conceptual side of this Prototype. I asked (well, basically told) him to think of questions to ask the participants after their interactive experience. Since he had done the research about understanding the emotions evoked in people through the use of colour, and through pleasant / unpleasant music [1]. He also has knowledge (more than most of the group members) about measuring and analysing the emotions.

The questions he decided to ask the participants of our test include:

1. Using our piece, did you think about how you felt, emotionally? 2. Do you think our piece evoked emotion inside you in any way? 3. In 3 or less words, describe your experience…

To be honest, I didn’t really understand why he wanted to ask these particular questions and why only three, when we wanted much more information regarding the overall design and visual / sounds aspects of the experience because these are a part of the Project we can / have to improve. However, I think that I may be missing the point of the Project idea here because the sound and visuals are only a part of our Project, but the main purpose is to evoke emotions in the audience and this can be done in many (or any) ways. But I also do believe that the sound and visuals play an important part in evoking the emotions, and since I’m the member in charge of the visuals, I need to code the design in a way that it is attractive and engaging.

To make the experience personal and similar to what we originally wanted, I suggested that we use the walls and create an enclosed space so the user could focus more on what they were feeling or doing. When the participants were testing, I decided to record them, so that we could verify the emotions / results to their physical facial expressions when undergoing the experience.

After this, Matt interviewed the participant. Before the testing, he first made a prediction of what he thought the results would clarify…

“My prediction is that without the presence of the large screen and the presence of the speakers, they [the participants] will not feel much, if anything, with our Project.”

And in all honesty, that’s how I thought as well. Since we are not completely isolating them and allowing them to experience our Prototype in an extravagant way, I was sure that they would not feel much through their movements. And let’s face it, everyone thinks that big screens and surround sound are cool, and without them, our Project may not be too successful to evoke emotions in the audience, because “the bigger, the better,” right?

Anyway, after interviewing the 9 “guinea pigs,” here are the answers…

Matt will analyse the results (through his Blog because he’s the most educated in this sense) and come to a conclusion regarding which emotions are evoked and how we can change / iterate / prototype so that the audience understands the meaning of our Project and feels the change in emotions before, during and after they undergo the experience. I think that only after then we can improve some aspects of our Project, as well as our ways of iterating. 

As Miranda suggested, Shades made a list of everything we still have yet to do in terms of shopping for materials, construction and coding. I thought it was great to note down the tasks, and I didn’t know what else to add to it yet, but I’m sure that the list will keep growing as we continue (and decreasing as we finish the tasks). But for now, it is a good estimate of the things we need to sort out.

After Studio, Shades and I went to the Warehouse in search for a clothing rack, the idea suggested by Miranda. We didn’t find any useful materials there. However, I went to “K Road” afterwards to look at the op-shops and $2 stores. At the Red Cross, I found the PERFECT dome for the speakers, however, it was a part of their display and they didn’t want to sell it. It was like a fish bowl and quite big as well, exactly the size we wanted. But even after explaining that it was for a Uni Project, they refused. ^ANGERY REACC^

After that, I went to “Thriftway” to ask about the clothing racks, however they had metal rods stuck together to hang the clothes, which seemed quite stable and cool. I wondered if we could use something like that instead to support the screen, however, the metal rods are expensive, and we’d probably have to cut them down ourselves, to the right size, and we don’t have many tools available. But I was quite surprised and very happy to see a clothing rack at “Massave,” and it was adjustable as well - only for $35. I informed the group and we discussed to look at other options at Kmart and then decide.

I also found a couple of bowls, but none were quite suitable. We wanted a transparent one with no designs and probably in a bigger size. I was also suggested to look on “Trademe” (which seemed like a great idea) however, I didn’t find any suitable clothing racks. There were a few options for the domes, however, I will discuss this with the group tomorrow and maybe place a bid on the one we feel will be right.

Overall, I am very happy with our, and my personal, progress today. We finally managed to prototype today and the results will be analysed by (probably) Thursday by Matt. We have decided to do another prototype tomorrow with different sounds and visuals, and we’ll also probably use the enclosed space with a TV screen to display the visuals. My job for tonight is to code, and I’ll try to iterate on the “planets” code, or may even try another type so that we can have feedback on what sort of sounds and visuals people expect or prefer.

References: [1] https://matts4.tumblr.com/post/165749525153/understanding-emotions [2] https://youtu.be/dLSoEYhDxVk

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[jennphotoblog-blog]

Less is More and Instagram Beauty

Hello all! In this post, I wanted to cover some observations I’ve made regarding beauty photography. There are many ways to shoot a specific look, but I thought why not share my thoughts on some reoccurring trends in the field.

LESS IS MORE

We all know the cliche “Less is More”, but nothing could be more true when it comes to beauty…at least, beauty photography. I often get asked from fellow photographers who are starting out shooting beauty (however, I still consider myself starting out as well!…fun fact: I have been shooting beauty for only a little over a year now so I still have lots to learn!) if there was one tip that I could share. My biggest tip would be to think in terms of Less is More. Take your concept and simplify it as much as possible. Oftentimes people assume that in order for an image to be considered beauty, it has to include a green lip and blue eyeshadow and huge false lashes and glitter and crazy hair and blush and and and…. *breathe*. Take ONE aspect and focus on that. If you want green eyes, then just do green eyes and keep the lips and skin clean. If you want to do a bold lip, keep the eyes nude with maybe a quick swipe of mascara or some natural-looking falsies. The nice thing about shooting neutral shades is that you are able to play around with both lips AND eyes without it looking too heavy. One benefit of keeping things simple is that it helps the viewer stay focused on one area of the face. Don’t overwhelm your viewer by highlighting too many areas within the frame…it becomes too chaotic.

 Some examples of too many things going on at once:

 Now, if you want to go crazy and do black lips or a bright eyeshadow, you do you girl. But remember that simple can be just as powerful- if not more - as going over the top.

 Here are some examples of bold looks executed in a clean and simple manner:

 (image by the talented Ben Hassett)

image

 (Image by Ruo Bing Li)

image

 (Image by Ben Hassett)

 These images obviously still pack a punch visually, but they have a very high-end, minimal feel.

 Again, go crazy! Have fun with colors and paint strokes and glitter! But remember to pace yourself and keep your audience interested in one focal point.

  INSTAGRAM BEAUTY VS. EDITORIAL BEAUTY

 Another trend I’ve noticed is the Instagram makeup artist (often times these are talented freelance makeup artists who practice on themselves) posting images of gorgeous eyeshadows and sharp eyebrows. While this look is very popular, I wanted to bring this up because there is a stark difference between this particular look vs. what is expected of an editorial beauty photographer. I have noticed more and more photographers and makeup artists approaching these types of looks and using them for beauty editorials. While this is definitely a subjective matter, I don’t see this becoming a trend in major publications or beauty campaigns. What do I mean by this?

 Example of Instagram Beauty

Clearly these are 2 completely different looks, but the execution and style is distinctly different. The modern trend of sharp eyebrows and heavy glam is not something that I predict will catch on in the editorial world. With that said, I find it best to keep the beauty looks for editorial creative and fun! Not something you would necessarily wear out and about. Editorial gives you the opportunity to play around and be messy! Don’t stick to the cookie-cutter eyebrows and thick lashes. Try starting natural and glowy and moving up to something edgy and crazy (while still keeping in mind Less is More). Keep the ultra-glam eyeshadows and lashes for the club or a night out on the town. One look that ALWAYS looks great when starting out shooting beauty is just a simple red lip and just a little mascara. No eyeliner or blush. This is a modern take on a classic look, and is flattering on pretty much any face.

“Fresh Finish”- Concept Development

This is my first post of my new BTS (behind the scenes) blog!! I hope that through this blog, myself and fellow photographers alike, will learn and grow through my experiments and..ahem..mistakes. In this blog, I will be sharing photos, lighting diagrams, concept building and random tidbits relating to shoots! Now, lets get on to the nitty gritty..

 For this first post, I want to focus on the concept building of a shoot. This isn’t the most exciting part for some…but for me it is almost like a high. When a concept is developing in my head, my excitement is comparable to the feeling a child gets on Christmas Eve. I love it!

 I recently shot a personal editorial that I titled “Fresh Finish”, focusing on 4 different skin finishes: matte, natural, glowy and wet. Usually when starting out with a concept, the idea develops from either an outside influence or image that inspires me. The funny thing about inspiration is that it can totally change direction once you get going with the brainstorming process. Inspiration can also come from literally anywhere, and this instance it came from photos on h&m’s home line:

See? I told you it could come from anywhere. Anyways, what intrigued me about these photos is the use of different elements to create a soft, tranquil backdrop for the bedding. I wanted to take this idea and apply it to beauty (my main focus of work), so I thought it would be neat to create a story matching skincare to a different backdrop: wet look on brushed metallic, matte on woodgrain, natural on crinkled paper and glowy on soft draped cotton.

 I passed the idea by my friend and one of my primary makeup artists Jadyn Ngo, who loved the idea! Next step was to research images for makeup/hair/model/vibe to create a moodboard. Many of you will know this, but if you are like me (who moved to LA without any clue what a moodboard was lol), a moodboard (or storyboard) creates a mood and showcases different looks to show the client/team when putting together a shoot. A moodboard helps develop the story more and guides the team into creating looks more accurately based on the overall theme. I usually find that Pinterest or beauty/fashion specific sites like fashiongonerogue.com or whowhatwear.com are great places to get inspiration photos. I also like collecting clippings from magazines like Harpers Bazaar and Elle for makeup ideas.

 Here is the moodboard that I put together for this particular shoot-

Usually my moodboards will be a bit jumbled and chaotic, but with this shoot I felt it was important to separate it by looks so that on the day of the shoot I wouldn’t suddenly have a brain fart and forget which look goes with which backdrop. As you can see, the images aren’t just for the makeup and hair stylist, it is also a good preview for the types of angles/poses I’d like to go for. I also like to add in brief descriptions of each look to pass along to the agencies when I’m reaching out about testing with them. Agents get TONS of emails, so I want to make sure I stand out from the rest by creating a story that is not only well thought out and unique, but also beneficial to the model and the agency. When I moved to L.A., I had the aspiration to continue shooting conceptual work that I was used to shooting in Arkansas (conceptual in this case meaning extremely outlandish and creative, oftentimes pulling from surrealism or theme specific ideas). I quickly learned through one rejection after another that not only was conceptual work not wanted in the model’s portfolio, it was actually almost impossible to book any work because no one wanted it. I had to readjust and refocus my sights on something that would allow me to get work in L.A….and here we are! Anyways, a moodboard is crucial to a successful shoot. I think I have shot maybe 3 shoots since moving here without a moodboard, and each have been a little confusing when it comes to describing looks and mood.

 After creating a moodboard and sending it out to various agencies, an agency will either say yes and send me a “package” of models who are available and testing, or will politely say that they are not interested in the concept not send a package. When a rejection does happen, it is hard and painful, but don’t give up! Keep pushing on, think of reasons why the concept may be a bit too specific for the agency, and try again.

 From there, a model is selected based on the look I’m going for, a date and time for the shoot is made and a callsheet is sent out with all of the info for the shoot. Here is what my callsheet looks like:

 From there, I get confirmations from everyone on the team and then we are good to shoot come the shoot date!

 Preparation for this particular shoot was crucial, as I had to purchase the specific materials for each look (which again were metal, wood, cotton and paper). I began at Home Depot and picked up a large piece of brushed sheet metal and a large piece of wood that had some beautiful grain. I bought the fabric at the craft store, as well as a large roll of craft paper. When I got home, I realized I wanted the fabric and paper to be a beige rather than stark white, so I tea stained the materials to the desired color. After soaking the paper in the tea, I laid it in a wrinkled pattern on a drying rack, which created some awesome texture. In the end, the metal didn’t really work out so much because the light reflected way too much in it, despite changing the location of the light. So in the images, the backdrop looks a bit flat in the wet looks, but thats okay! I am taking it as a learning experience and will keep practicing with different methods of shooting on metal. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to share!

 Here is the finished product. I wanted to put the images in a layout similar to what you would see in a major magazine, so I created a titlepage and little captions for each look (thanks to Jadyn for the help!). I am super pleased with how all of this turned out, and I can’t wait to share more concept processes with you!

 I hope some of this was of some use to those of you curious about what I do, or are pursuing photography yourself! Thanks for reading :)

   “Fresh Finish”

 Model: Emily Tender @ Nous Models

 Makeup/hair: Jadyn Ngo (jadynngo.com)

 Photography: Jenn Collins (jenn-collins.com)

  BONUS PHOTO

 Jadyn and model Emily preparing a look, while Bandit looks on adoringly. :)

[designtrendscolors]

Pantone Luxury with Serenity, Spa-like Experience

New Post has been published on https://www.designinfo.in/blog/color-management-solution/2019/pantone-luxury-with-serenity-spa-like-experience/2766

Pantone Luxury with Serenity, Spa-like Experience

PRODUCTS- Deep Sea Luxury Bath Salt – Rose Garden

https://www.designinfo.in/tcx-swatch-card-individual/pantone-17-5513-tcx-swatch-card-deep-sea-Buy-India-1428.html

Deep Sea Luxury Bath Salt – Lavender Mystery

https://www.designinfo.in/tcx-swatch-card-individual/pantone-14-3207-tcx-swatch-card-pink-lavender-Buy-India-2563.html

“This is a mesmerizing luxury bath salt that comes in two scents, lavender, and rose. Just add one cap of the bath salts in your bathtub, and you will have the most relaxing spa-like experience at home. The bath salts will make your skin look younger and will make you feel refreshed and uplifted. The product will be shipped with 450 grams of bath salts per unit”

Today in the 21st century we live in a world where global economies are constantly growing, markets are expanding, and market competition has intensified like never before. We no longer live in a time where markets were just physical locations. With the industrial revolution boosting the production of goods and the advent of the internet, today in the 21st century, we now have access to Digital Markets. We are spoilt for choice even when it comes to picking something as small as a pen to something as big as a five-bedroom Villa. According to a recent study done by Harvard Business School Professor Clayton Christensen, 30,000 new consumer products are launched annually, and a staggering 80% of them fail, while only a mere 20% succeed and make a name for themselves. With hundreds of companies trying to beat each other, so that their product is the one chosen, what makes one company have the upper hand over the other? Why have corporate giants like Coca Cola, Nestle or Sunsilk been able to be the choice of millions of customers worldwide over and over again, whenever these customers are in the supermarket, faced with a row of considerable other options placed alongside? The driving factor for this consumer behaviour is largely influenced by product DESIGN. Product Design and packaging are integral to whether your product makes it or breaks it.

How does Design Info bring in the relaxing experience of Pantone?

We at Design Info don’t take this lightly. With an experience of 45 years in the design industry, and having excelled in supplying custom colour trend reports, fashion trend analysis, styles and accessories concepts for a number of clients, and Fortune 500 companies, we understand the importance of proper design representation to the global consumer audience. For this reason, we work with a large network of dynamic and creative textile, surface and graphic designers who develop custom artwork, prints, patterns, logos, and designs using the best TPG textile Pantone books.  Our design team endeavours to meticulously tailor and create any design based on our clients’ specific requirements. We also spend a lot of time with our clients to properly understand their aims and what experience and emotions they wish their products to evoke or convey to its consumers. Since we constantly strive to deliver our clients with the utmost results and satisfaction, we are constantly crosschecking and analyzing current fashion trends, thoughts, social influences, anthropological and artistic events and feeding it into our efficient cultural triangulation system to improve our understanding of current and future trends, to serve our clients better. 

Artists of Pantone Serene Colors

At Design Info our artist and designers look into every aspect of what a design or piece of art must invoke to its target audience. We draw inspiration by letting ideas flow, finding inspiration from everyday activities, analyzing present and emerging trends to attract customers not only in the present day but also in the near future. 

Luxury Start-ups with Pantones Choice of Color

We understand Mr. Allister that your start-up Deep Sea-Luxury Bath Salts is set to launch 3 months from now on and you were looking for the best design inspirations to go with your product. We are pleased to say that as soon as we received your sample product and spoke to you regarding what the product is about, we brought together our senior-most Pantone designers and trend analyzers to study and come up with a report of what would be the best design and colour combinations that would work brilliantly with this wonderful product you wish to introduce to the global market. Before getting into the details of the design and explaining the colour combinations we have shortlisted for your product, I would like to remind you of the description and aims you wish to achieve, that you mentioned in the memo you had sent us, 

Even Packaging is a Luxury to Pantone

Keeping in close consideration to what you provided us in your memo and to the product, we have come up with several things we would like to discuss with you. At first we would like to bring to your notice that since this is a bath product which will be kept in the bathroom or alongside wet areas, we suggest we go with a plastic bottle packaging rather than plastic packets reasons being, firstly, because it will improve customer experience of using the product since they will find it easier to keep it in the container itself and being plastic it won’t get wet in the bathroom unlike a cardboard packaging. Secondly, the plastic container will serve as a reusable container after the product is over, which can act as subconsciously engaging stimuli towards the product even after the product is over for its user. And third and most important the plastic container will give a glossy effect to the design on the container, attracting customers towards your product.

Which Pantone color schemes to use for luxury goods?

Moving on I would like to discuss the colour schemes and combinations we saw fit for this product. Keeping in mind what that the key aspects this product wishes to invoke (a spa-like feel, luxury, organic, sea salt, youth, radiance, healthy, refreshing, relaxing) we have structured a colour combination each for both the products keeping in mind present and future trends and thought processes. Since colours have a deep role to play in how the customer perceives the product psychologically, these are the colour schemes we deemed to fit the best

Deep Sea Luxury Bath Salts – Rose garden

For the Rose Garden, we want to let the design do the talking and still and make it appealing to the customer right away. For that reason we’ve chosen to go with a colour combination of Peach amber (#FAA094FF) which is a lovely refreshing pink and Yucca a serene turquoise (9ED9CCFF) for the body, with the font in White (FCF6F5FF) and the font surrounded with a exquisite Habanero Gold, evoking a luxurious, expensive feel to it.  (#FFD653FF)

Deep Sea Luxury Bath Salts – Lavender Mystery 

For the lavender mystery, we want to go with a little darker but subtle colours to give both the products a slight contrast against one another. For the body we’d like to go with last year’s Pantone colour of the yea, that is continuing to catch eyes, Pantone Ultra Violet (#5F4B8BFF) and a beautiful young Blush (#F5C7BBFF) with the font in a almost mystic Elation (#DFDCE5FF) with a complementing Vanilla Custard (#F0E1B9FF) for the border surrounding the font.

Summarizing Luxury movement with Pantone Support

The colours used above have been proven to induce emotions and feelings of class, luxury, radiance, cool mood, calmness, richness, and relaxation. According to our foresight and research by experts, we have predicted that these colours will be ones that should be the top grossing colours for this year and the year 2019. Our inspiration for the colour choices for this product came from the cool monsoon season, which inspired us to keep the colours cool and timid while not being too loud and distracting. The decision to go with slightly misty shades worked perfectly with the concept we were trying to deliver. These colours would look great both with a gloss finish or a matte finish. But in my professional opinion, I would personally suggest you go for the matte finish as it will give the product a more exquisite feel to it. We at Digital Info use the latest in printing color calibration technologies for all our products and all output gets a stringent quality check before the final packaging. We can confidently say that our colour reproduction and colour accuracy is of the highest standards and will be exactly what you expect to see and nothing lesser because, along with our printers, we also use the best in class industry quality ink. This is one reason why for years Digital Info has been able to boast about our customer satisfaction rates. It is because we have always maintained the highest standards for our work and never compromised or settled for less. With this, I can confidently say that Digital Info will be of best service to you and your business venture and will be the start of your company’s growth towards greatness. We will be waiting for your confirmation. 

[uy8hg]

Plus One

I very much like the little brother au going on, so here’s a thing.

The crew goes on a mission to steal Jeremy’s old friend Matt from a rival gang, but they pick up another person, who may or may not have his own ties to some crew members.

Word Count: 3157

I also have an AO3, now! I’ll be posting my fics on there soon, so you can follow me there too if you want.

Geoff wasn’t expecting much from this deal. Jeremy had briefed them all on the plan, as this was his idea. If they weren’t trying to pull the façade that this was a real deal, Jeremy would be the one here.

Jeremy had regaled them only too often with stories of his and Matt’s adventures before he joined the crew. Once or twice he’d mentioned another guy, when they called themselves The Stream Team, but mostly it was just the two of them. When Jeremy saw the news clip of this small crew doing a job, he’d jumped out of his chair. Michael had needed to tackle the shorter lad on his attempts to leave just to get him to explain the whole situation.

After a series of rough jobs, Matt and Jeremy had gotten separated. The two had never quite managed to find each other again, and then they had picked up Jeremy. Once or twice, Gavin had tried to find Matt, but with no success. Jeremy had warned them that Matt was also a bit of hacker. Gavin wasn’t too happy about that, and tripled his effort. Somehow, they had never found him, until they saw that news clip.

Jeremy insisted they bust Matt out of that crew. Together, they’d all cooked up a plan to get Jeremy’s friend back. Geoff wasn’t too happy that he had to do most of the talking, but he would do anything for Lil’ J. Plus, if he didn’t, he’d never hear the end of it.

They arrived at the warehouse first, which wasn’t exactly to Geoff’s liking. He wasn’t too fond of walking into empty places, but it beat walking into a setup. At least they had picked the place.

Gavin gave him and Ryan a salute before running off to his post, sniper slung over his shoulder. Ryan pulled on him mask, going from creepy in just his face paint to downright nightmare inducing. Geoff never fully got used to that mask, always a little unsettled by its appearance, but one look at the man’s eyes told him it was still his Ryan inside there.

The two of them walked in. The table and chairs were set up just like Gavin had said they were over the comms. Geoff took one, Ryan stationing himself behind his left shoulder. The two immediately went into business mode, knowing any second the other crew could walk in.

Sure enough, it hadn’t been a full minute before the other side walked in. There were three of them, like they’d suspected. The boss was there, of course, so Geoff could make the deal. Matt fell in step behind him, with another guy he couldn’t quite see yet bringing up the rear. Ryan adjusted himself to stand taller, and Geoff just smirked. These guys didn’t know what they were signing themselves up for.

“Deaton,” Geoff started. The boss nodded, muttered out a “Ramsey,” and approached the chair. As he sat down, the two guards flanked him. He kept his eye on Matt, who looked like he didn’t really want to be here. He didn’t blame the kid. They had a reputation. The kid was wearing an old red hoodie and had headphones around his neck. His hear was streaked a vibrant light blue, and overall he looked like any other teenager, except he was holding a rather impressive firearm.

As he was pondering this, Ryan tensed behind him. It was slight, not enough for anyone other than people who knew him well to notice. Geoff stopped himself from turning around, but he took mental note to ask him later. Ryan readjusted behind him as he began his spiel.

“Look. I’ll get right to it. We don’t want weapons, or money, or anything like that,” Geoff began, and the man across from him sat up.

“What do you mean? That was our deal!”

Geoff shrugged. “Changed my mind. But I do still want something.”

Deaton’s tone shifted dangerously as he shot back, “Oh?”

Geoff pointed one finger at Matt, who was trying his best to look anywhere but Geoff.

“Axial?” Deaton growled. “Not happening.”

“Well that’s too bad, because I intend to leave here with him.” Ryan shifted behind Geoff again, and Geoff had to keep his gaze straight ahead. Ryan wasn’t normally this fidgety, especially not during a deal.

“The only way I see that happening is by him carrying your body.”

Geoff actually laughed genuinely. “Are you threatening me?”

Deaton immediately recognized his mistake. “Uhm, no, not at all, Ramsey.”

“Weird, because it sounded like you were. So, you’re going to let us have him now, right?”

Deaton looked back at Matt for the first time, who in turn looked at the other bodyguard. Geoff’s gaze finally travelled to the third man. He was taller than Matt, and skinny as a twig. He was wearing a dark pinstripe vest over a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His fingerless gloves were partially hiding bruised knuckles, and he had shades pushed up on his head. Another guy who looked like a teenager with a weapon.

When Matt looked over, Ryan fidgeted once again, bigger this time, but still hardly noticeable. Something was up with Ryan, and Geoff had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with this other guy.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Axial’s all yours,” Deaton was rushing to fix his error, but Geoff butted in again.

“You know what? My offer just changed.”

“What?” Deaton was panicking now. Matt looked like he was about to explode, and the mystery guy just looked confused.

Geoff relished in pointing a single finger at the third guy. “I want him too.”

Ryan froze behind him, and the other guy probably mirrored the expression Ryan had underneath his mask. Geoff enjoyed the utter chaos the deal was devolving into.

“I can’t. Not Zed, too.” His voiced was laced with desperation, standing now as if he could run away from this whole mess.

Geoff shrugged. “Do you want our Golden Boy to convince you?” He could hear Gavin give a quick laugh over the comms as Deaton got even more flustered, searching the room.

“No. He’s not . . . I can’t give them both . . .”

Geoff made the choice for the poor man. “Yeah you can. Do it, Golden Boy.”

A single shot, straight through the skull. Matt and the other guy, Zed, both jumped back at the shot. Deaton dropped. Geoff let out a huge sigh upon standing, as if this whole mess was much more hassle than it actually was. Deaton was much more annoying than he’d predicted, so he didn’t feel too bad about using their worst case scenario setup. “Alright. Let’s get you two home.”

As he turned, he caught Ryan’s eye. There was some emotion there that he couldn’t quite place. Either way, it was gone in a flash as Ryan went to herd the other two, still having to be the Vagabond until they got back to the penthouse.

Gavin met them outside and they all piled into the jeep. They just barely managed to fit, Gavin squeezed in between the two new recruits but he didn’t seem to care. He just kept talking the ears off the two, who had matching looks of confusion and dread. Ryan was stiff beside him, gaze locked out the window. Geoff kept his attention on the road, but there was definitely something up with Ryan.

 Jeremy basically tackled Matt the second he got in the penthouse. Geoff had texted Jeremy that they were arriving, as if Jeremy hadn’t been looking out the window waiting for the past half hour. Matt was the first in, and also the one to get tackle-hugged. Jeremy could hear the other three pass them by and head to the living room, but he cared about no one other than Matt right now.

“Matt!” Jeremy cried, face very much buried in the other’s shoulder.

“Wha- Jeremy?” Matt exclaimed, and Jeremy could feel him tentatively wrap his arms around him. He squeezed harder until he heard the other guy squeak. “Hey, man, you’re gonna break me!”

“I’m so happy we found you!” Jeremy gushed, pulling himself back to examine Matt from an arm’s length away. Matt was wearing something similar to what he always used to: A ratty red hoodie covered a worn out graphic tee, headphones around his neck. The blue streaks in his hair were new, though, still bright as if they’d only been there a few days. Jeremy wished he still had colorful hair, but he’d let it grow out recently. “We tried so hard to find you!”

Matt seemed taken aback. “So, wait, what? The point of that deal, or whatever it was, was actually me? That went according to plan?”

Jeremy nodded enthusiastically. “All for you.”

“But then . . . what about Trevor?”

Jeremy froze and blinked up at his friend. “Trevor? As in, that Trevor? Our Trevor? What about him?”

Matt nodded. “Our Trevor. He was in the crew with me. He was Deaton’s other bodyguard for the deal and Geoff just brought him along. Did you plan for that?”

Jeremy dropped his grip on Matt’s arms, which had tightened when he’d heard Trevor’s name. “No, we didn’t know. We had hardly any information on your crew. Wonder why Geoff brought him along.”

Matt shrugged. “Did he know about The Stream Team?”

“Yeah, I’d mentioned it a few times, but mostly about you. I doubt he remembered Trevor’s name, let alone knew who he was at the deal.”

“Weird,” Matt agreed. The door chose that moment to open, causing both guys to shift their attention. Ryan slammed the door behind himself and let out a long sigh before noticing the two.

“Hey,” he rasped, and his voice was harder than usual, “Did we get the right guy?”

Jeremy chuckled. “No, this is some random guy. Never seen him before in my life,” he joked and threw an arm around Matt, who immediately pushed it off. Ryan didn’t laugh, but nodded as he pushed off of the door. He still had his mask on, so Jeremy couldn’t quite read his expression.

“Glad to hear it,” he said calmly before disappearing down the hall. The two heard a door open and shut, probably the bathroom.

It was weird Ryan hadn’t taken his mask off. Normally it was the first thing off when they got back. Something about Ryan’s behavior was striking him as odd. He tried to shrug it off, figured it was just for the new people they’d brought back. Jeremy guessed he’d gone to wash of the paint, trying not to scare the new guys. Or at least, that’s what Jeremy hoped.

“That’s the Vagabond,” Matt stated hesitantly, still watching the hallway Ryan had disappeared down. Jeremy slung his arm back over his friend and nodded.

“Yep! He’s intimidating at first, sure, but I promise he’s a teddy bear. You’ll see.”

Matt didn’t seem so sure, but he allowed Jeremy to drag him off toward the living room. He had a crew for Jeremy to introduce him to.

 Ramsey had told Trevor to sit on the couch, so that’s what he did. A woman wearing the world’s most parrot-covered Hawaiian shirt soon draped a blanket over his shoulders, which Trevor took hesitantly. He honestly no clue what had happened in the last hour, but he figured he just had to roll with it. One minute he’s randomly assigned to guard the boss on a deal, the next he’s being welcomed into the penthouse of the Fake AH Crew. He felt nervous, the guns he’d been given to bodyguard with stowed in the back of the Fake’s car. So, he just chose to sit. The Golden Boy flopped down on the other couch and immediately pulled out his phone, not caring at all about Trevor.

The woman, who he recognized as Pattillo, Ramsey’s right hand woman, had turned on the TV, which was showing a photo from earlier on the news. The deal hadn’t been that big, nothing to draw attention, but apparently any sighting of the Fakes made the news. Trevor didn’t understand how they got a shot of their group, but there it was in front of him.

Ramsey was the closest to the car, calling at the Golden Boy, who had just appeared from whatever sniping point he’d had. The Vagabond was further back, a hand each on Matt and his’ shoulders. Trevor was looking away at the ground, while Matt was watching the two in front. Trevor remembered exactly what moment the photo had been taken at. He’d been trying to figure out what had happened, and he still didn’t quite know. Whatever it was, he was glad Matt was here, and apparently Jeremy too. He’d seen his old friend hugging Matt as they came in.

What he hadn’t noticed in the moment, but could clearly see now in the photo, was the Vagabond. The masked head was turned, not facing front like he would have guessed.

Instead, it was watching Trevor.

Trevor had only heard stories about the Vagabond before today, and he would have liked to keep it that way. When he first saw the Vagabond, he was immediately intimidated, and not just by the rumors. He looked like a guy who could mess you up, and Trevor didn’t want to test him. He’d complied when the Vagabond escorted them, scared to anger the blue eyes that were the only indication an actual human was behind the mask.

He was suddenly very glad he hadn’t turned around on his way to the car. But he did wonder why the Vagabond had been looking at him.

“Who’s this?” A voice behind him asked, and Trevor turned to see Mogar approaching the kitchen. Ramsey shrugged, pouring himself a glass of some form of alcohol.

“Deaton’s other guard. Brought him along. Deaton didn’t need him anymore.”

“But why bring him here? We know nothing about him.” Trevor wanted to say something to defend himself, tell them he knew Matt and Jeremy, but Ramsey suddenly met his eyes.

“I had a feeling we might want him. Call it a hunch.” Trevor met his eyes, trying to figure out what that meant, until Ramsey looked back at Mogar. “Plus you can’t just leave him. He might get revenge ideas.”

Mogar shrugged and came over to the other couch. He sat directly on the Golden Boy’s legs, which got a squawk out of the other man. He half nodded at Trevor from his weird perch. “Sup.” Trevor gave him a half smile before looking away.

What the heck was happening?

His salvation from awkwardness came in the form of Jeremy escorting Matt into the living room. “So this is the living room. Make yourself at home.” Trevor turned, and he watched Jeremy’s eyes light up. “Trevor!”

Jeremy rushed over to give him a hug over the back of the couch. “Man, I didn’t know you were with Matt! This is great!”

“It sure is something,” Trevor laughed. Jeremy hopped the couch to sit next to Trevor, and Matt sat down on Jeremy’s other side. Jeremy pulled them both in by the shoulders.

“Stream Team, back together!” he called happily. Trevor couldn’t help but laugh, still a little in shock but feeling better that Jeremy was here. Even if he was in the middle of the Fake’s headquarters, Jeremy and Matt were here. He’d heard tales of a purple and orange clad member of the Fakes, but he hadn’t put two and two together to realize it was Jeremy.

The little stability he’d just found was shattered as one word came from behind him.

“Trevor?

Trevor froze, completely tense in an instant, and stared straight ahead. He recognized that voice, but it couldn’t be. It was lower, gruffer, and sound almost as if it had been crying. But there was no way. Trevor hadn’t heard that voice in years, there was no way he could be here.

Could it really-?

Jeremy let Trevor go and he turned, as slow as he could. He was scared to see, scared to know the truth. He didn’t know what he’d do if it wasn’t him. He didn’t know what he’d do if it was.

Trevor slowly lifted his gaze. First he saw a horrible pair of black shoes, then a pair of dark and loose jeans. There was the jacket, black, blue, and silver identifying the Vagabond. He didn’t want to look up those last few inches, but he had to. He could see the Vagabond’s chest rising and falling visibly, as if he was terrified too. He had to do it. He had to look.

The Vagabond was still wearing the mask. Trevor could only look at his eyes as the Vagabond let out an almost painful sigh.

“It is you. Trevor.”

That was the voice. The voice Trevor remember from his childhood, the one he had so desperately wanted to hear again. It was coming from the Vagabond.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. In a desperate and almost violent move, the Vagabond ripped his mask off.

Feelings Trevor hadn’t felt in a long time came rushing back as he looked at the Vagabond’s face. It was older, obviously, and had several smears of face paint still on it, but it was definitely him.

It was Ryan.

Trevor stood up, letting the blanket fall off his shoulders. He didn’t break eye contact with Ryan as the two ran to each other and embraced. The whole crew was probably staring at them, but Trevor didn’t care. He had his brother back. After so many years, several foster homes, and who knew how many crews, somehow Trevor had managed to find Ryan again. Or, rather, Ryan had found him. He’d been watching him from afar, seeing the Vagabond on the news for years, without even realizing it. But now, his brother was in his arms again.

“I’m so sorry it took me so long. I couldn’t find you again.” Ryan was crying, Trevor could hear it, and he realized he was as well.

“That’s okay. I’m here now,” Trevor mumbled into his brother’s shoulder.

“I don’t know how this worked out, but I’m so glad it did,” Ryan told him, and Trevor just nodded.

“Does anyone else know what’s going on?” a British voice asked from behind Trevor, and Trevor barked out a laugh through his tears. Honestly, he still didn’t know, but one thing was for sure. Somehow, by some miracle, he was in his brother’s arms again.

Ryan pulled back, ruffling Trevor’s hair like he had when they were kids. Trevor laughed and leaned against Ryan as the two of them faced the crew.

“Guys,” Ryan started, voice still a little emotional, “this is my half-brother, Trevor.”

Ryan pulled him in closer as Trevor corrected him, “Nothing half about it but blood.”